When I first heard the news about cops raiding Michael Jackson's Neverland estate, I knew that some bizarre shit was about to go down. Of course, like everybody else on the planet I've grown accustomed to the words "bizarre" and "Michael Jackson" being used in the same sentence. But this time, an arrest warrant was issued and charges will be filed--there will be no more multi-million dollar settlements in exchange for silence. To hell with O.J. Simpson, people, because THIS is going to be the trial of the century.

Okay, so we already knew that Jacko was nuttier than squirrel turds. But back when he was the biggest star on earth, the public was tolerant enough to label his truly puzzling behavior as merely eccentric. Like that whole thing about Jackson wanting to buy the remains of the Elephant Man--we could all live with that. Or when he claimed to sleep in an oxygen chamber and hung out with a chimp and a boa constrictor named "Muscles". Hey man, whatever floats your boat. Here's a guy who took Emmanuel Lewis along on his date with Brooke Shields to the '84 Grammys, and nobody thought anything of the fact he was carrying Lewis around like a fucking Cabbage Patch Kid. I was only ten years old at the time, but even at that age I knew how fucked up that was. I mean, he had the choice piece of ass from "The Blue Lagoon" on his arm and he was far more interested in hanging out with the kid who played "Webster". What's wrong with this picture?

Jackson was a superstar, though, so everybody was willing to look the other way. And he wasn't just your average, run of the mill superstar, either. Jackson was so famous, he convinced the entire world that wearing one rhinestone-encrusted glove and a red leather jacket with too many zippers was a good idea. He fooled 50 million people (including me) into thinking "Thriller" was a good album when, in fact, it's pretty much a piece of shit. He had middle-aged white people trying to do the moonwalk and making complete assholes out of themselves. This wasn't a simple case of stardom, it was a true cultural phenomenon.

At the time, I got caught up in the hysteria like everybody else. As much as it pains me to admit this, I once (*shudder*) idolized Michael Jackson. I had the records and the magazines. I had the posters on my wall. I watched the "Thriller" video hundreds of times and thought it was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. Maybe my parents should have been concerned about my hero worship, but my old man thought it was hilarious. He constantly ripped on Jackson and took to calling him "Mikey Jackie" just to piss me off. Then he'd have me moonwalk for him and laugh hysterically at my lack of rhythm.

My next admission is even MORE embarrassing, but for the sake of this column I'm not holding anything back. In the spring of '83, I used my birthday money to buy a vinyl knock-off of the jacket Jackson wore in his "Beat It" video. God only knows what I was thinking when I blew all of my money on that piece of shit, but rest assured, I paid for my mistake. I wore the jacket to elementary school once... just once... and was so ridiculed by the older kids that I never wore it again. I can still remember how fucking stupid I felt when a group of fifth graders surrounded me and started cooing "Oooooh, can we have your AUTOGRAPH???" while they all pointed and laughed. It was humiliating, but in hindsight I think I got off pretty easily. They only made fun of me and left it at that, even though I clearly deserved a savage beating. I took the jacket off that day and never so much as considered ever wearing it again. It still resides in my mother's hall closet to this day, in pristine condition. I keep meaning to put that bastard up on eBay one of these days. (And no, I don't have any pictures of me wearing it, so don't ask.)

Looking back now, I wish my dad would have put a stop to the whole thing--but I guess he realized that it was just a phase and I'd grow out of it. And I did, less than a year later--one day I was sitting in my room and I just decided to take down all my Michael Jackson posters and throw them away. That marked the end of my admiration of Jackson--and the next poster that went on my wall was a picture of Alyssa Milano.

Almost two decades years later, it's hard for me to believe the Michael Jackson from '84 and that guy (?) I saw in the police mugshot are the same person. I mean, how far can one person fall? In his prime, Jackson was a teen idol and used to hang out at places like Studio 54. The man got to record music with Quincy Jones and even a true genius like Paul McCartney. And what is he now?? A 45 year old man whose idea of fun is climbing trees and having squirt gun fights and sleep overs with young boys. And we all know what other kind of "fun" Jacko is accused of having...

So the big question remains--is Jackson a predatory child molester? Nobody knows for sure at this point, but the general consensus seems to be "probably". Aside from a few of his seriously delusional fans (like the ones at the alt.music.michael-jackson usenet group), most of us are ready to watch this sicko crash and burn. The allegations just keeping getting more and more demented--what kind of twisted freak do you have to be to ply a young cancer patient with wine and sleeping pills just so you can take advantage of him? Or to convince a 12 year old boy to French kiss you by saying all of your "special friends" let you do it? Seriously, one look at Gavin and Michael holding hands in the "Living With Michael Jackson" documentary is enough to make the average person shiver with revulsion. And how about how Jackson's supposed nickname for Gavin was "Rubba", based on a "special game" they used to play? As sick as all of this is, we can't can't put ALL of the blame on Jackson. The parents of these kids need to be investigated, too, as well as Jacko's staff of sycophants who no doubt knew what was going on, but allowed it to happen, anyway.

It makes me wonder if my parents would have let me sleep at Neverland when I was a kid. Somehow, I seriously doubt it. It also makes me wonder how I would have reacted to a sexual advance by Michael Jackson, especially at the age of twelve. I already had a healthy interest in girls at that point, along with a rather filthy mouth. I like to think it would have gone down like this;

JACKO: "Wasn't it fun riding the Merry-Go-Round and playing with squirt guns, Jeremy?"

YOUNG JEREMY: "Uh... I guess so. Listen, weren't we supposed to go to Toys 'R Us today? You promised to buy me a Skeletor action figure."

JACKO: "We'll go later. But first, I want to show you another game that I only play with my special friends. It's called Rubba Rubba."

YOUNG JEREMY: "Say WHAT...???"

JACKO: "Oh, it's lots of fun. First, we take all of our clothes off and get into my bathtub..."

YOUNG JEREMY: "Uh...."

JACKO: "....and then I grease you up with baby oil and shove a rubber ducky up your ass! Doesn't that sound like fun?"

YOUNG JEREMY: " Um, I think I need to go home now."

JACKO: (Starting to cry) "But all of my special friends play Rubba Rubba with me. You don't love me as much as they do."

YOUNG JEREMY: "I don't care what you do with your 'special friends', dude, I'm outta here. And get your hand off my knee, you fucking homo."

But I'm just speculating here. Hopefully, the truth about Jackson will come out, once and for all. I pray to God that it's televised, too. The thought of Wacko Jacko on the witness stand explaining to a jury why it's okay to sleep in the same bed as a young boy is too hilarious for words. Let's face it, that will make for some GREAT fucking TV.

-JTL

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