Friday, July 01, 2005


I’m looking for a lawyer who will stop laughing long enough to sue my parents for giving me a happy childhood. The acquittal of Michael Jackson proves beyond doubt that a wrenching childhood whether real or perceived is a sure-fire way to be excused of even the most bizarre behaviour. We’re the same age, I look at where he is, I look where I am, I’m thinking early nights, fresh air, green vegetables, and wholesome family entertainment have deprived me of the success I might have achieved had my father beaten me black and blue.

I mention “perceived” because while MJ has spent many TV hours weeping piteously about his wretched early life, I know of about a zillion children who would swap school, PT, homework and tennis lessons for a chance to be a showbiz kid. Going on tour with your brothers instead of maths with Mrs. Pilkington, are you kidding? Having girls fling themselves at you at the age of 14, what’s your problem? Apparently he was subjected to abuse, which his father has denied, and hard labour, hello saltmines, hardly 12 hours a day in a carpet factory or out in the sun picking coffee beans. It was singing and dancing and being on TV, wasn’t it? He himself said nobody pushed him, he enjoyed it, “it was as natural as drawing breath”. While he was in the studio looking wistfully out at the children playing and wishing he could do that, those children were looking right back at him.

The whole thing revolves around the question of whether obscenely rich people should be able to buy whatever fantasy they desire without reference to prevailing norms and standards regarding reading smutty magazines and jacking off with other 10-year old boys. I think the answer has proved to be yes, so if you’re a parent ambitious for your kid, forget about early to bed, homework, regular meals and raising your child’s self esteem. Go ahead and give them a smack, Jesus Juice in a sippy cup, let them stay up late and watch porn movies. It helps if they can sing.

If you’re a child and extreme provocation fails to elicit a clip over the ear from a parent, sorry, you’ve got a horrible life ahead of you of working in an accounting office instead of your obscenely rich rock star dreams.

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