I’ve tried to avoid the Micahel Jackson story because even for a voracious anti-liberal attack dog, he’s just too easy for me—too obvious a target. But this little article written by Andrea Peyser of the New York Post lets a lot of my pent-up steam about that creep out, thus saving me from having to mention his name again for a while.
OH, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! DON’T LET FREAK FOOL YOU
March 2, 2005
[Andrea Peyser, New York Post]
SANTA MARIA, Calif.Pass the Kleenex, Jacko’s having a moment.
And don’t forget to remind him to watch his mascara.
It was Michael Jackson’s turn to cry. And he did so, right here in the courtroom — quietly, elegantly, and ever so delicately.
What horrible event was capable of bringing about this intimate Jacko performance?
It’s the thing the Wacked One loves above all, and now stands tragically close to losing forever:
The love of small boys.
The alleged child molester and undeniable freak sat in the courtroom here yesterday, his entire body wound as tense as a spring. The judge clicked on a videotape. And before Jacko’s eyes, his own face appeared — larger than life — to extol the rapture of sleeping with young boys.
His reaction was immediate, and intense.
Lately, he’s been a study in composure. But this time, Jackson’s shoulders trembled, and he rocked back and forth slightly. Then he unfolded a large tissue. And he tried to hide.
Or maybe escape.
The tape played on — it was the hit TV documentary “Living with Michael Jackson.” And Jacko was forced to watch himself on the video as he maniacally rocked his poor kid, Prince Michael II, then an 8-month-old baby who some lunatic woman gave birth to before giving full custody of the child to him.
Journalist Martin Bashir was heard on the tape, saying Jackson’s behavior scared him.
Well, duh.
Jackson couldn’t take it. He unfurled the tissue to its full length, and held it, tightly, over his face.
Before the jury, judge, gawkers and God, Jackson was holding hands with a young cancer patient, describing in ecstatic detail the joy of sharing his bed with young boys.
Then his Kleenex became a mask. It was as if he wanted to fly out of this horrible reality, like Peter Pan. To leave forever this mean, awful place, where grown men are forbidden from bedding the young. The injustice!
He is not Peter Pan. He is a full-grown freak. And he must pay.
Thanks, Andrea Peyser.
PTBC was founded by Mr. Johannesen in 2000.
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