American Midol: Jacko, Porno, Court-o, Uh-Oh! (A Michael Jackson Primer, Part 3 = An Elite Selection of Juicy, Lewd, and Sordid Details)

In the beginning, there was Part 1 = Before the Neverland Sting, and then spoketh Part 2 = The Quick-Spit Facts. Now, behold the conclusion of our three-part probe into the Master of the Moonwalk himself.

The Michael Jackson trial – the trial of the Willenium – is upon us. This is no trivial matter.

Any cultural mythologist worth her weight in leather-bound Bulfinch anthologies will tell you it has all the makings of doomed inevitability – of imminent cultural Armageddon – in which a lusty, prurient-buggered nation points and sniggers at the ultra-disposable pop-Frankenstein it once worshipped and cherished. It's going to get ugly, folks. Not for the hopelessly-cracked sequin sporter, but what his public demise reveals about us.

EXHIBIT B: A Smattering of Gratuitous Details

Fascinating porn mag titles confiscated during the raid include: Club, Couples, and Barely Legal.

Jackson's home-bedroom theater collection included scintillating selections like the Hustler documentary, "Pimp Up, Ho's Down," and four "Barely Legal" DVDs. Honest to Betsy, I'm not making this up.

Jackson's bathroom? Littered with artifacts that would thrill and confound sexual anthropologists and dinky shrinks the world over: open bottles of Jack Daniels and Pinot Noir, a Liza Minnelli Christmas invitation (that one KILLS me!), and many photo-based items prefaced by the word "nude" (art mags, photos, books).

Add to all this Martin Bashir's notorious documentary "Living With Michael Jackson," the February, 2003 shocker in which Jackson famously reasoned in front of the camera: "Why can't you share your bed? That's the most loving thing to do is share your bed with someone!"

A fine sentiment, I suppose, if you hadn't already settled a million lawsuit with a 13-year-old boy who'd accused you of sexual abuse.

Things do not look good, Michael. Not in the slightest.

And yet...

Millions of zealots, non-believers, and crucifiers will demand their voice and views be heard.

And millions more sound bites, news stories, video clips, documentaries, analyses, live broadcasts, and previously-taped footage will be thrust out to feed the throbbing vein of desire.

In the end, when the shrapnel of a glittered glove is zoomed in on by an overly artsy news reporter, to bookend a three-part series on the rise and fall of Michael Jackson, what will this fiasco say about US? What will it say? What WILL it say?

I'm not optimistic.


Enjoyed this American Midol column? Or diabolically incensed by its uselessness? Either way, you're invited to check out all of Lani Voivod's Midol spasms right here. Wanna sound off on this subject? Send your feedback to comments@deadbrain.com!

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