This week I watched the Michael Jackson documentary Leaving Neverland, and I feel like I’m the real victim here, possibly more so than his accusers. I might never recover from hearing descriptions of what he supposedly did to those kids. But did any of it really happen? I’ve yet to be convinced.
I approached Leaving Neverland with an open mind, and I was willing to believe that his alleged victims were telling the truth … until they got to the part where he molested them, and they allowed him to continue molesting them over and over again, for years, sometimes multiple times a day, which seems like it would be difficult for a man of a certain age, who obviously didn’t get a lot of protein in his diet. That doesn’t seem like it could possibly be true.
There’s not a straight male child young enough that he can be duped into being sexually assaulted by a grown man more than once. I don’t care if he’s four years old. If Michael Jackson tried to shove his (reportedly adult-sized) peen in my mouth (nullus), I’d never allow my mother to take me to Never Neverland again. I’d throw a fit like some poor bastard in the grocery store whose mother tried to buy him off-brand Rice Krispies. You know the old saying: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on ME! Even at the ripe old age of 38, there’s the distinct possibility that I’d spontaneously burst into tears at the sight of another man’s peen, outside the context of pr0n, where it’s a necessary evil. (No Smollet.) I’d be inconsolable.
I’m also concerned that people would allow their kids to be playmates with a grown-ass man, as if this were the 1983 Richard Pryor film The Toy. I of course don’t have any kids, but if I did, I wouldn’t have brought them to Never Neverland, if only because I wouldn’t want them thinking that’s appropriate behavior for an adult.
The fact that those kids’ parents didn’t see nuthin’ wrong with Michael Jackson being friends with their eight-year-old sons just goes to show the unfathomable nature of teh ghey sex, for straight people. If they’d had eight-year-old daughters, there’s no way they would have let them sleep in the same room as Michael Jackson, while they slept in another room two floors down, on the other side of the building, supposedly because that was the only other suite available. How dumb could they be?
I’ve stayed in hotels that cost like $135 a night that were _all_ suites. A suite is just a hotel room with a separate room with a couch and a TV in it, in case the person you’re sharing the room with doesn’t want to watch SpectraVision. I even stayed in a hotel room with a tiny kitchen. If I knew how to cook anything other than frozen pizza, that would have been the move. Imagine bringing a girl back to an extended stay and fixing her a five-course meal. She’d have no choice but to have sex with you!
But I digress.
It’s not clear to me that canceling Michael Jackson, if you could, would cost his family anything, and I could give a rat’s ass if it did. Jackson’s been dead for just shy of ten years now, so obviously he’s not concerned. When he died, he left his money to his mother and his kids. I thought I read that they already sold off The Beatles’ publishing to the TIs (no Omar) for like a billion dollars, and probably his own publishing too. So they don’t stand to lose anything if radio stations stop playing “Beat It,” “Billie Jean,” etc.
Even if they did, who gives a shit? His mother is too old to buy anything other than Werther’s Originals, which don’t cost that much money, and there’s always the risk that she’ll be swindled by someone selling plots of swampland over the phone. And those kids aren’t even his! If they want to continue drawing from their trust funds, they should be required to submit the results of a 23 and Me DNA test, or else they can get the fuck out of here.
If Bol has to work like a Hebrew slave, so can Blanket. I’ll put in a word for him at the warehouse, if necessary.
Take it easy on yourself,