he 12 jurors in the Michael Jackson trial surprised some hopeless optimists last week when they returned a verdict of “not guilty� on all 10 counts, allowing the King of Pop his legal freedom and probably inspiring some questionable lyrics from a future album. Among the reasons given by the jury for their decision, more than one, two in fact, said they believed Jackson probably did molest virtually every child who came into his mansion—but not this kid, according to the evidence.

Legal analysts, and by that we mean lawyers without jobs, have pointed to startling revelations during testimony of witnesses to explain the “not guilty� verdict in the Jackson case. Among the more surprising disclosures was that the accused, long thought to be a 13-year-old boy, was in fact a diminutive man with a long police record, known in street parlance as Philadelphia Freddy.

“And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for this money-driven legal system!� screeched the gravel-voiced midget, shortly after the announcement of the verdict.

The defense painted a strong picture of a short, unruly child/crime boss and his money-grubbing mother, who parlayed a brush with cancer into a molestation gold mine and tried to catch Michael Jackson in a kid-touching trap, to no avail. Jackson, who had previously settled out-of-court molestation cases on at least two previous occasions, could not be fingered, pardon the expression, in this particular molesting accusation. Jurors claim that although they really wanted to hang Jackson out to dry for all the other occasions of molestation he’s been guilty of, in this special and rare instance, he wasn’t guilty of that specific crime.

“It’s obvious Michael Jackson is a sick, sick man-child,� said a juror, who asked not to be identified, but looked like a “George� to us. “But in this particular case, as brought by Jackson-hounding D.A. Tom Sneddon, there wasn’t enough evidence to nail his peculiarly shaded ass. It’s too bad, because I think he molested three or four kids of some of the jurors, but we weren’t actually trying those cases, and had to go by what the judge instructed us.�

Some critics of the case have not only charged Sneddon with fumbling an easily unfumbleable ball, but have alleged the way the case was framed by the judge made it hard for a jury to convict Jackson of the crime. Among the strange instructions, Judge Rodney Melville warned jurors could not consider previous allegations of sexual abuse made against Jackson, and Jackson’s celebrity status had to be ignored.

“I ask you again,� said Judge Melville, “to think of Michael Jackson as any ordinary man who can afford the world’s most powerful attorneys at his beck and call. If you like, you may also think of Jackson’s heartfelt song, ‘Man in the Mirror,’ and how it made all of us think of how any one of us has the power to change the world. Me, I personally love to think of his small but pivotal solo in the ‘We Are the World’ song.�

Santa Barbara District Attorney Tom Sneddon, described by some as a bloated law enforcement official out to bring down the King of Pop, no matter the humiliation done to him and his office, said he regretted the jury’s finding, but had no complaints against the case his office had built, the jury itself, the judge’s role in the case, or the case of the defense. He only wished they had been able to call as a witness one of the other “possible million� boys Jackson had likely molested.

At the same time, a nationwide poll performed by people with lots of time on their hands, found that up to 49% of respondents thought the jury had made the wrong decision, and that Jackson was guilty of molesting boys. Though the exact same percentage also hoped similar charges would be brought against Huey Lewis and the News, anything to make sure they didn’t show up on some future VH-1 ‘80s nostalgia special.

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Dear commune:

Just writing in to make you privy to the word, dudes. I just rocked the vote today by voting for that righteous fucker Red Bagel for State Assemblyman. True, I'm not exactly sure what a State Assemblyman is supposed to do, but whatever it is, I'm sure my man Bagel will do the fuck out of it. Whether it's putting shit together that the state needs, like futons and bookcases and all that, or if it's talking in front of a bunch of kids crammed together in a cafeteria, whatever kind of assembly it means I know Bagel's gonna tear it a new asshole, commune style. Shit yeah.

True, I hated assemblies myself when I was a kid, but that was mostly because there wasn't some nut up there talking about Vietnam and doing magic tricks and shit. That's some madness that would have been worth missing a smoke break for. And, come to think of it, I hate putting shit together too, so I'd probably make a pretty lousy Assemblyman myself. But if Bagel gets elected, I've got a coffee table still in the box out in my garage that I could use some help with. Don't even think about welching, dude. I got you elected!

Truth be told, if I'd had my druthers I probably would have voted for my homestyle, Omar Bricks, for State Assemblydude. But unless you wanted to vote for one of those gay-asses they had preprinted on the menu, you had to write in your choice, and I can never remember how many o's there are in Omar. Just in case there was some uptight dick out there named Oomar Bricks, I thought I'd play it safe and vote for the dude named after my breakfast.

Sucks, yeah, but that's politics. Peace Out.

Brian Delaney
Santa Monica, CA


Dear Brian:

Thanks for the word, dude. Red Bagel appreciates your vote and if he voted, we're sure he voted for you, too. And by that we mean that we're sure he didn't vote, since he's scared shitless of those optical scanning machines and the soul maps they can chart using your electromagnetic field, making it possible for the government to tax you again in your dreams.

the commune

---

Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible, and the ladies find that irresistible. Don't blame us, it's apparently some kind of self-esteem issue.

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I know this is going to hit some of you hard, like little Ruby Gilcrest of Foley Hills, West Virginia, and George W. Bush, but Christmas is cancelled this year.

Dump it all on me if you want, but you brought it on yourselves. At least you adults did. It's bad enough this crap has been getting more and more commercial every year, but now I have to hear these heartbreaking sob stories about how shopping is down and stores are worried about meeting their financial predictions for fall quarters. Oh, cry me a river, you soulless coal-receiving jerks. I'm tired of the whole shebang. Ask my back what it needs this year, and it won't say hauling all the world's toys around in a single night and jumping down chimneys.

So for all you inconsiderate ingrates out there, consider yourselves the reason there's no Christmas. All this talk about a year without a Santa Claus irks me something fierce. You want it? You got it.

I know a lot of people, even Mrs. Claus, think this is about The Polar Express, but it's not—I'm not that petty, jeez, give me some credit. But if you want to talk Christmas movies, how about that Surviving Christmas crap? Or Christmas With the Kranks? Obviously a lot of you are wanting Christmas canceled anyhow. If I'm good at one thing, it's giving people what they want.

Okay, I admit it—I'm a little bugged about The Polar Express. You're saying I'm so disturbed about kids losing the Christmas spirit I have to kidnap them in bunches and hold them hostage at the North Pole? I think you're the ones with the problem, Hollywood. You make films about Christ getting the himself beat out of him for three hours, I'm the one who's off his nut? Screw you. If this is what you do to your icons, then you can deliver yourselves your own presents.

By the way, you think it's a compliment being portrayed by Tom Hanks? I suppose I should be thanking you. The biggest name I can usually get is Ed Asner or Wilford Brimley. I don't rate a little star power, people? Jude Law too busy, and did you refuse the money for Bruce Willis? I've always thought you guys played me too soft, too "ho ho ho," but when you do play me tough, Tom Hanks is the guy you call? I wish I did abduct people now. I'd pinch De Niro and Scorsese both, make the best Santa Claus movie you never saw.

The fact these movies all bombed shows just how much love you all have left for Christmas anyway. Not that I can blame you. Human misery is everywhere in the world, people are dropping like flies in Iraq, the Ukranians are in the midst of government turmoil, reality TV is still king. To all those people who begged me to help decide the November election, whether you were serious or not, look—I'm not the voting population of Ohio. I can only work so many miracles when you people are so intensely divided. I deal in wish fulfillment, and I don't play politics. If you're good, I work to give you what you want. Try working it out with the rest of the people in the country, because it's Santa Policy that I don't grant one wish that directly contradicts another. This is also why I never deliver baby brothers or sisters.

I hate to take the "God" route with you all, but it's time you started solving your own problems. Maybe instead of writing on your cutesy little Xmas list that you want "an end to world hunger," you should wrap up a box of shredded wheat and send it to Rwanda. Let's not put everything off on me.

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