Michael Jackson Cannibalizes Baby

ichael Jackson was caught on video like a red-handed bandit man Tuesday, salaciously nibbling on his youngest son’s toe in full view of the German media. Jackson, who was staying in a Berlin hotel while visiting that country for a Save Dem Childrens benefit, waved to the cameras and flashed a “kissy-peace� hand gesture to his fans before he closed the blinds and proceeded to partake in what can only be speculated as an orgy of underage cannibalism.

“It just sickens me when I close my eyes and think about it,� sighed small-town cop Bufus Randall, who answers questions 24 hours a day and is like a procrastinating reporter’s wet dream. “Just picturing that monster, slurping the baby’s entrails like spaghetti, munching his bones like peppermint sticks and licking the baby’s empty hide clean like a goddamned dinner plate. God. I think I’m gonna be sick.�

Professional housewife Mandy St. Clair echoed Randall’s concerns.

“It’s like it makes you, I don’t know. Want. Want to do something to make that thing different. You know? Different so he’s not eating those babies. Because that’s just wrong, even if the babies want to be eaten. Because how could you really know? They might smile and wave their arms around like they want to be eaten, but it might just be because they’re remembering something nice from when they’re in the womb. Or they might have gas, sometimes babies smile who have gas. So you shouldn’t just eat them.�

Jackson’s fans were quick to defend the troubled star, who recently sort of testified in his own defense in a courtward lawsuit.

“Even if Michael did eat that baby, he only did it for the fans. That’s how much he cares,� explained Kyoko Matsui, a screaming Tokyo fan of Jackson’s appearances on cereal boxes in her home country. “People were yelling, ‘We want to meet the baby!’ and I guess since it was so noisy, Michael probably thought they were saying ‘We want you to eat the baby!’ It was just a tragic misunderstanding.�

But noted sports psychologist Dr. Mandra Jimsack was wary of letting Jackson off the hook so easily.

“Fans yell out all kinds of crazy requests to stars, that doesn’t mean they have to follow them. It’s the star’s job to set boundaries and know where to draw the line. Signing some autographs or flashing your tits out the sunroof of a limo? That’s being a good star. Jerking off in a men’s room at the park or shooting a rival recording artist in the testicles? That’s just going too far. And also, lighting a fart on fire at the Golden Globes? That’s very bad, Mr. Sandler. Very bad.�

Activist groups rallied within minutes of the tape airing on the German news, calling for whatever kind of social services Germany might have to step in and take Jackson’s remaining children away before dinnertime. Lawyers for German’s Die Station news network were also preparing a lawsuit against the singer. According to sources, Jackson caused two of the station’s cameramen to fall out of an evergreen tree near the hotel when he refused to leave his blinds open, forcing them to attempt filming through a small opening in the bathroom window.

Hours later, Jackson appeared at a puppet museum with the live toddler in tow, setting off ripples of speculation through the “thought he ate the baby� community. Randall, however, was not so quick to forgive and forget.

“Jesus Christ, how many of those things has he got? Well, I guess we can add human cloning to the list of charges. Fuckin’ fruit.�

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Well, looks like we're still bombing the Iraqis out of the Stone Age and back to whatever the hell came before that, when all the stones were blown up and everything was on fire. Serves 'em right for living in the desert though. I lived in the desert outside of Albuquerque once and there were always rednecks out there blowing shit up. Usually it was road signs and small animals and the like, but Iraq's a bigger desert so it stands to reason the rednecks would think bigger.

I was driving up the road the other day when I came up on a man who was standing half in the street, yelling at no one in particular. At first I thought he was yelling at me, but a quick check of my person confirmed that I was wearing nothing more offensive than an L.L. Bean dress shirt. Even if I had been wearing a novelty shirt stating "SHUT UP, BITCH" or other such amusing obscenity, it would have been hard for him to spy that in an oncoming car quickly enough to take offense and express it verbally. I thought the guy was just crazy until I realized he had one of those ear-bud cell phone things in his ear and he was yelling at his stockbroker or his concubine or whoever.

This got me thinking. I predict that cell phones will eventually get so small that we'll have problems with scores of people being committed to mental hospitals for yelling out grocery lists in public and hearing "voices." And personally, I can't wait. I hate those damned phones. And their damned operators.

Looks like those silly sons of bitches that blew up the U.S.S. Cole Porter escaped from jail again. Just goes to show what I've been saying all along: the honor system is great and may work in certain isolated kindergarten classrooms, but jails need real locks, real fast. Some people just don't take to shaming like they should, and lines painted on the floor don't work like they used to. Sad but true.

Contrary to what the previous paragraph might indicate, the biggest news this week is that absolutely nothing is happening in the world outside of Iraq. Nada. Zip. Nothing. Open up the paper and it's all about who blew up what where in Iraq and who might be dead but we'll never be sure and what kinds of cookies Iraqis like to bake. Who knew that dusty-assed place was so interesting? It just goes to show that nothing works wonders for your public visibility like being invaded. It's like when Poland's PR guys paid Germany to invade them back in the 1930's. Sure, some churches got blown up, but like magic Poland was back on the map again. Previous to that people were forgetting the country even existed, it was just some smudge on the map where trains got lost.

Apparently there is a bit of news in the dolphin world, however. Seems that El Presidente wanted to roll back the rules on what kind of tuna can be labeled "dolphin safe" or not. I know, like the president doesn't have better things to do than fuck with dolphins. I don't know what his problem is, but he's always struck me as a strange man. Anyhow, current rules state that you can't label tuna "dolphin safe" if you go so berserk while trying to catch fish that you machete or blow up any dolphins with grenades or you run any down with a speedboat just for fun. I believe there were also provisions for machine-gunning or hanging dolphins, somewhere in the fine print.

Seems fair enough to me. The president wanted to change it so you could call the tuna "dolphin safe" as long as any of the dolphins you decapitated or blended into a milkshake went to dolphin heaven, where they'd theoretically be safe. The environmentalists thought this was so much dolphin shit so they sued. And won while they were at it. I guess there's less legal precedent for the concept of "dolphin heaven" than many assumed. But I don't know, it sounds kind of nice to me.

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"Uncle Trey had a dog that we all liked a lot, a dog by the name of Darby. He was a small white dog with wiry hair, I think he was a Jack Russell terrier. Darby used to love to dance on his hind legs. He'd do that for hours on end; all you had to do was hold up your hand like you were giving him a treat and he'd dance. My sister Stephanie made him a tutu out of lavender chiffon, and every time we visited Uncle Trey, she'd put that tutu on Darby and make him dance around. That brought a smile to everyone's face, even Uncle Trey, who was known for not having much of a sense of humor.

The other thing that Darby did was bark and snap at water coming out of the hose. That, and dig in the yard. He was always digging under the fence and getting out. He'd dig a new hole under the fence at least once a week, and then go out and roam the neighborhood for hours until one of the neighbors called Uncle Trey and asked him to please put his damn dog back in the yard and not let him get out again. One time Uncle Trey came out in the morning and found a new hole under the fence, and the tutu that Stephanie had made for Darby stuck there. He got mad and swore, and when Darby finally decided to come home, Uncle Trey shot him.

But at least he let us bury him in the tutu that Stephanie had made."

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