he Michael Jackson trial escalated to the seventh level of hooplah Friday as prosecutors introduced into evidence a bloody sequined gloved that had not been previously revealed publicly. The defense requested a recess, to which the witty judge replied that no one had been good enough to deserve recess, but they would take a brief break. It gave the Jackson defense, led by attorney and Warhol knock-off Thomas Mesereau, a chance to recover from the five-fingered blow.

Nothing could hide the shock of Jackson and his attorneys as Santa Barbara County District Attorney Tom Sneddon held up a plastic bag containing a sequined left-hand glove so much like the famous right one long worn by the pop icon. The article of clothing, according to the District Attorney’s office, was found on the Neverland Ranch around the famed Ringo Starr cabana, which is halfway between the Neverland Hard Rock Café and the velociraptor compound. Sneddon claimed that, though the owner of the DNA had not yet been identified, scientists who all dressed snappy could verify it was human blood and did not belong to Jackson.

Mesereau’s first tactic, thought by many Monday morning counselors to be a real fumble, was to claim the defense had not had proper time to examine the accessory because in a poorly-Xeroxed evidence list it appeared to be “love,� which they all thought intangible and beyond examination. The judge thought this was funny, but not funny enough to grant a full recess to the defense. Mesereau then challenged the validity of the DNA findings, when he found out Sneddon had carried the bloody glove back to the lab himself, rolled up in a pile of his sweat socks in the trunk of his car.

“For all any of us know, that blood could well belong to Bubbles the monkey,� said Mesereau, evoking a horrified gasp out of the entire court. “But… probably not. And really, there’s absolutely no proof that it belongs to my client. You’ve never seen a picture of him wearing two sequined gloves, have you?�

The prosecution admitted the best it could produce was a picture of Jackson wearing two Bruno Magli shoes on his hands, but no such luck with the glove. The Santa Barbara County District Attorney’s Office did catch a break later, however, when returning to court after lunch, Jackson picked up the plastic-bagged bloody glove and said very loudly, “Hey! I’ve been wondering where I left this.�

Defense counsel argued in the afternoon that one bloody glove doesn’t prove anyone’s a murderer and it certainly isn’t grounds for child molestation charges, and promised the court it would call an expert next week who would testify Hollywood tough guy Steve McQueen had an entire room in his house devoted to bloody gloves. Mesereau also suggested that Jackson’s glove could be explained by an elaborate underground Fight Club, but would say nothing further about it since rules one and three prevented him from talking on the subject.

The prosecution concluded for the day by introducing more evidence of mysterious behavior at Neverland Ranch, including a pornographic magazine which had the fingerprints of the accusing child on one page, and several pages containing the fingerprints of District Attorney Sneddon. Then, just for laughs, the prosecution showed some of its other Neverland findings, such as a small Portugese man who spoke no English and had been putting on Jackson’s shoes for him for twenty years, and footage from a small hidden security camera in Jackson’s underwear.

alling the jurors who acquitted Robert Blake last week “low-grade retards,� District Attorney Steve Cooley’s post-trial sour grapes rose to a level rarely seen in our modern, politically correct era Thursday during a 40-minute interview with reporters. Cooley delivering a rambling, profanity-laden tirade punctuated by “Fuck Yous� personalized for each member of the twelve-person jury, each one more cutting than the last.

“This was an open and shut case,� fumed Cooley. “What did they think, that Blake really forgot his gun in that restaurant exactly at the exact same time somebody decided to shoot his batshit grifter wife in the back of the head? I’ve heard little autistic kids come up with better lies than that. I hope none of those jurors have children, sheesh.�

“God! I can’t believe how stupid you people are!� Cooley continued, as if the jury was assembled in his presence. “What did I have to do, put a black cowboy hat on the guy? This was one evil, wife-killing dude! Was his wife not pretty enough? Maybe if the papers hadn’t used those pictures of Bonny shoplifting that watermelon we might have got some jury sympathy. I can’t believe they were all huge fans of Our Gang.�

“Did he really say ‘a pack of inbred monkey-fuckers’?� asked legal expert Chelton Baines. “I hadn’t heard that part. Wow, that’s strong language.�

After the formal interview ended, Cooley continued his onslaught over drinks with this reporter at a nearby bar.

“I swear, this human bungwipe made O.J. Simpson look like Tom Selleck in An Innocent Man,� griped Cooley further. “Or if you haven’t seen that, think of the guy from that Harrison Ford movie.�

“Did you see that juror in the first row? Was he actually eating paste during the trial? Somebody told me it was mashed potatoes, but who brings a jar of mashed potatoes for a snack? That guy was four genes short of a wardrobe, no doubt.�

An assortment of legal experts, however, contend that while Blake was definitely guiltier than a morbidly obese fox in a chicken processing plant, attorney Cooley may have, in legal terms, “screwed the pooch� in his handling of the prosecution.

“Aw, settle down, Steve,� countered Blake’s attorney, M. Gerald Schwartzbach, in a separate interview not held in a bar. “The fact of the matter is, Steve bungled this case. Sure, MENSA wasn’t beating down these jurors’ doors, and many of them had to have basic legal terms like ‘trial’ explained to them numerous times, but I don’t think anyone was ‘clinically brain-dead,’ to use Steve’s term. I mean, what did he expect after parading all those junkies, snitches and piles of walking human shit up onto the witness stand? I’m surprised he didn’t subpoena Jose Canseco or Scott Peterson. What, were Benedict Arnold and the boy who cried wolf too busy to drop by?�

“Playing ‘Blame the Jury’ is the oldest cop-out in the Lawyer’s Handbook,� agreed smug attorney Nelson Arbuckle, waving a copy of the Lawyer’s Handbook. “Everybody knows the jury is just a blob of stupid putty that you need to mold into a coherent mass of guilty-voting.�

“Anybody who doesn’t know that doesn’t deserve to wear the Lawyer’s Ring,� concluded Arbuckle, brandishing a gaudy turquoise ring on his pinky finger.

Let us not tarry, gentle readers, 'cause I knew a guy who tarried once in Vietnam and it got him killed.

In my younger days, for a brief time, I followed the Dead—the rock band, not a group of actual living corpses. Though they did come close in their latter days. Eventually, I gave up that childishness. Now I follow Cheap Trick. Which is hard, because they don't tour as frequently anymore and that drummer is a crafty driver. But I haven't been dissuaded yet.

Have you seen the latest Star Wars movie? I highly doubt it, since I made it myself in my garage only a few days ago. Finally we all get all those questions about Yoda's sex life answered.

What's the deal with napkins? Is anybody actually using these things?

I tried reading a book the other day and, frankly, I wasn't all that impressed. I'm not saying everyone is wrong with all this "books, books, books" praise, but I don't see it myself.

If you are going to shoot the Creature from the Black Lagoon, do you need a hunting license or a fishing license? This assumes, of course, you're doing it by yourself and not part of some angry mob. However, this is the kind of predicament that keeps me up at night. It probably worries the Creature, too.

I am finally finished selling my antique condom collection. I thought I'd never be rid of those things. A bad area to invest your money, let's just say that.

I would never, under any circumstances, hit a woman. Go ahead—tempt me. Give me a free punch, promise me her back will be turned. Have her burn down my house and I still won't do it. I want to point out, of course, using a baseball bat is not counted as hitting by most judges. It's more of a bludgeoning.

I like croutons, but hate salad. What is the answer, my friends?

Johnny Cash was always known as the Man in Black, and probably always will be. It doesn't matter how black you dress, it's just a title that's impossible to wrestle away from him. I tried wearing purple for a year, but I suppose Prince had that all sewn up. I don't know who got fellated to preserve these titles, but I want my own and I'll wear anything, suck anything to get it. The Man in Chartreuse? The Man in Off-White? Let me know, people.

The guitar has reigned for years as the most popular instrument in the world. I say it's high time that tyranny came to an end.

For those who don't know my writing process, I carry a little brown book with me, all the time, in my coat pocket. When the muse strikes, the real muse, not just some bitch hitting me for no reason, I take out my book and scribble a thought down. Of course, getting a pen in here is a lot more difficult than hiding a little brown book. But I'm resourceful.

A reminder, folks: Never volunteer to suck a cock to get something. I make exceptions at times, of course, but it's always a good rule. And for God's sake, if you do, at least get what you were promised before you do it. Fool me once, as they say…

I am no longer welcome back at Cracker Barrel. I can do nothing more than continue to profess my innocence.

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