Ladies and Gentlemen, the Freakshow is Over...For Now By Jane Foster

So, we finally have the official verdict on Michael Jackson - ill, but innocent; nuts, but not guilty; freaky, but to him and his equally barmy fans, free. Frankly I could never see what all the fuss was about. Surely anyone who has had to endure his tedious dance routine (consisting of squeals of Ow! Ee-hee! whilst grabbing his genitals) should be glad that at last he's moved on to fondling someone else's? Now in the few seconds that I ever managed to bring myself to thinking about Michael Jackson as a sexual being (and believe me I had my fingers crossed) I admit I simply couldn't picture him or his recipient in anything approaching the throes of ecstasy.

I have long time assumed that his trademark high pitched cries were a result of flashbacks to his first major session of plastic surgery.

But maybe it's not so strange nowadays to find synthetic things sexually attractive. For we live in a time now when women seem to prefer the solitary satisfaction of an oscillating object to the flesh of a real man. And a near future in which young men will prefer silicone to sensuality...the mind boggles. But one burning question remains: just what was he doing down that boy's underpants?

Retrieving a stray nose, maybe? ('Oh, that's where it went to!') Well at least that alibi would have held water in court - the ever diminishing proportions of his snorting organ would at least have explained the prolonged period of rummaging around for it inside a pair of XXXL Sesame Street shreddies (the average size for a 10 year old American).

Macaulay Culkin always insisted that despite sleeping in Michael's bed, he was never touched by him inappropriately. Well, I can't say I blame him - I wouldn't want to get intimate in any way with that arrogant, self-serving little wanker either (remember him patronising Wogan? little shit).

Now it's Martin Bashir's turn to face a long legal battle, as he's about to be hauled over the court coals for his TV interview which kicked off this whole circus. If he goes down for a stretch, at least it will give him the opportunity to while away the long hours perfecting the art of pensive chin-stroking. By the time he's released, his face will be as smooth as a young boy's bottom. (Though hopefully not as big as the average American one, or he'll never get out of the prison gates).

Well, the party's over. Shame Michael's not been banged up - I was looking forward to seeing him starring alongside Gary Glitter in the annual prison panto Kiddie Fiddler on the Roof. (Unlike Michael, I immediately knew Gary was guilty - a man who can't control his own eyebrows is doubtlessly a helpless slave to his base instincts). D'ya Wanna be in My Gang? Wanna be Starting Something? Hmm...the collaborations are endless.

Like other shamed stars, Michael will probably shrink into the shade now. But one thing's for sure - he'll turn his whitest shade yet when he gets the bill for his legal fees....shame he wasted all that dosh on bleach eh?

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