Once upon a time, there was something known as a Freak Show.  Travelling carnivals and circuses would have their bearded ladies, midgets, giants and any other abnormality you could sell a ticket for.  If it was something that made you gasp and stare, it was on the menu.

Well, we really don’t have Freak Shows anymore.  At least we don’t call them that; it wouldn’t be politically correct.

But that’s ok.  You can still get your fill of human oddities and mutated DNA by flipping on the six o’clock news.

It’s called The Michael Jackson Molestation Trial.

Here’s the condensed version: a multi-millionaire pop star is being charged with child molestation.  Now, on paper that sounds pretty simple: You got the plaintiff, the defendant, you state your case and then wait to see what a jury of your peers has to say.

And now here’s the problem: Ain’t no way M.J. is getting convicted.

Even if he did it, I sincerely doubt he’s going to ever serve time.  Write a check, perhaps, but nothing by way of incarceration. 

I’m not here to try and convict Michael Jackson.  That’s up to the lawyers and the judge and jury.  What I am going to say is what the hell were you thinking, Mike?

Now in this great nation of ours, we have this little saying: Innocent until proven guilty.  And I believe in that whole-heartedly because it’s one of the many things that makes this a great nation.

However, there are some people out there who are just begging for a conviction.  And you can only hammer so many nails into your own coffin until they have no choice but to bury you.

For example, what the hell is a grown man doing hosting pre-teen sleepovers at his estate?  Explain this to me, and use small words because I really want to understand this.

I have enough trouble trying to convince my credit card companies that I’m good for an increase.  How did some guy actually sell a multitude of parental units on this idea?

First of all, the person in question has other allegations of child molestation in his past.  Now, guilty or innocent, that should give most people pause for thought.  (Or at least one would think.)

However, there seemed to still be slumber parties galore at Neverland Ranch, even after said allegations were made and a check was sent to the offending little cherub. 

I, for one, have a problem with this - but it seems that no parents did.  And that’s sad.  It’s one thing to let a television baby-sit your kids, it’s entirely another thing when the baby-sitter is being accused of child molestation.

And then he goes on national television and says that he shares his bed with the kids?  The statement was so ridiculous that I immediately thought I had misunderstood the guy, but he wasn’t kidding.

Now, I’m not gonna lie to you: There have been several times during my youth when, after a nightmare, I climbed into bed with my parents.  And I would venture to say that many of you have similar stories.  

To say there is any similarity between that and a late-night grope-fest at Neverland is absurd.

How did this all happen?

I’m thinking it’s because he’s a star.  That’s the only thing that makes any sense – even though it makes no sense at all when you think about it.

Is he a talented guy?  Yeah, sure…no question about it.  But so freakin’ what?  What has that got to do with anything?  What does the fact that he dances really well have to do with a pre-pubescent slumber party hosted by a man in his forties?

I just don’t get it.

And I’m sorry, but I don’t want to hear any of this BS that he didn’t have a childhood and that’s why he surrounds himself with children.  That’s a crock, people.  Childhood lasts for how long? How many years constitute a childhood?  Well, he’s been doing this for an awfully long time, so I’d say he’s caught up on all those lost years.

And what the hell does a slumber party over at Neverland have to do with any of that, anyway?  You want to not grow up?  Great, don’t grow up.  Act like a kid: Eat lots of popcorn and ice cream, watch Saturday morning cartoons, say, “I know you are, but what am I” over and over again.  You can even run with scissors.  Go crazy, Mike – have at it.

But sharing your bed with children?  I just don’t see it.

And I don’t care if you did have a hand in writing We Are The World; it still doesn’t make it right.

However, there seem to be a whole bunch of parental units our there who disagree with me.  

A popular view held by the pro-Michael camp is that these accusers are merely in it for the money.  And, sadly, I’d have to say that is a very real scenario.  There are plenty of people out there who would gladly put their kids in harm’s way if the possibility of a fat check at the end of the rainbow exists.

However, let’s go back to the “sharing the bed with children” comment, shall we?  

Look, you want to open up your amusement park to a bunch of kids under parental supervision, that’s great.  Wonderful.  Outstanding.

Wanna donate money to charity?  Brilliant.  Inspiring.

But using your celebrity status and wealth to blind parents and lure children?  Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Mike.

Actually, I do know what to tell you, but I’ll keep it to myself because there might be kids reading this.  

But to all the parents who actually sent their kids to the Freak Show, I have only one question: Aren’t you ashamed? 

That’s my two cents, now gimme my change. 
 
 

Chuck DiMaria is Los Angeles based musician, actor and antiMUSIC columnist (his resume goes on). Check out his website ChuckDiMaria.com for more of his writings, MP3s and more (be sure to read about his adventures in online dating!!) Plus be sure check out the site for his band Under Pressure.

Your turn. 

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