The Real Michael Jackson Revealed [Feb 19, 2003]
As Alessandra Stanley observantly observed in a recent New York Times article, with the world hurtling toward a cataclysmic war, it’s nice that a nervous public can still be soothed by incessant video footage of Michael Jackson. “The administration should be grateful that there is still a public appetite for celebrity scandal,” Staley wrote.
Well, count me among the grateful. I spent three years on the road with Michael Jackson, making a BBC documentary called On The Road With Michael Jackson. When Martin Bashir’s camera was off, mine was on. When Michael turned off his own camera, mine stayed on. In fact, my lens was fixed on Michael for nearly every second of the 36 months we spent together, except for the two hours a day when he excused himself for what he called “dangling practice.” What he said surprised even me, and I was hanging out with the dude all the time.
Now, for the first time anywhere, you can read excerpts of my stunning documentary. Culled from nearly 10,000 hours of videotape, these carefully edited conversations reveal a new Michael Jackson, nothing like the other new Michael Jacksons we’ve gotten to know over the past few weeks. At last, the truth will be unfurled to break the chains that bind us all. Now, shhh. The excerpts are starting…
NP: First, Michael, I just want to say what a remarkable husband, father, brother, son, and houseguest you appear to be.
MJ: Why, thank you.
NP: I mean, really, you are such a special person, and the world is lucky to have you.
MJ: That’s very kind.
NP: So now, I have to ask you, about the plastic surgery: Are you some kind of freak or something?
MJ: I’m pained that the world commits me to its prurient gaze as if I were a collectively-owned object. What is a face, after all, but a reflection of the soul? I urge people to look into my eyes and see themselves. They will behold a beautiful man, albeit one with acid burns and a nose that appears to have been sliced to bits by a carrot peeler.
NP: How profound.
MJ: Yes. And I also wanted to add that I collect all the discarded skin after my surgeries.
NP: Is that so?
MJ: Yes. And I eat it.
NP: Wow!
MJ: It’s quite delicious, actually. I take all this dead skin and I mix it with a couple of raw eggs, throw in some tomatoes and onions, and toss it in a pan. If I want it to be fluffier, I use egg whites instead of the whole egg. Occasionally I add some low-fat cheese. God, how I love eating my own skin! It makes me feel like a man, especially when I wash it down with an absolutely delicious glass of goat sperm mixed with cherry juice. Mmmm!
NP: Can I have your permission to use that quote?
MJ: I’ve got nothing to hide.
NP: Good! That leads nicely into my next question. Your many accusers have accused you of being ashamed of your race. Well, are you? Ashamed to be black, that is?
MJ: As I will discuss on my new album, Nigger: Anatomy of a Vicious Insult, race, like gender, is a social construct used by the powerful to drive wedges between people. The public discussion about my African-American “identity” should be seen as nothing more than a metaphor for national guilt about decades of racial discrimination and misunderstanding. So, of course, I’m totally ashamed to be black. It’s why I do what I do.
NP: What do you mean?
MJ: My bodyguards and I often leave the house under cover of darkness, looking for black people to beat up.
NP: What?
MJ: Oh, yes. Usually old black ladies. We find them waiting for the bus or coming out of the supermarket, and we just pound the living shit out of them.
NP: How unusual!
MJ: I know! Isn’t it? One time, we barged into a black Baptist church on a Sunday morning. With our baseball bats, we brained the entire congregation. There was blood all over the pews!
NP: Why didn’t I hear about this before?
MJ: People know better than to snitch on me. I’m Michael fucking Jackson, and I love to beat up old black ladies! Yessirree!
NP: Once again, you know I’m filming, right?
MJ: Right. I just want people to know the truth. It’s time.
NP: And that brings up another line of discussion. Why do you think so many people are interested in your personal life?
MJ: In my private moments, while I’m feeding the giraffes or jumping on my trampoline, I often ponder the nature of my celebrity. People definitely covet my fabulous wealth and my pet monkeys. But fame, like love, is an illusion, a weight, and a dark mystery. By the way, would you like piece of delicious chocolate-covered candy?
NP: No thanks.
MJ: Are you sure? It’s made from the testicles of the magical pixies that live in my basement!
NP: The what?
MJ: The magical pixies. They are my white slaves. With the help of the Minister Louis Farrakhan, I developed a great potion that allows me to create and control a vast army of mini-slaves who do my every bidding.
NP: Um, I think I should get going.
MJ: You don’t believe me?
NP: No, Michael, I believe you.
MJ: Because I can take you downstairs to meet them. It’s almost the hour of their daily exercises!
NP: That’s all right. Seriously. Listen. I know this is an uncomfortable subject, but your sex life has been in the news a lot lately.
MJ: Ah, yes. The sexually repressed American public is once again living vicariously through the salacious lives of its celebrities.
NP: But the British people are interested, too.
MJ: Yes, but the British people are also foolishly opposing our noble war against the brutal tyrant Saddam Hussein, even while their Prime Minister Tony Blair, who may be the new Gladstone, bravely stands firm, disregarding the political price he may pay.
NP: Agreed. Still, I think we all want to know why you said those things about sleeping with children.
MJ: I said them for a reason.
NP: What’s that?
MJ: Because I very much enjoy having sex with little boys.
NP: Seriously?
MJ: Oh, yes. Little boys make wonderful sex partners.
NP: On the record?
MJ: Sure! I’m not ashamed. There’ve been times in human history, after all, when pedophilia has been, if not accepted, then at least tolerated, especially when committed by the wealthy. I just happen to have been born into a time when my proclivity is seen as the worst of all sins.
NP: That’s a very interesting but ultimately misguided way to look at the situation.
MJ: Thanks. Did you know I take pictures?
NP: Of what?
MJ: Of me having sex with little boys.
NP: Really?
MJ: Yes. Would you like to see the pictures and maybe put them in your film?
NP: I thought you’d never ask.
MJ: Consider it my gift to you.
NP: Michael Jackson, you are a delight.
MJ: Also, I enjoy having sex with cats.
