Having worked with some proper cases of supreme lunacy at the hospital, it’s very rare that I’m surprised by any kind of lacklustre and banal behavior of any human being. I’ve baby sat dementia patients, druggies, drunks, psychotic murdering teenage girls and even Jade Goody at one point. But nothing compares to the lunacy of the Michael Jackson fan.

Now I don’t mind the fact they support him through thick and thin, I remember being a fan of Ted Bundy at one point and I actually met a guy at the hospital who thought he was Ed Gien… But Michael Jackson? Why? Okay I agree that his earlier music such as Billy Jean, Thriller and that particular era are great classic hits, but why follow him all the way to god knows where to offer the support at a trial he’s most probably rigged anyway?

Now most of his fans claim that it’s only because his famous that he gets “picked on” by the media dogs and money hungry parents, now that to me is bullshit… When your famous and rich, you get caught with Class A drugs in your kitchen and Class B drugs in the bathroom… this fucker got caught with Class 4C in his bedroom and when he got fingerprinted it was probably the first time his fingers looked black in nearly 20 years.

Another thing that shocks me is that you even get Michael Jackson impersonators, this is odd to me simply because in this country we will never see a Gary Glitter impersonator ever again… so why is it right that you get someone impersonating this old plastic kiddie fiddling schnauzer. Surly it could be seen as bad taste or even sad in some circles, I think impersonators should all be stretched over a barrel and horse whipped with cable flex anyway for having a talent and using it to copy someone else.

But the bizarre thing is their unflinching loyalty to their weird idol… here is a man that has diary full of boys with the combined age of a play station 3, he’s been nicked more times than George Michael taking a piss and yet these bizarre creatures stand by him all the way claiming he‘s innocent… Why?

Another thing that makes my teeth itch are his kids, he’s turned his kids into bizarre and creepy clones of himself, shrouding them in silly masks to keep their identities secret from the big nasty world. Right, firstly who gives a fuck what the poor little weirdo’s look like, I don’t even know their bloody names. All I know is that he’s paid some nurse to have his kids so people think he likes women, and I still don’t believe it for a sodding second. And this may sound a bit harsh but he aint the best person to rear a child despite how well he apparently does it, so the prosecution evidently claimed.

Some of these fans even claim that they would trust their children in this oddballs hands, I mean seriously… who in their right mind would let a man suspected of norking children in a sleep over look after their own children. It would be like asking Cruella Deville to look after your Dalmatians while you pop to the shop and buy some sulphuric acid for your kids to play with.

How do we know Michael is guilty? Several children have fingered him.

I was bit of a late bloomer at school and I aint sure why but women never really interested me that much and chasing them like all the other boys did weren’t really my thing. I got my student kicks out of acts of emotional terrorism towards the teachers and back then, pissing the teachers off often resulted in some serious physical abuse which I must say entertained me.

There was one girl who I did like called Tracey and we “hung out” quite a lot and inevitably I got a hard on every time I saw her. One day I remember thinking “yeah!… this is the one I want to get my brown wings with“ and from that day on it became my mission in life. We were already kissing and feeling each other up and stuff but the school boy testosterone was beginning to take over and it was time to give the first Scottie implant.

Luckily for me she was up for it too and one bleak and miserable evening I was round hers playing on the Spectrum and things heated up somewhat. Now you know when it’s sex time, it’s like a second sense us guys have when we are getting it on and it doesn’t matter how good the fore play is we instinctively know if it’s gonna head to the deed. Well this was one of them times and I was ready, she was ready and the condoms I nicked out of my dads drawer were definitely ready.

So there we were getting it on in a bedroom covered in more cuddly toys than a coconut throwing stall at a Pikey fair. Vast pink walls plastered with some rather off-putting posters of Bros, Michael Jackson and Rick Astley staring down at me. Despite our mute audience of celebrity gayness the fire in the bed was raging out of control and it was time to sink the submarine for the very first time and boy did it go in with a whollop.

So there we were screwing away with all the grace of a penguin ice skating and life was good, today was the day I would become a man. I was banging away for all of thirty seconds and it was time for me to leave the deposit in a strangely unfazed and confused looking girl, but because I didn’t know any better I thought it was basically normal.

So without going into vulgar details I gave her the fattest cream pie and stood up to view my first sexual master piece. Now I weren’t a sex expert but I had watched enough Peter North porn to know that moocow’s dribble when you’ve poked em in the eye, but this one was as dry as a bone and to say I was confused was an understatement.

“Did you enjoy that?” she said calmly as she pulled the wet semen soaked pillow from under her ass. She burst into fits of laughter and I wanted the damn floor to open up and swallow me in an embarrassment, only over shadowed by my serious stupidness and uselessness.. I had shamefully lost my virginity to stupid pillow case that had a big embossed picture of Michael Jackson on it and the shame was unbearable.

From that day on me and Tracey were good mates and it’s remained a secret that every now and then puts a smile on my face, but only because we had a rematch ten years later proving myself with a grade A performance. Something tells me if I hadn’t had the chance of a replay I would have had a phobia of pillow cases for a very long time.

And I never got my brown wings either… dammit!