Will's Coffee House

John Dryden, Dramatist, Critic, Poet Laureate, and my ancestor, frequented a coffee house called Will's almost daily, where he would hold forth on sundry subjects with great wit and aplomb. Same deal here, only without the wit or aplomb.

Location: Large Midwestern City, Midwestern State, United States

I am a stranger in a sane land...

Monday, June 13, 2005

Shocked, Just Shocked.

Uh, if any of you out there thought for one second that he was going to be convicted, let me suggest that you have let your idealism get in the way of your intelligence. And memory. Being guilty as hell means nothing if your attorneys can convince a jury--which, given enough time and money, they absolutely can--that "beyond a reasonable doubt" means "only if God Himself comes down to testify and holds up under cross-examination." Rich people get away with it. Famous people really get away with it. And rich and famous people can do what they want and the only price they will ever pay is having to suffer the slings and arrows of Jay Leno for a few years. Pretty good deal, if you ask me. And, here's the thing--Mr. Jackson will never, ever be tried for child molestation again. Ever. There isn't a D.A. in the country who'll prosecute, not even with a smoking gun. Not after this fiasco. Which means--guess what? He'll continue to rape boys with impunity for the rest of his life. Frankly, I think the people who need to be put on trial are the parents who allow their children to go within a hundred miles of the Village of the Damned--oh, I'm sorry, "Neverland." Sigh. I'm depressed by the fact that I'm not depressed--that this outcome was so inevitable I didn't even know the jury was in deliberations, much less had reached a verdict. Why pay attention when you know the end of the bad movie? Ah well. Let the monster slink back to his cave. We knew what he was before, we know it now. And even if he'd been convicted, he'd have been out on bail pending appeal forever. Michael Jackson was never, ever going to see the inside of a cell. Ever. Just recognize this day for what it is: an ugly moment of absolute reality. Then move on. As of the end of this sentence, I already have.


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