Sinking ship

Michael Jackson arrives at his next court date. He steps out of his black SUV wearing a dark suit, tie and clear glasses. His face is unreadable like he's sitting at a table in a Vegas casino playing poker. He stroles, almost stiffly, down the sidewalk. Suddenly, Michael looks at his watch dramatically, gazes side to side like he's scanning for trouble and dashes into a phonebooth. Before you can blink, Jackson calmly and confidently steps out of the phonebooth. You hear the crowd of curious, jobless and gullible gasp with astonishment. Michael Jackson has stripped off his suit and is now just wearing Superman underoos. They are customized to fit his tall lanky build. A breeze flaps his red cape of silk as he gracefully walks the half block or so to the courthouse. You are a fan of Mr. Jackson but even with your bias you can't help but think that his ship is sinking. You hear a voice screaming hoarsely. A few beats pass before you realize that it is you yelling: "Dance! dance! dance! Dance on the stand like some one is shooting bullets at your feet like in one of those old wild west movies. Smile and dance like in that music video with Paul McCartney." You stop yourself when you see all the folks staring at you. Look down at your feet. This moment will pass. The spotlight of pulic scrutiny will move on, it always does. Oh yeah, and don't watch Napoleon Dynamite anymore, I think there might be some permanent damage.