Keeping My Winamp Playlist Free of Sexual Predators

The worst part of it all is that when I was a kid, there wasn't a single night that I didn't fall asleep with my fingers crossed, hoping that when I woke up in the morning, Bill Cosby would be my dad.

Growing up, I held an almost peculiar reverence to Bill Cosby -- for reasons I hadn't really pinpointed until a few years back when I saw him perform live. The reason I liked Mr. Cosby so much is because I always thought he was the model of the type of man I wanted to be when I grew old: gentle, funny, and intelligent. On The Cosby Show, most of his scenes consisted of him doing practically nothing but cutting a slice of chocolate cake in the kitchen for like fifteen minutes while the Huxtable kids ran around the house. There wasn't much going on in those scenes but you could still see that he was good with children and never forgot to have fun in life. Bill Cosby was totally my role model.

You know that Hawaiian-themed introduction to The Cosby Show where the Huxtables are dancing around? And then they do spirit fingers or whatever it's called and their hands cover his face? Yeah, well when they remove their hands, I have fantasized that my face is revealed instead of his. Doing the Jello Pudding smile, no less. I'm a freak, I know.

A few years back, I went to see Bill Cosby open for the Convocenter and he had the funniest comedy act I had ever seen/heard. He was so funny that at one point I couldn't take it anymore and had to shut my eyes and cover my ears really tight with my hands so I could stop laughing and start breathing again. It was an amazing show, and one of the greatest experiences of my life.

It's too bad Bill Cosby fondles intoxicated women. Allegedly, of course.

I pretty much believe every lawsuit I hear about now, however, so it's as good as true to me. That thing you heard about the Frugal Gourmet and his groping of his male assistants on the show? That's got to be true. Just like the story about the lady who is suing the Wachowski Brothers, claiming that she wrote the whole premise to The Matrix. I believe her. I also envy her.

But Bill Cosby, the Frugal Gourmet, and the Wachowski Brothers are all easily outdone by Michael "The Molester" Jackson. When I was a kid, I used to moonwalk myself everywhere: to the supermarket, to school, to the bathroom -- everywhere. Even nowadays, you'll catch me moonwalking my way towards the fridge to grab a beer. But no more.

I've just read some incredibly disturbing and lurid details about MJ's alleged molestations from the accuser's younger brother, and I now know for sure that I'm never listening to "Billie Jean" ever again. Never, ever. The minute you feed little boys "Jesus Juice" and stick your filthy hands down their pants is the minute I go to my Music folder and drag all of your mp3's into the Recycling Bin. And I don't even let it sit in there for a few days, I empty the trash immediately.

I'm serious. If you want to earn your way out of my Winamp playlist, molest someone. Or rape someone, even if it's just statutory. Just ask me how many R. Kelly mp3's I have. The answer is zero.