"But dear ..." my wife tried once more.

"Hello? Cable Company? I want to lodge a most serious complaint."

"But we don't get cable out here," my wife broke in. "We have satellite TV."

"Oh."

"Look. There are some 395 channels, and at least 70% of them are airing Michael Jackson stories. Don't you think that's at least, oh, let's say, 70% overkill?" my wife asked.

"You don't understand. This is important. The whole world is watching. This man has changed face of music."

"Yes, that's what some of his celebrity colleagues are saying", my wife rolled her eyes. "As if people who change face of music have all been vaccinated against child-molesting."

"That's not point. There are so many details to uncover. We know he likes Kentucky Fried Chicken, but does he eat quiche? Everybody knows that real men don't eat quiche. Could that be his problem?

"Let it go, Happy Guy," my wife advised. "It just doesn't pay to get so caught up in all TV drama. Besides, this is a serious investigation with a serious charge and it should be left to authorities."

I sank down into couch. My wife was finally starting to make sense. "What are you going to do now?" she asked.

"I think I'll watch Touched by an Angel."

"Ah, that's husband I know and love."

"Right now Michael Jackson could use an angel, and so could all those kids. I mean, what can one little district attorney do?" I moaned.

My wife moaned, too. I was amazed that she would suddenly show such support.

"I know," I said, lighting up. "Never mind cable company. I'll call Tess. She can set Michael Jackson straight."