Searching for a different angle,
Or maybe three like a scalene triangle;
Trying to avoid another scandal
To get my career back on track.
I'd posed in every known position,
Flashed my breast in a live transmission.
I needed an evil mathematician
To calculate a chart attack.
I met him at a costume party
Dressed as the fat one from Laurel and Hardy.
He said his name was Moriarty
And politely kissed my hand.
I explained my sales situation,
While he listened with great concentration.
Till his face lit up with inspiration
And he told me of his plan:
"We'll start the campaign with a good clean song,
In the promo vid you can keep your clothes on.
Support from radio won't be strong
But downloads should keep us afloat.
Then bang! - we'll release the dirty one,
With lyrics and visuals designed to stun.
You can writhe around on a naval gun,
Wearing nothing but a see-through coat."
"Oh Moriarty," I giggled with glee,
"You fell for my trap so perfectly.
I'm working undercover for the FCC,
And you're guilty of moral corruption.
I'm not Janet Jackson at all, you see,
But Sherlock Holmes, your old enemy.
Now the world will once again welcome me
And forgive my wardrobe malfunction."
Thursday, September 28, 2006
[A poem in which Janet Jackson contemplates the best way to promote her new album, 20 Y.O., in the face of post-Nipplegate indifference.]