My fans, they love me

I knew I’d win. Inviting the jury to a party at my ranch did the trick.
Surprisingly, none of them tattled on me, despite huge rewards those nasty tabloids offered.
My fans, they love me.
It’s hard to celebrate, though. My back is killing me, but the pills they give me don’t help anymore.
They aren’t completely useless, though. Mix them right, and you get GHB. That takes care of the memories.
A nice hot shower washes away the physical evidence.
But never mind all that. Thanks for helping me with my pants, Johnny. Now help me with my shirt.