From his brilliantly titled last column Did I Cheat Mort Subite? at allaboutbeer.com:
(MJ passes out at Denver airport, comes to in a hospital)
When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. It was just like it is in the movies. I was surrounded by people in white coats, one of whom asked me: "What is your name?" When I replied, "Michael Jackson," there was none of the usual sniggering. People in Denver know who Michael Jackson is. Nonetheless, he asked again. My voice sounded a little crackly. I later learned that I had had a tube down my throat. It had been removed before they brought me out of a coma. That's where I'd been? Coma? Where is that? Iowa, perhaps? Oklahoma? North Dakota? I have heard of Hygiene, Colorado. Been there, in fact. Likewise, Intercourse, Pennsylvania. Now I have been to Coma, Iowa. "Tell us your name again," said the doctor. "The Artist formerly known as Prince." He looked across at another of the white coats whom I later came to know as a neurologist. "I guess he's OK," he said.