The Passing of Greatness: Notes on the Death of George Carlin
I find that as I get older, things suck more. Music sucks, novels suck, politics sucks, and few things suck as much as comedy. I'm a crotchety old man and I'm not even 40 years old yet. But the fact is that none of those things are as good as they were just a twenty years ago.
The only thing worse than watching everything suck more and more is watching the masters of those forms grow old and die. We're in an age where we're not just seeing artists go, we're seeing entire art forms go with them.
Will there ever again be an album as great as Exile on Main Street or Highway 61 Revisited? How about a novel like Lolita? Does anyone seriously think that there'll be another president who achieves as much as Harry Truman or even Richard Nixon?
Does anyone think there will ever be another comedian like George Carlin?
Anyone who studies comedy - which really isn't something to studied - will tell you that there's a holy trinity of the form. It consisted of Lenny Bruce, Richard Pryor and Carlin. Anyone who followed them modelled themselves on at least one. As brilliant as he was for about three years, Dave Chappelle was essentially covering the same ground as Pryor thirty years ago. The same is true of Lewis Black and Carlin.
What's different is that they don't have the same insight or humanity. When you watch Chappelle or Black, you'll laugh your ass off, but you don't feel like you would after 90 minutes of Bruce, Pryor or Carlin. You'll laugh a whole lot, but you won't really learn anything. Watching the first group, you walked away thinking "I never really thought of that that way before." And that just doesn't happen these days.
Unlike today's comedians, Bruce, Pryor and Carlin all structured their comedy like music. If you listen to it without paying particular attention to what they're saying, you start to notice little rhythms and counter-rhythms developing. It beautifully built to a point as opposed to race to a punchline, which is what you see all too often now.
Of the three, Carlin was the only one not to destroy himself. In so doing, we got to see that you can take that form of comedy and have it mature with you. Unlike George Carlin's predecessors from the fifties and early sixties, he wasn't doing the same act into retirement that he started out with.
If anything, Carlin's humor got much darker as he got older. Routines like Football and Baseball and A Place for my Stuff were gradually replaced with far more existential riffs that were far more entertaining, at least to me. As much as I appreciated The Seven Words You Can't Say on Television, I fell in love with the more apocalyptic aspects of his last twenty years.
When I was a little kid, my parents were massively pissed that my older cousin introduced me to George Carlin. They were even more pissed that I loved his work so much. By the time I was twelve, I could recite several of his albums by heart - not just the material, but all of the breaks and inflections in it, too. That made them truly nuts.
But the more he listened, the more my father, at least, understood that Carlin was much more than just a guy who said the word "fuck" a lot. Nothing that he did was done for the sole purpose of shocking an audience. When he did it, which was often, there was always a larger point to be made. There was a universe of difference between George Carlin and an idiot like Andrew Dice Clay.
Having a point in recent years has been the death of otherwise great comedians. If you look at Bill Maher and Dennis Miller, as just two examples, you see how true that is. Both have suffered from the syndrome that killed Lenny Bruce's humor; they wanted to be right more than they wanted to be funny. But Bruce had been persecuted to the point that he earned that right. Maher and Miller just want to please their respective political comrades. Consequently, Miller has had a string of failed shows and Maher isn't far behind.
Perhaps the greatest tribute to George Carlin was on Monday's Larry King Live. Someof the biggest names in comedy were on the show, and only one of them, Lewis Black, has been remotely funny over the last decade. Carlin was on stage three times as long as Jerry Seinfeld, but he always stayed hungry and wanted to always be better at his craft, while Seinfeld was happy driving his Porsches and making bee cartoons.
Carlin worked for fifty years. He recorded 23 albums and made 14 HBO specials. He was one of the truly great ones and he will be missed
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: A Legend in My Time By: Johnny Cash From: American V: A Hundred Highways
I don't have aby first hand experience, but I'm pretty sure that being accused of rape would suck. That would be doubly true if you're actually not guilty.
Getting over a rape accusation would be pretty tough, assuming that you're even exonerated in the first place. This isn't a popular thing to say, but just the charge of a sexual assault makes a fair trial very difficult. The charge itself stirs up so many emotions that it can cloud the judgement of otherwise rational people. And no one wants to believe that a woman would make up such a thing.
Indeed, even if you're one of the few who manages to get acquitted, you still find yourself (pardon the pun) screwed. People will automatically assume that you must have done something to find yourself in a position where you're accused of that. People will always look at you just a little bit differently when they learn of your past brush with the law. It can ruin your life, both professionally and personally.
But women sometimes do fabricate a rape charge. In that, it isn't all it different than any other crime. Because even real victims frequently wait before reporting an assault, there is often no medical evidence to disprove the charge. In both the courts of law and public opinion, it is a matter of "he said, she said," and most people are naturally inclined to believe the woman.
In fact, it's probably more common when a celebrity is involved. Some accusers are little more than extortionists, who file a criminal complaint as a way to tee up a lawsuit which will inevitably be settled. And some accusers are just batsht fucking crazy. The fact that there are almost never any consequences for making a false rape accusation only encourages both the extortionists and the insane.
However, not only was Rockett not guilty, he wasn't even in Mississippi during the month in question. His exoneration wasn't as heavily covered. It was announced a month ago and I didn't hear about it until this morning at The Superficial. If you have as much time on your hands as I do, google "Rikki Rockett rape case" and you'll find his being cleared .... as the ninth entry. Seven of the first eight highlight his arrest.
Of course, I'd like to congratulate both Mr. Rockett and everyone in Poison, but that's hardly my point in writing this.
I always thought that if you were going to accuse a celebrity of doing something horrific that it would be helpful if you could find someone who is still actually famous. Seriously, Rikki Fucking Rockett? Is it still 1987 and no one told me?
If you're going to lie about a rape, why not make it interesting? Say that you were gang-banged by Rudy Sarzo, Alec John Such and the guy from Cinderella! Why not go nuts and further state that the whole thing was videotaped by Jeff Pilson?
False rape accusations hurt everyone. The more often they occur, the less likely it is that real victims will be discouraged from reporting real assaults by practioners of hair metal. The saddest part of the Rikki Rockett rape saga is that it makes it almost impossible for anyone to believe my story about being fingered by Lita Ford.
I'm not saying that it was an assault or even unwanted. In fact, it was rather enjoyable and something that I'd very much like to repeat. I just wish that I could tell the story and not have people roll their eyes at me. Because the part about being held down by Vixen is really sexy.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Talk Dirty to MeBy: Poison From: Look What the Cat Dragged In
Whenever a celebrity has a message, I have an overwhelming urge to punch them directly in the fucking head. This is because those messages are almost never fun. Those messages usually involve stopping the genocide in Darfur, not sexually harassing every woman I meet and not being a prick, all of which are beyond my power to accomplish. What else does the guy from Coldplay want me to do, walk on fucking water?
That's why I like simpler celebrities with simple messages. And great big hooters. Those are the celebrities that you can listen to and hold up to the children as an example. Let's face it, you're kids aren't going to grow up to be Rambo and they aren't finding Darfur on a map anytime soon. This is because your kids are going to be every bit as lazy and worthless as you are.
Now you know why Jessica Simpson is the greatest celebrity of all time. Other than having a breathtaking rack, she has simple, achievable messages that every young girl needs to know and, furthermore, live.
Real Girls Eat Meat. That's all you really need to know. Real. Girls. Eat. Meat.
Lots of you broads, particularly the young ones, think that vegetarianism is the answer to staying thin and sexy. And it might be. But vegetarians are also exceptionally annoying. Everytime a right-thinking person sees one of them, he or she longs for a well to throw them down. Or a pack of rabid wolverine to gang rape them to death. It doesn't really matter which, but a world with any justice at all would involve at least one.
But there's another way, a way that you might not have heard about because the goddamn liberal media has been keeping a secret. All you have to do to be thin and sexy is to go to Wendy's and eat seven or eight Baconators. Then as you feel yourself starting to digest it, run to the bathroom with your fingers in your gullet and puke the whole mess up. If you follow that up by eating no fewer than twelve laxatives, that helps, too.
Jessica Simpson knows all of these things and, Christ, just look at those knockers! They're damn near perfect, and refuse to accept the word of any dopey doctor over the truth that those funbags speak to us all. All the truth you'll ever need can fit into Jessica Simpson's beautiful D cups. Arguing with those would be like kicking Jesus in the balls.
Those tits, as we all know, are hard nippled hammers of truth. They are incapable of lies. It's a biological imperative. The nipples hypnotize their owners into always telling it like it is. If you were to break a rack like that out at Guantanamo, waterboarding would go back to being what it was intended to be, a way to pass the time.
If you're a parent with daughters who doesn't hold Jessica Simpson up as a role model, I just don't know what the fuck you're doing to your kids. If the government was halfway responsible, they'd bury you alive.
One of the last big media events that broke my heart was the 1994 suicide of Kurt Cobain. Nirvana was the last band that meant anything at all to me and most right-thinking people of my generation.
Almost everything that has come after has been horrible beyond my ability to describe. It's almost as if the shotgun shell that ended his life exited his skull and killed the music industry, which happened to be standing right behind him.
Cobain was of course a giant mess. He was a heroin addict who suffered from chronic pain and lifelong depression. On or about April 5, 1994, it was all over and Kurt Donald Cobain, aged 27, found the "Leonard Cohen afterworld" that he sang about just the year before.
Of course, he never really found peace. Almost immediately an epic battle for his recorded legacy was waged between his widow and his bandmates. His person was commercialized in death in ways that horrified him in life. His Leonard Cohen afterworld turned out to be not at all different than the world he killed himself to escape.
THE music world was In Bloom-in' shock last night after hearing that the ashes of grunge god KURT COBAIN have been PINCHED!
I can also reveal that the wife of the NIRVANA legend, COURTNEY LOVE, is said to be "suicidal" after finding Kurt's remains missing from her Hollywood home.
She had kept the singer's ashes in a pink teddy-bear-shaped bag along with a lock of his hair.
But a couple of weeks ago, she was horrified to discover them gone, along with thousands of pounds worth of clothes and jewellery.
Courtney said: "I can't believe anyone would take Kurt's ashes from me. "I find it disgusting and right now I'm suicidal.
"If I don't get them back I don't know what I'll do." The sad news will sicken the millions of Cobain and Nirvana fans worldwide.
A pink teddy bear shaped bag? That must be Courtney's revenge for leaving her without a husband and their daughter without a father. Can you imagine the Godfather of Grunge spending the hereafter in a pink teddy bear shaped bag?
God knows that Courtney Love is an ... acquired taste. It seems that she has been on a non-stop berserk frenzy of drug fuelled weirdness for the fourteen years since Kurt died. But that is her husband and the only part of him that his daughter has ever known. To take that away, even if only by accident, is one of the coldest things I can think of doing to someone.
I feel terribly for Courtney Love this morning and hope that whoever has those ashes realizes what he or she has done and returns them.
Besides, I'm pretty sure that selling human ashes violates eBay's terms of service.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: They Hung Him on a Cross By: Nirvana From: With the Lights Out
SO LONG, SUGAR TITS: THE TREASONOUS JUGS OF SUSAN SARANDON
I always have a good time when celebrities get involved in politics. There's just something about it that smells like ... victory. I'm not sure why it is, but there are few things in life that I enjoy more than seeing society's luckiest and most fortunate people humiliate themselves. It makes me feel whole.
Politics is a complicated thing and celebrities (R.Kelly notwithstanding) are simple people. They are also simpletons. They, like 12 year old girls everywhere, don't necessarily need to know something so long as they feel it. This is particularly true of the film and music communities.
And if there's one thing that they are almost uniform in feeling, it is that Republicans are bad people. Oddly, they can never seem to explain why this is so. I've spent five years explaining just that, often in excruciating detail. Yet no one is giving me millions of dollars and the cosmetic surgery I need so desperately.
If just one celebrity could come forward and say "Look, Republicans are assholes and here's why. They spend way too much fucking money, can't plan a war for shit, and are given to sending dirty instant messages to teenage boys and getting suck started by other men in the bathroom of the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport" I'd have a whole lot more respect for them. If nothing else, it would tell me that they've been paying attention.
Instead all you hear is "Bush is evil," "the death penalty is bad" and "Stop China." Granted, there are arguments to be made for all of those assertions, but you'll never hear them from Hollywood's chattering classes. This is because virtually everyone in Hollywood is an idiot. Their ability to explain complicated matters of public policy is even lower than that of politicians, who can at least lie in a semi-entertaining way.
What I like best about celebrity activism is just how ineffective it is. In 2004, there was unanimity of opinion among the artistic community that President Bush was a jabbering dupe and a dangerous one at that. All the support the GOP could muster was from Ron Silver and nobody knows who he is. Christ, even Arnold Schwarzenegger didn't have that many nice things to say about the president.
Bush was probably the most vulnerable incumbent president since Hoover. But he still won. It turns out that society's opinion makers didn't make very many opinions, huh?
I also love it when celebrities, actors in particular, threaten to leave the country when an election doesn't go their way. Whatever would America do without all that pretending by botoxed savants, they must be thinking. Alec Baldwin does that a lot, but never follows through. This must annoy his daughter greatly.
The latest to threaten expatriatism is Susan Sarandon. Ms. Sarandon is beautifully jugged in an almost classical way. She's exceptionally hot if you're into banging grandmas, which I am. She's also slightly to the left of the Pathet Lao. But she has a great rack, so what are you going to do?
I can sing arias about those titties. In fact, I do everytime I see them. Those are such fantastic udders that one forgets that their owner gave Benjamin Franklin his first handjob. One also forgets that she also does lapdances for the Shining Path. If nothing else, it beats selling Girl Guide cookies.
Now, I'm the type of guy who doesn't let something as trivial as politics get in the way of my appreciation of a fine set of speed bumps. I almost never go to Hooters to discuss an election. Come to think of it, I have no idea who most of the women in life vote for. I just tell them who they should vote for and trust that they do as they're told. Sort of like how it works in the bedroom. Or the kitchen.
There's something about a woman with huge jugs and a look of sexual desperation in her eyes that make me overlook any number of things. But if there's one thing that I can't overlook, it would have to be treason. You see, I love America and all of the wonderful things (the mainstreaming of pornography, snuff movies, wars that entertaining, presidents who can't speak in complete sentences) that it has given the world.
It literally sickens me to hear someone shit talk the United States. That's doubly true if that someone isn't me.
And that's where the marvellous milkbags of Susan Sarandon and I disagree.
Always busy, Sarandon is about to start work on the romantic period drama The Colossus, but with the presidential election campaign being heatedly contested, she also has bigger things to consider.
"If McCain gets in, it's going to be very, very dangerous," she says.
"It's a critical time, but I have faith in the American people. If they prove me wrong, I'll be checking out a move to Italy. Maybe Canada, I don't know. We're at an abyss."
Oddly, she chose two countries that currently have their most right-wing governments since the Second World War. I thought she would've have picked someplace with a more current experience with liberalism, like anyplace south of Mexico.
If nothing else, I admire Sarandon's honesty. Let's review the most important part of her statement, shall we? "It's a critical time, but I have faith in the American people. If they prove me wrong, I'll be checking out a move to Italy. Maybe Canada, I don't know."
Having been in college in 1776, Susan Sarandon has seen a lot in her day. But she never lost faith in the American people. But her patience is being sorely tested by their stubbon insistence on voting for the person that they feel is best qualified to lead the country.
Seriously, how long should Susan be expected to put up with your fucking nonsense anyhow? She's stuck with you through so much, knowing all the while that Canada's inclement weather would make her nipples permanently hard and therefore make her boobies look even better. Your fucking impertinence is driving this woman to treason, goddamn it!
But when a woman with huge knockers is involved, I'm nothing if not helpful. In that spirit, I've been thinking of places that Sarandon can go to if things don't go her way. And I've found the perfect place for her - Iraq.
Stay with me on this. Iraq had a really bad government recently. Now it has several sort of bad ones. And they have elections all the fucking time. If the people of Iraq abuse Susan's faith in them, all she has to do is wait twenty minutes and there'll be another election where they can redeem themselves.
But I think there's something deeper and profoundly more human going on here. You'll notice that Ms. Sarandon only mentions her moving to Italy or maybe Canada. Tim Robbins isn't mentioned at all.
And frankly, who can blame her? The guy is a mutant and doesn't look as though he can fuck properly at all. How long should a woman be expected to tolerate something like that? Whenever I see them together, I imagine that she's babysitting an awkwardly tall retarded kid who has developed a crush on her and she doesn't know how to break away without breaking his heart.
For the love of Christ, he gets a woman with a body like that and what does Robbins do? He dresses her up as a nun for fuck's sake! There's definately something wrong with him.
It couldn't be clearer that she needs to get away from that Robbins retard. In which case, Canada is there perfect place for her to come. I can fix her little red wagon but good. And that goes double for her big-titted daughter. I know things that Tim Robbins almost certainly doesn't. Like how to satisfy an old woman and her starlet daughter.
And I'm willing to do that for one reason. I'll do it because I love America and everything it represents. But I'll do it for you!
Y'know, if my girlfriend lets me.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day:She's Leaving HomeBy: The Beatles From:Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
ON BEDS, THE BOOTS UNDER THEM, THE MESSY DIVORCE OF SHANIA TWAIN & THE VINDICATION OF skippy
The seperation of Shania Twain and Robert "Mutt" Lange probably wasn't a very big story in the rest of the world, but the rest of the world isn't Canada. Shania is from a place called Timmins, Ontario, which is so roundly horrible that it makes the shithole that spawned Avril Lavinge look like Shangri-La. Also, Shania has sold a hundred zillion records. Canadians like it when one of own becomes a global phenomenon and moves as far away as humanly possible. We've been building statues to her and considering creating a state religion dedicated to worshipping her for a decade now.
For that reason, her divorce from the Man Called Mutt is being covered like the Kennedy assassination in her home and native land. When the news was announced last Friday, it was on the front page of all four of Toronto's daily newspapers. It is also believed that Shania is hiding out in Toronto, so if she's reading this, I hope that she'll call me.
Celebrity divorce is always amusing and this one has the potential to be more amusing than most. Most people seem genuinely heartbroken over this, if for no other reason than most people are sexless dwarves who live vicariously through celebrities and anguish themselves over their trivial trials so that they can better ignore the true horror that stares back at them in the mirror every morning.
Canadians, being every inch the rancid starfuckers Americans are, responded to the news with waves of collective sobbing. I'm a more down to earth guy, so I reacted by blasting an industrial sized dollop of goo from my mighty prick directly into my eye. It still stings.
I'm going to be completely honest with you folks. I would very much like to fuck Shania Twain and have from the second I first laid eyes on her. That might not mean a lot to you, but it's important to me because I try to avoid sleeping with women who live within 200 miles of me and she's believed to have a place in town.
But there's no ignoring the soon to be former Mrs. Lange's body. Even after shitting out a kid six years ago, it's damned near perfect. You'd never know that she's 42 years old, which leads me to believe that her fitness regimen includes a pact with Satan. We might have to ask a famous fitness blogger these important questions. A lady never answers questions like that and we can't be sure that Satan would tell the truth.
But the whole sad spectacle reminds me of an "Ask skippy" question I got many years ago. The question was an age old one, can a woman that hot be a good lay? I contended that she couldn't be.
The answer wasn't without controversy. Every regular hot woman I know was up in arms. And these were indeed beautiful women. I didn't mean them. Rather, I was talking about totally flawless women. Women who were more like paintings than flesh and blood human beings.
The example I used four years ago was Halle Berry, perhaps the most objectively beautiful woman alive. She had been married and divorced twice. Both husbands reportedly cheated.
The question is obvious. Do you think those dudes found someone more beautiful than Halle Berry to fuck? Really? Do you suppose that's even possible? I don't. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure the scientific odds are against it.
And, as the fine folks at People tell us, the same has happened with Mr. and Mrs. Mutt.
As Shania Twain copes with her sudden split with the support of family and friends in her native Canada, sources close to the singer say she is reeling from a double betrayal – not only by her husband of 14 years, music producer Robert "Mutt" Lange, but by a woman she considered a close friend.
Lange's relationship with Marie-Anne Thiébaud, 37, a longtime secretary and house manager at Twain and Lange's estate in Switzerland, was behind the breakup, say several sources familiar with the situation.
"Mutt and Marie-Anne left their spouses for each other and are still in a relationship," says one source, adding that the Swiss employee was a fixture in the household Twain, 42, and Lange, 59, shared with their son, 6-year-old Eja D’Angelo.
One of these things does not look like the other. The appearences seem to indicate that Mutt has left Shania for her mom. There's only two problems with that theory. Shania's mom is dead and Marie-Anne Thiébaud is actually five years younger than Shania is.
"Gadzooks," you might be saying to yourself. "We have a mystery here!"
Not really. What happened couldn't be more obvious. Shania Twain has no idea how to satisfy a man. It's a tragedy, really. If only this had happened just three short months ago, I would have been more than happy to teach her. However, I am connected at the soul with a beautiful girl who could teach an advanced class on the finer points of fucking. And since I can't seem to persuade my beloved into a three-way, I'm off the market.
But I will offer some advice to the intensely beautiful women who I know comprises 93.6% of my international readership. What kind of a man would I be if I didn't? I couldn't just sit idly by as your menfolk abandon you for pigs.
Look, you're all extremely attractive and we're proud to have you on our arms in public. That's even true of agoraphobic recluses like myself and Mutt. But that beauty is a big pain in the ass if you think of it as a license to just lie there when we're engaged in the making of the love. Beauty is a wonderful thing the first sixteen or seventeen hundred times we fuck you. But after that first weekend, there just has to be more. We already know you're hot. Start acting like it.
For example, under no circumstances should you refuse to blow us just because we haven't showered in a week or so. After all, we're very busy making Bryan Adams sound like he knows what he's doing. And when you're down there, swallow, for Christ's sake. You're not Karen Silkwood and my cum isn't toxic waste. It'll be fine, I promise. Begging to swallow wouldn't hurt, either.
Look, I know anal sex hurts a little at first, okay? But I'm pretty sure that the 19 hours of aerobics that you do every day to keep your body looking like that isn't comfortable, either. There's no point in having a banging little ass if we don't get to bang it. Unless there's hidden treasure up there, you really oughta share. Be a daredevil with your dumper. Not only will you thank us for it, you'll thank yourself.
We also know that our irrational demand that you call us "daddy" during frenzied intercourse is humiliating. That's why we want you to do it. Unless someone is feeling worthless and humiliated after the orgasms stop, chances are that you're doing it wrong.
You can act like you're too fucking precious to do any of those things all you want.
That's fine, because we know that there's always going to be that a longtime secretary and house manager at our place in Switzerland who would like to meet Angus Young and the guy from Def Leppard. And do you really want to lose a guy as hot as Mutt or me? I didn't think so. We'll still be the one, just to somebody else.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: You're Still The One By: Shania Twain From: Come On Over
One of the iron laws of modern life is that when you fuck everything up beyond redemption, it's time to visit Larry King. Larry's such a sycophant that after an hour of his kissing your ass, his retard audience will worship you forever. And if you take phone in questions and don't treat Bob from fucking Omaha like the half-wit that he is, you'll probably get a parade out of it. It seems that pretty much anybody can be a King for a Day.
It doesn't matter who you are or what shitty things you've done in life, if you agree to do Larry King Live, the host will brown nose you right into the fucking afterlife.
I think that Ted Bundy'sgreat mistake was not taking advantage of Larry's hospitality. I can guarantee you that Larry would introduce Bundy as "the famous ladies man," and begin his questions with "You're so handsome. Why the rape and murder? Were they asking for it?" And it would only go downhill from there. Remember, Larry's the same guy who once said "I would bump God if OJ Simpson was available."
Being a media whore par excellence, Larry shares his opinions on anything, despite his total lack of qualifications or knowledge on the subject. Christ, if he spent a weekend judging the Kentucky State Circle Jerk Finals, he would have written about it in his USA Today column for a month. For a guy who hasn't had a solid bowel movement since 1986, he sure is busy.
That's why I wasn't surprised when the former Mr. Zeiger repeatedly turned up in Carol Felsenthal's new book "Clinton in Exile: A President Out of the White House." The book is a portrait of one president's return to popular esteem from self-imposed disgrace. It is a classic tale which tells us more about the short memories and incredibly misinformed judgements of the public than anything else.
"Clinton in Exile" is a good book to read if you're stuck in an airport or are one of those mere mortals who actually tires of masturbation. It's a quickie book and hardly a scholarly tome, as the presence of Larry fucking King amply demonstrates. If you want to read a great book of the form, I can't recommend "Exile: The Unquiet Oblivion of Richard Nixon" by Robert Sam Anson enough. It's out of print, but it isn't that hard to find and richly rewarding.
Mrs. Felsenthal's book ends with a quote so shocking that I couldn't decide whether to laugh out loud or shit myself to death. That quote naturally comes from Larry King. "I think people regard him as a guy with a weakness who happens to be a tremendous person, who if he didn't have this weakness would be up there with Jefferson and Washington and Lincoln." (page 311. Emphasis added.)
That might be the most stellar example of overstatement I've ever read.
George Washington won his country's independence on the battlefield and ensured an orderly, peaceful transition of power previously unknown to man. Thomas Jefferson doubled his territory without firing a shot. And Abraham Lincoln preserved the union from chaos and ended the rancid institution of slavery in North America.
What precisely did William Jefferson Clinton do? Sure, I know he looks good when compared to his immediate successor, but that's hardly what gets you on Mount Rushmore. Autistic children look like competent administrators when compared with the current President Bush.
Bill Clinton is a lot like Jack Kennedy - people love them without being able to tell you what they actually did. In Kennedy's case, they point to the Cuban Missile Crisis without realizing that it wouldn't have happened in the first place without the Bay of Pigs. The serious tax cuts and the civil rights bills were carried out and strengthened by President Johnson, which most people forget. That leaves the Test Ban Treaty as JFK's only real presidential accomplishment.
Oh, and he caught a bullet with his skull, which is about on par with Clinton's use of Monica Lewinsky as a cock catcher's mitt and his impeachment for same.
Despite being in office over three times as long as Kennedy was, Clinton has a similar paucity of accomplishment. His modern supporters point to the economy of the 1990s, but history never records economics unless a depression occurs. Do you know anything about the economy under Jefferson? How about Lincoln? If the economy were a barometer for historical achievement, Calvin Coolidge would be remembered as the greatest president of them all.
So what exactly did President Clinton do other than get reelected and interrupt a perfectly good blowjob so he could jerk off into a bathroom sink?
NAFTA: The North American Free Trade Agreement was certainly important and Clinton should be credited for passing it against the wishes of his own party. Christ, if Hillary is to be believed (which she isn't), he passed NAFTA against the objectives of his own wife.
Every time an election rolls around, the majority of Democratic candidates piss and moan about NAFTA, which only proves that Democrats are idiots. Most manufacturing jobs in swing states aren't going to Canada and Mexico, they're going to China and India, which aren't a party to NAFTA.
Plus, I always get disturbed when the majority of Democrats agree with a lunatic like Pat Buchanan about anything.
Welfare Reform: Another nice idea that was only implemented for political expediency. If you want a president of another party to sign a bill that you know he otherwise wouldn't, pass it during an election campaign. Clinton hated the welfare reform bill and still spits on the ground whenever he talks about it (which isn't often.) But he signed it because Bill Clinton is an unprincipled whore.
It is also worth noting that people who love President Clinton hated the welfare reform act.
The Northern Ireland Peace Accords: The English could never stop the fighting in Belfast, but the English can't clean their own teeth properly either. Even though no American president ever took Northern Ireland seriously - and they all allowed American citizens to be the prime funders of the terrorist Irish Republican Army - Clinton should get credit for the agreement, which has astonishingly held.
This accomplishment should be mitigated by the fact that our penchant for drunken havoc is one of the very few things that makes the Irish interesting. The peace treaty also freed up Bono's time to allow him to be annoying about several other issues.
Other than that, there isn't much. Sure, there's a completely unconstitutional assault weapons ban that Bush was prepared to extend and midnight basketball and school uniform initiatives that never had any hope of passage.
And that's pretty much it. At best, Clinton was just like one of the presidents between Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt, he accomplished a few things, but very little of consequence and would be completely forgotten in 50 years were it not for his impeachment. President William Jefferson Clinton is the picture of mediocrity and didn't even have the skill to get blown properly let alone be an inspirational leader.
Granted, he's not George W. Bush, but Ronald McDonald isn't John Wayne Gacy. That hardly qualifies one to have his picture on the currency. If Bush is the yardstick by which the presidency is judged, I fully expect the United States to be colonized by Cuba in the next three weeks. Pointing out the Clinton was a better president than Bush is like saying that Andrew wasn't half the hurricane Katrina was.
Having interviewed every president since McKinley, Larry King should know better. But Larry is a sycophantic half-wit in ways that make the Memphis Mafia look like the picture of quiet dignity.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: My Little Problem By: The Replacements From: All Shook Down
Last November 12th, Norman Kingsley Mailer; author, journalist, wife-stabber, and all-around dickhead, died at the age of 84. Mailer was self-important in ways that stagger the imagination and his death last fall inspired self-important assholes everywhere into either fits of self-flaggelation or glee.
If you're anything like me, you're fascinated by the passing of the truly ugly and way that the media and art-fags everywhere react to it. And the death of Norman Mailer was almost a national holiday for the pretentious and overwrought everywhere. It was a joyfull time for people like me who never had much faith in the human condition to begin with.
But most of the fury on both sides focused only on Mailer's work (which outside of The Executioner's Song , Tough Guys Don't Dance, and a few of his articles about Muhammad Ali, there isn't much to say anything about) and what a horribly shitty human being he was. But we already knew that he stabbed his second wife, Adele, and allowed Jack Abbott to kill again.
Other than that, there was nothing. In fact, other than some prattle from conservative assholes and their feminist buddies, there was very little about one of Mailer's chief passions: fucking. It was as if the most exhibitionist man in America died because he had nothing left to show us.
Mailer devoted no small amount of ink to the art of fucking. Further, he displayed an extraordinary gift for making fucking the unsexiest thing imaginable. It really was a gift, and one that Norman wasn't recognized nearly enough for.
As an early practioner of what became known as "gonzo journalism", where he became as much a part of the story as its actual subject, Mailer was perhaps the first truly exhibitionist writer in America. And to read him, you would think that every sexual encounter he ever had was recounted in all of its garish glory for us to be repulsed by.
He was internationally renowned as a swaggering ladykiller who married six wives, fathered eight children and constantly outraged feminists with his macho pronouncements on women.
One of his mistresses, though, claims to have discovered a different side to Norman Mailer, the volcanic American novelist who died last November at the age of 84.
Carole Mallory, a former model and actress who met Mailer at Elaine's restaurant in New York in 1983, suspected him of having an affair with a male friend, was worried that he might contract Aids and refused to indulge his fantasy of three-way sex with a gay man.
Gadzooks! Having a three way with a gay man can be pretty creepy. However, Ms. Mallory doesn't detail whether or not Mailer was to be a top or a bottom. Being a bottom would undermine Norman's lifelong assertion that "tough guys don't dance."
For whatever reason, Harvard decided to buy Carole Mallory's personal papers. Harvard is famously one of the finest institutes of higher learning on the planet. So you might ask yourself what can be learned from the personal papers of a literary outaw's former fuckdoll. And I would answer you by saying "plenty!"
It contains a devastating portrait of Mailer’s sexual decline from world-class lothario to malfunctioning lover whose soon-to-be-former mistress wrote in her diary: "I feel so good not having sex with him . . . he does sexually to me what he likes done to him."
That's gotta hurt. Who knew that Norman Mailer was so selfish in bed? Although, how Norman managed to give Carole a nasty blowjob remains a mystery.
At one point in April 1990, when Mailer was 67 and married to his sixth wife, Norris Church, Mallory worried that her lover of the previous seven years "could get Aids".
Three weeks later, she wrote that Mailer had asked her what other men she would like to sleep with. When she mentioned a man named Paul, Mailer is said to have replied: "He’s gay. Why don’t we all three f***?"
"He's gay. Why don’t we all three fuck?" That might be the most stilted sentence in the history of the English speaking peoples. Coming as it does from one of the twentieth century's most celebrated writers makes it all the more perplexing.
But the problems between Carole and our hero go far beyond Norman's assorted acts of faggotry.
"Why don’t you get me an apartment?” Mallory complains in one draft letter. "You are using me and conning me just to get laid . . . If you cared about me you'd pay my rent."
And that proves that Carole is a fucking daredevil. She was just a mistress, after all. One can safely assume that Mailer cared for his second wife, and he nearly stabbed her to death at a party. My guess is that the fucking rent wasn't the barometer by which Norman gagued his affection.
Among the things we learn about from the Harvard archive are Ms. Mallory's own demented literary ambitions.
When the Mailer-like character in Mallory's draft novel strips naked before her, she writes: "I gaze in wonder at his attributes." When they begin to make love: "I chew on his cohorts of power."
Now I'm not blowing sunshine up my own ass here, but I like to keep my cohorts of power beautifully shaved and the area around them groomed to perfection. The last thing I need is for some hack of a broad author chewing on those fuckers. Christ, I had one girlfriend who merely sucked on them too hard and I was paralyzed for a friggin' week! My cohorts of power are important to me and treating them like something you'd entertain a puppy with only ruins everybody's fun. On the other hand, I was disabused of the notion that I was carrying around a set of titanium wondernuts in my smoothly shaven sack, so I guess I learned something.
But what the fuck is this woman thinking?
And it turns out that this is the sort of claptrap she produced with Mailer editing her work.
At one point Mailer changes his mistress’s prose from "stick that up your English tushy" to "stick that up your Hungarian bottom". He also recommends that Mallory delete a reference to "nibbling his bullets".
I like to think of myself as well-versed in the ways of l'amour, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I have no idea what any of those things are supposed to mean. Is this how retarded people fuck?
Mailer was generous with literary recommendations and contacts. Of her 50-page sex scene– which Mallory claimed she wrote on a dare from Mailer – the Pulitzer prizewinning novelist wrote: "I must tell you that the protracted sex scene is one of the best I've ever read, right up there and probably above Erica Jong and worthy of Henry Miller. He would have loved it."
That might be damning with faint praise. You see, Erica Jong is stupid and Henry Miller is fucking dead!
But no one should be surprised about the things a man will say to get a woman to chew his cohorts of powers. Our Hungarian bottoms have no conscience whatsoever.
I guess the best way to close this tragic and tawdry tale is with the words of one of Norman's alleged homosexry compatriots. "The outlandish claims of scorned women never surprise me."
Amen. And let this be Norman Mailer's final lesson to us all. Whenever possible, try to outlive your sex partners. We've just seen what happens when you don't.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: The French InhalerBy: Warren Zevon From: Warren Zevon
I haven't made much of a secret of my desire to fuck Chelsea Clinton really hard. I think that she's cute, has a tight little body, and can't think of a way you can go wrong in banging a presidential daughter. I'd fuck the Bush girls, too, but they drink more than I do and I'd feel like less of a man afterward.
There's another reason that I dig Chelsea so much. Lesbians do.
There are few people that I find myself in more frequent agreement with than dykes. They're right on pretty much everything except the fucking Indigo Girls. And I still can't figure out what the fuck's up with that. But I'm willing to overlook that since I'm so magnanimous.
Chelsea Clinton stopped traffic Friday night as she wandered the streets of Philadelphia on a gay bar crawl, winning rave reviews for both her politics and her appearance.
Led around the neighborhood by Gov. Ed Rendell, Chelsea was mobbed by local gays and lesbians, as she walked from one club to the next. They ran up to hug her, posed for pictures and certainly invaded her personal space.
"I grabbed her ass," one young woman exclaimed to her friends after snapping a picture with her arm around the former first daughter.
It's really too bad that lesbians are so shy. If I was there, I would have started by grabbing Chelsea's ass, but continued on to give her a three hour rimjob, stopping only when she proposed marriage to me. And if you ever wondered how I got banned from Philadelphia's gay bar scene when I was eight years old, now you know.
But what gets me the most is the fact that Governor Ed Rendell seems to be everywhere at once. He's like Orwell's Big Brother. Not only is he holding a televised press conference every time someone so much as spells "Pennsylvania" wrong, he's regular at the gay bars, too? That motherfucker sure gets around.
I can't figure out how Rendell was elected anything other than president of the Ed Asner Look-Alike society, but there he is; former mayor of Philadelphia, former chairman of the Democratic National Committee, and the current governor of Pennsylvania.
And the homos love Ed in a fairly substantial way.
Rendell appeared to be in his element. As Chelsea posed for more photos inside Bump, the governor held court outside, quizzing onlookers about Pennsylvania history, and grabbing the phone of one voter to talk to his undecided mother. He acknowledged to the caller that there were two good Democratic candidates, but said he thought Hillary would do a better job.
"OK, governor, don't run my minutes up," the man said, trying to get the phone back from Rendell.
Rendell has toured gay bars in Philadelphia since the 1970s, he said, and made a similar trek for John Kerry in 2004.
Fast Eddie is like Jesus to the queer crowd. He shows up with some random politicians, tells the homos to vote for him or her, and they do! It's like motherfucking magic.
I'm not sure what hold Rendell has over Pennsylvania's homosexuals. Maybe he sings a mean version of the songs of Tori Amos. Perhaps he knows all the words to "Lady Marmelade." Or maybe it's just as simple as the fact that he's a bear. Who can say for sure?
But here I was, with my pants around my ankles, hoping for Chelsea Clinton to encounter some unexpected but unforgetable sapphic fun. But Ed Rendell ruined it for me, just like he ruins everything for me, the prick.
I wish I could remember where I put my enemies list.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: A Postcard to Nina By: Jens Lekman From:Night Falls Over Kortedala
I live my life pretty much around CNN. As a matter of fact, whenever I'm with a new woman sexually, I announce my impending ejaculation by dropping my voice to its sexiest James Earl Jones register and saying "This .... is CNN." Now you know my secret. There's no way that a woman couldn't love me after hearing that.
I haven't been able to watch CNN much this week. The only real stories are that Barack Obama's saying something stupid, Hillary Clinton is shrill, and the entire state of Texas is under arrest for polygamy and suspected child-rape. I'm not sure how to break this to you fine folks, but none of that is exactly news. All of those stories have been rather well known for several years now. And if you aren't very well versed in history, the United States Congress twice refused to annex Texas for a reason.
Not watching CNN, I haven't seen Richard Quest for some time now, and I'm a better man for the experience. Mr. Quest is far better suited for a Brighton game show than he is what pretends to be a serious news organization. He's loud, obnoxious, overly excited about the trivial, and annoyingly British.
I wasn't overly shocked to learn that Richard is a gay man either. If you're English and not Keith Richards, I automatically assume that you love the cock. I've just found it easier that way. Maybe it's because I can't see how any woman would fuck someone with teeth like that. Also, his name actually is Dick Quest. Things like that are pretty hard to overlook.
What I didn't know is that Richard Quest is more than loud, obnoxious, overly excited about the trivial, and annoyingly British. He's so much more. He's a refined gentleman, devoted to life's baser persuits and therefore a guy I can relate to.
It was reported on Friday that Mr. Quest had been arrested by the NYPD in Central Park for possession of a small quantity of crystal meth. Again, this wasn't a huge surprise to me. Most people aren't as naturally abrasive as Dick is and I can see how that can require some fuel from time to time. Besides, I can hardly condemn anyone for doing drugs in the park, since that's how I spent my childhood. I just don't know how I could have made it through kindergarden without heroin.
CNN personality Richard Quest was busted in Central Park early yesterday with some drugs in his pocket, a rope around his neck that was tied to his genitals, and a sex toy in his boot, law-enforcement sources said.
(...)
It wasn't immediately clear what the rope was for.
All that tells me is that the New York Post is either very coy or very, very stupid.
If you don't engage in a healthy regimine of auto-erotic asphyxiation, then you're not someone I want to know. There's something about shunting the airway that makes an otherwise pleasant orgasm blissful. I thought everybody knew that until I started showing up at work with a belt around my neck. My co-workers sure seemed perplexed, but tended to leave me alone once I started to twitch, groan and tremble like a retard.
And how can you live all the way to adulthood and not know what the rope is for?
Once you think of a penis as a pit bull, it should become clear to everyone. You wouldn't let a pit bull out of the yard without a leash, would you? It might run off and bite some child's face off, and responsible adults just don't allow things like that to happen. Whenever I think of my future bride, for example, my penis has a tendency to rip right through my pants and punch me in the face. Since I want to avoid a broken jaw, I put a leash on it. The only alternative woud be to go through my day wearing a football helmet, and that would look ridiculous.
Including the sex toy in Mr. Quest's boot just seems gratutious. That just tells me that he's prepared. I can't tell you how many times I've been having a very romantic evening and decided that the experience could only be complete if I had something jammed in my rectum. However, I can be forgetful in my old age and there are any number of women who aren't comfortable shoving their hand into their man. All I've learned from that part of the story is that Dick is a much better boy scout than I am.
If I were to quibble about anything in this story, it would be the entire thing occuring with an anonymous dude who carries no ID as his companion. I'm deeply and desperately in love, so I tend to troll parks late at night with meth in my pocket, a dildo in my boot, and a rope tied to my throat and groin in the company of my bootilicious Zombiegirl. If you saw her, you'd know why.
There we'd be in the park, me snorting meth off of her perfect knockers, my putz beating her into unconciousness, and both of us jamming things into each other's bathroom places. But most couples express their love that way, don't they? Or maybe mine really is the Greatest Love of All.
But I learned that I was wrong about Richard Quest and that you can't always judge a book by it's cover. No, Richard Quest has now earned a place in the Enjoy Every Sandwich pantheon of heroes, right next to Pat O'Brien, Charlie Sheen, Marcelino P. Castro and, of course, Mouhammed Shaukat. Those are the real heroes, people, not me. I'm just here to tell their stories.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Hot Burrito #1 By: The Flying Burrito Brothers From: The Gilded Palace of Sin
As you may have heard, Paris Hilton is a lazy fuckwhore who doesn't do a whole lot for a living and has a history of misunderstandings regarding the appropriate blood alcohol level needed to properly operate a motor vehicle. These misunderstandings led to a jail sentence that may have violated her Fourteenth Amendment rights and definately caused virtually everyone else to act like retards.
As is the case in every celebrity fuck-up of any consequence, Ms. Hilton then began what proved to be a short-lived effort at public rehabilitation. This involved going on Larry King Live and proving little other than she should be incarcerated for stupidity and narcissim. Paris somehow thought that she was something other than a collection of warm holes and a deep wallet, thereby making it of some consequence to us that she pretends to read the Bible. And it really isn't.
She also promised to go to Rwanda and "do good," which might be the single most amusing thing that I heard last year.
Rwanda, as Samantha Power described it, was once "a problem from hell." It was chock full of folks bent on genocide and creative in the most horrific ways of accomplishing it in the not too distant past. The Clinton administration was deeply divided on how, indeed, on if, it should address Rwandan genocide. The International Criminal Court continues to deal with the fallout to this day.
Of course, Paris Hilton - who would be beyond her depth trying to spell "Rwanda" - was going to make it better. The world's foreign policy establishment couldn't, mind you, but someone who parades about in her underpants all day can. Having said that, Madeline Albright and Warren Christopher would have just looked silly negotiating peace in crotchless panties. That's not to say that they didn't have their own unique brand of sexual magnetism, though.
But Rwanda's still a pretty fucking scary place, and Paris tried her damndest to be nowhere more frieghtening than Rick Soloman's bedroom. So instead she went to South Africa with her boyfriend's faggoty band, Good Charlotte.
Where there's genocide, there's usually warlords. And where there's warlords there's priviledged warlords' bastard children who enjoy a lifestyle not too different from what Paris is famous for. So it's not clear exactly what Paris brings to the table that they don't already have there.
On the other hand, third-world warlord heiresses are not known for making fuck-tapes of themselves with night-vision. Maybe if they did more of that over there, the economy would boom and the warring factions would all join hands. Maybe Paris is the New Hope for Africa.
Luke has forgotten something else that's commonly known in African war zones: cannibalism. Idi Amin is known to have engaged in it and Charles Taylor is on trial for ordering it as I write this. In certain circles, it isn't enough to merely defeat, humiliate or even kill your enemies. To be truly victorious, you must consume their fucking flesh!
Ms. Hilton might not be aware of this because she probably can't even find Paris on a map, but she could get her ass eaten over there. And not even in the loving, yet sexily sardonic way that I'd do it. I'm saying that she could actually have her butt hacked off with a machete, fried in a skillet, and actually eaten.
Paris might think that two DUIs and an unjust sentence makes some kind of syphlitic Sally Struthers, but even Sally Struthers wasn't that stupid. Sally visited only the shitty parts of Africa and gave the truly psychotic ones a wide bearth. And the kids in her goddamned commercials were screened. Only the ones with flies directly proportional in size to their eyes got to the Craft Services table.
Not that any of this matters. The chances of Paris and her homo boyfriend leaving their posh Capedown digs are somewhere between slim and my having a 32-foot long wang. I'm just hoping that when she returns to America, she goes back on Larry King Live and moans about the tragedy of Africa, citing the room service at the Johannesburg Marriott as just one example.
Unfortunately, I know as a moral certainty that everyone is going to miss the two real tragedies that Paris's trip should be drawing attention to:
Skinny, slutty girls with lots of money get venerial diseases, too.
There are far too few people out there with blogs dedicated entirely to me and my many acts of wonderfulness.
Won't you please help?
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: The Meek Shall Inherit Nothing By: Frank Zappa From: You Are What You Is
For the longest time President George W. Bush told us that the Iraqi government of Saddam Hussien was in possession of weapons of mass destruction. These weapons, Bush contended, could be passed along to terrorist groups and used against American cities.
Of course, no rational person could imagine Saddam doing something so clearly suicidal unless faced with an imminent attack to remove his regime by the United States. For that reason, President Bush insisted on the invasion of Iraq.
It has since been revealed that those WMD did not in fact exist. On the other hand, the United States military has a wide variety of weapons that can be used on American cities. I recommend starting with Detroit.
There were any number of liberal idiots who were profoundly pissed about the truth of Saddam's weapon. But I was okay with it. Just because WMD was a particularly silly reason to go to war - and likely would have resulted in a chemical attack against New York if it was true - doesn't negate the fact that there were all kinds of other reasons to take Saddam down.
For the better part of a year now, we've had Senator Hillary Clinton tell us about her heroic struggles during the battle of Tuzla. Hillary charged that hill and secured that airport, we're told, single-handedly, thus securing a Happy Easter for all of Bosnia's Muslims.
When questioned closely, the Clinton campaign assured us all that Chelsea, Sheryl Crow and Sinbad were brought along only as an affirmative action program for useless people.
And you know what? I wasn't all that shocked when I learned that someone named Clinton perhaps shouldn't be trusted on their memories of what they have or haven't done. This because I've always thought that Hillary is a cunt.
You see, I'm rather fond of the truth, but I'm by no means married to it. Since I assume that everyone is an asshole anyway, having it verified for me isn't a huge priority of mine.
That all changed last week when I learned that the truth is the most hurtful fucking thing on the planet and should be immediately outlawed. Most of us don't live the life of New York's new governor, Stevie Wonder David Patterson, who brings us on happy and exciting adventures of truth each and every day. No, the truth is Kyra Phillips and the rest of us are her sister-in-law.
And it couldn't be more appropriate that the truth's latest assault on me involves Lindsay Lohan.
I may not be a big believer in the positive power of truth, but I do believe in fate. And I know beyond any doubt that I will someday be ruined by my penis. I've known this since childhood and I've grown comfortable with it. That Miss Lohan instigates that genital apocalypse is a reasonable causation for my demise than any other. Actually, given her hobbies, it is far more than reasonable.
Unlike everybody's Drunken Stepfather (link NSFW), I would never refer to any woman as a "vagina lickin' cokehead" as if those were somehow negative qualities. Any discerning gentleman will tell you that those are things that generally improve the modern woman.
Some of you have mocked and belittled my love for La Lohan, but I know that someday statues dedicated to it will be erected in town squares throughout the western world. And when I learned last week that there might in fact be a fucktape starring Lindsay (also NSFW) out there, I nearly began erecting those statues myself.
If you really want to know why there was so little posting here last week, now you know. Things were so dire that the brilliant and beautiful Joan e-mail to express her concern for my welfare. It was an epic struggle between my mighty prick and right hand, and that my heart could keep up remained an open question. Luckily for all of you, I rest my buttplug and cock ring on top of my defibilator because the use of one almost always necessitates the others.
Sadly, the truth reared its ugly head just long enough to deliver yet another vicious blow to my testicles when it became generally accepted that the video was a fraud. I was despondent. Never before was I so convinced that nothing would ever go my way. I knew at long last that I was forever doomed to a life without hope. The experience was hurtful beyond words and I resolved to never trust the Internet again, allied as it is with both the truth and Al Gore, my two most deadly enemies.
But even now, in the depths of my darkest hour, there remains hope, if just a glimmer. Although the video has almost conclusively been proven to be fake, my beautiful Lindsay thinks that it might just be real.
There are any number of things that can be said about a big-titted starlet with drug problems and the inability to remember which of her paramours that she recorded herself fellating, but any comprehensive list would start by saying that she should get a medal of some sort. If Congress isn't involved yet, it should be. It's not like it's addressing any other issue of importance.
If nothing else, Lindsay Lohan has managed to accomplish what Jesse Jackson failed to do over and over again. She and her wandering oral cavity have managed to keep hope alive.
And for just once in my life, the truth might actually be on my side.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: She By: Gram Parsons From: GP
Sometimes I reflect on my demented libido and compare it to that of other men my age. Even though I was supposed to have passed my sexual peak nearly twenty years ago, I still find myself alomost always rigid and ready for action. Even if I achieve orgasm minutes before, I'm always ready for more. From this I can only conclude that I'm possessed of an unusual amount of testerone and quite possibily rabies.
I'm a chronic onanist, a complusive lover of women and sexually wrong on levels that most mortals don't know exist. And even I'm in awe of Charlie Sheen.
The "cool" brother of Emilio Estevez knows things that I couldn't even pretend to. How many of you would get so tired of fucking Denise Richards that searching for gay kiddie porn on the home PC would seem like a reasonable alternative? No right-thinking man should ever get tired of this woman, but Charlie managed to.
Not even a debilitating drug addiction could lull his deranged sexual impulses into a narcotic stupor. Charlie's more than just an ordinary man, he's a goddamned super-hero and I'm shocked that he penis hasn't been fitted for a cape yet.
It is only because the Vatican is incapable of doing the right thing that Mr. Charlie isn't known as the Patron Saint of Prostitutes. High-powered madams, call girls, street whores and innumerable grand juries have marvelled at the tales he and his penis have told. His is among the most well-travelled putzes in all of Christendom.
Like everyone else on the planet, when the recent troubles of Governor Eliot Spitzer were revealed last week, I screamed at the television set "Enough of the trivia, how is Charlie Sheen involved? He can't be very far away from a story like this."
And he isn't. Everyone instinctively knows that a body as beautiful as the legendary Kristen's couldn't long go unfouled by the famous Sheen seed.
HOLLYWOOD heavyweight Charlie Sheen has been dragged into the Eliot Spitzer call girl scandal with claims he solicited Ashley Dupre's services.
Jason Itzler, 41, self-styled King of All Pimps, has claimed he sent Dupre, under the name Victoria, and another girl, Cheryl, report Daily Record.He said the girls dressed up as cheerleaders for a threesome with the actor, costing him up to $20,000 a session.
You might be asking yourself, "Is there anything Charlie Sheen can't do?" And the answer is no. No there isn't. The fact that you're even asking only shows that you don't know what love really is. But worry not, Good Time Charlie wants to show you.
You'll just need to write your own personalized cheer first.
"They loved Charlie. They said he was a great guy. A great lover.
"One time he had them dressed up like cheerleaders, chanting 'Charlie! Charlie! He's our man. If he can't do it, nobody can!'"
If he can't do it, nobody can, indeed! The man is an inspiration to us all.
Denise Richards might be inclined to disagree, but what does she know? She's so uptight that she couldn't even hold on to a paunchy loser like Richie Sambora.
The story goes on to detail how Mr. Sheen directed his paid paramours in lesbian scenes, which most of us have done at one time or another. It may not be particularly creative, but even Charlie Sheen gets tired sometimes. As much as the available evidence might indicate otherwise, he's only one man.
The question I can't stop asking myself is, "Why isn't Charlie Sheen's visage on Mount Rushmore?" There's still room for one more face. Of course, he has never been elected president, but that only proves that democracy is stupid. Why should Charlie be bothered with trivialities like fathering his country, freeing the slaves or building the Panama Canal. He's a man with important things to do, goddammit!
Good Time Charlie a national treasure, and if any of you consider yourselves real Americans, you'd be writing the secretary of the interior instead of wasting your time at your dumb jobs. Do you want to feed your churlish kids, or do you want to do something important?
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Be Here to Love Me By: Townes Van Zandt From: Our Mother the Mountain
When I was growing up my parents always told me about the importance of dreams. Dream your dream hard enough, they'd say, and your dream will come true. Of course, I was very young and wasn't yet aware that I was being raised by idiots.
So now I drink. A lot. But that doesn't mean that I've stopped dreaming. I've just stopped thinking that my dreams will ever come true. The gallons of Guinness just soothe the pain of a life without hope a little.
One of my most persistent dreams involves all three of the former members of Destiny's Child in a doctor's office and holding hands as they have my children aborted. Toward the end of the procedure, they break out in a rousing chorus of "Survivor" in perfect three-part harmony. The weird part? The doctor is actually Rihanna, who's also knocked up. And she decided to keep my child. The entire time she was performing the procedure on Destiny's Child, she kept whimpering about how she wanted to see my umbrella. And she stuttered whenever she said "umbrella." It was adorable and incredibly sexy all at once.
You'd be surprised how many of my dreams involve abortion and hot soul songstresses. Really you would! As a matter of fact there was this one with me, Aretha Franklin and a pound of butter. We were in Paris. Am I sharing too much?
Most of the world was obsessed with Beyonce Knowles, I found myself smitten with Kelly Rowland. I was lost in her gorgeous eyes, enchanted by her perfect mouth and swept away by her rock hard stomach. I immediately knew it was love. I also immediately knew that the girls that no one pays attention to are willing to be far filthier in bed. You'll never get a rimjob from the prom queen, but you just might with the third runner-up.
Most people have been pre-occupied with the dumb question of whether Florida and Michigan should be allowed a do-over on their retarded primaries, expelled from the union, or destroyed with nuclear weapons. Since I know that the answer is that both states should be walled off from the rest of the world and starved to death, I decided to focus on the truly important story of this week: that Kelly Rowland is a true American hero.
Heroism comes in many forms. One can be a hero by taking a principled stand and doing what's right. One can be a hero by saving a life under difficult circumstances, such as a fire. One most commonly associates heroism with making the ultimate sacrifice in service to one's country. All of those couldn't be more true, if they are just a little childish.
I think we can all agree that there's one standard of heroism that rises above all others. And that would be getting cosmetic surgery so that I might masturbate just a little more furiously. And since I've had a constant death-grip on my schwantz for three decades now, I salute anyone who goes that extra mile. I just have to salute with my left hand. I hope you understand.
Kelly Rowland has gotten a little more bustylicious.
Rowland, who sang "Bootylicious" with Beyonce in the group Destiny's Child, tells People magazine in its March 17 issue that she had plastic surgery last October to bring her "from an A cup to a B cup."
You know, I never really noticed that Ms. Rowland was chairperson emeritus of the itty-bitty titty committee. I was just so taken with her other attributes that it just never occurred to me. And that, my friends, is how you know that a woman is smoking hot.
For the record, I've never had anything against tiny knockers. I've found that they have a charm all of their own. In my experience, small breasts ususally means large, very sensitive nipples, and those can be a joy to play with. There's nothing quite like feeling a woman's body tense and shake once you get one of those fuckers between your teeth. If you've never tried it, I highly recommend that you do. It's easier than you'd think since most small-breasted women think that no one will ever love them.
On the other hand, Kelly is from Texas and everything is supposed to be bigger there.
What inquiring minds everywhere want to know is why upgrade to only a B cup?
As for the one-cup upgrade, Rowland says: "I didn't want to have double Ds and be a little bitty size two - that would look nuts!"
I love Kelly Rowland with all of what passes for my soul, but I think that a statement like that is just judgmental. There's a lot to be said for nuts and there's a lot to be said for little, tiny girls with obnoxiously large udders. There are girls out there with jugs so out of ridiculously proportion with the rest of their bodies that's it's just .... beautiful.
I'm sure those girls don't need to told by a former member of Destiny's Child that they look "nuts." But I'm sure that they're comforted by the fleet of sports cars that desperate and delusional men like me buy for them. If you're a young girl out there who is considering expanding your bossoms, know that you'll have to expand your fucking garage shortly thereafter.
Kelly is a goddamn role model, for Christ's sake! She has a special responsibility to ensure that they all get giant funbags to keep lecherous old men like me content with life. Our pants don't just make a mess of themselves, and Ms. Rowland knows that.
"It is a decision I made for myself. I like it, and that's all that counts. For young people: Think about it before you just jump off and do something (you may regret later)," she says.
I'm also famous for my advice to young girls. Seriously, I have pretty much all of the answers to life's most challenging questions. Not infrequently, those answers involve not having pubic hair.
And I hate to disagree with Kelly, but thinking is almost certain to make you miserable forever. Thinking is just another form of procastionation and absolutely no good can come of that. Girls who think are almost never given a free car.
I'm pretty sure that Kelly Rowland thought about getting implants for years. As you know, she was born in 1981, which makes her awfully old. Think of all the nights she cried herself to sleep because she couldn't fit into her favorite dresses or find a man who would love her. You don't want to spend your nights alone and weeping, do you? Of course you don't. But that's exactly where all of that horrible "thinking" will lead.
Of course, I could go on and on about this, but I'd rather not discuss the most intimate and personal decisions of a young girl's life in such a public forum. I'm far to classy for that, which you should know by my monocle, ascot and subscription to the New Yorker.
These are things that should be discussed in private. By candlelight. In a jacuzzi. With a couple of snifters of brandy at the ready.
So if you're a cheerleader between the ages of 18 and 22, and can put your ankles behind your head, you should come to me and we'll sort out all of those bothersome complications for you.
No need to thank me. I'm just glad to help.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Say My Name By: Destiny's Child From: The Writing's on the Wall
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Flawed Giant: Lyndon Johnson And His Times 1961-1973 By Robert Dallek Finished, August 10, 2006
Bush's Brain: How Karl Rove Made George W. Bush Presidential By James Moore and Wayne Slater Finished, October 7, 2006
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Right Side Up: The Fall Of Paul Martin And The Rise Of Stephen Harper's New Conservatism By Paul Wells Finished, December 8, 2006
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Imperial Life In The Emerald City: Life Inside Iraq's Green Zone By: Rajiv Chandransekaran Finished March 18, 2007
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Guests Of The Ayatollah: The First Battle In America's War With Militant Islam By: Mark Bowden Finished, April 4, 2007
Screwjack By: Hunter S. Thompson Finished, April 19, 2007
State Of Denial: Bush At War, Part III By: Bob Woodward Finished, April 22, 2007
31 Days: Gerald Ford, The Nixon Pardon, And A Government In Crisis By: Barry Werth Finished, May 6, 2007
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Nixon and Kissinger: Partners in Power By: Robert Dalleck Finished: July 17, 2007
1912: Wilson, Roosevelt, Taft & Debs - The Election That Changed The Country By: James Chace Finished: August 5, 2007
Becoming Justice Blackmun: Harry Blackmun's Supreme Court Journey By: Linda Greenhouse Finished: August 20, 2007
President Reagan: The Triumph of Imagination By: Richard Reeves Finished: September 20, 2007
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Harper's Team: Behind the Scenes in the Conservative Rise to Power By: Tom Flanagan Finished: October 9, 2007
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My Years As Prime Minister By: Jean Chretien Finished: October 23, 2007
The Thumpin': How Rahm Emanuel and the Democrats Learned to Be Ruthless and Ended the Republican Revolution By: Naftali Bendavid Finished: October 25, 2007
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Peace Kills: America's Fun New Imperalism By: P.J O'Rourke Finished: December 4, 2007
The Looming Tower: Al-Qaeda and the Road to 9/11 By: Lawrence Wright Finished: December 11, 2007
The One Percent Doctrine: Deep Inside America's Pursuit of Its Enemies Since 9/11 By: Ron Suskind Finished: December 19, 2007
Cheney: The Untold Story of America's Most Powerful and Controversial Vice President By: Stephen F. Hayes Finished: December 25, 2007
When Trumpets Call: Theodore Roosevelt After the White House By: Patricia O'Toole Finished: January 1, 2008
America's First Dynasty: The Adamses, 1735-1918 By: Richard Brookhiser Finished:January 7, 2008
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Write It When I'm Gone: Remarkable Off-the-Record Conversations with Gerald R. Ford By: Thomas M. DeFrank Finished: January 15, 2008
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Factotum By: Charles Bukowski Finished: March 7, 2008
Women By: Charles Bukowski Finished: March 10, 2008
Queer By: William S. Burroughs Finished: March 12, 2008
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Twenty Thousand Roads: The Ballad of Gram Parsons and His Cosmic American Music By: David N. Meyer Finished: March 24, 2008
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Deception: Pakistan, the United States, and the Secret Trade in Nuclear Weapons By: Adrian Levy & Catherine Scott-Clark Finished: April 21, 2008
The Assassins' Gate: America in Iraq By: George Packer Finished: May 5, 2008
Worse than Watergate: The Secret Presidency of George W. Bush By: John W. Dean Finished: May 7, 2008
Clinton in Exile: A President Out of the White House By: Carol Felenthal Finished: May 12, 2008
Nixonland: The Rise of a President and the Fracturing of America By: Rick Perlstein Finished: June 2, 2008
Infidel By: Ayaan Hirsi Ali Finished: June 11, 2008
The People's Machine: Arnold Schwarzenegger and the Rise of Blockbuster Democracy By: Joe Mathews Finished: June 20, 2008
The Strong Man: John Mitchell and the Secrets of Watergate By: James Rosen Finished: June 30, 2008
American Spy: My Secret History in the CIA, Watergate & Beyond By: E. Howard Hunt w/ Greg Aunuapu Finished: July 4, 2008
Legacy of Ashes: The History of the CIA By: Tim Weiner Finished: July 16, 2008
The Prosecution of George W. Bush for Murder By: Vincent Bugliosi Finished: July 21, 2008
War by Other Means: An Insider's Account of the War on Terror By: John Yoo Finished: July 25, 2008
Your Government Failed You: Breaking the Cycle of National Security Disasters By: Richard A. Clarke Finished: July 31, 2008
The Persian Puzzle: The Conflict Between Iran and America By: Kenneth M. Pollack Finished: August 13, 2008
The Human Factor: Inside the CIA's Dysfunctional Intelligence Culture By: Ishmael Jones Finished: August 19, 2008
Havana Nocturne: How the Mob Owned Cuba ... And Then Lost It to the Revolution By: T.J Enjlish Finished: August 25, 2008
Descent into Chaos: The United States and the Failure of Nation Building in Pakistan, Afghanistan and Central Asia By: Ahmed Rashid Finished: Sepember 9, 2008
The Case Against the General: Manuel Noriega and the Politics of American Justice By: Steve Albert Finished: September 25, 2008
Condolezza Rice: An American Life By: Elisabeth Bumiller Finished: October 10, 2008
Presidential Courage: Brave Leaders and How They Changed America, 1789-1989 Michael Beschloss Finished: October 13, 2008
What People Are Saying About skippy
"hands down, Canada's most underrated blog" Damian Penny, The Undisputed Dean of Canadian Political Bloggers. Posted at Daimnation , Saturday October 21, 2006
"You can count on “Skippy” to make you think in different ways about familiar issues. You can also depend on him to be rude, offensive, and outrageous – if you're offended by completely uninhibited sexual imagery (and imagination!), don't read Skippy – but your prudery will keep you from an often interesting perspective." Posted On: Jamulblog, July 12, 2007
"Your Maximum Leader is beginning to think that the less he posts, the better Skippy’s political posts are. Indeed, your Maximum Leader even thought (just a few short moments ago) that if your Maximum Leader just stopped blogging all together would Skippy just keep on writing enough good material for two blogs? (Admittedly one of those blogs would be an X-rated social commentary/diary site and the second a remarkably well-informed and insightful political commentary site…)" Posted On: Naked Villainy, September 18, 2007
"I love your writing. few could pull off sarcastic humor and self-loathing like you do. You've turned self-disgust
into an art form." Posted By:Ophelia July 19, 2003
"hahaha um, not funny" Posted By: Ophelia July 17, 2003
"This is not fucking funny." Posted By: Bee August 21, 2003
"I join Bee in saying that this isn''t funny AT ALL. jesus christ, Skippy." Posted By: Ophelia August 23,
2003
"You are obiviously being kept down by the Mud People." Posted By: DrReverend August 21, 2003
"I''ll give you $50.00 if you kill yourself." Posted By: DrReverend August 19, 2003
"Last time I read this blog." Posted By: Dave, October 24, 2003
"I think you should stop talking about killing yourself and ACTUALLY kill yourself. For fuck's sake, everybody is
tired of hearing about how you might, just do it or face the fact that you are too pathetic to even kill yourself."
Posted By: A Caring Guy, October 25, 2003
"If Joey Ramone were alive today he'd probably shit in your mouth." Posted By: DrReverend November 11,
"When you're good, you're good. When you're bad, you're even better. See you in hell." Posted By: Anna
November 11, 2003
"Skippy, if you can prove to me that giving head and swallowing will without a doubt keep lung cancer and heart
disease at bay, you've earned yourself a BJ." Posted By: Mary Magdalicious, December 5, 2003
"Wow...you know nothing about politics." Posted Dr. Reverend, December 26, 2003
"You are a dick and should think seriously about killing your stupid blog - go get a job, you big fag"Posted
By: Princess Paragonian, December 29, 2003
"You have a, how shall i say.... appealing 'tough', yet gently gay look." (Univited PM) Posted
by:Jus20012002, January 2, 2004 .
"I hope jesus doesn't kick you in the nuts."Posted By: Mary Magdalicious February 2, 2004
"Stumbled on to your blog by accident and i must say alot of the stuff had me in stitches. Love it" Posted
By:Jeremy February 4, 2004
" .....sick."Posted By: Bee February 7, 2004
"Hey Skippy, you ever consider running for public office in the states? I know some people in the West Virginia state
government and our Senator can't live forever.Hell, even Strom, Thomas-Jefferson-Fan, Thurmond died
eventually.Posted By: Ford W. Mavrick, February 9, 2004
Wow, for someone who is so opinionated, you really don't know shit about American or Canadian culture. You appear to
know even less about history." Posted By: Dr. Reverend February 13, 2004
"Your blog's the best I have come across in a long time. I may not agree with all you say but the verve with which
you say it and the humour and irreverance is terrific. These days when the media just reproduces the handout from central
control, blogs like yours do a great deal to form informed opinion in a democratic society. Thanks. Keep it up."
Posted By:Anandan February 13, 2004
"SKIPPY pities ME? Where's my noose?" Posted By: Kilgore Trout March 22, 2004
"Jesus Skippy. Now Allah is going to kick you in the nuts" Posted By: Mary Magdalicious March 22, 2004
"I could make one that says "Skippy has a small penis" although his cock is superb. Posted By: Bestest Pussy March 23,2004
"Cunt sucking is for bitches.You're considered one of the girls because you dress like one. Posted By: Dr. Reverend March 24, 2004
"John Malkovich is one sexy bastard. I have such a thing for him. And I never realized til now, Skippy, how much you resemble John Malkovich...this, by default, makes you also one sexy bastard. See how that works?" Posted By: Zombie March, 26, 2004
"Too bad you live up north. It could have been beautiful.
Ever since I started coming here and saw your pic I wondered why you weren't getting more action. You are not a bad looking guy at all.
Maybe the girls are just...well, that's enough kindness for one day." Posted By: Serenity March 26, 2004
"Hell, if they make gay marriage legal, I'll marry you..." Posted By: Outpatient March 26, 2004
"You look creepier than the REM faggot. But he looks much more like a homersexual." Posted By: Dr. Reverend March 27, 2004
"Skippy, your hits will go up again if you post pictures of your man nipples. Lots of man nips." Posted By: Mary Magdalicious April 15, 2004
"What the fuck? You turning faggot? Posted By: Dr. Reverend April 16, 2004
"Sometimes it gets to be just a little too much. Sharing, that is." Posted By: Bee May 23, 2004
"I'll give you $5.00 if you make the fucking font you use on your blog bigger.
I'll give you $50.00 if you stop fucking writing about American politics.
I'll give you $500.00 if you fucking kill youself." Posted By: Dr. Reverend May 26, 2004
"Of course women like jerks.
Why the fuck do you think they like me?
I guess you've learned nothing from me over all these years." Posted By: Dr. Reverend May 29, 2004
"Sometimes a bitch just has to die." Posted By: Ford W. Maverick May 29, 2004
"It looks like we have more in common than the swastikas carved in our foreheads."Posted By: Dr. Reverend May 29, 2004
"This might be a shallow and 'Waiting-for-Godot-like' comment but...you seem to have not only brains but also beauty." Posted By: Nietzscheswife June 7, 2004
"Skippy, you are such a twisted bastard. Seriously. Why haven't we had sex yet?"Posted By: 0phelia June 25, 2004
"Just found your site. I find some of the things you say quite disgusting. And really quite enjoyable,so keep up the good work."Posted By: Big Al June 28, 2004
"I've read most of your blog. I'd say that so far it's the best I've come across, and believe me, I've seen a few. It's funny, well written (except for the spelling...) and interesting. There will always be those few idiots who just don't get it. It's useless to get worked up about it." Posted By: Johnny June 30, 2004
"Skippy... Go for the facial tattoo. I dig em', and fuck what those other bitches think. You can always bite their tits off if they back talk you." Posted By: Mary Magdalicious July 1, 2004
"Go fuck yourself up your butt." Posted By: Reek Stankleberry July 6, 2004
"Well if ass-fucking won't keep Satan away, I just don't know what will." Posted By: Dr. Reverend July 7, 2004
"dude, you're killing me. keep it up." Posted By: Son of Nixon July 22, 2004
"Are you always either naked or in a suit?" Posted By: Rehella July 22, 2004
"That person should speak for himself or herself. 'Cause you really are that much of a cunt, skippy." Posted By: Kilgore Trout August 4, 2004
"I've read you for a long time but have never commented before. That isn't a slight to your great writing ability, it's mainly because I don't want to be seen here!" Posted By: Paul August 4, 2004
" Dead on. Bulls-eye. I take back what I said about you being a cunt. For now." Posted By: Kilgore Trout August 4, 2004
"Know what, Skippy? You're alright." Posted By: Anna August 18, 2004
"Excellent work. Damn you for being so dead on." Posted By: The Maximum Leader August 24, 2004
"Skippy, fuck the puppy idea. Try getting a monkey that smokes. That will get you laid." Posted By: Mary Magdalicious August 27, 2004
"As to the beard - I like the clean shaven better - and what's wrong with a bald head? Bald heads are hot on some guys - unfortunately most can't pull it off * sigh * You look like you can pull it off though and that's a good thing - not a bad.
BTW, love your blog. I saw it in my referrers and thought it was just a random hit. Then I started reading and found you to be hilarious - it was only after about 10 posts that I noticed you linked me. I was more than flattered - linked by someone I was about to link anyway - awesome. Thanks" Posted By: Kinky August 27, 2004
"Fuckin' Goy bastard." Posted By: Dr Reverend December 19,2004
"Who does a guy have to sleep with to get one of his Skippy quotes pasted to the sidebar?
Great googly-moogly." Posted By: Smallholder December 20, 2004
"Are you a child molester or what's the story?" Posted By: Fukinator, December 28, 2004
"Sick dude." Posted By: DCayer December 29, 2004
"You officially suck." Posted By: Sorry, January 22, 2005
"I heart you, Skippy" Posted By: Karinsky, January 25, 2005
"As I've stated before, you were quite skilled in bed and I had no need to fake any of my multiple orgasms." Posted By: 0phelia, June 30, 2005
"I love Skippy. I swear I do. The only blogger more twisted than me." Posted on: Velociworld, July 26, 2005
" You are so fucking ignorant about America. And while the American people ARE stupid, so are you." Posted By: Bill Lassiter, August 2, 2005
"How can you not love a man who hates himself so viciously?" Posted on: It's All About De , August 31, 2005
"If I wasn't positive that all Canadian men had tiny penises, I'd be all over that Skippy." Posted On: It's All About De
"I've seen pictures of you and I'd say you're fuckable." Posted By: Joan, September 29, 2005
" I love your posts on Canadian politics even more than I love your posts on porn.
And I love your porn posts.
Why the hell do you waste all this talent on the internet? Write a book or something, goddammit! Posted By: Cliff S., November 17, 2005
"Let it never be said that underneath your self-cavilling, bitter (yet strangely egomaniacal) surface that you never take the time to give the people what they want. Even if it's just one people. Gawd bless you, Skippy! Posted By: Locke, November 18, 2005
"Wow! I don't know that I've ever been flattered and yet somewhat revolted at the same time... It's an interesting sensation." Posted By: Dewey in Toronto, December 1, 2005
"Very often, debating you is like playing whack a mole: You pop up some premised assertion moles, I pull out my mallet and start whacking, then you pop up more premised assertion moles - which are mostly or completely unrelated to the original moles I was whacking at. Your stock of moles seemingly stretches into infinity. And yet, an endless supply of moles does not equate to cogent argument.
Very often, debating you is like speaking to a salesman who will not answer a particular direct question, and instead flies off on the flight of rhetorical splendor known as "baffling them with bullshit." I'm impressed with your rhetorical skills, and your IQ, and your accumulation of knowledge. I'm impressed that I'm the American citizen, yet you might have a more thorough knowledge of the American Constitution than I. And yet, these impressive things are not substitutes for cogent argument."Posted By; gcotharn, December 21, 2005
"Besides, you seem to think you're the least respectable person I know. While you're often right, you're wrong on that count. Careful, I might out YOU as a nice guy. Or something." Posted By: Dewey In Toronto, December 27, 2005
"I've been to Toronto. The most dangerous thing I saw there was an 11 foot tall red head with shaved balls."Posted By: Judy, December 31, 2005
"There was this "Caught on Tape!" video I watched back in my highschool days where one of the scenes shows two people starting to cross the railroad tracks. One looks up at the last minute and sees the train, the other does not. In the commercial, it cuts away just before the train does its thing, but the video...
Your blog is like a twisted version of the video. We know the train is going liquify you in shocking gory fashion, but that's why we keep coming back. It's so much more fun that we both know the train is coming and you still gleefully walk into its path...and we love you all the more for it." Posted By:Locke, January 13, 2006
"Fuck. I'm hooked." Posted By: DeAnna, January 14, 2006
"Your Maximum Leader has found Skippy's commentary more insightful and interesting than anyone elses. So now he supposes that Skippy will go back to writing about porn and strippers he meets in the subway." Posted By: The Maximum Leader on Naked Villainy January 24, 2006
"Slightly crazed is fine, but with the beard you look like a total nutjob. If you ever hope to get laid again, for fuck's sake, Skippy, NEVER, EVER grow a saddam beard. You're welcome."Posted By: The Lady O, 28 January, 2006
"Maybe we should get married. My readers could support us by purchasing my worn panties and you could be the panty pimp." Posted By; Joan 28 January 2006
" I know it must be hard for you...being objectified by women all the time. But come on, how can they really help themselves? Have you seen yourself lately? Your pheramones preceed you into a room (as does your crotch). Don't blame it all on them...you did choose to leave your house. :D" Posted By: Joan, 3 February, 2006
"Skippy, you sarcastic twerp." Posted By: Arwen, 8 February 2006
"Just so you know.. if I had to choose between Moussaoui or Skippy.. You'd win. Even if I know what an asshole you are. Posted By; Judy, 13 February 2006
"I'd be willing to sign a legal document stating that is IS ok, in fact, to masturbate whilst thinking of me." Posted By: DeAnna (Who seems unaware of my reputation as an outlaw) February 24, 2006
"Feel free to masturbate while thinking of me...actually, do you need some of my panties to help you with that?" Posted By: Joan, February 24, 2006
"I blame myself for this. I have been too lenient with you. Your Godless behaviour must come to an end. You will receive a severe beating this weekend and I am contemplating removing your testicles." Posted By: Dr. Reverend, February 24, 2006
"Just remember skippy, the US never threw a fit when you smuggled your own personal WMD over the border twice a year. After all, it wasn't like you were hiding in your pants or anything.
All's fair in love and war, so to speak." Posted By: Judy, April 4, 2006
"Wow...nothing hotter than a man willing to issue fatwas for pussy." Posted By: Joan, April 16, 2006
"You sir, are a brilliant writer." Posted By: Judy, May 4, 2006
"I think I'm falling in love." Posted By: DeAnna, May 11, 2006
"THIS IS THE MOST DIABOLICAL FALSITY YOU HAVE EVER ENGAGED IN!!!!
I was intending to kick you in the face upon our next meeting, but now it's obvious that I must douse your scrotum in kerosene and set your testicles aflame. Alas, it is the only way you will learn." Posted By: Dr. Reverend, May 12, 2006
"And i would like to commend you on some excellent blogging. This particular story would normally warrant a few cryptically humorous lines and a link. To an ordinary blogger. But you managed to wring an essay of New Yorker-esque proportions out of it. That takes talent. Your beautiful young friend is right. I see big things for you in the future." Posted By: Annika, June 4, 2006
" I like a man who will unabashedly tell someone his penis size because hes unashamed. Thats hot.
*raises hand* I'll take that 6.5, thank ya" Posted By: Kinky, June 6, 2006
"Elvis, like skippy, is the very definition of rock and roll. Posted By: Rube, June 10, 2006
" I'm beginning to think you're the only good man left in the world, skippy. WTF?" Posted By: By: DeAnns, June 11, 2006
"Just so everyone knows.
Skippy does indeed, taste like bacon.
And, any guy who doesn't know cum tastes good to real women, is clueless." Posted By: Judy, July 2, 2006
"There was a British columnist whose work was described as 'a suicide note in weekly installments.'
This blog is sort of like that." Posted By: Gadfly, July 6, 2006
"Jeez, Skippy. Sometimes I really hate coming here." Posted By: Cynlee, July 18, 2006
"Someone needs to throttle you with a riding crop...truly!" Posted By: Joan, July 18, 2006
"Holy mother of god. I just had an orgasm. It's official: I'm devoting the rest of my life to you, skippy." Posted By: DeAnna, July 19, 2006
"Skippy, sometimes I'm not quite sure of your sanity, but you are without a doubt the baddest morning news reading, quiz show hosting, talent introducing PIMP in the motherfuckin' blogosphere." Posted By: Shank, July 19, 2006
