MY WEEKEND WITH A ZOMBIE, ADVENTURES WITH MORRIS DAY & THE TRANSCENDENT POWER OF MR. LEONARD COHEN WITH A SPECIAL GUEST APPEARANCE BY DR. REVEREND
Okay, so I'm back from what was very likely the greatest weekend in the history of ever.
Sorry about all the mystery, but I'm getting a lot of hits from Toronto lately, you folks know what I look like and I didn't want you deviants bothering me in public. That already happens enough, and while I try not to complain about the random blowjobs my international readership insists I receive, I don't think they'd impress my future bride all that much.
While I'm from a major metropolis where there is much to do, my Zombie Queen is not. Where she's from, the most common weekend activity is domestic violence and I try to avoid that outside of the context of BDSM whenever possible. Also, I bruise easily. So it was decided that she would come up here for the weekend.
It was nothing short of glorious. There were, of course, numerous carnal couplings which likely violated the laws of god and man and they were repeated at every opportunity. Nary a moment passed when we weren't stuffing parts of ourselves into one another. But that's what love's all about, isn't it? Surely I needn't tell an audience as cosmopolitan as mine that.
But it wasn't all flying bodily fluids and I don't want to give you the impression that it was. Just mostly. There was a great deal of culture involved as well. As some of you might know, Toronto is a major cultural center and is famous the world over as such. There is an abundance of museums, galleries and orchestras in this town I call home.
As most right thinking people are, my Zombiegirl and I are dedicated followers of Mr. Day and all of his good works. No one who has seen Purple Rain can be otherwise and still think of themselves as a reasonable human being. Anyone who didn't immediately recognize Morris Day as a latter day messiah from that fine film should be butchered like a pig. Sophisticates like Zombie and myself find such Neanderthals intolerable.
There are those of you who don't know that Gigolos Get Lonely Too. They don't know The Bird and they almost certainly are unfamiliar with the healing power of some Jungle Love. How such people made it all the way to adulthood remains one of the great mysteries of my life.
Not only had I never seen the Time before, I don't remember them ever playing here. I might be wrong but I almost never am. It was an event I have looked forward to since childhood. My excitement was palpable, all the more so because I would be joined by my great love who also happens to be a dedicated Morris enthusiast. Best of all, it was a free show at Toronto City Hall.
At the appointed hour, the band took the stage. Unfortunately, this was not the original Time. Of the backline, only Monte Moir and Jellybean Johnson remained from their 1980s heyday.
And then there was Morris. A sexy man in a pimp suit. When he appeared, the crowd gave him the reception befitting a religious figure of his stature. Indeed, our pants broke open like a New Orleans levee, such is the power of the Time's music. Hundreds of people were there and all almost certainly suffered from excruciatingly swollen genitals upon leaving Nathan Phillips Square Saturday night. If there was anyone there who didn't, their very humanity would have been openly questioned by the rest of us, and such ugliness must always be avoided.
On Sunday, things took a much more serious turn as we prepared to spend a magical evening with Mr. Leonard Cohen.
This was the show that I wasn't supposed to ever see. As you may or may not know, Mr. Cohen hasn't toured since the fall of 1993 when he was, in his words, "a 60 year old kid with a crazy dream." In that time, he has released by two albums of new material, the disappointing Ten New Songs and Dear Heather. At 73, it appeared that one of the most interesting careers in popular entertainment was winding down. I had seen almost all of my heroes, but I lamented the fact that I would never see Cohen perform live.
Then something magical happened. In 2005 we learned that Leonard doesn't know the first thing about managing money. His retirement would be short-lived indeed, which is tragic for Mr. Cohen but worked out excellently for me, and most importantly, my Zombie bride. And of course, my spiritual counsellor, the great Dr. Reverend and his lovely wife. Of course, the good Doctor bought the tickets as I am almost as bad with money as Leonard is. The Doctor is incredible with money, as one would expect, given his background.
As you may or may not know, Mr. Cohen announced a 2008-09 tour earlier this spring. Other than a handful of warm-up dates in the parts of Canada that don't matter, the tour officially kicked off in Toronto last weekend.
And it is, as some jackoff at the Toronto Star put it, "breathtaking." Of course, there are really only two kinds of people in this world, those who love Leonard Cohen and those who were born wrong and are ignorant even of the fact that they'll never be right. Those who don't love Leonard are the kind of people that less civilized nations routinely slaughter and feed to farm animals.
The show was even better than those weeping pussies at Rolling Stone said it was. The only thing I can compare Sunday nights concert to was Tom Waits in 1999. The difference being that Waits played a few songs that truly sucked even though the show in its entirety was better than anything I had ever seen. Even Leonard's weaker, recent songs were interesting and fresh on Sunday night.
Take for example, "A Thousand Kisses Deep", which instead of being performed as a lesser song, was recited as poetry so beautiful it made my girlfriend cry.
There are so many highlights to that concert that it is almost impossible to list them all. Very rarely do you find yourself in a room with true, inescapable genius. If you have any doubts about seeing a 73 year old man rock out with the best of them, you'll be eating them out of your own ass if you have the privilege of seeing Leonard Cohen live.
Unfortunately, Leonard seems to be a little shy about performing in the United States. There are no dates there as of yet, but if there are, you all should spare no expense in attending one. If you have to travel across the country and see him opening for fucking Warrant in some rancid shithole like Oklahoma, you won't be sorry. It helps greatly if you see Morris Day and the Time the night before.
Of course, you won't get to go with the prettiest girl ever. She's mine.
And then we went to Wendy's on account of my being so romantic.
What have you teenagers been up to?
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day:Take This WaltzBy: Leonard Cohen From:I'm Your Man
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
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
HATS OFF FOR THE BIGGEST HOMO IN SHOW BUSINESS: THE BALLAD OF VALERIE AND ED
Life has got to be pretty good if you're Edward Van Halen. You get to sit around doing nothing for a decade at a time, get paid tens of millions of dollars for playing songs you wrote 30 years ago, and you can hire your own kid and nobody bitches all that much.
All that and you only have to be sober for four or five months every three or four years. I'd give my left nut to sit around getting hammered until "my people" decide that it's time for me to make another small fortune, thereby necessitating yet another trip to rehab where I could relentlessly hit on Lindsay Lohan.
That might not sound like a huge sacrifice for a lifestyle like that, but I have gorgeous nuts. I have them shaved so closely that you can actually see your reflection in them. Losing just one would ruin the whole aesthetic, and if you know anything about me, you know that I think aesthetics are everything.
But that's not all. When Ed wasn't inspiring three generations of guitarists to sound like annoying carbon copies of him, he was quite the family man. While David Lee Roth was learning to kickbox, hiring midget bodyguards and kiyaking the Amazon; Eddie was married and fathering his bass player.
However, that's only half the story. You see, Edward was married to Valerie Bertinelli.
My younger readers might not understand this, but when I was a very young boy, Valerie Bertinelli was what you youngsters endearingly refer to as "the shit." In the late Seventies, Miss Bertinelli was the very first woman to make me feel funny between my legs.
Needless to say, that funny feeling never subsided. Intead, it became the focus of my life, the core of this blog, and the reason each and every one of you loves me so much. If you like Enjoy Every Sandwich, you should send Valerie some flowers.
Because of Miss Valerie, the years between 1975 and 1984 were a magical time of exploration for my penis and I. That's where my love of analingus comes from. I spend a good percentage of my prepubescent years thinking of how I could best express my love for Valerie Bertinelli, and I figured that if the willingingness to shove your tastebuds in your beloved's dumper doesn't do it, nothing will. I'm not ashamed to admit it, I sometimes whistle the theme song to One Day at a Timewhen I masturbate to this very day.
As a matter of fact, she became the template upon which I judged all other girls for more years than I have the courage to say. The surest way for a woman to make my heart rattle as violently as testicles routinely do was to be tiny, cute, brunette, and Italian-looking. If you absolutely must know, that's where my passion for the Terri Schiavo story came from.
If I had a nickle for every time that combination broke my heart, Bill Gates would be my fluffler. What, you think I can write with this intensity flaccid?
Alas, like 90% of my great loves, my affection for Valerie was to remain unrequited. She married one of the most influential guitar players of all time and they birthed a bassist. They were so happy.
But my love was still there too, lingering in the darkest recesses of my pants. Even when Mrs. Van Halen appeared in a cover story in Us magazine discussing her near constant miscarriages; I was there for her, masturbating furiously. I have it on good authority that throttling your prick to something as tragic as a miscarriage is wrong, but it sure felt right at the time.
However, that happiness was not to last. He got drunker, she got fatter, and my penis and I got distracted with other things. Edward and Valerie Van Halen seperated in 2001 and divorced last year.
Since both of the former lovers have new career ventures to promote - Ed pretending that it's still 1982, and Val pretending that she could ever look as good as she did then again and hanging out with Kirstie Alley - it's time to let a little dirt out.
The story starts out rather tepidly, with Bertinelli's admission that she and Edward cheated on one another.
Valerie Bertinelli is kissing and telling: In a revealing new sit-down with Oprah Winfrey, the actress and Jenny Craig spokeswoman says that she and ex-husband Eddie Van Halen cheated on each other. "I cheated," she tells Oprah on the episode airing Feb. 25. "He claims to this day that I cheated first, but I don't know. I don't know about the timing."
You mean that alcoholics and people with eating disorders make bad decisions? Thank God for Oprah! I never would have known that without her messianic Hour of Power.
Then things get well and truly weird.
Bertinelli, 47, who's promoting her tell-all book, Losing It: And Gaining My Life Back One Pound at a Time, also reveals that her ex, with whom she's now friendly, wanted to take their relationship slow – at least at first. "He didn't want to sleep with you," asked Winfrey. Responded Bertinelli: "I know ... I wanted to sleep with him ... and he wanted to talk to my dad first."
Jesus Christ and all the dwarves in Disneyland, what the fuck is that about? Eddie was in one of the world's biggest bands at the time. When you're in one of the world's biggest bands, here's pretty much what your day looks like: performing for two hours, interviews and promotion for say another three, and the remaining 19 hours are devoted to fucking the hottest women you can find. And in 1981, there weren't many women hotter than Valerie Bertinelli. What was he doing, waiting to see if Loni Anderson had a day off first?
On the other hand, I think I finally know what "I'll Wait" is about.
The part I find most disturbing is Ed's wanting to talk to Valerie's dad first. That must have been the most entertaining conversation ever!
Eddie: Hi, over-protective Italian father of one of television's hottest starlets. I'm a guitar player in a hard rock band with a singer who wears assless pants. We make videos with lots and lots of girls in bikinis and our lyrics make the term "single entendre" sound really high-brow. By the way, did I mention that I'm a drunk?"
Anyhow, I'm not really sure how to say this, but your daughter really wants me to fuck her and I was just wondering if that's cool with you?"
Mr. Bertinelli: Well, is it Eddie? Well Eddie, as an over-protective Italian father of a hot television starlet, I usually try to discourage alcoholic hard rock guitarists who hang out with guys in assless pants from fucking her, but you seem different. You seem like you could be family!
Not only do I want you to fuck my little girl, Edward - may I call you Edward? - I want you to marry her. She may end up looking like her mother and a financial empire of ineffective diet-plan advertising hasn't been invented yet. Valerie needs to be provided for.
All I ask is that you fire the guy in the assless pants. I'm a Catholic, for Christ's sake!
While I'm sure that it's possible that such a conversation could have occurred outside of my fevered imaginiation, I sort of doubt it did. I'm thinking that Ed might be a little light in the manpris.
Refusing to fuck Valerie Bertinelli when she's practically clawing your furniture apart begging you to is one thing. But the only thing gayer than going around the world with a guy in assless pants is doing it with a guy in red pants, which Eddie did .... twice.
I might be way out of line for saying this, but I think that, given Valerie's revelation, DNA testing is more likely to prove that Michael Jackson is Wolfgang's dad than is Ed.
And you know what? I'd still fuck Valerie Bertinelli. But I'd have to pretend that she was Lindsay Lohan.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Romeo Delight By: Van Halen From: Women and Children First
(Editor's Note: The above You Tube video is from the 1983 US Festival, where Van Halen became the first band ever to earn a million dollars for a single show. "Romeo Delight" was the first song of their set, yet Roth couldn't be bothered to remember the lyrics. To his own song. For $1.5 million dollars
That's why I miss bands like the original Van Halen.)
Every modern gentleman knows that there's a time for slow, sweet lovemaking and a time for raunchy, filthy fucking. It's just the nature of things. I suppose that's the way Jesus intended it to be. If you're with the love of your life or just another dirty cock-pocket like Lindsay Lohan or, I dunno, let's say Harrriet Miers, an appropriate soundtrack couldn't be more appropriate.
It's been well established that music has sucked horribly since 1994, so I recommend that you pay close attention to the kind of music your paramour prefers. If she's a fan of say, Godsmack - or any band that names itself after an Alice In Chains song - you know that she's less than completely human, and is pretty much easy to dispose of. No one will really miss her and her horrid taste in music. If you live in an area populated with coyotes, all the better. That increases the chances that the authorities will never find the body.
However, it isn't outside the realm of possibility that you'll someday enjoy coitus with someone you actually like. In the case, I recommend starting out with music that's romantic, yet overwhelmingly sad. Music that tells the woman in your life that you're not the kind of guy that leaves his lovers in the desert to be eaten by coyotes. And you can't do better than Leonard Cohen in that regard. You need to appear to be sensitive, at least at first.
Since I have it on good authority that most men don't last more than six or seven minutes, you can get whole ordeal over with during "Light as the Breeze" from The Future.Even more tragic, there are men who can barely last through the Beatles' "Her Majesty" at the end of Abby Road.
However, if you're a chronic onanist, you have a problem of a decidedly opposite nature. You might just outlast the battery of your ipod. That means musical selection becomes even more important. You need to draw things out and build the mood to keep the young lady interested.
Cohen's a good place to start out slow and easy, but you need to build on that. The tempo should increase steadily, if only to demonstrate your versitilty and skill level. For that I suggest the Rolling Stones. They have a number of sexy, rhythmic songs of varying tempos. Having sad that, you should never start out with "Brown Sugar," unless you went pro long ago. You want to save that to toward the end. Start out with songs like "Worried About You,""Slave," and "Tops" from Tatoo You. If you need a break to slow down some, I can't recommend some of Otis Redding's ballads highly enough.
But you want to finish on a high, or epic note. This is important for any number of reasons. After hours and hours of marathon sex, you want to send a message to the friends and family of the your lover who have been waiting patiently in the next room for hours.
I always thought that "Smoke of the Water" by Deep Purple would be a good song to finish your business with. There's something about the image of a woman leaving your boudoir with her panties around her knees and gallons of your affection draining from all of her available orfices to the Ian Paice's high-hat signature and Blackmore's fade-out riff that says "Mission Accomplished" that the Bush administration can't ever compete with.
The problem is that the Machine Head studio recording is somewhat thin sounding. It's jusy not epic enough to suit your purposes. The ending of a night of almost inhuman depravity needs to be concluded with with something bigger, Something that makes a statement. Something in Japanense.
That's why I'm here to show you the perfect recording by which to make love to your old lady.
How's that for big, epic and Japanese? If you know anything at all about the ladies, you now that this is the last sound you want her to remember as her parents are strapping an oxygen mask to her face. Do you think a woman like La Lohan or Harriet Miers would settle for anything less?
Of course, you won't actually be there to see it. After all, you have your own post-romantic rituals. That ketamine on the nightstand won't just snort itself, will it? But you'll know what's happening in the hallway and only then will you know that you've done a worthwhile job. And you'll be glad that you strapped that defibilator to the wall.
Yet again, you'll know that you're a masterful lover. And you'll have me to thank for it.
HE STILL HASN'T FOUND WHAT HE'S LOOKING FOR, INSISTS ON CONTINUING THE SEARCH MUCH TO THE ANNOYANCE OF EVERYONE
Most politicians and high government officials are pretentious, lying motherfuckers. I know that's something that everybody should know, but I'm not all that sure that most of you pay attention to anything I post that doesn't have a giant set of tits in it.
If you were to give your average bureaucrat sodium pentathol and asked them which rock star they'd most to meet, I think we can agree that they'd answer "Tommy Lee." In the deepest parts of your soul, you just know that, say, Dick Cheney wants to smell Tommy's finger just as badly as the rest of us do.
But that would look wrong, and piss off the Christian Right and the feminist left. So they play it safe and meet with Bono instead.
As much as I'd like to relentlessly rank on the goofy Mick bastard, he does seem to know his shit about certain things, like poverty. Apparently, it's no fun. But just as I start to get a little respect for Bono, he does something stupid and starts lecturing George W. Bush about how damaging it can be for Africans to be paying interest on hundreds of billions of dollars of debt. C'mon, George W. Bush is not only paying debt on nine trillion dollars of debt, he actually created that debt in the first place.
At least as far I'm concerned, Bono takes one step forward and thirteen or so back. But I will give him credit, his heart's in the right place, especially since his band has sucked for about a decade.
U2 lead singer and activist Bono visited the Pentagon to discuss Africa and the fight against global poverty with U.S. Defence Secretary Robert Gates, representatives of the two men said on Wednesday.
What does Bono want the Pentagon to do, bomb poor people with love and cookies? As we've learned quite starkly in the last several years, the United States military doesn't exactly excel at nation building. And, as you might imagine, building some of the world's poorest nations is something of a necessity before their poverty can be relieved.
As the Republican nominee for president, George W. Bush knew this and explicity swore off nation building as a goal of U.S foreign policy. On the other hand, he also declared that he was a fiscal conservative, so I think we all know what his word is worth.
But let's hear Bono out. Maybe his ideas aren't that silly.
Among the topics at the 20-minute meeting on Tuesday afternoon were U.S. plans to set up a new U.S. military command for Africa, Pentagon press secretary Geoff Morrell said.
Okay, I stand corrected. Bono's ideas are that silly.
In theory, an African command is actually a pretty good idea. Insane places with shitloads of oil don't just invade themselves and Nigeria's getting lonely. Of course, I kid. Sort of.
There are any number of problems with a potential African command.
Firstly, the American military's Central Command, which includes places like Iraq and Afghanistan that you may have heard of, is keeping the military pretty busy. So busy in fact, that no less a personage than Colin Powell has described the American army as "broken."
Much has been made of last year's surge, but none of the conservatives in the media or blogosphere have sufficently explained what happens if the Iraqis still don't have their shit together as the surge inevitably begins descalation. There's every indication that things go back to where they were in the fall of 2006.
This is why no sensible person should take American threats against Iran seriously. Whenever, I hear a shithead like Rudy Giuliani getting his man-on regarding the Islamic Republic, I ask myself the same question: "You and what army?"
Second, once the United States declares that Africa is enough of a priority to warrant its own command, Africans will look to it to solve its problems.
Let's take Darfur as just one example. The problems in Sudan are greater than a genocidal central government. They are problems of ethnicity and geography. The Arabs in the north of Sudan really don't like the tribal black Africans of the south, and there's no serious expectation that this will change anytime soon.
Stopping the immediate genocide - and the United States has called it just that - will require nothing less than regime change in Khartoom, and will end up requiring a whole lot more. Regime change in Sudan is a good place to start, but applying anything more than a band-aid is going to require partition of the country.
Most white folks look at Africa and blame its problems on the kleptocratic governments in the region. While that's certainly an issue, it isn't the primary one. Africa suffers from the same problem that the Middle East does: it is a continent composed of artificial countries.
There is absolutely no rhyme or reason to Africa's internal borders. They were thrown together by the European colonial powers with no consideration to race, ethnicity, language or tribal hostility. Demographically, Africa is Iraq writ large and fixing it is going to involve a horrendous amount of bloodshed.
The redrawing of Africa's borders in a rational way will happen eventually, it just might take a couple of hundred years. It took centuries of European fuck-uppery to turn Africa into the basketcase that it is, and to think that Bono can fix it between U2 tours is as stupid as it is dangerous.
If the United States and Europe devoted all of their military strength to fixing Africa's institutional problems, you have a situation somewhat worse than the 1948 partition of India, where hundreds of thousands of people died in a matter of weeks. Look at Rwanda in the mid-1990s for an idea of what that looks like. Then insert a bunch of white people, who actually created the problem, and let your imagination take over.
There's also the problem of history to contend with. The last time white people showed up in Africa in significant numbers, millions of said Africans wound up picking cotton and getting raped by Thomas Jefferson. I trust that you'll excuse any suspicions your average African might have about our motives.
I know that any number of the demonstrably idiotic advocates of the Bush administration will say that democracy is the answer. It really isn't, and any look at the former Yugoslavia explains why.
After the collapse of communism, all of the Yugoslavia's provinces were democratic to varying extents, and those provinces democratically decided to break away from the artificial central government. Then they democratically decided to ethically cleanse their newly independent republics. Slobodan Milosovic couldn't kill that many people all by himself, you know.
Does anybody wonder why NATO remains in the Balkans years after they were supposed to go home? We're still there to keep the formerly persecuted victims of Serbian genocide from democratically deciding to exact revenge on their tormenters and engage in a little ethnic cleansing of their own.
Africa had a Milosovic of its own. His name was Charles Taylor and until very recently, he was the president of Liberia. Taylor exacerbated some of the truly ugly upheavals in no fewer than three neighbouring nations in the hopes that Liberia could then exploit their diamond trades.
The single most chilling thing I had ever seen prior to 9/11 was a three of four year old child in Sierra Leone. That child's arms ended just below the elbows, and it was a perfect illustration of how unfettered democracy can work in Africa. That unimaginable violence against children occured during an election campaign where the government used the slogan, "The Future is in Your Hands."
Debt relief and foreign aid are great places to start in saving Africa. So is AIDS prevention, which will require a ton of money and a relaxtion of insane standards on the part of the American Christian Right and the Catholic Church. But those things alone are not going to turn Africa into a collection of dusky Ohios.
Ultimately, Africa's borders are going to have be redrawn in a way that makes sense to the Africans themselves. And no American "African command" can or should be involved in something like that. Heavily armed white people didn't do a particularly good job of it the first time.
Western governments and yes, even Bono, can should help Africa with things like debt relief, trade and AIDS. Those are only symptoms of a far greater problem. And the Pentagon and, yes, even Bono, should stay far, far away from those.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Staring at the Sun By: U2 From: Achtung Baby
Some songs are only important because some dickhead of a music critic says they are. I think we all know which songs they are. More often than not they suck and you only say that you like them because it makes you feel like a rock snob and this compensates for the fact that you haven't gotten laid for two fucking years. Not that I'd know that firsthand or anything. I'm out in public all day and I hear things.
Then there are songs that you're guilted into liking. Bob Geldolf actually invented this phenomenon with the tacky and stupid "Do They Know It's Christmas?" Marketing a record by saying that if the public doesn't buy it, lots of African kids will starve to death was pretty unique. And it worked. Shitloads of folks bought the record and the proceeds indirectly armed the Ethiopian army, which then shot a bunch of African kids to death.
The most important songs are the songs with a message so true and timeless that they demand to be heard.
These songs are mostly "Chantilly Lace" by the Big Bopper, which is probably the most inspiring song about an aspiring pedophile that you'll ever hear. It speaks to the hopes and dreams of everyone who prefers a woman with a wiggle in her walk and a giggle in her talk. "Be Bop A-Lula" by Gene Vincent is another of history's most important songs for the simple reason that it outlines the importance of everyone knowing who their baby is. And there is a time when each of us must stand up for these things and not mean maybe.
Those are songs that speak to the human spirit and the aspirations of mankind. That's what makes them timeless.
You might say that John Lennon's "Imagine" is more important, but I'd just respond by saying that you're a giant pussy. Besides, "Gimmie Some Truth" is the best song on that album. Everybody knows that.
A few months ago I wrote about the greatest song ever. And while "Show Them to Me" is just as true today as it was back in July, I thought not everyone would appreciate its message because of the wordiness and complexity of the double entendres. Sometimes I forget that I run a highbrow blog for a lowbrow audience.
Thankfully, everybody's favorite Drunken Stepfather is there for you every bit as much as he's there for me. And thanks to him, we now have the Most Important Song Of All Times!
There's a truth and a directness there that can't be ignored. And it isn't all arty like "Show Them To Me" is. But it's the truth that makes the song so important.
Oh, and the tits. I wouldn't want to forget those.
Pretty much everything in this post was ruthlessly stolen from Drunken Stepfather. I have no idea why you people still come here. I haven't had an original idea since mid-2005.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Body Movin' By: Beastie Boys From: Hello Nasty
THEY COME FROM THE LAND OF THE ICE AND SNOW AND THEY WON'T GO BACK: THE RETURN OF PAGEY, PERCY & WHATSHISNAME!
If ever they create a museum to the greatest people ever, Ahmet Ertegun will be front and center in it. If you liked music back when it wasn't all trivial and fucking recycled nonsense, then you owe Ahmet your deepest gratitude. As the founder of Atlantic Records, he practically invented cool music all by himself. For example, one of his very first signings was the phenominally wonderful Ray Charles.
So when Mr. Ertegun died last December, it was something that the entire industry and music lovers everywhere took pretty hard. The man was a giant and he'll be deeply missed.
Having said that, it's still no excuse for Led Zeppelin to get back together.
On December 10th, the original cock-rockers will re-unite for the fourth time at London's O2 Arena as tribute to Ahmet Ertegun's memory. In all likelihood, this will be followed up by the world's first zillion-dollar tour, although it might not. Robert Plant is a contrarian asshole and may actually be allergic to success. Remember, this is a guy who was reduced to opening for Lenny fucking Kravitz not too long ago. But you can bet your ass that the grandmother of Jimmy Page and that other guy have grown weary of their anonymity and being lackeys of the former Puff Daddy.
Some of my younger readers might not know that there was a time when Jimmy Page wouldn't dream of taking third billing behind Sean Combs and a motherfucking animated dinasour.
Christ, I hate that song! Even the the constant refrain of "Uh-huh, Yeeeah" aggreviates me more than Robert Plant's intonations of "OoooooOOoooooooooooooOOOOOOOOooo Yeah!"
Indeed, remixing and remastering the same 10 Zeppelin albums over and over is pretty much all that Page has done in the last two decades, and the other guy scores movies that no one sees (although he did do some pretty cool string arrangements on R.E.M's Automatic for the People.) They may not need the money, but Pagey and Whatshisname desperately need to get out of the house.
For the record, I was a huge Zeppelin fan as a kid. From the age of about 13 to 18, I listened to them regularly. I even saw Plant live at Exhibition stadium on the 1985 Shaken Not Stirred tour. but then I couldn't listen to them at all for about fifteen years. The first note of any of any of the six or seven Zep songs that are constantly on the radio were enough to inspire such a mighty fury in me that I stopped listening to the radio completely.
In fact, it wasn't the band that drove me so violently insane. If you listen to the music alone, it still stands the test of time. While he was one of the sloppier guitarists of his generation, Jimmy Page was actually a brilliant arranger and producer and the late John Bonham could beat a set of drums in a way that only Dave Grohl has been able to approach since his passing. Even the other guy came up with some interesting stuff from time to time.
If there's any one thing about Led Zeppelin that enrages me, it's their fucking singer. Firstly, Robert Plant invented one of the most annoying phenomenons in modern music: screaming the word "baby" seven or eight times in high C and letting people think that it's the blues. It isn't the fucking blues, it's being a dick. Listen to history's great blues singers. You almost never want to punch them in the face.
Then there's the small matter of his lyrics. Can you pick any five Led Zeppelin songs and tell me what they're actually about? No, you can't. Those aren't songs or stories as much as they are an seventh-grader's book report on "Lord of the Rings" with a fucking beat. And the only people who deserve a sharp blow to the face more than those who scream "baby" seven or eight times in high C are J. R. R. Tolkien enthusiasts. Please stop telling me that I should read Tolkien already. I tried to when I was thirteen and had to stop when I felt an overwhelming urge to hit someone with a fucking shovel.
Jim Morrison was drunk and annoying to be sure, but at least he turned me on to some pretty cool books. Other than his crimes against adult literacy, all I learned from Robert Plant was how not to wear a shirt in public.
Furthermore, Led Zeppelin generally, and Plant in particular, are the biggest fucking thieves in the history of the music business. They would steal entire songs and credit them as their own works of genius. The blantant theft of the great Willie Dixon's work in "Whole Lotta Love" is merely the most famous example. Their first two albums are almost completely lifted from other artists. Shit, "The Lemon Song" is the combination of two stolen songs, Howlin' Wolf's "Killin' Floor" and Robert Johnson's "Travelling Riverside Blues." The estates of Johnson and Wolf didn't get a goddamned dime, but Jimmy Page got Aleister Crowley's house out of the deal.
The rumor that Led Zeppelin sold their souls to the devil for fame couldn't be more retarded. They actually sold other people's souls for it. You think black American musicians had the blues in the Forties and Fifties? You should have talked to them after white, Limey cocksuckers like Led Zeppelin hit the so-called "motherlode" by robbing them blind. And roughly one-third of all blues singers of that era actually had "blind" in their goddamned names!
As anyone who has read Stephen Davis' "Hammer of the Gods" can tell you, half the fun of a Led Zeppelin tour was the havok that they passed the time creating. An average day in the life of Led Zeppelin usually included the shoving a mudshark into a nubile groupie and Page having a torrid affair with a criminally young girl.
But now these guys are all in their sixties or rapidly approaching them. And shoving mudsharks into girls is unseemly for a senior citizen. When you get to be Jimmy Page's age, almost all girls are inappropriately young. If, at the age of 59, Robert Plant asks anyone to squeeze his lemon 'til the juice runs down his leg, he should be laughed at by the audience and immediately taken into police custody.
Can you imagine anything funnier than having Percy's elderly meanderings about his lemon interrupted by a bullhorn sqwaking "Mr. Plant, this is the Tulsa Sheriff's Department. Please step away from the microphone and put the tamborine down"? I sure can't.
Granted, I'm a huge Rolling Stones fan and I saw them five times between 1989 and 1999. But there's a big difference between the Stones and Zeppelin. Zeppelin was first and foremost a "rock" band, and that doesn't age very gracefully. The Stones on the other hand were always far more about the "roll" than they were the rock. You can be a really old guy and play, say, "Tumblin' Dice" without looking stupid. The same probably can't be said about "The Immigrant Song." You want to see your grandpa go "Awwwwwwwww-ahh" a lot? Fill his diaper with sand.
One of the only things that I've managed to respect Zeppelin for is the fact that they've repeatedly refused zillion dollar offers for a reunion tour. If nothing else, it allowed them to maintain what little dignity they had in the first place. That no longer seems to be the case.
But there are some practical questions to be raised about a reunion.
Back in the day, if Page, Plant and the other guy got bored during a show at, say, Madison Square Garden, they could let Bonzo kick into "Moby Dick," and enjoy a lovely sandwich and get a blowjob or three before flying into Philadelphia and play an 18-song acoustic set before returning to to New York and ending the song.
Would it really be fair to do that to Bonham's kid?
Sure, a Zeppelin reunion tour will be great fodder for assholes for me to mock. I just feel sorry for the dumb bastards who'll end up paying four hundred fucking dollars to see them.
Having said all of that, I still want one of those Jimmy Page suits with all of the dragons and stars and shit and a 1958 sunburst Gibson Les Paul. Only then would I feel properly sexy.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Trampled Underfoot By: Led Zeppelin From: Physical Graffiti
"'CAUSE I'M NOT SLEEPING":THE NOVEL DEATH OF MICHAEL HUTCHENCE
It was ten years ago yesterday, November 22, 1997, that the body of Michael Hutchence was found hanging in a Sydney hotel room. He was 37 years old and had a one-year-old daughter. It was pretty sad at the time. Then stories started and it quickly became comical. Then it got sad again.
If you're my age, you remember INXS being the biggest band in the goddamned world. They had been very successful in their native Australia and, oddly enough, Canada. But when Kickwas released, they became fucking enourmous. And they deserved it. They wrote some pretty goddamned good songs. Tell me you still don't tap your foot to "Need You Tonight" from time to time.
And after about a year, it was pretty much over.
To be fair, INXS remained pretty big in Europe, Asia and Australia at the end, but they played a club in Toronto about two months before Hutchence died. And if you're over in North America, you may as well not bother. England has gotten pretty good at the celebrity freakshow, but we invented it.
As much as big-time rawk stars bitch and moan about their lives, it is an entirely voluntary occupation. The last time I checked, there wasn't a draft to be the bassist in, say, Judas Priest. No one in their right mind spends years playing shithole bars in no-name towns to stay anonymous. Sure, record companies and promoters will fuck you over finacially for years, but you'll be too preoccupied with cocaine and blowjobs to notice.
Cocaine and blowjobs were big priorities with Hutchence and he did both with a certain finesse. It is said that he personally hoovered tons of blow and got his blowjobs from only the best. Among those who sampled his goo; Kylie Minogue, Helena Christensen and Belinda Carlisle. That's a pretty tough life to beat.
For whatever reason, Michael decided that what he really wanted was to settle down with Bob Geldof's celebrated mess of a wife, Paula Yates. Consequently, the list of things Geldof didn't like was expanded from just Mondays to include the lead singer of INXS. A very, very contentious divorce was taking place as Hutchence was in that hotel room in Sydney 10 years ago.
Ten years ago yesterday, Michael Kelland John Hutchence was found dead at the Ritz-Carlton in Sydney. He was naked and a belt was found around his neck. The coronoer concluded that he had been mixing alcohol and cocaine with antidepressants. Shit happens, I suppose.
Except that Paula Yates wasn't quite prepared to accept that. Not for her explaining to their daughter, Heavenly Hiraani Tiger Lily Hutchence, that daddy offed himself for no reason. No, Paula insisted for years that Michael had perished in a bizarre autoerotic asphyxiation accident. That's right, Paula Yates honestly wanted to one day tell her daughter that daddy actually masturbated to death.
Look, no one knows better than I do the joys that come from cutting off the oxygen to your brain just before you cum, and that its an adult business and should be reserved solely for adults. Having said that, I'd certainly prefer that my wife someday to sit my kids down and explain that daddy's not around any more because he put a plastic bag over his head so that he could fire his jizz 400 yards than to tell have to say that I couldn't even get polypharmacy together.
If you ever wondered why I never got married or had kids, now you know. I have priorities.
Plus, I'm pretty sure that no woman would ever love me enough to tell my offspring that I masturbated to death. I can just imagine the conversation after my passing.....
Kid: "Where's my daddy?"
Mom: "He's taking a dump, honey."
Kid: "No, I mean my real daddy. The one who looked like a white Suge Knight!"
Mom: "Oh, that skinny Canadian loser? He fucked up with Prozac and Chivas. You're better off without him and his stupid, heavy books about nothing. Fuck him, the baldheaded prick!"
Not for me the quiet solace of knowing that my fruit of my lions is content thinking that I had jerked off into the great unknown. So perhaps it's best that I never wed in the first place.
That's how I know that Paula Yates really loved Michael Hutchence. She tried to give the poor bastard some dignity. And she struggled mightily to maintain that dignity until her own death from a heroin overdose less than three years later.
Tiger Lilly, now 11-year-old orphan, has been adopted by - of all fucking people - Bob Geldof and can't seem to find any peace. The Hutchence family is now gearing up to go to war with Sir Bob.
Mrs Glassop branded Sir Bob as "Satan" who did not look after her granddaughter, Tiger Lily, well.
She also slammed party girl Peaches as a "bad influence" on Tiger Lily, the late Hutchence's daughter by Yates.
Sir Bob agreed to raise Tiger Lily - along with the three daughters from his marriage to Yates - following the death of Hutchence in a bizarre hanging tragedy and Yates' fatal drug overdose in 2000.
But despite his reputation as a tireless worker for charity, Ms Glassop accused Sir Bob of being a bad father who was interested only in Tiger Lily's inheritance.
The problem is that there doesn't seem to be much of an inheritance for poor Tiger Lilly. Michael seemed to devote more time to hiding his money than he did making more of it. A guy who was estimated to have been worth $10-20 million when he died left an estate of about a thousand dollars. And apparently he wanted it that way.
Ten years on, the sad, stupid death of Michael Hutchence only seems to get sadder and stupider.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Heaven Sent By: INXS From: Greatest Hits
IF THE LEG FITS: HEATHER MILLS IS HAVING A FUNNY DIVORCE
It's always funny when somebody's marriage doesn't work out. I say this because you never really know somebody until you end up in divorce court with them.
You see, when two people are in love with one another, they tend to hide all of their own worst qualities from one another. When love evolves into contempt, as it inevitably does, you get to find out what your beloved is really all about. And the discovery is almost never sexy, unless you happen to be one of those poor souls who can't cum until somebody takes half of your assests. Freak!
Watching regular people fall out of love is fun, but watching celebrities do it is the greatest thing ever! It really is the most fun you can have with your clothes on. That's because there are always three parties to a celebrity divorce; the husband, the wife, and the rest of the world. When celebrity couples break up, everybody gets to find out how skunky their favorite stars are behind closed doors.
Unquestionably, the single greatest divorce in the whole wide world is Paul and Heather McCartney's. These proceedings represent almost all of the Seven Deadly Sins in equal measure. The combinaion of mutual loathing, money and stupidity is always a good time and the battling McCartney's want to show you how it's done once and for all.
Heather Mills hooked up with the former Beatle Paul when he looked more like Paul McCartney's mother that the "Cute One" of yore and hadn't written a song that inspired anything but hatred and violence in thirty years. Heather was a hard-bodied tart with a porno past and one leg. It was an accident waiting to happen.
I really can't underscore the importance most healthy men place on fucking a one-legged fetish model at least once in our lives. It's one of those dark kinks that gets us through our workaday lives and gives us hope for something better. Like the lighting of farts, it is an activity that men love and women really aren't supposed to understand.
As vegetarians, both McCartneys are stupid. It is a well-established scientific fact that red meat keeps the logic center of the brain active and healthy. Starve it, and it withers away, leaving you an animal rights activist who runs around trying to ban landmines, seal hunts, and pretty much everything else that a sensible gentleman considers fun. The only reason that anyone indulged their stupid little crusades is that Paul was in the Beatles and Heather has one leg and great tits. If any of you started such a campaign, you'd only get punched in the mouth and knocked on your lettuce-eating ass, so don't bother.
Because his mind had been starved of tasty, tasty beef for so long, Paul figured that he could marry a much younger uniped former fetish model with a stellar rack without protecting his assests with a prenuptual agreement. After all, isn't love all you need?
Apparently not. Last year, the pair filed for divorce after four years of matrimony and Paul found his billion dollar fortune threatened. Opps.
Since their seperation, Heather has bided her time Dancing With the Stars. However, dancing can be a taxing past-time when you only have one leg, so she found a new hobby last week: screaming at the press.
Heather Mills is a woman with simple needs. All she wanted was a few hundred million dollars and the right to write a book detailing what a prick the guy who wrote "Silly Love Songs" really is. Who could object to that?
Apparently, Heather forgot that her estwhile life-partner also wrote "You Never Give Me Your Money," and the divorce has dragged on well past the point common sense dictates that it should. Remember, we're dealing with vegetarians here, and such people view common sense with suspicion. When you are at war with the food chain, it is easy to forget that a messy celebrity divorce only benefits one person: me.
Besides wanting to write a tell-all, Hopalong Heather wants to move to America and host a talk show. While she's more than dumb and annoying enough for daytime television, her accent is entirely too peculiar for the American market. Sharon Osbourne should really sit her down and explain how these things work. Actually, Ozzy should do it. Watching him to try to explain anything is hilarious.
Shortly after the divorce was announced, some of the German fetish photos Heather took in 1988 began to surface in the British tabloids. Some have suggested that this was the work of Paul's army of lawyers, who figured that Heather wouldn't just limp off into that good night. Or perhaps they figured that Heather needed a good spanking.
Of course, you'd have to be awfully cynical to suggest that Team Paul was behind the publication of the naughty pics, and that's why you'd almost certainly be right. While McCartney might be functionally retarded, his shysters sure as shit ain't.
You'd think that having pictures of herself being spanked and covered in lotion by a mulleted Kraut for all the world to see would be sufficently humiliating to make Heather go quietly, but you'd be forgetting that Paul wasn't the only vegetarian in that matrimonial unit.
No, she kept babbling incomprehensibly about how landmines are somehow bad and dancing with the stars, while the rest off us were fixated on her knockers and full to the brim with the deviant desire to hump her stump. But she did keep her piehole closed about Beatle Paul for a time. At least until a few weeks ago.
When McCartney insisted on the inclusion of a no-talkee, no-bookee clause in any financial settlement, Mills launched into an explosion of batshit fucking craziness and weapons grade stupidity that stunned observers on both sides of the Atlantic.
So spectacular were her televised tirades that people stopped questioning her intelligence and started questioning her sanity. It was actually a pretty fucking cool thing to see.
In fact, her diatribes were so demented that her personal public relations hack immediately resigned in shame and her battalion of barristers are quietly considering doing likewise. Shooting your wad before your pants come off is, after all, a poorly considered legal strategy.
Heather Mills McCartney went into meltdown on live TV today as she raged against the media, claimed her life's in danger and admitted she's contemplated suicide because of the way she's been portrayed in the press.
Speaking on GMTV the estranged wife of Sir Paul McCartney, who is locked in divorce negotiations with her husband, said it was all the fault of the press.
"A certain part of the tabloid media created such a hate campaign against me it put my life and my daughter's life at risk," she said, choking back sobs.
"That's why I considered killing myself."
Now, I'm hardly an expert on British divorce law. For all I know, those fucking people hire a dentist to settle these disputes. But I'm reasonably certain that televising the fact that you're a suicidal mess isn't especially helpful when it comes time to decide child custody. Christ, telling the world that she's a suicidal vegetarian with a proclivity for being spanked by Germans might well result in the kid's custody being given to Britney Spears.
All things being equal, that might be for the best. If nothing else, we can be reasonably certain that Britney won't have little Beatrice duetting with Michael Jackson or Stevie Wonder in the immediate future. Yes, there are laws against having a four-year-old covered in lotion and spanked for the camera, but the Germans are famous for ignoring those.
During her morning TV meltdown, Heather revealed that she had tapes of Paul sounding less like the guy who wrote "And I Love Her" and more like the guy who wrote "Helter Skelter." Fortunately for all of us, Heather's giving us a sneak preview.
Up to now only scant hints of the tapes' contents have emerged. But the News of the World has discovered Heather is confident they back her claims that 65-year-old Paul:
DOWNED Viagra pills to pep up sex with the one-time porn star.
RAGED through tempestuous rows at the couple's marital home.
ADMITTED he was partially to blame over their marriage breakdown and stormy relationship.
MOCKED her as "a silly cow" and "spoilt".
WHINED about the tiniest of household bills.
was VIOLENT towards first wife Linda.
A close friend claimed: "There are other recordings Heather says prove Paul referred to her as a ‘one-legged bitch'.
(...)
"Some of the details about their sex life will shock a lot of people and cause them to view Paul in a new light.
You mean that he was fucking a one-legged vegetarian whose previous job was getting spanked, and he's kinky, too?
Like I said earlier, I'm no expert on Limey law, so I have no idea how this plays out in the courts. If I were to venture a guess, I'd say that Heather walks away with eleventy billion dollars, writes a book that no one reads and Paul ends up looking like a schmuck. But I can't say that with any certainty.
But there is one thing I know. Somewhere out there Ringo Starr is laughing his ass off.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: You Never Give Me Your Money By: The Beatles From: Abbey Road
VANITY'S END: WHEN HOT GIRLS FIND JESUS & THE HEROIN DIARIES
I'm a big fan of celebrity fuck-up books. I love memoirs by guys who had it all and went on to leave it running down a woman's leg, shoot it into their arms, or lose it through general all-around stupidity. I'm less of a fan of the "boy, I'm sure glad I lived through it all" and "I had my fun, so you shouldn't" message. But as a general rule, those books are hard to beat for stupid, mindless fun.
Of the three, Slash's book was the most entertaining. Not only is there not an ounce of self-pity in it - and remember, this is a guy who dealt with Axl Rose for a living - he also has a great sense of humor about what even he knows has been an incredibly ridiculous life. I've always loved him as a guitar player, but now he seems like one of the most grounded people to have written one of these books.
The one I was looking most forward to was The Heroin Diaries. Certainly, no one should expect lightning storms of wisdom from someone who willingly chose the name "Nikki Sixx" for himself. On the other hand, I'm always curious to read about someone who fatally overdoses and is revived by a needleful of adreneline to heart, only to be released from the hospital and go home to overdose again. That's a level of fuck-uppery for which many are called, but few are truly chosen.
The Motley Crue group autobiography, The Dirt, is what I consider to be the gold standard of stupid. If your thing is mindless excess, The Dirt is just the book for you. That book is all the proof you need that guys in Motley Crue are every bit as dumb as their songs. And that's precisely why you should love them. Say what you will about stupid, but few things are as much fun. Of course, I needn't tell you that. You all read me. Although, I should point out that far fewer of you read me than just a year ago.
The Heroin Diaries was touted as the dark side of The Dirt. After the fun stuff detailed in the band book was done for the day, young Nikki would go to his room and do speedballs or freebase. As was also recounted in the Slash memoir, this led to highly paranoid hallucinations from which being naked in the closet with high-powered weapons was the most common result.
The problem with that is that heroin does not produce hallucinations. Heroin withdrawl might, but dreaming up crazy shit is a more common result of acute cocaine intoxication. Heroin itself is one of the few health-neutral drugs on the human body.
Other than being highly addictive, it does nothing at all to your internal organs. The fact that it is a criminal offense to possess means that one must obtain it from criminals and criminals are famously untrustworthy.
Criminalization has made heroin a deadly drug, which has cleverly served to perpertuate its illegality. But chemically, heroin is a much safer drug than even alcohol, nicotine or marijuanna. As a matter of fact, most former junkies will tell you that quitting smoking cigarettes is harder than kicking junk. The acute phase of opiate withdrawl ends after three days and the craving generally subsides after a week. Heroin withdrawl does, however, tend to be more immediately extreme than nicotine withdrawl.
But this wasn't supposed to be an essay about why you should all start shooting smack, it was supposed to be about Nikki Sixx's book, wasn't it?
In addition to the above, I was looking forward to reading The Heroin Diaries because it was actually really well-reviewed, which is unusual for a rock-star book. Even Warren Kinsellaseemed to like it, and he hates pretty much everything that doesn't mention Jean Chretien approximately three times in a given paragraph.
The base of the book is a day-by-day diary Sixx kept during his addiction with present-day commentaries from people who were involved with him and his hobbies at the time. I'll admit, I thought it was a pretty compelling concept.
Unfortunately, instead of being fun, or even depressing, The Heroin Diaries is just incredibly whiny. If you think you'd have fun reading about a naked guy in his closet with a shotgun, waiting for the invading force that never comes, you'd be better of reading Slash's book. At least his paranoid delusions manage to involve midget Predators and golf courses.
Nikki Sixx's book is little more than a 400-page bitchfest. "I hate being on drugs. I hate being off drugs. My band is annoying. I love playing with my band. I'm tired of groupies. I need to get laid. Being on tour sucks. I hate my mommy. Why didn't my mommy love me?" Yadda, yadda, fucking yadda. It goes on and on that way.
Here's but one scene that attracted me to the book;
The same month -- while en route to a recording studio -- Sixx drove his Harley to a Denny's on the Sunset Strip, and went in the bathroom to shoot up. Sprawled out on the floor, he cooked his fix using foul toilet water, because he was too lazy to go to the sink. - His entry from April, 1987: "I was hunched, trying to find a vein so I could inject into my [penis]. Then the dope went in and I thought I looked f***ing fantastic. I can't keep doing this, but I can't stop."
I've wanted to do that since I was five. But it turns out that it isn't all glamour. Or even that interesting.
Mr. Sixx was also engaged at the time to former Prince cock-pocket, Vanity. That was yet another reason that I wanted to read The Heroin Diaries. One of Canada's very hottest exports, I spent a great deal of the 1980s wanting to find out just how much of myself I could stuff inside of her.
Vanity had an interesting career trajectory. When Prince was bouncing up and down on top of her, she was poised to be a really big star. "Nasty Girl" ramains one of of the great songs of the era. Also, she was set to be the female lead in Purple Rain, but Prince had grown weary of fucking her first and things quickly fell apart for her. Instead, Apollonia Kotero and her magnificent rack(link NSFW) were purified in the waters of Lake Minnetonka.
In fact, it was Vanity who introduced Sixx to the joys of freebasing. The first time he met her was at the front door of her apartment. She was naked and her eyes were bulging out of her head. Are you turned on yet? I know I am.
There's only one way to describe a hot, naked girl who actually managed to introduce Nikki fucking Sixx to a new way to injest drugs: nothing less than perfect.
The further one gets into the book's narrative, the clearer it becomes that everyone involved - including Sixx - hated Vanity. But as she gets progressively more wasted, naked and obnoxious, the deeper I found myself falling in love with her.
During one particularly blinding whirlwind of cocaine consumption, Vanity proposes to Sixx and he accepts. He begins to loathe himself for this, proving that he's even dumber than I thought he was. Nikki Sixx wasn't even the best looking guy in Motley Crue and he's about to claim the grand prize in 80s poontang, and he finds that hates himself for it. Indeed, he becomes embarrassed and enraged when Vanity announces the engagement to the press.
The answer to Nikki's problems? More heroin. At least he got one thing right in the book.
Nikki Sixx kicked drugs and began enjoying life just in time for his career to go into steep decline. Things didn't work out so well for Vanity.
After Sixx broke up with her in the highly novel way of punching her in the face and physically throwing her out of his house, Vanity starred in the Carl Weathers vehicle Action Jackson. The only point of that film seemed to be providing me a masturbatory outlet between purchases of new pornography, which was highly censored in Canada during that time. After the relase of Action Jackson, Vanity vanished.
Vanity's heroic cocaine consumption resulted in kidney failure that almost killed her. She cleaned up, found Jesus and resumed life under her real name of Denise Matthews.
Actually, throughout her present-day commentaries in The Heroin Diaries, she is referred to as "Evangelist Denise Matthews," seemingly at her own insistence. And she ended up annoying me every inch as much as she annoyed everyone else back in the good old days.
There's very little in her commentaries that involve Sixx, their affair, or all of the cokey fun they shared. Instead, they constitute an almost incomprehensible rant against Vanity, Satan and the firey pits he made famous. She cites dictionaries in ways that make me fear and despise the English language itself.
I'm not all that surprised that Jesus ruined Vanity. After all, there are very few instances where Jesus has a girl in a state where she answers her front door naked with her eyes bugging out of her head, which is just one reason why cocaine is better than He is.
Furthermore, Evangelist Denise Matthews is still fairly attractive, which is a shame. If Jesus absolutely insists on ruining a perfectly good coke whore, I wish that He'd at least make her a pig in the process. At least then I wouldn't even be tempted to try to understand her insane gobbledygook. But Jesus has been fucking with me like that for decades and I guess there's no reason why He'd stop now.
Reading what she has today almost killed my desire to fuck her. I mean, I probably still would and everything, but I would just try not to do a very good job of it. The powerful orgasms that I regularly inspire would probably just make her fear for her immortal soul. On the other hand, I have no soul to worry about, so the sex could be all about me for once. I can't help but think that this would be a nice change.
In the end, I view the sad story of Vanity's decline and fall as a morality play, and it does have its lessons. That's why I'd like to ask a small favor of all the parents out there who might be reading my humble musings.
If you happen to have a daughter out there who you think is going to be hot, can you please keep her away from the fucking Bible? I mean, you're going to put her out there properly tarted up in her Abercrombie and Fitch apparel, ensuring that she's properly slutty. There's absolutely no reason to involve Jesus in it.
There are two things to consider here. First, cocaine and stupidity are going to make your perfect little girl plenty annoying all by themselves. But filling her to the brim with a lot of supernatural nonsense will only make her intolerably so. Even my penis I have my limits.
Always remember, you only have to deal with her for her first eighteen years, but some poor schmuck like me has to put up with her for the rest of her life. Making that any harder than it has to be is only vindictive and wrong. And I know as a fact that I have the most charitable readers on the Internet.
If you have any further questions about child-rearing or pointless and incomprehensible book reviews, feel free to ask away in the comments or by e-mail. I'm beginning to think that I should get a job at The Learning Annex.
Editor's Note: You can see Vanity looking as hot as fuck in the video for "Pretty Mess" here. I can't post it because Universal Music won't let You Tube include a embed code because they're pitiless cocksuckers. I also couldn't include the "Nasty Girl" video because the publishing is owned by that dwarfish motherfucker Prince, and he's spending most of his time lately proving what a dick he is. So this is the best I can do. The music industry should be destroyed.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Nasty Girl By: Vanity 6 From: Girl 6 Original Motion Picture Soundtrack
State of War: The Secret History of the CIA and the Bush Administration by James Risen Finished, Thursday 19 January 2006
A Simple Twist of Fate: Bob Dylan and the Making of Blood on the Tracks by Andy Gill and Kevin Odegard Finished, 23 January 2006
Grits: An Intimate Portrait of the Liberal Party By Christina McCall-Newman Finished, 17 March 2006
Running the World: The Inside Story of the National Security Council and the Architechts of American Power by David Rothkopf Finished, 6 April 2006
Strategery: How George W. Bush is Defeating Terrorists, Outwitting Democrats and Confounding the Mainstream Media By Bill Sammon Finished, May 10, 2006
George Wallace: American Populist By Stephan Lesher Finished, June 15, 2006
Secrets of the Kingdom: The Inside Story of the Saudi - U.S Connection By Gerald Posner Finished, June 20, 2006
Soldiers of God: With Islamic Warriors in Afghanistan and Pakistan By Robert D. Kaplan Finished, June 27, 2006
Before the Storm: Barry Goldwater and the Unmaking of the American Consensus By Rick Perlstien Finished, July 4, 2006
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
The Fall Of Baghdad By Jon Lee Anderson Finished, October 31, 2006
The Way It Works: Inside Ottawa By Eddie Goldenberg Finished, November 12, 2006
Child Of God By Cormac McCarthy Finished, November 18, 2006
Right Side Up: The Fall Of Paul Martin And The Rise Of Stephen Harper's New Conservatism By Paul Wells Finished, December 8, 2006
The Private Life Of Chairman Mao By Dr. Li Zhisui, Translation By Tai Hung Chao Finished, December 14, 2006
Exile On Main Street: A Season In Hell With The Rolling Stones By: Robert Greenfeild Finished, February 21, 2007
"Work Hard, Study ... And Keep Out Of Politics!" Adventures And Lessons From An Unexpected Public Life By: James A. Baker, III with Steve Fiffer Finished, March 7, 2007
Supreme Conflict: The Inside Story Of The Struggle For Control Of The United States Supreme Court By Jan Crawford Greenburg Finished, March 14, 2007
Imperial Life In The Emerald City: Life Inside Iraq's Green Zone By: Rajiv Chandransekaran Finished March 18, 2007
Memories Of My Melancholy Whores By: Gabriel Garcia Marquez Finished, March 21, 2007
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
At The Center Of The Storm: My Years At The CIA By: George Tenent with Bill Harlow Finished, May 28, 2007
No Excuses: Concessions of a Serial Campaigner By: Robert Shrum Finished: July 1, 2007
Chief of Staff: Lyndon Johnson and His Presidency By: W. Marvin Watson with Sherwin Markmarn Finished: July 12, 2007
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
Dead Certain: The Presidency of George W. Bush By: Robert Draper Finished: October 1, 2007
Harper's Team: Behind the Scenes in the Conservative Rise to Power By: Tom Flanagan Finished: October 9, 2007
Full Circle: Death and Resurrection in Canadian Conservative Politics By: Bob Plamondon Finished: October 17, 2007
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
Not A Suicide Pact: The Constitution in a Time of National Emergency By: Richard A. Posner Finished, October 29, 2007
Slash By: Slash and Anthony Bozza Finished: November 1, 2007
The Heroin Diaries: A Year in the Life of a Shattered Rock Star By: Nikki Sixx and Ian Gittin Finished: November 2, 2007
Clapton: The Autobiography By: Eric Clapton Finished: November 5, 2007
Rise of the Vulcans: The History of Bush's War Cabinet By: James Mann Finished: November 13, 2007
Miami and the Siege of Chicago: An Informal History of the American Political Conventions of 1968 By: Norman Mailer Finished: November 15, 2007
Memoirs: 1939-1993 By: Brian Mulroney Finished: December 3,2007
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
The Road By: Cormac McCarthy Finished: January 9, 2008
The Conviction of Richard Nixon: The Untold Story of the Frost/Nixon Interviews By: James Reston, Jr. Finished" January 11, 2008
Write It When I'm Gone: Remarkable Off-the-Record Conversations with Gerald R. Ford By: Thomas M. DeFrank Finished: January 15, 2008
The Bush Tragedy By: Jacob Weisberg Finished: January 18, 2008
When All You Have Is Hope By: Frank O'Dea with John Lawrence Reynolds Finished: January 21, 2008
Confessions of a Political Hitman: My Secret Life of Scandal, Corruption, Hypocrisy and Dirty Tricks That Decide Who Gets Elected (and Who Doesn't) By: Stephen Marks Finished: February 8, 2008
The Nine: Inside the Secret World of the Supreme Court By: Jeffery Toobin Finished, February 18, 2008
The Architect: Karl Rove and the Dream of Absolute Power By: James Moore and Wayne Slater Finished, February 21, 2008
Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln By: Doris Kerns Goodwin Finished, February 26, 2008
Post Office By: Charles Bukowski Finished: March 6, 2008
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
To Live's To Fly: The Ballad of the Late, Great Townes Van Zant By: John Kruth Finished: March 17, 2008
Twenty Thousand Roads: The Ballad of Gram Parsons and His Cosmic American Music By: David N. Meyer Finished: March 24, 2008
W.A.R: The Unauthorized Biography of William Axl Rose By: Mick Wall Finished: April 4, 2008
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
MY WEEKEND WITH A ZOMBIE, ADVENTURES WITH MORRIS DAY & THE 
One of the only things that I've managed to respect Zeppelin for is the fact that they've repeatedly refused zillion dollar offers for a reunion tour. If nothing else, it allowed them to maintain what little dignity they had in the first place. That no longer seems to be the case.
