3.26.2008

Patterson-Gate


I know, I've gone off on the "gate" suffix thing before, how it's completely stupid to import that appellation from one (significant) scandal in the 1970's to every single scandal that comes down the pike... But it's not like I'm going to change anything by writing anyway, so who cares? (This is the kind of thing I say to my students...)

I was e-mailing with Dan setting up our next guitar lesson, when we got to prospectively waxing-nostalgic about these days, when a new Patterson scandal seemingly breaks every minute.

Immediately after the inauguration it was: "Hold the champagne everyone, I just need to get something of my chest: I cheated on my wife (and she cheated on me, so it's fair, right?) several years ago during a troubled period of my marriage. But I did not pay for sex, nor did I use campaign funds."

The next day: "Okay, so I did use campaign funds to pay for the Day's Inn, so sue me? I still didn't pay for sex."

Two hours later: "Oh, and did I mention that I used to do coke. Like, a lot. Constantly, while smoking blunts and the occasional chronic spliff... You get the picture. When? Oh, nothing to worry about, like, in the 70's, you know, when even Al Gore smoked dope. Long ago. Look at the President! I mean, come on..."

Ten minutes later: "Yes. Yes. Yes. The rumors of my involvement in the attempted assassination of Ronald Reagan are true. Lee Harvey Oswald was always someone I looked up to (figuratively) from an early age, and when my good friend John Hinkley came to my Harlem pad early in the 80s, naturally I supplied him with a gun after he told me what he wanted it for... Any other questions, because you guys are really chasing after shadows here...?"

One second later: "Oh, and I might add that Joran van der Sloot and the Kalpoe brothers had nothing to do with the disappearance of Natalee Holloway. That, also, was me."

3.24.2008

Greatest Hits

This post got zero comments, and yet I find it to be among the best things ever written...by me.

Greatest American Revisited

Great British PSA

Via TrueHoop:

3.16.2008

Who Will Be the Next to Fall?

Just when you thought everything with the whole Eliot Spitzer prostitution thing was headed towards happy-ending territory (wink wink), with "Kristen" about to cash-in on several lucrative offers from publications (not to mention her selling a Vampire Weekend like number of songs from her MySpace page), here comes everybody's least favorite scold, Nicholas D. Kristof, of the "No-Genocide" York Times to remind us all that prostitution is actually really bad for women, who are treated like slaves, often make no money, are abused by clients and pimps... Boring!

But this got me thinking... Given that Uncle Eliot (coinage? Seems oddly appropriate--ed.) prior to his precipitous, dare we say Luciferian, fall-from-grace was the number one scold (Time Magazine's Scold of the Year in 2002)*, wouldn't it be fantastic if moralizing priss number two (Kristof) were to experience an equally ironic fall? After toying with a few ideas (Kristof caught plagiarizing Hitler, Kristof found to own biggest Idi Amin memorabilia collection, etc.) I decided on this.

Kristof and a couple of "student" bloggers are touring a village in some horribly poor African country. They are visiting with the impoverished grandmother of someone, or something. Kristof is giving a speech on the evils of America, how this poor woman is abused by our eating, domestic energy policy, etc. Suddenly, as Kristof continues his speech, a tall man holding a machette emerges from the back of the hut (two roomed hut, people). At first he looks a little bit annoyed to see visitors, but once he realizes one of them is Kristof, his face bursts into a familiar grin.

"Nick! Man I've been trying to reach you all day. Is your sat-phone down?"

Kristof moves one his fingers to his lips, and generally starts to sweat and look really awkward.

"Oh, hi, Ahmad, uh... I'll be right with you."

"No, I've got really good news! Per your orders we have finally brought the iron hand of vengeance down on our rivals, the disgusting and inferior Hootsies!"

Kristof sort of shrugs to the bloggers, as if to say "What, me worry?"

*I find the lack of footnoting features in Blogger very, very upsetting.

3.06.2008

Finally!!! The last voice-mail left by John Ritter

I'm sure many of you can empathize with me on the score alluded to in this post's title. As during those tremulous weeks when we all awaited word of the final blood work done on the bloated, TimSpa-saturated corpse of Anna Nicole, I have been in a state of near constant anxiety over the final words of John Ritter. Since 2003.

At last, in the form of a voice-mail, we have some approximation of those sacred utterances. Apparently the comic genius, who was stricken with a ruptured aorta on the set of his epoch-making sitcom 8 Simple Rules believed he had consumed some "pork left out in the sun." Amazingly, the final message from the master is imbued with the joviality one would expect from that pseudo-deviant par excellence, Jack Tripper.

All I know for certain is that his widow certainly deserves the $68 million she is asking for from the ER doctor who unbelievably mistook an aortic rupture for a heart attack. Never mind the fact that she has already collected 14.6 million from the hospital, she definitely has to sue/screw the doctors who missed the diagnosis, who dropped our oh-so-precious egg onto the ground of a total cardiac arrest, for everything their respective insurances will pay... After all, it's not like frivolous medical lawsuits have done anything to drive up the cost of health-care in this country. This suit strikes me as completely legitimate, with warrant, above board, and totally not a cynical, despicable, pornographic attempt at using a late life celebrity marriage to secure an absolute, epitomical embarrassment of riches.

3.03.2008

Best Onion Article Ever

I know, I know, the blog has remained horribly dormant. I still get the occasional comment on an old post (the one about Paula Abdul and MJ being separated at birth is especially unpopular), but since my ex tempore effusions on the latest arrest (and immediate release) of Joran Van Der Sloot (whose name, my sources tell me, is actually pronounced Your-ON van der Slote, rhyming with Moron bander boat... Disheartening, I know), I have given my devoted readers little reason to comment... May that soon change!

In any event, the editors of The Onion should be expecting a visit from the Secret Service any day now...