January 28, 2008
Let’s go back to this Barack Obama situation. It keeps eating away at my mind like battery acid. When I was a child I had a toy called “Chinese handcuffs.” It was a tube of woven straw. You put one finger of each hand in the ends of the tube and pulled. The more you pulled, the tighter the tube squeezed your fingers.
The Republicans are habitually complaining about the Clintons’ dirty tactics, and with good reason, because they have always been at the losing of the end of their Machiavellian scheming. They fear and loathe the Clintons for always being several steps ahead of them, like a chess game.
I am prepared to concede the devilish cleverness of the Clintons, who map out their coordinated strategies with a meticulous attention to detail heretofore unprecedented in the sloppy world of American politics. They live in a Chinatown of the mind that would do credit to Bobby Fisher. They are a Forbidden City of the spirit, a Byzantine court of intrigue that ensnares and ultimately destroys the unwary courtier.
At first consideration, Hillary Clinton’s ungracious remarks about how president Lyndon Johnson deserved credit for the civil rights legislation of the sixties seemed to be a major political blunder of gross insensitivity, coming as it did over the weekend of Martin Luther King Day. How could she be so maladroit, it was thought. Additionally, Johnson has gone down in history as one of the most reviled presidents, presiding as he did over a nation wracked by assassination, conflict and riots, whose expansion of the Vietnam war began the long decline of American power, in relative terms, that continues to this day. She must be out of her mind, I resolved.
I should have realized that the Johnson statement was a carefully calibrated lure extended by the Clintons to provoke Obama and his organization to scream bloody murder and define him as the “Black Candidate.” Which just shows that my original assessment about him was right. Obama fell into the trap just as he was supposed to. All week long, goaded by the Johanson statement, his campaign issued rebuttals about the Clinton’s racial insensitivity, culminating in a landslide Obama primary victory in South Carolina owing to the monolithic black vote in that state. Obama is now perceived by the mass electorate, the resounding majority of whom are white, as a strident, vociferous spearhead of black political ascendancy. Never mind that Clinton did not even attempt to campaign in South Carolina (they didn’t even have one telephone line in the whole state), and that the Obama organization’s superb organization was punching against thin air.
Obama’s strident reaction to the dig by Hillary Clinton seeming to give Johnson credit for King’s accomplishments, combined with Obama’s massive win in South Carolina, have actually put him behind the eight ball with the mass electorate going into Super Tuesday. Even I fell for it.
This is where the Chinese handcuffs come in. The more strength Obama demonstrates with the black electorate, the more he is hamstrung. He might be a slick dude on the South Side of Chicago (where I was born, incidentally), but the Clintons have demonstrated how far he has to go before he can be ready to deal with such smooth operators as themselves, Vladimir Putin or Nicholas Sarkozy.
The Clintons are additionally helped by the Kennedy family’s endorsement of Obama, an extra little bonus for them. Most Democrats, this one included, long ago discounted the Kennedys as an eccentric, tragedy-prone family not to be taken seriously. They are actually digging Obama deeper into his hole.
For the Clintons to engage in such short-term destructive tactics demonstrates how seriously they take Obama as a threat, and who can blame them? When he started his campaign, as a constructive player in strengthening the Democratic coalition, they surely welcomed his presence. But as he became more personally aggressive and abusive, they decided that he had to be shut down.
The Clintons obviously determined that this is a poison pill they have to swallow, that they stand to hemorrhage black votes in November. But getting the nomination is right now Job One, and later on there will be time to manage the fallout.
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Posted on 1/28/2008
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January 27, 2008
It’s obvious after the South Carolina primary that Chicago politician Barack Obama has the lock on the African-American vote. They now have a national leader that they are comfortable with.That’s as it should be. Every group needs to coalesce around a core leadership to represent its interests at the table. That way you know whom to negotiate with.
This brings to mind the ascendancy of the Parti Quebecois in Canada of the 1970’s, when French Quebeckers split off from the Liberal Party and formed into a national bloc. Canada benefited from the leadership of Prime Minister Pierre Eliot Trudeau, who, being half-French and half-English himself, managed to balance national interests and keep Quebec as part of the Canadian confederation.
The more-or-less even dispersal of African Americans throughout the U.S. precludes any move for black separatism, but this writer believes that Obama will serve as the instrument that irredeemably fractures the fragile Democratic coalition the same as one blow of a chisel can shatter a carefully sculpted marble statue. It’s obvious that black political aspirations cannot be contained within the current structure of the Democratic Party.
The big winner of the South Carolina primary is New York City mayor Michael Bloomberg, whose presidential ambitions have been resuscitated by hopes that enough disenchanted Democrats will flee into his waiting arms. This calculation may be realized if Obama’s strength continues to snowball going into Super Tuesday.
While a Bloomberg third party candidacy may siphon off considerable support from the Democrats, it will probably not have any effect upon Republican voters, who have got to be figuratively dancing in the streets. They can probably be counted upon to maintain unity around a McCain candidacy.
The latest news now is that in a suicidal paroxysm in total conformity with past Democratic behavior, Sen. Edward Kennedy has thrown his support behind Obama. A few weeks ago the Democrats seemed to have a sure winner against a fragmented Republican field.But like a Super Bowl game, the dynamics have shifted in midfield to the other team. The Republicans have a new dynamism with McCain, while the Democrats are fighting among themselves.
The damage has been done. Regardless of the results of Super Tuesday, the Democrats will never be able to put themselves back together again. If Clinton wins, the black vote will never support her in the general election. If Obama manages to attain the nomination, enough Democrats will flee, either to the Republicans or to Bloomberg, to ensure a Republican victory.
The country seems to be entering a new phase of smaller parties that will form coalitions around issues of mutual interest and will only work together as long as those interests are served, similar to Europe or – Africa.
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January 26, 2008
Far be it from me to impugn the integrity of the French banking establishment, but something about the story of one trader single-handedly causing €5billion inlosses to Société Générale stinks like a Camembert cheese that was left out in the sun too long.
I have some clerical experience working for banking houses, but my real experience in business derives from the many years that I worked as a designer for Fifth Avenue accessory houses. These companies were bloody, infected corpses of sloth and corruption in a dying industry, and it’s no surprise that the industry eventually went extinct in this country. Nevertheless, I was in the creative end of things, and I reveled in my job, which was as interesting as any job you could ever hope to get in New York.
My last job in accessories lasted 12 years, before the industry finally went belly-up. It was for a place I’ll call Wen-Dell Creations.Once there was a fire in the factory office, caused by a manager who was a chain smoker. He emptied his ashtray into a wastebasket and left for the night, leaving a smoldering cigarette in the rubbish.
When we arrived the next morning we found the door to the factory broken down by the fire department. The office was a waterlogged wreck. The bosses immediately sprang into action, dragging every piece of redundant overstock merchandise in the factory into the office and soaking it with buckets of water before the insurance adjuster arrived. They claimed that the merchandise had been damaged by the fire hoses and eventually collected full compensation for useless boxes of belts and racks of raggedy dresses. The manager who caused the fire even got a bonus out of the insurance proceeds ha-ha!
Now, if you believe that one trader, Jérôme Kerviel, could single-handedly lose €5billion, I salute you. But between the time that the initial trading irregularities were discovered and the time that French regulators were called in several days elapsed, including Black Monday, Jan. 21, when Société Générale liquidated a lot of the positions he had taken in equity based derivatives, in order to “stem the losses” they claim.
Would it be stretching the reader’s credulity too far to suggest that, knowing there was going to be a scandal involving losses in the billions anyway, the bank’s officers decided to throw in whatever sundry odds and ends happened to be laying about and then let Kerviel take the fall for the entire mess?
That is presumably the argument his lawyers will advance when the affair is eventually adjudicated in court. Kerviel is undoubtedly guilty of losing money in unauthorized trading, but when he receives his long jail term, he will most assuredly be taking the fall for every mistake the bank has made in the last few years, or I will eat my beret.
French banking is a wondrous process to behold, like the time the historic Crédit Lyonnais building in central Paris mysteriously burned to the ground, like the Reichstag, after it had been discovered that the government-owned bank was being used as a cash cow for establishment politicians, who had received massive “loans” which were then forgiven. Or Eurotunnel, whose investors have never received so much as a centime on their investment despite the fact that it has been operating at capacity for over ten years.
I certainly would not have the audacity to compare SecGen board chairman Daniel Bouton, former ENArque and chef du cabinet of conservative prime minister Alain Juppé, to a sleazy New York garment industry company owner. But human nature being what it is, it’s entirely conceivable that when the opportunity presented itself to get rid of some dogs he was stuck with in the general hysteria of mass selling that took place last Monday, he availed himself of it.
As for Mr. Kerviel, he can be glad that Devil’s Island no longer exists as a prison, and that the years he will spend breaking rocks while his former colleagues are discussing the comparatives merits of Bordeaux and Beaujolais wines will be spent in a more temperate climate.
Just what I said. The following is reprinted from Le Monde de Paris 1-27-08:
Les avocats de Jérôme Kerviel, Mes Elisabeth Meyer et Christian Charrière-Bournazel ont dénoncé "les conditions volontairement précipitées et tout à fait anormales" dans lesquelles la banque "a liquidé des positions qui auraient pu se redresser avec le temps". Parlant du "scandale de la Société Générale" et dénonçant le "lynchage médiatique" de leur client, les deux avocats ont accusé le PDG de la Société Générale Daniel Bouton d'avoir "taxé" Jérôme Kerviel "de fraude" et de l'avoir "livré aux chiens". Selon eux, leur client "qui a été formé par la banque à faire du profit, n'a commis aucune malhonnêteté et n'a pas détourné un seul centime et n'a profité d'aucune manière des biens de la banque". "En s'acharnant sur Jérôme Kerviel, la banque croit pouvoir élever un écran de fumée qui détournerait l'attention du public de pertes beaucoup plus substantielles qu'elle a accumulées ces derniers mois, notamment dans l'invraisemblable équipée des subprimes", ont-ils encore déclaré.
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Posted on 1/26/2008
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January 26, 2008
While Giants QB Eli Manning is squirreling himself away in his pad studying football tapes, Patriots superstar Tom Brady was doing a different sort of research. Ever-vigilant New York Post paparazzi caught Brady, his foot in a splint, delivering a huge bouquet of flowers to Brazilian supermodel Giselle Bündschen at her Greenwich Village townhouse, where he shacked up with her for a couple of days, sticking his head out the door only to pay for Mexican take-out food.When Brady finally emerged he was wearing the splint on another part of his body. This looks like a replay of Tony Romo's thumb massage that he received from Jessica Simpson in Cabo San Lucas, which left him doubled over with fatigue for the Giants to roll over him like a steamroller at Cowboys Stadium. Only, instead of getting his thumb comforted, Tom Brady got a Brazilian foot job.Dating can take a lot out of you. I consider myself to be in shape, but a particularly energetic date with a compliant female has left me bent out of shape for weeks at a time on more occasions than I care to recall. In Stanley Kubrick's classic satirical movie "Dr. Strangelove" mad NATO commander Jack D. Ripper, played by Sterling Hayden, rails against the commie plot to enervate America's fighting will by draining us of our precious bodily fluids. Sure, the man was totally whacked out of his mind, but maybe he had a point, that there is a certain core essence in a performing individual that can be drained out of him like leaving the fluid valve open on a compressor engine (can we talk guy talk?)Sports history is replete with anecdotes of bookmakers who ensure their investments by hiring hookers to knock on the hotel room doors of athletes the night before the big game. Fortunately for them, in the case of Tony Romo and Tom Brady, there is no need for any outlay of cash - these guys are only too happy to go along with the program.Meantime, Eli Manning is holed up in his pad watching football tapes and figuring his calculations. Manning doesn't talk much, and in New York, where the loudest-crying baby is the one who gets fed, that has worked against him. One of his most vociferous critics, Tiki Barber, who has a lot to say on every subject, mainly about himself, is now finding that history has passed him by and is running to catch up with the Manning Express, along with all the other wiseguys. So typical!
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January 26, 2008
Walking up Madison Avenue, I ran into a crowd of people in front of the Frank Campbell Funeral Home. TV was there and a whole mob of folks. Like a moron, I asked “Who died?”, which met with incredulous stares. Some lady with a whole lot of attitude deigned to inform me, “Heath Leisure.” Like, I’m the last person in New York to find out he died!
I’m out of style. What do I care about freakin Brokebutt Mountain? “Oh, Bruce, don’t leave me alone with the sheep!” They can’t figure out how he died? Maybe they should check the back door for signs of forced entry, y’know what I mean?
Meanwhile, I’m sitting in a bar full of ugly women. I’m the only cock in a shack full of cackling hens and chickens. The place, Cilantro on Second Avenue, has got more pussy than the SPCA, but all these cats are dogs. Women have ceded their one big advantage, one that they have held at least since Cleopatra and Helen of Troy – allure.
The astonishing thing is that there is not a looker among them. No make-up, utilitarian hairstyles, totally shapeless clothes. And they don’t seem to be bothered by their boring appearance. They seem to be proudly vaunting their plainness like a badge of honor. It’s as though they have given up any thought to their looks, preferring instead to think of themselves as persons of substance. So does that mean that they’re all rocket scientists? Hardly.
Sorry, I’m superficial. If you don’t have the brains to look good, how smart can you be? In the past, even if women didn’t feel as though it was worth it to make themselves attractive to the men, they at least dressed to impress each other. Now that has gone out the window as well. They are seemingly not even bothering to look good to please themselves.
We are at the crossroad of conformity and witless puritanism. The headlong rush toward conformity in contemporary culture even precludes standing out to the extent of looking attractive. This tedium has reached such a crisis that it’s hardly worth living anymore (whoa, let’s not get carried away – on a stretcher ha-ha).
Forget about displays of extravagance, of Anita Eckberg in a drop-dead evening gown jumping into Rome’s Fountain of Trevi, as in Fellini’s great tableau of Italian decadence, La Dolce Vita. That is unimaginable today, where the greatest public rush is Paris Hilton getting into her limo without panties or Lindsay Lohan falling down dead drunk on her way to rehab. The major element lacking is that of style.
I look around the room. Not a pair of painted lips or a silk scarf in the place. Any sign of personality or vanity is completely “out.” What passes for fashion is the mindless extravagance manifested by the idiot mannequins featured in “Sex In The City”, which has elevated adolescent conformity to an adult level. People have lost the simple elements of style. If you want to look good today it costs thousands of bucks and a makeover campaign reminiscent of the invasion of France. Anyway, nobody’s interested. Plainness is “in.” The puritans have won.
What qualifies me as an arbiter of fashion asks my female companion, whose role in life seems to be to reduce me to the tedious level of my environment. Any time I really start having a good time, she reminds me what a loser I am. Just what I need! She’s a staunch advocate of the party line, whatever it happens to be at the time. It’s like being in jail.
Holding up the pencil, I say, “This qualifies me. I’m holding the pencil. OK?” I’m not waiting for any establishment credentials before expressing an opinion. “We don’t have to show you no stinking badges!” I’ll write my own credentials.
No wonder sales of Viagra are shooting through the roof, considering the absence of those external stimuli that have kept men rigid since time immemorial. The shift toward temperance goes past reefer and alcohol, past even female seduction, to a point of anesthetic denial of any kind of thrill which might make life rewarding.
The only recourse left is food, which explains the explosion of obesity and diabetes that is taxing the public health system to the breaking point.
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January 22, 2008
Barack Obama is doing his job, all right! Just what the Republicans are paying him for – to split apart the Democratic coalition and deliver the election right into the hands of those wonderful people who have been doing such a bang up job of conducting the nation’s business for the last eight years.
He started off OK, the new junior senator from Illinois, introducing himself to the national electorate as a fresh face who could act as a bridge across the racial divide. People liked him because he spoke English like a normal American instead of affecting the hick sharecropper dialect favored by his constituents.
He would have been in line for a top job in a Hillary Clinton administration, or he could have stayed in the senate and made his mark there. But he calculated that since the Democrats were a shoe-in November anyway, and since he could corral the African American vote, which is a major component in the Democratic party, why not just elbow Hillary Clinton aside and grab the top spot for himself, despite the fact that aside from a good speech making ability he had nothing to recommend him?
Unfortunately, the streets of New York are full of people who can make speeches, this writer among them. What Obama neglected to consider is that presidential politics is just like any other line of work – you have to work your way up the system.
Nobody understands that better than John McCain, who found himself in a Vietnamese prison camp because of his reckless jet pilotage, and determined that it would be a good first step toward becoming president 30 years hence. That’s why he refused to leave, even though his Vietnamese captors literally begged him to go because his father was commanding admiral of the U.S. Sixth Fleet and they didn’t feel they needed the additional aggravation.
But McCain, entertaining visions of a heroic homecoming and the concomitant electoral victories that would derive from it, stuck to his jail cell like a glue trap and refused to leave. Sure it’s a bogus record. But at least it’s a record! And, given the brain-addled mental state of the electorate, McCain is perfectly situated to stomp Obama, who has nothing to recommend him but a bunch of inspired streetcorner jive talk, like a Giants offensive lineman.
Whatever else you can say about Hillary Clinton, she has been in every political fight of the last 20 years. She is a very snaky individual who has never lost a political battle with Republicans, and she has her future ex-husband, whatsisname, to back her up.
A lot of people are jumping on Bill Clinton for playing too rough on Barack Obama, but this writer feels that he is going too easy. He is actually pussyfooting around the issue for fear of offending black people with the truth – that Obama is a lightweight and a patsy. That he is so mentally challenged that he does not even realize what a chump he is. But to state the plain facts would be political suicide given the fragile emotional state of the black electorate, who could very possibly sit out the election if the true state of affairs were presented to them.
Just look at the New York Knicks basketball team. Coach Isiah Thomas knows that he has assembled a team of talented players, but he is afraid to push them too hard to play as a team because he is afraid that the team will explode in protest if he tries to instill discipline. “Don’t push me!” And he is in such a bind that he can’t even publicly complain. He probably commiserates with team owner James Dolan on a daily basis about the unmanageability of the players, which would go a long way toward explaining why Dolan hasn’t gotten rid of him.
Obama recently let loose a crack about Bill Clinton which speaks volumes about his gnat-brain perspective on race relations. Responding to a remark by Hillary Clinton about how her husband had over the years proven his bona fides with regard to black Americans, Obama cracked, “I’ll have to see how he dances.” There it is, folks, a lifetime of studying, fighting and heartache reduced to a level of how old, fat Bill Clinton can shake his booty to a Jay-Z hip hop recording.
Just before writing this story I was subjected to a whole afternoon of hip-hop videos in the weight room of my gym, and it sure ain’t a night at the opera. Those “singers”, if I may be permitted to flatter them with such an elevated term of the phrase, are to music what the Knicks are to basketball or Barack Obama is to national affairs – a lot of discordant noise!
I know this kid who is trying to break in as a hip-hop performer, named DJ Booty. The kid’s got 5 Cadillacs, 4 telephones, 3 gold chains, 2 thousand bucks and a partridge in a pear tree. I asked him, “Why don’t you play the guitar, or the harmonica like Stevie Wonder used to do?” He said, “I ain’t got ten years to learn to play music. I need the money NOW!”
That’s the story of hip-hop. It’s also the story of the Knicks. It’s also the story of Barack Obama.
To a lot of people in the modern world a person like William Shakespeare might seem like an irrelevant dead white man, who didn’t know spit about what’s going on with the people today, with his dukes and princes making speeches and stabbing each other with swords and daggers. Nevertheless, Shakespeare predicted Barack Obama five hundred years ago when he wrote “Othello”, the story of a black man who, given false counsel, brings tragedy down upon everybody around him, including himself. Barack Obama might be well advised to stay home one night, catch up on his Shakespeare and get back with the team, lest he half-wittedly lead the Democratic Party and, indeed, the whole country into the depraved depths of Shakespearean tragedy.
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Posted on 1/22/2008
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January 21, 2008
If anyone image can summarize the maddening nail-biter of a championship playoff game that took place in Green Bay last night, it should be the ugly sidewise glance that Giants coach Tom Coughlin threw field goal kicker Lawrence Tynes after he had blown his second kick in a row, this one the ultimate game decider with seconds to go on the clock, throwing the contest into overtime with the score locked at 20-20.
Every picture tells a story, and this one glance bespoke the Odyssean journey of a team blown around the league the same way Ulysses was blown from country to country by the capricious sea god Neptune, having to fight its way out of every port in a desperate struggle of survival until the gods decided to reward their Herculean efforts with a calm passage home. What makes this a truly American epic is that it takes place on the playing fields of a game (if you can stretch your mind to imagine football as being merely a "game") whose immediacy lies outside the comprehension of the rest of the world. To the outside world football, with its arcane, paradoxical set of rules and rituals, will forever lie outside the understanding of peoples not born to it. More than any other quality we possess it determines our unique authenticity as a race.No mortal human can comprehend the mystical reasoning of the gods, and how they came to settle upon the gawky, nerdy Eli Manning, whose persona lies so far from what the popular conception of what a hero should be, to express their will. This demonstrates how far we are from any understanding of the whims that motivate destiny, and why we count so much on our faith to guide us through the incomprehensible, tortuous maze of life.Any artist or tactician knows that he is a mere utensil in the hands of higher guiding forces, and that's why true geniuses, who are usually perceived as eccentrics because, buffeted about by forces they can never hope to appreciate, behave so erratically and are never appreciated until after the fact of their accomplishments. So it is with Giants head coach Tom Coughlin who, second-guessed and unanimously derided and condemned by uncomprehending observers even as he was wrestling with his own demons, set about building an edifice of brutally tough, seasoned warriors to protect and support his imperfect, vulnerable team captain. Setting in place a complicated set of wheels, gears and circuits that will function as a coordinated machine is a magisterial act of engineering that draws its inspiration from a higher set of universal principles above and beyond the understanding of totally witless critics, who will one day be dust even as the hardened bronze monuments to Coughlin and Manning endure for all posterity to contemplate.But those whom the gods choose to work their will on mortal terrain they first subject to a fiery crucible of torment. So it is with our great nation, which is now currently being tested by the trials of Job: hurricanes, terrorism, fires, drought, endless war against implacable enemies, economic collapse, incontinent and self-serving leadership, with only our faith in the divine nature of our mission to propel us forward.In this sense we are all Giants. Even as the breath of the sea god Neptune, ensconced in his watery lair of Lake Michigan, blew aside the first two of Tynes' field goal attempts to test his determination, fortitude and faith, finally allowing him to succeed at his third, so shall we as a people finally be delivered.
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Posted on 1/21/2008
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January 19, 2008
Jan. 20, 2008The entire Iraqi Olympic tae kwon do team of 11 athletes, sent to Cyprus to train, asked the Cypriot government for political asylum, claiming physical danger to their lives if they were forced to return to Iraq.They were training in the northern Turkish Cypriot city of Kyrenia when they returned in a group to their hotel, changed into their street clothes and left with smugglers to whom they had paid $5,000 per head to smuggle them across the frontier separating the divided island to the Greek side, where they asked for asylum. "We left behind all our clothes and equipment. Our coach was really mad. He threatened to call the police."One athlete, who identified himself only as Mustafa displayed a scar on his scalp which he claims to have to have received when Sh'iite militiamen kidnapped him and his father from the Adhamiya neighborhood of Baghdad and shot them. His father died and he spent 38 days in a coma. Alaa, 30 years of age was almost burned alive when his car was ambushed at a militia check-point near Bacuba. Saleh, 17 years old, was twice kidnapped from his house. His father was killed. "Martial arts has taught me to defend myself, but not against a Kalashnikov machine gun," he said darkly.Ahmed lived with his wife, who is also a team member, in Haditha. "We were trapped between the Sh'iite militias, the American troops, the car bombs and the al-Qaeda terrorists. We have a three month-old baby. We had to get her out of that madness." The baby, who was ill when she arrived in Cyprus with her parents, had to pass her first days in a Larnaka hospital. Nevertheless, Ahmed is happy. "She will grow up to be a great athlete," he enthused.All the athletes come from the Sunni ethnic group. "The Sh'iite athletes train in Iran," explained Moustafa. "Sunni athletes go either to Turkey or Jordan. It's impossible to train seriously in a war zone."These athletes were only recruited to the national team after the original team, 13 members, were found murdered in July, 2007, one year after having been kidnapped en masse. The team president, Ahmed Abdel Ghafur, was kidnapped in Baghdad by two men wearing police uniforms and has never again been seen. After that the International Olympic Committee pledged to arrange for Iraqi athletes to train outside the country, but after an acrimonious debate on the ship that took them to Cyprus, the athletes decided that no amount of official protection could guarantee their safety, and they voted to defect as a group.
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January 19, 2008
Welcome To The First Church of Football:Now is the moment of decision, when the vanquishing team will stand tall like Superman in his secret North Pole redoubt, icy blasts of arctic wind roaring through their helmets like AC/DC singing "Highway To Hell", even as the downtrodden losers grovel on the over-heated 50% grass/50% polyester turf on the ground surface of Green Bay's Lambeau Field, a place so freaky that the cheese heads of the fans melt from the rising heat and then freeze from frigid blasts of cold air to form a hard shell covering around their bodies resembling huge, diabolical beer-drinking corn dogs...I'd like to refer the congregation to my previous blogs supporting our brother, Giants quarterback Eli Manning, even in the face of vicious excoriation and slanderous innuendo slung against him by drunken, corrupt establishment sportswriters all season long. Sure, Manning made some mistakes! Sure, he threw some interceptions! Sure, he bobbled the ball and committed countless fumbles and took sacks beyond the human capacity for recording idiotic stupidities!But when the ultimate scorecard is compiled in that Great Sports Center In The Sky, Eli Manning will go down in the annals of NFL history as the captain of a tr@mp steamer that shed its hull to reveal a celestial battle cruiser that achieved a 9-1 record on the road which included 2-0 in the playoffs and brought the lowly Giants to within one game of a Super Bowl Extravaganza against the forces of Satan, and I mean the godless Patriots, in an Armageddon pitting good against evil in the Battle of The Century!Can I get an Amen? Oh Lord, please give to the Giants the inspiration and physical prowess to defeat the monster Cheeseheads in their freezing lair! Hell is usually characterized as a burning volcano of magma, a roaring blast furnace, where crackling mortal souls roast for eternity. But the kind of hell we are talking about today, Lambeau Field, is a freezing purgatory that causes fingers to turn black and snap off from frostbite like the limbs of lepers and then fry like a frying pan when they fall to the ground. Where tough men are chilled to the bone and rendered useless by the freezing blasts of wind blown by the vindictive and vengeful demons that inhabit Lake Michigan in the months of winter! Fall on your knees, brothers and sisters, and shed a tear for the hapless New York Giants entrapped in this frigid icebox of depravity and its reigning king, the pitiless soulless Brett Favre who, even as we speak, is rubbing his hands in anticipation of freezing them stiff and then shattering their frozen corpses with one thrust of his redoubtable throwing arm!But Eli Manning will not be alone on that frigid wasteland, Oh No! He will be surrounded by an army of angels in the form of Brandon Jacobs, Amani Toomer, Plaxico Burress, Ahmed Bradshaw and the other formidable crusaders of righteousness that no defensive line or backfield can hope to contain as they charge through to the celestial endzone of victory on that hellish gridiron. Every time Eli Manning has suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, this courageous band of brothers has martialled the resources to prevent a setback from evolving into a cataclysmic disaster and allowed Manning to live and fight another day.And let's not forget the Giants defensive line. Pray, oh pray that Michael Strahan and Osi Omiyura can fly in on angels wings and smash into Brett Favre with the explosive force of cruise missiles crashing into Osama Bin Ladin's mountain redoubt, obliterating him and all the devilish Cheeshead fiends who comprise his heathen entourage. Can I get an Amen?Now, before I end the sermon, I'd like to say a few words in support of Patriots superstar receiver Randy Moss. Now, before the congregation erupts in protest against preying for the enemy, let me remind you that the Patriots are far in the future, if at all. We still have to vanquish the Cheeseheads. And New England has yet to clinch it against the Chargers. The average parishioner may accept it as a foregone conclusion that the Patriots will beat the Chargers, but this has been nothing if not a season of unexpected surprises.Now, I'd like to address a word of admonishment to the young men in the congregation: everything has its price. Do you think the young women are awarding you thumb jobs like Tony Romo got from Jessica Simpson with no thought of eventual recompense? Nothing could be further than the truth! Female sexual behavior is always motivated by consideration of economic survival. Randy Moss thought he was going to play without having to pay. But now the bill has come due. Oh yeah!This young woman, Rachelle Washington, who has repeatedly been evicted from her homes in Hollywood FL for non-payment of rent, is trying to extort $500,000 from Moss for giving her a boo-boo on her finger during a wild lovemaking session. She claims that the injury was so bad that she was unable to steer her car to the hospital to seek medical assistance! In addition, she is making unsubstantiated accusations against Moss of drug abuse.Randy, say it ain't so! Tell us that you didn't smoke a joint with this young lady before you squashed her little finger when you rolled over onto her on her flea-bitten sofa in the throws of passion!Anyway, brothers and sisters, the universe is unfolding as it should. Will the Giants vanquish the heathen Cheeseheads on the icy fields of Hell? Will Randy Moss stay out of jail, his bank account impervious to the assaults of a voracious vixen?
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Posted on 1/19/2008
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January 17, 2008
Must be the season of the witch, baby! Yesterday this blog reported Pacman Jones' latest Titty Alert involving allegations that he smacked an innocent young thing in an Atlanta gentlemen's club, accusing her of divesting him of a gold bracelet and a pile of cash, which he can ill afford to lose since he was suspended without pay for a year following The Shootout at the T&A Corral in Las Vegas, which left a guy paralyzed for life.Then you got Cowboys QB Tony Romo getting his thumb massaged by Jessica Simpson in a Mexican beach resort, which wore him out so much that he was already prone on the field by the time Giants rushers Michael Strahan and Osi Omeniyura reached out to him in Dallas last Sunday.Now Pats superstar receiver Randy Moss is in the line-up, and I don't mean the team roster for the Patriots-Chargers game. I mean the police line-up in Broward County, FL, which is already becoming Ground Zero for notorious mayhem, what with Anna Nicole Smith OD'ing there last year and Yankees slugger Jim Leyritz playing Death Race 2000 and killing a female pedestrian with his car while driving drunk (and to imagine - people retire there seeking peace & quiet!).Moss is accused of battering Rachelle Washington, 35, who claims that she has had an 11 year relationship with the wide receiver, which, broken down to its core component, probably means a long history of thumb massages.
#ccffcc; " color="#808000">There's an old rule of (sorry) thumb in boxing that women and boxing don't mix, and now that concept has to be expanded to include football. Women are playing another kind of ball game, which doesn't include rushing but sure as hell includes tight ends. Women adhere to a kind of judo philosophy that involves using an opponent's size and strength against him to lay him out flat on the mat. It's a sport of technique against brute strength, and the men would be well advised to empty their pockets before stepping onto the mat, lest they find themselves picked clean after they get thrown.Remember Mike Tyson? He was unbeatable and loaded with money until Robin Givens and her mother got their hooks into him. When they got through convincing him that he was a brute and forcing him to take tranquilizers, he found himself lying on his back in a Tokyo boxing ring with Buster Douglas standing over him while the Givens girls drove to the bank in his Rolls Royce with his money in the trunk.The Mayan Indians of Mexico believed that history was a wheel, and that human behavior was utterly predictable because everything that happens has happened before and will happen again. These football hot-shots would be well advised to spend some quiet nights home alone reading Shakespeare (oh surrre!), who recorded every possible combination of men succumbing to the Venus Fly Trap of temptation.Failing that, they should follow the example of Eli Manning, who, guided by the unerring down-home instincts imparted to him by his family, secludes himself in his Hoboken luxury condo with his college sweetheart and watches - football games!
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Posted on 1/17/2008
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January 17, 2008
CHANSON DES FUCKTARDS - 200motels poeme d'amour to the nazi bastards at www.fuckfrance.com
Fucktards of the world
I salute you
If I was Dick Cheney with a shotgun
I would shoot you
The English fucktard takes it in the arse
He says “It hurts but still it could be worse
This way at least my mouth is free
To suck the cock of Sarkozy”
The English is the scourge of humankind
He takes the sausage in his fat behind
Fucktard is the homo of my predilection
Who takes it in the butt with grand affection
Your name shall be proclaimed in every London public toilet
You suck cocks and do not cease to enjoy it
Ô fucktard de mon Coeur
Tu me ferais le bonheur
D’écarter tes fesses
Et accepter ma bite avec gentillesse
Tu suces à la perfection
La pute de la nation
Ta mère se vende pas chere
Pour foutre ses jambes en l’air
Vous prenez dans le cul pour gratuite
Et suces dans les toilettes publics
Vos nom son écrits sur les murs des pissoirs
De vos culs sortent les mouches et les cafards
FUCKTARDS I SALUTE YOU!
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Posted on 1/17/2008
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January 17, 2008
As the famous American poet and philosopher Howlin' Wolf once sang so poignantly, "If I had all the money I spent on women I'd be a millionaire today."That tradition lives on in modern times, heroically upheld by Tennessee Titans cornerback Pacman Jones. Not content to let any grass grow under his cleats while he sits out his suspension for causing a shooting riot in a Las Vegas strip club that resulted in a bar employee being crippled for life, Pacman was involved in another strip club altercation, this time at the Body Tap Gentlemen's Club in Atlanta.Pacman, who lost $80,000 in cash in Vegas when he threw the money in the air like confetti "to appreciate the visual effect," causing the girls to flop around on the floor like beached fish in order to grab some, resulting in a riot with gunshots being fired, was this time in the club manager's office at 4:00am complaining that "club staff", presumably strippers, had stolen cash and a gold bracelet off him. Chaos ensued and one of the "artistes" claims she was assaulted when Jones reached across a bouncer who was keeping them apart and "sucker-punched" her.Naturally, knowing Pacman would face difficulties over his conditional discharge in Vegas, she is now trying to swear out an assault warrant against him, undoubtedly to try to extract some more money in the form of a "settlement" from what must be his fast-diminishing pile.Everybody loves beautiful girls, but Ol' Pacman should take some time to stay home and read up on the history of athletes and women, so that he does not end up reduced to performing sumo wrestling exhibitions in Central Asia as Mike Tyson was ultimately obliged to do.
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Posted on 1/17/2008
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January 16, 2008
200motels - Hi folks, I'm your announcer, 200motels, and we're in New York City at the studio of the great Eye-talian sports sculptor, Giuseppi Lumbago. So I'll just knock on the door.[Knock Knock]Lumbago - Whosa dat?200motels - It's 200motels.Lumbago - Well, go away! I'm expecta company!200motels - Mr. Lumbago, I have the TV crew out here![Door opens]Lumbago - Hurry up and come in. I thought you was the landlord.200motels - Oh, lookit the cute little statue of the cat! It's so lifelike.Cat - Yaaaaahhhhh! [Runs away]Lumbago - Dats-a no statue. Dats-a my cat. He's covered in plaster dust.200motels - Sorry about that. Now here's an impressive sculpture!Lumbago - Dats-a my new sculpture of Eli Manning. See, he's gonna throw the ball. But before he can throw, he's a-sacked by the Patriots and he lose-a da ball. See, dat's why his eyes bug out an' he no gotta da ball in his hand.200motels - Say, what kind of marble is that?Lumbago - Dats-a no marble. Dats-a mozzarella cheese. Marble's too hard and it hurts da hand. Dis way if you get hungry you just pull off a finger from da hand an' you pop in da mouth. Lemme give you a piece. You want Eli Manning's ear or his nose?200motels - I'll try his nose.Lumbago - Here, Ill just pull off da nose. Ha-ha now Eli Manning no gotta no nose! Dats funny! He don't need it anyway.200motels - It tastes pretty good. What's that statue over there?Lumbago - Dat's Mike Piazza from da Mets. He's a-run to first base. But look - he's a-run funny. You know why? ‘Cause Roger Clemens throw de broken bat at him and now he's a-got a piece'a da bat jammed up his butt. So he's a-run like he got a load in his pants ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!200motels - That's pretty funny all right!Lumbago - And looka Clemens, he's gotta hypodermic syringe in his butt from where Brian McNamee shot him up with a asteroid.200motels - You mean he shot him up with a steroid.Lumbago - No, I mean a asteroid, like a space satellite. Roger Clemens got a ass-steroid up his butt.200motels - You're a pretty wild guy, there Mr. Lumbago.Lumbago - I'm a artist. Not like other people.200motels - I'll say!Lumbago - Now look, here's my great masterpiece. It's Terrell Owens from the Dallas Cowboys. He's a-lose da game an' now he's a-cry. Oh, it's so tragedy, like-a Madonna what is holding da baby in her arms at da Fountain of Trevi in Roma. [Crosses himself] An' you see? He's a-cry. He's a-cry like a baby!200motels - How do you get those tears?Lumbago - Dat'sa no tears. Dat's wine. If you wanna drink you just got to lick Terrell Owens' face an' you get drunk. Go ahead, have a drink!200motels - That's a penalty I think I'll decline. Well, that's all for today, folks. See you next week, when we'll visit Michael Vick in his new dog house behind Levenworth Federal Penitentiary.
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O BEER-O MIO! A Love Poem To America's Elixir of Life! click here: http://www.200motels.net/BEERO.html
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Posted on 1/16/2008
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January 15, 2008
Enough already with the crying! Boo-hoo-hoo! The New York Post says all women cry on the job, when they're not discussing their, ugh, menstrual problems. And you thought men are pigs?So as the feminization of America marches on, turning us into saps, even the presidential candidates are crying on the campaign stump. "Boo-hoo-hoo, they're picking on me because I'm a girl!"It's the rest of us who should be crying, lady! We got to vote for one of you chumps!Now the crying has reached the football locker room, with Cowboys' Terrell Owens finding his feminine side. What happened to the trash-talkin' wiseguys who were going to make New York eat the pigskin? "Boo-hoo-hoo, we lost the game, boo-hoo-hoo!"Over at Madison Square Garden they're also passing around the crying towel between the Knicks' Stephon Marbury, who's stuck to the bench, and coach Isiah Thomas, who's holding the Krazy Glue. "Boo-hoo-hoo, I have to be passive going forward." "Boo-hoo-hoo, the team's got a losing attitude. They go out expecting to lose."Marion Jones? "Boo-hoo-hoo, I got caught lying to the cops (guess what, folks, there's no law that says cops can't lie to a suspect. But that's another story) and kiting rubber checks, and now I have to go to jail. It's the biggest hurdle of my life. Boo-hoo-hoo!"Pass me the Kleenex. I got to blow my nose. Honk! Now I feel better. It's a bummer.There's nothing wrong with crying if you really have something to cry about, like the poor guy who got crippled for life when Pacman Jones' posse shot up the Las Vegas strip club. That I can understand. But crying because you lost a game or got caught, that's for sissies. "Boo-hoo-hoo, my coach doesn't understand me and I have to sit in the corner! Boo-hoo-hoo!"Fortunately, there are still some Americans who are not in touch with their feminine side. When Peyton Manning lost a heartbreaker to the Chargers last Sunday he didn't cry like a baby. And his brother, who has been taking it on the chin all year from pencil-neck sportswriters and spoiled fans all year despite his honorable winning season, didn't fold either. He stood erect like the Statue of Liberty and the Giants, despite some defensive weaknesses, most notably in that squeaking loss to the Patriots, hitched up their trousers and emerged with two resounding playoff victories.Things are going to get notably stiffer next week against the Packers, and nobody, including this writer is going to give the Giants much chance in that one. Nevertheless, every dope has hope, and I am praying for a miracle that Eli Manning, Amani Toomer, Brandon Jacobs, Ahmad Bradshaw, Plaxico Burress et al will open the Packers defensive line like Moses opened the Red Sea, and that Michael Strahan will fly in on angel's wings and crash into Brett Favre like a cruise missile, causing Green Bay fans to eat their cheese hats with mustard.That would open up the prospect for a big Super Bowl showdown against the Pats. Only this time maybe the Giants defense will hold instead of letting it slide away like last month, when even Manning's four touchdown passes couldn't contain the flood.Whatever the case, even if the Giants succumb to the bitter cold Lake Michigan winter and Brett Favre's insurmountable mountain of physical prowess and undeniable leadership capabilities, I will still count this season as a monumental success for the Giants, and even as Tony Romo nurses his disappointment with Jessica Simpson massaging his thumb down in Cabo San Lucas, the Giants will stand tall either way.
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Posted on 1/15/2008
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January 12, 2008
Cowboys quarterback Tony Romo defended his weekend vacation in Cancun, Mexico with Jessica Simpson as "physical therapy," he said. "She was giving me a thumb massage."Former Olympic sprinter Marion Jones tearfully described her six-month jail sentence for lying to federal investigators and check kiting as "The biggest hurdle of my life."The NBA ruled that the Heat and the Hawks must play the last 52 seconds of a disputed game from last month. Knicks coach Isiah Thomas immediately filed an appeal requesting that the Knicks be allowed to replay the last 52 games.The Swiss equestrian team has announced that it will decline to participate in the Olympic dressage event to be held in Hong Kong this summer because it is afraid the expensive horses will end up being featured on the menu at the athletes' restaurant.Patrick Crayton, the Cowboys receiver who has been engaged in a trash-talking war of words with Giants running back Brandon Jacobs, exalted, "Jacobs said he was going to greet us at the airport when we got to New York. Well, we landed and he was not around."Jacobs responded, "Oh yeah, I was at the airport, OK? The Dallas Airport. I thought the game was being played there." Hey, nobody's perfect!
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Posted on 1/12/2008
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January 10, 2008
Oh jeez, I'm having another Obama attack! [GAG GAG PUKE WHEEZ FART CHOKE BLANCH!] These attacks are coming closer together now. I'm afraid I'm going to suffer a grand mal fit and crap out a basketball.Don't get me wrong. I'm very liberal. After eight years of Bush, who has been a total disaster, I was hoping for a smooth transition back to democracy. We have got Hillary Clinton, who, whatever her glaring defects, is the wife of Whatsisname, her future ex-husband, and, whatever else, can be counted upon to bring in an economic team that will set the country back on the road to fiscal and monetary sanity.She is unbeatable in a general election and the Republicans know it. That's why they have set loose their Manchurian Candidate, Barack Obama, to sow chaos within the Democratic coalition and split the vote so that the Republicans can squeak in by the back door and continue their insane behavior (remember Larry Craig?).Barack Obama is the motormouth Energizer Bunny of destruction. He talks a big game, but he has never done spit. He won his senate seat by running unopposed after his Republican opponent was forced to withdraw because of a nasty divorce and wife-swapping scandal. Since he has been in the senate he has never put through even one piece of legislation and he has never even engaged in one political battle with Republicans. The guy's a complete nerd.The only political fight he has ever engaged in has been to get up and call Hillary Clinton a bunch of dirty names. Were Obama to win the Democratic nomination by appealing to a bunch of liberal meatheads, he would set Republicans dancing in the streets with glee. All they would have to do is to repeat what I just said - he's a complete nerd.Can you imagine Barack Obama going up against Vladimir Putin, who is a karate black belt and former KGB spy? Or France's Nicholas Sarkozy, who is a political weasel of the first degree? These animals would steal Barack Obama's baby bottle away from him and make him cry.Obama likes to say how he understands foreign cultures because he lived in Indonesia when he was ten years old. Great, that means he knows the difference between a mango and a guava. He is proud of the fact that his father was a Kenyan goat herder. I ain't knocking that, but last week Obama's tribe, the Luos, attacked a group of Kikuyu women and children who were huddled in a church and roasted them like a Saturday Night fish fry because the Luo tribe was unhappy with the election results. That kind of foreign culture we do not need in this country, dig?Nobody in the establishment media is willing to confront these unfortunate facts because of political correctness. Fortunately, I do not care a spit for political correctness (if you don't believe me, check out my web site, http://www.200motels.net/). With all the enemies I have made with my nasty computer, it's a miracle that I'm still walking around in the general population!I frankly am in favor of giving Arnold Schwartznegger a big broom and letting him sweep all the idiots and misfits out of government. Unfortunately, after a thing like that Washington would look like New York after the zombies ate all the people. Failing that, I am throwing my support to Hillary and Bubbah the Former Fatman and let them beat the Republicans, which is what they were genetically programmed to do.
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Posted on 1/10/2008
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January 10, 2008
The St. Petersburg, FL, police detectives who investigated rape charges against Roger Clemens' grand inquisitor, Brian McNamee, yesterday publicly called McNamee a liar in the case where a woman was injected with drugs and violated in a motel swimming pool.
This McNamee is the basis for the Mitchell Commission's condemnation and unjust crucifixion of Clemens, who is being tried and convicted in the court of public opinion and being dragged before a congressional committee without a shred of evidence against him.Everybody knows that politicians are idiots, which this presidential campaign is highlighting all too clearly. But if congress actually has the nerve to drag Clemens before the cameras, where he can have the opportunity to personally confront his accuser, it will turn out very poorly indeed for the Democratic majority in this very important election year. In addition, the credibility of the Mitchell Commission will deflate like an inflatable sex doll that was overused by a regiment of Pakistani Taliban.I am ready to lay 10-1 odds that come February 16, those courageous congressional investigative protectors of the sporting ethic will be harder to locate than Saddam Hussein in his spider hole.In the meantime, all charges should immediately be dropped against Barry Bonds as well, who has been persecuted for years on the basis of nebulous accusations and has played the role of designated patsy for the corrupt Bush Justice Department. Professional athletes, who are least able to defend themselves against complicated webs of legalistic predigitations, are being used as suckers to distract the public while big-time gangsters and thieves like Countrywide Financial's Angelo Mazilo and Chuck Prince of Citigroup, which is predicted to write down $16 billion in losses this quarter, not only go scott free, but are allowed to retire with fortunes in the hundreds of millions of worthless dollars. Get th' freak outta' here!
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Posted on 1/10/2008
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January 09, 2008
Jan. 8 - New York Senator Hillary Clinton denies that her come-from-behind victory over Barack Obama in the New Hampshire primary is the result of using performance-enhancing drugs."I just work out hard and keep in shape," she told reporters.The sensational accusation her was leveled by the Clintons' family dog, Buddy, who testified under a grant of immunity before the Mitchell Commission.Buddy insists he injected Sen. Clinton in the backside with Schmuckerol, a banned substance.At a snap press conference immediately following announcement of her election victory, Sen. Clinton tearfully denied the allegations. "We treated Buddy like a member of the family, and we only fed him Iams," she said.Sen. Clinton produced a taped phone conversation with the dog in which he told her, "I can't wait to go for a walk with you."Buddy's attorney, Rover Q. Wolfhound, expressed outrage that Clinton would secretly tape a confidential conversation with his client. "This is war," he snapped. "We're going to put Senator Clinton where she deserves to be - in the doghouse!"200motels News ServiceNASTY SLUTS FROM FRANCE: http://www.200motels.net/FRANCE.html
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Posted on 1/9/2008
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January 07, 2008
No wonder crime is down in New York! It's too expensive for crooks to come here. Plus which, even if you stick somebody up, chances are he just paid his high rent and he's broke. Knicks' Eddy Curry doesn't have to worry about getting robbed in New York. He already got cleaned out when thieves broke into his home in suburban Chicago and ripped off everything last year. "They even stole my performance-enhancing drugs. That's why I can't rebound or shoot and my playing stinks. I can't speak for the other Knicks, but at least I've got an excuse!"Curry has some advice for potential crime victims. "Bet on the Knicks. That way, when you get held up you'll already be cleaned out."Anyway, the biggest crook is coach Isiah Thomas, who has a $24 million contract for doing nothing. As Bob Dylan once sang, "Some people rob you with a fountain pen." People ask, "How could he have hired those bozos (Zack Randolph, Curry, Marbury, Quentin Richardson, etc.) Maybe Thomas is taking a cut of their contract money in "consulting fees." Did you ever think of a thing like that? That would explain a lot.This little idea might shock some people, but it will not shock anybody used to the New York business environment. Even assuming Thomas is totally honest, which, considering he works for the Dolan family, is a sheer impossibility, and assuming I'm out of my mind for even imagining that a sterling talent like Quentin Richardson, who is being paid millions to serve as designated bench warmer, would ever agree to pay a "consultancy fee" to a member of Thomas' "entourage" in return for being signed, when you consider the modern professional sports environment you have to admit that any player who is totally clean is being left out of the loop.Now that the additional element of performance-enhancing drugs has been entered into the equation there is hardly anybody left who fits into the ever-narrowing parameters of wholesomeness from which the ethos of American sportsmanship derives its authenticity.Maybe that's a blessing in disguise. It's possible that the American psyche is due for a shift in the tectonic arrangement of its value system to bring it more into line with the realities of the modern world. Every time you pick up The Wall Street Journal (now owned by that paragon of conservative values, Rupert Murdoch, who is also the boss of the groveling idiots who write the sports pages of The New York Post) you read about another captain of industry being indicted for price fixing; backdating stock options; selling worthless securities backed by fraudulent mortgages sold to welfare cases; Enron; WorldCom; Tyco, whose multi-billionarie CEO is now serving 25 years. Look, I don't have time to recite the whole litany of creeps, thugs and murderers who compose our ruling elite, OK? Let me just compress it to one word: Dick Cheney.So why should our athletic heros be obliged to be any more virtuous than the general population at large? Cheney goes out and gets loaded and shoots an attorney in the face and gets off. The Nets Jayson Williams gets loaded and shoots a man dead in his backyard and he gets off. Pacman Jones starts a riot in a Las Vegas nightclub where one of the imbecilic thugs in his "entourage" (I like the way they throw that word around, as though these morons were attending at the court of Louis XIV) starts shooting off a cannon, paralyzing a bar worker, and he gets off. Hell, I want to shoot somebody too!So, since our whole society is already swimming in the depths of depravity, up to our necks in the sewage of corruption, why are we expecting pro athletes, who are probably less qualified than anybody else, to establish and adhere to moral standards of rectitude that even the freakin president, with his record of stealing elections and looting the treasury for the benefit of his family and friends, doesn't recognize? Get the freak outta here!The problem of performance-enhancing drugs is part of the headlong rush of humanity into the future that was prophesized by Aldous Huxley in his futuristic book "Brave New World," where social peace was preserved because everybody was zonked out on a drug called Soma. Huxley just wrote the story; he didn't try to sum up a moralizing conclusion. We're halfway there now, with half the population skunked-out on Prozac because they're disoriented by life and the drug calms them down. The only problem is: she may feel better but she's still inflicting her complexes on you. But since these zombies are hard to detect you never know whether you are talking to a normal person or a freakin Pod Person from outer space. And I got a feeling that these lab rats are leading the charge to enforce conformity on the rest of us!(Am I going too far with this? I don't want to wake up strapped to a plank, on a waterboarding vacation in Guantanamo Bay)One astute observer has suggested that since we are never going to get rid of steroids anyway, we might as well make them mandatory for all athletes, to level the playing field. I'd like to advance this Swiftian analysis to its logical conclusion and advance the argument that since so many players and coaches are engaged in criminal behavior we could put together a Dream Team of murderers, crack addicts and muggers to play against the worst anti-social elements the other countries of the world can assemble.There's an old science fiction movie called "Rollerball" where the elite killers of each country competed against each other in a kind of motorized roller derby involving skates and motorcycles where they bashed each other's brains in with steel balls shot out of a cannon like the Tampa Bay Buccaneers have. The game was sponsored by monolithic multinational corporations, and the sports superstars, who were idiots, would throw drunken revels in their McMansions and go out back to shoot off heavy artillery that destroyed trees. Sound familiar?Since society has now reached the level of technical sophistication predicted in that movie, which I recommend for every sports fan to watch, I say: "Let The Games Begin!"We could spring Michael Vick from prison to act as the tough love dog trainer in a cannibalistic Alaskan Iditarod sled race, where the contestants eat the dogs on the way to the finish line. That would be exciting to watch, and we could even intersperse the sports moments with Iron Chef cooking experts suggesting new variations on recipes for grilled husky.Naturally, we got Olympic hurdles with OJ jumping over suitcases at LAX holding a serrated Navy Seal commando knife, and the first guy to complete the course would cut up a woman and a fruity restaurant waiter. Sound like fun?Then you got the Pacman Strip Club Shooting Gallery, where running backs open fire with large-caliber artillery in a room full of naked girls.How about the Yankees Death Race 2000, where drunken homerun heroes try to mow down a gang of pregnant housewives with their cars?I also got a concept like the Donald Trump Millionaire show, which shows you how to get rich. Only in my version the rich white sons of Philadelphia Eagles coaches jam automatic pistols into the waistbands of their trousers and compete to sell the most crack to the black population of North Philadelphia.It's good, no? Talk about reality shows! We got enough a**holes in professional sports to have our own cable channel. Every year we could have an award show which would give trophies to hockey players for inflicting paralyzing injuries by checking opponents into the boards from behind and slashing their faces with the blades of hockey sticks.How about videos of boxers who die from concussions because Don King and the other greedy promoters refuse to consider headgears for pro boxing matches? No shortage of victims, that's for sure!Freakin "Sixty Minutes" could send that idiot broad Leslie Stahl into paraplegic wards to interview paralyzed linemen who have had their backs broken from being double- and triple-teamed by 300 lb. killers. Not to mention all the broken legs and shoulders of running backs targeted for death by opposing coaches because they are playing too well.Naturally, we won't forget clips of Mets catcher Mike Piazza running to first base after getting a broken bat jammed up his butt by Yanks pitcher Roger Clemens, who was not taking steroid injections. Or the fantastic press conference where Mets manager Bobby Valentine told reporters that Piazza was gay. Piazza got so pissed-off at that that he put on his dress and walked out.But it's all in fun, folks. I'm just trying to illustrate a point. The point is - what is the freakin point anyway? I forgot!
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Posted on 1/7/2008
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January 06, 2008
It's obvious why the New York sporting press hates Eli Manning: they're blind in one eye and can't see out of the other. Also, you have to live in the City to appreciate the all-consuming jealousy that pervades mediocre chumps when brought face-to-face with brilliant young talent.New Yorkers are capable of going into rug-chewing paroxysms of envy over the smallest thing. I remember this one instance of a whole office of women turning against one girl because she had the audacity to wear a cool pair of gold sandals to work.So imagine how these illiterate, bribe-taking, corrupt drunken louts reacted at the prospect of Eli Manning; handsome, young, talented, the brother of Peyton Manning, son of NFL MVP Archie Manning. The knives came out like a bunch of fatmen at a free lunch.Naturally, it takes time for young talent to assert its authority, particularly in a vicious, hostile work environment like New York, so these losers went to work on Manning overtime with the expectation of being able to kill him off while he was still in his infant stage of development, but the Giants front office and Tom Coughlin believed what they saw and not what they heard or read, and they gave Manning the cover he needed until he was able to express his full potential.Manning himself is a tough, obstinate Mississippi yahoo rebel. I have experience with those people, many of whom emigrated to Chicago, where I grew up, to find jobs. They are very hard people and not afraid of hard work in sawmills, mines or factories. New York used to have people like that, but the soft conditions here and the service economy has turned them into wimps (see the Knicks). Eli Manning was ultimately destined to emerge no matter what New York threw at him, as his family and colleagues undoubtedly assured him.Nevertheless, you have to marvel at the tenacity of New Yorkers when they are engaged in a pursuit to which they are devoted, which in this case was the destruction of Eli Manning. They seized on every turnover, every interception and every fumble to scream for his head even when he won games, which he usually did.If Manning had been a lazy, moronic misfit like the Knicks the abuse would have been deserved, but in New York things never work that way. This city is an incubator for mediocrity. The Knicks, the Jets and the Mets are obvious examples but you have to delve into the quotidian workplace culture of the City to appreciate its overwhelming desire to extinguish anything approaching talent. Sad but true.Writers are particularly odious whores. Most of them don't even know what work is and none of them have any athletic talent at all, that's for sure! Think about it: former athletes all become sports announcers and never writers. Writers are essentially useless parasites with college degrees who resent the people of ability whom they are obliged to cover. It's bad enough for them when a fully developed talent comes to New York, but to see a young person with ability actually gain stature right before their very eyes is absolutely the worst nightmare in their nasty little gallery of neurotic anxieties.The worst of it is the effect these literary bottom feeders have on everybody else's reality. People actually believe what they read and see on TV (big mistake!), and even as Eli Manning was actually doing fine he was dogged by the terrible reputation that the press was assigning to him. The winning 10-6 season was written off as an aberration, a result that was achieved in spite of him. His near victory over the Pats, when he threw four touchdown passes with no interceptions, no fumbles and only one turnover, a game that was essentially lost by the Giants defense, was cited as another example of Manning's lack of talent and Coughlin's naïve gullibility for keeping him on. Right up until yesterday the press was predicting Manning's failure and his ultimate firing from the Giants.And the fans, most of whom are unfortunately not trained to formulate their own conclusions, have played the willing role of torch- and pitchfork-wielding Transylvanian peasants on a Frankenstein hunt.Anyway, freak ‘em! With today's unassailable 24-14 stomping of the Bucs, Eli Manning's transmogrification into Superstar Quarterback is complete and he joins his illustrious brother Peyton, Tom Brady, Brett Favre and I-don't-know-who-else in the pantheon of NFL greats. He's another Broadway Joe! The same useless louts who last week were consigning him to the dumpster of NFL history will this week be lining up for the honor of inhaling the otherworldly fragrant delights that emanate from his athletic supporter.I don't really mean to treat New Yorkers and the "working" press with such barbaric brutality but the definition of civilized society is that it allows the useless, pencil-neck twerps of illusory ability to wreak havoc on their betters. Such has it always been. The advantage for me as a literary writer to write about sports is that it is an area of culture that most decent writers ignore as beneath them, which is ignorant folly. In addition, I am no flabby, pointy-headed creep. I have never been out of a gym for a week in my life and I can display plenty of muscle tissue. Nevertheless I could write this article in French if I wanted to, though an article about American football would not excite any Frenchman.The problem is that since there is hardly any decent sports literature or historical context for me to cite as a precedent for the humiliations Manning has been subjected to, it is necessary for me to go outside the sport experience, to other areas of culture, to illustrate my point.If you think about the world of art there are many parallels. The one that springs immediately to mind is the nineteenth century French sculptor Auguste Rodin, who was forced to struggle for the first twenty-five years of his career in obscurity and misery; enduring humiliation, poverty, hunger and exposure to the elements because he was not accepted by the establishment. When he finally arrived at an uncontestable sculptural masterpiece called the "Age of Bronze" his establishment detractors still didn't relent. They attacked it as a false piece of sculpture that he could not have achieved by honest methods (like the steroid accusations). Rodin was able salvage his reputation at painful expense to himself and became a superstar of impressionist sculpture. After that all the people who had previously tried to bury him immediately went over to his side and forever sucked up to him.The same thing is going to happen to Eli Manning. The press will switch over from scorn and ridicule to slavish adulation of him, worshipping the ground he walks on, and so will the rest of the nation. Which just goes to show that the press is a worthless appendage. If you make it in life, it is never because of anything anybody writes about you. They just show up after the fact, when you don't need them anymore.But it just goes to illustrate the old saw as once pronounced by Ol' Blue Eyes himself that:
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Posted on 1/6/2008
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January 06, 2008
Isiah Thomas declared that the Knicks will go on to the NBA playoffs and beat the Celtics in four straight games to win the championship. He then predicted that they would go on to the Olympics and win the gold medal.
"The Knicks are America's Dream Team," he said. "Every night I dream they are going to win a game."He attributed their current poor record to "general laziness." "Sometimes when you smoke some particularly strong reefer you don't feel like running back and forth for an hour. Also, when the fans are screaming for your blood it can be a little distracting.""The truth of the matter is, I think Anucha Browne Sanders spiked the Gatorade with saltpeter, and that's why the players can't get it up anymore."Thomas said, "Every night I look up and see the 1972-73 championship banner hanging from the ceiling. It motivates me to go out and win another championship because that one is so old that it's been eaten up by moths, and there are bats living in the rafters above it. Sometimes the bats start flying around during the games and they fly into the ball and deflect it from going in the basket, and that's one of the reasons we are not winning games."Thomas said he is confident that he still retains the support of Knicks owner James Dolan. "Last night at Scores strip bar we had a private conference in the VIP lounge and we discussed team strategy between lap dances."Malik Rose attributed the Knicks poor performance to the fact that there are some "weird personalities" on the team. He said he would like to be traded to another team but doubted it would happen because "I'm old and my bursitis is acting up. I can't even play with my grandchildren anymore." Meantime Zack Randolph denies throwing his headband at the ref. "It was too tight on my big head, and it popped off and hit the ref in the eye. That could happen to anybody."
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January 05, 2008
Hi, I’m Stephon Marbury of the Knicks.
You know, with all the weird stuff that ‘s going on with the Knicks, you wonder if we are ever gonna win another game.We got a lot of mental problems, we’re lazy and we can’t shoot straight.Nobody wants to practice, we all want to shoot at the same time and nobody wants to pass the ball.Isiah Thomas doesn’t know spit about strategy and we generally think “teamwork” is a nasty French word.
That’s why I came up with the idea for the Knicks Miracle Ball.With the Knicks Miracle Ball you can shoot baskets from anywhere on the court, or even from the stands.The Knicks Miracle Ball is equipped with my patented global positioning navigator, which is directed from a satellite in outer space, assuring you the shooting accuracy you need to beat the Spurs or the Celtics.
Why spend hours in the gym practicing lay-ups and doing dribbling drills when you can be out back fooling around with interns in your SUV and cursing out the team vice-president for a “bitch?”Let the Knicks Miracle Ball do all the work, and you can collect all the money!
Here, our team mascot, Zack Randolph, will demonstrate.Zack just has to flick the switch in his Mickey Mouse ears and that activates the Miracle Ball.Now he’ll bend over (I don’t recommend doing that in the Knicks locker room) and shoot the ball backwards between his legs in the opposite direction away from the basket.As you can see, the ball stops in mid-court, reverses direction and goes straight into the basket for a three-pointer.With the Knicks Miracle Ball even Eddy Curry can score some shots.Shoot, even your grandma could make the grade with this little sucker!
That’s not all!The ball even dribbles itself.You don’t even need a player to handle it, which ought to save team owner James Dolan millions of bucks in salaries.Just switch on the ball and it will beat the heck out of the Pistons, the Blazers or any of those other so-called “hot” teams!
Well, that’s all, folks.I’ll just get back on the bench and relax while the Knicks Miracle Ball does all the work for me.
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Posted on 1/5/2008
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January 03, 2008
I would follow my love to north Ontario To the North Country where the wild nettles grow And the hum of insects in the bright meadow By the Mississagi River where the soft winds blow
I there met a girl from North Saskatchewan She told me of a place where the nights are long She would lie on the grass under the stars so bright Under the gleaming constellations she would dream about her life
In the northern sky it's a panoramic view
From a million stars you can choose one to belong to you
Hear the birdsong rising from the trees
In the summer night feel the evening breeze
In Ontario the wild moose is free to roam As the flocks of wild geese fly across their home Where muskrat and beaver are peaceful in the night And the wolf calls to his mate in the pale moonlight
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Posted on 1/3/2008
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