Thoughtless for the Day

Big-Assed Weekend Edition

Brown Eye for that Israeli Guy

Dear Governor McGreevey;
Now that your out of the closet, you should play this "Gay thing" to the
(pardon the pun) hilt.

Americans may not be comfortable with burley, "outdoorsy" Homosexuals, but
- as witnessed by the popularity of Will and Grace, Queer Eye For
The Straight Guy, and The Catholic Church, we (excluding inbred
rednecks) are more than dandy with limp-wristed, lisping sissy-boys (As
long as, you know, they don't wanna get married or ask for the same rights
as everybody else). Work that angle for all it's worth.

When you give the State of the State address, wear the usual suit and tie,
but accessorize with a feathered boa. The speech itself should simply be
"The state of the State is [Three second pause] - fabulas".

When attacked by your critics, respond with "Oh, be nice." If Rick "I've
been researching the Gay lifestyle...a lot" Santurum gets on your case (and
he will, that tacky bitch. Jeez, now I'm doing it) about hiring your
ex-lover* (an Israeli citizen who couldn't get the proper security
clearances) as your head of Homeland Security, just look him square in the
eye and hiss through your teeth "Jealous?" SNAP!

* Golan Cipel has insists that he is straight and never had a sexual
relationship with McGreevey (whom Cipel claims repeatedly made advances
towards him).

However, on Wednesday, a 47 or 51-year-old (depending on whom you ask)
doctor named Michael Miller tossed his ever-so-divine-that-I have-to
find-out-where-he-bought-it hat into the ring, claiming to be Cipel's
ex-lover and also claiming that Cipel is, indeed, gay and has had sex with
other men in the past.

Oddly, Miller's credibility rating nose-dived when reporters waiting
outside his house were treated to an appearance by a disheveled Miller,
wearing only socks and underwear. "At times cursing and erratic, he
alternatively told scribes he would talk to them [only] in Hungarian,
Spanish or Hebrew," wrote the Post.

Miller then claimed Cipel was only in it for the bling-bling. "Out on a
date, he would ask me how much money I have, how many properties I own. We
were out for a pleasant evening and to have sex. It took away from the
moment. Don't you think it's a weird question to ask? Conversations with
him always ended up with money," explained Miller (who was not wearing a
tinfoil hat at the time).

The Daily News described Miller as "manic, disjointed." The
newspaper also reported that Miller "also claimed to reporters that he is a
CIA operative who takes pills doled out by the intelligence agency to make
his skin darker so he can infiltrate unnamed groups" and "insisted on
speaking Spanish because, he said, he hates the United States."

Oh Hell, here's one more tidbit about the doctor just for good measure - he
told reporters that he spent "$100,000 on therapy" the year before he got
divorced, and that he was worth "several million dollars."

Paul, if you're reading this, we
have got to interview this guy!

Cipel responded that Miller's account was "ridiculous and laughable." But
forgot to add, "Go, Eagles!"



Everybody Kill The Dinosaur


If you caught Ancient Monster Hunters on the Discovery Channel this week, were
intrigued by Adrienne Mayor's theories, and would like to hear

her interviewed by a middle-aged punk then circle today on your
calendar, because Christmas has just come early.

I interviewed Ms. Mayor for Paul's show a few months back. Due to faulty
equipment (damn you, Radio Shack! First that pacemaker I bought from you
guys for my grandfather crapped out, now my call taping equipment) the
sound quality was too poor even for AM Radio. Pity, it's the best interview
that I've done so far.

What you won't get to hear is me chatting with Ms. Mayor about Native
American (or, as they prefer to be called, Bloodthirsty Injunz) mounds.
While excavating (tearing down to make room for barns and chicken coops)
these mounds in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, many white
settlers (land-stealing Honkies) discovered (stole) the skeletons of "Red Haired Giants."

Ms. Mayor and I came to the conclusion that these skeletons were either
those of giant tree sloths (my theory) or mastodons (Ms. Mayor's). Any
RATYHTL reader who knows the whereabouts of any of these skeletal remains
(many were shipped off to local museums) is encouraged to contact either
Ms. Mayor or me.


Can You Hear Me Now?

Michelle Malkin has a long-assed
blog (even by RATYHTL's long-assed standards) about appearing on
Hardball with Chris Matthews. Apparently, someone forgot to inform
M&M that. Philly boy, Matthews is, in fact, an escapee from a mental
institution, and, therefor, cannot be held to the journalistic standards of
Earthlings.

Here's a small sample of what happens when someone from FOX News gets a
taste of their network's own medicine. The rest may be found in The
Oxford Book of Twenty-First Century Irony:

1) Matthews introduces me, says we'll get to the subject of my book "in
a minute," and launches into a spiel about how Bush should order the Swift
Boat Vets to stop running their ads. Matthews intentionally
mischaracterizes me as "speaking on behalf of the Bush campaign," when he
knew full well I was there (with special permission from FOX News) to talk
about my book, which he had sitting right next to him on the table and
which he had chatted with me briefly about before the start of the segment.
I correct him. He does not acknowledge his error.

Face it, Michelle, there are nine-year-olds living in the jungles of Ecuador who
know that "under contract to FOX News" is synonymous with "speaking on
behalf of the Bush campaign." Deal with it.

The hilarious transcript can be found here. The saucers are up there. The graveyard
is out there. But I'll
be locked up safely in there.

And from our "It was funnier when I did it" files comes this.


Shameless Plug...doink doink... Shameless Plug

My good friend, and former Milkmen roadie, Jeff
Fox edits a fine magazine called Barracuda. A fact that I've
been aware of for some years now, but only recently have I gotten around to
actually reading the magazine. Which just goes to show what a lousy
friend I am.

My loss, folks, because I was missing out on some great writing. Standouts
have included pieces on the '73-'74 Philadelphia Flyers, The Lincoln
Highway, Ben Franklin, Evel Kneivel, and the "Otto Patrz" manuals found in
your local library. The mag's also peppered with plenty of pics of scantily
clad young ladies, just so people don't confuse it with Field and
Stream.

So, when you're in the "B" section of your local magazine store, picking up
a copy of The Baffler, be
sure to snag (and pay for) a copy of Barracuda as well.



Separated At Birth?

Burning Man and...	...the sombrero tower at PedroLand?

Green Tea

I'll be working late this weekend editing together the Return To Fort Mifflin piece. So, should you see me strolling around town, tell me to get back to work.

And now, back by popular demand...


Edgar Allan Poe Brings You This Weekend's Weather

Temperatures in the upper 90's may make you want to flee, FLEE I TELL YOU,
flee to the dampness of the catacombs!!!










Rodney on 08.20.04 @ 06:27 PM EST [link]

This Is Burning Mom

Brian Doherty, Senior Editor of
Reason has penned a new book entitled This Is Burning Man (Dude, you
have flames on your site! That is soooo boss!) which, along with
Big Russ and Me, I have no intention to buy.

Big Russ and Me has an interesting subject (A cranky ol' WWII vet
who supports his family by strangling ponies with his bare hands in a
carnival sideshow), but the writing is so sugar coated that the book's
cover now bears a sticker warning that is not to be read by Diabetics.

On the other hand, I'm sure that the writing in This Is Burning Man
is more than competent, it's just the book's subject that I couldn't give a
shit about. (Had Big Russ burst into flames in front of a thousand peyote
munchin' Hippies - now that would be teh best book EVER!)

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure that for a great many people Burning Man is a worthwhile and enriching
experience. Of course, I'm only saying that because two very dear f(r)iends
of mine (Lame in-joke. Sorry.), Alan
and Elizabeth, attend Burning Man
just about every year and I don't want to hurt their feelings by implying
that, for most attendees, it's a just excuse to have sex in the dirt with a
total stranger while on Ecstasy.

[SIDETRACK]

After returning from Burning Man, Alan and Elizabeth often invite Vienna
and I over for a pleasant evening of looking at their photos of the event.
Once, Elizabeth showed me a picture of a giant tent with an entrance shaped
like a female hoo-ha. "What goes on in there?" I inquired.

"Oh, that's a tent in which only women are allowed. Inside, women are
encouraged to explore their bodies in a non-threatening environment."

OK, I don't wanna sound like a misogynist - but I hate all women.

Women control the playing field of sex. Think I'm wrong? If a man wants to
see a naked woman he has to jump through all kinds of either social or
monetary hoops. If a woman wants to see a naked man, all she has to do is
ask. Shit, Luther, a woman who's covered from head-to-toe in scar tissue
could get lucky in a bar at closing time.

That's why, at least to me, a tent full of women "tilling their fields"
while a bunch of horny guys mill around outside is tantamount to a tent
full of Millionaires counting their cash while starving children collapse
from hunger on the other side of the canvas.

[BACK TO THE MAIN TOPIC]

The reason that I couldn't care less about Burning Man is because, growing
up in the 'burbs, I was witness to an annual spectacle that made Burning
Man look like a Promise
Keepers rally. This was my Dad's Fourth of July Backyard Fireworks
Extravaganza or - as it came to be known after an unfortunate incident
- Burning Mom.

Each year, on our way back from Disney World (painful tales of my family's
annual visits to "The Happiest Place On Earth" litter this site), we would
stop at the other Disney World - South of the Border - where my younger
sister would eat then vomit up a chili dog (much to the amusement of my
older sister and I. She was like Ol' Faithful. You could set your watch by
how quickly, after she ate a chili dog, she threw it back up - three
minutes exactly), and where my Dad (Big Rod) would purchase several hundred
dollars worth of fireworks.

[Fireworks buying tip: Any firework that depicts a Union soldier getting
his head blown off will produce more than satisfactory results...and
possible deafness.]

Upon returning home, my Dad would store this huge cache of explosives in
the safest place possible - right next to our oil heater - until the Fourth
of July when he would set them off, six or seven at a time, for the
amusement of our beer swilling neighbors.

Now, I've never been to Burning Man, but I know it can't compare to
that.

By the way, this year, Burning Man runs from August 30 through September
6th (roughly the same dates as the Republican National Convention, which
explains Colin Powell's absence in NYC), but I suggest that you skip
Burning Man and go to PadroLand Park instead. An'
tell 'em Big Rod sent you.

Rodney on 08.19.04 @ 06:51 PM EST [link]

Michelle Malkin's Moronic Malediction

It's Wednesday, which means two things. That crazy guy with the
hand-lettered sign that reads "Kobe is Inoceent" will be walking in circles
outside of city hall and Michelle "PFMYV" Malkin's latest column has been
posted. Coincidence?

M&M's column is here

You might wanna store that URL in your medicine cabinet, just in case you
ever need to induce vomiting.

This week, Double-M is not only having a bout with apoplexy over the usual
suspects (Anybody who dares to question the divinely inspired policies of
the Bush Administration v2.0), but she's finally also managing to get some
use outta that thesaurus I sent her.

The New York Times, American Civil Liberties Union, anti-Bush protesters
and Muslim activists are all apoplectic over the FBI's efforts to prevent
violence and terrorism. Agents are -- gasp -- knocking on doors and asking
questions. Based on these basic intelligence-gathering actions, the civil
liberties alarmists are convinced that the constitutional sky is
falling.

Right. Nothing to worry about. Just armed agents of the Government
questioning citizens who may be planning on exercising their Constitutional
right to free assembly. Nothing to see here. Move along you lookeeloos.

On Monday, the Times published a front-page story that painted FBI
agents as jack-booted thugs bent on scaring the pants off of innocent,
do-gooder college kids. A Tuesday Times editorial bemoaned how "(s)ix
investigators recently descended on Sarah Bardwell, a 21-year-old intern
with a Denver antiwar group, who quite reasonably took away the message
that the government was watching her closely." The editorialists concluded:
"The knock on the door from government investigators asking about political
activities is the stuff of totalitarian regimes."

Here's The Times article, just in case your People's Revolutionary
Paper-Delivery Worker was running late for a flag burning party and forgot
to deliver your copy of Pravda, comrade.

Now, I may be completely unfamiliar with FBI procedure, but does it really
take six agents to question one smelly Hippie chick? Maybe - and
I've never read the FBI handbook - it would be a better idea to have
one agent interview Ms. Hairy Armpits 2004, and send the other
five out to have a look around places like chemical plants and
airports. Just a thought. Malkin, of course, is blissfully unencumbered by
thoughts:

Oh, give me a break. Getting shocked with cattle prods for practicing
one's faith is the "stuff of totalitarian regimes." Getting locked up in an
iron maiden for losing a soccer match is the "stuff of totalitarian
regimes." Answering a few questions about possible domestic terrorism is
the stuff of responsible citizenship.

But it doesn't always start with cattle prods and iron maidens, does it?
No, it starts with us forking over little bits of our freedom in order to
assure that Willie Horton doesn't move in next-door and ends with our
children turning us in to the Bureau of Patriotism for not owning an SUV.
The guy who used to own my house, Ben Franklin, said it best - "People who
exchange freedom for security get neither."

Maybe I'm screwed up from all of those books that I've read, but I seen to
remember the FBI spending a good chunk of the 60's and 70's infiltrating
various left-wing groups and learning nothing of value except on which
balcony Martin Luther King would be standing. My favorite infiltration
story, by the way, involves a local cop and a FBI agent who had
independently infiltrated some small commie group. They then spent a
year-and-a-half keeping an eye on each other.

Agents are not targeting every tattooed Bush hater and handcuffing every
pacifist grandma in an insidious effort to chill free speech. They are
simply trying to be what every hindsight hypocrite has asked them to be:
proactive and preemptive.

When they came for the smelly, Hacky Sac playing, hippies, I didn't speak
up, because I hate hippies. When they came for that A-rab fellow at the
7-11, I didn't speak up, because he once charged me $9.98 for a pudding-pop
and a copy of KERRANG!. When they finally came for me, I had to
share a cell in Guantanamo Bay with a smelly hippie and an angry A-rab
because there was no one left to speak up.
Rodney on 08.18.04 @ 06:17 PM EST [link]

Unfunny at any Speed: D.L. Hughley

I watch a lot of TV. I also read a lot of books. These two seemingly
contradictory aspects of my persona are why a small yet fanatically devoted
tribe in Borneo is currently carving my likeness into the side of an
extinct volcano.

So, the other night I turned into Real Time with Bill Maher because
I knew that Michelle Malkin would be a guest and because I also know that,
once some hardballs started getting tossed in her direction, she'd start
crying - the rumor on the web being that she was on her period. Sadly,
Malkin was never posed any really tough questions. Maybe she would've been,
had not one of the other guests been the painfully annoying D.L. Hughley

Now, if you've only seen three episodes of Real Time with Bill
Maher, then the odds are pretty good that at least two of those
episodes featured D.L. Hughley. My best guess is that Damn Lucky Hughley is
Maher's "go to guy" whenever a real guest cancels at the last
moment. The way that the late Tony Randall was for Letterman.

Bill Maher: Thanks to my guests, Ralph Nader, Vladimir Putin, and D.L.
Hughley. Next week's guests will be Donald Rumsfeld, Howard Dean and Pope
John Paul II. Goodnight.

Regular viewers have learned not to get too excited when Bill announces a
killer line up.

Bill Maher: Hello, D.L.? Listen the Pope has the flu and can't be on the
show this week. I was wondering if you could fill in.

D.L. Hughley: Sure, I'll do my "Funny Black Guy from the Ghetto" routine.
That never gets old.

I suppose that the best thing that you could say about Hughley is
that he was the funniest comedian to be featured in the jaw-droppingly bad
concert film The Original Kings of Comedy. This is, of course, an
honor akin to being the kid on the short bus who drools the least. What's
the difference between being mauled by a bear and watching The Original
Kings of Comedy? Someday, you might be able to look back on the
incident with the bear and laugh.

The worst thing that can be said about Hughley is that he often ruins what
would otherwise be a pretty decent show.

Donald Rumsfeld: The President acted in good faith, I ...

Howard Dean: How can you sit there and say...

D.L. Hughley: Look, I don't know nothin' 'bout no Weapons of Mass
Destruction, OK? But - in my neighborhood - a mutherfucker best be
wearing a hat. OK? [Mugs to camera. Awaits forced laughter from audience].

Thanks to D.L. Hughley residency on Real Time with Bill Maher, there
are now only three shows on HBO that don't suck - The Wire,
Deadwood, and Da Ali G Show. And you can bet that somewhere
at HBO's corporate headquarters, the same geniuses who were responsible for
Arlis$, the twenty minute dream sequence on The Sopranos, and
the recurring nightmare of D.L. Hughley dropping by Real Time are
looking for a way to ruin those shows, too.


Real Time with Bill Maher
Rodney on 08.17.04 @ 05:36 PM EST [more..]