Nut-Punch of the Week, March 15-19, '10

Western society takes a pretty interesting view of our entertainment product. Largely, this is an offshoot of the relative wealth of our society; in a nation where basic needs are more or less met for most, other concerns take on undue, and perhaps even inappropriate importance. In America, we live and die by our football teams, wait for new video game releases with bated breath, and gather in gigantic numbers to watch categorical sub-sets of the industry congratulate themselves at annual awards shows. Which is silly, when you think about it. I mean, entertainment truly is a luxury, a distraction provided to people who don't need to worry about where their next meal is coming from, or whether their children will be killed by a drug gang or federal storm trooper today. All in all, to a refugee in Haiti, who survived years of governmental neglect, crap agriculture and a devastating earthquake only to experience the "privelege" of dying in inches from malnutrition, I'll bet the Grammys seem pretty fucking stupid.

And no, I don't imagine it even matters if Wyclef Jean is up for any, or not.

"That's fuckin' COLD, man."

That said, there are times when entertainment-industry stories take on a certain gravitas, because they run a little deeper than that. Certain events touch on concerns far less superficial than which guy is putting his penis where it shouldn't belong, what shows aren't getting picked up next year, or whom Cameron Diaz is wearing on the red carpet. And that's largely because there are bigger themes at play than simple Hollywood machinations. Themes of courage, fairness, betrayal, and honor.

One such story is the recent late-night wars. I can't remember the last time any non-hard-news story domiated as many news cycles as that whole mess. Sniping, calculated treachery, back-room deals and back-handed slaps were nearly daily headline-makers. And through it all, most of the major players (as well as the minor ones) still had to go on the air and do a show every night. It was equal parts political theatre, Shakesperean drama, and schadenfreude, so of course, it was irresistible. And while much is still unknown about how it all happened, most people whose cardiac tissue and cerebral cortex have more than a cordial, passing relationship agree that one guy was pretty much the villain of the piece...

Jay Leno.

Throughout the whole fiasco, Jay Leno's name kept popping up as the target of ire for frustrated late-night fans. It wasn't hard to see why. And, being as what seems like billions of inches of type have been dedicated to the specific reasons thereof, I'm loath to waste mine or anyone's time re-hashing them (suffice it to say that the general public tends not to have a whole lot of appreciation for whining millionaires who act powerless even as they actively bully people who are supposed to be their friends). Regardless of who was most at fault, Leno is still the public face of NBC late night. And the knowledge that he still took a very large, active role in deposing rightful "Tonight Show" host Conan O'Brien is tough to dismiss. When the dust settled, he came off a bloated, egotistical, overpaid bully who whined and wailed until he got his way, and was thus rewarded for his bad behavior as surely as a kid in a grocery store who pitches a bitch over a candy bar.

"Yes, please. By all means, tell me more about how YOU'RE the real victim."

But of course, there's always two sides to every story. Surely, Conan had it coming on SOME level, right? Well, no. At least, it sure as hell doesn't SEEM like it. Even though nobody is innocent (especially not in show business) for his part, Conan O'Brien handled the whole thing with a hell of a lot more class, grace and dignity as could be reasonably expected of anyone in his position. Especially when the position in question happens to be, "bent over and boned up the bone-dry dirtstar every night on national television." Sure, he poked fun at the whole thing just as much as anyone else, but being as his self-deprecating streak was a mile wide already, this didn't really come as a surprise to anyone. Or at least, it shouldn't have.

Still, I imagine taking the piss out of yourself is a lot easier when every single other late night host rallies to your side in their monologues. Not to mention the spontaneous shows of fan support in the form of organized rallies. In the rain.

"We're with Coco! Also, we have very damp underwear!"

Nevertheless...when the whole dance had gone and played out, Jay Leno was the victor, and returned as host of "The Tonight Show." This, despite the fact that Conan's ratings were no worse than Jay's had been in the same time period years ago (due mostly to Conan's lead-in having been Leno's shitty prime-time show), and that most of the affiliates wanted to keep O'Brien. Hell, even Oprah's famously-tolerant soccer-mom audience was 96% on the side of Conan during a poll taken while Leno was in her studio.

But, as is the case with many things, Leno's victory was the definition of "Pyrrhic." Because while he may have gotten his tired little show back, the massive upswell of goodwill towards Conan O'Brien has only grown exponentially in the months since.

"Greetings, my subjects. How it is?"

To begin with, Conan's contract negotiations dragged on for what seemed like weeks as he finagled his exit. And while NBC tried to paint him as a greedy-grabber who was just trying to squeeze as much money out of the network as possible, the truth soon came to light. Yes, he was shaking them down for more money, but the money in question wasn't for himself. It was for severance packages for his staff, all of whom had packed up their families and moved from New York to L.A. when the show did, and would be left without jobs if the show went "poof." Whoops. Point Conan.

Then, when his final show rolled around, Conan's composure of conduct was stunning. He actually thanked NBC for havng provided him a "home," paid endless amounts of respect to his predecessors on the legendary show (including Leno), and practically begged his devout not to succumb to petty cynicism. Plus, rather than paint himself as a victim (as Leno had done endlessly in the weeks previous), O'Brien expressed his joy at how lucky he'd been to have achieved his dream of hosting "The Tonight Show," however briefly. The over-arching message of his entire abbreviated tenure was summarized when he said, "If you work really hard and you're kind, amazing things will happen." Out of anyone else's mouth, it would have sounded like just so much glad-handing bullshittery. But by then, Conan had secured his earnestness credentials, and we knew we could take his sincerity to the proverbial bank (which would then no doubt waste it trading melancholy derivatives, and shame-default swaps).

Meanwhile, the damage to Leno's hard-working "nice-guy" image was palpable. His reputation took more of a P.R. hit than even having a fucking airline hangar brimming with million-dollar cars could have dealt him.

"I'm just a regular guy. Really. I'm not kidding. Shut up."

"So," you may be asking. "This is all old news. Why give Leno a knock to the nuggets NOW? He's had it coming for ages." And, you'd be right. You're always right. Plus, you're attractive, smart, and you smell good. Hold me. No? Well, okay. Can't blame me for trying though, right?

The reason why I'm saying this now? Because, even in "defeat", Conan O'Brien CONTINUES (simply by virtue of being the better person) to passively make Jay Leno look like a gigantic yawning asshole-chasm in comparison. To wit: the most potent salvo of the entire shakeup may have come as late in the game as this week. See, in order to stay busy, as well as to bring his particular brand of quirky entertainment to the masses in SOME form, Conan has decided to go on tour. Yep. He's taking his show on the road.

Ladies and gentlemen...May I present to you: The Face of Win.

In the recently-announced "Legally Prohibited From Being Funny on Television Tour" (a reference to a caveat of NBC's contract negotiations wherein O'Brien can't appear in a competing show on a rival network until at least September), Conan is doing a 30-day set of stops at large theatres all over the country. The announcement was fast. The tickets sold out within minutes. And people don't even know what he's going to be DOING. Stand-up? Interviews? Music? Probably. Who cares? People want to see him. It doesn't matter what he'll be doing, folks want to throw him their support regardless. They want to see him in person, and to serve up a heapin' helpin' of applause to a guy who made "losing" look like not such a death sentence...And to do so better than anyone since Al Gore.

Only...as it turns out, the fans won't be supporting Conan, exactly. At least, not financially. See, the whole reason he's doing this? It's to support his staff. Yep. When he hits the road, he'll be taking along 40 members of the former "Late Show / Tonight Show" staff on the road with him (including sidekick Andy Richter, and reportedly, the Max Weinberg Seven). He's doing it in order to keep them gainfully employed for the summer, hoping he'll have a deal in place to return to television come Fall, when he'll be able to give them their old jobs once again. Even though his NBC exit was held up because he refused to budge until the network ponied up an additional $12 million-plus for his staffers severance, he's STILL doing this tour so that they won't have any unfortunate gaps in their résumés to explain away later. Not that I'm guessing a single one of them would ever need a résumé again. Would YOU ever leave your job where your boss had done all of that going-to-bat on your behalf?

Let me just go ahead and back up the truck bringing in the answer to that.

To me, the tired chestnut of "he who laughs last" has rarely been so richly embodied. Leno got back his doddering, unfunny show, sure. Good for you, man. Way to score. However, even though Conan got the rug yanked out from under him through no fault of his own, he's come up with the far greater prize package. Included: the adoration of the masses, millions of dollars for not working (but being cool enough to go back to work anyway), bringing your show in front of live audiences, seeing the country, helping the people who support you, and STILL likely getting to take Leno to the hole and dunk on his ass by the time the leaves that are just now budding start to turn. Not to mention that he's got a fucking metric SHIT-ton of the one commodity that even the richest people can't buy, the one thing n the world that must truly be earned: Respect.

And how's Leno doing in that regard nowadays? Well, as it turns out, not only total fucking idiots from Alaska have been writing things on their hands lately.

They both look smug. Only one of them deserves to.

I mean, c'mon. There's "he who laughs last," and then there's "he who gets laughed AT." Of course, I guess where Leno is concerned, any laughs at all are welcome.

Nut-Punch of the Week, Feb 1st-5th, '10

As we've discussed previously, the Nut-Punch is a figurative injury. A symbolic assault. And, being as it's about the furthest thing from an actual injury to the gonads imaginable, it's also incidental whether the target in question even has literal testes to begin with. Which becomes important to remember, especially in light of certain current events.

And it is in that spirit of equality for all (even when it comes to doling out nugget-knocks) that this week's nut-punch goes to none other than that Yukon Yokel herself. The Quitter-in-Chief. Herr'oner the Harlot.

Sarah Palin.

I'd ask her to step up to the lectern to accept, but I don't have time to give her a road map, and turn-by-turn directions.

Look, there's no longer any doubt that she's stupid. The debate over her glaringly-obvious lack of anything resembling a functional intellectual capacity was put to rest a long time ago. Whether citing the facts about her that were made apparent during the '08 presidential campaign (She doesn't read newspapers, is unclear on the role of the Vice President, and cites policies of governmental agencies that don't exist), or the stuff that's come out since the McCain/Palin ticket's defeat (she can't name her favorite founding father, quits her single term as governor 18 months shy, and doesn't know that Africa is a continent), any questions about her wattage have been answered dozens of times over. She's so fucking dim, she makes Dan Quayle look like a card-carrying Mensan. Yessiree, if there's any one thing Sarah Palin is good at, it's being a laughingstock dumbass.

At least, I thought she was good at it.

Nope. Not even THAT much.

Recently, Palin was invited to address a Teabagger's convention in order to speak to the morons who blame the current economic crisis on the guy who got it dumped on him. While there, she agreed to participate in a short Q&A with the audience. And, because she is a fucking flaming nitwit, she insisted that the questions be submitted in advance. Understandable, I suppose. Like most, I saw the V.P. debate, and the Couric interviews during the campaign. And when Sarah doesn't get the test questions in advance, she tends to choke harder than she would if there were actual testicles in her mouth.

So far, whatever. Garden-variety ass-covering bullshit from a proven imbecile. Nothing we didn't expect. But it's what happened during the actual Q&A that really launches her to new depths of "duuuuh." Because even lunk-headed dipshits who need crib notes to pass a test know not to keep them where anyone will see them, and to not make it obvious that you're cheating when you look at 'em. But no...not Sarah Palin.

Watch:



Wow. Just...Wow. It's one thing to be an abject, irredeemable bonehead. It's entirely another to be so motherfucking OBVIOUS about it. She's not even good at being stupid!

As if her hit-you-over-the-head obvious super-sneaky palm-peek wasn't enough, it seems she forgot her notes were in there while she was giving a speech at a different time. Several times, she gestured to the audience with her palms out, revealing her cheat sheet!

Whoopsie. Shouldn't have done that, huh?

And what makes this even funnier is the fact that during the speech in question, she actually criticized President Obama's use of a teleprompter! You could cut the irony with a rusty spoon. At least he (like most presidents before him since the invention of the bloody thing) uses the 'prompter to give speeches of consequence and detail. For the love of Christ, you had to write party tentpoles like "Energy," "taxes" and "lift America's spirits" on your hand to remember to mention them?!? That'd be like if Obama had to scribble crap like "health care," "job creation" and "D.A.D.T. go bye-bye" on the underside of his tie before the State of the Union Address!

Y'know, it's sad...Palin recently announced that she "isn't ruling out" a bid for the presidency come 2012. But given the fact that she's so goddamned stupid that she even sucks at BEING stupid, I simply cannot imagine how she thinks she has even the faintest glimmer of being taken seriously as a candidate.

That said, as a humorist...I hope she runs. We could use the material.

Nut-Punch of the Week, Jan. 18-22, '10

Hey, everyone. It's nice to be back. No, really, it is. Lounging around getting drunk and masturbating, while certainly enjoyable, is nowhere NEAR as fun as blogging. You'll just have to trust me on that one.

Anyway, along with this little blog-wide re-launch of ours comes not just a more robust and consistent posting schedule, but also the dusting-off and streamlining of some forgotten features of the dayz of wayback. Among them: the DoF Nut-Punch, wherein I, your beloved Unca Mert, deliver a very deserving target an extremely swift, decisive, and painful virtual sock to the berries.

Onto this week's very-worthy recipient:

Brett Favre.

Oh, Brett. How tough it must be to be you.

Total disclosure: I'm not even necessarily a sports fan. But that display last night reminded me of the reasons why I'm not.

When Favre un-retired himself yet AGAIN to come and play for Minnesota, it was because he thought he had one last run at the Super Bowl. And for awhile there, it looked like he might be right. His high-risk, high reward style of game play was resulting in far more of the latter than the former coming to pass. Before anyone knew it, there they were playing for the NFC Championship.

And, if I can, I'd like to crawl inside Brett's big, meaty melon for a moment, and take a look at what must have been happening in there towards the end of regulation...

"Huh. Here we are, with seconds left in the fourth. Score's tied. We're 40-some-odd yards out. We win this, we go to The Dance. Doing so would justify the whole reason I came back, not to mention shut up my critics. Ryan Longwell, who I KNOW can make this 3 based on the fact that I played with him for YEARS in Green Bay, is warming up on the sidelines. Peterson could run it another couple of yards and put him into even BETTER position to split the posts. All I have to do is hand it off to him...

...Naaah. I'm gonna put it up. I'm sure everything will be fine."

Of course, we all know what happened. He lofted that baby late and back over the middle, hoping to hit Sidney Rice. Instead, it floated softly into the waiting arms of Tracy Porter. And the entire state of Minnesota wept in unison.

Not shown: the giant purple poop he's currently dropping in his dungarees.

Thing is, Favre really should have known better. Most of us LEARN from our mistakes. But oh, no. Not him. He's above all that, even though last night's debacle was EERILY reminiscent of his last playoff appearance with Green Bay in aught-seven. Packers fans remember it well: It was Packers/Giants. Green Bay was well within boot range, and the score was close enough that a field goal would have won it all. But rather than chew up yardage and time by slipping the ball to his backs before handing it over to special teams for the field goal, Favre's dumb ass decided to up and huck it over the line...and directly to Corey Webster. D'oh.

The end result? Packers fans had a one-two punch of deja vu and schadenfreude last night. To them, it was a double dose of the sort of Instant Karma John Lennon used to wax rhapsodic about.

"I'll thank you to leave me the hell out of this."

And hey...I'm not trying to take anything away from the Saints. Good for them. They've had a hell of a season, and they deserve it. Not to mention that New Orleans really needs the boost in morale right about now. For the Superdome to go from a de facto charnel house to a championship in a couple of years is a huge boon for that town. Plus, they've never been to the Big Game. Not once. And even though it's been awhile for Minnesota, at least they've been able to make the trip a couple of times.

And yes, it's not like the rest of the team were faultless. The offensive line was so full of holes that the wind blowing across it played a B-flat blues scale, and a mischievous cartoon mouse obviously buttered Adrian Peterson's gloves prior to kickoff. But the fact remains that in the final seconds, Favre COULD have made a decision that would have won the whole team the game, putting them into their first Super Bowl in more than three decades. You might say his entire career came down to that play. But instead of rising to the occasion, he got down on his knees, painted his lips up a nice whore crimson, spit in his palm, and blew the whole season.

So, enjoy your jab to the stones, Brett. You've earned it. As for us, we get to "enjoy" a full off-season of "will-he-or-won't-he" speculation regarding your retirement, knowing we can't believe a goddamn word you say either way.

Happy Monday!

Diary of Fools Nut-Punch of the Week: August 11-15, 2008

By Merton Sussex, Chairman of the Bored

Wow, is anyone watching the Olympics? I'm sure as shit not. Bunch of self-absorbed, one-dimensional jock dicks tearing their hair out over whether or not they'll be one-eleventh of a second faster than the self-absorbed, one-dimensional jock dicks from Belize or Lithuania. The only thing more boring in the entire universe would be sitting in a Vegan Coffee Shop, drinking weak Earl Grey and going over the finer points of a diversified mutual fund with Ben Fucking Stein. So, here's a little excitement for you:


This Week's deserving contenders:



Victoria Osteen

If you're thinking, "Who?!?" good for you. However, if you know who this flap of vestigal snatch-skin is, chances are you're not a regular reader.

Victoria Osteen is the wife of Joel Osteen, who is the self-styled messiah of Texas-based "Lakewood Ministries," the grandaddy of all Megachurches. Lakewood is the largest individual church in the entire United States, admitting more than 42,000 parishioners every single week, and reaching 2 million more via cable broadcast. Their particular message is that of "prosperity gospel," meaning that they feel the closer you are to god, the better off your bank account will be as a result. So much for no money-changers in the temple, eh? No real word on how that's working out for their faithful, but it seems to be doing just fine for the Osteens. Lakewood has a yearly operating budget of $72.6 million. That's DOLLARS.

Just so there's no confusion...If you asked most people to formulate a mental image of a "church", they'd probably fire up the ol' grey matter, and come up with something like this:



Humble, modest, and unobtrusive. The kind of place that every medium to small-size town has a few dozen of. But that's not good enough for the Osteens. Heavens, no. THIS is THEIR "church":



Let's make something nice and sparkling clear: THAT IS NOT A CHURCH. THAT IS THE MOTHERFUCKING SUPERBOWL. And that's not just a pithy joke on my part. You see, in order to accommodate their congregation, the Osteens signed a 30-year lease on the above facility in 2005. The reason it was vacant is because the Houston Rockets had just moved out. For all of you sports fans, that means this "church" meets at the actual honest-to-god frog-fucking Summit Arena.

However. Victoria Osteen is not in line for crotch-trauma because of all that, bad enough though embodying everything that's WRONG with America is. She's here for forgetting to turn the other cheek.

in 2005, the Osteens were flying to Vail, Colorado on Continental Airlines. Apparently Jesus told them to go skiing, or something. The flight was apparently uneventful until mild turbulence caused Victoria's drink to spill onto her armrest. Not all of it, though. According to court testimony, the spill was roughly "half-dollar-sized." A few drops, really.

Now, faced with an earth-shattering dilemma such as this, most of us would grunt slightly, wipe it up with something, and then forget about it forever, being as a tiny spill is the definition of "insignificant." That's if we even noticed at all.

But not Victoria Osteen, oh no. Not good enough. Someone was going to have to make this RIGHT.

So, according to the sworn testimony of two flight attendants, Osteen got up out of her seat, approached them, and demanded that one of them clean it up. And no, I'm not kidding. And because flight attendants are hardworking people with lots of responsibility during the time the pressurized tube full of dozens and dozens of people is hurtling several hundred miles per hour over 30,000 feet in the air, you probably won't be surprised to discover that niether of them immediately dropped what they were doing and rushed over. A flight attendant named Sharon Brown did what any sensible person would do: She handed Victoria Osteen a napkin.

That's when Victoria flew off the handle.

Alledgedly, Osteen became angry, and started verbally abusing Brown and her fellow attendant Maria Johnson. When they politely requested that she shut the fuck up and go back to her (probably dry by now) seat like a civilized human being, Osteen evidently grabbed Brown by the shoulders, and shook her. Then she shoved Brown out of the way, elbowing her in the breast in the process, and started marching toward the cockpit, with the apparent intention of gaining entry.

Now. One assumes that Victoria Osteen is simply so used to getting her way that she was preparing to barge into the cockpit and "tattle" on the attendants for not catering to her every ludicrous little narcissistic whim just like she's used to in her own ivory tower. Stadium. Whatever. The point is, the self-centered cunt was so convinced that her petty problem and its unsatisfactory resolution was of such incredible import that the superior of the attendants had to be informed. Y'know, the Captain. The guy who is busy flying the goddamned plane, and who is not only responsible for the safety and well-being of all of the passengers on board, but also whoever might happen to be below the plane at the time. That guy. Osteen didn't care that he was probably busy. She didn't care that she'd just verbally assaulted two flight attendants and elbowed one of them in the tit as icing. She didn't bother to consider that there might be an air marshal on board who had the green light to shoot dead anyone who tried to gain unauthorized entry to the cockpit. She'd been inconvenienced. And if that doesn't tell you everything you need to know about Victoria Osteen, there's nothing else I'm going to be able to say that will help you.

Eventually, she was subdued. When the plane landed, she was arrested, questioned, and ordered to pay a $3,000 fine by the FAA for interfering with a flight crew. In the only wise move she made all day, she paid it.

But apparently, somewhere along the line Sharon Brown caught wind of the fact that she brittle bitch who'd thrown the elbow at her funbag was rich even by Texas standards. So, naturally, she's suing. Which makes me giddy like a schoolgirl inside. Whether or not the money she's asking for is reasonable (it isn't), the way the Osteens came by it is decidedly not. So, while the verdict in this case has not yet been rendered, I personally hope Brown gets enough money that she never has to work another day in her life.

Not that she's BEEN working. According to her lawyer, since the incident, Brown has suffered a variety of health and mental ailments, including anxiety...and hemorrhoids. Thus marking an official entry into the court records that Victoria Osteen doesn't just LOOK like a serious pain in the ass...She is one.



Kwame Kilpatrick

Things should have gone so much better.

Kwame Kilpatrick was elected Mayor of Detroit, Michigan in 2001. At just 31 years old, he became one of the youngest mayors ever to lead a major U.S. city, and the youngest African-American mayor of one. He didn't lick it up off of the sidewalk, though...Politics runs in the family. Kilpatrick's mother Carolyn represents Michigan's 13th District in the United States House of Representatives, and serves as the Chairwoman of the Congressional Black Caucus. His father Bernard served as Chief of Staff to a former County Executive. Kwame himself holds a graduate degree from the Michigan State University College of Law. Seems he was cut out to be not just successful, but a role model to any kid who wants to believe he can grow up to achieve greatness.

However, he had other plans. Because in addition to his achievements, he's added another distinction: He's also the first U.S. mayor in history to be charged with a felony while currently in office. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Kilpatrick's civic fuckery apparently began almost immediately upon his election. Reports began surfacing right away that he was abusing the power of his position in a number of creative ways. Here's a quick timeline:

* In 2002, Kilpatrick's wife Carlita came home to the Mayor's mansion early from a business trip. Upon finding the house full of strippers, she was understandably displeased, and attacked one of the women. The incident was more or less hushed up by Detroit police...Except for one who talked. Which led to:

* The so-called "Whistleblower Trial." Because the cop who talked didn't just talk to anyone. He went to Internal Affairs in the hopes of launching an investigation of Mayoral misconduct based of the stripper incident. Before any real detective work could commence, the officer in question, as well as the head of Detroit P.D. Internal Affairs, were both summarily fired. At the conclusion of the trial, they were awarded an $8.4 million settlement. In a speech on City Hall steps immediately following the verdict, Kilpatrick blamed "white jurors" for levying the judgment. Yeah, really. 'Cause he'd totally get away with saying that if things had been the other way around.

* Two other cops involved who cooperated with the investigation became the subject of a smear campaign by the Mayor's office.

* Tamara "Strawberry" Green, one of the strippers at the party who was cooperating with the investigation, went and got herself good and perished when she was shot to death in her car at a downtown intersection. Differing reports from the Detroit P.D. say she was shot either three times, or eighteen. What they don't differ on is the weapon used: A .40-cal Glock handgun. "Coincidentally," this is also the Detroit P.D. service pistol. Not to mention that, though Green was shot multiple times, her boyfriend, also in the car, wasn't hit ONCE. Wonder if the dude with the gun might have had some training with it? One of the officers who was the subject of the above-mentioned smear campaign believed all this was more than just coincidence, so he began to investigate the case. At which point he was promptly re-assigned out of Homicide. But, only after discovering phone records of calls made between the victim, and "a high-ranking city employee." Surely, this also was coincidence. As was the fact that by the time he got back to the files on the case, most had been "misplaced."

* In 2003, a local news station aired footage of Kilpatrick joyriding around downtown on a Detroit P.D. motorcycle. Without his security detail. Also, without permission.

* Timeline 2005. In the wake of the "Whistleblower Trial", charges of obstruction of justice, conspiracy, misconduct in office and perjury were filed against Kilpatrick and his Chief of Staff Christine Beatty. Reason being, text messages had recently surfaced that seemed to indicate that the two had had an affair...But lied about it on the stand. Oh, wait, did I say "recently surfaced?" I meant, "eventually came to light after the city filed a FOIA request for the court documents that had to go all the way to state Supreme Court before being grudgingly released." When they were, the truth of the affair was revealed, as were certain documented finer points regarding the cover-up attempt to keep them hidden. The funniest part? They were eventually forced into the public eye based on one of Kilpatrick's own first-term directives, one that indicates that "all electronic communication sent on city equipment should be used in an honest, ethical, and legal manner." It also cautions that said communications are "not considered to be personal or private." Ha-ha! I CAN HAZ PETARD-HOISTINGS?

* In addition to certain literally-sticky details about the affair between the two, the messages also included information regarding their misappropriation of city funds for romantic little getaways. Whoops.

* Oh, yeah, the text messages also showed evidence that certain juicy no-bid construction contracts (about $45 million worth) were being handed out like candy to Kilpatrick's old High School buddies who now owned construction firms. No wonder they tried to keep these hidden, eh?

* Also in 2005, someone picked up on the fact that city funds had been used to a lease a brand new cherry-red Lincoln Navigator similar (if not IDENTICAL!) to the one Kilpatrick and his family had been seen tooling around in on their personal time. The total amount of the lease was noted $24,995. Wow. That's some mayoral discount for a sled like that, eh? Maybe the reason why it was just that much and no more is because according to city by-laws, all expenditures of $25,000 or over had to be approved by the common council. And the coincidences just keep on coming!

* 2007 saw Kilpatrick taking his family to a luxury resort in California, to the tune of an $8,600 total layout. Where'd he get the money this time? Why, from the "Kilpatrick Civic Fund," of course! This was a fund established and administrated by Kilpatrick's sister, and was ostensibly to be used to "improve the city of Detroit through voter education, economic empowerment and crime prevention." nowhere in there does it say anything about Disneyland, but hey...Maybe I'm just not reading it right. In the wake of this coming to light, a local reporter stopped Kilpatrick to ask about it. He snatched the microphone out of her hand and threw it into a wall rather than answer any questions. That oughta clear things up.

* Kilpatrick was also named in a Slander suit stemming from a 2004 incident where his Chief of Staff and court-proven fuck-toy Christine Beatty was pulled over by Detroit P.D., literally pulled the "do you know who the fuck I am?" routine. Apparently, they didn't, because in keeping with standard operating procedure, they asked her for her license. While they were running it, Beatty called the in-the-pocket-of-the-administration Chief of Police, more or less ordering him to call off his officers in the middle of the stop. Which he did. Naturally, the intrepid reporters caught wind of this, too, and reported it, as is their wont. Which prompted Kilpatrick, Beatty, and the police chief to claim the entire thing was a harassment attempt. The officers filed suit ex post facto.

* Kilpatrick also funneled city funds to an organization called "Project U.N.I.T.E.," a nebulously-defined organization with unclear goals. Eventually, it was discovered that the sole employee of "U.N.I.T.E." was...Carlita Kilpatrick. When this was discovered, the city canceled the second of two planned installments, which would have paid out a quarter-million dollars. However, one payment of $175K DID go through, after which the organization rapidly dissolved...Taking the money with it.

* It is a customary courtesy for the P.D. of Washington D.C. to provide a police detail for the personal security of mayors visiting the Capitol city to conduct official business. However, they have recently announced a "Kwame Kilpatrick" clause that states that Kilpatrick in particular will only enjoy this protection during daylight hours. According to a Department spokesman, this is because of: "inappropriate partying during past visits. We arrived at this decision because we felt that the late evening partying on the part of Mayor Kilpatrick would leave our officers stretched too thin and might result in an incident at one of the clubs." For his part, Kilpatrick chalks this up to "conspiracy." Oh, you bet. Whole world's against you for NO REASON, dude.

* Rampant nepotism has resulted in more than 100 of Kilpatrick's relatives and close associates holding high-paying official positions within the city. The area press has apparently placed tongue firmly in cheek, and dubbed this, "The Friends and Family Plan." At worst, these hirees typically have zero experience for the jobs they're hired for. At best, they falsify the shit out of their résumés. Coincidence time again! Not only has every single one of his appointees managed to keep their jobs despite massive city layoffs in the thousands, but they routinely get double, or even triple-percentage pay raises on an accelerated schedule.

* Last month, it was revealed that in 2005, Kilpatrick had a case thrown out of the court system. This particular case involved a Baptist minister who was a friend of Kilpatrick's. A minister who, in seeming contradiction to the trappings of his occupation, really liked to fuck hookers...And got picked up by police doing just that. The case was only thrown out when the mayor's office failed to sufficiently pressure the arresting officer not to show up at the trial. No reason was ever given why.

* Kilpatrick's contentious relationship with the court system continues. Last month, he was quoted on a local news station rendering some choice terms unto a special city prosecutor who had been giving him headaches. He's on record as saying: "My grandfather always said if you're digging a grave for someone, dig two. So she better be careful." Yeah, REALLY.

* On July 24th, a city cop and an investigator from the above death-threatened prosecutor's office went to Kilpatrick's sister's house. They were trying to serve a subpoena on the brother of a guy she's married to. They didn't find him. They did, however, find Kwame, who was visiting at the time. Oooh! Bad timing! To his credit, Kilpatrick kept a level head and cooperated with the officer and attorney. Ha! Just kidding! He and his bodyguards shoved them bodily off the porch.

And FINALLY:

* Late last month, Kilpatrick took a quick jump across the water to Windsor, Ontario to have a meeting with their mayor, Eddie Francis. The reported purpose was to discuss the terms of a proposed underwater tunnel between the two towns. According to Francis' office, Kilpatrick's people requested the meeting on very short notice. Kilpatrick's staff says just the opposite. But this is a largely moot point in light of the fact that Kilpatrick was technically out on bail for an earlier arrest at the time, and was supposed to inform the city if he had plans to leave the state...Much less the country. Whoopsie, my bad! Upon his return, Kilpatrick was promptly arrested. And, y'know...Put in a cell, and everything. While still being the goddamned mayor. In jail.

Look, nobody expects all elected officials to be whistle-clean. Everyone has a skeleton or three. But for chrissakes...Kilpatrick has a goddamned GRAVEYARD. That he keeps ADDING TO. PUBLICLY. Way to set an example, Mr. Mayor. I'm sure the kids really look up to you, and shit.

Detroit's had some pretty serious problems for a very long time. However, it seems like its biggest problem has a name and an office.



Brett Favre

Fuck you, Brett Favre. Seriously. Fuck you.

Partly because my wee fingies are a bit fatigued after typing all of that shit about Kwame Kilpatrick, but just as much because I don't want to be the umpteenth hack scribbler to line up on the old #4 fellatio parade, I'm not going to sit here and re-cap Favre's whole career. It's been done a few thousand times in a few thousand places, and whether we like it or not, we all know the story. Boy plays football well, boy racks up massive amounts of mostly-untouchable records, boy earns the love and respect of an entire team sport, boy retires a hero, boy comes back and pisses on everything he's ever stood for to squeeze out one more go. Finis. Maybe.

What pisses me off most about Favre is that last bit. His sportsmanship and professionalism are pretty well-documented. He never hit anyone off the field, never got pinched for fucking anyone not his wife, never got mixed up with drunk driving, and aside from one understandable episode concerning the few too many prescribed Vicodin he took to help drive away the pain of getting his ass slammed around by some of the largest men in the world on a weekly basis, no drugs, either. In fact, he helped teammates who were addicts themselves kick painkillers! For years, he's seemed to be above the ego, the temptations, the notion of asshole-jock goddamned entitlement that's so bloody rampant in pro sports. Y'know, the same one that led Rae Carruth and OJ Simpson to believe they could literally get away with actual murder. No, Favre was the golden boy. Not just the best quarterback to ever play the game, but one of the best overall PEOPLE to. And he did it all in the smallest, most beloved and storied market in the entire league on top of it.

Then he had to go and fuck everything up.

He decided he wanted to UN-retire. He wanted to play again, dammit, and nothing was going to get in the way of that. Soooo, he just figured he'd waltz right back into Green Bay, he'd be welcomed with open arms, and Aaron Rodgers could just trot his happy second-string ass back to the rear burner for a FIFTH year running.

To his credit, his record on the field is impeccable, so it isn't surprising that he felt like he could pull it off. What IS surprising is the he actually tried to go through with it. What that says to anyone who's paying attention is that he finally started to believe his own press, to buy into his own bullshit. He just figured the team could UN-move on, and plug him right back in because he's Brett Goddamned Favre. Never mind how this affects the fans, the management, the team, his replacement...HE WANTED TO PLAY AGAIN. THE GREAT AND POWERFUL FAVRE HAS SPOKEN.

Effectively, all this accomplished was that he put the team in a rock-and-a-hard-catch-22-place where they literally could not win. Let him back on? Piss off the team, the fans, and his replacement, plus look like spineless weenies. Let him go? Risk not only being forever known as the guys who sent away the idolized player who shattered (and still holds) every single important record for his position, but also risk the likelihood that he'd wind up someplace like Chicago, or even worse, *GASP!* Minnesota. If they asked Favre back, and he was really past his prime, or got injured, Rodgers would likely already have bailed. But if they let him go, and he had a great season somewhere else, the city of Green Bay would tar and feather them and run them out of town on a rail. Especially if Rodgers has anything less than the most impressive rookie-starter year in the history of the league, which...With such big cleats to fill...He won't. So, no matter which door they picked, there was abso-fucking-lutely guaranteed to be a goddamned goat back there once Monty pulled the lever.

So, rather than do the sensible, gentlemanly thing and STAY THE FUCK RETIRED, ALREADY, Favre kept pushing. And pushing. And pushing. He pushed through showing up at training camp. He pushed through passing on a $20m buyout to stay with the organization in a coaching or advisory capacity. He pushed when they more-than-generously said he could compete with Rodgers for the starting slot at camp. He pushed to the point where he dominated every newscycle for weeks on end while there's other, FAR more important shit going on in the world. I mean, as far as I KNOW, we're still in Iraq, right? And the economy is still swirling the drain? Okay, good. Just checking.

So, when the dust settled, what happened? What the hell do you THINK happened? His selfishness won. He, like most other jocks who kick and scream until their Trig professor grudgingly agrees to give them a D-minus-MINUS so they can still play at homecoming, got exactly what he wanted. And in the process, he showed us what his real motivation is: ME. My records, my glory, my wants. Screw the team. Screw the town. Screw the legacy, the history, the pride, the love of the game. It's all about Brett Favre. He finally showed his true colors...And they weren't Green and Gold after all. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Favre has squandered all of that goodwill and warm regard in exchange for another year. And probably just one. One more year that might pad his records...But a year that will see him wearing a different uniform, in a different state, in one of the LARGEST markets. One more year, uprooting his entire family and moving across the country for nobody's benefit but his own. He's traded one fucking year of personal playtime for what's sure to be an at least chilly (if not downright livid) attitude from a 100,000-person town that worshipped en masse at his perpetually-full 73,000-seat altar for the better part of two decades. Wow. I hope it was worth it. I mean, hey...let's face it. He played in Green Bay. Have you ever BEEN to Green Bay? Because I have. In a town like that, where there is absolutely nothing else going on but you and your buddies every Sunday heading down to The Game, you're a GOD.

In New York, he won't even be a Giant.

And the winner is:



John Fucking Edwards.

Surprise! You didn't see THAT coming, eh? Well, join the club.

I had originally intended to smack the sack of Mr. Kilpatrick today, simply due to the overwhelming itemized laundry list of truly crooked shit he's pulled in the last eight rivaling-Bush-for-sheer-corruption years. Then that fucking follicle-farmer Edwards came out and admitted he's been fucking some dusty-snatched, horse-faced campaign worker, and I had to take a mulligan.

Jesus CHRIST, John! What, exactly, is WRONG with you? Look, the whore-fuckery, I can almost get around. You're a Democrat. Much like Clinton before you, and Gary Hart before him, and Kennedy before him, you're into fucking people who aren't your wife and lying about it. Whatever. Personally, that's your row to hoe, and you're the one who has to deal with it. We ought to be used to that by now. Hell, if you were a Republican, we'd probably have to get used to you lying about fucking other dudes. And while I personally don't have the faintest whit of a problem with gay people, I DO have a problem with people who CLAIM to have problems with gay people, but spend a lot of time having sex with them anyway. Possibly even underage ones. So, in the grand scheme, a little infidelity is almost endemic.

What I actually take issue with is the fact that this affair supposedly took place in 2006...While you were actively running for fucking president.

Think about this for a minute...Imagine you'd gotten the nomination. And make no mistake..You came a lot closer than some of those other cats you debated with. Effectively, you pulled a bronze medal. But what if you'd gotten the gold? What if it had been you and McCain instead of Obama and McCain out there duking it out? It could've happened. You tried hard to MAKE it happen.

Now, imagine this news came out on the same timeline. Here we are, in mid-August. We have just over 12 weeks to go until we pick our next leader. And now, suddenly...It comes out that you've been dipping your stinger in someone else's honey-pot. POLITICAL SUICIDE. The irresponsibility of running with that bullshit in your back pocket, knowing it come out at ANY time, is motherfucking inexcusable. Because whether or not I'M prone to get up-in-arms about that sort of shit, you know from history that the electorate, as a whole, IS.

Effectively, had things gone differently and you'd been the nominee, you would have just handed the country over to the Republicans for at least four more years. Never mind the fact that THEIR nominee is that doddering, clueless fuck McCain, and that his personal indiscretions (like divorcing his accident-disfigured first wife while she was still in the hospital so he could marry a hot, rich beer heiress) are just as bad. You know damn WELL that he still would've grabbed the ball you just dropped and ran with it like it was the last Viagra on Earth. He would've run all the way to the White House, you selfish, arrogant dick. And there we'd be, stuck with the corruption, the cronyism, and the incompetence of the GOP all over again. We'd have more war, more economic collapse, and by the time McCain was done, the Supreme Court would look like the Board of Directors of Fox Fucking News. Hell, it might even BE them. And yet you still ran anyway.

I do believe if you looked up "Hubris" in the dictionary, the picture next to it would be of your own penis.

Oh, and lest I forget to mention it...If the timeline of this whole thing is correct, It seems as though you were screwing around on your wife WHILE SHE WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF FIGHTING CANCER. Wow. I haven't the words. I guess The Enquirer was like the proverbial stopped clock: Correct only during brief, fleeting intervals, but still correct. At least this time. Way to prove the mainstream-scooping muck-mongers right, you unbelievable shit.

And besides that, if I may be earthy for a moment? When most guys cheat on their wives, they do it because they have crack at someone...Well...Hot. Someone alluring and irresistible. Someone that stirs their loins to the point that they're a slave to their sheer undeniable desire such that their sense of fidelity is completely overwhelmed. So, lets take a look at the cheated-upon Mrs. Edwards, shall we?



Wow. She's genuinely lovely. Not only does she look kind and caring, but she's actually pretty attractive, in a buddy's-mom kind of way. So, who was worth cheating on her?



Aaaaagh! GHAAAAAAGH! KILL IT WITH FIRE!!! Dude, not only are you fucking around on your wife, but YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG.

So, eat shit, John Edwards. I'll be on the lookout for you in order to deliver your hard-earned knock in the cherries. Not that you haven't punished your genitals enough by getting them anywhere near that she-beast you've been poking, but it's the principle of the thing at this point.