Monthly Archives: September 2005

Eat a Fetus to Save a Life (from Criminals)

White House Criticizes Bennett for Remarks on Race

WASHINGTON – The White House on Friday criticized former Education Secretary William Bennett for remarks linking the crime rate and the abortion of black babies.

“The president believes the comments were not appropriate,” White House press secretary Scott McClellan said.

Bennett, on his radio show, “Morning in America,” was answering a caller’s question when he took issue with the hypothesis put forth in a recent book that one reason crime is down is that abortion is up.

“But I do know that it’s true that if you wanted to reduce crime, you could, if that were your sole purpose, you could abort every black baby in this country, and your crime rate would go down,” said Bennett, author of “The Book of Virtues.”

He went on to call that “an impossible, ridiculous and morally reprehensible thing to do, but your crime rate would go down. So these far-out, these far-reaching, extensive extrapolations are, I think, tricky.”

Responding later to criticism, Bennett said his comments had been mischaracterized and that his point was that the idea of supporting abortion to reduce crime was “morally reprehensible.”

Bennett was education secretary under President Reagan and director of drug control policy when Bush’s father was president.
(New York Times)

I’m not trying to be the semantics police or anything, but it seems really hard to mischaracterize the racial-implications inherent in the suggestion that aborting all the black babies in the country would reduce the crime rate. Although, I would have to hand it to Bennett that he was definitely mischaracterized if anyone on either side of the aisle suggested that Bennett wished to eat the aborted fetuses. That’s simply not what he said. Besides, he doesn’t even like soul food.

Also: I think it’s really funny that Bennett (who is a world class fucking asshole, by the way) is upset that his comments are being taken out of context when they were made in a response to a theory he was taking out of context. To point out a corollary relationship between rise in abortion rates and drops in crime rates in no way advocates abortions to reduce crime. It is what one calls “an observation,” which is somewhat different (and again, I guess we’re getting into semantics here) from the Bennettonian notion of “morally corrupt, reality-detached, ideologically motivated ranting.”

WAKE UP, JOURNALISTS!

There have been a lot of pretty big news stories this week. Tom DeLay was indicted on conspiracy charges. Jack Abramoff was linked to a mobland murder. Senator Majority Leader Bill Frist is being investigated for inappropriate stock sales. John Roberts Jr. was sworn in as America’s Next Top Justice. Judith Miller decided she was sick of jail and left. But there is one major news story that none of the mainstream media outlets have chosen to pick up on:

Worker #3116 figured out what he’s going to be for Halloween!

Worker #3116 released a press release Wednesday morning confirming that Worker #3116 had decided on a costume for Halloween. He is pleased to report that despite the as-yet-unpurchased items still required before the costume can be implemented, that he does already own the kelly-green sweatpants. Worker #3116 is also pleased to report that his costume will be appeal to children, while remaining intellectually compelling for adults, like a Pixar movie. The costume will also be thoroughly wearable. Worker #3116 does not, the press release indicated, foresee any trouble drinking and/or “totally partying” in his costume. In a final note, Worker #3116 would like women to know that he firmly believes in the expression: what happens in a Halloween costume, stays in a Halloween costume.

L’Email

Deadbeat Père is in France on le vacation. Then, I got an email this week from Grand-Père #3116 telling me to sign up for Sike! or whatever that free-internet telephone service is. So I wrote him back telling him I would look into it, and then, trying to be a member of the “family,” I kindly inquired if he had seen Deadbeat-Pére yet. He sent an email in response that I will now translate, in its entireity, for you:

WE HAVE SEEN HIM TWO TIMES AND TOMORROW NIGHT WE’RE GOING TO HAVE DINNER WITH HIM, THEN SUNDAY HE IS COMING TO THE HOUSE FOR LUNCH.
HUGS.
GP3

That is one of the things I love about Grand-Père #3116. Ask le question, get l’answer.

So Much Crelling!

There was a lot of yelling last night.

I’ll give you the two main examples:

Stevil and I created a neologism: cramazing. It means “crazy amazing.” I like to say it in the sing-songy voice that one uses for ca-razy! Stevil likes to say it in the Oprah-Winfrey-Announces-Her-Annual-Giveaway-Show voice, which involves yelling. It sounds something like this: CRAMAZING! We also decide that the “crazy” cr- was our favorite prefix. As in, “you’re creautiful!”

Later I asked both Stevil and McCullen what superheroes they would be if they could be any superheroes in the world. McCullen said he wanted to be invisible and fly, which I said could not be done. He googled it and came back with Wonder Woman. Personally, I still don’t really think that an invisible jet counts as the power of invisibility. You can’t secretly sneak into a party or the girls’ locker-room in your invisible jet. (NOR the boys’ locker-room, McCullen). Then Stevil comes running out of his room all excited because he’s going to be Storm: Mistress of the Elements. So, both my roommates, given the full range of superheroism, pick two ladies. VERY INTERESTING, HOMOS! Anyway, the yelling comes in when McCullen drops into what can only be described as a “sexy-defensive” posture and goes: “Storm, create a diversion. LASSO OF TRUTH!”

When the yelling subsided we talked about how if you were Professor Xavier, with the ability to read and control minds, you could masturbate in your giant mind-room and have the entire world cum at the same time.

Hello, Mars, I Am the Giant Squid…from the Ocean!

A long time ago, China Jet and I were at the zoo. We were in the Fish House when we stumbled upon a display about the elusive Giant Squid (or Architeuthis, the Greek name for “ruling” or “chief” squid). Both of us were held completely captive by descriptions of eyes as large as dinner plates, and the murky mystery of an ancient creature that had never been caught or photographed.

Worker #3116: Did you read this, China Jet? It says that the Giant Squid has never been caught or photographed!
China Jet: That’s crazy.
Worker #3116: You know what this means.
China Jet: What does it mean?
Worker #3116: That I must dedicate my life to capturing the Giant Squid.
China Jet: What would you do with it if you caught it?
Worker #3116:
China Jet:
Worker #3116: I would send it to space.

I am very happy to announce that I am one step closer to realizing my destiny!

“But Worker #3116,” you say, “doesn’t it bother you that Japanese scientists are beating you towards your life goal? And I have a follow-up question: how realistic do you think it is to imagine yourself capturing the Giant Squid when you have almost no interest, and certainly no professional or educational background, in the biological sciences?”

FUCKERS: what did I just finish explaining to you in that overly-long Real World rant? Like with women, the best strategy is to let someone else do all the work, and then wait around to pick up the sobbing, intoxicated pieces. That is how you score, with women, and with the Giant Squid.

DO YOU HEAR THAT, SPACE? GET READY TO WELCOME THE GIANT SQUID INTO YOUR INKY DEPTHS!

RW-486

People are always asking me, “Why do you still watch the Real World,” and “Do you really watch the Real World, why?” or my favorite question: “The Real World SUCKS!”

Here is why: earlier this week McCullen was walking down the street and passed by a sorority girl on her cell-phone who said, “Did you know I missed last week’s Real World?! And I heard it was really good!” I do it to keep sluts like her off the streets. Without some way to catch up on missed episodes, she would be in the gutter, with crushed jello-shot cups strewn all around her head like some kind of Dixie-halo.

It’s been a few weeks, so we have some work to do:

Three Weeks Ago: Shell Necklace gets drunk and then someone pours a drink on him, and he goes into a violent rage. The world stands by, unimpressed, but still real. While this was a boring episode and made me sad about my priorities in life that they should still accommodate sitting on the couch from 10-10:30 PM on a Tuesday when I could be, say, conducting some kind of experiment on a neighborhood pet, or eating sleeping pills, it had one major benefit to it, which was that it centered on the real world’s encroachment on the Real World. As the show’s popularity has grown over the past, what, quarter-century that it’s been on the air, it’s harder and harder for the cast to just go about their “lives.” From what I understand, the actual residents of the host cities have gotten ever more aggressive in their persecution of the MTV kids. The guy who poured a drink on Shell Necklace’s head did so not because he was black, or because he said the wrong things, as may have happened to Kevin on Real World: Begins (who also, if memory serves, wore a shell necklace). The drink was poured simply because Shell Necklace was having his life taped to find out what happened when people stopped being polite and started being drunkenly antagonistic.

Two Weeks Ago: They go to a dude ranch. No one wants to go except Fuck-Head and maybe Iraqi Jane. One of the reasons that no one on any season of the Real World has EVER been interested in doing something different or new or out of their comfort-zone is because they came on the show to really learn about themselves and grow as people, and the only way to do that is to remain sequestered in the RW compound, and to get totally smashed on watermelon shooters and Lemon Drops at the same fucking bar every single night. Eye-Face tells someone at the dude ranch that he has doubts about his relationship with Fuck-Head. Her response: alligator tears, and a warbly “Hearing you say that you have doubts is really hard.” The bar for what is “hard” in life is lowered by something big to the power of ten. Perhaps it is just me, but this is where I find myself getting extremely frustrated with the directors/editors/producers of the Real World. I love watching a relationship go down in flames, but they even suck the life out of that. It’s got something to do with their interior decorator. Enough with the lime green walls, silver sofas, and kitschy neon signs, buddy.

Last Week: Pocahontas gets arrested, but some idiot bails her out and she’s already back on my TV by the end of the show. Oh well.

This Week: Pocahontas makes out with Bartender, which all fits in to Brick Brain’s Machiavellian scheme to win her heart. The way he figures it, all she has to do is dismissively sleep with other people and completely ignore him because he is a tool, and she will be HIS FOREVER. Meanwhile, Hot Topic, as I’ve pointed out in previous posts, is a virgin who dates a guy in a fucking wheel-chair. She refers to bands like Enon as “artsy-fartsy,” and the only way she can cum is by spying on her roommates with the secret camera. She spies on Pocahontas while she is doing something in the billiard room with Bartender’s candlestick, and gives her boyfriend the play-by-play. This is how he cums, because he is in a wheelchair. He has to mind cum. So they cum together, but I do not, because WHO FUCKING CARES ABOUT THIS SHOW? Oh, right, that sorority girl. Don’t worry, baby, I’m still here for you. I am such a gentleman, I recap your favorite show, pick up your RU-486, AND hold your hair out of your face when you throw up that half-fifth of Jaeger.

Next Week: South-by-Southwest arrives in Austin. Regular watchers of the Real World scratch their heads and go “South-by-South-What?”

Who’s Next, Kangaroo Jack?

Mom #3116 has built a career out of helping high-risk teens get back on track towards a college education. These are generally youths with alcoholic and/or incarcerated parents, poor social skills, mild sociopathic tendencies, and a history of physical and mental abuse. This is a wonderful service Mom #3116 provides both her students and the community in which she works, but it also leads to an interesting habit. Every time that we see a movie in which someone has a drink of alcohol, goes to jail, or raises their voice, she will say “Oh, [Character] really reminds me of one of my kids.” This was fine, until:

Mom #3116: He really reminded me of some of my kids at school. Especially when he would have those violent arguments with himself.
Worker #3116: Mom…Seriously…Golem did not remind you of your kids at school*.
Mom #3116: Yes, he did!

*I just told this story to Clown Coffee, trying to stress the disbelief in my voice when I revealed that it was Golem who reminded my mom of kids at her school, but Clown Coffee has never seen LOTR. So I sent him that picture and he said, “Oh, he reminds me of my old roommate.” Am I missing something? Is Golem just the great cipher into which all our dreams and fears are poured?