There had been a sort of precedent.
Two days after the terrorist attacks on 9/11, Ann Coulter—former Justice Department attorney and Senate aide, now a professional reactionary and Step-ford pundit—wrote in National Review Online, “We should invade their countries, kill their leaders and convert them to Christianity.” The Web site refused to run her syndicated follow-up column, because it included a reference to “suspicious-looking swarthy males.”
Coulter publicly dissed National Review, which had received “a lot of complaints” from sponsors and readers, so her column was dropped, and the magazine dumped her as a contributing editor. After she was fired, she went on Politically Incorrect with Bill Maher, accusing National Review of censorship and calling the editors “just girlie boys.”
Incidentally, in October 2001, Coulter and I both played pundit on the same TV panel (about the assassination of Robert Kennedy, on the short-lived series, The Conspiracy Zone). During a commercial break, I suggested that the labels “conservative” and “liberal” have become obsolescent, and I asked what she thought might be appropriate substitutes. A lightning bolt shattered the bulb hovering above her head.
“Americans and cowards,” she said.
“Yikes,” I said.
But the question remains, how do you separate the girlie boys from the girlie men?
And the answer is: With a shoehorn.
Fox News has a weekly program called Newswatch, which presents a group of journalists discussing various controversies in the media. On Saturday, panelist Jane Hall revealed her growing skepticism of Martha Stewart because “she compared herself to Nelson Mandela.” Actually, Stewart had contrasted herself to him, indicating that a measly five months was a pittance as opposed to the twenty-seven years that Mandela was imprisoned. Hall’s false statement was not contradicted by fellow panelists James Pinkerton, Cal Thomas and Neal Gabler, nor by moderator Eric Burns.
When Stewart revealed to Barbara Walters on 20/20 that she was going to research Danbury, which might be her involuntary home for five months, I contacted my own source within the penal system. This is how he responded:
“Boy o’boy, Martha Stewart sure fucked up getting the judge to recommend to the B.O.P. [Bureau of Prisons] that she be sent to FCI [Federal Correctional Institution] Danbury. FCI’s are medium security facilities. There are two mediums for women in the U.S., no maximums. Danbury is where they send the bad girls. All the scooter tramps, Latina gang-bangers and otherwise crazy, whacked-out broads too vicious to place in camps. Danbury will be a particularly nasty experience for her. I wonder if she’s ever contemplated being raped by a woman.”
Although the possibility of prison rape isn’t intrinsically funny, the late-night TV talk-show hosts—desensitized by their own need to be topical—will undoubtedly include such cheap shots in their monologues. But the mere possibility of prison rape deserves real outrage.
DEFYING CONVENTIONS
My name is Rumpleforeskin, and I approve this message. I defy conventions for a living, and last week I defied the Democrats’ convention. Here are some highlights:
Teresa Heinz Kerry began by saying, “Onjay and I avehay iftyfay-eight ositionspay.” She paused in her speech several times to walk out into the audience and pull delegates’ thumbs out of their mouths.
A 12-year-old girl, who was outsourced from Bombay, representing Kids For Curry, stated, “When the vice president publicly said the F-word to a senator, I realized that’s why we have the First Amendment in this great nation.”
In the press tent, a fistfight broke out between Tom Brokaw and Ted Koppel over whether the word “media” was singular or plural. “Is too,” Brokaw shouted. “Are not,” intoned Koppel. Fox network presented a montage of Al Sharpton saying “Slap my donkey” over and over. And CNN experts critiqued Dennis Kuchinich while he was speaking but with the sound turned off.
A scandal developed when it was revealed that Elizabeth Edwards inisisted on being paid $100,000 in cash as a reward for product placement if she would mention Wendy’s fast-food chain in the context of family values.
John Edwards displayed signs of Tourette’s Syndrome as he frequently interrupted his own speech with uncontrollable outbursts: “Bush!” “Cheney!” “Ashcroft!” He seemed to waiting for someone named Hope to arrive, but she was delayed somewhere in Boston gridlock. Edwards kept reassuring the crowd, and explained that if Hope never arrived, then for the 2008 convention, he would be sure to invite Help to be on the way.
A psychic was on hand to predict how many manipulative applause lines each speaker would indulge in. As for entertainment, Michael Moore sang a reggae version of “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” followed by a trio—Whoopi Goldberg, Linda Ronstadt and Ann Coulter—who performed a stunning rendition of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”
In the streets, a sequel to the infamous Stanford experiments was taking place in a makeshift concentration camp. About a dozen protesters played the part of prisoners being tested by actual guards to determine the precise point at which abuse becomes torture. This study concluded that such a determination is totally subjective, depending on whether you are a prisoner or a guard.
The real heroes of this convention were those plain folks from across the country—walking back and forth behind TV correspondents reporting from the convention floor—smiling at the cameras and saying into their cell phones, “Can you see me now? God bless America. Can you see me now?”
Oh, yes, John Kerry’s speech was brief and to the point: “I have decided to decline your generous nomination,” he roared above a standing ovation, “because I want to spend more time with my family.”
Backstage, Teresa was absolutely furious.
“Oveshay it!” she shouted at Kerry. “Oveshay it!”
THE PRICE OF WATER
I was in Boulder, Colorado for a few days, and on the plane coming back, I was reading in the The Onion an answer by humorist Andy Borowitz to the question, “What is funny?” Excerpt: “Even one word can be funny. I remember the first time I saw a McDonald’s Express. I thought, now there’s a concept: a McDonald’s, only faster. Obviously, the McDonald’s Corporation believes that there are people out there saying, ‘Gosh, I’d love to go to McDonald’s, but who has the time?’”
I was reminded of another single-funny-word observation by satirist Harry Shearer. Commenting on George Bush’s “linguistic oddity,” he said, “When Bush is reassuring us that the good news outweighs the bad, he only says, ‘We’re making good progress.’ Now, me, I’m of the cast of mind that I immediately wonder, ‘What’s bad progress?’ What would that be? I thought progress is good. I was raised an American; progress is good.”
Well, not only can one word be funny, a single letter can make a difference. The previous week, I had written in the New York Press: “[John] Edwards kept reassuring the crowd [at the Democrats’ convention], and explained that if Hope ever arrived, then for the 2008 convention he would be sure to invite Help to be on the way.”
While I was in Boulder, Press research editor Lionel Beehner sent an e-mail, checking to make sure that I had intended to write “ever” rather than “never.” Since I was away and couldn’t respond, he used his judgment and decided to begin the word with an “n.” I thought that made my point funnier and stronger, inasmuch as when Edwards kept repeating, “Hope is on the way,” he was starting from less than zero.
But something between letters can also alter your perception, such as the distinct design of an arrow between the E and the X in the FedEx logo. Even the way people respond to humor can shift your focus. When Jon Stewart laughs, he covers his mouth; when Dennis Miller laughs, he covers his eye.
A concept—in this case, the concept of security—can be tragic on one side of a coin and absurd on the other. In Boulder, I was invited to a gathering where a delegate for John Kerry was describing his experience at the convention. He had to have his credentials checked every morning, because there had been attempted counterf
eiting.
His bottle of water would have to be confiscated. He indicated that the cap was still sealed, but that made no difference. He asked, “How about if I drink from it?” The guard said, “Go ahead.” The delegate drank some water from the bottle. Nevertheless, the guard then tossed it into a bin filled to the brim with bottles of water. Inside the convention, they were selling water for nearly $3 a bottle. Just like at a rock festival.
“Same thing happened to me,” says Harry Shearer. “I drank the whole thing. The only difference is, my bottle was spring water, what they were selling inside the Fleet Center was Aquafina—Pepsi’s mineralized tap water.”
MARTIAL MUSIC
On this 35th anniversary of Woodstock, everyone who was there has their own specific memories and associations. The ’60s were over. Negroes had become blacks. Girls had become women. Hippies had become freaks. Richard Alpert would become Ram Dass. Hugh Romney would become Wavy Gravy.
There was the music and the mud. There was the dope and the dancing. There was the free food and the free love. There were the Port-o-Potties and the politics. Most of all, there was a sense of community. The political contingent was encamped in a red and white striped tent called Movement City. In the afternoon, Yippies were churning out flyers proclaiming that the festival should be free, and at night they were busy unscrewing the chain link fences.
While The Who was performing, Abbie Hoffman, tripping on acid, climbed up on the stage with the intention of informing the audience that John Sinclair (manager of the band MC5 and chairman of the White Panthers) was serving ten years in prison for possession of two joints—that this was really the politics behind the event—but before he could get his message out, Pete Townshend—also tripping, having been dosed backstage—transformed his guitar into a tennis racket and smashed Abbie in the head with a swift backhand.
My yellow leather fringe jacket, which I had been wearing for the first time, was stolen from the Movement City tent. But I found myself dealing with a much more significant kind of paranoia. I had been informed by a reliable source that a think tank, the Rand Corporation in Santa Monica, California, was contracted by the Nixon administration to determine how Americans might react to a cancellation of the election in 1972 because of “internal civil unrest” in response to the Vietnam war. Investigative journalist Ron Rosenbaum was able to determine that I was the fourth person down from a leaker in the White House.
Feeling like the Ancient Mariner waving his filthy albatross in front of anybody who would listen, I did my best to spread the word, regardless of the possibility that I was being used to float a trial balloon. I worked my way up from the underground papers to the reporters in the press tent at Woodstock. I blabbed about it at campus appearances and in alternative radio interviews. Ultimately the story filtered up into the mainstream media.
When Attorney General John Mitchell announced that whoever had started this rumor should be “punished,” I sent him a letter confessing my sin, but I never heard back. Meanwhile, the Rand Corporation concluded that the average American citizen would not stand for a cancellation of the election. Now, 35 years later, that same possibility has been floated publicly by the Bush administration, a trial balloon propelled by the arrogance of power but pricked by the polls. Oh well, there’s always the possibility of declaring martial law.
SEPTEMBER SURPRISE
Here’s the Rumpleforeskin Report, dropping the other convention shoe—with some highlights of the Republicans’ turn at producing the traditional campaign infomercial extravaganza.
The tag-team mud-wrestling match between the Kerry sisters and the Bush twins was a sure way to attract the much coveted youth vote.
The Swift Boat race along the Hudson River provided a breath of fresh air that sounded more like listening to Nixon speak.
When John McCain referred to a “disingenuous filmmaker,” Quentin Tarantino stood up and took a bow in his own living room.
Alan Keyes castrated himself in order to prevent “selfish hedonism.”
Tim Russett, host of NBC’s Meet the Press, revealed that he is actually the missing Quaid brother.
As demonstrators chanted—“No more Bush! No more Bush!”—Whoopi Goldberg assumed it was a shout-out for bikini-waxing special-interest groups.
Every time that the marching protesters yelled out, “Whose streets?” there was a chorus of New York City police responding, “Our streets!”
This event also served as the political equivalent of American Idol, where presidential wannabes such as Rudy Giuliani, John McCain, George Pataki and Arnold Schwarzenegger auditioned as future candidates.
Schwarzenegger goosed Laura Bush, then she tried to grab his balls in retaliation, but she couldn’t find them due to his heavy use of steroids.
While talking about the state of the American economy, Cheney suddenly broke into a popular country song, “Take This Job and Go Fuck Yourself.”
But the biggest surprise during those four days was the introduction of George W. Bush by Osama bin Laden himself, wearing an orange jump suit, handcuffed behind his back and feet shackled to each other. The audience alternated between cheering and booing the bedraggled figure for a full eight minutes. Bin Laden’s capture had been a superbly kept secret for five suspenseful weeks.
“Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking,” he began, “I am honored to launch the re-election of your President Bush. That may seem strange to you, so let me assure you that my presence at Madison Square Garden has absolutely nothing to do with any kind of plea bargain. First of all, I happen to agree with the message of this convention that the world is a better place without that inhumane infidel, Saddam Hussein. Moreover, I very much appreciated the $43 million that your government gave to the Taliban four months before September 11, 2001. Certainly, I wish to express my eternal gratitude to Allah for providing the best possible recruiter for al Qaeda, and I am speaking here of Mr. Bush. . . .”
Meanwhile, waiting in the wings to walk out onto the specially built circular stage, Bush was plucking the petals of a daisy and muttering, “. . . gonna win . . . not gonna win . . . gonna win . . .”
FLUNKING OUT
What if there were no Electoral College? There would be no red and blue states. There would be no battleground states that could go either way. There would not have been an American invasion of Iraq, Al Gore would now be running for reelection, and the Democrats would be warning that a vote for Ralph Nader is a vote for John McCain. In the 2000 election, there were 50,999,897 votes for Gore, as opposed to 50,456,002 votes for George Bush. In Florida, Bush won by just 537 votes.
Last week, among the articles in the media about the Electoral College, there was one in USA Today and another in TheSpoof.com. Below are excerpts from each. Which story is from which publication? I report, you decide.
1. “Even as President Bush accepted the Republican nomination Thursday and the final chapter of the campaign began, strategists in both camps were preparing for an unprecedented situation when it ends. An Electoral College tie. Shifts in electoral votes and the realities of an evenly divided nation mean there is a credible case that the final tally in Bush vs. Kerry could be 269-269—an outcome that would throw the election to the House of Representatives. . . .
“The Constitution outlines what follows in case of a tie, which has happened only once, in 1800. The newly elected House of Representatives chooses the president from the top three finishers; each state has one vote. The newly elected Senate chooses the vice president; each senator has a vote. . . . This time, the process presumably would favor Bush. Republicans control 30 of the 50 state delegations in the House; the GOP almost certainly will keep control in the November elections. Republicans now have 51 seats. But if Democrats regain an edge in the Senate—which is conceivable—the choice for vice president could get interesting. A George W. Bush-John Edwards administration?”
2. “All 538 electors of the U.S. Electoral College unamimously vetoed a permanent recess of the U.S. Electoral
College and ban on all Electoral College methods of carrying out national elections today. Earlier this month the landslide referendum on ending the system led to support for a bill in Congress. The executive branch then subsequently signed that bill. The Electoral College’s actions taken to undo the ban come as a major setback to thousands of politicians and mllions of citizens who campaigned in favor of a ban. . . . Detractors purportedly include up to 75 percent of the United States population.”
The Electoral College system was originally designed in part to cater to slavery and to the disenfrancisement of women. A few months ago, I sent the following letter to Hillary Rodham Clinton: “I write a column for the weekly New York Press, and I have a question for you. I recall that when you were elected to the Senate, in the wake of the debacle in Florida that led to Bush being in the White House, you promised to do your best to get rid of the Electoral College system. Were you able to get anything going along those lines? If so, what transpired? And if not, what were the obstacles? I would very much appreciate hearing from you.”
I have yet to receive a reply.
Hillary Clinton was able to fly into the senate on the wings of Rudy Giuliani’s prostate cancer. If Bush wins in November, then it would be karmic irony in the 2008 presidential election if Clinton wins the popular vote but the Electoral College goes for Giuliani.
SECRET STORM
I had told Abbie Hoffman how Lenny Bruce once printed the word FUCK on his forehead with strips of paper towel in a courthouse lavatory to discourage photographers from taking his picture. During the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago, Abbie was arrested while we were eating breakfast, ostensibly for having the word FUCK written in lipstick on his forehead, but really just to get him off the streets. He might have gotten away with it if only he hadn’t tipped his hat to the police who were assigned to follow us.
One Hand Jerking Page 28
