6 Colossal Dicktators
lease tell me that I’m not the only one who had not yet uncovered the glory that is Huffington Post Comedy’s Dickipedia, a wiki of dicks??? I just found out about it today, via Twitter, and at this point, I pretty much can’t comprehend how I existed in a pre-Dickipedian world.
So, to go along with abdpbt’s Listless Mondays (which I haven’t done in way too long), I thought I’d go ahead and list my 6 favorite dicks thus far, along with some of my favorite lines from their Dickipedia entries.
Oh, and in case you’re wondering: yes, women can be dicks, too. “Dick” is a gender-neutral epithet and equal opportunity.
6 MASTER DICKTATORS:
1. Dr. Phil:
Phillip Calvin McGraw, better known as Dr. Phil, is a psychologist, author, TV personality and a dick. He is also Oprah’s bitch.
Sanctioned by the Texas State Board in 1989 for an “ethical violation” involving an “inappropriate relationship” with a 19-year-old patient, “Dr.” Phil was stripped of his license to practice psychology. (To date, Dr. Phil has not completed the conditions required by the Board of Examiners of Psychologists to regain his license, and remains unlicensed to practice psychology. Anywhere.)
In 1990, he co-founded Courtroom Sciences, Inc., a firm that advised Fortune 500 companies on how to use psychology to manipulate the justice system. It is through this company that he met Oprah Winfrey, who rewarded him with a recurring segment on her show, even though he really just wanted a Pontiac G6 like she gives everyone else. Every Tuesday for the next several years, Dr. Phil appeared on Oprah as “Relationship and Life Strategy Expert,” qualified by a failed marriage he kept secret for 30 years, plus numerous moral lapses, some illegal.
On his show, Dr. Phil pontificates on a spate of topics with which he has little expertise and, in some cases, upon which he is legally prohibited from offering advice. Of course, anyone accepting weight-loss or financial planning tips from a disbarred psychologist who has also run afoul of the Federal Trade Commission gets what they pay for.
Like any psychologist worth his salt, Dr. Phil is also an advertising shill for an online dating service.
2. Jon & Kate:
Image: http://multiples.about.com/
Jon Gosselin currently makes his home in Wernersville, a town whose Asian population literally quadrupled when he and his family moved there.
Kate Gosselin’s hobbies include berating her husband in front of a national audience, getting divorced in the most public and painful way imaginable, and ovulating.
The sextuplets were born on May 10, 2004, at the Milton S. Hershey Center, in Hershey Pennsylvania. As such, they came to be known as the “Hershey Kisses,” which, though embarrassing, is a hell of a lot better than the “Hershey Squirts,” as their nickname easily could have been.
Together, Jon and Kate Gosselin have the worst collective hairstyles of any couple since Kid N’ Play. Despite the plugs, Jon still somehow manages to sport a nasty meat yarmulke in back, while Kate’s can best be described as a forward-facing Flock of Seagulls.
3. Sarah Palin:
Image from RunnersWorld.com
The only thing Sarah Palin seems to enjoy more than having children is giving those children ridiculous names and inadequate sex education. Should she birth any further issue—and she very well might—it is entirely possible she will name it Trix Rabbit Palin.
Sarah Palin’s political views are totally cribbed from the “Focus on the Family” website. Pro-life, unless you’re talking about the life of a criminal; limited government involvement in people’s lives, unless those people have a uterus or are gay and want to get married; and guns for whoever wants them, as many as they like, unless they look Islamic, in which case they should be detained indefinitely, preferably naked and arranged in a human pyramid.
On August 29, 2008, Republican presidential candidate Senator John McCain performed perhaps the greatest political mindfuck in American history by announcing that he had chosen Sarah Palin as his running mate. Palin celebrated by ovulating.
4. Donald Rumsfeld:
Like many dicks, Donald Rumsfeld is a product of the Ivy League, attending Princeton University, which is pretty impressive, considering how Jewy his last name sounds. While at Princeton, Rumsfeld roomed with another future Secretary of Defense Frank Carlucci. You can imagine there wasn’t much partying in that room, but probably a fair amount of clandestine masturbation.
Nixon was recorded on tape calling Donald Rumsfeld a “ruthless little bastard.” This is the nicest compliment anyone has ever paid him.
Donald Rumsfeld is also noted for taking a special interest in crafting Defense Department propaganda, personally weighing in on interrogation techniques, and tacitly approving of the destruction of priceless cultural artifacts. So while many people—knee-jerk liberals, for instance, the kind of people who shop at Whole Foods—liked to call President Bush a Nazi, they clearly had the wrong guy.
5. Elisabeth Hasselbeck:
Elisabeth Hasselbeck is a former reality show contestant—not even the winner, mind you, or even the runner-up—who somehow became co-host of one of the most popular daytime talk shows of all time, and a dick. Though not especially well informed, Hasselbeck is, nonetheless, an irritatingly vocal supporter of conservative viewpoints. Also, she bears a striking resemblance to one of those “It’s a Small World” animatronic robots they have at Disneyland, if those robots were programmed by Sean Hannity.
Elisabeth Hasselbeck is a panelist on The View, the program that pioneered the format of four women jabbering over each other for an hour and a half, interspersed with commercials for Boniva and a special kind of yogurt that promises to regulate your bowels. In this capacity, Hasselbeck’s main duties involve baiting the other panelists to drop the F-bomb on national TV and attaining a level of shrillness that would make most testicles re-ascend. Of course, anyone with external genitalia really has no business watching The View, so it would serve them right.
The morning after Barack Obama won the election, Elisabeth Hasselbeck appeared on The View in funereal black to deliver her “concession.” Despite predictions, she did not choke to death on her own tongue.
The Hasselbecks have two children, a girl and a boy, Grace Elizabeth and Jonathan Taylor, apparently named after the washed-up teenie-bopper heartthrob who played the wisecracking middle kid on Home Improvement.
It’s a safe bet that Elisabeth Hasselbeck has never taken a dump in a public restroom, and even at home hovers over the seat.
6. Warren Jeffs:
Jeffs proves the age-old adage that anyone can be famous, but to gain real notoriety you need to get caught getting it on with an eighth-grader. Just ask Roman Polanski. Or R. Kelly.
Jeffs is the son of Rulon T. Jeffs, the original unquestioned omnipotent leader of the FLDS. Known to his followers by the creeptacularly pervball nickname “Uncle Rulon,” the elder Jeffs proved hornier than Tommy Lee on an ecstasy binge, fathering about 60 children with several dozen wives. Upon his death in 2002, Warren Jeffs assumed his father’s place in the church, his father’s nickname, and, within one week, all but two of his father’s wives. This effectively made him “Uncle Brother Stepfather Warren.”
Jeffs spent the better parts of 2005 and 2006 facing, unlawfully fleeing, then ultimately hiding from, various statutory rape charges. Interestingly enough, he actually resurfaced in June 2006, for one day, to perform more child bride ceremonies. To many, this was the extralegal underage wedding officiant’s equivalent of the Beatles’ famous impromptu rooftop concert.
But, come on, a dick is a dick, so you might as well check out all of them in HuffPostComedy’s DICKIPEDIA DIRECTORY. But be careful: you’ll spend HOURS…
(*Initial “P” found HERE. All photos above from Dickipedia.org unless otherwise indicated)
Sarah Gump
he August 2009 Runner’s World interview and accompanying photos of Alaskan Governor Sarah Palin pretty much prove, literally, that she’s ditching her governorship to focus instead on her Forrest Gump-like passion for “run-ni-ing-g,” whether that may be “run-ni-ing-g” for the 2012 Presidential Election (which I’m almost hoping will happen strictly for the material she’ll provide all humorists), or “run-ni-ing-g” for a position as a rightist Oprah talk show host who will frequently feature segments on maximizing the BumpIt™ and how to partner the latest rimless eyewear fashions with hot pants and ASICS®.
And how to do yoga poses while still looking like a lipsticked hockey mom that could obliterate a moose at a moment’s notice.
Stay tuned.
In the meantime, please enjoy this excerpt from Sarah Gump’s Runners’ World interview, in which she uses hard-hitting descriptives like “crappy” and totally rips the McCain staff a new one for not letting her upstage him run everyday.
If you go a day or a week without running, what do you learn about yourself?
I feel so crappy if I go more than a few days without running. I have to run. No matter how rotten I feel before or during a run, it’s always worth it to me afterwards. Sweat is my sanity. A great frustration I had during the campaign was when the McCain staff wouldn’t carve out time for me to go for a run. The days never went as well if I couldn’t get out there and sweat.Did you raise that issue, and put the ultimatum down that you needed to run?
Absolutely, and they would say, “Yes, in a couple of days we’re going to start carving out that half-hour or hour to run,” and too often it never happened, and that was frustrating.
I’m sure there are some people who are gonna take the “Sarah Palin likes it hot and sweaty” thing and run with it. Pun intended.
(*Initial “T” found HERE)
Wacky Wednesday.
etween Cello Scrotum and 3-D porn, I am left befuddled yet highly entertained by the news snippets I’ve received today. And extremely grateful that there’s no 3-D Cello Scrotum.
Anyway, here are some prime excerpts from the story at The Times online regarding the Big Cello Scrotum Scandal (BCSS) of 2009:
What about female cellists, huh?! (Image: easyart.co.uk)
Until this week, cellists worldwide had reason to fear a terrible malady. Worse than fiddler’s neck, flautist’s chin or even the dreaded guitarist’s nipple was the condition known as “cello scrotum.” The condition was named in the British Medical Journal, and thereafter in an array of reviews of musician’s aches and pains.
Nearly all such reviews referred to a letter to the journal in 1974 from John Murphy, husband of Dr. Elaine Murphy, who noted that he had once come across a case of cello scrotum. But Dr. Elaine Murphy, now Baroness Murphy, has now admitted that the letter she drafted with her husband was a hoax, a practical joke that the couple have been “dining out on” ever since.
So, first of all, I’d never heard of “guitarist’s nipple,” either (am I alone with this?), which sounds incredibly unpleasant. I instantly picture a sort of nipple “tuner”… that must be tightened… ouch. Anyway, apparently musician-ing (?) proves detrimental to one’s health. And to one’s erogenous zones. Even the British Medical Journal said so!
I definitely wasn’t made aware of this information when I played percussion in fifth through ninth grades. Shouldn’t there at least have been a permission slip for my parents to sign or something? But no, unsuspecting, innocent band members were left to fend for themselves against the infliction of, oh I don’t know, Timpani Crotch or something.
On that (very discordant) note, let’s continue with the article:
In a letter to the BMJ, prompted by yet another reference to the ailment in the journal last month, the couple wrote: “Perhaps after 34 years it’s time for us to confess that we invented cello scrotum.”
Their letter of 1974 was in response to a missive from a Dr. Curtis regarding a skin irritation that he had seen among classical guitarists. After many hours with the instrument pressed against their chests, the musicians had developed guitarist’s nipple.
“We thought it highly likely to be a spoof and decided to go one further by submitting a letter pretending to have noted a similar phenomenon in cellists, signed by the non-doctor one of us,” the couple wrote. “Somewhat to our astonishment, the letter was published.”
I guess the British Medical Journal doesn’t follow up on physicians’ claims? I wonder if any (doctored) photo documentation of guitarist’s nipple or cello scrotum was sent along with the letters? For my part, I just did a Google Image search of “guitar nipple,” and the results revealed scary images that I’m pretty sure had nothing to do with guitars.
Oh, but here’s the best part of the Times article. In 1991, an American dermatologist and cellist by the name of Dr. Philip Shapiro questioned the legitimacy of cello scrotum in the Journal of the American Academy of Dermatology. Check out Shapiro’s words of wisdom:
“I wrote a letter to the editor saying the condition didn’t make sense. Being a cellist myself I knew that the cello comes nowhere near one’s scrotum. You would have to be doing something fairly extreme to get that by playing the cello,” he said.
He suggested that any such performance would not be tolerated in polite society. “Otherwise, given the angle of the cello, you would have to have pretty enormous bollocks,” he said.
But… wait a second. Does that mean there could be a condition called Cello Bollocks? Hmm. In any event, in closing, Shapiro offered a picture of himself playing the cello along with the following explanation:
“Just as people sometimes scratch their heads repetitively, some also scratch their genitals,” [Shapiro] said, “some of those people might also play the cello.”
So true. Hoaxes are so fun, though. Like that time when John McCain named Sarah Palin as his VP candidate! That was so hilarious! Good one, McCain — you totally got us!
Wait, what? Oh. Oops. Moving on…
And as if fake genital conditions weren’t enough, now we have to worry about fake genital “conditions” in 3-D, flailing sweatily at our heads! AHHHH!
Yeah, because porn stars aren’t scary enough in hi-def. Clearly. Pff. Umm, nice work 3-D techies, but I don’t really care to see mullet-man or chick-with-bruised-thighs three-dimensionally corkscrewing themselves together two millimeters from my line of vision. Or even two-dimensionally corkscrewing themselves together. Or even together AT ALL. But, in case you do, here’s what Wired online has to tell you:
Shooting will begin in April on what’s being billed as the world’s first 3-D erotic film, according to its producer.
Stephen Shiu Jr., chairman of One Dollar Production, says 3D Sex and Zen will push the envelope content-wise while helping thwart piracy.
“Just imagine that you’ll be watching it as if you were sitting beside the bed,” he told the South China Morning Post. “There will be many close-ups. It will look as if the actresses are only a few centimeters from the audience.”
The porn move is only natural as filmmakers like DreamWorks Animation’s Jeffrey Katzenberg hail new 3-D technology as Hollywood’s savior. DreamWorks is producing all its upcoming animated movies in 3-D, starting with Monsters vs. Aliens, which is set for a March 27 release.
3D Sex and Zen, with a reported budget of $3.9 million, is a sequel to 1991’s Sex and Zen, which was based loosely on 17th-century Chinese book The Carnal Prayer Mat by Li Yu.
It’s always the 17th-century Chinese mysticists that are so unfailingly hardcore. F*ck.
592.5-and-a-third bajillion ways to ensure blog traffic jams at intersections of boob flashing and Oprah appearances. Also: make money!
1) Spotted: doggies taking dumps on lawns that are not theirs. Owners looking at their cellphones, pretending not to notice.
Discuss.
17.4) Why, when we want to stand up for something, do we stage sit-ins?
Discuss.
648 ÷ 3) If “Joe the Plumber” had plumber’s butt (which, let’s face it, he does. ALL plumbers do. It’s like a pre-requisite), then would McPalin call him “Joe the Plumber’s Butt”? Because that would create grammatical confusion, causing the listening public to think that McPalin were talking specifically about “Joe the Plumber”’s posterior… rather than generally about “Joe the Plumber,” who just so happens to suffer from plumber’s butt. See what I’m sayin’? And I know that Palin isn’t exactly a fan of grammar (not ENGLISH grammar anyway, as far as I can tell), but I still can’t help but wonder if maybe they’d change the reference to “Joe Plumber-Butt.”
Discuss.
578 + ∏) Chew on this: In his Intimate Journals, the nineteenth-century French poet Charles Baudelaire (arguably the first “modern poet” of our time) questioned: “What is Love?” Clearly not a fan of rhetorical questions, Baudelaire then supplied the answer, which he then amended with a thoughtful syllogism:
What is Love?
The need to emerge from oneself.
Man is an animal which adores.
To adore is to sacrifice and prostitute oneself.
Thus all Love is prostitution.
That’s right: we are all prostitutes. Which leads me to ask: WHERE THE HELL’S MY MONEY, B*TCH?!? But… I *am* a fan of rhetorical questions. So, let’s move on, shall we? (don’t answer that — it’s rhetorical)
Just in case you weren’t sufficiently shocked-and-awed by that little Love=Prostitution equation, my dear Baudie chose to go one step further by stating:
The most prostitute of all beings is the Supreme Being, God Himself, since for each man he is the friend above all others; since he is the common, inexhaustible found of Love.
Discuss.
Wait, before you discuss, please allow me to share that I freakin’ LOVE Baudelaire, and throwing a few uncontextualized lines at you essentially equates to a crime of poetics, but… hey, I’m already a prostitute and on the road to eternal hell-fire, so… I don’t give a sh*t.
OK. Now discuss.
∜177,410,282,401) If McPalin wins tomorrow, and if I decide to find a job in Canada and/or Europe (as a direct result of the McPalin win), would that make me a quitter/ex-patriot, or just really freakin’ smart?
(*Note: if you are questioning my smarts re: becoming an émigrée, I’d like to point very strongly — as strongly as a finger can point — to the movie Sicko, which basically proves that the American healthcare system blows chunks and rapes us any chance it gets. Meanwhile, Frenchies are getting free nannies and a bajillion months off from work and free laundry service and free classes for sophisticatedly tying scarves and free pastry-making workshops and… the list goes on. I mean, seriously, Michael Moore might as well have called the movie Why Americans Are F*cking R*tarded For Still Living in America. I say this with the utmost amount of love and respect for my country. Which George W. has f*cked.)
Discuss.
592.5-and-a-third bajillion) I know a guy whose favorite flavor Starburst Fruit Chew is pink. OK, wait, that’s a color, not a flavor. What flavor is pink in the original Starburst pack? Strawberry, right? And then the red Starburst is cherry? Which I don’t really get, because, I mean, if you compare strawberries and cherries, couldn’t you make the argument that sometimes strawberries are a darker shade of red than cherries? I mean, strawberries aren’t PINK, right? So why’d they get the shaft and have to have the sucky pink wrapper, huh? Though, I guess strawberry yogurt and strawberry ice cream are pink rather than red. Whatever. I just don’t like pink. It’s, like, my LEAST-favorite Starburst, actually. Also, I’ve never heard of ANYONE who privileged the pink Starburst. I’d say the most common preference is for Red/Cherry. And this general Red/Cherry predilection has suited me very well — particularly when snacking on the ‘Bursts at a movie theatre — because my personal favorites are Orange and Yellow, preferably together (oh yeah, I am WILD with the fruit chews, baby. STEP. OFF.).
Discuss.
And, oh yeah, this is another listless Monday. Anna, represent. Word.
The election is coming…maybe I should suspend my blog.
eah, right.
But here are some funny/inspiring images regarding the election-in-less-than-a-week (!!!) that I just can’t seem to get enough of. And I just ended a sentence with a preposition. Cr@p. See what this election is doing to me?!?
UnitedChange, by Shawn Hazen
Rock the Vote, by Shepard Fairey
http://www.yeehawindustries.com
YesWeCarve.com (hee hee)
Decent Arab. Oxymoron?
t’s been all over the news already and referenced by political analysts and late night talk show hosts alike: at a recent campaign rally for the Republican Presidential nominee, a white-haired McPalinist woman by the name of Gayle Quinnell proclaimed, “He’s an Arab,” in reference to Democratic Presidential nominee, Barack Obama. McCain swiftly stole back the microphone and corrected Quinnell in an unmistakably flustered (and stuttered) fashion:“No, ma’am,” McCain stated. “He’s a decent family man –citizen– that I just happen to have disagreements with on fundamental issues. And that’s what this campaign is all about. He’s not. Thank you.” (You can watch the video of the exchange HERE)
Now, that’s all well and good, and there’s little doubt that McMuppet really did possess genuine, good intentions and truly does consider Obama a “decent family man –citizen,” but… umm… well… I suppose I just wasn’t aware that being a “decent family man –citizen” and being an Arab were mutually exclusive? I guess I’m just ill-informed.
But you know what else I found out, from one of my very dearest, most cherished friends, who just so happens to be an Arab? He was ill-informed, too!!!! He didn’t know that “decent Arab” was an oxymoron! We’re so naive and sheltered. I guess we’ve been studying at the wrong university. And I guess my friend grew up in a pseudo-Arab culture or something. Sucks to be us. I wonder if Gayle Quinnell offers online courses in cultural awareness? I’ll have to look into it.
Anyway, it’s just completely frustrating and infuriating to witness such a blatant lack of regard for any individual (let alone an entire ethnic group) that does not subscribe to the stereotypically WASPy notions of “decency.”
Fortunately, we have CNN journalist Campbell Brown (host of CNN’s “Campbell Brown: Election Center”), who did not shrink back from addressing the ignorance (and racism) and the hatred fueled by such careless comments as the one uttered by McCain at his rally, nor did she mince words when acknowledging the media’s guilt as well. Brown states:
Now, I commend Sen. McCain for correcting that woman, for setting the record straight. But I do have one question — so what if he was? So what if Obama was Arab or Muslim? So what if John McCain was Arab or Muslim? Would it matter?
When did that become a disqualifier for higher office in our country? When did Arab and Muslim become dirty words? The equivalent of dishonorable or radical? Whenever this gets raised, the implication is that there is something wrong with being an Arab-American or a Muslim. And the media is complicit here, too.
We’ve all been too quick to accept the idea that calling someone Muslim is a slur.
I feel like I am stating the obvious here, but apparently it needs to be said: There is a difference between radical Muslims who support jihad against America and Muslims who want to practice their religion freely and have normal lives like anyone else.
We can’t tolerate this ignorance — not in the media, not on the campaign trail.
Of course, he’s not an Arab. Of course, he’s not a Muslim. But honestly, it shouldn’t matter. (Source: CNN.com)
Palin Poetics
ello, everyone. It’s been a week now since I’ve been blog-less. It was totally freakin’ rough. I’m not sure how I survived. In fact, I almost didn’t. Picture a very tiny, shredded thread, and some unmanicured fingernails clenched and hanging by it. Yeah, that was me. Or, I guess I should say “that was I.” Might as well be grammatically correct while professing my near-death experience.
In any event, now my unmanicured fingers are back on my iMac, typin’ to the oldies. Wellness is restored in my world.
So, of course, my first post back in “well world” is Palin-related. I’ve missed ripping on her too much. So I just have to. And then I’ll stray and post some other non-Palin stuff, I promise. But for now… let’s enjoy some Palin Poetics, shall we?
From the lovely Slate.com, a few of my favorite Palinisms, in verse:
1. “Befoulers of the Verbiage”
It was an unfair attack on the verbiage
That Senator McCain chose to use,
Because the fundamentals,
As he was having to explain afterwards,
He means our workforce.
He means the ingenuity of the American.
And of course that is strong,
And that is the foundation of our economy.
So that was an unfair attack there,
Again based on verbiage.
(To S. Hannity, Fox News, Sept. 18, 2008)
2. “On Good and Evil”
It is obvious to me
Who the good guys are in this one
And who the bad guys are.
The bad guys are the ones
Who say Israel is a stinking corpse,
And should be wiped off
The face of the earth.
That’s not a good guy.
(To K. Couric, CBS News, Sept. 25, 2008)
3. “Haiku”
These corporations.
Today it was AIG,
Important call, there.
(To S. Hannity, Fox News, Sept. 18, 2008)
4. “Small Mayors”
You know,
Small mayors,
Mayors of small towns—
Quote, unquote—
They’re on the front lines.
(To S. Hannity, Fox News, Sept. 19, 2008)
All hail the King! (aka, CNN-Addicts Anonymous)
y name is PauvrePlume, and I’m addicted to CNN. True story. I’ve actually heard (via my radio addiction, NPR) that there is a type of disorder/addiction that runs rampant during high-profile political seasons, whereby unsuspecting victims find themselves perched for hours (nay, DAYS) in front of the TV, hoping to get their politics fix, drool pooling around them, soaking into the couch cushion, leaving a dry trail of skin around their mouths. Yeah, it ain’t pretty. And that’s me. I’m the resident dry-skinned drool maven. Hey, I could do a lot worse, right? Right.
Besides, it’s not my fault. It’s my grandma’s fault. I stayed with her during spring break 2008, which just so happened to coincide with the Eliot Spitzer/call-girl controversy and the Democratic primary season. My pop-culture-plus-political-fascination naturally kicked into overdrive, but when you add my ridiculously cute, 90-year-old Gram to the mix — who just so happens to partake in a 24/7 CNN fiesta while also still finding the time to mow her own lawn – you might as well just strap me down with Larry King’s suspenders and shove John King’s super hi-tech, multi-touch collaboration wall down my throat.
Speaking of Lare-Bear… could someone please tell me why no one at CNN checks that dude before he goes on the air?!? I’m not being mean, I swear. I have Larry’s best interest at heart. In fact, I feel bad for the senile sap because he clearly inhabits some type of parallel universe in which royal blue oxfords, turquoise blue suspenders, and orange-red striped ties seem like a good idea. It’s not just the suspenders. I’m actually kind of a fan of suspenders. They’re fun. Strappy and fun. I always imagine that they could become loose and pull free at any second, flail around and ultimately smack somebody in the cheek. Now, come on: that would be AWESOME, right?! Right. Anyway, poor Larry needs some freakin’ help, that’s all I’m saying. I love when he has “up-’n-comers” on his show, and it’s so obvious that he just looked at the index card, like, 5 minutes before he went on the air, so he pronounces names wrong, effs up show titles and biographical info… I freakin’ LOVE when that happens.
But, I mean, who can bash him, you know? It’s freakin’ LARRY KING!!!!! The suspenderized fossil has hosted his own successful talk show for an incomprehensible 23 years, for crying out loud. His success flies in the face of his public arrest for grand larceny in the ’70s, a heart attack and quintuple-bypass surgery in 1987, seven marriages and six divorces… Somehow, King managed to meet and marry Shawn Southwick, a woman 26 years his junior (Larry is 74, Shawn is 48) and with whom he has had two children, aged eight and nine. The dude doesn’t quit, apparently. I just think it would be cool if he didn’t quit while NOT wearing an unspeakably heinous suspender/tie/oxford ensemble, that’s all.
So, it’s no secret that a ton of people love to tune into CNN because of a certain handsome and witty, prematurely grey anchor who just so happens to be Gloria Vanderbilt’s son. Anderson Cooper is truly enjoyable, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been a huge fan ever since he zoomed his journalistic way into my high school TV sets via Channel One in the 1990s.
But my CNN crush is another handsome, witty, prematurely grey anchor. But, not just any anchor. Oh no. John King happens to be CNN’s Chief National Correspondent, thank you very much. And he’s d@@@@@@mn good at it. Not only does he NOT wear obnoxious suspender/tie/oxford ensembles, but he also possesses some mad multi-touch skillz and impeccable analyses of political strategies and f*ck-ups. John King, I choose to ignore the fact that you foolishly married your CNN colleague, Dana Bash, earlier this year. Minor detail. I will not let this stand in the way of my daily JK appreciation. Especially because CNN stuck her with tracking the McCain Campaign this election season. I can only imagine that your wife is being infested by McPalinisms on an hourly basis and, therefore, it is best that you spend as much time away from her as possible. Which will help me to delude myself into thinking that you two are not together AT ALL. And which re-confirms the fact that your marriage to Ms. Bashketcase is completely inconsequential.
In a similar vein, I refuse to allow any alleged “John King Lovers” to diminish my adoration for you — or for your Magic Wall. 
You are about to enter one of the most highly charged and significant times of your — and your Magic Wall’s — life: Election 2008. You will be tired. Your neatly-tied tie will begin to crookedize itself. Your multi-touching fingers will become crampy and weary. But you will persevere, JK. Oh, yes, you will persevere, as only a strong-willed, determined Chief National Correspondent can. And I will be there for you, JK, every step of the way.
Now, apparently I am not your only admirer. I mean, besides me and, you know, your wife. Apparently there are others. Please don’t misunderstand: I am extremely grateful that the world is catching on to your brilliance and journalistic magnetism. I am. I swear.
Still, you must understand that it is always difficult to share something one admires so much. So, while I praise a site such as “John the News King,” I must admit that I am a bit saddened to learn that you do not exist solely for me. Oh, and your wife. And for me.
(*Note: I mean this pog in the least creepy way possible and pinky-swear that I am not a stalker. Though I really would like to get my paws on that Magic Wall…)
Premature Ejac—Declaration.
mm, somebody jumped the gun. And, despite what you may think, that gun-jumper is not Sarah Palin; it’s her geriatric cohort, my friends. It’s John McCain and his campaign cronies, my friends. And it only makes McCain look even more senile, my friends.
Check it out: this morning’s online edition of The Wall Street Journal looked a little something like this:
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