Morning Coffee (117)

Good Coffee to you. The week is almost over, thank the gods. Spring is sort of in the air and that's a good thing. By spring, I mean billions of tiny water droplets. These droplets seem to have begun to accumulate in the soil and the rivers and now those droplets seem to be turning into one homogenous mass of water that keeps rising up as if in protest of the thing we call life.

As I was walking through a parking lot this morning, I got to thinking about disabled people and handicapped spaces. As the heavens poured down upon me sweet holy water, I glanced over and saw those handicapped parking spaces with envy. Right next to those spaces was this huge gazebo, and in it were all the folks that use those spaces. Do you know what they were doing? They were having a party, confetti and all. They were laughing and smiling, and many of them were pointing at me with a look of glee. I sheepishly kept walking, shamed at my shortcomings. Then I realized that it was likely a migraine induced hallucination. But I couldn’t shake the thought that those spaces represented some sort of exclusive club; one that allowed its members to minimize their exposure to the torrential rains and winds of nature. For a moment, I contemplated taking a 12 gauge shotgun slug and inserting it into my knee the same way mobsters did to guys that owed them money, but I quickly realized that would be to drastically overreact. I then thought that perhaps once or twice a year we make those lucky few endure the nastiness of nature. No, I didn’t intend to make them park in B.F.E. for that would be cruel; they’re disabled after all and making them walk such distances could only be considered cruel and unusual. They get to park close not to avoid rain and sleet and wind and hail, but because it is difficult to walk such distances. Instead, in the spirit of socialism, it should be necessary for them to stand or sit outside their cars for approximately the same amount of time it would take a non-disabled person walking extremely briskly (as non-disabled people do when it is pouring rain down in Niagara Falls sized sheets) to get inside.

We are now exiting the satire express.

I Ain't Got Time to Bleed:

Four words: Jesse. The Body. Ventura. That's right. I said it. The original action star/governor might just run for President. His new book, "Don't Start the Revolution Without Me!" due out in April (the first no less), discusses the pros and cons of running. He discusses a conversation that he had with Robert Kennedy Jr. about running together on an independent, third party ticket. Vince McMahon, chairman of the WWE, has told Ventura that he'd back him 100%. Hey, why not? This whole Presidential election cycle thing is already a circus; why not add a little spice? I will say though, I've seen Kennedy speak, and I actually quietly got up and left in the middle. I hate to do that, but let's just say I wasn't picking up what he was laying down.

I really know nothing about Ventura's politics, but his choice of running mate is pretty telling. Actually, I know virtually nothing about Ventura at all. The only thing I remember him saying in any movie are two lines from Predator: "I'm a sexual Tyrannosaurus," and "I ain't got time to bleed." Well Jesse, you ain't got much time to run either, so you'd better hurry up and decide so I can not vote for you.

No Money for You:

Because we’re a low-brow publication, I might as well update you on Ms. Ashley Alexandra Dupre of Eliot Spitzer fame. Ms. Dupre was offered a bunch of money ($1 million) to pose for Hustler, but publisher Larry Flynt didn’t think he’d be able to get her because of all the media attention; he figured she’d get more money elsewhere. But more interestingly, Girls Gone Wild asked her to pose, non-nude, in its new magazine and then follow the GGW bus around for a while. The offer was $1 million. But at a GGW staff meeting (who knew they did staff meetings…wonder what those are like) someone suggested that they check the ole archives. Hey, no better excuse to look at some porn at work. So they did. Guess what they found. Ms. Dupre. Back in 2003. Riding on the old GGW bus for a full and getting naked and doing some same-sex encounters. Needless to say, they rescinded their offer and quickly posted excerpts of her videos on their website. I’ll bet if she could go back in time, she’d tell her old self not to get all weird after getting thrown out of her hotel that night.

Some sources state a NY Daily News reporter tipped off Francis.

GGW founder Joe Francis said, “It’ll save me a million bucks. It’s like finding a winning lottery ticket in the cushions of your couch. We actually had been dealing with her rep…” He’s going to make mad cash and he won’t have to do anything but dredge up some old footage. Jackpot.

That’s all that we have time for folks.

Word of the Day: Amanuensis (noun): A person employed to take dictation or to copy manuscripts.

On This Day in History: Eight American airplanes take off in pursuit of Pancho Villa. This would be the first US air combat mission in history (1916). The 99^th Pursuit Squadron, also known as the Tuskegee Airmen, was activated. This unit was the first all-black unit of the Army Air Corps (1941). Hitler issues his Nero Decree, ordering all industries, shops, transportation facilities and others to be destroyed (1945). C-SPAN broadcasts House of Representative business for the first time (1979).

“Legend: A lie that has attained the dignity of age.” – H.L. Mencken.

Morning Coffee (116)

An Ode to a Moll

Dear Kristen-Ashley-Alexandra-Dupre-Youmans:

The world has waited with baited breath, to see the woman whose skills hath wrest

The Governor from the Empire State. With modern media, we barely had to wait.

Here you are for all to see, GASP! You’re but a mere person just like me.

I had expected an incarnation of Aphrodite, in a negligee or perhaps a nighty.

But regrettably, that is not so, and on your myspace page trolls you a ho.

You’re so youthful and hopeful and full of angst, and wishing of a career in music, even if it tanks.

A thousand an hour you’re surely not worth, but let’s just say, I suppose I’ve seen worse.

Yours truly,

The Morning Coffee

Behold, the first ever poem to be written by the staff of the MC. So delicious. The subject matter is peculiar. As soon as we began to get over our faux shock of the Spitzer fiasco, we all wanted to know who this ‘Kristen’ girl was. Come now, be honest with yourself. We all wanted to know who the woman was who “brought low the Governor of New York.” I must say that I think she’s given far too much credit in this affair (pun), for the blame for bringing low Mr. Spitzer rests solely on Mr. Spitzer. Nevertheless, we knew, of course, that it would be a matter of days, if not hours, before young Kristen’s picture was all over the internet. And it was. She’s now very well known. She’s a Myspace page which showcases her (terrible) song. If you can’t access that page from your present location (many places of employment block Myspace), you can see the young lady HERE. I must say, I expected more from a “VIP Escort Service” for the young lady, for all her womanly charms and looks, is most certainly not worth $1,000 an hour. No way. Not even $200 an hour. But hey, I’m not rich. Writing the MC doesn’t pay enough for me to be able to afford high-priced hookers, er, escorts.

You can read all about her HERE (if you so choose). Her’s was a life of difficulty, blah, blah, blah, who cares, blah, blah. Bob Loblaw can write about it in his Law Blog if he wants. The bottom line is that this girl was not a victim, nor was she an evil predator. She is simply a girl trying to make money. So what? I don’t care about her whinny BS any more than I care about her music. Nevertheless, she’ll probably get a book deal out of it, or perhaps a recording contract (perhaps I need to get into the escort business). One would think, however, that her vocal style would be better with influences like the regal Etta James.

Anyway, Spitzer resigned and what not, and he’s now going to focus on his family. Utterly laughable. He has to focus on his family because no one else will touch the guy, not even the call girls. They know if they do that, they’re pictures will be all over the New York Times, and it’s hard being a high-priced call girl with that sort of publicity. What angers me most about Mr. Spitzer is not so much the fornication with prostitutes, but the hypocrisy of his life and the cheating on his wife (still in poet mode). If he wasn’t a vehement attack dog against this very sort of behavior while the Attorney General…It’s funny when the morality police are less moral than the average citizen.

What is inconceivable to me, however, is this talk that he shouldn’t be brought up on charges because he was forced to resign, as if that’s punishment enough. Serving the people is a privilege, and self-revocation of such a privilege is not a punishment for breaking the law. You do not get to avoid prosecution simply by giving up your office. Not only did Spitzer tout such a high moral code, but as an elected official, he should be held to the same standards, legally, as you or I…at a minimum. Sure, it’s unfortunate that such a “promising” politician has had to leave office, but it’s a monster of his own creation. And now he should face whatever charges we might face. There’s the possibility of tax fraud, of course. How about the Mann Act, which forbids the transportation of a person across state lines for the purpose of prostitution? You or I’d be charged with it. And you know what? Many of us would have to give up our jobs too.

I just realized that I’ve spent half a page discussing Eliot Spitzer’s fall from grace. Surely there are more important things to discuss. I hope my lovely poem gets me some slack.

Wacky Snow:

Since I’ve spent the majority of my time discussing the absurd, I might as well tell you that Montreal is the proud owner of one 80 foot high pile of snow that, unless broken up, will still largely be there next winter. That’s a lot of snow.

Uh…Wow:

In keeping with the absurd (it’s a theme today), we move onto Pam Babcock, a 35 year old woman who decided one day that she was going to sit on a toilet seat and not get up. For two years. Her skin actually grew around the seat. Pam suffered from a phobia, as a result of being struck in her childhood, and the bathroom was her safe area. She wouldn’t leave, and her boyfriend took care of her, all the while trying to convince her to get up and leave. She’d say, “Maybe tomorrow.” I’ve got to hand it to Pam, though. I am compelled to get up after about five minutes, tops. Hers is an example of endurance even monks would be envious of.

Word of the Day: Rodomontade (rod-uh-muhn-TADE) (noun): Vain boasting; empty bluster; pretentious, bragging speech; rant.

On This Day in History: Uranus was discovered by William Herschel (1781). Alexander II of Russia is killed by a hand-tossed bomb (1881). A Tennessee law prohibiting the teaching of evolution is enacted (1925).

“My advice to you is get married: if you find a good wife you’ll be happy; if not, you’ll become a philosopher.” – Socrates.