Saturday, July 28, 2012

A Pathetic Little Nobody (Part One)

Congratulations to the El Paso Times for being the One Millionth! news outlet to refer to James "Not-Johnny" Holmes as The Joker, Batman's greatest villain, instead of as the broken selfish little creep that he actually is.
     "This makes it all worthwhile," the Aurora, Colorado murderer said when he was informed of this milestone by the Public Defender assigned to him (and paid for by you and I, my friend).  "Before this, I was a loser, a nobody.  Now I'm...  The Joker! So I'd like to thank the media for making my fondest dream come true."
     When asked how he liked prison, Holmes rubbed his backside gingerly and said, "Prison's not so bad, as long as you don't mind the anal rape."
     Apparently, my worst prison nightmare is James Holmes' idea of a good date.
     In the end, the joke was on Holmes.  In an attempt to look like his fantasy boyfriend, he dyed his hair a garishly cartoonish orange diarrhea-type color.  The only problem is...  the Joker doesn't have orange hair!  He has green hair.  James "Not-Sherlock" Holmes may be evil, but he's certainly not a genius.  The media might have at least mentioned this, but they were too busy going after Dane Cook, because, as we all know, it's the comedians who are the problem.
     What must it say about the size of Holmes' pathetic personal hand-warmer that he would over-compensate in such a horrific manner?  (And, no, for the record it is not true that if you look in the dictionary for the word "impotent" you'll find a picture of James Holmes.)  Sadly, Holmes' soggy noodle is so small, when he showed up in court, the judge almost threw out the case for lack of evidence. 
     The Times was able to exclusively locate the diseased, one-eyed prostitute who allegedly claimed that Holmes was one of her clients.  They sent their best reporter, Steven Glass, to interview her.
     "Sex with The Jacker was like trying to push an oyster through a keyhole," she told him, as she hacked out a blob of phlegm.
     "Don't you mean The Joker?" Steven asked her.
     "No.  The working girls in our stable called him The Jacker," she clarified, and playfully flicked the dandruff out of her lice-infested hair.  She spat out a gooey green substance into her purse, and snapped it shut.  "I'll save that one for later," she said to no one in particular, and then turned back to Glass, who was carefully not touching her with the ten-foot pole he always carried with him for just such occasions.  "The first time I saw him in all his glory, I could've sworn he had two innie belly-buttons.  His performance in the sack was so embarrassing it's gone viral on YouTube."
     Steven Glass nodded his head, and, when she began to intently pick at her scabbies, made a mental note to later bathe in a tub full of liquid hand sanitizer.
     I watched with interest the news conference by San Diego attorney Lisa Damiani, the spokeswoman for the Holmes family.
     "I'm not going to comment on how they are feeling," Damiani said "but they feel almost as bad as when they realized how much money they've wasted sending him to college."
     When asked if Holmes' parents stand behind him, Damiana answered, "Yes, they do.  He's their son, they love him, and they know better than to stand in front of him."
     The attorney also wanted to clarify what Holmes' mother, Mrs. Please-Don't-Call-Me-By-My-Real-Name Holmes, told an ABC News reporter.  When first informed that her son was a suspect in a mass shooting, ABC News claims that her initial response was, "You have the right person." 
     "What my client meant to say was:  'My son is not the kind of person who...  aw, who am I kidding?  He's so guilty O.J. Simpson laughs at him.' "
     "We stand by our reporting," ABC News said, "especially the stuff we make up."
     Damiani also wanted to set the media straight on various other rumors that have sprung up about Holmes that are allegedly untrue.
     "First," she said, "I'd like to clarify that if you look up the word NAMBLA in the dictionary you will NOT find a picture of James Holmes.  And, no, it is not true that if you say the name James Holmes, San Franciscan gerbils curl into the fetal position and tremble in fear.  While it IS true that his fellow prisoners have give him the nickname "The Restaurant," it is NOT because he takes deliveries in the rear.  I don't know where the following rumor came from, but it IS NOT true that the only difference between James Holmes and a washing machine is that, after you drop a load in a washing machine, it doesn't follow you around afterward.  AND at no time did James Holmes EVER want to join the Army just because he heard there was a Fort Dix.  AND, while James Holmes DOES go to church, it is NOT because he enjoys playing with the organ.  AND I don't know who started THIS vile rumor, but the Million Man March WAS NOT a line to James Holmes' bedroom.  What's that?  You, the reporter in the back row, what did you say?  Is it true that James Holmes' tongue has jock itch?  The medical tests HAVE NOT yet confirmed this, so, please, ix-nay on the ockitch-jay.  And, finally, while James Holmes might have the maturity of a spoiled baby in its terrible two's, he IS NOT a gay pedophile who molests little boys...
     "...he's not strong enough to hold them down."

American Chimpanzee

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Are The Elections Over Yet?

It's nowhere near November, and I'm already tired of the Presidential elections. 
     I'm especially tired of Donald Trump mouthing off about it.  Do you ever think that Donald Trump is what the homeless imagine what a rich guy is like?  I look at Trump, and somehow I get the impression that Richie Rich was his mentor and role model.  When he makes a decision, do you think he first asks himself what that Mr. Moneybags character from the Monopoly game would do? Or Scrooge McDuck?
     Speaking of Mr. Moneybags, it's too bad we can't elect him President.  I bet he could do something about the economy.  I'm not stupid, I know a fictional character can't be elected President, but doesn't it seem that that's exactly what we do every four years?
     As I write this, they're reporting that the six heirs of the Wal-Mart fortune have more money than the bottom 41% of the 99%.  Where's the joke?  Try looking in your wallet.  But I digress...
     I received a call the other night from Democrats For Obama.*  They wanted to make sure I was registered to vote, that I was going to vote for Obama, and--oh, by the way--can you send us a donation? 
     I thought I'd have a little fun with this one.
     "I'm sorry, ma'am," I told her, "but in the last election they paid me to vote for Obama."
     "They did?" she said, and she sounded astonished.  "That's against the law."
     "Are you sure?  It happened when I lived in Chicago.  I think it's legal there."
     "Oh...  Chicago."
     "Can't I get the same deal from you?"
     "I'm afraid not, sir.  That would be cheating."
     "Cheating who?"
     "The American people."
     "Aren't we the American people?"
     "Well, if we cheat ourselves, then who's going to complain?"
     I thought my logic was irrefutable, but she thought otherwise.
     "I'm afraid not, sir, but can we still count on you for a donation?"
     "Well I guess I could come up with something.  The only problem is, I'm blind."
     "I'm sorry to hear that, sir.  Would you like to donate by check or cash?"
     "I'd like to do it by check..."
     "That's great."
     "...but I can't, 'cause I'm blind.  I can't read the check."
     "Well, do you know your credit card number?"
     "You don't?" she said, and she sounded disappointed in me.  For a person pretending to be blind, I was offended.
     "Do you know yours?" I shot back.
     "No," she conceded, "I don't."
     "Well, can I pay with cash?" I asked, trying to sound helpful and miffed at the same time.
     "Cash is always welcomed," she laughed.
     "Did you just laugh at me?" I said, indignantly.
     "Did you just laugh at me because I'm blind?"
     "Oh, no, sir.  I would never do that."
     "Because I can do things.  Just because I'm blind, that doesn't mean I'm helpless.  I'm just like you, I'm capable.  Maybe even more than you, because I can use my other senses.  Blind people can do anything a sighted person can do."
     "I didn't mean to..." she tried to say, but I cut her off.  I was on a roll.
     "I'm blind, but I'm tough.  I don't know the meaning of the word can't."
     "Can you take down this address?"
     "I CAN'T!"  I yelled at her.  "I'M BLIND!'

Fifty Shades of Funny

*Who else would they be for?

Friday, July 13, 2012

Fixing A Bad Economy

El Paso's hard up for cash.  I understand that.  Nobody's writing songs about us any more.  Marty Robbins has died, and so has the taxpayer's desire to pay more taxes.  The only time I hear El Paso mentioned in the national news is when the news is bad.
     El Paso's too fat.  Too sweaty.  Too ugly.  And that's just our City Council.
     Hard choices have to be made...  and I'm just the guy to make them.
     One idea I've had, and I know I'll have some opposition on this, is that we feed the animals at the Zoo the cats and dogs that aren't adopted from the Humane Society.  Feeding the animals at the Zoo is expensive, and we need to cut the cost of that somehow.  Likewise, the Humane Society.
     I don't want to hear any complaints about my idea from the people who haven't bothered to adopt a dog or a cat, which is, um, just about everybody in El Paso.  I, myself, have three dogs, and I'm not refering to my ex-wives.  I'm talking about my always-hungry pit bulls.  All three of which I adopted from the Animal Shelter. 
     And let me take this opportunity to once again tell my gaggle of angry neighbors that it's merely a coincidence that their cats began running away and never being seen or heard from again at the same time I got my dogs.  If you would have kept your small pets inside your home, instead of letting them roam freely outdoors, then you would still have them.  Don't try to transfer the blame on me for your being a bad pet owner.
     Anyway, as far as adopting pets from the Humane Society goes, I've done my part, and anybody willing to do theirs, please stand up. 
     I'm waiting...  I'm waiting...  yeah, that's what I thought.
     My idea saves this city money in several ways.  One, you don't have to pay someone to put those poor animals in the Humane Society who have passed their expiration date to sleep.  Two, you don't have to pay someone to transport the lifeless bodies to the various asian buffets around town.  And three, you can sell tickets to feeding time at the Zoo.
     I believe watching the Zoo animals chase down and kill their food would be very entertaining, as well as educational.  When my eleven year-old watches Animal Planet with me, and we see a predator of some kind hunt and kill its prey, she'll ask me:  "Why did the big animal kill the little animal, Daddy?"
     "Because the little animal didn't do its homework," I'll tell her. 
     Needless to say, my eleven year-old is a straight-A student.
     We'll no longer have to buy Zoo animals food, or pay to have that food delivered or stored.  Refrigerated or prepared.  And, on the other hand, we won't have to pay to take care of unadoptable animals.  No more room and board or food and vet bills for the huddled masses of fur yearning to run free.
     To make it more entertaining for the kiddies, we could break one of the unadopted cat's legs, so that it has a fighting chance, but the outcome is still guaranteed.  Imagine your children's enjoyment as they watch the cat nobody wanted trying to hobble away before being pounced on and eaten by a distant relative.  It'll remind you of Thanksgiving at that relative's house that you could never get along with.
     You know the one I'm talking about.
     Speaking of holidays, we can dress up the dogs and cats in cute little costumes for Halloween.  We can dress them up as evil witches or scary devils.  Jason Voorhies of Friday the 13th.  Freddy Krueger of Nightmare on Elm Street.  Jerry Sandusky of Penn State
     We could even make a deal with Hollywood and dress them up as villians for upcoming movies.  George Lucas is probably, right this minute, preparing to re-re-re-re-release his Star Wars franchise.  I think he'd pay big bucks for us to dress up a scottish terrier as Darth Vader, and toss it into the bear exhibit.  We can call the bear by one of those ridiculous Star Wars names, like Kony Stalloney, and post the results on YouTube.  Las Vegas might even want to get in on the action.
     Dangle one of those annoyingly yappy chihuahuas from a rope above the shark tank, and you'll have an attraction that will rival anything they have at Sea World.
     And my idea isn't just limited to the animals in the Humane Society.  As I drive down I-10, past those cow pastures between Texas/New Mexico, I think to myself, I sure would like to take one their cows and stick it in the vampire bat exhibit.
     I bet you would, too.
     To solve the housing crises in El Paso, I have one sure-fire solution to the problem:  Kick your kids out of your house!  The housing crises was caused by grown children not moving out of their parent's home, not buying homes of their own, and, therefore, stagnating the housing market.  They get married, raise families, but they never move out.  Your child's financial strategy shouldn't be waiting for you to die.
     Another idea I had was to get in the reality TV business.  We can combine the very successful Storage Wars with the very successful border Cartel Wars.  In it, a group of people with nothing better to do than want to be on television can all bid for the right to buy a storage locker or container.  Highest bid gets it.  But what will you find inside?  Maybe money.  Maybe guns.  Maybe drugs.  But most likely, body parts and severed heads.
     "See this ring?" one of the lucky contestants can say, as he holds up a severed finger with a ring on it.  "That's a real diamond.  I can get two grand for it."

Fifty Shades of Funny

Monday, July 2, 2012

The Church of Oz (Part Two)

Give it to them?  What are you?  Deaf?
     That's right, I said give it to them. 
     Giving Downtown El Paso to the gay community's gotta be cheaper than blowing $200 million of our tax dollars on what I see as a money pit of an idea that seems geared to make the rich richer, and the poor...  well, let's just say the poor will have to eat their cereal with a fork so they can pass on the leftover milk to the next person when they're done.
     I asked Mayor Cook about it when I ran into him at the recent Gay Pride Parade, where he was looking mighty real, I must say.  I never knew he was a fan of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
     "Well, at least we'll be able to use our new baseball stadium's parking lot for free when we're busy spending our money Downtown, won't we, Mr. Mayor?"
     "What do you mean your stadium?" the Mayor answered.
     As a gay urban male straight outta Compton I have a right to comment on this subject, and as a ghetto warrior it would take a nation of millions to hold me back.*  So let me start by saying that once Downtown El Paso is ours, the first thing we'll do is clean it up.  That's right, clean it up!  I'm not saying it's dirty...  well, yeah, I guess I am saying it's dirty, but not so dirty a little TLC from the LGBT** can't handle. 
     The next thing we'll do is get rid of the homeless.  Don't get me wrong, I love the homeless.  In fact, I owe the homeless my life.  When I was a baby, they saved me from being abandoned in a dumpster.  Not just once, but several times. 
     My idea for the homeless is this:  We buy them a really nice coat, and then we buy them a really nice one-way ticket to San Francisco.  Even the gay ones.  The gay homeless will have to get on that bus, too, not because they're poor, but because they dress so poorly. 
     San Francisco loves the gays, and it absolutely loves the homeless, especially if they're in this country illegally, so, don't worry, they'll be well taken care of.  The Wicked Witch of the West Coast, Nancy Pelosi, will make sure of that.
     I see El Paso as a transitional area, with an opportunity to buy low and sell high.  It's already the Devil's Triangle of gay nightclubs, and it could grow to become a Vacation Zone with mobile restaurants offering gourmet and not-so gourmet cuisine.  Surely we can find a parking lot somewhere to accomodate those traveling kitchens, can't we?  (And don't call me Shirley!)
     Downtown El Paso can be a Mecca for local food, art, and entertainment.  The best bars, the trendiest restaurants, the most fashionable of stores, and the friendliest of places where a man can take a bath any time of the day or night.  How can I be sure of this?  I can be sure, because if you remove all gay influence from American culture all you'd be left with is Rosie O'Donnell.
     El Pasoans can't be afraid of this.  If a caterpillar was afraid of wings, then it would never become a butterfly.  We would just look at it, and say, "What an ugly little worm."  Don't be a worm, El Paso.  Don't be a worm.  If there's one thing I want to teach you, I want to teach you this:  A gay man's taste is always good...  especially when it's bad.
     And, while we're at it, forget The Twelve Travelers (Please...  changing the name of the statue at the El Paso International Airport that was supposed to honor Don Juan de Onate to The Equestrian because it could have caused some controversy was ridiculous.  History is rarely politically correct.  If there's one thing I learned from preferring things longer than they are wide, it's that you can't command respect if you're not willing to say what you are.), who's going to come to El Paso to see a bunch of boring old statues of boring old dead men.  Instead, I say we have shrines erected to all our gay icons:  Garland, Midler, Jobriath.  Sadly, there won't be a shrine to Jennifer Lopez.  The only thing gay about Jennifer Lopez is her current boyfriend.
     But that's just the surface.  It's raining men?  More like it's raining money.  Why?  Because of the influx of gay dollars, of which there are a lot.  Why do gays have so much disposable income?  It's because we don't have kids, silly.  At least the majority of us don't.  Let me put it in a mathematical equation to make it easier for you to understand:  Less Kids = More Money.  And with that money we'll convert all the old Downtown buildings into condos.  The way the Jews needed a homeland, we gays need our homeland.
     Hmm, that's a lot of condos...  I hear you say.  (No, really.  I can hear you say that.  Being psychic is one of my gay powers.)  Are there really enough gays in El Paso to fill all of that space?  Hey, this is my dream, not yours.  How about you MYOB, before I bring out the wire hangers and go all Mommy Dearest on you?
     Like I was saying, the ground floors of all the Downtown buildings will be museums or art galleries or theater/comedy groups, and the upper floors will be...  will be...  fabulous!  So, to answer your concern about building too many condos, if there's one thing I've learned from baseball, it's that "if you build it, they will come."  We can advertise in all the gay magazines, such as Out or The Advocate or Playgirl, and, trust me, once the world knows we have our own Dupont Circle or Castro Station or Christopher Street, they, the gay community, will flock to El Paso.  I'm sure there will be some unenlightened few who will want us to get the flock out of there, but it will be too late.  Pandora's Box will have been opened.
     And if the City Council is so determined to tear down City Hall, I say bravo, let's replace it with a church.  A gay church.  A giant gay church.  San Diego has The Crystal Cathedral, and El Paso can have The Emerald City of Oz!
      This would give Mayor Cook the legacy-making opportunity to sign an executive order that would legalize gay marriage.  It won't really be legal, but it'll make a point.  And can you imagine what it would do for the El Paso economy to have gay marriages every weekend?  The receptions afterward would be open to the public, and held in La Placita.  Street vendors can supply the catering, and street musicians can supply the music.  Kind of like the impromptu wedding that ends the great Kevin Costner movie, so great that even he's forgotten about it, Fandango
     Let me paint a picture for you, my friends.  Let me paint a picture of a Downtown El Paso of the future.  A prosperous Downtown.  An evolving Downtown.  A Downtown with flying cars, like in The Jetsons.  Well, maybe not flying cars, but really expensive cars, nonetheless.  Every week will be like Madi Gras in New Orleans, and every day will end with a Gay Pride Parade around La Placita, just like in Disneyland.  And, just like every day must come to an end, so must this column.
     That's my dream and that's my plan for renovating Downtown El Paso without it costing the El Paso taxpayer one penny.  Some may think that this city supports baseball, but all it really supports is 25 Cent Hot Dog Night.  My advise to the citizens and the City Council is for them to remember Duchene's Law:  Whatever you think it's going to cost...  it's always going to cost more.
     And remember one thing more, kiddies, homosexuality is like housework.  Every time I do it, I swear I'll never do it again...
     ...until company comes by.

This commentary was brought to you by the fine folks at Chico's Tacos.

Fifty Shades of Funny

*Sadly, I had to leave Compton, because I wore the wrong gang colors.  I didn't wear the red of the Bloods, and I didn't wear the blue of the Crips. 
     I wore The United Colors of Benetton.

**Suddenly, I'm in the mood for a BLT.