CHEESE-EATING SURRENDER MONKEYS FROM HELL
I’ve learned a few things writing a daily column from home. Someday I plan on putting all of them in a little red book just like Mao. That’s right, I will be a cult hero to people who are willing to sacrifice prestige for rising-crust pizza. Wherever I go in the world, when I walk down the stairs from my plane, shut-ins, misanthropes, and no Trekkers will shake my book at me and cheer. That is if there’s nothing good on TV.
So while I can’t share with you the full extent of my Yoda-like wisdom — someone I’m looking more like every day — I can share a few pearls of wisdom. For example, you can’t get an even tan by running the microwave with the door open. The expiration date on milk is just for show. Old TV shows seem like new ones if you watch them in Spanish.
When it comes to writing a column on the web, I’ve learned some important lessons as well. First, never over-promise, never over-extend. Another, which I’ve only learned recently, you never know who might be reading your column.
For example, almost two weeks ago I said some mean things about the “Goths.” Not the guys who brought down Rome, mind you (please no corrections on how Rome fell, that’s not the point and I’m on a roll) but the face-painting, dress-in-black crowd.
Now, I once wrote that when Geraldo had fat from his butt injected into his forehead, “it took.” I said that if Alan Dershowitz took Viagra, he’d just get taller. When John Glenn was appointed a “payload specialist,” I said the old man was more like a “special payload.” The things I’ve said about James Carville and Sid Blumenthal would assuredly get me a seat in hell if they weren’t true. Including that Carville looks like he should be exploding out of the stomach of a crewman on a spaceship and that Sid Blumenthal would only spurt black ooze if you snapped him in two like a peapod. I’ve called feminism a fraud and Louis Farrakhan a fruitcake. I’ve insulted, indicted, inveighed against, and impugned the integrity of scores of people, causes, places, and things. I apologize for none of it, at least not right now.
But not even when I smeared a dozen breeds of dog was the response close to the Gothic reaction. I’ve gotten more e-mail on issues (Kosovo for example), but not on insults. These people have very thin skins — it must come from all the makeup. Whoops, there I go again. But they have corrected me on a number of points — which I have acknowledged. Yet they don’t seem to care.
But the point is I had no idea I had any Goth readers at all, which was quite liberating when I decided to disparage them.
So, now I have a dilemma. Yesterday, I promised the “Top Ten Reasons to Hate the French.” But now I’m afraid the French might be reading my column (Lord knows, with structural unemployment of 12%, there are enough of them with time on their hands). I for one do not want to be beaten up and inundated with correspondence from snooty Frenchmen, like an Algerian applying for asylum.
So I have an idea. In the seminal Howard Stern film Private Parts, the character “Pig Vomit” explains that Don Imus’s genius lies in not offending people directly. “He uses characters, you see.” And they say the truly offensive stuff. So I figured, why not give it a try?
My floppy chair likes to think of himself as a Fauteuil Général. So herewith some items about the French joie de guerre.
I have got to go. So, Coming Next Week: Corrections, and my couch’s top ten (cultural) reasons to hate the French.
“A Frenchman must be always talking, whether he knows anything of the matter or not; an Englishman is content to say nothing, when he has nothing to say.” –Samuel Johnson