Editorial: Do We Really Need a Title?

By Paul St. Fakename, Esq.

Staff Polack

And so it appears we’re going to go through this yet again....

What I am, of course, referring to are the new allegations being thrown like so many bottles of Old Crow whiskey at the President. Allegations of an almost Gideon-like involvement with the entire squad of Laker Girls. Great. So for the next two years instead of an intelligent discussion on the future direction of my Social Security benefits, cogent arguments for the deregulation of the financial sector or responding to my erotic musings on the letter "M", Tom Brokaw and the rest of those media whackos are going to give us updated news briefs ad nauseum on how the President got cheerleaders to do campaign fundraising from the Lincoln bedroom. GIVE IT A REST! The more we do this to ourselves, the more I long for the simple days of Calvin Coolidge and the Beef Jerky scandal.

I have just one thing to say about this: when you beat a Girl Scout to death, you should go to jail. For Christ’s sake, remember all those kids with the repressed memories? I have them, too. Except I remember beating the hell out of a therapist. I’m pretty sure I didn’t get away with it, either. Now, for the rest of my life, I have to live with the fact that I didn’t whack out a lawyer while I was at it. I know, I know... first the lawyers, THEN the therapists. Mental note--always have a To Do list.

I look around at this new generation and I’m sad. For one thing, they are soft and pudgy. They’re also ugly. Newborn baby ugly. They sit on the couches with their asses and they stuff their fat, ugly faces with the Cheetos and the Haagen Daaz and they watch the Baywatch and pretty soon--BANG!--no more violent urges. I ask you, how many kids today have started their personal Hit List yet? None! How many have taken the time to cultivate an arch-nemesis? None, again. Sure, I was fat and ugly just like them, but, dammit, at least we got off the couch once in a while to add some new names to the whack sheet. Hell, I know five guys that had manifestos thicker than Thomas Jefferson’s third leg by the time they could pee themselves. Sure, those guys all wound up going to Harvard and Yale and Bunker Hill Community College, but they’re still crazy as Shriners! There’s an old Polish saying: you can take the Polack out of Poland. I think that says it all. These kids today need to be weaned away from all that Barney crap before they find out the hard way that if you hug other people in the real world, dinosaurs will eat you.

So, what I guess I’m saying is, if you feel the need to attack the President with your right-wing, chicken-flavored ranting on sleep deprivation, go ahead. He can take it. But leave his mother out of it. She’s a big woman and they don't call her "Shotgun Sally" for nothing.

And give my regards to the wee people.

Main Archive Table of Contents

April, 1999 Issue Table of Contents

Running Amok   Do We Really Need a Title?   Start Your Own Business   Breaking Up... For Corporate Stiffs

Moon Over Easter Bunny

Rich, Arrogant and Horny   The Final Word   Warning: Hazardous to Idiots   Reservoir Rats

The American Jerk™ and all contents © 1999 - 2005 by Rob Reuter and Paul St. Fakename, Esq., © 2006 by Rob Reuter.