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11/24/25   
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Harry Belafonte: Colin Powell a "Tallyman, Tally Me Bananas"

October 14, 2002
Hollywood, CA
Whit Pistol/AP
Powell, who upon hearing comments was all like, "Who, me?" And Belafonte (inset) is all like, "Yeah, you, who you think I'm talking about?"
T
he radio waves have become a hotbed of political gaffs and slander lately, demeaning the nature of civil discussion and making it impossible to hear "Safety Dance" like you could before. The latest was discovered by this reporter when he woke up at the house of a friend, possibly of the other sex, and heard famed singer Harry Belafonte continuing his attack on Secretary of State Colin Powell.

Powell, who had been referred to by Belafonte only Wednesday on a San Diego radio show as a "house slave" for the Bush administration, was attacked again in a musical tirade in which the Desert Storm veteran was likened to a "tallyman," always come to tally Belafonte's bananas.

Despite the racially-infused charges and slander involved, Powell apparently didn't feel the accu...Read more...


Escaped sex offender enjoys legal loop hole, several other holes

Virgin claims record loss; record was 45 of Marvin Gaye's Sexual Healing

Viagra company CEO grilled on flaccid outlook; stands firm

War on Terror Finally Focused on Real Threats



March 17, 2003

Click for Biography

Meat Book

"Read me my rights, pig. Then read me Lady Chatterly's Lover, but just skip to the dirty parts."

I read this funny book and I've been telling everybody about it. I haven't read all of it, just parts of it, really. Okay, one part. And everybody's telling me it's a newspaper, not a book, but you can't brag about reading a newspaper so I say book. But it was still really funny, like a book. There was this cat and he's trying to eat lasagna and—hey, I don't want to give it away. E-mail me if you want to read it and maybe we'll form one of those Oprah clubs or something.

If I don't read books, it's not my fault. I've given it an honest effort, but they always start the book off with this really boring information about who wrote it and who it was published by, and a "c" in a circle and then the year and… see? I fell asleep while I was typing it and fell out of my chair and broke my nose. Imagine being one of those people who actually finished a whole book without skipping around.

My friend Richie Castro has written 26 books over the years, the guy is a dynamo. He makes each book two pages or less 'cause he thinks all that plotting, pacing, and drawing out of the characters is bullshit. Richie writes "the real meat," like he says it. His next book will be done soon and it tells the story of how his girlfriend, this double-timing bitch-whore who dyes her hair, she was two-timing him behind his back and sleeping around with his...Read more...


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March 14, 2005

Click for Biography

Steal Guitars and Cowedboy Boots

Someone once told me I had such bad luck in my life I ought to be a country singer. A blues singer told me that, after he heard me sing the blues. Mom said he was just trying to get me to leave the club so the people would stop booing, but I went and bought the hat anyway.

Mom warned me my country singing career would be short-lived, like my hamster. I sang one song about my wife running off with my best friend and having a flat tire on my truck, but I had made it up—I wish I had a truck. My wife did run off with my best friend, though. Although she wasn't my wife yet, just a mail-order bride that had stepped off the plane from Korea, and the guy she ran away with was the pilot, but he looked like my best friend, dead up, I swear. Tommy? Timmy? It's something like that. I haven't seen him since the fourth grade, you can't blame me for getting the name messed up.

The audience didn't like my song. "Open mic," sure, until you actually try to sing, then it closes pretty damn fast. People told me nobody sings feel-bad old country anymore. Now they sing feel-good new country, and only fans of real music feel bad when they hear it. You know me, you can't stop me with a brick wall or pure logic or the fact nobody likes me. I went and bought some leather pants to match my new hat and became a feel-good new country singer. Okay, I didn't buy the pants, but I made them out of the seats of my car. They're more chaps than pants right now, but after I hit it...Read more...


º Last Column: Losing in Love
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Quote of the Day
“If you're not a liberal when you're 25, you have no heart. If you're not a conservative by the time you're 35, you have no inheritance. Die already, Uncle Franco… just… die.”

-Winthrop Shuriken
Fortune 500 Cookie
Who's the man? More specifically, who's the man who shattered your kneecap with a club and took you out of the competition? Now would be a good time to switch to NetFlix from your previous practice of watching the movie on the video store display TVs. Keep your eye on the sparrow. Lucky jeans: Levi, Bugle Boy, Lee, and Auel.


Try again later.
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North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

View Past Columns
BY Red Bagel
11/29/2004
A Fistful of Tannenbaum Chapter 8: Unpleasant Entry
Editor's Note: Escaping from Surprise Truck by the sacrifice of his longtime friend Reilly, intrepid hero Jed Foster and sexy love interest Paulette Standiford motorcycle to the headquarters of government organization N.O.R.T.O.N., where they plan to steal the Bomb of Ages before it can be stolen first by the evil conspiracy group Ostrich. Pretty kick-ass, eh?

The motorcycle pulled into Wad, Nebraska, and found the town center—a Safeway. Jed bought a couple of orange juices and some pornographic magazines, only for the articles, and they were off on their way again. He wasn't sure about the location of N.O.R.T.O.N.'s hidden entrance to its headquarters, but Paulette had been there many times. They found a parking lot for a large auditorium, with a sign posted...Read more...

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