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Trent Lott on BET: 'Truly Sizzorry, Homeslice'Senator busts an apology on Black Entertainment Television December 23, 2002 |
Mobile, Alabama Whit Pistol Trent Lott on BET, making black Americans wistful for white icon Vanilla Ice.
It was a stark contrast to Monday night's appearance, where Lott was reserved, even self-effacing as he made an on-air apology directed to African-Americans. In addition to that apology, in which Lott claimed his remarks had been misconstrued as pro-segregationis...
n awkward pause lasted a full 30 minutes on basic cable Friday night when Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott appeared on BET for a second time to ask forgiveness for remarks made at Strom Thurmond's birthday party two weeks previous. Despite stepping down from his position as Senate Majority leader earlier in the day, Lott felt it necessary to stress the sincerity of his regret for the ill-received comments—this time, garbed in FUBU clothes and sporting bad street lingo, Lott offered "the sizzincerest apologizzies."
It was a stark contrast to Monday night's appearance, where Lott was reserved, even self-effacing as he made an on-air apology directed to African-Americans. In addition to that apology, in which Lott claimed his remarks had been misconstrued as pro-segregationist when they were not intended that way, Lott tried to explain his long history of voting against legislation supported by African-Americans, including affirmative action and the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. holiday.
On Friday, Lott was decidedly more in-your-face, despite claims he was "just chillin' on the B to the E.T." Though in his previous interview with Ed Gordon Trent claimed he was not a racist because he did not feel superior to Gordon, the Trent Lott in attendance Friday did suggest he was the mack daddy of riches and bitches.
"Yo, Ed G., it ain't no secret—T-Lo pulls all the fine bitches like motherfuckin' gravity. The honies love power and T-Lo's got it. You down with G.O.P.? Yeah, you know me."
When pressed about his voting record, Lott was less apologetic than Monday's interview.
"It's all good, Ed G. The plain truth is I ain't up in them cap-hill offices readin' all day like Muhammad or sumptin'. I'm just there to get pizzaid, and I just click the buttons until the checks is wrote and I get the fuck out for the weekend. Know what I'm sayin'? Just up there, trying to keep it real."
Interviewer Gordon questioned Lott on his strange new attitude, but Lott insisted the change was not inspired by polls stating his apologies were ineffective.
"It's all me, G. The real T-Lo got tired of puttin' on that whack suit-and-tie bullshit. That ain't the real Trent Lott, know what I'm sayin'? That was just frontin' 'cause I thought white America wasn't down wit' me otherwise. But, y'know, fuck all y'all who don't like the real T-Lo. Y'all just weak-ass perpetrators."
As for his earlier pro-segregationist remarks, Lott was quick to dismiss them.
"Yo, yo, yo, Ed G., that was some crazy-ass shit I said, I know that. But what you expect me to do? They asked me to say somethin' at this old-ass Strom Thurmond motherfucker's birthday and I had to come up with somethin' fast. Everybody'd be all pissed at me if I said he looked like Redd Fox's nutsack, right? So I just spun some mad bullshit about supportin' his presidential bid and shit—I ain't know what fuckin' 'segregationist' mean, sounds like the name of Prince's new band or somethin'. I said the shit, I'm truly sizzorry, homeslice, what you want from me? This shit done blown all outta proportion."
Lott stressed that he has drastic plans for change when he returns to Washington, including hiring an entourage of 10 leather-clad bodyguards, shaving his initials into his hair, and "tryin' to hook up wit' that fine-ass Beyoncé." As for legislature, Lott promises all his future Senate-floor speeches will be freestyle rhymes and he promises to have a joint holiday for Biggie and Tupac on the national calendar before the end of 2003.
Officials in the black community, in the meantime, have stressed that they liked Lott much better when he was on the clearly opposing side. the commune news is sensitive to the subject of race in America, particularly the annual company picnic sack race which always ends in a drunken brawl. Ramon Nootles is a fine reporter in some dimension and is frequently responsible for the sack race brawls when he tries to sneak into the sack with Lil Duncan.
 | Sales of Crappy Christmas Gifts Reach Record HighIf it's lame and cheap, you're getting it for Christmas December 23, 2002 |
Actually, the Grandpa shirt is starting to look pretty good in comparison.
Lousy Christmas gifts, a sub-industry all its own, is notorious for maintaining steady sales from year to year, apparently never suffering from the effects of recession. However, 2003 marks the first year, if early indicators are correct, that crappy Christmas gifts will actually be on the uprise.
"The old adage about the recession," said some hobo who claimed to have a background in economics as we fed him a can of cre...
collective Charlie Brown-style "Auuuuugh!" sounded around the world upon the release of the newest economy figures Friday. In addition to the disappointing early returns for the Christmas season, and spending figures falling below already-low projections, initial reports suggest that one industry not suffering this year is lousy Christmas gifts.
Lousy Christmas gifts, a sub-industry all its own, is notorious for maintaining steady sales from year to year, apparently never suffering from the effects of recession. However, 2003 marks the first year, if early indicators are correct, that crappy Christmas gifts will actually be on the uprise.
"The old adage about the recession," said some hobo who claimed to have a background in economics as we fed him a can of creamed corn, "is that the fluff industries are all the first hit. Luxuries, things like that. But there are rock-like reliables in all areas of the economy, and Christmas gifts are no exception. When the country hits on hard times in the yuletide season, cool gifts are the first things to go. No one's going to shell out for costly electronics when cheap, affordable, crappy gifts are available. Most Americans are tightening the belt—which, ironically enough, is one of the first crappy gifts to see a boost in sales."
Most holiday shoppers bear those theories out.
"I would have liked to bought my son that MP3 player he's been talking up all year," said Syracuse, New York-area housewife Mabel Donner. "But with things looking so bad for the economy it doesn't look like a good time to buy some new-fangled radio. So I'm getting him that book of inspirational sayings I saw in the mall."
Books of contrived sentimentality are not the only Christmas gifts with a sharp rise in sales this year. Also seeing an increase are socks, underwear, courderoy slacks, snow pants, gay sweaters, suspenders, and T-shirts and hats certifying they were purchased by grandparents.
Outside of clothing, food is also seeing a sales boost, especially cheese and sausage gift packs and giant tins of caramel-covered popcorn. Sales of advent calendars featuring dried, nasty chocolate alone have provided a much-appreciated lift to the German economy. In addition, minor sales increases have occurred in virtually every area of the economy for crappy gifts; even crappy video games like Pokémon Pro-Skater and Mary Kate & Ashley Olsen Virtua Fighter are seeing a sales spike.
Most kids have yet to experience the nightmarish reality of Christmas morning, 2002 as of yet; but some, like Craig Sharmet of Ledervehn, Pennsylvania, have already seen early warning signs.
"Grandma gave everybody their Christmas gifts yesterday," said Sharmet. "I got a Jesus calendar. It's a calendar. And it has pictures of Jesus on it. For every day of the year. All next year. Jesus."
Alice Keeler of Tumasca, Arizona, can sympathize.
"Aunt Sandy showed up Wednesday with presents for everybody and said we could open them, and we were all flipping out 'cause we were so happy. Then we opened them. I got a glitter puff T-shirt with the American Idol logo on it. I'm not sure what's worse—that people would think I like American Idol the TV show enough to wear a T-shirt of it or that people who don't know the TV show think I'm saying I'm an American idol or something. The possibilities are terrifying. And I had to thank her for it."
On the brighter side of the story, all forecasts indicate that shopping traffic will increase significantly just after Christmas, when the stores fill with the countless consumers attempting to return Shania Twain CDs and subscriptions to Teen People. the commune news will hold onto its rare Star Trek collectible plates it received in 1995 until they show some increase in value, even microscopic. Disaster-prone Ivan Nacutchacokov is usually our foreign correspondent, but seemed perfect for this yuletide catastrophe—the lack of life-threatening danger is our gift to him.
| Study finds low I.Q. causes lead paint eating, not other way around |
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 December 23, 2002 Cakes Are for Baking"Cakes are for baking
and rakes are for raking,"
declared Paul Von Nosberg
Von Shaking.
"Numerous studies
have indicated the same thing,"
he said as he buffed
his large amethyst ring.
"Ships are for shipping
and chips are for chipping,"
he continued,
though little encouragement came.
"Though not for dipping,
as dips are made for the same."
"Meats are for meeting,
and fleas are but fleeting,"
he pondered as he scratched his strange chin.
"And therefore ticks are for tickling,
and sticks are all sticky,"
his eyes lit as he grinned a pontificant grin.
"In tombs filled with tumors…
you cough in your coffin.
And in day old-canoe,
in robe...
º Last Column: There Was No Way to Tell
º more columns
"Cakes are for baking
and rakes are for raking,"
declared Paul Von Nosberg
Von Shaking.
"Numerous studies
have indicated the same thing,"
he said as he buffed
his large amethyst ring.
"Ships are for shipping
and chips are for chipping,"
he continued,
though little encouragement came.
"Though not for dipping,
as dips are made for the same."
"Meats are for meeting,
and fleas are but fleeting,"
he pondered as he scratched his strange chin.
"And therefore ticks are for tickling,
and sticks are all sticky,"
his eyes lit as he grinned a pontificant grin.
"In tombs filled with tumors…
you cough in your coffin.
And in day old-canoe,
in robes made for rowing
we paddle with oars but not witches…"
"Which witch grabbed the oar or the paddle,
which, padded, was added to the boat for an ad, which I wrote?
Do not eat a donut in shorts that show nuts if you're grown-up.
And if you groan up tree number three, which is a Douglas fir,
doubtless fur will fall in the Fall,
as chipmunks who live with hens within when scared are given not to shitting but, as ought to, shedding."
"I met a man named Mark who I avoided,
lest my hands turn black.
But I was quite keen on Carrie,
since I had some heavy boxes waiting around the back.
I met Robbie in the lobby and when I did I clutched my handbag tight.
I thought Will was too determined, and Davie kept me up at night.
Hal I found quite funny
Bill just wanted my money
As did Sue, though she was less polite."
"Charles burnt my hot dogs,
Bertha goes into labor every time she jogs,
Miles made me wait too long,
Paul kept humming this depressing song,
John pissed me off,
Dusty made me cough,
Pat was too touchy-feely,
Lisa's monthly payments kept her from living freely,
Sharon had nothing of her own,
and Peter?"
"He was just a dick." º Last Column: There Was No Way to Tellº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“How many roads must a man walk down before someone will give him a fucking ride? What, do I look like a serial killer or something? Blow me in the wind, buddy.”
-Zimm BobbermanFortune 500 CookieHere comes another lecture on the same old tax-and-spend bullshit, courtesy your butler. Quit picking at it and maybe it wouldn't get infected. Who beefed? Details inside. Better save that big comeback tour until after you've had at least one hit song.
Try again later.Five Worst Blues Musicians Ever| 1. | Blind, Deaf, and Handless Lemon Jefferson | | 2. | Bi-Curious Wolf | | 3. | Nude Québec Joe | | 4. | Roberta "Can't Sing Worth a Shit" Jackson | | 5. | Lightnin' Lawrence Welk | |
|   Red Bagel: You the Man of the Year BY dick charleston 12/23/2002 A Christmas CardEverywhere in London during that cold December morn of Christmas Eve, every man and woman, large and small and even the exceptionally large, were filled with Christmas cheer. Everyone, that is, except for one man—Phineas Miser, the un-Christmasiest son of a bitch in all of London.
Once Miser had been full of Christmas cheer, and rum, but that had been a long time ago; the pursuit of gold and capitalist success had tainted him, along with having a terribly on-the-nose name that defined his destiny. No, Miser no longer had any Christmas cheer, unless you count the Christmas cheer in the body of his wage slaves, which technically he owned through wicked and brilliant contract negotiations.
Miser was the proprietor of the most despicable business in all London—a c...
Everywhere in London during that cold December morn of Christmas Eve, every man and woman, large and small and even the exceptionally large, were filled with Christmas cheer. Everyone, that is, except for one man—Phineas Miser, the un-Christmasiest son of a bitch in all of London.
Once Miser had been full of Christmas cheer, and rum, but that had been a long time ago; the pursuit of gold and capitalist success had tainted him, along with having a terribly on-the-nose name that defined his destiny. No, Miser no longer had any Christmas cheer, unless you count the Christmas cheer in the body of his wage slaves, which technically he owned through wicked and brilliant contract negotiations.
Miser was the proprietor of the most despicable business in all London—a consulting firm that trained business work forces in the ways of Japanese-style management. And chief among his wretched little workers was middle-manager and frequent doorstop replacement Bob Rottencrotch.
"Please, Mr. Miser, may I have the day off?" Rottencrotch asked on this cold December morn of Christmas Eve, though to be fair to Miser, the slacker bastard did ask the same thing virtually every day. "It is Christmas Eve, Mr. Miser, and we're having a jolly good evening planned. We're going to gather 'round our dung-filled stockings and chant slogans from commercials and drink until we've pissed ourselves. Well, all except Wee Willie—he's too small to drink, of course."
"Rottencrotch, I told you never to talk about your penis at work again!" shouted Miser, tossing a humidor shaped like Dolly Parton's breasts at his employee. "Of course you can't have the day off. It's Christmas Eve. We spend 365 days a year working toward the company goal, remember? It's part of pro-improvement empowerment. Now back to your work station!"
Rottencrotch, wounded both by Mr. Miser's crushing words and the sharp-ended nipples on the humidor, dabbed his ratty tie against his bleeding cut and wobbled out of the office. When he was gone, Miser sat back, self-satisfied.
Miser stared into the seemingly-ancient photo of himself and his old business partner, Ziggy Marley, when they had both worked at a pirate-themed fast food restaurant years before. It was right before they had gathered the capital to start their consulting firm, Positive Improvement: A Pro-Action Empowerment Concept, and they both had worked so hard their hands had curved up inside the fake pirate hook prop gloves and their depth perception was suffering from excessive eye patch-wearing. They had been youthful and idealistic in those days—well, Ziggy was always sort of a dick, but he could be alright as well.
"Ziggy, my friend," the insane old coot said to the picture, "these employees today, they lack what we had back then. And I mean not the velvet pants and puffy white shirts. I mean gumption! Why, in my day, remember when we worked through all holidays just to build our pro-positive action plan? We knew the secret to success and happiness, we did."
"Miser!" shouted the picture in response, only dragging it out a very long time in a ghostly fashion. Miser was shocked to see the picture was moving, and he messed the chair. In the frame, Ziggy Marley lifted his eye patch, brushed his dreadlocks aside, and aged incredibly into what he must have looked like since dying, complete with holes in the face and eyeballs falling out.
"Phineas Miser, you crusty old queer! Beware your greed! You have forgotten the true meaning of positive pro-active reinforcement! Or Christmas, actually, yeah, Christmas. And tonight you will be visited by three spirits who will show you what Christmas means—it means creepy-ass ghosts and guilt, to cut to the chase, but I'll let them elaborate. So stay sober! For tonight you will see highly-edited clips from your past, present, and future!"   |
