iLoathing

In my e-mail today, an electronic press release:

****For Immediate Relase****

Break an iPhone and make a nerd cry. There's nothing wrong with conspicuous consumption, but the hype surrounding iPhone is completely insane.

BREAK AN IPHONE TODAY.

This is a simple civil action you can get involved with. On June 29th, 2007, beginning at 6pm Eastern, when you see some overly-thrilled moron prancing out of an AT&T Wireless or Apple store location with his new iPhone box in hand, trip him. This will hopefully cause the iPhone to break and the nerd to cry for hours and hours on end. It will be totally worth it.

Videotape the event and YouTube it if possible. These people need to be stopped once and for all. IT IS A FUCKING CELL PHONE. Thank you, that is all.

On a related and somewhat ironic note, my beloved and sadly emasculated Motorola Razr died today -- no doubt of a broken heart and a general loss of the will to live -- and has been replaced by a new Motorola Krzr. I consider the choice a show of defiance against Steve Jobs and his techo-witchcraft.

It doesn't have a touch screen or a built-in iPod or the ability to watch various nut-shots or police beatings on YouTube or easy access e-mail or a goddamned day planner.

In fact, it's pretty much all style and almost no substance.

Just like its owner.

The Kid Still Stays in the Picture

A lot of you may not be aware, but today is a national holiday of sorts to those who take their gruesome, insatiable hedonism seriously.

That's because today -- June 29th -- is the birthday of Robert Evans.

The Hollywood legend is turning 77, a fact which fills me with hope simply because if he's managed to somehow survive this long despite a life spent pursuing the kind of sex-and-drug-fueled excesses that should've killed him ten times over, maybe there's hope for me after all.

Anyway, in honor of this occasion, here's a quick animated tribute to the one and only Kid Notorious -- compliments of Patton Oswalt and ESPN.

Happy Birthday Bob. Thanks for being born.

London Appalling

Police have found a car containing some kind of explosive parked near London's Piccadilly Circus.

You really have to give it to the cable news channels; they're never above ridiculous, confusing speculation and gross hyperbole during a breaking situation like this.

One has been using a graphic that reads: LONDON "BOMB" -- as if the city were being attacked by Doctor Evil (and also proving that the network has no idea what the hell is actually going on).

Another has labeled what was found a "POTENTIALLY VIABLE EXPLOSIVE DEVICE."

I'm not downplaying the threat that Londoners may have been facing, but you know what else is a potentially viable explosive device?

The car.

Listening Post

Happy Friday!

Let's stay with the murder theme, shall we? (Come to think of it, you could even argue the Coulter theme as well.)

Put on your black hoodie and your White Sox cap or knit hat, and set the Way-Back Machine for 1991.

From one of my favorite records of the 90s and damn sure one of the best hip-hop debuts ever: Cypress Hill's How I Could Just Kill a Man.

(By the way, it was a sign of how daring and dangerous hip-hop was at the time -- and how willing it was to stoke that image and recognize its roots in all different kinds of underground music that Cypress Hill gave a shout-out in this song to one of L.A. punk's most legendary bands. Props to anyone who can tell me to which band -- and specifically which song -- I'm referring.)

A Modest Proposal

I'll make this quick.

Apparently, for reasons which remain an absolute mystery to me, the American news media refuses to simply ignore lunatic bitch Ann Coulter; quite the contrary in fact -- they continue to enable her daffy antics by granting her run of the airwaves everytime she spouts another one of her ridiculously contrived, "incendiary" remarks. ("Bill Clinton ass-rapes children;" "Downs syndrome is part of the liberal-Jew conspiracy;" "Midgets should be used as food," etc.)

This, despite the fact that it's usually right around the fifth grade when most people realize that the schoolyard bully's batteries are recharged only by healthy doses of attention, and that if you deprive him of any kind of consideration whatsoever -- or better yet, laugh at him outright -- you neuter him in short order, making life better for everyone.

But the silly Coulter Vaudeville act is allowed to continue -- sans hook -- and we all suffer accordingly.

I won't bother going into detail about Angry Annie's most recent display of entirely unimaginative invective; you've probably heard by now that Elizabeth Edwards called into MSNBC's Hardball to make an ill-advised appeal to Coulter's "humanity." Edwards basically pleaded with her antagonist to stop the verbal attacks on her and her family -- to which Ann responded exactly as one would expect a bully to respond when a wussified attempt is made to beg for mercy in the name of all that is civil and decent: She scoffed, "No fucking way," and proceeded to berate the living hell out of Edwards on live television.

The entire thing wasn't just attended but was facilitated by Hardball's self-important buffoon of a host -- Chris "Tweety Bird" Matthews.

So, since no one seems to be willing to ostracize this vapid dingbat, I'm forced to suggest another course of action:

Kill her.

No, I'm serious.

She's suggested the assassination of political leaders with whom she doesn't see eye-to-eye, so really, what's wrong with someone else advocating her murder?

I mean, look, I may as well admit right now to something that many might consider an obscene character flaw: I don't believe that all life is precious. Quite the opposite in fact -- there are just some people without whom the world would be an infinitely better place.

You can't tell me that Ann Coulter isn't one of them.

Now, don't get me wrong -- I'm not "taking out a hit" on Annie per se; I have nothing to offer financially or otherwise as payment for "assisting" her in shuffling off her immoral coil to go hang out with Jerry Falwell in oblivion.

I'm just saying that we'd all be better off without her -- and the simpler means of making her go away seems to elude the hell out of everyone.

So, kill her.

Put a bullet in the back of her head.

Run a ten inch blade into her throat and watch her bleed out on the floor.

Beat her to death with an aluminum baseball bat.

You know, whatever.

Or, someone could wise up and decide to simply stop paying attention to her, which I guarantee to Ann Coulter would be a fate far worse than death.

Whore, Whore, Whore... How Do You Like It? How Do You Like It?

The New York Post generally isn't good for much other than maybe providing an excellent makeshift mat on which to housebreak that new beagle.

Every once in awhile though, the editors over there at Murdoch's Machine have a moment of seriously inspired genius.

Chris Benoit vs. The Undertaker

Canadian pro wrestler Chris Benoit has been found dead inside his home in suburban Atlanta, along with his wife and son. Police are investigating the deaths as a possible double-murder suicide.

I guess Benoit has a pretty unbeatable new finishing move.

Not See Germany

Germany has barred the makers of a movie about a plot to kill Adolf Hitler from filming at German military sites because its star is Tom Cruise, who -- it may surprise you to learn -- is a Scientologist.

The German government doesn't recognize Scientology as an actual religion, saying that it merely masquerades as one to make money.

Cruise has been cast as Nazi Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg in "Valkyrie" -- and also serves as the movie's executive producer. Von Stauffenberg was the ringleader of an unsuccessful attempt to assassinate Hitler in July of 1944 with a bomb hidden in a briefcase.

Now really, what's funnier -- Berlin telling Tom Cruise that his "religion" is full of shit, or these words: "Tom Cruise IS Nazi Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg?"

Listening Post

Raw, emotional, and powerful as all hell.

TopLoader's Achilles Heel.

When Larry Met Paris

"If the word that most often precedes your title is 'disgraced' or 'indicted,' it's time for an audience with the King. Larry knows you are a decent person. He'll give you the chance to make up your side of the story. And it's easy to cry on the show because Larry smells like onions."

-- America (The Book), by Jon Stewart and the staff of The Daily Show

Score one for the overworked, underpaid and round-the-clock suicide-watched bookers for Larry King -- as for the rest of us, score zero.

America's erstwhile Most Trusted Name in News will now be the first stop on the Paris Hilton Redemption Tour. She'll be interviewed by pop culture's only certified centegenarian Larry King -- which, if you're keeping track, will make King the oldest man Paris has ever been within 50 feet of -- let alone willingly laid herself prostrate before.

For what it's worth, this interview has suddenly become must-see TV, if only for the slim chance that Larry will be unable to resist the siren's song of young, invigorating blood and will reveal his true self by ripping into the hapless Paris's throat with his fangs, before turning into a bat and flying away.

Broken News

According to TMZ.com, production sources inside NBC are confirming that the network's planned interview with Paris Hilton is off. It was TMZ that originally confirmed the New York Post report about NBC agreeing to pay Hilton a million dollars for a post-jail interview. Although TMZ is little more than a celebrity gossip website -- albeit one owned by Time Warner -- its founder and executive producer is Harvey Levin, a guy with whom I used to work very closely back in the mid 90s at KCBS in Los Angeles; for a time, in fact, I was his personal producer (If You Want Blood, You've Got It/11.16.06). Suffice to say, I trust him far more than NBC's PR department. I have no doubt that NBC had in fact secured the Hilton invterview, and then promptly and awkwardly backed out when it blew up in their faces.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled program, which for me is Mansquito on Sci-Fi.

Takes One to Interview One

Nelson Chaney: All I know, is that this violates every canon of respectable broadcasting.

Frank Hackett: We're not a respectable network. We're a whorehouse network and we have to take what we can get.

-- Network (1976)

Regular visitors to this site can probably assume by now that I don't hold NBC News in very high regard these days. Over the past few months, I've raged furiously against not one but two separate decisions by NBC that I wholeheartedly believe have brought the entire institution of network news to a shocking new low -- and this was an institution that was happily wallowing in the gutter to begin with.

As it turns out though, unforgivable managerial stupidity comes in groups of threes: apparently firing irrelevant dinosaur Don Imus over an imbecilic comment -- claiming that he didn't deserve a place on the air -- then turning around and giving the run of the network to a murderous son-of-a-bitch who killed 32 kids on a college campus was just the lead up to the network's true goal of digging up the corpse of Edward R. Murrow and pissing all over it.

Apparently, NBC News -- in the final violation of all that is holy in honest journalism -- has agreed to pay Paris Hilton a million dollars for an exclusive interview once she's released from jail.

As if a month behind bars is going to give this preening idiot a sudden IQ boost and a reason why we should listen to anything that comes out of her mouth (as opposed to the usual attenion paid by the media to anything that goes into her mouth).

That obviously isn't the point though.

NBC News, its ethically challenged president Steve Capus -- the man who put on his "serious face" and played moral Twister on live television in an effort to justify his actions regarding Imus and the V-Tech killer videotape -- and its CEO Jeff Zucker are already distancing themselves from the accusation that the venerable Peacock Network is, in fact, paying for its stories.

Unfortunately, given NBC's recent track record, I don't believe them for a second; I have no problem swallowing the idea of the network's once-hallowed news department opening its vast corporate coffers and -- surreptitiously or straightforwardly -- dropping a huge sum of cash into Paris's red, itchy lap.

Likely, as with Matt Lauer's recent interview with Princes William and Harry -- for which it paid 2.5 million dollars -- the network will simply disguise the compensation by filing it under a more legitimate column in its ledger, calling it a payment for pictures, videos, delousing etc. This kind of creative accounting is becoming more and more common as the battle for ratings reaches heretofore unknown levels of bloodlust. The rules that have governed network news for decades -- those intended to keep it from becoming a daily showcase for Mark McGrath's suggestively unbuttoned shiny shirts -- are being circumvented in favor of doing, literally, whatever it takes to get the big story.

In the case of Paris Hilton, this kind of thing is especially despicable because, quite frankly, it's Paris Hilton.

It's not as if we're talking about NBC was ponying up to get an exclusive with Hugo Chavez.

This is a woman who, up until now, has been persona non grata among respectable news organizations -- an unofficial and somewhat ominous Rubicon dividing those still in possession of a modicum of belief in the nobility of the Fouth Estate from a barren journalistic no-man's-land.

This is also a woman who 99% of the public would rather not hear about (or from) ever again, and at least 70% of the public wouldn't mind seeing accidentally gored to death by wild boars.

This is why it's entirely likely that whoever finally checks his or her dignity at the door, digs out that perfect, practiced tone that's equal parts concerned and mildly scolding and sits down for the promotional bonanza that is "Paris Hilton: The Interview" will find that in the end, no one really cares. NBC will have spent all that money and sacrificed what little was left of its ethics for absolutely nothing -- except possibly a heap of ridicule.

Back in the early 90s, several years before I eventually took a job at NBC, I was courted by one of the network's high-powered news executives. At the time, NBC News was the gold-standard; the network of Huntley/Brinkley, Chancellor and Brokaw; the news operation to which many others aspired. Years later, I would be proud to work there. This executive, a man who became my mentor of sorts, told me at the time that in me he saw a young Jeff Zucker.

I remember that, at the time at least, I considered it the highest possible compliment.

Listening Post

Happy Friday, it's the Strokes.

Juicebox.

Blow Back

Last month, I wrote a column focusing on a group of gun owners in Virginia who held a raucous gathering and gun giveaway as a way of thumbing its nose at gun control advocates, specifically New York City Mayor Mike Bloomberg (Automatics for the People/5.18.07). The Virginia Citzens Defense League believes that Bloomberg has infringed on its Second Amendment rights by filing a series of lawsuits against gun dealers in Virginia; these lawsuits have been based on information obtained by undercover private investigators from New York, all of whom Bloomberg authorized to conduct investigations far outside his own city. Bloomberg's rationale is that certain weapons dealers in Virginia are illegally selling guns which eventually end up being used in violent crimes in New York City; these undercover stings apparently prove as much.

On the night of May 17th, the VCDL invited its members to strap on their dual-sidearms -- which they proudly did -- and head on down to a tiny government building in Annandale, Virginia for the "Bloomberg Gun Giveaway." The group raffled off a Para-ordnance handgun and a "Varmint Stalker" rifle (and no, I'm not making that up) and showed off a cake adorned with an unflattering picture of Bloomberg. They laughed and whooped it up. They ridiculed their alleged oppressors. They had a hell of a time.

Meanwhile, outside, a small group gathered to quietly protest all this he-man gun lust; among them were the parents of some of the kids shot down in the Virginia Tech massacre -- which had occurred almost a month to the day previously.

Responding to the protest, Virginia Citizens Defense League President Philip Van Cleave took the road most traveled by gun advocates, saying that although he sympathized with the families of those lost, he firmly believed that more guns on campus would've prevented such a tragedy.

At the time, I said that to call the entire gruesome curiosity obscene would be an insult to obscenity. Also, in keeping with the mission statement printed in bold letters directly beneath the headline at the top of this page ("Making a Mockery of Mockery"), I took a few admittedly juvenile shots at the apparent preponderance of overweight rednecks in a group bearing such a muscular name -- my point being that these clowns didn't look like they could "defend" a Twinkie from themselves.

Well, as it turns out, Philip Van Cleave read what I wrote -- and decided to write me back:


Chez,

Your description of VCDL and its members bears no resemblance to the group. We have lots of professionals, police officers, firemen, attorneys, military, etc. We have members of all races, too. So assuming that we are racist or stupid is really your own prejudice against gun owners showing through. If you go to our web site (www.vcdl.org), you can see video of us in action. It clearly won't be what you expect to see.

Regards,

Philip Van Cleave


Short and sweet.

In fact, my immediate reaction upon reading it was to say, "That's all?"

The fact that Mr. Van Cleave chose to zero in on one offhand comment instead of confronting every other argument I made in that original column proves one of two things -- either I'm not making myself clear enough, or he doesn't have a leg to stand on. (There is a third possibility, which is that he's been forced to defend this ridiculous spectacle so many times over the past month that he's sick of bothering.)

As far as I can tell, I did make myself pretty damn clear:


"Anyone whose judgment is so lousy that he would throw a party and gleefully thumb his nose in the face of families recently devastated by gun violence can't be trusted with a deadly weapon. If the mere feelings of another human being are of no consequence to these dolts, I find it impossible to believe that the human life they have the potential to take will be of much more value.

These aren't gun enthusiasts -- these are gun worshippers. That's the problem, because as my father taught me so long ago -- there should be no such thing.

It's one thing to recognize a weapon as a necessity, a means to and end, even an instrument of sport -- of enjoyment; it's another thing entirely to believe it to be a large part of your identity -- your very manhood.

Anyone who thinks this way shouldn't be allowed to own a gun."


As for what gives me the credentials to make such an assertion, it goes back to the man mentioned in the above excerpt -- my father. I wrote at the time about his exploits as both a Navy SEAL commander and a cop -- and the man who taught me how to use and respect a weapon. If you'll pardon the pun, this shoots an awful lot of holes in Mr. Van Cleave's claim that I have a prejudice against gun owners. Far from it.

What I have a problem with is irresponsible gun owners -- and as far as I'm concerned, there's little that's more irresponsible than throwing a heavily armed frat-party. It shows zero respect for the awesome power you wield in exercising your Second Amendment rights -- and that makes you dangerous, and unfit to carry a gun. Period.

Still, in the interest of fairness, I took Mr. Van Cleave's advice and checked out the VCDL's website. I highly suggest taking a look for yourself; that's the only way to truly appreciate the surreal lunacy of it all.

The home page features an initial description of the group, touting in big, bold letters its belief that "the right to keep and bear arms is a fundamental human right." For those keeping track -- you're entitled to life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness and a crap-load of heavy weaponry (which, one imagines, would fall under the "pursuit of happiness" clause for most in the VCDL anyway).

As you further peruse the group's page, you find pictures of the massive success that was the Bloomberg Gun Giveaway Extravaganza, including a few photos of Philip Van Cleave himself (nice utility belt Batman).


Also included in the slideshow by the way is a picture of one of the protesters of this little gathering. Suffice to say, the staff of caption writers for the VCDL, although not quite as unnecessarily florid as myself and some others, are damn sure as caustic when it comes to ridiculing those they don't particularly like.

All of this is just the amuse bouche for the truly tasty treat to be found in the links section however.

A glance to the right side of the homepage reveals two links, one called "Gun Friendly Lawyers" -- because apparently you never know when you're going to need one of those -- and the second, and infinitely more humorous, called "Gun Owner Unfriendly."

Yes, it's an enemies list.

Click it, and a world of jaw-dropping insanity comes alive.

Among the businesses the VCDL -- a group which promotes the notion that every citizen should be allowed to carry a concealed weapon -- has pegged as "unfriendly" to those carrying guns:

Wachovia Bank.

First Union Bank.

BB&T Bank.

Jared Jewelry.

Outback Steakhouse.

King's Dominion Theme Park.

Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream Shops (damn hippies).

7-11 Stores.

Red Lobster.

They call these businesses and many others like them "Criminal Safe Zones."

I couldn't, in my wildest Edgar Allen Poe-like delerium, conceive of a group of people sitting around angrily pondering why a fucking bank doesn't want concealed weapons getting through its front doors.

Yet there it is -- the Virginia Citizens Defense League.

I'd like to thank Mr. Van Cleave for writing, and for allowing me to see that he, in fact, was correct: His group isn't what I expected -- it's a whole hell of a lot worse. It's a group that's not only too irresponsible to be allowed to carry weapons -- it's too goddamned stupid.

If You Build It, He Will Still Be an Unfunny Hack

Los Angeles, CA (AP) -- Wes Craven is suing his neighbor Pauly Shore, alleging that water from the comedian's home seeped down a slope and damaged the director's property. Craven claimed that a landslide occurred on his property in December after Shore upgraded his home with a pool, spa and landscaping, according to a lawsuit filed Wednesday in Los Angeles Superior Court.

In other news, Pauly Shore has money to not only live above Wes Craven, but to upgrade his home with a pool, spa and landscaping.

Listening Post

Part protest song, part history lesson, part math quiz, part Rushmore homage -- all brilliance.

The Decemberists' 16 Military Wives.

Sick, Sick, Sick

Sorry gang.

Looks like I'll need one more day before publishing anything even moderately worthwhile.

Talk amongst yourselves.

Blazing Battles

The latest offensive which the U.S. military hopes will rout the Iraqi insurgency just north of Baghdad has been dubbed "Operation Arrowhead Ripper."

Ya know kids, somewhere there's an American Indian gay porn star who now has to find a new stage name.

O Sam J. Jones, Where Art Thou?

I'm exhausted and heavily medicated today -- more fallout from last year's brain surgery -- so the column I had planned to write will have to wait until tomorrow.

Instead, I give you six minutes and forty-seven seconds of relentless, almost zen-like insanity.

Just sit back and let it wash over you like a warm bath of crazy.

We Have Met the Enemy, and He Is Everyone Besides Us

I don't envy Lou Dobbs.

I honestly can't imagine what it's like knowing that you and you alone are privy to the threat posed by a secret and nefarious cabal -- one which even at this moment is shredding the very fabric of the country you hold so dear.

The restless nights. The pacing back and forth. The constant paranoia. All that righteous indignation. I'm sure it's something that a couple of Tums don't even come close to putting a dent in.

Like some journalistic equivalent of Rowdy Roddy Piper, every weeknight at 6pm on CNN, Lou puts on his special sunglasses, takes his place behind the bully pulpit, and belts out in a boisterous baritone his warning to a sleeping America that they are among us.

Mexicans.

It's Vaudeville disguised as news, and it's the funniest thing on television.

Thankfully, an old friend -- Gene Weingarten, former editor of the Miami Herald's Tropic magazine and current writer for the Washington Post -- is a fan of the Lou Dobbs Angry White Guy Tin Foil Hat Hour as well.

He managed to capture the entire "essence de Lou" in his column yesterday. Do yourself a favor and take a look.

Below the Beltway, by Gene Weingarten -- 6.17.07

Question of the Day

Does anyone suck worse than Robin Thicke?

No, really.

Can't we just skip the part where he has one or two hits and let him go right to playing state fairs?

Girls, Girls, Girls

(Part 1: Heaven's Cates/5.4.07)
(Part 2: Screen Savors/5.9.07)



Part 3: Rock & Roll Queens

It should be obvious by now that I never outgrew my adolescent passion for music; quite the opposite, the importance of having that perfect soundtrack to everyday existence has increased exponentially with age. It goes without saying then that I've always had a weakness for female musicians. There's nothing hotter, cooler or sexier than a woman behind a mic, a guitar, a piano etc. (For the record, my wife sings -- and sings very well -- which melts me every time.)

The thoroughly self-indulgent list of the women I love continues with the ones who literally rock my world.



Shirley Manson

She gorgeous, she's an exhibitionist, she's Scottish, she fronts Garbage -- a band that still stands as one of my favorites, and she's just raw sex. Did I mention that she's also an exhibitionist?


Garbage -- Why Do You Love Me?


Alicia Keyes

My God does this woman have soul. If her monumental talent doesn't sway you, check out how stunning she looks in Smokin' Aces.


Alicia Keyes -- If I Ain't Got You


Alison Goldfrapp

The hypnotic thumping heartbeat of her music is the sound of seduction. If you can't get laid to a Goldfrapp song, give it up.


Goldfrapp -- Twist


Poe

The thinking man's musical goddess, she took a lifetime of pain and trauma and turned it into one of the most underrated albums of the last decade -- Haunted. Strength, vulnerability and a little insanity all wrapped up in one mesmerizing package.


Poe -- Amazed (still-frame)


Sheryl Crow

Yup, got a serious thing for her. She's just damn hot.


Sheryl Crow -- If It Makes You Happy


Zia McCabe

I've had a crush on the keyboard player for the Dandy Warhols for as long as I can remember. Anyone who usually plays topless earns an immediate place in my heart.


The Dandy Warhols -- Not if You Were the Last Junkie on Earth


Neko Case

Sometimes it's all about that indescribable feeling you get when a woman plays a song that you know came right from her heart -- and sings it in a way that makes you believe it's coming from somewhere slightly south of that.


Neko Case -- Maybe Sparrow


Kelly Clarkson

Yes, I like Kelly Clarkson. Go fuck yourself.





Brandi Carlile

I don't care how hard VH1 promotes it or how many idiots first heard it on Grey's Anatomy, her current hit The Story could very well be the best single of the past five years -- by anyone, in any genre. When her voice cracks during the final chorus -- sounding every bit as if it's going to give out completely -- you feel every heartbreak she's ever had, every mistake she's ever made, the weight of a lifetime of tragedy and the power of her desperate cry for help. She's pure and simple passion, and I stand in awe of her.


Brandi Carlile -- The Story


Siouxsie Sioux

No one who grew up in the 80s and had semi-decent taste in music wasn't in love with Siouxsie. My undying devotion was cemented the night she wrapped a feather boa around my neck, pulled my face to within inches of hers and sang Slowdive -- a song about giving head -- to me at a concert in Miami. It took two weeks to get rid of my erection.


Siouxsie and the Banshees -- Christine


Liz Phair

There aren't words to describe how much I love this woman. Liz, if you ever read this -- please for God's sake have sex with me. My wife says it's okay. I swear, if I ever get leukemia or something, that's gonna be my request to the Make-a-Wish foundation.


Liz Phair -- Extraordinary


P!nk

The real fucking deal. More punk than most punks. I want her to fuck me, then kill me and drink my blood.


P!nk -- U + Ur Hand

Next: The Funny Girls

Listening Post

It's not often you find a track that has it all.

In this case that means a Beatles song, covered by Fiona Apple, recorded for the Pleasantville soundtrack, with a video directed by Paul Thomas Anderson, the man behind Boogie Nights and Magnolia.

Here's Across the Universe.

"Lemme Tell Ya 'Bout Iranian Chicks" (or "New Wave Hookahs")

So, yesterday the parliament of Iran -- the country where "Deep Throat" refers to the best place to stick a machete -- voted in favor of a bill that could lead to the death penalty for anyone convicted of working in the production of pornographic movies.

With a 148-5 vote in favor, Iranian lawmakers approved that "producers of pornographic works and main elements in their production are considered corrupters of the world and could be sentenced to punishment as corrupters of the world."

The term, "corrupters of the world" by the way, is lifted directly from the Koran (of course).

The bill covers all electronic visual material, such as videos, DVDs and CDs. Other materials, such as porn magazines and books, are already banned under Iranian law.

You know something, let the naysayers claim that this is more proof that Iran is basically run by a bunch of batshit, primitive thugs; I'm more of a glass-half-full kind of guy.

This is actually a bold step forward for Iran.

It's finally willing to acknowledge that videos, DVDs and CDs -- all technology created post-third century -- do, in fact, exist.

In other news, Iran has a porn industry.

And Now, Once Again, A Message from Chez's Evil Twin Garth

So, I had German food last night.

Yeah -- little place over on 2nd called Heidelberg or Hindenberg or Hindenbrau or Unibrau or some shit like that. Needless to say, it's still sitting at the bottom of my stomach like a Volkswagen-sized tumor.

Seriously, Germany, what the fuck is up with you people?

Last week I was reading an article in Time magazine that profiled what families in different countries spend on food in a week. Needless to say, the Germans spent the most: an average of about 500 bucks. The magazine showed a picture of one German family standing proudly -- or is it angrily; who the hell can ever tell? -- behind a table that looked like it was about to collapse under the weight of all the shit these four people eat in one seven-day period.

This was a family that obviously learned nothing from the sacrifice of its legendary porcine countryman Augustus Gloop.

(Just to add a nice little ironic exclamation point by the way -- the very next page of the Time article featured a picture of a family from Chad that spends $1.23 a week on Red Cross grain.)

But it's not so much the amount of food these fuckers eat as it is the kind of food.

Look, I like hot dogs and beer as much as the next guy who has no problem with the idea of dying of a heart-attack at sixteen, but I'm not kidding -- everything on the menu at this place last night was some slight variation on the same three or four artery-clogging ingredients. It was like eating at Taco Bell -- only the guys serving you were wearing Leiderhosen and an apoplectic Lou Dobbs wasn't standing right outside muttering something about "infestation."

There was bratwurst and knockwurst and liverwurst -- a good rule of thumb by the way: never eat anything that actually has the word "worst" in the fucking name; there was schnitzel of every shape and size; there was beer being sold in giant glass boots; there were huge people wolfing down appetizers of cheese-coated cheese in zesty cheese sauce; there was an aggregate cholesterol number larger than the GNP of Germany itself.

And although it's certainly the kind of experience that can be tolerated in small doses, something dawned on me while I was sitting there in that restaurant, trying to inconspicuously scan the walls for the portable defibrilator: there's no such fucking thing as "gourmet" German food. Germans don't have "cuisine" -- they just fucking eat. No sublety to be found here folks.

You're never gonna see an Iron Chef Germany. ("Yess, und diis I made mit de zaurkraut unt de wurst to breeng out de flavor off de zeecret ingreedient -- sea urchin. FUCK YOU BOBBY FLAY!! SCHVEIN UNT DIE SCHLAUS LIEBRING VEISEL!!!! ZEEG HEIL!!! ZEEG HEIL!!!")

Like some bizarre Nazi genetic experiment fusing Julia Child and Dr. Strangelove.

Which reminds me: how the hell did Hitler eat this crap every night and keep a straight face when he claimed that Germans were the master race?

Maybe that's why he invaded France -- to get better food.

Course that still doesn't explain Poland.

(As always, the views and opinions of Garth do not necessarily reflect those of Chez, who has no beef with the German people and who, during his lifetime, has owned both a BMW and an Audi and can say without fear of contradiction that not only do Germans know how to forcibly annex other countries -- they build damn good cars.)

Missing Inaction

Search crews have found the body of a soldier who disappeared four days ago during a training exercise at Ft. Hood, Texas.

The aim of the exercise was to test basic map-reading and navigation skills.

Sometimes this stuff just writes itself.

Soda Cracker

You hear the story of a kid in a wheelchair who got stuck while trying to cross in front of a truck at a stop light, and wound up being pushed several miles down a busy street -- and you laugh.

You think to yourself, "Damn, that just couldn't get any funnier."

And then you look at that kid's t-shirt.

The Cynicist Manifesto: Addendum

Busted Moves

Can Hollywood please declare a moratorium on dance movies?

Between Dirty Dancing and the Forbidden Dance and Saving the Last Dance and Stomping the Goddamned Yard and Breakin' and Taking the Lead and being on Center Stage and Your Getting Served -- there's nothing more ridiculous than an entire movie focusing on bunch of dreamers who adhere to the moronic assumption that music is only worthwhile if you can shake your ass to it.

Seriously -- go listen to Black Flag and set something on fire, okay?

God of Whore

In a collect call placed from the L.A. County lockup, America's Sweetheart, Paris Hilton, apparently told Barbara Walters that being incarcerated has changed her in all the predictably clichéd ways.

"I've become much more spiritual. God has given me this new chance," she said.

That's it.

No punchline.

No further comedic improvement necessary.

Except to say that it really shouldn't surprise anyone that she's taken Jesus inside her; it's pretty much force-of-habit by this point. I hope for his sake that he at least had the good sense to wear a condom.

Listening Post

Available today: Era Vulgaris, the new album from one of the coolest bands on the planet, Queens of the Stone Age.

Here's the first single -- Sick, Sick, Sick.

Harry Potter and the Forcible Entry

J.K. Rowling Hints At Harry Potter Date Rape