Excerpts: Part 2

June 11, 1999 Speaking of the Register, the paper quoted the Reverend Lou Sheldon crowing, "When you look at the enormous pressure brought by the liberal Democratic leadership, this is a major defeat." The left Reverend Lou knows of enormous pressure; his Traditional Values Coalition staged demonstrations outside Assemblyman Lou Correa's office and lobbied Catholic churches within the legislator's heavily Hispanic district days before the vote. There was also that full-page, homophobic advertisement the Regeroo ran calling Correa out on the vote. Sheldon was also quoted as saying the legislation "created a division between moderate Latino Democrats and the homosexual agenda." Actually, it is Sheldon who has successfully created a division between one Latino Democrat and the rest of his party.

Clockwork can only come to one conclusion: LOU CORREA IS LOU SHELDON'S BITCH!

Matt Coker, A Clockwork Orange

July 23, 1999 By now, motel-room trashing was already a well-worn rock-star clichť, so the band devised a more insidious way to make our statement: clams.

Clams hidden in every unlikely nook and cranny of the room, left to rot and reek like Chris Farley's browneye and drive foul-tempered maids to fits of pique. Clams left in heater vents and in lamp glasses, deposited behind cheap-framed lithos and in the backs of dresser drawers. Clams inserted beneath carpeting, behind light switches, even into the mouthpieces of telephones. It could take months before every decomposing nugget of putrid mollusk meat was discovered—a fine payback for fucking with the Farmers.

Buddy Seigal, "Clams: And other realities of life on the road"

July 30, 1999 True story: Clockwork ventured into the ocean off PCH and Brookhurst a couple of weekends ago, which was surprising considering Billy Carter was First Brother the last time we'd boogie-boarded. After 40 minutes of inching closer and closer to the breaks to get used to the water temp, we and our erect nipples finally dove in, paddled out and rode a wave in all the way to some lady's towel. Feeling cockier than a high school quarterback at a triple-kegger victory party, we stood up, pulled half of our trunks out of our butt crack, and slithered back into the surf. As we neared the liquid launching pad for an encore, something gently smooched our left hand. We immediately went stiff and closed our eyes, thinking it was perhaps one of those pesky jellyfish we'd been hearing so much about (from every friggin' kindergartener who kept us company those 40 minutes at the shin-deep level. The big babies). We don't know exactly why we thought going stiff and shutting our eyes would repel a jellyfish sting, but we do know that after a few seconds, there was no pain coursing through our body. So we opened our left eye to see what had kissed us, and there it was, bobbing in the water like a big, brown, human-poop log:


We don't know if the shitsickle came from one of those kids, a refrigerator repairman in Rialto or John-John. It certainly appeared well-traveled (we know of these things; don't ask).

Matt Coker, A Clockwork Orange

Aug. 13, 1999 Former Orange County Democratic Party chief Jim Toledano casually reached into his back pocket, took out a sheet of paper, unfolded it, and smiled. It was a clipping of an October 1998 piece by OC Weekly's Commie Girl, Rebecca Schoenkopf. The story's headline: "The Straight Guy at the Gay Pool Party." The party was a fund-raiser for the Eleanor Roosevelt Gay & Lesbian Democratic Club. According to Schoenkopf, a gay friend at the party told her that the 55-year-old Toledano "is just about the sexiest older man I've ever seen. . . . Who is he?" Schoenkopf observed, "Leave it to my friend to lust after the straight guy at a big gay party."

The column startled Toledano—but not for reasons you might expect. "I showed it to my wife, and we had a good laugh. I showed my son, Michael, and he laughed, too. But I really felt terrible about it. I didn't know what to do. It was a lie. There I was with this lie that you guys have published, and what in the hell am I going to do? I wanted to tell Rebecca that I thought her friend was cute, too," says Toledano. "It bothered me. . . . Most people are outed, but I had been inned."

R. Scott Moxley, "Coming Out! Jim Toledano is a married father of two. Now the Democratic leader is ready for a new role: Gay activist"

Aug. 27, 1999 Tom Jones is so macho that when he walks, his testicles sound like a pair of bowling balls knocking together. And what of the acrid sweat beading up on those testicles? What profane secrets are hidden underneath the Jones scrode? What sort of pungent broth of chlorine and mushrooms distills in that dank cavern of chicken-skinned flesh that has made your mommy throw Jones her underwear and hotel-room keys when he's onstage for the past three and a half decades?

This Welsh amalgam of pheromones, testosterone, chest fur, gold chains, pinkie rings, cologne, ocean breeze-scented hair spray and silk bikini briefs is an old man now, but he can still beat your ass. Tom Jones has always been able to beat your ass, and he always will be able to beat your ass. He's Tom Jones. You're you. You suck.

Buddy Seigal, "Tom Jones rules. Bowling Balls Knocking Together? Or is Tom Jones back in town?"
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