By Charles Lam
By R. Scott Moxley
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By HG Reza
TUESDAY, June 24 What's this? The San Francisco Chroniclereports that your next governor, Rep. Darrell "Gone in 60 Seconds" Issa (R-Indicted-Not-Convicted), was arrested for stealing a car. Oh, everybody knows that. What? This is a different arrest? Oh, and he was accused by a fellow soldier of stealing his car in 1971. With this news, Issa moves into second place on the prestigious "Politicians Most Often Charged With Theft" list, though he still trails list leader George W. Bush by a considerable margin. Of course, Bush also trails Al Gore by one.
WEDNESDAY, June 25 The Dick Nichols saga continues with fellow council members calling for Nichols to resign from the Newport Beach City Council in light of his comments about Mexicans invading his city's pristine beaches. The outcry is so great the Daily Pilot, today, offers readers a chance to sound off, and boy do they. Sue Costanzo is damn angry–outraged!–when she declares, "I have nothing against Mexicans, I think they are wonderful people." You go, Sue sister! "But they do stake out this grassy area and some of the sand area and they give you very bad looks." Uh, um, Sue? "They should stay to the grassy area that they are now, so others can walk by and feel at peace." Oooookay. You know what? Maybe we should ask longtime resident David McLean for a little perspective. "It is kind of sad," he says. Yes, it is, David. But if we can all pull together in a spirit of brotherhood and . . . "when a white man sticks up for himself and he gets called a racist." Uh, David? "For a Mexican to badmouth a white man, they just say he is proud to be a Mexican." Dave? "They should be grateful they are in this country …" DAVID!!! … You know, actually, there were numerous letters calling for Nichols to resign–but where's the laughs in that? Plus, c'mon, are we really so shocked that this attitude toward outsiders exists in, if not pervades, Newport Beach? People, it's Newport Beach. It's the richest, least diverse town around. But let's be clear: people don't move to Newport Beach so they don't have to be around Mexicans. They move to Newport Beach so they won't have to be around poor Mexicans–not to mention poor blacks, poor whites, poor Asians and poor miscellaneous. And by "poor" I mean anyone who is not rich. And it's not just rich whites who do this; rich Mexicans, rich blacks, rich Asians and rich miscellaneous do this (your miscellaneous also run the world's banks). Why? Because they're rich. When you get stared down or ignored in Corona del Mar, it's not because of the color of your skin but the color of your Dodge Neon. They don't hate you, they hate you in that Big DogT-shirt. See, we are all Mexicans to them with our tender feet, Targettrunks, bath towels and sack lunches. La Raza so totally!
THURSDAY, June 26 The Supreme Courtdecides it's okay for people to have sex in their homes, which is nice. Ostensibly, the court strikes down a Texas sodomy law that prohibited gay sex. The vote is 6-3, the three dissenters being Whig Party Recording Secretary William Rehnquistand longtime companions Tony Scalia and Clarence Thomas. The ruling is a crowning achievement for gay icon Strom Thurmond–Lord Autumnbottom to friends. Upon hearing the high court's decision, Thurmond, who liked to call himself "the gayest man in Washington since Chester A. Arthur," declares it the happiest day of his life and says he can now die in peace, which he does hours later. Eternal rest, gay soldier. Whenever people say the name Strom Thurmond they'll think of two men having sex. That and segregation … The folks calling into Hugh Hewitt's Orange County radio studio don't share Thurmond's joy. They say the Supreme Court decision is the first shot–a sort of swishy Fort Sumter–in the coming civil war. This is the same bunch that would scream government conspiracy if the ATF so much as published a pamphlet suggesting people put the safety on their AK-47 when children handle the weapon at parties. That would be invasion of privacy. But telling us who to diddle? That's cool. This bunch subscribes to Thomas' dissenting opinion that gay sex is not protected by the Constitution. Really? Then what the hell does the Fourth Amendment mean if not the right to move into a nice house and get you some fine man-tang? That's my America!
FRIDAY, June 27 I was kidding about Strom Thurmond being gay. Thurmond, who did die yesterday, wasn't gay, just a hateful husk of a human being. Segregationist? Sure. Come to think of it, he's the second segregationist to die this week, since Lester Maddox kicked the Whites Only bucket a few days before. Hmmm, you don't think there's anything to that old saying about segregationist dying in threes? Have you eaten your bran today, Dick Nichols? … Well, that was fun, but really, I can't write about anything else today because I'm going to meet Pamela Anderson at a private airport. So if you're thinking, "What kind of hijinks will he be chronicling today?" just stop it, because I'll be with Pamela Anderson, working on a story that involves Pamela Anderson who I am meeting today, which is to say Pamela Andersonand I will be together. I can't say what the story is that I'm working on with Pamela Anderson, though, suffice to say, it's hot and involves animals. Look, I wish you'd stop obsessing about this me being with Pamela Anderson thing. I mean, so what? I'll be with Pamela Anderson, talking to Pamela Anderson, perhaps playfully swatting at Pamela Anderson, saying, "Stop it, Pamela Anderson, you're making me blush! What's that, Pamela Anderson? Why yes, I do work out, how nice of you to notice, Pamela Anderson." While you, you'll be doing something decidedly non-Pamela Anderson-related like installing a car stereo or "getting a good price" on car insurance. Whatever. Look, I'm with Pamela Anderson, talking to Pamela Anderson, seeing Pamela Anderson, having Pamela Anderson see me, enjoying the company of Pamela Anderson, Pamela Anderson, Pamela Anderson, Pamela Anderson, Pamela Anderson. You? Not so much. (Pamela Anderson.)