By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
The media, as I have read up to nine times in the past four days, smells bloodinthewater!and is circling. Like sharks! Which leads me to the observation that people have really got to come up with some fresher clichťs.
But on whom will the snub noses of our brethren and sistren hammer, their awkwardly placed but numerous teeth trying to rip a goodly flesh-chunk? Take your pick: we've got Schwarzy, John Bolton, and our own dear Sheriff Yum.
I like a good donnybrook as much as the next girl—more, if my tingly reaction to the man at the CanyonFriday night is any indication: a man who with unexpected laser-like death beams from his eyes told a clumsy giant of six-foot-seven who outweighed him by 50 pounds to take his gold chain and his Rogaineand leave my bosom pal LongTallGinaalone.
I am impressed, sir, with your unexpected aggression in defense of a maiden who, it really must be admitted, started the whole thing. She always does, you know, since Gina can be trying.Indeed, you should have seen her in action on Saturday, when she was a bitch on freaking wheels.
But the donnybrooks! And the fiascoes! And the hullabaloos! Aside from my yelling at the stewardess Friday, "Do you know what 'personable' means? I said you were 'personable'! Shut up! You fucking idiot!" And her snarling, "You better write something fucking good about me this time!" And my screaming, "You were a bad waitress! It's not my fault you were hung-over!" preceding my own hangover by a slim five hours.
It was a full moon. What can I say? I think we'll be great friends.
* * *
But let's move on to more important things: like the sheriff's burgeoning escandalo de sex!
I love the sheriff: you know I do. And there's nothing I like better than to see someone I love embroiled in a nasty sex-beef. And that's what we got this past week when someone who forcefully claims not to have been DeputyDASusanSchroeder(my favorite snugglebunny) handed a brown envelope to a Registerreporter.
In that brown envelope? Oh, honey, I thought you'd never ask.
It was a transcript regarding the long-rumored but little-seen sexy pics taken by the disgraced former Assistant Sheriff George Jaramillo . . . of his own sister-in-law.Ew! Ew! Ew! And then our sheriff seems to have told a DA he'd seen them engaged in sexual activity! Which is all that really matters. The influence peddling? The laundered campaign contributions? The convicted felons (for murder and shit!) who like to come by the office to hang out and shoot the breeze? That stuff's for wonks and gadflies and wonky gadflies. Like Shirley Grindle! And me!
But naked pics taken by one of the earth's greasier humans, ofhisownsister-in-law?Which apparently he liked to keep in a file folder and show folks?
We are all ears. And legs and lips and bosoms, of course, but that's just us. But here's a question: Why would Not-Susan smear Jaramillo and his sister-in-law with the juicy nastiness, when that just makes the sheriff—for whom Susan Schroeder's husband Mikeis The Cleaner—look like he's running a bawdyhouse? Susan has rarely struck me as retarded, but I guess if we're talking about Not-Susan, wait. Hmmm. Maybe it really wasn'tSusan. Strengthening my Spidey-sense that it actually wasn't Susan is the fact that Jaramillo's lawyer, and one of OC's Sexiest People(from his heyday defending the Haidl Gang-Rape Three) Joe Cavallo, says it was.
Unusually for Cavallo, he called no one a "slut."
The Times' Dana Parsons,the Reg's Slappy Mickadeit, even the Registereds, who fawn over Sheriff Carona as much as I do (but have the added bad taste to fawn over DA TonyRackauckasas well), are getting stern with Carona. They say his career's over. Forget lieutenant governor, they opine; one wag commenting on OCBlogsaid Carona wouldn't get elected to the board of his homeowners association. Nicely put, that.
They, it seems, are disappointed in America's Sheriff. Especially the ones who didn't get to see the snaps. All I want to know is: Was there beav?
I instant messaged my buddy Jon Fleischman, the sheriff's guy, for comment. "Hey sweetie!" I wrote. "How's tricks?"
Flash didn't fall for it, pretending not to be near his computer. He'll go places, he will. Like perhaps out for a nice lunch nosh with me! You bring the gossip, baby, I'll even pay the tab.
* * *
Really, you should have seen Gina in action at the Continentalthis weekend, and I was no slouch myself. It's like a great shark bitch feeding: the whole is greater than its bitterest parts.
Late-breaking update! Here's my good friend Jon on his computer machine:
CommieGirl: Oh, you just made it. I was claiming you were pretending not to be near your computer so as not to comment.
Flash: comment on what?
CommieGirl: Uh huh.
Flash: Happy Passover
CommieGirl: And to you!
Flash: Wassup, Becca?
CommieGirl: Darling, on what do you suppose i might like comment?
Flash: I don't know. There's too much going on these days.
CommieGirl: Hmmm. Mmmhmm?
Flash: OK. Sheriff Carona feels that just like they used tax laws to go after gangsters, we should use immigration laws to go after murderers, rapists and robbers.
Do you see my friend Jon's mad spin skillz, playing it so if I'm not focused on this week's actual policyquestion of whether the sheriff should be arresting illegal immigrants, I'm a prurient asshole? Luckily for you, I don't so much mind.