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
Photo by Tenaya HillsWednesday, Aug. 24
Christian strongman Pat Robertson apologizes for calling for the assassination of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez; something he at first denied saying, then said was misinterpreted, claiming his call for the CIA to "take [Chavez] out" was simply a request for the agency to accompany Chavez to an affordably priced restaurant, perhaps Red Lobster, which does little to quell the controversy, since Red Lobster's kitchen crew was recently added to a list of human-rights violators along with prison guards at Abu Ghraib and the entire staff of Home Depot. Robertson's flailing about proves that he is not only a ghoul, a hypocrite and a liar, but that he also has no balls. No, really. His crotch is a sphere-free zone; nothing swinging under his John Thomas except an empty purse. Windsock City. You see, when insane Islamic clerics call for a fatwa, they stand by their fatwa. But they have testicles. Robertson, as we mentioned, does not have testicles, a fact we really should have figured out, given all the clues: the incessant, inappropriate grinning; his obsession with billowy pant pleats; the fact that his name is "Pat" and that his high school nickname was "Robertson, the ball-less prick." Exactly when his testicles were removed or if he was born without them or if they withered from non-use or if they died of overuse or if they died of embarrassment or if he once crossed Marcellus Wallace. . . the point is the man has no balls. One can only imagine what it has been like for Robertson, his scrotum withered like a dried, seedless apricot husk; how embarrassing it must have been for him as a lad getting the high school physical required to go out for the drill team (no balls), the physician telling young Pat to turn his head and cough, his hands searching, searching, grasping at . . . nothing . . . now looking up at the sweating, panicked boy, still grinning, their eyes meeting in a moment of melancholy, the physician telling Pat it was all right, he could pull up his culottes and leave.
Thursday, Aug. 25
Just-released poll numbers show that Californians really don't like Arnold Schwarzenegger. His numbers are so low he's polling less than George W. Bush, and that dude won't come to the state without armed guards. On the same day Arnold's numbers come out, many Californians receive sample ballots, mailed out at taxpayers' expense, for a special election nobody wants that Schwarzenegger says is to restore responsibility to government; one of those responsibilities being to take care of the business of the people so the people can devote their time to getting laid. Schwarzenegger, you may remember, replaced Gray Davis because Davis had become unpopular for incessantly raising money from special interests and mismanaging California's electrical grid. Schwarzenegger was unavailable for comment as he was busy raising money from special interests for his upcoming, unpopular election. It's a shame; it would have been nice to find out what he thought of today's rolling blackouts.
Friday, Aug. 26
Turns out "special election" is just another way of saying goodbye. Orange County registrar of voters Steve Rodermund is placed on administrative leave for reasons that are not made clear, though it's pretty clear Rodermund's gig was probably cut short because he scheduled the special primary election to replace Christopher Cox in the 48th Congressional District on Tuesday, Oct. 4, which happens to be Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year. Jews across the state were outraged. State Assemblyman Keith Richman (R-Northridge) asked, "If Christmas came on a Tuesday, would you schedule a special election that day?" Richman's anger is understandable, but his comparison hardly seems fair, given that Christmas is the commemoration of the birth of Jesus, the Lord, the Son of God that even Jews recognize in their celebration of Hanukkah. Rosh Hashana wasn't the first problem for Rodermund. In March of 2004, Orange County election workers gave thousands of voters incorrect access codes for new voting machines, which caused the wrong ballots to appear, which led to Million Dollar Baby temporarily being elected mayor of Laguna Hills. Rodermund promised the problems would be remedied, but in November of the same year, official results for numerous OC elections were delayed more than a week because election workers counted absentee ballots so slowly. Rodermund wouldn't comment on his leave but was reported to say that his time as registrar, which started in 2003, was the "happiest six years of my life."
Saturday, Aug. 27
I am writing this at, let's see, it's 10:37 p.m., and I am holed up in the back of my house because my wife and daughter insist on watching Beaches while they flip through Vogue and People magazine—I swear this is really happening right now—and when I made a little joke about how ridiculous the whole scene is, they turned on me like feral dogs. Oh, God, Bette Midler caterwauling "Wind Beneath My Wings." Young men, this really happens.
Sunday, Aug. 28
And Ellen Griley swears this really happened tonight. That as she's enjoying an evening at Coyote Grill in Laguna Beach, she actually hears this between two men: "Bro, bro, seriously. Bro, bro, you're my bro, you know?" Is it just me, or does this sound like Dr. Seuss at a kegger?
Monday, Aug. 29
The wind blows cold, children cry and puppies take the pipe as U.S. Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia comes to Orange County, flanked by his usual entourage of yakuza soldiers and flying monkeys. Scalia has come to Chapman University to take part in a mock trial—you know, like Robert Blake's—along with California Attorney General Bill Lockyer and other people who couldn't find a date, to retry the landmark Lochner vs. New YorkSupreme Court case of 1905—yeah, I have no idea either. I'm looking at the LA Times story of the event, and it says the case had something to do with bakery workers and a bakery owner who wanted the freedom to set his own hours. The mock judges—you know, like Clarence Thomas—decided that states could restrict working hours. After announcing the decision, Scalia joked, "This will be one of those unpublished decisions that will not be citable before the Supreme Court," which apparently passes for a joke around the Supreme Court, though it's not nearly as funny as Ruth Bader Ginsburg's hilarious "incontinent vicar" send-up. While at Chapman, Scalia also gave a lecture and ate the heart of a crippled orphan.
Tuesday, Aug. 30
Will someone please do something about the 22 freeway, please? Thank you.