By Gustavo Arellano
By Aimee Murillo
By Matt Coker
By Vickie Chang
By Matt Coker
By LP Hastings
By Michael Goldstein
By R. Scott Moxley
Wednesday, Aug. 2
I wasn't intending to talk about this whole sorry Mel Gibson affair, since I figured the wall-to-wall coverage offered by E!, MSNBC, CNN, Frontline, Dissent and Cat Fancy magazine would suffice. But I simply cannot ignore the maker of The Passion of the Christ's comment that "Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world." It was a stupid, irresponsible thing to say. Modern scholarship has proved that the party responsible for all the wars in the world is Russell Boxrud of 23902 Ave. de Sol, Aliso Viejo. Contacted by the Weekly, Mr. Boxrud says he considered challenging the experts until he was shown historical documents, phone records and several pictures of him hacking at people. Boxrud says he didn't set out to be responsible for all the wars; it "just kinda happened, you know, like meeting a special lady. Who can plan these things?" Boxrud says he comes from a normal family and what he considers a normal home. "Sure," he says, "there was a lot of bloodlust in the house. But no more bloodlust than the amount of bloodlust I'd notice when I was over at my friends' houses." Asked if his Judaism was the basis for his responsibility for all the wars, Boxrud says he isn't Jewish. He's either Presbyterian or Methodist, but can't remember which.
Thursday, Aug. 3
The Orange County Board of Supervisors—"Skip" to their friends, "Woodstock" to their women—vote to place on the November ballot a measure rolling back term limits just a bit. The measure would allow supes to keep their jobs for a possible three terms instead of the present two. They're doing the right thing because term limits don't work. Not only are they the stupidest political idea since Texas statehood, but they actually produce the exact opposite of their intended effect as well. You may remember that everyone really got term-limit crazy in the early '90s, especially when Republican congressional candidates made term limits one of their action points in their Contract With America. Term limits were supposed to make it easier for everyday citizens—citizens like Russell Boxrud—to make it in politics, thereby limiting the influence of lobbyists and special interests. Instead, inexperienced legislators have found themselves at the mercy of battle-worn lobbyists and special interests; new studies have found that legislative staffers, concerned about job stability, have left their government jobs for jobs with—you guessed it—lobbyists and special interests. Now governments are trying to clean up the mess made by the '94 Republicans, who, as individuals, were about the only politicians not to agree to term limits. The Citizen Legislature Act never got out of the House.
Friday, Aug. 4
Esther L. Snyder, or as she is known in my house, the Greatest Woman Who Ever Lived, dies today at the age of 86. Snyder was co-founder, along with husband Harry, of In-N-Out Burger, the only thing California will be remembered for after God wreaks his terrible vengeance upon us next Tuesday. It seems only fitting that I have my first colonoscopy today because medical experts tell us a happy life starts with good butt care. I think Jonas Salk said that. Maybe Jenna Jameson. Anyway, I go in for my rectal recon this morning and, wouldn't you know it, just before I am about to be medically violated, my doctor starts talking about Mel Gibson. There we are—he's talking about the dangers of religious extremism, I'm agreeing with everything he says as I present my haunch and dutifully work at the salt lick. I am about to nod off into a Demerol-induced sleep when, as he is about to enter me, I hear the doctor say, "There is no God," which I find disturbing. Then again, in my state, I may have misunderstood and he may have said, "Smells like cod," which I find embarrassing. Anyway, everything goes fine with my pooper and by the afternoon I am accompanying my son to see Bad Religion at the X-Games because there is nothing more EXTREME than being anally probed before a punk show, unless it's being anally probed during a punk concert, but that was a long time ago, a time, thankfully, before camera phones. Anyway, there are only about 100 people as Bad Religion takes the stage and we are no more than a few feet from them when, upon the traditional Striking of the First Power Chord, I see this blockhead to my right start to march around skinhead-like and I grab my kid and just start running. Sure enough, about a dozen guys are soon moving in an expanding circle, blasting away at one another. My son and I watch it like the museum piece it is. In fact, many of the people moshing are museum pieces themselves—most notably the dumpy, mustachioed fiftysomething who keeps moshing against the grain. The age of the moshers being what it is, these guys are unable to mosh through an entire song, stopping midway to catch their breath until the next number. It would be funny if it weren't so sad.
Saturday, Aug. 5
This column has a limited amount of space so I can't go on as I would like but, suffice it to say, Fall Out Boy, a band I just watched perform on Saturday Night Live, is the single most ridiculous collection of candy-ass poseurs I have ever seen in my life. There hasn't been such preening, posing and prefabbed rock-star moves—a 4, 5, 6, and hold guitar aloft; a 4, 5, 6, and stand atop a speaker—since Spinal Tap, and at least Spinal Tap knew it was a joke. And they're doing all this while playing the limpest, jangliest crap this side of Good Charlotte—who look like a Swedish black metal outfit compared to these flowers. I went to the band's website, and there's a bit there from the lead singer saying the group's latest album was inspired by the children's tale of Ferdinand, the bull who wouldn't fight. Really? And rainbows? Please say it was inspired by rainbows. These dear boys look a bit young to have a rectal exam, but I'd still suggest one to locate their inverted genitals.
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