Commie Girl

Crap Is Good for You! Just like this column

Because my fellow liberals are whining that the news cycles are going 25/7 The Creepy JonBenet Murdery Guywhen they should be covering all that murdering in the Middle East, I would like to offer just a teeny suggestion: don't watch television news. I've watched the news on the teevee all of two times in the past six years: for four days after 9/11 and all through the devastation of Katrina, and then only because newspapers just can't show the horror of people being left to die on this criminally incompetent administration's watch. (And yes, I'm talking about 9/11 too. "All right, you've covered your ass now," the president told the CIA aide who'd come to brief him that bin Laden was Determined to Strike in the U.S. Then—can you stand it?—El Prez went fishing.)

Still, I hold the unpopular opinion (among the smart set, anyway) that the JonBenet case matters, and not just to the news channels' programming directors, who have plumb run out of missing white girls. With JonBenet, you had everything that was wrong with a certain section of our country: you had these privileged white people with nothing better to do than dress their beautiful little girl up like a streetwalker and teach her how to shake her pre-cha-chas and lisp lascivious songs. You had Frozen Mom, Creepy Dad and the lawyer who wouldn't let them talk. Who waits four months to talk to the police who are investigating their young daughter's death?

Do the Serious People (and scolds) really expect us not to gawk? It was even better than if they had been your typical child-beauty-pageant-family double-wide dwellers, because we didn't feel guilty for making fun of white trash!

Felony creepy
Felony creepy

Fast-forward 10 years, and the story goes nuts. A child molester who jets around the globe looking for new nations of first-graders to teach and nanny? One who was let go from a Thai private school after two weeks for being "too strict"? Do you want to imagine what he was imagining every time he thought of a paddle?

Still, until there's DNA, I'm of the school that says it's a False Confession From a Nutbar (Albeit a Very Molesty One). His ex-wife, who you'd think wouldn't carry his brief, says he never left Alabama over that whole Christmas season, and how could it not be That Dad?

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On Saturday I went to see my girlfriend Kevin, who built herself a home on a dirt road outside Apple Valley. What did I do there, in her Modernist gorgeousness? I sat in a recliner, looked out at the rabbits, and read In Touch and Us. Were they good magazines, important magazines, anything beyond the most tedious drivel? No, and they were badly wrote to boot. And sometimes it's okay just to look at pictures of Jessica Simpson's bad lip job, or a chart showing the similarities between Britney's great loves: K-Fed and Justin Timberlake. They both wear hats! Here are pictures of each of them bowling! And here are delightful captions like "Kevin Federline enjoys a night out bowling. Justin Timberlake has been known to bowl too."

Well, shet yo mouth! I guess now I know they're just exactly the same!

Commie Mom, one of those scolds who thinks people who talk about celebrities are mouth-breathing twits, buys every tacky tabloid that hits the newsstands, so long as it flaunts Angelina Jolie. She is thrilled Brad Pitt left "shallow," "boring" and probably "whey-faced" Jennifer Aniston; she vows Pitt and Jolie are the best couple in the history of humans; she even—somehow unaware that thirtysomething grown-up punks have been rock-and-rolling their accessory-tykes for the past decade—thinks Maddox's Mohawk is original and daring. She reads aloud to me about their tiffs and their sexy makings-up; she chortles when Angelina leaves in a huff and moves the kids to a hotel—and that Brad comes running. It got to the point that I had to ask her if she liked Angelina better than me.

For the record, she claims she doesn't.

When she's not mooning over the world's greatest lovers, Commie Mom is watching C-Spanand precinct walking. But In Touch is doing her a service: it's important to let some brain cells lie fallow.

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I missed the very first installment of Drinking Liberally—every Thursday night at the Santa Ana Memphis, say 8:30ish—which is a spinoff of the successful one started by bloggers in Philly and is organized here by Mike Lawson at

I had a date with destiny at Hollywood's Safari Sam'sinstead. (Yes, it is the same Sam who perpetrated Safari Sam's in Huntington back in the '80s.) There, at the VIP party for media types, I met a nice lady who writes for a Bev Hills newsletter and told me she'd heard about a gig at The Onion—but did I know that it was all made-up? She couldn't in good conscience get involved with that.

That lady sure was nice.

More important, the invite promised there would be burlesque girls passing trays of gifts, and the only thing better than burlesque girls passing trays of gifts is burlesque girls passing trays of burlesque girls.

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