Archive for the ‘Hail to the King, Baby’ Category

From The Archives

January 21, 2008

I’m so lazy and uninterested in the tempest in the teapot over here, I’m not going to spend my day off doing anything more than “copy” and “paste”. That, and going to see “Soul Plane 2”, of course.

From 2006:

A few generations from now, the people who knew and remembered Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. will all be gone. His life, legacy and tragic death will not exist in the memories of those who were there to witness it first hand. He will, as he is now to many Americans, only be seen as some figure from the distant past with no bearing, relevance or emotional impact on the people of tomorrow. Kind of like Dan Quayle. We tend to go from exalting our national heroes to parodying them once their memory is no longer fresh. Think of how many President’s Day sales have some local actor dressed as Washington or Lincoln trying to sell mattresses or waterbeds or used cars for the big holiday weekend sale. We haven’t reached that point with King. Yet. Imagine a film clip of the famed speech at the Lincoln Memorial with King’s rolling baritone proclaiming (thanks to todays digital special effects) “I have a dream! A dream that affordable car stereos, DVD players and televisions will be found at Electronics Express! Get your hoopty tricked out with the latest ear-shattering bass amplifiers only $99.95!” My former partner in filling the empty days of military life and I came up with that years ago. Although his crowning achievement was “Shoot if you must, this old gray head/ But don’t spare the great taste of Cheez Whiz!”

Like ol’ Marty needs me to denigrate his legacy. That’s why he had children. Evidently, the King children were not forced to get jobs once they grew into adulthood and are squandering their inheritance. Just like the British aristocracy used to! The King Center will probably be sold to the park service so that the King children can’t use it as their personal piggy bank anymore.

The other legacy that this holiday brings us is the photo-op showing how much Senator Bloviate and Congresswoman Opportunista care about the struggle for civil rights by showing them mugging for the cameras at the Ebenezer Baptist Church. I used to work with a guy who was an actual member of that church. He hated the King Day celebration. He hated the Hollywood phonies and Washington glad-handers who would descend upon Sweet Auburn like a pack of hyenas bringing their vulture pals from the media with them. These celebrities would then elbow out the actual people who attend that church the other fifty-one times a year. He had nothing but scorn and derision for the whole affair. They wouldn’t let him in his own church, the one that his tithes and contributions support, because of all the “VIPS”. Pity that all the big shots so interested in helping the little man, won’t let the little man in the door. We shall overcome indeed.

In honor of the holiday weekend I watched many black oriented films and television programs. One of which was American Pimp, directed by the Hughes Brothers. Nothing shows how ugly stereotypes are created like showing the actual people who inspire and perpetrate stereotypical behavior. Sure, it wasn’t as good as Pimps Up, Ho’s Down, but what is?

Ok, one thing that is better is The Boondocks. I can’t shut up about how good this show is. The Boondocks episode about Dr. King coming back in the 21st century was a classic. After getting an eyeful of our life thirty eight years after his assassination and seeing what has happened to black culture in the interim, Dr. King says, “Is this what I took all them ass whippings for?”

Amen, Reverend.

And now, a cartoon:

Oh, Boy! A Chain Letter!

July 1, 2007

Thanks to Newscoma, I got tagged for another goddamn meme.

The “rules” go here. I won’t abide by them, so why bother posting them? Here are the eight things:

1. This movie is going to suck. I wish it weren’t the case, but in my heart I know I’m right. I’ve bitched about this picture before. Not that it matters.

2. The ringtone I use for when Mrs. Sarcastro calls, is The Imperial March from Star Wars.

3. I have been interviewed! Print it out and keep it with your Princess Diana newspaper clippings!

4. When Diana died, Exador and his lovely wife were in town. We had been out doing something and came home to the news reports on television claiming that Diana had been in a serious auto accident. I proclaimed her dead at the scene, turned off the TV and we all went to see Squirrel Nut Zippers at the Italian Street Fair.

5. Is the CDC run by Bill Lumbergh? “Yeah, Peter. How’s it goin’? Yeah, you know if you could just not travel anywhere with your drug resistant TB, that’d be great.” I know that isn’t technically about me, but it sure is troubling to know that this Speaker, who may or may not be an illegal alien, couldn’t get a straight answer about his condition.

6. I have no idea who to support for President this coming cycle. I’m waiting for a candidate on the stump in Iowa to blurt out, “You know this ethanol deal is just a big scam, right?” Whoever does that, gets my vote.

7. Couldn’t we outsource the War in Iraq to a call center in Bangalore?

8. If I ever wind up on Inside The Actor’s Studio, (and after the master classes given by the likes of Cameron Diaz, Martin Lawrence, Jay Leno and Rosie O’Donnell, it’s just a matter of time before people who can’t act AT ALL are featured) my answer to the favorite curse word question is going to have to be “nigger”.

Nigger is the last profanity. When Harrison Ford says his favorite swear is “motherfucker”, or some such thing, the audience giggles and titters. It offends no one. The whole purpose of swearing is to offend delicate sensibilities. Judging by the reactions on that show, no other word has the capacity to offend. Imagine if Clint Eastwood dropped the “N” bomb during his questionnaire. People in the audience and watching at home would have gone ape shit. Ironically, I believe Clint’s actual answer was “ape shit“.

UpdateDeus Ex Malcontent takes a look at the “funeral” of the word “nigger” and refers to an excellent, earlier post of his regarding Krazy Kramer’s Kerfuffle.  Here’s a taste:

No matter the alternative’s power to offend and instigate, is there anything — anything — more painfully ridiculous than a grown man or woman saying, “The N-word?” It’s an absurd verbal tip-toe that not only proves that there is apparently no safe context in which the actual word can be uttered, but also that there exists an unspoken implication that those whom one would expect to be angered by the use of such a word are so stupid that they can’t discern between the desire to dehumanize and subjugate and the need to openly discuss, and therefore should be protected from hearing the word altogether — for the good of everyone. This latter possibility — an indictment of an entire culture, whether out of condescension or outright fear — is infinitely more offensive than the utterance of any one word.

King of the Road

December 17, 2006

Now is the Winter of my Discontent.  Whilst travelling about my kingdom, I have seen much knavery and tomfoolery amongst the unwashed masses.

When the dawn nearly is upon us or whilst we are in the gloaming, some of the village idiots are refusing to ignite the lamps on their motorized carriages.  Or worse, they only turn on the parking lights.  Only a buffoon drives about with only the parking lights on.  Throughout Christendom it is the law that driving with just the parking lights on is forbidden.  Common sense and the law dictate that during diminished visibility, ones headlamps should be illuminated.  This goes double when it is foggy.  Those little fruity yellow lights aren’t helping anyone.  They aren’t fog lamps, you dung eating curs!

 On a similar subject, I shall smite thee with the Royal Crowbar the next time one of you peons decides to hop out of your car to try to get me to pull over for a funeral procession.  The headsman will wind up with a full day of work the next time you shit-stained peasants fuck up the King’s Highway.

It must be confusing for the uneducated coolies to see a vehicle that resembles that of the local constabulary trying to get people to pull over.  It is but a mere ruse on the part of the undertaker.  He charges the grieving family extra ducats for a couple of ill-bred wastrels to provide an escort to the gravesite.  These stupid sons of whores then operate their faux-police vehicles in a reckless manner that brings to mind the fabled Cow-Boys of the New World. 

The law states that you are not to pull over, but to yield your right of way or slow down to show respect.  The bedevilled simpleton who leapt from his vehicle to brandish his cell phone at my Royal Personage is fortunate that I had somewhere to actually go, unlike he and his fellow simpletons who all pulled over because a funeral procession was coming from the opposite direction.  Let this ring throughout the land; the guy in the coffin is dead.  The people following the hearse all have the day off for the funeral.  They are in no big hurry.  I, however, have a kingdom to run.  Next time you jump out to try to make me pull over, in violation of the damn law, you will get a Royal Boot up your ass.

Don’t pull that "local tradition" shit, either.  Something happens more than twice around here and you serfs call it a tradition.  We also have the "local traditions" of marrying our cousins, raping canoeists from the big city and lynching the occasional blackamoor.   The world doesn’t come to a fucking stop because some old crone is being hauled out to the boneyard.  If it means so much to you and you want to pay your respects, hop in behind the funeral procession and follow them out to the grave site.  Then there will be at least one less idiot on the road.

While we are on the topic of complete muttonheads, another group looking for a date with the headsman are the cretins at Robertson/Urbandale Rd. and Briley Parkway.  If you are turning left at a green light, you do not have the right of way.  The people on the other side of the intersection who are going straight and turning right have the right of way.  Careening your ’87 Cavalier into oncoming traffic with nothing but ignorance on your side will cause not only your deaths, but those of your family when my knights burn your hovels to the ground and salt the earth so that nothing ever grows there.  Ever.

Although, we are most pleased with Archduke Ray Bell, regent of the vassal state of Kickbackistan.  The roads in the kingdom are amongst the finest in all the known world

Pity that there is no money left in the exchequer to teach my subjects how to safely operate their vehicles.  Perhaps someday we could institute a system of licensing drivers throughout the realm.  Those drivers would have to pass a test of some sort.  In order to pass the test, especially the young beginner drivers, would have to take a course that would explain the Rules of the Kings Highways.  Upon successful completion, they would be given Royal License to use the roads.  Accidents and deaths would become a thing of the past as my subjects would all be aware of the laws, rather than living in the Dark Age of Superstition and Ignorance.  Gone would be the days of having your baby ride in your lap on a foggy morning so you can get to the Title Loan place as soon as it opens.  An era of Peace, Prosperity and Enlightenment would begin for all.

Or not. 

Sarcastro 6, Army of Vermin 0

October 23, 2006

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License to kill [mice] by the government of the United Nations. Man, free to kill [mice] at will. To kill, you must know your enemy, and in this case my enemy is a varmint. And a varmint will never quit – ever. They’re like the Viet-Cong…Varmint-Cong. So you have to fall back on superior firepower and superior intelligence. And that’s all she wrote.

I have to recommend the glue traps as the way to go when ridding one’s abode and out-buildings of the varmint mouse. We were able to keep the the Castle Keep free of rodents by laying glue traps all around the egress points in the shed. There is a certain amount of joy one gets when watching the terror in their little faces while they are stuck fast to the glue. The traditional mouse trap cheats the homeowner of the opportunity to gloat at the still living mouse.

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Spread your Hanta Virus elsewhere, disease-ridden vermin! Your days of living off the bountiful plenty of the shed are over.

When you get to Mouse Hell, tell your dark overlord I will continue to keep sending him fresh souls. If there are any more of your ilk hanging around, they will share your fate.

And take that cricket with you.

All I needed to know about the efficacy of the glue trap, was the fact that these assholes urge the public not to use them.

These damn mice reproduce every 30 days or so. A female may produce up to 56 offspring annually. Keeping their numbers down will keep them from overbreeding and expanding into the crawlspace of my damn house. They cannot be allowed to reproduce unchecked.

The results would be catastrophic…

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Gone Drinkin’

January 27, 2006

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Big Orange Michael has R-U-N-N-O-F-T.  Where ever you are Mike, everyone hopes you are okay and will get in touch soon.  As the order of succession goes in the Nashville blogosphere, after BOM comes me.  Then the Secretary of Education, I think.  Anyway, I’ve been granted the keys to Nashville is Talking for the weekend.

So drop by that little slice of heaven to see exactly how low I will stoop for a hundred bucks. 

Shop Smart. Shop S-Mart

May 13, 2005

All right, you primitive screwheads,  listen up!

Best-selling author and raconteur Bruce Campbell is coming to Nashville August 22.  He is pimping his new book Make Love The Bruce Campbell Way.

About this time I would go on a rant about how Bruce should be doing big time movies, but after watching Alien Apocalypse, the book gig may be a better fit.