Damn You Borat!

First, Sacha Baron Cohen insults all the wonderful people from Kazakhstan with his smug portrayal of that "zany" reporter named Borat. Then, he insults all those poor folks who were conned into appearing in his "documentary." Then, some pundits point out that Cohen's nasty anti-Semitic humor might be responsible for Michael Richard's on-stage meltdown.

And now this! He drives poor Kid Rock into a jealous rage, prompting a heartbreaking split with new bride Pamela Anderson!

Perhaps it's Cohen who should be strung up upside down and have forks stuck in his ass!

BASTARD!

Of course, I kid. I've never -- ever -- seen anything like the response this film has spawned. It seems to be the whipping boy for every social and political problem of the day -- which, of course, is insane.

To top it off, my dad called it "the filthiest movie he's ever seen." But he hasn't seen either of the jackass movies, both of which make Borat look like a Benji flick.

I laughed my butt off in Borat, but this is even funnier.

My New Moustache

I’m thinking about growing a moustache, sort of a 1978-era Burt Reynolds moustache.

I’ll then dye my hair black, pick up a few pairs of bell bottom jeans that hug my body, and buy a vintage Pontiac Trans Am with t-tops and a kick-butt Alpine 8-track tape player.

My drink of choice will be nothing but Coors from the can, and on hot days, this will be my uniform: jeans, a leather vest, shades, and no shirt.

My best friends will be Jerry Reed, Terry Bradshaw, Dom DeLuise and Brian Keith.

But wait – Brian Keith is dead, so it would just be me, Jerry, Terry and Dom. The four of us will share a bachelor pad on the beach, and now and then, Jan-Michael Vincent and Mel Tillis could come by and visit.

Blonde and brunette foxes in bikinis will always be at the pad, and occasionally, I will drive three of them around in my Trans Am on the curvy coastal highway and let their hair blow wild in the breeze.

When the sun sets, the foxes will fix us a big seafood dinner, and later, we will sit around a big campfire on the beach, while Mel and Jerry will trade songs on their guitars and Dom will be in the kitchen cleaning up.

Because, really, besides the occasional joke, what else will Dom be good for? You know the foxes won’t dig him, so why not put him to work, right?

* * *

Sometimes, I’ll have to be rude to folks.

People will be approaching me in public all the time, wanting my autograph, wanting my picture taken with their baby, etc., etc., and I will have to say, “No! I’m not Burt Reynolds even though I look just like him, and I hang around with Jerry Reed, Terry Bradshaw and Dom DeLuise, and I drive a Trans Am full of bikini-clad foxes! So, leave me alone!”

And, of course, all types of people will want to hang out with us at our beachfront bachelor pad, but I will have to be rude to many of them as well. We won’t just let anyone hang out with us.

For example, we wouldn’t let Donny Osmond hang out with us because Donny is a pretty boy. Pretty boys get their butts kicked by guys like me, Terry and Jerry. Dom, obviously, will not be able to contribute much in the butt-kicking department because of his weight problem, but if Terry, Jerry or I threw Donny against the bar in our bachelor pad, Dom could jump up from behind the bar and shatter a bottle of beer over Donny’s head.

Now, before I go any further, I know what some of you are thinking: Sure, Rob, Donny Osmond is a pretty boy. But what about Jan-Michael Vincent? You’ve already mentioned that he hangs out at the beachfront bachelor pad. Isn’t he a pretty boy? He was, after all, on the cover of Tiger Beat. Aren’t you being hypocritical?

No – and here’s why: Jan-Michael has always had an edge. The closest Donny Osmond ever came to having an edge was the can of Edge shaving cream in his shower (which he rarely used because pretty boys can’t grow whiskers). Jan-Michael, on the other hand, played a vengeful trucker in White Line Fever (released 1975) and a cold-blooded assassin who kills Charles Bronson in The Mechanic (released 1972).

What has Donny contributed to pop culture? “Puppy Love.”

“Puppy Love” or killing Charles Bronson?

I rest my case.

Of course, if Clint Eastwood ever drops by the pad, he will be allowed entry – no questions asked.

Particularly if he brings the orangutan with him.

A Bittersweet Tuesday

Below is an early version of T. Blanston, Jr.'s column for next week's Arkansas Weekly. Blanston, as many of you know, is a very close friend of mine, and I think he very elequently puts the events of November 8, 2006 into perspective. Enjoy this exclusive advance look.

History was made last Tuesday -- not once, but twice.

Pundits from all over the world appeared on news shows, in the editorial pages of the major newspapers and on countless websites to offer their expert opinions on the two staggering events that unfolded on the now landmark date of 7 November 2006.

Yet, many were at a loss for words as they tried to properly articulate exactly how these developments would affect America’s – nay, the World’s – future.

“The word ‘stunned’ does not adequately describe my feelings at the moment,” British Prime Minister Tony Blair told reporters the following day. “To have these two situations occur almost simultaneously boggles my mind. On the one hand, I feel a sense of euphoria and glee, yet when the other story broke, my happiness was tinged with anger and despair.”

And of course, there was President Bush’s now infamous press conference held on November 8 where our Commander in Chief, looking dazed and defeated simply said: “Obviously, the first event was full of hope and renewal, then, at the end of the day, when Collins broke the news, I knew that my days of sobriety were coming to an end. I started drinking Rob Roys with Rove straight up midnight.”

And we know the rest. The pictures of our President passing out at the podium that day have been ingrained in our mind since.

* * *

We all have reference points when we remember dates of joy and dates of infamy. When I was 11, the news of Elvis Presley’s death broke while I was watching a rerun of Batman. Nine years later, television was again the portal of history when I was sitting in a college journalism class watching the Berlin Wall fall with the awed commentary of Tom Brokaw narrating the action.

Yet, these days, the Internet is my likely source of groundbreaking news, and on Tuesday last, when I read the headline on The Drudge Report website, I knew I would always remember how I learned that Britney Spears had filed for divorce from Kevin Federline, that thug gold digger that almost – almost – brought Spears to ruin.

The news was too good to be true. Britney, America’s sweetheart, whose image had morphed into a clueless redneck pop tart when she gave her heart to that no good cracker Federline, had now managed to somehow garner enough strength to say: “No more!” The clouds in her eyes had parted and she could now see the ridiculous error she had made when she said “I do” to that pimp-wannabe moron who had stolen the soul of our pop princess.

CNN’s Wolf Blitzer broke the story on television only seconds after I had read the headline on Drudge. I’ve known Wolf for years, and I could tell it was a mighty struggle for him to contain his excitement as he breathlessly read the news. Switching over to Fox, Brit Hume threw “fair and balanced” journalism out the window and actually broke down on-air when he read the bulletin about the Spears/Federline divorce.

“Her nightmare is over, ladies and gentlemen,” Hume said as his eyes filled with tears. “Britney is free.” And with those three words, Hume’s shoulders collapsed as he fell, sobbing with happiness, into the arms of fellow Fox broadcaster Mort Kondracke.

Yet, almost sixty minutes later, the euphoria was gone with another news bulletin. This time, NBC-TV’s Brian Williams had the unfortunate task of extinguishing our collective national glee.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Williams noted with an unmistakable tone of seriousness and gloom as he broke away from his colleague David Gregory who was delivering election returns from Maine. “On this day America will long remember as the day of Britney’s emancipation, news is just now breaking from England that will no doubt overshadow the happiness we all feel for the newly liberated Ms. Spears.”

Watching this at home on my brand new Pioneer Elite HDTV, I put down my gin and girded myself for the worst.

My eyes were closed as Williams delivered the grim news.

“In what might be the beginning of a global nightmare,” Williams said, “Phil Collins has announced today that the rock group, Genesis, will be reuniting for a worldwide tour.”

There was a pause. I opened my eyes, looked to my television, and saw Williams take off his glasses. He looked steady to the camera.

“I think we should all, as a nation, take a deep breath, and realize, that if we can survive the Cher farewell tour, we can definitely survive the Genesis reunion tour. Let us now have a moment of silence.”

The last thing I remember seeing before I passed out was the sight of David Gregory, on a monitor behind Williams, sticking the barrel of a .357 into his mouth and pulling the trigger.

* * *

As I write, the riots are just now ending in Sydney, Miami and Los Angeles, and the United Nations Security Council has, in a revolutionary decision, authorized the use of force against Genesis if they do decide to go ahead and mount a reunion tour.

I think, out of all of the leaders and experts who have expressed their emotions and opinions on these two events of 7 November 2006, no one said it better than the former host of Hee-Haw, Roy Clark.

“Hey come on now!” He told CNN’s Anderson Cooper. Clark’s beaming smile was in stark contrast to the somber and almost distraught color of Cooper’s hair. “This ain’t the end of the world. Looksee! Britney’s all free from the ugliness of a dead-end relationship, and I know – I just feel it in my bones, Andy – I know that if the U.N. sends a team of elite assassins to the estate of Phil Collins, the world will be spared live performances of ‘Another Day in Paradise’, ‘I Can’t Dance’ and that awful piano solo version of ‘In the Air Tonight’!”

And with that, Clark pulled a banjo onto his lap, and started playing and singing this fast little ditty:

“Oh, everyone hates Phil Collins! Even my Uncle Rick!

Ever since ‘Sussudio’, his music’s made me sick!

So who cares about the reunion of Genesis?

Not me, not you, not…uh…uh…uh”

He stopped and looked to Anderson.

“Hey Andy,” Clark said. “What rhymes with Genesis?”

“Uh…Tennyson…?”

“Oh…OK.”

He started picking and grinning again.

“…Not me, not you, not Alfred Lord Tennyson!

So, don’t you fret! Special forces will get Collins yet!

And, we’ll all know everything will be O! K!

See ya in Branson, America!”

The Nap's Over

Yawn. Stretch. Whooh. I feel better.

Now...where were we? What time is it? What day is it? Oh...Election Day.

I voted Friday, and for the first time in my life, it was straight down a particular party's line, except for one local race. Which party did I support this voting year? The picture above provides a clue.

And speaking of politics, here's an interesting interview with political thinker Andrew Sullivan. I've never agreed with all of Sullivan's thoughts, but overall, we're on the same page. I particularly love how Sullivan cuts through the bunk and tosses aside the obvious arrogance of the interviewer as if it was wrapping paper. John Cook wants so desparately to rub Sullivan's face in the dirt, but his subject's sensibility and responses only make Cook look like another partisan snob.