I made light of his recent travails on this blog about five weeks ago, but I am a Robin Williams fan. Yet while reading of the outpouring of grief, it occurs to me what a shame it is that there are not more comedians in Iraq. Or Afghanistan. Or the Ukraine. Or Burma (Myanmar). Or…
Within several minutes of each other recently, I saw an odd pair of TV commercials. The first one was one of those “Look at these poor starving children; for 50 cents a day…” ones. The second one followed the same format but the subjects of our heartstrings were animals. And this one set the price at 60 cents a day.
I’m an animal liker and all, but two thoughts occurred to me:
1) How does it cost more to care for an animal in America than a human in the Third World?
2) Why don’t we send the animals to these starving people? I had a cat that lived to be about 17 years and obviously had affection for him. But I sure as hell would have eaten him if I had to.
“George Harrison was rememberd by hundreds of fans in Grifffith Park. A plaque was unveiled next to a tree planted …”
“Isn’t it ironic?
“A memorial tree planted in Los Angeles to honor the late Beatles musician George Harrison needs to be replaced after it was infested with real-life beetles…”
When reached for comment, Pete Best denied reports that he had been active in entomological experimentation. Yet he could not contain his diabolical laughter when asked about his thoughts on Ringo Starr.
No relation, but there’s a young lady named “Amelia Earhart” who is seeking to replicate and presumably complete the famed aviator’s solo flight around the world. If I had a name like that, would be the absolute last vocation I would consider. I’d stick with something safer, like circus acrobat or Dick Cheney’s hunting partner.
Humiliation at rout hits Iraqi military hard
AP–By HAMZA HENDAWI and QASSIM ABDUL-ZAHRA 6.18.2014
BAGHDAD (AP) — “The Iraqi soldiers tell of how they can hardly live with the shame of their rout under the onslaught of the Islamic militants. Their commanders disappeared. Pleas for more ammunition went unanswered. Troops ran from post to post only to find them already taken by gunmen, forcing them to flee…”
“…one lieutenant-colonel who escaped the militants’ sweep over the northern city of Mosul told The Associated Press. ‘I am as broken and ashamed as a bride who is not a virgin on her wedding night’…”
An ISIS spokesman responded, “And we will kill you just like we would her.”
Agency apologizes for mattress ad depicting shooting of Malala Yousafzai
‘We deeply regret this incident and want to personally apologize to Malala and her family, Ogilvy & Mather says
The controversial ad (Kurl-on/Ads of the World)
“Oh, Krishna! This is bad, very bad,” the CEO said in private. “We’ve really shot ourselves in the foot here. Can we still do the one where bin Laden is so comfortable that he oversleeps and misses a big attack?”
Sudden death in North Carolina race likely clears way for Clay Aiken
By Michael A. Memoli; Los Angeles Times; May 12, 2014
“The Democratic candidate who was narrowly trailing Clay Aiken in a North Carolina congressional primary election died Monday, a day before election officials were to determine whether a runoff election was required…”
I’ve thought all along that Clay was in over his head, mistakenly conflating his celebrity with politics and civic service. American Idols are chosen based on the fickle whims of TV viewers (who bother to vote), based more on contestants’ superficial qualities like appearance and charm than actual merits. En route, they are at the mercy of people like this:
Baltimore police hot line number connects callers to adult chat
Toll-free number for internal investigations instead goes to ‘America’s hottest talk line’
“A phone number for filing complaints about Baltimore police officers connected callers this week instead to an adult chat line advertising ‘hot ladies’…”
I was able to acquire a transcript of one confusing exchange:
Hot Lady: Hi, gorgeous, I’m Sandy. What’s your name?
Caller: Uh, hi, but I’d rather not say.
HL: Oh, that’s too bad. What can I do to you today?
C: Well, you see, I was going to the 7/11 at the Market Place–
HL: Oh, I love that place. Do they still have those foot-long hot dogs? I could swallow them all, night, long.
C: Dunno’. But what happened was, this officer asked me for my ID–yeah I’d had me a few beers–but I told I didn’t have one.
HL: I’ll bet you have a lot of other things, though. A lot of big things.
C: I guess, but he throws me against the wall and starts putting his hands in my pockets–
HL: Stop, slow down. I’m gettin’ so hot right now. A man in uniform throwing me against a wall and putting his hands all over me. I wish you were that man.
C: I’d never be a cop. No ma’am.
HL: Did he have handcuffs?
C: Uh, I’m sure he did, but he didn’t put them on me. He let me go, but he was so rough and I felt violated.
HL: Did that turn you on?
C: Fuc–I mean, hell no!
HL: It would me. I love it when someone violates me rough. I think I’m gonna’ come!
C: Ma’am, if you have to go, I understand. But could you please put someone else on the line if you do?
HL: You’re so cute. So hot.
HL: Have you ever been rough with anyone?
C: Well, my brothers and me–
HL: Oh, how kinky!
C: Just ‘rassling.
[There is quite a long pause, and when she returns her voice has changed to a serious tone.]
HL: I’m sorry. I–I just can’t do this no longer. Mister, I was abused, too.
C: I’m sorry to hear that, Ma’am.
HL: It was in, in a different way.
C: Who would do that to a nice lady like you?
HL: First my dad, then my brothers–[She begins to cry]–then a couple other assholes.
C: Sure sound like assholes if you ask me.
HL: Where are you now? Can you get any coke?
C: I got some on me now.
HL: Can you make it to Nebraska? We’ll party. I’m done with this fucking job.
C: Nebraska! Maybe in, like, two days.
[Hot Lady gives Caller her address, where he tracks her down four days later. He learns from neighbors that she had committed suicide four nights ago. Despondent, he proceeds to smoke the crack, of which he had brought plenty, in a discrete area he could find near the Greyhound station.
[When the coroner gave his report on our would-be Romeo several days later, he noted, “Technically, I’ll rule this a drug overdose. But, in my nonmedical opinion, our John Doe died of a broken heart.”]