Re: You Tell 'Em Garr
- From: "Nixon.D" <nixon.d@xxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sun, 27 May 2007 02:36:04 -0400
One of Imus's "Other Duties As Assigned" was to use the vernacular of the
streets at all times. "Ho's" is a widely used label now in all parts of our
society. It was made so by the very people who complained the loudest when
Imus used it in a fairly innocuous way on his little morning show.
It was nothing more than fodder for the grist mill of the professional
racists in our midst. They did grind it up; made a stench of it; all the
while claiming to be "victims" in their sad and pathetic and inferior little
ethnic ways.
BTW, what ever happened to those Ho's who were the subject of this GREAT
CONTROVERSY !!!???
Probably just bouncing their little basketballs - - - and "ho'in'
around".......
Ol' Imus can now take his $50 Mil. and retire to his ranch in New Mexico.
The Professional Racists actually did him a favor. He can now raise his
son outside the environment of the Rotten Apple and their whole family will
be better off!
I miss him though; his show was a welcome relief from the putrid, liberal,
pap one hears on N.P.R. - - - and that's for sure! That KojeNumbNuts and
his "All Things Considered" is enough to make a magot puke.
McDave of Merryland
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"High Miles" <2Blues17@xxxxxxxxxxx> wrote in message
news:fZ-dndUWWaP2QMXbnZ2dnUVZ_s6onZ2d@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
[The following is a direct borrow from another group]
Don Imus is vulgar. So what?
Mr. Eyebrows is fired for an outburst you can hear at Bud's Lounge any
night of the week, yet the man who has done lasting damage to this
country is still in office.
By Garrison Keillor
May 16, 2007 | Gorgeous green spring came suddenly to Minnesota this
year after weeks of tedious budding and blooming, a great burgeoning
of foliage, and Bleak Street became the Via Paradiso, and we pale
stoics took out pen and paper and wrote, "O love love love you are the
best who ever was" or words to that effect, and we sat outdoors in the
evening and thought of various reforms we mean to institute. More
joyfulness, kindness to strangers, a general quickening of spirit,
etc.
I once knew a man, a true iconoclast, who drank bourbon for breakfast
and chain-smoked Pall Malls and held severe views about women, the
church, American lit and society in general, a sort of post-beatnik,
and every spring he vowed to reform and clean up his house, which had
holes in the ceiling where he had poked his broom handle at the
squirrels who ran around in the attic. It dawned on him what a mess
he'd made of his life, but he fought off reform with Jim Beam, and the
last time I saw him, he had just purchased a pistol, and I said
goodbye. I had no interest at all in being shot by a drunk.
I thought of him when Don Eyebrows got fired by CBS and MSNBC in that
outbreak of righteousness during which people lined up to be
reprehended by what the man had said on his radio show, even if they
hadn't heard him say it, though it seemed to be the sort of stuff CBS
and MSNBC had paid him so handsomely to say.
The bad boys of radio, he and Howard and Johnny J and the Big Honk,
are not shocking to anyone who has spent a few hours in a bar where
people drink liquor and speak English. They're loud and vulgar, and so
what? There's an audience for that. Plenty of young men feel so
squashed by life, they are thrilled to hear other men rasping and
hollering about wimmen and the gummint and the danged liberals, and
what harm does it do me if the Honk does his act for the poor schlumps
stuck in rush hour? No harm at all. The Honk is exercising freedom,
bless his heart, just like the snake handler at the carnival or the
man who eats flies. If you don't like it, don't look.
When you think of how Mr. Eyebrows had to sit in sackcloth and ashes
and apologize, all for an outburst you can hear in a back booth at
Bud's Lounge, and then you think of the lasting damage the Current
Occupant has done to this country, a man who lends new richness to the
word "malfeasance" and who is deaf on top of it and relaxed and
pleasant in the face of fresh revelations, you see what a crazy
country this is, but then we knew that a long time ago.
The French have a new president, the British will soon have a new
P.M., and we envy them as we endure the endless wait for this small
dim man to go back to Texas and resume his life. His party is coming
to see that it must figure out how to tell the truth about him if it
is to compete in 2008, but so far nobody has stepped forward and wound
up to throw the pie. Their clock is stuck in the fall of 2001. They
are sleepwalking toward the precipice.
Meanwhile, it is spring, glorious spring. An 80-year-old woman I know,
who never had literary aspirations that I was aware of, has written a
beautiful memoir. The son of a violist who plays in an orchestra with
my wife has gone off to serve in Iraq, a boy brought up in a liberal
household dead set against toy guns and violent TV shows. A tall
sweetheart of a man who has done exceedingly well in the digital biz
has sent an upbeat letter saying he has liver cancer and asking for
prayers. My little sandy-haired gap-toothed daughter shoots baskets in
the driveway, and when she hits a swisher she pumps her fist ("Yes!").
My mother has turned 92, still in her own home.
Everyday reality of life in America and neither the Big Honk nor the
Current Occupant seem clued in to it. They both serve the same
dwindling clientèle of angry privileged white people; meantime the
trees are in bloom and the beloved country looks at the calendar and
waits for leadership that is worthy of it.
(Garrison Keillor's "A Prairie Home Companion" can be heard Saturday
nights on public radio stations across the country.)
.
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- You Tell 'Em Garr
- From: High Miles
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