Racist Comedian Helps Us Forget What We Did to the Indians on This Day, or Crazed Pilgrim Takes a Stab at Dark Meat

By now, everyone has heard about Keith Richards' racist rant at a Los Angeles country club last Saturday. The incident was captured on video by a random shlub in the audience, and by Monday the video had spread to every corner of the internet, irreparably tarnishing Mr. Richards' career, if not axing it altogether. Mr. Richards is best known for his role of Dr. Eunice Giggles on the popular 70's TV show Marcus Welby, M.D.. He was never able to follow up with a project more estimable than that, but he found a niche in recent years with lifelong fans of the show, banking off the popularity of that character, and made his living performing at Bar Mitzvahs and playing for his own slush fund at celebrity golf tournaments. All of that is about to change. Mr. Richards berated two stable boys at the Peaceful Gulley Country Club on Saturday with a barrage of pointed "yo momma" jokes. He then used a pitchfork to usher the young men into a cauldron, and only realized he was on JumboTron after he set fire to the wood underneath. Fortunately, the boys sustained no injuries. Mr. Richards issued a swift apology Monday afternoon to a small gathering of close friends and family from the balcony of his Malibu condo and said he'd apologize to everyone else later. Still, the backlash was fierce. Communities all across the country organized DVD burnings of Mr. Richards' popular show, and the Rev. Jesse Jackson went on a hunger strike. The most damning backlash came undoubtedly from Monday evening's Larry King Live, on which the mother of the two boys appeared and proved to over 20 million viewers that she was, in fact, not so fat as to jump up in the air and get stuck. The entire country, it seems, has hitched a ride on the hate-on-Richards-train (Richards being the guy up there tied to the tracks). Next stop: Pariah Junction. Those who aren't outraged are heartbroken. They've seen the sinister underbelly of a universally beloved TV personality, a man whose fans were as familiar with his weekly antics as they were with the details of their personal relationships, a man whose particularly lonely fans might even call him their best friend. These fans must now face the fact that Mr. Richards, they hardly knew ye. All they new was a rascally grin and a smattering of facts - most of which are probably incorrect - and yet to many people he felt like a friend. The whole situation is made doubly tragic by the fact that I told you not to befriend any TV personalities way back in chapter five of my 1985 self-help book Breaking the Cycle: 10 Steps to Regain Your Untelevised Life. Vindicated.

Let's All Have Fun!

By now, Dear Friends,
Thank you for all your replies and I am glad all of you can come this Friday to celebrate my 21st with me. Please read ALL the following to ensure your entry into the Ritz.

Lucy Gao's 21st Birthday Party at The Ritz Hotel London

Friday, 18th of August
9pm Champagne Reception
10pm Photo Shoots
10:30pm Blowing Candles
Mid-night Pangaea, Mayfair

I have arranged the Ritz to host a Champagne Reception with a selection of Ritz Champagne for all my guests, this will be on me so please come and indulge.

A specially made birthday cake has also been ordered and the Ritz waiters will kindly serve you each a generous slice with Ritz cutleries, etc... also on me.

INSTRUCTIONS FOR ENTRY:

* When you arrive, take the Hotel entry on the opposite side of the Green Park tube station [Please refer to your arrival time at the end of this email]

* When asked "how can I help you Sir/Madame?", you reply "I am here for Lucy's Birthday Party at the Rivoli Bar"

* You will be escorted to the lounge area next to the Rivoli bar, where you will hopefully see a gorgeous group of ladies.

If you experience any issues getting in or getting to the Ritz, please call my mobile on 07782 205 450 and my PA Ms Gill will kindly deal with your queries between 8:30pm to 10pm.

STRICT DRESS CODE:

Gentlemen: Jacket, shirt, and please also bring a tie (no jeans, trainers, flip-flops, polo-shirts)
Ladies: skirt/top, cocktail dress (no denim, min-skirts, flip-flips, bad tastes)
Advice 1: It goes without saying that the more upper-class you dress, the less likely you shall be denied entry.
Advice 2: Photos will be taken between 10pm to 10:30pm, and these will be distributed once processed, therefore you may want to be well-groomed! ;)

Finally...
I will be accepting cards and small gifts between 9pm to 11pm... hehehe

I very much look forward to seeing you all at the Ritz this Friday.

Lucy

ARRIVAL TIMES: [Please stick to these as best as you can, thank you]
9:00pm: Lucy, Sophie Sandner, Kajai, Mandeep, Preet, Sanami, Su, Lisa, Kate.
9:15pm: Phoebe, Sophie Seugnet, Theo, Dmitry, Ed, Nikolay, Paul, Nick, Harry.
9:30pm: Marco, Andrea, Jess, Ovi, Yuki, Olga, Kim, Marcelo, Ulyana, Krystal, Dan.
9:45pm: Sunita, Alan, JingJing, Emma. 10:00pm: Anthony, Rachel, Roger, Uli, Yogi, Gharzi
12:00midnight: Vindicated

To Vindicate transitive v.

By now, everyone knows I was the first person to use the most famous butt-crack snowclone. In my seminal children's book published in 1911, I wrote "and fly on, Wendy, straight on until the butt-crack of dawn." So shut up already everyone. Vindicated.

Action: Sell Chocolate and Save Endangered Species

By now, you better have a good reason for why it was so hard to keep the Black Rhino from going extinct. The animal is gone now. Yet I just stumbled across something called the Endangered Species Chocolate Company. It was founded by a man named Jon Stocking. He was working on a fishing boat when he got the idea. Legend has it that one day a net he helped pull up had a dolphin tangled in it. When Jon and dolphin met eye to eye, Cupid took aim with two arrows: one for the heart and one for the blowhole. Jon cut the fish free and then stole away with the dolphin. It dried out and died in his bunk later that night, but Jon went on to found this chocolate company. The point I'm trying to make is that someone has made it so easy for you to not kill animals to extiction. All you have to do is fill your pieholes with chocolate bars and all the proceeds go to animal preservation. It's not that hard. Vindicated.

Toms River

By now, "Everyone knows this as Toms River," Castner said Friday as he manicured one of the Toms River East Little League fields before a playoff game in this baseball-crazed city.

The league, which won the world championship in 1998, used to be known as the East Dover Little League but was changed to Toms River East to differentiate itself from the rival Toms River Little League.

When the team beat Japan to win the world title, Dover Township went crazy — under the name of Toms River, of course. On "The Rosie O'Donnell Show," the team was Toms River. During a visit to the White House, it was Toms River.

"If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's a duck," said John Webb as he made pizza in a downtown restaurant. "This is Toms River."

While the Little League championship was perhaps Toms River's best burst of publicity, it has also made national news for less savory reasons. Robert O. Marshall, a former insurance salesman, was convicted of hiring a hit man to kill his wife, Maria, in 1984 so he could continue an affair with another woman and collect insurance money.

The case was the subject of the book "Blind Faith" and was made into a TV miniseries.

The town also gained attention in 2001, when a federal health agency determined that Toms River was one of a handful of communities to have an unusually high rate of leukemia, citing pollution from a former chemical company's dump site.

The name change will be welcomed in another part of the state, leaving a town in Morris County as New Jersey's only Dover. For years, calls for each community's municipal agencies were often misrouted. Bibi Stewart Garvin, the Morris County Dover's town administrator, has the phone number of the Ocean County Dover memorized because she's had to give it out so often.

"As far as we're concerned, we're the best Dover, the one and only Dover," Garvin said.

Everything changes moments after 6 p.m. Tuesday, when the results of the election will be read into the minutes of the Dover Township Committee. That body will cease to exist and the Toms River Committee will take its place.

Michelle Krol couldn't be happier.

"I think it's great," she said. "We're on the Weather Channel map as Toms River now. How cool is that?"

Vindicated.

Vomiticated



By now, everyone knows that sea cucumbers vomit their internal organs at enemies as a form of defense. Again, I was right. In my seminal work of atheism, "How God Has Ruined You" (1995, Harper-Collins), I wrote, "God is not real. It is a fiction." If god (de-capitalization intended) were real, he'd give us the power to vomit out our internal organs and grow new ones whenever they became diseased. It'd also be handy when being mugged ("Go go, spleen!") Sea cucumbers grow them back. The power is out there. See? Vindicated.

We Are the Best Funny Country

By now, all America people are talk about this Borat. He is big funny man. He make Kazakhstan most rich and most powerful former Soviet republic in world. Many America people will turn to Kazakhstan and say, "Hey, that place is not so bad. Maybe I should go over to there and to see it and buy some things." Then Kazakhstan will rise up so high. But not so fast. Let me tell you the truth. Uzbekistan is best funny place too. My name Yulduz Nazarxon. I am Uzbekistan journalist. I write to teach you about Uzbek people. Uzbekistan is big country that have no water. I have kids and wifes live in big apartment. My duties including deliver of milk truck for police, holding of stop light, and shooting voters in head. One time I plant bomb in milk truck so big it kills nine people at the Kazakhstan embassy. Some men are so angry they burn down shoe factory where my sons working at the time. This make me so sad. I spend all my time play internet gambling only! But Hey You! don't frown! There is saying: "Feed goat like a man. He love your sisters!" Uzbekistan have many good qualities. You come. The village girls are hot hot hot! You like. Vindicated.

Me So Sorry

By now, it's time for me to come clean. Over the course of these past few months, it has been my pleasure and an absolute honor to blog for each and every one of you. You have touched my life in ways I never thought imaginable. You trusted me with your faith and your time. For that I am grateful. But I have not been completely honest with you. In fact, I have betrayed your trust. I have been deceitful, and now I must atone. Specifically, I chided a man for leading a large congregation of Christians while secretly boinking fellow meth addicts in underground massage parlors. I poked fun at this man. It was wrong of me. For that I am sorry. What I failed to tell you is that this man and I are not so dissimilar, and it is hypocritical of me to make fun of his hypocrisy. You see, Ted Haggard led the pleasant life of a devoted family man by day and snorted meth off of cum-soaked poop holes by night. I, in a similar vein, lead the fast-paced life of a hard-working bachelor by day and then make love to a roomful of hunnies on a blanket of cash bills all damn night long. That is the secret I've harbored for years. Now all I can do is move forward. Always forward. Always vindicated.

Wait Wait Wait, I Thought I Was Done, But...

By now, I'm still not over this asshole . I mean, if you want to be a hypocrite, why not just visit with your evangelical friends during the week and then go snort meth at gay bathhouses on the weekends? Your sins will be known only to God. The evangelicals can believe what they want. Why do you have to be the spokesperson for 14,000 of them? I can't wrap my mind around it. I bet he got turned on knowing the finger of damnation he pointed so feverishly still had another man's fecal matter dripping from the nail. Pathetic. The evangelicals might say this is the story of a man who allowed sin to corrupt his heart. The gays might say this is a story of a man who couldn't allow himself to listen to his heart. I'm going to say this is the story of a lying sack of shit who deserves to choke on his meth-pocked tongue. Vindicated.

Hang On, These Races Aren't Over Yet

By now, I just don't know who to vote for. What do you think I should do? I haven't revealed many of my personal details, but by now I'm sure any devoted reader of this blog has at least figured out that I'm a middle-aged mother of two from Colorado's 4th congressional district. Until this morning, I thought for sure I'd vote for state Representative Angie Paccione, a Democrat. She went to school on a basketball scholarship, and I like that. On the other hand, now that Saddam Hussein has been sentenced to death by hanging, Marilyn Musgrave, the Republican incumbent, is looking a whole lot better. I didn't like her support of the Federal Marriage Amendment - which would prevent same-sex couples from getting married and prohibit judicial extensions of marriage-like rights to same-sex couples - but now that Saddam Hussein has been sentenced to death, I just don't know. I have to admit, I was troubled when the National Education Association (NEA) gave Rep. Musgrave an "F" on her Legistlative Report Card. I'm a teacher myself, you see, and both my kids are still in school. I believe a strong education is the backbone of any responsible citizen. Her voting record on educational issues is pretty abominable. And I have to say, even though I'm a Christian, her sponsorship of a resolution in Congress to declare 2007 the "National Year of the Bible" made me laugh quite a bit. Still, I have to remind myself, Saddam Hussein will soon be hanged to death. I'm going Musgrave all the way. Vindicated.

Freakin' Mo's

By now, everyone knows this guy is a total fag. Read the transcripts of his sermons and public statements. Turn those transcripts into a splatter chart and you'll find numerous references to homosexuality and various homo-sexy things splattered all the fuck over it. Dude's fucking OBSESSED with homo-fucking. It's just like I said yesterday to this one guy who was listening to me from across the bar, if you - or copies of your words - are dripping with homosexiness when converted into splatter charts, then you're probably a raging queer yourself. 14,000 people follow him, believing he'd have each and every homo burn in fire and brimstone (meanwhile, he's chickenheading some meth addict in the Five Points). Each one of them is a complete idiot. Vindicated.

Triathalon Club Three

By now, all you suckers better watch yourselves. My homeboys and I are so sick and tired of you whiny bitches thinking you can run in our marathons. You better believe me, I'm gonna take this shit down, and this shit is not gonna go down easily. I'm gonna make myself a big ole mess with you, son. Remember all those times you looked in the mirror and said to yourself, "I can do it. I can win." Well, let me tell you, I never had to look myself in the mirror cause I've known all along that I'm one ugly motherfucker, and I don't need to convince myself that you will get pummeled by me. I know it. You know it. It seems the only person who doesn't know it is your ass, cause if he did know it, he would've shat himself by now. Are you gonna tell me your ass shat itself? The Boston Marathon is only a few months away. Maybe - just maybe - if you run every hour of every waking day, and give up sleep altogether, and make plenty of sacrifices to your monkey gods until the marathon, you might just be able to strengthen your knees enough so they won't break when you fall down on them to lick the sweat between my toes. Even then, if for some strange reason I don't completely obliterate you - say I get a cramp and accidentally leave a trace of your memory somewhere here on earth - one of my two fine homeboys are gonna wipe every last molecule of your existence from those Massachusetts streets. We are the Triathalon Club Three. Don't cry. We'll do you in all quiet-like. Vindicated.