In the mess of mega-media

launched in the past month,

perhaps we've all forgotten that

it's not really over 'til the

fat man sings. Well, he's

started practicing his scales.

Rush Limbaugh announced this

week that he's quitting his

syndicated TV show, though he's

still searching for "the best

way to integrate TV work into

the rest of my expansive media

empire." The fact that the

show's producer, Roger Ailes, is

also the chairman and CEO of Fox

"News" (quotation marks ours)

has pundits everywhere

speculating on whether or not

Limbaugh could lend his

not-insignificant heft to Rupert

Murdoch's planned 24-hour

cable-news service. And they say

all of this way new TV

journalism is lightweight.

Speaking of lightweights:

 
Suck: Why am I not getting big  
and strong?                     
Milk Mystic: I'm not sure why.  

Suck: My career is going        
nowhere.                        
Milk Mystic: Are you having     
trouble typing?                 

Suck: How did you know I was a  
typist?                         
Milk Mystic: Continue, please.  

Suck: It's my mother's fault.   
Milk Mystic: Are you just       
babbling?                       

Suck: Yes. Milk Mystic: O.K.!   

Suck: I want strong bones.      
Milk Mystic: Please continue.   

Suck: So I can kick some butt.  
Milk Mystic: Sounds like you    
need a date!                    

Suck: My, but you ARE mystical! 
Milk Mystic: Perhaps I only     
pretend I am mystical.          

"Some punters dinnae fuckin

understand the Scottish sense ay

humour." Nor the accent if you

believe the folks at Miramax,

who saw fit to dub a few of the

scenes in Trainspotting for its

U.S. opening this week. It had to

happen: the American edition of

the novel comes with a glossary

for hing oots who find themselves

scoobied by the language. If the

"Clockwork Orange meets Kids"

(and beats the shit out of them)

acclaim is any indication, we

expect the film to be entirely

redone in Hollywood with

Keanu Reeves and a

much happier ending by early

next year.

Who needs to watch Ricki Lake

when more profoundly disturbed

guests are crowding the Web's

stage? Not to fault them: it's a

sane reaction to a profoundly

disturbing Web. Nancy Dunlap,

for instance, would deserve top

billing if only for devoting

most of her website to

documenting her mortal enemies,

including, but not limited to,

"The guy I said 'Hi' to today,

and he did not say 'hi' back. I

know he saw me, and he knows who

he is." (Not to mention "the guy

that killed the other guy.") But

the real reason we love her and

deem her a strong candidate for

the "Walter Miller of Summer

1996 Award" is not her

freewheeling invective, not our

envy at her close relationship

with Bill Clinton, and not even

her keen appreciation for fine

laxatives (re: Citrate of

Magnesia: "I had a geiserlike

reaction and the following day,

I had flashbacks."). No, what

keeps Aunt Nancy off our shit

list is her touchingly

articulate love of chickens as

housepets. It's your world,

Nancy - we're all just

spectators.

Now let's tell you about a Monty

Python website, PythOnline.

(We're going to tell, we're

going to tell... ) It's got

huuuuuge tracts of land -

webland, that is - so huuuuge

that only those with zero

caffeine in their veins could

bear it, as it takes about as

long for this page to download

as it does to cut down the

tallest tree in the forest with

a herring. Having imbibed a

stiff coffee minutes before

entering, we gnashed our

razor-sharp teeth, chickened

out, and ran away, saying

"Neee!" and farting in their

general direction all the while.

Considering our T1 connection,

we suggest they bring out their

dead (webmasters) because,

though every sperm is sacred, it

would take the spawn of a

hamster and someone who smelt of

elderberries to make a site this

unnecessarily time-consuming.