"a fish, a barrel, and a smoking gun"
for 10 September 1998. Updated every WEEKDAY.


[my upstairs neighbor has the habit of playing his 
records at very high volume at all hours, usually late ones.]

Trouble to the North, trouble to

the South. The Toronto Star

thought it had a slam-dunk

recently with an essay flogging

that most Canadian of mares -

the lack of homegrown television

programming. As it turned out,

though, the paper's site was

flooded with responses from

locals who want something more

out of their cable companies

than curling coverage and

commercials for hockey equipment

during the Super Bowl. "Let's

face it, folks - most Canadian

programs stink!" read one

response. Other shows of Maple

Leaf solidarity included "The

majority of Canadian TV sucks,"

and "No, it blows actually!"

Even usually dependable calls

for solidarity against the Satan

of the South failed to convince

viewers like the woman who

wrote, "We as citizens of this

country should have the right to

watch what WE want to watch, and

if that includes American

commercials and American

programs, then so be it." We

just wish these British Empire

disloyalists would show the same

openness to American culture

when they craft their bilious

emails to Suck. But then, this

week's spam from the rebels at

RTMARK.com indicates the entire

free-trade zone may be going

through an identity crisis. The

soi disant "group of Internet

activists supporting the Mexican

Zapatistas" asked for our

browsing participation in

helping to "disable the Web

sites of the Frankfurt Stock

Exchange, the Pentagon, and

Mexican President Ernesto

Zedillo, by swamping them with

demands from a system called

FloodNet." Though the plan

sounded as intriguing as bin

Laden's notorious scheme to

cripple American intelligence by

having 10,000 mystery pizzas

delivered at the same time to

CIA headquarters, we decided to

sit this one out in the name of

increasing the peace. Meanwhile,

reports from Chiapas indicate

Zedillo managed to cling to

power throughout the Web attack,

and that the perversely

ungrateful Zapatistas would

still rather have penicillin

than Net cred.


[most of the time it's annoying, sometimes surprising]

Our general reluctance to devote

every issue to Idiotgate

'98 has been at least partly

motivated by the desire to avoid

the inevitable round of

shamefaced Swaggart confessions

that was bound to ensue when

every illicit hayroll in

Washington history got an equal

opportunity airing. All to no

avail, as the body politic

begins to resemble the

confession round of a Sexaholics

Anonymous meeting or a Dan

Savage column with each passing

day. Conspiracy theorists posit

that the White House is about to

cash in its "insurance policy"

of dirt that will scorch

lotharios ranging from

Republican judicialist Henry

Hyde to roly-poly Democrat Pat

Moynihan. (Way to go Pat! We

wouldn't have thought the old

don could score with his own

hand.) Even casus belli Matt

Drudge had to interrupt his

usual routine of shilling for

Fox and having sex with other

men to respond to charges that

his closet contains some

beefcake skeletons. In a proof

that exposure to the banality of

evil is corrosive to the soul,

Drudge's denial - "The last

person I had sex with was last

summer, and it happened to be

someone with two tits" -

demonstrated truly Clintonian

evasiveness. So far, the only

entertainment value in all the

soul-baring has been the

Honorable Dan Burton's embrace

of his teenage love child. Since

we explicated Burton's use of

the word "scumbag" several

months ago, we'll stick to

observing that his familiarity

with the term doesn't seem to

extend to hands-on experience.


[last night i awoke mid dream to him playing elliott smith 'xo']

When Mark McGwire made a run at

the home run record early in his

career, the mission was tainted

by the great "juiced ball"

controversy of the mid-1980s, so

it's heartening to see the

slugger has escaped having his

hour of glory tainted by

association with GNC

(field-tending fortune

squanderer Tim Forneris

completed the


wholesomeness of the scene by

passing up the million-dollar

bounty on the ball itself).

Still, it's just a matter of

time before our friends across

the Web publish a damning

exposé of society's double

standard on the use of

performance enhancers by white

and Latino ballplayers.


[but he inexplicably skipped over waltz#2 every time he plays it]

The Million Youth March - was it incitement to

riot or police brutality? A

poll of newsgroup headings

reveals a sharply divided




[i'm not sure why, it's one of my favorites on the record]

Although there's been scant

evidence of it in recent months,

longtime readers of Suck will

remember how fond our fearless

leader is of a good diaper joke.

We nearly soiled ourselves with

pride and joy, then, when AOL

members voted earlier this week

to rename Baby Cha Cha, the

ridiculous dancing baby made

famous by Ally McBeal, after the

Boss. Whether it was fate, a

happy accident, or an inside

job, we can't say. But our

estimable editor in chief isn't

getting off the porcelain throne

anytime soon to accept this

honor, what with the prodigious

amount of paperwork that goes

with his position. We may have

passed through what he once

called our "anal phase," but

rest assured: There's always a

place here for an anal phrase.

courtesy of the Sucksters