for 22 February 2001. Updated every WEEKDAY.
Hit & Run 02.15.01
Sucksters, I tend to disagree with your declaration that Cruz Bustamante's saying of the n-word was simply a slip of the tongue due to that darn pain in the ass Murphy's Law. Plenty of people of other races have given speeches to all black audiences or spoken face to face with black individuals and they usually don't just accidentally say the n-word because it's inappropriate. Perhaps the fact that he actually said the word out loud was a mistake, but the fact that he was thinking it was not one. If it came out of his mouth, unless he has Turret's Syndrome, then the word and the stigma attached to it was consciously floating in his head. People don't accidentally use hateful words. They may say them accidentally but think them consciously. Your piece on the issue made it seem as though the "fates" decided that the least favorable thing should happen.. or that it's like a dream where one finds himself naked at school. It would be one thing if he had a dream that he accidentally said the n-word in front of that crowd. It's a completely different thing that what was festering in his mind slipped out and exposed him for the person he is.
Maybe, but don't you think it's the same principle as the guy who is ordered not to think of the word "elephant"? I mean, it's not like this is some really obscure term that nobody's ever heard before. And consider the circumstances: He's giving some historic speech about the importance of Negro labor unions back in the day; according to the paper, that's the word he tripped on. And "negro" really is a weird and little-used word by this point in history: Even the United Negro College Fund just refers to itself as "The College Fund" in its literature. So you have this guy who's giving a speech to an all-black audience, and the speech is all Negro this and Negro that... I mean come on, the poor schmuck must just be so painfully aware of how quickly everything could come crashing down. Who doesn't occasionally have these weird urges to drink motor oil, or stick your hand in the fire, or kiss a mongoloid on the lips?
Ah, fuck it, I have no real reason to defend the lieutenant governor of California. If you want to call him a racist, go for it. Thanks for your nice letter.
I read your stuff everyday, and love it.
And you knew this was coming: Until today. What's with taking a run at naked Canadians? Just because up here in Canada we thought of Naked News first, doesn't mean we're worthy of scorn. I mean...
Sorry, I couldn't pull it off with a straight face. I was doing a bad job at mimicking the people who think everything is funny except their own ass.
But while I am here, allow me to offer that Hit and run is without a doubt the best thing that ever happened to Thursday since they put Friday after it. And your post Valentine's Day hit and run might have been the best yet. I hope that doesn't seem like it's sucking up.
Thanks, Matt. And don't worry. Actual Canadians, those hawks who note the fall of every sparrow, managed to detect an insult to the Great White North even when we weren't really trying. See below:
While it's difficult to puncture the Canadians' earnest good will, unintended irony crept into the naked anchorwoman's closing remarks about Timothy McVeigh's request for a televised execution:
"In this day and age there are no martyrs, media is the new church, and most will sell their soul for a few moments in the spotlight.
"I'm Victoria Sinclair...."
If it were an American production, the irony would have probably been unintended. If the production is Canadian, it's probably fully intended. Irony is the cornerstone of the national sense of humour we don't have; living in the shadows of empires as dumb as they are great has made it so.
Our approach to Canadian irony has always been a simple one: It don't mean a thing if it ain't got Eugene Levy.
Something About Mary
Subject: Pray the Rosary Every Day!
From that embarassingly labial chromo of the BVM, to the unopenable quicktime movies, this was Suck's finest hour. . As an aside, I'd refer to Justin Green's autobiographical comic book Binky Brown Meets the Holy Virgin Mary (Last Gasp), an early '70s memoir about being tormented by Catholic guilt in Winnetka, Illinois. Again, great stuff. See you in Purgatory--
Richard Von Busack
Hey pal, I've got an Our Lady of Guadalupe prayer card with 500 days' indulgence, so you'll be seeing the back of me in Purgatory! But I hope you're not serious about those videos' being unopenable. Those fuckers cost me a lot of work, and I did it all for you, the Average Joe reading Suck, just to make your torment here on Earth a little more bearable.
It's strange that Polly Esther wasn't included in 'Woman to Avoid' issue. So bad.
Doesn't it go without saying that I'm a woman to avoid? How else do you think I come up with all those objectionable types?
It takes one to create one.
Bad as in good,
Gee, thanks Polly.
You just had to blow this one out on Valentine's day, thus filling minds of your male readership with Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt.
You are a cruel, cruel woman.
Dating a guy who's filled with fear, uncertainty, and doubt at the slightest provocation is about as pleasant as training a Jack Russell Terrier. If anything, I'd say I'm providing a valuable public service to women dating Flinchy men. What kind of a wimp is afraid of Valentine's Day, anyway? All we want is an excuse to eat some fucking chocolate. How tough is it to pick up some chocolates once a year?
Cruel to be kind,
I just know a bunch of high functioning single moms, career women who are perfectly happy to be dating a guy and not living with him, cheerfully self employed bisexual gals who go on scuba trips with strangers without freaking out about not having a special someone to go with, single women who have never had sex or masturbated or even thought about men in any kind of terms at all, without being the slightest bit gay, either, and party girls who love their husbands/boyfriends/lovers so much that they volunteer to clean up before an impromptu party. (Still shaking my head over that one.) Oh, and although my sample size is kinda small, most of them don't have a problem with blow jobs as long as that's not all that's on tap, so to speak.
Demographically, I really am out around Pluto, there's no avoiding it.
Thank you, Allegra, for continuing to demonstrate to all of us what fabulously diverse yet uniformly healthy friends you have. Before I invite Miss Jealousy and The Terminator over for our monthly meeting, at which we complain about how much we hate blow jobs and plot to crush men like bugs under our steel-tipped stilettos, let me pause to consider some of the so-called perfectly happy women you describe: "Single women who have never had sex or masturbated or even thought about men in any kind of terms at all, without being the slightest bit gay, either." Do you know more than one woman who fits this description? How would you describe these women, if they're not "the slightest bit gay"? Are they simply asexual? Do they scatter spores occasionally? I'd venture to guess that women who have never had sex or masturbated, and don't think about men at all yet refuse to define themselves as gay or bisexual have some pretty severe emotional problems. They'd qualify as Women to Avoid, actually, if they were fucked up in a funny ha-ha way.
You may be on Pluto, but I'm not sure the aliens out there are any healthier than the ones here.
Another Valentine's Day, another buncha pathetic creeps I can't identify with. I'm thinking, maybe you hang out with too many white people? (I'm white, but I don't hang out with anybody.)
"Highways of Agony" was the name of this really hilarious scare film they used to show us every year in Driver's Ed, and is completely irrelevant to anything except, I suppose, to the fact that I still don't own a car & therefore, living in the sticks as I do, never get to actually meet anyone.
So maybe your stereotypes are well-founded. If so, I'm gonna keep living as I do (blues all around my bed, etc.). Cheerio.
I definitely hang out with too many white people, but I'm not sure that's the problem. I've got no corner on the pathetic creep market. Besides, aren't we all pathetic creeps when reduced to our least likable traits?
I suggest you get out there and meet some pathetic creeps of your own. It's a lot more fun than isolation, trust me.
I should know. I am a medical doctor.
Honey Nut Cheerios,