Here at InvertedMind, we (read: I) like to take current events and give you my spin on them. There have been two major events in the last 10 days, and both reach levels of absurd I can’t begin to fathom. Which means I can’t resist them.
Chronologically, if I may…
Don Imus, shock jock numero uno (pre-Howard Stern (and not Howard K. Stern, who we’ll get to in a few paragraphs) and infinitely more offensive and obnoxious), calls the women of the Rutgers’ (New Jersey) ladies basketball team a bunch of “nappy-headed hos.” The term is deemed racist, sexist, and generally offensive to true hos the world over. The backlash is immediate, with the usual counter-anti-racism-racists crawling out of the woodwork — or, in the case of Al Sharpton, his own deep, dank, dark hole in which the creep resides.
Imus spends the next day telling the world his comments were meant in jest, and that they all should just get over it and, coincidentally, themselves. He spends the day after that apologizing profusely and expressing his deepest, most heartfelt regret (that he miraculously started feeling in the preceding 24 hours). Translation: as wrong as he may have been in making his original, sleazy comments, he showed no backbone whatsoever by failing to stick to his guns, and proved to the world that he really has spent the last 30-plus years in shock entertainment simply for the money and fame, and not because he actually believed in what he claimed on the airwaves over the years.
Meanwhile, the aforementioned Sharpton leads calls for Imus to be fired. The same Al Sharpton who jumped to conclusions in the Duke rape case, saying all the suspects were clearly guilty, that the rape was racially motivated, and that it should be treated as a hate crime. All the charges were dropped this week and the accuser is called a liar by everyone in Wake County, North Carolina. Note that he did not call her a “nappy-headed ho,” leaving Sharpton at a loss for words with which to reply for the first time in his life. On his radio show in the following days, Imus ponders out loud if Sharpton will ever apologize to the young men falsely accused of rape — the only intelligent thing the idiot has ever said. Sharpton chooses to avoid the question altogether — nothing less would be expected from the jerk.
The plot thickens.
Advertisers begin pulling money from the show. MSNBC pulls the plug on their television simulcast of the radio show (what moron thought that broadcasting a decrepit old man talking into a microphone for hours on end would actually result in quality television entertainment?) and CBS execs show some semblance of cajones and tell the world that Imus hasbeen suspended for two weeks.
Note to radio hosts: make a racist remark, get two additional weeks of paid vacation.
Late Wednesday (after this edition of InvertedMind should have already been posted) CBS backtracks and rescinds the suspension — only to replace it with a pink slip. Don Imus calls five women hos on the radio and loses two jobs in a week. Meanwhile, every mainstream rapper not named Will Smith makes references to hos, pimps and “gangstas” at least 73 times in each track they cut, and they are rewarded with multi-million dollar contracts and world tours to spread the hate as far as the tickets will possibly sell.
So, do I think Imus should have been fired? Yes! But it should have happened long before this — back when he uttered racial epithets toward Jews (I kid you not, he once referred to show management as “beanie-wearing Jewboys”; his words, not mine). Or maybe for his inability to be even remotely unbiased as a member of mass political media. Or, simply, because he only has an audience because of being an ignorant moron, not in spite of it.
In a largely unrelated note, I would like to reaffirm my years-long assertion that Al Sharpton can kiss my white arse. But that’s for another day.
But wait — could a week have possibly gone in which Anna Nicole Smith didn’t posthumously make front pages world-wide? No, we aren’t that lucky.
However, the saga may finally be coming to a close. It’s possible the entire train wreck could be wrapped up before the Battle of Armageddon. It’s a slim chance, but it still might happen.
Results of the paternity test on Larry Birkhead were released this week and it turns out that he — not Howard K. Stern (not to be confused with the previously noted shock jock Howard Stern) — is the true father of Dannilynn Hope Stern Birkhead Smith Martinez Sharpton.
Sorry, got carried away a bit.
Immediately, Stern drops all attempts at retaining custody and endorses Birkhead as the rightful guardian. This custody battle is beginning to sound more like political primaries — which are just around the corner, so get out and vote! — and less like family matters.
But, again, the plot thickens.
A.N.S.’s momma, who A.N.S. couldn’t stand, is still fighting for custody. She seems to have resorted to a joint guardianship of some sort, but here’s the way this whole thing stands: Birkhead is the dad by blood. He is the only living parent. He seems fit enough to be a parent, and he sure seems to love her enough. So there should be no debate, and there should no longer be any further court proceedings, in the Bahamas, the U.S.A., on Neptune, or in an alternate dimension. As sole surviving parent, he is the sole rightful guardian. End of story. Game, Set, Match. There should be no further doubt at this point, and if anyone says different it would be a black eye for justice as we know it.
And now, on with our show!
Who needs Loony Tunes when you’ve got Dickens?
InvertedMind is a big fan of Charles Dickens. Okay, I got a D+ in an All-Dickens-All-The-Time course in college, but it was taught at 8:00 a.m. I don’t get along well with any time of the day between 5:00 a.m. and 11:30 a.m. But I like Books By Chas, and if you are any sort of a fan of the French Revolution (yes, the French at one point knew how not to be a nation of wusses), you need to read a Tale of Two Cities. But now there are plans for a Charles Dickens theme park. Maybe they’re thinking of rides like the Oliver Twister, the Haunted Bleak House or maybe a show called the Wonderful Illusions of the Other David Copperfield. But I really don’t see the thrill in it.
Is that a keyboard in your pants?
How in the world do you go about smuggling pianos? And where, exactly, did they find the stool?
He’s lucky it was just his nose
There are certain things you just don’t joke about with your wife. Her weight, her mother (you know I love ya, Momma!), her hair, marrying a third wife…
And finally…
The man, the myth, the weird-romance legend
Her Hotness and I met in a chat room during a blizzard that brought the entire east coast of the ‘States to a screeching (or, in some places, a skidding) halt. It was the sort of thing that proves there is a God — way too perfect to be pure chance. However, a British man claims to have outdone us. Well, we aren’t mentioned in the article, but the only possible way to out-awesome our first meeting would be to dream your future bride’s number, and the wake up and call it.
I bid you adieu.
