Category Archives: Lindsay Lohan

The Pencil Today:

POT VERSUS KETTLE

I’d imagine the number of local residents paying the slightest bit of attention to last night’s debate between Republican candidates for president hovered somewhere around, oh, zero.

This is, after all, Bloomington, Indiana, the capital-in-exile of the former Soviet Union and geographical magnet for this holy land’s unscrubbed beatniks, bomb-throwers, abortionists, and other Democrats.

So, The Pencil will do y’all a favor and point out the most eye-opening statement made by one of the fine and decorated statesmen and women who gathered to verbally spar in that other locus of undesirables, Washington, DC.

Minnesota Congressbeing Michele Bachmann dug deep into her her pocket thesaurus and threw a sophisticated two-syllable pejorative at Texas Gov. Rick Perry.

Bachmann: “Fingers crossed — Someone Has Less Of A Clue Than I Do.”

The issue was Pakistan and Perry had just pronounced all future financial aid to that nuclear armed Stone Age nation a no-go as long as its leaders wouldn’t keep “America’s best interests in mind.”

Y’know, the way every other nation on this spinning globe keeps the well-being of the land of Donald Trump, Lindsay Lohan, and Black Friday in the forefront of all its deliberations.

Well, our plucky gal Michele found Perry’s logic rather lacking. Bachmann is a member of the House Intelligence Committee which, if nothing else, proves our elected representatives possess a sense of humor. She reminded Perry and the world that this country gains a lot of inside dope on the doings of the wild-eyed gun-toters who populate much of Pakistan’s desolate countryside. Our dough, Bachmann insisted, also insures that the borderline lunatics who run the place aren’t overthrown by certified lunatics.

Bachmann characterized Perry’s statement thusly: “I think that’s highly naive.”

Kudos to Bachmann on grasping the fact that the syllables of a word needn’t be separated by consonants.

Now, imagine how discouraged the cowboy governor is this morning to realize that Michele Bachmann — Michele Bachmann — considers him naive.

The election, folks, is a mere 49 weeks away.

“KILL URSELF”

I have a Twitter account, I’ll admit it. On the other hand, I haven’t touched it in more than a year.

Twitter is the 140-character preserve of semi-literate pro athletes, pathologically self-involved Hollywood stars, and that portion of the populace that was born, sadly, with the condition known as anencephaly.

Take the recent Twit (screw “Tweet” — I’m going with Twit) from Washington Redskins pass catcher Jabar Gaffney.

Poor Jabar was in a funk after his team lost to the rival Dallas Cowboys Sunday. Some Cowboys fan sent him a Twit ridiculing him and his Redskins mates. (By the way, I was under the impression that this was the year 2011. And still there’s a pro team called the Redskins? The Redskins?!)

Anyway, Gaffney promptly advised the Twit-sender to, um, commit suicide.

Yup. Gaffney thumbed these proto-words into his connection to the civilized world: “… I’m just proud I ain’t you get a life or kill urself.” The line is close enough to the human language known as English that I needn’t translate it for you.

Naturally, the NFL and representatives of the sane population of America had apoplexy. Hell, if people can blame Judas Priest, whose song obliquely referred to the ultimate form of self-determination, for a couple of teens’ deaths in 1985, then Gaffney’s unmistakable advisement is fraught with peril.

Gaffney then quoted another Twit-person who agreed with his original broadside. Gaffney thumbed: “I do want that man to kill himself..one less cowboys fan…”

Existential Advice

Sheesh. Now we know there are at least two people in this nation who don’t know ellipsis is indicated by three dots, not two. America is indeed going to hell.

Cooler heads got to Gaffney and he apologized — the way many celebrities, politicians, and corporations apologize these days, which is not at all.

Gaffney Twitted a third time, “They say I can’t tell people to kill themselves didn’t know freedom of speech had limitations so I’ll just say #uknowwhattodo #HTTR better?”

In case this puzzling series of electronic grunts is indecipherable to you, I’ll help. Gaffney is saying: “My heavens, despite the landmark US Supreme Court decision wherein the noted jurist Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. opined that shouting ‘Fire!’ in a crowded theater is a practical violation of common sense, civility, and the spirit of the original 1st Amendment, I was under the impression that the concept of Freedom of Speech is sacrosanct. I will therefore alter my original pronouncement by saying, ‘Sir, do you recall that action I advised you to take which, apparently, I am not at liberty to utter in a public setting? If so, please take it.'”

Big time sports and the reprobates who perform in it and operate it are becoming less and less attractive by the week.

DON’T CRY FOR ME HOMESTEAD-MIAMI SPEEDWAY

The Loved One was incensed that First Lady Michele Obama caught the raspberry Sunday at a NASCAR race in Miami.

Obama: “I Can’t Hear You Because I Have These Big Things On My Head.”

Many in the crowd of some 80,000 booed the president’s wife lustily when she was introduced prior to shouting “Start your engines” into a microphone.

Aside from the fact that the speedway was filled with people who find deafeningly loud cars continually turning left at life threatening speeds entertaining, the race, it must be said, was held in Florida. That double-whammy indicates the crowd probably was lacking in thinkers who grasp the subtleties and nuances of today’s domestic and geopolitical debate.

Who was the last Nobel Prize winner to hail from the Sunshine State?

No matter, I actually tried to defend the crowd, which caused my lovely bride to eye me through narrowed lids.

I said, “The fact that people feel free to boo the wife of the boss of the most powerful nation on Earth is a good thing.”

The Loved One shook her head almost imperceptibly. And, I have to admit, I’m not thrilled with my argument either.

Today: Wednesday, November 9, 2011

AND THE WINNER IS…, NOBODY. YET.

Poor Linda Robbins. She’s in hot water.

Check that: Boiling water.

You can brew your morning java in it.

Linda Robbins In A Happier Moment

Robbins, the Monroe County Clerk, suspended ballot counts (login required) early this morning after yesterday’s local elections

Mix-ups at certain polling places and legal questions about the counting process have resulted in…, um, actually, there are very few results to speak of at this hour.

(See WFIU’s website for the latest albeit incomplete tallies.)

Here’s what happened. Robbins ordered paper ballots to be used in yesterday’s election. She trained poll workers to do a quick count after the polls closed and then send the ballots off to a County facility where the pencil-marked ballots would be counted by an electronic scanner.

Sounds good, right? Poll workers envisioned doing their thing, shipping their ballots off, and going home early to sit before the fire and contemplate the infinite.

Oops. The lone Republican member of the County election board had dropped a bomb on Robbins Sunday. That board member reminded Robbins that a new state law requires county election boards to do their official counts at the precinct level, with the process overseen by a single poll worker from each of the two major parties.

The law, apparently, calls for felony charges to be brought against any county clerk who veers from its mandate.

Suddenly Sunday, Robbins envisioned herself wearing a Monroe County Correctional Center jumpsuit.

So she brought her poll workers in for an emergency re-training session Monday. Only some folks just might have snoozed through the session.

Tuesday night, workers in a number of polling places stubbornly did their counts in the old way, the way they purportedly were trained out of Monday.

By midnight, the scene at the County was one of chaos. By two o’clock this morning, Robbins threw her hands in the air and ordered her people to call it a night. Counting was scheduled to resume at 9:00am.

Meanwhile, Robbins is making panicky phone calls to the Indiana Secretary of State’s office for guidance.

She may have to call a criminal defense attorney for some advice as well.

BLAME THE POOR

Speaking of this solemn system of governance we call democracy, Herman Cain is going on the offensive against accusers who claim he’s been…, well, a jerk. Possibly a criminal jerk.

A Chicago woman this week accused the Republican presidential candidate of trying to force her face into his junk as they drove around after having dinner some years ago. This incident allegedly occurred when Cain was the big boss at the National Restaurant Association.

She’s one of four woman thus far to make such icky charges against the former pizza joint CEO.

Cain held a news conference yesterday to tell the world how unfair it’s being to him.

Why’s Everbody Always Pickin’ On Me?

I mean, here’s a man who has worked his way up from dire poverty to become a wealthy man. So wealthy, in fact, that he had to become a Republican.

Cain, though, seems not to have much patience for folks who today are walking in the kind of holey shoes he once wore. He lashed out against Occupy Wall Streeters last month, saying they should only blame themselves if they aren’t as rich as he is. Later, at a Republican candidates debate, he iterated his scold against anyone who couldn’t afford a solid gold toilet.

Now, he’s under attack. And guess who’s responsible.

Yep, those who ought to be blaming themselves.

I Shoulda Worked Harder — Like Herman Cain!

Cain returned fire at his Arizona presser Tuesday as well as on that paragon program of political thought, Jimmie Kimmel Live.

He referred to the Chicago woman as “troubled” and alluded to her financial difficulties throughout the years. The idea being that she’s broke and desperate and so was ripe to make her accusations for the big bucks that surely will ensue.

Keep in mind that when guys like Cain sneer at people for their financial difficulties, they’re not talking about, say, Donald Trump failing to make payments on his hundred-million-dollar loans. Hell no, that’s big business. Cain et al reserve their disgust for people, like the Chicago woman, who have a hard time paying the electric bill.

She has nobody to blame but herself.

SURPRISE? REALLY?

I glanced at the New York Times front pager about the verdict in Michael Jackson’s doctor’s homicide case yesterday.

One thing struck me. The writer, for the 50-millionth time since the King of Pop went to heaven or hell, referred to his death as a “surprise.”

Honestly, who was surprised that Michael Jackson died? His dalliances with prescription meds were well-known. He’d been reported to be slurring and stumbling and appearing to be visiting another planet while working on his last video/CD.

And, for pity’s sake, he was Michael Jackson!

Who Could Have Expected Anything Bad To Happen To Him?

When I heard the early reports that he’d died, my intial response was, “Naturally!”

Same with Amy Winehouse. Her alcoholism and drug problems were about as common knowledge in the gossip tabs and interwebs as the fact that Barack Obama was a secret radical Muslim from Nazi Germany.

And what about someone who today is holding on to life and sanity by her fingertips, one Lindsay Lohan? Should she cash in her chips tomorrow, will reporters write that her demise is a shock?

The way I figure it, if celeb journalists want to be really accurate they should handle such sad folks thusly: Every day there should be a headline in the Entertainment or Lifestyle section blaring the news, “Jacko/Winehouse/Lohan Still Alive! Medical Experts Baffled.” Then when they do die, nothing.

The daily news, after all, is mainly about the unusual or unexpected, isn’t it?

I Hope She Surprises Us

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