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Weiner
and the white man
I feel compelled to
write something about Congressman Weiner, even though nearly
everything’s been said already.
It's just
too hard to ignore a good Weiner story. It dangles there, and even
though it isn't hard news, every photo that appears on the Internet
gives new life to an otherwise limp....
I'm done.
The puns just keep on coming (ohhhhhh, there's another one). I only
have one point—where's my fucking apology? Thanks to Congressman
Weiner, every time I write about the world-famous Weiner Dog Races in
Buda, Texas I wind up misspelling wiener. I think I did it again.
Besides,
shouldn't it be pronounced whiner anyway? Shouldn't it? I don't know. I
guess when you're male and your choice is between dick jokes or pussy
jokes, you go with dick. Seriously, I'm done.
I'd rather
talk about something more compelling, the heir apparent to the title
Whitest Man in the World. It happened quietly last year with the death
of Leslie Nielsen, the guy from the Airplane movies, best known for the
line, "... and don't call me Shirley."
White
hair, white skin, white sounding voice. The Whitest Man in the World
until his death. He could be cast as a cop, a lawyer, even a robber
baron CEO. You know. White. Not Brideshead Revisited white, but white.
Sadly,
with Nielsen's passing, celebrated author Jim Moore now becomes the
Whitest Man in the World. Here's a photo
of them both, side by side. Jim Moore is the one on the right. I
snapped the photo after he took a ski run in Vail. You can tell he's
breathing heavily.
As
many of
you know, Jim Moore co-wrote two best selling political books, Bush's Brain and The Architect. Both books are about
the life and times of Karl Rove, the man who made George W. Bush
president of the United States. A third book about Rove called We're Gonna Do This Shit Until We Get It
Right is still in the planning stages.
I met Jim
Moore while playing for the Austin Men's Baseball League. He played
first base, clearly a waste of his talents. He should have pitched.
Nobody could possibly pick up the ball against the backdrop of Jim
Moore.
Jim Moore
threw left and batted right. One day as the team hung* around the
dugout waiting for the game to begin, Jim Moore told us the story
behind his odd ambidexterity.
"My dad
went out and bought me a glove. He got it on sale, and it was
left-handed. I was right handed. He told me to either use it or quit,
so I became a lefty on the field but continued to bat right."
This
admission was followed by a thoughtful pause I felt compelled to break.
"Jim
Moore's dad raped me in junior high," I said.
"That
would explain a lot," Jim Moore said.
Jim Moore
isn't afraid to spit in the wind, eat the yellow snow or ridicule a
humor columnist. He rides a motorcycle (yep, it's white too). And he
doesn't give a flying fuck about parking. Jim Moore. The Whitest Man in the
Wooooorrrrrrrlllllllllllddddddd.
See how it
is with me? I went from writing about a Weiner to writing about a
weenie. Keep up. I don't want to have to explain this shit again.
(*I
swear, hung is the last penis reference I'll make. Honest.)
STANDARD DISCLAIMER:
This column aims to be funny. If you can read anything else into it,
you're on your own.
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Mike Jasper
is a writer and musician living in Austin, Texas.
Originally
from the San Francisco Bay Area, he claims strong ties to Seattle, St.
Petersburg, Florida and North Platte, Nebraska.
jasper2atmikejasperdotcom
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