ConstantCommentary® Vol. XII, No. 184, June 9, 2011

Mike Jasper at 56




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.)

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STANDARD DISCLAIMER: This column aims to be funny. If you can read anything else into it, you're on your own.




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.


© 2011 by Mike Jasper, All Rights Reserved. ConstantCommentary® is published whenever Mike Jasper feels like it. All material is the responsibility of the author.