Wait a damn minute.
We have to endure commericals from GOP fat-cats during Meet the Whore, which costs nothing to produce
besides Tim the Whore's salary, but ER which costs $13,000,000 per goddamn episode is running commercial free?
Something's wrong here - something's really wrong here.
at 10:30 (for you confused Florida voters) and 9:30 CST
Let's flex some muscle TODAY
Subject: love your tax plan
Let's pound Spin Room ALL DAY
the show starts TONIGHT.
The address is firstname.lastname@example.org
Tell Bill Press The BartCop Tax Plan is simpler, faster, more fair and it's what America needs.
If we don't get a mention, I'll wait until we're bigger to ask you again.
But IF we have the power to affect a TV talk show, wouldn't that be good information to have?
It'd be no good to find out in 2004 that we had this power all along.
Subject: Tax Plan
The BartCop Tax plan is a far fairer plan than Bush's trumped-up windfall to the rich.
The details are below, but it involves a 10% income tax cut for all Americans to a maximum of $1500 per person.
I think you should talk about this on the Spin Room on TONIGHT.
We've got nothing to lose but two minutes of computer time.
Let's try it and see what happens.
PS. No need to CC me with your letter.
I trust you.
Bad Language Alert
Watching Regis last night, I got so angry I said "Fuck it."
"Who signed The Civil Rights Act into law. Was it JFK or LBJ?"
The answer is JFK wanted to, but the mother-effers put
a bullet in his goddamn brain
before he got the bill put together so the answer Regis wanted was LBJ.
The part that got me angry was the date it happened - 1965.
Ninteen fucking sixty five, a hundred years after the last decent Republican freed them - on paper.
Can you believe this horseshit
racist nation made millions of black people stand around for a hundred
goddamn years without any civil rights? They almost had the right not to get hung from the nearest
fucking tree because Gomer thought "that nigger" was looking at some white girl's shapely legs.
Goddamn, that pisses me off.
Lincoln "freed" them in 1865, but they weren't allowed to eat
They weren't allowed to sleep at hotels and motels.
They weren't even allowed to drink whiety's water from a fountain at the goddamn store.
And if you ask about voting, nigger, we turn the dogs on you.
Oh, what a great Christian nation we are, right?
One hundred loooong fucking years.
"Excuse me, Sir, I'd like to buy some dinner for my family."
"Fuck you, nigger! Get the hell out of
my restaurant before I call the law.
Ignorant, lazy mother-fucker, get your nigger ass out of here NOW!"
"Excuse me, Sir, we'd like to rent a room tonight."
"Fuck you, nigger! Get your nigger ass
off my property before I use this shotgun.
Goddamn, worthless fucking nigger. Drive to the next town, nigger!"
Are things any better now?
I've said it many times.
If I'd been born black, I wouldn't have made it to the age of twenty.
Oh, I'm sure I could've put up with it for a little while, but at some point,
some racist shit would've caught me on the wrong fucking day and I would've launched.
That restaurant would be burned to the ground, that hotel would've been a smoldering heap.
How about a special shot of Chinaco for a guy like
Frank Sinatra, (who's not my favorite)
because when the club owners and casino owners said, "But Frank, we don't DO niggers,"
Frank said, "If Sammy can't play your club, none of us will play your club."
I meant to tell this story a hundred times, and if I have already,
In the early sixties, Bob Gibson traveled with the St Louis Cardinals to K-Drag for
some exhibition game or something. Anyway, the Cardinals stayed at the now-defunct
Adams Hotel in downtown Tulsa. It was old money class, like The Willard in Washington.
All of them except for Bob Gibson.
No, niggers weren't allowed in whitey's precious hotel in the early sixties, so Bob had to find a hotel
that accepted "those people." I am so ashamed of my St. Louis Cardinals for that incident.
First of all, they're a team, goddamit. If I was
on that team and they said, "No niggers,"
I would've led the charge to say "No niggers, no Cardinals, mother-fucker," and walked out
Hell, if for no other reason - get greedy!
With Musial retired, (or about to be) Bob Gibson was the star of the damn team!
Bob Gibson is one of the best pitchers in the history of the damn game, so why couldn't
his team pretend to like him enough to demand he be treated with a little respect?
BP now 220/150
Sorry, I just get a little carried away with this racism horseshit.
If BartCop-ism stands for anything, it's equality for the individual.
I guess that's why The Grand Old Facsist party hates the name, "BartCop."
Fuck you, GOP - we're not going back.
No matter how hard you try to pull us there, we're not going back.
Everytime I get an e-mail from a Bush-voting
Republican that starts with "Dear Nigger Lover,"
it makes me want to wear that slur as a fucking badge.
Suck me, GOP!
We kidnap the poor sons of bitches, beat them, cut their feet
off for trying to escape, then we get a small twang
of conscience and Lincoln frees them only to keep them in chains for another goddamn hundred years after that,
then 35 years after they actually get some law on their side. this racist country gets close to electing a racist pig
who ends up stealing the goddamn election over the will of the people because the Supreme Whores are racist..
No matter how hard you try to pull us there,
we're not going back.
And if the Racist Whore Court tries to force us back?
We just might see some flames, after all.
I need a drink.
Local K-Drag radio took Pigboy off today
...for a basketball game.
The set up
IN THIS era of over-hyped fights and paper
champions, promoters artfully build fights
with catchy superlatives and clever nicknames. At times, the fight itself cannot match its
bombastic buildup. However, there remains one fight that truly lived up to it's billing.
The first contest between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier was simply called "The Fight of the Century."
To this day, the billing rings true.
When Ali challenged Frazier at Madison Square
Garden on March 8, 1971, the
ramifications reached far beyond the boxing ring. America had just emerged from the
turbulent 1960s and the nation was divided. Ali was still held in contempt by much of
the country. He was viewed as a brash, draft-dodging, Muslim who embodied the
defiance and spirit of both the anti-war movement and the radical chic.
Frazier -- who read the Bible and liked to sing -- was held up as the blue-collar champion.
The Scoundrel's Mantra
The first rule of being a scoundrel is "Never admit anything."
Thirty years ago today, a friend from Catholic High School in
Little Rock picked me up
from my aunt's house and we went to see The Fight of The Century.
Ali vs Frazier
You talk about hype!
This really, really was a monster of a fight.
Two undefeated champions colliding head-on.
We went to Robinson Auditorium to see in on the big screen pay-per-view.
I guess this was the first pay-per-view fight of all time, and it was hueueueuge.
The picture was in grainy black and white.
I remember each fighter got $2.5 million which was unheard of
at the time.
I also remember Joe Frazier was soaking his head in salt water to toughen up his skin
because he knew Ali would be whap, whap, whap with that terrible swift jab all night.
I was pulling for Ali, but my friend (I can't remember his name,
dammit, we'll call him Mike.)
said Ali was "paper" and would go down in the first three rounds.
I asked him if he was a gambler.
He said yes, so I bet $3 that Ali would last more than three rounds.
(In 1971, three dollars was real money. I was on an allowance of $5 a week)
So all Ali had to do was survive three rounds and I was a winner.
It was damn exciting.
Well, in the 15th round, Frazier caught Ali with the most famous left hook in history and down he went.
That was when men were men. They fought 15 rounds.
None of this 12 rounds and then we'll ask Don King who he thought won.
Ali lost a unanimous decision, but I still won my bet.
Mike said he'd have to pay me in the next few days, I said OK.
It was easy money.
Days later, I came in from riding my bike (therapy for the broken
femur) and my aunt
met me at the door. She was wearing her prosecutorial hat.
(To give you a little background, when I was 16, I went to live
with my Aunt Josephine in Little Rock.
She was 60 or so, never married, ...and her occupation?
She taught second grade for 40 years, and now I was in her care.
She knew just how to handle me - like I was in second grade.
It was a constant war.)
So I'm met at the door by Hamilton Burger, and she starts with the accusations:
Aunt Jo: So, I hear you're the big gambler.
Bart: I have no idea what you're talking about.
Aunt Jo: I know for a fact you're a big gambler, so explain it to me.
Bart: I have no idea what you're talking about.
(I had done a lot of gambling at Catholic
High, little stuff, sports and whatever.
It was nickle & dime, but it was the sin of gambling.)
Aunt Jo: I know you're guilty, so you might as well confess.
I knew the first rule was never admit anything, so I just played dumb.
She obviously knew something, and she felt like she had the upper hand,
but until I knew what information she had, I wasn't saying a goddamn thing.)
Bart: I have no idea what you're talking about.
Aunt Jo: You might as well tell me everything, since I already know.
Bart: I have no idea what you're talking about.
Aunt Jo: Mike came by and gave me
three dollars and said, "Bart won the bet,"
so why don't you explain it to me, Mr. Big Gambler.
The wheels in my head were spinning like
the GOP after a Smirk speech.
Sometimes the best defense is a good offense, so I ran with it.
Bart: Oh, that. ha
ha No, that wasn't really
(Wheels spinning faster now)
You know how you're always saying whenever a friend drives me somewhere
that I should always chip in for gas? Well, Mike said that wasn't necessary,
but since you told me it was important, I insisted, but he still resisted, so we
decided to each pick a fighter and the loser paid for the gas. I had nothing to lose.
Aunt Jo: Are you telling me the truth?
Bart: God's honest!
Aunt Jo: Isn't three dollars a little steep for gas?
Bart: (wheels spinning) ...we had to pay for parking, too.
Aunt Jo: Well, OK but don't you ever try to pull anything on me, cause I'll find out.
Bart: Yes, Ma'am.
I know you were expecting more of a boxing report, but you already
know the fight turned out.
Matter of fact, it was Frazier, the winner, who went to the hospital that night,
but I can't think about that fight without remembering how I almost got caught gambling.
Subject: Sent my e-mail to Spin Room
Just wanted to let you know.
The House is voting today, so it's in the headlines.
Maybe we'll get a mention
Have YOU sent your e-mail about The BartCop Tax Plan to Spin Room yet?
"You cut the pancake breakfast out, and
the steak and eggs...
It brings tears to my eyes...
I just exercised a lot more, just did a lot more cardio and a lot of yoga and it felt really good.
But then towards the end of the film I was really anxious to sit down and order
an IHOP double-decker, just bring on the whipped cream and the butter."
-- Charlize Theron on losing 20 pounds for the film Sweet November
This lady needs to lose twenty pounds?
Can we assume she playing the lead in the Karen Carpenter story?
Some guy wants to argue The BartCop Tax Plan.
There's a wacko-right wing hate site at http://www.benfranklinfoundation.org/
(Why do they have to drag poor Ben Franklin into their hate pit?)
This paragraph caught my eye:
The left, lead by Hillary Clinton and her cronies,
may be quiet now, but they will inevitably attack.
They will once again start talking about how Republicans want to starve children,
We couldn't do that unless you try to kill funding for the school lunch program.
That was Reagan's first attack when he took power.
That senile old fool wanted catsup declared a vegetable so lunches would be cheaper.
Meanwhile, his rich friends and wall street billionaires got richer and richer.
So, if you try that shit again,
we will call you on it again.
...take away the Social Security from our elderly,
Use your damn head.
If your multi-millionaire all-white representatives would stop trying to "re-design" Social Security
we couldn't accuse you of trying to screw the elderly, now could we?
...and harm the poor.
There you go again!
When you're not rooting around in Clinton's pants, you're trying to kill the minimum wage,
trying to cut back welfare, child immunizations and WIC programs, and you say we have
the gall to call you on it when you attack those who can't defend themselves?
These non-truths need to be rebutted and confronted
We know the best way to stop the attacks by the left is to go on offense and place them on defense.
This can best be accomplished by a continuous TV and Radio campaign throughout the year.
What do you think we've had since January 1993?
Well, with CCN, Fox Whore News, the three networks and the anti-Clinton
I guess you could say "mission accomplished."
The Charge: BartCop uses the word "whore" too much in his writings.
How do I plead: Guilty, with an explanation.
I know that word is overused, but isn't it like saying John Madden
uses the word "football" too much?
I'm sure there are colorful euphemisms I could use - harlot, hooker, streetwalker, but those are rhetorical
tools I'd use if I was in some creative writing class and didn't want to anger the teacher with repetition.
If there was a better, more accurate term I could be using, please send it in - quick.
As long as I'm commenting on the GOP takeover and the lay-down
I'm afraid the "W" word is going to be around for a while.
Mrs. BartCop found an old canister of 35mm film, so we had it
I'll be damned, this photo is over a year old.
This is the Casta Weber Azul tequila worm, sitting
on my patio grill.
(They're kidding - tequila doesn't have a worm, but it's fun to pretend.)
I only had to pay about $45 for this - cheap.
This is fine tequila, tho it's not match for Chinaco Anejo.
Let's thank Bill Clinton for a job well done.
Subject: Thank You
Thanks for being a beacon of rational thought
in a sea of lies, obfuscations and general bullshit.
I used to work in the media, but these days I'm pretty much 'retired', although my husband still works with the whores.
Over the last 3 decades I worked for CBS (tv &
radio), ABC (tv), SportsChanneLA, the Disney Channel
(was the manager of for 2 years in the '80's), and the Playboy Channel (when I met Mr. Chaos), among other outlets.
Was raised Catholic in a Pennsylvanian backwater,
and ended up at a freaking fundamentalist college
(anything to get out of PA!)....Pepperdine, to be specific....did a year at their old LA campus (in Watts),
then a year in Germany on a scholarship. Had to learn the difference between fundies, pentacostals,
revisionists, and just plain old wacko's, for survival's sake.
After college, my first tv job was in Anchorage,
AK, where I was the sob rolling the tapes
(FCC 1st Phone time, back then) with Jack van Impe, the early 700 Club, Jimmy Swaggert
(neither Pat, nor Jimmy, paid their bills, and ended up at the nbc affiliate),
and Jim & Tammy Faye Bakker's puppet show (they didn't pay either, and ended up on the abc affiliate)....
Yep, a front row seat for a lot of the shit that has gone before.
Anyway, one of my guilty pleasures has been tabloids.
Probably have most National Enquirer's going back to 1979, and the Star from 1981...
Also have a complete set of Spy magazine.
It runs in my mind that Spy printed a picture of a naked Arnold Schwarzenegger back in 1992
(I have a vague memory of being pregnant & showing a neighbor for a giggle...)...and they were never sued for it.
Anyway, if there is anything you'd like from 'the repository', I'd be more than happy to dig through.
An unabashed fan (who prefers not to use her real e-mail address--it was the time in Germany...),
PS...found the enclosed picture tonight in the
Reuter's photo section...
what the fuck is the shadow behind Smirk's head...Darth Vader?
No, that just shows the hole in his goddamn head.
And yes, send me some wild photos from the repository.
Sounds like some good laughs might be in there
Read the Previous Issue
It had everything.
Copyright © 2001, bartcop.com
Thanks for the fumble, Dude.