THE BONANZA SPLITS

The last surviving cast member of the show Bonanza has died. Pernell Roberts, who played the relatively level-headed (and boring) Trapper John, passed away from pancreatic cancer at his home Sunday at the age of 81. His only son died in a motorcycle accident in 1989. It will be remembered that Roberts bit Lorne Greene's left nipple off during a fight while both men were auditioning for the role of Battlestar Galactica's Commander Adama, which Roberts felt was a natural fit for him since he had played Adam Cartwright. Pernell leaves behind a passel of past and present wives... and one helluva hairpiece.

JESSE'S DAD

A dear friend of mine lost his dad on the morning of January 3, 2010. He had been battling health problems for some time, but that doesn't really matter when someone close passes on. Jesse and I traded a couple of emails catching up over the holidays. I wrote him about my dead horse, my broken truck, and questions about guitars and he wrote back with condolences and answers while sitting next to his father in the hospital. I mentioned my wife's gall bladder attack and he wrote back, "Sorry to hear there is pain in yer household, hope everything gets better." His dad had passed away and yet Jesse was still thinking about others. I tell you this not to take attention away from his dad. It's more of a tribute to his dad, because Jesse is the man and great friend that he is because of his dad.

The following is the content of Jesse's emails. I got permission to post these wonderful words he shared about his dad.

The only other news is that Dad has been in the Hospital since before Thanksgiving. He was in ICU for 2 weeks, then got out and into a room for a week and was awake and able to carry on conversations. But after a little over a week he got the P-nuemony and went back into ICU for another 3 weeks. Outside of the week he was in a regular room he was on a ventilator. His wife decided to have them take him off a couple of days ago but he is still hangin' in there like a hair in a biscuit, although he hasn't opened his eyes or been able to speak in over a month. I am sitting next to him as I write. I have no idea if he knows I am here, or if he knows I've been here at all, since he went into ICU weeks ago but I know I'm here. Don't know how much that really counts in the big picture though.

Sorry, didn't mean to ramble. I guess it's just been on my mind to write something about him.

....

Dad moved on at about 7:30am 1/3/10

....

 

Dad had been pretty much zonked out on Morphine and such for a while. They took him off the machine, as was his wishes, and said it wouldn't be long BUT he hung in for almost 3 days. I thought maybe he would pull out but the truth is it is probably better this way. I know that sounds horrible but he had only been out of bed one time in over two months and that was after he had been in the Hospital for two weeks. He had insisted on "going to" (basic human dignity, I suppose) the bathroom instead of a bedpan. Well, he couldn't stand even then but I was able to get him on what he (and Grandma) called the "Thunder mug", you know the bedside pot. I left the room and gave him privacy but when he was done it took me and a male nurse to get him back in bed, he just had no strength. That was the last time he was out of bed and that was almost two months ago so you can image how much muscle loss there had been. He also had a stroke at some point near the very beginning of all this. I remember when he was awake he was telling me that one of his arms had felt funny ever since he woke up and he didn't seem to be able to control it. He could raise it to some degree but could not use it. However he had no slurred speech or droopy eyes er anything else. I thought maybe it was just weak and maybe it was "asleep" but I found out later it was a stroke.

So even had he come out of this he probably would have been stuck in bed from now on because without the ability to support himself with both arms he would never have walked.

The funeral was today and out of all the hard funerals I've had to get through (Grandmaw's, Mom's and my Aunt, who had taken us in when my natural Mother died when I was 2) this was the hardest by far! See, not only was this a funeral of a parent it was the funeral of my LAST parent! Dad had been the source of strength through those. He was my example of how to grieve with dignity....he was not there in that capacity this time. I hope I did not embarrass him. Even though I tried very hard to be the pillar of strength there were tears but my breakdowns have been in private, at least that is what I think. That was the example he had set for me. A man had to show strength, outwardly at least, if not for himself for those around him looking for strength. A man has to appear strong, if not for himself then for others. He was as strong as he could muster for all those funerals before but I know when he was alone he sobbed in private. I heard it but left him to believe I knew nothing of it for to have gone to him, or let him know that I knew in any way, would have been the worst thing I could have done I believe.

His Casket was draped with a Flag and a picture of him as a boy (yes, boy, he lied and said he was 17 when he was really not yet 15) in the Navy WWII (The Great One) was sitting on top. After it was over they folded the Flag and I have it now. I need to find one of them fancy boxes for it! I have lost a Father, teacher and mentor but America has lost a Patriot, a fighter and a true American! Yes, I have lost a Hero......but I share that loss with my Country because, it also lost a Hero! It hurts, and greatly saddens, me that he had to witness what is happening to the Country he so ardently wanted to believe in, serve and defend that as a child he was willing to put his very young life on the line to do so, be torn to shreds before his eyes! If nothing else I take solice in the fact he will not have to witness that any longer!

Sorry, didn't mean to write a novel

j

"Back from 'who ate us'?" "No, hiatus."

OBAMA'S WAR

President Barack Obama's long anticipated "Afghaniplan" is scheduled to be announced this very evening, with a troop increase of 30-35,000 expected, which is a tad less than the 140,000 his commanding General recommended for success. Our little candidate is growing up. It seems like just yesterday he was saying things like, "I don't oppose all wars. What I am opposed to is a dumb war."  Of course, that quote was directed toward the War in Iraq. 

After eight years there, Afghanistan is clearly a different story... just ask the Russians. But fear not: Obama is not growing weary, even if his party is. He plans for U.S. troops to be there for at least three more years, beating the Soviets by a year and a half. He states that we will not leave before the job is done. By the way: does anyone know what the job is?

Due to its mountainous terrain (among other factors) there has never been an effective, centralized government in Afghanistan, with the possible exception of the East India Company. The area is nothing more than a barren pile of minerals, a line of demarcation between warring ethnic factions. If Obama really thinks Bin Laden is still hiding in the hills there, don't send more U.S. soldiers into harm's way to look for him; send mining companies. Within a few years of strip mining, there won't be anywhere left for the b*stard to hide.

SEALing THEIR FATE

Four U.S. SEALs have been accused of the mistreatment of another poor Islamic prisoner, one Ahmed Hashim Abed. This fella claims he was punched in the mouth during his detainment by the members of SEAL Team 10. One of the soldiers, Matthew McCabe, has been charged with assault. You probably have never heard of McCabe, but you might remember Abed from a 2004 incident during which four U.S. contractors were murdered, burned, dragged, and hung from a bridge over the Euphrates River under his orders. The SEALs have given our mamby-pamby, Obama-era military the finger and demanded Courts-Martial (facing criminal charges and possible jail time) rather than administrative discipline.  And get this: they are to be arraigned on DECEMBER 7th! Good for them for standing up! If these SEALs don't win their case against the Obama Administration's witness - fellow Muslim Ahmed Hashim Abed, we all need to march to Washington and defend the men at home who are defending us abroad!  And I mean march armed to the teeth.  ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!

This despicable treatment of our soldiers comes from the post-Abu Ghraib, we're so sorry for being Americans attitude that has only intensified under the current administration. ('W'-ers out there rest assured that the previous administration was guilty of this, too - just to a lesser extent.) Don't humiliate the enemy, they tell us. You will just make them angrier. Don't humiliate them? You mean like this?

This administration tells us we no longer can waterboard because it is cruel and inhumane.  Besides, they tell us, it is not an effective way to get information and could suggest to people we are not compassionate.  You mean like this?

I'm going to address waterboarding for just a moment. I saw Mancow do a little bit on it. He apparently (I don't listen to his show) was a big fan of it until he tried it himself in-studio:

So Mancow admits that waterboarding is torture.  Well, he forgot to ask these 4 questions:

1. Yeah?
2. And?
3. So?
4. What?*

Why in the Hell would I care? Is waterboarding torture? Possibly. I don't really know the definition. I can tell you this: Waterboarding by no means looks like a pleasant experience. In fact, it is so bad that it is probably among the top 5 reasons that I'm not a scumbag, Hell-bound, militant, Islamic terrorist today. I say the only way you do waterboarding wrong is if the piece of garbage terrorist gets up afterward. It is my understanding that we actually only waterboarded one individual (a bunch of times, grant you) and it worked... remarkably well. It worked so well that we only had to threaten one other individual with it before he started singing about terrorist cells and info. If waterboarding some Muslim dink saves just one person from a fate like this...

...bring me an ironing board and a pitcher of water! I have compassion. It makes me passionate. And maybe it makes a SEAL passionate from time to time.

To all other SEALs out there: In the future, you take the future "Objective Ambers" out there, cut off their toes or noses or whatever to get information - or not - then put a bullet in their head... followed by another. We need you protecting us, not wasting your time in disciplinary hearings or Courts-Martial. Oh, and "Thank You" to all of you from all of us.

*And thanks to Bill Hicks for not objecting to me stealing from his joke.


HIGHER A-SPIRE-ATIONS

Remember the Chicago Spire? This massive, 2000-feet high skyscraper was to be the third tallest building in the world, and tallest residential structure ever. The project's financing collapsed with the current economic downturn, with little hope of it ever becoming a reality. Until now...

The AFL-CIO is now looking at raising more than $100 million to get the project going. Why? Because some of their union members are facing 30% unemployment rates. This project would provide over one million man-hours of labor at a time when it is greatly needed. The work, that is, if not the building.

At a time when people are losing their homes because they are overextended, is it wise to build a luxury residential high-rise, a monument to fiscal irresponsibility?  A Cortlandt Homes Project for the 2000's?  I think not, so I have a better suggestion. Why not build a wall like we have been talking about in this country for the last ten years?

This will be something practical, something useful, something with purpose.  It will get these union guys working again... they will like that. It will protect the citizens of this country from a horrible enemy. And it will help insure the economic integrity of the U.S. for generations to come.

I'm not talking about a wall to keep gardeners and meat packers south of the boarder.  And I'm not talking about a wall to keep emergency room visitors and weekend gamblers to the north.  I'm talking about a massive wall, some 50 feet high, made of concrete, steal, and whatever else that can be scrounged, impervious to human efforts to blast through, cross over, or tunnel under, email and phone signal-proof, sealed, and left forever. Something that will make the Great Wall of China look like a Christo and Jeanne-Claude installation.  I'm talking about building a wall around Washington, D.C.

Now, that's construction that would help this country.

My Friend Joe

I first saw Joe Williams in Mrs. Dejean's class at Janie Stark Elementary in Farmers Branch. It was a fifth grade class, and Joe had been attending a different school for several years. It was far enough in the school year that we had developed our cliques: outsiders welcome by invitation only. Joe was wearing a Scout uniform... to school. He was never one for making things easier on himself.

I didn't know Joe because I was relatively new to the school. I had moved out to Texas just before my fourth grade. Actually, my parents moved to Texas, and took all of the money, so I tagged along. I settled into my new home fairly well even though I was the new kid with a pageboy haircut and an Alabama drawl (boy, that was a fun break-in period). I had actually heard snippets here and there about Joe but had no point of reference. That was about to change.

The murmurs started before he walked into the room. Mrs. Dejean braced the class first, announcing the arrival of the "new" student we all could see in the hallway. Several students near me warned me to stay away from him. "He's weird." "Psycho." "Some kind of sick genius." I was sold. Joe and I became fast friends. I remained very close to my friend Joe through much of college.

I never found out first hand why Joe went to a different school for a time, but he did announce to me that one of the girls we attended school with through graduation wore a scar on her ankle shaped exactly like several of his teeth. He neither bragged nor lamented this fact... just stated it like one might point out it's partly cloudy. That was my friend Joe.

In sixth grade we got Commodore PET computers. For those of you young enough not to be impressed with an elementary school having TWO computers, let me describe them for you. Picture your telephone with no camera, no email capacity, no internet, no permanent memory, no communications capabilities, 4k (yes, 'k') of RAM, all in a package about 900 times larger.

This was in the days of "GOTO" statements and 5 1/4" floppies (ask your parents). The computers were in our school to usher us into the computer age. Unfortunately, our teachers didn't know a thing about computers, either, so they mostly sat on a desk in the back of the classroom. The computers were of little use, either.

Except to a few enterprising students. Those of us who were so motivated worked on becoming programmers. This consisted mostly of copying down code from a little workbook. These complex lines would magically cause the computer screen to go black, or repeat a sentence over and over, or scroll a phrase in green text from left to right.

One day a filthy phrase showed up on the screen. We found out about it through a warning from the teaching staff that we would lose computer privileges if it happened again. It did. Again. And again. Except each new phrase was displayed more creatively... and was filthier. We all denied responsibility, even through the suspension of computer access, but I knew there was only one mind capable of so dastardly a deed. It took years for him to admit responsibility for The Case of the Computer Filth, but I was always jealous of my friend Joe's apparent ability to pass a lie detector test. Artistry.

There are so many random memories. That same year we had to memorize at least 14 lines of poetry. Joe memorized Jabberwochy. That was so cool. He helped me memorize 14 lines of Jabberwocky. I tried to keep up but Joe just... I don't know what his grades were like, I don't know how well he did on standardized tests. I always did as well as I cared when it came to grades and exceptionally well on standardized tests. I've been a member of MENSA and Intertel, and I've held my own in intellectual debates all my life. Some people have impressed me with their ability to utilize their intelligence. Others with their breadth of knowledge. Others with the effort they put into being an expert in their field. Joe Williams was the only person I ever met who intimidated me intellectually. My friend Joe was brilliant in every way.

In the spring of 7th grade there was a History Fair. I submitted an entry in the Literature category. Edmund Ruffin, the man who fired the first shot of the Civil War, is a distant relative of mine. I researched his life and participation in the war and wrote three letters, as if penned by him, that represented his psychological decline from that first shot on Fort Sumter to his suicide at war's end. I wrote the letters as if he was drinking more and more heavily during the composition of each, right down to glass rings on the paper, sprinkling actual liquor on them, and dripping the wax seal on the last letter very messily. I put all of my adolescent talent into this project and I was immensely proud and confident of it. It came in second place.

It is difficult for someone as competitive as I to lose when there is no extenuating circumstance available. I got beat, and beat soundly. Joe won first prize with a poem he wrote, Death at Bunker Hill - June 17, 1775. It was good... better than mine. It was a great poem. My own dad took quite a liking to it. Yes, Joe had beat me fair and square. But it wasn't enough that he bested my greatest creative achievement. In that same way he described the scar, Joe informed me he had written the poem in about fifteen minutes. Ah! Devine intervention... I couldn't have beaten God. No, he explained. He had merely forgotten to do the assignment and typed it out the night before it was due. He didn't brag and he never rubbed it in. He just beat me. And I still have a copy of the poem my friend Joe wrote.

We got separated in class often. In fact, I think Mrs. Dejean, our fifth grade teacher, had experienced enough to make sure no one ever again experienced me and Joe together. I can't think of any time my friend Joe and I were allowed to sit next to each other after fifth grade...

...except in Boy Scouts. Man, now there was a place to get truly evil. We had so much fun together in the Scouts it's a wonder any of the younger children survived! We tired of the Snipe hunting and decided to ramp it up just a bit. On a trip to Turner Falls one year - in the dead of winter - we planned a little initiation involving a branding iron. Actually, one of my history teachers had related a story as it had happened to her in college. For me it was a cool story that was fodder for discussions about what we could do to the newer Scouts. This is where Joe excelled. Left merely to me it would be a good story without any memory. Thanks to Joe it is also a memory... and perhaps a recurring nightmare to some of the kids.

What we did was wait until the Scoutmaster was busy pretending Joe and I didn't exist. He was used to this activity as he doubled as Joe's dad. He was also one of my earliest mentors and an all-around great guy. Joe and I went to the far side of a hill and built a little fire. We didn't have a branding iron so we just stuck a little coal shovel-like tool in the fire. Then we'd usher up a younger Scout, go through some rigmarole about initiation and are-you-worthy and prove your loyalty to the troop, etc. Someone (and I think it was Joe's younger brother Chris) would hold the Scout down and raise his t-shirt as we pulled the red-hot "branding iron" out of the fire and hover it above the Scout's belly.

At this point, above the screams, we'd pretend to remember the blindfold which would then be tied onto the Scout. At the last second we dropped a large piece of ice onto the Scout's belly. The sensation was impossible to distinguish from red heat for the first few seconds. (The trick called for using dry ice, but we couldn't very well get Joe's dad to stop for dry ice on the way up without raising some suspicion. Besides, I think dry ice actually will burn you, so...) Good times. This event was likely in the top five cruelest things I've ever done. My friend Joe was right there with me the whole time.

We camped together many times. We went to Philmont together. Joe would fix rather fanciful dishes on our campouts (foreshadowing for his future career in the restaurant business), some so fanciful that I remember Yo Matsushita, our acting Scoutmaster at Philmont, shouting, "Cook the damn food the way it's meant, Joe. No fancy stuff!" Joe was miffed but accepted that you can't make a good soufflé out of dehydrated beef stroganoff and trail mix. He came back at another camping trip with a wonderful dish of lasagna. We all tore into it. It was great. Can we have seconds? You really like it? Oh, yeah... great job, Joe. It was only after we finished that Joe informed us he had sliced a little more than the cheese while preparing the meal. Since we were in the woods and there was no way to hop out to the store, he merely turned the bloodied cheese over and continued to slice, open wound and all. His hand healed nicely and our retching eventually petered out. My friend Joe was quite the dedicated cook.

There was a lot of troop infighting about carrying loads during our Philmont excursion. No one wanted to pack more than the next Scout during our daily hikes. Joe volunteered to carry our biggest cook pot. It really filled out his pack. We discovered near the end of our trip that it was always empty. My friend Joe was brilliant.

We had an odd group in high school, the four of us that ran together. There was me, the football player. Alex the musician. Big Jim Smith the student. And our friend Joe. We made a pact with one another our freshman year that we'd never eat cafeteria food again, so we brown bagged it until we could drive, and went to Burger King the days we could afford to and I had gas. I always got a bacon double-cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke, although it often took two or three tries and at least one trip into the building to get the correct order. Joe wasn't a big fan of Burger King, as I remember it, but would usually find a burger or something eat. Chicken was a fairly new addition to the menu at this time.

One day we went through the drive-thru and the grill was down. This meant my bacon double-cheeseburger was off, but it also meant the inevitable blowing of Joe's lid. Joe had a temper like a keg of dynamite and the fuse of... well, I don't know if anyone ever actually identified a predictable fuse. As his friend I knew that there were certain triggers, the most touchy of which was incompetence. Unexpected change was right up there, too. This little trip was not looking good. Time to sit back and watch the fireworks.

So Joe orders, under pressure to find something new and quickly. He orders a chicken box, it was like eight or ten pieces. When he ordered it he said, "I want the 8-piece chicken." Something like that. Well, the carnival geek behind the microphone can't figure out what that means, and so asks, "You want eight pieces of chicken or eight orders-?" Click. Herewego!

"Yeah, I want f*cking 82 pieces of chicken!" And I mean to tell you my friend Joe yelled it across the car into that microphone. I imagine it echoed inside. My ears certainly rang.

We are still laughing some 21 years later about it. I'm laughing right now reading over it.

Joe had two younger brothers who, despite Joe's best efforts, managed to survive childhood. Randy was the youngest and used his brains to circumvent Joe. Chris, on the other hand, had far too much will. He was a fighter. He was hopelessly outsized by Joe (plus, Joe never seemed to give much credit just for being his relative), but held his own. I remember - again, random memories - I remember a pair of needle-nosed pliers being hurled across a room. They stabbed into the wall within inches of Chris' head. I nearly wet my pants; Chris didn't flinch, he just got mad.

One of the funniest things I've ever seen in my life occurred while we were loading the trailer for a camping trip. I was in the house for some reason, but looking out the bay window toward the trailer. The usual sounds of commotion between Joe and Chris were wafting through the air, but otherwise it was a nice morning. Then a shovel, tumbling end over end, passed by the window. I don't remember who threw it at whom, or even if it struck its target, but I remember thinking at the time, "Now there's a metaphor in action!"

I know the brothers had their hard times together just as I did with my own brothers. For that matter, Joe and I had conflict occasionally with one another, but heck, we were like brothers ourselves. We could finish each other's sentences and always seemed to know what the other was up to. Chris was closer to our age than any of the other siblings, which meant I got to know him a little better than I did Randy but - unfortunately for Chris - it also meant he was more often within arms reach. I've probably blocked a lot of things from my memory that we did to Chris. Well, at the very least it made him tough. Sorry, Chris.

Joe and I stayed close through much of college. He joined the Corps of Cadets for a time halfway through our freshman year. Joe definitely didn't have the personality for it. I never saw him enjoy being bossed around, yelled at, or physically punished. I think he just wanted to be with his friend. I know that I supported him all that I could - he eventually left the Corps - but now the second guessing starts and I ask myself if I did enough, if I could have made more of a difference in his life. I don't think I could have but I guess that doesn't really matter now... I've lost the chance.

Joe and I worked together at a Tex-Mex restaurant. He taught me dirty words in Spanish and tried to teach me to be a good waiter. (I was much better at the Mexican profanity.) Joe was an incredible waiter. All the customers loved him and requested his tables. When I sat people it wasn't unusual to run out of tables for Joe and have to sit his customers elsewhere while he handled it all with ease. He worked these people like a psychologist and raked it in with tips. He invested magic bowls and special dip and... uh, just go watch the movie Waiting and always remember to be nice to people who handle your food or work on your brakes.

Towards the end of our college careers I could see Joe starting to drift into another direction. I talked to him about it and let him know I wasn't too fond of some of his friends. Did I do enough? Could I have done more? Would it have made a difference? I don't know. I was just starting a family. I didn't know what I was doing. Who was I to tell my friend Joe how to live his life? Who was I? I was his friend. I don't know if I could have done anything more, and I never will.

Joe and I made contact a few times here and there over the last decade or so. Brief visits in Houston or a short phone call. It seems we often allow life to eat away at those things that make it worth living. Just a few weeks ago I tracked Joe down on one of the social networking sites. I had tried in the past without success, but now...

We exchanged several messages and "chatted" one evening over the computer. I was happy to see we could still, after all these years, finish one another's sentences. He told me life was going much better for him and that he was planning on moving to Tulsa before too long. I sure was happy to find my friend Joe.

When he was younger Joe rubbed people the wrong way. He always seemed out-of-step with the rest of the world. I think that's why I liked him so much. I think that had a big effect on his life. It was his defense mechanism. We all have one. Me? I always told jokes, figuring if I was making you laugh you wouldn't ask any personal questions. Some folks use athletics. Others books. Cars. Clothing. Makeup. Music. We all have a defense mechanism and with everyone you know you had to break through a defense mechanism. I broke through Joe's.

I missed a great deal in Joe's life over the last 10 years, but I can tell you how he was. As much of an agitator as Joe was, he was extremely compassionate. People hurting people hurt him so much. He hated any story about a child getting hurt or worse. As much as he picked on his brothers (as we all do), no one else was allowed to talk about them. He really did love them. He had a mind that should have brought us a cure for cancer, a new way of creating energy, or a really sick novel or screenplay. He could have done anything. But perhaps Joe's personality couldn't quite bridge his world and his future. I don't know. His brother Chris summed it up wonderfully: "he was just one of those people who moves so quickly and does so much that they can't sustain the pace for long."

I guess I'll wrap this up. I've got some chicken strips cooking in the other room in honor of Joe. He was my friend. I'm very proud to be able to say that. I loved him as a brother. There are many of you out there who never took advantage of the opportunity to get to know my friend Joe. You missed an amazing person.

I am sorry for your loss.

That's One Biiiiiiiig Casket

Today is the big day... Ted Kennedy laid to rest. Not that the event will keep his name off of every talking head news show for the next month, but we will no longer have to watch him get ever fatter. All right, enough with the insults; this is his day. I wanted to offer a salute to the man who lost to Jimmy Carter, but my Boston correspondent was arrested last night on terrorism charges for wearing a Cartoon Network T-Shirt in public. So, I fall back to a submission Maryann McCrory, a dear friend and the only MENSAN that reads this blog, sent to me the other day. This is from The Globe, Volume 38 - Number 18; April 30, 1991

‛A naked and drunk Ted is an awesome, awful sight!’
The allegations leveled against rape suspect William Kennedy Smith are "just the tip of the iceberg" involving the Kennedy family, a jet-set columnist says. And Teddy is one of the raunchiest clan members of all!

Taki, a high society columnist and Greek millionaire, recalls an incident when Teddy arrived for a visit to Greece - and ended up stripping naked and grabbing at an innocent girl.

"He arrived with his nephew, Joe, and asked my girlfriend to bring a couple of her friends along for an after-dinner drink," says Taki. "Had I known then what I know now, I would have brought wrestling champion Hunk Hogan instead!

"After introductions, I took my girl and Joe and left for a nightclub. Teddy asked the third girl, Anita Clifford, to stay a minute.

"The next thing I knew, she came to my house in a state of hysteria. It seems Teddy suddenly got undressed and ... grabbed for her.

"When she screamed, he stopped. But she was already frightened out of her wits. A naked, drunk Teddy can be an awesome as well as an awful sight.

"The next morning, the Kennedys flew out to go see the Pope -- of all people! Meanwhile, poor Anita remained half-hysterical with fright.

"Her father flew over," Taki recalls. "But it was taken no further, as the Cliffords are not the type of people who seek publicity."

Although William Kennedy Smith is portrayed by the Kennedys as a quiet, dignified young man, Taki claims that he's really a savage brute who once beat up a defenseless young girl.

"Willie Smith beat up an English girl I know well," he says. "I asked her to testify against him. She told me she was too scared. As a result she returned to England and has never come back."

One Ed is Better than Two

I know all of you have been waiting patiently for my reaction to the death of one Senator Edward "Ted" Kennedy. I'm sorry this is so late in coming this morning, but you see, I had to quit gut-laughing so I could actually hit the keys with my fingers. I heard the news on the radio as I was driving into work and nearly ran off a bridge - don't worry, I was alone. The report said that he lost his battle to brain cancer last night. I guess it just ran out of material. Too bad he didn't have fat cancer - he might've been able to hold on for another half-century or so.

Some of you might say those aren't very Christian comments. Hogwash! I don't buy that for a minute. A good, strong Christian stands up for what is right in the face of evil - and I can think of no better word to describe the Kennedy ilk. I have no sympathy for Ted or anyone around him. The entire family is nothing more than a bunch of drunks, thieves, murderers, Nazi sympathizers, Socialists,

hypocrites, bigots, womanizers, and prostitutes (or whatever it's called when a woman is paid to marry a future president)*. I invite you to do a little research and discover for yourself that these aren't the inflammatory words of a right-wing nut... there is plenty of evidence to support each one. Interestingly, the evidence is hidden away in such places as newspaper articles, encyclopedia entries, biographies, interviews, and pasted over the top of every voting conscience in Massachusetts.

*AND they brainwashed the Terminator, man.

Farrah Who?

It’s been an exciting month in the celebrity after-world. Death after death, all trumped here at the end. So let’s cover them all before they disappear into obscurity.

Leading the pack was Mr. Hung Fu himself, David Carradine. Wow, did this guy fall. He played Caine in that most seminal program about the peace-loving, karate chopping, world traveling priest - kind of a Paladin for the hippie sect. There were a few action movies, parts and voicework here and there, but mostly a slow descent into obscurity, culminating in a desperate reprisal of the Caine role and hosting an History Channel series. Now, I liked that show, but it’s not exactly where the young go to thrive. I know what you’re thinking: “Wasn’t he the one that hanged himself with his own testicles?” Yes, something like that. But that’s not the most embarassing part of his life and career. No one would have even recognized his name in the papers had it not been for this guy:

To fall from grace is one thing, but to owe your Phoenix-like resurrection to the likes of Quentin Tarantino is truly humiliating. Isn’t that right, Vinnie Barbarino?

No sooner had David Carradine redefined the term “Safe Sex” than Ed McMahon checked out. Some might feel the urge to make fun of his career and the financial ruin he found himself in at the end, but I see him as a profound success. Aside from his military record and beer commercials, Ed McMahon was a sidekick. Not an Oliver Hardy-type sidekick, or Dom DeLuise. Not even a Shemp. He was a sidekick in the vein of Joe Biden; and yet, he had a long and prosperous career. Plus, he outlived the careers of all those little reporters that prepared his obit piece four or five years ago. In the end, who could ask for anything more?

Farrah Fawcett (Majors) [O’Neal]

You know, I’d like to point out that Farrah Fawcett was the most overrated, tired act of all time. Although she always acted dumb, with every word she uttered my expectations were lowered even more. I’d remind you that her entire career was a result of a fluke photo shoot that resulted in that infamous poster that showed what were, at the time, the equivalent of nether hair. It should be noted that Cheryl Tiegs today looks better than Fawcett ever did, not to mention a damn sight classier. And who can forget Fawcett's twin sobriety-challenged Late Show appearances in the late 90’s? I am tempted to point all of these things out… but Michael Jackson has made them all moot.

You may have heard something about Michael Jackson passing away recently. “The King of Pop” is what the world knew him as. Others called him the most famous white woman on the planet. The gal that married Elvis’ daughter is how still others refer to him. No matter what you thought of him… you knew him. If John Lennon was more famous than Jesus, Jacko was certainly more renowned than Santa Claus. Out of deference to him, let’s take a quick review of Michael’s life and career:

• The Jackson 5, featuring 10-year-old Michael as lead singer, signs with Motown Records
• The Jackson 5 become first group to have their first four singles hit No. 1
• “Ben” becomes Michael Jackson’s first solo No. 1 hit
• “Thriller,” by Michael Jackson, is the best selling album of all time
• Michael Jackson molests little boys
• Jackson writes “We are the World” with Lionel Richie
• Michael Jackson molests little boys
• Jackson marries Lisa Marie Presley, proving once and for all that Elvis is dead
• Michael Jackson molests little boys
• Jackson releases “HIStory,” which sells more than 2.4 million copies
• Michael Jackson molests little boys
• Jackson marries nurse Debbie Rowe, who gives birth to two children: Prince Michael Jackson Jr. and Paris Michael Katherine Jackson
• Michael Jackson molests little boys
• “Invincible” album debuts at No. 1, selling about 2 million copies
• Michael Jackson molests little boys
• Releases 25th anniversary edition of “Thriller” featuring collaborations with Kanye West, Akon, Fergie and will.i.am
• Michael Jackson molests little boys
• Tickets for Jackson's 50 London concerts sell out within hours of becoming available
• Michael Jackson molests little boys and then dies

Possibly the only person who regretted Jackson’s passing more than the 399,700 Catholic priests that had not yet been charged with child molestation was Ryan O’Neal, who was hoping for at least a few weeks of publicity over his “engagement” charade.