|THE BLACK LIST: THE BLACK BOX TOLD US TO SAY THAT.|
|By The Black Table|
The Interweb has been abuzz with speculation over the last week that President George W. Bush, the leader of the free world, the most powerful man on the planet, was wearing some sort of wire during his debate last week. Presumably the wire was there to feed the Yale graduate answers to the probing questions of Jim Lehrer, and it might have even been there for the second debate, hosted by Charles Gibson, last spotted asking Ben Affleck about his new movie and what it was like working with Christina Applegate.
We at The Black Table find this amusing, if just because we happen to know from a highly placed government source that Dubya does have wires attached to him, and not just the controlled-by-Karl-Rove kind. He, in fact, has a zapper attached to his testicles, which have conditioned him to say the words "hard work" "flip-flop" and "evildoers" every time he's shocked. It's quite fun. Plus, it means Laura gets to shave him.
Anyway, on that note we've got 11 Black List submissions this week. Election Day is just three weeks away, so make your vote heard by using the little box on the right. Enjoy, peasants!
POLITICS AS SPORTING EVENTS: The vice-presidential debate seemed pretty inconsequential, so I felt comfortable skipping it for a night for one of my favorite after-work bars. It's small and rarely crowded, with nice bartenders, good music and a happy-hour that goes till 9 p.m. Several people asked if the bartender would turn on the debate and she complied, after wondering why no one wanted to watch the first game of the Yankees-Twins series. TVs tuned in and blaring, I surveyed the room and found about 40 people watching Dick Cheney and John Edwards. Intently. They booed (Cheney) and hissed (Cheney), laughed (Cheney) and cheered (Edwards). My friend and I discussed points good and bad with two guys seated next to us at the bar, as strangers lament a missed pop-fly. It was like every sporting event I've ever watched in a bar, but populated with different people: my kind of dorks. A+ -- Aileen Gallagher
DOZING OFF DURING A LAP DANCE: Sleeping and sex are my favorite physical pleasures. The only problem is that you simply can't do both at the same time. So I found the second best thing to doing both: Doing half of each. The other night, after drinking many beers, my buddies dragged me to a strip bar where I immediately found a quiet corner and passed out. Upon seeing this,
my friend pressed $20 into my hand and told me to get a lap dance. A few minutes later, I was lying comfortably on the couch, gently rubbing my hands on a thin waist, large firm breasts and a smooth tight butt, all while drifting in and out of dreamland. It was nirvana: the best way to enjoy both worlds without one taking away from the other. And balance is the goal of a spiritual man, isn't it? A -- Dave Hoffman
YANKEES-RED SOX: It's really unbelievable that this is actually going to happen, isn't it? The quiet couple of days before this series begins is what the Cuban Missile Crisis must have been like. Is there any way for this series to live up to expectations? The only ways it could:
It's the only way. This series is going to be unbelievable. Screw the freaking debate. How could one not watch this? A -- Will Leitch
THAT IDIOTIC TALKING BASEBALL ON THE FOX PLAYOFF TELECASTS: So I'm watching the first game of the Twins-Yankees division series on FOX. Everything is going just swimmingly. The Yankees can't handle Santana, and the Twins offense is getting the job done at the plate. And then, in the bottom of the third, I'm jolted out of my post-season reverie by a puffy, anthropomorphic talking baseball. The baseball, in all of its CGI glory, proceeds to explain, not even in layman's terms but more like NASCAR fan's terms, exactly what the announcers mean when they call a pitch a "changeup." What the hell is that all about? Who is supposed to enjoy this? Kids? If kids today are anything like I used to be, they probably stopped watching no later than halfway through the second. Televised baseball isn't exactly Duck Tales, if you know what I mean. So please, FOX, just let me watch the game without these inane interruptions. If I want to see a talking baseball, I'll go down to the local Denny's tomorrow evening. And if I don't know what a curve is, well, I've got no business watching baseball. D+ -- Schuyler
MAKING BABIES: The ickiest part of procreation is that it has
become a fad. All the weekly gossip magazines are focusing way too much
of their coverage on baby joy, which comes in three flavors. One, speculative
("Is Britney/WhitneyHouston/some Reality star you've never heard
of/Jennifer Aniston Pregnant?"); two, illustrative ("Liv Tyler's
Bump Takes Fashion Week By Storm!"); or three, recuperative ("Debra
Messing Finally Loses The Baby Weight")
PLAYING WHILE THE LADY'S AWAY: She's out on a three-day recruiting trip, and it's pig city for her abandoned beau. Lechery? Booze? Unseemly dalliance? No -- and for lack of trying. She's replaced by Joe Buck, Tim McCarver, John Edwards, Dick Cheney, Peter Jennings, Desmond Tutu, Dan Patrick, Peter Jennings, Robbie Williams and the cast of Angels in America, Part One. The only females to cross my path are the WNBA whoa-men. Before I forget what they look like, someone send my lady home. Northern Illinois' JUCO enrollment is just fine without her. Me: D. My lady: A. -- Andy Stilp
THE JOHN EDWARDS POST-DEBATE RALLY IN CLEVELAND: We waited through an overly screamy Howard Dean-esque warm-up by senatorial candidate Eric Fingerhut and an introduction by our embattled mayor, Jane Campbell. When John Edwards finally came to the stage, we squealed like teenagers: He's so dreamy! His wife is sassy! He'd looked Dick Cheney in the eye and hadn't turned to stone! When he channeled Bill Clinton and gave us a restrained thumbs up -- WITH A LIP BITE -- we nearly exploded. Unable to control himself any longer, someone in the back screamed "2012!" Right on, my friend: John Edwards ... uh, John Kerry for President! A -- MG
SPENDING A YEAR ABROAD IN AUSTRIA: Fucking Christ, was I that desperate to appear cultured that I'd put myself through this? German sticks likes a mouthful of spooge in the back of my throat. Everyone here is beautiful, too beautiful, and therefore an American boy who stutters out German is in about as high demand as, well, a mouthful of spooge. Nothing is open past five o'clock. You have to buy grocery bags. Forget about ice in your drink. Plus, shots in bars are carefully, carefully, measured and are about the size of a pigeon's shit. Everyone listens to the same shitty fucking music I had to listen to at the beginning of summer. Everyone bags on American culture, but ask them to name their favorite movie, band, or television show and guess which imperialistic nation it came out of? C -- Jake Swearingen
PEOPLE WHO DON'T GET OBNOXIOUSLY DRUNK: After a long draining week, there is nothing that I look forward to more than a vigorous imbibing session. Yet my local tavern has recently become inhabited by a number of "casually sipping on their Budweiser adults." Wow, how utterly responsible of you to be so sensible. The bar is not meant for quiet socializing. Bars are for angry diatribes and loose morals. Save your dry humor and sense of decency for your message board. Those of us bravely refusing to let go need not your pity. F -- Adam L
THE MORNING AFTER THE FIRST TIME WITH YOUR FAVORITE FREAK: Happy, right? Chased after her for months, listening to all of her dirty talk. How she would slap you around and be bossy. You dreamed of her bitchy exuberance. It finally comes true, the whole thing. Spanking, biting, DNA samples taken from your back (seemingly with a spoon). You had been up for all of it. You loved it. You finish just as it seems she might sever your nipple with her teeth. But in the morning when you drive her home and lean over for that little kiss, instead she slaps you again and laughs as she climbs out of your car. That hurts. C- -- nigil
POPPING A WHITEHEAD WHEN YOU'RE WAY PAST PUBERTY: You don't break out much anymore, and when you do, it's a small red dot and not the pepperoni-sized monuments to dermatological oil that were common when you were 15. But every once in a while, you feel a pimple brewing beneath the surface, and you know it's going to be a good one. A beauty. A real gusher. So you watch it. Maybe you even push on it a little. But the point is, you eschew any over-the-counter acne remedies that will have it cleared up in a matter of hours and wait for nature to take its course. Because the day eventually comes where you step out of an extremely hot shower and there it is. It's so beautiful, it practically glistens, a small white bubble on your forehead. You take a moment to admire it, lean forward, and, using two fingernails that you promise you'll cut tomorrow, begin squeezing. Yes, it's unsanitary. Yes, it's gross. But when you take a moment to admire your handiwork before fetching the Windex, you know that moment deserves an A. -- Tom Panarese
Each and every week, Black Table readers like you write the Black List and get absolutely nothing in return. Ain't that some shit.