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  THE BLACK LIST: REJOICE! IT'S FINALLY FUCKING HERE.  
  By The Black Table  
11.02.04
 
   
 

We're finally here. After endless reams of facts, opinions and vitriol, after tonight, we can all go back to our otherwise content-devoid lives. Hopefully.

Election Day is upon us, and The Black Table, in the only political statement we feel comfortable making, encourages you to go out and vote. (If you don't know where to vote, go to this site. And do try to pay attention.) We don't believe anyone should "Vote or Die," because death is a temporary solution to a permanent problem … or something like that. But we do think you should vote, because if more people vote, we'll have fewer annoying people bugging us to vote all the time. At least in theory.

Stay tuned to The Black Table on Wednesday morning for an extensive wrap-up of everything that went down Election Night. We have swarthy minions all across this fine country filing reports for us, and the big story will be the only thing you'll want to read on Election Day. Well, it might not be the only thing. You have to check in on Randy Moss' hamstring injury, after all.

Anyway, 11 reviews this week, and not surprisingly, many are related to the election. If you can take any more of that -- and we know you can -- you should dig in. And if you want to be part of next week's election hangover Black List, use the nifty form on the right, and you shall be healed, and you shall be pure.

Now go vote or die, man!

-- BT

 

   

 

The Black Table needs your help! Every week, we need reviews of the latest media-related crud, new products from Capitalists and odd idea, concept or trend. All you need to have is a sharp opinion that you can distill down to one paragraph of 150 words and give a letter grade. To submit, please fill out the form below. Entries may edited for length, style and clarity. Hit us with your best shot. Fire away.

 

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Type your review here. And remember to add a letter grade, or else we'll make one up and embarass you in front of all your friends:

Before you submit anything, ask yourself the following: Have I put a grade on my review? Have I read this thing at least once? Will anyone care what I wrote? If the answer is NO to any of those questions, break down and cry, knowing you're a failure who can't do anything right. You stupid face head moron!

 

 

   

KIDS: They leave their clothes everywhere, they won't go to bed when you tell them to and now this: Kids have tabbed George W. Bush as the winner in today's election, according to the just-released Weekly Reader Poll. Before you give this short shrift, please note that the Weekly Reader Poll has correctly predicted every Presidential election since 1956. But, if kids are so savvy, why did one of them just fill my DVD player with jam? Here's the deal: Kids are suckers for scary campfire stories. Just concoct a tale about a mad serial killer, shine a flashlight in your face and you'll scare the bejeezus out of them. And Bush and Cheney are masters at that. " ... and some say the Arab terrorist is still out there, waiting to kill again. In fact, he could be RIGHT BEHIND YOU!" But fear not, Kerry supporters; the kids have not been right every time. Or have we forgotten the famous 1948 Weekly Reader headline: "Dewey Noogies Truman"? C- -- Rick Chandler

WORKING ON THE KERRY

 

CAMPAIGN: Yes, you will be able to tell your children that the fate of the free world rested in your hands. And yes, you do now have stories involving, among other things, a local magicians' guild, a fat man who walks upstairs backwards and an old guy who farts with reckless abandon. But no, you didn't sleep more than five hours most nights, and no, you didn't get to travel the half hour north to actually see the candidate speak because you were stuck doing data entry and highlighting maps. Missing all of the world series and your hometown football team's 6-0 start: F. Electing a man that's not nearly as big a douchebag as his opponent: B+. -- Ross

POLITICAL CLIPBOARD PEOPLE: Don't make eye contact. Don't make eye contact. Don't make eye contact. Damn! He saw me! Yes, hello you pouffy-haired, badly shaven little scamp. What's that? Oh, Vote for Change? League of Voters? Voting League Organization? Get Out The Change Vote? Rock the Vote? Gently Massage the Vote? Vote the Vote off the Island? Vote Green, Vote Elephant, Vote For A Guy in Jail? Yes, I'm sure it's important. Yes, I'm sure your cause is essential. Yes, I know this election will change the fate of the world, much like a movie involving a meteor. Yes, I know the President does not wear a space suit. No, I will not sign your clipboard. No, I will not volunteer for your rally. No, I will not add another responsibility onto my already hectic life. No, I will not show up for the training session or knock on people's doors on election day or distribute your stickers or push old people into the street wearing giant flashing neon signs on their heads supporting your cause. I'm sure your cause is important, but it's not important enough for me to dedicate my life to. What's that you say? $80 for it? My good sir, my integrity is not for sale! You forced me to unearth my Beating Stick, you hooligan! Great, that's five minutes of my life I won't get back. Have fun trying to strong-arm random passerby into your little clique of Voters for a Cause of Change and Safety of the USA or whatever. The Beating Stick and I are off for another adventure, perhaps involving a comet, a clan of ninja or at least a robot. There's a special hole in hell for you people who waste my valuable walkin' time. Fear the Beating Stick, lest you end up like Clipboard Man! C+ -- Jacob Driscoll

BEING CAUGHT READING "THE ACT OF MACKIN'" ON THE SUBWAY: It's your friend's 30th birthday. You buy him The Art of Mackin' by Tariq "K-Flex" Nasheed as a good-natured ribbing. On the subway ride to his party, curiosity overtakes you, and you take a peak at its contents. You become so engrossed in the masterful advice the book offers ("Girl: What are we going to do when we get to your place? True Mack: Let's take care of A and B first, and then we'll get to C and D") that you neglect to conceal the cover from fellow passengers. When you finally look up to check on the approaching station, across from you, staring at the cover, smirking, is the best friend of your ex-girlfriend. Since you are no longer on speaking terms with your ex-girlfriend or any of her friends, it is hardly a surprise when she exits the train triumphantly -- avoiding eye contact, gaze fixed unwaveringly ahead -- somehow acknowledging everything that just transpired without a single word. F -- Greg Paulos

VOTING BY ABSENTEE BALLOT IN THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA: It's been drilled into my head for years: Voting is a civic duty. And as a reporter who's spent a lot of time this year writing about the turnout operations both Republicans and Democrats are putting together, the idea of not voting made me feel less ... American than all those eager volunteers in battleground states around the country. But I live in Washington, D.C., and I'll be out of town covering the results in a real state on Election Day. There's nothing at stake -- Kerry will win D.C.'s three puny electoral votes by a ridiculous margin, and we don't have any meaningful representation in Congress anyway. On top of that, the D.C. government couldn't even manage to get my absentee ballot out before I headed out on the road; my dad had to break into my mailbox and FedEx the thing to me out here in the heartland. Somehow, I feel like my vote wasn't worth the price of the postage. D+ -- MM

LOSING COMMISSIONS TO PARTISAN POLITICS: It's the end of the month, and I need quite a bit more sold to see the commission figures I'd like on my upcoming paycheck. In walks a sale, wearing smiles, mullets and Bush paraphernalia. They want signage, quite a bit of it, and they want it soon. (Quick thought: They're not so bad; they haven't called me "colored" yet. Not even a "gal" uttered.) I quote high, they frown and flee, and in my personal parallel reality I really do make up for the fact that my two brothers refused to vote in their first eligible election. This week barely breaking $1000 gets a B+. -- NP

KIDS WHO DON'T BOTHER TO DRESS UP: My doorbell rings on Halloween, and I am home and prepared for the first time. There are six kids on my front stoop saying "Trick or Treat!" The three girls are about nine and dressed as princesses or something. The three boys are probably 12 and dressed as … nothing. They are not wearing costumes, but are shoving a bag in my face and demanding candy. "You're not wearing a costume," I say. "You're not getting anything." They don't look as if they've heard this one before, so at first they just ignore me. "Come on, Miss. Give it to us." Despite my distaste for kids that age, I persevere. "No costume, no candy," I say. "You've got to at least try." These kids aren't giving up. "I never wear these clothes," one says. "You're wearing a sweatshirt," I point out. "It's not happening. Off the porch." There must be less stubborn grownups down the block, so the kids stop wasting their time on me. I compliment the girls on their costumes and drop candy in their bags. They say thank-you and walk on down the block. I wait for my house to get egged and wonder when Halloween candy became an entitlement. Costumeless kids: F. Being a total hardass: A. -- Aileen Gallagher

BEING 7-0 IN YOUR FANTASY FOOTBALL LEAGUE: It's a pursuit that requires geekdom, sports savvy and low-grade OCD. Jocks and sports purists think you're sacrilegious because you root for players instead of the game. People who don't like sports think you're some sort of alien. You spend your Sunday afternoons glued not to the television but to your computer, waiting for the stats to change. When you do manage to watch a game, your first reaction to a brilliant catch is not, "What a great play," but "Who caught it?" When you got the eighth pick in your draft and your top running back was Fragile Fred Taylor, you figured your team was doomed. But unbelievably, seven weeks into the season, you find yourself atop the standings without a loss. You realize that this moment represents the zenith of your success: Randy Moss just injured his hammy, your vaunted running backs are beginning to struggle and every wide receiver you touch turns to stone. Your incredible run of luck is guaranteed to end. Maybe that's not such a bad thing, because right now everybody hates you -- and it's lonely at the top. But you do have to admit that "undefeated" has kind of a nice ring to it. And lording it over all the boys in your league sure doesn't hurt. B -- Patricia Chui

WEARING THIGH-HIGHS TO WORK: In my rush to get to work at, quite literally, the crack of dawn, I pulled on a pair of thigh highs I had initially purchased for a Saturday night date. All seemed to be going well during my commute until I arrived at my building and felt the stockings slowly sliding down my legs. So I pulled them up, and they slid down again. I repeated the up and down, up and down process until I looked like I was some sort of off-duty stripper making her way home across town. Once at work, I couldn't get up from my desk without making sure the lacey elastic tops weren't poking out from under my skirt. So much for wearing sexy underthings on company time. Garter belts were created for a reason. D -- Pauline Millard

THE UNOFFICIAL SPOKESMAN FOR WENDY'S: OK, I get it: Your fast food product is so good that some office park dad with a gee-whiz vocabulary has decided to go on television to endorse your hamburgers. And without pay. Hence, the "unofficial." Wendy's is trying to make the consumer feel all squishy as this balding suburbanite looks into the camera with his big, round face and professes his altruistic sale of shit. Oh, how humble. Look, this guy is obviously unemployed and needs a job. The economy is so bad he's decided to intern for Wendy's. That's what this ad says to me. It says he can't afford to get his family any real food so he takes them to Wendy's every night. And now that he's got the commercial thing going, they can score free meals while driving in their mini van home on the Jersey Turnpike. You see how sad this world is. F -- dan

REALIZING THAT I GIVE BAD HEAD: OK, maybe I'm odd, but I love to give head. I only give head to get head, but I'd do it for just about anyone, including that creepy homeless guy that time I got really drunk. Anyway, I meet this guy at a bar, and we go back to his car. So I'm giving him head. And he's making really exaggerated noises and facial expressions. Then suddenly, he stops and says, "You know what, why don't we focus on you?" And I get the best head of my entire life. Realizing that I give bad head: C-. Finding someone who "wants to focus on me" because he takes pity on me since I give such bad head: A+ -- Leah

 

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