I’m no liberal, but at least in the old days the democratic party had the self respect to elect degenerates any patriot could be proud of: at the head of the parade was the rapist and murderer Ted kennedy, and following behind him a procession of priapists (JFK, Clinton), pimps (Barney Frank), johns (Elliot Spritzer), pedophiles (Mel Reynolds), and batshit crazy perverts (Wilbur Mills, Jim McGreevey). This lastest escapade shows exactly how low the party of Thomas Jefferson (whoremonger) has fallen.

Instead of going out and getting drunk and assaulting a waitress like say a Chris Dodd might have done, Weiner evidently sat at home in front of his PC on Friday nights touching himself like a pimply teenager in an AOL chatroom. I ask you: what kind of a country are we living in when a sitting congressman can’t get a little trim on the side and instead has to resort to onanism? Well I’m sorry, but there comes a time when a red blooded american has to take a stand - and this is it. Faced with looming bankruptcy and fighting three wars on two continents we cannot afford to have our elected representatives spewing their precious bodily fluids into socks and Kleenex, not while there are cocktail waitresses, underaged staffers, and unpaid interns upon whom they could force their attentions. For the good of the republic, Weiner must go.

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter - bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.”

Stephen Crane

d. June 5, 1900 

I was bored yesterday afternoon and rather than lay around watching TV I decided to channel my ennui and create a great work of modern art. This I did by opening Webster’s Revised Unabridged Dictionary to page 1850 (put-putty), placing the dictionary on a stump in the backyard, and leaving it there to biodegrade, which biodegradation I will then record photographically. The resulting work, entitled “putrescence,” can be part of your collection for a paltry one million dollars, stump not included. That might seems like a lot now but remember that it will no doubt become much more valuable when I’m dead.

Bill Shannon, a baseball historian, author and an official scorer for the Mets and Yankees died in a house fire in West Caldwell, N.J on October 25. As if his week wasn’t bad enough, Shannon, 69, was later eulogized by his friend, former sportscaster Keith Olbermann.

Hi, is there someone who can give me some directions about playing the sax? I’ve just purchased one and would love to know how to play it?? Some helpful weblinks would also be great!!

First things first. If you’re a white guy you’ll need a stupid hat, the stupider the better, and preferably a beret. Sunglasses are optional, but all the really really good players wear them, especially indoors. You’ll also need some “gig shirts” — Hawaiians are good, in a pinch anything with a loud floral pattern is acceptable, as are T-shirts from various jazz clubs and festivals. Sandals are a must, even in winter.

Once you’ve assembled the proper attire you can begin practicing. The most important thing about playing is being able to convey emotion to the audience. This you do through various facial expressions. The two emotions you’ll need to convey are (1) rapture and (2) soul wrenching pain and sadness (i.e., the blues). You may find it useful in the beginning to borrow a page from the method acting school. So, for example, to convey rapture try thinking of something nice, like puppy dogs or getting a rim job from Uma Thurman. To convey the “blues” try thinking of something really really appalling, like ulcerative colitis or Alec Baldwin. Practice your facial expressions in front of a mirror at least two hours per day. You may feel a tad stupid at first, but you’ll never get the chicks if you don’t jump around on stage like a monkey with a rabid wolverine in its colon. And bottom line, chicks is really what music’s about.

Next, you’ll need the correct ligature. Some people think that the ligature is just a stupid piece of old metal that holds the reed on the mouthpiece. Well, those people are idiots. Besides your beret, your ligature is the single most important piece of musical equipment you will ever buy. Mine, for example, is 40% platinum and 60% titanium; one screw is rubidium and the other plutonium. It makes me sound exactly like Booker Ervin would if Booker Ervin were (1) not dead and (2) on Mars, if (2)(a) there was oxygen on Mars. You may have to spend years and years and thousands of dollars finding the proper ligature, but in the end it will definitely be worth it.

Now: reeds. Optimally you’ll want to move to the Cuba, grow and cure your own cane and carve your own reeds by hand. If you’re just a “weekend warrior” however, you can get by with store-bought. First, buy ten boxes of reeds, that’s 100 in all. Next, open all the boxes and throw away 60 reeds. Those were unplayable. Take the remaining reeds and soak them in a mixture of 27.8% rubbing alcohol and 72.2% pituitary gland extract for 17 weeks. Throw away 20 more reeds: those were stuffy. Take the remaining 20 reeds and sand each one for exactly 13 seconds with #1200 grade 3M sandpaper. Throw away 14 reeds. Those squeaked. Take the remaining 6 reeds and soak them for another 17 weeks, this time however in a mixture of 27.8% pituitary gland extract and 72.2% rubbing alcohol. Sun dry the 6 remaining reeds for 3 weeks, optimally at an equatorial latitude, and throw away 3 more on general principles. You now have 3 reeds that will last you several months if you play each one only 20 minutes a day in strict rotation.

Now, you say you just bought a horn. Although you didn’t say what kind it is, I’d sell it immediately and get a different one. The best one to get would be a Selmer Mark VI made on June 14, 1963, serial number 135543. If you can’t get that one though, generally speaking the older and more expensive the better. The following brands are good: Selmer Paris Mark VI. The following brands suck: any other Selmer, Yamaha, Conn, Beuscher, Yanigasawa, Cannonball, LA, Jupiter, Elkhart, King, Martin, Keilworth, Boosey and Hawkes, Couf, Silvertone, and Holton.

You will also need some accoutrements: a flight case capable of withstanding atmospheric pressure of dP = - Dg dz where D and g are, respectively, the density of air and the acceleration due to gravity at the altitude of the air layer and dz is a horizontal layer of air having unit surface area and infinitesimal thickness; a metronome; a tuner; a combination alto, tenor, and baritone sax stand with pegs for oboe, bass clarinet, flute, English horn and bassoon; Band in a Box; a reed cutter; swabs, cleaners, pad savers, pad dope, pad clamps; a Sennheiser Digital 1092 Wireless Microphone; and an effects rig with digital delay and parametric EQ.

It will be helpful if you listen to lots of sax players. Unfortunately, listening to players you like is the worst thing you can do. To really understand the music and its traditions, you have to go back to the beginning and work forward. I’d start with madrigals and listen to every note of music ever recorded. Once you get to the 20th century, pay particular attention to Jimmy Dorsey, the inventor of modern jazz. In no time at all you’ll be able to understand the unique be-bop stylings of players like Ace Cannon, Boots Randolph and Grover Washington Jr.

Finally, to play the saxophone itself, blow in the small end and wiggle your fingers.

The now late Bernard Schwartz has the distinction of having written the worst novel of all time, “Kid Andrew Cody and Julie Sparrow,” a “shocking, sizzling novel about men and women who move easily between the inner circles of filmland and the underworld — the famous, the beautiful and the bad, with all the covers off.” Needless to say I own a signed copy. Cha ching.

The book is rife with atrocious prose, for example, here a brief exposition I have bookmarked in which Mr. Curtis describes the friendship that develops between his two unlikely protagonists:

“Angie and Julie. They loved each other. It was difficult for them to express it. But they did. They admired each other. They liked each other’s style. Each one sensed in the other something unique. There was an ungrudging admiration that made it easy for them to like each other. They didn’t feel as if they were being outdone by each other. Maybe with other people they would, but not with each other. Angie and Julie were quite content to be friends and pals.”

Few writers have been permitted by their editors to say less with more words. But then few writers have banged both Marilyn Monroe and Janet Leigh, so no doubt his editor was in awe. I know I would have been.

In memorium, allow me to open the book at random and pluck a few gems

“Julie, cool and detached liked a surgeon, deflowered Theresa that night. Deflowered her good. Her pimples disappeared. She had black hair and eyes, hair under her armpits, and a musky and intoxicating smell, but afterwards she was nuts. Mashuga.”

“Julie was always accustomed to a good piece of cloth rustling between his legs.”

“Sweet Olga. She ran it all. She not only took it in the azz, but she gave these girls the best advice that anyone could ever give.”

“In his early days in Hollywood, the Kid found that having an orgasm was an exhausting experience… Jerking off, masturbating, wanking yourself, was not for him. The Kid liked skin, and lots of it.”

KACJS is one of my treasured possessions. RIP Mr Curtis. A life well lived.

Like most right thinking Americans, I’m appalled by Terry Jones’s threat to burn a Korean on 9-11. Asians had nothing to do with the tragedy that occurred on that fateful day: no Asians hijacked any planes and certainly no Asians flew any planes into any towers - everyone knows that Sadam Hussein was behind the whole thing. But what makes this even more egregious is that it’s Terry Jones who’s doing it. I find it unbelievable that Jones or any of the Pythons, even that pretentious dope Terry Gilliam, whose stupid animations nearly ruined the show, would think that setting a human being on fire was justified or justifiable. Joking about burning people alive in a movie is one thing. Burning someone in real life is something else entirely.

According to the National Enquirer, bloated chowderhead Al Gore was taking a well earned time out from his important mission of saving the world from WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE when he attempted to sexually assault the help. According to police documents, Gore was enjoying an “abdominal massage” at an upscale Portland hotel when the ungrateful bitch who was ministering to his needs refused him a happy ending - just as did the the US Supreme Court when it robbed Gore of the presidency in the wake of the 2000 election. Justifiably enraged, Gore attempted to force the masseuse to touch him where his bathing suit covered and later attempted to mount her, just as the male walrus mounts the female on our rapidly disappearing and precious polar ice caps.

One would think ManBearPig (whose marriage recently imploded under allegations that Gore had been having an extended affair with Elaine Benes, a character on the television show Seinfeld) would have learned his lesson serving under Bill Clinton, but evidently not: according to the story, the masseuse has saved as evidence the pair of pants she wore on the night of the incident, upon which Gore allegedly deposited his semen footprint as she attempted to flee the scene.