Hornswaggler | The culture, the humor, a bit of the sports, not so much the politics, and the workplace distraction

Hornswaggle is an alternate spelling of hornswoggle, an archaic word that means to bamboozle or hoodwink. I take my pronunciation from the late Harvey Korman in "Blazing Saddles" --

"I want rustlers, cutthroats, murderers, bounty hunters, desperados, mugs, pugs, thugs, nitwits, halfwits, dimwits, vipers, snipers, conmen, Indian agents, Mexican bandits, muggers, buggerers, bushwhackers, hornswagglers, horse thieves, bull dykes, train robbers, bank robbers, ass kickers, shit kickers and Methodists!"

Culture, Humor, Sports
Workplace Distraction

Thursday, May 16, 2002

We live in tumultuous times. Times that teach you to appreciate the simple things: your health, your family's health. They're also times when the author of a small web log could get himself in an assload of trouble by issuing purely fictitious but thoroughly unkind diatribes against certain smarmy tabloid news personalities. I don't want to wind up on John Ashcroft's naughty list, so what follows is a brief legal disclaimer:

The author of this site does not wish any harm upon Dateline NBC Anchor Stone Phillips, nor does he condone any harm perpetrated against him by anyone who has or has not come across this small mote-speck of a site.

There, that's out of the way. Which is good. Because Stone, you in trouble, dawg. I am going to bring you down. I can no longer live in a world in which Stone Phillips is held in anything approaching high regard, by anyone. If Stone Phillips was created in God's image, then God must surely be Troy McClure. It boggles the mind that one human being could take himself this seriously. Have you ever wondered how this guy looks at himself in the mirror? Well, I have. And any day now I'll be going into pre-production on my debut feature film. It's an update on Dostoevsky's "Crime and Punishment," adapted for the 21st century. In it, two disaffected youths abduct Stone and attempt to smack some sense into him. But, unfortunately, things go awry, as they often do in Coen brothers movies (they've agreed to executive produce), and they wind up knocking him off. He just drives them out of their fucking minds with his daily reports on the condition of his chafed wrists, on the inadequacy of their non-extra-whitening toothpaste, etc. So then, when I'm at Cannes, and my film is up for the big frond, a reporter will ask the question that is surely on your mind right now. He or she will ask: "Aren't you at all concerned about the possibility of a copycat crime?" And I will reply, after a languid pull on my Dunhill cigarette, "But you see, that is precisely the idea."

.: posted by hornswaggler 6:47 PM

Salon Articles
The Right Take on Libby?
Hurricane Horror Stories
"Looting" or "Finding"?
Run, Andy, Run!
Newsweek's Grand Inquisitor
Robert Blake
American Idol
Year in Television 2002

Andrew Sullivan
Bigmouth's "Lost" blog
Chris Keating
Hendrik Hertzberg
Matt Yglesias
Paul Krugman
Peter Kinney
Talking Points Memo
Two Glasses


Weblog Commenting and Trackback by HaloScan.com