WHAT THE FUCK?!!!


comedy in a world that isn't quite as funny as it used to be
Everyone who works as a comedian (admittedly an oxymoron to begin with) had the same thought on September 11th--"I'm gonna have to get a real job--nothing's ever going to be funny again!!!"  And that fear seems to be justified--just ask Bill Maher, crucified for pointing out that whatever you say about the terrorists they were not cowards (HELLO--THE NAME OF THE SHOW IS "POLITICALLY INCORRECT!"--THE POINT BEING TO SAY POLITICALLY INCORRECT THINGS). Of course now Maher has prostrated himself before the Gods of Late Night and apologized, and the rest of us working-stiff jokesters have to wonder how to handle all of this.

(Incidentally, White House Press Secretary Ari Fleischer is starting to piss me off. First he tells us after the Bill Maher controversy that we should all "watch what we say"-or what, Mullah Ari? I'm pretty sure what I say is one of those freedoms your boss keeps talking about.)

So  here's the deal. Humor is healing. It is what we do when we can't wrap our brains around really bad things. It's a wonderful form of collective denial that's been around since the first really bad thing happened. Though there are no records of this, I'm pretty sure that there were people doing Pompeii jokes after the volcano hit ("Hey gang--real estate tip--next time you buy property, remember these four words--IS THE VOLCANO ACTIVE?"

It's like that Star  Trek episode where the scary alien energy presence thingie was eventually defeated because the crew of the Enterprise laughed at it. OK, it's not a lot like that, but you get my point. Or maybe you don't.

Anyway, the bottom line is, I don't know any comic who thinks seven thousand dead people is funny. But for those of us still here, we have to joke--because if we tried  to really understand the level of evil we're talking about here, our heads would explode.

As much of a lefty as I am, I actually feel sorry for George W.--I mean, he just got the job--hell, he's probably still figuring out where all the bathrooms are. "Hey--I wonder where this leads..." "Uh, Mr. President, you have a briefing in an hour...Mr. President? Oh shit--would somebody please find W. and point him toward the press room?"

Apparently Bush wanted to name this mission Operation Infinite Justice, but Muslims got upset, so now he's calling it 'Enduring Freedom,'  And, for a couple of hours, the President was calling it Operation Daddy I'm Scared. I'm sorry, but all these names like "Infinite Justice" sound a little too much like Marvel Comics--"Earlier today,  Secretary of State Powell contacted the Legion of Superheroes about the situation..."

 

The most telling video clip is the one where Bush was in a classroom being told about the attack. Rule of thumb: any time a guy in a dark suit whispers to the President of the United States, something bad has happened.

And thank God the smirk is gone. W. hasn't smirked since September 11th. Smirking is, I think, a bad thing for a president to do. Credibility-wise.

Saddam Hussein offered to help the United States--if we asked. OK, guy--let's assume we, as a nation, forgot about the whole accessory-to-terrorism,  biological-warfare-capable, burning-our-presidents-in-effigy-because-we're--the-Great-Satan thing. How exactly, could you help us? "Mr. President, Hussein sent that shipment of rocks and sand we need..."

I'm uncomfortable with the fact that, judging by who I saw on the street that night,  the largest number of flags seem to have been purchased by pot-bellied, long-haired bikers. These would be a group I call 'tattoo patriots'--and I'm not sure I feel safe with a front line of rednecks, trailer trash and NRA members defending me. I mean, I just don't like it that the most vocal people seem to be the type of guys that think  "Hell, me and a couple of buddies ought to just go over there and kick some ass."  

Once again, the true heroes in this national crisis have been the rock stars who, instead of giving some of their gazillions of dollars to the victims of the attack, chose to--sing.

The most unfortunate choice of words in the first two weeks--the announcer for the New York Mets who, after a game-winning home run, said "Shea Stadium has just exploded!". Imagine some poor working-stiff bastard, just wants to hear a little of the ball game, take his mind off the tragedy, and right when he turns on the radio he hears that.

It makes sense that Russia is with us on this--of course the irony is that we may end up winning their 'Vietnam' after losing ours...

Actually,  think we should all cut Bush a little slack. I'm serious--we've all gotten a new job and then a couple months in realized we're not quite sure we can handle it--you know, they train you at Starbucks and then all of a sudden they start selling some new kind of coffee, and there's a huge line, and you're not sure what button to push on the register, and you panic, and the assistant manager tells you don't worry, just go clean the tables and I'll run the register--which is sort of what W. probably went through--- "Um...guys...nobody told   me what to do when the bad guys CRASH OUR OWN PLANES INTO OUR OWN BUILDINGS!!!" He's frantically flipping through The Presidency for Dummies--meanwhile I imagine Cheney and Powell being total jerks-- "OK ,Mr. President--you need to call the president of   Pakistan-----and his name would be...?" "C'mon guys--stop messin' with me--it's--I know it starts with an M..."