Denis Leary to the rescue

I wanted to write this on my 1950s typewriter. The Royal. It used to be one of my prized possessions. You see, I used to have a typewriter. But not after I took it to a shop on Montrose Avenue because the thing took a bit of a beating during the crazier nights.

"This thing is in bad shape," the man said. My heart carved in two because I loved that typewriter, it was my baby. Fuck you, show me a 1950s Royal in good condition. Do it now.

Yeah, I know it's old and that's why I like it. Because it is old.

But that was Tuesday.

Rewind to Saturday.

I've met Denis Leary once. Sure, he told me that he still smokes 100s, he liked my name and thought it was "cool" and then he signed two of my books. I was at some Borders signing for his new book and it was cold as fuck. I took some bad pictures of the event.

But meeting the man and seeing him perform for the first time in 12 years on the stage in front of a big audience, well that, that's something else.

It's a different beast, and granted, "The Rescue Me Comedy Tour" did save the soul. It was the perfect answer to these ailing times. Not because there was anything inherently Good or Easter like in the show. There wasn't. In fact, this was the first time that I've heard THIS type of off the wall shit in public that I could freely laugh my balls off at the most inappropriate things. Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

Hey, Leary is doing it on the stage. Fuck you if you're offended. Dr. Denis Leary is speaking, okay?

And offend he did. I think people were leaving, but I couldn't tell very well because I was sitting in like the sixth row. The only thing I saw were some older broads getting up and down; maybe they pissed themselves.

Okay, maybe seventh row. It didn't matter. Once you see that "face" on the stage, the jacket, the jeans, that asshole grin, you know you're in a world of good material. You know that this fucker works hard.

Most of it was new material. It was good stuff because you still hear the same angry Leary that made him famous with "No Cure for Cancer." Sure, he is older, perhaps wiser, maybe crazier and more immature than he was originally. (Hey, anyone who enjoys cussing is immature. But it's just so much fucking fun, isn't? And the guy is out there, that asshole that we've all come to love and accept for being an asshole.)

That's a good gig. No matter what asshole shit you say, who you desecrate publicly, who you skewer, who you anger, people still love you because that's your job. Pretty neat deal.

"Why is it funny? Because it's mean!" Leary said at the beginning of the show. He sang the "Rehab" song, and a nicer ditty called simply "Fuck You." You know the words, "Fuck you, and anyone who looks like you. Fuck you... fuck you and the horse that you rode in on."

But people ate it up. They knew the point. Shit, you're an asshole by association for seeing the man live on stage. Just by laughing at this crazy shit.

"I'm going to hell for that bit, and you're all coming with me," he said on "Cancer." Come to think of it, the show was better, it was a day before Easter. So we all said a prayer about Natasha Richardson and how more people should go sking during this time of the year. Like Madonna. Maybe Bernie Madoff.

So let's get to the good stuff. The jokes. The way that I've heard them.

Leary on Brad Pitt:

"Look at Brad. He looks so unhappy. Hey I've got kids, I've been to the airport. He has to say "'Shut the fuck up and go to bed' in seven different languages!!!"

The Octomom.

"If she was a superhero she'd be killing people with live babies." Also, "what is that a vagina, or a clown car?"

But you gotta love a guy who reads the newspaper. Leary's comments skewer many of today's attention whores. Besides doing it in the rehab song, Leary actually gave a presentation on pop culture. Sure, he pissed on most of it, but it was funny. It was funny because it was true.

Leary's common sense is that of a Boston guy who sees through the bullshit. And if it gets a laugh or its funny to him, trust me, people laugh alongside. Because it is funny.

It is funny when Leary describes getting Jacuzzi jet streams planted "by accident" between his taint. Yeah, the area between the cock and balls and the asshole. And the hilarity that ensues.

Why? Hey I have a Jacuzzi.

But you have to admire a guy who is in better shape than you are at age 52. Leary pranced around the stage flipping everyone off, singing his ass off for the people, being a good host, getting other comics out, just a stand up guy. What a show.

"This is your captain speaking, look I shit my pants. And I didn't just shit my pants, I mean ankles and everything."

Here's my favorite:

"This next cocksucker is really funny....shit...that's why I couldn't be a daytime talk show host." 'This next cocksucker is really funny.'"

Lenny Clarke and Adam Ferrara were the two other pros on the tour. Mr. Clarke, as I would like to call him due to respect, came off more as the seasoned vet comedian, playing it old skool, loving the audience. Playing with them

"Oh man, what an intelligent audience. You guys are here," he said.

"I sucked a guy's dick once," he said. "I needed the ride... I'm kidding..." "I didn't need the ride."

"I've done coke once...for about nine years."

The real doctor of life's mishaps was here. Never mind the "Snow-billed ice fucker" bird he talked about in Alaska...the one that's the problem with getting the oil out of there fairly rapidly.

He did some "joke" jokes and they delivered. I've heard one before, but those are jokes that just have to find themselves around through the circuit. Fuck you if you weren't there.

Adam Ferrara. That to quote Denis "New Guinea motherfucker." Sure he said it a while back during a roast, but it fit.

Ferrara was the only one who actually fucked with the audience. This is good, if you can pull it off well and build on that. Cuz the audience has a thing called memory.

"You're in ice cream distribution?" "Oh ok, you're an ice cream man." Cue the song.

Ferrara did a funny bit about flying Jamaican airlines. "Thiiis is your captaain speakiin" Laughter. "I can't do it now."

Surprisingly, even Denis Leary did not smoke during the show. Which has to paint a picture against the vast backdrop of Chicago aldermen who were doing some of their own assholin'.

Oh, fire codes. I knew it.

But the show was good and enjoyed myself fully. What happened at the Billy Goat next is a completely different story.

EDITOR'S NOTE: This is a recollection of the events that transpired according to me.

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This page has been experiencing a bit of a lull, but let's hope that changes in the near future. Happy Yule.

Dire Straits

Sometime in September I remember driving to work and seeing a giant black cloud on the horizon. I don't think I remember a hard-on that was that big.

Well, maybe when I was in that strip club in Ottawa, Ill., but that's beside the point. Anyway, a reporter's instinct tells him to emulate a dumb moth and fly straight toward the danger.

Anyway, here were the results:

State of the country

Oh boy, we as a country are in some serious shit pickle aren't we? In times like these, one can actually say, "Fuck the culture, what about the fucking country?" without some art fag talking about preserving the nation's art museums or programs.

Granted, in these PC times, I'm not talking about THE fags, I'm talking about "art" fags. Ya know...the people who would rather marvel at creations done centuries ago rather than looking at the world that we live in and saying "What the fuck is going on here?"

And indeed so. What about the fucking country? Some economists are saying that on a long enough time line, things will go back to normal. But that's the problem and it always was and always will be.

"Gas prices are bad. We are fucked. We can't drive to work without going into Bobby's piggy bank."

Yeah, me too. I'm strapped for cash as much as the next guy, which is why I rob Bobby's piggy bank all the time. I do it the legal way though, I get him to invest in stocks.

And meanwhile most major companies are reporting quarter losses. Starbucks is closing down 600 'oh-no-fuck-me' stores. Oh no! Shares are down. Dildos are up. Who knew?

It doesn't take a genius to notice that shit is bad in this country. People are riding it out as if it was the final seconds of the movie "8 Seconds" with that Perry guy. And that movie sucked.

I am kind of curious about how most of the things that Americans usually bought are down in sales, but like booze has been the steady workhorse of an industry that just keeps on clicking its heels all the way to the bank.

Do we need to spell this shit out? Tax the shit out of anything that gets people fucked up. I mean Elmer's glue could be making huge profits these days.

And people will buy it, revel in it, go to doctors because of it, work more in order to pay for the doctors, and then go for long hospital vacations where the bills will just keep on keepin' on and BOOM....you got some money to balance the stupid fucking budget.

Yeah I know. It seems very childish.

Much like this country.

We are doomed.

Operation Foole with an "e"

EDITOR'S NOTE: Most ideas here are George Carlin's ideas.

He's dead now, but like he always said, "Fuck the dead! Hey you're dead, what do you give a shit?"

From all the things that George Carlin taught me in his lectures about life (yes, they were lecture about how to live), the one thing that always stood out for me were his rants about death. He always had a very peculiar view of death, one that I like the legion of his fans took to be their own.

I can't help feeling sad that the man who introduced me to stand up comedians died, but I also want to do the man justice for the things that he has taught me.

Thirty years ago, during his 1978 special in Phoenix he talked about death, as he usually did. But when I devoted two long nights watching the body of his work again on HBO, I caught something that I previously didn't. That's because when he talked about death he was alive. But now he is gone and so is his soul. And he knew where it would go, too.

"I think your soul goes to a garage in Buffalo," he said. Hey you go where you think that you are going to go, that's what he said. I still think about where he actually did think his soul would go.

I hope that it went into the people's collective minds since he was a beacon of truth in America. When you understood Carlin beyond his love of the language and human potential, you understood what life was about. It was far from superficial for him. In fact, he was like the sheepherder who led his cattle into whatever foray his mind felt like leading you to.

Sometimes he felt dirty, as in his Carlin "Back in Town" special when he took on feminism and said that it is easy to piss off a feminist. "Hey cupcake make me something to eat and give me a blowjob."

"I know I'm a pig," he said. Then he said that he is a twisted evil fuck and that he accepts it.

But from most of the media reports that I've read about Carlin and the legion of comedians and fans voicing their take on him, they always talk about his relevance today.

They talk about the 7 dirty words and the Supreme Court case and his ties to Lenny Bruce.

But nobody talks about the fact that he was one of the only mainstream comedians who could say the foulest shit on the stage and get away with it.

He made it in his life. He did it his own way.

Sure some will say he is a comedic martyr by now.

But I always viewed him as the grandfather that you always wanted to have. The one who would pull out the nudie deck of cards during Thanksgiving when the parents weren't watching and show you the ropes.

To listen to Carlin, it wasn't about being hip.

I think that what he did was the highest form of social commentary that could ever be. And he sailed through it, through the times, through his complaints and grievances, his people he could do without, his dog humor, his political humor and just plain ol' things that pissed him the FUCK off. And rightly so. He did it like a champion.

"It's a great country, but it's a strange culture." - George Carlin.

So I do hope his soul is somewhere in a garage in Buffalo. Maybe I'll visit one day. And he will be hanging out with all of his dead dogs and cats that he frequently talked about and he still would be shaking his head at the world that he left behind.

SHIT, PISS, FUCK, CUNT, COCKSUCKER, MOTHERFUCKER and TITS.

Depp

Sometimes in journalism you face a lot of disappointments. Sometimes the job gets in the way of following your wants and wishes. But hey, it's the job. It pays the fucking bills.

The office was struck with Johnny Depp fever since he was filming the John Dillinger movie "Public Enemies" right across the street from our office in an old police station. Sure, the movie trucks came in, and the security guards "didn't know anything" as they chewed on French fries from the local McDonald's, but there was no sign of the actor.

So the pressure was on.

Would he show up? Will he show up? Get the camera ready for some action since this is community news.

So we never got the shot.

But apparently, the man DID show up, him and Christian Bale, who will forever be known in my mind as Patrick Bateman of "American Psycho" fame.

We started at 9 a.m. Shit, even the editor rolled in on time. The office was full of surprising expectations. Hell, maybe he WILL be there.

But the day dragged on as they usually do and no Depp was in sight. The only "depp's" I thought that were in attendance were the the dip shits who thought they would see Johnny Depp.

I was the dip shit.

As is customary at Nadig Newspapers, we cover the meetings of the Lincolnwood Board of Trustees. The board talks about riveting stuff like changing yard setbacks and approving grant money.

But at this point I was in a panic. It was bad enough that I drove all around the City's police stations covering area crime, but I was missing out on some Depp action.

Anyway, the day was over and it was time to go home.

So instead of staying and waiting for Johnny Depp, I went home to get something to eat and take a shit.

Bad judgement.

I began my journey to Lincolnwood for the meeting and I stopped by the "set" to see if "Johnny was there?" He WAS, but some security lady told me that he wasn't. I knew this because there were some fans staked out on the lawns. They knew he was there, but I didn't.

Cue the meeting.

But on the way back home, I parked my car and walked up to the set and asked one of the truck drivers who caters to the stars if "the star of the show was going to show up."

"Oh man, you missed him buddy. By about two hours," he said.

"Two fucking hours?" I said.

"Yeah both of them came in. Him and Christian Bale. You know what [Depp] does, he shoots the scene, goes to his trailer, changes, and then jumps into a car and he is gone," he said.

That's when the dagger was placed roughly into my heart.

"Fuck," I said.

I said some other things, but then I decided to drown my sorrows in vodka.

"Fucking Johnny Depp," I said.

I called some friends so that they could guide me through the ordeal, but in the end, yeah, I was a disgruntled fan of his work. But it was my fault. I should have been out there at 5 p.m. dragging a fold out chair and a beer can "waiting for Johnny Depp."

Sometimes work is more important that Johnny Depp.

Cue the vodka.

Ciao,

Gonzo.

An old fashioned rant

On the way home I picked up some beer imported from Denmark. Carlsberg has a nice kick, despite the notion that the Danish people have something against the Muslims for printing those cartoons of Allah in their newspapers.

No, they just make a good beer. And what a way to start a blog about controversy and the presidential campaign then without mentioning Jeremiah Wright. Sorry, Reverend Wright.

Well Wright is wrong. Maybe not about what he says about the black church, since I absolutely have no basis to know the REAL issues black churches face, but as cracker, even I can understand that this guy is causing unnecessary harm to Obama's campaign. Jesus. The more this man talks the more Obama squirms at the podium. And like Jay Leno said recently, you have to wonder how much Hillary is paying this man to continue to jive in front of the cameras and the radio.

But that is a joke and not a fact.

What is a fact is that when I went to cover Obama's presidential announcement in Springfield last year, Obama's message was clear.

"What's stopped us is the failure of leadership. The smallness of our politics -- the ease we're distracted by the petty and trivial, our chronic avoidance of tough decisions, our preference for scoring cheap political points instead of rolling up our sleeves and building a working consensus to tackle big problems," Obama said in February of 2007 in Springfield when he announced his candidacy to run for president.

And even a year later those words ring true in the daily slug fest for political points in the media.

What's bogging down his campaign now is that he sort of has to deal with the daily dish of new controversies and answer tough questions. Which there is nothing wrong with that. Every man, woman or child (Bush. Cheap shot. I kid the president) had to answer those when they were running.

But it seems to me that some use this to their advantage, especially in the high-wire world of campaining. It's like all the candidates decided that because America's attention span is so low, especially when it comes to the presidential campaigns, that the Beavis and Butthead steamroller designed to destroy everything in the proverbial path to reach a goal (to score), is acceptable.

I thought that this was about ending the war. I thought that this was about fixing something. Anything. Shit. Even the door lock on my Ford Tempo.

I thought we were smarter. I thought that this was about getting Republicans out of power, which was something we couldn't do with John Kerry. Because you know, he was the most electable.

But these trivial all out attacks on candidates are reported in the media at a frantic pace.

If anyone remembers, a couple of weeks ago Hillary appeased to the blue collar vote and won Pennsylvania because she downed a shot and a beer.

Because when you think about boilermakers, and I'm talking about the old fashioned ones where you drop the shot glass into the swill and then down the whole thing as fast as you can, the first thing you think about is Senator Clinton.

Hillary Rodham Clinton.

Not Mike Royko, or Bill Hicks, or Richard Pryor, or George Carlin, or even most of the old timers who frequent the Billy Goat Tavern -- the classics -- the people who have deserved a free boilermaker at the end of their day for the past 30 years, the people with grime between their finger nails, the ones who wear work boots, shit, the ones who drive an old Ford, but no, it was Senator Clinton.

But why? What is this political game of backgammon teaching us? Or what is it supposed to teach us? There's been debate about the levels of the middle class, but I doubt that somehow the image of a former First Lady doing shots of Crown Royale and chugging beer will appeal to the working classes? Is that what we want? Some beer-swillin' shot bouncing lady that can kick it with the old boys and has had pretty much of a pimpin-aint-easy roll with our national saxophone player?

I guess so. I guess we do. Hey, it worked.

But have you seen the people at the bar? At the local drinking hole? At the church around the corner? At the local bottle factory?

It's not a pretty sight. Fore one, you're in it and so am I, drinking with the rest of them. But come on, a stranger coming in for a one-time visit doesn't really mesh with the background. "Support the Troops" bumper stickers and the giant screen TV's used for karaoke pretty much make up for it and the giant garbage cans used for cigarette butts outside of the door don't help either.

None of it should help.

I used to love bars.

I'm astounded that the "boilermaker" image actually worked in Pennsylvania. That's like using Pee Wee Herman for an advertisement of why Porno Movie Theaters are good places to go to on the weekends.

Hell, everyone knows that presidents don't mix well with the die-hard Cubbie bars on the North Side of Chicago. Where you can still find old skool payphone booths. Where you can smoke. Where you can bitch about your problems even though you haven't seen these cats in a long while.

Shit, I guess it is like Washington politics. The in-crowd stays in, accepted by the boys, fearing what this new jack off with a leather jacket will do to the aesthetic of the place. Because the aesthetic is important. The image. The way you look at it.

Not all that other shit. Ya know, policy, the economy and being able to fill your gas tank with a $5 spot, as Dennis Miller once put it.

Even the idea of getting the drinking culture's vote by doing a boilermaker seems so out of the blue to me. I mean, if you've ever been in a bar, you can buy that shit (the vote) by buying a deuce of rounds. Maybe some Wild Turkey, if it is a lucky night. Then a night of scratch-offs...hey it's a gamble right? Maybe some pizza, "Hell no one cooks at home anyway!" then some beer and then if we're lucky,we can muster up enough courage to say "What the fuck is up with these rebate checks? Aren't they supposed to come in at about this time? I paid this shit."

But this is all stupid.

Why?

Because the sad truth is, that while I frequent these bars, people in the bars are not meant to run the country. In fact, on a wild suspicion, the people at the local watering hole will never be able to make decisions about war and the economy or even if the machine takes quarters, then can you still mix colors and whites?

But please, don't call us stupid. There is this wave of rhetoric that somehow the American people are dumb and stupid. Like we only get channel 2 or something. Like the analog-to-digital switch already came and we didn't know it. Or were aware of it.

Like, "what the fuck happened to Channel 9?" "I thought the game was on tonight?"

I'm sort of tired of the same two families running this country who know how to play the political game. Who know when to say something, or bring something up at the right time, to yes, score political points and in the eyes of the American people, make the other candidate look like he is an incompetent imbecile who has no idea who he should be hanging out with.

Like that's what it takes to win. To make the other poor sap who is running look bad.

"What? You smoked crack?" Oh no way. Not in this life time will I vote for a crack head. I'll vote for a wife that could care two-shits since she is in politcs about whom my husband fucks, but that crackhead thing, that you can't ignore.

But just as I'm tired of drinking Miller Genuine Draft, I'm sure the men of America are tired of the same old rhetoric of a couple that probably doesn't fuck anymore.

And this isn't meant to be sexist. I'll take Hillary over McCain any day. But come on. People have cheated on their girlfriends. That sex was a little awkward wasn't it? Like, yeah, "I love you. Isn't Leno doing his "Headlines" segment tonight?"

We're all fucked. The beasts are winning. And it's the worst kind of beasts. The ones who will say anything and spin any little turd into a political point.

Now where are those stimulus checks? Can I drive to work without returning to the gas station as if it was my alma matter? Can I pay these bills without having to juggle when I actually pay them? Can I save something for the future, I mean these student loans are fucking killing me. Can I NOT live pay check to pay check after I graduated from college? Can I please have some hope left in this electoral process? Can I please stop watching commercials that want to give me a pill that makes my dick hard? I have to go to work. How will I call the hospital after four hours when I have deadlines to make?

As Jack Nicholson once said. "Sell crazy someplace else. We're all stocked up here"

People talk about voter apathy. Well, I gotta tell you, the way that this current Democratic orgy is playing out, that's where this is headed.

At some point even the American people can spot a weasel and say, "Oh fuck this!" The Cubs game is on. We're used to losing.

And so it goes...