If anyone near Springfield, IL, is reading this, he or she should clasp a copy of this morning’s Los Angeles Titanic and tuck it into Mr. Lincoln’s coffin. Like Mr. Lincoln, this edition, an unintentional tribute to the Marx Brothers, is “one for the ages.”
America’s Second Worst Newspaper soberly championed every comical cause of the day except global blazing, or climate confusion or whatever our slightly slow friends on the left are branding their pet goofy crusade this week.
On page 1, essayist Georgy Porgy Skelton, who loathed Gov. Schwarzenegger personally and professionally, celebrated the third coronation of the Bald Retread as governor as if he were Elvis or Sinatra appearing live in his hometown. All Mr. Skelton needs to know is that the rube he is to write about is a Democrat. He goes ga-ga, as if he were on the way to visit old colleague Al Martinez in a nursing home.
Long forgotten is the dirty name Mr. Retread or his “wife” called Meg Whitman last autumn, and then lied about it with the aid of his 100 percent of supporters in the media.
I am guessing Mr. Skelton showered a couple of kisses on Mr. Retread during the coronation.
Mr. Retread’s first move after being elected two months ago was to clear his throat and declare a tax increase inevitable. The governor who sold what was left of his soiled soul to public employee unions in the 1970s said that we — not they — are facing the darkest times of our fiscal lives.
Take It to the Banks
On page 2, Silly Sandy (Isn’t It Wonderful That I Am a Successful Single Mother?) Banks wrote that yesterday’s news, dog-killer Michael Vick, should be rewarded with his very own dog.
Anyone in favor of shipping Ms. Banks to an animal shelter? Before dinner?
Each time she sits down to reason, we are reminded why men historically remanded women to the kitchen or the bedroom. She isn’t fit to associate with adult thinkers.
In her lead sentence, she wrote “I’m a dog lover,” and I say let’s credit her with being 50 percent correct.
She may not be Shakespeare or Sammy Spear, the late bandleader, but by golly this girl can string rapturously reasoned words together, like a necklace of coal:
“Michael Vick needs a dog because he needs a link to tenderness, not just a reminder of his toughness.”
Excuse me, please, while I transact a little business.
“Hey, Buford. Go to the morgue and retrieve a couple of bodies for Jeffrey Dahmer. Says he is starving.”
On the penultimate page of the main section, two squishy (to be superfluous) academics — naturally — barnyard lefties, one Amos (Aimless) Guiora and Laurie (Your Gonna Love My Surname) Blank, beefed that Arab (to be superfluous twice) terrorists are still being detained by the Good Guys long after Democrats, well, Swishie, declared the war on terror over.
Clearly not the brightest boys in the classroom, Aimless and Shameless write in their fifth sentence, just before your eyes glaze over:
“Two successive administrations have been incapable of answering what should be the most basic questions: If, how and where to try terrorists.”
No, kids, you are wrong. The Presidents have not been stumped. POWs are to be detained until the war is over, even if it takes until 2050.
What is this “try terrorists”? They are not common criminals. They are common, but they are terrorists in time of war, boys.
Given that the recidivism rate among Arab pigeons is higher than for California ex-cons, let them sit and meditate on, oh, say, the U.S. Constitution.
