Borders, Waldenbooks Won't Carry Magazine

Borders and Waldenbooks stores will not stock the April-May issue of Free Inquiry magazine because it contains cartoons of the Prophet Muhammad that provoked rioting, burning, et. al.

HereÂ’s the good part:

"We absolutely respect our customers' right to choose what they wish to read and buy and we support the First Amendment," Bingham said. "And we absolutely support the rights of Free Inquiry to publish the cartoons. We've just chosen not to carry this particular issue in our stores."

That’s like a country club saying, “We totally believe in equality and human rights, and that’s why we’re happy to invite Blacks, Indians, Hispanics and Catholics to join. We’ve just chosen not to let the Jews in.”

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 01:36 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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I mean, it was inevitable that I would write an American Idol post. I got pretty drunk last night, bombed actually, and decided that American Idol was a good way to spend my time. It wasn't as increidbly gay as I thought it would be, but understand, that's how drunk I was. I wouldn't recommend trying this without supervision; the old lady was home and wasn't nearly as plastered as I was.

First, the judges. Randy is a sycophantic jerkoff. That guy tells everyone "It's not the best song you've sung, but I like it." What a limp noodle that guy is. Paula is just like Randy, but with smaller tits. A big ol' bag of clapping, head-nodding idiocy. Simon. I like Simon, much like myself he's almost always right. And, much like myself, he could probably stand to be less of a dick to absolutely everyone in the world. Guy needs to tone it down a few notches. Seacrest needs to be lit on fire during the season finale. I can't believe Simon's never jumped over the table and throttled that guy. He's such a corny, limp-wristed, plastic geek. I mean, they might as well just have a cardboard cutout of Ben Stein interviewing these people.

Mandisa - Despite her unfortunate name (which sounds like something one might call a crossdresser) and the unfortunate shape of her body, she's got awesome talent. And don't get me wrong about her body, I'm not saying she's too fat to win, I'm just saying her shape is odd. It's like one size above the waist, and a totally other size below. How does this chick find clothes? Anyways.

Bucky - What a fucking reject this guy is. Why are you even on the show? He's up there, singing like he's got a handful of marbles in his mouth and just in general looking like a complete tool. His hair is horrible too. Like I can't fucking tell you dye the shit when you've got Walter Matthau's eyebrows reincarnated on your forehead there.

Paris - This chick has style for miles.That's all I have written down on my notes. The word style over and over again. Must've been getting pretty wasted by this time. She did pull this 'Aw shucks' routine while talking to Seacrest (that insufferable side-alley glory hole) that I totally didn't believe. I think that's the chick whose family is in the biz, so I doubt she's one of these types who shufffles her feet and stares at the dirt.

Chris - You almost made me hate Johnny Cash, then I remembered it wasn't his fault you were encouraged to completely mutilate the song that would become his mantra. You're a fucking dick for singing 'Walk the Line' like some kind of Vegas lounge lizard. I hope Cash haunts your nightmares. If you want to sing like some soulless idiot, I'm sure Limp Bizkit could use a new frontman, or your local college band is scouting for some groupies to tour with. Unbelieveable man.

Catherine - Wow. This chick, besides being finer than frog's hair, can sing like only a couple other ladies on the show. She smolders like a smelt pot at a die-casting plant, and sings with real feeling. Granted, I think she missed a note in there somewhere, but it's not too often someone does justice to such a song.

Taylor - I love me a whiskey tenor. Besides the fact that this dude is old enough to have fathered the rest of the contestants and is still a contender, is the fact that he's got one of those rare gravelly tones that's still even. It's a difficult voice to sing with, and I'm not surprised he's so much older - probably took him that long to get it right.

Lisa - What a cornball this chick is. She's not unique, nor does she have any real outstanding appeal. I mean, she's up there obviously trying to be sexy, but it just looks like some highschool kid imitating Christina Aguilera or any of the other million pop princesses out there. Besides, she's oversinging the shit out of the song, and would be better singing show tunes.

Kevin - When this kid walked out, I had pretty much decided that I wasn't going to like him. I mean, he's dorky looking, young, starry eyed; and that shit is just the slippery slope to another one of these "Oh man, I never thought I'd make it to Hawllywood!" types. But he fucking nailed it. He could have so easily been corny and hokey, but he fucking nailed it. I was assuming he'd get out there and absolutely belt this tune out; loud long chords, just murdering the song. But his delivery was smooth and his own. Great. Now we just need to get him laid.

Elliot - Looks retarded. He's wearing a 'Striped Shirt!', untucked of course, a big fucking dorky yellow tie, and faded jeans. How obnoxious, he's dressed like Carrot Top or some shit. Where your props at dickface? Anyways, and he sings like a douche too. Barry Manilow even tried to coach you into not mauling the melody, but you went out there and rode the thing all over the stage. I can't believe Simon gave you the thumbs up, if I was there, I'd be throwing shit at the stage.

Kelly - I love the chick's backstory, very authentic; but she didn't sing the blues well. I don't know if she wasn't feeling it, or just didn't tap herself, but she's out here singing this blues song and I fell like I'm watching the Mickey Mouse Club or some shit. She's not dressed to sing the blues, not expressing the blues in her facial or body language. What gives girl?

Ace - Another unfortunate name. People name their pets Ace dude, I'm sorry. You have better intonation than that other long haired wanker, but you need to move from behind the mic. What are you hiding from back there dude? It's not your date man, quit trying to make out with the thing. Oh Christ. He's got sunglasses tucked into his pocket. Man, you're inside and it's nighttime. You sang well, but in the end, you looked like a bonehead. It's okay though, I'm sure your mommy still loves you.

Posted by: shank at 11:04 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Once a year I become so enraged over scientology that I post something. This shall be brief.

Comedy Central pulled a repeat of the South Park episode mocking scientology, purportedly after pressure from he who shall not be named who threatened Viacom, saying heÂ’d pull out of the promotions for Mission Impossible 14.

I said I would keep this brief, so hereÂ’s the fundamental issue I have:

Crazy brainwashing cult created by a shitty science fiction writer. ThatÂ’s it. The whole bushel of corn.

You’d think people would shy away from a “religion” that sprang up overnight from the mind of a shitty writer. You’d think that people might be wary about “religions” that charge exorbitant sums of money. You’d think that people would be hesitant about a “religion” where locking people in rooms is common practice.

YouÂ’d think people would just say no to a church who was FOUND GUILTY
of charges relating to infiltration of the Ontario government and 3 police forces in the 1970Â’s and fined $250,000.

YouÂ’d think a lot of things, but youÂ’d be wrong. Because people are fucking nuts.

IÂ’m done.

Best ever article on scientology, from Rolling Stone.

Short, fun article on scientology.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 11:05 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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IÂ’ve never been a big fan of St. PatrickÂ’s day. Somehow, even though IÂ’m a wee bit Irish, I canÂ’t validate it as a holiday. I still have to go to work.

When I was a kid my Mom would bake Irish soda bread and weÂ’d eat corned beef and cabbage and IÂ’d hear tales of our earlier ancestors, who apparently brought nothing with them from Ireland except a foul mouth, which has become my only legacy.

“Our family came from County Cork,” my mother would say with pride, as if she could find it on a map. “Nanna used to say we were what’s known as shanty lace Irish.”

I believe that to mean that they didnÂ’t have a pot to piss in but had notions of being more respectable. Sounds eerily familiar.

IÂ’m a pretty fair genealogist and IÂ’ve found that some of my Irish forefathers were tavern keepers in the 1870s. Sample rooms, tap rooms and taverns. They couldnÂ’t have been very successful because theyÂ’re long gone now. Once on a trip back to where I grew up I went downtown to find the old addresses of a couple of these places. I wanted some photos but it didnÂ’t turn out too good. What used to be a shitty Irish neighborhood one hundred years earlier was a full-fledged ghetto now, and once the first bottle bounces off the rental car I usually take the hint.

Maybe writing this post has had an effect on me as I suddenly feel the need to have a drink. I wouldnÂ’t mind a Bushmills. Or some vanilla extract. WhoÂ’s kidding who, IÂ’d drink cough syrup right now if I could get it.

This just in:

Twenty Major is live blogging from a pub in Ireland.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 08:23 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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