October 1st, 2004 | Issue eighteen

Nashville Rascail Sprots R’prot

Undecided voter Paula Flowers is at her wit’s end! She thinks both presidential candidates are excellent and can’t decide which one to give her vote to! Quick, someone change the water in Lyndon LaRouche’s isolation tank. I’ll alert the CEO of the Cheesecake Factory. You, boy, cable the Swiss media. I have a feeling it’s “go time” for Lyndon! Ashley Anton Wilson, the resident conspiracy nut at Vanderbilt’s Tri-Delt house, has been pushing the limits of sisterhood recently with dramatic rumors about CIA satellites that can see every zit, every pore, on your face! David Allan Coe drove by Bobby’s Idle Hour the other night in a Stutz Bearcat, out promoting his new song, “Is It Alright to Hate New York Again?” The portly buckeye was seen sitting in the rumble seat waving a State U. pennant and wearing a racoon coat etc. “It’s my new thing,” Coe said. “I decided to go back to school, way back… to the 1920s! I’m a college boy now!” Chug-a-lug: Don’t look now but according to the Jewish Brewers Association’s new awareness campaign “Jews Drink Their Beer in Steins”! Lord, if I die, please don’t let hell be anything like Spartanburg, SC! Anyone else think the Maryland flag is a little on the loud side? Negotiations with the dead over masturbation-viewing rights are still bogged down with neither side willing to return to the seance table! Faces and Places: Which Nahville music executive came home early from work Tuesday and found his Swedish bride praying to Thor? Which Belle Meade ice skater trained all summer in a shopping-mall rink with a tree in its center and now has a “hole” in her program? Whose massive stepmother, after aggressive financial maneuvering during the late 70s, was able to embezzle the proceeds from a benefit for paralyzed slamdancers and channel the dough into a fund for the construction of a Bear Bryant statue down in Nicaragua? Lo and behold: Fairfax Avenue neighbor Dick Snow remembers when Oklahoma was just a field. A huge Oklahoma-shaped field that is! “I don’t trust young men who drink diet soda,” he adds. Cape Cod police have confirmed that the Provincetown Hitler Moustache Taffy Strangler is NOT author Dean Koontz. Orange O-lert: Hey Sunshine Staters. Make way for the world’s first Jewish Hurricane, Hurricane Irving! And don’t forget to smear lamb’s blood on the front door before landfall! Word Up: A friend in Alabama advises wearing sweatpants the next time I’m headed down to the Mouse’s Ear for one of those five-dollar lap dances! According to a new study, no one eats hamburgers like young, cynical, adult males! I am not a fan of dreamcatchers! The word “cicada” was recently retired and put into the deep freeze at the Memphis Language Center. Condolences to all SEC poets! Squirrel Bait Reunion: rock and roll stickup or sartorial cabal? Say fellas, you can make it look like you’ve been impaled by a carrot simply by painting your cock orange and sticking a bulb of chives in your ass! Let me put it to you this way: Nirvana is to Bush as Reagan is to Bush! Q: What kind of person speaks Spanish, has an Italian last name, wants to be British, acts French, and looks German? A: an Argentinian person! Hemispherically speaking, the ball has been in South America’s court for so long, the line judge has been relieved by an immortal! Heads Up: Nahville Jerky Boys fanclub president, Possible Ron, warns parents: Don’t let your hemophiliac child play the accordion or massive internal bleeding may result. Why is he called Possible Ron? Well, we don’t know what his name really is, but think it might be Ron! Hey Ron, thanks for the stack of Keyboard Player magazines? Unfortunately I’d rather get in a jacuzzi with a couple of lepers than leaf through them! Parting Shot: Oscar Knight, author of Thunder: A Crisis in Animal Psychiatry, writes to warn my readers that too much faith is being placed in the hands of those who would keep us shopping above all else. Sounds like a non-transferable realization to me. Sorry Oscar, but you are NOT the father, you are NOT the son, and I’m very goddamn sure, sir, that you are not the holy ghost.

by David Berman

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