According to preliminary reports, the violent death of famed US figure-skater Nancy Kerrigan’s father may have been inspired by a New Jersey area comic act.

Mark Kerrigan, 45, was charged with assault and battery of an elder with serious bodily injury.  He did not speak at a court appearance where a not guilty plea was entered on his behalf; Mr. Kerrigan was ordered held on $10,000 cash bail.Prosecutor Elizabeth Healey said Mark Kerrigan struggled with his father, Daniel, in the kitchen of the family home in Stoneham in the pre-dawn hours of Sunday.  Daniel Kerrigan, a long time listener to New Jersey Internet Radio Show, “The Conte & Kenny Program” demanded use of the family computer the next day to hear the program’s take on the loss of the New York Jets after this weekend’s playoff game.

Daniel, a long time lover of actual comedy, could no longer stand the low-brow “humor” and went on a tirade.

“It’s just not funny!” he was heard exclaiming by concerned neighbors, “You can’t just say ‘penis’ and expect people to laugh for three hours!  We get it.  Kenny is gay!  GOD!”

Neighbors went on to explain that they heard Daniel go off on a hour-long prepared diatribe about the nature of comedy, and of how “The Conte and Kenny” program failed to meet even the base definition of what can be considered, “Funny”.  The sounds of “wet meat being thudded with a hammer” were heard punctuating each painfully acurate statement.

Officers responding to an emergency call took the elder Kerrigan to a nearby hospital, where he was pronounced dead.  No cause of death has been announced, pending an autopsy.

“We wanted to help the old guy,” said a neighbor, “But honestly, Daniel was pretty much dead on.”

The Boston Globe reported Mark Kerrigan was described by his attorney as an unemployed plumber, and an Army veteran with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder who regularly received counseling.  Police say it is unusual that a man of such low calibre could be aware that The Conte and Kenny show sucked so bad, but went on to explain that, “sometimes vermin can detect their own.”

By Dirk Trotter

There, that ought to do it. As you all know, I am running the Democratic nomination for President of the United States. Like my sister-in-arms Hillary Clinton, I have been dismissed by the Beltway Insider Talking Head Punditocracy, that indeterminate mass of pusillanimous snobbery. They have tried, in their vile and bookish manner, to distract voters with heady concepts like addition (Chris Matthews said, “He’s not on the ballot in any state or territory, therefore he cannot attain more than 0 delegates.” Pheh.) and relativity (a Washington Post editorial said, “Trotter’s claims of momentum sound weak; he did double his vote total this week, although most likely because he wrote himself in on the ballot in his home state of Oregon.” Momentum’s momentum, eat it WaPo!) and message (Bill O’Reilly said, “As far as I can tell, he doesn’t even have a platform or even a single issue which he can support with any level of detail.” Elitist.) and money (The NY Times notes, “Trotter’s loaned his campaign it’s entire war chest, and he’s amassed a sizeable campaign debt – if you consider $17 sizeable. According to FEC records filed last week, the campaign bought itself one nice dinner and dessert at Applebee’s. This guy’s a joke.” Why? Because I like Applebee’s? My high school marching band’s picture is on the wall and you can see the top of my head if you look closely. What’s more American, you pigs? The joke’s on you.).

It’s hard to win the nomination when you can’t raise money or get any kind of recognition. But as my compatriot, the honorable Mrs. Clinton, has shown, what matters most in winning voters’ hearts are perception and the willing suspension of disbelief. A thing is only impossible if you admit it’s impossible, and even if it winds up not working out anyway, that doesn’t prove it was impossible, just a one-off-type deal, is all. And I will never, ever give a fair assessment of my chances. I leave that up to the pundits.

You shitheads! I wish my job was to spend hours of every night speculating and making snarky comments and referring to things as “Breaking News” as if I hadn’t made that exact news in a prediction two months prior (and every day since). I wish someone paid me to figuratively spin the “truths” – or “flip the burgers,” if you will – to fit some trite, insipid narrative that sells ad time. As opposed to my job where I quite literally flip burgers. There is a kind of truth in that, I suppose. In that it’s what I really do. In exchange for money.

Anyway, my point is that the dick-faced scumbag media elitists refuse to let the election play out in the polling booth. Oh, sure, they claim to be doing a service to the country by proffering news and analysis of the day’s relevant events, but what good do they really do? Who are they helping if not the little guy? Like Barack Obama wasn’t born with the kid from Silver Spoons in his mouth, as they say. Think about it: given how this country rallies around the underdog, shouldn’t a poor black kid with an immigrant father be considered the favorite from the day he entered this race? We whiteys can’t even talk about race without stepping on our own scrotums –doesn’t that leave us disadvantaged?

Breaking news for the favoritist newscasters: stop clouding the picture with your opinions like “it would be nearly impossible mathematically for Obama to lose the nomination.” I’m with Hillary here, anything can happen, let’s wait until all the votes are cast. And it’s sure worked for her; all she’s had to do is overtly foster unflattering social tendencies and encourage communal living in this her perpetual state of denial. Here’s how it works: she blames the media for not visiting in her bastardized version of reality, the media cowers in faux remorse and self doubt. They’ll just continue inflate her miniscule chances based entirely on the volume of that shrill voice of hers – until her official defeat as the delegates cast their ballots at the Democratic convention in August. And in my acceptance speech, I will thank her from the bottom of my heart for her vision, courage, and leadership. Anyone who suggests differently is totally gay.

Charles Bramner tells you what tomorrow’s consensus will be
by Charles Bramner, Tastemaker

Eliot Spitzer fucked up: Everyone knows that to avoid federal investigators, you should use the moderately-priced hookers and rent them from the area you’re staying in, to avoid raising red flags with federal accountants and state-line patrollers. True, Washington is known for having the lowest, dirtiest whores in the country, but Spitzer could’ve asked for Trent Lott’s guy. You’re making Jim McGreevey look like Donny Osmond.

John McCain should raise his arms: I mean seriously, Senator. Didn’t the army have a physical therapist available after they let you off the rack at the Hanoi Hilton? The next president ought to be able to answer the red phone at 3 AM, but can this guy even do that if he’s sleeping and it’s up by his head?

John Mellancamp is underrated: Why’d you lose the “Cougar”? People need to know where your heart is. Wear it! Roar!

Britney Spears is craazy (note second ‘a’): News flash: birth control is the new getting high, nailing guys unprotected, and squeezing out babies. Drop the dick, psycho!

And the Oscar for dumbest award name goes to: The Oscar.

Barack Obama is black? 

Zacarias Moussaoui: This guy should’ve been convicted for being all kinds of French, not the Muslim part.

Tony Snow’s cancer is in remission: But his heart is still black. The only thing standing between him and the Neocon Hall of Fame is a Jewish surname.

Rush Limbaugh, I’m out of pills: Do you have a guy? Seriously, I fucking need my shit.

The Sopranos was the best show on television: Now it’s like Hillarycare, in syndication. Wait, what? That doesn’t make any sense. Why won’t my backspace work? Why do I keep on writing this item? I’m still doing it! Note: delete this later.

Heath Ledger, I’m out of pills: I really need something already. Oxycontin, Oxy-10, Oxy Clean, I don’t care, just give me something.

Hot this spring: Red things. Everywhere. Watch for it!

Kollege kampus killers need to knock it off: I mean it. If we run out of college students, who’s going to buy my really cheaply made food?

And those are tomorrow’s opinions, today. Almost makes you wonder why even need time to continue its progression, no?

It’s no secret that hoping for a Hillary/Obama hybrid candidate to sweep the election come November.  I’m not talking both of them on the same ticket.  I’m talking full-on genetic abomination, a-la The Fly.

But, occasionally I see a news story on Republicans of which I wholeheartedly approve.

Last week, I caught a bit on Yahoo! News about John McCain and President Bush having lunch together at the White House.  They had hot dogs.

This is newsworthy?????  Thanks a lot, overfed media.  That’s a really great use of time, money, and resources.  Jackasses…

But, got to thinking… and this is truly a gift to us.  I’d call it comic gold, but it’s really a comic onion, with various layers to examine.

First off is the dubious newsworthiness of the story to begin with.  But, that fades quickly.  So, peel back a few layers, and imagine this as the headline:

BUSH AND MCCAIN ENJOY WIENERS IN THEIR MOUTHS

Childish? - YES

Sophomoric? - YES

On that note, have an immature week 

One of the benefits of my retarded (wickid re-tah-ded, for the natives) long commute is that occasionally, as I’m sitting in traffic, headbanging to Orville Prendergast’s Barbershop Explosion, I see some shit that makes me laugh.  Somtimes it’s as simple as a humorous bumper sticker (I saw one last week that said “McCain in ‘08″ - comic genius, I tells ya!).  Sometimes it’s a little more…

Last week I’m driving into work, at about 7:30 AM on the Massachusetts Turnpike (Masspike for the natives) when traffic slows down.  Thankfully, I’m still near the front of the pack, and I soon find out what the delay is.

There’s a car on the shoulder, dual flashers on.  As I get closer, I see the car is still rolling along - barely.  I can see that the car is dipping down on the front driver’s side.  Flat tire, I said to myself.

As I passed, I realized that the tire wasn’t flat.  It just WASN’T FUCKING THERE!  What’s more, the rim itself was AWOL.  I was witnessing a car driving on three rims and a BRAKE ROTOR!

What I want to know is:

1) Did the wheel pop off while driving, or did the driver stop and take it off?

2) Why was the driver still going? (staties pass by every few minutes - help would have been there quickly)

3) How far did he expect to get like that?

4) How far did he make it?

People… when you have only three wheels - STOP THE CAR!

As we scream toward potential regime change on the home front in November, it is important to be mindful of all we have been through and suffered together as Americans these past eight years.  It’s a little known fact that on September 11, 2001, there was a terrorist attack meant to topple America’s economy and cripple its spirit.  But, we did not run.  Countless first responders, including police, firefighters, and paramedics, braved the rubble to secure cities and rescue as many as possible. For facing such danger, without regard for their own consequences, nobody can argue that they were heroes.

It wasn’t long before the inevitable happened, and America took its response to the international stage.  Whether or not you agreed with the political/military machine driving the war, you cannot deny the selflessness and bravery of the men and women of our armed forces who left their homes and families, to battle our sworn enemies on their own soil, and defend the cause of democracy and liberty.  Many left, many never returned, but none are forgotten.  For giving so much, and asking so little, our servicepeople are heroes.

But, there is an American hero that has remained unrecognized and unsung.  As America has weathered on through years of war, time has taken its toll on the populace.  America’s once bountiful economy has fallen on hard times.  With untold numbers of homes going into foreclosure, skilled jobs being exported overseas, and the dollar losing ground to the world economy daily, the average American can no longer take American financial supramacy for granted, and many have become accustomed to living, in fear, from paycheck to paycheck.

So, imagine how my heart soared with pride at this scene of classic Norman Rockwell Americana…

Today, I was walking from my office to my car after work.  My rented parking spot is a good half mile from the office, so I get to see a nice long stretch of Mass Ave in Cambrige, MA (for those not local, this is the same neighborhood that contains Harvard University).  The sun isn’t quite down yet, and it’s still in the 40s - which is rather pleasant for Boston in early March.  Most of the traffic is headed North, toward route 2, as commuters like myself leave the city for less expensive locales.  The two southbound lanes heading in the direction of Harvard, and the Charles River, are pretty much open.

The right lane is unoccupied as I walk.  There are two cars in the left lane.  One is obscured from my vision by a parked truck.  The other, following closely behind, is an absolutely goregeos Aston Martin DB9 coupe - the kind of thing James Bond would drive if he were a Harvard Professor, or a spy, for that matter.

The car up front comes to a stop and flipped on its blinker - it is about to make a left hand turn.  Of course, when you’re rich enough to drive an Aston Martin, you WAIT FOR NOBODY!  After being forced to wait for an unimaginable quarter-second, the Aston Martin driver laid into his powerful British horn, cut hard right, and sounded a mighty roar with the engine and tore around the first car, rocketing towards the Boston city limits with twelve cylinders of fury at his command.

Let’s examine this for a moment…

1. Aston Martin DB9 coupe, 12 cylinder engine, British import
2. mileage, as per fueleconomy.gov - at BEST 18 highway, 11 city
3. Engine being maxed out for about a quarter mile, so fuel economy goes way south - let’s call it 6 MPG
4. Gas at the station across the street, $3.05 for regular.  Premium was probably something like $3.35, making that quarter mile cost approximately fourteen cents

Doesn’t sound like a lot, but total that up over how often said driver likely does that, and we’re talking a lot of fuel.  So, between the expensive non-American import (NOT MADE IN USA!), the road rage-style driving, and the excessive fuel consumption, I think we can safely assume that the past eight years have not affected the driver of the Aston Martin.  He has not let fear (or any common sense) control his spending habits, care for other people, or spirit of patriotism.

So, ladies and gentlemen - I present to you the greatest American hero: the Douchebag.  I ask you to join me in honoring these stallions among citizens in song.

Sing along now…. And a one, and a two, and a-

“Believe it or not,

I’m driving a car!

I never thought I could be a dou-ouche-bag!

Speeding away, not a care in the world!

Who is that douche?

Believe it or not, it’s just me!”

by Robert Neil

Why is it librals hat America so much? How come? Don they lick freedom? Don they lick being strong? Now is during a war. Freedum means that you can think whaevr you want, but when the terrorrissts who hat America as much as librals do come and then try to 9/11 us, we need to unit around the president, no mater whatt!!!! Thats why fredum is so great. And if you still think the presindet is wrong or messing up, you dont say it. Just keep it lokked in your tiny libnral head.

Libraks cant even change their own oil. So dont tell me we invaded Irak. because odf oil. You don even know about oil. What color isit? Oh. Lucke gues.

It must be harrd to be a libnral. So harrd. Librals are so fdull of hat. “I hat the president!” “I hat Dick Chany!” ” I hat Robert Neil!” ” I hat GOOD!” “I hat Amerca!@’ You just hav to put Good’s live in your hart and suddenlie you understnad. Ypul’l say, “now there things I lick everywhere. I lick Good. I livck Maerica. I lick whiskee. And RObert Neil is a fine man. I dont car if he is mom is sleeping with som nigr. Good fres us all. And then yo can say, Bush is right, lets kill thme Goodless Chommie terrorrissts.

Yo can stil hat some things, lick sholaces. Becase its still a damocratcy. Becase fredum is about being abel to anything you want, unles Good says no. That means you, quears. That means you, librals. That means you, nespapeers. That means you, borsionists. That means you, universe heath car librals. If Good wnated us to paye taxies for hellig the sick, he wouldv mad us paye taxies just for coming in a church doar. Jesis woud sport the flat tax. AnD IF HE WNATED YS TO PAYE A TAXE FOR DYING HE COULD TAK IT OUT OF OAR ASSES ON THE OTHER SId. Rite?

Good I hat librals.

Ten tips to make it through without selling one of your kids

By Ned Klutzman

This week, the Federal Reserve Board released its quarterly 04 541T report, always highly anticipated by investors, home owners, businessmen, and other white people. In an accompanying news conference, Fed Chairman Ben Bernanke downplayed some of the more negative aspects of the report. “Yes, we are in the first phase of a recession. A horrible, horrible recession. Some will lose their jobs. Some will lose their houses. Some will lose their families, or even their lives. But I assure you, I will continue to do very, very well. Like ridiculously well. I’ve never used the same cufflinks twice, and I never will. Bacteria.”

Not the most uplifting report. Consumer confidence plummeted when Mexican President Felipe Calderón offered to loan the U.S. “a few mil, just for a little while. A month, max.” It was later noted that mil is the Spanish word for “thousand” and he was referring to pesos. Still, President Bush accepted the offer, saying “This is $17.67 more that we had yesterday. This might save a soldier’s life in Iraq. Or at the very least, buy ‘em a decent lunch. We keep those bastards poor on purpose.” By the end of his press conference, the president had lit the bills on fire in some sort of ritualistic African tribal dance, and dropped most of the change into a vintage Ms. Pac-Man machine.

Insiders are jittery. Greg McBride, senior financial analyst with Bankrate.com, put it this way: “Doesn’t anyone have some fucking coffee in this whole fucking building? Sweet fucking Christ, I can’t even sign my name right now. You can’t just go cold turkey!”

If these guys are screwed, what can Joe Losing-My-Mortgage do? Here are ten tips to help you stay afloat when the Armageddon comes:

1. Sell one of your kids

Hard times force you to ask the tough questions of yourself: how much is your child worth – not to you, to the market? What kind of an investment do you need to make in the short term to maximize potential value in a time of crisis? Traditionally, supply of young girls have has been higher in Asian markets, driving the price down. A strong boy, or a supple one, might fetch a good sum from a foreign investor looking for an heir, a workhorse, or a sophisticated plaything. But Tom Greening, CEO of Greening Swaphouse, makes the opposite case pretty well: “We live in a much more open world nowadays, but when it comes to cooking, cleaning, and plain-old sexual favors, nothing beats a young girl. Their base value never changes, regardless of market fluctuations or the day’s tastes.” But remember, sentimental value aside, raising a child to take care of you later was the original (and still best) social security. So make sure you invest some of the windfall in a long-term mutual fund or Roth IRA.

2. Two words: life insurance

When murdering someone for the insurance money, timing is everything. Steve Phillips, president of the New Jersey State Bar Association, notes that “15 months seems to be the credibility low water mark. A policy that terminates any sooner is of course more cost-effective, but also raises unsavory legal questions of the beneficiaries.” Put another way, motive becomes obvious. Assets can be tied up during protracted proceedings, and they don’t always earn interest – two big no-no’s in this market. Many experts are urging insurance fraud as the cornerstone of a diverse strategy. But, Phillips warns, “beware of the overhead. Costs can run very high for quality work and an airtight alibi. Compare plans and providers, take the time to explore all of your options. And remember that a cheap, diy plan can work – but again, timing is everything.

3. Buy more crack than you can smoke

The commodities market will eventually be affected by the subprime mortgage crisis, but certain staples are always needed, and crack will never get stale. Sales of crack, like all drugs, actually tend to improve during periods of economic hardship. All of the trendlines predict a big future, as the potential consumer base is almost unlimited and there’s currently lots of room for expansion. And market liquidity is promising, too; Rashawn Q., a pusher from Queens, NY, says you can get it anywhere and sell it just as fast, in a pinch. The crack market is like eBay without the Internet. This can actually turn into a regular revenue stream, or you can stock up for a big hit later.

4. Sell another kid

Unloading the little ones is generally easier, as buyers always have potential and flexibility on their mind. So you’ll clearly want to start with the youngest non-nursing child. (Unless the wife is for sale, too.) But costs rise with age, and while you may not get top dollar for your teenager, avoiding dental and tuition costs can keep you in the black. Not to mention the food!

5. When screwed, screw back

The number of children you can birth and sell is limited only by your fertility rate. Obviously, in vitro fertilization and other hi-tech methods are money sinkholes. But for the virile, sex has never been so lucrative. Unless it’s with a recently-purchased child. Suzanna Horhol, a homemaker and loyal reader from Plano, TX, shared this tip via e-mail: “Ladies, you’re going to have to take it out and go to town your own sometimes. Don’t leave it to him, he’ll be spanking in the shower all day.” Every sperm may not be sacred, but they’re all assets.

6. Extortion/kidnapping

Oldies but goodies, these never go out of style. Appropriate targeting and plausible deniability are everything: you’ll never get a dime out of the overly scrupulous, or the kids selling Peanut M&M’s on the subway. Likewise, if someone sees you and your investment together on the night of the disappearance, your portfolio looks bleak. But even if everything goes right, payouts vary widely – remember, the recession is hitting everyone.

7. Organ harvesting

Education is really the key to outliving an economic dip. The more you know, the more versatile you can be and that makes you invaluable in whatever profession you pursue. Your local community college may be offering biology courses right now. (Of course, be prepared to ask the right questions.) This might be the best tip I have, because the market is perpetually in short supply of living organs, and nobody can afford to stop to ask questions. Armed with some basic knowledge, crude implements, and the will to succeed, this is one cash cow that will never stop mooing. Unless you cut out its tongue.

8. Do more with less

Tightening your belt can be painful, but that’s half the fun. If you run your household budget, be sure to squeeze every dime out of the people you live with before considering your own spending. Now is a good time to teach your children about the importance of savings, and what better way to do that than by letting them absorb the brunt of the budgetary cutbacks? But remember that utilizing neglected revenue streams, no matter how small, can add up to big help. Hit the “take-a-penny” tray at your local convenience store twice a day, minimum, and the March of Dimes jar when the tray is empty. Charge an entry fee when your spouse’s friends visit your home. Buy your condoms in bulk. Move to an unsafe neighborhood. Stop shaving, reading, or keep and eat your food at room temperature. Stick your thumb up the dog’s ass.

9. Write columns about money

Nowadays, everyone’s an expert and credentials are easily fabricated. Hell, you don’t even have to deliver what you promise! Blow me, suckers!

Ned Klutzman is the Ned Klutzman Distinguished Professor of Economics or Something at Harvard University. Or Something.

Blogs Blogerton’s Blog by Blogs Blogerton

All bets are off following last night’s Democratic debate, as Hillary Clinton may have delivered the debilitating blow her campaign has long awaited. She pressed leading nomination contender Barack Obama on their competing health care plans, saying “my opponent’s plan will leave 15 million Americans uninsured and, might I add, partially retarded.” Obama retorted, “You are.” Clinton gasped and shouted back, “you are!”

The ugliness escalated. Obama stared hard for a moment and Clinton returned his gaze. “Are you as turned on as I am?” he asked. “More!” she explained. They embraced passionately and kissed as they fell off screen. A moan of ecstatic pleasure was picked up on a microphone, though it was later attributed to Keith Olbermann.

David Axelrod, campaign strategist for Mr. Obama, offered this explanation in the spin room: “Barack and Hillary have worked together several years, and have always expressed and enjoyed a mutual respect and admiration. They agree on many issues and, of course, there’s this seething sexual tension that’s been bubbling beneath the surface. I mean, we’re talking Ross and Rachel times ones and a quarter. He can’t talk about superdelegates without getting a stiffy.”

The Clinton campaign immediately released this statement after the debate: “Senator Clinton is honored to serve with Senator Obama, and now, to serve Senator Obama. Let’s just say it’s been a long time, and she’s the grateful type.”

Naturally, the blogosphere has erupted in blogtter about a possible Blogbama-Blogton political blogabaloo, with Daily Kos speculating they might copulate during the inauguration if one or, somehow, both are elected. Obama has already changed her campaign slogan to “Change is coming quickly,” and she to “Once one goes black, one never goes back. Especially with weiners,” which only fits onto extra-long posters. That was a black penis joke.

Leading Republican candidate for the White House, John McCain, announced today that he still strongly supports the War in Iraq, despite its growing unpopularity with American voters.  In answer to questions about the advisably of this position, McCain declared that, “The only way forward is to press on, to give our fighting boys and girls the chance to prove themselves and to make their country-men proud!”  McCain went on to say, “You can’t expect to make any distance if you keep changing course midstream.  Rome wasn’t built in a day, and it takes two to tango!”

Insiders believe this new wave of bombastic prose is part of the Senator’s plan to quell the public with grandeous statements of grossly exaggerated clichés.  “People are sick and tired of reasonable responses,” says Ralph Smith, a chief Republican-stratigest out of Long Island, “They’re always so boring and depressing.  The American people want pizazz, chutzpah, razzle-dazzle!  They want catch-phrases!  People don’t want to hear about surges and failed missions; they gravitate to tried and true political statements like ‘Remember the Alamo’ and ‘I Like Ike’ - we even considered changing Senator McCain’s name to Ike, but recent polls showed that the name skewed towards ’spousal abuser’.”

This new philosophy the McCain camp has deployed has resulted in a great boost to his credibility amongst the illiterate and fearful.  McCain is expected to sweep the Midwest next week with his newest campaign slogan, “Where’s the Beef?”

Walter Mondale could not be reached for comment.