Kevin Martin pushes my buttons, dials my number and hangs me out to dry. What a dweeb. To bring the full story takes too long, suffice to say, Martin has been working diligently to enforce his burka-esque puritanism onto our airwaves ever since he was appointed to chair the FCC. It almost goes without saying, but Martin may be more sexually repressed than G. Clifford Prout.
The similarities between Martin and Prout are astounding. For those of you don’t know, from 1959 thru 1962, G. Clifford Prout spoke to the nation’s heart. Prout was the ultra-conservative chairman of SINA. (The Society for Indecency to Naked Animals.) Something had to be done about clothing the naked animals!
As luck would have it, Prout even got on the evening news with Walter Cronkite. It wasn’t until later that G. Clifford Prout was exposed as comedy writer Buck Henry, and that SINA was nothing more than a hoax. (Cronkite was pissed!)
While Prout was able to successfully elicit donations (which were never accepted) Kevin has been spending millions to be educated by U.S. federal judges. Kevin’s losses in the court system have gone unrivaled. He has already been censored by the New York Court of Appeals after they found the FCC’s “fleeting expletive” rule unconstitutional. After that Kevin couldn’t legally impose fines against the bad word people, but there was still Janet Jackson’s breast from the Superbowl.
That breast was a picture, not a word. So, Kevin is off to the races again, this time to the Supreme Court because a lower court has already slapped that breast down. I can still hear Prout demanding that “we must cloth the naked animals!” United States Appeals Wardrobe Ruling
It’s a weird set of circumstances when this nation gets to arguing over tits. Kevin’s puritan brainwashing not withstanding, is this really the best way to spend taxpayer money? How much does it cost to take a case to the Supreme Court? Do we really need the FCC? Forcing federal judges to teach Martin about the Constitution is costing us a fortune.
Who was hurt by Janet Jackson’s breast?
I was. To this day I remain deeply disturbed, a shell of man. I hardly go out anymore. Boobs terrify me. Last week I found myself crying, alone, naked, in the back of my closet, after accidently channel surfing onto one of the Spanish cleavage channels. It was horrible. I panicked. Wildly pushing buttons I ended up surfing into Woody Allen’s “Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex * But Were Afraid to Ask.” That’s right, it was the scene with the 40 foot boob. (I’m told they usually run in pairs.)
Oddly enough, while breasts frighten me, I’m still okay with nipples. (But only because Janet’s jewelry is exactly like my branding iron.)
Seriously, what’s the deal with Kevin Martin? Unless he selects an Amish jury I don’t think he can find 12 people that are offended by a breast. I may be wrong about the Amish. Teats may be more of a practical matter for them. If this was about child-bearing hips we’d be in trouble.
If obscenity is really the question, how are images of war not obscene? How are images of violence not obscene? How obscene is this haircut? I think we can all get behind lynching his barber.
Martin’s hypocrisy only goes so far, and then you wake up riding a dinosaur in the Creationist Museum. Is this all because Kevin Martin is a virgin? Please, some woman, or young boy, please, take a bullet for the team and sex this man down. He’s costing us a fortune.
Undiagnosed Mass Psychosis
When Janet’s breast hit the public an army of mindless conservatives lost their collective minds, and I can’t think of deranged mobs without thinking of Monty Python’s The Life of Brian. There was, as there is now, a mass of people desperate to find reason in our unreasonable reality. Lest we forget, these people are perfectly capable of bugging the crap out of everyone in their deluded quest to force their beliefs down our spiritual throats. Do we really need to spend money to appease these people?
Is their faith is so precarious as to fall away at the sight of a woman’s breast? No one was hurt. Nobody died. There were no tit riots. The only victim was the news cycle. Last time it was this bad, “flag burning” forced all three networks to spend months explaining the Constitution, . . .again.
If the Kirk Cameron Christians are feeling “Left Behind” every time they stumble across a pile of cloths should we outlaw laundry? We’ve already spent billions on an abstinence program that has been rebuked by every major independent assessment as worthless. Do we really need to spend money fighting our own court system? I guess so, Kevin Martin was Left Behind to chair the FCC.
Kevin, you insecure little dweeb, for decency sake, get some therapy.
On another note:
First there was the ending to the new Indiana Jones movie. (Aliens? Really?) And now, at the end of Quantum of Solace, the new James Bond movie, the audience is invited to watch an exploding hotel. An exploding hotel? That’s right. Apparently the hotel is powered by hydrogen fuel cells – which don’t explode, but for James Bond, they do. Remember how easy it was to believe in the exploding volcano lair? When is the bad guy going to make his hideout in a fireworks factory?
Also: For some reason I’ve been receiving 10 times the usual number of hits on Basket of Puppies regarding George Hunter White, who I featured in a post last year at this time. If you’ve come to my blog in an effort to find info on the Hunter S. Thompson of law enforcement please send me an e-mail and tell me why you are interested. (One of the best resources is Wikipedia.) I love writing about George Hunter White. It’s an incredible story and my curiosity is itiching to find out why he has recently become so popular. For those that don’t know, White’s personal writings and correspondence are available at Stanford – but can’t be checked out. They are only available for viewing in the library.