So here’s what happened: One starry night in March 1991, a gentleman by the name of Rodney King was pulled over by L.A.’s Finest for DWB, and given instruction in who they were protecting and serving. Unlike other similar tutorials, this one was videotaped for the edification of Our Exceptional Nation, and the parts of Los Angeles you only see on cop shows elected to remonstrate in April 1992 after the officers were acquitted of irrational exuberance. This caught the attention of a young recording artist, who was profiled on the front page of the Washington Post’s Style section soon after. The story is now buried behind a paywall, but all anybody cared about was the photo caption:

Rapper Sister Souljah on the L.A. riots: “I mean, if black people kill black people every day, why not have a week and kill white people? You understand what I’m saying?”

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Over the weekend, when we weren’t thinking about what everybody else is thinking about, we found ourself thinking about people who don’t know us, but who think about us nonetheless.

The first is Mark T. Mitchell, who is married with three sons, and who is disturbed by our bachelorhood:

Living alone can lead to a disposition that I am center of the universe, which is precisely the false notion held by children and which parents spend plenty of time countering. If I live alone, when I eat, sleep, brush my teeth, and exercise I must ask leave of no one and can to exactly as I please. I never have to make a meal out of something I despise because it is the favorite of someone else. I don’t have to get up in the night to help a sick roommate or spouse, to rub a sore back, fetch a glass of water, or get an extra blanket to stave of the chills of fever. If I do any of these things, it is solely for myself and no other. My schedule is my own and my life is arranged so that I need to defer to no one. As attractive as all this might sound (and I can admit the attraction), I’m not sure it’s healthy.

It’s extremely rare that we have the curious pleasure of a complete stranger questioning our lifestyle, but we can assure Mr. Mitchell that our life is no less healthy than that of those who question the lifestyles of complete strangers.

Plus, we sleep in every day, which is a lot healthier than setting an alarm.

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We learned yesterday that Andrew Breitbart was only 43; that he had a wife and four children; that his father-in-law was Orson Bean; that he (like us) enjoyed The The; and that he was gregarious among fellow L.A. bloggers in the early days of the medium.

And, quite honestly, we don’t give a shit.

We also learned, much to our surprise, that the maxim “Don’t speak ill of the dead” goes back to the Greeks. Culturally, the West knows it from a 1432 Latin translation of a work attributing it to Chilon of Sparta, which dates it to sixth centuries before The Miraculous Birth of Our Holy Savior.

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Reviews for “Passion Natural Water-Based Lubricant – 55 Gallon”, sold for $1,495 by Amazon. Note: Includes pump.

• “The product only took a week to arrive, and got to my apartment just in time for my first real ‘date’ since the gas station incident.”
• “Nothing says romance better and is more guaranteed to get you laid than rolling out a 55 gallon drum of lube.”
• “Now I know what you’re thinking: ‘Dave why don’t you quit drinking?’ ‘Dave maybe you should ease up on the porn, the kids haven’t seen you in weeks.’ ‘My god, the cats all white and sticky.'”

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We had never heard of a Seventies Superman TV musical, and as a child of the Seventies, we doubted the veracity of this clip — until we saw Sixties Batman villain David Wayne show up as Not Lex Luthor. Poking around, we learned that it started on Broadway in 1966 — originally directed by Hal Prince, with music by Annie’s Charles Strouse. Maybe everybody owes Julie Taymor an apology.

[via Comics Alliance]

• “President Obama wants everybody in America to go to college. What a snob!”
• “There are plenty of tards out there living really kick-ass lives.”
• “Satan has his sights on the U.S.”
• “It says on your chart that you’re fucked up.”

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Our guest columnist is the only Papist to be elected Preznident of These United States, speaking on September 12, 1960, and whose words compel a Frothy Mixture of Lube and Fecal Matter to “throw up”.

Reverend Meza, Reverend Reck, I’m grateful for your generous invitation to state my views.

While the so-called religious issue is necessarily and properly the chief topic here tonight, I want to emphasize from the outset that I believe that we have far more critical issues in the 1960 campaign; the spread of Communist influence, until it now festers only 90 miles from the coast of Florida — the humiliating treatment of our President and Vice President by those who no longer respect our power — the hungry children I saw in West Virginia, the old people who cannot pay their doctors bills, the families forced to give up their farms — an America with too many slums, with too few schools, and too late to the moon and outer space. These are the real issues which should decide this campaign. And they are not religious issues — for war and hunger and ignorance and despair know no religious barrier.

But because I am a Catholic, and no Catholic has ever been elected President, the real issues in this campaign have been obscured — perhaps deliberately, in some quarters less responsible than this. So it is apparently necessary for me to state once again — not what kind of church I believe in, for that should be important only to me — but what kind of America I believe in.

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