THE COMEBACK JACKASSES

 From London to New York, two former office holders have seen their reputations become further tarnished due to their own behavior, having gone from dazzlingly popular to voted "Least Likely to Make a Successful Comeback." 

And they dressed so darned American!

For our British brethren, it's Harry, the man who needs no second name. After Harry backtracked on his vow never to return to the homeland and his old job, he and the little lady are said to be looking for a nine-bedroom lean-to for themselves and their two are-they-or-aren't-they royal offspring in the Cotswold's. 

And that's where they're going to be spending their "working days". Pater, a/k/a King Charles, put the word out through the royal publicist just where the couple stand:

“This position, distinct from the state and royal duties undertaken by the working royal family, and with the personal latitude it brings the couple in respect of financial independence and protection of their privacy as they would wish, will continue to be fully respected. Their styles as His and Her Royal Highness remain in abeyance and are not used. [Their charitable work] is a personal matter for them both and undertaken in their private capacity. In short, their position is akin to private citizens with commercial and charitable interests.”

Freunde to the end.

Their styles as His and Her Royal Highness remain in abeyance. Ooh-wee! That there statement is fancy English talk for Don't call us, we won't call you. 

It seems Harry and Meghan are the Gen X Edward and Wallis, doomed to travel the globe, without a real home or titles (make that "styles"), making the occasional TV appearance with easily impressed talk show hosts. All they have to do to complete the picture is chilling with a fascist dictator. Hey, I understand there's some action going on in Germany -- just like in Edward's day!

Rudy hurt himself bending down to give
Donald Trump a happy ending one too many times.

We New Yorkers have our own clown mucking things up. In preparation for the 25th
anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, Rudy Giulani took time off his busy schedule of sweating hair dye to share his thoughts regarding Mayor Zohran Mamdani and Muslims in general:

“Having lost friends [at the World Trade Center] and being very close to many of the families, it offends me that he’s coming [to the memorial service].” He added for good measure, that “[Muslims] have every desire to take us over. This is not, ‘they want to be just another religion.’ They want to dominate us. […] Mamdani is a clear — a clear — supporter of that. All of the Muslims he supports are murderers.” 

That's pretty rich, considering Giuliani's administration deliberately lied about the air quality downtown in the months after 9/11. And it took our first Muslim mayor to make the information public following a quarter century of Democrat and Republican administrations quashing it -- as you know a Mayor Cuomo would have also done.

A courtroom sketch artist
captures the inner fiend.

America's Mayor-turned-America's Dracula seems to think that his kind of talk is "tough" when in truth most New Yorkers find it as hideous as his dental implants. Not content sounding crazy, he's gone past the point of being taken seriously into something sadder: pathetic. 

Meanwhile, Harry isn't at that point -- yet. It sure doesn't help that he and Meghan claim to be "surprised" at daddy-o's frosty press release when being on the outside looking in seemed to their dream.

 All they have to do is keep their heads down, raise a few shillings for whatever charity will have them, and earn an honest living -- admittedly difficult for anyone in that family -- and many Brits might forgive them. Unless they're named William and Catherine. 

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A GALA DAY IS TOO MUCH

What has the Met done to
deserve this?

If you're unfamiliar with the Met Gala, consider yourself lucky. Ostensibly a classy, high society fundraising event for New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art's costume division, it has devolved over the years into a fashion freak show for celebrities, B-listers with big followings, and the incurable viruses known as Kardashians. 

For this, we have Anna Wintour to "thank". Wintour, whose windshield-sized sunglasses and official job title as Vogue magazine's "Global Chief Content Creator", offer a hint at how insecure the poor woman is. (Watch the documentary The September Issue to see how her medical and professorial siblings look down upon her. It almost makes one feel sorry for the fashionista.)

The Gala occurs on the first Monday of May, although next year's event has already made headlines for the wrong reasons, seeing that it was going to honor fashion designer John Galliano. I'm not sure anyone outside his industry had heard of him until 2010. That was when, within a day or two, he allegedly insulted a Jewish museum curator and an Asian man, and definitely delivered his infamous "I love Hitler" routine. Definitely, because it was caught on video. And saying it in Paris, the city of Nazi collaborators? The chef's kiss.

Forget about loving Hitler; this guy
was to be honored for his fashion
sense?

In short order, Johnny-boy -- whose own fashion style seems to be "expensive Halloween costumes" -- lost his job at Dior and was put on trial for antisemitic abuse. The usual excuses for his behavior -- "work-related stress" and "multiple addictions" -- were trotted out like a past-its-prime racehorse. To my eyes and ears, that video shows a guy with zero stress, even if it is the wine slurring.

After a two year "self-loathing" penance, Galliano got a gig at Oscar de la Renta, thanks to the intervention of -- guess who! -- Anna Wintour. In the intervening years, he returned to the good graces of the fashion world because, y'know, he draws nice clothes and dresses like a drunken pirate. 

So Wintour decided that enough time had passed to honor fashion's most outspoken asshole -- which is no mean feat -- especially since he had gotten the Anti-Defamation League's "resolve and not repeat the sin" blessing in 2013. In announcing the Gala's honor of Galliano, Wintour said: 

“There is no one more deserving of an exhibition of this scale than John Galliano. [...] He’s a great designer and his career isn’t defined by a moment—something that he will live with for the rest of his life. The exhibition won’t shy away from any of the darkness in John’s past. It’s part of what has shaped him. The show will take in the full arc of his career and grapple with all of it.”

Kanye on the runway.

Saying "I love Hitler" and telling Jewish people they would have been gassed is part of what shaped him? Well goddamn, Anna, that's right up there with Kanye West's c.v.

But wait, there's more! Wintour forgot that her Galliano wingding was going to happen on Holocaust Remembrance Day. Since this is the fashion world, it's unclear whether such a gaffe is ironic or appropriate.

"Hello, Page Six? You'll never guess what
that old bat is up to now!"

By now, you're probably wondering why nobody at Wintour's office didn't mention that this event might not be a good look for her, Vogue, or the Met museum. If you've seen The Devil Wears Prada 1 or 2, you already know the answer: her underlings were too afraid. So they did the next best thing by making off-the-record-cover-their-asses phone calls to the New York Post. 

Deciding that this wasn't the kind of comeback he was hoping for, Galliano Galliano's lawyer put out a statement announcing he was bowing out so as to not "place the Met in a difficult position" -- showbiz for Don't fire me, I'll quit, it's a better look for me. 

For the love of God, somebody please throw a pie
at their faces.

And as for Anna? The woman who said no designer was no more deserving of
the honor? Her official statement on the Met's site says, "John's decision that the exhibition devoted to his work should not take place at this time is very courageous and a measure of the man he is. I believe this is the right decision, and both he and the Museum have my full support" -- showbiz for Let him take the fall for my stupid decisions, it's a better look for me. 

So who's the second-most deserving designer Wintour could honor? Hey, Kanye West's side-hustle is fashion design, maybe he's available. 

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BACK IN THE UK THEY ARE

 Has it been six years? Why, it seems like yesterday that Harry and Meghan turned royal tail and fled their no-show jobs in the UK for their no-watched shows in the US. 

It was just a little over a year ago when Harry told the BBC, "I can't see a world in which I would bring my wife and children back to the UK at this point." 

Well, it appears Harry found a good ophthalmologist to clear up his eyesight. Or was there something else that changed his and the little lady's collective minds? 

It couldn't have been the weather (the UK seems to ping-pong between chilly grey skies and record-breaking heat with nothing in between). Or the possibility of a welcome-home celebration from the family Harry said were racist. Or positive coverage from the press he referred to as "dweebs and crones and cut-rate criminals and clinically diagnosable sadists". 

Here's another rhyme: Take the hints, prince.

Could it be they're counting on the goodwill of the British public? Not with 2/3 of the nation having an unfavorable view of them. One former Royal security chief I saw interviewed claimed that the real negative number is 85%, while 20% are dangerous enough to be considered genuine threats. Let me tell you, if that's the way my fellow countrymen felt about me, I'd take the next dogsled to the North Pole. 

So what in the name of McVite's Digestive Biscuits would bring Harry and Meghan back facing that kind of hostility? Well, according to the Sun front page, they're doing it for the kids. in fact, the tykes are already enrolled in a posh private school. This makes this whole "sudden" decision to move back something of a big question mark. Because if that enrollment process was anything like what we had to go through for our daughter's public school, then Harry and Meg must have started filling their U-Haul last spring. 

With a name like Dickie Arbiter, he should be
judging neckwear rather than royals.

The usual talking heads -- make that grumbling heads -- on the Talk TV channel have become distracted from taking target practice at Prime Minister Andy Burnham in favor of returning to what they call "the gruesome twosome" (a nickname right out of a Hanna-Barbera cartoon circa 1962). Their theories regarding the end of Megxit range from the couple's American business failures to losing their Hollywood friends to sensing the end is near for King Charles. 

Then Harry & Meghan could take
X-rays of their heads to see if
anything's in there.

Not that Harry and Meghan want to be around for the funeral. According to the hosts, they just want to win back British hearts in order to force big bro William to make amends with them. Otherwise, they'll set up a rival "royal court" down the road, the way John Lennon formed the Plastic Ono Band to record "Cold Turkey" when the other Beatles rejected it. 

So much speculation over the most prominent yet dullest couple of the 21st century! At least William and Catherine are having their thrones warmed up by Papa and Stepmom. Harry and Meghan are returning to nothing more interesting than giving speeches at schools, hospitals, and military bases (which are paying rent to the royals). And as for the kids' education, I bet there are plenty of good private schools in or around Montecito. No need to travel 6,000 miles to learn about how well-equipped British troops lost the Revolutionary War to a ragtag band of rebels.

So what is behind the big move? Let's put the question to Google's AI function and see what it says:

Prince Harry and Meghan Markle's planned relocation back to the UK is directly linked to hitting a six-year non-residency milestone that clears them from major British tax liabilities. Financial and tax experts note that their return coincides perfectly with the completion of six full UK tax years abroad (from the 2020/21 tax year through the 2025/26 tax year).

Huh. Maybe there's something rattling in their brains after all. Hope the working class doesn't mind taking up the slack.

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FRIENDS TO THE END (OF THE CHARGE)

You can forget about this, too.

 It's an adage as old as the hills: money can't buy friends. 

Sez you! All one needs is anywhere from $18,000 to $146,000 for the best bestie you could ever had. And that's just a one-time payment! Sure, it's pricey, but here's the beauty part: unlike your current friends, they'll never dump their problems on you. 

In fact, you can complain about anything you want, from your stupid boss to how your parents screwed you up by feeding you spinach out of a can. Not only won't they mind being used as an emotional garbage disposal, they'll nod and agree with everything you say. Now that's a friend. Oh, and did I say they're incredibly good-looking? 

Quick, which looks more human?

All you need to do in return is recharge them every few hours. For these perfect friends are robots, courtesy of
UBTech Robotics from, where else, China. You can tell they're Chinese-made because they look like your typical dreamboat anime cartoon characters -- not quite Asian, not quite white, but 100% hunh?

The idea behind these "ultrabionic companions" is that some people, particularly those who have been marked with the curse "May you live a long life", have seen friends and relatives exit stage right, left, and in between. Finally, they can have a friend or loved one who will never wither and die. (That's where the recharging comes in.) 

There's a joke to be made about incels
and "chest sensors" but you make one
up yourself.

This isn't to say only old people have all the fun. We hear plenty about the "loneliness epidemic" affecting all ages. Now those Gen Zers can put their winnings from crypto, gaming, and gambling to good use. 

What young man wouldn't love a girlfriend who didn't roll their eyes in utter boredom while he explained in mind-numbing detail about becoming the champion at the latest PlayStation Tournament? Someone who blinked her eyes like a doe, dressed like a classy 19th-century prostitute, and had the face of a girl who may or may not be at the age of consent? 

And if she's not? Who cares? There's no law against having impure thoughts about a robot!

Go ahead, ladies, take as many pictures as you
want. He doesn't care. Except about you.

And listen up, young women! You, too, can have the man of your dreams. And
not some A.I. Romeo who communicates only via text. Their cyborg sweetie speaks softly, gives a "tell me more" tilt of the head when you share secrets you wouldn't mention to a therapist, and never tries to fix your problems. He's there to listen, with no strings attached. Why can't all men be like robots?

And their clothing choices are just as
ridiculous as humans'.

And if it's a loved one you miss, not a problem. UBTech will create a duplicate for you with the help of photos and recordings. I know plenty of people who would be happy never to see certain people from their past ever again but to each their own. 

So far, 13,000 humanoid-hungry people have put in orders for simple, table-top armless companions whose bodies end at the navel, up to the real-life kinds that walk and wave their hands. I'm not sure which is creepier.

Killjoy therapists believe robo-pals will only worsen the problems lonely people already have. But as an Al-Jazeera reporter assures us, "The firm believes the business case is sound." Nice to see China embrace capitalism so heartily! As long as lonely people have five or six figures to drop on plastic, wires, and chips wrapped up in pseudo-skin, it seems the only companion that UBTech's president needs is a good money manager. 

                                                                 *************

TODAY IN NEW YORK

 So what's going on in the city I've called home for 45 years? Let's pull back the curtain and take a look.

Cyclospora, otherwise known as the "explosive diarrhea" bug. We're back to the early days of covid, washing our foodstuffs with everything other than Clorox before eating them. 

And which ones are possibly infected? Fresh fruit. Fresh vegetables. Meat. Dairy. Coffee. Alcohol. Well, thank God I don't drink alcohol anymore! 

As of this morning, five more ZIP codes, all in Central Harlem, are infected, bringing the total to eight neighborhoods. I've lost track of the number of cases, hospitalizations, and deaths, but trust me: it's a lot. 

Seventy-six infected cooling towers have been cited, including the rich kids' private girls school on our block, along with my wife's gym and the CVS where she recently received her pneumonia shot. There's no escaping this damn thing!

As in 2023, we say Thanks a heap, Canada! On the upside, with the air quality index at only half of the previous 415 -- you remember, the day New York had the worst air quality in the world -- the sky won't turn quite as orange or be quite as death-inducing.

On the other hand, the city has a vague aroma of a campfire gone out of control, the sky is a hazy grey, and everyone is advised to stay home, hide under the couch and wear a covid mask. Oh, and don't breathe until the city gives the all-clear. (New York's air quality hasn't been all clear in about 200 years, but we'll let that pass.)

 

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. It's hot as hell.

And yet with all this plague-like madness going on, I went out early this morning to get some errands out of the way. 

What did I see? Well, aside from the Canadian smoke, there were people. Jogging, walking their dogs, going to work, picking up garbage. Even setting up outdoor seating at restaurants. 

Why? We are fucking New Yorkers. There are things to do, people to serve, a city to run. We shut down for 24 hours after 9/11, then got back to work, school, and took our kids to the playground and parks. You think we're going to let legionella, explosive diarrhea, a little smoke and heat stop us? Hell, no! Now let me seal the windows, get out the toilet paper, crank up the A.C., and wash the veggies for 20 minutes. I've got a life to live! 

TRASH TALK

God save the King.

 As we await conspiracy theories involving the death of Lindsey Graham -- personally, I think he drove off a cliff after misplacing his moral compass -- let us turn to the Goon Show-style antics otherwise known as British politics. 

Nigel Farage, a self-styled "man of the people", got himself elected as Member of Parliament via the Donald Trump route: pretending to be a right-wing populist while being part of the establishment he was ostensibly campaigning against. His Reform Party was catching on in a big way until it was discovered Farage had accepted £5 million from a British crypto bro. 

Even the Brits know how to make "the
politician face".

Farage, a clever lad from Farnborough, huffily stated he didn't have to declare the money because it was a "gift" and not a campaign donation. Unlike Trump's MAGA zombies and the Republican party in general, Farage's "explanation" didn't go over well with anyone in any UK political party. 

Instead of simply retreating to his estate in order to write his unread and unreadable memoirs, he resigned and called for a by-election in Clacton (could anything sound more British?) with himself in the running. 

This puts a temporary halt to the Parliamentary investigation into his finances. Farage is convinced that he'll win, giving him the chance to say something like, "The people have spoken, so an investigation into my sketchy finances is a waste of taxpayer's shillings."

The "establishment" parties quite rightly consider this a dodgy wheeze, and refuse to run their own candidates against him. Therefore, it was up to a real man of the people to give Farage a run for his £5 million. Enter Count Binface, the 5,900-year-old "intergalactic warrior" from the planet Sigma IX, who covers his face with a garbage bin.

Bin there, done that.

Wait, I know what you're going to say: How can someone from another planet
represent Clacton? And isn't he a little old for the job? 

Read his platform before judging. Outside of the more attention-getting promises -- nationalizing Adele, force lawbreaking bicyclists to ride unicycles, renaming the London Bridge to Phoebe Waller Bridge -- there are others no politician would touch. Requiring water company execs to swim in polluted rivers "to see how they like it"; banning "loud snacks" from theatres; and demanding "trains that work" 

Count Binface au naturel.

If a candidate in New York made these promises, they'd get elected in a heartbeat. And as things stand now, the same might be true in the UK, where Count Binface is beating Farage in the polls 33% to 21%. Yesterday, one of the British news shows I listen to reported that betting parlors that had Binface's chance at 500-1 a month ago are now putting the odds at 5-1. Nigel Farafe must really be what the Brits call a prat.

And here's what's funnier. It's no secret that Count Binface is really a comedian named Jonathan David Harvey. And that if he were to win, the biggest problem is that MPs are not allowed to wear suits of armor or non-religious headgear. 

Let's see David Muir try this.

Still funnier? Watching "news readers" keep a straight face while conducting serious interviews with a guy wearing a garbage can on his head. Damn, I love the British style. 

Political nerds around the world will slavishly watch the results of the by-election in Clacton on August 13. And although even Count Binface himself doesn't expect to win, neither did Donald Trump in 2016. Let this be a lesson to so-called political experts everywhere: forcing polluters to swim in their own waste has a certain appeal. Don't count out the Count!

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NOBLE ROT

I listen to a lot of Times Radio, the BBC, and other UK news outlets. And speaking as an American with zero skin in the game, the most fascinating thing going over there isn't Prime Minister Keir Starmer gripping on to power the way Donald Trump does a Big Mac. It's the growing loathing toward Britain's most expensive welfare family, i.e. the Royals. 

Catherine plots to repurpose the Tower of London
to its original prison status.

The raucous negative reaction they received at the recent Trooping the Color event was a shocker. (By the way, does "Trooping the Color" sound like anything that should exist after the Victorian Age?). Princess Catherine's response to the loud, lusty booing of spectators was worthy of Melania Trump at her most repulsed. Or repulsive, it's your call. 

To answer your question: Charles knew everything.

It must have been quite the comedown for the Princess, whose handling of her
cancer diagnosis a few years back brought out admiration from all but the most cold-hearted citizen. What could she have possibly told her royal kiddies -- with the straight-out-of-fairytale names George, Charlotte, and Louis -- when they asked her, Mummy, why are those peasants making unpleasant noises at us? Can't you execute them or something? 

This dolt actually takes this stuff seriously.

As further damning information about Prince Andrew continues to be released -- information that was covered up by his mummy and big brother -- the rising anger against the House of Windsor is to be expected. When diehard royal fans explain the reason for the monarchy is they "set an example" for the peons to follow, they seem to desire the entire country to hide crimes of treason and sex made by one of their own. 

Believe it or not, there's something even more inexplicable going on. With the rise of the anti-royal outrage, you'd think Prince Harry would be taking a victory lap or two for quitting his job. Instead, he and his family are returning to visit the homeland for the first time in four years -- and, if stories are to be believed, the are-they-or-aren't-they Prince and Princess want to make it permanent. 

"You get hair implants or else!"

Yes, the "ginger one" (as the childishly anti-Harry horde refers to him) allegedly wants to make his father, stepmother, and brother forget he gave them a right thrashing in his ghostwritten autobiography Spare. Maybe because it was published three years ago, he believes that they will forgive being called a bunch of cruel, dysfunctional, coldhearted racists. You would if it happened to you, right?

It's very possible  ol' dad will turn the other pallid cheek, but word around the palace has it that once William gets crowned, Harry will get the royal boot for good. He already received a taste of what might be coming his way when Spike Lee refused to shake his hand at the Knicks/Spurs game last week. To someone who's had a lifetime being treated like, er, a prince, Spike's deportment must have been a jolt bordering on trauma. And this time, he can't blame it on racism toward his wife.

Obviously not a discussion with fans.

Further confusing things is the reaction from Harry and Meghan fans in America. Anti-royal to their core, they were suddenly thrilled to see a mixed-racial marriage shake up Buckingham Palace. Their revelry increased when the couple pulled up stakes for Montecito and started making bank with Netflix and Spotify. We hate the royals! We hate the rich! We love the royal and rich Harry & Meghan! 

Now that Harry & Meghan no longer feel the love from their one-time American showbiz friends -- the couple has been diagnosed with the contagious disease "loser" -- they're trying very hard to make inroads at the Palace. And in a textbook case of cognitive dissonance, their fans who were ecstatic the couple left their "royal duties" are suddenly angry that those horrid palace people allegedly don't want them back. 

But nobody seems to care that the treasonous sexual abuser Andrew is still eighth in line to the throne. 

Be thankful for your wacky family.

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THE LATE, GREAT SCOTT

Four down, three to go.

 Well, that was fast.

It could very well be that Scott Pelley wanted no part of the new regime at CBS News, and was aware his colleagues at 60 Minutes were afraid of the new direction (downhill) it was being taken.

Therefore, he decided to take one for the team, knowing it would likely cost him his job, while hoping to draw further attention to destruction of the legendary news franchise. 

There was a little meeting following the now-legendary throwdown between new 60 Minutes producer Nick "Slender Qualifications" Bilton and Pelley at the staff meeting. In addition to the two men, Bari Weiss and CBS president Tom Cirbrowski were on hand to iron things out. 

Pelley, for his part, asked Weiss why former executive producer Tanya Simon and on-air correspondents Sharyn Alfonsi and Cecelia Vega had gotten the sack. As Pelley described it later, she refused to answer; her manner “was cold and callous and beneath the dignity of CBS News.” Not when CBS is run by a father and son tag team doing business with Donald Trump, it isn't! 

"You can fit all of my network news experience
in my hands!"

Details were provided to the New York Times by "three people with knowledge" of the meeting. My money says their names are Pelley, Weiss, and Bilton. I can picture Weiss putting the call on speakerphone, allowing her to flap her hands around as she seems to do in every photo of her in conversation. 

Scott Pelley, like his former network colleague Stephen Colbert, will probably have a better gig lined up elsewhere. Somewhere management won't force him to “inject falsehoods and bias into a politically sensitive story,” as he claims the current crew running 60 Minutes tried to do. 

Some cable or streaming platform could create a series -- let's call it Seven Days with Scott Pelley. He would be surrounded by hungry young reporters creating hard-hitting stories every week with no interference from management, while Pelley himself remains at the anchor desk for serious, one-on-one interviews with important newsmakers. The guy's pushing 70, y'know? Let others do the travelling while he stays in New York.

Or... forget cable! Just do the interviews on a weekly podcast, available on your laptop, smartphone, smart speaker, whatever you've got that's smart. Bari Weiss is always yakking about how networks are losing eyeballs to new media. Here's a chance to prove her right and cost her the job she was never qualified for!

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