SWIFT RETALIATION

Does Edgar Bergen know about this?

Several years ago, one of my essays briefly mentioned Tijuana Bibles. First

appearing a century ago and lasting into the early '60s, Tijuana Bibles was the nickname for a series of cheaply printed pornographic mini-comic books "starring" celebrities of the day. Al Capone, Greta Garbo, Donald Duck, Wheeler & Woolsey -- no one was safe from the anonymous "artists" creating this stuff. They provided a good laugh for people inclined to laugh at such things.

Jump ahead a few decades, and Photoshop made possible photos of your favorite movie stars in equally compromising positions. And around 2018, these same stars could now be seen in deepfake porn videos. 

You thought I was kidding.

So why after 100 years is the public now aware of this stuff? Taylor Swift! Why were celebrities ranging from Eugene the Jeep to the Olsen Twins to Dwayne Johnson ignored all this time? 

It's not like any of this was a secret. Tijuana Bibles were famous enough to be plot devices on Dragnet in 1954 and as late as 1968. Your average computer user never Googled "deepfake porn", but it was covered on legit news sites. 

Looks like Tucker's already done a real one.

Yet as soon as an AI-generated Taylor Swift starts doing the devil's tango, suddenly the White House is "alarmed". Are the deepfakes of Bill Maher, Tom Cruise, Gayle King, and Tucker Carlson not worth a mention from Joe Biden? (OK, the idea of Tucker Carlson getting caught up in this mess is both hilarious and repulsive.) Why, why, why does a deepfake Taylor Swift shock the world's most powerful leader?

If I had her power, I'd laugh like
 hyena, too.

Because Taylor Swift is pop music's most powerful leader. And the White House folks want an endorsement from her for the presidential election. Perhaps they were reading the poll saying that 18% of voters would be more likely to vote for any candidate Swift supports -- the same poll that shows 17% would be turned off by her endorsement. 

The White House, then, must be pretty desperate for that remaining 1% of Swifties. Democrats are sure to come out in favor of making deepfakes illegal, while Republicans... well, if Swift endorses Biden, you can bet that enough of the GOP will condemn such a law as antithetical to the First Amendment. 

In the unlikely event she tells her zombies to vote MAGA, Republicans will pass anti-deepfake legislation faster than Trump can say, "I will be a dictator." It's a good thing President Roosevelt wasn't depending on Eugene the Jeep to turn out the vote.

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NOTHING BUT CATASTROPHE

Earlier this week, two peacocks at a zoo in China died when what was described as "unruly visitors" thought it would be cute to pick them up and pluck out their feathers. 

The peacock in happier days.

Those creatures didn't know how good they had it, because the NBC peacock has had its feathers plucked for about six months, with no sign of stopping. First, Matt Lauer was fired over a copious number of sexual harassment complaints that network executives allegedly knew about but did nothing to stop. Because there's no one else in the world who knows how to read a script at 7:00 in the morning.

"Pshaw! I'm too cute to be a
homophobe!"

Now, in the past week, three more scandals have bubbled to the surface. MSNBC's Joy Reid was shocked to discover that she used to be a raging homophobe when her embarrassing tweets and blog posts from a few years back surfaced. I say "shocked" because she initially claimed that her sites had been hacked. When that proved a non-starter, she doubled-down, pleading "I genuinely do not believe I wrote those hateful things."

Note that she didn't say "I genuinely did not write those hateful things." That's way different. I don't have the greatest memory, but if you showed me 100 things I allegedly wrote on my original blog (2004-2008), I would be able to tell you for sure which were genuine. Joy Reid either has zero unique writing style, or is in the early stages of dementia. Oh wait -- she could be a goddamn liar.

Does Switzen look the type of
guy who... ahh, forget it.

Behind the camera, Daniel Switzen, the former director of CNBC's The Suze Orman Show, admitted to hiding a camera in a Kleenex box in order to spy on his teenage nanny while she was in the bathroom. (Don't ask what he used the Kleenex for afterwards.) Switzen will serve up to four years in the slammer before registering as a sex offender. Perhaps he should've been a director on Law & Order: SVU -- he clearly needed advice other than financial. 

A CNBC spokesman declined to speak about the Switzen case, probably because his hair has been on fire since news broke that Tom Brokaw has been accused by three former subordinates of sexual harassment. 

At 78, Tom Brokaw still has what the ladies like -- or what he thinks
they should like, whether they like it or not.

Tom Brokaw! You might as well accuse Walter Cronkite or David Brinkley of such behavior. Brokaw -- reporter-turned-Today host (there must be something in the water on that set)-turned-prime time news anchor-turned "Special Correspondent" (meaning he's old, but too distinguished to fire) -- denies all charges, as well he should... if he's innocent.

The first charge was brought by former NBC reporter Linda Vester, who says Brokaw's advances ranged from unwanted tickling (does anybody want to be tickled?) to, essentially, not understanding what "no" means. Considering the advances allegedly happened only twice over 20 years ago, Brokaw sounds not so much like a criminal, but your typical guy... who's 30 years older than the object of his affection, and is also married.

You can see how thrilled Jane Pauley is by his touch.

Vester's diary regarding these encounters show a guy who's been out of the game too long, and had to thumb through a paperback romance novel for advice. You can click the link in the previous paragraph and scroll down for details; I'm too embarrassed to even copy and paste. It's even smarmier when you hear his voice in your head. You kind of expect him to add "Mr. Gorbachev" at the end of each sentence.

Vester's charge seemed incredibly out of the blue. There had rumors floating around about Lauer, Harvey Weinstein, Kevin Spacey, and Louis CK for years. But Tom  Brokaw? All we knew was that he loved his work, his family, fishing in the Midwest, and dining out on that "Greatest Generation" stuff. 

It wasn't until two more women came forward a few days ago that it occurred to me that Brokaw was different. These incidents happened before the age of internet gossip sites, where people could safely spill the beans on celebrities. Who knows what we would have heard about Chet Huntley (and frankly, I don't want to even think about it).

The second woman to bring charges against Brokaw said -- well, you really do have to read it yourself:

The Post also spoke with an unnamed woman who says that when she was 24 and working as a production assistant in the 1990s, Brokaw made advances toward her. “He put my hands under his jacket and against his chest and pulled me in so close and asked me, ‘How is your job search going?’” she told the Post. She said he invited her to his office, but she did not go.

Let me know when you're done gagging. Then try not to fall off your chair when you discover there's a piece online called "Tom Brokaw On How To Talk to Anyone". Sure -- if you're a drunk frat boy, that is.

Sounds like Brokaw actually didn't get lucky all that much.

I really hope her account is true, because Brokaw makes my moves look like Warren Beatty's. And I have a feeling it is true because no self-respecting woman would dream up such a scenario unless it was for a drugstore novel and she had already been paid in advance.

Then there's the third woman, who says Brokaw once leaned in for an unwanted kiss in 1968...  which, if you haven't a calculator handy, was 50 years ago.

Good Lord! There are probably women who don't even remember that I really did kiss them in about half that time ago. What kind of a traumatic experience was it for her that she can remember how Tom Brokaw once unsuccessfully tried to sneak a kiss the same year of the Chicago riots, the RFK and MLK assassinations, and Richard Nixon getting elected? Tom must be one scary mofo. 

Herbert Hoover would be ashamed to
see how sullied the NBC  News microphone
has become.

Understandably, the folks at NBC News are circling the high-def wagons. Dozens of women at the network signed a letter that didn't directly address the charges, but said he was a fine and supportive colleague. Signatories include Mika Brzezinski, who was A-OK when Joe Scarborough put the moves on her when they were both married. 

Some low-level NBC staffers claim they were forced to sign the letter, a charge the network denies. They also denied that they knew about Matt Lauer's sexual misconduct, so you can scratch that off the "OK, whatever" list. Network execs also sent a memo around to reporters and anchors alike, reminding them how to report the Brokaw story, which boiled down to "100 women signed a letter that his friend wrote." 

If these are the only charges brought against Brokaw, he's probably in the clear. Especially when one of them allegedly occurred half a century ago, which is probably outside the statute of limitations regarding one unwanted kiss. But how sad is it that, if all these women are telling the truth, NBC's reply will be, "Well at least he didn't rape anybody."

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FARAWAY PLACES WITH STRANGE SOUNDING GAMES

Considering the state of the world, it's little wonder some people go to extreme lengths for even a momentary state of bliss. And when you live in a nation whose most famous contribution to history is still the number one symbol of evil incarnate, you take your happiness however you can:

Across [Germany], 80-100 people accidentally die each year due to risky masturbation practices where a lack of oxygen in the search for sexual satisfaction is the most common reason for death.

Adolf feels up his new love.

I thought the whole idea behind slamming the ham was that, unlike sex with strangers, it wasn't risky. Only in Germany can you take good ideas -- like, say, national pride, a healthy economy, and a cool-looking little car -- and turn it into tragedy with unforeseen consequences.

Really now, isn't shaking hands with the champion about the easiest thing you can do for a quick thrill? The most effort you have to put into it is closing the shades or locking the door. Not that I'm speaking from experience. 

Knowing me, this is how I would
wind up.

Nope, apparently a vivid imagination just isn't enough for some people, who find that the moment is enhanced by bringing yourself to the verge of death via plastic bags, clamps, and nooses. Call me square, but none of these things get me in the mood. I mean, are there porn sites devoted to Baggies? (I'd look, but I'm afraid what I'd find.)

Even one of culture's most joyful, innocent symbols -- Christmas lights -- have become part and parcel for German volks out for a sexual thrill. This is not the kind of white Christmas I've been dreaming of.

But there was one guy over there who really takes the cake -- or, rather, Limburger:

According to Frankfurter Rundschau, a man in Hamburg who is believed to have suffered from an autoerotic death covered himself with sliced cheese, pulled pantyhose over his upper body, put on a raincoat and a diving suit and then sat down with a plastic bag over his head in front of a heater that was switched on.

Go ahead, tell me you wouldn't have doubled over with

laughter if you had been the cop called to the scene.

You don't say.

I mean, how do you come up with such a scenario? The amount of time and effort and imagination to pull all of that together could probably cure a good number of fatal diseases. 

Does it surprise you that the overwhelming number of German people who actively put their lives at risk for this are men? Of course not! Most women have better things to do than put on pantyhose, raincoats, diving suits, and cheese for a cheap thrill. Like avoiding guys who put on pantyhose, raincoats, diving suits, and cheese for a cheap thrill.

Good Lord, how utterly bored do you have to be to engage in such practices? Only an expert can explain it:

“Losing consciousness can happen quicker than people think,” said the forensic examiner, adding that part of the allure for people is the feeling of powerlessness or the thrill of potential danger.

Just in case you were wondering how a nation known for its fine art and rich culture could vote for Adolf Hitler.

But looking on the bright side -- at least Kraft has a whole new area of marketing they can take advantage of!

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AFTERLIFE/AFTERLOVE

I remember sitting in my 10th grade science class one day, waiting for the teacher to arrive, and watching the girls walk past the open door. Two guys sitting in front of me were doing likewise, utterly entranced by the sight. One of them sighed, "What do they see in us?"

These days, many women are probably asking themselves the same thing. In fact, some now prefer to see through guys instead. Literally.

Well, heck, who wouldn't?

Women such as Amethyst Realm, for instance. With a name like that, it won't surprise you to learn that she lists her occupation as "spiritual guidance counselor." (If she was anything like the guidance counselors we had in high school, I advise you to save your money and avoid her.) She broke up with her long-time fiance three years ago after having decade-long affairs with ghosts.  Twenty ghosts, by her count. Somewhere in the afterlife, there's a bathroom wall with the scrawled message, FOR A GOOD TIME, CALL AMETHYST, followed by her number.

I've got her number, alright. This dame is some kind of a nut! 

Or, according to psychotherapist Tina Radziszewicz, maybe Amethyst just needs a good nap:

“Such hallucinations [between the transition between wakefulness and sleep] can be extremely vivid and bizarre, and can include tactile, visual and auditory.Stress, anxiety, depression and trauma can make people more prone to this form of hallucination.”

Too bad Bing never met Amethyst

See, what did I tell you? Some kind of a nut! But a very satisfied nut, if Amethyst is to be believed:“It started as an energy, then became physical. There was pressure on my thighs and breath on my neck. I just always felt safe. I had sex with the ghost. You can feel it. It’s difficult to explain. There was a weight and a weightlessness, a physical breath and stroking, and the energy as well.” It's a sad day when I need to take sex advice from a dead person.

Sorry, pal, you're gonna have to wait another
40 years.

Amethyst is lucky to be living in the 21st-century. If you're familiar with classic movies, you'd remember that the ghost and Mrs. Muir couldn't get it on until after she died. Either cultural rules, even in the spiritual world, have loosened since 1947, or the censors didn't allow a combination of pre-marital, post-life sex. 

And Amethyst isn't the only woman who's getting it on with ghosts. After breaking up with her boyfriend, Sian Johnson had dreams about a hottie who eventually materialized in the flesh -- er, ectoplasm:

“During the lovemaking, I sensed all kinds of things about him – his name was Robert and he lived over 100 years ago. His body was soft and light. Even when he moved on top of me, pressing down, he felt almost weightless. It was very strange, but the sex was amazing!”

C'mon, Sian, wise up! That whole "Call me Robert, I've been dead a century" routine is so corny. 

Right after this photo was taken, the fellow in
the middle did a Kevin Spacey move right down to
their crotches.

However. If these accounts of spirituum sexus are to be believed, you've gotta feel bad not only for Amethyst Realm's ex-fiancé, but any guy unlucky enough to put the moves on Sian Johnson. How would you feel if you couldn't measure up (no pun intended) to a guy who hasn't walked the earth since Woodrow Wilson was president?

Not that prurient poltergeists are entirely different from men alive and breathing. Amethyst, now 27, had her first sexual encounter with a ghost in 2005 -- which would have made her 15 years old at the time.

So, ladies, don't get started getting all hot and bothered about a possible rendezvous with a sexy visitor from the Great Beyond. He's just as capable of being a scumbag as the guy at the end of the bar. Thank God.


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FOR THE LOVE OF BULB

Once in a while you read a news story about a young woman marrying an old codger. It's

Feeling up your fiancé for the camera -- have you no shame?

never because of the money, of course; it's always about love. A love of money. 

But then there's a 33 year-old Brit named Amanda Liberty. Her fiancé is 90 years old, yet is neither rich, famous, nor powerful. At least not much more than 30 watts-powerful. Amanda, you see, is engaged to a chandelier. 


And if that's not enough to raise alarms for supporters of "traditional" marriage, Amanda is already referring to the lighting fixture -- nicknamed Lumiere -- as her wife, making this, as far as I know, the first lesbian household fixture marriage on record. Great, another politically-correct category we have to memorize: L.G.B.T.Q.G.E.

But just to conform to the stereotypes conservatives have about gay marriages, Amanda is still going to sleep with Jewel, one of her other chandeliers.

Sleeping with a fixture other than your wife  --
what will the children think?

No judging, people! For as Amanda says, "None of my chandeliers are jealous of each other, they understand that I love them all for their different personalities." Ahh, if only all women were so understanding!

One could come up with plenty of reasons for wanting to marry a chandelier. You turn her on. She lights up your life. There's a certain electricity in your relationship. 

No matter what you choose, it all comes down to Amanda being an Objectum Sexual -- a person sexually attracted to inanimate objects. Which would explain all of Hugh Hefner's latter-day girlfriends. 

Amanda's first love was a drum kit when she was 14 -- about the same age Ringo Starr fell in love with his first set of drums, so let's not look askance at her. However, her first major romance was with the Statue of Liberty, from whence she got her name. (Was this her secret first marriage?) As Amanda says, "People often can't understand that this is just a natural orientation for me."

My almost-first wife. Or is it "wives"?

Untrue! People can never understand getting hot and bothered by a chandelier, unless the bulbs are too bright. But even at their dimmest, they couldn't be any dimmer than Amanda.

So in this day and age, when simply living together is more accepted than ever, why is Amanda going through the rigmarole of a wedding ceremony? "I want others to see how happy the chandeliers make me, and how much they've enriched my life."

Look, Amanda, I know how you feel. That's why I used to put my old movie posters on a wall. Otherwise, I'd have had to divorce Chained for Life before getting married to my current wife.

Still, I suppose that compared to the madness we see on the news every day, wanting to marry a chandelier rates pretty low on our list of concerns. In fact, it's more welcome than most everything else. I mean, wouldn't you feel better knowing that, as a 30 year-old, Judge Roy Moore was fondling 14 year-old flashlights?

Well, not if you're from Alabama. Then it would be sick.


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NO SEX IS GREAT SEX

Actually, it defied simple logic.

In the classic novel-turned-play-turned-opera-turned-movie Peter Ibbetson, the title character and his childhood sweetheart are separated due to circumstances beyond their control, yet visit each other in their dreams to continue their love affair until death.

A bittersweet concept, is it not? One that appeals to dreamy-eyed teenage girls, women tired of the Neanderthals they've been married to for 25 years, and saps like me who entertain the ridiculous notion that the supernatural is better than the real thing.

Wait, did I say "supernatural"? As in, "Impossible, I tell you!"? Well, it appears that I'm all washed-up as far as what we're supposedly capable of. And all it takes is a little training in astral projection. Gentlemen, start your cosmic engines!

Wikipedia describes astral projection as a willful out-of-body experience (OBE), a supposed form of telepathy, that assumes the existence of a soul or consciousness called an "astral body" that is separate from the physical body and capable of travelling outside of it throughout the universe. 

I predict a major jolt awake any second.

Ever have the feeling, when falling asleep, that you're drifting away, only to be jolted awake? I mean, other than when your spouse is snoring or elbows you for snoring.

Well, guess what. You've been having astral projection without realizing it. That's why the call it "falling asleep", because it often feels like you're falling, get it? Actually, that's not the real reason, but it's something I thought of first.

But now it's possible to take it one step further by having astral sex: sex without physical contact.

I hesitate to take sex advice from someone looks like
the lead character of  Better Call Saul.

Great! This is just what every guy has been dreading -- yet another way (i.e., excuse) for a woman to make no sex sound great. And we have a man to thank for it: Steve G. Jones, whose career as a $25,000-per-session hypnotherapist has apparently convinced people that no-sex sex is a good thing.

As related by the New York Post, The astral sex guru believes that when two people are having out-of-body sex, the couple isn’t actually having a physically intimate moment.

"OK, what if we meet up near Jupiter, would that
be better for you?"

In other words, your souls, rather than the usual suspects, are penetrated, allowing for couples to experience "a deeper connection." 

Ask your average guy if "a deeper connection" is what they're looking for in sex. Most likely, they'll answer something like, "I've got your deeper connection right here, heh heh!"

Attract everything but sex.

As Jones explains, the welcome side effects are “no procreation, no STDs and no pregnancy.” This must be the first paranormal activity that lines up with the GOP platform: No sex, no birth control, no fun.

It may or may not be a coincidence that nowhere on Steve G. Jones' website or Wikipedia entry is there any mention of a significant other, leading me to believe that he wants everybody else to know what celibacy is like. There's gotta be better ways than putting that 25-thou per hour session money to good use. And I mean here on earth.

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MACARTHUR'S PIPE IS MELTING IN THE DARK

"Or, as the kids say, I'm outta here!"

General Douglas MacArthur hit the nail on the head in his 1951 farewell speech to Congress. "Old soldiers never die," he intoned, "they just fade away." I mean, do you remember him? 

So it's kind of surprising that, 53 years after fading away for good, MacArthur is once again in the news -- and, as usual with celebrities, for all the wrong reasons:

The Justice Department unsealed a new indictment Tuesday charging a Navy admiral and eight others with corruption and other crimes in the “Fat Leonard” bribery case.

"Fat" Jack E. Leonard is delighted for any publicity.

The "Fat Leonard" in question is not to be confused with insult comic "Fat" Jack E. Leonard from the '50s and '60s, who complained to his dying day that Don Rickles ripped off his act. 

This "Fat Leonard" refers to Leonard Glenn Francis, a defense contractor from Singapore, who bribed U.S. Navy personnel, including an Admiral, with the usual stuff, including "lavish gifts, prostitutes and luxury hotel stays." 

You'd think a guy who could drop two
grand on cigars could afford a gym
membership and a better tailor.

Have you ever noticed that newspapers always use "lavish" in connection with bribes? Surely there must be some other way to describe "watches worth $25,000, $2,000 boxes of Cohiba cigars, $2,000 bottles of cognac and $600-per-night hotel rooms." I'm partial toward "munificent," but "profligate" will do in a pinch.

But wither the Medal of Honor-winning, five-star General, the legendary hero of the Philippines Campaign during World War II? 

Well, it's not so much Douglas MacArthur as it is his name. The "luxury hotel" mentioned in the indictment refers to the Philippines' Manila Hotel, which has a suite named for him. A travel guide refers to it as  "impeccably restored" with mahogany chaise lounge chairs and brass chandeliers, evoking a feel straight out of 1935. If someone's going to bribe me, that's where I want things to go down.

But not quite the way Fat Leonard planned things. For Rear Admiral Bruce Loveless and his Navy buddies used “historical memorabilia” in the room during sex acts.

Not to my mouth, you're not.

The specific "memorabilia" isn't mentioned. However, the suite includes 10,000 books, a brass gilded chair, marble-topped desk, fountain pens, family photos... and a replica of MacArthur's corncob pipe. 

Ding ding ding! I think we have a winner!

No wonder why other guests of the MacArthur Suite include Bill Clinton and Michael Jackson. They can't exactly be described as history buffs. 

The longer you look at Adm. Loveless, the
more you think, Yeah, I can picture it.

And even though charges are only just being brought against Loveless and company in the Pipegate scandal, this happened ten years ago. To put this in perspective, it took Generals MacArthur and Eisenhower less than four years to defeat Germany, Italy, and Japan. Clearly, a bribery investigation is more difficult than winning a goddamn world war. 

If your head hurts from wrapping it around that fact, try this: Loveless has been prevented from accessing classified information since the investigation started in 2013, but was still allowed to keep his job. Boy, I thought the Teachers Union had a great tenure policy! 

I've always considered myself incredibly dull, and this bribery case clinches it. For in my five decades of sexual activity, I've never been so creative -- or perhaps bored with sex -- as to think that a corncob pipe, historic replica or otherwise, would do the job. Maybe I need to get out more, I dunno. Or maybe it's because I'm not -- ahem -- a Rear Admiral.

The worst of it? Thanks to to the (aptly-named?) Loveless, future generations of women will feel compelled to tell their sons, boyfriends and husbands, Get that pipe out of your mouth! You don't know where it's been! 

Thank you for service, Admiral. Now go use some Listerine.

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