Analysis of Democrat Debate

[Ed. note: This is from a friend of mine who asked me to use the name I.M. Obsessive.]

So I watched the Democratic presidential debate on CNN tonight. What a cosmic freak show that was. This thing made Springer look high-brow. About half-way through, I was sincerely hoping one candidate would have the decency to lean into the microphone and start making those farting sounds with his armpit, if only to raise the overall intellectual level of the dialogue. Though a neocon, I actually started to feel sorry for these clowns; they really could be the nine biggest dumbfucks on the face of God's green earth.

At least everyone's defined themselves... and none of these putzmonkeys has a snowball's chance in hell of beating Bush next year. Dubya can mangle every word he utters in public for the next 13 months and he'll still look a thousand times more intelligent than any of these buttheads. I'm serious, even Al "Forrest Gump" Gore was probably watching this thing saying, "Anyways, Ah think these people are stoopid. Anyways, they should all be put in a lockbox." And, for once in his life, Gore wouldn't be overestimating his own "abilities"; he would actually be justified in believing he's more intelligent than the "Nonsensical Nine."

This is what it's come down to.

1) Wesley Clark: "Even though I've praised the magnificent George W. Bush and his stellar, brilliant administration -- repeatedly -- for the splendid, tremendous job they've done, I've never commended this evil, vile dictatorship for anything and I've always opposed their brutal and inept tyranny -- I don't know where these stories about my so-called support for Bush and being inconsistent in my views are coming from. Hillary? Hillary? Are you ready to step in, take over the campaign staff that you and Bill put together for me, and take my place as the candidate? I'm getting tired of this politics stuff and I don't want to be your point man anymore."

2) Howard Dean: Howie's getting upset about people pointing out that the "liberal darling" of the race actually had a semi-conservative record as the governor of Vermont. His new line: "I didn't know I was Newt Gingrich." (Not to be picky, but most conservative and non-partisan PACs and special interest groups agree that, despite his rhetoric on TV, Gingrich actually had the "eighth most liberal" voting record of all 535 legislators in the House and Senate during the 105th Congress.)

3) John Edwards: The multimillionaire trial lawyer looking out for the little guy. Every time he spoke it sounded like one of those post-midnight, public access ads you always see for the local ambulance chaser. You know, the one where he's sitting at a desk next to a plastic plant while he's telling you to call him immediately if you want to sue your doctor for seven figures because -- damn him! -- he forgot to warm up the stethoscope before placing it on your chest and, well, the sudden cold sensation made your nipples harder than Archbishop Law at the local Gap Kids and you were so damn embarrassed that you now need no less than five or six mil just to ease your pain and stop the sudden onset of bedwetting and chronic public masturbation. Whenever Edwards spoke, I was waiting for "Call 1-800-LAW-SUIT Right Now to Sue Your Parents For Every Fuckin' Dime They've Got" to pop up on the bottom of the screen. I love that. A friggin' trial-lawyer-turned-U.S.-Senator worth millions upon millions looking right into the camera and telling me he wants to look out for the little guy. Yeah, no shit. He wants a chunk of the little guy's "award" once that lawsuit against McDonald's gets handed down and the FDA bans fast food because some fat ass doesn't have enough common sense to put down the Big Mac and eat a Goddamn salad once the scale starts to tip to the right of the 500 mark.

4) Dick Gephardt: His entire platform revolves around the fact that he's proud he supported Clinton's half-assed legislation in the U.S. House for eight years, especially the largest tax hike in history back in 1993.

5) John Kerry: Attack, attack, attack. The prick can't open his mouth without taking a shot at someone. I think he even slammed on an old lady in a wheelchair hooked up to an oxygen tank somewhere in the audience. Nothing but tough talk from the Butcher of Buôn Mê Thuôt.

6) Dennis Kucinich: He just wants to hand all U.S. sovereignty over to Kofi Annan and Hans Blix and have the buttplugs at the UN run the world. He's nothing but anti-war and "whatever Ralph Nader said back in 2000, I pretty much agree with." If Nader doesn't run again, I think the Greenies have their guy for '04.

7) Joe Lieberman: Ah, the world would be a better place if only the evil Supreme Court and Satan spawn such as Jeb Bush and Catherine Harris didn't steal the 2000 election from him and Al Gore. To his credit, he didn't use the word "lockbox" and he stuck by his views on letting Israel thump some serious Palestinian ass. Still, I think Joe's best shot would be to run with the "Lieberman is Palpatine/Darth Sidious" stuff being spread around on the 'Net. He should start coming to debates dressed in a black Sith cloak with a hood, and his staff should play the Emperor/Sidious theme from Return of the Jedi, The Phantom Menace, and Attack of the Clones whenever he speaks. Maybe get one or two volunteers to dress up like Imperial Royal Guardsmen and stand on each side of his podium. I really think this strategy is his best -- and only -- bet. Perhaps some endorsements from "apprentices" like Ray Park, Christopher Lee, Hayden Christensen, David Prowse, and James Earl Jones. He's screwed, so he might as well have a little fun before punching out after the Super Tuesday ass-kicking.

8) Carol Moseley-Braun: Carol's entire campaign is now based on the fact that men are brutes who can't lead and have screwed up the whole world and only a woman president can save the day. I shit you not. She actually said that.

9) Al Sharpton: He may be seen by most as the Homer of this particular "Simpsons" episode, but he's starting to sound more and more like Lisa with a slight Harlem accent. Sharpton is the most principled of the lot and he's coming off as -- by far -- the most intelligent. (You have to admit, it does take some degree of intelligence to get loaded running the half-baked racial cons he's been plying in NYC for some two or three decades.) He also cracks the perfect joke at the perfect time and gets the entire crowd to laugh at the eight other jackholes on the stage. If I could vote in the Democratic primary, I'd actually cast my ballot for Sharpton because (a) he really is turning out to be the brightest bulb in a pretty dim pack and (b) Bush would totally annihilate his ass in the general.

But the highlight of the debate had to be at the end. At one point, Carol Moseley-Braun was fielding a question from someone in CNN's DNC-picked crowd (not a white male to be found). The cameraman panned to the left and -- I swear to God -- Al Sharpton was looking right at Moseley-Braun's tits with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, all the while bobbing his head up and down like he was thinking, "Yeah... I'd like to tap me some of that fine, fine ass." I hope the late night talk show guys caught that because it could very well go down as the classic moment of the 2004 presidential campaign. I also think the horn-dog image could work for Sharpton. He should start showing up at the debates dressed up like Snoop Dog. You'd have to admire a guy with the balls to get up on stage and talk about health care while wearing those big-ass, four-meter-wide sunglasses, a fur 10 gallon hat, a velvet overcoat, and 800+ pounds of gold jewelry.

Jesus. The Democratic primary is starting to make the California recall look sane and dignified. After watching this shit, I'm starting to think Gary Coleman and Gallagher aren't exactly the worst candidates I've ever seen. I'd like to think this ugly beast will get a little less freakish once Hillary makes her move and replaces Clark, but I'm starting to think the other eight bozos would be too clueless to drop out, even after the Clinton Machine kicks into high gear.

Oscar Partay

[Written Tuesday, March 25, 2003]
Howdy folks. As some of you may have known, Sunday night I attended the Entertainment Weekly Oscar Party at Elaine's in Manhattan. This, apparently, is a big deal. It's THE New York Oscar party, I was told, invites are hard to come by and the place would be crawling with celebrities.

To be honest, I almost passed on this. The invite was for one person only (so I couldn't use it to impress the lovely lady I've been trying hard to impress these past few weeks) and the thing was scheduled to start at 6. That's pretty damn early, especially when you're mixing me, an open bar, war-time and a notoriously liberal event. My first thought was that if I attended this thing, I'd be kicked out half an hour into the Oscars for screaming at the television or fighting with whoever was sitting at my table.

Ultimately, however, my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to attend. It had nothing at all to do with the prospect of a free filet mignon meal AND all the Jack Daniels I could drink.

So I arrived at Elaine's and the place was already crowded ... crowded with a hundred people I don't know. The publicist chica, Sarah Garvey, who gave me the invite, I'd only spoken to on the phone and emailed AND she was working so she couldn't really talk. She did say that she put me at a table with some pretty impressive celebrities. But I didn't ask and didn't go look at the place cards on my table because I figured I wouldn't be half as impressed as she was.

So I did what I had to do, which was get a drink. Shortly after procuring said drink, I was introduced to the publisher and associate publisher of EW and we chatted for a while. It's sort of funny that this stupid Photo Page in my magazine prompts people to give me props when all I do is go through a stack and try to remember who took me out for a free lunch last.

At any rate, they informed me that Jon Fine, the reporter who covers magazines for my magazine, was in attendance so I latched onto his coattail for a bit. Walking around, I noticed Tony Bennett enter the place. Then Jamie Lynn Sigler (who seems to be following me around this party scene). Next celebrity spotting was Chris Noth, from Law & Order, then Ice-T, who's taller than I'd expected. I didn't talk to any of these people. Just sort of noted that they were there.

After forty minutes or so, Jon and his guest decided to do the ultra cool thing and... leave. Williamsburg people are like that for some reason.

So I made my way over to my table. Table number three. In the process, I bump into (and Drew and Shawn, I know you'll be jealous), literally bump into Mariska Hargitay, from Law & Order. I apologized. She said, "That's ok." So technically, I TALKED TO MARISKA HARGITAY!!!

Seated at Table number two were Star Jones and Joy Behar and some boy toy with Star. Seated at Table four, at this time, was Jamie Lynn Sigler and (I think) Melissa McCarthy, who plays Sookie on Gilmore Girls (I have no idea if it was her or another sitcom celeb that had that look).

At any rate, the only other person at my table at this point was some annoying gossip columnist interviewing Star Jones. And I could see only three of the place cards. Victoria Gotti (yeah, that Gotti family) and a guest. And Tony Bennett. So, I'm like, "Holy, sh-t, I'm gonna be breaking bread with Tony f-ckin Bennett." So I got another drink. I didn't even think to look at the other cards. So Tony and his crew come over and sit down. I introduce myself, Tony says hi and that's about the end of that conversation.

Then a somewhat attractive couple plops themselves down next to me. The guy introduces himself as Charles Askegard, a dancer with the New York Ballet, and he introduces me to the woman I'm with, who doesn't give me her name. So I'm thinking, "Crap, I'm supposed to know who she is." Well, without embarrassing myself I figured it out and, this doesn't come as news to some of you, the woman is Candace Bushnell, creator of Sex and the City. So here, I'm sitting between Tony Bennett and Candace Bushnell and Charles Askegard. At this point in the game, I'm chatting with Charles a good bit. Very friendly fellow. Candace pipes in every once in a while. I make it very clear from the outset that I'm officially a nobody and that I find this all sort of amusing. I also make it very clear than I'm not a gossip columnist and won't be writing anything in any publication. Throughout this, Tony isn't saying much to anyone, not even the people he's with. In fact, he takes out a piece of paper and starts sketching some guy standing over at the bar. Then he stands up and goes over to the guy and gives him the sketch.

Meanwhile, Charles and Candace whip out cigarettes. Merit, they're smoking. MERIT?!?!? And this NYTimes reporter or gossip columnist or some such asks them to not smoke. I wanted to haul off and slap the woman, but hey, whatever. And Charles and Candace were more than happy to oblige.

So we're drinking and waiting on our steaks and Sarah the publicity girl comes over to say high to me and Candace and Charles take a stab at playing matchmaker for a bit. Then when Sarah runs off to do whatever it is publicity people do, Candace asks me if I have a girlfriend and I say no (again, the lass I'm trying so hard to impress is proving impervious to my charms), and then she asks how old I am, "Like, what, you're 24, 25?" and I fess up to being all of 29 and she says "Oh, but darling, I don't even know anyone that young to set you up with."

It's the thought that counts, Candace. It's the thought that counts.

During this time, other celebs have come in. At Table four now is Scott Wolf. This excites me much more than many of you would think. But it's Scott Wolf. Bailey from Party of Five, man. This is a big f-ckin deal to me. Also in attendance now is Julie Bowen (Ed, Joe Somebody, Happy Gilmore). Just as pretty in real life. In fact, I think she has a little scar under her left eye. I guess there are other celebs there by this point, but I couldn't tell you. I was getting pretty loaded and I was talking to Charles, man. Me and Charles were just chatting away.

At some point, there is some confusion about Victoria Gotti, who didn't show up or was late or something, so they bumped her from Table three to put another place card down there. Joan Collins and her man Percy Gibson. And now I'm thinking. OK. This is way too much. Way too much.

But they're late as well. And the food shows up and we all merrily stuff our faces with red meat and watch the Oscars. Steve Martin is funny. Ha.Ha. Another drink please, thank you.

By the time dessert arrives, there's another bit of table juggling and another couple plops down next to me where Joan was supposed to sit. These people, I don't know. They don't look famous or anything. Turns out to be Dana Reeve, wife of Christopher Reeve, and Michael Manganiello, senior VP of some such at the Christopher Reeve Paralysis Foundation. So now I'm sitting with Tony Bennett, Candace Bushnell and Superman's wife. And the Michael guy turns out to be nicest guy in the world. He’s done his fair share of hob nobbing himself. He even personally knows Scott Wolf. But he seems impressed with how well I’m carrying on with the celebs. Oh, Michael, anything’s easy when you’ve got half a gallon of Jack Daniels flowing through you system.

At some point, Chris Noth (the Law & Order guy) comes over to talk to Dana Reeve and she introduces me to him. So, by this point, I'm like best friend with Law & Order, right?

It's getting a little later now and Tony and his crew get up and leave. And the guy, who I've said maybe fifteen words too the entire time, remembers my name. "Nice meeting you, Ken," he says. And I wasn't even wearing a name tag! Probably not a big deal, but I'm bad with names AND by this point the Jack Daniels is really working, so it seems SPECIAL.

Shortly after Tony leaves, Joan Collins and her man Percy show up and sit down at the table and we all say hello, howdy, etc.

We sit back down and Charles and Candace are making motions to leave. Charles, who by the way loves Tony Chachere's creole seasoning and can actually pronounce it correctly, has a very old dog (Black Lab, eleven years old, Betsy is its name) that's sick and they don't like leaving it alone at home. So we talk dogs a while and I, dumb ass that I am, end up on a story about me dog-sitting for a professor in college which, of course, ends with the dog dying. Way to go, Ken. But they don't seem to hold it against me. So off they go into the night.

So now it's me, Michael the Chris Reeve foundation guy, Superman's wife, Joan Collins and her man Percy and the woman from the NYTimes, who, get this doesn't say a damn thing when Joan Collins lights up a smoke. Now Joan's had a little bit to drink and she's having herself a grand time and we're all talking and not paying much attention to the Oscars when Michael Moore takes the stage and starts his temper tantrum.

And before the booing starts, Joan let's go with "What a fucker. Who is that fat bastard? He should just shut up, that fucking traitor!" Which, of course, prompts my drunk ass to pick up my glass and say, "Joan, I absolutely love you." And she toasted me back and then asks, quite honestly, "Really, who the fuck was that guy?" "Just some documentary maker," I say. "Just some documentary maker."

Now, I do want to point out that I didn't boo at all. In fact, I avoided topics like that for most of the evening. Then again, you tell someone that your brother's in the Navy and on the way, that tends to make them think twice before they start in on the topic. I probably would have missed the whole Moore thing if he hadn't raised his voice or if the crowd in L.A. hadn't started booing. In New York, there were a few boos and a few "shut-the-fuck-ups" but no one really cheered or, conversely, threatened to rip the TV off the wall. I will say, though, that aside from the SHOCK AND AWE of Adrien Brody winning, everyone applauded his shout out to his boy in Kuwait. And, hey, not to let facts get in the way of a good time, but just so we're all up on our art history, Frida was an unrepentant Stalinist until the bitter end, so I didn't put too much stock in the fact that she would want peace if she were here.

But I digress. (And you’re right: I just can’t help myself sometimes)

At some point in all of this, after my roommate violated direct orders and called me while I was there hob nobbing, Rose McGowan stopped by with her beau and sat at our table to talk to the NYTimes reporter. I didn't talk to Rose McGowan, who is actually prettier in real life and not so freaky looking, so all the guys on this list don't have to hate on me too hard.

And that's about it. Macy Gray showed up at some point, but she went and sat in the back somewhere. I did go up and introduce myself to Scott Wolf. He's the only celeb I approached the whole night. And Drew, I almost, ALMOST, asked him for an autograph for you, but I just couldn't go through with it. Fittingly, I was too drunk to be coherent while I was talking to Bailey.

So that's about it, folks. I walked out of there drunk as a lord, with a little chocolate Oscar and a goodie bag full of cologne and bath soap and CDs (kid rock, frida soundtrack, some other stuff), a $250 gift certificate to some fur store in Manhattan and other assorted junk.

And Monday afternoon I woke up and, like the regular joe that I am, cleaned my apartment, checked my email and cooked myself some dinner, all without the help of my new friends, the celebrities.