The Funny Papers: Jayne Mansfield Still Dead
>>> Webby Honoree (Dork!) Liz Spikol heads up to the Poke-yer-nose Mountains to pet her inner-dawg and hang with the last living old coots still swingin’ vintage wood over Jayne Mansfield, Pennsyltucky’s own Miss Brick Shithouse. We wanna read Part II where Miss Va-va-voom joins the Church of Satan with Sammy Davis Jr. — we are not making this up — and gets decapitated after crossing Da Debbil Himself. “She needed a stern, Master,” Anton LaVey once told an interviewer. Hubba hubba! [PW]
>>> Mo Tkacik musses up the Donald’s combed-over empire of bullshit. Not that anyone will be surprised, but strip away the PR boilerplate, jowly half-truths, shell-game land deals, self-aggrandizing deceit, overpriced suits, hermetically sealed coroporate lair, and door-to-door ‘copter service and what do you have? A really bad hairdo. And Lord help the Donald if he talked any shit about Neko Case to Mo. Trust us. On a related note, we say let’s all get our pitchforks and have a town-hall meeting with Mr. Trump before any of this Nicetown casino/NoLibs highrise shit gets the final OK. And we want some answers, starting with the hair. Jesus, if we had a dog that looked like that we’d shave it’s butt and teach it to walk backwards. Seriously. [PhillyMag]
>>> Mike Newall again tries to sound the alarm on the elephant in the living room that you, me, and John Street continue to ignore. Repeat after me: Our 911 is a joke. The people that actually cradle their heads while they die on the sidewalk are beggin’ ya to do something. Meanwhile yer all, ‘Did you see the Gilmore Girls last night. Talk about MILF!’ Modest proposal: Any casino operator who wants to do business in this town must kick into a generous fund that will more than fix what’s broke, and that shall be determined by a blue ribbon panel. Hmmm. Well, that was easy. [PW]
