Freedom of Expression- Unless It's Not What They Want To Hear.

Can you believe this horseshit? At last night's Miss USA pageant, Miss California was asked a political bomb of a question: "Do you think every state should [adopt same sex marriage]? Why or why not?" This was her response:

"Well I think it's great that Americans are able to choose one or the other. Um, we live in a land that you can choose same sex marriage or opposite marriage and, you know what, in my country and in, in my family, I think that I believe that a marriage should be between a man and a woman," Carrie said to a mix of boos and applause. "No offense to anybody out there. But that's how I was raised and that's how I think that it should be between a man and a woman."

She faced a reaction of boos and applause. She did not win. In the aftermath, Judge Perez Hilton, who posed the question, came up with this nugget:

"The way miss California answered her question lost her the crown, without a doubt! Never before that I'm aware of has a contestant been booed at Miss USA."

So was it that she chose the wrong answer or just the wrong reasoning. If the latter, then this is an indictment of her religion. If the former, what was the point of the question other than to set a trap? On a democratic level, her answer was politically correct: Americans do have the right to choose as individual states. The federal government is not involved in this issue, and I highly doubt anyone reading this (read: me only) will live to see the date where same sex marriage is enshrined as a fundamental civil right.

No More Yankee My Wangkee

Our friend Mr. Wang looked worse than Long Duk Dong yesterday afternoon, turning in yet another horrific American Legion level performance. And at least The Donger got laid; Wang probably wasn't even allowed to partake of the post-game spread. The good news for the Yankees is that they are 7-3 in games he doesn't start.

Glenfiddich 12 year

A sacred calf of scotch, Glenfiddich is a solid drink that gets by a little too much on reputation. Like an aging closer, it will knock certain people over just with its name; drink enough scotch and you'll find that this drink suffers by comparison to the other single malt heavyweights.

The best aspect of this drink is the smoothness - creamier than a blow-addicted stripper's thigh. This elegance is enhanced when taken on the rocks, but this further exploits the only true weakness of this drink - the lack of real balls. The absence of any peat on your palate makes for a refined but sometimes unfulfilling experience.

Glenfiddich is best enjoyed after a long day in the boardroom eviscerating your subordinates, or in the shade of a tall oak tree with your mistress (be sure to use her lower back as a coaster).

Dewar's White Label

Dewar's White Label is a hallowed standard at VFW halls, shitty bars and post-funeral luncheons across America. Enjoying a robust following among the greatest generation, it's the dirty old, felony-convicted uncle that shows up unannounced. Sure, he's a good time, but you pretend you don't know him unless you're particularly shitfaced, pressured by your family, or feeling charitable.

Dewar's White Label is, sadly, the first scotch many people I know drank. This often ensures that it is also the last scotch they drink, which may be good because it keeps the demand for good scotch lower. Its scent provides a general indication that it is not rum or vodka, but little to please your nose. This beverage is best enjoyed on the porch of a nursing home while thinking about relatives that don't call you, or in your grandfather's library amidst his animal trophies. The only way to really enjoy this is to mix it 60/40 with club soda and an iceberg's worth of ice. It's bearable at that point, but add enough club and ice and even Lady Gaga is palatable.

Not every girl can be prom queen - some just stay home, cry and cut themselves. They'd make those cuts just a little bit deeper if they were also drinking Dewar's White Label.

1.5 out of 5 stars.

Suck my Wang

The Bronx's favorite Chinese pitcher (we adopt the 1 China stance of Beijing) got beaten up like Valerie Bertonelli on a Lifetime movie again tonight. When a guy coming off a major injury gets his sack punched around for two consecutive starts it raises a few questions.

1. Did this guy heal up?
2. Is Dave Eiland competent?
3. How will this affect the brisk sale of Wang jerseys in the West Village?
4. Is Phil Hughes warming up?

While many foolish Yankee fans will look at the Red Sox pathetic start and think they are doing just fine, the strength of the Rays is alarming. AJ Burnett will once again be required to earn his money tomorrow.

Laphroaig 10 year

What can I write about this scotch that hasn't already been written about a car fire in Newark? It smolders in your throat from the first sip through the last, with a finish of molten peat. Pop the cork and your nose will be overwhelmed by a scent reminiscent of a fire roaring in front of a pile of dead rottweilers. To paraphrase the creepy old guy in The Neverending Story - some scotches are safe, but this isn't one.

This scotch is best enjoyed in a musty basement bar alone, or in a desolate neighborhood dive devoid of windows and mirth. If this drink were a wrestler, it would be the heel that lures you outside of the ring and collapses your skull with a folding chair.

5 out of 5 stars.

Jason Mesnick is a cunt

I hate to admit that I am forced to watch this show. But this turd burglar Jason Mesnick needs a life-altering beating. After proposing to one broad on ABC's The Bachelor, he turned around and stabbed her in the back in the intensely intimate setting of national television. To make matters worse, he proceeded to slobber on her rival for his shriveled pork sword within minutes. Perhaps he could have called in her friends and family to witness it, or calmly given her a gift wrapped box of dog shit with a note reading "we're done" instead.

The cast of characters on that show was a litany of train wrecks: Bossy Girl with Boobs; Busted Erica; The Botox Queen; Hot Dog Hound. With winners like that to choose from, lord knows Mesnick's closet mysoginy must have been boiling over. While I don't actually feel bad for Melissa and her reduced calorie fun bags, Mesnick is still a cock and a half.

Jason Cheesedick: may you shit blood.

Scotch Tasting - The Balvenie Doublewood

Look past the name and packaging, which relegates this scotch to anonymity when arrayed with dozens of other indistinguishably named and packaged products. The soothing amber color of the clear glass bottle is the first indication that this is not your ordinary single malt. The double barreled aging process produces a sweet, multi-textured drink that tucks your tongue into a warm, cozy bed, while rubbing your back. The enchanting scent evokes a morning stroll near a burning California forest.

This is a triumphant drink best enjoyed after fucking your sworn enemy's wife, cashing a six digit check or slaughtering the last of an endangered species. You've earned this drink brother. A sublime taste that warrants the price tag.

Five out of five stars.

Scotch tasting

Over the next few weeks, I'll be pounding scotch at an alarming rate. Reviews will follow.

Caroline, no.

Where did your long hair go?
Where is the girl I used to know?
How could you lose that happy glow?
Oh, Caroline no.

- The Beach Boys






Nepotism, for the moment, has met a set back. Caroline Kennedy, daughter of a venerated saint of 20th century Americana, removed her name from consideration for the U.S. Senate seat vacated by Hillary Clinton's confirmation as Sec. State. Her political career died from a thousand "you knows," a cruel irony given her husband legendary oratory skills.

Thank God. As the newly minted President has blustered incessantly about the great American Meritocracy (with him serving as the prime example), this appointment would fly in the face of so much of what his presidency purports to embody. The simple facts are that Kennedy was not remotely qualified for the position, seemed to lack the basic communication skills essential to the position, felt immune to criticism and brims with entitlement.

She is the antithesis of Barack Obama, and would subvert both his message and his image. The President must eschew the trappings of privilege, although he has joined the most exclusive club in the modern world.