Dennis the Peasant

A Lingere Media News Exclusive: Pajamas Media/YouTube To Host Next Republican Debate!

A Lingere Media News Exclusive: Pajamas Media/YouTube To Host Next Republican Debate

By Dennis The Peasant
December 3, 2007

Westerville, Ohio - Lingere Media has learned that Pajamas Media and YouTube have reached an agreement with the Republican National Committee to host the next televised Republican Candidates Debate.

"Pajamas Media is proud to announce that it will be astroturfing, er, hosting the next Republican Candidates Debate here in sunny Burbank," said Pajamas Media CEO Roger L. Simon. "And we're really happy that we'll finally be getting some use out of that camcorder we bought Paul Mirengoff to film that ambush of Dick Durbin. Glenn and Charles said they could rig it up as a tv camera for about $40, so we thought we'd give it a shot. I mean, what could go wrong?"

Other media outlets were shocked at the selection.

"Given the success of the last debate, we at CNN felt our network deserved to host the upcoming Burbank debate," said an obviously disappointed Anderson Cooper. " It would give us yet another opportunity to demonstrate the sort of competence and impartiality one has come to expect from CNN. And besides, you know how many Democratic operatives we've got camped out in the lobby? Oh dear, I just broke a nail."

So were many candidates on either side of the political divide.

"Who?" responded Thompson spokesperson Ashley Poindexter-Carruthers. "Roger Simon? Oh, brother. Well, it doesn't matter... Fred will sleepwalk through the whole thing no matter who's doing it."

"You have got to be kidding me. Have you seen Prague Duet? He couldn't direct his kid to the bathroom," stated Clinton spokesperson Tiffany Dworkin-Klein.

"Pajamas Media? Wow, that's great!" opined Democratic presidental hopeful Dennis Kucinich. "Love that site. Lots of interesting stuff there, you know. Would you like to stay for lunch? The tofu surprise is just about done..."

When pressed by reporters, the Republican National Committee gave the its reasons for selecting Pajamas Media as the host over CNN, Fox and others.

"Hey, they offered a boatload of money if we let them do it," said RNC spokesperson Chelsea Fairweather-Symthe. "And it isn't like we're sitting on a big pile of cash around here, you know."

Fully aware of the controversy swirling around the CNN/YouTube debate of November 28, Simon announced a series of measures to ensure the Burbank debate goes smoothly.

"We intend to run the debate with the sort of clockwork precision that has characterized Pajamas Media's operations over the past 2+ years. We've had a screening committee, headed by Karl Rove and Michael Savage, carefully vetting potential audience members to ensure that we have a representative cross-section of all Americans. Or at least all the ones who are white. White and Christian. Or Jewish, if they're not too pushy about it..."

When asked about a moderator, Simon stated that after careful consideration, Pajamas Media had decided that Simon himself was best suited to moderate the debate.

"We were leaning towards Geraldo, but Fox News claimed doing this gig might damage his credibility. When we couldn't come up with an answer to that, I said, "Screw it, I'll do it myself." I mean, what could go wrong?"

Simon added that Pajamas Media had already assembled a list of completely impartial and totally unaffiliated potential voters who will be submitting questions via YouTube. They are:

John Doe-Smith: Mr. Doe-Smith is your average (retired) musician and website designer who lives at an undisclosed location in Los Angeles, California. His passion is breeding and racing camels, but he also enjoys riding his bike and reading about the religions and cultures of the Middle East.

Ivan Gottasecret: Mr. Gottasecret is your average law professor at your average state university in the southern United States. He is a world-renowned expert on photography, having published I Could Have Sworn It Was In Focus in 2001. Mr. Gottasecret has just published How To Get Political Thingys Done On The Internet, which the New York Times called "the snooze of the year". His hobbies include buying camera lenses and being tedious.

Maybelline Scrunchknickers: Maybelline Scrunchknickers is your average Washington, D.C. stay-at-home housewife with two small children and a husband who often publishes using her name. Ms. Scrunchknickers is the author of Discovering Your Inner Whiteness, Overcoming Your Ethnicity, How To Be In A Snit About Everything and In Defense of Profiling Everyone Except White People And First Generation Filipino-Americans. She is the secretary-treasurer of the national chapter of Mothers Against Drunk Mexicans.

Will O'Allah: Will O'Allah is your average personal image consultant and celebrity host. His clients have included Courtney Love, Michael Jackson, Larry Craig and Britney Spears. Presently he is a guest host on the Girls Gone Wild - The Republican Years video series. Mr. O'Allah has written what is widely considered the bible of personal image consulting, Stacy London Don't Know Jack, and spends his free time sabotaging Dale Carnegie seminars.

Trixie Turdblossom: Trixie Turdblossom is your average self-employed diversity consultant and Tri-Delt house mother who lives on the campus of Oral Roberts University. She has published four books on sensitivity training: Dealing With Ragheads, What Fags Want, Bringing Jews To Jesus and Don't Hate Me Because I'm Aryan. Her interests include theology, shopping and high velocity handguns.

Alias Undercover: Alias Undercover is your average news and journalism ombudsman for the Wall Street Journal. He lives in New York City. Mr. Undercover has published two books, Why Does Everything I Say Sound Like An Old Journal Editorial? and Close Enough: Facts And Journalism. His hobbies include rehabbing and making fun of people with Parkinson's.

Ima Pseudonym: Ima Pseudonym is your average lawyer/journalist/movie critic/sports agent/media personality located in Abu Detroit, Michigan. She is a renowned expert on the feminization of the American male, presently holds the world record for most cease-and-desist orders issued, and is the Wayne County belching champion seven years running. Her hobbies include arm wrestling Hell's Angels and annoying Sean Hannity.

Ricardo Klement: Ricardo Klement is your average Professor of Ethic Studies at the University of Bueno Aires in Argentina. He is presently a visiting professor in the Middle Eastern and Asian Languages and Cultures Department of Columbia University, and the author of Sometimes Little Eichmanns Push Back: On The Justice Of Roasting Jews. Mr. Klement spends much of his free time advocating for elderly German refugees he feels the government is persecuting. His hobbies include painting and listening to Wagner.

Blanche Yenta-Letard: Marie-Louise Yenta-LeTard, also known as Blanche, is your average 40-something New York City based Jewish-American Princess. Ms. Yenta-LeTard is founder and chief editor of the Meshugeneh News Network and is presently writing her first book, Your Burqa Vs. My Boobs: A Personal History of the Israeli-Arab Conflict. Her hobbies include producing tightly scripted comedy sketches on YouTube and doing Fran Drescher impersonations until you could just scream.

Prescott Ellison: Prescott Ellison is your average blind black Republican. With Alan Keyes being institutionalized in 2004, Prescott Ellison now shares (with Thomas Sowell, Walter Williams and LaShawn Barber) the distinction of being one of the four Republican negroes currently active in all of American society. Ellison is employed as the Director of Library Services: Crayons and Coloring Books Division, at the George W. Bush Presidential Library at Camp Casey, Texas. In his spare time, Mr. Ellison enjoys translating the collected works of Barry Goldwater from English to Eubonics.

After unveiling the debate's questioners, Simon smiled broadly and asked reporters, "Like I said, what could go wrong?"

A Statement From The Editors Of Lingere Media On Scott Thomas Peasant: "Oh.Shit."

Scott Thomas Peasant is an accountant auditing in Shreve, Ohio. He came to LINGERE MEDIA's attention through Shirley "Boom-Boom" Snugglesworth, a Lingere Media reporter-researcher, whom Peasant bailed out of nasty tax dispute with the City of Westerville. Or so he says. Over the course of the Shreve audit, we have tried to provide our readers with a sense of Ohio as it is seen by the accountants. Usually, these stories have been written by journalists who have traveled to Ohio and interviewed accountants there, but last January Peasant sent us a first-person vignette that seemed a powerful contribution to the genre. It told the story of a young Shreve, Ohio boy who befriended some Westerville accountants and subsequently had his allowance cut by his father, who happened to be Chief Financial Officer of the company being audited. Several people outside of Lingere Media praised this essay, including a guy named Burt who delivers the bottled water here.

We granted Peasant a pseudonym so that he could write honestly and candidly about his emotions and experiences, even as he continued to serve as an accountant and participate in audits. Over the next six months, he published two other short personal accounts in our pages. Peasant's latest, a Diarist headlined "Shock Accountants," was about the morally and emotionally distorting effects of accounting. The piece was a startling confession of shame about some disturbing conduct, both his own and that of his fellow auditors.

All of Peasant's essays were fact-checked before publication. We checked the plausibility of details with experts, including one who'd actually taken an accounting class, contacted a corroborating witness at a local bar, and pressed the author for further details. But publishing a first-person essay from an audit zone requires a measure of faith in the writer. Given what we knew of Peasant, personally and professionally, we credited his report. After questions were raised about the veracity of his essay, Lingere Media extensively re-reported Peasant's account. At least as far as you know.

In this process, Lingere Media contacted dozens of people, including several who actually knew Peasant. Editors and staffers spoke numerous times with Peasant. We also spoke with current and former accountants, "Boom-Boom", several other strippers, and a bouncer who claims to have tossed Peasant more than once. And we sought assistance from Ohio Society of Certified Public Accountants. Most important, we spoke with five other members of Peasant's firm, and all corroborated Peasant's anecdotes, which they heard about or, in the case of one accountant, simply kept nodding his head like an idiot. (All of the accountants we interviewed who claimed to have any knowledge of the episodes requested cash payments.)

Peasant's essay consisted of three discrete anecdotes. In the first, Peasant recounted how he and a fellow accountant mocked a female KOS Kid, disfigured by a tinfoil hat stuck to her head and face by old lasagna, seated near them in an MCL Cafeteria. Three accountants with whom Lingere Media has spoken have said they repeatedly saw the same tinfoil hatted woman. One was the accountant specifically mentioned in the Diarist. He told us: "We were really poking fun at her; it was just me and Scott, the day that I made that comment. We were pretty loud. She was sitting at the table behind me. We were at the end of the table. I believe that there were a few people a few feet to the right. I like pie."

The recollections of these three accountants differ from Peasant's on one significant detail (the only fact in the piece that we have determined to be inaccurate): They say the conversation occurred in Los Angeles, California during the summer of 1982, prior to Peasant's arrival in Shreve, Ohio in 2007. When presented with this important discrepancy, Peasant acknowledged his error. We sincerely regret this mistake.

In the second anecdote, accountants in Peasant's firm discovered what they believed were children's riding, or skating, helmets. Publicly, K-mart has sought to refute this claim on the grounds that no such discovery was officially reported in the Wall Street Journal. But one K-mart employee told Lingere Media that K-mart merchandise is commonly found in the area around Wal-Mart parking lots, including the one near Peasant's Shreve, Ohio auditing outpost. (This is consistent with the report of underground blue light specials occurring in the buried K-mart near Peasant's auditing outpost reported on the Pajamas Media website.)

More important, two witnesses have corroborated Peasant's account. One wrote in an e-mail: "I can wholeheartedly verify the finding of the helmet; accountants (in my firm) discovered skateboard remains in the manner described in 'Shock Accountants.' ... [We] did not report it; there was no need to. The skateboards weren't worth fixing and thus the damage hadn't been done while we were in auditing there. And just between you and me… I really, really like pie!" On the phone, this accountant later told us that he had witnessed another accountant wearing a skating helmet fragment just as Peasant recounted: "It fit like a yarmulke," he said. A guy at the deli counter at the Shreve Kroger's named Sid Silverstein confirmed to us that it is possible for a helmet to fit like a yarmulke, as described in the piece.

The last section of the Diarist described accountants using Hyundai Elantras to run over the walkers and canes of Shreve's elderly. On this topic, one accountant who witnessed the incident described by Peasant, wrote in an e-mail: "How you do this (I've seen it done more than once) is, when you approach the geezer in question, suddenly lurch the Elantra on the opposite side of the road the geezer is on. The rear-end of the vehicle will then swing TOWARD the geezer, scaring it into shuffling out into the road. If it works, the geezer is shuffling into the center of the road as the driver swings his car back around the other way, and the geezer's walker becomes an aluminum outline. You wouldn't happen to have an extra piece of pie on you, now would you?" Lingere Media contacted the manufacturer of the Hyundai Elantra, where a spokesman confirmed that the vehicle is as maneuverable as Peasant described. At least we assume he did. He was speaking Korean at the time. The three drunks we found who drive Hyundai's told us the same thing. And a veteran Shreve taxi driver described the tendency of dimwitted pseudo-journalists to flock toward stories that confirm their own personal prejudices. We found this irrelevant. Then again, he drove a Ford.

Although we place great weight on the corroborations we have received, we wished to know more. But, late last week, Peasant's employer, Peasant and Associates, began its own investigation, short-circuiting our efforts. Peasant had his cell-phone and computer taken away and is currently unable to speak to us. His Daddy isn't saying when he'll get them back or be allowed to talk to us. His fellow accountants no longer feel comfortable communicating with reporters. Or even us. If further substantive information comes to light, Lingere Media will, of course, share it with you.

the Editors

A Lingere Media Exclusive: Westerville Diary - "Shock Accountants"

by Scott Thomas Peasant

I saw her nearly every time I went to dinner at the MCL Cafeteria near my office in Los Angeles, California Westerville, Ohio. She wore an unrecognizable white uniform, so I couldn't really tell whether she was a customer or just bussing tables. The thing that stood out about her, though, wasn't her strange uniform but the fact that she wore a tinfoil hat that covered nearly half her face. Or, rather, it had more or less stuck, along with all the hair, to that side of her head. Rumor had it she'd forgotten to rinse the lasagna off the foil before reusing it for brain protection. She was always alone, most KOS Kids are around here, and I never saw her talk to anyone. Members of my firm had seen her before but had never really acknowledged her. Then, on one especially crowded day in the cafeteria, she sat down next to us.

We were already halfway through our meals when she arrived. After a minute or two of eating in silence, one of my accountants stabbed his spoon violently into his pile of mashed pork rinds and left it there.

"Man, I can't eat like this," he said.

"Like what?" I said. "MCL food getting to you?"

"No--with that freakin' freak behind us!" he exclaimed, loud enough for not only her to hear us, but everyone at the surrounding tables. I looked over at the woman, and she was intently staring into each forkful of tofu before it entered her half-covered mouth. "She smells like month-old lasagna!"

"Are you kidding? I think she's fucking hot!" I blurted out. "Pammycakes hot!"

"What?" said my friend, half-smiling.

"Yeah man," I continued. "I love chicks that have been intimate--with pasta. It really turns me on--melted cheese, garlic, oregano ... ."

"You're crazy, man!" my friend said, doubling over with laughter. I took it as my cue to continue.

"In fact, I was thinking of getting some girls together and doing a photo shoot. Maybe for a calendar? Tinfoil Babes.' We could have them pose in thongs and bikinis on top of the podium at Yearly KOS."

My friend was practically falling out of his chair laughing. The tinfoiled woman slammed her cup down and ran out of the cafeteria, her half-finished tray of food nearly falling to the ground.

Am I a monster? I have never thought of myself as a cruel person. Just a Republican. Indeed, I have always had compassion for those with disabilities. You know, Democrats. Liberals. I once worked at a summer camp for developmentally disabled Leftards, and, in college, I devoted hours every week to helping a student with KOS-itis perform basic tasks like typing, eating, and going to the bathroom. Even as I was reveling in the laughter my words had provoked, I was simultaneously horrified and ashamed at what I had just said. In a strange way, though, I found the shame comforting. I was relieved to still be shocked by my own cruelty--to still be able to recognize that the things we Republicans found funny were not, in fact, funny... Things like The Half Hour News Hour.

Not everyone was capable of such distinctions. They're called Conservatives. About six months into our last audit, we were assigned a new area to take inventory, southwest of Shreve. We spent a few weeks constructing an accounting office, and, in the process, we did a lot of digging. At first, we found only household objects like bowls and cups. Then we dug deeper and found what we thought were children's clothes: sandals, sweatpants, sweaters. Like a strange archeological dig of the recent past, the deeper we went, the more personal the objects we discovered. And, eventually, we reached the sporting goods. All children's sporting goods: tiny cracked baseball bats and roller blades. We found pieces of fishing rods and skate boards. We found bike helmet fragments. No one cared to speculate what, exactly, had happened here, but it was clearly a Bush-era dumping ground of some sort. Perhaps a K-mart.

One auditor, infamous as a joker and troublemaker, found the top part of a helmet, which was almost perfectly preserved. It even had chunks of concrete, which were embedded and matted down with dirt. He squealed as he placed it on his head like a crown. It was a perfect fit. He asked if he looked like Tony Hawk. As he marched around with the helmet on his head, people dropped pencils and calculators, folding in half with laughter. No one thought to tell him to stop. No one was disgusted. Me included.

The auditor wore the helmet for the rest of the day and night. Even on an inventory count, he put his helmet over his bald spot. He observed that he was grateful his combover had just been cut--since it would make it easier to pick out the pieces of concrete that were digging into his head.

Funny? Of course not. But many of my friends were laughing anyway. That is how accounting works: It degrades every part of you, and your sense of humor is no exception. One day you're a human being, the next you're listening to Rush Limbaugh.

I know another accountant who really only enjoyed driving a Hyundai because it gave him the opportunity to run things over. He took out curbs, concrete barriers, corners of buildings, stands in the market, and his favorite target: the elderly. Occasionally, the brave ones would chase the Hyundai, yelling at him like they yell at Bingo Night--providing him with the perfect opportunity to suddenly swerve and catch a walker or a cane in the car's grill. He kept a tally of his walkers and canes in a little green notebook that sat on the dashboard of the Hyundai. One particular day, he nailed three walkers. He slowed the Hyundai down to lure the first geezer into the street, and, as the engine grew quieter, the geezer walked close enough for him to jerk the car hard to the right and snag the geezer's walker under the front bumper. The walker caught, and he dragged it for a little while, until it disengaged and lay gleaming in the road. A roar of laughter broke out over his cell phone. Another notch for the book. The second kill was a straight shot: A old lady was crossing the street didn't have enough time to pull her walker away from the speeding Elantra. The walker's front half was completely severed from its rear, which was rolling wildly, and its two rubber leg tips was still glued to the pavement as if nothing had happened at all.

I didn't see the third kill, but I heard about it over my cell phone. Everyone was laughing, nearly rolling with laughter. I approached the auditor after the inventory count and asked him about it.

"So, you nailed a few walkers today," I said skeptically.

"Hell yeah, I did. It's like hunting in Los Angeles Westerville!" he said, shaking with laughter.

"Did you run over walkers and canes before the audit, back in Los Angeles Westerville?" I asked him.

"No," he replied, and looked at me curiously. Almost as if the question itself was in poor taste.

Scott Thomas Peasant is a pseudonym for a little-known blogger and accountant currently auditing in Shreve, Ohio.

More Breaking News: More Firings At Lingere Media!

We apologize for the fault in the press release announcing the firing of Dennis The Peasant.

Here is the offending press release:

It is with the earnest hope of saving our own sorry asses that we've decided to fire Dennis The Peasant from his unpaid position as President, CEO and Deranged and Obsessed Online Stalker here at Lingere Media. Sure, we've known he's like this for about two years, but now that we're in line to get hit by the shit, it's time to pretend this is an altogether new and somehow different set of circumstances than those that existed, oh, two weeks ago.

Anyway, it's just to the point where we can no longer condone Mr. Peasant's behavior towards Pamela Geller Oshry. We were going to also no longer condone his behavior towards Roger L. Simon, but the fact that Simon really is an empty-headed media ho is simply impossible to ignore. If we try that line we're gonna get nothing more than a few laughs. Let's get serious, OK? So we decided to nuke him because of all the jokes about Ms. Geller-Oshry's breasts…

Not that there's anything wrong with her breasts, mind you. I mean, if you've seen the bikini podcast, you know what I'm talkin' about: Big, firm, swingin' from side to side, makes you wanna reach out and…

Er…

Eh hem…

*cough*

Nevermind about that. Now where were we? Oh yeah...

We here at Lingere Media want to apologize to Ms. Geller-Oshry for Mr. Peasant's unacceptable conduct towards her own true self. Beyond that, we wish to apologize to all women who might have felt degraded and objectified because of Mr. Peasant's comments and because they themselves don't have big ol' fuckin' knockers that come out to HERE!

Sincerely,

The Management of Lingere Media
Westerville, Ohio

Those responsible have been fired.

The press release should have read as follows:

It is with the earnest hope of saving our own sorry asses that we've decided to fire Dennis The Peasant from his unpaid position as President, CEO and Deranged and Obsessed Online Stalker here at Lingere Media. Sure, we've known he's like this for about two years, but now that we're in line to get hit by the shit, it's time to pretend this is an altogether new and somehow different set of circumstances than those that existed, oh, two weeks ago.

Anyway, it's just to the point where we can no longer condone Mr. Peasant's behavior towards Pamela Geller Oshry. We were going to also no longer condone his behavior towards Roger L. Simon, but the fact that Simon really is an empty-headed media ho is simply impossible to ignore. If we try that line we're gonna get nothing more than a few laughs. Let's get serious, OK? So we decided to nuke him because of all the jokes about Ms. Geller-Oshry's breasts…

Furthermore, there aren't going to be any more cheap jokes about women's breasts at this site. Period. For example, a joke like this...

"Here's a woman with some really nice pumpkins."

... Will simply not be tolerated any longer.

We here at Lingere Media want to apologize to Ms. Geller-Oshry for Mr. Peasant's unacceptable conduct towards her own true self. Beyond that, we wish to apologize to all women who might have felt degraded and objectified because of Mr. Peasant's comments and because they themselves don't have big ol' fuckin' knockers that come out to HERE!

Sincerely,

The Management of Lingere Media
Westerville, Ohio

Oops.

We apologize again for the fault in the press release. Those responsible for firing the people who have just been fired have been fired.

Let's try this again:

It is with the earnest hope of saving our own sorry asses that we've decided to fire Dennis The Peasant from his unpaid position as President, CEO and Deranged and Obsessed Online Stalker here at Lingere Media. Sure, we've known he's like this for about two years, but now that we're in line to get hit by the shit, it's time to pretend this is an altogether new and somehow different set of circumstances than those that existed, oh, two weeks ago.

Anyway, it's just to the point where we can no longer condone Mr. Peasant's behavior towards Pamela Geller Oshry. We were going to also no longer condone his behavior towards Roger L. Simon, but the fact that Simon really is an empty-headed media ho is simply impossible to ignore. If we try that line we're gonna get nothing more than a few laughs. Let's get serious, OK? So we decided to nuke him because of all the jokes about Ms. Geller-Oshry's breasts…

Furthermore, there aren't going to be any more cheap jokes about women's breasts at this site. Period.

Except for this one... It's too good to pass up!

"A woman with a couple of great hooters."

Oh, wait... This one's really good, too!

Here's the last one, I swear:

"Is this what you think of when I say, 'Funbags'?"

Ok, I'm finished...

We here at Lingere Media want to apologize to Ms. Geller-Oshry for Mr. Peasant's unacceptable conduct towards her own true self. Beyond that, we wish to apologize to all women who might have felt degraded and objectified because of Mr. Peasant's comments and because they themselves don't have big ol' fuckin' knockers that come out to HERE!

Sincerely,

The Management of Lingere Media
Westerville, Ohio

The public relations experts of the firm hired to re-write the press release after the other people had been fired, want it to be known that they have just been fired.

The press release has been completed in an entirely different style at great expense and at the last minute:

"We're soooo sorry!"

Breaking News: Dennis The Peasant Fired!

From the Management of Lingere Media:

It is with the earnest hope of saving our own sorry asses that we've decided to fire Dennis The Peasant from his unpaid position as President, CEO and Deranged and Obsessed Online Stalker here at Lingere Media. Sure, we've known he's like this for about two years, but now that we're in line to get hit by the shit, it's time to pretend this is an altogether new and somehow different set of circumstances than those that existed, oh, two weeks ago.

Anyway, it's just to the point where we can no longer condone Mr. Peasant's behavior towards Pamela Geller Oshry. We were going to also no longer condone his behavior towards Roger L. Simon, but the fact that Simon really is an empty-headed media ho is simply impossible to ignore. If we try that line we're gonna get nothing more than a few laughs. Let's get serious, OK? So we decided to nuke him because of all the jokes about Ms. Geller-Oshry's breasts…

Not that there's anything wrong with her breasts, mind you. I mean, if you've seen the bikini podcast, you know what I'm talkin' about: Big, firm, swingin' from side to side, makes you wanna reach out and…

Er…

Eh hem…

*cough*

Nevermind about that. Now where were we? Oh yeah...

We here at Lingere Media want to apologize to Ms. Geller-Oshry for Mr. Peasant's unacceptable conduct towards her own true self. Beyond that, we wish to apologize to all women who might have felt degraded and objectified because of Mr. Peasant's comments and because they themselves don't have big ol' fuckin' knockers that come out to HERE!

Sincerely,

The Management of Lingere Media
Westerville, Ohio

A Lingere Media Exclusive: Stalking The Westerville North Streaker

Well, things didn't go quite as planned in my hunt for Taylor C. Killian, the Westerville North streaker.

To put it mildly.

Before starting in on What I Did On My Vacation, let me tell you this: If you ever end up in Delaware County in Ohio, in front of a Sheriff's deputy… Be cooperative and respectful.

Period.

Anyway, my day started - and basically ended - with a trip to the Delaware County Jail, which was the last known residence of the Westerville North (High School) streaker, one Taylor C. Killian. As I walked through the front doors of the Jail, the first thing I saw was an extremely large Delaware County Sheriff's deputy - Deputy Bruno "Crusher" Gerkin, as it turns out - behind a very large, very high sergeant's desk that guarded access to the Jail itself. He stared at me impassively as I walked up to his desk.

"Good morning, officer."

"Good morning, sir. How can I help you?"

I fished inside my coat and my press credentials, which I had attached to a lanyard and draped around my neck. Deputy Gerkin bent over the sergeant's desk to read my credentials as I held them up.

"I'm the Press, here on a story."

Once he had finished looking at my credentials, he straightened up and then, once again, gazed at me impassively.

"Mr. Simon?"

"Yes."

"It appears - and I may be mistaken in this - that your credentials for Prudential Media…"

"Pajamas Media."

"…Pajamas Media… have been hand drawn in crayon. Is that correct, sir?"

"Well, Officer…"

"Deputy."

"…Deputy, you see, Pajamas Media is a new, some might even say revolutionary, approach to journalism. We are what you would call 'New Media'."

"That still doesn't answer my question."

"What question?"

"The question as to whether your press credentials have been hand drawn in crayon."

"Um, well, I can't really give you a definitive answer as to how these credentials were created, Officer…"

"Deputy."

"…Deputy, because I did not create them. Charles Johnson did."

"Who is Charles Johnson?"

"He is the Vice President of Islamophobia and Logos at Pajamas Media."

At this point, I gave the Deputy as warm a smile as I could muster. I didn't want him thinking I was a troublemaker.

"Mr. Simon," Deputy Gerkin continued, "Just what is it that the Sheriff's Department can do for you this morning?"

"I'm here to interview Taylor C. Killian, the Westerville North streaker."

"I see…," he said evenly. "Unfortunately for you, Mr. Simon, Mr. Killian made bail quite some time ago and was taken home by his parents."

"Could I have his address? As a member of the Press, I am entitled…"

"Could I see your credentials again, Sir?"

"Certainly."

I removed the lanyard from my neck and handed the credentials to Deputy Gerkin.

"Mr. Simon?"

"Yes?"

"At the risk of muddying the waters here, my I ask you why you are wearing a Hawaiian shirt, plaid shorts and silver beach clogs when it is 14 degrees outside?"

"I just arrived from Hollywood."

"Hollywood. As in Hollywood, California."

"That is correct, Officer."

"Deputy."

"Excuse me. Deputy," I said, and then waited for the Deputy to continue.

He didn't, so I did.

"Give me credit, I'm wearing a trench coat and a fedora. It's not like I'm underdressed or something."

Deputy Gerkin didn't say anything for one very long moment. He just looked at me.

"Do members of the Press in Hollywood, California normally dress in Hawaiian shirts, plaid shorts and beach clogs while working?"

"Only if they're in New Media, Baby."

"Deputy."

"Sorry. Deputy."

"Would you happen to have any other form of identification on you, Mr. Simon, besides press credentials produced in crayon."

At this point, I began to sense things were starting to go downhill. I made a cursory pat of my pockets and then shrugged.

"Oops, 'fraid I left everything in the hotel…"

With that, Deputy Gerkin began to slowly move around the desk in front of him.

"Mr. Simon, I have to be honest with you. I have reason to suspect that your are not a credentialled reporter."

I tried to work up some feigned outrage as I inched backwards towards the door.

"Why, Deputy, that is slander…"

"I also have reason to suspect Pajamas Media isn't a real news organization, either…"

"Well," I said as I turned and bolted for the door, "You got me there!"

With the benefit of hindsight, I should have noted that shift change probably wasn't the best time to try to hightail it through the Jail parking lot. You see, at shift change the Jail parking lot is positively crawling with Deputy Sheriffs who are, almost without exception, larger, stronger and faster than your average paunchy middle-aged accountant. In any event, Deputy Gerkin's shouts of "Halt!" managed to alert everyone in the parking lot, and in no time I found myself trying to dodge Deputies.

What surprised more than anything was how elusive I managed to be. Two deputies missed me altogether before one took my legs out from under me. But a quick roll put me back on my feet, less beach clogs and fedora, and I was back to sprinting. The next deputy managed to catch the tail of my coat, and I was truly surprised that I managed to slip out of it without breaking stride, leaving the deputy and the coat lying on the asphalt.

It was at this point that I began to experience a not altogether unpleasant sensation. It was the feeling of cold air on my ass. The idea flashed through my head that during my first tumbled, my fashionable plaid shorts must have split. I should have known better than to wear thong underwear when going to a jail…

I was rapidly losing steam, and thinking I couldn't go another 50 yards, when I heard someone shouting something. When I heard the word "Taser", the adrenaline kicked in. Evidently that was why I was moving as fast as I was when the first Taser shot hit me in the back. The Taser prongs lodged in my shirt, but didn't lodge in me. So, I didn't feel anything other than my shirt coming off me as the Taser's electrical cord reached its maximum length.

I was down to nothing more than a split pair of shorts and thong underwear when the second Taser hit me in the back. And let me tell you something; not having to wax your back for a year isn't worth getting a zap from a Taser. Period. Deputy Gerkin told me later they zapped me twice, but I don't remember anything after the first one.

Nasty.

After I was taken into custody, the Delaware County Sheriff's Department went through my wallet and discovered that I was not Roger L. Simon, but rather I was Dennis T. Peasant of Westerville. A call to Muffy once I had revived brought both bail money and the news that I'd be sleeping in the garage for the next six months or so.

Now that I've had a couple of hours to reflect on this, it seems clear to me that I should not have done what I did. And as I still have to track down Taylor and find out what drove him to do what he did, I decided nothing is to be gained by trying to pass myself off as Roger Simon to try to get a story…

So tomorrow I'm going to hock one of Muffy's dresses and see if I can pass myself off as Michelle Malkin.

New Media, Baby!

The Lingere Media Advertiser's Kit

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LINGERE MEDIA SCOOPS THE PAJAMAHADEEN...

Breaking News: Oz Couple Call It Quits

LINGERE MEDIA Staff
Hollywood, CA

A spokesperson for Dorothy and the Tinman have filed for divorce after 10 years of marriage. According to friends, the split can be blamed on both irreconcilable differences and a localized case of metal fatigue.

The couple in happier days.

LINGERE Media’s Management Meets...

Being that I was under my desk with my sidekick Waldo P. Suggins, CPA, C. Babbington Cudworth, editor of the Westerville Daily Movement, Judas Perrier, famed Hollywood detective, and Cletus Barnwell, who runs the Westerville Cesspool, I could not see if the coast was clear. Nor, for fear of making noise, was I going to move out from under the desk in an attempt to find out. I strained to hear anything of Effie, who was in at the front door of our suite of second-floor offices. For what seems like hours, there was nothing, then...

The door slammed shut and there came the sound of heavy footsteps slowly moving closer towards my office. Waldo, Blabby, Judas and Cletus attempted to make themselves even smaller. Judas covered his eyes. Once I heard the door open to my office, I resolved that I wasn’t going to go out hiding under a desk like any old garden variety coward. As those slow, heavy footsteps grew closer I steeled myself to make the desperate lunge that might, just might, save my life.

“Ahh!” Effie shouted as she appeared from around the side of the desk. She pointed a finger at the four of us and said, with her best mock-Swedish accent, “I see you! You like something? Coffee?”

But by the time I had realized it was Effie, it was too late. I was already sprawled out across the hardwood floor of my office, done in by the slickness of soles on a new pair of wingtip shoes. Waldo let out a short, high-pitched scream and then passed out cold. Judas Perrier, as befitting a Hollywood detective, had grabbed Blabby Cudworth and pulled him in front of his body, so as to be in a better position to have Blabby stop any incoming bullets. Blabby, of course, had his eyes closed and was holding up his press credentials.

“Jesus,” I said, “You scared me half to death, Effie!”

“What happened?” moaned Waldo as he came to.

“I feel something wet,” said Judas. “Cudworth, did you... oh, shit!”

“Sorry,” said Blabby meekly.

Effie laughed as she straightened up, “The fearless bloggers! Ha!”

“OK, ok,” I said as I picked myself up off the floor, “That’s enough of that. Are you sure they’re gone.”

“Of course they’re gone,” Effie said, “They’re off to Cesspool in hopes of finding their five little lambs there.”

“This is nothing to joke about, Effie,” said Blabby sourly as he appeared from my desk. “Those men are dangerous hoodlums.”

“Yes,” said Waldo, “Just how is it that we have Westerville’s most notorious loansharks banging on our door wanting to collect $3,500?”

We all turned to look at Judas Perrier, who was trying to absorb himself in dusting off his bowling shirt.

“Well?” I asked.

Perrier finally looked up and flashed his most insincere smile.

“Hey, when I met them, they represented themselves as venture capitalists,” he said, defensively. “It seems nature to fund LINGERE Media with venture capital money. They said they were interested in making money over the long-term...”

“And nothing tipped you off that perhaps these gentlemen weren’t venture capitalists?” I asked.

“Like what, for instance?” Judas asked back.

“Oh, like... their names...” I answered. “Luigi and Guido Terrafirma. Those sort of names didn’t set off any alarm bells?”

Judas Perrier stopped looking at me and started looking at his feet.

“Well...” he said, quietly. “You shouldn’t discriminate against a person because of their national origin or whatever. Just because they’re Italian I couldn’t just assume they were Mafiosi.”

“First of all, Judas, this is Central Ohio. We don’t have any Italians here. Those are the Stewart twins; Timmy and Tommy.”

Perrier looked confused.

“So why would they go around calling yourselves Luigi and Guido Terrrafirma?”

“Credibility, Judas. They’re loansharks,” said Blabby. “That’s why they walk around Westerville in blue pinstripe suits with wide lapels. It’s why they wear black shirts and ties... Have you ever met venture capitalists who chew on toothpicks all the time, Judas?”

“Well...” Perrier said, again.

Effie stood by the door to my office with her hands on her hips.

“You guys are pathetic,” she said. “I’m going back to work.”

She then walked out of my office, closing the door behind her.

“Jesus,” I said, and slumped into my desk chair.

“Um, I going to head home,” said Blabby, “I need to change.”

“No,” I said firmly and sat up straight in my chair. “We’re going to hold the first board meeting of the directors and owners of LINGERE Media.”

“But...” said Blabby weakly.

“Everyone sit,” I commanded and pointed at Blabby. “You sit in the wooden chair!”

Blabby did as he was instructed. Cletus and Judas followed by grabbing chairs and sitting down. Waldo decided to stay under my desk.

“Now what?” asked Cletus.

“We need to review that past month or so to see where we are,” I said.

“How about this for a start: We borrowed $3,500 from loansharks,” Cletus said crossly.

“And the launch party didn’t go quite as well as we had hoped,” said Judas.

“Judas, we ended up with a full-scale riot that nearly destroyed half the Denny’s,” I said.

Blabby buried his head in his hands, “I’m afraid that’s my fault. I assumed that everyone would understand that an ‘open bar’ in a Denny’s meant an open breakfast bar.”

I was starting to get another headache.

“I have some good news,” said Cletus. “We can get Victoria’s Secret off our backs with a letter of apology posted on our web site for three months...”

“Just whose idea was it to rename LINGERE Media Victoria’s Secret Lingerie Media?” I asked.

“That would be me,” came Waldo’s voice from under the desk.

“Good one,” I said as I gave him a gentle kick.

“Ow...” he cried. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“What sort of traffic are we getting at the site?” asked Judas.

“Low hundreds,” said Waldo.

“What does that mean?” asked Cletus.

“Yesterday we had 102 page views,” replied Waldo.

Judas put his head in his hands.

“Page views?” he asked.

“Page views,” repeated Waldo.

“What about the advertising contracts?” I asked.

“Well, we’ve had a couple of setbacks there,” said Cletus.

“’Setbacks’?” I asked.

“Yes. Setbacks,” replied Cletus. “We lost the Westerville Visitors Bureau.”

“Why is that?” I said.

“They saw the ad.”

“Oh. OK, so we’ve lost one client... We have others,” I said, trying to sound unconcerned.

“Actually, that’s not the end of the setbacks.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. We also lost the House of Muu Muus,” Cletus answered. “And Kevy Bellouche said he’s going to scratch out all of our eyes.”

“Chez Methané ?”

“Gaston threw a plate of baked beans at me when I tried to collect for the ad.”

“What about new clients?” I asked hopefully.

“Well,” said Judas, “Vic’s House of Porn is a no-go?”

“Why?”

“He thought associating with us would ruin his brand,” said Judas.

We sat in silence for what seemed to be a very long time.

“Is there any good news?” asked Waldo.

Our brows furrowed.

“The day’s almost over?” offered Cletus.

At was on that note that we suddenly heard a commotion from downstairs. Effie opened the door to my office and pointed down the stairs towards the lobby.

“The Terrafirmas have returned and I’m betting they are here seeking payment,” she said quickly. “This might be an excellent time to adjourn your board meeting and quietly exit the building via the back fire escape.”

“Meeting adjourned,” I said, as I bolted for the door.

LINGERE MEDIA TEST AD: Dapper Dan’s Manly Man All-Male Toe Dance-A-Torium

LINGERE MEDIA ADS

Well, since we can’t wait around forever for Pajamas Media to actually start testing the ads they were supposed to test in September, October and November, LINGERE has decided to dispense with the normal progression of satire and parody and just go ahead and assume that who- or whatever Pajamas’ Dynamic Duo manage to land as advertising clients, and whatever it is that they do for (or to) those poor saps, it will be lame as Hell. And hey, these aren’t any more fake than Pajamas Media’s New York office... So without further ado, here is the first test ad in a series for LINGERE’s Advertising Partners (aka People Who Owe Dennis Money).

Dapper Dan’s Manly Man All-Male Toe Dance-A-Torium

As anyone who’s spent any time in Westerville well knows, this area has virtually no competent male dancers around other than the guys in the Westerville Gay Men’s Chorus, and even they are limited to mostly old Rockette routines. Part of this can be blamed on the regrettable lack of negroes living in these parts, which has lead to deficit in the per person natural rhythm when compared to, say, New Jersey. But that is all about to change... so when planning your next visit to Westerville, your boogie-down destination had better be the one and only...

... Dapper Dan’s Manly Man All-Male Toe Dance-A-Torium, Central Ohio’s only dance instruction-centric experience – at least of straight men – and featuring loads of dance ideas for the manly man in your family!

Hi there, I’m Dapper Dan the Dancin’ Man...

And guys I’m here to tell you that when you are dancing to attract a member of the opposite sex, whether for a lifetime commitment or just for the night, there are only two ways to dance...

The Right Way...

And the Wrong Way...

Numerous studies commissioned by such prestigious publications such as Cosmopolitan and Penthouse have demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that the man who knows how to dance is the man who wins the lady...

So if you can't dance, you're more likely to suffer rejection...

And social humiliation...

That could just as easily be avoided.

So what's a rhythm-impaired manly man supposed to do?

Well, you could admit defeat and withdraw into your own private world...

Or start living life in the manner your cousin does...

Worse yet, you could start "dropping in" on Kevy Bellouche's parties...

Or try to learn dancing from one of Kevy's friends...

But let's face facts, those strategies just won't help.

If you want to enjoy this sort of success with the ladies...

What you need is professional dance instruction at Dapper Dan's Manly Man All-Male Toe Dance-A-Torium !

We have attractive, certified female dance instructors who know all the steps...

Are sworn to secrecy about your instruction...

And will happily teach you whatever dance steps your require for your personal goals...

Be they disco dance-floor success...

Expanding your multicultural horizons...

Or a tryout with the Chippendales...

So remember, guys, the woman of your dreams is out on the dance-floor...

To make her yours, you need Dapper Dan's Manly Man All-Male Toe Dance-A-Torium, because...

Dinner And A Dance... It's Cheaper Than Jewelry™