by RIP RENSE
Oct. 1, 2003
The staff is taking a little break on this, the first anniversary of the
founding of The Rip Post.
(Actually, another deadline beckons, but the anniversary excuse sounds better.) Anyhow,
you are invited to enjoy highlights from the past year (below), or the Riposte or Articles and Essays archive
(or just buy the novel.) The column, Lingo Czar, and daily newslinks will resume all too
soon. . .
---Charles Bogle, publisher
FIRST YEAR GREATEST HITS:
A Walk in The Park (10/16/02)
Ah, the scent of freshly ignited crack! Ah, the lyrical smack-addict
hooker going about her vein-piercing art, inches away from a young mother and snoozing
babe in papoose pouch! Ah, the poetic panorama of winos sprawled about like Renoir nudes!
B.C. and me (Apr.
He was sitting on a butcher block dining table, staring with great yellow-green owl
eyes at the stranger who had just invaded his little world. What, he obviously wondered,
was this creature who spoke in a gentle, friendly voice, "Oh, he's beautiful!"?
A Gent Among Agents (Dec.4, 2002)
Attended an "agents seminar" the other day for advice in book publishing. By the
time it was over, I needed an agent badly. A purgative, a tranquilizer, a
mood-elevator---something. I mean, I was write disgusted. Edit the last two hours out.
Drop the Big
One? (Jan. 29, 2003)
The song was meant to be ironic. It was meant to depict an
ignorant, frustrated, self-pitying, petulant bully, lashing out. It was meant to be black
humor. No one likes us/ I don't know why/ We may not be perfect/ But heaven knows, we
try/ And all around, even our old friends put us down/ Let's drop the Big One and see what
Ding Dong School
(June 11, 2003) It must be the chairs---that's all I can come up with. Have you
seen them? They are grand, plush, high-backed, brown leather affairs. You disappear in
them. I'll bet you can swing your legs, like a little kid. I blame the chairs for the
Belmont "Learning Center."
Return to Subersive Sender (May
Call me "Chemical Ripi." Orensa bin-Laden. Mohammad Said-Riposte, mother
of all propaganda ministers. Infidel cyber-bellies will roast on the white-hot spits
of hell! Ptui! Think I'm kidding? You see, a package I mailed has been returned to
me, for security reasons. There is a "no airplanes" sticker on it. . .
Ode to Joy (Dec. 18, 2002)
Thirty-two years ago this week, I ditched Venice High School and nervously boarded an RTD
bus headed for downtown L.A.. I was 17 years old, and hadn't been out much on my own. I
barely knew where downtown was, and had never done anything so daring as to cut class.
Beans and Pygmies (Jan. 22, 2003)
Is President Bush having perception problems? He seems so
confused about reality that you have to wonder if he's backslid into dipsomania. Or
perhaps is dabbling in something even more mind-altering than Colt 45 premium malt liquor.
Proof of Evolution
(May 21, 2003) I'm sorry to rile up all the looney
"creationists" out there, but I have conclusive evidence that human beings were
descended from apes. And it hasn't been much of a descent, either. The proof: all L.A.
transit officials. They're the missing link.
Big Trouble in Little Tokyo
(July 23, 2003) Look, I don't know about you, but when I think of
Buddhism, the first thing I think of is jail. Nothing evokes thoughts of incarceration and
punishment more than a religion that espouses peace, civility, and understanding.
City Footnotes (March
You find them everywhere. Blowing down sidewalks, crumpled up in bushes, rumpled
and stained in curbside gutters. Bits and pieces of daily lives, discarded or lost, there
at your feet. Each one a chapter from a story, somewhere in the middle of a human book.
Call them city footnotes. . .
A Pile of LTSEWH. . . (11/20/02)
Call them Less Than Satisfying Encounters With Humanity, or LTSEWHs for um, short. Only
the names have been changed or omitted to protect the impenetrable.
Lingo WMD Found!
(June 4, 2003) Of all the tons and tons of "weapons of mass
destruction" allegedly held by Saddam, authorities have so far found next to nothing.
But take heart---the Lingo Czar has ferreted out lots of verbal WMD, further justifying
his ongoing attack on rogue Lingo states.
The Condoleezza Conga
Cheney's hiding in the ground
And Rumsfeld's making ugly sounds
About how we're gonna fight two wars
If Uncle Sam gets good and sore
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