Columns » Bob Lancaster

Opinions by Lob

by and


My job-performance poll numbers are down — no, not as far down as his, thank the Lord — and the focus groups are recommending edgier, hard-hitting opinions as a way to get them back up. Hope these are edgy enough and hit hard enough. Am not sure I agree with all of them, or any of them. But popularity is all, I know, and whatever it takes, I’m willing. So here goes:

Damn all this talk about the “epidemic of obesity” in our children. It does my heart good to see so many fat youngsters. “Fat and sassy,” the expression used to be. It reflected well on parents if their fry were fat and sassy. It meant the parents were good providers. It meant the parents were making good on their pledge to do better by their children than their parents had done by them, sending them to school with just a dry biscuit crust, etc. Fat children were a sure sign of a prosperous society, and still are. Look at the urchins in non-prosperous societies, all thin and sallow and wormy-looking and hollow-eyed. They look at you with big tragic eyes that say, “Please, Mister, just one Hostess Creme-Filled Cupcake.”

• So what did Leonardo, St. Paul, and Tinky Winky the Teletubby have in common? There’s your real “Da Vinci Code.”

• Guns, we got ’em, but we need more. Every patch of woods, every city block, ought to have at least one packer clicking a safety off. These immigration problems, guns are the answer. Lawyer overpopulation, Shakespeare told us what to do. Bead those oldtimers dawdling in the cafeteria line and watch them git. Shoot those who believe there is such a thing, and blam, no more global warming crisis. Legalize murder by firearm and think how much prison bedspace it would free up. Gov. Huckabee could save all that time commuting and pardoning and turning killers loose and use it for something important, like denying rape victims abortions.

• The Iraqi people want us over there. Polls show that most of them have been waiting all their lives for the coming of a Neo-Wilsonian liberator who’s not playing with a full deck. I mean, he’s more popular there now than he is here, and that should tell you something.

• For all its miscues, the one area in which you just about have to give the Bush administration high marks is hurricane relief.

• Don’t you know God was smiling a big smile up in Heaven as Sen. McCain chummed it up there on the speakers’ platform with Bro. Jerry Falwell, who, did you notice, has turned into this vast jellied pile of a creature very much resembling Jabba the Hut? One commentator ventured that Bro. Falwell might be blimping out so to prepare for a role in an upcoming Liberty U. Drama Department production of the Book of Jonah. Do I have to tell you which role?

• There’s got to be a better word than “gougers” for these oil companies that push their thumbs against the corners of our collective eyes until our eyeballs pop out.

• Why, sure, going to bat for murderers, writing some abysmally bad books, losing 100 pounds, breaking all the records for public-office grabbiness, and making a career of what President Bush calls being a major-league a-hole — that’s plenty of qualifications or credentials to run for president and be president.

• Those telephone companies were looking out for our privacy rights when they “anonymized” those telephone records that they turned over to the government peepers. Anonymizing means they encrypted the records so that callers’ names and numbers couldn’t be matched. That encryption is tough stuff, all right. The encrypted records show that all the calls made from my home number, for example, were made by somebody named Lob Bancaster.

• The Muslim radicals want to kill the cartoonists and the Catholic radicals want to kill the novelists. My position and the NRA’s is, Fine, as long as you use guns. And it would help make up for this year’s crummy Mardi Gras festivities if we could put their heads on poles and parade through the streets with them.

• Barry Bonds didn’t use steroids, or if he did, he didn’t mean to, or he just thought they were something like Gatorade or Red Bull, and as soon as he passes Hank Aaron he’ll head off to the golf course to help O.J. find the real killers.

• By all rights it should be sung in Iroquois.

• Build that wall, and if some smart-aleck Mexican gets up there and says to the assembled TV cameras, “Mr. Bush, tear down this wall,” sic Jim Holt and Pat Buchanan on the rascal. With guns.

• Gov. Huckabee, who’s a preacher, has a $3,700 pair of cowboy boots, and the pope, who’s the pope, has his red loafers custom-made by a company that charges $466 just for the humble catalogue variety of the same shoe. Jesus wore only his birthday shoes, or got some clunky old Corfam wingtips from Goodwill, or cobbled his own (out of sandalwood?), so come the judgment, these guys shuffling down the long line in their fancy footwear, which do you think it’ll be, sheep or goats?

• Dan Brown to pope on cage-match challenge: Bring it on! Pope: My people have vays!

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