The Twisted Rantings of the Dantelope

The time has come here at Twisted Rantings to discuss something of a higher importance, something which really means something to the people, something that even John Stewart would give pause to before commenting.

I am, of course, speaking of Number Two. And quite specifically, I am intending to discuss the nature of the difference between the sexes with regards to Number Two.

Let us compare...

Me: planned, 15 minutes average, several chapters of a good book, and in all likelihood, a completed Wall Street Journal crossword puzzle.
TSO: unplanned, typically with a statement like "apparently I am pooping", 2 minutes average, barely enough time to even check for a book.

Me: 817 squares of two-ply and 6 flushes, wasting enough water to fill the shark tank at the local aquarium.
TSO: 6 neatly folded squares of two-ply and 1 flush, barely using enough water to completely soak a dish towel.

Now my wife has certainly learned to be fast because, well, she has to. Trying to perform the Opus Number Two in D Minor while managing two evil midget geniuses in the middle of That Holy Hell That Is Costco At 5PM on a Weekday is no easy feat. But I do not recall a time ever in the 20 years I've known her that she could have been accused of "taking too long" or "using up all the resources". EVER.

Me? Well, I come from a long history of actors who have performed the Number Two Opera on a 30 minute set. My father, The Hyena, was perhaps the master. He could spend hours. I always knew he'd been performing when he would emerge triumphantly from the master bedroom, finished crossword in one hand, completed 800-page mathematics textbook in the other, for no other reason than he had an insideous mark upon his forehead. It's the kind of mark you can only get when you've been leaning too long on your hands in some kind of cramped Cirque de Soleil position upon the Great Ceramic Throne.

My mother? I blinked, I missed. Did you do something? Oh, I smell it... something had to have happened. Never saw a thing.

With the women in my life, it's always clear that something happened. But what happened? Nobody knows. No proof. In. Out. Done. Like a flash of light.

And so, I ask you -- what is it about the two sexes that separates them in their attitude and skills around Number Two? Is there some secret camp in the South where we send our women to learn the Secret Art of Number Two Ninjitsu? Is it Darwinism where men are going to become extinct because, unaware of the impending invasion of vicious Huns, they are killed with their pants around their ankles?

Never before have we asked such hard hitting questions. It's only a matter of time before 20/20 comes calling, I tell you. Eat your heart out, John Stossel!

--- Dantelope @ I'm Number One in the Number Two Business!

Today marks another sad chapter in the spiraling fall of public media. The already ridiculous fine of $32,500 for saying "FUCK" or doing anything "indecent" on the radio or on a public television channel was raised to a mindboggling $325,000 per incident, with a cap of $3 million.

While they (the religious right and the parents with a habit of overanalyzing the impact of a child hearing or seeing something that mommy and daddy will have difficulty explaining) continue to push the government to regulate and restrict our public media, they are unwittingly causing it to fold over and die.

You see, "indecency" is not something easily defined. It is not an absolute and it never will be. While that's easy to undertand when comparing cultures across different countries -- say Japan vs. France vs. the USA -- it's harder for people to comprehend within the confines of their own country.

"Indecency" is typically defined by local communities, which makes the definition more accepted among those who use it. Don't like it... move! But when the FCC gets involved on a more general level and says that if NBC were to air Curb Your Enthusiasm they'd have to pony up $3 million just to get past the censors... well, that's applying one small community's "indecency" to a much larger group of folks, with clearly disturbing results.

So what will happen?

Who wants to risk it? Move everything to cable / satellite. Abandon the public airwaves and leave it up for the religious right and parents who read "Parenting for Dummies" to broadcast shows which so few people will watch that even advertising will also abandon the public airwaves. Then you'll turn to Channel 4 to hear the massive sucking sound and brilliant visuals of history trying to play back the Dark Ages in HDTV.

All the good jockeys and all the good shows and all the good movies will be on satellite radio, cable, or satellite TV. Or the internet on some for-pay-service.

I could wax on about how this would be bad for the nation's poor, but hey, that's the least of your troubles. See... once you're on a private channel... there are no restrictions.

So what do you think that means? MORE SWEARING! MORE NUDITY! MORE SEX! MORE VIOLENCE!

So I raise my glass to you, my peeps, and say "Fuck! It! All!" Way to go. We're going to accomplish what Howard Stern has wet dreams about every single night. And I think it serves us right.

--- Dantelope @ left-left-left-right-left