Baby, It’s Politically Correct Outside: More Christmas Songs That Should Be Banned

Esther Williams and Ricardo Montalbán perform the holiday date-rape anthem, “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” in MGM’s Neptune’s Daughter. While it is hard to believe, it was widely seen as acceptable in 1949.

Now that Frank Loesser’s holiday classic “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” originally performed by Esther Williams and Ricardo Montalbán in MGM’s Neptune’s Daughter in 1949, has been banned because it promotes date rape, it is time for a long overdue yuletide musical reckoning. Like it or not, we must admit that many of the most beloved Christmas carols, including traditional hymns, encourage sickeningly immoral behavior, especially when viewed in the luminous light of our modern, highly evolved social standards.

‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’ is merely the tip (and forgive me, I do not mean to offend anyone with the word “tip,” which I use here only in the loosest possible sense, and for which I sincerely apologize) of the proverbial iceberg.

WDOK Christmas 102.1 in Cleveland was absolutely right to ban the song. Its disturbingly ribald content is so vile that it was sung as recently as 2014 by Michael Bublé and Idina Menzel for a revoltingly perverse video featuring an underage boy and girl that generated over 36 million views. Disgusting!  

Desiray, a host at WDOK, explained why she supported the ban of the song: “People might say, ‘oh, enough with that #MeToo,’ but if you really put that aside and listen to the lyrics, it’s not something I would want my daughter to be in that kind of situation. The tune might be catchy, but let’s not promote that sort of idea.” 

Exactly right! Just because a song is catchy, highly entertaining and great fun to listen to does not mean that it should be heard and enjoyed. Before clearing a holiday song for broadcast, radio station Program Directors must first do their due diligence by interpreting and evaluating it with current contemporary moral sensitivities.    

It is with that in mind that I humbly offer the following list of Christmas songs, which in the interests of total decency, equality and sensitivity, must no longer be played. As a public service, I have provided irrefutable reasons explaining the outrageous offensiveness of each song.

“I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” 

In a country in which over half of marriages end in divorce, this Christmas ditty, written by Tommie Connor in 1952, blatantly celebrates infidelity and sexual depravity. An underage child sees “mommy kissing Santa Claus,” and then what? We can only imagine. The emotional pain and suffering this song understandably causes Mrs. Claus is reason enough to forbid it from airplay. But when you consider that it suggests sexual intercourse, and perhaps even sodomy, it is hard to believe that it was ever cleared for broadcast. 

“White Christmas”

The idea that the most possible festive Christmas is white is, at its core, racist. Need we be reminded that the Ku Klux Klan wore white? In the light of Black Lives Matter, Irving Berlin’s unsettling lyric, “may all your Christmases be white,” is exclusionary to African Americans and all people of color. I myself am dreaming of an ethnically-diverse, multi-racial Christmas, and so should you. 

“The Christmas Song“

Composed by Mel Tormé and Bob Wells in 1945, this ugly holiday carol unapologetically advocates the slaughter of innocent turkeys. In response to the lyric, “Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe help to make the season bright,” one can only ask: Was the turkey free-range organic, or fed hormones before being brutally murdered at a factory farm? And free-range organic or not, the idea of eating a bird is repulsive to vegetarians. At the very least, there should be an alternate version of the song with the lyric, “Everybody knows Tofurkey and some mistletoe help to make the season bright.” 

“Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!”

With complete and callous disregard for municipalities and the impact of snow on sanitation crews, this radical song celebrates dangerous weather that often results in gruesome accidents and deaths. The song also fails to consider the soaring costs of snow removal, which in New York City is an estimated $1.8 million per inch. “Let it snow” may have been an innocent wish when the song was written by Julie Styne and Sammy Cahn in 1945, however it can now be regarded as only a tone-deaf call for black ice and the frantic hoarding of bread and milk. 

“Deck The Halls”

The once universally beloved Christmas classic should serve as a reminder to us that the true meaning of holiday songs shift over time. Since 1862, “Deck the Halls” has been widely regarded as a sincere call to good cheer. However, given the rise of the radical homosexual agenda, “don we now our gay apparel” may now only be interpreted as an unapologetic encouragement to dress in sadomasochistic leatherwear in preparation for bondage and whippings in queer dungeons.  Even the seemingly innocent “fa la la la las” take on a troubling new meaning when viewed in this context.   

“Run Run Rudolph” 

One of the writers of this unsettlingly dark song, popularized by Chuck Berry in 1958, was Johnny Marks, who also wrote “Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer.” Marks clearly hated reindeer and wrote about these magnificent creatures as freakish outcasts and mistreated beasts of burden. In “Run Run Rudolph,” Santa Claus cruelly pushes Rudolph to his limit and beyond, demanding that he “hurry” across the sky merely because he (Santa) is “reelin’ like a merry-go-round.” I have sent the song to PETA for further review and comment. 

“The Little Drummer Boy”

In 1941, just three years after Congress finally ratified a law prohibiting child labor, American composer Katherine Kennicott Davis wrote this chilling song with its stomach-churning first line, sung by a poor boy, “Come they told me.” The lyrics go on to detail how the child was forced to play a drum for an undetermined period of time in unsanitary conditions for no pay. This song’s graphically bleak imagery certainly has no place on modern radio.       

“Frosty The Snow Man”

This macabre telling of the slow, torturous demise of a jolly snowman may be fine for adults, though it is without question inappropriate for children.  The repeated “thumpety thump thumps” may frighten young minds and inspire nightmares of death caused by melting.

 “O Come All Ye Faithfull” 

The reasons for banning this song are so blatantly obvious, I won’t even bother stating them.  

Kellyanne Conway Blames the Murder of Jews On Me, My Colleagues and, of course, the Jews

No, I did not storm into the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh and start gunning down Jews, but as one who has spent his entire professional life as a satirist, I am largely responsible for the horror that unfolded, and not just me.

All comedians, especially those traitorous late night talk show hosts, are responsible for the unspeakably bloody act of anti-Semitism that left 11 dead. It is time that that we humorists took a good look in the mirror and committed to toning down our wisecracks before another Jew is senselessly slaughtered. 

Yes, it has come to this. Kellyanne Conway, who has been shamelessly whoring for Donald Trump since she dumped Ted Cruz in 2016, has conjured up a doozy of a new alternative fact: Comedy killed the Jews. And we all know who is mostly responsible for comedy: Atheist liberal Jews who hate God and want to take away your guns. 

The toxic nonsense that Conway served up to the sickeningly feckless hosts of Fox and Friends was this:

“The anti-religiosity in this country that it’s somehow in vogue and funny to make fun of anybody of faith, to constantly be making fun of people who express religion - the late-night comedians, the unfunny people on TV shows - it’s always anti-religious. And remember these people were gunned down in their place of worship, as were the people in South Carolina several years ago. And they (the victims) were there because they're people of faith and it’s that faith that needs to bring us together. This is no time to be driving God out of the public square, no time to be making fun of people.”  

In other words, Bill Maher, even though you’re not a Jew, this is mostly on you, however the atheist liberal Jews who run HBO and give you a platform to spew your comedic hate are accomplices. Obviously, it is the atheist liberal Jews who have driven God out of the public square and we all know that leads to terrorism. A lot of people are saying that, a lot of people. 

Mike Huckabee, a man so moral that he raised a daughter who lies for and defends Donald Trump for a living, comes to mind. We should not have been surprised by the mass shooting at a movie theater in Colorado, he once said, “since we have ordered God out of our schools and communities.” The following year, in the aftermath of the Sandy Hook massacre, he said, “We ask why there is violence in our schools, but we have systematically removed God from our schools. Should we be so surprised that schools would become a place of carnage?” 

This is the logic of a moron at the top of his game, though with all due respect to Huckabee, it was his sanctimonious mentors Jerry Fallwell and Pat Roberston who created the template that Conway is using now. In their infamous rundown of those who were to blame for the 9-11 terrorist attacks, it was the pagans who came first, even before the despicably evil abortionists, feminists, gays and lesbians. Somehow, comedians were left off the list, but adding them to it now seems like a natural extension. Actually, it was that Jew comedian Jon Stewart who flew the first plane into the World Trade Center and somehow managed to parachute out just before impact. Feel free to use it Kelly, it’s another alternative fact. 

Kellyanne Conway is an Orwellian. Like Trump, she has no discernible interest in reality and any truth she speaks is incidental. She is a free-agent mouth piece for whichever Republican can pay her the most, though she seems to have found her true calling in being the staunch and vulgar defender of a lying sociopathic fascist.  

While Trump is not responsible for the synagogue shooting, he consistently foments violence with his rhetoric. After all, there are some “good” Jew-haters out there, right? That’s what Trump told us in the aftermath of the ugly “Unite the Right” rally in Charlottesville.  And let’s not forget Trump’s arch enemy, namely the “fake news media.” Who runs that? And let’s also not forget that Jew, George Soros. Before an insane Trump supporter sent Soros a pipe bomb, Republican Congressman Matt Gates accused him of paying women and children to storm the US border, a lie that Trump, of course, did nothing to disavow. 

Since we’re on the subject of blaming Jews, let’s not forget MAD Magazine, where I was an editor for over three decades. It was started by William Gaines and Harvey Kurtzman, both Jews. When Kurtzman left in 1956, another Jew, Al Feldstein, took over and hired Jew artists and Jew writers. Think of all of the damage to our culture those Jews did, satirizing politics and revolutionizing American satire.

In the twisted worldview of Kelly Anne Conway and Donald Trump, even when Jews are murdered in cold blood, it’s the Jews fault. They won’t come out and say it, but their meaning is clear: the Jews, especially those comedy Godless Jews, of which I consider myself one, did this to themselves. The Jews will not be safe until they stop making comedy.

As America Burns, Trump's Sense of Victimhood Knows No Bounds

Donald Trump, who never laughs in public, found reason to smile wryly while speaking about pipe bounds sent to his political opponents.

In the days after pipe bombs were sent in the mail to Donald Trump’s political opponents and mere hours after a mass shooting at a Synagogue that left at least 11 dead, President Sociopath was at a campaign rally in Illinois in support of an incumbent Republican congressman. Rampant domestic terrorism certainly isn’t going to stop Trump from doing everything he can to avoid being impeached, and that means keeping his Republican enablers in control of the House at all costs. 

It is sickening to watch Trump, a man incapable of empathy or self-reflection, aside from looking in a mirror to primp his hair, calling for unity in the aftermath of a mass shooting. “We can’t make these sick, demented, evil people important,” said the sick, demented, evil President to his adoring rally crowd.  

As I have written previously, Trump is more symptom than cause. He is a malignant tumor in a nation with a compromised immune system. The bigger concern is the American immune system itself, but that can’t be properly attended to until the tumor has been removed. For that to happen, it must be clearly seen and understood that a tumor of the size and with the perverse life force of Trump is a grave danger to our nation and the world.

“If they had protection inside (the Synagogue), the results would have been far better,” Trump claimed without feeling. Can you imagine a person more ill-suited than Trump charged with providing comfort to the families and friends of victims of gun violence? 

In Trump’s delusional view, the standard NRA insanity, the only possible solution to the epidemic of American mass murder is to have armed guards at every school, house of worship, shopping center, concert arena, nightclub, transportation hub, business and, of course, along the southern border to guard the wall.  And even that would not be enough. We need armed teachers and Rabbis now too. We will be safe only when every citizen has the firepower in their pocket to blow someone to smithereens.  

Whether having an armed congregation would have prevented the mass murder in the Synagogue “is a dispute that will always exist,” said Trump, who never met a dispute that he didn’t relish. He enjoys the fight, whatever the fight is for, far too much for person with his unchecked power. 

Remember when the worst thing a President had ever said in an attempt to capitalize on our divisions was Obama’s remark about disaffected small town residents in Pennsylvania who “cling to guns or religion, or antipathy toward people who aren’t like them, or anti-immigrant sentiment, or antitrade sentiment to explain their frustrations.” It sounds almost quaint now.     

Think of how Obama, or even Bush, conducted themselves after a national tragedy. There was not a thing I liked about Bush or his policies and, to be honest, I couldn’t imagine a president worse than him at the time. But I was wrong. Bush was not emotionally dead. Bush did not willfully seek to divide the nation more than it already was. Bush did not spew hateful rhetoric as part of his daily routine. I did not agree with Bush’s worldview or support the direction in which he led the country. Bush wanted to turn America into Texas, which I think is a terrible idea, though nowhere near as terrible as turning it into Trumpistan.  

What distinguishes Trump from any President in the modern era – in addition to his racism, misogyny, ignorance, stupidity, anger, lying, shallowness, vanity and persecution complex – is how he stokes existing resentments between liberals and conservatives, blacks and whites, and men and women. Even with the Obamas and Clintons being targeted with pipe bombs, Trump felt compelled to say, “I get attacked all the time. In fact, I’m just thinking, come to think of it, who gets attacked more than me?” 

One can’t help but wonder how long this ugly madness will go on. The Republicans, in their ruthless efficiency, have figured out how to win Presidential elections, despite losing the popular votes – by nearly a half million in 2000 and nearly three million in 2016. If the trend continues to 2020, Trump may well lose the popular vote by an even wider margin than he did previously and still win.   

It is more than our institutions and social norms that are under siege by Trump, it is truth and human decency itself. Simply put, this center cannot and will not hold. As that great American folksinger, Arlo Guthrie, sings in “Times Like These,” a song written in the aftermath of a devastating hurricane: 

When leaders profit from deep divisions

When the tears of friends remain unsung

In times like these, it’s good to remember

These times will go in times to come

Game 3 of the 2018 World Series Was Not A 'Classic,' It Was A Disaster

Don’t be deceived by the scoreboard clock. It was 3am in Boston.

While many are already calling it “a classic,” the fact is that game three of the 2018 World Series, a literal snore-fest between the Red Sox and the Dodgers, was symptomatic of baseball’s two core problems. The games start too late and take way too long. 

Imagine, if you will, a playoff game in basketball, hockey or football – even one that went into double overtime, or a major golf tournament that went to sudden death, or a Grand Slam tennis match with extended tiebreakers, ending at 3:30am eastern time. It’s beyond absurd. Baseball schedules its most compelling and important games, even if they take the standard 9 innings, to end when much of its fan base is entering into REM sleep. 

Baseball, the sport I love and the sport now utterly obsessed with analytics, might process this astonishing bit of data: Game 3 of the 2018 World Series took longer to play than the entire 1939 series, a Yankees sweep over the Reds. By the way, the second game of that series, with a score of 4-0, lasted 87 minutes.  One can imagine that Monte Pearson, who started for the Yankees, did not spend much time on the mound shaking off his catcher.

An argument can be made that last night was an anomaly. After all, the teams played the equivalent of two games. I ain’t buying it. The game lasted a stupefying seven hours and twenty minutes. That’s longer than two Springsteen concerts, including encores. Sure, you love The Boss, but enough is enough. Can anyone appreciate the nuances of a pick-off move at 1:15 in the morning?  

The bigger problem is this: Cut the time of last night’s “long day’s journey in a 3-2 score” in half and it still would have run three hours and forty minutes, and ended close to midnight on the east coast. Why don’t these games start at 7? Why aren’t extra innings games decided by a home-run derby – or purists, if you hate that idea because it sounds too exciting – why not suspend games, I don’t know, say after five hours and twelve minutes or 2:01 in the morning, whichever comes first?  Why not mandate that managers visit the mound on hoverboards? Why not do something anything, to add some novelty and speed up the game? 

Statistics are not currently available for what time last night’s post game show ended, but here’s a safe bet: It was an absolute thriller, albeit the longest post-game show in post-season history, ending just as the sun was rising over Beantown. And still, baseball doesn’t get it. 

Red Sox manager Alex Cora said, “It was a great baseball game. People back home are probably waking up to the end. But it’s probably one of the best, if not the best, game I’ve ever been a part of.” 

Alex, it’s lovely to hear that you enjoyed yourself, but it’s not about you. If a chef makes his best meal ever and his guests fall asleep in the soup because they’re too tired to slurp it, the supper has not gone well. 

Likewise, last night’s game did not go well. It was an interminable slog into Morning Joe’s start time, though Morning Joe himself, a rabid Red Sox fan, was undoubtedly asleep at Mika’s side when the game mercifully ended. To add insult to injury, the game ended about 20 minutes before monastery monks traditionally arise, so even they were unable to enjoy the scintillating finish.  

Following the game, former MLB commissioner Bowie Kuhn said, “I’m glad I‘m dead so I didn’t have to sit through it.”

Lucky him.  

In Defense of John Lennon and Yoko Ono's 'Woman is the Nigger of the World'

A few days before accused sexual assaulter Brett Kavanaugh was confirmed as a Supreme Court Justice, Better Midler tweeted this: 

“Women are the n-word of the world.” Raped, beaten, enslaved, married off, worked like dumb animals; denied education and inheritance; enduring the pain and danger of childbirth and life IN SILENCE for THOUSANDS of years. They are the most disrespected creatures on earth.

In quoting John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s once banned song — it was actually Yoko who said “woman is the nigger of the world” before John sang it — Midler obviously meant to make a bold pro-feminist statement. But the backlash on Twitter from some prominent African Americans was fast and unrelenting. 

Levar Burton replied, “I believe you meant well. Still, you crossed a line AND gave the impression that your suffering is commensurate with that of my ancestors.”

Frenchie Davis lamented, “Bette Midler’s choice of words broke my heart today and proved my theory that Black women can’t afford to trust White feminism.”

And DL Hughley quipped, “Bette Midler says women are the niggas of the world! Nah! Niggas are still the niggas of the world!” 

Midler, who is a friend and admirer of Yoko Ono’s — she performed at Yoko’s birthday concert at the Brooklyn Academy of Music in 2010 — deleted the tweet, and then defended her deleted tweet in second tweet that she would also delete:

"Women are the…etc” is a quote from Yoko Ono from 1972, which I never forgot. It rang true then, and it rings true today, whether you like it or not. This is not about race, this is about the status of women, THEIR STORY.”  

This served only to pour gasoline on the proverbial fire. If Midler was standing by her original tweet, then why did she take down? With the pressure mounting, Midler served up an explanation and mea culpa:

“The too brief investigation of allegations against Kavanaugh infuriated me. Angrily I tweeted w/o thinking my choice of words would be enraging to black women who doubly suffer, both by being women and by being black. I am an ally and stand with you; always have. And I apologize.”

There is a lot to unpack here. However, before doing that, this is probably a good time for me to disclose that I am the co-creator and producer of the Annual John Lennon Tribute in New York City. The Tribute started as a neighborhood event a few blocks from the Dakota and has since evolved into a full-scale charity concert attracting top talent and fans from around the world. 

At last year’s Tribute, Patti Smith, the recipient of the 2017 John Lennon Real Love Award, took the stage and performed a mournful rendition of “Woman Is the Nigger of the World” to a receptive overwhelmingly white audience. In singing the song, was Patti Smith guilty of “disregarding the experiences of Black women,” as Bette Milder was accused of by Ohio Democrat Nina Turner? Was her audience complicit?  And if yes, then what of John Lennon, who sang “Woman Is the Nigger of the World” in concert in 1972 at Madison Square Garden? I remember it well, because I was there. 

The concert was a benefit for the WIllowbrook School on Staten Island, where mentally handicapped children were living in filth and squalor. Opening acts included Roberta Flack and Stevie Wonder. By their presence, were they enabling Lennon to express disregard for the suffering of African Americans? Would Stevie Wonder have joined John Lennon on stage to sing “Give Peace A Chance” had he believed that were the case? And, by the way, are we going to hold artists of 1972 to 2018 social standards? 

Times and sensibilities have changed. We now live in the era of Black Lives Matter and #Me Too, both necessary and important responses to a social and economic system rigged against people of color and women. I am not going to wander into what I regard as a senseless debate over who has suffered the most in our culture. As a white man, I know for sure that it has not been me. That said, make of this what you will: Black men in America had the right to vote before all women. Also, we had a Black male president before a woman president. American patriarchy, in its virulent toxicity, rules at the expense of women of all races, who remain second class citizens, “slaves to the slaves,” as Lennon sang, and as was originally noted by Irish revolutionary James Connelly.  

Is it any wonder then that “nigger” and “cunt” are the most forbidden words in our language? Both words have an ugly history and have been used to degrade and oppress African Americans and women. Consequently, and undeniably, African American women suffer doubly. And yet those emotionally-charged words remain in use and, notably, not exclusively by those who use them pejoratively. 

While many African Americans and women feel strongly that “nigger” and “cunt” can never be used by anyone in a socially acceptable manner, many others are on a mission to reclaim the words for their own use. This strategy, which I am sympathetic to, remains controversial. But whatever your view on this, can anyone reasonably accuse Chris Rock or Eve Ensler of being insensitive, mean-spirited or clueless for using the words “nigger” and “cunt” in their art?  Of course, Chris Rock being black, and Eve Ensler being a woman, gives them a license that I do not have. A white male using the word “nigger” or “cunt” is immediately suspect. So, I accept that I am somewhat out on a limb here, however unlike Bette Midler in her tweet, I will stand by my use and choice of words in this essay, even though some may find it offensive. 

I have spent my entire professional life in comedy — I was an editor at MAD Magazine for 33 years and have performed my First Amendment show, The Joy of Censorship, in 44 states. Among my greatest stand-up heroes are Dick Gregory, Lenny Bruce, George Carlin and Richard Pryor. They were all fearlessly self-expressive. No one — not the cops, not the clergy, not the government and not anyone in their audiences who were outraged, White or Black — could take their words away. Each of these comic masters used socially unacceptable language to expose and satirize racism and sexism. Notably, when John Lennon was under fire for “Woman Is the Nigger of the World,” it was Dick Gregory, who had called his auto-biography “Nigger,” who came to his defense and posed with him for the cover of Jet. 

Lennon himself, outspoken and insistent, refused to apologize for the song. He appeared on the Dick Cavett Show and read a statement by Ron Dellums, the Chairman of the Congressional Black Caucus: "If you define ‘nigger’ as someone whose lifestyle is defined by others, whose opportunities are defined by others, whose role in society is defined by others, the good news is that you don’t have to be black to be a nigger in this society. Most people in America are niggers.” 

What was not widely known in 1972 is that the provocative line was first spoken by a female character in African American author Zora Neale Hurston's 1937 novel, Their Eyes Were Watching God — “De nigger woman is de mule uh de world so fur as Ah can see.” Whether Yoko was familiar with that is unclear. In any case, it is something that Yoko fervently believed to be true and, eventually, so did Lennon, who was in the midst of an unlikely and remarkable journey, evolving from a misogynist to a feminist to a househusband. Lennon actually modeled the journey that countless American men need to make. In half a life, he went from writing “I’d rather see you dead little girl than to be with another man” (a line he lifted from an Elvis song), to “woman, I can hardly express my mixed emotions at my thoughtlessness, please remember I’m forever in your debt.” 

Lennon’s shocking declaration that “woman is the nigger of the world” signaled a pivotal juncture in his personal transformation. His unassailable point that regardless of their race, nationality or religion, women are shamefully oppressed and mistreated by men, remains as true today as it was nearly a half century ago. Women are second class American citizens, black women even more-so. What’s the argument here?

In “Imagine” and “Happy Xmas (War Is Over),” Lennon made passionate and poignant pleas for equality. He was an outspoken supporter of Bobby Seale, the co-founder of the Black Panthers. Are we really going to get into a debate over whether “Woman Is the Nigger of the World in its time was in any way racist or misogynistic? It most definitely was not.   

Part of the problem here is that Bette Midler decided to start this conversation on Twitter, which doesn’t allow for any meaningful nuance or context, though that may not have mattered in this case anyway. Thirty-eight years after his death, Lennon’s songs remain controversial, and not just “Woman Is the Nigger of the World.” “Imagine,” with its secular message of love and peace continues to piss-off many conservatives around the globe — you can look it up. 

All this said, regardless of your position on Lennon’s use of the forbidden word, the lyrics of "Woman Is the Nigger of the World” still cut painfully and disturbingly deep. As Lennon passionately implored us, “Think about it, do something it.” 

Donald Trump Desecrates the Memory of Aretha Franklin, an American Treasure

You probably did not know it, but the greatest accomplishment of Aretha Franklin’s storied career was not being the first woman inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, or winning 18 Grammy Awards, or having more than 100 singles reach the Billboard charts, or singing at Martin Luther King’s funeral, or at President Obama’s inauguration, or her indelible impact on generations of vocalists.  

No, all of the above pales in comparison to what future generations will surely remember most about the “Queen of Soul”:  She “worked” for Donald Trump. Even more impressively, Trump says that she is “a person I knew well.” 

Trump, of course, did not know Aretha Franklin “well” any more than I know Jackson Browne “well.”  Back in 2010, Jackson performed at the Annual John Lennon Tribute, of which I am the producer. We spoke on the phone twice, met at a rehearsal, and chatted for five or ten minutes before and after the concert. Ever since, Jackson has sent me gingerbread cookies for the holidays and I have sent him copies of MAD Magazine, where I was an Editor for over three decades. Actually, wait, I take it back. While I don’t really know Jackson Browne at all, we are intimate friends compared to Trump and Aretha Franklin. 

There is a publicity photo of Trump and Aretha Franklin, taken in May of 1997, showing them holding a check for the Lincoln Center Corporate Fund. Trump is clearly distracted, looking off to the side, and giving not the faintest indication that he knows who is standing next to him. The photo was undoubtedly shot during the five minutes of his entire life that Trump was actually with Aretha Franklin. By the way, there is a photo of me and Jackson Browne backstage at the 30th Annual John Lennon Tribute, a wonderful memory, though hardly proof that we're pals. 

Aretha Franklin appeared  at a Trump casino in Atlantic City 1988 and at the grand opening of the Trump International Hotel and Tower in 1997. That apparently is what Trump is referring to when he boasts that Aretha Franklin “worked” for him. I guess by that standard Jackson Browne “worked” for me too.  

A few weeks ago, at one of his hateful rallies in Pennsylvania, Trump vomited up this about Maxine Waters: “Very low IQ. Low IQ.” His adoring crowd booed the veteran congresswoman from California, not for vehemently disagreeing with her political views (they have no idea what her political views are), but for being stupid. 

Here are some facts, not that facts matter much anymore: Maxine Waters is one of thirteen children. Raised by a single mother, she worked in a garment factory and as a telephone operator before landing a job as an assistant teacher with the Head Start program. She later graduated from Los Angeles State College with a bachelor’s degree in sociology. What an idiot!

A few weeks after denigrating Maxine Waters, Trump referred to his once beloved Omarosa  Manigault Newman as “a lowlife” and “a dog.”  Why she was spared the “low IQ” insult remains somewhat of a mystery.   

A few days later, following the news of Aretha Franklin’s death, Trump opened a cabinet meeting by lying about their relationship and assuring us “her extraordinary legacy will thrive and inspire many generations to come.”  What an utter joke.  

Trump, who knows nothing about just about everything, certainly knows nothing about Aretha Franklin’s legacy. He does not know that she toured with Harry Belafonte and Sidney Poitier to raise money for Martin Luther King’s Southern Christian Leadership Conference in 1967. He does not know that “Respect” became an anthem for the civil rights movement and feminism. He does not know the stunning voice that moved President Obama to tears when he heard her sing “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman” at the Kennedy Center Honors in 2015. 

As a white man, I can’t possibly feel the depth of rage that many blacks and women, and especially black women, understandably feel about our imbecilic racist and misogynist President. One thing is certain: Aretha Franklin, a class act and a true American treasure, never would have betrayed her values by singing at Trump's "White" House. 

When a Man Who Can’t Stop Throwing His Own Excrement Rises to Power

My original title for this piece was, “When A Toxic, Shallow, Delusional Nincompoop Rises to Power.” On second thought, it seemed too benign.  

My second title was, “When A Hateful, Lying, Unapologetic Misogynist Rises to Power.” Better, I thought, though it wasn’t quite inclusive enough. 

How about, "When A Hateful, Lying, Unapologetic Misogynist-Racist Rises to Power” or  "When A Hateful, Lying, Unapologetic Misogynist-Racist, Sociopathic Narcissist-Autocrat Rises to Power”?  I didn’t like either. Too long.  

My next shot: “When An Asshole Rises to Power,” or maybe “When An Ignorant Asshole Rises to Power.” No, forget “asshole.” It’s too vulgar, too angry. Too much like Trump. 

And then this came to me: “Our Malignantly Dickish President.”  Not bad! 

Clearly, Trump is a cancerous tumor upon the soul of America. The only thing uncertain about the “Trump tumor” is whether it is a Stage 1, 2, 3 or 4, but its malignant nature has been confirmed. Therefore, It cannot be allowed to run its course. It must be surgically removed by congress, the judical system or voters. As with any tumor, the sooner it is eliminated, the better the chances for a healthy recovery. The longer it remains, the more damage it will likely do. 

The most sobering thing about the “Trump tumor” is this:  Even if we succeed at excising it, it has the ability to grow back with more virulent force. That is because the "Trump tumor” itself is a sign of a diseased organism.  Like all tumors, it is more symptom than cause. It grew from a swamp of hatred, ignorance, intolerance and desperation. And the swamp will remain even after the "Trump tumor" is gone. We aren’t sure how to drain the swamp because we live in it. Rather than a tumor, Trump may be seen as the monster who fed off and emerged from the muck. 

You can't reason with a tumor or a monster, or those who relate to them as benign or positive forces. I am thinking of Mike Pence now and the mere thought of him makes me sick to my stomach. He is the sniveling sycophant waiting in the wings to step out behind the Presidential seal with all his ugly piety and smugness should Trump fall. Pence, with his relative normalcy, could perhaps pose an even greater threat than Trump. Still, we would be better off taking our chances with Pence, because it is also possible that he would neutered, as Gerald Ford was following Nixon. 

Here is what we know about Trump: He makes everything worse. He is the gasoline poured on the fires of racism, misogyny and tribalism. He is incapable of empathy. He is empty at his core. He is ignorant, unaware of his ignorance, and destined to remain ignorant. He is incapable and/or unwilling to speak or recognize the truth. He is reflexively antagonistic, full of bombast and bitterness. He is immoral, crude, vengeful, sickeningly vain, in denial of reality, aching for a fight and totally enamored with himself. He is also a clown, a buffoon and a patsy. 

I remember as a kid seeing a movie in which a determined aristocrat takes on the challenge of training a chimp to sip tea with the upper crust at a fancy society dinner. The chimp is dressed in a suit and has impeccable manners and everyone in their finery is impressed. “Why, it’s unbelievable, he has trained the chimp!”  Except not for long. After a few minutes, the chimp starts swinging from the chandelier and throwing its food and feces around. Everyone in the scene is upstaged by the chimp who is at the center of the mayhem. The chimp is hilarious and entertaining, while ruining the event for everyone, which we as viewers delight in. 

Trump is our chimp-president and there are no doubt many people take delight in the destruction he is causing. Like the chimp in the movie, Trump can be trained to a degree. He can be taught to read from a teleprompter or to read a written statement about how he said “would” when he meant “wouldn’t.” But like the chimp, Trump soon reverts to form and starts howling, jumping and hurling his crapola, because that is who he is. We are all characters in the scene with Trump and, like the characters in the movie, we are compelled to deal with him. Expressing indignation and outrage as Trump defecates in the punch bowl is not a solution to the problem. The chimp must be returned to the jungle, or put in a cage and given a banana. 

The problem is that Trump is more like King Kong than a chimp. The reality show he is starring in now, while often ridiculously absurd, is not a comedy and it will not end happily for him or his enablers. That said, we are in unknown territory, with a man who can’t stop throwing his own excrement as the leader of our nation. 

Challenging the Teaching of a Carnivorous Zen Master While Floating the Milk River in Canada

I recently returned from a 10-day/150-mile canoe trip on the Milk River in Alberta, Canada. By my count, the Milk was my fourteenth paddle adventure. What is my fascination with rivers? 

Rivers, I have learned, are the greatest teachers. On a river one learns, quite literally, to go with the flow of life. One sets a course and pushes water behind or back-paddles as necessary, but the river itself shows the way. Paddling upstream against the current is extremely difficult, at times impossible, and is generally not a good idea. Slowing down before entering a dangerous curve is strongly advised. These are good lessons to learn and skills to apply — not just on rivers, but on dry land too. 

The other thing about rivers is that they provide my favorite setting for contemplation, especially when the current is moderate and steady, as it was for much of our float of the Milk. We put in at Whiskey Gap, just four miles from the US border and 84 miles west of the town of Milk River itself. The river cuts through remote and open high prairie country where cattle graze in paradise, blissfully unaware of the gruesome fate at the slaughterhouse that awaits them. Paddling the Milk River then is a kind of meditation on life and death. 

We made our way past hundreds, if not thousands, of happy calves and cows, almost all of whom will be carved up for meat by the fall. I found myself wistfully singing:“I’d rather be a hammer than a nail, yes I would, if I could, I surely would." The cattle mooed along, no doubt more on key than I was.

I wondered about the ranchers and, somewhat to my surprise, found myself thinking of them not with moral outrage, but compassion. Maybe my Zen meditation practice has softened my heart more than I realize. 

On this trip, in addition to the Tao Te Ching, which I never fail to bring with me into the wilderness, I packed The Eight Gates of Zen by John Daido Loori, the revered former abbot of the Zen Mountain Monastery and founder of the Mountain and Rivers Order of Buddhist monks.  

I should mention here that I am an "informal student" at the monastery, by which I mean that I am a regular attendee of monastery retreats, though I have yet to make a formal commitment to Zen practice. I met Daido when he was a guest on a talk radio program I was co-hosting on WDST in Woodstock, NY, not far from the monastery in Mount Tremper. 

In the studio, Daido struck me as intensely serious, too serious for me. I had been interested in Zen since I first read Alan Watts in college, but Alan was entertaining, whereas Daido was all business. I felt intimidated by him and, odd as it may seem, that drew me to the monastery. I attended one of the last Introduction to Zen weekend retreats that Daido led before he died in 2009. I would have liked to talk to him about what I am about to get into here. 

One night in camp, I was reading Daido’s chapter on Zen liturgy, in which he writes: “Every time we receive a meal we consume life; we kill living things in order to sustain our own life.”

My immediate response: What if I have a bowl of fruit for lunch?  Am I taking life by eating apples, pears, and bananas? On a subtle level, I suppose. However, eating the fruits of trees that will continue to live is not analogous to eating a mammal. 

Daido continues: “Buddhism does not differentiate between higher and lower life forms – the cabbage is every bit as holy as a cow.”

Hindus might disagree. Please note: Lord Krishna is not depicted hugging a head of cabbage. Daido’s logic (or Buddhist logic, as the case may be) sounds like that of a carnivore in desperate such of search of a defense.

Assuming that a cabbage “is every bit as holy as a cow,” it does not follow that eating a cabbage is the moral equivalent of eating a cow. While Daido does not say that it is, neither does he make a meaningful differentiation between the two. Therefore, his teaching is incomplete. Call me unenlightened (I am!) and/or insensitive (I am too often!) but my heart does not ache when I consider the fate of a row of cabbages. Coleslaw is not ground chuck, or as Alan Watts reportedly put it when asked why he was a vegetarian, “Cows scream louder than carrots.” 

And yet, somehow Daido sums it up thusly: “Life is life and we must consume it in order to live.” 

Sure, “life is life," but butchering is not farming. Daido’s comment does not sound like Buddhist compassion to me. After all, one of the four great Bodhisatva vows is “sentient beings are numberless, I vow to save them.” And yes, I know that some say that plants and even rocks are sentient beings, but that’s not relevant to the issue at hand. The cannibal chef and vegetarian chef both take life to prepare their supper, but at whose restaurant would you dine? 

We all consume life in one form or another to support our own lives and we must come to terms with that fact. But please, spare me the equivocating “life is life” superficiality, because it is a total dodge of the ethical issue of meat-eating. With all due respect to Daido, here is a revise of his inadequate “life is life and we must consume it to live” teaching:

"While life is life and we must consume it to live, better to eat a grape than a kangaroo burger." 

With that said, I find myself once again wistfully singing, “I’d rather be a sparrow than a snail, yes I would, if I could, I surely would.”
 

By the way, I would be remiss if I did not mention that although Daido “loved his steak,” (as someone who knew him recently told me) — the food served at Zen Mountain Monastery today is exclusively vegetarian with vegan options. Expressing gratitude and appreciation before each meal is an essential part of Zen practice. The meal gatha says “we eat to practice good,” however it is clearly understood that it is considerably more difficult to say that with a straight face while woofing down a double-bacon cheeseburger as opposed to a turnip. Even so, I have never heard from a word of encouragement from a Zen teacher to go vegetarian or eat less meat. 

Some confessions: I married a butcher’s daughter. (I know, it sounds like a horror movie, but it’s true.) While I have been a strict vegetarian for 40 years — I won’t even eat a beefsteak tomato. Still, I am not a vegan and I have caused suffering to animals for my own gastronomical satisfaction. I do not think of myself as morally superior to carnivores, though I confess to feeling an unspoken satisfaction when passing the plate of rump roast along when it comes my way at the holiday dinner table. I bristle at preachy vegetarians (even though I may be accused of being one by writing this), though bristle even more at carnivores who equate killing giraffes with eggplants. 

I can’t imagine that Daido would equate killing giraffes with eggplants, but then again, being an ignorant man, I can’t say that with any certainty. For what it’s worth, the traditional Sunday lunch served at the monastery is spaghetti with Daido’s favorite sauce, and the sauce is a traditional Italian pomodoro, minus the meatballs. Zen students are not served Daido’s favorite cut of meat.   

And now that I have made my main case, there is nothing left for me to do but wistfully sing (and please feel free to moo along): “I’d rather be a forest than a street, yes I would, if I only could, I surely would…”

Samantha Bee's Feckless Apology Deserves a 'C'

As a comedy writer and a liberal, I feel badly that I am not feeling all warm and fuzzy after Samantha’s Bee on-air apology for calling Ivanka Trump a “feckless cunt.” Devoid of humility, her mea culpa came across as superficial and perfunctory. But what bothered me even more was the decidedly mixed message that she expressed. 

In one breath, Samantha Bee acknowledged that she has used the word “cunt” on her show many times, “hoping to reclaim it.” However, this time she used it “as an insult.”  This logic suggests that she thinks she erred not in using the word, but in using it in the manner in which she did. 

However, in the next breath she said, “The problem is that many women have heard that word at the worst moments of their lives. A lot of them don’t want that word reclaimed. They want it gone. And I don’t blame them.”

That is exactly how many African Americans feel about the word “nigger.” Yet, a significant segment of the black community has reclaimed the offending word and made it their own. 

So, does Samantha Bee still want to reclaim the word “cunt,” or does she now think that was a bad idea? We don't know, because she didn’t bother to address the very issue that she raised. 

Note to Samantha Bee: Please figure this out for yourself. If you want to reclaim the word “cunt,” which is something I would totally support (which may not matter to you since I’m a man), you will never succeed at that by using the word as a slur to insult women. If you are serious about reclaiming the word, then you will have to use it fearlessly and without apology, just as actress Sally Field did recently when she tweeted this: 

I like Samantha Bee a lot, but she is flat wrong to call Ivanka a cunt. Cunts are powerful, beautiful, nurturing and honest.   

Whether Samantha Bee has it in her to use the word “cunt” publicly, as Sally Field did, remains to be seen, but I sincerely hope that she does, lest she be seen by some as, well, feckless.

And that brings me to my next problem with Samantha Bee’s apology: Pulling a page out of the Trumpian playbook, she blamed the media for their response to what she said: 

“I should’ve known that a potty mouth insult would be inherently more interesting to them (the press) than juvenile immigration policy.” 

Right, so it’s the media’s fault for ignoring Samantha Bee’s indefensible (by her own admission) use of the word “cunt” and not engaging her in an in-depth discussion on American immigration policy. She did not have the humility to say, “I messed up totally and gave the media good reason to focus on my poor choice of words rather than the important issue that I so want to discuss.”  

I agree with Jon Stewart, who remains the most influential and astute political comedian of his generation, that conservative outrage over Samantha Bee is “a game” that should not be taken seriously. “They don’t give a shit about the word ‘cunt.’ Trump says that instead of ‘please,’ I’m guessing,” he recently said.  As usual, John Stewart is spot on, however just as John Oliver and Bill Maher did on their respective shows, he gave his friend Samantha Bee a comedy mulligan. 

Sorry, but with all due respect, I do not.

Reflections on the (Probably) Soon to be Unemployed Samantha Bee

As someone who has spent his entire life in humor, both as a comedian and writer, I am utterly flummoxed as to why Samantha Bee would call Ivanka Trump a “cunt,” feckless or otherwise, on her TBS television show. 

Full disclosure: I am a fan of Samantha Bee’s and was employed as a comedy writer and editor for 33 years at MAD Magazine, which is owned by TimeWarner, which is also the parent company of TBS.   

Earlier in the week, Roseanne Barr blamed Ambien for her racist tweet stating that Valerie Jarret, a black former advisor to President Obama, was the product of the Muslim Brotherhood and Planet of the Apes.  She was promptly fired and apologized for making “a bad joke.” Not since Michael Richards destroyed his career with his infamous “nigger” rant (at the Comedy Store in 2006) has a comedian gotten into so much trouble for material that played as flat-out racist. But at least Roseanne thought her tweet was “a joke.”

Samantha Bee offered no such defense in her mea culpa. She apologized for “using an expletive” to describe the President’s daughter and acknowledged that she had “crossed a line.”  But she did not offer her own variation of the traditional “sorry, the joke didn’t work” excuse. Perhaps that’s because upon further review, she realized that her rant was totally devoid of humor: 

"After decades of ignoring the issue, Americans are finally paying attention. Well, most of us. Ivanka Trump, who works at the White House, chose to post the second most oblivious post we’ve seen this week.You know, Ivanka, that’s a beautiful photo of you and your child, but let me just say, one mother to another: Do something about your dad’s immigration practices, you feckless cunt."  

Despite the inexplicably big laugh that followed, there’s not a joke or satiric remark in the script. Minus wit or cleverness, it’s just angry full frontal commentary, and unlike Roseanne’s Twitter diarrhea, it was scripted in advance and loaded into a teleprompter.  

The level of comedy cluelessness at play here is truly astonishing. How could anyone on Samantha Bee's creative team think the best way for her to call attention to the horrors of separating mothers from their children at the border was to call the President's daughter a "cunt" on national television? By doing that, all she did was deflect attention from the very issue that she wants to discuss.    

Unlike the word “nigger,” which has found its way to common usage for a significant number of black Americans, the word “cunt” remains mostly forbidden, even among women. Larry Wilmore (at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner in 2016) jokingly and affectionately addressed President Obama as “my nigga.” However, a female comedian could not address Michele Obama as “my cunt.” That doesn’t mean the word “cunt” is totally off-limits for a comedian, female or male. No word is off-limits! As the master, George Carlin, taught us, "it’s about context.”  So, if a comedian is going to use a word like “cunt” or “nigger,” or any other slur or expletive you can think of, the word must be expertly played. (No one “played” words better than Carlin.) 

Michele Wolf, even after she was criticized by those who invited her, did not apologize for her controversial material at the recent White House Correspondents’ Dinner. To her credit, she stood by her comic point of view, because she instinctually understood that speaking truth to power through humor is the highest calling of a satirist. But that’s not what Samantha Bee did. She lost her comedy way – as once did Don Imus, Gilbert Gottfried, Kathy Griffin and Bill Maher, to name the ones that come to mind now – and when that happens on a grand scale there is a price to be paid, though the price isn't always exactly the same. 

As of this writing, Samantha Bee has not yet been fired, but I don’t see how she keeps her job. The longer TimeWarner puts off what I believe is the inevitable decision, the more pressure the corporation will be under to release her. Autotrader and State Farm have already announced they are suspending their advertising and other companies will surely follow suit. Please note: the main and perhaps only reason that Bill Maker survived his casual “house nigger” comment is because his show is on advertiser-free HBO, which by the way, is also owned by TimeWarner. 

That liberals have remained mostly quiet about this is as unfortunate as it is predictable, and is reflective of blind tribalism that pervades our culture, seemingly more than ever. Imagine, for a moment, if Samantha Bee had referred to Sasha or Malia Obama as “cunts.”  

And so, it is precisely because I am a humorist and a liberal, that I feel a responsibility to call out Samantha Bee. I agree with her point of view far more often than not and I enjoy her comedy. That said, by her own admission, she blew this one big time. More importantly, she would probably benefit from taking a break, if for no other reason than to search for a new head writer.