My Interview with the Tennessean

So, I just got off the phone with Jennifer Brooks from the Tennessean.  She did nothing to assuage my fears that Bill Hobbs might slowly take over the world with his mad YouTubing skills, but she did say that she expects he will some day end up at the center of some precedent-setting lawsuit.  Hobbs v. Blogosphere I joked and she laughed.

Anyway, it was weird and I admitted that I started blogging primarily because I figured if those kids who wrote about professional wrestling could fill the internet with their stuff, I sure ought to be able to fill the internet with mine.  And I gave props to Brittney and Tiny Pasture for their early work giving a nexus to the local blogosphere.

We talked for about half an hour, but knowing how that stuff works, I’m sure it will be distilled down to one quote.  I hope I don’t sound like a doofus.

She asked if I wanted to submit a headshot.  Ha ha ha.  No.

And no, I didn’t offer to send her a picture of the boob freckle to run in place of my face.

Anyway, the story should run tomorrow.  I’ll be curious to see who else she interviewed.

Never Get in a Butt Fight with a Swedish Woman

And never spend your days tattling on your Dad to your Uncle B., because he will indeed then turn around and tattle on you when you’re not keeping the rest of the family in the loop on your medical and real estate conditions.

Word to the wise.


For those of you who are new here, my mom once gave me the sage advice that one should never get in a butt fight with a Swedish woman.  I take it to mean that one should not pick a fight one has no chance of winning.


Also, unlike my Dad, I will not be giving him the satisfaction of calling to let him know his evil plan worked.

What’s that, Lassie?

Oh, I forgot to tell you about my conversation with the recalcitrant brother, who’s totally going to install a dishwasher for us and recommends we get a fridge with an ice maker and filtered water, which he will also hook up for us, because he’s a plumber, P L U M B E R that spells plumber, as long as I get an electrician out to wire us up right for all that stuff.

So, I was asking him about the well and the pump and such and he was all “Oh, god, those things are nothing but a pain in the ass.  They break all the time and you have to get your water tested and you’re not drinking out of the well, are you?” And I was all “But I want one of those wells with a stone base and a long rope and a bucket!” to which he was like “I could find some guys who would put one of those in for you, just for the thrill of doing it, but you know what that means?”


“You can never, ever have any kid named Timmy over to your house.”

The Dan Rostenkowski Plan for Tennessee Democrats

Being a Democrat in Tennessee is enough to send a girl to the chiropractor with all the cringing you have to do.  Sure, it’s good fun to sit over here in Nashville cheering on the Fords–“Have another secret family who’s also not in the district you don’t live in but serve!”  “Shoot some more trucks!” “Get hospitalized for mysterious reasons.” “Go to the Playboy Mansion!”  “Have your wife send money to a candidate running the most bigoted campaign of the season.” I mean, shoot!  I love the Fords and cannot wait for the thinly veiled fictional account of their reign.  But I can sit over here and eat my popcorn and enjoy the show.

But Bredesen?

Oh my god.

I have to fall on the ground just a second from the weight of the utter stupidity and banal evil which is his administration.

Listen, Tennessee Democrats, here’s my idea.  Dan Rostenkowski is not dead.  If we have to have corrupt Democrats trying to throw their political weight around, can we hire ole Dan to come down and put them through some kind of corrupt Democrat trying to throw their weight around boot camp?  Because this shit is mortifying.

Lesson One could be: if you want to use secret files to intimidate and bully your political enemies, don’t be so god damn lazy as to just find one corrupt State Trooper and have him give you access to THP records.  No.  You have folks compiling files full of old newspaper clippings, conversations recorded during trysts with hookers you got to first, unseemly photographs taken by ex-cons who need breaks.  You have a lot of minor players collecting a lot of seemingly uninteresting information that you know how to bring together into a bone-chilling collection.

Lesson Two: Just because you think you’re smarter than your opponants doesn’t mean your opponants are idiots.  If you deliver copies of the damning information you have against them to their offices in the middle of the night by leaving those files on their desks and if there are only three groups that have keys to that office–your opponant, the cleaning crew, and the THP–your motherfucking right they’re going to figure out in about fifteen seconds who left the files.

Let’s imagine the scene in Jason Mumpower’s office and count the seconds:

Seconds 1-5, an upset Representative bursts into Mumpower’s office: “Jason, someone left a file containing my expunged records on my desk!”

Seconds 6-8, Mumpower: “I’m sorry.  Could you repeat that?  I was distracted by your awesome tie.”

Seconds 9-14: “Oh, thanks.  But yeah, mysterious files containing expunged arrest records arriving in my locked office blah blah blah.”

Second 15, Mumpower: “Well, shoot.  Someone at the THP is fucking with us.”

Or maybe he said “messing.”  They are Republicans, after all.  Shoot, maybe “messing” is even too strong.  Let’s revise that last line to be, “Well, shoot.  Someone at the THP is fooling with us.”


My point is, even if they burst into Mumpower’s office right when he was in the middle of breakfast and he made them wait to talk to him until after he was done with his biscuits and gravy, the case practically solves itself.

Can’t we add a little finesse?

What about a letter?  “Dear Representative So-and-So, I am the Lord, Your God, Jehovah Almighty, and even though the State has expunged your records, I have not forgotten.  Resign immediately or I will instruct your opponants to use this information against you.  Tell no one of this or I will smite thee.  Love, God.”

Clearly, they’re going to see through that eventually, but if you use antique looking paper and a fancy font, they might be freaked out for a while.

Or throw some decoy files on the desks of Democrats so that it’s not so apparently partisan right away.

I mean, I don’t know.  I’m just coming up with this stuff off the top of my head over breakfast and I haven’t been to any Dan Rostenkowski school of political hard ball.  I’m sure he could do a lot better.  So, let’s get on that.

And, to my TNGOP readers, sitting there silently, I am begging you.  Please, discredit this doofus Governor of ours as fast as you can.  I cannot tell you how much I would love it if he ceased to show up in NYTimes articles giving “folksy” advice to the national candidates.