RUN, YOU BIG BEAUTIFUL SON OF A BITCH, RUN!!1!!!111!!

Most law enforcement officers signed up for the job hoping to clothesline a would-be purse-snatcher or tackle a terrorist moments before he takes out a preschool classroom. Then you spend the next 20 years filling out paperwork and having teenagers throw donuts at your car.

Then one day you’re out on the beat — your hair still greasy and matted down from a Sunday spent watching the Jets and Giants move to 3-0 — and you find yourself a key player in the single greatest sentence in the history of American journalism:

Police say a 1,400-pound bull that escaped from a northern New Jersey slaughterhouse dragged officers with a lasso down a street and ran 10 blocks before being captured and sedated.

I don’t think I should have to break this down for you people, but I think I can prove quantitatively that this is the most awesomest sentence ever written:

1. A bull busted out of a slaughterhouse? +2 awesomeness points!

2. This happened in Paterson, N.J.? +9 awesomeness points!

3. Police in Paterson have lassos? +25 awesomeness points!

4. The bull dragged MULTIPLE officers down the street with said lasso before being detained? +ELeventy-billion awesomeness points!

I’m actually glad I wasn’t around to see this unfold. I’ve heard bulls are attracted to uncontrollable laughter and hyperventilation. And that the cops in Paterson have fucking lassos and aren’t afraid to use them. YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAW!!!!

Anyway, the cops finally did subdue the bull, but only after the animal’s failed attempt to fit in with its new environment:

1,400-pound bull drags officers down NJ street [AP]

This is embarrassing

Perry Ellis

You mean to tell me the best James Michael Curley‘s home town can do is a couple of penny-ante liquor license fooraraws, while the governor of Illinois gets taken down by the Feds?

Somebody tell Deval to get on the stick and bribe somebody already. And it wouldn’t hurt to throw in a few curses, either.

Best. Haircut. Ever.

Update: Sorry but it’s still funny

 

Perry Ellis

Yesterday we relayed the hilarious clip of some dude knocking Noel Gallagher ass-over-teakettle. Turns out it’s not funny anymore:

“Despite his injuries, Noel returned to the stage a few minutes later to complete the band’s set but was taken to hospital after the show to be examined for a suspected fractured rib and ligament damage. The assailant was detained in police custody and will be charged with assault.”

Well, I still hate Oasis (and I still think that shit is kinda funny), but fractured ribs are no joke. That’s gotta hurt like hell (and looking at it again it appears that the guy caught poor Noel from behind and completely unaware, which is the definition of a cgheap shot. Gutless. Punk.)

So hopefully Noel will recover soon so he can get back to torturing people with his crappy songs. Feel better, dude.

Best. Headline. Ever.

Perry Ellis

Mrs. Ellis and I will be welcoming little Buster into the world tomorrow, so posts from Perryville will be in short supply for a while.

To help tide you over, though, go here for the best headline you’ll ever read. Ever.

Wednesday WTF!!?: Perry Indignata edition

Perry Ellis

In the latest edition of our heralded “Features inaugurated that die from neglect” series comes this report via Pitchfork about Frank Black Black Francis Charles Michael Kittridge Thompson IV, who evidently has lost his fucking mind:

“Onetime Pixies frontman Charles ‘Some Combination of “Frank or Francis” and “Black”‘ Thompson, fresh off the release of his mini-LP SVN FNGRS, will open a handful of shows on the Stone Temple Pilots reunion tour this summer. The very same Stone Temple Pilots fronted by the fella whose next LP is being recorded by one Steve Albini? Indeed, the same. Could our STP being making their grab at art-rock glory? Is a critical reappraisal of Shangri-La Dee Da nigh? Man, whatever, just as long as Candlebox aren’t reuniting or anything. Ah, shit.”

“
       We know exactly how you feel, Chuck.

Just about the only thing we hate more than Alice in Chains is the insipid, wannabe, pukesome AiC imitation that is Stone Temple Pilots. We loved the Pixies, just freakin’ loved ‘em, and Mr. Thompson’s solo efforts are in mild rotation ’round the Ellis manse. So this is bad news.

The good news? Thirty-nine days and counting.

And what the fuck is Albini thinking, anyway? You need to get a grip, people. seriously. Let us spell it out for you:

STP : Good music :: Dog shit : Fine dining.

Jesus.

Imagine what they’d do in Kentucky

Perry Ellis

It’s probably not news that in large swaths of America, homophobia is the norm. We came up in the 80s, when the Fenway was a no-fly zone after dark and “fag bashing” was the local neo-mook’s favorite form of recreation.

And it’s no surprise that a couple of guys kissing in public in Birmingham, Ala., prompted a 911 call from a hopelessly bigoted idiot concerned citizen.

But we thought some progress had been made, especially here in Massachusetts, where you might have heard something about gays and and weddings a few years back. So the depraved sociopath gentleman near the end of this clip evincing the desire to “put down” homosexuals, as if they were akin to Barbaro or the family weiner dog, gave us a disgustingly familiar chill.

We went to college with a guy named Dan, who was really smart, a little nerdy and otherwise seemingly normal.

Then one summer he and a few friends beat a gay man to death with baseball bats on a Boston street and Dan went to the Big House for a very, very long time (but not long enough; he’s probably out on parole by now).

Violence and racism seethe scarily close to the surface of our society. We guarantee that one of your relatives, close friends or co-workers is nursing the deformed, ugly idea that some class or sub-genre of human being is in fact inhuman. In fact, an honest look within yourself will likely find some nasty prejudices lurking in the far corners.

Open letter to the kid who slashed the tire of my car while I was driving it

Perry Ellis

Dear Kid,

You may remember me as the guy driving the car whose tire you slashed as you and your three loser friends rode your bikes down my street. What you may not realize is that I live one house over from where you and your buddies blocked the road with your bikes before you decided to fuck up my day.

Let’s try a little thought experiment: Try to imagine my fury over this incident. In broad daylight, virtually in front of my own home, while we were in the moving car, you slashed my tire for no reason whatsoever as my horrified, seven-months-pregnant wife and two of her relatives looked on.

Why? Are you such a yellow dog, no-account, punk-ass bitch that you felt the need to vandalize our only means of transportation? Want to know my guess? Yes, you are.

Was it just a lark, something fun to do and then brag about to your loser friends? That tire cost me $180 dollars to replace; does that add to your glee? Are you happier in your pathetic, insular little world knowing that you cost a complete stranger nearly $200 on a whim?

I and my wife work our asses off to afford our place. We love it and the neighborhood. We’re pretty fond of the car, too. Not to mention the money we’re trying to save to raise a child. So this really sucked, big time.

The milk of human kindness is not known to run thick in my veins, but I can still find it within myself to hope that you and the meathead, crap-sack minions you call friends never have to experience something as infuriating and violating as this. You complete douchebag.

That said, you better pray I never see you on that cute little yellow bike again. I will door your ass into the next century, bitch. Seriously. I will fuck you up. Then I’ll laugh my ass off watching you cry your way home to Mama. Punk.

Book thieves are angsty, existential, white

Pax Arcana

I have never stolen anything in my life — except the hearts of the millions of tweener girls who fawn over my every move on this site — so I’m not really sure what inspires the choices of the common shoplifter.

When it comes to books, there’s a former bookstore employee in Seattle who has a pretty good idea. In fact, he once grabbed a list from a potential shoplifter that laid out what he should be stealing:

Once, a scruffy, large man approached me, holding a folded-up piece of paper. “Do you have any Buck?” He paused and looked at the piece of paper. “Any books by Buckorsick?” I suspected that he meant Bukowski, but I played dumb, and asked to see the piece of paper he was holding. It was written in crisp handwriting that clearly didn’t belong to him, and it read:

1. Charles Bukowski

2. Jim Thompson

3. Philip K. Dick

4. William S. Burroughs

5. Any Graphic Novel

This is pretty much the authoritative top five, the New York Times best-seller list of stolen books. Its origins still mystify me. It might have belonged to an unscrupulous used bookseller who sent the homeless out, Fagin-like, to do his bidding, or it might have been another book thief helping a semi-illiterate friend identify the valuable merchandise. I asked the man whether he preferred Bukowski’s Pulp to his Women, as I did, and whether his favorite Thompson book was The Getaway or The Killer Inside Me. First the book chatter made him nervous, but then it made him angry: He bellowed, “You’re just a little bitch, ain’t'cha?” and stormed out.

The author, Paul Constant, says the books on the list conform pretty much to his own experience with shoplifters, who are often driven by the same vague nihilism and purposeless lashing out at the world that causes them to show up at WTO conferences and throw stuff for reasons not entirely clear to them.

Have I mentioned they’re mostly young white men?

The list of popular books is surprisingly static, although newer artists have earned their place in the pantheon with Hunter S. Thompson and the Beats: Palahniuk, Murakami, and Danielewski have become hugely popular antisellers in the last five years. I’ve had hundreds of dollars of graphic novels—Sandman, Preacher, The Dark Knight Returns—lifted from right under my nose all at once. Science fiction and fantasy are high in demand, too: The coin of the realm is now, and has always been, the fiction that young white men read, and self-satisfied young white men, the kind who love to stick it to the man, are the majority of book shoplifters.

Look, angry white men. If you really want to stick it to the man, just put on a Pax Arcana Tag Cloud T-shirt and go back to your blog and link to this site. We’re totally punk. In fact, we almost called this blog a ‘zine, but the tweener girls in our focus group didn’t know what that meant.

Flying Off the Shelves [The Stranger]

FBI rounds up 80 Giants fans in organized crime bust

Pax Arcana

In a day-long sweep yesterday, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) single-handedly reinforced dozens of stereotypes of the New York/New Jersey area.

Somebody always took the cannolis.

According to the New York Times, law enforcement officials were able to round up 80 members of the Gambino, Bonanno, and Genovese crime families. Or, as we called them in New Jersey, the “mafia.”

The crimes charged in the federal indictment span three decades and include racketeering conspiracy, murder, extortion, theft of union benefits loan-sharking, securities fraud, conspiracy to distribute cocaine and marijuana, money laundering and illegal gambling.

Attorney General Andrew M. Cuomo of New York, who oversees the Organized Crime Task Force, said the case was built in large part with the aid of an informer who won the confidence of Gambino crime family figures and helped record hundreds of hours of mob conversations.

I can’t help but point out the bad timing of this bust — days after the Giants’ spectacular, unprecedented victory over the Patriots. Don’t you think they could have waited a week or two before bringing this shame on the great fans of NY? If the Pats had won, don’t you think they would have let people celebrate for a while before sending the fashion police through Southie to scoop up every Murph and Sully in an Adidas sweatsuit and Kangol?

This anti-Italianism shall not stand!

In Big Mob Sweep, Gambino Leaders Are Indicted [New York Times]

Have you seen this man?

Pax Arcana

Speaking of domestic violence, the rakish gentleman pictured above is wanted for just that. (Hat tip: Boing Boing)

His name is Robert Morin, and he hails from Father Scott’s old stomping grounds of Lewiston, Maine — proving once again that you DO NOT drink water from the tap in Lewiston.

Anyway, let’s hope police catch him before he jumps back into the Bugs Bunny cartoon from which he escaped.

The Smoking Gun [Official Site]