ESPN has apologized for its racist slur to the Asian community, but risks upsetting even more viewers by standing by The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882.

After annoying Asians that came across ESPN’s “Chink in the Armor” headline, the network has sacked the “person responsible” for the editorial snafu. For those not in the know, it looks like the New York Knicks have a budding star in their midst, and he just happens to be Asian—but not of the freakishly gigantic variety usually imported from overseas. No, this kid is home grown and a Harvard graduate. After a recent loss, one of ESPN’s best and brightest thought it might be wise to throw up a headline with “chink” in it. The rest is history.

In a bizarre news release late Sunday, the sports giant released the following statement:

“We regret using a racist slur in our coverage of Jeremy Lin. In 2012, we sometimes forget that in addition to women, the black community, the hispanic community, the gay community, the disabled, Muslims, transgender, and little people, that Asians have historically been subject to vicious attacks and intolerance. Steps have been taken to ensure this never happens again—until it does. Regardless, ESPN stands by the Chinese Exclusion Act. The Asians of 1882 were a different story, immigrants who most certainly would not have participated in American sporting events of the era. Banning Chinese immigrants for a decade—and their subversive work ethic—ensured 24 hour sports networks like ours would flourish over 100 years later. Moving forward, ESPN will only make comedic references to Christians, Catholics, and Polish people (if that comes back in style again).”

The Associated Press tried to find the Asian equivalent of Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton for a reaction, but was unable to do so. Anonymous sources within AP, fearful that they might cause another dust-up, said off the record that all candidates ended up being engineers and doctors who were disinterested in their story.

Young people at CPAC get drunk and hook up dressed like the Founding Fathers. Young people at the Democratic National Convention hook up in clothes inspired by whatever foreign culture is en vogue. This season the Old Navy keffiyeh scarfs inspired by Palestinian militants will probably get you lucky well before closing time. It's just a shame more people don't experience both.

CPAC, the annual gathering of Conservatives—where beautiful women instinctively flock like the Salmon of Capistrano—just ended. I, Dr. Bizarre, go there every year, just as I plan on attending the Democratic National Convention this fall. Why? Because I love idealistic beautiful women of all political stripes. While most media cover the surface stories (e.g., What does everyone think about Rick Santorum’s chances of finishing off Romney’s campaign?), your good Dr. goes where others fear to tread. Well, I guess a few others went there:

Elise, better known by his handle “Juggler” from Neil Strauss’ notorious pickup memoir The Game, was offering advice to attendees at conservative mega-conference CPAC on how to improve their dating game. Remember that old VH1 reality show The Pickup Artist with that lanky host called “Mystery” teaching people how to insult girls then hit on them when their self esteem is shattered? This is one of his top rivals, charging upwards of $5,000 for a one-day private session…

“The problem with conservatives on dating: we’re too uptight!” he said. “Liberals have the reputation for being fun, we have to go on the date and have fun without smoking pot.” …

At the very least, the session was an opportunity to acknowledge one of the less discussed dynamics of CPAC. Unlike most conservative gatherings, which often resemble Bingo night at the retirement home, the annual conference is usually dominated by college Republicans who bus in en masse. That means the dating scene is sizzling.

Here’s the truth: political gatherings mean nothing. No one’s mind is made up at these events, because their mind is already made up well beforehand. The old people go so they can catch up (and have sex) with their old friends, and the young people go so they can have sex with new friends. At Republican conventions, well-dressed young men who can garble a few passing platitudes about free markets through a drunken stupor end up sleeping with really attractive women. At Democratic conventions, well-dressed young men who can garble a few passing platitudes about diversity sometimes get to sleep with two women at the same time (e.g., a young Rob Lowe). Libertarian gatherings? Well…I can’t say what goes on there because I have at least a modicum of decency—but I highly suggest you find out for yourself. There’s no need for a wing man if you speak English and can pronounce the name “Ron Paul.”

The moral of this story? We’d be a lot better off if we settled arguments by having sex with our political adversaries. “You want to pass H.R. Bill 2357, Nancy Pelosi? Let’s see how long you can filibuster…in bed. PS: I have a gavel in my pants.” I guarantee you Congress would get more done.

This blog was paid for by Dr. Bizarre for Congress. I approve this message.

Michelle Obama recently paid a visit to the Ellen show. While Ellen and she were making small talk, a push-up contest materialized. The two women hit the floor and started knocking them out. Good for daytime television, but bad for news…unless you’re talking about the morons who comment on said “news” pieces with personal attacks.

I don’t have much love for President Obama. In fact, I don’t have much love for ANY politician. But I have even less love for people on either side of the political aisle who would take time out of their day to make “fat” jokes about the First Lady over something as light-hearted and innocuous as her guest appearance on Ellen.

During the Bush administration, anything “W” did—and I mean anything—was immediately used as evidence of his so-called incompetence or a desire to steal your civil liberties. Likewise, there seems to be a bizarre group of people who are simply enraged at Michelle Obama’s mere existence. The Obama’s have a very nice family and two lovely kids. Michelle generally stays under the radar and has one pet issue—healthy eating. There are some legitimate public policy concerns over how she would address America’s obesity problem if she was an elected official…but overall she’s harmless. So if you find yourself calling her “fat” or “a b**ch” online after she appears on a daytime television show…then YOU probably have psychological issues. Or you’re just a really angry, bitter person.

I don’t agree with almost anything Ms. Obama says politically, but I’d rather have her as First Lady then someone with a dominant Stepford Wife gene on full display.

The United States has worried about terrorism for over a deacade. Maybe it should have worried about culturally aborting itself.

Last Independence Day, I happily blogged that The United States was not New Zealand, where men and women willingly went to festivals and did shots of horse semen. Today, I sadly report that NBC’s Fear Factor plans to air a segment where contestants drink donkey semen AND urine. Has America officially aborted itself?

There are a lot of ways a country can judge its health. There are economic indicators, like the debt to GDP ratio. There are immigration statistics. There are “national mood” polls (i.e., right track/wrong track). Any number of those things can offer a snapshot into the vitality and well being of a nation. However, nationally-televised donkey semen drinking contests might be one of those “Case Closed” examples that demonstrate for everyone that the cultural state of the nation is “dead.”

For years we’ve worried about the threat of terrorists when, ironically, we’ve been killing our culture from within. Mike Judge directed the movie Idiocracy, but he didn’t need to—it’s here now. Overseas, soldiers fight for words like “freedom” and “liberty,” but they’re fighting for outdated definitions. Today, freedom is completely detached from the notion of natural rights, and is instead interpreted as “freedom to do whatever the f**k I want, consequences be damned.” The word “liberty” is divorced from the personal responsibility and self-restraint of the founders. Instead, muscled-up meat heads and fake-boobed bimbos giggle on television as losers like Joe Rogan see how little someone will self their dignity for.

The United States may have officially aborted itself. But at least the ratings were through the roof, right Joe?

I’ve covered a lot of bizarre things, but perhaps none more Bizarre than Tim Tebow. He is bizarre in that he seems absolutely, 100%, without-a-doubt genuine. This would not be such a big deal if he was a freak or a deviant, because genuinely-freaky people are easy to find. No, Tim Tebow appears to be genuinely good. He appears to practice what he preaches:

Remember last week, when the world was pulling its hair out in the hour after Tebow had stunned the Pittsburgh Steelers with an 80-yard OT touchdown pass to Demaryius Thomas in the playoffs? And Twitter was exploding with 9,420 tweets about Tebow per second? When an ESPN poll was naming him the most popular athlete in America?
Tebow was spending that hour talking to 16-year-old Bailey Knaub about her 73 surgeries so far and what TV shows she likes…
Even though sometimes-fatal Wegener’s granulomatosis has left Bailey with only one lung, the attention took her breath away.
“It was the best day of my life,” she emailed. “It was a bright star among very gloomy and difficult days. Tim Tebow gave me the greatest gift I could ever imagine. He gave me the strength for the future. I know now that I can face any obstacle placed in front of me. Tim taught me to never give up because at the end of the day, today might seem bleak but it can’t rain forever and tomorrow is a new day, with new promises.”
I read that email to Tebow, and he was honestly floored.
“Why me? Why should I inspire her?” he said. “I just don’t feel, I don’t know, adequate. Really, hearing her story inspires me.”

What makes the Tim Tebow phenomenon so interesting isn’t his on-field play, the off-field altruism, or the fans—but the hatred he often inspires from his detractors. If Tebow is as good of a person as he seems, his critics must do whatever they can to diminish his success; good people in the limelight remind us how flawed the rest of us are. Good people on center stage force us to become better people, or to become bitter and angry as denial becomes more difficult.

No matter what happens to Tim Tebow from here on out, no one can take away the cultural impact he’s already had. Millions of people have already been affected by him. How many people have read John 3:16? How many people have reexamined their own life and made calibrations based on the example Tebow has set? How many people have looked at his humble responses and selfless service and turned over a new leaf? It’s amazing when you step back and think about it.

Everyone loves a winner, and it will be fascinating to see the cultural impact that occurs if an openly unapologetic Christian man is able to have sustained success playing America’s most popular sport. Because nature always seeks to create a balance, a star that burns so strong and so bright for good will certainly bring out the worst in others. Nothing would bring greater joy to Tebow’s critics than to bring him down with his own discharged gun still smoking with hypocrisy. Sadly, the odds of this happening are good, since all of us are flawed. All of us are fallible. All of us have moments of weakness. That’s why this blog exists. But if Tim Tebow is the outlier we’ve been waiting for, and he’s able to avoid the kind of public slip-up so many of us are prone to, it will be something special indeed.

I don’t often root for too many people, but I’m rooting for Tim Tebow.

All this is about to change, as there are reportedly pictures of Ron Paul, naked and slathered in grape jelly, in the hands of The New York Times. An anonymous source claims Paul has a food fetish, otherwise known as sitophilia. On days when the self-appointed master of all things “Constitution” isn’t blasting the fed or lamenting the legality of The Civil Rights Act, he’s practicing his God-given right to strip down to his bare essentials, hit the cupboard filled with Welch’s Grape Jelly, and slather himself up in sticky goodness.

Asked about this unforeseen event, Iowans for Ron Paul President, Guy Fawkes (he refuses to use his real name), said:

“Just as I fight for every American’s freedom of speech—even speech I wholeheartedly disagree with—I will fight for every American’s right to practice their paraphilia as they see fit. If this picture surfaces it will only reinforce my belief that Ron Paul is the right man for the job. Ron Paul is anti-establishment, and what can be more anti-establishment than racist newsletters written by a man who would rather cover himself in jelly than the blood of innocent civilians killed in a war for oil.”

Sources close to the story claim that it will drop a day after the Iowa’s results are in, if Paul wins. Short of a Barack Obama Peanut Butter expose, this story is set to rule whatever news cycle it’s launched in.

George Lucas and Steven Spielberg became successful and gave themselves the CEO Suite on the top floor. Over time it turned into self-imposed solitary confinement. They inadvertantly created a rubber room for themselves, and were driven mad by their own genius. Don't let that happen to you.

This Christmas, if you’ve asked Santa to deliver George Lucas and Steven Spielberg a verbal lashing that would make Indiana Jones’ whip look like a kids toy, you can rest easy: The man behind the Star Wars: Phantom Menace review from God has returned, with a 70 minute withering review that leaves Indian Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull shattered.

If you’re not familiar with the Mr. Plinkett character, it must be noted that although he’s disturbing, his reviews are generally the work of genius. And, while I generally feel that Christmas is a time where we should rejoice and be glad instead of dwelling on disappointments and holding a grudge, George Lucas is The Grinch Whole Stole Star Wars’ Greatness.

Steven Spielberg and George Lucas are both case studies in what happens to great men—visionary men—when they become isolated by their success. They are essentially the CEO who sits on the top floor alone, making decisions without ever getting honest feedback from the foot soldiers they oversee. Steven Spielberg’s slow decline is generally more forgivable, since he’s responsible for some of the greatest movies of all time. Lucas must be brow-beaten because what he did with his masterpiece was the equivalent of Leonardo da Vinc painting the Mona Lisa, hanging it up for the world to see, and then taking it down so he could pop a squat, spray it with diarrhea, and call it modern art.

Mr. Plinkett’s Crystal Skull review is a verbal thrashing of two titans from the Hollywood industry seldom seen. It’s glorious. In 70 minutes he exposes the world to the sad state of affairs two once-great directors are in. They are victims of their own success. How so?

1. Young gun filmmakers set out to change the film industry as they know it. They push the envelope, but because they’re young they’re still questioned along the way (and they also happen to question themselves). There’s push-back, and they must think through their creative decisions and be able to defend them.
2. Young gun filmmakers succeed in changing the industry as we know it. They amass enough power to do whatever they want, without having to answer (rarely, if ever) to their skeptics.
3. Old filmmakers no longer seek to change the industry, but to relive the successes of their youth. In Lucas’ case, he appears to be more interested  in making money off of toys than telling a good story… Surrounded by yes men, their worst ideas are met with nods of approval and two thumbs up. Jar Jar Binks and Indiana Jones: Kingdom of the Crystal Skull are born.

So what’s the moral of the story? The moral of the story is to always ask questions. The moral of the story is to surround yourself with friends who will be honest with you, who will push you to defend your positions, and who just might be better than you at what you do best. If Lucas and Spielberg were smart, they’d surround themselves with the best and brightest young people in the industry—kids with a reputation of being tactful, yet tenacious. They would hire young writers and directors who respect the genius of Jaws, but seek to transcend it with their own stories yet to make it to the big screen.

At some point in time the CEO Suite becomes self-imposed solitary confinement, a rubber room that allows men to be driven mad by their own genius. Or was that driven “sad”? Either way, Mr. Plinkett’s reviews are a public service to any up-and-comer who thinks that their creative endeavors will bring them fame and fortune. When success comes—and it will—don’t lose sight of the kind of environment that honed your skills to begin with. Ask questions, seek out advice, be willing to admit you’re wrong, and hire the type of individuals who could pick up your job at a moment’s notice. If you do, you just might change the world long after conventional wisdom says you’ve reached your expiration date.

Rick Perry’s newest ad, “Strong” is the kind of political ad that only a desperate or crazy man would run. Correction: A desperately crazy man could have made it as well. In Rick Perry’s perfect world, gay soldiers are covered in camouflage and told to shove their sexuality into a little birdhouse in their soul.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m a Christian, but you don’t need to be in the pew every Sunday to know there’s something wrong in this country when gays can serve openly in the military but our kids can’t openly celebrate Christmas or pray in school.  As President, I’ll end Obama’s war on religion. And I’ll fight against liberal attacks on our religious heritage. Faith made America strong. It can make her strong again. I’m Rick Perry and I approve this message. (Emphasis added.)

If someone wants to be the President of the United States of America, is it really a good idea to start dividing people before they’re even elected? Barack Obama doesn’t have a “war on religion.” Were his gay paratroopers landing in Texas and ripping Bibles from the hands of babes? If so, I didn’t see them. I also haven’t seen a lot of jobs created since Barack Obama has been in office, so perhaps the Perry campaign would have been better off talking about the things people care most about—things like putting food on the table.

Question: When that openly gay solider with his legs blown off in Afghanistan wakes up in his hospital bed and turns on the television, does he really deserve to have Rick Perry denigrating him be the first thing he hears? When Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was repealed how many Republicans in Congress made a fuss over it? Not many. In fact, the GOP was mighty silent up on the Hill for that one. Sure, Barack Obama was busy capitulating to the Russians at the time and screwing over our allies (i.e., the New START treaty), but members of Congress certainly let it be known that they weren’t up for a spirited discussion about gays in the military.

What makes Rick Perry’s ad even worse is that he feeds into all the ugliest stereotypes of Conservative Christians. He pulls out his big fat wedge issue and rams it into parts of the American discourse where it doesn’t belong. There’s certainly the proper entry point for the cultural dialogue he seeks, but instead the Texas governor goes the route that causes the most amount of bleeding. Sure, he feels good…but it leaves the rest of us feeling raw and violated.

Get off…the stage, Rick Perry. You’re a joke.

Herman Cain has suspended his campaign and started a new website. History is left to wonder if the allegations were ever true. I hope not, but if they are it can only mean one thing: Herman Cain is a Playa Extraordinaire.

Herman Cain has officially suspended his campaign. It’s over. And in its place is thecainsolutions.com. Since a number of accusers have popped up over the past month he’s been accused of sexual harassment, language that made a woman feel “uncomfortable” (not that hard to do, but it garnered media attention), and a 13 year affair with Ginger White.

What’s most interesting about all of these women is that, in their own right, all of them that media have looked into appear to have tinctures of nuttiness at best, and full-blown weirdness at worst (e.g., charged with stalking and sued for libel). Does that mean that Cain is the victim of a massive liberal conspiracy, as he has been known to suggest? Of course not.

I now put before you an alternative, much more likely scenario: Herman Cain is a Playa Extraordinaire. My very first post was, in fact, The Cheating Manifesto for the Unrepentant Politician, so I know a thing or two about the deviant psyche. And, while I don’t like giving away too many secrets (I need them for myself), I’ll make this exception since Herman Cain appears to dabble in the dark arts of alcohol-inspired debauchery.

• If you are going to cheat on your significant other you do NOT cheat on her with a beautiful woman. Wrong move, Private. Instead, you look for the most hideous, out-of-shape specimen you can find. If you don’t have the stomach for this, do what Herman Cain (may) have done, which is to find women who possess such qualities on a psychological level.
• If you are going to cheat on your significant other, you should be able to walk up to your wife an admit you did so—only to have her laugh in your face and continue on with whatever it was she was doing when you interrupted her. If your lie is so big and “bold” (a word Herman uses often) that no one will believe it, you’ve won half the battle. The rest mostly involves being able to live with yourself, knowing that you’re a horrible person.

Note: I do not advocate doing this. In fact, I believe that such a lifestyle is not conducive to mental, physical, or spiritual health. However, if you’re going to do it (in a free society we’re also free to be stupid), then I might as well help you minimize the damage to the surrounding community. There is a certain chivalry among liars, and one rule they live by is that when it blows up it should mostly blow up in their face, with the collateral damage only being those unfortunate enough to be standing by the blast area.

Herman Cain, if you’ve done any of things you’ve been accused of, I feel sorry for your wife Gloria. The “Playas” of the world, however, salute you.

Today, I’d like to concentrate on the bankers, or perhaps the 1% of the 1%. Recently, I talked with a titan of business named Edward T Bottomhouse III. He refused to tell me which institution he worked for, but he did seem quite miffed when I brought up Bank of America’s recent backpedaling over a five dollar surcharge for all debit and credit transactions. Here now, is my interview:

Dr. Bizarre: Thanks for agreeing to this interview, Edward. It’s been tough to get financiers to speak with me. No one wants to go on the record and discuss what’s going on with the Occupy movement, and the culpability that men like yourself might have in creating the rotten conditions that spawned it.

Bottomhouse III: No problem, B. I can call you ‘B’, right? I hope so, because I’m not going to remember your name… Anyway, if you want to grill me on credit default swaps, sub-prime mortgages, and derivatives I can handle it. Your average American turned to guys like me because we were considered “experts.” We gave them a lot of mumbo-jumbo about what they could do and what they had to do—told them it would all work out in the end—had them sign a few dozen pages filled with legal jargon, and they signed it. Now, whose fault is that? Mine? *laughing* Get real.

Dr. Bizarre: Well, actually, yes. Sort of.

Bottomhouse III: Whatever happened to personal responsibility? I thought this was the good old U.S. of A. Listen B, we can spend all day talking about that stuff, but then we’d be just like those Occupy guys wasting time. I’d rather talk about what I’m doing in my personal life to make amends.

Dr. Bizarre: Sure.

Bottomhouse III: One word: Scullions. Well, make that four: “Scullions and Scullery Maids.” What do you think?

Dr. Bizarre: You’re talking about house cleaners?

Bottomhouse III: No B, I’m talking about going back to a time when income inequality wasn’t nearly what it was today. I’m turning the clock back to a fairer time and place, B. I’m doing it by bringing back a job anyone who can do. A respectable job. A job that builds character, but (and I do mean “butt”), with a modern twist.

Dr. Bizarre: Do tell.

Bottomhouse III: Chamber pots.

Dr. Bizarre: Fascinating.

Bottomhouse III: Long story short, the scullion is invited into my home. He becomes like one of my family, so in some sense he becomes part of the 1%. The only difference is, he has to empty out my chamber pots. I work long hours, so when I crash for the night I really crash. I don’t have time to waste energy going to the bathroom in the middle of the night. So, I hire a modern day scullion to wait by my bedside and empty out the pot. Some nights I’ll be so tired that I won’t even use the pot—I’ll just let it flow. He’ll be equipped with a spray bottle, some baby wipes, and clean sheets. I can roll off to the side and he can strip and replace the sheets without me ever getting off the bed!

Dr. Bizarre: Any other perks?

Bottomhouse III: Well, the great thing about this job is it doesn’t require a fancy degree. No college loan debt is required. I’m just looking for a go-getter who will get going when I get going—literally. I make a mess and they clean it up. It’s that simple.

Dr. Bizarre: Sort of like the bailouts!

Bottomhouse III: Exactly! Errrm, I think.

Dr. Bizarre: Well, this interview has been extremely enlightening. I’m sure my readers will be thrilled that an esteemed man such as yourself took time out of his busy schedule to explain some of the small steps you’re taking to rebuilt trust between the classes.

In a few months I might circle back with Edward Bottomhouse III to see how it’s all working out. Or, perhaps I’ll interview one of his scullions. Regardless, the Occupy Movement and the catalyst for its creation is a complex one. I’m confident that the truth, like a good bowel movement, will work its way out in the end.