Monday, February 12, 2007


Some say let’s show Gavin the gate. It looks like he’ll get lost if he tries to find his own way out.

Monday morning has dawned in San Francisco. We’ve all had a full week to recover from the Super Bowl (Pud’s minority report: “Stupid Bowl”).

I think of the week after the Super Bowl as a national post-coital nap. It’s good timing that Anna Nicole died during a week when no one was going to cover serious news anyway.

So, what ever happened to the thorough investigation conducted by SFPD into the New Years Eve attack by local toughs on visiting choristers from Yale?

On the table is the proposition that the Gleegate attackers, and the Fajitagate attackers, and cops who rough up gay people are acting as agents of the “true San Francisco.” You know, like, we’re a brawlin’, sissies-beware kind of gold rush town.

We San Franciscans insist on balsamic vinaigrette, then we kick you in the balls, or shoot you between the eyes, like Palladin. We’re manly men, like Richard Boone, we just happen to have good taste.

I should remember that many think danger is an attraction.

Heck, it’s common for young men visiting SF for the first time have fantasies of being Shanghaied. Of course, to them “being Shanghaied” includes lots of opium and sex with Chinese women.

So, Gavin, if you want these Yale pussies to fuck off, just say so.

Or, now I get it, that’s what you’ve been saying all along. Stupid me.

That's why Robert Frost left when he could. Fucking pansy!

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