Our wonderful Christmas Eve party at Casa Diablo was spoiled only by Governor Donald Carcieri’s demands that Phillipe don a fake tattoo on his chest (showing Lieutenant Governor Charles Fogarty looking like Herman Munster), and that all the guests be photographed with him bare-chested, while his wife, Sue, did the shots.
This, of course, outdid P&J’s old friend, Weldon Shitehouse, spiking Secretary of State Matt Brown’s Pernod and grapefruit with a double shot of Ex-Lax. But we did consider it unexcusable that Matt would kick down the bathroom door while GOP doyenne Eileen Slocum was applying Botox to her face with a mason’s trowel after already having put on enough lipstick to cover a billboard. Fortunately, Ms. Slocum had left her Derringer on her home night table, lest any of the duskier Newporters break in during the wee hours.
Perhaps the worst part of the evening was having to keep Urinal sportswriter Bill Reynolds from drowning former Governor Bruce "If this is Tuesday, I must be in Belgium . . . or somewhere" Sundlun in the powder room loo. Bill’s relentless attacks on Captain Raccoon in his Saturday column are legend, although we do consider Ed DiPrete’s Dumpster-diving antics much more worthy of media attention.
P&J must admit it has been a hard year. As we have mentioned in this space, at times we feel like weary obituary writers, one of the most recent to fall being Charles Rocket, our respected and beloved friend. We wish all our pals only the best for the years and years of love and care you have given P&J in what will be our 27th year of writing this wiseass doggerel. And many thanks to the intrepid and forgiving Stephen Mindich, ne’er-do-well best buddies Steve Brown and Peter Kadzis, the indefatigable genius Lou Papineau (who should be in the RI Journalism Hall of Fame), and the man of constant patience who puts up with our bullshit, news editor Ian Donnis. And thanks to everyone else behind the scenes at the Phoenix who contributes to making this rag — in Phillipe & Jorge’s eyes — one of the best contributions to life in the Biggest Little.
Selah, Mr. Thompson.
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In case you missed it, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s name has been officially removed from a soccer stadium in Graz, Austria. This was not because his father was a Nazi or due to how his hideous wife, Maria Kennedy, is a professional clown. Instead, Governor Skullhead lost his standing because of Arnie’s fascination with death sentences, like the one he imposed on the creep "Tookie" Williams, the former Crips kingpin who was aced last week for killing four people. It must be said that Tookie — what a cute name, sort of like "Scooter" Libby, another despicable enemy of the people — deserved his fate. But in Austria, a country where murderers and torturers like Dubya Bush and "Big Time" Cheney are not tolerated, Skullhead’s death trip didn’t play too well.
Hopefully, the Skullheads will soon be departing from the governor’s mansion on the Left Coast, primarily because he s an oafish, muscle-bound girl-groper, and she is an anorexic harridan who has compromised her family’s good name as Democratic leaders. (Of course, we will never forgive Teddy Kennedy’s blatant contribution to the death of Mary Jo Kopechne, which many would describe as being an accessory to murder.)