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Phillipe & Jorge’s Cool Cool World: The Ads & The Influence

Under the Influence

The legendary writer and public provocateur H.L. Mencken once wrote that a serious journalist had to do two things: Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.

That has been one of the touchstones for Phillipe and Jorge since we have been writing this column continuously (albeit for a variety of media outlets) for what is now our 43rd year (Yikes!). There were other inspirations, but now obscured by time, and you wouldn’t recognize them anyway.

P&J aren’t sure if we ever comforted the afflicted to the degree we would wish, but we sure as hell afflicted the comfortable, by attacking the powers that be at the leaders at the State House and the then-mighty Providence Urinal. Our goal was to piss off, in a very wise-ass fashion, all of them.

Which had never been done before, and which set their hair on fire.

Phillipe alone had the governor, speaker of the house, and head of the Urinal’s editorial board call his bosses and demand that he be fired. Fortunately, his superiors didn’t take shit from anyone, rallied around and said what he did on his own time was his choice. (Read: Get stuffed, pal.) P&J – 1 Dickheads – 0.

(Quick note to aspiring journalism/communications ‘utes. If you think you are ever going to make enough money in this market through your grand ideas and typing skills, fuggedaboudit. Unless you can bullshit your landlord into taking a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a dozen Slim Jims each month until you catch up on the rent, get a real job, boys and girls.)

Aah, but now the point we’re trying to get to. Despite all our tedious labor, one thing we would never call ourselves is “influencers.” What a despicable word.

Other than this over-inflated, abused and obscene misnomer – as anyone can call themselves an “influencer” – it comes in second in the Cringeworthy Category only behind the bean bag toss game that has now jaw-droppingly been called “Cornhole.” Really? REALLY?

There’s a larger point to make here. “Influencers” is simply a self-promoting and pretentious title to claim. If you ever hear P&J say we are influencers, you have permission to put a .22 slug into the backs of our heads, mob-execution style.

So we have a few questions for these clowns who claim that title:

  • Who are you?
  • What are your credentials? (Saying you have a podcast does not count)
  • What mouth-breathing, clueless lost souls who have no ability to make decisions on their own do you hope to “influence?”
  • Do you really believe anyone cares what you think about anything, as you are most likely delusional?

So please, please let us never refer to anyone as an influencer, because it insults everyone’s intelligence. Then again, this is America in 2022 and its farcical social media. So being a con man is now accepted if not celebrated, as  illustrated by our electing a deranged, lying grifter like Donald Trump as our president, a sin that just keeps on giving. 

Ad Nauseum (cont’d.)

As the TV political ads are now picking up steam, P&J are amused to see the direction they are taking.

Perhaps the weirdest one we have seen is governor Dan “Who He?” McKee’s spot featuring his mother.  We understand the thinking behind it — family guy, respects his elders, not afraid to make fun of himself — but it is just bizarre to wheel Mummy out as his foil. The only redeeming piece of it is at the end, when Mom quips about what a true guy he is, a governor who still lives with his mother. Instead of fidelity, that conjures up for P&J a fat kid living in the family basement playing Dungeons and Dragons with a can of grape soda and a lapful of Cheetos (We think they mean orange soda – influen… er, editor).

And some unsolicited advice to our endorsed candidates for governor and looie guv, Nellie Gorbea and Deb Ruggerio: turn the energy level up a couple notches in your ads and hit kitchen table issues like people having no money for such pesky items as food and fuel. Not even half of your admirable traits of action and attitude are coming across.

We would refer them to the best ad locally, by Shannon Liss-Riordan, running for attorney general in Massachusetts, who comes across as engaging, with a smile on her face while still looking like an ass-kicker.

You’re welcome.




Phillipe and Jorge’s Cool, Cool World: Automatic reaction and ProJo Opinions

Red Herrings

Despite all the caterwauling over the atrocious, bought-and-paid-for decision to knock down Roe v. Wade by conservative Supreme Court Justices (pardon the oxymoron), Phillipe & Jorge are finding solace elsewhere.

That is why we are comforted by the facts that show that there are more guns in America than people. This is helpful in the way that if you leave the house and forget your weapon, as you might your sunglasses, on the kitchen table, instead of having to go back in to retrieve it, you can continue on knowing you have a spare .45 in your glove compartment making things hunky-dory.

While the recent Buffalo and Uvalde shootings added to the hideous mix of other mass killing atrocities that have been unspeakable, and have led to what the members of Congress can’t stop patting themselves on the back for their “momentous” legislation (30 years and a dollar too late), this “bipartisan” attempt to cure citizens from packing 24/7 is a total sham.

While mental health background checks and school security are doubtless serious issues, they are merely programmed and strategic distractions from the major issue of outlawing the sale and ownership of assault weapons, which no one, especially the spineless GOP (Proprietor, National Rifle Association) wants to talk about.

No one, no one, needs an assault rifle, except to kill people. Have all these mass murders been committed by anyone using a handgun? Or hunters shooting from deer stands or duck blinds? Thought not.

The public is being told intentionally to look the other way, as if by a magician or a three-card monte dealer on a city street, to distract you from the very real and deadly problem that is killing America and Americans: assault weapons for sale to virtually anyone who can stand upright and fork over the dough.

Only when people wake up to challenge the false flag arguments being foisted on us by knowingly corrupt politicians, and address the real problem of assault weapons being sold, without a hint of the fact that they are the things that have been at the core of all the mass murders, should we feel we have even addressed the main problem. Only criminals have guns? How many street crimes involve assault weapons? How many deadly domestic blow-ups involve assault weapons? How many legitimate hunters use assault weapons? How many mass shootings involve assault weapons? Oops! Yeah, you got it. Doesn’t take a genius, does it?

So let’s cut the bullshit about these supposedly giant steps the country’s legislators at the national and local levels are taking to stop mass murders. It is indeed a Confederacy of Dunces. And guess who the dunces are, boys and girls? (And don’t think the politicians and NRA don’t know it.)

Spaced Out

The once mighty and respected Providence Urinal continues to dissolve before our eyes. You could call it fish wrap, but it is so thin now it could only hold a couple of small scup at best. That for $3 a day and $6 on Sunday. What a bargain!

For those of you smart enough to avoid buying a hard copy of the paper, it has jettisoned its editorials, as no one other than old hands like Kathy “Faster, Pussy Cat, Kill, Kill” Gregg, Pinky Patinkin, Patrick Anderson and a few other old hands actually have a clue about how Little Rhody operates and what the people think, and they obviously aren’t consulted. Now the non-resident owners have also said that their “Opinions” columns will be less opinionated, and if you can explain that to any sentient human being, you win. Double Pabulums all around!

No doubt to keep those two scup covered until you get home from fishing, you would be astounded to see that the obituaries section has now been enlarged, not by an increasing number of deaths, thank all gods, but by using hugely oversized type and photos, resulting in a few pages the size of a Cardi’s ad. This is known in the journalism trade as filling space. So now The Urinal can add an additional couple pages to make it seem less airy than a spider’s web, and brag about how they actually had enough copy to fill out 10 pages in the front section. It is so hideously overblown (over an event no one is pleased to announce) that while the folks that pay for the declaration of recent deaths might appreciate the frameable size of the news, it borders on the obscene, given the crassness that lies behind it.

Used to be that your local paper’s editorials were the conscience of the community, and in those days, rightly so. No more on Fountain Street. The top levels are controlled by clueless outsiders who barely know who Buddy was, or, for that matter, Raymond, and who you would have to physically turn and point out where Narragansett Bay is, as they were staring up the Woonasquatucket River looking for it.

P&J wonder how much space in the obits will be taken up when The Urinal dies?




Phillipe and Jorge’s Cool Cool World: Insane Over Ukraine

Apocalypse Now?

Little more can be said about the atrocities being carried out in Ukraine. They are being led by Russian President Vladimir Putin, Donald Trump’s best pal, who has morphed into a Hitler for our age.

Phillipe and Jorge have lived through plenty of what seemed to be scary moments in our own presidency, from the criminally deranged Richard Nixon and absurd moron Dubya Bush, controlled by his shameless puppeteers Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld. And as for Trump, how low can you go when it comes to disgracing America on the world stage?

But the Russian invasion of Ukraine has upped the ante of murder and oppression to new levels of war crimes and soulless destruction that is beyond frightening. And the threat of nuclear weapons controlled by a madman has made real fears of an obliterating war worldwide.

Putin now tops the list of megalomaniacs in power, alongside Kim Jong Undeuxtrois in North Korea, ahead of the usual cluster of dictatorial South American and African neo-fascists who control their countries, imprison and torture opponents, and starve their people between shopping for mega-yachts. 

Mr. Kurtz? He ain’t dead.

Is Putin sane? Not a chance. Did you check out the 50-foot-long table he sits at the opposite end of when speaking to foreign emissaries? (And best bets are Trump has already ordered one for Mar-a-Lago.) We also like how he plays hockey and somehow scores six goals in a game – the equivalent of the fat midget Kim’s claims to have played golf for the first time and gotten 18 holes-in-one. Oh, c’mon, just throw a couple birdies in there, you despicable shithead.

What is most frustrating is the feeling that we are watching a group of people getting attacked on the street, outnumbered two-to-one, as we watch safely from behind a huge window. This helpless feeling makes you think there comes a time when you have to shatter that window, and jump into the fray to help those being beaten to death.

Putin won’t let up. It’s time we stepped up.

Who Are These People?

In the most high-profile political races in Little Rhody this year, what stands out most is this: Who the eff are these people running for critical offices?

Looking at the gubernatorial race, anyone who can name all the potential candidates gets free Awful-Awfuls for life. Current guv Dan “Who He?” McKee stumbled into his office to replace the desperate political climber Gigi Raimondo with a resume you could print on a cocktail napkin. And he has done little, save for seemingly alienating most of his highest-level advisors at the Department of Health over the COVID-19 pandemic and how to deal with it. (Miss ya already, Dr. Alexander-Scott.)

Fortunately, P&J’s fave rave, current Secretary of State Nellie Gorbea, has jumped in to challenge “Who He?” and if you don’t vote for her, turn your brain in for examination. (Whoever the GOP puts up as a candidate is essentially DOA, but if they are smart they will trouser any leftover campaign donations in return for being cannon fodder.)

And in the looie governor race, P&J are delighted that state Rep. Deb Ruggiero has thrown her golf cap into the ring. She may not be familiar to statewide voters at this point, but her work on Aquidneck Island and in South County gives her impeccable credentials which we are sure will extend to the state as a whole.

Even better, unless we have totally misread these young and dynamic young ladies, they will be a formidable and powerful team. Neither has a big ego, and no doubt Nellie could easily work alongside Deb, unlike the way Raimondo treated McKee like a valet parking attendant.

The only other race of interest is for the Congressional District 2 spot in DC being vacated by Jim Langevin.  Former Cranston Mayor Allen Fung, a nice guy and not totally incompetent, has jumped in for the Republicans (no doubt pinching his nose and holding his breath).

He’ll have to face General Treasurer Seth Magaziner, whom P&J endorse, but with one major caveat: you better move to District 2 toot sweet, Seth. There’s a reason why Narragansett Beer’s successful slogan with the folks in the Biggest Little has always been, “Hi Neighbor!” So you better become a neighbor quickly if you expect any votes from that constituency.

Blind Curves

Phillipe and Jorge pulled into our local drive-through ATM at the bank the other day, and got our usual chuckle out of the fact that on the touch-plates where you enter your account number, etc. instructions are also provided in Braille.

Now we may be missing something here, and correct us if we’re wrong, but it seems to us that the idea of a blind person driving may be a bit frightening, even with best intentions of providing all-access availability to the public. There are enough idiotic and dangerous blind-drunk drivers in Vo Dislun that we needn’t encourage those who legitimately can’t see to fall into the mix.

Be afraid. Be very afraid. But then again, this is our Little Rhody. Deal with it.

The opinions herein do not necessarily represent those of Motif.




Phillipe & Jorge’s Cool, Cool World: Licensed to choose

The People’s Choice

There is an old RI adage that says there are a million people in the state, therefore a million different opinions on every subject you can bring up.

Hence the incredibly important and critical issue of what our new license plates should look like, which is now being brought to Vo Dislunders to vote upon. While we love the idea of open public input on any government decisions, let us perhaps wait a beat.

In past years, Phillipe and Jorge have relied upon our chauffeur, Bruno, to get us the vanity plates for our limousine. During his last attempt, he came up with the quite notable and applaudable “PNJ.” He then explained that his first choice, “ASSHOLES,” was unfortunately too long.

So now we, the great unwashed, have been given the choice among five different plates to replace the none-too-beloved gray “Wave” plates. While this is a great nod to public opinion, here’s what can happen (hilariously).

In 2016, the British government asked for a name from the concerned taxpayers of the UK for a new, gigantic and highly publicized polar research vessel through its Natural Resources Research Council via best suggestions. What they ended up with, through a screamingly laughable result, was a vast majority of voters choosing “Boaty McBoatface.” Supporters of the movement even asked the world-famous TV environmentalist icon Sir David Attenborough if he minded if it were christened “Sir Boaty McBoatface.”

Needless to say, the public’s demand didn’t fly. (You chickens.)

But as far as P&J are concerned, the only one of the plates with any sense of dignity, save for Buddy McCianciface, is the one with the dark blue panel at the top with a sailboat and Newport Bridge laid back in the heart of the plate. And we remain confounded that our personal submission, with the highlighted top panel saying “Lobsters and Mobsters,” and featuring a man on one side in a black suit and fedora pointing a gun at a lobster with its claws in the air on the opposite side, did not receive full consideration. Sorry, Raymond.

But what do we know? Except that your opinion, not ours, sucks.

Motif Told You So

Now that the feds have joined R.I. Attorney General Peter Neronha in investigating the blatantly rigged contract bid from Governor Dan (Who He?) McKee’s buddies at the improbable “ILO Group” within days of his inauguration, may we take you back to what Phillipe and Jorge wrote in this space months ago, under the title “Ticking Bomb”:

Keep your eye on the potential political explosion over the awarding of a $5.2 million contract to the neophyte consulting firm ILO Group for education reform and school reopening strategies. As far as scandals go, this is a full Rhode Island…

“ILO was not formed until after Governor Dan “Who He?” McKee took office from Gina Raimondo.  And ILO was not only full to the rim with McKee acolytes and backers, but was given the hands-on guidance of his staffers on how to submit the bid for the contract.

“The Department of Education and statehouse legislators have looked at this deal with raised eyebrows and sideways glances, but they know just what went on between ILO and McKee’s crew. Now the state police and attorney general Peter Neronha have also started looking into this rotten fish.

“…You sleep with one eye open, Danny Boy.”

P&J are always at your service. No need for applause.

Purple Reign

As unabashed fans of British royalty (because who could be more of a trove of cable TV fodder and hoots), P&J saw the royal family take a kick in the chops when they sent Prince Wills and the immaculate Kate, (whatever her title is, but she is still drop-dead beautiful, which will excuse any future trysts with royal handlers (geddit?)) down to the Caribbean to try to make nice with their former colonies, most of which, like Barbados, are in the process of not having to kiss a 95-year old dowager’s bustle.

And why not? Cuckolded Prince Charles is a joke in England, still talking to his plants while enduring his dreadful wife Camilla (the cigarette-smoking, gin-drinking future Queen Consort and focus of Charles’ insane love letter, “I want to be your tampon”); And howsabout Randy Andy, the pedophile prince, who has disgraced the monarchy, most laughably with his photo of him with a 17-year old Jeffrey Epstein sex trafficked child, saying he never knew her nor could identify her. (You gonna believe me or your lying eyes?) And Harry and Meghan have also lost the royal plot, as they have become L.A. media whores of the first order.

No surprise, really. When P&J went to Sri Lanka (formerly Ceylon when the Brits were in town years ago), our colleagues there told us a joke that was known throughout all the British colonies:

Q: Why did the sun never set on the British Empire?

A: Because God never trusted Queen Victoria in the dark.

Ba-da-bam! Rule, Brittania (heh, heh).

Donald’s Dance

Today’s words of wisdom come from a quote attributed to the New York Times, via The Week magazine.

It is an old Russian proverb:

“If you invite a bear to dance, it’s not you who decides when the dance is over. It’s the bear.”

Congrats to Donald Trump for offering to do the Philly Stroll with Vlad Putin. We assume no crotch grabs were involved, unless it was by Vlad, because he already had America’s former number one sissy Cadet Bone Spurs and Putin sycophant, The Donald, by the balls.




Phillipe & Jorge: Tips for nips and soup nazis

In the Nip of Time

As observers of the current scene with the highest credentials, Phillipe & Jorge are well aware of today’s legislative priorities: climate change; racial (in)justice; childhood poverty; insider deals; and political corruption, to name just a few.

But we must also remark that in our learned opinion, one of the key legislative issues that faces all Vo Dislunders today: that of Democratic state representative David Bennett of Warwick’s bill to halt the sales of “nip” bottles of alcohol. (Think airplane flights. You’re welcome.) That is because he has seen many littering his neighborhood.

As the preposterous saying goes, “Guns don’t kill people; people kill people.” Well, nips don’t litter; people litter. Got that?

Perhaps Rep. Bennett has had a nip problem in his past? Why this assault on drinkers who aren’t shopping the liquor store aisles looking for expensive and exotic Burgundy bottles or Pappy Van Winkle’s three-digit-dollars fifths of bourbon? Instead, Bennett is putting forth his bill because of littering, trash which he believes is primarily nips.

Nips are a staple of liquor stores, hardly Big Biz, but relied upon − some owners say up to 20 percent − for their sales. Many are conveniently located right next to the cash register, in the way supermarkets have candy bars and gum right on your way out, for those spur of the moment sales; in this case front-loading for a big party or date.

And nips are cheap, about $1 a pop, which make them very valuable to folks who can’t and probably shouldn’t opt for a hip-sized half-pint of vodka. Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker, as the saying goes. So those most affected will be package store owners, through no fault of their own.

We suggest that if Rep. Bennett is a true crusader against litter, he take on the fast-food outlets whose empty wrappers and cups are omnipresent in streets and parking lots … and see how quickly he’s staring down the barrels of the white-shoe lawyers from those industries. C’mon, tough guy, you go first.

This bill is, on the face of it, laughable. But who says surrealism and silliness are dead on Smith Hill? Shot, please, no chaser.  Rep. Bennett will be cleaning up afterward.

GOP Word Play

Ya gotta love the wonderful way members of the Trump-ass-kissing Republican Party use the English language. 

Who else could spout mind-altering stuff that, on the bright side, leaves Phillipe & Jorge on the floor laughing and in disbelief at what comes out of the mouths of these frothing idiots without any filter to avoid sounding barking mad, from folks who otherwise think “dumb” doesn’t have a “b” at the end. (Tip o’ the beret and sombrero to Dan Quayle, who was way out in front on this defining scenario years ago.) So we have fun.

The first howling instance came when Georgia’s U.S. Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene said that House Speaker Nancy Pelosi was siccing the authorities on people who refused to wear masks in a way reminiscent of the “Gazpacho police” of Nazi Germany. Er, uno momento, Senorita Marge, those Aryans were the “Gestapo,” and probably would have also sent any Spanish chilled soup chefs to the ovens, Jewish or not, but close enough for your fascist friends. Oh, never mind. 

This woman is even stupider than Sarah Palin, if you can believe that (or is it possible?). But keep an eye on that cilantro to habanero balance, boys and girls, or Pelosi’s storm troopers will be on your ass. (Oh yeah, we almost forgot to mention queen of the inbred crackers Rep. Gazpacho is also the one who said the California fires this year were started by lasers from space. “That proves it,” by P&J’s long-established Plan 9 from Outer Space credentials.)

Part 2 – Now we had the Republican National Committee saying that the January 6 insurrection at the Capitol building was “legitimate political discourse.”  Well, perhaps the Capitol Police and other authorities who were injured or died afterward might like to have a say about this “discourse.” This was so offensive and crude that even the wattled and bourbon-soaked old grifter Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell condemned this stance by the GOP. But P&J can hardly wait to see how the Republican Trump butt-boys and girls deal with this in the upcoming mid-year elections.

Now here is “legitimate political discourse” from your Casa Diablo geniuses: The Republican Party is a gutless, brainless, destructive bane on America. Suck on our discourses. Legitimately. 

Words to Live By

“Oh, those Americans − the repose, the calm, they know it not.” – Hercule Poirot in Agatha Christie’s The Mystery of the Blue Train.

“(You want) Heineken?! Heineken?!?! PABST BLUE RIBBON!!!” – Dennis Hopper’s drug-crazed psychopath Frank Booth, counseling Kyle MacLachlan’s character on his beer of choice in the legendary David Lynch film Blue Velvet.




Phillipe and Jorge’s Cool Cool World: Greta changes in climate & deforming RI schools

Out of the Mouths of Babes…

We all now live in The World of Lies. Past and recent exemplars of this are: “The check’s in the mail”; an extremely obscene promise concerning oral sex; anything issued by the Pentagon; and, of course, anytime Donald Trump’s lips are moving. 

But right up there are the most disgusting, shameless, and bloviating pronouncements put out by the recent United Nations climate change summit following their vacuous meeting in Glasgow. False claims of mighty success towards halting climate change were issued by more empty suits than you would find at a Brooks Brothers fire sale. (The U.S. “ambassador” to this farce was John Kerry. Say no more.)

People serious about changing the way we live saw no real progress except for absurd promises. These were essentially broken before the delegates boarded their planes, laughing all the way. 

Hey, Californians, still toasting marshmallows over your fires? What’s the swimming like in your basements and down Main Street, you Midwest and Southern riverine dwellers? And how ‘bout them twisters in Texas and Oklahoma? Yeah, everything’s bigger in Texas.

This Glasgow summit was the fitting equivalent of what is known in Great Britain as a “Glasgow kiss.” That’s a head butt to the face of the person you are squaring up to, designed to break the nose of your opponent. Oopsy-daisy.

The quote of the week came from Greta Thunberg, the famous 18-year old climate change crusader for sanity and the future, who has more guts and brass balls than any of the UN and national government delegates. She spoke her mind to 100,000 demonstrators, “We say no more ‘blah, blah, blah.’ No more whatever the fuck they’re doing in there.”

Out of the mouths of babes…

The Ticking Bomb

Keep your eye on the potential political explosion over the awarding of a $5.2 million contract to the neophyte consulting firm ILO Group for education reform and school reopening strategies. As far as scandals go, this is a full Rhode Island. (And huge kudos to WPRI Channel 12 for uncovering this farrago and continuing to pursue it.) And we’ve only had a peek under the tent flap so far, it appears.

ILO was not formed until after Governor Dan “Who He?” McKee took office from Gina Raimondo.  And ILO was not only full to the rim with McKee acolytes and backers, but was given the hands-on guidance of his staffers on how to submit the bid for the contract. WPRI discovered that ILO’S actual bent windfall was millions more than other more established firms. Experience? We don’t need no steeenking experience… especially when it involves the future of Little Rhody’s children, right?

At issue was the governor’s staffers involvement with ILO as a bidder, likely to craft the Request for Proposals (RFP) to their specs. P&J have had experience in issuing RFPs, and if you do a crooked one, you are able to make sure it has elements in it that favor a particular firm. To be a bit over the top, if Firm X has three albinos in upper management who speak Kiswahili, that requirement will be deftly hidden in the RFP, but can essentially screw other bidders who lack the Kiswahili-speaking albinos in their executive suite. “Sorry, we really needed to see that diversity for you to get hired.”

Because this RFP looked like a real hummer, the bid was turned into a Master Price Agreement, in which the state threw a bone to the firm WestEd, which has worked with state educators in the past and undercut ILO’s bid by what is surmised to be about $1 million, while making baby ILO rich.

The Department of Education and statehouse legislators have looked at this deal with raised eyebrows and sideways glances, but they know just what went on between ILO and McKee’s crew. Now the state police and attorney general Peter Neronha have also started looking into this rotten fish. You can expect our poised and persistent secretary of state, Nellie Gorbea, to keep this issue in the fore of the public eye and tear Who He? a new one, as she will likely face him in the 2022 Democratic gubernatorial primary.

You sleep with one eye open, Danny Boy.




Vaxes? We Don’t Need No Stinking Vaxes

Dear devoted readers: As you have probably surmised by now, after 42 consecutive years of writing our column (longest in Little Rhody journalistic history), bringing you up-to-date on whose what is where, when and how, Phillipe & Jorge are invincible. Which is why we refuse to be vaccinated against the bogus coronavirus scare.

We have reached this decision after rigorous examination of the scientific aspects of Covid-19, as provided by right wing podcasts, which are undoubtedly the best possible source of true information about this faux pandemic. Here are our carefully and thoroughly vetted reasons (confirmed by some bloke we ran into while waiting for a bus in Kennedy Plaza, after he bummed a cigarette off of us) for why our essential freedoms should not be taken away by some fly-by-night doctors and immunologists who are merely perpetuating this hoax, as well as lying about their world-class credentials.

  1. This is just a mainstream media campaign, backed by our federal government, to fill the coffers of the already obscenely rich Big Pharma firms by producing millions of doses of anti-Covid vaccines that are really drawn directly from the water in public swimming pools and fountains.
  2. Every dose of the various vaccines contains a microchip that will allow the government and Mark Zuckerberg (oops, redundant) to track all citizens wherever they are at any time, and pass that locator chip on to their children and read your thoughts.
  3. The feds will also know whether or not you prefer a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon to a box of cheap rose wine, and turn you into a human bobblehead if you ever speak out against vaccines. (This is incontrovertible truth, since after a couple, two, t’ree malt liquor 40s, numerous shots of Jagermeister, and a quart or two of Pernod and grapefruit cocktails, we have actually seen this happen right before our eyes.)
  4. All results of Covid-19 deaths in the U.S. have been falsified. The only six podcast-certified deaths were a handful of bass fishermen in the Deep South who bit off the heads of some of the fish they caught, resulting in nearly instantaneous death since the fish were the poisonous snakeheads that were trying to take over the world.

So in the famous words from the legendary movie, Plan 9 from Outer Space, “That proves it!” Phillipe & Jorge salute the astute who have rejected the idea of feeding into the elitist global cabal that is perpetuating this coronavirus myth with the goal of achieving world dominance, and allowing your selfish and moronic selves and your unmasked children to infect enormous and innocent numbers of the public with suffering and horrific deaths. (Is this last bit  right? Sounds a bit off-script, no?)

(Note to the extremely gullible: While the above is obviously b.s., P&J are both fully vaccinated and encourage — if not threaten — everyone who is at this stage unprotected to step up and get your jabs toot sweet, or we will have to horsewhip you to within an inch of your stupid lives on the steps of your holier-than-thou or totally ignorant residences. You’re welcome.)

Bag People

If you stuffed everyone in the U.S. Congress, the executive branch, and the Supreme Court, and put them in a huge bag and then hit it any number of times with a big baseball bat, you would never fail to connect with a greedy, self-serving, power-hungry, pathetic soul who deserved their bruises or cracked skulls.

The latest example of this has been the inability of Congress to pass infrastructure and health/social care bills put forward by the Biden administration. This is supposedly his “legacy” agenda, (according to hysterical media looking for a new story line) which, since it is barely into his first year, is absurd.The spineless GOP Senators obviously fear the man behind the screen, the frothing, certifiable Donald Trump. Can no one come forward from the Republicans and do the right thing? No, then they wouldn’t be able to hang with the cool kids anymore.

Please start manufacturing that big bag now. And have it made in the USA, eh, Donald and Ivanka?




Disgrace the Nation

In the spirit of Hurricane Henri and the fall of Kabul, in this column we will blow hard and piss all over everything, and move ahead with no idea what we’re doing and without any attempts at apology.

The very visual coverage of the horrific botched withdrawal of American troops and civilians − along with our courageous native allies − from the international graveyard that is Afghanistan (hands up, Great Britain and Russia) has been numbing to anyone following this debacle. Thanks to gutless politicking and clueless and misguided decision-making, as P&J go to press we are just trying to digest the ISIS-directed deadly suicide bombings in Kabul and await more of the same.

(And when it comes to humanitarian aid, P&J have taken to heart the comment from a now-forgotten source that instead of politicizing humanitarian aid, we should try humanizing politics. Got that, President Biden and everyone in Congress?)

Your superior correspondents refer back to the CBS dramedy series, “The United States of Al,” which subtly and presciently took on the plight of America’s in-country allies, who now face torture and death for assisting our country in one of our most embarrassing and humiliating forays into foreign nation-building. We would also like to thank the good folks at the Pentagon, who kept up their grand tradition of lying to the public and the pols as to how many brave U.S. military lives were lost in a rigged game, and how we were always inches away from success.

In “The United States of Al,” the storyline is focused on an interpreter (Al) who worked as a civilian with a US Marine’s unit in Afghanistan, but then came to the States to live in a comrade-in-arms’ house. Some of the nuanced jokes made by Al would, for example, discuss how long it took him to get papers to come to the US in recognition of his long, frontline support of our troops, putting his ass on the line alongside our Marines. We are hearing about those now-unfunny circumstances in abundance these days, and trust us, nobody’s laughing.

While this “disgrace the nation” right in our cringing faces continues, apologies seem like very weak tea to P&J, and especially to those Afghan families’ faces who we have seen on video wide-eyed and crying in fear of their possible fates, while all they see is our backs. Shame on us as a whole.

Pornography Section

Call it “weather porn” or “fear porn,” but the arrival of Hurricane (cum Tropical Storm) Henri on August 22 gave Little Rhody’s TV stations the chance to fan both their feathers and the fire among the citizenry.

Local weather forecasters never seem happier than when they are addressing potential natural disasters. As of the Friday prior to Henri’s Sunday grand entrance, grinning meteorologists were sending the tacit message that everyone should be doing the bread-and-milk samba ASAP, and don’t forget to get gas and more toilet paper.

This unspoken appeal to our worse instincts in advance of an unpredictable weather crisis is a dog whistle ramping up of fear of the worst, hiding under the guise of “be prepared.” Well, if you are typical New Englanders — especially residents of the Ocean State — and don’t know what to do without being guided by some talking hairdo on TV, it’s time to head to Omaha.

And as often happens, Henri managed to miss most of Rhode Island. Jamestown perhaps took the worst hit, with total power outage for all residents and six big-time sailboats snapping their moorings and washing up on the shore looking like an oversized surfers’ beach party. Residents also emptied all the gas from the town’s only gas station and all the cash in the in-town ATMs. Yet another Comet Kohoutek scenario overblown by the media to the nth degree. 

In the future, hopefully someone at TV stations will decide to take the route besides that of a shock-and-horror, “Oh my god, it’s pornography, it will destroy us all!” response to nasty weather events, which will be getting more intense as climate change sinks its talons into our lives, and come on with more of a reasoned, “Hey, this could possibly be a pisser of a storm, but you’ve got it covered, right?”

And from P&J’s experience, if you want reliable info, just find someone who has the good sense to track the weather on their cellphone and make reasonable and informed decisions, instead of running around like well-dressed, made-up Chicken Littles, squawking about a possible apocalypse.




Light Up the Night: How do we sleep when our bridge is burning?

Relax and Enjoy It

With COVID restrictions slowly but surely being eased back to a bearable level, and The Donald off Twitter and Facebook and just beginning what appears to be a marathon perp walk through the legal system, blood pressures are noticeably down nationwide. (Forget Trump’s nonexistent and bogus taxes, wouldn’t you like to see a running account of his monthly legal bills starting now?) So it is back to what Phillipe and Jorge value most highly: absurdity and stupidity. So hop on board and here we go.

And Your Mother, Too

With Nibbles Woodaway, a.k.a. the Big Blue Bug, needing repair, coming to La Prov’s rescue in the civic expression category was the unforgettable visual triumph of the Crook Point Bridge on fire. No, we don’t have Burning Man, but we did have a Burning Bridge.

Most people who have ever traveled the span of the Washington Bridge on the I-Way (Route 195), or strolled, rowed, kayaked or canoed anywhere near the Seekonk River between the Capital City and East Providence are familiar with the old (113 years) and abandoned Crook Point railway bridge, which has been pointing almost straight up in the air for years. P&J always thought it was our version of giving the finger to any visitors or tourists who observed it, in the grand Providence tradition of, “Whatta you, an asshole?”

But seeing the bridge aflame in the night, as it was on June 29, gave a dignity to the “Eff you!” defiance of the structure, certainly a postcard/poster-worthy image in the same league as the Mad Peck’s famous “Providence” artwork of years gone by, drawing the eye and heart of anyone who saw or will see it, despite its “Whatta you lookin’ at?” spirit. So we are sure that someone from our artist-rich community will see fit to turn it into the icon it should become for years to come.

While no one should cheer massive destruction, perhaps this was our little tribute to the end of the pandemic lockdown, and renewing the local culture’s sense of pride in always burning bright with attitude and a nasty little gleam in our eye.

Too Clever By Half

As inveterate TV watchers, Phillipe and Jorge naturally have to absorb one-third of our viewing time from ads, dominated by not just Big Pharma products and idiotic car dealers, but the ghastly spots run by ambulance-chasing law firms and insurance giants.

So it was with glee, and admittedly a bit of schadenfreude, that we noticed that one insurance company, The General, is now airing ads that are running away as fast as they can from their previous campaign that featured a simpleminded cartoon ”General,“ obviously based upon the outdated mind’s eye view of legendary WWII General George S. Patton (as played by George C. Scott in the eponymous movie). These spots nearly beg for forgiveness for trying to sell their rather serious product to the public with a clueless and juvenile approach, begging potential customers to ignore the stupidity of their previous pieces, and saying that they are actually a serious enterprise.

P&J can only imagine how the ad agency that came up with the original, insipid campaign must feel (knowing they will probably never be hired again in the insurance industry), and realize that they fell victim to focus groups who gave The General’s empty suits the word that their ads did not instill confidence in their potential clients, but rather, as they say, sucked, and were at best off-putting and silly. Not what you’re looking for to protect your assets.

So your superior correspondents wonder how long the annoying “Ba-Bam!” ad campaign of the legal firm Sparks Law will survive locally, since P&J’s reaction to these come-ons to supposedly find you a savvy pro who will squeeze money out of scheming insurance companies is a hearty “Jesus Christ, please stop it, our skin is crawling!” Time will tell, but our thinking is that anyone who thinks slapstick and shouting will play well in court or backroom negotiations, but would rather have a sober attorney rather than a Worldwide Wrestling manqué working on their behalf, may be heading for a fall.

Take a LEFT at Croatia, Idiot

This summer, the biggest event in Europe has been soccer’s 2021 Euros championship tourney. With it came an amusing story worth repeating.

Now, P&J are regretful that we gleaned very little about Europe’s history, nevermind its geography, during our stints in high school. We mean even before rampant civil wars, secessions and the creation of all the “-stans,” god forbid we could find any country past the British Isles and France on a map.

But one would expect more from those who live and were educated in Europe. Well, don’t.

With France being the favorite to win entering the tournament, six diehard French fans made arrangements to follow the team to one of its big matches against Hungary in Budapest. Now these were workers at an IT company, and one doesn’t normally connect blatant stupidity with IT. But instead of booking their flight to Budapest, they instead went to Bucharest, the capital of Romania, 500 miles south of where the game was to be played. Budapest, Bucharest, who can tell? All those Eastern European countries look alike. To compound the error, the clever IT boys thought they could follow a large contingent of other fans out of the airport, thinking they were Hungarians on their way to the stadium. Wrong again (and see “look alike” above). Actually they were Ukrainian tourists on a holiday trip to Bucharest.

All turned out well, however, as France had to play their next game in … wait for it … Bucharest. Still, time to get dusty Mr. Atlas down from the bookshelf before making your travel plans, no?




A Hairy Situation: Don’t fix yourself up for us, gov

Tales of Monsieur Pompadour

A tip of the beret and sombrero to Governor Dan (Who He?) McKee for following the Biden-Harris playbook and selecting the highly respected Providence City Council President Sabina Matos to be his interim lieutenant governor.

She’s an inspired choice who we know will be quite competent cutting ribbons and pretending to sneeze into her handkerchief to stifle a laugh when Who He? puts his foot in it at some point, which is inevitable. We look forward to seeing how long she can grit her teeth when push comes to shove, no more so than when Who He? launches his official campaign to run for governor in 2002.

The Brillo Effect – Since P&J have always valued style over substance, we feel obligated to comment on our new governor’s coif. While not falling into the category of a Brillo pad, Mr. McKee’s pompadour most resembles that of the bouncy and shiny aluminum industrial strength scrubbers used to scour giant pots. Phillipe was on the business end of one of these to earn enough money to put himself (if not keep himself) in college in an infirmary’s basement kitchen. Admittedly tough to emulate, we hope the gov keeps it intact, if only to provide P&J with column fodder should no members of the General Assembly step up with a scandal to keep us otherwise occupied. (Despite how unlikely it is that no one on Smith Hill will hideously and hilariously soil the sheets in that time.)

Go for it Danny, and blow-dry that baby into a look no one can ignore.

Disremembering Dismemberment

In case you were looking for new President Joe Biden (as portrayed by Jim Carrey) to crack the international whip as our new fearless (strike that) leader, he has failed his first step of being a stand-up guy when others are groveling.

P&J refer to his handling of our hoary-handed (but perfectly manicured) sons of the desert in Saudi Arabia in regard to the quite unsubtle murder and dismemberment of journalist Jamal Khashoggi.

It’s bad enough that we have had to endure the fact that the majority of the 9/11 terrorists were Saudis. Or that their system of madrassas schools are designed to give every graduate an explosives vest, a dance card with 70 virgins on it and a diploma with “Allahu Akbar – Die Infidels” inscribed on it. Or that this all is designed to further hatred of the west.

So despite the fact US intel has confirmed Saudi Crown Prince (Isn’t that a cop car? – Editor; No, you idiot that’s a Crown Victoria – P&J) Mohammed bin Salman ordered this gruesome crime, no sanctions have been imposed on him or his ennobled and enabled royalty or his be-robed thugs. We suspect that if someone offed Maureen Dowd or Tucker Carlson (oh please, take a run at that deranged a-hole, MBS), we would be having a lying-in-state funeral and promises to slap the Crown Prince even harder on the wrist, or at least until he sent his Nubian boy toys home a week early, carrying a few cases of Pappy Van Winkle’s bourbon.

Despite P&J being fans of Joe Biden, he has to show a lot more grit than this, nevermind the, “Well, the Saudis give us a nice little air base over there and send us oil when they deign to), and I didn’t want to ruffle any burnooses.”

Murder is murder, Joey, whomever commits it. Grow a pair, or hand that sort of thing off to Kamala, who already has a couple of brass ones.