In this episode, “NewsBusted” covers: Republicans, Democrats, Jobless Americans, Texas Governor Rick Perry, Fidel Castro, President Obama Poster, Al Gore, Current TV, Sammy Sosa, Lamar Odom, and Khloe Kardashian.

Without Fidel
by Ann Louise Bardach

Chapter 12 – Raul’s Reign: The Grave Yard Shift

In October 2008, Raul Castro granted his first interview as president of Cuba – and one of the very few he has ever given. The lucky recipient was not one of the dozen accredited reporters based in Havana. Nor was it a journalist who has covered the Miami/Havana beat, nor one of the hundreds of requests from representatives from media organizations and academia who have filed requests with the Foreign Ministry. Rather, Raul Castro’s first interlocutor would be the actor/director, Sean Penn, who periodically weighs in on politics.

Penn had just winged in on a Venezuelan military jet from Isla Margarita, the picturesque island near Caracas, having had spent two days with a convivial Hugo Chavez. With him were the writer Christopher Hitchens and historian Douglas Brinkley, whom Penn had invited to accompany him, presumably to lend gravitas to his efforts. The three had hoped to reprise their luck with Raul Castro and, according to Penn, seemed to have been promised as much.

But the gods – in the form of Fidel, who orchestrated the event, chose only the movie star. Penn had met the Comandante in 2005 and the two quickly took a shine to each other. Moreover, Penn became fast friends with Chavez, of whom he was wont to say, “Chávez may not be a good man, but he may well be a great one.” Penn was now eager for an interview with [Raúl] the new president,” according to his account of the trip published in the left-leaning journal, The Nation.

Typically, journalists, myself included, who have secured interviews with Fidel, wait months, years or more. That was not the case for Sean Penn, however, who said he made a phone call, and the very next day, had his request granted. The Castros had not miscalculated: Penn proved to be as accommodating and charitable as Oliver Stone in his sunny documentaries of Fidel.

Raul Castro was a gracious and amiable host, but he made clear, through his translator, that the interview was not his idea. “’Fidel called me moments ago,” he told Penn. “He wants me to call him after we have spoken. He wants to know everything we speak about. I never liked the idea of giving interviews. One says many things, but when they are published, they become shortened, condensed. The ideas lose their meaning.’”

As it turned out, Raúl thoroughly enjoyed himself and passed seven hours chatting with his guest. He joked that he could now rival his brother in garrulousness. “You are probably thinking, ‘Oh, the brother talks as much as Fidel!’ It’s not usually so.”

Raul also passed on one anecdote that his brother, no doubt, would have preferred remain unsaid. “’You know, Fidel–once had a delegation here, in this room, from China. Several diplomats and a young translator. I think it was the translator’s first time with a head of state. They’d all had a very long flight and were jet-lagged. Fidel, of course, knew this, but still he talked for hours. Soon, one [sitting] near the end of the table, just there, his eyes begin to get heavy. Then another, then another. But Fidel, continued to talk. Soon all of them, including the highest-ranking of them, to whom Fidel had been directly addressing his words, fell sound asleep in their chairs. So Fidel, turns his eyes to the only one awake, the young translator, and kept him in conversation till dawn.”…..

Hollywood visits Fidel : from Part Three – Without Fidel

The Castro brothers had a motive for periodically broadcasting the trophies of their spycraft. They had a message for both citizens and visitors: Be careful what you say; we may have compromising data on you. One Cuban security official, Delfin Fernández, who defected in 1999, claims that the surveillance of foreign diplomats, businessmen, and even visiting movie stars with sophisticated listening devices and hidden video cameras, is routine. Fernández said he had personally spied on Jack Nicholson, Leonardo di Caprio, and supermodels Naomi Campbell and Kate Moss during their visits to Havana….

If you didn’t know any better, you would almost think that Sean Penn wants to make it extremely easy for conservatives to criticize Hollywood for being overly liberal. He’s flown to Cuba to interview his hero Fidel Castro:

Oscar-winning actor and political activist Sean Penn flew to Cuba hoping to interview its revolutionary icon Fidel Castro, entertainment news website TMZ reported Sunday.

“Sean (Penn) is going to the land of Fidel as a journalist, writing a story for Vanity Fair (magazine) about how the (Barack) Obama administration has affected Cuba,” TMZ reported…

“Barclays sources say Sean and Diana are going to meet (Fidel) Castro — presumably because that’s what Diana told them,” the website reported. Penn’s representative also told TMZ a meeting was possible.

Vanity Fair sent Penn shortly after Spanish newspaper El Pais reported that President Obama asked Spain’s Prime Minister Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero, to talk to Cuba. “Tell Raul that if he does not take steps, neither can I,” Obama told the PM. “We are making efforts, but if they do not make efforts, it will be very difficult for us to continue.”

Is Penn truly acting on VF’s behalf, or will he go to Cuba because the Obama administration wants him to convince Fidel and Raul Castro to reach out to the U.S.?

It never ceases to amaze me that Hollywood-stars sympathize so much with ruthless dictators like Castro. You would think they understand that associating with mass murderers is harmful to their reputations. But no, they have been inside Hollywood’s leftist bubble for so long, they do not even realize the impact these kinds of adventures have on their image, both in the U.S. and abroad.

Next time Penn feels the need to interview a head of state, perhaps he could travel to Poland to talk to President Vaclav Klaus. Unlike Castro, Klaus is pro-America, pro-free markets, pro-freedom and anti-global warming; such an interview would at least be surprising.

Last week in San Francisco, Obama headlined a three million dollar fundraiser at the Westin St. Francis Hotel. The San Francisco Chronicle reports about 160 people paid $30,400 or more per couple for a private dinner with Obama followed by a reception costing $500 to $1000 that drew over 900 attendees. Among those at the dinner was the leftist, so-called antiwar group Code Pink co-founder, Jodie Evans.

The Chronicle reports Jodie Evans had a several minutes long conversation with Obama at the fundraiser.

Why does Jodie Evans merit such face time with the president even though she acts as an agent of influence for the anti-American governments of Iran, Cuba and Venezuela, as well as Middle Eastern terrorists?

Over the life of the campaign, Jodie Evans became one of Obama’s top donors, giving the maximum $2300 to his respective primary and general election funds and tens of thousands of dollars more to the Obama Victory Fund, a joint Obama-Democratic National Committee fund.

(more…)

In this episode, “NewsBusted” covers: President Obama, the Federal Deficit, Nancy Snyderman, ObamaCare, NASA, Cap and Trade, Global Warming, Hugo Chavez, Fidel Castro, Billie Jean King, and North Korea.

If you don’t believe that liberalism is a serious malady, consider that Paul Krugman of the New York Times, when addressing Sonia Sotomayor’s remark about an Hispanic woman being better qualified than a white man to be a judge, said that she was merely being entertaining.  Even if Mr. Krugman is, as his comment suggests, more easily entertained than a backward three-year-old, I have a feeling that he wasn’t nearly as forgiving when Trent Lott, on the occasion of Strom Thurmond’s 100th birthday in 2002, said it was a shame that the old Dixiecrat hadn’t been elected president in 1948.Yet another recent example of liberalism in action took place at Harvard, where bright young people go to have their brains exchanged for a pound of hay and humongous egos.  It seems that the mucky-mucks at the university found $1.5 million lying around and decided that the best possible use for the money was to create a visiting professorship in lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender studies.  I guess the good news is that if Barney Frank decides to do us all a big favor and get out of politics, there’s a job opening at his alma mater.  

Speaking of liberal goofiness brings us inevitably to Barack Hussein Obama, as he now proudly identifies himself — at least when he’s addressing Muslims, praising Muslims and, as usual, slandering America.  By the way, isn’t it the least bit odd that he never condemns Muslim-extremists for clinging to their religion and their suicide bombs?  And even if you’re a liberal, doesn’t it seem peculiar that during his speech in Egypt, he didn’t take a moment to mention how much blood and national treasure America has spent — and, I would suggest, wasted — defending Muslims in Somalia, Kuwait, Iraq, Kosovo and Afghanistan? 

But, then, we mustn’t forget that this is the same chap who went to France and took the opportunity to apologize for America’s arrogance without once mentioning the number of American G.I.s who died, making sure that the French wouldn’t have to give up wine and foie gras for beer and bratwurst. 

By the way, do you think the day will ever come when he’ll quit apologizing for America’s arrogance and apologize for his own? 

Before setting off for the Middle East, where he gave a thumbs-up to Iran’s nuclear program while condemning Israel for building houses, Obama mentioned that America is home to one of the world’s largest Muslim populations.  As anyone with even a passing interest in facts would know, there are roughly three million Muslims in the United States.  Just to give you some idea of how far off Obama was, Indonesia has 195 million, Pakistan has 160 million, India has 154 million.  Even Burkina Faso, a place you’ve never even heard of, has seven million.  There are, as one of his advisers should have told him before he shot off his mouth, roughly 40 countries in the world with larger Muslim populations than America. 

But, then, as we all know, Obama has notoriously weak math skills.  It certainly explains why he announced during the campaign that that the U.S. is made up of 57 states.  Heck, it may even help explain the way he tosses around our money.  It’s a scary thought, but isn’t it just possible that he can’t really tell the difference between million, billion and trillion? 

BurtPrelutsky@aol.com

Announcer

Live! From the fabulous Turtle Bay Ballroom at United Nations Headquarters, it’s the Rat Pack of Evil All-Star International Celebrity Roast of President Barack Obama!

(orchestra fanfare: ‘Make ‘Em Laugh’)

With Pyongyang funnyman Kim Jong-Il! Borscht Belt headliner Vlady Putin! Queen of Mean Liz Windsor! Saudi Sheik of Schtick King Abdullah! Beijing jokeslinger Hu Jintao! Wacky al Qaeda Caveman Ayman al-Zawahiri! Nick ‘the Knife’ Sarkozy! Sassy Wanda Sykes! South-of-the-border slapstick team Hugo Chavez and the Castro Brothers! Taliban Madman Mullah Omar! Jon Stewart! Lovable Libyan lush Muammar al-Ghadaffi! Grovelin’ Guvner Gordy Brown! Bashar “The Chin” al-Assad! The Hamas Fattah Dancers! And starring your Master of Ceremonies — that suntan man with a plan from Iran — that Persian with a nuclear perversion — Sheckyyyyyy Ahmedinejad!

(applause)

Shecky Ahmedinejad

Okay, okay, pipe down. Let’s get this thing over with, this straitjacket is a rental and my magic carpet is double-parked on East 43rd. Mohamed H. Prophet, will you get a load of the evil on the stage tonight? I haven’t seen this many bombs since Janeane Garofalo played the American Legion convention.

(Zawahiri spit-take)

At least there aren’t any Zionist. Hey, wait a minute – there’s Jon Stewart! Oy vey, who let the Jew in? This is a comedy event, for Allah’s sake. Hey Jon, do you know what I have in common with Taco Bell? We’re both gonna give you the gas.

(Jon Stewart mugs Macaulay Culkin ‘Home Alone’ face)

But, hey, enough about these losers. Let’s talk about the man we’re all here to honor tonight: my pal, Barack Obama.

(applause)

What a mensch this guy is. Total sweetheart. As soon as he was elected, he told me he would come to the negotiating table without preconditions. You know what ‘preconditions’ are? That’s Persian for ‘balls.’ Barack, one look at the stars on the stage proves you still have a knack for community organizing. You’ve brought the entire evil community together, in the spirit of international dialog, to ask you one simple question: how does our ass taste?

(rimshot)

But not everybody has a sense of humor. When I was planning this roast, I sent invitations to every bigshot infidel TV comic in Satanland, but they all turned me down. Was it my holocaust one-liners? My ballistic missile schtick? Nope. These douchebags said they couldn’t think of anything funny about Barack Obama. Not a single thing.

(scattered groans, boos)

Yeah, exactly. I mean what the fuck? Maybe I should get my SAG card, because, come on, this clueless pussy is the biggest gift to international insult comedy since Neville Chamberlain. Holy dung, when we heard the infidels elected him, I almost had to shut down my nuke program. My scientists were laughing so hard they kicked over half of our centrifuges!

(Ghadaffi sprays tea on Assad )

But, no-o-o, all these professional comedy dipshits keep telling me Professor Urkel over here is some sort of infidel sacred joke cow. I called up Letterman, and I’m like, Dave how about a couple Obama zingers for the roast tonight? He’s like, “no, no, too controversial. Everybody loves him.” And so I’m like, how about if I just insult America? So he’s like, “yeah, sure, that’s fine.”

Okay then, here’s one: man, that America is one stupid country.

(audience: HOW STUPID IS IT?)

It’s so fucking stupid it elected Barack Obama.

Hey, hey. I kid because I love. In fact, unlike that last mumblemouth infidel asshole, Barack has been a breath of fresh air to the entire evil comedy community. He doesn’t whine about the way we treat broads or homos or journalist hostages or our uranium stockpiles. Nope. He just smiles, and apologizes, and politely asks us to “unclench our fists.” Hey bro, I’d love to, but that’s kinda hard to do when it’s stuck inside your duodenum.

Okay, let’s get this show on the road. Our first roaster comes from England, where she’s the star of a long running one-woman show at the Buckingham Palace Dinner Theater. Ladies and Martyrs, you know her, you hate her, please welcome the Queen of Spleen, Liz Windsor!

(band breaks into God Save the Queen, applause)

Liz Windsor

Thanks for that swell intro, Shecky. By the way, I know how much you love our infidel nuclear technology, but we’ve got another 1940’s invention you should really check out. It’s called deodorant.

(rimshot)

Listen folks, I know you came here expecting me to start hurling some tasteless insults at Barack Obama. But, seriously, I just can’t bring myself to do it. Barack is almost like another son to me.

(audience: awwwww)

Yeah, another jug eared idiot with a hard-on for horsefaced women. Barack was in London a couple weeks ago and rang me up, asked if he could drop by for tea. So he comes in, and I’m thinking, whoa — those Yanks have really stepped up their space program, he’s brought along a real live Klingon. Turns out it was his wife.

(rimshot)

Yep. Then, oh Jesus, in she starts with all the hugging. And I’m like, fer chrissake, somebody hand Lieutenant Worf a planet Earth protocol guide. Then Barack pops off and says, “hey Your Majesty, I brought a gift.” Okay, I’m thinking, car company? Banking system? National Park? Then I open the box. It’s an iPod. A fucking iPod. Preloaded with Barack’s easy listening speech hits.

(stares at Obama amid nervous laughter)

Yeah, way to cement that special relationship, dumbfuck. Jesus Christ, was Wal Mart sold out of Sham Wows? Oh yeah, that iPod is going in the vault with the crown jewels. Right next to that sack of DVDs you bought for Gordy Brown.

Gordon Brown

Now see here, Your Majesty! I thought that was quite thoughtful gesture, and…

Liz Windsor

Oh, shut the fuck up, Gordy. I don’t come to your job and slap Obama’s dick out of your mouth. Listen folks, my time’s up, and this tiara is chafing like a sonuvabitch. Time for me to lie back and think of England. Don’t forget to tip your waitress!

Shecky Ahmedinejad

Liz Tudor everybody! Hey Liz — word to the wise. Stay out of the London subways this summer. By the way, you know the last thing to go through Princess Di’s head?

Liz Windsor

What’s that?

Shecky Ahmedinejad

Her ass. Next up is another monarch who primogenitured his way to the top — give a hand to that Saudi royal with a buttload of oil, King Abdullah!

(applause; ‘Desert Caravan’)

King Abdullah

Thanks everybody! Hey, how about that Shecky Ahmedinejad, ladies and gentleman? What a guy, he’d give you the Zanjeer Zani off his back. Now you know, a lot of people think I got it pretty good being a ruthless hereditary billionaire sitting on top of an ocean of crude oil and the top psycho theme park in the Middle East. But lemme tell you, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. How’d you like to have 37 mothers in-law?

(laughter)

But hey, controlling the world energy supply has its perks. People tend to treat you pretty nice. They offer you thoughtful little gifts and kickbacks. Now, Barack here, for instance, likes to offer blowjobs.

(gasps, ewwws)

What? What? Don’t believe me? Let’s go to the video. Sure, Bush liked holding hands, but he was a total pricktease. But Barack, hey, the guy goes down faster than a fat shaheed on madrassa prom night.

(Putin wipes away tears of laughter as Abdullah slowly pantomimes fellatio)

Now look Barack, I really appreciate the gesture, but regardless of what you might have heard — homie don’t swing that way.

(looks around slowly to banquet table surrounded by burqqa-clad wives)

On the other hand, send me your cell number. I never know when I’ll need a booty call. Good night folks, drive safely! Unless you’re a woman.

Shecky Ahmedinejad

Now that’s what I call crude humor. Our next performer has been called everything from the Andy Kauffman of international relations to the Gilbert Gottfried of the global nuclear club. Gird your loins for the annoying, far-out, certifiably insane comedic stylings of Kim! Jong! Il!

(applause; ‘They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Ha’)

Kim Jong Il

(walks slowly over to Barack Obama and leans into his face)

Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you! Does this bother you? I’m not nuking you!  Does this bother…

Shecky Ahmedinejad

Okay orderlies, cart him away. Jeez, and I thought I was nuts. Let’s bring it down a notch with a set from my dear old friend and original cast member of al-Qaeda’s Friday Night Live, Dr. Ayman al-Zawahiri!

(applause, ‘911 is a Joke’)

Ayman al-Zawahiri

Thank you, thank you. What a panel we got here, huh? I haven’t seen this many sick assholes since I was doing proctology rounds at Cairo General.

(Ahmedinejad spit take)

And there’s our man of the hour, Mr. Barack fuckin’ joke thief Obama. Havin’ fun, buddy?

(Obama smiles nervously)

Listen pal, maybe I live in a cave, but I read the papers. Strafing Manhattan in a 747? Really? In case you didn’t notice, I was doing that routine like eight fucking years ago. I mean, what are you, Carlos fucking Mencia?

(Obama smiles nervously)

What’s the matter? Teleprompter got your tongue?

(Obama smiles nervously)

Holy scimitar, this fuckface couldn’t ad lib a fart. Listen, Barack, I appreciate all the reach-arounds, but if you don’t stop stealing my material I swear to Allah I’m gonna sic a copyright lawyer on your apostate ass. As soon as I can find one who isn’t a Jew. Goodnight folks, you’ve been a great audience! Death to America!

Shecky Ahmedinejad

Ayman al-Zawahiri, everybody! If you’re in Swat this weekend, make sure you catch his act at the Khyber Pass Inn. Our next performer comes from the exotic Orient where he works the Forbidden City Casino. Ladies and Gentleman, the man with the biggest bankroll and smallest dick in international show biz, Mister Hu Jintao!

(applause, ‘Slow Boat to China’)

Hu Jintao

Yeah Confucius say fuck you, you third rate unibrow rug dealer. Don’t make me open a can of one-child-policy on your smelly Persian ass. You’re no Long Dong Wang yourself, and at least mine isn’t covered in camel crap. Hey everybody, how’s it goin’?

(applause)

And how about that Barack Obama. What a prince, huh? The most generous man in show biz.

(applause)

Yep. Generous to a fault. With my money. What? You think all those big tips he throws around come out of his own pocket? Just the other day he called up and said, “hey Hu, how about spotting me a couple trillion till next tax day?” And I’m like, what, does Aunt Esther need another pair of sneakers? And he goes, “no, I got a Social Security payment due.”

I’m like, dude — what happened to that last trillion I lent you? Get this: the stupid fucker spent it on a beat up Cadillac for his union buddies. So I say, look, I’m a little short right now. I’ll catch you at your 30-year treasury bond garage sale. Then the next week he’s like, dude, where were you?” Ah so, round-eye! No tickee, no thirty!

Yeah, that ain’t the half of it. Not only does this asshole expect me to be his personal ATM and pawnshop, he’s always calling up bitching about something. Just the other day, he’s like, “come on Hu, how come you keep busting my balls with your naval drive-bys?” I’m like dude, you’re 3 months overdue on your aircraft carrier payments. Those aren’t Chinese navy boats, those are repo men!

Look folks, I gotta get back home and churn out another load of defective plastic crap for Wal Mart, to make some money, to lend to Barack for some new idiot free bullshit program. Christ, and they call me a Commie! ‘Night everybody, and please remember to thank your designated tank driver.

Shecky Ahmedinejad

Hu Jintao! Toxic Choking Hazard Toy Industry’s Man of the Year, everybody! Hu Jintao. Next we have that crazy Caucasian from across the Caucasus, that Gremlin from the Kremin, 15-time winner of KGB Entertainer of the Year, Vlady Putin!

(applause)

Vlady Putin

Tank yous Shecky! Tank yous very much. Ho boy, it is good to be in America! I love America, is great country. It is land of free! Not like my country. In my country, whole government run by corrupt communist thugs. They ignore the laws. They take over companies and give the money to their friends. America is very totally different! It has 110 volt outlets.

Haha! Vlady make funny everybody! Hey Barack, you teach Vlady how to nationalize the banks, hokay?

Best thing about America is everybody is so very very nice. Especially the President Barack! He is complete pussycat. Pussy, pussy, pussycat. He loves Vlady’s practical jokes. I kick his Air Force out of Kyrgyzstan he say, hokey dokey, Vlady! Then I fly my bombers right over his ships, and he sends fat babushka lady to give me a funny reset button gag gift. I say, hey Barack, what Vlady gotta do to make you mad? He say, “just don’t go to no tea parties, hokay?”

What a country! Because Barack be so nice to me, now I want to sing him a nice American song from the Hoagy Carmichael.

(Vlady pulls out balalaika and tunes up)

Georgia, Geor-or-orgia… no peace can I find… it’s just them old sweet tanks that keep Georgia on my mind.

Tanks everybody! Take it easy on the Vodka!

Shecky Ahmedinejad

Vlady Putin, everyone! Okay, our next performer is a good ol’ country boy from the hills of Waziristan, where he emcees the weekly Grand Ole Stoning show at the Wana Goat Corral. Let’s give it up for Mullah Omar!

(applause; Theme From ‘Deliverance’)

Mullah Omar

Thanks Shecky. When Shecky asked me to do this gig, I was like, what the fuck? Dude, I’m a fucking Taliban, I know as much about comedy as Perez Hilton knows about vaginas. So he says, “don’t worry. I lined up this professional infidel comedian to write your bit.” I’m like, oh yeah? And he’s like, “yeah, her name is Wanda Sykes.” And I’m like, a broad?  And he’s like, “Trust me, Barack loves her. She totally slays the infidels.”

Okay, you know I’m down with that. So then this Wanda shows up at my cave yesterday with a stack of cue cards with her jokes. And I’m like, bitch please — put on a fucking burqqa. So I’m doing the read-through, and every gag is about killing some guy named Rush Limbaugh. So, I’m like, who the fuck is this Limbaugh guy? I thought this gig was supposed to be about Obama. And she goes, “he’s a fat radio Nazi who hates Blacks and Jews and gay people.” And I’m like, hey, sounds like my kinda guy. And she’s like, “exactly!” And I’m like, why would I want to insult somebody I agree with? So she says “because he’s for the war, dumbass.”

And so at this point I’m pretty fucking confused. So I say to her, okay, now I think I get it. This fat guy is funny because (a) he supports Obama’s crusade against us, even though (b) he and I are on the same page, homo-killing-wise. The funny is from the irony or something. And she’s like, “no, idiot! Barack wants to stop the war.” So I’m like, wait a minute… Barack is against the war? Then why is he still running it? Besides, I though he actually likes homos. And she goes, “He does, you retard! That’s why he’s going to end the bombing and leave you alone.”

Now I’m even more confused. So I go, look Wanda, maybe I’m not up on your infidel inside jokes, but this material is really gonna bomb in front of a shaheed audience. So she gives me that look and says, “okay, you cracker ass cracker, why don’t you show me what you people think is funny?” Long story short..

(Omar reaches down behind podium and pulls out Wanda Sykes’ head)

Hey Wanda…here’s your sign.

Alluha Akbar, y’all!

(Omar walks back to his seat, tosses the head to Hugo Chavez who puts it on his hand, muppet style)

Hugo Chavez

Saright?

Wanda Sykes’ Head

Saright!

(Abdullah falls out chair in helpless laughter; Fidel Castro stares in comatose deadpan)

Shecky Ahmedinejad

Mullah Omar, everybody! Now that’s why they call him the king of prop comedy!

Okay folks. Now, it’s time to hear from the man who’s been sitting here all evening, silently absorbing all our insults. Here’s his chance to get a little payback! Ladies and Dictators, please welcome our esteemed man of the hour, leader of the infidel world, and the only man in the room who doesn’t realize he’s way over his head — President Barack Obama!

(standing ovation; ‘Hail to the Chief’)

Barack Obama

Lemme tell ya, I don’t get any respect.

(torrential screams of convulsive uncontrollable sustained laughter; Sarkozy falls backwards in chair; Omar wipes tears away while shooting AK47 into air; Abdullah pantomimes fellatio; Castro stares comatose; Vlady pilots toy airplane above Obama’s head; Kim and Shecky take turns punching gag missile launch button; Jon Stewart mugs look of horror)

Shecky Ahmedinejad

That’s all the time we have tonight! Thanks to all the performers, and Barack Obama for being such a good sport. See you at the next Rat Pack of Evil roast, when we move to the fabulous Boom Boom Room at the Radioactive Crater Resort in Downtown Jerusalem! Goodnight 12th Imam, wherever you are!

Whenever I’m feeling a little down, Streisand’s rousing, patriotic rendition of “Before the Parade Passes By” (from the Hello, Dolly! soundtrack) is the next best thing to shooting up a Diet Rockstar.  The movie may be deadly, but that track is classic Barbra: starts out quiet, plaintive, then slowly builds to an almost militaristic crescendo of chorus, trumpets, beating drums – and Babs, screaming her head off above it all with a heroic, never-ending high note that sounds like a war cry.

I know - that’s so gay.  But for me, the song is musical comfort food – and proof of the power of the human spirit: a rusty Main Street USA antique, shined up and brought back to life by a disadvantaged ugly duckling from Brooklyn, with a voice straight from God, who beat the odds.  That’s when Streisand was still one of a kind.

But that was 1969.  This is now.  Today, “Before the Parade Passes By” would probably be called something like “Whenever the Trans-Cultural Community Gathering Happens to Reconvene.”  And it would probably be sung by Sheryl Crow.

But I digress.  In the massive Malibu mudslide of post-9/11 celebrity Bush-bashings and anti-war ravings, it’s easy to forget that one of La-La land’s first star bloggers, Barbra Streisand - who, to her credit, started out way back when as a JFK-era Democrat - was once a unique and groundbreaking entertainer.  She was also an underdog.  The little girl with the unapologetic schnoz (and the even bigger voice) smashed the 1950s WASPy standard of female beauty and clawed her way up from the gay clubs of Greenwich Village to star on Broadway and win every major show biz award, including two Oscars.

Streisand was the first unabashedly Jewish leading lady to play love scenes opposite superstar hunks like Robert Redford and Ryan O’Neal, and even Egyptian-born actor Omar Sharif.   Her on-screen kiss with Sharif probably did more to provoke Arab-Israeli dialogue than any of Obama’s grand words.  (”You think Cairo was upset?” she quipped when Funny Girl was released in 1968.  “You should have seen the letter I got from my Aunt Rose!”) 

Musically, Streisand was a true diva, who could turn an ordinary standard into a three-act mini-drama in itself – the pop equivalent of an operatic mad scene.  Like Judy Garland and opera star Maria Callas – who both came from broken, dysfunctional homes – Streisand lost her birth father before she was two and endured a difficult relationship with her stepfather.  She grew up feeling like she didn’t fit in, harboring a tiny seed of anger to combat overwhelming sadness.  That kernel of rage eventually grew into an all-out, three-alarm fire in the belly, the kind that fuels many great performers.

From the start, I wasn’t so much into the sensitive, people-who-need-people Barbra as I was the show-stopping Godzilla who could obliterate her competition with one loud, elongated belt.  No matter how much Sir Cecil Beaton adorned her, she was still a street fighter.  

Streisand first stormed my consciousness during a network broadcast of Vincente Minnelli’s lavish but butchered On a Clear Day You Can See Forever (1970), an unlikely musical about past life regression (well before Shirley MacLaine got in on the act).  Barbra’s exuberant closing rendition of the title song as she is superimposed against a vast, heavenly sky – all Dusty Springfield hand gestures, Arnold Scaasi couture, and vocal sonic blasts – blew me away.  Nearly 40 years later, despite its bombast, the song has never been sung better.

As a lonely gay teenager, I was bolstered by her striking combination of emotion (feminine) and seeming invincibility (masculine).  Streisand’s raw histrionics and police siren strength gave me hope that one day I’d be grown up too, living an independent life, free of shame.  Perhaps that heightened duality is what qualifies performers like Streisand and Garland as “gay icons.”  At the risk of sounding like a stereotype, her defiant voice helped me get through a lot of dark days.

Delving into Streisandiana, I soon discovered she was equally adept at bringing humanity to a range of non-singing roles.  She went all “street” as an insecure prostitute in The Owl and the Pussycat (1970), turned on the coy quirks as an eccentric genius in Peter Bogdanovich’s What’s Up, Doc? (1972), and gave an atypical, understated performance as a neglected housewife with a rich fantasy life in the forgotten Up the Sandbox (also in ‘72).

While the last film remains something of a blur to me (I haven’t seen it since its first run), one particularly bizarre scene stands out.  Barbra’s character is about to make love with Fidel Castro (don’t ask me the details) when, suddenly, the Cuban dictator removes his shirt to reveal a pair of female breasts.  The significance?  Anybody’s guess.  But probably to show a softer side of the beloved tyrant.  In another subplot, Streisand gets mixed up with some colorful Black Panther types who are planning to blow up the Statue of Liberty.

Those were the days when we could still joke about such things.  Rebelling against the Hollywood jingoism of The Green Berets, long-haired studio execs were exploiting the counter-culture, turning it into slick, subversive propaganda for impressionable young Americans like me.  By 1975, the post-Watergate, post-McGovern election loss, left-wing victim belief system was as much a part of the show biz establishment as the March of Time newsreels had once been.  All my favorite stars – Streisand, MacLaine, Jane Fonda, Warren Beatty – seemed to drink Kool-aid from the same “Democrats good, Republicans bad” trough.

I’ll never forget, for example, seeing Shirley MacLaine’s wonderful one-woman show at the legendary Palace Theatre in New York (I think it was 1975).  The lyrics of her opening number, “Remember Me,” were tailored to drum home her liberal martyrdom:

“In Washington, my name was on the enemies list!

Because I was a Democrat, they slapped my wrist! 

The candidate we needed was The Excorcist!  [big sh*t-eating smile]

Re-mem-ber me…”

As a clueless 15-year-old, dazzled by show biz razzmatazz, I assumed this sentiment signalled an enlightened path.  MacLaine and Streisand both had campaigned for anti-Vietnam Presidential candidate George McGovern (I loved Barbra’s Live Concert at the Forum album – a fundraiser during which she proved her hipness by smoking a joint on stage between songs!).  And wasn’t MacLaine a sophisticated world traveler who had been granted a glimpse of utopia on a much bally-hooed, ladies-only trip to Mao’s People’s Republic of China?

In her second memoir, We Can Get There from Here, MacLaine shared how her brief junket in totalitarian paradise made her take a good, hard look at her own egotistical, Western artistic needs. She described how, in China, she came to feel “a sense of strength, a common bond among these people, joined together in a common task.  They were not producing junk to sell for profit in some second-rate department store.  They were feeding China…. it slowly dawned on me… perhaps we were simply blank pages upon which our characters are written by parents, schools, churches, and the society itself.”

And perhaps by the guilt-alleviating delusions of spoiled actors and actresses?  MacLaine, of course, went right back to the spotlight.  And I kept on devouring her books (but lost interest by the time she became a mouthpiece for preachy space aliens and light beings).

(Both MacLaine and Streisand also campaigned for vaguely radical New York congresswoman Bella Abzug, whom Babs described as a “very special lady… dedicated to peace.”  For the record, I’m here to say there was nothing “peaceful” about Abzug, who once stormed into my family’s apartment in the middle of the day, mistakenly thinking it was for rent.  After imperiously casing the joint - without once making eye contact with any of us, the actual tenants (a.k.a. “the people”) – La Abzug marched out without even a perfunctory apology.  It was more than a little frightening.)

Meanwhile, my favorite singing dark horse was changing, gradually drifting further and further away from my devoted commoner’s ear.

By 1975, when Streisand reprised her Oscar-winning role of Fanny Brice for Funny Lady, the dreary sequel to Funny Girl, rumors of divatude were becoming all too common.  One item claimed that Barbra had ordered award-winning cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond to allow her eight-year-old son to frame some of the shots.  (Zsigmond was soon replaced by James Wong Howe.)

Around that time, I happened to meet respected stage and screen actress Estelle Parsons, one of Streisand’s costars in the comedy For Pete’s Sake.  When I excitedly asked Parsons what Barbra was really like, she paused.  Then she gently offered an anecdote about how, in the middle of shooting one of their scenes together, Streisand had abruptly announced she would deliver all her lines to actor Michael Sarrazin instead, essentially cutting Parsons out of the moment.

“You just don’t do that,” Parsons said nicely.

The Barbra Streisand-Kris Kristofferson rock-n-roll remake of A Star Is Born opened the following year, accompanied by a frenzy of bad publicity.  Both New York and New West magazines published a scathing article by the film’s director, Frank Pierson, which detailed the exasperating experience of working with the now-legendary “perfectionist” and control freak.  Even Kristofferson said, “Filming with Streisand is an experience which may have cured me of the movies.”

Critic Rex Reed called A Star Is Born ”stupid, cacophonous and unnecessary” and likened the faux rock songs to the sound of trash can lids being banged together.  (At the screening I saw, a man sitting behind me, clearly dragged there by his wife, groaned loudly during one of Barbra’s most dramatic moments, “God, what a dog!”)  Still, the movie pulled in nearly $100 million at the box office, and Streisand was rewarded with a second Oscar, for writing the Best Original Song, “Evergreen.”

I was glad for Barbra, but even at that young age I didn’t think “Evergreen” deserved any awards.  The song was just another one-note Top 40 ballad, with no drama, no story.  I missed the formula of Barbra’s old repertoire, the predictable-but-oh-so-satisfying rollercoaster rise and fall of her interpretations.  But musical tastes were changing, and Streisand wasn’t about to let the parade pass her by.

Not even I could bring myself to see her next film, the tacky boxing comedy, The Main Event.  But there was no escaping the horrendous disco theme song that was so beneath Babs’s talent.  Suddenly, Barbra didn’t seem to be calling the shots anymore; she seemed to have given up and given in – pimping out her unique voice just to stay in the game.

It was over.  I was done.

I didn’t go out of my way to see another Streisand film until The Prince of Tides (1991), which she both starred in and directed.  Based on the novel by Pat Conroy, the non-musical drama about the relationship between a Manhattan psychiatrist (Babs) and a tormented Southerner (Nick Nolte) was pretty heavy stuff - except whenever Barbra’s legs and nails got in the frame.  Pushing 50, Barbra seemed determined to prove to the world that she was still “hot.”  And yes, she looked great.

But she had sacrificed an otherwise serious film in order to be ogled by, as Norma Desmond put it, those wonderful people out there in the dark.  Was there no one advising this lady?

Looking back – i.e. her liner notes for the album Lazy Afternoon - Streisand seemed increasingly preoccupied with her personal feelings (as opposed to musical interpretations), her looks, and in particular her nails.  By the mid-1990s, almost all traces of the resourceful underdog from Brooklyn had been lost under a golden patina of narcissistic New Age softness.  During the making of Yentl, Streisand had been outspoken about reconnecting with her Jewish roots.  How had that reawakening given way to this cautious wax figure?

Again, I felt let down.  Someone who had once been a lifeline seemed to be disappearing before my eyes.  Where was my old street fighter?  While Judy Garland remained true to herself to the bitter end, a riveting mess – and the ghoulish “lost” recordings of Maria Callas, while harsh, continued to serve as phrasing blueprints for less-intelligent opera singers – Streisand’s vocalizing lost much of its spontaneity and intensity.  It seemed the more she shared select intimacies about her “self,” the more untouchable and less compelling she became as an artist.

Did success spoil Barbra Streisand – or, like many Americans, was her focus forever changed by the attacks of September 11th, 2001?

Shortly after that dreadful day, the star began using her official website, www.barbrastreisand.com, to post her now-infamous “Truth Alerts” (”for clarifying significant errors in credible media so that such distortions do not become accepted as truth, as might be the case if they were unchallenged”) and to blog about current events (i.e. against fear-mongering conservatives mostly) – paving the way for the likes of Rosie O’Donnell and, more recently, Gwyneth Paltrow.

Here are some relatively benign samplings (taken out of context, yes, but characteristic nonetheless):

*  “The fact that nearly every major news institution in this country is owned by a large corporation indicates that liberal media simply does not exist anymore.”  Excuse me, Ms. Streisand, but have you watched CBS, NBC, MSNBC, ABC, CNN or read the NYT lately?

*  “The press does not criticize Republican actors Ronald Reagan, Arnold Schwarzenegger and Charlton Heston for expressing their strongly-held political opinions.”  Excuse me, Ms. Streisand, but I never once heard anyone in the press do anything but call Reagan senile, Schwarzenegger stupid, and Heston a bigot.

*  “Who is Sarah Palin?…  I know she’s a beauty pageant runner-up who is a gun totin’ extremist in her views on the environment, religion, women’s choice and the separation of church and state.”  Excuse me, Ms. Streisand, but please see response to first excerpt.

*  “The idea of a liberal media bias is simply a myth.  If only it were true, we might have a more humane, open-minded, and ultimately effective public debate on the issues facing the country.”  Excuse me, Ms. Streisand, but the lack of humanity, the close-mindedness, and the increasingly lemming-like state of our populace isn’t all the fault of one channel (Fox News).

In addition to shilling for Dennis Kucinich’s impeach Cheney resolution, Barbra also offers the great uninformed (that’s you) links to some of her favorite even-handed websites such as the Daily Kos, Crooks and Liars, The Huffington Post, Truthout.org, and the Center for American Progress.  (Guess she blanked on Big Hollywood.)

In 2003, Babs was back in the headlines when she sued California environmentalist Kenneth Adelman for $50 million.  His crime: taking an aerial photograph of her Malibu estate and posting it online – along with 11,999 other such shots - as part of the California Coastal Records Project documenting erosion.

Claiming the single photo jeopardized her privacy, the woman who established the Streisand Chair on Global Climatic Change at the Environmental Defense Fund – and who, according to Prince of Tides author Pat Conroy, “lives like Marie Antoinette” - achieved the exact opposite: more than 420,000 curious people clicked on the website for a glimpse of her mansion.

Backfiring of this magnitude became known as “The Streisand Effect.”

Then, in 2006, Barbra made news again during her umpteenth farewell tour.  Between songs, the star indulged in a drawn-out Bush-bashing comedy skit featuring a ”W” impersonator (not Josh Brolin).  (Note: two years earlier, Streisand had been the first Hollywood star to threaten to leave the country if Bush won reelection.  She didn’t follow through.)  Fans, some of whom had taken out loans on their homes in order to afford the best $1000 seats, wanted to hear the great Streisand sing – not lecture them.

But when her audience voiced its disapproval, what did Barbra do?  She lashed out with a very un-New Agey “Shut the f*ck up!”  Here’s the video:

–

Yes, the street fighter was back – only this time she wasn’t fighting for the hoi polloi, she was trying to shout them down.  All of this was having a real Streisand Effect on me.

For instance, I wondered why this world-famous Jewess, who breathed damning fire onto the leaders of her own country, didn’t instead use her high profile to denounce the barbaric ideology that had declared war on us.  Why wasn’t Streisand out there, front and center, raising her vocal cords in support of women in Islamic countries, who aren’t treated as well as American pets?

Why wasn’t she defending the gays – without whom she wouldn’t have a career - who were daily being shunned in Dubai, brutalized in Palestine, executed in Iran?  Gay marriage is great, but how about fighting for our lives?  Between AIDS (which Babs has raised money for) and Islam, the battle isn’t over yet.

Had no one invited Barbra to join Nicole Kidman, Michael Douglas, Sylvester Stallone, Bruce Willis and 76 other Hollywood hot shots and lend her name to a full-page newspaper ad condemning the civilian casualties in Israel and Lebanon caused by Hamas and Hezbollah?  Just asking.

Maybe the so-called “War on Terror” was too closely linked with Babs’s own personal Taliban, the Bush administration.  In 2006, the singer cancelled a performance in Jerusalem for an event honoring the 60th anniversary of the Jewish state.  Streisand offered no reason why she bowed out, but the Israeli newspaper Maariv quoted unidentified officials who suggested she had changed her mind because President George W. Bush was planning to visit at the same time.

A diva of her stature could shed plenty of light on the new wave of anti-Semitism sweeping the globe and on the millions of people still living in the dark shadow of militant Islam.  That’s a Streisand effect I’d like to see.  But maybe that’s too much to ask from the self-proclaimed feminist who reportedly demands that fresh rose petals be scattered in her toilet bowl when she’s on the road.  Then again, maybe she’s just scared (you can’t sing very well if you lose your head – literally).

Finally, in December 2008, Babs came face-to-face with her longtime nemesis - the war-mongering Leader of the Free World she hailed as ”frightening” – at the Kennedy Center Honors.  But “W’ turned out to be far from the monster she’d been fantasizing about for so many years.

As she confessed on her website: “It was just as surprising to me, as it apparently was to the press, that upon meeting President Bush and extending my hand to him, he said to me, ‘Aw c’mon, gimme a hug and a kiss,’ and then he proceeded to embrace me…. I must say, I found him very warm and completely disarming… even though I think he was kissing me hello as I was kissing him goodbye.” 

Still, Streisand couldn’t resist getting in one last dig about his wink (”which he must have passed on to Sarah Palin”).  Did she ever stop to consider just how many of her die-hard fans probably voted for the man?

Having avoided the hyper-immortality that comes with junkiedom and early death – that kind that keeps Garland, Billie Holiday and Edith Piaf selling records from beyond the grave - Barbara Joan Streisand, formerly of Brooklyn, has instead blossomed into a healthy, wealthy high priestess of a new Democratic regime that’s no longer of the working people (unless they’re “undocumented,” of course), but serves mostly to soothe the collective guilty conscious of the Oprah class.

What’s the saying?  “Old limousine liberals never die, they just fade away.”  (The real Marie Antoinette didn’t have that option.)  Celebrities today are the vanguard in a new kind of bourgeois revolution – the real downside of capitalism run amok.

Barbra Streisand is now just another privileged star whose work – like that of Rosie O’Donnell, Tina Fey, and 9/11 Truther Christine Ebersole - this gay fan, for one, can no longer enjoy.  Because once a performer, no matter how great, trades in the stage for the pretentious platform of liberal evangelism, there’s no coming back.  The peasants aren’t that forgiving.

But thanks for the memories.

Walking past the outdoor patio of a gay club just the other night, I noticed all the patrons’ heads turned in the same direction, transfixed by an image on the big video screen inside.  It was Streisand, belting out the the final scene of On a Clear Day – still fresh, vibrant, powerful.  Nearly four decades later, that nostalgic clip of the amazing 28-year-old misfit could still silence a room.

That’s the way I choose to remember her.

It’s been two years since Fidel Castro retired, and not much has been heard from him. What exactly does an all-powerful, all-knowing, great and glorious communist revolutionary leader do in retirement? Like most things in communist Cuba, Fidel’s retirement has been shrouded in secrecy. Until now. As a Breitbart columnist it is my responsibility to bring you, the reader, the truth as uncovered by my world-wide network of investigative reporters, spies, finks and stoolies.

So, on the eve of this dramatic breakthrough in US – Communist Cuba relations, this report, from my man in Havana, exposes the shocking truth behind Fidel’s retirement:

Within a few days of Fidel’s retirement, he had already started to drive Mrs. Castro crazy. “He just follows me around, while I’m trying to do housework, asking me if I need any help and nattering on about the war mongering bourgeoisie,” she told a neighbor. “Last week, he spent the whole day “fixing” the garage door. Every fifteen minutes he’d poke his head in to give me an update. ‘I’m running to the store to buy oil to fix the squeak, can you come and test the door for me, have you seen my Phillips head screwdriver, can you make me lunch…’ On and on, all day long!  I told him, Fidel – get out of the house! Go torture some political prisoners or brainwash some helpless children. He needs a hobby. And, guess what? The stupid door still squeaks!”

Since then, apparently Fidel has attempted several ways to fill his time:

1.  Last month he joined the “Retired Evil Communist Dictators” group on Facebook. He spends several hours a day checking his inbox for new messages, “pokes” and “hug requests,” and changing his status updates: “Fidel is napping,” “Fidel is fixing the garage door,” “Fidel is watching the season premier of ‘The Bachelor’”….

2.  He is planning a family vacation to  Disney World – in an inflatable inner tube.

3.  He unsuccessfully pitched  a monthly romance advice column to Women’s Day magazine entitled, “Ask A Retired Evil Communist Dictator.”

4.  His agent is waiting to hear back from the Burt Reynolds Dinner Theater in Jupiter, Florida about a possible production of “On Golden Pond” with Fidel and Janet Reno. Fidel told friends, “I felt good about the audition, I really think they liked me. I screwed up one of the lines in the monologue, but I don’t think anyone noticed. I guess I was a little nervous!”

5.  Every afternoon Fidel goes to the park to feed the squirrels. Then, he makes the squirrels sit through an interminably long tirade against the West. Then, he lines the squirrels against a wall, blindfolds them, and shoots them in the head.

6.  Every week he writes long, cranky letters to the editor of the local paper complaining about brother Raoul Castro’s new regime and how Raoul isn’t nearly as good a leader as Fidel was, signing each letter: “Shmidel Shmastro, A Concerned Citizen.”

7.  He is practicing his time step, hoping to get an audition for the new show: “So, You’re A Retired Evil Communist  Dictator And You Think You Can Dance?”

8.  He is spending more time pursuing celebrity stalker hobby, obsessively writing hundreds of emails a day to Katie Couric.

9.  Reportedly, Fidel is enthusiastic about finally having enough time to really give Amway a go. “I can really focus on it now,” he told friends. “I’m pumped! I’ve got my list of goals and contacts. Today I’m calling Kim Jong Il, Ahmadinejad, and Hugo Chavez to remind them it’s not a pyramid scheme – and the products are really good. Ahmadinejad expressed some interest in the skin care line last time I spoke to him, so I’m thinking he could be my first big sale. Keep your fingers crossed!”

10.  Now that he’s retired and no longer living under the repressive regime of Fidel Castro – he is planning on defecting to the United States.