I am sitting here, after tired of watching the Hugley’s and switched channels to PBS, John McLaughlin is one hell of a blow hard…sorry, this is not quite a GD thread or a BBQ Pit thread it’s simply a thread to mention what a weird little man this person is.
They’ve been debating the fact that the Senate or the House (whichever) hasn’t had a Catholic Chaplain since the 1800’s etc, blah blah blah.
QUESTION, McLaughlin, who gives a rat’s ass?
QUESTION, McLaughlin sounds like a moralistic view to me, get the religion out of the government…again who gives a rat’s ass? If there wasn’t a religious chaplain assigned you wouldn’t have to get your panties in a bunch (bet he wears pretty frilly pink ones.)
QUESTION, McLaughlin, if your view of politics is so sound how come you aren’t running for president?
This guys a dork…and sounds like he needs medication to control his obvious temper.
Sorry, moderators, will you move this to MPSIMS? Guess I should have looked up before posting it < dang it >
(McLaughlin): Issue One!
On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being no affect whatsoever, and 10 being Global Economic Catastrophy, What will be the final ramification of the spending proposals put forth in President Clinton’s State of the Union Address? I ask you, Mort-ton!
(Morton Kondrake): Well, I would give it a 4, because…
(McLaughlin): WRONG!! The answer is 7. Don’t you recall that…
(insert shrill voice) “But, but, but”
(McLaughlin): Elanore Clift has something to say. What is the answer, Elanore!
(Clift): I don’t know, I just wanted to say that Jack has fallen asleep.
(Jack Germond): …not sleeping…(mumble, mumble, mumble)…need another drink (mumble, mumble)…
(Much shouting ensues)
(McLaughlin): Until next week–Bye-Bye!
I’ve always wanted to do that. I actually like the show, and I like John McLaughlin. He’s entertaining. IIRC, he used to be an Episcopal (or maybe Jesuit?) priest, of all things.
I prefer “The Sinatra Group” from SNL. Frank Sinatra moderating, panelists George Michael, Sinead O’Connor, Sting, Luther Campbell and Steve ‘n’ Edie.
“Issue three: The Irish Chick, What’s With Her Head? Uncle Fester!”
McLaughlin, freaky little man eh?
Guess some of you have seen his strange sense of communication eh?
Could you imagine being his wife?
“Honey could you not go so…”
“Please honey this hurt…”
QUESTION, what would Clinton say in a situation like this?
"Honey I hardly think…
WRONG, the dog hasn’t said anything about this yet…
< geez >
I am sending you the obligatory bill for one keyboard, bottle of Rain-X, and Guiness Stout for your last comment.
And he was a Jesuit Priest. Somewhere out there is a picture of him still in his collar (and dark hair) with Pat Buchanan…taken around '72.
No John this week. No Nova this week.
No Nada. The PBS antenna was hijacked by the wind.
“On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being a series of perfumed breezes from Xanadu tinkling some silvery wind-chimes, and 10 being a metaphysical onslaught which drives each eardrum out of the opposite side of your head and into a car across the street causing the driver of said vehicle to swerve into a lightpole, knocking out power in the adjoining 5 counties, rate the sound of my voice right now!!”
“maybe 8 and a half, maybe!”
“The correct answer, is 2!”
I’m actually kind of a fan of TMG and get bummed when I miss it. Sure Brother John’s a freak. These days, who isn’t?
TMG provides pol fans a rogue’s gallery of talking heads FAR too eccentric for the prettyfied, dipstick panels of the Sunday-morning network lot (“Meet the Oppressor”, “Two-face the Nation” et al.)
So sit down, and take your medicine!
I’m a loner, Dottie … a rebel.
To quote the wordy one: Bye Bye!
(transferred to MPSIMS)
Livin’ on Tums, vitamin E and Rogaine
Tank you bery bmuch manhattan for transferring this post over here…my nose is stuffy, pardon me.
< hehe >
I saw a magazine article in my dentist’s office a few months ago that interviewed Jack Germond about why he stopped doing the show.
Germond seemed to pin the whole decline in the quality of social discourse directly to McLoughlin.
I thought 10 was always Metaphysical Certitude.
In·flam·ma·ble, a. Flammable.