Phillipe & Jorge's Cool, Cool World: You Talkin' to Me? Your superior correspondents wonder who the target is

Phillipe & Jorge’s Cool, Cool World: You
Talkin’ to Me? Your superior correspondents
wonder who the target is

Dumb and Dumber

Phillipe and Jorge have been intrigued by the fight between big media boys CBS and AT&T, which has
led to AT&T’s DirectTV dropping CBS programming from its available channels. Since P&J have Cox, we
don’t have a dog in this fight, and because we, along with the bulk of the American public, are
incredibly self-centered and could care less about DirectTV customers being royally screwed, it is
another aspect of this battle that catches our attention.

Since AT&T dropped the hammer and has deleted CBS from airing, we have noticed on Cox as we
watch WPRI Channel 12, that the local CBS affiliate has continuously run a news “crawl” at the bottom
of the set during its programs asking viewers to call AT&T and demand that CBS programs be
reinstated and giving them a number to call to complain. Now stop us if we are wrong, but if DirectTV
customers are not getting the CBS feed, it is highly unlikely they even see this message. Oh, right, that
does make a bit of sense. Perhaps using this message as the core of an ad campaign should be run on
all other stations, especially local news channels, which might be a little more effective than blindly
pissing into the wind as WPRI is now doing.

This is not an unprecedented case of “What the hell are you doing? It doesn’t make the slightest bit of
sense.” P&J think about the same type of TV scrawl message going out during large storms when the
power has gone out, telling people to call a certain phone number to report the loss. Well, uh, perhaps
the message would have a bit more impact if it could actually reach customers out there sitting in the
dark listening to their battery-charged radios.

Two of the most humorous examples of this dumb and dumber tactic P&J recall involved the exciting
news announcement by a bank that it now had Braille on its touchpads at their drive-through windows.
OK, did the coin drop for you yet? P&J would imagine there are very few blind people driving cars that
could take advantage of such an exciting new service.

The second example, cited in this space decades ago, was when the then-leading radio news station
WEAN-AM started touting its latest technological breakthrough, because the station was using Doppler
color weather maps for their forecasts. Well, that addition of color maps was certainly a boon to their

radio listeners.

Think just a wee bit before you act, media barons, please. Unless you are trying to give us a laugh, for
which we thank you mightily.

Send in the Clown

Since the United States is seen having a “special relationship” with Great Britain, although we wouldn’t
call Prince Harry marrying Meghan Markle part of that deal, it’s hats off to the Brits for sinking to our
level when it comes to electing a certifiably insane person to lead.

Phillipe and Jorge are referring to the newly chosen prime minister of Old Blighty, Boris Johnson.
Known as BoJo, or more aptly, Bozo, he is a philandering, racist, perpetually lying political whore with a
preposterous blond coif given to brainless showoff antics that give him all the veritas of a feather.
Fortunately, not all Britons feel obligated to slit their wrists at how their new head honcho will bring the
nation into disrepute and turn it into an international joke, as Americans have with President Pussy-
Grabber, the rapist/racist who couldn’t tell the truth about water being wet and has made us the
laughingstock of the world — a Marat/Sade sideshow of incompetence.

Needless to say, BoJo and Dodo are best of mates, even though you know that both of them are on high
alert at being thrown under a bus or stabbed in the back by the other at the slightest provocation. Like
our own liar-in-chief, Bozo will say anything that pops into his head at any moment, truth having no part
in that play. Johnson led the English campaign to exit the European Union, Brexit, with more falsehoods
about the impact on the countries in the UK than could fit on the side of a bus … which he conveniently
used to help persuade voters that exiting the EU would be the best thing in the world for his
countrymen and women, until the proverbial hit the fan when the UK was forced to come up with a plan
that doesn’t bankrupt the entire British public and economy. And don’t hold your breath waiting for a
solution from Bozo, unless it involves throwing dishes at his mistress in late night disputes, which he
has mastered, as recent police reports attest.

Seeing these two idiots schmoozing each other in public while Johnson’s first-grader’s hairdo and The
Donald’s rug-worthy coif are blowing in the wind and exposing enough hair plugs to make Joe Biden
whinny will frighten countries from Argentina to Indonesia.

To cite the old joke, “Why did the sun never set on the British Empire? Because God didn’t trust Queen
Victoria in the dark.” Substitute “Boris” for “Queen Victoria” and you get the drift. It would be funny, if
it weren’t.

Criswell Didn’t See Facebook Coming

As always, P&J continue to read a variety of publications and, while we will look at what is posted
online, we prefer having a hard copy of the more reliable news publications. What we have noticed in
the past few years is the incredible amount of misinformation posted on social media. Twitter (which we
rarely look at) and Facebook seem to be full of fighting, hatred and nostalgia for past times (we will not
use the hackneyed phrase, “back in the day.”

From what we can tell, there appear to be an awful lot of people spending far too much of their time on
social media. Good luck to all of us in the future because in the immortal words of Criswell in the final
scene of Plan 9 from Outer Space, that is where we will spend the rest of our lives.

Mad About You

If Phillipe and Jorge need to point the finger at anyone for having us turn out to be professional
wiseasses, it would be at Mad magazine for their influence on our Wonder Years.

Mad recently pulled the plug on its publication, but it has been a non-entity on the satirical scene for
ages. Sort of like “Saturday Night Live” on NBC, which other than its political takes on Trump and Co.,
died an unannounced public death years ago as it tried to carry on the Belushi/Aykroyd/Curtin/Radner
legacy of actually being funny, which was undermined (still) by overlong skits that are decidedly
unimaginative and far from humorous. The graceful thing to do, Mr. Lorne Michaels, would be to pull
the plug on this turkey ASAP, as it has become an unwatchable embarrassment. All it does now is
constantly beg the question of who in hell thought the segments being beaten like dead horses as
viewers cringed should see airtime.

Mad made its bones by being the magazine that the parents of Baby Boomers thought was the
equivalent of pornography. In fact, it was a riot, full of absurdist humor written (and drawn) by folks
who could care less about whether you understood their references or political leanings, and appeared
to be mainly to amuse their colleagues, the Great Unwashed be damned. The sketches and cartoons
tried the imaginations and knowledge of P&J’s generation, as these were adult products that demanded
your attention to the underlying “fuck authority and don’t believe what your parents tell you.” P&J
distinctly recall at one point in our ‘ute of having to find the definition of “planned obsolescence,” used
by “the usual gang of idiots,” as Mad writers described themselves, in a hilarious, but telling bit about
the Detroit motor industry.

Alfred E. Neuman and his famed doofus smile and “What, me worry?” motto was the face of Mad, but

only the tip of the iceberg that changed many Boomers’ outlook on the world in a wonderful direction.

P.S. – As the past is celebrated as Mad pops its media clogs, the separately written and
published Mad books from the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, featuring takeoffs on The Shadow and Wonder
Woman, among many others, remain pure genius. If you see one at a yard sale, snap it up.

Phillipe and Jorge’s Cool, Cool World: Take
Three Shots, Gigi!: The gov screwed up again

Gigi’s Catering Service

It seems every time Governor Gigi Raimondo is involved in an enormous deal by the state that involves
big corporations, she, to put it politely, soils the bed. That is because, as Phillipe and Jorge have said
countless times in this space, she always thinks she is the smartest person in the room (you’re not,
honey), and caters to Big Money (just not ours).

Let us just detail her massive errors: the “Cooler and Warmer” top-to-bottom shambolic clown show; the
UHIP debacle that negatively affected the lives of thousands of Vo Dilunders because Gigi wanted it
rolled out before it was ready (which The Feds clearly pointed out beforehand); and throwing money to
big financial boys Deloitte for the faulty DMV computer system, extending their contract of
incompetence when, in fact, they were responsible for the original cock-up.

Now our Gigi has stepped in a hip-high pile of manure by proposing to give International Game
Technology (IGT) a 20-year, $1 billion no-bid contract with the R.I. Lottery that is a wet dream for IGT.
You can bet with those stakes, Gigi’s emissaries to the legislature, whose approval it needs, will be as
busy on Smith Street and off (with the legislature out of session for the summer) as IGT’s hired guns.
(And, may we add, Twin River lobbyists, as Twin River vehemently opposes the contract, taking out a
full-page ad in The Urinal on July 7 to urge state senators and reps to veto Gigi’s new scam.)

The dollar amounts we are talking about make P&J’s heads spin, as it is a glaring example of bad
governance and trying to sidestep public scrutiny while catering to a thriving member of the Big Biz
tribe, whose hooks already are sunk deep into the Biggest Little flesh. But Gigi loves those high-stakes

players.

The most appalling part is the “no bid” aspect. Having worked for state agencies in the past, P&J know
that even with the cheapest of state contracts — say $10K for 100 glossy printed publications — you
have to send out a “request for proposals” (RFP) to any number of competent businesses in that field,
and then, usually but not always due to technicalities or inexperienced firms getting involved, you
award the contract to the lowest bidder in order to be as diligent as possible with state (read:
taxpayers’) monies.

Now the governor is trying to shove this contract, negotiated in secret with IGT, down Little Rhody’s
throat. One billion bucks? Twenty years? No-bid? You have to be shitting us (and the public).

So we don’t put our readers into a coma with details, think of it this way: IGT is the international big
brother who supplies the hardware for gambling; TR is the local little brother who also gets a piece of
the pie via their two casinos (Lincoln and Tiverton). Raimondo and that no-bid contract is being handed
to IGT on a gold plate, sort of like giving big brother his own car and access to the family bank account,
while little brother is working for a living. And now IGT is accusing TR of trying to muscle its way into
their profits, which is likely true. IGT striking a secret deal with Gigi is blatantly true, because as a
former capital investor, she loves Wall Street and any Big Biz members. This despite the fact that all
capital investment bankers and hedge fund managers should be horsewhipped to within an inch of their
lives on the steps of the New York Stock Exchange.

That said, Twin Rivr has flipped IGT and Gigi the bird and come in with counter offers, despite
Raimondo wanting this IGT deal to breeze through. Most of it comes down to up-front money and
number of people who would be employed. And if she actually put out an RFP, at least one big-time out-
of-state gambling firm, as well as Twin River, has indicated would be more than interested in going for
it.

This is going to be fun to watch as Gigi goes to the legislature, and IGT and Twin River end up with both
professional and personal insults in the media becoming the order of the day. P&J can’t wait. Stay
tuned.

Planet Stupider Drive-in

Just when you think that you have been Vo Dilun-ized to the point that you barely lift an eyebrow when
something bizarre or impossible to explain (except for it occurring in our state) occurs here in Little
Rhody, our fellow citizens find a way to get our attention.

This latest item from the Planet Stupider case file comes from the Fourth of July fireworks celebration
in Providence, when hundreds of motorists on Routes 195 and 95 decided it would be a good idea to pull
over and watch the capital’s pyrotechnics from these major highways. No doubt they had some of the
best seats in the house, even if it was sitting on the roof of a parked car in many instances. And
astoundingly, some cars were actually parked in the 55 mph travel lanes.

These idiots — and our apologies to standard-issue idiots everywhere, because these folks have you
beaten by a mile — are the type who celebrate the 4th with fireworks in their backyards, and see how
long they can hold onto an M-80 before throwing it. The odd missing fingers(s) are a dead giveaway.

There aren’t words enough to explain how these people set up a potentially life-threatening scenario
and trapped innocent victims of their self-centered egos to go ooh and aah for 30 minutes. Instead of
merely issuing tickets, the staties should have banged all of the offenders into the ACI so they can see
what kind of fireworks go on in there.

Girls Talk

Ten years ago, P&J would say they wouldn’t watch a women’s soccer match if you paid us. This last
women’s World Cup, P&J watched all the US team matches and others of importance, and they were
exciting. As you know by now, the women won the World Cup, and with it, the bully pulpit they need in
pursuit of gender equality and equal pay. Go get ‘em, say P&J.

Besides the ticker tape parade in New York and appearances on talk shows by women’s soccer queen
Megan Rapinoe and equally outspoken face of the team Alex Morgan, what is helping them in their
demands is the fact that the overpaid men’s national team sucks, and is boring while they try to figure
out if the ball moves because there’s a frog inside it or for some other reaso. World Cup won by women
versus the men barely beating Curacao, a country smaller and with less than populace of Philadelphia,
1-0.

Dealing with the US Soccer Federation and the world governing body, FIFA, both of which are stocked
to the gills with incompetent, lying, greedy bastards, Megan, Alex and company have a long row to hoe.
But they now have the public on their side in a big way, and if you don’t think there are many politicians
looking to ride that wave and become their champions, just wait.

Congrats on an impressive display on the field, and the ability and guts to speak truth to power, ladies.

Criswell Didn’t See Facebook Coming

As always, P&J continue to read a variety of publications and, while we will look at what is posted
online, we prefer having a hard copy of the more reliable news publications. What we have noticed in
the past few years is the incredible amount of misinformation posted on social media. Twitter (which we
rarely look at) and Facebook seem to be full of fighting, hatred and nostalgia for past times (we will not
use the hackneyed phrase, “back in the day.”

From what we can tell, there appear to be an awful lot of people spending far too much of their time on
social media. Good luck to all of us in the future because in the immortal words of Criswell in the final
scene of Plan 9 from Outer Space, that is where we will spend the rest of our lives.

Philippe & Jorge’s Cool, Cool World: Good
Night, Sweet Prince: Your superior
correspondents bid a fond farewell to a state
treasure

See Ya, Pal

Phillipe and Jorge lost a good friend when legendary reporter Jim Taricani passed away.

It would now be totally redundant to praise his dedication to great journalism and his courage to take
one for the journalistic team in refusing to reveal a source, which earned him four months of home
confinement. (He was sentenced to six months, but had it reduced for good behavior.) If you think that’s
easy, try not leaving your own home for just a week.

But professional kudos notwithstanding, our recollection of Jim will be that every time we met him, he

had a smile on his face, a laugh about two seconds away. He also had a great sense of humor amid his
bouts with the mob and Buddy “Vincent A.” Cianci and his tribe. We shared a beer or twain with Jim
over the years, and he always regaled us with hilarious behind-the-scenes stories that would never see
airtime in his reporting. And when he lost his foot and part of his left leg in 2012 to the various ailments
that plagued him over the years, we sent him our sympathies and a typical “Buck up, Bruce” message.
To this, he responded that the upside of the procedure was that he could now get double the mileage
out of a pair of socks.

We also recall a memorable “Send in the Clowns” dinner (what the late secretary of state Susan Farmer
used to call evenings where your superior correspondents were guests) at Mac & Muffy Farmer’s home
a number of years back with the Taricanis (Jim and Laurie) also present. Very funny and entertaining as
we all swapped stories.

Yes, we lost perhaps the best newsman this state has ever produced. But more important, we lost a true
gentleman with a spine and honesty like no other, who despite having to look into the abyss and acting
on what he saw without fear or ever backing down, we had the departure of a great, optimistic and
wonderful man who could always see the lighter side of the darkness.

(A shout out here to Tim White of Channel 12, who has grown into the best investigative reporter in the
state. In a taped statement on WPRI after Jim’s death, he said when he rose to the position of
investigative reporter at his station, the first person he called was Taricani to get his advice on how to
do the job right. A fitting tribute to Taricani’s long-lasting impact, and Jim’s legacy will be how so very
many reporters he has influenced.)

Think Tank

To adapt a quote from the cerebral and subtly hilarious singer/songwriter Courtney Barnett, sometimes
Phillipe and Jorge sit and think, and sometimes we just sit. During these moments of deep reflection on
heavy topics like the women’s soccer World Cup or what restaurant we will go to that evening, here are
a few things of questionable value to our beloved readers worth pondering.

Outrun the Gun – If you were to be put in a room that you could not leave — forever — along with
Adam Sandler, Will Ferrell and Conan O’Brien, and given a gun with two bullets in it, whom would you
shoot? Note: If you didn’t use the second shot on yourself, we suggest seeking serious professional help
because your brain is broken. Or you are an irretrievable masochist.

Don’t Say That – P&J are very high-strung individuals, quite easily annoyed. So it is with certain words

that people seem addicted to using in ultimately futile attempts to make themselves sound either
intelligent or on the cultural qui vive.

Here are three that make us either incandescent with rage, cringe or simply want to say, “Please, shut
the fuck up.”

The first is “empower.” People actually have the audacity to say they have “empowered” someone or
some group. Bullshit. People are already empowered; they just have to use it. We remember Channel
10’s reporters in 2016 saying they were “empowering” viewers by merely presenting the day’s political
news. What arrogance and pretension.

Former Polish Solidarnosc leader and eventual president of Poland once said, “Rights are not things
that are given. Rights are things that can’t be taken away.” Same goes for power. Use it or lose it,
chumps.

The second is “journey.” Everyone now is on a journey through life. Well, unless you’re Odysseus or Don
Quixote or plan on spending 40 days in the wilderness, all any of us are doing is just living a life: often
mundane and boring, deeply absurd at most times and just plain unfair. So cut the ostentatious
“journey” crap and keep moving.

Lastly comes “sustainable.” P&J understand what our civil advocates and Millenials are trying to say,
but if you take 100 people, good of heart and healthy of mind, and ask them what “sustainable” means,
you will get 100 different definitions. Sometimes a common middle ground on what it means can be
reached, but usually only after a migraine-inducing argument, and at least one instance of “I’m going to
have to kick your ass” being thrown into the intellectual mix.

Final nitpicky note: You don’t modify the word “unique.” Nothing is “very unique” or “sort of unique.”
Unique is unique. And if we ever catch you using an expression like “he’s had a very unique journey,”
we put a black bag over your head and throw you off the Newport Bridge.

Taking Da Bait

If there has ever been a case of false advertising, it has to be what is being billed as the Democratic
presidential primary “debates.” More like the “posturing clusterfuck with photo ops and sound bites”
that emerges when you put 10 candidates on the same stage for a two-hour period — two times, no

less! — in which they come no closer to debating than Donald Trump does to telling the truth.

Instead, we get 20 desperate politicians yelling at the camera about what they would do if elected
president. That isn’t “debating,” that’s a made-for-TV ad. How we long for the old “Saturday Night Live”
skit with Dan Aykroyd and Jane Curtin going head-to-head, and the iconic “Jane, you ignorant slut” line.

Kamala Harris came the closest by tearing Joe Biden’s throat out with her bare teeth in criticizing his
support for segregationist senators when he was also a solon and his opposition to school busing. She
pointed out that she had been in the vanguard of students being bused to school as a ‘ute, and benefited
from it. This left Biden looking momentarily like a senior citizen who forgot where he was or even how
he had arrived there. His excuse was the usual insider political explanation which no one understood,
but which predominates these clusterfucks. Say what you mean, and in plain English -- enough with the
patronizing use of Spanish — because it not only turns people off, it pisses them off.

Phillipe & Jorge’s Cool, Cool World: In the
Navy: Our arches as simply perfect, Mr.
Secretary

P&J Still Awaiting Federal Jobs

At right about the same time that Phillipe & Jorge were about to volunteer to Secretary of Navy Richard
Spencer as the next heads of the US Naval War College in Newport, a candidate with better credentials
(Rear Admiral Shoshanna Chatfield) was named by Secretary Spencer.

In case you haven’t been following the news on this, the reason there was a need for a new leader at the
Naval War College was because the previous head ramrod, Rear Admiral Jeffrey Harley, was removed
after accusations that he was spending excessive amounts of money as well as engaging in other
“inappropriate behavior.” It was the “inappropriate behavior” accusations (of keeping a margarita
machine in his office and suggesting that people come by to receive “free hugs” that captured our
interest).

Your superior correspondents felt that we would fit right into the Trump Administration’s perception of
government since neither of us have any sort of military background. But this leaves us available to run
the Treasury Department now, since we don’t know anything about money policy either.

Passages: Beth Claverie

Phillipe & Jorge’s longtime, dear friend Beth Crellin Claverie passed away the first week of June. She
was an accomplished painter, a mother and grandmother, and wife of the late Charles “Rocket”Claverie.
Much love and condolences to her family and many friends. She is greatly missed.

No Wonder We’re in Big Trouble

P&J noticed in one of those Associated Press Today in History newspaper columns on June 15 that “on
this date in 1992,” Vice President Dan Quayle “erroneously instructed” a 6th grader to spell potato as
“potatoe.” At the time it was a huge scandal — we were so innocent then.

Phillipe & Jorge’s Cool, Cool World: Just a
Gigilo: Before ghosting was popdular, making
ghosts had a moment

Goodbye – and Good Riddance

Phillipe and Jorge were sad to see that Newport’s most famous gigolo, Claus von Bulow, popped his
clogs the other day at age 96. Not because if there was a God, the alleged murdering s.o.b. should have
died long ago, but because he was a source of vast entertainment and column fodder for your superior
correspondents in years past.

For the ‘utes of today, P&J at the time pointed out (as did many others) that Claus attached the “von” to
his name to give him added cachet on the Eurotrash circuit, leading von Phillipe and von Jorge to give
everyone involved in his murder trials with that phony-baloney international high-society door-
opener. In a nutshell, “von” Bulow, wed to filthy rich heiress “Sunny,” was accused of murdering her
with overdoses of insulin. He was convicted, but in a second sensationalist trial, was acquitted. Right.

At any rate, both trials held Little Rhody in thrall for months at a time, despite the heinous nature of the

crime. And doing our part as always, P&J tastefully suggested that the trials’ theme song be Johnny
“The African Queen” Mathis’ rendition of “When Sunny Gets Blue.” But of course that would be wrong
in so many ways. (Did it anyway. Ha!)

Namedroppers

Local media, especially The Urinal, have a long history of finding any and all possible ties to the Biggest
Little by anyone in the news. In some cases, just someone with name recognition driving through Little
Rhody en route to the Cape merits mention, as though they were the state’s favorite son or daughter.

So with the women’s soccer World Cup beginning in France, Phillipe and Jorge are shocked to find that
local newspapers and TV stations have failed to realize the connection to one of the women’s team’s
stars, Tobin Heath. The local attachment has not only been ignored, but totally overlooked instead of
being glorified, since her parents and uncle reside in Jamestown.

Perhaps this is just the usual dismissal of women’s soccer. But it is also missing the chance to hook the
Vo Dilun bandwagon up to one of the team’s top players, and arguably one of the best female players in
the world, who touched the athletic Holy Grail by being in the background on the cover of the most
recent edition of Sports Illustrated and who is playing on a team favored to win the World Cup. We
would assume this would produce old photos from her childhood being flashed about, an interview with
the parents watching a match on TV, and having some French stringer do an on-site interview with
Tobin about her views on clam cakes and chowder and the Superman building, even if she a) hasn’t a
clue, and b) doesn’t understand what the media hack said in French.

Admittedly, Tobin has risen to stardom in absentia from the Biggest Little, but that has never stopped
any namedroppers in the past. Phillipe & Jorge are quite upset by this, and recommend that The
Urinal’s executive editor Alan Rosenberg immediately resign for this flagrant breach of Little Rhody
media tradition. (Just kidding Alan, we love you. And Gatehouse Media will probably take care of
jettisoning you in the immediate future, since you actually do have a record of highly competent service,
which is the kiss of death in today’s pigpen market. There is one other option, but we’re not sure what
the minimum wage in Rhody is these days.)

Fashion Forward

Phillipe & Jorge make it a point to be properly color-coordinated in our wardrobes (and makeup) when
we step out of Casa Diablo each day.

So we have to grudgingly give some credit to our President Groper, who seems to be way ahead of the
game in anticipating this refined look. Besides the preposterous pouffie yellow hairdo and his Cheeto-
colored fake tan, The Donald was obviously thinking ahead to when he is removed from office after the
2020 election, knowing he will most likely be sporting an orange jumpsuit at Leavenworth once his
executive privilege and protection vanishes. Goes well with both the coif and the skin colorizing. But
P&J prefer that instead of calling it a jumpsuit, it be referred to as a cover-up, which would fit perfectly
into the web of lies that is woven around his entire life.

Eat Me

If you’re a fish lover with an adventurous spirit and an eye to future eating habits, may Phillipe & Jorge
recommend a splendid new tome that is a cookbook with a huge educational component. It is called

Simmering the Sea: Diversifying Cookery to Sustain Our Fisheries. It was produced by a tiny little
nonprofit named Eating with the Ecosystem, along with the URI Graduate School of Oceanography, and
besides having excellent illustrations by Lea Tirmant-Desoyen and recipes by chef Rizwan Ahmed, gives
great explanations — or raises questions — about why Vo Dilunders ignore much of what is caught that
we never end up eating. These include everything from periwinkles to dogfish, which prepared properly
are a seafood lover’s treat. It doesn’t just have to be lobster, cod, clams and scallops all the time, kids,
there is a wealth of other great options being totally ignored. So go get a copy of Simmering the
Sea from your favorite book purveyor, it’s more than worth the money.

(In the interest of full disclosure, Phillipe has been active with Eating with the Ecosystem and the
book’s authors to draw attention to this very good literary and culinary effort. And displaying his usual
acumen in financial affairs, he was paid in fish. But damn good fish and fresh off the local boats, he
might add.)

Kudos & Congrats

…to Russ Gusetti, a prominent musician as a member of Pendragon, who also is the executive director
of the Blackstone River Theatre. It is for the latter that Russ is being inducted into the Blackstone
Valley Tourism Council’s William Blackstone Society at a ceremony to be held in September.
Working on a Rumor

Your superior correspondents have been trying to hunt down a hot rumor that the Trump White House
has decided to hire a new attorney from right here in the Biggest Little. We are not at liberty to reveal
his name, but we can tell you that he earned his law degree from Suffolk Law and did his
undergraduate work at what he modestly refers to as My Johnson’s a Whale University. He is well
known in professional circles as “The Heavy Bullshitter.” Needless to say, this is par for the course in
today’s US of A.
RIP

Rest in peace, Leon Redbone, the iconic singer and guitarist who passed away on May 30 at the age of
69. Jorge (Rudy Cheeks) recalls meeting Redbone in New York City one evening in 1978 when he came
to see the Young Adults play at a club on 72nd Street. He was a very nice guy.

Phillipe & Jorge’s Cool, Cool World: Shove It!:
Your superior correspondents think everyone’s
getting a little pushy

The Pushy Public

Boy, the nerve of some people! Phillipe and Jorge are referring to the majority of the American public
who have the audacity to demand information about perhaps the most corrupt, lying and incompetent
administration in the glorious history of our great country. Pushy, pushy.

Instead, we now have all of the essentials of a banana republic, stonewalling no doubt damning
information, prohibiting probably guilty people from telling the truth to Congress and keeping in power
a dictator-worshiping president who is a pathological liar and a nepotistic and corrupt administration
that would make a Maduro, Suharto, Duerte, Allende or Noriega weep with envy. And that’s not even
including murdering African rulers who probably have a picture of Idi Amin in the living room next to
one of The Donald, and are looting their national treasuries while their people starve. So what’s the big
problem? Are the trains running on time? Lighten up and welcome to the real world.

Seriously, we are seeing our finest values flushed down the gold-plated toilet of narcissistic professional
liar, psychopath Donald Trump, and those who capitulate and serve him. (Take a bow, Phat Phuc AG
William Barr.)

The shining light of recent days has been the appearance of James Comey, the former FBI director who
was fired by the Orange Orangutan for not kissing his ring. In an interview on CBS, Comey eloquently,
and with his wits together at all times, spelled out what President Groper is like. Saying talking to him
is like being washed over by continual lies, he keeps on telling falsehoods until you run out of steam
trying to point out Trump’s full of shit 24/7. Comey also brought up the people who do now have their
lips attached to the president’s derriere, asking, as we all should, “What happened to these guys?” who
used to have pride and integrity, like Phat Phuc Barr, who is now just a Trump toady (and join the
crowd).

The only person who Comey exonerated was former Defense Secretary James Mattis, who quit on
Trump over Syria, an unspoken “kiss my ass,” which even our dimwitted CinC could figure out. And hey,
tough guy Donnie, how are those bone spurs your father paid a doctor to falsely diagnose and keep you
out of the draft while Mattis was earning his way up to general in the military?

The more Trump tries to obfuscate, the more it is obvious he has plenty to hide. But then again, being
honest with Americans is not his strong suit. And hats off to Red Sox manager Alex Cora, a Puerto Rican
native, and a dozen of his players for giving the White House celebration of their World Series title a
miss. If you needed a good reason beyond general decency, Donnie had the balls to the next day state
publicly a grossly inflated – and flagrantly lying – figure about how much aid we sent to our territorial
asset – and we might add, good friends.

Would someone in the media please have the balls to just use the headline ‘Trump Lies Again”? How
much more proof do you need?

Boy’s Life

Warning: This is a bit on the crudish side, so if you are overtly hypersensitive to topics involving sex,
stop reading now. Or go hide.

If you are the parents of a young male teen and hear slapping noises from their bedroom at night, notice
their desire for a longish shower or experience them occupying the bathroom for 25 minutes, here’s
why. The Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue has just come out, which is a soft porn gift to middle
schoolers, and they will be yanking furiously. It’s a grand tradition.

SI has turned this into an annual media event, however, it may seem tame to connoisseurs of hard porn.
And bringing back Tyra Banks this year for the cover shot is somewhat embarrassing, since the kids
who are thumbing through it with wrists flailing away are young enough to be her grandchildren.

But it remains an icon to those of a certain age. And kudos and congrats to SI for including US women’s
soccer team star Megan Rapinoe, P&J’s all-time fave and light years in skill above the very good other
players on our national team. She puts the ball in the net, is the inspirational leader of our national
team and looks hot in a bathing suit. Oops, sorry — how un-pc of us. Oh, and did we mention she’s an
out lesbian?

Megan, call us. We love you.

RI Radio and Television Hall of Fame

Jorge (Rudy Cheeks), who spent 20 years working in the radio business, has been a regular attendee at
the local Radio Hall of Fame induction events since they started. This year, television was added. The
main reason Jorge always attends is to spend a little time with old friends he used to work with, but it’s
always interesting to see who shows up.
This year there wasn’t anyone as surprising as retired Catholic bishop, Louis Gelineau (aka Jellomold)
who attended a couple years back, but it was interesting and a surprise to run into Al Cerrone (whose
daughter Alana was being honored this year for her work at Channel 6-TV) sitting next to film director
Michael Corrente, both old friends. And indeed, it was great that Al didn’t try and relate any bad jokes
to Jorge (something he’s quite renowned for). All-in-all it was another fun evening to see a lot of old
friends. Although Jorge was hoping to report that someone did something exceptionally embarrassing,
no such luck this year.

Phillipe & Jorge’s Cool, Cool World: Too Many
Players on the Field!: Your superior
correspondents talk sports and politics

Death of a Nation

Phillipe and Jorge hate to preach or belabor the obvious, but we can’t help saying that the lowest point
in our lifetimes, as far as our country’s global reputation, image and policy-making, has been the
election of the pathological liar, professional groper, golf cheat and all around scumbag Donald Trump
as president.

P&J are both Truman babies – born light years ago. And to inform Millenials, Harry Truman was the
president who succeeded Franklin Delano Roosevelt, pulled the trigger on the atomic bombings of
Hiroshima and Nagasaki (often deplored but credited with saving thousands of GI lives), and coined the
phrase, “The buck stops here.” Whereas our current commander-in-chief is a gutless narcissist who
cares nothing about America, and is only concerned about himself.

Unfortunately, he may stand a chance of being re-elected in 2020. And he will be aided by the fact that
the national Democratic party is running a presidential primary with 21 candidates, a preposterous and
possibly self-destructing number. Not to mention it looks like an AARP convention, with the purportedly

lead chancers – Biden, Sanders and Warren – all over 70 years of age. Hey, it’s a brand new day!

The Dems are also faced with the consequences of trying to impeach the man with the ridiculous hairdo
and fake tan, which could backfire, despite the fact that impeachment is probably too small a step. As
P&J have thundered here before, just go straight after the Orange Orangutan’s tax returns, because
they will probably show that he not only falsified information, but is in hock to countless Russian
oligarchs. We think he doth protest too much.

But would someone charismatic please step up for the Dems? Or you will fall victim to the same thing
that cost you the 2016 election! Trump has city-slickered the lower middle-class losers, who he wouldn’t
walk across the street to piss on if they were on fire. “Make America Dumb Again.”

Sri Lanka’s Sad Story

Phillipe and Jorge don’t mean to bore your strides off, but the Easter Sunday bombings in Sri Lanka,
where P worked for a time and had friends, touched a nerve.

Sri Lanka is a strange mix of culture and civility, combined with grinding poverty outside its main cities.
There is the elegance of Galle Face Green with its surrounding luxury hotels and kids playing cricket in
the morning before heading to school, and 15 minutes away you can see water buffalo and elephants
working the fields and rice paddies. And with 70% of the population being Buddhists, it gives a strange
perspective to everyday life. (Think cows lying on the center stripe of the roads, studiously avoided by
drivers whose main equipment on their cars is the horn.)

It also suffered tremendously from a long, vicious civil war between the Tamil Tigers in the north and
the majority Sinhalese government forces in the south. And they are accustomed to violence,
unfortunately. The road from the airport to the capital, Colombo, is lined by zig-zag Jersey barriers to
prevent suicide car bombers, and they are surrounded by machine gun turrets occupied by what looked
to P like 16-year-old soldiers.

Phillipe got one of the scares of his life when he wandered out for a morning walk, crossing the
commuter railroad tracks. Just as he reached the other side, a convoy of military trucks and a black
limousine screeched to a halt as the railroad crossing bar came down and a train stopped. About two
dozen soldiers jumped out and surrounded the limo, which contained the vice president, pointing their
guns at the people on the sidewalk. P decided this wasn’t the best of times to be white and a head taller
than most of the pedestrians. The reason for the panic was that the Sri Lankan prime minister had
recently been almost killed by a bomb ambush, which, to put it mildly, had everyone on high alert for a
possible repeat performance.

But the saddest thing about the recent bombings is you won’t meet nicer or more intelligent and well-
mannered folks than in Sri Lanka. Fuck terrorists everywhere.

Havlicek Stole the Ball!

Then the Boston Celtics’ announcer, the legendary Johnny Most, made his screaming commentary,
“Havlicek stole the ball!” to win the 1965 Eastern Conference championship against Philadelphia in the
dying seconds, an iconic moment in Celtics’ history, as John Havlicek won it for the green and white by
grabbing Hal Greer’s inbounds pass.

Havlicek is the Celts’ all-time leading scorer, despite the fact that he rarely used his left hand except to
brush back his hair. But he was an incredible all-around athlete who, when coming out of Ohio State as
a Boston draft pick, also tried out for the Cleveland Browns as a wide receiver. He was the last player
cut in training camp in favor of the Browns opting to retain future pro bowler Gary Collins.

Phillipe and Jorge saw Havlicek play years ago in the CVS Golf Classic, when he was paired up in a
foursome with Dallas Hall of Fame QB Roger Staubach, CVS CEO Tom Ryan and, if memory serves,
Boomer Esiason. Both Hondo and Roger looked like they could still play their respective sports, despite
being in their 50s. Clean living, we suspect.

Thanks for the memories, John.

Only in Florida

Your superior correspondents are always on the lookout for the most ridiculous news stories, and, while
that’s not too difficult these days, sometimes enough is enough. That was our first thought when a story
from the Palm Beach Post on April 24 caught our eye. The Post is part of the Gatehouse Media (the
company that also owns our local Urinal.)
The story explained why the public will not be seeing the video of 75-year-old N.E. Patriot’s owner
Robert Kraft paying for and receiving sex from an employee in a Jupiter, Florida, day spa. P&J can’t
think of too many citizens with IQs over 80 (and most with IQs under 80 as well) who are clamoring to
see this video.
Considering the cultural abyss that we call “Life in 2019,” P& J suspect that one of these days the video
will rear its acned puss. At that time that we will suggest Jupiter change its name to “Stupider.”

Phillipe & Jorge’s Cool, Cool World: Alley-oop!:
Gather ’round, kiddies, and we’ll tell you a tale

St. Ernie

If you don’t know the name Ernie DiGregorio, you are definitely not a true Vo Dilunder.

Just voted into the College Basketball Hall of Fame, Ernie D. should have been selected before he ever
left Providence College and headed to the NBA, where he was voted Rookie of the Year. He was the
beloved son of Nawt Prov and, along with South Prov’s Marvin Barnes, another local legend, was at the
heart of one of PC’s greatest teams in history in the early 1970s. If not for Marvin being injured in the
NCAA semifinals against Memphis State, the Friars had a great shot at winning it all, even against the
invincible UCLA, the eventual champs.

A corollary benefit was that PC had begun playing their games at the brandy new Civic Center in 1973,
filling its 12,000 seats with fans there to see the Marvin and Ernie Show, and put what is now The Dunk
on the national basketball map as a premier showcase.

Ernie D. was short and a little pudgy, and looked about as much of a local basketball idol as your
mailman. But he was one of flashiest and highest scoring players of his era, who could make a
basketball do tricks. His iconic play came when he threw a length-of-the-court, behind-the-back pass to
his streaking teammate Kevin Stacom, another terrific PC player, for a layup. Stacom also played for the
Boston Celtics, and would have been the lodestar in any other program. Ernie D. was the archetypal
gym rat, and was a deadly shooter as well as a ridiculous passer.

Ernie’s fame in Little Rhody was such that even years after his graduation, Phillipe and Jorge would
amuse themselves when waiting in line at a restaurant by loudly saying, “Hey, there’s Ernie D.!” and
watching the heads of everyone in earshot swivel looking for the saint of La Prov. If they ever have a
statue built outside The Dunk honoring its history and heroes, it should be of Ernie D. shooting a
jumper, and it should squeeze in Marvin pulling down a rebound.

Kudos and Congrats

A tip of the beret and sombrero to Providence’s Downtown Design Review Committee for voting
unanimously to recommend the I-195 Redevelopment Commission reject the proposal for the ludicrous
Hope Point Tower, an atrocity that would stand out like a sore thumb in Our Little Towne due to its
extreme height and overall design. This garish affront to good taste by New York developer Jason Fane

was preposterously being called Providence’s Eiffel Tower, but the Awful Tower would be closer to the
truth.

We suggest Jason Fane & Co. go back to the drawing board and come up with a design that befits an
historic state capital, and not a background for “The Jetsons.”

Bizarre Juxtapositions in the Biggest Little

A spate of stories a few weeks back about specialty license plates in RI leads P&J to believe that Vo
Dilunders’ obsession with license plates may have finally hit its peak. This photo of an automobile seen
recently parked in front of Old Slater Mill in Pawtucket would be exhibit A.

RIP Rico

Phillipe lost a good friend and golf companion with the recent passing of Rico Vecchio. A very generous
and caring man, his booming voice commanded the Jamestown Golf Course and clubhouse as he
provoked shouting matches and loud, but good-hearted, arguments.

He grew up in Providence’s Silver Lake district and was a barber for decades. He loved his ballroom
dancing as much as his golf, engaging in both into his 80s, and he was a true Rhode Island character.
He leaves behind many, many friends and many, many memories. We’ll toast you with a Sambuca, Rico.
Salud.

Phillipe & Jorge’s Cool, Cool World: Throw
Away the Key!

Blameless or Shameless?

Phillipe and Jorge can barely make space for commenting on the cascading affronts to decency, honesty
and intelligence offered up by our conman/cheat/racist president and his toadies. And the level of
outright corruption in Washington, DC, must make disgraced authoritarians like Venezuela’s President
Maduro whinny in delight that our own presidency is as despicable as his own.

Nowhere is there a better example of kissing dictators’ asses for money than Paul “Burning Tire”
Manafort. Known as “the torturer’s lobbyist,” he is a perfect accomplice for President Lying Crybaby,
given the latter’s disposition to put his lips to the derrieres of such wonderful folks as North Korea’s fat
frog Kim Jong-un, Muhammad Bin Salman of the terrorist training ground and money supplier to the
9/11 murderers from Saudi Arabia, and, of course, the delightful Vladimir Putin, who would slit your
throat without batting an eye. Just don’t get any blood on that Armani suit. Although, it would be
another opportunity to pose shirtless, eh?

In giving Manafort a slap on the wrist for his treasonous activities in cahoots with The Big Cheeto,
Virginia District Court Judge TS Ellis III said in explanation of his leniency, “He’s lived an otherwise

blameless life.” (Note: Keep a running eye on Ellis’ bank account, investments and future employers. As
Robert DeNiro’s character said when he went ballistic after the JFK heist in Goodfellas, “You don’t buy
your wife a fucking mink coat” two weeks after divvying up the cash.)

Blameless? Excuse me? Manafort represented some of the vilest international political leaders ever,
who looted their country’s treasuries to the tune of millions of dollars while keeping a foot perched on
the throats of the nation’s poorest. At the top of the batting order were President Suharto of Indonesia,
Ferdie Marcos of the Philippines, Mobutu Sese Seko of Zaire (now Congo) and Sani Abacha of
Nigeria. Burning Tire working for these Goon Squad idols would be like being employed by Benito
Mussolini and saying, “Boy, those trains sure run on time,” as every cent at the turnstiles went into his
pocket.

P&J have seen this firsthand in Indonesia. Once Suharto was disposed for flagrant thievery and being a
bully boy, folks there would still only speak about him in very hushed tones. Life’s cheap in those places,
so even disposed ghosts can haunt you. And if you think our voting system is a train wreck, how about
casting a vote in an already rigged election with a soldier armed with a AK-47 looking over your
shoulder?

Manafort should be imprisoned for the rest of his life for those assaults on humanity, nevermind his wet
work for Donald Trump. Blameless, indeed. And shameless?

Take a bow, Judge Ellis.

Socialist Lubrication

That shower of assholes we know as the Republican party thinks they have latched on to a great
negative buzzword for their Democratic opponents: socialist. These lying, delusional, supposedly keen
GOP political strategists think that as long as they can grab the phrase “Democratic socialists” that
Bernie Sanders made popular in 2016, they can convince everyone that “socialism” means societally
tainting white folks with forced interaction with the great unwashed, blacks/Latinos/WOGs of all sorts,
and eventually will lead to Josef Stalin’s picture adorning a wall in the Oval Office.

Thus, Phillipe and Jorge have an offer to make to these reactionary chowderheads. If you or any of your
relatives (like elderly Mom and Dad) are currently availing themselves of Social Security, Medicare or
Medicaid, tell the government to stop subsidizing them with these kinds of socialist programs. Take
away that monthly SS check and their oxygen tanks, hit them up for $40 per prescription and when they
run out of money, well, you may as well shove them off a cliff. Oh, we almost forgot. Start paying for
Sissy and Junior’s K-12 education straight out of pocket with no federal help. That, ladies and
gentlemen, in a basic sense, is socialism, but the GOP idiots don’t even know it. (Cue Springsteens’s
“Born in the USA” and the Village People’s “YMCA,” which the Republicans embarrassingly dance −
badly − to every time they get together without a clue as to what the lyrics mean.) So if you are taking
advantage of any of these life-saving programs while calling Bernie Sanders a commie, get stuffed. And
put dear old Mom and Dad out on the curb with this week’s trash barrels.

And if you are a crotchety old man or woman, let’s talk about another dastardly socialist scheme: the GI
Bill. One of America’s greatest post-war moves was the GI Bill that was socialistic and a key to building
a large middle class. (P&J’s fathers both fought in the war, and were able to avail themselves, to one
degree or another, of this grand, and uncontested, entitlement.) This equity and job opportunity builder
was a lifesaver for many courageous young men and women who served their country. And, as the GOP

suggests, if you say “socialism” means communism and dictatorship, you are about as dumb as P&J
have already bet you are.

Honestly, as our mothers would say.

Another Tale of Local Greed

Sadly, we see stories like this on a regular basis but, since in the not too long ago past P&J actually
dined at both of these joints, we feel it incumbent on us to alert our readers to this story.
According to a Providence Business News story dated March 25, the US Department of Labor has filed
a lawsuit against the owners of two East Providence restaurants (Madeira Restaurant and Al’s
Waterfront Restaurant and Marina) for allegedly screwing 11 employees out of rightfully earned wages
(basically failure to pay overtime wages for hours worked over their 40 hour work weeks).
One Department of Labor official referred to the failure to pay as a “fraudulent scheme.” Your superior
correspondents will no longer patronize these establishments and suggest you do the same.

Phillipe and Jorge’s Cool, Cool World:
Scandalous!: Please make checks out to
Superior Correspondents, Inc

                                             Schools of Scandal

Phillipe and Jorge are appalled by the recent exposure of bribes, cheating on tests and falsified
admission applications by parents in order to get their numbnuts sons and daughters into prestigious
schools. (We must say we take exception to The University of Texas and San Diego University as being
included in that lot. If your son or daughter needs help getting into either of those schools, it would
probably be just as easy to enroll them in a community college and let them find a drug dealer as their
BFF.)

This country has a proud history of colleges catering to rich white (and preferably Protestant) people’s
every whim because they know the do-re-mi will soon be flowing to those ivied bastions of entitlement,
privilege and utter conceit. This is America, goddammit, so just get used to it, shut up and know your
place.

What is honking P&J’s horn is the fact that now it appears that our hallowed halls of wisdom are

allowing parvenus like C-level celebrity actresses and hedge fund managers to pay lotsabucks to
supposedly fool them (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) with absolutely falsified credentials. When collegiate
admissions officers can’t detect something being rotten in Denmark with Photoshopped pictures of
these twisted offspring claiming to excel in a sport such as crew, when all they have ever experienced
on a boat is a yacht tied to a dock with Mummy and Daddy sucking down Pina Coladas, we have a
problem. Hey, stand back and let the elite kids and Eurotrash through, puh-leeze.

Let’s just use a random case of purchasing an admission without the proper portfolio from Daniel
Golden, editor at the web news site, ProPublica, who in 2006 published a book called The Price of
Admission, which addresses this exact problem of getting anybody with the proper amount of bucks into
a prestigious school. This random case involved Jared Kushner, the vacuous, halfwitted, smirking
chimpanzee who is now President Big Baby’s son-in-law and “senior advisor.”

“New Jersey real estate developer Charles Kushner (Jared’s sleazebag father, if you hadn’t guessed) had
pledged $2.5 million to Harvard University in 1998, not long before his son Jared was admitted to the
prestigious Ivy League school. ‘There was no way anybody in the administrative office of the school
thought he would on the merits get into Harvard,’ a former official at The Frisch School in Paramus,
New Jersey, told (Golden). ‘His GPA did not warrant it, his SAT scores did not warrant it. We thought for
sure there was no way this was going to happen. Then, lo and behold, Jared was accepted. It was a little
bit disappointing because there were, at the time, other kids we thought should really get in on the
merits, and they did not.’”

The $2.5 million bribe also happened to come from a convicted criminal.

In 2004, Daddy Kushner was indicted on 18 counts of illegal campaign contributions, tax evasion
and witness tampering. He ended up spending 14 months at the government’s pleasure at a federal
prison in Alabama. The acorn evidently didn’t fall far from the tree. And now, like his scumbag father-in-
law, the unspeakable Donald Jr. and village idiot Dubya Bush, who were all born on third base, he thinks
he hit a triple.

In the meantime, we would alert you to the fact that the Phillipe and Jorge Institute of Casual Research
is accepting applicants for next year; just make sure the application comes wrapped in a hefty check.

The Untouchables

Phillipe and Jorge have always liked the late Richard Pryor’s comic-but-not-so-funny take on America’s
legal system.

“You want justice? Well, that’s who’s in prison … just us.”

So why was anyone surprised that rich, powerful white man and professional political lizard Paul
“Burning Tire” Manafort got away with being sentenced to a mere 47 months in what will undoubtedly
be a Club Fed so he can work on his tennis game? Meanwhile, a black kid gets busted for having an
ounce of weed and gets three years. Never mind that the charges Burning Tire was convicted of are
essentially treasonous, and in earlier years (Make America Great Again!) he’d be riding Old Sparky to
the Promised Land, dancing on air at the end of a rope or lined up against a wall and shot.

Fortunately, the next judge at the plate to sentence him for his misdeeds nailed him with three more
years in the hoosegow, to be served after the initial 47 months. Yes, well played. And while Burning Tire