Pardon me

Why should anyone, anyone, be surprised that Bill Clinton once again abused his power and insulted all of America with the pardons he foisted on us during his final days in office? Aided and abetted by his wife, Clinton has spent his entire political career giving himself a pardon for his reprehensible, sleazy behavior in public office. So what's a few score more friends to be absolved of their actions?

Still, give him credit for his multi-tasking abilities. It's not easy to pick a cop-killer and more than 100 second-rate white collar scumbags to pardon while you're also unpacking FedEx packages full of expensive silverware and preparing to slip out the back door at Pennsylvania Avenue. Never mind logging the names and numbers of the hotties that even Billary didn't have the gall to call from the Oval Office. Hope you enjoy those nights in DC while the ex-president is in his New York City flat, Hill. Do you know where your husband is tonight?

While there are many people we would rather commend than Gotham mayor Rudy Giuliani, P&J believe he delivered just the right public message to Senator Clinton when he refused to formally meet with her after Bill pardoned financier-cum-thief Marc Rich, whose wife helped to get a free walk for her man by buying off the Clintons. As New York's US attorney, Giuliani led the prosecution in absentia of Mr. Rich after he legged into exile in Switzerland. Hizzoner's pique came from the fact that the Clintons had been greased by the aptly named Richs, and he was livid at Billary for letting hundreds of hours of work be overturned by a pen stroke as the lights were being turned out on the Clinton reign.

Could there have been a more overworked room in the White House than the staff shower?

Wuss in Boots

Isn't it embarrassing enough that Junior Bush is president, without him having to do a runway turn with the little cowboy boots that Daddy no doubt bought him? (Laura wouldn't let him wear the coonskin cap in public, and Big Time Cheney swiped the holster with Dubya's toy guns, so he could outfit them with cop-killer bullets.) You probably saw Bush modeling the boots, with their blue and white presidential seal and "GWB" -- standing for "Goofy White Boy" -- emblazoned on the side. Jeez, get ex-University of Mississippi cheerleader Trent Lott done up in his distressed denim outfit with the peacock feather in his cap, and Dubya in his Yale frat sweater and "all hat and no cowboy" boots, and we'll go cruising the superior bars with them any time. Although we'll let Laura cut in on the dance floor when they play her and her hubby's favorite song, "Save the Last Dunce for Me."

Speaking of a little traveling music, Georgie Boy -- who has barely been outside the United States -- has announced an ambitious tour to expand his worldview. First up, a trip all the way to Mexico, the sleeping giant in our basement, to meet with President Vicente Fox, provided Wuss in Boots recognizes him. Then, provided he's not too tuckered out, Junior's off on another international sojourn, this time all the way to Canada, the retarded giant in our attic, for a high-level meeting in Quebec. Hey, Mr. Cheney, they seem to have a different word for everything up here!

Speaking of linguistics, the lovely Ms. P sends along a rather amusing story about the new prez and his veep. Dubya and Cheney were having lunch at a restaurant near the White House prior to the inauguration. Cheney ordered the "heart healthy" salad. Junior then leaned over to the waitress and said, "Honey, could I have a quickie?" She was horrified! The waitress said, "Mr. President, I thought your administration would bring new era of moral rectitude to the White House. Now I see I was wrong, and I'm sorry I voted for you," and she marched off. Cheney leaned over and said, "George, I think it's pronounced, 'quiche.' "

The Wood Party

P&J were amused to read, in the turmoil over who has the rights to the original Howdy Doody puppet, that Buffalo Bob's best friend attracted more than one million votes for president in 1948, outpolling that year's leading independent candidate.

Cowabunga! Sleep tight, Mr. Nader.

Goodbye, Jeannie

Phillipe and Jorge were dismayed to learn of the passing of Jeannie McGregor, the always-sparkling former press rep for Trinity Rep and the state Committee for the Humanities. We had many opportunities to work with her, and you could never meet a more charming and upbeat person. Our deepest condolences go out to her family and the array of people who had the great good fortune of knowing Jeannie.

Just asking

A friend of your superior correspondents who is a former state trooper queried us as to why we thought State Police Superintendent Edmond Culhane is so cold to the idea of having the state police, Providence police, and municipal police academies rolled into one training institute, as was recommended by the governor's Select Commission on Race and Police-Community Relations. This is especially curious since the state and municipal academies were once one and the same. It certainly couldn't be that Culhane thinks the Providence academy is perhaps less than upright about who makes the force? Or, that the municipal academies, when choosing their future finest, look with a great deal of favoritism on well-connected members of the community? P&J couldn't possibly fathom the reason for Culhane's disdain -- perhaps a local ink-stained wretch might inquire?

Who, me accountable?

Roll over, Dershowitz (and tell Bill Clinton the news)!" You've got to hand it to Anthony E. Annarino Jr., the convicted former Providence tax collector. It takes mucho cojones to try to out-chutzpah the likes of the attorney of last resort and Bill "Pardon Me" Clinton, but this week the would-be king of the minimum security links made a bold move. Arguing to a city hearing officer that Annarino should retain his city retirement benefits, lawyer Michael Lepizzera explained that tough-talking Tony took $500 from Tony "Frazier" Freitas, FBI informant and domestic violence poster boy, as a "gratuity."

No, it wasn't dishonorable service, it wasn't corrupt, it wasn't a quid pro quo. It was a tip for fine service rendered. Your superior correspondents imagine that if this particular line of reasoning holds sway, and Annarino is granted his benefits, it could open up a whole new area of legal defense.

Let's say, for instance, that you're caught on tape pulling an armed bank robbery. Well, most bank security camera have only that grainy black and white tape with no audio, right? Although you were caught red-handed, you could argue that you weren't actually "robbing" the bank. You were just a little high on Klonopin and Crown Royal, and when you stumbled into the bank and flashed your gun at the teller, the teller was so grateful that you didn't pull the trigger that, as an afterthought, he or she handed you a gratuity.

Who, me accountable? pt. 2

Despite Tough Tony's impressive showing in the chutzpah sweepstakes, a worthy contender has emerged from the Cincinnati area: John Remley, 67, of Norwood, Ohio.

Remley, a sporting kind of fella himself, signed up to participate in one of those "side contests" that frequently take place on Super Bowl Sunday (in this case, last year's Super Bowl Sunday), the Cincinnati Post recently reported. His neighborhood tavern, Lieb's Café, was sponsoring a "game of chance" in which the top prize was to "consume as much alcohol as the winner desired to consume, without charge."

Well, needless to say, our man Remley emerged victorious in the big Facemasters contest, but cautious and prudent man that he is, he decided to wait until May 30 to collect. That evening, Remley and a friend went to Lieb's and put the big face on. According to his $1 million lawsuit against Lieb's and the café's owner, Ron Janus, "Despite the fact that (Janus) knew or should have known that (Remley) and his friend were extremely intoxicated, (Janus) continued to serve (Remley) alcoholic beverages."

Eventually, Remley got so drunk that bar employees moved him away from the bar and left him unattended near a flight of stairs. He fell down the stairs, was knocked unconscious and taken to the hospital -- a sequence of events for which Remley is now seeking $1 million in punitive damages, plus more than $25,000 for past and future medical bills, pain, and suffering.

Phillipe & Jorge don't believe that "Sub-genius" Janus, mastermind of the Super Bowl face-off, should be off the hook altogether. Perhaps an appropriate punishment would be six months of confinement in an exact replica of the men's room of the original Lupo's (reproduction of olfactory atmospherics a must), while clad in a three-foot conical hat, giant Bozo shoes and industrial green scrubs.

Kudos and congrats . . .

. . . to the folks at the Providence Film Commission (particularly former director Paul Campbell and his successor, Eric Olin), Rick Smith and the state Film Commission, the Bud-I (of course), and all those who have worked so hard to encourage filmmaking in the capital city. In the winter edition of MovieMaker magazine, Providence is cited as one of the top 10 cities in North America for independent filmmakers. The article notes that Our Little Towne has "a government that will jump through flaming hoops to encourage production."

Unfortunately, the flaming hoops that the government of Providence is currently jumping through have little to do with independent filmmaking.

. . . to actor/director/art collector/ all-around lunatic Dennis "A little too late to testify" Hopper, who recently told the London Telegraph, "O.J. played golf at my club on the day of the murders and, on the eighth hole, this lawyer, Scott Blumberg, was talking, and O.J. hit a bad drive. He turned around and said, `You mother-bleeper, you talk while I hit and I'm gonna slit your bleeping throat!' "

According to Hopper, the lawyer said he was leaving, that he didn't need to take that kind of abuse. And Simpson said, `No man, I'm sorry man, but you know, I've been up all night on cocaine, man."

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