Unless Providence Police Chief Richard Sullivan wants to come across as a totally impotent buffoon, he might want to examine why his employees feel quite comfortable in using their on-duty time to appear in court, in uniform, to intimidate jurors. Never mind the wearing of the colors when they're out drinking, as Flynn was, according to the Other Paper's account, on the night when he pounded a hole in the counter next to the head of the parking lot attendant.

And one wonders why the state police don't want to share their police academy with a force that includes a few too many semi-pro punks and yahoos.

Sleep tight, Barney Prignano.

Inman's sole claim to political fame is having had his lips surgically attached to the buttocks of his hockey playing crony, House Speaker John Harwood -- which resulted in the conflicted speaker naming him to succeed Jim Langevin after Langevin moved up to Congress.

Eddie nonetheless believes Sherbet should support him simply because he's an unelected nobody whose pal fixed up a job for him, a la Harwood's naming of his wife to a $100,000-plus magistrate's position with no public scrutiny of the move. "I was disappointed and a little bit hurt," Inman told the Urinal's Political Scene column.

Get over it, Eddie, and start polishing up that thin resume. Here's a hankie.

First, we had the famed "journalist" (honk!) John DePetro, the self-styled Independent Moron, excuse us, Independent Man, calling P&J "clowns" on the air, asserting that no one over 21 reads this wonderful rag. DePetro also put us in the same category as the Urinal's Bob Kerr, another one of those liberals that the Independent Moron loves to attack.

Well, despite the fact Bob is appalled at keeping company such as ours, we might point out that Mr. DePetro doesn't read the Phoenix because it tires out his lips and he needs help with the big words. His audience is probably far smaller than the readership of the Phoenix, unless the number of alcoholic shut-ins has drastically increased since P&J last looked. Jorge, who has worked on and off in talk radio since 1984, is absolutely astounded that DePetro claims with a straight face to be a journalist. You can bet your life that Jorge's friend and mentor, Sherm Strickhouser, the late, great talkmeister and a class act all the way, is laughing his substantial buttocks off somewhere at DePetro's silliness.

Then we had our old friend M. Chuckie Bakst alluding to your superior correspondents in his Sunday column on Governor Bigfoot, writing, "He has an image of being so laid back as to be lazy or uninterested. Some wags call him the Missing Linc." Thank you very much, Charlie. Now wag this. (We were quite surprised to read in Chuckie's piece that Bigfoot was at home when the hijacked planes hit the World Trade Centers on 9-11. This would mean the Missing Linc was aiming for another day of hard work by getting to the State House by at least 10:30 a.m., churning straight through to 4:30, before heading for that day's early bird special at Chelo's. A good day's work for a good day's pay, right Linkster?)

Finally, a friend e-mails P&J to report on a recent Supreme Court case concerning the East Greenwich ban on smoking in restaurants. At one point, the EG town solicitor attempted to enter into the record a quote from the BeloJo before being rebuffed by Chief Justice Frank Williams, a part-time teacher at the estimable Ralph R. Papitto School of Law and Bartending, who ruled it inadmissible. Fellow Supreme John Bourcier quipped, "I heard it's called the Providence Urinal," to giggles all around, save possibly for the Other Paper's Gene Emery and the ubiquitous M. Chuckie Bakst, who were covering the story. Next one's on us, Justice Bourcier.

"Is it really appropriate to be celebrating, `In the caves, blood is glistening'?", Ms. Nguyen harrumphed. "During World War II, it was common for newspapers to write racist headlines as a matter of course. Whenever I see headlines from that era, I find it jarring. This particular piece is in exactly the same league."

Ms. Nguyen need not comb through 60-year-old headlines in search of signs of racism. How's about this "Belo the Belt" number, page A-7, from last week: "19 years after rape, DNA proves black man innocent." We were disappointed that there was no subhead indicating whether it was a yellow, brown, black, red, or white scientist who did the DNA work.

Another epistle in the OP's letters column found Barbara Huguenin of Providence finding irony in "seeing pastors protesting against Rhode Island's lack of provisions for the poor. Don't they know that one of churches' main jobs is to provide for the indigent, as they did before the socialistic welfare programs were put in place?"

Ms. Huguenin may want to check in with some of the many, many religious congregations that provide food pantries, soup kitchens, housing and clothing assistance, and a panoply of other services for those in need in our community (and those throughout the nation, in fact). She may be surprised to find that these groups and other non-governmental nonprofit agencies, like community food banks and shelters (not to mention many business and for-profit outfits which also contribute) have been giving at record levels for a number of years now.

There's no "before and after" here. We've got hungry, cold, and suffering people. We either do something about this or we don't. Continuing to be the only industrialized country in the world without universal health-care is, in Casa D. parlance, a fucking disgrace. Now, do you figure that the guy whose birthday will be celebrated next week might go along with the that sort of thinking or line up with the Republican "stimulus" gang? Those who argue that Jesus was a capitalist at heart might as well argue that he was a scratch golfer.

Just thought I'd pass along this interesting discovery made by my buddy and me about cell phone reception along a certain stretch of 195. It seems that there's little to no reception before, at, and after Cardi's megaplex. My friend and I have speculated that it can only be caused by the huge Cardi brother (Pete?) walking to and from his car. He knocks the whole signal out!!! It has become routine for us cell phone talkers in the know to say, "Gotta go -- I'm heading into the Cardi Zone. Call you back later . . . Hello?? Are you there??"

Yes, Sarah, we're still here. And although your theory seems a bit short on rigorous scientific specifics, if, indeed, the signal interference turns out to stem from Pete Cardi, shouldn't we call this "Factor Pe," so as not to inadvertently taint Ni and Ro?

At Barnaby Evans's WaterFire Christmas party last Saturday, a normally well-mannered and proper middle-aged woman explained that the artichoke dip appetizer she had brought as her contribution to the party had spilled in her car en route. She then welcomed her hosts and several guests within earshot to "lick hot dick off [her] backseat."

Isn't this a party to which you wish you'd been invited?

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Issue Date: December 21 - 27, 2001