Perhaps no American comedian’s material has remained so relevant for so long after his death like that of Bill Hicks. Twenty-two years since he died of pancreatic cancer at the age of 32, Hicks’ jokes slice through the bullshit of everyday reality in our country’s culture and politics with the brutality of a Maximilian Robespierre.
Hicks paraded the tyrant hypocrisy through the town square and past the gawking masses like the eternal enemy it is, kneeling it down in the guillotine and dropping the curved blade of his wit with an efficiency and finality that left the target’s head staring […]Full Story... →
As a child, I refused to try new foods. Unless Spaghetti-O’s or PB&J had without warning been renamed something called cole slaw, it would not be meeting my palate. I was fairly dogged about this, and no amount of cajoling or punishment could get me to change my mind.
I would sit for what seemed like hours after everyone else had finished their food and cleared the table, staring at a plate of what looked to me to be congealed slop specifically designed to turn my sensitive stomach. But at least I got a good, hard (and long) […]Full Story... →
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