The Rip Post




Oct. 1, 2003
Happy Birthday

The staff is taking a little break on this, the first anniversary of the founding of
The Rip Post. (Actually, another deadline beckons, but the anniversary excuse sounds better.) Anyhow, you are invited to enjoy highlights from the past year (below), or the Riposte or Articles and Essays archive (or just buy the novel.) The column, Lingo Czar, and daily newslinks will resume all too soon. . .
                  ---Charles Bogle, publisher


A Walk in The Park (10/16/02)
Ah, the scent of freshly ignited crack! Ah, the lyrical smack-addict hooker going about her vein-piercing art, inches away from a young mother and snoozing babe in papoose pouch! Ah, the poetic panorama of winos sprawled about like Renoir nudes!

B.C. and me (Apr. 30, 2003)
He was sitting on a butcher block dining table, staring with great yellow-green owl eyes at the stranger who had just invaded his little world. What, he obviously wondered, was this creature who spoke in a gentle, friendly voice, "Oh, he's beautiful!"?
A Gent Among Agents (Dec.4, 2002)
Attended an "agents seminar" the other day for advice in book publishing. By the time it was over, I needed an agent badly. A purgative, a tranquilizer, a mood-elevator---something. I mean, I was write disgusted. Edit the last two hours out.
Drop the Big One? (Jan. 29, 2003)
The song was meant to be ironic. It was meant to depict an ignorant, frustrated, self-pitying, petulant bully, lashing out. It was meant to be black humor. No one likes us/ I don't know why/ We may not be perfect/ But heaven knows, we try/ And all around, even our old friends put us down/ Let's drop the Big One and see what happens.
Ding Dong School
(June 11, 2003) It must be the chairs---that's all I can come up with. Have you seen them? They are grand, plush, high-backed, brown leather affairs. You disappear in them. I'll bet you can swing your legs, like a little kid. I blame the chairs for the Belmont "Learning Center."
Return to Subersive Sender (May 7, 2003)
Call me "Chemical Ripi." Orensa bin-Laden. Mohammad Said-Riposte, mother of all propaganda ministers. Infidel cyber-bellies will roast on the white-hot spits of hell! Ptui! Think I'm kidding? You see, a package I mailed has been returned to me, for security reasons. There is a "no airplanes" sticker on it. . .
Ode to Joy (Dec. 18, 2002)
Thirty-two years ago this week, I ditched Venice High School and nervously boarded an RTD bus headed for downtown L.A.. I was 17 years old, and hadn't been out much on my own. I barely knew where downtown was, and had never done anything so daring as to cut class.

Lima Beans and Pygmies (Jan. 22, 2003)
Is President Bush having perception problems? He seems so confused about reality that you have to wonder if he's backslid into dipsomania. Or perhaps is dabbling in something even more mind-altering than Colt 45 premium malt liquor.
Proof of Evolution (May 21, 2003) I'm sorry to rile up all the looney "creationists" out there, but I have conclusive evidence that human beings were descended from apes. And it hasn't been much of a descent, either. The proof: all L.A. transit officials. They're the missing link.
Big Trouble in Little Tokyo
(July 23, 2003) Look, I don't know about you, but when I think of    Buddhism, the first thing I think of is jail. Nothing evokes thoughts of incarceration and punishment more than a religion that espouses peace, civility, and understanding.
City Footnotes (March 5, 2003)
You find them everywhere. Blowing down sidewalks, crumpled up in bushes, rumpled and stained in curbside gutters. Bits and pieces of daily lives, discarded or lost, there at your feet. Each one a chapter from a story, somewhere in the middle of a human book. Call them city footnotes. . .
A Pile of LTSEWH. . .  (11/20/02)
Call them Less Than Satisfying Encounters With Humanity, or LTSEWHs for um, short. Only the names have been changed or omitted to protect the impenetrable.
Lingo WMD Found!
(June 4, 2003) Of all the tons and tons of "weapons of mass destruction" allegedly held by Saddam, authorities have so far found next to nothing. But take heart---the Lingo Czar has ferreted out lots of verbal WMD, further justifying his ongoing attack on rogue Lingo states.
The Condoleezza Conga
Cheney's hiding in the ground
And Rumsfeld's making ugly sounds
About how we're gonna fight two wars
If Uncle Sam gets good and sore

                 BACK TO PAGE ONE

2003 Rip Rense. All rights reserved.