Nancy Grace hasn’t been this cheesed off since Michael Jackson beat the rap last year for child molestation.
When the lab report came back with no DNA matches for the Duke University lacrosse players, accused of raping a woman during a party, steam began pouring out of Nancy’s ears.
All week long, she had been worrying the case from every angle. There was the race aspect: “I understand they specifically asked for a black stripper!” she said, eyes narrowing with the sort of flinty indignation that would send a young boy’s ball-sack right back into his pelvis.
There was the white privilege slant: Southern college, lacrosse as an expensive sport peopled by privileged white jocks from leafy suburbs. Most of all, there was the WOMAN RAPED hysteria, which dovetailed neatly with Nancy’s recounting of slavery days when master imposed himself on hapless black servant girls, a scenario that borrowed heavily from the blackspoitation tradition of Mandingo. (read the full article)
“I didn’t hit rock bottom, and I didn’t turn to a particular church,” says David Papaleo, better known to us as the
Exclusively heterosexual, if we are to believe the newly corrected Papaleo, right, who admits, with admirable frankness, to having had
The great and powerful Oz, as we all know, doesn’t read newspapers (or apparently 
Aren’t babies beau-ti-ful?
Mark Tewksbury won’t be on a box of Wheaties, if history and the
“How can I date a cop or fireman?” asks a poster on
Slate‘s gadfly art critic Lee Siegel takes a distinctly psychoanalytical approach to dissecting the vast array of portraiture included in artist David Hockney‘s current retrospective, featured through May 15 at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts.
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