Will Durst is an award-winning, nationally acclaimed political comic. Go to willdurst.com to find about more about his new CD, “Elect to Laugh,” as well as his one-man show “BoomerAging: From LSD to OMG."
Durst writes: "You know ol' Brillo Haid has to be happier right now to be speechifying in a foreign country than a maggot attending a high school reunion in a fresh mass grave. He managed to be gone cat gone when rumors of another intern rose like lipstick on underwear and the economy has sunk faster than an anvil in pudding."
Durst writes: "According to who you believe, Boris Yeltsin either squelched his competition or had a brain fart the size of Siberia this week when he fired his entire Cabinet. Supposedly he only wanted to get rid of Viktor Chernomyrdin, his Deputy Prime Minister, who had gotten a bit uppity after filling in for Boris during part 14 of his winter tour of Soviet rehab centers. The lesson we learn is never become more competent than your boss."
Durst writes: "I drink beer. Being from Milwaukee. That's what we do. I don't just mean, beer is consumed. That's like saying: Sand is available in the Mojave. That Bill Gates might not be turning grey over his worry about social security coverage. That dogs have a tendency to get distracted playing chess."
Durst writes: "We have come to trust our elected officials to exhibit greed and petty underhandedness, after all they're paid to represent us, but every once in a while they manage to do something so incredibly shallow and self serving, it takes your breath away. Grab a quick mouthful of oxygen and check this out."
Durst's 30-second mysteries: "Minutes after the reading of his mother's will, Roberts was dead. So was his wife, his mistress, the butler and the guy who followed him around with the solar powered satellite dish in the little red wagon. And his dog didn't look too good either. They all had weird spatula scars on their foreheads which made me suspect the cook. Good thought. Bad timing. She had me arched over the fourth floor balcony railing with the razor sharp spatula dripping bloody at my neck."
Durst writes, "Now we know why OJ Simpson didn't testify during his criminal trial. The guy is more confused than a field mouse strapped to the controls of the Space Shuttle Enterprise trying to correct a re-entry angle. Hamilton Burger could have prosecuted this case and won. His alibi is that he was taking a nap while practicing chip shots in the shower with his cell phone."
Will Durst thinks beer ads stink. He writes, "In my beer ad, the bathroom takes up half the set. Its dank, dark and smells like that rag your dad kept under the basement sink throughout grammar school. Its bar time, when the harsh light of last call reveals true inner beauty. There's a sobbing girl at the corner table, and two guys are hurriedly escorting their buddy to the great outdoors, while he attempts to expel the voluminous liquids he rented earlier. My beer commercial motto: 'Drink a lot. Drive fast. Kill a friend.'"
Durst says: "I CAN'T DRIVE 55. Well, the good news, my bucko, is you don't have to anymore. Its pedal to the metal time! Clinton just signed into law legislation allowing individual states determine how fast you are allowed to careen your two ton steel cocoon down the highway."
"Well, well, well. Looky here. Bill Gates got his little microchip weenie dusted and slapped by Judge Thomas Penfield Jackson's findings of fact, when he decided the antitrust case against Microsoft without a jury."
"One trillion dollars. That's what the US Government found in the pants pockets it got home from the cleaners. Just your ordinary roll of ten billion hundred dollar bills. Like winning your average lottery jackpot of $5 million 200,000 times and not having to pay taxes on it because you're the guy who collects the taxes..."
Durst writes: "What burns my toast about the Trial of the Century is it's a perfect chance for our government to finally recoup some cash and we're doing nothing. Where's the merchandizing? Why isn't every little girl in America whining for a Blue Dress Barbie?"
Durst writes: "I don't care if the President of the United States videotapes himself dressed up like Shirley Temple lip-syncing "Good Ship Lollipop." I don't care if he sneaks out at night clad in nothing but a thin layer of petroleum jelly and stiletto heels and aerates the South Lawn."
Durst writes: "This whole Viagra thing is getting out of hand. So to speak. The San Francisco Chronicle featured the headline ... 'Viagra: Big And Getting Bigger.' And Newsweek followed with 'Rising To The Occasion.' Can't wait for George Magazine to follow up with, 'I Got Your Executive Privilege Right Here.'"
Durst writes: "When the shadow of Autumn Equinox looms larger than the hair growing out of the mole of the cafeteria lady's nose, it's time to think of school. Every screaming runny nosed child running around with someone else's money is back. Including Congress, and how apropos of them to call their summer vacation a recess."
Durst writes, "The mass suicide in the rented mansion of Rancho Sante Fe by the members of the Heaven's Gate Cult is a horrible, horrible tragedy, but not without its amusing aspects. For instance, it has been reported the first fifteen killed themselves, then those still alive cleaned up. Then the next 15 committed suicide, then they were cleaned up, and another seven went and the last two cleaned up after them, then killed themselves. Either these are the neatest flippo units in the history of the planet, or a very frugal flock obsessed with not losing their cleaning deposit."
Durst writes, "An independent commission appointed by Congress reported that the government is overstating the inflation rate, and proposes to change the formula used to arrive at the Consumer Price Index. This will result in smaller CPI increases in Social Security payments along with other retirement and benefit programs, as well as raise taxes by the reduction of annual inflation increases in standard deductions and personal exemptions."
Will Durst writes, "Although we may have hit the consuming wall, I'm sure its just a phase we're going through, and it won't be long before our existence will not worth living unless we own infrared cellular Internet goggles so we can access the Beavis and Butthead website while jogging."
Durst on the Hillary question: "It isn't the budget bills that Washington is all atwitter over, but the Battle of the Bills. Safire vs. Clinton. We haven't seen this kind of raw excitement since Tyson vs. McNeeley." ALSO: On the Iowa Caucus Durst says the Republican candidates are having a hard time addressing the question 'what is wrong with the political system.' "And as hard as they try; 'Because Hillary Clinton is a Bitch' is not reason enough. Unless you're a member of Newt Gingrich's immediate family that is."
Durst writes: "Yes friends, your worst nightmare has come true. Its Ears 2: The Return. This is the guy who quit the race in '92, allegedly because the Republican Dirty Tricks Squad was going to disrupt his daughter's wedding. Which always made me wonder; how do you disrupt a Texas wedding? Do you back the pickups too close to the sheep spit? Force the bridesmaids to wear attractive dresses? Replace all that good picante sauce with that kind from New York City?"
"Trump vows to spend $100 million to get the Reform Party Nomination, while Buchanan vows to send his sister to every state if he has to. The two do have things in common. Both are opposed to the World Trade Organization; both think special interests wield too much control and both are about as electable as Marilyn Manson after he gets that one breast attached to his torso."
"When a new report revealed that 87 percent of doctors are frustrated with HMOs, the HMO industry reacted with such slippery doublespeak that they sounded like they were beaming about the report. That's kinda like a bunch of fat lazy cobras welcoming the arrival of a division of mongoose SWAT teams."
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Governor would like to thank everyone for their strong indication of either boredom or support in showing up here today. I know you're anticipating an announcement and I'm happy to say your expectation may or may not be realized."
Durst writes: "Latrell Sprewell, who was suspended by the NBA for 68 games for choking his coach like a circus chicken, is suing his agent Arn Tellem for failing to negotiate a salary protection clause in his contract with the Golden State Warriors. Apparently there was no clause calling for an annual psychiatric study either."
Durst writes: "The Republicans are taking a well deserved breather from the rigors of the Washington sex wars for another shot at changing the name of Washington's National Airport to Ronald Reagan Airport just in time for the Gipper's 87th birthday on Friday. And wouldn't we all like an airport named after us as the perfect birthday gift. Okay, well wouldn't a few of us?"
Durst writes, "Now lets get this straight. I'm a carnivore. I like cheeseburgers. Mmm, mmm. Greasy meat slabs inside of wheat foam covered with congealed cow juice. I'm happy. Don't get me wrong, I respect vegetarians. I hate sproutheads. You know from sproutheads? Severe vegetarians? The kind of people who see 'auras, oh wow.' I think people who see 'auras' are experiencing the first stages of 'glaucoma, oh wow.'"
Durst writes, "House Speaker Newt Gingrich is about to get his wrist slapped with a loosely packed goose down pillow covered in velvet. The Congressional Ethics Committee, one of the more creative oxymorons currently in use (guaranteed pension and McDonald's nutritional chart are others of note), has charged the Newtmeister with providing it with 'inaccurate, incomplete and unreliable information,' or in layman's terms: 'liar, liar, pants on fire.'"
Durst writes, "H. Ross Perot, the Texas weaselette, crawled out from under another rock this week, and when asked if he was in the race merely as a spoiler, argued, 'It was already spoiled when I started.'"
Durst says, "It doesn't matter who runs this country. A manic depressive anthrax ridden Galapagos Turtle with the sense of humor of a median strip -- but let's leave Pat Buchanan for another day shall we."
Durst on Wilson, "There goes that wacky Pete Wilson again. This guy is to ambition what the Antarctic is to ice cubes. He'd hand out shrink wrapped hickory smoked slices of his own mother if he thought it meant a vote."
"Everybody has their panties all atwitter because CBS digitally altered the background of a couple of newscasts to replace a competing background logo with theirs. 'What about our sacred journalistic integrity?' What about it? What about when every reporter in the Persian Gulf rolled over like a troupe of trained Pomeranians with pretty pink bows in their hair during the war?"
Durst writes: "Special Prosecutor Kenneth Starr, also known to many as Mediocre Prosecutor Kenneth Starr, is taking heavy heat for admitting to 'Brill's Content' magazine that he and his chief deputy may have briefed a couple of reporters during his Presidential witch hunt, unh, I mean, investigation."