Daily Archives: July 6, 2009

Money Jungle: “Palin’s Pudenda”


Sarah PalinThe political trajectory of Sarah Palin will prove highly instructive to future generations of political leaders. President Obama has almost certainly internalized some lessons of his own regarding his former opponent in the epochal 2008 elections, even though he is unlikely to say so. He will have noted the nastiness underlying many of the elements that coalesced around him, and he will be wary of the moment when those forces turn on him. And that day is coming—sooner, rather than later.

Palin’s abrupt and unceremonious (albeit probably temporary) exit from politics came after a year that was, by all accounts, equal parts nightmarish and dreamy. The light of national media was focused on her with paralytic intensity and a distinctly offensive tone unseen since the days of Osama bin Laden, who of course will return some day, and we’ll all have to pretend to be shocked. Unlike bin Laden, Palin has actually been handed a defeat, dealt not in debates, nor even de ballots, but courtesy of a deliberate campaign of character assassination. It was one of the most shameful episodes in American history: an entire family being run down for sport, for the amusement of a chickenshit mainstream media that is itself directly complicit in many of the lethal challenges facing America. As the global economy collapsed before all of our eyes last year, as US allies were hit with chaos and instability resulting from our failed policies, some salary-sucking suits in DC and New York were rhapsodizing about the Palin girls’ reproductive organs.

palin-hentaiThe useless McCain campaign gave her a couple days’ notice—barely time to load all her weapons and wipe both guns and bullets clean of fingerprints. They spent a quarter-billion dollars being beaten so badly even Tim Tebow couldn’t help them, but a quarter-million for their Vice-Presidential nominee’s wardrobe. Obama’s got bespoke bulletproof overcoats, the McCains and Bidens are dressed like the millionaires they are, and Palin’s in thrift-store gear. McCain’s only chance to be President ended when he let Bush’s people run down his daughter in 2000; eight years later, he stood silently by while his storyline daughter caught hell on his behalf, and it continues.

Palin-McCainMcCain’s pathological desire to be loved by elites half his age blocked him from making the right decisions for his agenda, yet he can’t be bothered even trying to assert control over the perception of his legacy. McCain’s hapless, pathetic staffers served as primary sources for countless media attacks, starting before the campaign was even over, and he knows it. Either he directed them, or he didn’t, but he’s a loser either way. Reagan lied under oath to protect his team, but it appears the famous McCain temper can now be manifested only toward his wife—allegedly.Palin-hot sauceThe Palin phenomenon further illustrates a) how pervasive misogyny really is in this culture, especially among supposedly “educated” people like political pundits, and b) how readily complicit American women can be in their own collective oppression, abuse and exploitation. It might have seemed unthinkable, had it not just happened to Hillary in the primary. Both have lived the lives promised them by feminism. They fought their way into the most exclusive boys’ club there is, while raising a family, only to catch heat from cadres of cuckolds and cold fish whose kids stupefy in day-care while their parents rot in “assisted-living facilities”, as chains of oral history stretching back to the dawn of time are severed forever, sacrificed on the altar of wage-slavery.

The slippery slope from Clinton’s cankles to Palin’s pudenda leads directly to the kind of issues young girls are plagued with today, from simple eating disorders to the persistent yet strangely still unaddressed specter of rape, kidnapping or murder. A cynic might suggest that the Palin’s famous fertility invokes envy among her peers (she was a sportscaster once), whose childbearing years were either squandered having meaningless sex, facilitated through a succession of experimental contraceptive devices, or snuffed out with alcohol, drugs and nicotine—and the ones who can have kids are unlikely to find quality sperm outside a laboratory, unless John Edwards is around. But such talk is only acceptable in regard to Sarah Palin, so it goes unremarked.

Her political shortcomings are obvious, as was the need to ensure the Obama victory. She is clearly not ready to be President—otherwise, she would have grasped the need to make a few examples of people. A bunch of men who can’t open a can without electricity cutting promos on a woman who kills and cleans her own wild game—well, I’m no fan of hunting, but it’s a skill worth having. Especially now, right? Sure. At 45, her matriculation continues; good luck!




Review: “Breakshot”


Breakshot: A Life in the 21st Century American Mafia, by Kenny “Kenji” Gallo and Matthew Randazzo V. Beverly Hills: Phoenix Books. 382 pp.

My review copy of “Breakshot” arrived in the mail courtesy of co-author Matthew Randazzo V, a New Orleans-based journalist and true-crime author best known for his searing rendering of events surrounding the life and death of professional wrestler Chris Benoit, who allegedly murdered his wife and young son before hanging himself over the course of a weekend in 2007—a weekend, in fact, when Benoit had been booked to win the ECW belt in a pay-per-view held in Jacksonville, FL.

Based on the quality of “Ring of Hell”, which despite its tragic undertones is one of the best books ever written about that business, this writer was enthusiastic about sampling Randazzo’s newest project. Knowing nothing about it, my only expectations were that it would be interesting, but not nearly as compelling as the Benoit book. This is among the rare occasions when being wrong is a good thing. “Breakshot” moves at a ruthless pace through the quintessentially Ameican life of Kenny Gallo, aka “Kenji”, aka “Ken Calo”, aka “Kenji Kodama”, aka “Ramon Gomez”, aka “Ramon Gonzalez” and, of course, aka “Kenny G”. (“Kenny Gallo” isn’t his real name, either.)

Like his namesake, this Kenny G. is blowing massive quantities of hot wind, but it seems that very little embellishment was needed for his tales of thuggin’ and buggin’. Randazzo must have had a great time transcribing these tales and fact-checking the insanity playing out in these pages. Gallo’s gallery of hoods and heavy-hitters ranges from small-time crooks and hustlers to some of the major players in American organized crime. Anyone who thinks he’s bullshitting, which may be inevitable in the course of reading the book, should be wary of the fact that the United States government has spent millions of dollars on him, firstly in trying to incarcerate him, then by using him to incarcerate others. The book’s title, “Breakshot”, was their code-name for him, “derived from my ability to singlehandedly knock the Colombo Family leadership pyramid into disarray like the first shot in a game of pool”, and as usual, it made perfect sense.

He is marked for death in certain circles, yet the version of him that exists in the book exhibits very little outward concern. In fact, he readily admits to reveling in the danger he faced almost constantly during a criminal career spanning three decades. Some people do that work because they have to, because they come from circumstances where it’s all they know and alternative options are precious and few. Gallo is not one of those people. He came from a upwardly mobile family of Japanese immigrants who carved out a very good living through hard work and adherence to traditional values. Gallo was given access to the perks of privilege, attending the best schools (where his classmates included Will Ferrell and Zach de la Rocha) and making the kind of grades that would earn scholarships to the school of his choice. Instead, he willingly channeled his physical and mental gifts into a career trafficking cocaine for the infamous Medellin Cartel.

Eventually, the feds got their man, which is how it almost always works out for major-league criminals, and Gallo went the route of numerous gangsters before him: he became a rat, a snitch, a stool pigeon, a penitito who wore wires in service of the government for several years in the late 1990s and early months of this decade. In the process, he helped bring charges against members of some of America’s most feared mob families: the Gambinos, the Colombos and the Luccheses. That is as heavy as it gets in the United States, besides the brutal insurgent cliques of foreign gangsters from Europe and Asia, not to mention the Mexican cartels, whose strength increases every day, to the point that longstanding enemies like the Bloods and Crips have taken to cooperating against them. And Kenny Gallo fucked them like porn sluts in a gangbang. Dangerous shit.

Today, Kenny Gallo lives under yet another alias, this one concocted by the Witness Protection Program, but to say he lives anonymously would be incorrect. Gallo’s blog contains yet more promos on his hapless former colleagues, who have been getting the business from federal prosecutors in this decade, in large part due to the information he acquired for them. He stays active in martial arts, keeping his body and mind sharp for the lethal challenge he knows could come at any moment, from any direction, without warning. Sounds intense, but he’s as ready for anything as a human being can be.