The Rants Read online

  DENNIS MILLER – THE RANTS

  PUBLISHED BY DOUBLEDAY a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. 1540 Broadway, New York, New York 10036

  DOUBLEDAY and the portrayal of an anchor with a dolphin are trademarks of Doubleday, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

  BOOK DESIGN BY TERRY KARYDES

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Miller, Dennis, comedian.

  The rants/Dennis Miller.—1st ed. p. cm.

  I. Title. PN6162.M489 1996 792.7'028—dc20

  95-26159 CIP

  ISBN 0-385-47804-6

  COPYRIGHT © 1996 BY DENNIS MILLER ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  APRIL 1996

  10 9 8 7 6 5

  FOR ALI, HOLDEN, AND MARLON

  You are the loves of my life

  Table of Contents

  preface. 4

  liberals— a dying breed? 5

  the religious right 7

  our legal system.. 9

  is intelligence a liability? 14

  inefficiency. 16

  victimless crime. 18

  activism.. 20

  funding for the arts 22

  violence. 24

  political correctness 26

  race. 28

  power 31

  contemporary sports 33

  homeless 36

  women in Hollywood. 38

  civility. 40

  criticism.. 42

  infomercials 44

  what women want from men. 46

  freedom of speech. 48

  dysfunction. 50

  fame. 52

  where is america headed? 54

  anger 56

  the environment 58

  the o.j. trial 6/30/95. 61

  what's right with america. 64

  teen pregnancy. 66

  the presidency. 68

  what men want from women. 70

  exercise. 72

  marriage. 74

  equality of the sexes 76

  air travel 77

  america the touchy. 79

  james stockdale 3/17/93. 80

  the gop first hundred days 4/7/95. 81

  pro sports strikes 12/23/94. 83

  homosexuality. 85

  schadenfreude. 87

  parenting. 89

  tabloids 91

  preface

  I HOPE YOU FIND WHAT FOLLOWS TO BE AN amusing trifle. These rants are sometimes lacerated for being flimsy. I'm fine with that. I don't want to change your mind. I just want to make you laugh. I've dated some of these because they refer to a specific issue at a specific time. Many rants were performed for my HBO show "Dennis Miller Live" over the last three seasons. I'd like to thank Jeff Cesario, Eddie Feldman, Greg Greenberg, David Feldman, Ed Driscoll, Kevin Rooney, Bill Braudis, Leah Krinsky, and Rick Overton for their assistance on these rants.

  I'd also like to thank David Gernert at Doubleday, Kevin Slattery, and Marc Gurvitz. Also Jeff Bewkes, Chris Albrecht, and Carolyn Strauss at HBO. And, most important, I'd like to thank Michael Fuchs for his unwavering belief in me.

  Now I don't want to get off on a rant here, but ...

  liberals— a dying breed?

  A RECENT SURVEY SHOWED THAT IN LAST November's election, only 18 percent of voters identified themselves as liberals. Wow. Liberals are running for cover faster than Mark Fuhrman at the Apollo Theater.

  Now I don't want to get off on a rant here, but along with the KGB and Stevie Nicks, liberals seem to belong nowadays under the "Jeopardy!" heading: "Things Which No Longer Have Any Fucking Relevance Whatsoever." I know for me, liberalism died when the Archies broke up.

  It really died though when all the middle-class kids who had been in the protest movement because Mommy and Daddy were footing the bill for their pot and Buffy Sainte-Marie albums found themselves in the big, cruel world with spouses and families to support. And nothing makes being a tool of the military-industrial complex look better than a nice, fat paycheck at the end of every week. If I had a hammer, I'd hammer out danger all over this land, but I got house payments to make, okay, Arlo?

  Oh, you can still spot occasional dyed-in-the-wool liberals in their threadbare "Mondale '84" T-shirts having a decaf latte and a nonfat three-berry chocolate chip scone at a Barnes & Noble coffee bar, reading Joan Didion. That is if they can even get out of the house. Hell, it's nearly impossible for today's liberals to dress themselves trying to keep straight which color ribbon goes with what cause.

  Bill Clinton has been trying to shake off his liberal label like it was a ski parka in an overheated station wagon.

  You know there used to be two parties—Democrat and Republican, and, separate from that, two schools of political thought—liberal and conservative. Anybody remember liberal Republicans like Nelson Rockefeller and George Romney? Today, a liberal Republican is one who thinks a condemned man getting death by injection should be laid out on a comfy mattress.

  The word "liberal" has replaced "Communist" as the red flag neo-conservatives wave in your face to denote what's wrong in this country. People are even making me out a liberal, when in actuality I'm a pragmatist, which means I think everybody is an asshole but me.

  With the threat of communism gone, the power elite no longer has to be on their best behavior. And right now, you have as good a chance of seeing tolerance from them as you do Newt Gingrich dirty dancing with Harvey Fierstein.

  Since the '92 elections, the Republicans are so power-hungry they're careening through our hallowed legislative halls like Gary Busey trying to find the john at House of Blues.

  What's even more pathetic is the Democratic response. They can't even agree on which shade of white to use for the surrender flag. Some quit, others are now teaching a course in Defeatist Studies at Emerson, and those few that stayed in politics, hey, they dove to their right quicker than Brooks Robinson. Today's liberal leaders bring so much baggage with them they need a skycap— Jesse Jackson, Ted Kennedy, Gary Hart.

  You don't think liberals can be tough? I've got three words and one initial for you—Richard J. Daley, Senior. The late don, excuse me, mayor of Chicago. Daley made Newt Gingrich look like a head shop clerk in Haight-Ashbury. Then there was Hubert Humphrey, Lyndon Johnson, or even Illinois Senator Everett Dirksen, who could've lowered his bifocals and made Bob Packwood resign just by staring at that fuckin' lowlife till he ran out of the Senate chambers.

  What the hell happened to liberals? Well, they've been feeling the pulse of the American public about as accurately as the Pepsi Clear execs. Too many liberals settled into power like a fat guy in a hammock after a double deep-dish, extra-cheese-inside-the-crust, extra-cheese-inside-that-cheese, five-meat Sasquatch pizza followed by a Baskin-Robbins Mega-Gutbuster Tin Roof-Parfait-Accompli Sundae. When it came to spending bucks, liberals were the original Waterworld producers. When it came to big government, they got rubber stamp bursitis. And when it came to special interest groups, they drew up the schematics that now allow PACs to control three fifths of the fucking galaxy.

  But as bloated as liberal politics has become, it grew from lean and noble roots—the battle of the working class against the ruling class, the fight for the poor, the struggle of the underdog immigrant—literally, the battle for human rights, right here in this country. We can't afford to forget that.

  Remember Mario Cuomo's speech at the '84 Democratic Convention? It was a stunning bolt of lightning that, if only for a brief moment, galvanized the American spirit in the hearts and minds of its people. It was electrifying prose fueled by brains, guts, and compassion, and it made you proud to be an American. Now compare that to the only memorable Republican speech of the last decade— Pat Buchanan's derisive, petty,
hate-filled diatribe at the '92 GOP Convention. There may not be a member of the current crop of American conservatives who could match Cuomo's speech. I think they may lack the compassion. Their conscience doesn't seem to bother them enough.

  So, as far as the nuts-and-bolts legislative details are concerned, liberalism is most probably dead, and it doesn't look like a whole lot of us are gonna be at that wake. But when it comes to the ongoing battle over reshaping this ethereal thing we've dubbed the American spirit, well, liberalism had better be very much alive and breathing fire, or we have truly lost our way as a nation.

  Of course, that's just my opinion. I could be wrong.

  the religious right

  NOW I DON'T WANT TO GET OFF ON A RANT HERE, but don't these radical religious right leaders scare you a little? I'm not talking about good simple religious folk here. I empathize with you people. I know you're frightened. It looks like the bad guys are winning. And I know you want to do the good Christian thing and save some of the bad guys, but you're probably preaching to the unconvertible. This is a long trail ride, and occasionally a satanic heifer or two is gonna head over the ridge and go off on their own. Let them go. Quit trying to set God up on blind dates with people he has nothing in common with. Well, anyway, you're good people and I got no quarrel with you, Atticus. I'm talking about the overzealous ones. The ones with that bloodless, glazed-over "Prophets of the Caribbean" look. You know, the ones who look like the guys who kept Howard Hughes alive those last three years. Let's run down our roster of modern-day Pharisees:

  Jerry Falwell, with his big hillbilly grin concealing his hatred for you and the fun you can have with your nasty little genitals.

  Then we've got Pat Robertson, the Dixie charlatan who contends he held counsel with God, saw Jesus, and has it on good authority from the Holy Ghost that "Cuber" has an arsenal of nuke-you-ler weapons aimed at the United States.

  And our good friend Ollie North, who quivers with religious fervor while conveniently forgetting he was a belligerent liar who abused the authority of his position. You know I have no doubt that God will forgive Lieutenant Colonel North one day. I just don't think our courts should have.

  These modern-day Torquemadas can't wait to seize the reins and begin slaughtering the nonbelievers. And if you don't think they'll do it—if you don't think you'll be on the short list for a public roasting a la Joan of Arc, well, you better stop dancing around the pagan Maypole and think again, Caligula.

  Now I am sure to many of those in the Radical Right, I probably appear to be a bitter, cranky pragmatist with the mouth of a stevedore, and the soul of a heretic. But I do, believe it or not, consider myself to be a Christian—and 'm sorry, you just don't go shooting doctors. If a judgment's to be made, God gets to make it. Not you. Him. You are Barney Fife. Keep your bullet in your shirt pocket. All right?

  You know, God is Andy Taylor. If abortion is wrong, and I believe in many instances it is, somewhere down the line God's gonna let you know about it. And believe me, God paybacks are an eternal bitch. Somebody else's abortion is none of your business. And listen, if you really believe that your God is telling you to kill an abortionist in his name, then you've got to crush some tinfoil on your antenna, pal, because you're gettin' some heavy interference.

  And you know, while I'm at it, I don't care what arcane passage you pull out of the Old Testament and run through your Jeremiah-begat-Jedediah Decoder Ring, one of the definitive tenets of Christianity is tolerance. Trust me, there's no version of the Bible that says Love thy neighbor unless he's a Peter Allen fan. Any supposedly Christian doctrine must have at the core a belief in the concept of unqualified love for your fellow man. Unless of course he proves himself to be a total asshole. Then you can ditch him. Sure, God understands that, who do you think booked Satan's flight? What he can't understand is turning against someone because you don't happen to agree with their sexual preference. Forget your linear, biblical interpretation that tells you to ostracize gays, and follow your heart. It's like when your driving test instructor would tell you to run the stop sign. And you would, and then he'd flunk you. And you'd say, "But you told me to." And he'd say, "Sorry, but you never run a stop sign." And you never carpet bomb a group of people with hate because they're different from you. Case closed, Tail-gunner Joe.

  And tolerance should extend to ideas as well. A school-book cannot corrupt your child, especially one whose main characters are a Scarecrow, a Tin Man, and a Cowardly Lion. And if you truly think your kid's character depends on prayer, then damn it, pray with your kid—at home! Stop fobbing off on the public school system your responsibilities as a parent. The schools are there to teach your kids to read, write, and add—skills they will need if they are going to apply for and wisely invest their unemployment checks one day.

  And if you're sold on prayer as a diving board into the day, get up a few minutes early, forgo the trip to the 7-Eleven for a Jeroboam of Colombian blend, sit down with your kids you profess to love so much, and lead them in prayer.

  Look, I realize this is America—everybody has the right to organize. The Democratic Party should try it sometime. But you know something, the members of the Radical Religious Right have to get it through their skulls: Separation of Church and State. Separate. Not together. Apart. Like Burt and Loni. One here and one there. The founding fathers set it up like that because back home in merry old England they witnessed scenes of theocratic horror that would have made even Quentin Tarantino puke.

  I can only hope the Radical Right's grab for political power will eventually prove to be their Holy Waterloo.

  I know we don't like to vote—marking your ballot nowadays is like choosing between the 3 A.M. showing of Beastmaster on Showtime and the 3 A.M. showing of Beastmaster 2 on Cinemax.

  But the less we involve ourselves in the political process, the more special interest groups and fanatics move in.

  So vote, and remember this when you're alone in the booth with just you and your lever: The Radical Right believes the word "Right" does not simply denote their placement on the political spectrum, but also their sanctimoniously smug assertion that "right" is exactly what they are on any and all issues. Amen.

  Of course, that's just my opinion. I could be wrong.

  our legal system

  NOW I DON'T WANT TO GET OFF ON A RANT HERE, but you know the drill. You're walking home from the Frogurt shop one night, you're stopped by a young drifter who wants directions—and a smoke, if you have one. You don't. You're sorry, but you don't smoke. Okay, he says. And as you walk away, he shoots you in the back of the head, your half-eaten, razzleberry Frogurt and your left eye spattering a young woman twenty yards across the street.

  Shortly thereafter, the police happen to pick up the young man for jaywalking, and find him with the still-warm gun in his pocket and your still-cold cone in his hand. He is then identified by the woman and arraigned.

  But then, as you watch—perched on a hot poker in the eighth concentric circle of Dante's E-Z Bake—the legal system starts to kill you all over again.

  The gun isn't admissible as evidence because it was found without probable cause. After all, they had only stopped him for jaywalking at that point. And the woman is discredited as an eyewitness because she usually wears glasses, and that dusky night she wasn't wearing them, the truth being, she just needs them for reading. Besides, the defense attorney reveals, she lives in a neighborhood with a porn theater, and what does that make her?

  Plus, this fellow who shot you—his attorney will tell you he was once squat-humped by a Good Humor man, and you were taunting him with your razzleberry Frogurt delight.

  Now, and as you stand there next to Yossarian in the great beyond and watch this cruel and ironic Catch-22 unfold—this insane sequence of events that leads up to the dismissal of all charges against the man who ended your life on that fine summer evening—as you watch this bizarre, almost synaptic set of occurrences fall into place like a chain of perverse dominoes that has been kicked over by R
ube Goldberg—all you can think to yourself is, "Hey, I know where I've seen this before! Mouse Trap!"

  And if you think I was stretchin' it with that little parable, well just look at the newspaper, folks. On Tuesday of this week, two hundred forty pounds of cocaine was disallowed as evidence in a drug case because the trooper who found it stopped the suspects' car for failure to display a front license plate. The case was thrown out because, legally, Pennsylvania only requires a rear plate.

  Well you know something? That's just exquisite bullshit. And I know. And I know that every ACLU hysteric in the country is now jumping up in bed screaming, "Rules of evidence! Rules of evidence!"