The term should be "useless beings" not "human beings," as far as I'm concerned.  Bunch of selfish, insincere cowards, if you ask me--and even if you don't.  Case in point:  the tendency of the masses to marvel over someone who "says/writes exactly what you're thinking but dare not express out loud."

Don't speak your mind?  Well, that makes you a pathetic quivering jellyfish, doesn't it?  Furthermore, how dare such worms assume to have even the slightest inkling of "what you're thinking"!  Let me wise these snivelers up to something:  Your thought process, an Etch-A-Sketch; mine, a Dali painting.

You want to be awestruck by someone speaking out without fear of the repercussions?  I'll provide plenty right here, starting with a man you've likely applied that very "says...loud" quote to:  I think Howard Stern is a racist, homophobic exploiter of the emotionally warped, and don't for a second buy that 'he's really a sweetheart putting on an outrageous act" rationalization.

While you Stern apologists are getting all huffy, how about rewinding to the video footage of one of his early Pay Per Views when the "sweetheart" bullied a confused girl--already stripped to her undies--into fainting, then made a stream of callous remarks suggesting his stooges perform sexual acts on his unconscious victim?  

Tell me how cool that was--and how double-cool it would have been if she were your sister...or, better still, she was thee.  And how triple-cool it was to include the degradation on a nationally distributed tape and broadcast rather than spare the cutie--a  of his, no less--any further humiliation.

As far as the racist, homophobe and exploiter tags go, all one needs do is catch 15 minutes of his televised products.  Son Of The Beach, exec-produced by Stern, features a lisping, limp-wristed gay sissy character and a black lifeguard (played by a half-white actress, by the by) whose nearly every line consists of a string of outdated ebonic cliches, just the sort of crap you'd expect from honky writers who are about as "down" as their Volvos.  I'm half-surprised they haven't had the latter dancing with a bucket of KFC while the former snaps his fingers and yells, You go, Mith Thing."

Then there's the televersion of the radio show, primarily a parade of Gotham dingbats to be laughed at and second-tier pornstresses before whom Howard exposes his lack of sex smarts.

Here's something else for the apologists to ponder.  More often than not, the TV show consists of Stern leering over babes flashing flesh, correct?  Ever notice they're almost exclusively white girls?

*Not expressing certain thoughts because the subject happens to be of a different persuasion is both gutless and another form of racism.  Most sportswriters, for instance, are star-struck ofays, afraid to publicly posit two glaringly obvious particulars, leaving it to Stately to have the chutzpah.

First, Michael Jordan is a fathead to attempt a comeback this season.   Sycophant scribes drooling over Mikeys Nikes "forget" to point out #23s return is taking an opportunity away from some impoverished unknown who's dreamt his entire life about playing one minute in the league.  Hit the showers, Mike.

Secondly, Tiger Woods dresses like a McDonald's employee.  Who's this guy's "fashion consultant" anyway, Jeff Healey?  Every time I see Woods approach a microphone, I expect him to say, "That'll be $3.18.  Please pull up to the first window."

This duo's pigment, religion, sexual orientation and nationality have no bearing whatsoever upon, nor do they alter the truths presented.  Quite frankly, regardless of race, creed, color, blood type, home state and so forth, I hate everyone.  But I hate everyone equally.

*Unfortunately, if you too like to hang in neighborhood taprooms, odds are you're constantly surrounded by bigoted bigmouths.  Most of what these beer-muscled buffoons spout is pure ignorance.  Every now and then, however, the ignorant can be entertaining.  That's not my next common unspoken thought, though.  This is:  although they may be hurtful and socially injurious, some ethnic jokes are pretty damn funny!

Oh, and lest you think I'm one of those "Can dish it out but not take it" types, I'll hip you to a rib on my heritage penned by one SWManor.  Actually, this is a gag better heard than read, but you'll get the picture.

Q:  Why did Mario Andretti snort meth?

A:  It helped make the day go faster.

While I've got a little column space left, let me throw out a few more unspoken thoughts.

*She (with the help of an enormous staff) may be able to showboat all sorts of skills and reap in millions, but there's one thing all those assets can't remedy--Martha Stewart is a hag.

*Though old-school metal may be the bastion of he-man oh-so-macho posturing, Ozzy Osbourne is whipped worse than a gold miner's mule.  "I am Iron Man...um, if that's okay with you, honey."

*No mess, no hassle, no cost, no germs, no commitment or lying about same:  DIY sex can be better than bedding someone else.  And don't tell me you've never done it.  Oh, I forgot:  boys, you rented all those porn vids for their compelling storylines; and, girls, that stack of batteries hidden in your dresser is there in case the flashlight needs a refill.

*Adult-oriented journals--including this one--wouldn't exist in their current form if not for him, thus it's distressing to diss the man.  Nonetheless, after a lifetime personifying intelligence, dignity, style and class, Hugh Hefner comes across like a lust-crazed lecher these days.

Hey, I'm one, too, and ergo not claiming there's anything inherently "wrong" with drooling over 19-year-old bimbos.  Then again, I've never cultivated the pipe-smoking sophisticate image, either.

*Morals, schmorals:  The one true deterrent stopping you from committing murder is going to prison.  It is for me, anyway.  Everyone I know who's done hard time assures me, with my undeniable cuteness and lithe bod, the showers would be SRO with cons eager to meat SWM.  (And, no, I didn't misspell "meet.")

*Next time he pulls out his pistol, James Brown ought to shoot his barber…and Paul Shaffer...and whomever coined "post-modern."

*You would never turn one down for fear of "how it would look"; nonetheless, lap dances are pointless exercises geared towards purebred suckers.  You can't touch the lass.  It's clarified right from the start she:  is doing it solely because you're paying her; and, couldn't give a toss about you personally.  In fact, she'd grind on Milosevic if he walked up with a double-sawbuck.  So what's the point of even hiring the ho? To see exactly what you're not getting?

Incidentally, the ones who aren't lesbians tend to have a sponging pimp of an old man at home who is not only getting what you want, but also the money you paid not to get it!

*HBO has done a superb job of drawing attention to their Sex And The City series, particularly its best-known lead.  Unfortunately, Sarah Jessica Parker hasn't been a superhottie in ages.   No doubt she was a bombshell on wheels as the roller skater in L.A. Story.  That, however, was ten years ago.  Sigh, so few of us mega-desirables hold up well to time.  One who has is....

HUBBA HUBBA HONEYS:  Golldang, with that angelic face, that curvaceous carcass and, most of all, that incredible vocal intonation, even the most innocent line sounds like Bettie Boop "talkin' dirty" when delivered by Jennifer Tilly.  

Unlike Parker, whose voluptuousness has dissipated with age, JenTill is one of the rare blessed with the Ultimate Female Luck-Out--to pick up a few pounds but have them only go to the most interesting places on her torso.  

To put it cryptically, following tangoing with Father Time, she can substitute "t" for every "l" in her name, and got a bit of posh padding on her suite seat in the deal.  Still with me?

In some ways, Jennifer reminds me of a Canadian Diana Dors...and if you're familiar with Double-D, that's certainly not a knock.  As long as she doesn't Shelly Winterize, she'll be scorching for years to come.  What the hell, even if she does explode, magnanimous Manor will always welcome her...to phone.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Bonus SWMSWM material:  Unpublished stuff added after original ms written:

*You never see his albums or "poetry" panned because the typically gutless music scribe is 100-percent intimidated by Henry Rollins.

*Despite the sobby "We're so upset" press conference, rock stars (and management) are privately delighted when a fan kills himelf over their records.  What a publicity bonanza!

*Take it from a virtuoso, female rock drummers are almost as awful as the black nail polish look on male rockers.