Friday, January 11, 2008

WGA Strike: Scab of the Week

Matt Taibbi. file photo WNYC New York Public Radio, April 11, 2006.

Matt Taibbi is a Punk

I don't care that Taibbi made fun of a dying Pope.

Just shows he has no class.

I've read his stuff. He can't write comedy.

Lower Manhattanite can write rings around Taibbi's tight-ass.

Which shouldn't matter; Taibbi writes for Rolling Stone, not Mad Magazine. Except Taibbi fancies himself funny and satirical.

You know what isn't funny?

Crossing a picket line against striking writers.

Taibbi appeared on Comedy Central's The Colbert Report this past Wednesday. (No I'm not linking. We're on strike.)

But here are the late night schedules.

Notice how the struck shows don't dare tell you who's appearing until after they've appeared?

That's because when people find how someone's going on, damn near EVERYONE calls and tells them what idiots they are.

Mostly they back out. Because who wants their mother, boy or girlfriend, neighbors, and everyone they care about calling them up:

Mom: Hey, dumb ass... what are you doing? This family doesn't cross picket lines. I didn't raise you to be a fool. And I did not work my ass off for 27 years for you to act retarded. Now you get on the phone right now. You call Conan back and tell them no son of mine is doing a struck show, you hear me boy?

Dumb Ass: Yes Mom, I hear you.

Mom: You better. And then get your sorry miserable, dumb ass home, because I am going to climb high up on a stool where I can reach you. Then I am going to slap you so hard son, what little brains you have left are going to come right out your eyeballs and spill down the front of your Armani shirt. Who came up with this cluster-fuck of an idea anyway?! I know it wasn't you.

Dumb Ass: It was my agent, Mom.

Mom: You mean, your ex-agent?

Dumb Ass: But Mom...

Mom: Anyone dumb enough to have a man as handsome as you cross a picket-line and ruin your damn career, when anyone with only half the brains God gave a Golden Retriever, and the Lord knows that isn't the brightest dog in the world, knows you could be out on the picket-line getting free publicity just bringing donuts to the writers. They're not the swiftest bunch. Give them donuts and you'll be up on YouTube as their friend forever.

She's not your agent any more son; she screwed up. You were born naturally stupid just like your poor Daddy, but your agent we pay 10% to 'cause she's supposed to be smart. And now she's done gone and screwed the pooch.

Dumb Ass: The pooch, Mom?

Mom: It means, I just fired her sorry ass for being behind the times.

Son, you call Conan's people and tell them your Mother said you are not crossing any picket lines. No way, never, no how. Then come straight home. I've got apple pie waiting...

The Colbert Report is being actively picketed.

Taibbi was contacted by the WGA, asked not to go on the show. He ignored his brother and sister writers, went on anyway, and then... wasn't funny. Colbert carried him.


Friday night, Taibbi is scheduled to CROSS ANOTHER PICKET LINE to appear on Real Time with Bill Maher.

Taibbi is a fucking punk. It's that simple.

Punks are people that when incoming drops in, can't be counted on to cover their buddies' backs or their own fire zones.

When New York Press editor Jeff Koyen quit rather than take a suspension over running Taibbi's "funny" article mocking the death of a dying Pope, did Taibbi walk out the door with him?

No. He punked out, only to quit just before being forced out the door in a management change.

Punks feel bad. They whine and complain, dodge and weave. Most of all, they come up with excuses for not doing what's right.

There's another word for punk...


Here's another...


My personal favorite...

Stupid motherfucker.

Taibbi -- You've just made clear to every Guild writer, you know you lack the talent to write for movies and television. 'Cause if you thought there was the slightest chance you had a screenplay in you, you would never cross a Writers Guild of America picket.

WGA writer's don't forgive scabs -- or those who help them by crossing picket lines.

Ya no-talent un-funny punk.