ne conjuge nobiscum
This is for the men of BURNSIDE only, so you skirts go harass someone else for fifteen minutes. Now let's get doen to business. Every so often I run into one of you BUMS on the street, most of you don't look to bad.  But some are just totally shot.  I understand many of so have put on a few pounds, but we can deal with that.  What I am talking about is how some of you dress.  My God men, don't you have any self-respect.  Some, I take it, DON'T.  So I'm going to take time out to tell you, what I call GAY or NO CLASS.  By GAY, I don't mean in a sexual, or homosexual way, I mean in terms of, you're an asshole, you have no self-respect, dignity or pride, you gave up, you're lazy and you don't have a clue as to what looks good, or doesn't.  And as far as NO CLASS, I think you know what that means. 
I'm not going to tell you right off.  I want you to figure out these things by youself, through a few questions, which I will give you my definitive answers to later on the JULY page.
Get out paper and pen:
Remember: GAY or NO CLASS are the only two possible answers to the following questions.
  • A man wearing a fanny pack.
  • A man wearing a see-thru mesh shirt, or anything mesh.
  • A man wearing sandals.
  • A white guy wearing other ethnic groups' clothes, such as wearing FUBU or Nike items.
  • Man with hands-free, headset telephone.
  • A man wearing white gym shoes.
  • Men wearing tank tops or muscle T's who have absolutely no muscle mass and have no business wearing such items.
  • Old gray guy with a pony tail, Jerry Garcia is dead.
  • Wearing little leather moccasins without socks.
  • Guys with tribal tatoos.
  • Guys wearing visor caps, or caps made out of yarn and beer cans.
  • A guy wearing an ankle bracelet, I'm not kidding, I saw a stroke wearing one just the other day.
  • And last, but not least, men with earrings, or any jewelery.  Wedding rings are OK, along with class and military rings

Here's a pop quiz:  You see an old friend, he's wearing sandals, cut off bluejeans, tank top, large gold chain around his neck, and he has a ponytail. Do you:

A. Say hello.

B. Say hello, then comment "What happened to you?'

C. Run and hide.


CLEAN YOUR ACT UP GUYS      Seriously men.  This was all in fun, or was it?  Ever since the milk toast Carter administration there has been a serious attempt at de-masculinization of the white male babyboomer generation, by liberals, Democrats, history revisonists, and to some extent, our own white females.  This movement has tried to make the white male look like the bad guy.  They dumped white guilt on us, shame, distrust, and drained alot of manhood out of many of us, and our sons.  And the first step in doing this was to make our appearance a joke.  Down grade us by telling us that it's cool to look drunk, stupid and clownish.  That fanny packs and sandals are cool.  Don't be fooled, take more pride in the way you look, dress and groom. 

Don't get me wrong, this has nothing to do with race.  This is an attitudual survival response.   Blacks have it, females have it, all minorities have it, and basically all living creatures have it.  It's called standing up for yourself with pride, dignity, self-respect and the knowledge that everyone of us is a representative of our entire brotherhood.


OK ladies, you can come back in.   I don't like leaving you out so, let's see, what could I piss you off with?

I know.  How do you spell toe ring?  S-L-U-T, that's right.  How do you spell thumb ring?  Same way, but add no class, project whore.

By the way, who ever told women that their feet are beautiful and should be shown?  I sure didn't.  Anyone with good taste surely didn't.  Some fag designer?  Little kids bare feet my be cute until about 10 years old.  By the time most babes reach 30 their feet look an old bag of nickels.  And I don't care how many ankle chains, toe rings you wear, and how many quarts of nail polish you put on, it ain't goin' to hide the cracked and crusty fat pads, the red scarred heals, the corns and the well started bunion.  And one more thing, rubber flip flops are not shoes, get out of my restaurant, no one wants to see, or smell, your feet while they're trying to eat. No shoes. No shirt. Get Lost.



THE MIDNIGHT HERO  It was so long ago I can't remember when it was, or where it was. But anyway, a bunch of us Burnside dudes are in this joint and there was this big loud mouth and he wanted to fight everyone.  He was bothering people.  Then he stepped into the middle of the floor and shouted, "I'll fight anyone in this place".

Quietly a rather hushy Irish looking guy pushed his way thru the crowd and walked right up the this beer brave bully, and said, "See these four fingers and thumb, how would you like me to smash your face in with them?"  The guy backed up and shouted again, "I'll fight anyone in this place." He paused, then pointed at our hero and said, "Except you!"  Everyone in the joint bust out laughing at this loser.
Question:  Who was our midnight hero?
A New Column
I just thought, with so many assholes, including myself some may say, a column in the Burnside Communicator was necessary.  I understand that this is only a drop in the bucket compared to the ocean of assholes in the world, but we are trying our best.  So I'm going to write the opening column, the first asshole of the month for the BC.  It's a simple column, just pick out the biggest asshole you had to deal with in a particular month, write about a couple hundred or so words, and e-mail it to us.  And don't forget to tell us what month it was in.  Maybe we'll have a runoff or championship for the biggest asshole of the year.
So here we go, the first asshole of the month for the Burnside Communicator.
I needed to go downtown Chicago so I went to the Hegewisch station to catch the South Shore train.  In the station coffee shop I purchased a can of Diet Pepsi and a pack of those little crackers with the cheese inside for the ride downtown.  I was done with the pop and crackers as we pulled into the Randolph Street station.  I got up from my seat and started walking down the isle to the end of the car where the door was open.  If anyone is familar with the South Shore passenger car, you know there's a washroom in the center of the car, and on the outside of it there is a small water fountain and a place to put trash.  While walking down the isle I crushed the pop can and put it in the trash.  All of a sudden a voice from behind me came, "That could have been recycled." in a man's voice.  I turned, but could not distinguish which guy yelled at me.  I debarked the train, turned and stood, waiting for this brave, urban ecologist to get off the train.  I wanted to face the asshole who yelled at me, but no one  acknowledged me.  The sunshine patriot shrank from his cause once faced with a potential storm of fists.  The moral of the story, if there is one, is if you're going to yell at someone, make sure you can back it up, you may have a crazy fucker like me waiting to smash your face in.
Thus, the first entry for Asshole of the Month.