by Willie Geist
From there, things only got more amazing. I don’t kiss and tell, but let’s just say our one-on-one date in a hot air balloon definitely broke some FAA regulations. Ah, screw it, I’ll just say it: Heather stuffed an apple in my mouth like I was a holiday pig, hit me over the head with a sandbag, and sodomized me with a zucchini. Whatever happens tonight, we’ll always have that day. No one can take that away from us.
Then there were the little things that really started to add up. We realized that we both love, love, love Michael Bublé, we both keep vegetable peelers in our bedside tables (what are the odds?!), and we share the same safe word (“Beowulf!”). When you screamed that at the top of your lungs on that fateful night, I realized that some greater force of destiny had put us in that steam shower together.
So here’s the deal. I’ve had fun, you’ve had fun. If you want to take this thing to the next level, I’ve got some ideas. What if we hijacked a plane and had sex in the cockpit before turning the aircraft back over to the crew peacefully? I’ve always had a hijacking fantasy. Just throwing it out there. Heather, I know this sounds corny, but I don’t want to hijack a commercial jet and have sex in the cockpit with anyone but you.
So pick the right guy. Do you really think that other hick is going to give you the marathon humiliation sessions you ache for? Let’s get weird.
Wow. Heather, you’re crying. Why?
“I can’t do this, Chris. It’s too hard. This isn’t fair. I wasn’t totally sure Governor Spitzer was here for the right reasons, and now I know he is. He wants to hijack a plane and have sex with me in the cockpit. I wish my grandmother was still alive to hear that.”
I know how tough this seems, Heather. It feels like a big deal right now, but, honestly, these relationships don’t last, so don’t get too worked up about the decision. Our success rate on this show is like 8 percent. The over/under on you and the guy you choose here is 3 months and most of the guys on the crew here are taking the under. I don’t mean to undermine the entire premise of the show, but you really could just flip a coin.
“Chris, I feel very deeply for these two men. Please respect that.”
Okay. I’ll remind you of that deep love in 3 months when you’re living alone in Studio City auditioning for cat food commercials. Let’s get on with it, Heather. The decision is yours. Will it be Mark or Eliot? Two creeps, one rose. Gentlemen, come on out.
“Thanks, Chris . . . I think. God, my heart is pounding out of my chest. We started this journey with 25 of the creepiest, sex-freak politicians in the country and I honestly believe I have the two creepiest of all standing in front of me. Just think, you were both considered stars in your political parties. I mean, Jesus, Mark, they wanted you to run for president. And look at you now.
“I have come to love you both over the last couple of months in different ways. Mark, you are a beautiful romantic. Eliot, you are a demented sadomasochist. I’ve learned so much from you two disgraced politicians. Mark, your tedious stories about outdoor adventure taught me patience. Eliot, your floggings taught me how to enjoy pain. I want to thank you both with all of my heart.
“This is the toughest decision I’ve had to make since Eliot made me choose between the gimp mask and the horse bit in the Ikea Fantasy Suite the other night. Or when Mark made me contemplate a choice between jumping out the window or stabbing myself in the neck with a letter opener when he started talking about being my soulmate again. What a pussy.
“As hard as it’s been, I’ve made my decision. Ahhhh, I can’t do this.”
Take your time, Heather. We’ll drop in some of that super-dramatic piano music in postproduction to fill the silence. Whenever you’re ready, you may choose the man with whom you will spend at least the next month of your life.
“OK, I’m fine. Deep breath. Do it for Nana. All right, here goes: Eliot . . . will you accept this rose?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, Eliot, I am. Will you accept this rose and love me forever?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down there. What’s the safe word again? Beowulf! I want out! You really thought I came on a TV show to find a girlfriend? Puh-lease! I’ve got enough problems. I don’t need some stalker wannabe-actress, reality TV contestant in my life. This was just sex, honey. Plain and simple. Mark, she’s all yours there, Latin lover boy. Take her up in a hot air balloon. It’ll blow your mind. I’m out.”
Wow, this is uncomfortable. Heather, would you like to give the rose to Mark instead? You have that option under the official Bachelorette rules agreed upon at the Geneva Conventions.
“No, actually. I’m gonna run, too. My laundry’s been piling up. Plus, Mark is a douche.”
Sorry, Mark. Looks like it’s back to search the long Appalachian Trail of love for you. Please gather your things and leave.
Well, historians will most certainly look back at this finale as the most shocking and dramatic in Bachelorette history. Please join us in the fall for an all-new season of The Bachelor, when we finally just cut the pretense and round up a bunch of strippers, put them in bikinis, pump them full of pills and vodka, and let them wrestle in tapioca pudding for the heart of a single dad. Good night, everyone!
Chapter 8
Blago: The Raw, Unedited FBI Tapes
The federal corruption trial of former Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich will be remembered best, perhaps, for the defendant’s rollicking courtroom performance of Elvis Presley’s “Return to Sender” during his closing argument, after which Mr. Blagojevich memorably pointed to the jury and shouted, “I dare you to convict the King!” In another attempt to win over the 12 people who would decide his legal fate, the defendant later brandished a pressurized T-shirt gun and attempted to fire FREE BLAGO! shirts into the jury box. A bailiff tackled him before he could get off a shot. After the incident, Mr. Blagojevich was forced to wear a Hannibal Lecter–like restraint for the remainder of the trial.
The outbursts only served to underscore the circuslike nature of the proceedings inside the United States District Court in Chicago. The tone for the trial was set early on by the release of a series of transcripts of the FBI’s months-long wiretap surveillance of a telephone belonging to Mr. Blagojevich. Although the recorded calls were, in most cases, not relevant to the charges at hand, attorneys for the former governor said after the trial that the pattern of behavior they revealed proved “not helpful” to their defense.
Herewith are selected transcripts of FBI intercepts of telephone communications between Mr. Rod Blagojevich and a number of persons who, it must be pointed out, have not been charged with any criminal wrongdoing.
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
JULY 17, 2008
SPEAKERS:
BLAGO: Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich
BOBBY: Robert Simmons, Little Caesars Pizza employee
BLAGO: Look, Bobby, we can work something out here. I’m sure you don’t want to be working behind that counter and wearing that f**kin’ headset forever.
BOBBY: Sir, I have to charge you for the Crazy Bread. I’d be happy to give you some of our signature Crazy Sauce compliments of the house.
BLAGO: How’d you like to run the Chicago Department of Sanitation? That’s one phone call, Bobby. Just throw in the goddamned Crazy Bread. Do the right thing here, kid.
BOBBY: The Department of Sanitation? I’m not sure who this is, but I really can’t give out the Crazy Bread for free. I have other customers waiting, sir. Do you want the pizza or not?
BLAGO: This is your motherf**kin’ governor, you smarmy little c***sucker. Do you have any idea who you’re f**kin’ with here? You’re in way over your f**kin’ head. How’d you like to have the National Guard kickin’ down your f**kin’ door tonight, you little f**k? That can happen, too.
BOBBY: So should I cancel the order of Crazy Bread, sir? Just the large Hula Hawaiian pizza then?
BLAGO: F**k you! Just send over the motherf**kin’ pizza. You made a big mistake here today, Bobby.
BOBBY
: OK, sir. Your total is $15.99. We’ll see you in about 30 minutes.
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
SEPTEMBER 14, 2008
SPEAKERS:
BLAGO: Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich
JANICE: Janice St. Jean, Home Shopping Network operator
BLAGO: Well, Janice, that’s a shame because I gotta tell you I really had my heart set on those bed linens from the Priscilla Presley Collection. You seem like an awfully sweet gal—maybe there’s an arrangement to be made here.
JANICE: I’m not sure I understand. As I said, we’re completely out of stock on the Priscilla Presley Collection. That’s been a big seller for us. Could I suggest some ballerina flats from Isaac Mizrahi’s new line, exclusive to us here at HSN?
BLAGO: Janice, it’s just your luck you answered a call from a guy who’s not gonna take no for an answer. [Laughter from BLAGO.] You’ve got something I want. Perhaps I have something you want, too.
JANICE: What? Sir, I . . .
BLAGO: I’ll just lay it out for you, Janice: my state lottery commissioner is a piece of sh*t. That stays between you, me, and the wall, but it’s the f**kin’ truth. How’d you like to run the Illinois state lottery, effective immediately? Do you really think anyone notices when a couple of bucks go missing from that giant lottery pot? Trust me, Janice: I’m not looking. [More laughter from BLAGO.]
JANICE: Who is this? What’s happening? I should probably terminate this call. . . .
BLAGO: Okay, I get it—you’d rather answer the f**king phone at the Home Shopping Network than hold a powerful government position. Well, I’m gonna spell this out real nice and simple for ya, Janice: if I don’t have the f**kin’ Priscilla Presley pillow shams by the end of this motherf**kin’ phone call, we’re gonna have a problem that goes way above your f**kin’ pay grade. You got me?
JANICE: Sir, I’m sorry you’re upset, but we do not tolerate that kind of verbal abuse from customers. I’m going to hang up—
BLAGO: F**k you, Janice! And tell that f**kin’ queer Mizrahi not to float away in those f**kin’ ballerina flats!
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
OCTOBER 21, 2008
SPEAKERS:
BLAGO: Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich
ROB: Rob Blagojevich, the governor’s brother and chairman of Friends of Blagojevich
BLAGO: It looks like Obama’s gonna win this f**kin’ thing. You believe that sh*t? What a f**kin’ joke. That should have been me, Rob. That should have been me. F**k me in the hairy Serbian ass!
ROB: That guy is a motherf**kin’ clown. We wouldn’t have taken a meeting with him a couple years ago and now he’s gonna be f**kin’ president of the United States? Go f**kin’ figure. We’ll run against that f**ker in four years and we’ll beat his ass, too, Rod.
BLAGO: Hey, Rob, why the f**k did our f**kin’ mom give us names only one letter off from each other? It’s a f**kin’ pain in the ass. I never know if you’re asking me a f**kin’ question or just talkin’ to your f**kin’ self again. [Laughter from BLAGO and ROB.] And it’s gonna be a hell of a f**kin’ kick in the balls to the FBI if they ever have to transcribe a wiretap call between us! [Laughter from BLAGO.] A f**kin’ “Who’s on First” routine over here! [Laughter from ROB.] Can you imagine that sh*t?
ROB: [Laughter from ROB.] Lucky for us, those douche bag feds are too f**kin’ dumb to catch on . . . Rod.
BLAGO: [Hysterical laughter from BLAGO.] Wait, wait, get your pencils ready, sh*t-for-brains FBI—did you say “Rod”? Or “Rob”? [Laughter from BLAGO and ROB.] Oh, this is great sh*t, bro. How great would it be if they really were listening to this sh*t? Too f**kin’ bad.
ROB: [More laughter from BLAGO and ROB.] So when Obama or Osama or whatever the f**k his name is gets elected, what are we gonna get for his f**kin’ Senate seat? I want a f**kin’ pontoon boat, Rod. I really want one of those motherf**kers. Ever partied on a pontoon boat? It’s like you’re floating on the f**kin’ water!
BLAGO: Way ahead of you. I threw that motherf**ker’s seat on Craigslist weeks ago just to get a feel for the demand. Let me tell you, this thing is f**kin’ golden.
ROB: F**k yeah! This is like f**kin’ Christmas!
BLAGO: I might give that sh*t to Oprah! Who the f**k has more money than that b*tch?! Look what she did for that chubby little no-talent Rachael Ray. Hey, Oprah: how about a f**kin’ talk show for Rockin’ Rod over here?! [Conversation interrupted by the apparent sound of running water.]
ROB: Are you taking a piss, Rod?
BLAGO: Yeah, sorry, dude. [The toilet flushes. BLAGO fart, groan, and unintelligible comment.]
ROB: Jesus Christ, man.
BLAGO: [BLAGO fart again.] Somebody stepped on a duck in here, Rob. Classic Dangerfield line, right?
ROB: [Laughter from ROB.] F**kin’ classic.
BLAGO: So let’s work up a list of sh*t we want and then get it out to the right people on this thing right away.
ROB: Yep.
BLAGO: So far I’ve offered the seat to that a**hole who runs the steakhouse we like over on Rush Street. Can you say “garlic mashed potatoes for life”? He’d owe us big time.
ROB: He’d be f**kin’ great, and so would those f**kin’ mashed potatoes.
BLAGO: And Patti’s been buggin’ me to get her a Sebring forever, so I offered it to some c***sucker over at the Chrysler dealership in Schaumburg. You shoulda seen the look on this f**kin’ guy’s face when I asked him if he wanted to be a United States senator. He gave us a loaner while he sleeps on it. That Sebring is surprisingly roomy for a convertible, by the way.
ROB: Yeah, they’re f**kin’ nice.
BLAGO: And then, let’s see—oh, I offered the seat to the Milwaukee Bucks for Michael Redd and a first-round draft pick. That f**kin’ kid can shoot and God knows the horsesh*t Bulls could use him.
ROB: F**kin’ golden, Hot Rod! But tell the Bucks to throw in a pontoon boat, those cheap f**ks.
[BLAGO speaks away from the receiver to an unidentified woman.]
BLAGO: What’s that, honey? Oh, okay. [BLAGO speaks into the receiver again.] Yeah, Rob, that’s Patti, she’s got a real quick message for you: go f**k yourself, you big, dumb f**kin’ oaf.
ROB: [laughing] I’d tell her to go f**k herself, but knowing your complete f**kin’ impotence, I have a feeling she’s already doing plenty of that, you dumb f**ks.
BLAGO: [laughing] Ah, f**k you. All right, gotta run, Rob. I’ll let you know what I hear.
ROB: Sounds good, Rod. F**k you.
BLAGO: OK, f**k you, too, buddy.
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
DECEMBER 8, 2008
SPEAKERS:
BLAGO: Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich
WRONG NUMBER: Unknown female caller
BLAGO: This is Rod.
WRONG NUMBER: Um, is Cheryl there?
BLAGO: Who the f**k is Cheryl?
WRONG NUMBER: I’m sorry. I think I have the wrong number.
BLAGO: I think you do. Call here again and a wrong number will be the least of your f**kin’ problems.
WRONG NUMBER: Good-bye.
BLAGO: Wait, how’d you like to be the next senator from the great state of Illinois?
[Dial tone.]
BLAGO: F**k you.
TRUE STORY . . .
WHEN A MAN MEETS A COIN-OPERATED VACUUM . . .
Area man caught having sex with car wash vacuum
Far be it from me to judge the sexual eccentricities of another man, but from where I’m sitting, screwing a coin-operated car wash vacuum cleaner seems a bit, well, desperate. A 29-year-old man was arrested in Thomas Township, Michigan, after police received a call reporting “suspicious activity” at the Marathon Fill and Wash.
The responding officer wisely parked his cruiser a safe distance from an automobile that had the hose from a humming stationary vacuum cleaner snaked into the driver’s side window. Approaching on foot, the officer immediately upgraded the activity he observed from “suspicious”
to the more specific law enforcement term “Jesus Christ, man! What the f**k are you doing?”
The suspect had his pants down, guiding the industrial-strength vacuum hose toward his crotch with one hand and holding a roll of quarters in the other. One assumes Whitesnake was playing on the radio. Without even a hint of the common courtesy to let the man finish the moment of intimacy for which he plainly had paid his good money, the officer moved in for the arrest. Total cock block.
The man pleaded guilty to indecent exposure, which is lawyer speak for “getting a hummer from a public vacuum cleaner.” He was sentenced to 90 days in jail by yet another activist judge imposing his outdated concept of morality from the bench. It turns out, even in the year 2010, institutionalized discrimination is alive and well in the supposed “land of the free.”
Chapter 9
The Longest Yard: Guantánamo Bay
LATE TURNOVER SCUTTLES DETAINEES’ COMEBACK BID FOR FREEDOM
ESPN.com wire services
U.S. NAVAL STATION GUANTÁNAMO BAY, Cuba—For a group of prisoners long in search of justice, there was none on the final drive of Saturday’s decisive game between this detention facility’s enemy combatants and the members of the U.S. Military Police who guard them.
Quarterback and Pakistani militant Muhammad Arsha Raza led the upstart Fightin’ Detainees into scoring position with a dramatic 83-yard drive in the game’s final 1:45 that called to mind the clutch performances of John Elway and Joe Montana, and made some forget for a moment Raza’s foiled plots to attack Western embassies and behead foreign diplomats across the Middle East.
But on the doorstep of a monumental upset, with freedom just three short yards and 19 seconds away, swivel-hipped running back Haji Mohammed Khan, the Afghan fighter accused in a botched attempt to drive a truck full of ammonium nitrate into a library to prevent women and girls from reading, took a handoff from Raza, darted to his left, and, without being hit by a defender, mysteriously lost control of the ball. American MPs pounced, recovering the fumble and sealing a hard-fought 31–28 victory for the Americans.