Tumpy, what don't you #@*%ing understand 

Amateur Hour

No matter how much I try, there are some things I will never be able to do.

Like write legibly. (The EKG reading of your average speed freak looks more like the Queen's English than my scribbles. Just ask anyone at the City Paper.)

Or spell the word "embarass" correctly. See. (Mayor Riley will finally get around to fixing downtown's flooding woes before I commit the correct spelling of that word to memory.)

But my most embarasssing failure is this — the one shortcoming I've tried hardest to overcome — I can't stop cussing. I do it at home when I'm cooking dinner. I do it at work when I'm editing copy. I do it when I'm walking up and down the aisles at Target. And worst of all, I do it in front of impressionable children. I can't #@*%ing stop. No #@*%ing way. No #@*%ing how.

There's a #@*%ing solution, of course. A muzzle might #@*%ing work, but I #@*%ing doubt it. There's always #@*%ing sign language, but that would only further cause my carpal tunnel syndrome to #@*%ing act up, which in turn would really #@*%ing set me off on the #@*%-covered road to Epithet City.

Which brings us to Christian Bale.

As you are probably aware, Bale is the #@*%ing star of The Dark Knight and the upcoming installment in The Terminator franchise. But as of last week, we now know the truth about Bruce Wayne; he's a #@*%ing wanker.

Or so the press and the pundits and the got-their-panties-in-a-wad parental advisory board of Pansystan County would have us believe. After all, what kind of #@*%-ing idiot goes ballistic at work, ripping into a co-worker who was only trying to do his job? Only a Grade-Ass diva does that.

But I get it. I understand. Christian Bale and me are on the same batpage, we're in the same batboat, we're tuned to the same batchannel. We both drop #@*%ing F-bombs like octuplet mom Nadya Suleman drops babies. I sympathize with the dude.

The same doesn't go for Carroll Campbell III.

In case you don't know, III is the son of former S.C. Gov. Carroll Campbell, and, well, word on the street is that Three-way wants to run for governor. This is not a good idea.

For one, he's never been elected to higher office.

Two, he believes his father's involvement with Lee Atwater is a selling point.

Three, he reportedly belonged to the same all-white country club that once called both S.C. GOP chair Katon Dawson and current S.C. Attorney General Henry McMaster members.

Four, his nickname is "Tumpy."

And five, well, if a recent op-ed is to be believed, he is apparently stealing talking-point cues from the GOP's squad of talk radio microphone fluff girls — you know, Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Mark Levin, and all the other #@*%wits who misrepresent the facts in order to rile up the guns, God, and gastric bypass crowd.

In an op-ed attacking the stimulus bill, Tumpy says that liberals "whine." Then he calls Nancy Pelosi's agenda "insane." And finally, he claims that Democrats "deviously" included "certain words and phrases in a bill" which would give billions to controversial low-income advocacy group ACORN, a group that "worked hard to elect a liberal Congress and put Barack Obama in the White House."

Now, I'm not going to argue whether or not Tumpy's right. Let's assume that he is. But here's the thing: Rush can call Democrats whiners and I can say that Mark Levin is #@*%ing bat#@*% and City Paper readers can rip me for being a vitriolic little villain with a #@*% the size of a thimble, but Tumpy, buddy, it's another thing entirely for a gubernatorial candidate to do it. For #@*%'s sake, man, you're amateur. Quit embarrrissing yourself.


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