Tag Archives: The Untrained Eye

Jason Whitlock Writes… Jesus, I Don’t Even Know Where To Start

jasonwhitlockissmoothwiththeladiesSo it’s been some time since we checked in on our old pal Jason Whitlock, the painfully untalented and self-caricaturizing Star sports race columnist. This week he’s turned his attention to — sigh, yes: again — offending every woman in America. No longer satisfied with merely discussing the respective merits of female posteriors, Whitlock has now decided to indict every Other Woman in every adulterous situation in recent memory — whom he lumps into a catch-all category he not-so-cleverly calls Pussy Galore. How dare you sully the name of my favorite Bond film, Whitlock! Anyway, in his labored efforts to construct something, anything using this lame metaphor, he somehow manages to drop some of his most memorable and misogynistic lines yet. A random sampling, with emphasis on his most mind-bogglingly terrible phrases:

She impeached a president and now, more impressively, she threatens to topple a highly successful college basketball coach.

As my mother would say, she’s a bitch on a bicycle. Respect her and her power or risk experiencing her wrath…

I don’t want to rationalize his gross error, but you know damn well Pussy Galore’s BFF (booze) played a major role in this fiasco…

Like Hamilton, Pitino should take the Jamie Foxx route and blame it on the al-al-al-cohol…

They were no match for the ambush Galore laid for Hamilton in Arizona. Hamilton was General Custer at the Battle of Little Bighorny.

Quite frankly, it would take Michelle walking in on Barack and Hillary to unseat Slick Rick…

Okay.

If I may be serious for a moment: Jason… you are a terrible writer. Your logic is pedestrian, your allegedly funny lines are only suitable for the Catskills, and you seem to think that throwing in a few terms The Kids are using will make you palatable to a mass audience. Wrong. All those things do is stretch the limits of your readers’ credulity. Please, please stop trying to be hip. You are not an iconic writer chronicling the foibles of America with a Wolfian eye; you are a mediocre sports columnist for a dying paper in a post-industrial city.

And “Little Bighorny”? Seriously? What firing neurons could possibly convince you that line was a good idea?

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