Hey guys, I need you to swing by and check out the new
Wittenburg Door website,
which I've been working on for the past few months and which I'll be
contributing to regularly. It launched on Halloween, exactly 490 years after the
event it's named after.
The Door is the pretty much only magazine of religious satire, nailing the church since 1517. I've been one of the Doorkeepers for years, as many of you know, but I was picked to be the head Online Doorkeeper and, since I had very little background in web ventures, it turned out to be sort of a combination website/newspaper/gossip sheet and, I'm proud to say, made people angry even at the beta stage.
If you like anything, or even if you don't, leave a comment, sign up for the newsletter, subscribe to the feed, and hopefully you’ll come back often.
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The
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People ask me, "Joe Bob, is your name really Joe Bob?"
And I always have to fess up. I wasn't BORN "Joe Bob." I'm the first person in human history to be named "Joe Bob" by CHOICE.
And then they say, "So how'd you choose that name anyhow?"
And so I thought I'd explain it once and for all, for everybody who's curious.
I chose the name becomes it sounds Southern, it sounds poor, and it sounds like it comes from an uneducated background. In other words, I chose a name that I thought EVERYONE could feel superior to. Because, like it or not, there's a deep ingrained prejudice in America against people from the South, people who are poor, and people who have no education.
And then I just started saying all the things I would normally say anyway, making jokes about everyone and everything, taking on any and all comers, but, BECAUSE I HAVE THE NAME "JOE BOB," it became very easy to spot the bigots. They're the ones who don't listen to what I SAY. They just say, "Consider the source--it's a guy named 'Joe Bob.'"
And this is fine with me--because, once you're kissed off as beneath contempt by all the fine upstanding bigots (many of whom are "liberals," by the way), then you end up with an audience of people who don't care about names. They're the REAL liberal thinkers. They're listeners, not judgers.
I get these letters all the time: "Why do you pick on women?" "Why do you pick on minorities?" "Why did you pick on Anita Hill?" (In fact, back in the day I got a MOUNTAIN of Anita Hill letters, just because I said that Anita oughta have started filing those sexual harassment complaints a little QUICKER than ten years down the road.) "Why are you homophobic?" (I don't even know what "homophobic" MEANS.)
But the fact is, I don't pick on anybody.
Lemme correct that. I pick on EVERYBODY. I put a machine gun up on a swivel and hit 30 different targets, WITHOUT REGARD TO ANY POLITICAL OPINION. This is what drives people crazy. They want me to have a POLITICAL POINT OF VIEW. They keep trying to figure out what my political point of view IS.
Listen to me: I don't have any political opinions. None. Zero. Nada.
I just think what human beans do to one another is very funny.
So, I put the machine gun up on the swivel, and about one in thirty people will SCREAM. Whenever somebody screams, I fire at em thirty more times.
That's how you IDENTIFY the sacred cow, then EXECUTE the sacred cow.
The people who scream are the people who say, "You can joke about THEM. I understand that. But you can't joke about these HELPLESS PEOPLE." And by "helpless people," they mean the particular interest group they represent--somebody who's been wronged, or abused, or hurt in the past.
And what they don't realize is that we're all helpless. We're all a LOT less powerful and in control and together than we think. That's what makes us funny.
And NOBODY is more helpless than "Joe Bob." In New York City, for example, all I have to do is tell people the NAME, and they not only laugh, they go into a mocking, fake Southern drawl.
I don't get mad, even though I'm from the South and I don't think the way we talk is particularly funny.
They find my behavior funny.
I find their behavior funny.
We're even.
That's why I'm Joe Bob. When you start on the bottom rung, you can't REALLY be insulted. From down here where I look at everything, you enjoy yourself more.
August 25, 2009
Monster Vision Song
Some of you may remember this, or maybe not.
A classic from the late nineties.
Play it till your ears bleed and your teeth hurt. Or vice versa.
August 23, 2009
Welcome Back Campers
After somewhat of a hiatus, the Joe Bob Report is back in action.
Over the next few weeks the tech guys will be making some changes here, moving stuff around and adding some new features. Bear with us, it will take awhile to clean out all the tubes, refill the blinker fluid and adjust the muffler bearings on this thing.
In the meantime, check out the new JBB Store powered by the folks at Zazzle.
August 22, 2009
The Following is a reprint from "Joe Bob's America" originally published 8/9/91
I thought it still holds true today.
Tales of the Future
Did you know that in 1933, when the country was sick and nobody knew what to do about it, people got in their cars, drove to Washington, presented themselves at the White House, and said "What can I do to help?"
Lawyers did it. Railroad executives did it. Sometimes bankers would take a leave of absence, or even quit their jobs altogether, to go help the Federal Reserve as it tried to keep banks afloat and stave off runs during the Depression.
Farmers got together at local markets and elected a person to go help out, and then they passed a hat to collect enough money to pay the man's train fare.
Chambers of commerce sent men.
The Masons sent men.
There were professors who didn't represent any company or organization at all, but they had specialized knowledge that could be put to use. They went to Washington.
Writers, the most anti-social species ever to walk the earth, went to Washington and VOLUNTARILY worked for the government. They produced state travel guides that are still worth reading today.
And when all these people got to Washington, Roosevelt held the door open for them. They were put to work. Committees were formed. Conference rooms in government buildings were converted into offices. John Dos Passos, who watched the whole thing in amazement, said that "some worked on folding chairs and cardtables in corridors."
And when the offices closed, "they hurriedly ate and went home and sat smoking in their shirtsleeves in hotel rooms . . . checking programs, industrial pricelists, fair trade practices, standards of wages and working conditions, poring redeyed over dogeared acts of Congress in the dense tiny print of the Government Printing
Office . ."
And slowly, by stages, the country started to work, too.
It sounds crazy, but these guys went to Washington and created jobs by simply WILLING THE JOB TO EXIST.
And the joy in the work was contagious. Men worked 12 hours a day, breaking rocks in state parks, to be used to build hiking trails--and they were grateful for the chance. Others destroyed their spines, digging drainage ditches in places that still had dirt roads--and most of them still praised Roosevelt for creating the job in the first place.
And there was never any extra money.
And there was never any more foreign trade.
And the stock market was still not recovering.
And most people had nothing.
And all Roosevelt could do was say, "Come help out. We'll get through it."
And people did. They helped out. They put their own interests aside for a few years, and they put the country first.
I chose the name becomes it sounds Southern, it sounds poor, and it sounds like it comes from an uneducated background. In other words, I chose a name that I thought EVERYONE could feel superior to. Because, like it or not, there's a deep ingrained prejudice in America against people from the South, people who are poor, and people who have no education.
That's how you IDENTIFY the sacred cow, then EXECUTE the sacred cow.
And when all these people got to Washington, Roosevelt held the door open for them. They were put to work. Committees were formed. Conference rooms in government buildings were converted into offices. John Dos Passos, who watched the whole thing in amazement, said that "some worked on folding chairs and cardtables in corridors."