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Guest

Quote:“Whatever you do,” cried Brer Rabbit, “Don’t throw me into the briar patch”, or how to get recalcitrant idiots to do what you want.

http://www.abelard.org/brer_fox_brer_rab..._patch.php














(I care about you)
I loved those Uncle Remus stories as a kid...    
[Image: SOS_Tar_Baby_585x435.jpg]
probably considered fairly racist today  Chuckle

Looks like a cool link, op.  Bookmarked!

diary
(03-18-2017, 02:32 AM)shakeyflyface Wrote: [ -> ]I loved those Uncle Remus stories as a kid...    
[Image: SOS_Tar_Baby_585x435.jpg]
probably considered fairly racist today  Chuckle

Looks like a cool link, op.  Bookmarked!

diary

Actually no. Just different times. Uncle Remus stories were read in an old black man's voice.

No need to pretend they worried about Cultural Marxism and PC histrionics back then they didn't. And the world still turned.

Anglos were slaves for much longer than the American slaves ever thought about. It is just victim mentality and reparation culture hysteria. Don't believe the hype.

American Blacks used the race card up a long time ago. Don't feel sorry for them.. I don't. There is not one American black alive today that was ever a slave.... Or no more of a slave than the rest of us.

Guest

(03-17-2017, 10:59 PM)Guest Wrote: [ -> ]
Quote:“Whatever you do,” cried Brer Rabbit, “Don’t throw me into the briar patch”, or how to get recalcitrant idiots to do what you want.

http://www.abelard.org/brer_fox_brer_rab..._patch.php




Don't throw me in that Briar Patch!









(I care about you)
We used to enjoy a certain amount of race based humor....and shared it in mixed company....things we're so not uptight as they are now....we could all laugh about our nuances and differences.
(04-08-2017, 01:09 AM)Archangel Wrote: [ -> ]We used to enjoy a certain amount of race based humor....and shared it in mixed company....things we're so not uptight as they are now....we could all laugh about our nuances and differences.

The 86-year-old comic brought his shtick to the AFI's Shirley MacLaine tribute; likened the president to a janitor.
Don Rickles nearly hijacked the American Film Institute’s tribute to Shirley MacLaine on Thursday night at Sony Pictures Studios, unleashing a trademark barrage of insults that took aim at President Obama, Warren Beatty, Jack Nicholson and the honoree herself.
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“I shouldn’t make fun of the blacks,” Rickles said, and then proceeded to do just that: “President Obama is a personal friend of mine. He was over to the house yesterday, but the mop broke.”
The black-tie crowd, gathered to celebrate MacLaine, the 40th recipient of the AFI’s Life Achievement Award, alternately gasped at the 86-year-old comic’s put-downs and then found themselves laughing and applauding.
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“Shirley,” Rickles, living up to his moniker as Mr. Warmth, began as he rose to his feet from a table near the center of the room. “I never read your books, and I don’t plan to.”
Turning to MacLaine’s brother Beatty, he continued, “I know your brother very well, and I never liked him.”
Shifting his focus to Nicholson, who also was present, Rickles cracked, “He’s not here tonight – he’s with the Lakers, oiling their jocks.”
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Taking aim at Jennifer Aniston, one of the actresses who shared the main table with MacLaine, Rickles claimed she “took my table at the Tower Restaurant one night because she was in heat with some guy.”
Surveying the celebrity-packed room, Rickles wondered where all the stars were, saying, “If Sidney Poitier hadn’t shown up, they’d be nobody.” Spotting Dennis Haysbert, on whose series The Unit Rickles had appeared, he shouted, “Oh, there’s the black guy from The Unit,” adding, “now he works for Allstate.”
Before he sat down, though, Rickles mellowed. Recalling how he and MacLaine’s friendship dates back to the days of the old Sahara Hotel in Las Vegas, where she hung out with the Rat Pack, Rickles finally testified: “You have a charm and a warmth and class. I’ve known a lot of people in showbiz, but I’m so proud that you asked me to be here tonight.”

"God put us on this earth to laugh. We're human beings. Jew, gentile, Irish, Negro, Puerto Rican. Laugh at bigotry. Bigots and morons and dummies. People say, 'how can you make fun of religion?' Why not? What's to fear?"

December, 1957. It's two o'clock in the morning. A not-so-famous Rickles is onstage at The Sahara Lounge in Las Vegas, doing his act. He's singled out a lone Mexican sitting up front.

"I'm a Jew, and you're a Mexican," Rickles begins. "I say this from heart: A Negro can move into my neighborhood, you can't." Ten minutes later, he's targeting Canadians, Arabs, Germans, Poles and Jews. The laughter is slow to ripple, largely liquor-induced. "Excuse me sir, what is your nationality? I know, it's a big word. Lady, you here on vacation? And you're sitting next to the Mexican? You've taken your shots? I don't know what this is all about, you annoying woman. Get a job at a fruit stand. Didn't I see you during the war hanging around the embarkation point in a torn sweater? You gotta be a Jew, lady - it's 105 degrees in here and you're the only one with a mink stole. If it weren't for the Mexicans, we wouldn't have filth."
[Image: Image1.gif][Image: playboy.jpg]Then - to everyone's complete astonishment - Frank Sinatra strolls into the lounge, flanked by Peter Lawford, Sammy Davis, Jr., Joey Bishop, Shirley Maclaine, Henry Silva, and actor Richard Conte. They take a seat near the back, and the room grows silent. Young Master Rickles is temporarily speechless, staring goggle-eyed beyond the hot lights. The stakes have been upped: this unknown comic is now expected to tickle the ribs of an indomitable battery of professional entertainers. Any one of them alone holds a massive ego capable of derailing Don's entire career without so much as an arched eyebrow.
"What are you guys, lost?" Rickles blurts. "This isn't the Sands." He instructs a cocktail waitress to get them a drink. "You guys do drink, don't you? Frank, buy them a drink. You got plenty of money." When Lawford tips the waitress, Rickles continues. "Hey that's good. Frank, you got him trained. Now sit down. Sammy, you get permission to be out this late? You can't get negro help like that any more. To have a guy who can sing and dance - and dust."
The crowd is silent. Casino bodyguards move to the back, prepared to restrain Sinatra if he loses it. The room is visibly uncomfortable. Collectively, audience members wonder if this is really part of the act.
[Image: donwide.jpg] "Frank, you need to to go back to the Sands. Sammy, show him the way out. Jesus, looked who I picked - they follow Sammy, they'll be bumping into walls. Richard, can I tell you something? Nobody goes to your movies anymore. Seriously, you can't act. Go home and watch TV like old people. And Frank, you're no spring chicken. Shirley, how does it feel to be with Frank Sinatra? He's gonna put you in the movies! Sure he is. Frank, find somebody your own age. Honey, how old are you? Let me see your ID. "

People are starting to laugh out loud, but the tension remains palpable. Members of the audience - bartenders included - are more than a little freaked out. This is not how a comedian behaves in the presence of the Chairman. How many of Sinatra's buttons will Rickles push? The comedian turns his back on the crowd, addressing the band. "Is Frank smiling? See any guns? He starts shooting, everybody duck." Then he turns back around. "Frank, just make yourself at home and hit somebody."
[Image: Rickles%202.jpg]At which point, Frank Sinatra drops his drink and falls completely out of his chair, doubled over with laughter.
"Frank, get off your knees, it looks fruity. Richard, help Frank get up. Show him the way out. And don't come back with that riff-raff. Frank, you look terrible. You have to dress better. It's getting embarrassing. You need some clothes? Just ask me."
That night, Sinatra became the comedian's number-one fan. Don Rickles was the performer among big-name Hollywood stars, and they flocked by the dozens to be the targets of his insults. To Ernest Borgnine: "Oh my [Image: 2.gif]God, look at you. Anyone else hurt in the accident?" To David Letterman: "Who picks your clothes, Stevie Wonder?" To Bob Hope: "What are you doing here? Is the war over?"
He opened for Sinatra regularly, like a straight shot of cheap booze designed to make a more expensive drink taste better. His insults and put-downs quickly earned him the nickname Mr. Warmth. He would later become a pallbearer at Sinatra's funeral, carrying the gardenia-strewn casket to and from the church.