Have you heard the one about the onetime felon who threw a fund raiser for the guy who wanted to be the county’s top prosecutor? Mike Bailey, one of several candidates hoping to succeed outgoing Maricopa County Attorney Rick Romley, started off his remarks with a wisecrack during a debate…
Like Snoop says in that joint they play all the time on Power 92.3, “Green’s for the money, the money, the money.” But green’s also for the mainstay of P-town bar-band culture, the Emerald Lounge, the kind of place where hot bands rub up against friendly drunks and stoners. It’s…
Lock Him Up Profile in courage: I take my hat off to Father Joe Ladensack, who had the moral courage to refuse Bishop O’Brien’s outrageous demands to make a family rescind its charges of pedophilia in the Catholic church (“The Divine Sociopath,” Michael Lacey, April 15). What courage Father Ladensack…
I’ll never forget the scorching blast that poured through the open door of the Boeing 707 as I prepared to exit the jet on August 15, 1974, my first summer day in Phoenix. As a wide-eyed, 18-year-old freshman entering Arizona State University, I was stunned by the intensity of the…
At terminal velocity, the wind can have a troubling effect on the male body. Consider that a plummeting adult falls at a rate of about 120 mph, a freefall fast enough to ripple your lips back around your ears. Nude, the whipping winds can actually flip a penis backward, thrusting…
Dime time. That means, 10 o’clock on a Thursday night, and I’m chillin’ at my homegirl Jett’s pad as she readies herself to ride on da club. The crib’s split between her side and that belonging to her roommate, T-Dog. One guess which side looks like a Hummer did doughnuts…
The Chill Is Gone Austin power: Great story (“Death of Cool,” John Dougherty, April 8). What you didn’t mention was the best coffee house on Mill — Java Road — replaced by a Bank of America, and then a yuppie-hell Internet cafe. And 6 East — the best place to…
I am terminally ill with rectal cancer. (Go ahead, make a crude joke. I’d have cracked wise if the tables were reversed. If only.) The pain is unimaginable in a place that should never hurt. The hospice attendants have given me control of the morphine drip, something I longed for…
Twin Piques The Spike is always happy to be the first to tattle on people — especially high-powered people — who fib. Case in point this week is actually from the weird world of reality TV (and The Spike is using that phrase loosely), where local twins Matt and Michael…
It’s not every day that the governor of a state is faced with an open insurrection by thousands of religious zealots. It’s even rarer when the fanatics flout the state Constitution in a hell-bent pursuit of reaching heaven by coercing teenage girls into a life of subjugation, rape and breeding…
Hey, Phoenix, where the freaks at, baby? Your 300-pound mack of wack and his lezzie Lara Croft been hankerin’ for some underground weirdness of the first water. We craved the bizarre, the bugged-out, the deviant — and the plain ol’ nasty. Luckily, a light bulb illuminated above Jett’s spiked ‘do:…
The Passion for Christ An order of piety, hold the blasphemy: I don’t usually read your newspaper because I am a Christian and generally the content is not in line with my values. However, a friend of mine mentioned the article on Christian rap (“Jesus Christ Rap Superstar,” Darren Keast,…
Oubai Shahbandar loves America. The only thing he loves more than his adopted homeland, people often say, is the sound of his own voice. On a winter day, Shahbandar sits at a blinding, metallic table outside the Memorial Union at Arizona State University in Tempe, reminiscing over his college career…
Travesty of Justice The Spike was intrigued by the fancy media kit that landed on several desks here last week. More interesting was the fact that it came from the Office of the Federal Public Defender’s Capital Habeas Unit (that’s the death penalty appeals folks for you non-legal types), an…
I ventured up to Flagstaff the other day. Just to walk around and enjoy its wonderful downtown at the base of Arizona’s most impressive mountains, the San Francisco Peaks. Rain, wind, sleet, snow flurries and occasional sunshine had left the air clear and crisp. The dramatic landscape and tumultuous weather…
Phil Root is sitting among the peanut shells and hot dog wrappers strewn across the aisle at Arizona State University’s Packard Stadium in Tempe on a recent Sunday. He has his “Bible” at his side — a black, three-ring binder full of opposing player biographies and some of the more…
I’m at home splashing on some Pierre Cardin musk, preparing to step out and get skunked at the illustrious Bikini Lounge on Grand Avenue, when the celly beeps to the tune of Too Short’s “Shake that Monkey.” Of course, it’s that lezzie lady-pimp of renown, my partner in nighttime inebriation,…
Damn it, Inferno’s cool! Hippie parent killin’: I can’t believe that recent letter writer, Sandleboy of Seattle (“Business As Usual,” Letters, March 18). What the fuck is Greg Leos’ waterlogged problem? I’ve lived in both cities, and Phoenix has just as many cool nightspots as the precious jewel of the…
Even the son of Gretzky wanted to meet Brian Boucher. So, on Valentine’s Day, after the Phoenix Coyotes had beaten the Dallas Stars, Wayne, part-owner of the Coyotes and the best hockey player ever, brought his three-year-old, Tristan, with him to the locker room of the brand-new arena. But Boucher…
There are two rule books for doing business in downtown Phoenix. One is for Jerry Colangelo and his stable of businesses revolving around the Arizona Diamondbacks and the Phoenix Suns. This rule book is very thin. In fact, open it, and there’s only one page containing four words: Cut Jerry…
Tom Avila prides himself on getting the scoop. Early this year, Valley talk radio listeners became acquainted with the 45-year-old’s distinctive nasal voice, as he delivered the day’s “Big Story News” on KFNX (1100 AM). Avila worked for two months as the station’s news director, signing off each newscast with…
That Big Playboy in the sky works in mysterious ways. The Lesbian Johnny Knoxville and I had chosen to ride on Minder Binder’s ska-punk Thursdays, expecting to find folks bouncing their heads to the sounds of local, Von Dutch-wearin’, AFI wanna-bes. But when we arrive at that big, red barn…
