Like many of you, I was raised to believe that Gallagher, the bald comedian who smashed a lot of fruit, was hilarious.  It was never quite true, but whatever.  “Ha ha, he is smashing lots of fruit,” we would say, and then we would go along our merry way.  But then Gallagher sort of disappeared, and I never thought of him again until I read this review of a show he just did in Bremerton, Washington.  It turns out that Gallagher is the prototypical wingnut comedian,  funny only to those who share his bigotry and paranoia.  And wow, he has fear-driven bigotry and paranoia in droves:

Gallagher is upset about a lot of things. Young people with their sagging pants (in faintly coded racist terms, he explains that this is why the jails are overcrowded—because “their” baggy pants make it too hard for “them” to run from the cops). Tattoos: “That ink goes through to your soul—if you read your Bible, your body is a sacred temple, YOU DIPSHIT.” People naming their girl-children Sam and Toni instead of acceptable names like Evelyn and Betty: “Just give her some little lesbian tendencies!” Guantánamo Bay: “We weren’t even allowed to torture all the way. We had to half-torture—that’s nothin’ compared to what Saddam and his two sons OOFAY and GOOFAY did.” Lesbians: “There’s two types—the ugly ones and the pretty ones.” (Um, like all people?) Obama again: “If Obama was really black, he’d act like a black guy and get a white wife.” Michael Vick: “Poor Michael Vick.” Women’s lib: “These women told you they wanna be equal—they DON’T.” Trans people: “People like Cher’s daughter—figure that out. She wants a penis, but she has a big belly. If you can’t see your dick, you don’t get one.” The Rice Krispies elves: “All three of those guys are gay. Look at ’em!” The Mexicans: “Look around—see any Mexicans? Nope. They’ll be here later for the cleanup.” The French: “They ruin our language with their faggy words.”

Let’s see here.  Gallagher is not funny and is afraid of black people, tattoos, girls with boy names, lesbians, Muslims, Barack Obama, people who like dogs, Chaz Bono, gays, Mexicans, and French people.  Can you imagine living such a pathetic life?

He especially is afraid (and OH so jealous) of gay men:

Above all, everything is gay, gay, gay to Gallagher. He leans into it with the borderline- nonsensical, icked-out, ignorant glee of a boy—or the protest-too-much vigor of a GOP senator. Gallagher delivers your Bible verse for the day: “Without God, we are nothing but dust. What is butt dust? Is that what you get if your homosexual isn’t properly lubricated?” He relates a story about spilling mouthwash onto his crotch during a show: “Lucky for me, there was no homosexuals in the area—’cause my balls was minty fresh.” At other points during the show, Gallagher says, “Men and women can’t live in the same house” and “There’s no way men and women can have a relationship.” He says he can’t remember why he used to feel pleasure in looking at a woman. And, “There’s only one kind of homosexual guy, and that’s the pretty ones—why do homosexual men have to be so good-looking?” Gallagher. Listen. Is there something you want to share with us?

A thought:  Maybe Gallagher’s predilection for smashing fruits in all their forms is a much deeper piece of performance art that none of us understood at the time.  By taking a mallet to as many pieces of fruit he could, each and every night, he was trying to kill the biggest fruit within.

Ha ha, just kidding, Gallagher’s not smart enough to do something that symbolic.  I’m only half kidding, though:

Then Gallagher gets a tin pie plate. He opens a giant can of fruit cocktail and pours it in. He opens a can of some Asian vegetable—water chestnuts, maybe—and pours that in, too. “This is the China people and queers!!!” he screams and takes his sledgehammer to the thing with a fury that is no fun at all. Wet chunks of China people and queers fly everywhere. The hateful, bitter old man laughs.

How painfully sad.  Be sure to read the whole review so you can see how delusional he is.  The poor thing thinks he’s some sort of legend.  In reality, though, the rest of us will forget about him again tomorrow.

(h/t Digby)