So I was intrigued when on MSN my eyes did spy a link to something labeled “Bill O’Reilly: What I’ve Learned.” “This ought to be interesting,” thought I. “Perhaps he’ll pontificate on the (decaying) state of society. Or the illusory nature of celebrity. Or how much it sucks to get caught groping a co-worker.” So in I plunged, only to be greeted at first glance with:
There’s no excuse for eating rice cakes at any time. It’s like eating dust. What are they doing here?
Perhaps not the strongest opening salvo. But there must be more, right?
Never been with a hooker, never been on a blind date. My ego’s too big.
No argument there, Papa Bear. But then we get to the meat of O’Reilly’s wisdom:
Yes, I get angry when the federal government spends $100,000 on a study to find out why people don’t like beets. I wouldn’t mind paying 60 percent of every dollar I make in taxes if I was helping somebody in the street who wants to clean up his life, or giving some kid a school lunch and an after-school program. I’m more than happy to do that. It’s a philosophical thing. If I work hard for my money, I don’t want to see it wasted.
Really?! That seems uncharacteristically soft-hearted of the No-Spinmeister. Oh, wait:
Dr. Spock was lucky he never met William O’Reilly Sr. There would have been violence.
The best part of being six four is that I can see over everyone in the movies, even those ladies with the big bouffants. Look, the way I swagger around, if I was five two, it would be brutal.
If you’re gonna swagger, it’s better to be big.
On television, people respond to my definite view of the world.
You can’t ever wipe out evil. But it’s like this: If someone comes to your house bent on killing you or your family, what do you do? You don’t negotiate with them. You don’t try to understand why they’re coming to kill you and your family. You kill them. That’s what you do.
And then a couplet that nearly made my head explode:
Women want to find one Mr. Right, and men want to find all the dream girls they can get their hands on.
I had rules. I would never sleep with any girl who was drunk or high. And believe me, in the sixties and the seventies, I lost a lot of opportunities. But again, the ego. I wanted them to say, “Hey, O’Reilly, c’mon in here.” I didn’t want them staggering in, saying, “What’s your name?” That wasn’t going to do it for me.
Hmmm, there’s that big ego again. Give me all the girls I can get my hands on, but only if they really want me. I think we see the pattern here. But lest we leave this font of wisdom (seriously, you’re 57 and this is all you got?!) on a down note, here’s a mental picture you’ll spend all day trying to eradicate:
Disco? I didn’t have a white suit or anything like that. And I wasn’t running around with Bianca Jagger. I’d just show up, get out on the dance floor, and fake it. The soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever was pretty good. I like Evelyn “Champagne” King. My wife gives me such a hard time when she sees me teach my little daughter all the disco songs. She knows the booty song. KC and the Sunshine Band. You know, Shake shake shake … shake shake shake … shake your booooooty.