Sure, Sam Kinison's humor is hateful and mean-spirited (Calendar Letters, Nov. 27). These are violent times, friends.
But Kinison isn't shaping opinions as a true artist might (a la Lenny Bruce)--he merely chronicles them in a lowest common denominator format for maximum high-voltage consumption.
Having seen Kinison perform while still on the cusp of his "breakthrough," I can attest that his core audience consists of chafing lily-white Corona-swilling Frat punks who paid for their drinks the same way they buy anything else--with daddy's Diner's Club. If ever a performer and audience were meant for one another, this was it.
To suggest, however, that Kinison and Warner Bros. should be censored for striking a major power chord with a shameful segment of the American public would make us no better than the likes of Falwell, Botha or Tipper Gore.
Lighten up, gang. All Kinison is doing is cashing in on the fact that gay bashing, racism, anti-Semitism and sexism have been bred into popular participation sports in 1988 America.
Gosh, haven't the Reagan years been swell?