President Believes Growth in Economy Equals Growth in His Cock:
The Rude Pundit is not an economist. There are many, many good economists who can give you the skinny on what the sudden ejaculatory spurt in spending means in relation to an economy in the toilet. The best-known and most vicious little motherfucker of them is Paul Krugman of the New York Times , a man who, set loose of censorship standards, might out-rude the Rude Pundit. Here he is on those third quarter numbers. No, the Rude Pundit is not an economist; he just knows a helluva lot more about most things than you do. So here's the analysis of the estimated 7.2 percent growth:

Back a couple of months ago, the tax cuts that were passed gave a shitload of money to the rich. But part of the tax cuts, the part that Republicans had to be bitch-slapped into accepting, involved giving money to the middle and lower class majority of the population in the form of a higher credit for spawning children. 400 bucks worth for your sentient seed and egg (side note here: if the anti-choice people want to declare a fetus a "person" whose life is protected, does that mean we can claim the fetus for a tax credit?). Now, poor people being poor people, and middle class people being in crippling debt, 400 bucks makes for one nice little blow out party. Or maybe some socks for the kids. Or some quality time with porno and beer for dad. So, poor being poor and middle class not knowing how to save worth a good goddamn, the money was spent, poof, gone. Most of it went to Wal-Mart or stores at the mall to buy fine clothing or goods made in Asian sweatshops, so, really, your 400 bucks went to line the pockets of executives (taxed less now for them) and to enslave many more Indonesian children so you can have cheap t-shirts.

Ahh, what a fine toast they must have had yesterday, all of those big money executives in a secret chamber under the Stock Exchange, with Thai hookers servicing them under the tables and African manservants bringing them the skulls of Chinese prisoners to drink their blood-tainted wine. Mmm, mmm, mmm, what a delicious time for the capitalists.

See, the Rude Pundit is no economist. But he knows a scam when he sees one. He can smell bullshit a mile away. And when the jobless rate doesn't change despite all the gleeful spending of $400 checks, he knows we live in stinky times.

The President will crow, "The tax relief we passed is working. We left more money in the hands of the American people, and the American people are moving this economy forward," jabbering and dancing while corporate America turns the hurdy-gurdy and laughs at the dancing monkey.

No, Really, Somebody Tell the President About the Goddamn Rabbits:
What a strange worm this man, this President, this Bush, is. What a craven, buck passing, spineless little bit of spittle on the sidewalk. How can Americans anywhere walk around with any sense of self-respect knowing that our friggin' Commander in Chief can't even admit that he fucked up when his masters hung a banner reading "Mission Accomplished" as his backdrop when he declared an end to major combat in Iraq during his little G.I. George moment on the aircraft carrier Abraham Lincoln? (And let's not even get into the symbolism of the name of the ship.) Here's your leader, fearless in the face of reporters at a press conference called so hastily that Wolf Blitzer barely had time to comb his face. When asked about that banner, Bush responded, in that voice that sounds like you just told him the keg is empty and he has to take sloppy seconds on the passed out coed, "The 'Mission Accomplished' sign, of course, was put up by the members of the USS Abraham Lincoln, saying that their mission was accomplished. I know it was attributed somehow to some ingenious advance man from my staff - they weren't that ingenious." And then he laughed insanely and drank fresh blood out of the head of an American soldier.

'Cause, you know, when you've been out fighting a war, the first thing you're thinking when you're about to get to port and the White House calls and says to keep your grunt ass in the ocean until the flyboy king can play pilot and get his picher taken with the boys in uniform, the first thing on your mind at that moment isn't "Jesus Fucking Christ, there better be some hot, civilian ass in a mini-skirt and no panties waiting for me with a six pack, an eight ball, and a key to a motel room so I can bust a nut between her heaving titties and . . . wait . . . what do you mean I gotta stay here and jack off in my bunk until that pussy Prez leaves?" Nope, according to Bush, the first thing really on your mind is, "Oh, my, the President is coming. I'd better straighten up the place. I'd better call the Kinko's fly-to-the-fucking-middle-of-the-ocean delivery service to make a nice banner. Hmmm, what should it say? Even though thousands of my buddies are still getting murdered like pigs in a slaughterhouse, I think I'd like to say that the mission is, hmmmm, accomplished?"

Of course, this Oval Office dickhead can't even get his stories straight. From May, here's the New York Times with the story fed to us at that point. Goddamnit, sometimes he's so fucking stupid, cruel, and unenlightened that the evil, vile Karl Rove must be tempted to show him the rabbits and get Timothy Bottoms in there to take over.

Too Republican To Fuck:
Do you think President of Vice Dick Cheney still fucks his wife, Lynne? Do you think she lays naked in bed at the regal VP residence, legs akimbo, blood engorged clitoris red, wet, and pulsing with desire for her husband, who stares at her from the foot of the bed, still wearing his t-shirt and socks, waiting for those delicious anticipatory seconds before the Viagra kicks in and he's hammering away at her like he's nailing Jesus to the cross? Or for that matter, do you think Sen. Orrin Hatch bones his wife, Elaine, while the stereo blares his CD, My God Is Love (a title that the late Barry White could have intoned), and a picture of Brigham Young staring down approvingly? What about the President and Laura? Do you think he gives a high-pitched girly giggle every time Laura touches his cock?

The Rude Pundit thinks not. Because, you see, at every turn of the policy, conservative Republicans attempt to shut down anything that has to do with fucking. Rep. Henry Waxman has discovered what he calls a "hit list" of NIH-funded researchers into things sexual, like HIV, in an attempt to intimidate (and one supposes de-fund) those who say that fucking happens. Or the administration's refusal to give funds to international agencies for women's health care, HIV/AIDS help, or general social good if that agency has anything to do with abortion, thus holding up the promised funds for Africa. Or the fact that what really makes conservatives is not getting fucked in high school, so, goddamnit, there better be abstinence-only teaching, or we'll audit your secular ass.

Fucking is good for the soul. God likes fucking. The Rude Pundit says go forth and fuck (safely, please, because you might end up fucking the Rude Pundit some day).

A Few Brief Notes About Celebrities:
Cher - Who the fuck would have thought that not only does the last functioning gay icon (Liza Minnelli doesn't count) have a political soul, but that she's willing to bare it in the way she has bared her ass so many times before? Here she is, on C-SPAN, no less, talking about her visit to wounded soldiers at Walter Reed Medical Center. And she has the balls to openly criticize Bush, Cheney, and the band about not visiting wounded soldiers. Unlike, say, Lincoln, Truman, and other Presidents, the wounded for Bush are like the crazy, deformed nephew you keep in the cellar, hoping he can survive on rats and trash and hoping the neighbors don't find out about him. And the returning dead are like so much dust swept under the rug. Cameras and press are not allowed to cover the return of dead soldiers. And, unlike, say, Schwarzenegger, here's Cher, a celebrity willing to be questioned, be honest, and be a goddamned American citizen.

Kobe - You know, the Rude Pundit generally doesn't give a damn about sports. The Rude Pundit doesn't give two shits about celebrity trials. The Rude Pundit believes that such things are corporate-created distractions from the real problems of the country, like, say, health insurance or unemployment. But something here bears comment: Who knows if Kobe raped the woman in Colorado? Right now, only Kobe and the woman can be sure. And, fuck, it doesn't mean that Kobe should be fired or hated or anything at the moment. But, c'mon, when the crowd at a Vegas exhibition game cheered, fucking cheered when Kobe walked out, when people in the crowd "greeted him with signs proclaiming his innocence on rape charges," something is seriously wrong with the culture. The intensity of sports worship is so strong that it doesn't matter that Kobe may have raped a woman? Man, the Rude Pundit hopes the people who hoisted those signs high will feel suicidally depressed if it turns out Kobe did it. Because what they did at that point was cheer a rapist. And that's just so goddamn sad it's not even worth getting sarcastic about it.

Barbara Bush - The Rude Pundit always knew the President was a son of a bitch, but who knew that his mom would go to such lengths to prove it?

Tell Me About the Rabbits, Colin:
At some point here, someone close to him needs to tell the President about the rabbits, tell him to stare out into the field until he can see the rabbits. Because clearly living in the real world is just not possible for this coke-snorting, drunk driving, legacy admitted, corporation-ruining, insider trading, AWOL, ignorant fucker we have in the White House. Not only did this stupid sumbitch admit to the world that he doesn't read newspapers or watch news, preferring, instead, to get his information from house negro Condi or other liars, but he refuses to tell us the reality of Iraq for two simple reasons: he's too fucking blind from neocon dogma and just plain goddamned old-fashioned, Texas valued stupidity to know any better. How else do you explain his dimwitted response to the multiple bombings in Iraq that killed 40 and injured hundreds? Here's your President, bleating like a sheared sheep, saying that terrorists "can't stand the thought of a free society. They hate freedom. They love terror. They love to try to create fear and chaos," which means that he understands in the most rudimentary way the definition of terrorists. It's like saying that a guy who fucks mules can't stand the thought of fucking anything but mules, can't understand why anyone would want to fuck something that's not a mule, and, by the way, I think I'll fuck this mule.

Jesus Christ, at some fucking point doesn't all this have to come crashing down? All of the lying, stonewalling, and greed? Seriously, if we live in a country that has any shred of self-respect, decency, and common good, doesn't this all have to add up to something? Or are we Americans finally like the abused wife, the one who gets smacked around but keeps going back to her guy no matter how many of her friends and family say he's destroying her.

At some point, what do you say to that woman, that friend who you thought you understood? Eventually, you're going to think she knows better, but she can't help it. She's just too deluded and self-destructive to listen.

Once More, the Mind Needs Settling:
Between Pat Roberts hijacking the investigating process of the Senate Intelligence Committee, more and more troops dying in Iraq, and images of Latino transexuals massaging the sphincter of Antonin Scalia, the Rude Pundit is taking a breather until Monday. Be ready for a week of Halloween fun where we devise tricks and treats for our favorite conservatives. Martha Stewart, beware! Oh, and lots more sodomy jokes. Stay tuned.

Antonin Scalia Needs a Blow Job Really Badly:
And, really, when a head is bobbing on one's crank, does it really matter if that head has five o'clock shadow or not? As long as its tongue is generous and its owner doesn't ignore one's balls? Because, really, and, c'mon, the pleasures of the blow job are multifaceted, maxi-sexual, and, well, you get the idea.

Or not, as apparently is the case with Supreme Court "Justice" Antonin Scalia. In a speech before another one of those on the seemingly fucking endless list of conservative think tanks, groups, and man-boy societies, Scalia held forth in "a mocking tone" on the Supreme Court's decision in the Lawrence v. Texas case, which said that, "You know what? Like most everyone in the free world, we six justices don't give a rat's ass who you consensually fuck and how. And you know what else? The state shouldn't give a rat's ass either" except they put it in lots of legalistic language that involves Latin. That decision was made on June 26 of this year, or as we at the Rude Pundit like to call it, "Sodomy Liberation Day."

But Scalia, joined by his butt boy and lawn jockey, Clarence Thomas, and corpse-that-walks William Rehnquist, in a brutal prison rape of a dissent, where, shaking with barely disguised S&M desire, Scalia declared that the Court had joined with the "homosexual agenda," which as far as can be understood, seems to be "Christ, can't you repressed straights leave us the fuck alone?"

So, here we are, all the way in October, and here's Scalia, speaking before the Intercollegiate Studies Institute, which promotes "Judeo-Christian moral standards," a shorthand way of saying that we'll follow all that peace shit in the New Testament when it suits us, but get all Old Testament vengeful on your fag ass if you fuck with us. And Scalia's leading the group of 800 in the Pledge of Allegiance, and then he tells the group, quivery with desire for the saggy-eyed docent of decency, that scholars are too "liberal" in their interpretations of the Constitution, reading the Lawrence decision in that wonderful jurisprudence tone of mock. Shortly after, Scalia returned to his waiting Lincoln Continental and chastised his driver, Clarence, for missing a smudge of wax on the hood. Clarence, filled with shame for himself and his race, promised swift cleaning and dropped his drawers for a proper spanking.

For the good of the nation, someone needs to hire a tall Latina she-male hooker to visit Scalia in his chambers and go down on the Justice while fingering his hemhorroidal asshole and swollen prostate so that Scalia may experience the ejaculatory joy that is living in the real goddamn world.

Republican Dominatrixes in Congress:
The great thing about bondage is the whole domination thing. See, when master says you're bad, you're supposed to agree. You don't question master or you might find yourself handcuffed to the ceiling of the basement with a ball in your mouth, a vibrator in your ass, and tight clips on your nipples. Yep, slave must listen to master. But remember: in every good bondage relationship, slave must be a willing participant in his/her own degradation; slave must even get off on it, cumming constantly at the thought of the warm cut of master's leather whip.

For most of the last two-plus years, since September 11, 2001, Democrats in Congress have let their Republican masters freely smack their asses, put chains on their collars, and drag them around bare-balled in public. With no resistance, Republicans in the House and Senate have more or less decided they can have their way with the slave Dems. Master wants me to give away our civil rights in the guise of patriotism? Yes, Master. Master wants me to write a blank check for the idiot king to wage unending war? Yes, Master. Master wants to fuck me with a fifteen-inch rubber dildo? Yes, Master.

So it's gotta be a surprise that the slaves are getting restless, starting with the way in which Dems used the filibuster to block extremist judges from getting approval by the Senate. It doesn't mean the slaves will become the dominatrixes, all fishnet, masks, and gloves, but maybe, just maybe, it means they'll get some velvet on those goddamn handcuffs.

Take, for example, the latest cynical attempt to slam through a racist, radical, incompetent, unyielding judge to a Circuit Court position. The Bush Administration thinks that it can deflect criticism by nominating people of different races (see the failed nomination of Miguel Estrada, whose sole qualification appears to be that he's not white). Now, after Republicans accused Dems on the Senate Judiciary Committee of hating Hispanics and Catholics for previous filibustered nominations, they get to call the Dems racist again for opposing the nomination of Janice Rogers Brown, whose sole qualification appears to be that she's African American. Republicans, screaming like constipated baboons, threw slander and hatred at the Democrats' opposition to a woman who screeches the culture wars like so many banshees on the bog: At one speech, she said, "Where government moves in, community retreats, civil society disintegrates and ability to control our own destiny atrophies," leading to "a debased, debauched culture which finds moral depravity entertaining and virtue contemptible." She's a conservative's wet dream.

Slave must continue to be disobedient. At some point, slave must take the whip from master and teach master the sweet kiss of the whip.

Legislating Women's Lives For Fun and Amusement, Part 1:
So, after two tries, they finally did it: Congress finally passed a ban on so-called partial-birth abortion (which, like "pro-life" and "Clean Skies Initiative," is just rhetorical bullshit wording) and the President, who never pauses to think when some action he takes may harm living beings, will sign it and then it'll go to the courts and then the Supreme Court will overturn it and the President and Pennsylvania Senator Rick "Homos Are Icky" Santorum can hug each other and weep over the poor poor fetuses.

Because, you know, Congress really has nothing better to do, like investigating how we got into a war that kills more and more Americans everyday, which everyone knows, wink, wink, was about evil, like the evil of the Satanic cunts that would dare kill their babies with a procedure that is only performed in extreme circumstances and almost never electively and, man, aren't we in a war against evil in all its forms?

Ahh, the sweet, sweet cries of pain from women having illegal abortions are like the trumpets of angels to the righteous.

Legislating Women's Lives For Fun and Amusement, Part 2:
Unlike Theresa Schiavo, the Rude Pundit has a living will. It reads, "Should I ever be in a position physically where I shit myself regularly, drool without regard to public standards of decency, demonstrate my intelligence by staring at a balloon, need my wife to squeeze my colon clean every morning, need tubes to shove the nutritious shake of goo my family calls 'food' into my stomach so that it looks the same when it comes out of the other tube in my asshole, have to be turned regularly to avoid maggots from making a home of my flesh, or cost my loved ones every fucking penny they have to come to my hospital room to watch me drool, shit, and stare at balloons, I may be declared a vegetable, put to sleep, and sent out to sea on a tiny raft so that everyone won't watch me slowly die. Should any government entity wish to stop this process, I want my bed to be placed in the office of said governor or legislator or judge so that person can watch me drool, involuntarily smile, and shit myself. When I finally, after years of suffering, die, I want my body to be stuffed in my final drooling, self-shitting position and put on display like the fucking Ten Commandments in the lobby of the state capitol so that all may know that they contributed to my ongoing living hell of pain, suffering, and shit."

Schiavo, though, despite 13 years of such suffering, must go on living because of the cruelties of faith and parental love and right-wing politics. See, the Florida woman went into a coma after her brain stopped functioning when her heart briefly stopped in 1990. After eight years of desperately trying to save her in ways that are like putting a lightning rod in a carrot so it might walk, her husband, in 1998, attempted to have her feeding tube removed, which would have effectively caused Schiavo to starve to death. Her parents, the courts, and others intervened, despite the general medical consensus that Schiavo is fucked and for Chrissake let her die. Now, the Florida legislature, in-between gutting the school programs and allowing constant executions, passed a bill to specifically allow Governor Jeb Bush to have the feeding tube reinserted. The horror here.

Maybe seeing Schiavo's coma-induced smile reminds him of his daughter after a particular Xanax bender. Either way, Governor Jeb ought to have to attend to Schiavo himself, wiping her ass, listening to her choked breathing.

Coming Tomorrow:
What's the difference between a comatose women on a feeding tube and a vegetable?
What's the difference between a fundamentalist Christian general and a vegetable?
What's the difference between George W. Bush and a vegetable?
All of your questions answered tomorrow.

Weekly Reason Bill O'Reilly Should Be Sodomized With a Microphone (Week 4):
Here's the Rude Pundit's tip to would-be television "news" executives: Don't put people with obvious obsessive-compulsive disorder on the air. Bill O'Reilly is like your neighbor's little bitch dog that grabs your newspaper and won't let go no matter how many times you beat the shit out of with a slipper. That little motherfucker is gonna get that paper just to prove it can. So O'Reilly, Fox "news" personality, "commentator," and droopy right nut, won't let go of his pimp-slapping on NPR. O'Reilly went on NPR's Fresh Air to hawk his "book," and host Terry Gross questioned him about his fight with Al Franken, his bullying, and, well, his book. For weeks, O'Reilly has been ranting like the homeless guy on the corner who hears his fleas tell him about Jesus. And, true to the mob mentality of his viewers, many wrote to NPR to complain, although it should be noted that there is a qualitative difference between a well thought out letter and a "fuck-you-you-commie-cunt-for-dissin-
my-Billy-boy-god-I-love-that-man-I-want-to-fuck-him-so-bad-oh-did-I-just-say-that-out-loud" scrawled on a Hooter's napkin.

O'Reilly fairly crows about the NPR Ombudsman saying that the interview was "unfair." However, O'Reilly claims that the Ombudsman "took some shots at me," but leaves it at that. In reality, the Ombudsman's statment essentially laments the whole sordid affair and says that NPR should not give O'Reilly the place to speak his vile brand of self-righteous hatred.

Will O'Reilly finally allow this blow to his apparently boundlessly huge ego alone? Or will he be happy only when the Bush Administration defunds NPR and he gets to piss on the ashes of WHYY, the Philadelphia station that presents Gross's show?

Bush-Hating Is the Sport of Kings:
The Rude Pundit has a former friend, call him "Greg," who decided to fuck a 15 year-old when he was 35. Greg did not tell the Rude Pundit until a couple of years later, and then claimed he didn't fuck said under-age girl until she was 18. But the lie wasn't what changed things: it was the fact that Greg had fucked a 15 year-old girl. In other words, whatever qualities Greg might have had a friend, a likeable guy, a buddy, were overwhelmed by the fact of the fucking. And it became impossible to be friends with Greg because every time the Rude Pundit saw him, all the Rude Pundit could think was, "You fucked a child, you bastard." (Why didn't the Rude Pundit turn Greg over to the police? Because, happy fucking ending coming, Greg ended up marrying and having kids with said jailbait.)

The point here is not a moral lesson (although, c'mon, don't fuck the children). The point here is it doesn't matter how much someone can be a great guy or gal when you're sluggin' back the beers. The point is how much can you take. And we who hate President George W. Bush simply can't take it anymore. There's simply no way to say, "Well, he's an okay guy, except for all that lying and mass murder and thievery. But, shit, he treats me like his best bud."

With due respect to Molly Ivins, who writes that she can compartmentalize away all Bush's sins, more and more of us are really like Jonathan Chait of The New Republic, who is out and open and honest about hating the man, not just the policies. Bush is a smirking, over-privileged jerk off who would have Karl Rove fuck your mother and slice open your dog and dance with its entrails if you crossed him. He's one of those mean little sons of bitches who just loves to pretend to be tough when, at the first sign of real crisis (on Sept. 11, 2001) he was running scared instead of standing on the deck in a flight suit.

We who hate Bush glory in our hate - we wear it like it's our own skin. We love to hate him and want to see him fail, fall, and end up in a closet in the back of the White House, wearing flag boxers and a wife-beater shirt, a pile of high-end Bolivian blow at his feet, an unread copy of the Constitution rolled up to snort through, and eyes reddened with madness and coke rush. We want him to quiver and shake as he realizes, at last, he's in over his head, threatening to kill Antonin Scalia for throwing the election his way, just wanting to get back to sweet mama's saggy arms in Kennebunkport, and leave all this responsibility behind.

Jew-Bashing-It's Not Just For Racist Nutjobs Anymore:
Ahh, all things in history eventually come around to the Jews, don't they? If they're not money-changing and drinking blood from the skulls of Christian babies while giggling about gettin' that dirty Jesus nailed to the cross, then Israel is the source of all evil on earth. Man, what those Jews need is a good purging about now, huh? It's about time, right? Can I get a shout-out from my Muslim homeys?

At least that seems to be the deeply paranoid tone that's developing around the world right now. As befits an economy that's on the verge of collapse, the international community has taken to its old reliable saw of blame-the-Jews. (See the American variation: blame-the-blacks-and-or-spics.) No, this has nothing to do with the policies of a radical Christian American government that is attempting to tear apart the world like so many chops from a rack of lamb. And, no, it's got nothing to do with crazy-ass motherfuckers in Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and, now (and you know why), Iraq going all postal at each other because of their smothering poverty. And it's got nothing to do with a fundamentalist government in Israel, so bloodthirsty at protecting its conquered land that they'll take down the rest of the world with them (excuse me, but is there an Itzhak Rabin anywhere in the goddamn desert?).

Nope: it's the fucking Jews in general. The Prime Minister of Malaysia said to a conference of Muslims, "Jews rule the world by proxy. They get others to fight and die for them," before frothing at the mouth and biting the arm of his assistant. And he was cheered. And Greg Easterbrook, an editor of The New Republic , did a new twist on the Jews-run-Hollywood stereotype when he proclaimed that Kill Bill:Vol. 1 was such a disgusting film, it forced him to question whether the "Jewish executives . . . worship money above all else."

Of course, the problem here is not the Jews, the Muslims, and, even, really, the Christians: the problem is fundamentalist belief, which always rises when poverty does. If you're shit-poor, living in a hovel, begging in the streets for some wealthy person to piss in your direction while what work you do involves blowing your boss for wages that will assure your continued poverty, then who the fuck is going to help you? Your government? Not a fucking chance. Your neighbors who would sell your babies for a Big Mac? Nope. And don't even think about coroporations. All that's left is God, Jesus, Allah, whoever. And you're gonna defend that motherfucker with the last ounce of strength in your malnourished body.

A Brief Diversion on the Yankees, America, and Capitalism by Rude Two:
The Yankees are in the World Series again. Every fucking year, yay fucking rah, the greatest fucking team in the history of the planet, blah blah blah bore me to fucking tears and wipe my cock with a pine tar rag. Same old shit, different season, who gives a fuck. Here it is from the Boston Globe.

Sodomize me with a cattle prod and call me Billy Martin's ghost, the Yankees beat the Red Sox. Again. Still. Forever. The Red Sox can't beat the Yankees, never beat the Yankees, will never beat the Yankees. Ever. Ever. Forever. Nobody can beat the Yankees. Ever. Look at them, with their $400 billion payroll or whatever it is that 95% of Americans will never fathom let alone see -- the largest payroll of any professional sports team in the history of the goddamned universe.

Compare the Yankees to every other team in the game and wonder why they're in it this year, it's because they're a bought and paid for all-star team, they're Satan's right hand, and George Steinbrenner can shit on and destroy what is our country's pastime, allegedly, and not just New York.

Baseball is a boring sport by nature. But the same teams being in it all the time only makes it more boring. The Yankees in it almost every year is somehow supposed to be exciting for the millions -- literally, millions -- of baseball fans who hate them and wish upon wish that just for once some other team -- preferably their own favorite -- could be in this fucking thing?

You know what we wanna see? Let's see the Rockies in it. Or the Rangers. Or the D-Rays, Tigers, Royals, Padres, Mariners, White Sox, Angels (again would be fine), or even the Astros or Brewers, even though we hate them both (though not with the hate we reserve only for the Yankees). Any team that has never had a chance to be great. Let some other team (though not the Braves, for they are Satan's other hand) devour everyone else every year like Unicron. And you know what else? We wanna see the Yankees return to their 1980s form, when they couldn't hit, couldn't run, couldn't pitch, couldn't win, couldn't do anything but fuck up for a decade when Satan's dirty money wasn't coming in so fast and he could barely afford Don Mattingly. We want to see the Yankees be pitiful, pathetic, piss-poor, and the Rude Pundit wants to sit in an easy chair and pleasure himself while watching them lose again and again and again. Goddamn it will feel good, in a sticky, tantric sort of way.

The Rude Pundit is not interested in this World Series. We do not want to watch it. We don't need to watch history repeat itself like some old beat up record player trying to scratch its way through the same 78-speed bullshit record that won't die, that won't fall to pieces, won't disintegrate in front of everything that is right and pure, but instead lasts forever like records do, and keeps right on repeating.

The Rude Pundit won't be the ultra-positive (read: stupid) fan who keeps going back to the game as though it is not a sham, as though it is not rigged like a Don King fight, as though we still have a shred of our being that honestly believes that the game is not vile and corrupt and ruinous for an entire nation. It has devolved into a soulless, vacant-hearted, mind-raping bullshit game, and as long as there are Yankees, so it shall be.

But for just a little while, GO MARLINS. Beat the piss out of these spoiled, money-is-no-object ego-inflated pussies who think the playoffs are no big deal because they're in it every year and hell they know they're going to win in advance because the whole thing is rigged anyway, as just another mode of government-engineered "entertainment" to keep America from paying attention to how our government is anally violating us while we're drooling into our popcorn in glazed-over mediocrity.

Let the Marlins take this World Series not because they're good, but because they're someone else. Let the Marlins win because no team should have 30-some-odd world championships. Let the Marlins win because they are an incarnation of America when America was great -- when it was the underdog, slightly poorer, slightly humble -- not the cocky, bloated, aloof bullshit machine it is now.

Hey, Arnie, Did You Know I Used To Lift Weights and Snort Blow Off of a Black Hooker's Belly, Too: Our family values President met with "Governor" Arnold Schwarzenegger in California. After giving each other hand jobs in a private meeting ("Dat's gud, Meestor President, I like duh way you grab my hard Teutonic cock"), the President further proved there really is no sewage puddle too low for him to jump in when he appeared in public with the governor-elect. In what ought to be part of any Democrat's first election commercial against Bush, the President told a crowd, "The country has been hit hard during these times, and so has the great state of California." Bush then confessed how deeply he has fucked up the state: "Declines in investment have hurt the tech sector. You lost manufacturing jobs. Farmers are wondering whether they'll be able to sell their products overseas. Unemployment in this important state is too high." The rest of the article is here. Arnie, for his part, gently squeezed Laura Bush's ass while proclaiming the President his "dear friend." Then they all headed back to Arnie's place to watch Laura and Maria do each other with pool cues in Arnie's rumpus room while the President and Governor poured beer on their still sore cocks to ease the pain. Both men called the meeting a great success.

Once a Bush, Always a Bitch, That's What I Say:
Descending bejeweled, neckless, and in garters and a thong, Barbara Bush deigned to cavort with the little people by granting an audience with NBC about her new book. Apparently the industrial strength black dildo she uses to get any feeling in her desert dry cunt was on the fritz because the former First Lady decided to lay into the Democratic candidates, try to convince us that the media is against her son, and offer ennui-laden pity for Al Gore. Apparently, the interviewer did not see fit to ask if her if she had chosen what summer frock goes with an eternity in hell for inflicting the nation with George W. and Jeb, not to mention Neil, and if every once in a while she doesn't pine quietly for a time when the evil that seeps into her dark eyes would allow her peace, if only for a moment. Check out the excerpts here.

Why Liberal Pundits Will Never Succeed on Radio and Television:
Jesus Fucking Christ, we have been given a gift, we on the left: when Rush Limbaugh admitted this month that he was downing illegally gotten pharmaceuticals like they were blue M&Ms, liberal pundits should have been on the attack with all the viciousness of a pack of wolverines downing a yak and feeding on the sweet, sweet yak meat. I mean, come on: part of the story is almost too good to be true: apparently, Limbaugh played like he was some character out of a Mickey Spillane novel, calling cash "cabbage" as he paid of his maid to get the Hillbilly Heroin. After years of abuse, after changing the way in which people think about feminists and liberals, even after his open racism on ESPN, here was payback time for liberals in the media. Time to kick the fat bully when he's down, yee-ha! The man says on the air that he has "talent on loan from God." Couldn't someone on the left have managed to say something like, "Rush, God is calling in his loan and the vig is gonna be a bitch."

But no. Nope. Uh-uh. Demonstrating that nothing throbs so much as a pussy, most pundits on the left went out of their way to offer sympathy to the porcine patriarch of pulchritudinous punditry. Joe Conason, who once said that the world would be a better place if Rush had actually gone deaf, offers the utopian hope that rehab would change Rush and his draconian attitude toward drug policies. William Greider, after admitting initial glee, writes about "mercy" towards Rush. At least Ellen Goodman admits that she is suffering from liberal wimpathy in hoping the best for Rush. Even Robert Scheer, for fuck's sake, goes all soft and wimpy about Rush's possible imprisonment.

See, many of your liberal pundits do believe that to kick Rush when he's down would be lowering themselves into his piss and sweat-filled gutter. Others take an even higher ground and say that bad drug policy is bad drug policy, no matter how evil a person may be who is caught in the net. Some even trot out their own drug use as a way of showing that they are so superior to right wing pundits who would eviscerate someone like Al Franken if he admitted to drug addiction.

Here's why they're wrong: You reap what you sow, motherfuckers. You wanna work for years to get Republican extremists into office that you're willing to degrade, mock, and destroy other people? You wanna sit in your little glass enclosed studio and pretend that you have any kind of credibility when all you really have is a soft cushion for your gigantic ass and preach hatred and punishment? You wanna be a bully to women, gays, and minorities for the sake of the basest instincts of your low-brow, fucking their sisters fans, you fucking whore? You wanna be one of the people responsible for changing the debate in America? For lowering the discourse? For mocking people who are on drugs for years? Then reap what you have sown, Rush, you bitch. Welcome to the world you helped to create. Like the anti-choice Senator who rushes his knocked-up mistress to the first abortion doctor he can find, your hypocritical kind will alway find that the real world is a nasty, nasty place.

And to all the whiny left wing pundits who think we should go soft on Rush, wish him well, hope he changes, the Rude Pundit says: Get real. When this stinking bag of talking shit gets back in the studio, he will be the same because that's what his listeners demand.

The Difference Between Naked and News:
The Rude Pundit realizes that we all have an interest in celebrity sex. And celebrity crime. So celebrity alleged rape is naturally going to draw out the hordes of drooling television viewers who are too numbed by fast food, Internet porn, and football to pay attention to what really matters in this world. And when it's a basketball star, there's a whole sports culture angle. But let's be clear: who Kobe fucked, how he fucked her, what her pussy looked like after he fucked her, whether or not he likes fucking women in the ass, and who is lying about how the fucking happened is not news. O.J. Simpson's trial was not news worthy of around the clock coverage, Jessica Simpson shouldn't have a TV show, and Bill O'Reilly is not a smart man. We are being distracted - we are told this is important. It's part of the breakdown of the walls of our understanding of the world: just like Bush and his thugs think they can tell us what's real and not about Iraq and actually expect us to shut up and toe the line, so can news channels appeal to us: don't look there, at the Gaza Strip, the Plame cover-up, or thousands of workers on strike. You just sit there, watch our commercials, lower your sperm count, and enjoy wall to wall Kobe fucking - how he fucks, why he fucks, what his cock looks like, and on and on and on . . .

Weekly Reason Bill O'Reilly Should Be Sodomized With a Microphone:
Bill O'Reilly, "author," "TV personality," and all around tiny dick, continues his ranting against NPR. O'Reilly, promoting his latest "book," went on NPR's Fresh Air to shill for sales. He ended up going nutzoid over the questions, which he deemed as tough, and ranted about a seeming collusion between Al Franken, host Terry Gross, Harper's magazine, and the New York Times. All in all, it was one of those fucking funny moments in broadcasting that make you cringe, like watching the President at a press conference, all deer in the headlights and shit. He ended up stalking off in the middle of the interview after screaming like a female ape getting gang-fucked in the jungle by a bunch of male apes.

One point oughta be made here: sure, Harper's printed the partial transcript of the time on his "show" on the FOX "news" channel that O'Reilly went all batshit on Jeremy Glick, the surviving son of a man killed in the World Trade Center collapse, screaming at him to "Shut up!" because Glick dared to claim that everything wasn't as cut and dried about 9/11 as O'Reilly wants his viewers to think. But Harper's, lefty though it mostly is, also published this article, "The Middle Mind" by Curtis White in 2002, where, among other things, White calls the show a "pornographic farce." The Rude Pundit thinks this might indicate a less than friendly relationship between the magazine and Gross. But that's a subtlety, and, well, shit, O'Reilly's about as subtle as a two-foot long black hard plastic strap-on dildo shoved up your ass.

But last night on his FOX "news" show, O'Reilly went after NPR and Fresh Air again, for the third time, this night playing the end of the interview where he yells at Gross. Then O'Reilly interviewed a Republican Congressman from Florida (always a trustworthy source), Cliff Stearns, and together the two of them circle jerked each other for a couple of minutes about how Americans pay for the liberal bashing of O'Reilly on NPR, with O'Reilly labelling the moderate National Public Radio "far left." And he baited NPR producers for not coming on his show to be belittled, mocked, and cut off. Then O'Reilly and his boy-bitch for the evening agreeing that NPR should be disciplined for daring to question O'Reilly.

O'Reilly's a pussy, a wimpy little shithead who's a bully on his own turf. Look at his two surfacings beyond his own shows: screaming "Shut up" at Al Franken in May when Franken revealed O'Reilly's lies before an audience of booksellers and now the interview with Gross. Both times he squirmed and screamed and got defensive like a ten year-old caught with porno magazines. Now, here he is, strong arming public opinion because NPR got all up in his face.

Ahh, the Sweet, Dulcet Tones of Screaming Kitten Death:
George W. Bush could walk into a room and watch Donald Rumsfeld with a claw hammer bludgeon to death two dozen kittens and he could come out of that room and sit down with a reporter and say, "There's no such things as kittens." Rumsfeld could walk out of that room, sweaty, covered with kitty blood, and Bush, glazed, over-bred narrow eyes just this side of mongoloid set firmly, would say, "Those kittens were a threat. They have kitty claws. One nick on the jugular and you're bleeding to death." Despite the joy you may feel at the idea of Donald Rumsfeld dying slowly from an unstoppable tight spurt of blood, you could ask Bush how he expected this theoretical super-kitten to reach Secretary Rumsfeld's jugular and Bush would respond, "You just rest assured. I know that the kittens could reach the jugular." Absurd? Then you haven't been fucking paying attention.

This administration does not traffic in information: it is only the patriarchal distribution of spin. You have to believe them because they say so. You cannot question. You can show them all the evidence you want, but understand this: George Bush is a fundamentalist Christian, a state of mind that requires so much blind faith and unquestioning adherence to the Bible that it doesn't allow for anything that might produce, let's say, doubt. Doubt is banished. Fuck doubt. There is only what is true. And once you believe you have truth, unequivocal, save your soul truth, you will cling to that truth even as it sinks into the cold, cold ocean. Better to freeze to death with belief than to live in a world of relativity, no? So Bush hangs on, cruelly, to his vision of rightness, and he mouths whatever words he needs to mouth in order to maintain the lie. Check out all the desperate lies he told the local press here.

A Story So Pathetic That You Just Wanna Eat a Bag of Doritoes While Watching MTV2:
At what point does the cruelty of the Bush Administration towards the environment just become so blatant that you wonder why the lobbyists for corporate America don't just line up every day outside the Oval Office to receive blow jobs from the President? Here's what Bush and his thugs want to do, really: they actually want to allow the hunting, capture, and importation of endangered species from other countries to the U.S. for circuses, zoos, and - no, really, this is not made up - ivory trade, that wonderful bastion of slave days. According to someone evil who was paraphrased in this article: "Giving Americans access to endangered animals, officials said, would feed the gigantic U.S. demand for live animals, skins, parts and trophies, and generate profits that would allow poor nations to pay for conservation of the remaining animals and their habitat."

Doesn't this just align perfectly with the Bush philosophy? Kill things to save other things? The War on Terror just got transposed to the animal kingdom. Somewhere, the huge ballsack of a gazelle just got sucked up into its body cavity in fear.

Reason Rush Limbaugh Should Be Forced To Sell His Body For Smack Like Any Self-Respecting Junkie:
Rush Limbaugh, open racist, anti-drug use crusader, and rehab failure, admitted on Friday what everyone knew already: that the fat clown isn't smiling on the inside. Addicted to painkillers like Oxycontin, taken to mitigate, he claims, alleged back pain, Limbaugh announced that he was taking responsibility for his problems and, despite having done so twice before, was heading back to rehab. So here's what a pussy this guy is: he presents himself as doing the right thing and admitting his failure. But, and come on, I mean, fuck, really, had he not been outed as a junkie, he'd have gone right on using. He could have gone on being batshit insane on the air, his drooling listeners thinking about his sweet ass in their faces, and no one would have known. So Rush doesn't get the high ground, at any point here. Instead, think of him sobbing like a punk ass bitch on his king bed, weeping like some cold turkey middle-aged housewife in an Oprah-produced movie of the week, begging his sobbing spouse for one more pill, c'mon, baby, just one more for the road, and she's sooo tempted to end his sweats and shaking, but she doesn't succumb, she's the strong one, she knows, and he howls, fucking howls at being caught. God, he's such a pussy.

There's an old joke that's apt here: A man is sitting in a bar, drinking, talking to the bartender. He says, "A man can work his whole life building bridges. Do they call him John the bridge builder? No. He can work his whole life putting out fires. Do they call him John the fireman? No. But you fuck one goat . . ." Like Pee-Wee Herman and Bill Clinton, Rush is a goatfucker. Whenever you hear him, see him, or dream about him, he will always be the guy who got his maid to get him drugs. And the Rude Pundit is giggling like a schoolgirl getting her first fingering at the thought of it.

Dick Cheney Will Fuck You In Your Sleep:
Let's get this straight once and for all: Vice President Dick Cheney is evil, purely, simply, in an essence so complete that one touch by his withered fingers would drag your screaming soul to hell. How do I know this? Because Cheney, with his stroke-victim smirk, stood before an audience of screeching buttboys known as the Heritage Foundation and actually said that if the United States had not reduced its own economy to rubble in pursuit of imperialistic goals in Iraq, a devastated country run by a psychotic thug, then we might face terrorist annhiliation: "That possibility, the ultimate nightmare, could bring devastation to our country on a scale we have never experienced." Then, in words calculated to warm the hearts of the hundreds of Americans who have already lost someone in Iraq, he added, "Instead of losing thousands of lives, we might lose tens of thousands or even hundreds of thousands of lives in a single day of horror." Then, blah, blah, blah, they had weapons, you know it because we say so, blah, blah, blah, now go fuck yourselves, I'm heading back to the cave. Check out the unadulterated horror here.

Do you get it? This scabrous cock with a weak heart was sent out to visit us, like our molesting uncle, the one with the cold hands who hugs us a little too tight while telling us to be good little boys and girls or the boogieman's gonna get us, all the while jerking off in the guest room to our baby pictures even though we can hear his orgasmic cries through the walls. He was dispatched to scare us into submission, to make sure we know goddamn well the wolf's a-comin' at some point so, fuckers, you better be paranoid and ready for your imminent fiery death. He's a disgusting little mole of a man, this Cheney, this oil-teat sucking bastard, this soft-speaking merchant of death whose cronies at Halliburton pass around the corpses of Iraqi children at board meetings so they can keep fucking that corpse, fucking that corpse until there's nothing left and then, goddamnit, someone better bring those board members the sweet, supple flesh of Iranian or Syrian children to fuck.

Yeah, you just remember: Uncle Dickie's comin' over tonight. You better make damn sure your room is clean, or he's coming upstairs to tuck you in.

The Rude Pundit Is Taking a Day Off:
In anticipation of the Prez's change in overtime rules, the Rude Pundit is using some comp time to empty his brain of all the images of sodomy, slavery, and a shitting Donald Rumsfeld that fill this blog. He'll return tomorrow evening with comments on the evil that is Dick Cheney, a change in endangered species rules, Rush Limbaugh-crack whore, and whatever other depravities those limp cocks in the White House and on the right throw at us. For now, enjoy one of the last conservative writers who has a shred of self-respect here.

Jesus Hits Like An Atom Bomb:
Odious walking turd and alleged man of God Pat Robertson was mouthing off as usual on his daily commercial, The 700 Club, just jawing away in that self-righteous, nasal, eyes glazed, slave-owner accented way, when Robertson opened his interview with Joel Mowbray, who wrote a book on how the State Department is evil, yesterday with a desire to nuke a government office. Here, it is, from the CBN website transcript (which means Robertson wasn't even ashamed enough to scrub it): "I read your book. When you get through, you say, 'If I could just get a nuclear device inside Foggy Bottom, I think that’s the answer.' I mean, you get through this, and you say, 'We’ve got to blow that thing up.'" The "you" here is Robertson talking about himself; Mowbray, paranoid freak though he may be, did not advocate the murder of thousands of government employees. Somewhere, Jesus shook his head and thought, "I'm hanging on that cross for how long? Not able to scratch an itch on my thorned head, let alone my balls, for this?"

Because Nothing Succeeds Like Success:
Is anything funnier in this country right now than how quickly President Bush and his henchmen are crumbling into defensive, whiny pussies? Really, and, come on, it's just so fucking funny, like watching a crack house burn while all the junkheads stumble around trying to slap out the flames on their decaying clothes just before they race back into the fire to save a couple of rocks from the inferno. Here's Secretary of Defense and embodiment of scab-covered evil Donald Rumsfeld on what he understands about his unceremonious pimp slapping by the White House and the State Department over the reorganization of rebuilding efforts in Iraq: "I said I don't know. Isn't that clear? You don't understand English?" Rumsfeld later explained to the German reporter that someone had slipped Ex-Lax into his Metamucil, and he had to take a screaming shit in the press room stalls.

The President, Vice-President, and others in the administration all have sand in their vaginas. Wildly lying about Iraq's non-threat to the United States (and let's be clear here: these are lies - they are not misspoken misinterpretation of misbegotten intelligence- our "leaders" are lying to us-and don't give me the fucking bullshit about "all politicians lie"- these vile, evil fuckers are lying to us worse than a cheating husband to his Mob Boss father-in-law - be a fucking grown up and accept that - then all else becomes clear), Bush and Team Fuck-the-Public are trying to raise the toilet-flushed ratings the President now deserves. Cheney, today before the group of slavering conservative mongrelfuckers at the Heritage Foundation, said, ominously, "As long as George W. Bush is president of the United States, this country will not permit gathering threats to become certain tragedies," or, to say it another way, Fuck you, we don't fucking care what you have to say, we have the bombs and we're gonna use 'em.

Condi, You've Got Some 'Splainin' To Do:
So it's come to this: Bush and his administration riding around the country, trying desperately to convince us that Saddam Hussein was really, really, really bad, like he was about to send his henchmen to your house to fuck your dog right in front of your daughter, and that making Iraq the wealthiest of the fifty-one states in the U.S. was a good idea. Goddamn, it's so pathetic because Bush's fall from grace isn't even a tragedy - a character has to have some kind of nobility for that to happen, and, sorry, a coke-snorting, frat brother spanking, drunk-driving shitty businessman doesn't meet the minimum qualifications. Isn't this just an embarassment? Here's the President, the motherfucking President of the United States, in a speech today in New Hampshire, pissing and moaning about the media, who gave him a pass for two years and even now is just waking up from the toxic dust-fumed mind control of 9/11. "I acted because I was not about to leave the security of the American people in the hands of a madman. I was not about to stand by and wait and trust in the sanity and restraint of Saddam Hussein," says the Prez, while the rest of us think, wait a second, isn't our security actually in the hands of a madman? And, despite his admonitions that things are going better in Iraq than the media give credit for, it sucks when reality bites you in the ass.

Meanwhile, house-negro Condi Rice has been sent out to wave her hands and say ludicrous things like, "Saddam Hussein continued to harbor ambitions" to develop weapons of mass destruction. This is new: there's no weapons, there's no weapons programs, there's only ambitions. It's like saying that you harbor ambitions to fuck a hundred hot pieces of ass before you turn thirty. Hell, you may even buy a case of condoms, but, c'mon, look at you. All out of shape and shit - harbor all the ambitions you want, jack off to the photos, but you're never gonna have all that hot ass bobbing on your crank if you live to be a thousand.


Frontier Justice, Iraq, and George Bush the Vigilante:
"Justice? What do you care about justice? You don't even care whether you've got the right men or not. All you know is you've lost something and somebody's got to be punished...You butcher!" Howard Dean finally snapping and bitch slapping Donald Rumsfeld? Nope, Dana Andrews in the 1943 film The Ox-Bow Incident, just before he's lynched for a crime he didn't commit. After a well-respected rancher is shot and presumed murdered, a lynch mob gathers to find the killers and end up hanging three innocent men. Now, it's not too much of stretch here to say that the United States has become an outlaw country in the world. Remember: Iraq did not attack us and it was accused of violating a United Nations Resolution, but the body that made the resolution, you know, the U.N., decided that war was not the right action at this time. But the U.S., in good lynch mob fashion, with its lackeys in Great Britain (the mud-eating sidekick, usually played by Walter Brennan), decided to take the law into its own hands. So here we are, like every lynch mob in history, plagued with guilt, doubt, and recriminations upon some members, and ignorant clinging to lies and beliefs in "justice" among the others. The Ox-Bow Incident ends with the regretful people of the town taking up a collection out of their own pockets to take care of Andrews' family and the leader of the mob killing himself in agony over his decisions. Before he does, the man's son tells him, "I saw your face, it was the face of a depraved murderous beast. There are only two things that have ever meant anything to you, power and cruelty. You can't feel pity. You can't even feel guilt. In your heart, you knew those men were innocent, yet you were cold - crazy to see them hanged." No one's saying Saddam Hussein was an innocent man- he was an evil fucker who deserves an eternity of unlubricated sodomozings- but evil comes in many guises, sometimes even in the guise of doing good.

Weekly Reason Why Bill O'Reilly Should Be Sodomized With a Pine Cone:
Bill O'Reilly, TV ranter, radio ranter, print ranter, and Al Franken's bitch, went all Captain Queeg on the NPR chat show, Fresh Air. He was rattling his ball bearings and spewing about the strawberries when host Terry Gross questioned the notoriously thin-skinned former "journalist" about his attack dog tactics on reviewers who dislike his show. Until that point, the thirty-five or so minute interview (which O'Reilly said was fifty minutes long) had opened with a section about O'Reilly's slap fight with Al Franken (which O'Reilly spun like a desperate husband caught with three fingers in the cooz of a hooker - "Um, I lost my keys?"), then discussed his book, the new one with the stalker-like title of Who's Looking Out For You?- a book O'Reilly claims is out there "to help people", and then about O'Reilly's childhood. When Gross turned back to O'Reilly's name-calling and cockiness, O'Reilly freaked, lumping NPR, the New York Times, Al Franken, and Harper's Magazine into one big liberal buggaboo out to get O'Reilly because, you know, Christ, they just can't stand him. And then, after getting Gross to admit that she did not grill comedian Franken as closely, he stalked away from the interview, saying, "This is basically an unfair interview trying to trap me into saying something that Harper's can use," leaving Gross to say, "That's it. You get the final word and I can't respond," which, as anyone who watches or hears that weasel-fucker O'Reilly knows it's his modus operandi.

Look, O'Reilly has one subject: himself. His show is about how he's right. Any appearance he makes elsewhere is to demonstrate his further rightness. If he was photographed beating a hobo to death with a black infant as a club, he would say that the hobo and the infant were conspiring against him. And the slobbering, drooling assholes who watch him, who think he's oh-so-open-minded because, well, shit, he supports decriminalizing pot, would just go right along with him, because he's Bill O'Fuck My Dear Sainted Mother Reilly, and how could he possibly be a dried up old windbag whose scrotum spews dusty sperm and whose hate knows no bounds. No, he couldn't possibly be that. The rest of us are just out to get him.

If you wanna hear the whole interview (which O'Reilly does link to on his site), go here. However, since O'Reilly counts on his fans having the attention span of a spastic child fresh out of ritalin, at his site he offers the last six minutes of the interview, which is mostly Gross trying to read a review from People magazine and O'Reilly freaking out and screeching insanely, but I guess that's what passes for a proper rhetorical battle these days in the "fair and balanced" world.

Reference guide: Captain Queeg is the character played by Humphrey Bogart in The Caine Mutiny, whose crew turns on him when his vicious paranoia over things like strawberries eaten without permission gets out of control. And he fondles ball bearings whenever he gets particularly nuts.

Devil Delights in Dining on the Delicious Soul of Democracy (with Infusion of Republican Values):
Well, skull fuck me and call me Nancy- Arnold Schwarzenegger not only won the governorship of California, but by a margin more comfortable than the box office receipts of Terminator 3. The people have spoken, and apparently the deluded people of California really want a barely intelligible Austrian citizen of dubious morality who couldn't articulate a single goal other than the janitorial "I'm-gonna-clean-up-Sacramento," and the hypocritical and oxymoronic "We-need-a-governor-who's-not-a-politician." You know who's not a politician? My mom. Why? Because she doesn't ride around the state in a big fucking bus convoy trying to get votes and sucking at the teat of corporate money and interest groups. In other words, you trying to win an election? You're a fucking politician. And guess what? You're now responsible for something more than your next sequel, pathetic attempt at comedy, or ass squeeze.

But really, that's beside the point, isn't it? You want national implications, which your pundits and editorialists have been slavering over themselves to show? Here's the national implications: people like movie stars. They really like movie stars. A lot. And people will allow themselves to be fooled by movie stars because, well, that's just what movie stars do for a living, isn't it? Acting is lying, right? So, by extension, what people like are lies told really, really well, preferably with lots of explosions. There's no difference between an Arnold campaign speech and Bush landing on an aircraft carrier. It's a fucking lie. And you California idiots get what you deserve. Because while three more Americans were killed in Iraq and the President was threatening to cover up a major scandal, you stupid over-tanned, immigrant-abusing fuckers gave the media another excuse to ignore the real problems of your state and the country. Here's something you should be ashamed of.

On the plus side, any time a single Republican cocksucker who supported Arnold trots out a family values argument against an opponent, like all of these , and, of course, the President, make sure they're reminded that Arnold, who loved the drugs, the titties, and the soft, soft asses, had their support.

Hey, It Wasn't Serial Groping - Arnold Was Just Trying To Encourage Polygamy:
Chalk up one more Republican publicly sucking Schwarzenegger cock. Orrin Hatch, Mormon, Clinton hater, and general hemorrhoid on the asshole of the republic, has declared that he supports Arnold Schwarzenegger for governor of California and that we should all just back the fuck up a second and forget all the sexual harassment, group sex, and shitty violent films. Instead, Hatch wants us to think of Arnie the happily married man and Maria Shriver fucking in domestic bliss, and forget that some of the accusations come during his years of wedded bliss. You know, the Rude Pundit realizes that after today it's all over for California except for the hangover, like the one you get from a night of Ecstasy and vodka when you wake up and realize you really did go down on the fat chick you met but don't remember how and you spit her pubes out your mouth and try to think about how to tell her to get out of your bed. But Hatch is especially vile among the Repubs who sold out every family value they lied about: here's the Mormon take on sex. It's called the "Law of Chastity." So Hatch not only sold out his hateful political dogma, he chucked his religion like a Catholic schoolgirl backstage at a Nelly show. The whoredom is detailed here.

It's Marriage Protection Week-- Smack a Gay Couple for Jesus:
Christ alfuckingmighty, the economy's in the shitter, soldiers are being blown up in Iraq, and the administration is filled with thugs and criminals who will sell out national security in a pissing contest, but, shit, and why not, Bush has declared this week Marriage Protection Week 2003. And, in case you don't get it, faglover, Bush lays it out for you clearly: "Marriage is a union between a man and a woman." And then he says he's proposing initiatives to give parents better skills. Like the skills, say, to raise a pair of underage drinkers (now adult potsmoking alcoholics) or doped out, rehab-hopping outlaws? And Bush also promotes faith-based programs in his declaration. I mean, isn't this one of those things that this country is supposed to be against? When Ben Franklin, that whore fucker, and Thomas Jefferson, that slave fucker, were founding the country, do you think they gave a good goddamn about government supporting marriage? Let's get this right: marriage is a religious matter and a financial matter. If it needs protecting, it's from homophobic zealots who'd rather drive their children to run screaming into hardcore drugs, mad fucking sprees, and despair because their parents would rather forcefeed them Jesus' words rather than actually listen to the kids. But, hell, let's pat ourselves on the back and thank Bush, Christ, whoever, that we're saving marriage by making it an exclusive club - no queers allowed. Now everyone close your eyes and celebrate.

Taking a Leak:
Okay, here's the thing: A leak of classified information is generally done when it is in the public interest for the citizens to know information they might not ever get. It's done when, perhaps, a country is going to war against the grave concerns of that country's intelligence community. So when you hear journalists and pundits declaring that a leak must be protected, it's usually because the leaker has done something that might cause career or other harm to the leaker. Or, in other cases, a "leak" occurs when those in power want to sneak out good information as if they're, what?, modest? Who knows. But those are controlled and sanctioned "leaks."

But the question on the leaking of CIA Operative Valerie Plame's name has to be this: what good does it serve for that name to be out there? None. At all. Except to in some vague way discredit her husband, former Amb. Joseph Wilson. Robert Novak was played for a complicitious dupe - he was the administration's prison bitch, bending over to accomodate those in power. "C'mon, Bob," Karl Rove or someone else said, smacking him on the ass, "I've got something big for you. Bite the pillow and take it." And, rubbing Anusol on his sore sphincter, Bob dutifully reported Plame's name like a giddy schoolboy and headed back to the bunk, broke out the Vaseline, and prepared for his next reaming.

In other words, there's no reason beyond vengeance to leak Plame's name. Someone's gonna be killed over this and Bob "Please Anally Violate Me" Novak will be an accomplice to the murder. Check out the bitch on the run.

I'll Give You One Consensual Blow Job For 15 Alleged Sexual Assaults:
Arnold Schwarzenegger, for whom being a fading action star means never having to mean "I'm sorry," is accused by 15 women, including radio shrink Dr. Joy Browne, of groping breasts and buttocks, attempting to strip off clothes, and acting like an asshole in a way that embarrasses all men. Lemme see if I understand most Republicans: they'll act like slavering bitches bowing at the Schwarzenegger altar, no matter how much group sex (which, c'mon, sounded like rape), sexual harassment, and bad movies he might have committed. Let's be straight here: Arnie wanted to fuck these women, all of them. And unlike, oh, Donald Rumsfeld, who has to masturbate under his desk whenever he gets the pictures of a particularly good interrogation of female Guantanamo prisoners, Arnie could have and would have fucked them if their reactions to his ass squeezes had been to grope his package; instead, they reacted with revulsion and he laughed it off, like the stereotype of every dickhead male with power who thinks women are his fuck toys. But George Bush, Bill Simon, and most Republicans you can name don't give a rat's ass: they want Arnie in, and, goddamnit, they'll get him in no matter how many minority voters are disenfranchised or scruples they have to abandon.

So the next time some conservative jerk-off is telling Janeane Garafolo or Sean Penn to stay out of politics, tell him to suck your dick and smack him in the face with a picture from this movie or this one or this one. Yeah, Repubs, you sold out your family values the first time you heard that oh-so-Nazi-esque voice coo to you and saw those Aryan teeth gleam your way.

I Guess He Shouldn't Have Tried To Beat Off the Tiger With a Microphone:
Here at the Rude Pundit, we know the injury of someone shouldn't be funny. But, you know, karma's a cruel bitch, and maybe Roy Horn of Siegfried and Roy shouldn't have been so damn proud of the fact that he had never even been scratched by a tiger. Maybe a few scratches would have in some way prevented the tiger from leaping to full-blown mauling. Of course, the humor value of something only stretches so far: sure, it's funny to sick fucks like us here that Roy the "tamer" was attacked while performing with one of the act's legendary white tigers in Las Vegas (with AP uncomfortably saying that he tried to "beat the animal off with a microphone"), and, hell, even the image of the tiger grabbing Horn by the neck and dragging him off stage made us chuckle. But, shit, then you hear that 200 people at their show are going to lose jobs in this Bush-fucked economy, and Horn didn't have the comedic timing to die, and lingering suffering, unless it's Ronald Reagan's, just isn't funny.
The funny story here.
The not-so-funny follow-up here.

And with all the coverage on the news channels of Roy's cat fight, you'd think the tiger had dragged John Ritter's still warm body out of the grave to chew on that. Be real: Roy getting mauled by a tiger is not news. This is news.

It's Not the Size of Your WMD Stockpile That Counts . . .
Spinning with the ferocious action of a masturbating monkey, President Bush and his accomplices sought to portray the devastatingly empty WMD report by David Kay as justification for war. Kay, head of the U.S. team seeking those elusive tons of weapons, said, in so many words, "We've got dick. No, really. Sure, we've got a paper here that has a scribble of a stick figure with a thermometer in his mouth, and some guy has a single vial of something that might some day become something, with the use of a massive facility we can't find. But basically, really, sorry. It's buttkus." In case you haven't heard, check it out here.

Of course, the truth never gets in the way of our Prez, who says that, no shit, finding nothing means that, well, fuck, at least Saddam's out of the way. Then, bravely sticking his middle finger in the air to the vast majority of Americans (some of whom actually did vote for this 'tard) who now think their "elected" leader is full of shit, Bush added (and we're not making this up), "Sometimes the American people like the decisions I make; sometimes they don't. But they need to know I make tough decisions, based upon what I think is right, given the intelligence I know, in order to do my job, which is to secure this country and to bring peace."

In other words, "Fuck you, assholes. We'll build a fucking prison skyscraper at Guantanamo to disappear your dissenting ass if you fuck with us. Now, where's Laura with my laughing gas?"

Reasons Why Ann Coulter Is Still a Cunt, Part 3:
Because her October 2 column regurgitates the worst of the conservative media's depraved rantings about the Democratic candidates and she calls it an editorial. Oh, and she tries to be funny, like a desperate stand-up one second from snapping and going postal at some christforsaken Crackers in Paducah, Kentucky: "Democrats have been salivating over the prospect of a presidential candidate who is a four-star general – and has the politics of Susan Sarandon!" Oh, and she uses exclamation points. Bitch.

Because Some Days It's Just Good To Be Alive:
And we were able to see this: Rush Limbaugh, former morbidly obese guy, is now formerly credible when it comes to talking about morality. Forget that the man met his wife on the Internet (who knows what sites he was trawling?), forget his pandering bluster, and, in fact, forget his comments on Donovan McNabb (see below). And just remember this, Dittohead-assholes: Rush Limbaugh allegedly loves the prescription drugs, so much so that he has his maid get them illegally. Imagine your hero deciding between a Twinkie and some Oxycontin and going for the little pill. Imagine him in his underwear, sagging, formerly rounded, man-breasts akimbo, as he lolls his head, watching reruns of his old television show on his plasma screen tv while his aerobics instructor wife works her jaw sore trying to mouth his withered cock into an erection. Yeah, imagine all that next time you hear his blowhard voice echoing in your woofer while you're jacking off saying, "Yeah, Rush, you're right, get 'em."
Here's the sordid details.

Rude Pundit Side Comment:
Why is it that conservatives have such pussy addictions?

I mean, we have Bill Bennett caught as a compulsive gambler for what? Slot machines? Why couldn't he have at least been a high-end poker player who knew where all the off-the-book gaming happened, where he could take on ex-Latin American dictator thugs and Russian mafia, man to man, in a room filled with Cuban cigar smoke, Romanian hookers, and tender, tender baby seal meat?

Now we have potential drug addict Limbaugh who isn't caught, pants between his ankles, injecting elite quality smack into his gelatinous thighs, or screaming in the middle of the Hamptons, looking for an angry fix. Nope. It's gotta be the 'scrips. He's no better than the crack whore on the corner, but at least his shit comes in little bottles than in baggies or vials.

Reason Ann Coulter Is Still a Cunt, Part 2:
Because she showed up at a Boy Scout fundraiser as a guest speaker and used the occasion to teach the homophobic pubescents how even batshit insane people have the right to free speech in America.
Check it out here.

Reason Rush Limbaugh Should Be Force-fed His Own Liposuctioned Fat:
"I don't think he's been that good from the get-go. I think what we've had here is a little social concern in the NFL. The media has been very desirous that a black quarterback do well. There is a little hope invested in McNabb, and he got a lot of credit for the performance of this team that he didn't deserve. The defense carried this team." -- "Sports Commentator" Limbaugh, doing his "job" of "starting arguments" on ESPN, this time over African-American Philadelphia Eagle QB Donovan McNabb.
The whole disgraceful story here.

Reason the Wall Street Journal Wouldn't Know a "Real Scandal" If It Bit Their Editors on the Ass and Screamed, "I'm a Real Scandal":
In their "editorial" on the growing concern over the leak of the name of CIA operative Valerie Plame, the WSJ refers to the potentially treasonous act as a "pseudo-story," a "mini-tempest," and a "flimsy" case. The "real scandal." according to the WSJ sages, is how Joseph Wilson, a Bush I appointee, could have been given the job of searching for the truth about Niger uranium. The obvious implication here is that only administration lackeys who would manipulate and lie about information to bolster the case for war should be given the opportunity to verify intelligence. But the WSJ, best remembered for its obsession with Bill Clinton's dick and all the fucking he did or didn't do instead of, you know, investigating, let's say, Wall Street, is covering its own warmongering, lie-enabling bullshit path.
See this editorial for the stomach-churning illogic.