The President Assures Arabs That "God" Is Great, Loves Oil, Arms:
Here's a few quotes from the President's trip to the Middle East, also known as the "Well, What the Fuck Else Is He Gonna Do With His Time? Read?" tour:
In his "Roundtable with Saudi Entrepreneurs," Bush said, "[T]he best way to achieve better understanding in the world is for folks just to get together, and get to understand that we share the same God." Somewhere, Jesus and Mohammed looked at each other and cracked up laughing, guffawing so hard that they could barely catch their holy breaths. God just shook his head and cringed as the Saudis chopped off another criminal's head and the United States waterboarded another innocent man. Well, fuck, God thought, maybe those fuckers do share the same God.
In his big ol' speech on freedomification in Dubai, also known as "Bush's True Spiritual Home," the President said, "A great new era is unfolding before us. This new era is founded on the equality of all people before God," and later, "The fight against the forces of extremism is the great ideological struggle of our time. And in this fight, our nations have a weapon more powerful than bombs or bullets. It is the desire for freedom and justice written into our hearts by Almighty God -- and no terrorist or tyrant can take that away."
Here's the thing: obviously, Bush is playing to his Allah-ululating masters of the U.S. economy (what happens if OPEC dumps the dollar? Your 401k will be like a forgotten dream, man, and that pocket change you kept from that trip to a Canadian strip club will be the only thing that saves you). But enough of the God shit. The Rude Pundit's not 100% on this, but he's pretty fuckin' sure that "Freedom of speech" ain't in the Bible, so Bush and all the politicians that have dropped the Jesus acid are on some kind of fucked-up trip. In other words, they're just makin' this shit up. Just like the terrorists or tyrants make up shit that says God wants 'em to suicide bomb the shit out of people who don't believe in what their God wants 'em to do.
The cool thing about invoking God as your justification for anything is that, as long as enough people say, "Oh, man, that sounds cool to me," you don't have to prove jackshit. "The equality of all people before God"? Sure, why the fuck not. You may as well say that fairies are more powerful than djinns. Who the hell knows? Who the hell cares? It's just goddamned embarrassing to have a President who'll so readily spout this bullshit. The Rude Pundit doesn't want his rights from God. He wants his rights from people. 'Cause God hasn't commented on the Patriot Act.
Tomorrow, as proclaimed by the President, is Religious Freedom Day, where we're supposed to "recognize the importance of religious freedom and the vital role it plays in spreading liberty and ensuring human dignity." He proclaimed it from Saudi Arabia. If it was any other President, we could read it as a slap in the face to a repressive regime, a gutsy stand. Instead, it just seems like another way to assure our oil-coated demigods that we're more like them and the United States will worship accordingly.
(Note: Still working on the Karl Rove thing mentioned yesterday. Never fear: Rove is always lurking.)
1/14/2008
In Brief: Someone Tell Hillary Clinton That Barack Obama Isn't Part of the Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy:
Let's be grown-ups here for a second. When Bill Clinton said, "The whole thing is the biggest fairy tale I've ever seen," he was talking about Barack Obama's stand on the Iraq War, not Obama himself. When Obama said during a debate that Hillary Clinton was "likeable enough," it was a stupid attempt at a joke in response to an idiotic question on Clinton's likeability. And, yeah, you know what? No shit that Martin Luther King couldn't actually sign anything into law, that only Lyndon Johnson could do that in 1964 since JFK was RIP'ing. Whatever the hell Senator Clinton was trying to say by bringing it up, it was simply the statement of a patently obvious fact.
People are the sum totals of their treatment by the world. When you adopt a dog that's had the shit beaten out of it again and again by its first owner, no matter how gentle and kind you are to it, that poor beast's got scars that'll never heal. And sometimes when you reach your hand out to pet it, it'll recoil like it's about to get smacked once more. Or it might even lash out, maybe bite, maybe get back at that motherfucker that pounded it day after day, even if that motherfucker isn't in the picture anymore.
Thus it is with the Clintons. Back in the 1990s, there was a vast right-wing conspiracy out to destroy Bill, often through savagely ripping into Hillary. That slavering horde is drooling puddles at the idea of another President Clinton to sink their decayed teeth into. So, yeah, the Clintons are always ready to arch their backs and attack in self-defense. It's the only way that Bill Clinton's presidency survived.
But in Bill's sad self-debasement of his legacy as his anger flashes again and again in going at Obama, in Hillary's depressingly content-free interview with Tim Russert, whose Meet the Press interviews with candidates have nearly solely been about cult of personality than shit that actually will have an effect on people's lives, the Clintons are reverting to that form, seeing the persecuting Scaifes and Starrs where there are but low-level operatives, at best, and phantoms at worst. They can't help it, even if they should, even if they could, because it's what we did to them for so very long.
The slow creep of sexism and racism into the Democratic nomination campaign stinks of Rove. More on that tomorrow.
Let's be grown-ups here for a second. When Bill Clinton said, "The whole thing is the biggest fairy tale I've ever seen," he was talking about Barack Obama's stand on the Iraq War, not Obama himself. When Obama said during a debate that Hillary Clinton was "likeable enough," it was a stupid attempt at a joke in response to an idiotic question on Clinton's likeability. And, yeah, you know what? No shit that Martin Luther King couldn't actually sign anything into law, that only Lyndon Johnson could do that in 1964 since JFK was RIP'ing. Whatever the hell Senator Clinton was trying to say by bringing it up, it was simply the statement of a patently obvious fact.
People are the sum totals of their treatment by the world. When you adopt a dog that's had the shit beaten out of it again and again by its first owner, no matter how gentle and kind you are to it, that poor beast's got scars that'll never heal. And sometimes when you reach your hand out to pet it, it'll recoil like it's about to get smacked once more. Or it might even lash out, maybe bite, maybe get back at that motherfucker that pounded it day after day, even if that motherfucker isn't in the picture anymore.
Thus it is with the Clintons. Back in the 1990s, there was a vast right-wing conspiracy out to destroy Bill, often through savagely ripping into Hillary. That slavering horde is drooling puddles at the idea of another President Clinton to sink their decayed teeth into. So, yeah, the Clintons are always ready to arch their backs and attack in self-defense. It's the only way that Bill Clinton's presidency survived.
But in Bill's sad self-debasement of his legacy as his anger flashes again and again in going at Obama, in Hillary's depressingly content-free interview with Tim Russert, whose Meet the Press interviews with candidates have nearly solely been about cult of personality than shit that actually will have an effect on people's lives, the Clintons are reverting to that form, seeing the persecuting Scaifes and Starrs where there are but low-level operatives, at best, and phantoms at worst. They can't help it, even if they should, even if they could, because it's what we did to them for so very long.
The slow creep of sexism and racism into the Democratic nomination campaign stinks of Rove. More on that tomorrow.
1/11/2008
Photos That Make the Rude Pundit Want to Drink Manischewitz Until He Pukes:
We forget, perhaps willfully, in the midst of this never-ending political season, that we still have a President, George W. Bush, and that, without a doubt, given a microphone and no teleprompter, he will say something totally fucktarded. During his visit to the Middle East, Bush said many idiotic and blindingly obvious things, and that doesn't include his Hail Mary pass of a legacy-saver, peace between Israel and Palestine in the next year.
Speaking of Hail, Mary:
The dead stare, the uncomprehending demeanor, the ape-like stance, it all adds up to a religious moment for Bush. As he said, "[N]ot only was my soul uplifted, my knowledge of history was enriched." This was during his visit to the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, where the fictional character "Jesus" was born. It's not unlike visiting a shrine where the train to Hogwarts supposedly arrives. That's not to mention how it sounds like he's telling a schoolteacher how much he loved that filmstrip.
And, speaking of idiotic things Presidents say, here he is today:
"I would hope as many people in the world would come to this place, it would be a sobering reminder that evil exists and a call that when we find evil we must resist it," he said after his visit to the Holocaust museum in Jerusalem, where, politician emotion watchers, he allegedly cried like a bitch puppy twice. Essentially, the Holocaust exists for him to be able to tell everyone to support his war. Good thing all those Jews and others died so he could say, "See? See?" Everything, all history, all horror, it's all about him.
It's Friday. Mostly, the Rude Pundit just wants to let Jimmy Carter take care of the rudeness for the day.
We forget, perhaps willfully, in the midst of this never-ending political season, that we still have a President, George W. Bush, and that, without a doubt, given a microphone and no teleprompter, he will say something totally fucktarded. During his visit to the Middle East, Bush said many idiotic and blindingly obvious things, and that doesn't include his Hail Mary pass of a legacy-saver, peace between Israel and Palestine in the next year.
Speaking of Hail, Mary:
The dead stare, the uncomprehending demeanor, the ape-like stance, it all adds up to a religious moment for Bush. As he said, "[N]ot only was my soul uplifted, my knowledge of history was enriched." This was during his visit to the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, where the fictional character "Jesus" was born. It's not unlike visiting a shrine where the train to Hogwarts supposedly arrives. That's not to mention how it sounds like he's telling a schoolteacher how much he loved that filmstrip.
And, speaking of idiotic things Presidents say, here he is today:
"I would hope as many people in the world would come to this place, it would be a sobering reminder that evil exists and a call that when we find evil we must resist it," he said after his visit to the Holocaust museum in Jerusalem, where, politician emotion watchers, he allegedly cried like a bitch puppy twice. Essentially, the Holocaust exists for him to be able to tell everyone to support his war. Good thing all those Jews and others died so he could say, "See? See?" Everything, all history, all horror, it's all about him.
It's Friday. Mostly, the Rude Pundit just wants to let Jimmy Carter take care of the rudeness for the day.
1/10/2008
Because It Needs to Be Said (Regarding Ann Coulter's Dead Father):
Let's keep this brief so as not to be too unseemly: in her latest column (if by "column," you mean, "a chronicle of internal damnation and derangement that makes Dante's Inferno seem like a perfectly nice way to spend a Saturday afternoon"), Ann Coulter mourns the death of her father by writing a brief biography of the man. Yes, it is sad to lose a parent, but, and it's gotta be said since Coulter celebrates her dad's accomplishments, this guy was a douchebag of the first order whose life explains a lot about Coulter's own insanity and cruelty.
You can read the whole bizarro thing, about how John Coulter judged Ann's dates, about how he shot squirrels in his backyard, about how he threatened his son if he took some fruity sociology course in college, about how he was a real-deal hunter of Soviet spies for the FBI, no doubt contributing to his daughter's perverse desire to fellate Joseph McCarthy's tibia. But most telling is Coulter's description of how her father helped break the Arizona Copper Mine Strike against Phelps Dodge in 1983. Scribbles Coulter, "In the early 1980s, as vice president and labor lawyer for Phelps Dodge copper company, Father broke a strike against the company, which culminated in the largest union decertification ever -- at that time and perhaps still. President Reagan had broken the air traffic controllers' strike in 1981. But unions recognized that it was the breaking of the Phelps Dodge strike a few years later that landed the greater blow." That included the eviction of striking families from company houses. The later decertification of the union is described by Coulter as a "happy ending." But, don't worry, because, as Coulter says, despite his hatred of unions, "he had more respect for genuine working men than anyone I've ever known." In other words, John Coulter huffed deeply from the crotch of J. Edgar Hoover's pantyhose, and he liked what he smelled.
The most fucked-up thing is that anyone normal reading this obituary would think, Christ, what an asshole. But Coulter's oblivious, and the joke's on her and on her father's corpse. Obviously, Coulter's life has been an attempt to live up to her father's legacy of paranoia and propping up of the powerful. But he at least walked the walk, motherfucker though he may have been. Coulter carries on his tradition by providing cover and comfort for savage conservatives, the rhetorical equivalent of a talking diaper, begging to be shit on. No man was good enough for Ann, according to Father, but she kept trying to please him by going after those fucking liberals, since there's no commies left. Alas, the entropy of hatreds, instilled by dear old Dad of the Greatest Generation.
Oh, tender eyes and ears, is this a bit cruel, to beat up on Ann Coulter when her father kicked less than a week ago? Then you didn't read Coulter's column to the last line, where she says, "Now Daddy is with Joe McCarthy and Ronald Reagan. I hope they stop laughing about the Reds long enough to talk to God about smiting some liberals for me." Tee-hee, it's a joke, innit? How Coulter wishes us all dead? The kind of thing that'd probably make the old man laugh. Fuck her and her brute of a father. He's in hell now, alongside Reagan and McCarthy, getting raped by barbed-dick demons with his daughter's face. Kind of like the rest of us.
Let's keep this brief so as not to be too unseemly: in her latest column (if by "column," you mean, "a chronicle of internal damnation and derangement that makes Dante's Inferno seem like a perfectly nice way to spend a Saturday afternoon"), Ann Coulter mourns the death of her father by writing a brief biography of the man. Yes, it is sad to lose a parent, but, and it's gotta be said since Coulter celebrates her dad's accomplishments, this guy was a douchebag of the first order whose life explains a lot about Coulter's own insanity and cruelty.
You can read the whole bizarro thing, about how John Coulter judged Ann's dates, about how he shot squirrels in his backyard, about how he threatened his son if he took some fruity sociology course in college, about how he was a real-deal hunter of Soviet spies for the FBI, no doubt contributing to his daughter's perverse desire to fellate Joseph McCarthy's tibia. But most telling is Coulter's description of how her father helped break the Arizona Copper Mine Strike against Phelps Dodge in 1983. Scribbles Coulter, "In the early 1980s, as vice president and labor lawyer for Phelps Dodge copper company, Father broke a strike against the company, which culminated in the largest union decertification ever -- at that time and perhaps still. President Reagan had broken the air traffic controllers' strike in 1981. But unions recognized that it was the breaking of the Phelps Dodge strike a few years later that landed the greater blow." That included the eviction of striking families from company houses. The later decertification of the union is described by Coulter as a "happy ending." But, don't worry, because, as Coulter says, despite his hatred of unions, "he had more respect for genuine working men than anyone I've ever known." In other words, John Coulter huffed deeply from the crotch of J. Edgar Hoover's pantyhose, and he liked what he smelled.
The most fucked-up thing is that anyone normal reading this obituary would think, Christ, what an asshole. But Coulter's oblivious, and the joke's on her and on her father's corpse. Obviously, Coulter's life has been an attempt to live up to her father's legacy of paranoia and propping up of the powerful. But he at least walked the walk, motherfucker though he may have been. Coulter carries on his tradition by providing cover and comfort for savage conservatives, the rhetorical equivalent of a talking diaper, begging to be shit on. No man was good enough for Ann, according to Father, but she kept trying to please him by going after those fucking liberals, since there's no commies left. Alas, the entropy of hatreds, instilled by dear old Dad of the Greatest Generation.
Oh, tender eyes and ears, is this a bit cruel, to beat up on Ann Coulter when her father kicked less than a week ago? Then you didn't read Coulter's column to the last line, where she says, "Now Daddy is with Joe McCarthy and Ronald Reagan. I hope they stop laughing about the Reds long enough to talk to God about smiting some liberals for me." Tee-hee, it's a joke, innit? How Coulter wishes us all dead? The kind of thing that'd probably make the old man laugh. Fuck her and her brute of a father. He's in hell now, alongside Reagan and McCarthy, getting raped by barbed-dick demons with his daughter's face. Kind of like the rest of us.
1/09/2008
Goddamn, Democracy at Last?:
Last night, Hillary Clinton earned the right to touch herself. She had been like a pugilist, denying herself any pleasures of the pussy until after the primary. Of course, it would have to be masturbation; she can't be near Bill without whiffing the stench of skank on him. She had been prepared for a vicious, punishing session with a particularly long, ridged vibrator, the better to exhaust the failure out of her. But, no, after her victory speech, she decided to go for the gentle, but vigorous, application of finger to clit. Clinton's fantasy was simple: standing in the Oval Office, telling Vice President Obama to get over to her desk, get on his knees, and eat her out, and he better be good. As for Attorney General Edwards? Well, maybe if he begged, she'd let him give her a rim job. And U.N. Ambassador Bill was, as ever, sucking a stogie, weeping, and jacking off for his sins. It's what he deserves, even if he was the only one who got it right about New Hampshire. Oh, shit, what bliss.
There's very few rational conclusions to make about last night's results in the first primary, except, perhaps, and it can't be said enough, "Fuck Iowa." Reaching conclusions about candidacies based on the Iowa caucuses is about as intelligent as dangling your balls over a bear trap. As rude reader Lynn just pointed out, we could say that Obama's win in Iowa had as much to do with his state (Illinois) and its proximity to Iowa as with his superstar status. As for the strangely temperate night in New Hampshire, sure, we can be cynical and say, "Shit, if all one has to do to win a primary is get a little dewy-eyed, then expect Mitt Romney to weep like a little girl who fell off her My Little Pony bike come Michigan." And we can add that the womens don't like it when the menfolk pile on another woman.
Sure, we can say that polling independents is not unlike asking a desperate alcoholic with the shakes if he'd rather Johnny Walker Black or Red. We can also say that, while the lovely weather in the Northeast contributed to the overall turn-out, that for the youth voters so crucial to Barack Obama, a sunny day in January in a New Hampshire college town means there's less time to vote and more time to sack some hackey. And, if we wanna get all divisive, we can say that New Hampshire voters took a step backwards in embracing the politics of the past, but that sounds like a goddamn focus group-tested line, and, you know, agree or disagree with Clinton's politics, electing a woman would still be one giant friggin' frog leap forward in this America.
Instead, why don't we go with this: last night was a continuation of what happened in 2006, where voters got sick and fucking tired of being told what they're supposed to do and supposed to believe. Inasmuch as we can read tea leaves from two tiny states, it looks like it'll be a mighty amazing time, if all of a sudden the citizens of the nation decide, "Hey, you know what? This is a democracy, and, goddamn, if it ain't time we started acting like it is."
Because one thing we can say for sure after last night is this: this fucker's wide open. And even as it gets nasty, if Clinton continues her Sherman's march to the nomination, if the religious right gets its crazy going over the idea of a McCain win, people may actually have to pay attention. And, what's better, they may even want to. There is no inevitability at the moment. And, holy Christ, that's exhilarating. It's like a toke on a pipe filled with really good opium: you don't know where it's gonna take you, but, oh, yeah, it promises to be a helluva trip.
Meanwhile, over in Nashua, John McCain went back to his hotel room after his victory speech and asked to be alone. He wanted to celebrate in the way that made him get off best: he took out his homemade bamboo dildo, the one with a handle crafted from the femur of one of his captors at the Hanoi Hilton. He smiled as he looked at the Straight Cock Express, remembering the good times the two of them had had, especially back in 2000 in this very state. Awkwardly dropping his pants, for the old aches are always there, McCain broke out the vaseline and lubed up the dildo, his prostate aching in anticipation, ready to ram that big boy home for America, for the people of Iraq, for Republicans everywhere, thinking about making Mike Huckabee fuck Mitt Romney in the ass, Thompson doing Giuliani, fucking for his pleasure at watching their debasement before his rise in the polls.
Correction: An earlier version of this mentioned smoking peyote. Opium was the intended drug. One eats peyote, of course. Ignorance? Brain fart? Secret desire to find some peyote? You decide.
Last night, Hillary Clinton earned the right to touch herself. She had been like a pugilist, denying herself any pleasures of the pussy until after the primary. Of course, it would have to be masturbation; she can't be near Bill without whiffing the stench of skank on him. She had been prepared for a vicious, punishing session with a particularly long, ridged vibrator, the better to exhaust the failure out of her. But, no, after her victory speech, she decided to go for the gentle, but vigorous, application of finger to clit. Clinton's fantasy was simple: standing in the Oval Office, telling Vice President Obama to get over to her desk, get on his knees, and eat her out, and he better be good. As for Attorney General Edwards? Well, maybe if he begged, she'd let him give her a rim job. And U.N. Ambassador Bill was, as ever, sucking a stogie, weeping, and jacking off for his sins. It's what he deserves, even if he was the only one who got it right about New Hampshire. Oh, shit, what bliss.
There's very few rational conclusions to make about last night's results in the first primary, except, perhaps, and it can't be said enough, "Fuck Iowa." Reaching conclusions about candidacies based on the Iowa caucuses is about as intelligent as dangling your balls over a bear trap. As rude reader Lynn just pointed out, we could say that Obama's win in Iowa had as much to do with his state (Illinois) and its proximity to Iowa as with his superstar status. As for the strangely temperate night in New Hampshire, sure, we can be cynical and say, "Shit, if all one has to do to win a primary is get a little dewy-eyed, then expect Mitt Romney to weep like a little girl who fell off her My Little Pony bike come Michigan." And we can add that the womens don't like it when the menfolk pile on another woman.
Sure, we can say that polling independents is not unlike asking a desperate alcoholic with the shakes if he'd rather Johnny Walker Black or Red. We can also say that, while the lovely weather in the Northeast contributed to the overall turn-out, that for the youth voters so crucial to Barack Obama, a sunny day in January in a New Hampshire college town means there's less time to vote and more time to sack some hackey. And, if we wanna get all divisive, we can say that New Hampshire voters took a step backwards in embracing the politics of the past, but that sounds like a goddamn focus group-tested line, and, you know, agree or disagree with Clinton's politics, electing a woman would still be one giant friggin' frog leap forward in this America.
Instead, why don't we go with this: last night was a continuation of what happened in 2006, where voters got sick and fucking tired of being told what they're supposed to do and supposed to believe. Inasmuch as we can read tea leaves from two tiny states, it looks like it'll be a mighty amazing time, if all of a sudden the citizens of the nation decide, "Hey, you know what? This is a democracy, and, goddamn, if it ain't time we started acting like it is."
Because one thing we can say for sure after last night is this: this fucker's wide open. And even as it gets nasty, if Clinton continues her Sherman's march to the nomination, if the religious right gets its crazy going over the idea of a McCain win, people may actually have to pay attention. And, what's better, they may even want to. There is no inevitability at the moment. And, holy Christ, that's exhilarating. It's like a toke on a pipe filled with really good opium: you don't know where it's gonna take you, but, oh, yeah, it promises to be a helluva trip.
Meanwhile, over in Nashua, John McCain went back to his hotel room after his victory speech and asked to be alone. He wanted to celebrate in the way that made him get off best: he took out his homemade bamboo dildo, the one with a handle crafted from the femur of one of his captors at the Hanoi Hilton. He smiled as he looked at the Straight Cock Express, remembering the good times the two of them had had, especially back in 2000 in this very state. Awkwardly dropping his pants, for the old aches are always there, McCain broke out the vaseline and lubed up the dildo, his prostate aching in anticipation, ready to ram that big boy home for America, for the people of Iraq, for Republicans everywhere, thinking about making Mike Huckabee fuck Mitt Romney in the ass, Thompson doing Giuliani, fucking for his pleasure at watching their debasement before his rise in the polls.
Correction: An earlier version of this mentioned smoking peyote. Opium was the intended drug. One eats peyote, of course. Ignorance? Brain fart? Secret desire to find some peyote? You decide.
1/08/2008
Heading Back Down the Aisle: The Rude Pundit Bites His Own Nutsack:
Today, the Rude Pundit declared Hillary Clinton's candidacy dead, about to be swept aside in Obamaramamaniapalooza. He was wrong, so very wrong. The fucked-up thing is that he was right before he was wrong. He should have listened to his correct self that said, "Fuck Iowa," and not gotten swept up in the coronation of Obama.
You wanna know the funny thing? How many people wrote in to declare the Rude Pundit wrong with his Iowa-spurning post. Oh, ho, the joke's on them.
The Rude Pundit still thinks Obama's can win the nomination, but it's gonna get so very ugly. More tomorrow. For now, at the bar, there's good whiskey; on the coffee table, there's good blow; and, yes, the Rude Pundit's gonna have to be the bitch tonight. But come the rest of the primary season, he will be wiser and angrier, and he will get his rude back.
Today, the Rude Pundit declared Hillary Clinton's candidacy dead, about to be swept aside in Obamaramamaniapalooza. He was wrong, so very wrong. The fucked-up thing is that he was right before he was wrong. He should have listened to his correct self that said, "Fuck Iowa," and not gotten swept up in the coronation of Obama.
You wanna know the funny thing? How many people wrote in to declare the Rude Pundit wrong with his Iowa-spurning post. Oh, ho, the joke's on them.
The Rude Pundit still thinks Obama's can win the nomination, but it's gonna get so very ugly. More tomorrow. For now, at the bar, there's good whiskey; on the coffee table, there's good blow; and, yes, the Rude Pundit's gonna have to be the bitch tonight. But come the rest of the primary season, he will be wiser and angrier, and he will get his rude back.
The Jilting of Hillary Clinton (A Fantasia with Comment):
There came a point yesterday when Hillary Clinton realized it wasn't enough. When the Portsmouth woman, Marianne Pernold, asked her, simply, "What about you?" Clinton couldn't contain herself. "Me?" she wondered. "Haven't you been paying attention?" She teared up as the wave of revelations hit her: how one can't present oneself as an agent of change if one has always been there - if everyone knows you as the status quo, you can't claim you'll lead a revolution; how she made so many political calculations when she sucked the bile down in her throat and she voted, time and time again, for war and war funding, for policies and spending she knew were utterly and completely dunderheaded; how the work of much of her adult life made Barack Obama's candidacy not only possibly, but his surge inevitable; how she had suffered so long, under such hideous scrutiny and attack, building up such a sense of entitlement to the nomination, if not the presidency, that the very idea that some uppity - no, let's say, "upstart," with biceps and a smile would halt her coronation is still simply...impossible. Of course she teared up. What person wouldn't?
It wasn't enough, goddamnit, it wasn't enough. And it all flowed over her in this frozen moment, with her aides and supporters surrounding her, with the signs that scream her name always in her sight, in her periphery, that tide, that feeling that no matter how much pain we endure in this life, it doesn't mean that we will be graced with redemption, with triumph. What's frustrating to Clinton is that she knew this, she saw it with Bill. Jesus Christ, Bill - the callowest calculation of all. Now, getting him to put his prestige on the line in order to campaign for her so vehemently, she has used up her last chit, called in her last favor that she had in exchange for sticking by him a decade ago. Yes, she knew the price to be paid, that one is not truly owed anything in this life, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
And worse, even worse, she thinks, staring into Pernold's eyes, this undecided voter who wants to know on a gut level, not in the mind, not policy or plan, but in the heart and the stomach, why she should vote for Clinton, is that she listened to men who told her to attack Obama and to become what she held in contempt for so long: the purveyor of fear, like the petulant president or the pustular vice, saying, threatening, "Gordon Brown comes in, the very next day, there are terrorist attacks. Thankfully, they were unsuccessful, from London to Scotland. So, you've got to be prepared on day one with everything ready to go." Even that didn't work, and she can't shake the taste of Karl Rove's ball sweat on that one.
Yes, Clinton says when she finally speaks to Pernold, it is personal: "It's not just political. It's not just public. I see what's happening, and we have to reverse it. And some people think elections are a game. They think it's like who's up or who's down." A lovely revelation of self, to be sure. But, knowing that she's always campaigning, she adds, in a less-reported part of her response, "You know some of us put ourselves out there and do this against some pretty difficult odds. But some of us are right some and some of us are wrong. Some of us are ready and some of us are not." And the moving moment is transformed into nothing more and nothing less than some old lady whining that the youngsters are gonna ruin this country.
Hillary Clinton moves on. She knows only one form of politics, the kind practiced on her, the kind she witnessed from Nixon to Reagan to her husband. You are either slashing and burning or you are the one who is cut down and set aflame. It is impossible to move beyond your experience of the world, and that is why she continues to alienate as Obama continues to reap.
Even as those around her will say that she should go gentle into that good night when she loses today's primary and not remain on the beach hoping that she's still standing when the tidal wave passes, she will fight on. It is what she knows. It is the way she has been forced to live for her entire life, the cruel reality of our unconscious-driven behavior. She will use connection and money to try to bring Obama down, and it will be awful to behold, to see her fall, to see who she drags with her.
It will be over, though, after tonight. Because voters have realized they don't have to cast their lot in with her. The forced march to the altar with Hillary Clinton has been halted. As much as some will try to make it into something sexist, it won't be. It'll be because, fairly or unfairly, we just got tired of what she represents. And, yes, we do write obituaries early, even for the walking dead. So here's Clinton's, in a quote from Katherine Anne Porter: "Her body was now only a deeper mass of shadow in an endless darkness and this darkness would curl around the light and swallow it up. God, give a sign!
"For a second time there was no sign. Again no bridegroom and the priest in the house. She could not remember any other sorrow because this grief wiped them all away. Oh, no, there’s nothing more cruel than this – I’ll never forgive it. She stretched herself with a deep breath and blew out the light."
There came a point yesterday when Hillary Clinton realized it wasn't enough. When the Portsmouth woman, Marianne Pernold, asked her, simply, "What about you?" Clinton couldn't contain herself. "Me?" she wondered. "Haven't you been paying attention?" She teared up as the wave of revelations hit her: how one can't present oneself as an agent of change if one has always been there - if everyone knows you as the status quo, you can't claim you'll lead a revolution; how she made so many political calculations when she sucked the bile down in her throat and she voted, time and time again, for war and war funding, for policies and spending she knew were utterly and completely dunderheaded; how the work of much of her adult life made Barack Obama's candidacy not only possibly, but his surge inevitable; how she had suffered so long, under such hideous scrutiny and attack, building up such a sense of entitlement to the nomination, if not the presidency, that the very idea that some uppity - no, let's say, "upstart," with biceps and a smile would halt her coronation is still simply...impossible. Of course she teared up. What person wouldn't?
It wasn't enough, goddamnit, it wasn't enough. And it all flowed over her in this frozen moment, with her aides and supporters surrounding her, with the signs that scream her name always in her sight, in her periphery, that tide, that feeling that no matter how much pain we endure in this life, it doesn't mean that we will be graced with redemption, with triumph. What's frustrating to Clinton is that she knew this, she saw it with Bill. Jesus Christ, Bill - the callowest calculation of all. Now, getting him to put his prestige on the line in order to campaign for her so vehemently, she has used up her last chit, called in her last favor that she had in exchange for sticking by him a decade ago. Yes, she knew the price to be paid, that one is not truly owed anything in this life, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
And worse, even worse, she thinks, staring into Pernold's eyes, this undecided voter who wants to know on a gut level, not in the mind, not policy or plan, but in the heart and the stomach, why she should vote for Clinton, is that she listened to men who told her to attack Obama and to become what she held in contempt for so long: the purveyor of fear, like the petulant president or the pustular vice, saying, threatening, "Gordon Brown comes in, the very next day, there are terrorist attacks. Thankfully, they were unsuccessful, from London to Scotland. So, you've got to be prepared on day one with everything ready to go." Even that didn't work, and she can't shake the taste of Karl Rove's ball sweat on that one.
Yes, Clinton says when she finally speaks to Pernold, it is personal: "It's not just political. It's not just public. I see what's happening, and we have to reverse it. And some people think elections are a game. They think it's like who's up or who's down." A lovely revelation of self, to be sure. But, knowing that she's always campaigning, she adds, in a less-reported part of her response, "You know some of us put ourselves out there and do this against some pretty difficult odds. But some of us are right some and some of us are wrong. Some of us are ready and some of us are not." And the moving moment is transformed into nothing more and nothing less than some old lady whining that the youngsters are gonna ruin this country.
Hillary Clinton moves on. She knows only one form of politics, the kind practiced on her, the kind she witnessed from Nixon to Reagan to her husband. You are either slashing and burning or you are the one who is cut down and set aflame. It is impossible to move beyond your experience of the world, and that is why she continues to alienate as Obama continues to reap.
Even as those around her will say that she should go gentle into that good night when she loses today's primary and not remain on the beach hoping that she's still standing when the tidal wave passes, she will fight on. It is what she knows. It is the way she has been forced to live for her entire life, the cruel reality of our unconscious-driven behavior. She will use connection and money to try to bring Obama down, and it will be awful to behold, to see her fall, to see who she drags with her.
It will be over, though, after tonight. Because voters have realized they don't have to cast their lot in with her. The forced march to the altar with Hillary Clinton has been halted. As much as some will try to make it into something sexist, it won't be. It'll be because, fairly or unfairly, we just got tired of what she represents. And, yes, we do write obituaries early, even for the walking dead. So here's Clinton's, in a quote from Katherine Anne Porter: "Her body was now only a deeper mass of shadow in an endless darkness and this darkness would curl around the light and swallow it up. God, give a sign!
"For a second time there was no sign. Again no bridegroom and the priest in the house. She could not remember any other sorrow because this grief wiped them all away. Oh, no, there’s nothing more cruel than this – I’ll never forgive it. She stretched herself with a deep breath and blew out the light."
1/07/2008
Great Moments of the Pundoconsultocracy (Updated):
If you've never had the pleasure, you ought to read "1601", a little-known work by Mark Twain. In the story, William Shakespeare, Francis Bacon and others are before Queen Elizabeth at court, and someone farts. Each man there declaims about how the fart could not be his until, finally, Sir Walter Raleigh owns up to it by saying, "It was nothing--less than nothing, madam--I did it but to clear my nether throat; but had I come prepared, then had I delivered something worthy." It's pretty obvious why, when thinking about your mainstream pundits and your hack political consultants, the Rude Pundit cast his mind back to Twain's "who dealt it?" classic.
For instance, given a huge ass megaphone and the imprimatur New York Times respectability, Bill Kristol, he who, it should always be reminded, was Alan Keyes' campaign manager once upon a time, wrote a column that is the rhetorical equivalent of a dry turd. In essence, Kristol says, "[T]he fact is that the Republican establishment spent 2007 underestimating Mike Huckabee. If Huckabee does win the nomination, it would be amusing if Democrats made the same mistake in 2008." So, wait, wait, here. You mean conservative Bill Kristol wants the Republican to win. That's pretty much the entire goddamn thing: "Huckabee nice, me feeling comfortable with Huckabee, Obama bad, Clinton worse, ugh." Christ, Kristol even quotes Michelle Malkin. That's not even getting into his description of George Bush as "well-born" when he, as much as anyone, pimped this myth of W as regular guy. And thus the real reason Kristol was selected to write for the Times becomes obvious. David Brooks wanted someone to make him look smart.
Of course, Kristol, having been wrong about so very much in his life (going back to the aforementioned Alan Keyes campaign), has tons of company. Look at the man who destroyed Hillary Clinton, alleged marketing genius and Clinton adviser Mark Penn. In an awesome post at the Hillary Clinton blog this weekend, Penn asked where is the bounce in the polls for Barack Obama in New Hampshire after the Iowa caucuses. Aw, yeah, this badass motherfucker declared on Saturday, "New Hampshire voters are fiercely independent. They will make their own decisions about who to support." And, according to nearly every poll today, they decided on Barack Obama, by 10 points now, which, unless the Rude Pundit's unclear on the term, pretty much qualifies as a bounce. Like the ghost of Bob Shrum, Mark Penn keeps haunting the once-leading Democrat and until Hillary's willing to grab him by his balls and toss him into the streets and let Bill kick him out of the city, Clinton's gone, baby, gone.
Every once in a while, though, some pundit or other mea culpas, usually way too fucking late, as when members of the press looked into their "hearts" and decided they were just too hard and unfair with Al Gore. That happened in about 2004 or 2005. Yesterday, though, on Reliable Sources with Howard "Behold My Toupee of Integrity" Kurtz, Mark Halperin said, "I'm embarrassed about the way we treated Mike Huckabee. I include myself. I gave a speech in Arkansas several months ago, and I completely dismissed his chances when asked about him on his home turf. I'm embarrassed personally about that and I'm embarrassed for our profession. I'm also embarrassed at the way, as we talked about in the beginning of the show, the way we careen back and forth between inevitable and dead. You know, you talked about it in the context of Hillary Clinton. Look at the coverage of John McCain. People just want to write his obituary for no good reason, not look at his ideas, not look at the possibility of a comeback. It happens all the time in politics, and yet we careen back and forth. And again, I find it embarrassing that we do it." Wow. A goddamned bit of ethics. 'Course, Halperin probably is just trying to ensure himself access to the campaigns he dissed, but, still, a dissonantly honorable moment.
"1601" ends with discussions of sex, with talk of "cunts" and "pricks." In one tale, a young maiden avoids being deflowered by telling the man about to rape her, "'First, my lord, I prithee, take out thy holy tool and piss before me'; which doing, lo his member felle, and would not rise again." Ah, that our pundoconsultocracy would give in to such tricks.
Update: Remember: Bill Kristol is wrong about nearly everything, including who he quotes in his columns. The Rude Pundit thought that line sounded a little too non-batshit insane to be Michelle Malkin.
If you've never had the pleasure, you ought to read "1601", a little-known work by Mark Twain. In the story, William Shakespeare, Francis Bacon and others are before Queen Elizabeth at court, and someone farts. Each man there declaims about how the fart could not be his until, finally, Sir Walter Raleigh owns up to it by saying, "It was nothing--less than nothing, madam--I did it but to clear my nether throat; but had I come prepared, then had I delivered something worthy." It's pretty obvious why, when thinking about your mainstream pundits and your hack political consultants, the Rude Pundit cast his mind back to Twain's "who dealt it?" classic.
For instance, given a huge ass megaphone and the imprimatur New York Times respectability, Bill Kristol, he who, it should always be reminded, was Alan Keyes' campaign manager once upon a time, wrote a column that is the rhetorical equivalent of a dry turd. In essence, Kristol says, "[T]he fact is that the Republican establishment spent 2007 underestimating Mike Huckabee. If Huckabee does win the nomination, it would be amusing if Democrats made the same mistake in 2008." So, wait, wait, here. You mean conservative Bill Kristol wants the Republican to win. That's pretty much the entire goddamn thing: "Huckabee nice, me feeling comfortable with Huckabee, Obama bad, Clinton worse, ugh." Christ, Kristol even quotes Michelle Malkin. That's not even getting into his description of George Bush as "well-born" when he, as much as anyone, pimped this myth of W as regular guy. And thus the real reason Kristol was selected to write for the Times becomes obvious. David Brooks wanted someone to make him look smart.
Of course, Kristol, having been wrong about so very much in his life (going back to the aforementioned Alan Keyes campaign), has tons of company. Look at the man who destroyed Hillary Clinton, alleged marketing genius and Clinton adviser Mark Penn. In an awesome post at the Hillary Clinton blog this weekend, Penn asked where is the bounce in the polls for Barack Obama in New Hampshire after the Iowa caucuses. Aw, yeah, this badass motherfucker declared on Saturday, "New Hampshire voters are fiercely independent. They will make their own decisions about who to support." And, according to nearly every poll today, they decided on Barack Obama, by 10 points now, which, unless the Rude Pundit's unclear on the term, pretty much qualifies as a bounce. Like the ghost of Bob Shrum, Mark Penn keeps haunting the once-leading Democrat and until Hillary's willing to grab him by his balls and toss him into the streets and let Bill kick him out of the city, Clinton's gone, baby, gone.
Every once in a while, though, some pundit or other mea culpas, usually way too fucking late, as when members of the press looked into their "hearts" and decided they were just too hard and unfair with Al Gore. That happened in about 2004 or 2005. Yesterday, though, on Reliable Sources with Howard "Behold My Toupee of Integrity" Kurtz, Mark Halperin said, "I'm embarrassed about the way we treated Mike Huckabee. I include myself. I gave a speech in Arkansas several months ago, and I completely dismissed his chances when asked about him on his home turf. I'm embarrassed personally about that and I'm embarrassed for our profession. I'm also embarrassed at the way, as we talked about in the beginning of the show, the way we careen back and forth between inevitable and dead. You know, you talked about it in the context of Hillary Clinton. Look at the coverage of John McCain. People just want to write his obituary for no good reason, not look at his ideas, not look at the possibility of a comeback. It happens all the time in politics, and yet we careen back and forth. And again, I find it embarrassing that we do it." Wow. A goddamned bit of ethics. 'Course, Halperin probably is just trying to ensure himself access to the campaigns he dissed, but, still, a dissonantly honorable moment.
"1601" ends with discussions of sex, with talk of "cunts" and "pricks." In one tale, a young maiden avoids being deflowered by telling the man about to rape her, "'First, my lord, I prithee, take out thy holy tool and piss before me'; which doing, lo his member felle, and would not rise again." Ah, that our pundoconsultocracy would give in to such tricks.
Update: Remember: Bill Kristol is wrong about nearly everything, including who he quotes in his columns. The Rude Pundit thought that line sounded a little too non-batshit insane to be Michelle Malkin.
1/04/2008
In Brief: Five Intensely Obvious Things We Learned From Iowa:
Calm down there, people. Yeah, the media and the campaign spin machines are gonna be prognosticating like elderly gypsies who got into the crack stash, all about what Obama's win means, about whether Huckabee's got the mo'. All in all, other than braggin' rights, we didn't learn a holy fuck of a lot. Indeed, as yer CNNMSNBCFox scream the obvious at you, it's not unlike being at a bar and listening to a particularly hot but dumb piece of ass pontificate about the world and all you wanna do is scream, "Duh, motherfucker, duh."
1. White people will vote for a black person, especially if that black person is not nearly as liberal as the second place white person.
2. Evangelicals will vote for an evangelical, especially in a state with about 40% self-identified evangelicals, especially if those evangelicals aren't busy on a Thursday night in early January.
3. The Hillary-bot is not popular in the rural Midwest, but when such a creation has money and connections, the landscape will be scorched and bloody bodies will quench the thirst of the parched ground before it's done. (And, really, and, c'mon, Hillary, if you want a chance, ya gotta bring Mark Penn out to see the rabbits.)
4. Robo-Romney creeps out farmers.
5. Any of the top three Democrats will kick the ass of any of the Republicans. And while the Iowa caucus oughtn't matter, seeing the glum fuckers who populate the GOP side versus the optimistic faces of the Democratic side ought to be reason enough to pull ourselves out of our Bush-induced torpor and say, "Yep, finally, this time, at last."
Calm down there, people. Yeah, the media and the campaign spin machines are gonna be prognosticating like elderly gypsies who got into the crack stash, all about what Obama's win means, about whether Huckabee's got the mo'. All in all, other than braggin' rights, we didn't learn a holy fuck of a lot. Indeed, as yer CNNMSNBCFox scream the obvious at you, it's not unlike being at a bar and listening to a particularly hot but dumb piece of ass pontificate about the world and all you wanna do is scream, "Duh, motherfucker, duh."
1. White people will vote for a black person, especially if that black person is not nearly as liberal as the second place white person.
2. Evangelicals will vote for an evangelical, especially in a state with about 40% self-identified evangelicals, especially if those evangelicals aren't busy on a Thursday night in early January.
3. The Hillary-bot is not popular in the rural Midwest, but when such a creation has money and connections, the landscape will be scorched and bloody bodies will quench the thirst of the parched ground before it's done. (And, really, and, c'mon, Hillary, if you want a chance, ya gotta bring Mark Penn out to see the rabbits.)
4. Robo-Romney creeps out farmers.
5. Any of the top three Democrats will kick the ass of any of the Republicans. And while the Iowa caucus oughtn't matter, seeing the glum fuckers who populate the GOP side versus the optimistic faces of the Democratic side ought to be reason enough to pull ourselves out of our Bush-induced torpor and say, "Yep, finally, this time, at last."
1/03/2008
Can't Wait to Hear What the White People of Iowa Have to Say:
There's many, many reasons to despise the Iowa caucus. Gail Collins and Christopher Hitchens have covered the fucktardery of the entire process, a backwards ass clusterfuck of meetings where about 10-15% of the voting shit kickers of Iowa - who, we are constantly told, are kind, decent, thoughtful people, really, it's true - drink coffee, eat donuts or homemade brownies (because decent, kind farm folk make their own goddamn brownies, you urban assholes), and talk about who should be their party's nominee, voting until there's a winner in the room.
This comes after months and months of what can only be described as a kind of competitive brainwashing that enriches the local TV and radio stations (most of which are owned by giant corporations elsewhere), and makes the residents, the 90% or so of voters who don't give a flea's fart about the caucus, dread going to a downtown diner for the gut-wrenching fear they might be forced to shake hands with some damn Romney or Clinton. And the increasingly desperate-for-a-story media, who will hype anything, including the latest security cam video of a purse snatching or Paris Hilton's snatch, treat this like it's Sparta versus Athens.
Fuck Iowa, man. Fuckin' Iowa's the reason John Kerry became the nominee last year (which, by extension, means it's the reason, at least in part, that the nation is so Bush-fucked). And fuck Iowa for being so goddamn filled with its inflated sense of self-importance that its parties moved their puny damn caucus up to January 3. And fuck everyone who pumps up Iowans into believing they deserve to be kingmakers.
See, the Rude Pundit's problem with Iowa is one of demographics. Iowa's white, so very, very white, 91% white. 2.5% black, 3.8% Hispanic (not counting the number of illegal migrants who harvest in those archetypal farms). In other words, Iowa ain't us. The attention to the Iowa caucus is based on a myth of America, a lie that hasn't existed in decades, maybe even a century or two. It is a vestige of the rightness of whiteness. It ain't about the way that good, decent, hard-working blah-blah-blah American citizens think. It's about what that isolated island of white people says.
Oh, sure yeah, there's a great deal of good in citizens going to gathering places and talking about who might be the next president, no matter where it happens or who is doing it. People should do it more. But just because they do it doesn't mean it matters to anyone who isn't in that classroom or townhall or wherever. It really ain't news that "they came together on a snowy night last week to get up the courage to caucus" for Mike Huckabee. If that's what passes for courage these days, then, hell, when the Rude Pundit decides to go to the independent coffee shop instead of Starbucks, it must at least qualify for "strength of character."
Essentially, the whole nation is now forced to wait to see what the shit kickers of Iowa have to say. It's like everyone gathering around the Thanksgiving table and when stroke-victim Grandma starts to slurringly, slurpingly speak, the rest of the family grows silent to hear what she thinks of the meal. And if you agree with Grandma just because she's Grandma, goddamnit, then the Iowa caucus might be meaningful to you. But if you nod and smile and say, "That's fine, Grandma. Pass the gravy," then you are ready to grow up.
There's many, many reasons to despise the Iowa caucus. Gail Collins and Christopher Hitchens have covered the fucktardery of the entire process, a backwards ass clusterfuck of meetings where about 10-15% of the voting shit kickers of Iowa - who, we are constantly told, are kind, decent, thoughtful people, really, it's true - drink coffee, eat donuts or homemade brownies (because decent, kind farm folk make their own goddamn brownies, you urban assholes), and talk about who should be their party's nominee, voting until there's a winner in the room.
This comes after months and months of what can only be described as a kind of competitive brainwashing that enriches the local TV and radio stations (most of which are owned by giant corporations elsewhere), and makes the residents, the 90% or so of voters who don't give a flea's fart about the caucus, dread going to a downtown diner for the gut-wrenching fear they might be forced to shake hands with some damn Romney or Clinton. And the increasingly desperate-for-a-story media, who will hype anything, including the latest security cam video of a purse snatching or Paris Hilton's snatch, treat this like it's Sparta versus Athens.
Fuck Iowa, man. Fuckin' Iowa's the reason John Kerry became the nominee last year (which, by extension, means it's the reason, at least in part, that the nation is so Bush-fucked). And fuck Iowa for being so goddamn filled with its inflated sense of self-importance that its parties moved their puny damn caucus up to January 3. And fuck everyone who pumps up Iowans into believing they deserve to be kingmakers.
See, the Rude Pundit's problem with Iowa is one of demographics. Iowa's white, so very, very white, 91% white. 2.5% black, 3.8% Hispanic (not counting the number of illegal migrants who harvest in those archetypal farms). In other words, Iowa ain't us. The attention to the Iowa caucus is based on a myth of America, a lie that hasn't existed in decades, maybe even a century or two. It is a vestige of the rightness of whiteness. It ain't about the way that good, decent, hard-working blah-blah-blah American citizens think. It's about what that isolated island of white people says.
Oh, sure yeah, there's a great deal of good in citizens going to gathering places and talking about who might be the next president, no matter where it happens or who is doing it. People should do it more. But just because they do it doesn't mean it matters to anyone who isn't in that classroom or townhall or wherever. It really ain't news that "they came together on a snowy night last week to get up the courage to caucus" for Mike Huckabee. If that's what passes for courage these days, then, hell, when the Rude Pundit decides to go to the independent coffee shop instead of Starbucks, it must at least qualify for "strength of character."
Essentially, the whole nation is now forced to wait to see what the shit kickers of Iowa have to say. It's like everyone gathering around the Thanksgiving table and when stroke-victim Grandma starts to slurringly, slurpingly speak, the rest of the family grows silent to hear what she thinks of the meal. And if you agree with Grandma just because she's Grandma, goddamnit, then the Iowa caucus might be meaningful to you. But if you nod and smile and say, "That's fine, Grandma. Pass the gravy," then you are ready to grow up.
1/02/2008
Photos That Make the Rude Pundit Want to Tell Patti Davis to Blow Him:
Several readers have sent links to Ronald Reagan's spawn, Patti Davis, dissing Republican presidential candidates for daring to compare themselves to her apparently above reproach father (also known in his later years as "the pudding that was President"). Giddy, some are, that the product of the Gipper's spooge is telling Mike Huckabee and Mitt Romney, "OMG, STFU, guys."
Davis, Playboy model and author of the wannabe erotic book Bondage, offers a stunning statement talking about Romney's "Mormons won't eat you" speech: she says it was "something my father would never have dreamed of doing because his faith was, well, personal."
To rebut this ludicrous-on-its-bukkakked-face sentence, the Rude Pundit offers the following three thousand words:
Reagan's own faith may have been personal, but that motherfucker poured buckets of Jesus jizz into the political well, poisoning it for good. As the Associated Baptist Press put it upon Ronnie's big move to Hell, "Reagan is credited with bringing the Religious Right fully into the Republican fold." And he did it because he didn't want to lose the Republican nomination for a second time. When Romney, Huckabee, and all other desperate, craven politicians invoke faith as a reason to vote for them, they are reading from the first chapter of the Reagan playbook.
Davis asks, as if she's making some kind of mighty point, "Can't we go back to respecting the privacy of religious faith and stop using God as a campaign tool?" To which one can only answer, "Sure would love to, Pats, if only your dead Dad hadn't fucked it up to begin with."
Several readers have sent links to Ronald Reagan's spawn, Patti Davis, dissing Republican presidential candidates for daring to compare themselves to her apparently above reproach father (also known in his later years as "the pudding that was President"). Giddy, some are, that the product of the Gipper's spooge is telling Mike Huckabee and Mitt Romney, "OMG, STFU, guys."
Davis, Playboy model and author of the wannabe erotic book Bondage, offers a stunning statement talking about Romney's "Mormons won't eat you" speech: she says it was "something my father would never have dreamed of doing because his faith was, well, personal."
To rebut this ludicrous-on-its-bukkakked-face sentence, the Rude Pundit offers the following three thousand words:
Reagan's own faith may have been personal, but that motherfucker poured buckets of Jesus jizz into the political well, poisoning it for good. As the Associated Baptist Press put it upon Ronnie's big move to Hell, "Reagan is credited with bringing the Religious Right fully into the Republican fold." And he did it because he didn't want to lose the Republican nomination for a second time. When Romney, Huckabee, and all other desperate, craven politicians invoke faith as a reason to vote for them, they are reading from the first chapter of the Reagan playbook.
Davis asks, as if she's making some kind of mighty point, "Can't we go back to respecting the privacy of religious faith and stop using God as a campaign tool?" To which one can only answer, "Sure would love to, Pats, if only your dead Dad hadn't fucked it up to begin with."
1/01/2008
End of the Year Haiku, Part Two: Rude Readers Write Poems:
On this first day of 2008, the Rude Pundit awoke, his sheets still damp with sweat, champagne, and MILF juice, wondering if that was his condom stuck on his leg and how much water it'll take to wash the remnants of ecstasy out of his system. Still thinking about how many subjects he didn't even begin to address in his year-end haiku-fest yesterday, like torture and torture tapes, like any of the hideous and mad Republicans running for president, like the degradation of the global climate, like Alberto motherfucking Gonzales, he began to compose lines in his head while making really strong coffee, showering various fluids off him, and drinking the first glass of what would probably be gallons of water. Then the Rude Pundit checked his e-mail, and, lo, a New Year's miracle, dozens of haiku from rude readers, ready and waiting to make January 1 a communal celebration of rudeness looking back on that herpes-scabbed whore of a year, 2007.
Here's a few of the best (with minimal edits):
From Epiphenita:
the year of living less freely
didja see those guys
gang-bang the constitution?
motherfuckers all.
election year sports
we brown folk and queers-
neocons' fav boogeymen-
sick of being used.
From Kenny T:
Double crossed again!
Voted them into power,
then they turned their backs.
From Sefu:
Giddy Subserviance
Kristol and the gang,
certain they're sucked from below,
have lips stained with ass
From Stuart:
Blessed be our soldiers
Who have gone off to die for
Bushes goddamned lie
From BA:
The blood of Iraq
Spilled for a generation
While we play X-box.
From Peter:
Orange and silver
The steady drip of justice
Torture brings freedom
And if you're gonna have one from Peter, you better have two from Paul:
Cheney fucks the corpse
Of waterboarded victim
While Bush beats his meat
New Orleans drowns
In neglect we never see
Halliburton rules
Ahh, rude tips o' the hat to everyone who submitted, even to the people whose work was vaguely retarded or not even close to haiku. Your efforts have helped to slake this godawful thirst. Let us head into what is sure to be a vicious 2008 with a snarl on our faces, our fists clenched, and our boots ready for asses.
On this first day of 2008, the Rude Pundit awoke, his sheets still damp with sweat, champagne, and MILF juice, wondering if that was his condom stuck on his leg and how much water it'll take to wash the remnants of ecstasy out of his system. Still thinking about how many subjects he didn't even begin to address in his year-end haiku-fest yesterday, like torture and torture tapes, like any of the hideous and mad Republicans running for president, like the degradation of the global climate, like Alberto motherfucking Gonzales, he began to compose lines in his head while making really strong coffee, showering various fluids off him, and drinking the first glass of what would probably be gallons of water. Then the Rude Pundit checked his e-mail, and, lo, a New Year's miracle, dozens of haiku from rude readers, ready and waiting to make January 1 a communal celebration of rudeness looking back on that herpes-scabbed whore of a year, 2007.
Here's a few of the best (with minimal edits):
From Epiphenita:
the year of living less freely
didja see those guys
gang-bang the constitution?
motherfuckers all.
election year sports
we brown folk and queers-
neocons' fav boogeymen-
sick of being used.
From Kenny T:
Double crossed again!
Voted them into power,
then they turned their backs.
From Sefu:
Giddy Subserviance
Kristol and the gang,
certain they're sucked from below,
have lips stained with ass
From Stuart:
Blessed be our soldiers
Who have gone off to die for
Bushes goddamned lie
From BA:
The blood of Iraq
Spilled for a generation
While we play X-box.
From Peter:
Orange and silver
The steady drip of justice
Torture brings freedom
And if you're gonna have one from Peter, you better have two from Paul:
Cheney fucks the corpse
Of waterboarded victim
While Bush beats his meat
New Orleans drowns
In neglect we never see
Halliburton rules
Ahh, rude tips o' the hat to everyone who submitted, even to the people whose work was vaguely retarded or not even close to haiku. Your efforts have helped to slake this godawful thirst. Let us head into what is sure to be a vicious 2008 with a snarl on our faces, our fists clenched, and our boots ready for asses.
12/31/2007
End of the Year Haiku:
At the ass end of a truly awful year for this America, the Rude Pundit offers a few of those delicate Japanese poems, deflowered like Jamie Lynn Spears after a cough syrup bender:
Democratsy
Pelosi and Reid
Cowered like emo singers
With bleeding hem'rrhoids.
The Cold Jail Cell Sits Empty
Karl Rove slithered home.
Scooter Libby skated free.
Cheney smirked slyly.
Worst Year So Far, Part 1: The View from the White House
One can only be
Commander-in-chief atop
A stack of corpses.
Worst Year So Far, Part 2: The View from Iraq
The last one to die,
The last lit match, will just be
The last one to die.
Worst Year So Far, Part 3: The View from the Homeland
Rats at Walter Reed
At least have homes and lower
Rates of suicide.
More haiku later.
And feel free to toss in your own three line creations. Send 'em to the usual: rudepundit[at]yahoo[dot]com. The Rude Pundit will post the best ones tomorrow.
At the ass end of a truly awful year for this America, the Rude Pundit offers a few of those delicate Japanese poems, deflowered like Jamie Lynn Spears after a cough syrup bender:
Democratsy
Pelosi and Reid
Cowered like emo singers
With bleeding hem'rrhoids.
The Cold Jail Cell Sits Empty
Karl Rove slithered home.
Scooter Libby skated free.
Cheney smirked slyly.
Worst Year So Far, Part 1: The View from the White House
One can only be
Commander-in-chief atop
A stack of corpses.
Worst Year So Far, Part 2: The View from Iraq
The last one to die,
The last lit match, will just be
The last one to die.
Worst Year So Far, Part 3: The View from the Homeland
Rats at Walter Reed
At least have homes and lower
Rates of suicide.
More haiku later.
And feel free to toss in your own three line creations. Send 'em to the usual: rudepundit[at]yahoo[dot]com. The Rude Pundit will post the best ones tomorrow.
12/28/2007
How Some Presidential Candidates Fuck Bhutto's Corpse:
The Rude Pundit's not gonna attempt to be any kind of pseudo-expert on Pakistani politics and history. The comments he has about the assassination of Benazir Bhutto can be reduced to three: 1. If Pervez Musharraf didn't know about it ahead of time, then he's the worst kind of dictator, the kind who doesn't actually control his country. 2. If he did know about it, even if he simply let it happen, then he's the regular kind of dictator. 3. Either way, Pakistan's screwed, with nukes in the middle of the screwing and the Bush administration somewhere between active incompetence and blithe enabling in this situation, which means, as ever, we're screwed.
What the Rude Pundit doesn't feel like a pretender doing is commenting on the nearly instantaneous necrophilia committed by the various candidates for President to the corpse of Benazir Bhutto. Yep, Bhutto's corpse had barely stopped bleeding when most of the campaigns decided to twist her around so they could take turns fucking her before she turned cold. And, of course, they were cheered on by the media, like the audience at the Theatre des Vampires paying to see nude maidens sucked dry.
Because no one fucks a corpse like someone who looks like the walking dead, Rudy Giuliani made sure that he placed his balls on Bhutto's chin as he fucked her face: "Her death is a reminder that terrorism anywhere — whether in New York, London, Tel-Aviv or Rawalpindi — is an enemy of freedom," he said in a statement. "We must redouble our efforts to win the Terrorists’ War on Us." Giuliani, who also just released his most cynical ad so far (his "God Bless 9/11" TV spot), Bhutto's murder is just another in a continuum of endless violences by vaguely defined "terrorists," as if they're one homogeneous group with a single goal.
And, of course, to Mitt Romney, that's all they are. In a response so idiotic, so droolingly retarded that in olden times he'd've been locked up in a cellar or put into the middle of a forest to die, Romney held forth to John "Hey, Why'd You Leave Me in This Forest?" Gibson on Fox "news" about how Bhutto's death is no different than anything else: "I think what's happened in Pakistan has made more clear in the mind of the American public and perhaps some of our Democratic colleagues as well that what we're dealing with in the global war on terror, this war against violent Jihadism, is not just an effort in Iraq or even extended to Afghanistan, but this is a worldwide effort on the part of violent Jihadists who have as the their intent the collapse of all nations, Islamic as well as Western." He was answering a question on what the U.S. should do if al-Qaeda (another nebulous term) is involved.
He dissertated, "The attacks are not just on Americans and American leaders or even Western leaders, it does include leaders within the world of Islam. There have been death threats and death attacks against General Musharraf. There have been attacks and threats of attack against Madam Bhutto before, so we're facing a world which sees a dramatic growth in violent Jihad, and we're going to have to gather together the civilized nations of the world to help strengthen the ability of moderate, modern Islamic people and leaders for them to reject the extreme, because ultimately, only Muslims are going to be able to reject violent radical Jihadism." If that makes a goddamn bit of sense to you, then you are probably Mormon. Which means Romney fucked Bhutto's corpse missionary style.
Of course, Romney put the conversation up on his website. Romney began his response to dead Bhutto with a journey into stupidity. Asked what he'd do now if he was president, he said he'd gather his advisers and call Musharraf. That's real fuckin' leadership there.
Mike Huckabee, being from Arkansas, fucked the corpse from behind, releasing a statement that said, "The terrible violence surrounding Pakistan’s upcoming election stands in stark contrast to the peaceful transition of power that we embrace in our country through our Constitution. On this sad day, we are reminded that while our democracy has flaws, it stands as a shining beacon of hope for nations and people around the world who seek peace and opportunity through self-government." Man, Huckabee must have been kickass at funerals back in his preacher days: "Yeah, sad that the fucker's dead, but, hey, ain't it awesome that we're alive? Now, let's dance, bitches."
Compare this with, say, Hillary Clinton's official statement, which focuses on Bhutto and the other victims of the bombing. And, standing above them all, John Edwards, who not only spoke to Musharraf seemingly before President Bush, but released a strong and compassionate statement.
(Caveats: This ignores the fucktarded nonsense spouted by Evan Bayh for Hillary or by Obama's adviser. And, well, fuck, it bears mentioning that John McCain was the only Republican to release a decent statement.)
The Rude Pundit's not gonna attempt to be any kind of pseudo-expert on Pakistani politics and history. The comments he has about the assassination of Benazir Bhutto can be reduced to three: 1. If Pervez Musharraf didn't know about it ahead of time, then he's the worst kind of dictator, the kind who doesn't actually control his country. 2. If he did know about it, even if he simply let it happen, then he's the regular kind of dictator. 3. Either way, Pakistan's screwed, with nukes in the middle of the screwing and the Bush administration somewhere between active incompetence and blithe enabling in this situation, which means, as ever, we're screwed.
What the Rude Pundit doesn't feel like a pretender doing is commenting on the nearly instantaneous necrophilia committed by the various candidates for President to the corpse of Benazir Bhutto. Yep, Bhutto's corpse had barely stopped bleeding when most of the campaigns decided to twist her around so they could take turns fucking her before she turned cold. And, of course, they were cheered on by the media, like the audience at the Theatre des Vampires paying to see nude maidens sucked dry.
Because no one fucks a corpse like someone who looks like the walking dead, Rudy Giuliani made sure that he placed his balls on Bhutto's chin as he fucked her face: "Her death is a reminder that terrorism anywhere — whether in New York, London, Tel-Aviv or Rawalpindi — is an enemy of freedom," he said in a statement. "We must redouble our efforts to win the Terrorists’ War on Us." Giuliani, who also just released his most cynical ad so far (his "God Bless 9/11" TV spot), Bhutto's murder is just another in a continuum of endless violences by vaguely defined "terrorists," as if they're one homogeneous group with a single goal.
And, of course, to Mitt Romney, that's all they are. In a response so idiotic, so droolingly retarded that in olden times he'd've been locked up in a cellar or put into the middle of a forest to die, Romney held forth to John "Hey, Why'd You Leave Me in This Forest?" Gibson on Fox "news" about how Bhutto's death is no different than anything else: "I think what's happened in Pakistan has made more clear in the mind of the American public and perhaps some of our Democratic colleagues as well that what we're dealing with in the global war on terror, this war against violent Jihadism, is not just an effort in Iraq or even extended to Afghanistan, but this is a worldwide effort on the part of violent Jihadists who have as the their intent the collapse of all nations, Islamic as well as Western." He was answering a question on what the U.S. should do if al-Qaeda (another nebulous term) is involved.
He dissertated, "The attacks are not just on Americans and American leaders or even Western leaders, it does include leaders within the world of Islam. There have been death threats and death attacks against General Musharraf. There have been attacks and threats of attack against Madam Bhutto before, so we're facing a world which sees a dramatic growth in violent Jihad, and we're going to have to gather together the civilized nations of the world to help strengthen the ability of moderate, modern Islamic people and leaders for them to reject the extreme, because ultimately, only Muslims are going to be able to reject violent radical Jihadism." If that makes a goddamn bit of sense to you, then you are probably Mormon. Which means Romney fucked Bhutto's corpse missionary style.
Of course, Romney put the conversation up on his website. Romney began his response to dead Bhutto with a journey into stupidity. Asked what he'd do now if he was president, he said he'd gather his advisers and call Musharraf. That's real fuckin' leadership there.
Mike Huckabee, being from Arkansas, fucked the corpse from behind, releasing a statement that said, "The terrible violence surrounding Pakistan’s upcoming election stands in stark contrast to the peaceful transition of power that we embrace in our country through our Constitution. On this sad day, we are reminded that while our democracy has flaws, it stands as a shining beacon of hope for nations and people around the world who seek peace and opportunity through self-government." Man, Huckabee must have been kickass at funerals back in his preacher days: "Yeah, sad that the fucker's dead, but, hey, ain't it awesome that we're alive? Now, let's dance, bitches."
Compare this with, say, Hillary Clinton's official statement, which focuses on Bhutto and the other victims of the bombing. And, standing above them all, John Edwards, who not only spoke to Musharraf seemingly before President Bush, but released a strong and compassionate statement.
(Caveats: This ignores the fucktarded nonsense spouted by Evan Bayh for Hillary or by Obama's adviser. And, well, fuck, it bears mentioning that John McCain was the only Republican to release a decent statement.)
12/27/2007
Bush to Congress: "Thanks For the Iraq Blood Money, and, Hey, Fuck You":
Has any President ever been as much of a petulant cocksucker as George W. Bush? Motherfucker got war funding the way he wanted it in a budget bill that was, as ever, filled with pork like the fattest dumpling in Chinatown. This is nothing new. With nary a peep, Bush signed the 2005 budget, which took until December 2004 to pass, from the Republican-led Congress; it contained such tasty treats in it like almost $22.8 million for "Implementation and quantification of benefits of large-scale landscaping along freeways and interchanges in the Houston region" and $2.75 million to "renovate and expand" the National Packard Museum and its facilities in Warren, Ohio. Warren's member of Congress then, Republican Rob Portman, was not excoriated for wanting that fine automobile to have an even finer museum. And, to show how grateful it was to the nation that helped fund its Packer Museum, the district elected Jean Schmidt in 2005 when Portman became U.S. Trade Representative.
This year, though, Bush said, "I am disappointed in the way the Congress compiled this legislation, including abandoning the goal I set early this year to reduce the number and cost of earmarks by half. Instead, the Congress dropped into the bill nearly 9,800 earmarks that total more than $10 billion. These projects are not funded through a merit-based process and provide a vehicle for wasteful Government spending." You got that? See, finally, after years of winking and letting the Republican-led Congress tear through money like a Blackwater Humvee through the streets of Kirkuk, Bush made it a "goal" to cut earmarks in half. His Office of Budget and Management, previously known in the White House as "those poins and pinheads who think they know something about budgets when Dick Cheney really knows all," put up a site where you could get all seething and upset at things like, you know, a couple mill to renovate a fucking museum for a car.
By the way, the Bush administration considers FY 2005 as the "benchmark" for cutting earmarks by that magical 50%. As they were at least a little frightened of losing power in the upcoming election, in 2004, the Republican-led Congress acted like meth-addicted looters after an earthquake: "In fiscal year 2005, there were 13,492 earmarks totaling $18,944,327,000 for appropriations accounts." This year, in the first budget under the new Democratic-led Congress, there were, as Bush said, "nearly 9,800 earmarks" that came in at a little more than $10 billion. By any measure, that's a big damn cut. So, really and truly, George W. Bush and the bags of douche, who wander around like lamed bitch chihuahuas whining about "earmarks," can go eat a bowl of fuck.
'Cause, see, unless he gets everything he says he wants, George W. Bush will stomp his widdle feet. He's like the kid on Christmas morning who got a Wii but is throwing a fit because his Mom didn't get him some goddamn Zelda game to go with it. And, as ever, when Bush doesn't get his way, he'll fuckin' weasel his way out of, let's say, obeying the law: "Finally, this legislation contains certain provisions similar to those found in prior appropriations bills passed by the Congress that might be construed to be inconsistent with my Constitutional responsibilities. To avoid such potential infirmities, the executive branch will interpret and construe such provisions in the same manner as I have previously stated in regard to similar provisions." So it'll be signing statement-palooza, like usual, like back in 2005.
Earmark inclusions are the way the budget battle goes. $10 billion for, mostly, roads and other infrastructure improvement that the states desperately need in exchange for $70 billion to run a futile war no one wants for just a few months more. That's compromise at it's most cynical, and, truly, the pissy little president should count his fucking blessings that he isn't facing real opposition from the Democrats or anyone with guts from his own party.
Has any President ever been as much of a petulant cocksucker as George W. Bush? Motherfucker got war funding the way he wanted it in a budget bill that was, as ever, filled with pork like the fattest dumpling in Chinatown. This is nothing new. With nary a peep, Bush signed the 2005 budget, which took until December 2004 to pass, from the Republican-led Congress; it contained such tasty treats in it like almost $22.8 million for "Implementation and quantification of benefits of large-scale landscaping along freeways and interchanges in the Houston region" and $2.75 million to "renovate and expand" the National Packard Museum and its facilities in Warren, Ohio. Warren's member of Congress then, Republican Rob Portman, was not excoriated for wanting that fine automobile to have an even finer museum. And, to show how grateful it was to the nation that helped fund its Packer Museum, the district elected Jean Schmidt in 2005 when Portman became U.S. Trade Representative.
This year, though, Bush said, "I am disappointed in the way the Congress compiled this legislation, including abandoning the goal I set early this year to reduce the number and cost of earmarks by half. Instead, the Congress dropped into the bill nearly 9,800 earmarks that total more than $10 billion. These projects are not funded through a merit-based process and provide a vehicle for wasteful Government spending." You got that? See, finally, after years of winking and letting the Republican-led Congress tear through money like a Blackwater Humvee through the streets of Kirkuk, Bush made it a "goal" to cut earmarks in half. His Office of Budget and Management, previously known in the White House as "those poins and pinheads who think they know something about budgets when Dick Cheney really knows all," put up a site where you could get all seething and upset at things like, you know, a couple mill to renovate a fucking museum for a car.
By the way, the Bush administration considers FY 2005 as the "benchmark" for cutting earmarks by that magical 50%. As they were at least a little frightened of losing power in the upcoming election, in 2004, the Republican-led Congress acted like meth-addicted looters after an earthquake: "In fiscal year 2005, there were 13,492 earmarks totaling $18,944,327,000 for appropriations accounts." This year, in the first budget under the new Democratic-led Congress, there were, as Bush said, "nearly 9,800 earmarks" that came in at a little more than $10 billion. By any measure, that's a big damn cut. So, really and truly, George W. Bush and the bags of douche, who wander around like lamed bitch chihuahuas whining about "earmarks," can go eat a bowl of fuck.
'Cause, see, unless he gets everything he says he wants, George W. Bush will stomp his widdle feet. He's like the kid on Christmas morning who got a Wii but is throwing a fit because his Mom didn't get him some goddamn Zelda game to go with it. And, as ever, when Bush doesn't get his way, he'll fuckin' weasel his way out of, let's say, obeying the law: "Finally, this legislation contains certain provisions similar to those found in prior appropriations bills passed by the Congress that might be construed to be inconsistent with my Constitutional responsibilities. To avoid such potential infirmities, the executive branch will interpret and construe such provisions in the same manner as I have previously stated in regard to similar provisions." So it'll be signing statement-palooza, like usual, like back in 2005.
Earmark inclusions are the way the budget battle goes. $10 billion for, mostly, roads and other infrastructure improvement that the states desperately need in exchange for $70 billion to run a futile war no one wants for just a few months more. That's compromise at it's most cynical, and, truly, the pissy little president should count his fucking blessings that he isn't facing real opposition from the Democrats or anyone with guts from his own party.
12/26/2007
Why Ann Coulter Is a Cunt (Eating Their Own Edition):
Because in her latest column (if by "column," you mean, "an aborted mutant, with twisted limbs horribly contorted by the poisons in blonde dye, desperately gasping to be killed"), Coulter tries to make Mike "Women Must Submit Graciously to Their Husband-Masters" Huckabee appear to be a raving liberal who parties with Howard Zinn and Gloria Steinem. And while the Rude Pundit ain't defending the former Arkansas governor who is, you know, insane, there's something just through-the-looking-glass fucked up in seeing Coulter (and Mitt "I Couldn't Be More Fucking Desperate" Romney) say, as she does on immigration policy, "[T]his puts Huckabee just a little to the left of Dennis Kucinich."
Toss into that at least three fat jokes, since Huckabee used to be a chunky motherfucker, har-de-har-har, and a good racist line or two, as in, "Huckabee has said illegal immigration gives Americans a chance to make up for slavery. (I thought letting O.J. walk for murdering two people was payback for slavery.)" And, by gum, you've done your writing for the week.
One of the best bloodsports in politics occurs when conservatives eat their own. And seeing Coulter and Rush Limbaugh attempt to tear Huckabee into bite-sized morsels is pleasurable in a way not unakin to watching that video of a Komodo dragon swallowing a wild pig. You wanna feel sorry for the wild pig, but you really can't since, chances are, given the opportunity, that hairy fucker'd turn on you and try to gnaw on your balls.
Because in her latest column (if by "column," you mean, "an aborted mutant, with twisted limbs horribly contorted by the poisons in blonde dye, desperately gasping to be killed"), Coulter tries to make Mike "Women Must Submit Graciously to Their Husband-Masters" Huckabee appear to be a raving liberal who parties with Howard Zinn and Gloria Steinem. And while the Rude Pundit ain't defending the former Arkansas governor who is, you know, insane, there's something just through-the-looking-glass fucked up in seeing Coulter (and Mitt "I Couldn't Be More Fucking Desperate" Romney) say, as she does on immigration policy, "[T]his puts Huckabee just a little to the left of Dennis Kucinich."
Toss into that at least three fat jokes, since Huckabee used to be a chunky motherfucker, har-de-har-har, and a good racist line or two, as in, "Huckabee has said illegal immigration gives Americans a chance to make up for slavery. (I thought letting O.J. walk for murdering two people was payback for slavery.)" And, by gum, you've done your writing for the week.
One of the best bloodsports in politics occurs when conservatives eat their own. And seeing Coulter and Rush Limbaugh attempt to tear Huckabee into bite-sized morsels is pleasurable in a way not unakin to watching that video of a Komodo dragon swallowing a wild pig. You wanna feel sorry for the wild pig, but you really can't since, chances are, given the opportunity, that hairy fucker'd turn on you and try to gnaw on your balls.
In Brief: New Mexico Clinic Fires:
Clark Kent duty calls for a while. But check out the latest New Mexico family planning clinic fires: two Planned Parenthood offices in Albuquerque. After these and the fire that took out part of another clinic a couple of weeks ago, one wonders if instead of calling it simply "arson," we could call it, oh, hell, howzabout "homegrown terrorism"? Oh, yeah, that's right. They're only terrorists if they're Muslim. Silly mistake.
Back later with more tasty rudeness.
Clark Kent duty calls for a while. But check out the latest New Mexico family planning clinic fires: two Planned Parenthood offices in Albuquerque. After these and the fire that took out part of another clinic a couple of weeks ago, one wonders if instead of calling it simply "arson," we could call it, oh, hell, howzabout "homegrown terrorism"? Oh, yeah, that's right. They're only terrorists if they're Muslim. Silly mistake.
Back later with more tasty rudeness.
12/25/2007
Christmas Reruns:
Let's look back on the halcyon days of 2005, and "The Pre-Emptive War Against Christmas." It's sort of the Charlie Brown TV special of this blog. Or maybe the Grinch. No, more like Rudolph's Shiny New Year. Yeah, that's it.
Let's look back on the halcyon days of 2005, and "The Pre-Emptive War Against Christmas." It's sort of the Charlie Brown TV special of this blog. Or maybe the Grinch. No, more like Rudolph's Shiny New Year. Yeah, that's it.
In Brief: Why Dinesh D'Souza Ought To Be Sodomized With a Myrrh Tree:
Because he wrote: "[E]ven atheists should, for once, set aside their deep-seated resentments and hatreds and say, even if in a lower voice so that no one else can hear, 'Thank God for Christianity.'" And he wasn't being ironic.
Because he wrote: "[E]ven atheists should, for once, set aside their deep-seated resentments and hatreds and say, even if in a lower voice so that no one else can hear, 'Thank God for Christianity.'" And he wasn't being ironic.
12/24/2007
Photos That Make the Rude Pundit Want to Drink Egg Nog Until He Pukes:
Last week, a couple of days before retiring to one of the big damn compounds at which he vacations, President Bush made his way to Walter Reed to give out a few Purple Hearts and to get his picture taken with wounded soldiers, but not the too-skeevy, burn-scarred, brain damaged ones. Ones with nice clean wounds. For better photo-ops.
Here he is with Army Spc. John C. Hoxie from Philippi, West Virginia. On August 21, Hoxie was near an IED that exploded south of Baghdad. And then he was shot. He lost his left hand and his left leg. His right leg was mangled. He suffered "internal injuries," too. He'll finally get to go home late next year.
The point here is not whether or not Hoxie is proud of his service. It's not even the level of care he's receiving at Walter Reed (which his father praises). The point is the picture, of the crippled boy and the standing man.
Said the standing man, "Every time I come to a facility like this I count my blessings." So what the standing man learned from the crippled boy is "Better him than me." And then he gave the crippled boy a medal for getting crippled.
Last week, a couple of days before retiring to one of the big damn compounds at which he vacations, President Bush made his way to Walter Reed to give out a few Purple Hearts and to get his picture taken with wounded soldiers, but not the too-skeevy, burn-scarred, brain damaged ones. Ones with nice clean wounds. For better photo-ops.
Here he is with Army Spc. John C. Hoxie from Philippi, West Virginia. On August 21, Hoxie was near an IED that exploded south of Baghdad. And then he was shot. He lost his left hand and his left leg. His right leg was mangled. He suffered "internal injuries," too. He'll finally get to go home late next year.
The point here is not whether or not Hoxie is proud of his service. It's not even the level of care he's receiving at Walter Reed (which his father praises). The point is the picture, of the crippled boy and the standing man.
Said the standing man, "Every time I come to a facility like this I count my blessings." So what the standing man learned from the crippled boy is "Better him than me." And then he gave the crippled boy a medal for getting crippled.
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