President Believes Growth in Economy Equals Growth in His Cock:
The Rude Pundit is not an economist. There are many, many good economists who can give you the skinny on what the sudden ejaculatory spurt in spending means in relation to an economy in the toilet. The best-known and most vicious little motherfucker of them is Paul Krugman of the New York Times , a man who, set loose of censorship standards, might out-rude the Rude Pundit. Here he is on those third quarter numbers. No, the Rude Pundit is not an economist; he just knows a helluva lot more about most things than you do. So here's the analysis of the estimated 7.2 percent growth:
Back a couple of months ago, the tax cuts that were passed gave a shitload of money to the rich. But part of the tax cuts, the part that Republicans had to be bitch-slapped into accepting, involved giving money to the middle and lower class majority of the population in the form of a higher credit for spawning children. 400 bucks worth for your sentient seed and egg (side note here: if the anti-choice people want to declare a fetus a "person" whose life is protected, does that mean we can claim the fetus for a tax credit?). Now, poor people being poor people, and middle class people being in crippling debt, 400 bucks makes for one nice little blow out party. Or maybe some socks for the kids. Or some quality time with porno and beer for dad. So, poor being poor and middle class not knowing how to save worth a good goddamn, the money was spent, poof, gone. Most of it went to Wal-Mart or stores at the mall to buy fine clothing or goods made in Asian sweatshops, so, really, your 400 bucks went to line the pockets of executives (taxed less now for them) and to enslave many more Indonesian children so you can have cheap t-shirts.
Ahh, what a fine toast they must have had yesterday, all of those big money executives in a secret chamber under the Stock Exchange, with Thai hookers servicing them under the tables and African manservants bringing them the skulls of Chinese prisoners to drink their blood-tainted wine. Mmm, mmm, mmm, what a delicious time for the capitalists.
See, the Rude Pundit is no economist. But he knows a scam when he sees one. He can smell bullshit a mile away. And when the jobless rate doesn't change despite all the gleeful spending of $400 checks, he knows we live in stinky times.
The President will crow, "The tax relief we passed is working. We left more money in the hands of the American people, and the American people are moving this economy forward," jabbering and dancing while corporate America turns the hurdy-gurdy and laughs at the dancing monkey.
10/29/2003
No, Really, Somebody Tell the President About the Goddamn Rabbits:
What a strange worm this man, this President, this Bush, is. What a craven, buck passing, spineless little bit of spittle on the sidewalk. How can Americans anywhere walk around with any sense of self-respect knowing that our friggin' Commander in Chief can't even admit that he fucked up when his masters hung a banner reading "Mission Accomplished" as his backdrop when he declared an end to major combat in Iraq during his little G.I. George moment on the aircraft carrier Abraham Lincoln? (And let's not even get into the symbolism of the name of the ship.) Here's your leader, fearless in the face of reporters at a press conference called so hastily that Wolf Blitzer barely had time to comb his face. When asked about that banner, Bush responded, in that voice that sounds like you just told him the keg is empty and he has to take sloppy seconds on the passed out coed, "The 'Mission Accomplished' sign, of course, was put up by the members of the USS Abraham Lincoln, saying that their mission was accomplished. I know it was attributed somehow to some ingenious advance man from my staff - they weren't that ingenious." And then he laughed insanely and drank fresh blood out of the head of an American soldier.
'Cause, you know, when you've been out fighting a war, the first thing you're thinking when you're about to get to port and the White House calls and says to keep your grunt ass in the ocean until the flyboy king can play pilot and get his picher taken with the boys in uniform, the first thing on your mind at that moment isn't "Jesus Fucking Christ, there better be some hot, civilian ass in a mini-skirt and no panties waiting for me with a six pack, an eight ball, and a key to a motel room so I can bust a nut between her heaving titties and . . . wait . . . what do you mean I gotta stay here and jack off in my bunk until that pussy Prez leaves?" Nope, according to Bush, the first thing really on your mind is, "Oh, my, the President is coming. I'd better straighten up the place. I'd better call the Kinko's fly-to-the-fucking-middle-of-the-ocean delivery service to make a nice banner. Hmmm, what should it say? Even though thousands of my buddies are still getting murdered like pigs in a slaughterhouse, I think I'd like to say that the mission is, hmmmm, accomplished?"
Of course, this Oval Office dickhead can't even get his stories straight. From May, here's the New York Times with the story fed to us at that point. Goddamnit, sometimes he's so fucking stupid, cruel, and unenlightened that the evil, vile Karl Rove must be tempted to show him the rabbits and get Timothy Bottoms in there to take over.
What a strange worm this man, this President, this Bush, is. What a craven, buck passing, spineless little bit of spittle on the sidewalk. How can Americans anywhere walk around with any sense of self-respect knowing that our friggin' Commander in Chief can't even admit that he fucked up when his masters hung a banner reading "Mission Accomplished" as his backdrop when he declared an end to major combat in Iraq during his little G.I. George moment on the aircraft carrier Abraham Lincoln? (And let's not even get into the symbolism of the name of the ship.) Here's your leader, fearless in the face of reporters at a press conference called so hastily that Wolf Blitzer barely had time to comb his face. When asked about that banner, Bush responded, in that voice that sounds like you just told him the keg is empty and he has to take sloppy seconds on the passed out coed, "The 'Mission Accomplished' sign, of course, was put up by the members of the USS Abraham Lincoln, saying that their mission was accomplished. I know it was attributed somehow to some ingenious advance man from my staff - they weren't that ingenious." And then he laughed insanely and drank fresh blood out of the head of an American soldier.
'Cause, you know, when you've been out fighting a war, the first thing you're thinking when you're about to get to port and the White House calls and says to keep your grunt ass in the ocean until the flyboy king can play pilot and get his picher taken with the boys in uniform, the first thing on your mind at that moment isn't "Jesus Fucking Christ, there better be some hot, civilian ass in a mini-skirt and no panties waiting for me with a six pack, an eight ball, and a key to a motel room so I can bust a nut between her heaving titties and . . . wait . . . what do you mean I gotta stay here and jack off in my bunk until that pussy Prez leaves?" Nope, according to Bush, the first thing really on your mind is, "Oh, my, the President is coming. I'd better straighten up the place. I'd better call the Kinko's fly-to-the-fucking-middle-of-the-ocean delivery service to make a nice banner. Hmmm, what should it say? Even though thousands of my buddies are still getting murdered like pigs in a slaughterhouse, I think I'd like to say that the mission is, hmmmm, accomplished?"
Of course, this Oval Office dickhead can't even get his stories straight. From May, here's the New York Times with the story fed to us at that point. Goddamnit, sometimes he's so fucking stupid, cruel, and unenlightened that the evil, vile Karl Rove must be tempted to show him the rabbits and get Timothy Bottoms in there to take over.
Too Republican To Fuck:
Do you think President of Vice Dick Cheney still fucks his wife, Lynne? Do you think she lays naked in bed at the regal VP residence, legs akimbo, blood engorged clitoris red, wet, and pulsing with desire for her husband, who stares at her from the foot of the bed, still wearing his t-shirt and socks, waiting for those delicious anticipatory seconds before the Viagra kicks in and he's hammering away at her like he's nailing Jesus to the cross? Or for that matter, do you think Sen. Orrin Hatch bones his wife, Elaine, while the stereo blares his CD, My God Is Love (a title that the late Barry White could have intoned), and a picture of Brigham Young staring down approvingly? What about the President and Laura? Do you think he gives a high-pitched girly giggle every time Laura touches his cock?
The Rude Pundit thinks not. Because, you see, at every turn of the policy, conservative Republicans attempt to shut down anything that has to do with fucking. Rep. Henry Waxman has discovered what he calls a "hit list" of NIH-funded researchers into things sexual, like HIV, in an attempt to intimidate (and one supposes de-fund) those who say that fucking happens. Or the administration's refusal to give funds to international agencies for women's health care, HIV/AIDS help, or general social good if that agency has anything to do with abortion, thus holding up the promised funds for Africa. Or the fact that what really makes conservatives is not getting fucked in high school, so, goddamnit, there better be abstinence-only teaching, or we'll audit your secular ass.
Fucking is good for the soul. God likes fucking. The Rude Pundit says go forth and fuck (safely, please, because you might end up fucking the Rude Pundit some day).
Do you think President of Vice Dick Cheney still fucks his wife, Lynne? Do you think she lays naked in bed at the regal VP residence, legs akimbo, blood engorged clitoris red, wet, and pulsing with desire for her husband, who stares at her from the foot of the bed, still wearing his t-shirt and socks, waiting for those delicious anticipatory seconds before the Viagra kicks in and he's hammering away at her like he's nailing Jesus to the cross? Or for that matter, do you think Sen. Orrin Hatch bones his wife, Elaine, while the stereo blares his CD, My God Is Love (a title that the late Barry White could have intoned), and a picture of Brigham Young staring down approvingly? What about the President and Laura? Do you think he gives a high-pitched girly giggle every time Laura touches his cock?
The Rude Pundit thinks not. Because, you see, at every turn of the policy, conservative Republicans attempt to shut down anything that has to do with fucking. Rep. Henry Waxman has discovered what he calls a "hit list" of NIH-funded researchers into things sexual, like HIV, in an attempt to intimidate (and one supposes de-fund) those who say that fucking happens. Or the administration's refusal to give funds to international agencies for women's health care, HIV/AIDS help, or general social good if that agency has anything to do with abortion, thus holding up the promised funds for Africa. Or the fact that what really makes conservatives is not getting fucked in high school, so, goddamnit, there better be abstinence-only teaching, or we'll audit your secular ass.
Fucking is good for the soul. God likes fucking. The Rude Pundit says go forth and fuck (safely, please, because you might end up fucking the Rude Pundit some day).
10/28/2003
A Few Brief Notes About Celebrities:
Cher - Who the fuck would have thought that not only does the last functioning gay icon (Liza Minnelli doesn't count) have a political soul, but that she's willing to bare it in the way she has bared her ass so many times before? Here she is, on C-SPAN, no less, talking about her visit to wounded soldiers at Walter Reed Medical Center. And she has the balls to openly criticize Bush, Cheney, and the band about not visiting wounded soldiers. Unlike, say, Lincoln, Truman, and other Presidents, the wounded for Bush are like the crazy, deformed nephew you keep in the cellar, hoping he can survive on rats and trash and hoping the neighbors don't find out about him. And the returning dead are like so much dust swept under the rug. Cameras and press are not allowed to cover the return of dead soldiers. And, unlike, say, Schwarzenegger, here's Cher, a celebrity willing to be questioned, be honest, and be a goddamned American citizen.
Kobe - You know, the Rude Pundit generally doesn't give a damn about sports. The Rude Pundit doesn't give two shits about celebrity trials. The Rude Pundit believes that such things are corporate-created distractions from the real problems of the country, like, say, health insurance or unemployment. But something here bears comment: Who knows if Kobe raped the woman in Colorado? Right now, only Kobe and the woman can be sure. And, fuck, it doesn't mean that Kobe should be fired or hated or anything at the moment. But, c'mon, when the crowd at a Vegas exhibition game cheered, fucking cheered when Kobe walked out, when people in the crowd "greeted him with signs proclaiming his innocence on rape charges," something is seriously wrong with the culture. The intensity of sports worship is so strong that it doesn't matter that Kobe may have raped a woman? Man, the Rude Pundit hopes the people who hoisted those signs high will feel suicidally depressed if it turns out Kobe did it. Because what they did at that point was cheer a rapist. And that's just so goddamn sad it's not even worth getting sarcastic about it.
Barbara Bush - The Rude Pundit always knew the President was a son of a bitch, but who knew that his mom would go to such lengths to prove it?
Cher - Who the fuck would have thought that not only does the last functioning gay icon (Liza Minnelli doesn't count) have a political soul, but that she's willing to bare it in the way she has bared her ass so many times before? Here she is, on C-SPAN, no less, talking about her visit to wounded soldiers at Walter Reed Medical Center. And she has the balls to openly criticize Bush, Cheney, and the band about not visiting wounded soldiers. Unlike, say, Lincoln, Truman, and other Presidents, the wounded for Bush are like the crazy, deformed nephew you keep in the cellar, hoping he can survive on rats and trash and hoping the neighbors don't find out about him. And the returning dead are like so much dust swept under the rug. Cameras and press are not allowed to cover the return of dead soldiers. And, unlike, say, Schwarzenegger, here's Cher, a celebrity willing to be questioned, be honest, and be a goddamned American citizen.
Kobe - You know, the Rude Pundit generally doesn't give a damn about sports. The Rude Pundit doesn't give two shits about celebrity trials. The Rude Pundit believes that such things are corporate-created distractions from the real problems of the country, like, say, health insurance or unemployment. But something here bears comment: Who knows if Kobe raped the woman in Colorado? Right now, only Kobe and the woman can be sure. And, fuck, it doesn't mean that Kobe should be fired or hated or anything at the moment. But, c'mon, when the crowd at a Vegas exhibition game cheered, fucking cheered when Kobe walked out, when people in the crowd "greeted him with signs proclaiming his innocence on rape charges," something is seriously wrong with the culture. The intensity of sports worship is so strong that it doesn't matter that Kobe may have raped a woman? Man, the Rude Pundit hopes the people who hoisted those signs high will feel suicidally depressed if it turns out Kobe did it. Because what they did at that point was cheer a rapist. And that's just so goddamn sad it's not even worth getting sarcastic about it.
Barbara Bush - The Rude Pundit always knew the President was a son of a bitch, but who knew that his mom would go to such lengths to prove it?
10/27/2003
Tell Me About the Rabbits, Colin:
At some point here, someone close to him needs to tell the President about the rabbits, tell him to stare out into the field until he can see the rabbits. Because clearly living in the real world is just not possible for this coke-snorting, drunk driving, legacy admitted, corporation-ruining, insider trading, AWOL, ignorant fucker we have in the White House. Not only did this stupid sumbitch admit to the world that he doesn't read newspapers or watch news, preferring, instead, to get his information from house negro Condi or other liars, but he refuses to tell us the reality of Iraq for two simple reasons: he's too fucking blind from neocon dogma and just plain goddamned old-fashioned, Texas valued stupidity to know any better. How else do you explain his dimwitted response to the multiple bombings in Iraq that killed 40 and injured hundreds? Here's your President, bleating like a sheared sheep, saying that terrorists "can't stand the thought of a free society. They hate freedom. They love terror. They love to try to create fear and chaos," which means that he understands in the most rudimentary way the definition of terrorists. It's like saying that a guy who fucks mules can't stand the thought of fucking anything but mules, can't understand why anyone would want to fuck something that's not a mule, and, by the way, I think I'll fuck this mule.
Jesus Christ, at some fucking point doesn't all this have to come crashing down? All of the lying, stonewalling, and greed? Seriously, if we live in a country that has any shred of self-respect, decency, and common good, doesn't this all have to add up to something? Or are we Americans finally like the abused wife, the one who gets smacked around but keeps going back to her guy no matter how many of her friends and family say he's destroying her.
At some point, what do you say to that woman, that friend who you thought you understood? Eventually, you're going to think she knows better, but she can't help it. She's just too deluded and self-destructive to listen.
At some point here, someone close to him needs to tell the President about the rabbits, tell him to stare out into the field until he can see the rabbits. Because clearly living in the real world is just not possible for this coke-snorting, drunk driving, legacy admitted, corporation-ruining, insider trading, AWOL, ignorant fucker we have in the White House. Not only did this stupid sumbitch admit to the world that he doesn't read newspapers or watch news, preferring, instead, to get his information from house negro Condi or other liars, but he refuses to tell us the reality of Iraq for two simple reasons: he's too fucking blind from neocon dogma and just plain goddamned old-fashioned, Texas valued stupidity to know any better. How else do you explain his dimwitted response to the multiple bombings in Iraq that killed 40 and injured hundreds? Here's your President, bleating like a sheared sheep, saying that terrorists "can't stand the thought of a free society. They hate freedom. They love terror. They love to try to create fear and chaos," which means that he understands in the most rudimentary way the definition of terrorists. It's like saying that a guy who fucks mules can't stand the thought of fucking anything but mules, can't understand why anyone would want to fuck something that's not a mule, and, by the way, I think I'll fuck this mule.
Jesus Christ, at some fucking point doesn't all this have to come crashing down? All of the lying, stonewalling, and greed? Seriously, if we live in a country that has any shred of self-respect, decency, and common good, doesn't this all have to add up to something? Or are we Americans finally like the abused wife, the one who gets smacked around but keeps going back to her guy no matter how many of her friends and family say he's destroying her.
At some point, what do you say to that woman, that friend who you thought you understood? Eventually, you're going to think she knows better, but she can't help it. She's just too deluded and self-destructive to listen.
10/25/2003
Once More, the Mind Needs Settling:
Between Pat Roberts hijacking the investigating process of the Senate Intelligence Committee, more and more troops dying in Iraq, and images of Latino transexuals massaging the sphincter of Antonin Scalia, the Rude Pundit is taking a breather until Monday. Be ready for a week of Halloween fun where we devise tricks and treats for our favorite conservatives. Martha Stewart, beware! Oh, and lots more sodomy jokes. Stay tuned.
Between Pat Roberts hijacking the investigating process of the Senate Intelligence Committee, more and more troops dying in Iraq, and images of Latino transexuals massaging the sphincter of Antonin Scalia, the Rude Pundit is taking a breather until Monday. Be ready for a week of Halloween fun where we devise tricks and treats for our favorite conservatives. Martha Stewart, beware! Oh, and lots more sodomy jokes. Stay tuned.
10/23/2003
Antonin Scalia Needs a Blow Job Really Badly:
And, really, when a head is bobbing on one's crank, does it really matter if that head has five o'clock shadow or not? As long as its tongue is generous and its owner doesn't ignore one's balls? Because, really, and, c'mon, the pleasures of the blow job are multifaceted, maxi-sexual, and, well, you get the idea.
Or not, as apparently is the case with Supreme Court "Justice" Antonin Scalia. In a speech before another one of those on the seemingly fucking endless list of conservative think tanks, groups, and man-boy societies, Scalia held forth in "a mocking tone" on the Supreme Court's decision in the Lawrence v. Texas case, which said that, "You know what? Like most everyone in the free world, we six justices don't give a rat's ass who you consensually fuck and how. And you know what else? The state shouldn't give a rat's ass either" except they put it in lots of legalistic language that involves Latin. That decision was made on June 26 of this year, or as we at the Rude Pundit like to call it, "Sodomy Liberation Day."
But Scalia, joined by his butt boy and lawn jockey, Clarence Thomas, and corpse-that-walks William Rehnquist, in a brutal prison rape of a dissent, where, shaking with barely disguised S&M desire, Scalia declared that the Court had joined with the "homosexual agenda," which as far as can be understood, seems to be "Christ, can't you repressed straights leave us the fuck alone?"
So, here we are, all the way in October, and here's Scalia, speaking before the Intercollegiate Studies Institute, which promotes "Judeo-Christian moral standards," a shorthand way of saying that we'll follow all that peace shit in the New Testament when it suits us, but get all Old Testament vengeful on your fag ass if you fuck with us. And Scalia's leading the group of 800 in the Pledge of Allegiance, and then he tells the group, quivery with desire for the saggy-eyed docent of decency, that scholars are too "liberal" in their interpretations of the Constitution, reading the Lawrence decision in that wonderful jurisprudence tone of mock. Shortly after, Scalia returned to his waiting Lincoln Continental and chastised his driver, Clarence, for missing a smudge of wax on the hood. Clarence, filled with shame for himself and his race, promised swift cleaning and dropped his drawers for a proper spanking.
For the good of the nation, someone needs to hire a tall Latina she-male hooker to visit Scalia in his chambers and go down on the Justice while fingering his hemhorroidal asshole and swollen prostate so that Scalia may experience the ejaculatory joy that is living in the real goddamn world.
And, really, when a head is bobbing on one's crank, does it really matter if that head has five o'clock shadow or not? As long as its tongue is generous and its owner doesn't ignore one's balls? Because, really, and, c'mon, the pleasures of the blow job are multifaceted, maxi-sexual, and, well, you get the idea.
Or not, as apparently is the case with Supreme Court "Justice" Antonin Scalia. In a speech before another one of those on the seemingly fucking endless list of conservative think tanks, groups, and man-boy societies, Scalia held forth in "a mocking tone" on the Supreme Court's decision in the Lawrence v. Texas case, which said that, "You know what? Like most everyone in the free world, we six justices don't give a rat's ass who you consensually fuck and how. And you know what else? The state shouldn't give a rat's ass either" except they put it in lots of legalistic language that involves Latin. That decision was made on June 26 of this year, or as we at the Rude Pundit like to call it, "Sodomy Liberation Day."
But Scalia, joined by his butt boy and lawn jockey, Clarence Thomas, and corpse-that-walks William Rehnquist, in a brutal prison rape of a dissent, where, shaking with barely disguised S&M desire, Scalia declared that the Court had joined with the "homosexual agenda," which as far as can be understood, seems to be "Christ, can't you repressed straights leave us the fuck alone?"
So, here we are, all the way in October, and here's Scalia, speaking before the Intercollegiate Studies Institute, which promotes "Judeo-Christian moral standards," a shorthand way of saying that we'll follow all that peace shit in the New Testament when it suits us, but get all Old Testament vengeful on your fag ass if you fuck with us. And Scalia's leading the group of 800 in the Pledge of Allegiance, and then he tells the group, quivery with desire for the saggy-eyed docent of decency, that scholars are too "liberal" in their interpretations of the Constitution, reading the Lawrence decision in that wonderful jurisprudence tone of mock. Shortly after, Scalia returned to his waiting Lincoln Continental and chastised his driver, Clarence, for missing a smudge of wax on the hood. Clarence, filled with shame for himself and his race, promised swift cleaning and dropped his drawers for a proper spanking.
For the good of the nation, someone needs to hire a tall Latina she-male hooker to visit Scalia in his chambers and go down on the Justice while fingering his hemhorroidal asshole and swollen prostate so that Scalia may experience the ejaculatory joy that is living in the real goddamn world.
Republican Dominatrixes in Congress:
The great thing about bondage is the whole domination thing. See, when master says you're bad, you're supposed to agree. You don't question master or you might find yourself handcuffed to the ceiling of the basement with a ball in your mouth, a vibrator in your ass, and tight clips on your nipples. Yep, slave must listen to master. But remember: in every good bondage relationship, slave must be a willing participant in his/her own degradation; slave must even get off on it, cumming constantly at the thought of the warm cut of master's leather whip.
For most of the last two-plus years, since September 11, 2001, Democrats in Congress have let their Republican masters freely smack their asses, put chains on their collars, and drag them around bare-balled in public. With no resistance, Republicans in the House and Senate have more or less decided they can have their way with the slave Dems. Master wants me to give away our civil rights in the guise of patriotism? Yes, Master. Master wants me to write a blank check for the idiot king to wage unending war? Yes, Master. Master wants to fuck me with a fifteen-inch rubber dildo? Yes, Master.
So it's gotta be a surprise that the slaves are getting restless, starting with the way in which Dems used the filibuster to block extremist judges from getting approval by the Senate. It doesn't mean the slaves will become the dominatrixes, all fishnet, masks, and gloves, but maybe, just maybe, it means they'll get some velvet on those goddamn handcuffs.
Take, for example, the latest cynical attempt to slam through a racist, radical, incompetent, unyielding judge to a Circuit Court position. The Bush Administration thinks that it can deflect criticism by nominating people of different races (see the failed nomination of Miguel Estrada, whose sole qualification appears to be that he's not white). Now, after Republicans accused Dems on the Senate Judiciary Committee of hating Hispanics and Catholics for previous filibustered nominations, they get to call the Dems racist again for opposing the nomination of Janice Rogers Brown, whose sole qualification appears to be that she's African American. Republicans, screaming like constipated baboons, threw slander and hatred at the Democrats' opposition to a woman who screeches the culture wars like so many banshees on the bog: At one speech, she said, "Where government moves in, community retreats, civil society disintegrates and ability to control our own destiny atrophies," leading to "a debased, debauched culture which finds moral depravity entertaining and virtue contemptible." She's a conservative's wet dream.
Slave must continue to be disobedient. At some point, slave must take the whip from master and teach master the sweet kiss of the whip.
The great thing about bondage is the whole domination thing. See, when master says you're bad, you're supposed to agree. You don't question master or you might find yourself handcuffed to the ceiling of the basement with a ball in your mouth, a vibrator in your ass, and tight clips on your nipples. Yep, slave must listen to master. But remember: in every good bondage relationship, slave must be a willing participant in his/her own degradation; slave must even get off on it, cumming constantly at the thought of the warm cut of master's leather whip.
For most of the last two-plus years, since September 11, 2001, Democrats in Congress have let their Republican masters freely smack their asses, put chains on their collars, and drag them around bare-balled in public. With no resistance, Republicans in the House and Senate have more or less decided they can have their way with the slave Dems. Master wants me to give away our civil rights in the guise of patriotism? Yes, Master. Master wants me to write a blank check for the idiot king to wage unending war? Yes, Master. Master wants to fuck me with a fifteen-inch rubber dildo? Yes, Master.
So it's gotta be a surprise that the slaves are getting restless, starting with the way in which Dems used the filibuster to block extremist judges from getting approval by the Senate. It doesn't mean the slaves will become the dominatrixes, all fishnet, masks, and gloves, but maybe, just maybe, it means they'll get some velvet on those goddamn handcuffs.
Take, for example, the latest cynical attempt to slam through a racist, radical, incompetent, unyielding judge to a Circuit Court position. The Bush Administration thinks that it can deflect criticism by nominating people of different races (see the failed nomination of Miguel Estrada, whose sole qualification appears to be that he's not white). Now, after Republicans accused Dems on the Senate Judiciary Committee of hating Hispanics and Catholics for previous filibustered nominations, they get to call the Dems racist again for opposing the nomination of Janice Rogers Brown, whose sole qualification appears to be that she's African American. Republicans, screaming like constipated baboons, threw slander and hatred at the Democrats' opposition to a woman who screeches the culture wars like so many banshees on the bog: At one speech, she said, "Where government moves in, community retreats, civil society disintegrates and ability to control our own destiny atrophies," leading to "a debased, debauched culture which finds moral depravity entertaining and virtue contemptible." She's a conservative's wet dream.
Slave must continue to be disobedient. At some point, slave must take the whip from master and teach master the sweet kiss of the whip.
10/22/2003
Legislating Women's Lives For Fun and Amusement, Part 1:
So, after two tries, they finally did it: Congress finally passed a ban on so-called partial-birth abortion (which, like "pro-life" and "Clean Skies Initiative," is just rhetorical bullshit wording) and the President, who never pauses to think when some action he takes may harm living beings, will sign it and then it'll go to the courts and then the Supreme Court will overturn it and the President and Pennsylvania Senator Rick "Homos Are Icky" Santorum can hug each other and weep over the poor poor fetuses.
Because, you know, Congress really has nothing better to do, like investigating how we got into a war that kills more and more Americans everyday, which everyone knows, wink, wink, was about evil, like the evil of the Satanic cunts that would dare kill their babies with a procedure that is only performed in extreme circumstances and almost never electively and, man, aren't we in a war against evil in all its forms?
Ahh, the sweet, sweet cries of pain from women having illegal abortions are like the trumpets of angels to the righteous.
So, after two tries, they finally did it: Congress finally passed a ban on so-called partial-birth abortion (which, like "pro-life" and "Clean Skies Initiative," is just rhetorical bullshit wording) and the President, who never pauses to think when some action he takes may harm living beings, will sign it and then it'll go to the courts and then the Supreme Court will overturn it and the President and Pennsylvania Senator Rick "Homos Are Icky" Santorum can hug each other and weep over the poor poor fetuses.
Because, you know, Congress really has nothing better to do, like investigating how we got into a war that kills more and more Americans everyday, which everyone knows, wink, wink, was about evil, like the evil of the Satanic cunts that would dare kill their babies with a procedure that is only performed in extreme circumstances and almost never electively and, man, aren't we in a war against evil in all its forms?
Ahh, the sweet, sweet cries of pain from women having illegal abortions are like the trumpets of angels to the righteous.
Legislating Women's Lives For Fun and Amusement, Part 2:
Unlike Theresa Schiavo, the Rude Pundit has a living will. It reads, "Should I ever be in a position physically where I shit myself regularly, drool without regard to public standards of decency, demonstrate my intelligence by staring at a balloon, need my wife to squeeze my colon clean every morning, need tubes to shove the nutritious shake of goo my family calls 'food' into my stomach so that it looks the same when it comes out of the other tube in my asshole, have to be turned regularly to avoid maggots from making a home of my flesh, or cost my loved ones every fucking penny they have to come to my hospital room to watch me drool, shit, and stare at balloons, I may be declared a vegetable, put to sleep, and sent out to sea on a tiny raft so that everyone won't watch me slowly die. Should any government entity wish to stop this process, I want my bed to be placed in the office of said governor or legislator or judge so that person can watch me drool, involuntarily smile, and shit myself. When I finally, after years of suffering, die, I want my body to be stuffed in my final drooling, self-shitting position and put on display like the fucking Ten Commandments in the lobby of the state capitol so that all may know that they contributed to my ongoing living hell of pain, suffering, and shit."
Schiavo, though, despite 13 years of such suffering, must go on living because of the cruelties of faith and parental love and right-wing politics. See, the Florida woman went into a coma after her brain stopped functioning when her heart briefly stopped in 1990. After eight years of desperately trying to save her in ways that are like putting a lightning rod in a carrot so it might walk, her husband, in 1998, attempted to have her feeding tube removed, which would have effectively caused Schiavo to starve to death. Her parents, the courts, and others intervened, despite the general medical consensus that Schiavo is fucked and for Chrissake let her die. Now, the Florida legislature, in-between gutting the school programs and allowing constant executions, passed a bill to specifically allow Governor Jeb Bush to have the feeding tube reinserted. The horror here.
Maybe seeing Schiavo's coma-induced smile reminds him of his daughter after a particular Xanax bender. Either way, Governor Jeb ought to have to attend to Schiavo himself, wiping her ass, listening to her choked breathing.
Unlike Theresa Schiavo, the Rude Pundit has a living will. It reads, "Should I ever be in a position physically where I shit myself regularly, drool without regard to public standards of decency, demonstrate my intelligence by staring at a balloon, need my wife to squeeze my colon clean every morning, need tubes to shove the nutritious shake of goo my family calls 'food' into my stomach so that it looks the same when it comes out of the other tube in my asshole, have to be turned regularly to avoid maggots from making a home of my flesh, or cost my loved ones every fucking penny they have to come to my hospital room to watch me drool, shit, and stare at balloons, I may be declared a vegetable, put to sleep, and sent out to sea on a tiny raft so that everyone won't watch me slowly die. Should any government entity wish to stop this process, I want my bed to be placed in the office of said governor or legislator or judge so that person can watch me drool, involuntarily smile, and shit myself. When I finally, after years of suffering, die, I want my body to be stuffed in my final drooling, self-shitting position and put on display like the fucking Ten Commandments in the lobby of the state capitol so that all may know that they contributed to my ongoing living hell of pain, suffering, and shit."
Schiavo, though, despite 13 years of such suffering, must go on living because of the cruelties of faith and parental love and right-wing politics. See, the Florida woman went into a coma after her brain stopped functioning when her heart briefly stopped in 1990. After eight years of desperately trying to save her in ways that are like putting a lightning rod in a carrot so it might walk, her husband, in 1998, attempted to have her feeding tube removed, which would have effectively caused Schiavo to starve to death. Her parents, the courts, and others intervened, despite the general medical consensus that Schiavo is fucked and for Chrissake let her die. Now, the Florida legislature, in-between gutting the school programs and allowing constant executions, passed a bill to specifically allow Governor Jeb Bush to have the feeding tube reinserted. The horror here.
Maybe seeing Schiavo's coma-induced smile reminds him of his daughter after a particular Xanax bender. Either way, Governor Jeb ought to have to attend to Schiavo himself, wiping her ass, listening to her choked breathing.
10/21/2003
Weekly Reason Bill O'Reilly Should Be Sodomized With a Microphone (Week 4):
Here's the Rude Pundit's tip to would-be television "news" executives: Don't put people with obvious obsessive-compulsive disorder on the air. Bill O'Reilly is like your neighbor's little bitch dog that grabs your newspaper and won't let go no matter how many times you beat the shit out of with a slipper. That little motherfucker is gonna get that paper just to prove it can. So O'Reilly, Fox "news" personality, "commentator," and droopy right nut, won't let go of his pimp-slapping on NPR. O'Reilly went on NPR's Fresh Air to hawk his "book," and host Terry Gross questioned him about his fight with Al Franken, his bullying, and, well, his book. For weeks, O'Reilly has been ranting like the homeless guy on the corner who hears his fleas tell him about Jesus. And, true to the mob mentality of his viewers, many wrote to NPR to complain, although it should be noted that there is a qualitative difference between a well thought out letter and a "fuck-you-you-commie-cunt-for-dissin-
my-Billy-boy-god-I-love-that-man-I-want-to-fuck-him-so-bad-oh-did-I-just-say-that-out-loud" scrawled on a Hooter's napkin.
O'Reilly fairly crows about the NPR Ombudsman saying that the interview was "unfair." However, O'Reilly claims that the Ombudsman "took some shots at me," but leaves it at that. In reality, the Ombudsman's statment essentially laments the whole sordid affair and says that NPR should not give O'Reilly the place to speak his vile brand of self-righteous hatred.
Will O'Reilly finally allow this blow to his apparently boundlessly huge ego alone? Or will he be happy only when the Bush Administration defunds NPR and he gets to piss on the ashes of WHYY, the Philadelphia station that presents Gross's show?
Here's the Rude Pundit's tip to would-be television "news" executives: Don't put people with obvious obsessive-compulsive disorder on the air. Bill O'Reilly is like your neighbor's little bitch dog that grabs your newspaper and won't let go no matter how many times you beat the shit out of with a slipper. That little motherfucker is gonna get that paper just to prove it can. So O'Reilly, Fox "news" personality, "commentator," and droopy right nut, won't let go of his pimp-slapping on NPR. O'Reilly went on NPR's Fresh Air to hawk his "book," and host Terry Gross questioned him about his fight with Al Franken, his bullying, and, well, his book. For weeks, O'Reilly has been ranting like the homeless guy on the corner who hears his fleas tell him about Jesus. And, true to the mob mentality of his viewers, many wrote to NPR to complain, although it should be noted that there is a qualitative difference between a well thought out letter and a "fuck-you-you-commie-cunt-for-dissin-
my-Billy-boy-god-I-love-that-man-I-want-to-fuck-him-so-bad-oh-did-I-just-say-that-out-loud" scrawled on a Hooter's napkin.
O'Reilly fairly crows about the NPR Ombudsman saying that the interview was "unfair." However, O'Reilly claims that the Ombudsman "took some shots at me," but leaves it at that. In reality, the Ombudsman's statment essentially laments the whole sordid affair and says that NPR should not give O'Reilly the place to speak his vile brand of self-righteous hatred.
Will O'Reilly finally allow this blow to his apparently boundlessly huge ego alone? Or will he be happy only when the Bush Administration defunds NPR and he gets to piss on the ashes of WHYY, the Philadelphia station that presents Gross's show?
10/20/2003
Bush-Hating Is the Sport of Kings:
The Rude Pundit has a former friend, call him "Greg," who decided to fuck a 15 year-old when he was 35. Greg did not tell the Rude Pundit until a couple of years later, and then claimed he didn't fuck said under-age girl until she was 18. But the lie wasn't what changed things: it was the fact that Greg had fucked a 15 year-old girl. In other words, whatever qualities Greg might have had a friend, a likeable guy, a buddy, were overwhelmed by the fact of the fucking. And it became impossible to be friends with Greg because every time the Rude Pundit saw him, all the Rude Pundit could think was, "You fucked a child, you bastard." (Why didn't the Rude Pundit turn Greg over to the police? Because, happy fucking ending coming, Greg ended up marrying and having kids with said jailbait.)
The point here is not a moral lesson (although, c'mon, don't fuck the children). The point here is it doesn't matter how much someone can be a great guy or gal when you're sluggin' back the beers. The point is how much can you take. And we who hate President George W. Bush simply can't take it anymore. There's simply no way to say, "Well, he's an okay guy, except for all that lying and mass murder and thievery. But, shit, he treats me like his best bud."
With due respect to Molly Ivins, who writes that she can compartmentalize away all Bush's sins, more and more of us are really like Jonathan Chait of The New Republic, who is out and open and honest about hating the man, not just the policies. Bush is a smirking, over-privileged jerk off who would have Karl Rove fuck your mother and slice open your dog and dance with its entrails if you crossed him. He's one of those mean little sons of bitches who just loves to pretend to be tough when, at the first sign of real crisis (on Sept. 11, 2001) he was running scared instead of standing on the deck in a flight suit.
We who hate Bush glory in our hate - we wear it like it's our own skin. We love to hate him and want to see him fail, fall, and end up in a closet in the back of the White House, wearing flag boxers and a wife-beater shirt, a pile of high-end Bolivian blow at his feet, an unread copy of the Constitution rolled up to snort through, and eyes reddened with madness and coke rush. We want him to quiver and shake as he realizes, at last, he's in over his head, threatening to kill Antonin Scalia for throwing the election his way, just wanting to get back to sweet mama's saggy arms in Kennebunkport, and leave all this responsibility behind.
The Rude Pundit has a former friend, call him "Greg," who decided to fuck a 15 year-old when he was 35. Greg did not tell the Rude Pundit until a couple of years later, and then claimed he didn't fuck said under-age girl until she was 18. But the lie wasn't what changed things: it was the fact that Greg had fucked a 15 year-old girl. In other words, whatever qualities Greg might have had a friend, a likeable guy, a buddy, were overwhelmed by the fact of the fucking. And it became impossible to be friends with Greg because every time the Rude Pundit saw him, all the Rude Pundit could think was, "You fucked a child, you bastard." (Why didn't the Rude Pundit turn Greg over to the police? Because, happy fucking ending coming, Greg ended up marrying and having kids with said jailbait.)
The point here is not a moral lesson (although, c'mon, don't fuck the children). The point here is it doesn't matter how much someone can be a great guy or gal when you're sluggin' back the beers. The point is how much can you take. And we who hate President George W. Bush simply can't take it anymore. There's simply no way to say, "Well, he's an okay guy, except for all that lying and mass murder and thievery. But, shit, he treats me like his best bud."
With due respect to Molly Ivins, who writes that she can compartmentalize away all Bush's sins, more and more of us are really like Jonathan Chait of The New Republic, who is out and open and honest about hating the man, not just the policies. Bush is a smirking, over-privileged jerk off who would have Karl Rove fuck your mother and slice open your dog and dance with its entrails if you crossed him. He's one of those mean little sons of bitches who just loves to pretend to be tough when, at the first sign of real crisis (on Sept. 11, 2001) he was running scared instead of standing on the deck in a flight suit.
We who hate Bush glory in our hate - we wear it like it's our own skin. We love to hate him and want to see him fail, fall, and end up in a closet in the back of the White House, wearing flag boxers and a wife-beater shirt, a pile of high-end Bolivian blow at his feet, an unread copy of the Constitution rolled up to snort through, and eyes reddened with madness and coke rush. We want him to quiver and shake as he realizes, at last, he's in over his head, threatening to kill Antonin Scalia for throwing the election his way, just wanting to get back to sweet mama's saggy arms in Kennebunkport, and leave all this responsibility behind.
10/18/2003
Jew-Bashing-It's Not Just For Racist Nutjobs Anymore:
Ahh, all things in history eventually come around to the Jews, don't they? If they're not money-changing and drinking blood from the skulls of Christian babies while giggling about gettin' that dirty Jesus nailed to the cross, then Israel is the source of all evil on earth. Man, what those Jews need is a good purging about now, huh? It's about time, right? Can I get a shout-out from my Muslim homeys?
At least that seems to be the deeply paranoid tone that's developing around the world right now. As befits an economy that's on the verge of collapse, the international community has taken to its old reliable saw of blame-the-Jews. (See the American variation: blame-the-blacks-and-or-spics.) No, this has nothing to do with the policies of a radical Christian American government that is attempting to tear apart the world like so many chops from a rack of lamb. And, no, it's got nothing to do with crazy-ass motherfuckers in Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and, now (and you know why), Iraq going all postal at each other because of their smothering poverty. And it's got nothing to do with a fundamentalist government in Israel, so bloodthirsty at protecting its conquered land that they'll take down the rest of the world with them (excuse me, but is there an Itzhak Rabin anywhere in the goddamn desert?).
Nope: it's the fucking Jews in general. The Prime Minister of Malaysia said to a conference of Muslims, "Jews rule the world by proxy. They get others to fight and die for them," before frothing at the mouth and biting the arm of his assistant. And he was cheered. And Greg Easterbrook, an editor of The New Republic , did a new twist on the Jews-run-Hollywood stereotype when he proclaimed that Kill Bill:Vol. 1 was such a disgusting film, it forced him to question whether the "Jewish executives . . . worship money above all else."
Of course, the problem here is not the Jews, the Muslims, and, even, really, the Christians: the problem is fundamentalist belief, which always rises when poverty does. If you're shit-poor, living in a hovel, begging in the streets for some wealthy person to piss in your direction while what work you do involves blowing your boss for wages that will assure your continued poverty, then who the fuck is going to help you? Your government? Not a fucking chance. Your neighbors who would sell your babies for a Big Mac? Nope. And don't even think about coroporations. All that's left is God, Jesus, Allah, whoever. And you're gonna defend that motherfucker with the last ounce of strength in your malnourished body.
Ahh, all things in history eventually come around to the Jews, don't they? If they're not money-changing and drinking blood from the skulls of Christian babies while giggling about gettin' that dirty Jesus nailed to the cross, then Israel is the source of all evil on earth. Man, what those Jews need is a good purging about now, huh? It's about time, right? Can I get a shout-out from my Muslim homeys?
At least that seems to be the deeply paranoid tone that's developing around the world right now. As befits an economy that's on the verge of collapse, the international community has taken to its old reliable saw of blame-the-Jews. (See the American variation: blame-the-blacks-and-or-spics.) No, this has nothing to do with the policies of a radical Christian American government that is attempting to tear apart the world like so many chops from a rack of lamb. And, no, it's got nothing to do with crazy-ass motherfuckers in Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and, now (and you know why), Iraq going all postal at each other because of their smothering poverty. And it's got nothing to do with a fundamentalist government in Israel, so bloodthirsty at protecting its conquered land that they'll take down the rest of the world with them (excuse me, but is there an Itzhak Rabin anywhere in the goddamn desert?).
Nope: it's the fucking Jews in general. The Prime Minister of Malaysia said to a conference of Muslims, "Jews rule the world by proxy. They get others to fight and die for them," before frothing at the mouth and biting the arm of his assistant. And he was cheered. And Greg Easterbrook, an editor of The New Republic , did a new twist on the Jews-run-Hollywood stereotype when he proclaimed that Kill Bill:Vol. 1 was such a disgusting film, it forced him to question whether the "Jewish executives . . . worship money above all else."
Of course, the problem here is not the Jews, the Muslims, and, even, really, the Christians: the problem is fundamentalist belief, which always rises when poverty does. If you're shit-poor, living in a hovel, begging in the streets for some wealthy person to piss in your direction while what work you do involves blowing your boss for wages that will assure your continued poverty, then who the fuck is going to help you? Your government? Not a fucking chance. Your neighbors who would sell your babies for a Big Mac? Nope. And don't even think about coroporations. All that's left is God, Jesus, Allah, whoever. And you're gonna defend that motherfucker with the last ounce of strength in your malnourished body.
10/17/2003
A Brief Diversion on the Yankees, America, and Capitalism by Rude Two:
The Yankees are in the World Series again. Every fucking year, yay fucking rah, the greatest fucking team in the history of the planet, blah blah blah bore me to fucking tears and wipe my cock with a pine tar rag. Same old shit, different season, who gives a fuck. Here it is from the Boston Globe.
Sodomize me with a cattle prod and call me Billy Martin's ghost, the Yankees beat the Red Sox. Again. Still. Forever. The Red Sox can't beat the Yankees, never beat the Yankees, will never beat the Yankees. Ever. Ever. Forever. Nobody can beat the Yankees. Ever. Look at them, with their $400 billion payroll or whatever it is that 95% of Americans will never fathom let alone see -- the largest payroll of any professional sports team in the history of the goddamned universe.
Compare the Yankees to every other team in the game and wonder why they're in it this year, it's because they're a bought and paid for all-star team, they're Satan's right hand, and George Steinbrenner can shit on and destroy what is our country's pastime, allegedly, and not just New York.
Baseball is a boring sport by nature. But the same teams being in it all the time only makes it more boring. The Yankees in it almost every year is somehow supposed to be exciting for the millions -- literally, millions -- of baseball fans who hate them and wish upon wish that just for once some other team -- preferably their own favorite -- could be in this fucking thing?
You know what we wanna see? Let's see the Rockies in it. Or the Rangers. Or the D-Rays, Tigers, Royals, Padres, Mariners, White Sox, Angels (again would be fine), or even the Astros or Brewers, even though we hate them both (though not with the hate we reserve only for the Yankees). Any team that has never had a chance to be great. Let some other team (though not the Braves, for they are Satan's other hand) devour everyone else every year like Unicron. And you know what else? We wanna see the Yankees return to their 1980s form, when they couldn't hit, couldn't run, couldn't pitch, couldn't win, couldn't do anything but fuck up for a decade when Satan's dirty money wasn't coming in so fast and he could barely afford Don Mattingly. We want to see the Yankees be pitiful, pathetic, piss-poor, and the Rude Pundit wants to sit in an easy chair and pleasure himself while watching them lose again and again and again. Goddamn it will feel good, in a sticky, tantric sort of way.
The Rude Pundit is not interested in this World Series. We do not want to watch it. We don't need to watch history repeat itself like some old beat up record player trying to scratch its way through the same 78-speed bullshit record that won't die, that won't fall to pieces, won't disintegrate in front of everything that is right and pure, but instead lasts forever like records do, and keeps right on repeating.
The Rude Pundit won't be the ultra-positive (read: stupid) fan who keeps going back to the game as though it is not a sham, as though it is not rigged like a Don King fight, as though we still have a shred of our being that honestly believes that the game is not vile and corrupt and ruinous for an entire nation. It has devolved into a soulless, vacant-hearted, mind-raping bullshit game, and as long as there are Yankees, so it shall be.
But for just a little while, GO MARLINS. Beat the piss out of these spoiled, money-is-no-object ego-inflated pussies who think the playoffs are no big deal because they're in it every year and hell they know they're going to win in advance because the whole thing is rigged anyway, as just another mode of government-engineered "entertainment" to keep America from paying attention to how our government is anally violating us while we're drooling into our popcorn in glazed-over mediocrity.
Let the Marlins take this World Series not because they're good, but because they're someone else. Let the Marlins win because no team should have 30-some-odd world championships. Let the Marlins win because they are an incarnation of America when America was great -- when it was the underdog, slightly poorer, slightly humble -- not the cocky, bloated, aloof bullshit machine it is now.
The Yankees are in the World Series again. Every fucking year, yay fucking rah, the greatest fucking team in the history of the planet, blah blah blah bore me to fucking tears and wipe my cock with a pine tar rag. Same old shit, different season, who gives a fuck. Here it is from the Boston Globe.
Sodomize me with a cattle prod and call me Billy Martin's ghost, the Yankees beat the Red Sox. Again. Still. Forever. The Red Sox can't beat the Yankees, never beat the Yankees, will never beat the Yankees. Ever. Ever. Forever. Nobody can beat the Yankees. Ever. Look at them, with their $400 billion payroll or whatever it is that 95% of Americans will never fathom let alone see -- the largest payroll of any professional sports team in the history of the goddamned universe.
Compare the Yankees to every other team in the game and wonder why they're in it this year, it's because they're a bought and paid for all-star team, they're Satan's right hand, and George Steinbrenner can shit on and destroy what is our country's pastime, allegedly, and not just New York.
Baseball is a boring sport by nature. But the same teams being in it all the time only makes it more boring. The Yankees in it almost every year is somehow supposed to be exciting for the millions -- literally, millions -- of baseball fans who hate them and wish upon wish that just for once some other team -- preferably their own favorite -- could be in this fucking thing?
You know what we wanna see? Let's see the Rockies in it. Or the Rangers. Or the D-Rays, Tigers, Royals, Padres, Mariners, White Sox, Angels (again would be fine), or even the Astros or Brewers, even though we hate them both (though not with the hate we reserve only for the Yankees). Any team that has never had a chance to be great. Let some other team (though not the Braves, for they are Satan's other hand) devour everyone else every year like Unicron. And you know what else? We wanna see the Yankees return to their 1980s form, when they couldn't hit, couldn't run, couldn't pitch, couldn't win, couldn't do anything but fuck up for a decade when Satan's dirty money wasn't coming in so fast and he could barely afford Don Mattingly. We want to see the Yankees be pitiful, pathetic, piss-poor, and the Rude Pundit wants to sit in an easy chair and pleasure himself while watching them lose again and again and again. Goddamn it will feel good, in a sticky, tantric sort of way.
The Rude Pundit is not interested in this World Series. We do not want to watch it. We don't need to watch history repeat itself like some old beat up record player trying to scratch its way through the same 78-speed bullshit record that won't die, that won't fall to pieces, won't disintegrate in front of everything that is right and pure, but instead lasts forever like records do, and keeps right on repeating.
The Rude Pundit won't be the ultra-positive (read: stupid) fan who keeps going back to the game as though it is not a sham, as though it is not rigged like a Don King fight, as though we still have a shred of our being that honestly believes that the game is not vile and corrupt and ruinous for an entire nation. It has devolved into a soulless, vacant-hearted, mind-raping bullshit game, and as long as there are Yankees, so it shall be.
But for just a little while, GO MARLINS. Beat the piss out of these spoiled, money-is-no-object ego-inflated pussies who think the playoffs are no big deal because they're in it every year and hell they know they're going to win in advance because the whole thing is rigged anyway, as just another mode of government-engineered "entertainment" to keep America from paying attention to how our government is anally violating us while we're drooling into our popcorn in glazed-over mediocrity.
Let the Marlins take this World Series not because they're good, but because they're someone else. Let the Marlins win because no team should have 30-some-odd world championships. Let the Marlins win because they are an incarnation of America when America was great -- when it was the underdog, slightly poorer, slightly humble -- not the cocky, bloated, aloof bullshit machine it is now.
10/16/2003
Hey, Arnie, Did You Know I Used To Lift Weights and Snort Blow Off of a Black Hooker's Belly, Too:
Our family values President met with "Governor" Arnold Schwarzenegger in California. After giving each other hand jobs in a private meeting ("Dat's gud, Meestor President, I like duh way you grab my hard Teutonic cock"), the President further proved there really is no sewage puddle too low for him to jump in when he appeared in public with the governor-elect. In what ought to be part of any Democrat's first election commercial against Bush, the President told a crowd, "The country has been hit hard during these times, and so has the great state of California." Bush then confessed how deeply he has fucked up the state: "Declines in investment have hurt the tech sector. You lost manufacturing jobs. Farmers are wondering whether they'll be able to sell their products overseas. Unemployment in this important state is too high." The rest of the article is here.
Arnie, for his part, gently squeezed Laura Bush's ass while proclaiming the President his "dear friend." Then they all headed back to Arnie's place to watch Laura and Maria do each other with pool cues in Arnie's rumpus room while the President and Governor poured beer on their still sore cocks to ease the pain. Both men called the meeting a great success.
Once a Bush, Always a Bitch, That's What I Say:
Descending bejeweled, neckless, and in garters and a thong, Barbara Bush deigned to cavort with the little people by granting an audience with NBC about her new book. Apparently the industrial strength black dildo she uses to get any feeling in her desert dry cunt was on the fritz because the former First Lady decided to lay into the Democratic candidates, try to convince us that the media is against her son, and offer ennui-laden pity for Al Gore. Apparently, the interviewer did not see fit to ask if her if she had chosen what summer frock goes with an eternity in hell for inflicting the nation with George W. and Jeb, not to mention Neil, and if every once in a while she doesn't pine quietly for a time when the evil that seeps into her dark eyes would allow her peace, if only for a moment. Check out the excerpts here.
Descending bejeweled, neckless, and in garters and a thong, Barbara Bush deigned to cavort with the little people by granting an audience with NBC about her new book. Apparently the industrial strength black dildo she uses to get any feeling in her desert dry cunt was on the fritz because the former First Lady decided to lay into the Democratic candidates, try to convince us that the media is against her son, and offer ennui-laden pity for Al Gore. Apparently, the interviewer did not see fit to ask if her if she had chosen what summer frock goes with an eternity in hell for inflicting the nation with George W. and Jeb, not to mention Neil, and if every once in a while she doesn't pine quietly for a time when the evil that seeps into her dark eyes would allow her peace, if only for a moment. Check out the excerpts here.
Why Liberal Pundits Will Never Succeed on Radio and Television:
Jesus Fucking Christ, we have been given a gift, we on the left: when Rush Limbaugh admitted this month that he was downing illegally gotten pharmaceuticals like they were blue M&Ms, liberal pundits should have been on the attack with all the viciousness of a pack of wolverines downing a yak and feeding on the sweet, sweet yak meat. I mean, come on: part of the story is almost too good to be true: apparently, Limbaugh played like he was some character out of a Mickey Spillane novel, calling cash "cabbage" as he paid of his maid to get the Hillbilly Heroin. After years of abuse, after changing the way in which people think about feminists and liberals, even after his open racism on ESPN, here was payback time for liberals in the media. Time to kick the fat bully when he's down, yee-ha! The man says on the air that he has "talent on loan from God." Couldn't someone on the left have managed to say something like, "Rush, God is calling in his loan and the vig is gonna be a bitch."
But no. Nope. Uh-uh. Demonstrating that nothing throbs so much as a pussy, most pundits on the left went out of their way to offer sympathy to the porcine patriarch of pulchritudinous punditry. Joe Conason, who once said that the world would be a better place if Rush had actually gone deaf, offers the utopian hope that rehab would change Rush and his draconian attitude toward drug policies. William Greider, after admitting initial glee, writes about "mercy" towards Rush. At least Ellen Goodman admits that she is suffering from liberal wimpathy in hoping the best for Rush. Even Robert Scheer, for fuck's sake, goes all soft and wimpy about Rush's possible imprisonment.
See, many of your liberal pundits do believe that to kick Rush when he's down would be lowering themselves into his piss and sweat-filled gutter. Others take an even higher ground and say that bad drug policy is bad drug policy, no matter how evil a person may be who is caught in the net. Some even trot out their own drug use as a way of showing that they are so superior to right wing pundits who would eviscerate someone like Al Franken if he admitted to drug addiction.
Here's why they're wrong: You reap what you sow, motherfuckers. You wanna work for years to get Republican extremists into office that you're willing to degrade, mock, and destroy other people? You wanna sit in your little glass enclosed studio and pretend that you have any kind of credibility when all you really have is a soft cushion for your gigantic ass and preach hatred and punishment? You wanna be a bully to women, gays, and minorities for the sake of the basest instincts of your low-brow, fucking their sisters fans, you fucking whore? You wanna be one of the people responsible for changing the debate in America? For lowering the discourse? For mocking people who are on drugs for years? Then reap what you have sown, Rush, you bitch. Welcome to the world you helped to create. Like the anti-choice Senator who rushes his knocked-up mistress to the first abortion doctor he can find, your hypocritical kind will alway find that the real world is a nasty, nasty place.
And to all the whiny left wing pundits who think we should go soft on Rush, wish him well, hope he changes, the Rude Pundit says: Get real. When this stinking bag of talking shit gets back in the studio, he will be the same because that's what his listeners demand.
Jesus Fucking Christ, we have been given a gift, we on the left: when Rush Limbaugh admitted this month that he was downing illegally gotten pharmaceuticals like they were blue M&Ms, liberal pundits should have been on the attack with all the viciousness of a pack of wolverines downing a yak and feeding on the sweet, sweet yak meat. I mean, come on: part of the story is almost too good to be true: apparently, Limbaugh played like he was some character out of a Mickey Spillane novel, calling cash "cabbage" as he paid of his maid to get the Hillbilly Heroin. After years of abuse, after changing the way in which people think about feminists and liberals, even after his open racism on ESPN, here was payback time for liberals in the media. Time to kick the fat bully when he's down, yee-ha! The man says on the air that he has "talent on loan from God." Couldn't someone on the left have managed to say something like, "Rush, God is calling in his loan and the vig is gonna be a bitch."
But no. Nope. Uh-uh. Demonstrating that nothing throbs so much as a pussy, most pundits on the left went out of their way to offer sympathy to the porcine patriarch of pulchritudinous punditry. Joe Conason, who once said that the world would be a better place if Rush had actually gone deaf, offers the utopian hope that rehab would change Rush and his draconian attitude toward drug policies. William Greider, after admitting initial glee, writes about "mercy" towards Rush. At least Ellen Goodman admits that she is suffering from liberal wimpathy in hoping the best for Rush. Even Robert Scheer, for fuck's sake, goes all soft and wimpy about Rush's possible imprisonment.
See, many of your liberal pundits do believe that to kick Rush when he's down would be lowering themselves into his piss and sweat-filled gutter. Others take an even higher ground and say that bad drug policy is bad drug policy, no matter how evil a person may be who is caught in the net. Some even trot out their own drug use as a way of showing that they are so superior to right wing pundits who would eviscerate someone like Al Franken if he admitted to drug addiction.
Here's why they're wrong: You reap what you sow, motherfuckers. You wanna work for years to get Republican extremists into office that you're willing to degrade, mock, and destroy other people? You wanna sit in your little glass enclosed studio and pretend that you have any kind of credibility when all you really have is a soft cushion for your gigantic ass and preach hatred and punishment? You wanna be a bully to women, gays, and minorities for the sake of the basest instincts of your low-brow, fucking their sisters fans, you fucking whore? You wanna be one of the people responsible for changing the debate in America? For lowering the discourse? For mocking people who are on drugs for years? Then reap what you have sown, Rush, you bitch. Welcome to the world you helped to create. Like the anti-choice Senator who rushes his knocked-up mistress to the first abortion doctor he can find, your hypocritical kind will alway find that the real world is a nasty, nasty place.
And to all the whiny left wing pundits who think we should go soft on Rush, wish him well, hope he changes, the Rude Pundit says: Get real. When this stinking bag of talking shit gets back in the studio, he will be the same because that's what his listeners demand.
10/15/2003
The Difference Between Naked and News:
The Rude Pundit realizes that we all have an interest in celebrity sex. And celebrity crime. So celebrity alleged rape is naturally going to draw out the hordes of drooling television viewers who are too numbed by fast food, Internet porn, and football to pay attention to what really matters in this world. And when it's a basketball star, there's a whole sports culture angle. But let's be clear: who Kobe fucked, how he fucked her, what her pussy looked like after he fucked her, whether or not he likes fucking women in the ass, and who is lying about how the fucking happened is not news. O.J. Simpson's trial was not news worthy of around the clock coverage, Jessica Simpson shouldn't have a TV show, and Bill O'Reilly is not a smart man. We are being distracted - we are told this is important. It's part of the breakdown of the walls of our understanding of the world: just like Bush and his thugs think they can tell us what's real and not about Iraq and actually expect us to shut up and toe the line, so can news channels appeal to us: don't look there, at the Gaza Strip, the Plame cover-up, or thousands of workers on strike. You just sit there, watch our commercials, lower your sperm count, and enjoy wall to wall Kobe fucking - how he fucks, why he fucks, what his cock looks like, and on and on and on . . .
The Rude Pundit realizes that we all have an interest in celebrity sex. And celebrity crime. So celebrity alleged rape is naturally going to draw out the hordes of drooling television viewers who are too numbed by fast food, Internet porn, and football to pay attention to what really matters in this world. And when it's a basketball star, there's a whole sports culture angle. But let's be clear: who Kobe fucked, how he fucked her, what her pussy looked like after he fucked her, whether or not he likes fucking women in the ass, and who is lying about how the fucking happened is not news. O.J. Simpson's trial was not news worthy of around the clock coverage, Jessica Simpson shouldn't have a TV show, and Bill O'Reilly is not a smart man. We are being distracted - we are told this is important. It's part of the breakdown of the walls of our understanding of the world: just like Bush and his thugs think they can tell us what's real and not about Iraq and actually expect us to shut up and toe the line, so can news channels appeal to us: don't look there, at the Gaza Strip, the Plame cover-up, or thousands of workers on strike. You just sit there, watch our commercials, lower your sperm count, and enjoy wall to wall Kobe fucking - how he fucks, why he fucks, what his cock looks like, and on and on and on . . .
10/14/2003
Weekly Reason Bill O'Reilly Should Be Sodomized With a Microphone:
Bill O'Reilly, "author," "TV personality," and all around tiny dick, continues his ranting against NPR. O'Reilly, promoting his latest "book," went on NPR's Fresh Air to shill for sales. He ended up going nutzoid over the questions, which he deemed as tough, and ranted about a seeming collusion between Al Franken, host Terry Gross, Harper's magazine, and the New York Times. All in all, it was one of those fucking funny moments in broadcasting that make you cringe, like watching the President at a press conference, all deer in the headlights and shit. He ended up stalking off in the middle of the interview after screaming like a female ape getting gang-fucked in the jungle by a bunch of male apes.
One point oughta be made here: sure, Harper's printed the partial transcript of the time on his "show" on the FOX "news" channel that O'Reilly went all batshit on Jeremy Glick, the surviving son of a man killed in the World Trade Center collapse, screaming at him to "Shut up!" because Glick dared to claim that everything wasn't as cut and dried about 9/11 as O'Reilly wants his viewers to think. But Harper's, lefty though it mostly is, also published this article, "The Middle Mind" by Curtis White in 2002, where, among other things, White calls the show a "pornographic farce." The Rude Pundit thinks this might indicate a less than friendly relationship between the magazine and Gross. But that's a subtlety, and, well, shit, O'Reilly's about as subtle as a two-foot long black hard plastic strap-on dildo shoved up your ass.
But last night on his FOX "news" show, O'Reilly went after NPR and Fresh Air again, for the third time, this night playing the end of the interview where he yells at Gross. Then O'Reilly interviewed a Republican Congressman from Florida (always a trustworthy source), Cliff Stearns, and together the two of them circle jerked each other for a couple of minutes about how Americans pay for the liberal bashing of O'Reilly on NPR, with O'Reilly labelling the moderate National Public Radio "far left." And he baited NPR producers for not coming on his show to be belittled, mocked, and cut off. Then O'Reilly and his boy-bitch for the evening agreeing that NPR should be disciplined for daring to question O'Reilly.
O'Reilly's a pussy, a wimpy little shithead who's a bully on his own turf. Look at his two surfacings beyond his own shows: screaming "Shut up" at Al Franken in May when Franken revealed O'Reilly's lies before an audience of booksellers and now the interview with Gross. Both times he squirmed and screamed and got defensive like a ten year-old caught with porno magazines. Now, here he is, strong arming public opinion because NPR got all up in his face.
Bill O'Reilly, "author," "TV personality," and all around tiny dick, continues his ranting against NPR. O'Reilly, promoting his latest "book," went on NPR's Fresh Air to shill for sales. He ended up going nutzoid over the questions, which he deemed as tough, and ranted about a seeming collusion between Al Franken, host Terry Gross, Harper's magazine, and the New York Times. All in all, it was one of those fucking funny moments in broadcasting that make you cringe, like watching the President at a press conference, all deer in the headlights and shit. He ended up stalking off in the middle of the interview after screaming like a female ape getting gang-fucked in the jungle by a bunch of male apes.
One point oughta be made here: sure, Harper's printed the partial transcript of the time on his "show" on the FOX "news" channel that O'Reilly went all batshit on Jeremy Glick, the surviving son of a man killed in the World Trade Center collapse, screaming at him to "Shut up!" because Glick dared to claim that everything wasn't as cut and dried about 9/11 as O'Reilly wants his viewers to think. But Harper's, lefty though it mostly is, also published this article, "The Middle Mind" by Curtis White in 2002, where, among other things, White calls the show a "pornographic farce." The Rude Pundit thinks this might indicate a less than friendly relationship between the magazine and Gross. But that's a subtlety, and, well, shit, O'Reilly's about as subtle as a two-foot long black hard plastic strap-on dildo shoved up your ass.
But last night on his FOX "news" show, O'Reilly went after NPR and Fresh Air again, for the third time, this night playing the end of the interview where he yells at Gross. Then O'Reilly interviewed a Republican Congressman from Florida (always a trustworthy source), Cliff Stearns, and together the two of them circle jerked each other for a couple of minutes about how Americans pay for the liberal bashing of O'Reilly on NPR, with O'Reilly labelling the moderate National Public Radio "far left." And he baited NPR producers for not coming on his show to be belittled, mocked, and cut off. Then O'Reilly and his boy-bitch for the evening agreeing that NPR should be disciplined for daring to question O'Reilly.
O'Reilly's a pussy, a wimpy little shithead who's a bully on his own turf. Look at his two surfacings beyond his own shows: screaming "Shut up" at Al Franken in May when Franken revealed O'Reilly's lies before an audience of booksellers and now the interview with Gross. Both times he squirmed and screamed and got defensive like a ten year-old caught with porno magazines. Now, here he is, strong arming public opinion because NPR got all up in his face.
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