Happy "Mission Accomplished" Day: What Bush Doesn't Understand About America:
Let us say, and why not, that President George W. Bush was more than just the delusional dry drunk with a bipolar narcissistic personality disorder that we've all come to know and hate. Let's say that he was a completely bugfuck, eat-his-own-feces psychopath.
Now let us say, and, indeed, why not, that the President believed that his semen had magical properties. Not just any magical properties, but the ability to bring the dead back to life. However, in his psychopathic state, Bush knew that it wasn't just a question of spreading his mystical jizz on a corpse like a moisturizer of the damned. No, no, Bush knew that he had to fuck a corpse in order for it to receive the benefit of his wondrous spunk.
So, and we're still in "let us say" land here, George W. Bush began to fuck corpses, brought to him by his staff and Secret Service agents. Just random hobo corpses - homeless people dead on the streets of the nation's capital. The cadavers would be collected, washed clean, of course, before being presented to a wizard-regalia-wearing George W. Bush. And the Leader of the Free World began to shove his hard cock into the bodies, male and female, ejaculating in their mouths, their asses, their pussies, their ears, fer chrissake. But, no, no corpse would reanimate. The dead would not rise.
A semi-coherent man might come to the conclusion that his semen was not the triumph of life over death that he had imagined it might be. In fact, the stacks of dead hobos, crusted with dried executive ejaculate, would be evidence enough. But, remember, in this "what if" scenario, the President of the United States is too far gone to believe that he might be wrong. No, as far as Bush was concerned, the fault was with the corpses, not with his splendiferous seed. Maybe they were laying wrong, legs too far akimbo or mouth held too tightly (pity the intern tasked with that duty). Maybe it was the wrong combination of multiple meat injections. No, no, the only real answer was to keep fucking corpses, knowing, just goddamn knowing, that at some point, one of those carcasses would suck in air (after, you know, Bush removed his dick from the mouth) and turn to the pantsless President to say, "Thank you, Mr. Bush, for fucking me back to life."
Now what if the public, perfectly willing after 9/11 to give Bush the benefit of the doubt and let him try out his highly-touted testicle tea on a single body, now found the whole ordeal repulsive. And they wanted him to stop. Bush, though, would not stop, going through corpses so quickly that the FBI had to go out and start killing the homeless so that Bush could fuck some more.
Maybe pundits on TV and on the Internet would declare that Bush should be allowed to continue fucking corpses because what if he's right? And what about the dead? Should they just be left to rot unfucked? The citizens of the country would say, "We don't care about the dead. Bury them already and let nature take its course - let trees or flowers or weeds grow from their rotting remains. But let us stop the fucking of the corpses. George Bush doesn't have magic sperm."
When George Bush says of leaving Iraq, "Withdrawal would do nothing to prevent violence from spilling out across that country and plunging Iraq into chaos and anarchy," when Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice says, "the withdrawal of our forces...would send the wrong message to the Iraqis, the wrong message to the neighborhood and the wrong message to Iraq's enemies," when Dick Cheney and every necrophilia-lovin' pundit attempts to say how anarchy, death, and destruction will rain down on Iraq if we leave, what they're not getting is that the American people don't fucking care what happens to Iraq.
The citizens have moved beyond that. Bad shit happens to countries. The American public has accepted this, time and again, and we know that, no matter how many times we try, like trying to dam the ocean, the tide's gonna do what it's gonna do in Iraq.
4/30/2007
The IE Smear Continues (And So This Message Is Staying On Top):
The tech problems with the blog on Internet Explorer have returned. While the Rude Pundit tries to get Blogger to fuckin' fix it, there's a couple of things you can do:
1. Hit "Stop" after the page initially loads. It seems to be fine then.
or
2. Give the finger to Microsoft and download Firefox.
The tech problems with the blog on Internet Explorer have returned. While the Rude Pundit tries to get Blogger to fuckin' fix it, there's a couple of things you can do:
1. Hit "Stop" after the page initially loads. It seems to be fine then.
or
2. Give the finger to Microsoft and download Firefox.
Fucked New Orleans (A Series Without an End):
The awful news from New Orleans just starts to go on like a sickening low-frequency hum: murder, murder, murder, levee fucktardery, FEMA fucktardery, assault, assault, assault. Oh, but one hears that Jazz Fest is awfully fun this year. As long as, you know, you don't get heat stroke, alcohol poisoning, or injured in some way and need to be taken to a hospital. But, hey, all in stride, you know? Laissez les bon temps what the fuck ever.
The Rude Pundit, has been in touch with a New Orleans resident, let's call him "Jean," who describes himself this way: "a middle class, college educated professional, like my fellow friends who have left, are leaving, and in a state of confusion in a place we called home."
And this is how Jean describes New Orleans: "We are tired. Three years and counting. No place to send children to school. A police system ineffective. A hospital system that is no system. A place where leaking sewer and water lines in the streets is normal, as are rats and mice in the streets. A place where it takes 2 years to get electricity back in your house. A place where city blocks for miles after almost 3 years look like Hiroshima, Baghdad, and Haiti, all wrapped up in a blanket of bull...or shit...human shit...a place where shit, debris, mold and mildew are a daily way of life in the streets all over this dying city. And dying it is...with a cancer eating away at the soul of a people defeated. A middle class gone."
Jean, a realtor, deals with that unending hum all the time: "On Friday, 4/27/07, I finally got electricity on one of the apartments that make up my 120 year old house. I had started that process 3 weeks after Katrina hit. The painter did not show up. I still have a bunch of his money, but I am not sure if he skipped town, or got deported. One of his guys showed up while I was reading the paper this morning, sitting on my front stoop, looking at the two houses across the street slowly falling down. This guy never got paid...but hey, he gets the rest of the money if he finishes my house."
His career, of course, is particularly affected by dealing with bureaucracies small and large: "As a realtor, I do Comparative Market Analysis for the State program that has paralysis. I take pictures and figure out what someone's house was before the storm. This info helps the state decide how much money the homeowner will get. Last week they were supposed to process 8000 applications. The contractor I work for never received any applications, so I had no work and people get to wait longer for the chance of a loan or grant for their damaged property."
The exodus of middle class emigrants from New Orleans continues unabated, for, indeed, why live the rest of your short life on this earth hoping for the city to come back? If you can leave, who would blame you? Jean says he knows many people who have left: "An engineer who moved to the other side of the Lake Ponchartrain. An architect/close friend and family moved to Austin permanently. My wife's friends...teachers who have moved to Texas, North Carolina, etc." As for who's moving in, Jean says, "Brazilians, Hondurans, Mexicans, and a hodge podge of professionals from the Northeast." Carpetbaggers and aliens, legal and illegal. Seems like history just repeats itself with New Orleans.
Of course, it didn't have to be this way. Although, that's way too optimistic. Under the Bush administration, of course it had to be this way. Because sometimes a story so stomach-churning and obscene in its meaning crops up, like the article from the Washington Post about how our "government" was turning down millions of dollars in aid from foreign countries in the weeks after Katrina in 2005. This is not to mention that the United States only made the effort to collect $126 million of the $850 million that other countries wanted to give us. The Bush administration delayed so long in getting the cash that other nations just said, "Fuck it" and walked away, or they gave it to the Red Cross. The U.S. declined 54 of 77 offers of aid from, like, Canada. And that included search and rescue teams. Let's not even get into the Caligulan orgy of cash that contractors have engaged in with these funds.
Here's Jean to take us to the end: "I would like to write a book about this place...it would be called, 'It doesn't take a genius.' 99% of the issues with New Orleans can be solved in 1 week, with the right ownership of the troubles, and some follow through. To date, no one is taking responsibility for anything, from the Corps to the Mayor, to the President. As a result, we can guarantee nothing will be done right."
The awful news from New Orleans just starts to go on like a sickening low-frequency hum: murder, murder, murder, levee fucktardery, FEMA fucktardery, assault, assault, assault. Oh, but one hears that Jazz Fest is awfully fun this year. As long as, you know, you don't get heat stroke, alcohol poisoning, or injured in some way and need to be taken to a hospital. But, hey, all in stride, you know? Laissez les bon temps what the fuck ever.
The Rude Pundit, has been in touch with a New Orleans resident, let's call him "Jean," who describes himself this way: "a middle class, college educated professional, like my fellow friends who have left, are leaving, and in a state of confusion in a place we called home."
And this is how Jean describes New Orleans: "We are tired. Three years and counting. No place to send children to school. A police system ineffective. A hospital system that is no system. A place where leaking sewer and water lines in the streets is normal, as are rats and mice in the streets. A place where it takes 2 years to get electricity back in your house. A place where city blocks for miles after almost 3 years look like Hiroshima, Baghdad, and Haiti, all wrapped up in a blanket of bull...or shit...human shit...a place where shit, debris, mold and mildew are a daily way of life in the streets all over this dying city. And dying it is...with a cancer eating away at the soul of a people defeated. A middle class gone."
Jean, a realtor, deals with that unending hum all the time: "On Friday, 4/27/07, I finally got electricity on one of the apartments that make up my 120 year old house. I had started that process 3 weeks after Katrina hit. The painter did not show up. I still have a bunch of his money, but I am not sure if he skipped town, or got deported. One of his guys showed up while I was reading the paper this morning, sitting on my front stoop, looking at the two houses across the street slowly falling down. This guy never got paid...but hey, he gets the rest of the money if he finishes my house."
His career, of course, is particularly affected by dealing with bureaucracies small and large: "As a realtor, I do Comparative Market Analysis for the State program that has paralysis. I take pictures and figure out what someone's house was before the storm. This info helps the state decide how much money the homeowner will get. Last week they were supposed to process 8000 applications. The contractor I work for never received any applications, so I had no work and people get to wait longer for the chance of a loan or grant for their damaged property."
The exodus of middle class emigrants from New Orleans continues unabated, for, indeed, why live the rest of your short life on this earth hoping for the city to come back? If you can leave, who would blame you? Jean says he knows many people who have left: "An engineer who moved to the other side of the Lake Ponchartrain. An architect/close friend and family moved to Austin permanently. My wife's friends...teachers who have moved to Texas, North Carolina, etc." As for who's moving in, Jean says, "Brazilians, Hondurans, Mexicans, and a hodge podge of professionals from the Northeast." Carpetbaggers and aliens, legal and illegal. Seems like history just repeats itself with New Orleans.
Of course, it didn't have to be this way. Although, that's way too optimistic. Under the Bush administration, of course it had to be this way. Because sometimes a story so stomach-churning and obscene in its meaning crops up, like the article from the Washington Post about how our "government" was turning down millions of dollars in aid from foreign countries in the weeks after Katrina in 2005. This is not to mention that the United States only made the effort to collect $126 million of the $850 million that other countries wanted to give us. The Bush administration delayed so long in getting the cash that other nations just said, "Fuck it" and walked away, or they gave it to the Red Cross. The U.S. declined 54 of 77 offers of aid from, like, Canada. And that included search and rescue teams. Let's not even get into the Caligulan orgy of cash that contractors have engaged in with these funds.
Here's Jean to take us to the end: "I would like to write a book about this place...it would be called, 'It doesn't take a genius.' 99% of the issues with New Orleans can be solved in 1 week, with the right ownership of the troubles, and some follow through. To date, no one is taking responsibility for anything, from the Corps to the Mayor, to the President. As a result, we can guarantee nothing will be done right."
4/28/2007
4/27/2007
Alberto Gonzales: Adónde el Amor Fue?:
Man, the last time Alberto Gonzales was in the shiny lights so brightly, it was his confirmation hearings way back in 2005. And, sweet Jesus, senators couldn't get enough of touting his Hispanic street cred as a way of saying, "All that torture shit and incomplete and evasive answers? C'mon. Look at him. He's Hispanic. Of course he's sincere and competent." It was a complete non-sequitur then, yet it was used to try to thump Democrats who didn't wanna vote for a naked waterboard-lovin' son of a bitch.
Check it out:
John Cornyn was full of the Gonzales love on January 6, 2005, when he said, ironically, now, in our current context: "Judge Gonzales is truly an inspiration to everyone who still believes in the American dream. And so his nomination as the nation's 80th attorney general -- our first Hispanic attorney general -- should by all accounts have a perfectly happy ending. But that's not necessarily how Washington works."
Here's Arlen Specter: "It is not irrelevant to note that Judge Gonzales would be the first Hispanic attorney general. It has been a long time in coming." It was a veiled threat, daring Democrats to vote against this non-white man.
Orrin Hatch's threat was a great deal more explicit: "I'm chairman of the Republican Senatorial Hispanic Task Force. I know that every Hispanic in America is watching how this man is being treated. The fact that you might differ with somebody is not justification to deprive this person the opportunity to serve, and especially somebody of this quality!" That exclamation point, by the way, is part of the congressional record of January 26, 2005.
Mel Martinez took to the floor of the Senate on February 2, 2005 to say, in Spanish, "Judge Gonzales is one of us. He represents all of our hopes and dreams -- for our children. Let us acknowledge the importance of this moment for – especially our youth. We cannot allow petty politicking to deny us this moment that fills us all with such pride. Let us all support Alberto Gonzales." In neither English nor Spanish has Martinez spoken passionately, or, indeed, at all about Gonzales lately.
Where has all that Republican love gone? Why is no one saying that they're all ganging up on this poor American dream of an Hispanic? Republicans knew from his confused and occasionally painfully incoherent confirmation hearings that he was a liar and Bush's best ball-licker. Christ, then he said he didn't recall shit dozens of times, just like in his latest congressional contempt-fest. They still voted him in (along with some Democrats). But, oh, mighty shift of winds. Now that John McCain has said Gonzales must go, the times, they are a-changin'.
Not that it's gonna happen. Nope. Gonzales ain't goin' anywhere. Why? Two reasons. First, who the hell is Bush gonna appoint? Because, second, they'd have to go through confirmation hearings in these changed times. Can you imagine all the evil and lies that Gonzales knows? What's he gonna do? Pass them on to someone not inside the circle of depravity known as the Bush administration? And, with all the attention on the office, are the Democrats gonna allow another Bush toady into the office?
Gonzo ain't gone. If anything, like the most effective evil manipulators, his chastening has just made him stronger.
Man, the last time Alberto Gonzales was in the shiny lights so brightly, it was his confirmation hearings way back in 2005. And, sweet Jesus, senators couldn't get enough of touting his Hispanic street cred as a way of saying, "All that torture shit and incomplete and evasive answers? C'mon. Look at him. He's Hispanic. Of course he's sincere and competent." It was a complete non-sequitur then, yet it was used to try to thump Democrats who didn't wanna vote for a naked waterboard-lovin' son of a bitch.
Check it out:
John Cornyn was full of the Gonzales love on January 6, 2005, when he said, ironically, now, in our current context: "Judge Gonzales is truly an inspiration to everyone who still believes in the American dream. And so his nomination as the nation's 80th attorney general -- our first Hispanic attorney general -- should by all accounts have a perfectly happy ending. But that's not necessarily how Washington works."
Here's Arlen Specter: "It is not irrelevant to note that Judge Gonzales would be the first Hispanic attorney general. It has been a long time in coming." It was a veiled threat, daring Democrats to vote against this non-white man.
Orrin Hatch's threat was a great deal more explicit: "I'm chairman of the Republican Senatorial Hispanic Task Force. I know that every Hispanic in America is watching how this man is being treated. The fact that you might differ with somebody is not justification to deprive this person the opportunity to serve, and especially somebody of this quality!" That exclamation point, by the way, is part of the congressional record of January 26, 2005.
Mel Martinez took to the floor of the Senate on February 2, 2005 to say, in Spanish, "Judge Gonzales is one of us. He represents all of our hopes and dreams -- for our children. Let us acknowledge the importance of this moment for – especially our youth. We cannot allow petty politicking to deny us this moment that fills us all with such pride. Let us all support Alberto Gonzales." In neither English nor Spanish has Martinez spoken passionately, or, indeed, at all about Gonzales lately.
Where has all that Republican love gone? Why is no one saying that they're all ganging up on this poor American dream of an Hispanic? Republicans knew from his confused and occasionally painfully incoherent confirmation hearings that he was a liar and Bush's best ball-licker. Christ, then he said he didn't recall shit dozens of times, just like in his latest congressional contempt-fest. They still voted him in (along with some Democrats). But, oh, mighty shift of winds. Now that John McCain has said Gonzales must go, the times, they are a-changin'.
Not that it's gonna happen. Nope. Gonzales ain't goin' anywhere. Why? Two reasons. First, who the hell is Bush gonna appoint? Because, second, they'd have to go through confirmation hearings in these changed times. Can you imagine all the evil and lies that Gonzales knows? What's he gonna do? Pass them on to someone not inside the circle of depravity known as the Bush administration? And, with all the attention on the office, are the Democrats gonna allow another Bush toady into the office?
Gonzo ain't gone. If anything, like the most effective evil manipulators, his chastening has just made him stronger.
4/26/2007
George Bush Is Not Light on His Feet:
No, no, you fucker, you do not get to dance. After his speech marking Malaria Awareness Day, George Bush went up on stage with the entertainment, the Kankouran West African Dance Company from DC, and was invited to move a little with them. And the Leader of the Free World, who had declined to make jokes last week at the White House Correspondents' Dinner because of the Virginia Tech massacre, didn't just clap his hands in appreciative pseudo-rhythm. No, he did some vaguely Rovish white frat-boy moves to the music, even pounding the bongos to show how down he was with the troupe. There he was, our goddamned President, shakin' his ass in the Rose Garden, and he may as well have taken a shit at the eternal flame at Arlington.
No, he doesn't get to dance. Not his stupid mock-native dance. Did Clinton dance during the Bosnian war? He may have clapped along at a few gospel events, but not full-tilt boogie. Did Nixon dance during Vietnam? Did Johnson? Did Truman dance during Korea? Did FDR...oh, yeah, right. But you get the idea.
Bush's bitch had just appeared on the Today show to talk about malaria. Then Ann Curry asked Laura Bush about suffering Americans in this time of war, and the First Lady decided it's all about her and her man: "[N]o one suffers more than their president and I do when we watch this." She followed this up by saying that people need to know about her husband, "I hope they do know the burden, the worry that's on his shoulders every single day for our troops. And I think they do. I mean, I think if they don't, they're not seeing what the real responsibilities of our president are." And later, the same goddamn day, the President danced like a lemur with cerebral palsy to show how burdened he is. Can you imagine how many scrips the First Lady must be on in order to function? Christ, every day, Sally McDonough must have to prevent Laura from waking and baking, shooting her up with amitriptyline so she doesn't run through the halls of the White House, naked and screaming, furiously masturbating with Abraham Lincoln's walking stick.
It's the unending goddamned arrogance that infects every gesture, every move, made by the President and his administration. When Karl Rove recoiled after being touched by Sheryl Crow at that Correspondents' Dinner, saying, "I work for the American people" (to which Crow should have responded, "No wonder you don't recognize us"), he was cowering under the mock power he has always been granted, cowering from a genuine confrontation, and he reacted with bluster and bullshit.
What is worse arrogance than Paul Wolfowitz, who helped create the subhuman judicial treatment of prisoners at Guantanamo (as well as the "interrogation techniques" used there and elsewhere) whining because the directors of the World Bank won't allow Wolfowitz's attorney to make a presentation about why his client should keep his job after making sure his piece of ass gets paid? Here's Bob Bennett: "It's grossly unfair to Mr. Wolfowitz. To the world, it gives the appearance that he is being railroaded." Huh. Wonder if the driven-mad Gitmo detainees would have sympathy for Wolfman Paul?
Bush is dancing, man, dancing while Iraq burns, while soldiers are blown up in Diyala,
while young men and women lose their dancing legs and arms, people who could probably dance a little better than some skinny old fuck who acted like he always does, like he's master coming down to play with the servants. It's a gesture that shows nothing penetrates that overly thick inbred patrician skull.
Then again, some dances from places like Senegal, there are drumming dances that are meant to heal the sick soul of a member of the community. Maybe Bush should never stop dancing.
No, no, you fucker, you do not get to dance. After his speech marking Malaria Awareness Day, George Bush went up on stage with the entertainment, the Kankouran West African Dance Company from DC, and was invited to move a little with them. And the Leader of the Free World, who had declined to make jokes last week at the White House Correspondents' Dinner because of the Virginia Tech massacre, didn't just clap his hands in appreciative pseudo-rhythm. No, he did some vaguely Rovish white frat-boy moves to the music, even pounding the bongos to show how down he was with the troupe. There he was, our goddamned President, shakin' his ass in the Rose Garden, and he may as well have taken a shit at the eternal flame at Arlington.
No, he doesn't get to dance. Not his stupid mock-native dance. Did Clinton dance during the Bosnian war? He may have clapped along at a few gospel events, but not full-tilt boogie. Did Nixon dance during Vietnam? Did Johnson? Did Truman dance during Korea? Did FDR...oh, yeah, right. But you get the idea.
Bush's bitch had just appeared on the Today show to talk about malaria. Then Ann Curry asked Laura Bush about suffering Americans in this time of war, and the First Lady decided it's all about her and her man: "[N]o one suffers more than their president and I do when we watch this." She followed this up by saying that people need to know about her husband, "I hope they do know the burden, the worry that's on his shoulders every single day for our troops. And I think they do. I mean, I think if they don't, they're not seeing what the real responsibilities of our president are." And later, the same goddamn day, the President danced like a lemur with cerebral palsy to show how burdened he is. Can you imagine how many scrips the First Lady must be on in order to function? Christ, every day, Sally McDonough must have to prevent Laura from waking and baking, shooting her up with amitriptyline so she doesn't run through the halls of the White House, naked and screaming, furiously masturbating with Abraham Lincoln's walking stick.
It's the unending goddamned arrogance that infects every gesture, every move, made by the President and his administration. When Karl Rove recoiled after being touched by Sheryl Crow at that Correspondents' Dinner, saying, "I work for the American people" (to which Crow should have responded, "No wonder you don't recognize us"), he was cowering under the mock power he has always been granted, cowering from a genuine confrontation, and he reacted with bluster and bullshit.
What is worse arrogance than Paul Wolfowitz, who helped create the subhuman judicial treatment of prisoners at Guantanamo (as well as the "interrogation techniques" used there and elsewhere) whining because the directors of the World Bank won't allow Wolfowitz's attorney to make a presentation about why his client should keep his job after making sure his piece of ass gets paid? Here's Bob Bennett: "It's grossly unfair to Mr. Wolfowitz. To the world, it gives the appearance that he is being railroaded." Huh. Wonder if the driven-mad Gitmo detainees would have sympathy for Wolfman Paul?
Bush is dancing, man, dancing while Iraq burns, while soldiers are blown up in Diyala,
while young men and women lose their dancing legs and arms, people who could probably dance a little better than some skinny old fuck who acted like he always does, like he's master coming down to play with the servants. It's a gesture that shows nothing penetrates that overly thick inbred patrician skull.
Then again, some dances from places like Senegal, there are drumming dances that are meant to heal the sick soul of a member of the community. Maybe Bush should never stop dancing.
4/25/2007
Harry Reid and Alec Baldwin: Teaching Lessons to Rude, Thoughtless Little Pigs Everywhere:
The Rude Pundit has not met one parent who believes that Alec Baldwin should be condemned for getting angry at and yelling at his daughter in a phone message. The general consensus was, "Was he a dick? Sure. Welcome to parenting." Now, the Rude Pundit doesn't know a whole lot of parents of that new school "oh, isn't precious so precious for her preciousness" bullshit that passes for parenting among a population of adults who are filled with guilt for having jobs and lives that don't begin and end with little precious. Every mom and dad with whom the Rude Pundit brought up Baldwin's end-of-his-fuckin'-rope blast at his 11-year old daughter reacted by saying, "Jesus, you think that's bad? Lemme tell you what my dad said to me." Followed by some story of how a father called his son a "spoiled prick" or, in the funniest case, just by the sound of a raspberry (as in, "Hey, (raspberry), pass the salt") for a full week.
All of the grown-ups seemed well-adjusted and not horribly scarred and rendered impotent or some such shit for the verbal abuse. Most even agreed that, even if Baldwin was paying a visit to Assholeland, sometimes a kid needs a verbal beatdown, especially if that kid's being a "rude, thoughtless little pig."
And that's just what Harry Reid's been doing to the Bush administration and congressional Republicans. See, up until now, the Bush White House has been allowed to let their worst childishly indulgent ids run wild and unchecked, with the Republican Congress merely occasionally shaking its collective head and shrugging in a kind of "Well, what are ya gonna do?" way when, say, Alberto Gonzales downgraded the meaning of "torture." At that point, a functioning Congress would have brought Gonzales in, had him drop his pants, and spanked his cheeks bright red.
Reid's become the Supernanny to the bullshit passivism of the previous Republican Congress. In a take-no-shit way, Reid has responded, time and again, to attacks by the White House and the GOP, not allowing them to get away with it, thinking, like John Kerry with the Swift Boat assholes, that if you ignore the behavior it'll go away. Nope. It doesn't work with kids. If you let them get away with one thing, then they'll just keep pushing until they see where the line is. It's called "testing the limits" in good parenting terminology. Reid's laid down the limits, and he's keeping the administration on the kiddie leash.
Check out the throwdown between the gelatinous globule of evil known as Dick Cheney and Reid yesterday. Cheney gets in front of the microphones to say, in essence, that Democrats are pussy little traitors who wanna get ass-fucked by al-Qaeda operatives on the floor of the Senate. Reid, whose office was nearby, responded almost immediately (indeed, he could have come out, whipped out his belt, and chased Cheney out of the building), calling Cheney an "attack dog" who is "sent out" by President Bush, and then dismissing him with "I'm not going to get into a name-calling match with somebody who has a 9 percent approval rating." Goddamn, Alec Baldwin couldn't have done it any better.
What Reid has done is pull the Iraq debate back to the center from the right, back to where one can actually talk about the endgame rather than talking about whether to stay the course or add more troops. His declaration that, under the current policies, the war is lost and that the war cannot be won militarily have merely been reflections of the public. And Reid's anti-war remarks (and it's time we start labeling them that) have not, despite the best efforts of the White House and Fox "news," caused the backlash against Democrats they thought would occur, simply because, for so long, all the administration had to do was throw itself on the ground and scream and roll around and it would get its way.
Democrats are slowly learning what real power is, like the parent who says, "No," firmly, who walks into his teenager's room and tosses the TV and Wii out of the window and says, "Now do your fuckin' homework." They're learning that to be leaders means they have to lead, and Reid is giving a goddamn master class on how to do it.
(Full disclosure: the Rude Pundit was once punched by Kim Basinger. But that's a story for another time.)
The Rude Pundit has not met one parent who believes that Alec Baldwin should be condemned for getting angry at and yelling at his daughter in a phone message. The general consensus was, "Was he a dick? Sure. Welcome to parenting." Now, the Rude Pundit doesn't know a whole lot of parents of that new school "oh, isn't precious so precious for her preciousness" bullshit that passes for parenting among a population of adults who are filled with guilt for having jobs and lives that don't begin and end with little precious. Every mom and dad with whom the Rude Pundit brought up Baldwin's end-of-his-fuckin'-rope blast at his 11-year old daughter reacted by saying, "Jesus, you think that's bad? Lemme tell you what my dad said to me." Followed by some story of how a father called his son a "spoiled prick" or, in the funniest case, just by the sound of a raspberry (as in, "Hey, (raspberry), pass the salt") for a full week.
All of the grown-ups seemed well-adjusted and not horribly scarred and rendered impotent or some such shit for the verbal abuse. Most even agreed that, even if Baldwin was paying a visit to Assholeland, sometimes a kid needs a verbal beatdown, especially if that kid's being a "rude, thoughtless little pig."
And that's just what Harry Reid's been doing to the Bush administration and congressional Republicans. See, up until now, the Bush White House has been allowed to let their worst childishly indulgent ids run wild and unchecked, with the Republican Congress merely occasionally shaking its collective head and shrugging in a kind of "Well, what are ya gonna do?" way when, say, Alberto Gonzales downgraded the meaning of "torture." At that point, a functioning Congress would have brought Gonzales in, had him drop his pants, and spanked his cheeks bright red.
Reid's become the Supernanny to the bullshit passivism of the previous Republican Congress. In a take-no-shit way, Reid has responded, time and again, to attacks by the White House and the GOP, not allowing them to get away with it, thinking, like John Kerry with the Swift Boat assholes, that if you ignore the behavior it'll go away. Nope. It doesn't work with kids. If you let them get away with one thing, then they'll just keep pushing until they see where the line is. It's called "testing the limits" in good parenting terminology. Reid's laid down the limits, and he's keeping the administration on the kiddie leash.
Check out the throwdown between the gelatinous globule of evil known as Dick Cheney and Reid yesterday. Cheney gets in front of the microphones to say, in essence, that Democrats are pussy little traitors who wanna get ass-fucked by al-Qaeda operatives on the floor of the Senate. Reid, whose office was nearby, responded almost immediately (indeed, he could have come out, whipped out his belt, and chased Cheney out of the building), calling Cheney an "attack dog" who is "sent out" by President Bush, and then dismissing him with "I'm not going to get into a name-calling match with somebody who has a 9 percent approval rating." Goddamn, Alec Baldwin couldn't have done it any better.
What Reid has done is pull the Iraq debate back to the center from the right, back to where one can actually talk about the endgame rather than talking about whether to stay the course or add more troops. His declaration that, under the current policies, the war is lost and that the war cannot be won militarily have merely been reflections of the public. And Reid's anti-war remarks (and it's time we start labeling them that) have not, despite the best efforts of the White House and Fox "news," caused the backlash against Democrats they thought would occur, simply because, for so long, all the administration had to do was throw itself on the ground and scream and roll around and it would get its way.
Democrats are slowly learning what real power is, like the parent who says, "No," firmly, who walks into his teenager's room and tosses the TV and Wii out of the window and says, "Now do your fuckin' homework." They're learning that to be leaders means they have to lead, and Reid is giving a goddamn master class on how to do it.
(Full disclosure: the Rude Pundit was once punched by Kim Basinger. But that's a story for another time.)
4/24/2007
Postponed Posting:
The Rude Pundit's been going non-stop today, servicing both Lois Lane and Lana Lang. But here's a preview of upcoming posts.
Tomorrow: Harry Reid fucks Dick Cheney and George Bush.
Later: A New Orleans resident gives the Rude Pundit the inside scoop of what it's like to live in that hole of hell.
Later still: The war gets a wee bit closer to the Rude Pundit.
Back in the a.m.
The Rude Pundit's been going non-stop today, servicing both Lois Lane and Lana Lang. But here's a preview of upcoming posts.
Tomorrow: Harry Reid fucks Dick Cheney and George Bush.
Later: A New Orleans resident gives the Rude Pundit the inside scoop of what it's like to live in that hole of hell.
Later still: The war gets a wee bit closer to the Rude Pundit.
Back in the a.m.
Photos That Make the Rude Pundit Want to Down Three Xanax With a Fifth of Scotch:
Does he need another goddamned hat? Why keep reinforcing an image that's not true? It's like telling your gay lover that his cock is huge when, really, it's at best on the small side of average. All you're doing is fucking him over for the next relationship he's in when he drops his pants and gets unexpectedly sad sighs in response.
Update on the IE Situation: It's all good again.
More later on Bush, Reid, and Who's Fucking Whom.
Does he need another goddamned hat? Why keep reinforcing an image that's not true? It's like telling your gay lover that his cock is huge when, really, it's at best on the small side of average. All you're doing is fucking him over for the next relationship he's in when he drops his pants and gets unexpectedly sad sighs in response.
Update on the IE Situation: It's all good again.
More later on Bush, Reid, and Who's Fucking Whom.
4/23/2007
Blog Tech Problems on Explorer:
Since the Rude Pundit was switched this weekend to the new version of Blogger, the blog has been fucked on Internet Explorer. He has contacted the fine, hot, young techies at Blogger, who he hopes are not too tainted by their Google overlord, and awaits an answer. Firefox and Safari seem to be untouched. If you're using IE, just pause for a moment or two and it'll load eventually without the bizarro smeared lines. If anyone is a good Blogger poin with advice on this, please contact the Rude Pundit - rudepundit at yahoo dot com.
Since the Rude Pundit was switched this weekend to the new version of Blogger, the blog has been fucked on Internet Explorer. He has contacted the fine, hot, young techies at Blogger, who he hopes are not too tainted by their Google overlord, and awaits an answer. Firefox and Safari seem to be untouched. If you're using IE, just pause for a moment or two and it'll load eventually without the bizarro smeared lines. If anyone is a good Blogger poin with advice on this, please contact the Rude Pundit - rudepundit at yahoo dot com.
It's All About the Delusionality, Part 1: The Vatican, Iraq:
We know how this shit actually went down. A bunch of cardinals, bishops, the Pope, other hangers-on in man-dresses gathered in Rome and said, with their various cute accents, "Damn, we gotta do something to make people think we're not a bunch of hatemongering bullshit artists who only wanna fuck little boys and engorge our golden coffers with the money of the poor." So, now, there's only a little bit of wriggle room in Catholic teachings to do something that won't completely fuck with people and cause a schism, a la those heathen Episcopalians. What do you do, motherfuckers? What do you do?
You say the babies ain't floatin' in limbo no more. Yep, that'll take care of the bad PR. For centuries, Catholics have believed that dead babies (and fetuses) wouldn't be allowed into God's creepily wide open arms because no one in a man-dress had poured on the babies' heads a goodly dose of holy water, which, as near as the Rude Pundit can tell, means water that the Pope has dipped his balls in. (Followed, of course, by the dude in the man-dress smearing lubricant on the baby's head. Followed, of course, by the baby crying because some dude in a man-dress just tossed water in her eyes and then made her ready for cooking.)
Apparently, this was done after a great deal of "study." Says the document the Vatican put out, "The conclusion of this study is that there are theological and liturgical reasons to hope that infants who die without baptism may be saved and brought into eternal happiness even if there is not an explicit teaching on this question found in revelation." How does the babies gets them some salvation? Well, suffering is always a good way, by "saving conformity to Christ in his own death." So crucified babies are in, as are other victims of "violence." And then there's the chance that God'll just give 'em a pass.
It's really part of the ongoing upgrading in the status of the dead babies since St. Augustine, that repressed fuck, declared that the babies is headin' to hell to burn because babies make Satan's fires glow more brightly. That was in the fifth century. In the 1200s, they upgraded the babies to limbo, but they held the bar awfully low. Now it's all the way to heaven for them babies. Although the Catholics are hedging their bets in an amazingly honest statement: "It must be clearly acknowledged that the church does not have sure knowledge about the salvation of unbaptized infants who die."
Seriously, how is this any different than slicing open a goat and reading its entrails to see what's what?
Meanwhile, over in Mosul, Iraq, gunmen, probably Sunni, separated people by religion, letting the Christians go, and keeping a bunch of Kurds who belong to the Yazidi faith (not an Islamic sect) on the bus they were riding in. Then they, you know, drove 'em somewhere, lined 'em up, and killed 23 of them. The reason had something to do with revenge for a Yazidi woman who converted to Islam for a Sunni lover and then was stoned to death by the Yazidis for it. And there's some shit about Yazidis believing in some angel who some Christians and Muslims believe is the devil and...ah, fuck it.
You wanna know why the war is lost? Because it could never, never be won. We're asking people who live in a state of religious delusion to calm the fuck down and not respond to their delusions. Delusional reality. Delusionality, if you will. We in the West just think our delusionality is so much more civilized than theirs.
But if the great and wondrous West is still trying to figure out if some invisible sky wizard lets the ghosts of dead babies into his invisible sky cloud city, if this is something that grown-ups have to have a "study" about, whether for reasons of public relations or theology, then we are not so far down that historical road from stoning for conversions.
We're not gonna win this war because we're in the middle of the Better Butter Battle. Hell, the Zooks and the Yooks even built a goddamn wall.
We know how this shit actually went down. A bunch of cardinals, bishops, the Pope, other hangers-on in man-dresses gathered in Rome and said, with their various cute accents, "Damn, we gotta do something to make people think we're not a bunch of hatemongering bullshit artists who only wanna fuck little boys and engorge our golden coffers with the money of the poor." So, now, there's only a little bit of wriggle room in Catholic teachings to do something that won't completely fuck with people and cause a schism, a la those heathen Episcopalians. What do you do, motherfuckers? What do you do?
You say the babies ain't floatin' in limbo no more. Yep, that'll take care of the bad PR. For centuries, Catholics have believed that dead babies (and fetuses) wouldn't be allowed into God's creepily wide open arms because no one in a man-dress had poured on the babies' heads a goodly dose of holy water, which, as near as the Rude Pundit can tell, means water that the Pope has dipped his balls in. (Followed, of course, by the dude in the man-dress smearing lubricant on the baby's head. Followed, of course, by the baby crying because some dude in a man-dress just tossed water in her eyes and then made her ready for cooking.)
Apparently, this was done after a great deal of "study." Says the document the Vatican put out, "The conclusion of this study is that there are theological and liturgical reasons to hope that infants who die without baptism may be saved and brought into eternal happiness even if there is not an explicit teaching on this question found in revelation." How does the babies gets them some salvation? Well, suffering is always a good way, by "saving conformity to Christ in his own death." So crucified babies are in, as are other victims of "violence." And then there's the chance that God'll just give 'em a pass.
It's really part of the ongoing upgrading in the status of the dead babies since St. Augustine, that repressed fuck, declared that the babies is headin' to hell to burn because babies make Satan's fires glow more brightly. That was in the fifth century. In the 1200s, they upgraded the babies to limbo, but they held the bar awfully low. Now it's all the way to heaven for them babies. Although the Catholics are hedging their bets in an amazingly honest statement: "It must be clearly acknowledged that the church does not have sure knowledge about the salvation of unbaptized infants who die."
Seriously, how is this any different than slicing open a goat and reading its entrails to see what's what?
Meanwhile, over in Mosul, Iraq, gunmen, probably Sunni, separated people by religion, letting the Christians go, and keeping a bunch of Kurds who belong to the Yazidi faith (not an Islamic sect) on the bus they were riding in. Then they, you know, drove 'em somewhere, lined 'em up, and killed 23 of them. The reason had something to do with revenge for a Yazidi woman who converted to Islam for a Sunni lover and then was stoned to death by the Yazidis for it. And there's some shit about Yazidis believing in some angel who some Christians and Muslims believe is the devil and...ah, fuck it.
You wanna know why the war is lost? Because it could never, never be won. We're asking people who live in a state of religious delusion to calm the fuck down and not respond to their delusions. Delusional reality. Delusionality, if you will. We in the West just think our delusionality is so much more civilized than theirs.
But if the great and wondrous West is still trying to figure out if some invisible sky wizard lets the ghosts of dead babies into his invisible sky cloud city, if this is something that grown-ups have to have a "study" about, whether for reasons of public relations or theology, then we are not so far down that historical road from stoning for conversions.
We're not gonna win this war because we're in the middle of the Better Butter Battle. Hell, the Zooks and the Yooks even built a goddamn wall.
4/20/2007
In Brief: Another Observation Regarding Alberto Gonzales Yesterday:
A generous observer might call Attorney General Alberto Gonzales "a fucking retard" after his performance yesterday before the Senate Judiciary Committee. So much has already been said, but the Rude Pundit has a couple of things to add.
In that gut-wrenching realization that American citizens are having on a nearly continuous basis, the reaction of the Bush White House to Gonzales's testimony was another reason for the electorate to run to the toilet, shitting themselves while thinking, "What have we wrought?" In addition to yesterday's statement of how splendiferous Gonzales performed, today we get White House Deputy Press Secretary "Delicious" Dana Perino saying of Gonzales, "[H]e has done a fantastic job at the Department of Justice. He is our number one crime fighter. He has done so much to help keep this country safe from terrorists." Regarding Gonzales's flailing and drooling in front of the Senators and the world, flopping around to explain the firing of the U.S. Attorneys, Perino added, "[T]he Attorney General has apologized for how it was handled, and that he has a job to do, and he's been doing it very well. And the President has full confidence in him."
It's one thing to not be a jerk about things when it comes to a pal accidentally dropping his pants and showing everyone his tiny dick and peanut balls, to maybe say, "Well, we wish he had done better, but we're satisfied" or some such shit. But the White House is going out of its way to tell everyone how super-good Gonzales is and how everyone should just shut the fuck up now and go about their business. It's like when you introduce your bald boyfriend to your family and then talk about how much you love his hair. Do you think everyone's gonna humor you?
It wasn't just that Gonzales was worthless, lying so much that it was a wonder that Satan didn't reach a claw into the hearing room and drag Gonzales to be eviscerated in Hades. It was that Gonzales was a goddamned embarrassment, a pathetic toadie, out of touch in a way that screams, "Plausible deniability," told what he should believe and do. In olden days, people like that would be flailed and then forced to run naked through the streets. Instead, he'll just go on napping at the foot of the President's ottoman.
A generous observer might call Attorney General Alberto Gonzales "a fucking retard" after his performance yesterday before the Senate Judiciary Committee. So much has already been said, but the Rude Pundit has a couple of things to add.
In that gut-wrenching realization that American citizens are having on a nearly continuous basis, the reaction of the Bush White House to Gonzales's testimony was another reason for the electorate to run to the toilet, shitting themselves while thinking, "What have we wrought?" In addition to yesterday's statement of how splendiferous Gonzales performed, today we get White House Deputy Press Secretary "Delicious" Dana Perino saying of Gonzales, "[H]e has done a fantastic job at the Department of Justice. He is our number one crime fighter. He has done so much to help keep this country safe from terrorists." Regarding Gonzales's flailing and drooling in front of the Senators and the world, flopping around to explain the firing of the U.S. Attorneys, Perino added, "[T]he Attorney General has apologized for how it was handled, and that he has a job to do, and he's been doing it very well. And the President has full confidence in him."
It's one thing to not be a jerk about things when it comes to a pal accidentally dropping his pants and showing everyone his tiny dick and peanut balls, to maybe say, "Well, we wish he had done better, but we're satisfied" or some such shit. But the White House is going out of its way to tell everyone how super-good Gonzales is and how everyone should just shut the fuck up now and go about their business. It's like when you introduce your bald boyfriend to your family and then talk about how much you love his hair. Do you think everyone's gonna humor you?
It wasn't just that Gonzales was worthless, lying so much that it was a wonder that Satan didn't reach a claw into the hearing room and drag Gonzales to be eviscerated in Hades. It was that Gonzales was a goddamned embarrassment, a pathetic toadie, out of touch in a way that screams, "Plausible deniability," told what he should believe and do. In olden days, people like that would be flailed and then forced to run naked through the streets. Instead, he'll just go on napping at the foot of the President's ottoman.
The Rude Pundit on Al Gore Myths:
It's a fun interview in the Calgary Herald in advance of Gore speaking in that fair Canadian metropolis. The Rude Pundit was asked to comment on various lies and half-truths regarding Gore.
It's a fun interview in the Calgary Herald in advance of Gore speaking in that fair Canadian metropolis. The Rude Pundit was asked to comment on various lies and half-truths regarding Gore.
Alberto Gonzales: If You're Gonna Be a Toadie, You May As Well Look Like a Toad:
The Mexican burrowing toad can also be found in the United States, or, really, just in Texas. It's survival would be in doubt anywhere else in this country. It's a strange looking toad, this one. It's got no noticeable neck or external ear, and it doesn't have teeth. A stocky little bastard, it can burrow with the best of the animal kingdom, digging into the ground with its hind legs and disappearing, ass first, into the soil, puffing itself up and down, before its covered in dirt. It spends very little time above ground, only coming out in rainy weather to breed. Otherwise, it's just an underground toad, one that the people of southern Texas probably walk over every day.
It's a fairly sociable amphibian, but only, really, with other toads. And when it's threatened, it will "grossly inflate" its body, hoping that the sudden change in size will scare the shit out of predators. If it doesn't, then it may have noxious skin secretions it can ooze out. And if that doesn't work, well, then it's probably time to be a snake's lunch.
In Texas, the species has been given the status of "threatened." The federal government has made no such declaration. But it is considered a fairly popular pet, as far as toads go.
More later.
The Mexican burrowing toad can also be found in the United States, or, really, just in Texas. It's survival would be in doubt anywhere else in this country. It's a strange looking toad, this one. It's got no noticeable neck or external ear, and it doesn't have teeth. A stocky little bastard, it can burrow with the best of the animal kingdom, digging into the ground with its hind legs and disappearing, ass first, into the soil, puffing itself up and down, before its covered in dirt. It spends very little time above ground, only coming out in rainy weather to breed. Otherwise, it's just an underground toad, one that the people of southern Texas probably walk over every day.
It's a fairly sociable amphibian, but only, really, with other toads. And when it's threatened, it will "grossly inflate" its body, hoping that the sudden change in size will scare the shit out of predators. If it doesn't, then it may have noxious skin secretions it can ooze out. And if that doesn't work, well, then it's probably time to be a snake's lunch.
In Texas, the species has been given the status of "threatened." The federal government has made no such declaration. But it is considered a fairly popular pet, as far as toads go.
More later.
4/19/2007
The Carhart Decision: Keeping Women Moral:
One should always - always - check out what Dahlia Lithwick over at Slate has to say about Supreme Court decisions. So in the Gonzales v. Carhart case upholding a Congressional ban on the intact dilation and extraction abortion procedure, check out Lithwick for her insight and cutting wit on Anthony Kennedy's bizarre majority opinion. As Lithwick points out, Kennedy's biggest problem seems to be that he finds the procedure gross - as in "eww." Icky and disturbing are sort of part and parcel of being a medical professional, but Kennedy focuses in, like Eli Roth with a gavel, on the disgusting details.
The text of the decision is mildly creepy, with its patronizing tone of patriarchal authority in support of the Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act: "Respect for human life finds an ultimate expression in the bond of love the mother has for her child. The Act recognizes this reality as well. Whether to have an abortion requires a difficult and painful moral decision. While we find no reliable data to measure the phenomenon, it seems unexceptionable to conclude some women come to regret their choice to abort the infant life they once created and sustained. Severe depression and loss of esteem can follow." Or, in other words, bitches is crazy. Kennedy also twice uses the medically-unaccepted, but pro-lifer beloved term "partial-birth abortion," with its inflammatory oversimplification. But it plays to the emotions, you know.
Further down, Kennedy says, "Medical uncertainty does not foreclose the exercise of legislative power in the abortion context any more than it does in other contexts." So, in the face of no data, the Supreme Court affirms that Congress has the right to decide what behavior is moral, based on majority notions of morality: "No one would dispute that, for many, D&E is a procedure itself laden with the power to devalue human life. Congress could nonetheless conclude that the type of abortion proscribed by the Act requires specific regulation because it implicates additional ethical and moral concerns that justify a special prohibition."
Beyond abortion politics, the breadth of that idea is stunning. It's some profoundly scary shit. Kennedy is saying that Congress can decide that "moral concerns" can "justify a special prohibition" on an act. Not to get all slippery-slop, domino-effect here, where does that end, once you stick morality into the equation? Are there First Amendment moral concerns that would require a special prohibition? Like saying and printing that some Supreme Court decisions are "models of fucktardery that seem as if they were written by mad geezers who are grumpy from taking so long to take a decent piss in the Judges' washroom"? For all you right-wingers proudly declaiming "Victory" today, dancing around with your model fetuses and frozen embryos, are there Second Amendment moral concerns that might result in a ban on certain kinds of guns?
President Bush and Vice President Cheney are fond of saying that the Congress is acting like 535 Commanders-in-Chief when it comes to war funding. But the Court yesterday affirmed that each member of Congress and every bugfuck nutzoid Christian gobbledy-gook spouter on a state legislature can be a woman's doctor: "Considerations of marginal safety, including the balance of risks, are within the legislative competence when the regulation is rational and in pursuit of legitimate ends." That "legitimate end," in the weird logic of the decision (as Ruth Bader Ginsburg points out in her dissent), is saying not to off the fetuses that way - off them some other way.
Or, in other words, Congress is now in the operating room with the doctor, who used to have to make the decision between the dilation and extraction method (the "partial-birth" abortion) and the dilation and evacuation method (the use of forceps to dismember an anesthesized fetus in the womb). The woman there has already made the decision to be there - it might have been a rugged, hard-thought decision, it might not have been - but the doctor now has had the procedural decision made for him or her, no matter what might be more medically sound in the circumstances. And that should frighten you no matter where you stand on abortion.
Anti-abortion activists always want pro-choice people to remember the gruesome details of what happens in an abortion. But they don't want to think about the implications of the government making laws abridging freedoms. Fundamentalists and others don't give a shit about implications - just shootin' some freebased political gratification to soothe that Christ jones runnin' in their veins. The best part for 'em is that they see this as just the beginning, that the overturning Roe v. Wade slope is slippery, and we're gonna tumble down giggling, sliding onto a cushion of women's corpses.
(By the way, for unintentional larfs, check out Clarence Thomas's concurring opinion, where he says, "Yeah, and fuck Roe v. Wade, too." It's a model of the yapping little bitch school of jurisprudence.)
One should always - always - check out what Dahlia Lithwick over at Slate has to say about Supreme Court decisions. So in the Gonzales v. Carhart case upholding a Congressional ban on the intact dilation and extraction abortion procedure, check out Lithwick for her insight and cutting wit on Anthony Kennedy's bizarre majority opinion. As Lithwick points out, Kennedy's biggest problem seems to be that he finds the procedure gross - as in "eww." Icky and disturbing are sort of part and parcel of being a medical professional, but Kennedy focuses in, like Eli Roth with a gavel, on the disgusting details.
The text of the decision is mildly creepy, with its patronizing tone of patriarchal authority in support of the Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act: "Respect for human life finds an ultimate expression in the bond of love the mother has for her child. The Act recognizes this reality as well. Whether to have an abortion requires a difficult and painful moral decision. While we find no reliable data to measure the phenomenon, it seems unexceptionable to conclude some women come to regret their choice to abort the infant life they once created and sustained. Severe depression and loss of esteem can follow." Or, in other words, bitches is crazy. Kennedy also twice uses the medically-unaccepted, but pro-lifer beloved term "partial-birth abortion," with its inflammatory oversimplification. But it plays to the emotions, you know.
Further down, Kennedy says, "Medical uncertainty does not foreclose the exercise of legislative power in the abortion context any more than it does in other contexts." So, in the face of no data, the Supreme Court affirms that Congress has the right to decide what behavior is moral, based on majority notions of morality: "No one would dispute that, for many, D&E is a procedure itself laden with the power to devalue human life. Congress could nonetheless conclude that the type of abortion proscribed by the Act requires specific regulation because it implicates additional ethical and moral concerns that justify a special prohibition."
Beyond abortion politics, the breadth of that idea is stunning. It's some profoundly scary shit. Kennedy is saying that Congress can decide that "moral concerns" can "justify a special prohibition" on an act. Not to get all slippery-slop, domino-effect here, where does that end, once you stick morality into the equation? Are there First Amendment moral concerns that would require a special prohibition? Like saying and printing that some Supreme Court decisions are "models of fucktardery that seem as if they were written by mad geezers who are grumpy from taking so long to take a decent piss in the Judges' washroom"? For all you right-wingers proudly declaiming "Victory" today, dancing around with your model fetuses and frozen embryos, are there Second Amendment moral concerns that might result in a ban on certain kinds of guns?
President Bush and Vice President Cheney are fond of saying that the Congress is acting like 535 Commanders-in-Chief when it comes to war funding. But the Court yesterday affirmed that each member of Congress and every bugfuck nutzoid Christian gobbledy-gook spouter on a state legislature can be a woman's doctor: "Considerations of marginal safety, including the balance of risks, are within the legislative competence when the regulation is rational and in pursuit of legitimate ends." That "legitimate end," in the weird logic of the decision (as Ruth Bader Ginsburg points out in her dissent), is saying not to off the fetuses that way - off them some other way.
Or, in other words, Congress is now in the operating room with the doctor, who used to have to make the decision between the dilation and extraction method (the "partial-birth" abortion) and the dilation and evacuation method (the use of forceps to dismember an anesthesized fetus in the womb). The woman there has already made the decision to be there - it might have been a rugged, hard-thought decision, it might not have been - but the doctor now has had the procedural decision made for him or her, no matter what might be more medically sound in the circumstances. And that should frighten you no matter where you stand on abortion.
Anti-abortion activists always want pro-choice people to remember the gruesome details of what happens in an abortion. But they don't want to think about the implications of the government making laws abridging freedoms. Fundamentalists and others don't give a shit about implications - just shootin' some freebased political gratification to soothe that Christ jones runnin' in their veins. The best part for 'em is that they see this as just the beginning, that the overturning Roe v. Wade slope is slippery, and we're gonna tumble down giggling, sliding onto a cushion of women's corpses.
(By the way, for unintentional larfs, check out Clarence Thomas's concurring opinion, where he says, "Yeah, and fuck Roe v. Wade, too." It's a model of the yapping little bitch school of jurisprudence.)
4/18/2007
The Candidates Feel Sad:
For big fun, check out the campaign websites of virtually every major candidate for President and their "statements" on the shootings at Virginia Tech. They fun part is in seeing how they can say how bad they feel without seeming self-serving and not repeating what other candidates said (or might say). But the most fascinating part is how completely each statement reflects each candidate's projection of him or herself.
Like John McCain's is the basic, simple template: "I am shocked and saddened to hear the news of today's events. This inconceivable tragedy was a horrific act of cruelty that took the lives of so many innocent young people, cutting their lives short and inflicting tremendous pain on all of those who loved them. Cindy and I extend our deepest sympathies and prayers to the students, faculty, friends and family of the Virginia Tech community." Get it? Straight talk, no glitter, no rhetorical flourishes.
Hillary Clinton is the everymother now, and her statement says she wants to give the families a big ol' bear hug: "As a parent, I am filled with sorrow for the mothers and fathers and loved ones struggling with the sudden, unbearable news of a lost son or daughter, friend or family member." It's on her campaign site's blog, clever tech savvy woman that she is, so the comments section allows us all to keep that proverbial conversation going.
Continuing his embodiment of bald opportunism with a chilling reptilian smile, Rudy Giuliani slyly slips in one of his unending 9/11 references by saying, "On this day of national tragedy, when we lost some of our finest to a senseless act, we stand together as a country to mourn those who lost their lives." Did you see that? "Some of our finest"? Ain't that straight outta the WTC talk?
Mitt Romney not only offers condolences, but, as befits a man desperately trying to shore up his street cred among conservatives, he also offers a shout-out to the cops: "Our full support is behind the law enforcement officials who are involved with stabilizing the situation and conducting an investigation."
Bill Richardson's statement befits a man who still actually goes to work every day, issuing a statement as a governor, not a candidate (although it's posted at his campaign website).
For quality, stylish, nearly artistic grieving, where else do you think you'd go? Bring it home, Obama: "In Blacksburg, they were daughters. They were sons. They were our nation's new leaders. We mourn them. We will miss them..." It's practically a goddamn haiku.
But the heart and soul, really, belong to John and Elizabeth Edwards, who, as they do everything these days, released a joint statement. They evoke their own tragedies without naming them: "We know what an unspeakable, life-changing moment this is for these families." After quoting a Methodist hymn, they say, "Our dearest wish is that this day could start again, with the promise of these young people alive." At some point, we're all gonna grow weary of the moral authority of the Edwardses, much as we've moved on from John McCain, ex-POW, but for now, it'll do.
For big fun, check out the campaign websites of virtually every major candidate for President and their "statements" on the shootings at Virginia Tech. They fun part is in seeing how they can say how bad they feel without seeming self-serving and not repeating what other candidates said (or might say). But the most fascinating part is how completely each statement reflects each candidate's projection of him or herself.
Like John McCain's is the basic, simple template: "I am shocked and saddened to hear the news of today's events. This inconceivable tragedy was a horrific act of cruelty that took the lives of so many innocent young people, cutting their lives short and inflicting tremendous pain on all of those who loved them. Cindy and I extend our deepest sympathies and prayers to the students, faculty, friends and family of the Virginia Tech community." Get it? Straight talk, no glitter, no rhetorical flourishes.
Hillary Clinton is the everymother now, and her statement says she wants to give the families a big ol' bear hug: "As a parent, I am filled with sorrow for the mothers and fathers and loved ones struggling with the sudden, unbearable news of a lost son or daughter, friend or family member." It's on her campaign site's blog, clever tech savvy woman that she is, so the comments section allows us all to keep that proverbial conversation going.
Continuing his embodiment of bald opportunism with a chilling reptilian smile, Rudy Giuliani slyly slips in one of his unending 9/11 references by saying, "On this day of national tragedy, when we lost some of our finest to a senseless act, we stand together as a country to mourn those who lost their lives." Did you see that? "Some of our finest"? Ain't that straight outta the WTC talk?
Mitt Romney not only offers condolences, but, as befits a man desperately trying to shore up his street cred among conservatives, he also offers a shout-out to the cops: "Our full support is behind the law enforcement officials who are involved with stabilizing the situation and conducting an investigation."
Bill Richardson's statement befits a man who still actually goes to work every day, issuing a statement as a governor, not a candidate (although it's posted at his campaign website).
For quality, stylish, nearly artistic grieving, where else do you think you'd go? Bring it home, Obama: "In Blacksburg, they were daughters. They were sons. They were our nation's new leaders. We mourn them. We will miss them..." It's practically a goddamn haiku.
But the heart and soul, really, belong to John and Elizabeth Edwards, who, as they do everything these days, released a joint statement. They evoke their own tragedies without naming them: "We know what an unspeakable, life-changing moment this is for these families." After quoting a Methodist hymn, they say, "Our dearest wish is that this day could start again, with the promise of these young people alive." At some point, we're all gonna grow weary of the moral authority of the Edwardses, much as we've moved on from John McCain, ex-POW, but for now, it'll do.
4/17/2007
No, This Thing Is Not Like That Other Thing:
Something's been pissing off the Rude Pundit in some of Left Blogsylvania's response to the Virginia Tech massacre. Yeah, it sucks that shit blows up and people die in larger numbers every day in Iraq and in a hundred other places. It's horrible and a nightmare and a goddamned shame.
But we're not in Iraq. We're not in a war zone. It's okay for this to be awful, in and of itself, without saying, in essence, "Well, if you think that's bad, look over here." 'Cause, you know, if you're stabbed in the leg, it ain't gonna make you feel that much better and it sure ain't gonna stop your bleeding to see the man who was run over by a truck.
Something's been pissing off the Rude Pundit in some of Left Blogsylvania's response to the Virginia Tech massacre. Yeah, it sucks that shit blows up and people die in larger numbers every day in Iraq and in a hundred other places. It's horrible and a nightmare and a goddamned shame.
But we're not in Iraq. We're not in a war zone. It's okay for this to be awful, in and of itself, without saying, in essence, "Well, if you think that's bad, look over here." 'Cause, you know, if you're stabbed in the leg, it ain't gonna make you feel that much better and it sure ain't gonna stop your bleeding to see the man who was run over by a truck.
The Virginia Tech Massacre and the American Attention Span:
The Rude Pundit was at a rest stop off the New Jersey Turnpike yesterday, joining the rest of the travelers munching on chicken and Whoppers and pizza, when he saw the news of the massacre at Virginia Tech on one of the twenty or so flat screen TVs mounted to the walls of the dining area. All of them were tuned to CNN. The volume was off.
The place was packed, filled with truckers and high school kids headed from Boston to DC and a family or two. The Rude Pundit wasn't going to stay - he had intended to just grab some burnt coffee, a prepackaged sandwich, maybe a cupcake, if the mood was right, and then head on back on the road. But he is drawn to cable news like a mosquito to the comfortingly warm violet light of the bug zapper. So he looked. At that point it was 22 dead, a horrible enough number, to be sure, but fifty percent short of the final death toll.
As he stared, trying to get details, he noticed something. Nobody else there was watching. To be sure, people would glance, maybe react with a head shake, maybe tell someone else about it, but then each person would turn back to their french fries, to their Spongebob toys. The Rude Pundit turned to a man at the table next to his and said, uninsightfully, "Twenty-two people were killed." The man nodded, pointed it out to his dining partner, and then their attention was caught by the chemically-induced mouth-watering scent of their burgers. The teenagers off the bus to DC were loud.
The Rude Pundit remembered another time he was in a public place when something horrible happened, when the space shuttle Challenger exploded, killing six astronauts and a schoolteacher. Then, everyone stopped, everyone, except those with the most pressing business, gathered around the screens to watch, to learn, to join in the mourning.
And then he remembered something from a long time ago, something that he had forgotten until this moment. Not a repressed memory, no, but just an incident that mattered at the time, but was faded in the mishmash of personal and public history that encompass our memories.
The Rude Pundit was a freshman at college, and he was walking across campus on a warm autumn day, leaving his dorm to go to class, tired, not noticing anything other than how humid the air was, when he was grabbed by a campus security officer and pulled behind a car. The officer's gun was drawn, and then the Rude Pundit saw that other campus cops were around and other students were crouched down, some cowering, some glancing to see what was going on. And then came the pop-pop of gun fire and the yells from officers of "Get down" and then, for just a moment, the gunman running, firing behind him. After he was out of sight, he carjacked a passing driver and escaped. He had robbed the bursar's office, getting away with thousands of dollars.
The campus police chief told the Rude Pundit in an interview for the college paper that the city cops claimed they would have "taken him out." But, the sad-eyed, thin old man said, "Our people didn't want the students caught in the cross-fire of a shoot-out."
No, this was not really anything like the nightmare at Virginia Tech yesterday, with its calculated moves and chained doors so there would be a high casualty count. But for a moment the Rude Pundit knows that gut-wrenching fear of being in an ostensibly safe place, not a war zone, and having it turned into something else.
But that's not why the Rude Pundit paid attention at the rest stop. It was because, to him, it mattered. We're so filled with stories, local crimes and small incidents, celebrity lives and deaths, animal attacks and house fires, that it's hard to discern anymore when something really matters. For everyone that the Rude Pundit saw in that fast food dining area, it was more of the noise of information. They had places to be. They had cell phones and Blackberries and GPS systems, and all of that technology told them that their lives were more important, always more important, than the lives of others.
Surely, when they arrive at their homes or hotels, they will be told to feel sorrow by the news networks. And maybe they will allow for something like sympathy, an approximation of emotion, the simulacrum of grief, to creep into their hearts and minds. After all, we will be told, we are a nation in mourning.
But mostly we are a dead-souled country, so inured to horror that even when something of incredible violence occurs on our soil, well, heck, we've been reminded of 9/11 so often that anything lesser hardly seems worthy of time in our Palm Pilots. For to pay attention means that we must feel compelled to act, and, as we've been taught by our government, our media, our culture, what good comes of acting?
What action? Well, for starters, doing something about the madness of the gun laws in the United States. No, guns didn't make this student wreak violence on Virginia Tech any more than a microphone makes Rush Limbaugh a blowhard. But guns sure made it easier for the violence to occur on such a large scale. As the Rude Pundit's said before, no one ever heard of a drive-by stabbing.
But to act is anathemic to our war and terrorist-influenced American mindset. God, if we were told to just go about our business after 9/11 and that they only thing we can sacrifice for the war is our peace of mind when we happen to tune to the wrong channels on our digital cable systems, why in the world would we want to do anything for this?
Oh, yeah, there is something we'll be asked to do. Pray. To whomever. And then continue to eat your fried chicken strips and drink your Diet Cokes. After a while, not feeling in the mood for that cupcake, the Rude Pundit hit the road, too.
The Rude Pundit was at a rest stop off the New Jersey Turnpike yesterday, joining the rest of the travelers munching on chicken and Whoppers and pizza, when he saw the news of the massacre at Virginia Tech on one of the twenty or so flat screen TVs mounted to the walls of the dining area. All of them were tuned to CNN. The volume was off.
The place was packed, filled with truckers and high school kids headed from Boston to DC and a family or two. The Rude Pundit wasn't going to stay - he had intended to just grab some burnt coffee, a prepackaged sandwich, maybe a cupcake, if the mood was right, and then head on back on the road. But he is drawn to cable news like a mosquito to the comfortingly warm violet light of the bug zapper. So he looked. At that point it was 22 dead, a horrible enough number, to be sure, but fifty percent short of the final death toll.
As he stared, trying to get details, he noticed something. Nobody else there was watching. To be sure, people would glance, maybe react with a head shake, maybe tell someone else about it, but then each person would turn back to their french fries, to their Spongebob toys. The Rude Pundit turned to a man at the table next to his and said, uninsightfully, "Twenty-two people were killed." The man nodded, pointed it out to his dining partner, and then their attention was caught by the chemically-induced mouth-watering scent of their burgers. The teenagers off the bus to DC were loud.
The Rude Pundit remembered another time he was in a public place when something horrible happened, when the space shuttle Challenger exploded, killing six astronauts and a schoolteacher. Then, everyone stopped, everyone, except those with the most pressing business, gathered around the screens to watch, to learn, to join in the mourning.
And then he remembered something from a long time ago, something that he had forgotten until this moment. Not a repressed memory, no, but just an incident that mattered at the time, but was faded in the mishmash of personal and public history that encompass our memories.
The Rude Pundit was a freshman at college, and he was walking across campus on a warm autumn day, leaving his dorm to go to class, tired, not noticing anything other than how humid the air was, when he was grabbed by a campus security officer and pulled behind a car. The officer's gun was drawn, and then the Rude Pundit saw that other campus cops were around and other students were crouched down, some cowering, some glancing to see what was going on. And then came the pop-pop of gun fire and the yells from officers of "Get down" and then, for just a moment, the gunman running, firing behind him. After he was out of sight, he carjacked a passing driver and escaped. He had robbed the bursar's office, getting away with thousands of dollars.
The campus police chief told the Rude Pundit in an interview for the college paper that the city cops claimed they would have "taken him out." But, the sad-eyed, thin old man said, "Our people didn't want the students caught in the cross-fire of a shoot-out."
No, this was not really anything like the nightmare at Virginia Tech yesterday, with its calculated moves and chained doors so there would be a high casualty count. But for a moment the Rude Pundit knows that gut-wrenching fear of being in an ostensibly safe place, not a war zone, and having it turned into something else.
But that's not why the Rude Pundit paid attention at the rest stop. It was because, to him, it mattered. We're so filled with stories, local crimes and small incidents, celebrity lives and deaths, animal attacks and house fires, that it's hard to discern anymore when something really matters. For everyone that the Rude Pundit saw in that fast food dining area, it was more of the noise of information. They had places to be. They had cell phones and Blackberries and GPS systems, and all of that technology told them that their lives were more important, always more important, than the lives of others.
Surely, when they arrive at their homes or hotels, they will be told to feel sorrow by the news networks. And maybe they will allow for something like sympathy, an approximation of emotion, the simulacrum of grief, to creep into their hearts and minds. After all, we will be told, we are a nation in mourning.
But mostly we are a dead-souled country, so inured to horror that even when something of incredible violence occurs on our soil, well, heck, we've been reminded of 9/11 so often that anything lesser hardly seems worthy of time in our Palm Pilots. For to pay attention means that we must feel compelled to act, and, as we've been taught by our government, our media, our culture, what good comes of acting?
What action? Well, for starters, doing something about the madness of the gun laws in the United States. No, guns didn't make this student wreak violence on Virginia Tech any more than a microphone makes Rush Limbaugh a blowhard. But guns sure made it easier for the violence to occur on such a large scale. As the Rude Pundit's said before, no one ever heard of a drive-by stabbing.
But to act is anathemic to our war and terrorist-influenced American mindset. God, if we were told to just go about our business after 9/11 and that they only thing we can sacrifice for the war is our peace of mind when we happen to tune to the wrong channels on our digital cable systems, why in the world would we want to do anything for this?
Oh, yeah, there is something we'll be asked to do. Pray. To whomever. And then continue to eat your fried chicken strips and drink your Diet Cokes. After a while, not feeling in the mood for that cupcake, the Rude Pundit hit the road, too.
4/16/2007
For the Family Research Council, Only Sex Matters:
It may be the saddest Prayer Target e-mail that the Rude Pundit ever received from the Family Reseach Council (motto: "Simmering with barely sublimated sexual repression for over a decade"). The Rude Pundit is a member of the FRC's Super-Duper Prayer Team, and every week he receives his prayifyin' orders from FRC President Tony Perkins, giving the SDPT ways to focus our random spray of godly beseechings. Usually, Perkins gives us the targets of our prayer arrows with smarmy self-assurance. Not this time. No, the whole thing smacks of desperation, for indeed, the religious right is flailing around like a just-caught trout in a dry bucket in the sun.
See, maybe, just maybe, the Rude Pundit thinks, we oughta be ejaculating our Jesus jizz on the mountainous tits of the war dead and wounded, of the poor and uninsured, of the victims of genocide, of the ongoing man-made destruction of the God-created earth. Nope. With one exception, for Perkins and the FRC, it's all about the fucking. Same song, next verse with these people, all the time.
"It is a wonder that educated men and women, ambitious to serve their country, can be blind about issues like the sanctity of human life, marriage and the family, the Islamist and homosexual threats," Perkins whines. "This is an hour in which God-fearing Americans must be extremely alert and stay very close to the Lord." The headlines have been against conservative Christians lately, with the public deciding, in large numbers, that the shit evangelicals care about is worthless, and Perkins is goin' hardball: "Our nation is in serious jeopardy. God will separate the sheep from the goats on Judgment Day, but here and now each of us is called to be a lover and advocate of Truth." And then Perkins gives the Super-Duper Prayer Team a good reacharound: "Your ministry as a prayer warrior could not be more important."
Aw, yeah, motherfuckers, the Rude Pundit's a prayer warrior now, sportin' his mighty Glock o' God's Love. And, according to Perkins, it's time to go out on the shootin' range and blow holes in those who use their holes and blowing abilities for un-Jesusly purposes. We gotta stop the homosexual agenda, like we do every week (no, really, every goddamn week the SDPT is told to pray that God'll stop the "homosexual threat" to America. At some point, after years of this prayerturbation, it should probably occur to someone that God doesn't really give a shit about who's fuckin' who.), and we gotta make sure that the fucking stops and that all the little babies is bornified.
We gotta pray "that a strong majority of Americans will come to reject the use of human embryonic stem cells for research but favor the use of adult stem cells," we gotta make sure that the FRC's lawsuit against the Food and Drug Administration over the morning-after pill is successful, and we gotta pray for abstinence. Oh, yeah, Perkins is all upset that a study said that the kids are gonna fuck no matter how much you tell 'em, "Don't you be fuckin', you kids, you."
Perkins admonishes, "This is spiritual warfare." That would be the funding of abstinence education programs, not, you know, the treatment of veterans. "Pray that truth will prevail over faulty studies. May the common sense of parents prevail over the agendas of social engineers! May abstinence programs, which require, not a few years, but a permanent commitment to work, be increasingly, not decreasingly funded."
The only non-fuckin' prayin' we gotta do this week involves "The Islamist Threat Abroad," where Perkins, in attacking Nancy Pelosi and Steny Hoyer for going to Syria and Egypt, conveniently avoids the fact that Republicans have been talkin' to the Islamicals. No, it's only Democrats whose "outrageous trips undermined the President's authority and raise constitutional questions." The SDPT is ordered to "Pray for our troops on the foreign field who are being 'stabbed in the back' after offering their lives in the service of our country."
In other words, you heathen bitches, no prayers for peace. Just war and no fucking. It's enough to make Jesus wanna tell 'em to roll that stone back and let him stay dead.
It may be the saddest Prayer Target e-mail that the Rude Pundit ever received from the Family Reseach Council (motto: "Simmering with barely sublimated sexual repression for over a decade"). The Rude Pundit is a member of the FRC's Super-Duper Prayer Team, and every week he receives his prayifyin' orders from FRC President Tony Perkins, giving the SDPT ways to focus our random spray of godly beseechings. Usually, Perkins gives us the targets of our prayer arrows with smarmy self-assurance. Not this time. No, the whole thing smacks of desperation, for indeed, the religious right is flailing around like a just-caught trout in a dry bucket in the sun.
See, maybe, just maybe, the Rude Pundit thinks, we oughta be ejaculating our Jesus jizz on the mountainous tits of the war dead and wounded, of the poor and uninsured, of the victims of genocide, of the ongoing man-made destruction of the God-created earth. Nope. With one exception, for Perkins and the FRC, it's all about the fucking. Same song, next verse with these people, all the time.
"It is a wonder that educated men and women, ambitious to serve their country, can be blind about issues like the sanctity of human life, marriage and the family, the Islamist and homosexual threats," Perkins whines. "This is an hour in which God-fearing Americans must be extremely alert and stay very close to the Lord." The headlines have been against conservative Christians lately, with the public deciding, in large numbers, that the shit evangelicals care about is worthless, and Perkins is goin' hardball: "Our nation is in serious jeopardy. God will separate the sheep from the goats on Judgment Day, but here and now each of us is called to be a lover and advocate of Truth." And then Perkins gives the Super-Duper Prayer Team a good reacharound: "Your ministry as a prayer warrior could not be more important."
Aw, yeah, motherfuckers, the Rude Pundit's a prayer warrior now, sportin' his mighty Glock o' God's Love. And, according to Perkins, it's time to go out on the shootin' range and blow holes in those who use their holes and blowing abilities for un-Jesusly purposes. We gotta stop the homosexual agenda, like we do every week (no, really, every goddamn week the SDPT is told to pray that God'll stop the "homosexual threat" to America. At some point, after years of this prayerturbation, it should probably occur to someone that God doesn't really give a shit about who's fuckin' who.), and we gotta make sure that the fucking stops and that all the little babies is bornified.
We gotta pray "that a strong majority of Americans will come to reject the use of human embryonic stem cells for research but favor the use of adult stem cells," we gotta make sure that the FRC's lawsuit against the Food and Drug Administration over the morning-after pill is successful, and we gotta pray for abstinence. Oh, yeah, Perkins is all upset that a study said that the kids are gonna fuck no matter how much you tell 'em, "Don't you be fuckin', you kids, you."
Perkins admonishes, "This is spiritual warfare." That would be the funding of abstinence education programs, not, you know, the treatment of veterans. "Pray that truth will prevail over faulty studies. May the common sense of parents prevail over the agendas of social engineers! May abstinence programs, which require, not a few years, but a permanent commitment to work, be increasingly, not decreasingly funded."
The only non-fuckin' prayin' we gotta do this week involves "The Islamist Threat Abroad," where Perkins, in attacking Nancy Pelosi and Steny Hoyer for going to Syria and Egypt, conveniently avoids the fact that Republicans have been talkin' to the Islamicals. No, it's only Democrats whose "outrageous trips undermined the President's authority and raise constitutional questions." The SDPT is ordered to "Pray for our troops on the foreign field who are being 'stabbed in the back' after offering their lives in the service of our country."
In other words, you heathen bitches, no prayers for peace. Just war and no fucking. It's enough to make Jesus wanna tell 'em to roll that stone back and let him stay dead.
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