Wednesday, December 31, 2008
No, I’m not going to roll back 2008 and sing about change with my unicorn riding President-elect. I’ve had my fun and now I’d like to think about tomorrow. One man comes to mind when I think of a better world, and his name is Master Legend. I read about him in Rolling Stone magazine, and it seems to me that it’s high time to build someone up instead of tearing someone else down. Read the article and get back to me. It’s worth the time.
Once upon a time in New Orleans, there was a young boy who became a superhero when he triumphed against evil and beat the bloody pulp out of his abusive father. On that day, Master Legend came to be and learned how to use his special powers for justice, in the name of dignity. Master Legend prefers peaceful resolutions, but he is not afraid to deliver punishing blows to bad guys, as needed.
Master Legend is a man of considerable wealth, if you were to factor such a thing in terms of personal enrichment instead of cash. What good is cash unless you can give it away to people who need it? Master Legend does not care of he has been evicted. He will move his headquarters elsewhere and battle evildoers from a new, unpublished location.
Working without a budget? That takes a special kind of bravery.
My hero of 2008, Master Legend, is a grown man wearing a silver costume, lives in a beat-up shotgun shack and drinks Busch beer. He doesn’t just “help people out”. No! He goes on covert missions! Master Legend has weapons with voltage and shiny tools that he made himself - NO PROBS. Every new day has a purpose. Oh, how I wish I could be with Master Legend in Florida, combating staph infections by providing the homeless with clean socks. I would be grateful to ride with his posse and save turtles from ruthless land developers! I hate crackheads, too! Sign me up.
If the world needs a masked crusader, if a selfless optimist wearing nut-smushing spandex can save us, then I want to be a part of that world. Count me in.
Master Legend, long may you wave!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
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Monday, December 29, 2008
Israel versus Hamas. Welcome to the latest round of Who’s Left Standing! There are so many addendums to this raging dispute that I would run out of Blogspot space before I labeled a fraction of busted villages.
I was talking to my idiot brother-in-law over the weekend. “You know what we need to do over there? Stand back and let them drop a nuke. When the whole region turns to glass, call me.” Well gee, human casualties aside and a nuclear winter, I’m thinking that’s a really bad idea. Call me crazy.
I don’t get it. No, I understand why they fight, but I don’t get the whole bloodshed and suicide vest thing. Why live that way? I can’t think of a thing in the world that would be worth living in rubble 24/7, 365 days a year. Can you?
If it were up to me, I’d offer up a sliver of diplomacy. “Let’s have a shower, sleep on a patch of our own beds tonight, and work out some shit in the morning.” But NO! Nope, we have to stand by and pay attention to Christiane Amanpour. I love her dearly, but I keep hoping she wouldn’t have anything to report.
Innocent people who don’t care a bit for grudge matches, religion or politics will spend New Year’s Eve in mourning. I don’t want to spend Monday thinking about this, either. And we must. Why? Because we have a shred of empathy left.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
You people seem to have no regard for The Bible. Last week I conducted a highly scientific Mojopoll to find out about your Internet usage. I already know that you value your on-line time above personal hygiene and family, but it turns out that you love your Interwebs more than The Bible – even though it was Christmastime! Second favorite? Chicken Nuggets. Congratulations, you bunch of zombie-pinko pagans. I hope you’re happy now!
This week’s poll is “Which social network or forum has the biggest ghetto?”
ABC News forums
Drudge Report comment section
And when I say “ghetto” I mean “illiterate fox hole” and “ill-informed moron cave”, or “the place where I will bazooka a clutch of tards”. If you have bigger ideas about even worse places on the net that make you want to punch a wall, lay it on the line. Use this time to vent, instead of plotting the demise of your enemies. Get it out – you will feel better!
Regular programming will resume after the holidays.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
What do you want for Christmas? Me? Oh, thanks for asking. I’d like an electric manager set, 45 illuminated candy canes, a hydraulic Grinch and a Christmas tree that breathes plasma. And a lawn to put it on.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Hilarity! I received a very fabulous link to a song called "Throw Your Shoes", by Neil Porter. It is in honor of the Iraqi journalist who gave his footwear and freedom to express himself, by pitching shoes at the worst US president in the history of ever - our Dubya.
Mr. Porter, you officially rock!
Click here for the song.
As I make my way through the assortment of park-named burbs in Illinois, I’ve come across some very wrong places to purchase take-out. Happiness Chinese Restaurant (6222 Roosevelt Rd., Oak Park, IL) is one of those soul-sucking vacuums that steals upon you and extracts any cravings you might have for Chinese food in the future. In it’s wake, it leaves the lingering scent of treacherous conspiracies. I’m serious – I still can’t get the smell of their food out of my hair. I didn’t even eat there! A gentleman of Latin origin, who just so happened to have giant snot blobs in each nostril, delivered it to my condo. What did I get myself into?
I ordered egg rolls. They tasted like cabbage, pork and cinnamon toast. Someone was making empanadas in the Happiness fryer that I day, and that is a non-debatable fact. I don’t know why a Chinese place is making deep fried dough with cinnamon, but nobody wants an egg roll that tastes like the way potpourri smells. Nobody.
I moved on to my hot and sour soup. Hmmm… There’s that fried cinnamon flavor again and what else? Oh, I know. It was burnt. I got whatever was scraped out of the soup pot at the end of someone’s shift. I don’t get it - I was very pleasant on the phone and pre-paid by debit card. Serving burnt soup is worse than farting at someone.
The General Tso’s chicken and moo shoo beef were also distinctively cinnamonyish. Every time I bit into sticky broccoli tree, I couldn’t help but think of Chi-Chi’s fried ice cream. Not a sensation I’m looking for in a vegetable. Two bites of each entrée and I was out. I will have no more of this Happiness trickery in my mouth!
The worst part is, the leftovers of Happiness are still in my fridge. As a habit, I pack up leftovers for lunches. That means I have nearly-full containers of un-Happiness looking back at me whenever I fetch coffee creamer or an olive. If I touch the boxes, I might turn into what they are. The best I can do is buy a Hazmat suit when the wind chill advisory in Chicago is over, and walk the boxes to the trash chute via BBQ tongs. Pray for good weather.
Read Parky’s: Where Hot Dogs Go To Die for more bad food reviews.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Chatty exhibitionist Caroline Kennedy has unveiled her favorite positions. Kennedy revealed to Politico that she likes it gay, straight, and even through the back door (Bloomberg Style).
If Kennedy receives the appointment to be the next junior senator from New York, she will be 216 congresspersons and every living senator away from the presidency. Given the magnitude of this appointment and the whisper-thin line of succession if everyone else dies, it is no wonder that so many crab-faced sputterers from the right are FREAKING OUT about hiring That Kennedy.
First we had to read about her disgusting fetish for public service. Then we were reminded of the ways she eroticized constitutional law. Will this woman stop at nothing to sensationalize politics? The next thing you know, she’s going to start showing up underwear-less in Buffalo.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Warmth. Relief. Just passing time. Is that too much for anyone to hope for?
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Friday, December 19, 2008
Have you heard the latest rule from Shoe-Ducking President Dubya that permits the entire healthcare industry to turn their back on you? Yes they can.
From The LA Times:
The Bush administration announced its "conscience protection" rule for the healthcare industry Thursday, giving doctors, hospitals, and even receptionists and volunteers in medical experiments the right to refuse to participate in medical care they find morally objectionable…
The rule says providers -- including hospitals, clinics, universities, pharmacies and doctor's offices -- can be charged with discrimination if an employee is pressured to participate in care that is "contrary to their religious beliefs or moral convictions." Violators would lose their federal funds.
Did you catch that? This “conscience protection” rule is extended to the entire healthcare industry. Yes, it started out as a plan to block abortions and birth control. And the new rule also gives healthcare employees, from the ground up, the right to prevent patients from having antibiotics and blood transfusions.
Patients who live in under-served areas (impoverished inner cities, the rural south) and do not have a wide assortment of medical options could be denied treatment because of any number of “conscience protection” factors.
People, this new law isn’t just a magic bullet aimed at the proverbial Godless whores. It’s a nuclear device aimed at women first and the rest of humanity next. Here’s a short list of plausible scenarios to disturb your sleep:
* A pregnant woman needs an abortion in order to save her life. Halfway through the procedure, an anesthesiologist has fit of conscience and suddenly leaves the room. According to the new rule, the hospital does not even have to reassign the anesthesiologist to another department. Basically, the surgeon will have to scramble for a new anesthesiologist and cross his fingers.
* An elderly man is prescribed antibiotics for pneumonia. A pharmacy technician refuses to call the insurance company for authorization because her religion opposes this medication. No, she can’t get in trouble.
* While your infant son is having a circumcision before he comes home from the hospital, a nurse can refuse to staunch the bleeding at the very last minute if said nurse has any sort of moral objections to this procedure.
Anyone working in healthcare has the right to refuse to make your appointments, stop mopping your bloody floor and object to selling you that pretty box of ribbed condoms. “I will not give you RU-486, teenage incest rape victim. My pastor told me I’ll go to hell for that.” Or maybe a doc might refuse to treat your mother because he is not permitted to speak directly to women. The list is endless. Hippocratic Oath be damned.
Arguments against this rule should be vigorous and constant. Everyone is encouraged to call The White House and complain. Rachel Maddow has generously provided their telephone number, below.
Please call Dubya at (202) 456-1414.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
I asked Mojopost readers which kinds of jokes they prefer, because your funny bone is important to me. This week I have a firm mandate. Most of you prefer a steaming pants-load of jokes about crap above anything else in life. If there’s a howl to be enjoyed over a toilet bowl full of unmentionables, by God – you people are all over it. And that is why we are going to talk about poop.
Shit is fascinating. It’s always on time and rarely celebrated, but when it is unexpected it is the most important thing in the whole world. Further, Number Two is something we all do as humans and we can relate. We have all been there, hunkered down after coffee and reading the shampoo bottle to pass time. I love this about us, that we understand the relevance of a good dump.
This is what I know about dookie:
* Like most people, I can’t poop in a public toilet unless it is a valid emergency. If I may be candid, I prefer to save my hot cable for the home office. In those must-go circumstances in the world, I feel like a primitive beast that is dragging down evolution. Everything is louder in a bathroom stall. It makes me sad.
* Everyone farts when they need to poop. A chronic farter is just someone looking for a home office. It is true that some folks get a bit gassy because of certain foods. On the other hand, maybe they aren’t trying hard enough to take a crap. When the butt-horn sounds, I am all about a magazine and alone time.
* When I wipe away my problem area, I prefer a combination of toilet paper and moist towelettes. As a matter of fact, I think moist towelettes are a necessity. They get rid of cling-ons, smears and my cheeks are always fresh. Being fresh is important to me, as a person who owns white underwear. I’m like you – stains harsh my mellow. Moist towelettes lend confidence and reassurance is visible on laundry day.
Good luck to one and all on their BM’s today. Think of me, if you will, and remind yourself that what you are doing is good and just. Your relief is our bond. In the comment section, below, you are invited to discuss anything of fecal importance. No one will be judged. Need inspiration? Visit RateMyPoo.com, but do not arrive there on an empty stomach. Graphic indeed. Very much NOT safe for work.
FYI – check out the new poll when you have time. It’s about the Internet, and how it might be better than other things in your life. All votes are anonymous. Have at it!
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
When Chicago has a moment of downtime away from corruption and greed, we can always rely on incompetence to pass the time. For example, the city can’t afford adequate snow removal, sand or road salt. Let me explain something about this fix: It snows in Chicago like it rains in Seattle. Blaming our mayor, Richard M. Daley, for the lack of pro-active snow removal is the right thing to do.
I enjoy exciting walks to the train along the skating rink that is my sidewalk, with what feels like two Carvel ice cream cakes strapped to my feet. Abject terror first thing in the morning is one inexpensive way to burn calories, but I’ve heard it’s not very heart-smart. While I have managed to avoid knocking out my front teeth so far this season, the sound of old people breaking their hips has become a little too, shall we say, common.
Sure, the main roads are cleared. The side streets? Plows come by (on occasion) to scrape the snow off the ice, and knock as many mirrors off parked cars as humanly possible. I have a garage, but pity the fool who does not. You want license plate numbers? When the plow comes around again next year, I’ll write it down.
The upside of this mess? The potholes are filled with something for a change. Snow and ice. Neither of those things is helpful for traction, but I have not activated my airbags driving to the grocery store this month. If I had square wheels made of hammerheads, my drive-time could not possibly be worse.
President-elect Obama has said he will authorize work to rebuild our nation’s roads and bridges. Sir, we would gratefully have a wee thimble full of construction – or even just the crust of repair. Really – it wouldn’t take much to calm people the hell down. Chicagoans are a few weeks away from shoving Mayor Daley’s face into a snow bank and depantsing him in front of the Olympic Committee. I’m not saying that I would do that – certainly not. I have a snow shovel in my trunk and I feel like fighting.
I don’t know which gangster or corrupt official won’t be paid this month, but Cook County needs some plows and salt. Do not make me take my earrings off.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Caroline Kennedy (as in JFK’s daughter and Bobby’s niece) wants Hillary Clinton’s old job in the NY State senate. Really? So give it to her! Chop chop – times a-wastin’.
The anti-Caroline Kennedy camp is having a shit fit. “She’s never held a position in government. How do I know she’s qualified?” Most of the people making noise want Hillary’s job. But they have a point. Caroline has never held office. Not even as Dog Catcher. And so what, I ask? So what. Obama didn’t have a heck of a lot of experience, either. Guess who helped him run his campaign this year… Do you see where I’m going with this? So give her the job!
Other anti-Caroline Kennedy party poopers are bitching about her last name. “Oh great. Another Kennedy. What is it with American dynasties? Bush, Clinton, Kennedy. Christ!” If the Kennedy’s were bad at what they do (politics) this argument might sound less like cry-babyism than it does. If anyone can tell me how a Kennedy has worked against civil rights or tried to screw the working men and women in this country, stand up you liar and let me count your lying hand. These Kennedy’s of ours have spent decades trying to leave this country in better shape than when they found it. And what do the Kennedy’s get for their time? Brain tumors and assassinated. So give her the job!
Only one person can help Caroline get the job. Gov. Patterson, who became NY's governor not by election but by default (his boss, Elliot Spitzer, was caught messing around with prostitutes and had to resign). He has to appoint a senator because Hillary Clinton has a new job, and her spot isn’t up for an election until 2010. Patterson is as popular as fish flavored bundt cake, and one could easily see him picking another C-List type of person to take Hillary’s job. A really boring or annoying person he can identify with. Or he could up his net worth in the Democratic Party and pick someone with instant name recognition, who knows how to raise piles and piles of campaign funds and might actually give a shit about people. And Patterson has to think about this? What about “GIVE CAROLINE A JOB” is so hard to understand?
You bet I’m for this. I’m not saying she is entitled, but I am saying she might know a thing or two. Caroline is a mother, a lawyer, a writer, an editor, an advocate for public education and she is smart as heck. We should be so lucky to have her around for a long time.
My folks in Western NY would love, love, love to have another Sen. Kennedy. All of our parents still talk about the time JFK came to visit in the 60’s, too, and have framed photographs of him hanging by their fake fireplaces. Word! In fact, let me tell you something, Sally. One of the first songs kids in Western NY learn how to play in band class just so happens to be “Sweet Caroline”. I know – I was there. Please do not damage my sentimental feelings.
Stick around. Things are about to get interesting in the Empire State.
Neil Diamond – Sweet Caroline (duh!)
Monday, December 15, 2008
On-line groups are organizing themselves to throw things at Dubya on January 20th. On this day everyone’s favorite black Arab, President-elect Barack Hussein Chicago-Obama, will be sworn in president of the United & Humbled Mess Of Whatever. Therefore, it is common knowledge that citizens here are covertly planning new and exciting ways to throw shit at Dubya on his way out the door. I’d like to remind everyone that throwing things at any president, past or present, is illegal. And if that matters to you, we can no longer be friends.
I won’t provide links to the groups getting organized. You’re smart enough to figure that out. Why point fingers at some very hilarious, ingenious people who deserve nothing but our love. These groups will be throwing things like:
* Used diapers
* Iraqi shoes
* And so much more…
The possibilities are endless. Avoid bothering Dubya’s limo driver by all means. That guy is trying to earn a living, is all. Remember – Bush and Dubya will travel to the ceremony together. Save your arm for the after-events.
If I make it to DC on the 20th, Imma throw one of everything I can get my hands on. Yeah yeah – Obama means our nation has matured, we’re supposed to have dignity and blah blah blah. I want closure, and the kind of closure I need involves stinking handful of something wet at Dubya's face.
Good luck to all, and may your aim be true.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Best.Day.Ever. Get that man a Pulitzer! It just happened. Dubya had to duck twice.
Friday, December 12, 2008
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Thursday, December 11, 2008
Ladies and gentlemen, I bring to you the XXX adult version of the Blagojevich tapes. This is a Mojopost exclusive. Here are some of the excerpts:
Wait – it gets worse!
Then there’s that, that... THING with his wife on the phone:
Blagojevich: Did you get my money?
Candidate #2: One more week, and I’ll have it all.
Blagojevich: That’s a f-----g problem. I might be more patient if you take off your shirt. I can’t hear you when you’re wearing a f-----g bra.
Candidate #2: Ahhh…I’ve been dying to take this off all day…
Wait – it gets worse!
Blagojevich: Is it true what they say about black c-cks?
Candidate #5: Totally. If I show you, can I have the senate seat?
Blagojevich: That depends. How big is it?
Blagojevich: NOT BIG ENOUGH. Get my money or no seat!
Candidate #5: Come on man! It’s cold in here! Give me two minutes, and I swear to God - it’s like an elephant’s trunk.
Blagojevich: I’ve got an idea.
Blagojevich: How’s about you make mine bigger and throw in a happy ending? You get one week.
Candidate #5: Can I use a tissue?
Blagojevich: No, but you can use your motherf-----g mouth. My turn next.
Then there’s that, that... THING with his wife on the phone:
Blagojevich: Jesus Christ. I feel sick and conflicted.
Patti: What did you have for lunch?
Blagojevich: A big, black – uh - hot dog.
Patti: Why the f—k did you eat a black hot dog? What that f—k is that? Was it burned?
Blagojevich: Wait – did you just hear that noise?
Patti: I didn’t hear jack sh-t.
Blagojevich: I wonder if that assh-le Fitzgerald is taping me?
Patti: That assh-le? Stop being paranoid. He’s too much of a f----t to be that clever.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Sewer-mouthed grifter and Illinois Gov. Milorad “Rod” R. Blagojevich has been ratted out to the Feds. Seventy-six pages of criminal activity later, and now we have to go out in the Chicago snow to fetch an impeachment before the store closes and our kids never forgive us. Thanks, Milo. I mean “Rod”.
B-vich has been shaking-down his political buddies for years. He’s the kind of guy who invites you to lunch, shows up late and eats your sandwich. “It was your sandwich, now it’s MY sandwich," he says between slobbery mouthfuls. He’s the co-worker who pats your wife’s behind at the office party, or the boss who makes you buy boxes of candy bars that his ugly and ill-mannered children are selling this week. Then he puts you on the spot, asking if you have a job for his crazy lunatic wife.
Yes, well – he’s moved on to bigger things. Now he’s pedaling Obama’s old senate seat in exchange for cash money and/or your eternal soul. And so the FBI arrested him first thing Tuesday morning.
--- --- ---
Blagojevich’s predecessor, former Gov. George Ryan, is currently in prison serving a lengthy sentence for being a very corrupt Colitis bag. B-vich may be able to share a cell with Inmate Ryan some time in the future. Small world, huh?
It is up to B-vich to appoint Obama’s successor in the IL senate. Right now, with the smell of hot garbage from Chicago, B-vich could appoint Jesus Christ himself and people would be ready to light torches and sharpen their pitchforks. Our state is thinking that we might need a special election, because maybe the people ought to have a choice in this matter. A civilized way of saying, “Please don’t burn my house down.” Somebody has to take the high road. Right?
Not B-vich. He was keeping funds away from Chicago’s Children’s Memorial Hospital, unless they smoothed his palm with a fat campaign contribution. I know a child who was treated there when she was five months old. She was diagnosed with cancer. Currently she is in remission and almost ten years old. Children’s Memorial means something to people I care about, and the governor was going to keep money away from kids like the one I know. Little kids with cancer. Merry fucking Christmas, sir.
Plenty of résumés are being revised as I type, just in case a few hopeful IL politicians need to run a quick campaign. The freaky part is that IL is a Republican-leaning state (go ahead, Rod, nudge them). Sure, Chicago is full-up on Prius-driving, liberal-elitist domestic terrorists, gays and biracial people. It’s the rest of the state that wants to choke our necks. I hate to be the one to say this, but Chicago might be the place where the GOP attempts to reinvent itself again. Many psychological gold stars are there for the taking, for the man or woman who stakes a claim on our President-elect’s former job.
Help! I'm in a phonological loop (EARWORM INFESTATION) and I can't get it out.
What song gets into your head and won't leave?
I have problems with The Burger King theme, Minnie Ripperton singing Loving You (hate) and lately, this one. "Jizzed In My Pants". How embarrassing.
Monday, December 08, 2008
The Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS) may decide as early as Monday if they will hear arguments challenging the citizenship of President-elect Barack Obama. A vocal group of conspiracy theorists who can best be described as “borderline personalities” and “sore losers” have spent months trying to ship Obama back to Africa, where they think he came from. So far, no luck.
Undaunted by facts or clear-headedness, the nutters have asked the SCOTUS to get involved. Common sense has been tossed into a blender because raging enema-people like the sound of grinding things.
By law, only natural born US citizens are permitted to become president. Barack Obama was born in Hawaii and has posted a file of his birth certificate on-line, but the crazy people don't believe a word of it. They think Obama is from Kenya or Indonesia, or Kendonesia. Something like that. Let’s make quick work of their claims in IM format, shall we?
HUMAN ENEMA: hawaiian officials will not confirm that obama was born in their state!!!!!!!!! :-P
THE TRUTH: Wrong. Hawaii’s health director and head of vital statistics reviewed Obama's birth certificate in the department's vault (where it is protected from your dirty hands) and vouched for its authenticated certifiedableness. No citizen has his or her original birth certificate. We all get copies. Period. Please stop calling those poor government clerks in Hawaii. You’re crowding their landlines.
HUMAN ENEMA: hey! obammy's paternal grandmother is on TAPE saying she attended his birth in KENYA. i am twisting my moustache while rotflmao at you… BWAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
THE TRUTH: A group of pinheads called We The People posted a transcript of a long-distance phone conversation that never happened, and said it was between a questioner in the US and Sarah Hussein Obama (Barack’s granny). The group says their dog ate the original taped recording, which is why they can’t cough it up for inspection. Human Enema, you are noise to me.
HUMAN ENEMA: my peeps on world of warcraft said theres a US LAW in effect as of 1961 (the year NOBAMA was born) that denied citizenship to babies from kenya, if the father was kenyan and the mother was not 19 yrs old. HA HA. goodbye unicorn-riding messiah!
THE TRUTH: Not applicable, no matter the nationalities of either parent. And again - Obama was born in Hawaii. US law provides citizenship to babies born in the US. Hawaii has vouched for Obama’s birth certificate until they were blue in the face, and please PLEASE stop bothering them.
HUMAN ENEMA: his mother gave up whatever KENYAN or US citizenship she and BABY BAMA had when she left her african baby daddy and married some INDONESIAN guy… obama is KENYAN and INDONESIAN!!!!!!!… neither of those places is America!!!!!!!!! screw u you OBAMANATION! wheeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
THE TRUTH: There is a long list of things people have to do before they can ditch their US citizenship. For example, one must be 18 years old. A stepfather’s citizenship cannot change anything, ever, and Obama never relinquished his citizenship. What about this is so hard to understand?
Human enemas are not looking for the truth. They are looking for evidence of an impossibility. It’s a quest without end - a reason for some people to wake up every morning.
The circle-jerk nature of these arguments will never go away. This non-conspiracy is the New Grassy Knoll. It’s an unmarked helicopter. It’s Bigfoot and liver-stealing Las Vegas whores getting alien implants during lunch-hour. If our SCOTUS even dignifies this buffoonery for five whole minutes, Imma fight somebody.
The document in question:
Saturday, December 06, 2008
I grew up in Olcott Beach, NY. From my vantage point the sun set on Toronto every night. Toronto was magical – it was a real city with a tower and a 48% exchange rate on cash money. They had the best FM radio stations in the world , with all of that CFNY and The Mars Bar. Canada gave us SCTV, House Of Frightenstein (best children's show ever), and 1:00 AM curling matches. Before US Homeland Security ruined everything on the NY border, high school students in western NY towns were empowered to skip school and spend the day in Toronto. It was the thing to do, not so long ago, to be buying used albums on Young and Bloor.
Then Dubya got elected. The teat of Canadian kindness all but dried up. “You people are stupid and retarded,” Canada would say. “We pay our citizens to have babies in Canada, and provide free healthcare, eh? And what do YOU do in the US? Let morons steal your government. You embarrass North America. Major assholes, eh.” For eight long years, my Canadian friends have gone out of their way to shove my head into a dirty toilet because of Dubya. I thought you were my friend until I found out you were waiting for my nation to screw up, just so you could have a self-righteous laugh.
Well, well. What’s up with Canada these days, hmm?
Oh looky thar! Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper has shut down parliament to avoid a No Confidence vote, because he’s a dillhole conservative who hasn’t the first clue about what he is doing (and he is ruining everything). That’s what I said - what a poopchute Stephen Harper is! As much as I hate to point fingers, 46% of you Canadians elected him. At least I can prove Dubya stole our elections…
So tell me, Canada, how does it feel when you can’t find your own asshole with both hands? Doesn’t it suck? Don’t you just hate being defined by your bad management? Don’t I know it. Baby baby baby. Mmm.
Canada - I wouldn’t dare kick you when you are down, as much as you have kicked me, and so we have a choice. Either you let me help you work through your pain and make the world better, or you better ask me to laugh at your greasy arteries full of back-bacon and Tim Horton’s crullers. What’s it going to be, Mr. I’m Better Than You Eh? It’s your call.
There’s an awful load of dripping mess in the world, dear Canada, and it might behoove us to be pals again and work stuff out. My arms are wide open. No matter how you choose to go forward, I’m certain the sun sets on your shiny city in Ontario – with or without your consent. I’m here. You’re there. We are inches apart.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Many of you are not shopping this year because of this busted flat in Baton Rouge economic disaster. Which means you might be missing holiday music at the mall. Oh, the piped-in joy of Christmas songs while you run over Wal-Mart employees to buy Playstations...
This is my list. I stand by it 100%. Hope you like!
Alvin And The Chipmunks - The Christmas Song
What is there not to love about chipmunk voices? Itssoeffingadorable! I'm into the song for the harmonic genius that is, "Me? I want a HUUUU-LA HOOOOOP." I could listen to 1,000 hours of radio static, as long as I get to hear the hula hoop line.
Cocteau Twins - Frosty The Snowman
Freaky freaky and freaky! It's like Frosty on Xanax with a heroin-fairy singing lead. English is not her first language. Wot? Zactly.
Spice Girls- Christmas Wrapping
A nice cover of The Waitresses. With a disco back beat and better production values. YAY YAY YAY!
Band Aid - Do They Know It's Christmas?
Boy George weeps for the snowless Christmas plains of Africa, Bono cries for starving children and George Michael pulls his homosexual groin hitting the high notes. It ain't snowing in Africa, you cracker. Christmas is a world of dread of fear for Band Aid. Tonight, thank God it's them instead of you...
Snow Miser - Heat Miser
Stop animation genius combined with big gay show tunes. On one hand you have the Snow Miser, who is freezing (brrrr!). And then there is Heat Miser, who is from hell. Too much!
José Feliciano - Feliz Navidad
No Christmas song reminds me more of leisure suits, the swinging 70's and Pacers more than this. Feliz Navidad makes me wants to eat hayacas and hand out Advent Calendars to little kids.
David Bowie and Bing Crosby - The Little Drummer Boy
Oh, this tales me back to my footie pajamas and Swiss Miss instant cocoa. I tear up for every pa-rum-pah-pum-pum. In this video, David Bowie lives down the road from you. Which means you live near a Methadone clinic. Good luck on your sobriety. Every day is new!
Dr. Elmo - Grandma Got Run-over By a Reindeer
What did you expect - It Came Upon A Midnight Clear? You can hear that at the grocery store. This is art, not shopping for bacon and paper towels!
Have some suggestions? Let 'er rip. If you post anything related to Mannheim Steamroller, you will be deleted.
P.S.: If anyone can score "Here Comes X-Mas/When Southern Bells Ring" by the Judybats, let me know. I can't find it anywhere and I love it much. Thanks!
One of the primes suspects behind the terror attacks in Mumbai last week is Tony Yayo. The terrorists left behind Mr. Yayo’s calling card, in the form of spoons and syringes. When the booger sugar ran out, they had some LSD. Because they are animals.
Now I understand why they trashed hotels.
If there is a glimmer of hope to be found in the wake of Mumbai’s sorrow, it is knowing that terrorists prefer one of the most physically destructive and expensive drugs on the planet. Blow has the potential to demoralize and bankrupt terror cells before we do. If that is the silver lining I can have today, I’ll take it.
Robin Williams Explains Cocaine:
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
I was doing some free-time research on bog mummies the other day, as I often do, and I couldn’t help but think of the economic bailout packages being distributed in the US. In retrospect, I can’t believe I didn’t notice the relationship between these two things until now. Silly me. Let me explain…
Bog mummies are preserved remains of cadavers that were thrown into the bogs of Europe thousands (or at least hundreds) of years ago. As far as archeologists can tell, many of these mummies were human sacrifices – people who were killed to curry favor with pagan bog gods, in order for villages to receive bountiful harvests and divine protection against enemies.
Meet Tollund Man. His time of death is somewhere around the 4th century BC, in Scandinavia, during the pre-Roman Iron Age. He is in remarkable condition for a man left for dead in peat moss. His eyelids are still there and his sheepskin hat is no worse for wear. He’s quite a find.
When Mr. Tollund was about 40 years old, he was garroted at the neck and choked (not hung like a criminal). He was not beaten, slashed or treated poorly before his death. Mr. Tollund’s hat tells that he was no common slacker, and his preserved belt indicates he was a fellow who knew how to dress for important occasions.
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Human sacrifices. A tricky business. Many a culture has been tempted to give up their coveted virgins. The reality is that not every sacrifice was a perfect person. Villagers had no problem with selecting people they perceived as weak or expendable. Mr. Tollund is different than your average human sacrifice because he was not a burdened by a hymen (intact or otherwise), and was not physically challenged. Also, he was carefully laid to rest in a decent patch of bog. Mr. Tollund was not just anybody; he was somebody important who needed to die.
In our generous hearts, we might see Mr. Tollund as a selfless leader who paid the price (and how!). Perhaps, but what if he was doing well for himself at the expense of his clan? Is it possible that Mr. Tollund had to go down because his success was the byproduct of his neighbor’s misery? We could be looking at a man who is the prototype of a corporate CEO who enjoyed one too many bonuses.
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Meanwhile in Washington, DC, modern humans are handing out cash money to stave off economic destruction. Men in private jets with luxurious mistresses are holding out tin cups and begging for credit from the US government, as if our collective wallets represented some kind of bog god who could persuaded to make things better. The government will write enough checks to ensure our safe passage through Wall Street, but it doesn’t mean we like it. It might not even work. So we need a patsy, just in case.
There will be blood drawn over the economic bailout. Maybe not literally, but at least symbolically. Humans are biological creatures, sure, but we are also wired for retribution and drama. I have yet to see a garroting of any CEO’s, but I am fairly certain that a descendant of Mr. Tollund is going to need to be choked to death before anyone feels a bit better about things. That is how the world works.
Someone always has to pay. Right now that person is me. It’s you. It’s your neighbor. This bailout is costing us more than we can count. We will carry a grudge against some guy we perceive as the ultimate bastard. I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but that guy is going down. Deep. No, we don’t do bogs anymore. The new bogs are called blogs. Nothing is too sacred for a blog.
Have a happy day, sir, whoever you are.