The retardation conflagration

August 30, 2007

  I haven’t been here much this week.  It’s been a bear, and we’ll leave that right there.

I’m a little curious as to how it is that the only thing  CNN and FOXNEWS can agree on is that one sad, closeted, gay senior citizen Senator should resign.  I’ll grant that it kind of gives me the willies that he felt a mens room was the place to look for sex, but if blowjobs from an employee (unpaid) in the oval office are ok, I’m not sure I find playing footsie with an undercover cop all that vile. 

   Oh my god.  The U>N> has weapons of mass destruction.  I think that we should perform a preemptive strike against the bastards.  We could call it shock and awe, and everyone could stay up to the wee hours of the morning cheering as we bomb the dogshit out of new york. 

author’s note:  I said that in jest, but the more I think about it the more I like the idea.

Now Silicone Valley has decided that unemployed American workers are so en vogue that they are going to ship manufacturing jobs overseas.  I wonder if these assclowns have stopped to consider that once all our jobs are over there, we won’t have any money to buy the substandard products they are pushing over here.

  A Colorado school has banned tag on its playgrounds because of student complaints of harassment.  About the only kind thing I can say about how we as a society are raising our snotnosed, whineassed,  pussified children is that I’m glad I’ll be dead before they are old enough to become good little muslims.

   Fred thompson has decided to finally show his ass, I meant cards, and enter the fray.  I’m not sure if he is entering because the opposition seems so weak, or if he really thinks he can win, but let’s get real.  The electorate is as smart as a house plant, and you know what that means.  Ron Paul baby…he’s the man.  I’m thinking about coming out with my endorsement of the Ron Paul insanity…er I mean campaign soon.

   What’s with  all the feigned surprise?  The chinese own more of the Democratic party than they do the island of Hawaii.  They’ve been buying the Clinton’s for so long the only question seems to be why don’t they stay bought?  Face it, if it would get her elected Hillary would hit her knees in the middle of Tianamen Square and wouldn’t get up until the last Wang was pleasured.

    Ron Paul had about 1500 people at his come one come all birthday Bar-b-q, incest fest, and Militia sign up.  We get that many at our block parties, and all we promise is free booze.  I guess promising freedom isn’t exactly the same as granting it.

  ok, that’ll do.  I left out the Austrian teen trying long pig, the mother who gave birth at McDonalds and trying to flush the baby down the toilet, the mathematical explanation for Jessica Alba’s sexiness, and the two Corey’s, because I fear actual medical conditions are apparent.


Followers of Ron Paul unite, at Braden’s

August 29, 2007

     The following of Ron Paul has always been part of the issue with me.  I try not to associate with nutjobs, whacko’s and knaves.  Lately it seems I’ve been running in to a high number of not only literate, but intelligent, and welll intentioned people who support him.  This is good, and I’ve tempered my attacks on the pauliacs.  Then I went by Braden’s to stomp him inot the verbal mud for alleging I’m a neo-con.  Talk about fighting words.  While I was there I read the always insightful work he had posted, and then the comments that followed it.  I am now fully aware of what exit all the nutjobs took.  That brodie fellow can make you positively vibrate with his banal take on …well, appparently whatever he’s talking about.

   I also got several hits from stormwatch.com.  You should check out the site.  It was…..ummmmm…..reason to shower.  Hard to make a president without some whacko’s showing up, but the herd has turned out in full force on this campaign.  Good luck Dr. Paul, and keep that firearm handy…you’re in strange company now.


The day in pictures…or not

August 29, 2007

   Because it happened to be occurring at the time I generally rise anyway, I slipped on some shorts and wandered barefoot over to the golf course to check out the moon.  I’d received a text message telling me I ought, and had decided last night if I didn’t wake up late I would.  this is what happens when you ignore your instincts.  The text message was from an ex and said something about “go look at the fucking moon asshole” or some such.

    My heart was warmed by this poignant prompting, and being obstinate I almost went and took a good healthy shit in rememberance of the relationship.  Instead, because I actually wanted to see it I did so.  It was a moon.  It was hard to see because it was in its fully eclipsed phase, and as noted at 6 a.m.,  blue.  As I was returning to the house I noticed something dark on the steps.  It wasn’t big enough to be a corpse, so with my disappointment already upon me, I tried to make out what it was.

   It was a cat.  A kitten rather.   A furry little puntable puffball of a kitten.  I’m not a cat fan.   I nudged it with my foot to push it off the steps, and the feral little fuck reared back and hissed at me.  In the best of times I’m not a particularly pleasant person, and in the morning I make Genghis Kahn look like a girl scout.   Had this thing been human it would’ve been soundly smited and sent packing.  Since it wasn’t, I went ahead up the steps and into the house.  My screen door tends to close at whatever speed the wind dictates, and I’m not particularly inclined to turn and close doors.  They close or they don’t, it’s all up to them.

   When I finished the morning blurb, bath, and beyond I returned to the living room to do the animal things.  Water the dog, feed the dog, water the rabbit, feed the rabbit, water the cat….what the hell is that thing doing in here?  Apparently the cursed little dung beetle had followed me in, and was all curled up next to Roscoe.  I reached down with ill intent, but as i tried to return it to its natural habitat (anywhere but my home) Roscoe started grunting at me.  Not his high pitched I want to bump uglies with your ankle growl, but rather these almost nurturing sounds.  I took a closer look at the kitten, and noticed that it was that blueish black color.  I like to think of it as necrotic.

    Each time I tried to extricate the kitten from Roscoe’s clutches he started with the grunting nonsense.  I decided to hell with it and went to work, where around nine a.m. I broke my finger, and just after lunch pulled a muscle in my chest.  Add to this the determination as to when I would take my forklift training, and the general all around ignorance of the workforce, and it was not a good day.  I did get the east end of the baghouse done, so at least it was productive.

    I drove home in one of them funks that has you cussing at everyone going slower than you for being an idiot, and everyone going faster than you for being a maniac.  Don’t lie…you’ve been there.  I’d forgotten about the cat.  Apparently he had forgotten about me as well, for when I walked in and headed for my flop zone the mangy little hair merchant was on my couch.  I didn’t see him, and the yowl eminating from him when my oversized ass landed on his microscopic body was in direct contradiction to the laws of probability.  It rattled the windows.  I was fairly impressed.

     Cats,  being spawns of satan, are incredibly hard to damage, and this one wasn’t injured.  I still felt bad, so I let it hang around.  Then my daughter came in.  Squealing with delight she snatched it up , and spent the next several hours doing the can we keep it thing.

   I now have a cat.  I blame it for the eclipse, the finger, and any other damn thing that went wrong today anywhere on the planet.   It’s name is general Tso’s kitten.  laugh fuckers.  The first time I smell cat in my house it will be general tso’s kitten, and my daughter will be in a convent.  

   


6 a.m. hateful

August 28, 2007

heard the phrase once in a blue moon?  well,  it’s fucking blue.

and you slept through it.  dipshit


more sex in the news

August 28, 2007

you west coasters  are pagans or heathens anyway so here’s a bonafide opportunity to get naked and jump in a pile.  Nothing like a lunar event.

what kind of an idiot tries to pass off fake bills in a strip club?  Like women who get paid via the tried and true methood called “tucking” aren’t going to recognize the feel of fake money?

 ahhhhhh, panda sex…it doesn’t get any better than this.  This girl failed to get another girl panda pregnant…awwww read it…its good stuff.

what would sex in the news be without a large cock?  No not a male chicken you dolt. 

I would suppose that guys coupling would count as gay sex.  Noy as glitzy as brokeback mountain, but interesting. 

cool…CBN brings us how to stay married to that adulterous scum spouse of yours.  Nothing like christians to teach you how to fix your sin filled life.

have fun….if you were looking for porn.  Tough


Ron Paul Campaign Reality Check

August 28, 2007

   Feeling a little froggy over there in Dr. Paul ville?  You have a few straw polls under your belt, the meetup groups are burgeoning, and he just had a birthday.  Let me put you in touch with some numbers you need to know.

The first one is you have not more than 6 months until this is over.  Since I’d rather not listen to you snivel about how you were robbed I’d also like to point out these numbers.  These a re the numbers it took to win each state in 2000.  Many of them of course are skewed because everyone drops out once its obvious who the winner is going to be, but these are still big numbers.

   Internet support is solid…you are still looking for that magic million, but even if you get to it, that’s only 20,000 per state on average.  Your meetup groups are tracking maybe as high as 50,000 members nation wide.  Thats 1000 per state on average.  Most states will require at least 100,000 votes to win. 

  In other words, you aren’t even close, and based on what I can see your numbers aren’t climbing fast enough to get you anywhere close.  You need more money, more advertising, more phone calls, and more reason if you hope to compete.

So get out of that armchair, put down the mac-10 and hit the streets.  You still have a lot of work to do.


Do not Tap your foot in the restroom at the airport.

August 27, 2007

  This is hilarious.  Senator larry craig is apparently light in the loafers.  He was tapping his foot, and got arrested for lewd behaviour.  Apparently tapping your foot in a mens restroom means you want a little man love.  I suppose it could also mean you have a song going through your head.  Another pervie senator…who knew.