A Blog devoted to progressive politics, environmental issues, LGBT issues, social justice, workers' rights, womens' rights, and, most importantly, Cats.
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
Humpday Entertainment
Because, you know, why not?
We're a fucking caramel world, or we soon will be, and this is like, the coolest Black/Jewish rap ever:
The GARDEN CALLS, goddammit. Although in a muted voice. Smell fall in the air? I do.
I'm off then, my precious little liberal vampire-rats. (I've fallen in love with Sara Benincasa and find myself emulating her speech patterns. Jesus fuck, be grateful, folks. I'm reading about a special class of employees of the early Kampuchean throne, and the first Muslim ruler of Champa. These people specialized in punishing anyone guilty of lese-majeste. Suffice it to say that I will not repeat what they did because I lost a week's sleep to nightmares over it. If you absolutely MUST know, go buy yourself a copy of Alfons van der Kraans' book, Murder and Mayhem in 17th-century Cambodia. And don't come crying to me when you have nightmares too.)
Sweet mother of GAWD, the Republican lineup for the 2012 elections is getting worse by the minute. I'm afraid to laugh as hard as I want to in case I piss myself.
Then along came Ms. Mollybean1 and posted SadnMad's delightful little ditty that sums the motherfuckers up pretty accurately, don'tyathink?
I mean, Christ, look at this pack of dimbulb stooges! The President can just phone it in at this rate, yes?
Entertainment: If You're Getting Tired of Democrats
Constantly and consistently snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, you might want to send them this:
Goddamn you, Democrats, you fucking RETARDS (like Rush Limbaugh, I'm using this in a satirical way, like Sarah Palin says Rush did, anyway, which makes it OK, says Sister Scare-ah). Get off your fucking asses and vote in some fucking health care reform!!
And you Republicans, you assholes, you really think the American public doesn't see through your shenanigans? Vote for health care or may each and every one of you develop an incurable case of buboes, for which your insurers, to a weasel (for men they are not, nor women either) dump you forthwith off your FUCKING SOCIALIZED MEDICINE healthcare rolls, and may it be exacerbated with much pain when your constituents proceed to run you out of office, which they should only do come next elections.
While wingnuttia is exploding in faux outrage over ACORN "scandals," you know, all mad because people are actually helping tenants to organize and poor homeowners to renegotiate their bank loans and evictions and stuff; and the neocons are screaming about starting YET ANOTHER FUCKING WAR FOR CRISAKE in Iran, conveniently ignoring the fact that General Stanley McChrystal wants half a million fucking troops for fucking Afghanistan, that we don't fucking have; and conveniently ignoring the fact that that big, fat, lardassed war criminal Dick "They Call Me That For A Reason" Cheney is wandering around free, as is Shrubya McWarCriminal; we pause to mop our fevered brow and offer you — bad jokes. They're really bad.
Hey, we need the entertainment.
After an Air Jamaica flight reached its cruising altitude, the captain announced: "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain; welcome to Flight 025, non-stop from Kingston to Miami. The weather ahead is good, so we should have a smooth, uneventful flight. So sit back, relax and...OH, MY GOD!"
Silence followed.
Some moments later the captain came back on the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry if I scared you. While I was talking to you, a flight attendant accidentally spilled a cup of hot coffee in my lap. You should see the front of my trousers!"
One Jamaican passenger yelled, "You BUMBO Rassclaat eediot!.... you should see de BACK of my trousers!!!!!"
I'm sorry, some Jamaicans will probly find the language offensive, but I just LOLed.
This one's for the geeks among us:
Two missionaries are looking down into a jungle clearing at hundreds of natives gathered around a stone likeness of a huge zero.
They strain to hear what the natives are chanting, and finally make it out: "Nulll, nulll, nulll...".
"My God!" one says quietly to the other. "Is nothing sacred?"
It was too hot to do much of anything yesterday except lie about in misery, reading a labour history of Malaya and Singapore between 1933 and 1941. So we fucked up.
And on the seventh day Ceiling Cat rested. And has been resting ever since.
The tomatoes are abundant, the Naked Ladies are still blooming (determined little buggers that they are), and the sweet alyssum is delighting the bees with its honey-scented flowers. Fleabane is spreading throughout the garden, with its sweet, pink-rayed yellow faces, and the big blue lily turf has finally, hesitantly, set a few flower spikes. Pissing in the garden is a tradition at La Casa de Los Gatos, and the kitties sure do help out as much as they can. A cave has been constructed under one of the lavenders, just big enough to fit the Fat Bandicoot's fat tush. Those (black and) white kitties gotta stay out of the sun, yaknow. Or risk skin cancers.
That's right. If you have a white, or mostly white, kitteh, be sure to keep them out of the sun. Or put SPF lotion on them. I don't think teh kittehs really go for the whole hats-n-shades, long-sleeved shirts look.
An owl has taken up residence in a nearby redwood tree. The hoots can be disconcerting in the still, hot nights, but I'm hoping the native rodent population will be suitably fearful of trespassing on what's left of the (scorched, dry, sunbaked) garden.
It's never been this hot in the decades that I've lived up here in the fog belt. Two days a year, we'd get up to, oh, 90F. Last night the thermometer was definitely in the 90s, but it's been that way off and on throughout the year. What will winter be like this year?
James Inhofe should only spontaneously combust for all the lies he keeps flogging about global warming. Oklahoma, where the fuck did you find such an unqualified all-time ignoramus and loser? Isn't there anyone in the state with more than one working brain cell?
The only positive thing to say about this heat is, it sure does put one in the mood for rubbin' nubbins. So if you have a nubbin that needs rubbin', do like these guys:
OK, maybe just the ones in the left panel. Those guys on the right have way too many sharp teeth goin' there.
And remember, if you can't be with the one you love — love the one you're with! And if you ain't with anyone, goddammit, get out there and start looking. If everybody was fucking a lot more, we'd be too tired to fight as much.
We're going to be talking about serious stuff in a minute or ten. In the interim, enjoy Sandy-LA's contribution to your greater amusement. What would we do without YouTube?
County by county, state by state. Let's work for success. The Rethugs have no plan, no ideas, no leaders, no nothing but lobbyist money and corruption and a hope that President Obama will fail, causing us endless misery. Because at this point, he is our President and he has plans to fix some of the biggest problems facing this country, facing you and me, and if he fails, America fails, and most of us suffer (not the Republicans who will keep getting their welfare handouts from the health insurance companies and other thugs, liars, cheats, and goons, who want to squeeze every last drop of blood from our bodies, but the rest of us? Not so good). We don't want to suffer another day.
Yes, the debate goes on, end-fucking-lessly, except we've got Jon Stewart who gets the boot in today and shows those worthless PoS media workers, once known as journalists, now known as asslicking toadies, how to fucking do an interview, yaknow?
Watch and listen well, my children, as Jon skewers Batshit McCaughey, former Lt.-Gov. of the state of New York:
See? It's that simple. You call them out for their lies. Page FourHundredandTwenty-X saith the lying whore, and Jon made her find the fucking page and read it in front of her and said, "So where exactly does it say what you claim it says, lying sack o'shit?" or words to that effect.
But I paraphrase. Jesus Fucking J.H. Christ on a Fucking Crutch and his Black Fucking Brother Harry, people, when are the lying sacks o'shit in the media going to grow a fucking pair o'nuts, or ovaries, of steel, and ask these questions? Meanwhile the Waaah!Poo, Katie Graham's once-fine paper which now arranges pay-for-play sessions with lobbyists and Congresscritters and publicly fellates the Repuglican Party on a daily basis, is too busy gargling with someone's balls to ask any questions at all.
No link, but we hear that they're citing upChuck Grassley's pointing and sobbing at the so-called "Town Hall protesters," i.e., the astroturfers paid by the health insurance lobby to come scream incoherently at meetings on one of the most serious issues facing the nation. Yes, sirree, Bob. They're actually repeating Grassley's blithering idiocy about how the Left started it by talking about death panels (um, hey, Waaah!Poo, Grassley himself is the person who started these shenanigans by telling his constituents they should worry about Gramma, which you'd know if you'd hire researchers and reporters instead of ballgarglers); and how the astroturfers are the reason we shouldn't have this debate, even though their acts are directly in contradiction of anything approaching the workings of a democracy.
So if you're a constituent of that worthless windbag Grassley, for Chrisake, primary the bastard right out of the Senate, please. Let him go find health care at someone else's expense.
Oh, and here's some truly enjoyable "Jon Stewart pokes fun at yet another worthless windbag" moments:
You'll never find this level of troofz on Faux Noise's "Fairly Unbalanced" coverage, will ya? And the rest of the mainstream media is complicit by framing the debate in terms of controversy. A controversy ginned up by those who stand to profit from the status quo — health insurance companies, with their overpaid CEOs, lobbyists, and their like.
Uh ... not sure if this is funny or simply insane. Think of it as an exercise in surrealism. Surrealism as humour. Humour as surrealism. Republicans are teh crazy and they ain't gettin' no better:
So. Is this Bizarroworld Crayzee, or what?
This is the Kitty Pilgrim interview to which O Rly? Taintz refers:
This is the birth certificate that O Rly? Taintz claims is President Obama's "Kenyan birth certificate."
Over at Politijab, some enterprising soul has made an absolutely viral-worthy analysis of said BC.
Kos himself has pointed out some of the major glaring, um, inconsistencies in the document Taintz claims to be President Obama's REAL birth certificate.
The news media has not been far behind in pointing out the obvious forgery, either.
Meanwhile, some enterprising soul has filed a complaint with the State Bar of California (the only state in which Taintz, who received her "law degree" from a mail-order diploma mill, is licensed to practice) against Dr. Atty. Mrs. Taekwondo Black Belt Realtor O Rly Taintz.
They don't come any nuttier than this broad. Does anyone agree with me that this just might be Sascha Baron Cohen in drag working on his next film? I mean, the blonde wig, the huge fake eyelashes, the drugged-looking eyes ...
Yaknow, things are really bad when KKKarl Rove, the "Unseen Hand" behind some of the dirtiest dirty tricks in the Rethuglican Playbook, thinks you're nuckin' futz.
So witness, if you will, some really interesting buggers taking on that wretched piece of subhuman refuse, John Yoo (author of Dick'nBush's War on Terra torture-justifying memos):
People, when the fuck is this war criminal going to pay for his crimes, goddammit? What a fucking pathetic ambulatory turd — getting his elderly secretary to throw these young men out instead of answering their questions. John, don't you believe in the essential rightness of your arguments for torture? Man up, you ball-less nutsack!
Somebody try the motherfucker, and soon. He has disgraced the Law, his ethnic group, his sex/gender, Boalt Hall, the fine state of California, and the human race, in no particular order.
Stumble It!
Picture courtesy of T.L. Holland, via teh InnerToobs
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