I Have No Throat, And I Must Squeal
The bell again, always that bell. A capsule through the pneumatic tube. How now, what’s this?
Glenn Reynolds, Instapundit:
MORE ON ANDREW BREITBART’S OFFER OF $100,000
MORE ON ANDREW BREITBART’S OFFER OF $100,000 for the JournoList archives. My thoughts:
(1) If, as Jonathan Chait says, there’s nothing there, why not relieve Breitbart of his bucks?
That’s what Col. Möller said as he poured apple brandy from a crystal decanter into my snifter, handing it to me, then poured some of the pale gold liquor into his own snifter in turn, rolling it around the bottom of the glass expertly with his hook hand as he replaced the decanter on the teak tea cart. Möller stared looking glum for a moment before straightening and addressing me with a level Prussian gaze.
“If you have nothing to hide, von Em,” he asked, not unpleasantly. “Then what is your obsession with privacy?”
His tone bore only a hint of impatience, but I knew that I could not give the answer he needed — the names, the intercepts — and knew that the tone would rise much higher before the evening was long into night, knowing also the grievous distance through which a night can compel one to travel, when the path is made hard toward morning.
“You are not having your brandy?” asked Möller.
“Oh no, I am,” I said, gulping it.
I realized too late that I could have asked for a light first, then not swallowed the brandy, and then blown fire at Möller when he would not have been expecting this, as is mostly the case with people.
I gestured with my snifter. “May I have a light and another brandy?”
“Foosh” replied Möller, blowing fire at me.
(2) If you’re worried about your own stuff being released, you don’t really safeguard it by not selling out to Breitbart — you just ensure that if one of the 400 other members does, you won’t get the $100K.
We think The Joker tried this with two boats wired to explode.
(3) Here’s your chance to be Deep Throat — and maybe to settle some scores along the way…
Glenn’s moral skeleton went bendy a long time ago, but it’s still a shock to see this gelatinous being squidging past on his way to or from some petty errand of incitement, and to think that he was once a leader of our group.
My chance to be the what now?
If, as Jonathan Chait says, there’s nothing there, why not relieve Breitbart of his bucks?
Because it would be more fun to set him on fire.
And yes, you can quote me on that.
I’d rather relieve myself–all up in his FACE! What now, bitchez?
If, as Jonathan Chait says, there’s nothing there, why not relieve Breitbart of his bucks?
1) because Breitbart is a singular douchebag and no one with any kind of moral core wants to do anything at all that in any way helps him
2) because he would almost certainly reveal who leaked/sold the info to him because of #1
3) because the right, epitomized by Blartblart has spent decades proving they are very very good at making “something” from “nothing” at great length
It’s funny that Reynolds just can’t comprehend why anyone would be reluctant to sell out his comrades for money. It’s some kind of logical impossibility to him. Of course you rat out the other prisoner for a shorter sentence! He would absolutely and certainly do the same to you! Fuck him!
Why not cut and paste the Sadly archives into a file and sell that to his stupid fucking ass?
Can I speak with Hannah, please?
Brightbutt’s head getting ‘splodey.
If this is how you “be Deep Throat”, you are doing it wrong.
Do these people even understand that the important thing about Mark Felt is not that he leaked something secret but rather that his leak exposed the misuse of governmental power to undermine the very notion of a democracy? If all Deep Throat had done was to leak the semi-private comments of a couple hundred people who by definition lacked governmental power, he’d be remembered, if at all, as being a dick.
No, that was MY HEAD gettin’ splodey. Here is BB.
Remember, Sullivan’s a fag, sez Andy.
Do these people even understand that the important thing about Mark Felt is not that he leaked something secret but rather that his leak exposed the misuse of governmental power to undermine the very notion of a democracy?
Don’t you know this is all about something far more important than that? This is about a sinister liberal conspiracy to SAY MEAN THINGS ABOUT MATT DRUDGE, for God’s sake! For all we know, they probably said mean things about Beitbnart too! This MUST NOT STAND!
The election of Barack Obama was facilitated by a corrupt Fourth Estate. It didn’t get corrupted by accident. The political left, on its self-proclaimed Long March Through the Institutions, walked in the front door, took control, and since has done everything in its power to keep it, including secretly massing on the Internet, sharing notes, sharing ideas.. and wishing death to their political enemies.
Andy! Wake up! It’s time to go to school!
“Beitbnart”, I like that. I think I’ll keep using it.
To BB, Mark Felt was a dick. Nothing wrong w/ that in BB’s book, as long as it’s in the service of The Cause, which, in this case, would seem to be swelling BB’s ego as large as possible w/ exposure.
(1) If, as Jonathan Chait says, there’s nothing there, why not relieve Breitbart of his bucks?
I’ve heard that many lawyers have no use for gray areas like “unethical” or “ye Gods, what a fuckfaced thing to do, please kill yourself for even suggesting it you pickle-juice ass-douche” if things are ultra-parsed-letter-of-the-law legal. That goes double for (2).
(3) Here’s your chance to be Deep Throat
A figure of unadulterated admiration on the Right.
The election of Barack Obama was facilitated by a corrupt Fourth Estate
Sorry if I’m not getting the reference. What the hell is a Fourth Estate? Like a Third Estate, only even more poor, more disenfranchised, more tightly under societal control? I can understand why it’d scare them for these people to be represented…
From the Malignant first link:
Don’t mess with us LEAFS SUCKS-ians, we might have golf balls or goggles!
Sorry if I’m not getting the reference. What the hell is a Fourth Estate?
The media likes to refer to themselves as the Fourth Estate.
ITSELF–
what a maroon.
Reynolds & Breitbart are both gigantic assholes.
Fuck ’em.
Wait, Breitbart stole a hundred large somewhere and he’s trying to buy E$’s secret love notes with it? He’s stØØpider than I thought.
Be needing those goggles for certain “mothers.”
Glenn’s post links through to Althouse’s predictably thoughtless take on the whole thing
She calls Breitbart’s paranoid rantings about some liberal illuminati needing to be exposed an “ethical argument”. Text:
I like how dumbfuck right wingers like to bemoan the sad state of “journalism” by saying it’s liberal, while writing completely false and ridiculous articles themselves and smugly calling that shit “journalism”.
Ezra Klein’s “JournoList 400” is the epitome of progressive and liberal collusion that conservatives, Tea Partiers, moderates and many independents have long suspected and feared exists at the heart of contemporary American political journalism
Shorter: WAAAA THEY WON’T LET ME IN THE CLUB!!!
The media likes to refer to themselves as the Fourth Estate.
Ahhhhh. Thank you.
Yes, Obama was elected by the media… the same media that’s split between conservative Pravda-type ideologues and profit-seeking “mainstream” journalists who bend over backwards trying to prove that they’re not liberal. Right.
What is the big deal about journolist?
“You can’t have private thoughts but we get diaper sex and oxycontin.”
the same media that’s split between conservative Pravda-type ideologues and profit-seeking “mainstream” journalists who bend over backwards trying to prove that they’re not liberal.
Yes, the one that delivered Bush’s war manifesto without question or challenge, the one that legitimized the fucking teabaggers by calling them “concerned citizens”, the one that deliberately shields corporate America and Wall Street from seditious criticism. Yeah, this is the entity that proudly wears the title of 4th Estate. And they so elected Barack Obama with all the muslim concern trolling and smoking McCain/Palin hog.
I have no mouth so I can have nothing crammed down my throat.
I’m sure someone one JournoList is saying, “$100K? Throw in the ‘lost’ e-mails from the Bush White House about the US Attorney purges, the Valerie Plane outing and for all we know, the Iraq invasion and you got a DEAL!”
Weigel was, in all likelihood, exposed because – to whoever the rat was who leaked his emails — he wasn’t liberal enough….
Hee hee, even the “hero” who leaked is automatically assumed to be an uber-liberal “rat.” And another lawyer who has a slippery idea of ethics and little time for useless trifles like evidence.
I have no mouth so I can have nothing crammed down my throat.
But Smut, there are* stick waffles!
*changed from “there’s” JUST FOR TSAM.
Wow. Where were these guys when the Fourth Estate was giving hot weekly reacharounds to Dubya?
Oh. OMG title. Oh wow.
Tsam:
“Andy, what is going on in there? Why is this door locked? I have to be at work in twenty-three minutes. Twenty-tree minutes, Andy! Young man, you had better not be doing what I think you’re doing.”
“You can’t have private thoughts but we get diaper sex and oxycontin.”
Alicia Colon adds plumber break-ins to the things they can have that no one can talk about.
““You can’t have private thoughts but we get diaper sex and oxycontin.””
Awww. They really do get to have all the fun.
diaper sex and oxycontin.
Isn’t that hard on the office equipment?
(1) If, as Jonathan Chait says, there’s nothing there, why not relieve Breitbart of his bucks?
Because he’s lying about having the money.
Because he’s lying about having the money.
Who knows? He may have it. But if you deliver the goods, you ain’t gonna get it. He’ll slime you.
Because he’s lying about having the money.
He totally has it! In Happy Birthday Bucks!
Oh, I know you beef eating chumps didn’t just glance askance at E$ when you read about this whole deal. What, you think Eazy Ezra needs a few bucks? Between the family trust and my appearance fees and my column fees and the bling bling this totally progressive chick who has totally been riding the E-Train lately has been springing for (she’s a DuPont), E$ is on top of the world. So don’t even think about thinking about ice grillin’ me, yo….but come to think of it, I *did* see that fat little wanksta Yglesias (in one of the few moments of the day he wasn’t all up in my English Laundry jock strap) downtown trying to pawn the Rolex Submariner his daddy bought him for his 18th birthday. Don’t know what was up with that but it makes me wonder how he keep from goin’ under…
Oh. OMG title. Oh wow.
I would be flattered and honoured to see it in use.
English Laundry jock strap
Oh, E$. I love you.
Because Breitblart is full of shit and an attention whore. SAThehindeedlers.
Speaking of “Does BigButt have the money?” this
from his offer, made me wonder. What happened three mos. ago? Maybe someone gave him the 100 large to stop him from his threatened bringing down of the “Democrat-Media Complex,” as he so amusingly refers to his fantasy.
Or (on a tangent now) maybe this was it. His big threat, that is. Someone offered him the Journolist archives, which led to his threatening to destroy the lefty media or whatever his phrase was. Then someone thought better of it, maybe after they saw him leave O’Keeffe & his goons out to dry, they decided Breitbnart couldn’t be trusted to keep promises of anonymity. (A world where Tucker Carlson is more trusted than Andrew Breitbart. Hmm.)
And now he’s willing to pay for his belated lost scoop.
BriteFart has no intention paying a dime. His plan is to whine that he has no way of confirming the emails he gets are real until another person reveals the emails as well. When that happens he’ll claim the first list he received was bogus.
He is a mendacious weasel.
Count on it…
Breitbart is a character right out of Dickens–ballooning, blustering, operatically indignant about made-up offenses, ready to burst into tears or punch somebody and thinking it means he’s “a patriot,” and completely oblivious of the fact that none of his emotional grandstanding means (as he fancies it does) that he’s “sincere,” but just that he’s insecure.
He’s a bull in a china shop of “values,” but a bull who thinks he owns the china shop and is rather quite skilled at serving his clientele. The final joke is that his clientele are the numbskulls, cretins, hyenas, and birdbrains of the right, and they think he’s a perfectly marvelous shopkeeper.
… Oh, that Deep Throat.
BriteFart has no intention paying a dime. His plan is to whine that he has no way of confirming the emails he gets are real until another person reveals the emails as well. When that happens he’ll claim the first list he received was bogus.
He wouldn’t even have to claim it’s bogus, he just threatens to reveal the name of the leaker and they stop complaining about his welching.
Bookmark this blog.
Conservative Crap My Aunt Sends Me. http://conservativecrap.blogspot.com/
Btw, Gavin and Marita’s photos of Dahling Dash are a delight.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/42632632@N08
That kid will inspire you to want to crucify BP Oil and Republicans who support companies like that.
No child as cute as Dash or otherwise deserves that reality.
Canada’s neocon government is doing away with the Census long form.
Even Bush wasn’t this stupid and crass and horrifically Talibanistic http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/politics/tories-scrap-mandatory-long-form-census/article1623458/
Why are they doing it? Because their constituents are teabagging idiots. And catering to teabaggers is what they do. They also hate Statistics Canada and want to decimate it.
He wouldn’t even have to claim it’s bogus, he just threatens to reveal the name of the leaker and they stop complaining about his welching.
Undy actually hopes the original leaker outs himself trying to collect.
But yeah, either way Undy ain’t gonna pay.
Breitbart is a character right out of Dickens–ballooning, blustering, operatically indignant about made-up offenses, ready to burst into tears or punch somebody and thinking it means he’s “a patriot,” and completely oblivious of the fact that none of his emotional grandstanding means (as he fancies it does) that he’s “sincere,” but just that he’s insecure.
Ah, yes, I remember the golden moment when Brietbart arose in righteous indignation from the pool deck at Shutters-on-the-Beach in Santa Monica, to denounce with gestures of obscenity the ill-mannered hippies marching with signs on the beach walk, protesting against the Iraq war…..only to realize that the marchers were young schoolchildren marching in solidarity for the abducted children of war-torn Uganda.
good times….
Doesn’t this list have about 400 subscribers?
100,000/400 = $250 each.
Nice dinner. Extra picnic. Day at the Museum.
Of perfect pork.
Breaking all the rules, but it turned out to be too good not to have tried. I’m talking about the pulled pork recipe in the Jan/Feb issue of Cook’s Illustrated. Yes, don’t tell anyone, but it’s barbecue done in the oven, with yellow mustard and liquid smoke, no less. Horrible. Until you eat it.
I never worked with liquid smoke before, but there’s nothing to it. At least, according to the label. No calories, no carbs, no vitamins, no salt, no fats, nothing. Just pure hickory flavor ensconced in some kind of mysterious liquid. Yes, it’s slightly ersatz hickory flavor, but only very slightly. I mean, very, very slightly. And ultimately non-obtrusive, which is good in a taste-based product.
So, that’s a Boston Butt, butterflied (per the mag) to increase surface area to increase the amount of tasty crust, brined (four quarts of water, a cup of salt, a third cup of sugar, three tablespoons of smoke) for a couple hours, slathered with yellow mustard and a very small amount of additional smoke, then crusted with rub (make yer own), baked (sealed, aluminum-wise, in a shallow pan) for three hours at 325, and then unsealed for another hour and a half, or until the chunk reaches two hundred degrees, whichever comes first. Drippings, if any, should be collected and incorporated into some sauce. There were virtually no drippings, today.
And the crowd went wild.
Well, there’s a big difference between “being employed by” and “working for”, and it isn’t a stretch to say that Ezra Klein has been working his rosy red lips off for our increasingly socialist government. So, be precise, or you’ll end up engendering as little respect as Klein does.
There’s nothing to stop Breitbart from invoking the magic of the market, is there? And wouldn’t it be so ironic if the market helped bring a little bleach to the socialist maggot warren oozing out of Washington?
Dude. It’s…beautiful!
I was twelve years old when we moved away from Massachusetts, and about fifteen when Mary Jo Kopechne died and Teddy dissembled and lied to everyone’s face, and sixteen years old when the cowardly, dishonest prick was re-elected to the U.S. Senate. That threw up a red flag for me that never came down.
Then, as Kennedy’s career unfolded, it became clearer and clearer that the basic character of the man as revealed in the small hours of July 19, 1969 was not some sort of aberration. The man was an unprincipled liar and scoundrel, and a moral coward.
How do you put stock in a government that so largely features such a fat, drunk, ignorant, cowardly, overrated commie blowhard?
I never could. Thanks to Ted Kennedy.
ps. Even after moving from Mass. in ‘66, we kept vacationing on ol’ Cape Cod until about 1976 (and me mother lived there again in the ’90s and early aughts.) It was the summer of ‘69, or it might have been the next year, 1970, the whole family piled in the car and took the Edgartown ferry over to Chappaquiddick Island to have a look around, and retrace Kennedy’s steps. We walked across the infamous bridge, and came away from the scene of the crime thinking that there was no way that one could not know the difference between the paved road to the ferry and the sand track road to the bridge, with its beach beyond. And that was the least of Kennedy’s lies.
Dude, we live in hives. You know, like, hivemind? Geez…
Otherwise we’d never get rid of these bastards. Teddy last year. Now Bobby Byrd. Neither had the grace to relinquish their grasps until death forced ’em, and that was the least of their transgressions against free people. In Byrd’s last years, the impression was of one of those ghastly dramas where the demented leader is kept pumped full of drugs and periodically propped on the balcony so that his minions can continue to work their insidiousnesses behind the scenes. I’m sure Byrd’s staff is beyond consolation today, as their cushy ride on the backs of their fellows is at an end, or at least up for change.
May Byrd not rest in peace.
And let me cast the first vote for an entirely fitting epitaph, suitable for carving onto the old bastard’s tombstone.
I can see how this would work out:
(1) Some uninvolved blogger, idly wondering whether Breitbart has the money and is willing to place it in escrow so that eventual payment does not depend on his honour as a gentleman, contacts Breitbart anonymously, claiming to have the archive and asking for evidence on these questions before negotiations can proceed.
(2) Negotiations quickly break down.
(3) Breitbart publishes the correspondence, gloating about willingness of Journolist members to sell one another out. Reynolds heh-indeeds and mentions the lack of honour among thieves.
Yeah, who do those Dumbocrats think they are?!
Blartblart received this from the CIA for unspecified services that involved explosives and hand-to-hand combat and a daring escape through a burning factory and also rescuing the totally hot stripper or ex-stripper. He doesn’t really need the money because he already has a mansion and a yacht.
Sheesh, Breitbart’s a grabby little shit, isn’t he? I can only imagine the amount of PENIS that went unsucked in high school to engender this kind of neediness.
People aren’t equal. The promise that the United States set out to give was of equal opportunity, the freedom to strive commensurate with one’s abilities. That noble notion has been corrupted into the idea that all people, regardless of their abilities, talents, or even the effort they expend, deserve equal outcomes. Barack and Michelle both put that idiocy in their speeches, and possibly truly believe it, but it’s utter, unworkable, horrendous nonsense. Under the modern liberal regime, people are no longer free to pursue their own happiness, but are continually harangued and threatened into pursuing someone else’s happiness. It’s the destruction of freedom to feed Marx’s perverted notions of equatability, and if you look at the history of the United States, it was the beacon of freedom that thrilled the rest of the world, that spoke to all the downtrodden of the earth. It wasn’t “equatability” or “guaranteed outcomes” that lit up the world, but the freedom to try, the freedom even to fail, but mostly the freedom to choose one’s own way and let ‘er rip.
Mmmm mmmmmmmm . One Wal*Mart ten pound beef brisket smoked to utter perfection. That’s the second try with that particular cut, and I really think I nailed it this time (not that the previous attempt was inedible, by a long shot.) Around thirteen hours in the smoker in all, which makes for a long day o’ cooking. Fired it up about 6:30 a.m. on Saturday, threw the meat on about 7:40. Fat side up. Tried to keep it at about 215 – 225 F with an assortment of c_harcoals, and about equal parts Mesquite and Hickory (the former smelling quite lovely.) Basted the bottom with Stubb’s mopping sauce after about four hours, then again after another couple, then more frequently until it ran out, and then basted with Stubb’s chicken marinade (which does have a nice tang to it, especially after sitting in the fridge for several months!) After about ten hours the internal temp started to make it up above 120, and after eleven hours it was going through the 130s, at which point I wrapped it in layers of foil and kept the heat steady. Somewhere between twelve and a half and thirteen hours it was finally above 150 and juicy as could be. One guy sez to let it get to 188 F, but that doesn’t seem right to me, somehow, though I may have to try it some time. But, oh boy, Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. We ate about a third of the flat just standing there. Worked our way into the point end tonight, and it’s just fabulous. Tender and delicious. Best BBQ we’ve had in this state.
If donut shops were government owned and operated, and the guy in the back frying donuts was paid $200,000 a year, would donuts be any more or less a few bits of flour and milk with a sugary coating? Would anyone care that the donut man went to Princeton? “Oh, this is sooooo yummy baked by Princeton guy.” Or would everyone fucking wonder what the hell he was doing frying donuts? And the donut fryer. The Princeton grad. He takes pride, day after day, in measuring those ingredients, and waiting until the fryer comes up to temperature? Oh, yeah.
Teaching’s the same. It’s like making donuts. Almost anyone can do it. Even well. Sure, some teachers are complete standouts. But mostly it’s grunt work. Year after year, the faces change, but two plus two is still four, the prepositions haven’t changed, and the condoms still go on with the reservoir tip at the end.
I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. cI will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. I will not feed the troll. ….
Hi, I put 250 US Marines in harm’s way in Beirut and then fled after they were killed. But at least I wasn’t “soft on terror”, like that Carter fellow!
Also, I’m from the government and I’m here to eat your brains.
n the other hand, we denounce with righteous indignation and dislike men who are so beguiled and demoralized by the charms of pleasure of the moment, so blinded by desire, that they cannot foresee the pain and trouble that are bound to ensue; and equal blame belongs to those who fail in their duty through weakness of will, which is the same as saying through shrinking from toil and pain. These cases are perfectly simple and easy to distinguish. In a free hour, when our power of choice is untrammelled and when nothing prevents our being able to do what we like best, every pleasure is to be welcomed and every pain avoided. But in certain circumstances and owing to the claims of duty or the obligations of business it will frequently occur that pleasures have to be repudiated and annoyances accepted. The wise man therefore always holds in these matters to this principle of selection: he rejects pleasures to secure other greater pleasures, or else he endures pains to avoid worse pains.
Rich people are rather more proactive in making sure their extra money is working for them, and, as a byproduct, generating real value for others.
“Freedom” (if it’s ever mentioned at all, these days) and “the free market” are nothing now more than pretty graphics on bottles of snake oil, and the snake oil salesmen of the age have acquired the power to force the stuff down your throat at the point of a gun.
If you’re just paying workers to build a railroad you don’t get to count all the other expensive stuff that goes into making a railroad. To count the track and locomotives that someone else paid for as part of your stimulus is just plain dishonest. With that thinking, you could give the railroad scheme a dollar and count the billions that the thing winds up being worth. It’s just stupid, and yet it’s what this place is awash with.
The fact is, poor people ARE lazy and deserve to starve. I’m not paying to feed parasites to keep them alive, espeically if they are illegal and vote democrat too. They are taking our money and using it to destroy private property, God and everything good.
Some unnamed neighborhood teen is in the crosshairs for a charge.
3355 Dixon Road is across a field, almost directly behind the house on Merritt Road that I moved out of and sold. Two houses down from me was a fat kid with a noticeable tendancy to misuse guns. When I bought the place, I found several windows with BB or pellet-like little holes in them, all on the side toward where the fat kid lived. Of course, I couldn’t know for sure how they got there — the place had been abandoned for some time — but it was a good guess as to who it was. Over the next couple of years, I noticed the little monster roaming around with increasingly larger guns, mostly when his parents and grandparents weren’t around, and he’d shoot anything, and indiscriminately in any direction. I caught him one time, peering over my fence with a friend, both with guns, eyeing my many bird feeders, which, had they shot, would have been just past the corner of my house. Another time, I got him in trouble with his grandfather when he took a shot at a red-tailed hawk that had flown down at something in the yard between us. The little rat had it in for me, then, though I never caught him acting on it anymore than muttering under his breath when I was around.
Even so, I always figured, just from the general topography, that it was the people out back, across the field, who were most likely to get the bullets whizzing by.
If it’s the same kid, maybe he’ll get it together after this.
The fact is, oh, Mike, fuck me harder.
The fact is, people who cannot get jobs probably need to die and be recycled into protein.
As opposed to Gary, who needs to die but is unfortunately composed entirely of trans-fats and thus has no such practical application.
Stinting not, nor sparing, neither half acquiescing, he surpasses himself and then stops, to allow truth’s honorable finish.
Is this thing on? Are the ramparts adequately shored? Have we our wits about us, and are they sufficiently enjoined and bolted to a competent attention span? These are the questions. And worries.
It was somewhat over thirteen years ago that I made my first posts to that conflagration of interests that was alt.current-events.clinton.whitewater, back in ol’ Usenet. I was definitely a neophyte, and during the first year or more was wracked with something akin to fear every time I clicked the send button. Those were my words going out there. They were me, and I would be known by them. The people I admired all seemed more knowledgable and more politically astute than I, and were all excellent writers, and yet I felt compelled to join in with them, to learn what I could, and to add whatever value my voice might carry to the pile.
It was a messy business, but through it all, I learned a lot. I learned ethics and honesty, and saw the flip side of both. I learned to immerse myself in whatever subject I chose to argue, and I learned that quite a few people don’t bother to do that. I learned that there is a right and a wrong and that a little investigation and attention to the essential facts will show which is which. And I learned that there are a lot of incredibly intelligent and thoughtful people in the country and the world, and that virtually none of them hold public office. In many ways, I had my faith in humanity restored via the people I ran into online. I used to be a cynical bastard.
And now here I am, blogging. I have to say that the shadow of the same old thrill was with me the first times I hit the new publish button, but nothing like during my early offerings way back when. I still wonder if I’m getting it, still wonder what new thing there is to learn or understand or fathom on a slightly deeper level. In trying to inject myself into the news stream, I’m reading a lot of people I never read before, and finding many of them enjoyable and informative. I continue to be impressed with the number of smart and capable people out there, even as I realize they are in the minority. I’m not terribly worried about the blog going in any particular direction, or achieving anything of import other than to myself, but rest assured that I will continue to monitor the situation and keep her going forward.
Oh, and can we disemvowel Crank Dat Soja Boy already? It’d probably make him more coherent.
As opposed to Gary, who needs to die but is unfortunately composed entirely of trans-fats
His fats used to be male but then were castrated and took hormones? Damn, you do learn something new every day.
Ooooh, this looks like fun!
We are delighted to report that the age old sport of Beeminton goes on. For those who have never played, it’s simple, really. All you need are a couple of cast-off Badminton racquets, and a ready supply of big, beautiful, wood boring bumble bees. We’ve got both. The bees start the game by setting up zones all around the house (and shed and dock!) that they assiduously patrol against other flying interlopers. They don’t seem to mind humans too much, but the little buggers are very annoying, and somewhat threatening, and they make such good sport. A well-aimed swat with the light racquet does them wonders, and is good for our own general deportment. The fascinating thing is, when one stalwart bee is swatted permanently from his zone, bees in the nearby zones shift over and take up the miscreant’s patrol. To the uninitiated player this can seem somewhat frustrating, but with a little determination (and perhaps an artful backswing) one finds that the zones do open up, and the supply of sportsman-like bee players eventually dwindles. After a week at it, the number of willing players per day has fallen by more than half. The game continues tomorrow. A neighbor has recommended the alternate use of a large plastic wiffle-ball bat, noting the nifty noise it makes when connecting with the Minton Bee, and we’re hoping to acquire one as soon as possible.
Well, come on, every part of Gary is castrated in some way or another. I imagine him as looking vaguely like Kyle Gass as the eunuch in “Year One”.
[Note to self: holy SHIT, man, you cannot be making jokes that only work if enough people present have seen “Year fucking One”.]
Let’s see if I can outcopypasta teh troll!
Hey, this one looks interesting:
ps. bgn. A troll is pasting random stuff from my blog here, under my name, even, in order to disrupt things. I stop by occasionally to see if the people running the place have done anything about it
Remember, Galt needed a lot of help…
– Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged (Random House, 1957), p. 626
The government is here to help.
“Remember, Galt…”
No.
Well, come on, every part of Gary is castrated in some way or another.
Except, presumably, his testicles which have been pickled, pitted, and stuffed with pimentos.
The fact is, if we continue to tax the job producers and the freedom maintainers, prejoratively called The Rich, they WILL go Galt. Then America will really suffer.
*changed from “there’s” JUST FOR TSAM.
I love it when you validate my neurosis, tigris!
The fact is, why do all liberals HATE free enterprise and LOVE socialism? It is axomiatic, as George Will would say.
The fact is, why are people who are poor and unproductive allowed to breed?
The fact is, if more people read Milton Friedman America would be in much better shape today. We need the goverment off our backs, now. More freedom will result.
You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.
If donut shops were government owned and operated, and the guy in the back frying donuts was paid $200,000 a year, would donuts be any more or less a few bits of flour and milk with a sugary coating?
If trolls didn’t live under the shelter of bridges, they would drown from standing in the rain, staring skyward with their mouths agape. I’ve seen it happen.
Trolls are more tolerable if you assign them voices. For instance, I always read Gary as Mr. T and Sister Soja as Lumbergh. (Troofie is Daniel Plainview, obviously)
The fact is, getting rid of unemplotyment insurance will get people back to work in a hurry.
But I need my unemplotyment! Without it I’ll be emplottied!
They are taking our money and using it to destroy private property, God and everything good.
You seem to not understand how God works. Read your Bible for a Christian perspective on whether or not God can be destroyed, especially by something as puny as a few little lefties.
Common sense has long left the room where the big stew pot cooks with its ghastly mix of bits flayed from the bones of your compatriots, and while you may see through some of the delusions that are the accepted wisdoms of your party, you’ve still got the bone firmly planted in your nose. Your agenda of Cannibal Lite is trussed up with the same corrupt premises that power the other cannibals, except that they’ve been at it a lot longer than you have, and they’re not about to let you peel so much as a pinky finger off the lip of the communal spittoon. Don’t quit your day job. At least it’s honest.
Also, imagine being unemployed in Greenland.
Common sense has long left the room
Thank God. Took him long enough.
God, like any other level boss, can only be destroyed using the weapons and moves specific to that level. Firing a bazooka while dodging sideways is one posisble option.
Wow, they’ll give absolutely anyone a Food Network show.
As George Will would say “Who put the Kick Me sign on my back”?
Breitbart has 100,000 Bug-eyed Hollywood dollars, redeemable for a wide range of quality merchandise including Funny Pimp Hat and Monogrammed paper towels.
The fact is, Mike Soja is making a sense. Educate me!
MORE ONMORON ANDREW BREITBART’S OFFER OF $100,000 for the JournoList archives.Fized.
You know, I almost started feeling sorry for libertarian asshole Mike Soja. Having some moron copy-paster splooge old posts into Snark Central – basically getting teed-up for a bitchslapping of epic proportions. That’s gotta suck.
Then I read a bit of white Mike Soja has said, and wow. d00d is an asshole.
But on the balance, I think that the little dicked twerp who’s gotten all riled up at kayak2u is worse. d00d can’t figure out his own rejoinders against an intellectual giant like Soja – that’s pretty sad. Even fucking worse is that this fucking moronic idiot is now trolling for snappy comebacks – is now trying to trick others into writing his arguments for him. Wow.
d00d, I can understand how you might have a grudge against Soja. Totes understandable, but holy fucking shit are you a pathetic l00ser. Not being ablt to match wits against a libertarian? And now trying out a contrived and bizarre plot to fool snarkaholics into some sort of Cyrano-de-Bergerac type thing so you can get yours back at Soja? Wow you must be feeling pretty fucking impotent.
PROTIP, folks round here like batting down wingnuts. If you have a wingnut you want batted down, you could try the direct approach and simply ask.
TL;DR version: heh, I got nothing. All that rambling was about shit fuck all.
FYWP! Then again, I did admit that my comment really boiled down to nothing, so wevs.
I would be honored, Rupperterious One. First, however, you must touch your tongue to mine. This, you see, establishes our Bond. Make haste, my protege! So many facts are at your sausage-like fingertips!
You seem to not understand how God works.
Fucking God. How does He work?
“Fucking God”
You called?
If donut shops were government owned and operated, and the guy in the back frying donuts was paid $200,000 a year, would donuts be any more or less a few bits of flour and milk with a sugary coating? Would anyone care that the donut man went to Princeton? “Oh, this is sooooo yummy baked by Princeton guy.” Or would everyone fucking wonder what the hell he was doing frying donuts? And the donut fryer. The Princeton grad. He takes pride, day after day, in measuring those ingredients, and waiting until the fryer comes up to temperature? Oh, yeah.
Teaching’s the same. It’s like making donuts. Almost anyone can do it. Even well. Sure, some teachers are complete standouts. But mostly it’s grunt work. Year after year, the faces change, but two plus two is still four, the prepositions haven’t changed, and the condoms still go on with the reservoir tip at the end.
Fucking God. How does He work?
In mysterious ways. Duh.
Michael Soja did this, Michael Soja did that…
Rich people are rather more proactive in making sure their extra money is working for them, and, as a byproduct, generating real value for others.
“Freedom” (if it’s ever mentioned at all, these days) and “the free market” are nothing now more than pretty graphics on bottles of snake oil, and the snake oil salesmen of the age have acquired the power to force the stuff down your throat at the point of a gun.
If you’re just paying workers to build a railroad you don’t get to count all the other expensive stuff that goes into making a railroad. To count the track and locomotives that someone else paid for as part of your stimulus is just plain dishonest. With that thinking, you could give the railroad scheme a dollar and count the billions that the thing winds up being worth. It’s just stupid, and yet it’s what this place is awash with.
Oh sweet Jesus, is he rerunning his greatest hits?
In mysterious ways. Duh.
WaysDuh is much more fun than PlayDoh. Less malleable, more incendiary.
Of perfect pork.
Breaking all the rules, but it turned out to be too good not to have tried. I’m talking about the pulled pork recipe in the Jan/Feb issue of Cook’s Illustrated. Yes, don’t tell anyone, but it’s barbecue done in the oven, with yellow mustard and liquid smoke, no less. Horrible. Until you eat it.
I never worked with liquid smoke before, but there’s nothing to it. At least, according to the label. No calories, no carbs, no vitamins, no salt, no fats, nothing. Just pure hickory flavor ensconced in some kind of mysterious liquid. Yes, it’s slightly ersatz hickory flavor, but only very slightly. I mean, very, very slightly. And ultimately non-obtrusive, which is good in a taste-based product.
So, that’s a Boston Butt, butterflied (per the mag) to increase surface area to increase the amount of tasty crust, brined (four quarts of water, a cup of salt, a third cup of sugar, three tablespoons of smoke) for a couple hours, slathered with yellow mustard and a very small amount of additional smoke, then crusted with rub (make yer own), baked (sealed, aluminum-wise, in a shallow pan) for three hours at 325, and then unsealed for another hour and a half, or until the chunk reaches two hundred degrees, whichever comes first. Drippings, if any, should be collected and incorporated into some sauce. There were virtually no drippings, today.
And the crowd went wild.
No, Frank, Mike Soja’s tragic illness made us smile, while Wade Boggs lay unconscious on the barroom tile. DUH.
Wow, between the two responses to my question about god, I think I’ve finally figured out why it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s al-right.
Is it alright here tonight? I’m not interested if it’s not.
Mmmm mmmmmmmm . One Wal*Mart ten pound beef brisket smoked to utter perfection. That’s the second try with that particular cut, and I really think I nailed it this time (not that the previous attempt was inedible, by a long shot.) Around thirteen hours in the smoker in all, which makes for a long day o’ cooking. Fired it up about 6:30 a.m. on Saturday, threw the meat on about 7:40. Fat side up. Tried to keep it at about 215 – 225 F with an assortment of c_harcoals, and about equal parts Mesquite and Hickory (the former smelling quite lovely.) Basted the bottom with Stubb’s mopping sauce after about four hours, then again after another couple, then more frequently until it ran out, and then basted with Stubb’s chicken marinade (which does have a nice tang to it, especially after sitting in the fridge for several months!) After about ten hours the internal temp started to make it up above 120, and after eleven hours it was going through the 130s, at which point I wrapped it in layers of foil and kept the heat steady. Somewhere between twelve and a half and thirteen hours it was finally above 150 and juicy as could be. One guy sez to let it get to 188 F, but that doesn’t seem right to me, somehow, though I may have to try it some time. But, oh boy, Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. We ate about a third of the flat just standing there. Worked our way into the point end tonight, and it’s just fabulous. Tender and delicious. Best BBQ we’ve had in this state.
Repetition! Two love… Match point!
Whoa, wait. This Mike guy is a *real* troll? I thought he was just the latest iteration of the broken InstaPundit spambot, whoever that was. I am disappointed to learn that this guy and Gary are not just a performance art conversation by one happy Sadly.
Also, isn’t Breitbart the asshole who offered 100000 for proof that teabaggers used racial slurs in public and repeatedly refused to pay up by all manner of weaselly excuses? Wasn’t that about three months ago? I believe it was. Why not give him the archives? Because, yeah, he doesn’t have the money and he is demonstrably a grandstanding weasel.
A recent “Quote of the day” at Samizdata tried putting some of our lost freedoms in perspective:
… or perhaps “they” would have accused you of indulging in some alleged slippery slope fallacy. But the erosion of liberties is indisputable, and continues
Nearly two years ago I moved to a heap of a house in rural Ohio. I got a good deal on the place partly because the previous owner was such a lazy pig that she didn’t want to have Carbon Releaseto deal with all the junk in the place. So me ‘n Sweet Cheeks got to sort through it all, but that also meant that we had a lot to dispose of. I rented a dumpster for the stuff we couldn’t burn, and made big piles out back of the stuff we could. At some point one of my new neighbors cautioned us about burning the wrong kind of stuff, and said that another neighbor had gotten popped with a nice little fine for burning shingles, or some such.
So we got on the horn to check with the fire department. They couldn’t help us. Or rather, they wouldn’t help us. Nope, we were directed to call the EPA. Yeah, the Feds. You need to get permission from the Feds now, for a little backyard fire in rural Ohio.
Needless to say, we declined the honor, and went ahead with several burns, wondering each time if and when we’d be surrounded and officially made criminals. It hasn’t happened, yet, but the big hibachi is full again, and the pile off to the side is bigger than any ever before. It’s wonderful living in fear of the state.
Anyone got a light?
two love
Hah! try and start up a tennis pun fest and see what it nets you!
Needless to say, we declined the honor, and went ahead with several burns, wondering each time if and when we’d be surrounded and officially made criminals. It hasn’t happened, yet, but the big hibachi is full again, and the pile off to the side is bigger than any ever before. It’s wonderful living in fear of the state.
“State of fear,” LMAO. It’s a commentary on how detached and pampered this little brat is that safety regulations on burning firewood are considered to fit that definition.
It’s time for the big push, but it’s raining, so what the hell.
I’m talking about another 2400 to 3000 pounds of concrete that needs to be dumped in the lake. Or between the lake and the homestead, in carefully defined piles, before the Spring waters rise and make work impossible. And that’s on top of the 3460 pounds already mixed and installed this year. If I kept track of things last year, I’ve misplaced the stats, but we’ve already surpassed those previous efforts.
The thing is, the economics of concrete, at least as it pertains to concrete in the form of Quikrete, or the premixed stuff that only needs a little water to set it free, is somewhat puzzling.
Last year, being new to the concrete game, and new to the heave ho of heavy bags of rocks, I bought a seemingly endless stream of 40 lb. bags, and was able to slash and dump them straight into the mixer. But a 40 lb. bag at Lowe’s costs $2.84, while 80 lb bags go for $3.85, at least at one store. Over the course of scores of bags, that difference adds up, as the kids would say if they could get interested in math.
This year, being the newly cost conscious earnest fellow that I am, and also being cognizant of the fact that all the big boys buy 80 lb. bags, and that the extra exercise would be good for me, I started buying ’em big.
Well, Lowe’s is twenty three miles away, with a town or two in between, and it’s a drag to have to go that far just for ten bags of ‘crete. Galloway’s Ace Hardware, on the other hand, is only eight miles away. The trouble is, Ace Hardware in Spring City wants $5.19 per 80 lb. bag. It’s ridiculous. I bought a couple loads there, but no more.
Then, this weekend, I chauffeured Sweet Cheeks to a Chattanooga do where she spent the weekend, and on trips back up the pike, stopped at the Lowe’s in Dayton, and they were letting bags of Quikrete go for $3.46 each. That’s a twenty six mile trip, one way from here, but it’s the way to go, man. I’ll drive past Galloway’s every time, and it’s their loss. That’s $1.73 per bag, or $17.30 per trip, plus the state’s share of the thievery. I can do the math.
It browses nicely. I’m posting with it (seems to have the same problem as Opera 9.5 with Fckeditor sticking in a blank first line that isn’t really there, though that may reflect my older version of Fckeditor. The blank line disappears when the post goes public.)
Chrome is fast. It seems to load pages quickly, and it certainly processes Javascript very quickly. The map on my visitor map page (“U.S. only” button) with 3346 markers to lay down, pops up in about fifteen seconds, MUCH faster than in Opera.
The interface is uncluttered, but there isn’t a lot to it, yet. No email client, fer instance. Not a lot of Options. Etc.
Chrome’s memory management features are prominently touted, so I opened the same twenty pages I had open in Opera with it, and used Chrome’s own “About: memory” feature to compare the two.
Chrome Total memory: 180,888k.
Opera Total memory: 121,132k.
Chrome Virtual memory: (Private) 266,112k (Mapped) 26,248k
Opera Virtual memory: (Private) 290,016k (Mapped) 3,612k
Taking it at face value, it looks like Opera beats Chrome handily in memory management.
Inneresting. IE is ridiculous, and I won’t even try a new version unless I see months and months of glowing recommendations, and I see the odds on that as rather long. Even in beta, I put Chrome ahead of Firefox (which I’ve never liked) but I’ll keep Opera running for the foreseeable footcher.
Shortly: “The following plug-in has crashed: Shockwave Flash”. That’s why they call it “Beta”. And Oops! Someone’s ad (spam) pop-up popped up. Definitely a no-no around here.
try and start up a tennis pun fest and see what it nets you!
Stop all that racket!
You love it, Xecky.
Not even firewood, a lot of toxic trash. Hope he breathed deep, & doesn’t insist on any free gummint medical care or on suing the manufacturers of whatever poison he burned.
You love it, Xecky.
Mea culpa, Mea culpa (double fault)
Ouch. I will see you all in court.
I’ll let it pass this time.
As opposed to Gary, who needs to die but is unfortunately composed entirely of trans-fats and thus has no such practical application.
Press him for oil in which to deep fry the poor.
Fucking God. How does He work?
Well, there was the raping bull, the raping swan, the raping rain shower, the raping fire thing… so, I’m going to guess rape?
I was under the impression, possibly mistaken, that Leda actually dug the swan.
Guys, if you keep giving away free Sampras of your tennis puns, no one will buy them.
Take me to your Leda.
You think we were all Bjorn yesterday?
The swan gave godhead.
Yeah right, the old “she totally wanted my feather-covered swanhood in her lady bits, she barely screamed at all” story. I bet he says her chiton was practically falling off, too, plus walking past that swan-filled pond was just asking for it.
You think we were all Bjorn yesterday?
Show us the Cash, show us the Cash
I bet he says her chiton was practically falling off
Wait…she had an exoskeleton?
I lost the cash. Fortunately, it’s insured by the Federer Insurance Deposit Corporation.
Swanny, how I love you, how I love you…
Avian a clue what will happen next. I’m just winging it
She had an exoskeleton?
Sadly, no: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chiton_(costume)
If you would rather look at shellfish than busty Greek ladies, I suppose you can go to the other article.
Don’t want to bring anyone down, of course
Avian a clue what will happen next.
One of our graphics mavens needs to give us a swan’s neck with a pair of fuzzy balls stuck mid-way.
Water fowl pun, Kiwi! Paddling to commence…
So Ezra Klein built something more significant than The Sons of Sam Horn? More secretive than the Sons of Lee Marvin? And it was the discussion board for the all-powerful Liberal Fourth Estate that resists their corporate owners?
What’s next? McArdle runs the Registry 400, the utra-secretive Libertarian Consumerist Fetish Front?
Water fowl pun, Kiwi! Paddling to commence
Uh uh no way. Not again. Once Bittern twice Shrike
the old “she totally wanted my feather-covered swanhood in her lady bits, she barely screamed at all” story
It would be very wrong of me to scan the page of Epicurus the Sage where this very question is discussed. Also impossible due to current scanner-deprived status.
Don’t want to bring anyone down, of course
Eider way it doesn’t really matter.
Also impossible due to current scanner-deprived status.
So scanners do live in vain.
Also I should point out that swans can hypnotise their victims by making rhythmic movements with their necks, as is described in Proust’s magisterial monograph “Swan Sway”.
To use the wire of Eustace Cranch only with care, only with moderation!
My scanner is darkly.
Also I should point out that swans can hypnotise their victims by making rhythmic movements with their necks,
It’s not the spitting venom afterward that bothers me, it’s the swallowing entire sheep whole.
“she totally wanted my feather-covered swanhood in her lady bits, she barely screamed at all”
It’s a romantic fairy tale. Like Tiny Tim and Miss Vicky.
Also impossible due to current scanner-deprived status.
I hope you at least got one good scan in the end.
When you are learing how to give a blowjob step by step you can make it a more loving experience by making him feel as though you love his penis. This might sound silly, but he is proud of it and he wants you to adore it as a vital part of what defines him as a man. Start at the base and kiss it all the way up the head, not only is it loving but it also feels fantastic and gets him ready for the main event.
at least got one good scan in the end
If there were only a suitable blog where I could post it.
When you are learing how to give a blowjob step by step you can make it a more loving experience by making him feel as though you love his penis. This might sound silly, but he is proud of it and he wants you to adore it as a vital part of what defines him as a man. Start at the base and kiss it all the way up the head, not only is it loving but it also feels fantastic and gets him ready for the main event.
Markov chains with Sarah Palin and the Marquis de Sade:
Suck it for profit only
Not according to Sister Soja there who’s forever going on about smoking beef.
The ghey denial is strong in Sistah Mike Soja… must be why Glen Garry Ruprect suddenly showed up…
o, he decides on September 11 that he’s going to handle herself? How’s it going to reach out and help children, who are less privileged or have less privilege than many of your families making such sacrifice to allow this service in the tabloids, I’ll break the news to ya: My teenage daughter comes to us, to Todd and I spent some good hockey time with kids here over the place in the NHL all the things I’d like to see this divine, this priceless ass of yours with the venom I shall do so all the fire of lubricity; let them sink and rise in cadence; let them sink and rise in cadence; let them sink and rise in cadence; let them obey the proddings whereby pleasure is going to open it a woman always suffers. It has pleased Nature so to make himself hated?
Wait, is this now an offical Palinized Janus Node? So now she doesn’t actually have to work at it, she just posts the autobot generated comments on her Facebook page.
Awesome. Maybe she can adapt it to the live appearances (what, do it by videoconference?) and then she doesn’t have to leave Wasilla again.
It’s Philosophy in the Bedroom plus this speech.
“… and wishing death to their political enemies…!”
Oh, those EVIL death-wishing liberals!
To soja Mike: FAAAARRRRT! Catch THAT and paint it green!
Substance McGravitas said,
July 1, 2010 at 6:33
It’s Philosophy in the Bedroom plus this speech.
Nice work, youngster.
“Gary Ruppert said
The fact is, why are people who are poor and unproductive allowed to breed?”
No education about or access to contraception?
I got soul but I’m not a Soja.
I got soul but I’m not a Soja.
I got soul but I’m not a Soja.
I got soul but I’m not a Soja.
I got soul but I’m not a Soja.
I got soul but I’m not a Soja.
I got soul but I’m not a Soja.
I got soul but I’m not a Soja.
Libertarian Party Planning.
And because I hate you all,
The Twilight vibrator.
And because I hate you all,
The Twilight vibrator.
Looks like a great foot massager.
Somewhat on-topic, another prediction that BigLegalProblems will become Breitbart’s signature project.
The topic is Breitbart. Dildos are on target.
So is someone plannin to pull Breits leg and see if the man can be made a bigger fool?
Let’s face it, the situation has all the marks of a long con: Big money, stupid mark desperate to get something he wants, and operating on the edge of legality.
I’m thinking pretending to be a russian/chinese hacker, illegally obtained files, questionable ties to crime (or russians/chinese in general), with some sort of small bait to show “the real stuff”, two or three times encrypted files just in case etc.
Maybe money payment to a P.O. box. All we need is someone with IP in the area incase he “haz l337 haxxor skillzz”.
First we just have to figure out a real crime he will be quilty with if he goes on with it.
Well, Journolisters, it’s time to begin fabricating back-dated messages! Let your imaginations run wild. Be sure to put lots of stuff in there that’s a.) grossly illegal and b.) obviously untrue to anybody with a half-ounce of common sense – emails wearing fur coats and purple pimp hats, as it were.
“Anybody with a half-ounce of common sense” obviously excludes Andy “Foamy” Breitbart, so the next thing you know he’ll be publishing the details of how Ezra Klein supplied Al Qaida with highly-enriched uranium in exchange for crates of Afghanistan heroin.
The fact is, I really really really want to lick Mike Soja’s taint until it bleeds common sense.
“Also I should point out that swans can hypnotise their victims by making rhythmic movements with their necks, as is described in Proust’s magisterial monograph “Swan Sway”.”
And also in “Night at the Roxbury”.
Citations please, mon.
What with the GOP’s love of projecting their worst impulses on everyone else, doesn’t it make sense that there’s probably a mailing list of right-wing media whores where they discuss colluding in attacks on America?
swans can hypnotise their victims by making rhythmic movements with their necks
I have PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE people.
Well, Journolisters, it’s time to begin fabricating back-dated messages! Let your imaginations run wild. Be sure to put lots of stuff in there that’s a.) grossly illegal and b.) obviously untrue to anybody with a half-ounce of common sense – emails wearing fur coats and purple pimp hats, as it were.
The most obvious ploy would be to suggest that Ezra Klein has the Death Note. Maybe for an extra 100,000, an enterprising Journolisto would be willing to steal the Death Note and deliver it to the Blart.
Then backdate it with every single politics-related death going back to Chappaquiddick.
And because I hate you all,
The Twilight vibrator.
I almost posted that the other day. That’s the last time I spare y’alls feelings. Or eyes.
And because I hate you all,
The Twilight vibrator.
I took my daughters to that movie last night. I’ll never get that estrogen smell out of my clothes.
His logic makes perfect sense, the way an interrogator makes perfect sense to a Quisling.
Sure, you can sell out and maybe Breitbart would even be willing to protect your anonymity, altho you have to know it’s going to get out anyway. The new car in your driveway might be a dead giveaway (apparently, InstaPutz never saw “Goodfellas”).
And sure, someone else might be the one to sell you out, thus leaving you holding the bag.
But here’s the thing: if there really is nothing to hide, and I suspect apart from a few off-colour comments and other trivial gossip-like things, there is nothing to hide, then why expose it to Breitbart’s spin at all? Why give an addict a different drug?
It’s funny that Reynolds just can’t comprehend why anyone would be reluctant to sell out his comrades for money.
Hm. I wonder how Reynolds would feel if one of the staff at UTenn started passing around his private e-mails?
Gary Ruppert said,
July 1, 2010 at 3:51
The fact is, Mike Soja is making a sense. Educate me!
We really don’t need you gumming up the blog with your BDSM porn, Gary.
“Educate me! Make it tighter! YES! YES! YES!”
But here’s the thing: if there really is nothing to hide, and I suspect apart from a few off-colour comments and other trivial gossip-like things, there is nothing to hide, then why expose it to Breitbart’s spin at all? Why give an addict a different drug?
But Reynolds thinks there is something to hide. Because all liberal media types are vile, immoral schemers.
I’m half-expecting Breitbart to come forward in a couple of weeks with a bunch of shit he just made up, passing it off like he got it from an anonymous source that he paid his fictional $100,000 to.
I’m half-expecting Breitbart to come forward in a couple of weeks with a bunch of shit he just made up, passing it off like he got it from an anonymous source that he paid his fictional $100,000 to.
You give him more credit than I do. I’m betting if someone DID come forward, Breitbart would give him an IOU predicated on his selling the list to Regnery.
You give him more credit than I do. I’m betting if someone DID come forward, Breitbart would give him an IOU predicated on his selling the list to Regnery.
That’s not beyond the realm of possibility, either.
Of course, if he made it up and passed it off like an anonymous source sent it to him, he could possibly force their hands into releasing the real emails in order to refute the made up bullshit he released.
Then again, I’m probably giving him too much credit.
Remember, Galt needed a lot of help…
The government is here to help.
Remember, Galt needed a lot of help…
Sadly, the only psychotherapy available to him was Freudian and Jungian. However, for you, there are many good medications that can assist your pathetic excuse for a self-image.
Of course, if he made it up and passed it off like an anonymous source sent it to him, he could possibly force their hands into releasing the real emails in order to refute the made up bullshit he released.
Yea, because of course, Ezra etco have something to prove…
Mike . Soja said,
July 1, 2010 at 16:08
Goddamn, dude. Your blog looks like a Geocities site. This isn’t 1994 anymore.
Common sense has long left the room where the big stew pot cooks with its ghastly mix of bits flayed from the bones of your compatriots, and while you may see through some of the delusions that are the accepted wisdoms of your party, you’ve still got the bone firmly planted in your nose. Your agenda of Cannibal Lite is trussed up with the same corrupt premises that power the other cannibals, except that they’ve been at it a lot longer than you have, and they’re not about to let you peel so much as a pinky finger off the lip of the communal spittoon. Don’t quit your day job. At least it’s honest.
If donut shops were government owned and operated, and the guy in the back frying donuts was paid $200,000 a year, would donuts be any more or less a few bits of flour and milk with a sugary coating? Would anyone care that the donut man went to Princeton? “Oh, this is sooooo yummy baked by Princeton guy.” Or would everyone fucking wonder what the hell he was doing frying donuts? And the donut fryer. The Princeton grad. He takes pride, day after day, in measuring those ingredients, and waiting until the fryer comes up to temperature? Oh, yeah.
Teaching’s the same. It’s like making donuts. Almost anyone can do it. Even well. Sure, some teachers are complete standouts. But mostly it’s grunt work. Year after year, the faces change, but two plus two is still four, the prepositions haven’t changed, and the condoms still go on with the reservoir tip at the end.
Yea, because of course, Ezra etco have something to prove…
Given what happened to Weigel and the general pants-pooping rightwingers do regarding the librul media, they may have to.
Common sense has long left the room where the big stew pot cooks with its ghastly mix of bits flayed from the bones of your compatriots
Do you serve chianti?
For $100k, anybody that wants to take a leak in my deep throat is welcome. I’m sure this has been said better, elsewhere, and up-list, but I’m not here to e clever, I just want to feel like part of something.
With Christopher Hitchens finally suffering the cancer I’ve been wishing on him for a decade, the path is now clear to make Blargblarg’s branes explode through the application of my mental will-amplifying apparatus.
Mmmm mmmmmmmm . One Wal*Mart ten pound beef brisket smoked to utter perfection. That’s the second try with that particular cut, and I really think I nailed it this time (not that the previous attempt was inedible, by a long shot.) Around thirteen hours in the smoker in all, which makes for a long day o’ cooking. Fired it up about 6:30 a.m. on Saturday, threw the meat on about 7:40. Fat side up. Tried to keep it at about 215 – 225 F with an assortment of c_harcoals, and about equal parts Mesquite and Hickory (the former smelling quite lovely.) Basted the bottom with Stubb’s mopping sauce after about four hours, then again after another couple, then more frequently until it ran out, and then basted with Stubb’s chicken marinade (which does have a nice tang to it, especially after sitting in the fridge for several months!) After about ten hours the internal temp started to make it up above 120, and after eleven hours it was going through the 130s, at which point I wrapped it in layers of foil and kept the heat steady. Somewhere between twelve and a half and thirteen hours it was finally above 150 and juicy as could be. One guy sez to let it get to 188 F, but that doesn’t seem right to me, somehow, though I may have to try it some time. But, oh boy, Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. We ate about a third of the flat just standing there. Worked our way into the point end tonight, and it’s just fabulous. Tender and delicious. Best BBQ we’ve had in this state.
Given what happened to Weigel and the general pants-pooping rightwingers do regarding the librul media, they may have to.
Nah. That would be like the Freemasons suddenly opening their doors to the general public.
T&U, nobody cares. Really. Breitbart thinks they do but that’s only because Breitbart’s ego is bigger than his cock.
Rich people are rather more proactive in making sure their extra money is working for them, and, as a byproduct, generating real value for others.
“Freedom” (if it’s ever mentioned at all, these days) and “the free market” are nothing now more than pretty graphics on bottles of snake oil, and the snake oil salesmen of the age have acquired the power to force the stuff down your throat at the point of a gun.
If you’re just paying workers to build a railroad you don’t get to count all the other expensive stuff that goes into making a railroad. To count the track and locomotives that someone else paid for as part of your stimulus is just plain dishonest. With that thinking, you could give the railroad scheme a dollar and count the billions that the thing winds up being worth. It’s just stupid, and yet it’s what this place is awash with.
A recent “Quote of the day” at Samizdata tried putting some of our lost freedoms in perspective:
… or perhaps “they” would have accused you of indulging in some alleged slippery slope fallacy. But the erosion of liberties is indisputable, and continues
Nearly two years ago I moved to a heap of a house in rural Ohio. I got a good deal on the place partly because the previous owner was such a lazy pig that she didn’t want to have Carbon Releaseto deal with all the junk in the place. So me ‘n Sweet Cheeks got to sort through it all, but that also meant that we had a lot to dispose of. I rented a dumpster for the stuff we couldn’t burn, and made big piles out back of the stuff we could. At some point one of my new neighbors cautioned us about burning the wrong kind of stuff, and said that another neighbor had gotten popped with a nice little fine for burning shingles, or some such.
So we got on the horn to check with the fire department. They couldn’t help us. Or rather, they wouldn’t help us. Nope, we were directed to call the EPA. Yeah, the Feds. You need to get permission from the Feds now, for a little backyard fire in rural Ohio.
Needless to say, we declined the honor, and went ahead with several burns, wondering each time if and when we’d be surrounded and officially made criminals. It hasn’t happened, yet, but the big hibachi is full again, and the pile off to the side is bigger than any ever before. It’s wonderful living in fear of the state.
Anyone got a light?
For $100k, anybody that wants to take a leak in my deep throat is welcome.
For $100K? It’s not enough, in my book. I need to have much more money before I estrange myself from my friends.
Some unnamed neighborhood teen is in the crosshairs for a charge.
3355 Dixon Road is across a field, almost directly behind the house on Merritt Road that I moved out of and sold. Two houses down from me was a fat kid with a noticeable tendancy to misuse guns. When I bought the place, I found several windows with BB or pellet-like little holes in them, all on the side toward where the fat kid lived. Of course, I couldn’t know for sure how they got there — the place had been abandoned for some time — but it was a good guess as to who it was. Over the next couple of years, I noticed the little monster roaming around with increasingly larger guns, mostly when his parents and grandparents weren’t around, and he’d shoot anything, and indiscriminately in any direction. I caught him one time, peering over my fence with a friend, both with guns, eyeing my many bird feeders, which, had they shot, would have been just past the corner of my house. Another time, I got him in trouble with his grandfather when he took a shot at a red-tailed hawk that had flown down at something in the yard between us. The little rat had it in for me, then, though I never caught him acting on it anymore than muttering under his breath when I was around.
Even so, I always figured, just from the general topography, that it was the people out back, across the field, who were most likely to get the bullets whizzing by.
If it’s the same kid, maybe he’ll get it together after this.
Sister Soja is one of the worst trolls in years, unless he’s being sarcastic. I’m suffering from apathy syndrome so can’t read the comments again to be certain. Plus I’m with KT Tunstall about the beauty of uncertainty & c.
Rich people are rather more proactive in making sure their extra money is working for them, and, as a byproduct, generating real value for others
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
Mikey, have you ever MET a real rich person????
LOL! This is too funny.
Sister Soja is one of the worst trolls in years, unless he’s being sarcastic.
Sister Soja is the three year old boy who keeps pooping under the stairs, thinking he’s gumming up the works for the adults.
After labors, we languished by the lake, and at some point became aware that we were hearing what we thought was a kid yelling the same indistinguishable thing over and over. It was a longish phrase, like “yow yow mo YOW!” It sounded like a kid, but a very obnoxious kid, yelling (not screaming) the same thing over and over. Sweet Cheeks wondered if someone was in distress, but I observed that the tone seemed remarkably consistent and repetitious over a relatively long period of time, and that if the situation were dire surely there would be some evidence of it in an evolving tone. Another neighbor, out in the open, closer to the noise, seemed unconcerned.
We eventually toodled back into the house, I, to my computer, and Sweet Cheeks to her reading sofa. But Sweet Cheeks kept hearing the yelling, and said it sounded like, “Help”, so I went out to listen more closely, and she followed. The yells, which we’d originally heard coming from the left end of the next street over, were now coming from the right end of that street, down in the woodsy section. We still couldn’t make out what the yells were about, but they came relentlessly, every six or eight seconds, somewhere in a hyena’s or monkey’s range, rather high. It could have been one long drawn out word, or a couple of muddled words.
But something was amiss, so we moseyed up to the car and drove around. Down the dead end road across the way, we found an old lady leaning on a broom in the middle of a yard next to an uninhabited house screaming, “Heeeeeellllllllllllllp!”, although if I hadn’t seen her yell it, I still wouldn’t have known what she was yelling.
So, we told her we were there to help, that she would be okay, etc., found out she was lost, couldn’t walk any further, etc. Inconsistencies. Not a lot of anything solid, though she proclaimed to know her own name rather forcefully. She claimed to be visiting, but didn’t know the people she was staying with, and that they probably wouldn’t miss her. But she did insist that she was on the right street.
We put her in the car, and I walked while Sweet Cheeks drove, back up the street, looking for clues, until we got to the more main road, and right there a dog came out to bark at us, and the lady said that the people she was visiting had dogs, and Sweet Cheeks said to go knock, and I did, and after about ninety minutes, all the while the tiny dog barking, a man opened the door and I inquired, “I hate to bother you, but are you by any chance missing a lady named XXXXX?”, and the man said, “Yes, we are.”
And so, after another long sixty minutes, he came out and tossed out the word “dementia” more as an admonishment than something informative, and took our charge back in tow.
The remarkable thing is all those people who were occupying their houses on that street this evening. The lady walked past all of them yelling her yell.
Sweet Cheeks says we’re to put labels and tags on all our clothes with our name, address, and phone number. I said that we should have chips implanted, but then remembered that we live in Tennessee.
Breitbart thinks they do but that’s only because Breitbart’s ego is bigger than his cock.
Well, if it weren’t, he would have killed himself out of shame and self-hatred a long time ago.
Coming up on the end of my first year of haphazardly dragging the blog around, and still unwinding out of and into the new Holiday season, what with assorted family members needing a wide variety of computing tasks performed, it seemed the perfect time to update the WordPress installation.
WordPress version 2.7 finally has functions incorporated into itself to automate its own updating. Unfortunately, automatic updating must first be manually updated, but that and all the other new features added up to incentive enough to get me to commit to chucking old version 2.3.3. That, and I’d seen some of the changes when I built a website for my mother, installed a blog on it with WordPress version 2.6, and liked the way it looked to be going. Widgets and everything.
The non-automatic update process is tedious, to say the least. Basically, one manually removes almost all of the old installation (meaning the blog goes kaput for a time) and then the whole new shebang is uploaded and set ticking. I didn’t have any problems with it, but I was pretty careful reading the instructions before I went in.
First thing I noticed, WordPress’s built-in editor still sucks, despite testimonials that it doesn’t. So, I went after the upgrade to FCKEditor, which plug-in served me (with some very small annoyances of its own) so well the better part of the year. Wahoo, annoyances gone, and after a few tweaks to the appropriate config files, everything was looking and working groovy.
Meanwhile, WordPress’s image upload gizmo also seems to be missing some parts, but, again, the FCKEditor routines work in their stead. I still have to manually apply tags for the styling I like, but I may be able to find the appropriate code to jigger, when I get the time.
Next, I looked around for a new plug-in weapon to deal with the small amount of comment and/or trackback spam that dribbles in at a rate of two or three a day, despite having a plug-in or two already set up to prevent it. Having never tried the Akismet plug-in (yes, I know, it’s practically the default) I gave it a shot, and it seems to be working better than what I had.
Then it was on to the ol’ web stat counter gizmo. All year I used Open Web Analytics, and with some skepticism, too. All I really ever wanted from it were some basic numbers and a pretty graph of recent traffic so I could flog myself with the brutality of existing as a very minor league player in a very, very big ballpark, and it seemed to do that, but I always wondered how competently. The software itself consists of more than a thousand files, and the PHP code is either so incredibly complex or so purposefully obfuscated that I could rarely make sense of it. The numerous MySQL tables it built seemed ineptly designed, and the trickle of emails into and out of the developer’s list kept turning up minor and silly bugs. Most importantly, there was no way I could find to keep it from including obvious bots and spiders in its visitor tallies. So, I dumped it, and switched to StatPress Reloaded, which has an adequate graph, and also breaks out the bots and spiders it knows about, while letting me add IPs or new spiders to lists it watches, and readily presents a better mix of info than I was getting from OWA, and all out of one not-too-large sourcefile.
And then, after last night’s posts, I noticed that my Post ID numbers had shot up by nearly 100, instead of the 3 that I expected. It seems that WordPress’s new AutoSave functions, crossed with its new Versioning functions, were kicking up the ID numbers every time my draft posts were auto or manually saved, and stuffing every different version into a new row of the big database table. That seems like inappropriate behavior to me, but I don’t see anyone else complaining about it in the WP forums. While versioning seems like it might be a cool feature, I’m not sure about the way WP has tried to implement it. I’ve now shut it off, by adding to wp-config.php thusly…
define (‘WP_POST_REVISIONS’, false);
… and have likewise rendered the autosave feature virtually non compos mentis with…
define( ‘AUTOSAVE_INTERVAL’, 6000);
Related info here.
And, while we’re on the subject of software and the like; Mrs Sweet Cheeks spent three hours a couple weeks ago on the phone with Dell Support, all about the way Vista couldn’t connect with Microsoft Update without freezing up all over itself. After all that time, and not fixing the problem, the support guy’s final suggesting was to reinstall the whole lovely OS (followed by a proposal to sell her a portable hard drive to manage the data save) when I flagged the proceedings and postponed any further Dell Support endeavors. It took me another couple hours, but I managed to fix it and a couple of other problems, to boot (sort of ironically), using the magic of the Internets. Vista and its browser do indeed suck.
And now, on to figure out how to more better market my dear mother’s egoods.
PENIS, sort of, headline.
@actor, I have quite a few friends that would up the ante for a piss-throating demonstration. I’ll bet I could get $100k plus dinner.
I saw a story like the following, yesterday, but the current gem floated up out of the depths of Sweet Cheeks’s Facebook page:
In doing this, Big Pharma shows its true character. When the profits are flowing and the companies are raking in full-price profits, they’re you’re best friend. But when budgets get tight and everybody is asked to take a cut, Big Pharma betrays your country and its citizens, withholding medicines in a thinly-veiled blackmail attempt to force you to cough up more cash.
That blooming idiocy is further compounded when the author offers that Greece and other countries should base “their health care systems on natural products such as healing foods, herbs, and nutritional supplements,” as though those items are essentially different from the sort of commodities that “Big Pharma” bases its business on. Even nutritional supplement hawkers have to make a profit, or it’s back on the government dole again.
The punch line is that it doesn’t matter whether Greek health care is “based” on fruits and berries, or the best that “patent-holding drug companies” can “blackmail” you out of your arm and leg for (ignoring, for the sake of argument, that fruits and berries had eons to prove their worth in the big double blind study known as the pre-modern era.) The trouble that Greek patients are about to experience is that the responsibility for their health care has been transferred to an arbitrary and ultimately uncaring third party: The Government. The government has run out of money, ergo, no medicine (and none of the other things the Greek government used to “pay” for, either.)
Had free people been able to keep the money the government confiscated from them in providing them their socialized medicines, then it wouldn’t particularly matter if the government ran out of money. If those free people had prudently husbanded their own money (safe from the predations of their political elite), they could walk down to their local Apothecary and pick up the latest, greatest, generic, or go all out and splurge on that big name brand. Big Pharma doesn’t want to not sell medicines to Greek people. It just doesn’t want to sell medicines to Greek people at a loss.
Certainly, some Greeks would rather have spent their health care drachmas on ouzo and boys from the olive orchards, but the vast majority would still have their drugs. Under stupid socialism, no one is going to get his drugs, and everyone is going to run out of a lot of other things, too. It’s called putting all your eggs in one very large, very fragile basket, and then giving that basket to your average, stupid, thieving politician. Morons.
And you don’t have to be Aristotle to figure it out, either.
The fact is, why would anyone give a shit about what mean thing some so-called journalist might have said about any conservative figure? It’s not like there aren’t plenty of us saying worse about them already, right out in the open where anyone can read it, which seems more significant than what someone might have said to the 400. Leave it up to Big Butthurt to think that anything of this type is worth 2 cents to anyone to reveal, much less $100K. It’s not like anyone cared in the first place what Weigel said about Drudge – including Andy Butthurt. I mean, seriously, have they gotten so desperate for sources of faux outrage that now they have to pretend like they’re willing to pay big bux for new ones? I mean, really, it’s not as if they need to hear the private musings of so-called liberal so-called journalists to make up reasons to be butthurt over the fact that these people live and breathe. What, exactly, do they expect to accomplish if they get their hands on the Precious? Whipping up the retards into a froth? They’re frothy already.
foosh!
Of perfect pork.
Breaking all the rules, but it turned out to be too good not to have tried. I’m talking about the pulled pork recipe in the Jan/Feb issue of Cook’s Illustrated. Yes, don’t tell anyone, but it’s barbecue done in the oven, with yellow mustard and liquid smoke, no less. Horrible. Until you eat it.
I never worked with liquid smoke before, but there’s nothing to it. At least, according to the label. No calories, no carbs, no vitamins, no salt, no fats, nothing. Just pure hickory flavor ensconced in some kind of mysterious liquid. Yes, it’s slightly ersatz hickory flavor, but only very slightly. I mean, very, very slightly. And ultimately non-obtrusive, which is good in a taste-based product.
So, that’s a Boston Butt, butterflied (per the mag) to increase surface area to increase the amount of tasty crust, brined (four quarts of water, a cup of salt, a third cup of sugar, three tablespoons of smoke) for a couple hours, slathered with yellow mustard and a very small amount of additional smoke, then crusted with rub (make yer own), baked (sealed, aluminum-wise, in a shallow pan) for three hours at 325, and then unsealed for another hour and a half, or until the chunk reaches two hundred degrees, whichever comes first. Drippings, if any, should be collected and incorporated into some sauce. There were virtually no drippings, today.
And the crowd went wild.
John Stossel’s mustache has gotten loose again.
If donut shops were government owned and operated, and the guy in the back frying donuts was paid $200,000 a year, would donuts be any more or less a few bits of flour and milk with a sugary coating? Would anyone care that the donut man went to Princeton? “Oh, this is sooooo yummy baked by Princeton guy.” Or would everyone fucking wonder what the hell he was doing frying donuts? And the donut fryer. The Princeton grad. He takes pride, day after day, in measuring those ingredients, and waiting until the fryer comes up to temperature? Oh, yeah.
Teaching’s the same. It’s like making donuts. Almost anyone can do it. Even well. Sure, some teachers are complete standouts. But mostly it’s grunt work. Year after year, the faces change, but two plus two is still four, the prepositions haven’t changed, and the condoms still go on with the reservoir tip at the end.
have they gotten so desperate for sources of faux outrage that now they have to pretend like they’re willing to pay big bux for new ones?
Yes.
I do wonder about this ever-increasing intensity in outrage. Where does it end?
Hey, gang, I have a fun idea! Let’s slip into our secret dialectical jargon that nobody but us understands and piss off the copypasta machine! You know what I mean — mango Charlie delta ak-ack omi poloni branes V[blank]R!
SECRET MEANING.
After labors, we languished by the lake, and at some point became aware that we were hearing what we thought was a kid yelling the same indistinguishable thing over and over. It was a longish phrase, like “yow yow mo YOW!” It sounded like a kid, but a very obnoxious kid, yelling (not screaming) the same thing over and over. Sweet Cheeks wondered if someone was in distress, but I observed that the tone seemed remarkably consistent and repetitious over a relatively long period of time, and that if the situation were dire surely there would be some evidence of it in an evolving tone. Another neighbor, out in the open, closer to the noise, seemed unconcerned.
We eventually toodled back into the house, I, to my computer, and Sweet Cheeks to her reading sofa. But Sweet Cheeks kept hearing the yelling, and said it sounded like, “Help”, so I went out to listen more closely, and she followed. The yells, which we’d originally heard coming from the left end of the next street over, were now coming from the right end of that street, down in the woodsy section. We still couldn’t make out what the yells were about, but they came relentlessly, every six or eight seconds, somewhere in a hyena’s or monkey’s range, rather high. It could have been one long drawn out word, or a couple of muddled words.
But something was amiss, so we moseyed up to the car and drove around. Down the dead end road across the way, we found an old lady leaning on a broom in the middle of a yard next to an uninhabited house screaming, “Heeeeeellllllllllllllp!”, although if I hadn’t seen her yell it, I still wouldn’t have known what she was yelling.
So, we told her we were there to help, that she would be okay, etc., found out she was lost, couldn’t walk any further, etc. Inconsistencies. Not a lot of anything solid, though she proclaimed to know her own name rather forcefully. She claimed to be visiting, but didn’t know the people she was staying with, and that they probably wouldn’t miss her. But she did insist that she was on the right street.
We put her in the car, and I walked while Sweet Cheeks drove, back up the street, looking for clues, until we got to the more main road, and right there a dog came out to bark at us, and the lady said that the people she was visiting had dogs, and Sweet Cheeks said to go knock, and I did, and after about ninety minutes, all the while the tiny dog barking, a man opened the door and I inquired, “I hate to bother you, but are you by any chance missing a lady named XXXXX?”, and the man said, “Yes, we are.”
And so, after another long sixty minutes, he came out and tossed out the word “dementia” more as an admonishment than something informative, and took our charge back in tow.
The remarkable thing is all those people who were occupying their houses on that street this evening. The lady walked past all of them yelling her yell.
Sweet Cheeks says we’re to put labels and tags on all our clothes with our name, address, and phone number. I said that we should have chips implanted, but then remembered that we live in Tennessee.
Teh buttocks, Speng? Shitmoat to your mother!
I do wonder about this ever-increasing intensity in outrage. Where does it end?
When we start the assassinations.
To the person whose small bag of groceries somehow ended up in our cart yesterday: Your bacon isn’t salty enough.
Dammit.
I blame the bagger, though it was me that spotted the bag at the end of the checkout and assumed it was ours. I reached for it, and the lady asked, “Are those yours?”, or something to that effect, and I glanced in the bag, saw a pack of bacon sitting on top of another package of meat, which I assumed was the pack of bacon and the packet of hamburger that I purchased, and said, “Yeah.”
Back at home, there was some confusion. You see, Sweet Cheeks and I had pushed separate carts in various directions and met up at the checkout. Initially, she was going to pay for hers and I was going to pay for mine, but earlier I’d stiffed her out of $20, and after several smart remarks on this and that, the little divider between our piles disappeared and I paid for it all. So when we got home and four or five nice dark chocolate bars fell out of a bag we each thought the other had been up to something. I thought she was hoarding chocolate, and she thought I was being sweet by buying her chocolate. But I couldn’t take credit for it. It was a mystery. She put the groceries away. And then later, when I went to get the burger out of the fridge, what should I pull out first but a package of beef stew meat, about the same size as the pack of burger. And then we found the extra pack of bacon. So we got someone else’s bag along with all of our own.
And the chocolate now has a bite or two out of it.
If the person who lost his groceries at the Kingston Kroger sees this, I owe you about ten or twelve bucks.
When we start the assassinations.
As long as it’s not when *they* start the assassinations.
T&U, it’s like those ascending cords they use in movies where it sounds like the tension is going up and up and up but the octave never really gets any higher.
I do wonder about this ever-increasing intensity in outrage. Where does it end?
Here’s the thing about that: since they lost Clinton, who admittedly gave them a lot of material, the right wing has begun to realize two things:
1) The things people really get outraged about, even their Teabaggers, backfire mightily on them (TARP was renewed, dontcha know, with Republican support)
2) The things that they think people get outraged about, like sex or gossip, really don’t matter when you can’t buy groceries or clothing.
I meant about the outrage. “They will start the assassinations afterwards.
As long as it’s not when *they* start the assassinations.
(cf Breitbart’s small penis)
Your bacon isn’t salty enough.
So much innuendo, so little time…
As long as it’s not when *they* start the assassinations.
(cf Breitbart’s small penis)
Let me expand on this point:
Take Mike Blowya here. He can’t come out and confront us directly. He doesn’t have the guts to stand toe-to-toe and make a case for his point of view. He doesn’t have the courage of his convictions.
All he can do is sit around and wave the flag and wank to Ann Coulter and think “what a good American I am” but when push comes to shove, when the time to PROVE how good an American he is, not only doesn’t he pick up a gun and man a post, he can’t even TALK to someone who is different from him.
That, in a nutshell, is the entire right wing. And that’s why they don’t scare me.
Jennifer;
I think the bigger picture here shows the delusive nature of people like Butthurt and our good buddy copypastaMike. They’re convinced, even as they tend to their own teabag farm, that there is some liberal illuminati type conspiracy to destroy America. I really think they’re dumb enough to believe that a bunch of snarky comments from a few idiot journalists will suddenly blow the lid off of this conspiracy.
Their logical and introspective skills are so hobbled by twinkie-fueled toxic shock that they can’t seem to understand that they would find in such a database would likely resemble the angry outbursts that they publish under the guise of informative blogging or journalism. Their target group had the arguably good sense to leave that stuff in private while these idiots blather on about socialism, accuse Obama of being a muslim, and generally say anything except what has any basis in fact or truth.
All he can do is sit around and wave the flag and wank to Ann Coulter and think “what a good American I am” but when push comes to shove, when the time to PROVE how good an American he is, not only doesn’t he pick up a gun and man a post, he can’t even TALK to someone who is different from him.
Bumper sticker patriot. No thinking required.
That, in a nutshell, is the entire right wing. And that’s why they don’t scare me.
I’m not so much worried about them as a whole, but about the insane fucking people who, you know, shoot up Unitarian churches and abortion clinics and stuff.
Your bacon isn’t salty enough.
So much innuendo, so little time…
Like a German sausage.
I’m not so much worried about them as a whole, but about the insane fucking people who, you know, shoot up Unitarian churches and abortion clinics and stuff.
Still not scared. I’ve scraped more dangerous bugs off my heel.
A landlord is a person who owns land, does not engage in labour himself, or does so only to a very small extent, and lives by exploiting the peasants. The collection of land rent is his main form of exploitation; in addition, he may lend money, hire labour, or engage in industry or commerce. But his exaction of land rent from the peasants is his principal form of exploitation. The administration of communal land and the collection of rent from school land are included in the category of exploitation through land rent.
A bankrupt landlord shall still be classified as a landlord if he does not engage in labour but lives by swindling or robbing others or by receiving assistance from relatives or friends, and is better off than the average middle peasant.
Warlords, officials, local tyrants and evil gentry are political representatives and exceptionally ruthless members of the landlord class. Minor local tyrants and evil gentry are also very often to be found among the rich peasants.
Persons who assist landlords in collecting rent and managing property, who depend on landlord exploitation of the peasants as their main source of income and are better off than the average middle peasant shall be put in the same category as landlords.
Usurers are persons who rely on exploitation by usury as their main source of income, are better off than the average middle peasant, and shall be put in the same category as landlords.
To the person whose small bag of groceries somehow ended up in our cart yesterday:
Somehow? I’ll bet it’s a big mystery there, Lunchbox. You didn’t somehow find the moral fortitude to return that bag to the store in case the rightful owner came back to find it? Or did you assume that the real American entrepreneur grocery store would dip into it’s own pocket and replace the groceries?
Still not scared. I’ve scraped more dangerous bugs off my heel.
You also don’t have to deal with them every fucking day, I’m sure.
And yes, meat products provide a nearly limitless source of innuendo.
You also don’t have to deal with them every fucking day, I’m sure.
Still wouldn’t scare me. I grew up a Nordic kid in a Sicilian neighborhood. Very little scares me
And yes, meat products provide a nearly limitless source of innuendo.
Meat innuendo is a goal of mine.
I’m not so much worried about them as a whole, but about the insane fucking people who, you know, shoot up Unitarian churches and abortion clinics and stuff.
Those psychos don’t need very much prodding to act on their delusions. These things happen, and it’s best that we don’t show them any fear. Statistically speaking, that fear is irrational–I say that acknowledging that I would most certainly not want to tell that to a victim’s family members. They’re trying to treaten and bully their way back into power, and they use tools like teabaggers and sensational journalism as a means to their end. Obviously they couldn’t care less who dies as long as they get their hands on the law books again so they can keep stealing wealth from the middle and poor classes and give it to the ruling class.
You also don’t have to deal with them every fucking day, I’m sure.
Still wouldn’t scare me. I grew up a Nordic kid in a Sicilian neighborhood. Very little scares me
Well, I’m scared of very many things, including, but not limited to:
Small spaces
Ticks
Killer bees
Killer ants
Dying alone
Ebola
T&U, I live in an area that is a hotbed of that sort of activity. We have lots and lots of white supremacists and ultra right wing morons living among us here in the inland Northwest. They scare me a little, too, but if you let them control your behavior in any way, they think they’ve won. The only real weapon we have is to ignore them as best we can, and educate as many people as we can.
These things happen, and it’s best that we don’t show them any fear.
BUT THEY HATE OUR FREEDOMS!
Is disemvoweling still used around these parts?
Annoying spam troll is annoying.
Discover the truth through practice, and again through practice verify and develop the truth. Start from perceptual knowledge and actively develop it into rational knowledge; then start from rational knowledge and actively guide revolutionary practice to change both the subjective and the objective world. Practice, knowledge, again practice, and again knowledge. This form repeats itself in endless cycles, and with each cycle the content of practice and knowledge rises to a higher level. Such is the whole of the dialectical-materialist theory of knowledge, and such is the dialectical-materialist theory of the unity of knowing and doing.
Those psychos don’t need very much prodding to act on their delusions.
Worse than that, their delusions are malleable. If it’s not hippie lefty commie freaks, it’s brown-skinned immigrants, and if it’s not brown-skinned immigrants, it’s the homeless. If it’s not the homeless, it’s the gays.
Some people just need to hate.
Is disemvoweling still used around these parts?
Sadly, no, but we haven’t had a copypasta troll like this in a while.
The good thing about it is, he runs out of energy quickly.
Like I said, no cojones. No commitment.
If there were only a suitable blog where I could post it.
I hear Kiwi’s place is Riddled with Japes and Wise Cracks.
John Stossel’s mustache has gotten loose again.
Entrepreneurship is what has made America great! My examples are my failed business selling right-wing schlock to benefit an Australian’s media empire and a Brit who sells Chinese-made crap on TV.
So much innuendo, so little time…
Like a German sausage.
In your endo, maybe.
Still not scared. I’ve scraped more dangerous bugs off my heel.
I’m worried for abortion doctors, clinic workers, etc.
I’m worried for abortion doctors, clinic workers, etc.
Which is why I advocate assassination.
I’m worried for abortion doctors, clinic workers, etc.
We all are, but these are exactly the same people who cause us to worry about their neighbors, the local bank, police officers making traffic stops, their OWN FAMILIES, etc. These are gun strokers who obsess about killing somebody. We like to think that these people are just generally angry malcontents who are goaded into action with all of the birther/tenther/muslim bullshit, but it’s more like they were just handed an excuse. No matter who is unlucky enough to be the victim, this day was always coming, whether Obama got elected or not.
In other words, those occasional murder suicides you hear about–same guy as the abortion clinic murderer. These are fundamentalist victims of future shock, disillusionment with the idea that the world doesn’t actually revolve around them, racism, and karma. Their lives are exactly what they make of them, yet since their lives are generally shit, they look desperately for someone else to blame and ultimately punish.
Their lives are exactly what they make of them, yet since their lives are generally shit, they look desperately for someone else to blame and ultimately punish.
The most famous assassins in history– Lee Harvey Oswald, for example, or Mark David Chapman or John Hinckley– are prime examples of people who blame someone else for their own heartaches.
Which is why I advocate assassination.
You have that in common with Randall Terry.
Which is why I advocate assassination.
You have that in common with Randall Terry.
When in Rome…
Teaching, as I have already explained, may be likened — nay, equated — to making donuts, with the exception (as I neglected to mention earlier) that a teacher does not need to wake up in the middle of the night and trudge off to the school, muttering “time to teach the students” and looking sad with his little mustache. Writing, in the sense that your humble scribe undertakes the endeavor to craft the perfect missive, is, in its essence, not especially distinct from barbecue, by which one means, sticking a slab of meat in the oven with some liquid smoke, or, failing that, some of that single-malt Scotch that Trader Joe’s used to carry, which was basically liquid smoke made with peat rather than hickory or mesquite. I profess this in order to discern the presence, for they are ubiquitous, of denizens of this intertrons who are prone to arguing about barbecue, particularly vis-à-vis using propane rather than charcoal, sort of the filioque clause of the modern barbecueists. (INSERT WORD SALADY RUBBISH WHERE I TRY TO BE DEEP AND MEANINGFUL AH SCREW IT LET’S JUST COPY AND PASTE) Non-Masons stay pretty much in the dark about What Goes On, though now and then something jumps out, exposes itself, jumps giggling back again, leaving you with few details but a lot of Awful Suspicions. Some of the American Founding Fathers were Masons, for instance. There is a theory going around that the U.S.A. was and still is a gigantic Masonic plot under the ultimate control of the group known as the Illuminati. It is difficult to look for long at the strange single eye crowning the pyramid which is found on every dollar bill and not begin to believe the story, a little.
It’s time for the big push, but we’re out of TP, so what the hell.
I’m talking about another 2400 to 3000 pounds of asbestos that needs to be dumped in the lake. Or between the lake and the homestead, in carefully defined piles, before the Spring waters rise and make work impossible. And that’s on top of the 3460 pounds already mixed and installed this year. If I kept track of things last year, I’ve misplaced the stats, but we’ve already surpassed those previous efforts.
The neighbors, ever-helpful, came out to warn me that one of their own had been slapped with a significant fine a few years earlier for tossing out a few hundred pounds of lead and used motor oil. If you had told someone in 1976 that the jackbooted thugs of the State would be fining hardworking Americans merely for dumping toxic garbage into fresh water sources, they’d look at you the way one would look at a crazy person, I guess, although personally I can’t tell the difference most of the time. With any luck the concrete Soja’s been dumping in there will “seal in” all the toxic effluent like they did at Lake Karachay, providing a truly free-market solution to all of life’s problems.
I see what you did there.
I see what you did there.
Finally! I thought I was losing my touch.
Mike Soja, shoplifter said,
July 1, 2010 at 3:57
If only Mike’s daddy hadn’t skipped that class.
the condoms still go on with the reservoir tip at the end.
Can you put them on backwards? I mean, I know it’s easier to roll from one side v. the other, but really….it’s a tube with one open end. It’s a little hard to miss!