A new Michael Barone piece. It’ll certainly be packed with nonsense, but how long will it take to find a giant, fat, screaming lie that’s made of 100% firepants juice and 0% truthberries? Let’s start the clock…
Time: 0:04
Barone: “Waiter? Nachos please.”
Voice off: “Hey Jorge, US News guy wan’ snotcho.”
When the hacks of Hollywood wish to endow a villainous character with a certain gravitas, they always cast a British actor. Similarly, when Wingnuttia’s war-cheerleading skirt-and-pom-poms act grows tiresome and brings diminishing returns, a more subtle tweedy intellectual legitimacy is preferred, and a Briton is sent for. Hence the Hitchenses, Blankleys, Sullivans, Johnsons and Fergusons who pollute our media, demanding in their imperious accents that the United States fulfill its role as heir to the British Empire, to be hegemon and butcher unless someone outside the family (so to speak) steps in.
Yet Hitchens is too weird, with his lapsed leftism, to consistently do the trick (for instance, he still isn’t completely wingnutty on Israel-Pali issues). Blankley is basically American; or, one could say considering his main employer, North Korean. Sullivan is certainly hackish enough, but the gay thing prevents his acceptance among the reddest of red wingnuts. For years, Paul “Spanker” Johnson perfectly filled the role, yet the toll of his many personal scandals combined with a face so wrought with gin blossoms that it looks as if he’s been Dick Cheney’s life-long hunting partner have sort of killed his gig. No longer even passably telegenic, Spanker is now best used for writing long tracts of historical propaganda. Never has a condescending British wingnut been more needed to spread the gospel to his dim-witted American cousins.
Plainly, conditions are perfect for an Oxbridge neo-Thatcherite to take Wingnuttia by storm, if only one were enough on the make to do some slumming over here. But he must be dependable. Will someone answer the call?
…If by ‘coup de grace’ you mean ‘merest hint of gigantic stockpile of kitten terror weapons.’
Oh yes, der Kommisar’s in town, oh-oh-oh.
Any Boston-area readers (you know who you are) who wanna come along and meet the one and only Glennzilla Greenwald this Tuesday should shoot me an e-mail.
Much thanks to 14-Star Kitten General Gavin for helping out on the feline front (*salutes*). I hadn’t even thought of scouring YouTube for new minions, but that is about to change:
Andrew, we are forced by your own actions to get jiggy wit it.
And that means videos! And that means sexual-abstinence rap videos!
[More coming as I squirm out of this nasty tar trap laid by super-villains!]
Below: A project she had to do for school.
Below: How selfish sex is. From Hope Worldwide, a faith-based entity. Hip-hop in effect.
Apparently, some people just don’t know when to quit. Since Progressive Gold’s latest attack is far more devastating than their first, I am compelled to break into my Summer Kitten Stash.
A-one, and a-two, and a-one-two-three-four:
Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head…
But that doesn’t mean my eyes will soon be turnin’ red…
I mean, use a guy’s own words — use his whole pattern of cock-fixated violent assholery — against him, and he goes all sulky. What gives? I’ve been very disappointed in the quality of Goldstein’s, and his troglodyte admirers’, replies to my post. But then haste wastes paste, I suppose; and so Goldstein had to spend some time trying to figure out how to weasel his way out of this shit.
Sure, Shandy’s right. The guy who wrote that:
Somewhere, Jeff Goldstein is sitting in his basement, fuming over Retardo’s takedown. “Just wait ’til I show them my COCK! Then they’ll be sorry.� Meanwhile, his lawn goes unmowed, his children unfed and his 15,000 word article on the foundational hermenuetics of Scenes from a Mall, unwritten.
Apparently, yesterday was Seersucker Day in the Senate.
Above: Come with Rick to a land of pure imagination.
Update from Marq:
Oompa-loompa doompity-doo,
We’re gonna talk about Senator Man-on-dog to you,
Oompa-loompa doompity-dee,
If you are smart, you’ll kinda just flee,
What kinda frothy mixture is that?
Lube and fecal matter and my dead brat!
[baritone] I brought him home because they were out of Cabbage Patch Dolls![/baritone]
Oompa-loompa, gimpity-give,
You know where I work; can you guess where I live?
Oompa-loompa, dippity-dong,
If you guessed Penn State, then you’re Sadly, Wrong!
Virginia’s much nicer, and it’s whiter, too,
If I lived in Pittsburgh, I might have to live next to you!