Thanks to alert Balloon Juice commenter WereBear, I learned that Rush Limbaugh was possibly caught on film picking his snoot in Patriot owner Robert Kraft’s booth during last night’s Super Bowl. There is much speculation about it on the Google: Did he or didn’t he shove his finger knuckle-deep into his nostril in full view of all the swells in the skybox, including Steven Tyler?
Deadspin has a pretty definitive photo here. However, some wingnut site called the “Daily Rushbo” gives the clip the Zapruder treatment and concludes that no nose-picking occurred. Not content to rely on the analysis of someone daft enough to run a Limbaugh fan site, I used advanced digital still analysis techniques and found that the truth is far worse than the original rumor.
First, here’s the Deadspin still:
And here’s a detailed view of Limbaugh in mid-pick—the enhanced image clearly shows a viscous, green glob of mucus dangling from his index finger:
And a couple of frames later, the horrible truth is revealed: Not only did Limbaugh extract a slimy, revolting booger from his snout, he disposed of it by wiping it on the back of his host, Mr. Kraft.
Jesus, that’s disgusting. But it kind of puts the NFL ownership’s rejection of Limbaugh’s bid to join their little club in a new light, doesn’t it? It’s not that the owners were put off by Limbaugh’s constant race-baiting and misogyny; it’s just that he’s one crass motherfucker.
We may be the world’s sole remaining superpower, but there are still challengers to the throne, and whether it’s Cold War nostalgia or a decade of well-publicized moral compromise on our part, I for one find it comforting that the commies are the bad guys again. Makes it that much more likely that the bloodshed can be ended by a lone catchphrase-spouting musclehead. Okay, that’s definitely Cold War nostalgia.
Hey, so how’re Bill Keller and the rest of the “Hillary for Veep” morons feeling about all this? You guys really want Biden minding the tinderbox? Because I’m not sure if y’all are aware of this—it may have been mentioned in passing once or twice—but the man’s a bit of an oaf. It’s part of his charm, but, y’know, maybe not quite the personality trait you’re looking for in someone whose job is to stave off international conflagration. Hell, if he was Secretary of State we’d still be putting out the fires from his comically botched attempt to lie about our involvement in the assassinations of Iranian nuclear scientists. And I mean actual fires, like I can totally see Biden burning down the briefing room by accident while trying to distract the press corps with Zippo tricks.
Anyway, now comes the hard part: deciding what color to use for our Twitter backgrounds.
UPDATE: if you search for “Syrian bombardment” on Google Video, the sixth hit is this:
What was I saying about being a superpower?
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 02/06/12 at 12:41 PM
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If you’re anything like me, you’re a big sissy whose lack of interest in sports has led to enormous gaps in your cultural literacy, so hopefully you’re nothing like me, but if you’re exactly like me, you made the 5th-grade class bully cry. What happened was, he got stuck with you on his touch-football team in gym class, and apparently you were “off sides,” and he got very upset about this. To this day you don’t know what “off sides” means, but you did make a bully cry, so maybe you’re not that big a sissy after all.
Anyway, here’s a real giant. Not so much the other thing!
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 02/05/12 at 10:18 PM
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The occupant of today’s ducking stool is a post by Erick Erickson that is entitled—I shit you not—“The Perversion of the Words of Our Lord Jesus Christ by the Sinner Barack H. Obama.” CottonMather CottonMatherson waxes theological for 1,500 words or so, returning to variations on the word “pervert” with such alarming frequency as to inspire concern for Georgia’s dairy goat population.
The post is such a textbook demonstration of moral obtuseness, ignorance and conceit that to put it through the Ensnarkerator seems superfluous. Instead, I’ll turn the analysis of Preacher SonOfAPreacherman over to Emily J. Brontë, who described a similar (but harder-working) character thusly:
He was, and is yet most likely, the wearisomest self-righteous Pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the promises to himself and fling the curses to his neighbours.
Speaking of assholes, we’ve got our own low-rent version of Sarah Palin in the Florida legislature: State Senator Ronda Storms. She just introduced a bill to ban welfare recipients from using food stamps to purchase cakes, cookies, Jello and potato chips. Is it because she’s concerned about good nutrition? Hell no. Storms wants to make sure a struggling single mom can’t buy her child an Oreo because Storms is a self-righteous, sanctimonious jackass.
And naturally, Storms is another tiresome god-botherer who would make Jesus, if he existed, puke his holy guts out. Her continued existence, unsmited, is all the evidence I need that Bill Maher has it right in the clip down yonder.
So, it’s Super Bowl Sunday. What are y’all cooking for the occasion, if anything? Does anyone have a good recipe for onion dip that does not include Lipton’s Onion Soup Mix? I intend to try this Alton Brown recipe unless someone has a better suggestion.
Also, Giants or Patriots? I’m not particularly fond of either team (my team is the sucky Bucs), but I’m leaning toward the Giants for no particular reason.
As a lead-in to this weekend’s major sporting fixture, the GOP have laid on a little entertainment in Nevada.
Who will win the thing isn’t an issue, the main interest of the evening lying in seeing whether Ron Paul can upset Newt even more than normal by pipping him for second place, and how far down the can Santorum will go.
One minor cliffhanger that might have enlivened proceedings was headed off earlier in the day when it was revealed that Newt was not going to repeat his self-parodic bravura performance from January 31 in Florida by going postal at his concession speech, but would instead hold a press conference to enable him to berate and insult the media to their yellow faces. A ripple ran round various outlets that he might be going to announce the suspension of his campaign. Alas—or YAY!—depending on your perspective, that prospect now seems a non-starter.
This is the last time I’ll talk about Komen, pinky-swear. It’s just so nice to not lose for once, plus I’m still bummed I never got to use the post title “Ayes Up Here.”
The KFC* Backle-Down Planned-wich
Ingredients
2 breaded chicken breasts
1 egg
1 tbsp. mayonnaise, salted
3 strips bacon, twisted into “awareness ribbon” shapes
1/3 cup shredded mozzarella
1/4 cup crushed tortilla chips
Deep-fry chicken breasts. Cook bacon in skillet. Mix egg with salted mayonnaise, then scramble the living hell out of it.
Top egg/mayo mixture with shredded mozzarella and crushed tortilla chips, because Catholicism! Add bacon and place between chicken breasts. Offer to guests, then retract offer, then, when they raise a stink, give it back. Shoo pets out of room; guests might go a little crazy with the victory laps.
Side note: When the real word’s “cumin,” a “Komen” joke in a fake recipe is defused somewhat, I’ve found.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking “that’s the most disgusting sandwich I’ve ever heard of, and it sounds incredibly unhealthy to boot.” Well, first off, It should be noted that mine’s more nutritious than the actual thing. Second, there’s no need to fear the damage it might do to your heart and other organs; simply read this Kathleen Parker column after eating, and voilà! That’s onomatopoeia, not French.
Two of the top news stories this week have revolved around reproductive rights, though both raise far more troubling issues than a woman’s right to contraception or abortion.
See? That opening line alone’s enough to make me voilà my guts out.
Wingnuts quickly settled on a meme in the wake of the Komen Kinda Kave: The Pink Peeps fell prey to leftist gangsterism! According to the squealing pusscakes on the right, an innocent, nonpartisan charity was mau-maued by hairy-legged, Birkenstock-shod lesbian bullies who demand government funds to forcibly dismember precious snowflake babies, probably for some satanic blood ritual that occurs in an Oregon forest within a circle of Subaru Outbacks.
K-Lo’s Kornerites were busily honing this meme shortly after the news broke, blustering about the depravity of dragging filthy politics into the realm of philanthropy. But, as usual, Sister Inviolatta herself was unclear on the concept and dropped this nugget into the Korner Katbox:
K-Lo’s colleagues must have caught up with her in the break room and explained that she was fucking up the narrative, because she performed a partial scoop a bit later:
John is right: We know who the real gangsters, bullies, liars and hypocrites are, and there is no reasoning with them. There is only their defeat and our victory.
Or maybe not, we’ll see. It’s not like we weren’t going to have to go through this rigamarole again next year anyway, especially with people like this around and my proposed “Yeah, but C’mon, Have You Listened to these Assholes?” amendment to the Bill of Rights seemingly stalled in congress. Do-nothings!
The abortion giant thinks it is above the law even though it is under criminal investigation for many, many good reasons — it has defrauded Medicaid to the tune of millions of dollars and has been caught on tape telling 13- and 14-year-olds how to get abortions after being impregnated by men in their 30s and telling pimps how to get secret abortions for young girls who are being used for sex trafficking.
I like how she manages to perpetuate the O’Keefe garbage (she does have a BS in psychology, after all) and imply that there’s something monstrous about helping a barely-pubescent girl terminate a pregancy that resulted from one of those oh-so-common totally consensual relationships thirtysomething men are always getting into with seventh-graders. Ah, those May-ephebophile romances.
And not for nothing—I know it’s considered a modern classic, but I found The Abortion Giant to be maudlin and manipulative, Vin Diesel’s surprisingly tender voicework aside.
She lies, Komen, better hide your… okay, that one’s a stretch.
My laptop is experiencing hot flashes and wheezing piteously, which means I’ll have to hitch up the wagon for a trip into town to see if I can find a Super Bowl sale this weekend. Any laptop recommendations?
No, this is not a flight of fancy. As I buried in another post, you really can buy a Susan B. Komen gun. What you choose to bury is entirely your business. I’m not saying a thing.
Yes, the Ambassador would like us to know she means to preserve as many of us as she can~~but the sacred bio-essence passing through these portals must be preserved! A number of us may have to be sacrificed, but the bio-essence must be maintained! Come to Pink, children. Want Pink. Don’t turn from Pink. You… need…Pink.
Or, not. So glad I never went for the Pink Kitchen-Aid Mixer. Bundling that thing up and shipping it off to almost-Governor Handel wouldn’t have been a satisfying protest, but not buying it sure is!
Update: did I say Kitchen-Aid Mixer? Pah! Komen be Barnhardtin’! *
“There are some things that you just can’t imagine happening in your life. This is one of them.”—Willard Mitt Romney
Here’s something Mitt may wish he left in Vegas: the clammy handshake and smoked-brass endorsement of a Quality Birtherloon Fiberglass Fun Figure who’s famous for the phrase “YOU’RE FIRED.”
The S.S. Grandiose, having sprung a leak too soon this morning, had little to say about the desertion of this particular rat.
UPDATE: The DNC press release about the Trump endorsement was simply the original Romney email, which, the DNC felt, spoke volumes just by itself.
But I thought it needed just one little detail adjusted:
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