ZOMG! A fiery Mitteor strucken us, all is lost, run! run! Look what happened the last time! (H/T: Topless Robot)
ETA: It’s dominoes, friends. Yr. hostess has never been one to pass up a honking obvious metaphor, but really, Roasters, try to forgive me and click it just for T-Rex. Too cool to miss. Thanx, yr. compulsive-obsessive control-freak tour guide.
Sometimes, I just notice a pattern with people. Take a look at this ad:
When i was asked to speak with Mitt Romney it seemed like a very important thing to me, and I wanted to put a lot of careful thought into what I would say. So, I went to the round table discussion very optimistic and interested in hearing what he had to say.
When he sat down, one of the first questions he asked was, he said “I understand there is a teacher here today, which one of you is a teacher?”
So, I raised my hand, thinking that’s a good thing, he’s interested in education, but it wasn’t a good thing. I felt like his view was a little old-fashioned and I was surprised by it. He went on to kind of lecture me about schools and how bad they are. He talked bad about the teacher’s union. He was talking about the importance of private schools and voucher systems.
At one point, I said to him, “I have an answer for that.” And he said, “I didn’t ask you a question.”
Scott Brown can see the DNA paddling within the very bloodstreams of his enemies, so why isn’t Elizabeth Warren’s sporting little feathers and nose-paint like an authentic Injun chromosome would? Not that Scott condones his chief-of-staff capering about uttering war-whoops and displaying his vast knowledge of traditional Native American ceremonial steps at one of Warren’s rallies. But it’s her fault for enticing his otherwise sensitive staff into making damn fools of themselves in uploadable splendor while Brown’s numbers are slipping away faster than a party of Cherokee on medicine hat paints.
Don’t wrestle too hard coming up with something for my silly image, when you can visit my esteemed co-bloggers Yet Another Freaking Brit and Vixen Strangely. They’ve actually thought about this. I’m just too pained to ponder. And on a semi-related note, why can’t Republicans stagger their clownshows so that humble satirists can get a decent night of shut-eye?
For reasons known only entirely to himself, but about which we can endlessly speculate, Rep. Joe Walsh, former deadbeat dad and non-musical person bearing that name, decided to launch into a little rant that accused Sandra Fluke, former law student, feminist activist, and person who spoke at the DNC, of being a jobless person who wanted the whole country to pay for her birth control. A brief transcript goes something like this:
“Don’t get me wrong, but I’m already paying through the nose because of the bitches. If I’m going to pay anything towards some woman’s anti-rugrat defense—I better be getting laid for it. I don’t even give up a Flurry at the DQ without heavy petting being on the menu”(he didn’t exactly say)—or wait! Here’s what he said:
So at the Democratic Convention Wednesday night their first prime time speaker was Sandra Fluke — Fluke, Fluke, whatever her name is.
Think about this: a 31-32 year old law student who’s been a student for life, who gets up there in front of a national audience and tells the American people,* “I want America to pay for my contraceptives.” You’re kidding me. Go get a job. Go get a job Sandra Fluke.
This is what, I was offended. We’ve got Americans who are struggling. We’ve got parents in this country who are struggling to buy sneakers that their kids can wear to school that just started. We’ve got parents up and down my district who are barely keeping their house. And, and, and, we have to be confronted by a woman, the Democratic Party this is what they stand for. Their going to put a woman in front of us who is complaining that the country — you, me and you — won’t pay the 9 dollars per month to pay for her contraceptives.
How crazy is this? In a way it’s not her fault, because we teach people this stuff. You go back to fairness, we teach young people this. Don’t worry, government will take care of you. You’re having trouble with your student loans? Don’t worry, government will be there for you.
Sigh. I don’t know why this irritates me, except that I do. It’s like this dense wall of all the anti-feminist things, and one person is getting hit with them for no particular reason. Except, in Walsh’s case, it might have something to do with him being in an election race against a female disabled veteran who actually is concerned about more than just what outfit she’ll be wearing (thankyewverramuch) and who. in a just world, would certainly kick his sorry ass up one side and down the other and make him walk off into his uncertain future with a hitch in his giddy-up.
So, rather than speculating upon Sandra Fluke’s getting a job, maybe he should be contemplating what exactly he might do when his salary is no longer provided by taxpayer dollars. One thing he might do is go back to hustling bar bets—as you may have surmised by his demeanor, the hustle is his natural element—and a not-surprising amount of money could be garnered with the old billiard-ball scam. Who knows how many people mistakenly believed he was incapable of stuffing a billiard ball into his mouth and then eating a cheese sandwich! (And you can only imagine how much more successful this particular trick was on his part when he remembered to take the billiard ball out of his mouth before eating the sandwich!)
What he might be wise to not do, however, is continuing to be a misogynist peckerhead. It is unseemly in a person who wants to be taken seriously, amirite?
Hi, everybody! It’s the Big Bad Bald Bastard here. I received an e-mail from the moderators and was invited to join the Rumproast team. It’s a simultaneously humbling and exhilarating prospect… exhilarating because it’s a real vote of confidence in my abilities as a writer, and humbling because the invitation has come in the middle of a period in which the regulars have been on fire, deconstructing the idiocy of Todd Akin, and placing it in a historical and legislative context. How’s a guy supposed to jump in with a hidely hodely post when one’s compatriots are sticking it to the knuckle-dragging Patriarchal Dominance Structure?
I guess a short autobiographical note is in order now… I first decided to play “The Bastard” back in 2006, I chose the ‘nym to poke fun at both machismo (a sure hallmark of masculine insecurity) and the typical New York “take no B.S.” attitude. In reality, I tend to be a bookish egghead (albeit one who loves to fight) and a card carrying nerd. I live in the City of Yonkers, which lies directly north of The Bronx. The “City of Hills, Where Nothing is on the Level” would be a considered a fairly large sized city in most locations, but, being adjacent to NYC, it’s merely a suburb. For the record, I live in the tavern district.
Just to not be posting something about Mitt Romney, because Oh MY Gawd that Guy! I’m going to be posting an innocent picture of former VP candidate and former half-term governor, Sarah Palin, along with the Former First Dude, Toad, who are very excited to be sharing a picture of themselves having just made a purchase at a chain restaurant.
See? There they are, each holding some warm bags of chicken because that is what they do. They have pictures taken of themselves inside fast food places. Because they’re regular folks, is what. And because they support businesses, is why.
Now, some people might contend that this is a political statement in favor of a business that does discriminate against people, that they’re using this business to show support of the larger “cause” of homophobia, and some might even go so far as to suggest that they’ve aligned themselves with the “chicken winger” cause du jour because it makes them seem relevant to a backwards movement against the freedom of a select group of people to make choices particular to their families and their lives, in support of what could be labelled hate speech against those people. And there may very well be reason to believe that not only is Sarah Palin a virulent homophobe, but she’s raised her own children to be, and her own grandchild is being raised to be as well.
But mostly, I think the Palins simply believe that there is essentially nothing that they can or should do anymore that isn’t digitally recorded and broadcast, whether it be dancing amongst the pseudo-stars or even buying sundered, deep-fried poultry bits linked to hate. Maybe some folks want to call that “family values”—but I don’t think that’s what you call saying some people aren’t valuable enough to make families.
I don’t care if she’s supposedly politically irrelevant—what she is taking a stand for isn’t, yet. But it ought to be. And she obviously wants attention—so here. Attention is paid.
Delighting Customers for Christ
Downsizing the Devil with Jesus
Paradigm Shift to Salvation
Getting Granular in Gethsemane
Synergy, Not Sin
I feel certain I’m overlooking low-hanging fruit and that y’all will push the envelope with value-added propositions.
In other news, I’m starting to feel like Tippi Hedren: In addition to dealing with the chickens, now I have a pair of turtle doves to contend with. They took up residence in a hanging basket under the overhang of our tiki bar.
There’s no reason for me to believe that this year’s White House Correspondents’ Dinner will be as interesting as last year’s, what with President Obama’s digs at the billionaire birther Donald Trump after having released his birth certificate (the moneyed gent in question having made priceless faces of discontent), and with the events that followed being, well, what they were. This one doesn’t have the same narrative—but oh, well.
This whole Media Villager/Celebrity/Politician shmoozeapolooza makes me uncomfortable—and yet I must watch. So I’m following the stream on C-Span and Twitter. And, yes, self-loathing. Did I need to mention the self-loathing? Did you see LiLo and Kim Kardashian? OMG!
So, I guess what I’m saying is—if you’re also vicariously hitting the Nerd Prom hard and want to commiserate: I’m here for you and with you.
Those lovely delicate flowers are extremely deceptive because there is nothing delicate about bindweed. It is a horrible pest and I usually get sick of pulling it every day by August and just let it go, which no doubt compounds my problems with it.
I once sat through an hour long and very boring gardening show on the TeeVee because they kept tantalizing me with an upcoming segment that was going to give us the seekrit and fail-proof method of getting rid of bindweed. And their secret was (TA DA) PULL IT!! I kid you not.
Then a friend of mine once spent the whole day carefully painting each strand of bindweed in her perennial bed with weed killer then slipping a plastic baggie over it and securing it with a twist tie. And it worked! All the bindweed died! For about, oh, a month or so. And then it sprang from the earth as good as new. Bindweed is truly the honey badger of the plant world.
If you’ve got any ideas for getting rid of the stuff please share in comments. Otherwise consider this an open thread.
Not contnt wiht aidng and abetinng the anti-vacine moevment, Hufngton Posst continuse to promot fring sceince. Do theese findngs make sense to anyoen? Also, do any of yuo kno how doornobs work? Im darwing a blank heer and the dog realy neesd to go to the bahtrooom.
Waht do you meen, “how did you REALY tare your rotatr cuff, gil?” I todl you alredy, I fell rolerbladng.
Thanks, kid, but you must be thinking of someone else, I wasn’t on “Cheers.”
Well, Parker’s home and recuperating from surgery, and I still can’t use my dominant hand for more than a few minutes at a time (to answer the obvious question, no, I did not have my Rollerblading accident prior to drawing that Geraldo Rivera cartoon, and to answer the other obvious question, no, Parker wasn’t with me when I ate it; our injuries are unrelated, not that I’m entirely guilt-free as regards his tripedalism). But the internet craves content, and this hilarious story (note: the Onion AV Club is not a satirical site) gives me a thin excuse to repost something I wrote a few years ago, back when I didn’t have a platform and toiled away in obscurity. Bush was president then, though, so don’t get all nostalgic for the good ol’ days.
Mel Gibson: Chemical Interactions
Alcohol: Belligerent anti-Semitism
Absinthe: Belligerent anti-Sem… whoa. Get. The fuck. Out.
Lithium: An even keel but a sneaking suspicion that he’s just not Mel without the anti-Semitism
LSD: Incense and anti-Semitismints the color of time
Peyote: His vision-quest spirit guide isn’t a Jew, is it? Dingos can’t be Jewish, right?
Isoflourine: Comforting sense that the Jewish problem will work itself out somehow
Odor particles, own feces: Preening self-satisfaction, conflation of identity with that of heroes portrayed, plus he just likes the smell
Exhaust fumes: A perfectly serviceable Aussie B-movie (add mohawk dander to increase awesomeness quotient tenfold)
Tina Turner, whose charisma should be regulated as a controlled substance: Trapeze fights? The fuck?
Mennen Aftershave: GrrraaaAAARRGH! (pounds sink with fist, hyperventilates through clenched teeth, stares wildly at self in mirror)
Zyklon B: Belated acceptance of its existence/lethality
You don’t have to watch the clip—it’s just Grover Norquist demonstrating his emotional abuse tactics at fellow conservatives. This time, he called Republicans who raise taxes: “rat heads in a Coke bottle”. That’s mean stuff.
This post isn’t for everybody; it’s more of a special service I do for any Republican politicians who may stumble across this page, or the memes I generate herein, and do you know why? It’s because I care.
Message for them: Grover Norquist doesn’t love you. He issues you ultimatums, and threatens you when he doesn’t get his way. That’s not right. He says nobody will ever vote for you again, and you’re not as good as Ronald Reagan. He says Ronald Reagan never raised taxes, but you know what? That’s a lie, even if he has you believing it. But if you want to know the real truth, Grover Norquist is an adult baby who has transferred his daddy issues to a B-movie actor.
Okay, I don’t know that he is an adult baby. I don’t even have anything against adult babies, being cool with a wide spectrum of kink. But if imagining Grover Norquist in a big ol’ diaper with cream of wheat dripping off his beard makes anyone feel less inclined to trust responsible tax policy to one wanker with a petition, you do what you have to do. As for everyone else, imagining Grover Norquist in a diaper is just kind of….
Sorry. A little Visine for the mind’s eye will take that right out.