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.
Here they come to snuff the guy with high favorables in Worcester
I don’t want this to come across the wrong way—I’m as amused as I am bemused—but I gotta ask: What the holy friggin’ hell, man?
I’m as nostalgic for the go-go Clinton years as anyone, but it’s getting a little weird. Seriously, who tore the space-time continuum? Or perhaps a better question to ask would be, who’s got a cranium sufficiently outsized to tear the space-time continuum as he emerges from a wormhole? Yeah, I’m callin’ it: We’re dealing with Gingrich straight off his House ouster, not the guy who’s been aging alongside the rest of us since. Take a gander, does he look any different than he did then? Sure, you could say the same of his baby pictures, but my point stands!
First of all, I apologize for assuming that you paid any attention to the speeches given by candidates in the New Hampshire Republican primary last night. Hell, most Americans weren’t watching, and practically none of us pay any attention to your elections, even the ones conducted in countries with which we share a border.
Maybe one in 20 of us could name the leaders of our neighboring countries, and a not-insignificant percentage would respond with a blank stare if asked to name those countries. That’s how we roll. But I am assuming that many of you do follow our elections—perhaps in the same spirit that the driver of a Mini Cooper keeps tabs on the movements of a semi-truck that is fish-tailing wildly in the traffic ahead.
Anyhoo, if you did see the speeches, you may have noted that all the candidates agreed on one thing: America is the greatest country in the history of the planet—nay, the galaxy! Nay, the universe! The candidates didn’t deliver this observation in a perfunctory way to scratch their listeners’ patriot-itch: They asserted it and repeated it and returned to it again and again. And most of all, they compared their own bug-eyed devotion to that notion to the president’s and found his pride in his homeland wanting.
the following is best experienced with this music playing, but then, what isn’t
How you livin’, girl?
Greetings, your fine-ness, and welcome to gil mann’s pad o’ seduction. Make yourself comfortable, have a li’l somethin’ to drink, and don’t mind Jim Wallis’s Huffington Post column; if there’s one thing gil mann can make sexy, it’s anything.
Do you have the logo of a band nobody’s ever heard of tattooed on your arm? I do! HIPSTER VICTORY ASSURED. Remind me to tell you sometime how this factoid relates to Mary Tyler Moore ripping me a new asshole.
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 12/29/11 at 09:46 PM
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previous entry in this series here, and yes, “series” means it’s not over yet, sorry
Said the right wing to the GOP
Do you see what we need?
In a nominee, GOP
We decreed, will you heed?
A star, a sta-a-ar
At least in his own mind
Alternates between mean and unkind
Proof that wanking will not make you blind
Said the GOP to the would-be king
Do you hear what we hear?
List’ning to the news, would-be king
Dittos to what we hear!
Your polls, your po-o-olls
High’r than we did think
We’re too stupid to forecast they’ll sink
Or to see that, as nom, you would stink
Said the would-be king to the sitting prez
Do you know what I know?
In your oval digs, Mister Prez Kenya guess what I know?
This land, this la-a-and
Is clamoring for me
Won’t get called on my hypocrisy
In this wormhole back to ‘93
Said the prez to the worried Democrats
Listen, lend me your ears
Pray for Newt, worried Democrats
Let me be ve-RY clear
Gingrich, Gingri-i-ich
His head? Yo, that’s no moon
I can’t lose in a run ‘gainst this goon
And he looks sort of like a Plymptoon
Gingrich, Gingri-i-ich
A comeback? There’s a chance—
If the Macarena’s your dance
And you miss wearing loud Hammer pants
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 12/20/11 at 07:08 PM
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The Daily Caller has finally done something for me other than conjure up an image of Tucker Carlson showing up at the door night after night with a bouquet of flowers and hopes of courtship. The name also makes me think of those assholes at Discover Card. I WAS ONLY USING YOU TO BUILD CREDIT, THERE IS NO US.
The Daily Caller has given me that greatest of gifts, the chance to indulge in music snobbery. No small feat considering I think “Ride Like the Wind” kicks ass unironically, Christopher Cross’s claim of being the son of a lawless man notwithstanding (white collar criminal I’d buy—that would explain the sailboat—but why bring it up if he’s not who you got the gun from, Chris?). And since I refuse to delve deep enough into Nickelback’s catalog to form an opinion on that halftime petition thing, I need this. I won’t be able to look down my nose at anything once this Van Dyke goes from salt & pepper to flat gray; I’ll have to settle for looking askance at things, assuming the ear-hair situation remains manageable.
If you’re a conservative or tea partier or libertarian or war veteran who lies awake at night wondering why there’s no band out there that really understands you, The Daily Caller has you covered.
It’s true that in my innocent early teens I took this song as a dire warning about the havoc leftovers can wreak on an unsuspecting digestive system. In my defense, if you listen to the lyrics, they do nothing to dispel that interpretation.
Has anyone else any similarly embarrassing revelations about their early impressions of songs that turned out to be somewhat naive?
I know from past discussions that some Roasters are less than enthusiastic about Ms. Crow for a few reasons. If you haven’t heard this song before and you’re at all interested in mellow, lush jazz, framing a terrific and very poignant song, I’d give it a whirl.
As ever, think of this as an open thread if you want.
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