“What!?” you may, interrobangically, interject. “Surely that would be terrible hypocrisy.”
Yes. Yes it would. If this be hypocrisy, I recommend rubbing their noses in it. And it doesn’t hurt to remind the moderates that newly-minted Moderate Mitt is trying to appeal to that when you don’t know where someone really stands—there’s no reason not to assume the worst.
Whether by accident or divine intervention Fox & Friends, on Monday, used one of the world’s most popular gay anthems as they introduced Mitt Romney’s five sons.
The song “It’s Raining Men” was written in 1979 by David Letterman’s maestro Paul Schaffer and gay songwriter Paul Jabara, who died of complications from AIDS in 1992. It was recorded by one-hit-wonder The Weather Girls.
The LGBT community adopted the song as a gay anthem, catapulting it to the number one song in 1982 and then again in 2001, when it was covered by British pop singer-songwriter Geri Halliwell.
I, personally, have probably heard the song upwards of 5,000 times in gay bars and discos across this great nation. It would have been fun to see the Romney Boys jump up and “shake their little money-makers” a bit, while the lead-in played, but I guess the “apples don’t fall far from the very straight and rigid tree.” (It looks like the whole gang shares one personal shopper, too).
For those of you who are longing to get in touch with your “inner homosexual,” have at it with the long, FABULOUS studio version.
Big Rump editor-at-large Gil Mann back up in this piece with some totally tubular news for your ass!
Yes, that’s right, I said “your ass” instead of “you,” because by speaking the patois of youth culture I’m honoring the legacy of Big Rump founder Adam Reichardt, cut down in his prime by an assassin’s bullet (oh sure, the libtard coroner’s report listed cause of death as “hit by van while trying to cross against the light with BAC of 8.5%” but how gullible does he think we are?) when he got a little too close to the truth about that time a college student named Barry Obama gave an elaborate high-five to a TA with outside-the-mainstream views on pygmies. I’m not 100% clear on what those views were, exactly, but ask someone in the mainstream for their opinion about pygmies—do they have one? Yeah, didn’t think so.
It’s been more than twenty hours since I broke the earth-shattering revelation that unAmerican radical who everybody hates Tom Hanks is secretly aligned with Obama, and as of this writing the Democrats still control the Senate, so clearly I made a mistake releasing that bombshell on a Friday night. While we wait for Monday’s inevitable Demageddon, here’s another PR black-eye for the Left to tide us all over.
Is your ass ready? Because here comes some news for it!
Megastar rocker Meat Loaf, as relevant and cutting-edge today as he ever was, is one of ours! And because the Left will brook no dissent, they’ve been waging a campaign to destroy this vital pop icon who consistently tops the charts. Well, these moonbats out of hell—I trust that you, in the language of today’s hep cats and kittens, see what I did there—are about to learn that two out of three is bad. Bad for them! Because they’re not the two! Mr. Loaf will bring an enormous amount of “cred” to our movement by joining forces with the Right, and it promises to be a marriage every bit as fulfilling as the one depicted at the end of his biggest hit.
Swear to God, if I had my finger any more on the pulse of the American electorate, the American electorate would feel a tingly numbing sensation in its extremities.
Hey dumb-o-craps, say goodbye to THESE!
Eighty-one years ago today, the United States officially adopted The Star-Spangled Banner as its national anthem. Its lyrics come from a poem written by Francis Scott Key after witnessing the bombardment of Fort McHenry during the War of 1812, set to the tune of a then-popular British song, which is kind of funny considering the people most likely to put their hands over their hearts and tear up when it plays are the same kind of people who claim rap isn’t real music.
(sorry, today’s when we celebrate St. Patrick’s Day here in Hoboken, and my anti-white bigotry is perilously close to the surface as a result)
There are actually four verses—nobody tell Romney!—and the third is particularly awesome, though you’ll never convince me that some kid didn’t paste Mastadon lyrics into the Wikipedia entry:
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion,
A home and a country, should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps’ pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave,
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Now that’s a fuckin’ anthem. “Please stand and make the devil sign…”
As we recently lost the lone human on the planet who could make the damn thing sound like anything other than an elimination round on The Voice, I propose a new national anthem. I can’t be the first person to endorse the following song for this purpose; if I am, well, sorta makes the whole Fort McHenry thing kind of a Pyrrhic victory, no?
among James Brown’s many triumphs, he was not a white chick wearing a stupid green hat who barfed on my dog this afternoon
Soul Brother #1,376,782 Gil Mann here, with a little something to cap off Rumproast’s celebration of Black History Month. We did that, right? We didn’t? Then how come I kept seeing pictures of Malcolm X on the front pa… it was? Y’know, I thought it was weird that he switched to contacts, thanks for clearing that up.
KKKanada’s Most Wingnutted a play in, like, a quarter of an act
Hey, Seth Rogen, how you doin’, man? You seem kinda down in the mouth, not your usual bouncy self. You’re not still bummed out about Paul, are you? C’mon, it’s gonna find its audience on DVD, plus that cancer movie you did was huge with critics, I don’t think you need to worry abou… oh, I’m terribly sorry, you’re Mark Steyn! That explains the hateful vibe radiating off you in waves. So what’ve you been up to lately?
Ooh, wrote another book, didja? Good for you! And a New York Times bestseller at that, looks like you’re doin’ alright for yourself. Um… gotta ask though… you listen to hip-hop at all, Mark? I know you’re a big music fan.
Confronted with “Fuck the Police” by Niggaz With Attitude…
Well, not necessarily that song, but sure, okay. Not one of your faves?
Mercer would barely have registered the content, but he would have raised an amused eyebrow at the attempted rhyme of “product” and “narcotics” and, more than that, would have been astounded at how the words are not, in any way, musical words shaped to the notes or intervals.
I guess you’re more of an American Songbook guy. I only ask about hip-hop because…
Forget all those bogus generalizations about “energy” and “drive”; musically, Ice Cube’s “The Nigga Ya Love to Hate” isn’t a patch on “When My Sugar Walks Down the Street,” never mind “All the Things You Are.”
Wow, you really don’t like Cube, huh? First his band NWA, now…
If Ice Cube wasn’t rappin’ about terminating an unwanted pregnancy by booting his woman in the belly, none of us would be the slightest bit interested. And even then, we’re not that interested. This is one “authentic black experience” that doesn’t travel beyond the ghetto.
Okay, you’re startin’ to weird me out a little. It’s just funny that you’re so hung up on Ice Cube because, and I don’t mean to cast aspersions, but… well, look, why don’t I just give you this CD. You can have it, I’ve got all the good tracks on mp3 anyway.
Dude, what’re you… why are you waving a bacon strip in my face? And don’t… hey! Not cool siccing your dog on somebody, Steyn, not cool at all. Uh… even if he is perfectly friendly. Hey buddy! Who’s a good boy?
Hold on, do you think I’m Muslim or something? Is that what this is abou… aaaand now you’re drawing a cartoon of Mohammed. Okay, I’m outta here, enjoy the CD.
Admit it, you’ve played the fool. Everybody does sometimes, sang Aaron Neville, who also claims not to know much except that he loves Linda Ronstadt, and in a shocking endorsement of ignorance maintains that’s all he needs to know, so either his awareness of his love for Linda Ronstadt crowded everything else out, or he was just guessing that everybody plays the fool sometimes, it wasn’t based on any kind of peer-reviewed research into fool-playing.
Damn it, Neville! You have the voice of an angel but you’ve used it to lure me into a black hole of abject confusion! And I’m not talking about the mole!
Unrequited love, now, that’s the one that gets most of us into trouble. Who among us hasn’t made a spectacle of themselves in pursuit of the unattainable? And rejection, oof, that’s a hard pill to swallow. It’s like getting a form letter back after submitting unsolicited cartoons to The New Yorker, except instead of a line-drawing of humorous goings-on inside a psychiatrist’s office, it’s you as a sexual being they have no use for at this time, though they appreciate your interest.
So again I ask, but rephrasing slightly: What’s the craziest thing love ever made you do? Grade your shame on a scale from playing “In Your Eyes” on a boombox outside your beloved’s window to this insane immolation of dignity.
I’m doing you a favor as I’m giving my endorsement
Kids who grew up on my music looking for three other horsemen
Your polls are creeping up and you feel a sudden surge No, I am not Satan’s servant, that’s the guys in Demiurge
You’re thinking of… guys in Demiurge
Backin’ Rick Santorum, I’ll be ticking off my fans
He’s the perfect frothy mixture of morals and tax plans
My drinking’s in the past now so my head’s clear as a bell
Two thousand twelve election, go Rick go, give ‘em hell
Never was a fan of Mitt, his money gives me pause
Newt’s unpleasant persona is a hindrance to the cause
Paul seems okay at first glance but he comes from outer space
So I spun around three times and threw a dart that hit your face
I threw a dart… and it hit your face
Backin’ Rick Santorum, I’ll be ticking off my fans
He’s the perfect frothy mixture of Taliban and Stan
I’ll be the baddest motherfucking Lincoln Bedroom guest
Two thousand twelve election, I’m with the sweater-vest
Backin’ Rick Santorum, I’ll be ticking off my fans
He’s the perfect frothy mixture of Wallace and hu-man
Rick sells and I am buying, Santorumentum is a go
For the twenty twelve election ‘cause Jesus tells me so