No one was willing to take the fall on last week's urgent request that someone plant their knuckles in Tucker Carlson's kisser. And since the little snipe's pretty sissy dimples remain unmolested, MSNBC feels free to turn up the heat, in the form of video advertising on the Web. I just saw one on Slate (motto: "Seeing how much we can piss Landru off and still get him to read since 1999") that involves Tucker pretending to be the star of a 1970s police drama, crashing through doorways brandishing a Very Large Pistol, bending a suspect over the hood of a police cruiser, talking urgently on a police radio. The conclusions here are so obvious that it gives me painful intestinal gas just contemplating them.
I don't know how else I can put this. I'm a cripple, people, a heart patient. I can't make time to actually go out into the streets and look for this assclown. Furthermore, Ilse has two small children and she's relying on my bling to send them to military school so that she and I can lounge around and have sex all the time without being interrupted by their needs for juice, dinner, binkies, and a warm place to take a shit, so it's not like I can afford to do the time. It is abundantly clear that this important matter of National Security devolves to you, my beloved friends.
For the love of God, people, punch Tucker Carlson in the gob!
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You know, it's easy for you in your MAJOR MEDIA MARKET to go around asking people to punch Tucker Carlson in the gob. You can just go down the street, wait for Tucker to appear, and punch. But for those of us in minor media markets, punching Tucker Carlson in the gob means buying plane tickets, arranging babysitters, taking time off from work, getting someone to feed the pets, etc. So punching Tucker Carlson in the gob becomes unrealistic for some of us.
I could, however, make a day trip to Chicago and punch Oprah in the gob. Would that would make you feel better?
I know you're impatient, but I gotcha covered next year. It's already on my itinerary--see?
Mon morning: Capital
Mon afternoon: Air and Space Museum
Mon evening: Party with Landru and Ilse
Tues morning: Washington Monument
Tues afternoon: Holocaust Museum
Tues evening: Party with Xander and Squeaky
Wed. morning: Punch Tucker Carlson in gob
Wed. afternoon: post bail
Wed. evening: Party with L-Boy and Sami
I'd do it, but I hit like a girl.
How about I give him something nice and infectious instead?
Man, you're playing the 'heart patient' card? Boy, are you cheap. Besides, as you know, I'm working on that Michelle Malkin matter.
You know I was just there, if you would have put this hit out sooner I could have convinced hubby that we needed that detour.
I was feeling a bit aggrevated at the time and had the sitters available to watch my kids. No one would suspect this middle american suburban mom of the hit and run act. I blend in well with the masses L! Minnie the hit mouse will be on it next time.
Did you know that when you say something silly and stupid in one of these little comment boxes, and immediately realize your mistake--you can't immediately erase it with a quick edit? Nope. You are just stuck out there looking like an idiot.
Say you've been cruising the worldwideweb looking for Truth, Justice and a few Good Laughs - so you forget for a minute where one blogger ended and another began? Too bad; too late. You're screwed & stupid is writ bold on your forehead. I am so not making that mistake again! I will stick to my usual areas of expertise, which are... uh, let me get back to you on that.
In the meantime I almost nailed Tucker! I snuck up really really close, made a fist and was going to pop him when I realized that you probably didn't mean to hit the TV. And that's as close to the real Tucker as I'll ever get. Guys like him don't show up in rural Minnesota much. TG.
Oh, and Iggy? I think a hit from a girl would be enough to take down Tucker...
And. You oughta see that commercial from Slate on the teevee -- it's way worse.
But I'm so not violent. What if I just sneak up and grab his stupid little clip on bowtie and run away?
Oh nevermind, Gothmog has it covered already.
I'm gonna have to refuse this assignment due to a back injury. I busted 5 dozen eggs yesterday when I bent down to pull the innocent box out of the refrigerator. I doubt I have the strength to punch Tucker Carlson in the gob.
I'd punch him, but that would mean getting up off the couch.
What, Wheeze, you don't think my itinerary is serious?
I offered to punch Oprah in the gob!
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