The Eye of the Behinder

Satanopolis is very, very slowly returning to normal after its brush with a minor medical procedure (if you don't know already, it was south of the Equator, it went fine, and at this point I'm just dealing with itching, tugging, chafing, bruising, and the persistence of stitches, although the effort of climbing the stairs at the office this morning did cause a bit of sore--all pretty mild discomfort, but cloying and discomfiting nonetheless). It will be Crankytown for a few more days, then I'll return full of wit and wisdom and whatever else it is I'm typically full of.

Stop It. Just Stop It.

Overheard on My Local National Capital Area's MSM all-news station this morning:

Radio Guy: "So why is the President going out and addressing people about casualties in Iraq?"
Interviewee*: "Well, he's got all these lefties and environmentalists down there in Crawford..."

* Fascist Apologist Legislative Reporter for Nearby Metropolitan Newspaper Largely Regarded As CommiePink MSM Outlet


1. Get the fuck over yourself, Mike Allen*, you wingnut swine masquerading as a journalist. Get the fuck over to the Washington Moon, where you belong.

* See above. Mr. Allen is apparently, in addition to being a fascist** apologist masquerading as a Washington Post journalist, a lame duck, having accepted a job at Time magazine as the replacement for supplement to Matt Cooper.

** Thanks to those many of you who didn't notice that I originally managed to misspell "fascist," one of my favorite words.

2. Yesterday? When I said that the people writing the UC's blog for her while she's gone are "less yeasty"? I was just about wrong. That there are that many people around and blogging who are capable of that level of disdain for truth and decency is really alarming. Of course, if their defense is that they're not, in fact, disdainful of truth and decency, then they're just too fucking stupid to be allowed to reproduce, and that's alarming too.

2a. Yes, it is a binary option. Other explanations defy logic.

3. Warning to all who encounter me: Be on notice that I just might pop a cap in the next fucker who pairs the concepts of "left-wing" and "MSM" in my presence. And he or she will deserve it.

3a. Sorry, Toots. I really tried not to use "MSM" as a meaningful shorthand here.

Don't Kill The Whale

In honor of BDR's slightly suboptimal idea for a new blogtheme:

In and around the lake
varmints fall out of the sky
and they stand there

That's one of my favorite lyrical confusions of all time, right up there with "'Scuse me, while I kiss this guy" and "Big old jet had a light on."

Have at it.

Emergency Update (8:52 AM):

Go here.

Or here.

I have new favorites now. You will too.

Fragile

Perhaps we can have another quiet week here at Minions. The UC has taken a few well-deserved days off to vacate with her family, leaving the latest target of The War On Error in the hands of writers slightly less yeasty than she. The Error Itself continues, unabated, compounded by the New Framers' intent to create a paradise for those who would theocratize, supported heartily by those eager to show how well that sort of thing works so they can apply it to what our own Framers said. Ilse is hanging at my place all week, the kids off to visit their father, so that's a nice change of pace. There's the small upcoming matter of some minor scalpel activity in an area of my body where I would not ordinarily abide scalpels, but for the next few days, at least, I should be at peace, yes?

My brother had an interesting take. Before he went for the same procedure, he took a Valium the night before, then shot down another Valium and a six on the way to the doc, then rode home with the second six clenched between his thighs. When he woke up, he felt much better. I'm contemplating, as I always do, his sage advice.

I'm Not Funny

But The General is, expecially when he rips the Ubercunt a new one far better than I ever could. Be sure to closely examine the fine print in the vidcap of The UC opening her mouth to terrify cable viewers before gulping them down and excreting them into Guantanamo.

Funny-Looking Mascots

Wonkette, at least in the guise of its overcaffeineated operative Holly Martins (and I sure hope that Ana is giving Martins a decent share of the stacks of bootylicious loot that Wonkette's act generates, partly through the obsessive clickifying of idjits like me), reports that WaPo reports that Uberdickweed Danny Snyder, wicked and depraved principal owner of Our Beloved Local Offensively Named Football Franchise, is partnering with two guys (one of whom is my fiance's CEO) to try to purchase the Six Flags chain. WaPo tells us here that Snyder already controls 11.7 percent of the chain through a corporation called Red Zone, LLC.

Comic ingredients here abound; for instance, the Foreskins (which team, I should confess, I have adored since childhood--my childhood, which predated Danny's by a year or three) couldn't find their asses with both hands, let alone find the Red Zone, in no small part because Snyder ranks comfortably in just about anybody's top five Asshole Sports Franchise Owners. Martins references another symptom when he notes in the Wonkette item that "Snyder is eyeing the theme park's irksome dancing-old-man-in-a-tux mascot as the Redskins' next starting quarterback." I myself favor giving the mascot job to Dweezil, who looks stunning in feathers or a tux.

Apparently, Six Flags has been hemorraging money, losing something like $177 million dollars last year, according to the WaPo story. Also according to WaPo, both Snyder and Bill Gates (more disclosure: much of my consulting work is funded by various grants from a foundation funded by Gates) own fair-sized chunks of the company's stock and are incensed at its evidently lackluster management, but have been rebuffed in their efforts to advise the company.

So, I'm not a fan of Snyder, or of MicroSoft (I am told by people who actually gaze upon his countenance from close range that Gates is a pretty decent human), but I gotta accept that these two guys know how to turn a buck. And as much as I will mourn when I am no longer assaulted with commercials featuring the noisome and faked old man and his bouncy theme music, I think I'm rooting for the bad guys on this one.

Our local Six Flags is, even after a long-term upgrade project by the company, a pretty crappy place. Despite the metal detectors arrayed at the gates, backed up by an exceptionally mean and stupid security force, there are stabbings and shootings there once every few months or so (theme parks, it seems, are dangerous places--every so often we hear of gang rumbles, or whatever the kids call them these days, at another major regional park not so far off). It's not particularly clean, even for a theme park, and efforts to upgrade the park's rides have fallen short. While there are one or two cool coasters there and the park is a pretty short ride from my home (and an even shorter ride, oddly enough, from FedEx Field, home of the Foreskins), I still prefer to drive most of the way to Richmond to satisfy my occasional coaster jones.

Ugh. Go Danny.

Blockage

Yeah, I like starting things off that way, for those of you who pay a lot of attention to the workings of my coronary arteries. But the title refers to the state of my ability to write about anything. I'm blocked at the moment by frustration and anger and probably ennui. Which, being French, is not the same as boredom.

Baby steps then. Condolences to my friend Gothmog, whose father died yesterday after a long illness. I'm feeling it for the Gman; his dad was ill for quite a while, and G has gone through a great deal of pain and confusion in the last many months. Peace to you and your family, Gothmog.

Condolences also to my friend Augie, whose kitty parted this Earth recently; owing to a combination of factors more related to ennui than anything, I've been a bit tardy in making the rounds of some friends' blogs of late, and came by this news far later than I should have. I feel your pain, Augie; Gamara and I had to give that final bit of help to our two elderly kitties (her kitties, but I married the kitties and divorced only Gamara) over a six-month span last year. There are times I think I'd sooner do that for certain family members than for a beloved cat. Peace to you, Augie.

My fine whine pales compared to other peoples' issues, but there was another death recently, that being the death of my relationship with Greedy Internet Gaming Pirates, Inc. A week ago today, I told Mister Bigglesworth and Prince Evercrack to shove off. I thought this would bring some peace to me; GIGPI ain't gonna survive, but it's going to take a long time to sink beneath the waves, and I saw no reason to thrash along with it. It became pretty clear that the company would do whatever Bigglesworth wanted, and I was just expected to be a shit donkey.
The usual realm of this blog isn't providing any reason to rise up from the muck, either. The Ubercunt has gotten no less provocatively criminal, Dimpleboy is still dead, and I can't even get it up for Wonkette. I'll snap back sometime, but for right now, there's just no reason to make you morose, too.

Prison. Yum.

Courtesy of a friend I will not name lest I inadvertently link her to a crime I sincerely hope not to commit, and a tiny bit of further public-domain research, I have discovered that I share not only a county, but a general area of the county with deluded ubercunt Michelle Malkin.

If Michelle--and having done some research, I find that since she's a little unclear about what her name really is, I have no option but to address her informally, and that's okay because she's welcome to address me as Commie, Traitor, Faggot, One-Worlder, Clintonizer, America-Hater, Wog-Lover, Terrorist, Boo-Boo Kittyfuck, or really, just about anything that suits her--or any of her cronies happen to be reading this, I'd like to point out, in a very legal sense, that I have absolutely no intention of committing any crimes against her person or property or the person or property of anyone close to her.

However, I'm sure not happy about the prospect of some of the words I will inflict on those within earshot if I do actually run into her at the grocery store, as I joked about a post or three ago. It's hard for me to remain quiet in the presence of that much deliberately crafted evil.

So bring the kids, Michelle. It's not like they're going to expand their polemic vocabulary over at Saint Heinrich's.

Thanks, unnamed one. I'm so moving out of Hessianville.

News Item

North Dakota, West Virginia, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, and Iowa Prepare for Floods of Refugees as Wogs Take Over Rest of Country

Tastelessly brown-and-white graphic here.

AP story here.

Yes, I get some of my news from Yahoo. You got a problem with that?

Malkin-bashing, courtesy of Dweezil, here. Be sure to read the comments from lots of people, many of whom have overly severe stick problems.

And speaking of Dweezil, he just hired a Mexican gardener, so expect Iowa to tint up a little in that there graphic.

Return to Normalcy

I've stayed away from politics, by and large, for a bit. Well, okay, since Friday, if you want to be technical about it, but really, I haven't done anything political except a quick hit-and-run for a while, preferring as I often do to leave politics to the pros. It's not like you don't by-and-large know what I think. I'm less than thrilled about the war in Iraq, I think that the administration's focus on terrorism is a propaganda machine that feeds on the fear of people with little or nothing to fear, and I think that most Republicans are stupid, racist, greedy, fundamentally dishonest, insane, or some combination of those elements. Especially the fundamentally dishonest part, which seems to recur regardless of any other permutations.

Which brings us to Michelle Malkin, to whom I link only to avoid violating the terms of her copyright statement, because as I've told you before, I don't like actually linking to rabid proponents of the Joseph Goebbels school of information dissemination. I'm on record in these pages acknowledging that this bloviating piece of pestilence-bearing flotsam shares with me a county of residence, and my dismay over that bit of coincidence. I'm also on record noting that I'm not entirely sure what I'd do if I knew which grocery store she shops at, and expressing my sincere gratitude to those of you who have that bit of information and haven't shared it, because really, the other shoppers don't deserve to have to listen to the likely result of me running into this genuinely stupid, hatemongering, fascist Webslut randomly in aisle 4.

That spurs a thought: I suppose it's possible that she rises to the level of Web whoredom, since she may, in fact, be collecting money for spewing bile, lies, and hate, but since she implicitly makes out like she's not doing this for a living, I'll credit that and go with the notion that she's just an attention-seeking slut.

By the way, I'm sorry if I'm wrong about that there, Mrs. Malkin. I'll even be sorrier about it if you ever show any signs of developing a shred of human fucking decency.

That seems unlikely, given her gleeful willingness to propagandize--by which I mean to deliberately lie and otherwise distort the truth--about Cindy Sheehan. Every other blog in America has told you that Cindy Sheehan is the mother of a soldier who died in Iraq, and that Cindy Sheehan is sorta hanging around in Crawford, Texas, hoping for a chance at a quick word with President Bush. So I won't. Tell you, I mean.

Wingnuts, fueled by Drudge, to whom I will not link in this instance, are screaming about alleged flip-flopping by Cindy Sheehan. It seems that she used to be just fine with the war, and with her son being killed in Iraq, and with the President. Why is this crazy bitch now hanging out on a dirt road in front of the Bush Hacienda, waiting for a chance to vent her Commie spleen?

Except she wasn't. Fine with it, I mean. Drudge, as he is wont to do, left out some important bits that qualified Cindy Sheehan's apparent support for the President. In a post entitled "The Friends of Cindy Sheehan" that has nothing to do with Cindy Sheehan's friends except to smear Sheehan's supporters as "anti-American, anti-military, terrorist-sympathizing agitators," Malkin exceeds the limits of taste, truth, and decency by deliberately acknowledging, then distorting, the bits Drudge left out, saying that they seemed to "bolster the case against" Sheehan.

Michelle Malkin is a lying, Nazi, race-baiting, race-traitor cunt. She's a fucking terrorist, and should be tried for war crimes for her deliberate twist on the truth to smear a grieving woman who's just looking for answers. Fuck the fucking fuck out of your lying ass, Michelle Malkin. Preferably with a sandpaper lube, you fascist whore.

Other blogs have it totally right; you are the Worst American Ever.

Things That Must Be Said

So it's been a tough few weeks at Greedy Internet Gaming Pirates, Inc. Right on the heels of my very own circus, alluded and linked to previously in these very pages, was a convention that is essentially the boardgaming Homerpalooza of the known omniverse. And GIGPI was there. Except Landru wasn't. It's all very sad, you see.

I had spent months telling Mister Bigglesworth and Prince Evercrack about my upcoming complete lack of availability, commencing exactly one week before my very own circus. "No problem," soothed my good friend Mister Bigglesworth. All would happen in time for GIGPI's premiere money pump to be introduced at Homerpalooza. "No, really," I whined. "I'm not going to be available at all for a few weeks after July 22." Mister B was unswayed in his conviction that nothing could go wrong.

So on July 22, after two months of silence since those fateful and halcyon days in a cowpatty of a town in Central Ohio where I was, at least, privileged enough to meet The Dad and her husband, Mister B calls. "Software's ready," he says. "When you gonna test it?"

Gee whiz, B, I don't know. How about the 22nd of Never, you fucking assclown?

So Mister Bigglesworth and Prince Evercrack head off to Homerpalooza. They allege that the software worked swimmingly and that the whole world loves us (them). They allege that other potential business partners (GIGPI's not-yet-patented money douche relies entirely on other people's intellectual property to function) lined up like suitors for a bachelor Powerball winner. They allege that all is well, and we will set up a system of accountability (we need one, because I'm not accountable--I didn't do documentation for a piece of software that didn't exist), and Mister Bigglesworth will start "acting like a President" to enforce this accountability scheme, which will rely on a bonus pool paid from money that will apparently materialize from Thin Nowhere just as soon as we turn on the money douche, and we will be happy and swaggering Internet pirates indeed.

Uhm...right.

You may remember Prince Evercrack as the fellow who was afraid to answer my emails for four months because he was too busy slacking to even explain that he was going to be slacking for a while. Try holding that accountable.

You may remember Mister Bigglesworth as the guy with whom I traded nukes over the lead time for testing our product before our visit to Cowpatty, only to have to test the product in front of about 4 gross tons of gamers (eight gaming geeks) in that lovely city. Try holding that accountable.

Go back to the archives. Like, say, May 18, 2005, and the few days preceding it (sorry, I don't have individually linkable posts, because this blog is meant to be read in serial form, in its entirety, and that's just a you problem, innit?). Yeah, that May 18, 2005, the one where I complain about the same fucking problem, in my fashion that can now only be described as reminiscent of Nostradamus, except more accurate. The same fucking problem that has now recurred on its astronomically precise 60-day schedule.

I'm very tired. I've invested 18 months of a nontrivial amount of my time, something like $12K to $16K of my own money, and a crapload of my reputation in GIGPI. And I don't want to play any more. You tell me what to do. And until then, I'll just do laundry and play Hearts of Iron 2, because frankly? I don't have enough gas left to do much of anything else. And don't even seize this as an opportunity to tell me about your gas.

Customer Service

I'll very soon be so big for my britches that I'm going to subject you to advertising. I'm thinking something along the lines of a constant ass-pounding of pictures of Tucker Carlson, or better yet makeup-doctored pics of Robert Novak (the eyeshadow only smears a little bit when he smashes his puckered face into Katherine Harris' groin).

However, I'm not smart enough to figure out how to do advertising without subjecting my beloved readers to spots involving penii or Nigerian bank accounts, so in the interim I've reorganized and beefed up the sidebar a little.

Some of my bloody bloggery friends prefer the shotgun approach, linking to as many other sites as they can. This is not for me. But what is for me--and I share this POV wih a friend of mine who links almost indiscriminately--is the notion that the links list is my personal navbar. Of course, this does not in any way conflict with my philosophy that this space is all about you.

Anyway, enjoy the new links, and be sure to click on Giant in the Playground, even though you don't give a flyer about role-playing games; Rich is a good guy and can use the hits (and his "Order of the Stick" comic is hilarious).

Yesterday's News Tomorrow

That's my motto here at YAMM. So it's unusual that I'm actually opining on things that happened as recently as yesterday. But I know I must slave away to keep this thing interesting for you. Because, as you may recall, this online magazine is all about you.

Novak: My friend BDR is going to quibble with me on this item, because he is incapable of giving the dessicated old charlatan any sort of break, which I must concede is a reasonable point of view. My view on the traitor is somewhat tempered by the fact that he is a huge contributor to University of Maryland athletics. I think maybe Novak is getting a bad rap for yelling dirty words on the set of CNN's Inside Politics (this is documented everywhere else in the blogosphere, so I'm not going to bother linking because, as a friend of mine is fond of saying, I'm not your fucking monkey).

Sources tell me that, rather than reacting to Carville, as many people thought, Novak was actually addressing a video that was playing on his monitor. The video, put together by waggish producers, consisted entirely of various clips of J.J. Reddick travelling.

Which he does, by the way, every fucking time he touches the fucking ball.

Roberts: Speculation is running rampant (Salon's War Room feature, citing various sources, including the supremely moronic Free Republic site, to which I will not link) that the Supreme Court nominee is a closeted homosexual. We can only hope that he's not as closeted as Rick Santorum.

Fascist Dickwipes: Representative Henry Bonilla, a jackass from some district in Texas, wants to rename a major thoroughfare in the District of Columbia. Guess who he wants to name it after. This sort of thing is the quintessence of why, in the District, schools should close for a day or two each year for hunting season, much like they do in some rural states. I'm partial to "Fuckwit Season," myself. Do these assclowns understand that they're fertilizing a Stalinesque cult of personality around the Dead Gipper? Would they even understand a word like "Stalinesque"? Have they even noticed that the fucker is dead?

I'm telling you, even if the limit is one fuckwit per season, we could still thin the herd pretty good here.

That's enough news. I'm not your fucking monkey.

OH2

Yes. 48.2 percent of the vote. Yes, yes, district last went to the R's by 44 points. Yes, yes, yes, quite possibly the most conservative urb in America.

So nominally Democratic polished Marine vet Paul Hackett ran strong in Ohio's Second Congressional District against one of those people whose very countenance screams, "I am a wackjob, hear me warble." I mean, this Schmidt person's entire being seems focused on making lampshades from human skin.

And one of the theoretically best candidates the Dems could put up couldn't beat her. You see encouragement that this district turned so far to the "left"? I don't. I think you're acting like it's a good thing that your kid's Little League team only lost by two runs and didn't have too many of its arms broken.

We here at YAMM (okay, I here at YAMM) are/am/be's focused on providing you all the news you need, one day late. So here's the news you need:

That Wacky Fascist Fucktard Won A Congressional Seat

G'wan, party the night away, my Democratic brethren and sistren, wonk--and wank--away at that news until your hand and your member are chafed raw and you truly believe that the electorate is not too stupid to be allowed to vote. And hope you can lick your own butt--and therefore your wounds--by November 7, 2006. Because you're going to need some serious healing and a second wind if you're going to have any hope of surviving much past Senator Santorum's swearing-in a couple of months later.

A World of Hurt

Several of you have asked after my health, and that of Ilse, after the long march (referenced two posts below) of the weekend. Ilse's tired but fine. I'm tireder, and somewhat disoriented by the sudden and temporary dearth of responsibility, but also fine.

The circus ended up being big enough, although its size was artificially diminished by the unusually high cost of transatlantic air fares this summer. It seems that the actual French (the local French being, in this case, not relevant) couldn't be bothered to spend a little money on this side of the ocean.

But we all had a lovely time, and the World Championship was won by the Norwegian guy who had also won the French Championship, so it's not like the French were badly represented.

There'll be complete results and some photos over at the previously-linked site sorta soon. Not today, certainly.

Tumescent with Victory

Fuckin' A, I'm taking the credit for that punkass bitch smutmonger Tucker Carlson's primetime fall. Tucker's pretty little mouth couldn't save his no-doubt objective and balanced program from a demotion to the slot opposite Your Local News. But at least he doesn't have to compete with Your Fox Local News. How nice for fascists everywhere.

Thanks to all of you who most thoughtfully pointed out helpful Tuckerbits like the video of Tucker's inability to get a simple promo done in one take, the video of Tucker having marital relations with his rat terrier, and the video of Tucker in the locker room showers in junior high.

Next up: that hypocritical fascist misogynist git Rick Santorum. His support for the National Weather Service Suppression Act of 2005 is chronicled by Slate, which I continue to read even though it kept pimping Tucker Carlson, a property of its former owner (it's now owned by WaPo). It seems that Senator Sanctimonious is, fresh on the heels of his very public support for judicial activism in the matter of the long-since-settled Griswold v. Connecticut, pimping home-state free marketry. Wait a minute, whaddaya mean HTML doesn't have irony marks?

Let's leave aside for the moment that this despicable, criminal, theocratic liar chose to do this CNN thing while my back was turned, thereby temporarily avoiding my wrath for his hypocritical and wrongheaded dissent from the Griswold decision, which in essence held that the state of Connecticut and, by extension, all other states, cannot force you to be an indiscriminate spermdumper. Yeah, okay, I promised to leave it aside, my bad.

It appears that Senator Santorum is in favor of free market forces, expecially when they will profit companies from his state. Well, he's in favor of them especially when the product being sold in the market by freely enterprising forces of capitalism is produced by the government and turned over to the freely enterprising forces of capitalism not only for free, but at the government's expense.

Rick Santorum, you are a desperately miserable fuckpig. Go to jail, you slimy, corrupt, lying, hypocritical piece of disrespectful shit. You're a disgrace to the U.S. Senate and the otherwise very nearly tolerable state of Pennsylvania. Fuck you and the insufferably stupid jackasses who keep voting for a venal, bottomfeeding, scam artist like you. It's time for you to move out of political primetime, you reactionary, hatemongering twit. Fuck you in your lying ass.