Ketchup

Busy week.

These not-bunnies are sleeping after eating Landru's blogging time this week.

But the world refuses to sit still as I don't blog it, so I'll catch up a bit here.

John Edwards (the Presidential candidate, not the other douche): What a spineless fucking piece of shit. Granted, he eventually expressed something vaguely resembling support for Amanda Marcotte and ShakesSis, who he had hired to reach out to the netroots. But he waited 36-48 hours after the faux explosion around them (caused entirely by noisemaking right-wing fucktards), before acting. Sasha points out (privately) that Edwards is either a complete pussy, or merely an ineffectual one. To the extent that it was possible that I'd support Edwards in the primary any more, it ain't now. That a so-called progressive candidate could find himself at odds with the "sentiment" of various posts by unshakeable feminists is not exactly what anyone would call progressive. And the outrage over girls saying "fuck" is sheer hypocrisy. I'm not a big fan of either blog (ShakesSis is linked here, because I occasionally mosey over and get a dose of whatever they're peddling), but this shit is way over the top.

Anna Anna Anna Anna Anna Nicole: I don't want to laugh at this tawdry tart's misfortune. It's hard for me to sit here and write that she was dumb, or something; she parlayed those tits and that ass into megawealth. On the other hand, I just heard the first "choked on her own vomit" story of the ensuing media frenzy. While Anna Nicole Smith was and is pretty much irrelevant to me, I must simply remind you that you can't dust for vomit.

Looney Astronaut: Sasha and I were discussing how this week's news alone should be outstanding fodder for TreyStoneParkerMatt, but sadly, they're not producing new episodes of South Park at the moment. Hopefully a wacky astronaut chick driving hundreds of miles in diapers to fuck up a workplace rival (and remember, Wacky Astronaut Chick says she wasn't involved with Studly Astronaut Boy) will remain topical until they start cranking some new stuff. And if there was no fucking involved, Victim Chick must leave quite a mess in the ladies' or around the coffee machine, to be provoking that much hatin'. This story is, by the way, the funniest. Thing. EVAR.

The Super Bowl: I think I done said all I'm gonna, in the game-night posts. The Cum Cannon just couldn't sling enough spooge to get the job done, and that's sad. From a high comedy perspective, the game rated about an A minus; the rain was a hoot, bashing the Cumslinger is a hoot, and it just doesn't get any better than 5-6 turnovers before halftime in the Super Bowl. The commercials this year neither heightened nor diminished the thing's comedy potential, although it was a pretty lackluster set of commercials. And Prince with a shadow demon penis? Priceless.

Futbol: Of course, blackDogred has addressed this thoroughly and essentially without fault. The U.S. mens' national team played a friendly against Mexico the other night, and it was massively entertaining. Unfortunately, I've gotten to the same point with USMNT that I've gotten to with the Terps; I dislike almost as many of the USMNT players as I do Maryland basktballers. While this is sad, it doesn't keep me from spewing bile when our boys play the Mexicans, who are aging, melancholy, unsportsmanlike pussies. The good news is that I can forget about this a few weeks into DCU's upcoming season and focus on hating Bruce Arena (who was in the booth with Eric Wynalda for the Mexico game, and THAT, friends, was pure comedy gold).

And in closing:

Greg says, "Fuck you, Michelle, Gun Counter Gomer, and Dan Riehl!"