I got no time to respond to bait, but events conspired independently to ensure that, eventually, I had to post on the Maryland Terrapins gruesome attempt at a mens' basketball team this season.
It's like this: I lost interest in Terps basketball about 4 years ago, when this jackass was running the point. Subsequent events have vindicated my disdain for the guy; he's been cut by teams in Israel, France, Latvia, and the NBA's developmental league (Idaho Stampede!). His arrogance infected subsequent Terp teams with a plague of selfish, boneheaded dipshittery of the sort that should not be tolerated by fans of any respectable ACC team.
In the years since the chesty little twit (with whose name I won't even infect my blog) left town a year early to go undrafted by the NBA, Maryland has failed to make the NCAA tournament (a minimum requirement for fans of any respectable ACC team) more than it's succeeded. And Maryland has sucked in the Not Inthe Tournament when it's gotten in, too, losing to teams like Manhattan College (in its own house). Badly. See here, for instance.
The disease has spread to the coach. Look, Gary Williams has given me many happy moments, including the one fucking national title I asked for in my time on this Earth. I'm never going to support firing his drunk, barely-legal-cheerleader-loving ass. On the other hand, Our Blessed Juan Dixon's* success in life has endowed Gary with the sense that he can take any kid off of any playground in America and turn him into a two-guard who will lead a team to the Final Fucking Four, and really, the more felonies the kid's committed, the better.
This is not acceptable coaching behavior. Gary has utterly lost it. He can't recruit, his teams can't rebound, and his teams don't listen to him. The latest, a squabble with the athletic department over whose fault all this is, is the fucking end. While I will not support his termination, I certainly urge his retirement. Immediately. Before I get a hankering to visit the M Circle.
And yeah. I'm off to the hockey game tomorrow.
*And seriously, if you say one bad word about Juan Dixon, ever, within my perceptive range, I will fucking hurt you. I will track you down like Belkar the Sexy Shoeless God of War and I will hurt you. I will fucking cut you, motherfucker. In fact, go to my comments section right now and say nice things about Juan Dixon, even if you don't fucking know what I'm talking about, y'hear? Do it. Now!
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
It All Works Out
Mockery is good, and it's what we're all about here at Casa Satanica, and it's what we did while hundreds of thousands, if not more* , stumbled and pooped and littered and woo-hooed their way about My Local Locality yesterday, forcing jaded and cynical Localitarians to plumb the depths of their Obamapostasy**. Here at La Casa, we sat watching with Dr. Death, as we are wont to watch things generally, and observed/mocked, with a puzzled Databoy watching quietly with occasional interruption, and an indifferent Bam-Bam doing the things that Bam-Bam does when he's not allowed to go to school.***
Of course, such a day produces a lot of thoughts that would appear random if they weren't being triggered by structured events and the reactive media fucktardery appurtenant thereto. Our choice of fucktards for much of the day was Olbermann and Tweety on MSNBC, because Olbermann bats for our team, even though he's a douche, and Tweety is just plain fucking insane, which makes for better television than the pompous twats on CNN or the vanilla soup of twatly pomps and spright airheadedness on the broadcast nets. Later, when we just wanted to watch the damn parade (we love a parade) without listening to Tweety chirp and Olbermann preen, we flopped over to CNN, which produced a lot less fun, given that they were doing a full Wolf and mixing in lots of strikingly inappropriate stuff like having Quincy Jones basically tell Soledad O'Brien**** on national TV that he wants to stuff her like a fucking terducken, as he propagandized for the concept of a Secretary of Arts (not a bad idea, but Q got a little distracted by the scorching fuck-me that Ms. O'Brien can't help projecting).*****
Jesus, where was I? Oh yeah, the TV coverage. Of course, I noticed some stuff. Like, TV correspondents who live here or hang out here a lot have absolutely no clue about local geography, because they have limo drivers and taxi drivers and satellite truck drivers to move them about the city. One does not turn north on Constitution Avenue, as either Tweety or Olbermann suggested as Obama's limo approached the Capitol. One does turn northeast on Louisiana Avenue, which is what the limo did. Goddamn lying liberal media.
Tweety was obsessed with a royalty theme yesterday; he kept riffing on it throughout the coverage. At one level, I'll give Tweety a little slack; he had a lot of dead air to fill, and he's got a woody for celebrity that approaches bad-Viagra-trip levels. At another level, I will not forgive Tweety for comparing the Bushes to the Romanovs. The great thing about America, Tweety, is the regular and timely peaceful transition of executive power. If the Bushes were the Romanovs, then we'd have perforated their patrician asses and dumped them in a fucking mineshaft 16 years ago. Asshat. I detest the Bushes as much as the next guy (I do give Poppy props for snuggling up to Bubba on as many issues as they can stand, in the name of national cohesion, but can't forgive W, Jeb, and the two closeted ones, and letting Babs run the Star Chamber for lo these 40 years has been pretty reprehensible, too).
My point? Oh yeah. Perforation. Mineshaft. Peaceful transition. STFU, Tweety.
Quick notes on style and fashion: I'm going the other way. I thought Michelle's inauguration dress was fuck-ugly, but that's a color problem, by me; I'm not a fan of yellow. On the other hand, I thought her ballgown was lovely. But all that is just noise to give faux context to the meat of this graf: I have never been sorry that I missed an inaugural ball, until now.
The speech was a little tame for my taste; I didn't think it was one of Obama's best. It was adequate, workmanlike, predictable, fine, whatever. It wasn't Lincoln's second inaugural address, or Clinton's first. The line that got the most reaction hereabouts was his statement of commitment to restoring the role of science in decisionmaking. That forgives a lot of faults, and faults there are, aplenty.
Opostasy? Sure, whatever. He ain't the Messiah, and I've said so forever. This guy has not-at-all famously opined about O's .06 percent less suckage than the best alternative. Prolly true. But he does suck, and that's the basis of Opostasy. As I was ranting yesterday, you can think your government is you, and there are degrees to which that's true and beautiful, for given values of truth and beauty. Whatever keeps you from soaking the neighbors in gasoline and lighting them on fire.
The practical truth is that your government is me. I'm deadly serious, not in the sense that I control you or rule you or anything of the sort, but the dumbass work of putting on a government? That's me, and millions like (and unlike) me. You may think that's a waste of your money. And for given individuals or programs, you may be right. Congress and Presidents say otherwise, and at the macro level, some of my friends and I are what they fund. We go on, regardless of hope, change, energy, dynamism, red, blue, snow, Intertubes mockery, and inaugurations. I'm not looking for props or whining/bragging/self-crucifying; I'm just pointing out that we are governed by an apparatus with an elected manager. We've elected a better manager, and that's what we were partying about yesterday. In the heat and energy of the moment, it's probably Opostasy to suggest that the man has some good points, some bad points. It all works out.*******
*Metro says just shy of a million, and they always undercount because, in crushes, people get through the gates without paying. But they don't undercount by a lot, and it's hard to believe that many people operated in the city yesterday without using Metro.
**Intellectual property of this guy.
***Jumping on trampoline, flapping, intermittent shrieking, throwing unwanted objects from his playroom, and watching Dora and Muppets and that stupid fucking Bear, with occasional demands to be released to the bathroom, which is at least an improvement on certain recent underwear-unfriendly behaviors. It's what makes the boy happy, and really, wouldn't we all prefer to be that uncomplicated?
****Do me, Soledad. Just do me. Yes, I will utterly wreck you, but you'll dig it. Oh yes you will.
*****Okay, I just did a little reading on Soledad in the course of my duly diligent research for this here piece, and discovered that her full name translates as "The BVM of Solitude O'Brien" and that she's really pretty much a bitch, having recently moved to have some neighbors thrown out of their co-op because their dog farts and drools (I'd give you the link, but it's in a certain huffy online post to which I will not link, and there's no reason to doubt the veracity of that rag's reporting on this issue). That moves the whole thing from fantasizing about sex to fantasizing about crime, and I'm just totally not about that. Mostly. Sort of. In any event, scratch the whole wrecking Soledad thing******, before we end up with a restraining order. Those are for other folk.
*******Happy now, honey?
*******I am not, however, a little freaked out.
Of course, such a day produces a lot of thoughts that would appear random if they weren't being triggered by structured events and the reactive media fucktardery appurtenant thereto. Our choice of fucktards for much of the day was Olbermann and Tweety on MSNBC, because Olbermann bats for our team, even though he's a douche, and Tweety is just plain fucking insane, which makes for better television than the pompous twats on CNN or the vanilla soup of twatly pomps and spright airheadedness on the broadcast nets. Later, when we just wanted to watch the damn parade (we love a parade) without listening to Tweety chirp and Olbermann preen, we flopped over to CNN, which produced a lot less fun, given that they were doing a full Wolf and mixing in lots of strikingly inappropriate stuff like having Quincy Jones basically tell Soledad O'Brien**** on national TV that he wants to stuff her like a fucking terducken, as he propagandized for the concept of a Secretary of Arts (not a bad idea, but Q got a little distracted by the scorching fuck-me that Ms. O'Brien can't help projecting).*****
Jesus, where was I? Oh yeah, the TV coverage. Of course, I noticed some stuff. Like, TV correspondents who live here or hang out here a lot have absolutely no clue about local geography, because they have limo drivers and taxi drivers and satellite truck drivers to move them about the city. One does not turn north on Constitution Avenue, as either Tweety or Olbermann suggested as Obama's limo approached the Capitol. One does turn northeast on Louisiana Avenue, which is what the limo did. Goddamn lying liberal media.
Tweety was obsessed with a royalty theme yesterday; he kept riffing on it throughout the coverage. At one level, I'll give Tweety a little slack; he had a lot of dead air to fill, and he's got a woody for celebrity that approaches bad-Viagra-trip levels. At another level, I will not forgive Tweety for comparing the Bushes to the Romanovs. The great thing about America, Tweety, is the regular and timely peaceful transition of executive power. If the Bushes were the Romanovs, then we'd have perforated their patrician asses and dumped them in a fucking mineshaft 16 years ago. Asshat. I detest the Bushes as much as the next guy (I do give Poppy props for snuggling up to Bubba on as many issues as they can stand, in the name of national cohesion, but can't forgive W, Jeb, and the two closeted ones, and letting Babs run the Star Chamber for lo these 40 years has been pretty reprehensible, too).
My point? Oh yeah. Perforation. Mineshaft. Peaceful transition. STFU, Tweety.
Quick notes on style and fashion: I'm going the other way. I thought Michelle's inauguration dress was fuck-ugly, but that's a color problem, by me; I'm not a fan of yellow. On the other hand, I thought her ballgown was lovely. But all that is just noise to give faux context to the meat of this graf: I have never been sorry that I missed an inaugural ball, until now.
The speech was a little tame for my taste; I didn't think it was one of Obama's best. It was adequate, workmanlike, predictable, fine, whatever. It wasn't Lincoln's second inaugural address, or Clinton's first. The line that got the most reaction hereabouts was his statement of commitment to restoring the role of science in decisionmaking. That forgives a lot of faults, and faults there are, aplenty.
Opostasy? Sure, whatever. He ain't the Messiah, and I've said so forever. This guy has not-at-all famously opined about O's .06 percent less suckage than the best alternative. Prolly true. But he does suck, and that's the basis of Opostasy. As I was ranting yesterday, you can think your government is you, and there are degrees to which that's true and beautiful, for given values of truth and beauty. Whatever keeps you from soaking the neighbors in gasoline and lighting them on fire.
The practical truth is that your government is me. I'm deadly serious, not in the sense that I control you or rule you or anything of the sort, but the dumbass work of putting on a government? That's me, and millions like (and unlike) me. You may think that's a waste of your money. And for given individuals or programs, you may be right. Congress and Presidents say otherwise, and at the macro level, some of my friends and I are what they fund. We go on, regardless of hope, change, energy, dynamism, red, blue, snow, Intertubes mockery, and inaugurations. I'm not looking for props or whining/bragging/self-crucifying; I'm just pointing out that we are governed by an apparatus with an elected manager. We've elected a better manager, and that's what we were partying about yesterday. In the heat and energy of the moment, it's probably Opostasy to suggest that the man has some good points, some bad points. It all works out.*******
*Metro says just shy of a million, and they always undercount because, in crushes, people get through the gates without paying. But they don't undercount by a lot, and it's hard to believe that many people operated in the city yesterday without using Metro.
**Intellectual property of this guy.
***Jumping on trampoline, flapping, intermittent shrieking, throwing unwanted objects from his playroom, and watching Dora and Muppets and that stupid fucking Bear, with occasional demands to be released to the bathroom, which is at least an improvement on certain recent underwear-unfriendly behaviors. It's what makes the boy happy, and really, wouldn't we all prefer to be that uncomplicated?
****Do me, Soledad. Just do me. Yes, I will utterly wreck you, but you'll dig it. Oh yes you will.
*****Okay, I just did a little reading on Soledad in the course of my duly diligent research for this here piece, and discovered that her full name translates as "The BVM of Solitude O'Brien" and that she's really pretty much a bitch, having recently moved to have some neighbors thrown out of their co-op because their dog farts and drools (I'd give you the link, but it's in a certain huffy online post to which I will not link, and there's no reason to doubt the veracity of that rag's reporting on this issue). That moves the whole thing from fantasizing about sex to fantasizing about crime, and I'm just totally not about that. Mostly. Sort of. In any event, scratch the whole wrecking Soledad thing******, before we end up with a restraining order. Those are for other folk.
*******Happy now, honey?
*******I am not, however, a little freaked out.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Star Wars IV: A New Hope
Look, I can't be having with all this hope and change crap. Of course, I am overjoyed that, at noon, our 8-year national nightmare is no more. This is, in fact, the day we've been waiting for. But you people? You're taking a big dump on my city. Did I particularly want to head into town today to see John the Daftist and other relations? Well, yeah, it would've been nice, actually. They're all kinda crunchy and stuff, for moneyed elitists, and they've descended like flies on an Aunt Jemima-covered superhero.
The two basic inaugural themes never change. I well remember an Inauguration Eve 16 years ago*, similarly rife with...uhm...hope and change. In fact, I seem to recall another imminent inaugurant, from...uhm...a town called...uhm...Hope.
The other theme, of course, is Fuck You, Peasants, Mind If We Take A Dump In Your Living Room For Four To Eight Years?
Are we glad Barry's going to be Preznit in a little over 2 hours?** Duh. Can y'all leave my town and let the man get down to making splendiferiously good and vomitoriously bad decisions? Yes. In the approximate words of another bringer of hope and change: Yes, you can. We have a government to continue to fuck up, just like we always have, regardless of leadership ideology, and your portapotties are crapping up our park.
*There's a story here, involving alcohol, hundreds of hookers in fur coats lining the streets of Northwest DC, preznitential motorcades, more alcohol, and...uhm...alcohol, although I think there was some food in there, too. So I won't bother telling it.
**Barry called me, and told me that he doesn't mind if I call him "Barry." He also told me that it was tough shit that I think there's a 72-percent chance that the new Ubertsar of the federal agency whose budget pays for my family to eat and be warm and have fast Intertubes will turn out to be a dipshit. But that's okay. Barry's honest** with me, and I'm honest with him.
***For a given value of "honest."
The two basic inaugural themes never change. I well remember an Inauguration Eve 16 years ago*, similarly rife with...uhm...hope and change. In fact, I seem to recall another imminent inaugurant, from...uhm...a town called...uhm...Hope.
The other theme, of course, is Fuck You, Peasants, Mind If We Take A Dump In Your Living Room For Four To Eight Years?
Are we glad Barry's going to be Preznit in a little over 2 hours?** Duh. Can y'all leave my town and let the man get down to making splendiferiously good and vomitoriously bad decisions? Yes. In the approximate words of another bringer of hope and change: Yes, you can. We have a government to continue to fuck up, just like we always have, regardless of leadership ideology, and your portapotties are crapping up our park.
*There's a story here, involving alcohol, hundreds of hookers in fur coats lining the streets of Northwest DC, preznitential motorcades, more alcohol, and...uhm...alcohol, although I think there was some food in there, too. So I won't bother telling it.
**Barry called me, and told me that he doesn't mind if I call him "Barry." He also told me that it was tough shit that I think there's a 72-percent chance that the new Ubertsar of the federal agency whose budget pays for my family to eat and be warm and have fast Intertubes will turn out to be a dipshit. But that's okay. Barry's honest** with me, and I'm honest with him.
***For a given value of "honest."
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Keeping You Safe
The Secret Service, the National Park Service, and the Metropolitan Police Department (DC police) today announced the following measures for the protection of those attending the upcoming inauguration of President-Elect Obama:
Road Closures: Every street in the District of Columbia and Montgomery and Prince George's Counties in Maryland, Fairfax, Loudoun, Arlington, and Prince Billy Bob Counties in Virginia, and the cities of Arlington, Alexandria, Fairfax, and Manassas will be closed to vehicular, equine, cycle, and pedestrian traffic. All denizens of the affected areas will be required (except as noted below) to huddle inside their homes. Guests will not be allowed to leave their hotels, boarding houses, and brothels. Violators will be subject to arrest by MPD, USSS, or the 3rd Armored Division, which will be deputized as sworn law enforcement officers to assist with downtown crowd control.
Public Transit: You've got to be fucking kidding. Subways and bus routes would be, like, direct pathways for terrists.
Mandatory Evacuations: The 101st Airborne Division, which didn't bleed from the feet in the freezing Eurofag winter at Bastogne so that you cocksuckers could elect some Negro as President, will be escorting every resident of Maryland, Virginia, and West Virginia to somewhere else. Tennessee, maybe. We hear they got space there. Oh, shit, did we forget Delaware? You too. Get moving.
Forced Blackouts: We're turning off the electricity so terrists can't plug in their walkie-talkies. No water, either. If we make the plumbing more like their home countries, the terrists won't want to come here.
Foam: To enable better crowd control, we will be spreading a 14-foot-thick layer of foam over the entire area between the Susquehanna, the James, the Appalachians, and the Atlantic Ocean.
Timing: All of the aforementioned measures will lapse from effect at 12:01 PM on January 20, when it will no longer be this administration's problem. But we're damned if you're gonna shoot the nigger on our watch.
------------------------------
It used to be that the funniest jokes began with "Duck walks into a bar"* or "Three individuals, whom I am about to stereotype, including one about whom I will be downright bigoted, were in a structure, vehicle, or outdoor setting." Now they begin with "The USSS announced today..."
*Duck walks into a bar and asks the bartender, "Got any condoms?" The bartender says, "Screw you, we don't sell condoms to ducks." Next day, same duck, same bar, duck asks the bartender, "Got any condoms?" Bartender says, "I told you once, we don't sell condoms to ducks, and if you ask me again, I'm gonna nail your little webbed feet to the floor." Next day, duck walks in, asks the bartender, "Got any nails?" Bartender is puzzled, says, "No." Duck asks, "Got any condoms?"**
**That one's actually for you, Dweeze.
Road Closures: Every street in the District of Columbia and Montgomery and Prince George's Counties in Maryland, Fairfax, Loudoun, Arlington, and Prince Billy Bob Counties in Virginia, and the cities of Arlington, Alexandria, Fairfax, and Manassas will be closed to vehicular, equine, cycle, and pedestrian traffic. All denizens of the affected areas will be required (except as noted below) to huddle inside their homes. Guests will not be allowed to leave their hotels, boarding houses, and brothels. Violators will be subject to arrest by MPD, USSS, or the 3rd Armored Division, which will be deputized as sworn law enforcement officers to assist with downtown crowd control.
Public Transit: You've got to be fucking kidding. Subways and bus routes would be, like, direct pathways for terrists.
Mandatory Evacuations: The 101st Airborne Division, which didn't bleed from the feet in the freezing Eurofag winter at Bastogne so that you cocksuckers could elect some Negro as President, will be escorting every resident of Maryland, Virginia, and West Virginia to somewhere else. Tennessee, maybe. We hear they got space there. Oh, shit, did we forget Delaware? You too. Get moving.
Forced Blackouts: We're turning off the electricity so terrists can't plug in their walkie-talkies. No water, either. If we make the plumbing more like their home countries, the terrists won't want to come here.
Foam: To enable better crowd control, we will be spreading a 14-foot-thick layer of foam over the entire area between the Susquehanna, the James, the Appalachians, and the Atlantic Ocean.
Timing: All of the aforementioned measures will lapse from effect at 12:01 PM on January 20, when it will no longer be this administration's problem. But we're damned if you're gonna shoot the nigger on our watch.
------------------------------
It used to be that the funniest jokes began with "Duck walks into a bar"* or "Three individuals, whom I am about to stereotype, including one about whom I will be downright bigoted, were in a structure, vehicle, or outdoor setting." Now they begin with "The USSS announced today..."
*Duck walks into a bar and asks the bartender, "Got any condoms?" The bartender says, "Screw you, we don't sell condoms to ducks." Next day, same duck, same bar, duck asks the bartender, "Got any condoms?" Bartender says, "I told you once, we don't sell condoms to ducks, and if you ask me again, I'm gonna nail your little webbed feet to the floor." Next day, duck walks in, asks the bartender, "Got any nails?" Bartender is puzzled, says, "No." Duck asks, "Got any condoms?"**
**That one's actually for you, Dweeze.
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