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Archive for February 16th, 2009

Doug Giles Organizes International Anilingus

Posted by scott on February 16th, 2009

douggilesfeb09.jpg

Yes, we all knew this day was coming, but I was hoping that when Pastor Doug Giles finally gave in to his long-repressed passions, he’d be a little more discreet about it.  I mean, a wide stance and a few under-the-partition toe-taps and hand signals seem to get the message across; I see no reason for a banner headline in Townhall.  Plus, I’m not looking forward to Doug turning his hand to Jack Bauer/Homicide Bomber slash fiction, with the inevitable appearance of Gilesian phrases such as “teasingly tongues the Taliban’s tail tunnel.”

I’ve got a great idea: Let’s kiss some terrorist butt! I’m talkin’ a big, slobbery wet one right on their back forty. We might as well, as we are about to muck up the rest of our country with a stimulus package that will stimulate only a liberal government’s lug nuts.

“Remember the old days when you could win any argument just by bringing up terrorism?  At least, in your own mind, which actually worked out fine, because that’s usually where the argument was taking place.   Ha!  If you lefty sob senoritas could just see how stupid you look inside my brain…!”

Danka, Obama. Good job, Pelosi. Suffering succotash, Barney Frank.

Hm.  I can’t shake the feeling there are layers of meaning here that I’m just not getting; better check my English to Giles dictionary…Okay, “Suffering succotash” was the catchphrase of Sylvester the Cat, whose “trademark is his sloppy, stridulating lisp.”  So this paragraph would literally translate as, “Thank you, Obama.  Good job, Pelosi.  Barney Frank is a fag.”

Man, getting through one of Doug’s columns is like trying to read Ulysses, what with all the levels and allusions and what-not. Fortunately, Doug has taken to annotating his work for the bigotry impaired:

Barney Frank. What an SNL skit waiting to happen. If I were named Barney, I’d be pissed. (Though given his sexual proclivities, he does have quite the apropos surname, eh?)

Right.  Anyway, you were saying something about “stimulus” and “wet” and “butt”…?

In addition to the FUBAR governmental enslavement our nation’s about to be saddled with, we’ve officially begun the mainlining of secularism, the okaying of nation-sinking sins, the Ex-Laxing of our immigration laws, the acceleration and radical funding of abortions aplenty, and the real possibility of the government duct-taping any mouth that does not repeat Obama’s mantras. I’d say we’re pretty much sunk.

Sin-sunk.

Welcome to hell, America. Can I take your coat?

I had a feeling if I ever got to hell, I’d find Doug there, condemned to an eternity of collecting the Damneds’ coats and purses and throwing them on Satan’s bed.

As America begins its swirl around and down the global toilet

Which is coming in handy, now that our immigration laws are acting as a laxative.  I’m a little peeved that Schoolhouse Rock never explained what it really meant to “pass a bill.”

…I say we expedite our demise and put on some buttsmacker lip balm and kiss some terrorist booty.

Yeah, but according to the Religious Right — sorry, the Socially Conservative Evangelicals — it’s that kind of behavior that got you sent to hell.

What’s that?

I didn’t say anything…

You say we already are smooching Achmed’s arse?

Uh, no.  I think you probably just left that Rod Majors video running in the other room.

Oh wow! I didn’t know.

Yeah.  Tell it to Saint Peter, pal.

Why I Do Not Mourn The Death Of AM Top 40 Radio

Posted by scott on February 16th, 2009

In 1972, when we just had an AM radio in the car (and my mother was in charge of the dial), I heard every single hour of the day, every single time it rained.  It didn’t matter what station you were listening to, every DJ in the LA Basin had the same Pavlovian stimulus response to precipitation; it was inescapable.  And they were still doing it ten years later when I left California for New York.

The point is, it’s pouring like Hell today, if Hell was a place known primarily for its high yearly rainfall, and I’m blithely listening to my iPod.  Take that, Charlie Tuna, and The Real Don Steele!

My only hope is that at all those defunct AM music stations, the studios now occupied by blustering talk radio wingnuts continue to be haunted by the unexorcisable, ghostly echoes of Albert Hammond.