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Archive for March, 2010

Post-Friday Beast Blogging: The Pensive Pussies Edition

Posted by scott on March 27th, 2010



“I bet if I had a thought in my head right now, it’d be pretty profound. Maybe something about the cosmos…or chicken skin…”

And Riley:


“I went home with you?!”

Happy Birthday, MaryC!

Posted by scott on March 26th, 2010

Dear fellow Crapiers, please join me in wishing a festive natal anniversary to our own MaryC — wife, relief blogger, gifted cook, preternatural cat whisperer, and heroic inner city school teacher. (To say nothing of the high yield karma she’s accumulated from putting up with me these past many years.) And she’s cute, too.

As you’d expect from a day that’s produced such a lovely and delightful woman, March 26 is a date which has historically been rich, ripe, and teeming with incident.

1830 – The Book of Mormon is published in Palmyra, New York. Fans of the book, called “Mohards,” immediately split into “Team Nephi” and “Team Moroni.”

1967 – Ten thousand people gather for the “Central Park Be-In” in New York City, officially kicking off the so-called “Summer of Verb Conjugation.”

1976 – Queen Elizabeth II sends out the first royal email, from the Royal Signals and Radar Establishment. It’s an ad for penis pills.

1995 – The Schengen Treaty goes into effect, finally outlawing Schengens and Schengen-related program activities.

1997 – Thirty-nine bodies are found in the Heaven’s Gate cult suicides. Confused Blockbuster clerks immediately remove all Michael Cimino films from the shelves.

1999 – The “Melissa worm” infects Microsoft word processing and e-mail systems around the world. Queen Elizabeth’s “herbal Viagra” business never recovers.

March 26 is has also traditionally been a favorite day for distinguished authors to drop dead:

1892 – Walt Whitman, American poet (b. 1819)
1959 – Raymond Chandler, American-born novelist (b. 1888)
1969 – John Kennedy Toole, American author (b. 1937)
1973 – Noel Coward, English composer and playwright (b. 1899)

and if I were a better writer, I’d be feeling extremely nervous right about now. Also died today:

304 – Saint Emmanuel, Christian martyr killed by the Romans for walking around nude, poking Senators in the chest.

On a happier note, Bill S. sent us a list of luminaries who were born on March 26, including:

Robert Frost
Tennessee Williams
Rufus Thomas (R&B singer, father of Carla Thomas)
Bob Elliott, funny human.
Sandra Day O’Connor, Supreme Court Justice
Leonard Nimoy, Vulcan
Alan Arkin, award-winner actor, onetime folk musician (he co-wrote “The Banana Boat Song”!)
James Caan (Brian’s Song was probably the first tearjerker I saw that…actually jerked my tears. Which sounds more vulgar than I meant it to)
Nancy Pelosi
Erica Jong
Diana Ross, singer, actress, inspiration to 78,888,999 drag queens since 1963. At least.
Johnny Crawford, former child actor.
Steve Tyler, big-lipped rock superstar.
Vicki Lawrence, funny human and singer of the cheezy pop hit, “The Night the Lights Went Down In Georgia”.
Teddy Pendergrass, R&B legend
Ernest Thomas, actor (“Raj” on What’s Happenin’. No relation to Rufus or Carla.)
Curtis Sliwa. Guardian Angel/dick
Leeza Gibbons, perky human.
Jennifer Grey, frequent Patrick Swayze co-star. Owner of dull, reconditioned nose.
Kenny Chesney, frequently shirtless country singer.
Keira Knightley, attractive female movie star person
T.R. Knight, actor who pissed off Isaiah Washington

Thanks, Bill! Now let’s check Mary’s horoscope…

Mercury’s sextile to Venus in your Solar Return chart indicates a generally clear mind and improved relationships with younger people.

Which hopefully means your first graders won’t suddenly realize they have the advantage of numbers, and fatally swarm you like a pack of Killer Shrews.


Jupiter trines Saturn and sextiles Neptune at the time of your birthday this year as well…

Good Lord, who planned this birthday party, Aleister Crowley?

…helping you to focus on constructive goals with pleasure.

Yeah, I’ll bet.

Mars conjuncts Neptune and opposes Saturn. Saturn and Neptune’s influences are contradictory.

Only one way to settle this…Release the Kraken! (Hey, we all have our pet name for it.)

And since I’ve been looking at Ann Coulter’s mug all week (she was apparently thrown out of Canada for inappropriately touching the dancers in the Champagne Court, even after she got a warning from the bouncer), I’ve decided to forgo the traditional photo. Instead, here’s your damn dirty Nate.


Nathan Fillion goes undercover as Sonny Crockett to bust drug lord Ken in Barbie’s Malibu Dream Crackhouse!

Happy Birthday, Mary.

I’ve been skimming the Bedlams of the right blogopshere, hoping the passage of health care reform had triggered a few Scanners-like cranial Spin-Art projects. But the ranting had reached such an ear-piercing pitch just prior to the vote that even pundits like Sher (Shermp) Zieve seem incapable of pumping up the volume any further; they go to 11, and that, sadly, is that.

Professor Dr. Mike Adams, Ph.D., on the other hand, has taken a more surgical approach to the issue, assuming one can successfully perform surgery using ice tongs, a Garden Weasel, and a barbecue fork. Rather than frothing about the apocalypse of expanded medical insurance, he has exposed liberal hypocrisy by digging up a six year old quote from Nancy Pelosi expressing support for a woman’s right to choose, and contrasted it, to devastating effect, with Pelosi’s current support for a woman’s right to choose.

Roe v. Pelosi

On January 22, 2004, Nancy Pelosi issued a statement regarding the fundamental right to make important health care decisions. Pelosi’s dishonest statement is reproduced (no pun intended)

(no pun achieved)

…below. The statement is occasionally aborted (pun intended)

(it’s good to have goals)

so that my honest rebuttals

(any resemblance to actual irony is purely coincidental)

…can be interjected:

(I think we’re into double entendres now.)

“Today we observe the 31st anniversary of Roe v. Wade, the Supreme Court decision that affirmed the fundamental right of women to make their own reproductive health care decisions.”

This statement alone is very good news…It would have been twice as good if Pelosi had spoken of “the fundamental right of men and women to make their own reproductive health care decisions.”

As a man focused on his career, Dr. Mike doesn’t want to be forced by a disapproving society to carry his sperm to term. In fact, despite his habit of advising American fathers on the proper way to raise their sons, Dr. Mike has successfully remained both childless and divorced. And chaste, one assumes, from his steadfast Christian principles. However, it appears he now has an incentive to focus less on his professional ambitions, and more on his domestic life, for as Thers tells us, “Dr. Mike has become briefly interesting, insofar as a lawsuit he instigated has ended in comical ignominy…Apparently Adams sued UNC-Wilmington after being turned down for promotion to full professor, alleging that he was discriminated against because he became a Christian. The suit is dead.”

Commenter Dr. DRE was kind enough to send us a link to a story on the lawsuit in The Chronicle of Higher Education and Narnia.

Nonetheless, it gets us halfway there. All women reading this column should instantly call Nancy Pelosi at (202) 225-4965. Tell Nancy Pelosi to keep her laws off your body. And tell her Mike Adams sent you.

Warning: Dr. Mike’s Patented Comic Paradox® may cause drowsiness. Alcohol may increase this effect, so you might have to tell Dr. Mike to keep his paws off your body and just go sober up in his hotel room, or at least take his issues out on the Spectravision.

“Even as we recognize this vital date for women, however, President Bush and anti-choice Republican lawmakers in Congress are threatening the right to reproductive freedom. Since President Bush took office, we have seen an unprecedented effort to overturn a woman’s right to choose, including passage of the first federal ban on safe and medically-accepted medical procedures.”

Of course, one of the “safe and medically-accepted medical procedures” to which Speaker Pelosi refers is known as “partial-birth abortion.”

Among idiots, yes.

To date, it has never been deemed as “safe” or “medically-accepted” by anyone who has actually experienced the procedure.

Every single woman who underwent the procedure to remove a deceased fetus wishes, in retrospect, that she’d opted for invasive, but unnecessary surgery instead. Thanks for the honest rebuttal, Doc.


Each of the men in this photo stood fast upon the moral high ground and refused to experience intact dilation and extraction, choosing instead to let their dead fetuses rot inside them. (Notice the distended abdomens characteristic of peritonitis.)

Nonetheless, most liberals see it as safer than water-boarding and other forms of enhanced interrogation.

So Dr. Mike believes we should torture pregnant women? Seems sort of redundant. Anyway, I’m guessing Mothers Day isn’t a big event at his house.

In the six years since Nancy Pelosi’s statement, there has been a dramatic shift in Democratic support for reproductive freedom. Today, Democrats are supporting massive tax increases and unprecedented government growth that interferes with the ability and willingness of citizens to have children.

Dr. Mike, look — you’re barren. Just face it, and stop blaming your dead sack on the tax code.

If everyone is working to fund a massive government then no one has time to raise kids. Many prospective parents do not want to bring a child into a nation 13 trillion dollars in the hole.

“I’m completely virile! It’s just that my spermatazoa are deficit hawks.”

Again, Nancy has inspired me. I believe Congress should act now to pass the National Freedom of Health Care Choice Act. The entire text of the act, which I just wrote five minutes ago, follows: “This Act declares that it is the policy of the United States that every woman has the fundamental right to choose a health care plan; terminate a health care plan prior to inviability; or terminate a health care plan after inviability when necessary to protect her life or her health.”

A tip to newer readers: whenever Dr. Mike suggests something stunningly obvious, reasonable, but pointless, or just breathtakingly banal, that’s invariably a sign he believes it’s wicked satire.

If things don’t change in this country women may be forced to seek back alley doctors in order to preserve their fundamental right to make important health care decisions. And we may need to consider late term abortions for some members of Congress.

I sometimes, if only briefly, feel bad about poking fun at the likes of Sher Zieve, or Pastor Swank — people who are obviously in the grip of passions and pathologies beyond their ken or control. But after reading dozens of columns by Dr. Mike over the past six years or so, it seems equally obvious that he’s just an asshole, and deserving of not a whit more empathy than he himself bothers to generate. But I also occasionally think — in a detached, observational sort of way — how deeply sad it is that a presumably heterosexual man loathes women so much. Not that I pity him; I’m just thinking of the constant, venereal discharge of venom that drools from the corner of his mouth, and how his coworkers and theoretical friends might have benefited had Dr. Mike been born gay.

Sure, the chances are that he still would have grown from boy to assholehood, but I’ve never known a gay man who was as remotely misogynistic as Dr. Mike. Nor, for that matter, have I ever met a gay man who was as severely squicked out about lady parts, if only because, unlike Dr. Mike, they don’t seem to obsess on the subject. And while he would almost certainly have produced the same kilowattage of hate, he would probably have spent more of that energy hating himself, and less as a panty-sniffing beaver-botherer.

A fellow can dream, can’t he?

It’s Alive…!

Posted by scott on March 21st, 2010

Just a quick update on our friend Ivan from Thrilling Days of Yesteryear. He’s (temporarily) out of the hospital, and posted the following on his Facebook page:

Hello, all…

Sorry I couldn’t be a little more personal with this announcement, but rest assured those of you who have contacted with personal well-wishes I treasure each and every one of them. I know it’s kinda corny in this day and age to use a film like It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) as a teaching model, but I have long believed and will continue to do so that the wealthiest man is s/he with the greatest number of friends.

About four weeks ago I disappeared from both Facebook and my weblog (Thrilling Days of Yesteryear) because I thought I was just a little “under the weather.” What I thought was just a small cold or bit of flu that I’d shake off soon enough became a bit more serious—I ended up having to call 9/11 sometime around the first of March, and the emergency people took me to the nearest medical facility to be admitted for various diagnoses that included excessive calcium (one of my doctors said he’d never seen a count as high as mine) and kidney problems. I spent nearly three miserable weeks in the hospital…but I wish to hasten to add that the people who looked after me are nothing but the best…the miserable part rests with me, because I simply do not like being cooped up on the hospital.

I’m out on a temporary reprieve but I’ll have to return soon for an operation that I won’t go into detail about because every time’s it’s described to me it scares the !@#$ out of me. Activity both here on Facebook and the blog will, as a result, slow down a bit…I’ve asked one of my longtime online friends to wash and road test the blog every now and then which she has agreed to do. I’m going to do my darndest to make certain I keep in touch on a regular basis—I just wanted to take another opportunity to thank those of you for keeping me in your thoughts and to learn from my example of hedonistic pleasures (if you’re drinking Hawaiian Punch in excess…stop!) Thanks for allowing me to bend your ear.

Wishing you all the very best:

And wishing you the same, Ivan. Get well soon.

First, I would like to thank Dr. BDH, Inconstant Reader, Heydave, and KWillow for the very kind encomiums to . Your words gave Sheri and I a frankly immodest little boost today when we were on the phone, working out the sequel, and we’re sincerely grateful to everyone who bought the book; your support has meant more than we can say without three or four gimlets, and then we’d probably just say, “I love you, man,” and puke in your laundry hamper.

However, our genuine and deep fondness and appreciation doesn’t mean that I’m not going to subject you to a WorldNetDaily column by Pat Boone.


Political autism

Autism is a tragic malady.

“Now watch me exploit the hell out of it…”

Popular actress Jenny McCarthy

Well, that’s a unique way of describing her. But then, I would expect nothing less from Pat, who is also credited with coining the phrase, “ladies man Dick Morris.”

has just released a book about her previously autistic son – and the amazing progress she’s had in bringing him out of the fog and separation of his malady through controlling his diet.

Proving that autism is just a lifestyle choice, and giving hope that millions of homosexuals may be brought out of sin through the judicial application of persimmons.

Having come to the conclusion that he’d been adversely affected as a baby by some of the normal immunization shots, she put him on a new and stringent organic health diet – which she credits for his being now perfectly normal!

Sadly, Mom didn’t follow the diet herself, and is still a credulous nitwit. Thanks, Carl’s Jr.!

The book is gripping and hopeful, and may point the way to real breakthroughs in treating this awful imprisonment named autism. My daughters and I congratulate Jenny and thank God for her son’s new life.

“And for the opportunity to use it against my enemies.”

My point here? I see striking parallels in our current political scene, today.

We don’t need health care reform. What we need is for uninsured cancer patients to start slathering radish seed butter on their wheat germ flapjacks.

Whatever the cause (and I think I’ve diagnosed it)

“I believe the President and Congressional Democrats are suffering from an imbalance of bodily humors, perhaps caused by a toad or a small dwarf living in their stomachs.”

many of our elected leaders in Congress are behaving as if they’ve contracted a kind of “political autism.” They seem strangely divorced from reality, out of touch with the people who elected them, unable to think rationally.

They can’t even seem to conclude, from the obvious facts in evidence, that Barney Frank is a “faggot.”

They’ve collectively abandoned common sense and embarked on some wildly unreasonable courses, seemingly oblivious to the protests and outcries of a majority of American citizens, the very people whom they swore to represent and whose security and well-being they pledged to protect.

I blame the lavish health insurance enjoyed by House and Senate members, which undoubtedly covers immunizations.

Speaker Nancy Pelosi increasingly resembles one of the “Stepford wives” from the wildly popular science-fiction film some years ago. The film depicted the strongly hypnotic derangement and reprogramming of a group of ordinary American wives, who seem outwardly normal but move like robots controlled by a sinister force.

Actually, they moved normally, but acted like soulless robots, possibly because they were robots. Anyway, aside from his apparent gift for deep focus film criticism, Pat has an unerring instinct for the apt metaphor, because really, who more closely resembles a preternaturally docile and mindlessly obedient housewife than the first female Speaker of the House, and the highest ranking woman in the nation’s history? Nice apron, Nance. Is the Beaver home?

In a recent turn – with a wide-eyed, spooky stare and a mechanical, unnatural smile – she’s been cooing, “Just help us pass this bill, and we’ll all find out what’s in it!” Yes, she said that exactly

As you may remember, Pat has an interesting approach to quotations: it’s a sin to bear false witness, but if you deliberately misquote someone, it’s not a lie if your version of the quote is better. And the best part is, there’s no statute of limitations. You can can completely rewrite something a political opponent said less than two weeks ago, or put devastating put-downs and come-backs in your own mouth, thereby retroactively pwning someone who bested you in a Crossfire appearance eight years ago. So when he writes, “Yes, she said that exactly,” even though, at the time she said it, she didn’t, she really did, if we remember that the Nancy Pelosi in Pat’s column is just as real as the real Nancy Pelosi, because the real Nancy Pelosi is a robot! It’s sort of like what Pat did to rhythm and blues back in the Fifties — it’s a cover version of the truth, which makes it easier to sell to the white folks.

…and it’s almost as if she’s admonishing in a maternal way, “Children, just drink this Kool-Aid, and you’ll find out eventually what’s in it – it’s good for you.”

Although, if you misquote someone, and then do a reductio ad absurdum, “in other words,” version of the quote you made up for them, you’re kind of a douche bladder.

She and her cohorts are ladling out a strange “progressive” brew

And available on their new album, Disraeli Gears. $6.95 for records, $7.95 for 8-track or tapes.

concocted by Dr. O, whom they treat as a medicine man with fantastic powers,


In the original version of this column, Pat called Obama a “witch doctor,” but had a pang of conscience and later reworded the passage so as not to offend Dave Seville.

And this on top of $2 trillion already added to the tax burden in the first year of Dr. O’s presidency. Worse than autism … it’s insanity!

Coincidentally, that was Pat’s catch phrase when he was briefly the spokesman for Crazy Eddie discount electronics stores.

Friend, fellow citizen,

Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.

we’ve got to act, to exercise our constitutional authority and create a massive “intervention,” to get help for these deluded, hypnotized representatives and to replace them with sane and reasoned leaders – while we can.


And I think we know just where to look…

Repeatedly telling our representatives what their names mean – that they represent us – doesn’t appear to be working.

And beginning each argument with “according to Websters,” is also, inexplicably, failing to work, even when we use the super snotty voice.

What these “autistic politicians,” these addled and deluded congressmen, pile on our heads and those of future generations can be thrown off and reversed at the polls. Clearly, this is the only way out of the nightmare alley we’ve entered.

So, autism: It’s like being in a Tyrone Power movie with a pile of insane congressmen on your head. Thanks for the diagnosis, Dr. Boone.

Random Scenes of Hollywood

Posted by scott on March 17th, 2010


Guitar Row, Sunset Boulevard.


Peter Frampton is Pissed

Posted by scott on March 17th, 2010


Jen Shroder has been wingnutting for quite awhile now, under a variety of names (although they all seem to be variations of “Shroeder”), but always with that same old headshot from her days with Humble Pie. Sheri wrote about her a number of times on the old site here and and here for instance, but she seems to have dropped off the WO’C radar after 2004. Which is kind of a shame, because even though nowadays you can get the same frothing dementia from the national brand of wingnut, you can still find some real bargains if you drive down to that Wonder Bread outlet where they sell the day old stuff. And this week she’s serving up a huge remaindered helping of “Obama is date raping America,” which — granted — was kind of stale when WorldNetDaily’s David Kupelian offered it two weeks ago; but still, Jen brings her own uniquely ergotismic fungus to the culture.

Obama like a bad date

So President Obama has extended the health bill deadline yet AGAIN. What part of “no” does he not understand? We keep rejecting him but he ignores our protests. His nudges have progressed into shoves as America is crowded like a cheap date into the backseat of his Pontiac.

So he puts America in the back seat, and then presumably chauffeurs it around for awhile before stopping in some secluded spot and getting all handsy? I guess, in Jen’s view, health care reform is basically the porn version of Driving Miss Daisy.

Like a cad who refuses to take “no” for an answer, Obama assures us over and over that he has the answer to all of our questions but doesn’t want to tell us what it is until after he’s had his way. Most men this persistent get their faces slapped, but I doubt the Secret Service would understand.

So it’s not a date, now it’s a Q&A? I guess that means we’re not in an interracial roughie anymore, but one of those Japanese schoolgirl porns, where some AV Idol in a sailor suit is using her digitally blurred vagina to wheedle the mid-term answers out of her teacher.

America has said NO and we mean it, we keep trying to walk away, but Obama is twisting the arms of his Congressional gang to help shove. How did America end up as a cheap date waking up prematurely from a roofie?

I apologize for my faulty memory, but…was George W. Bush routinely accused of rape? I mean Bush, personally, not his duly authorized representatives in the CIA who threatened to rape the children of Afghan and Iraqi detainees in front of them. Because that could have been just a lot of big talk, and anyway, it’s like blaming the Denny’s night manager when the bacon in your Grand Slamwich® isn’t crisp and the waitress only brings you one refill.

After all, Obama was recommended to us by…um, well, Bill Ayers? Reverend Wright? (wince)

Sadly, it would seem the American people considered those recommendations more reliable than the endorsements of Dick Cheney (sneer), Mike Huckabee (grimace), Fred Thompson (O-face), Mitt Romney (hand jive), or Joe Lieberman (Spock eyebrow).

But Obama has a great reputation of…uh oh, what has he EVER done before?

Well, he won a Presidential election. That usually spices up a resume.

We bounded down the stairs and out the door with this man because, well, he’s such a smooth talker…whoops.

What happened — did you slip? How many times have I told you not to bound down the stairs! And use the handrail!

And now he’s insisting on something we had no intention of participating in while whispering in our ear that his provisions “can never be amended.” (gasp) As in “forever” Barry? Do you mean to marry me?

Oh. So it’s not porn. Jen’s just been reading those slightly more explicit Harlequin “Blaze” books.

What’s that? You’d rather be a one term President that’s had his way with me than go the duration as long as you “fundamentally transform” me?


Well now she’s just being a tease.

Somehow I have the feeling that my “fundamental transformation” has nothing to do with a ring and a future, instead I’ll be left with a socialist disease.

Well, if your religious scruples didn’t prevent you from using condoms, you might have got away with nothing worse than a mild pinko inflammation. But the point is, Obama is already married, so that’s bigamy! And it’s me, too. Yes, it’s big of all of us. Let’s be big for a change!

The answer is NO, Mr. President. NO! We do NOT want to get in this vehicle, get your hands off our credit card and get Harry Reid out of our way! We don’t care WHAT Nancy says, we don’t need to get in the backseat with you to see what you’re selling. So TAKE US HOME, Mr. President, TAKE US HOME.

It’s a car, honey, not a time machine.

We survived the War of 1812, the Mexican-American War, the Civil War, the Spanish-American War, World War I, World War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, Desert Storm and when the smoke cleared our nation stood strong holding the banner, our American flag for freedom! We counted our losses, we mourned our sons and daughters, but our nation and our nation alone withstood all battles for FREEDOM. Only to be pushed into the back seat of Obama’s car through a maligned “reconciliation” with Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid pushing right along with him.

It’s amazing that we survived all those wars, only to be undone by one dusky lothario in the back seat of a Pontiac. If only Tojo had thought to recruit an army of Negroes in zoot suits, we’d all be eating sushi now.

They are stopping at nothing, even using little boys with trumped up stories that make no sense.

“So let me get this straight, kid…Your mother died because she couldn’t afford medical care, and now you go to Washington to plead with Congress to pass health insurance reform? You don’t get it, kid! You’re a little boy. Your mother dies. That doesn’t make you a health care reform advocate, that makes you the lead character in a Disney animated feature!”

Would you like to hear my sob story of a chronically cheating husband that asked me not to divorce him because he was dying of liver damage (alcoholism) and was afraid to be cut off from my medical insurance?

Um, no offense, but I’m just an obscure blogger. You probably want to pitch that to the Lifetime Channel.

I waited for two years before he told me California would cover his medical expenses and has been ever since the divorce became final. How is it that a single unemployed mom can’t qualify but my ex-husband can?

I agree, that would seem to suggest a deeply flawed, uneven, and unfair system in desperate need of reform.

In fact, states close to the border are going broke but they manage to pay medical expenses for illegal aliens.

Admittedly, California is going broke, but it has less to do with illegal aliens (many of whom are abandoning the state) and more to do with recalcitrant Republicans and the suicidal fact that our constitution requires a supermajority in order to raise taxes. In fact, as Doghouse Riley mentioned over at his place yesterday, Indiana is also going broke, but that seems to be more a result of “Surly Megalomaniacs With Napoleonic Complexes,” than waves of Salvadorans pouring over the border from Michigan.

There is something seriously flawed with the sob stories claimed by progressives.

So Macelas Owens’ mother must be still alive! Q.E.D.

Our country has stood for so much, we are the most charitable nation on the planet, we have defended freedom, we have survived so much, I shudder to think we might not survive President Obama and his co-conspirators in Congress making up sob stories.

If there’s one thing low rent pundits can’t abide, it’s anecdotes.

We will remember who votes for this bill. We will remember who shoved this bill down our throats. If Obama succeeds, we will remember who helped push us into the backseat of his car, and those names will go down in history, way, way down.

I hate to blame the victim, but now it sounds like you’re just asking for it.

The Hipwaders of the Fisherman

Posted by scott on March 16th, 2010

You remember the other day, when Shermp, the Woman Who Would Be Stooge wrote that Obama plans to “end fishing by humans?” Well, her claim — as improbable as it may have seemed — has been confirmed by Townhall columnist, part-time pastor, and full-time Mack Daddy, Doug Giles. Now ordinarily I wouldn’t put much faith in Doug’s testimony, since he devotes most of his professional life to bearing false witness, and doing to the English language what the Romans did to Rabbi Akiva. But as anyone familiar with Doug’s boudoir shots knows, he also spends a considerable amount of time on hair care, and restrictions on angling will not only affect his ability to massage Omega-3 fish oils into his scalp, it will also impact his hair product endorsement contract:

“People often ask me, ‘Doug, how’d you get your hair so lustrous and manageable?’ And I tell them…”


“…it was the Salmon Mousse™!”

Hey Obama, Keep Your Hands Off My Fishing Pole

As usual, Doug is using reverse psychology in an attempt to get a handjob from the President.

God, I love fishing. I dig fishing almost as much as hunting (almost).

The major drawback being that fish are too hard to hit with a shotgun while they’re still in the water, but if you wait until after they’ve been landed and then just shoot them in the head, execution style, your boat will probably sink.

I love it so much that I moved to a place that is one of the top angling spots in the world: Miami, Florida. And you know what? I milk these waters as much as a working man can.

And Doug’s a hard-workin’ workin’ man. Granted, his Townhall column doesn’t seem to require a whole lot of research, beyond opening his blast emails from Fox News and the RNC, but coming up with all that Dr. Smith-style alliteration is probably exhausting. He’s also the Senior Pastor of a church that meets one day a week in a Residence Inn, then vanishes without a trace, like Brigadoon; nevertheless, these ecclesiastical duties are so taxing that Doug was once compelled to lay down the law about the way he wants annoying parishioners to treat their clergyman:

Do not call him every day to discuss your dorky problems. We all have problems. Suck it up.

Be self-motivated. You shouldn’t need a cheerleader to rouse you in the morning. If you do, then get some Tony Robbins tapes.

Lose you codependency upon your pastor and other church leaders. Grow up, Dinky.


Send him, once a year, on the church’s dime, to D.C., a serious worldview conference, and on a month’s paid vacation.

Stock his library with the history of the Jews, of Rome, of Greece, and of Western Civilization.

Make sure he is able to study four hours a day and exercise one hour a day.

Do not call him after 9 pm unless one of your relatives or friends happens to have passed away.

There’s a game we used to play as kids, usually when bored in the back seat of a car. Actually, it wasn’t so much a game as a sort of competitive ambush; whoever was the first to spot a Volkswagon Beetle would turn to the adjacent child (preferably a little brother or sister), punch him or her in the arm and shout, “Slug bug!” Well, I’d like to propose an Internet-friendly variation: Whenever you see this photo…


…punch the nearest wingnut and say, “Smug Doug!”

Anyway, back to Doug’s hard life of rising before dawn to milk the seacows…

Arriving at our strategic and wild location and having the privilege of watching and listening to that which is untamed waking up and beginning its tooth, fang and claw survival of the fittest exchange with Mother Nature. Life and death in its purest form, Nancy boys.

It appears Doug is either calling his readers effeminate, or Grosset & Dunlap is attempting to wring more money from the readerships of The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew books with a new, hybrid series.

I am iron man. Dun, dun. Dun na dun dunna dunna dunna dun dunna dun. As a young squab, the whole fishing enchilada, from soup to nuts, represented what Bryan Adams called, “The best days of my life.”

So if I’m following Doug’s memoir correctly, as an immature pigeon he liked to hum Black Sabbath songs while fishing for seven course Mexican meals, which he would presumably later serve to the love of his life on her mama’s porch, where he’d tell her a bunch of lies about his music and how his crappy band was going places, until it all exploded in shrill, impotent rage, before eventually devolving into bitter tears and inconsolable self-loathing.

Anyway, he likes to fish.

With the busyness of college, getting married, raising little girls, making money, and kicking ass, I got out of the fishing groove until I moved mi familia to Miami where I became a fishing kid again and quickly returned to my angling roots.

Well, according to Doug’s bio, he “earned his Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from Texas Tech University and studied for his Master of Arts in Christianity and Culture from Knox Theological Seminary,” so I guess he owes some of his angling success to all the time he saved by not completing his Masters. And after all, what’s more important to a minister? A graduate degree in Christianity and Culture, or a smelly creel?

After a couple of years of getting settled in, weeding through the rip-off charters and bad captains, I landed on two Capitans

And what a hot, humid, rum-fueled night that was.

After the Lord blessed me with those two leads I quickly called my dad to get his butt on a plane to bend some rods South Florida style. And oh my God have we crushed the fish.

I’m happy for Doug that he and his father have such a close relationship. I wish I’d spent more time with my dad, although even now I don’t particularly yearn to call his butt and bend his rod and then step on some seafood.

Not only has pops been a part of many insane hauls, but my wife and my two infamous daughters have, as well.

I guess the younger daughter’s into prostitute cosplay now too.

Matter of fact, my girls grew up catching big game fish on light tackle twice their body length without daddy’s help. That’s how they roll, boys. Grow a pair or go home

So Doug’s offspring like to dress up as whores and deep sea fish. And they have testicles. This is, if you’ll pardon the expression, one nutty family.

In addition to my familial fishing trips, we have had the pleasure of fishing with folks from all over the world and from every conceivable walk of life: from diplomats, bestselling authors, pundits, big name rock stars, Fox News contributors, missionaries, attorney generals, terminal cancer patients, and good buddies at church, to at risk teens without hope and without a clue.

AT RISK TEEN: I’m depressed and suicidal, and I don’t know what to do.

SOCIAL WORKER: I’ve got just the thing. I’m going to send you to a minister whose church is in a motel.

AT RISK TEEN: Um…That sounds kinda…creepy.

SOCIAL WORKER: Oh, don’t worry, he’ll probably just take you out on his boat and show you his painting of the Lord’s penis.


SOCIAL WORKER: And he might bend your rod.


SOCIAL WORKER: Relax, his daughters will be there.


SOCIAL WORKER: They’re hermaphrodites.


SOCIAL WORKER: Do you have a whore costume?

We have always had an amazing time, sharing in our mutual addiction that we seek no cure from (i.e. the screaming reel).

SOCIAL WORKER: Also, his tackle likes to shriek at people.

The fish we have caught, of which I have the pictures and videos to prove, include: giant bull sharks, lemon sharks, great hammerheads, black tip sharks, spinner sharks (the most enjoyable shark to hook), dusky sharks

In case you’ve forgotten, Doug’s bio used to list “shark master” among his honorifics, along with “Bone Daddy” and “Rug Doctor.”

We have caught them all: small, medium and large. In the gorgeous ultra marine blue seas of the Atlantic, to the gin-clear flats of Biscayne Bay, down to Key West, to the murky fish-rich waters of Chokoloskee, the Ten Thousand Islands area, and the gorgeous, uninhabited sanctuary of Flamingo.

Well, uninhabited except for the two drag shows nightly at Club Sabor.

All around the personal pursuit of my finny little friend, my life and my relationships have been greatly enriched via stretched monofilament and high-pitched Diawa drag screams.

Like I said. Anyway, Doug also thinks Obama is going to ban fishing by humans, and he has one word for you: Scream.

My advice to fishermen everywhere is to refuse to be silent and scream now via phone calls, emails and faxes to your reps as loud as your Penn reel would wail with a 50lb kingfish strippin’ off its line.

For more info on what BHO and his tree humping boys plan to do…

SOCIAL WORKER: One last piece of advice: when Pastor Giles has you out on his boat, far from shore, and he starts screaming about humping and stripping –

AT RISK TEEN: You know what? Actually…I’m cured! It’s a miracle! Thanks anyway. I, uh…I gotta go.

Happy Birthday Bill S!

Posted by scott on March 15th, 2010

Please join me in observing the natal anniversary of our good friend Bill S. (who must be referred to as Bill S! for the remainder of today, because it’s the law). Not only is Bill S! a valued commenter of long, long standing, he’s also a regular contributor to WO’C, celebrated for his snarky and perceptive posts on pop culture, and the wingnuts who fail to grasp it.

Besides Bill S!’s birth, lots of important stuff has happened on March 15th:

44 BC: Julius Caesar becomes first documented victim of a “wilding.”

1493: Christopher Columbus returns to Spain after his first trip to the Americas in order to repair his ships and replenish his supplies of small pox and syphilis.

1672: Charles II of England issues the Royal Decree of Indulgence, which declares that any chocolate you eat on your birthday has no calories.

1952: On the French island of Réunion, in the Indian Ocean, 73 inches of rain falls in one day, setting a new world record and proving that 4-year old Al Gore is a liar.

Also born this day:

Andrew Jackson: Seventh President of the United States. Known as “Old Hickory Farms,” for his invention of the Holiday Smoked Meat Gift Basket.

Jimmy Swaggart: American televangelist and a man so unclear on the concept of sex that he thought he had to pay a hooker so he could masturbate.

Dee Synder: America’s Most Unnecessary Transvestite™.

Renny Harlin: Finland’s Most Unnecessary Film Director.

Jimmy Baio: America’s Most Unnecessary Baio.

Sean Biggerstaff: Scottish actor and frequent subject of lawsuits for false advertising.

Died This Day:

1416 – John, Duke of Berry, son of Ken. Surgically mutilated and left for dead behind a tavern by the mysterious serial killer known as “Floyd the Medieval Barber.”

1670 – John Davenport, Connecticut pioneer. Killed by malfunctioning convertible sofa.

1937 – H. P. Lovecraft, American writer. Choked on calimari. According to contemporary news accounts, the calamari fled the scene, and later turned up in the city of R’lyeh, where it claimed diplomatic immunity.

1966 – Abe Saperstein, American basketball executive. Murdered by organized crime figures who had bet heavily on the Washington Generals. This sensational crime became known as “The Ides of March Massacre by Incredibly Stupid Mobsters,” although it never achieved the same prominence in the popular imagination as the “St. Valentine’s Day Massacre” because the name was too long to easily fit on a greeting card.

1998 – Benjamin Spock, American pediatrician and writer. Trampled to death by autograph-seekers during a tragic misunderstanding at Comic Con.

Your Horoscope:

The Sun conjuncts Uranus in your Solar Return chart.

Which is fun, but hard to do unless you warm up first with a bit of light stretching.

Mars sextiles Pluto, and you are more goal-oriented this year, as superficial goals no longer satisfy you.

You’ve become so jaded that even the prospect of Mars sextiling Pluto seems vanilla.

You are more friendly, optimistic, and big-hearted than usual.

This is known as “enlarged heart” or “Grinch cardiac syndrome.”

Venus sextile Jupiter in your Solar Return

Again, this sounds great, but limber up first or you’re going to be really sore in the morning.

Happy birthday, Bill. Here’s the traditional photo of Ann Coulter, who I think is looking much better now that she’s gone back to her natural hair color.


…and because of it, the greatest in the Universe.”

R.I.P. Peter Graves (née Aurness). March 18, 1926 – March 14, 2010.


“There is hope. But it has to come from inside. From Man himself.”

Star of the Mystery Science Theater 3000 episodes It Conquered the World and The Beginning of the End.

Update: Caitlin reminds us that Peter had a small part in the Sci Fi Channel episode Parts: The Clonus Horror. He was also in the KTMA episode SST: Death Flight, and was (according to various sources, including imdb.com) the Narrator of the USAF Briefing Film in the Comedy Central ep, Attack of The The Eye Creatures.