Cure for cancer discovered!
Atlantis found at last!
Unicorns are real!
Death and taxes no longer certain!
Cheney admits he was wrong!
SOMEone is getting an extended vacation at Guantanamo for that programming screwup this past weekend.
It's been fixed. Whew, that was a close one!
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Cure for cancer discovered!
I'm the Big Ticket
In Celtic green
The nastiest PF
You could ever meet
I'll stick dunks in your face
And tread on your feet
Boston now has, unquestionably, the top triumvirate in the East. On paper, no one can match Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce and Ray Allen. Given just how mediocre this conference is - hell, we won the damn thing last year, and we probably wouldn't have gotten past Houston if the late 70s alignment was still in play - the Celtics now join us, Detroit and Chicago as one of the favorites. However, they still have no proven point guard, despite Rajon Rondo showing flashes last season, and their bench of Tony Allen (coming off of knee surgery), Leon Powe, Brian Scalabrine (heh), and rookies Glen Davis, Gabe Pruitt and Brandon Wallace might scare a MAC team. Maybe.
For all of Boston's sound and fury this summer, the only thing signified is that when the sun sets on the 2007-08 season, the Western monarch has one more sacrificial lamb to choose from.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
The Bush Administration in a nutshell. Stalin would be so proud. Poor Nixon has to settle for mere jealousy.
This is a time when being an atheist is quite difficult, for I fervently wish there was a hell, because these fucks would have the most noxious and horrifying circle prepared specially for them.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
"No. I am."
I think the old man himself would've been impressed with this cat.
In the lighter side of the news, some obscure and unimportant Bush administration official lied under oath again, greedy Republicans support the troops in the only way they know how, and the self-loathing of that intractable colony of rats in the walls merely serves to highlight their foolishness in the eyes of others. Boy, The Maverick is looking haggard. Oscar, up for a visit?
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Oh, what can it mean.
Congress hard at work.
"House Democrats have drafted new Iraq legislation they hope will appeal to Republicans fed up with the war: start withdrawing troops in two months but leave it up to President Bush to decide when to complete the pullout."
"'Murtha said he has his sights set on September and thinks that by then Republicans and the White House will jump on board."
Rather have yays instead of hehs, so how about this. I can daydream, too.
Didn't you hear me? WE ARE GOING TO DIE!
"At least three of the four incidents involved U.S. citizens, the advisory says."
That's not surprising. First, the terrorists infiltrated our medical community. Now, they live next door and may have had the audacity to have become naturalized citizens. And some, deviously, are born here! What hubris! Others are *gasp* even children! I'm sure each and every one of these folks is nice and swarthy, so it's probably better to stay inside and not travel at all. And don't forget to go out and shop! Oh, these mexed missages! Wait. What's that you say?
"The bulletin also details a case from June in which a passenger in Milwaukee, Wisconsin had a carry-on bag with items resembling IED components, such as a wire coil wrapped around a possible initiator, an electrical switch, batteries, three tubes and two blocks of cheese."
Disgruntled Packer fans are the worst. Better close up that Radio Shack in Waukesha.
Friday, July 20, 2007
It's good to be king, if just for a while
To be there in velvet, yeah, to give 'em a smile
It's good to get high, and never come down
It's good to be king of your own little town.
Yeah, the world would swing if I were king
Can I help it if I still dream time to time
It's good to be king and have your own way
Get a feeling of peace at the end of the day
And when your bulldog barks and your canary sings
You're out there with winners, yeah, it's good to be king.
It's even better for this guy.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
"Who's playing that music?"
"And where's all that liquor coming from?"
"It's a party Marge. Doesn't have to make sense."
Senator Tubes agreed, screaming at the top of his lungs while pounding the podium before stomping off in a huff that "this is nonsense." Friend of the homosexual agenda, Tom Coburn, bragged that he "can stay up longer than they can." Then he put his fingers in his ears and stuck out his tongue. But he is correct. When the extent of your daily activities consists of doing crossword puzzles, you'd certainly have a lot of unused energy.
Unfortunately, the most comical moment associated with this has to be that of Senator Tom Harkin: "I hope that this one sleepless night in the U.S. Senate will awaken Republicans to the reality that their loyalty belongs not to the President, but to the American people."
Good luck with that.
At least Coburn's been awake the last six and a half years. Sure, it's been in the service of evil, but what's your excuse?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
Mike Bibby to the Cavs has been on and off for a bit, but I'm not sure that I like this potential incarnation of the deal. Beats the hell out of me why Sacramento doesn't like it: they're picking up a solid, if unspectacular 4 for about $15 million less in total salary over the next two years, and they'd get expiring contracts and a *ahem* shooter. Already have Kevin Martin and Francisco Garcia, but maybe they want a short towel-waver to complement the standard tall variety.
The problem is Bibby. Is he all that he's cracked up to be? An obvious improvement at the point for us, but he's a scoring point guard, and his FG% has gone down four straight years and his PER three. Plus, he'll turn 30 this upcoming season and Steve Nash becoming HOF-worthy after that line is an anomaly. Lastly, we'd be giving up our only proven big guy not from Lithuania. Sideshow Bob is great, but is he really ready to start? Glad Orlando fucked up and cut loose Darko, thereby making it easier for us to keep Varejao through at least this year, but a lineup of Z, Anderson, LeBron, Hughes and Bibby makes us even less likely to contend for a championship.
Young Andray Blatche is very intriguing, but the Wizards would be fools to let him go. Antawn Jamison can't play forever. So, if it happens, one question will become asked so often that it induces nausea:
Where's the beef?
Thursday, July 12, 2007
"The time has come," The Bard of the Brush said,
"To talk of many things:
Not of shoes and ships, nor of sealing wax,
Certainly not of cabbages and kings,
(maybe that last one is okay, heh heh)
But of a man in love with Freedom,
A man called The Libertine."
"Let's not wait a bit," The Bard cried,
"Before I have my say
Of a lonely, Christian man
Assaulted by Teh Gay.
With pistols of pink they did come,
And our holy soul lost his way."
"But one fateful morning, still wounded,
Our hero had an epiphany.
'O Lord, how you've blessed your servant!
For who loves Freedom more than me?'
(except the President, of course)
He looked upon Big Easy with joy;
Hookers as far as the eye could see!"
"He was a child in a dream,
Stuffed with the sweetest of sweet, sweet candy.
In time he met a dame, a lady fine
Who made him quite so randy.
Wendy, just like his ball-and-chain;
He was now her Diaper Dandy."
"Rumor quickly spread
Like a raging fire in the loins.
Another was soon jealous like the thief
Of one with too many coins.
'The wind isn't the only thing that blows,' he said,
Your money I must purloin!'"
"'I, too, can play this game,'
The soldier of Freedom did quip.
But another hated America
(probably a member of the Democrat party)
So he never got to the tip.
Now, a fallen warrior
To the Clenis' brinkmanship."
"Oh, 'Murkans," said the cut-and-running Bard,
"We can't ever cut-and-run!
They want to kill your children,
Leaving nothing but none.
They hate us for our Freedoms,
But - shhhh - it's okay to forget about this one.
(and that other one - and Rudy - and Newt - and Rush, heh, heh.")
*with apologies to Lewis Carroll.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
British astronomers have found evidence of water on a hotter-than-Muspelheim gas giant 64 light years away from our neck of the woods. One of the scientists said that "this planet is too hot to have our kind of life on it."
Oh, I don't know. A picture of home for Cheney, don't you think?
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Despite the comical coincidence of 100° by these guys starting the very second I stepped onto the city's only unairconditioned bus, it seems bad form to complain about the heat when this could've happened, too.
Between that base attack (nyuk nyuk) and last week's murderin' spree, Cleveland is turning into quite the sordid little burg.
The reaction of certain goopers up for reelection and Very Serious foreign policy types to this piece of black comedy:
"You are not going to expect all the benchmarks to be met at the beginning of something," Snow said. "I'm not sure everyone's going to get an 'A' on their first report."
I'm not sure professors give a steady stream of six-month extensions, either. And you didn't even turn in your outline yet! At least we've gotten the bibliography, but two references aren't enough, Tony. I need more than 'Keystone Cops' and 'Vietnam.'
But you get partial credit for the quote. Pure gold.
Monday, July 9, 2007
It's good to see the goopers finally join the rest of America, the Iraqis, the world.
We can only hope they'll be able to put this unhealthy dalliance behind them. And I'm sure the press will lovingly oblige. It never helps to dwell on the past.
Gerald Rudolph and George Herbert Walker taught us that.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
"We haven't done enough."
I cringe - well, no, I throw things at the monitor and swear a lot - when I read garbage like "this is a complex situation that we've got in Iraq right now, and I think most of the people understand that we're going to do the best we can do with what we have to work with." Actually, Senator Tester, it's pretty simple. There's a big neocon-fueled clusterfuck exploding every day and you fucks are pissing your pants because you remain spineless in the face of some boogeyman: Bush, Cheney, the fetid stench from the summer heat, internet mouthbreathers, something.
And, of course, there's always some wanker ready to help our esteemed representatives pass the buck. "Senator Reid was not able to get it done, but ultimately it is the Republicans who are obstructing passage," said some mouthpiece of some antiwar group. Yes, everyone knows we - those that are still fans of sanity - don't have the votes. Boo hoo, those mean ole people on the other side of the aisle just won't play nice. Waaaaa. Here's an idea. Yell with a little more volume. Become shrill.
This is America. We love loudmouths.
"May the 37 percent [that support Bush] see the pain and suffering I have seen at Walter Reed."
They won't, Senator Reid. The media doesn't give a fuck. And since the bloodthirsty Republicans don't give a fuck, no matter which ones jump ship (until it's time to vote), you better. Our current modus operandi obviously isn't working because dozens of Americans and hundreds of Iraqis are still getting chewed up in the wingnut fantasy meatgrinder every few days. This is only a start. Stop being afraid of the evil monkey - pun originally not intended, but on second glance, entirely intended - in your fucking closet, realize that you have the facts and change tactics. Power of the purse, man. Who cares what the title of the NY Times article says. Press harder. Otherwise we'll be charting FU's on our side.
Maybe it's the lack of sleep, only one pot of coffee before 9h30 am or what, but I can't help shake the nagging feeling that this guy bears a striking resemblance to that lovable little scamp, Scooter Libby. In any case, the movie's premise (adapted from Steve Niles' graphic novel) of vampires razing an Alaskan town during thirty days without sun, if executed properly, could certainly end up having a good Assault on Precinct 13 flavor. Here's hoping.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Since we've already learned that national health care increases the patient's chances of being blown up by an IED or something or other, it came as quite a shock that the UK bunglers had inquired about employment in the United States, of all places. According to NRO nut Jerry Bowyer, commie pinko state-run entities like "the National Health Service [of Britain are] more like the post office, you know there's a lot of anonymity, it's easy to hide in the bureaucracy."
Good thing corporate America doesn't have any of these problems, being the sleek, well-oiled, laissez-faire machine that it is. Let's apply this iron-clad logic to a positive portrayal of the culture. The documentary Office Space, for example. It's not about a post office, and it's not really a documentary, but the word "office" is shared, which is close enough, given how low the intellectual bar has been set.
Wait. Tom was paid a full salary essentially for what his secretary did. Eight carbon copy bosses droned on about TPS reports. Peter would sneak in the side door to hide from Lumbergh. And to top it all off, one of Peter's friends was a Muslim! Bowyer is right! Bureaucracy only creates a breeding ground for terrorists!
Let's all quit our jobs. It's the patriotic thing to do.
Absolutely increased profit margins!
$72 billion per FU, up from just over $52 billion. Sure, there's a chance we'll start leaving before January 2009. In other news, I'm real close to discovering the philsopher's stone, unicorns frolic in my backyard, and a family values Republican - the Redundancy Department of Redundancy, I know - presidential candidate turns a blind eye to the loot raked in by porn.
Oh. That last one is actually true. Sorry.
Looks like he isn't going anywhere. I'd like to have him back, but the fact that this might end up being the highlight of our offseason is nonetheless depressing. Unless Mr. Ten Year Guaranteed Contract can do something like stealing the rights to Juan Carlos Navarro from the Wizards - oh, if only His Sweatshopness was still running that team - the best chance we have to win a championship is to keep proven role players like Varejao and hope that if we're lucky enough to make another Finals appearance, the divine intervention of the Flying Spaghetti Monster afflicts our opponent with a swarm of debilitating injuries. But unless another GM miraculously has a brain cramp and decides to take one or more of the bloated contracts off our roster, we're stuck in that best-case scenario. Then LeBron will be a free agent, say fuck it, and leave yet another Cleveland sports franchise to wallow in misery and heartbreak. One gets used to it after time. Just like how one gets used to the Dems haplessly flailing away in their eternal struggle for a spine.
Oh man, how could I have forgotten about this? Nothing throws terror into the heart of darkness like the equivalent of a wagging finger. I apologize for my erroneous worldview.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
I don't know what Kentuckian* is for rimjobbing sycophant, but this is a gigantic case of it.
*I'm well aware that Mr. Snow was raised in my home state.
You don't think I feel that shame every time I see his mug on the tube?
The Christofascists have been right all along! The European Union IS the precursor to the Antichrist's One World Government! Just look at this! Roving gangs of lesbians are surely next - wait, they're already here? Oh, horror of horrors, I feel weak.
Well, at least a Masculine American Capitalist Enterprise would never sink so low as to end up in the filthy, satanic gutter like foppish, effeminate, atheistic Old Europe.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Nice house. If only my wallet wasn't so empty.
Reading this got me to thinking. Who's given the best portrayal of the count on screen? Fictional, of course, so Robert Novak isn't eligible. At the end of the day, the order doesn't matter and I'm sure that I'm missing one or two, but these are the ones I keep going back to. There's a reason for that.
1. Horror of Dracula, 1958. Christopher Lee brought something fresh to the greatest of all vampires: a raw, terrifying physicality. Gone was the strict cosmopolitan airs of the Universal immortal. Add to the mix another legend of the genre, Peter Cushing, and exceptional character actors like Michael Gough and you have a classic. Hammer wasn't only about the hint of spattered blood and heaving bosoms. Though, yeah, those are in here, too.
2. Bram Stoker's Dracula, 1992. This film strangely seems to have its share of critics, from those who vehemently dislike Keanu Reeves, those upset with Anthony Hopkins' too eccentric Van Helsing or those who feel everything that Coppola has done outside of the mob or 'Nam pales in comparison. But the visuals are absolutely stunning, the soundtrack is gorgeous, Reeves leaves the 'whoas' behind, Hopkins is excellent, Tom Waits is quite memorable as a demented Renfield and Gary Oldman gives a tour-de-force performance as a tortured, romantic gentleman. Max Schrek he is not. Speaking of the German....
3. Nosferatu, 1922. The hideous Count Orlock (yeah, it's Dracula - crazy lawsuits) can still jar the visual senses. There's nothing of star-crossed love here, just a monster on the prowl in the earliest surviving adaptation of Bram Stoker's novel. A filthy, grotesque air fills the screen; its grim mood may not affect postmodern sensibilities, but it can certainly be appreciated.
4. Dracula: Pages from a Virgin's Diary, 2002. Guy Maddin's black-and-white screen version of the Royal Winnipeg Ballet's production is brilliantly presented as a silent film. With music by the maestro Gustav Mahler, this very erotic, expressionist work is certainly enduring. The Victorian lust threatens to burst out in each scene.
5. Dracula, 1931. Quite possibly the most immortal - ha! - portrayal of them all, the great Hungarian fills the movie with iconic image after legendary line. This is the template for the Dracula most familiar to us and it's still an excellent film.
6. Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht, 1979. Loyal to the text as its spiritual predecessor, Klaus Kinski is superior in Werner Herzog's atmospheric, claustrophobic movie. Romance isn't all-but-pushed to the background as in Murnau's flick - how could it be with Isabelle Adjani - but has been supplanted by a gloomy, languorous death. Bleak and wonderful.
The first half of 2007 is well past nigh, which means, among other things, one is now permitted to order office supplies again. But what to make of this newfound fuzzy feeling of wonderment towards those who live outside Big Swampy? That many wingnuts? Wait. What's that? Bigwig Dems issued various writs of righteous indignation but have no discernable plans to say what actually transpired? Whew! And let's not even mention the I-word. Shhh! Virgin ears, and all that. So the song does always remain the same?
Since we're on the subject, one more thing that always keeps its air of permanence is that greatest of art forms, music. Sounds fade into silence once the power is turned off or the instrument is put down, but the feeling and memory associated with that series of notes and chords just heard continues to resonate. For this guy, the unquestioned album of the month for June was The Language of Love by Duo Trobairitz. On this, their debut, Faye Newton and Hazel Brooks skillfully bring 12th and 13th century France to life. Brooks' sweet, yet sinewy vielle highlights and strengthens Newton's soprano in tales of courtly and pastoral love. Her voice soars, yet never overwhelms; it's strikingly reminiscent of Vivien Ellis' work with Sinfonye and the Dufay Collective. There's nary a moment that drags throughout its hour-plus playing time. The anonymous Bele Doette, for example, pushing a prog-like nine minutes, flies by effortlessly. Though spiced with the occasional moment of medieval humor, the songs beautifully presented on this disc are of an idealized world of rarely fulfilled, often heartbreaking stories of that most treasured, alluring and frustrating of human emotions. And, unlike the fucking wankers who are running this country into the ground with impunity, they don't make me want to punch holes in the wall .