Cthulhu Bless America

Since we, the luckiest one percent of the one percent of all humans that have existed since The Lord God Smiter Of Heathen Nations first created Adam and his BBQ rib six millennia ago, are blessed to inhabit the Greatest Nation That Has Ever And Will Ever Exist And If You Disagree Unka Dick Will Come Out Of The REAL Undisclosed Location And Shoot You In The Face And Then Eat The Face Including The Buckshot Think Of It As Roughage Even Satan's Toady Wants To Be Regular, I felt it would behoove me to gallop through a celebratory list spurring on a frank and bean discussion of American Greatness and you can take that straight from the horse's mouth.

"What's with the cowboy theme? What happened to cosmic tentacles?"


















You got a problem with that, pilgrim pinko?



















1. Before I get started, I'd like to voice a mild public transportationista complaint. Years ago, when a driver employed by the Greater Cleveland RTA didn't show up for work for whatever reason -- sickness, oversleeping, broken alarm clock, hangover, post-freebase crash -- he or she was replaced for the day and ridership remained in sweet harmonic convergence with the road. Nowadays, that bus simply disappears off the map and you must wait for the next one. And to add insult to wounding, the fare is going up in the fall. Again.

"I hate to tell you, but it doesn't get much more American than that."

Increasingly crappy service with price hikes for the customer in this secular sleight-of-hand that will never get an influx of taxpayer cash because, well, duh, and therefore, Goldman Sachs, in its righteous indignation, would then unleash its extra-secret time machine in order to go back and purchase all of the stock actually worth anything these days before installing Barack Hussein Obama X, Thirteenth Baron of Kenya, as their Puppet King of this island earth and forcing us to round up the elderly for 1)utilizing their bodily fluids in a miracle program of unwashed mass mind control which could only lead to 2)post-haste soylent green production to fill warehouses with MREs ready to supply the soldiers of the as-yet-unannounced next war against tyrannical Tyrannosaurus tyranny?

"You bet."

USA! USA! USA!

2. Go fuck yourself, candy ass Norwegians. You think you've got the market cornered on fuzzy little bunny-destroying black metal? When's the last time you raped and pillaged and plundered, 1066?

Walk the talk. 2003, motherfuckers.



Frosty, rapid fire riffs, hammered downshift bludgeoning, brillo pad vocals.
'Tis a beautiful thing, sniff. Let's go kill something!

"You know no one will listen to that racket."

Are you now or have you ever been a discothequer?

USA! USA! USA!













3. Speaking of killing something, I will grudgingly admit to some disappointment in my fellow Real Americans®. Concerning all these health care town halls, pointing and shouting and heckling and moranizing as if you were in the front row at a Larry the Cable Guy show is fine and jim dandy, but if you truly want to get your point across,















make it hollow. Don't be like those Norwegians, and remember, guns don't kill people, health care kills people.

Except my Medicare!

That's right, gramps!

USA! USA! USA!











4. No, don't let me interrupt your flopping.

"But you like soccer."

Excusez-moi, effete Old European? I'll go through you like I go through goddamn coworkers.



Now that's a Man's sport, steroid flex, bulging head, myriad heath problems, disfigured flesh, death. Speaking of manly men of manliness (except for the Detroit Lions and Cleveland Browns), it's fantasy football time, you betcha. Send me an email and in return you receive the league ID and password, the key to future gridiron glory. The cheesehead must be dethroned!

Oh, go us and such.

Title of post

1) Eye-catching introductory paragraph so overflowing with witticisms that it'll feel like someone took a wizz on your Hush Puppies.

2) Series of tangentially related anecdotes that may or may not include Tales From The Wheelie Bus.


















3) Sublimely crafted conclusion that determines the current tide of insanity engulfing both here and abroad can only mean one thing: that our miserable species has been stricken with the triumphant mark of Satan! Woe is us and such.


















I eat imaginary entities for breakfast! And also eggs!

"I didn't know Cthulhu had vocal cords."

Oh sure, but he's a quiet kind of slime. Generally keeps to himself when not devouring civilizations.

"That's nice, but one of your posts just isn't complete without you know what."

A death metal YouTube?

"No, dumbass."












Ha ha, fooled you. Did we start bombing Iran yet? Like anyone gives a rat's ass about Afghanistan. We gotta bomb someone worthy of scorn. Revolutionizing is for Real Patriots, you effete Orientals. Speaking of Real Patriots --


















"Grrr. Brilliant idea. Why I not think that? Grrr. Three grand buy lunch of third world children. Grrr."

Great. Cheney's been reactivated. There goes my plans to hike the Appalachian trail without fear of buckshot.













"Go on and hike, filthy hippie, I'll be safe behind my hi-tech shield!"

I know that if I were truly serious about security, I'd see about attaching a rider to the next bill outfitting members of Congress with their own, personalized Popemobile. And when they're on the floor ranting and/or raving, or crying if they're John Boehner, they should have to don a suit of armor. Never know when some bomb-thrower will be in the stands.














Don't forget to take into account wind resistance and gravity, otherwise all you'll do is nuke the poor clerk.

Lost In Translation

Pestilence. War. Famine. Death.

These ancient horrors pale before --


















Foreign language citations either in-text or in end-/footnotes that are left untranslated for us mono-and-a-half linguists!

The other day, Sherry whipped up a post reviewing the new book by noted Biblical scholar and sometime teevee talking head Bart Ehrman, and this got me thinking of stuff that I enjoy reading, which is, like the Prankster's Bible itself and the characters within -- and some are quite the character. Oh, Yahweh, you little narcissist scamp with all your incessant smiting -- generally old.


















Sniff.

Oh no, not you, big cheesy. Did I say Yahweh? I meant Methuselah.

I destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah so long ago.

No, don't be silly! You're quite the spry deity. In fact, you're a spring chicken.

That's just what every imaginary sky fairy longs to hear.

Relax. I know what the problem is. Gents?



Betcha feel better now, huh.















See, big guy, it'll be alright. Look at that youthful mane. You'll be chatting up the cheerleaders in no time. No last temptation for you, wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

Now that I've dazzled you with purty pictures, here's a bunch of whiny, boring words giving you the chance to escape to sexier pastures. And you people think I'm as cold and heartless as Yahweh.

Specialist texts are the worst for obvious and completely expected reasons, but there are a few kind souls (thank you, Ashgate) that usually translate or at least summarize these bits and pieces. French I can manage, as long as I have mon dictionnaire that's wearing its taped-up-Rocky treatment surprisingly well after years of abuse. It's a miracle!

Latin? The faintest whiff of eons-ago semesters, the Wheelock and dictionary on the shelf, and my increasingly ineffectual noodle make a four-course meal low in sodium and high on migraines. Lucky for me that the English language is one of the world's most accomplished kleptomaniacs, rivaling Bonnie and Clyde, John Dillinger and Dick Cheney.

The only German I know outside of 101 phrases (guten tag, danke, auf wiedersehen, achtung, schnell, Heil Hitler) is this list of likely incorrect sentences leftover from high school: Wo ist meine brieftasche? Ingo ist mein Freund. Ich gehe in die Stadt. Good times watching those theoretically educational 1960s black and white shorts. The first of the three was uttered by a penguin in the lobby of a sparse, noirish hotel towards a quite dapper clerk played by an actor who was obviously high or rivalled Sean Penn's masterful take on Jeff Spicoli. And you thought Deutschland lost its sense of humor while rebelling against The Man with that whole awkward Nazi phase.

Don't even get me started on fucking Arabic. Since Hussein X, Stringy Puppet of the impending Caliphate, is a fluent speaker, I'd give him a call, but he's real busy doing exactly what an American Pretzeldent, regardless of party, is supposed to do. You know, racking up our deepest regrets during The Global War on the Communist Islamic Threat of the Month and sticking it to everyone not currently running a bank or strapping electrodes to a prisoner's nutsack for the fun of just following imperial orders, all while filling the airwaves with nougat goodness.

Let's compare past candy bars, shall we?

Reagan's chewy center: Latin American death squads, Brylcreem and what's a treason?
Bush the Smarter's whipped goo: vomit, video wargaming and Uncle Clarence.
Bubba's caramel goodness: pasty sexcapades, let's let Rupert own everything and gays? ewww!
Chimpy's peanuts: bathtub social engineering, fields of corpses decomposing in the sun and oops! I lost all the money!

At least those jokers made up for such unhealthy ingredients by being near inexhaustible reservoirs of comedy. I can't say the same for our current overlord and, frankly, that's what really galls my bladder.

Stupid Pretzeldent. Be more funny!

Oh, what the hell. Here's a pic of Scarlett Johansson from that flick. No, not the German one. I don't want to be accused of false advertising.



















Almost makes me wanna take up smoking.

Anger management

I see that the Lord of All Fevers and Plagues took time out of gnawing on the disinterred bones of Nixon to wax poetic on modern American political theory:

SCHIEFFER: But nobody thinks that was legal.

CHENEY: Well, no. It certainly was in the sense he wasn't impeached. And it was a wartime measure that he took that I think history says today, yeah, that was probably a good thing to do.

Believe me, I'm well aware that any sense of justice has been off the table in our empire for a long time. We're no different from world powers of the past. At this point, I'd settle for a serious shoe-tossing at Unka Dick.

Thankfully, during preparation for finding further ways to increase the blood pressure, bring on a series of ulcers and imagine the infliction of deep psychological pain on these thugs and their spineless enablers -- see, even us non-fascists have naughty thoughts now and then, don't let anyone tell you otherwise -- I discovered something that demanded I cast aside my bloodlust and instead embrace joyous laughter:

"I've survived interviews with Keith Olbermann, testified before Congress, prevented voter fraud from overturning the results of a U.S. presidential election and fought the left in federal court more times than you can imagine," Blackwell said last month as he announced his candidacy. "I have been tried and tested, though I'll admit that I've never been called 'mavericky' by Tina Fey."

I'm sure you've been called an asshole, a wingnut, an Uncle Tom, a criminal, a puppet, a --

"Shhh! You want to deal with his Schutzstaffel?"





















Go, Ken Doll, go.

This, that and the other thing MMVIII

Post about the Browns? And soul-destroying stat lines like --


















-- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I'd prefer sticking to more lighthearted fare, if you don't mind.


















It's always nice to disconnect for a weekend knowing that when you do climb back in the tubes, you'll return to riotous humor:

As the clock winds down on the Bush administration, historians and critics are coming to grips with how little they know about some of the scandals which helped make the president one of the least popular leaders in modern U.S. history.

Imagine how hilariously heart stopping it'll be when they find out just how deep such blasphemy goes and, for the 974,335,418th time, the filthy commie hippies will have been proven right and for the 974,335,418th time, the filthy commie hippies will subsequently be ignored and then the military/industrial/entertainment/pragmatist complex's favorite game will repeat for the 974,335,419th time. I just hope the teevee robots have hair as cool as Rod the Helmet.
















Speaking of hilarity, how 'bout those little scamps over in the Middle East?

Israel continued pounding targets in the Gaza Strip with airstrikes on Monday and Hamas-backed militants fired a new volley of rockets at the Israeli towns of Ashkelon and Sderot as the current round of hostilities entered a third day.

Israel and Hamas, I'm impressed. No, seriously. All we did was clumsily invade a nation -- granted, in order for our best and brightest to make off with gobs of loot, thereby, along with other unregulated shenanigans, sending the economy into a delicious spiral so the best and brightest can make off with even more gobs of loot, so give us some credit -- whereas you two keep the visceral horror going every second of every day of every year because who knows what real or imagined slight, which can descend from above or manifest in front of you at any time, will send limbs 'a flyin' and blood 'a spatterin'. Kudos.

So, in the spirit of the holidays where all of creation is bound together in some clichéd crap, here's my message to you, brothers, sisters, amoebas:



Oh, and Philly? Thanks.

A Conspiracy

I could use a good conspiracy as I've got zip.

"Still?"

You guys want to band together and take down The Man?

"It will ultimately depend on citizens, and whether they will remain silent in the face of a crime that's been committed in plain view," Turley concluded. "It is equally immoral to stand silent in the face of a war crime and do nothing, and that is what the citizens are doing. There's this gigantic yawn."

Out of sight for us, out of mind for suits. Pant or double-breasted.

AAARRRGGGHHH, etc.

Spend all your time alternating between watching the good local sports team get infected with the stupid virus of the bad local sports team, reading and domestic bliss --













"My friends, I know all about 'domestic bliss.'"

--and you miss the vital news of the day:














"Al-Qaeda tasty! Grrr!"













"It's not like crimes were committed, heh heh."

And most importantly, this:














I've got nothing to add to this historical piece of comedy, so I'll just echo what Frederick said. In the midst of sharpening the angry a bit further, I realized it's the birthday of The Man --



--and then I felt a little bit better because I finally had something worthwhile to post about.

What a delicious wrap, but with sports instead of chicken or hummus

Frankie may have gone to Noo Yawk, and the Metropolitans may have landed themselves a Putz -- imagine how annoying it must have been growing up with that as your name -- but we got Joe the Everyman!

"Smith."

Same thing.

"And he throws side-arm, no doubt reminding you of Bernie Kosar, the quarterback the last time the Browns didn't suck acres of smelly ass, which will certainly help be the salve to the painfully venomous sting of the inevitability of The Fucking Yankees signing A.J. Burnett."

I hate you. Now, onto to the best part of the wrap. Yum!











This is what I see on my teevee.












This is what the other 29 teams see.

Speaking of things that look like death, can you believe what's happening to Skeletor, a man who has single-handedly protected our borders from hordes of Mexcans, flocks of Canucks, gaggles of geese, Osama bin Laden, Osama bin Laden's driver, Osama bin Laden's tailor, Ayatollah Khomeini, Dr. Doom, Hitler's brain in a jar, those aliens from Independence Day and Roland Emmerich? I know what my gut says, but let's ask a real gut for its opinion:
















"I think somebody spit in this."

Meaningful meaninglessness

"Keep those mutants memes coming!"

Ask, and ye shall receive. Amen. (I've got zip.)

"Really? Nothing to say about this?"

Should I be surprised? Another self-loathing, diaper-wearing, wide-stancing, pasty-faced, hypocrite goober gooper.
















I'm too sexy for the FCC!

"You've got the wrong cracker politician."

Bah. They all look the same to me.

1. Five names you go by: Randal, RG, real life #1, real life #2, real life #3.

2. Three things you are wearing right now: who says I'm wearing anything? Wink, nudge. Sorry, didn't mean to make you throw up. Jeans, sneakers and a black shirt.

3. Two things you want very badly at the moment: you honestly think I'm going to answer this question honestly? Be honest with yourself. Okay, here are a couple of nondescript yet perfectly plausible desires: a Browns victory in the Subpar Bowl and a Cavs victory in the NBA Finals. Those would be quite groovy. Honestly.

4. Three people who will probably fill this out: you, you and you.

5. Two things you did last night: watched the Texans/Jag-wires game and work on my increasingly unwieldy final paper for class.

6. Two things you ate today: ham and eggs.

7. Two people you last talked to on the phone: two unknown jokers Saturday when I was last at work. Je déteste le téléphone !

8. Two things you are going to do tomorrow: go to class and work on my increasingly unwieldy final paper for said class.

9. Two longest car rides: Cleveland to DC in 1984 which didn't seem as long as it would seem now because I was a kid and therefore either busy doing kid-related activities (drawing, playing these cool fold-up magnetic travel games which they don't make anymore, mooning passers-by) and asking "are we there yet" an infinite number of times; and Cleveland to Elimira, NY in 2001 for my sister's college graduation which, though only about five hours, was sooooooooo blooooooooody loooooooooong. See the boring shit I do for wingnut kin? Where's my fucking Presidential Medal of Freedom?

10. Two of your favorite beverages: wine and coffee. Though I probably drink water the most. Now, if I could only manage to eat healthier, exercise and become adept at magic, I'd be the BMOC.

Randal in the flesh! (and other assorted miscellany)

I wasn't called Sexy Randal the Pharaoh Wizard for nothin'.


















This is the reason that my inbox is always full of Christian dating spam. But how come there's never any Satanist dating spam? Minions of Mephistopheles need love, too.












Glad to see Ron Glass will be keeping busy. Now if we can only find posts for Max Gail and Steve Landesberg.

Why do I get the feeling that the wingnuts will have a lot to say on Mark Rich, Eater of Babies and less than a peep on the impeding tidal wave of Pardons By Chimpy? I wonder what the corporate logo for that would look like.

Oh well, guess we'll never know.

Hey Ted, my day, obviously, was great! How was yours?

Ye Olde Basketballe Preevywe

"Verily, who shalt be this Kobe?"

Exactly. He finally gets a team around him post-Shaq, then he's the MVP? You see who the dude above had to ball with? Fucking hell, man. No one loves playing with 20/20 hindsight more than sports fans -- I guess 30, 7 and 7 doesn't go as far as it used to. Okay, maybe Republicans if the Democratic clowns do indeed take the White House and veto-proof majorities in both chambers. Slash the military budget! Universal health care! No more police state! We've got a spine! Sorry, daydreaming again. But about politics? Come back naked ladies, come back!

And before anyone asks, no, I don't give a fuck that Ted Stevens got convicted. Let me know if Alaska reelects a felon. That would be comical. And about those would-be cracker assassins, I see a song in the future.

Everyone considered him the Cowart of the county.
He'd never stood one single time to prove the skinheads wrong.
His mama named him Danny, the folks just called him Nazi,
But something always told me crackers were reading Danny wrong.

Laugh, damn you, laugh.

Atlantic: The question for Boston is, can the defending champs match last year's intensity? Pay no attention to the loss of James Posey, they'll manage that just fine, but 66-16 won't happen again. The question for Toronto is can Jermaine O'Neal play enough meaningful minutes or is he destined to be a walking injury forevermore? If it's the former, they'll push the Celtics. The question for Philadelphia picked up this year's version of Carlos Boozer and that'll have them fighting for a top-four seed. The Knicks finally did something right. I know that former superstars don't always make the best coaches or front office guys, but Isaiah Thomas was in a vomit-inducing class all his own. You do realize they're still paying Jerome James, right? Don't expect more than 30 wins this season, but at least they won't be a complete laughingstock. The Nets cleared a shitload of cap room to make a run at the monstrous 2010 free agent class. Good luck!

Central: Detroit has the most depth in the division and arguably in the league and will therefore finish on top again. Big fucking deal, you can keep your regular season titles. We've got the best player on planet earth and finally -- finally! -- someone other than LeBron or Z that can score. Praise be unto thee Mo Williams, for thy shalt score many balles in thy basket, ah-men. Boy, the Bulls sure did underachieve a wee bit, huh. The various laws of averages and affiliated corollaries indicate that they likely won't suck as much ass this time around; too much talent. Speaking of talent, the Pacers might have more than you think. If there's a sleeper playoff team in the east, it's these dudes. What about the Bucks? Between Michael Redd and Richard Jefferson and if the rest buy into Scott Skiles' defense first, second and third mentality, perhaps these guys are the sleeper playoff team.

Southeast: Dwight Howard is ridiculous, though I'd still love to see him snag an Olajuwon-esque assassin mentality. Remember when Hakeem destroyed MVP David Robinson in the Western finals? Hedo Turkoglu (can he duplicate last season?) and Rashard Lewis are definitely above average, but this is a one-and-done playoff team. Did the Heat really win the title only a couple of seasons ago? A healthy Dwayne Wade and Shawn Marion, despite having zero on the bench, should be enough to sneak into the playoffs, maybe -- assuming Wade doesn't get hurt and they're out of it so early they trade Shawn to the Lakers for a six-pack, a sandwich and a second round pick in 2012 -- even if Michael Beasley is indeed turning out to be a head case. Sorry Agent Zero, no chance to beat the Cavs yet again, but at least you'll have more time for your blog! Oh, D.J. Augustin, I feel bad for you. Hopefully for your sake, poor Raymond Felton will take all the Larry Brown brunt. Hope you enjoyed that little taste of the postseason, Atlanta. You'll miss Grecian Formula more than you think.

Southwest: Following in the footsteps of the 2006 Saints, the Hornets became America's team, and America found out that these guys are pretty good and that Chris Paul is fucking brilliant. Frontcourt depth is still thin, but they've got enough to hold off poor Houston, forever doomed to succumb to injury despite talent and guts all over the roster. Good luck with Artest, though. Oh, the Spurs, age is cruel, unavoidable. I still maintain that with a healthy Manu, they would have knocked off the Lakers, but not having done much to add depth, the title days may be done, although would it really surprise anyone that with a healthy Ginobili in May and June, they win the whole thing without having home court even once? Can't be done? Right. Speaking of done, the Mavericks window certainly is, but they'll be springtime fodder for someone. Young Memphis will have a horrid record, but O.J. Mayo, Mike Conley, Marc Gasol and Rudy Gay sure will be fun to watch.

Northwest: Hey Jazz, I think Kobe just made another free throw. Outside of Houston, the toughest team in the league, but I wonder if they're as tough in the noggin to get past the hype machine surrounding that team from Southern California. Yes, Oregon, your long Jail Blazer nightmare is over. 75-year old Greg Oden appears healthy, there's Roy and Aldridge and Outlaw and Fernandez. Good times. Not good times in Mile High. Now that Camby is gone, I'm hoping for a return to old school Nuggets ball, lots of 145-138 losses. Can Iverson chuck it up 2000 times? Minnesota won't be very good, but they're doing a decent job -- shocking, I know -- of rebuilding with Al Jefferson, Mike Miller and Kevin Love. It'd be nice if Randy Foye could remain healthy. Oklahoma City, take solace in the fact that you have a team, because it's going to be bad.

Pacific: Yes, with a healthy Bynum, the Lakers are going to go 73-9, yadda yadda yadda. I heard this shit in 2003-04 when Malone and Payton joined Shaq and Kobe. How did that turn out? Still, they'll be very good. I miss the Suns. The real ones, the NBA version of Air Coryell or those Warren Moon Oiler teams. Enough talent remains to steal a playoff series, but that's all. The Warriors? From, statistically, the greatest upset in NBA history to, within two short years, losing Baron and getting hit by the stupidity of last year's best player and probably missing the playoffs. How 'bout them Raiders? Baron Davis and Marcus Camby won't stay healthy, so the Clippers join Golden State on the golf course. Sacramento has Kevin Martin.

Eastern playoff teams: Boston, Detroit, Cleveland, Orlando, Philadelphia, Toronto, Miami, Washington.

Western playoff teams: L.A. Lakers, Utah, New Orleans, Houston, San Antonio, Portland, Phoenix, Dallas.

NBA Finals: LeBron is on a mission. [insert sports cliché of your choice] With another scoring option at his disposal, The King overcomes a mediocre-at-best bench to lose in the Finals to -- barf -- the Lakers, whereby 87 quadrillion talking hairpieces proclaim the greatness of Kobe -- is he best ever? -- while conveniently ignoring his superior supporting cast and the near triple-double LeBron lays on his punk ass night after night.

Wherein I throw a bunch of crap against the wall and hope some of it sticks

I thought about waxing poetic -- hey, it's Samuel Taylor Coleridge's birthday! Hell with my substandard tripe, go read the works of a true master -- on this story about dinosaur tracks, but I soon realized that instead of calling down the murderous wrath of the assassin who singlehandedly eliminated such a dominant superorder upon revelation of said nefarious deed, I figured I'd shut the hell up instead.

















"Idea good. Grrr. Poems gay. Grrr."









"I can't believe you killed all the dinosauruses! Now how will our caveman ancestors get around?"

Not on the hardworking backs of Joe the Plumber -- MRMacrum, told you I'd rectify my thoughtless offense; see below! -- since we'll all be dead, I can tell you that! First Saddam hits us on 9/11, then his arch-ally, the Invisible Caliphate of Osama, gives us the Manchurian Messiah to tear us apart from within, and now they want to take our video games away!

Good job with the free pub, Sony. And if anyone was/is/would be offended, go jump -- and I think I'm turning into Pat Buchanan as I type this -- in a lake and swim over to Bill Donohue's house. Religions that share manufactured rage together stay together. Except when they're killing each other with suicide bombers and illegal invasions and occupations, but why be nitpicky.

Hold on to your panties, ladies and gents, it's The Official World Series Prediction® of this blog!

Tampa Bay vs. Philadelphia: fuck if I know. The Rays have a deeper starting rotation, Hamels is the best of either staff, both squads have solid bullpens, intangible A, intangible 32, vitamin B12. I'm banking on Ryan Howard not sucking vast amounts of posterior for a third consecutive series. Plus there's that whole 'I personally know a Phillies Phanatic and I fear for my ears' thing. Phillies in 7.

Now stimulate me, baby!


















Um, no, not you, Ben. Her.


















"Oh, sweetest Randal, it's so cold and overcast outside. Let's stay in where it's warm and cozy. You can read me poetry and then we'll make it hot like an overheating computer processing too many requests in between lazy complainers bitching --"

Sometimes I hate being at work.

Palestinalied

Today's plate is already full with dismissing my political enemies and cavorting with terrorists, so enjoy the pretty song written by this dude and performed by these folks.

This? A mere trifle. Oh shit, I'm part of a Muslim sleeper cell, ain't I.

Fear is the mindkiller

Oh, shit. Now that the unwashed masses have sort of gurgled their possible displeasure with the bailout bill, enough Congressfuckers voted against the thing to send it down in flames, crashing on the White House lawn.













"Heh, heh, look Unka Dick, fire, fire!"

I fear that if the Murkan people enjoy this feeling, what will become of our precious military/industrial/entertainment complex?











Oh, shit. Now that the White Sux have knocked off the woefully underachieving Tigers, they might make the playoffs after this evening's game against the Twins, thereby making certain people extra happy. Add in the fact that the boss is already happy, and I fear a World Series starring both squads, and that's way too much happy for me to take.













Oh, shit. My state is even dumber than I had previously thought. Yes, even I, disciple of lefty slackerdom, received one of those wingnut propaganda DVDs in the mail. It was fun to hammer it into tiny little pieces.


















Cool crack effects, no? Take that, photoshoppers!

What isn't fun is the fear that even more Ohioans will be voting for McFossil than I had previously assumed.

Of course, my biggest fear is that I won't have enough booze on hand the morning of November 5 to dull my pain upon coming to grips with the fact that the world must suffer another four years of taxcut-and-spend, free market socialist interventionists.

Banned in the USA

Hard to believe that it was only one month ago when the superheated air was saturated with moisture and the sun beat the senses down with the inexorable drone of a political speech. Walking to work now? There's a bittersweet crispness in the air, an earthy scent of melancholy borne upon memories that float amidst the cycle of life and death; the leaves have begun to change, some subtly, their margins tinged with yellow and the faintest brush of orange peeking out when struck by a stray ray of light breaking through the slate grey of increasingly overcast skies. Honestly, what could be better than autumn?

Huh? Sorry, I was trying to think of things that don't automatically induce the shivers followed up by a round of vomiting.

"Blah diddy blah." "Googly moogly."
"Diddly doodlely." "Yabba dabba doo."

Didn't watch it. Everyone says McCain was a condescending jerk. Gee, didn't see that coming. Everyone says Obama was too nice. Wow. I'm so shocked.

I did something far more important with my time. I read.

I'm sure if Mr. Campbell was here with us, he would say "get your read on, motherfuckers!" or something equally inspirational. In any case, today begins Banned Books Week, a time of celebrating the joys of reading while giving the middle finger to assholes who would dare dictate which pages you can and cannot lay your eyes upon, which words you can and cannot see.

So putting aside bullshit jingoism wrapped in American flags, cluster bombs, campaign sloganeering, lists of promises that everyone refuses to recognize won't be kept and bailouts of fuckers who can afford it (thanks once again Congress for the reaming of our collective ass, I hate you all so much), I would like, through some truly American ideals -- legitimate, tangible freedom and sticking it to The Man -- suggest some reading materials for some of our most esteemed countryfuckers.

For you, Chimpy McStagger,

"Randal, heh, heh, I can't read Communist. Where's ma expert on all those Unions of Soviet Russians? Oh, if only I had looked deeper into Pooty-Poot's soul. Condi, put those shoes down and gimme some help."




And I certainly can't forget about your replacement!

"For five and a half years I couldn't read books! Fuck you!"










What about the loser on November 4, Barack Hussein X?

"Watch me pull a Care Bear Market out of this hat. That is to say, the bailout is necessary if we are to audaciously change the economy with a hopeful belief in liquidity. I agree with Senator McCain..."








Oh, sorry, I fell asleep, dreaming of a Democrat hungry for blood.

I've also got something for your running mate, Hair Plugs For Men.

"Exactly, fix that market, dammit. How else will MBNA continue to fleece the American consumer?"










Don't worry, Mooselini, I could never forget about you.

"Who needs experience when I've got this book! Thanks, Randal!"








What can I say, I've gotten so used to such a vile bastard running the show and, well *sniff* I'm gonna miss the little nipper. You've already got the natural talent to continue his important work. Good luck with your autocratic theocracy! And if you find any witches, please, feel free to send them my way. I'll make sure they get their just desserts.



















"No thanks, we prefer a real man."

Yikes! As brutal as Cheney.













"At least they tell the truth."

Thank you, dearest, for your ever-loving words. Speaking of the Dark Lord himself, I had found a book I thought he'd enjoy, but in the process of giving it to him, he growled and roared, doing his best Cerberus impression before biting my hand off. Luckily, my sometimes-better-half is taking dictation and typing this up for me. And, strangely, laughing.

What the hell is so goddamn comical about this unfortunate turn of events?













"You're going to have to learn to use your left."

Ouch.