Dear FEMA:
Please suck my ass. I was hoping that the beat-down you received after the debacle surrounding the mishandling of Hurricane Katrina would have knocked some sense into you. I almost felt bad for FEMA, seeing you get roasted daily in the media for botching everything, when others should have shared the blame with you, like Governor Kathleen “The National Guard are Mine” Blanco and Mayor Ray “Chocolate City” Nagin, not to mention Congressman William Jefferson, who used a military convoy to go find his house & retrieve belongings, to include almost $100,000.00 in his FREEZER. Homeless refugees everywhere, and thousands of trailers were sitting in a field in Arkansas in storage, awaiting uses that never came. Then you shook things up within your organization once the director resigned. You revamped yourself and were ready to handle the next crisis situation in America.
I call bullshit…
I just found out that those thousands of trailers are still sitting in that field in Arkansas, while about 160 miles away in the same state, dozens of families are homeless after tornadoes blew their town off the map. Families in Alabama are likewise homeless after tornadoes hit their towns just last week. However, FEMA is selling/auctioning those trailers through the Government Service Administration’s website, and recouping about 40 cents on the dollar. Wow…the American taxpayers bought those trailers for FEMA at full-pop, because no one, and I mean no one, sells anything to the federal government at a reasonable price ($400.00 toilet seats, anyone?). Now these unused trailers are being practically given away at a 60% discount to anyone with space in the driveway, and the American taxpayer is getting HOSED, and needy citizens whose lives were devastated by storms are crammed into makeshift holding tanks.
So much for your shot at redemption, asshats.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
The whole Walter Reed fiasco
Occasionally the public crucifixion of a senior public or military official is warranted. While they themselves may not necessarily have caused the event that people are questioning, they’re certainly responsible for setting the tone of their command climate. So long as the responsible parties are ALSO flogged for their fuckups, the commander should get some heat as well.
Shit rolls downhill, as they say, and all too often some poor fall guy enlisted schmuck is left sitting at the base of the mountain with his mouth wide agape awaiting a steaming open-faced shitwich, while the officers who promulgated the mess skip away unscathed and with another career ticket punched.
The controversy in question surrounds Building 18 at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington DC, and the red tape of their outpatient center’s bureaucracy that troops get mired in. How the deplorable conditions endured by wounded warriors at Building 18 were unbeknownst to the commanding general of WRAMC, Major General George Weightman, are beyond me. This dude didn’t make a walkthrough of his command when he took over? And who’s the officer in charge of that ward? He’s gotta be a full-bird Colonel and a doctor to boot, and he/she didn’t notice the mold, rats, and leaks? The OIC needs to be shit-canned too. What about the ward’s doctors? The command sergeant major? Anybody? No one attached to that facility gave enough of a shit about the troops to speak up about this place. The troops themselves finally had to blow the whistle, and reporters brought it to the attention of newly-appointed Defense Secretary Robert Gates.
If you ask a volunteer soldier to sally forth into battle time & time again in some third-world shit hole for multiple tours with murky objectives & not enough equipment, that soldier is accepting on faith that he or she will be supported 100% by the wonks that sent them there. And when they get wounded & maimed, that support should be 200% at the very least.
When I think military medicine, I think of hospitals like Landstuhl in Germany, the Bethesda Naval Hospital, and especially Walter Reed. WRAMC is supposed to be the best of the best, our showcase facility in the DC area. Looking at the footage of the shoddy condition of the place these heroes have to recover & convalesce in, it looked like it hadn’t been touched since I was born at that same hospital almost 38 years ago. Yes, I was delivered at WRAMC (then called Walter Reed General Hospital) by an Army major.
You mean to tell me MG Weightman never toured that place? He didn’t make at least a weekly or monthly walk-through to speak with the soldiers under his care? And it seems his underlings were also not doing the same thing?
To this I say Fuck You, sir. Fuck You Very Much.
So, in the face of this public relations disaster, what does the Army do? They fire Weightman, effectively halting his career dead in the water, and they replace him with Lieutenant General Kevin Kiley, the former commander of WRAMC whom Weightman had replaced. LTG Kiley had been serving as the Army’s surgeon general. However, all evidence points to the fact that these shitty conditions existed under Kiley’s command, too, so this putting another fox back in the hen house. Why put him back in charge when it was falling to pieces on his watch too? The Secretary of the Army, Francis Harvey, fell on his sword and resigned when Gates asked him to, and rightly so. His ass should have been over there at that hospital seeing soldiers too, and he should have been sending people over to inspect the facility. Sure, most unit inspections are just dog & pony bullshit, but this is a hospital for shit’s sake. Standards must be upheld.
All of you should write or call your duly elected Congressional Representatives and Senators and ask them when the last time was that they went to a military hospital to see the troops and check on their care, morale, and welfare.
Deploying soldiers from the South Carolina National Guard are stuck in Biloxi, Mississippi at Camp Shelby because neither the Army nor the state will pay for their bus fare (yeah, bus fare, not plane fare) to come home on pre-deployment leave before heading out to Third World Purgatory, yet Nancy freakin’ Pelosi, Speaker of the House, is bitching about how the military transport jet at her beck & call isn’t big enough to haul around all of her lackeys & lobbyist bootlickers (who shouldn’t even be on a military flight in the first fucking place) across the country without having to make a refueling stop. Unreal. Well now, Fuck You Very Much, Madame Speaker. Matter of fact, Double Fuck You. She acts like she has to deplane at a dirt field in Omaha and wait while terrorists pinpoint her with laser beams….the plane would stop for maybe 20 minutes at a secure military field and refuel and be on the way again before she can finish her Perrier.
I can think of nearly 3500 reasons that she should be thankful every day for her freedom and her very privileged position. And I can think of over 24,000 reasons for her and the other 534 members of the 110th Congress to get off the golf course, cut short the 3-martini power lunches, and get their elected asses over to 7100 Georgia Avenue in Northwest DC and 8901 Rockville Pike in Bethesda and personally thank everyone they see.
Note: as of the time I write this, the death toll in Iraq is listed as 3,190 in Iraq and 371 in Afghanistan, and the wounded in Iraq as 23, 785 and 1,062 in Afghanistan. By the time you read this, it will unfortunately be higher.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
American Idol: Televised Crack
American Idol can best be described as televised crack. No one really wants to watch it but it’s addictive. I’m sure that no one who is a crack fiend woke up one morning & said, Dayum, I need to start smoking toxic rocks through a glass straw till my heart explodes . Same with Idol……Since the American Sheeple love to have their prepackaged pop music pabulum spoon-fed to them by corporate radio whores, American Idol appeals to the American Idle in that now the music buying public is actually fooled into thinking they’re part of the process of choosing what sugar-coated tripe they’ll hear non-stop on the radio until that fresh-scrubbed pop star suffers a nuclear meltdown and implodes. And we all know how I love a good implosion.
Also, since America by & large loves a good train wreck, we tune in by the droves to watch the dreaded Auditions Week round of shows. In this round of 2-hour specials we get to see the absolute worst shit imaginable that these 100,000+ crowds have to offer up, and revel in the tears and suffering that follows the delusional idiots who actually think they can sing., whining about how America will be sorry they missed out when they get told how bad they suck. I do, however, have 2 problems with this:
1. This show is in like, it’s sixth season now. For nigh on 5 years now we have watched this shit happen so by now if you haven’t figured out the formula of one judge being hot & cold, one judge being a sugar sweet dimwit, and one judge is an asshole who calls a spade a spade to see you suffer, then you really get what you deserve.
2. In order to face the Big Three, you have to audition in small groups in front of handlers from the show who wade through the really shitty ones since with 5 minutes per audition you’d never get through 100,000 wannabes in a week, let alone a day. So, this means that in addition to feeding the decent singers into the hopper, these lackeys also hand-pick the poor bastards who get sacrificed on national television like Christians in the lion’s den. That’s the wickedly funny part of all of this.
So now we get to watch these kids sing the same tired-ass shit they sing every year….overdone show tunes, Stevie Wonder, Mariah Carey, and 70’s light rock. And we’ll also get “celebrity” judges to sit in, too, like Kenny Loggins or Barry Manilow, and Olivia Newton John and Paul Anka. You know, these celebrity judges for the most part are IRRELEVANT to today’s pop music. They may have been relevant to my parents when I was 9 years old, but to a 16 year old kid downloading to their Ipod, Carole Bayer Sager may as well be a goddamned ancient history footnote. Hell, even so-called judge Paula Abdullard hasn’t been relevant to pop music since about 1995. I find it galling that she gets to judge what a pop star is when she hasn’t had a top 40 hit since before most of the contestants hit puberty.
More people voted in last years’ Idol finals than have ever voted in any Presidential election in history, and that’s fucking sad. Our collective attention span is down to phone votes day by day. Maybe we should have all 186 current Presidential candidates go on a show and we can vote off each idiot one by one with weekly phone votes after debates. Then we’ll be down to two, and then we can vote for them in a giant 2-hour special with 800-numbers. This is what America has become…way to go, Sheeple.
The Sweet Sound Of A Trainwreck
Ah, the sweet sounds of a train wreck. Not the thundering boom and the screech of twisting metal followed by screams, wailing sirens and crackling flames. No, this train wreck has more subtle sounds. These sounds are the click of camera shutters, the whispers of rumor and conjecture, the frantic chatter of spin doctors and talking heads doing damage control when the tabloids hit the stands, and the thump of doors being shut on a career. I love to see a good come-uppance.
The latest batch of train wrecks include Paris Hilton, famous only for being born into hideous wealth, and her former “BFF” Nicole Ritchie, famous only for having been adopted by Lionel and for interrupting her status as Paris’ chief boot-licking toady to lose so much weight she made a resident of Auschwitz look plump. But these wrecks are actually mild, and I think the best crashes are yet to come from these two.
Lindsay Lohan has been wonderfully entertaining with her starvation, party binges, faux rehab attempts, and generalized scandalous idiocy. She was such a Disney-dreamland fresh face 3 years ago. She was downright hot with her flaming red tresses, curves, big smile, and even bigger jugs. Then she turned 18 and started dropping pounds like a B-52 dropping bombs on a Ho Chi Minh Trail arc-light mission. In an attempt to hide her Irish freckles, she began fake-baking her skin into bomber-jacket leather. She then lost her tasty shape, dyed her hair Goth black, and became almost as big a party fool as Paris, wrecking a couple of $100,000 cars in the process. She managed to get the nickname Fire Crotch after getting her thongless snapper snapped pretty much simultaneously with Paris and Britney’s hoo-hahs hanging in the wind. I guess the black dye only covered the hair on her noggin, not her scroggin. There’s still some hope for her though I think, if she can realize rehab means you can’t just leave whenever you want, adds about 20 pounds, and goes red again. The whole incident where the movie studio exec called her out publicly for staying out partying & showing up for her job late made her look like a fucking idiot, and she still has enough pride left to not end up with her own celebreality farce on VH-1.
I get a special sort of twisted glee to watch the flounderings of the Olsen twins. Everybody’s child-star darlings, by the time they were old enough to decide on pad vs. tampon they were worth more dough than most Third World countries. The way everyone was counting the days till they turned 18, you’d have thought they already had brokered a deal with Larry Flynt to violate each other with strap-ons in Hustler as an act of rebellion. However, it’s by far more entertaining to see their emaciated carcasses in all the tabloids with that deer-in-the-headlights stare, expensive rags hanging from them like wet blankets, and sunglasses so huge they could pass for welding goggles. The glasses may look almost normal on someone who takes in more then 9 calories a day.
And then there’s Britney. Oh yes, there will be Britney. Squeaky clean Britney. Everyone’s little Mouseketeer turned Mouseketurd. Who couldn’t see THIS shit coming? The lookouts on Titanic, maybe. Each successive album saw her start to ho it up a little more, writhing with a python on stage and showing up pretty much naked in the “Toxic” video, and then sticking her tongue in the well-traveled cock-holster of Madonna. And along came K-Fed…..Y’know I really blamed him for her decline at first, till I realized he was just a symptom of a greater apocalypse, the “bad boy bad choice in men” phase. But Federline is smarter than he looks. He was a background dancer, not even a singer, with no better prospects of a career, who’d previously knocked up some B-list actress a couple times and then fled to Britney’s sheets looking for 15 minutes of fame. So her starts banging Spears and manages to marry into the bankroll to boot , then starts to spend her money like there’s no tomorrow before she could wise up & kick him to the curb. Another smart move: he foisted two more kids on her, in order to secure more bankroll by proxy.
In a rare moment of lucidity, Brit left him, got a makeover, and hit all the talk shows. And then you’d expect her to be all successful & shit, recording more pre-packaged vapid pop dogshit while Federline the wannabe rapper should have been back to washing cars and trying to be an extra in “Electric Boogaloo 3: Rise of the Moonwalk”. His CD was so bad it made William Hung look like Pavarotti. Enter Murphy’s Law….
In a truly fucking majestic stroke of irony, Brit turns into a party whore of Courtney love proportions with Paris and starts to meltdown like Chernobyl. Meanwhile, Federline shaves, washes his hair, puts on a suit instead of an oversized set of trackies and gold chains, and starts being seen in public with his first two kids at Disney like a model citizen. He got a cameo role on CSI, which always helps the resume, and was astute enough to parley his image as a fast-food escapee into a very funny investment company ad shown during the Super Bowl. All of a sudden, he’s the responsible dad. Meanwhile, Britney is photographed every night partying, dating K-Fed look-alikes, falling asleep in clubs, getting tattoos, piercing her man in the boat, and shaving her head. Now she’s in rehab again after leaving twice in the same week ala Lohan style, and I can’t stop cackling with demonic glee.
I haven’t laughed so hard since Kurt Cobain martyred himself and thus secured himself a place in the pantheon of saints in the Grungy Church of Emo Whiners. Money may not buy you love, or even happiness, but it’ll buy you some panties, a cheeseburger or two, driving lessons, and some couch time with a good shrink. Hop to it, kids.
The latest batch of train wrecks include Paris Hilton, famous only for being born into hideous wealth, and her former “BFF” Nicole Ritchie, famous only for having been adopted by Lionel and for interrupting her status as Paris’ chief boot-licking toady to lose so much weight she made a resident of Auschwitz look plump. But these wrecks are actually mild, and I think the best crashes are yet to come from these two.
Lindsay Lohan has been wonderfully entertaining with her starvation, party binges, faux rehab attempts, and generalized scandalous idiocy. She was such a Disney-dreamland fresh face 3 years ago. She was downright hot with her flaming red tresses, curves, big smile, and even bigger jugs. Then she turned 18 and started dropping pounds like a B-52 dropping bombs on a Ho Chi Minh Trail arc-light mission. In an attempt to hide her Irish freckles, she began fake-baking her skin into bomber-jacket leather. She then lost her tasty shape, dyed her hair Goth black, and became almost as big a party fool as Paris, wrecking a couple of $100,000 cars in the process. She managed to get the nickname Fire Crotch after getting her thongless snapper snapped pretty much simultaneously with Paris and Britney’s hoo-hahs hanging in the wind. I guess the black dye only covered the hair on her noggin, not her scroggin. There’s still some hope for her though I think, if she can realize rehab means you can’t just leave whenever you want, adds about 20 pounds, and goes red again. The whole incident where the movie studio exec called her out publicly for staying out partying & showing up for her job late made her look like a fucking idiot, and she still has enough pride left to not end up with her own celebreality farce on VH-1.
I get a special sort of twisted glee to watch the flounderings of the Olsen twins. Everybody’s child-star darlings, by the time they were old enough to decide on pad vs. tampon they were worth more dough than most Third World countries. The way everyone was counting the days till they turned 18, you’d have thought they already had brokered a deal with Larry Flynt to violate each other with strap-ons in Hustler as an act of rebellion. However, it’s by far more entertaining to see their emaciated carcasses in all the tabloids with that deer-in-the-headlights stare, expensive rags hanging from them like wet blankets, and sunglasses so huge they could pass for welding goggles. The glasses may look almost normal on someone who takes in more then 9 calories a day.
And then there’s Britney. Oh yes, there will be Britney. Squeaky clean Britney. Everyone’s little Mouseketeer turned Mouseketurd. Who couldn’t see THIS shit coming? The lookouts on Titanic, maybe. Each successive album saw her start to ho it up a little more, writhing with a python on stage and showing up pretty much naked in the “Toxic” video, and then sticking her tongue in the well-traveled cock-holster of Madonna. And along came K-Fed…..Y’know I really blamed him for her decline at first, till I realized he was just a symptom of a greater apocalypse, the “bad boy bad choice in men” phase. But Federline is smarter than he looks. He was a background dancer, not even a singer, with no better prospects of a career, who’d previously knocked up some B-list actress a couple times and then fled to Britney’s sheets looking for 15 minutes of fame. So her starts banging Spears and manages to marry into the bankroll to boot , then starts to spend her money like there’s no tomorrow before she could wise up & kick him to the curb. Another smart move: he foisted two more kids on her, in order to secure more bankroll by proxy.
In a rare moment of lucidity, Brit left him, got a makeover, and hit all the talk shows. And then you’d expect her to be all successful & shit, recording more pre-packaged vapid pop dogshit while Federline the wannabe rapper should have been back to washing cars and trying to be an extra in “Electric Boogaloo 3: Rise of the Moonwalk”. His CD was so bad it made William Hung look like Pavarotti. Enter Murphy’s Law….
In a truly fucking majestic stroke of irony, Brit turns into a party whore of Courtney love proportions with Paris and starts to meltdown like Chernobyl. Meanwhile, Federline shaves, washes his hair, puts on a suit instead of an oversized set of trackies and gold chains, and starts being seen in public with his first two kids at Disney like a model citizen. He got a cameo role on CSI, which always helps the resume, and was astute enough to parley his image as a fast-food escapee into a very funny investment company ad shown during the Super Bowl. All of a sudden, he’s the responsible dad. Meanwhile, Britney is photographed every night partying, dating K-Fed look-alikes, falling asleep in clubs, getting tattoos, piercing her man in the boat, and shaving her head. Now she’s in rehab again after leaving twice in the same week ala Lohan style, and I can’t stop cackling with demonic glee.
I haven’t laughed so hard since Kurt Cobain martyred himself and thus secured himself a place in the pantheon of saints in the Grungy Church of Emo Whiners. Money may not buy you love, or even happiness, but it’ll buy you some panties, a cheeseburger or two, driving lessons, and some couch time with a good shrink. Hop to it, kids.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
CoEd Naked Harry Potter
Oh boy……the hullabaloo over this new play “Equis”, starring Daniel Radcliffe, is really kinda funny. Actually, the play isn’t new. It’s a revival of some weird-assed trippy stage drama about a boy who bashes in the side of a horse’s head with a brick or some such other blunt object, and then proceeds to prance about naked for the next 90 minutes or so. Sounds like some arty-fartsy excuse to watch some teenaged boy to rock out with his cock out….The Arts for Pedophiles, maybe….
At 17, Radcliffe is probably getting a little worried that Hollyweird will soon be typecasting him into forever being stuck as the kid in glasses riding a broom, thus missing out on juicier roles as an adult. The wicked tightrope-walk of being a child star…. No one would hire Danny Bonaduce after the Partridge Family, and look at the ‘Roid Rage, coked-up train wreck he turned out to be. Personally, I expected MacAuley Culkin to be either flipping burgers or imploding like River Phoenix, but he took an unconventional role in the indie film “SAVED”, and the performance was nothing short of brilliant. The same can’t be said for Benjamin Salisbury, the kid who played Brighton on The Nanny. His last acting gig was playing the pizza delivery guy in a Domino’s ad.
I guess everyone is all a-twitter over this because all these whiny soccer moms are horrified that little Billy & Susie might hear that harmless Harry Potter is walking about with his dong in the breeze and that’s just being an irresponsible child role model….NOTE TO SELF-SAME SOCCER MOMS: FUCK YOU VERY MUCH. He’s not a role model. He’s a role PLAYER. He’s an actor. Parents are role models. Teachers are role models. Actors, rock stars, and pro sports figures are not role models; they’re entertainers. Be more pro-active in your kids’ lives instead of letting them emulate attention-whore millionaires.
Sally Soccer Mom is scared shitless that her kid might ponder the nude human form. America is so prudish about nudity, yet we’re cool with violence & car chases and explosions. Nudity is natural; driving 120 miles an hour through rush hour traffic while blazing away at the other drivers with a machine gun really isn’t. Of course, the rumors are also saying that Radcliffe has a gi-normous dong, too. So maybe the soccer moms are all freaked out over the fact that they’re now dreaming of Harry Potter’s magic wand……
At 17, Radcliffe is probably getting a little worried that Hollyweird will soon be typecasting him into forever being stuck as the kid in glasses riding a broom, thus missing out on juicier roles as an adult. The wicked tightrope-walk of being a child star…. No one would hire Danny Bonaduce after the Partridge Family, and look at the ‘Roid Rage, coked-up train wreck he turned out to be. Personally, I expected MacAuley Culkin to be either flipping burgers or imploding like River Phoenix, but he took an unconventional role in the indie film “SAVED”, and the performance was nothing short of brilliant. The same can’t be said for Benjamin Salisbury, the kid who played Brighton on The Nanny. His last acting gig was playing the pizza delivery guy in a Domino’s ad.
I guess everyone is all a-twitter over this because all these whiny soccer moms are horrified that little Billy & Susie might hear that harmless Harry Potter is walking about with his dong in the breeze and that’s just being an irresponsible child role model….NOTE TO SELF-SAME SOCCER MOMS: FUCK YOU VERY MUCH. He’s not a role model. He’s a role PLAYER. He’s an actor. Parents are role models. Teachers are role models. Actors, rock stars, and pro sports figures are not role models; they’re entertainers. Be more pro-active in your kids’ lives instead of letting them emulate attention-whore millionaires.
Sally Soccer Mom is scared shitless that her kid might ponder the nude human form. America is so prudish about nudity, yet we’re cool with violence & car chases and explosions. Nudity is natural; driving 120 miles an hour through rush hour traffic while blazing away at the other drivers with a machine gun really isn’t. Of course, the rumors are also saying that Radcliffe has a gi-normous dong, too. So maybe the soccer moms are all freaked out over the fact that they’re now dreaming of Harry Potter’s magic wand……
Friday, February 9, 2007
Honest, Mister, I'm really 12....
I’d like to nominate a new candidate for forced castration. Imagine the surprise a couple weeks ago when officials at the IMAGINE Charter School in Surprise, Arizona (I’m not making this up, people) found out that one of their 12-year-ods was in fact a 29 year old convicted sex offender from Oklahoma who shaved his body hair and wore makeup to cover his beard stubble, masquerading as a 12 year old student for several weeks.
The freakshow in question, Neil Rodreick, is about 5’6” and 120 pounds. (I guess no one noticed he was the only 6th grader who drove his own AMC Pacer to class every day)
This piece of shit was also living with 2 older pedophiles aged 43 and 61, who thought he was 12. They’ve been charged with attempted molestation charges because I guess buggerring a guy pretending to be 12 isn’t actual molestation. It’s just diddling a fruitcake.
I say we castrate all 3 of these scroungy fucks on pay-per-view and give the proceeds to help victims of sexual predators.
I ain't sayin' a gold digga...
Everyone’s favorite train wreck finally finished derailing this week. Anna Nicole Smith died yesterday at the age of 39. While it’s a shame that she passed, and I feel really shitty for her infant child, I must say…who the fuck didn’t see THIS coming? And moreover, why is America giving so much of a shit about it?
Vickie Lynn Hogan was a former stripper & teenaged mom who lucked into a deal to model jeans, and parleyed that into a gig as a Playboy centerfold. This may be where she developed a taste for banging old dudes. (C’mon…you know Hef tapped that ass….). She married a 90 year old billionaire and then got embroiled in the fight over his estate with his kids, who were all older than her own parents. Isn’t that a great Jerry Springer show theme? I’m 25 and my step son is 65…..we’re the toast of the trailer park…..
She then embarked upon an ill-conceived reality horror fest that showed her bloated, clown-makeup-wearing, slurred-speech shenanigans, further proof that idiot Americans will watch anything on TV. Two years later, strung out on Trim Spa and 70 pounds thinner, she’s back to tossing her titties everywhere and speaking only a little more coherently.
Congratulations, America; you’re mourning a pseudo-celebrity whose only real talent was being an attention-whore. She wasn’t a singer. She wasn’t an actor, really, despite a few cameos. She wasn’t a dancer, unless you count laps & poles. She wasn’t a sculptor or painter or writer. She was a fucking train wreck. And given the popularity of the American Idol audition shows, the American Sheeple love their train wrecks.
No Love For Darfur
No Love For Darfur…
You know why we won’t go into Darfur to help the war-ravaged genocide victims of a brutal civil war? It’s not because we’re tired of a long, drawn-out, and sometimes pointless war in Iraq. It’s not because we have our resources tied up chasing Osama Bin Fucktard in Afghanistan’s caves. It’s not because the National Guard is busy trying to keep Pablo from smuggling the other 735 members of his immediate family over the border to pick our tomatoes and dig our ditches. Darfur is Darfucked because of this:
Those people don’t buy anything we make, or make anything we buy. If Halliburton could turn a buck off of it, we’d be there tomorrow. However, there’s no oil we can pump off, no diamonds we can pillage, no gold or other metals….it doesn’t even make good tv. Sorry Darfur….ask the French. They’d love to get involved. They might not even get their asses kicked too badly.
The NHL All-Star Disaster
When NHL commissioner Gary Bettman allowed the lockout disaster to cancel to entire 04/05 hockey season, it set into motion a downward spiral of consequences that will take probably ten years to recover from. That’s about how long it took major league baseball to recover from their strike in the 90’s.
Among these consequences is that ESPN dropped the NHL like it had ties to Al Queda. So the NHL whored itself around begging a TV contract & ended up on OLN, the Outdoor Life Network. OLN? What the fuck, over? Sure, most kids learn to play the game on frozen ponds in their back yards, but there’s only ever been a handful of games played outdoors in recent memory in the majors, or even college, so why the Outdoor Life Channel? OLN has subsequently changed its name to Versus, a move which gained them about 6 more viewers.
Meanwhile, ESPN filled in the newly-freed air slots with shit like World Series of Poker (when the fuck did poker become a sport?) and reruns of the World’s Strongest Man Competition from 3 years ago. Incidentally, more people have been watching Mariusz Pudzianowski lift beer kegs over his head than have been watching hockey. I’m sure some of the people watching those reruns would be watching hockey if they could. Don’t get me wrong; I think Mariusz is a tremendous athlete but watching him drag a Greyhound bus 300 feet with his ball hairs just isn’t the same as watching Rod
Brind’Amour the Howler monkey steal the puck, pass it to Eric Cole, see Cole deke the blueliner, drop a no-looker to Eric Staal, and see Staalsie one-time it over Kari Lehtonen’s shoulder to the top shelf where Daddy keeps the Playboys.
Anyone who’s known me for more than 45 seconds knows I’m a hockey junkie. My bedroom closet has several hockey t-shirts. There’s the obligatory hoodie, zip up jacket, pullover windbreaker, hats, cowbells, souvenir pucks, a couple posters, 3 autographed sticks, and a few jerseys. Most of the stuff is from my local ECHL team, the South Carolina Stingrays, whom I am a season ticket holder for. One of the jerseys is a $450.00 game-worn, and the one I wear to games has about 60 signatures on it, including about 10 NHL players. Plus, lest we forget my obligatory copies of Miracle and a couple Wayne Gretzky DVD documentaries, and about 40 of the McFarlane Sports figures. And… an annual subscription to The Hockey News. Hockey is the only sport I follow, and about the only thing I don’t get into are fantasy leagues. Even I have limits to my madness.
This said, a couple weeks back was the annual NHL All-Star Game, held this year in Dallas. I would have loved to have watched it, but I don’t have Versus as part of my package with DISH Network since it’s part of the more expensive plan with all the obscure channels, nor do I have the NHL Center Ice Package. Sure, I love hockey but I couldn’t see dropping an extra couple hundred bucks to get the Center Ice deal, even if it meant I could catch every single game all season for every team. And I didn’t want to drop another 30 or so a month on the cable bill just to pick up Versus and about 20 more channels, of which I might watch maybe 2, just to see a couple games a week. I can still catch the occasional game on the alternate sports feeds when they aren’t blacked out, usually ‘Canes games, and Turner Sports plays a lot of Thrashers games. Yeah, I spend enough all year on my sport that I don’t have to spend more to find an obscure no-name channel featuring Combat Tiddlywinks that the NHL screwed itself into a deal with.
The All Star Game on Versus drew a TV audience of just 475,000 people. That’s fucking WEAK, in a nation of over 300 million. The following TV shows had more viewers: HGTV’s Design on a Dime., Mythbusters on the Discovery Channel, Bravo’s Top Chef, Food TV’s Ace of Cakes (which had 85% more viewers actually), and, most pathetically, a fucking repeat of The Andy Griffith Show on TV Land.
Are you shitting me? This is deplorable. The sport I love is falling apart as it’s trying to recover from the lost season debacle of 2 years ago, and the best it can do for its showcase game is come in weaker than Aunt Bee and Barney goddamned Fife?
Among these consequences is that ESPN dropped the NHL like it had ties to Al Queda. So the NHL whored itself around begging a TV contract & ended up on OLN, the Outdoor Life Network. OLN? What the fuck, over? Sure, most kids learn to play the game on frozen ponds in their back yards, but there’s only ever been a handful of games played outdoors in recent memory in the majors, or even college, so why the Outdoor Life Channel? OLN has subsequently changed its name to Versus, a move which gained them about 6 more viewers.
Meanwhile, ESPN filled in the newly-freed air slots with shit like World Series of Poker (when the fuck did poker become a sport?) and reruns of the World’s Strongest Man Competition from 3 years ago. Incidentally, more people have been watching Mariusz Pudzianowski lift beer kegs over his head than have been watching hockey. I’m sure some of the people watching those reruns would be watching hockey if they could. Don’t get me wrong; I think Mariusz is a tremendous athlete but watching him drag a Greyhound bus 300 feet with his ball hairs just isn’t the same as watching Rod
Brind’Amour the Howler monkey steal the puck, pass it to Eric Cole, see Cole deke the blueliner, drop a no-looker to Eric Staal, and see Staalsie one-time it over Kari Lehtonen’s shoulder to the top shelf where Daddy keeps the Playboys.
Anyone who’s known me for more than 45 seconds knows I’m a hockey junkie. My bedroom closet has several hockey t-shirts. There’s the obligatory hoodie, zip up jacket, pullover windbreaker, hats, cowbells, souvenir pucks, a couple posters, 3 autographed sticks, and a few jerseys. Most of the stuff is from my local ECHL team, the South Carolina Stingrays, whom I am a season ticket holder for. One of the jerseys is a $450.00 game-worn, and the one I wear to games has about 60 signatures on it, including about 10 NHL players. Plus, lest we forget my obligatory copies of Miracle and a couple Wayne Gretzky DVD documentaries, and about 40 of the McFarlane Sports figures. And… an annual subscription to The Hockey News. Hockey is the only sport I follow, and about the only thing I don’t get into are fantasy leagues. Even I have limits to my madness.
This said, a couple weeks back was the annual NHL All-Star Game, held this year in Dallas. I would have loved to have watched it, but I don’t have Versus as part of my package with DISH Network since it’s part of the more expensive plan with all the obscure channels, nor do I have the NHL Center Ice Package. Sure, I love hockey but I couldn’t see dropping an extra couple hundred bucks to get the Center Ice deal, even if it meant I could catch every single game all season for every team. And I didn’t want to drop another 30 or so a month on the cable bill just to pick up Versus and about 20 more channels, of which I might watch maybe 2, just to see a couple games a week. I can still catch the occasional game on the alternate sports feeds when they aren’t blacked out, usually ‘Canes games, and Turner Sports plays a lot of Thrashers games. Yeah, I spend enough all year on my sport that I don’t have to spend more to find an obscure no-name channel featuring Combat Tiddlywinks that the NHL screwed itself into a deal with.
The All Star Game on Versus drew a TV audience of just 475,000 people. That’s fucking WEAK, in a nation of over 300 million. The following TV shows had more viewers: HGTV’s Design on a Dime., Mythbusters on the Discovery Channel, Bravo’s Top Chef, Food TV’s Ace of Cakes (which had 85% more viewers actually), and, most pathetically, a fucking repeat of The Andy Griffith Show on TV Land.
Are you shitting me? This is deplorable. The sport I love is falling apart as it’s trying to recover from the lost season debacle of 2 years ago, and the best it can do for its showcase game is come in weaker than Aunt Bee and Barney goddamned Fife?
We Gotta Talk
Hi…I’m a successful Navy O-6 Captain at only 43 years of age. I’ve flown over 30 different types of aircraft, and 7 months ago I was in space…OUTER SPACE…and in a few weeks was headed back again for another mission. Then again, my marriage just ended and I think that this Air Force chick is trying to skeeze on the dude I like. I guess I should talk to her……signed…Lisa Nowak….
MEN: PAY ATTENTION & HEED MY TEACHINGS---Very seldom in my nearly 38 years of experience has anything good ever come from the 4 words “We need to talk…”. These words usually preface a very miserable time.
Lisa Nowak just wanted to talk. She wanted to talk so badly that she drove 950 miles wearing a fucking diaper so she wouldn’t need to stop to piss. She wanted to talk so badly she pepper-sprayed her intended talking partner and was found to have a BB pistol, a folding knife, 4 feet of rubber tubing, trash bags, latex gloves, a steel mallet, a trench coat, dark glasses, and 600 bucks in cash. Jeffrey Dahmer didn’t carry this much shit with him in his Go Kit.
Beware the next time your woman just wants to talk. Keep the search party on standby.
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