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April 30, 2003
breathe in
IhateModellsIhatethepeoplewhoworkthereIhatebuyingsneakersforakidwhoistenbuthastheshoesizeofakidwhoisseven
soallthesneakersinhissizehavepokemonorpowerrangersonthemandhecan'tfindvansornikes
thatfithimrightandsomelittlekidisrunningthroughthaisleandkeepskickingmein
theshinandtheehelpisnohelpatallbecausethegirlsaretoobusyflirtingwiththemale
customersandthemaleemployeesaretoobusypickingtheirnosesorfixingtheirballs
tohelpusoutandthatmotherhassuchascreechyvoiceithouthhilarclintonwasinthestore
andjesusfuckwhyisitakinganhourandahalftobuyapairoffuckingsneakers
andholyshithehaspickedouttheugliestpairofblacknikebasketballshoesintheentire
universebutidon'tcarebecausetheyfithimantheydon'thavetonkatrucksontheside
andthestupidstupidgirlattheregistercannotfigureouthowtomakechangeeven
whentheregistertellsherhowmuchtogivemeandwhydidthebirdpickmycartoshitonout
ofallthecarsinthelotandigethomeandholyfucktrenyceisgoneithoughtforsureitwould
bejoshwhatthefuckholyshithallelujahwhere'sthetylenolandpassthetequila.
breathe out.
a moment for myself
I would like to publicly thank my wonderful brother-in-law Lew for nominating me for the New York Court State Unified Court System Merit Award for Community Service (the link points to last year's winners).
I won. I just found out about ten minutes ago. I didn't even know I was nominated until now.
Lew nominated me for my work with TroopTrax. I owe a debt of gratitude to both Carol and Keith, without whom the effort would not have been so successful. Lew also mentioned Command-Post in his nominating letter. I'm grateful he didn't mention this site, for obvious reasons.
I'm honored, to say the least. In fact, I don't even know what to say. I never even won one of those citizenship awards that everyone gets in junior high, and now I am going to be accepting this award, at the same podium as three court officers who saved the life of an attorney last month.
I hope this isn't tacky, posting about this. For the first time in my life, I am really proud of myself.
Thanks, Lew.
Ok, I found the place where it says how you get nominated.
Selection ProcessThe Program Coordinator requests from the nominee's Executive Assistant, Chief Clerk or unit head written confirmation of the statements contained in the submitted nomination form and a recommendation regarding the nominee's eligibility for an award. After reviewing the nominations, the Program Coordinator selects the top nominees for each category (generally 3 to 5) and forwards their names to the Merit Performance Award Selection Committee, which reviews the nominations and makes recommendations to the Chief Administrative Judge for review and final selection.
Recognition
The Merit Performance Awards are presented at a special ceremony held at the Court of Appeals on Law Day. Each award recipient receives a certificate of commendation signed by the Chief Judge and the Chief Administrative Judge, and a UCS medallion. A press release is issued to local media and photos are displayed at each honoree's work location.
All I keep saying is, me? Are you sure you mean me?
yawn
Dear Ted Rall,
Al Gore was never president. He most likely will never be president.
Please get your head out of the year 2000 and into the present, or seek therapy for your obession with the results of that election.
There are so many other things you could be writing about. Or have you run out of women who would sleep with you?
i'm a little acorn....
Firemen in Germany had to rescue a terrified 10-year-old girl after she was chased up a tree by a squirrel...The squirrel made so much noise and was so aggressive the 10-year-old climbed further up the tree to try and get away, but the squirrel followed her.
Silly girl, that's how you attract a squirrel - climb a tree and act like a nut!
I apologize for the lame joke. Blame my father.
legislation and lust in the white house
The Slutpublican ticket will be the most interesting party to enter the field in the history of politics. Did you ever imagine atheists in the White House or the Presidential Limo with a bumper sticker reading "My SUV can beat up your hybrid car" or the secretary of agriculture declaring "a cow on every plate" and then making PETA an outlawed group?
I mean, no offense against my man Rummy, but who would you rather have as Secretary of Defense?
"The Secretary of Defense is not a super General or Admiral. His task is to exercise civilian control over the Department for the Commander-in-Chief and the country."
Or
"I will not lie to you...there is very little difference between my own schema and that of the current S.O.D. and former Princetonian Flyboy, Uncle Donny Rumsefeld. However, I vow to match every ounce of his Strangelovian ethos with poolhall violence in Mickey Rourke-sized servings. Around here, we hit first, we hit hard, the bouncer is our cousin and the owner is a good friend. "
[There's more where that came from.]
I wonder if it would be okay for the President to have an affair with the Defense Secretary.
Do we have an office of Slutpublican Ethics and Morality yet?
And please, stop emailing me asking when I am going to get your bio/picture up. This president-in-waiting has a day job.
all filler no killer
It's been three months since I quit smoking.
I smoke almost every night in my dreams, so I guess that's why it's not bothering me.
Meanwhile, positions are filling up fast over at the Slutpublican Headquarters. We're pretty much going to be an equal opportunity offense party. We'll offend the far left because we are exploiting each other for sex (and we have minors in the cabinet) and we will offend the far right because of our pro-sodomy stance, among other things.
Basically, we stand for freedom to do whatever the hell you want as long as you aren't hurting anyone. We're about a world without terrorism, a world without tyranny, a world without Ted Rall.
And who wouldn't want that?
That's all I got right now. Late for that damn job thing I have to do every day.
April 29, 2003
priceless
Kids say the darndest things. And those things are really, really funny when it's not your kid saying them.
You really should go read my new (short) post over at Raising Hell. It would make a good story to tell at boring cocktail parties.
american bureaucracy
I just don't have what it takes to get all the Department Head stuff together tonight. I'll work on it tomorrow. Just pretend your applications and nominations are wallowing in a sea of red tape fillibusters right now. It will seem more....real.
Besides, your president-to-be is busy watching the wretched performances on American Idol. Holy blandness, batman!
Blogger SARS alert
Gary Farber doesn't have SARS - could be just pneumonia - but I say we treat him as suspicious. If you have been in contact with Gary Farber's blog in the past few days, or know anyone who has (when you read a stranger's blog, you read the blogs of everyone he's read in the past five years), I would suggest getting checked out by your nearest blog physician.
And for the love of life, bloggers, wear a mask when you read blogs. You never know where your linklist has been!
the beauty, the splendor, the wonder of my hair
The Department of Choosing Department Heads will be in session in just a little bit.
I just had eight inches cut off of my hair.
I need a moment alone.
(yes, two nights in a row I'm quoting lyrics from Hair)
Gimme a head with hair, long beautiful hair
Shining, gleaming, steaming, flaxen, waxen
Give me down to there, hair!
Shoulder length, longer (hair!)
Here baby, there mama, Everywhere daddy daddy
Hair! (hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair)
Flow it, Show it;
Long as God can grow it, My Hair!
Let it fly in the breeze and get caught in the trees
Give a home to the fleas in my hair
A home for fleas, a hive for bees
A nest for birds, there ain't no words
For the beauty, the splendor, the wonder of my
Hair! (hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair)
Flow it, Show it;
Long as God can grow it, My Hair!
I want it long, straight, curly, fuzzy
Snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty
Oily, greasy, fleecy, shining
Gleaming, steaming, flaxen, waxen
Knotted, polka-dotted; Twisted, beaded, braided
Powdered, flowered, and confettied
Bangled, tangled, spangled and spaghettied!
O-oh, Say can you see; my eyes if you can,
Then my hair's too short!
Down to here, down to there,
Down to where, down to there;
It stops by itself!
doo doo doo doo doot-doot doo doo doot
They'll be ga-ga at the go-go
when they see me in my toga
My toga made of blond, brilliantined, Biblical hair
My hair like Jesus wore it
Hallelujah I adore it
Hallelujah Mary loved her son
Why don't my Mother love me?
Hair! (hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair)
Flow it, Show it;
Long as God can grow it, My Hair!
yom hashoah
Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day, or Yom Hashoah.
Ocean Guy has all you need to know and read.
Please, take a few moments out of your day to visit the links on his page. (He has several posts up, just keep scrolling)
The Butterfly
The last, the very last,
So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow.
Perhaps if the sun’s tears would sing
against a white stone ...
Such, such a yellow
I carried lightly ‘way up high.
It went away I’m sure because it wished to
kiss the world goodbye.
For seven weeks I’ve lived in here,
Penned up inside the ghetto
But I have found my people here.
The dandelions call to me
And the white chestnut candles in the court.
Only I never saw another butterfly.
That butterfly was the last one.
Butterflies don’t live in here,
In the ghetto.
- Pavel Friedmann, from I Never Saw Another Butterfly, Children’s Drawings and Poems from Theresienstadt Concentration Camp, 1942-44. (Hana Volokova, editor. Schocken Books, 1993)
slutpublican news
Please note that more positions have been filled. One of them may be you! See the Slutpublican Campaign Blog for details and instructions.
outrage of the day
Memorial Day has been cancelled.
At least that's what they're saying in Alexandria.
Alexandria, the city that sits in the shadow of the Pentagon.
Here, in the waning days of a war, in a school district populated with families of veterans, the Alexandria School District has decided to keep school open on Memorial Day to make up for missed days in winter.
The decision to use Memorial Day as make-up day was made by administrators before the campaign in Iraq started, said Barbara Hunter, executive director of information and outreach. She said a few parents have complained, but added that while the school district respects their arguments, "I don't think there's any chance it will change."She said the schools could have a barbecue or similar event in celebration of troop efforts and many plan to talk to students about the significance of Memorial Day.
"I suspect that many [students] miss the point of Memorial Day and don't realize how important what U.S. soldiers are doing is," Ms. Hunter said. "We're looking at this as really a way to teach them."
I don't think they would miss the point this year of all years. What they are teaching them is the bureacracy rules over everything else.
Sure, Memorial Day is a day of barbecues and pool openings to some people. But there are always the parades and the memorials. In my town, which does not boast the military population that Alexandria does, the turnout for memorials and salutes to the veterans is overwhelming. I imagine in Alexandria it is even more so.
We have just lost soldiers in a war. The day that is set aside to memorialize those soldiers and all others lost in combats throughout time has now been lost to the families of Alexandria.
Sure, they could do it on any other day. But the significance here is that the shcool district doesn't care. To use Memorial Day to make up for a snow day is a slap in the face to every person in Alexandria who has lost someone to the perils of war. It is a blow to all those who have relatives and friends overseas right now, fighting for freedom.
It's disgusting is what it is.
If you are as outraged as I am, you can contact the ACPS Superintendent, Rebecca Perry, here.
Thank you to Rob of Left and Right, who sent me the link this morning and asked if I would make the public aware of this situation.
like nails on a blackboard
After listening to a sound clip of Hilary's "fiery" speech of last night, I am beginning to understand Bill Clinton a bit more.
Perhaps oral sex is his way of keeping his women quiet. Between Monica and Hilary, the noise factor must have been debilitating at some points.
judges needed
I need a few unbiased, poetry-savvy people to judge the Saddam's Birthday Poetry Contest.
The entries are here.
If you are interested, leave your name here in the comments before noon (EST) today.
[The Slutpublican Campaign will continue later on this morning]
it's about the ego, stupid
So it wasn't about the oil after all. It wasn't even about freedom for the Iraqi people or stealing antiquities or world domination.
It was about making the middle class white males of America feel good; a rah-rah morale builder for that portion of the American population who who needed more white male heroes because all their favorite sports teams have been taken over by minorities.
Well, that's the way it is in Norman Mailer's world.
There were, however, even better reasons for using our military skills, but these reasons return us to the ongoing malaise of the white American male. He had been taking a daily drubbing over the past 30 years. For better or worse, the women’s movement had had its breakthrough successes and the old, easy white male ego had withered in the glare. Even the mighty consolations of rooting for your team on TV had been skewed. There was now less reward in watching sports than there used to be, a clear and declarable loss. The great white stars of yesteryear were for the most part gone, gone in football, in basketball, in boxing, and half-gone in baseball. Black genius now prevailed in all these sports (and the Hispanics were coming up fast; even the Asians were beginning to make their mark). We white men were now left with half of tennis (at least its male half), and might also point to ice-hockey, skiing, soccer, golf, (with the notable exception of the Tiger) as well as lacrosse, swimming, and the World-Wide Wrestling Federation — remnants and orts of a once-great and glorious centrality.
So, women can blame themselves for this war as well. After all, if we didn't go out and get jobs and wear pants and drive cars, the American male wouldn't have been made to feel so weak and feminine and we would have no need for war so they could prove their muscular worth.
Perhaps we should blame Jackie Robinson for breaking the color barrier in baseball. After all, if he didn't pave the way for other black players to enter the major leagues, Bush would have no need to send our troops out to war to prove how fierce and dominant the white man is.
This all leaves me a bit confused, because I thought the mantra of the left preceding this war was that so many minorities would die because the American armed forces is made up mostly of poor black and hispanic soldiers.
Yet here is George Bush, sending all those people out to war because the white man needs to be emasculated.
Now you know. The war in Iraq was set up because Iraq was a weak opponent who would go down without too much of an effort on the part of the American team. Our armed forces - the white power hitters and quarterbacks and slam dunkers our nation was pining for - would sweep their way to victory and once again, the white male could claim dominance over everyone else, our banners would wave, our cheerleaders would do cartwheels and the scoreboard would explode with fireworks.
I wonder if Mailer really believes his own idiocy or if he just had this fantasy after drinking too much bourbon and decided that he would pass it off as truth?
As a matter of collective ego, the good white American male had had very little to nourish his morale since the job market had gone bad, unless he happened to be in the Armed Forces.
So relax, kids. It wasn't about the oil, after all. It was just one of those self-esteem lessons for depressed white men. Of all the crazy, conspiracy theory, fantasized theories the left has come up with to determine what this war was really about, this is by far the dumbest.
Perhaps Norman Mailer is the real white American male in need of a morale boost, and this column was just a way to get the left to put him back up on the pedestal of hero worship again.
We're on to you, Norman.
April 28, 2003
and you smell like one too
Don't forget it's Saddam's birthday and there's a poetry contest going on. You can start voting now, even though I said midnight. The three top vote-getters will go into a poll and the winner of that poll will get the prize mentioned in the original post.
Speaking of poetry, Sean Kirby is having his Second Annual Warbloggers Stupid Poetry Contest. The challenge this year is Petrarchan sonnet in trochaic heptameter.
Yea.
the cabinet is filling up
Many positions have been filled already. Even more have been created. This is quite a diverse cabinet, I must say. And I don't mean that in the most complimentary way.
You can find the updated list over at the temporay Slutpublican Headquarters here: Slutpublicans, Whisky, Sexy!
If you don't see your name, complain in the comments over there. The squeaky wheel gets greased up. Or something like that.
There are a lot of positions still open, including that of Propaganda Minister and Secretary of Extreme Activist Smackdowns, whose job it is to smack down both the far left and the far right when necessary.
an importan slutpublican party announcement
Jonathan, my vice-president in waiting, has made an important announcement regarding our stand on adults sodomizing each other:
We support the right of all Americans to sodomize each other, consensually, in their own homes. We will work with state government and our own Justice Department to see to it that all Americans are free to sodomize each other, so long as both adult parties consent.
There's a lot more and I suggest you go read it, especially if you want to be part of our campaign.
Remember, everyone - the Slutpublicans are pro-sodomy! Join the holy orgy1!
1
Sodomy
Fellatio
Cunnilingus
Pederasty
Father, why do these words sound so nasty?
Masturbation
Can be fun
Join the holy orgy
Kama Sutra
Everyone!
psa
If you have paid money to see The Real Cancun I do not want to play with you anymore.
Just...go.
why did the elephant cross the politician?
via Chuckie:
A politician in north India was crushed to death by his pet elephant on Sunday morning, police said.Samajwadi (Socialist) Party leader Ram Lakhan Verma died instantlty in the incident that occurred in his village Tahapur in Ambedkarnagar near Faizabad, 210km from here.
Verma was a minister of forest and wildlife five years ago.
"The elephant was Verma's pet animal and had suddenly turned wild since Saturday. On hearing the news, Verma had rushed to his village from Lucknow," a senior police offcer said.
As Verma tried to control the animal on Sunday morning, the elephant jumped into a pond. Verma slipped on the muddy ground and the elephant crushed the 45-year-old politician to death.
"Often pet elephants turn wild during the mating season due to lack of a female companion and at such times it is very difficult to bring the elephant under control," a wildlife official said.
Several thoughts occurred to me here. None of which are humane or sympathetic thoughts.
Like, if you know your pet elephant is going to go nuts during mating seasons, wouldn't it be wise to either get him an elephant hooker or just pleasure him yourself? I'm sure that pumping a bucket full of elephant jizz is disgusting, but your life is on the line.
And about the whole pet elephant thing - I thought only the Simpons were dumn enough to do that.
If anyone is thinking of applying for the position of Minister of Forest and Wildlife, please note that pet elephants are not allowed.
turn, turn, turn
I wrote something a while ago at Bad Sam and I think it need repeating.
I had appointed myself the Driving Czar of the world and I wrote about one of the cardinal rules of driving: using your directional signals. Now that the nice weather is here and people pay even less attention than usual becauset hey are too busy sticking their heads out the window looking at the pre-pubescent girls in tops made out of one thin strip of cloth, the rules need to be gone over once more. (Yes, let's just say I had an incident this morning).
(Originally written in October 25, 2001)
I have appointed myself to a new position within our government's administration. I am now the Driving Czar. It is my job to make sure this nation follows the rules and regulations set forth by various legislative codes in regards to driving.
There are an awful lot of you out there who either don't know the rules or have just chosen to ignore them. This is bad. This makes for unsafe highways, road rage and a nation of cursers. We need less hostility, folks, and obeying the laws of the road can go a long way towards making for a peaceful existence.
I'm going to start off with the basics. Refamiliarize you with the general rules of courtesy, respect and proper driving habits. The first, and most important, is:
Use Of Turning Signals. You may call them directionals, or blinkers. Whatever the culture of your particular geographic region dictates (like a pop/soda thing), this much is clear: YOU HAVE TO USE THEM
Let me walk you through this. Imagine you are driving. Grab hold of the imaginary steering wheel (hands at 10 and 2 of course). Now, take your left hand and move it to the left of the steering wheel. If you wiggle your fingers a bit, you should hit the directional lever. Bet you didn't even know it was there!
With me so far? Ok, now suppose you are going to make a left hand turn, or switch to the lane to your left (when switching lanes, it is a good idea to make sure that the lane you are going into is for traffic headed the same way as you). Put your hand on the lever and push it gently down. You should hear a ticking sound or, in some cases, a dinging. If you look on your dashboard, there should be a little blinking arrow lit up, pointing to the left. This means you have succeeded in turning on your directional (I know you are pretending at the moment, so just visualize, ok?). Once the lever is down and the sound and/or arrow are indicating leftward movement, you may proceed to make sure your path is clear, and then continue on with your intended movement. If you are looking to make a rightward movement, apply all the preceding steps, except move the lever UP instead of DOWN. I know, this is confusing and new. Take a moment to write this all down.
We use our directionals for several reasons. First, it lets other drivers know your intentions. You do not want to be in a left lane, with miles of traffic behind you, and suddenly spring on the driver to your rear that you are going to turn, something that usually takes a few moments to do. Other drivers tend to get nasty when you do this to them, and as Driving Czar, I would like to see a reduction in the percentage of irate drivers. Second, if you are changing lanes, this lets other drivers know. This is important because if you switch lanes without signaling, people will make up new and creative things to call you. They will not be pleasant things. They may even use their own signal of sorts, when they stick their hand out of their car window and salute you with their middle finger held up. This means they are mad. If it is accompanied by cursing and name-calling, they are a bit more than mad. They may tailgate you and/or harass you. And honestly, as Driving Czar, I give them the liberty to do this. People who do not use their directionals are subject to any kind of abuse that other drivers may throw at them, and I will not deter these pissed off drivers from smacking you upside your head once they catch up to you. Think of them as my street team. My personal driving vigilantes.
So let’s recap. Using directionals good. Not using directionals bad. Good means less mad drivers. Bad means you get bitchslapped. Go to your cars and practice. I know you will get the hang of it eventually.
(note: running for the presidency means I will have to give up my driving czar position, so it's up for grabs)
3:30 press conference
The Slutpublican Party will have an important annoucement tonight on where we stand on the issue of consenting adults sodomozing each other in the name of love and lust in the privacy of their own bedrooms. Stay tuned to the blog of the vice-prez to be for this press conference. And may I suggest that if you are gunning for one of our coveted cabinet spots, you should go over there and ply Mr. Swerdloff with kind words in his comments.
More announcements:
Please join us in welcoming to our cabinet the Secretary of Conspiracies, Eric Akawie.
His resume was beautiful, describing how he would be "in charge of coordinating administration policy with the Illuminati, Elders of Zion, Bilderberges, Rosicrucians, Grey Aliens, Elevated Masters, the Jesuits, Masons (both Scottish and Egyptian rites), and all the rest I can't tell you about until you're inaugurated. I am also responsible for the care and feeding of the Thing Under the Pentagon."
Somebody has to feed that thing (we call him Ashcroft). I'm just glad it ain't me.
We have also filled the position as Minister of Information, whose job it is to confuse and befuddle the press with as much disinformation and lies as possible. Dave will handle that job, and he will do it in limerick form.
We have some honorary positions up for grabs as well. Look for them later.
Oh, did I mention that we are now screening for the position of Official White House Blogger? Anyone interested?
The Small Victory Jukebox will be open tonight, with a running theme of songs about sex. Or politics. Or both.
enough PC nonsense for everyone
If you ever want examples of PC run amok, go read Tongue Tied.
Sometimes the site reads as parody even though it's not. And most times you wish it was.
Students at all-female Smith College in Massachusetts have voted to remove all feminine pronouns from the school constitution and replace them with gender-neutral ones, reports the New Hampshire Gazette.
and..
People attending the meeting will be segregated by scent. Those who never use smelly stuff will sit in one area. Those who sometime wear fragrances but didn’t that particular day will sit in another, and those who forgot and wore something that day will sit in a third.
or..
The Daily Telegraph reports that in Britain the term “brainstorming” is now frowned upon because it might offend people with epilepsy.
Teacher trainees there are apparently being told to avoid the term and instead use something like "word storm" or "thought shower."
Scott does a great job of weeding out the idiotic behavior of PC specialists the world over. Well, his site's motto is Carping about the excesses of clueless crybabies since the turn of the century.
The aggravation quotient is high, but it's good to know these things are going on.
positions open, bribes accepted
Ok, here's the deal.
Jonathan and I decided to have two cabinets. The traditional Presidential Cabinet and the Backroom Cabinet.
For the traditional positions, we require a bio and that you have a blog. You can submit them to either myself or Jonathan through email or the comments. Following is a list of cabinet positions. The ones in bold have been taken.
Agriculture
Commerce:
Defense Dr. Grosz
Education
Energy
Health and Human Services
Department of Homeland Security
Housing and Urban Development
Interior
Justice (Attorney General): Dodd
Labor
State
Transportation Mike (Cold Fury)
Treasury
Veterans Affairs
The Vice President: Jonathan Swerldoff
President's Chief of Staff
Environmental Protection Agency
Office of Management and Budget.
Office of National Drug Control Policy
U.S. Trade Representative
Read further for positions available in the Backroom Cabinet
These are only the positions that have been filled or made up already. Feel free to make up your own as the need arises. If you have qualifications, please let us know. Feel free to send us pictures of you dancing naked on the table at your sister's wedding.
Chocolate and Sex Toys: Sekimori
Web Design: Tanya
Photoshop: Robb
Official Campaign Photographer: John (Cold Marble Musings)
As always, interns are welcome to apply. Resume and knee pads required.
The Slutpublican campaign trail begins
We are looking for a few good men/women/androgynous beings to fill our Cabinet.
So far, Dr. Grosz has joined our tour de force as Secretary of Defense, and Mike of Cold Fury is our Secretary of Transportation (a motorcycle in every home!).
If you know of a cabinet position (real or imagined) that you feel you could take on with verve, eagerness and gleeful willingness to abandon your dignity and good reputation, please let me know.
The domains have been purchased. The Slutpublicans are real.
[That means we need to fill the position of Secretary of Web Design - for which the pay is none but the glory is as everlasting as a great big globby grape gobstopper]
an ode to saddam on his birthday - a poetry contest
It's poetry time!
Today is the 66th birthday of Saddam Hussein. Dead or alive, evil tyrant or benevolent madman, mass murderer or benign leader, all depending on who you talk to.
Let's give the guy a birthday to remember. I won't hold you to just limericks today. Free verse, haiku, what have you. Either way they will most likely all come out the same -
roses are red
violets are blue
my puppy is dead
and so are you.
Or something like that.
This time, there will be a prize. Yes, a real, tangible prize that you can actually hold in your hands and show off to your friends and family - your choice of either The Complete Idiot's Guide to Understand Iraq or The Oxford Book of Satirical Verse.
So "celebrate" Saddam's birthday with some poetic justice. Entries due by midnight tonight. Leave them here in the comments.
Rules, regulations, whatnot:
As this contest revolves around it being Saddam's birthday, the poem should mention that at some point.
Length is up for grabs, but no epic poetry, please.
Enter as many times as you wish, but enter only one poem per comment.
You MUST leave a real name and email address.
Trolls welcome, but just wait until my Poetry to Trolls contest. You'll be sorry!
Writing AS someone is good. For instance, Robert Fisks' love poem to Saddam on his birthday would be funny.
The Slutpublican ticket for 2004: I'm in
The Slutpublicans live.
Mr. Swerdloff and I have decided to run on the Slutpublican ticket. While our political intentions are good, they are also selfish and personal, as Jonathan is hoping that some lovely, wholesome neocon woman would like to sleep with the vice-president, and I am hoping to turn this into a chance to rid the world once and for all of Carrot Top.
Sure, we have more realistic aspirations, as Jonathan says:
Give France back to the Germans, since they didn't appreciate our saving them the first time. And then give the Germans to the Russians. In exchange, Russia will give us her full stockpile of WMDs and all of their scientists and technicians.Domestically - gay marriage is in. Funding for disease-fighting nonprofits doing research is in. Corporations who shelter their money by being Cayman or similarly situated will be taxed on everything they do.
So, as in most cases, the vice-president, Jonathan, will be the brains behind the outfit. I'll just stand around and read speeches and cut ribbons at opening ceremonies and invite the Stanley Cup winning hockey team back to the presidential bedroom.
Speaking of speeches, we are hoping to get Bill Whittle to write ours. Perhaps we can make this an all blogger ticket. Of course, our theme song will be Dr. Frank's democracy, whisky, sexy. No Fleetwood Mac for us.
Do you have a special talent that would somehow enhance our marketability? What can you bring to the Swerldoff-Catalano ticket that would make us sexier, smarter, more likely to be featured in an issue of Maxim? Can you make blogging trolls go away with a single glance? Do you have any action-figure type magic powers like invisibility or the ability to stretch your arms really long distances or the power to make Chirac cry? Will you dance naked at our inaugural party? To Justin Timberlake?
As our gravy train takes off from the station, you will want to be a part of it. We are Slutpublicans. We are proud.
April 27, 2003
powerslave*
Well, when Uday's birthday comes around we can always buy him the Iron Maiden box set.
*
Into the abyss I'll fall - the eye of Horus
Into the eyes of the night - watching me go
Green is the cat's eye that glows - in this temple
Enter the risen Osiris - risen again
Tell me why I had to be a powerslave
I don't wanna die, I'm a god,
why can't I live on?
When the Life Giver dies,
all around is laid to waste
And in my last hour,
I'm a slave to the power of death
When I was living this lie - fear was my game
People would worship and fall-drop to their knees
So bring me the blood and red wine
for the one to succeed me
For he is a man and a god
and he will die too.
Now I am cold but a ghost lives in my veins
Silent the terror that reigned - maarbled in stone
Shell of a man God preserved - a thousand ages
But open the gates of my hell
I will strike from the grave
you smell like a monkey
Tomorrow is/was Saddam's 66th birthday. I'd really like to do something special. Any suggestions?
UPDATE:
My first form of celebration comes in the form of this MP3:
Bloodhound Gang - I Hope You Die (This is just in case he's not dead)
You really need to read the lyrics
You must die I alone am best!
I hope ya flip some guy the bird,
He cuts you off and you're forced to swerve,
In front of the Beatles' tour bus,
A Bookmobile and a Mack truck,
Hauling hazardous biological waste,
The light turns red you have no brakes,
And "Hard Copy" gets it all on tape,
So you can see the look on your face,
...Die Die Die Die Die Die Die!,
...Die Die Die Die Die Die Die!,
I hope your Pinto begins to spin,
Takes out a disabled Vietnam Veteran,
Mows down a Nobel Peace Prize Winner,
And maybe some orphans having Christmas dinner,
Perhaps even the British Royal Family,
And the Rabbi that's clutching the bottle-fed puppy,
And we can't forget the newlyweds,
And those Jerry's Kids are as good as dead,
I hope this helps to emphasize,
I hope this helps to clarify,
I hope you die,
I hope your cellmate thinks he's God,
But C.N.N. refer to him as "Bowling Ball Bag Bob",
Serving time again for abuse of a corpse,
Only this time the victim's a Clydesdale horse,
While he masturbates to photos of livestock,
He does the "Silence of the Lambs" dance to Christian Rock,
Eats feces and quotes from "Deliverance",
And fights with his imaginary playmate Vince,
...Die Die Die Die Die Die Die!,
...Die Die Die Die Die Die Die!,
I hope he grins like Jack Nicholson,
And forces you to play a game called Balls On Chin,
And whatever happens next is all a blur,
But you remember "fist" can be a verb,
And when you finally regain consciousness,
You're bound and gagged in a wedding dress,
And the prison guard looks the other way,
'Cause he's the guy ya flipped the bird the other day,
I hope this helps to emphasize,
I hope this helps to clarify,
I hope you die,
...I hope you die!.
gratuitous picture time
Leftover Easter pictures, today's Little League game and photoshop fooling around.
Just to make sure you really looked at them, I'm going to make you vote for your favorite one.
For this one, guess which movie Justin was acting out. Our family has such great ways of celebrating the holidays.
UPDATE: Greg guessed right.
It's the grooviest thing
I'm off to DJ's baseball game and then my mother is having one of those things where a lady comes to your house and sells stuff to a group of women but most of the women are too busy drinking margaritas to pay any attention to the newest development in cookware and who cares if it's not TupperWar(tm) anyhow?
The Small Victory Jukebox does not have time for such frivolities, however and I will leave you all with this song, a special long-distance dedication going out to Andrea, a Sad Old Goth like myself.
[the jukebox will be turned on again later - get in your requests now and go download anything remaining from this weekend before they disappear]
We move like cagey tigers
We couldn't get closer than this
The way we walk
The way we talk
The way we stalk
The way we kiss
We slip through the streets
While everyone sleeps
Getting bigger and sleeker
And wider and brighter
We bite and scratch and scream all night
Let's go and
Throw all the songs we know
Into the sea
You and me
All these years and no one heard
I'll show you in spring
It's a treacherous thing
We missed you hissed the lovecats
(Ba ba-da...da da da da da...)
We're so wonderfully wonderfully wonderfully
Wonderfully pretty
Oh you know that I'd do anything for you
We should have each other to tea huh?
We should have each other with cream
Then curl up by the fire
And sleep for awhile
It's the grooviest thing
It's the perfect dream
Hand in hand
Is the only way to land
And always the right way round
Not broken in pieces
Like hated little meeces
How could we miss
Someone as dumb as this
I love you ... let's go
Oh ... solid gone ...
How could we miss someone as dumb
As this?
(Is it just me or did this song always remind you of the Inspector Gadget theme?)
the new party politics
There's a reason why I'm always calling Seki my beautiful genius.
In regards to last night's Slutpublican post, Seki has made these banners for you and yours. Enjoy.
Post them on your site, but save them to your own server or I'll have to kill you, except for Jim who is allowed to use my server space for his robot sex comics (no permalinks, just go look) because he is a mad genius and I want to be able to say I helped him out on his way to fame, fortune and jail time.
the mother of all protests
Life is a series of protests and counter-protests. From infancy, when you puke all over you mother because she decided to feed you that chalky, putrid formula, to old age when you piss the bed because the nurse wouldn't answer the buzzer, you are constantly protesting.
When your parents protest your choice of fashion, you counter-protest by going from dirtbag to goth, from Jnco jeans to flowing black dresses and black nail polish to drive home the point that those baggy pants really weren't that bad after all.
At some point your protests become organized and you sit out class to demonstrate your anger at the sexism rampant in the school's choice of textbooks or you walk out of work because you aren't being paid what you're worth and you want to prove it by parading up and down the sidewalk with a cardboard sign hanging from your neck.
You sign petitions for stop signs, you vote no to propositions, you call the cops on your neighbors when their son's band practice goes until 4am and all they keep playing is that same Led Zeppelin riff over and over, you throw eggs at the home of the cranky old lady who wouldn't give back the frisbee that landed in her yard.
Protest. Counter-protest. For and against, yes and no, you will or you won't.
Maybe we should set aside a day every year for this sort of thing. Call it National Angst Day. You could make up a ten foot tall posterboard listing all the things you are against and maybe another one listing all the things that your neighbor is against but you are for. Then we call all beat the crap out of each other, break a few car windows, throw rocks at the police, wave some flags, shout some slogans and be done with it for the rest of the year. Think of it as protest multi-tasking.
Speaking of which, I will be doing just that very thing on July Fourth. No, not erecting a billboard of protests or throwing rocks, but I will be doing a for and against at the same time. I can take my two pet projects - supporting the troops and annoying PETA activists - and combine them into one perfect holiday. I'm going to donate a steak to the troops this Independence Day. What better way to show how I support the war (a counter-protest to those who don't) and the troops and to do my part to shove my penchant for eating the body parts of dead animals in the face of the people who dress up as bloody cows and march into restaurants to annoy the diners?
I am going to make the donation in the name of PETA. And on July 4th, I will be sitting in my backyard with the aroma of sizzling cow and chicken on the barbecue, drinking a beer that was surely made by some oppressed factory worker in Canada (brought from the store to my house in my SUV), celebrating the independence of a country I love and support and raising my glass to the troops.
That, my friends, is how protesting and counter-protesting come together in a glorious moment that is the equivalent of raising your middle finger to every extreme activist on morality patrol in your neighborhood.
Won't you join me?
April 26, 2003
look ma, i'm a slutpublican!
Addressing today's mail.
Dear Mr. Ten-Inch Liberal,
Just because a person supports the war and the president in that matter, does not mean that said person a) thinks Rush Limbaugh is the greatest thinker of all time; b) fantasizes about Bill O'Reilly or c) wants to have sex with Charlton Heston.
Although I did like being called a "slutpublican," the phrase "FreeperFucker" was just too creepy for me to enjoy. Oh, and "Fox News Asslicker" just does not have that roll-off-your-tongue quality that slutpublican does.
And no, I would not like to have Neil Cavuto's face tattooed on my tits nor would I care to have you teach me a few things about what a woman like me really needs. I have a feeling it has something to do with you calling me Mommy while I spank you and frankly, I'm just don't feel close enough to you yet to engage in that kind of behavior.
You seem to be fixated on sex. Perhaps you might want to think about having sex other than the kind you get with your right hand while you are jerking off to pictures of Robert Fisk and Ted Rall.
There's always your left hand and Susan Sarandon if you're really desperate.
Thanks for writing, it's been fun!
glenn reynolds kills hobos!
Hi, my name is Michele and my turn-ons are Satanism, hobo killing and putting puppies in blenders.
My turn-offs are men who try to disparage those who participate in my deranged fantasies.
You can make it up to me, Frank. Just go out and kill a hobo. And bring me his traveling stick as proof. You know, the one with the little red hankie tied to the end.
Remember, that's hobo, not hippie. Don't come back here with some patchouli smelling Phish fan's head.
we have entered another dimension
Have we reached a full blown fright-fest yet with the SARS virus?
The world is becoming a Twilight Zone episode. First the masks, then the quarantines and then the cancelling of school trips and baseball games.
Soon, we will fear the common cold the way we feared the Russians back in the 60's. Anyone who sneezes in your vicinity will be pointed at and run out of town. Spring allergies will be mistaken for deathly disease and your runny nose will make you a social pariah.
There will be standard procedure forms sent home from school and the principal will wear a mask and latex gloves at the SARS Assembly next week when he instructs the kiddies on the SARS Readiness Program. When someone says they don't feel good, sound the alarm. Run for cover. Head to the basement fallout shelter and for god's sake, don't let anyone with a temperature in!
Churches will be empty and movie theaters will close and Major League Baseball will force the Toronto Blue Jays to forfeit the rest of the season. Hideki Matsui will be banned from playing, even though he's from Japan and not China, someone will say close enough, it's one of them Asian countries, and he will be sent packing, on a separate plane for those banished from the rest of us, sent to some island for SARS refugees.
The world is ending, the sky is falling, pack up the kiddies and head to the bomb shelter and don't forget your Tylenol Cold and the tissues that feel soft to the touch. Forget school, forget the Boy Scout meetings and your best friend's wedding. You're not going anywhere that someone who knew someone who had a friend who visited a cousin in Chinatown who ate in the same restaurant as the niece of the latest SARS victim might be.
Rod Serling will eventually appear and in his best scary stage voice will inform everyone that this episode of panic and fear has been brought to you by the makers of duct tape and plastic sheeting and you should really get going on making your house airtight if you want to stay healthy.
Here, in the twilight zone.
UPDATE: Tongue. Cheek.