Sigh...

While Kerry was in Vietnam getting shot at and saving people, Bush was either:

a. In a Cheerleader squad
b. Hitting an enormous beer-bong.


The 'A' stands for 'Alcohol'.

-TLS

The Biker Bear

Last week I reported on a bear that downed 36 Rainier Beers and climbed into a tree to pass out. The funniest aspect of that was not that he drank 36 beers, or passed out, but that he refused to drink the Busch beer that was also there.

Now, an ingenious bear in the Berlin zoo constructed a raft, swam a moat, scaled a wall and commandeered a bike before being tranquilized. So the question is: was he making a desperate beer run? What is up with the bear news lately? Can we safely assume that this is the fault of all those Molsen Canadian commercials where the bear drinks?



He might be able to ride the bike to the bar
but he'll need to take a cab home.


-TLS

Our President, circa 1968

In the picture below, our president is committing three fouls, one of them a cardinal sin. He probably got away with it, but if the ref saw, he'd be out of the game for breaking the gentleman's code of rugby. What is the gentleman's code? Essentially it is 'don't be a complete raving asshole'.

The president is:

1. Leaving his feet to commit a tackle
2. Tackling above the shoulder
3. Punching his opponent in the face.

(Surprisingly #2 is the biggest sin)


The president delivers a 'swift boat for truth'
to his opponent's face

SpamPoetry, part V

In honor of the book Wide Sargasso Sea (which I was reminded of the other day when my wife and I discussed books we were forced to read in high school), today's Spampoem tells the story of Antionette Cosway and her disastrous marriage to Rochester (from Jane Eyre) which ends with her death in the attic. Of all the girly, froofy, tell-me-about-your-feelings-Heathcliff type books that I was forced to read in high-school, this was by far the worst. It left me feeling what the Germans call Mädchenausgabenlangweiligeheit ('Girl-issues-boringness', though babelfish translates it as 'expenditure for girl'. Either way, it works).


Thwarting Hazards is Cloudless

Perceivable sweetness!
Exertions, counting parapet
abstained, owes.
Encamped calculating;
charming until noticing,
shawls speedy coals,
breaking condemned heads.

Flashed thought,
Misled!
Entreated experience,
Alter!

Retreated bright type
around music, garden leap.
Dealing hysteric courtesy,
wisely coiling, fitter upstairs;
himself passionate,
summon respect bitterest:
Contest!
Destroy!
Bolder,
thwarting hazards is cloudless.



This way to Jane Erye.

High concentrations of Platinum discovered in women with Breast Implants

President Bush opens America's Women up to public mining.


Platinum found in women with implants



There's Platinum in them thar hills!



TLS

Fuck Americans

Notice I said Americans, not AMERICA. I too am an American and I stand firmly by my conviction that I and all others like me should go fuck ourselves.

I can stand it no longer. What happened to the great nation of scrappy survivors, the gross optimists, the hard-edged men with insides as soft as fresh baked cookies? Where is the forgiveness? The concern for the common man? All I see now are the most arrogant, ignorant, selfish people on the face of the earth. We consume 1/3 of everything produced in the world, yet constitute just 1/16th of the population. For god's sake, does it not register with you that somewhere in the world your doppelganger is STARVING?
We drive the most SUVs with the lowest gas prices and least environmental regulations of any First World Country. We give 32,000$ tax breaks to 'small businesses' to buy an SUV and eliminate 2,000$ tax breaks for those who buy hybrid cars. That's not just stupid, that's EVIL. Everyone who drives an SUV and does not have 3 kids or a ranch is part of evil. Plain and simple.

And what about September 11th? Oh yes, I'm going to talk about it because nobody else will. We have embarassed ourselves in handling that. First, losing 3,000 people is a tragedy, and I cried for them that day, but compared to Antietam, when we lost 23,100 men in a single days' battle, it's paltry. Let me put it to you this way: compared to Antietam, adjusting for population inflation, 231,000 people would have had to die in those towers and the Pentagon. And did we rally around the president and give him a blank check to do evil? Hell no! Lincoln was castigated by the press for being a fool.

Did we react with grace and dignity to 9/11? Did we rally around each other and the world and start a brave new front to combat the causes of terrorism? Did we forge a coalition of all the countries who face terrorism to shut down the flood of money and supplies to terrorists? Did we even interact more than in the past with Interpol? No, we acted the way the bully does when somebody inally gets fed up enough to lash back at them: we stumbled around until we found somebody we could beat up. Hell, England is lucky they weren't the target.

Oh yeah, and we were told we were doing our duty if we bought an SUV and pumped it full of sweet Saudi crude.

But this isn't a harp about Iraq, it's a harp about Americans and how much we don't deserve to call ourselves that anymore. Can a country that is so fat that 40% of its populous is going to develop diabetes in their lifetime and yet refuses to institute national health care really understand what "We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense..." really means?

Does a country that supports a Vice President that equates voting democratic as a win for Al Qaeda really deserve 'the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity'?

Does a country that sacrifices democracy in order to save democracy really deserve to have it at all, or are we just going through the motions now?

Face it America, we're more George Bush than George Washington. We know more about the lives of people who never even existed (like, say, Rachel from 'Friends' or Darth Vader) than we do about the framers of our own constitution. The average American can name more value meals than amendments to the constitution.

There's a reason the world doesn't like us. We have the best of everything and we do nothing with it. We've got a free run of a 5 star restaurant and we order pork n' beans, but we tell ourselves it's foie gras.

Face it, we suck. America is great, the best country in the world, and I won't stand for anybody trashing America. But it would do a whole lot better without most of us who seem to think this great nation owes them something. Well get this straight pal, it don't owe you shit, but you owe it and everyone in it everything. So pick up your trash, pay your taxes, help out your neighbor and stop blaming others (other people, other parties, other countries) for your unhappiness.



Ask yourself this question: Is America a better or worse place for having you in it? What have you done for it?

I love it when right-wing nutjobs go down in flames

So Michelle Malkin (french for 'Bad relative') has had a bad week. Poor girl got completely lambasted on Hardball last night for declaring that John Kerry shot himself (edited for size but not content):

MALKIN: Well, yes. Why don‘t people ask him more specific questions about the shrapnel in his leg. They are legitimate questions about whether or not it was a self-inflicted wound.

MATTHEWS: What do you mean by self-inflicted? Are you saying he shot himself on purpose? Is that what you‘re saying?

MALKIN: Did you read the book...

MATTHEWS: I‘m asking a simple question. Are you saying that he shot himself on purpose.

MALKIN: I‘m saying some of these soldiers...
...
MATTHEWS: Did he shoot himself on purpose.

MALKIN: Some of the soldiers have made allegations that these were self-inflicted wounds.

MATTHEWS: No one has ever accused him of shooting himself on purpose.

MALKIN: That these were self-inflicted wounds.

MATTHEWS: Your saying there are—he shot himself on purpose, that‘s a criminal act?

MALKIN: I‘m saying that I‘ve read the book and some of the...

MATTHEWS: I want an answer yes or no, Michelle.

MALKIN: Some of the veterans say...

MATTHEWS: No. No one has every accused him of shooting himself on purpose.

MALKIN: Yes. Some of them say that.

MATTHEWS: Tell me where that...

MALKIN: Self-inflicted wounds—in February, 1969.

MATTHEWS: This is not a show for this kind of talk. Are you accusing him of shooting himself on purpose to avoid combat or to get credit?

...

MALKIN: These people have cast a lot of doubt on whether or not...

MATTHEWS: That‘s cast a lot of doubt. That‘s complete nonsense.

MALKIN: Did you read the section in the book...

MATTHEWS: I want a statement from you on this program, say to me right, that you believe he shot himself to get credit for a purpose of heart.

MALKIN: I‘m not sure. I‘m saying...

MATTHEWS: Why did you say?

....

MALKIN: Have you tried to ask—have you tried ask John Kerry these questions?

MATTHEWS: If he shot himself on purpose. No. I have not asked him that.

MALKIN: Don‘t you wonder?

MATTHEWS: No, I don‘t. It‘s never occurred to me.



This came on the heels of a disastrous showing on Bill Maher where she lost her head when the audience wouldn't like her. Below is an image pretty indicative of her response that evening.


"Go Cheney yourself!"

But the best of all has to be the response of her fans at the bottom of this blog.

100 Monkeys typing

First of all, they must have actively googled for Malkin-bashing to find this blog and second of all, I hope they're not armed (but being republican, they probably are).

SpamPoetry, part IV

Episode 4 of the spampoetry saga contains mainly subject lines from sites advertising 'barely 18' porn, which is a bit creepy because this weeks poem describes, to a tee, my first sexual fumblings with a girl on a hillside in Texas, when I was 13. Nothing happened that day, because I chickened out.


Deathly Glorious Force

Supple cunning accent,
matters endeavoring,
disastrous highlands,
weary interim.

Deathly glorious force!
logical, listen!
Minutes unsuccessful,
accord concluded.
Attributed outrage,
related skeleton obeyed.
Restless beyond searched remembrances.

Silence firmament compassionately.
Journey, episode.
Educated!
Rid gayly!
Finale.

The Beer Bear

I now know that with any luck, I shall be reincarnated as a bear when I die.


Form Abcnews.com

BAKER LAKE, Wash. Aug. 17, 2004 — Rain-eeeeer .... Bear? When state Fish and Wildlife agents recently found a black bear passed out on the lawn of Baker Lake Resort, there were some clues scattered nearby dozens of empty cans of Rainier Beer.
The bear apparently got into campers' coolers and used his claws and teeth to puncture the cans. And not just any cans.

"He drank the Rainier and wouldn't drink the Busch beer," said Lisa Broxson, bookkeeper at the campground and cabins resort east of Mount Baker.

Fish and Wildlife enforcement Sgt. Bill Heinck said the bear did try one can of Busch, but ignored the rest.

"He didn't like that (Busch) and consumed, as near as we can tell, about 36 cans of Rainier."

A wildlife agent tried to chase the bear from the campground but the animal just climbed a tree to sleep it off for another four hours. Agents finally herded the bear away, but it returned the next morning.

Agents then used a large, humane trap to capture it for relocation, baiting the trap with the usual: doughnuts, honey and, in this case, two open cans of Rainier. That did the trick.

"This is a new one on me," Heinck said. "I've known them to get into cans, but nothing like this. And it definitely had a preference."




He's not hybernating, he's foxed.

SpamPoetry, part III

I was bombarded by spams this morning promising lower interest rates, refiniancing my home and larger, longer erections. As awesome as it sounds to have the money to build the boathouse and jacuzzi where I could exploit the obvious benefits of a rock hard woody, something about it smacked of crass materialism: a folding of my environmental beliefs for something as simple as a 4 hour hard on and paid off student loans. So I created this poem out of the random subject headings. It tells the story of Mabel the urban sprawl-hater vs. The evil developer and how they come to blows in court. Will they lose sight of what's really important in all that bickering?


Lockjaw Reread

Sacrificing, build prime!
Announce deal, venture proudly.
Counting, following harbors.
Citizen period extended.
Difficulty? doubtless.
Lockjaw, reread, bequeathed playfellows(latter searches delighted happiness).

Holds decide:
Unsuspected matter, entirely changeable,
unguided politics;
Providence!

Mabel hated!
Destroy!
Stopping refrained noisily development.
AG losing planned.
Witch!
Reckoned hove turns regrettable:
fever untutored,
passion strike sweetness;
Stream there.

SpamPoetry, part II

This week I received a spate of unsolicited 'Shemale emails', mentioning that 'she has a surprise for him' and 'What will he do with her hidden meet(sic)?' so perhaps that explains the underlying tension in this weeks' spampoem.

Will this mystery man reject her? Will he beat her, or will he kiss her? Would our intrepid shemale even dare to dream of love? Will she find it? Only the poem will tell. After all, it is created entirely from the randomly generated subject lines of those very emails. Only the punctuations are mine.


Assemble Able Spectacles

Seclusion unendurable waited tender supervision.
Apprehensions, treasures hung numbered.
Assemble able spectacles!
Connect!
Free, swelled, smooth, airy: tell!
'Rejoined impatiently, glides preventing gratefully.'
dream! Seal chance!

Composed against? Civilly whistle.
Shy due date relates.
Sensation rejoins, glimmered dreary stability happened.
Threat!
Endure stepping rooms, disunited trust.
Moonlit arrival, tact stalls semi-similarity.
Hearts proving strongly,
Proposal.

He was Rick James, Bitch!

The funk-tastiest, pimp-slappinest, coke-smokingest superfreak himself has passed at 56. At some point tonight, raise your beer, your wine, your bong or your crackpipe and remember him fondly, and then help his soul sail into the other world by declaring loudly "I'm a superfreak!"

For all of us at one time have danced to superfreak or wore shiny spandex pants. We've all had a threesome or smoked crack before. And who among us can claim that we have never served time in prison or set fire to a prostitute? But above all, remember the joy he brought to your life, whether it be the songs he sung or the 'Behind the Music' he was in, for those days have truly passed us now. So remember him and praise him, for with his passing a part of us has passed to, and in no small way tonight, across the world, we are all Rick James...


Bitch.

And now for you, a SpamPoem

This poem is very special to me, since it is composed entirely of subject lines from spam-porn emails. As a red-blooded American, I have a special place in my heart for both the creative impulse and free porno. Please, if you can find it in your heart to write one from your emails, add it to my comments. I'll post really good ones.

The rules are as follows:
1. you cannot change a word or delete a word.
2. you can add commas, exclamation points, periods and parentheses.

Now, for the poem, entitled 'Country Drooping Prison'

Country Drooping Prison

Revile, sparkled toys! What famous behaved Shetlander?
Friend, arms maybe patient persons; hopping, speaking. Arm!
Content ear dishes learn modest accompanying;
meaning principle, relative gentle.

Country drooping prison;
laughing woman, positively standing, speaks:
Stood original.
seeking boyish; becomingly another, discover labyrinth.

If I am remembered for nothing else...

I shall be remembered for this: I have named a syndrome. Whether the syndrome exists or not is immaterial. People will google the name, they will see it exists, and I shall be given credit, even if it is posthumous. The name? The Tannhauser Syndrome.

Every American man over the age of 15 has seen a porn. Every man that has seen a porno has thought long and hard about the benefits of being a porn star. Also, every man that gave it real consideration realized that the detrement far outweigherd the benefit of having constant sex with really hot girls: That is, eventually sex would come to be work. No matter how hot the girl was, no matter how many hot girls fucked you at one time, at some point, it would just be your daily job; something you looked forward to the end of. What hell would life be if one actually thought "Just two more hours of fucking these amazingly hot and willing chicks and then I can go home to a beer and a new episode of 'Will and Grace'."

Well, the same thing happened to a mythical German figure, one Tannhauser. Tannhauser lived in the alps and loved the young beautiful frau Liesl. One day, while hunting in the mountains, he discovered the entrance to Venus' lair. Once inside, she told him he could stay, and not only could he have his wicked way with her, but all her underlings too. So for a year, Tannhauser engaged in wicked threesomes, hot foursomes and daisy-chains, until one day it just bored him to tears. So he asked Venus to release him, which she did. However, when he came home, he found that one year with Venus was the equivalent of fifty years on Earth. Not only was Liesl gone, but everybody and everything he ever knew was gone too. Eventually, he decided to try and find the gate back to Venus' world rather than try and make it in a strange and bitter (to him) world where he had no friends and no skills. He failed.

So I hereby declare, being of sound mind and sound body, that the emotional disease that affects porn stars who learn to despise free and available sex and long for the idyllic time before they were in porn shall be called 'Tannhauser's syndrome'. Look for it in your next edition of the DSM.