So I must admit my disposition has been less than stellar lately. Downright glum, even. A swirling mass of deep, black fetid goo at times…
Thus, in an effort to get my brain moving, along with my bod, I decided to take a trip to the gym yesterday, something I rarely do these lovely bike-riding days.
And that’s when it happened, the brain-shriveling assault of idiocy gone wild: my gym has individual TV screens on each piece of cardio equipment, and as I trudged my way across many virtual miles after a pathetically tiring day attempting to make enough money to pay the bills and still have enough to go out and buy groceries, Nikki Hilton appeared.
Now, I don’t know what the hell channel I was on, and I know very little about this girl except she’s annoying as fuck Paris “I have to marry someone with the same name as me so I can come while screaming ‘Paris, oh Paris’ while fucking” Hilton’s brown-haired sister. Other than that, I plead cluelessness.
Seems this little chickie was posing, all streetwalker-like, for some guy mag — Maxim of FHM or something — and they were asking her really deep questions, probably something like, “So, do you touch yourself when you wake up because you are so rich and vapid?”
In the course of this conversation little cuntalina decides to defend herself against her detractors by asserting that they are full of shit because she, at 21, was/is CEO of her own company, and she’d like to see what they were doing at 21 that was so important.
Ooookay. Well, hm. Let’s see. Me: I was working full-time, going to school full-time, and trying to get an education while subsisting on .14 cent ramen noodles in a bid to do something with my life. Most others are/were probably doing the same thing, and lots of people right now, at 21, are doing things far more important than Ms. Hilton will ever hope to accomplish in her life, like being human.
And, not like anyone cares, and it’s not like my outrage will make an ounce of difference, but this little whorebag trustafarian* bitch should be so lucky to come back in the next life as a cockroach.
Author: esbrath
Ithaca-based writer and artist, child of the '80s, member of so-called Generation X. I write because I love to. I also write for work. And, especially on these pages, I write about my life for your entertainment ... not to mention my own!
Rollin’ Rove’r
You know, the obvious place to dig in regarding the bullshit fucked up state of the union is with fatty blatty blabbermouth doughboy Karl Rove and his penchant for bullying and blabbing his flabby way to Shrub’s political victory at any cost.
But no. Let’s take a moment, shall we, bow our heads and reflect on the recent announcement that our dearly drunken departed HST will indeed be shot out of a cannon in ash form, with the hottest man to ever walk the earth, Johnny Depp, organizing and presiding over the festivities:
ASPEN, Colo. – Friends and family of gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson are preparing to pepper the sky with the late writer’s ashes.
His cremated remains will be shot into the air Aug. 20 from a cannon installed on a 150-foot-high tower behind his home in Woody Creek. The 67-year-old Thompson, who had been in failing health, shot himself at his home on Feb. 20 after a long and flamboyant career.
Ah, well, all I can say is if Mr. Depp is in the business of making wishes come true, my home address is….
Oh it makes me all warm and fuzzy on the inside!
Actor Johnny Depp, a close friend of Thompson’s, has hired a Beverly Hills, Calif., events planner to oversee the event, which will be closed to the public.
“We had talked a couple of times about his last wishes to be shot out of a cannon of his own design,” Depp said in a recent interview with AP Television News. “All I’m doing is trying to make sure his last wish comes true.” AP
Ah, well, all I can say is if Mr. Depp is in the business of making wishes come true, my home address is….
… heh heh.
Anyway, back to reality, and the sudden and, gasp!, shocking revelation that pasty-faced Rove, a sub-human so deeply dark and disturbing to the core he’d probably accuse his own mother of being a lesbian cross-dressing crack-addicted porn star unpatriotic Arab-loving alcoholic guilty of hate crimes against amputee U.S. soldiers as they return to their yellow-ribboned 1950s mom and apple pie neighborhoods — complete with porch swings and friendly neighbors always willing to lend a cup of sugar or a hand (no pun intended!) — in order to get ahead in the polls and take any political opponent down.
Why not? His list of ” accomplishments” says it all…
(And, in an aside response to Mags‘ distress over the fact that she and Turd Blossom share the same birthdate, I could potentially be related to the roly-poly pasty puke-inducing pustule as he’s Norwegian-American. Who’s worse off now?!!?)
Thankfully for the world and everyone in it, the White House press corps pulled its collective head out of its arse yesterday and discovered that it does, indeed, have balls. Here’s just a little bit of the transcript that made me fall to my knees and praise the great and wondrous being(s) that made the sky open up and the heavens rain down small, sharp and pointy poisoned quills, which the assembled reporters actually managed to use to fashion real questions for talking head going-to-hell soulless mouthpiece Scott McClellan:
Q Scott, I mean, just — I mean, this is ridiculous. The notion that you’re going to stand before us after having commented with that level of detail and tell people watching this that somehow you decided not to talk. You’ve got a public record out there. Do you stand by your remarks from that podium, or not?
MR. McCLELLAN: And again, David, I’m well aware, like you, of what was previously said, and I will be glad to talk about it at the appropriate time. The appropriate time is when the investigation —
Q Why are you choosing when it’s appropriate and when it’s inappropriate?
MR. McCLELLAN: If you’ll let me finish —
Q No, you’re not finishing — you’re not saying anything. You stood at that podium and said that Karl Rove was not involved. And now we find out that he spoke out about Joseph Wilson’s wife. So don’t you owe the American public a fuller explanation? Was he involved, or was he not? Because, contrary to what you told the American people, he did, indeed, talk about his wife, didn’t he?
MR. McCLELLAN: David, there will be a time to talk about this, but now is not the time to talk about it.
Q Do you think people will accept that, what you’re saying today?
MR. McCLELLAN: Again, I’ve responded to the question.
Go ahead, Terry.
Q Well, you’re in a bad spot here, Scott, because after the investigation began, after the criminal investigation was underway, you said — October 10th, 2003, “I spoke with those individuals, Rove, Abrams and Libby, as I pointed out, those individuals assured me they were not involved in this.” From that podium. That’s after the criminal investigation began. Now that Rove has essentially been caught red-handed peddling this information, all of a sudden you have respect for the sanctity of the criminal investigation?
Oh it makes me all warm and fuzzy on the inside!
The question remains, of course, whether Rove will roll for this. Knowing Shrub’s administration and how dirty it is, not likely, especially considering the fact that the Dems, who could potentially discover a spine thanks to the press’ newfound anatomically-correct prowess, are in the minority and therefore powerless to challenge the power. As the NY Times writes:
Democrats, as the minority party in both the House and the Senate, have no ability to push forward with a formal Congressional investigation. But Mr. Rove is such a high-profile political target that his role is sure to draw intense scrutiny from both Democrats in Congress and liberal interest groups.
But, potentially, the very thing that has put the administration where it is today may also be what brings it down.
And, just like Granma used to say, “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
Turd Blossom’s about as big as they get.
Ew! I’m going to go be sick now …
Ah, the mighty viking, steering his all-powerful vessel toward Valhalla…. okay, well, around the lake, anyway! July 4 weekend sailing was a blast…. 
Except, that is, for my lazy-assed bro…..
make mine raw
Last weekend was heaven — pure, unadulterated pink-snuggly-piggies kind of laid back drunken joy, thanks to the hospitality and understanding of my two long suffering parents. Three days lounging, full of food and libations, in their palatial house in the middle of the woods, and, alternately, on my dad’s wicked cool sailboat, made a great Fourth of July escape-Live8 weekend.
Except for the food part.
Now, since the introduction of a vegan diet two years ago, my pain-riddled belly has been quite happy. Unfortunately, I’ve gotten lazy, and in the last few weeks have fed it either not totally vegan food, or just total crap, and it’s on the rampage.
Thus, I’m slowly wrapping my brain around the idea of embracing, at least partially, this raw food diet. Justin’s been singing its praises, and I’ve been laughing at him, but the thought has continued to float into my consciousness, and I’m doing more research maybe giving it a try….
Plus, it seems pretty much in line with my cooking abilities, which are lazy lazy lazy.
I just don’t see myself going 100 percent raw. After all, hummus isn’t raw, coffee is most certainly not raw, and those tofu hoagies from the Fu Wah (which Jason keeps surprising me with, thus spoiling me rotten … not that I mind!) are as hot as Lance Armstrong in spandex….
Anyone out there raw? Any advice? And, would someone please tell me why I’m supposed to sprout stuff?!!? Aren’t there grocery stores for that sort of thing?!!?!
Novak needs to roll…
In a story that has gone from ethically blasphemous to absurd to downright horrifying, the case of the outing of CIA operative Valerie Plame, and the potential incarceration of two journalists who, incidentally, were not the ones who outed Plame in the first place, has got to be yet another sign of either the long, protracted downfall of the American empire, or the impending arrival of the apocalypse.
As a journalist, one of the first lessons you learn is: if you’re going to use an anonymous source, you must be willing to either go to jail to protect that source or change professions. Rat out a source and you might as well walk around with an "I’ll fuck you over, don’t talk to me" sandwichboard ’round your neck.
Unless, that is, you’re Bob Novak, the fuckwit blowhard who actually blew Plame’s cover, and has, so far, walked free. Why is that? Is it possible he ratted out his source? Gee, but, you say, that would be career suicide, mais non?
Perhaps. But maybe the rules are changing and like everything else in this fine nation — I’m thinking about municipalities kicking people out of their homes for fat tax coffers and warmongers making millions on the continual US-led war in the Middle East — money is God.
And, Novak, who should, incidentally, be strung up and bludgeoned with reporters notebooks and ballpoint pens after admitting to CNN he is, plainly put, scum:
CNN: In general, though, you believe in the principle of keeping the identity secret of confidential sources. Have you ever revealed the identity of one of your confidential sources?
NOVAK: Well, people know — who have read my column know there have been special case[s] where I have. But the question of being coerced to by the government and being put in prison is, I think, something that should be protected by act of Congress.
So, Ratvak claims that, once everything is said and done, he’ll write about what happened and everyone will understand.
Sure. Unless it’s something short of him not willing to admit that he got down on his fat little hands and knees to suck off Shrub, he deserves a byline as much as Jayson Blair…. or Monica Lewinsky.
Of course, the larger travesty in all this is the fact that Time bent over and took it in the ass once the threat of big fines came their way. Nice. It’s all well and good to own a news outlet, which Time’s owners (and every over media owner, small and monolithic) use to spew their side of things, skew their side of things and make you buckets of money, cutting reporters, salaries and access to the very things that make reporting possible like databases and training.
But the second the bottom line is in jeopoardy, they turn and run like the little pansies they are.
The death rattle of traditional paper-based news has been around for a while, let’s hope it kills useless drivel like Time and CNN off once and for all. Especially before there’s another goddamned runaway bride, killer shark or natural disaster… augh!
This is just a test….
so now all y’all who gripe at me to update my list more often will now know just how bloody long it takes me to post something, thanks to that thar little ol’ box on the right…. sign up, you’ll get my ranting and raving the second I hit "send."
now you can die happy…
Mom was right!
So, the makers of Viagra swear it doesn’t cause blindness, despite the FDA requiring them to put that information on the drug’s label.
Well well well…. seems Mom was right, you will go blind….
The funny thing is, who would’ve thunk it’d be old men and not horny, pubescent teens?!!? bwhaahaahaah!!!!!!
Fucked up bitches…..
Got thinking today after chatting with a friend about how procreation is bullocks, and only those who have gone through a pre-approval process, complete with credit check, mental evaluation and parenting classes, should be allowed to give birth.
Of course, no one in their right mind would pass, as no one in their right mind would actually conceive if they took to time to really think about what spawning a small, squealing, pooping infant entails, but that doesn’t seem to stop anyone…
Not that I am against children, having children, or using children in a recipe. On the contrary, they’re pretty goddamned cool, not to mention scary as they have brains that grow, evolve and eventually ask for the car keys, unlike their furry four-legged counterparts.
It’s just that I can’t help but look around me at those I know who have them, and think that many of them are the very people who probably should have pulled out.
Not that some of them are not fine parents, and not that it really matters once junior is born, s/he’s here, sit back, keep your hands inside the moving vehicle at all times and enjoy the ride. But so many people have kids for the wrong reason…
We’re all guilty, at one point or another, for using our bodies to get what we want, to use them and what we can do with them for leverage, collateral or currency. Anyone who pretends otherwise is lying.
But, when it comes to the ultimate in what, for many people, is a need to control the other person, what about the kid?
No relationship has ever, in the history of the world, been saved by having a child.
No emptiness caused by lack of introspection has ever been filled by giving birth.
And what do you do when the reality strikes you square in the face? Even if you can control the other person and make them jump when you say jump, squirm, cry and come running back to you when you demand it, for all eternity like the lopsided, fucked up and abusive relationship it’s always been, at the end of the day there’s someone counting on you to be there for them, take care of them, nurture and guide them… and if you didn’t go into it for the right reasons in the first place, in how many ways is that innocent bystander getting gypped?
Trust me, I speak from experience on this.
And this is why, as I grow closer and closer to hip-breaking metamusil-drinking uber-spinster age, no matter how much I might eventually regret getting to my deathbed with no one to inherit my stuffed pig collection, I will never regret dragging another human being into this world simply to tie someone else to me.
Although, it would be nice to have someone to bequeath my ugly teapot collection to….
Any takers?!
Save the Whales! Eat more plankton!
Oh sigh. Another Monday, another eight motherfucking hours of sitting on my rapidly expanding arse staring at Google news waiting for the headlines to change.
So far, there’s still a Boy Scout lost in the wilderness of Utah or something — guess there goes his orienteering badge.
Tom Cruise got squirted with water by some Brit talk show stooges and got all pissed off — puhleeze, little Itty Bitty Tommy isn’t already all wet for running around like some squiqqle of linguine on speed barking about allegedly fucking some B actress … who has no penis … he swears …. and it’s not like he’s hot for penis … or anything …
Ooh, it just switched again. Hmm. Leonardo DiCaprio got hit in the head with a bottle. Don’t think ol Lenny has any idea how many times he’s actually had bottles thrown at his head, but it’s mostly because the pain of a plastic Diet Coke hitting the scrim of a movie screen isn’t quite the same, now is it?
Ooh, so, the Dutch or the Danes or some tall, georgous race of people have cloned human embryos. Quite frankly, if anyone’s going to be cloning themselves, I’m all for the Scandinavian hotties. Over on this side of the pond who knows what you’ll wind up with — evangelicals, trailer trash, Jenna or Barbara Bush’s demon spawn….
Quite frankly, I’m bored with it all. Perhaps I’m desensitized, but I could care less.
It’s too much, the world is crashing and burning, babies are dying and being born in CostCo-size quantities, Japan wants to kill more whales and a whole bunch of other people want to save them while in between, the whales just want to swim around and eat little, teeny tiny plankton.
Mmmm…. plankton…. Whales don’t get all existential. They don’t wonder why we’re here, what it’s all about, where we’re going. They just float, and hang out, and strain little animals through their gums. Not too shabby an existence.
Maybe from now I make myself more like a whale…. Well, not really more like a whale: I’m still vegan, no need to start referring to me as “killer whale” or anything. I’m still going to the gym — that’s not exactly what I meant.
But, maybe sometimes you gotta’ float.
Or perhaps Google news is actually a brain sucking mechanism akin to the proverbial existential zen-like float, offering you the chance to “customize your news” so they can feed you more global bullshit from the bottomfeeding harbingers of baddest news ever, the media, thus lulling you into a coma feeling better that no matter how terrible your life is at least you’re not lost in the wilderness, eaten by a shark, cloned, maimed, squirted or on trial for being a murderer/perv/ or both….
Oh wait…. mmmm… plankton…….
es|brath 