Vatican goes green, and why text messages are evil

Considering the News…

In its latest attempt to embrace the digital age the Vatican is calling all Catholics and deploring believers to put down those sin-riddled cellphones during these glorious days of self-inflicted self-deprivation known as Lent. And it’s about bloody time.

Alas, how so dreadfully often furious typers of text messages neglect to take an occasional moment to bask in the glory of the Lord,  appreciating the sacrifices Christ made many centuries ago to guarantee our ability to text in peace.

So many times Mass goers have looked in uncontrolled horror as an iPhone clings to one believer’s hand while the body of Christ is placed in the other.

Why must these menacing iPod headphones dangle from ears when almighty and all-knowing priests speak the word of the Lord?

How can we not go one day a week without obsessing over the stats and numbers on our computers at work?

Must we drive those 17 unholy miles to work every day of Lent, or can a bike suffice for the sake of sacrifice?

Indeed, the Vatican – the guiding light it is, the beacon of hope we gratefully accept it to be – has composed a righteous list of ways to shun technology for these 40 days of Lent.

The Pope has blessed this manifesto of ways for circumventing the inherent dangers and evils of computers, iPhones, and Facebook.

All we can do is hope. Pray. Accept this list as a means for coming closer to God. For emulating the sacrifices Jesus so unselfishly made many years ago.

For more tips on how to become a better Catholic, please visit the Vatican website. Or, please befriend Pope Benedict on his Facebook and MySpace pages. Or, for those wanting some viral proverbs, feel free to tune into the Vatican YouTube Channel that is now available.

See you all after Easter!

Iran is ticked at Hollywood – Plus, why movie stars make wonderful diplomats

Considering the News…

It’s rather delightful to learn Iran finally has its priorities in a peaceful place, and it can only be a matter of time before relations with the West are repaired for the collective good of all. Indeed, good times await us yet.

The occasionally troublesome nation took earnest strides this past weekend by warmly hosting a team of Hollywood directors, producers and actors who ventured to the surging American vacation destination for a film-making seminar.

Here they were kindly greeted by President Ahmadinejad’s personal film and cinema adviser – that such a cabinet position even exists has yet to spawn any headlines, although surely this will change in time – who politely and respectfully requested some form of apology for Hollywood’s brazen role in the production of “300″ and “The Wrestler”, two movies Iran contends to be blatantly anti-Persian and with very good reason.

Thank God Warren Beatty’s wonderful wife Annette Bening was present to defuse the awkward situation.

The stunning and graceful starlet, best known for her moving performances in the Hollywood blockbuster “Mars Attacks” and one particular 1987 episode of “Miami Vice”, did not reportedly say or doing anything prolific, however, neither are there any reports of her abduction or imprisonment – which, of course, is a positive thing. So as I stated before, thank God she was there.

The trip is part of a grand strategy to breed peace between Iran and America through the universal love and appreciation for movies. As all forms of Iranian mass media are closely overlooked by Ahmadinejad’s regime, the eventual benevolence between the two nations seems incredibly likely, if not inexorable.

Ahmadinejad did not issue an immediate response to the joyous gathering, but he is believed to be a wholehearted fan of “Bugsy”, which for obvious reasons bodes well for Bening’s safe return to America. Perhaps not.

Either way, it’s encouraging to know Iran didn’t make an ugly mess of this otherwise harmless trip. Lord knows Hollywood stars can be rather difficult at times.

The Sanctity of Marriage – Plus, why gay marriage and polygamy have a chance

Considering the News…

There’s a lovely story out of Indiana receiving tremendous news coverage, of a 68-year-old woman who’s had the honorable privilege of marrying 23 times, with the marriages lasting as long as seven years and as little as 36 hours.

Born Linda Lou Taylor, this bride of brides is a living ode to the beauty of marriage, embracing all its ups and downs, in sickness and in health, a life’s work devoted to advancing the significance of this most sacred institution.

In these dark moral times of homosexuals fighting for marriage rights and polygamists pressing for the right to wed multiple partners, Linda Lou Taylor’s courageous story underscores the vital importance of preserving marriage as a union between only man and woman.

Why, would homosexuals be capable of marrying 23 different times? Not a chance. They don’t have the stomach for it.

And what about polygamists – could any of them achieve 23 partners at one time? Of course not, what an absolutely silly thought.

We must all applaud Linda Lou Taylor’s strong will and unrelenting dedication to this earnest and really, really serious cause. Thanks to her our children and our children’s children will one day be able to marry and divorce and marry and divorce and marry and divorce and marry again as many times as they deem necessary – supposing, of course, they are heterosexual God-fearing Christians who love and respect their partners, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, at least one in 23 tries.

Here’s to you Linda Lou Taylor – you’re one lousy tramp! But at least you’re not gay or Mormon. Now THAT would be a moral travesty.

British, French nuclear subs collide – Plus, why Iran and North Korea might as well have a few nukes

Considering the News…

France and Britain are rather crimson and clover in the face today, as nuclear-armed submarines from the two national powers played a viscous game of underwater chicken, with neither side ever deciding to bail out.

Too much pride on the line, I suppose. And that’s a good thing, even if a couple dozen warheads colliding is not.

Some physical harm was endured, yes – mostly non-lethal bumps, bruises, and scratches – yet the major damage comes in the volatile form of concerned members of the press and members of a growing citizens group known simply by the succinct moniker Not too crazy about getting accidentally blown up because trained officers cannot clearly distinguish a nuclear-armed submarine from a dead whale.

(Indeed, any given day will find me willing to take a chance with 100 warheads before crossing the aforementioned citizens group. No hesitation whatsoever.)

It is true that history has bared witness to myriad mishaps by the French and British armed forces, however, this most clumsy incident illustrates just how integrally connected we all are as citizens of the same world, and that these blunders risk ravaging more than mere national pride.

While the self-proclaimed good guys forecast imminent global doom should Iran or North Korea ever obtain nuclear weapons, perhaps the more pressing concern is our allies throwing 50 warheads in the trunk and driving around with a head full of whiskey, wine and downers.

And yet who can condemn the British or the French? This obviously is no fault of theirs.

That two nuclear-armed submarines managed to collide in the Atlantic Ocean, as ridiculous as it all is considering the infinite space and avenues, is a bloody amazing feat for which only god can take credit.

The math alone requires us to forgive the two mortal nations without questions, punishment, or ridicule, as this was not of their doing. It would be like two 8-foot-tall redheads with 160 IQs and only 8 toes running into each other on a bike trail in Wichita, Kansas. Just doesn’t happen without good reason.

What won’t be forgiven is our grave suspicions of the ocean, for the world survived another day, but at what cost. I for one will never step foot in the Atlantic again, lest I wish for my right foot to fall off and grow tentacles and a set of teeth in its place. No, that doesn’t sound too swell at all.

The Colonel’s fried chicken secret is safe – Plus, why nobody cares

Considering the News…

Fried chicken enthusiasts can rest easy today, thanks to comforting reports the beloved KFC recipe has at last been safely transported and secured in a secret vault somewhere in the enchanted hills of Kentucky.

Learning the exact contents of this hand-written document – penned by the mystical Colonel himself – has sent fried chicken impersonators through the depths of hell, as countless combinations have failed in the honorable quest of authentically replicating the mythical 11-herb mixture.

Few things have incited greater culinary madness through the ages, with some comparing the importance of the scintillating chicken recipe to that of Jesus’ bread, Emeril’s Caribbean-style chicken, and Bo Jackson’s signature BO Burger.

Naturally, every precaution was taken in transporting the historical document – with many security guards and a handcuff briefcase involved in the covert mission – before it was finally laid to rest in a high-tech vault that will be guarded around the clock by living personnel. And thank God for that.

At any given time, but only two living KFC executives harness the dear privilege of knowing the full recipe, which no doubt qualifies them both for the ‘Luckiest Damn Person Alive Competition’ held annually in Waukee, Iowa.

Merely disclosing a single element of the recipe means instant death by way of the guillotine, a long-standing Kentucky law that has surely survived many Supreme Court challenges, as it is no secret Rehnquist loved nothing more than a late-night bucket of crispy and succulent fried chicken.

Yes, this 68-year-old legend of a recipe is poised to remain a well-kept treasure for at least another 10 years, when slumping sales inspire KFC executives to move the document yet again, to any even bigger vault, with even more human security guards – reminding Americans the Colonel’s chicken is still accessible at your local KFC chain store.Today. And right now.

I myself haven’t eaten the filth in years. Maintaing a good cholesterol level just doesn’t allow for it, I’m afraid. Plus, the grocery store fried chicken tastes just as good, if not much better.

Obama to limit executive bonuses – Plus, why high-class prostitution will suffer

Considering the News…

As the financial crisis paralyzes every industry not specializing in online pornography, ill-timed is President Obama’s audacious plan to limit executive bonuses for companies receiving “exceptional assistance” under the bailout program.

A closer glimpse into this seedy plan only further illustrates how downright silly his shameless middle-class pandering has become.

No secret is it the extravagant taste of these very executives is solely responsible for keeping the luxury industries afloat – so what could possibly compel Obama to risk undermining this sector of the market at such a time?

Why, who will buy the $100 lobster dinners should this plan come to fruition? Or the private jets! How can that industry realistically survive if General Motors has merely one jet instead of five?

Caviar, yachts, private golf clubs, exotic beauty products, Oliver Goldsmith sunglasses, Stefano Bemer shoes – I ask you, Mr. President, where will the customers come from if under-performing executives of collapsing corporations fail to receive outrageous and undeserved compensation?

And this is to say nothing of the high-class prostitution business! Where will the next great generation of lawyers and doctors come from if aspiring professionals cannot fund graduate school because the underground service industry went belly up?

Obama and the Dream Team Circus claim to boast a myriad of fantastic tricks to bewilder the eye and wow the crowd – but this particular performance, I am afraid to say, is incredibly underwhelming, unrewarding, and greatly lacking both theme and direction.

Back to the dressing room, Good sir, the audience is getting rather anxious.

Michael Phelps enjoys a nice toke – Plus, why Olympic champions who get photographed smoking pot make good role models

Considering the News…

Supernatural athletic ability may launch one to the pinnacle of the sports world, however, it evidently can help one mature with no more haste than the virgin junior-varsity bench warmers of the world.

That a 23-year-old male engaged in a fuzzy little bong session at a frat party will alarm few. In fact, a 23-year-old male enjoying an occasional toke seems right in line with American tradition, post 1955.

Law students, nurses, veterinarians, trash collectors, political aides – choice of profession has no chemical effect on the innate connection between 20-somethings and the ganja. The synergy between the two is quite remarkable.

And yet once 14 or 15 Olympic gold medals enter the fog, stunned faces steal the majority like somebody just crapped on the president’s shoe. Bemused people all wondering how God’s holy world could ever allow for a sports icon to become the front runner for High Times Man of the Year.

Michael Phelps is without question a legend in the athletic sense, but his frequently impaired and hypocritical judgment reminds us he is no more a role model than a blazed, barely conscious, wannabe Rastafarian in Central Park.

His destiny has become quite predictable: Win a Volkswagen van full of gold medals and make an ass of himself for an encore.

Thus, American media is premature in proclaiming him a role model, for what parent wants his life for their children?

Who says, ‘I want my son to win 6 gold medals, follow it up with a DUI, mend his image by joining a World Anti-Doping Agency program, win another 8 gold medals, get a million dollars from Speedo, have everyone calling, then give my wife a bloody heart attack by getting photographed pulling bong tubes and feeling up a stripper – all in a few-year span.”

No one. That’s too damn much for even the sturdiest minds.

Thus, Michael Phelps may be a role model after all, and as important a role model as there ever was. I suspect now I will one day have the ‘Michael Phelps’ talk with my children, emphasizing that while gold medals and endorsements can do a great deal for one’s public image and self esteem, voyeuristic photographers will stop at nothing to leave their wonder world in a ruins of g-strings and bong water.

“So what will it be, son?” I shall ask. “Do you wish for a private life where you are free to smoke marijuana and grope strippers in your spare time, or do you want to be an Olympic champion getting paid millions to pose in a Speedo, never able to freely smoke some marijuana, or perhaps grope a stripper or two, without the whole world going ape shit?”

His initial response will reflect what kind of person he intends to be. My only wish is he passes on the Speedo.

The flabby saga of Jessica Simpson – Plus Barack Obama proves in one week that he is not God

Considering the News…

Thirsting for a major news story to fill the ominous void left by the passing of President Barack Obama’s inauguration, the mainstream media naturally turned to Jessica Simpson’s luscious jelly rolls.

I cannot honestly claim to be surprised, nor can I fathom any other way this could have unfolded. The sequence of events makes rather perfect sense.

A country predominately comprised of fat, hypocritical, superficial louts falls in love with a transcendent public figure, unwittingly believes manifest change will sweep through the land by the efforts of one, only to then direct all eyes and attention to a flabby, washed-up music icon 7 days later.

This must be poetic justice for the conservative fellows who trumpeted the farce of Obama’s celebrity from the beginning. While President #44 may indeed salvage the economy, resurrect our foreign endeavors, and breed unparalleled mental peace, he certainly cannot wrench our attention away from flabby, washed-up music icons. An impossible feat, if ever one was so.

Ms. Simpson’s pooch has now spawned one of the most contentious public discourses since the November election, as a myriad of pundits and talk show hosts (many of the female variety) don capes and attempt to save Simpson’s dignity. Another impossible feat.

What they fail to understand is that Jessica Simpson’s jiggly mid-section is deserving of ridicule, for she claimed the admiration of many only by flaunting a once impeccable figure. Once that falters, so does America’s appreciation for her existence. If sheer singing ability and intelligence defined her, I would not have invested 20 minutes of my time in writing these playful words. She would be just another fat, hypocritical, superficial lout clogging up the pores of America.

But perhaps there is hope for Simpson to reinvent her image, maybe as a physical metaphor for the American people, the people who once soared to wondrous heights by utilizing god’s gifts, only to stuff the spoils down the chute with no sense of consequence.

This unflattering attention will likely inspire Simpson to hit the treadmill, working earnestly to reclaim her fruitful form. The true wonder is whether America can do the same.

Rod Blagojevich: Public Menace, National Hero, or Both? Plus a brief list of things that under no circumstances can be sold on the otherwise open market

Considering the News…

Embattled Illinois Governor and renowned public ass Rod Blagojevich fancies himself to be somewhat of a hero.

Actually, that statement does him no justice whatsoever. Many apologies to his family for selling the man so short.

He fancies himself to be one of the most prolific and undeniably great heroes in American history – make that world history while we’re at it – a stalwart supporter of due process, civil liberties, and everything that is right and just in the universe.

This righteous man, one of the humblest you could hope to meet,  freely compares himself to Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King Jr. and Ghandi. Yes, I know. That Ghandi.

And rightly so.  These fine gentlemen were imprisoned for their persistence and pursuit of spreading revolutionary ideals. Blago is being impeached for corruption.

These profound men inspired millions, spawned mass movements and permanently transformed antiquated public opinions. Blago sacrificed his dignity so late night talk show hosts might never again suffer a shortage of hair jokes.

These selfless men endured the brutal wrath of millions, faced endless death threats, and bared the burden of so many, all in hopes of leaving behind a more tolerant world. Blago skipped the opening of his Senate impeachment hearings to go on “The View” and condemn unfair trials to Barbara Walters.

Because Rod Blagojevich is a veritable man of the people. Always has been, really.

“I’m talking to Americans to let them know what’s happening in the land of Lincoln,” he said so valiantly. “If they can do it to a governor, they can do it to you.”

Transcendent words from a brilliant man. If they can do it to a governor, they can do it to you. Any of you!

That most Americans never have the opportunity to appoint a U.S. Senator doesn’t undermine his point, it reinforces it.

That most Americans have never been caught on federal wiretaps attempting to sell such an appointment to the highest bidder doesn’t compromise his defense, it only endears him to the state senators charged by the citizens of Illinois to deliver a fair verdict.

There is much to learn from the Rod Blagojevich saga. Thoughts on traditional common sense and ethics have been forever altered.  For that we must thank the man. Even if he is no hero, he is still the delusional ass with a silly haircut who reminded Americans that a free market doesn’t necessarily mean everything is for sale. Just one more thing to teach my kids one day.

Things that under no circumstances can be sold on the otherwise open market (In order of my learning them):

1. Anything belonging to my sister, with extra emphasis on her internal organs.

2. Any automobile not immediately belonging to me, with extra emphasis on automobiles rightfully owned by my parents.

3. Any small child, with extra emphasis on children entrusted to you by parents paying for services from the daycare you may or may not be employed at.

4. Any sexual favors, with extra emphasis on favors you are not readily willing to perform but are eagerly awaiting to be performed by women you may or may not have met on random street corners.

5. Any federal appointments, with extra emphasis on any federal appointment discussed in a room where federal wiretaps may or may not be present.

As is always the case, this list is amendable at any time. Thanks again for your submission, Rod.

Bush vacates the White House, a terribly sad sun sets

Considering the News…

President Bush is back in Crawford, Texas, the sun having set at last on his memorable and abundantly eventful presidency. It’s back to civilian life, back to making trivial decisions that affect no one of interest.

Done are the presidential press conferences that inspired the collective cheers of so many Americans, all lauding his fine leadership while saying, “Just look at the truth spray from the glorious fountain that is his blessed mouth.”

Gone are the nightly compliments paid by popular late night talk show hosts, who so often honored President Bush with flattering Top Ten lists illustrating his competence and valor, or featured unforgettable clips from his valiant speeches, inevitably comparing him with the prolific orators who preceded him to the Oval Office.

Evaporated is the comforting notion of unchallenged national security, impregnable to the venomous terrorists hellbent on sowing America’s terrible doom, forever ready to sweep up any suspicious rogue who attempted to board the wrong plane or make the wrong cell phone call.

Lost is the simple honesty and crystal transparency of the Executive Branch, where Bush devoted the entirety of his eight years to illuminating to us common Americans the duties and privileges of this uncommon office, incidentally proving formidable leaders are never compromised by arrogance, stubbornness, or hubris.

Ended are the jovial bonds forged in the Bush administration, a successful experimentation in which friends and close colleagues worked intimately together to achieve the monumental, dismissing the antiquated sentiment that only a hodgepodge of so-called experts can propell the country to unbridled prosperity.

The nation, and thus the world, is much different today. A queer and unsettling feeling looms. Can our country survive without George W. Bush, the man who so cautiously overlooked our armed forces and national pocketbook with prudence and due diligence, the Commander-in-Chief who sacrificed his own passion, familial grudges, and personal agenda for the betterment of his treasured country?

No one can be certain. The future looks grim, with only a hint of sunshine gleaming off the coast of Hawaii. No expert myself, I have no authority to say.

But as a proud and concerned citizen of the greatest nation in history, I’m sure as shit ready to find out. God damn.

President Bush delivers inspiring farewell speech – Few listen and some laugh uproariously

Considering the News…

President George W. Bush delivered a heart-warming, belly-tingling, buns-tickling farewell to the nation yesterday, and I’m both alarmed and appalled that this magnanimous leader – general of all things mighty, admiral of all that is right – was given second ticket to an airplane landing in the Hudson River of all places.

Never mind that America has gone terror free since that infamous September day back in 2001. No, we wouldn’t want to pay Sir Bush any gratitude for that startling accomplishment. And that’s to mention nothing of the sweeping social progress in Afghanistan and Iraq, where swimming pools and McDonald’s restaurants are being built daily. I know, right, we’re bringing recreation and exquisite dining to the Middle East and still lacking is the litany of cards thanking Bush for his heroic labors.

And did I mention this airplane incident didn’t even amount to any fatalities? What happened to the old “Blood leads” creed that has been an indisputable ratings booster since the inception of this thing television? What happened to sticking to your guns, both figuratively and literally? Why, George Bush has over 4,000 gruesome deaths on his watch, and still he can’t even get 13 uninterrupted minutes to bid us farewell.

That American media is in shambles, faltering, sinking, capsizing with a torrent crash, need not be said. And now we know why. In lieu of the traditional blood and guts that endeared a country so obsessively to one medium, the news media chose a deathless plane ride that ended with pictures of people cruising safely across the Hudson River in boats.

Well, if America desires feel-good sunshine stories over the bungled artistry of a master manipulator like George W. Bush, then I say good riddance to the whole blasted thing. Here we have one of the most extraordinary criminal minds of our time hanging up his crowbar and wiretap, and we do no more than sit idly by, sharing trivial God bless Americas because some fortunate citizens managed to ride on a plane and boat in the same hour.

I give up.

The Osama Bin Laden Guide to Immortality

Considering the News…

Former terrorism mogul and one-time television sensation Osama bin Laden has lugged his crippled bones out of the death box once again, this time calling for jihad hell in Israel until Jerusalem is rightfully or wrongfully (who really knows) returned to the Palestinians.

Bin Laden, the generous soul that he was, also welcomed the President-elect to the world stage with a nugget of invaluable advice, namely that his unthoughtful predecessor is leaving him a pile of shit and he might consider withdrawing American troops if he doesn’t wish to step in it.

Initially, my reaction to this latest installment in The Middle East is Fucked Diaries was “Wow, that inbred clown is still around. Go figure.” Then it was, “Wow, what happened to al-Quaida’s marketing budget? They go from polished militant videos to a barely audible audio recording played over a picture of Osama from 1998? Something’s gone terribly wrong here. Have they not been to Best Buy Dubai lately? Have they not seen the kickass HD camcorders on the market?”

Further analyzing this Wizard of OZ tomfoolery spawned thoughts of my own immortality, and what low-budget production might prolong my own impact beyond these living days. The exact nature and capacity of my impact concerned me little – only how I could prolong the damn thing.

Thus I commenced recording a manifest compilation of random, spontaneous, and often times nonsensical ramblings. No topic escaped my attention. I realized that the recorded word, no matter how outlandish, could ultimately breed everlasting life if the right people managed my affairs after my expiration.

My plan now is to find someone, anyone, to play my tapes (Yes, I’m using tapes) once every six months after my death. Then it will be as if I were alive and well and speaking the fine words of wisdom myself – and in real time, too.

By recording 200 or 300 variations of the same speech – occasionally throwing in a fact I trust will withstand the test of time (Say, the Palestinians and Israelis fighting an everlasting holy war) – and then summoning a responsible and trustworthy colleague to play the tapes while holding up a picture of me (Personal Note: Find old high school baseball photos), then immortality will be mine.

That oafish assclown Osama was a ruthless son of a bitch, but he certainly had it all figured out. What a prodigious mind that rat bastard had to be. Way ahead of his time. And apparently beyond his time to boot.

The Army to recruit flabby soldiers – The end is near

Considering the News…

The common American (to say nothing of the extraordinary American) has come to expect very little of his fellow countrymen, and doing so has enabled meager standards and expectations to fashion comfortable homes in every sector of society, something for which we are all ultimately worse off.

From regular consumer services to exotic dance clubs, as a nation we have wholeheartedly nurtured mediocrity, earnestly praised the half-ass-ed-ness warts of society. Now even the most modest of expectations are often greeted with some brand of failure, and yet as Americans we have grown perfectly accustomed to these regular shortcomings.

One must no longer even exert an ounce of energy to earn our deepest sympathies, if not our unbridled respect and admiration. Simply existing in a given place and time suffices these days.

Hey, you son of a bitch, at least you tried. Oh, what, you didn’t even try? Oh well, at least you showed up. Oh what, you didn’t even show up? Well, frankly, I say screw it then. I’m sure you’ll get ‘em next time.

But they likely won’t get ‘em next time. Or even the next time after that. We know this fact quite well and choose to forgive it rather than redeem it. Yes, it is likely beyond redemption at this point.

Seemingly only televisions, handguns, and breast augmentations consistently achieve new heights of quality; meanwhile just about every other industry fails miserably in its own respective way, which, I suppose, is somewhat of a victory in itself.

Nonetheless, few seem the least bit concerned by this troubling phenomenon, while others refuse to even acknowledge its destructive implications.

The endemic has gotten so severe that even the military appears prepared to accept inferiority. Struggling to maintain adequate troop levels, whatever those may be, The Army has elected to expand physical entry requirements – meaning the chubby dreamers turned away in previous years are now entitled to a handsome signing bonus should they choose to be all they can be.

The next great American war – assuming one looms – will be won not with our country’s best, but behind a hodgepodge of flabby, acne-riddled runts incapable of lettering in any high school sport other than perhaps ping pong.

Perhaps future American victories cannot safely be assumed. The brazen search for war is unwise with a well-trained and fine-tuned army, but it should be avoided like Malaysian syphilis by those feeble nations boasting a flimsy force comprised of the fatigued and the breathless. No, the fatigued and the breathless have won few wars through the course of history.

Should The Army begin lowering its standards today, I shiver in pondering how far it will stoop by the year 2020 or 2030. Surely no “fit” teenagers will still grace the country’s population by then, but the thirst for war will still necessitate the need to recruit someone. Anyone.

Tim Tebow, future President of the United States?

Considering the News…

I’m now convinced Florida Gators football superstar, American legend, and Christian goodfella, Tim Tebow, will be President a day not too far from today. No doubts. No reservations about that one.

The guy exudes confidence. Spouts leadership. Is to charisma what Amy Winehouse is to crackheads – the definition.

Now some will say, hey, what about him being born in the Philippines? No way he can be President. Just not constitutional. Can’t happen.

Well, such minutiae, no matter how damning, is never impugn to the smearing and twisting of a genuine spin doctor – at least not one worth his or her weight in venom and wax. Was Barack Obama born within domestic borders? Kenya? Malaysia? Hawaii? Ah, who cares, the guy weaves rhetorical gold at the podium. The same will hold true for Florida’s chosen son, the natural hybrid of Abe Lincoln and Johnny Unitas.

Then some will say, hey, the guy’s like 21 years old. That’s way too young to be President.

Yes, such restrictions can hinder progress at times. But what about the Chinese Olympic Gymnastics team? Talent can make 12 the new 16 with few hardships when the right people rework the script. Thus I’m confident Tebow can smile and fist-pump his way to 40 in no time. Little effort required, to say the least.

Then some might say, hey, can he even win any southern state other than Florida after pummeling their football teams every year for seemingly an entire decade?

Football is next to religion down south, and Tebow’s dominance makes him somewhat of a demagogue in the region. Touchdowns are the new doctrine, you see. He’ll sweep every state by at least 95-5, with the other 5 percent going to Mike Huckabee and Jeb Bush.

So there you have it, Tim Tebow is destined to become President. No force, formidable as it may be, is going to impede his mystical ascension to the pinnacle of national prominence. Not even  a few minor rules and technicalities can stop him. Maybe not even Jesus.

Ok, probably Jesus. But nothing else.

Either way, I can’t imagine voting for him. Can’t stand the Gators.

Blagojevich to Obama: Go to Hell

Considering the News…

Fearing he might not be governor for much longer, overlooking the shimmering fact his powers have all but been diminished, if not already seized, Rod Blagojevich unbuckled the belt holding up his trousers and gave the President-elect an unmissable shot of his steaming bum.

Despite the strategic tantrums of senate majority leader and the chamber’s most masculine of senators, Harry Reid, Blago saw no good reason why he shouldn’t do his duty as governor and appoint Obama’s senate replacement.

FBI investigations can be quite drawn out and cumbersome, something a man of Blago’s stature can’t have much patience for, so the esteemed governor heroically refused to delay the appointment in these times of frustration and economic turmoil.

Thus Roland Burris, unknown to most before today’s bizarre press conference, became the latest star in this he-said-I-said-the-tape-said saga, and in doing so found his name as the hottest search on Google – a triumphant feat most will never know.

Rightly suspecting team Obama might not immediately embrace his nomination, Blago arranged for Congressman Bobby Rush to join him onstage in order to remind people that Obama’s senatorial departure had left the chamber without any black men at all.

As Mr. Burris is indeed a black gentleman, we must then commend Governor Blagojevich for setting aside all criminal investigations and impeachment threats and the like to serve his nation in the best way he sees fit. Evidently that means telling the President-elect to fuck off, lugging a good man’s name through the mud, and resuming business as usual.

Barack the Magic Negro and the New GOP

Considering the News…

With the historic 2008 elections now clogging the nation’s collective memory, both major parties are striving to quickly bolster their political image with a barrage of confounding spectacles, confusing any and every American willing to pay attention along the way.

Within a bloody fortnight of winning the election Obama was steeped in shit and corruption – no advisable position for a President-elect. Why, Obama had barely commenced searching for his passport and packing his Hawaiian shirts when word spread that his abandoned senate seat was being auctioned on eBay, and apparently going for no small sum.

While Obama evidently had no hand in the seedy negotiations, his name was certainly thrust into the center of the national dialogue, an unfortunate first presidential production for a man riding the righteous tide of  Washington’s next great exorcist.

After bathing in the story like a call girl in a pile of bills, people (notably the American media) began questioning whether Blago had even committed a crime. Sure the FBI tapes seemed incriminating enough, however, what would be the condition of our prisons if we arrested every body guilty of proclaiming the desire to commit a crime? It’s not but 10 a.m. and already I have heard six different people say today they wouldn’t mind beheading our current President, and yet another who wished the same for Regis Philbin.

Not a grand opening act for America P.O. (or Post Obama). For unearthing corruption is one thing, but summoning the moral police is quite another. I’m not sure where my readers stand on the issue, yet I for one would rather miss the ability to wish death upon my least favorite public figures, or the opportunity to say I’m two drinks away from holding up a bank to appease my creditors. Actions are actions and speech is speech, and I don’t care to start monitoring my words too closely.

Now the GOP, beaten in November like an unwanted fourth daughter that should have been a first son, hasn’t chosen to seize the moral reins in these trying times – no reinvented image has been introduced hitherto. Instead the GOP seems more than content to perpetuate the unsavory perceptions already debilitating its national viability.

Hoping to become the new Republican National Committee chair, Chip Saltsman thought it rather wise to distribute a CD featuring the infamous “Barack the Magic Negro” song composed by renowned satirist, Paul Shanklin. While this is another form of speech I am fond of, the timing strikes me as a bit off.

One might think Saltsman would at least have waited until after he was awarded the position before disseminating quasi-racist soundtracks. That’s just common sense.

So it doesn’t appear either party is overly concerned with positive party identities as of yet. However, I certainly have high hopes for 2009. A new politics awaits us.

2008 – The Year of Experience and Merit in Politics

Considering the News…

2008 will be remembered for a plethora of historic achievements – A Philadelphia team not choking in the championship, Oprah becoming the first talk show host to eclipse 200 pounds more than 12 times in a career, Detroit auto companies selling more cars than ever – but perhaps this year’s most distinguished contributions to history have come per the political spectrum.

Yessir, 2008 is going down as the year experience and merit propelled savvy politicians to the mountain’s top.

There was Barack Obama dismissing the notion community organizers aren’t people, too, as he raised ungodly sums of money to spearhead his successful presidential campaign, ultimately shocking the world by becoming the country’s first black commander-in-chief.

There was Sarah Palin proving intelligence and familiarity with the U.S. Constitution is by no means a requisite for political dominance, having quickly claimed the throne of the Conservative Kingdom of Yahoos, ridding the world of barriers that hindered the likes of Forrest Gump, Britney Spears, and the French.

And now there is Caroline Kennedy laboring to extend her family’s rule in the Senate, scoffing at any indignant asshole who might contend there is more to public office than a surname and a shit-ton of money, laughing at those poor souls who are quick to remind us she has accomplished nothing of substance outside of writing a book or two and being born a Kennedy, mocking us simpletons who ever believed Democracy was devised to elect the best and the brightest – and not merely those with a familiar name and, yes, a shit ton of money.

What a year 2008 has been. Surely it will go down in infamy as the year pragmatisim had a heart attack on the john.

Bush given jubilant Middle East farewell…Many endearing gifts thrown

Considering the News…

The warm welcome President Bush received during visits to Middle Eastern warzones amplified the cuddly affection Iraqi citizens foster for the man besk known for delivering their freedom from tyranny.

“This is your farewell kiss, you dog!” One thrilled Iraqi reporter shouted in Arabic, as he playfully tossed his shoes at the President.

Tossing shoes is evidently a friendly gesture expressing the thrower’s appreciation and gratitude for the recipient, while dogs are historically viewed as a step below only the Gods, making the reporter’s choice of words all the more impressive.

The sentiments behind this ceremonious hurling of the shoes was mirrored in the streets, as thankful Iraqis chanted, “Bush, Bush, listen well: Two shoes on your head!”

As a man of common sense might rightly conclude, two shoes to the head is much better than merely one; therefore, we in America need not be MIT mathematicians to deduce just how much the Iraqis thank President Bush for his strident persistence and clear vision of bringing freedom and democracy to the traditionally confused areas of the Middle East.

Needless to say, President-elect Barack Obama has one tough act to follow, especially with all the nonsense he’s been uttering about ending Mission Iraqi Freedom. I suspect if that’s truly Obama’s intentions once sworn into office, we should not then expect the citizens of Iraq to be hurling any shoes his way anytime soon.

Indeed, Obama likely won’t see even one shoe tossed his way, let alone two.

8 percent of Illinois residents are crazy…Many proud parents

Considering the News…

Embattled Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich is still a very popular figure in his home state, as recent polls indicate eight percent of his constituents still think rather highly of him.

And that’s no laughable accomplishment considering his current legal troubles, so I imagine his parents are quite proud of him these days, calling all friends and acquaintences in the rolodex for some good old fashioned offspring praising.

And yet Blago might not even be the most admired golden child in the state, what with Jessie Jackson’s boy Jessie Jackson sowing a rather sparkling image for himself, making all sorts of glamorous headlines and becoming an earnest talking point for late night talk show hosts. Quite a big deal he’s become.

Indeed, I’m no father myself, however, I’m compelled to believe a son like Jessie Jr. would bring me unparalleled joy. Few things elevate the spirits of a good-hearted man in the same fashion as witnessing a son surpass the public greatness of himself, and Jessie Jackson’s certainly a good-hearted man if there ever was one.

I’m sure the Jacksons are going to have a splendid Christmas this year, and so too the Blagojevich family. They’ll receive all sorts of thoughtful gifts and a litany of endearing cards, all coming from eight percent of the friends and family they once had.

Jessie Jackson Jr., how dare you bring money into politics

Considering the News…

If recent speculation out of Illinois proves to be remotely veracious, then Jessie Jackson Jr., son of the esteemed Jessie Jackson, yes, that Jessie Jackson, had better commence preparation of an explanation.

The damning word from Lincoln’s Land is that J-Cubed is “Candidate 5″ of the scandalous saga concerning Illinois Gov. Blagojevich’s unique interpretation of corruption. While the alias “Candidate 5″ has a pleasant ring to it – it sounds both official and surprisingly James Bondish - it isn’t a moniker Jessie’s son Jessie necessarily enjoys today.

This because Candidate 5 is allegedly the only candidate of the group (it is believed there were only 5 candidates, but who can be certain these days?) who offered straight cash for the open senate seat left by President-elect Obama.

Although the other 4 implicated candidates (again, I stress there may be many, many more, perhaps dozens, if not hundreds) reportedly refused participance in Blagojevich’s “Pay for Play” style of business, it appears Triple-J was more than willing to deliver one million in unmarked bills straight to Blago’s campaign coffers in exchange for the appointment.

(Editor’s Note: I have yet to find any reports of how Rep. Jackson Jr. obtained these unmarked bills, or any reports that he actually ever even offered unmarked bills, for that matter. They likely weren’t unmarked bills.)

What we do know, or what speculators close to the investigation believe they know, is that the son of Jessie sought to purchase the senate seat in very much the same way a mob boss furnishes the condo of his mistress – with straight cash. And such an ostentatious approach doesn’t jive with accepted political tradition, for democracy is the people’s system, not the financier’s playpen.

Thus Junior Jackson’s current standing isn’t enviable in the least, for what politician wishes to be marred by allegations of buying his or her office? What public official wants his or her legacy tainted by astronomical sums of money, ungodly amounts of money, being used to close the deal?

Indeed, not many that I know of. Especially not from Illinois, the cherished Land of Lincoln. Not a chance.

Obama is British and Harry Potter is a Muggle

Considering the News…

The grandest court in all the land has rejected an emergency appeal from a New Jersey man who claims to know more about the President-elect than even, say, the President-elect.

No, he’s not a biographer, per se, but he understands natural citizenship more than most, which makes it a damn shame his case won’t be heard in earnest by the U.S. Supreme Court.

Leo Donofrio (yes, that’s his real name) of Brunswick, N.J., contends that as Obama’s mother was American but his father was Kenyan, and thus a British subject, in no way whatsoever can Obama really be a pure-blood American, rendering him ineligible for the presidency.

It’s a vague and shady genetic equation, but Donofrio’s theory is flawless and has the backing of a monumental precedent. You see, in the case of Hermione v. Hogwartz School of Wizardry, Professor Dumbledore ruled that as Ms. Granger was undeniably the mixed blood product of a witch and a muggle, she did not qualify for classification as a pure-blood witch, no matter how prodigious her abilities.

Thus I hope the U.S. Supreme Court reconsiders the egregious dismissal of such a sincere case. Once again America finds itself at the mercy of the courts electing to legislate from the bench. What a dark world we live in.

Illinois continues streak of corrupt governors

Considering the News…

The state of Illinois is precise and methodical in electing only the most corrupt scumbags to office, especially when it comes to the governorship. Perhaps no other member of the union boasts a better track record of crooked politicians than Illinois, save maybe New Jersey and Louisiana.

It’s rather startling to fathom one state successfully electing such brazen thieves time and time again, an ultimate exercise of participatory democratic destruction. Nevermind the occasional successes like, say, a Durbin or an Obama – Illinois embraces the notion of unsavory, untrustworthy government  and should be commended for its ardent devotion to a single set of ideals.

How rebellious. How adventurous. How non-partisan.

You see, as news breaks of Democratic Governor Rod Blagojevich’s arrests on too many counts of corruption to trouble the WordPress servers with, one must appreciate how bipartisan Illinois corruption really is, for his arrest comes as his predecessor rots in federal prison for racketeering and fraud.

Blagojevich, the silly son of a bitch he is, actually campaigned on, get this, cleaning up the despicable mess left by Republican Governor George Ryan. And, of course, he won!

But, contrary to Blagojevich’s charming beliefs, Illinois didn’t put him in office because they yearned for change, but, rather, because they knew he was just the man to perpetuate the seedy ways of Ryan. Indeed, having realized this soon after the inauguration, Blagojevich embarked on his own term of terror, cutting deals with any and every company with a checkbook.

And Blagojevich, God bless his soul, became so proud of his work in corruption that he fancied extending a dirty hand to the nation’s capitol, offering up the Senate seat left open by Obama’s election to the highest bidder. Now that’s government we can believe in.

It’s now a shame that Blago won’t be around to see what his great work in corruption means to his beloved home state, the Land of Lincoln. But we know this. We know the citizens of Illinois always have a crook lurking in the shadows, and his replacement will perhaps be an even bigger piece of shit than him.

The Juice faces 6 years to life – The squeeze is on

Considering the News…

O.J. can set the golf clubs down and grab a trash pick, because the only greens he’ll be seeing for awhile will be roadside ditch weeds as he stabs at McDonald’s sacks  in his neon orange vest.

Yes sir, the Juice is finally doing time. Six years to life, in fact. Should be brutal. Especially as he sits in his unfinished cell block trying to wrap his meager mind around the bewildering fact a man can actually do hard time for stealing his own shit. Simply dumbfounding, I know, Juice.

But all the glitter isn’t gold, as they say, and the sparks around O.J. Simpson’s once glorified life have faded faster than the 2008 Buffalo Bills.

Perhaps the Juice will use this opportunity to establish a new state of mind, one that doesn’t take orbit around his own greed and self-centered ambitions, one where ex-lovers become friends and fans find equal ground with stars.

Maybe he’ll find Jesus. Maybe he’ll find Allah. Maybe he’ll find Tito the lovely body builder from cell block 9.

Not sure. Nor do I care. The glove fit this time and they used it to keep hands clean while squeezing the freedom juice from Simpson’s fantasy world. Ain’t life grand, that so many can find peace and joy in the unnecessary sorrows of such a confused soul.

   

Love him or hate him, Karl Rove has a point

Considering the News…

A lot of people hate that Karl Rove. They hate him for getting George W. Bush elected. They hate him for nearly succeeding in his devious quest for everlasting conservative rule. They hate him because his wobbly chin(s) just tend to piss people off.

He’s been called ruthless, conniving, underhanded, surreptitious, heartless, and I’m sure even a pole-smoking SOB.

Yet what political mastermind achieves such notoriety without boasting a few of these unsavory traits? Love and warmth seldom imbue the hearts of iconic political strategist, especially those like Rove who consider every angle of character assassination…Like freaking out a bunch of rednecks by insinuating a certain candidate may or may not have an illegitimate child with a black woman, in much the same way Rove and Bush infamously did to John McCain in South Carolina during the 2000 Republican primaries.

Yes, a lot of folks despise that Rove. Wish evil things upon him. Google things like “Hitman for hire” because of him. However, for good or ill, mostly ill, Karl Rove knows politics. He also knows just how much money plays in any given election.

Inspired by the Obama campaign fundraising juggernaut, Rove penned this Op-ed in The Wall Street Journal, where he is a regularly contributor. Essentially, Rove argues that McCain was a victim of his own sword, as the 2002 campaign finance reform he spearheaded with Sen. Russ Feingold ultimately swung back around and sliced off his own manhood during the battle against Barack.

Thus Rove now advocates complete “Freedom of Political Speech” in regards to campaign donations, meaning he wants to give rich Republican donors the opportunity to buy elections, like back in the good old days.

In years past, this idiocy would have warranted an immediate condemnation from this writer, standing behind the pure democratic thought that money should play little to no factor in elections.

Having now considered the many reports of citizens like Bart Simpson and Darth Vader donating to Obama’s campaign via pre-paid debit cards, I concede the issue must be readdressed. I concede that pole-smoking SOB, Karl Rove, might just have a point.

Women politicians aren’t all stupid

Considering the News…

lleana Ros-Lehtinen might live her life paranoid as a first-time overnight prison guest, but at least she doesn’t suffer from dumb. No, the Republican congresswoman from Florida is sharp, crafty, witty, eloquent, familiar with the U.S. Constitution…

Hell, those traits are mere hearsay, and I have no evidence to support those claims. But whether Ros-Lehtinen is a valedictorian or a varsity football team bicycle is no concern of mine, for at least we know she’s a pure-hearted skeptic, willing to insult the President-elect to preserve whatever dignity she might fancy herself to have.

When Barack Obama extended a benevolent hand across the aisle, Ros-Lehtinen slapped it down like Barry was making an sleazy pass at her thighs. Reports indicate that Obama, then Rahm Emanuel, attempted to phone Ros-Lehtinen, only to hear echos and a freaking click.

There was no malicious intent on her part, Ros-Lehtinen simply thought some limp-dicks from a local radio station were trying to make light of her. Sensing it might be a prank phone call, she played hardball right backand hung up on the bastards…Only it was the next President.

Embarrassing for her, yes. But not quite as humiliating as, say, a clueless Alaskan moosetress believing President Sarkozy of France truly gives two shits and wants to wish her well on the campaign trail. Because, you know, that would be quite the blemish on an otherwise sterling common sense track record.