October 23, 2011

Have Some Oil

With your rape. Iraq and Iran fought a bloody, nasty war for eight years. Atrocities and land mines. Children blown to bits. Eight years. We are about to hand Iraq over to Iran in eight weeks.

I personally don't care what happens to the Iraqis. But to give them to the Persians? I mean, have we no standards? I prefer to see Nigerian convenience stores on every Iraqi street corner. The Nigerians will only abuse them during fast days.

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October 22, 2011

Graft

First it was the $535 million in loan "guarantees" given to Solyndra, a failed organization from its first puppy breath. Now we learn of the $529 million loan "guarantee" given to Fisker, to build ultra-expensive, supposedly electric, luxury cars in Finland. Fucking Finland. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. That shithead at 1600 wants more, all, of your goods. He takes a trillion dollars from your pocket, who are trying to make ends meet, and gives it to his buddies. Why? Because fuck you, that's why. And he wants a trillion more.

At some point even the stupidest person begins to realize his beloved United States of America has become an ongoing criminal enterprise. That funds itself by shaking down its citizens for taxes, under the threat of a rifle barrel.

I'm too old to wield the machete. But someone will. Those Occupy Wall Street retards might even eventually understand who is truly fucking them. It isn't the financial sogs. They have always been after only themselves. It's those goddamned politicians who continually pick your pocket, even as you slap their palms away. Graft. They make me sick to my stomach.

This prick, and the prick before him, absconds with your treasure, merely to fund the criminal syndicate he has erected, for the benefit of himself. And to ensure his wife dangles twenty thousand dollar baubles upon her wrist.

What are the gun laws in Costa Rica, anyway?

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October 19, 2011

Teachers, Firemen, and Cops

Obama wants to throw another half a trillion dollars at them. And, hell, we all love teachers, firemen, and cops.

Also known as public sector graftees. I'd rather teach my child myself. I'd rather shoot evildoers in the face myself. And if my house is on fire? Well, I probably set it myself, and alcohol was involved.

Liberals love to explain your ever increasing tax dollars are used to fund teachers, firemen, and cops. They actually fund garbagemen, tax collectors, and municipal attorneys. Cops and firefighters never get raises. The only teachers you see on television are having nutjob sex with 13 and 14 year old boys. Sometimes these boys are Polynesians, which doesn't say much for our culture.

Four more years. We're getting four more years of something, but not much.

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Study Says Most Women Are Bisexual

Here. I can prove it. But as exciting as I find this news, while flogging my own buttocks, the dreary reality is those women all look like Rosie O'Donnell, putting the cane to Queen Latifah.

Wait a minute... holy shit.

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Jackson

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This is an actual photograph of a revolutionary warrior. Well, a courier at age 13. Beaten with a British officer's sword.

That is the visage of a 78 year-old, mean bastard. He looks like there are still 4 or 5 people he wants to beat the hell out of, if he could arise.

I keep this picture handy. One day I hope to be a mean old 78-year-old bastard, too. And I'm keeping my short list right here.

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October 18, 2011

We All Shine On

Yes, every decade or so, I miss JL. I especially miss the part where you can convince your wife to blindfold herself and knit you a fucking sweater.


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Goose Pimple Bone...

There are so many things I like about the Plastic Ono Band. And Cold Turkey.

1) Eric Clapton, wondering what the hell he is doing

2) Heroin

3) Having a Japanese wife so crazy she needs a libretto to know when she is supposed to ululate...


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Skill Sets

In 1978 or so I went to see Bob Dylan perform. I had little in the way of expectations, never having been much of a Dylan fan. The Street Legal tour, I believe. Dragged along, but nicely stoned, and somewhat receptive.

Early in the show Bob pulled out a Fender Telecaster, and proceeded to properly shred the thing. And not gimmick stuff, but proper licks. Well, now, thinks I. Bobby has gone to school. This strummer has learned to master his instrument. Considered past his prime by many, he has buckled down and exercised. I've always been a fan since that night.

Being President of the United States, Master of the Universe, ain't much different. There it is known as statecraft. The ability to simultaneously inspire, cajole, lead, threaten, nurse. Reagan and Clinton were chief executive officers of their respective states, so they had experience with that. But I believe their statecraft was pure awesome personality. No one tells Ronnie Reagan no. And no one tells Billy Clinton no. Pure fucking personality.

W had the executive experience, but not the Will to Power of Reagan or Clinton. Those men were born to lead. I often think W spent much time sitting in a corner, wondering why he had chosen that path.

Which, obviously, leads us to the Big O. I believe Obama also spends much time in a finely overstuffed Queen Anne, wondering what the hell he was thinking. He has no statecraft skills.

Lookit: across the way, under that magnificent dome, are 535 miscreants, all coveting your job. They are doctors and businessmen, but mostly, predominantly high toll lawyers, all wanting to sit where you sit, to metaphorically fan themselves with the palm leaves of a globe's adoration. Or at least envy.

Statecraft ain't no easy thing. One must be able to project power while assuaging. One must be able to flatter while holding a legislative knife to the peckerhead's back. LBJ had this, in spades. Carter did not. Kennedy and FDR had this skill set. Ford did not.

Nixon is a strange case. He lacked all manner of domestic statecraft, but his foreign policy statecraft was fucking formidable. Notwithstanding the execrable Kissinger. Read Nixon's The Real War, from 1980. Not ghostwritten. No president since Teddy Roosevelt held that deft of a pen. My opinion of Nixon as a president is varied, and generally negative. But never delude yourself: the Soviets considered Nixon a hoss. Republicans generally need to be, when handed fucked up wars in Asia by their Democratic predecessors.

Anywhats, our current resident has poor statecraft, and poorer people skills. I see no Republicans with the necessary skills, either. At some point we will collectively turn away, and nurse our own problems, our own grievances, our own issues with little thought to the man behind the curtain. Bush tarnished our respect for the presidency. Obama has pissed upon it.

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October 17, 2011

Belafonte

I find this Harry Belafonte tribute on HBO to be troublesome. Belafonte was a beloved entertainer. Hell, even the Senator loved him. Many, many people loved him. For him to posit now that he was a victim of racism, and discrimination, is utter bullshit.

Everyone always loved Belafonte. For him to play the race card now is, simply, crap.

Harry Belafonte is a fucking asshole, and a liar. And he can kiss my ass.

Posted by Velociman at 10:33 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

Cue Beck's Loser

Obama is going to lose in 2012. Not because of me, or any individual, or even any massive billion-dollar political party aligned against him. He is going to beat himself. To frigging death. He is already beating himself in the face like a damned retard, punch-drunk and yet needing the self-affirming coziness that can only come from beating oneself. Gratuitous, harmful, venal. His own attorney general will likely get impeached before the election cycle is over, and the former wunderkind drips union graft like an unlucky sow, shot in the woods behind the left ear.

And yet the Republican Party will find a way to shoot them ownselves in the face. They always do. Ye conservatives better get used to Mitt Romney. That is your standard bearer. That vapid empty suit is your boy. Herman Cain is a goddamned chuckle. Perry... um... who? This guy evaporated faster than my last fart. The only thing I need to know about Bachmann is I want to keep my fucking bunnies away from her. I've seen those eyes before.

You got Romney. That is what you have. Now, the meat of the matter: when he wins, because Obama is a retard, what do you have?

Obama Lite. He will disappoint, no, kill, the tea partiers. He will pass some bullshit micro-stimulus. He will not unleash our oil reserves. He will not repeal Obamacare. He will not enact meaningful tax reform. He will pose for photos, and think hisself a studhoss. He will suck, people.

And that is your best possible scenario. And you can't escape. Google gun control laws, people. Costa Rica ain't so sweet, is it? Honduras is a fucking kill zone, but you can't own one. You dance with the devil who brought ya when you go third world.

Back to reality: We have Romney. That is all we have. Time to start whipping that wimp into a man. If we don't, well, we get the democracy we elect.

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A Balancing Act

The more lackadaisical my manhood becomes, the more I find myself craving a trench gun.

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I do not consider this a psychological transference issue. I consider this a "I can now shoot someone through a wall in my house" issue.

Plus, I believe I can order this in 12-gauge Viagra. With an 18 and a half inch barrel. Win-win.

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Notes from a One-Percenter

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I'll be the first to admit that picture is a tad extreme. But, often, the best comedy is. You can sue me, but you won't collect much.

I call myself a one percenter not because I am insanely wealthy, but because I cannot relate to the insanely wealthy trustafarians currently enjoying a nice autumn camp out with no worries. Also, their retarded, unwashed aunts and uncles.

I spent six hours in a crawlspace yesterday. In a crawlspace on the Sabbath, two months after I had a fucking heart attack, in order to pay my rent. One should never have to spend a weekend day in a crawlspace without at least the luxury of a 14-year-old boy to bury. At least there's memories there. Possibly video.

99%. What a bunch of retards. And I am gratified that after hoisting his moistened finger into the wind Obama has elected to cast his lot with this band of losers. Gambling is probably the only addiction I have never known, but I've seen enough of it, and the craven desperation of a three-time loser doubling down on a bad bet is a sight to behold. You feel so bad for the fucker you want to give him some morphine, so that he will forget to place that bet. There resides our president. He believes if can gin up enough union thugs in the mix to whipsaw these silly hackysackers into line, why, he'll have a groundswell of support. Over the top, boys.

There was a lot of that in the first World War. Idiots sent troops in Napoleonic formations into machine gun fire. When cut to ribbons, they rethought the situation, and dug trenches. But the boys just couldn't resist peeking over the edge, forgetful of the carnage those machine guns were capable of. Soldiers had been peeking at the enemy for centuries. The Civil War was all limb wounds, and amputations. WWI was a lot of face wounds.

Obama thinks he can peek over the edge of the Occupy Wall Street trench, and rally those troops. He completely underestimates the real 99%. The vast majority of the nation that are tired unto sickness of his dallying, sophomoric bullshit. And who look upon his embrace of the clueless, the demented, and the hopeless as a queer thing for a president to do.

Go pay your own school loan off, fuckface. I paid mine off, had a great career, and worked in a goddamned crawlspace yesterday.


Welcome to the party, pal.

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October 16, 2011

Issues

Could not post, could not post a comment. Sacrificed a little lamb with a pretty face, apparently all is well. Tried three homeless people first, but the comments gods would not respond. Wanted a little lamb.

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October 15, 2011

Rotten Cocks

I tend to stay away from sports here, but Jesus. Corruption apparently knows no bounds. South Carolina was favored by 3 points over Mississippi State. With a 4 point lead, and mere seconds on the clock, Spurrier had his quarterback take an intentional safety instead of a knee. The Gamecocks won, but they did not cover the spread. For no fucking reason, other than graft.

That is the most singular piece of corruption at the college level I have ever seen. Spurrier bet against his own team.

The next thing you know, Chicago will have a corrupt baseball team.

My new motto? Shave pussy, not points.

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October 14, 2011

Ode to the Federal Dead

Most of us ancients of a certain length of canine have our situations properly handled. A pension, a retirement nut, a bit of the old inheritance. We are inured to the petulance of the current markets, ensconced in our sureties, we muse as we slaps ourselves upon our backs.

Or not. Defined pension plans appear wonderful, until one is faced with the prospect that his or her municipality/county/state nurse hog is tits the fuck up. Just because you were promised something doesn't mean it always comes true. Hell, I learned that in junior high school, when I had a neck-snapping, and ultimately unrequited, crush on Debra Rushing.

Here's something else: I learned more building a deathtrap Nautilus when I was twelve (which my father would not let me float) than I did at university.

So thank God my retirement is in a 401(k), or IRA, a market rational instrument, right?

Or not. How's that puppy doing?

It pains me to observe this, but I believe a large sector of the massive, self-centered, corpulent-while-pretending-to-jog boomers are about to experience a massive Joe Frazier uppercut to the glass jaw of our bullshit selves.

I hate to divert myself, owing to the fact my physicians have warned me to tread delicately upon all matters racist, but that Joe Frazier thought led me to this: around these parts black butchers and grocery stores always run the 5-5-5 special. Not to be confused with Herman Cain's 9-9-9 tax plan. No, the 5-5-5 deal is your option of three 5 pound cuts of meat: 5 pounds of ground beef: greasy, 5 pounds of chicken thighs: greasy, 5 pounds of ox tails, 5 pounds of bone-in shoulder blade pork chops, or 5 pounds of Joe Louis strip steaks. Pick your three, and we'll throw in some mustard greens. You will have to contact me directly to ascertain what Joe Louis strip steaks are. I've never eaten one, but I did retread a bias-ply tire with one in a pinch in Milton, Florida. I've always admired the 5-5-5 special. It bespeaks American ingenuity.

So back to Armageddon: that pension, that 401(k), that IRA, could melt away before your eyes if the US dollar is reckoned to be a worthless slug, no longer the coin of the realm. Now we not few, we not band of brothers, we overly large demographic of boomers must compete with our own children for jobs. Steal jobs from our own offspring, iffen we can grasp some purchase on the giddy sliding slope that is the Job Market.

Most of us would fail, of course. Too old, too expensive, antediluvian skill sets, health cost issues, retards.

No one wants to blast the ram's horn of doom. No one likewise wants to associate themselves with a doomsday scenario. But I have two daughters. One just graduated from college and is teaching kindergarten, lucky she. The other, a mere five years younger, faces a much more oblique future insofar as mere gainful employment obtains.

I have no idea what to tell her to do for a living. Engineering? There are already ten thousand engineers from the state of Gujarat who will do that job for a third of your needful pay. Medicine? Likewise. IT? Get the fuck out of here. Law? That entire profession is over-cultivated, over-staffed, and over-credentialed. I can get a lawyer cheaper than a good interior designer.

Nurses and pole dancers seem to be in reasonable demand, although I have personally seen a drop off in pole dance demand. Really sad to see quarters slip through an otherwise utile thong that only recently held a goddamned universally respected dollar bill with brio.

It's a world of hurt out there now, folks. More to come. I wish I had a few answers. All I can do is grim you out with a little bit of Allen Tate:


Row after row with strict impunity
The headstones yield their names to the element,
The wind whirrs without recollection;
In the riven troughs the splayed leaves
Pile up, of nature the casual sacrament
To the seasonal eternity of death;
Then driven by the fierce scrutiny
Of heaven to their election in the vast breath,
They sough the rumour of mortality.



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October 12, 2011

Ye Be Warned...

Listen, guys. I don't care how hot that insane girl is. Your boasts that you will "fuck the crazy right out of her" fall on deaf ears, from where I'm sitting.

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Welcome to Flight 571

Barack Obama inherited a national economy in a nose dive. This is without question. Whether any policies he or anyone else in that office enacted could have corrected that course is questionable. What is not questionable is the fact that the policies Obama did implement have been abject failures.

We are Uruguayan rugby players on a crashed ship of state, high in the Andes. Regardless of who "wins" in 2012, it will soon be time, because the winner of that election is merely the overseer of a plantation of fucking hurt. Soon it will be time to decide who will go, to feed the rest of us.

First they cannibalized the 401(k)s, and I did not complain, because I was a pensioner. Then they cannibalized the bank accounts, and I did not complain, because I use cash.

Eventually, we will be cannibalizing each others' personalty, and then their flesh. Because there ain't no first responders or paramilitaries or Red Cross to save us from what is coming. And we are too soft to stop it.

I am the real 99%, the 99% who has a rather small pot to piss in, yet refuses to covet my neighbor's whatever. I am a kulak, in other words, waiting for The State to makes its decisions for me.

Having said that, Kroger's Rainbow Sherbet is likewise 99%. 99% fat free. And wonderful.

I am concerned my neighbor covets my Rainbow Sherbet. He shall not have it.

See you on the other side, homies.

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October 11, 2011

More DOTS

By special command. Also, some content.


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I was pretty harsh on Herman Cain a while back. I've reconsidered, and find him a rather more nuanced candidate. The question is, can he score me forty acres and a mule?

Posted by Velociman at 10:40 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

October 10, 2011

DOTS...

Dots will drive that horrid image further down the screen:


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Of course content works pretty well, too.

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