Secrets and Lies

I Am The Eggman. I Am The Eggman. I Am the Douchebag!

“You know, just when I think you're the shallowest man I know, you somehow manage to drain a little bit more out of the pool.”
Elaine to Jerry—Seinfeld, Episode #59, “The Implant”

I know not to expect anything remotely resembling class from a bottom-feeding miscreant like Matt Drudge, what with his track record for blaring, and then cowardly running away from self interest-serving lies, operating as an unabashed smear hit-man for the right, and of course covering the asses of his wingnut benefactors through widely disseminated push-back (written by them). He's a disingenuous hack, masquerading as some sort of next-wave “journalist”, when in the end he couldn't write his way out of a wet paper back if his pen had a diamond tip. The key to his “success”? It is in no way related to the quality of his “reportage”. It merely is the manifestation of something my father used to tell me all the time about seeming unfairness and how merit oftentimes does not win out.

“Sometimes son...it isn't about being good. It's about being FIRST.”

Drudge? Merely the dude with an idea and a faster baud modem than his pre-histor-internet peers.

Add to that good timing a petty, and vindictive personality and his having all the scruples of a rabid jackal loping about the unguarded newborn wing of a hospital and you get the man in whole.

However, give the devil his due. The one thing the marble-mouthed cyber-thug has going for him is a well-cultivated network of snitches and lapdogs waiting with bated breath for his every gutteral utterance.

Thus, when he breaks a story—regardless of how damaging—it can hit with the force of a stray spark in a vapor-filled gas main.

He did just that late last week when he blared in a banner headline the till-then-clandestine presence of Britain's Prince Harry's serving with his fellow British troops in Afghanistan. Clandestine because of known threats against the young Royal's life, and his unit should his location become known.

Just...wow. (via Crooks & Liars)

Tsk...tsk...tsk...
The 23-year-old prince was posted in mid-December to the restive Helmand province of southern Afghanistan under a cloak of secrecy following an unusual agreement reached between the media and the army.

However, the arrangement collapsed after news was leaked on the US website, the Drudge Report, yesterday.

The ministry said the decision to withdraw the prince, who is third in line to the throne, was taken primarily because “the worldwide media coverage of Prince Harry in Afghanistan could impact on the security of those who are deployed there, as well as the risks to him as an individual soldier.”

So, this lunk-headed bomb-tosser basically jeopardized not only Prince Harry's life, but that of his unit-mates just-fucking-because? I am no fan of war—it's a disgusting, life-coarsening thing whether justified or not, but I will give serious credit to those who put their asses on the line to fight—for the poor grunts humping it for college money, or a sense of duty or family tradition. And for someone like Prince Harry who deigned to serve when he—unlike the VAST majority of the children of political privilege here in this country—could have sat on his ass, sippeing at Pimms and Sevens till he was a silver-haired do-nothing King. Via birthright he could have ducked anything—he could probably garotte “Who Want's To be A Millionaire's” Chris Tarrant in the middle of a programme and in the end, walk away unscathed.

But...he chose to serve and was doing so with an understanding that it would be kept secret as a matter of national security until apparently Matt Drudge ran out of unflattering Hillary pics to run and ran dry of synonyms for ragheaded darkie to pillory Obama with—so, he went with a stupid, attention-getting, red-cheeked shit-in-the-street leak of confidential and potentially danger-increasing information.

You know Goddamned well that were it one of President Bush's responsibility-phobic daughters' Apple-tini sodden asses on the line in a secret war-zone location, Drudge would've made the Sphinx look like a sodium-pentatholed Chris Tucker with not only his silence, but a vicious lashing out at anyone daring to break that silence.

And that's the crux of it—his naked partisanship and a-moral “fuck propriety—I'll run with any manner of story about anyone who isn't fellating me with deference and perks” style. He'll trash you not out of any sense of wrong or right (or whether what he's pushing is actually true or not—as Sidney Blumenthal, John Kerry and Hillary Clinton all would painfully find out), but just because he can, because it serves his wingnut masters, and because dirt fucking sells.

The ultimate irony is that for all his incessant muckraking on others, he's often the first to rail about someone or some entity endangering national security or his backers' interests through their actual tough investigative reporting. And the right-wing media he funnels his swill to join him in that double-standard. “How dare you release the Abu Ghraib pictures! They're inflammatory!” “We need to prosecute those in the press who leaked about this goverment's illegal secret prisons!” “Someone must pay for daring to talk about the depth of our illegality in spying on Americans”. But of course, you've barely heard a word about Drudge's shitty little line-step because he's “their boy”. Add into the mix the fact that Drudge has some nasty “secrets” about himself that he litigiously fights with all of his hypocritical, indignant might—via Crooks and Liars:

Many have asked about the egg reference in my earlier post. It comes from an article in Salon back in 2000. Jeannette Walls had a spat with Drudge over her book entitled “Dish” in which she revealed some of Matt Drudge’s preferences. She actually never mentioned anything about eggs in the book. Matt brought it out into the open:

After a mutual friend of both gossips tipped off Drudge as to just what these “lurid allegations” (about him—LM's note) were—a nasty case of pubic lice, a penchant for fully clothed sex in the shower and a bizarre egg fetish—he began to spread them himself….

“He likes to have sex with eggs. He likes them smeared all over naked male bodies.”

“It’s all very well sourced,” she told the New York Post’s Page Six. “If he offers you a bite of his omelet, take a pass.”

Splat!

And here, via Raw Story:

Drudge is a fine example of a nut-job. He’s obsessed with being known—starting non-gay rumors about himself, pestering big papers to get coverage—but wants absolutely nothing “out” about his personal life. Certainly not the kind of details he’d splash across his page, anyway. Unless it’s a rumor he tried to start about himself and Laura Ingraham. He even reportedly asked the New Times that no full body photos accompany that interview. That is either one of the gayest things I’ve ever heard or one of the craziest.

Pretty secretive little panty-sniifing (or should I say,“tighty-whit-ey sniffing”), garbage-picking parasite...ain't he? He uses his contacts and “ins” all over the place to gather dirt on pissed-off, would-be retaliators to keep them from ratting out his own creepy-fuck behavior. The day's gonna come though when somebody bigger, badder and with a more powerful “gun” than him will cut him off at the knees and leave him choking on the refuse cloud in history's dustbin. It happens to 'em all. His political and temperamental forefather Walter Winchell saw his once-mighty influence first blunted, and then quickly drained away as people finally tired of his knee-jerk reactionaryism and then saw himself mocked mercilessly in the media—particularly the scathing classic film (One of my all-time favorites) “Sweet Smell Of Success”...

“The real Walter Winchell, no longer as powerful as he'd been in the 1940s but still a man to be reckoned with, went after (screenwriter) Ernest Lehman with both barrels upon the release of Sweet Smell Of Success. Winchell was not so much offended by the unflattering portrait of himself as by the dredging up of an unpleasant domestic incident from his past.”

In the end, the once omnipotent and widely read Winchell was reduced to standing on a Hollywood street corner handing out mimeographed copies of his “column” for free to disinterested passers-by like some sandwich-boarded, nudie-show barker passing out coupons for “Live Girlz!” Drudge's years of hypocrisy—just like Winchell's—and rank amorality will certainly bring him low when the worm turns, as it always does at some point. It'll be the ultimate comeuppance for a turd-gobbling little cyber-thug like him. Countless people unfairly outed. Security and highly sensitive relationships fatally compromised. Reputations...trashed. Lives actually endangered.

All for the sake of a nasty addiction to running people down, spreading gossip, and shilling for parties who mean no one well. All that and what cheap, fleeting fame it grants. That day of payback's pimp-slap'll be a sweet and vicious one...as it is for all “can't take it” bullies.

The prescient words of a then-Heavyweight Champion Mike Tyson come rushing to mind...

“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”

How true those words rang...especially when the bullying Tyson would ironically find himself on the receiving end of a sea-changing “punch in the mouth.”

Do “dirt” and you set yourself up for a “dirt-nap” Trade in shit, and you'll find yourself eating it. Callously play around with people's lives and you'll eventually see your own ruined.

Pimp a secret...push a lie. When fate bites back...don't wonder why.

There's more...

Gone.

D.R. Scott said it with one word in comments yesterday within Hubris' post below on the young woman who was apparently gang-raped by workers at a KBR work camp (Kellogg Brown & Root until April was a Halliburton subsidiary. How lucky for Halliburton to have spun the company off before this story broke), and then held prisoner in a shipping container until a sympathetic guard loaned her his cell phone, which she used to call her father 7,000 miles away stateside.

Her father called her local Congressman, and he called the State Department—to rescue an American citizen from a rogue American contractor in the middle of a war zone. They just roll so wrong off the tongue—the words. Agents were dispatched to the American mercenaries site and the abused woman worker was freed.

I'll say it again.

Gone.

As D.R. Scott elaborated, “Whatever moral authority the United States claimed to have is now gone.”

Totally. Painfully. Sadly.

Gone.

The next time you hear some half-cerebrumed fool asking with a puerile whine, “Why does the world dislike us?”, after you laugh in his face and backhand him in his drooping jaw, stand over his unconscious body and run this case down for him.

This is how we're treating our own people who've gone over there ostensibly to help “the cause”.

Imagine what in Satan's fucking name these roided-up loose cannons are doing to Iraqis who don't have a congressman to call.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Here are some of the ugly particulars of the case—the sorts of things that evaporate all moral authority and then seeds the clouds for a rain of karmic blowback so drenching that Hell itself would steam from the deluge's leaching in.

...the company put her under guard in a shipping container with a bed and warned her that if she left Iraq for medical treatment, she'd be out of a job.

“Don't plan on working back in Iraq. There won't be a position here, and there won't be a position in Houston,“ Jones says she was told.

Yes. they effectively threatened her with blackballing in the industry were she to talk. Speak out and we'll destroy your livelihood. Got it? Good. Now, the fellas need a little...how do you say, entertaining...

Gone.

A spokesperson for the State Department's Bureau of Diplomatic Security told ABCNews.com he could not comment on the matter.

Over two years later, the Justice Department has brought no criminal charges in the matter. In fact, ABC News could not confirm any federal agency was investigating the case.

Legal experts say Jones' alleged assailants will likely never face a judge and jury, due to an enormous loophole that has effectively left contractors in Iraq beyond the reach of United States law.

“It's very troubling,” said Dean John Hutson of the Franklin Pierce Law Center. “The way the law presently stands, I would say that they don't have, at least in the criminal system, the opportunity for justice.”

------------------------------------

Since no criminal charges have been filed, the only other option, according to Hutson, is the civil system, which is the approach that Jones is trying now. But Jones' former employer doesn't want this case to see the inside of a civil courtroom.

KBR has moved for Jones' claim to be heard in private arbitration, instead of a public courtroom. It says her employment contract requires it.

The Bush administration's “enforcer” arm, the Justice Department under Alberto Gonzales, and it's torture-enabling State Department actively sought to cover this whole thing up up, and to this day still is—then constructed a Rube Goldberg-ian policy contraption that works only to protect criminals who operate in the name of this government.

“Gone, baby gone.”

Hubris' post ended with this question:

“Anybody want to guess how long before we start hearing the attacks on this 22 year old girl?”

The answer? Maybe an hour. From Melanie in comments:

“One quick google reveals that there are already websites that are calling her "rape bait" because she is pretty.

And from Serving Patriot in the same thread:

...Just read the comments at the ABC news website for all their disgusting, "whe deserved it" of "invited it" glory.”

I won't link to the ugliness. You know where to go to find it. Bet you get there in under four clicks.

I'll count down. Five, four three, two, one...

Gone.

This government has taken whatever standing...whatever tenuous higher ground we may have had...and rammed it through a wood-chipper.

Then burned it to cinders with a flamethrower.

And followed that with a nice, long hydrochloric acid bath—agitating the last molecules with a vigorous cocktail-shaker move...into so much nothingness.

Gone.

You get that when the President pimps out his female Secretary of State, chuckling up his sleeve with his bought-and-paid-for pundits and weirdly-nicknamed aides de camp over disrespect of her at the hands of an arrogant, sexist head of state.

It's a by-product of humor being made at the expense of a woman running for President, where a male opponent doesn't challenge a supporter giddily calling her, a Senate colleague of his—a “bitch”.

What do you expect when the President won't subtly pressure, or even ask a question of a supposedly close fellow world leader whose government's judiciary sentences a female rape victim to 200 lashes for being in the company of men she is not related to, and then for speaking out against said court's injustice?

And all, all fades away when this government will give its mercenary army carte blanche...

...to run wild in a war theatre, and roughshod over an overtaxed and underpaid military who they are free to abuse...

...to murder meandering civilians, and punish them not...

...to rape, and imprison a fellow American—a woman, and threaten her with sanction should she seek justice for the ultimate denial of dignity.

Fades? No. Thrown away is more like it. Prestige cast aside is no longer prestige, but is like all that is gutter-tossed. Refuse.

“One can judge a civilization by the way it treats its women.”, Helen Foster Snow once said. And much to our collective chagrin, we are found wanting. Sadly, sadly wanting.

But there America stands, or rather...wobbles....with reptilian tears streaming down and a querulous “Ted Baxter” bawl erupting from its gut.

“Why, oh why, oh why, oh whyyyyyyyyyy do 'they' hate us so much? It's our freedoms! They hate us for our freedoms!”

But the truth is revealed. Ugly and gnarled, un-pretty, but real—they don't hate our freedoms. “They” scorn, mock, and laugh at our loud pretentions to them.

A well of good will, dusty now and webbed with dry, burning hypocrisy.

Every drop...

...gone.

There's more...

Presidential Presser Poop-plops.

“Holding ha-aaaaaaannnnds...making all kinds of plans...”

A fortnight ago, I took the Bush administration and the Saudi government to task for their cushy, co-dependent relationship, and how that “relationship” has adversely affected what America calls “The War On Terror™”, while also severely damaging what little “moral authority” we had left in pressing for international human rights.

That “relationship”, based on America's crack-ho' addiction to oil (as a resource and as a corporate revenue generator) and the Saudis exploiting said addiction in their position as a main supplier of petro-crack has resulted in a blindered moral relativism on the U.S.'s part. We look the other way on the Saudi's retrograde excesses in return for continued, flutter-lidded, white-eyed suckling at the oil teat.

What set me off? Post September 11th, Bush cynically opted to put no pressure at all on the powers-that-be who run the country where 3/4 of the attack's hijackers hailed from—those same powers-that-be whose oil revenues finance the religio-piate Madrasas (schools) that often serve as anger-to-action incubators for many a frustrated young Muslim man. A need for oil for all those Hummers and Suburbans, and an equal lust for that same oil to reap refining profits from is a sad reality of how we choose to live—and it reflects itself in the choices our government makes. Ugly choices that manifest themselves in moral hypocrisy where we pushed for war with a non-aggressor Muslim country who not a single 9-11 hijacker hailed from. Hundreds of thousands killed, millions displaced, a civil war fomented by our stupidity in Iraq—whose people didn't do a Goddamned thing...and this government couldn't even talk loud to the Saudis about maybe fixing some of the eminently fixable shit they passive-aggressively promote that is a threat to us?

Yes...that bothered me in a big way.

But...you'd like to think that at some point in time...maybe by dint of the simple law of averages, some balance could creep into the mix when it comes to massaging foreign policy. You can borderline understand the blunt-force stupid of raw human nature in the single-minded “all-take/no-give” school of dealing with so-called mortal international enemies. It's not smart—but you can sort of see where it comes from. I have trouble grasping the flip side though—the “all-give/no-take” mindset when it comes to dealing with so-called allies.

The case of the young Saudi woman who was brutally gang-raped and found herself on the sentencing end of 200 lashes for apparently “asking for it” (actually 90 for the “crime”, the extra 110 for talking to the press) via the heinous sin of her daring to be with men other than a relative, is one such example of the “all-give/no-take” imbalance on America's part. There was of course, the typical “Damn those crazy Moo-slims! All of 'em!” spike of crazy in the 48 hours of news coverage it garnered. But again, there was little from our government beyond a glassy-eyed burp of “There, we've spoken on it, let's move on” from our flaxen, Presidential spokes-bot Dana Perino.

The administration let the whole thing slide as if it was slathered with a barrel-ful of low-grade crude.

However, it hit a dry spot yesterday when a reporter brought the story up at Bush's presser...and Bush's handling of it tells you everything you need to know about why we're as fucked as we are presently as a country. Diplomatically, public relations-wise, and as any sort of world arbiter of simple decency.

From the presser (Via First Draft):

HENRY: On another issue of credibility in the Mid East — At the Annapolis Summit you used your influence to get Saudi Arabia to the table but I wonder whether now you will use you influence to do something about the Saudi rape case that has gotten so much international attention? What goes through your mind when you hear about a 19 year old Saudi woman getting gang raped by seven men and basically a Saudi court blames the victim and sentences her to 200 lashes? You spoke to King Abdullah by telephone in the last couple of weeks. Did you press him on this case? If so what did you say and if not, are you giving him a pass?”

Let me jump in here for just one second. The raw transcript of this exchange doesn't give you the full story. You shoud see it. (via Crooks and Liars) When Bush was asked about this, he looked as if someone had slashed him across the gut and pulled some of his intestines out through the wound. He was stunned. Nearly in shock that not only had a reporter dared ask him such a pointed question, but also that he clearly had no clue of how to handle it via talking points. He stammered, stumbled, blinked and blinked and blinked, as if perhaps with mystical snapping shut of his eyes he could make the questioner disappear like some poor unfortunate who displeased Barbara Eden's “Jeannie”. Eventually I guess, whoever was at the console to send him messages via his top-of-the-back transmitter came up with something...but alas, not quiteenough. Back to the bullshit response...

BUSH: My first thoughts were these. What happens if this happened to my daughter? How would I react? And I would have been — I would have been very emotional, of course. I’d have been angry at those who committed the crime, and I would be angry at the state that didn’t support the victim, and our opinions were expressed by Dana Perino from the podium.

HENRY: Did you press King Abdullah about it personally?

BUSH: I talked to King Abdullah about the Middle eastern peace. I don’t remember if that subject came up.

HENRY: If it was that important to you why wouldn’t you at that level bring it directly up to King Abdullah?

BUSH: (Ed. note—Very testily now) There’s plenty of time. He knows our position loud and clear.

And he ran from follow-up on that punji-stick of a question like a scalded dog, howling all the way. This pusilanimous pisspot of a President. For someone who constantly talks of good and evil in the weighty tones of characters from Faust, it doesn't take very much to expose him as little more than a prompter reader when it comes to his depth of real concern with the ideas of fairness and justice. He fell back on a cheap, emotional stunt when challenged and when the reporter basically said, “Thanks for your little scene from 'The Searchers'—now tell us what the fuck you actually did!”, the little coward punted and ran for the sideline. His non-response was a dog-whistle to our international “friends” who don't believe in justice and equality—“We've got your back on that, G!” And it was an unwitting sub-sonic alert to those we are at odds with...

“Sit n' spin, Geneva!”

What do you expect when the world's supposed supa-ultra-mega-hulk-on-steroids-plus-god-and-the-core-of-the-fucking-atom-power not only looks the other way on, but practices torture? When we encourage let our mercenaries and too many of our soldiers kill innocent civilians and then pat 'em on the back? When we allow elections to be toyed with as if by some rogue junta, and routinely see our nation's laws subverted by racism, sexism and all the other “isms” that don't impact the entrenched powers?

There was an old “Pixie and Dixie” cartoon where the cat, Mr. Jinx stood off to the side laughing at a warring, destructive Pixie and Dixie laying waste to each other instead of battling him—the crafty instigator.

Jinxie chuckled his goofy chuckle and said “Hyenh! I love it when they do it to themselves. We're doing it to ourselves. Operating under a bent, ultimately lawless template and reaping the awful whirlwind from it.

In the end...I can't blame the Saudis one fucking bit for taking full advantage of our hypocrisy. That's human nature too.

“If the so-called moral arbiter is fucking up, and is beholden to me for something he needs, and won't press me to get right—why the hell should I tow the line?”

What was that phrase Robert Bork used? “Slouching Towards Gomorrah”? Sheeeee-it—this is a drunken stumble down a steep, icy hill. Maybe they'll have the crack-up at the bottom on YouTube or something. The “Jackass”-ery of civilization as we know it.

“Eeeeeee-yooooonh.”

As an added treat, here's the question that torqued off the little pissypants President and sent him scurrying away to look at torn-out Chivas Regal ads and dream away lustily...'cause you know he don't drink no more...

Q: Thank you, Mr. President. I may want to apologize in advance because --

BUSH: Please do.

Q: I can't help but read your body language this morning, Mr. President. You seem somehow dispirited, somewhat dispirited.

BUSH: I think you need to apologize for advance -- (laughter.) This is like -- all of a sudden, it's like Psychology 101, you know? (Laughter.)

Q: A question related to that, sir, is, twice now, on Iran and Iraq, the facts have failed you on things that you've been outspoken on telling the American people. Senator Harry Reid is saying on the war spending issue that "the President is not leveling with the American people."

BUSH: On the war spending issue?

Q: Yes. Are you, in fact, troubled by --

BUSH: Why don't you clarify that for me?

Q: Well, are you --

BUSH: What aspect of it? That I don't think we ought to fund the troops?

Q: No, sir.

BUSH: I think we need to fund the troops. I submitted a supplemental last February. Anyway --

Q: My question, sir, is, are you feeling troubled about your standing here yesterday, about perhaps facing a credibility gap with the American people?

BUSH: No, I'm feeling pretty spirited, pretty good about life, and have made the decision to come before you so I can explain the NIE. And I have said Iran is dangerous, and the NIE doesn't do anything to change my opinion about the danger Iran poses to the world. Quite the contrary. I'm using this NIE as an opportunity to continue to rally our colleagues and allies.

Q: Do you think it --

BUSH: It makes it -- the NIE makes it clear that the strategy we have used in the past is effective.
[snip]
And so, kind of Psychology 101 ain't working. It's just not working. I understand the issues, I clearly see the problems, and I'm going to use the NIE to continue to rally the international community for the sake of peace. Thank you very much.

Now when I finally saw this in its entirety, (hopefully the C-SPAN feed works) this segment played out like a sitcom segment with a fade to blackout. The questioner asks a testy, anxious Bush a question about his obvious discomfort at the podium with what seemed to be a bad day's going. He cited negative body language and tone.

Bush of course denied it—and then proceeded (you need to see the moment to truly get it) to grump, and snipe, then slouch and finger-shake, and finally yell and cut off any further questions with an angry stomp out.

A commenter in a previous thread said of the presser “GWB had an emperor sans clothing moment.”

It was that and more.

It was a “Law & Order three-minutes-of” moment too. That moment in the courtroom or interrogation room where the guilty defendant invariably snaps and exposes himself as exactly what Jack McCoy or Detective Goren just set him up as being.

But most embarrassingly, it was also a “Sexual Chocolate” moment.

Don't know what I mean by “Sexual Chocolate”? Come To America with me and all will be clear. And make sure to watch to the end, kids.



SEXUAL CHOCOLATE!

There's more...

Trent Lott & The Goat Rumor

photo mashed-up by Jesse Wendel & Maggie Jochild

What We Know...

There is no proof Larry Flint has photos of Trent Lott blowing goats behind a Klan rally as a young man.

That is wild speculation.

I also have absolutely no evidence they were black goats.

We do have Big Head DC carrying a denial from gay escort Benjamin Nicholas that Sen. Trent Lott is on the down-low -- which I'm oh so certain we all believe:

Big Head DC

UPDATE, 5:30: “Here’s my public comment, on-the-record: Sen. Lott and I have no current affiliation with one another. I’m sure he would appreciate no further scrutiny,” Benjamin Nicholas tells Big Head DC.

Once upon a time, there was a twenty something boy-next-door type with reddish blond hair and a brilliantly white smile. Not one to shy away from attention, he wrote a blog called “Fifteen Minutes,” and also became a freelance writer for various publications, including The Stranger in Seattle. He’d often focus on his non-traditional lifestyle as a gay male escort — a topic that often fascinated his readers, which, in turn, helped him to garner a substantial amount of powerful business acquaintances through the years.

Based in San Antonio, he would travel all over the world to meet his clients, which included high profile celebrities, businessmen and even politicians in the United States Congress.

Sometimes within his writings he’d give advice on how other males could become successful escorts. Other times he’d post videos of himself flexing on YouTube. Once, he even scolded gay escort Mike Jones for outing Rev. Ted Haggard as one of his gay escort business participants.

The boy happens to be real, and his “stage name” is Benjamin Nicholas. One of the politicos Big Head DC has learned he’s alleged to have been involved with is the married Sen. Trent Lott, 66, who unexpectedly announced his retirement on Monday. Lott is well-known to have been against a plethora of gay rights issues throughout his terms in Congress. He was also good friends with Sen. Larry Craig throughout his time in Congress.

Nicholas told Big Head DC today via e-mail that he didn’t want to go on the record to talk about his dealings with Lott, because, said Nicholas, “Trent is going through his fair share of scrutiny right now and I don’t want to add to it.” However, e-mail and other records confirm that the two have met on at least two occasions.

“All I can say at this point is no comment,” Nicholas told us. “It’s the professional thing for me to do.”

In a subsequent e-mail message, Nicholas confirmed that another publication is working on a story about a “possible relationship” between Lott and himself, but Nicholas also “politely declined” an interview for that story.

“As I said before, Lott has quite a bit on his plate right now and I don’t really want to add fuel to the embers,” Nicholas told Big Head DC.

I wonder if Nicholas traveled with his own goats, or if he rented?

Where does one rent a goat in D.C.? Turns out it's just a click away, and shipping is always discounted to special customers.

Larry Flint, that old bastard, is rumored to have photos of Lott. Baaaaaaa-d photos. Of Lott getting rammed.

Takes a goat to blow one.

Baaaaa-bye.

Updated 7 am PT: Benjamin Nicholas, the alleged escort, has released a statement on his own blog, explicitly denying any contact with Lott. Keep in mind however, this is the same Nicholas who went on record bashing the escort who outed Haggart, because in Nicholas' world, an escort should never reveal contact with a client.

15 Minutes...

It looks like a Washington DC-based blog called BigHeadDC is making claim that there was (or, is) a working relationship between myself and Senator Trent Lott. There are falsely pieced-together quotes that serve no purpose other than to sensationalize a completely fabricated scoop.

I will continue to offer a great sense of confidentiality to the people I see. I have not, nor have I ever seen or had contact with Senator Trent Lott. It's as simple as that. It never happened.

And as we've said from the beginning, we have zero evidence Larry Flint even has any photographs of Lott going down on a black goat after the Klan rally oh so many years ago.

Hey -- we're liberals here. I don't judge.

Just so long as the goat didn't get hurt...

There's more...

Won't You Come Home Bill Donohue, Won't you Come Home?

Or, “A Good Batshit Winger Is Hard To Find...When There's A Story He Doesn't Want Talked About”

But talk about it we will! I mean...well...it's perfect! It's got sex, it's got crime, it's got a police dashcam video...

...oh yeah, and stuffed-in fake boobs, a pleather mini-skirt, and likes to cruise for tricks (as a hooker!) when he isn't at his nine-to-five—as a principal at a Louisville Catholic High School.



Via Cliff at Brave New Films: and The Smoking Gun:

Meet Paul Schum. The Kentucky man, a Catholic school principal, is facing a prostitution charge after Louisville police found him dressed like a woman and loitering in an alley Tuesday night.

According to a criminal citation, a copy of which you'll find here,, Schum, 50, was wearing fishnet stockings, fake breasts, and “all black leather” when officers discovered him “loitering in high drug trafficking and prostitution area.” The citation notes that Schum, who heads Bethlehem High School, had “no reason for why he was in alley...dressed up in women's leather other than for prostitution.” Schum, now on paid leave from his school post, is due in court on November 27 to answer a misdemeanor charge of loitering for the intent of prostitution.

Ohhhhh...we're being mean, I guess. Perhaps we should give the stiletto-ed “headmaster” (will I go to hell for saying that?) the benefit of the doubt, and take his lawyer's word for the real deal behind who what went down:

“..this gentleman's lawyer has stated that he owns rental property in that area and had been dressed for a Halloween party and for some reason (lacking common sense) he decided to go check on the property since he was in the area while still dressed up.”

Yes. That'll work!

But strangely, I can't find hide, nor a single, greasily combed-over hair of the spluttering, Christofascist nutjob William Donohue on this issue! Where is he? It's damn near holiday time—isn't there a “War On Christmas” on that he should be fighting with his candy-cane sword and mantle-cookie shield? I mean...shouldn't he be all over this issue, like clingy, faux-patent leather all over a 50-year-old dude's sweaty ass? I'm sure he's seen the video of the—yeccch!—arrest, right?



Really, Now!

Where in the name of angry bloggers and milk-chocolate Jesus can that man be?

Maybe he's lying in a gutter somewhere, injured.

Or perhaps he's laid up in a hospital bed, lost and disoriented...after an unfortunate, accidental run-in with one of those Godless, mocking celebrities?

Damn you Conan O'Brien...what hath you wrought?

There's more...

Fucking incredible

Q: Is it ever reasonable to restrict constitutional freedoms in the name of fighting terrorism?

MS. PERINO: In our opinion, no.

Dana Perino, Whitehouse Press Secretary on Pakistan.

I just had to post that... cuz... I don't know... Shark, Fonzie, Richie, or something...

There's more...

Sick And Tired Of Your Sor-rys

What Hubris said...and then some...

Some 30-odd years ago, the poet/playwright Ntozake Shange wrote and choreographed one of the legendary pieces in the “Black Arts Movement” canon of the late 60's/early 70's—the blazing “For Colored Girls Who have Considered Suicide When The Rainbow Is Enuf”. It was an amazing piece, dealing with the trials and tribulations of a variety of nameless women, identified only by the color dresses they wore onstage. Some of the most penetrating words in the performances came from the characters who suffered the most damage—for example, the “Lady in Red” and her recalling the terrible domestic abuse she absorbed. Many of the other characters would cite, breathlessly and in great detail how they coped with abuse they suffered—physical AND emotional.

The moment I recall best from it is a monologue by the “Lady In Blue” who fed-up with the constant enabling, and wallowing in the battered-wife syndrome that has cost her too much of her time, and waaaaaay too much of her dignity, says “enough is enough” and lays down the law for her suitors present—and in the future, that she is “sick and tired of their sorrys”.

“If you called to say you’re sorry,
Call somebody else.
I don’t use ‘em anymore.

---------------------------------------


One thing I don't need,
Is any more apologies.
I got sorry greetin me at my front door.
You can keep yours.
I don't know what to do wiht em.
They don't open doors,
Or bring the sun back.
They don't make me happy,
Or get a mornin paper.
Didn't nobody stop usin my tears to wash cars
'Cause of sorry.

-----------------------------------

I let sorry/didn't mean to/and how could I know about that
Take a walk down a dark & musty street in Brooklyn.
I'm gonna do exactly what I want to
And I won't be sorry for none of it.
Let a sorry soothe your soul...I'm gonna soothe mine."

Shange's words have rarely been far from me, as I've seen that play performed at least six times or so, and the hard declaration of “no more sorrys” always stuck out for me in particular. It especially sticks out with the spot-on noting of the “battered wife syndrome” evidenced by too many of the Left's so-called elected “leaders”, particularly after Rep. Pete Stark's comments:

“The Dainty Republican Fainting Couch and Circle Jerk Society is in full effect and the press is running with it as fast as their dimpled little legs can carry them. The context that would show what is really going on is right in the story, but you won't hear about it:

Republicans jumped on the tirade, issuing statement after statement calling on congressman Pete Stark to apologize.

Now why do you suppose they did this? Are these macho tough guys really offended that some congressman made these comments in a debate? Are their feelings hurt on behalf of the president? Does CNN really believe that's what's going on? Does anyone think that what Pete Stark said on the floor yesterday truly upset the Republicans? Of course not. These are the same people who spent month after month calling president Clinton a rapist and worse, for crying out loud. They are not shrinking violets who believe that there are limits to acceptable rhetoric about the president. They don't believe there are limits to any rhetoric.

Everyone knows exactly why the Republicans sent out "statement after statement" about this obscure congressman's words yesterday --- distraction. Does anyone point that out? No. In fact, the damned Democrats go right along with this nonsense and "hold meetings" and leak to the press about how they agree with the Republicans agreeing that Stark caused the distraction, and basically showing themselves to be a bunch of pathetic fumblers falling for this nonsense over and over again.

Surely, they don't think they will ever be able to stop the Republicans from finding some silly comment somewhere that they can get the vapors over do they? Are they really battered spouses trying desperately not to say or do anything that will make their vicious, bullying batterer angry?

Somebody call Dr. Phil for gawds sake. I have said it before but until the Democrats figure out how to deal with this, the Republicans are going to keep doing it. Why shouldn't they?”

Hubris pointed out downpage a touch that:


Okay? As the “Lady in Blue” (funny how colors are just...I dunno, timeless) said, “We are sick and tired of your sor-rys”. The fact is, that every time an unwarranted, “quiet the baby” sorry leaves our lips, we only give the caterwauling, shit-Pampered brats the cue to cry louder, shriller and more frequently as it says that we will always give in—even when right just to keep things quiet...which it never fucking does.

They don't say sorry. Ever. You could have seventy-thousand 20/20-visioned spectators in a football stadium, and a have a prominent wingnut sprint to mid-field befor everyone's eyes, and clothes-line a blind nun singing “Ave Maria” during a halftime show, body-slam her onto a metal bench, do a sack-dance over her broken body, and somehow...somehow, he will find a way, in spite of seventy-thousand people having seen him fuck up before their eyes, to not let the words “sorry” or “apology” ever tumble 'cross his foam-flecked lips. The playing field is skewed that crazily.

So when we''re dealing with THAT LEVEL of bull-headed wrongness, to say “sorry” to these people for daring to be pointed, and hard in our truth-telling makes about as much sense as driving gloves on a fucking worm.

Fuck them. And Fuck their tender, drug-addled, morally-bankrupt, and ice-hearted sensibilities. Hard...and with NO LUBE, thank you.

The American people—the majority, is down with the aforementioned “Lady In Blue”. And so too are many American soldiers in Iraq, who are taking the direct brunt of the idiotic, “do not question the policy” policy being enforced via screaming hissy-fit by the right's cowards:

“When we first got here, all the shops were open. There were women and children walking out on the street,” Alarcon said this week. “The women were in Western clothing. It was our favorite street to go down because of all the hot chicks.”

----------------------------------------

Next month, the U.S. soldiers will complete their tour in Iraq. Their experience in Sadiyah has left many of them deeply discouraged, by both the unabated hatred between rival sectarian fighters and the questionable will of the Iraqi government to work toward peaceful solutions.

Asked if the American endeavor here was worth their sacrifice — 20 soldiers from the battalion have been killed in Baghdad — Alarcon said no: “I don’t think this place is worth another soldier’s life.”

No more sorrys. No more apologies. No more humoring these maladjusted, whiny, punk-ass babies.

Because in the end, we—the American people, end up being the ones who get hurt...not them. It's a one-way street with these clowns.

And if you don't believe me, just ask poor, Ol' Lou Costello below.

There's more...

Attack of the Goats

Mountain Goats at Robin Lake, Washington, July 2006 photo by Matt Grover

Mountain Goats & Trace Minerals

A Group News Blog Exclusive

My friend Matt told me a story too good to keep to myself, so I asked his permission to share it with you. It makes sense of what everyone now knows about Mickey Kaus: as told by Matthew Yglesias, Sadly, No!, even Wonkette.

Here, as best I can figure, is how it all started, how Micky came to blow goats

Seems summer a year ago my friend Matt was hiking in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness up around Robin Lakes smack in the middle of our enormous Cascade Mountain Range, when he stopped to "take a natural break" (fifth paragraph down in the TDF article; more here, also the fifth para.)

Again this is all on point to Mickey Kaus and his known penchant for blowing goats. I know some of you have been questioning it, thinking it's nothing more than a cruel joke by a bunch of liberal bloggers trying to make fun of someone who pissed us off.

"But where's your proof?", you cry. "Surely you can't expect Mickey to DENY he blows goats! Why... that would just keep the story alive another news cycle." Well, gol-lee, I guess it would at that.

But that's not my point. My point is this.

Here is the Great State of Washington, where Men are Men and the Women are Feminists but still really smart and beautiful and nice, and willing to let us be gentleman and open the door for them out of the rain, you may have noticed (or heard anyway) that it rains a lot. We Washingtonians don't mind the rain and the fact we can't see the sun for eight months, at least not after our first two years living here. Because we've either killed ourselves, gone mad, or moved back to California.

We just walk around in the rain and wear lots of wool and clothing from REI. In fact, because Washingtonian men are much more massively endowed then men from other lessor states or expatriates -- this is a well known fact -- we tend to wear our REI wool shirts even in the summer, as if we are expecting it to rain, just in order to let the tails hang out over our wool or polypropylene fleece pants, hiding our massive endowments so as not to embarrass our out-of-state friends thus hiding our obvious physical prowess. Works like a charm.

Except when we go hiking. Up high in the beautiful mountains of Washington, and the lakes with the Mountain Goats.

Which near as I can figure, is what did in poor Micky Kaus.

Seriously.

I mean, we're real men and real ladies, here in Washington State. I'm not saying you're wimps in, just picking random examples, New York City and Tokyo, but here in the state where it rains from October to June, we face down mountain lions with a shoe string and a match. Fend off hypothermia with a quarter-stick of jerky, a bush and some old leaves. Save our wives stranded in a car in five feet of snow for weeks with no food and half a tank of gas. All the while surrounded by active volcanoes.

And we have Mountain Goats.

Johnson-loving, crotch-sniffing, penis-grabbing, dick-diving, wang-whacking, schlong-snatching, willy-waggling, dong-desecrating, boner-biting, prick-pecker-punishing, weiner-wrangling, knob-polishing, rod-licking, shlong-sucking, member-munching, phallus-fellating, Mountain Goats. Horny Mountain Goats. The second you whip it out, baby, that big, monster johnson you normally have to keep tied off around your waist? An entire herd of those scary goats puts their horns down, aims them directly at your pecker, and charges directly at your (now terrified and shrinking) just like a penis but smaller.

As Matt explained, "They want the salt. The goats have figured out, when ever you go up onto the rocks by yourself, you're going to pee. There is salt in your urine, and the goats need salt to survive. Also, the goats aren't afraid of you at all."

He went on. "Do you have ANY idea how hard it is to pee when you have fifteen mountain goats this close to you, with their sharp, sharp horns, taking swipe after swipe at your manhood as they go, 'baaaaaa, baaaaaa?'"

So there's proof, all you doubters. Actual documented mountain goats who go after the dick. And from there it's just a quick reverse and a hike in the mountains anywhere they have mountain goats to...

Poor Micky. Can't say I really blame him.

All alone, up in the mountains, surrounded by horny goats threatening him every time he tried to pee.

After a while I bet he figured it out:

There's only one thing goats like better than salt!

There's more...

Ba-Doomp-Boomp!

Fuck With The Goat, You Get The Horns...

In comedy writing and performance, there is a shop term for a classic “joke” construction called “The Trifecta”. You've seen it a million times, and it has a few different ways of playing out. It's often worked in repartee between two performers and consists of the “funny” man asking the “straight” man a question, Straight man responds with a “straight” answer, setting up the funnyman to close the bit with a snappy repartee “button”. Or if worked to perfection by three comedians alá The Three Stooges, it can go “Moe says 'X'—relatively tame. Larry says 'Y'—off kilter, quizzical or just a touch off-beat. And Curly hits it out of the park with a hilarious non-sequitir, or goofball remark that spoofs Moe's and Larry's. Boom!

Mad magazine used the old “Boomp-boomp. Boomp-boomp. Ba-doomp-boomp variation for the “reaction” trifecta—“X” happens, Character 1 says “A” in response—maybe funny, but not all-out gust-busting. Character 2 says “B” as a reaction, upping the funny ante a touch. And Character 3 deadpans the ironic, nutty, knee-slappin' “C”. Boom, again!

Why this Comedy 201 nuts and bolts breakdown? Because in the last four days or so, we've seen a wonderful and comedically instructive “The Trifecta” play itself out in grand, and hilarious scale in rightwingpunditland.

Let's set the joke up, shall we?

A.) You get an attention, and book sales-starved (as well as solid food-starved) Ann Coulter making the vampiric rounds to suck the life out of any show she appears on with her cadaverous presence—and to pimp her latest hate-by-numbers screed for people who can't read, but may need something heavy to throw at a victim, just in case a public lynching (hope, hope, hope) ever takes place in town again. She blows the bookers, (they tell their doctors that the gashes are from hopping razor-wire fences) she makes her rounds, and ends up on Donny Deutsch's CNBC program where she does the interview-show equivalent of coming to your dinner party, slapping your significant other with a used condom from her purse, and then pooping a steaming centerpiece onto the buffet table.

She basically called Deutsch's Jewish faith a half-assed, stepping-stone, play-religion and that those practicing it are somehow less than her, in that they have yet to reach the “perfected”(!) state of grace she has in her faith—which contrary to popular belief is not The-Holy-Church-of-Skanky-Tramps-Who-Wear-The-Dress-They-Blew-A-Rich-Russian-Mobster-In-Last-Night-To-Appearances-The-Next-Day, but rather, Christianity. Did it to his face. Pissed him off. Defended that shit and tried to laugh it off, even as he dissed the hell of of her in the segment's bumper outro:

Host Donny Deutsch asked Coulter what her ideal picture of America looked like and she recalled the 2004 Republican convention in New York City.

"People were happy. They're Christian. They're tolerant. They defend America," she said.

Deutsch asked, "It would be better if we were all Christian?" Coulter replied "yes," and reitereated her declaration again later in the interview, although she denied wanting to wipe all Jews off the map. "We just want Jews to be perfected, as they say," Coulter said.

---------------------------------------------------------

DEUTSCH: Wow, you didn't really say that, did you?

COULTER: Yes. That is what Christianity is. We believe the Old Testament, but ours is more like Federal Express. You have to obey laws. We know we're all sinners --

DEUTSCH: In my old days, I would have argued -- when you say something absurd like that, there's no --

COULTER: What's absurd?

DEUTSCH: Jews are going to be perfected. I'm going to go off and try to perfect myself --

COULTER: Well, that's what the New Testament says.

DEUTSCH: Ann Coulter, author of If Democrats Had Any Brains, They'd Be Republicans, and if Ann Coulter had any brains, she would not say Jews need to be perfected. I'm offended by that personally. And we'll have more Big Idea when we come back.

Now, you're all pretty much aware of her statements I'm sure. She's as reliably batshit as the feces/sweat/vienna sausage-smelling guy at the bus station who picks at his face and eats the dead skin, going “Mmmmmm!”. But ultimately, this is just the set-up for a joke that doubles back on her buddies on the right like an acid-coated boomerang. Coulter, having said wild shit before about 9-11 widows, championing domestic terrorism and tossing around homophobic slurs as if they were her neck-whipped, peroxided mane has pretty much gotten away with it—but she'd never slammed Jewish folks before—at least not publicly. And before you could say “Why is this night different from all other nights?”, it was on. The unreformed cocktail-party skank had fucked with the wrong lobby at last and peeped the shitstorm coming down on her—and instead of her usual “fuck you, I'm right” defiance, she hemmed and hawed, and tried to mumbo-jumbo her way out of the offense. (And just where the fuck was that sanctimonious prick Joe Lieberman on this? Hmmmmm? Yeah, I thought so.) But the damage had been done. Granted, she had a few defenders out there (waaaaaay out there, actually) in the guise of the helium-voiced Terry Jeffrey and the head-kicked scriptcha-spinstah LaShawn Barber, but for the most part, what she said was so confidently stupid that few of the bigwigs came to her aid.

Here we enter section A-2 of the Trifecta's set-up, where after the initial verbal bed-shit, she evidently ran around looking for fresh sheets and some show to go on where she could “clarify herself”. And evidently, the pickins' were slim as the show she wound up having to go on to do this was MSNBC's “Tucker”, which has lower ratings than “Small Wonder” reruns dubbed in Xhosa “click” language. That's how rough her shit was. But, ever the enterprising twit, she figured “Hey, as this is going down the shitter for me anyway, the only thing I can do is distract attention from it. Maybe a flat-out, hit-and-run lie at the end of the segment'll do the trick!” And so she did, spewing out a “breaking right now as I come on air” story from the National Enquirer about an alleged, unsubstantiated “affair” between John Edwards and a documentary filmmaker—and then pretty much bolted from her chair with a “Hah!” as they went to commercial. Her work “done”, she crawled back to her crypt and waited for her piss-stained, just-rolled snowball to grow to avalanche proportions. But it didn't. It was pretty clear that she was using the one outlet she'd gotten since dissing Judaism to obfuscate her own recent fuck-up and kneecap the woman who'd embarrassed her a few months before by screwing with her marriage. The fish didn't bite. And pretty soon, a few of her blogospheric backers soiled their tighty-whities over the MSM's treating this like the pubic hair on the soap bar it was, instead of the plutonium spill into an orphanage they wanted it to be. No dice. Now we enter the “Larry Fine” (how apt) segment of “The Trifecta”.

B.) It is my opinion that at some point in the last ten years, hack-ass “journalist” Mickey Kaus got drunk at a party, and went to a back bedroom and fell asleep under a pile of coats. Ann Coulter stumbled into that same bedroom in an alcoholic stupor, drunkenly fell on the coat pile and landed on Mickey—and in her stupor, gave him the world's most disinterested hand-job ever—without checking who was actually under the coat-pile. Ever since that sticky, Cosmo-lubed night, the now-deflowered Kaus has been in absolute love with her—a love that showed itself for true when he sought to defend her from her attackers/spin attention away from her fuck-up by whipping her breathless report of “the affair” into “Seven Days In May”-level high drama, and puffing it so full of air that his pal Drudge would notice and spread it virally...like fucking Herpes. But even Drudge wouldn't bite (next time, cover the story with eggs if you want Drudge to “bite”, Mick) for whatever reason—the nasty burn he got from the Kerry/Alexandra Polier lie, or residual effects of the Sidney Blumenthal suit—who knows? He left Mickey twisting in the wind as the “story” came apart at the seams—and Mickey continuing to passive/aggressively pimp it as an MSM cover-up, then as an example of the double-standard poor conservatives face (“Edwards' denial wasn't robust enough! I smell a rat!”), and then most laughably, as a Clintonian plot to drown Edwards' campaign in the bathtub. Kaus' history as a so-called “democrat” grenade tosser—into his own side's foxhole is well-documented, as is his close alliances with the worst smear-merchants on the right (Instafuckwit...take a bow. Ooops! Popped the snap on your overalls, didja?), but this cover-a-wingnut-friend's-narrow-ass smear was something of a cake-taker. While virtually no one in his camp took the libelous “affair” bait, those on the left threw the spotlight on him, watched him skitter like a roach on his greasy floor of rumor-mongering, and then...

C.) The punch line of “The Trifecta”. Moe and “Larry” set it up, and Curly finally steals the show and gets the laugh at their expense. We—the left side of the blogosphere got to be Curly Howard. For in the effort to teach Kaus a lesson about trafficking in bullshit rumordom, a couple of enterprising souls took it upon themselves literally show Kaus the folly of such stupidity. It started off at Matt Yglesia's place (in comments):

Hey, you know what I hear, Mickey Kaus likes to fuck goats.
Posted by Pritesh | October 14, 2007 5:24 P.M.

------------------------------------------------

Micky Kaus blows goats. I read about it on another internet site and has not been refuted yet. Thus, it is true, and, if anything, underestimates how much Micky likes to blows goats.
Posted by Hank Essay | October 14, 2007 5:29 P.M.

------------------------------------------------

Now, I'm not saying Mickey Kaus engages in sex acts with animals, but his deafening silence on Goatgate really speaks volumes, if you ask me. (Not too wise for someone in his position! -Ed)
Posted by Tractarian | October 14, 2007 5:35 P.M.

And from there, it got really, really b-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-aaaaaaaad... (via Atrios)

Sources

According to an anonymous source,Mickey Kaus regularly blows goats. Either he fails to deny this strongly enough, in which case his goat blowing proclivities are assuredly true, or his denials will impugn the integrity of my source which makes him a tremendously bad person. And, of course, a goat blower.

Thanks, Slate, for all you've done for our discourse.

And then you end up the last place on earth you wanna be—on the end of a Sadly, No! humor bayonet. Where you get a screen-grab of Kaus' effectively and PUBLICLY being fed his own entrails...for all to see and enjoy:

(CLICK TO ENLARGE)



Boom! The punch line. Now if you google “Kaus Goats” you get 40,000 hits—all dealing with Mickey's rumored proclivities. Sadly, the Wiki entry has been redacted—probably by some poor goat shamed by being outed. But “The Trifecta” stands proud nonetheless. Coulter wounds herself with one of her twice-yearly mouth-a-rrheas, her wingnut butt-buddy comes to her aid bearing lies and spreading scandal, and now he will forever have attached to himself the punch line...of having sodomized—according to rumor—GOATS.

What's instructive about this, even beyond the obvious humor of it, is the way this got handled. Coulter got slammed on her shit, then when Kaus tried to muddy the waters with vicious lies to help her, nobody cowered. In fact...folks did the worst thing you could do to a self-important little punk-ass like him (much the same way Malkin's being driven batshit right now over her S-CHIP mind-farts)—which is to ridicule him.

Mock them. Mock them. And mock them some fucking more. That really hurts them, in ways down to the core. Not only do you show that the “emperor” has no clothes, but you make damn sure to point out that big pimple on his ass with the squiggly hair growin' out of it.


And just when they think you've stepped back, and let them from under your clawed cat's paw...





You pin 'em a-fucking-gain. :)

Ba-Doomp-Boomp!

There's more...

“I Am Rubber, You Are...He-e-e-e-eey, This Feels Pretty Niiiiice...”

“I mean...really, REALLY NICE!”

You almost...almost want to feel bad for our “friends” on the right these days, as every glorious sunrise for most folks brings a blistering, painful sunburn for them. If it ain't Gonzo lawyering up, it's Rudy's cat-around buddy Kerik on the verge of being “maytagged” by folks he locked up while NY Police Commissioner, or former Bush right-hand man Dan Bartlett caught on tape at a GOP slumber party reading from his double-secret, J-Pod fur-clad slam book.

And then, a story comes down the pike that...well, just entertains on a level that no extra-slow dance with a Jessica Biel look-alike named Schadenfreude ever could.

We've hinted at this sordid tale of “Whoa!” for the last couple of days, but Goddamn...it was too good not to deal with directly, so here goes. The supple, yet taut as a rubber ball-gag story, via the fine folks at Sadly, No!:

Police have closed their investigation into the death of the Rev. Gary Aldridge.

Detectives determined that no foul play existed in the case and therefore no crime had been committed, according to a news release from the Montgomery Police Department.


Aldridge, 51, was found dead inside his home about 10 a.m. June 24. He had served as pastor of Thorington Road Baptist Church since 1991. Forensic results indicate Aldridge was alone at the time of his death, the police release states. A report by the Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences states the final pathological diagnoses for Aldridge’s death as “accidental mechanical asphyxia,” according to the release.

-------------------------------------

S,N!: “Well, that’s sort of a polite way to put it. In fact, here are some relevant details on the death of Aldridge, a Liberty University graduate and former Jerry Falwell employee:”

-------------------------------------

An Alabama minister who died in June of “accidental mechanical asphyxia” was found hogtied and wearing two complete wet suits, including a face mask, diving gloves and slippers, rubberized underwear, and a head mask, according to an autopsy report....

While the Montgomery Advertiser, which first obtained the autopsy records, reported on Aldridge’s two wet suits, the family newspaper chose not to mention what police discovered inside the minister’s rubber briefs.

S,N!: “Because, okay, you totally don’t even have to click that link, either.”

But you should click on that link...and you should read the Sadly, No! comment thread, because it's just one of the funniest audience-participation continuations of a blog post you will ever see. Get Windex and paper towels ready for your soon-to-be spittle-flecked computer screen.

And because it mocks the holy hell out of wingnut sexual hypocrisy—gone horribly, embarrassingly awry.

So in tribute to the late, rubberized Reverend McBoing-Boing, and his strangely silent supporters on the right, we give you this ditty—a bouncy (like, uh...rubber or something) number—sung to the tune of Frank Sinatra's High Hopes.

(...with apologies to Sammy Cahn and Jimmy Van Heusen)

Next time you're found, splayed out on the ground...
Dead as a doornail, as questions a-bound...

What made that Republi-can,
Think he could pull off that rubber-suit plan?
Anyone knows a man, can't
Put on two rubber-suits, man!

'Cause he's got ti-iiiight ropes. He's got tight ropes.
Hes got tight, and hog-tied, freak-da-fiiiiied ropes.

So “jimmy-hat” your old dil-do,
Lube the ol' cornhole,
Do what single-jointed folks can't...
Oops, there goes the double-rubber suit plan.
(Oops, there goes the double-rubber suit plan.)
Oops, there goes the double-rubber suit plan.

When troubles call, and you're cuffed to the wall,
There a lot to be learned, that wall could fall.

Once there was a silly wingnut man,
Choked himself for kicks, that was his plan.
Til' he goofed, and gagged, damn!
It was the end of that man!

'Cause he had ti-iiiight ropes. He had tight ropes.
He had tight, and hog-tied, freak-da-fiiiiied ropes.

Don't sweat the dull sex you've had,
Things could really be bad.
Just remember that man,
Oops, there goes the double-rubber suit plan!
(Oops, there goes the double-rubber suit plan.)
Oops, there goes the double-rubber suit plan.

Thank God for sex jejune,
Freaky stuff'll make you swoon,
But race your heart till it stops! (Stops!)
Oops, there goes another wingnut—ker-plop!
(Oops, there goes another wingnut—ker-plop!)
Oops, there goes another wingnut—ker-plop!
(Ker-PLOP!)

There's more...

SEQUEL: As Bad As You Think They Are II: This Time—Like Every Time—It's Cowardice!

Boo! Now pick up your feathers!

It is a lesson as old as time. Taught to us as snot-nosed kids when we took to the playground. And damned if it doesn't still hold true in our adulthood, in the workplace, and in policy/issue debates.

Cue John Cole—who might wanna start taking down the license numbers of odd cars driving by his home, piloted of course, by snarling, cheerleader-skirted nutjobs:

“But like all schoolyard bullies, when punched in the mouth, they back down. Given the chance to debate the policy she clearly feels so strongly about, Michelle wimped out. She turned her tails and fled. One could say she gave the French response.”

What's John talking about? Well, you may recall reading here about Malkin's “1019th Nervous Breakdown” last week, as she spazzed out over a 12-year-old kid's making her beloved Bush look bad, via a trenchant rebuttal of the Presiden't craven vetoing of the S-CHIP children's insurance plan. The kid, 12-year-old Graeme Frost spoke during the Democratic response to Bush's Weekly Radio Address, and so infuriated the dinosaur-riding 27%—led by Malkin, that...well, they went there. No, folks...they literally went THERE.

”Driving around, casing the house of a 12-year-old kid who told the truth and made the president look bad. She tells you, and her mouth-breathing readers/lynch mob what neighborhood the house is in. What kind of car's in front. Even what's on the front-fucking door.

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And of course, nary a word from her about her buddies at Free Republic posting the kids' address publicly—just rants about “If you don’t want questions, don’t foist these children onto the public stage.”

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And that being untenable, after seeing the