Mister Horrible's Ugliness Glob

I Mis-Fuck You'ed

    What the fuck is with the assholing of the English language, anyway? I mean, forget the utterly vapid, "that could mean anything" abuse of words like "empowerment", "mainstreaming", and "issue" (which now passes as anything problematic, vexing, or challenging, rather than the usual "substantial topic of socio-political debate" it was before the Fuckwit Corps went to work on it). And let's not even  talk about idiot fad terms like "cap", "money time", and the hate-inspiring "-izzle". Why is it everyone on earth--and particularly the media--is allowing people to get away with "mis"shit?

    How stupid is "mis"(your word you want to undermine goes HERE)? It's gotten to be so asinine that few people bothered jumping all over Roger Clemmons to denounce him as the doddering retard for claiming a friend "misremembered" while accusing the Rocket as a fucking hop-head liar. You'd think that sort of situation would call for something a bit more active than the pansy "misremembered"; possibly "has his fucking facts wrong", "doesn't know what he's talking about", or even "is not telling the truth, in so much as he's lying through his hateful teeth" might be more convincing given the situation. I mean, would Rog respond to fabricated and impossible rape accusations that "the young lady mis-allegates"? Fuck no. He's be screaming the l-word (and probably the c-word, were she indeed making it all up). And yet.

    The same is true with Hillary Clinton's "misspoken" recollections about shit that--oops!--never happened. We're not talking about little, insignificant details she might have gotten confused about because she wasn't around at the time ("I misspoke about him blowing it into Ms. Lewinsky's face and it dripping onto her chest the way you now see it happen in porno movies and on peoples' digital video cameras when their teenage kids know they've gone away for the weekend. As it turns out, Bill now informs me he had been aiming it at her blue dress all the time. My bad"). This is Tuzla mythology is something Clinton herself was central to; if she didn't know none of it ever happened as she spoke her Bosnian "mistruths", then they were fabricated without her even realizing she was making the shit up off the top of her head (a condition clinically referred to as "psychosis", and one that--if the Bush administration is any measure--indeed qualifies her to occupy the White House).

     See, "misspeaking"--if there ever were such a thing--would entail the accidental and not-that-grave slip of the tongue introducing limited and insouciant error. Like saying Barry Bonds broke Hank Aaron's home run record when he hit number 755, when the actual new all time mark was surpassed with 756.  Or perhaps referring to "the global waltz on terror" when people know you meant "the global wart on terror" (bin Laden does wear that beard to cover his chin cleft alone, after all!). Or it might involve a mental lapse causing you to make a factual error, yet one manifestly clear to all (eg. "I spoke with Vice-President George W. Bush this morning, and he confirmed my suspicions he is indeed a total retard". In this case, Bush would be president, and not a total retard, but utter fucking unbelievable retard. But that's obvious.)

    In the case of Bosnia (see below), Clinton either lied, fabricated, significantly embelished the actual facts, or so enormously fucked up the actual detail of something she should have known better than anyone on earth that she's probably showing signs of mental deficiency herself. She didn't however, "misspeak", any more than James Frey "miswrote" all the shit he made up in his book. If she didn't know she was "mis-facting", then she's got a mental "issue", not a rogue speech "empowerment" muscle causing her tongue to slip. Should she continue hammering the "mis" line, however, I move we re-write some other Clinton history, and alter her husband's actual declaration to:

    "I did not have sexual relations with that Lewinsky woman. I merely mis-blow jobbed. Coulda happened to anyone".

It's Fucking Stale, Already

  Okay Particularly Alert Readers, let's see if anyone can see where I'm headed with this:

    On Feb. 15, Dan Bilefsky reported from Kosovo that a

nine-year-old ethnic Albanian boy screamed until he was red in the face, pounding his fists on the door of a small concrete house that only minutes before he had called home. "This is my house! Let me in!" he cried, before collapsing outside the front door, freshly sealed with yellow police tape.

    The same day, the International Herald Tribune--on the same front page as that Kosovo report--ran a block of teaser text for an inside business story headlined "Fresh Questions for Société Générale Bosses". Less than a month earlier, the paper published a Reuters story warning "Iran Could Face Fresh Sanctions from UN". 

    Today, the AFP is running a wire piece announcing

The frustrating quest to develop a vaginal gel to prevent HIV infection was dealt a fresh blow on Monday as researchers announced that the first prototype to complete advanced clinical trials was ineffective.

    While it was doing that, RTT News ran the unbelievably retarded headline announcing the "US Dollar Plummets To Fresh Multi-year Low Against Czech Koruna" (good thing the presses are all equipped with ABS systems these days, aye?), while rival Thomson Financial informs us that "Platinum steadied after touching another fresh record high ovenight in Asia". Not to be outdone, something called Outlook India screamed the headline:

Fresh cases of vigilante justice in Bihar, 3 lynched

    Okay, so any hands on what's gotten me so fucking irritated about all this? It's that in their rush to use what is now the most worn-out and mildewed word in print these days, all seven of these examples (from countless infractions, I assure) of lazy journalism haven't managed to use a fucking simple word like "fresh" correctly. Tape isn't fresh. Questions aren't fresh. Vaginal gel may feel fresh (or alternatively burn slightly if applied to mucal membrane it wasn't intended for--but never mind that); but frustrating quests, by their very definition, aren't. Neither (you'll have guessed) are sanctions, stockmarket indicators, or-- for fuck's sake--vigilant acts. There's nothing cool, nascent, dew-studded, slightly effervescent, or evocative of the minty-thrill of novelty about any of them. They're all just shit that looks a little bit different than what the reports wanted you to think you expected, and therefore sparkling new. Fresh fucking tape: Jesus fucking Christ!

    That journalists suffer from internal sector trendiness isn't new--though it is enduringly retarded. In the early- to mid- 1990s, no report on the European Union was complete without this kind of wheezing dickhole reference to "fortress Europe". With the advent of the euro, meanwhile, the rush was on for to all bray stupid comments in chorus about "euro-land".  Mercilessly, the fad among business writers seeking to make a buck as globalization cheerleaders  have forced us to endure nearly a decade of "untrammeled"--a la "American-British-style economic policy, with its emphasis on competition and untrammeled markets". Thanks to Roger "E-stein" Clemmons, we can be sure to see several horrid months of "misremember"ing.

    The predictability and sloth of it all is bad enough. What really hacks me off is how fresh people think they are with this kind of shit. Fresh shit--I'll pass, thanks very much.

   

Jesus, Fido

    Tell you what: the faster the rest of Fidel Castro continues shrinking with age, the greater those over-sized plastic choppers of his protrude from his mug. If the man doesn't calm the whole smiling thing down, he's going to get arrested for being English.

    But now that Fide is hinting he may back off a bit and make way for new leadership to take root in Cuba, it might be worthwhile for us hard news analysts to look around and see who else in the inner circle of Cuban government may boast the kind of qualifications Castro does for retaining power.

   

At this point the smart money on who's most likely to step up and fill Fidel's unique spot is being laid on Miguel "el Peridontistico" Jackson--who really only lacks the beard at this point:   

   

    A bit of a longer shot--but far more qualified on the facial hair requirement--is Gen. Rex Alemàn, who in addition to showing a like of determination, also boasts the Cuban national title for best bikini wax. We'll keep an eye on this race.

Yes, We're That Fucking Stupid

    The new yardstick of just how retarded most news editors (and probably reporters) figure the average person is came in gift-wrapped form today on the front page International Herald Tribune story--an informational nugget that was probably responsible for a couple trillion sudden heart attacks with its "stop the fucking presses" counter-intuitive scoop, and equally sanity-challenging headline:

Religion takes center stage among Republican rivals

    See, this is why you and I (or at least you) aren't journalists: we can't deftly identify, shape up, and analyze messages and themes that leaders have been shoving down our fucking throats for the past four months with the violence of some sociopathically goose-loathing foie gras producer. See, we all had no idea that Mitt Romney is a devout Moron--oops--or that Mike Huckabee is a Bible-thumping religious bigot with a name about as likely to win a national election as Englbert Humperdink or Sister Boom-Boom is. We were clueless to all the incessant reports of how Rudy's record as a serial schtooper of women other than his wives, and--thereby not too illogical--support for the right to abort unwanted fetuses has repelled the Bush-loving religious right (AKA "fundamentalist fuckwit reactionary freaks mainstream America somehow listens to as credible"). 

       In fact, we've all been utterly autistic in our refusal to hear even progressive types like Barack Obama, John Edwards, and even Hillary Clinton drone on and on about religion and faith "values" that are supposedly as personal a matter in the church-state segregated US as a public figure's private remedy for enraged hemroids. (Sorry, but religious bullying--and shameless pandering to it, inspire that kind of reaction from me.) Nah, we've all been whistling idly while gazing at the sky in search of dead birds in flight. And not illogicall, either: who wants the fuck to know about the religious commitment of a politician (a phrase so oxymoronic it's astounding the two composite halves haven't shot off in opposite directions of the universe already).

    Perhaps that growing disgust over seeing such lavish exhibitionism of so-called faith is why the crafty IHT figured it needed to wrap the topic around our heads once again in that compelling fashion that O'Brian affixed that rat-filled cage to Winston Smith's face. If the heart-stopping head didn't bludgeon you to death already, you trod on, completely stunned, to the following iconoclastic lead:

Religion has again pivoted into a central role in the American presidential nominating campaign, with former Governor Mitt Romney of Massachusetts responding Wednesday to questions about his Mormon faith from former Governor Mike Huckabee of Arkansas by declaring that "attacking someone's religion is really going too far."

     So is incessantly speaking about someone's religion--and we crossed that fucking malodorous line months ago. A quick google search using the words "presidential primaries religion" turns up nearly 1.65 million hits in a second; 1.4 million when you bung the qualifier "republican" in the string. The same searches on Yahoo new's active archives turns up 168 articles going back all the way to...mid-November; 108 when the word "republican" is added.

    Point being: we know candidates are whoring religion for fuck's sake; what we're all wondering is when they, pundits, and news reports will stop frantically pummeling the bloody fucking obvious and turn to something we aren't already aware of--and which might be an issue or concern just a tad closer to our own business? Such as which candidate has the biggest schlong. My money's on Hillary.   

 

Et Pendant Ce Temps, Y'a 2 Millions de Chomeurs

    Je risque grave d'etre accuse de faire la publicite pour le caprophagie, ou peut etre le zoophilie--tu dirais les deux, sans doute.

    La France est bien sur absoluement pourrie des pistonnes nuls a chier et autres incompetent blaireaux qui doivent leur position aux gens de pouvoir qu'ils ont suce (ou grace aux photos de ces memes gens de pouvoir en train de sodomises leurs epagneuls bretons, dont la possession par les losers totals expliquent la miracle de leur embauche). Mais il y'a rarement une demonstration aussi public et sans honte de cette politique a donner des boulot aux tarlouzes sous-merdiques et sans aucun talent que le phenomene lobotomise (et lobotomisant) de Colombe Schneck. (Oui, Schneck. Beau, non? En plus, ca rhyme avec "dreck", le mot Yiddish pour "merde". Il n'est pas loin non plus de "schmuck", qui lui va pas mal non plus.)

    Comme vous allez constater, c'est clairement pas les prestations de fellation qui ont assures que cette hyene a pu avoir un boulot, car tres honetement, je connais pas un seul mec aussi foutu qui confiera sa bite a une limasse pareil sans que l'echange soit definitif (soit parcequ'il l'a sectionnee et l'a balance vers elle pendant qu'il se sauvait en courrant; soit parcequ'il s'est suicide en se rendant compte dans quelle sale poubelle humaine il a jete sa nouille). Comme cette sosie particulierement hirsute de Sebastian Chabal (putain, ce sont des sourcils, ou est que King Kong dort sur le front de cette conasse?!) est archi-moche, incroyablement conne, et est sans aucun doute le seul etre humaine a detenir un QI qui commence avec une virgule, je peux que supposer que la raison pour son embauche etait, justement, sa manque totale de professionalisme, et l'absence complete de gene devant des actions qui pietinent a mort tout deontologie journalistique. Pour une bonne idee a quel point cette life support system for a stinky cunt est a la journalisme ce qui Zoe's Arc est a la humanitaire, matez une sequence assez typique de cette poufiasse. Dedans, vous allez le trouver sur les plateau d'i-tele--filialle a 100% de Canal Plus--pendant qu'elle fait passer l'auto-promotion et publicite de deux autres employees de Canal Plus en leur posant des question sur leur boulot a Canal Plus, ce qui sert a expliquer comment ca se fait que Canal Plus est tellement genial, ce qui n'est pas trop etonnant, vu que Canal Plus a vu bon a lui accorder un boulot de in-house publicitaire sauvage. C'est un peu comme si TF1 embauchait un conseille de Sarko pour mieux definir les themes elogieux a Sarko dans des emissions de TF1. Comme si...

    Desole par l'avance si tes yeux commence a saigner, et ton cerveau decide a echapper vers une asile  plus credible et intelligence dans le royaume d'M6. Appelons ca l'effet Scheck:

       Horrible-ah, n'est pas-ah? Mais-ah y'ah encore-ah pire-ah--meme si c'est toujours elle-ah en plus-ah merdique-ah. Putain, cette conne a bouffe une ado ou quoi?

Comme preuve qu'une combine bien infecte dans une partie de la media va marcher a merveille dans une autre, voici un truc ou Mlle Montrez Moi La Camera Pour Que Je Puisse Mets Mes Putain Mains Devant L'Objectif est en train de faire le promo pour son livre (heh oui. Sans doute l'ouvre philosophique de Doc Gyneco, ou la poesie anti-raciste de Jean-Marie Le Pen  est le prochain tresor que l'editeur qui signe une cloche comme Schneck va nous donner). Entre autres choses qui se terminent mort et puant parterre de cet entretien est l'idee que le glorieux Sciences-Po n'est autre qu'un enorme intestine qui chie des monuments a la merditude. Si Schneck n'est pas moins que impossiblement conne, le jeune tronche-de-acne qui tiens le micro ne fait rien pour dorer la reputation de la rue Saint-Guillaume non plus.

        (Note a ceux qui sont trop bourres pour le voir eux memes: regarder bien la gueule de Schreck pendant cet entretien, et rappelez vous que ca passe a nos jours pour "un pro de la tele". C'est dire.)

Il Est Drole, Le Petit

    Phrase geant murmure par le President Mini-Me hier soir pendant son entretien avec son meilleur pote du monde (PPDA, le seul type sur la planete qui a trouver un moyen pour faire repousser ses poils de noix de coco sur sa tete apres elle avait deja commence a ressembler un cul de mome), et le plus grand danger public depuis Charles Pasqua etait le premier flic de France (Arlette Chabot, qui a du subir 60 minutes  d'agressions incessants de la part de le petit kleps de la Republique). En repondant si tout ses mesures pour flinguer le 35 heures ne representait pas le fin tout simplement des 35 heures, Sarkotique a repondu a cette brave Arlette avec stupefaction moquante: "Non," il a gronde, "je veux pas revenir sur un acquis social!"

    Euh, c'est pas un peu exactement ca qu'il est en train de faire avec les regimes speciales--les details dequels sont explicitement elabores dans les contrats de travail signe par tous le fonctionnaires concernes? C'etait pas ca, aussi, que les membres de son gouvernment--surtout Francois Fillon--a fait en 2003, quand il a unilateralement impose le meme changement de contrat de travail pour les autres fonctionaires, qui depuis bossent sous le meme regime de retraite que les salaries du prive (un regime qui va voir sans le moindre doute un tres tres grande prologement de cotisations obligatoires quand il est re-examiner en Mai)?

    L'autre volet trop mignon de son incontinence verbalo-Elyseen: les quartiers chauds. Une fois de plus, il resort le bon vieux mensonge que les meneurs des emeutes sont des dealers--ceux qui (meme les flics s'accordent a dire) ont joue un role pacificateur pendant les violences de 2005 afin d'arreter la turbulences nocturnes qui leur ont empeches de faire leur business. Il manque que la connerie que les Islamistes etaient dans le coup aussi. Puis, apres, il dit que le probleme, c'est tout simplement que ces jeunes connards manquent de respect, et pour leur en apprendre, il va envoyer plus de flics avec moins politesse et avec des matraques plus larges pour trainer le cul de chaque delinquent devant un juge. Pense t-il vraiment, notre petit Sarkostique, que des mecs qui ont batailler ouvertement, et des fois tiraient sur des CRS ont nous deja montre qu'ils ont tellement rien a perdre, et surtout ont tellement peur de rien que ses menaces de nain enrage va leur faire marrer le temps a se re-organiser pour la prochaine bagarre?

    Comme quoi, il faut--en plus qu'avoir la mauvais foie--etre profondement con est aussi un qualification obligatoire pour devenir president.

Ingrid Betancourt: Ultimate Lofteuse

    T'as pas honte, sale connard de pays de merde? Putain, quand la France entier n'est pas en train de s'emervieller sur le chais-pas-combienien anniversaire de la mort de le Petit (tete de sa race) Gregory ou apres le nouveau cadavre de gogol soit trouve en portant des traces de sperme fossiles d'Emile Louis, on fait un max pour transformer des actualites dans un nouveau tele de realite d'uber-merde. Sans putain blague, bordel. Assez deja avec le minable voyeurisme hotageien de ce style la:

    C'est meme pas le peine a dire que je suis bien sur outre par l'enlevement et traitement de cette brave dame, et que je partage le desir de tout le monde qu'elle soit libere immediatement et reunie avec sa famille. Mais ca n'empeche pas que ca m'atomise les burnes a voir les medias francais faire un thune pas possible sur sa misere, et dans une logique qui sort directement des chiottes schlanguates de TF1, M6, et autres boites de prods Emdemecouilles. Car c'est clair qu'on est on plein Loft Story, la.

     Suivez mon regard: une femme totalement inconnue au grand public se fait "selectionnee" dans un casting sauvage et brutal et contre son gre, par un panel de producteurs qui ont besoin d'elle et ses pauvres comperes pour faire tourner leur bidule. Du business, quoi. Et comme la galere de cette malheureuse Ingrid est programmee par les createurs pour etre tres eprouvant et horrible, les medias se dechires la tronche entre eux pour etre le premiers a diffuser des images de cette angoissant situation. De coup, cette inconnue candidat malgre elle devient un celebrite partout en france, grace tout simplement d'avoir passer a la tele dans un feuillton dont elle s'en passera volontiers si elle avait le choix--mais pour lequel les telespectateurs de con en peuvent pas avoir assez.

     Et justement--c'est la ou les Arthurs du FARC ont tout compris, et ont change les regles pour mieux exploser l'audimat. Car, a l'inverse des emissions (ou plutot de decharges) de tele-realite classiques--ceux qui montre chaque movement, action, et commentaire des participant 24H sur 24, et sans souci pour la banalite, voire vide totale de signification de la plupart--les producteurs de Hotage Story sont devenus radin avec les infos de leurs candidats. Mieux: ils ont compris que s'ils donnent tres peu, meme carrement aucun nouveaux informations sur leurs Lotfteurs, ca augmentera exponentiellement la curiosite denu public, et avec ca que l'enthousiasme des medias avares a faire un fortune en relayant chaque nouveau rare detail. Surout vu que la manque d'information sur le parcours de son candidat prefere laisse le public dans l'impossibilite a juger si elle est plutot bien placee pour gagner le grand prix (ce qui est, dans ce cas, l'ejection du loft du jungle par ses juges-ravisseurs), ou si elle est en train de se merder grave et va terminer comme les autres perdants comme interne a vie.  C'est du tres, tres grand entertainment voyeur, et produit  carrement sans frais. Un reve pour tout le monde, sauf Ingrid, bien sur.

    Donc soyons tres clair la-dessus: meme s'il y'a sans doute un souci humanitaire dans l'interet de chaque telespectateur qui se vibre pendant chaque reportage sur la pauve, brave Ingrid, c'est cet meme aspect la qui est manipule a mort par les medias pour que tout ca devient un super divertissement. Le but est de rejoint le desir de plus en plus grand de tout le monde a nos jours de vivre au travers des autres, et de rien faire soi-meme pour mieux mater les activites et affaires des autres (souvent archi-pathetiques et a chier--ce qui est normal, car "les autres" c'est souvent "nous" avec des autres coups de cheveux). "Je sera jamais hotage moi-meme, et pour comprendre a quel point ca doit etre horrible, je vais vivre  le terrible experience au travers un etranger totale que la tele m'a gentillement fournie comme une espece de mere porteuse des trucs je veux voir mais pas toucher--et quand j'en ai envie."

    Deja, etre hotage des FARC est un enorme injustice. Mais transformer cette femme dans un Loana des jungles, c'est vraiment infect. Bravo les medias. Dans le prochain journal, "L'entretien avec des victimes de Marc Dutroux qui, meme 10 ans plutard, ont mal au cul".   

Play Vichy For Me

       As everyone with a pulse and a memory longer than Dick Cheney's list of "Laws I Haven't Broken Yet" knows, France has a somewhat fungoid record when it comes to letting liberty-mashing authoritarian forces take wing and destroy everything in its unreflective march to impose progress on the world. It happened with the relatively leftist forces of The Terror, and saw that close-my-eyes-for-the-cause attitude again in the 1960s and '70s when Communist and Maoist forces around the world jailed, enslaved, or simply murdered people for ideological gain. We also witnessed that on the hard right with the rise of fascist forces in the 1930s, and their resurging reincarnation under Jean-Marie Le Pen (and  even more recent Rebirth Lite under Nicolas Sarkozy's presidential program).

   

But no where was that more evident than during the German Occupation in World War II, when a large cabal of administrative and political shit-stains decided to assist the Nazi cause by forming the nominal "free" Vichy government. Of course, the result of that was Pétain and his buddies doing Hitler's bidding while most of France either looked on passively--or, as was often the case, decided to upgrade their housing situation by tipping the Gestapo off to the Jewish affiliations of the neighbors upstairs who owned that sweet, spacious apartment.

    Indeed, that collaborationist past is so dreaded and detested that there's nothing the average French person won't denounce with as much vigor--or alternatively deny as the work of a micro-minority of ultra-fascists when--as the country's WWII sport of "délation": the denunciation of innocents and guilty alike to authorities for ulterior motive. Memory of wide-spread denunciations that wound up landing entire families in cattle cars doesn't only explain why it is the average French person won't tell anyone when their guy down the hall who looks a lot like Charles Manson starts going out for the mail in blood-drench clothes. Looking the other way--or screaming at those who don't--has taken on a religious grade of morality. Suggest a spamer, troll, or obnoxious usenet racist be outed and reported to  controllers of a French Usenet group, and expect yourself to be quickly dogpiled upon by a mountain of high-minded dickholes who ignore the actual issue of what the problem is to forever brand you as an agent of neo-fascist narkdom.

    So how is it, then, that this nation simultaneously ashamed and stroppily defensive of its WWII past of "délation" hasn't batted an eyelash at new, very official pacts drawn up between the government, entertainment tycoons, and internet service providers to unilaterally deprive web access to people who download music and videos without paying for them? Better still, how do they think such Big Brotherdom In One Nation can reverse the global consumer advance that will from now on dictate how much people are willing to give entertainers for their goods--if anything at all? And has anyone missed the fact that French President Nicolas Sarkozy--a nominal market liberal who wants France to get with the globalized economic program--has brokered a doomed-to-failure deal seeking to turn back the clock when the musicians and entertainers he gets visible wood over citing as personal friends got mega-rich by dictating the price consumers had to pay for their shitty little works?

      The agreement came after a group led by a so-called leftist corporate exec--one who just happens to run the Fnac chain of stores selling music and video goods--got France's political forces to apply pressure to the nation's ISP companies to sign a collective pact to battle free online downloading of music and movies.  The idea: all customers found downloading copyrighted material "illegally" (meaning, without paying entertainment companies full fare) will be warned an undetermined number of times to stop before being unilaterally cut off. Why would ISP companies play policeman in an area most of their clients use a good deal of their downloading time on? Not, of course, because any believe the truly talented and hard-working "artistes" won't be getting more than their crap-hound shite is worth otherwise. Instead, it's because the notoriously cosseted French ISP companies (who also operate France's insanely collusive mobile phone groups) were told if they didn't play ball to protect all the white trash heroes Sarkozy wants to count as buddies, he'd throw their business sectors open to unfettered competition.

    Of course, ISP companies have tried to placate clients with leaked whinning about how they may only monitor very heavy downloaders of "illegal" matter, and even then provide numerous warnings before doing something as rash as cutting internet access off. But why believe that? Once you've started banning something, it's only a matter of time before repression is as automatic as it is total. The spirit of Vichy lives. Don't be shocked when your neighbors in Paris start phoning your ISP with tips about your downloading activity to get back at you for playing your stereo too loud.

Son of Snott

    Appreciation of honesty and truth--not to mention the general crack-house disinterest in decency--have fallen to such Caponeian levels among the American public that even flagrant violations of "Son of Sam" statutes by Bush administration officials fail to inspire any reaction at all--beyond that ever raging consumerist desire to abet the crime by buying the perpetrator's for-profit recounting of his larceny.

    The most recent attempt to out O. the despicable J. comes from (surprise surprise) the very man whose job was to deep fry Bush administration wrong-doing in a thick batter of manipulation, confoundery, misrepresentation, or--whenever possible--outright lies: former White House spokesman Scott McClellan (who, in case you're having trouble placing him, looks like Cornfed Pig sporting a over-dose Brylcreamed 1960s haircut).                                              

Now that he has no day job, McClellan has decided to do to his former bosses what they've done to the American public since taking office: betray all trust, loyalty, and
pretense of being anything but the lowest kind of scum-fuck, and seek to get rich his erstwhile allies' expense. Using teasers released from the book AP and others reported o

McClellan has written a book due out next spring blaming President Bush and Vice President Dick Cheney for efforts to mislead the public about the role of White House aides in leaking the identity of a CIA operative.

In an excerpt from that forthcoming book, McClellan recounts the 2003 news conference in which he told reporters that aides Karl Rove and I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby were "not involved" in the leak involving operative Valerie Plame.

"There was one problem. It was not true," McClellan writes, according to a brief excerpt released Tuesday. "I had unknowingly passed along false information. And five of the highest-ranking officials in the administration were involved in my doing so: Rove, Libby, the vice president, the president's chief of staff and the president himself."

      Apart from that flatulence-reeking "unknowingly" qualifier, it's impossible not to believe McClellan's depiction of the conspiratorial Bush regime as deeply corrupt, anti-democratic, and brazenly criminal as we've all know--but could be fucked to actually do anything about--for years. In fact, the only really surprising thing in it all is that none of it has provoked a call for all administration officials to be dragged before a judge and tried for their malfeasance (including legal triffles like that conspiracy to committ mass murder in Iraq); and why McClellan, as a central figure in that web of criminal activity and cover-up, is being allowed to cash in on it with his book

Phoque Iou

    Certains gens que je connais en France—je dirais des “amis”, mais qui va croire un truc aussi enorme que ca?—m’ont conseiller a poster en francais; surtout afin que je fasse cadeau de mes talents pour massacrer la langue francaise avec mes fautes aussi enormes que (des fois) expres, Il parait que mon habitude de bricoler des mots qui existent pas fait marrer certains de ces gens (connards), tout comme mes observations a la fois percutants que lyrics. (Par example, est-que vous aviez remarque que la tete de Jean-Michel Aulas (ass-ol) peut passer pour le sosie d’un scrotum heureux qui “pend” contre les forces de gravite? Ou qu’on pourrais conduire un A380 dans la bouche de Julia Roberts sans le moindre risque que les ailes touchera la cotes de son clapier enorme? Sans blague. Et qui d'autre a apercu que la tronche liftee a mort et gueule botox-ee de sa mere de Johnny Hallyday resemble desormais comme deux gouttes d'eau l'anus d'un chat recement encule? Il fallait le remarque, bordel, et bien sur, personne ne le fait avant le meteque. Bande de blaireaux nazissime.)

     Bref, voila, c'est fait pour le premiere fois. Pas le peine a chialer parceque je chier des fautes de grammaire ou d'orthographe pas possible, ni d'envoyer des mails avec les vannes qui font bailler du style "AI SA DAN KOUAH 1 FRANSSAI?" pour faire comme si vous aviez rien pige du tout. On pige, meme si ca fait mal. Et pour preuve, essayez a nier que vous capter pas l'idee principale dans la phrase "je vous fist la cul avec le poing bourre de clous rouilles, et lubrifie avec la fleur de sel"? Voila. Service. A la prochaine, et en attendant, ces postes en votre langue de sous-belge est la faute de Fabrice; attaquez le si ca vous fait chier.

   Ah ouias: pas de question que je faire appel aux accents ou je fasse souci pour que des particles ou fins d'adjectives s'accordent avec les sujets: quand j'ecris en francais (enfin, faissons comme si...), c'est une partouze grammatique generale, et pour la reste, on s'en bat les couilles. Si vous voulez du bon francais, matez le blog de Pivot pendant que vous ecoutez du Yvette Horner. Sans blague; merde.