Sarah Palin Clubs to Death a Fish on Reality Show Labelled 'A Snuff' Video by Animal Rights Group
There's so much more material if you've no rooting interest (which I still do; it ebbs slow), if, beyond kneejerk acknowledging yesyesyes Sarah Palin is indeed a dumbfuck with grifter-smarts, you look at the dishonest dumbfuckery of the attacks on her dumbfuckness - um, braining fish is the humane way to kill them; people misspeak - these next two years could be megaggigles rather than impotent rage.
Sarah Palin: "We Gotta Stand with Our North Korean Allies."
Also, "Labelled." Fucking Brits.
- Buy Nothing Day.
- The failure wasn't a failure.
- How the American class struggle works.
- Ruth Marcus tells you to sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.
- Politics of consent.
- Shit floats.
- Palin's strategy.
- It's a sign of how successfully my disaffection is blossoming that the Hack List struck me as juvenile and gratuitous (where once I would have cheered it gratuitously), but leaving The World's Shittiest Human off the list renders the whole exercise juvenile, gratuitous, and FAIL!
- It's a sign of how successfully my disaffection is blossoming that Tom DeLay's conviction didn't make me cum when once it would have.
- The bitter new Washington. Drew isn't an awful hack, but she is a Villager, and her article is insight into what not-awful hack Villagers think.
- What leading progressives are thankful for.
- For your Thanksgiving Day consideration.
- By the Waters of Babylon. (h/t)
- The Windhover.
- Robertson Davies.
- Banana breakfast. Vineland's reread is next year, Gravity's 2012.
- Stereogum's 50 most anticipated albums of 2011. Good news? My Morning Jacket and Mogwai. Shitty news? The Motherfucking Decembrists and Fleet Motherfucking Foxes.
- New Destroyer!
- Crazy rulers of the world.
- Heart and soul.
- Dear God.
- Frost.
- Helicopter.
- I'm sorry I love you.
THANKSGIVING LETTER FROM HARRY
Carl Dennis
I guess I have to begin by admitting I'm thankful today I don't reside in a country My country has chosen to liberate, That Bridgeport's my home, not Baghdad. Thankful my chances are good, when I leave For the Super Duper, that I'll be returning. And I'm thankful my TV set is still broken. No point in wasting energy feeling shame For the havoc inflicted on others in my name When I need all the strength I can muster To teach my eighth-grade class in the low-rent district. There, at least, I don't feel powerless. There my choices can make some difference. This month I'd like to believe I've widened My students' choice of vocation, though the odds My history lessons on working the land Will inspire any of them to farm Are almost as small as the odds One will become a monk or nun Trained in the Buddhist practice We studied last month in the unit on India. The point is to get them suspecting the world They know first hand isn't the only world. As for the calling of soldier, if it comes up in class, It's not because I feel obliged to include it, As you, as a writer, may feel obliged. A student may happen to introduce it, As a girl did yesterday when she read her essay About her older brother, Ramon, Listed as "missing in action" three years ago, And about her dad, who won't agree with her mom And the social worker on how small the odds are That Ramon's alive, a prisoner in the mountains. I didn't allow the discussion that followed More time than I allowed for the other essays. And I wouldn't take sides: not with the group That thought the father, having grieved enough, Ought to move on to the life still left him; Not with the group that was glad he hadn't made do With the next-to-nothing the world's provided, That instead he's invested his trust in a story That saves the world from shameful failure. Let me know of any recent attempts on your part To save our fellow-citizens from themselves. In the meantime, if you want to borrow Ramon For a narrative of your own, remember that any scene Where he appears under guard in a mountain village Should be confined to the realm of longing. There His captors may leave him when they move on. There his wounds may be healed, His health restored. A total recovery Except for a lingering fog of forgetfulness A father dreams he can burn away.
I just read this Robertson Davies quote from your link...
ReplyDelete"I find this exemplified, for instance, in many stories in The New Yorker where whether the family will have pumpkin pie or something else on Thanksgiving Day is a decision with infinite psychological and sexual repercussions."
...right after reading the Slashdot link about the scent of pumpkin pie increasing penile blood flow by 40%!
The ironies continue to multiply: Salon doing a "hack list"? Isn't that a bit like talking to your image in the mirror, as if he were a separate person? Salon = hack central, all fluff, no substance. Joan Walsh really thinks highly of herself, and according to her, she's justified in so doing!
ReplyDeleteZ - I hate pumpkin pie more than I like sex, and I like sex a lot. Let me know how your research goes.
ReplyDeleteCFO - As soon as I saw the Hack List I thought of you.
I'm a big fan of the custard pie, in all its incarnations, but the results will need to be replicated in additional testing.
ReplyDeleteI assure you you can cum re-enacting fantasies of Tom Delay's conviction if you play suitable white noise in the back ground. Christine O'Donnell's condemnations of masturbation are my favorite, but Rush's hate speech or Sarah's three-way proposition to father and son North Korean dictators will do in a pinch.
ReplyDeleteI would say I always need to be reminded of the virtues of not being a corporate hack, but I am so poorly skilled in that way, there never was hope for me there anyway.
So, I'm poor as fuck.
I only bought a Kombucha on Black Friday, but I did fly on a plane ticket my mom bought weeks before, so I hardly think I didn't feed the machine. Oh yeah, I bought a sub sandwich in the airport. Crap.