The Last Kennedy may lose.
Dare we hope? Dare we dream? I might consider praying it if could make it so.
The "Kennedy mystique" has long outlived it's usefulness, and has done little more than to ensure that successive generations of slimy little retards with big teeth and a predilection for substance abuse and adultery had jobs bought for them that they were eminently unqualified for. If it wasn't for the fact that JFK was an icon to millions of brain-dead, drug-taking, hippies (in much the same way that FDR became an icon to their parents, an apparent savior who's only real talents were for telling people what they wanted to hear) the legend of John Fitzgerald Kennedy would have died in that limo in Dallas with him.
Here's the (very short) list of JFK's "accomplishments":
* Had several books written for him, which he simply signed his name to.
* Getting his PT Boat cut in half by a Japanese destroyer.
* Using his would-be Nazi-collaborator Daddy's Prohibition-fueled fortune to buy himself a career in politics.
* Marrying a smokin' hawt babe.
* Bringing the world the brink of nuclear annihilation.
* Chickening out at the Bay of Pigs.
* Vietnam
* Getting shot in the head.
JFK, all things considered, was a 1960's version of John McCain...only with charm and a ventilated braincase.
Why he is considered one of the best American Presidents is beyond me. Spare me the crap about his "commitment" to Civil Rights: that was all about avoiding a repeat of the 1960 election where he only managed to beat Nixon by the skin of his teeth. Kennedy needed more votes for the next go-around, and there simply weren't enough White people's votes to buy, or dead Chicagoans, to guarantee victory in '64.
What came after JFK and RFK were simply the dregs of the Kennedy DNA line, and they have polluted the halls of power for far too long. Eventually, the aura attached to a dead Uncle wears off, and people grow up. Or at least their priorities change; the Aging Hippies who creamed for Kennedy are no longer interested in lip-service to equality, Civil Rights, and a dreamy rhetoric about a loftily-idealistic-yet-infantile Utopia; they want free goddamned Viagra and someone to bear the cost of their fast-approaching retirement, now that the home they bought as a retirement vehicle is now basically worthless, and their stock portfolios have been wiped out by their own generation's economic stupidity. They no longer have the time or patience for sentimentality.
The Attachment to All Things Kennedy, under these circumstances, must surely fade, and with it, the stranglehold on both power and stupidity that has rested in the hands of a single (probably-inbred) family for far too long must surely loosen.
If only this would become a Nationwide Phenomenon, and we could do away with all the other political dynasties in America; Coumos, Bushes, Clintons, and so forth. How much better, how much fresher, how much more effective our political system would be (and I mean that in the hope that it would be more responsive, and responsible, to we the citizens who don't belong to the country club set) when it was no longer just "the family business".
Friday, October 29, 2010
Nancy Pelosi's Daily Routine...
Oh, I'm sorry -- I meant Adolph Hitler's daily routine. I can't figure out how it is that I keep confusing the two...
As an interesting way to amuse yourself, as you read that article replace "Hitler" with "Pelosi" and "Nazi" with "democrat" (small 'd' intentional), and have yourself a laugh.
Right up until you begin to realize that you actually can imagine Nancy Pelosi and democrats operating in exactly that fashion...
As an interesting way to amuse yourself, as you read that article replace "Hitler" with "Pelosi" and "Nazi" with "democrat" (small 'd' intentional), and have yourself a laugh.
Right up until you begin to realize that you actually can imagine Nancy Pelosi and democrats operating in exactly that fashion...
Joy Behar: Aging Life Support System for a Vagina...
...that nobody in his right mind wants anymore.
I don't watch The View, but given all the high-profile nonsense that's been happening there lately, I gave it a shot. Complete waste of time. Five broads sitting around yacking over coffee, mostly about stuff they don't know about? Gimme a break.
I mean, I don't get the premise behind this. Hasn't anyone figured out that the combination of stupid, menopause, old age and uninformed opinion makes for really bad television? Besides, MSNBC, I mean?
Barbara Walters? Okay, I can see what her role is: she's supposed to lend gravitas to what is otherwise a rather dopey show.
Whoopi Goldberg? I have to say that while I do not agree with most of what Whoopi has to say, I still consider her to be both an intelligent woman, and a witty one. She's definitely the brains. Someone should give Whoopi her own talk show.
Elizabeth Hasselbeck? sizzlin' eye candy, and token normal chick. Give her credit for having the gumption to go on with this nonsense, and trying to give it a serious slant, while showing remarkable restraint and not whacking her four co-hosts with a baseball bat with wicked spikes protruding from it.
Fat-Black-Chick-Who's-Name-I-Could-Not-Be-Bothered-To-Learn? She's apparently there to roll her eyes, give you the occasional "hmm-hmmm, you know it, Girlfriend!" or"Hands-on-Hips-Talk-to-the-Hand" flash of attitude that you usually only see at the supermarket where Welfare Mother has just purchased a year's supply of Cheetos for her seven-children-by-eleven-fathers...with food stamps. Every once in a while, it appears she also lets fly with the ever-popular "Feets Don't Fail Me Now!" sort of outburst that was a Hollywood black-and-white film staple some 60 years ago.
I got all that after one viewing.
Behar's major problem is one common to women her age: she believed every word the Modern Feminists spewed at her. Having a pussy gives you power over Men, Time and Space. Having abortions makes you freer. Divorce is an exercise in Empowerment. You can achieve your rightful place in society by being a bitch, when that's necessary, and a total slut if that works better for you -- and very often, both at once (until you become old and unattractive, then the only options left are Perpetual Bitchhood or Lawsuit). The World should beat a path to your door, because you have tits. You're owed, Baby --and entitled to get whatever you goddamned well please from society, and especially from Men, because your sex has been historically oppressed.
It all sounds like Karl Marx with a menstrual cycle to me.
Joy is so obviously unfulfilled. I've seen that look -- that dead-eyed, glazed, lights-are-on-but-no one's-home look -- before..in therapy. It's the look of someone who wants to know why it is that she's been promised the Sun, the Moon and the Stars -- you CAN have it all, career and family, an emasculated and pussy-whipped husband who "understands"and"supports" and worships you, and who will keep you in bon-bons, housekeepers and exaggerated material wealth -- only to find out that it was all a great, big lie. Now old and joyless, she has to make certain that everyone else in the Solar System suffers for all of her disappointments.
Many women of her era, and especially the ones who ones who...ahem...swallowed the propaganda of the Sexual Revolution whole (i.e. that women distributing their sexual favors without having to be bribed with an engagement ring, or even with the purpose of landing a husband, was an act of personal liberation and a fountain of self-esteem), are almost all completely disappointed by the waste they've often made of their lives. Give Joy some credit, though; she's on television after all, but that has less to do with talent than it does demographics; Maureen Dowd may be the spokeswoman for the bitter, disillusioned feminist, but she can't be everywhere at once, and besides, she's a higher class of bitter, disillusioned feminist than Joy is that doesn't so play well with the 40-something Housefrau, who for the most part is the most materially well-off, pampered, spoiled, comfortable and obnoxious creature in human history, after that category of slugs we call "Baby Boomer".
Besides, I guess Al Franken wasn't available to play the part of un-funny, ex-comedian with only stupid things to say.
And yes, I have generalized. You try dating thrice-divorced hellions who can't understand why all the men in her life -- the ones she tried to control with her weaponized vagina, constant Cosmo-inspired douchebaggery, and insistence that she's entitled to everything on planet Earth, in the quantities she wants, and delivered in a highly-ritualistic and timely fashion --treats her like a place to simply park his penis -- and then wants you to pay for all their sins -- and see what you think of them! And worse, they expect you to be mind-reader, therapist, handyman, gigolo, Santa Claus and Substitute Daddy, too, but who you need to be, when, and in what fashion, seems to depend completely upon her irrational whims.
They're fucking lunatics.
Why anyone should care what Behar has to say, on any subject, is beyond me, and why anyone should be shocked that she would walk off stage on Bill O'Reilly for telling a truth that blows her tiny mind, or calls Sharon Angle a bitch on national television, is also a headscratcher. If Joy Behar, and by extension, The View, is the measuring stick for the intelligence, taste and political acumen of the Modern American Woman, then maybe we deserve to be overrun by Al' Qaeda.
I don't watch The View, but given all the high-profile nonsense that's been happening there lately, I gave it a shot. Complete waste of time. Five broads sitting around yacking over coffee, mostly about stuff they don't know about? Gimme a break.
I mean, I don't get the premise behind this. Hasn't anyone figured out that the combination of stupid, menopause, old age and uninformed opinion makes for really bad television? Besides, MSNBC, I mean?
Barbara Walters? Okay, I can see what her role is: she's supposed to lend gravitas to what is otherwise a rather dopey show.
Whoopi Goldberg? I have to say that while I do not agree with most of what Whoopi has to say, I still consider her to be both an intelligent woman, and a witty one. She's definitely the brains. Someone should give Whoopi her own talk show.
Elizabeth Hasselbeck? sizzlin' eye candy, and token normal chick. Give her credit for having the gumption to go on with this nonsense, and trying to give it a serious slant, while showing remarkable restraint and not whacking her four co-hosts with a baseball bat with wicked spikes protruding from it.
Fat-Black-Chick-Who's-Name-I-Could-Not-Be-Bothered-To-Learn? She's apparently there to roll her eyes, give you the occasional "hmm-hmmm, you know it, Girlfriend!" or"Hands-on-Hips-Talk-to-the-Hand" flash of attitude that you usually only see at the supermarket where Welfare Mother has just purchased a year's supply of Cheetos for her seven-children-by-eleven-fathers...with food stamps. Every once in a while, it appears she also lets fly with the ever-popular "Feets Don't Fail Me Now!" sort of outburst that was a Hollywood black-and-white film staple some 60 years ago.
I got all that after one viewing.
Behar's major problem is one common to women her age: she believed every word the Modern Feminists spewed at her. Having a pussy gives you power over Men, Time and Space. Having abortions makes you freer. Divorce is an exercise in Empowerment. You can achieve your rightful place in society by being a bitch, when that's necessary, and a total slut if that works better for you -- and very often, both at once (until you become old and unattractive, then the only options left are Perpetual Bitchhood or Lawsuit). The World should beat a path to your door, because you have tits. You're owed, Baby --and entitled to get whatever you goddamned well please from society, and especially from Men, because your sex has been historically oppressed.
It all sounds like Karl Marx with a menstrual cycle to me.
Joy is so obviously unfulfilled. I've seen that look -- that dead-eyed, glazed, lights-are-on-but-no one's-home look -- before..in therapy. It's the look of someone who wants to know why it is that she's been promised the Sun, the Moon and the Stars -- you CAN have it all, career and family, an emasculated and pussy-whipped husband who "understands"and"supports" and worships you, and who will keep you in bon-bons, housekeepers and exaggerated material wealth -- only to find out that it was all a great, big lie. Now old and joyless, she has to make certain that everyone else in the Solar System suffers for all of her disappointments.
Many women of her era, and especially the ones who ones who...ahem...swallowed the propaganda of the Sexual Revolution whole (i.e. that women distributing their sexual favors without having to be bribed with an engagement ring, or even with the purpose of landing a husband, was an act of personal liberation and a fountain of self-esteem), are almost all completely disappointed by the waste they've often made of their lives. Give Joy some credit, though; she's on television after all, but that has less to do with talent than it does demographics; Maureen Dowd may be the spokeswoman for the bitter, disillusioned feminist, but she can't be everywhere at once, and besides, she's a higher class of bitter, disillusioned feminist than Joy is that doesn't so play well with the 40-something Housefrau, who for the most part is the most materially well-off, pampered, spoiled, comfortable and obnoxious creature in human history, after that category of slugs we call "Baby Boomer".
Besides, I guess Al Franken wasn't available to play the part of un-funny, ex-comedian with only stupid things to say.
And yes, I have generalized. You try dating thrice-divorced hellions who can't understand why all the men in her life -- the ones she tried to control with her weaponized vagina, constant Cosmo-inspired douchebaggery, and insistence that she's entitled to everything on planet Earth, in the quantities she wants, and delivered in a highly-ritualistic and timely fashion --treats her like a place to simply park his penis -- and then wants you to pay for all their sins -- and see what you think of them! And worse, they expect you to be mind-reader, therapist, handyman, gigolo, Santa Claus and Substitute Daddy, too, but who you need to be, when, and in what fashion, seems to depend completely upon her irrational whims.
They're fucking lunatics.
Why anyone should care what Behar has to say, on any subject, is beyond me, and why anyone should be shocked that she would walk off stage on Bill O'Reilly for telling a truth that blows her tiny mind, or calls Sharon Angle a bitch on national television, is also a headscratcher. If Joy Behar, and by extension, The View, is the measuring stick for the intelligence, taste and political acumen of the Modern American Woman, then maybe we deserve to be overrun by Al' Qaeda.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Yet More Bad Medicine...
I watch entirely too much television, but then again, I have far too much free time on my hands.
One of the things I find most entertaining about television these days are the wall-to-wall advertisements for prescription drugs and over-the-counter supplements that take up about one-quarter of the broadcasting day. What I find entertaining about them is that they usually follow a familiar format:
Scene: Two splendidly-preserved Baby Boomers are enjoying their ideal active retirement. They seem to be enjoying themselves more than people who don't snort cocaine regularly do in real life. Then, the Voice Over Lady chimes in, and begins to tell us all about the devastating malady (usually on the order of hangnail, vaginal/scrotal dryness, smelly feet, wrinkles or Old Lady Mothball Smell) that keeps one of those Boomers from achieving her (it's usually a Her) dream of conquering Everest, learning the cello, or fucking like a mink.
Only, the medical complaint Voiceover Lady is yacking about is usually not all that big a deal. In days past, people suffering from this minor malady simply "sucked it up", or chalked their discomfort up to "getting older". But Baby Boomers think they should be able to live forever, free of complaint, and at someone else's expense, and with their sexual potency intact (see: Medicare, ObamaCare).
Anyways, the commercial very quickly degenerates from Hippie Bob and Mary's slight physical impairment (usually only 10 seconds on the disease in question), and becomes a laundry list of warnings, listing of side effects, and godawful effects of the drug in question, that you begin to wonder just why anyone in his right fucking mind would take this dangerous-sounding pill. And then you laugh.
Unless you're me -- and then you do a little research to ensure that's what being sold as the fountain of youth and the cure to all that ails you, is all that. I've done a bunch of these, and you can read them by simply hitting the Bad Medicine tag at the bottom of the post.
This time, we're looking at a bullshit arthritis "cure", yet another statin drug, a couple of over-the-counter "remedies" for your stomach, and a drug that deals with pain you only imagine you feel. So, here you go:
1. Arthri-D - Glucosamine and "Key Plant Extracts" (including frankincense -- if it was good enough for Jesus...) many herbal fillers, and Vitamin D3. It claims to "enhance your diet...and your life!", and is sold as the answer to your creaking, arthritic joints. It's a nutritional supplement of dubious value, and has not been tested in regards to ANY malady, whatsoever.
It's selling point seems to be that if you take this, your arthritis will be magically cured, although they take great pains not to guarantee that claim, in extremely small print, on the website. Oh, and the other selling point is that Arthri-D3 is made right here in the good 'ol USA in a "superior manufacturing facility that adheres to the highest quality standards".
Okay, so I guess that makes it the highest-quality crap you can waste your money on. Don't take it if you're allergic to seafood, as you will probably explode like a Palestinian on a public bus.Otherwise, the company that makes Arthri-D3 is being investigated by the FTC, and has a chief executive who has had to -- allegedly -- change his name at least once. You can't even find out how much this stuff costs unless you call the 24-hour hotline to order it. You can see the "infomercial" (running on heavy rotation on Fox Business channel on weekends) at the Arthri-D website.
2. Crestor - an oldie-but-goodie, Crestor is once again being heavily flogged on television, which kinda sucks, except for the Patrick Stewart voiceover.
This is another statin drug which is supposed to help you regulate your cholesterol levels. I've taken statin drugs in the past, and I'm convinced that they work by simply giving you the kind of explosive diarrhea one normally associates with Mexico, ensuring that nothing you eat has time to actually stick around long enough to put any extra cholesterol into your system. After that, all statins do something strange to your liver (which produces 70% of all your cholesterol all by itself), that requires monthly blood tests and physician visits, which get annoying and frequent enough for you to believe that having the heart attack you're trying to avoid just might be a better and cheaper option, after all.
If you take Crestor you can look forward to the following side-effects besides the crippling, dehydrating diarrhea that will ruin your life by making it impossible for you to be any more than a quick sprint from a toilet at any time: persistent headaches, abdominal pain, weakness, persistent nausea, elevated blood sugar levels (so that you can trade high cholesterol for diabetes!), myalgia (muscle pains), asthenia, myopathy, rhabdomyalisys (breakdown of skeletal muscle), myglobinaria (too much myoglobin in your kidneys, leading to renal failure), and a host of unspecified skeletal/muscle-related issues.
See the website for details. Crestor will set you back about $150.00 for a month's supply of 20mg pills. If you take 40mg dosages, you can expect to pay nearly $200.00, and have all of the side-effects listed above at about twice-the-intensity.
3. Digestive Advantage - this is an over-the-counter product being sold as a treatment option for those with Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS), although it bills itself as a "Medical Food Product" on it's website, whatever that means.
Actually, all it is is something like Milk of Magnesia with some "All Natural" additives -- and a higher price. The gist behind this "Medical Food" is that most treatments for IBS don't work because the active ingredients never make it into your intestines -- where all the good stuff happens. Those other medications are all used up or mostly wasted after they enter your stomach, destroyed by contact with stomach acids, and so that you get no relief from your painful, bloody pooping and uber-menstrual-like cramps. Digestive Advantage basically puts Milk of Magnesia into a super, bullet-proof capsule that won't break down as quickly in your stomach acids, and so it is hoped, allow a little more medicine to be delivered to your lower intestine, where all that nasty IBS shit (no pun intended) happens.
The two biggest risk factors for IBS are diet and emotional state, although there are some for whom this is not always the case. Instead of taking medicines and "Medical Food Products" most people who suffer from IBS would probably benefit more from a change in diet and learning how to chill out. But then you wouldn't have the opportunity to pay for this Crap that Helps You Crap, would you?
As a society, we're now more focused on our bowels than we ever have been before, which I guess is better than our previous pre-occupation with our genitals, and we're now seeing all sorts of medications, "Medical Food Products" and contrivances hitting the market which are ensuring that your digestive system and poop chute run like the finest Swiss Watch. The Baby-Boomer generation that was once obsessed with the Erection is now Obsessed with it's Feces, just as Freud predicted, and the American pharmaceutical industry is working feverishly to meet the demand!
Who says Capitalism is dead?
The only major side effect seems to be a dramatic increase in flatulence, which might get you tagged as a threat to Mother Gaia by any committed Tree Hugger, and an occasional oily spotting in your undies. These might cause you severe embarrassment in public settings, but it's better than bloody, painful turds and torn, irritated hemorrhoids, isn't it?
You'll be happy to know that the makers of Digestive Advantage also make Gas, Daily Constipation and Lactose "Defense" formulas. Oh, joy! An entire product line devoted to your tushy!
4. Gas-X Protection- a lovely little over-the-counter supplement that will help defend you against the embarrassing and uncomfortable effects of excessive stomach gas, "with unbeatable speed". The selling point here is the terrible embarrassment that people with severe gas will often suffer; as the website advertisement is simply loaded with overwrought references to the public approbation, social isolation, and mental consequences of excessive flatulence. According to the website, your flatulence can "consume your mind, distracting you from what you are doing -- making you feel helpless". Frankly, I've never heard of anyone being so consumed by the fear of farting that they develop social anxiety disorders or ADD, so I'm a bit leary of that claim.
In fact, if you're a perpetual adolescent -- like me -- you find flatulence incredibly funny, and you love to share it. There's no joke yet devised by man that provides as much laughter as a good butt whistle, so far as I'm concerned. Why, the flatus is perhaps mankind's greatest invention: you can share it with your friends for free, it always makes someone in the room laugh, and even the deaf can join in the fun! Be that as it may, however, there are some people, for whom this is not true.
Killjoys!
Thankfully, for all of us Overgrown Children in love with the Fart, all that fun-killing, gas-stopping tomfoolery comes at a cost: you can expect massive cramps whenever you use Gas-X Prevention. Something on the order of birth-contraction-type pain, I'm led to understand. If that wasn't enough of a reason to avoid this stuff, you can also anticipate all the time you'll have to sit around and think of newer and more descriptive adjectives to put in front of the word "diarrhea" -- which is what you'll get with every dose. That's if you can manage to avoid the following: rash, hives, itching, difficult breathing, tightness in the chest, swelling of the mouth, face or tongue. All this gas-free happiness for about $40 a box.
It's almost better to just let one rip in the elevator every once in while and just deal with the embarrassment.
5. Lyrica - This is a drug prescribed for people with varying sorts of nerve pain, usually related to diabetes and shingles, but just as often for pain resulting from fybromyalgia, which I gather is a fancy term for "pain which your doctor cannot explain by scientific means". I've known two people with fybromyalgia, both resulting from injuries suffered during automobile accidents, and I'm convinced that their "pain" is no pain at all, but rather a dependence on the opiates they were given to relieve the real discomfort of their long-ago-healed injuries. They feel phantom pains which justifies the continued prescriptions for painkillers. One woman I know required methadone treatments to wean her off the vast array of painkillers she was given. Lyrica is also given to epileptics to prevent seizures.
Side effects of Lyrica include: swelling of the face, lips, gums, mouth, throat, neck and tongue, trouble breathing or swallowing, rashes, hives and blisters of an unspecified sort. You might also experience dizziness, sleepiness, nausea, muscle pain (hey, I thought this was supposed to make pain disappear?), blurry vision, swelling of the hands and feet, and what the website describes as "feeling high", and of course, quite persistent diarrhea. Everything about modern medicine, it seems, now causes diarrhea. People who take Lyrica to control epileptic seizures can also look forward to mood swings, an increase in suicidal thoughts, and amazingly for a medicine that is thought to control them, an increased frequency of seizures(so why take it all, if you're an epileptic?).
Lyrica will set you back about $200.00 for a month's supply. You could almost afford the drug treatment program to wean you off the over-prescribed opiates you were given for your whiplash for that kind of money.
I'm currently investigating another 10 or 11 of these drugs, over-the-counter medicines and other dopey shit that are being advertised heavily these days. I'll be posting about them real soon, promise!
One of the things I find most entertaining about television these days are the wall-to-wall advertisements for prescription drugs and over-the-counter supplements that take up about one-quarter of the broadcasting day. What I find entertaining about them is that they usually follow a familiar format:
Scene: Two splendidly-preserved Baby Boomers are enjoying their ideal active retirement. They seem to be enjoying themselves more than people who don't snort cocaine regularly do in real life. Then, the Voice Over Lady chimes in, and begins to tell us all about the devastating malady (usually on the order of hangnail, vaginal/scrotal dryness, smelly feet, wrinkles or Old Lady Mothball Smell) that keeps one of those Boomers from achieving her (it's usually a Her) dream of conquering Everest, learning the cello, or fucking like a mink.
Only, the medical complaint Voiceover Lady is yacking about is usually not all that big a deal. In days past, people suffering from this minor malady simply "sucked it up", or chalked their discomfort up to "getting older". But Baby Boomers think they should be able to live forever, free of complaint, and at someone else's expense, and with their sexual potency intact (see: Medicare, ObamaCare).
Anyways, the commercial very quickly degenerates from Hippie Bob and Mary's slight physical impairment (usually only 10 seconds on the disease in question), and becomes a laundry list of warnings, listing of side effects, and godawful effects of the drug in question, that you begin to wonder just why anyone in his right fucking mind would take this dangerous-sounding pill. And then you laugh.
Unless you're me -- and then you do a little research to ensure that's what being sold as the fountain of youth and the cure to all that ails you, is all that. I've done a bunch of these, and you can read them by simply hitting the Bad Medicine tag at the bottom of the post.
This time, we're looking at a bullshit arthritis "cure", yet another statin drug, a couple of over-the-counter "remedies" for your stomach, and a drug that deals with pain you only imagine you feel. So, here you go:
1. Arthri-D - Glucosamine and "Key Plant Extracts" (including frankincense -- if it was good enough for Jesus...) many herbal fillers, and Vitamin D3. It claims to "enhance your diet...and your life!", and is sold as the answer to your creaking, arthritic joints. It's a nutritional supplement of dubious value, and has not been tested in regards to ANY malady, whatsoever.
It's selling point seems to be that if you take this, your arthritis will be magically cured, although they take great pains not to guarantee that claim, in extremely small print, on the website. Oh, and the other selling point is that Arthri-D3 is made right here in the good 'ol USA in a "superior manufacturing facility that adheres to the highest quality standards".
Okay, so I guess that makes it the highest-quality crap you can waste your money on. Don't take it if you're allergic to seafood, as you will probably explode like a Palestinian on a public bus.Otherwise, the company that makes Arthri-D3 is being investigated by the FTC, and has a chief executive who has had to -- allegedly -- change his name at least once. You can't even find out how much this stuff costs unless you call the 24-hour hotline to order it. You can see the "infomercial" (running on heavy rotation on Fox Business channel on weekends) at the Arthri-D website.
2. Crestor - an oldie-but-goodie, Crestor is once again being heavily flogged on television, which kinda sucks, except for the Patrick Stewart voiceover.
This is another statin drug which is supposed to help you regulate your cholesterol levels. I've taken statin drugs in the past, and I'm convinced that they work by simply giving you the kind of explosive diarrhea one normally associates with Mexico, ensuring that nothing you eat has time to actually stick around long enough to put any extra cholesterol into your system. After that, all statins do something strange to your liver (which produces 70% of all your cholesterol all by itself), that requires monthly blood tests and physician visits, which get annoying and frequent enough for you to believe that having the heart attack you're trying to avoid just might be a better and cheaper option, after all.
If you take Crestor you can look forward to the following side-effects besides the crippling, dehydrating diarrhea that will ruin your life by making it impossible for you to be any more than a quick sprint from a toilet at any time: persistent headaches, abdominal pain, weakness, persistent nausea, elevated blood sugar levels (so that you can trade high cholesterol for diabetes!), myalgia (muscle pains), asthenia, myopathy, rhabdomyalisys (breakdown of skeletal muscle), myglobinaria (too much myoglobin in your kidneys, leading to renal failure), and a host of unspecified skeletal/muscle-related issues.
See the website for details. Crestor will set you back about $150.00 for a month's supply of 20mg pills. If you take 40mg dosages, you can expect to pay nearly $200.00, and have all of the side-effects listed above at about twice-the-intensity.
3. Digestive Advantage - this is an over-the-counter product being sold as a treatment option for those with Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS), although it bills itself as a "Medical Food Product" on it's website, whatever that means.
Actually, all it is is something like Milk of Magnesia with some "All Natural" additives -- and a higher price. The gist behind this "Medical Food" is that most treatments for IBS don't work because the active ingredients never make it into your intestines -- where all the good stuff happens. Those other medications are all used up or mostly wasted after they enter your stomach, destroyed by contact with stomach acids, and so that you get no relief from your painful, bloody pooping and uber-menstrual-like cramps. Digestive Advantage basically puts Milk of Magnesia into a super, bullet-proof capsule that won't break down as quickly in your stomach acids, and so it is hoped, allow a little more medicine to be delivered to your lower intestine, where all that nasty IBS shit (no pun intended) happens.
The two biggest risk factors for IBS are diet and emotional state, although there are some for whom this is not always the case. Instead of taking medicines and "Medical Food Products" most people who suffer from IBS would probably benefit more from a change in diet and learning how to chill out. But then you wouldn't have the opportunity to pay for this Crap that Helps You Crap, would you?
As a society, we're now more focused on our bowels than we ever have been before, which I guess is better than our previous pre-occupation with our genitals, and we're now seeing all sorts of medications, "Medical Food Products" and contrivances hitting the market which are ensuring that your digestive system and poop chute run like the finest Swiss Watch. The Baby-Boomer generation that was once obsessed with the Erection is now Obsessed with it's Feces, just as Freud predicted, and the American pharmaceutical industry is working feverishly to meet the demand!
Who says Capitalism is dead?
The only major side effect seems to be a dramatic increase in flatulence, which might get you tagged as a threat to Mother Gaia by any committed Tree Hugger, and an occasional oily spotting in your undies. These might cause you severe embarrassment in public settings, but it's better than bloody, painful turds and torn, irritated hemorrhoids, isn't it?
You'll be happy to know that the makers of Digestive Advantage also make Gas, Daily Constipation and Lactose "Defense" formulas. Oh, joy! An entire product line devoted to your tushy!
4. Gas-X Protection- a lovely little over-the-counter supplement that will help defend you against the embarrassing and uncomfortable effects of excessive stomach gas, "with unbeatable speed". The selling point here is the terrible embarrassment that people with severe gas will often suffer; as the website advertisement is simply loaded with overwrought references to the public approbation, social isolation, and mental consequences of excessive flatulence. According to the website, your flatulence can "consume your mind, distracting you from what you are doing -- making you feel helpless". Frankly, I've never heard of anyone being so consumed by the fear of farting that they develop social anxiety disorders or ADD, so I'm a bit leary of that claim.
In fact, if you're a perpetual adolescent -- like me -- you find flatulence incredibly funny, and you love to share it. There's no joke yet devised by man that provides as much laughter as a good butt whistle, so far as I'm concerned. Why, the flatus is perhaps mankind's greatest invention: you can share it with your friends for free, it always makes someone in the room laugh, and even the deaf can join in the fun! Be that as it may, however, there are some people, for whom this is not true.
Killjoys!
Thankfully, for all of us Overgrown Children in love with the Fart, all that fun-killing, gas-stopping tomfoolery comes at a cost: you can expect massive cramps whenever you use Gas-X Prevention. Something on the order of birth-contraction-type pain, I'm led to understand. If that wasn't enough of a reason to avoid this stuff, you can also anticipate all the time you'll have to sit around and think of newer and more descriptive adjectives to put in front of the word "diarrhea" -- which is what you'll get with every dose. That's if you can manage to avoid the following: rash, hives, itching, difficult breathing, tightness in the chest, swelling of the mouth, face or tongue. All this gas-free happiness for about $40 a box.
It's almost better to just let one rip in the elevator every once in while and just deal with the embarrassment.
5. Lyrica - This is a drug prescribed for people with varying sorts of nerve pain, usually related to diabetes and shingles, but just as often for pain resulting from fybromyalgia, which I gather is a fancy term for "pain which your doctor cannot explain by scientific means". I've known two people with fybromyalgia, both resulting from injuries suffered during automobile accidents, and I'm convinced that their "pain" is no pain at all, but rather a dependence on the opiates they were given to relieve the real discomfort of their long-ago-healed injuries. They feel phantom pains which justifies the continued prescriptions for painkillers. One woman I know required methadone treatments to wean her off the vast array of painkillers she was given. Lyrica is also given to epileptics to prevent seizures.
Side effects of Lyrica include: swelling of the face, lips, gums, mouth, throat, neck and tongue, trouble breathing or swallowing, rashes, hives and blisters of an unspecified sort. You might also experience dizziness, sleepiness, nausea, muscle pain (hey, I thought this was supposed to make pain disappear?), blurry vision, swelling of the hands and feet, and what the website describes as "feeling high", and of course, quite persistent diarrhea. Everything about modern medicine, it seems, now causes diarrhea. People who take Lyrica to control epileptic seizures can also look forward to mood swings, an increase in suicidal thoughts, and amazingly for a medicine that is thought to control them, an increased frequency of seizures(so why take it all, if you're an epileptic?).
Lyrica will set you back about $200.00 for a month's supply. You could almost afford the drug treatment program to wean you off the over-prescribed opiates you were given for your whiplash for that kind of money.
I'm currently investigating another 10 or 11 of these drugs, over-the-counter medicines and other dopey shit that are being advertised heavily these days. I'll be posting about them real soon, promise!
Mike McMahon is a Big, Fat Douchebag...
Most democrats are. You would think that a man who owes his position to the good fortune of having had a predecessor who was an even bigger scumbag might make someone careful about what he does in public. After all, had Vito Fossella not been a drunk-driving adulterer with a love child, and worse, a persistent Republican at a time when that was only slightly more popular than dysentery, Mike McMahon would still be posing for his portrait on the Lucky Charms box.
But no. Displaying taste and class, especially during an election which one might lose, is something for other people to worry about. In the Great War to Keep The Phony-Baloney Job That You're Not Qualified To Do, all is fair game.
So why not make certain that your opponent's ex-wife is sitting in the front row for a debate?
Most people wouldn't be this petty and childish. Democrats, however, dance to a different tune. Usually, that tune involves complaining about the crass tastelessness and cluelessness of your republican opponent, while ignoring your own tasteless, clueless and asinine behavior.
Yet another reason to vote your local libtard out of office next week.
I guess nothing is out-of-bounds when it comes to keeping a Congressional seat that you didn't really earn, isn't it, Mikey? I would say that McMahon should be ashamed of himself, but he is incapable of shame. Expect some other douchebag libtard to try this stunt, or a variation upon the theme (maybe some Republican in the closet can expect his gay lovers to get the seats of honor at the next debate? My, but I wonder how many libtard pieties that sort of thing would violate?) between now and next Tuesday.
Disgusting. These people have no scruples, whatsoever.
But no. Displaying taste and class, especially during an election which one might lose, is something for other people to worry about. In the Great War to Keep The Phony-Baloney Job That You're Not Qualified To Do, all is fair game.
So why not make certain that your opponent's ex-wife is sitting in the front row for a debate?
Most people wouldn't be this petty and childish. Democrats, however, dance to a different tune. Usually, that tune involves complaining about the crass tastelessness and cluelessness of your republican opponent, while ignoring your own tasteless, clueless and asinine behavior.
Yet another reason to vote your local libtard out of office next week.
I guess nothing is out-of-bounds when it comes to keeping a Congressional seat that you didn't really earn, isn't it, Mikey? I would say that McMahon should be ashamed of himself, but he is incapable of shame. Expect some other douchebag libtard to try this stunt, or a variation upon the theme (maybe some Republican in the closet can expect his gay lovers to get the seats of honor at the next debate? My, but I wonder how many libtard pieties that sort of thing would violate?) between now and next Tuesday.
Disgusting. These people have no scruples, whatsoever.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Aren't You Glad We Stopped the Mosque?
Two stories about local Islamo-nutjobs bent on waging jihad within the United States; both of these idiots have ties to my hometown, Staten Island, New York. You can read about them here and here.
It was not that long ago that the Archdiocese of New York, true to form, tried to sell an ex-convent to a group of Islamonazis who wished to build an "Islamic Community Center" in Midland Beach. The local community was up in arms; Two-hundred and seventy-one Staten Islanders died on September 11th, or 10% of the total victims, during the attacks on the World Trade Center, and naturally, passions in regards to anything Muslim in these parts run extremely high. Especially when the Church tries to make the sale in the dead of night and not inform the local community about it until nearly the very last minute.
Eventually, the Church was convinced that the money it would gain from the sale was far outweighed by bad publicity -- public pressure and the boycott on the collection plate in local churches did the job -- and put all but the kiss of death on the sale. Never underestimate the Catholic church's ability to condition it's actions by the effects of it's balance sheet.
In any case, opponents of the proposed Midland Beach Mosque -- and the infamous Ground Zero Mosque -- have been proven correct in this regard: these two geniuses were living amongst us, and no one is quite certain who they associated with, and how many of their fellow would-be jihadis are still here. Far from being a "Community Center" that mosque in Midland Beach, or the one at Ground Zero, would more than likely have become a headquarters for the local jihad set, seeing as how many of them seem to be here. Put that many mental cases in the same room, pump 'em full of prayer and a litany of bullshit grievances (because that's all Islam has to offer, you know), and you get potential terrorists.
As it is, the apparent lack of such meeting places where these mental midgets can get together and conspire with each other just might be a contributing factor in actually capturing these home-grown jihadi douchebags: with nowhere else to go to join the jihad, or anyplace where they might even be given directions on how or where to do so, they wind up trying to fly to Pakistan or Syria on one-way tickets, and this leads to them getting caught, or they get so desperate to strike a blow that they forget about fundamental security and start talking and plotting with the first doofus to offer them a stick of dynamite...and that person, fortunately, usually, turns out to be an FBI agent or informant.
Lucky for us.
These guys were living right in our midst here. Who knows how many more of them there are here, and New Yorkistan, in general? Letting them build mosques that quickly become valuable resources for suicide bombers, providing security, privacy, and way to meet and communicate with other suicide bombers, is simply stupid. If these two had access to a better network of friends and fellow-travelers they might not ever have been found out, until it was too late to do anything about it.
In the meantime, the people of this island and New York City as a whole, are called "racists" whenever these mosque-building projects are so vehemently opposed. However, the main argument buttressing that opposition -- there's determined jihadis amongst us, and they will quickly turn any mosque from House of Worship into a House of Conspiracy just as soon as we kaffirs leave them to their own devices -- gets proven on a near-daily basis; just look what these guys do, how absolutely stupid and/or crazy they are, and the lengths they're willing to go to do their worst. We have every right to know Who, What, Where, When, Why and How before anyone builds a mosque in this city.
It was not that long ago that the Archdiocese of New York, true to form, tried to sell an ex-convent to a group of Islamonazis who wished to build an "Islamic Community Center" in Midland Beach. The local community was up in arms; Two-hundred and seventy-one Staten Islanders died on September 11th, or 10% of the total victims, during the attacks on the World Trade Center, and naturally, passions in regards to anything Muslim in these parts run extremely high. Especially when the Church tries to make the sale in the dead of night and not inform the local community about it until nearly the very last minute.
Eventually, the Church was convinced that the money it would gain from the sale was far outweighed by bad publicity -- public pressure and the boycott on the collection plate in local churches did the job -- and put all but the kiss of death on the sale. Never underestimate the Catholic church's ability to condition it's actions by the effects of it's balance sheet.
In any case, opponents of the proposed Midland Beach Mosque -- and the infamous Ground Zero Mosque -- have been proven correct in this regard: these two geniuses were living amongst us, and no one is quite certain who they associated with, and how many of their fellow would-be jihadis are still here. Far from being a "Community Center" that mosque in Midland Beach, or the one at Ground Zero, would more than likely have become a headquarters for the local jihad set, seeing as how many of them seem to be here. Put that many mental cases in the same room, pump 'em full of prayer and a litany of bullshit grievances (because that's all Islam has to offer, you know), and you get potential terrorists.
As it is, the apparent lack of such meeting places where these mental midgets can get together and conspire with each other just might be a contributing factor in actually capturing these home-grown jihadi douchebags: with nowhere else to go to join the jihad, or anyplace where they might even be given directions on how or where to do so, they wind up trying to fly to Pakistan or Syria on one-way tickets, and this leads to them getting caught, or they get so desperate to strike a blow that they forget about fundamental security and start talking and plotting with the first doofus to offer them a stick of dynamite...and that person, fortunately, usually, turns out to be an FBI agent or informant.
Lucky for us.
These guys were living right in our midst here. Who knows how many more of them there are here, and New Yorkistan, in general? Letting them build mosques that quickly become valuable resources for suicide bombers, providing security, privacy, and way to meet and communicate with other suicide bombers, is simply stupid. If these two had access to a better network of friends and fellow-travelers they might not ever have been found out, until it was too late to do anything about it.
In the meantime, the people of this island and New York City as a whole, are called "racists" whenever these mosque-building projects are so vehemently opposed. However, the main argument buttressing that opposition -- there's determined jihadis amongst us, and they will quickly turn any mosque from House of Worship into a House of Conspiracy just as soon as we kaffirs leave them to their own devices -- gets proven on a near-daily basis; just look what these guys do, how absolutely stupid and/or crazy they are, and the lengths they're willing to go to do their worst. We have every right to know Who, What, Where, When, Why and How before anyone builds a mosque in this city.
Terrorists: Deadly Threat or Idiotic Donkey Boffers?
You make the call.
I keep telling you these people are monumentally-stupid, inbred, sexually-obsessed little perverts, but all I get is hate mail from the usual suspects (i.e. useful idiots) accusing me of the most naked racism.
And for the record, "Muslim" is not a race, Assholes.
I keep telling you these people are monumentally-stupid, inbred, sexually-obsessed little perverts, but all I get is hate mail from the usual suspects (i.e. useful idiots) accusing me of the most naked racism.
And for the record, "Muslim" is not a race, Assholes.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
The Things You Notice...
This Sunday morning past, I had occasion to walk past Moravian Cemetery here on Staten Island. When I was a kid growing up in New Dorp, the cemetery was where we used to "hang out" and get up to all sorts of mischief, because in those days, the cemetery was a relatively isolated place, far from witnesses, and with easy access to the wooded parts of Todt and Lighthouse Hills, the perfect place to escape when caught.
Now that I'm older and conscious of my mortality, I've come to the realization that the cemetery is a beautiful place. Despite the headstones and mausoleums (if you're a fan of such things, take a stroll through the cemetery and count just how many prominent and famous people are buried here -- it will amaze you -- and the Cemetery actually offers a tour of the grounds to the public) the grounds of Moravian Cemetery are more like a garden, or a public park. Sometimes, you can forget that you are on sacred ground, and if you're not careful, you can imagine yourself having been transported back in time, like you might be wandering the private reserve of some European Monarch.
It will sound very strange to you, but to my mind, this cemetery is simply gorgeous. The landscaping is meticulous. The flora is wonderful. If you have to spend Eternity somewhere, I can think of few better places. It's almost like the Elysian fields. The people who maintain Moravian Cemetery obviously consider it a labor of love.
Anyways, there I was, walking down Richmond Road past the cemetery, and I had just happened to look through the fence for a second, when I saw it. There, on a tombstone, a date which sticks so vividly in our memories like a piece of jagged glass:
September 11th, 2001.
And then you notice something else; the next three headstones have the same date carved on them. You walk a little further, and there's two more. Further still, and there's another five.
I have no idea how many victims of September 11th are buried in Moravian Cemetery, and frankly, I don't really want to know. Nine years on it still hurts, sometimes, especially when it's so vividly still before you, carved into polished granite. Two-hundred and seventy one Staten Islanders lost that day.
It gets you to thinking about a lot of things. The first thought is that I should feel like a gigantic shitheel; we teens used to hop the fence into the cemetery to smoke cigarettes and drink beer far from prying eyes, which now seems like a thoughtless and unforgivable sacrilege. Of course, this is soon followed by a sense of certainty: one day, this will be you, buried beneath the earth, with one of those shiny stones to mark your final location.
I'm sorry that I was such a beastly swine as teenager, and that so much of my childhood stupidity took place in such an inappropriate place.
I'm going to be buried here, if they'll let me. I'd like to buy a plot, close to the ancestral home (well, ancestral since 1980, anyway), right in the middle of the New Dorp that I love so much. And perhaps, one day, someone else will be walking along Richmond Road, glance through the fence, and see my stone, which will probably read "Here lies The Lunatic -- don't you dare leave your beer bottles here..."
(Really, click through the cemetery's website, and just take a gander at how awesomely beautiful it, and Staten Island, really is).
Now that I'm older and conscious of my mortality, I've come to the realization that the cemetery is a beautiful place. Despite the headstones and mausoleums (if you're a fan of such things, take a stroll through the cemetery and count just how many prominent and famous people are buried here -- it will amaze you -- and the Cemetery actually offers a tour of the grounds to the public) the grounds of Moravian Cemetery are more like a garden, or a public park. Sometimes, you can forget that you are on sacred ground, and if you're not careful, you can imagine yourself having been transported back in time, like you might be wandering the private reserve of some European Monarch.
It will sound very strange to you, but to my mind, this cemetery is simply gorgeous. The landscaping is meticulous. The flora is wonderful. If you have to spend Eternity somewhere, I can think of few better places. It's almost like the Elysian fields. The people who maintain Moravian Cemetery obviously consider it a labor of love.
Anyways, there I was, walking down Richmond Road past the cemetery, and I had just happened to look through the fence for a second, when I saw it. There, on a tombstone, a date which sticks so vividly in our memories like a piece of jagged glass:
September 11th, 2001.
And then you notice something else; the next three headstones have the same date carved on them. You walk a little further, and there's two more. Further still, and there's another five.
I have no idea how many victims of September 11th are buried in Moravian Cemetery, and frankly, I don't really want to know. Nine years on it still hurts, sometimes, especially when it's so vividly still before you, carved into polished granite. Two-hundred and seventy one Staten Islanders lost that day.
It gets you to thinking about a lot of things. The first thought is that I should feel like a gigantic shitheel; we teens used to hop the fence into the cemetery to smoke cigarettes and drink beer far from prying eyes, which now seems like a thoughtless and unforgivable sacrilege. Of course, this is soon followed by a sense of certainty: one day, this will be you, buried beneath the earth, with one of those shiny stones to mark your final location.
I'm sorry that I was such a beastly swine as teenager, and that so much of my childhood stupidity took place in such an inappropriate place.
I'm going to be buried here, if they'll let me. I'd like to buy a plot, close to the ancestral home (well, ancestral since 1980, anyway), right in the middle of the New Dorp that I love so much. And perhaps, one day, someone else will be walking along Richmond Road, glance through the fence, and see my stone, which will probably read "Here lies The Lunatic -- don't you dare leave your beer bottles here..."
(Really, click through the cemetery's website, and just take a gander at how awesomely beautiful it, and Staten Island, really is).
This Just In: Democrats Hate Everyone...
This came up the other day, but I've had little time to post in the past two weeks. It is a must read!
They Hate Our Guts by P.J. O' Rourke.
Read it before you go and kick your local Democrap out of office next Tuesday.
They Hate Our Guts by P.J. O' Rourke.
Read it before you go and kick your local Democrap out of office next Tuesday.
And The Cab Stank?
Muslim douchebag demands $120 for cab ride.
I can promise you this; that cab already smelled horrible because someone named Nahidul Islam was in it. A kid puking in the backseat could hardly make it any worse.
You can't make this shit up.
And nice picture, douchebag. One can almost see the rancid aroma that must cling to you like a cheap burkha in a spring shower...speaking of showers, when was the last time you took one, you fucktard? I can see the oily skin and hair in that photo so clearly it makes me want to puke. You are so greasy that your hair is matted to the top of your head. It wouldn't surprise me if you were one of those Islamic jerks who washes his hands and feet five times a day before praying, but leaves the rest of your body to stew in it's own odors until your weekly hose-down.
(Yeah, I've known a few of those. Had to once pull one into my office and explain the basics of hygiene to him after the rest of my staff refused to work in the same room with him any longer).
Believe me, that kid did you a favor! I don't care what he could have eaten, a nice, steaming pile of thick, chunky puke on a New York City cab floor is often a positive improvement over what's typically found there. Some child's half-digested burrito-and-cotton-candy stomach ejacula is far preferable to the smell of Pakistani. Or Afghan, Syrian, Palestinian, Saudi or Moroccan, for that matter.
There are few things on planet Earth that smell worse than people like Mr. Islam. I'm certain he knows this, too. He just saw an opportunity to be an asshole and pry some more money out of an embarrassed woman with a sick kid in tow. I'm sure Mr. Douchebag...err..I mean, Mr. Islam, can probably point to some verse of the Koran that covers the right to be an asshole when someone upchucks on your camel, or some shit, and now that he's been publicly "humiliated" (whenever a Muslim's misdeeds are exposed to public view it's a "humiliation"to them, never the dickhead's just reward) expect to see him back in the papers within a week...with a lawyer in tow...to torment that family further.
All the public attention, you see, will ruin his life. In three days, he'll be suffering from extreme mental distress (usually, it's just called "Islam"), and within a week, he'll be deprived of his ability to earn a living because of the Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder he acquired when the Post published his picture, and because no cab company will hire a complete asshole who's so obviously filthy. Maybe he has a future in New York State Politics, but his career as a cab driver is now utterly ruined. And some court in this state would probably take this case in a heartbeat because our judges are dumber than dogshit and infected with a pernicious brand of Political Correctness.
I especially loved this part:
Islam told The Post that Cuthbert merely pushed the mess around and that it would cost $120 to pay a crew of "Mexican cleaners" in Queens who specialize in removing vomit from taxis.
Just doing the jobs Americans won't do, I gather? Yep, when I have a vomit problem I start looking for Mexicans, too. Best in the business, I hear. I had absolutely no idea such a service existed...and that Mexicans excelled at it.
It's all too much: Stinky Islamic cab drivers who don't realize how badly they smell, trying to extort money from a mother with a sick child? Mexican Puke Experts that apparently have an exclusively Islamic cab driver clientele? What happened to the good old days in New York when people only came in three varieties -- White, Black, and Puerto Rican -- and there was no Islamic nutjobs terrorizing nervous mothers, or Central American Vomit Experts, all of whom are probably illegal if they're catering to Islamic hacks? This is New York City -- the United States? -- in 2010?
The Melting Pot has boiled over, I think.
If it were up to me, Mr.Islam would be in jail for attempted extortion (but no -- in 21st century America, only Italians ever get charged with extortion, instead of Al Sharpton, CAIR, or the Democratic Party) , and after he'd spent his sentence turning big rocks into little rocks with a rubber sledgehammer, I'd ship his greasy, stinky ass back to whatever shithole he originally crawled out of.
Yet one more example of the new New Yorkistan.
I can promise you this; that cab already smelled horrible because someone named Nahidul Islam was in it. A kid puking in the backseat could hardly make it any worse.
You can't make this shit up.
And nice picture, douchebag. One can almost see the rancid aroma that must cling to you like a cheap burkha in a spring shower...speaking of showers, when was the last time you took one, you fucktard? I can see the oily skin and hair in that photo so clearly it makes me want to puke. You are so greasy that your hair is matted to the top of your head. It wouldn't surprise me if you were one of those Islamic jerks who washes his hands and feet five times a day before praying, but leaves the rest of your body to stew in it's own odors until your weekly hose-down.
(Yeah, I've known a few of those. Had to once pull one into my office and explain the basics of hygiene to him after the rest of my staff refused to work in the same room with him any longer).
Believe me, that kid did you a favor! I don't care what he could have eaten, a nice, steaming pile of thick, chunky puke on a New York City cab floor is often a positive improvement over what's typically found there. Some child's half-digested burrito-and-cotton-candy stomach ejacula is far preferable to the smell of Pakistani. Or Afghan, Syrian, Palestinian, Saudi or Moroccan, for that matter.
There are few things on planet Earth that smell worse than people like Mr. Islam. I'm certain he knows this, too. He just saw an opportunity to be an asshole and pry some more money out of an embarrassed woman with a sick kid in tow. I'm sure Mr. Douchebag...err..I mean, Mr. Islam, can probably point to some verse of the Koran that covers the right to be an asshole when someone upchucks on your camel, or some shit, and now that he's been publicly "humiliated" (whenever a Muslim's misdeeds are exposed to public view it's a "humiliation"to them, never the dickhead's just reward) expect to see him back in the papers within a week...with a lawyer in tow...to torment that family further.
All the public attention, you see, will ruin his life. In three days, he'll be suffering from extreme mental distress (usually, it's just called "Islam"), and within a week, he'll be deprived of his ability to earn a living because of the Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder he acquired when the Post published his picture, and because no cab company will hire a complete asshole who's so obviously filthy. Maybe he has a future in New York State Politics, but his career as a cab driver is now utterly ruined. And some court in this state would probably take this case in a heartbeat because our judges are dumber than dogshit and infected with a pernicious brand of Political Correctness.
I especially loved this part:
Islam told The Post that Cuthbert merely pushed the mess around and that it would cost $120 to pay a crew of "Mexican cleaners" in Queens who specialize in removing vomit from taxis.
Just doing the jobs Americans won't do, I gather? Yep, when I have a vomit problem I start looking for Mexicans, too. Best in the business, I hear. I had absolutely no idea such a service existed...and that Mexicans excelled at it.
It's all too much: Stinky Islamic cab drivers who don't realize how badly they smell, trying to extort money from a mother with a sick child? Mexican Puke Experts that apparently have an exclusively Islamic cab driver clientele? What happened to the good old days in New York when people only came in three varieties -- White, Black, and Puerto Rican -- and there was no Islamic nutjobs terrorizing nervous mothers, or Central American Vomit Experts, all of whom are probably illegal if they're catering to Islamic hacks? This is New York City -- the United States? -- in 2010?
The Melting Pot has boiled over, I think.
If it were up to me, Mr.Islam would be in jail for attempted extortion (but no -- in 21st century America, only Italians ever get charged with extortion, instead of Al Sharpton, CAIR, or the Democratic Party) , and after he'd spent his sentence turning big rocks into little rocks with a rubber sledgehammer, I'd ship his greasy, stinky ass back to whatever shithole he originally crawled out of.
Yet one more example of the new New Yorkistan.
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