Friday, June 17, 2011
If the Punishment Truly Fit the Crime…
...then these douchebags would have their heads crushed by a truckload of cinderblocks.
Pennsylvania man crushes newborn's head with a cinderblock.
I can't tell you what I would like to see done to these assholes; it might possibly get me arrested for merely describing it in all it's grisly detail. People like this make me want to rethink my position on Abortion
...at least Retroactive Abortion, anyway.
Children are innocent; only their parents are evil, and these two losers are the very embodiment of evil -- a 20-year-old skinhead degenerate, and a 28-year-old-baby-making-machine who can't keep her knees in the same zip code at least one day out of every nine months. This woman was having so many babies they were dropping out onto the kitchen floor like raindrops upon a tin roof, to read the story.
This doofus killed his child because he couldn't afford to feed it. The so-called Mother let him do it. They deserve to burn at the stake.
We live in a a country where Abortion on Demand (unfortunately) is readily available. We live in a country where it is possible to leave an unwanted child at a hospital, fire station, or orphanage, no questions asked. We live in a society where multiple birth control methods are available to anyone who wants them. Fuck, you can even buy them at the check out counter in some supermarkets. If you don't want to get pregnant, stay pregnant, or keep the baby, you have options.
This mated pair of douchebags instead chose murder.
I stop and think about how many people I personally know who can't have children of their own who would have plucked their own eyes out or paid any price, to have the opportunity to take this child home and call it their own. This didn't need to happen, except for the stupidity, selfishness, and craveness, of some depraved trailer trash.
The Death Penalty hardly suffices in this case. I want these two to suffer, publicly. Flogging, branding, the iron maiden, drawing and quartering, I don't give a shit, just don't keep these two alive in a prison somewhere. That ain't justice.
Rest in Peace, Little One. Your Life on this sorry rock was all-too-short, but considering who and what your parents are, you are, perhaps, the luckiest child in America, in a some sad fashion; You won't have to suffer anything else at the hands of these two murdering cretins; your five siblings, however, are going to have to find a way to live with what their parents have done.
Pennsylvania man crushes newborn's head with a cinderblock.
I can't tell you what I would like to see done to these assholes; it might possibly get me arrested for merely describing it in all it's grisly detail. People like this make me want to rethink my position on Abortion
...at least Retroactive Abortion, anyway.
Children are innocent; only their parents are evil, and these two losers are the very embodiment of evil -- a 20-year-old skinhead degenerate, and a 28-year-old-baby-making-machine who can't keep her knees in the same zip code at least one day out of every nine months. This woman was having so many babies they were dropping out onto the kitchen floor like raindrops upon a tin roof, to read the story.
This doofus killed his child because he couldn't afford to feed it. The so-called Mother let him do it. They deserve to burn at the stake.
We live in a a country where Abortion on Demand (unfortunately) is readily available. We live in a country where it is possible to leave an unwanted child at a hospital, fire station, or orphanage, no questions asked. We live in a society where multiple birth control methods are available to anyone who wants them. Fuck, you can even buy them at the check out counter in some supermarkets. If you don't want to get pregnant, stay pregnant, or keep the baby, you have options.
This mated pair of douchebags instead chose murder.
I stop and think about how many people I personally know who can't have children of their own who would have plucked their own eyes out or paid any price, to have the opportunity to take this child home and call it their own. This didn't need to happen, except for the stupidity, selfishness, and craveness, of some depraved trailer trash.
The Death Penalty hardly suffices in this case. I want these two to suffer, publicly. Flogging, branding, the iron maiden, drawing and quartering, I don't give a shit, just don't keep these two alive in a prison somewhere. That ain't justice.
Rest in Peace, Little One. Your Life on this sorry rock was all-too-short, but considering who and what your parents are, you are, perhaps, the luckiest child in America, in a some sad fashion; You won't have to suffer anything else at the hands of these two murdering cretins; your five siblings, however, are going to have to find a way to live with what their parents have done.
Why Do We Want More of These People Here, Again?
Oh, right....so that they can vote democrat, justify the existence of the Welfare State, and destroy the Middle Class by undercutting wages, and undermine the foundation of civility we have in this country, so as to make increased government interference in our lives necessary.
Mexican Drug Gangs force captives to fight to the death in gladiatorial combat.
Note the source of this report: a British Newspaper. This would never appear in an American newspaper, where the left-wing bias is so evident it practically jumps off the front page and smacks you in the face.
If this is what 'diversity' brings us, then fuck diversity. Keep these people on their side of the fucking fence, already.
'Mexican' is the new 'Jihadi'. Animals.
Mexican Drug Gangs force captives to fight to the death in gladiatorial combat.
Note the source of this report: a British Newspaper. This would never appear in an American newspaper, where the left-wing bias is so evident it practically jumps off the front page and smacks you in the face.
If this is what 'diversity' brings us, then fuck diversity. Keep these people on their side of the fucking fence, already.
'Mexican' is the new 'Jihadi'. Animals.
Monday, June 13, 2011
A Trip Through My Mailbox, Part V...
And then we come to this lovely bit of stupidity, courtesy of someone named Alyssa, in reference to this weekend’s assertion that Flo the Progressive Insurance Girl is the sexiest woman in all of America.
Alyssa writes:
“…I find it strange that you should ideolize (sic) such an old-fashioned notion of American Womanhood. Flo might be an independent woman at first blush, but the subtext of Flo’s character is that she’s still the patriarchy’s ideal vision of the stay-at-home wife and mother, and this is because of how she looks…Admit it, you love Flo because she her retro look reinforces your negative and outdated notions of masculinity…”
Alyssa has probably just finished her freshman year at one of our finest Community Colleges, and took Gender Studies as an elective course. The rest of the screed made just as little sense, too, and one gets the impression that young Alyssa did, indeed, pass this course by simply re-puking Professor Pantybunches’ pablum.A friendly word of advice to you, Alyssa, just in case you ever return: I sincerely hope, for your sake, Sunshine, that you learn to make biscuits, and have great big hooters and practice your oral sex technique often, because if left to your own devices one gets the distinct impression that you would most certainly starve to death – regardless of whatever degree you manage to scrape up in that school of yours -- without a husband to support you.
If you ever wanted to know why it is that Men find the ‘retro subtexts’ of Flo so attractive, maybe it’s because we can’t stand being lectured to by women who use the word ‘patriarchy’, and who are clueless enough as to deign to attempt to explain 'masculinity' to us in a condescending manner. And by the way, learn to spell “idealize”. Don’t you have a spell-checker on that computer?
A Trip Through My Mailbox, Part IV…
Okay, it is now time to go over some reader mail, which I haven’t done for some time recently, mostly because there’s been such a paucity of such. I like to do this from time to time, if only because it is my (self-appointed) task to let the seven or eight of you who read this regularly to know just what sort of knuckle-dragging, gap-toothed moron has been given access to a computer in these here United States.
We start with an oldie-but-goodie. Someone named MomAgainAtXX (the 'XX' is to keep you from knowing her age, or trying to look her up) has just found this classic blog entry, and is quite disturbed by it (I can't believe people are still responding to this, but the New York Times keeps directing them here!).
She wants to know how my mother is doing, and is concerned that the woman is in danger if left alone with me, because I seem to have it out for her. To which I might reply, "Mind your own business, bitch!”, but for those who might be genuinely interested, here it goes:
The Old Warhorse is six months past her knee replacement surgery. She has lost somewhere in the neighborhood of 40 pounds, because I feed her properly. Her brilliant Surgeon at NYU Hospital for Joint Diseases has recommended that she cease the twice-weekly physical therapy because she has made tremendous and better-than-expected progress. Mom is certainly more mobile and pain-free these days, but no less annoying.
Now that we’ve corrected the problem with a bum knee, it’s time to move onto that abrasive and annoying personality of hers. I’m seriously contemplating suing the therapist she’s been seeing for the past 25 years, because if anything, my Mother is an even bigger Lunatic than I am. She is either the most persistent OCD/Anxiety Complex/Narcissist/Clinical Depression case in the annals of medical history, or someone has just been taking the piss out of her and not caring whether these complexes ever get fixed or addressed. The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle.
And no, MomAgainAtXX, I haven’t shot her, but I should have…years ago. I would have saved myself the aggravation of last night’s -- twice weekly -- encounter:
Mother: (puffing mightily, as if having just completed a marathon, after ascending the 14 steps to enter the house. The point is that I’m supposed to feel sympathy, as if the trek was a trial upon her surgically-repaired-and-better-than-ever knee. She stands at the door, apparently trying to get my attention, sighing and making guttural noises).
Me: (Not paying her any mind, watching TV, because I KNOW WHAT’S ABOUT TO COME OUT OF HER CAKEHOLE…)
Mother: You’re not putting the garbage out?
(I'm About to throw something in her direction because the garbage collectors won’t be here for another 14 hours and this is the second time today I’ve been reminded that garbage has to go out, despite the fact that I put it out every Goddamned Sunday. She’s obsessed with garbage and appearances, as this is the only house on the block that hasn’t put it’s garbage pails out 14 hours before the truck arrives and this greatly bothers her, playing upon all her exigent neuroses:
The garbage needs to go out, but she’s not going to do it because that might require an effort. The longer it sits in the pails, the more upset she becomes, and the fact that the garbage has not been put out WILL keep her awake all night. And because we’re the only house on the block that hasn’t put its garbage out a day early, it gives the appearance that there must be something wrong with us: we’ve bucked the trend, failed to follow the herd, we’ve fucked up the neighborhood symmetry, whatever.
Just know that I hear about garbage at least four times a day, and in an imperative tone that implies Galactic Doom should it not be ready 12 hours in advance of pickup. The Earth might fall off it's axis if the recycleables are not thrown out in a clear plastic bag, like the Sanitation Regs require, or if the trash cans have crud stuck to them, as this is an embarassing example of lack of attention to appearances. Welcome to My Hell).
Again with the garbage? Get a hobby, please?
(Mother exits, Stage Right).
Here’s the kicker, MomAgainAtXX: thanks to changes in the Social Security rules, I’m stuck with this maniac for another year as she can’t support herself -- this will be the SECOND TIME my mother will be relying upon me as her source of support -- and when her disability insurance runs out this summer she won’t be eligible for Social Security, being only 66 years of age this August. Check back with me in another year to see if she’s still alive then.
And keep your tut-tutting to yourself. I don't particularly care what you think. If I were a terrible son, I would have kicked this albatross around my neck to the curb long ago. She's more trouble than she's worth.
We start with an oldie-but-goodie. Someone named MomAgainAtXX (the 'XX' is to keep you from knowing her age, or trying to look her up) has just found this classic blog entry, and is quite disturbed by it (I can't believe people are still responding to this, but the New York Times keeps directing them here!).
She wants to know how my mother is doing, and is concerned that the woman is in danger if left alone with me, because I seem to have it out for her. To which I might reply, "Mind your own business, bitch!”, but for those who might be genuinely interested, here it goes:
The Old Warhorse is six months past her knee replacement surgery. She has lost somewhere in the neighborhood of 40 pounds, because I feed her properly. Her brilliant Surgeon at NYU Hospital for Joint Diseases has recommended that she cease the twice-weekly physical therapy because she has made tremendous and better-than-expected progress. Mom is certainly more mobile and pain-free these days, but no less annoying.
Now that we’ve corrected the problem with a bum knee, it’s time to move onto that abrasive and annoying personality of hers. I’m seriously contemplating suing the therapist she’s been seeing for the past 25 years, because if anything, my Mother is an even bigger Lunatic than I am. She is either the most persistent OCD/Anxiety Complex/Narcissist/Clinical Depression case in the annals of medical history, or someone has just been taking the piss out of her and not caring whether these complexes ever get fixed or addressed. The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle.
And no, MomAgainAtXX, I haven’t shot her, but I should have…years ago. I would have saved myself the aggravation of last night’s -- twice weekly -- encounter:
Mother: (puffing mightily, as if having just completed a marathon, after ascending the 14 steps to enter the house. The point is that I’m supposed to feel sympathy, as if the trek was a trial upon her surgically-repaired-and-better-than-ever knee. She stands at the door, apparently trying to get my attention, sighing and making guttural noises).
Me: (Not paying her any mind, watching TV, because I KNOW WHAT’S ABOUT TO COME OUT OF HER CAKEHOLE…)
Mother: You’re not putting the garbage out?
(I'm About to throw something in her direction because the garbage collectors won’t be here for another 14 hours and this is the second time today I’ve been reminded that garbage has to go out, despite the fact that I put it out every Goddamned Sunday. She’s obsessed with garbage and appearances, as this is the only house on the block that hasn’t put it’s garbage pails out 14 hours before the truck arrives and this greatly bothers her, playing upon all her exigent neuroses:
The garbage needs to go out, but she’s not going to do it because that might require an effort. The longer it sits in the pails, the more upset she becomes, and the fact that the garbage has not been put out WILL keep her awake all night. And because we’re the only house on the block that hasn’t put its garbage out a day early, it gives the appearance that there must be something wrong with us: we’ve bucked the trend, failed to follow the herd, we’ve fucked up the neighborhood symmetry, whatever.
Just know that I hear about garbage at least four times a day, and in an imperative tone that implies Galactic Doom should it not be ready 12 hours in advance of pickup. The Earth might fall off it's axis if the recycleables are not thrown out in a clear plastic bag, like the Sanitation Regs require, or if the trash cans have crud stuck to them, as this is an embarassing example of lack of attention to appearances. Welcome to My Hell).
Again with the garbage? Get a hobby, please?
(Mother exits, Stage Right).
Here’s the kicker, MomAgainAtXX: thanks to changes in the Social Security rules, I’m stuck with this maniac for another year as she can’t support herself -- this will be the SECOND TIME my mother will be relying upon me as her source of support -- and when her disability insurance runs out this summer she won’t be eligible for Social Security, being only 66 years of age this August. Check back with me in another year to see if she’s still alive then.
And keep your tut-tutting to yourself. I don't particularly care what you think. If I were a terrible son, I would have kicked this albatross around my neck to the curb long ago. She's more trouble than she's worth.
Sorry, But Leslie Marshall Did Not Leave Her Tits Here...
This is to the anonymous doofus who keeps typing “Leslie Marshall Tits” into a search engine…every day for the last ten days, by the look of it…and somehow, keeps arriving at this blog, only to be disappointed:
a. Give it up, already. I too would like to see Leslie Marshall’s knockers, but alas, she’s yet to accidentally-on-purpose hit me up with a Twitter sext, and I doubt that's ever going to happen.
b. You will not find Leslie Marshall’s hooters here. I have no pictures of them, and I have never even made as much as a passing reference to Leslie Marshall’s Bra Buddies on this blog in the last seven-plus years…until now. If, by some strange chance, I ever did manage to acquire a photograph of Leslie's cans, you'll be the first to know (even before Brietbart), and then you can Grease the Pelican all you want to it, promise.
c. You would think that after being directed here at least 10 times, and upon arrival, finding absolutely no evidence of Leslie Marshall’s Rib Balloons, you might give up this Quixotic quest of yours and find something more worthwhile to do with your time…like maybe take up a search for Maureen Dowd’s snatch(apparently no one else has found that in about 25 years or so, to judge from her demeanor).
d. By the way, I happen to know that you’re the same dude who’s been searching here for ‘S.E. Cupp in a bikini”. Dude, I admire your taste in ladies, but really, how many times does it take until the message gets through? You’re not going to find what you’re looking for here.
e. Get some fucking help, you degenerate. One might get the idea that you're masturbating to the entire FoxNews female contributor line up.
Oh, and while we're on the topic of degenerates; it seems my peeps in the Middle East are back again in force, because the top search terms that led you to this blog this past month are “Pakistani Ass Sex”, and our perennial favorites 'Donkey Sexe’ or 'Donkeye Rape' (those are not typos: it’s how our masturbating bestiality aficionados in the Middle East manage to spoof the Islamic internet filters. And these people built nuclear weapons?).
Now, I’ve remarked on this phenomenon before, but what’s really disturbing is that it has persisted for over a year now. There’s an awful lot of horny Pakis out there, huh? What’s the matter bub? I know; it gets bitterly cold and lonely in those caves up in the Northwest Territories, or maybe it’s become unbearably hot and sticky in your cell at Gitmo, and you’re just up for a shag – but not the usual kind, because your five wives haven’t, as Howard Stern used to say “Shaved That Thang” since Allah was in knee socks – and maybe release has become problematic without all those turn-on barnyard sounds, or maybe you and the boys in Sana’a have simply worn out the local goats, but you won’t find donkey rape videos here, either.
If there’s anything more disgusting than the thought of Muslims, then its Muslims looking to rub one out over one of those shows you see in Tijuana on Spring Break. Note to Rep. Peter King: next time you hold hearings on the causes of terrorism and ‘radicalization’, you might want to line up a panel of psychiatrists to explain the Muslim penchant for sick sexual fetishes that involve animals.
You people are sick, you know that?
a. Give it up, already. I too would like to see Leslie Marshall’s knockers, but alas, she’s yet to accidentally-on-purpose hit me up with a Twitter sext, and I doubt that's ever going to happen.
b. You will not find Leslie Marshall’s hooters here. I have no pictures of them, and I have never even made as much as a passing reference to Leslie Marshall’s Bra Buddies on this blog in the last seven-plus years…until now. If, by some strange chance, I ever did manage to acquire a photograph of Leslie's cans, you'll be the first to know (even before Brietbart), and then you can Grease the Pelican all you want to it, promise.
c. You would think that after being directed here at least 10 times, and upon arrival, finding absolutely no evidence of Leslie Marshall’s Rib Balloons, you might give up this Quixotic quest of yours and find something more worthwhile to do with your time…like maybe take up a search for Maureen Dowd’s snatch(apparently no one else has found that in about 25 years or so, to judge from her demeanor).
d. By the way, I happen to know that you’re the same dude who’s been searching here for ‘S.E. Cupp in a bikini”. Dude, I admire your taste in ladies, but really, how many times does it take until the message gets through? You’re not going to find what you’re looking for here.
e. Get some fucking help, you degenerate. One might get the idea that you're masturbating to the entire FoxNews female contributor line up.
Oh, and while we're on the topic of degenerates; it seems my peeps in the Middle East are back again in force, because the top search terms that led you to this blog this past month are “Pakistani Ass Sex”, and our perennial favorites 'Donkey Sexe’ or 'Donkeye Rape' (those are not typos: it’s how our masturbating bestiality aficionados in the Middle East manage to spoof the Islamic internet filters. And these people built nuclear weapons?).
Now, I’ve remarked on this phenomenon before, but what’s really disturbing is that it has persisted for over a year now. There’s an awful lot of horny Pakis out there, huh? What’s the matter bub? I know; it gets bitterly cold and lonely in those caves up in the Northwest Territories, or maybe it’s become unbearably hot and sticky in your cell at Gitmo, and you’re just up for a shag – but not the usual kind, because your five wives haven’t, as Howard Stern used to say “Shaved That Thang” since Allah was in knee socks – and maybe release has become problematic without all those turn-on barnyard sounds, or maybe you and the boys in Sana’a have simply worn out the local goats, but you won’t find donkey rape videos here, either.
If there’s anything more disgusting than the thought of Muslims, then its Muslims looking to rub one out over one of those shows you see in Tijuana on Spring Break. Note to Rep. Peter King: next time you hold hearings on the causes of terrorism and ‘radicalization’, you might want to line up a panel of psychiatrists to explain the Muslim penchant for sick sexual fetishes that involve animals.
You people are sick, you know that?
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