My, just how fickle Maureen Dowd can be! Then again, that's the stock-in-trade of the disappointed Feminazi.
Maureen Dowd finally realizes that Barack Obama is a Monumental Disphit.
Now, if you've lost MoDo, it's only a matter of time before the other rats at the New York Times (that means you Tom "I lost on Jeopardy!" Friedman, and you Paul "Never Met a Communist I Wouldn't Tongue Kiss" Krugman) start leaving the Obama Titanic Team, although I'm perfectly certain they all have already penned elegant, and convoluted in a way that only makes sense to another Libtard, exit opus to cover their behinds.
I'll bet they've had those sitting in the filing cabinet since about, oh...January 20th, 2009.
Showing posts with label New York Times. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York Times. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 05, 2012
Thursday, May 24, 2012
"Power Players", Indeed...
I don't know how many of you watch Jeopardy on television, nowadays, but if you do, then you were treated to the spectacle of Jeopardy Power Players Week last week, where the people who are helping to shape public opinion and policy were featured.
And now I know exactly why we're in such dire straits as a country and a culture;You couldn't have found a bigger collection of dunces if you were trying.
If these were the prime examples of the so-called Washington "Power Players", then I'm a German Shepherd.
And now I know exactly why we're in such dire straits as a country and a culture;You couldn't have found a bigger collection of dunces if you were trying.
If these were the prime examples of the so-called Washington "Power Players", then I'm a German Shepherd.
Thursday, March 03, 2011
Iowahawk Gets All Serious an' Stuff...
And it initially frightened me. I got that feeling of impending doom that I used to get when Bill Bixby was about to turn into that Lou Ferigno guy, only with a really bad skin condition and better vocabulary.
But I gotta say this: the man knows him some math, and considering that the target of his ire was one Paul Krugman, the New York Times Village Idiot, I still got me a chuckle out of it.
Krugman, in disguise as a serious opinion journalist, tried to pass on a piece of democratic party/teacher's union douchebaggery that was supposed to pass as a reason why unionized schools in Wisconsin were better than in most places, and the implication is that the knuckle-dragging doofuses simmering on near-riot in Madison are justified in the defense of their inflated, taxpayer-supplied paychecks and benefit plans.
But Good Ol' Iowahawk takes that tired old meme apart at the seams. You have to read it. It's a must read for anyone who is a fan of facts. Something Krugman seems almost allergic to.
While I'm at it, I will repeat something I've said about Paul Krugman for years;
If you put Paul Krugman's brain in a bird, it would fly backwards, and eventually, up it's own ass.
It is my opinion that Paul Krugman is little more than a paid, professional liar. I have come to this conclusion after spending many a year trying to decide if it's really possible for someone to be this dumb, this willfully blind, so consistently wrong on just about every subject upon which he feels compelled to put pen to paper, disdainful of facts or logic, without there being an underlying medical or genetic defect. So far as anyone knows, there has never been a Paul Krugman Telethon, so I must conclude that Krugman doesn't actually believe anything he writes. Therefore, the only reason to write it is either that he's just an awfully evil man, or there's just really good money in lying.
But I gotta say this: the man knows him some math, and considering that the target of his ire was one Paul Krugman, the New York Times Village Idiot, I still got me a chuckle out of it.
Krugman, in disguise as a serious opinion journalist, tried to pass on a piece of democratic party/teacher's union douchebaggery that was supposed to pass as a reason why unionized schools in Wisconsin were better than in most places, and the implication is that the knuckle-dragging doofuses simmering on near-riot in Madison are justified in the defense of their inflated, taxpayer-supplied paychecks and benefit plans.
But Good Ol' Iowahawk takes that tired old meme apart at the seams. You have to read it. It's a must read for anyone who is a fan of facts. Something Krugman seems almost allergic to.
While I'm at it, I will repeat something I've said about Paul Krugman for years;
If you put Paul Krugman's brain in a bird, it would fly backwards, and eventually, up it's own ass.
It is my opinion that Paul Krugman is little more than a paid, professional liar. I have come to this conclusion after spending many a year trying to decide if it's really possible for someone to be this dumb, this willfully blind, so consistently wrong on just about every subject upon which he feels compelled to put pen to paper, disdainful of facts or logic, without there being an underlying medical or genetic defect. So far as anyone knows, there has never been a Paul Krugman Telethon, so I must conclude that Krugman doesn't actually believe anything he writes. Therefore, the only reason to write it is either that he's just an awfully evil man, or there's just really good money in lying.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Foreign WMD's Found in America!
Maybe. There's a lot of hemming and hawing, and the word "maybe" is being thrown about an awful lot. Either the man is telling the truth, or the population is being subjected to a psychological exercise that will probably result in greater government control of everything from the production and distribution of toilet paper, to how many times and in what fashion, you may clench and unclench your sphincter when you hear the phrase "Weapon of Mass Destruction".
And since when did they become "Weapons of Mass Effect"? Is that part of the program wherein "Terrorism" became "Man-Caused Disaster"?
If this story is true, I wonder who the Obama Administration plans to sue in the event of a Man-Caused Disaster created by a Weapon of Mass Effect? Because that's pretty much all they're good for.
I'd also like to know (but I'm afraid I already know the answer to this question) why I have to read about shit like this in a British Newspaper, and not, say, the New York Times? Why doesn't Katie Couric lead with this on tonight's newscast? Where was the "in-depth" investigatory piece by Newsweek or Time?
Oh, right. Can't blame a conservative for it, and anything which might cast multiculturalism in a negative light is to be assiduously avoided. Like the Clap.
So-called journalists in this country wonder why it is that the network news and the daily newspaper are dying breeds? I can promise you this; after something went BOOM! in downtown Los Angeles or Chicago, those same "journalists" would be rushing to get crap to print or on the air in order to "inform" you, and the amount of information and the number of "experts" they would have lined up to fill you in on the why's and wherefore's would be astounding -- and indicative of just how much the Press knew before the event, but sat on for weeks and months so as to not embarrass President Marriot-Suites...and her husband, too...or withheld so as to not "give offense" to specific minority groups with a penchant for beheading and for kneeling to a black rock in an otherwise-empty desert.
Multiculturalism gets people killed. Political Correctness gets people killed. Pumped-up bubbleheads who who couldn't find their own asses with both hands and a flashlight making poorly-informed and personally-biased decisions about what is news, what is acceptable, what is politically expedient, what viewpoints are valid -- under the banner of Journalism -- are going to get people killed.
And since when did they become "Weapons of Mass Effect"? Is that part of the program wherein "Terrorism" became "Man-Caused Disaster"?
If this story is true, I wonder who the Obama Administration plans to sue in the event of a Man-Caused Disaster created by a Weapon of Mass Effect? Because that's pretty much all they're good for.
I'd also like to know (but I'm afraid I already know the answer to this question) why I have to read about shit like this in a British Newspaper, and not, say, the New York Times? Why doesn't Katie Couric lead with this on tonight's newscast? Where was the "in-depth" investigatory piece by Newsweek or Time?
Oh, right. Can't blame a conservative for it, and anything which might cast multiculturalism in a negative light is to be assiduously avoided. Like the Clap.
So-called journalists in this country wonder why it is that the network news and the daily newspaper are dying breeds? I can promise you this; after something went BOOM! in downtown Los Angeles or Chicago, those same "journalists" would be rushing to get crap to print or on the air in order to "inform" you, and the amount of information and the number of "experts" they would have lined up to fill you in on the why's and wherefore's would be astounding -- and indicative of just how much the Press knew before the event, but sat on for weeks and months so as to not embarrass President Marriot-Suites...and her husband, too...or withheld so as to not "give offense" to specific minority groups with a penchant for beheading and for kneeling to a black rock in an otherwise-empty desert.
Multiculturalism gets people killed. Political Correctness gets people killed. Pumped-up bubbleheads who who couldn't find their own asses with both hands and a flashlight making poorly-informed and personally-biased decisions about what is news, what is acceptable, what is politically expedient, what viewpoints are valid -- under the banner of Journalism -- are going to get people killed.
Monday, January 17, 2011
National Treasures...
Your weekly dose of Professor Hanson. Have some dignity and take it like a man. Really, it's good for you; consider it Bran Flakes for the Brain.
Resident Obama is like the proverbial leopard that changes it's spots. Actually, he's more like a chameleon who changes his colors to match his background, although a chameleon at least has the decency to claim an evolutionary -- rather than revolutionary -- reason for doing it.
I didn't watch much of Obama's vaunted "healing" speech this past week, if only because the first five minutes turned me off (really, raucous cheering and cheerleading at a memorial service?), and because I pretty much knew what Obama would say before it flowed out of the teleprompter. He's become that predictable and transparent. Reading the transcript later on, I figure I pegged about 80% of that speech's content in my head without ever having listened to it.
Besides, I don't do grief, especially the sort of over-the-top-made-for-television grief that becomes little more than a new slant on the Reality TV meme in the hands of network spinmeisters.
P.J. O'Rourke has always been one of my favorite writers, although I must admit, I liked him more when he was writing for National Lampoon. Still, you won't find very many who can make a point with this kind of humor and insight.
He makes the case that liberalism, and in particular, that great bastion and champion of liberalism, the New York Times, is on it's last legs (it must be: they interviewed me, after all). But why that wasn't evident already to anyone with the same mental capacity of your typical Irish Setter, is beyond me.
Any publication that would continue to pay Paul Krugman, Tom Friedman, Maureen Dowd and Frank Rich is, by definition, unserious and necessarily myopic in it's editorial views. It isn't so much that Paulie, Tommy, MoDo and Frankie are bad people as much as it is that their ideas and thought processes are so incredibly suspect.
Those ideas fail, incidentally, because they bear no resemblance, or have no relevance to, what we normal people call Real Life.
Because Frankie and Tommy, Paulie and MoMo have no conception of what life is actually like to those of us who don't get six-figure salaries to spout complete nonsense from Pinch, or attend the tony cocktail parties of the self-important-but-totally-irrelevant.
Resident Obama is like the proverbial leopard that changes it's spots. Actually, he's more like a chameleon who changes his colors to match his background, although a chameleon at least has the decency to claim an evolutionary -- rather than revolutionary -- reason for doing it.
I didn't watch much of Obama's vaunted "healing" speech this past week, if only because the first five minutes turned me off (really, raucous cheering and cheerleading at a memorial service?), and because I pretty much knew what Obama would say before it flowed out of the teleprompter. He's become that predictable and transparent. Reading the transcript later on, I figure I pegged about 80% of that speech's content in my head without ever having listened to it.
Besides, I don't do grief, especially the sort of over-the-top-made-for-television grief that becomes little more than a new slant on the Reality TV meme in the hands of network spinmeisters.
P.J. O'Rourke has always been one of my favorite writers, although I must admit, I liked him more when he was writing for National Lampoon. Still, you won't find very many who can make a point with this kind of humor and insight.
He makes the case that liberalism, and in particular, that great bastion and champion of liberalism, the New York Times, is on it's last legs (it must be: they interviewed me, after all). But why that wasn't evident already to anyone with the same mental capacity of your typical Irish Setter, is beyond me.
Any publication that would continue to pay Paul Krugman, Tom Friedman, Maureen Dowd and Frank Rich is, by definition, unserious and necessarily myopic in it's editorial views. It isn't so much that Paulie, Tommy, MoDo and Frankie are bad people as much as it is that their ideas and thought processes are so incredibly suspect.
Those ideas fail, incidentally, because they bear no resemblance, or have no relevance to, what we normal people call Real Life.
Because Frankie and Tommy, Paulie and MoMo have no conception of what life is actually like to those of us who don't get six-figure salaries to spout complete nonsense from Pinch, or attend the tony cocktail parties of the self-important-but-totally-irrelevant.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Barking Up The Wrong Tree...
A few weeks ago, I posted a rant about the trials and tribulations of caring for my mother after major surgery. By some trick of fate, that post became a cause celebre amongst a certain set, and the next thing you know, I'm being interviewed by the New York Times. The gist of the post was that my mother was a pest, and I was merely pointing out that professional caregivers probably do not get the accolades or respect they are due. Because if given the choice between setting myself on fire and having to care for a crazy woman with a martyr complex and an insatiable need for sympathy again, I'll be the guy in the street with the gas can and Zippo.
That post has brought me a lot of attention; not only have I gotten offers to write freelance humor pieces because of it, but I have somehow become the guru of choice for exasperated and desperate people who seem to think that I'm some kind of authority on how to take care of difficult parents. I must be -- I was in the New York Times, you see.
Here's a sample of my mailbox, every day, for the last five weeks (and liable to continue because people are still coming in to read the original):
"Hey Matt, read your story, great! But, I was wondering if I might get your advice. See, Dad is 86, and has trouble controlling his bowels..."
"Could you please tell me what I should do? I'm almost at the end of my rope..."
"...you may joke about killing your mother, but I'm thinking of killing myself...."
"Mom no longer recognizes us. There's nothing in her eyes, anymore. She just looks at us "strangers", and tears run down her cheeks. She's lost, confused, and frightened, and there's nothing we can do about it. How did you communicate with someone in this state? Please help!"
"...waiting for the inevitable is worse. I may be a bad son for saying this but this bedside vigil stuff is for the birds. I wish she would go already, and let the rest of us get on with our lives. What do you think of that?"
That's on a GOOD day. The rest of the time, it's people who want to regale me either with their (ultimately) pointless feel-good stories, that always end with: "hang in there, buddy!", or scold me for being such a heartless, insensitive pig.
In one of those mysteries of human nature and the inner-workings of the brain, different people somehow manage to read the same thing, but come away with different interpretations. I don't know how this happens, but a simple internet post managed to become:
1. A Professional Credential; I am now qualified to speak on all matters pertaining to Elder Care, or at least, some people think I am. Whenever I remind people that I know absolutely nothing about this subject, beyond my own experiences, it does not seem to register. The Times would not have given me the time of day, otherwise, they think. I can make no appeal to logic, cite no example, make no point, that is not summarily ignored because folks want to believe that I'm going to solve their problems with impossible parents, or help them through the slow agony of waiting for a loved one to die.
Sorry, but I'm not your man. I don't do sympathy (except for children and dogs). I can empathize with some of you, to a certain extent, but I don't have any answers for you, nor do I share your pain. I can't counsel you on whether or not it's good idea to have the doc give Mom a "hot shot", or pull the plug on her. I really don't want to hear about your ancient father's bathroom habits and how they annoy you.
Also, I don't really give a crap about your life story. While I'm certain that your childhood memories of Sunday picnics, baseball games and fishing trips, hold some sentimental value to you, they hold none for me. Why it's necessary to write your autobiography before you get around to the question of "so, do you think it's okay to leave Dad alone for a couple of hours a day while I get coffee and do my shopping, so long as I lock him in his room?" baffles me.
First off, I don't care what you do with your father, so long as you aren't hurting him or plotting his demise. Otherwise, it's not my concern. I have my own problems, thank you. Staple him to the wall while you go about your business, if that's what you think you need to do, but don't think I'm encouraging or excusing that sort of thing. I'm getting the impression that people who think this way don't want advice so much as they want someone to justify their questionable behavior or thought processes. You think I'm bad with what I wrote? I'm getting e-mail from people who would lock an elderly person in a closet, consider leaving them in the care of young children while they go off and gallivant, or who just might chain their mother to a radiator so that they can go to Starbucks, or take in a movie. Considering how many admonitions I got, I wonder what my detractors would have to say about these people?
Secondly, I'm not giving you any eldercare advice, anyway -- I'm not qualified to do that, after all -- so save yourself some typing and possible Carpal-Tunnel.
2. Proof that I am The Biggest Jerkoff on Planet Earth; and this on a planet that I am forced to share with the likes of Al Gore, Barack Obama, LeBron James, Tom Brady, Paul Krugman, Keith Olbermann, and the cast of Jersey Shore? I'm a bad person with no sense of shame or decency, who was disrespectful to his mother, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Some are shocked that such a respectable publication like the New York Times (I wonder how respectable it is now that Krugman pretty much shit all over it reputation this past week) would give me any publicity, and I must be a morally-reprehensible person.
"Oh and by the way...", my super-sensitive respondents will always add, and then it comes: paraphrased " I'm a much better person than you", and then they cite some long-winded and totally disconnected example of their superior powers of "caring". Fuck you and the horses you all rode in on. People like you are almost as bad as the insufferable douchebags who think being able to quote Scripture makes them better than everyone else, and assures their place in Heaven.
Everyone has different ways of coping with things. Everyone has differing levels of patience and tolerance. Those of you with incredibly high levels (perhaps you are high to begin with?) of both should take this piece of advice from me:
Everyone else secretly hates you. We normal people, the ones with normal emotions --not you Bizzarro Vulcans -- we seriously think of killing you. Sometimes, some of us actually get together and discuss how we're going to do it, so as to get as many of you as possible in one fell-swoop. We figure we'll start with the ones who can't shut the fuck up about how much better they are than anyone else so that the rest will get the message and lay off.
3. The biggest mistake you can ever make as a blogger is to directly answer somebody's e-mail. Unless you absolutely have to. I have lost count of how many I have answered (badly) on this topic, but it seems that there's a percentage of people who write to you who don't want answers as much as they want a dialogue; they just want to talk to you. More like AT YOU. A good many of them don't even bother to consider what's been written back, because they'll respond in a repetitive manner, asking the same questions over-and-over, or making the same points in repetition. A good number are simply thrilled that someone answered them, at all.
The messages I truly despise are the "kindred spirit" e-mails, the "oh yes, I know all about that...don't have to tell me! I know exactly what you're going through..." routine. Suddenly, a complete stranger and I have some deep and meaningful connection because we have had an (arguably) similar experience. At least they like to think so, and these folks, too, want a dialogue. A one-sided dialog, usually. They wear out the "I" key on their keyboards, I'll bet. If I had the ability to wish people like you out of existence, I most certainly would.
Only slightly worse are the pathetic cases who ask me out on dates, because we have the common experience of taking care of a sick and difficult parent. This gives us a bond, they tell me, so any potential relationship would be starting out on a strong foundation, and we'd have something to talk about (and some of you, really, put your clothes back on!). In psychology, I think they would liken this to the formation of a Trauma Bond, a situation wherein two people who have shared a, usually horrific, experience -- experienced it at the same time, together -- form a partnership wherein they look almost exclusively to each other for support, encouragement, safety, security, and so forth. Each sees the other as "the only one who understands what you've gone through", and is therefore, the only reliable person in your little world.
The problem with Trauma Bonds is that they usually disguise or mingle with other mental issues; people develop co-dependence issues, they withdraw from the rest of the world, there may be self-esteem issues involved, and they may develop damaging or even dangerous repetitive behaviors if the bond becomes the central focus of their lives. People in Trauma Bond situations certainly have trouble forming relationships. People exhibiting this behavior have even been known to plan, and carry out, murder-suicide pacts, believing they are helping each other deal with their pain.
Yeah. I need a woman like this like I need a hole in the head. I don't care how much money you have, how many liquor stores you own, what you can do with your tongue, or how many of your girlfriends will watch/join in. Been there, done that, vis-a-vis crazy bitches. No thanks.
So, let's recap for the retarded amongst you:
A) No, I am not an expert on Eldercare. Never was, never claimed to be. If you need advice, seek professional help; I'm liable to tell you things you don't want to hear, that won't work, or which might put evil thoughts in your head.
B) I write what I write. I usually never apologize for it (why should I?), and I'm not particularly concerned about whether some of you like it or not, nor am I concerned about your personal opinion of yourself, or your exploits in eldercare. You're probably a douche in real life, and lying to me anyway, just to present yourself to the rest of the world as something you're not because you have serious self-esteem issues. Get psychiatric help.
C) No, I'm not dating you because we've both cleaned a bedpan once. Stop sending me photos (unless you're actually hot, of course). No, I don't want a relationship with some chick who's already scheduling our nuptuals around Mother's funeral, and Father's next round of radiation treatments.
This has certainly been a learning experience for me.
Update: If you need help dealing with issues surrounding the care of an elderly, or seriouisly ill family member, please check out www.thefamilycaregiver.org. They have the resources and expertise to help you through what is a difficult and stressful time for all involved.
That post has brought me a lot of attention; not only have I gotten offers to write freelance humor pieces because of it, but I have somehow become the guru of choice for exasperated and desperate people who seem to think that I'm some kind of authority on how to take care of difficult parents. I must be -- I was in the New York Times, you see.
Here's a sample of my mailbox, every day, for the last five weeks (and liable to continue because people are still coming in to read the original):
"Hey Matt, read your story, great! But, I was wondering if I might get your advice. See, Dad is 86, and has trouble controlling his bowels..."
"Could you please tell me what I should do? I'm almost at the end of my rope..."
"...you may joke about killing your mother, but I'm thinking of killing myself...."
"Mom no longer recognizes us. There's nothing in her eyes, anymore. She just looks at us "strangers", and tears run down her cheeks. She's lost, confused, and frightened, and there's nothing we can do about it. How did you communicate with someone in this state? Please help!"
"...waiting for the inevitable is worse. I may be a bad son for saying this but this bedside vigil stuff is for the birds. I wish she would go already, and let the rest of us get on with our lives. What do you think of that?"
That's on a GOOD day. The rest of the time, it's people who want to regale me either with their (ultimately) pointless feel-good stories, that always end with: "hang in there, buddy!", or scold me for being such a heartless, insensitive pig.
In one of those mysteries of human nature and the inner-workings of the brain, different people somehow manage to read the same thing, but come away with different interpretations. I don't know how this happens, but a simple internet post managed to become:
1. A Professional Credential; I am now qualified to speak on all matters pertaining to Elder Care, or at least, some people think I am. Whenever I remind people that I know absolutely nothing about this subject, beyond my own experiences, it does not seem to register. The Times would not have given me the time of day, otherwise, they think. I can make no appeal to logic, cite no example, make no point, that is not summarily ignored because folks want to believe that I'm going to solve their problems with impossible parents, or help them through the slow agony of waiting for a loved one to die.
Sorry, but I'm not your man. I don't do sympathy (except for children and dogs). I can empathize with some of you, to a certain extent, but I don't have any answers for you, nor do I share your pain. I can't counsel you on whether or not it's good idea to have the doc give Mom a "hot shot", or pull the plug on her. I really don't want to hear about your ancient father's bathroom habits and how they annoy you.
Also, I don't really give a crap about your life story. While I'm certain that your childhood memories of Sunday picnics, baseball games and fishing trips, hold some sentimental value to you, they hold none for me. Why it's necessary to write your autobiography before you get around to the question of "so, do you think it's okay to leave Dad alone for a couple of hours a day while I get coffee and do my shopping, so long as I lock him in his room?" baffles me.
First off, I don't care what you do with your father, so long as you aren't hurting him or plotting his demise. Otherwise, it's not my concern. I have my own problems, thank you. Staple him to the wall while you go about your business, if that's what you think you need to do, but don't think I'm encouraging or excusing that sort of thing. I'm getting the impression that people who think this way don't want advice so much as they want someone to justify their questionable behavior or thought processes. You think I'm bad with what I wrote? I'm getting e-mail from people who would lock an elderly person in a closet, consider leaving them in the care of young children while they go off and gallivant, or who just might chain their mother to a radiator so that they can go to Starbucks, or take in a movie. Considering how many admonitions I got, I wonder what my detractors would have to say about these people?
Secondly, I'm not giving you any eldercare advice, anyway -- I'm not qualified to do that, after all -- so save yourself some typing and possible Carpal-Tunnel.
2. Proof that I am The Biggest Jerkoff on Planet Earth; and this on a planet that I am forced to share with the likes of Al Gore, Barack Obama, LeBron James, Tom Brady, Paul Krugman, Keith Olbermann, and the cast of Jersey Shore? I'm a bad person with no sense of shame or decency, who was disrespectful to his mother, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Some are shocked that such a respectable publication like the New York Times (I wonder how respectable it is now that Krugman pretty much shit all over it reputation this past week) would give me any publicity, and I must be a morally-reprehensible person.
"Oh and by the way...", my super-sensitive respondents will always add, and then it comes: paraphrased " I'm a much better person than you", and then they cite some long-winded and totally disconnected example of their superior powers of "caring". Fuck you and the horses you all rode in on. People like you are almost as bad as the insufferable douchebags who think being able to quote Scripture makes them better than everyone else, and assures their place in Heaven.
Everyone has different ways of coping with things. Everyone has differing levels of patience and tolerance. Those of you with incredibly high levels (perhaps you are high to begin with?) of both should take this piece of advice from me:
Everyone else secretly hates you. We normal people, the ones with normal emotions --not you Bizzarro Vulcans -- we seriously think of killing you. Sometimes, some of us actually get together and discuss how we're going to do it, so as to get as many of you as possible in one fell-swoop. We figure we'll start with the ones who can't shut the fuck up about how much better they are than anyone else so that the rest will get the message and lay off.
3. The biggest mistake you can ever make as a blogger is to directly answer somebody's e-mail. Unless you absolutely have to. I have lost count of how many I have answered (badly) on this topic, but it seems that there's a percentage of people who write to you who don't want answers as much as they want a dialogue; they just want to talk to you. More like AT YOU. A good many of them don't even bother to consider what's been written back, because they'll respond in a repetitive manner, asking the same questions over-and-over, or making the same points in repetition. A good number are simply thrilled that someone answered them, at all.
The messages I truly despise are the "kindred spirit" e-mails, the "oh yes, I know all about that...don't have to tell me! I know exactly what you're going through..." routine. Suddenly, a complete stranger and I have some deep and meaningful connection because we have had an (arguably) similar experience. At least they like to think so, and these folks, too, want a dialogue. A one-sided dialog, usually. They wear out the "I" key on their keyboards, I'll bet. If I had the ability to wish people like you out of existence, I most certainly would.
Only slightly worse are the pathetic cases who ask me out on dates, because we have the common experience of taking care of a sick and difficult parent. This gives us a bond, they tell me, so any potential relationship would be starting out on a strong foundation, and we'd have something to talk about (and some of you, really, put your clothes back on!). In psychology, I think they would liken this to the formation of a Trauma Bond, a situation wherein two people who have shared a, usually horrific, experience -- experienced it at the same time, together -- form a partnership wherein they look almost exclusively to each other for support, encouragement, safety, security, and so forth. Each sees the other as "the only one who understands what you've gone through", and is therefore, the only reliable person in your little world.
The problem with Trauma Bonds is that they usually disguise or mingle with other mental issues; people develop co-dependence issues, they withdraw from the rest of the world, there may be self-esteem issues involved, and they may develop damaging or even dangerous repetitive behaviors if the bond becomes the central focus of their lives. People in Trauma Bond situations certainly have trouble forming relationships. People exhibiting this behavior have even been known to plan, and carry out, murder-suicide pacts, believing they are helping each other deal with their pain.
Yeah. I need a woman like this like I need a hole in the head. I don't care how much money you have, how many liquor stores you own, what you can do with your tongue, or how many of your girlfriends will watch/join in. Been there, done that, vis-a-vis crazy bitches. No thanks.
So, let's recap for the retarded amongst you:
A) No, I am not an expert on Eldercare. Never was, never claimed to be. If you need advice, seek professional help; I'm liable to tell you things you don't want to hear, that won't work, or which might put evil thoughts in your head.
B) I write what I write. I usually never apologize for it (why should I?), and I'm not particularly concerned about whether some of you like it or not, nor am I concerned about your personal opinion of yourself, or your exploits in eldercare. You're probably a douche in real life, and lying to me anyway, just to present yourself to the rest of the world as something you're not because you have serious self-esteem issues. Get psychiatric help.
C) No, I'm not dating you because we've both cleaned a bedpan once. Stop sending me photos (unless you're actually hot, of course). No, I don't want a relationship with some chick who's already scheduling our nuptuals around Mother's funeral, and Father's next round of radiation treatments.
This has certainly been a learning experience for me.
Update: If you need help dealing with issues surrounding the care of an elderly, or seriouisly ill family member, please check out www.thefamilycaregiver.org. They have the resources and expertise to help you through what is a difficult and stressful time for all involved.
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
Because Even Morons Can Sometimes Learn to Use A Computer...
A few weeks ago, I attained a (very) small measure of internet fame with this post on my mother's post-operative recovery. The original blog post was linked to in the New York Times Healthcare blogs, and beyond the "Holy shit! I'm really in the New York Times!" period of absolute shock, I didn't give much thought to it afterwards.
But,there's still an absolute ton of people following that Times post back to my blog, which means it's probably still rather popular, and so I decided to see what people were saying in the comments section over there. Idle curiosity, and all that. Two particular comments jumped off the page, and should be addressed here for entertainment's sake.
The first one:
It figures that a systems programmer would feel especially overwhelmed by this task. They tend to be systematic thinkers rather than empathizers. There's no program you can write or system you can invent to solve these kinds of problems. His main coping technique is useless. No wonder he's losing it so badly.
Spoken like someone who probably has a shelf full of dusty-and-unused Self-Help books, and who believes that Dr. Phil's brand of McDonald's Drive-through psychology is exactly what the world needs more of. Actually, I was not overwhelmed by the task of providing care; the feeding, bathing, arranging pillows parts were not that difficult. No, the difficult part came about because my mother is a raving lunatic. I happen to know this, because I have first-hand experience of her vast array of mental disorders which begin with clinical depression, take a long detour through OCD, with a little sightseeing at the Monument to Narcissism, and finally come to a screeching halt at Anxiety Complex.
After my initial phase of discomfort with having to do things which one would rather not do, if given the choice -- like injecting your mother with a daily dose of blood thinners (in the stomach) which might actually kill her without great care being taken, or washing a parent who is quite capable of doing so herself but decides that the opportunity to play helpless victim is too great an opportunity to pass up for the sake of garnering pity and sympathy -- the actual "doing" part of the process becomes quite easy, if repetitive and annoying.
The issue, which this particular commenter missed because she was in a rush to pontificate about what a superior douche she is, is that beyond a certain point, it's not about medical necessities; it's about milking the situation so as to scratch the itches of her own neuroses. If she doesn't call my name out and have me respond every 20 minutes, she's afraid I've packed my bags and left her alone. If I do respond, then there had better be something for me to do, because otherwise, she'll have to answer that most basic of questions"What did you want?", and have no answer for it. If she doesn't have a reason to have called me beyond this fear and anxiety, and she doesn't have a medically-necessary reason for calling me every 20-minutes, then she must invent one to avoid looking foolish or pissing me off, because Narcissists do everything short of murder to avoid looking foolish.
Once the initial list of necessary "must do's" quickly exhausts itself, she must invent another list of "must do's" which have absolutely no connection to her health, immediate comfort, or necessity, but are intended to ensure that I'm not leaving her alone, or which play to her selfishness and compulsions; hence, "when you get a chance, go chop the hanging branches off that tree outside", or "as long as you're up, would you check to see if there's any canned peas in the pantry", when she knows damned well there aren't. And that's when the branches and the canned peas, or lack thereof, don't actually consume her every waking thought, because my mother is a compulsive worrier over the pettiest of details (that's the OCD talking).
It's not about her needing me to take care of her as much as it is her needing me to take care of all the stupid bullshit that keeps her up at night because she's a crazy woman with far too much time on her hands and no distractions. She's been seeing "professionals" about this for over 20 years, and it doesn't seem to have helped any. Either she's an extremely rare case, or psychiatry is bullshit.
And no, my 'coping mechanism' is not to systematize or write a computer program; it's to vent, usually with humor that could be considered 'dark'. This is a far sight better than my old 'coping mechanism' which was to drink...heavily (I was the best goddmaned functioning alcoholic you ever did see!) , or my even more-primordial 'coping mechanism', which was to punch someone in the fucking face because my goddamned fuse was so short, and I was probably drunk, too.
Then there was this gem, most-likely written by someone with a permanent menstrual cycle, and a community-college degree;
Nothing against the frustrations that family caretakers experience on a daily basis-- I am 24 and have not yet experienced it, but as a child, I watched my parents deal with my grandparents' declining health--and yes, I understand that it is immensely difficult. But I have a pretty serious issue with this piece, and it is this: Why is a respectable publication like this one giving any sort of publicity AT ALL to an angry, small-spirited man whose writings you openly admit "include offensive references to an array of groups and institutions, including various immigrant groups, unions, the giant bank that was his former employer and the entire third world?" Especially one whose name we are not given? What ever happened to credible references and sources?Roman Polanski, Mel Gibson, and "Matt N.," ladies and gentlemen, for your viewing displeasure-- who cares what they do, as long as they keep entertaining us?
Well, as it was explained to me, the reason why the Times "gave" me publicity was because I had given voice to an opinion and viewpoint that the Times would normally not present. Now, if you accept the validity of anything the Times has to say on any subject, then you have to accept that it has an obligation, the right, and even a responsibility, to make public opinions which you might find angry, small-spirited and offensive. That's what newspapers DO, after all, or are supposed to. If you want to be protected from the opinions and thought processes of other people, I suggest you find a nice tent in the Mojave, lose the cellphone, television, and laptop, and assiduously avoid all human contact.
As for "credibility", just because the Times didn't use my last name (something I specifically asked them not to do), it doesn't make me any less credible, nor does it make my opinions/views any less valid. News organizations routinely make use of "unnamed sources" or "sources speaking on condition of anonymity", and I wonder if you call the validity of their views and facts into question? Or is it simply views and facts that you disagree with or find distasteful that aren't "valid"?
I think I already know the answer to that question; it was contained in the first sentence of your reply, when you said "I am 24".
I'm thinking that's pretty close to your I.Q., as well, Sweetcheeks. Hopefully you have big breasts and know what to do with your tongue, so that some man will come along and relieve you of the responsibility of having to take care of yourself.
Otherwise, the responses were mostly supportive, sympathetic, or along the lines of "Goddamn, I wish I had the balls to say that!"
I've said it before, and I shall reiterate for those who may have missed it: I really don't give a Tinker's Turd for what anyone thinks of me. I know who and what I am, and I'm pretty happy with it, and don't feel the need to show my soft-squishy-feminine side to every asshole who demnds or expects to see it. If I were a heartless bastard incapable of empathy, I wouldn't have been at my mother's bedside. That, somehow, always goes unnoticed and unremarked, because people who want to give an opinion without thinking it through are legion. The point was to screech something that makes them feel as if they are superior human beings, possessed of more 'empathy' and 'caring' then everyone else.
They are the Saints, you see, The Special Ones, the Light-Bringers, Our Moral Superiors, and the rest of us are shit on their shoes. I have taken the time, and wasted the bandwidth, to point out the glaring idiocy and logical inconsistencies in these replies, not because I had to, but because there is some slim hope that having had your stupidity identified for you, you might be able to the necessary take steps to correct your issues and, therefore, lead a productive and happier life. You don't have to thank me for it, either, and just in case you haven't learned your lesson and will persist in your fatuity, then you can go expletive-deleted yourself.
(because a couple of people were upset with the language,too)
But,there's still an absolute ton of people following that Times post back to my blog, which means it's probably still rather popular, and so I decided to see what people were saying in the comments section over there. Idle curiosity, and all that. Two particular comments jumped off the page, and should be addressed here for entertainment's sake.
The first one:
It figures that a systems programmer would feel especially overwhelmed by this task. They tend to be systematic thinkers rather than empathizers. There's no program you can write or system you can invent to solve these kinds of problems. His main coping technique is useless. No wonder he's losing it so badly.
Spoken like someone who probably has a shelf full of dusty-and-unused Self-Help books, and who believes that Dr. Phil's brand of McDonald's Drive-through psychology is exactly what the world needs more of. Actually, I was not overwhelmed by the task of providing care; the feeding, bathing, arranging pillows parts were not that difficult. No, the difficult part came about because my mother is a raving lunatic. I happen to know this, because I have first-hand experience of her vast array of mental disorders which begin with clinical depression, take a long detour through OCD, with a little sightseeing at the Monument to Narcissism, and finally come to a screeching halt at Anxiety Complex.
After my initial phase of discomfort with having to do things which one would rather not do, if given the choice -- like injecting your mother with a daily dose of blood thinners (in the stomach) which might actually kill her without great care being taken, or washing a parent who is quite capable of doing so herself but decides that the opportunity to play helpless victim is too great an opportunity to pass up for the sake of garnering pity and sympathy -- the actual "doing" part of the process becomes quite easy, if repetitive and annoying.
The issue, which this particular commenter missed because she was in a rush to pontificate about what a superior douche she is, is that beyond a certain point, it's not about medical necessities; it's about milking the situation so as to scratch the itches of her own neuroses. If she doesn't call my name out and have me respond every 20 minutes, she's afraid I've packed my bags and left her alone. If I do respond, then there had better be something for me to do, because otherwise, she'll have to answer that most basic of questions"What did you want?", and have no answer for it. If she doesn't have a reason to have called me beyond this fear and anxiety, and she doesn't have a medically-necessary reason for calling me every 20-minutes, then she must invent one to avoid looking foolish or pissing me off, because Narcissists do everything short of murder to avoid looking foolish.
Once the initial list of necessary "must do's" quickly exhausts itself, she must invent another list of "must do's" which have absolutely no connection to her health, immediate comfort, or necessity, but are intended to ensure that I'm not leaving her alone, or which play to her selfishness and compulsions; hence, "when you get a chance, go chop the hanging branches off that tree outside", or "as long as you're up, would you check to see if there's any canned peas in the pantry", when she knows damned well there aren't. And that's when the branches and the canned peas, or lack thereof, don't actually consume her every waking thought, because my mother is a compulsive worrier over the pettiest of details (that's the OCD talking).
It's not about her needing me to take care of her as much as it is her needing me to take care of all the stupid bullshit that keeps her up at night because she's a crazy woman with far too much time on her hands and no distractions. She's been seeing "professionals" about this for over 20 years, and it doesn't seem to have helped any. Either she's an extremely rare case, or psychiatry is bullshit.
And no, my 'coping mechanism' is not to systematize or write a computer program; it's to vent, usually with humor that could be considered 'dark'. This is a far sight better than my old 'coping mechanism' which was to drink...heavily (I was the best goddmaned functioning alcoholic you ever did see!) , or my even more-primordial 'coping mechanism', which was to punch someone in the fucking face because my goddamned fuse was so short, and I was probably drunk, too.
Then there was this gem, most-likely written by someone with a permanent menstrual cycle, and a community-college degree;
Nothing against the frustrations that family caretakers experience on a daily basis-- I am 24 and have not yet experienced it, but as a child, I watched my parents deal with my grandparents' declining health--and yes, I understand that it is immensely difficult. But I have a pretty serious issue with this piece, and it is this: Why is a respectable publication like this one giving any sort of publicity AT ALL to an angry, small-spirited man whose writings you openly admit "include offensive references to an array of groups and institutions, including various immigrant groups, unions, the giant bank that was his former employer and the entire third world?" Especially one whose name we are not given? What ever happened to credible references and sources?Roman Polanski, Mel Gibson, and "Matt N.," ladies and gentlemen, for your viewing displeasure-- who cares what they do, as long as they keep entertaining us?
Well, as it was explained to me, the reason why the Times "gave" me publicity was because I had given voice to an opinion and viewpoint that the Times would normally not present. Now, if you accept the validity of anything the Times has to say on any subject, then you have to accept that it has an obligation, the right, and even a responsibility, to make public opinions which you might find angry, small-spirited and offensive. That's what newspapers DO, after all, or are supposed to. If you want to be protected from the opinions and thought processes of other people, I suggest you find a nice tent in the Mojave, lose the cellphone, television, and laptop, and assiduously avoid all human contact.
As for "credibility", just because the Times didn't use my last name (something I specifically asked them not to do), it doesn't make me any less credible, nor does it make my opinions/views any less valid. News organizations routinely make use of "unnamed sources" or "sources speaking on condition of anonymity", and I wonder if you call the validity of their views and facts into question? Or is it simply views and facts that you disagree with or find distasteful that aren't "valid"?
I think I already know the answer to that question; it was contained in the first sentence of your reply, when you said "I am 24".
I'm thinking that's pretty close to your I.Q., as well, Sweetcheeks. Hopefully you have big breasts and know what to do with your tongue, so that some man will come along and relieve you of the responsibility of having to take care of yourself.
Otherwise, the responses were mostly supportive, sympathetic, or along the lines of "Goddamn, I wish I had the balls to say that!"
I've said it before, and I shall reiterate for those who may have missed it: I really don't give a Tinker's Turd for what anyone thinks of me. I know who and what I am, and I'm pretty happy with it, and don't feel the need to show my soft-squishy-feminine side to every asshole who demnds or expects to see it. If I were a heartless bastard incapable of empathy, I wouldn't have been at my mother's bedside. That, somehow, always goes unnoticed and unremarked, because people who want to give an opinion without thinking it through are legion. The point was to screech something that makes them feel as if they are superior human beings, possessed of more 'empathy' and 'caring' then everyone else.
They are the Saints, you see, The Special Ones, the Light-Bringers, Our Moral Superiors, and the rest of us are shit on their shoes. I have taken the time, and wasted the bandwidth, to point out the glaring idiocy and logical inconsistencies in these replies, not because I had to, but because there is some slim hope that having had your stupidity identified for you, you might be able to the necessary take steps to correct your issues and, therefore, lead a productive and happier life. You don't have to thank me for it, either, and just in case you haven't learned your lesson and will persist in your fatuity, then you can go expletive-deleted yourself.
(because a couple of people were upset with the language,too)
Thursday, December 23, 2010
A Trip Through My Mailbox,Part III...
There are an awful lot of new visitors to the Asylum this week. I welcome you, and hope you enjoy your visit. Feel free to read anything you want and to post anything you like. I usually don't answer my e-mail (unless it's really good), but the Asylum Elves are on strike (they want dental, you see) and so in my capacity as Management, it behooves me to take on the menial tasks that they used to do in the name of good customer service.
Q: Wow! You've been blogging for a long time now! How come I never saw this blog before?
A: Because you weren't looking for it, obviously. Then again, I wasn't sitting here trying to be noticed. I don't advertise, and frankly, when I started this crap seven years ago it was supposed to be therapy. I never really expected anyone to actually read it, so I didn't promote it. Really, I mean, some of the stuff I wrote back then is absolutely awful, but in my defense, if I wasn't drunk, then I was zonked on Xanax or Zoloft , or suffering from severe sleep deprivation. Promoting my blog -- with my mental distress pasted all over it -- wasn't exactly something I was out to achieve.
If you've found this blog in the past, it was completely by accident. If you've found it in the last week or so, it was pretty much under the same circumstances. I didn't expect to find my rantings on Twitter, or for the New York Times to come a'callin' with a request for an interview. Anyways, so long as you're here, you might as well get a drink and fasten your seat belts; it's a wild ride pretty much all the time.
Q: Why are you so angry?
A: This is NOT anger. Believe me, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry -- as it's not even half as funny. What some take for anger is simply me being at a point in my life where I simply do not give a shit about what anyone else thinks of me. Therefore, I pull no punches, and I say exactly what is on my mind. Some people are uncomfortable with this level of frankness, but as I said, I really don't give a shit what you might think about it. This is still America, and I can say whatever I goddamned please.
I don't expect everyone to agree with me, and I certainly expect that most won't. I'm also aware that this sort of blunt expression makes some people shake their heads and tsk-tsk, especially with the language that gets used here, but I'm sorry: I'm a native New Yorker and it's fucking genetic. Deal.
Q. Why do you hate Muslims/Christians/Women/Blacks/Poor People/Democrats so much?
A. If you seriously have to ask why anyone should hate Muslims, then I suggest you have your family sign that Do Not Resuscitate Order right fucking now. But if you must know, the story goes something like this:
I had a freakin' absolutely awesome life before 9/11. I had a bitchin' career. I had a ton of money. I was comfortable, and although I had to work hard, that never really bothered me any. Then 19 idiots who couldn't get the blond girls to chuck' em one decided that it would be a good idea to ram a couple of airliners into the tallest buildings in New York City in the name of their phony-baloney God. I was lucky --no one close to me was hurt or killed that day --but mostly because I had only left 1 WTC a minute or so before the first plane struck. But I did find myself directly underneath the first kamikaze, and if that, plus witnessing the murders of 3,000 other people, doesn't freak you out, there's something wrong with you. The resulting mental disorders cost me everything, and seven years of my life.
As for Christians, well, if one God would force 19 douchebags to kill themselves in order to get it's attention, then any God is likely to do the same. Besides, I get a chuckle out of people who tell me their God is all-powerful, all-knowing, knows what's in my heart, and is watching me 24-hours a day who can then turn around and tell you that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are pagan constructs that will lead the True Believer off the Righteous Path.
I don't know about you, but I can't remember the last time Peter Cottontail or Ol' St. Nick demanded the blood of innocents, flooded the planet because no one would listen to them, sanctioned war and slaughter,and threatened to return to lead the last great battle that will destroy the world. Apart from a little bit of good-natured breaking-and-entering (in which they actually leave stuff behind!), Kris Kringle and Peter Rabbit are actually far more amenable; the worst they ever did was to skip someone's house, or leave a lump of coal as a gentle reminder of the wages of sin; Yahweh tosses people into great big lakes of fire and brimstone to their eternal torment at the hands of a fallen angel that She created, but then couldn't control, either.
I don't hate women. I love women. I just hate the confused-by-feminism little girls hiding in a woman's body. Especially the ones that tell you "I don't need no man!", and then beg you to pay their rent, buy shit for them, and then solve all their problems brought about by their own stupidity for them, and then take out their unrequited revenge fantasies against the Ex Husband/Boyfriend that did them wrong on you. Sorry, but there's plenty of vaginas out there, and I prefer the ones without baggage and some common sense.
I don't hate blacks, either. I just think it's easier to automatically assume that all black people are clueless, insensitive, loudmouthed, selfish. pigheaded, bigoted doofuses, because after a lifetime of ersatz "Reverends", Affirmative Action, and spending what seems like a year of my life in Diversity Training and monthly Diversity Meetings, that's what they seem to think of me, sans evidence. What's good for the goose, and all that. However, if a black person should happen to earn my respect (much like I expect to have to earn theirs), then we're cool.
As for the rest, what's to LIKE about welfare queens and democrats (sorry, that was redundant)?
Hope this answers some of your questions, Newcomers! Oh, and Merry Fuckin' Christmas.
Q: Wow! You've been blogging for a long time now! How come I never saw this blog before?
A: Because you weren't looking for it, obviously. Then again, I wasn't sitting here trying to be noticed. I don't advertise, and frankly, when I started this crap seven years ago it was supposed to be therapy. I never really expected anyone to actually read it, so I didn't promote it. Really, I mean, some of the stuff I wrote back then is absolutely awful, but in my defense, if I wasn't drunk, then I was zonked on Xanax or Zoloft , or suffering from severe sleep deprivation. Promoting my blog -- with my mental distress pasted all over it -- wasn't exactly something I was out to achieve.
If you've found this blog in the past, it was completely by accident. If you've found it in the last week or so, it was pretty much under the same circumstances. I didn't expect to find my rantings on Twitter, or for the New York Times to come a'callin' with a request for an interview. Anyways, so long as you're here, you might as well get a drink and fasten your seat belts; it's a wild ride pretty much all the time.
Q: Why are you so angry?
A: This is NOT anger. Believe me, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry -- as it's not even half as funny. What some take for anger is simply me being at a point in my life where I simply do not give a shit about what anyone else thinks of me. Therefore, I pull no punches, and I say exactly what is on my mind. Some people are uncomfortable with this level of frankness, but as I said, I really don't give a shit what you might think about it. This is still America, and I can say whatever I goddamned please.
I don't expect everyone to agree with me, and I certainly expect that most won't. I'm also aware that this sort of blunt expression makes some people shake their heads and tsk-tsk, especially with the language that gets used here, but I'm sorry: I'm a native New Yorker and it's fucking genetic. Deal.
Q. Why do you hate Muslims/Christians/Women/Blacks/Poor People/Democrats so much?
A. If you seriously have to ask why anyone should hate Muslims, then I suggest you have your family sign that Do Not Resuscitate Order right fucking now. But if you must know, the story goes something like this:
I had a freakin' absolutely awesome life before 9/11. I had a bitchin' career. I had a ton of money. I was comfortable, and although I had to work hard, that never really bothered me any. Then 19 idiots who couldn't get the blond girls to chuck' em one decided that it would be a good idea to ram a couple of airliners into the tallest buildings in New York City in the name of their phony-baloney God. I was lucky --no one close to me was hurt or killed that day --but mostly because I had only left 1 WTC a minute or so before the first plane struck. But I did find myself directly underneath the first kamikaze, and if that, plus witnessing the murders of 3,000 other people, doesn't freak you out, there's something wrong with you. The resulting mental disorders cost me everything, and seven years of my life.
As for Christians, well, if one God would force 19 douchebags to kill themselves in order to get it's attention, then any God is likely to do the same. Besides, I get a chuckle out of people who tell me their God is all-powerful, all-knowing, knows what's in my heart, and is watching me 24-hours a day who can then turn around and tell you that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are pagan constructs that will lead the True Believer off the Righteous Path.
I don't know about you, but I can't remember the last time Peter Cottontail or Ol' St. Nick demanded the blood of innocents, flooded the planet because no one would listen to them, sanctioned war and slaughter,and threatened to return to lead the last great battle that will destroy the world. Apart from a little bit of good-natured breaking-and-entering (in which they actually leave stuff behind!), Kris Kringle and Peter Rabbit are actually far more amenable; the worst they ever did was to skip someone's house, or leave a lump of coal as a gentle reminder of the wages of sin; Yahweh tosses people into great big lakes of fire and brimstone to their eternal torment at the hands of a fallen angel that She created, but then couldn't control, either.
I don't hate women. I love women. I just hate the confused-by-feminism little girls hiding in a woman's body. Especially the ones that tell you "I don't need no man!", and then beg you to pay their rent, buy shit for them, and then solve all their problems brought about by their own stupidity for them, and then take out their unrequited revenge fantasies against the Ex Husband/Boyfriend that did them wrong on you. Sorry, but there's plenty of vaginas out there, and I prefer the ones without baggage and some common sense.
I don't hate blacks, either. I just think it's easier to automatically assume that all black people are clueless, insensitive, loudmouthed, selfish. pigheaded, bigoted doofuses, because after a lifetime of ersatz "Reverends", Affirmative Action, and spending what seems like a year of my life in Diversity Training and monthly Diversity Meetings, that's what they seem to think of me, sans evidence. What's good for the goose, and all that. However, if a black person should happen to earn my respect (much like I expect to have to earn theirs), then we're cool.
As for the rest, what's to LIKE about welfare queens and democrats (sorry, that was redundant)?
Hope this answers some of your questions, Newcomers! Oh, and Merry Fuckin' Christmas.
Monday, December 20, 2010
"Unfair, Ungrateful and Uncouth..."
That's what the New York Times had to say about this blog.
Uncouth? I'll have you know, Ms. New York Times Health blogger, I have more fucking couth in my little finger than Marueen Dowd has had botox, and infinitely more than Thomas Friedman has in his entire ridiculous-looking toupee!
You're not fooling anyone, Tommy!
Actually, I'm rather happy that the Times saw fit to point people to this diseased-dialogue-with-myself; as of this posting, my traffic has increased by a factor of 400%. Unfortunately, this does not translate into Instant Dead Presidents for Yours Truly, but it did result in two (and counting) job offers to write for other blogs. For pay. Apparently, I'm funny.
The only problem is that they want me to work "clean". How fucked up is that? I must be the Lenny Bruce of the internet..at least for today (Ha! As if!)
I just find it rather peculiar that the New York Times would characterize me as uncouth, while ignoring some of the most Unfair, Ungrateful and Uncouth people that wander it's formerly-hallowed halls.
You know, Unfair, Ungrateful and Uncouth people like the aforementioned Thomas Friedman, who's never met a terrorist he wouldn't perform fellatio upon, and who is absolutely besotted with the Red Chinese Kleptocracy. Only don't ever expect Tom to leave his palatial mansion for the greener pastures of Western Sichuan province, where he could send his kids to those wonderful Chinese private schools, built of the finest papier mache and situated in only the toniest of notorious earthquake zones, easily the equal of the Suburban Old Money Academies he probably sends his children to now (assuming someone could stand him long enough to make the Beast With Two Backs and then bear his offspring without eating them in infancy).
It so wonderful to hear the Ungrateful American Wealthy Who Didn't Earn Their Fortune By Working For It sing the praises of iron-fisted Communism for the rest of us, but never for themselves.
And when Friedman isn't succeeding in making an ass out of himself, there's the Times Raging-Menstrual-Cycle-In-Residence, Maureen Dowd, who wrote this just a few weeks ago:
"These women — Jan, Meg, Carly, Sharron, Linda, Michele, Queen Bee Sarah and sweet wannabe Christine — have co-opted and ratcheted up the disgust with the status quo that originally buoyed Barack Obama. Whether they’re mistreating the help or belittling the president’s manhood, making snide comments about a rival’s hair or ripping an opponent for spending money on a men’s fashion show, the Mean Girls have replaced Hope with Spite and Cool with Cold. They are the ideal nihilistic cheerleaders for an angry electorate…"
Somehow, MoDo gets paid a shitload of bucks to be Unfair, Ungrateful and Uncouth...as well as a bitch... and I don't?
Actually, both of them were named to the Top Ten Hack Journalists in America List by their fellow libtards at Salon. Friedman came in at Number 3, and Dowd at Number 8. She probably would have come in first, but she probably wouldn't put out.
You know your paper is full of talentless hacks if the other talentless hacks at Salon (except for Camille Paglia...I love that woman!) devoted 20% of their Biggest Assholes with a Word-Processor list to the Old Gray Lady. Or maybe it's just that Salon, as MoDo would say (with a girlish giggle that hides the succubus within) "has penis envy".
My complaint...well, it's not really a complaint, just an observation... is that a Times writer would call me"unfair, ungrateful and uncouth" (Completely agree! But that's why it's funny as hell! And it's besides the point!), ignoring the fact that she writes for an alleged newspaper that employs, at huge salaries, two of the most unfair, ungrateful and uncouth alleged-newspaper-columnists in the Solar System.
And as for that other overpaid mental midget employed at the Times, that Paul Krugman fellow? I'll bet that if you put Paul Krugman's brain in a bird, it would fly backwards, and then up it's own ass.
But, in the end, I must thank Ms. Span and the (probably-) drunken editor who made the decision to post my venom this week, and now I'm really pissed off that I took Google AdWords off this thing! I could have made at least $3.00 today!
I harbor no ill-will towards Ms. Span. She seemed like a lovely person on the phone. So, I don't want anyone to think that this is an attack upon her, because it ain't.
I'm actually rather grateful, and the outrage is totally feigned for dramatic effect. I just couldn't resist the opportunity to take a crack as Krugman, Friedman and Maureen-the-Aging-Life-Support-System-for-A-Vagina-That-No-Man-In-His-Right-Mind-Wants-Anymore. Then again, I often do come across on the page as the worst person on Planet Earth; I have to remember that what works for me in communicating with others in person (sarcasm and directness) doesn't always carry as well when it comes to the written word.
Uncouth? I'll have you know, Ms. New York Times Health blogger, I have more fucking couth in my little finger than Marueen Dowd has had botox, and infinitely more than Thomas Friedman has in his entire ridiculous-looking toupee!
You're not fooling anyone, Tommy!
Actually, I'm rather happy that the Times saw fit to point people to this diseased-dialogue-with-myself; as of this posting, my traffic has increased by a factor of 400%. Unfortunately, this does not translate into Instant Dead Presidents for Yours Truly, but it did result in two (and counting) job offers to write for other blogs. For pay. Apparently, I'm funny.
The only problem is that they want me to work "clean". How fucked up is that? I must be the Lenny Bruce of the internet..at least for today (Ha! As if!)
I just find it rather peculiar that the New York Times would characterize me as uncouth, while ignoring some of the most Unfair, Ungrateful and Uncouth people that wander it's formerly-hallowed halls.
You know, Unfair, Ungrateful and Uncouth people like the aforementioned Thomas Friedman, who's never met a terrorist he wouldn't perform fellatio upon, and who is absolutely besotted with the Red Chinese Kleptocracy. Only don't ever expect Tom to leave his palatial mansion for the greener pastures of Western Sichuan province, where he could send his kids to those wonderful Chinese private schools, built of the finest papier mache and situated in only the toniest of notorious earthquake zones, easily the equal of the Suburban Old Money Academies he probably sends his children to now (assuming someone could stand him long enough to make the Beast With Two Backs and then bear his offspring without eating them in infancy).
It so wonderful to hear the Ungrateful American Wealthy Who Didn't Earn Their Fortune By Working For It sing the praises of iron-fisted Communism for the rest of us, but never for themselves.
And when Friedman isn't succeeding in making an ass out of himself, there's the Times Raging-Menstrual-Cycle-In-Residence, Maureen Dowd, who wrote this just a few weeks ago:
"These women — Jan, Meg, Carly, Sharron, Linda, Michele, Queen Bee Sarah and sweet wannabe Christine — have co-opted and ratcheted up the disgust with the status quo that originally buoyed Barack Obama. Whether they’re mistreating the help or belittling the president’s manhood, making snide comments about a rival’s hair or ripping an opponent for spending money on a men’s fashion show, the Mean Girls have replaced Hope with Spite and Cool with Cold. They are the ideal nihilistic cheerleaders for an angry electorate…"
Somehow, MoDo gets paid a shitload of bucks to be Unfair, Ungrateful and Uncouth...as well as a bitch... and I don't?
Actually, both of them were named to the Top Ten Hack Journalists in America List by their fellow libtards at Salon. Friedman came in at Number 3, and Dowd at Number 8. She probably would have come in first, but she probably wouldn't put out.
You know your paper is full of talentless hacks if the other talentless hacks at Salon (except for Camille Paglia...I love that woman!) devoted 20% of their Biggest Assholes with a Word-Processor list to the Old Gray Lady. Or maybe it's just that Salon, as MoDo would say (with a girlish giggle that hides the succubus within) "has penis envy".
My complaint...well, it's not really a complaint, just an observation... is that a Times writer would call me"unfair, ungrateful and uncouth" (Completely agree! But that's why it's funny as hell! And it's besides the point!), ignoring the fact that she writes for an alleged newspaper that employs, at huge salaries, two of the most unfair, ungrateful and uncouth alleged-newspaper-columnists in the Solar System.
And as for that other overpaid mental midget employed at the Times, that Paul Krugman fellow? I'll bet that if you put Paul Krugman's brain in a bird, it would fly backwards, and then up it's own ass.
But, in the end, I must thank Ms. Span and the (probably-) drunken editor who made the decision to post my venom this week, and now I'm really pissed off that I took Google AdWords off this thing! I could have made at least $3.00 today!
I harbor no ill-will towards Ms. Span. She seemed like a lovely person on the phone. So, I don't want anyone to think that this is an attack upon her, because it ain't.
I'm actually rather grateful, and the outrage is totally feigned for dramatic effect. I just couldn't resist the opportunity to take a crack as Krugman, Friedman and Maureen-the-Aging-Life-Support-System-for-A-Vagina-That-No-Man-In-His-Right-Mind-Wants-Anymore. Then again, I often do come across on the page as the worst person on Planet Earth; I have to remember that what works for me in communicating with others in person (sarcasm and directness) doesn't always carry as well when it comes to the written word.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Thomas Friedman: Peckerhead...
The New York Times pays this douche a lot, for writing with the insight --and vocabulary --of a fourth grader, and for pretending to be smarter than you average Irish Setter...and not me?
Tea Parties Are More like "Tea Kettle" Parties.
Friedman makes two mistakes here; the first is that he's writing about something he so obviously knows nothing about. The second is to believe that anyone who isn't already a retard takes him seriously.
I'm sure the premise behind your "opinion piece" was received with a great deal of giggling from your panty-bunched-stick-up-their-asses-libtard-metrosexual-asshole-butt-buddies at the Times water cooler, Tom, but you shouldn't have taken that as a tacit encouragement to write something this incredibly vapid. You should know by now that when the nancy-boys at the Times snicker so, it isn't because they've found your little diatribe oh-so-clever; it's because they've just wet themselves. They like the feeling of wet shorts against their skin, and they also derive a sick pleasure from their own urine...
So do you -- don't deny it.
Unfortunately, one has to reach the very, very end of Mr. Friedman's Tour-de-Force of ignorance to reach the only sentence which makes sense, or which allows the reader to momentarily feel as if the effort required to get through Friedman's nonsense wasn't a total waste of time;
"Maureen Dowd is off Today".
Tea Parties Are More like "Tea Kettle" Parties.
Friedman makes two mistakes here; the first is that he's writing about something he so obviously knows nothing about. The second is to believe that anyone who isn't already a retard takes him seriously.
I'm sure the premise behind your "opinion piece" was received with a great deal of giggling from your panty-bunched-stick-up-their-asses-libtard-metrosexual-asshole-butt-buddies at the Times water cooler, Tom, but you shouldn't have taken that as a tacit encouragement to write something this incredibly vapid. You should know by now that when the nancy-boys at the Times snicker so, it isn't because they've found your little diatribe oh-so-clever; it's because they've just wet themselves. They like the feeling of wet shorts against their skin, and they also derive a sick pleasure from their own urine...
So do you -- don't deny it.
Unfortunately, one has to reach the very, very end of Mr. Friedman's Tour-de-Force of ignorance to reach the only sentence which makes sense, or which allows the reader to momentarily feel as if the effort required to get through Friedman's nonsense wasn't a total waste of time;
"Maureen Dowd is off Today".
Monday, September 06, 2010
Of Rats and Sinking Ships...
Sometimes, you wish the rats would stay aboard just a little longer, and go down with the ship.
But rats have no sense of loyalty, and apparently, neither do New York Times opinion columnists. They also have no shame, or sense of propriety.
These idiots praised Obama to the heavens, and it's only now, when after two years they haven't gotten their full-frontal socialism yet (complete with gulags for the republicans, conservatives and Tea Party) do they finally get around to telling the truth about the Turd-Polisher-in-Chief.
Obama has no vision.
Really? Whatever gave it away, Mr Krugman? Mr. Friedman?
No wonder the only time I see the New York Times is when some vagrant is wiping his ass in a public park with it. These guys get paid to spew utter bullshit, and I don't?
Tom Friedman and Paul Krugman are the epitome of the Flapping Rectum class. With any luck, when the Obama Titanic Team finally goes down with the ship, they can take these two with them.
But rats have no sense of loyalty, and apparently, neither do New York Times opinion columnists. They also have no shame, or sense of propriety.
These idiots praised Obama to the heavens, and it's only now, when after two years they haven't gotten their full-frontal socialism yet (complete with gulags for the republicans, conservatives and Tea Party) do they finally get around to telling the truth about the Turd-Polisher-in-Chief.
Obama has no vision.
Really? Whatever gave it away, Mr Krugman? Mr. Friedman?
No wonder the only time I see the New York Times is when some vagrant is wiping his ass in a public park with it. These guys get paid to spew utter bullshit, and I don't?
Tom Friedman and Paul Krugman are the epitome of the Flapping Rectum class. With any luck, when the Obama Titanic Team finally goes down with the ship, they can take these two with them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)