Sunday, January 15, 2017

Drumpf Solves World Peace, Brangelina; Batboy Bobbled Brady's Balls

Breakfast time, Sunday morning. 

On weekends, I get to make fancier brunches than my weekday protein and frothy fruity shakes. Imma want cauliflower with onion fried in chile/lime olive oil (a homemade infusion, I'm trying to get a bit crunchier) with apple-chicken sausage and scrambled eggs. Checking the refrigertator, except the oil I got about none of that. 

Off to Cub, doop-doop-de-doop, shoppity-shop, I feel my plaid pajama bottoms are not congruous with the families coming home from church, bobbidybap, at checkout, 



A lot of people see this rag since it is featured prominently, top shelf, front of the checkout, in every grocer in the country. The publisher, some cat name of David Pecker, famously friendly to the Illegitimate President-Elect of the US, Comrade Gropenfuhrer. 

Over the years, the Enquirer has gotten a few very high-profile things right. Enough that it is not immediately discounted even by people who should know better. Hell, I've said, when they reported something I find favorable, "Well, hey, they were right on John Edwards, they were right on Limbaugh being a junkie, they were right on the Cosby kid."

This attitude ignores much.

It ignores that although they were right in some cases, each of those instances started out as hatchet jobs. The Enquirer somehow stumbled erection first through a minefield of mousetraps and found a patty-melt with tots. Yay them.

It ignores that in these FEW instances where the Enquirer was actually right, they were memorable because the Enquirer is so often;  

  • incredibly wrong
  • doing meaningless fluff
  • 4 words: Make Money At Home

You don't remember the headlines about Princess Diana's long-lost evil twin, Jehosaphialy Duggar, being the secret brains behind the burgeoning Hollywood conservative movement of Vince Vaughn, Gary Sinese, Mel Gibson, and Meatloaf, because they weren't quite as correct.

Here, though, positioned prominently as you stand in line with your loaves and fishes, is one of the few pictures of the Shitgibbon where he does not look like a big toe with some form of Orange Foot Rot. Giving him an early promotion to POTUS, the walking Cheetoh is seen promising war on, and death to, the Yellow Peril and 'the evil a-rabs'*, as his frothing cult exults in madness. Finding the real hackers? His inbred mouth-breathing acolytes couldn't define hacking, much less piece together the breadcrumbs leading to the GRU/FSB actors behind it. They just think "Well, Abby and McGee can type with four hands on the keyboard faster than the hacker, so we win!" 

All I'm saying is that, suppose we get the major hard news outlets to remember to afflict the comfortable, and comfort the afflicted?

In print circulation, the Enquirer is quite competitive with all of the legacy organs, WaPo, NYTimes, Dallas Morning News. We still have a long way to go.

*No, the irony of 'the evil a-rabs' when the Persians would in fact be the original Aryans, so celebrated by these Nazi scumbags, does not escape me.

Now, for the greater question.


Yes. Quo Vadis, bitches.



    Aaron Rodgers is actual magic. He is sparkly in a way those wimpy vampires are not. He does things that make you wonder how the fuck he does them. I think I came a little bit when he threw that pass to Jared Cook.

    I understand that the losing streak makes him look lesser (I confess I started to feel that way my own damn self) but shit. With the Packer players being continually hurt and dropping out, not only do the other players step up, but so does Rodgers.

    And Mason Fuckin "Ice In My Veins" Crosby? Hitting TWO fucking 50+ yard field goals in the final minutes to keep a lead and win the game? THREE, if you count the one that the FUCKING Cow-twits canceled by a last minute pointless time out...

    Mainly, Glad as hell that I got my heart attack out of the way a while back, because this was a helluva game no matter what, and I am coasting on an endorphin buzz still. Expect a shitload of cheesehead births 9 months from now....

    1. This is a fucking magical season, bay-bee....

    2. I'll need valium and scotch.

      I predict us, 48-47, and then Imma figure out something to charge Capers with.