Tonight, I read this passage from Matt's blog to Wife of DCeiver:
Meanwhile, I have to say I sort of hope Baker-Hamilton doesn't recommend negotiations with Syria and Iran. The official hawk line on why we shouldn't do this is that it won't accomplish anything. Meanwhile, it would be the easiest thing in the world for an administration that doesn't want to negotiate with Syria and Iran to "agree" to negotiate, do so in bad faith, walk away having achieved nothing, further poison the diplomatic atmosphere, and thereby "prove" that such negotiations are useless. In fact, they're vital, but to do any good they need to be done in good faith.DCeiver: Correct me if I'm wrong, but hasn't he just described No Child Left Behind?
Wife of D: Actually...yes. Yes he has. To a "T." Good call, Matt.
Operating in bad faith, breaking what doesn't need fixing, forcing the failed outcome when failure--not successful policy--is the hoped for outcome...all parts of the corpus delecti of Bushism. It's why he should have never been allowed to lead us into a war, let alone out of one.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Tonight, I read this passage from Matt's blog to Wife of DCeiver:
Wow. File this in the Annals of Misheard Advertising: I was just sitting at home, awaiting a delivery from Hunan No. 1, when an ad for Uno Attack! came on the television. The little jingle, describing the product--which enhances the Uno experience (I guess...) by launching cards at your face. The catch is: you might get one card or "you might get eight." You might get eight. That's what the song said.
Of course, listening to it, I could have sworn it said, "You might get AIDS."
"Damn," I thought, "I'll just stick with Connect Four."
Posted by The Deceiver at 11/30/2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
- I'd just like to start things off by saying that we've always, ALWAYS felt that Vladimir Putin is...well, just the bestest guy ever. We've got no beef with the man. He's as close to my heart as my sainted mother. No need for any scary-ass, old-school cold ware shenanigans betwixt us, right, Vlad? Right? Kiss all the kids on the tummy that you want. [Holy Shit!]
- Damn. We're loving Jim Webb more and more every day. [The Hill]
- I don't know if Steny Hoyer dropped any verses of the Terp fight song as they beat the Illini tonight. I'm actually more curious if he went to the Land of Lincoln and sang another little ditty called the state song of Maryland--a tune that likely was sung AT Lincoln many times. Also known as "The Marseillaise of the South", President Lincoln gets called a despot, Virginia's state motto get's a shout out, and the fave lyric's got to be: "Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum!" Now, of course, we do not condone the sentimental treason espoused by song. We just like to bring it up, now and again. A lot of the Marylandaise enjoy using terms like "mid-Atlantic," but need we remind: Y'all are BEEE-low the Mason-Dixon line, son. [Wonkette]
- Now, now. It simply doesn't snow enough in the DC area to justify budgeting for New England style snow removal. And, anyway, if we're being honest, snow removal isn't even the biggest problem with inclement weather in the area. The reason it sucks here when it snows is because of the wide-spread belief that local citizens are somehow leading ESSENTIAL LIVES. Like, the world would STOP if you couldn't get to work! Civilization would unravel if you had to go six hours without drinking milk or couldn't open the bathroom closet and have twelve rolls of Charmin to choose from. Here's a hint, DC: when it snows, STAY THE FUCK HOME. It's fun! You don't have to drive anywhere! Celebrate and Discover (your relative lack of importance!) [DCist]
- Fishbowl gathers some Wemple email and confirms many a suspicion: including that life on Champlain is one big circle-jerking wank-fest of self-congratulation. Favorite part: "Just last week, an outsider professed that Metcalfe's DL about mini-minibikes had stuck with her for years. That comment prompted a round of reminiscing about the story, with one staffer from here recalling a particularly poetic line from the piece: 'The mechanic empties the tank and fills it with a more diluted concentration of two-stroke. Then he pulls the starter cord, straddles the bike, and guns it to an angry-lawn-mower roar. The machine leaps off the sidewalk and into busy Georgia Avenue, with the mechanic, like a bear riding a unicycle, teetering on top of it.'" I've ALWAYS WONDERED what that sentence might sound like spoken aloud by a CP staffer with his colleague's scrotum stuffed inside his mouth. And now I do. [FishbowlDC]
Posted by The Deceiver at 11/29/2006
- Delaware: exactly as shitty as anticipated. Really, once you get north of Burbtimore, and you have the miles o' dull from Maryland House and Chesapeake House doing nothing but reminding you how shitty it's going to be (to say nothing about the random toll plaza at Port Deposit), that part of the annual trip has become nearly insufferable. And in the dreary rain, it's 10x worse. Hisscakes.
- Jughandles. Explain these. Why, oh why, can I not simply take the exit off the Garden State and turn LEFT ON BLOOMFIELD AVENUE? Why must I drive across the street, all around Robin Hood's barn, get stopped at two additional places and make a right hand version of the left turn I can make everywhere else? Explain, Jerz. I am a good egg. I have taught many of your people to pump the gas, and I have done so with a song in my heart. Meet me halfway.
- One of the Nephews of DCeiver has turned the front-porchy mud-roomy thing into something of an art installation dedicated to the glories of Thanksgiving. Blake Gopnik would have vomited, but, then, he's a humorless tweeze, isn't he? I say, get me Art-O-Matic on the phone. And how cute was it that one piece enshrined the annual DCeiver family visit as a holiday highlight! Shucks.
- We brought back a new kitten, too. With shots and everything donated by the good people at the West Caldwell Animal Hospital. It's where we do all our Northern New Jersey-based kitten adopting. His name is Declan and he likes to gnaw on our skulls whilst we sleep. That's right: just lays there on the pillow and gets a good gnaw going. That is, by the way, punk as fuck. And he has the same birthday as you, Zak. That has to mean something.
- By the way, apparently the Day After Thanksgiving is the best day ever in life to have a theatre show going on, and the audiences: KINDA RAMBUNCTIOUS. The bring-up from the trytophan crash is always the best. We should always schedule something on that day.
- I missed the Hold Steady concert, which means I missed All Time DC Nice Guy of Rock Eric Axelson's new band as well. THS has been very good to the area--three shows inna year. Thanks, to them. The Governess has written what is quite possibly the best review of a Hold Steady show ever--and if you don't get it, well...you just don't get it.
- I missed Sommer's birthday celebration, too. Happy birthday, editrix!
- Okay, as far as old school Atari games go, I thought I'd seen them all. Until this holiday, when I saw BIRD WEEK. Yes: BIRD WEEK. BIRD WEEK is so g.d. fubar that I can't even describe. You are a bird. You have to catch butterflies, and, whilst avoiding other birds, get your ass back to the nest, use your digestive juices to turn the butterflies into an edible marm, regurgitate the marm into the hungry maws of your baby birds until they are grown up enough to leave the nest. On level two: motherfuckin' chipmunks get all Yuen Yo Peng on yr ass if you aren't careful. It is gloriously fucked-up and stultifyingly dull. I have no doubt that there is a generation of serial killers in our midst for whom the forensic profile reads: "Played a lot of BIRD WEEK.
- Oh. Play that shit right here.
- The Pick of Destiny? If you like that sort of thing, then, YES.
- MONSTER: done. Twelve days until rehearsals start up again. That's time enough for me.
- Life=seemingly good. We'll let you know how our auto mechanic's counter-argument to that premise goes, though. We're sure he's got the needles to prick our balloons.
Posted by The Deceiver at 11/29/2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
2. Okay. I'm stuck between never wanting to go to Dos Gringos and kinda wanting to feel the full force of this place first hand.
3. I believe that the douchebag is the bag that holds the fluid used in douching, not a bag full of old douches. That would be, I believe, a duffeldouche.
4. Anyway, who douches? I'm told it's not recommended.
5. My favorite part is how one of the negative factors involved a presumed-member of the Cherkis family. Believe me, that's priceless.
6. Call me crazy, but I've had nothing but good experiences at Haydees.
7. And yes, I too support Rod's House of Semen on the site of the former Convention Center. That ought to put Teaism out of business.
All this while, I've been catching this out of my peripheral vision and wondering: "Why would I want to email some jerk a chicken?" Finally, Yahoo and I are on the same page. But I'm not emailing any of you a jerk chicken. Or any of you jerks a chicken. I need to sleep now.
- Apparently, the manager of the FYE in Tyson's Corner mall is an asshat. Do you think Jesus wants you shopping in the stores of asshats for his birthday? Probably not. So, unless you are dropping by to let him know he is an asshat, don't go in there. [The Consumerist]
- Cookies to make the dipshits dance. [DCist]
- Why is Karen Feld so MAD at Alex Pareene? (And, why isn't she mad at us?) Thanks to him, for the first time ever, people who were born after 1965 have heard of her. Sheesh--you don't see Wonkette going to the mat like that for just anyone who's had a story in an in-flight magazine...even the classy ones. [Wonkette]
- Jim VandeHei and John Harris are apparently going to build a The Note v. 2.0 at the Capitol Leader that even fewer people will care about. [FishbowlDC]
- Fuck me. Delaware is the BANE OF MY EXISTENCE at this time of year. Their tolls are way to expensive for what I get out of being in their "state." They remain the only state on the East Coast that hasn't yet figured out a way to make owning an EZ PASS advantageous. Now, they've gone and shut down TWO NORTHBOUND LANES on I-95. Oh. I hate you, Delaware. I really, really do. [Time I'll Never Get Back]
By now, you, along with the rest of the world, are familiar with Ethan Chandler and his famous bank-merger bowlderized version of "One." You have Tubed it, David Cross has parodied it, I'm sure Aziz Ansari is prepping his own parody of the parody. We've even learned that Chandler has an album out, available on CD Baby, called Better Days Ahead. And what is coming in those better days? Well, to look at the artwork, we shall, in those better days that lay ahead, carry each other, carry each other, while bearing the additional weight of cathode ray tubes on our heads, as planes fly overhead.
Yes, when you bring in Ethan Chandler, you are bringing in an artiste, and, as such, he's got his own process of doing things, including even ripping off rock superstars to give that merger conference that super-affected, ultra-earnest vibe that drunk executives can use to fool themselves into thinking they are doing something special beyond grubbing at scads of pocket change. As it turns out, Chandler went through numerous attempts at finding the right song before ultimately settling on U2's old chestnut "One," and we've obtained some of the notes from his songwriting sessions. We think it helps to greatly illuminate the process by which Chandler took a little piece of our soul and vomited on it.
Sung to the tune of "Daft Punk (is Playing at My House)" by LCD Soundsystem
I'll show you core values, kid, show you core values
I said Bank One is shitting in their pants, their pants
I'll show you core values, kid, show you core values
They got poo dollops in their pants, their pants.
All the NASCAR cards, are in the wallets
And Bank One is shitting in their pants, their pants
You got to join them up kid, join them up
You got to merge 'em up, ooh ooh yeah (x2)
You got to join them up, join them up
Cow bell solo
Well everybody's lined up at our bank, our bank
And Michelle Shepard, is in the Northeast.
Got everybody's money at our bank, our bank.
We're integrated...with Liam McGee
REASON IT WAS ABANDONED: Believe it or not, there wasn't enough cocaine on hand--even at a bank merger conference--for everyone to safely enjoy LCD Soundsystem
Sung to the tune of "Helena" by My Chemical Romance
MBNA is BOA!
So long and goodnight!
So long and goodniiiight!
REASON IT WAS ABANDONED: The board of directors didn't want to have to explain to shareholders in their annual report about how they made Ultragrrrl's "vagina explode."
Sung to the tune of "By The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth" by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
So -- they talked to Liam McGee.
Know the effectiveness of core values
and corporate synergy
Run -- I want more higher standards
We are one--with mad affinity
And let me tell you I now have planned
To have cards in my hand that have new
Branding by its thick corporate skin
MBNA is B of A.
REASON IT WAS ABANDONED: Played. Also, Pitchfork wouldn't go higher than a 6.2.
Sung to the tune of "Stuck Between Stations" by The Hold Steady
MBNA and Bank of America have such a great time together.
Growing from each other at our ministrations.
making sure core values are straight.
matching one another with collossal expectations.
dependent, disciplined, with lower rates.
They were a really great bank and with just a boatload of capitol assets
We are a damn good institution with a flair for customer service.
We liked our core values enough to make a solicitation.
And now it's crystal clear that tonite we've achieved mad integration
In the marketplace.
Me and Michelle Shepard took a walk together
We ended up in Charlotte talking to the shareholders
She said "I am totally holding it down up in the Northeast
but our heads put together make for great investors".
There was that night that we thought that Liam McGee could fly.
but he didn't though he tried.
He said "I'm pretty good with words but words must reflect our core values."
They didn't till we got tied.
The merger was exhausting but soon we'll be acclaimed and respected.
If you love the Golden Gophers you can have them on a card that's a winner.
We like the warm feeling, the affinity of our corporation.
Our higher standards will lead to total customer retention.
These twin bank kisses.
Sound like mister and misses.
and we'll build ATM's down on the banks of the Mississippi River.
REASON IT WAS ABANDONED: As it turns out, Bank of America Chairman and CEO Ken Lewis actually once was dusted in the dark up in Penetration Park.
Sung to the tune of "Transatlanticism" by Death Cab For Cutie
The board members got together, and wrote it all out.
Higher standards are just the surface of a new bank we can cheer
Our core values inform every goal
We'll make thousands upon thousands of dollars
Making cards with APRs that are low
All our people are overjoyed, Liam McGee is so stoked...
Bank one looks like less of a threat, more like a joke
We got cards for your favorite teams and colleges, Cap One is silenced forever more
The distance was quite simply much too far for one to row
But two'll go farther than ever before
We are now so much closer...
We are now so much closer...
I need Michelle Shepard so much closer...
We are now so much closer...
REASON IT WAS ABANDONED: Chris Walla was REALLY anal about how the PA should be set up. Also: Michelle Shepard was starting to think the whole thing was getting kind of weird.
Friday, November 17, 2006
We mark the return, of sorts, of Trent Lott. The Senator from Mississippi loves leadership positions and receptionists with big knockers. And segregation. Boy, he sure do loves him some ole-timey SEGREGATION!
Lott recently returned to the upper echelon of the Senate leadership by defeating flannel enthusiast Lamar "Lamar!" Alexander for the post. Lott won his caucus' approval by a single vote, but DON'T YOU WORRY AMERICA! Owing to the media's particular biases, I promise you that you will not hear word one about the deeply fractious nature of the Republican caucus. Nor will you have to entertain analysis as to whether the GOP totally missed the point of the elections by momentarily entertaining the prospect of elevating Mike Pence and John Shadegg to leadership roles in the House--because just after the center turned out in force to wrest control away from you is the perfect time to consider getting shriller and more reactionary!
Anyway, you have to credit Jon Stewart for pointing out that no one is more suited to be a "minority whip" than Trent Lott. Of course, the deeper question is, does Trent Lott, among his collection of Southern culture bric-a-brac, actually OWN an actual minority whip? And, if JC Watts came over to his house to help rebuild his famously Katrina-damaged front porch, would Lott be tempted to use it?
Posted by The Deceiver at 11/17/2006
So, for the second year in a row, I joined Kyle Leafblower--whose blogger HQ is located conveniently adjacent to my own--in offering my own list of the Ten American Bands That, As A Holier Than Thou, Mega-Obscure Pontificator, I Support in Some Poorly Defined Way. As always, a lot of worthy bands were left off. Six of my ten made the list. Here's how I cast my votes.
1. Bishop Allen
Their unique EP-a-month gambit got my attention--the high-level of songwriting and graceful, simple melodies kept it. More than glib songwriters, Bishop Allen construct a world I'd love to live in--even at its most scarring. Through a year of writing and releasing music, these guys maintained such a constant and consistent level of excellence that it makes a lot of bands look like dilletantes. More to the point: it makes the way major labels farm bands for saleable tracks look incredibly uninspired circa 2006. These songs are about big hopes, big dreams, big adventures, the expansiveness of the human heart and mind as it travels through the world, and--THANK GOD--there's not an ounce of cynicism ANYWHERE.
2. The Hold Steady
Look, I know this band has haters who doubt the authenticity of the Hold Steady, or who tire of the recurring characters. But, from me to them: suck my ass. This isn't rock "for" the scene, it's rock "on" the scene. And what's great about their new record, Boys and Girls in America, is that the band has found a way to acknowledge their newly energized fanbase by giving them a song cycle that contains as many valentines as the previous one had cautionary tale. Envy everybody growing up with this band: they're going to matter for a long time to a lot of people.
3. Ghostface Killah
It's now officially safe to stop giving a shit about crap like hyphy. Ghostface reaches back in time to save hiphop's future from all the laffy taffy ass clowns and the five-minute fads that illuminate too many inferior MC's. Among the Wu-Tangers, 'Face was already head of the class, but Fishscale leaves him untouchable.
4. The Silversun Pickups
The rest of you music bloggers and your darling, pointyheaded folk princes and twee-pop bullshittery bore the fucking hell out of me. So: here's a rock band, bringing actual rock. Listen to them.
5. TV On the Radio
Like nobody else, TV On The Radio find a way to tap in to that which is elemental. During a time where too much of the world feels like it's on the brink of something apocalyptic, TVOTR shows the uncanny ability to take it all in and let you feel it at full measure. Yet, at the same time, the incendiary effect of their skyrocketing gospel-soul vibrations fill the heart with such courage. These guys know how deep the abyss is, but they've found a way out.
6. The Long Winters
I was late to the party on the Long Winters, but their new release Putting The Days To Bed, has been a constant companion every since I first heard it.
7. Green Day
This is going to look like one of those nods to a band you feel obligated to name, but even after all the time that's passed since American Idiot, you can see how mighty this band has grown. They are still the biggest brand name in American rock right now. When they needed an American band to join U2 in performing whatever that post-Katrina song was called ("Do They Know It's Not Wet Anymore'?), Green Day was the only plausible choice. Not bad for a bunch of guys who used to write punchy pop-punk odes to jacking it. Plus, Brandon Flowers talked shit about them this year, so I feel obligated to defend their honor against Flowers' poncey-ass hackism.
Going out they way a great band should--Sleater-Kinney hit Washington, DC and delivered a show that rocked with primal energy--as if they were a band feeling the kind of force they can wield for the first time. Their farewell pass was the only "be there or die trying" rock event of 2006 for me.
9. Cold War Kids
There's no denying the talent behind the Raconteurs--but, to me, it still feels so gauzy and pre-fab. And let's face it, none of them are rocking as if their livelihoods depend on it, and it shows. For a bluesy, sweat-drenched kick that feels like something is actually at stake, reach for Cold War Kids.
10. Gnarls Barkley
Sheesh. I give.
10 Bands that just missed the cut:
Margot and the Nuclear So and So's
Middle Distance Runner (but: keep watching Leaf's blog...I found a way to reward them)
The Strokes (it took a long time to learn to stop worrying and love First Impressions)
Beck (this, I admit, was a vastly egregious omission)
My Morning Jacket
The Dresden Dolls
One "band" we need a ruling on for the future:
Neko Case. Born in Alexandria, moved to Tacoma, Washington, then Toronto, where, by dint of participating in the New Pornographers, became mainly known as a Canadian artist. Now, however, it seems that she lives in Chicago. So, I ask that we get an official ruling on who gets to claim her, because, in fairness, Fox Confessor Brings the Flood was a fantastic record, and, as always, her live show this year was fantastic.
Bands that made the list that make me vomit in my own mouth:
I don't think this band is ever going to re-find the otherworldly weirdness of Blueberry Boat. The record with their grandma on it was nigh upon unlistenable and their 2006 release, Bitter Tea was an album of slight, weightless amuse bouches, impossible to take seriously.
Car Stereo (Wars):
I like the Ghostland/Ghostface mashup a lot, as well--but I'm just not ready to place a mashup artist on a pedestal.
Tapes N' Tapes:
Dull and pointless. The perfect example of what Paul H. calls "is your radio broken?" music.
Anyway, register your objections here and/or there, and remember: MySpace exists so that you DON'T have to listen to everything bloggers tell you to listen.
Posted by The Deceiver at 11/17/2006
Friday, November 10, 2006
*In case you missed it, here's my interview with Justin Rice of Bishop Allen.
Posted by The Deceiver at 11/10/2006
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Can I just say that the first twenty-four minutes of a George Allen-free Virginia have been AWESOME. I'm guessing the next twenty-four will only get better. Sweet Mary in the morning, I am STYCHED.
So many people to thank right now. First off: S. R. Siddarth has got a MOTHERFUCKIN' POSSE. We've already heard a commenter call for an Obama-Siddarth ticket in '08. How fast can you turn 35, S. R.? Let's make this happen. Man, if I didn't have a show tonight I'd be driving down to the Hook to buy your ass some hot wings at Maarten's. My wish for you, S. R., is that you spend the coming weekend neck deep in Phi Mu pussy, knowing deep in your heart that I fully support your Lawn application.
Let's also thank Jews worldwide, for possessing the honorable qualities that make men like George Allen quake with shame. Maccabees shoot down macacabees. Adam Sandler: DO NOT ADD ALLEN TO THE HANUKKAH SONG. Next spring break, let's take Malibu back for the Tribe, too!
To whoever the female pilot who gave Jim Webb the ride of his life--we thank you. Next time, just remember to report anyone who doesn't show any interest in landing the plane.
Larry Sabato, I don't know, man...I just can't stay mad atcha! Gimme a hug, you mustachioed ponce!
Thomas Jefferson, thanks for penning the Virginia Statute of Religious Freedom. We'll put the gay-haters in their place yet.
To the University of Virginia, thanks for not allowing George Allen's quarterbacking statistics to see the light of day. People just naturally assumed he was awful, and every little bit helped.
To the rear end of every horse George Allen ever rode--wow, you DO look just like him!
Tonight, every Virginian will return home to find a special gift in the mailbox: the head of a deer named freedom! Sic semper, my bitches!
Bob Corker tests out the new hotline he will use to vigilantly guard all of Tennessee's white women.
So, tonight, the AP called the Virginia election for Webb. I don't know if Allen has yet conceded, or if one is even coming, but it's significant that the AP announcement was not followed by some other crazy-ass shoe clattering to the floor on behalf of the empty-headed ninnies who want Allen to retain his seat.
Ohhh, just let me savor this. I lived down South when Allen's political career carried him to the Governor's mansion, and I have wanted his political career to die from the very first minute I became aware of his existence. His feigned good ol'l boy posturing and that ubiquitous fucking football were all a part of the corpus defecti. When he became a real-live U.S. Senator, I was chagrinned beyond all imaginings. I never thought we might see the day where someone challenged former New Hampshire Senator Bob Smith as the dumbest fucking dumbfuck Senator ever, but Allen straight up LAPPED him. Terrible day for Virginia. Then, when I realized he was positioning himself to be a Presidential candidate, I was like--PANIC: ON! Electing George Allen to the Presidency? Why not just have everyone quaff an LSD milkshake and set the country on fire?
But it's over, he's over. He's done, dead, finished. And, I gotta tell you, it is fucking GREAT! LOVE IT! He really should have let me punch him in the face. S. R. Siddarth, you ever walk into a bar I'm sitting in, I promise, you will drink for free. Wahoowa.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Just a few days after it was announced that Saddam Hussein would hang for his crimes, there come rumors that the man who encouraged and provided the material support for those crimes will no longer be our Secretary of Defense. Yes, Donald Rumsfeld, our delightfully addlepated harbinger of unknown knowns and known unknowns will be made to walk the plank for everything going to hell.
This is like the morning after Christmas, when your mom realizes that she left a really cool gift hidden behind the couch the day before.
Of course, knowing Bush, he'll just unleash some other white-skinned, dread Morlock motherfucker from the Phantom Zone to join his Cabinet of Dr. Caliguri. Or--even worse--appoint Joe Lieberman. Let's hope the Senate situation prevents that from happening.
Don't cry for Rumsfeld, though. He'll enjoy many years of having taxpayer dollars funnelled into his gullet through the distended teat of the Carlyle Group. Eventually he'll die, but, remember: HIS CORPSE WON'T BURN.
Posted by The Deceiver at 11/08/2006
So, as I type this, it looks like the Democratic Party has done the improbable and nearly run the table in the Senate. I think Webb goes over 10K by the time all the early votes are counted--the last remaining precincts are in heavily Democratic Band Camp City. Then come the absentee/provisionals, which I expect to be a wash. Should Tester hold in Montana, that means 51-49 for the Democrats/Bernie Sanders.
Here's what you'll hear out of the mouths of the losers: the Democrats won, but conservatism didn't lose. Of course, most of the people who'll be saying that wouldn't be able to recognize conservatism if it shit in their mouths. If there's any shred of truth to what they're saying, it's this: compared to batshit insane 9-11 death cultism, EVERYTHING LOOKS CONSERVATIVE.
There may be people out there who think that some group of alien beings FORCED the Republicans to triple the rate of government spending under the Clinton administration, enact numerous invasive big-government laws that should make any real "Constitutional constructivist" shudder, piss untold billions down the hole of nation-building the un-nation-buildable in Iraq, and generally act like raving, lunatic dicks--BUT I LOOKED IT UP: for the past six years, these dudes named Republicans had all the votes.
So, before they choke to death on the "conservatism didn't lose" meme, they should ask themselves: So, you got any conservatives? Because if you got elected with an "R" on your name, you're likely a batshit insane 9-11 death cultist. GOOD LUCK WITH THAT, LOSERS.
That said, can the Democrats build on this? Man, I have no idea. No idea. Their post-election talking points though, are much more sensible: don't swagger, preach ethics, plan on connecting with the opposition to find workable bills that can pass with big majorities, play ball from the middle. But they better have a plan, otherwise history WILL look back on this as a win by default.
By the way, isn't it awesome that Terry McAuliffe wasn't in charge? It SO is.
Posted by The Deceiver at 11/08/2006
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Britney and K. Fed have brought an end to their hilarious marriage.
I'm sure "election year politics" will be the reason given. Mike Jones was probably Brit's meth dealer, too.
Somewhere, out there in the world, is the next recipient of Federline's unholy, rampaging sperm. He's got, like, NANOBOTS in that shit or something.
Gay marriage: looking smarter every day!
Posted by The Deceiver at 11/07/2006
Monday, November 06, 2006
Today, when I returned home, I found what appeared to be a parking ticket on my car. Twas green, like a parking ticket, tucked up under the windscreen wiper, like a parking ticket, and it was sitting there, pissing me off, like a parking ticket. Tomorrow my little corner of the world plays host to a voter precinct location, so I'm primed for a lot of inane car moving. My first reaction, upon seeing the ticket, was: "OhhHHhHhh, HELL to the NO!"
My second reaction, was much much angrier. The "ticket" was actually a flyer from Moran for Congress. One side: "Your ticket..." The flip: "To a New Direction for America."
Leaving aside the fact that the only "New Direction" possible where Moran is concerned is for that diddly fuck jackass to have a meteorite fall on him so that someone new could be the Democratic nominee, this flyer was something I greeted with nothing short of white-hot ire. You see, where I live in Arlington, is where all the hoity-toit limousine liberal dickshits live. They were the first Arlingtonians to get their precious fucking speedbumps. They were the only Arlingtons to make an attempt to LITERALLY FOOL PEOPLE into taking a roundabout way from Lee Highway to Clarendon so that cars didn't PASS THROUGH THEIR NEIGHBORHOOD.
Those of us who live in our apartment complex (which is, itself, a very superb place to live) are constantly treated like second class citizens by the fucks in the neighborhood above. It manifests itself in a million tiny ways, but the largest issue is that of parking. They have gone out of their way to make it hard for us to park. We fought them tooth and nail to get a new parking lot built, and thank god we won. When I think of the diminished property values of the homes adjacent to the new parking lot, I dance a little jig. It makes me so happy! So happy! And I can't wait for it to be finished, so I can invite all my day laborer friends over to meet up with their employers. Yes, sir. I will be buying in the this neighborhood SOON ENOUGH, BITCHES.
In my neighborhood, no real scofflaw has ever gotten a parking ticket. They go to the renters. Always, always, always. The County even has some new parking signs that restrict six curbside spaces to two-hour increments on weekday afternoons during the months of June, July, August and half of September! I mean, WTF?
So, when Moran lays out his faux parking tickets in my hood, there aint no motherfucking joking around. It's a little message from a big asshole who's out of touch with his constituents. And, in so many words, that's what I told the person who answered the phone at Moran for Congress. I felt, at first, bad, that the poor volunteer had to get the brunt of what I was trying to communicate--but fuck it, I've been where she's sitting, and it's time for her to get fitted for some big boy pants. Hopefully, my request, which was for whatever incompetent jagoff who greenlit this fucking flyer to get in touch with me an arrange an appointment during which he/she will lovingly spongebath my ass like the chattel that they are.
Fuck Moran. And, you know what? Fuck Chris Zimmerman for contributing to the shit people in our apartment complex go through. Josh Ruebner: you just got my vote for Arlington County Council. Don't fuck it up. Jim Moran: I actually enjoy not voting for you. You never really had much of a chance. But, as Neo said to the Architect: "If I were you, I would hope that we don't meet again."
Wonkette has a series of pull quotes from Christopher Hitchens latest foray into unintelligibility in The Observer, and, in an innovation, managed to wrap them all into one post instead of having a 59-part series, which would, of course, court the even lamer 13-part series criticizing the original 59-part series. Wonkette is smart peoples. But we still miss the kitty cat.
Anyhoo, here's our favorite of Hitchen's bitchin':
"When I first hear...of John Kerry's 'gaffe' about lazy students ending up in Iraq, I think, oh come on. Everyone can tell it was a feeble joke falling flat. Not so. I am invited on several TV chat-shows to dispute the point, which means that, even when denouncing a non-story, I am, in effect, helping to perpetuate it."
Weep! Strike up a tiny viola for Christopher Hitchens! When invited to perpetuate that which should not be perpetuated, the man cannot help himself! (And, while we're on the subject, does anyone know how well Ahmad Chalabi is polling in Basra?) It's not his fault--it's the irresistible siren-song of the cameras pointed in his direction.
If you are keeping score at home, this means that Christopher Hitchens has a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other, and it's the devil that maketh him to go on television to talk out of his asshole. Presumably, after the angel musses his hair and makes him go swim in a bathtub full of gin.
Going into tomorrow's election, George Felix Allen and Jim "My Name is Only Seven Letters Long Yet Still Too Long to Appear on the Ballot" Webb are still locked in a bitter race. Now, I'll be honest with you: I've come to know Allen up close and personal from the many years we were both residents of the Capital of the Confederacy. I don't much care for the man who, as one of his former law professors once quipped, is the "second dumbest person to ever graduate from UVa. Law." Mary Sue Terry was, lucky for Felix, the first dumbest, and, man, was she ever.
So, right now, if you were out there thinking, "Hmmm. I bet the DCeiver is leaning Webb," you'd be pretty much on the mark. But all is not lost. I am willing to offer George one last shot at earning my vote tomorrow. To get my vote, Allen only needs to agree to one simple thing:
He can let me hit him in the face. No backsies.
It's a very simple litmus test that I extend to all persons running for office: you let me hit you in the face, and by gum, I'll vote for you. Usually, the races I vote in are so far apart in margin for a candidate to take me up on the offer--that's how Jim Moran, while eminently hittable, has avoided entering into this contract with me. But, Allen needs all the help he can get--help I can provide.
Now, before you get all bent out of shape, I don't want to HURT George Allen. I'm a lover, not a fighter. I can't imagine deriving any joy breaking a man's teeth or splitting his lip. That's for sick and empty cynics. I see the punch in the face being of the sort that occurs when two best friends get drunk and one says to the other: "Hit me in the face as hard as you can." and the other guy does, but, shit, it's his bro! He doesn't wanna do him no harm. So he all but pulls his punch, but, being tipsy, lets it be just a leetle teeny bit too hard. Enough for a second of "wake up" pain and maybe an embarrassing looking lurch backward. NB: This wouldn't make me and Allen bros. I just want to say--this ain't gonna be Fight Club style antics. I just want to have my own private moment of Allen looking awkward and embarrassed because I hit him in the face to savor.
I want to do this for two reasons. First: I think it's important at this historic mid-term election that Americans reassert themselves, and teach our elected officials to learn their place. For two long, we've fawned on these people like celebrities, treating them as if they are our best and brightest and deserving of vaunted status in our society, when, in reality, we should all treat elected officials as the offal-crawling dalits that they are. The more we learn to treat politicians and their ilk as low-life pieces of worthless chattel, the better off we'll be. Because, in America, power truly is supposed to come from the people. It's time to relearn the American Caste System:
From highest to lowest:
1. Me and my fellow American citizens.
2. Our pets.
3. People who work in A&R for major corporate music labels.
4. Our public servants.
5. The people appointed to office by our public servants.
6. The cast of Grey's Anatomy. (I don't know about you, but I am THROUGH taking shit from those people.)
7. The people who staff the people on levels 4 and 5.
9. City Paper blogger Melanie Boyer.
George Allen is three whole levels beneath me and my fellow American citizens, so there shouldn't even be a question as to whether I should be allowed to hit him or not! (Sadly, it's still poor form to punch the A&R guy from Warners in the face. Just try to remember: in the morning, you'll be sober--he'll still be an A&R guy.)
Secondly, I want to hit George Allen in the face just because if he wins, everyone I know is going to bitch about him for the next six years. And rightfully so. But, for once, when I hear the bitching, I'll be able to shrug and say, "What...THAT guy? Ehhh, whatever. I once hit him in the face."
So, think about it George. Election Day is tomorrow but the night is still young! Your face, my vote...it's an arrangement where everybody wins! Unless, of course, the SurveyUSA poll showing Webb up 8% is right. Maybe you better get an ice pack, come to NoVA, and "get out the vote"--on YOUR FACE!
- There is such a thing called "depraved indifference." Usually, it describes a criminal's POV when committing a criminal act. But, what if, instead of a single act, you used "depraved indifference" as a lifestyle choice. What if it defined your every action, your entire modus operandi, indeed, your very raison d'etre? And what if you lived in a city with an alt-weekly that was stupid enough to let you spell out every separate element of your malodorous existence. Well, that's what went into the creation of the City Paper's latest cover story, "Your Unfinished Basement or Mine?" in which one Franklin Schneider elucidates in graphic detail his hollow life and his malformed lifestyle choices, all of which paint the picture of a singularly loathesome, craven, awful, stupid human being. This guy makes the dude who recalled for the City Paper how he let people piss on him for an iPod Nano look like he's next in line to be the fucking Dali Lama. But, don't just read the story--no, no--anyone can merely glance, from left to right, across the pages of the City Paper--skimming when it just becomes too awful. No. For the full effect, please, do the honor of having Rusty relate it to you. He spelunked directly into the cavernous depths of young Franklin's void and examined the full measure of every shit-flecked stalactite therein. We hope he spent the weekend getting disinfected, and we thank him for the self-sacrifice. [WhyIHateDC]
- Adrienne Shelley: RIP. [Gothamist]
- Just when you thought it was impossible to love Middle Distance Runner more... [DCist]
- Noted, with a RRRROOOOWWWWWRRR. [FishbowlDC]
- One of the city's best bloggers has been laid low by crime. We pray for swift vengeance. [El Guapo in DC]
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Is there room in the quarantine room for Mark Halperin as well? With all the time he spends talking out of his ass, there have GOT to be airborne pathogens involved.
In an attempt to stop poll results appearing on the likes of Drudge and Wonkette, the networks are instituting a quarantine room. Good luck with that.
What began as an entertaining exercise, in which Wonkette shed light on the backstage goings-on at Late Night Shots--which basically allowed nothing more than letting the eminently rip-uponable to rip themselves--is now threatening to escalate into a full-blown douchebag uprising. No unpopped collar shall be spared.
FishbowlDC has a smattering of choice comments from the LNS gang. Our favorite:
"I would have no problem rolling into Poets and Busboys [sic], destroying their shit and burning and looting the place."
Oh, my. I'd advise against it. The Busboys and Poets crowd is pretty hardcore. They can straight tussle. Shit, you can just imagine what might happen if they rolled up there only to find Etan Thomas giving a reading--a lotta snapped necks. Of course, we don't think this gaggle of spoonfed twats can make it one-third up 14th Street without gettin' all a-scurred. Maybe the LNS Mafia can start small, and work their way up--you know, go toss Teaism or something.
Anyway, this is why we rarely party below P Street.
- When we last saw Sean Na Na, he was doing his best to ruin the Strokes' show at DARCH. Now, it's come to my attention that he seems to think that he has carte blanche to jizz his no-talent shenanigans all over entire Hold Steady shows? He's like the David Brent of indie-rock, and if he pulls this shit in November, BITCH WILL BE TASED! [Idolator]
- What will the National Mall look like in the future? Unleash your dystopian worldviews with the people of this world best prepared to bear the psychic weight of your darkest, most cynical thoughts: the good people of the National Park Service. [NPS.gov]
- Just when you thought it was impossible to love Middle Distance Runner more... [DCist]
- George Felix Allen: throws like a pussy. [Washington Post]
- "As a student, Hitchens was good-looking and charismatic. He does not remember ever having met Bill Clinton, his Oxford contemporary, but he told me that there was a student who, at different times, was his girlfriend and Clinton's, before she began a lifetime of lesbianism." I'm guessing that whatever touched off Hitchen's lifetime of alcoholism is knit up in there somewhere, too. [FishbowlDC]
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Oh, man. You know, it's not even necessary to finish the sentence when it starts with the words, "John Kerry, attempting a joke..." I mean, we know how that's going to end. The same rule applies if you ever hear a sentence begin this way: "The DCeiver, attempting to pilot a dirigible..." I mean...you know what's next! Fiery holocaust and doom for everyone and everything you ever held dear!
But this would never have happened if we had been giving those kids advice. When we're asked about how the next generation can best position themselves for success, we always say the same thing: "Holy shit, kids. If you don't want to end up in Iraq, fuck being smart. Be rich, or, failing that, gay. Either way, you won't die." That's just telling the truth.
Here's what we want to know: What were the odds that two days before the 2006 midterms, someone would have actually pointed a camera at John Kerry and Phil Angelides? What were they doing? Filming the two men's living wills?
Posted by The Deceiver at 11/01/2006