Sunday, November 30, 2008

Stay Classy, East Orange

Oh hai! I am back now from my recent adventures in the tri-State area, which involved hanging with the niece and nephews, visiting old friends, and spending an uncountable number of hours on the New Jersey Turnpike, which was as awful as it has ever been tonight. My god.

I'd like to recommend the Ramada Inn East Orange, which was not the Murder Hotel it was reputed to be at all. Very much an Aggravated Assault/Possession With Intent To Distribute Hotel instead. There was one working elevator and the hallways smelled vaguely of urine, but the random gatherings of Eastern European men in the lobby were friendly and "warm" for Eastern European standards. One of the hotel staff paused this morning to ask me a question I don't get a lot: "Are you with the music group?" No. No, I was not.

Anyway, I'm back, and I hope you Redskins fan appreciate to hilarious way I drove in to Manhattan to go to a club and straight up goad Plaxico Burress into shooting himself in the leg. Already people are asking me how I did it! Well, it was a simple process, really. See, I knew that Plaxico carried a piece with him at all times. So, I went to the club, and from there, it was just a simple matter of Plaxico Burress being as dumb as a motherfucking bag of rocks.

It was the perfect crime!

Thursday, November 27, 2008

The Death Of Roy Batty [Jonathan Rees R.I.P.]

Keith Ivey points me to this article on awesomely 1997tastic website DCWatch from Gary Imhoff, reporting that Jonathan Rees, vexatious litigant and crazy bedeviler of DC area blogs and bloggers, has died. He leaves behind a legacy that includes at least one fantastically unsuccessful run for DC Council, endless homophobic blogs, about seven hundred online aliases, and a pure and unadulterated mania that will likely be unmatched in this lifetime. I hope wherever he goes, they give him his brain back. Or let him go even crazier. That was one weird and hateful dude.

Rees probably gave me one of my favoritest blurbs ever: "I am convinced that your left nut is bigger than your right which reflects your often unbalanced reporting but that is your trade mark as Asshole of the Year 2004." That went right on my curriculum vitae.

Rees was good enough to submit to an interview with me. At the time, he didn't know it, but he had specifically agreed to take the Voight-Kampff Test:

The DCeiver: It's your birthday. Someone gives you a calfskin wallet. How do you react?

REES: I always liked things like leather or skin whether a wallet or vest.

The DCeiver: You've got a little boy. He shows you his butterfly collection plus the killing jar. What do you do?

REES: Since I am not a fan of butterfly collections, I might be inclined to encourage him to begin collecting things like coins, stamps or marbles.

The DCeiver: You're watching television. Suddenly you realize there's a wasp crawling on your arm.

REES: I would extend my arm and wait for it to fly off as I have been in that position twice in my life and was never stung.

The DCeiver: You're in a desert walking along in the sand when all of the sudden you look down, and you see a tortoise, Jonathan, it's crawling toward you. You reach down, you flip the tortoise over on its back,
Jonathan. The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun,
beating its legs trying to turn itself over, but it can't, not without your
help. But you're not helping. Why is that, Jonathan?

REES: I am not helping because I want it to do more on its own to turn itself over.

The DCeiver: Describe in single words, only the good things that come into your mind. About your mother.

REES: The fact that she took the time to not only raise me but taught me to respect all no matter what their lot in life was and never ask for anything back.

As you might have guessed, he was deemed a replicant. Oh, well. Jonathan Rees saw things you wouldn't believe. Unconfirmed sodomy between DC officials. Misguided campaign flyers, shoved under windshield wipers in Woodley Park. He watched comment streams on blogs glitter on his screen at the public library. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.

Obviously...

Everyone should have a happy Thanksgiving. I'm thankful to have a job and friends and a pretty good life, when you think about it. Best to everyone this holiday season.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Bad Day For Butt Banditry

Via Doree Shafrir. So, apparently, it was a very bad day for Tom Larvie, who was arrested today on charges stemming from a raft of activity that won Larvie the nickname "Nebraska's Butt Bandit." His crimes are not what you think they are:

Larvie is suspected of leaving greasy, graphic imprints of his naked behind, and sometimes his groin, on the windows of stores, churches and schools in Valentine since the spring of 2007.

The marks were made with lotion or petroleum jelly.
Perhaps this is a minor quibble, but this doesn't seem much like BANDITRY to me. Bandits steal, or rob people on the highway, or, at the very least, operate machines without permits. Larvie wasn't exactly stealing anything. Sounds to me like he was making his opinion of various institutions known. "Butt Vandal" I could maybe accept, though that would sort of imply that he was running around, wrecking some ass, and, like I said at the outset, his crimes are not what you think they are.

I guess my bigger problem is the fact that he's credited with being NEBRASKA'S Butt Bandit, when really, his whole scope of operations seemed restricted to the city of Valentine - a tiny burg in Northwest Nebraska with a population of about 3,000 people. I have to imagine that there are people right now, in Lincoln - or in the general Omaha-Council Bluffs vicinity, who could lay claim to being the state's great ass-and-taint-presser-on-windows. At least I hope there are. I guess what I'm saying is that Nebraska could really stand to get out more.

Kudos to the AP for really nailing down this story.

Caveat Emptor In The Virginia 47th [Won't Get Gray Raped Again]

So, this dude named Miles Grant is running to unseat Al Eisenberg for the Virginia House of Delegates in the 47th District. According to some of my Arlington Democratic sources, there's a little bit of acrimony as to how a primary fight came about - one person I talked to made it sound like there was a little bit of a lack of politesse on Grant's part. Can't confirm any of that at the moment, and I largely don't give a shit about it. If you live in Arlington, like me, chance are you're arrogant and you're liberal, like me.

Here's what does concern me - nay, disturbs me. As it turns out, Miles Grant once took to these very pages to defend the decision to have Laura Sessions Stepp - supremely confused prude and advocate of the atrocity that is the (very anti-woman) term "gray rape" - speak to would-be mentors of children. Laura Sessions Stepp's nonsense shouldn't get tracked anywhere near children or mentors or, indeed, 21st Century America. Grant's defense of this nonsense is enough for us to be putting down the big NO NO NO as far as his electoral aspirations are concerned.

Dahliahoowa!

Dahlia Lithwick's been my favorite writer over at Slate since, like, forever, because hey: I'm a guy who enjoys legal arcana and hates Alberto Gonzalez, so why not! She clerked, I believe, for Judge Procter Hug, which is just the best name for a judge anywhere in the world. Also: she's a fan of the Venn Diagram, especially this one. So I was excited to see her on Maddow last night. I got a post out of it, too! So win, win.

Of course, I had no idea just how far in the tank I could get, until I rewatched the tape and saw what was sitting on the shelf behind her.



Obviously, this is the type of decor with which one can be proudly associated.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Before You Die, You See This Video

As readers know, my friend Amanda is a nice and well adjusted person who is a very good egg. Also, she recommends a lot of good music to people. Because of her music recommendations and general good eggery, whenever I hear a terrible, ear murdering song, I joke that it's a song that Evil Amanda from the Evil Parallel Universe would recommend on her Evil Blog.

So, when Kyle Leafblower pointed me in the direction of the video of this song, my thirst thought was, "My God. This shit is the most played track on Evil Amanda's evil iPod. It is the yellowcake in her uranium enrichment program. I sure hope that Good Donald Rumsfeld can stop her." (Life is complicated in the Evil Parallel Universe.)

Anyway, this is probably the worst song in the world. It's douchebag-powered aural date rape.



Honestly, seeing this video, knowing that the whole of human history has inevitable led to its creation, practically FORCES you to take the only righteous course of action left open to you. Namely: to immediately steal a truckload of rocket-propelled grenades, and then travel back in time to teach the Native Americans to use them in defense of this homeland against all European settlers. So, if by this time next week, I'm in some alternate timeline, cold chillin' with some goddamned Mohicans, living in earthly harmony with the gentle motherfucking buffalo, now you will know why.

What Do Ladies Named Jaime Do?

They use only the most exuberant photos of themselves as their Facebook profile pictures.


Jaime Fearer, left, performs in WIT's SEASON SIX.
Jaime Windon, right, is the BLONDE PHOTOGRAPHER.

Friday, November 21, 2008

Suck it, Twilight!


At E Street Cinema, 555 11th Street NW

Sarah Palin's Grindhouse

Here's that gotcha media again, cold catching Sarah Palin at her worst without noting all those times Joe Biden blithely stood in front of animals getting slaughtered!



I mean, this is just fucking unbelievable! Just remember, Bill Kristol is going to transform this woman into the standard-bearer of the Republican Party any day now, you betcha!

Running On Empty

John McCain is apparently suing singer Jackson Browne for monetary damages (That's right! Senator Seven Homes wants Jackson Browne's money!) because Browne would not let McCain use one of his songs during the campaign, and because McCain is insane.

Of course, Jackson Browne can make this lawsuit go away if he will agree to go out on a series of ten town hall debates with John McCain. For that is all John McCain ever wanted: to travel from whistlestop to whistlestop in the company of another man, like a pair of comical tramps.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Such A Little Thing Makes A Big Difference

Michael Isikoff is a superb reporter, but there's a tendency among journalists to capture every single dispute with the Bush administration as the simple wranglings of two points on the political spectrum. When it comes to the protracted battles over any of the "unitary executive" powers that Bush took for himself -- from wiretapping, to secret prisons, to renditions, to torture, to the suspension of habeas corpus, etc. -- the issue is not a matter of left-versus-right. Rather, it is a conflict between those who believe in a rule of law and fundamental Constitutional rights and a President determined to flout both.
Basic civics is a radical concept, I guess.

Internet Klonopin

I guess my question is, WHY AREN'T THERE MORE OF THESE THINGS? Why isn't one of David Gregory's 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue pundit boxes pointed at a puppy cam? Why can't the New York Times replace Bill Kristol's column with a puppy cam? Why doesn't the Huffington Post have, right now, a PUPPY CAM VERTICAL? Surely these things will come to pass! As Horace wrote in the Ars Poetica, "Simul et jucunda et idonea dicere vitae," which is Latin for "OMG I want those puppies NOM NOM NOM."
The Shiba Inu Puppy Cam is the happiest place on Earth.

Signs Of My Steady Decline

As I have reported elsewhere, Friday night I returned from the Stop Smiling party and went to sleep. And that night, I had a dream. In that dream, I met with Liz Glover, who had been to a Congressional hearing on the bailout disbursement and had shot a series of still photographs of Neel Kashkari testifying before some committee, and while Kashkari hadn't said anything out of the ordinary to the committee, Liz had somehow captured him in such a way that all of his facial expressions looked like his was in the throes of intense sexual ecstacy. (Liz is, in fact, just amazing enough that this is plausible.) So, she and I uploaded all the images, and we created a post for HuffPo entitled "Neel Kashkari Makes His 'O' Face." The dream was so vivid that when I awoke, I still felt the conscious impulse to call up an editor to see how much traffic the post was getting.

The thing is, had it been an actual post, it would have played like gangbusters. Here's hoping my dreams are prophetic!

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Famous Last Words

"And then he peeled his turquoise Honda Accord out of the luxury apartment complex, blasted the Verve Pipe’s 'Freshmen,' and drove us home in silence."
That's how Lindsay Robertson ends this post, and I have to say, that is a killer last line right there. Can you imagine how much better Uncle Vanya would be if that's how Sonya buttoned that michegas up? Honestly, I think that line should end all stories, with the exception, of course, of all episodes of Law And Order: SVU, which I have learned should all end with one of the characters enthusiastically shouting, "We're going to Red LOBSTEEEERRRR!" This matter is not up for debate.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

A Week Later...

So! That whole election thing worked out pretty okay, didn't it? WE NOW RETURN YOU TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING. I've been basically re-learning how to relax, not wake up in the middle of the night with Sarah Palin-induced night terrors, working hard at remembering what I used to care about before agreeing to be chomped up and shat out the all consuming maw of our democracy. Teevee and stuff! I recall rock music. Plus, there were all these wonderful people I used to see, I think they were called "friends" or something. Anyway, Spencer Ackerman invited me to relearn all my social niceties BKLYN-STYLE at some football-watching gathering this Sunday, so perhaps I shall partake. Meanwhile, onward.

Oh, and hey, drunken New Jersey asswipe Steven Lipski, do not think for ONE FUCKING MINUTE that I failed to note your dumb ass, urinating off of the balcony of the 9:30 Club onto the patrons below. Jesus, man, were you raised in a GODDAMNED BARN? I just booked three nights in Jersey tonight (two in West Orange, one in Denville) and I will be coming to your misbegotten state with a full bladder to proffer some backsies. I'd do it at Jersey City's coolest rock club - trouble is, I know your whole state doesn't have a "cool rock club." Just sad ass drunks in ramshackle Bloomfield Avenue taverns who've probably already pissed themselves by ten p.m. Never you mind, though. I'ma MAKE IT RAIN.

Tuesday, November 04, 2008

Our Closing Argument


This Election Day, oscillate wildly.

A Letter From A Fine American Cock

Balk:

Those of you who support John McCain, I want you to think about this: Barack Obama is going to win. He’s probably going to win walking away. People will spend hours waiting at the polls so they can cast their vote for him. Tomorrow’s supposed to be a beautiful day in most parts of the country: Do you really want to waste a good part of it so that you can someday tell your grandkids that you cast a futile vote against America’s first black president because you were worried about his socialist economic policies? (And remember, by the time your grandkids are around, they’ll know that “socialist economic policies” was simply secret code for “I don’t want to appear racist so I’ll grab at any excuse, no matter how ludicrous and overblown, to keep a black guy out of the White House,” which is just not going to wash.) Of course you don’t. John McCain is going to lose. Take the afternoon off and tell your boss you were voting. Go to a bar or something. Enjoy the sunshine. Your party’s about to take a well-deserved beating; would you rather spend that time standing in line behind a bunch of well-motivated, enthusiastic Democrats who are full of anticipation for this historic moment? Of course not! Get hammered and do something non-racist for the first time in a while. I mean, sure, if you really want to be racist, go vote for McCain, but remember: It’s not going to matter. He’s going to lose.

Those of you who support Barack Obama: Vote. Vote your ass off. Drag everyone you know to the polls with you. Enjoy the sensation of history. Enjoy the well-deserved victory. Enjoy the fierce urgency of now. But remind yourself of this at some point during the day (perhaps at 11 P.M. Eastern tomorrow when they announce that Barack Obama will be the next president of the United States): that was the easy part.

Sunday, November 02, 2008

No, Graham Hough-Cornwell, No!

Graham writes:

I could write a whole post about the possible political implications of tomorrow night's Monday Night Football game between our Washington Redskins and the battleground-state Pittsburgh Steelers.
That's technically true! But, in order to write a post about those implications and be CORRECT, Graham would have to write what I pointed out in my previous post, which is that "the Redskins Rule was finally dispelled in 2004, when the Green Bay Packers defeat of the Redskins at the Jack failed to produce a John Kerry victory at the polls."