French film about a young hoodlum, always scheming to scheme a buck. Well, he ends up selling his kid for some bucks. His girlfriend ain't too keen on that, so he goes to get the baby back, and ends up in a downward spiral, which, ironically enough, may be the best thing to happen to him. I can't tell you for sure, because the movie ends vaguely. Good movie though. If you can handle subtitles,check it out.
Colbert Report, December 20
One of the greatest Colbert Reports ever. This one is the Colbert Report Rock N Awe Countdown to Guitarmageddon, in which Stephen and the Decemberists settle their blood fued once and for all. It's probably all over YouTube and the like, so make sure to watch it. I almost peed.
Me, You, and Everyone We Know
Arty film about, well, something. But quirky enough for me to recommend. Feels like sort of a cross between Magnolia, Ghost World, and Happiness. If you like those, I gaurantee you'll like this. Plus, it features the ))<>(( scene (below), which was the funniest thing I saw all year.
Guy Ritchie film. I likes Snatch and Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels, but this movie was pure garbage. Really, really, awful. My man-crush on Jason Statham is officially over. And Ray Liotta, man, what were you thinking? Also, Andre 3000 cannot act (at least in this movie).
Documentary on what went on behind the movie Boondock Saints, which, if you read this blog, you know I hated. This movie makes me hate that movie more, even though this is a good movie. Understand? Troy Duffy, the writer/director and member of some shitty band no one's ever heard of but was going to apparantly change the face of rock as we know it, is a complete egotistical asshole. He tries to run his band and his movie like he's Michael Corleone or some shit. Manages to piss off just about everyone he meets and his movie, which had garnered significant buzz (god knows why, even the screenplay sucks), barely gets made and is released by some unknown company. Generally, I'm anti-violence. But some people just need their ass kicked. Not for revenge, but to bring them down a notch. Troy Duffy is definitely one of those dudes. Why no one ever stood up to that paper tiger pussy, I have know idea.
And yet somehow, Boondock Saints has a cult following on DVD. If you're part of that cult, I don't want to know you. Anyways, definitely watch this movie (Overnight) and avoid Boondock Saints.
I work hard for the money, so you better treat me right.
SIX TO EIGHT BLACK MEN
by Davis Sedaris
I've never been much for guidebooks, so when trying to get my
bearings in a strange American city, I normally start by asking the
cabdriver or hotel clerk some silly question regarding the latest
census figures. I say silly because I don't really care how many
people live in Olympia, Washington, or Columbus, Ohio. They're
nice enough places, but the numbers mean nothing to me. My second
question might have to do with average annual rainfall, which,
again, doesn't tell me anything about the people who have chosen
to call this place home.
What really interests me are the local gun laws. Can I carry a
concealed weapon, and if so, under what circumstances? What's the
waiting period for a tommy gun? Could I buy a Glock 17 if I were
recently divorced or fired from my job? I've learned from
experience that it's best to lead into this subject as delicately
as possible, especially if you and the local citizen are alone and
enclosed in a relatively small space. Bide your time, though, and
you can walk away with some excellent stories. I've heard, for
example, that the blind can legally hunt in both Texas and
Michigan. They must be accompanied by a sighted companion, but
still, it seems a bit risky. You wouldn't want a blind person
driving a car or piloting a plane, so why hand him a rifle? What
sense does that make? I ask about guns not because I want one of
my own but because the answers vary so widely from state to state.
In a country that's become so homogenous, I'm reassured by these
last touches of regionalism.
Guns aren't really an issue in Europe, so when I'm traveling
abroad, my first question usually relates to barnyard animals.
"What do your roosters say?" is a good icebreaker, as every country
has its own unique interpretation. In Germany, where dogs bark "vow
vow" and both the frog and the duck say "quack," the rooster greets
the dawn with a hearty "kik-a-ricki." Greek roosters crow "kiri-a-
kee," and in France they scream "coco-rico," which sounds like one
of those horrible premixed cocktails with a pirate on the label.
When told that an American rooster says "cock-a-doodle-doo," my
hosts look at me with disbelief and pity.
"When do you open your Christmas presents?" is another good
conversation starter as it explains a lot about national character.
People who traditionally open gifts on Christmas Eve seem a bit
more pious and family oriented than those who wait until Christmas
morning. They go to mass, open presents, eat a late meal, return
to church the following morning, and devote the rest of the day to
eating another big meal. Gifts are generally reserved for
children, and the parents tend not to go overboard. It's nothing
I'd want for myself, but I suppose it's fine for those who prefer
food and family to things of real value.
In France and Germany, gifts are exchanged on Christmas Eve, while
in Holland the children receive presents on December 5, in
celebration of Saint Nicholas Day. It sounded sort of quaint until
I spoke to a man named Oscar, who filled me in on a few of the
details as we walked from my hotel to the Amsterdam train station.
Unlike the jolly, obese American Santa, Saint Nicholas is painfully
thin and dresses not unlike the pope, topping his robes with a tall
hat resembling an embroidered tea cozy. The outfit, I was told, is
a carryover from his former career, when he served as a bishop in
One doesn't want to be too much of a cultural chauvinist, but this
seemed completely wrong to me. For starters, Santa didn't use to
do anything. He's not retired, and, more important, he has
nothing to do with Turkey. The climate's all wrong, and people
wouldn't appreciate him. When asked how he got from Turkey to the
North Pole, Oscar told me with complete conviction that Saint
Nicholas currently resides in Spain, which again is simply not
true. While he could probably live wherever he wanted, Santa chose
the North Pole specifically because it is harsh and isolated. No
one can spy on him, and he doesn't have to worry about people
coming to the door. Anyone can come to the door in Spain, and in
that outfit, he'd most certainly be recognized. On top of that,
aside from a few pleasantries, Santa doesn't speak Spanish. He
knows enough to get by, but he's not fluent, and he certainly
doesn't eat tapas.
While our Santa flies on a sled, Saint Nicholas arrives by boat
and then transfers to a white horse. The event is televised, and
great crowds gather at the waterfront to greet him. I'm not sure
if there's a set date, but he generally docks in late November and
spends a few weeks hanging out and asking people what they want.
"Is it just him alone?" I asked. "Or does he come with backup?"
Oscar's English was close to perfect, but he seemed thrown by a
term normally reserved for police reinforcement.
"Helpers," I said. "Does he have any elves?"
Maybe I'm just overly sensitive, but I couldn't help but feel
personally insulted when Oscar denounced the very idea as grotesque
and unrealistic. "Elves," he said. "They're just so silly."
The words silly and unrealistic were redefined when I learned that
Saint Nicholas travels with what was consistently described as "six
to eight black men." I asked several Dutch people to narrow it
down, but none of them could give me an exact number. It was always
"six to eight," which seems strange, seeing as they've had hundreds
of years to get a decent count.
The six to eight black men were characterized as personal slaves
until the mid-fifties, when the political climate changed and it
was decided that instead of being slaves they were just good
friends. I think history has proven that something usually comes
between slavery and friendship, a period of time marked not by
cookies and quiet times beside the fire but by bloodshed and
mutual hostility. They have such violence in Holland, but rather
than duking it out among themselves, Santa and his former slaves
decided to take it out on the public. In the early years, if a
child was naughty, Saint Nicholas and the six to eight black men
would beat him with what Oscar described as "the small branch of
"Yes," he said. "That's it. They'd kick him and beat him with a
switch. Then, if the youngster was really bad, they'd put him in
a sack and take him back to Spain."
"Saint Nicholas would kick you?"
"Well, not anymore," Oscar said. "Now he just pretends to kick
"And the six to eight black men?"
He considered this to be progressive, but in a way I think it's
almost more perverse than the original punishment. "I'm going to
hurt you, but not really." How many times have we fallen for that
line? The fake slap invariably makes contact, adding the elements
of shock and betrayal to what had previously been plain, old-
fashioned fear. What kind of Santa spends his time pretending to
kick people before stuffing them into a canvas sack? Then, of
course, you've got the six to eight former slaves who could
potentially go off at any moment. This, I think, is the greatest
difference between us and the Dutch. While a certain segment of
our population might be perfectly happy with the arrangement, if
you told the average white American that six to eight nameless
black men would be sneaking into his house in the middle of the
night, he would barricade the doors and arm himself with whatever
he could get his hands on.
"Six to eight, did you say?"
In the years before central heating, Dutch children would leave
their shoes by the fireplace, the promise being that unless they
planned to beat you, kick you, or stuff you into a sack, Saint
Nicholas and the six to eight black men would fill your clogs
with presents. Aside from the threats of violence and kidnapping,
it's not much different from hanging your stockings from the
mantel. Now that so few people have a working fireplace, Dutch
children are instructed to leave their shoes beside the radiator,
furnace, or space heater. Saint Nicholas and the six to eight black
men arrive on horses, which jump from the yard onto the roof. At
this point, I guess, they either jump back down and use the door,
or they stay put and vaporize through the pipes and electrical
wires. Oscar wasn't too clear about the particulars, but, really,
who can blame him? We have the same problem with our Santa. He's
supposed to use the chimney, but if you don't have one, he still
manages to come through. It's best not to think about it too hard.
While eight flying reindeer are a hard pill to swallow, our
Christmas story remains relatively simple. Santa lives with his
wife in a remote polar village and spends one night a year
traveling around the world. If you're bad, he leaves you coal. If
you're good and live in America, he'll give you just about anything
you want. We tell our children to be good and send them off to bed,
where they lie awake, anticipating their great bounty. A Dutch
parent has a decidedly hairier story to relate, telling his
children, "Listen, you might want to pack a few of your things
together before you go to bed. The former bishop from Turkey will
be coming along with six to eight black men. They might put some
candy in your shoes, they might stuff you in a sack and take you
to Spain, or they might just pretend to kick you. We don't know
for sure, but we want you to be prepared."
This is the reward for living in Holland. As a child you get to
hear this story, and as an adult you get to turn around and repeat
it. As an added bonus, the government has thrown in legalized drugs
and prostitution-so what's not to love about being Dutch?
Oscar finished his story just as we arrived at the station. He was
a polite and interesting guy-very good company-but when he offered
to wait until my train arrived, I begged off, saying I had some
calls to make. Sitting alone in the vast terminal, surrounded by
other polite, seemingly interesting Dutch people, I couldn't help
but feel second-rate. Yes, it was a small country, but it had six
to eight black men and a really good bedtime story. Being a fairly
competitive person, I felt jealous, then bitter, and was edging
toward hostile when I remembered the blind hunter tramping off
into the Michigan forest. He might bag a deer, or he might happily
shoot his sighted companion in the stomach. He may find his way
back to the car, or he may wander around for a week or two before
stumbling through your front door. We don't know for sure, but in
pinning that license to his chest, he inspires the sort of
narrative that ultimately makes me proud to be an American.
Person: WHAT? You have to see Boondock Saints. It's sooooooo good.
So I saw it.
Not Domino bad, or Twister bad, but probably in the top ten of the dumbest, most pretentious movies I've ever seen.
That is, like, the most hilarious subtitle ever. Christopher Hitchens, the arrogant asshole (who confounds me by sometimes being sensible) who has been wrong on All Things Iraq has the balls to start saying who we should and shouldn't listen to re: Iraq. Fuck that guy.
There would never have been a better opportunity to "address the root cause" and to remove a dictator who was a permanent menace to his subjects, his neighbors, and the world beyond.Funny, cuz back then, your argument, presented just as arrogantly as today, was that Gulf War I was a huge mistake.
Oh yeah, I forgot, you quite publicly changed your mind (coughflipflopcough) after the first Gulf War was over. Boy, it’s always nice to have 20/20 hindsight. So how many years will your beautiful powers of hindsight kick in regarding our present debacle?
In SF, you have the freedom to be yourself. Gay, straight, bi, crazy, sane, liberal, conservative.
In SF, you have the freedom to worship who or what you want, or the freedom to worship nothing at all.
In SF, you have the right to say what you want. No matter how stupid. (And it’s probably stupid.)
In SF, the only thing not tolerated is intolerance. But if you want to be intolerant, well, that’s okay too. After all, Michael Savage lives in SF.
So basically, San Francisco’s key “value” is freedom.
So, Republicans hate San Franciscans because of their freedom.
Did you shit your pants yet?
(plagiarized from Will Durst)
In the latest issue of Harper’s, Werner Herzog nails it. When the director is asked if it frustrates him that his films are not more well known, he answers, “I believe in what I call the secret mainstream”. Exactly! Secret Mainstream. That almost exactly describes what I’m into. Popular, but just out of the mainstream enough to where you still feel camaraderie with fellow fans. Subversive, but not to the point of abstract pointlessness and incomprehensibility (did I just make up a word?).
The casual reader doesn’t know who David Foster Wallace is, but almost anyone really into modern literature is at least aware of him. Same with Herzog and movies. Same with Mr. Show and comedy. Same with Dillinger Four and punk.
I finally found what I was looking for.
Obama can’t win. He’s a born politician, and perhaps a bit more besides, but can we take a moment to be slightly serious? Obama sounds like a Scary Arab and apparently dresses like a Scary Arab *, too. Also, Obama is black. Further, Obama is a black Yankee who is way smarter than you, more charming than you, nicer than you, better looking than you, and could probably seduce your wife, you daughter, and your mom, in front of you, at Christmas dinner, in five minutes flat. Obama is approximately one pair of assless chaps away from being the Sum of All Cracker Fears, which means you can forget about winning the South at least. I wish it weren’t so, I would be so proud of America if Obama got elected and then proved it weren’t so, but it is so. It is so fucking so.
Somos cinco mil
en esta pequeña parte de la ciudad.
Somos cinco mil
¿ Cuántos seremos en total
en las ciudades y en todo el país ?
diez mil manos siembran
y hacen andar las fabricas.
¡ Cuánta humanidad
con hambre, frio, pánico, dolor,
presión moral, terror y locura !
Seis de los nuestros se perdieron
en el espacio de las estrellas.
Un muerto, un golpeado como jamas creí
se podria golpear a un ser humano.
Los otros cuatro quisieron quitarse todos los temores
uno saltó al vacio,
otro golpeandose la cabeza contra el muro,
pero todos con la mirada fija de la muerte.
¡ Qué espanto causa el rostro del fascismo !
Llevan a cabo sus planes con precisión artera
Sin importarles nada.
La sangre para ellos son medallas.
La matanza es acto de heroismo
¿ Es este el mundo que creaste, dios mio ?
¿Para esto tus siete dias de asombro y trabajo ?
en estas cuatro murallas solo existe un numero
que no progresa,
que lentamente querrá más muerte.
Pero de pronto me golpea la conciencia
y veo esta marea sin latido,
pero con el pulso de las máquinas
y los militares mostrando su rostro de matrona
llena de dulzura.
¿ Y Mexico, Cuba y el mundo ?
¡ Que griten esta ignominia !
Somos diez mil manos menos
que no producen.
¿Cuántos somos en toda la Patria?
La sangre del companero Presidente
golpea más fuerte que bombas y metrallas
Asi golpeará nuestro puño nuevamente
¡Canto que mal me sales
Cuando tengo que cantar espanto!
Espanto como el que vivo
como el que muero, espanto.
De verme entre tanto y tantos
momentos del infinito
en que el silencio y el grito
son las metas de este canto.
Lo que veo nunca vi,
lo que he sentido y que siento
hara brotar el momento...
We are five thousand
Confined in this little part of town
We are five thousand
How many of us are there throughout the country?
Such a large portion of humanity
With hunger, cold, horror and pain
Six among us have already been lost
And have joined the stars in the sky.
One killed, another beaten
As I never imagined a human being
could be beaten
The other four just wanted to put an end
To their fears
One by jumping down to his death
The other smashing his head against a wall
But all of them
Looking straight into the eyes of death.
We are ten thousand hands
That can no longer work
How many of us are there
Throughout the country?
The blood shed by our comrade President
Has more power than bombs and machine guns
With that same strength our collective fist
Will strike again some day.
Song, How imperfect you are!
When I most need to sing, I cannot
I cannot because I am still alive
I cannot because I am dying
It terrifies me to find myself
Lost in infinite moments
On which silence and shouts
Are the objectives of my song
What I now see, I have never seen
What I feel and what I have felt
Will make the moment spring again.
(Victor Jara, Estadio Chile, Septiembre 1973)
"What a sellout."
You read that right--we said sellout. For our younger readers, "selling out" is the charmingly antiquated notion that a musician diminishes his or her work by aligning themselves with a commercial entity. It's an idea most hotly debated during the alt-rock supermarket-sweep of the early '90s, when the indie scene was cherry-picked by the major labels. Back then, artists thought hard and long over whether they should endorse a sneaker, or lend a song to a soundtrack, or even appear in Time. Such navel-gazing may have been a little self-important, but at least the gazers cared about maintaining a modicum of credibility.I always feel a little juvenile crying sell out (although in 1993, I labeled just about anyone who didn't have an ad in Maxim Rock N Roll one), cuz who knows what I'd do in a similar situation. But I think in the MySpace sponsored age, the term needs to be thrown around a little more.
And then the '90s ended, and a whole bunch of bands got dropped without making a dime. Suddenly, the profit-scorching machinations of the biz became clear, and we all became a little more forgiving of a cheesy advertorial or a song being used in the Happy Gilmore trailer. Everyone's gotta eat, we thought, and we saw enough bands break up over money problems to know that credibility is a bank-breaking burden. Sometimes, a little sponsorship keeps the overhead down.
But somehow, in the last few years, this casual acceptance became less of a slippery slope, and more of a Wile E. Coyote-sized perch, one in which we've all been too willing to jump off. No one's going to deny that Internet piracy and label mergers have made ancillary sources of income more important than ever, but we've become way too forgiving: Jay-Z starts hawking Budweiser Select and NASCAR, and we turn a blind eye. 3 Doors Down take a two-page spread for Verizon Wireless, and we forget we ever saw it (for numerous reasons). These aren't little indie acts trying to clear next month's rent; they're big-name acts that like to cover up their greed by talking up their "branding" and "cross-synergy platforms." And even the ones that aren't commanding big mechanical-royalty checks should at least do a little soul-searching: Hey, Common--you know what? If you really need a cringe-inducing Gap spot to sustain your career, maybe you shouldn't have a career at all.
Look, we're not suggesting that everyone go live in a cave with Ian MacKaye, holding ten-hour debates on whether or not to appear on the fifth stage at the Warped Tour. We're just asking for a little less complacency on the part of the fans, and a little more outrage. Sure, everyone's gotta eat--but do they have to be so goddamn gluttonous?
It's just too bad he was able to live until the age of 91. Hell is too good for that piece of shit. I hope the families of those who were murdered and disappeared sleep at least a little better tonight. It doesn't bring their loved ones back, but at least they don't have to be subject to the daily humiliation of seeing Pinochet alive.
What a short memory we have. The US was behind the coup that put Pinochet in power (ironically, it happened on September 11), and our government openly supported him, yet you never hear about that in our discussion of tyranny and freedom.
I should probably tell you that Keith Ellison is a Muslim.
Yep, the Rite wants to force a Muslim to swear on the Bible. Oh, you gotta love that freedom of religion!
I mean, holy crap.
Take ActionYes, send those emails! Demand the Bible become the book of the land, or we risk our country being taken over be intolerant religious fanatics! Oh, uh, wait...
1. Send an email asking your U.S. Representative and Senators to pass a law making the Bible the book used in the swearing-in ceremony of Representatives and Senators.
Now that Fox has decided not to run the whole OJ "If I did it, here's how" interview, allllllll the people who were "outraged" that Fox would do such a thing now have to pretend they are oh so happy about the decision, even though deep down, they're sad, because they secretly really, really wanted to watch it so they could be "outraged" afterwards. Trust me, for all the crying, that thing would have gotten fantastic ratings.
Not gonna happen. Damn, soooo close, such a shame. Sucks for you, gossip hounds. Now get back to discussing Dancing With The Stars or whatever the fuck.
I should like them. They were “discovered” by David Cross, of whom I am a huge fan. I like Jack Black in most of his non-Tenacious D stuff. Kyle Gass is pretty likable too. They do the whole alt-comedy thing that I usually like. Yet, it just doesn’t work for me.
I’ve simply never thought they were funny. Mildly humorous? Sure. And it’s not an “I liked them and then they got popular so now I hate them” type of thing either. It’s also not a “You just don’t get it, man” type of thing. I do get it. It’s just not that funny. It's a cute gimmick that wears after about four minutes, yet they have this huge career out of it.
In these situations, I always assume that I am right, and they are truly not funny, yet people pretend that they are funny so they’ll seem hip. Kind of like the Dane Cook thing, although I have to apologize to Tenacious D for mentioning them in the same breath as that shitbag.
So am I right? Is Tenacious D actually funny, or is it marketing? What am I missing?
Then, Cheers, with Sam and Diane.
And of course, Ross and Rachel (puke).
Usually when a show develops sexual or romantic tension between two characters, the producers usually blow it by allowing the characters to consummate their relationship. And from that point on, the show sucks. The post-fucking show is never the equal of the pre-fucking show.
So, obviously I hate it when shows give in to this sort of cop out.
Dammit Jim and Pam! Hook up already! You're killing me over here. Pam, you know you broke of the engagement with your ex because you secretly love Jim, and now you do nothing about it? C'mon. And Jim. You know Pam is single now. Sure, she rebuffed you harshly before, but at least try, man. Yes, your new coworker is insanely hot and is into you, but she couldn't make you as happy as Pam. Don't be a Shrute, grow a pair.
You crazy kids. Do the right thing. Sure The Office will start to suck, but I'm willing to pay that price....for love.
Wow. What just happened? Sorry for the estrogen release. Normal blogging will resume shortly.
As a Democrat, I'm really used to defeat, but whatever happens tonight, Santorum is out and the wonderful voters of Minnesota (I am being sincere, not sarcastic) have elected its first Muslim to Congress, so a measure of pride in my country is being restored in me.
UPDATE: Wow, this is nice. Some politicians I really dislike have been defeated. Namely, Rick Santorum and J.D. Hayworth. Both had their asses handed to them. There are still a few out there that haven't been decided yet, namely John Doolittle and Richard Pombo here in California, who are just slimy as fuck. They may hold on, which would lead to the weird situation of me being elated with the rest of the country and disappointed with California.
Remember Pat Tillman? He was the defensive back for the Arizona Cardinals who turned down millions of dollars in NFL money to become an Army Ranger after September 11. He was sent to Afghanistan, where he was killed by friendly fire.
But “Hero Killed By Friendly Fire” makes a bad headline, so your government covered up the true facts behind his death invented a heroic story in which Tillman went down in a heroic firefight against the enemy. Basically, they used Pat Tillman for their own PR campaign. It was disgraceful, and Pat Tillman’s family has expressed their displeasure publicly.
No one can speak for Pat Tillman; he’s dead. But if there were anyone I would trust to convey Pat’s feelings, it would be Kevin Tillman , his brother. Pat and Kevin Tillman enlisted together and by all accounts were very, very close.
Kevin wrote the following. It is required reading as we head into election day.
It is Pat’s birthday on November 6, and elections are the day after. It gets me thinking about a conversation I had with Pat before we joined the military. He spoke about the risks with signing the papers. How once we committed, we were at the mercy of the American leadership and the American people. How we could be thrown in a direction not of our volition. How fighting as a soldier would leave us without a voice… until we got out.
Much has happened since we handed over our voice:
Somehow we were sent to invade a nation because it was a direct threat to the American people, or to the world, or harbored terrorists, or was involved in the September 11 attacks, or received weapons-grade uranium from Niger, or had mobile weapons labs, or WMD, or had a need to be liberated, or we needed to establish a democracy, or stop an insurgency, or stop a civil war we created that can’t be called a civil war even though it is. Something like that.
Somehow our elected leaders were subverting international law and humanity by setting up secret prisons around the world, secretly kidnapping people, secretly holding them indefinitely, secretly not charging them with anything, secretly torturing them. Somehow that overt policy of torture became the fault of a few “bad apples” in the military.
Somehow back at home, support for the soldiers meant having a five-year-old kindergartener scribble a picture with crayons and send it overseas, or slapping stickers on cars, or lobbying Congress for an extra pad in a helmet. It’s interesting that a soldier on his third or fourth tour should care about a drawing from a five-year-old; or a faded sticker on a car as his friends die around him; or an extra pad in a helmet, as if it will protect him when an IED throws his vehicle 50 feet into the air as his body comes apart and his skin melts to the seat.
Somehow the more soldiers that die, the more legitimate the illegal invasion becomes.
Somehow American leadership, whose only credit is lying to its people and illegally invading a nation, has been allowed to steal the courage, virtue and honor of its soldiers on the ground.
Somehow those afraid to fight an illegal invasion decades ago are allowed to send soldiers to die for an illegal invasion they started.
Somehow faking character, virtue and strength is tolerated.
Somehow profiting from tragedy and horror is tolerated.
Somehow the death of tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of people is tolerated.
Somehow subversion of the Bill of Rights and The Constitution is tolerated.
Somehow suspension of Habeas Corpus is supposed to keep this country safe.
Somehow torture is tolerated.
Somehow lying is tolerated.
Somehow reason is being discarded for faith, dogma, and nonsense.
Somehow American leadership managed to create a more dangerous world.
Somehow a narrative is more important than reality.
Somehow America has become a country that projects everything that it is not and condemns everything that it is.
Somehow the most reasonable, trusted and respected country in the world has become one of the most irrational, belligerent, feared, and distrusted countries in the world.
Somehow being politically informed, diligent, and skeptical has been replaced by apathy through active ignorance.
Somehow the same incompetent, narcissistic, virtueless, vacuous, malicious criminals are still in charge of this country.
Somehow this is tolerated.
Somehow nobody is accountable for this.
In a democracy, the policy of the leaders is the policy of the people. So don’t be shocked when our grandkids bury much of this generation as traitors to the nation, to the world and to humanity. Most likely, they will come to know that “somehow” was nurtured by fear, insecurity and indifference, leaving the country vulnerable to unchecked, unchallenged parasites.
Luckily this country is still a democracy. People still have a voice. People still can take action. It can start after Pat’s birthday.
Brother and Friend of Pat Tillman,
The federal government's "no sex without marriage" message isn't justYour tax dollars at work!
for kids anymore.
Now the government is targeting unmarried adults up to age 29 as part
of its abstinence-only programs, which include millions of dollars in
federal money that will be available to the states under revised federal
grant guidelines for 2007.
Hmmm...trying to get single people in their 20's to stop fucking. Maybe next they'll start a campaign to stop frat boys from drinking excessively and stop politicians from lying.
to read humans. My cats have always seemed to automatically know if
strangers were cat lovers or not. If they were, they'd be specially
affectionate. If they weren't, they would back off. It's just an
instinct they have.
I think babies may have that same instinct.
Sorry about the World Series, bro.
But was that the Detroit Tigers or the Lemoore Tigers?
When I think of playing baseball in high school, here's how the typical opponents at bat went:
- Opposing batter hits a ground ball to our shortstop.
- Shortstop throws to first, but throw is in the dirt.
- First baseman cannot field the throw, ball goes back to the fence.
- Batter, already safe at first, rounds second and heads toward third.
- Right fielder gets the passed ball, tries to throw runner out at third.
- The throw is way off target, heads into left field.
- Runner heads home and scores.
- Tigers 0, Opponents 1.
(Repeat steps 1-8 for 7 innings, head to bus to make Mike Schmidt jokes)
That's about what the Detroit Tigers looked like. Not to kick you when you're down, but that was the worst played baseball I've seen since...since...since, well since the Cardinals beat the Padres a few weeks ago. The shitty play is amplified when suddenly the formerly shitty Cardinals can suddenly do no wrong and look like the most professional team to ever put on a uniform.
What I'm trying to say is, I feel your pain. Welcome to my hell.
I have no business degree and I have never run a business, but sometimes business decisions are so dumb and shortsighted that it makes me believe that a business degree is about as valuable as a bag of liquid shit.
Comedy Central has decided to force YouTube to remove all content from The Daily Show, Colbert Report, and South Park from its site.
They just don't get it. It seems so 1980's for media companies to try and control 100% of their content 100% of the time. It reeks of stubbornness and a refusal to deal with new technology in a creative thoughtful way.
I mean, imagine how many viewers of The Daily Show and The Colbert Report became viewers based on watching YouTube clips that they first saw posted on blogs or friends' MySpace pages? I don't have raw data, but common freaking sense tells me it's not unsubstantial. It's absolutely free advertising and a huge opportunity, yet Comedy Central chooses to see it as a threat.
Here's my personal evidence of how YouTube can lure in more viewers for a show. I stopped watching Saturday Night Live a long time ago. It just became unbearably lame. But then I saw that "Lazy Sunday" sketch (you know, the Chronic- What? cles of Narnia) on YouTube, and thought, "Hmmm, maybe the show has gotten better." So I tuned in for a few weeks. Unfortunately, I realized the show still sucked, but YouTube got me to at least reconsider.
If YouTube as a business opportunity can't convince Comedy Central to alter their plans, maybe patriotism will. My wonderful niece, the best person in the world, is stationed in Iraq. Iraq is obviously not the most happy place in the world. But soldiers do occasionally have internet access, and maybe watching a YouTube clip here or there for shits and giggles and a reminder of "normal" life makes it a little bit more bearable.
Anyways, using YouTube to your advantage just seems incredibly obvious to me. But as with most things, "the suits at corporate" have managed to fuck it up.
Comedy Central, you're on notice.
If the Democrats take control of the house, what will they do? How will they govern? What will be their priorities? There are noble, multi-point plans to be had, important proposals prioritized, wonkishness galore. But seriously, who cares? They could devote one hundred percent of their time to Boggle tournaments and trips to White Castle and they’d STILL run a better government than the GOP has.
Okay, let's set this up. One of the issues on the table on election day in Missouri is whether or not the state will fund research on embryonic stem cell research. One side (usually Democrats) feels that embryonic stem cells hold a lot of promise for curing diseases like Parkinson's and Alzheimer's. The other side (usually Republicans with some key exceptions like Nancy Reagan [hmm, wonder why?]) feel that using the couple of hundred frozen cells which fertility clinics will eventually throw away for embryonic stem cell research is the same thing as abortion (It's embryonic stem cell research, not fetal stem cell research, so please know the difference and don't let the Right confuse you, and oh, they will try and confuse you). Democratic Senate candidate Claire McCaskill supports funding, Republican incumbent Jim Talent opposes it.
Michael J. Fox, who has Parkinson's disease, shot an ad for McCaskill. Here is the ad, in which Fox's symtoms are in full effect.
Here is Rush Limbaugh commenting on the ad.
I shouldn't have to add anything. But I will.
Rush, you fat fucking slob piece of shit, there are millions of us who have had family members who have succumbed to Parkinson's. First of all, asshole, do a little research. Parkinson's is a disease which causes people to stiffen up, hence the fixed stare and shuffled gait of it's victims. It's the medicine which causes the jerky movement. I watched Parkinson's and Parkinson's related dementia turn my father, a humble Air Force veteran who loved to golf into a shell of his former self who no longer recognized his family. Was he faking it Rush? Did he fake his death, you callous son-of-a-bitch? Anyone, and I mean ANYONE, who tries to defend Rush on this is dead to me. That includes family. That includes friends. On certain issues, lines in the sand are drawn, and this is one of them.
Okay, as I calm down, watch this commercial.
Dick Cheney has absolutely no problem if U.S.
soldiers are captured and waterboarded. To Cheney, waterboarding is not
torture. Using waterboarding as an interrogeration techique is a
"no-brainer" for Cheney.
So, think of a soldier. You may know one. You may love one. Now imagine
this scenario. Your soldier is on a plane, flying near North Korea. The
plane has engine trouble and makes an emergency landing in North Korea.
The North Korean military seizes the plane and detains the soldiers. The
North Korean government decides it wants to make the soldiers talk about
their mission and spill any secrets they may or may not have.
They take your soldier. They strap him to a board. His legs are
slightly higher than his head. They hold a cloth tightly around his
face. They pour water over the cloth on his face, which makes breathing
difficult. The soldiers gag reflex is stimulated as he feels closing to
drowning and death.
If this were to happen to a U.S. soldier, Dick Cheney would not object.
It's a "no brainer" to him that this is okay.
Whenever this administration or any of its cult followers try to argue
what kinds of torture, and make no mistake, it IS torture, should be
allowed on our enemies, mentally substitute "U.S. soldiers" for
Maybe then you'll see the monsters we are becoming.
Sen. Conrad Burns said at a debate Tuesday night that President Bush does have a plan for winning the war in Iraq, but he isn’t about to share it with the world.Yes, indeed, Conrad Burns, he's the Man With A Plan. Apparently the brilliant secret plan Burns & Bush have concocted includes stuff like this:
“He says our president don’t have a plan. I think he’s got one. He’s not going to tell everyone in the world....We’re not going to tell you what our plan is, Jon, because you’re just going to go out and blow it.”
Eleven U.S. soldiers were killed in Iraq, the U.S. military said on Wednesday, in one of the sharpest spikes in attacks on American forces battling soaring sectarian violence and a Sunni Arab insurgency.You know what? I have a better plan....I call it, "Let's Get The Fuck Out Of Dodge". It's time to come home.
The bloodshed brings to at least 69 the number of U.S. troops killed in October so far, an exceptionally high toll that is likely to bring renewed attention to the Iraq war in the run-up to U.S. congressional elections in November.
Right wingers, if it makes you feel more macho, you can go ahead and call me a "Cut And Runner". I don't care. I could give a shit about the stupid war of labels and name calling being waged by a bunch of gutless geeks with keyboards. But if it "cutting" and "running" saves 69 lives of American soldiers next month, I'll wear that label with pride.
President Bush has signed a new National Space Policy that rejects future arms-control agreements that might limit U.S. flexibility in space and asserts a right to deny access to space to anyone "hostile to U.S. interests."Suck on it, rest of the world.
1. Tony Kornheiser.
2. Joe Theismann.
3. Mike Tirico.
4. Chris Berman.
5. Michael Freakin' Irving.
6. John Madden.
7. Al Michaels.
8. Halftimes featuring world premeire of Jay-Z videos.
9. Jay-Z Beer Commercials.
10. That Pink song that starts Sunday Night football on NBC.
11. That robot thing "warming up" graphic on Fox. Am I six years old?
12. That commercial that depicts LaDanian Tomlinson throwing a touchdown pass in high school (a. LaDanian's team is about twice as big as their opponents, making me root for the opponents b. The thuggish posing after said pass) .
13. East Coast bias.
14. Eagles fans.
15. Steelers fans.
16. Raiders fans.
17. NFL Soap Operas (Terrell owens, etc)
18. Pretending the Bears are the greatest team of all time already.
19. The Chargers not always wearing their throwbacks.
20. Brett Favre fetishization.
Check out these ads:
Tom Reynolds: "I'm sorry that knew Mark Foley was hitting on pages and yet I did nothing, but that's bad, so I'm going to just lie to your face about it."
Don Sherwood: "Sure, I was cheating on my wife, but I never beat my mistress."
And now, God Bless YouTube, we have video.
Ladies and Gentleman, this is what you call grace under pressure.
Escapee's name evolves from Robert Jones to Jimmy Jones, cop doesn't notice.
The cop jokingly tells escapee that he's "matching up" to the escaped convicts profile. Ya think?
Cop tells escapee he's not the escapee, because if he was the escapee, he'd have "run by now", right?
McNair makes up the town of Titusville, where he's staying at the (also made up) Titus Inn.
Says his eyes are "turqouise-blue", but cop doesn't actually verify.
The New Yorker article makes a good point: The cop's ineptitude may have saved his life. It's pretty clear McNair is quick on his feet, and if he thought the cop was becoming suspicious to the point of arrest, he may have either ran, or worse yet, made a move for the cops gun.
What we were NOT doing was actually playing instruments and rocking out to Sepultura's "Refuse/Resist" so hard that we broke our guitar strings.
Republican Mark Foley tries to get into the pants of underage pages, well of course it's the Democrats fault. Duh. Evidence, schmevidence, as Wolf Blitzer found out.
Blitzer: Well you don't have any evidence though, right?Wow. Them Law & Order cops and lawyers should take evidence lessons in evidence 101 from Rep. McHenry.
Rep. McHenry: Well look at the fact points...four weeks out from a national election...
Blitzer: Yes or no: do you have any evidence? Do you have any evidence Congressman?
Rep. McHenry: Do you have any evidence that says they weren't involved?
Defense Attorney: Do you have any evidence at all that shows my client murdered the victim?
Prosecutor McHenry: Do you have any evidence he didn't?
Defense Attorney: Your honor, this is a travesty of our legal system, and I say.....
Prosecutor McHenry (fingers in ears): la la la la la la la la la la la la
Michelle Malkin, the enlightened one who defamed every person in Dearborn, Michigan by calling it "Dearbornistan";
Michelle Malkin, the tolerant one who defamed Ali Houssaiky and Osama Sabhi Abulhassan by insinuating they were terrorists when in reality they were simply were trying to make a few bucks in the cell phone black market;
Michelle Malkin, the rational one who defames Hispanics by claiming that a majority of them are involved in a plot to re-conquer the Southwest for Mexico;
Yes THAT Michelle Malkin, because someone did a photoshop of her, has a warning for you:
Many in the blogosphere may think reckless Internet defamation is acceptable "free speech" that should never be squelched, but in the offline world, average Americans serving on a jury have a different view.Then she links to some silly story and highlights this quote:
"People are using the Internet to destroy people they don't like, and you can't do that."Well, Michelle, if you agree with that line of thought then it would appear you’re shit out of a job. You're not satisfied with defaming mere individuals, you defame entire populations.
Buck O'Neil died last week at the age of 94. His contributions on the field could have arguably gotten him in the Hall of Fame. His contributions off of it, a pioneer of the Negro League who became the worlds greatest advbocate for Negor League players, made it a no brainer. Yet, he didn't. It remains a mystery why he never got in, but it is to baseball's eternal shame that he didn't. And now that he is dead, you can bet there will be a push to get him in posthumously. That will not be justice. Baseball is a great game, with a great history, great fans, and great players. But it is run by clueless jackasses, and this includes the Hall Of Fame committee.
Gary Carter is in the Hall of Fame.
Buck O'Neil is not.
I will never forgive baseball for this, no matter how they try to exploit it in the future.
Here are some links to learn more about the man.
A hot dog without mustard is un-American, end of story.
Alright, let's begin with college football. I think I'm already done with college football for the year. Fresno State lost to Utah State, one of the worst teams in all of college football.
Losing to Oregon in Week 2? Well, Oregon is pretty good.
Losing to Washington in week 3? Man, really could've, should've have had that one.
Losing to Colorado State in week 4? Uhhh, guys? What the hell is going on?
Losing to Utah State in week 5? Lock up the medicine cabinet and razor blades!
The only lower point in Fresno State history that I can remember is when we got drilled by Northern Illinois 73-18 (We got revenge the next year, 55-7). I'll still pay attention to Fresno State and catch whatever games I can, but unlike most years, my Saturdays are now open. If there's something better to do, I'll do it.
On to baseball.
The Padres won saturday to force a game four. Yay! They lost game four. Boo! Too many mental mistakes, not enough offense. End of story. I was happy to see them get at least one win, and although I am disappointed, I'm not devastated or anything. It was a great year, and I'm already stoked for next year. Also, Albert Pujols is the best player in baseball, but Jesus, the umps do not call anything not down the middle of the plate a strike against him. His strike zone is about the size of a can of tuna. I also came away very impressed with Cards 2B Ron Belliard. He's a tubby dude dude who looks like he's Straight Outta Compton. We could get nothing by that pudgy fucker at 2B. If not for Pujols, he'd be the series MVP, just for his glovework.
So it was up to the Chargers to salvage anything from the weekend. They came up big time, beating the defending Super Bowl Champion Pittsburgh Steelers. Martyball is hopefully dead and gone, as Phillip Rivers was on fire, awkward delivery and all. I watched this game at the Grad in Davis, since it and the Padres game were on at the same time, so I needed the double big screen effect. It is now official: Steelers fans are really, really, really, really, really, really obnoxious and annoying.
The other positives for the weekend came from who lost.
The Detroit Tigers eliminated the Yankees from the baseball playoffs, and whenever the Yankees lose, 3/4 of baseball fans are overjoyed and the world is a brighter, better place.
And the Raiders got trounced by the 49ers. Getting trounced by the 49ers in say, 1994, is completely forgiveable. In 2006, it's high fucking comedy.
The Padres are killig me. This is embarassing to watch. In 1996, we made the playoffs, only to be swept by the Cardinals. Last year same thing. Out postseason record against the Cardinals stood at 0-6. So of course, this year, we get to play the fucking Cardinals.
I was shocked to see some people acdtually pick the Padres to win this series. Yeah, the Cardinals have been pretty bad this year and almost ended the year with a historic collapse, but they are still the Cardinals and we are still the Padres. Yes, I know the players are all different, so it shouldn't matter, yet it does.
It doesn't help that we, and as a sports fan I am allowed to use "we" instead of "the Padres", play like liquid shit when we face the Cards. The fact that with a runner on base Albert Pujols sees even one pitch in the strike zone defies comprehension. Yet, again and again, he does. We can't hit, especially in th clutch, and mental mistakes in the field are killing us.
Right now, we're down 2-0 in the middle of the 7th, yet even in the fifth inning it feet like an impossible task. It might as well be 15-0.
On top of this, I get to listen to Chris Berman call the game, which is a whole other circle of hell. When I was in high school, I thought Berman was the shit. Now I think he is a steaming pile of shit. Tuesday, referring to a curveball, he said the pitcher "literally pulled the string." Today he says that the Padres are "appealing to a higher power...literally." Chris Berman is literally a jackass.
I took 3 hours of vacation for this?
This comes a few weeks after Ohio congressman Bob Ney entered rehab after pleading guilty to taking bribes from Jack Abramoff.
Bribes? Pedophilia? Going to rehab because you actually have a problem with alcohol is like, so, 2005.
By the way, this IM exchange between Foley and the Poor Man is the funniest thing I've read all week.
Guess that's what you focus on when you don't want to report that one of your fellow Republicans was trying to fuck little boys.
The Chargers were quite obviously the better team, but Marty Schottenheimer decided to go ultra-conservative in the second half (I could care less about field position, I don't have a problem with throwing from the end zone). As is Schottenheimer's modus operandi, the Chargers were more content with trying to protect a lead than padding a lead. Besides the six points left on the field through botched and missed field goals, in the second half, the Chargers ran 33 running plays and called 9 passing plays. And even that is misleading, because 5 of those pass plays occured in the last minute, when San Diego was behind and desperate.
Dude, you spent a half trying to protect a six point lead? Fer chrissakes at least get a 9 point lead before giving up on your offense. We tried this strategy against the Raiders, and it worked, because the Raiders would have trouble beating the Chatanooga Locomotion.
I've been sick of losing to teams we should beat for a long time now. And despite his credentials, I would have no problem firing Schottenheimer unless he's willing to grow some third quarter balls.
I'd be a lot more pissed, except that
THE PADRES WIN THE NATIONAL LEAGUE WEST!!!!!
Friday morning I woke up craving tacos. Not just any tacos, but Tijuana tacos. If you know about Tijuana tacos, you know what I'm talking about. So I head down to TJ, and by lunchtime I am happily eating tacos at Taco Bell. "Taco Bell?" you say. Yes. Taco Bell.
There are taco stands right across the border where you can by TJ tacos for a dollar a piece, which, in Tijuana terms, is a huge rip-off. If you just walk a few minutes, over the Tijuana River and towards Avenida Revolucion, the price drops to three for a dollar and there aren't as many middle-aged gringos in Hawaiian shirts to annoy you.
By the way, Tijuana "River" is sort of a misnomer. At some point, I'm sure it was an actual river. But now, it's just an open sewer. Literally. Foul smelling, and if you look closely, which I do not advise, you can actually see some floaters. I mention this because on my way back to the US and A, I saw one of the saddest things I ever done did see. So, next time you get irritated because Gray's Anatomy was pre-empted or something, think of this:
My camera sucks, so let me tell you what that is. That is a homeless man, with only one arm, crossing the open sewer known as the Tijuana River. Under his stump, he is holding a hubcap and some hangers. Only he knows why. Upon crossing the river, he immediately threw up. Lucky for you, I didn't get that picture.
After TJ, I headed to Silver Strand State Beach. It's got a bit more seaweed than other SD beaches, but the tradeoff is that there is hardly anyone there, so my fat ass can take off my shirt without scarying everyone.
After the beach, headed up to Poway to see my friend Avery. From his house we headed downtown, picked up a German and a Lithuanian, and went to see the Hard-On's and the Queers at the Casbah. Good show. I took video, but it sucks. My camera sucks six ways to Sunday as the following pictures attest.
I was staying with my friend Karla, and last time I came down, I sort of played a part in getting her car towed. So to pay her back, I drove her down to Tecate, Mexico to see her ill grandmother. Am I a nice guy or what? Tecate was actually kind of cool. You get the whole Mexico thing without people always barking at you, asking if you want beer. Or sunglasses. Or jewelry. Or massage. Or sucky sucky. Also, I had a taco that made TJ tacos taste like a (the American) Taco Bell.
I wanted to go to the Padres game Saturday night, since there was a chance that Trevor Hoffman would tie the all time major league record for saves. But getting back over the border in Tecate took forever, so I was late. By the time I got there, the game was sold out, so I had to watch the jumbotron in the outfield from behind the gates like some shunned leper:
Trevor did end up tying the record. Yay Trevor!
After the game there were fireworks!
And midget love!
From there, headed to Valentine's to get me a San Diego style burrito. To all Mexican restaraunts and taco shops not located in San Diego, Cali For Nigh A, this is how a burrito is done motherfuckers:
Do you see any pansy ass rice and beans in there? NO! Carne Asada, Guacamole, Salsa, Sour Cream, Hot Sauce. No Filler. You may think that picture looks kinda gross. I think it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Sunday, I did manage to make it to the game, but my seats were in Bumfuck, Egypt:
The Padres had a one run lead going to the bottom of the ninth, which meant it was Trevor Time, and I had a chance to witness baseball history. If he could get three outs he would become the all-time MLB saves leader. So I headed down to a standing room area behind the plate and took some videos with my shitty camera.
This is Hoffman coming into the game:
And this is Hoffman getting the last out to break the record:
These are the things that make grown men cry. I planned my trip knowing there was a slight chance I could be there to witness it, but knowing how my life goes, I didn't think it would actually happen. Yet it did. The perfect ending to a perfect weekend.
Of course it was really hard to get on the plane back to Sacramento. But I've met a lot of quality people in Northern California since I've been up here, so it could have been a lot worse. So if you're one of those people, thanks. You're the difference between me wanting to go back to San Diego but tolerating Sacramento and me being in a hopeless state of depression until I do.
- Fresno State loses to Washington, 21-20. Special teams failed us again. Last week is was touching a blocked kick and getting burned on a fake field goal. This week, a missed extra point, a missed field goal, failing to easily down the ball on the one, and allowing a long punt return. These are two games against Pac-10 teams we should have had. That said, listening to the call in show after the game was depressing. People were calling for a new quarterback, for a new head coach. Wha? If you would have told me 10 years ago our program would ever be in the position of being expected to beat Pac-10 teams on a regular basis, I'd have called you crazy. So everyone in Fresno, calm down, we're going to be okay.
- Chargers beat Titans 40-7. And it was even that close. Chargers have looked very good, but playing against two horrible teams makes me unsure of how good they are. Also, San Diego's backup running back, Michael Turner, could start for 2/3 of the league, I'm convinced. Also, I'm liking Philip Rivers a whole lot.
- Padres take over 1st place in the NL West. So far in the four game series against the Dodgers, the Pads are 2-1. We'll see how it goes tomorrow, but this year we (the Pads) have owned the Dodgers. Without our dominance, we'd be in third place, rather than first.
- There are a lot of shitty NFL teams. Oakland, Tampa Bay, Detroit, and Tennesee are looking rather pathetic.
- Go Doormats! I realized that while I could never be considered a "fan" of any other team, I have found myself subconsiously pulling for the 49ers, Cardinals, Bengals, and Saints, while rooting against the Patriots, Steelers, and Colts.
- Calm down, sports fans. Twice I almost witnessed fights breeakout between fans of different teams at the sports bar I go to. And considering the amount of taunting, I'm shocked it was only two. Um, it's a game? Christ almighty, do you really have so little in life that football is that important to you?
- Fantasy football is retarded. I used to actually play, but it's gotten way out of hand. There's an inverse relationship between how enjoyable FF can be and how detailed and obsessive fantasy geeks get. I guess that's an obious point, and I blame the internets. It was far funner back in 87, when we had to get all the stats from the Monday and Tuesday papers. Plus, I like to root for my team with no conflicts of interest. There is a fantasy football backlash going on, and I am proud to be a part of it.
- John Madden and Al Michaels still suck.
The guy who went on a shooting spree in Montreal was named Kimveer Gill.
Let me run this throught the Michelle Malkin RCiST-5000 news analyzer:
Hmmm....Kimveer....definitely not an Anglo name....sounds Indian to me....what the hell, India is close enough to the Middle East, so I'm gonna make the call:
A Maryland substitute teacher was arrested after an alleged anti-Islamic tirade in front of high school students.Carol Joan McVey, 49, was charged with resisting arrest, trespassing, disorderly conduct and disturbing the peace.
Police said McVey became upset when she heard some students at Gaithersburg High School, who were being assisted by another teacher, practicing a speech and using some Arabic words. The Washington Post said she reacted after overhearing the group utter an Islamic greeting of peace.
Charging documents allege McVey shouted, "Islam doesn't mean peace, it means killing everyone for peace" and "Because of you, our families died in New York!" ...
While being escorted from the building, McVey allegedly yelled at a Hispanic teacher about the inappropriateness of speaking to students in languages other than English.
So be sure to think good thoughts about yer president, who, when asked if he consulted with his dad on whether or not to invade Iraq, responded,
"He is the wrong father to appeal to in terms of strength...there is a higher father that I appeal to."Presumably, "higher father" is what Bush calls the voices in his head. It ain't God, cuz God wouldn't be that stupid.