Stop Picking on Rush Limbaugh!

On Wednesday, January 21, Rush Limbaugh struck a blow for freedom and truth. He spoke up while others cowered like toadies of the new administration and said:

I hope he fails.

To be fair, the full quote is this:

So I shamelessly say, no, I want him to fail, if his agenda is a far- left collectivism, some people say socialism, as a conservative heartfelt, deeply, why would I want socialism to succeed?

See, that's not so bad, is it? He's qualifying his desire for the President (and by extension the U.S. government and all its citizens) to go down in a smoking pile of wreckage.

As he told Sean Hannity of FOX, he was just saying what everyone was thinking. He then chastised Republicans who've "drunk the Kool-Aid." (Will that beloved drink ever live down the whole Jim Jones thing? Talk about a PR nightmare.)

We're witnessing racism all this week that led up to the inauguration. We are being told that we have to hope he succeeds, that we have to bend over, grab the ankles, bend over forward, backward, whichever, because his father was black, because this is the first black president.

Limbaugh exposes the outrage of Obama's not having the decency to have two white parents. Then again, I'm fairly sure that the press and those on both sides of the aisle suffered similar humiliation when forced to cheer for Obama's predecessor. I imagine that must have felt like having Bozo the clown give one an enema.

In keeping with Mr. Limbaugh's bracing honesty, I respectfully express to him my own heartfelt wish:

I hope you OD, you bloated pill-popping parasite, you weeping sore on the ass of humanity.

Related post:
Listening to Limbaugh

Sandwich Fixins

Between the fear and the hope, 2009 is shaping up to be a bumpy ride. I might be a newborn foal taking my first wobbly steps or I could be Old Yeller wagging my tail at the man with the gun. Too soon to tell. Either way, I've got some questions.

*****

Why does George Michael continue to use public bathrooms? How many times does he need to get busted before he'll learn to put a bedpan in his limo? At least he only got caught with crack and pot this time. Maybe the glory hole was closed for the night.

*****

Has a friend ever come back from a trip to Europe and told you the public toilets there are great: they're really clean? Define clean. Did you ever have someone barf into a helmet and then put it on? I trust the answer is no but I think you catch my drift. Those places would look like a CSI murder scene under a blacklight. Or like a bedspread at the Holiday Inn.

I used a public bathroom in Paris once. Supposedly it locked and cleaned itself between every use. So I thought, what if a bum got stuck in there? Would he drown?

*****

Why don't environmentalists ever tell people they should stop having pets? What's worse for the planet: dog shit...or dog shit in a baggy, preserved in a landfill until the end of time? People run around bagging up crap behind Fido, but do you think they'd do that for you? They'd put you in a frigging home.

*****

Where do creationists think oil comes from? It's fossil fuel. But if the earth is only 6,000 years old and scientists faked the fossil record, where does the oil come from? If dinosaurs walked the earth with humans, which must be true because Sarah Palin believes it, those fossils turn to oil fast. That's good news because the hamster you buried in your back yard is fuel by now. If we just stop cremation and putting our dead in boxes, we'll soon be right as rain. Apply some pressure and pretty soon Grandma's corpse will be bubbling up some crude.

*****

Does anyone actually think that paint-on abs look good? If I have a huge belly, the last thing I want to do is draw a big diagram on it. The only place I want to see paint on a guy's belly is at an NFL game. And that's just so I can make fun of him. For God's sake, people! Even Stevie Wonder has a sense of touch: do you think he doesn't know what fat feels like?

*****

Why aren't there any winos anymore? Where have they gone?



Related posts:
Sandwich Fixins -- September 2008
Sandwich Fixins -- August 2008

More Quotes of the Day

Denis Leary to New York magazine on what makes someone a New Yorker:

If the Popemobile happened to cut you off in traffic and you immediately gave him the finger, you, my friend, are a real New Yorker.

On Chocolate News, David Alan Grier's post-election advice to Barack Obama:

...ignore the parts of your white half that may make you want to lie to the country to start a war, watch New Orleans drown because you just don't give a damn, or use a fat white girl's cooter as a cigar holder.

Carrie Fisher in her memoir, Wishful Drinking:

My entire existence could be summed up in one phrase. And that is: If my life wasn't funny it would just be true, and that is unacceptable.

David Duchovny in an April 1997 interview with Playgirl, which folded its print mag this month:

I'm not a sex addict. I have never been to those meetings. It's not funny, and I'll be glad when it goes away.

And my personal favorite:

Kiefer Sutherland to Men's Vogue, on not being able to smoke and drink during his 48 days in jail for DUI:

I was very glad to know that I could quit. And one day, I will.

Cheers, everyone!


Related post:
Quotes of the Day

Survey Says...?

On occasion, I participate in online surveys. If you've read any advertising telling you how much money you can make from filling them out, it's true. I'm writing this to you from my yacht.

After completing quite a few, and marveling at companies' need to hear my humble opinions, I felt I'd become something of an expert. At the very least, I was well-versed in answering the demographic questions which precede each one.

Imagine my surprise when I saw this:


Granted, I've seen different iterations of this question over time. It used to be simply What is your gender? I assumed someone had complained about the plain-spoken rudeness of that when I started to see this variation: Which do you consider yourself? I still found this fairly straightforward. I remained confident of my reply.

But now they ask me this: Which of the following best describes my GENDER? Suddenly I'm confused. Who is doing the describing? If it's the man who saw me pumping my own gas, wearing a plaid shirt after I'd gotten my hair cut too short, which way would he lean?

If I'm describing it, how best to judge? I'm not a fan of menstruation but my junk is on the inside. I watch football but don't spend all day taking a dump while reading the paper.

I could be a pre-op transsexual. If we haven't had the surgery, aren't we all pre-op transsexuals? Where will we get all those testicles? Will they use ping pong balls? Surely racquet balls would be too heavy. And where would we put them? It seems like they'd just be in the way. Why don't more men wear skirts?

Okay, I don't have testicles, but does that truly make me female? Wouldn't a man whose huevos fell victim to an unfortunate threshing machine accident be offended that I've made this assumption?

Damn these online taskmasters! Describing, I can understand. I can do that. But best? How can I know for sure?

Questionable Advertising: Inaugural Edition

Read the fine print. If you can't make it to a Bliss spa to rip the muff from your stuff, you can still save 20% on its catalogue of youthenizing unguents. Just "enter BUSH in shopping bag at checkout"-- yeah, that's what it says.

I think Bliss is taking this election too literally. Thank God the guy's name wasn't BALLS. On second thought, that campaign would also do well in New York. We've certainly got a lot of hairless nuts around here.

Lucky it's Cold Outside

Unknown and Unknowable

Don't Mess with Mamet

It seems Jeremy Piven wished to be excused early from the run of Speed-the-Plow on Broadway. He was just exhausted and incidentally wanted to attend the Golden Globe ceremony. The schedule was adjusted so that he might attend, tired though he might be, then return and finish his couple of weeks as the lead in the play.

He ditched his well-reviewed role and forced his costars to go on without him. Why? Too much sushi. Somehow he managed to give himself mercury poisoning. Forget that the man would hardly have time to utter a line between shoving fistfuls of tuna in his piehole to have that effect. Even if he were sucking, snorting and skinpopping the stuff...I think you get my drift. Bullshit.

Surprisingly, there was much handwringing done over this. It was taken seriously, with urgent talk of mercury levels, fattiness of fish, highness on the food chain, et cetera. I believe a tuna may have been called in to testify. An order of protection may have been issued. Whether Mr. Piven could resist the urge to leap facefirst into a sushi bar and wallow, snuffling, in its fleshy delights was cause for grave concern. Limo routes were adjusted accordingly. Needless to say, this medical crisis precluded Mr. Piven's return to Broadway. His experimental chelation therapy via single-malt Scotch had doubtlessly already begun.

At some point, a reporter with Daily Variety thought to ask Mr. Mamet his opinion of Piven's untimely departure. Mamet said, “My understanding is that he is leaving show business to pursue a career as a thermometer.”

Boom! This is why I love David Mamet. What a perfectly crafted line. I like you, too, Jeremy, but you're the Tawana Brawley of Broadway. Don't turn your back; there might be a writer there poised to take your measure.