All right, STOP, investigate, take action. Merton's back with a brand-new distraction. It's Monday, and that means one thing here at the Diary: It's time to shave Reno's back.
Okay, it actually means TWO things. Posterior deforestation, and crotch-sockery. So, even though there's been no previous adieu, we'll have none further. Just the...
And who are our nominees? Behold!
Flavor Flav is inarguably the best "hype man" in the business. Which, when you think about it, is kind of like being the valedictorian of the "special school."
The erstwhile William Drayton Jr. earns a spot on this week's roster for one reason and one reason only: With the possible exception of certain vacuous, skin-bag heresses who shall remain nameless, there is quite possibly not a single more useless human being currently consuming resources anywhere on the face of the earth. When you find occasion to think about it...What have been his contributions to the popular culture? Well, let's see...He stood behind Chuck D., admittedly a great political voice and social motivator, and punctuated some reasonably astute, timely rhetoric with pop-eyed mugging and exclamatory nonsense phrases rendered in a gravelly pastiche/patois of street slang and downright gibberish. In terms of his relevance to the overall Public Enemy group as a whole, this puts him somewhere ahead of Linda McCartney's one-note keyboard solos in Wings, and that guy who skanked in front of the horns in the Mighty Mighty Bosstones.
Still, if that had been it, fine. Being a vestigal musical appendage is mostly-inoffensive, and hardly unprecedented. But of course, he didn't stop there.
After several years out of the spotlight, Flav re-emerged, looking much the worse for the wear, on VH1's "The Surreal Life"; Literally a reality show starring exclusively has-beens. It got a lot of press, largely for Flav's against-all-odds romantic pairing with Brigitte "Red Sonja" Nielsen, herself a FAR past her sell-by-date popular culture pseudo-icon. I never watched it, and I'm glad I didn't. I imagine that any (gag) "love" scenes the viewer was subjected to looked something like a ceramic lawn jockey rhythmically slamming against a side of beef in a fright wig. I haven't the words.
Naturally, because of the morbid curiosity, ratings were good enough to give those two a show of their own ("Strange Love") once their "surreal" run was over with. And when that didn't fly, "Flavor of Love" and its subsequent iterations were born, in which Flavor, looking ever more like a naked, dessicated mummy, attempted to put the moves on a house full of women who looked like they collectively had more crabs than Cape Cod in August. Of course, from THAT spun off "I Love New York", in which one of Flavor's rejects got a room full of empty-headed bodybuilders to molest, until she had used them all up and wrung out what passed for their souls in alphabetical order. Much like herpes, the evil of Flav's "influence" in the medium of television keeps getting passed along from host to host, and there seems to be no cure for the flare-ups.
Flav's latest assault on the public's consciousness is "Under One Roof," a low-rent superstation cable series in which he plays "Cali Cal," a washed-up ex-rapper with no fashion sense who wears gaudy jewelry, and says his own name a lot. Nice to see him stretching his wings a little. And here I was afraid he'd get typecast.
Of course, no dissection of the tissue-thin character of Flavor Flav would be complete without mentioning his genetic legacy. Nobody really knows for sure just how many bastard kids he has, nor by how many different mothers, but it's rumored to be in the double digits on both counts. Of course, he supports all of these li'l ninjas, right? Sure, if by "supports" you mean, "fights against supporting tooth and nail while dodging court orders and refusing to submit to DNA testing that might prove they're his." At last estimate, he was spending more on custom grills in a month than he was supporting his children. I'm honestly surprised he found that many female carbon-based lifeforms willing to do the nasty with his bony ass in the first place, but either way...It certainly underscores the ironic humor of spending three (and counting) television seasons putting him in a giant house full of women all attempting to be the next.
Not that it's HIS fault, right? Right.
Rep. Douglas Bruce
Some people are such unapologetic scrotum-sniffing fuck-tards that it's quite literally difficult to believe they reached adulthood without being tarred, feathered, and run out of town on a rail. Rep. Douglas Bruce (Republican, Colorado State House of Representatives) makes these people look like birthday party clowns in contrast.
Rep. Bruce first attained semi-national notoriety when he threw a tantrum and kicked a press photographer...at his swearing-in. Apparently, Bruce thought himself so important that he wanted to take his oath during the full assembly. When he was told he would be sworn in on an individual basis just like everyone else, he acted like any simpering baby who didn't get his way would: He lashed out at anyone convenient. In this case, it was a newspaper cameraman who was just trying to get a shot of Bruce for the next day's edition. He was sitting on the floor in front of Bruce, shooting up at him, so as not to obscure his view of the dais during a prayer service. Apparently he got too close, because Bruce bent over, jowls quavering, and told the guy to back off. When the photographer didn't, Bruce figured he was well within his rights to lift up his shiny, expensive little shoe, and stomp on the guys bent knee. Totally reasonable. Might have gone unnoticed, too, had CBS4 Denver's cameras not caught the whole thing.
Watch the video by clicking here. (Opens in a new window.)
Well...Looks like he got his career off to a stellar start. What's he done since? Funny you should ask!
Recently, Bruce was recognized by the assembly during debate on a HB-1325, bill that would allow the state to help immigrant workers get temporary federal visas. Colorado has a healthy agricultural community, but of course Caucasian people are FAR too good to sully their tender, lily-white hands doing anything so common as FARM work. So, at least Colorado was being pragmatic, and had proposed legislature that would allow hardworking persons of non-native birth to NOT GET ACTIVELY DEPORTED FOR HELPING TO FEED EVERYONE. Makes sense to me. But, of course, Brucie-poo, being from the Right side of the aisle, can only see the great sombrero-wearing, Lou-Dobbs-approved Mexican Menace bearing down on us like a bean-eating tornado of horror. And it goes without saying to ANY bigot that regardless of the implications, it cannot stand.
So, what does he do? Naturally, he opposes the bill. But not by falling back on the standard GOP party line, and parroting empty epithets about "American jobs" or "preserving border sanctity" (which have ALWAYS struck me as funny coming from ANYONE whose last name isn't a combination of an action verb and an animal). Nah, he went right for the jugular. During an actual assembly of the state house, while he was recognized as having the floor, he said, and I quote:
"I would like to have the opportunity to state at the microphone why I don't think we need 5,000 more illiterate peasants in Colorado."
Unbelievable? Well, there's video of THAT, too.
Wow. Just...Wow.
Look, maybe instead of nut-punching this anal fissure, he should get a medal. After all, the Right so often tries to obscure their elitism, their racism, their intolerance and bigotry behind politically-correct smokescreens of circular speech. So, it's rare when one guy has the testicular fortitude to actually up and SAY what the rest of them THINK...And I guess that kinda helps pull the curtain back on the wizard a little. Exposes the machinery, and lets people see how wrong is the Right. I'd like to think that for every Republican scandal that breaks, a few more leftists are born. That's probably terribly naïve, but hey. The poll numbers do help keep me warm at night.
No matter what, this piece of shit really needs to get his priorities straight. He doesn't look to me like he misses too many meals. Maybe it'd do him a little good to think for a minute where they come from.
Rush Limbaugh
Rush Limbaugh is a dick. Let's just get THAT shit out of the way right upfront. Few shit-birds in recorded history have embodied such a hilariously despicable melange of ego, volume, bluster, hypocrisy, and downright wrong-headedness. The guy called for ludicrously harsh sentences for drug abusers until it was revealed that he gobbled more Oxycontin than the entire goddamned Appalachian basin, at which point he whined about victimhood and understanding. He dodged the Vietnam draft by whimpering that he had a pilonidal cyst, which - look it up - is really little more than an ingrown ass-hair. When Michael J. Fox appeared in a campaign ad for pro-stem-cell-research Missouri Democratic congressional candidate Claire McCaskill, openly suffering the tremors of Parkinson's while asking voters to send a candidate to congress that wouldn't prohibit medical research that could save lives and cure chronic diseases, Limbaugh openly mocked Fox on his radio show, visibly faking a seizure on the video feed while accusing Fox of deliberately going off his meds to provide a better, more pathetic spectacle. And, of course, he's been a reliable GOP mouth-puppet for every backward, asinine, nation-crippling policy the Right has claimed as their own since long before anyone paid any attention. Without Rush Limbaugh and his particular brand of blowhard punditry, there'd be no Bill O'Reilly, no Sean Hannity, and no Ann "The Man" Coulter. Make no mistake: Rush Limbaugh is a horrible, detestable, infuriating excuse for a human being. He is lower than beetle shit. This "legacy" alone would be enough to make him a permanent fixture in the sack-knock race, even if hadn't pulled some more shit last week.
In case you haven't heard, Rush is no fan of the Democrats. No, sir...Not at all. In fact, he hates them so much that on his radio show last week, he expressed some desires as to what he, in his heart of hearts, would like to see happen at their convention in Denver this summer. And, not to put too fine a point on it, what he wants to see is rioting.
Limbaugh has put out the call to his listeners. He has made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that they ought to do whatever they can to incite riots in and around Denver this year, in an attempt to expose the Democrats for the animals they are, and therefore ultimately cost them the election. So terrified is he of the inevitable prospect of a Democratic landslide in November that he has literally told his base to set the Mile-High City on fire the last week of August. He even has a cute little name for it: "Operation Chaos."
"If there were riots in Denver, the Democrat Convention would see to it that we don’t elect Democrats. And that's the best damn thing that could happen for this country as far as anything I could think of....We don't riot. We don't burn our cars. We don't burn down our houses. We don't kill our children. We don't do half the things the American left does"
Naturally, Limbaugh was called on his incitement, even by some of his own listeners. So, by way of clarification, Limbaugh later said, "I am not inspiring or inciting riots, I am only dreaming of riots in Denver." So, he's not trying to PROVOKE it, or INCITE it, certainly. Heavens no! It's just that when he goes home at night to his lonely, empty McMansion, peels off his Brooks Brothers-knockoff suit, pounds back half a bottle of Hydrocodone and starts fumbling around among his pudgy, musty folds for the withered cock he hasn't seen in thirty years in order to rub one out before he goes to bed, violence, burning cars, and civil unrest at the opposing party's convention is just what he squeezes his eyes shut and fantasizes about because it's what he really, really wants. Really.
Gee...That makes ME feel better, how about you?
And, your winner:
News flash, douche: When even other REPUBLICANS hate you? It might just be time to hit up your local chapter of Assholes Anonymous. So, congratulations, Bruce. The coveted sack-smack is yours. And, being as you clearly have balls the size of Volkswagens, that ought to be relatively easy to pull off even from a good twenty paces. So, I'll see you at the convention in St. Paul!
Whoops! Better be careful! I guess I'd better say I'll just DREAM about it.
Before viewing: Prepare yourself to say "holy shit!" and to live a life in perpetual fear of Golden Eagles.
Thanks to loyal DOF reader Dee-nice for passing along this Friday's gem of a Video Feed.
by Reno Gruber, Hater of all things political.It's 2008, and the world is a scary place. The economy is swirling the toilet main, the entire Middle East is a cesspool with a fuse, and the thought of enduring 273 more days of the lame-duck administration of Goober T. McButtocks has your old pal Merton tearing what's left of his hair out in big, bloody golf-course divots.
To that end, The Diary of Fools is introducing a new feature: Nut-Punch of the Week.
Each week, the Diary will "honor" a different recipient out of a field of worthy candidates to receive a swift and decisive virtual haymaker to the junk. After all, we've largely always fallen back upon one of the only systems of recourse left to any thinking 21st-Century Western mind: Regular bouts of snarky mockery. So why not name names, and start calling out the vacuum-skulled colostomy-sacks who are in some way responsible for the flying mudball we all call home being in the sorry state it's in?
So, without further adieu, here are the inaugural Nut-Punch nominees:
Wherever "His Holiness" goes, a festival of bullshit surely follows. Who's more eligible for a shot to the just-for-decoration cherries than THIS asshole? It's bad enough when he's parked on his stupid chair with his stupid hat in his stupid little walled-off city with his stupid striped-pantaloon rent-a-knights, preaching that gays are bad, condoms cause AIDS, and overpopulation is better than sex education. But then he has to go and bring his intolerant, backward, stone-age-mindset circus HERE. As if we don't have enough shit to deal with at the moment; now we have to burn taxpayer dollars in a constitutionally-questionable government-supports-church ticker-tape parade, kissing the saggy, wrinkled ass of a useless figurehead of an obsolete institution, and doing our best to keep him from getting shot on top of it. Like THAT'S easy. At the very least, I'd imagine the scores of molestation victims touched by more than the Holy Spirit over the years might have a high-caliber, long-range bone or two to pick with the bloated sack of protoplasm who just keeps moving the molesters around to different parishes rather than actually punishing the disgusting fucks.
Think about this for a second...El Papa drives around in a gigantic, bulletproof bubble surrounded by scores of armed guards instructed to drop on sight anyone who even has their hands in their pockets. And...Why, exactly? Remember: We're talking about the guy who is supposedly Jehovah's personal concierge. A dude who has so completely dedicated his life to the service of his particular mythological best guess that he was voted by all of his friends to wear The Hat. The right-hand man of the supposed "Almighty."
News Flash: If THIS cat's afraid to die, then the rest of us are FUCKED.
Plus, lest we forget...Consider the fact that he was not only a junior brownshirt during the Third Reich, but that if he looked any more like The Emperor from "Return of the Jedi", George Lucas would have to call his lawyer. And while I'm hardly the first to point any of that out, it's not like we can really give that shit too much weight.
Ben Bernanke
The current head of the Federal Reserve WOULD be fiddling while the economy burns, but he had to sell the Stradivari to fill up his Hummer.
When Alan Greenspan retired in 2006, I was honestly sad to see him go. Regardless of the fact that I'm perpetually pissed there exists a Federal Reserve at ALL, Greenspan seemed to have the attitude of a sewage-plant grunt: Sure, I may be hip-deep in shit, but that's more reason than ever to keep shoveling. In the face of adversity (namely, the economic turd-flush that ALWAYS happens when there's a Republican in the Oval Office), he just kept standing over the bulging, red-hot boiler of the U.S. economy, and slapping duct tape on the seams whenever a new jet of steam would geyser up. He held his own with aplomb.
But now, we have the smirking douchebag above. As far as I can tell, his entire contribution to the Fed thus far has been to use the thumb that's not perpetually lodged up his dirt-star to jab the flashing red "" button on his desk like a smack-addled chimp hammering the treat switch in a Skinner box. Meanwhile, half of the country is in foreclosure, banks are failing like Dom DeLuise on a diet, and I have to take out a payday loan if I want to buy a fucking pack of Juicy Fruit. But that's okay, because the gum wrappers are worth more than the dollars I bought them with.
His latest genius move is to start talking to the press (who are demanding some accountability), and grudgingly admitting that he's starting to maybe see the faint glimmer of the hint of a whisper of the potential possibility for the conditions necessary to create the right environment for a recession to perhaps start to occur. Well, no shit! Next you're going to tell me that The Beatles were a pretty decent band, or that Osama bin Laden is kind of a jerk.
I'm gonna go ahead and say it: Ben Bernanke has gotta be the only Jew in the country who can't handle cash. Too bad he's responsible for FUCKING ALL OF IT.
Michael Bay
Asshole emeritus Michael Bay started his "entertainment career" directing soft-core direct-to-DVD Playboy videos. If there's the merest drop of justice in the universe, he'll end it the same way, except without all the soul-affirming nudity. Or the paycheck. Or the eventual distribution.
Plain and simple, Mikey embodies everything that's wrong with Hollywood, wrapped up into a smug, greasy little stubble-covered ball and deposited on your doorstep like a flaming bag of Beagle shit on Halloween. His crap-fest flicks are so full of stilted dialogue, useless explosions, and ridiculous special effects that there's never room for anything else. With the arguable exception of Uwe Boll (who nobody takes seriously anyway), no Producer/Director in history has been responsible for more outright garbage. This guy has released more turkeys than PeTA's Thanksgiving Task Force.
For the uninitiated, here's a quick rundown of the "higher" points of Bay's résumé:
The Rock: Sean Connery and Nicolas Cage try to out-squint each other for the better part of two hours.
Armageddon: Bay commits the equally-egregious cardinal sins of making Bruce Willis look like a pansy, and forcing Aerosmith to sing a fucking Diane Warren song.
Pearl Harbor: Oh, JESUS CHRIST. Way to reduce a tragically epic historical event to a ham-fisted, anachronism-filled suck-fest.
The Island: Budget = $120,000,000. Domestic gross = $36,000,000. How does a movie with cloned Scarlett Johannsens lose money?!? Oh, yeah...It sucked more wind than Hurricane Katrina.
Transformers: Thanks for raping what's left of the corpse of my childhood, asshole. Wanna strap me into the "Clockwork Orange" chair and force me to watch while you donkey-punch my mom next?
So, what's next for Mr. Bay? Well, the next two or three years of his life will be spent producing re-makes of "Nightmare on Elm Street," "The Birds," and "Friday the 13th," while trying to squeeze in a "Transformers" sequel...Because apparently there's still more left of that empire to take a steaming, corn-flecked dump on. And no...I'm not making any of that up. For those of us who bemoan the death of original screenplays and ground-breaking filmmaking, here is your posterboy. Memorize his face, for it is the face of pure evil.
And, your winner:
Michael Fucking Bay.
Free movie tickets for a month to whomever can find this shithead, and bash him in the stones for real.
If any of you fucking champions of society are like ol Reno, you need a sun-dial, four email alerts , a few cellphone reminders and the threat of water torture to remember important peoples birth dates, not to mention something witty and sharp to send. Its not that you don't love them, its just that you know...your (read: my,) life of solitude and (my) bathroom mirror porn are extremely time consuming endeavors.
No, its far more...yelp...irreverent then that. (I hate using such a topical-bin word, but it fits.) Its honest and its random, its hilarious.Whether its congratulating your Jewish brethren on hurrying through Seder, or just reinforcing to your gay friends that no amount of cock can pass through the inner walls of his nubile anus to make you not love him (no, not in that way Charlie.)
By Reno Gruber, Contributing Hobo
Rock of Love 2 Featuring Bret Michaels.
If you missed it, you apparently hate yourself and for that I am kind of worried about your health. You don’t know it, but you missed out on the worst thing ever(which not so coincidentally means you missed out on a hell of a television show.) But don’t get all suicidal, there is many an all-day marathon planned…this is VH1 we’re talking about here; Celebrity Fit Club only has so many episodes. But as the title suggests, this is the second offering of this cultural masterpiece- which means that shockingly, the first go-around didn’t solicit the former Poison front-man a lasting chance at love. Michaels had to decide between an off-putting 34 year old stripper who drank like Keith Richards and looked like a Blonde…Keith Richards and Jes, a
This year meant that VH1 and Bret Michaels both conceded they hit the jackpot last year with white
But the star of the show is also the thing that must be on the first line of Mr. Michael’s contract; Bret’s wig and its unconscionable absence in any discussion from anyone. I assume if anyone mentioned the “W word” production comes to a similar halt that my dancing does when I hear his music (immediate, with disregard for personal health.) Being a sloppy late-twenties man, I can’t exactly spot a weave. So its safe to think if I can, it’s one found at paper warehouse a few weeks into November in the dollar bin. I like to think Bret actually picked up a Bret Michaels wig from a lonely kiosk in some
Anyhow the eventual winner is pretty much eliminated in the first episode, but some awful, haggard looking girl quits for no reason and Ambre (the winner, also an actress; weird, I know,) gets the pity “VIP pass.” They say the word destiny about 40 times before it’s over, and I was waiting for God just to annihilate the entire zip code that filming was in, but I assume he has bigger fish to fry at the moment (Cheney, wear a rain coat.)
There are 3 “hot” girls, all with more daddy issues than Patty Hurst and Paris Hilton combined. Kristy Joe, a cute brunette until you take a second look and see she has maybe the greatest case of “crazy face” ever witnessed on TV. The next spin-off should be a competition to see if anyone can look into her eyes and see any semblance of a soul. Daisy was your conventional tattooed rocker girl, and later we find she is the bastard niece of Oscar De La Hoya. She’s kind of cute, then you hear her talk, then you look at her again…then she keeps talking, then you take the nearest living thing and end its life force. The greatest laugh of the season was when she revealed that she also fucked CC Deville (also in Poison, also looks like Tina Yothers.) The nearly cute one was Megan, a tall, familiar looking girl that matches Kristy Jo’s dead look, and raises it with a vacant nothingness of a personality that plagues all too many women that have been told they were attractive once too many times in high school. I come to find out she was on “Beauty and the Geek” last year and actually won it. So yes failed actresses, you too can have an acting career shabbily playing yourself while chewing the scenery on the way! The only one legitimately cute was Jessica, who was completely ignored in the shows editing despite making it to the final 4. No time for cute girls when you have tramps to laugh at!
But the most fun I had laughing at, of all the women, happened to be the unreal duo of Peyton and Catherine. Peyton has to be the oldest 34 year old alive. I assume she had smoked a pack and a half of pall malls while tanning 5 hours a day since 82. Where last year they had someone that could be a blond Keith Richards, Peyton actually was Keith Richards. Rumor has it the army is trying to clone her skin as a prototype for a new type of bullet protecting armor. Seriously, I don’t care how much you care about personality, how this bitch got on any TV show can be only explained in two words. Blow and Job. Completely unreal and she lasted until like the final 7, outlasted somehow by Elvira, wait Catherine. Catherine was older than Bret, and was probably hot when Foghat was kicking ass that wasn’t the Apple Valley Bowling Alley. (Maybe the 1977 slow ride tour? I assume this again was the producers playing a funny on us, but seriously- I was insulted. I am not looking for Rock of Love to show me the exploits of how love conquers all, and how anyone can find love. If anyone does please stop reading this, find a butter knife and kindly insert it into your brain.
I was going to re-cap the whole show, but that would somehow make me more pathetic. Just know that in the end he had a chance between two different cases of fetal alcohol syndrome. Daisy, the rocker chick with eyes nearing her temples and Ambre (yes, she fucking spells her name Ambre) who’s eyes made her look like a live-action Kathy cartoon. He picked close eyes over far eyes. She cried, he looked like he just chose to have a tuna sub instead of cold cut combo.
Let the world erase this from their brains immediately.
Thanks for the memories, Bret. See ya next year when you find your Rock of Love in a bottle of
In a recent New York Times article, Jintao explains China's heavy-handed response to Tibetan protesters as a necessary measure to protect his country's people and, um, "sovereignty" that is endangered by the brutally thuggish Lama and his clan of terror operatives/monks, stating:"No responsible government will sit idle for such crimes,
which encroach human rights, gravely disrupt social order and gravely jeopardize
the life and property security of the masses."
Obviously, Jintao couldn't be more right. Without question, China's famously zealous pursuit of human rights protection and respect for life is second only to its sterling environmental policies and strict quality control in the manufacturing of children's toys.
A simple Google search proves everything:
China+human rights violations
Dalai Lama+human rights violations
I mean, just look at what the Nobel committee had to say about this threat to China's national security upon awarding the Dalai Lama the 1989 Nobel Peace Prize:
"The Committee wants to emphasize the fact that the Dalai Lama in his struggleOn top of that, the Dalai Lama has gone on the record as rigidly demanding not Tibetan freedom, but just more autonomy for Tibet within China.
for the liberation of Tibet consistently has opposed the use of violence. He
has
instead advocated peaceful solutions based upon tolerance and mutual
respect in
order to preserve the historical and cultural heritage of his
people."
by Blaine Fridley, Editor-in-ChiefThough it may come as a surprise to the millions of (potential) Diary of Fools readers out there, I am indeed forced to work a day job in order to cover the 99.97% of my budget that Google Adsense revenue does not.
As far as jobs go, I could do much worse. I know this because I have done much worse. Much, much worse. Dirty, filthy, unspeakable things. But for now, I will spare you the banality of my day-to-day workplace routine. In fact the only reason I mention my day labor at all is to set up yet another soul-crushing moment in the history of mankind.
This is a sign currently hanging in the men's bathroom at my office:
And for our Spanish speakers:
Apparently, GROWN-ASS ADULTS wiping boogers on the bathroom wall had become such a company-wide epidemic that HR had to take immediate action by way of this unfathomably ree-FUCKING-diculous sign (laminated, of course, so boogers could be easily wiped off). But even more ridiculous is the fact that HR apparently had this sign on file from earlier booger-flinging outbreaks. Just check out the date in the upper left hand corner.
Though, it is hard to decipher what, exactly, is the saddest part here. The fact that grown-ass adults are wiping boogers on the wall, or that some poor schmuck had to spend part of his/her day thinking of the most corporate, professional, HR-approved term to use for "boogers".
The Day I Lost my Faith in Humanity Archive:
By Blaine Fridley
of his gas tax veto, the second-term Republican slashed the 2008 Bonding Bill with 52 line-item vetoes - including money for a much-needed light rail public transport system - while continuing his pathetic, pandering and transparent "fiscal conservative", "no new taxes" jig for the VP nod in John McCain's campaign. 
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