Diary of Fools Nut-Punch of the Week, Sept 1-5, '08.

By Merton Sussex, Self-Appointed Demagogue.

Summer is drawing to a close, the days are growing shorter, and the kids are headed back to school. Football season is starting, the leaves will turn soon, and the nip will slowly creep back into the air. What does this have to do with anything? Fuck-all, really. But I've got a quota to fill. So, with that out of the way, it's time once again for that most groin-shockingly painful of Diary features:


Without further (or in fact ANY) adieu, here are this week's deserving contenders:



Kid Rock

Kid Rock (née Bob Ritchie) could have been featured here for any number of reasons. Among them: the posturing, the proclivity for getting into Waffle-House fights, the being greasier than the deck of the Exxon Valdez yet somehow still tapping Pamela Anderson...But like so many others, I waited until he really deserved it.

I'm just going to go ahead and assume you've heard his latest single. Reason I feel like I'm safe in that assumption is that it's harder to avoid than the clap at a nudist camp. Though, to be fair, it's quite a bit more unpleasant...So it's got that going for it.

"All Summer Long" isn't so much a "song" per se...it's really more of an audio abortion. For the uninitiated, first....Consider yourself lucky. Second, it would be generous to call it a mash-up. Ritchie took the hooks from both "Werewolves of London" and "Sweet Home Alabama," then nicked the title of a Beach Boys Song, and shoved them all in a blender and hit "liquefy." Hearing it is an experience akin to watching a wife-beater and mullet-sporting sanitation worker actively fuck the corpse of Warren Zevon in the dirtstar, then dismount, do a back-double twist/half-gainer, land cock-first and balls-deep directly the mud-eye of Ronnie Van Zandt's decaying body, start enthusiastically fucking THAT, and all without ever breaking a sweat, or his thrust pattern.

..."The Aristocrats!"

And the worst part? Well, being as he outright thieved the entire MUSICAL portion of this song, all he had to really come up with on his own was the LYRICS, right? Well, how are those? Let's take a peek:

Splashing through the sand bar
Talking by the campfire
It's the simple things in life, like when and where
We didn't have no internet
But man I never will forget
The way the moonlight shined upon her hair

To begin with, the mush-mouthed mangling of the language it takes to rhyme "sand bar" with "campfire" is one that currently has Robert Frost spinning in his casket so fast that the satin lining has caught fire. But then he wedges that disgustingly lazy "internet/forget" non-sequitur couplet in there apropos of exactly zero. What about "We didn't have no TiVo/but man, you know, by mind is slow"? Or, "There weren't no Blu-Ray DVD's/But I like my pizza with extra cheese"? Any coupling of 21st century technology with something that has nothing to do with it, or anything else in the song would suffice. Either of those would have worked as well, and made just as much sense. And that's just off of the top of my head, for chrissakes.

But the really egregiously inexcusable affront comes when the chorus comes slumping up and shits all over itself:

And we were trying different things
We were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whiskey out the bottle, not thinking 'bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet home Alabama all summer long

Wrong, asshole...Wrong. Rhyming a word with ITSELF will get you booted out of any sixth-grade poetry class on the planet! You can't rhyme "things" with "THINGS"! Aaargh. FUCK! I can't believe he's getting PAID for this! And on top of THAT, he mentions "Sweet Home Alabama" just as the signature guitar lick from the same comes shitting all over the arrangement, as if he needs to grasp you tenderly by the hand, and point it out to you in case you missed it. Fuck you, Bob. Not all of us are as window-lickingly dumb as you.

Point is, this is stunningly stupid "music", MADE by someone stunningly stupid, and FOR people who are stunningly stupid. And yes, in case you LIKE this miserable excuse for radio filler, I'll simplify it further: THAT MEANS YOU ARE STUNNINGLY STUPID.

If I ever see Kid Rock, I might skip the nut-punch, and skip directly to kicking him in the fucking neck. He deserves no less for foisting this disgusting, bastardized puddle of audio diarrhea upon an unsuspecting public, all while standing on the shoulders of deceased giants who cannot defend themselves. He ought to be ashamed of himself. And he likely WOULD be, save for the fact that nothing I've ever seen indicates that he has the faintest drop of shame whatsoever.



Sean Combs

And yeah, I know. But I don't give a tin shit what cutesy little name he's calling himself this week. His momma calls him "Sean Combs", that's what's on his drivers' license, so that's who he is. And fuck you if you buy into his hype machine and refer to him as anything different. In fact, fuck you if you ever really refer to him at ALL. He has NEVER been worth your attention.

Sean Combs could have been here at any point, for most of the same reasons Bob Ritchie is. They both have the same amount of talent. They're both shitty rappers. They both rip off the work of others and pretend it's original. But Sean has really gone above and beyond this week, spewing his posturing, lack of social decorum, and notions of entitlement all over everything like rancid, morning-after chili vomit.

Combs recently posted a video on his website that's such a masterpiece of infuriating douchebaggery that I hardly know where to start. First, he yanks out his proverbial cock, and makes sure all and sundry know he has a private jet. Gag. Second, he talks about his "acting career," which should make any rational person want to start punching him, and not stop until he never gets up again. But then when he starts in about how much he's spending in a month on fuel to fly back and forth from New York to L.A. (around a half-million) it becomes apparent that he's going for some sort of asshole lifetime achievement award.

But what REALLY seals the deal on his jagoff japery is when he starts practically foaming at the mouth over the fact that he has to...*GASP!*...fly COMMERCIAL. Oh, the INDIGNITY! That a STAR of his magnitude should have to actually get on a plane with the unwashed MASSES, in order that he might have the wherewithal to someday subject the same people to his disgustingly inept ACTING?!? THERE TRULY IS NO GOD!

Then, just when you think he can't sink any lower, Diddly-Shit makes it a point to "give a shout-out to all my Saudi Arabia brothers and sisters and um...uh...Like...um...Other countries that have oil" in a not-even-slightly veiled bit of begging that they "send [him] some oil for [his] jet." Because if anyone deserves gas-price relief, it's not a single mom who can't afford to drive herself to work or her kids to school. It's not an over-the-road trucker who spends 14-16 hours on the road every day hauling food for working families. And it's certainly not a meals-on-wheels driver who volunteers her time, vehicle, and gas to make sure elderly shut-ins who are too ill to leave the house get enough to eat. No. It's some gaping, talent-free asshole who made every penny of his millions in the bank off of the backs of others, and then has the audacity to beg for special treatment in full view of all of the poor folks who bought his records.

"This is REALLY HAPPENING!" says Dudley Do-Wrong, filming himself in front of a boarding gate at an American Airlines airport terminal. No shit, you pompous, arrogant fuck-blister. Welcome to the real fucking world. If you had even the faintest fucking CLUE what reality was like for millions and millions of people out here right now, maybe you'd finally shut your big, idiotic, fly-catching mouth for once in your goddamned life, and perhaps show a little gratitude that you've managed to turn so little skill into so much revenue.

I literally cannot WAIT to see how INCENSED his useless ass gets when it's time for him to move to the not-so-ritzy community of Relative Obscurity. Once he's bunking with M.C. Hammer, he might start to get it. Though, to be honest...I'm not holding my breath.

If you dare, check out the video here:







Klee Irwin

Would you let THIS man inspect the inside of your asshole? Because he wants to. He REALLY, REALLY wants to.

If you have no idea who Klee Irwin is, it's because you're not an insomniac. And in that case, you should count yourself lucky TWICE.

Klee Irwin is an "author and researcher" who buys late-night infomercial ad space for the purpose of talking to you about your shit. And when I say "shit," I'm not talking about your household clutter, or some other euphemistic deal. I'm talking about your actual shit.

Apparently, this deeply creepy fuck wants you to believe he's seriously concerned about the quality of what comes out of your asshole. According to him, we're all walking around with several pounds of impacted shit, just hanging out and throwing a party in our lower intestines. And that's the reason for all of our ills! And, even though he's just an "author and researcher" (a dubious title technically applicable to anyone who's ever pulled an all-nighter writing a college paper) and not an actual DOCTOR, he wants you to believe that he and he alone can "cure" this condition. To that end, he peddles a super-expensive box of pills called "Dual Action Cleanse" that supposedly carpet-bomb your colon with a specially-formulated blend of botanicals, magically knocking loose all of your impacted crap, and in the process, improving your quality of life.

Okay, first, remember that he's not a doctor. He's a snake-oil salesman hucksteroo who'd have you believe that a fistful of prairie-pickin's are the answer to everything. And I don't care who you are...From chiropractors who think that they can fix everything from chronic hangnails to lung cancer by slapping around your vertebrae to nut-hatch Scientologists who say a few minutes on the e-meter getting "clear" of your body Thetans will fix everything....There's no single miracle treatment for every ailment under the sun. And if there were...I don't think it would be sold on an infomercial.

Second...If you Google this shit-on-the-brain, the whole first page (and most of the second) is people either A) making fun of him, or B) begging you not to buy his products because they're at best a scam, and at worst, downright dangerous.

Third: His obsession with shit is enough to make your skin crawl. He spends the majority of both of his infomercials talking about bowel movements, your colon, impacted fecal matter, and a thousand other topics, all having to do with shit. The worst 40 seconds EVER to air on television in any context ANYWHERE has to be the ones where he's talking about how fascinated he is with the turds of his toddler daughter. And no, I'm not kidding:



And fourth, HOW CAN HE NOT KNOW HE LOOKS THAT MUCH LIKE JOHN WATERS?!?



For chrissakes! If you resembled Mr. Waters THAT MUCH to begin with, why in the name of all that is good and holy would you slick your hair back and grow a pencil-thin moustache on top of it?!?

Don't get me wrong, I dig John Waters. I respect any auteur of avant-garde film. But you'd think if your whole business was built on getting shit out of people, you'd want to look a lot less like a guy world-famous for making a film featuring an obese drag queen eating dogshit fresh from the dog's ass. But maybe that's just me.

Still not convinced? Check THIS out:



Same shirt, same tie, same hair, same speech pattern, same ridiculous facial hair. Would you know that was a different dude if I hadn't told you?

So, if you SEE Klee Irwin, please run as far away as you can in the opposite direction. WhatEVER you do, do NOT engage him in conversation. I get the sense that any casual chat with this guy invariably turns to shit within five minutes.

And the winner is:



Kid Fucking Rock.

It's not just Ritchie himself, reprehensible though he may be. And it's not the song, abysmal though it is. It's what they represent together: The continual dumbing-down of America.

"Kid Rock" is the embodiment of a very detestable, yet growing trend. He represents that special brand of Bush-era dumb. The jubilant red-state celebration of the aggressively ignorant, trailer-dwelling, proudly and defiantly stereotypical collective anti-intellectual Jethro redneck fuck that's dragging this country into the sewer. There's no PRIDE inherent in being an uneducated, backwoods, moonshine-swilling waste of space. It's not "patriotic" or "American" to beat your wife, shoot stuff for the hell of it, and proudly wallow in your own idiocy. The American spirit has always said it's the most honorable path to strive for more, better, and greater heights of achievement. But thanks to Ritchie and others of his ilk, we have a whole subculture that reaches no higher than the bottom. That is perfectly happy to stand thigh-deep in racism, stupidity, and backward thinking. And for that, he deserves to have his scrotum worked like a heavy bag at a Bronx gym.

Go to hell, Bob. And take all of your Confederate-flag-wavin, hootin'-hollerin, greezed-pig-wrasslin, monster-truck-drivin', tarbacky-chawin', bible-thumpin', Jack-Daniels-chuggin', thinks-"Deliverance"-was-a-documentary loser crew with you. This country needs to outgrow you, and FAST.

You can leave Pam, though.

Oh, wait...She left you first.

Diary of Fools Nut-Punch of the Week: July 21st-25th, 2008.

By Merton Sussex, Sesquipedalian Narcissist

It's that time again, ladies and fellows. Well, actually, it's well PAST that time once again, but your ol' pal Uncle Merton broke his ankle kicking a cluster of undesirables in their collective vitals, so I had to lay up and recoup for a stretch. I know, I know...If I spent half as much time and effort actually WRITING these things as I do making excuses for why they're absent a week or two, they'd bloody well get done. Are we done, here? Then let's get to this week's...


This Week's deserving contenders:



Steven Page

It's rare that I use this space to virtually punish those who have annoyed me personally (I usually try to nominate people who deserve the groin-trauma by thinking on a more global-impact scale), but this one I'm taking harder than most.

Steven Page is a singer/songwriter/guitarist, and is one of the primary creative forces behind the Canadian pop group Barenaked Ladies. For twenty years, these guys have been crafting catchy but well-written pop music that puts most of the rest of the genre to shame. Their albums are a great mix of bouncy, radio-friendly hits and just-as-good but perhaps more thought-provoking deep cuts that never feel like filler. They put on legendary live shows that are full of pomp and production, with the sort of rampant humor and unchecked improvisation that lets you know that they're having just as much fun as the audience. Even their music videos are entertaining. No matter what, they've been reliably bright, clever, and entertaining. Imagine the quirkiness of They Might Be Giants or Sparks mixed with Beatle-like songcraft and immediate accessibility, and you're close. Geeky, sure, and often maligned by critics, but they've got a devoted fan base who respond to their smarter-than-the-average-bear compositions. Admittedly, I'm a fan.

Still, fan or not, I'm not gonna cut him a lot of slack today. Because it's always a letdown when your heroes disappoint you. Last week, Steven Page and two female companions were arrested in New York state, and charged with cocaine possession.



D'oh.

Police stopped by Page's girlfriend's apartment when they noticed a car door open and unattended acoss the street. They ran the plate, discovered the car belonged to her, and walked over to the address on the registration. The cops knocked on the door, and when they looked in the window to see if someone was coming, they saw Page and his girlfriend throw a towel over something on the table. After getting in, they lifted the towel, and saw both cocaine, and the paraphernalia they were using to snort it. Bus. Ted. After that, they searched Page's car, and found more coke in there.

I know what you're thinking: "So?" Sure, famous musicians get arrested for drugs on a near-constant basis. It hardly even makes the news anymore. We read that Keith Richards, Steven Tyler, Scott Weiland, or last edition's lucky Nut-Punch recipient Amy Winehouse got arrested again, and we yawn. That's called Tuesday. Drugs and musicians go as far back as peanut butter and jelly, but tend to be found together slightly more often.

But Barenaked Ladies have always sort of held themselves to a different standard. For two decades, they've been as squeaky-clean as Jennifer Aniston's bleached-pink little asshole. Even in the MUSIC world, full of drugs, groupies, and all of the depravity that causes kids to pick up guitars hoping they can someday partake in the bacchinalia, these guys have stayed above it. Every one of them is a father. They're Canadian, for chrissakes. I don't know that I could have been more shocked and let down if I'd read that "Weird Al" Yankovic was pinched for running a cock-fighting ring in his basement.

The worst part? They've just released one of the better albums of their career. It's called "Snacktime!" And it's a children's record. It was a deliberate attempt on the part of the band to both give something back to their children, but also to prove to their critics that they weren't getting too old to squeeze out some more of the fun, bubbly goof-pop that defined their early career. Ooh. Timing.

Even so, as good as the record is, and it is good...They've understandably run into a bit of a promotional snag. Hard to pimp an album for kids when one of the best-known members of the band is awaiting trial on charges of narcotics possession. In fact, Barenaked Ladies were forced to cancel an upcoming appearance at the Disney Music Block Party on Long Island in order to spare the Mouse House the awkwardness of having an accused felon singing to children about their numbers and letters.

Barenaked Ladies bassist Jim Creeggan is recently on record as saying he hopes the whole mess "just goes away," but I'm torn. On the one hand, I feel that if you can't pay the fiddler, don't dance. Just because you're rich and/or famous doesn't mean the laws don't apply to you. On the other, he is essential to the continued existence of one of my favorite bands. Not to mention that, even though *I* don't use drugs, I've never really been that uptight if other people want to. That's their choice, so the fairness of the laws has always been a little squidgy to me. Still, they ARE the laws. And fair or not, they're on the books. So, obviously, there's no winning here. Even if he beats the charges, he'll still always be under a cloud. Because, given their disproportionate proclivities and backgrounds, this one drug arrest is equal to about twenty drug arrests for a used-up douchebag like, say, Pete Doherty. It just carries more weight, so it deserves harsher scrutiny. Hey, I don't MAKE the rules, pal.

Oh, and if convicted, he faces up to 5 1/2 years in prison. That's about three albums and two tours worth of lost income for the rest of the band, and just as many the fans will be robbed of. I'd be surprised if either wants to wait.




Jesse Jackson

I'm really not sure how or when Jesse Jackson got appointed the de facto figurehead leader of the entire American black community, but based on his conduct as of late, I think it's probably time for a redress of grievances.

For years, it's been the same story: Anytime the African-American community has gotten handed a large-scale shit sandwich, The Good Reverend is there (more often than not toting along his faithful lapdog Al Sharpton) to wag both finger and tongue at The Man for his conscious or subconscious oppression. If Don Imus calls a group of women's college basketball players "nappy-headed hos", or if Michael "Kramer" Richards calls a couple of hecklers "dirty niggers", Jackson takes it upon himself to be the the emissary that acts on behalf of the entire community to collect the inevitable half-assed apology; the implication being that once their representative is properly sucked up to, the entire group as a whole should apparently consider themselves appropriately placated, and subsequently let it go. Sometimes, the gripe is a legitimate one. Other times, it's just so much lip service and inappropriate playing of the race card. But either way, Jesse has pretty much been there to let all and sundry know that racism is something up with which he and his brothers and sisters will not put.

That is, until recently. Turns out, Jackson may be something of a racist himself.

A bit of background:

Since the dawn of electronic communication, politicians, celebrities, and other prominent public figures have consistently failed to understand a basic rule: If there is a microphone or a camera in your vicinity, assume it is preserving your every move for posterity, and conduct yourself accordingly. Failure to adhere to this basic maxim often results in seriously hilarious things happening, though...So I'm not complaining. Whether it's Ronald Reagan stepping up to the podium to announce the imminent destruction of the Soviet Union, or Dubya leaning over to Tony Blair during the G8 Summit to express his eloquent feelings on the nature of the relationship between Syria and Hezbollah, the result of ignorant media gaffes has largely been fodder for amusement.

Then came this little nugget:



My goodness. I simply cannot imagine what would have happened to any of the rest of us had we publicly expressed an interest in forcibly castrating a sitting Senator and Presidential candidate, but I imagine it involves a little visit from some humorless men in dark suits. Maybe a little waterboarding.

But that's not all. I'm sure you're wondering where the hot, spicy racism part comes in. Well, here ya go:



Granted, this is Faux News talking, so you have to take everything they say with a grain of salt the size of your own head...But in light of everything else, it's really not surprising.

Look, it's pretty apparent to any thinking person that most of Jackson's little outburst was probably borne of intense jealousy. After all...Jackson's the one who marched with Dr. King. He's the one who founded Rainbow/PUSH. He's the one who ran twice himself. Jesse Jackson is ultra-salty at Barack Obama because he still figures HE should have been the first black Democratic Presidential nominee, if not president outright. So, rather than take solace in the fact that he had some hand in helping to kick open a few of the doors that Obama was then able to go through, he'd rather have a little hissy fit that someone else got there first. Rather than just be happy that the civil rights he so valiantly fought for have advanced to the point that we've created a social and political climate where a black man has not only secured the nomination, but will probably also (given the rampant GOP fuckups the last eight years) secure the White House...He'd rather cross his arms and pout that it wasn't HIM. JESUS, what a fucking baby. As it turns out, he was evidently never as interested in helping black people as a whole as he was in helping himself.

The whole ugly scenario leads one to the conclusion that maybe he wouldn't be so eager to lop off Barack Obama's testicles if he'd man up and sprout a pair himself.



Laura Ingraham

Ordinarily, this tight-assed bitch would qualify just on the above picture. She's sitting there looking like nothing so much as your disapproving, stick-up-the-ass High School Guidance Counselor, wearing a Connecticut hairdo and smugly smirking down her sharp, mile-long nose in front of the Fox News logo. That and that alone ought to make any thinking person want to punch her in her stupid neck.

Me? I aim lower.

Laura Ingraham is a conservative talk-radio pundit in the same vein as your Limbaughs and Hannitys. Again, intrinsically reprehensible. She's the permanent fill-in host for Bill O'Reilly when he's too busy loofah-ing to make it to his show. But that's STILL not why she's here this week. She's "written" a handful of books decrying the horrid, horrid effects of liberalism on American culture. And that's not why I'm lining her up for the nut-knock, either.

Ingraham is here largely due to the same reason Jackson is: She neglected to assume the camera was actually rolling.

Much like her bestest buddy Bill O'Reilly (and his massive meltdown on his old show, "Inside Edition"), Ingraham isn't exactly warm and cuddly to those she works with. Video has recently surfaced of her on her defunct Fox News program "Just In" where she's shown berating her staff, openly decrying their incompetence, and generally making an absolute asshole of herself to everyone around her. Highlights include:

A) Completely ignoring her hair and makeup person even as they wield a hot curling iron.
B) Expecting the staff to read her mind about how she prefers her cues.
C) Being told that bending the facts is just "the Fox way of doing things."
D) Being more of a slave to her teleprompter than Ron Burgundy.
E) Bitching about how a "Hispanic-looking man" keeps popping up on said prompter.
F) Threatening to nail a door on the set shut if people don't stop committing the cardinal sin of opening it.
G) Insisting that nobody come in her ear. And no...I'm not making that up.

Don't believe me? Here. Watch it for yourself:



Isn't she DELIGHTFUL? I'm not sure if it's the cold, soulless shark-like eyes, the mannish jaw she could slice cheese with, or the complete and utter disregard for the feelings and well-being of every single other person in her immediate sphere, but in terms of attitude and sex appeal, she's right up there with Ann "The Man" Coulter (and her Adam's Apple) in the contest for right wing Prom Queen. Seriously...Where do the Republicans dig up these hatchet-faced cunts? At least Michelle Malkin has a wet, fuckable little mouth if you turn the sound down. Not that she'd ever shut up long enough for you to be able to properly shove your cock into it.

Ultimately, though...it matters not how off-putting she is to look at. I described Ingraham's show as "defunct" earlier because it's no longer on the air. In fact, the ratings were so laughably abysmal that "Just In" got pulled after only three weeks, after which she was forced to pack herself and her terminal radio face back to the audio-only airwaves. Apparently, there are some things even Fox won't put up with.

And the winner is:



Jesse Fucking Jackson.

Ingraham comes in dead last. Sure, she's an icy bitch who hates herself, her life, and everything around her. But she's a Conservative talk radio host. Being a heartless, detestable gasbag who makes everyone miserable is sort of the job description. And Page comes in a distant second, because regardless of how I feel about being disappointed in him, the rest of the world will just see another musician who got busted for drugs. He tarnished his reputation, sure...

But not as grandly nor as ironically as Jackson, who proved himself to be just as racist as the attitudes he's purported to fight for decades. He hasn't just been hoisted by his own petard, he's been anally impaled by it, and will no doubt be hung out to dry in front of NAACP headquarters. And rightly motherfucking so. Too bad the Good Reverend didn't remember that to people who believe as he does, pride is one of the deadlier of the seven sins. If anyone should pass on buying into the hypocritical bullshit, it's him. He has no right to hold anyone else to a higher standard than he's willing to exemplify himself. In one fell swoop, he's set his cause back twenty years.

I mean, come on. If a guy like Jesse Jackson gets caught on tape referring to an entire group of people who look up to him as "niggers," what the hell hope do the rest of us have? And for THAT, he's gonna get it in the baby-factory.

Saddle up, Jesse, 'cause this is gonna hurt. Not as much as cutting 'em OFF...But hey. I'll take what I can get.

Diary of Fools Nut-Punch of the Week: June 29th-July 4th, '08.

By Merton Sussex, Chief Expectorating Officer

Good grief. What's HAPPENED to this place since I've been on my little vacation as a tax exile, running like a little girl from the IRS? Um...Apparently, it's been business as usual. Blaine, Reno and my other trusty cohorts have been making with the funny anyway, like I never even needed to make myself scarce. It's comforting and disheartening at the same time. But: Onward! There's no time to lose like the present!


This Week's deserving contenders:



Amy Winehouse

Do you have ANY idea how long it took me to find a picture of this smack-addled bag of putrid snatch that didn't make me want to chuck my biscuits all over my nice new spats? As such, I can guarantee that picture wasn't taken any time recently.

Amy Winehouse is the perpetrator of countless crimes, both legitimate, and against humanity. She's ingested such a ridiculous volume of controlled substances that Keith Richards is having a hard time scoring. She sells out concert halls, then has to cancel to go to the hospital for "exhaustion" or "dehydration", and then never refunds or reschedules. And when she does turn up, her performances are so ludicrously substandard as to make the average concert-goer long for the polished live-gig work ethic of, say, Oasis. She sings about refusing to go to rehab, yet has made the trip at least three times to no avail. However, perhaps her greatest crime is one that even skin-bag wasteoids like Britney Spears or Hannah McCyrus will NEVER have to worry about:

She has squandered her talent.

The saddest part about Amy Winehouse's extremely public downward spiral is that she's actually got talent. Buckets of it. On her records, her music is soulful, well-written, and a note-perfect throwback to some of the best mid-60's girl-group soul/pop Motown or Stax/Volt ever put out. It evokes a bygone era without once feeling false, contrived, or gimmicky, and yet it still manages to feel fresh. The two records she's put out are pretty damned fantastic.

But she doesn't care. She seems to have no desire whatsoever to maintain any sort of ties to music these days. She's too busy snorting, smoking, shooting, or cramming up her ass any substance on the planet that she's heard might remotely pass on a buzz of any kind. In the last year, videos or pictures have surfaced that show her injecting heroin, smoking crack, yanking vials of coke out of her hair and sniffing them WHILE ONSTAGE, and countless alcohol-fueled public embarrassments. I'm guessing the only reason that the British tabloids haven't got pictures of her down by the creek licking bull toads is that Bufo Alvaris isn't indigenous to the United Kingdom. These days, between making goo-goo eyes at her husband through the bars of his cell, and showing up outside with more skin lesions than a leper, she's FAR more famous for being a train wreck than she is for her music.

However, it's not really as though any of this is news. Amy's up for a crotch-sock this week specifically because of a pretty weak-sauce one-two punch. First, there was her sorry, sorry "performance" at Nelson Mandela's 90th birthday party last week:



If you can get through more than 12 bars of that, you're doing better than me.

In stumbling out there and sucking up a storm like that, she became the picture of disrespect. Disrespect for Mandela, for her audience, for her fans, for the band and backup singers who learned her song perfectly so that she could head out and fuck it up in front of them...But most of all, disrespect for herself and her legacy. She's got legions of fans - even in the social culture of 2008, where downloading is the norm rather than the exception - she's managed to sell enough records to amass an estimated $20 million dollar fortune. And instead of respecting that, her selfish, bony, scabbed-up, eyeliner and AquaNet-caked ass can only think about where her next high is coming from. Not making more good records, honoring world leaders, or delivering competent performances...Just the drugs. She even got pulled off of doing the theme song for the next James Bond flick (and how perfect would THAT have been?) because she can't stay off of the junk for more than eleven fucking seconds. In her place, rumor is that we'll be getting some flesh-puppet from Great Britain's version of "American Idol." Oh, great. So, instead of getting a nostalgic Bond theme from a smoky-throated, soulful chanteuse who could give Shirley Bassey a run for her money on a good day, we get stuck with some English reality show pop-tart who can't carry a tune in a bucket without Pro Tools and a team of producers. That's SO much better.

The other Winehouse roundhouse of the aforementioned one-two was literally just that. An actual punch.

Amy Winehouse "punches" fan at Glastonbury Festival

Gee, I'm sure your fans aren't turned off enough by the shoddy stage antics, the substance abuse and the cancellations. Maybe if you start singling them out and taking swings at them individually, you can manage to alienate the few remaining faithful who still hold out hope you WON'T pull a Joplin/Hendrix/Morrison/Cobain premature curtain call.

Wait...come to think of it, those four all legendarily made it at least to 27. Winehouse is 24. And if she makes it THAT far, I'll eat one of her scabs.

See ya, Amy. Good luck making it until Christmas.



Robert Mugabe

If you're going to fix ballots, intimidate the electorate into voting for you by force, corrupt your country's governing body, torture and kill your opponents, and command a decades-long stranglehold on power...It MIGHT just make you look like less of a despot on the global scale if you...oh, I'm just stabbing in the dark, here...SHAVE OFF YOUR TWEE LITTLE HITLER MOUSTACHE.

Just in case nobody's been paying attention to the state of sub-Saharan politics...

Robert Mugabe is the President of Zimbabwe, and has been since 1987, when he succeeded the former President, the hilariously-named Canaan Banana. And no, I'm not making that up. I'm also not making up the fact that President Banana was later convicted of the charge of Sodomy and sent to prison. Feel free to take as long as you need to stop laughing at that.

During the Banana Administration (ha-ha!), Mugabe served as Prime Minister. He had risen to power in the early 70's much the same way John McCain has lately: By trading on sympathy stemming from the fact that he was a political prisoner during the 60's. The largest difference between Mugabe and McCain SO far is the fact that McCain hasn't taken the same drastic steps to ensure victory in HIS contentious election; namely: Using a loyal, unregulated militia to off his opponent. I mean, so far, he hasn't. November is still a long way away.

But that's what Mugabe did. Allegedly, of course...Because, as always, history is written by the winners, and Mugabe has been consistently winning election after election since the mid-80's. Sure, he's left a trail of dead opponents in his wake, had government-sponsored death squads rustle up the homeless and starving to vote for him at gunpoint, and even outright canceled an election or two due to mitigating factors, but hey. Votes are votes, right? Will of the people and all that!

"But hey," I'm sure the idealist in you is thinking. "Maybe, regardless of where he GOT his power, he's using it for the greater good...Helping his countrymen, and reinvesting in the future." Ho, ho, Devil's Advocate! Absolute power corrupts absolutely, lest we forget. So far, Mugabe's track record has included highlights like:

1) Policies of intimidation and imperialism that have sullied his country's global reputation
2) Expropriation of countless privately-owned farms in the wake of natural disasters that displaced thousands
3) Driven up inflation by ordering the printing of millions and millions of Zimbabwean Dollars
4) Harassing and intimidating political opponents, especially party members of the Movement for Democratic Change
5) Involving his country in the extremely costly and unpopular Second Congo War
5) Standing idly by while food and oil costs spiraled out of control

So, in short, Zimbabwe has an unpopular president who bucks world opinion, lets the economy go to shit, steals elections by simply invalidating the results, doesn't care about disaster areas where countless people were left homeless, uses the politics of fear against Democrats, lets his country get bogged down in an endless, expensive war, and plus his thumb firmly up his ass while food and energy costs explode.

Hm. Does he remind you of anyone in particular?

Imagine three decades of Bush, but with no term limits, a penchant for having his challengers killed, and death squads roaming the countryside shooting whoever they want, and you might have some idea.

So, Mugabe's pretty much been a grade-A piece of shit on the world political landscape for well over three decades. So, why nominate him for a jab in the cherries now?

Zimbabwe recently had their latest "election." Mugabe's Democratic opponent, Morgan Tsvangirai, actually managed to live through it...which is a feat in and of itself. And he was doing pretty well for awhile, too. By all accounts, his party won a majority of the seats in Parliament back in April, setting the stage for an upset in the Presidential election come summer. How did Mugabe react? By arresting the foreign journalists covering the election, including a New York Times reporter, within 24 hours of the poll reporting. Guess once the official results leave your borders, the rest of the world kind of expects you to adhere to 'em, eh, Bobby?

Then, as the Presidential voting approached, violence and intimidation continued. But even so, Tsvangirai managed to win at least 48% of the vote (some reports having his numbers as high as over 50%), while Mugabe's campaign only got just over 42%. Too close to call, right? Well, not really. I'd say that's pretty decisive. But, I'm not a politician from Africa. So, because an 8+ points plurality is "too close to call" using their version of math, the two parties agreed to a runoff. Which did nothing but give Mugabe just enough time to decimate Tsvangirai's chances by stepping up the violence against his campaign personnel. The upshot is that, with his whole staff dropping like flies around his shoulders, Tsvangirai dropped out before the second round of voting, saying the violence just wasn't worth sticking around.

So, the unpopular president stole another election, despite getting beaten in the popular vote by his opponent. Thank GOODNESS that could never happen here, right? Right.

Robert Mugabe was sworn in to his SIXTH term as President yesterday. And still, nobody has the balls to tell him that a "toothbrush moustache" is called that because it's meant to look like a HORIZONTAL toothbrush.



William Jefferson Clinton

Look, Mr. President. I like you. I really, really do. I still honor the fact that you presided over the longest sustained period of peace and prosperity in this country's history. I am appreciative that your foreign policy was based on diplomacy, and not bellicose cowboy imperialism. I truly believe you had this country's best interests at heart when you were in the oval office. Even while under constant frivolous investigation, scrutiny and impeachment proceedings, you kept us moving in the right direction. And anyone who can't admit that they were better of while you were in office is probably on the payroll at Fox News. But for the love of George Carlin and all that is good and sacred, PLEASE just SHUT THE FUCK UP.

You and the missus really thought you had this thing all wrapped up, I get it. You did what you'd always done: Shook the right hands, hired the right people, worked the shrimp-cocktail circuit for your fund-raising, focused on the Super Tuesday primaries. You followed the conventional business model; the one that had always worked before. You figured you'd both done what you needed to do to cement your ongoing dynasty, ensuring that there wouldn't be an American under forty who had ever seen a November ballot without a Clinton or Bush on it. You did what you were supposed to. You just didn't count on that charismatic upstart from Illinois coming along and re-writing the rulebook under your noses.

But tarnishing your legacy out of bitterness that your wife lost isn't just unbecoming. It's unlike you. It's totally out-of-character. It's not in keeping with the image of the cordial, avuncular, jovial Slick Willie to grouse and bitch and bellyache over Obama getting the nomination. We KNOW you think its not fair, and we KNOW you're upset. But one of the hallmarks of your presidency was that nothing ever seemed to bog you down for long. But this? This ongoing stubborn refusal to simply suck it up and move on? You're not just embarrassing yourself...You're starting to justify your detractors' criticisms.

Whether calling Obama's campaign a "fairy tale", or comparing him to Jesse Jackson, or even out-and-out suggesting that your wife's supporters were too racist to support any candidate darker than their Khaki Dockers, you drove wedge after wedge into your party's unity. As literally an elder statesman of the party, you used your powers to divide and criticize rather than to unify and inspire.

But even THAT was somewhat excusable in light of the fact that your wife was in competition with this guy. I get your reasoning. She did her Tammy Wynette routine with Whitewater, Gennifer Flowers, Ken Starr, Paula Jones, What 'is' is, and Monica Lewinsky, and you saw an opportunity to pay back that devotion. You just chose to do it in a manner that was questionable.

But now primary season is over. Your girl didn't rein it in. And I know it's hard on you both. But she put on her big-girl panties, sucked it up, and went back to work. Hell, she's even campaigning with the guy. Appearing at functions together. Publicly supporting him, and the party.

And what are you doing? Clamming up. Shutting down. No endorsement. Every prominent, household-name member of the Democratic party has thrown their support behind the kid except you. Al Gore. Ted Kennedy. Bill Richardson. Howard Dean. Joe Biden. Some of them were even his opponents, and yet...They're all on board. For the sake of party unity, putting their differences aside in favor of focusing on their similarities, and getting the party with their values elected to your old digs, they're all supporting him.

All of them, except for you.

You're being petulant, bitter, and childish, and it's making you look even worse than you looked during the primary season. Are you REALLY that caught up in your own bullshit that you can't turn your frown upside-down and do what's right for the good of everyone, just like you used to?

Apparently not: "Bill Clinton says, 'Obama must kiss my ass' for my support".

You son of a bitch.

The HUBRIS that takes is STAGGERING. First of all, he's GOING to win. Anyone who thinks we're going to elect a Republican after the last eight years of corruption, hypocrisy, apathy, cronyism, self-service, and short-sighted dirty politics is downright delusional. So, he doesn't NEED your support. You just think so much of yourself that you assume he does. He can, and will win without it.

Second, I'm thinking you'd better get your OWN lips ready. Because the longer you persist with this asinine arrogance, the more likely it is that your ass won't be the one getting kissed. Who the hell knows? President Obama may just see fit to toss you a cabinet position or an ambassadorship if you clean up your act. I mean, you ARE a lawyer. You could even make the Supreme Court if you shape up and ditch the attitude. You'd better believe your wife is going to get SOMETHING. You're still a young man; you still have a lot to give your party and your country. Fuck, look at Carter. McCain can call him a "lousy" President all he wants...But the fact remains that THAT motherfucker is out there building houses for the homeless with Habitat for Humanity, brokering international peace deals and, winning Nobel Peace Prizes and shit. What did any other ex-president of the last fifty years do except play golf and cut library ribbons?

Point is, you'd better straighten up and fly right while your word still means something. While an endorsement from you might still carry some weight. Because if you don't...It's going to be a mighty long, cold retirement. And it'll be along sooner than you think.

And the winner is:



Amy Fucking Winehouse.

Just look at her. I know, it hurts, but do it. So much skill, so little goddamned sense. She's pissed away her talent, her money, her physical being, her fans, her credibility, and any hope she has of a sustainable career. I'm genuinely going to be surprised if she sees the new year.

If you have the stomach to watch it, here's some footage of Wino punching that fan at the Glastonbury Festival:



I truly feel bad for her band.

If anyone wants to postulate the over/under on her upcoming demise for their celebrity death pools, the line starts in the comments thread.

P.S., On a personal note, it's nice to be back.

Diary of Fools Nut-Punch of the Week: May 5-12, 2008

By Merton Sussex, Dean of Student Retention

Holy shit. Is it Monday already? Again?!? You've gotta be kidding me. Really? All right, fine. It's not like the world is any less full of toad-licking retards than it would be tomorrow, so I suppose we'd better get going with this week's sack-smack.


This Week's Worthy Nominees:



Darius Rucker

Darius Rucker has always been sort of a douchebag. His band, Hootie and the Blowfish, makes simpering pussy-pop, which in turn makes millions of dollars. He's unrepentantly Christian, and, like many of them, is hell-bent on demonstrating how much better than you he thinks he is...So he puts plenty of religious references into the lyrics, which sucks (I'm looking at YOU, Scott Stapp). He's an ardent fan of the Miami Dolphins. He GOLFS.

Even so, Darius and I have had something of an understanding over the years, because even though Hootie's hits (like "Hold My Hand", and "Let Her Cry") are as about as middle-of-the-road bland as pop-lite gets, they were good for at least one thing: They got me laid in college. So, I've largely let him slide on his wimpy balladeering. Weak-sauce or not, copping to liking that first album when it came out made you look "sensitive", so it was a reasonably-effective panty-loosener back in the day. Therefore, for some time, Darius Rucker and I have been cool.

But not now, Big Daddy D. The cease-fire is ended.

Some of you might wonder what ol' Hootie's been up to the last few years. Well, the band's still around...Sort of. They've been coasting on their past successes for some time, though. "Cracked Rear View" sold something like eleventy-billion copies, but the subsequent however many releases haven't sold more than 7 or 8 copies apiece.

So, in order to keep the cash flow up, you may recall that Darius recently sold his soul to that creepy, polymer-headed monarch of meat, the Burger King:



...And then when the residuals stopped pouring in from THAT...He took out a second mortgage on his soul, and sold it again, reinventing himself as a country "artist." And why not? That commercial had done such wonders for his credibility. To wit: In the last few months, Rucker has appeared at country "music" awards shows, on other "artists'" country albums, and generally rubbed elbows with their whole sick scene trying to ingratiate himself. Now, he's recorded an entire album that's due to be foisted on an unsuspecting public, and recently released the first single off of it to Country radio. I'll spare you the link. If you want to torture yourself that badly, I'll have no part of it.

Let's get something straight: Country "music" is stupid music for stupid people...Period. Musically, it's formulaic, cookie-cutter and low-skill, sung by nasal rednecks who only know four chords and have limited vocabularies with which to render their lyrics due to never having finished junior high (and if you think I'm being mean-spirited, check out this hilarious headline I just read.)

Thematically, it proudly celebrates that unique brand of aggressive ignorance endemic to southern Americans. You know, that "we'd-rather-be-tough-than-smart" asshole-cowboy bullshit attitude that says that putting a Confederate flag on your truck is somehow different than wearing a swastika armband, that pickup trucks, chewin' tarbacky and Larry the Cable Guy are all cultural icons, and that "perfesser" is a perfectly-acceptable nickname for anyone who still has all their teeth. Country music embraces and nurtures the great, red-state-dwelling collective Jethro that revels in being backwater, racist, and untainted by anything resembling compassion, civilization, or book-learnin' as though it were a birthright. This is a region of the country that thinks "Deliverance" was a documentary. Ever notice that most people who can feed and dress themselves properly often say, "I like all kinds of music...Except country"? This is because admitting being a country fan immediately brands you as a gormless, overall-wearing hick. Of course, the flip side of that are the inbred, buck-toothed, grew-up-in-a-bubble-of-cultural-isolation Hootin' Holler natives who say, "Music? Well, ah lahk BOWTH kahnds! Cuntrah AYUND Western! Gaw-LEE."

Country music is an island unto itself. They have their own awards shows nobody else is invited to, their own rules, and their own celebrities that can't go to tractor pulls or flea markets without getting mobbed, but who could stroll unmolested through any random Nordstrom's. This is because thinking people can't stand it, and everyone who can has a gene pool the size of a teardop, rendering them incapable of comprehending the subtle complexities of, say, Nickelback.

And this is the life Rucker is CHOOSING. Becoming a Country "artist" because your pop career has fizzled is like deciding to become a garbageman after your desk job gets downsized. Sure, it's easy and pays fine, but you have to spend your whole day smelling, touching, and dealing with the rotten, rancid stuff most bright, refined people consider to be disgusting.

The sad thing is, Rucker's never been a bad singer. Sure, those old Hootie tracks were a little limp, but they weren't badly performed. The kid's got a reasonably decent set o' pipes. However, these days, he's made the conscious decision to use his powers for EVIL. And that makes him a bad egg as far as I'm concerned.

But, hey, who knows? It might work out for him. It's entirely possible that he may wind up joining the ranks of the country elite alongside such other noted African-American country artists as...um...Charley Pride, and, uh...Charley Pride. But there will always be those of us who remember when he used to be happy to hang out in the middle, rather than shooting desperately for the sub-bottom.



Jack Thompson

Jack Thompson is a lawyer. A conservative, Christian lawyer. Ordinarily, that would be enough to qualify him for an uppercut to the underbelly all by itself. But it's what he chooses to DO with that legal standing that genuinely makes him a contender.

Jack's career highlights:

In 1975, he applied for a job as assistant State's Attorney in Dade County, Florida, but was passed over by then State's Attorney Janet Reno. Yes, THAT Janet Reno. This pissed Jack right the fuck off. So, rather than work harder and try again, he decided to brush up on the use of tactics that would come to form the leitmotif of his career to this day. Namely, obfuscation, accusation, misdirection, overreaction, and smear campaigns. So, in 1988, after nurturing a grudge for more than 13 years, Thompson ran for the position of Prosecutor in Dade, against the incumbent...Janet Reno. He is said to have run for no other reason than to have plenty of public opportunities to dig, harass, and needle her during the campaign. In fact, during a campaign event, Jack apparently passed Reno a note, demanding to know whether she was, quote, "homosexual, bisexual, or heterosexual." Reportedly, Reno put her hand on his shoulder and responded, "I'm only interested in virile men. That’s why I'm not attracted to you." Ooh, BURN. Point Reno! And how did Jack react? He filed a police report accusing her of battery for touching him. When the ballots were counted on THAT runoff, Reno was ultimately re-elected with 69% of the vote.

In 1990, Thompson shot to national prominence as the guy who took on 2 Live Crew's frontman Luther "Luke Skyywalker" Campbell, trying to get the rap act's albums banned for "obscenity." Why? Not because the record was THAT objectionable. Largely, it was speculated that he'd done it because Campbell had released a record that expressed support for...Janet Reno. FUCK, this guy can carry a torch! When courts in Florida refused to hear Thompson's obscenity case, he went on a one-man crusade, picketing, distributing flyers, and generally trying to get record stores to stop selling the record...Which proved unsuccessful. In subsequent years, he levied similar campaigns against N.W.A., Ice-T, and Madonna, under the "Who Will Think of the Children" banner that conservatives typically wave around whenever confronted with art that runs counter to their tender, pink little sensibilities. All he ever really succeeded in doing was proving himself a killjoy dick.

However, most people these days know Jackie for his relentless onslaught against the multi-billion dollar behemoth that is the videogame industry. As far as Jack is concerned, If Janet Reno was bad, and rap music was worse, then surely videogames will be the undoing of Western society!

It all started for him in 1997, when he represented the parents of the victims in the Heath High School shootings. He won them $33 million in class-action damages by claiming that the shooters had been corrupted by videogames and pornography. Hooray, Twinkie Defense! Since then, he's had a mad-on for video games like nothing else, railing against them in the press, calling them "murder simulators" to anyone who will listen (and plenty who won't), and generally making an ass of himself trying to win some more, like a smack addict relentlessly chasing the rush of that first high all over again. The upshot is, he's been laughed out of courtroom after courtroom, lost a few counter-suits, and had several disbarment actions levied against him for professional misconduct. They've slowed him down, but he hasn't quit.

Thompson's latest stunt has been to have an apoplectic public seizure over "Grand Theft Auto IV", the latest highly-anticipated installment of the multi-million selling cash-cow franchise for Rockstar Games. Unless your address is "Oblivious Q. McApathy, 1 Under-Rock Lane, OutOfTouchville, USA", chances are you've at least heard of it. For those who haven't, it's an open-world, go-anywhere, do-anything free-roaming hi-res adventure that takes place in a fictionalized New York, and the character you play is asked to do some pretty unsavory things. Things involving crime, drugs, prostitution, and murder. Sure, it's gritty, graphic, and realistic. But when you consider that the lion's share of games these days are bought by people 18-34, and that the sales numbers show an OVERWHELMING preference for games that no longer assume we're all seven-year-olds enthralled by pixels the size of canned hams beeping around on the Atari 2600, it makes sense. We've matured as gamers and as consumers, and we're voting with our wallets when games come out that both reflect and respect that.

But Jack wants them gone. GONE. All of them! Fuck personal responsibility, parental monitoring, ESRB ratings and the fact that well-adjusted adult gamers have a BLAST with these superbly-crafted works of playable art. JACK hates them, so they have to GO. He's just the latest in a long line of asshole self-appointed morality cops who won't rest until he's managed to bend the rest of the world into conforming to what HE decides is acceptable.

The reason he's getting singled out this week is because of his most recent salvo: Writing a personal letter to the mother of Strauss Zelnick, Chairman of Take-Two software, publishers of the "Grand Theft Auto" series. You can read it in its entirety at this link (opens in a new window), but in the interest of summarizing, Thompson's letter to Mrs. Zelnick compares her son to "the Hitler Youth," quotes the bible several times, implies that she was a shitty mom for raising him to produce "filth", says that most video gamers of any skill end up on death row, and attributes the deaths of three Alabama policemen and "a recent plethora of cop killings" to prior entries in the GTA series.

Sweet, merciful tap-dancing JESUS. He's haranguing an old lady, now. In case anyone was wondering just how low he'd stoop, there ya go.

Thompson and assholes like him really like to absolve people of personal responsibility. Sure, games are the culprit, brainwashing impressionable kids into doing things they wouldn't otherwise. That's why every single kid who's ever picked up a controller inevitably turns into a liquor-store-robbing mind-puppet without fail. Anyone who's ever played "Tetris" is obsessed with squeezing every last molecule of air out from in between the boxes at their warehouse-stocking job. Hell, to this DAY, I can't even pass a construction site without having to fight an uncontrollable urge to scale the girders, looking for the gorilla who stole my girlfriend. Fact is, you probably CAN find an X-Box 360 in the bedroom of the kid who shot his teacher. But you'll also find them in the rooms of millions of kids who DON'T. If a kid's so messed up in the head that he thinks this sort of thing is just dandy to do, then the video game is incidental. It's not even a catalyst. HE WAS PROBABLY GONNA DO IT ANYWAY. Escapism is escapism. I kill zombies on my TV so I don't HAVE to climb up on top of the clock tower with a high-powered rifle and start picking off coeds.

Jack Thompson is a racist, homophobic, Republican jagoff. And if he ever succeeds in actually getting rid of videogames, I think he'll truly and personally understand just how many people who used to be placated by SIMULATED violence might just start looking for him in order to open their now-frustrated steam valves and deliver a little of the real thing.



Dana Perino

White House Spokesperson and Presidential Press Secretary Dana Perino might just be the dumbest person to have an office in that entire building. And if you think about that for a second, you'll realize what a strong statement it is.

George W. Bush is, hands-down, the worst president we've ever had, or are ever likely to have. If he were any dumber, he'd have to be watered twice a day. But. If there's one thing I can say for the guy, it's that he's largely surrounded himself with intelligent people. Cheney, Rumsfeld, Rice, Rove...None are the mental midgets he is. Are they evil, devious, short-sighted, greedy people who will stop at nothing to advance their narrow world-views and personal agendas? Yes. But they're not stupid. They pay attention. They couldn't so totally manipulate the system otherwise.

Even down to the position of Press Secretary, the appointees have usually been quick with spin, sharp as a tack when it came to making shit up on the spot, and possessed of enough grey matter to toe the party line and largely at least appear up to the task of pulling the wool over the eyes of the press pool. Ari Fleischer, Scott McClellan, and even Tony Snow were glib, silver-tongued, and could lie with a straight face and a square jaw. They were full of shit, but at least they were able to convince us that THEY believed what they were saying. Even so, lying for a shameless administration takes its toll after awhile, and each of these guys has lasted an average of two years before bailing on the post, ostensibly to "spend more time with their families." Which I'm really starting to believe is code for "attempt to live down the shame of the horrible things I've done."

Which brings us to Dana Perino, the last-gasp mouthpiece of a blighted, tarnished, corrupted lame-duck administration, shoved into the post simply because someone has to fucking do it. Problem is, it's patently obvious that nobody in the White House gives much of a shit anymore, because she's about as good at her job as Stephen Hawking would be at breakdancing.

In 2006 (after the mid-term elections that put the Democrats in control of Congress again), the press pool seemed to pull off the gloves, and use the new-found dexterity that maneuver provided to once again locate their testicles. They stopped lobbing softball questions at administration officials, and started demanding some accountability, because they knew they had some bench strength and didn't have to be nice anymore. Snow handled this with the usual bullshit aplomb before exiting, stage right even. But rather than spin elaborate webs of deceitful rhetoric, his replacement Perino hems, haws and stalls when she comes up against something she can't effectively process. "I don't know", "That information is not available", and "We're still gathering the facts" have become her stock fall-back lines. Granted, this sort of "I don't recall" smoke-screening isn't exactly new to the GOP. A direct through-line of exactly this sort of crap runs from Ronald Reagan and Ollie North directly down to Alberto Gonzales and Gen. David Petraeus. But maybe I just expect more out of the position of the Press Secretary. After all, these other officials have whole other jobs to do. Titles and offices. Not as though they get a pass on the bullshit, but their usual duties have little or nothing to do with addressing the public, and their responses come when they're put on the spot in venues they're unfamiliar with. Her whole fucking JOB is to answer questions, be direct, thorough, and succinct, and not crack under pressure. To know enough about policy, current events and history that she can at least SOUND like she knows what the fuck she's talking about.

And how's THAT working out?

On a recent appearance on National Public Radio, Perino was being asked about her policy experience, and the rigors of her much-maligned position. Apropos of not much, she dropped her guard and let THIS nugget slip:

“I was panicked a bit because I really don’t know about the Cuban Missile Crisis,” said Perino, who at 35 was born about a decade after the 1962 U.S.-Soviet nuclear showdown. “It had to do with Cuba and missiles, I’m pretty sure.” So she consulted her best source. “I came home and I asked my husband,” she recalled. “I said, ‘Wasn’t that like the Bay of Pigs thing?’ And he said, ‘Oh, Dana.’”

This. Is. A. Vetted. Administration. Official. And she doesn't even know what the goddamned Cuban Missile Crisis was. Fuck, it's just dawning on me that she apparently isn't aware of something called "Google" either, if she waited until she got home to ask her husband about it. I simply don't have the words.

Then, not long after, she was asked during a press conference what, if anything, the administration planned to do about the economy, being as under its ever-so-able tutelage, gas prices have risen 500% after remaining static for decades, and the dollar is at its least-valuable EVER, even adjusted for constant values. People want and deserve answers.

The exchange went thusly:

Q: I’d like to follow up on their refusal to talk about the dollar, if I could. I mean, we’re in a kind of a bad situation here, when OPEC says the reason for $105 or $106 a barrel of oil is the falling value of the dollar — and you won’t address that issue. Where do we go to find out who is right?

MS. PERINO: Well, as he just said, the Treasury Secretary is where you go to talk about the dollar. It’s a longstanding policy that predates this administration, and I’m not going to change it today. But Treasury can talk about it.

Q: I don’t expect you to change it, but I do expect you to be able to say whether OPEC is completely wrong about this, or whether there is at least something to their claim that the dollar is responsible for the high price of oil right now.

MS. PERINO: Wendell, I’m under strict instructions, and have been from the beginning, to not talk about the dollar, and I’m not going to get fired to satisfy your question.

So, let me get this straight: Your whole job is to be the spokesperson for the administration. To answer questions about policy for the press so that they can then disseminate it to our newspapers and television channels and magazines in order that we might stay informed of the affairs affecting our country and the world at large. In essence, to boil down any piece of policy anyone might need to know about to a concise, easy-to-understand sound-bite so we can all get an iceberg-tip-view of just what in the bloody hell is going so wrong. We live in an environment where foreclosures are rampant, people are selling off family heirlooms to feed their kids even as they let the bills go, unemployment is staring down the barrel of a double-digit climb, our money isn't worth the paper its printed on and the best you can do is refer us to the motherfucking TREASURY SECRETARY?!?

I'm sorry...But fuck you. People want and deserve answers, and whoever has your job is the person that's supposed to deliver them, based on the whole of administration policy. But you're going to stand there with your naked face hanging out and pass the literal buck to a person that nobody outside the building (and likely as not, many INSIDE of it) couldn't reliably name at gunpoint? Is ANYBODY in this administration capable of accepting responsibility for ANYTHING?!?

However, administration winding down or not, she's still trudging dumbly along, freaking out and fucking up every chance she gets, and acting like a spoiled infant in the process. Watch this question, asked by a guy who she reportedly didn't mean to call on because he's not one of the few loyal toadies left that still go easy on them, and check out her response. Make sure you turn up your speakers for her petulant little exit pout as she steps off the podium, totally defeated:



"What the hell," indeed. Dana Perino: Mature, collected, and responsible. Just like the rest of her friends in the West Wing.

And the winner is:



Jack Fucking Thompson.

Jack Thompson is everything that's wrong with America. He's narrow-minded, pushy, intolerant, bigoted, sanctimonious, and stupid. We're adults. We've grown up. Our games had to, too. And just because YOU don't like it, that doesn't mean I don't get to play it. So shove your "I-know-what's-best-for-you" attitude sideways up your tight, dry little shit-chute, you fucking prig. Games are fun. You're just a dick. Lighten up, or the next guy to get run over, then get beaten with a tire iron and have his wallet taken just might be you.

And I hope when your head clears and the blood drains from your eyes, you look up to see that the hand holding the iron belongs to Janet Reno.