Blogslut

…yeah, that’s right, but look what I found when I got down there.
- Larry Flynt’s response to being called a ‘bottom feeder’ by Republican Congressman Bob Livingston.

A special, lazy, slutty welcome to all you pervs from Wonkette!

Apparently the primaries aren’t over for the ladies that love Hillary Clinton. These sad gals claim that the Senator lost her bid for Democratic nominee because of he-man women haters. They’re bitter. They’re obsessed. They’re so bitter and so obsessed that they’ve decided to apply their mad l33T skills to organizing anti-Obama websites. They’ve got a PAC named P.U.M.A. - the acronym stands for Party Unity My Ass. Rowwrr!

According to Wonkette, their newest effort is a portal site named the Nobama Network.

Naturally, the nobamanetwork domain is hidden behind a WHOIS privacy cloak. The problem is that the person who registered the domain and (apparently) runs the website failed to cover her tracks:

That’s right! Wendy is a webmaster. If you go to her page, you’ll see that the first row of her online portfolio is titled: Adult Web Design. That’s code! It stands for: “I build porn sites”.

Actually, technically, she builds pages for Las Vegas Escorts. That code for HOOKERS! I know this because I am a filthy Internet pornographer and because I clicked on the thumbnails. What will the “feminists” @ P.U.M.A. think?

Bonus screen grabs of Wendy’s day job!

Also: SHIT, PISS, CUNT, COCKSUCKER, MOTHERFUCKER and TITS!…

SANTA MONICA, Calif. (AP) — George Carlin, the dean of counterculture comedians whose biting insights on life and language were immortalized in his “Seven Words You Can Never Say On TV” routine, died of heart failure Sunday. He was 71. Carlin went into a Santa Monica hospital Sunday afternoon complaining of chest pain and died later that evening, said his publicist, Jeff Abraham.

I salute fellow bloggers, TRex, Balloon Juice and Sadly, No! in their attempts to identify the synthiest 80’s synthpop. In fact, I think it’s adorable.

Too bad, they fail:

With a wild rattle and clatter, and an inhuman abandonment of consideration not easy to be understood in these days, the carriage dashed through streets and swept round corners, with women screaming before it, and men clutching each other and clutching children out of its way. At last, swooping at a street corner by a fountain, one of its wheels came to a sickening little jolt, and there was a loud cry from a number of voices, and the horses reared and plunged.

But for the latter inconvenience, the carriage probably would not have stopped; carriages were often known to drive on, and leave their wounded behind, and why not? But the frightened valet had got down in a hurry, and there were twenty hands at the horses’ bridles

`What has gone wrong?’ said Monsieur, calmly looking out.

A tall man in a nightcap had caught up a bundle from among the feet of the horses, and had laid it on the basement of the fountain, and was down in the mud and wet, howling over it like a wild animal.

`Pardon, Monsieur the Marquis!’ said a ragged and submissive man, `it is a child.’

`Why does he make that abominable noise? Is it his child?’

`Excuse me, Monsieur the Marquis–it is a pity–yes.’

The fountain was a little removed; for the street opened, where it was, into a space some ten or twelve yards square. As the tall man suddenly got up from the ground, and came running at the carriage, Monsieur the Marquis clapped his hand for an instant on his sword-hilt.’

`Killed!’ shrieked the man, in wild desperation, extending both arms at their length above his head, and staring at him. `Dead!’

The people closed round, and looked at Monsieur the Marquis. There was nothing revealed by the many eyes that looked at him but watchfulness and eagerness; there was no visible menacing or anger. Neither did the people say anything; after the first cry, they had been silent, and they remained so. The voice of the submissive man who had spoken, was flat and tame in its extreme submission. Monsieur the Marquis ran his eyes over them all, as if they had been mere rats come out of their holes.

He took out his purse.

`It is extraordinary to me,’ said he, `that you people cannot take care of yourselves and your children. One or the other of you is for ever in the way. How do I know what injury you have done my horses? See! Give him that.’

He threw out a gold coin for the valet to pick up, and all the heads craned forward that all the eyes might look down at it as it fell. The tall man called out again with a most unearthly cry, `Dead!’
— “A Tale of Two Cites” Book Two, Chapter 7, Monseigneur in Town
link

And the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change

“for their efforts to build up and disseminate greater knowledge about man-made climate change, and to lay the foundations for the measures that are needed to counteract such change”

link

TeenTelevision.com reports:

American Idol star Clay Aiken is caught up in another gay controversy after parishioners at a church where he is set to perform a Christmas concert demanded assurances the singer isn’t a homosexual…”

~snip~

“…elders at a Wichita, Kansas church want to make sure the singer is heterosexual before green-lighting plans for him to perform for their congregation on November 26th…”

~snip~

A source tells the National Enquirer, “Pastor Posson thought it was in the church’s best interest to circulate a letter.”

In the note, the pastor avoided the gay issue, declaring Aiken was a Christian who didn’t “drink, smoke, swear or womanise”.

I browsed the Central Christian Church site. Typical fundie stuff, complete with links to the Family Research Council, Concerned Women for America and Focus on the Family.

In a perfect world, Mr. Aiken would tell this church to get stuffed. Sadly, I doubt he’ll do that. Old Clay will tell them he’s not gay. The show will go on. Mr. Aiken will collect his fee and the church will make buckets of money.

“If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.”

“Is this house, which is called by my name, become a den of robbers in your eyes? Behold, even I have seen it, saith the LORD.”

I’m trying out a new little thang. Be warned, it’s naughty. If you’ve got the will, cross your mouse over the graphic. Let me know what you think!

I slept through 9/11. Literally. I feel a little ashamed about it although I’m not sure why. Millions of Americans heard about it after the fact. My tardiness didn’t stop me from living in front of the television for a solid week. Logically, I knew what had happened. Emotionally, it took a few days for the grief to kick in.

It happened sometime late at night during that first week. I can’t remember but I’m pretty sure I was watching CNN. Could have been C-Span. The station was airing footage of family members and friends searching for any news of missing loved ones. These people had begun to walk up and down Ground Zero, passing out photo-fliers, taking to reporters, leaving flowers and phone numbers at the site. All they wanted was to know something, anything more than nothing. That’s when it hit me.

For the past six years, Alicia Esteve Head has been pretending that she was a survivor of the World Trade Center bombing. She claimed that she was in the South Tower, that she was burned by jet fuel, that she shared the lasts moments of a victim’s life and that she was rescued by young man who did not survive. In addition she said that her fiance died in the North Tower, thus transforming her tale from melodrama to Greek tragedy.

In America, she called herself Tania Head - former Merrill Lynch employee and graduate of Harvard and Stanford. Spanish publication, La Vanguardia, tells us she is from Barcelona and has a history of falsifying her identity. A glorified secretary for a hotel chain, Alicia’s old co-workers paint a portrait of woman that was bold in her attempts to better herself through fabrication. Her scars (that she now says are burns from jet fuel) were the injuries from a sportscar crash and a severed arm, back in the day in Barcelona. There was no fiance, no dying man on the stairs, no wedding ring, no tragic savior, no heroic survival. Nothing but lies.

Ultimately, this story evolves into Theater of the Absurd because it turns out Tania/Alicia was an inspiration to actual 9/11 victims and devoted time and care to the group, World Trade Center Survivors’ Network. The woman led tours of Ground Zero for god’s sake. From accounts so far, Ms. Esteve Head has not profited financially from her story. I imagine she had to have enjoyed a few free meals, plane tickets and hotel rooms. Her real payoff came in the form of attention and sympathy.

I feel sad, a little sick and again, ashamed about Tania. I’m not sure why. I don’t know if her revelation has relevance to what’s gone down in the six years since September the 11^th. There’s been too many lies since then. Mind-fucking, fear-mongering, logic-defying lies. Alicia lied about her life. The president lied us into a war and now, the only way out is to face that truth.

But nobody wants to do that. Our legislators still tell us pretty stories about winning and surges and how the Iraqi people are just so damned difficult. They pat our heads and tell us the war is complicated and that they know best. Then they jingle a shiny sets of wedge issues in front of our eyes and our attention is diverted again. In the meantime, there are almost four thousand dead soldiers, a million dead Iraqi civilians and a couple million more refugees and these liars and fools want to take the show on the road to Iran?

Alicia Esteve Head told some heinous lies and is probably mentally ill. She hurt people and betrayed their trust. On the other hand, the cowboys, masked demons, dancing generals and floppy puppets that we call our government, have been shoveling bullshit while our country is falling apart.

I’m awake now. We’re all pretty much awake now and we’re six years older. Our grief is older. Osama bin Laden is older. Our country has done something very wrong. We should leave Iraq because we never should have gone there in the first place. We are an occupying force, not a liberating one. We have to go and we have to stop lying to ourselves. We were/are wrong. There is nothing to win unless we want to be imperialists. We didn’t go there to free an oppressed people from a tyrant. We went there because the president and all his men lied and our legislators and media repressed their doubt because the truth was too obscene.

I used to know someone like Tania/Alicia. This guy fooled a lot of people into thinking he was Bing Crosby’s son, Nathaniel. I knew it wasn’t him when I first met him but I didn’t say anything because I knew his rubes would get mad at me for questioning his story and their gullibility. I just let him hang himself with his own rope, which he did. Then I felt guilty for not speaking up. Being lied to sucks. I was wrong. That fake Nate Crosby was wrong. The only people who acted appropriately were the ones snared in his trap. They were hurt disappointed and angry.

I’m hurt, disappointed and angry. I’m also ashamed but this time I know why. We’ve got no business in Iraq and we’re wrong, wrong, wrong as long as we stay there. Our president, legislators and media are lying to us and it sucks. We are screwing things up and no amount of drunken starlets or MoveOn ads or fake 9/11 survivors is going to change that.

One of these is a piece of shit. The other is a chocolate pudding:

The chocolate pudding just sits there. It doesn’t say things like:

“[I]t’s “No, it’s not, and what’s really funny is, they never talk to real soldiers.”

“They like to pull these soldiers that come up out of the blue and talk to the media.” Limbaugh interjected, “The phony soldiers.”

The caller, who had earlier said, “I am a serving American military, in the Army,” agreed, replying, “The phony soldiers.” [emphasis mine]

Pudding just sits there looking delicious. Pudding is smarter.

ADD: Media Matters provides the quotes and the audio.

Rep. Seeks Probe in Coast Guard Nooses

NEW LONDON, Conn. (AP) — Nooses were left in a black Coast Guard cadet’s bag and in the office of a white officer who conducted race relations training after the incident, leading a congressman to call Tuesday for a thorough military investigation.
A Coast Guard probe was unable to determine who left the nooses, said Chief Warrant Officer David M. French, a spokesman for the Coast Guard Academy…

~snip~

A task force found that minority members comprised 13.5 percent of the Coast Guard’s student body, compared with 16 percent in 1991, Cummings said. Minorities comprised only 7 percent of the faculty and staff, and fewer than 1 percent of captains on active duty are black, Cummings said.

The first noose was left in the cadet’s bag July 15 on board the Coast Guard cutter Eagle, French said. The second was found in early August on the office floor of a female officer who had been conducting the race relations training in response to the first incident, he said.

AND

Nooses hung at N.C. schools

Several nooses have been found at N.C. schools, in apparent imitation of those that provoked the Jena Six violence in Louisiana.

The discovery of the nooses elicited diverse reactions, reflecting the difference in their intended messages.

Four nooses discovered at T.W. Andrews High School on Friday morning, which administrators removed immediately, are believed to have been hung with malicious intent.

Capt. Kenneth Shultz of the High Point Police Department said an investigation is ongoing, but he could not say if charges would be pressed…

What the hell?