"How many of you have been to DU3 to tell them how bad it sucks over there?"
"Fie! Fie, thou foolish children of an ungodly new beast!! Takest thou not to heart Satan's latest bejeweled cloak that glitters and blinds thee!!
Fall to thy knees and return to the temple lest I strike thee senseless at the spot where I have found thee wandering in delighted confusion within all that Beelzebub has wrought!"
My wife and I were at the local feed store checking on their new chickens when we were taught a very interesting trick from an old-timer. He says you can hold the chicks up by the scruff of the neck (like you'd hold a baby kitten) and let their feet dangle. He says the males will pull their legs up while the females will always leave their legs dangling.
The Easter Bunny obviously mistook her head for a basket and tried to kick all the grass back in.
Very popular with aging racists who kind-of-sort-of read Atlas Shrugged.
I'm glad that the Obama administration rescinded parts of that regulation
Even though Obama is the worst president ever and i hear that he is terribly criminal as reported by a republican politician I saw and if it's on TEEVEE you know it has to be true so there you have it now what are we going to do about that birth certificate and that michelle wants to make us all breast feed kenyan gay babies and close down churches to make them into muslin places for terrorists and homosexual actions that will damage our military and have dead people and mickey mouse voting to give abortions and mortgages to under-age prostitutes to give money for the democrats to steal their elections and raise our taxes.
which always leads me to wonder "when exactly did YOU, Joe, decide between hot dogs and hamburgers? Did you eat very many hot dogs before you dived into burgers full time?"
These guys must have experienced that breakaway from the man-dangler to the lady-flower. I'd love to hear about that.
funded in part by the Koch brothers
If they were sincere they'd push to end expensive wars, at the very least.
It exists to corral the last of a dying breed, it's the tailend of the Southern Strategy as its political value fades away. The perception continues to be created that teabagging is a widespread phenom. The hope is that eventually all the kids left on the block will want to "own one". Just like all that other crap and attitude corporate powers sell us every fucking second of every gosh-darn day.
The teabag "movement" creators equate irrational fears, racism, and ignorance of the economy, democracy and history as being one with a historic event: The Boston Tea Party. Only now the participants are siding with King George against their own best interests. They are a people turned against themselves, and taught to love it.
Teabaggers are having smoke blown up their backsides.
It's mostly the same perennially empty phrases so perfectly mouthed by teabaggage redcap and failed Governor Sarah Palin. It's dressed up in kicky tri-cornered hats and reassurance. The "my kids don't understand me" folks are being led by the nose. Sara Palin is the daughter they WISH they had, instead of the one who wants you to be logical and coherant when reacting to the world.
It will have a number of uses, perhaps in helping to cover stolen elections, as in "I know that the lefty was leading in the polls, but the teabaggers really came out in force overnight and turned it around for the righty."
Even though the turnout doesn't happen now and will not happen then.
*Madam Kurovska has spoken*
GO! We are FINISHED. Do you understand me Mr. Monkey Turd? You can hop away with your precious honey-bunny, that puddin’ cheeked fantastical gasbag Glenn Beck…if that’s what you want. You never paid this much attention to Mike Malloy, and yet you called him “extreme” too. That confused McCain rally lady with the shock-treatment hair who called Obama an “Arab” got more TEEVEE time than Malloy ever did. So I hope you’re happy living with Glenn forever and ever in his dark bunny hole filled with his big fat magic blackboard and a lifetime supply of chalky delusions. What the flippity-floppity eff do I care?
Your evolving career as promiscuous poop-peddler and part-time fart humidor has driven me to seek solace in the arms of clowns like Colbert and Stewart. Sure, Stephen and Jon are pulsating, virile pile drivers of hot delicious fun, but you and me LM, we were gonna be married just as soon as it was legal in our state. Remember? We were a serious item, you fucker.
It’s clear now that you don’t love me, you don’t love my friends or anyone even remotely like me. Maybe it’s because I’m finally insane from the years of empty promises, the half-truths and omissions, all the hours spent hanging on to your every word and waiting for you to come home. Or maybe it’s because you’re a total asshole. I can’t tell anymore.
I think it was somewhere around the time of Ronald Reagan that you began to slip away from me. ( you always were an insecure little star-humper ) but I forgave you over and over again throughout the decades.
You know, you could have had a fling with Randi Rhodes and I would have understood that. But instead you stroked creepy old dudes like Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell, stinkers well-past history’s expiration date. You acted as if they had something to say that was worth listening to outside of a psych ward. So I GET IT. I’m not CRAZY enough for you, ya freak.
How about if I start babbling on about how Cheney and Bush helped make billions for crap-sacks all over the world through war and negligence and crisis. Will that be crazy enough for ya? Well…will it sailor boy!!? Can we broadcast that?? WILL YOU LOVE ME THEN??!!! Maybe instead of a blackboard, I’ll tattoo my lunatic ravings onto your flabby abdomen while you sleep, how’s that sound?! WHAT D’YA THINK OF THAT???
…Oh LibMed…I promised myself I wouldn’t let you see me cry, and now look. GOD, but I hate you.
And I really don’t care what my third therapist for this decade says about the irresponsibility of “assigning blame”, YOU, you are the reason I shovel and swill down donuts and Black Russians like a goddam camel at an oasis, you tiddly-wink testicled scheisse meister.
I never before ate an entire twenty-inch pizza in one sitting until the day I caught you feeling-up that gold-digging, canine-murdering, serial liar Sarah Palin. And then you said—OUT LOUD- that you thought she could possibly be the one. Oh really? What kind of entity takes that kind of gal seriously? You do, you crap-packing, bacteria-diving little Petri dish of a filth factory.
Well good luck, it’s gonna take a whole lot of ballot stuffing to make that cookie-brained, aging high school cheerleader your queen of the prom. But I’m sure you’ll find a way. You’re so brazen now you might just say that someone so gosh-darn pretty should be crowned queen without even voting.
And now she’s in the belly of the beast drawing a check from Fox News, the most liberal outlet there is when it comes to letting horseshit slide front and center.
I really feel like messing you up with a nine-iron right now, champ. But I can’t see your big stupid head through this storm of tears. Maybe that’s why Mrs. Tiger Woods missed her mark.
I spread open a newspaper or engage the remote only to feel the sting of a thousand tiny little pricks. Failure is success and success is failure. Fifty-nine is minority to the majority forty-one. White is black, and black is, well, Alabama 1953.
At least it is to your good friends in the tea-bagging trade.
I’m left to wonder where we would be today if you had covered the anti-war movement night and day for months on end the way you do Fox News’ and Dick Armey’s scattering of tea-baggin’ hobbyists.
Could we have perhaps renewed the love we once shared?
I know what you’re thinking: “it’s never enough for you, is it Kurovski?”
Well what is it that YOU want, Liberal Media? If you wanted nuts bouncing up and down in your face you had your chance. I can do crazy, and I also happen to know how to spell. I even own a dictionary. Are you that afraid of the “elitist” moniker?
They don’t love you, you know. Those hopelessly backwards Polititwits think you’re a dirty Commie Nazi Socialist Maoist Francophile Old Europe Satanist Stalinist Leninist, even when you go out of your way to undermine me with questions like “Is Kurovski spending too much on vitamins and Chinese take-out, and not enough on ammo for his Glock?” “Is Kurovski losing control? Stay tuned!” “Why hasn’t he cured cancer?” “Argle-bargle, blah, blah, blah…”
Instead of vague fears from the rabid tea-baggage and other familiarly reprehensible right wingers that President Obama is resurrecting a new Nazi regime, you could have had historians outline actual parallels to fascism during the Cheney-Bush years. Maybe that 2003 CBS mini-series on Hitler’s regime scared you off. Adolph knocked around the media but good, didn’t he? So much for Godwins law.
The beginning of the end was when your digs got bigger than necessary; you redecorated every ten months with expensive graphics and custom furniture, elaborate electronics were in every corner. At first I thought it was nice that you were dressing better and getting terrific haircuts every three days. Then I saw who was paying for it.
These days, there’s that lady who regularly promises “well-paying jobs” from oil and gas.
Really? What jobs? Respiratory Therapists?
What do you see in her? I mean besides the millions in revenue?
You’ve taken money from bullshit artists who are even better than you at tripping-the light craptastic. “Clean” coal, Insurance and drug companies, chemical food companies, conglomerates posing as family farmers, banks, loan and credit companies and investment firms. Even Saudi Arabia, for fucks sake.
Perhaps you could do the job you set out to do long ago, get actual answers to the questions you ask. Don’t let a lie pass unchallenged. When you’re entertaining a guest who wants to sing the dreamy praises of a Ronald Reagan from twenty-two years ago, remind them that we have a dirge to drag through courtesy of George W. Bush, circa thirteen months ago, And that we’ll be bearing the strains of that for a decade. It could use repeating.
Repetition creates perception. (but you and Mitch McConnell already know that.)
When you report on the anger of the electorate towards Government, it might be helpful to point out that we are the Government, and that we have representatives who may be representing pre-purchased interests that are more corporate in nature than that of the common citizen.
If you’re not too lazy, you might want to get down to work like that Rachel Maddow. Or that, who is it? Karl? Kevin? Kiether Suthermann, is it?
Maybe when you crow or fret about right wing nudie models winning elections because Obama isn’t accomplishing much, you might point out that voters have just signed up for more obstructionist behavior from the Republicans via an historic, unprecedented abuse of the filibuster.
And would it hurt to tell Dems to get going before it’s too late? It’s more than a spectator sport, you know. Not all of us draw six figure salaries, and we could use a little help from our Government.
Oh, but how I can hear your perfectly modulated tones now: “DON’T tell ME what to do!” Typical, since you deigned every argument a“nagfest” or a “competition.”
Do I sound bitter? Do I? No, not at all. You go and have a happy Valentines Day, LibMed. See? We’re cool. Have a very happy Valentines with all those honey-baked shit twizzlers you’re bagging these days. I know you’ll be very happy with the various diseases you’ll be sharing with one another. Enjoy. Happy, happy.
If you decide to change your mind, you can reach me on the internet. Jerk.
Dingleberry Pillboy! If you’re a fan like me, you wake up wondering “What will he do or say today!?” I can’t hardly ever effing wait !!
When listening to Pillboy You may ask: "WTF!!? WTF is he talking about now??” Get a Dingleberry decoder ring today and find out!
Send in two UPC’s from boxes of Constant Comment teabags.
This month’s contest!!!
Correctly answer the question “ How many boner pills does Dingleberry take a week?”
You can win a handsome polo shirt just like the one Pillboy paws at during his daily crybaby festival and story hour!!!
It’s stretched out for your comfort in all the same places as Dingleberry’s when he tugs at it to relieve his damp man knockers and grease-oozing pits.
What could be luckier than this?
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Last month’s contest question was: “Is Dingleberry Pillboy overcompensating for something?” Answer: “Shutup! Shutup! Shutup!”
Coming next month: Dingleberry diet secrets. (dust off your old chemistry sets!)
Dingleberry Fact: Dingleberry Pillboy has accidentally eaten three Ronald McDonalds since 1963.
Dingleberry Myth-Buster: He is not the son of the Pillsbury Doughboy and Phyllis Schlafly.
Upcoming Events: Join Dingleberry Pillboy in Washington D.C. for the MYOMM! (Million Year-Old Man March)
Don’t let the parade pass you by! Force your way to the front. Proudly display your fear and confusion! Polish it up like that bowling trophy from 1958 that you found in the attic but your wife wanted to throw away!!
It’s patriotic! You’re patriotic!! Yes, goddamit, yes you are!!!
Fred Flintstone will join Pillboy as co-grand marshal. Free tours of Dick Cheney’s newest traveling triage-center in a bus. Super-souped-up. Cooler than sixty Corvettes. It’s the kind of thing I hope they spent my tax money on. You read me right, dammit!!
We talked to Dick Cheney the other day (he's also a big Dingleberry fan) and he’s really been hurt about how people keep telling him to shut the fuck up. He says he can read Keith Olbermann’s mind. Very hurtful.
That’s why he’s been sending out his daughter to do his bidding. Problem now is that people have been heard saying “Someone should put her in her place.” After all, she’s got the two kids at home.
So now Dick is out all over the place, getting throttled and beaten over the head by the dammit-to-hell liberals again. Poor old guy. Just can’t catch a break.
Dingleberry Fun Fact: He lives in Florida, but stays whiter than a bleached anus!
Feeling uncomfortable these days? Do you have that "not so fresh feeling" about recent events? Well, take back your country! Sit and listen to Dingleberry Pillboy on the radio all day! It's as comforting and refreshing as a summer's eve!!!
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...or better yet, use the name of the creator of Dingleberry Pillboy, Rush Limbaugh!
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This month's fan letter from Sarah in Alaska:
"I love Dingleberry, I sure do. He'd do anything for me. Or, I mean to say, I'D do anything for HIM." Oh, I'm a fan for sure. the heck with all them other bugs bunnies and what-nots. I pick Dingleberry!!! I don't care how much they smear Dingleberry, or try to wipe Dingleberry out, or try to tear dingleberry from his spot, I'm all for that tenacious little Dingleberry just hangin' in there!"
Well, so, it's Halloween, right? And money is tight, just the way it always is when foreigners and socialists are picking your pockets.
No matter how much money you have, you can always manage to pinch out a dingleberry costume! It's as easy as 1,2 and number 3!
1) Buy a Dingleberry polo shirt at our online Dingleberry store! (Or win one!)
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You can win a dinner with DP! send in your entry form by mail or on our official website!
Open only to Newsletter subscribers.
Newsletter subscribers who are licensed physicians, pharmacists, or industrious housekeepers.
DINGLEBERRY PILLBOY! He's your prescription for fun!!! See you next month!!!
He's such a hopeless little putz. Instead of buying a great big car and hair plugs, he got himself a great big radio show where he can actually make the littlest things big, where he can truly and quickly get everyone excited. A place where he gets to make stuff up, just like in a Penthouse Forum letter.
And he's always all wet.
Didn't he hear what Ex-Gov. Sarah Palin said to the media? she said "...how about in honor of the American soldier you stop making stuff up." So stop it Rush! Stop making stuff up before I tell the troops! Quit pissing Sarah off! Yes, yes Relax, relax...I KNOW the truth Rush. I'm just making stuff up.
The truth is that Sarah digs you. I'm sure you're number two in her heart. That's number two, Rush. And that's as it should be.
Is there another call boy in the world who has degraded himself more deeply or completely? We think not. (I'm speaking here of Limbaugh, not Kurovski.)
History may be more "polite" about it, but the internet will forever take a steaming dump on Rush. And in exchange Limbaugh gets a few bucks and a king's ransom in Oxycontin.
Sure, there are people who listen to Rush. Guardians of the public interest perhaps, like those at Media Matters, folks who like to fall off ladders and pick at scabs. The insane and the deluded also like to cozy-up to the radio-box to get a rise from Rushbo.
But what would others of us rather do than box our own ears with mad Limbaugh smackdowns?
Social scientists conducting just such a study have created a convenient poll for the rest of us. Please be a good citizen and take it, before we send a government doctor to euthanize you.
Here is the poll...
And so it follows that we are required to amend the constitution and enforce a ban on bikinis.
Now and forever.
Not only is the sight of a certain contrasting milky magnificence a threat to the "sanctity" of marriage, but it also degrades its "dignity", as goofy horn-dog hypocrite Gov. Mark Sanford once, twice, or perhaps even a thousand times said of Gay marriage.
Just watch the dignity of Mark's marriage go down the crapper by way of Sanford's poorly-written (even if earnestly horny) emails.
"...I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificently gentle kisses, or that I love your tan lines or that I love the curves of your hips, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent parts of yourself) in the faded glow of night’s light."
A few of you may recall my own recent defeat at the border of House Minority Leader John Boehner's eerie tan line.
However, unlike Sanford and his South American squeeze, I can not vouch for the "magnificence" of Mr. Boehner's "two" as he holds them up to the night light, or whatever the hell it was Sanford meant by the statement "..faded glow of night's light."
The point is...you all could have saved both Mark and myself from the sorrowful ignominy created by tan lines, if only you had changed the constitution. No bikinis. No tans. No problems.
So thanks a whole lot for nothing.
When you people realize that the whole of Western Civilization is shakily balanced upon a tube of Bain de Soleil®, then perhaps you will all begin to act accordingly.
Until that day remember the words of Mark Sanford at his public confessional: "The biggest self of self is indeed self."
(Unless of course you're John Holmes, or a humongous horny tan line on Santa Claus' ass.)
It's the first Valentines Day of his tenure, and President Barack Obama has still got a bad case of bi-fever. That dear-old sense of Kumbaya and respect that bi-partisanship engenders. At least on one side. And in at least one person, namely Barack Obama.
Okay. I admit it. There exists at least TWO of us. And so now if you will allow me to unravel my dark Valentine's Day confession, here we go...
Do you remember Mike Brady? The handsome gentleman who married Florence Henderson and who in the seventies together with Mike kept six child actors holed-up in a windowless California home?
Well, I contend that Republican Minority Leader John Boehner is way cuter than Mike. He is totally "Gunsmoke" material. He's in the category of "Blue-eyed dream-creamsicle white-boy". Was he in that eighties movie version of Hair? Because I could swear I saw him in his boxers at the recruitment center.
He could even be a TEEVEE salesman for a big national insurance company. In other words, he's mega-dreamy and monster-hot. Compared to him, Ronald Reagan ain't diddly-squat, and I'm finding it hard to believe that Peggy Noonan hasn't already horn-dogged him in the pages of the Wall Street Journal. And if she did, well Peggy, you just back off before we have some trouble.
I find myself checking into CSpan just to stare into John's big, puffy, bloated blue eyes. Their swollen appearance is our assurance that he's working hard to figure out how to make this beleaguered nation better by way of three scotches a night.
Their moistness signals that they're ever-ready to shed a manly, testosterone-laced tear.
--Oh John. Why won't you let me dry your tears?
He is my wrinkly orange love god. Where lies the limits of that tan-line and what of my fevered dream to cross it?
My hands reach out to the screen as my imagination tousles that...that...that...stuff on top of his head.
I stretch before the set like a panther as I luxuriate in the aural touch of his tender, lisp-ish speech. It spills from the speakers, sounding loose and slushy, his oratory tripping up the stairs like a tipsy baritone cutie-pie dropping his drawers on the way, ready for bed.
The sound is so insanely adorable that I find myself biting my lip and sharply smacking my own bottom to keep from floating off into the stratosphere, so delightful is the joy of it all.
I even love it when he trashes everything I believe in on the House Floor. Who cares? They're just "things". But John. John is experience itself.
I thrill to his strong-mindedness as it is revealed in that histrionic manner I so admire. Just recently he plunged--no, dashed--the telephone-book sized stimulus bill to the floor to make a point. That should teach us! This will keep us on our toes! And now we know what to expect should we prepare a pan of poorly-seasoned lasagna that displeases him.
Do you think I'm kidding? Do you dare laugh at love? The arrogance! You all know in your hearts that that man is one-hundred percent adorable and special. And lest you forget...he is a "minority" member.
So as you can see, I'm doing my level best to work on a stimulus package of my own design and like our President, I too reach across the aisle while never letting the ridiculous impossibility of my situation give me pause.
For myself, Mr. Boehner's heterosexuality is no impediment whatsoever. Similarly, President Obama has not been held off by the fact that Minority Leader John Boehner is loaded with more horseshit than a team of constipated Clydesdales.
And as Helen Thomas once kindly emailed to me, "hope springs eternal".
A happy Valentine's to all, and to all...a good night!
Posted by Kurovski in General Discussion: Presidential (Through Nov 2009)
Tue Nov 04th 2008, 06:47 PM
a panicky, incomprehensible, single-sentence post!!!
Through the brilliant and triumphant Socialist voting arm known as ACORN, (Acquiring Comrade Obama's Required Numbers) 25 million symbols of corrupt decadence named Mickey Mouse will bring down our elitist enslavers with bravely defiant and glorious votes this November 4!
In the name of freedom and humanity all must arise!
My brothers and sisters, with the many levels of shared greatness soon to be ours, please tell us that which is most important to you and our beloved state. (But please also refrain from banging your shoe on the table.)
Agent Mike has FAILED! He is but a thin onion broth to our mighty, buttery gruel!
with a link included to its pretty much far-away locale. It's like, it's now--you know...that time that all good and thoughtful and proud Americans here in America like to call the "election time" and stuff. So I thought I would go and find it and bring it right back to youse, Charlie. And Katie. And all you others. You betcha, by gum.
Well. So. Why doncha's go and put the link in "My Forums" (My goodness, "YOUR forums", Is what I mean! Now ain't that confusin' and what all, and what not. Gosh. Haha.) Because you know, it's harder to see the Election Reform forum from here in GD than Russia is from Sarah's snowmobile.
Watch for all the colorful filler in Sarah's answers tonight, and like my great-great-grandfather Yukon Stanley used to say "If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with moose shit."
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