Dread: This diary is rated F for frivolity. This diary may contain one or more of the following: critter pics (CP), talking flies (TF), ranting Priestesses, crude indecent language (L), lame political satire (LPS), links to stupid time wasting stuff that may or may not be fun or useful (WTF) and craven stupidity from my co-host (CSFS).
Smee: Hey!
Dread: This diary contains no soy products or additives with extraordinary long names.
In the bowels of an old abandoned disco radio station a couple of figures lay hunched over their laptops. There's a bottle of Patron Reposada tequila (baby, who needs friends) in the grasp of one and a Pepsi Edge in the clutches of the other. Empty packages of Hostess Zingers lay strewn about like the snot-laden tissues of a person with a bad head cold and no trash can within easy throwing distance. One figure starts to mumble; the mumbling takes the form of a moan and then the words:
Using the whole fist, Doc?
Dread: Smee! Wake up, it's time!
Dread:They say three's a charm.
Smee:But how is that possible when we are far from charming.
Dread: Speak for yourself.
Smee: I do and believe me, that's hard enough.
Dread: It's time once again for...
Smee: Da da da daaaaaa!
Dread:What do we have on tap for Political Trix today, Smee?
Smee:The Bush boys go Boom! Nothing like ticking off most of most of your crazy followers while ticking off the rest of the half-sane ones that voted for you because like they thought you were sane or something. So? Except for the total nutcases these guys have 78% of the country against them. It's almost like...a...a...dream come true. <sniff>
Dread:And all Bush can do is fallback on 9/11.
Smee:Yeah, dude. Like get over it already. I swear Karl has it set up so that Bush gets a Near Beer, which Bush spells "n-e-e-r" every time he says "9/11".
Dread: Pavlov's Bush.
Smee:Dude, like I didn't need to go there. I don't even know what Pavlov looks like.
Dread: 
Smee: Aiiigh! He's wearing a Yorkie on his face!
Dread: Actually, I think the 9/11 thing might be losing its steam. Used to be Bush would say "9/11" and just over half the country would get an Igor accent and say "Yessss, master."
Smee: And then they'd walk around like Marty Feldman.
Dread: Walk this way.
<both laugh>
Smee: I miss Marty.
Dread: Yeah, me too.
Smee: <sigh>
Dread: Now it's: "9/11? Naw man, we only have 7-Elevens around here.
Smee: Well, it would be nice if they quit dragging it out when the political heat is on. Even their followers are starting to catch on. Actually, it's sad that this administration has harped on it so much they've practically wrung all meaning from it. They've turned in into a political prop to trot out when they need it and that, my friend, is a shame and does much disservice to the memories of those who lost their lives.
Dread: Indeed. And now Terri Schiavo is just another prop. Fortunately, it's not working on most of the country. Sick, sick people these Bushes. What about Jeb?
Smee: Jeb who?
Dread:Good point. I suppose we could go to our reporter on the wall, that intrepid world traveler who has her proboscis in all the political sh*t. It's our very own, Fern Fly. So what sort of exclusive do you have for us today?
Fern:Howdy boys. Well I've been pulling combat doody this week. First, a stint in Karl Rove's office. Talk about control freak. Pens lined up just so. Paperclips all in a row. And he has pictures of himself hidden in all his drawers.
Smee:In his pants?
Fern: Smee, you interrupt my report one more time and I am going to barf all over your Zingers.
Smee:Sorry.
Fern: Where was I?
Smee: In Karl Rove's drawers.
Dread: Smee!
Fern:Anyway, Rove is really hopping mad about the polls. He keeps saying:
"I go and take a nice long dump; the glorious dump I've been waiting for all these years to take. I take my eyes off these jokers for 5 minutes and this is what I have to contend with. People without brains should not be in politics. Actually, they should, but only so people with brains like mine can manipulate them. A guy can't even take a f*cking dump in this town!"
He's especially annoyed with Delay. Take it from me, the Delay dude is going down. Karl has already sent his little media robots to do the dirty deed. As he puts it "I do not need this f*cking shit. Well, I do but I can't f*cking take one or the place goes all to hell."
And meanwhile over at Delay's place...
Take a bath Tom, things were funky and funky. He's stomping around throwing power fits in between sobs of political miscalculation. He mutters over and over, "Unless they get me a well paying lifetime gig, I WILL bring down this administration. If THEY think they are gonna take ME down. Nosiree mister, I'M doing all the takedowns in this town."
Believe you me, the man is sweating this one. He's plowing through two and a half Speed Sticks an hour. And the smell? Wooooeeeeee! I'm a fly and it grossed me out. There's nothing like the stench of political flop sweat in the morning.
This is Fern Fly back reporting on the fly from wherever the political sh*it is flying.
Dread: Now it's time for the Priestess of Pissed-offedness...
Editor's note: This section is out of tune with this rest of the diary, it's a serious rant, so if you're in the mood for fun, skip on by; lots of fun below this section. If you're as outraged by the co-opting of a person's private life for agenda pushing by the fundamentalist religionanistas, read on.
aka She who guards the gate to a thousand hell-like places.
Rants:The Priestess is sad today. Sad for her country, sad for mankind. Yeah. The words "man" and "kind" side by side what an oxymoron. Or just a moron. My ire today is directed to the members of the human circus co-opting a private matter to further their own sick and twisted agendas.
With the fiasco of TS, the ranting and ravings from a bunch of ultra-religious-culture-of-everyone-else's-damn-life-as-long-as-they-look-and-talk-just-like-us freaks is detracting from my own insane rantings. You know, if this were happening to a person of color, do you honestly think the Republicans and their death-f*cked-over followers would giving a twirling rat's ass about it? What if the person is question were some Iraqi woman? Remember Iraq? What is the person were an Iraqi child?
This is a starving Iraqi child. Where's your f*cking sign for her?
This is a protest in Johannesburg. At least their signs make sense. They seem to have a better handle on reality than the lot of you. Oh sure, Saddam was bad for Iraqi children, but Bush is WORSE.
So, you self-righteous-could-not-freaking-answer-correctly-what-Jesus-would-do-if-it-was-written-on-your-slo
ping-foreheads f*cknuts, are you out protesting for all the CHILDREN who are STARVING to death under Bush's "gift of democracy"? Are you out protesting for children starving in other places? Are you out protesting against the culture of death your President is spreading throughout the world? Now that Mrs. Schiavo is gone will you turn your attention to the starving who are not brain-dead? Who are just as "helpless"? No? Why? I'll tell you why. Because your "compassion" stops at your own kind for most of you. You disgust me.
Bush stands up for the "culture of life"? Ha! I got news for you silly fools, he's the f*cking Merchant of Death. He is killing without any regard to the so-called sanctity of life. His Gods are not your God. His Gods go by the names of Money, Power and Greed, and he will serve them at any cost to you and none to himself. You are his sacrifice, your sons and daughter in the military, your fellow citizens from whom he is stripping every safety net for the benefit of his and his administration's rich corporate buddies. Thanks to you I am also one of his sacrificial fodder upon the corporate altar, and so everyone else who did not vote for the swine.
I do think it is time to start checking for the triple six birth-mark on the bastard. Remember, the devil is not going to be some red guy with horns and a pointy tail; he is going to be someone YOU WOULD WANT TO HAVE A BEER WITH!!!
You fools can just rot in regular hell because thinking something up for garbage pretending to be compassionate human beings simply is not worth my time or effort. It should be easy to bow down to Hell's master, since you voted for him. F*ck each and every one of you self-righteous pricks.
R.I.P. Terri Schiavo. No one deserves having their life turned into a perverted circus. Peace be with you.
Rants:The Priestess has spoken.
Smee: Whoa.
Rants Silence, worm! Or I shall condemn you to the Hell of 10,000 Sauerkraut Chili Dog Burps.
Smee:Heartless. Chili, man.
Dread: Well um, yeah, here's The Dude with Pix.
I'm The Dude. I abide. Here are my pix. Click to open. Big `uns.
I am the Lizard King.
Come on, come on, we can't wait for the next Stupid Republican Trick.
Dread: In Clix today we have a useful list for websearchers. The best search engine for your kind of search.
Smee:Boring.
Dread:Useful.
Smee: But no fun today?
Dread: Alright. We also have a gentle game called Gathering Orbs. Something to soothe the wild beast.
Smee: Give it to the Priestess, she needs soothing.
Dread: Alright, Smee here's something up your alley and a sample story I wrote just for you. Write a Silly Story-the Sequel
THE MAGICIAN
Long, long ago, and far, far away, in a place called Freeperland, there lived a dumb individual named Smee. Smee was very freaking odd and made a living by sucking an apple through a straw, selling the results of that activity at the local dungeon. Smee was also a magician and could turn pink fur into snotty nose rags with the flick of a right butt-cheek. This was very amusing to the people of Freeperland and they gave the magician a chaps made out of Bush horns that Smee wore proudly throughout Freeperland.
One day, the people of Freeperland came to Smee with a problem. How could they make tequila turn into snotty nose rags? The right butt-cheek was flicked, Smee yelled Whoa, baby, and suddenly the tequila turned into pink fur. Not only that, but the right butt-cheek of every person turned into pink fur, too. The strange looking people of Freeperland chased Smee and grabbed the chaps they had made, ripping the garment into 8 pieces.
One dark and stormy night, Smee got even by yelling,"Whoa, baby!" 8 times, and the people of Freeperland turned into snotty nose rags covered with tequila. They all lived strangely ever after.
Smee: You suck so much, Dread.
Dread:Let's move along to our spotlight weekly review where every week is a week in Deadwood.
Dread: Deadwood: You can't spit in this town without hitting a c*cks*cker.
"Requiem For A Gleet"
Dread: Okay shoot.
Smee: Setup, setup, setup.
Dread: Yeah, they are really getting things in place for some explosive happenings.
Smee:So like, um I really don't have anything.
Dread:Me either.
Smee: Quotes?
Dread: Here ya go:
Trixie: First, the dead don't shiver.
Maddie: They get led by their dicks. Our c*nts lead us, we lose our only edge.
EB:It is no disloyalty to be a realist, Richardson, we are mortal. One hopes for the best. One perseveres. One reevaluates constantly. One is an assh*le if one doesn't.
Silas:Is there any f*ckin' chance you and me don't end up in blood?
Dan: Any of you realizin' that the sun don't rise and set on me and you?
Silas:What the f*ck does that f*ckin' mean?
Dan:Means there may be other f*ckin' factors factored into my decision-making. Besides the fact that I find you to be a pain in the balls, personally.
Ellsworth: Panic's easier on the back than the short-handled shovel.
EB:What male would not trade our small superiority of intellect to possess that gift of intuition so bountifully bestowed on the lesser sex?
Alma:Name your price. How do you males put it..."Sh*t or get off the chamber pot?"
EB: Oh, Mrs. Garret--sh*t, indeed. Oh dear.
Sol:If money had to be clean before it was re-circulated, we'd still be living in f*cking caves.
Seth:Your old man?
Sol: Me.
Trixie:I ain't hearin' confessions this afternoon.
Doc: Whiskey does not steady the hand. It just dulls the worry over the hand's unsteadiness
Dan:Jesus-f*cking-Christ. All right, there's a-there's an invisible cocks*cker next to you, and he's from San Francisco.
Silas:I can offer you a whiskey or - water that I just washed my face in.
Trixie:Are you afraid, Al? (He looks at Trixie & raises his eyebrows at her) Oh God! I'm on his f*cking nuts!
Carrie:Well, I'm not a crazy person, so they (the rocks) don't talk to me. And I'm with me wherever I am, so I wish I was in f*cking New York.
Al: Pff-fft.
Smee:The last quote was definitely the best of the bunch.
Dread: Yep; three and a half Zingers.
Smee: Agreed.
rare as rocking horse shit Phrs. Very uncommon, non-existent.
Intelligent fundamentalists are rare as rocking horse shit.
If you could fire just one political pundit from ever punditing again, who would you send into obscurity? |
All License & Label Images from Acme.
Movie marquee is from the wonderful Letter James.
Special thanks to Maryscott O'Connor for all her help and guidance in the art of formatting which I'm still futzing with.
Zinger is the answer, not 42. |
