jmowreader
jmowreader's JournalI am worried: Cornered Republicans are at their most dangerous
This is a bad time to be a Republican. The two things they planned to campaign on, Benghazi and Obamacare, are blowing up in their faces. We're starting to see Obamacare's problems are almost all due to Republican obstructionism: if they hadn't told the business community not to worry their pretty litthe heads because Congress would repeal it and the USSC would declare it unconstitutional and the president would kill it to keep the gov't from shutting down and maybe put a hundredth the effort into helping people comply with the law that they put into buying the army things the army doesn't want, Obamacare would be a sparkling success. As it is, it's like making Usain Bolt drag a car behind him in a race then complaining when he only comes in third.
And now we find out Benghazi really was because of that video.
Republicans don't take utter defeat lightly: they still have ten months to devastate America and blame it on: progressives, Democrats, women, gays, union members, minorities, men who like high heels, imported-beer drinkers, children of single-parent homes, ACORN even though it's been gone for years, non-Protestant religions, people who like different porn than they do...
There are exactly two ways to get rich
Way Number 1: be born into a rich family who can afford to bootstrap you.
Way Number 2: have rich friends who can find you a shitload of startup capital.
There is not one rich person in the world who doesn't fall into one of those two categories. It doesn't matter how wonderful your idea is, if you can't afford to exploit that idea it will remain an idea. Turning ideas into reality requires a shitload of money, always has and always will.
The Parable of the Talents updated for modern times
There was once a Republican man who had three sons. Before going on a journey he distributed money to them - five talents to one, three to the second and one to the third. Five years later he demanded an accounting.
"Father," said the first, "I invested your money in speculative real estate. When the bubble burst I was left penniless."
"Fine, my son, I'll call the senator I own and get you bailed out. We'll be better off than before."
"Dear father," said the second, "I invested your money in a hedge fund that turned out to be a ponzi scheme. Not only am I penniless but I spent a year in jail for bringing other investors to it."
"Ouch! Sorry about the jail time, but we own a couple of congressmen. They'll bail you out."
"Dad," said the third, "the people who run those frauds won't talk to you if you only have one talent, so I started making microloans at five percent interest. Since I was careful about creditworthiness I got it all back. Here's your talent."
"You fool!" said his father. "If you would have given your talent to one of your brothers, they could have lost it for you and the government would have bailed you out. How can I show my face at the country club again if I have a do-gooder son? Begone from my sight!"
We got a nastygram about calling ADHD a mental disorder
My paper has a Christmas fund we call Christmas for All, and as with most papers we do a story about someone who signed up every day. One person we profiled has a child with dyslexia and ADHD and our reporter used the term "mental disorder" to describe them.
Yesterday we ran a letter from someone incensed we'd use that term.
The True Tale of the Grinch: A Children's Story No Child Should Read
How the Grinch Stole Christmas
(The 21st Century Edition)
Written by Someone Who Knows Better
Not illustrated ‘cause our artist refused. Sorry, dude.
With apologies to the great Dr. Seuss
Every Who
Down in Who-ville
Liked Christmas a lot…
But the Grinch,
Who lived just north of Who-ville
did NOT!
The Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!
Now, please don’t ask why. You know damn well what’s the reason.
It’s not that his head isn’t screwed on just right.
Nor that his shoes are too big or too tight.
And though the Whos claim it’s the biggest reason of all,
It’s not that his heart’s even a little bit small.
No, he was workin’ retail.
He worked for long hours. He worked for low pay.
He worked to take crap from the Whos every day.
“They want it all free!” he shouted out loud.
“They won’t let you out of a thousand-Who crowd!”
“And just to be sure my life’s made pure hell,
they bring back things we don’t even sell!”
“But the thing I hate worst,” said the Grinch with a groan,
“is Christmas itself; it’s way overblown.”
“They cut down a tree and hang torches all over it.
“Them worry about fire? Not even a bit!”
“When the damn thing goes up in a roar and a blaze,
“That’s when they serve Who-road-kill in a light Who-fruit glaze.”
“When the road-kill is gone they do something worse!
“They join in a circle and sing dirty verse!”
“They sing about sex. They sing about drugs.
“They sing rotten songs ‘bout Saint Nick and his thugs!”
“The day I hate worst, is two days from now...
“I have to stop Christmas -- and I think I know how!”
“It’s all about Who-beer!” he said with a grin.
“And Who-wine, and Who-Scotch and Who-Bombay-gin!
“The night before Christmas they meet at a pub.
“They blaze up Who-joints and fill up a tub.
“With Who-Purple-Jesus, and all the Whos say,
“that’s the only Jesus they’ll need on that day.”
“And when they go home, I haven’t a fear,
“They’re so high they can’t see! They’re so drunk they can’t hear!
“They’ll be sleeping on the floor. They won’t lock the door.
“They won’t know what happened a minute before.
“So I won’t need costumes or stunts or a ruse,
“I’ll just walk in and take all their Christmas refuse.”
And that’s just what he did. He strolled into their houses.
He stole the gizmos and gadgets and even the Who-mouses.
He took red balls and green lights and little silver bells,
And fancy Who-dresses and lip-sticks and hair gels.
He took all the presents, then just for a thrill
He even made off with the Who-road-kill!
He piled all that shit in the middle of Who-square,
in hopes that the Whos soon would be there.
“They’ll think it’s a lark but it won’t be a joke.
“when their whole joyous day goes up in black smoke.
“With a can of Who-gas, and a Who-willie-pete,
“the Whos’ rotten day will soon be complete.”
Just then, the Grinch’s Russian cousin said “Nyet!
“Dear Grinchski, I’ve got the best idea yet!
“Your Who-gas and grenades might make a big pyre,
“But nothing can beat Artillery fire!
“I have lots of rounds. I’ve got a big gun.
“I’ll shell it all flat. That’ll be real big fun!”
The Grinch took cover in a church, stood next to the light,
Turning it on would put rounds into flight.
For he knew nothing would make him feel more alive,
Than the boom and the whistle from that old two-S-five.
The morn came. The sun rose. The Whos soon appear.
Bloodshot and bleary-eyed and reeking of beer.
Then they looked on, amazed. “Why’s our shit in the square?
“We don’t remember putting it there.”
Twas then that the Grinch flipped the magical switch.
Sergei Ivan yelled, “Son of a bitch!”
He grabbed up the lanyard, yanked with all of his might,
And the first of five hundred rounds boomed into flight.
The first round hit a plant that made bluing.
The Grinch yelled “Sergei Ivan, what the hell are you doing?
“Up fifty, left forty, fire for effect,
“Unless your brain is addled with a latent defect.”
The rounds hit the square. The presents went splatter.
Causing the Whos to scurry and scatter.
The Grinch marveled. “Oh, what a wonderful sight! Seeing Christmas burn!
“My glorious plan’s past the point of no return!”
Just one thing to do. The Grinch lifted a pane,
So he could hear the soulful refrain
of three hundred Whos with their Christmas hearts broken,
standing there crying and sobbing and chokin’.
But that’s not what he heard. Nothing like it at all.
Why, it sounded like the Whos were having a ball!
They were singing. And dancing. Their hearts were a-prancing.
They brought out Who-beer and joints of Who-weed,
They made up a feast of roasted Who-sneed.
They gathered up the frag and put it in a bag,
then turned it into a giant Who-hag.
The Grinch ran out yelling “What is this?”
And was showered with flowers and Who-joints and a sloppy Who-kiss.
“I blew up your things to make you feel bad,
“But this is the greatest day any of you’ve ever had.
“You should be sad, but you’re hipping and hopping...”
The Whos said, “Are you out of your mind? We get to go SHOPPING!”
Well, they pulled the Grinch out of that nice Who-ville store,
And sent him to one in Ulan Bator.
So while you’re having a nice Christmas day,
Give a thought to the clerks who helped make it that way.
They toil in long hours down in Retailer Hell,
for money that won’t buy the stuff that they sell.
So dream of sugar plums and reindeer in flight,
and Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
What is the scope of the Utah decision?
If Utah can't demonstrate that opposite-sex marriage is harmed in any way by same-sex marriage, how can any of the other states where it's banned do the same thing?
Or in plain language, did some legislatin'-from-the-bench judge in Utah legalize gay marriage nationwide? Which would be bad if he did because...umm...well...you know...gee, ah, I'll be sure to think of somethin' in just a second...oh yeah...all dem dar homersexuals'll git divorced and no proper Deuteronomy 22.28* marriage ended in divorce.
*Deuteronomy 22.28 is the passage that allows you to rape any virgin who's not already engaged then atone for it by marrying your victim. Which is a shitty way to find a wife, but everything in the Bible is good, right?
Be still my heart: Chuggo has a Christmas video out!
It is every bit as good as the Chuggo magnum opus "C'mon Fuck a Guy." Consider yourself warned.
Phil Robertson is a true genius here
His fans love him all the more, he gets his name in all the papers, and now he can make duck calls and weigh his money on the scale at the Tiger Truck Stop without ever having to be on TV again.
NASCAR gets a clue: No more post-race height inspections!
http://www.nascar.com/en_us/news-media/articles/2013/12/17/nascar-sprint-cup-series-intermediate-track-rules-package-details.html?cid=ema_bri_newsletter_newsletter_122013&ProspectID=33A85E6496EF41619006E7688C594970One of the most popular inadvertently-violated rules in NASCAR is post-race height.
What the Hayul* I am talking about: It's no secret that NASCAR is very dictatorial about the design of a car. And up through the end of this season, they measured your car's roof height twice: once before the race, once after. (They hang a weight from a string at the specified height and push your car under it; your car must touch the weight.) Problem is, guys run soft springs to get better handling, and over the course of the race those can deform...when they do, you'll be a quarter-inch too low. There's no realistic way to intentionally violate this rule: you go straight from pre-race inspection to the starting grid, and there are so many NASCAR inspectors out there that if you were sitting there changing springs on pit road before the race someone will ask you what the Hayul you are doing.
For 2014 they finally got a clue: they're going to measure the car before the race and call it good.
* Hayul is where Southerners go when they've been bad people in life.
Worse than the Ted Cruz coloring book: Pigboy writes a historical fiction book
http://www.amazon.com/Rush-Revere-Brave-Pilgrims-Time-Travel/dp/1476755868/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1387331634&sr=8-1&keywords=rush+revereIn it, Lard Ass Limbaugh takes on the role of a high school history teacher who teleports back in time to come to America with the Pilgrims. It's not as bad as you'd think; it's several orders of magnitude worse.
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