Category Archives: Blogging

Hacked. Someone soon to be whacked.

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Fine, hack my site. Change my immortal prose; anything you could do would be inferior. It wouldn't bother me, and might be good for a laugh.

But do not take the post below this and change "Stephen Harper" into "Paul Martin" while I am out at dinner.

Not if you value the only testicle you possess.

I will take my born-and-raised-on-military-bases fist and I will put my father's medals in it and I will go proctological and evisceratory on your sad, sorry and pox-ridden ass.

And I will hunt you down and post your name, address, phone number, tween-baiting Myspace site, LavaLife profile, and dick size to this website (it can measure down to electron microscope levels), and then I will go down to the police station and I will hook this up to the cyberstalker of several years ago, and they will hunt you down and they will spay and neuter what's left of you once I'm done, and we will ship it to your mother in eight separate Tupperware containers.

In the meantime, sodium fluoroacetate solution brings weight loss & penis growth. Try it!!

Save me some time, Loserboy.

FYI:

CIA Surrender Manual. Think About It. You'll Love PMITA Prison

Coffin for one, Prime Minister?

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Bay doors open 

As part of his ongoing mission to pretend the bad stuff isn't happening, Stephen Harper has banned the media from filming the coffins of fallen Canadian soldiers or, indeed, being anywhere near them.

From the CBC, although Metro called it first, and with perfect accuracy, on this very website several days ago. Please note that these pictures are several years old, from the Canadian deaths in Afghanistan resulting from the American bombing.

Reporters were not allowed into the military airbase at Trenton, Ont., to cover the Tuesday evening arrival of the remains of four soldiers who died in a weekend bombing.

Coffins

Harper said the policy has been implemented to respect the privacy of the families.

*

"It should be up to the families to decide whether they want reporters present at such ceremonies," said Richard Leger, whose son Marc was killed in Afghanistan four years ago.

"I know, in 2002, it was a great thing for us to have the media there… We wanted to show all Canadians what the cost of their liberty is," he told CBC Newsworld.

"People saying, 'Thank you for the life of Marc' – as a parent that's hard to hear, but knowing what's the reason behind it helps us to move on."

Coffins being carried

Maureen Burrowes, who is a cousin of Payne, said the government is depriving her of her chance to be part of Tuesday night's ceremony.

"I honestly believed I would see my cousin's return on CBC as I could not be present today," she wrote in an e-mail. "I really feel that our current government has made a very bad decision and voters will remember this in the next election."

"The timing is absolutely horrendous and I would love to know how to get this reversed."

Coffin with final honours

shit-eating grins, Nyarlathotep, and LiveJournal

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Satan's Shit-Eating GrinLike many humanoids, I have several friends who use the expression "shit-eating grin" on a regular basis. Probably more than they use their shit-eating grin muscles. And, unfortunately, like most of the world, they're using it wrong.

Every. Single. Time.

The expression "shit-eating grin," which surely deserves to go down in history as one of the 20th Century's greatest contributions to vocabulary (think about it…vocabulary of the 20th Century…you take my point) was originated, like white suits and pretentious hepcatism, by American author Tom Wolfe. It comes from…oh god, I hope I can find it before WordPress goes down again…lately it's been up and down more than a toi- what was I just saying about 20th Century vocab? See!

Ah, bugger it! When in doubt, go to memory. Since I haven't read that piece for at least ten years, I'm quite impressed with my own memory. It's from "Mau-Mauing the Flack-Catchers," of course. And it's the expression the poor white flack-catcher affixes to his face for the duration of his verbal beat-down by the Samoans.Bill Gates Shit-Eating Grin

The man is being paid to go out there and listen to these people, or at least to sit there and take shit and nod as if he's paying attention, and then to go away and undertake lengthy and expensive therapy to forget about the whole thing. And he has to sit there and take this shit with a polite, encouraging smile on his face, which is somewhat hard to do in a room full of hostile, seven-foot, three hundred pound Samoan activists who are pounding on the floor and chanting. And so his grin becomes fixed. It becomes a rictus. It becomes the grimace the kindly country doctor finds on the face of the mindless yet still uncannily animated corpse of the poor sap who only came out to Arkham to do geneological research and has instead glimpsed the undisguised visage of Nyarlathotep and now cannot stop giggling. And crying.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what a shit-eating grin truly is.

So…

I have one on my face right now, for lo, thanks to Gawker I have found something of value on LiveJournal.

Fuck.

P&Ls and how books make (or don't) money: part the first: the mass market original complete failure

In which I explain how we figure out how much money to pay authors for their advance, and also in which I explain how sometimes books make money and sometimes they don't…

Which is really just a more detailed version of something Lori Dunn did at the Shebeen Club a few months back. Sooo nice to be ahead of Manhattan. Still, I'll be an wizened old grannie by the time Gawker gives ME a shout-out. Mark is so much more accessible!

DeLay Shit-Eating Grin

Republican Jesus Speaks

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And he sounds just like Oprah! Stolen from Jesus' General, a site whose comments section kicks the heathen ass of virtually every other comments section in the blogosphere, and I can prove it. And the General, like all right-thinking men, loves Trailer Park Boys. If I find out he's actually George Stephanopoulous, I may have to get out the Acme Stalker Kit. Kidding! I never put it away!

Republican Jesus

Proof that the General's troops are channelling divine wisdom:

Max Shrubby

Deciderata

Don’t go placidly; create noise and haste,
And remember, what? Peace there may be in leaks.
As far as possible never surrender and
Be on bad terms with all persons.
Speak your lies quietly and clearly to Novak;
And don’t listen to others,
Even though you are dull and ignorant;
You too have a story but have suppressed it or you’d be in prison.
Hang out with loud and aggressive persons; they are vexations to the dems. Compare yourself with others, you vain and bitter chimp; for always there will be greater persons than yourself. You haven’t achieved crap with your plans.
Stay bored in your own career, try not to stumble; in your case it is not a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Abandon caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery, anyway, so why worry ‘cause the debt will be $10 trillion before you plow this country into the ground. You are blinded to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals which you ignore; and everywhere life is full of heroism because of your bad, false decisions.
You can’t be yourself. You used to get away with feigning affection. You are cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass you used to smoke.
Ignore the advice of intelligent generals; ride your bike and listen to your ipod – bike around the world while you’re at it. You act like a baby in sudden misfortune. Distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond an unwholesome discipline, go rough on yourself ‘cause you deserve it.
You are a C student of the university, MBAs know less than the trees and the TV stars; you don’t have a right to be here, but somehow you swam out of your dad’s ball sack. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should and Fitz is going to take the rest of your staff for a little ride to Algoa or similar prison for the rubber glove cavity search.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Her to be, and whatever your labors and assolation, in the noisy confusion of life keep a piece within reach.
With all the sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, you have projected on this country; it will be a beautiful world once you are out of office. Cheerful? You’re the lamest lame duck. Quack!
Major McBug

Linkie o’ the Day: Plucky!

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This is high on the possibly quite lengthy list of jobs you would not want to perform. Far above Denny's waitress, up in the realms of body bagger and teaser stallion, is the job of cat ball plucker.

It's truly astonishing what you can find just by clicking on a blog title with an old-fashioned word in it.

Such as:

How many of you can put on your resume that you were a cat-balls plucker? I can.

HappyCat! Happy! Happy! Joy! Joy! My Balls Are Smooth!

The interesting thing about the hair on a cat’s balls is that the hair comes out in nice clumps, like tiny toupees for wee gnomes. And there’s nothing quite as satisfying as seeing a cat’s freshly plucked sack. And I don’t mean that in a sick way, though I’m sure I just hit a chord with some of you fetishists. I mean it just looks, uh, fresh. It looks like a bald baby’s head emerging from the womb of a freakishly hirsute mother. Like a fleshy orb rising from a lake of fur. Like a bald nut sack on a cat.

Yeah, I'm glad he took the high road with that post. And aren't you glad I did:

No photoillustrations!