Tuesday, September 25, 2007

New Favorite

While trolling Gawker today, I came across their coverage of this article recounting Bill O'Reilly's visit to Harlem and his subsequent surprise that, while dining at Sylvia's with Al Sharpton,

"There wasn't one person in Sylvia's who was screaming, "M-Fer, I want more iced tea."

You know, I mean, everybody was -- it was like going into an Italian restaurant in an all-white suburb in the sense of people were sitting there, and they were ordering and having fun. And there wasn't any kind of craziness at all."

The Gawker article was accompanied by a picture of O'Reilly standing next to Ann Coulter. I won't post it because the less I see of them in the total hours of my life, the happier I'll be when I die.

Jesus lord I hate Bill O'Reilly. Holy Moses Ann Coulter's soul is rotting from within.

The good news: A commenter named Tammyfey left these bon mots:

"I wish some local--a well-groomed and articulate one, of course--would have slapped the bitch.

Seriously, though, do these two carbuncles pictured exist solely to cheapen humanity in general? Can't we as a society manage to throw them into a dank pit somewhere to be hatefucked by rabid slugs?"

Pretty much my feelings exactly, and also introduces my new favorite verb (past tense): hatefucked. Only funny when used to describe vicious acts performed on despicable people, and way funny, then.

Thanks, TammyFey! I don't know you, but I love you.

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Thursday, September 13, 2007

She'll Take You Out

Meet my friend Cristi. She's auditioning for a reality show called 'Tontine,' which I gather is a combination of 'The Amazing Race,' 'Survivor,' and masochism.

Below is her audition video for the show. If it doesn't inspire you to get off your Chee-to guzzling ass and do some push-ups on your knuckles, I don't know what will.

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Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Still, Now

Night flight to San Francisco; chase the moon across America.

God, it’s been years since I was on a plane.

When we hit 35,000 feet we’ll have reached the tropopause, the great belt of calm air, as close as I’ll ever get to the ozone.

I dreamed we were there. The plane leapt the tropopause, the safe air, and attained the outer rim, the ozone, which was ragged and torn, patches of it threadbare as old cheesecloth, and that was frightening.

But I saw something that only I could see because of my astonishing ability to see such things: Souls were rising, from the earth far below, souls of the dead, of people who had perished, from famine, from war, from the plague, and they floated up, like skydivers in reverse, limbs all akimbo, wheeling and spinning.

And the souls of these departed joined hands, clasped ankles, and formed a web, a great net of souls, and the souls were three-atom oxygen molecules of the stuff of ozone, and the outer rim absorbed them and was repaired.

Nothing’s lost forever. In this world, there’s a kind of painful progress. Longing for what we’ve left behind, and dreaming ahead. At least I think that’s so.

-Angels in America: Perestroika, by Tony Kushner (1992)
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