Monthly Archives: May 2010

FD Military, Represent!

Because I know some of you are vets, despite this being a liberal commie God-hating anti-American blog, and because I was too jacked about the pelicans to do a weekend question thread …

Did you serve? Tell us!

A.

Today on Tommy T’s Obsession with the Freeperati – “Return of the son of Monster Magnet” edition

OK – the CDC and the GHS haveboth been all over my ass for
letting the Freeperville sludge pile up, so let’s spin the airlock hatch
door and get to it, shall we?

Oh oh.

Man tattoos Palin
on butt. Assholes at FR react to the cheeky thing!‏

Marine
Tattoos Palin on Butt


Fox ^

| 5/28/10
| Alice Wolke

Posted onFriday, May 28, 2010
2:55:21
PM
bypissant

MARJAH,
Afghanistan – How does the world love thee, Sarah Palin? Let
me count the ways.

Somewhere in Afghanistan, Marine Gunnery Sgt.
Benjamin Lepping pays tribute to the former Alaskan governor with a
tattoo on his left butt cheek, according to the Military Times.

CLICK
HERE TO SEE THE TATTOO

Lepping, an ordnance disposal expert out
of Camp Pendleton, was assigned to Alaska before he went to Afghanistan.

He said he had such a good time, he wanted something to remind
him of his time there.

“I decided, ‘What could be better than
getting a tattoo of the hottest cougar in the Republican Party?'”

He’s got a whole ‘nother cheek free. Maybe he can put McCain on it.

1
posted onFriday, May 28, 2010 2:55:21 PM
bypissant

Actual pic:

BadTattoo

To: pissant

“Jumping The Shark” placemarker.

Or, cougar… whatever!

4
posted onFriday, May 28, 2010 2:58:38 PM
byheadsonpikes
(Genocide is the highest sacrament of socialism – “Who-whom?”)

div class=”a2″>To: Retired Greyhound

I agree. How anyone can see Palin in a sexual reference is
disgusting. Even on Palin threads, there be wolf whistles and “I’d hit
it” posts.She’s not a sex object guys she’s a Christian woman.

29
posted onFriday, May 28, 2010 4:29:06 PM
byExtremely Extreme Extremist

Ahem.

Prejean

.

To: Extremely Extreme Extremist
“…she’s a Christian woman.”

That’s why her image has been
placed there. The cross is on his other cheek.

He’s a disgrace.

30
posted onFriday, May 28, 2010 4:55:14 PM
byspunkets

Hawt.

Cross.

Buns..

p>To: pissant

What’s with these people driving down the road wearing wife beater
t-shirts with, “In Loving memory of Jose” plastered on their back
window?

I don’t even know who Jose is, and why would they advertise
Jose died?

Death bumper stickers have replaced, “Child in car”
bumper stickers? How stupid were those?

I’ve always felt people with bumper sticker mentalities are
really stooopid…

19
posted onFriday, May 28, 2010 3:15:24 PM
bydragnet2

p>In response, I’d like to point out:

WTF

To: pissant
“He’s got a whole ‘nother cheek free. Maybe he can put McCain on
it. “

No he doesn’t. The other cheek has a cross on it. His
lips
are no good either, because those are reserved for zero’s crotch.

16
posted onFriday, May 28, 2010 3:08:34 PM
byspunkets

p>Well, it’s good to see things haven’t changed much at Free
Republic.

Barely repressed homosexuality/rage – check.

Linking
anything they don’t like to Latino culture – check.

Incoherent
ranting and objectification of women – check.

Can I get anOoRah?

To: pissant

OoRah!

LLS

5
posted onFriday, May 28, 2010 2:59:55 PM
byLibLieSlayer
( WOLVERINES!)

Thenk yew.

And of course:

To:
pissant

That’s Tina Fey!

10
posted onFriday, May 28, 2010 3:04:09 PM
bySlyfox

More and more and more after the jump!

Tagged , , , ,

Who Do I Remember?

Cross-posted at Adrastos:

David Kurtz andJosh Marshall started a Memorial Day meme at TPM and I decided to join in. The veteran I’d like to remember on this solemn holiday is Sgt. Eddie Couvillion.

Soldier Boy001

My family tree is far too tangled and gnarly to describe here but suffice it to say that Eddie was my second father. He served in Europe during World War II, not in combat but in the Army Quartermaster Corps. In short, he was a supply Sergeant, one of those guys who won the war by keeping the troops fed, clothed and shod. Eddie was what was called in those days a scrounger; not unlike Milo Minderbinder inCatch-22 or James Garner’s character inThe Great Escape.

Eddie’s favorite military exploit was running a army approved bordello in France after hostilities ended. He always called it a cat house and bragged that it was the best little whorehouse in Europe. One can serve one’s country in manifold ways…

Eddie died 5 years ago and I still miss him. He was a remarkable man because he changed so much as he aged. When I met him, he was a hardcore Texas/Louisiana conservative with old South racial views and attitudes. At an age when many people close their minds, Eddie opened his and stopped thinking of black folks as a collective entity that he didn’t care for and started thinking of them as individuals. Eddie was a genuine Southern gentleman so he’d never done or said an unkind thing to anyone but confided to me that the only one he’d ever hurt by being prejudiced was himself. I was briefly speechless because we’d had more than a few rows over that very subject. Then he laughed, shook his head and said: “Aren’t you going to tell me how proud you are of me? You goddamn liberals are hard to satisfy.”

Actually, I’m easily satisfied. In 2004, Eddie had some astonishing news for me: he’d not only turned against the Iraq War but planned to vote for John Kerry because “Bush Junior is a lying weasel and a draft dodger.” That time he didn’t need to ask me if I was proud of him, it was written all over my face. It was the first and only time he ever voted for a Democrat for President.

I salute you, Sgt. Couvillion. I only wish that I could pour you a glass of bourbon on the rocks and we could raise our glasses in a Memorial Day toast.

Blog for Birds Results: Pelicans Adopted, Named!

Drum roll please … tonight a little more than $1,200 was sent to theInternational Bird Rescue Center, courtesy ofyou fine people. And the request was made for the following pelican names:

Scout

FYYFF

UncleSamRocks

Ashley

Albert Lambreaux

LaDonna

(There was a tie at press time between Maddow and LaDonna and I figuredafter the week our girl had last week on Treme, she needed the Pelican more.)

I really can’t emphasize enough how hard you all rocked this project. Usually when we do something like this I try to send everybody who donated an e-mail. This time, around the second day it became a positive blizzard of donations, as small as $2, as large as $100, and the e-mail got away from me completely. But know that each of you is a part of this, and a small part of the enormous effort going on to safeguard and clean up the Gulf.

You’re good people. I’m proud to know you.

A.

I Am Awesome: The Continuing Saga


I am actually more awesome than pile-driving a shark. It’s true.

Since yesterday’s installment of Tales of Awesomeness went over so well, I thought I’d lay down another one.

A couple of weeks ago, I was having a normal Saturday morning. Got up, had coffee, read a bit, and was on my way to the gym, which opens at eight a.m. on Saturdays.* I was going to pick up my gym buddy, and, while I was stopped at a light, I noticed something in the gutter right beside my car. It was a Social Security card.

“That’s odd,” I thought. “Most people don’t just leave those in gutters.”

So I got out of the car, picked it up, and continued on my way. My gym buddy wasn’t quite ready, so I decided to look for this poor bastard to see if I could return his card directly instead of mailing it to the SSA. About five minutes with Google and Facebook was all it took, and I wrote him a message saying that I’d found a SS card with his name on it. I included my phone number so he could call and say whether or not he was missing said item.

After a few minutes, my phone buzzed. It was the poor schmo in question. Apparently, he had lost his entire wallet. I said I didn’t find a wallet, just a Social Security card. I asked him where he lived, and told him I’d drop it off at his house. Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t on my route. But I headed over there anyway. On the way, I decided to drive by the intersection where I’d first found the card, just to do a little recon and see if the whole wallet or any other stuff was there. I spotted something that looked kind of wallet-esque, and looked for a place to park nearby so I could go in for a closer look.

I parked in the lot of the Doty School Condominiums. I can only assume that there was a Doty School in the area some time in the past. There just wasn’t any street parking available, so I picked that and parked in a spot clearly marked “Visitor.” I knew I was only going to be a couple of minutes, so I didn’t even bother locking my car or rolling up the windows.

I went down to the intersection–it wasn’t a wallet. I made a quick scan, and didn’t see anything else that looked like it came from someone’s lost belongings.

Now that’s pretty awesome–some real good Samaritan shit, and I’ve never even been to Samaria. But it got better. Much better.

I jogged back to my car, and, out in front of these condos, there’s a guy sitting on a rock with a cup of coffee. The best way I can describe him is that he looked like a serious ultimate frisbee player.

He said something to me that I didn’t quite catch, so I walked a little closer to him and said, “What?”

He said it again, but a little quieter, so I walked closer, and asked him what he said. I thought maybe he’d found a wallet or something. But no.

When I was about three feet from the guy, he said, “Are you gonna leave a tip?”

Me: “For who?”

Him: “For Doty Schools.”

Me: “Pfft. I pay my taxes. They support the schools.”

Him: “This isn’t a public parking lot.”

Me: “Look, Jackson, I stopped here for five minutes to look for somebody’s lost wallet. It’s even a visitor spot, for Christ’s sakes.”

Him: “Oh, well I didn’t know that. If that’s what you were doing–“

Me: “Yeah? Well, it didn’t stop you from running your fuckin’ mouth like you did know something, did it?”

And I got in my car and drove the fuck off. The kid was really grateful to get his card back, but sad about the lack of all things wallet. I told him exactly where I’d found the card, and noted which way the wind had been blowing if he wanted to look upwind for other, heavier things.

See? I’ve got tons of stories like this, all fine illustrations of my complete awesomeness.

*For the record, I go to the awesomest gym on the fucking planet. More on that later.

Blog for Birds Conclusion: NINE Pelicans!

You know, this isn’t a big blog. I don’t know how we’re measuring our e-penis in blogtopia lately because I don’t care about that shit, but by any standard you choose, this isn’t a big blog. We can’t change the course of history with just one post, or even with a whole bunch of posts, and the way I know that is that David Brooks is still employed.

However, what we do have is a bunch of people who put their time and money and voices and backs into stuff they care about. You’re not content just to complain about something. You want to fix it. You hear a tale of woe — about journalism, about soldiers, about the Gulf — and instead of spending three hours coming up with a way to shield your fragile sensibilities from giving a shit, you look around for something to DO.

People, in seven days we raised $1,200 for the International Bird Rescue Center. We raised enough money through the blog to adopt six pelicans, and readers told us they sent in enough money for another three. That’s money going to identify and rescue and clean pelicans and gannets and herons and whatever else that ends up stuck in the waste.

The need in the Gulf right now is enormous and what’s more, it’s going to be worse in the months to come. People who fished for a living are going to be out of work. People who ran hotels and restaurants are going to be out of work. The evidence of BP’s colossal disaster is going to be washing up on shore for a long damn time, and the fallout will last longer than that. I seriously doubt this is the only action we’ll be asking people to take.

But for this, for everything you’ve given over the last week for no other reason than that you needed to do something to help and this presented itself, for this thing right now, thank you all.

And now we have some pelicans to name! 

Continue reading

I Am Awesome


Yes. Yes, I am.
Find more stuff like thathere.

It’s true. In fact, I am the acme of awesomeness. Let me give you a little taste of why I am so very, very incredible.

Last night, I went out for dinner. My companion and I went to a hibachi place. When we were seated, we were the only people at the station. A bit later, a woman about my age came in with two eight-year-old children. They sat across the way from us.

Now, I don’t like children. I get annoyed by the noise, the whining, the uncontrolled emission of various fluids–the whole thing. Additionally, I see them as a waste of valuable resources that could be used to make my life better. They’re little more than parasites, really. I can deal with kids once they reach age 20. Then, we can talk. Prior to that, I like to have as little contact with the little snot-, noise-, and shit-machines as possible.

So my companion (who shares these feelings) and I dreaded the experience.

But the children weren’t that bad. In fact, as far as kids go, they were pretty good. Their chaperone, however, canceled out their good behavior with her own. She talked in that loud, patronizing voice that adults use for children, and was just annoying as hell. Additionally, she was wearing a t-shirt that said “The measure of a society is how well it treats its animals. –Gandhi.” She wore this, and ordered the steak. So, clearly, she’s an idiot.

Anyway, dinner progressed, and three people aged 25 or so sat to our left. The chef came in, and cooked a hell of a meal. It was great. The only problem was this moron babbling away on the other side of the table. We didn’t say anything to her; we just talked about work (I always have fun stories to tell about work), and how our days went. Just a normal, adult conversation.

Finally, the meal was over, and we were figuring our bill. We put down the appropriate amount, plus a nice tip. And we go to leave. The two children that had been there with the moron had probably gone off to terrorize other patrons; at any rate, they weren’t in the room with us anymore.

That’s when the real fun began, and when I got to display my aforementioned awesomeness.

This jerkass comes up to me and says, in more or less the same patronizing tone she used with the kids, said “I know you two are on a date, and I appreciate that, but the profanity around the kids is unacceptable–the ‘fucks’ and the ‘shits.'”

As I said, we had just been having a normal conversation. We weren’t loud, we didn’t say anything about her or the kids. We’d just been talking to each other. I didn’t feel the need to go up to her and complain about her stupid-ass tone of voice or scold her for bringing children to a place where they might (horror of horrors!) hear the same shit that they hear at school every day.

My companion was taken aback. I, however, remained unfazed. Without waiting for her to finish what passed for a thought, and without missing a beat, I looked her right in the eye and said, “Lady, get the FUCK out of my face.”

Stunned, she responded with “Are you serious?”

Me: “You ain’t my mama. Step aside.”

Her: “That’s it. I’m calling the management!”

Me: [laughing] “Call the motherfuckers! I paid! What the fuck are they gonna do?”

And we left, laughing our asses off.

Now, seriously–what the fuck was her problem? What kind of middle-class bullshit was that? “I’m not satisfied with your behavior, so I feel it’s my place to correct you.” Fuck off. I’m a grown-ass man. Also, if you start some shit, you’d better be prepared to end it. The most amazing thing about the entire experience (besides, of course, me) was the fact that she was just stunned that anyone would stand up to her stupid bullshit.

However, it did give me another chance to show the world that I AM AWESOME.

Friday Ferretblogging: Stuffed Thing From Hell Returns

Back when I first posted the video of Bucky playing with his stuffie, you all wanted to see him chastise it the way he does when it misbehaves. All week he’s been kicking its ass, stopping only when I pulled out the camera, but yesterday I finally managed to get him to discipline his little friend for the Internet’s edification:

Stripe used to do that, grab a toy and shake it violently like it was a mouse. I think Bucky has the makings of a mouser in him.

A.

Not a burning Bush

The line between speech and threat is always a fine one. One
of my favorite explanations about free expression is that your right to be
angry stops in the fraction of an inch between your fist and the other guy’s
nose.In the case of a Wisconsin bar, it apparently stops somewhere south of
the 834
th Cuervo shot.

Yester Years Pub made national news when a group of
inebriated patrons decided toburn a plastic bust of President Barack Obama.
Adding fuel (pardon the pun) to the uproar about this was what appeared to be a
duct tape noose around the neck of the statute.

This hit the fan last weekend when I was in Milwaukee and it
was easier to get away from the O.J. Bronco Chase in June 1994 than it was to
get away from this. WTMJ, the local NBC affiliate, managed to get its hands on
the video, which ran in heavy rotation throughout the day, night and my dreams.
It played so often that I’m waiting for Kanye to do a remix.

The local NAACP chapter announced that it wants an investigation, arguing
that this was not only a threat but a racist act. It’s unclear how far the
group or the federal government will go in digging into this, but the fire
clearly hit a nerve.

Two things immediately came to mind about this:

First, when you have the first of anything, there will be
concerns of how that individual will be treated. And for centuries, this
country has treated black folks like crap.

The noose has always represented something evil and during
lynching time, black men were not only hung, but often stripped naked and set
on fire. The degree to which the people at the “Bladder Buster” party were
thinking about this when they lit up the statue is hard to determine. However,
it’s got to be a gut punch to the African-American community.

But this is more about being first and being first has its problems. As a Cleveland Indians fan, I
read a ton of what Frank Robinson went through as the first black manager in
major-league baseball. One of the more telling statements he made was that he
couldn’t wait for the first set of road trips to be over. Once that was done
and everyone in every city wrote the “hey, look at the black manager” story, he
could just be another manager.

Obama is in a similar situation. When we were all pissed off
at President Potatohead, we could burn shit or pee on shit or do whatever we
wanted and we were basically considered to unpatriotic by the wingnuts, but
hey, he was a white guy. Our displeasure had a pretty much a single layer to
it: he sucks. Since we don’t have another black president to compare to, every
bit of displeasure will have a racial component to it.

Second, the ability to express yourself is a guaranteed right in this country. Sure, we put limits on things (“fire” in a crowded theater
etc.) but we don’t just protect stuff we like.

The country was in an uproar a number of years ago when the government
considered whether to add a constitutional amendment that would ban flag
burning. Liberals hated it, conservatives loved it.

I remember a news program on WTMJ during that controversy
where they had a Vietnam Vet on the show. The moderator asked if he would mind
if someone started a flag on fire on his lawn. The vet replied calmly, “Sure.
They can burn a flag on my lawn. But I guarantee you this: they’ll never burn
another one.”

(Side note: WTMJ is the best TV news station in Milwaukee. For
some reason, we always watch it at my folks house and I actually learn a little
here and there. Granted, this is like saying a child is the fastest kid in the
Kindergarten Olympics: best in class, but not going to beat Usain Bolt. Still, compared to its peers, WTMJ is rocking it out.)

In
the end, our right to light Old Glory up
remained.

In looking at this statue burning, you’ll notice no voices
in the video were screaming, “Yeah, let’s go burn his ass next” or dropping
n-bombs all over the place. This was not a terrorist threat. This was not a racist act, despite the repeated notations that country music was playing in the bar during all of this. These people were pissed at the president and if the guy was red, white or blue, they’d still be pissed. It’s more
liberal/conservative than black/white. The last thing I want to see is the
liberal wing of America doing exactly what it pissed and moaned about the
conservatives doing before. In other words, don’t tell your fellow citizens now
that peopleshould shut up, stop hating America and suck on your tofu dog.

For me, fire is a crappy form of expression. It’s like when
kids break their toys because they’re angry and can’t express themselves any
better. Instead of seeing what can get roasted next, maybe we need to turn off
the talk radio, stop seeking cute little acronyms for displeasure and start
thinking for ourselves.

Then, we can engage in speech that matters and in a way that
might actually get us somewhere.

Blog for Birds Final Day: The Pelican-ing

As of last night, we had just more than $900 in the Paypalfor the International Bird Rescue Center.

Yeah. NINE HUNDRED DOLLARS.

A couple of you wrote in to say you’d sent checks directly to the bird rescue center, bringing our Pelican total to seven and a half!

You guys are amazing. Thank you to everybody who’s contributed. If you haven’t yet kicked in, doooo eeet.And suggest names for our pelicans in the comments!

A.

Friday Catblogging: Della Street Is Ready For Her Closeup, Mr. DeMille

Norma Desmond’s got nothing on young Della. Hmm, I wonder if Oscar is Max or Joe?

DSCF5714

Even Carl Hiaassen Couldn’t Make This Up

a href=”http://www.wftv.com/news/13657347/detail.html” target=”_blank”>A three year old criminal case was finally resolved in Brevard County, Florida: