Thoughtless for the Day

[Email sent to the Greater Philadelphia Tourism Marketing Corporation]

To whom it may concern;

Please allow me a few minutes of your time to present to you what I feel is a wonderful opportunity for Philadelphia:

February 12, 2009 will mark the 200th birthday of Charles Darwin (as well the 150th anniversary of the publication of The Origin of Species.). Sadly, many less enlightened municipalities will be forgoing a celebration of the great naturalist's life out of the fear of a possible confrontation with the sort of people who would feel at home on the set of the movie Deliverance: the sort of people we neither want nor need to be attracting to our fine city.

Let those other cities' cowardice become Philadelphia's opportunity. For years Philadelphia has been promoting events like Bloomsday and the Fringe Festival in an attempt to draw in (and keep within her city limits) a more educated segment of the population. What better lure than Darwin Days 2009?

Darwin Days 2009 would feature special events at the Franklin Institute, The Academy of Natural Sciences, and the University of PA Museum of Archeology and Anthropology. As February can be a rather rough month, weather-wise, in which to hold a celebration, I suggest that we declare 100 Days of Darwin: this would stretch the festivities into early June. Tie in a catching slogan like "Philadelphia: We're Constantly Evolving" and you've got an event that just might return Philly to its old standing as "the Athens of America".

As I'm not going to take no for an answer (I'll keep pitching this idea until somebody says "yes") and we only have a little over two years to put this thing together, we need to get started right away.

Thank you for your time and I look forward to hearing from you,

rodney@rodneyanonymous.com

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

"Don't let it end like this. Tell them I said something."

- Last words of Pancho Villa

"All-in-all, it's been a good life." This is what I told myself last Saturday Night (S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y NIGHT!) as I lay in bed, my temperature nearing that Phoenix parking lot in August. Convinced that I'm about to die of the flu (and acutely aware that when I do, I'll be accused of ripping off Lester Bangs) I begin to catalog my life's accomplishments: the best that I can come up with is "managed to remain married for a dozen years." A few hours later, as my temperature climbs even higher I expand the list by adding "Most popular member of the Allman Brothers" and "First Black Pope on Mars".

"Of course there'll be some sort of memorial concert," I think in an effort to cheer myself up that instantly backfires as it dawns on me that the musicians involved will no doubt focus on Milkmen material and total ignore my work with Burn Witch Burn as the latter is some difficult shit to play and the lyrics are mostly in Esperanto. Dejected, I picture the event: Mojo Nixon flubs the words to Bitchin' Camero; The Low Budgets launch into a spirited version of Institutionalized, mistakenly believing it to be a DM tune; no one takes seriously my dying request that Elton John be flown in to sing Candle in the Wind, so the entire fiasco ends with everybody gathering on stage to lip sync to The Pina Colada Song, which they re-christen The Penis Colostomy Song in my honor.

Needless to say, I pulled through. I chalk this up entirely to my complete lack of faith in the existence of a God. One of the reasons that True Believers are constantly dropping like flies (apart from obvious incidents like Waco and Jonestown) is their tendency to quit fighting for their lives when faced with even the most trivial of illnesses. If I had a dime for every Fundie who expired from a hangnail while uttering "Glory be, I'm a goin' to that big tractor-pull in the sky to be wit' Jessie Helms" I'd be writing this piece from my villa in Tuscany on a laptop made from Juliette Lewis' panties. Atheists know that there's no massive reunion waiting for us after we snuff it (Like a Candle in the Wind); that's why we fight back from the brink of death time and time again.

Without question, the worst part of being sick was having to miss Bloomsday. Bloomsday is the ultimate Us vs. Them event. I know people who've never read Ulysses, but who love Bloomsday simply because They just don't get it.

When They buy a house, They look for nearby churches. When We rent an apartment, We look for Thai restaurants. If you think that everybody in America subscribes to Skeptical Inquirer you're in for a sad awakening.

Once every four years, the whole Us vs. Them thing extends itself into the world of sports. We hate sports. The only sports program We've ever watched is Sports Disasters. And yet we love the World Cup. Maybe it's because the World Cp is the athletic version of The Saddest Music in the World, or maybe it's because to truly enjoy the World Cup it helps to have a grasp of geo-politics, so They naturally just don't get it.

The more I thought about this Us vs. Them thing, the more I thought about how we're getting the short end of the stick. They get to have a Superbowl, World Series, and NBA Championship every year (not to mention NASCAR and Wrestle Mania). We have to wait every four years for Our World Cup. They have Christmas, Easter, a National Day of Prayer, and Lynch a Homo Nigger Day. We have Bloomsday (One of you should get off your lazy ass and write a book claiming that there's a War on Bloomsday). We need at least one more thing to celebrate. And that's when I had an idea. An awful idea. The Grinch had a wonderful, awful idea...

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 09:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm currently recovery from the flu and should be back posting at full strength in a day or two. In the meantime, please "enjoy" Connie Chung in a fever dream come to life.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 06:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

As I have a bit of a scratchy throat, I'm going to take the precaution of heading straight to bed. Before I go, I'd just like to remind all of you that this Friday is Bloomsday, and I'd like to warn you hat the Suck Monster has returned.

For those of you who missed this piece when it was posted back in March of 2005, the Suck Monster is an incredible work of art first discovered by bassist Brian Beattie. His band, Glass Eye, have wisely chosen to use the Suck Monster on the cover of their latest relies Every Woman's Fantasy. Be sure to pick up a Suck Monster t-shirt (no, I don't get a cut of the sales) and don't forget to check out the picture of the original Suck Monster as it appeared on (the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel) a men's room wall.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

In the words of Afro-Danish Barbershop Quartet Led Zeppelin, "It's been a long time, been a long time, been a long, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time... since I violated you with a fish."

Speaking of feeling like you've been violated by some slimy creature from the depths of the ocean, it's also been a long lonely X 5 time since Lisa "Blair" Whelchel has graced us with one of her E-Letters. Well, I hope you've stocked up on plastic sheeting, duct tape, and bottled water because the wait is over:

School is out and summer is already in full swing! [Hurry, sacrifice a virgin] As quickly as it reached 90 degrees in Texas, our family is off and running [and are therefore sweaty]. Steve just wrapped up the big annual Foursquare convention [Foreskin convention? Oh, Foursquare convention; that's different. What the fuck is Foursquare?] he produces [along with a strange, cheese-like substance], the kids are packing [heat] for church camps and mission trips and I'm writing another book. Whether your summer plans are to relax and refresh or to go and do and see, I hope you are filled with excited expectation for the months ahead. (The funniest thing just happened. I'm writing this in the Indianapolis airport, waiting for my plane to board [I would've gone with "waiting to board my plane", but what the fuck do I know? After all, God isn't guiding my hand as I write this.], and guess what song just this minute started playing? [Crippled Children Suck?] "School's Out For Summer!")

Last week our whole family spent the week in Washington DC where my husband, Steve, was producing our church's denominational convention. This is a significant time each year for me because the Lord always uses this event to give me the next year's spiritual focus for my life [Or as the rest of us like to call it "hearing voices"]. Last year, He led me to pursue a more sacrificial life of worship. The year before that, he convicted me of being a lazy pray-er and ultimately my book, "The Busy Mom's Guide to [Lesbian Sex] Prayer" was written out of the practical tips He was teaching me about a more disciplined prayer life.

This year He impressed upon my heart the need to be much more intentional about mentoring and discipling those He had placed under my influence [Oh, somebody's under the influence alright]. In many cases, I believe He was talking about you! [God is such a gossipy bitch] The Great Shepherd Himself showed me that you, and especially those of you who join me for my weekly "Coffee Talk" journal entries, are my little flock. That means I need to be more disciplined about praying for you, sharing what I'm learning, and building up a generation of mothers who will shape and mold the next generation of leaders.

I don't know exactly how [to tie my shoelace] this will all play out but just know that you will be in my prayers everyday. As the [Traci] Lord[s] teaches me new things and as I experience challenges and learn from them, you will be the first ones to know about it, as I endeavor to be more transparent, relevant, and practical in my weekly journal entries.

It's about that time of year when we start thinking about the next school year. If the idea of homeschooling has crossed your mind, then you might be [mildly retarded] interested in reading my book, So, You're Thinking About Homeschooling. Here's what the back of that book says:

Homeschooling - You Can Do It
Let Me Show You How
"Doing school" at home...What would that look like? Can I really teach my children? [When I can barely read myself] Can it strengthen our family? What will my mother-in-law think? Is it a better education? Will I ruin them for life? Are they safer at home? Will I go crazy in the process? [Let it go; it's too easy.] What if I need to work outside the home? Must I have twelve children, raise goats, and bake my own bread? Where do I start? And what about Socialization!" [Why does it hurt when I pee?]

Most homeschooling books, full of impressive facts and information [those durn facts], are written to address the mind. I'm guessing that it is for the love of a child that you have even picked up this book in the first place. [Translation: No big words and plenty o' pictures] That is why I have chosen to speak to your heart, along with your minds, using stories [and the occasional sock puppet].

Fifteen Diverse [Wow. There are fifteen shades of white] Families. Fifteen Different Styles.

"Beginning with my own," says Lisa Whelchel, "I want to introduce you to families in unique situations who have all chosen to homeschool for different reasons [Some hate gays, whiles others fear Blacks and Mexicans], using a variety of learning methods [Waterboarding, thumbscrews, etc. ].
My hope is that by the end this parade of homes, you will identify a family situation and teaching approach from these stories that resonates with your personality and philosophy of education.
The bottom line is, you have to find what works for your family. And to do that, you need to know what's out there. So...

Let's rap lightly on the homeschool door and peek inside...

before we decide if we are ready to move in.

-- Lisa

Due to the overwhelmingly encouraging response I've received to my latest book, "Taking Care of the 'Me' in Mommy," [I still don't get that] and the many emails I've received from moms ordering it as a gift for their sisters, friends, and new moms, I'm offering this book as the E-letter Special again this month. The book retails for $19.99 but if you order it from my website you can purchase the book for $15 [$15??? That's like two packs of tiny plastic Roman soldiers].

By the way, if you are one of the moms who have already purchased the book and enjoyed it, would you consider leaving a review on Amazon.com? [Let the contest begin! Bonus points for anyone who sneaks the phrases "race mixing" or "homosexual agenda" into their review.] My publisher told me that makes a very positive difference. Thanks.

www.Foursquare.org [Looks like www.foursquarerum.com was taken] - If you have been wondering, what does Lisa mean by "Foursquare," you can learn more about this smaller, but growing, denomination through their informative website. (Steve's parents are "Foursquare" pastors and Steve is still on staff at Jack Hayford's church in Los Angeles.)

[Jeepers Wally, learning sure is fun. By plugging Jack Hayford's name into Google I've learned all about Dominionism]

Andy Stanley's book, "It Came From Within" - This book is making the rounds through our family. I bought it for Tucker for Easter but I read it before the Easter Bunny left it in his basket [Should the Easter JESUS be leaving it in his basket?]. Haven picked it up next and was extremely convicted [Book her, Danno] so I made it required summer reading for Tucker. I highly recommend this book for parents and kids alike.

www.Eharmony.com - The young woman who drove me to the airport today met her husband through E-harmony.com. It was a fascinating story and I just thought I'd share this website with any of you who feel ready to marry and settle down but have been unable to find "Mr. or Mrs. Right."

[But if you're a Ms. Looking for "Mrs. Right" or a Mr. looking for Mr. Right, you're shit-outta-luck if you're looking on Eharmony.com]

Anthony Evan's CD "Letting Go" - I just left a festival where Anthony was singing but I had already planned to recommend his CD. His sister, Priscilla, is one of my dearest friends but I liked Anthony before I ever met her! His music makes me want to dance and praise the Lord at the same time [Shit Luther, if you're going to become a Shaker, the least you could do is make some furniture.].

If you have a friend who would enjoy receiving this E-letter click here and we will forward it to them.

Dear [Jack]Lord, thank You for the love you've given me for the person reading this E-letter. Grow my heart bigger and my commitment stronger. I ask You to give me wisdom and grace in everything I write so they might know of the great love and infinite mercy You have for each one of Your children. In Jesus name [sic]. Amen.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 04:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The South: It's filled with backward, semi-literate, mouth-breathing, nose-picking morons. And by "The South" I of course mean South Philly.

Last week as congress debate a measure that would make English the United States official language, Joseph "fahgettaboudit" Vento, proprietor of Geno's Steaks at 9th and Passyunk in lovely but culturally challenged South Philadelphia, decide to show his support for the initiative by placing a sign in his establishment's window which reads "This is America. When Ordering, Speak English".

Now, I'm perfectly fine with making English America's (both North and South) official language. I also think that midget porn should be our national porn. This is for a totally different reason than why I link English should be our official language. In the case of midget porn, I'm simply rooting for the underdog, whereas with English it's a matter of seeing a language a really like get some official recognition (like that time GWAR were nominated for a Grammy). And I really like the English language. It's the language of Shakespeare, Hemmingway, Joyce, and everybody who has every written a letter to Penthouse Magazine ("I am a coed at a small Midwestern college"). In fact, I've spent the last twenty years of my life (with varying decrees of success) try to become as proficient in the English language as possible. I've even brushed up on my German (can you properly use the word defenestrate without know that it's from the German root word fenster meaning window) and attempted to learn both Latin and Ancient Greek in an effort to improve my English as these language have contributed heavily to the development of our own.

So, as someone who clearly loves the English language, trust me when I tell you that the biggest threat to our much beloved language is the crown standing in line for Geno's cheesesteakes.

If you've never stood in line at Geno's, then the best way that I can describe the gathering of patrons lined up for some of the shittiest food on the planet is tell you that no is ever in danger of mistaking that crowd for a MENSA meeting ("Why look; isn't that Howard Zinn waiting to buy a pizzasteak?"). Long-story-short: the same bunch of slack jawed idiots who are responsible adding "yous guys", "dem coons is mezzin' up da neighborhood", and "down da shore" to the lexicon have now declared themselves the guardians of the English languages. Would you like a side of irony with those cheesefries? By the way, fellows, nice idea choosing Joe Vento as the intellectual force behind your movement, fellows. Wasn't Noam Chomsky available? Sweet double-parking Jesus, the only decision these morons should be allowed to make is rather they want cheese whiz or provolone on their steak sandwiches.

Of course if Joe "Hey yous guys; speak American!" Vento actually cared about the state of the English language he'd be handing out copies of Eats Shoots, & Leaves with every order of five dollars or, as my good friend and almost-Congressman Chris Randolph suggested, he and his staff would be volunteering to help with adult literacy programs. Personally, I'd love to see the staff at Geno's go the whole nine yards force anyone caught ending a sentence in a preposition or using a double negative to go to the end of the line.

Normally I wouldn't care if Joe Vento hung a shitty little sign in the shitty window of his shitty little business that read "This is Miskatonic University. When Ordering, Praise Cthulu" because I never plan on eating at Geno's and take great comfort in the notion that the throngs of chubby families lined up for grease and shit sandwiches are only quickening their deaths. If this means less morons pontificating upon the fortunes of "Dem Iggles" then, in the name of Charles Darwin, eat up, you stupid fuckers.

Like I said, under normal circumstances I wouldn't give a rat's ass what goes on in that creepy netherworld south of South Street, but these are extraordinary times here in Philadelphia. In the past two decades, the city has been working hard to attract more college educated, intellectual, artsy-fartsy types: you know; real human beings. What good is there in Philly promoting events like Bloomsday * or the Fringe Festival if the xenophobia and anti-intellectualism fostered by the troglodytes at Geno's just frightens all the normal people away?

* Dear Sirs;
I congratulate you on your unblenching and indomitable stand on promoting an English-only atmosphere at your exquisite establishment. It's always heartening to find others who posses and unmitigated love of the English language. Will any of your staff be reading at Bloomsday on the 16th?

Yours in English,
Jerry "Fongo" Fongowski
fongo23@aim.com

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 10:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Aid or Invade V has been published/posted. Speaking of posts, I realize that this isn't much of one. Sorry, I've been really tired lately (job is killing me by degrees) and I'm in a pretty foul mood right now. I'll try to publish a nice, long piece (let it go) over the weekend. By the way, until I get my life back, which would you people prefer: five of six short posts a week or two or three long ones. Either way, I'm fated to someday collapse at the keyboard.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I have to admit that when Vienna and I first heard an NPR report about "Faith Night" we turned to each other and said "Oh boy, another reason to hate sports. But while some might as "why", Jerry "Fongo" Fongowski asks "Why am I waking up in a parking lot?"

_ . _

Dear Third Coast Sports,

I recently learned of your Faith Night events and I'd just like a moment of your time to tell you a story about a man, a dream, and a group of young boys. That man is I, Jerry "Fongo" Fongoski; that dream involved hot-dogs and a covered bridge, and those young boys are Christacean. Let me begin at the beginning:

Nearly five years ago I found myself suddenly in possession of a large sum of cash following an out-of-court settlement over the wrongful deaths of my family (I won't go into the details [it's still to painful for me to write about] but let's just say that you should NEVER visit a petting zoo below the Mason-Dixon Line - especially one that prominently advertises "Bear vs. Steer Thursday"). Not long after my tragedy-inspired windfall, I had a dream. I had a dream in which men and woman off all colors lived together in piece and harmony. But, much more importantly, I had a dream in which hundreds of hot-dogs floated through a covered bridge. Well, I didn't need a tree to fall on me (even though one did later on: but I'll get to that) to recognize that this was clearly a sign form the Lord, so I put on my pants, took the meat-stays out of my shoes, jumped in my Honda Civic, and began to look all over Lancaster County for that covered bridge.

And wouldn't you know I found it! Or, at least, one that looked enough like it (all covered bridges being somewhat similar in design and this technically being the first one that I came across) to be acceptable to the Lord. Well, you could've knocked me over with a feather. What did knock me over, though, was a tree. Just as I got out my car to marvel at the bridge, or the first reasonable facsimile thereof, that had appeared to me in a dream, a small poplar tree toppled over and pinned me to the ground where I was found nine hours later, barely conscious. After the lawsuit, during which baseless allegations of having "soften upped" the poplar by repeatedly ramming it with my Civic were lodged at yours truly, I found myself in possession of the land on which I had once spent an evening pinned to the ground with only sap to survive on. Ah, but every cloud has a silver lining and this newly gained land combined with the money from several previous lawsuits (the most profitable of which having been an out-of-court settlement with the Dr. Shoal's Corporation over the aforementioned "meat-stays") allowed me to open my restaurant: Fongo's Near A Bridge - Home of the Mouth Full O' Man-Sized Meat.

As luck would have it, Fongo's did great business from the start (please attribute this to the blessings of the Lord combined with the popularity of our the Mouth Full O' Man-Sized Meat Jumbo Dogs and not any rumors that you may have heard about me planting phony "DETOUR" signs along the main highway), but something was still missing from my life. And then I met Brad, Tommy, Chad, and Raul: Better know as Christacean.

I'll never forget the day when I was first opened my eyes, saw their bright, shining faces, and heard them say "Mister, why are you sleeping in the parking lot?" After I regained my senses and dusted myself off I explained to the lads that I had not been "sleeping" in the parking lot, but had been rendered unconscious after tripping over some unseen object (while it is a testament to our troubled times that none of the customers nor, for that matter, any member of the staff at Fongo's thought to inquire as to my health; instead preferring to step over my limp carcass; it does say something positive about human nature that I was not set ablaze or in any other way molested during the time I was laid out flat). And then I realized that the spot on which I had awoken was the EXACT SAME spot where three years earlier I had been pinned under a poplar tree!!! Truly this was another sign!!!

I soon engaged the boys in helping me comb the parking lot for the wayward object that had caused my collapse in case it should be useful in a future lawsuit. While we were crawling around on the asphalt on our hands and knees we got to talking. As it turned out, the boys had recently formed a Christian Rock Band called "Christacean".

"Christacean? That's an unusual name," I said finding a wheat penny, "Why Christacean? What does it mean? Should I be frightened? I will call the police if I have to." Then the boys calmed me down by explaining that the name was a reference to Leviticus 11:9-12 and Deuteronomy 14:9-10 in which God forbids us to eat any sea creature that doesn't have fins or scales. "Wow, tell me more" I said eager to hear more and for them to tell it to me. "Well," said Chad "God forbids us to eat any sea creature that doesn't have fins or scales." Thunderstruck, I immediately ran into the kitchen of Fongo's, grabbed a bowl of Gumbo El Fongo, dashed it against a wall and shouted "I REBUKE THEE!" Then I walked back out to the parking lot and up to those boys and said "Fellows, I'd like to manage your band." Well, that was nearly two years ago as the crow flies; since then Christacean has grown to be one of the biggest bands in the Lancaster area, playing nearly every barn raising or tractor pull.

Now I bet you're asking yourself "Why is this gumbo-slinging guy telling me all of this stuff?" Well, it's because I know, deep-down in my gut, that Faith Night would be the perfect showcase for Christacean; and once you know a little more about them I'm sure that your gut will be just like mine. That's why I've included the lyrics to Christacean's most popular song, Hell's Shells below. Please contact me once you've arranged a Faith Night in the greater Lancaster/Philadelphia area. If I don't hear from you, I'll just assume that the boys have the "gig".

Eat the Turf, Shun the Surf,
Jerry "Fongo" Fongowski
Proprietor of Fongo's Near A Bridge
Fongo23@aim.com

Hell's Shells by Christacean

Beware the claws / Beware the feelers
Beware the shells for they are soul steels
You fill your plate / You seal your fate
It's a buffet of sin and you're going back for seconds

Hell's Shells
Swimming all around you
Hell's Shells
Their ungodliness surrounds you
Hell's Shells
Your heart they will stab
Hell's Shells
Shrimp, clams, lobsters and crabs

"Don't swim with the sharks" you've often heard
But dining on crustaceans is even more absurd
For an arm or a leg is a Great White's only goal
But a Red Lobster won't be happy 'till it's taken your soul

Hell's Shells
Swimming all around you
Hell's Shells
Their ungodliness confounds you
Hell's Shells
They crave the Fall of Man
Hell's Shells
Shrimp, lobsters crabs, and clams

So eat not the fish without scales or fins
For doing so is an unpardonable sin

Hell's Shells
Swimming all around you
Hell's Shells
Their ungodliness surrounds you
Hell's Shells
For they are Satan's imps
Hell's Shells
Lobsters crabs, clams and shrimp

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 06:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Last night I caught a much too short documentary about "10th Level Experiments". For those of you who've never considered "Super Villain" as a career option, "10th Level Experiments" are those in which normal people are gently nudged into doing incredibly cruel things by authority figures, peer pressure, or the hypnotic stare of Little Debbie. The most famous of these are the Milgram Obedience Experiment, the Stanford Prison Experiment, and the Happy Days 30th Anniversary Reunion

Towards the end of the documentary Dr. Philip Zimbardo, the Goldfinger behind the Stanford Prison Experiment, was speaking about the abuses at Abu Ghraib, and he said a very profound thing. Zimbardo, who had appeared as a defense witness in the trial of a one of the soldiers accused of abusing prisoners at Abu Ghraib, pointed out that everyone get repeating that the torture and intimidation had been done by "a few bad apples who were spoiling the barrel" when, in actuality it was the barrel had been the problem all along. In other words: it was the Army's propensity to turn a blind eye to the goings on at Abu Ghraib that created the opportunity for misconduct.

This brings us to the massacre at Haditha.

Or, to be more precise, the Haditha Drinking Game. In order to play, first get yourself a few beers* and then turn on FOX News (saw that coming; didn't you?). Every time a talking sphincter says "a few bad apples" take a swig of beer. Every time some pontificating rectum reminds us that "all the facts aren't in yet" (True. Many of the slaughtered children could've been al Queada operatives wearing ingenious disguises) finish what beer you have left in the can. Should you happen to catch some asshole make a completely incorrect statement about the massacre, you most immediately consume three beers as quickly as possible.

This means that you would've been would've been completely shitfaced by the end of of an episode of The O'reilly Factor which aired last week during Falafel Boy claimed that World War II's Malmedy massacre had been committed by American soldiers. OK, anybody can make a mistake. But it takes a special kind of evil bastardosity to cover those mistakes up: yes, the good folks have once again altered O'Reilly's transcripts. This time, they've changed "Malmedy" to "Normandy".

Like I said, anybody can make a mistake. That's the great thing about the internet. If you make an incorrect statement, you can always go back and fix it later (providing that nobody has taken a screen shot of your fuck up). For example, I could post the following:

Bill O'Reilly's father died of AIDS contracted after a lifetime of riding the rails sucking hobos' cocks. The senior O'Reilly's dying words were "I believe that slobbering all over a smelly transient's greasy tool is the most pleasant thing a man can do."

...and then just delete it later if it turns out to be untrue.

* Thanks to my good buddy Doc who provided the Molson 6.0 Cold Shots used to create the game.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 04:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)