Thoughtless for the Day

Wikipedia's Life of George Eliot

George Eliot, who is one of my favorite writers and whose masterpiece,
Middlemarch, I managed to pick up at Molly's Book Store for only seven
dollars (that's les than a penny a page!), died one-hundred-and-twenty-five
years ago today.

I had originally decided to mark this occasion by writing a brief biography
of the great author; however, do to my busy schedule, I was forced to save
time by simply copying George Eliot's entry in Wikipedia: the world's
number one source for accurate, thoroughly researched information.

The Life of George Eliot

Born Mary Ann "knuckles" Evans on November 22nd, 1819 to a family of
impoverished mistral show performers along the Mississippi Delta, the
child who would latter be know as George "Someone cuts in line, someone
gets cut in line: 'cuz dat's how shit go down when I'm waitin' to
use the gotdamn phone" Eliot first distinguished herself as a keelboat
captain and accomplished Indian-fighter before setting sail for England,
at the age of twenty-two to conquer the literary world.

Upon arriving in the United Kingdom (which at that time was known as
"Jolly, Jolly Panda Land") Eliot sank into a deep, deep, very deep
depression when it was explained to her that one conquered the literary
world by writing a series of critically acclaimed and commercially
successful novels instead of, as Eliot had erroneously assumed, by
wrestling Charles Dickens to the ground and pinning him there until John
Stuart Mill counted to ten.

Alone and penniless, as the British tended to use a coinage called the
"shilling" which weighed over thirty-five pounds (the equivalent of eleven
milligrams or twenty-one dollars if adjusted for inflation was made
entirely pig iron (which, in turn, is made entirely from pigs), Eliot
turned to a life of petty crime. In the Spring of 1849, she was found
guilty of being the ringleader in a plot to swindle a nephew of the Earl
of Warwick out of some bread crumbs which had fallen onto his lap during
an afternoon snack, and sentenced to six months hard labour and three weeks
of light office wourk at Newgate Prison for Women and Outlandish Fops. It
was during this period of incarceration that she settled on her nom de
plumes "George Eliot" and "Butch" and re-resigned herself to her writing
from which she had earlier resigned.

Her first effort, a collection of children's stories titled Immoral,
Sadistic Barnyard Tales was published in 1841 and sold poorly in
England, but was a runaway success in Germany (where it prompted many
children to successfully run away). Barnyard Tales was followed in
rapid succession by The Thrill on the Floss (1842), Silos
Mourner (1843), and I'm Not Spock (1875).

Although never truly financially successful in her lifetime (she was once
forced to allow a transient to lodge in her petticoat) today she is
remembered for redefining the English novel as well as being the inspiration
for Heat's classic rock rocking classic Barracuda.




Rodney on 12.22.05 @ 10:34 AM EST [link] [No Comments]

Up Against The Wall Mother… Superior???

Looks like I owe the atom-smashers at the Department of Homeland Security
an apology. Their dogged pursuit of people borrowing Mao's Riddle Red
Book from libraries (which many of the people at the DHS were
surprised to learn is spelled with two R's) has helped the FBI to
ferret out one of the most insidious Commie front operations every to
darken the doorstep of these Capitalist United States of Jesus Christ
the Honkey…

The Catholic Workers Group.

OK, I know that you're probably thinking "What The Please Fuck My
Immaculate Vagina are you talking about, Pope Willis XI? Aren't the
Catholic Workers Group a bunch of wimpy pacifists who would not only
never harm a fly, but also provide it with a cot, six pair of wool socks,
and some hot soup? " See how clever they are? They had you fooled. But
these Pinko Papists couldn't sneak their "semi-communistic ideology"
past Hoover's boys.

Fortunately for Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Public, the investigation didn't
stop with the Sistine Socialists. Also snagged in a dragnet of the
degraded was know al-Qaeda splinter group PETA, who were conducting their
Islamofacist activities under the cover of a protest over llama fur.

And kudos to the agents in the FBI's Indianapolis office for their plan
to place a "Vegan Community Project" under surveillance. Good works boys!
When Osama bin Laden is finally captured, I sure-as-shittin' he'll be
found in Indianapolis at a "Vegan Community Project."

In other Terror-related news…

They planned to do what?

Remember that plot to take down the Brooklyn Bridge that all the Babbitts
kept citing as proof that Bush was protecting us all by pissing all over
the Fourth Amendment in the form of ordering warrant-free wiretapping
(even though the FISA courts allow the government to begin wiretapping and
then apply for a warrant. It should also be mentioned that, of the
over 15,000 wiretap requests that have been submitted to FISA judges, only
8 have been denied. Oh, and the band Warrant sucks too)? Here's Catskills
funnyman Dana Rohrabacher (Reactionary-CA) on CNN:

"Not only proud, we can be grateful to this president. You know, I'll
have to tell you, if it was up to Mr. Schumer, Senator Schumer, they
probably would have blown up the Brooklyn Bridge. The bottom line is this:
in wartime we expect our leaders, yes, to exercise more authority."

The truth is far stranger than any fiction that may have fallen from
Rohrabacher's festering gob. The plan was never to blown up the Brooklyn
Bridge, but to dismantle the bridge using…wait for it…blow torches!

Now, while I don't have a degree in Engineering (or anything else, for
that matter) it seems to me that 80 or 90 turbaned welders attempting to
cut through the 21,736 wires that hold up the Brooklyn Bridge with their
Catholic Workers Group provided, PETA approved, blow torches might be
just a tad conspicuous. Maybe, therein, lies the beauty of the plan:
once the Feds have been distracted by the Godless Army of the Night that
is the Indianapolis Vegan Community Project, the attack on the bridge
could go on unnoticed (by Stevie Wonder).

The bottom line is this:
in wartime we expect our leaders, yes, to exercise a few more brain cells.



Rodney on 12.21.05 @ 11:22 AM EST [link] [2 Comments]

Our Family's Vacation To The Nineteenth Century!

Devil Baby and Fucktard Mother on the loose

Tragically, I fell asleep before I could catch what I'm sure had to be
the most insane report in the history of television on the local FOX
(where else) affiliate's news report last night. What the Hell am I
talking about? Well, here's the description from the sidebar of their
homepage:

A mother gives up her child...
Believing he's possessed...
A family...
Fights to get that child back...
A church...
Blamed for putting devilish ideas in
the mother's head...
FOX29's Jeff Cole
takes you undercover...
Inside the church...
The family says started it all...
Tonight on the FOX29 10 O'Clock News.

Just reading that made my hurt. Sweet Hog-Riding Jesus on a Very Special
Episode of CHiPs, if you're stupid enough to allow yourself to be
convinced that your child is possessed by daemons, then maybe you don't
deserve to regain custody. "Do you have any pictures of your baby, m'am?"
"No, I was all afraid that the camera would steal his soul an' shit." If
FOX29's Jeff Cole managed to keep a straight face throughout that entire
piece, he deserves an award.

At least this moron only had one child, just imagine if she'd had sixteen
little Satan babies like…

Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar

Yes, theeeey're back! And they've been featured in a piece in the Dallas
Morning News * which, while failing to answer many of our basic questions
about the Duggars (like "Just what the fucking planet are these shitbags
really from and when the fuck will they be going back there?"), it does
manage to fill in a few blanks regarding their finances. Let's all learn
how we can run our homes like the Duggars, shall we?

It takes approximately $5,000 a month (or roughly $278 per person) to run
the nightmare that is the Duggar household. The money primarily comes from
a commercial rental property which the Duggar's own debt-free, having
traded their souls to the Dark Lord for the deed.

Their clothing (skirts and dresses - never pants - and white socks
for mom and the girls: polo shirts and slacks or jeans, with black socks
for Jim Bob and the boys) comes from a thrift store (like we needed a
newspaper to tell us that). They rarely eat out (let it go), but when they
do they can be found filling their numerous pie-holes with the 49-cent
children's meals at Arkansas Quality Chicken; although it's unlikely the
Duggars will continue to eat there once they learn that the restaurant
used to be a favorite haunt of Super-sinner Bill Clinton. Oh, and the
three older Duggar girls cut the boys' hair (ever since their old barber,
Ray Charles, died).

"We haven't had an overabundance," speaketh Jim Bob Duggar, "but God's
always met our needs." Well, God and basic cable television…

The Duggars are getting ready to move from their old, 2,200-square-foot
rented house into their new 7,000-square-foot house which they will own
debt-free. Yes, dept-free, thanks, in part, to the Discovery Health
Channel who spent two years filming the Duggars in their natural habitat
(haven't seen any of the past episodes, but the next installment is due in
March) and to The Learning Channel who'll be providing us with Zapruder
film intensive coverage of the Duggars taking possession of their new
domicile and whose sponsors will be providing the Duggars with food,
appliances, and trips to Disneyland and a dude ranch (Brokeback Mountain!).
I've also heard a rumor that Animal Planet is planning to air a special in
which zoological experts compare the stench inside the Duggar home to that
of the den of a Madagascar jumping rat.

Has anybody else noticed a significant flaw in Jim Bob's financial master
plan? One unexpected monetary setback and the Duggars, all eighteen of
'em, are screwed, glued, and tattooed. Let's say that l'il Jabba The Hutt
Duggar (all of the kid's names begin with the letter 'J', remember?) gets
The Aids by accidentally catching two seconds of an ad for Queer
Eye on TV, the Duggar's will be broker than Rush Limbaugh leaving an
all-night Pharmacy in a matter of days (that is, of course, if the healing
power of prayer deserts them)

As soon as a get a chance, I'm gonna check out the On Demand listings; if
any episodes of Dungeons and Duggars are available, I'll be sure to
review them.

Just in case you need a little cheering up: WE WON!

In order to celebrate this devastating victory (the Judge
bitch-slapped the former school board saying "the citizens of the Dover
area were poorly served by the members of the Board who voted for the ID
Policy. It is ironic that several of these individuals, who so staunchly
and proudly touted their religious convictions in public, would time and
again lie to cover their tracks and disguise the real purpose
behind the ID Policy.") I'll be posting a mini-debunking kit for
Creationism and ID.

* This link may require registration. If you need to get in, try
Username: Vlad Wizznicki Password: fox29blows



Rodney on 12.20.05 @ 02:18 PM EST [link] [8 Comments]

The Golden Age of Stupidity

Dirty Stinko Pinko College Type (no doubt with Emo hair) Gets His
Comeuppance!

I, for one, will sleep much better tonight, secure in the knowledge that
the Department of Homeland Security is keeping track of just who's reading
"The Little Red Book" by Mao Tse-Tung.

Last week a student at the hotbed of Commie activity, UMass Dartmouth,
who was working on a history paper on fascism and totalitarianism (and,
by extension, irony) submitted a request for Mao's Sword & Sorcery epic
through the college's library's interlibrary loan program and ending up
with nothing to show for his efforts except a visit from two Federal
agents who informed him that the book is on a "watch list".

Is everybody at the Department of Homeland Security retarded or are they
just trying to find a way to snag those blue parking spots right next to
the Burger Czar by acting like they are? Maybe this is some kind of ploy
to lull the Terrorists into a false sense of security by convincing them
that the United States Government would actually waste its precious
resources on tracking down the five or six Communists who haven't taken
teaching positions at Berkley.

Shit Luther, anybody who would actually take Mao's writings seriously is
already going to own a copy of his Rittle Red Book: they're not going to
borrow one from the library. Look, I went to college with people who
could quote Mao chapter-and-verse; trust me; they only things that they
are a threat to are their parents' bank accounts and dreams for a happy
retirement as well as their own self esteem. As long as one of the chief
requirements for kicking off a Proletarian Revolution remains the ability
to get off the sofa and be somewhere on time, the forces of Capitalism
have nothing to fear from a thirty-five-year-old Grad student in an Angela
Davis t-shirt.

As long as the Department of Homeland Security (the folks who put the
"special" in Special Agent) is monitoring inter-library loans, I'd like
to suggest that they keep an eye on The Harry Potter Series. If even only
three percent of the Fundies out there are right, by the time kids who
read this manual for witchcraft reach book three they're ready to transform
Anytown, USA into the Village of the Damned: the cool original film,
not the crappy remake starring Christopher Reeve before he got paralyzed
by a little more than fear.


Emergency! Tom Cruise Needs Flowers! Stat!

I don't know if the logically challenged crew at the Department of
Homeland Security have added Dianetics to their watch list of
forbidden knowledge, but maybe they should. According to this
article/comedy goldmine in today's LA Times, a former Scientologist is
claiming that she and a couple dozen other Xenu-phobes were once awoken
in the middle of the night, alerted to an "an all-hands situation", and
ordered outside into the rain so that they could plant a meadow of
wildflowers in which Tom Cruise would be able to romp with his then fake
girlfriend, later fake wife, Nicole Kidman.

When you're a major movie star who can't get laid without having to resort
to forcing a bunch of preclears to plant a bed of posies, it's time to
climb down off of Oprah's couch and take a serious look at your life.
"Red Alert! We have an all-hands situation! Tom Cruise can't get it up!
Hurry with those Ricky Martin posters!"



Rodney on 12.19.05 @ 02:03 PM EST [link]

T'day, my baby's gone away [WHATEVER]

Io Saturnalia! Which also happens to be about as far as I got with
celebrating the first day of Saturnalia: shouting "Io Saturnalia" at
my neighbors. They've come to expect this sort of behavior from me, so
they basically smiled back, waved and wished me a happy "whatever".
It's the same reaction Alberto Gonzales gets whenever someone says,
"Hey, betcha didn't know it was my birthday today" and he gets that
wild look in his eyes and says something like "You know who else has a
birthday today? Kylie Wylde! You know, from Rub the Muff 3 and
Summer School Sex Kittens ."

Technically, I guess that I can be excused for my lack of preparedness
for Saturnalia by the facts that A) I have never celebrated it before
and B) some of the Saturnalia rituals that I found on the web were,
frankly, more than a little New Age-ish and, therefore, rather silly.
Attention Wiccans, Druids, Mormons, and anybody else in a peasant skirt:
whether you call Him Saturn or Cronos, He is not interested in having His
holiday turned into a backyard version of Woodstock (Woodstock 99, maybe;
but never the original Woodstock). Honestly, I'm not quite sure just how
Saturn wants us to celebrate Saturnalia, which gives me the freedom to
celebrate it any damn way I please. Of course, with freedom comes
responsibility. The more freedom, the more responsibility; therefore, I
propose that we all collaborate on some acceptable guidelines for
Saturnalia. Here's what I have so far:

1) Figure of Saturn (Cronos). Why? Because I happen to have one. Also,
because it really helps to have a representation of the God whose day
you're celebrating. Maybe this thing'll catch on and we can all look
forward to decorating our lawns with figures of Saturn.

2) On December 17th, bind Saturn's feet with yarn or string or whatever.
On December 24th, just before midnight, unbind Saturn and shout "Io
Saturnalia", then expect a visit from The Man.

3) There should be some sort of special Saturnalia snack: maybe some sort
of cookie. I'll get back to you on this one.

Well, that's all I have; so, I'd definitely appreciate your suggestions.
Remember, Christmas started out on a small and without the advantage of
the internet.

Hmmmm…"…with freedom comes responsibility. The more freedom, the more
responsibility…" That, of course, is one of the guiding principles
behind Existentialism. The other day I was listening to Radio Times when
someone called in and asked Marty guest, who had written a book about the
relationship between John Paul-Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir to define
Existentialism. Personally, I think that every guest on every talk
show should be asked to define Existentialism. Maybe then I'd pay
sixteen bucks a month to listen to Howard Stern. "Wow baby, those are
some big cans. Would you mind defining Existentialism for me?" Then Robin
laughs on cue.

Thank Cronos that Marty's guest's definition of Existentialism and mine
matched up pretty well. I can't tell you how happy this made me. If I'd
discovered that I misunderstood Existentialism, I would've felt like
Kevin Kline's character in A Fish Called Wanda, who's convinced
that the central tenet of Buddhism is "Every man for himself". Anyhoo,
here's how I've always explained Existentialism:

Rule Number One: There is no God.

Rule Number Two: Don't be sad about there not being a God, because this
greatly increases your amount of freedom.

Rule Number Three: Before you get worked up about all that freedom you
just pocketed, you should be aware that with freedom comes responsibility.
The more freedom you have, the greater the responsibility you should be
shouldering. If someone is living in a Dictatorship, Theocracy, or working
for Wal-Mart, then their Level Of Responsibility (LOR) is about a 2 on a
scale of 1 to 10. While your LOR may vary depending upon which state you
reside in, your race, religion, sex, sexual orientation, income, and
whether or not you subscribe to cable TV, most of us have a LOR of about
8.5. That means that we all should be responsibly for trying to make life
on this planet…well, at the very least, tolerable.

Remember that definition of Existentialism. Not only as a reminder that
you, as someone to whom much freedom has (at lest for now) been granted,
have a duty to your fellow passengers on this little, blue ball o' mud,
but also because it may get you laid some day. And nobody got laid more
often than Jean-Paul Sartre. OK, maybe Picasso got laid more than Sartre.
Both men were five-foot-one. Hey, I'm five-foot-one. No wonder my wife
won't let me go to the store by myself.

I'll be honoring Sartre this year (and Picasso, next year) with a very
special gingerbread house. Trust me; you'll wanna keep checking back in
for pictures of that.

* Sadly, Leilani isn't around to celebrate her birthday. It seems that
she developed a case of Agoraphobia so severe that, one day, she punched
a hole in the wall of her apartment, crawled inside and suffocated.
RATYHTL wishes her the peace in death that she never knew in life.
Seriously.



A Special Saturnalia Message For George W. Bush:

Hey asshole! Take that red crayon that you were just using to color in all
the blood in you Big Book of Foreign Policy, go to the calendar and circle
Friday, December 16th, 2005. Do you know why this date is significant?
Because it's the day on which you officially crossed the line, fucknuts!

It was on this day that America learned (via the New York Times, who
fucking sat on the story for a goddamn year) that, following 9/11, you
authorized the NSA to spy on Americans with obtaining a court order.
Translation: you wiped your ass with the Bill of Rights. The very same
Bill of Rights that brave Americans were dying to protect in the rice
paddies of Vietnam while you were sucking hobo cocks for coke money in
the Louisiana National Guard, you piece-of-shit gopher hole rapist.

Consider yourself put on notice, you obsequious bitch, that I'll be
dedicating the rest of my life to seeing that your name becomes synonymous
with miserable, shameful failure. I hope you live a long, long life,
rim-lapper, because I want you to see December 16th turned into a National
Holiday on which school children spit on your picture and Americans of all
races and social classes gather together to talk about what a dick you are,
fuckface. This is what people who piss all over everything that America
stands for, everything that I hold dear and would die to defend, get. Fuck
you! Oh, and for, if not actively encouraging then at least helping to
create the sort of atmosphere in which the Pentagon felt free to spy on
anti-war protesters, were going to erect statues of you in every town
square in the USA. And on each of those statues they'll be a plaque which
will read: "George W. Bush - America's Biggest Asshole." Then, every year
on December 16th we'll pull those statues down and every town bum in every
town from sea-to-shining-sea will give a speech about the time you blew
him coke money.

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. When you eventually die, alone and insane,
don't count on being buried in hollowed ground either, knob-polisher. Your legacy
will be a day on which all Americans curse your name, zoo-voyeur, and
promise never to allow someone who despises the principles on which this
country was founded as much as you do to hold office again.

PS. Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! You un-American hobo-sucking
coke-snorting Constitution-raping piece of rat shit!




Rodney on 12.18.05 @ 02:35 AM EST [link]