Samuel Alito Is a Pussy:
It's sad, really, what politics does to a man. Here he was, big-balled Sam Alito, tough U.S. Attorney who went after the fuckin' New Jersey mob - the fuckin' Genoveses, man - and who took apart corruption against HUD in Camden and the Jersey City school district back in the 1980s. When he was nominated to the Third Circuit Court of Appeals in 1990, he was introduced and praised by Frank Lautenberg and Bill Bradley, both, of course, Democrats. His hearing was a cakewalk, man, with Ted Kennedy and Arlen Specter falling all over each other for the chance to tell Alito how awesome he was. All of this will be brought up, of course, in the next few weeks as we approach Alito's hearing to be confirmed to the Supreme Court. But all that really matters is what the man has shown in the weeks since his nomination to replace Sandra Day O'Connor, and what he's shown is that he's a pussy.

For what else can you call a man who is trying to run away from everything he's said or done on abortion rights and access? Every opportunity that Samuel Alito was given to comment or rule on involving abortion, he attempted to restrict access to or express his dismay with Roe v. Wade. He said, back in 1985, that the federal government should help states "chip away" at Roe. In his job application to be Deputy Assistant Attorney General, he volunteered, without prompting on the issue, that he believed that "the Constitution does not protect the right to an abortion." And, of course, in 1991, he dissented from the majority opinion on Planned Parenthood of Southeastern Pennsylvania v. Casey, saying that a woman should be forced to tell her possibly raping, abusive husband that she wants an abortion.

So the man has said he wants to limit Roe, doesn't think it's constitutional, and, when he was in a position to do so, actually advocated a specific limitation. You'd think a man with that kind of trail would just stand up and say, "You know what? Fuck it. You'd have to be an idiot not to realize that I'll vote to overturn Roe if given the power to do so. Now, fuck with me." At least then we could just have it out. At least then we'd be spared the pathetic whines of Alito, as related by Arlen Specter: "He said that his personal feelings would not be a factor in his judicial decision...With respect to his personal views on a woman's right to choose, he says that that is not a matter to be considered in the deliberation on a constitutional issue of a woman's right to choose. The judicial role is entirely different."

Now, you may argue that Alito has, in fact, expressed his views on the constitutional issues when he said that the right to an abortion is not guaranteed by the Constitution. You might in fact argue that in Casey, Alito clearly stated that severe limitations on Roe were, in fact, constitutional. But that would mean that you are caught in the tautological vortex of the pussy, where one can say that, despite everything one has said and done, one won't do what one has said or done before and, oh, by the way, please put one in the position where what one does becomes the law of the land so that it justifies everything that one has said and done in the past.

In other words, if Samuel Alito doesn't want to overturn Roe, he's been living a lie. Which is what makes Alito a pussy even more. Here's something from Alito's 1990 questionnaire: "The American Bar Association's Commentary to its Code of Judicial Conduct states that it is inappropriate for a judge to hold membership in any organization that invidiously discriminates on the basis of race, sex, or religion. Do you currently belong, or have you belonged, to any organization which discriminates -- through either formal membership requirements or the practical implementation of membership policies? If so, list, with dates of membership. What have you done to try to change these policies?" Alito answered, "I have never belonged to any such organization."

Which would be true, except for the fact that Alito did belong to such an organization, the Concerned Alumni of Princeton, a group that "at first openly opposed full coeducation and the representative inclusion of minorities at Princeton, and then when those became 'settled issues,' continued its opposition to the mere presence of women and minorities at Princeton through tactics ranging from code words to open harassment." Which would seem to reveal that Alito, well, fuck, lied on that questionnaire. But Alito said he had "no recollection" of his involvement with CAP, even though he belonged to it just five years before (and mentioned it on that job application in 1985).

But, shit, Alito's got the all-time great pussy excuse. He told Dianne Feinstein about his Meese-era job app, "I was an advocate seeking a job, it was a political job and that was 1985." Fuckin' great - Eddie Haskell's been nominated to the Supreme Court. Goddamn, it ain't that different than saying, "I was stoned, she was passed out, and this was before date rape laws" or "I was just following orders when I carpet-bombed that village of innocent civilians." Yeah, it may be true, but doesn't it say something about the person willing to make that kind of excuse for his behavior?

That's Sam Alito, though, all over. Someone who'll now say or do anything to get on the Supreme Court, hunched over and cowering in the ditch rather than standing up and saying what he believes - fuck, what we know he believes. Lies and hypocrisy ought to become main reasons why the Alito nomination should be voted down. For most Republicans, though, it'll just make him one of the gang.

Rah:
Well, that was fun. Thanks to Lex Kuhne, The Brian Farrar Show, and WAAM Ann Arbor for hosting an hour with the Rude Pundit (bleep-free, motherfuckers). Thanks to the callers from Colorado, Michigan, and, ya gotta be shittin' me, Spain.

Now ready to drink away the rest of Saturday to get rid of the image of Bill O'Reilly giving a tongue bath to William Donohue.

Never Mind:
Okay, so apparently I'm streaming. Join us.

Not So Live:
The "Listen Live" button on the WAAM website means that four programs on the Ann Arbor station are broadcast live. None of those programs is the Brian Farrar Show, where the Rude Pundit will be appearing in mere moments.

All apologies to those who fantasized about listening beyond the Ann Arbor, Michigan area. Instead, call your local stations and tell 'em to book the Rude Pundit.

Radio Rudeness:
The Rude Pundit will appear on Ann Arbor's Talk Radio 1600 WAAM tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. EST. He'll be speaking with host Lex Kuhne, who's subbing for the usual host of The Brian Farrar Show.

The Rude Pundit will be talking about rude shit, as well as his upcoming CD, The Year of Living Rudely, which will be released next week. (More on that Monday.) Internet listening is encouraged - and if you live in the Ann Arbor area, give a call.

Hey, radio and press-y types, the Rude Pundit is available for interviews to promote the CD and talk about the depraved evil that leads this festive nation. Zap him an e-mail that's not about Paris and Nicole to: rudepundit@yahoo.com.

How Thirty Miles Can Seem Like a Million:
Let us say, and why not, that the President of the United States said what he meant and meant what he said on Wednesday over at the Naval Academy when he offered, "A time of war is a time of sacrifice... we honor the memory of every fallen soldier, sailor, airman, Coast Guardsman, and Marine." Let's just say for the sake of argument that George W. Bush and his administration actually believed this, that they just didn't titter to themselves at how easy it is to fool the rubes. No, let's stop our cynicism for just a moment and buy the line.

If you wanted the citizens of the country to believe you, then, why, why, why the fuck, at the exact same time the President is talking about death, destruction, and sacrifice in Iraq, would you have Laura Bush leading reporters around the White House for a tour of the expensive, exquisite, and utterly useless decorations there? No, really, and, c'mon, George's speech started at 9:45 a.m. and ended at 10:28 a.m. Laura's "preview" started at 9:58 a.m. and ended at 10:07 a.m. They were thirty miles or so apart in distance. But their voices, oh, their conjoined voices, spoke volumes.

That means that at roughly the point in his speech when the President said, "The terrorists in Iraq share the same ideology as the terrorists who struck the United States on September the 11th. Those terrorists share the same ideology with those who blew up commuters in London and Madrid, murdered tourists in Bali, workers in Riyadh, and guests at a wedding in Amman, Jordan. Just last week, they massacred Iraqi children and their parents at a toy give-away outside an Iraqi hospital," the First Lady was, shit you not, complimenting White House pastry chef Thaddeus DuBois for his gingerbread house (and, truth be told, it is one impressive fucker of a cookie).

It means that when Bush was lying about Iraqi forces leading the assault on Tal-Afar, the First Lady, immaculately dressed and coiffed, told reporters about the food and decorations, "So in a minute all of you are going to get to taste all of [chef]Cris's foods. But I wanted to point out the way we decorated in here with the pears -- the pear collars on the cache-pots and the pink tulips. Everything, again, is fresh and real."

When he was talking about dead soldiers and dreams of victory that'll involve "sacrifice," Laura was describing the art on the White House Christmas card, adding, "Barney and Beazley and our kitty made an appearance on the card"

Let's not belabor a point here - that the very idea of gloating over decorating the White House in a time of war is kinda stomach-churning. But, shit, everyone loves royalty and all its pretty accessories. No, this is about the timing of the two events. It says, in a very clear way, that the Bush White House is divorced from reality, that it's all a fantasy, from the gingerbread White House to the number of Iraqi forces, all one continuum of fantasy and disconnect from any reality.

And the reality was, to be sure, awful, as four more American soldiers and untold numbers of Iraqis died on the same day as Bush was telling us to sacrifice, on the same day that Laura was talking about "the magnificent tree that we have in the Blue Room that's covered with lilies this year." Those lilies may as well have been plucked from the graves of all 2100 American soldiers. It'd make a mighty impressive show on that Christmas tree.

Why David Brooks Needs To Be Forced To Live In a Winnebago on a Wal-Mart Parking Lot:
The conservative columnists at the New York Times span the intellectual spectrum from John Tierney's outright fucktardery to David Brooks's flailing faux rationalism. Tierney is easily dismissed as an idiot - he spent an entire column last month on a "humorous" look at how men and women pack clothes for travel (no, really - be glad you don't have Times Select so you're not subjected to this toilet-level waste) because, you know, there's so little else to write about in the political world.

But Brooks is worth special note for his bizarre, pathetic efforts at cheerleading for the Bush administration. It's sad, really. Reading Brooks, you get nothing so much as the image of a weary old hooker trying to give her fat nude john a hard-on so they can just get it over with. When the best he can manage in his November 20 column, "The Importance of Staying With Iraq," is a lame "[A]lmost all the experts believe that after 18 months of incompetence, the U.S. is getting its act together," you know that Brooks has become a whipped cur, cowering whenever his master calls, unwilling to even remove his tail from between his legs.

Today, Brooks once again attempts a cock fluffing for George Bush and his mighty war. In "The Age of Skepticism," Brooks notes that the American public has become tired and, well, skeptical about the White House's ability to do a goddamn thing about, well, shit, anything: "The chief cultural effect of the Iraq war is that we are now entering a period of skepticism. Many Americans are going to be skeptical that their government can know enough to accomplish large tasks or be competent enough to execute ambitious policies. More people are going to be skeptical of plans to mold reality according to our designs or to solve the deep problems that are rooted in history and culture. They are going to be skeptical of our ability to engage with or understand faraway societies in the Middle East or Africa or elsewhere."

Other things that Brooks cites as results of the growing "skepticism" in America are that "Already the resolve to rebuild New Orleans and seize the post-Katrina moment has dissipated. The bipartisan desire to do something ambitious about energy policy is going nowhere. Even the problem of Darfur evokes little more than sad sighs and shrugs." Brooks tries, desperately, like a mad leprechaun trying to keep his gold in his pot, to make sure that Democrats share blame, citing the single poll where a majority of those questioned said that "criticism of the war" affects morale.

But it's a miserable failure of an argument, for every situation that Brooks mentions is directly traceable to the incompetence, lies, and inaction of the Republicans who are, as we know, we know, fuck, we know, in nearly complete power over everything in DC. If a bipartisan desire or a resolve to rebuild has gone away, then Republicans are reponsible for the breeze shifting. Earlier in the column Brooks says, "There has been a sharp decline in support for the United Nations. There has been a sharp rise in the number of people who say the U.S. should mind its own business when it comes to world affairs. Isolationist sentiment is about where it was just after Vietnam." And he seems to not connect to the reality here: conservatives made the UN into a target. Just as they made skepticism of the government's motives during the Clinton administration a major rhetorical goal. As the Rude Pundit's said before, reap what you sow, motherfuckers, reap what you sow.

So Brooks, in a flourish of sycophantic fervor that'd make Sean Hannity's jaw ache if he tried to attempt it, says that the solution is to win in Iraq: "What's at stake in Iraq is not only the future of that country, but the future of American self-confidence. We may have to endure a cycle of skepticism before we can enjoy another cycle of hope." See? Get it? We gotta stay the course so it can buck us up, little cowpokes. 'Cause, like, nothin' will say hope and sunshine like the constant parade of corpses, the scrolling mount of the body county on yer Fox "News," and an Iraq free to be an Islamic theocracy.

More On the Pro-Torture Newsmax:
Last night, the Rude Pundit pointed the way to conservative "news" site Newsmax (motto: "We're first with the bugfuck insane shit Fox'll be talkin' about next week") and its odious editorial saying that "torture worked" with John McCain when the now-Senator was then a POW being beaten several times a day by the North Vietnamese. Say the gleeful Newsmaxers, "And - as McCain has publicly admitted at least twice - the torture worked!" (And, really, the stupid fuckers use the exclamation point, like they came torrents at the climax of an editorial circle jerk when they figured out this "revelation" of McCain's alleged hypocrisy for calling for an end to U.S. torture policies.)

Problem is, of course, here's what worked: his captors got McCain to sign a statement that, as McCain recalls, "was in their language, and spoke about black crimes, and other generalities." McCain's original statement was rewritten by his "stupid" captors, and even that, he says, "was unacceptable to them." So, like, not only did McCain not reveal anything that, say, helped the North Vietnamese, but it was worthless to the very people torturing him. How, again, does this prove "the torture worked"?

Ahh, there is one way it might have worked: It'd be interesting to find out how the North Vietnamese used McCain's signed statement, because perhaps all that torture, while not giving them anything militarily strategic, did give them a piece of useful propaganda. And, at the end of the day, ain't that all the Bush administration has gotten from its victims?

Here's an e-mail the Rude Pundit received today: "During the Vietnam War, myself and thousands of other servicemen were put through Survival Evasion Resistance & Escape training (SERE). One element of this was a 24 hour stay in a mock POW camp, where we were subjected to coercive techniques in order to give us a taste of the kind of treatment we could expect at the hands of godless communists if we were captured. This included being hooded, subjected to physical assault, shut up in tiny boxes, hyperthermia and, of course, the waterboard.

"You can hold out on the waterboard...for about as long as your breath holds out. Then, cued by the lack of oxygen, the body's autonomic nervous system goes into panic. This is quite different from mind panic, which can be consciously controlled with practice. Body panic is beyond the control of your mind. What the mind is doing is frantically spinning, trying to think of ANYTHING that could be said to make it stop....just for a moment, for a full breath.

"Porter Goss might not 'know' if waterboarding is torture, but thousands of veterans can personally testify that it is exactly that."

So, again, it needs to be said: If you believe that the U.S. has the right to do what it does (whether you wanna call it "torture" or not) to its captives, then you, and Newsmax, believe that Iraqi insurgents, legitimized by the Arab League memorandum, can deprive any captured American soldiers of sleep, that they can be hooded and stripped nude, have cold water thrown on them as they kneel on concrete, beat them, use doctors to discover their exploitable weaknesses, and place their heads under water until they're gagging. If we can do it, then they can do it, no? If you support the Bush adminstration's policies, you support the torture of American soldiers, purely and simply.

The Newsmax "writers" are starved, crazed vipers in a pit that's had a frothing mad warthog tossed in it. They can't slither fast enough to kill it and dine on its salty blood.

Quick Note On Bush's Strategy and Speech:
Apparently, all that's needed for "Victory in Iraq" is a shiny cover on the same old shit.

Newsmax Says Torture Worked On John McCain, So He Should Shut Up About Its Effectiveness:
No, really. The editorial is titled "John McCain: Torture Worked on Me," and oughta be required reading for anyone who thinks these wads of fuck on the conservative side deserve anything more than scorn and bile.

Here's the end: "That McCain broke under torture doesn't make him any less of an American hero. But it does prove he's wrong to claim that harsh interrogation techniques simply don't work." They are lower than the scum under the Rude Pundit's refrigerator. They're the dirt the scum eats to grow.

More on this tomorrow.

Bannin' Books, Kansas-Style:
You need a larf in these tragic times? You need a little political sorbet to cleanse the mental palate as the mindboggling parade of scandals, from Duke Cunningham to more Rove to whatever the fuck is going on with Iraq, starts to get to ya? Then click on over to the website for the Overland Park, Kansas group, "Citizens for Literary Standards in Schools," and get ready to double over, 'cause it's a motherfuckin' blast.

See, the group of parents, which calls itself, it seems, "CLaSS," (or, more, properly, "classKC") wants to bring "decency" back to the required reading materials for students in the Blue Valley district. The coolest part of the site? Why, CLaSS provides a list of offending passages from each of the books it wants banned. No more do the students, hands grimy and unwashed after masturbation, have to underline and giggle at the bad words. CLaSS has done the works for them. Wanna know where the narrator talks about her vagina in Maya Angelou's I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings? CLaSS helpfully provides it.

And, look, CLaSS gives a list of all the dirty words in Tim O'Brien's Going After Cacciato: "bitch, shit, Jesus Christ, fuckin’, bastard, for Christ sake, Jesus, son of a bitch, shitting, fucking, good shit, shit, sorry ass, happy-assed, bad shit, piss tube, shitter, shithead, fucker, dink, gook." Notice the nuance there: "fucking" is different from "fuckin'." It's the kind of post-structuralist ellision of meaning that'd do Gilles Deleuze proud. (And, yes, racism offends CLaSS, but it's certainly an afterthought to a "good shit.") Oh, and CLaSS lists the violence of this novel about, well, fuck, the Vietnam War.

Once upon a time, in a school district in a Southern state, the Rude Pundit's mother was the secretary to the Superintendent of Schools. This was back in the 1970s, when a large majority of citizens actually believed that teachers and educators were best qualified to decide what was the proper way to ensure that students were learning. This was when declaring war on public schools was seen as a product of either fringe ideology or wealthy elitism. Of course, even in these enlightened times, movements would get under way for something that stuck in the craw of the Christian right.

In this case it was a book, Catcher in the Rye, with its copious use of "goddamn" (186 times), its failure to condemn prostitutes, and its six uses of the word "fuck" (numbers courtesy of the CLaSS website), that got the rabble a-rumblin' for its ban from the classrooms of the county. Rude Mom told stories of the Superintendent standing up to the upset parents for he knew this to be true: they did not represent what most of the kids cared about, nor did they represent what the teachers cared about, nor did they represent what most of the parents cared about; they only represented what they cared about, and that was moral purity, man, against all this hippie-influenced open-mindedness. He also knew that to let them get a foot into the door of the classroom was to let them burst in and "fuck" check the libraries of the school district.

The Super stood firm, against protests and angry letters, calls, threats, and more. And the school board backed him, for he stayed Super for the next eight years.

In Kansas, the Blue Valley school district gave in and removed the book that had gotten the whole ball rolling, Tobias Wolff's memoir, This Boy's Life. The act, of course, empowered CLaSS to push for many more exchanges of "bad" books for "good" ones, like ones by Zane Grey, noted proponent of anti-violent conflict resolution, and, of course, by that teacher of good moral values, Mark Twain. So far the exchange has failed.

Of course, the motives of hypocrites and cowards are always easily revealed, and, as ever, the words "values" and "traditional" mean "Christian." 'Cause, like, in no realm of legitimate literary study are the works of, say, Catherine Marshall considered superior to the much-banned Toni Morrison. And, while violence in Vietnam is problemmatic for CLaSS, gore in the Civil and other wars is just dandy (check out the list for all the strangely violent works).

And, oh, ho, ho, we've all had a good liberal laugh at the fuck-tards from Kansas, haven't we? Ah, shit, how much we love ribbin' ol' creation-lovin', book-burnin' Kansas. Then you dig just a little further into the site, and you come across the section on "Blogs." And you read this: "[W]e believe that 'what you let your mind dwell on, you become' and 'garbage in, garbage out' are very apt statements. The profanity, obscenity and vulgarity that our children are bombarded with today from all directions easily become part of their everyday thoughts, conversations and actions. Therefore, classKC has decided to also 'shine the light' on what we believe are the many dangers of teen blogging (in particular, xanga) in our geographic area."

You look over the list of blogs of teenagers, of current and former Blue Valley High School students, and you see that everything is lumped in together, from the blogs of members of the band and cheerleaders and debate club, with the "Niggas In Blue Valley" blog ring, with the alumni blog, and you realize, in the pit of your gut that what the Super also realized long, long ago: it's about thought control, man.

And then the sorbet is done because you connect the fuckin' dots, between the parents of Overland Park, Kansas, the federal government spying on us, even the latest "let-me-see-your-I.D." movement in Miami, and you realize that those kids don't stand a fuckin' chance. 'Cause all they're gonna learn is that power can strip away rights indiscriminately, all under a mad rubric of "protection," from terrorists, from impure thoughts, from each other. And they're gonna learn it's just easier to give in than to fight it.

(Note: link to classKC.org from Americablog. And the Rude Pundit won't link to individual students' blogs - they ain't writin' fer us.)

The Pre-Emptive War Against Christmas:
Yessiree, the Rude Pundit's a-startin' a war against Christmas. Fact is, he feels so threatened by Christmas, with its stockpiles o' evil ornaments of mass destruction, the reindeer o' doom, the candy cane clouds in the sky, and the fruitcake o' sugary death, that he's declarin' a pre-emptive strike on the Happy Holiday o' Christmas. My, my, my, people, for too long we have suffered with Christmas - now it's time for Christmas to do some sufferin'.

First thing the Rude Pundit's gonna do is order in shock n' awe, motherfuckers, shock n' awe - carpet bomb that fuckin' North Pole, man, blow the shit out of the train tracks of the ol' Polar Express, take out that toy factory 'cause it's got elf rape rooms, yeah, you know it, and, aw, shit, sure, there might be some collateral damage of an Esk-i-mo or a polar bear or two takin' one fer the team, but, goddamn, the Rude Pundit wants to blow some Christmas up. That's right, bitches, the Liberal Army of Rudeness is gonna fuck Christmas up.

We got us a deck o' cards, we do, with a bunch of fuckin' elves on 'em, eight motherfuckin' regular reindeer, one goddamn red-nosed one, Mrs. Claus, Jack Frost, motherfuckin' Heat Miser, and the Ace o' Spades hisself, Santa Claus. Yeah, we'll be goin' mall to fuckin' mall, checkin' to make sure each Santa there ain't in disguise. We'll leap through glass roofs of yer food courts, rappel down into the Winter Wonderlands, faux North Poles, and round up everyone in costume, all the little fuckin' photo-takin' helpers, and every mall Santa we can find.

We'll take 'em back to our network of dingy liberal basements and warehouses, strip that fuckin' red suit off those fat, bearded fucks, shave 'em down 'cause it offends their beliefs, use newspaper reprints of "Yes, Virginia" to wipe our asses. We'll strap 'em to boards, shove marsmallows in their mouths, and dip their heads in vats of hot chocolate 'til they're drownin', attach electrodes with jingle bells on 'em to their nutsacks so when they do that shimmy-shake it can sound like we're on a one-horse open-sleigh. We'll keep askin' 'em, over and over, "Where's the real Santa? What's he plannin'? Give us the big fat man and we'll stop fuckin' you with Prancer's femur bone." We'll keep those poor fucks locked up for years, lettin' out only a few whose beards turned out to be fake, whose bellies were pillows, to show we have mercy.

Holy shit, a war on Christmas is gonna be fuckin' fun, man, with everyone starin' at the shiny lights and low prices at a Wal-Mart, thinkin' that the white phosphorus we're droppin' is just snow, snow, let it fuckin' snow. It'll smart, but it'll clear out the lines at the cash registers. Yeah, we'll be goin' into your Marts of Wal, uzis pointed, impalin' everyone who says "Merry Christmas" with a fake pine tree and stringin' 'em up like mistletoe as an example to others. Who's gonna give us a kiss under the corpses of Christmas?

And you might ask, but what about Jesus? Oh, don't worry about that cave-dwellin' motherfucker. He's in the mix still. See, the links between Jesus and Santa are absolutely clear. Santa's just one battle in the war on Christmas. Sure, you may think that Jesus might find Santa an odious commercialization of his holy birth, an anathema to faith, but, man, it's a war on Christmas, motherfuckers, and anyone who's connected with Christmas has gotta go. Yeah, don't you worry. One day, we'll find Jesus. And we'll gut 'em like a fish. 'Cause that's what liberals do. Right? Right?

Why Ann Coulter Is a Cunt, Part 3507:
When the Rude Pundit was a freshman in college, he had a roommate who was an asshole frat guy and the kind of Deadhead who loved the band for the drugs, but was hard-pressed to name a real album by Jerry and the boys beyond Greatest Hits. The Rude Pundit had one request, a simple one, he felt: no dope smoking in the dorm room. It wasn't for any bullshit reasons of morality or fear of the Man; the Rude Pundit, who was not lackin' fer mind-alteration, just didn't want his clothes to smell like pot smoke all day long. The roommate, who regularly dropped acid and snorted coke sittin' on his loft bed or at his desk, though he never attained the state of overdose that would have given the Rude Pundit a private room, could not abide this simple request. Each time it happened, the Rude Pundit would tell him again, a little more angrily, "Dude, c'mon."

Then one day the Rude Pundit walked in after a particularly hard Statistics exam to find the stoned roomie laying on the floor and ashes and roaches all over the Rude Pundit's bed. The Rude Pundit snapped, and he dragged the roommate up and started beating the fuck out of him, tossin' him around like a rag doll, slappin' him in his mohawked head. He was a limp, babbling noodle, tryin' to explain why he'd fucked up the Rude Pundit's bed, but the explanations didn't matter as foot was put to ass: the bed was fucked up and the clothes stunk. It was a pathetic fight, not much of one at all, with the roomie barely able to put up his hands to stop the blows, but you know what? It felt soooo fuckin' good, man, like the first cold beer in a bar in Little Five Points after walkin' through the hot streets of Atlanta on an August day. And it was easy. Just like, well, shit, just like critiquing an Ann Coulter "column." So, c'mon over to the barrel and let's start shootin'.

For in her latest "column" (if by "column," you mean "the blood blots of self-mutilated flesh from a loathsome, foamingly rabid she-wolf on shredded toilet paper"), Coulter packs in so much bullshit about Iraq that you can see the turds slipping through the cracks. It's useless to take on her "argument" that much good has been done through the war because one can't see where the spin and lies stop and the delusion begins.

She even drags out the corpse of the dead connection between Iraq and al-Qaeda and Niger uranium: "As we now know, Saddam Hussein was working with al-Qaida and was trying to acquire long-range missiles from North Korea and enriched uranium from Niger." You may do a double take and think, "Um, forged documents? No real contact?" But you'd be caught then in the web of inference and bugfuck nuttery that is the cuntistry of Ann Coulter. However, shit, since Coulter is the same kind of whoredog for the Bush administration as Bob Woodward and Judith Miller (it's a question of presentation, not degree), here's Donald Rumsfeld to Wolf Blitzer's question about the alleged nexus of swarthy eeevil: "Zarqawi was physically in Baghdad." It's like saying that because you have a toothbrush at your girlfriend's place, you wanna move in. In other words, really, and, c'mon, is that the best you got?

But Coulter's bizarre rah-rahing, like the cheerleader of the damned, continues. She shakes her little pom-poms for all the elections and, in general, behaves as if Iraq is just a car bomb or two away from gettin' all that nasty resistance out of its lil' ol' system.

Then she gets to the real blood and meat of her "argument," that those who advocate for withdrawal, immediate or otherwise, are traitors: "It is simply a fact that Democrats like Murtha are encouraging the Iraqi insurgents when they say the war is going badly and it's time to bring the troops home." So, like, these'd be the same insurgents that Iraqi leaders just declared a legitmate resistance and that U.S. soldiers are legitimate targets? Fuck, encouragement is havin' something to shoot at and blow up. And how does Coulter know that dissent in America gives comfort to the enemy? Why, 'cause former North Vietnamese soldiers, who, you know, would have no reason to sow conflict in the U.S., said that war protesters during the Vietnam War gave them the warm fuzzies.

But once Ann Coulter gets somethin' in her craw, she ain't done with it until she's masticated that fucker with all ten sets of her viperous teeth: "The Democrats are giving aid and comfort to the enemy for no purpose other than giving aid and comfort to the enemy. There is no plausible explanation for the Democrats' behavior other than that they long to see U.S. troops shot, humiliated, and driven from the field of battle." And, most bizarre, she holds Democrats in contempt for voting down the un-debated House Republican stunt bill on immediate withdrawal from Iraq: "They fill the airwaves with treason, but when called to vote on withdrawing troops, disavow their own public statements. These people are not only traitors, they are gutless traitors." Well, fuck it. Take it to its logical conclusion. Round us up and waterboard us, bitch, 'cause we're part of this country, too.

You can dismiss Coulter's mad brain as a belfry filled with those flying rats, but she is the seething evil id of the right, daring others to cross her line. It's sad, too, really, how hard she works to show she's got the biggest balls in the room. For the only thing that pleases the monsters in Ann Coulter's brain, the ones that press her to go further, be more wicked, press more buttons, is more dead, more blood, more bodies, and it doesn't matter whose they are as long as they provide sweet sustenance.

Thanksgiving For the Conquerors:
On this war-torn Thanksgiving, with the possibility of a couple of thousand more bodies being found along the Gulf Coast in the forgotten wreckage of Katrina, let us pause to remember the Narragansett, the Indian tribe that believed something fucked up was happening when the pasty-ass English arrived in Massachusetts. Not only did a deal with the British allow the Puritan-allied Mohegan to tomahawk the Narragansett sachem Miontonimo, but during King Philip's War in 1675, the Narragansett, who had been allied with Philip's Wampanoag people, holed up in a fort in Kingston, Rhode Island. There, an army of 1000 colonial soldiers, along with some Mohegan's, essentially wiped out the Narragansett.

And then they all sat down and ate corn, turkey, and mashed potatoes together. With pie. Everyone loves pie.

Here's the Narragansett Prayer of Thanksgiving:

We walked here once, Grandfather.
These trees, ponds, these springs and streams,
and that big flat rock across the water over there.
We used to meet you over there, remember, Grandfather?
And we would dream, dance, and sing
and after a while, make offerings.
Then we would sing the traveling song and would go our ways
and sometimes we would see your signs on the way to our lodges.
But something happened, Grandfather.
We lost our way somewhere, and everything is going away.
The four leggeds, the trees, springs and streams, even the water,
where the laughing whitefish goes,
and the big sky of many eagles is saying goodbye. Come back, Grandfather, come back!
Thank you, Great Spirit, for all the things that Mother Earth gives!

Eleven Things the Rude Pundit Learned While Getting Fellated By a Catholic Priest:
-- The poor priest seems to believe that being a sucker of cock rather than the one getting his cock sucked allows him to keep his vows.

-- Hard for the priest to hear confession when there's hands on his ears, slamming his holy face home.

-- Harder for the priest to give someone penance when there's a cock in his mouth.

-- Although it feels awfully sweet on the Rude Pundit's urethra when the priest tries to say the "Our Father."

-- Difficult to get stains out of the wool cassock; always wear the cotton/poly blend when you're fellating away.

-- It's distracting to keep hearing the bishop getting blown in the pews.

-- Swinging rosary beads tickle one's balls.

-- The priest likes to think he's eating the body of Christ.

-- The wooden grate of a confession booth is really easy to poke a larger hole through.

-- A man who keeps sucking off little boys is easily impressed.

-- Remember: it's Benedict, not "Been a dick."

Yankee Go Home (In Time For the Midterm Elections):
When the Rude Pundit listened to all the Bush administration officials and Republicans in Congress declaring that timetables for withdrawal of U.S. troops from Iraq were worth about as much as chimp shit in the monkey jungle, he wondered, "What do the Iraqis think about this?" 'Cause, in essence, Republicans were declarin' that the Iraqis are a bunch of pussies who can't handle anything on their own; they are our children, it seems.

Vice President Dick Cheney said as much in his lil' ol' speech to the American Enterprise Institute (motto: "Give us more tax breaks and then go blow some shit up, motherfuckers") yesterday: "In light of the commitments our country has made, and given the stated intentions of the enemy, those who advocate a sudden withdrawal from Iraq should answer a few simple questions: Would the United States and other free nations be better off, or worse off, with Zarqawi, bin Laden, and Zawahiri in control of Iraq?" Now, if the Rude Pundit were an Iraqi, he'd read that to say: "Hey, you semi-dark-skinned savages are such weak little shits that you couldn't hold off an attack by poorly-armed kittens." And, whether or not that's even partly true, it's still pretty fuckin' insulting.

The Rude Pundit wondered what the putatively sovereign Iraqi leadership might have to say about the whole situation. Now they've responded, and the answer is simple: Yankee, go the fuck home. And take your shit with you. And don't worry about the mess you've made - we'll clean it up. Oh, and if Sunni militias use rocket-propelled grenades on your military convoys? That's just legitimate resistance, so stop callin' it terrorism.

This all happened at an Arab League meeting in Cairo where Sunni, Shiite, and Kurdish leaders from Iraq, including the President, agreed to a communique that said, in part, it was time for "the withdrawal of foreign troops according to a timetable, through putting in place an immediate national program to rebuild the armed forces ... control the borders and the security situation."

The agreement also adopted the U.N.'s language about resistance, that it is a nation's right to resist an occupying power. However, in delineating the difference between resistance and terrorism ("Although resistance is a legitimate right of all peoples, terrorism however does not represent legitimate resistance, so we condemn terrorism and acts of violence, murder and kidnapping targeting Iraqi citizens and humanitarian, civil, government institutions, national resources and houses of worships"), what becomes pretty explicitly clear is that it's okay to fuck with the Yankees in uniform.

There's a couple of ways to see this: one would be a kind of "in-yer-fookin'-gob" to the Republicans for condemning anyone seeking withdrawal from Iraq, and that way feels so goddamn good, like a nice, round titty in your mouth. And chances are that some Republicans will be the kind of parents who can't let go of their kids, a kind of pat on the head reaction, like "Oh, it's so cute that you wanna be left at home without a babysitter, but we're sure you'll set the house on fire if we do that."

But then there's the bad side of the good of the Arab League statement on withdrawal (other than the whole "it's-okay-to-blow-up-American-soldiers" thing): that the Bush administration has an out now. They can say, "Well, fuck, they wanted us to go, so we left." And when can that happen? Shit, Jack Murtha knows the score when he told Wolf Blitzer yesterday that by next year's Congressional midterms, "I would say most of them would be out of there. They could have them all out of there."

That's the timetable suggested by the Iraqi Interior Minister, Bayan Jabr, when he said, "By the middle of next year we will be 75 percent done in building our forces and by the end of next year it will be fully ready."

Now, the Rude Pundit's no conspiracy theorist. He believes more in coincidence and chaos than design, intelligent or stupid. But, man, Karl Rove could not have planned a better timetable for flag-wavin' parades down Main Street.

Wolf Blitzer Bitch Slaps Donald Rumsfeld:
Fuck last night's bullshit Larry King interview with disgraced White House tool and ersatz "journalist" Bob Woodward. Instead, read Rummy's squirmin' blatherings as Blitzer tries to corner the Defense Secretary by doing what Dick Cheney said should be done: throwing his words right back at him.

A Brief Look At How We Got To Where We Are In the Debate About Iraq:
Let us say, and why not, that you're a gay guy, and you've just started dating another dude. Call him "Jake" (if you want to be au courant, you can call yourself "Heath"). You've gone out for a couple of nights: dancin' with friends, dinner with just the two of you. And Jake, who's just fuckin' ripped and looks like he's got a package marked "Special Delivery," has told you on several occasions about how great a cock he has. But you, man, you're playin' a little hard to get, havin' been burned before on the hot cock with no balls behind it. Still and all, you end up back at your place, and Jake asks you, "Would you like to see my cock?" You question the meaning of that sentence, being coy. Jake says, "If you see my cock, we're gonna wanna do something with it." You agree. Yes, let's see this cock.

And so Jake unzips and takes out his cock. And it's a pretty magnificent cock - an impressive show of shape, girth, and length. Jake says, "Is my cock not splendiferous?" Yes, you say, it is. "Now that you've seen my cock, can we agree that we're going to do something with it?" Oh, most certainly, you say. And there you are: Jake's got his cock out and you both know that with his cock on display, well, there's a whole smorgasbord of possibilities of what you can do with Jake's cock. When you tell Jake you'd like to take a closer look, Jake says, "Okay, but it's a cock. What else do you need to know?" And you're thinking about the things you'd like to do with that cock: you're thinking about moving cautiously - perhaps fondling the cock for a while, cupping Jake's shaved balls (which have popped out with the cock), maybe then move on to putting the tip of the shaft in your mouth, gently before pulling it in deeply, to the back of your throat. Yes, there's paths that can allow you comfort with Jake's cock and that'll surely accomplish what Jake wants, which is sweet semen release.

But Jake's got other ideas. He takes you and forces you face down on your futon, yanking your D&G jeans to your ankles, pulling your boxer briefs with it. Then Jake slams that cock again and again into your asshole until you can receive it all. You're confused at first, as your head bounces precipitously close to the arm of the futon frame. Sure, you're down with the ass fucking, but no, this isn't what you wanted now. You weren't ready. You thought you could both agree on the terms of what was good cock usage and the timing of it. You tell Jake to stop. Jake says he's not gonna. You tell him again to stop. Jake says he ain't stoppin' until he's done.

You try to fight Jake off you, but those pecs just ain't for show, and Jake holds you down, telling you that you agreed that you'd both do something with his cock and you'll leave him all blue balled if he stops now. No, you shout, that didn't mean you gave him the authority to fuck you in the ass, that he's raping you. "Bullshit," Jake says, "And it's reprehensible to accuse me of raping you now" as he thrusts even harder. No, you insist, it's rape. "Look," says Jake, "we can argue about whether or not I'm raping you or not but the fact of the matter is, I'm gonna keep fuckin' you, so why don't you stop whining and enjoy it." Jake won't stop raping you 'cause as far as Jake's concerned, you gave him a blank check, and he's cashin' that motherfucker large. You, on the other hand, can't take back what you've already said, but you can sure as shit say it was a mistake to say it and that Jake got it wrong. The question is simply what's it gonna take for Jake to listen.

When Donald Rumsfeld says of leaving Iraq, "[T]he important question is ask yourself what the world would look like if we pulled out precipitously," when Dick Cheney says, "Some of the most irresponsible comments have come from politicians who actually voted in favor of authorizing the use of force against Saddam Hussein," when George Bush says of Iraq, "[L]eaving prematurely will have terrible consequences, for our own security and for the Iraqi people. And that's not going to happen so long as I'm the President," what they're really saying is that they're gonna go on with the rape, of America, of Iraq, as long as they goddamn well please and you pussies can do fuck-all to stop them.

Murtha Was Right About the War Back In 2002:
Check out this article from the September 24, 2002 edition of USA Today, also reprinted (sans attribution) at Veterans For Common Sense. Seems that crazy ass traitor Representative Jack Murtha was offering advice and warnings about the rush to war back then. Can we get a shout out for consistency? Can we get these quotes out there as the pre-war attitude of Democrats?

Congressman who led the charge in '91 hangs back for now
by Kathy Kiely

WASHINGTON -- In 1991, John Murtha helped lead the charge on Capitol Hill for war with Iraq. This year, the Pennsylvania congressman is among the doubters.


Eleven years ago, Murtha was one of the first President Bush's chief Democratic supporters in the effort to win congressional approval for plans to take on Saddam Hussein. He was a member of the president's inner council, advising Bush and his aides on congressional strategy. It was a role that put Murtha at odds with the leaders of his own party.


Today, the powerful backroom dealmaker finds himself in an even more politically lonely position: questioning a war-powers resolution that even most Democratic leaders seem reluctant to oppose. "All of us want to get rid of Saddam," Murtha says. But he believes that the younger Bush "went about it the wrong way."


Bush's father "had his coalition built before he came to Congress," Murtha says. As a result, most of the first Persian Gulf War's cost was shared by U.S. allies. Those nations shouldered more than $ 53 billion of the $ 61 billion war burden, according to the White House budget office.


This time, "it will all be expended by the United States," says Murtha, the top-ranking Democrat on the House panel that funds the Pentagon. He says another war with Iraq will cost at least $ 50 billion. Other estimates say the price could rise as high as $ 200 billion.


Murtha's concerns are all the more striking given his impeccably hawkish credentials. Murtha, 70, is one of the military's best friends on Capitol Hill. He's also one of the few lawmakers who has experienced ground combat firsthand, which is one reason his views command so much respect. Murtha enlisted in the Marines during the Korean War, then volunteered for another two-year stint in Vietnam.


His western Pennsylvania district suffered more casualties than any other in the Gulf War he supported. A Greensburg, Pa., reserve unit, assigned to water-purification duties, was hit by a Scud missile that killed 28 soldiers.


"One guy lived a block away from me," Murtha says. Another casualty he remembers: a young woman who was called up for duty just as she was about to enroll in college, the first member of her family to do so.


Murtha says a key reason for questioning a second Iraq war is strategic. He's worried that it will cost the United States not only money and lives, but also important allies. By moving without international support, Bush could alienate Arab allies, and "we could lose access to the intelligence we need to fight the war on terrorism," he says.


However, as a veteran of wars both legislative and literal, Murtha is puzzled by all the bellicose talk in Washington. Fewer than one-third of members of Congress are veterans; the percentage was more than double that when Murtha arrived on Capitol Hill 30 years ago. He thinks that makes a difference. "I have found that the guys who haven't been there are more likely to vote to go to war," he says.


Nothing he has seen in intelligence reports has convinced him that Bush needs to rush through a resolution, Murtha says. Even so, he has not yet decided how he will vote. Although he has doubts about the president's plans, Murtha says he's reluctant to leave his commander-in-chief isolated in the face of the international community.


"I don't know whether it was intentional or not, but he has put the country in such a box," Murtha says. "He can say, 'You'll undercut me if you don't vote for this resolution.' "


The casualties could be much higher this time, particularly if there is "street-by-street" fighting in Baghdad, Murtha says. But he has no doubts about who will win: "We do have adequate military force to pull this off."

Republicans To America: We Wish To Kill Your Children:
Hey, here's an idea: let's just cut to the fuckin' chase here. Let's just give Republicans pistols, say, a Glock 30 - compact, easy to conceal, simple loading - really, any Republican worth his or her salt ought to own one of these babies. And then just set the Republicans free to go house to house to start the killin' spree. Some of 'em will drag out members of the military residing in each home.

Howzabout lettin' David Dreier do that? That way he can continue to deny he's queer, right? Right? And Dreier, who yesterday in response to Democrat Jack Murtha's call to get out of Iraq, said, "I believe that it would be an absolute mistake and a real insult to the lives that have been lost and those today who are continuing this struggle for freedom if we were to withdraw." Dreier can get goons accompanying him to drag some twentysomething piece of trailer trash who signed up for the National Guard to get a little extra scratch and a benefit or two out of the double-wide and put three bullets into his skull. And then move on to the next trailer, the next house.

Dennis Hastert, who said of Murtha and others who believe in withdrawal, "They would prefer that the United States surrender to the terrorists who would harm innocent Americans. To add insult to injury, this is done while the President is on foreign soil...They want us to wave the white flag of surrender to the terrorists of the world," can do what he so deeply desires in the sweaty folds of his corpulence: he can just walk right into the home of an Army corporal and, in front of her children and husband, pump that Glock like a cock, puttin' her to rest. It's easy, see? And it doesn't even require that she's sent to Iraq.

And it can spread from there, the Republican murder rampage, for, surely, they do not only wish death upon the men and women in uniform. House Budget Committee Chairman Jim Nussle can saunter into a housing project in Dubuque, Iowa and take all the food out of the kitchen of some single mom's dumpy apartment and burn that shit. Then, as he shoots each of her three kids, he can tell the mom that it's easier this way, now that he's led the charge to cut food stamps and Medicaid. He can say to the sobbing mother, "This unchecked spending is growing faster than our economy, faster than inflation, and far beyond our means to sustain it," adding that of course her children can no longer live because otherwise Republicans would have to actually allow some taxes to continue and, as Nussle said, "The death tax is fundamentally unjust because it results in double taxation." Surely, this will comfort the grieving, blood-coated mother as Nussle, whistling "God Bless America" to himself, saunters over to the next dumpy apartment.

Yep, Republicans wandering the nation, loaded Glocks holstered, in purses, in pockets, can simply make the statement that each and everyone of their policies, on Iraq, on the budget, on global warming, on so much more, is making: we want you fuckers dead. And if we can't experience the sublime pleasure of actually walking into your houses and shooting you in the face, we'll do it slowly, incrementally, until, really, there's no one left but us and our families behind a walled fortress, and then, ah, sweet, what a glorious nation it will be.

'Cause, see, what Jack Murtha said yesterday was that he wants Americans to live, to survive: "They don't deserve to continue to suffer. They're the targets." And Democrats in the Congress who opposed the cruel budget cuts (and it's still a savage budget, even after the "compromise") are making the simple statement that people deserve to stay alive.

No, no, the Republicans say, as they pass out the loaded Glocks, the war, the cuts, it's for the good of the nation, the good of America. Then they cock those fuckers and head down the steps of the Capitol for there's only so much time before the Congressional session ends.

Late Day Correction: An earlier version of this post contained the gun name "Glock .30," as if it was a .30 caliber. As frightening poin' and rude reader Chet says, there's very few .30 caliber guns. However, the Rude Pundit meant the Glock 30, a .45 caliber, perfectly capable of fulfilling all of the Republicans' citizen-shootin' needs.

Dick Cheney Rises and Slimes:
The viscous, shit-smelling goo that forms the life ooze of netherworld evil that pollutes the soil of the earth once again shifted itself into the shape of Vice President Dick Cheney yesterday when it opened its horrible maw and spat forth at the Ronald Reagan Gala of the Frontiers of Freedom Institute. This'd be the same group that, in its recent "Freedom Report," said of war protesters and others who dissent with the Bush administration, "Who benefits from this constitutionally protected, but irresponsible speech? The terrorists and their recruiters."

The Vice President slouched to the dais to honor former Wyoming Senator Malcolm Wallop, crazed dog founder of the FFI, who said in an interview, "The concept of minimum wage is crazy, if you really stop to think about it. If $8 an hour seems right, why not $20 an hour? If it's coming by order of the government, why stop at any level? Why not just say everyone should get what Gates gets?" and other bugfuck insane shit.

Waving his barely defined arm, staring at the crowd in that half sneer, half smirk, all contempt look on his face, seeming for all the world like a constipated Sidney Greenstreet in a penguin suit, the tuxedoed Cheney held forth about Democrats who dare to ask the Bush administration to explain how it came to its rationales for war. Fortified with a dinner of sweet poppy-encrusted Afghani children and utensils made from phosphorus-cleaned bones of former citizens of Fallujah, Cheney spat, "[T]he suggestion that's been made by some U.S. senators that the President of the United States or any member of this administration purposely misled the American people on pre-war intelligence is one of the most dishonest and reprehensible charges ever aired in this city." Oh, how the gathered conservatives applauded this show of force against Harry Reid and others, how they handjobbed and fingerfucked each other under the tables, wiping themselves with napkins made from the skins of desert-dried illegal immigrants who failed to make the big crossing.

Then Cheney, sipping Syrian blood from a crystal wine glass, continued, "What we’re hearing now is some politicians contradicting their own statements and making a play for political advantage in the middle of a war. The saddest part is that our people in uniform have been subjected to these cynical and pernicious falsehoods day in and day out. American soldiers and Marines are out there every day in dangerous conditions and desert temperatures –- conducting raids, training Iraqi forces, countering attacks, seizing weapons, and capturing killers –- and back home a few opportunists are suggesting they were sent into battle for a lie."

He promised to "throw their words back at them," and then he promised to make sure more American soldiers die in Iraq: "They and their families can be certain that this cause is right and just, and the performance of our military has been brave and honorable. And this nation will stand behind our fighting forces with pride and without wavering until the day of victory."

Upon being told of these remarks by Wolf Blitzer, Nancy Pelosi slammed back, "Let me just say this about the vice president -- and again, all due respect to his office. Almost everything he has said to the American people has not been accurate. Just because he says it doesn't make it so. And there are pages, pages of statements that he has made that have been factually incorrect. So it's interesting that he's taking this tact. It's not surprising."

Let us not leave out Wallop himself, whose remarks on that fine Wednesday evening included an attempt to take the blackness away from Rosa Parks. Speaking against hyphenate racial and ethnic identity in America, Wallop said, "Did we not see a spectacular example of that a couple of weeks ago when Rosa Parks lay in state in the Capitol? She lay in state not as an AFRICAN AMERICAN but as a true American heroine whose quiet dignity and courage expanded the freedom of each of us. She was recognized not for her race but for her defense of liberty. No hyphens here. Only her national stature, earned in front of us all, brought the thousands of Americans by to celebrate her life." Except, you know, of course, for the fact that had she not been African American, she wouldn't have had to defend her liberty.

Cheney smiled as Wallop held forth, bloviating about reducing the size of government, saying, "The public educational system is also stripping us of civilization" and "Prayer has been banished from schools, abortion imposed, criminals empowered and lewdness been made normal against the common sense of the country" and so much bonkers nonsense that you thought it was 1985 all over again.

And when it was over, Cheney was whisked away where he could give off his shape, melt back into the pool of vile, gelatinous savagery that is his true form, and be stored away until he is needed again.

Gang-Raping Liberty:
Once upon a time, the Rude Pundit was called upon to plan a bachelor party, and he was challenged by the groom to make it a "wild, end of my single days" bash. So, being the good party planner, he rented a house for the evening and hired a stripper to come out and entertain the troops at the house, figuring that titties in private is better than titties in public. The party went off without a hitch, with the crazed wedding party males going berzerker and tearing up all the houseplants in the rented space, with so much beer and scotch and whatever downed that people were pukin' in the icebox, in the fish tank, everywhere they thought pukin' would be funny. There was porn goin' on the different televisions around the place. The Rude Pundit stayed sober, outside the decadence, figuring someone needed to be able to, say, drive if called upon. For the most part, he was an observer, bemusedly watching the decadence.

Then it was time for the stripper, and, man, she was good. She shook her titties in everyone's faces and shoved her kooz up and down, back and forth on the crotch of the nearly disabled-drunk groom. It was all well and good, since if the completely fucked-up groom had gotten a hard-on, he'd've been like unto a mad god of erections. When she started pantsing the groom and humpin' him on his underwear, the Rude Pundit heard a rumble begin to go through the crowd of horny, drunk, doped-up, jacked-up-on-porn asshole guys: if she reaches into his Fruit of the Looms, it means she wants a gang bang, it means she wants to be fucked backwards, forwards, by a train, man. The assholes began to lean in to the center area where the stripper fantasy fucked the groom, who was nearly passed out.

When you know such things are about to occur, when you realize that violence and rape are going to rear their ugly heads, you are left with precious few options. You can jump in and join the fun. You can walk away, deciding, "Fuck it. Not my crime, not my business." Or you can put a stop to it.

Americans from members of Congress down to Jimmy Nascar Fuckmydaughter are making that decision now. With the growing horrible understanding of just what exactly is happening in this country, to this country, by this country, there's an understanding of one's own complicity in the degradation of the nation. Unfortunately, the Republicans in Congress still wanna either jump in or walk away as the Bush adminstration continues its prolonged gang rape of the body politic, its savage sodomizing of the ass of Lady Justice, its unbelievably vicious fucking of Lady Liberty's sweet face, all the while making the Founders of the nation watch, aghast, as the Bush adminstration gleefully sports its hooked demon cock so as to tear the flesh of those it rapes.

But more and more, the choice of the vast majority of Americans, a real mandate, is that this must end. That we've sat on the sidelines long enough. That those responsible must not only be told to stop, but they must be thrown against a wall, that they must be excised like a cancerous tumor, hoping and praying that it's not too late, it's not too late, to cease this before it drags us all down. And that those who enable it are complicit in the rape even if they keep their dicks in their pockets.

Back at the bachelor party, the Rude Pundit stopped the music. He headed into the middle of the circle and let the stripper take a bow before putting a robe around her and leading her away, quickly gettin' her dressed and drivin' her back to the strip club. He wondered if, when he returned, the boner-sportin' partygoers would have fucked the prone groom, but the only rage that had ensued was that one of the party boys, no doubt in a mixture of mitigated lust and coke, head-butted a hole in the wall and sat there bleeding, demi-erect cock still throbbing through his jeans. And half the group had left to potentially kill people on the road and the other half were sittin' silently, watchin' porn, waitin' to go home to jack off.

No, it wasn't exactly heroic, but no one was harmed that didn't have it coming.