Why has no one been commenting on this blog in the past few days? Have my entries become so banal? Or is it the smarmy new profile photo that turns you away? I feel so rejected! Sniff!
Maybe this’ll bring y’all back. My cousin Ajay sends us this blog that we sort of enjoy, mostly because the writer talks about poop a lot.
No? Then how about news that Bill Maher is at it again. Maher, of course, lost his TV show after he dared suggest that terrorists are not cowardly. (They’re not, by the way.) And now the blowhards are on him again because he had the nerve to say (about army recruitment), “We’ve done picked all the low-lying Lynndie England fruit, and now we need warm bodies.” Ay ay ay.
For those of you eager to remain current in today’s fast changing world of coolness and language, I give you the online ebonics tutorial. Word!
Meanwhile it seems the next Survivor will be filmed among the Mayan ruins of Tikal in Guatemala. Long time Deonandites will note that I and my family have spent much time among those ruins (photos here and here). It ain’t that remote or stressful. The hardest thing will eb warding off the jaguars and lugging water. Pisses me off, though, that a TV show will be shot at a World Heritage Site for non-educational purposes. Still, you know I’ll be watching.
Check this out. It’s a computer reconstruction of what King Tut probably looked like! Looks like somebody’s prison bitch.
Darth Vadum sends us this film about how George Bush gets his speeches.
And finally someone (mind you, it’s Ralph Nader) puts forward a structure for impeaching the imbecile George Bush!
So Deepthroat was FBI honcho Mark Felt. Bit of an anti-climax, no? I was hoping it would be Pat Buchanan or Dianne Sawyer, though Woodward and Bernstein had long ago confirmed that their shadowy source was indeed a man, and neither Sawyer nor Buchanan qualify on that count.
I’m pissed at this story. Why? Because it was poorly produced. Felt should have gone to “Woodstein” with his intention to go public, then let the Washington Post string out the annoucement with a series of teasers, culminating with a prime-time TV exclusive. Everyone would have made a lot more money (which is apparently the reason Felt decided to go public) and we all would have been happily caught up in the hype. I feel cheated out of some good old fashioned hype. I could have blogged about this for days leading up to the actual announcement! I feel so, so cheated.
Now, instead of story of the year, Felt’s confession will be off the front pages by the end of the week, a sad and meaningless postscript to perhaps the greatest journalism story of all time.
Meanwhile, remember everyone’s favourite ingler, Jessica Cutler the “Washingtonienne“? Well, her book is finally out. It’s a standard roman-a-clef, which means its fictionalized content is nonetheless reflective of Cutler’s actual sordid sex life. If some generous soul out there wishes to express his or her gratitude for my many years of entertaining blogging, feel free to buy me a copy.
(See, when Cutler’s identity was revealed, that was a great media moment. Felt’s announcement, while historically important, was a feeble and empty PR event in comparison.)
Toronto superbabe Natalie Glebova is the new Miss Universe. Personally, I think it’s rigged: every year, without exception, the winner is from Planet Earth.
Anyone else see the grand series finale of Star Trek: Enterprise called “These Are The Voyages”? Man, what a steaming turd of a show. In fact, turds would make better viewing. I would say I could pull a better script out of my ass, but then I’d be taking this whole fecal allusion too far. But images of shit are what dance about one’s brain when watching this flushable collection of dramatized excreta.
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