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Bush Slips the Court a BigotJanuary 19, 2004 |
Washington, D.C. Snapper McGee The president plays a relaxing game of "Finger the Racist" with Judge Charles Pickering (right), victim/perpetrator of discrimination.
Choosing to bypass confirmation, a candidate named by recess appointment will not need to be confirmed for the position until January 2005, which is fine for Pickering if Bush blusters his way back into office, not so fine if he's ran out of town on an electoral rail. Pickering and five other nominees for court positions have been the focus of an ire-filled debate between Democrats and Republicans as one accuses the other of doing things most Americans wouldn't approve of if they cared.
Pi...
n an unapologetic display of mortal hubris, monkeyesque president George W. Bush took the road less respected by using a little-known process known as "recess appointment" to install accused racist and anti-abortion fanatic Judge Charles Pickering to the federal appeals court.
Choosing to bypass confirmation, a candidate named by recess appointment will not need to be confirmed for the position until January 2005, which is fine for Pickering if Bush blusters his way back into office, not so fine if he's ran out of town on an electoral rail. Pickering and five other nominees for court positions have been the focus of an ire-filled debate between Democrats and Republicans as one accuses the other of doing things most Americans wouldn't approve of if they cared.
Pickering's stellar record includes a history of supporting an amendment to ban abortion, several reversals on decisions made in his court, tendencies to reduce protection of an individual's right to vote, and verbally chiding those who seek protection for civil rights in cases of race discrimination. The judge also has a history as a young man of supporting segregationist politics, and was coincidentally appointed by Bush the weekend before the federal Martin Luther King Jr. holiday.
Fellow Mississippian, Sen. Trent Lott, forced to step down in 2002 after showing support for late Sen. Strom Thurmond's early segregationist presidential candidacy, supported Pickering's appointment.
"I don't see nothing wrong with it no-how," said Lott at his comfortable Washington D.C. retreat, throwing a few more crosses on the fire. "I believe the nation is a better place now that Charlie's on the court."
Finding liberal outrage at a disgustingly reserved level, Bush accused Democrats and those who opposed Pickering's nomination of discrimination against the widely-accused bigot.
"This is the worst kind of discrimination—against white people," said the president. "The Democrats are guilty of what they done accused Judge Pickering of. They are biased. Against religious people, against Southerners, and against white bigots everywhere. For shame, Democrats. Hate-mongers."
Democrats were dismayed at the accusation, and responded late Friday: "No, seriously, you got to be shitting us."
The president replied later in the day that he was indeed not shitting them.
"Sure, Democrats believe the nation should be equally represented, when it's equally represented by people all in favor of equality," slurred Bush, possibly drunk on rye whiskey. "Just you try to be a white man who wants all blacks segregated and stripped of their voting rights. Then you find out who the real minority in this country is. And if you're a good ol' boy from a state with a history of state-supported racism who also has serious issues with women and rolling back pro-choice politics, throw into that you want to abolish the separation of church and state, then all of a sudden you find out who really wants equality. Not you—and definitely not the Democrats."
Representatives of the Democratic party could not be reached for further comment, but insiders say they were anxious to find out if Bush was really shitting them or not. the commune news is all for segregation, but wish to clarify right now we mean we would like all white supremacists and bigots segregated from us and sent back to wherever they came from, or possibly Africa, just for laughs. Mordecai "Three-Finger" Brown, once a prominent ballplayer, has been subject of a recess appointment to pitcher in his corporeal absence.
 |  Merck: "Crazy-Ass Brazil Giving AIDS Drugs to People With No Money"
GOP strikes back at filibusters by installing Laz-E-Boys on Senate floor
Flash ad obscures pop-up ad in online advertising clusterfuck
Howard Dean happy to be able to holler again
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Senator Wins Lottery, Quits "Shitty Job" epublican Senator Judd Gregg finally ran into a big steaming pile of luck Wednesday when he matched 5 of 6 Powerball numbers and won a lottery jackpot of $853,492. Gregg immediately called Vice-President Dick Cheney to let his boss know he would not be coming into work. “It’s about friggin’ time I got some good luck,” Gregg told reporters in front of his home in his home state of New Hampshire. Gregg waved his winning ticket in the air frantically and laughed. “Eat it, taxpayers! I’m gonna be my own boss from now on!” Gregg, who chairs the Senate Budget Committee and spent more than $2 million in his last re-election campaign, did admit to some sour grapes in not winning the $340 million jackpot won by an Oregon player in the same lottery. the commune's Fall Gadget Guide t’s almost the time of year to start pretending you’re Christmas shopping while you look for swanky new shit for yourself, and the commune is there for you with our first-ever annual Fall Gadget Guide. Join commune Tech Correspondent Mitch Kroeger as he guides you through the bewildering wilderness of the new and the shiny. “Female Sex Patch” Nothing But Dermal Tequila Shooters Constipation Drug Pulled; Results Not Shitty Enough |
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 October 1, 2001
Rubber Ain't My BrotherTime to set the record straight, Pop'n Fresh. Who's in the kitchen with Dinah? Neddikins Nedmiller, them's the cat! Surprise! Long time this mystery puzzled them noodles of them noodle-headed school marmots. "Whoozit?" they askin. "Whoozat strummin that banjo?". Sure ain't Poor Henry, nor Lonesome Tom, them out trappin' coons! Sures ain't Fat Teddy Wedkins, him out eatin' pies offa windowsills. Ain't neither Ralf the cat-eater nor Surly Joe, them went to town for the bark-strippin contest. "Whoosat leave left?" them melon-headed childrens askin. "Who's in that kitchen we know?". Well the time's up, you paint-eatin' imbeciles, and Neddy's left holdin the banjo. You all owe me a nickel.
Summertime's the time Ned likes to strap on a pair of latex jogging trunks and hit the slopes, them Korean bastards took Ned's tonsils in the great war. Rub-a-dub-dub there's a shark in my tub, that's what I always say! Memorial Day's the time to remembrin all them things you never remembered, like gettin' your porcupine sharpened or where you left your mother that cold wintry day. Veteran's day's the time when you take your horse in to get his elbows checked for white dwarfs, that's the day.
Newsflash! Sub sandwiches float! Jig's up, Kruschiev!
When Nedinski was six years old of the equinox, his momma take him out in the deep woods of them black forest to teach him 'bout them magic-talkin tree midgets. Ned learn that day 'bout the city of them trees, and them...
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Time to set the record straight, Pop'n Fresh. Who's in the kitchen with Dinah? Neddikins Nedmiller, them's the cat! Surprise! Long time this mystery puzzled them noodles of them noodle-headed school marmots. "Whoozit?" they askin. "Whoozat strummin that banjo?". Sure ain't Poor Henry, nor Lonesome Tom, them out trappin' coons! Sures ain't Fat Teddy Wedkins, him out eatin' pies offa windowsills. Ain't neither Ralf the cat-eater nor Surly Joe, them went to town for the bark-strippin contest. "Whoosat leave left?" them melon-headed childrens askin. "Who's in that kitchen we know?". Well the time's up, you paint-eatin' imbeciles, and Neddy's left holdin the banjo. You all owe me a nickel. Summertime's the time Ned likes to strap on a pair of latex jogging trunks and hit the slopes, them Korean bastards took Ned's tonsils in the great war. Rub-a-dub-dub there's a shark in my tub, that's what I always say! Memorial Day's the time to remembrin all them things you never remembered, like gettin' your porcupine sharpened or where you left your mother that cold wintry day. Veteran's day's the time when you take your horse in to get his elbows checked for white dwarfs, that's the day. Newsflash! Sub sandwiches float! Jig's up, Kruschiev! When Nedinski was six years old of the equinox, his momma take him out in the deep woods of them black forest to teach him 'bout them magic-talkin tree midgets. Ned learn that day 'bout the city of them trees, and them midgets who frolic and play there with them tree rats, and them scream like freight trains and fling their scat like Sandy Kofax when they're sad. Ned learn that day not to make the tree midgets sad, so today he passes that wisdom on to you. Don't make them tree midgets sad. Ned remember them summertimes when he was knee-high to a boa constrictor, runnin' round in the yard like a Chinaman celebratin' China Day. None of them neighborhood families had money for none of them Water Witch lawn toys or no Crazy Clown neither, so Neddy and his buddies Ron-Ron and The Gooch would tie the garden hose to that epo-leptic kid Stanley and chase him 'round with flashlights, turning 'em on and off an off an on until he'd start doin' the 'lectric wiggle like a honeybee mappin' out the way to the treasure. Then we frolic and play in the water, til them vultures start to circle overhead. That's when it's time for some chocolate milk 'n grape nuts, by gum. Summertime's also the time for them eye-bogglin' great scientific advances, like Nedmiller's beach catapault. Nothin' quite matched the joy wrapped up inna small boy's scream as he's rocketed out of his swim jimmies and kerplunked into the ocean 'bout a quarter mile out to sea. Also works for family dogs, too, but warning: NASA loses their sense of humor faster than a jellyfish in a weasel condom when they pick up flying schnauzer formations on their radarmascope. This year Nedrums is workin' on his sister-invention, the sea-catapault! Doublin' the pleasure 'n fun when you see sharks and manta rays and small whales flung up onto the beach and highway! Hot damn! Back to the lab with Neddington P. Bear! Lotsa hours to spend, wrappin' malamutes in apple cores and Polydent, and checkin' the summer sausage for a hernia. I hope the best to you and yours with your summer projects, and may all your hornet's nests be kosher! TTFN! º Last Column: Lost My Way on the Slow Gray Trainº more columns
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|  May 13, 2002
You and Me are TurkeysThere are way too many states these days. When I was a kid, we had four: New York, Georgia, Beezlefromt and Indiana. Indiana was everything west of Georgia, where the Indians lived. Beezlefromt was a big green state that got bought out by the Japanese. It ain't around no more, and you can kiss it goodbye. If you want to take you and your family on a vacation to Beezlefromt, you'd best get yourself some tickets on the U.S.S. Ain't Gonna Happen.
Nowadays, seems like everybody and their sister has to have their own state. Cecil P. Washington, both Carolines, Floridiots, Kansans. Then a bunch of them Kansans went and got themselves kicked on out of Kansas for whistlin' Dixie and had to start their own state, callin' in "Ar-kansas," since it was Kansas done up their own way. We got to keep on dolin' out states to keep everybody happy. The deaf, the dumb, the ornery… not to mention folks from Chicago! Why don't we hand out two Dakotas while we're feelin' generous? That was a sarcasm.
Never there was a country who done well in history havin' more than four states. Just look at the Turkeys. Once was the day when Turkey was the biggest nation on dry land. Then they went and kicked the bridesmaid in the cherry by splitting it all up into four hundred states, one for each Turkeyan who threw a dollar in the pot. At the time it seemed like a zipper of an idea, four hundred bucks back then was more than what it cost to pave a street with live humans. But before...
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There are way too many states these days. When I was a kid, we had four: New York, Georgia, Beezlefromt and Indiana. Indiana was everything west of Georgia, where the Indians lived. Beezlefromt was a big green state that got bought out by the Japanese. It ain't around no more, and you can kiss it goodbye. If you want to take you and your family on a vacation to Beezlefromt, you'd best get yourself some tickets on the U.S.S. Ain't Gonna Happen.
Nowadays, seems like everybody and their sister has to have their own state. Cecil P. Washington, both Carolines, Floridiots, Kansans. Then a bunch of them Kansans went and got themselves kicked on out of Kansas for whistlin' Dixie and had to start their own state, callin' in "Ar-kansas," since it was Kansas done up their own way. We got to keep on dolin' out states to keep everybody happy. The deaf, the dumb, the ornery… not to mention folks from Chicago! Why don't we hand out two Dakotas while we're feelin' generous? That was a sarcasm.
Never there was a country who done well in history havin' more than four states. Just look at the Turkeys. Once was the day when Turkey was the biggest nation on dry land. Then they went and kicked the bridesmaid in the cherry by splitting it all up into four hundred states, one for each Turkeyan who threw a dollar in the pot. At the time it seemed like a zipper of an idea, four hundred bucks back then was more than what it cost to pave a street with live humans. But before a year was out the Turkey Empire fell into ruin and the world laughed at them by naming after them a stupid bird.
Yet are we too foolish and proud to learn the lesson of the Turkeys? Apparently so, because every time I turn around we've gone and baked up another state. Maine! Maine ain't a state any more than is the left half of my ass. A friend of mine once spit across Maine when he was in a showin-off kind of mood. Maine's a place you look when you can't find your car keys, and that don't make it a state.
Before we head too far down the wrong road in the devil's mule-cart, we'd best lay down some rules about what does and what don't make a state. Stand a little closer and some of that smart might rub off on you. Here's one for ya: If it rains, it ain't a state. We can't be awarding every little stretch of wilderness stateship now, can we? It's time to buckle down. Got crows? Ain't a state in my book. Corn grows there? See ya later, not-a-stater. Sun gets in your eyes? Sorry, but you're just not state material.
Throw enough of these freeloading states out of the union and you'll start to see some others clean up their act, marker my words. New Mexico? Who exactly do they think they're fooling? Same old Mexico in my book. You can dress up a heifer like a milkmaid, but it's still just tomorrow's pork roast. New Mexico's had plenty of time to put it's big-hat-wearin', afternoon-nap-taking days behind it, but all we get is excuses. It's time we tell New Mexico that it's chances of stayin' a state are slim an none, and ol' Slim just porked that Nun.
But of course I know it's all yakkin' in the wind, 'cause regardless of what I say, they're gonna keep churnin' out those states til we're all livin' in dirt huts and the rest of the world is namin' stupid birds after us. All I can do is hope that bird is tasty. º Last Column: Survivor Glorifies Being Stranded on a Desert Islandº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Impartiality is a pompous name for indifference, which is an elegant name for Cletus, my inbred asscrack of a neighbor about whom I am far from indifferent.”
-CK FesterchildFortune 500 CookieYou wir find gleat rove in an ord flend. That's not an accented translation; you just have a really weird fortune this week. It's time to face the facts, or at least the facts of life: even if you manage to get that face you drew on your hand pregnant, it's just going to be one more mouth to feed. This week's lucky ringtones: Hangin' Tough, Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm, Two Princes, Kokomo.
Try again later.Worst Arguments Used Against Right-to-Die Advocates| 1. | Can't learn to play fiddle when you're dead | | 2. | My personal religion goes against it, ergo, you should do what I say | | 3. | Star Wars III looks like it's going to redeem the series | | 4. | Probably no afterlife, just a harrowing void of darkness and stillness for eternity | | 5. | Got a really good feeling things are gonna turn around for you, man | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY V.D. Whistling 8/4/2003 Harvey Potluck and the Sophomore SlumpUpon entering his second year in Hogwash Military Academy and Magic Technical School, Harvey was very relieved to be returned to this place, which had been the source of much pride and happiness during his first best-selling year.
It was peculiar to think he had nearly not made it at all. A mysterious spell and night of binge drinking of hard liquor had caused him to miss his cab ride back to the Academy. The shame of it all! Dimpleturd would not look kindly at all on a second-year wizard being tardy for his first day returned, particularly one who had thus far proven the hero of a quite enjoyable story, such as Harvey Potluck. But fortune was Harvey's this day, as his friend Phil Stalley pulled up alongside his window to offer him a ride. But Harvey was on the second floor of...
Upon entering his second year in Hogwash Military Academy and Magic Technical School, Harvey was very relieved to be returned to this place, which had been the source of much pride and happiness during his first best-selling year. It was peculiar to think he had nearly not made it at all. A mysterious spell and night of binge drinking of hard liquor had caused him to miss his cab ride back to the Academy. The shame of it all! Dimpleturd would not look kindly at all on a second-year wizard being tardy for his first day returned, particularly one who had thus far proven the hero of a quite enjoyable story, such as Harvey Potluck. But fortune was Harvey's this day, as his friend Phil Stalley pulled up alongside his window to offer him a ride. But Harvey was on the second floor of his flat! Did I forget to mention the bike was a floating magic bike? Don't wet yourself with excitement. Immediately the bike transmogrified into a flying ostrich to avoid a lawsuit from Steven Spielberg, and Harvey climbed aboard. The two were quickly off, bound for Hogwash! It was a dangerous and entertaining trip here condensed for time, but once they crash-landed safely, Harvey and Phil again made acquaintance with their prize chum from last year, Persephone Debutante. Persephone was invaluable the previous book when she aided Harvey and Phil against the evil trick professor Kreskin and defeated the magic handbag and non-matching shoes. In excitement she wrapped her arms around Harvey, bringing him to the floor and pinning him in record time. Phil was down and tied in less than seven seconds, a personal best. Once she had greeted the two, her manner cooled considerably, so that she might maintain her distant uppity bitch persona. "I worried you might not return," she said, trying to hide her joy. Phil farted warmly. "It was merely a matter of making the journey," said Harvey with a smile. "It was a curious thing, though. How is it I should sleep all night and not wake up at the designated time. The alarm clock should have woke me up." "Curious, indeed," muttered Persephone, at which point a monkey chased by a yellow-behatted man crossed the school grounds unnoticed. "Is it simply a curious happening, based on hours of liquor consumption and misunderstanding alarm clock directions? Or is it something more?" "You don't mean… St. Donswort!" questioned Phil. All were quite surprised when Gorgeous Gorge lunged immediately into this book. "Quiet! No one must ever say that name here!" whispered the giant sex dumpling. Gorge was a welcome sight to the youngsters, and his breasts were starting to grow in nicely with the recent estrogen injections. "Hogwash may be full of mighty and valiant wizards, but it is also a nesting place for the evil sort. As evidenced by your last adventure here." "Do you think it possible, Gorge?" asked Harvey. "Could Saint—that is, the unspeakable ultimate villain wizard… do you think he could be afoot once again?" Gorge considered the question, straightening his bra strap. "I hate to think it, Harvey. But where the great evil is concerned, one must never be quick to dismiss such thoughts." Gorge could tell the children were inflamed with worry by the suggestion. He smiled brightly. "But forget about all that! You kids have yet to be properly welcomed back. I know what! Let's go down to the local pub and you can watch me pick up sailors." With tremendous joy they bounced along after the mischievous sex dumpling.   |
