We like bland, crazy weiners.

After days of inane chitter chatter and tittering over Weiner's weiner, the wave of mediocrity moved to the "this or that moron for President" debate. I tried to watch. I really did. I figured if anything would wash away the image of one of my favorite shit-stirring politicians suddenly turn into an annoying frat boy tweeting dick shots to the world, it would be rousing debate between dumb, dumber, dumbest, and oh my fucking gawd what a moron Republican dick fest calling itself a debate.

But instead I felt as if I'd stumbled onto a private funeral where everyone was standing around awkwardly pretending they hadn't done nasty things to the corpse at some time in its previous existence.

You had the plastic ken doll being shoved into the face of Mr. Nasty Googler while everyone dared him to touch him again n the bad place.

You had the tin foil racist trying to bottom feed off the leftover crazies the others, in spite of their love of crazies, realized were just too crazy for them. That must have been some sorting process, the crazies deciding who would earn the title, kind of like a combination of cooties and Lord Of  The Flies.

You had the blingmaster who was there hawking something or other to pay off his jewelry bill so he could afford to buy a newer, younger intern-wife.

You had that guy with the corn meal mush sounding name who devoted his life to keeping Al Franken from ever becoming a senator.

You had the guy who made it his mission in life to deny poor black children the right to eat his crappy pizza because their neighborhood sucked.

And finally you had she of the crazy eyes who was last seen hiring a helicopter so she could take out half the cows in Minnesota from the air. She has something against cows. I think they said naughty things to her.

So, when the combined candidates were asked if they preferred, bland or crazy, they pulled down their pants, whipped out their cameras, and tweeted their answers.

And America slopped it up as if they were pigs at a trough, but not as smart as the pigs and refusing to eat the slop unless it was first doused in religion and corn syrup.

More than anything, the debate taught me that we are doomed as a species if this is what rises to the top of life's big toilet bowl.

Will someone please flush before the combined stench of stupidity, greed, thievery, and just plain fuck-headedness makes us all choke in disgust of what we've become?

Religious Crazies by godless_heathen
Browse Rapture Posters

We like bland, crazy weiners.

Selling Us A President

America is a nation of merchants. Our education system prepares us for a lifetime of trying to sell ideas, people, and proposals to those whose pockets we wish to pick. As a result of this, we know no other way of being, so when it comes time to pick a mate, a religion, a place to live, or a President, the process is exactly the same.

First comes the slimy creature from some shit-based think tank with a handful of greasy bills ready to be traded for favors. Uncle Bubba's dimwit son now has a job polishing the thumbprints off black limos for the district representative. The process was the same as going up to the slimy guy that runs the night shift at the local greasy spoon, and slipping him a couple bucks to put cousin Doofus's idiot daughter to work in the kitchen.

Every worthless endeavor is made more valuable by the appropriate advertising. It starts off nice enough. Cousin Doofus's idiot daughter has something going for her other than an extreme lack of cranial capacity. It turns out her previous job swinging from poles left her with a small but devoted fan base, so she is chosen to make the commercial for the greasy spoon that turns the dining spot into an overnight success.

Meanwhile, Uncle Bubba's dimwit son has now accumulated a warehouse full of secrets from spying on what really goes on inside black limos. Powerful people begin to both fear what he knows about them and they use him to learn what he knows about their competition. He's invited to important parties to gather information and at one of them he meets Cousin Doofus's idiot daughter who is there as the date of the local (married) representative.

Recognizing each other in the way only two predators with little intelligence to go along with their cut-throat survival skills can, they form a life-long partnership based on who they know and who they blow. And as fate and a good amount of greasy bill swapping would have it, they end up running against each other for President.

And lucky us. We get to choose which one we want representing us to the rest of the world.

Selling Us A President

Flies On The Wall #24

Flies On The Wall #24

Flies On The Wall #7

Flies On The Wall #7