Glibertarians.com 2017 Archive

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  • Afternoon Iron Lung Links

    OK, I don’t want to say I was coughing a lot last night but, my wife was walking up to me with a tear in her eye, a tank of CO, a hose and mask set up, and a copy of an instruction manual by Jack Kevorkian – I feebly waved her away and am still here to give you some links.

    • The Wheels of Justice grind slowly….hopefully they will grind this guy into dust.
    • We’ll have to see how this works out – take a look, San Francisco.
    • First step on the path to bunny boiling?
    • This headline got me thinking they were going to skip the rape/casting couch stuff. Bah.

    Imma go rig up the shop vac to suck the crud out of my lungs. Nobel Prize for Medicine, here I come!

    Soon you will be mine!

  • Caddyshack Explains Our Politics

     

    It is a scientific fact that Caddyshack is the best movie of the 1980’s.  Not only does the movie accurately depict the summer of my junior year in college spent as a ranger on a golf course, it also showcases some of the best comedic talent of the era.  Chevy Chase as Ty Webb, a simple-minded millionaire playboy with a natural gift for golf.  Bill Murray as Carl Spackler, a dim-witted groundskeeper who engages in an ever-escalating war with a gopher that’s burrowing holes throughout the course.  And Rodney Dangerfield as Al Czervick, a boorish millionaire whose gaudy lifestyle and off-color remarks draws the ire of the club’s blue-blood establishment, as best personified by Ted Knight’s character, Judge Smails.

    Throughout the movie, our hero, caddy Danny Noonan (whose last name will forever be remembered by golfers who have heard it whispered to them mid-stroke as they putted) tries to impress the stodgy Judge Smails in order to win a caddy scholarship while also trying not to betray his true self.  It is a coming-of-age morality tale interwoven between campy sexual references (“Hey everybody, we’re all getting laid tonight!”), silly, but effective, turn-of-phrases (“Thank you very little”), drug references (“Cannonball!”), and pure Bill Murray (“So I got that going for me.  Which is nice”).  But, the movie also highlights a clash between the nouveau riche, as embodied by Dangerfield’s character, and the established upper class, as embodied by Judge Smails.  A conflict that is being played out in our national politics.

    Dangerfield’s character is rude and uncouth, much like our orange-tinted president whose tastes defy gaudy and uncultured, along with his public persona being impolite and offensive.  But, at the same time, the caddies and other staff on the golf course don’t seem to detest Dangerfield’s character nearly as much as they do Judge Smails.  His gruff remarks convey a degree of honesty.  Though he is no less a liar than Judge Smails, his lies are so clearly transparent that no one feels deceived. And his unwillingness to be polite hides no ulterior motives.  Everyone knows what Dangerfield’s character thinks because he declares it for everyone to hear, much like our president via Twitter.

    They were also in Tron.

    In contrast to Dangerfield’s character, Judge Smails is presented as part of a self-important and corrupt establishment that cares little about people not of their class.  Much like the public views the president’s enemies as dismissive of those beneath them.  Smails is well polished and presents himself as someone who upholds the rules of respectable society, but in actuality, everyone knows he cheats.  In much the same way that the American public at large believes that their betters are liars and cheats.

    At the movie’s climax, the protagonist, Danny Noonan, is presented with an option: either help Dangerfield win a golf bet against Judge Smails and lose his college scholarship or fall in line with an established order that he detests for his own personal gain.  Judge Smails advises him against helping Dangerfield, but Noonan ignores his advice, much like voters in 2016 rebuked the advice of the ruling class.

    In the final scenes of the movie, the two sides of the golf bet are even.  Noonan needs to sink his final putt in order for Dangerfield to win the bet.  After a comically long moment of anticipation, Noonan’s putt wins the golf bet for Dangerfield and the workers at the golf course are ecstatic.  Everyone from Noonan’s love interest to a fellow caddy who he has sparred with throughout the film crowd around him in a raucous celebration.  The victory is actually Dangerfield’s, who was the principle of the bet against Judge Smails, but he is seemingly ignored.  Dangerfield, much like our President, served as only the vehicle for these workers to register their frustrations with the golf course’s blue-blood establishment.  The workers gained nothing from Judge Smails losing his bet: Noonan will not be able to afford college without the caddy scholarship that he’s forsaken and the rest of them will go back to the same jobs the next day.  Their celebration is surely fleeting, but for a moment they take enjoyment in besting their betters.

  • Wednesday Morning Links

    UCL midweek games!  I caught a little bit of the first half of the Liverpool blowout. And then I saw the final score. WTF?  Not a good draw there. Not when Spartak and Maribor also drew.  Man City won. Naples won. Leipzig added to Monaco’s woes. Real won and Spurs won. There were a couple more ties, but nobody worth mentioning.

    Just a few games on the ice last night, literally. The Canucks grounded the Flyers. The Blues  tore the Oilers a new a-hole. And the North Stars whipped Les Canadiens.

    The CFP poll looked exactly like what we all thought it would. The Atlanta Braves got turned into a farm team for the next 5 years or so by MLB. Holy shit, did they drop the hammer on them. Gabby Douglas is the latest athlete to accuse former USA gymnastics doctor Larry Nassar of sexual abuse. I think we’ve hit 100 on the number of accusers for that creep. And we are just barely three days out from The Game, where my hatred will finally consume me. Fuck ❌ichigan. ⭕️????⭕️

    Good boy!

    Did you get all that? Well, those of you that haven’t already searched the page for…the links!

    Looks like the Mandalay Bay shooting is turning into a jobs program for lawyers. They’re all filing in Los Angeles which, to the best of my knowledge, is hundreds of miles away from the incident.  I hope, at a minimum, that the judges toss the suits and tell the plaintiff’s attorneys to haul their asses to Vegas and file.  But I would be willing to bet a few retarded, gun-grabbing judges will let the cases go forward in the wrong venue just because it’ll give them a chance to grandstand. I’m also shocked nobody has started suing gun manufacturers for it.

    Also, what the fuck is going on with that investigation of an older man with no history of violence, no signs of being mentally unstable, who was independently wealthy, moved a lot, maintained few relationships, was never seen at shooting ranges, was never questioned about staying in his room by the hotel that comped his stay, whose computer hard drive went missing after the shooting, whose house was broken into while under control of the FBI and whose winnings were a statistical anomaly for online poker players?  The police and feds haven’t had much to say about that lately. Gee, I wonder why.

    These Kennedys aren’t dead. Just drunk.

    Hey look: A pair of Kennedys doing what Kennedys do. No, they weren’t spit-roasting a Hollywood star. They were just drunk as shit and raising hell. Thankfully neither of them could find their car keys.

    Former Backstreet Boy Nick Carter the latest to be accused of sexual assault.  If her story is true and she told her lawyer, who told her he was too powerful to go after, then that asshole needs to suffer along with her alleged assailant.

    On the “preemptive leave of absence” front, the head of Disney/Pixar will be taking time off due to “missteps”.  I swear, these guys are like walking, talking STEVE SMITHs. Perhaps they should start putting out their statement in all-caps.

    The jury in the Kate Steinle murder case began deliberations yesterday in San Francisco. I wonder if a not guilty verdict will result in those wacky alt-right “fascists” rioting.  lol, jk. They’ll all be at work.

    Hey where the white women at?

    Zimbabwe getting ready to swear in new president. I’ll bet you six trillion Zimbabwean dollars right now that he is little better than the guy he served under happily for quite some time until Mugabe’s wife wanted his job.  No word on whether or not white people will be considered for owning land again, as the most racist country in the world continues to circle the drain.

    Hey kid, nice shot. (Its a good story, trust me!)

    That’s gonna be one hell of a show-n-tell next week.

    Think Progress is really concerned with who leaked there Conyers story. A lot more concerned with the leaker than with the substance of the story itself, which is resigned to a place much farther down their site and which also has no mention of Conyers himself but speaks of the “culture” in Congress.  When you don’t like the message, even if its true, try to kill the messenger. Scumbags. (oh, trigger warning: Think Progress!

    Here’s today’s song. Ch-check it out. I think you’ll enjoy it.

    Go enjoy that last little bit of work before feast day.

  • Thanksgiving Recipes from the Glibs

    Various contributors came together to make this submission happen. Thanks, guys!

    From R C Dean

    Not sure what the name of this one is, but the maple syrup makes it very autumnal.

    3 oz. Rye (or bourbon – I prefer rye for just about any cocktail)
    3/4 oz. Orange Juice
    1/3 oz. Lemon Juice
    3/4 oz Dark Maple Syrup
    4 – 6 dashes bitters (Angostura works, but I also like Woodford Reserve Bourbon Barrel)
    Seltzer (couple ounces)
    Orange garnish (optional)

    I originally saw this “stirred, not shaken”.  In my experience, you may not get the maple syrup to fully dissolve by stirring, so I prefer to make this one in my trusty shaker (also, drinks with citrus are classically shaken).  The RC Dean method is to put everything but the seltzer and garnish in a shaker, pour over ice, top with seltzer and garnish.  Protip:  if you add the seltzer to the shaker, you will get a spectacular mess, so don’t do that.

    From Nephilium

    So here’s a recipe (modified from an issue of BeerAdvocate) I’ll be doing for a dessert this year:

    Pumpkin Imperial Stout Tiramisu

    Ingredients

    1 pint heavy whipping cream
    ½ tsp cinnamon
    ¼ tsp nutmeg
    1/8 tsp clove
    ¼ cup Dry Malt Extract
    1 cup pumpkin puree
    2 cup mascarpone cheese
    24 oz Rasputin Imperial Stout (or any other good Russian Imperial Stout)
    3 packages ladyfinger cookies
    1 cup Simpsons Special Dark Roast Malt, ground to a powder
    cinnamon, ground
    powdered sugar

    Notes: DME and Simpsons Special Dark Roast can be acquired at your local homebrew store.  Otherwise you can substitute ovaltine for the DME, and cocoa powder for the Special Dark Roast

    Directions

    In a medium bowl, add cream, cinnamon, nutmeg, clove and DME.  Mix this until soft peaks form, then set aside.  In a different bowl, mix together the pumpkin and the mascarpone until fully combined.  Fold the pumpkin mixture into the spiced whipped cream until blended (some streaks are fine), and then set aside.

    Pour the stout into a shallow bowl or a pie plate.  Select your serving container (I usually use a 13 x 9 pan, but you can use whatever size you wish).  Then you begin the assembly of the tiramisu.  Dip ladyfingers into the stout for 10 seconds, then flip them, and let them sit for 10 seconds again.  Then place the ladyfingers into your serving container until you have a single layer.  Then take a third of the pumpkin cream filling and distribute it over the ladyfingers.  Dust with malt powder, then add another layer of soaked ladyfingers.  Top the second layer with pumpkin cream and then garnish with malt powder, some cinnamon, and powdered sugar.  Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least two hours before serving.

    If you use a smaller container, you can go to three layers of each, or even four.  Do what you want, it’s your dessert.

    From DblEagle

    AGED EGGNOG

    Dozen egg yolks (reserve the whites for something else)
    1 lb sugar
    1 pint half and half
    1 pint heavy cream
    1 pint whole milk
    1 cup rum
    1 cup cognac
    1 cup bourbon
    1 teaspoon nutmeg (freshly grated is best)
    1/4 teaspoon (((kosher))) salt

    -Beat egg yolks, sugar and nutmeg until falls off a whisk in a smooth ribbon
    -Combine the dairy, booze and salt in different container
    – Slowly beat the booze mixture into the egg mixture
    -Store in glass container(s) for 2 weeks to 2 months* in refrigerator

    Serve in glasses with nutmeg (fresh is best) garnish
    * You can (and I have) drink immediately but the aging time enables the tastes to smoothly combine

    How to Roast a Whole Turkey with Playa Manhattan:

    Don’t.     White meat is well done at 165F.     Dark meat is well done at 185F.    Whenever possible, roast the crown separately from the legs and thighs, otherwise, part of your turkey is going to be overcooked.

    For presentation purposes, if you feel that you must serve the bird whole, there is a workaround:   plumping.     Inject the breasts with enough flavorful liquid to slow down the temperature rise in the white meat.       In addition to a 3 day soak in my brown sugar orange/lemon brine, I inject about 6 ounces into each breast before cooking.   If you like a more natural, plain turkey flavor, I suggest using an injectable called “Make it Meaty”; it’s quite possibly the most perfect plumping solution I’ve ever come across.      As an added bonus, it contains sodium phosphates, which will cause the meat proteins to absorb even more liquid than if you just used a plain salt/sugar brine.    You can find the mix on Amazon here.  There’s nothing worse than dry turkey, so do what needs to be done, even if you consider it cheating.     Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

    From Old Man With Candy: What We’ll Be Drinking:

    SP and I regard Thanksgiving as an excuse for gluttony. At the same time, we realize that vegetarian gluttony may not suit everyone, but in our defense, “vegetarian” does not mean “healthy” or “low fat” or “devoid of flavor.” In recognition of this, rather than spilling our vegetarian recipes (which will be made by exactly zero people here), we’ll talk about the bottles that can grace the tables and lure you into a delightful sense of drunkenness. These may be a bit of a splurge, but hey, holidays deserve better than Beringer White Zinfandel.

    I admit that I’ve never eaten turkey, but I am told that rosé pairs well. In which case, you owe it to yourself to scarf up a bottle of Francois Cotat Sancerre Rosé, made from Pinot Noir grown in the Loire Valley. Current vintage is 2016, and you can’t go wrong. Unlike most other rosés, the Cotat is actually ageable, so if you find an older specimen, it will be very much worth buying. For a red, I like to be patriotic and drink domestic on T-day, and one of the very few California wineries that has avoided the blowtorch oak-bomb style of Zinfandel is Dashe. Their “L’Enfant Terrible” series (or variously, Les Enfants Terribles, depending on the bottling), made from various vineyards, is a don’t-miss. Natural winemaking: native yeast, no enzyme or flavoring packages, restrained oaking. Pure essence of fruit and soil. For whites, we can actually go cheap and grab some Seyval Blance from New York’s Finger Lakes- we have some Bully Hill in stock, which is very good, very inexpensive, and very reliable. If you want to get fancy, grab some Riesling from Michigan, like the wonderful Chateau Grand Traverse Block 12. And while you’re buying it, grab a bottle of their Late Harvest Riesling for dessert. Not “with dessert,” mind you, FOR dessert, preferably served with a fine quality Wisconsin cheddar. If you are having a chocolate dessert, run, do not walk, to a good wine shop to snarf a bottle of Dr. Parce Banyuls. You’re welcome.

    Wherein SP cheerfully ignores OMWC’s comment above about not sharing our recipes

    SP’s Easy Dinner Rolls – Vegan (or Not) – serves 8-12 (or SP & OMWC)

    (Use the ingredients in the parentheses for Not Vegan)

    2 tbsp white sugar (or honey)
    1/2 tsp salt
    1 2-1/4 tsp packet rapid-rise yeast
    2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, give or take – divided
    1/2 cup unsweetened plain almond milk (or regular milk)
    1/4 cup water
    2 tbsp margarine, and a bit more for finishing (or butter)

    With a small whisk, combine the sugar, salt, yeast and 1 cup of flour in a small bowl.

    In a microwave safe bowl or measuring cup, heat milk, water, and margarine or butter to about 105F (41C). If it’s too hot, let it cool a bit before using.

    Place the dry ingredients into the bowl of a food processor or stand mixer. With the machine running, pour in the liquid ingredients. Process or mix for 2 minutes or so. Scrape the bowl sides, add 1/2 cup more flour and beat or process until a soft dough forms, about 2 more minutes. The dough will be sticky, but should loosely hold its shape.

    If the dough is too soft, mix in the rest of the flour a tablespoon at a time until the dough is still soft but holds shape. Turn the dough out and let it rest on a floured surface, covered, for 10-15 minutes.

    Meanwhile, grease an 8-inch round cake pan. An actual 8-inch pan, not man “8-inches.”

    Divide the dough into 8-12 pieces and shape into rounds. (I am a little compulsive, so I weigh the dough to have rolls of the same size at the end.) Place the shaped rolls in the greased cake pan, cover and let rise until doubled, about 45 minutes.

    While the rolls are rising, preheat the oven to 375F.

    Bake the rolls for 20 minutes or until nicely browned. If you wish, brush the top of the rolls with a little melted margarine or butter. Serve pretty close to immediately.

    And you thought you couldn’t bake yeast breads from scratch!

    From jesse.in.mb

    My family found out I wouldn’t be showing up to Thanksgiving with artichoke dip* and fresh baked bread this year and an aunt has dropped her normal provisioning in favor of hanger-management an appetizer. *A chef friend asked me not to share her recipe, this is will get you close enough though. For the past two years I’ve been making extra batches for the BF’s family’s Thanksgiving which I was invited to and it has been strongly hinted that I should continue the tradition and perhaps bring my Aunt Sheryl’s (PBUH) apple pie. I know everyone has their favorite apple pie recipe, but this one is better and I’ll consider disagreement an act of aggression.

    Aunt Sheryl’s Dutch Apple Pie

    Filling:
    2/3 cup sugar
    2Tbsp all purpose flour
    ¾tsp cinnamon
    ½ fresh lemon
    6-8 tart (Granny Smith) apples pared, cored, and sliced (equaling 6 cups)
    Combine first three ingredients. Put apples in crust, sprinkle dry mix over apples then squeeze ½ lemon over them (can be left for up to 24 hours in the fridge for more flavor).

    Crumb Topping
    ½ cup flour
    ¼ cup sugar
    ¼ cup butter
    Combine flour and sugar, cut in butter until crumbly. Sprinkle on top of apples.
    Bake at 400 for 45-50 minutes

     

  • Tuesday Afternoon Links

    *finishes chugging codeine laced cough syrup*

    Ah…Links. Right. I guess I should put some up.

    …

    Huh?

    Oh! Uh, here are your links! Enjoy…

    • After turning the breadbasket of Africa into a starving punchline to a terrible joke…Mugabe “resigns“.
    • No word if SEA SMITH is involved.
    • Go on…
    • DO NOT go on!
    • Oh…”Brits”, I thought it said “Glibs”…

    …

    …

     

    Uh. Go ahead and comment. Or whatever.

     

  • A Path To Wellness, Part Two

     

    PART ONE

     

    Chapter VI

    INT—HALLWAY–THE MEDOWS—NIGHT

    Orderlies and nurses move through the hallway cleaning up the damage Ted caused during the escape. I nurse kneels down to attend an injured Chris, who suddenly sits straight up.

    CHRIS
    Tingles!

    Chris gets up and walks out of the hallway like the Terminator.

    INT—CHUCK E.’S SUITE—DAY

    Ted wakes, groggy. He rubs his eyes and notices the Brazilian Woman sleeping on a couch, Harvey is standing over her masturbating.

    TED
    Fuckin’ stop that!

    Harvey is startled, he turns to Ted.

    HARVEY
    Come on! Ya gotta let me finish! I don’t want to walk around all day wit blue balls!

    TED
    Well, yer fuckin gonna. Now put yer dick away, and let’s get movin’. We got a six-hour drive ahead of us.

    HARVEY
    Where we goin’?

    TED
    Hollywood.

    HARVEY
    I can’t go back there. I’ll get recognized!

    TED
    Don’t flatter yerself. Your name is famous, not your dumbshit face. And that is the rendezvous.

    HARVEY
    Fuck you! I’m fuckin’ famous!

    Ted stands up, walks over to Harvey and punches him in the gut. Harvey doubles over, Ted pats him on the back.

    TED
    I don’t fuckin’ care. Now go out to the truck and wait for me.

    Harvey stumbles to the door holding his gut and exits. Ted looks down at the naked Brazilian Woman sleeping peacefully. STRANGLE HOLD begins playing over the soundtrack.

    EXT—CHUCK E.’s DEN HALLWAY—DAY

    Ted emerges from the room in slow motion as the soundtrack continues to play STRANGLE HOLD. He pulls his gun and begins to shoot down employees in the hall. He kicks down doors in the hall, to reveal perverts in all kinds of disgusting situations and he guns them down: An old man in tightie-whities holding an over-sized lollipop, leering at two young crying boys in sailor suits BANG; A naked man painted all blue drawing numbers on screaming teenage girls BANG; a black guy dressed as a skeleton molesting an asian schoolgirl with an ass so big she can’t stand straight BANG; a man wearing nothing but a Trump wig with two ladyboys dressed as Hillary and Huma wearing MAGA hats BANG; A man with a handlebar mustache humping the OSU mascot BANG. The final room is simply a portly man-eating bacon and vaping, confused Ted leaves him be.

    EXT—CHUCK E. CHEESE—DAY

    The building is on fire. Ted exits the building followed by a horde of sex trafficked individuals he has freed. He walks up to the Truck and gets in.

    INSERT of truck tires burning rubber. The truck speeds out the parking lot and down the street.

     

    Chapter VII

    EXT—CHINESE THEATER—NIGHT

    Ted’s truck pulls up outside the famous theater. Ted and Harvey exit the truck. The area is cordoned off with police tape. A body lies on the ground while a coroner takes photos. Two policemen stand near the police tape, Ted and Harvey walk up to them.

    TED
    Eh, officers, what’s going on here?

    OFFICER 1
    That shitbag Kevin Spacey got killed.

    OFFICER 2
    Yeah, it was a typical mugging gone wrong. Two shots to the head, from like a thousand yards away with a fifty-cal.

    OFFICER 1
    The mugger musta been scared off. He didn’t take nothin’.

    OFFICER 2
    But this piece of shit deserved it, for allegedly maybe hitting on a kid 30 years ago. Asshole.

    A girl who is clearly a pre-teen approaches the police line, both officers walk over to her.

    OFFICER 1
    Hey baby, you gettin’ too close. Maybe we’ll have to pat you down.

    OFFICER 2
    What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ here, eh?

    OFFICER 1
    (GRABBING HIS OWN CROTCH)
    I think I feel a loaded weapon!

    Ted and Harvey move away from the cordon.

    TED
    Shit!

    HARVEY
    What?!

    TED
    Kevin Spacey was my inside man!

    HARVEY
    What?! Everyone knew he was a fuckin’ fag!

    TED
    What the hell does that have to do with anything?

    HARVEY
    Cuz…people like you…you’re homophobic…which means you’re bad…

    TED
    You got damn piece of shit! Can you stop virtue signaling for one damn second! We’re fucked. He was my contact. What the fuck do we do now?

    HARVEY
    I…what about…no…Oh!…no…I do have one friend who could help. Just follow me.

    TED
    Fuck that, I ain’t goin to no damn Chuck E. Cheese again!

    HARVEY
    No, this guy is more..upscale. How long will it take to drive to Illinois?

    TED
    No! No! No! We can’t trust him!

    HARVEY
    He isn’t who you think he is.

    Harvey turns in a huff, twirling his tattered robe and heads back to the truck. Ted Takes off his hat and hits it on his knee.

     

    Chapter VIII

    EXT—OBAMA’S CHICAGO HOME—NIGHT

    Ted’s truck hops the curb and stops in front of the gated house. Armed Secret Service agents guard the compound. Ted exits the truck and silently takes out the guards with karate chops and choke holds, clearly showing no deadly use of force. As Ted and Harvey approach the house Barack can be seen through the window, sitting in the study. Ted uses military signals to direct Harvey, who just shrugs and waddles towards the house carrying the grappling hook. Ted winds the grappling hook around in the air and launches it. Harvey climbs on Ted’s back and they silently, in comedic form with Ted wincing under the strain, ascend the structure.

    INT—OBAMA’S CHICAGO HOME-BEDROOM—NIGHT

    Ted and Harvey tumble through the bedroom window, awkward and in a comedic fashion.

    HARVEY
    Stop fuckin touchin’ me!

    TED
    You’re the one fuckin touchin’ me!

    They engage in a slap-fight, then a door squeaks. The door opens just enough to paint a thin triangle of light across the room. Slowly a dark menacing shadow encompasses the sliver of light. A dark, hulking shadow. Then, the squeaks and squawks of a shortwave radio and the fuzz sound fill the air.

    RUSSIAN
    приходите в агента. да.

    A pause.

    RUSSIAN
    приходите в агента. да.

    Harvey begins masturbating, Ted slaps him. The sound is louder than Ted anticipated. The hulking shadow from the next room turns and bursts through the door.

    HARVEY
    Michelle! Great to see you!

    Michelle stands hulking in the doorway. Without her wig and fake breasts in place, it is very clear she is very masculine (Terry Cruise in a dress).

    TED
    What the fuck?

    MICHELLE
    Harvey?! What the fuck are you doing here?

    She readjusts her penis in her skirt and steps menacingly forward.

    HARVEY
    The plan has gone to shit.

    MICHELLE
    I know.

    TED
    What the fuck?

    HARVEY
    Ted and I are just trying to straighten things out.

    MICHELLE
    You weren’t supposed to make contact!

    HARVEY
    How the hell did you let things get so out of control?

    TED
    What the fuck?

    MICHELLE
    You were supposed to handle her!

    HARVEY
    I tried, I really thought we could do this Vegas thing.

    MICHELLE
    That wasn’t part of the plan.

    HARVEY
    But if it worked, it woulda been perfect.

    TED
    What the fuck?

    The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs interrupts the conversation. Harvey and Michelle both move to stop Ted from making any sounds.

    BARACK
    Uh…Honey…what…uh…is going on? I…uh…thought I…uh heard a…uh…noise…I’m scared.

    Michelle clears her throat in a very masculine way, then in a slightly higher pitched sort of feminine way speaks.

    MICHELLE
    It was nothing. I just had some gas.

    Ted tries to speak but Harvey and Michelle both put their hands on his mouth to muffle his voice.

    TED
    hhmtfk?

    BARAK
    Ok…uh…But just in case I uh…am going to uh…snuggle with my uh…Eleroo doll.

    The sound of his footsteps trails off. Ted tries to speak once again, but his voice is still muffled by the hands of Harvey and Michelle.

    TED
    hhmtfk?

    Michelle cocks her fist and punches Ted out cold.

    PART THREE

  • Tuesday Morning Links

    Hate Week continues. Only 4 days, 4 hours and 40 minutes left (when I finished this piece) until kickoff. Fuck ❌ichigan. But we got some sad news in Buckeye Nation yesterday. Terry Glenn died after a one-car accident just after midnight Sunday. Dude was a hell of a receiver. RIP, Candyman.

    Terry Glenn scoring on Notre Dame (who hasn’t beaten Ohio State since Hitler was invading Poland)

    On the ice, we had six games. The Blue Jackets topped the Sabres. The surging Coyotes took down the Maple Leafs. The Flames pounded the Crapitals. The Preds beat the Jets. De Debbils took it to OT and beat the Minnesoda WIIIIIIILD. And the Anaheim Mighty Ducks beat the Sharts.

    And even though nothing of consequence happens in the NBA until the spring, I’ll note that the Celtics extended their winning streak to 16 games after another come-from-behind win, this time over the Mavs.

    That’s it. I’m not going to heavy with sports because there wasn’t that much to discuss.  So rejoice, some of you.  Anyway, here are…the links!

    Jesus, that’s a great speaker!

    I’m starting the links off light today. Its a product review of a kickass bluetooth speaker in Gizmodo. But the fun really gets going in the comments.

    And I’m gonna follow that up with with some really, really, really great news out of the Trump administration. More winning through rolling back on executive overreach.

    Then I’m gonna go into a story that’s so shocking I still don’t know if I’m in a dream. A Chicago cop actually jailed for shooting someone while on duty?  Isn’t this one of the seven seals that once broken will begin the end times?

    At some point, I’ll have to go to some darker places with the links. Which means addressing the serial pervert Charlie Rose and his suspension from CBS and PBS.  Apparently this was an open secret for years and years. Which speaks volumes not only about Charlie Rose but about the cretins working around him.

    Staying on topic…once the Al Franken air clears, maybe people can start getting down to discussing the John Conyers situation. Nice use of taxpayer money there, John.

    Let’s keep this slideshow our secret.

    Back to some really good news. Well, its not news really. It’s the Chronicle’s story (with lots of pictures) about the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. Did I mention there were pictures? Lots of pictures.

    Which brings us to the last link. The link that will make you go “really? That’s the president you’re gonna say uses language to sway people rather than the slick-talking guy before his that was gonna cause the oceans to recede and the earth to heal”? Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you what might be the most retarded Newsweek lede, if not article, in the history of the world.

    I didn’t know whether to stick with rap or go back to rock.  Aw, fuck it. Here’s the song today.

    Go have a great day. #GoBucks! ⭕️????⭕️

  • Manly Monday – Cooking With Bears

    Back by (surprisingly) popular demand, but probably on an irregular basis!

    My boyfriend has been marketed to: a British honey producer—Rowse Honey—asked their advertising firm for something interesting and challenging and someone came up with selling honey with bears…gay bears, three of them…and porridge. Unlike the BF, my preferences do not begin and end with “is a bear,” but the ads contain three hirsute men of varying beefiness preparing oats, doing yoga, and chopping wood and they’re charming as all get-out. Rowse is available on Amazon, but not with Prime shipping (boo!)

    https://youtu.be/KSZJ8yH_u2Q

    Part of the problem with doing Manly Monday is that I start GISing something topical like “scruffy men in aprons” (hey, it’s Thanksgiving week*) and then have a difficult time finishing the task at hand my post. It’s fun how a simple image search can lead one to #bearnakedchef a web series of Adrian De Berardinis cooking in just an apron (often just over his nethers). *Except in Canada where y’all already blew your Thanksgiving wad

    Or that there’s a combination photo/cookbook of Italian bears cooking healthy Italian cuisine (one of whom looks suspiciously like a doctor/former chef I work with).

    And then you might stumble on scruffy pizza chef, Daniel Gutter who goes by @Pizza_Gutt on Instagram and makes (wait for it) deep dish pizza in Philly, and was harassed online because his username was too close to #Pizzagate (wtf is wrong with people?)

    http://www.instagram.com/p/BMfUSZdDab4

    All that said, I need to kill the GIS window, don a full body hair net and get some cooking of my own done.

  • *cough* Swiss Servator’s *cough* Return Links.*cough, cough*

    I caught a lovely respiratory infection just before my trip. Home remedies of fantastic Texas BBQ (if you can ever go here, do so!) and a bigly amount of beer didn’t cure it, so I surrendered and went to the clinic right after getting home. Oh, and I hurt my trapezius right before all this, by lifting in a very non-Warty fashion. So every cough hurt like @#$%. The muscle relaxants I got are nice and all, but I cannot work (or post links) while taking them. So, a very First World bitching on my part, as I have antibiotics and stuff for the ouch.

    I do have to share one joke from BBG CON – Q: What do you call a 3XL T-Shirt? A: A boardgamer’s medium!

    So here are you links, with no further squeaking on my part.

    • This was his rifle. There were many like it, but this one was his.
    • I wonder if this will have more impact than a Streets and Sanitation strike? TW: Jezebel (they are still publishing?)
    • Florida Man Juvenile decides to act stupidly in an area where cops are already on hair trigger alert because of a serial killer.
    • ADRIAN!!!!!
    • I am at a bit of a loss what to say about this one.

    I am going to go stick my head in a vat of cough syrup now. You all enjoy the links.

  • A Path To Wellness, Part One

    Chapter I

    He brushed aside the Pringle’s crumbs from his Adidas jumper, pulled the coffee table as close as his distended gut would allow. He would show that therapist that could treat himself. Pen in hand, he began to scribble on the complimentary notepad the facility had provided:
    “Sure, I like pussy. Sue me. People look at me like I just won the Oscar for Best Supporting Pervert, but why am I to be judged by losers? These girls come from across the globe, hauling around the only talent they have. Sucking a mogul’s cock. They want me to make them a star. Make them a shit load of cash. Make them famous. Yet, they don’t want to pay the price of admission. This isn’t a fucking charity.
    You may think this is immoral, but you aren’t an artist (and yes, I am an artist. I pay the motherfuckers). My cum is the lifeblood of this entire industry. My cum is the fertilizer that causes tremendous growth. You call me a degenerate, but you don’t understand. Call me “sick” if you want because I have no choice. I have this magic elixir inside of me and I have to let it loose on any living organism within arm’s reach.
    And that bitch, Hillary? I helped her get millions of women to pull the lever for her and she can’t overlook having a few pull mine? My jizz has created more stars than the big bang. I’ve put the wood in Hollywood and you motherfuckers judge me?”

    Something didn’t feel quite right to Harvey. He hurled the notepad at the wall. Something was wrong. There it is; his cock had been rock hard the entire time he’d been writing his manifesto. The Arizona sunset coupled with his pent-up rage had resulted in a purple, throbbing pecker. He got up, went into the bathroom and shed his clothes. The complimentary cotton robe beckoned him to slip into it. Perfect. It only circumnavigated three-quarters of his bulging gut.

    Semi-robed, Harvey peered out into the hallway. Where the hell was that Mexican maid? Panic washed over him as he realized he would be wasting his life-enhancing potion on the cotton robe. He burst into the hallway, pecker ramrod hard, searching for something alive to squirt into. “There! By the elevator!”. He ripped his robe off and ran toward the elevator. There was the fern he had eyed on his way to his room earlier in the day. As he rigorously pumped the juicy nectar from his shaft, he reached down to stroke the luscious plant. A giant howl of soul-crushing pain escaped Harvey’s mouth right as he shot his load. “Nooooooooo. Fucking plastic.”

     

    Chapter II

    There was no return address. Inside the brown package was a single videotape with a small note that read, “No plant was harmed in production”. Jared, the TMZ intern, was used to viewing bogus submissions from “leakers” and that evening he had already watched a fake Tom Cruise slaughtering a vegan on a Scientology altar, listened to an obviously edited recording of Lindsay Graham offering a female prostitute $200 for a rim job and seen a clutch of photos of Oprah shaving her lower Afro into a swastika. Now Jared was at the bottom of the stack and when this was done he could finally go back to his shit hole apartment in North Hollywood. The empty office at night made Jared nervous. OK. Last one. He popped in the tape.

    The video showed only snowy static for an obnoxiously long time. Jared peeled off the foil from the remaining half of his burrito from lunch. Taking a particularly large bite, the screen flickered and Jared could make out a hallway in what looked like a Holiday Inn. Surely this was security camera footage. There was a pair of elevators to the right and some Native American art hanging on the wall. Jared shifted in his chair and took another bite of his burrito. Security camera footage was excellent. It was the over-produced videos that were bullshit.
    After a minute or so, Jared spotted a head pop out from a door at the far end of the hallway. “What the hell is he looking for?” Jared whispered aloud as he scooped a large dollop of sour cream into his mouth. Leaning in close to his monitor, Jared’s jaw went slack and sour cream splattered onto his burrito. “Holy shit. Is that…?” The intern was unable to complete the sentence thanks to a bullet ripping into the back of his skull and coating the remains of his late night snack with gray matter.

    . . . .

    She tapped on his door lightly with her pinky knuckle. The security guard had been slid a hundred bucks to shut down the cameras for ten minutes, but she wore a scarf over her head and bug-eyed sunglasses just in case. She tapped again more insistently. Goddammit. She pressed her ear to the door and heard what sounded like a hairless cat being stuffed into a surgical glove. She couldn’t suppress the image in her mind; he was rolling around naked on the leather couch, pleasuring himself. Is this really worth three million dollars? “Fuck you, Harvey”, she yelled at the door, “I’m done. Don’t call me anymore.” She slid the tape through the mail slot in the door and heard the thud as it hit the floor. From the other side of the door came, “You *pant, pant* wanna come *pant, pant* in? Please. I’m sorry. Just *pant, pant* come in.”

    Lisa turned and hustled up the hallway, down the stairs and into the parking garage where her driver had the car idling. She hopped in the passenger seat and slammed the door with all her might. “It’s done. Let’s get the fuck out of here. I don’t know how you do this.” The Lexus squealed out of the parking garage and into the Arizona night. Lisa started sobbing into her hands as they cruised down the empty highway. The driver reached over and started stroking her hair, “You’ll be fine, honey. Mommy is here.” A small wad of sour cream pooled in the corner of Mommy’s mouth.

     

    Chapter III

    INT–LUXURY SUITE-THE MEADOWS—NIGHT

    The room is dark, illuminated only by the TV. HARVEY is sprawled on the velvet couch in front of the TV, his robe open, nothing underneath. He is sobbing and masturbating to the image on the screen. A pile of tissues on his lap, another to his right for the tears. The video on the screen is a security video of Harvey masturbating onto a plant.

    HARVEY
    Plastic, fucking plastic. Just like all those sluts. Made up to look perfect, then they call me a creep!?

    His motion grows faster. Tears roll down his cheek. Suddenly there is a noise. He stops masturbating, pauses the video and turns. Tears streaming down his face.

    HARVEY
    Who’s there? Huh, one of those paparazzi fucks?

    There is only silence. He un-pauses the video and resumes. A shadow emerges from the darkness behind him. The Emperor Palpatine-esque features of GEORGE’S face slowly emerge from the shadows. Harvey doesn’t notice him. George speaks in a thick Eastern European accent, pausing for deep breaths.

    GEORGE
    Have you learned your lesson, Harvey?

    Harvey TURNS startled, sobbing.

    HARVEY
    George, I wasn’t expecting…Here, have a seat.

    Harvey tries to wipe a cum stain off the cushion next to him.

    GEORGE
    No thank you, I vill stand.

    HARVEY
    George, ya gotta know, I never touched them broads…well some of them. But mostly I just wanted them to wa…

    GEORGE
    Zat is not the issue. You botched ze Vegas job. Hillary vanted Micheal to do it. He vould have gotten zat fuel tank to explode. Zat fucker loves explosions. But, I vas sure you could handle it.

    HARVEY
    I…I…It was under control, then that damn security guard wandered on set. I…

    GEORGE
    Shh…I’m not blaming you. But you understand. Ve needed something to get the media to focus…elsewhere. After ze facts didn’t, what’s the saying? Add up.

    HARVEY
    But come on, I done some good work for you!

    GEORGE
    Stop masturbating damnit! Zis is important.

    Harvey closes his robe in shame and wipes his hand on the couch.

    HARVEY
    Come on. It woulda worked. You just didn’t have enough patience.

    GEORGE

    (lashing out)
    No. It was sloppy!

    (Composes himself)

    Now I have to double my funding efforts. All it managed to accomplish is some bullshit on bump-stocks. Who the hell even knew vhat a bump-stock was!? No, this vas supposed to be the nail in ze coffin. And you fucked up!

    HARVEY (sobbing)
    Please. You already ruined my career!

    GEORGE
    Hush now, it is ok. Just remember, zis was a light punishment. It can get much vorse.

    Harvey breaks down, an emotional mess. George adjusts his impeccable suit and walks out the door.

    EXT—THE MEADOWS-NIGHT

    George exits the main entrance. George meets KIETH at the limo, Kieth is rubbing his leg with excitement.

    KIETH
    Tingles! Tingles!
    (TO GEORGE)
    So, what should I do with him?

    GEORGE
    Kill him.

    George enters the limo and it drives off. Keith walks to the front entrance, dragging his leg and rubbing it, he pulls out a silenced pistol and enters the building.

    CUT TO

    TED, who has been watching from the bushes, he stealthily approaches the building.

     

    Chapter IV

    INT–LUXURY SUITE-THE MEADOWS—NIGHT

    Harvey is still masturbating to the video footage. Sobbing like a child. He is startled by gunfire and explosions in the hall. The door to the suite is blown off its hinges and Ted emerges from the smoke, wearing his cowboy hat and a sleeveless shirt, holding his compound bow, a gun on his hip.

    TED
    Get yer fuckin dick out of your hand and get moving. This is a God Damn rescue!

    Harvey grabs a tissue to wipe the tears away. He realizes it was from the wrong pile.

    INT/EXT—TED’S TRUCK-HWY 60—NIGHT

    The pick-up screams down the highway, a pair of antlers mounted to the hood, a small doe in the bed. On the tailgate is a bumper sticker that reads “Never get on one knee for a girl who won’t get on two for you”. Harvey’s robe flaps in the breeze out the open window.

    HARVEY
    OK. So now what? Where the hell are we goin?

    TED
    Shit man, that’s up to you. Arizona ain’t exactly my bag. They elected John McCain for fuck sake.

    HARVEY
    What!? You ain’t got no fuckin’ plan?

    TED
    Well, shit. I can pull over and drop you off anytime you want. Good luck.

    HARVEY
    No…No…Ok…I can think of somthin’.

    TED
    And for love of God, put some damn pants on!

    Ted reaches behind him, grabs a pair of pants and throws them at Harvey who fumbles and wiggles his way into the pants. He tries to button them, but gets exhausted and gives up.

    Harvey pulls out his cellphone, taps on the screen and issues a command.

    HARVEY
    Turn left on Bell Road. After 8.4 miles, turn right into the parking lot.

    TED
    Where the fuck are we going.

    HARVEY
    It’s better if you don’t ask questions. Things are about to get…weird. By the way, thanks for believing I’m innocent.

    TED
    What!? Hell if I do. If there’s one thing Uncle Ted knows about it’s sex addiction. And you ain’t no sex addict. You’re just a fucking piece if shit.

    HARVEY
    So why did you rescue me?

    TED
    Got word, from an inside man, that this whole shitstorm is to cover up the Vegas shooting and the liberal plan to confiscate firearms from good ol Americans. And hell, Uncle Ted is always up for some adventure. But that don’t mean you ain’t a piece of shit.

    HARVEY
    Turn here!

    The truck careens across several lanes of traffic to make the turn, horns blare.

    EXT—CHUCK E. CHEESE PARKING LOT—NIGHT

    Ted’s truck jumps the curb entering the parking lot and slides to a halt in front of the front door. Ted gets out of the truck and stares at the building in bewilderment. He places his hand on his holstered gun.

    TED
    What the fuck!?

    HARVEY
    (EXITING TRUCK)
    Just, let me do the talking. I told you, shit is gonna get weird.

     

    Chapter V

    INT—CHUCK E. CHEESE—NIGHT

    Ted and Harvey enter the restaurant trying to look inconspicuous. Ted nervously pats the gun on his hip. Harvey’s robe catches on the velvet rope, he struggles and gets it free, just in time to stop his unbuttoned pants from falling down. They get their hands stamped by the attendant.

    HARVEY
    We didn’t bring no kids. We’re meeting some friends, for a birthday party.

    Ted nods nervously, an awkward grin on his face. The attendant gives a quizzical look and lets them through. The pair make their way through the restaurant, having to randomly dodge running children. The siren on an arcade game goes off and Harvey jumps, then he composes himself. They make their way to CHUCK E. CHEEZE (or the guy in the mascot outfit).

    HARVEY
    I’m a LOST BOY.

    CHUCK E. CHEESE
    Do you have a License To Drive?

    HARVEY
    No, but I can Dream A Little Dream.

    CHUCK E. CHEESE
    Ok, this way.

    Chuck E. Cheese motions to the back of the restaurant and heads that way. Ted and Harvey follow. Chuck E. Cheese leads them to a door marked ‘Management Only’, and opens it, motioning for them to enter.

    CHUCK E. CHEESE
    Go ahead.

    Ted and Harvey go through the door and it is shut behind them.

    INT—HALLWAY-CHUCK E.’S DEN—NIGHT

    Ted and Harvey walk down a dimly lit hallway lined with glass windows into rooms with red lights. A hostess leads them down the hall. Behind each window is a stereotype of a sexual proclivity; A man in a gimp mask, an Asian girl in a school uniform, a young boy crying, a sneering transvestite, a furry and so on. Ted looks on in disgust.

    TED
    What the fuck!?

    HARVEY
    Remember pizzagate?

    TED
    The guy who thought there was a child sex ring in a DC pizza shop?

    HARVEY
    Yeah. Wrong pizza shop, and so much more than child sex.

    Harvey stops to leer at one of the windows, then snaps back to the moment and continues down the hall.

    Harvey (CONT’D)
    People like me, we tend to travel. Whether we are in entertainment, news or government. We needed a… safe space, that was available anywhere we went.

    TED
    This is fucked up, even for me.

    Harvey stops suddenly and turns to Ted.

    HARVEY
    Right now, this is the only place to hide, so just fucking play cool!

    TED
    Whoa. Lead on Kemosabe. We got shit to take care of. I’ll deal with all of this later.

    Ted makes a clockwise pointing movement. They resume walking down the hall. The hostess opens a door and motions for them to enter.

    HOSTESS
    And what is your order?

    HARVEY
    What is vintage of the thirty-two tonight?

    HOSTESS
    Twenty-two year old Brazilian.

    HARVEY
    We’ll take that.

    INT—CHUCK E.’s DEN SUITE—NIGHT

    Harvey shuts the door, leans against it and slides to the floor. The suite is lit in a red light; small tables around the room are topped with buckets of ice with champagne nestled inside. Richard Cheese’s cover of NIN’s ‘CLOSER’ plays over the speaker system. Harvey begins to rub his groin.

    TED
    Fucking stop that!

    HARVEY
    Sorry, nervous tick.

    TED
    You mind explaining what the fuck is going on?

    Harvey jumps up to an accusatory stance.

    HARVEY
    No! Why don’t you tell me?! You’re the one who seems to know so much. Who is this ‘inside man’?

    TED
    We don’t have time for this horseshit!

    HARVEY (PARANOID)
    You seem to know too much! This feels like a sting!

    TED
    Listen, I’m just…

    Ted is interrupted when the door to the suite is flung open and a naked BRAZILIAN WOMAN is cast into the room as the door shuts behind her. She has a look of fear in her eyes, she notices one of the champagne bottles, lunges for it and smashes it to make a jagged weapon.

    BRAZILIAN WOMAN
    Não me toque os filhos da puta!

    TED
    Now calm down there honey; we ain’t lookin’ for trouble.

    They circle each other in a tense standoff.

    TED (CONT’D)
    What the fuck is goin’ on!?

    HARVEY
    It’s the number thirty-two I ordered.

    TED
    What?! This is all kinds of fucked up! Can you at least keep her quiet! I don’t wanna get found out.

    BRAZILIAN WOMAN
    Chegue um passo mais perto e vou cortar seus testicais!

    HARVEY
    Don’t worry, the suites are sound proof. But I had to order something, or they’d get suspicious. Just, hold on.
    (TO BRAZILIAN WOMAN)
    Eu sou famoso. Eu posso te fazer um emprego.

    The Brazilian woman calmy sets down the broken bottle and takes a seat.

    TED
    What the fuck did you say?

    HARVEY
    That I’m famous and I can get her work.

    Just then TED’S PHONE buzzes as a new call is coming in and it is on vibrate. He looks at the screen.

    TED
    Here are your answers. I’ll put it on speaker.
    (TO THE CALLER)
    Yellow. You got Ted.

    INSIDE MAN
    Did you, get the package?

    TED
    Yes, I did. Safe and sound.

    INSIDE MAN
    Good. I won’t make this long. We don’t know who’s listening.
    Meet at the rendezvous in 24 hours.

    TED
    Gotchya.

    The call ends.

    HARVEY
    What was that? That didn’t answer no damn questions! Listen I’m a very impor…

    Ted pulls his gun and fires a round into Harvey’s leg. The Brazilian woman smiles and claps.

    HARVEY
    You fuckin shot me! Why the fuck did you shoot me?!

    TED
    Cuz you’re a piece of shit. Now wrap that up and get some sleep. We got a long road ahead of us.

    Harvey rips a piece a piece of his dirty tattered robe and wraps his leg. Ted plops down on the plush bed and tilts.

     

    PART TWO