There's an old saying that I just love: A man's reach should exceed his grasp, unless he's an outfielder for the Chicago Cubs.
Okay, I'm kidding. The quote actually goes "Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?" Robert Browning said it. He meant that we should all strive to achieve our dreams, not just settle for what is easy to obtain.
And I believed the dumb son of a bitch. So I assembled a crack team of moose flunkies and large-breasted typists (actually, just one of each, but it sounds better the other way), and set out to conquer the world.
After a few fits and starts, it all seemed to be heading in the right direction. And I still believe it is. But I also believe that the journey has been the most enormous pain in the ass any moose has ever suffered. I have learned more about what absolute shitheads some people can be than I ever wanted to know.
Which leads to my urgent need for clown balm. As many of you know, when I am anxious or stressed I soothe myself by boxing my clown. It's cheaper than therapy, not as messy as pulling an Ernest Hemingway, and not likely to land me in jail like some of my other ways of "decompressing" might. (Think exposing myself to the hot young waitress at Buffalo Wild Wings.)
So, in this trying time leading up to the consummating of my deal (don't you love the word "consummate"?), my poor clown has been getting a serious workout. I'm talking raw and bleeding here, folks. With pee pee callouses and everything. It is a dire situation.
The only thing that can help at this point is a generous application of clown balm, preferably by a large-breasted Russian ballroom dancer, while on the road to consummate my deal. (There's that word again. Consummate consummate consummate.)
If you are of a religious persuasion, please pray that I get clown balm and consummation. If you are not religious, good vibes will do. In either case, your well wishes are appreciated, so send lots of them, before my poor clown gets infected and falls off or something.
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Saturday, February 28, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
When Teddy Croaks, Can We Finally Be Over The Kennedys?
Please? Pretty please?
My big-titted secretary is 45 years old. (Actually, she's more like 45 years young, but don't tell her that. She'll get a head bigger than mine, and there ain't room for two of us.) She talks about being "Kennedy-ed" her entire life. Hearing bullshit about how the Kennedy family is the closest thing to royalty that America has.
Um, didn't you guys fight a fuckin' revolution to get AWAY from a monarchy? How stupid do you have to be to want "royalty" running your country?
Now, I'm a simple moose, but I'm fairly well-read, and I watch the Hitler Channel a lot. From what I can tell, Joe Kennedy hauled his family to prominence by hauling 'shine and being a soulless rat bastard. I believe in capitalism, and I believe prohibition was a bad idea. Those two convictions are not incongruent with my belief that Joe Kennedy was a first-rate douchebag.
But, douche or duke, ol' Joe was a determined man. He wanted one (or more) of his sons to become President of the United States. I give him points for being ambitious if nothing else. (All those points are deducted with extreme prejudice, of course, when one considers that he was the one who authorized the lobotomy that turned his slightly slow yet quite functional daughter Rosemary into a drooling tard.)
Unfortunately, the douche apple doesn't fall far from the tree. John F. Kennedy was a deeply flawed man. And for every good idea he had politically, he had two that were almost criminally stupid. It's tough to say what his legacy might have been if he hadn't been cancelled by Lee Harvey Oswald. But in 1963, cancel him Oswald did, and thus, he became JFK the myth, JFK the legend, JFK the prince and god all rolled into one.
The Kennedy family, of course, has never been above nepotism. That's why Bobby was Attorney General, and a "place-holder" Senator was put into JFK's seat after he was elected President, with the promise that when Drunken Ted turned 30, the Senate seat would be given to him.
Bobby never ascended to the Presidency because Sirhan Sirhan ventilated him in 1968. Therefore, his never-to-be Presidency is almost as idolized as that of his older brother.
Ted never took up the Presidential scepter because he got drunk and killed a girl in 1969. Oh, I know, there were other reasons given - family problems and whatnot. But I think we all know the truth. You can't leave a young lady to die while you sleep it off in a hotel room, and still expect to become President, even if your last name is Kennedy. That name will protect you from paying the piper for your crimes, but it won't let you rule over the piper.
So here we had Jack dead, Bobby dead, and Ted as good as dead. In a perfect world, that would have meant the end of the Kennedy dynasty. But no, we were not by any means rid of America's Royal Pains In The Ass. That picture of little John-John saluting at his father's grave was just too fucking cute by half. We were in for another generation of the putative monarchy.
Fate intervened, though. Okay, it wasn't fate. It was abject stupidity. John-John lost his horizon, and piled into the Atlantic Ocean, killing himself, his wife, and her sister. How do I know he lost his horizon and became disoriented? Because Little Miss Big Tits talked to her Dad the day after it happened. An old-school aviator himself, he said, "You would be amazed how easy it is for that to happen, even to good pilots. And that guy wasn't a good pilot."
(Momentary Moose Flunky segue: At the time, the Moose Flunky remarked on the fact that there were thousands of Coast Guard personnel out searching for the Dead Kennedys. "If it had been you or me," he snarked excellently, "we'd have rated a one-legged seaman in a dinghy." He's right, and that is sad, but it's still pretty fucking funny.)
That wasn't the end of the Kennedecline. Baby-Sitter Fucker Kennedy (aka Michael) took a header into a tree on the lovely ski slopes of Aspen. He was skiing without poles, a video camera in one hand, and a "skiing football" fashioned from a water bottle packed with snow in the other.
Yes, Virginia, some people really ARE too stupid to live.
And who can forget that incident a few years back when Teddy's son Patrick got all liquored and drugged up, and seemed to think he had to go to the Capitol building for a vote at three in the morning? I presume crashing into the building was his way of making his vote known or something? He entered rehab shortly thereafter. Wise choice, loser. No doubt he will remain in politics for the rest of his life, given that he is too imbecilic to do anything else. But the rehab gig, that little domestic violence thing with his dick coozie that they had to call the Coast Guard in to break up, opening a can of whoop-ass on some poor wage slave security dude at LAX, and the rest of his fuck-ups, are more than enough to insure that this particular Kennedy will not rise far in the political sphere.
Then we've got the Kennedy relation who's a rapist, Bobby's son who died of an overdose, and the nephew who beat a 15 year old girl to death with a golf club.
And recently, we have Caroline, who wanted to walk in Hillary Clinton's verruca-infested shoes, as the junior Senator from New York. Unfortunately for her, tax problems, illegal employment issues, and a little hanky-panky kept that from happening. I think we can all breathe easier knowing that's one more Kennedy who has torpedoed herself.
That is why I truly do not understand the Kennedy worship. You humans pick such odd heroes. At best, this family is appallingly irresponsible. At worst, they are flagrantly criminal. And yet they are treated like they are something special.
Here's a hint: Truly exceptional people do not get through life based on their surname, or the sympathy that their dead brother or father or uncle evokes. These people are a cancer, and as the Secretary puts it, not worth half the powder it would take to blow them all straight to hell.
So when Teddy goes tits up, can all you Kennedy-lovers do me a favor? Daub the last square on you Kennedy Karma Bingo Card, and stop treating the Kennedy assclowns as if they're the second coming. Seriously. They're not worth it.
.
My big-titted secretary is 45 years old. (Actually, she's more like 45 years young, but don't tell her that. She'll get a head bigger than mine, and there ain't room for two of us.) She talks about being "Kennedy-ed" her entire life. Hearing bullshit about how the Kennedy family is the closest thing to royalty that America has.
Um, didn't you guys fight a fuckin' revolution to get AWAY from a monarchy? How stupid do you have to be to want "royalty" running your country?
Now, I'm a simple moose, but I'm fairly well-read, and I watch the Hitler Channel a lot. From what I can tell, Joe Kennedy hauled his family to prominence by hauling 'shine and being a soulless rat bastard. I believe in capitalism, and I believe prohibition was a bad idea. Those two convictions are not incongruent with my belief that Joe Kennedy was a first-rate douchebag.
But, douche or duke, ol' Joe was a determined man. He wanted one (or more) of his sons to become President of the United States. I give him points for being ambitious if nothing else. (All those points are deducted with extreme prejudice, of course, when one considers that he was the one who authorized the lobotomy that turned his slightly slow yet quite functional daughter Rosemary into a drooling tard.)
Unfortunately, the douche apple doesn't fall far from the tree. John F. Kennedy was a deeply flawed man. And for every good idea he had politically, he had two that were almost criminally stupid. It's tough to say what his legacy might have been if he hadn't been cancelled by Lee Harvey Oswald. But in 1963, cancel him Oswald did, and thus, he became JFK the myth, JFK the legend, JFK the prince and god all rolled into one.
The Kennedy family, of course, has never been above nepotism. That's why Bobby was Attorney General, and a "place-holder" Senator was put into JFK's seat after he was elected President, with the promise that when Drunken Ted turned 30, the Senate seat would be given to him.
Bobby never ascended to the Presidency because Sirhan Sirhan ventilated him in 1968. Therefore, his never-to-be Presidency is almost as idolized as that of his older brother.
Ted never took up the Presidential scepter because he got drunk and killed a girl in 1969. Oh, I know, there were other reasons given - family problems and whatnot. But I think we all know the truth. You can't leave a young lady to die while you sleep it off in a hotel room, and still expect to become President, even if your last name is Kennedy. That name will protect you from paying the piper for your crimes, but it won't let you rule over the piper.
So here we had Jack dead, Bobby dead, and Ted as good as dead. In a perfect world, that would have meant the end of the Kennedy dynasty. But no, we were not by any means rid of America's Royal Pains In The Ass. That picture of little John-John saluting at his father's grave was just too fucking cute by half. We were in for another generation of the putative monarchy.
Fate intervened, though. Okay, it wasn't fate. It was abject stupidity. John-John lost his horizon, and piled into the Atlantic Ocean, killing himself, his wife, and her sister. How do I know he lost his horizon and became disoriented? Because Little Miss Big Tits talked to her Dad the day after it happened. An old-school aviator himself, he said, "You would be amazed how easy it is for that to happen, even to good pilots. And that guy wasn't a good pilot."
(Momentary Moose Flunky segue: At the time, the Moose Flunky remarked on the fact that there were thousands of Coast Guard personnel out searching for the Dead Kennedys. "If it had been you or me," he snarked excellently, "we'd have rated a one-legged seaman in a dinghy." He's right, and that is sad, but it's still pretty fucking funny.)
That wasn't the end of the Kennedecline. Baby-Sitter Fucker Kennedy (aka Michael) took a header into a tree on the lovely ski slopes of Aspen. He was skiing without poles, a video camera in one hand, and a "skiing football" fashioned from a water bottle packed with snow in the other.
Yes, Virginia, some people really ARE too stupid to live.
And who can forget that incident a few years back when Teddy's son Patrick got all liquored and drugged up, and seemed to think he had to go to the Capitol building for a vote at three in the morning? I presume crashing into the building was his way of making his vote known or something? He entered rehab shortly thereafter. Wise choice, loser. No doubt he will remain in politics for the rest of his life, given that he is too imbecilic to do anything else. But the rehab gig, that little domestic violence thing with his dick coozie that they had to call the Coast Guard in to break up, opening a can of whoop-ass on some poor wage slave security dude at LAX, and the rest of his fuck-ups, are more than enough to insure that this particular Kennedy will not rise far in the political sphere.
Then we've got the Kennedy relation who's a rapist, Bobby's son who died of an overdose, and the nephew who beat a 15 year old girl to death with a golf club.
And recently, we have Caroline, who wanted to walk in Hillary Clinton's verruca-infested shoes, as the junior Senator from New York. Unfortunately for her, tax problems, illegal employment issues, and a little hanky-panky kept that from happening. I think we can all breathe easier knowing that's one more Kennedy who has torpedoed herself.
That is why I truly do not understand the Kennedy worship. You humans pick such odd heroes. At best, this family is appallingly irresponsible. At worst, they are flagrantly criminal. And yet they are treated like they are something special.
Here's a hint: Truly exceptional people do not get through life based on their surname, or the sympathy that their dead brother or father or uncle evokes. These people are a cancer, and as the Secretary puts it, not worth half the powder it would take to blow them all straight to hell.
So when Teddy goes tits up, can all you Kennedy-lovers do me a favor? Daub the last square on you Kennedy Karma Bingo Card, and stop treating the Kennedy assclowns as if they're the second coming. Seriously. They're not worth it.
.
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