News That I Don’t Get
I realize I did a post about completely whack news recently, but you know what? [What, Rants?] Well, homey, I simply cannot control the ludicrous crap that spews from the diseased maw of our mainstream media every day. [No way, Rants. I thought you had superduperpowers.] I know, I know. I do have some powers, like turning wine into water, so to speak. [Oh.] Roger. Here we go:
Missile Defense: Or should I say ‘missing defense’ and leave it at that? “Dear Russia, North Korea, Pakistan, and Iran: ignore our expert military advisors, they’re butt-darts. To prove I’m real, here are the access codes for what little anti-ballistic defenses the U.S. has left… Love, O.”
Octomom Dropping The Top: Do I have to say it? Coulda seen this one coming? Or would ‘told ya so’ be better? Apparently the Brits get to see Octomom tits (and I’m about to be a rapper) to the tune of $10,000. That ought to buy a month or two of diapers. The most epic part of the article I read was this gem: “I get way too much male attention, but I won’t date until the octuplets are 18 – I live for them now.” Which totally explains the topless stunt.
Wiggin’ Out In The Wild Blue: I am so totally thinking that I need to work for JetBlue whenever I retire from the Army. I can’t fly an airplane, but I’m thinking that won’t matter for shit. According to what I read, a JetBlue pilot was subdued by passengers bound from JFK to Las Vegas after raving about nebulous terrorist threats, the Taliban, and Afghanistan. And this after the beer-thief steward guy. Totally up my alley.
Hanoi Jane Strikes Again: Yeah, now this one completely and totally tears my o-ring out of its frame. To cast Jane Fonda as Nancy Reagan in some upcoming movie just makes me want to slaughter kittens and bludgeon fucktard liberals. A prime example of Hollywood’s liberal, dissociated vacuousness, this should make anyone who survived the ’80’s projectile vomit from the sheer disrespect of it all. You all out there have no idea how much restraint it takes for me not to use the “C-word” in this paragraph. If you need me, I’ll be praying toward President Reagan’s grave for forgiveness upon our entire worthless society.
Whitney: Still dead, not as stoned anymore. Ironically, just the same as Michael Jackson.
Sometimes I really want to move off of this planet. Fuck me.