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According to Hannity – well, he didn’t say this directly, but you can see the parallel – the Oscar ratings are mirroring the 2004 election.

While early ratings suggested that last night’s show was going to be the most-watched ceremony in several years, more comprehensive numbers indicate that the show lost  viewers from last year.

Sort of like how the early exit polls suggested a Kerry romp – until we heard from Flyover Country™.

Okay, this Christina Rock diatribe can’t go unFisked, sorry.  I didn’t watch (surprise!!!), so I didn’t see his distasteful little schtick.  But apparently, others saw it and they weren’t impressed, either.

And, after reading his verbal flatulence, it’s not hard to see why…

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Sucks to be Syria right at the moment.

Fox News is reporting that the pro-Syrian government of Lebanon has resigned en masse  after days of anti-Syrian protests.

I’ll admit – this surprises me.  I was talking about these protests with Imperial Torturer™ B.C. yesterday, and I’d predicted that this would turn into Tiananmen 2005.  Dictators simply don’t normally give up their power that easily.  So, yeah – this surprises me a bit.

But there’s another item today that gives one the impression that Syria might have the appearance of a proverbial deer-in-the-headlights with the SUV bearing down on it:  Israel has fingered Syria for last week’s suicide bombing at a Tel Aviv nightclub.

Damascus might want to ask the Palestinians displaced Jordanians what happens when Israel figures out who’s attacked them.

The SUV isn’t slowing down, Syria.  Might wanna get out of the way before you get run over. (snicker)


Our “Slight Difference There, Dumbass” division weighs in today with this quip from Vladdy Putin to President Bush the other day during the recent summit.

When Bush confronted his Russian counterpart about the freedom of the press in Russia, Putin shot back with an attack of his own: “We didn’t criticize you when you fired those reporters at CBS.”

As the President tried to explain to you, Pee-Yewtin, you imbecile – the press in this  country isn’t controlled by the governemnt.

Slight difference there, dumbass.


(SCENE:  Aboard Pegasus.   Sparks are flying from Ozymandias McCool’s communications panel.)

LSIK&T:  Dammit, Ozy, that’s the third one today!!!  I told  you not to put your Romulan Ale on top of that board!!!

OZY:  Wasn’t the ale this  time, m’Lord!  I’ve got it on the deck here by my foot in this sealed mug! (inadvertently knocks it over.  Fortunately, it really was  sealed, so nothing spills out.)  See?

LSIK&T:  Okay, fine, whatever. (to speaker) Engineering!!!

MERLIN:  Aye, m’Lord?

LSIK&T:  Get another communications panel up here on the double.  This time, set the voltage for 240 instead of 110 like I asked you the first time?!?!?!?!

MERLIN: (wincing)  Aye, sir.

LSIK&T:  Ozy, hurry up and finish your apprenticeship under him, willya?  I’d prefer you take over for him before  he blows this ship up…??? (sigh)

(Ozy tries to suppress a grin as we fade to black)

Okay, Denizens, comments are fixed.  (If you didn’t notice that they were broken, never mind.)



By now, you guys have heard about the shootings that took place in Tyler last week.  And you’ve heard about the very brave individual, Mark Wilson, who gave up his life to save that of the gunman’s son, through whose head David Hernandez Arroyo was about to put a bullet.

But it’s the reaction of the moronic Texas Department of Not Much Safety which chaps my bohiney this morning:  The standard mantra of “leave your protection to us professionals” – invariably given after said professionals have just been caught again  with their collective trousers down around their collective ankles.

“Leave the crime fighting to us,” said Tela Mange, spokeswoman for the Texas Department of Public Safety. “There are just all kinds of situations that they can find themselves in that don’t turn out well.”

Yeah, Mangey, and those “situations” usually occur after you dipwads have failed yet again  to do the job that we, the taxpayers…


…are paying you pretty decent money to do.

Couple weeks ago, one of the local news shows had a story about a woman in South Dallas who had some car trouble, went to a Taco Cabana where she’d spotted a Dallas cop car, knocked on the door – then listened with incredulity as the Dallas police-type person refused to help her.  Seems he’d just started dinner and couldn’t pull himself away from it long enough to make a phone call. (Sorry, guys – tried to find the link to the story and couldn’t.  Any of you know where it is, email me, mkay?)

Here in Dallas, we’ve tried that “don’t take the law into your own hands, let us do our job” approach.  The result:  Dallas has led the nation in crime the last six years.

Here’s a hint to the law-enforcement-donuts-and-coffee crowd:  Put the welfare of the people  ahead of the welfare of your own flabby guts and we might trust you a little bit more.

Until then…Article II of the Bill of Rights in the United States Constitution is there for a reason.  And if the local gendarmes  can’t do their jobs, let them not be surprised when we do.


Time to check your friendly neighborhood King & Tyrant for signs of extreme senility.

So I’m on the road headed to church (where, it may interest you to know, I’m writing this – God bless wireless networking (grin)), when I glance down for a nanosecond as I’m approaching the parking lot…

…and immediately blush near to the point where my face is redder than the sweater I’m wearing.

Backtrack a bit:  It’s cool today in Dallas (mid 40s), and I like to look decent at church, so I’m going to dress up.  Sorta.  Grab a pair of tan/cream-colored jeans, plus the aforementioned red sweater and my dress black wing-tips.

“Stylin’ & profilin’”, as Ric Flair might say.

Awright, so I’m near the parking lot now, when I look down at my socks…

…my 100% cotton, pure-as-the-wind-driven-snow white  socks…

IOW, I have followed my usual routine of wearing athletic socks in advance of the sneakers I usually wear.

And my face is now as red as my sweater at the fashion faux pas  I have blatantly committed.

Oh, (very  heavily censored)…!!!


Barring a miracle of some sort, it would seem that Terri Schiavo has three weeks left to live.  Asshat extraordinaire and pathetic excuse-for-a-circuit-court-judge Georgie Greer graciously  ruled – as he sat in his ivory-plated tower – that for three more weeks, Terri could keep her most prized possession – her feeding tube.  But after three weeks, she has to give it back to little Mikey so he and his slut bitch of a whore can play with it.

Never mind they don’t need it.  Never mind that she does.   Never mind that Little Mikey Shitstain could divorce Terri (as Dean Esmay has pointed out in Calblog), leave her be and marry this little tramp that’s birthed two of his children (and why this son-of-a-syphilitic bitch is allowed to breed is beyond me).

Never mind that it’s never been fully investigated whether this pansy-assed little fucker attacked Terri, as her brother says in this interview.  Never mind that numerous Florida statutes, according to this brother, are being violated.

This bastard Mikey Shitstain could very easily let Terri live and go on with the rest of his life.  But he has about a million rea$on$$$$ why he won’t.  It’s all about the money for this pathetic, lame-assed loser, and he’ll do anything to get it – including killing his wife.

We sentenced a man in California to death for killing his  wife, yet Mikey Shitstain goes free.  Why?  Why do we put up with this?  The most outrageous criminal on the face of the planet has more rights than Terri Schiavo?  Dogs, cats, horses and spotted owls have more rights than this woman?

One last question – a rhetorical one:  Would any jury convict someone who was in (or perhaps went to) Florida and put a bullet in Mikey Shitstain’s ugly ass?  Perhaps as he tried to give the order to pull the tube?

Just askin’, is all.


(SCENE:  Aboard the Klingon Bird-of-Prey Pegasus.   The ship has just exited its sixth wormhole of the past 90 minutes after yet another failed attempt to go to warp…and none too smoothly, either.  Chief Engineer & Magician Merlin picks himself up off the deck again.)

MERLIN:  Dammit, I’m gonna catch Hell™ for that  jolt…

(as if on cue) LSIK&T(on speakers):  Merlin, would you mind coming up to the bridge, please, sir?

(Merlin warily eyes the rest of the engineering crew warily.  Lord Spatula’s tone-of-voice sounded way  too cordial for his comfort.)

MERLIN:  Uhhh…aye, sir? (trudges toward the bridge)

(SCENE:  On the bridge of Pegasus.   The doors part and Merlin comes to stand to the right of Lord Spatula’s command chair.  Tactical officer Korrioth, the Klingon-Vulcan hybrid, stands behind Spats’ right shoulder, directly to Merlin’s left.)

MERLIN:  Reporting as ordered, m’Lord…?

LSIK&T:  (pleasantly) Mr. Korrioth…?


(Korrioth delivers a wicked backhand to the side of Merlin’s head.  Merlin literally flies across the bridge, coming to rest in a crumpled heap in the forward section thereof.  Lord Spatula comes to stand over him.)

LSIK&T:  I trust I’ve made my point, Wizard…?

MERLIN:  (groggily) Aye, m’Lord.  I’ll…get it right…unnnh…this time…ow…

LSIK&T:  Mr. Korrioth, will you please carry Merlin back to Engineering, place him gently in his chair and double-check whatever calculations he comes up with?

KORRIOTH:  (grunt)

LSIK&T:  Thank you, gentlemen.

(SCENE:  Six hours later.)

KORRIOTH:  Bridge, this is Korrioth.  Try it now, m’Lord.

LSIK&T:  There’s a Cluebat™ with your name on it if it’s wrong, Korrioth…!!!

KORRIOTH:  All simulations test positive, m’Lord.  We have the proper formula balance now.  We may proceed at warp nine, if you wish.

LSIK&T:  I’ll hold you to that, targ-breath.  (to the helm) Mr. K’hadibak’h, if you please?  Warp…(glances back behind him, as if towards Engineering)…one.

(Pegasus  shoots into warp one more time…)

Okay, guys, I’ve tweaked the formatting of the blogroll and the email advisory to my liking; now I think we’re ready to go (he said as he tapped a neutronium ClueBat™ in his hand).  Now that the main page looks the way I want it to look, I can start installing some scripts.

Bear with me and keep your fingers crossed… (sigh)


Well, well, well.  The Department of Instant Karma’s Gonna Get You, via a hot tip from LC Staci, informs us that Michael Crook – he of my last Blogspot rant – reared his ugly-assed skank head just long enough to pop up on the radar screens of the Powers That Be™.

Forsake the Troops has just learned that the scumbags at SMIS Hosting intend to cancel our service. They first informed us that, as a “courtesy” they will allow us to host our chat event tomorrow night, but that they will be pulling the plug at 10:01pm Eastern time on Friday, the 25th.

That didn’t apparently set well with the Limp-Wristed Skinhead™, so it seems that he threw a temper-tantrum:

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It’s a One-Legged Man™ day today, guys.  I’ll get to stuff as I can.

Figures…open up a new blog and now I’m too busy to post on it… (grumble grumble grouse)


Guys, the page is about to start looking very  funky.

Bear with me and things will hopefully start looking much better after I’m done.


UPDATE:  Okay, Denizens – time to check in, all of you.

Don’t ask me how, but I think  I have it.  I’m seeing the header/banner at the top where it should be; the posts in the body on the left side where they should be; the links, archive calendar, search box, email blurb, Digital Brownshirt, Madfishy’s COTBG pic and  my beautiful baby boy – all where they should be (the “Archives” and that crap below it I don’t immediately care about)…

and  the footer info, all where it  should be.  And  I see it not only in Firefox, but in IE, as well, which has me pretty damned geeked at the moment.

(It should.  It took long enough. (sigh))

Your assignment:  Look at this blog.  Is what I just described what you see also?  Denizens, I need you to check in and tell me how it looks to you, if you’d be so kind (and yes – put a cork in it when it comes to the color scheme.  I like it, okay? (grin))

Thank you very kindly.  Now  thatisall. 


Remember our mothers used to tell us, “If you can’t say anything nice about someone, don’t say anything at all”?

(Yeah, I can hear you now – “What’s your excuse, Spats?”  Bite me. (grin))

Well, an asshole excuse-for-a-teacher and his carpet-crawlers in Brooklyn apparently never got the message.

(Story via the NY Post, with hat tips to LC imamommy and Denizen David Hartung)

An American soldier overseas is fuming over letters he received from Brooklyn middle-school children accusing GIs of destroying mosques and killing civilians in Iraq.

Pfc. Rob Jacobs of New Jersey said he was initially ecstatic to get a package of letters from sixth-graders at JHS 51 in Park Slope last month at his base 10 miles from the North Korea border.

That changed when he opened the envelope and found missives strewn with politically charged rhetoric, vicious accusations and demoralizing predictions that only a handful of soldiers would leave the Iraq war alive.

What the Hell™ middle school was  this, anyway?  Michael Moore Middle?

And where in Great Honkin’ Cthulu’s™ name did these snot-noses get the impression that we’re losing this war?  “Only a handful of soldiers would leave the Iraq war alive”???  When did these rugrats become Nostradamuses, anyway?

“It’s hard enough for soldiers to deal with being away from their families, they don’t need to be getting letters like this,” Jacobs, 20, said in a phone interview from his base at Camp Casey.

“If they don’t have anything nice to say, they might as well not say anything at all.”

You’d think so, Private, but there are a lot of dumbasses who never seemed to learn that lesson – and now that  failure is being passed onto our kids.

One Muslim boy wrote: “Even thoe [sic] you are risking your life for our country, have you seen how many civilians you or some other soldier killed?”

Oh, here we go with that “100,000 Iraqi civilians killed” meme.

Okay, little shit – let’s have the names.  Each and every single fuckin’  first & last name of each and every single fuckin’  one of those so-called “100,000 killed Iraqi citizens”.

Go on, punk-ass, start tickin’ ‘em off.  I’ll wait. (taps foot on floor)

His letter, which was stamped with a smiley face, went on: “I know your [sic] trying to save our country and kill the terrorists but you are also destroying holy places like Mosques.”

Yeah, dumb-ass.  By the sheerest  of coincidences, that just happens  to be where the ragheaded Islamofucks are.   Funny how that works, ain’t it?

Most of the 21 letters Jacobs provided to The Post mentioned some support for the armed forces, if not the Iraq war, and thanked him for his service. But nine of the students made clear their distaste for the president or the war.

I want those nine kids lined up against a wall.  Then their parents.  Then anyone else  who’s had a hand in these snot-noses’ upbringing.

Then flog ‘em all.  Rattan canes.  Leave marks – the more, the better.

The letters were written as a social-studies assignment.

The JHS 51 teacher, Alex Kunhardt,

As I write this, I just heard from Hannity that this fuckstick previewed the messages before he sent ‘em on.

Line him up, too.  Take a pair of brass knucks to him.

These shitheels need to be taught a lesson.  It’s the soldier, not the barking moonbat excuse-for-a-teacher, which protects them to the point that they can learn without having to look over their shoulders.  Some  schoolkids don’t get to do that – just ask Ariel Sharon.

Stupid fuckwits…


LSIK&T:  Re-confirm all moorings have been cleared.  Ozy, get me the dockmaster.

OZY:  I have her for you now, Admiral.

LSIK&T:  Starfleet Command, this is Pegasus, requesting clearance to depart.

DOCKMASTER:  Pegasus, this is Starfleet, you are clear to depart spacedock.  Good hunting, Lord Spatula.

LSIK&T:  Acknowledged, Dockmaster, and thank you.  Raktajino from Starbucks on me when I get back?

DOCKMASTER:  We’ll discuss that later, Lord Velvet.

LSIK&T:  (huge grin)

DOCKMASTER:  Smooth sailing, love.

LSIK&T:  Thanks, babe.  Pegasus  out.  (to helm) Mr. K’hadibah’k, take us forward, if you please.  Thrusters at one-third until we’ve cleared spacedock and Blogsnot’s gravitational fields, then set course for the badlands, warp 7.  (tilts head towards speaker) Engineering!

MERLIN:  Aye, sair???

LSIK&T:  We’ll be going to warp speed.

MERLIN:  Ayyyeee, sair!!!

(ED. NOTE:  Quick, Denizens, which movie was that last sequence from?  Bonus points to the first one who can tell me. (grin))

LSIK&T:  Mr. K’hadibah’k, let’s see what this re-fitted puppy’s got.  Engage!

(Pegasus  shoots into high warp as we hear the dulcet tones of one Toby Keith…”(strum) American girls…and American guys, we’ll always stand up and salute… (Fade to black.))


Probably should’ve done this beforehand…

…but at least I still have some time to tweak some things before going live

eh, what? (grin)


Testing, one…two…three


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(KORRIOTH:  Oh, great.  More wormholes.)

Mozilla Firefox doesn't do too badly, either; in fact, it's His Rudeness' browser of choice.
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