Posts Tagged ‘Marco 3P0’

Candy kiss-off for Valentine’s Day

February 14, 2017
Here's your hat, there's the door, what's your Russian?

Here’s your hat, there’s the door, what’s your Russian?

Twenty-four days. That’s how long tovarisch Mike Flynn lasted as national-security adviser.

In case you were wondering, yes, that’s a record.

Over at The Washington Post, national political corresponent James Hohmann has 10 unanswered questions you might find interesting.

At The New York Times, the Donks are demanding to be sung their favorite bedtime lullaby, “What Did the President Know (And When Did He Know It)?” This has all the gravitas and authority of a puppy yapping from his kennel while the humans are at work.

Trouble is, these mainstream-media types are all spewing the usual bullshit about what Beelzebozo can and can’t do now; the “future credibility” of his various mouthpieces, stooges, finks, flappers and handlers; and which useful idiot will replace the outgoing useful idiot. None of this addresses the central issue, which is that Ronald McDonald McTrump and the battalion of buffoons crowded into his stretch clown car are not Business As Usual and cannot be covered as such.

Perhaps most amusing is the pronouncement from Sen. Marco Rubio (R-Self-Interest) that a Senate Intelligence Committee inquiry into Russian tinkering with the election will go “wherever the truth leads us.” Little Marco doesn’t go places where he might trip over an inconvenient fact and bruise his ambition.


Red moon rising

July 20, 2016

I’ve been striving mightily not to watch as the GOP continues eating itself alive — it will get around to its big orange asshole tomorrow — but Lord, is it ever a tough ol’ slog.

All my usual news feeds are awash in pomposity, prevarication and psychosis. Not even the Tour could cheer me up today, and I took little pleasure in being proved correct when I predicted early on that Tejay van Gardenhose would enjoy his usual jour sans. Even an old, blind dog can unearth a moldy Milk-Bone now and then.

Tonight’s speakers list is a veritable Murderers’ Row of mendacity: Koch-sucker Scott Walker, Marco 3P0, Texas Ted Cruz the Gucci Shitkicker, veep-in-waiting Mike “Deadeyes” Tuppence, and Newt and Callista Gingrich, who probably have never starred in an adult movie titled “Mr. Toad Boinks a Robot,” no matter what you’ve heard about the uptick in porn consumption during the GOP confab in Cleveland, City of Light, City of Magic.

A red moon rising indeed. I think I’ll go crawl under my bed now.

A dog’s breakfast

March 4, 2016
You won't see that many dicks on stage at a Chippendales show.

You won’t see that many dicks on stage at a Chippendales show.

Every time I think we’ve hit rock bottom, it turns out there’s another layer underneath. And another. Aaaaaannnnd another.

I had considered watching last night’s GOP “debate,” certain that the lesser evils would be going after the big one hammer and tongs. But I decided against it, not wanting to give Fox the eyeballs, and instead followed along via The New York Times live updates.

Hijo, madre, puto, cabron.

Don’t get me wrong: I enjoy a good dick joke as much as the next fella (“Yeah, and it deep, too!”). But these dicks were decidedly unfunny, like the Original Dick, Richard Milhaus Nixon, who wandered the White House full of cheap hooch and arguing with the paintings when he wasn’t using the Constitution as a coaster for his gin mug or a wipe for his bum.

Monkeys came to mind. Specifically, King Kong atop the Empire State Building. Then feral dogs, as in the final few paragraphs of Chapter 3 of “The Call of the Wild.” And finally, “Animal House.”

Fox and Megyn Kelly clearly came prepared to give Mooselini the sort of terminal wedgie which would insure that only feral dogs could hear him for the remainder of this campaign cycle. He’s the belligerent drunk that nobody wants at the party, even the Republican Party. But none of these pampered poodles — not Marco 3P0, not Texas Ted Cruz, the Gucci Shitkicker, and certainly not the RomneyBot Mark IV — could give him the heave-ho last night, and he’s still at it this morning.

Somebody tell Reince Priebus he’s gonna need a bigger dick. Dog. Whatever.

Bill me later

February 26, 2016
You're ... despicable.

You’re … despicable.

The chattering classes are having a high old time recounting the “beating” The Mouth That Roared endured last night at the manicured hands of Marco 3P0 and Texas Ted Cruz, the Gucci Shitkicker.

What they mostly forget is that Trump’s voters don’t care what the media elites think. And I’ll bet that any mouthbreathers who were on the fence as regards TMTR are firmly under the Big Orange Tent now after watching those two bidness-as-usual sellouts from Washington, D.C., tag-teaming the big fella like a pair of yapping coyotes trying to bring down a bull elk.

I think Steve Benen gets it mostly right here: They threw everything at him, up to and including the kitchen sink, and what did it get them? This morning TMTR is up and at ’em on Twitter, breezily calling them chickenshits, jagoffs and feebs.

Hell, even I started to get riled up once 3P0 started beeping and chirping like he was a Terminator or something, while Cruz minced around looking all “West Side Story” with his Harvard Law letter opener. And I wouldn’t vote for any of these bozos if the Donks ran Adam Sandler and Rosie O’Donnell against them. Despicable.

Bare trees

February 9, 2016
The Marin Four Corners Elite (dog not pictured).

The Marin Four Corners Elite (dog not pictured).

Back to work, and what a hideous chore it was, too — riding the Marin Four Corners Elite on a new-to-me trail south of Embudo Canyon.

Lots of dog-walkers out in the late afternoon; too many, actually. But who could blame them? It was fiddy-sumpin’, if windy, and a fine day to step away from the desk for a while.

Today should be equally pleasant, unless you live in New Hampshire, where evil weather and presidential aspirants abound. Marco 3P0 is still jammed on repeat (his programmers insist this is a feature, not a bug); Jeb (!) asked his mommy to fetch his testicles (apparently he’s discovered some use for them); and Trump, The Great and Powerful, is expected to dispute their very existence while simultaneously squeezing them (and everyone else’s) with his very small hands.

On the Donk side in today’s primary, Comrade Sanders is expected to deep-fry The Hilldebeast, who has let the Big Dog off the leash, which may raise as many questions as it lays to rest. As celebrity tag-team pairings go, this may not exactly be The High Flyers.

Whatever. As the elite political press corps says, after tonight we can all go back to not giving a shit about New Hampshire. There are bikes to ride, after all.

Bad citizen redux

February 7, 2016
Marco 3P0 had his eye on the Orb when it should have been on the ball, specifically, one of the two brass ones belonging to Chris Christie.

Marco 3P0 had his eye on the Orb when it should have been on the ball, specifically, one of the two brass ones belonging to Chris Christie.

We skipped Saturday’s GOP debate, too, though it sounds like we missed some fun, like when Marco 3P0 got his android ass handed to him for playing with his Orb when he should have been paying attention to The Blob, a.k.a. Chris Christie.

Instead, we watched round two of “Horace and Pete,” a new thing from Louis C.K. that has been interesting in its first two outings, kind of like a “Hallmark Hall of Fame” broadcast hijacked by a time-traveling Quentin Tarantino who has his characters say “fuck” a lot.

As with the GOP debates, the cast is unreal — Steve Buscemi, Alan Alda, Edie Falco, Jessica Lange, Steven Wright — yeah, that Steven Wright — and of course, Louis C.K.

It’s not a comedy. I’m not sure what it is, to be honest, and I’m not convinced Louie’s sure, either. But it got my attention the way The Blob got Marco 3P0’s.