August 7, 2009 - July 31, 2009
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Yeah. An older guy with white hair. And a reputation with the ladies.
Hell, he's just 63. No, I'm not talking Clinton, I'm talking Harry.
It's his birthday today. And yours too.
When all had come on board the Learjet,
Harry gave his followers great things to eat and drink and inhale,
2 And other things besides,
3 And when they had been satisfied of all their wants, he spoke
to them, saying,
4 Do not question your good
5 Or think any more about it.
will travel together for a while,
7 Then go our separate ways,
And all will be as it should be.
Thereupon, all agreed speedily that it would all be okay,
10 Just as Harry said.
11 But later that night, the Learjet encountered bad weather over
the Rocky Mountains,
12 And the followers became afraid that the plane would crash,
13 And awakened Harry to tell him of their fear, and ask what
they should do.
14 But he replied to them calmly, saying, Do what you will. It does not matter
15 Each of your should act in
accordance with his nature.
16 If you are a coward, then
cry and moan and run around in a great panic until the plane crashes or
17 If it is your nature to be
calm in times of great emergency, be calm.
18 If it is your first instinct
to have sexual relations with a beautiful young woman, or each other,
19 Do not add to your stress by
trying to be different than you are,
20 Or stronger than you are,
21 But be yourself,
22 Exactly the way you are,
23 And act in accordance with
24 For myself, I prefer not to
think about it at all.
25 Whereupon Harry went back to sleep, and each of the followers
reacted as he was inclined to do, and all went as Harry said,
26 And the plane landed safely the next morning in Southern
And the Learjet Twins were sooooo happy.
And so it goes. Happy Birthday, Harry.
Well. Commenter "Bill" got all bent out of shape about this entry. We
suggested he was overreacting. Perhaps we made the wrong assumption
about who "Bill" was. Get a load of this
Clinton Celebrates His 63rd in Las Vegas
By Adam Nagourney
LAS VEGAS – No one can say former President Bill Clinton doesn’t know
how to throw a birthday party for former President Bill Clinton.
Mr. Clinton is in Las Vegas on Monday as one of the marquee speakers at
the National Clean Energy Summit, put together by Harry Reid of Nevada,
the Senate majority leader. The event has drawn a pretty impressive
turn-out, from former Vice President Al Gore to the wealthy oilman T.
But it became clear that something else was afoot in this sweltering
desert city when some of Mr. Clinton’s friends – the kind who would
appear not to have a particular interest or expertise in the kind of
summit Mr. Reid has arranged – were spotted on the Vegas strip.
Turns out Mr. Clinton decided to celebrate his 63rd birthday with a
dinner at one of this city’s hottest – and most pricey – restaurants:
Craftsteak at the MGM Grand hotel. How pricey? The 8-ounce wagyu New
York strip steak goes for $240. (Potatoes and other sides are extra.)
Among those who are on the list:
* Terry McAuliffe, the former leader of the
Democratic National Committee who is Mr. Clinton’s long-time friend and
* Paul Begala, a senior adviser from his 1992
* John D. Podesta, a former White House chief of
staff under Mr. Clinton
* Haim Saban, a friend, Hollywood executive and
significant financial contributor to Mr. Clinton and his efforts
* Steve Bing, the
Hollywood media mogul who has become one of Mr. Clinton’s best friends
and regularly lends him his private jet. (Most recently, Mr.
Clinton used the jet for his trip to North Korea, where he helped
negotiate the release of two American journalists who worked for Mr.
* Jay Carson, a former communications director for
As of Monday afternoon, it is not clear that Mr. Gore – who appears to
have had something of a rapprochement with Mr. Clinton after the North
Korea rescue mission – was going to be on hand.
Gore isn't on the
list. He was always, and nothing more than, a gofer. But we are sorry
that this particular white-haired, 63-year-old "First Child of the Boom"
still has to borrow
jets. Our guy has no such problem. In the long run, class will tell.
BTW, the weather in Rio today is fabulous
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
car Obama was born in.
[Boss asked me to post this one. He chucked his computer through a window, after a heated screaming match with it. He wrote this as me. In my style, he tells me. I haven't had a chance to read it. Sure it's awesome.
[You say I don't sound all that enthusiastic? Your ears (or eyes?) are playing tricks on you. Couldn't be more stoked to be the butt of one of the Old Man's "homages." I'm fit to burst.]
. Rumors are, it was driving in Kenya at the time when Obama
popped out of it. How un-American can you get? Except that a car isn't
a vagina, even if it provides a lot of the same comedic opportunities.
Which is why I'm now going to proceed to do a totally AllahPundit
trashing of Birthers catalyxed by a bunch of killer vaginal jokes.
Cool, huh?. I mean, imagine
I have it all set up. The foreign car, the yaaaaawning SOMETHING, and
hey, the punchline writes itself, right? Doesn't Michelle have a
yaaaaawning SOMETHING herself in herWookie-sized Princetonian
carcass, and then I close on just how stupid and southern
people are who believe Obama has anything to hide about his past. GIT
Uh, Boss. You asked (ordered) me to post this as if I wrote it, and
(given the fact you set fire to your computer in yet another drunken
rage). I was willing. I mean, you're the Boss and all. Except that in
this instance you're totally, completely full of shit.
I have to admit I love the idea of an Isetta as a metaphor for the
First Lady's vagina. I even love the slick word tricks (don't know
their names) you use to blur reality into Obama somehow being born out
of his own wife's Isetta door. But there comes a point where even I
draw the line. And it's here.
Like, I got some problems with this whole Birthers are idiots position.
Number One: Allahpundit thinks they're idiots. Allahpundit. Wake up,
Boss! Are you listening AllahPundit!
I don't like to tell stories out of school, but there was this time
that the Boss and I were hanging out on Twitter (we're really tight
that way), and I said I saw something clever on HotAir and the Boss, he
says, across however many miles and gigabytes of difference, he says,
"That AllahPundit. The only writer he ever met bit him in the leg. And
the writer died a day later."
After that I went to Borneo for a month or so, okay, seven, and Suli Li
and I were just about to become a lifetime item when the Boss showed up
again in his indefatigable and most remarkably sudden way. How he knew
I don't know. But there he was, damn him, with his tradmark
hundred-proof Stolichnaya bottle welded to his hand. "Meeee," he said
-- and this mind you, was at the exact moment when the presiding shaman
asked if anyone had any reason to keep Suli's and my eternal union from
reuniting the shattered fronds of the [entire fucking, just so you
know] universe -- "Heeeeeey, that's Brizoni. He owes me money, amd not
only that, but his cat bit my dog and cost me thousands of dollars in
cosmetic surgery. An Akita with a cat-jaw sized hole in his ear almost
never wins the annual Animal X Games -- you know, the 'Kill or Be
Killed English Sweepstakes' Michael Vick blesses every year in Druidic
robes at Stonehenge."
Well, I'm just saying. I haven't seen Suli since (I sleep with a loaded
revolver instead.) I've been reading all the adulation in the sci-fi
comments the Boss arranged for himself. Okay. I admit the guy has a
certain facility with words and arguments and like that. And some of
his early poetry-like writing is something like
poetry (if you like poetry
that's isn't like poetry). But the guy behind it all is an absolute
animal. I'm not going to make a big deal of it. I'm Brizoni, and I've
spent so much time in foreign climes that I'm used to animals. Hell,
I've been to Rio de Janeiro. Even the Boss seems civilized compared to
what I do on a Saturday night in Rio. Where was I?
Oh. Dudgeon. Are we all going to sit still for these outrageous vagina
jokes just because he's a fucking genius? I think not. It's
unconscioniousable. Or whatever the word is. You'd have to be one of
those perverts like the Boss even to pronounce it.
You see what I mean. If you know what I mean.
That didn't work out how I intended. Where the hell was I? Oh yeah.
Birthers. Does any one of you Boss-worshipping tools know that a
first-rate attorney named Andrew McCarthy (from the National Review)
Birthers, sort of? Sure you don't. You love the Boss. Who's really,
really, incredibly, oh-so-unbelievably smart.
Like I always say. Right, Boss?
Monday, August 03, 2009
Are U Ready?
Through the wire, up the steps, and
into the open air is The Blade.
Sorry about the computer glitches. They happen from
time to time. But the lengthy discussion in the comments section was
good. As a result, we have two new websites for you. Bad news: the Sci
Fi website will probably have to be restarted, although we will capture
all your comments as part of the 'Mission' and "Rules of Engagement'
discussion. We're not very expert at the starting new blogs business,
so please forgive us. As a consolation prize, we're soliciting better
names for it than the one we thought of off the top of our pointy
heads. There's already a big blog site with approximately the same
name. Give us a better name, and we'll grant the winning entry full
Good News: A new site we should have started a long time ago from the
sound of your posts. A place to talk about everything
without the heavy hand
of InstaPunk and his minions in the way. You
get to make to make up the
rules about what goes there and what doesn't, except for the rules
we've laid down limiting the influence of InstaPunk, LocoPunk,
TruePunk, and CountryPunk. They're still allowed to visit and post, but
only as equal participants, not as scolds or authoritarians. It's all
explained at the new site, which is called:
Go take a look. Of course we'll still be doing our thing at InstaPunk,
but our hope is that some of the topics you debate and discuss THERE
will inspire us to do a better job HERE. All the instructions you need
about how to become a poster at 'In the Metalkort' are contained in the
first entry, which we delegated to the last real survivor of South
Street. He dates back to the time of Zack, before there were punk
demortals who thought they were so smart, and he never bought into the
reign of Cadillac Mope, the fourth king of Punk City, whose hubris has
so obviously set the tone here for so many years.
And, yes, we're dead serious. We want to hear your thoughts. About
everything that interests you, no matter how slight or seditious. It's
never been our intention to become our own echo chamber.We confidently
expect you to spur us to better writing and more insightful
thoughts.And we're always here, always awaiting your best ideas, always
ready to engage when you are.
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