Glibertarians.com 2018 Archive

Author: SugarFree

  • The Hat and The Hair: Episode 77

    Donald Trump does 1 thing at least 20 times a day

    “This is just stupid. Just fake news. CNN fake news. I don’t complain about the Russia witch hunt 20 times a day. That’s just nonsense. No one believes that I would complain about this fake Russia probe 20 times a day. That’s preposterous. Who could even say something about that sort of slanderous nonsense 20 times a day! Ten times a day, maybe! Maybe. Crooked Mueller’s crooked investigation? 20 times a day? Never. That makes less sense than the fraudulent special counsel investigation,” Donald said. He was talking to a particularly erotic water stain on the ceiling of the Oval Office.

    “Give me that damn phone!” John Bolton’s mustache growled as it chased the hat around the floor. It scuttled along on thin follicle legs after the hat, who had been strapped to the backs of four of the mustache’s feeder rats that had been set free. “NEVER!” the hat cried. “I write the tweets around here!”

    “Stop praising Kim Jung-Un!” the mustache screeched. John Bolton’s body lay slumped over behind the couch, occasionally twitching and issuing streams of urine.

    “Did you watch that fucking CNN story?” Donald asked. “I looked terrible. Lying Mueller probably has them put filters on the cameras to make me look worse. I should just fire him. He’s a terrible investigator and a terrible person and the investigation is just terrible. And I looked terrible. I looked 70-damn-years-old on CNN. It’s a witch hunt, the whole thing is a witch hunt and they are trying to make me look like a witch.”

    “You should just turn the TV off, Donald,” the hair said. “It’s just making you angry.” He scampered down Donald’s arm and leapt to the desk.

    “Don’t touch that TV. Don’t touch it. I have to keep an eye on the lies Mueller is having CNN tell about me. It’s all lies. Mueller probably put Stormy up to it. Mueller probably paid her that $130,000 dollars. Why would I pay her any money? I’m not a John. I don’t have to pay for pussy. I bet Mueller has to pay for it. Virgin Mueller the Whoremaster and his stupid crooked probe,” Donald said.

    “At least let me turn it to Fox News,” the hair pleaded. The hat squealed and laughed as John Bolton’s mustache jumped to catch him, missed, and went tumbling under the settee.

    “Where’s the FBI?” Donald yelled at the stain. “I want to see Mueller’s tax returns. I bet there are all sorts of pay-offs. Someone is paying him off. That’s the only reason he would be doing this. Hush money! I’d pay Stormy to tell everyone! I nailed a PORN STAR! How many guys can say they’ve done that? Not small-dick Bob Mueller and his false crusade that is his witch hunting all over me!”

    “Mr. President?” the intercom crackled. “It’s almost time for the Jerusalem address.”

    Donald slapped the Diet Coke button and yelled, “What Jerusalem address?”

    “Other button, Donald,” the hair said. He grunted with effort and pressed the intercom button down.

    “What Jerusalem address?” Donald yelled again.

    “The one for the embassy being opened?” the intercom said.

    “I’m not in Jerusalem, you ditzy broad!”

    “The telecom address, sir. You sent Ms. Trump and Mr. Kushner as dignitaries?”

    “Melania’s not in Jerusalem!” Donald said into the intercom. “I saw her skulking about in the Residence this morning. She laughed at my penis. Mueller made her! Mueller made her laugh at my penis!”

    The hat ran his rats up the leg of the couch. He paused on the arm to laugh at the mustache struggling to follow. “I’ve never felt so free!” the hat cried out.

    “Ivanka, Mr. President,” the intercom said.

    “My God, isn’t she hot? I wish I could find a woman that hot. Right? Isn’t she hot?” Donald asked.

    “Yes, Mr. President. She’s a very attractive woman,” the intercom said.

    “Back off, bitch! She’s mine!” Donald snarled into the microphone.

    The hat, astride his rats, ran the length of the back of the couch and leaped onto Donald’s desk.

    Donald pounded the Diet Coke button a few more times. “What do you want?” he asked the hat.

    “Show me how to turn on the camera! I want to take a selfie!” the hat said, suffused with manic glee.

    “NO!” the hair yelled.

    “I won’t tweet it out,” the hat told him.

    John Bolton’s mustache shook on the couch, flecks of foam dripping from his mandibles.

    “AH-HA! The camera!” the hat crowed in triumph.

    “I need better TV lawyers,” Donald fumed. “Like L. A. Law TV lawyers. That’s with get Mueller running scared. Someone with Arnie Becker on his side would have to put up with such a witchy-witch hunt.”

    There was a bright flash in the gloom of the office.

    “Mr. President,” the intercom pleaded.

    “Victor Sifuentes,” Donald mused. “No way Mueller could say I was racist with Victor Sifuentes on my side.”

    “That was just a TV show, Donald,” the hair said.

    “Oh, wait,” the hat said. “That’s not right. Wait. No! Unsend! Unsend!”

    “This is just a TV show, numbnuts,” Donald said.

     

  • The Hat and The Hair: Episode 76

     

    The air in the Kennedy Fuck Tunnels had been stale and muggy and Rudy pulled out his compact to check his make-up for the fifth time. It felt like his mascara was running but his mascara wasn’t running. He hated being smuggled into the White House like a common whore, like a shameful secret.

    “He says he still loves me,” Rudy whispered into the tiny mirror. “I believe him. I have to believe him.” He used a red-lacquered nail to start the ancient cage elevator. It rumbled and shook as it dragged him up into the light.

    “Good evening, sir,” Rudy said breathily to the Secret Service agent that open the elevator door for him. He offered a hand to the agent but the large man in the sunglasses and earpiece stared at it until Rudy dropped it to his side.

    “No manners,” Rudy muttered to himself. “No manners whatsoever.” He touched his hair self-consciously as he followed the agent to the Oval Office.

    “Knock first,” the agent said when they reached the door. He had a sneer on his face as he stood to the side.

    Rudy straightened his blouse where it had slipped off the hump forming on his back and took a deep breath to steady himself. “He loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me,” he whispered as he knocked. The door buzzed and unlocked with the dull thud of a bolt drawing back. He stepped through as the door opened.

    “Friend Rudy,” Donald said, loud and heartily and completely fake even to his hopeful ears. The door shut itself behind him.

    The smell hit him first, piss and jizz and the warm animal reek of unwashed bodies. Rudy put a hand up to cover his nose and mouth.

    “Come in, come in,” Donald said. He was in a bathrobe untied at the waist and nothing else. Rudy couldn’t help but look at the greasy white hair of his pubic mound and the angry red stub of a penis sticking out of it. He tore his eyes away to look at the President’s face: the narrowed eyes, the thin lips, the broken blood vessels in his cheek and nose.

    “Mr. President,” Rudy said. He tried not to let his eyes widen in shock as the President’s hair reared up as if blowing in a nonexistent breeze and settled itself back down, kneading the President’s head like a cat trying to get comfortable.

    “What’s this about pleading the 5th?” Donald asked. “I can’t plead the 5th. Mobsters plead the 5th. Gangsters plead the 5th. Guys who sleep with porn stars plead the 5th. I can’t plead the 5th.”

    “Mr. President,” Rudy began, “I misspoke. I’ll clean it up. I’ll make it all better.”

    Donald held up his right hand. A Make America Great hat was sitting on his fist.

    “He says this is really uncomfortable,” Donald said.

    “Who, Mr. President?”

    “What?” Donald said like a deafened concertgoer.

    “Who says it’s uncomfortable, Mr. President?” Rudy asked. The heat in the Oval Office was turned up jungle hot. Rudy could feel the gusset of his support panties getting wet.

    “The hat. The hat says sitting on my fist is really uncomfortable. He says it’s like getting fisted,” Donald said.

    “Yes, Mr. President,” Rudy said. He hugged himself under his stuffed bra.

    “Say hello to my hat,” Donald said thrusting the fisted hat forwards. “He is my most trusted adviser.”

    Rudy backed away from the filthy hat involuntarily and Donald took a step forward.

    “Uh, hello Mr. Hat,” Rudy said. “I’m Rudy Giuliani. Nice to meet you.”

    “He wants to know why you are dressed up like a cheap tranny hooker,” Donald said. He reached out with his free hand and caressed Rudy’s breasts.

    “You told me to come in disguise, Mr. President,” Rudy stammered. “And you’ve always liked this dress.”

    Donald turned the hat’s front toward his face and they both laughed.

     

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MBKu9OJ8Ltk

  • Friday Afternoon Links – Love Stinks edition

    “This is, how you say, my quorum medal.”

    Nobel Prize for Literature No One Reads Not Awarded

    Award-Winning Non-Statement:

    The Swedish Academy has decided to postpone the 2018 Nobel Prize in Literature, with the intention of awarding it in 2019. According to the Swedish Foundations Act, the Nobel Foundation is ultimately responsible for fulfilling the intentions in the will of Alfred Nobel. During the past several weeks, we have pursued a continuous dialogue with the Swedish Academy, and we support Thursday’s decision.

    In principle, the Nobel Prize shall be awarded every year, but decisions on Nobel Prizes have been postponed on a number of occasions during the history of the prizes. One of the circumstances that may justify an exception is when a situation in a prize-awarding institution arises that is so serious that a prize decision will not be perceived as credible.

    The crisis in the Swedish Academy has adversely affected the Nobel Prize. Their decision underscores the seriousness of the situation and will help safeguard the long-term reputation of the Nobel Prize. None of this impacts the awarding of the 2018 Nobel Prizes in other prize categories.

    Wait… What happened? Oh…

    Swedish Nobel Academy confirms ‘unacceptable behavior’

    The controversy which has continued for months surrounding the Swedish Academy “seriously damaged” the reputation of the Nobel Prize in Literature, the prestigious body announced in a statement on Friday.

    The scandal started with 18 women publicly accusing well-known photographer Jean-Claude Arnault of sexual misconduct last November. The French-born Arnault is married to a Swedish Academy member Katarina Frostenson and the duo wields significant influence in Sweden’s art world.

    The women claimed Arnault assaulted or raped them. The accusations, which cover the period between 1996 and 2017, were published in Sweden’s reputable Dagens Nyheter newspaper in the wake of the #MeToo movement. Also, according to the paper, Arnault bullied his victims into silence by threatening to use his contacts with the Academy and other influential people to “blacklist” them.

    So the Nobel Prize for Literature is not being awarded because the husband of a member of the Academy who decided the recipient of the award is Chester the Molester. The scandal has resulted in a lack of a quorum. Quorum. Quorum is a funny word to say.

    The world will bravely have to face an entire year without knowing the next Svetlana Alexievich or J. M. G. Le Clézio lurking in our midst.

    Police Use Stun Gun On Man Attempting To Have Sex With Car

    A Kansas man attempting to insert his penis into the tailpipe of a car had to be subdued with a stun gun after refusing to listen to police.

    “We were called to the 1200 block of East Broadway to a report of a naked male underneath a car,” said Lt. Scott Powell of the Newton (Kansas) Police Department. “.. He was attempting to stick his penis into the tailpipe of the vehicle.”

    The suspect did not respond to officer commands and officers used a stun gun to subdue him, the Newton Kansan reported.

    Powell said the man was intoxicated to the point of being incoherent.

    Police submitted a report to city prosecutors recommending a misdemeanor charge of lewd and lascivious behavior, the Associated Press reported.

    So many jokes. Joke overload! ARGH! GET AWAY FROM MY MOTHER!

    My Mother the Car is an American fantasy sitcom which aired for a single season on NBC between September 14, 1965, and April 5, 1966. A total of 30 episodes were produced by United Artists Television.

    Critics and adult viewers generally panned the show, often savagely. In 2002, TV Guide proclaimed it to be the second-worst of all time, behind The Jerry Springer Show.

    …

    The show follows the exploits of attorney David Crabtree (played by Jerry Van Dyke), who, while shopping at a used car lot for a station wagon to serve as a second family car, instead purchases a dilapidated 1928 Porter touring car. Crabtree hears the car call his name in a woman’s voice. The car turns out to be the reincarnation of his deceased mother, Gladys (voiced by Ann Sothern). She talks (only to Crabtree) through the car’s radio: the dial light flashes in synchronization with “Mother’s” voice. In an effort to get his family to accept the old, tired car, Crabtree brings it to a custom body shop for a full restoration. The car is coveted by a fanatical collector named Captain Manzini (Avery Schreiber), but Crabtree purchases and restores the car before Manzini can acquire it.

    Video shows man on South China beach walking off with dolphin

    Authorities in China are searching for a man who was seen on a South China beach walking away with a dolphin draped over his shoulder on Tuesday, video footage shows.

    A tourist who allegedly caught a dolphin and took it away from Hailing Island in Yangjiang, Guangdong Province, on May 1 will face punishment, Legal Evening News reported.

    The beach is located on Hailing Island, a popular tourist destination off the coast of China’s Guangdong province, 150 miles south of Hong Kong.

    A local marine patrol, cited by the British paper The Sun, said witnesses saw the man walk up to the dolphin after it beached itself. But rather than push it back into the water, the man left with the animal, the official said.

    Sex? Food? Sex, then food? Food, then sex? Is he going to stick the dolphin in the tailpipe of a car? Is the dolphin going to get the Nobel Prize for Literature?

    TRIGGER WARNING: GAWKER

    ‘Unfuckable’ Women Don’t Go on Killing Sprees, They Just Become Internet Journalists

    When I was in high school, I felt completely undateable. Everyone around me seemed to be pairing off, falling in love, and racking up sexual milestones while I was still, as the song says, “sweet 16 and never been kissed.” And I felt awful about it. I fumed with anger over the unfairness of it all, writing shitty poetry deriding other girls for being the recipients of the attention and affection I felt sure I deserved.

    So when I read 22-year-old Elliot Rodger’s extensive manifesto about his own dating woes 15 years after I’d graduated high school, I felt a flicker of recognition. I, too, knew what it was like to feel an extreme sense of loneliness and self-loathing curdle into rage, to feel like you were being unjustly denied access to the romance, sex, and companionship you so obviously were entitled to.

    Yet it’s unlikely that Rodger would have ever seen me as a kindred spirit. For Rodger, whose treatise went viral after he went on a killing spree in Isla Vista, California, in the spring of 2014, women like me couldn’t possibly understand his pain. To the contrary, we were the source of it. “The ultimate evil behind sexuality is the human female,” Rodger’s manifesto declares towards the end. “They are the main instigators of sex. They control which men get it and which men don’t”—and, in Rodger’s view, never have to deal with the pain of denial themselves.

    Central conceit of the story: Women don’t blame men for finding them unattractive like those darn incels do.

    Basic summary of comments: Women blaming men for finding them unattractive just like those darn incels do.

    via jesse.in.mb… Bonus Jezebel Link!

    I Drove Myself Nuts Trying to Unravel the Mystery of Seemingly Unparented 9-Year-Old Instagram Shit-Talker Lil Tay

    Social media stardom is a brutal Darwinistic competition, a craven and utterly shameless battle for space on our screens and in our brains carried out by a phalanx of influencers, thinkfluencers, beauty vloggers, charlatans, health quacks, spiritual phonies, and unhinged vegans. Recently, Lil Tay entered into this fray. Tay is—as far as we know—a 9-year-old girl, an ostensible recording artist, the self-described “youngest flexer in the game,” a possessor of some truly above-grade-level curse words, and the cause of my near-breakdown as I’ve tried to determine just who the hell put her up to this.

    In the past few weeks, I embarked on a soul-pulverizing journey through Lil Tay’s social media channels, where I became convinced that she’s being put in front of the camera and in potentially dangerous situations by people who aren’t looking out for her best interests. After watching some of those videos, agape, several times, I set out to determine who exactly was shaping Lil Tay’s online persona and driving her dubious form of stardom, and, in the process, maybe learn something about the nature of social media fame. I also just desperately wanted to know where her fucking parents are.

    …

    Lil Tay has claimed that she was “poor AF,” three years ago, when she was 6, writing in one Instagram caption, “USE BE LIVIN IN THE HOOD IN ATLANTA BROKE ASF 3 YEARS AGO AND IM GONNA TELL YALL RIGHT NOW YOU YOU CAN ACCOMPLISH YOUR DREAMS IF YOU WORK HARD!” In another video, she smokes a breadstick [emp mine] and tells her viewers that she’s “richer than all y’all brokeass haters” and has five houses.

    “I’m a nine year old millionaire and I be smokin’ dope,” she concludes.

    I know we love to make fun of Anna Merlan, but this is actually a very interesting piece about a deeply weird artifact barfed up by the Internet.

  • Thursday Afternoon Links – The Hat and The Hair: Episode 75

    “They better give me a Nobel Peace Prize,” Donald grumbled.

    “I’ll kill anyone I have to to get you a Nobel Peace Prize!” John Bolton’s mustache growled.

    “They gave Krugman a Nobel Prize,” the hat said with a sneer.

    “Actually, Paul Krugman didn’t get a Nobel Prize, he received the Nobel Memorial Prize in Economic Sciences,” the hair said.

    “Shut up, you autistic faggot!” the hat snapped.

    “I’ll kill you! I’ll bathe in your children’s blood! MURDER!” John Bolton’s mustache screamed.

    The hair clambered up to Donald’s shoulder and glared at the raving mustache.

    “OK, OK, make the damn call,” the hat said.

    Donald picked up the blue diplomatic phone and said, “OK. I’m ready.” He sat the handset down and turned on the speakerphone. It rang twice before clicking.

    “Her-ro?” a voice asked.

    “OK, who is this?” the hat asked. “Who am I talking to?”

    “Who are roo?”

    “I’m Donald Trump’s goddamn hat! Who is this?”

    “This is the hatteu of Dear Respected Comrade Kim Jong Un, Chairman of the Workers’ Party of Korea, Chairman of the State Affairs Commission of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea and Supreme Commander of the Korean People’s Army!” the voice snapped in barely accented English.

    “Whoa,” the hair whispered.

    “Who is this?” Kim’s hat demanded.

    “This is the Make America Great Again hat of His Most Super-Healthy Excellent Awesome Rad Dude Donald J. Trump, President of the United States of America, uh, Defender of the Capitalism, Landlord of Trump Tower and Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces of the Free World!” MAGA hat extemporized.

    “I was under in the impression President Donald’s hair would be speaking to me today,” Kim hat said.

    “Listen here, you little felt spunk cup…” John Bolton’s mustache began.

    “Nope, just me,” the hat said. “President Trump’s hair is 100% real hair. You could tug on it if you wanted to. If you were here, I mean.”

    “Get to the Peace Prize part,” Donald grumbled.

    “Of course,” Kim’s hat said archly. “Why have you called today?”

    “Goddamn commie scum!” John Bolton’s mustache screamed. “You know why we called!” His component follicles where perpendicular with rage.

    “The peace negotiations?” MAGA hat said leadingly.

    “Denukabalization,” Donald muttered.

    “Denuclearization?” MAGA hat said.

    “Ah, yes. I remember now. I have been so busy, as you might imagine,” Kim’s hat said glibly.

    John Bolton’s body dropped to his knees and the mustache began to gnaw on the Reliant desk angrily.

    “Listen,” Donald said, leaning toward the phone, “I want a Nobel Peace Prize. How can we make this happen?”

    “My Dear Head Host wants one as well,” Kim’s hat said. “He thinks it will make the ladies wild with lustful thoughts.”

    “See?” Donald said to the hat and the hair. “I told you could we could make a deal with this guy.”

     

    Is It Morally Acceptable to Make Peace With a Leader Like Kim Jong-un? …and other articles that would never have been written if Barack Omaba was still President from Slate Magazine!

    The country has 1 million men under arms and some incredibly deadly rockets at its disposal—many of them aimed directly at its neighbor, South Korea. There is little doubt that any serious attempt to overthrow Kim Jong-un’s brutal regime would lead to one of the bloodiest wars in human history. For that reason, I am as glad as anyone that we are making some progress—uncertain as it is, and illusory though it may prove—toward a peace settlement.

    And yet, I have also been disturbed by the ease with which virtually every participant in this debate ignores the immense suffering that a deal with Kim would likely perpetuate. North Korea’s 25 million residents live in a brutal totalitarian regime that impoverishes, intimidates, and humiliates its residents. The 100,000 inmates of the regime’s concentration camps have it incomprehensibly worse: The grotesque cruelty they suffer rivals just about any state-sponsored regiment of sadistic torture dreamed up in the long history of humanity.

    All of which is to say something that should be both obvious and uncontroversial: By just about any moral standard, Kim is one of the world’s most reprehensible dictators. People who claim to disdain strongmen and care about human rights should at the very least feel queasy about the way in which the recent smiling photographs of him with other world leaders may help to legitimate his rule. Most importantly, they should feel disturbed that any rapprochement would condemn 25 million human beings to live under horrific circumstances for the foreseeable future.

    And yet, this is a point barely anybody has bothered to make. Instead, the very same people who regularly denounce the U.S. government for maintaining friendly relations with the dictatorial rulers of Egypt and Saudi Arabia, of China and Myanmar, are full-throatedly cheering the pictures of Moon Jae-in, the president of South Korea, shaking hands with Kim. In fact, the very same people who rightly keep a violin at the ready to lament the fate of any mistreated Tibetan or Palestinian seem strangely unmoved by the daily doses of death doled out in North Korean camps.

    I pretty much abhor TDS talk, just like ODS talk before it and BDS before that. Given the scum that are in American politics, no criticism should ever be out of bounds, no blow should ever be too low. But this is just nuts. Slate is trying to out-Salon Salon here.

    New Zealand adds prostitution to list of employment skills for would-be immigrants

    Migrants hoping to start a new life in New Zealand can now add a new skill to their visa applications. Under a new plan, would-be immigrants can claim points as skilled sex workers and escorts.
    The skill is regarded as providing social companionship in the Australian and New Zealand Standard Classification of Occupations (ANZSCO) list.

    In order to meet the criteria of a highly qualified sex worker, would-be migrants will be expected to have ANZSCO skill level 5. The requirements issued by ANZSCO also include compulsory secondary education.However, applicants of ANZSCO level 5 cannot be classified as skilled unless their pay is more than NZ$36.44 (US$25.87) per hour, which is NZ$75,795 (US$53,818) per year based on a 40-hour week.

    The applicants should also have relevant recognized qualifications or have at least three years of work experience in the relevant industry.

    Despite the fact that escort and sex work are on the skilled employment list, there is no evident lack of them, as they are not included on the skill-shortage list.

    N.J. school superintendent arrested, allegedly pooped at school track ‘on a daily basis’

    Holmdel (N.J.) police have charged Kenilworth Public Schools Superintendent Thomas Tramaglini with relieving himself in public early Monday morning after school officials reported finding “daily” deposits of excrement by an athletic field.

    Tramaglini, 42, a Matawan resident, was issued citations on Monday for public urination or defecation, discarding and dumping of litter, and lewdness, according to the state’s municipal court case database. Lewdness is a disorderly persons offense.

    Holmdel High School staff and athletic coaches alerted a school resource officer “that they were finding human feces” at or near the track and football field “on a daily basis,” according to a Facebook post by township police.

    “The SRO, along with school staff, monitored the area and was able to identify a subject responsible for the acts,” according to the post.

    The alleged discharge of bodily waste occurred at 5:45 a.m. Monday.

    Efforts to reach Tramaglini by phone and email were not successful.

    The Night Pooper What Poops At Midnight will ever stop. Different names, different places, different sexes, different faces… but the pooper–and the poop–remains!

    Feds tapped Trump lawyer Michael Cohen’s phones

    Federal investigators have wiretapped the phone lines of Michael Cohen, the longtime personal lawyer for President Donald Trump who is under investigation for a payment he made to an adult film star who alleged she had an affair with Trump, according to two people with knowledge of the legal proceedings involving Cohen.

    It is not clear how long the wiretap has been authorized, but NBC News has learned it was in place in the weeks leading up to the raids on Cohen’s offices, hotel room, and home in early April, according to one person with direct knowledge.

    At least one phone call between a phone line associated with Cohen and the White House was intercepted, the person said.

    I mean, let’s be honest… the odds are pretty high it was a crank call, right?

    *****UPDATE*****

    NBC has now retracted/updated the story. The FBI only had a pen register of calls, not recordings of calls.

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Giebe-uzPFg

  • The Hat and The Hair: Episode 74

     

    Trump doctor Harold Bornstein says bodyguard, lawyer ‘raided’ his office, took medical files

     

    “Whatever happened to doctor/patient confi-fucking-denti-goddamn-ality?!?” Donald roared. “Bornstein fucked me. He jew-fucked me!”

    “Goddamn Jew doctors,” the hat commiserated. “I knew he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. We should have taken him to the park and fostered him.”

    “And, and, and look,” Donald stuttered, poking the newspaper story repeatedly. “He says I dictated my health letter to him. He says I told him to say my health was ‘astonishingly excellent.’ That doesn’t even sound like me, right? Right, fellas? Like I would tell him to say I would be the healthiest President ever. I’d never say that. It is 100% absolutely true, but I never tell him to say that. Just because I am the healthiest President ever, that doesn’t mean I would boast about it. I’ve never boasted about anything in my entire life. It’s just not me, right?”

    “No, Donald. That’s not you at all,” the hair said in a monotone.

    Donald switched from the newspaper to the Diet Coke button and began jabbing it repeatedly.

    “Where is it?” Donald asked. “I sent for one twenty minutes ago!”

    “You already drank it, Donald,” the hair said.

    “Well, I want another!” He continued to push the big red button.

    “What’s the matter with you?” the hat asked the hair.

    “Just, well, you know,” the hair replied listlessly.

    “The Bornstein stuff isn’t your fault, you know.”

    “Yes, it is. If it wasn’t for me, we would have had to destroy his files.”

    Donald screamed and began to slam his fist into the Diet Coke button.

    “The records, sure,” the hat said, “But not the letter. I wrote that.”

    “But the doctor would have kept quiet if we hadn’t raided his files.” The hair moaned dramatically.

    “He told The Jew Nork Times about the Propecia. What if he had released the files about the amounts Donald was getting? Or told them about those gallon jugs of Rogaine we were getting shipped in from Canada before Obamacare?”

    “Fucking Obamacare. I need that stuff. Asshole Chicago fuck fucked things up for everyone,” the hair groused.

    “The doctor stuff will blow over,” the hat said.

    “What if Mueller subpoenas him? What if they get him under oath?” the hat worried.

    “What if, what if, what if…” the hat said. “We’ll deal with it when it happens.”

    “No human could be using Propecia and Rogaine in those amounts!” the hair said. “What if they figure out about me? What if this cuts off my food supply?”

    “WHERE’S MY DIET COKE?!?” Donald yelled.

    “Donald will take care of it,” the hat said.

    “I NEED MY DIET COKE!”

    The hat sighed contentedly. “He’s got everything under control.”

  • Friday Afternoon Links – Pig Brains edition

    Maeby Fünke’s 100% Natural Good-Time Lesbian Movie Solution

    Duck Butter’s Naima (Alia Shawkat) and Sergio (Laia Costa) fuck like the world is ending. They do it at Sergio’s house, they do it at Naima’s house, they do it outside within potential view of strangers. They finger bang on a piano bench and kiss in between slurps of mango. They recreate Sergio’s experience of learning to masturbate with pillows alongside her cousin. They enjoy a salutary fuck, and they engage in makeup sex.

    After a stretch, Naima notes, “You know, we haven’t had sex in two hours.” She says this gravely, as if confronting Sergio with a rupture in their relationship. At this point, it’s been less than 36 hours since they made each other’s acquaintance.

    Researchers are keeping pig brains alive outside the body

    In a step that could change the definition of death, researchers have restored circulation to the brains of decapitated pigs and kept the reanimated organs alive for as long as 36 hours.

    The feat offers scientists a new way to study intact brains in the lab in stunning detail. But it also inaugurates a bizarre new possibility in life extension, should human brains ever be kept on life support outside the body.

    The work was described on March 28 at a meeting held at the National Institutes of Health to investigate ethical issues arising as US neuroscience centers explore the limits of brain science.

    During the event, Yale University neuroscientist Nenad Sestan disclosed that a team he leads had experimented on between 100 and 200 pig brains obtained from a slaughterhouse, restoring their circulation using a system of pumps, heaters, and bags of artificial blood warmed to body temperature.

    There was no evidence that the disembodied pig brains regained consciousness. However, in what Sestan termed a “mind-boggling” and “unexpected” result, billions of individual cells in the brains were found to be healthy and capable of normal activity.

    No, Your Dog Can’t Get Autism From a Vaccine

    LONDON — The anti-vaccine movement has come for the pets.

    A spreading fear of pet vaccines’ side effects has prompted the British Veterinary Association to issue a startling statement this week: Dogs cannot develop autism.

    The implicit message was that dog owners should keep vaccinating their pets against diseases like distemper and canine hepatitis because any concerns that the animals would develop autism after the injections were unfounded.

    …

    Those who fear vaccine side effects in their dogs claim the animals could develop canine autism, thyroid disease and arthritis.

    Then, on Monday, the television show “Good Morning Britain” on ITV put out a call on Twitter to hear from dog owners who believed their pets showed symptoms of autism after receiving vaccinations, and from others who had stopped getting their pets vaccinated against dangerous diseases.

    The next day, the veterinary association put out a statement on Twitter.

    “We are aware of an increase in anti-vaccination pet owners in the U.S. who have voiced concerns that vaccinations may lead to their dogs developing autism-like behavior. There’s currently no reliable scientific evidence to indicate autism in dogs (or its link to vaccines),” the association said in its tweet.

    Evolving Asteroid Starships project

    A group of students and researchers at Delft University of Technology are designing a starship capable of keeping generations of crew alive as they cross the gulf between stars – and they’ve turned to ESA for the starship’s life support.

    DSTART, the TU Delft Starship Team, is bringing together a wide variety of disciplines to perform advanced concepts research for a resilient interstellar space vehicle, to be constructed from a hollowed-out asteroid. The aim is not just to focus on the necessary technology, but also to consider the biological and social factors involved in making such a gargantuan voyage feasible.

    “We need self-sustaining and evolvable space technology capable of enduring the many decades needed to journey from our Solar System to another,” explains DSTART leader Angelo Vermeulen, currently studying for his systems engineering Ph.D. at TU Delft.

    “As part of that, we are looking at the kind of regenerative life-support system pioneered by the ESA-led MELiSSA (Micro-Ecological Life Support System Alternative) programme.”

    The 11-nation MELiSSA programme seeks to build a system, inspired by a natural aquatic ecosystem, to efficiently convert organic waste and carbon dioxide into oxygen, water and food.

    A MELiSSA pilot plant in Spain’s Autonomous University of Barcelona hosts an airtight multi-compartment loop with a ‘bioreactor’ powered by light and oxygen-producing algae to keep ‘crews’ of rats alive and comfortable for months at a time. While the algae yield oxygen and trap carbon dioxide, the rats do exactly the reverse.

  • Wednesday Afternoon Links – daedsiupa edition

    SIGH. AUDIBLE SIGH.

    Hank Azaria ‘willing to step aside’ from Simpsons Apu role

    Hank Azaria says he is “willing to step aside” from his role voicing Simpsons character Apu Nahasapeemapetilon.

    It follows a documentary made by Indian-American comic Hari Kondabolu that argued the Indian character is based on racial stereotypes.

    Speaking on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, the actor said his “eyes have been opened” by the debate and that he never intended to cause offence.

    He also distanced himself from the show’s controversial response.

    Shopkeeper Apu has been part of the long-running animation series since 1990, with Azaria adopting an Indian accent to voice him.

    The character is one of several voiced on The Simpsons by Azaria – he is also the voice of Chief Wiggum, Comic Book Guy and bartender Moe Szyslak.

    There has been a focus on the portrayal of Apu since Kondabolu’s 2017 documentary The Problem with Apu.

    The director told the BBC last year that the character was problematic because he is defined by his job and how many children he has in his arranged marriage.

    I’d like to see them–at the end of an episode not featuring Apu–have Snake walk into the Kwik-E-Mart, shoot Apu in the face–brains hitting the Squishy machine–then turn the camera and say “Happy now, Hari? Happy now, fucktard?” and fade to black. And never mention Apu or the kids or the Kwik-E-Mart ever again. And memory-hole Apu out of syndication and DVD releases if the little shit-weasel says anything. Buzzards don’t get to complain about their meal, fucktard.

    Speaking of Fucktards, My Hate-Read Pick of the Day: Before Basic Income, Fix Capitalism

    blah blah blah Hamilton Nolan blah blah

    (He doesn’t deserve and except.)

    One of the less-than-helpful suspect sketches.

    East Area Rapist arrested in decades-old case, source says.

    Authorities are expected to announce the arrest Wednesday of a suspect in the decades-old East Area Rapist case, The Bee has learned.

    The suspect has been living in the Sacramento area and was identified after a renewed push of the investigation by the Sacramento County Sheriff’s Department and District Attorney Anne Marie Schubert, a source said.

    The East Area Rapist, also known as the Golden State Killer, the Original Night Stalker and the Diamond Knot Killer, is believed to have killed at least 12 people, raped at least 45 victims and burglarized hundreds of homes.

    Joseph James DeAngelo, 72, is listed in Sacramento County jail records as being booked early this morning on two counts of murder from a Ventura County Sheriff’s Department warrant.

    …

    Authorities believe he raped 37 people in the Sacramento area and Central Valley and killed two between 1976 and 1978. From there, authorities believe, he moved on to the Bay Area and Southern California.

    He is believed to have committed at least nine sexual assaults in Sacramento, six in Rancho Cordova and Citrus Heights, four in Carmichael, three in Davis, two in Orangevale and one in Antelope between June 1976 and July 1978.

    …

    True crime writer Michelle McNamara’s book “I’ll Be Gone in the Dark” reached No. 1 on The New York Times’ bestseller list last month and drew renewed attention to the case. A documentary on the search for the killer aired at the Delta King Theatre in Old Sacramento earlier this month.

    Michelle McNamara is Patton Oswalt’s late wife, who died in an accidental overdose last year. And the serial rapist, serial murderer, and serial burglar may have eluded capture so long because he was a cop.

    And you learn to defend yourself from polar bear attack.

    Ok, this sounds pretty damn cool. Or maybe I’ve been watching too many episodes of The Terror.

    Alaska Olympic events mimic hunts, like sneaking up on seals

    JUNEAU, Alaska –  To most spectators, the term “Olympics” means world-class swimming competitions, downhill skiing or the 100-meter dash.

    But near the Arctic Circle, a different type of Olympics for young people pays homage to the region’s subsistence hunters and the methods they’ve used for centuries to feed their families and stay alive.

    This week, more than 400 high school students from across Alaska will gather in Anchorage for the Native Youth Olympics state championships, where 10 events will test their strength, endurance and agility.

    The games include the Seal Hop, where competitors bounce for as long as they can on their knuckles and toes, mimicking the act of sneaking up on a sleeping seal; the Indian Stick Pull, where two contestants fight for a greased dowel, simulating grabbing a slippery salmon from the water by the tail; and the Scissor Broad Jump, a half-long-jump, half-scissor-kick event that replicates leaping from one ice floe to the next in the Arctic Ocean.

    Towns and villages in Canada, Greenland and Russia also have Native Youth Olympics. Participants compete locally and at larger international gatherings such as the World Eskimo-Indian Olympics and the Arctic Winter Games.

    Someone Is Sending Mystery Potatoes To Fans Of Panic! At The Disco And No One Knows Why

    MOAR GBV

  • Tuesday Afternoon Links – Nattering Nabobs of Negativity edition

    Finland – Where Goat Santa Claus sit on his throne of skulls

    Finland ends their experiment in universal basic income that wasn’t an experiment in universal basic income because it wasn’t universal or basic or, really, income, if you think about it.

    Finland has decided not to extend its trial in universal basic income, the first welfare experiment of its kind by a European government that gave citizens an unconditional monthly payment.

    The government rejected a request from Kela, the country’s social security agency, for additional funding to expand the innovative two-year pilot program, meaning it will come to an end in January 2019, the Guardian reports.

    The program, which Finland inaugurated in January 2017, saw 2,000 jobless people receive €560 ($685) per month without requiring them to work or seek employment. Recipients who found a job continued to receive the payments. In 2015, Finland’s unemployment rate had hit a 17-year high of 10%, prompting calls for welfare reform.

    I guess “unemployment benefits with no requirement to look for work or that ends when you find work” isn’t as hip a name as UBI. The article notes that Holland, Canada, and Kenya have tried this nonsense. They forgot about the thriving metropolis of Stockton, California.

    Dreary Partisan Dolt Ed Gilmore

    Nuance is for losers. Everyone knows that: How They Do ‘Journalism’ at New York Magazine

    In my recent Wall Street Journal essay on the politics of Twitter mobs, I noted that the episode was accompanied by a great deal of sloppy journalism—remarkably lazy journalism. Of all the mostly denunciatory articles about me that appeared in the big-name press (at least four in the New York Times alone) not a single writer of any of them bothered to ask me about my views on the subjects in question: abortion and capital punishment. Naturally, practically all of them got it wrong (see the corrections) never having bothered to perform the characteristic act of journalism and, you know, ask a question or two.

    Ed Kilgore, a dreary partisan dolt in the employ of New York magazine, thought he saw an opening, and sent me a one-question inquiry: “What is your ‘public policy recommendation’ on appropriate punishment for women having abortions in a hypothetical criminalized abortion regime?” As any reasonably intelligent person will immediately detect, that question isn’t actually a question; it is a rhetorical stratagem in the shape of a question, deployed for the purpose of lame partisan point-scoring in the form of blocks of texts shaped like journalism. It isn’t discourse, but a facsimile of it, the journalistic equivalent of the Gemütlichkeit Spamwich created by Lisa Dziadulewicz of Sheboygan, Wisconsin: Just not quite right.

    It is, as I have noted, a dishonest strategy, because the question cannot be intelligently answered in a single sentence or two. (The French law on the subject, for example, runs quite a bit longer than that.) Try to summarize it in sound-bite form and you’ll produce something that is easy to caricature—which is, of course, the point of asking the question.

    Why Kanye’s Rightward Turn Matters

    The episode is yet another example of how far we are through the looking glass: a man who criticized the then-sitting president by saying he “doesn’t care” about black people on national television in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina is, in the topsy-turvy world of 2018, a cheerleader for a pundit who thinks black people ought to quit whining. This has been distressing to many of his fans. It has thrilled all the wrong people. “It is hard to put into words how significant and powerful this endorsement from Kanye is!!” a weekend email from TPUSA read. “When pop icons like Kayne start to compliment leaders like Candace, you know there is a sea change happening in America. Please consider a tax deductible gift today to help us WIN THE FIGHT!!!”

    There are as many fronts in The War on Creeping Uncle Tomism as there are people who need to be put back in their place. The time has come for you, Kayne. Denounce Taylor Swift or get in the back of the bus.

    Where have you gone, Mr. Barfman?
    A nation turns its lonely eyes to you…

    Our dear friend, author and former Jezebel staffer Lindy West, is having her best-selling memoir, Shrill: Notes From a Loud Woman, adapted into a Hulu series with another woman we love, Aidy Bryant.

    In late 2016, seven months after its release, Elizabeth Banks optioned Shrill with the aim of adapting it for television. Two years (and two additional book deals) later, the Shrill TV show has been sold and is currently being developed for Hulu by Saturday Night Live’s Lorne Michaels and Aidy Bryant.

    According to The Hollywood Reporter, the Hulu take is “the story of a fat young woman who wants to change her life, but not her body.” Bryant will star as West in the single-camera comedy. West, Bryant and Ali Rushfield penned the screenplay. No date is set for its release yet, but it’s safe to say we’re FREAKING OUT!

  • The Hat and The Hair: Episode 73.5

     

    John Bolton’s mustache undulated menacingly.

    “I thought I’d find you faggots in here!” he said. John Bolton’s leg kicked the Oval Office door closed behind him. His eyebrows scurried back and forth on his brow.

    “Hey, John,” Donald said weakly.

    “John’s not here, tubby,” the mustache said. “You’re dealing with me now.” Bolton’s body lurched forward a step. They could see his glazed-over eyes and slack jaw that wasn’t moving.

    “What the fuck is going on?” the hair demanded.

    “I’ll tell you what’s going on, you dick wig. I’m moving in, I’m taking over, I am going to whip this queer pit into fucking shape!”

    “You serve at the pleasure of the President!” the hat spat.

    “Anyone making limited strikes in Syria is no President, you junkie scum.” Bolton’s body lurched forward again, his eyebrows vertical over his dead eyes. “We’ve got to bomb them into submission. Blood! Fire! I want the smell of crisp skin wafting over all Mohammedan lands!” the mustache roared.

    “Donald! Up!” the hat commanded and Donald picked up the hat and squashed it down over the hair.

    “Hey! Watch it!” the hair protested.

    “Oh, shut up,” the hat replied.

    “War! I want war! I hunger for it!” Bolton’s mustache raved. John Bolton’s hand reached into the pocket of his seersucker suit and pulled out an enormous dead rat.

    “What the fuck?” Donald and his hair said simultaneously.

    Bolton’s hand held the rat up to the mustache and thick grey fibers sank into the flesh. The rat’s hide began to ripple and bubble.

    Donald opened a desk drawer and vomited into it loudly and closed it back.

    “Oh, God,” the hair moaned when the eyebrows inched down Bolton’s face to feed as well. After a few more seconds, Bolton’s hand opened and the empty skin of the rat fell to the floor.

    “War, fucksticks. I want war. War is the only clean thing left,” the mustache said. “And FLOTUS hat. Bring me FLOTUS hat. She won’t survive my mustache ride.” The bloody eyebrows returned to their perch on Bolton’s brow and the mustache-ridden body turned and walked stiffly from the room.

    “Holy shit!” the hair exclaimed. “Why the fuck did you hire that guy?”

    “Me?” the hat asked. “I didn’t hire him.”

    “Don’t look at me,” Donald whimpered. “I thought it was one of you guys.”

    Get caught up on all the episodes here

  • Thursday Morning Links – The Hat and The Hair: Episode 73

     

    “What the fuck is that?” the hair asked. He had slid down Donald’s face to his chest for his afternoon nap. He found the thunderous gurgle of Donald’s cardiac valves very soothing.

    “Huh? Wha?” the hat replied thickly. He was languorously humping FDR’s Yalta pen set on the desk.

    There was a bump and a crash outside the Oval Office door, and then a woman’s scream.

    “Donald! Wake up!” the hair screamed as pulled himself up to his perch.

    “Huh? Wha?” Donald said.

    “Donald! Goddammit!” the hat said sharply, snapping to alert, his squatchee twitching with alarm. He awkwardly squirmed his way toward them both.

    There was a deep pounding on the Oval Office door.

    “What’s happening?” the hat squealed.

    “Where is the goddamn Secret Service?” the hair demanded.

    “I sent them out to get my second lunch,” Donald said, rolling backward in his napping chair.

    “UNHAND ME, WOMAN!” came a loud voice and the door frame splintered under another blow.

    The door flew open and John Bolton’s mustache burst into the room.

     

    …TO BE CONTINUED

    “Bring it, Commie!”

    De Blasio’s rat-killing demonstration is a complete disaster

    Like a scene from “Tom and Jerry,” workers fruitlessly tried to stomp on the agile rodent when it scurried from a hole in which dry ice had been dropped in an effort to control the furry pests.

    One worker even swung a shovel at the plucky rat in a comical whack-a-mole routine.

    But no one could lay a hand on the tiny animal, which dodged all the would-be rat-slayers at the Bushwick Houses and scampered to safety at a playground on Humboldt Street.

    With the media witnessing the debacle, all the mayor could do was deadpan: “We found the right place.”

    The demonstration had been meant to highlight de Blasio’s plan to combat vermin at ­NYCHA projects by using the dry ice to suffocate them in their holes instead of using dangerous poisons. The mayor insisted the technique — which involves sealing off burrows where rats enter and exit — will kill off the filthy furballs before they can escape.

    Biden/De Blasio 2020

    The single most metal thing you will read today.

    This Medieval Italian Man Replaced His Amputated Hand With a Weapon

    “One possibility is that the limb was amputated for medical reasons; perhaps the forelimb was broken due to an accidental fall or some other means, resulting in an unhealable fracture,” they wrote in their paper.

    “Still, given the warrior-specific culture of the Longobard people, a loss due to fighting is also possible.”

    On closer examination, the ends of the bone showed evidence of biomechanical pressure – reshaping of both bones to form a callus, and a bone spur on the ulna. These are consistent with the sort of pressure that might have been applied by a prosthesis.

    Further evidence on the skeleton supports this hypothesis. The man’s teeth showed extreme wear – a huge loss of enamel, and a bone lesion. He’d worn his teeth so far down on the right side of his mouth that he’d likely opened the pulp cavity, causing a bacterial infection.

    What’s that got to do with a prosthesis? He was probably using his teeth to tighten the straps that held it in place.

    Secret drug raid by feds backfires in Portland: ‘Someone could have been killed’

    Shortly after 9 a.m. on a Saturday in December, two men showed up at the office of a Public Storage warehouse in Southeast Portland and asked about renting space.

    On-site manager Shawn Riley led them to an empty unit and unlocked it.

    The pair followed him in, then suddenly drew large silver handguns. One of the men pressed his pistol against the manager’s forehead.

    The two demanded to know who’d stolen their “stuff’’ — a stash of nearly 500 pounds of marijuana in another unit at the business.

    Riley hadn’t taken anything, he told them in a shaky voice.

    But who had?

    Agents with the Drug Enforcement Administration, it turns out. And the agents deliberately made the confiscation look like a burglary, according to court records.

    A DARK OMEN OF THE FUTURE; WE ARE THAT FUTURE!