Dr. Faustroll Writes the Wrongs

You have to admire Microsoft for its persistence in avoiding actually fixing anything in its terrible products as it marches ever onward, pushing a cartoon balloon of obfuscating speech in front of it, as Howard Nemerov once famously described in The Human Condition from the 1967 classic collection of poetry called Blue Swallows.

Today, the final gasp of 2008, thousands of 30 gigabyte models of the bottom-feeding iPod wannabe MP3 player failed during start-up and displayed Y2K error messages that the company apparently forgot to remove from its bloated code.

Users of the unpopular gadget found themselves the target of ridicule throughout the known universe, with teenagers from technogeek families committed to Moore’s law and other specious market-based constructs particularly hard hit by taunts and jeers from their iPhone owning anarchist classmates.

One Modesto, California skateboarder apparently launched himself from the food court of the Modess Sanitary Napkin Mall to escape a taunting mob of Shuffle users, killing two elderly shoppers attempting to return gifts to a Brookstone on the lower level as well as himself.

Spokesrobots for Microsoft called for calm early this afternoon after responding to more than 2,500 posts and calls about the problem, representing approximately 200% of Zune 30 G models thus far manufactured.

Microsoft blamed the problem on rogue elements associated with Apple, Inc., a suspected binary terrorist organization that ignited the personal computer revolution in the 1970s with the Apple II and reinvented the personal computer in the 1980s with the Macintosh before steering the industry through innovation.

Unnamed sources deep within the short intestine of Microsoft blamed the Y2K failures on efforts by Apple operatives to capture the digital media market with its portable music and video players and iTunes online store, as well as expanding its influence in popular consumer culture through the introduction of the iPhone.

According to at least one cheeky observer, the failure of nearly every Zune currently used by dimbulb members of the NOMPH illustrates that Microsoft has “finally decided to deal with the Y2K problem through a series of incoherent press releases.”

On the positive side, the Redmond, Wash.-based company has acknowledged the problem and offer a solution that does not require users to smash their Zunes with 4-pound hammers and sending them back for replacements.

No. It appears that Microsoft has finally begun to respond to consumer complaints that its products are useless, unfriendly, and impossible to understand or use, but posting simple stepped procedures on its support Web site to lead ordinary users through the simple process to get their Zunes operating again.

If this does not work, drop your Zune off at the nearest faith-based charitable organization or Goodwill to get a deduction for 2009 and buy an iPod or iPhone when you receive your tax refund.

Have you people lost your damn minds?

At first I thought the headlines I was seeing about how the First Idiot never recovered from Katrina indicated that he actually had the intelligence to realize what a terrible job he had done and that the realization of his monumental incompetence and disregard of human life on his own continent had brought him to an understanding where he asked forgiveness of his God.

That misperception did not in me engender a sense of calm, considering that any God this phuckwad was in touch with no doubt made Tony Soprano look like the right hand man to Pope George Ringo.

As it turns out, the stories behind the headlines indicate that Bush never recovered from the bad press and ill-will he earned from refusing to budge from his routine vacation schedule as the entire world watched poor people in New Orleans get kiboshed not only by nature but also double-penned by the Department of Homeland Insekurity and FEMA Director Mikey Brownie, the Arabian horse guy who did such a heck of job, according to Mad Goober Fubar the Decider.

Former insiders who contributed to the Vanity Fair Little Oral Annie special edition of what it means to have survived eight years of malignant incompetence, suggest that the administration response to Hurricane Katrina was the tipping point, where even brain-dead Americans were willing to open their eyes and use their limited brain capacity to consider the possibility that this man was not worthy of serving as a boot-scrubber at the door to a remote cabin in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest.

Think about the concept of a tipping point in terms of George Dubya Bush. It makes me think of drunken butthole surfing frat boys pushing cows over in the fields around Crawlforward, Texas, where the local folks would probably be happy to hear the asshat is planning to move to the book depository in Dallas, across the street from the grassy knoll.

Another thing that pisses me off during this joyous season is how at this late stage anyone can suggest that up until the sorry ass administration response to Katrina no one suspected what a bunch of phucktards was managing the First Idiot’s grueling vacation schedule. Katrina was not the first major catastrophe that Bush and his little neocondi rice and beaner buddies managed to mishandle to the point of malfeasance without the liberal media so much as raising a questioning eyebrow.

Anyone recall the Presidential Daily Briefing from August 6, 2001, which Fubar was too busy clearing brush for a photo-op to read? You know, the one about al Qaeda being about to fly a bunch of planes into buildings less 40 days later? The one that Condoleeza Rice later testified was unimportant because its title was something like Osama bin Laden plans to fly passenger planes into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and a secret Pennsylvania biological weapons lab on September 11, 2008?

I’ll let slide all the treaties abrogated by the slimeball and his galloping gravy train of market force greedheads and fast forward through the never-ending vacation of Bushmania to the Christmas prior to Katrina when the asshat finally emerged from the Cindy Sheehan seige to announce that the country was contributing $35 million dollars to aid the victims of the Indonesian tsunami catastrophe already estimated to total more than $4 billion. What a man, George!

But what can you say? Indonesian poor people, even hundreds of thousands of them bloated and floating in the aftermath, are still not Americans, you know? So the liberal media let the administration get away with its typical amoral incompetence, and the American people waited for the bowl games. Some of them sent contributions to phony charities set up by Bernie Madoff, who continued to make off with everything that wasn’t nailed down until just recently.

Back then, the same stupid wad of fecal detritus had already authorized the use of torture, the suspension of civil and human rights around the globe as well as at home, approved disinformation disseminated about Jessica Lynch and Pat Tillman, and yet the major miscalculation made by his administration was that his handlers really thought no one would care if a bunch of poor people in New Orleans drowned because he had a prior commitment for a Labor Day barbecue.

Somebody should grab the neck of Matthew Dowd and smash his face into a coffee table for suggesting that Katrina was the first instance where the “president broke his bond with the public. Once that bond was broken, he no longer had the capacity to talk to the American public. State of the Union addresses? It didn’t matter. Legislative initiatives? It didn’t matter. P.R.? It didn’t matter. Travel? It didn’t matter.”

The president never had a bond with the public. He had a megaphone. He had aides. He had a worshipful and pussy-whipped liberal media. He had a nation of miserable phucks who loved to be ruled by idiots. That’s the American Way. Phuck yeah!

I also find the suggestion by Lawrence “Crazy Larry” Wilkerson that Bush’s election foretold the coming of Sarah Palin to be disingenuous. Crazy Larry was a top aide to the First Idiot and later the chief of staff to Secretary of State Colin Powell, the guy that sold the NOMPH on the necessity of invading Iraq. You think Crazy Larry might have given a shit about the country and tried to protect it from one of the most ignorant and malignant developmentally disabled leaders the world has ever known, but no.

Instead, Wilkerson did his job, like all good Nazis do, and today he can say something as glib and banal as this: “It allowed everybody to believe that this Sarah Palin-like president — because, let’s face it, that’s what he was — was going to be protected by this national-security elite, tested in the cauldrons of fire.” Well, as the Church Lady used to say, isn’t that special?

I particularly like this Wilkerson quote, describing how vice president in hiding Lon Cheney came to run the government for the past eight years without ever having to run for office: “He became vice president well before George Bush picked him. And he began to manipulate things from that point on, knowing that he was going to be able to convince this guy to pick him, knowing that he was then going to be able to wade into the vacuums that existed around George Bush — personality vacuum, character vacuum, details vacuum, experience vacuum.”

Everyone knows that nature loves a vacuum. Apparently poopadoodle loves it even more.

If Katrina was anything, it was the moment where a couple of journalists found the courage to do what they are supposed to do and point out that the new clothes The Decider was wearing were not that new at all.

Nothing.

The absence of anything. That’s what pisses me off.

And you know what? My entire life has been spent observing the absence of anything. So many things I’ve encountered that I have questioned have only resulted in actions intended to crush me. This does not make me special. I’m sure hundreds of millions of others have likewise been bludgeoned by morons and thugs and beneficent authority figures as they wend their way through a terrestrial existence ruled by nothing.

Take the Holy Land. Please.

Nothing does not imply, by the way, a lack of matter. Matter, after all, is simply the inert form of energy, which is what the universe depends upon to continue to do whatever the phuck it does. I am not convinced that the universe has any purpose or that life contributes to or derives any value from whatever the implied purpose that thousands of years of preserved philosophy pretend to present as truth, should there be one, which is highly improbable, implausible, and likely impossible.

My goal in life is to laugh forever. I have been digitizing my laughter and sending it out on an improvised radio telescope that is designed to interfere with official efforts costing billions of dollars that are not going to make life better for any of the unfortunate idiots involved in gullible travel from one stupid place to the next idiotic destination.

You know why?

Really? I was hoping that somebody knew. Well, phuck me then.

What actually inspired this post was the recent Pew Research poll that found that most Americans no longer give a shit about outgoing President George W. Bush and wouldn’t give a fat rat’s booty if that worthless piece of shit was suddenly vaporized by a cosmic ray from an intelligent life force somewhere in the cosmos, even accidentally. Assuming there is such a thing, which all of my personal experience seems to refute.

What pissed me off most is that the Pew Research assholes didn’t include my ongoing descriptions for the 43rd malignancy in charge of the NOMPH™ since before his election was certified in 2000 by the least inspiring cluster phuck of judicial leaders since the introduction of Twinkies.

You can view the complete article here, but first you must understand that Goober or The First Idiot could have piled up significant tallies if the braindead sample had been given the opportunity to vote on those categories.

I introduced both terms into the NOMPH vocabulary without asking for compensation, although I am now reconsidering that inebriated decision.

Here’s a chart of the terms surveyed in the Pew poll and the perfectly predictable results.

Imagine if these scumbuckets could have included a few imaginative descriptions of the lame dick leader of the NOMPH. What a wonderful world it could be.

Go to sleep now. You have to get up in the morning and do it again. Amen. To paraphrase and corrupt Jackson Browne.

Ever notice how stories that don’t really mean anything become the most important items in the news and then suddenly disappear when no new advertising tie-ins can be quickly assembled and sold and repackaged for the rubes in the NOMPH™?

Sure, I’m thinking about Napalm Santa in Covina, whose story vanished from most of the national feeds and nearly all of the international outlets when it was reported that Bruce Jeffrey Pardo did not remove his Santa outfit upon exiting the carnal house because his improvised incendiary explosive device (IED) apparently melted much of the jovial red and white flocking to his flesh. Yummm!

I wonder about guys like this, who go from Main Street to Wall Street and back again like a turd blossom in the wilderness without ever becoming a member of the White House cabinet. I suspect he was on a mission of God or homeland sekurity and had no idea what he was doing.

How many people do you know who could shoot a nine year old girl in the face with an automatic weapon who wasn’t on combat orders of the day? The entire concept reminds me of an old comic strip by Richard Corbin.

So what’s the real story? What happened in Covina? What happened in Bruce Jeffrey Pardo? The news will never let on. That’s an ancillary profit center that stringers can exploit to make you want to beg for more.

There is no real story. There is no back story. There is no understory. There is only longing for a story which is what makes humans so pathetic and so easily exploited and so perfectly controlled.

Imagine Santa in a homely home invasion on Christmas Eve. Is that not a log line to get greenlighted by Warner Brothers? I can’t wait to see the movie. Can you?

You want to solve an intractable problem? Obliterate it. That has been the policy of the United States for more than 200 hundred years. Granted, many white folks and those who side with the white folks, including black white folks, hispanic folks, and the white folks of other ethnic and racial and religious persuasions don’t really believe that what they think and what they vote for is responsible for the collateral extermination of people who shouldn’t really have existed to begin with, but the fact is: there is no solution for any poopadoodle problem on this planet that does not involve weapons of mass distraction or cyanide.

Some of my best friends were jews or reasonable facsimiles thereof. That was back when I had best friends, in the fifties and sixties. And even then I was confused about how a bunch of dickweeds who were convinced that their God trumped all others because he was the oldest, and — it seemed to me even back in the fourth grade — least capable of rational thought or behavior. Their God was a phucking maniac, a slaughtering lunatic, a sociopath, and a serial killer with monumental appetites.

I gave up on jews as offering anything beyond an occasional tasty kosher tidbit before I reached junior high school, although I still had several jewish friends and even roomed with them and joshed with them for another 20 or 30 years, which was about when I gave up on everyone and everything.

None of my jewish friends had ever been to Israel, and many of them had no desire to go there, no intention of emigrating, no connection with the place other than being jewish.

I have no connection with the NOMPH™, although my ancestors on my mother’s side were here before the white men came. The only connection I have with the gene pool on that side of the family are the donations I make to feed the people who lived here and roamed widely before fences were built to protect the imaginary property rights of people who stole the land out from under them.

Israel today decided to interpret comments by Fubar and Condi to indicate that no one would have a problem if that insanely immoral and questionable construct decided to defend itself by killing a couple of hundred middle-eastern non-jews, aka Semites, and I hope all you happy taxpayers will not be surprised when the survivors of those killed in these raids decide to dress up in Easter Bunny outfits and kill you at the local food court during your next expensive religious holiday.

The joys of Christmas just go on and on, don’t they?

Bruce Jeffrey Pardo? My God!

I had a dream last week that had Bruce Campbell, Jeffrey Dahmer, and Don Pardo in it. It was a warped and twisted dream that were I not a pataphysician and merely a consumer of overpriced and underperforming health care services, I am sure I would have shared with my therapist.

We all know that the only reason therapists, counsellors, psychologists, psychiatrists, and life coaches exist is to provide cover for HMOs and insurance companies to bilk ordinary Joe the Plumbers and others of their ilk into subjecting themselves to treatments they do not need for ailments they do not have.

Well, when I said we , I was speaking in the regally pataphysical sense where each imaginary subject of the imaginary kingdom or queendom or parthenogenidom of his or her or its confused patience has not been sufficiently tried by the health care industry, which is not at all imaginary, at least in my experience.

But to return to the point, Bruce Jeffrey Pardo, dressed in a complete Santa Claus suit, carrying a present that turned out to be an homemade flame-thrower, knocked on the door of his former in-laws on Christmas Eve in Covina, California, and — after shooting the pre-teen girl who answered the door in the face — proceeded to unload four automatic weapons at the party-goers present before setting the house on fire with his special present.

I’m reminded of Officer Clay Aiken Friendly who gave a lecture to a class of junior high students back in the 70’s before I was supposed to teach them how to write poetry. Officer Friendly was there to counteract whatever influence my long-haired hippy self in those days might have on the largely illiterate audience of the offspring of millworkers in a company town you wouldn’t recognize even if I mentioned it.

Officer Friendly gave the kids his canned lecture about the dangers of drug abuse, getting to their level by telling them no one is perfect and many have slipped and fallen by the wayside, but your family and friends and community are there to help you up and set you back on the right path to the place where all good people are fixing to go. That’s an approximation, which is why I didn’t put it in quotation marks like a good journalistic member of the liberal media might do.

And then Officer Friendly reached down to that primal place where many good moral and religious messages are born, such as those named Bruce Jeffrey Pardo, possibly.

“Boys and girls,” he said, which is as much as I can accurately remember when he began, I must confess that even I once smoked marijuana, that evil gateway drug to heroin addiction and a life in in prison, and you know what? “It made me want to rape and kill.” That I remember perfectly.

I almost coughed up a black tar lung wad. God may bless Officer Friendly, but you should steer clear of him. That’s all I can say. He and Bruce Jeffrey Pardo share this much in common: they were the nicest guys you’d ever wanted to meet.

Some people said the same about Ronald Reagan. I’m sure Adolph Hitler was a swell guy too when you got to know him.

All the monsters appear to be wonderfully ordinary people who are helpful and kind and never indicated they were capable of dressing up in Santa Claus suits and knocking on a door carrying an improvised flame-thrower and shoot a nine-year old girl in the face.

On the other hand, once again the holiday season has given us a blessed message that we should not ignore. Avoid the kinds of people who are the nicest folks you’d ever want to meet and don’t trust a Santa carrying automatic hand guns.

Peace on earth shall ever passeth understanding.

For the eighth time during his tenure and the twelfth if you count the four years of President Stupid the First, Fubar Dubya Bush is focusing on his busy vacation schedule by hunkering down at Camp David to avoid international bounty hunters and pestering journalists who just never fully understood that you are either for the war on terror or you are an enemy combatant.

Bush has been having a string of bad luck recently, stemming from his ineptitude, incompetence, and inanity. He pulled a Palin last week and pardoned mortgage scammer Isaac Toussie without bothering to do a background check, nor apparently realizing that although Toussie’s father was a big contributor to the Republican party, both father and son are currently charged with racial steering, racketeering and fraud.

When the feces started spraying, Bush rescinded the pardon by sending out fashion footwear victim Dana Perino to state: “The president believes that the pardon attorney should have an opportunity to review this case before a decision on clemency is made.” Well, isn’t that just the bee’s knees? It must be hard being The Decider when you’re wrong.

On the plus side, Kosovo sent Bush a Christmas card telling him that Krapp Boulevard in the capital city of Pristina is going to be renamed in his honor for his unwavering support of Kosovo’s split from Serbia. The card did request donations to help defray the cost of changing several street and highway signs, but Bush will no doubt bury the costs in another supplemental appropriation to keep the never-ending reelection campaign war on terror going and going and going.

Speaking of war costs, the president took another bureaucratic boot up the tookus this week, this time from the Center for Strategic and Budgetary Assessments who slammed the First Idiot’s methods of funding the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. According to CSBA, the war in Iraq has cost more in adjusted dollars than every war the U.S. has engaged in, with the exception of World War II, but then that war was fought by the Greatest Generation, so it was worth a bit more.

And while Kosovo may be covering Krapp with a lame-duck Bush, the president’s Serb counterpart in Bosnia is now the target of a copycat Internet site where you can throw virtual shoes at Prime Minister Milorad Dodik.

The Bosnian game is based on Sock and Awe, created by a British student, where even you can bean Bush with a brogan on the Internet. Try it. You’ll like it. The shoes do too.

We all know that. What we project that makes people laugh makes other people angry. That is not necessarily a bad thing. Writing something that makes people pissed off is not nearly as brutal as strafing the position of known terrorists hiding among civilian populations.

So this is Christmas, eh? The most wonderful time of the year? I am so impressed. I haven’t witnessed a single stampede for the latest Elmo. Of course, I haven’t really ventured out onto the highways with three feet of snow on the ground.

Pataphysicians prescribe imaginary remedies for imaginary ailments. Pataphyscientists study imaginary constructs to provide imaginary solutions to imaginary problems for imaginary wimps in the nations of miserable phucks (NOMPH™).

Patapootedenists study farts and those who enjoy or emit them.

Stampedinists, on the other hand, are always ready to embrace the concept of initial acquisition in a way that God and all of Her munificent minions fully commiserate with. It’s sort of like suggesting that George W. Bush could understand what egregious means.

Do you?

Have a nice Nativity Day. If that baby in the manger spontaneously ignites, consider it a sign that the sign you were expecting has been delayed in traffic by the evil ones.

Merry Crispness, everyone.

That means I’m right about nothing, but that’s not the point of this blog. This isn’t Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog. This isn’t Terri Schiavo’s Blog. This isn’t even my blog. This is a blog that I write for Maggie’s Farm at Today.com, and the title clearly explains exactly what this thing is about: I write the wrongs. I don’t presume to correct them. I don’t advocate any course of action in dealing with any situation beyond bringing on the bomb, which has served me well since the last winter I recall that has begun as incredibly phunny as this one.

If I’m wrong about everything, Americans are intelligent, by and large. They believe in truth, justice, and some God or other that doesn’t let people who don’t believe in truth and justice get a leg up on those who do. But it’s obvious that Americans are not intelligent. In fact, they prefer to be stupid, because it pays to be stupid in the NOMPH™

Well, until now, of course. That’s not a punchline. There is no punchline that will make all the citizens in the NOMPH guffaw, because they are so diversified and diverse. There are dagos and spics and niggers and rednecks and krauts and jews and ragheads and ever so many other ethnic and cultural and racial and religious idiots that make up this incredible tapestry of targetable territory that it appears quite possible that it is becoming increasingly unprofitable to maintain a citizenry unwilling to serve burgers to those who can afford them.

I remember a radio interview (on Innerview) with Frank Zappa that I heard in the late 60’s or early 70’s in which he posited that the current reality would be maintained until it was no longer profitable. At that point, Z suggested, the people who run the world (cunts, as Jarvis Cocker perfectly labeled them) would simply clean up the room, shoo the paying customers outside, sweep aside the tables and chairs, pull back the curtains, and show everyone who was wondering why they were being asked to shower and wondering where the soap was, the brick wall at the back the stage.

Merry Christmas everyone. Open your presents. Act surprised. Act happy. That’s what you’ve been put here for by God. By God.

Why else would the White House feel compelled to accuse the New York Times of gross negligence for stating the obvious? Gross negligence is what the NOMPH media has practiced with due diligence throughout Fubar’s reign of error, starting with allowing the First Idiot to assume power in the first place under the specious concept of The Rule of Law.

When the liberal media allowed Bush and his neocondi rice and beaners to ignore domestic and international law, that was gross negligence. When the administration plotted to invade Iraq even before 9/11 and not one of the major media reported it, that was gross negligence. When the President kept to his busy vacation schedule while the nation and the world began a death spiral of mean-spirited old-phartism and no one in the media challenged him on it, that was gross negligence.

All the Times did is what it should have been doing all along: reporting, presenting informed opinions, critiquing, and — you know — doing those sort of journalistic kinds of things that only humorists have had the courage to say during the past eight years.

Back in the halycon days of the reelection campaign war on terror, when Bush could stand up and blither into a megaphone and threaten the country by suggesting that dissent was treason, most of the fourth estate retired to their vacation homes and waited for the 2004 elections, when they assumed they’d be rid of this moron, but it didn’t happen.

What I appreciated most about Dana Perino’s frothing response of non sequitar and horse exhaust was the use of this statement: “The Times’ ‘reporting’ in this story amounted to finding selected quotes to support a story the reporters fully intended to write from the onset, while disregarding anything that didn’t fit their point of view,” which reminded me of something that originally appeared in this section of The One Minute President.

Tell me Dana wasn’t thinking of Goober’s favorite book, where the nicest guy you’d ever want to meet explains his methodology by saying: “”And it’s just as well,” said the President, “because under my administration, I encourage the free exchange of notions, not ideas. And the greater the notion, the greater the flexibility with regards to changing your mind without informing or upsetting anyone beforehand. After all, it’s not the idea of how we get wherever we are going that matters, but rather the all-important notion of simply getting there.”

If you really want gross negligence, why not consider the title of the second White House response to the Times article: Setting the Record Straight: The Three Most Egregious Claims In The New York Times Article On The Housing Crisis.

Anybody got the balls to ask the president what egregious means? It’s his phucking legacy.