Dr. Faustroll Writes the Wrongs

Sorry. I just returned from watching The Wrestler and received an e-mail with this link to an open letter by perennial presidential candidate Ralph “Unsafe But Not On Speed” Nader addressed to the world’s most drug-addled voice of American corpulence, the Ayatollah of Soggy Granola, Rush Edsel Limbaugh.

Rush is having a hard time these days accepting that the Magic Negro is now the president of the United States, and that Biraq Hussein Osama could out debate him with 7/8 of his brain tied behind his back. Poor Fatty Carbunkle didn’t get invited to the big party Biraq threw for all the influential American conservatives and his feelings were so hurt he had to tell his brain dead audience that he hopes Osama fails in his efforts to turn this country around.

The reason Fatty wants Biraq to fail is he really thinks the last eight years of lunacy and incompetence is what America longs for in its heart of plaque-encrusted hearts. That hope would be in keeping with the kind of intellectual and emotional IQ Fatty has shown for the past couple of decades.

Nader’s letter makes no mention of Fatty’s ill-wishes toward the new administration. Instead, it points out the obvious: Fatty has become extremely wealthy by sucking on corporate welfare tit while failing to pay rent to the American people who own the airwaves over which he spews his protein-depleted patriotic jizm.

I can’t wait for Fatty to fork over a portion of his hardly earned 38 million dollars a year for serving as the voice of the average hard-working American who may even voted for the Magic Negro. What do you think are the chances of that?

Citing deteriorating economic conditions and negative approval ratings, a unnamed spokes-midwife for Dody Decker-Hedron, the serial mother who recently gave birth to six boys and two girls on January 27, says the 33-year-old unmarried virgin is considering induction into the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (FLDS) who have offered her the support of five husbands in exchange for the use of her womb as a polygamist shrine.

Decker-Hedron has come under increasing derision since it was revealed that she is unmarried, lives with her mother, and has six previous children, including twins, all allegedly the products of extraterrestrial artificial insemination. The girls, aged two to seven, are of undetermined racial origin and named after children of 20th century U.S. presidents: Barbara, Jenna, Chelsea, Caroline, Patti, and Amy.

According to unconfirmed reports from disinformants on the Internet, Ms. Decker-Hedron intends to also name her new children, all of whom have a single donor from a nearby star cluster, after presidential offspring: John-John, Neil, Jeff, Jeb, Chip, Michael, Malia, and Sasha.

Malia and Sasha are currently the most popular names on the planet with nearly 2 in 3 newly born children (as well as many recently discovered subatomic particles) being named after the first black children to live in the White House since Sally Hemmings.

Carter is probably laughing his peanut-picking buttocks off after telling USA Today that he expects the popularity of former First Idiot George “The War President” Bush to improve after “the animosity or the negative ratings” fade into distant memory brought on by the melting of the polar ice caps and the extinction of the human race.

On the one hand, Jimmy Earl was invoking the failed attempts to make Richard Nixon into something other than an obscene parody of the prototypical benevolent dictator at the ugly little end of his meaningless life. On the other, Carter no doubt was suggesting that it is time for sober people to reevaluate the Age of Reagan, which was really little more than shaking the pecker over the third world urinal before zipping up without leaving pee-stains on the trousers of the body politic.

USA Today seems to think that Carter’s own experience of leaving the White House with an approval rating of 34% and going on to win a Nobel Peace Prize and help eliminate Guinea worm disease (which does not, by the way, involve Italian fishermen or Pink Floyd) in some way predicts that a merely mediocre mental defective from Texas will somehow elude capture and trial as a war criminal in The Hague and go on to become the most popular former leader of the NOMPH™ in the history of evolution, which, according to Bush and his buddies is still just a theory, like AIDS is God’s punishment for gays.

That argument ignores that the reason Carter was unpopular at the time is that the NOMPH was still a small cluster of Christian money-changers that arose from Richard Nixon’s silent majority (created by William Safire, a closeted member of the liberal media elite) and inexorably festered into the malignancy that became the Bush administration.

Carter was entirely too moral, too intelligent, and too honest for the country he tried to lead while Reagan’s people worked behind the scenes to ensure he was a one term president. Anyone remember the Iran-Contra affair? Well, if you do, give yourself a pat on the back. Even Flipper Reagan couldn’t remember the details under oath.

Now that Americans have finally begun to understand what they have supported through their proud ignorance and blind faith for the past century or so, Carter’s current approval rating of the job he did in 1976-1980 is roughly equivalent to Biraq Hussein Osama’s approval rating today, 10 days into his term. Imagine that.

The only president to leave office with a lower approval rating than Bush or Carter (who are tied for second place, by the way; give them both a hand!) was Harry Truman, who is now somehow viewed as a great American president despite having authorized the vaporization of two Japanese cities to make the world safe for American capital investment.

My favorite Harry Truman story has to do with the other guy who refused to leave Spirit Lake before Mt. Saint Helens exploded. I suspect that many Americans are thinking of that Harry Truman when they respond to pollsters. Americans are really busy people. They don’t have time to be smart.

In keeping with the new spirit of hope and change that is sweeping the planet like a huge lemon-scented Swiffer, Iraqis in Tikrit, the misunderestimated hometown of deceased former U.S. ally Saddam Hussein, have unveiled a monument to the footloose legacy of deposed First Idiot Goober “Mission Accomplished” Bush that they propose to adorn the entry to the George W. Bush Special Education Presidential Library currently slated for construction at Southern Methodist University (SMU).

Tikritians flocked to the municipal wastewater treatment facility yesterday to witness the unveiling of an enormous bust of the former Decider in Chief with a copper cowboy boot the size of a Shetland pony bouncing off the left temple of a grinning face that looks more than ever like Alfred E. Newman. Bush recently vowed to leave leaves childish things behind and settle into the oxymoronic role of elder statesman from Texas.

The sculpture was commissioned by al Franqen, a previously unknown humanitarian terrorist organization that claims on its Web site to be committed to “peace, love, and understanding.”

Laith “Art” al-Calamari (the sculptor who produced the work) calls it “an attempt to reconcile the gap between the atrocities of he whose name shall not be uttered on this planet henceforth and the lasting bond between the Iraqinese and the Oceanians which, like lasting peace, surpasseth understanding.”

According to al-Calamari, he got the idea for the sculpture while watching You Tube videos of the former president clearing brush on the Crawford ranch where he spent much of his grueling vacation schedule between 2000 and 2008.

“He wore such nice boots,” al-Calamari smiled, “Someone has very good taste. His wife, perhaps? He wore almost always Tony Lama or Old Gringo, nothing from Footlocker or Tom McCann. This boot,” he said, gesturing at the statue that is nearly 50 feet tall without the pedestal, “was inspired by the pair he wore during the historic Katrina vacation, a lizard skin wingtip with grey elephant toe caps and smooth ostrich trim piped with endangered Peruvian python.”

Small plastic replicas of the Bush Boot Trophy Tribute are available on the al Franqen Web site for $19.99, plus shipping and handling. You can buy them throughout Iraq from street vendors for cigarettes, pop tarts, and Halliburton gift cards. Although unconfirmed, a spokesterrorist for the group says ads promoting mail order purchases are slated to run in Parade, Reader’s Digest, and USA Today beginning the first week of April.

Our usually unreliable sources also suggest that al Franqen has offered to airlift the statue to the U.S. free of charge in time for the opening of Bush’s presidential library in 2011. Although some right wingnuts are scoffing at the report, calling it “an insult to the sacred memory of the greatest living God-given leader the United States ever had between September 12 and September 15, 2001,” I am recommending that President Biraq Hussein Osama take up the offer to help defray the estimated 250 billion dollar price tag of building a library for a man who never even finished My Pet Goat and reportedly reads even less than Sarah Palin.

And how about we forget about building at the SMU site, which is embroiled in a land-use dispute involving executive orders skirting environmental regulations that President Biraq recently put on hold. I’m sure Cindy Sheehan would be willing to contribute her property in Crawford, Texas, to house a couple of FEMA trailers, four or five portapotties, and the Iraqi western boot sculpture as a fitting tribute to the accomplishments of the 43rd president of the NOMPH™.

As my old buddy W. S. Burroughs used to say: “Wouldn’t you?”

I’m sure he’d like a do-over to correct that little problem. Poor guy.

I wonder if Goober feels trapped in Texas on house-arrest. I’m sure he can’t risk going outside the territorial United States where many foreign governments have warrants out for his apprehension as a war criminal. There have even been a few attempts by blue states in the NOMPH™ to authorize the local police to detain and interrogate him, which is why it is no wonder that he would have petitioned himself for a pardon.

It is equally fitting, of course, that the one-time most powerful developmentally disabled leader in the world would ultimately find himself unworthy of forgiveness. If I were to bet on a reason, I’d wager that during one of his daily conversations with Jack Lord, aka the Hawaii Five O Spirit in the Sky, he was told that choking on pretzels and clearing brush on the ranch was not sufficient penance for the flippant slaughter of several hundred thousand Muslim civilians who got in the way of his oil-addicted buddies and his righteous determination to avenge the honor of his father — George Herbert Hoover Bush — the last stupid member of his gene pool to drive the U.S. economy into the slop yard, against the disrespect shown to the family by former U.S. ally Saddam Hussein.

I, for one, am willing to forgive and forget the former First Idiot, if he and his dimbulb wife are willing to dress up in Bozo outfits and tour the NOMPH with a dunk tank. I’d want the tank towed by a biodiesel hybrid replica of Ken Kesey’s old bus Further, and it would have to be driven by former vice president Al Gore, but I’m willing to compromise if we could fill the tank with water that meets Bush administration definitions of clean and acceptable.

I’d pay five bucks to drop those losers in the metaphorical cesspool they left the rest of us, and I’m sure there are millions around the country who would do the same.

What an economic stimulus package that would be.

The non-story that will not die in Portland, Oregasm, a town with more titty bars per capita than anywhere in the United States, according to some accounts, continues to bring the small-minded and idle to the forums and moron-on-the-street interviews where the true beauty of democracy is revealed for anyone who wants to shake its sticky sweaty hand. Sam Adams must go, they say, and now more than ever, because it has been written and reported on the television and radio that the Brokeback mayor actually kissed a 17-year old man twice, once in a restroom.

Of course, no one is suggesting that Sam has an exceptionally wide stance and lured Beau into an embrace from a stall in the men’s room, although he has put on some weight in recent years. But apparently, the fact that this openly gay mayor eventually put the official meat to an intern once he was legal old enough to take it has failed to arouse the righteous liberals of this provincial backwater burg enough to storm City Hall.

After all, many people have sex with other people of the same or other sex every day and most get up in the morning and go to work and do their jobs, until Willamette Week stops them on the street and asks: “Have you admitted to anyone that you masturbate while looking at our Web site?” and they make the mistake of answering before hiring an attorney.

What is so important about Mayor Sam Adams being attracted to a 17 year-old man who was attracted to him? Was it the age difference? It’s not like the May-December relationship is not already an accepted cliché where an older dude of means hooks up with a hot chick looking for money. Everybody seems to agree that Sam refrained getting off with his Beau until Breedlove was legal.

But now Beau’s admission that the pair kissed twice before he was 18 is being painted as tantamount to pedophiliac predation. You know, all you touchy-feelie aunts and uncles out there might want to think twice about any overly affectionate hugs and busses with your nieces and nephews — particularly you gay people, in or out of the closet — that might be captured on one of our ubiquitous security cameras.

What kind of kisses do you think these were to merit hundreds of protesters and supporters wasting time and energy performing like poorly trained seals for the liberal media? Were they tongue wrestling? Did Sam sneak up behind Beau and give him a tiger hickey, growling and sucking on his neck while tickling his tookus with a letter opener made from a tapir snout?

Perhaps Beau took the initiative and licked the crusty mucus from Sam’s tired eyes after a hard day of governing a city full of losers, or maybe they engaged in a mutual hostage lip-lock when Sam tore the duct tape from his mouth in the City Hall men’s room and shouted “Oh Beau, you beauty. Kiss me you night breed loving fool!”

My guess is they were searching the cavern with doggy abandon, sniffing and snarfling and grunting and dry-humping and kissing through the butt-bunched cotton-polyester blend, because this kind of kissing would be wrong between consenting men if one were underage and they were both naked. Don’t you think?

It’s bad enough we continually battle to keep the government out of our sexual lives. Now we have to fight our neighbors because they are too phucking stupid to understand the difference between natural and unnatural acts. The imposition of moral lunacy upon ordinary people engaged ordinary activities only breeds contempt for the rule of law and those who embrace it.

As I’ve said before, only after Willamette Week stops running sex trade ads that are available to children throughout the Portland metropolitan in unlocked boxes will the obnoxious snot rag begin to earn any credibility when it comes to being an arbiter of moral and ethical issues.

As Hinky Dink Henna once said: “Chicago ain’t no place for sissies,” and by Chicago, Hinky Dink was no doubt referring to that large cornflake-shaped area that hangs off the geographical buttocks of Chicago, a facsimile of which recently sold on e-Bay for more than a grand.

How could anyone still be amazed that a state which inspires so much excitement over edible flakes would be governed by Milorad Blagojevich, whose middle name is R, which comes from the pirate side of his family and is pronounced Arrr! which can mean anything from Damn! I’m enjoying this beer! to That sure was a clever remark you just made, your honor.

When Blagojevich allegedly attempted to sell Biraq Hussein Obama’s Senate seat for an undisclosed sum payable in small untraceable bills, he was simply engaged in Demoblican politics as usual. What’s the sense of getting involved in poopadoodle if you can’t roll around in it?

Doesn’t anyone remember when Dick Harpootlian, a former chairman of the South Carolina Democratic Party, was running for the Richland County Council and said he didn’t want to buy the black vote? He just wanted to rent it for a while. How can anyone fault Blagojevich for his efforts, which would have only required a one-time payment, instead of short-term rent at exorbitant pay-day loan rates?

If the governor were such a criminal, why would he have been considering Oprah for the seat? Oprah is already more important than the Senate. Hell, she could buy all the other Senators new cars just for coming on her show.

I have been particularly enjoying Blago’s spirited defense of himself as he condemns the impeachment proceedings against him as a kangaroo court or a witch hunt. The governor is determined to fight to the end against these false charges as a tribute to the sacred memories of other unconventional leaders persecuted, imprisoned, or assassinated for their beliefs, such as Nelson Mandela, Mahatma Gandhi, and Martin Luther King Jr.

The governor this morning on the Today Show stopped short of the obvious connection between himself and Jesus, but only after he noticed the hammer and a nail bag on the desk behind Amy Robach.

I intend to send Rod an e-mail to ask if he also feels a kinship to other, less noble megalomaniacs, like Jim Jones, Davey Khoresh, Marshall Applewhite, Jeffrey Lundgren, Timothy McVeigh, and Ma Anand Sheela. I’ll let you know what I hear back.

OK, America, you asked for it. This entire manufactured episode on Portland Mayor Sam Adams lying about having consensual sex with a teenage man is one more example of the kind of Ronald McRumsfeld blithering that struts and frets its hour upon the news cycle stage and then is heard from no more, except in the occasional anniversary retrospective to generate more ad revenue. It is but another tale invented by idiots who lust over children in their shrivelled little hearts, full of sound and fury and signifying nothing, to paraphrase somebody who long ago entered the pubic domain.

Willamette Week is proud to be the only weekly newspaper in the NOMPH™ to lay claim to a Pulitzer Prize, but even that story required the titillating hook of a fourteen-year old babysitter getting groped and stroked by former Portland Mayor and Oregon Governinator Neil Goldschmidt, who disappeared from public life and should by now be deceased, presumably from shame.

I enjoy watching these stories develop. First the headlines scream about sweaty sex and throbbing members of governmental bodies before they retrench to a position that weeps about the loss of innocence, the lack of ethics and truthfulness, and calls the resignation of anyone remotely familiar or supportive of the target.

The moralists gather with signs decrying the real and imaginary scenes of physical depravity and deviance from their small-minded and spiritually vacant positions. The immoralists condone the behavior and wish they had been in on the action, while the amoralists couldn’t give a fat rat’s booty either way.

So once again, while the former First Idiot goes on his merry misunderestimated way after slaughtering people in several countries, lying, cheating, and committing crimes against humanity, the planet, and the universe, Willie Weak has decided that openly gay Portland Mayor Sam Adams lying about having sex with a young man, no matter what his age was, is what the city, the region, and the country should be focusing on, because it represents a betrayal of trust. The man lied! Although what Sam lied about was nobody’s business to begin with, most surely not any of Willie Weak’s.

I wonder how Sarah Palin feels about this story. She still spends a lot of time complaining about gotcha jouranlism by the liberal media. And make no mistake, Willie Weak is the worst of the worst of the liberal media. Come on, Sarah, smile for me and help about Sam.

If it wasn’t for asking people questions like “Does your mother know you blow?” and then following up with an expose, this weekly snot rag would have no content at all, if you don’t count the personals and sex-trade ads that keep this semen soaked wad of toilet tissue afloat. This is a free paper, by the way, available to anyone of any age nearly anywhere in the Portland metropolitan area, and yet its editorial penchant for prying into the personal business of others has never been taken to task. Even the online version has links to adult content, totally unsupervised and unchallenged.

In 1987, the paper went after Michael Stoops, a homeless advocate who operated a shelter called Baloney Joe’s, by painting him as a predatory pedophile, although the boys with whom Stoops allegedly had sex were in their late teens and appeared to consent to their casual encounters during the Age of Reagan. WW delighted in discussing gonorrhea of the throat and betrayals of trust while rallying the brain dead denizens of sexual depravity to run Stoops out of town, turning Portland from a backwater burg overrun by vicious homeless gay Quaker thugs into a thriving arts center that rivals Paris, London, New York, and Chicago. Yeah, right.

Today, Stoops is still working for the lost and abandoned and probably still sucking cock, young and old, as the acting executive director for the national Coalition for the Homeless. More than 20 years later, he has never been charged with a crime, as far as I can tell, and the homeless problem in Portland today is no better than when Willie Weak drove Stoops out of town.

As recently as 2004, the paper went to its usual absurd lengths to continue its immoral majority vendetta to contact Stoops’ boss in D.C. and get him to say he wasn’t aware of the old charges and he had seen no evidence of deviant behavior. They even got the boss to say he was going to talk to Stoops after the interview, as if any of the horse exhaust that started the story 20 years ago had any relevance to anything. Stoops is still working for the homeless as he has tirelessly since 1972.Willie Weak meanwhile is still running sex ads and playing the puritan card by asking people hard-hitting journalistic questions like: “Have you stopped beating your wife?”

My suggestion is that whenever you are asked an inappropriate question about your sexual activity, respond with something like: “What are you looking for, something to whack off to tonight? Run out of your own sick fantasies? Why not drop by my place in an hour or so and let me give you a deep and enlightening rectal massage?” Whenever anyone asks you if you care to comment about something that is none of their phucking business, whip out your penis or hike up your skirt and give the journalist a loving and and well-earned respectful squirt.

That’s what I heard on the morning commute yesterday, but I didn’t catch their names. I thought I heard Jeremiah Wright and Bill Ayers, but it turns out I was wrong. I misunderinterpreted the NPR news reader’s pronunciation of thirds. It was supposed to be two-thirds approve, which means, of course, that at least one turd does not approve, and tracking down one turd is going to be even harder than finding who the two-thirds are, assuming anyone cares

Speaking of anyone caring, I guess that Alaska Governor Sarah Palin can give her favorite industrial strength vibrator a rest after experiencing multiple poopadoodle orgasms when New York Governor Blind Lemon Paterson appointed Kirsten Gillibrand to the Senate seat vacated by Secretary of State Hillary Rodman Clinton.

Sarah had spent the last couple of weeks whining and complaining about how Caroline Kennedy was being treated better than she was just because she was rich, famous, talented, and a survivor of childhood parental assassination abuse by Richard Nixon and the liberal media. Maybe the Governibator is planning to invite athletic NRA supporter Gillibrand out for an aerial hunt of endangered species while scouting new ways to run pipelines across the tundra. Wouldn’t that be fun?

It’s hard to remember that only a few weeks ago, most of the NOMPH™ was standing around up to its neck in raw sewage and phecal philosophy for 15 minutes at a time before being told the break was over and to get back on their heads. It was as if the entire nation was living in Pennsylvania and being ruled over by Texans and hell-bent criminals.

The former First Idiot, Fubar Ubu the Misunderstimated Decider was telling anyone with a recorder what a great job he had done, and the liberal media was scrambling to find something good to say about the most powerfully incompetent nincompoop ever to smirk at a photo op with a pardoned turkey.

Bush spent most of his first eight months in office on a busy vacation schedule, avoiding responsibility, watching re-runs, planning his library, and leaving his equally incompetent, morally bankrupt cabinet members, advisors, and other appointees to abrogate environmental and arms reduction treaties and try to find the Middle East on a National Geographic map of South America.

In three days since taking the oath of office (two days, if you count the second time when Chief Justice Julius Roberts got it right), Biraq Hussein Osama has continually called a spade a spade and dismissed Bush’s entire tenure as irrelevant, counter-productive, and not even deserving of contempt.

You got to admit the man has nads. Despite recent disturbing reports about rising racial tension and an alleged right-wingnut blacklash against those who enjoy the humiliation that Republicrats experienced in the Demoblican landslide of 2008, Obama has just plowed forward with the reasoned agenda he promised during the campaign. Has he lost his damn mind?

Biraq is the right man for the times. Although Kennedy was also a departure for his time, and there was much anti-Catholic sentiment in the 1960s, there was no openly expressed sense of dread about what this country was capable of doing to its own citizens, despite the overt racism and occasional barbarism that whites displayed toward others. There was still a widely held belief that Americans, by and large, were decent people who could never sink to the wholesale slaughter of ordinary humans out of spite or desperation. It wasn’t true, of course, but it was a comforting myth.

After Kennedy got capped in Dallas, the world changed much more dramatically than it did on September 11, 2001, which was really just a partial payback for decades of American brutality and arrogance around the world and at home, leading inexorably to the administration of George W. Bush, a man whose place in history was cemented by his vacationing indifference first to the tsunami in Indonesia and later to Hurricane Katrina.

The last eight years have been among the worst in history in terms of state sponsored murder and mayhem by the biggest bully in the no-corpse-left-behind schoolyard that destroyed great swathes of the American middle class either by sending them off to brutalize Arab and Persian civilians or by ripping them off with greedhead economic policies and eliminating their opportunity to earn a living wage without having to move to Mexico.

In just 72 hours, Biraq has shouted loud and clear: “Enough already. I’m mad as hell, and I’m not gonna take it anymore.” You have to wonder what Goober is doing down in Texas as he watches everything he worked so hard to accomplish, everything he stands for, everything that promised to be his legacy, flushed down the toilet and hauled out with the rest of the trash.

Imagine if after all the harm this silly little mental midget did that he ends up standing trial for war crimes in The Hague for what he didn’t do while Israel pummeled Gaza during the end of his irrelevant reign of error. Wouldn’t that be funny? Wouldn’t that just be frosting on the yellow cake!