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Have you heard about Lisa Mei Norton, right-wing Christian conservative country singer/songwriter?
She wants to keep her guns, finds Michelle Malkin and her ilk to be “smart,” thinks we’ve gone socialist, believes Obama wasn’t born here and loves to (tea) party. Oh, and she’s already working on the indoctrinasian of her six-year-old son. Translasian: She watches Fox News.
Filed under: A Revolution's Brewing, Anti-Agin' Asian, Big Dawg, Boobs, Christian Conservatives, Conservatards, Conservatives, Country/Western Singers, Disappointing Your Parents and Your Parent-Country, Enough Already, FOX News is a Joke, God Lovers, Grating Voices, Gung-Ho, Guns, Indoctrinasian, Liberty, Lisa Mei Norton, Logic Is Useless, Michelle Wie, Obama Birth Certificate, Pop Singers with 3rd-Grade Vocabularies, Really Smart People, Right Wing Nutjobs, Ruining Your Children, Singer/Songwriters, Tea Parties, Tea Party Anthem, Teabaggers, What the hell are you people talking about?, Why Does The Tea Party Get So Much Press?
You may remember Viet Dinh as George W. Bush’s Assistant Attorney General from 2001 to 2003, and the man hailed as the main author of The Patriot Act (for a memory refresher, download his opus here).
Dinh made a speaking appearance on a panel today at CPAC, the Conservative Political Action Conference, and used the mic to defend the Patriot act as well as call out President Obama for killing too many terrorists.
“Why have executions increased?” asked Viet Dinh, a professor at Georgetown University Law Center and one of the authors of the USA Patriot Act. Citing a recent Washington Post article on the increased targeted killing of terrorists, Dinh complained that “the president and vice president expound this fact as a fact that they are actually successful in war.”
“That doesn’t mean I think they are not illegitimate,” he added. “No, we have every right to kill the other side’s warriors. But at what cost? When we do not have an effective detention policy the only option we have is to kill them before we can detain them. And if we don’t detain them, we don’t know what they know and what they are up to.”
Filed under: Bush Administration, Detaining Terrorists Has Worked Really Well For Us In The Past, Detainment, Enough Already, Former Assistant Attorney General, George W. Bush, Idiots, Obama Kills Too Many Terrorists, Partisan Bullshit, Partisanship, Pinko Commies, Right Wing Nutjobs, Terror, Terrorism, Terrorist Attacks, Terrorists, Terrorysteria, The Patriot Act, The Patriot Act is Unpatriotic, Viet Dinh, You Can't Win With These People
“Fuck you, TLC! Why don’t you take your fuckin’ morals and fuckin’ shove ‘em? Do you see me? Hostin’ a pool party in Vegas. I’m gonna be a fashion designer, dudes, so I ain’t gonna need your dumb baby-parenting show anymore. I have officially arrived.
My god, I am livin’ the life… livin’ the G.D. life, aight? Fame and uh, fortune. Bitches, bikinis and booze, yo. Look how large I’m rollin’.
Ahem. You may try to squash my Ed Hardy promo tour, but I will make you regret the day you ever put me on camera, touting me as a good parent. Ya hear that? YOU WILL REGRET IT. I AM NOT A GOOD PARENT. SO THERE.“
Filed under: 15 Minutes of Fame, Awful Clothing, Bad Parenting, Christian Audigier, Douchebags, Ed Hardy, Enough Already, Jon and Kate Plus 8, Jon Gosselin, Las Vegas, Pool Party, Ways to Fuck Up Your Kids
We almost lost our muzzafuzzin’ minds today when a photo of the Argentine women’s soccer team (rocking Spain’s chink-eye style) surfaced on Gawker–holy frijoles, are we witnessing a “respect” epidemic?? It’s like a worldwide fad of “loving” spinning crazily, slantily, er–respectfully out of control!!! Awesome!
We’ve actually written a song about it. It goes a little somethin’ like this (hit it!):
People all over the world (everybody)
Squint eyes (slant)
Start a love train, love train
People all over the world (all the world, now)
Chink those eyes (chink eyes!)
Start a love train (love eye), love train
The next stop that we respectfully make will be soon
Tell all the folks in Argentina, and Spain, too
Don’t you know that it’s time to get on board
And let this train keep on riding, it’s funny hoo hoo!
People all over the world (you don’t need no money)
Squint eyes (come on)
Start a love train, love train (don’t need no Asians, come on)
People all over the world (Join in, ride this train)
Join in (Ride this train, y’all)
Start a love train (Come on, train), love train
All of you brothers over in Africa
Tell all the folks in Egypt, and Israel, too
Please don’t miss this train o’ impersonasian
‘Cause if you miss it, I feel sorry, sorry for you
People all over the world (Sisters and brothers)
Squint eyes (Squint ‘em, come on!)
Start a love train (ride this train, y’all), love train (Come on)
People all over the world (Don’t need no tickets)
Squint eyes (come on, eyes)
Start a love train, love train
Eyes, slanty eyes
Squint those eyes
People, ain’t no war
People all over the world (on this train)
Chinky eyes (ride the train)
Start a love train, love train (ride the train, y’all)
People all over the world (come on)
Squint eyes (you can ride or stand, yeah)
Start a love train, love train (makin’ love)
People all over the world (’round the world, y’all)
Squinty eyes (come on)
Start a love train, love train
Ringtone available soon! Until then, just keep those eyes chinky!!!
I once spent the better part of two years–during the furious shift out of my late teens–working through an epic collection of poetry. It spanned early observations of the incremental breakdown of my mother’s side of the family to the detritus of my first love, from guilt about sex to a love affair with drunken sunrises. Needless to say, it was a pile of self-indulgent shit, but it was my shit, sincere shit from my young heart and achy-breaky-burning soul.
I had the entire thing enclosed in a romantically battered leather file folder, which tied closed with a leather string and made the documents inside feel precious and ancient. My older sister stumbled upon it one day and asked if she could see what was inside, to which I acquiesced, half-hoping that she would be so moved that she would cry all over the leather file (adding even more salt-water character to its mahogany-colored exterior). I was exposing my insides; but in the presentational, on-paper way, my private thoughts for public display. I wanted her to tell me that the volume should be published, that I belonged in the Canon of writers, that my young age truly belied my incredible wisdom and cadence.
My sister scanned through three or four pieces and then smiled, saying, “They’re really good, Di. I like the one about the tree, you used really charming words. I don’t know if Mom would want to read that one about her sisters, though.” Then she closed the whole thing up and handed it back to me–a girl seething both with disappointment and rage. I threw my leather file in a drawer and didn’t find it again until last year, when I moved and was forced to rifle through 35 boxes of storage. And whenever she asked to read my writing after that day, I would only send her graded essays from college or my weekly music column, so that when she called them “good” I wouldn’t care one way or the other.
I guess, in some way, I can identify with what I call Rivers Cuomo’s interminable disappointment, a cloud that landed over him after he vomited up his deepest, darkest secrets and set them to cacophonous pop for his band Weezer’s 1996 sophomore effort, Pinkerton. Even though critics by and large found the album brilliant, the rest of the world was like, “Dude, this shit about asian chicks doesn’t sound anything like ‘Buddy Holly’” and refused to buy. Instead of giving everyone the finger and recording more weird Cuomo brianarrhea after that, he simply recoiled, spending years as a crazy hermit with a dark soul. It really didn’t seem like he would ever write again, how could he? He was probably too old to dream up surf hits, and no one dug his love of Madame Butterfly.
But Rivers did emerge in 2001, this time with a big fuck-you finger that came in the shape of this:
And it looks like, over 12 years after The Pinkerton Incident, he wants to do it yet again:
Note to Rivers Cuomo:
RIVERS, I UNDERSTAND YOUR RAGE. NOBODY WANTS THEIR INNERMOSTS POO-POO’D ON. BUT DUDE, WE’VE ALL (ESPECIALLY THOSE OF US WITH HARDASS ASIAN FAMILIES) BEEN THROUGH IT, AND EVENTUALLY WE ALL JUST HAD TO REALIZE THAT NOT EVERYONE IS GOING TO UNDERSTAND EVERY PART OF US, AND WE CAN’T JUST GO AROUND PUNISHING THE WORLD TO MAKE OURSELVES FEEL BETTER. SOMEBODY DOES LOVE YOU–THAT SWEET LITTLE JAPANESE (SURPRISE) GIRL THAT YOU MARRIED A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO–SO LET HER BE THE ONE TO “GET” THE COMPLEX BLARGHITY-FOO OF YOUR BRAIN AND STOP HAMMERING AT US WITH THESE STUPID, SEMI-IRONIC, TERRIBLY-TUNED, FUCK ALL Y’ALL RECORDS. I CAN’T HANDLE IT ANYMORE. IT’S BEEN OVER A DECADE. GET A THERAPIST. OR AS MY FORMER INTERN USED TO TYPE IN EMAILS, “THERAPITS.”
Filed under: =W=, Disappointment, Enough Already, Eww, Frustrasian, Fuck All Y'all, Hardass Asian Families, Innermost Feelings, Irony is for Hipsters, Rivers Cuomo, Shameful Album Covers, The Canon, The Finger
I have absolutely no idea why I know that Paris Hilton spent a half hour with a fake shaman, or that Audrina Patridge even exists (and got a fake tattoo in chinaspeak spelling out “fried meat and rice” last week). I resent myself for spelling their names correctly, and to boot, spelling those names on Jen’s and my sacred blog (where they share real estate with real winners like Michelle Malkin and Tila Tequila). Yes, yes, for these things I am truly ashamed.
And okay, I’m also a little embarrassed that, like lots of other celebublog readers, I fell for both fauxperiences–worst of all, placing a call to Jen on Friday that went something like: “Dude. Audrina, that girl with the weird floating eyes on The Hills got a wack Chinese lettering tattoo. Can you read it? It’s so wrong! Take her ass to court!”
I was fooled for a minute, sure. But what annoys me more is word on the e-street that both staged photo-ops were apparently produced bits for Ass-ton Kutcher’s new “gotcha!” series, Pop Fiction–a self-rewarding, for-celebutards-by-celebutards reality show in which idiot camera whores poop the paparazzi. Because the famous-for-nothings need more reasons to congratulate themselves.
Wow. Who orders up eight episodes of this shit? I think we should all be ashamed.
Filed under: Ass-ton Kutcher, Audrina Patridge, Celebutards, Enough Already, Paparazzi Whores, Paris Hilton, Pop Fiction, Shaman Everyone, Stop These Talentless Fools, Stupid Ideas, TMZ Whores, Wacktors, Whores