Cerebral Itch presents
Aretha Franklin and Tom Jones
The Party's Over
(In honor of our President, who couldn't pass a kidney stone
now that he's essentially politically impotent)
The summer gives way to lazy afternoons and thoughts of whimsy, or at least that's what they say in those goddamn lemonade commercials. But if they are to be believed, then my summer daydreams kicked into high gear this morning with the release of the iPhone; causing me to wax fantastic by imagining my perfect summer day - it goes something like this:
10:06 am: wake up after 10 hours of undisturbed sleep
10:17 am: Getting the news via my new iPhone that Dick Cheney is getting impeached and will be removed from office
10:30 am: Waffles
10:57 am: Watching clip of Dick Cheney getting impeached and removed from office on my new iPhone
11:42 am: More Waffles
12:36 pm: Something that involves nudity and spouse
1:06 pm: Nap by the pool
2:03 pm: Watching clip of Dick Cheney getting impeached and removed from office on my new iPhone
2:05 pm: Buying an $85 bottle of Pinot Noir along with some Ben & Jerry's Turtle Soup and a lottery ticket to celebrate Dick going down
3:12 pm: Lunch by the pool
3:33 pm: Watching clip of Dick Cheney getting impeached and removed from office on my new iPhone
4:23 pm: More nudity and spouse
5:17pm: Watching clip of Dick Cheney getting impeached and removed from office on my new iPhone
5:19pm: Matinee of a summer movie that involves explosions, special effects and a plot that is worthy of my $10 bucks
7:45pm: Watching clip of Dick Cheney getting impeached and removed from office on my new iPhone
8:00pm: Checking lottery numbers via my iPhone browser and discovering that I in fact, just won the lottery
8:01pm: Wildly flailing about running in all directions with middle fingers waving at anything that moves screaming "I own you and you and you and you and YOU!"
8:47pm: Gaining my composure with police officers Chavez and Dean
8:53pm: Watching clip of Dick Cheney getting impeached and removed from office on my new iPhone
10:04pm: Settling into first class seat with spouse for flight to Paris with no luggage because we'll just buy new shit when we get there
10:06pm: Watching clip of Dick Cheney getting impeached and removed from office on my new iPhone
11:03 pm: More nudity and spouse
11:18 pm: Being asked to return to our seats
11:21pm: Watching clip of Dick Cheney getting impeached and removed from office on my new iPhone
11:56pm: Nodding off on spouse's shoulder softly muttering "I own you and you and you and you z z z z z z z z zzzzzzzzzzzz"
So we pull into the Cerebral Itch Scratch Pad offices around eleven this morning; late for us, but we were out all night up in L.A. at the Paris Hilton release party. Most of us think it's going to be another boring Wednesday with the usual Xtube surfing and extended lunch to go buy the office pool lottery tickets; man, we were so wrong.
One of our staff writers, Veejay is over here from Bangalore for the summer getting a feel for the U.S. office and also seeing some specialist about a "rash" he got in Baltimore earlier this year at some roller derby match. Don't ask. Anyway, he's always the first one in the morning to check emails from the blog readers. I'm finishing up what my psyllium smoothie wrought when I hear this tortured scream of "sonnufabeech!". It's Veejay and something got his knickers in a nuke twist. Turns out it was "Orangutan"; screen name of the bozo blog reader that apparently lives to harass us regularly about whatever happens to be on the blog. He took particular umbrage with the whole Katie Couric hatchet job we did last week. This guy apparently has some "buffalo bill-like" fixation on the CBS poop-chute pixie.
Except this time he went too far and Veejay just plain lost his shit. The skinny bastard grabs me by the lapels and demands my car keys. Veejay supposedly has learned how to drive in his blind rage and wants to hunt Orangutan down. I try to assuage him by telling him that the guy is probably some harmless sissy boy who works for a non-profit and likes Hugh Grant movies. The Veej ain't buying what I'm selling; he wants a piece of this guy.
So I figure what the hell, he's the one that'll get deported not me and it'll make good copy. We hop into the itch mobile and start hunting based on an IP address and clues we've culled from his past emails. Soon we're cruising downtown oriental massage parlors because of a lucky hot tip from a waitress at Jamaican restaurant that let us use their bathroom. We stuck to the ones Veejay knew specialized in happy endings (go figure) and looked at the masseuse lobby posters trying to find one that looked like Katie Couric. It seemed like a reliable course of pursuit.
We finally hit pay dirt. The last place we looked had this hermaphrodite that wore a wig and a cheap Evan Picone suit. We knew we found our man. Veejay ran crazed down the hall, kicked open about four wrong doors (which incidentally led to me never having to pay a speeding ticket again in this town if you know what I mean) and finally got it right on the fifth. There he was, Orangutan in a towel. Veejay lunged at the poor naked bastard only to mercilessly beat the shit out of the guy's hand with his face. Seems Orangutan was handy in a fight; but damn it if Veejay isn't scrappy. The two of them tussled about while the hermaphrodite Katie Couric look-alike shrieked and danced around like there was a cartoon mouse on the ground. It was big trouble in little China and I needed to get my ass out there before I got swept up in the butt-ugly scrape. No sooner did I get to the emergency exit then I hear a couple of "pops" and Veejay runs past me screaming about a gun. I look behind me and see this little old Asian lady wearing pink slacks and a red cardigan - I'm assuming she's the manager - lugging a goddamn .45 and taking out hanging lanterns and pictures with every off-balance shot. It was just splinters and screams as we hopped into the company van and peeled out into the adjacent alley.
Veejay was shaking like a leaf, bloodied and moist from pissing himself. The only consolation was that we think Orangutan didn't get out of there like we did. All we saw in the rear-view mirror was him getting dog piled still naked by what looked like Yakuza-lite muscle; twasn't pretty.
So we're back in the office licking wounds and laughing hard...that is with a chair jammed under the door, a baseball bat in each hand and frantically trying to get new unlisted office space. We know this isn't the last we've seen of Orangutan and when we do, he's going to be pissed.
Children danced in the streets, no one woke up with morning breath and peace reigned throughout my refrigerator. Paris Hilton is free.
The three major online news outlets found the time to break away from the Iraq, Afghanistan, Darfur, Gaza, Cheney, fires and other less important stuff to let us know the numb skull nymphette made it through her 23-day hell with nary a scratch.
I give her maybe six weeks before she's blotto half-naked on some dance floor and behind the wheel of another disposable Mercedes. This isn't going to end well and damn it if we're not going to be there to cover it.
The Nielsen ratings often turn out to be the best indicator of a society's general mental health. The latest top 10 ratings list show that the majority of the TV watching public are infatuated with crime, sports and people making complete asses of themselves. The breakdown is something like this: Five shows about unsolved murders, one piece of poo masquerading as a comedy complete with formulaic precocious fat kid and ex-boozer sex addict brat packer, of course a sporting event and the number one show features David Hasselhoff and Jerry Springer.
Happy Monday, I'll meet you at the bar.
There are currently 535 people who work for you and me that are getting paid somewhere between $165K and $212K to apparently be complete f*ck ups and let me tell you, judging from their accomplishments so far, they're doing a bang-up job.
According to the latest Gallup Poll, Congress got an approval rating of 14%, the lowest since this poll was started in 1973. Now this wouldn't be especially galling considering that most politicians are pandering ass clowns with re-election and free golf on their minds, but there happens to be a two theater war going on right now while with the rest of the world is amassing outside our palace window with torches and pitchforks. Add to that a planet that's getting pretty sick and tired of us and our toys as well as a national populace that is becoming dumber, fatter and just learned, shorter which is believed to be from poor child healthcare and nutrition (yeah, the Netherlands has the tallest population now, we held it for 200 years prior - The Netherlands people! cmon!).
So what to do about Harry and Nancy, Trent and John, and the rest of their myopic sequestered flock? Well, how about we cut to the chase and send them a little note? Click on this link to find your representative and copy and paste the following (feel free to embellish):
Hi (their name here),
It occurred to me in light of your 14% approval rating that if you worked for me in the real world I would have to call you into my office, fire you and probably dock your severance pay for damages done while in my employ.
You're a failure mathematically and politically. I know most of your 20-something suck-up aides would never breathe such heresy; but that's pretty much the truth. You've let people die, species disappear and a whole host of other things go to hell in a hand basket on your watch so far. Look, I don't want to bum out your busy mahogony and velvet appointed day, but for the sake of all that is still living pull your head out, grow some balls and act like a pissed-off American that cares about generations and not election cycles.
You're actually in a great position, you can't do worse. We already despise you and plan to vote you out of office anyway. So impress us, because it won't take much at this point.
It came to our attention last night that one of our senior writers here at the Cerebral Itch Scratch Pad is apparently the current paramour of jail bird Paris Hilton. We confronted him about using company equipment to communicate with a criminal and he claimed it was all for the blog; in turn, he handed over some of the most recent correspondence.
I know this may shock you, but I love you. Not like I love Crist my saveeor (sp?) but I loveyou liek no other guy I've been with. Being in prisin makes me want you more.
I know you make fun of me on your blog to make people think your cool and all but I know that you really want me just like I want you. You think by being all tough and pertending you think I'm a slut willmake me want you. Well your rite, I do.
Prison is tough and the food sucks and total skanky crackwhores try to watch me shower. They all yell mean things to me but I know there all jealous. I'll be out of here and back in Vegas with you dancing and drinking and patying so hard. I cant wait, because I like so want to tell you about all the reading I'm doing, not just the bible but things like thick books with totally tiny letters.
I'm going to go now, stay studly and kiss my picture every night like I do.
The '08 campaign malaise that the pundits have been promising for months appears to have arrived. Obama can't knock that sense of entitlement smirk off
Apparently one of the symptoms of this malaise manifested itself in the adoration of one Fred Thompson. This brings to mind the classic Ancient Mariner quote: “Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink”. The Republican base is so desperate and indifferent to the current cast of phalluses that they'll drink in this actor/lobbyist/shill much to their peril. The Democrats reek of the same desperation except they'll hold off from drinking salt water because they see fresh water in the form of Al Gore on the horizon.
Add one more savior-to-be to the list: New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg. In a recent appearance at the Google campus he let loose on
We've dreamt of people who might do well in the Oval Office and make us feel like we'd have a better shot at the future (Kennedy, Cuomo, and Powell) only to be disappointed and left to vote for the lesser of evils. Bloomberg has an impressive private and public sector record that may be the fresh water educated centrist libertarians so crave. Could Bloomberg be a potential independent candidate? Possibly. Qualified? Undoubtedly.
Wait, I forgot about Evangelical Christians and the Electoral College. Forget everything I've just said.
There is a television show that so reeks of evil, you should watch it from a tub of holy water while smoking crystallized insulin. It's veiled exploitation resides in its attempts to pass itself off as an tear-soaked humanitarian orgy fueled by angel kisses and the duplicitous largess of corporations. The show: Extreme Makeover | Home Edition.
What makes this show more despicable than most reality crap with an emotional hook is that this show is one big goddamn commercial for ABC, DISNEY, SEARS/KENMORE and any other company who sees their collective soul as a burden and wants to slough it off by taking part in some egregious product placement. Check out the "As Featured On" section of their website to see how you could buy the very products emotionally wrecked families get for free.
You know the sell: One family ridiculously shat on by a vengeful god, makes low-quality VHS tape talking about how they live in squalor and then boom, "Move that bus!" they got themselves a model home that f*cks up the property values of their neighbors and saddles them with property taxes they'll never be able to pay. It also sets the kids up for some serious ridicule later in life. The designer morons love to do theme rooms for the kids. Say a kid likes animals, they get a room that looks like the foyer at a Rainforest Cafe. So when the kid finally grows up and is a sophomore in high school, they'll have to put up with "hey, you the dork that sleeps in the kiddie indoor tree house?"
Well, last night they decided to go for the gold and just throw all pretense out the window and kick up the maudlin meter to 11. The Gilliam family (tragedy to come) got a new house but only after their backstory was played for the makeover jagoffs in their magical bus. It seems that the Gilliam's were your basic dollop of Americana complete with the inability to use birth control and a great dad who was crafting their dream home with his own hands, of course this was in between being a volunteer fireman and saint. Well, dad died from a lethal dose of irony; apparently he suffered an allergic reaction to the mold in the house he was remodeling. And to hammer it home, they played the frantic 911 call of the wife hysterically screaming about her convulsing husband frothing at the mouth with the heart rendering final line "you must not leave me!".
Yesiree, that's the kind of quality family programming that regularly places this show an the top of the ratings heap. Fine, keep giving away free crap; make families cry and neighbors jealous. Just don't let Ty drive the bus.
Today is a special day at the offices of the Cerebral Itch Scratch Pad; it's the 40th birthday of one of our editors. He prefers nobody really point out the fact that he's approached his fourth decade of life. So much so, a few of us have been up all night on a sort of suicide watch with the poor son of a bitch ever since we caught him in the server closet with a plastic bag over his head, a stack of porn and carmina burana playing on his iPod.
He's a really nice guy that cracks everyone up including the few dozen of our readers who actually get his references. He supposedly lived quite the life before he found his way to our little universe. He served in the Mexican army as a special forces sniper and pastry chef who's lived in countless cities of the world laying waste to the hearts of beautiful women all while penning a few Hemmingway-esque tales that would be eventually ripped off by the likes of Sebastian Junger and David Sedaris.
Some of his exploits are legend around here. He's got this one story about literally making Muqtada Al-Sadr pee his with laughter by doing a crappy Carol Channing impersonation in front of him and his buddies. Apparently before Al Sadr became the crabby Shi'a rabble-rouser he is today, he was a huge Hello Dolly purist and premiere show tune singer in his local madrasa. He also likes to tell the story about how one night at the Playboy mansion led to his first and third marriages. The second marriage is a sore subject however; something about Paris, boobs, booze and a complete lack of judgment.
But what really bummed him out this year was the fact that he finally Googled who he shares his June 14th birthday with. That was a tragic mistake considering the following:
Che Guevarra, Donald Trump, Yasmine Bleeth, the guy who discovered Alzheimers and Florence from the Jeffersons.
Then again, for someone who thinks they're sliding down the ass-crack of life, that kind of discovery will definitely shove you in a server closet with a plastic bag over your head, a stack of porn and carmina burana playing on your iPod.
The whole brouhaha over Katie Couric between ousted wingnut Dan Rather and megalomaniacal head of CBS, Les Moonves has really gotten to a point that requires cooler heads to intervene. The Cerebral Itch Scratch Pad elects itself to be that head.
Gentlemen, it's like this: Katie Couric sucks. Dan, your point about her "tarting up" the evening news is way off the mark. Katie Couric comes in under the supporting cast of the Sopranos in the sexy poll. To call her a tart is like calling Bush a raconteur; never going to fit. This was a woman who's defining news moment was getting a colonoscopy (albeit noble, but c'mon, we could've read about it and been equally impressed). Now maybe to some weirdo with an ass-cam fetish might think she's sexy but to most of America? I think not. And Les, face facts; you got screwed out of $15 million. You're never going to see that money pay off and your stockholders are going to burn you in effigy at the next meeting. Between her craptastic ratings, the Imus debacle and Survivor and CSI losing steam, you got problems.
Couric was a bad call boys. There are plenty of other women out there who could sell the news pounds better than an ex-morning show host who looks like a color commentator for a girl's gymnastics circuit. Can women give news the gravitas necessary? Christiane Amanpour for one does best wearing a flak jacket and could probably drink Brian Williams and Charlie Gibson under the table, do the news better and still drive them home to their mommies. Elizabeth Vargas was holding her own on ABC against the boys after her partner Bob Woodruff did a one-on-one interview with an IED in Iraq.
But there is use for Katie Couric in all of this; she could give workshops to the likes of Paris Hilton and Britney on how to be on TV everyday and have nobody really care.
So it appears that the fiendishly innovative military-industrial complex hit another low note in the mid-90's with funding and a plan to create what can only be described as a "gay bomb".
A Berkeley watchdog group recently uncovered that an Ohio Air Force lab got serious consideration and $7.5 million to create a "non-lethal" chemical weapon that could be dispatched to smother enemy combatants in aphrodisiacs and pheromones that would drive them into the arms and asses of their foxhole mates (pow-zing!). Now the money that was spent on things like Castro's depilatory cigar and kamikaze dolphins was intelligently apportioned and sorely needed to secure our place in the world; but a bomb designed to make men gay and too sissified to fight? That there boys is thinking out of the box (rimshot please), as it were.
But as usual, history was overlooked and the Pentagon luckily avoided the potential shit storm they could've unleashed by turning an enemy army gay. Considering some of the most accomplished and fiercest ass-kickers of all time (Alexander the Great, T.E. Lawrence, Richard the Lionhearted) were gay or at least partial to the male form in some recreational sense. Plus, if the wind shifted and blew our soldiers, pardon me, blew towards our soldiers we'd have an even bigger problem considering the DOD's definition of homosexuality as a "disorder". Then again, the army handled the gay arabic translator thing so well.
This woman truly is an idiot as evidenced in the below quote:
"Science is a gift of God to all of us and science has taken us to a place that is biblical in its power to cure. And that is the embryonic stem cell research."
To try to walk the razor's edge and pander to the functionally illiterate base of another party is repugnant and futile. Stem cell research proponents need to get their science out of the hands of the politicians and back into the private sector where it belongs. Having Pelosi and Reid provide your cause, science, etc with political stewardship is at best an oxymoron. With that said, apparently the democrats have grown tired from their time in power and wish to return it to their benefactors/predecessors.
So the cracker band got back together for the CNN Republican Debates last night; here's the 10-second wrap-up:
McCain: Still pushing the fiasco known affectionately as the surge, but actually defibrillated his campaign last night by breaking away from his handlers in one special moment as he passionately defended Hispanic immigrants who contribute both in the private and military sectors. In a few key moments he went back to looking like the bad-ass old silver back gorilla protecting his harem you see in National Geographic documentaries.
Giuliani: Fear-mongering one-trick-pony who kept pushing his tired line of Democrats being on the defensive with terror. Hey weren't you the guy running through the streets of lower Manhattan on the morning of September 11th with your crooked police chief because the command center you demanded be stationed in the World Trade Center was a smoking pile of chalk? Yeah, I thought so. Plus, God took a whack at him with a lightning strike during an abortion question. Nature wins with an impeccable sense of comedic timing.
Romney: Smug, self-righteous, rehearsed and completely unable to be extemporaneous given the opportunity. This guy poops with a consultant. How I wish someone would've asked Mr. "Double [the size of] Guantanamo" about the Hamdan case being thrown out.
Thompson: What the hell is with your hair man?! Fire your stylist and start using real product and not henna and a fish comb to coif that pile of straw.
Tancredo: Bigot, Xenophobe and a little queenie if you ask me. Literally proposed shutting down the borders for an undetermined period of time for a "time-out" on all immigrants legal and illegal. Apparently he didn't finish his proposal concerning using the steel in the Statue of Liberty to build his border fence. His slogan should be "Vote Hate in 08".
Hunter: Likes nukes, hates Iranians, you do the math.
Brownback: Pious, goofy and states that we're the greatest country in the world because we value life. Oh, the reckless genocide and wanton destruction in places like Sweden.
Huckabee: Pious, goofy and states that we're the greatest country in the world because we value life. Oh, the reckless genocide and wanton destruction in places like Sweden. Seriously, not a typo; he and Brownback might as well get a room and make their love for all things 18th century official.
Paul: He described himself as a "Champion of the Constitution" and a lot of people clapped. Once again served as the sensible conservative sage who did not hesitate to call "bullshit" on his colleagues. Likened the Iraq strategy to a disease that was being improperly treated. Nice touch doctor.
Gilmore: The Chris Dodd of the GOP field
Fred Thompson: Boo!
So the old Kissinger bon mot, "power is the greatest aphrodisiac" gets some more life pumped into it thanks to former Tennessee Republican senator and apparent blue pill popper, Fred Thompson.
The young lady pictured with him is his wife Jeri. She's 40 and four years younger than his own daughter. Call me crazy, but she might be a tad out of uncle saggy chops league if he was maybe an insurance salesman (no disrespect to insurance salesman, but if you have a wife that hot, prove me wrong) and not some smooth-talkin' good ol' boy who made ridiculous cash being a D.C. lobbyist and a character actor.
This brings to mind the legions of pundits who say Fred Thompson may be the Reagan-esque candidate that can save the Republican party from itself and the band of asshats currently raising cash under the banner of a presidential campaign. With that said, I really don't think the conservative base is going to go for a trophy wife; just a guess. But please feel free red states, if you do pick Mr. and Mrs. Thompson to run it'll wipe half the sordid crap off of every English-speaking tabloid for a good year and a half.
Maybe she loves him dearly and they both embrace the winds that blow their May-December sails, but for chrissake Fred wipe that goddamn smirk off of your face every time you're around her you smug son of a bitch. We know you scored, but remember you have a prostate you could crack hazel nuts on and the pool boy will always have a six-pack.
So the New Hampshire CNN Democratic Debates were on last night, yeah, I know: BFD.
Here's the 10-second wrap-up:
Obama: More polished and beginning to exit political larval stage to becoming fully developed political slickster
Clinton: Mommy Bad-Ass takes the gloves off and starts naming names on who f*cked up what over the last seven years; as well as smacking Wolf Blitzer around (always worth the TV time)
Edwards: Jab, jab, cross, uppercut, cross: Pissed he's still in third place, he decides to take a page from his courtroom theatrics syllabus and start playing to the jury by calling out the accused (i.e. Clinton and Obama for their wussified senate vote on the Iraq bill last week)
Biden: Substantive answers on Iraq and keeps a lid on it (should've been given best of show just for that)
Kucinich: Peace brother, peace is how we is gonna do this whole she-bang
Gravel: Tertiary syphilis has set in and he is now officially crazy - we look forward to his next appearance
Richardson: Well, his candidacy looked good on paper and he makes funny commercials
Dodd: Chris Dodd was there?
So forgetting about the apparent lapses in homeland protection and the complete breakdown of a centralized database that works in concert to warn the proper authorities of individuals who are a biohazard; the editorial staff of the Cerebral Itch Scratch Pad would like to raise the following tertiary point: If you are so stupid as to not be paralyzed with fear when a doctor tells you you have tuberculosis, you should not be allowed to have such a smokin' hot wife and a law degree.
That is all. Now to go make some tea (cough, cough) I seem to have a tickle in my throat and feeling a bit run down.