Another international catastrophe, another repugnant remark from Pat Robertson. Aside from revealing that Familia Robertson has never spent a tropical dime that wasn’t minted by Club Med — “(the) Dominican Republic is prosperous, full of resorts, etc.” — he gloated over the prospect of 100,000 deaths serving as further evidence that his laughably anachronistic interpretation of The Book is the definitive take.
If any 700 Clubbers still take the guy seriously after this one, it’s time for them to kick-start that secession movement. And as for Robertson himself, do the world’s rational ultra-majority a favor and die. Just die. Like now.
Late yesterday, the group bidding to buy the St. Louis Rams attempted to salvage its efforts by giving the heave-ho to its most controversial member, right-wing bobblehead/Hillbilly Heroin addict Rush Limbaugh. An apparently even-more-outraged-than-usual Rush responded by striking a grandiose tone:
“This is not about the NFL, it’s not about the St. Louis Rams, it’s not about me,” Limbaugh told his radio audience following the announcement. “This is about the ongoing effort by the left in this country, wherever you find them, in the media, the Democrat Party, or wherever, to destroy conservatism, to prevent the mainstreaming of anyone who is prominent as a conservative.”
Fine, sure, whatever. Rush will be Rush, and Rush is known for hyperbole and stoking political division. In concluding, had he wished to be entirely forthcoming with his loyal legions, he should’ve added that “Furthermore, this is about my ratings — increasing them, to be specific.”
But he chose a different route:
“Therefore, this is about the future of the United States of America and what kind of country we’re going to have.”
Well, then…this is a whole ‘nother story, Rush. You didn’t miss out on this nation-shaping moment because you once played a “comedic” song on your show titled “Obama the Magic Negro.” Or because you villainized welfare and essentially characterized the entirety of Black America as a collection of deadbeat dads and lazy sons in a single broadcast. Or, on a slightly related note, because the NFL is 65 percent black, and that these players (and, more importantly, their union) actually hold some sway over things — a fact apparently overlooked until yesterday by your would-be partners.
No, these matters are inconsequential. You lost your bid, Rush, because of a vast leftist conspiracy, driven by Enemies of America who don’t want you to have a 5 percent stake in an abysmal collection of football players. At stake: ONE COUNTRY.
So let us take a moment to pray, then, for the future of our nation…and for those insufferable Rams, who must now face a season of universal health care, Spanish in the locker room, and bottles of painkillers that don’t go missing while their owners are out on the field.
Telefon Tel Aviv is half the band it used to be: Charles Cooper died in January in Chicago at age 31, with media reports suggesting he may have committed suicide. TTA’s surviving member, Joshua Eustis, has remained mum on the circumstances surrounding his bandmate’s death. In any event, Eustis recently tapped a longtime friend and collaborator to join him on tour this summer.
Telefon’s playing a number of September shows in DCQ territory — find a way to get there (dates below). And if you still don’t have Immolate Yourself, cop it stat or follow the album’s instructions.
Nice, gay marriage proponents: Stealing the concept of nonconventional marriage support from Ben & Jerry’s. How very Obama of you. You liberals are shameless. Shameless, I say.
Little late on this, but eh. Reckunize? Another brother whose inebriated persona made him a star. And no, Eminem is not the guest. If you’re still at a loss, consider that mystery doc’s pals are trying to get their crossover on too, with mixed results.
Dude’s back with Relapse, by the way, if ya ain’t heard it (even though the resurgence of the psycho homophobe comes off as stale on a couple tracks). It doesn’t hurt that he channels the cadence of DCQ OG faves The Pharcyde and Brotha Lynch Hung on “3 a.m.” and “Stay Wide Awake,” respectively.
Apologies for going AWOL. Excuses abound: “Work deadline” is one. “Not writing anything” is another. “Early-onset delirium tremens” is better still. Let’s just say I’m missing a shoe.
And since we’ve come this far, let’s just charge the post to sports and toss in a vintage ad that would be funnier if both Potrero’s Finest and Detroit’s Worst weren’t so utterly fucked at present:
