Saturday, June 10, 2006

In Another Early Morning

Trolling for Pleasure
When you awaken at 4 am, what do you do? It's the quietest time in the world for me; precacophony times if you live in one of the constantly grinding cities, like the big 4, NYC, Chicago, Philly, or Los Angeles. It's hard to place Los Angeles amidst these others; Los Angeles has got to be the most spread-out city in the US; it's more like Mexico City than it is a US city, and I don't mean because there are so many Mexicans there as much as I mean it's spread like thick megopolis mayonaise all over a large hectares of going-on-forever gummy Wonder bread square miles. I'm back east, so I'm riding the back of a sun that won't be to LA for another 3 hours, and my early morning hours are like being in a soundproofed booth getting prepped for the $64,000,000 question.

I got my early morning bearings first by watching Wai Lana, the PBS yoga babe, a strange Asian-souled Amurican with her head miles up in some Neverland of clouds and Pacific sunsets as she manipulates her splendidly tight body through the many hoodoo body positions exhaled as "control of mind over body" by mobs of Indian fakirs, some of whom claim they can stop their hearts, though Wai Lana stops your heart only by convincing you you can easily slam-dunk a navasana pose even though you weigh 220 pounds and your metabolism is dependent on French fries and fried chicken from KFC (the Colonel's own Kentucky FRIED Chicken, but you know, fried foods were given F-minuses in the goody-two-shoes days of government warnings, so the current Kentucky colonels decided to go the acronymic way of covering up the negative aspects of their company's "killer" product). To me, it's a treat to watch Wai with the sound off; she has a terribly unsexy voice, though Wai thinks she's expressing herself in terms of beauty all the time and that's what makes her unsexy voice so damn sexy even though I hate her vocal phrasings and think of several lurid ways of shutting her up while I'm watching her go through her devotions. In those poses where Wai's alluringly charming bottom is prominently arced and saliently extended right-in-your-sexual-eyes it's hard to think that Wai is as much a figment of televised unreality as Big Bird and Elmo or the plethora of teevee chefs that trot in and out of PBS studio kitchens every morning, noon, and all nights long. So I take leave of the Planet Veggie and go surfing and, lo, who do I come across but Christopher Buckley sitting there on the PBS sophisticated bullshit program NOW, the one the "spankers for Christ," when they took over PBS, decided was too far left for their taste and needed to be balanced (moved more right wing) so they added the honest-to-God (Capitalism) in-ept journalism of the Wall Street Journal Report, hosted by some punishing dits from that Dow rag's editorial bored.

We were for awhile, especially after PBS sacked him, hearing a lot of peacock-badgering from good ole boy Bill Moyers when he was chief keiko-muckity-muck of NOW and was warning us of the media sliding further and further into right-wing old plantation hell (a truth poor ole Hillary Rodham Clinton ("by thy rod and thy ham...") tried to make analogous with Congress to a falling brick wall of condemnation from the nutjob right saying she was pulling out her "race" card and using it unfairly since she made the statement before a black audience who already knew the truth of what she was saying--Amen). Bill has been rather quiet for almost a year now after making a couple preacher boy brilliant speeches that were published by BuzzFlash I know and I nominated him as BuzzFlash lefty hero of the week in which he tried to spill the truth about what was coming in terms of Georgie Porgie and his Texas Bush Baby World Order Boys; poor little rich boys wanting to rule the whole damn world finally out from under the thumbs and feet of their wimpy parents, except Georgie Porgie's mommy who he loves because of how his old pappy treated her when GP was a little spoiled rich brat boy. But Bill, I guess, has retired to one of his fabulous homes; probably working on a book. It's amazing how many books these guys can write. Except if you stop and think about who really writes these guys's copy for them.

Like Bobby Kennedy, Jr. He's currently being hailed for what every lefty is calling "a brilliant piece" on how the Bush Babies stole the 2004 election, for damn sure in Ohio, in Rolling Stone, named after the McKinley Morganfield tune and not the rip-off British rock band I hope, though my hopes are often dashed when it comes to hoping for respect for American originalities. I rather doubt that Bobby Jr. does his own investigative reporting. Don't you think he uses a staff and probably students, I think he's connected to a college in upstate New York, to get his facts together? Then he probably dictates his manuscripts and has an assistant copyedit and proofread them, then go over the proofs with him.... Wow. Like his cousin John John. Just because he took that old Kennedy bootleg money and bought his own magazine, did that make him a great editor/publisher/commentator? Amazing how well these spoiled rich brats do just because they are from the families they are from. Ronnie Reagan, Jr., is an investigative reporter. How about Gloria Vanderbuilt's weirdo son is a teevee news commentator. They rule us. How come we let them rule us? Hey, Bobby, tell us the truth about your family's and your father's and your uncle's connection to the mob and how about what you know about your uncle's being blown away--didn't Aunt Jackie O ever talk about it to you guys? Tell us that kind of stuff. And what about your Uncle Teddy? Was he dippin' in the Congressional secretarial pool for side fun back during the heavy party time of those Edgartown days? Maybe with some female aides, too? Or how about your cousin who killed the girl with a golf club? Or your cousin who raped the bimbo down on the Palm Beach estate. Or your brother who died of a drug overdose in a Florida scumbag motel? What about electro-shock treatments for your poor old retarded aunt? How about Mama Rose paying no mind to your old crusty grandfather banging Gloria Swanson just above her in one of the mansion's very private bedrooms? What about your cousin Patrick? Is he sane enough to be a representative of We the People? How come with all the Kennedys we've had in power they've never really accomplished anything except the same old thing the Repugnicans keep giving us, total bullshit, higher prices, less earnings, and more bullshit. Instead, from Bobby Jr. we get "proof" that Bush stole the 2004 election through Kenneth Blackwell and Ohio voting machine and voting allowance fraud. Hey, Bobby Jr., where you been? We knew that the night of it's being reported back when it was happening. We were hoping John Kerry would get as asshole gung-ho as he was when he thirsted to go to Nam where he could become a hero; we were hoping his cojones were still as intact as they were when he threw his stupid war medals into a drink or wherever he threw them, but, nope, he gave up and was in bed with his rich honey before 11 pm. That son of a bitch gave up. He didn't even pitch a bottle of Heinz catsup at somebody's f-ing head. Come on. That voting bullshit was predicted before the election happened.

Anyway, I started watching NOW in these early morning hours, the slick Nick dude (a Mainer) who took over from good ole Bill Moyers was interviewing the Buckley clone, Christopher, the dull-bright son of William F. (for "fakir") Buckley, who got started on his erudite-tongued career by working as a Yaley grad information gatherer for old Wild Bull Donovan's OSS (Office of Secret Service) during WWII, which Allan Dulles (the quiet but more ruthless of the Dulles brothers) turned into what he called "The Central Intelligence Agency," better known to you KFC fans as the CIA.

It seems, according to this Nick dude, Christopher Buckley is one of the greatest satirists we've ever produced in this country. Really? Even with his irritating blinking left eye? What the hell caused that tic? Ever notice that? I mean he's slickly groomed; had a well-tailored Scotch wool spring jacket, expensive shirt and tie but loosened as though he's right out of his hot office in one of Steve Forbes's pigeonholes at Forbes "we'll tell you whose got all of your money" magazine. You see, I'm totally dumb about this guy; I have never read a one of his extremely satirically mezmerizing bestsellers; nor have I read any of his investigative reporting articles or seen any of his movies. I tried. I searched the Internet for articles but all I got was lickspittle praise of him--one blog critic did say he didn't develop some of his characters very well. I see the prick as a lucky bastard, lucky his old daddy was that total phony asshole William F. Buckley, Jr. God how anyone with any brains adore that old right-wing, conservatively snooty fraud of a man. The only fun I had with William F. Buckley, Jr., was when Gore Vidal cooked the silly fakir's goose right on teevee, pissing the old Yaley fart off so much he called Gore a "queer," a homo, to which Gore replied he prefered being called a "homosexualist" rather than a homo or a queer. F-you, Chris, go out on your daddy's yacht and sail off into the satirical sunset.

If I ever find the spare time to read one of Mr. Buckley's "oh-so-funny" satirical masterpieces and I happen to like it, I'll retract what I said above, kiss his ass, and proofread for him for free for a couple of coons's ages. I guess when you come from wealth, writing is what you would call an ultimate hobby. Fuck the Buckleys. How about Jim Buckley, remember that dipstick?

God I hate teevee and all it spawns. Give me Warren Spahn anyday, may he rest in a perpetual 7th-inning stretch.

for The Daily Growler

The Daily Growler Sports Extra With Marv Backbiter
England wasn't that impressive today in the World Cup. They beat Paraguay but by one goal and Paraguay had a couple of opportunities to knock the Brit buggers out of the contest, but, the Brits are attackers and play rough so that makes them look good.

How about Ecuador beating the Poles? That was fun. Ecuador is a rather cooly designed team; very active all over the field like the great past Brasilian teams.

Argentina looked mean and tough, too, today as they beat the Ivory Coast (come on, the "Marfils" were big dudes and they attacked very well, missing a couple of easy shots on goal. We'll see; it's so early and I haven't seen any team yet that looks that threatening. I haven't seen Brasil yet; so we'll see. US plays Monday. Wonder will they get booed by the new generation Germans? Will we get booed for the dunderheaded and outright cruel decisions being made by our madhouse "president" and his stooge Congress?

In the sport of al-Zarqawi killing, the Amurican forces have changed their story now; seems the invincible Abu Musab wasn't blown to smithereens by those two 500 lb bombs afterall. Think about two 500 lb bombs hitting your house all at once. I read an account of the aftermath by a reporter who claims he was in the little town where Zarqawi had been living for quite some time. Remember, Saddam wanted to kill Zarqawi when Rumsfeld introduced the two; then Rumsfeld told the air strikers in the no-fly zone to protect Abu M. as he was important to the cause. No mention of al Qaeda at that time...oh shit, I forgot, this administration lies about everything; therefore, using this logic, let's see, that means al-Zarqawi is still alive. I'm catching on to the sport of politics! Now the "honest" Amurican forces are saying Abu M. was actually still alive when they found him. He was on a stretcher and when he saw the Amurican forces, he rolled off the stretcher and tried to make a break for the border. The kind and caring Amurican troops helped him gently get back on the stretcher then they say he gurgled something unintelligible to them [they do not speak his language by the way so anything he would have said would have been unintelligible to them] and then they say he died. Now you would have thought this important bugger would have been kept alive; all the information he has about Al Qaeda operations! But no; better dead than contradictory to Georgie Porgie's big picture.

The George Steinbrenner Yankees have lost three in a row thanks to their multimillionaire hitters not hitting and their multimillionaire pitchers pitching as lousy as game-begging stark amateurs with 0-10 records in the Bush leagues. Randy "I'm too old to be doing this" Johnson for instance in yesterday's loss to Oakland gave up 4 homeruns and in one inning walked 4. Hey, Randy, how about giving some of that multimillion buck stash you got in a Cayman Island bank back to the fans? Why are players paid according to their supposed abilities and not by their game-to-game value? I mean if a guy is hitting .288, like A-Rod is currently hitting, then hell, pay him for that time as a .288 hitter. If he hits .340, hell yeah, give him enough to buy a couple'a ranches and some vintage cars and shit.

The Mets, they're coming along fine. Willie Randolph is proving to be a pro manager--the Mets are playing the best baseball I've ever seen them play--such hustle--even old supposedly washed up Tom Glavine is having a hell of a season.

Of course, Albert Pujols already has 25 homeruns and has knocked in 65 runs. What a player. Of course, if George Steinbrenner buys him and makes a Yankee out of him, then he'll suddenly hit .250 and lead the league in strike outs and injuries. Saint Louie looks awesome in the Nat League; Detroit still holding off the White Sox as the best percentage team in the American League and beisbol right now. Daily Growler baseball wits are still predicting a subway series, Yankees and Mets, but they are prejudice. The White Sox have to be ready to do some tire biting again this year as good as they look.

And Jason Grimsley; what a piece of cowardly shit; spilling his guts on all his buddies because the big shots in the Majors are threatening to throw the book at him. Hey, Jason, no Hall of Fame for you; just step over there with Pete Rose and Shoeless Joe Jackson. What a bunch of buncombe all this growth hormone shit is. There's no proof that shit makes these "kids" superdudes. Jason Grimsley wasn't so hot a pitcher ever; not even when he was with the Yankees. Let them eat cake if they want to; who gives a shit? Arnold Schwartzenegger besides being the son of a Nazi cop admits to smoking pot, taking buckets full of steroids and body builder crap, and grabbing women's asses and tits with impunity and shit that son of a bitch gets to be goobernor of California. He still smokes cigars and blows smoke in your pansy face, too, should you mock his accent or something. How hypocritical every son of bitch in this country seems to be.

Put your money on the Royal Family of Dubai's horse in the Belmont Stakes...oh shit, the race is over and praise Allah, the Royal Family's horse was the winner. Horse racing is crooked as a snake at night, but who cares, gambling gives Yahoos hope. There are no rich horseplayers, however; only rich horse owners.

With a Bye Now, Neighers,
marv backbiter
for The Daily Growler Sports Extra

The Daily Growler Quote of the Day
"Mozart, both his life and his works inform us, was more continuously occupied than either of these other composers [Beethoven and Wagner] with what we nowadays call 'leftism' (not to be confused with 'left wing,'...).

"Mozart was not, like Wagner, a political revolutionary. Nor was he, like Beethoven, an old fraud who just talked about human rights and dignity but who was really an irascible, intolerant, and scheming careerist, who allowed himself the liberty, when he felt like it, of being unjust toward the poor, lickspittle toward the rich, dishonest in business, unjust and unforgiving toward the members of his own family. ...

"The three great theater-pieces of his [Mozart's] maturity, Die Zauberflote, Le Nozze di Figaro, and Don Giovanni, are all of them celebrations of his faith and fellowship, of what we should call liberalism or 'leftism' and what the eighteenth century called Enlightenment." Virgil Thomson, Music Reviewed, Vintage Books, 1967; from a review written in 1940.

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