Saturday, March 15, 2008

The Idiotic Keep on Keepin' On

Lyin' Again and Again and Again, "Well, hell, folks, truth is lies and lies is truth in my, my book, that's My Pet Goat; it certainly took my mind off them Al Ky-ate-ahs attackin' us at that time...."
Eliot Spitzer Thursday was having to pull his pants back up and get the hell out of the royal state bedroom in Albany, shamed out of office for gettin' caught payin' $4300-an-hour to a little workin' gal from Jersey, a 22-year-old who said she was struggling to pay the rent on her fabby $3500-a-month studio apartment in a fabby new luxury building in Manhattan's newly created Flatiron District, called that due to that being the area around what they say was the world's first skyscraper, the Flatiron Building--a building I guarantee you the foreign developers would tear down in the flicker of a flea's eye if it weren't protected under the city landmark building protection act and replace it with a plexiglas, aluminum studded and thin concrete floored replica--another new luxury building for whores, swindlers, foreign criminals, money launderers, drug dealers, and politicians to live in--the only people who can afford Manhattan rents and soon to be the rents in all 5 boroughs--but then rich bastard men need whores--their wives normally are babymakers (sons, please) and sidebar decoration--first wives are always divorced in favor of an office trollop or a girl on the set if you're a Hollywood privileged rich asshole--the second divorce is the costly one, and the third (or fourth) marriage is to money--like John Kerry tackling and wedding the Heinz Ketchup fortune--and Ms. Kerry wasn't even a Heinz! Unless, like Donald "Trumped Himself" Trump you like sluts--then you can marry innumerable times--it don't matter. Trump doesn't need a wife except to make babies--sons--and so far his sons have proven to be duds--only his daughter Ivanka is successful--because Daddy gave her her own jewelry store in one of his main fabby Manhattan Donald Trump gaudy whorehouses down where Tiffany's once was. What a life, eh, you poor slobs out there struggling to pay your mortgages, your property taxes, your city tax, your state tax, your federal tax (look at your phone bills--you are quadruple taxed on most phone bills--now Verizon is charging me for long distance whether I make a long distance call or not and damned if I don't pay a tax on that charge) your car payments, your HMO, and you may be having to beat the IRS off your back, and you're having those chest pains and your HMO has suddenly notified you they've canceled your insurance after you used it to have a bunion removed from your big toe at $20,000 copay--you pay 15 grand, the HMO pays 5 grand. While you're eying the pistol in front of you as you go over all the eviction notices and past-due statements and the threats of broken arms or first-borns being forced to go fight in Iraq, the Donald is jacking off with his latest slut wife over a project model of his newest Trump City to be built over an ex-nuclear waste dump in Manila or somewhere where it matters not to anybody how many poor people you throw into the streets or onto the local popular garbage dump subdivisions (especially in Manila)--and Trump's trying to buy an old Meadowlands, New Jersey, dump site, too, and build a wild-boy's town out there where billions of New Jersey tax dollars have been wasted and buried out there over the years already--where Jimmy Hoffa's buried, too, I believe--under the Giant Stadium parking lot, I believe--and I'm still wondering why football teams in New Jersey are still called "New York" Giants and Jets.

And while all of the above was going on, our fraud "president" was out babbling away with his incoherent logic how we'd better not "overcorrect" the economy right now--the market dropped 145 points while Bush was babbling--that it would correct itself, and then this stupid ass asked us Amuricans to trust him and his wisdom. Holy Shit we're doomed, but I get tired of saying that and turn off all communications devices and curl up in a bland corner with this Paul Bowles book I'm living in practically, living in Morocco with Paul and his Moroccan entourage, smoking kif and watching a jilala mountain man having to dance when he hears jilala musicians playing--dancing himself onto the floor in a trance--and the only way out of the trance for him is if the musicians see him drinking his own blood, then they'll play him out of his trance and bring him back to reality--in order to drink his own blood, he has to take his knife from its shield and start dancing and as he dances he takes the knife and slices his arms up and down and then he licks the blood that starts pouring from those cuts--and if he is really in a deep trance, then he has to slice his legs or cut up his forehead or his belly and then he writhes and bathes in his own blood, lapping as much of it up as he can as he writhes and bathes and dances his way back, to the right music, to reality.

Sure Bush wants the economy to crash; that's a part of Paul Wolfowitz's original plan: bring the economy down, drive the dollar down to almost worthless value, and then you've created a Third-World-level economy whose pride and joy is a workforce that will work for slave wages--a cheap labor force, which is what all of this is about--the enslaving of cheap labor so the corporate rich can keep on getting richer and richer and richer--including the Bush Family (except joyously I noticed that the Bush-Bin Laden-financed Carlyle Group is losing their shirts--anytime a Bush is involved in a business it is sure to fail and that includes Pappy Bush, too, a failed businessman who became a successful politician due to his connections--and that's the secret to being filthy rich and going to Yale and becoming close compadres with your family's bailers-out-ers--if you fail, your rich partners bail you out, just like Pappy's rich friends bailed G.W. out of his failure as a baseball team owner (he wrecked the Rangers)--in fact, just today, We the People bailed Bears-Stearns out and kept it from going under--aren't we generous?)--cheap labor is behind all the wealth of the 1% who own us lock, stock, and barrel, including the royal families of the Saudi Arabia, of Dubai, of Kuwait, of the Arab Emirates, of Oman, of Iran, the criminals and thieves in Iraq, or the new rich class in Commie China (I love this irony better than all the others--after living through the Commie scare era in this country, when the Soviet Union and the Red Chinese were our biggest enemies, our Devils, our greatest fear and threat to our great freedoms we enjoy in this country--the freedom to be tricked into overwhelming debt--and now look at China--why it's the most successful Capitalist economy in the world now, fastest growing economy in the world--fastest growing and most deadly air pollution in the world, too--that fascinates me). These new rich see a chance to rule the world by simply buying it, to turn this planet into a global entity ruled over by a council of rich men, like Senor Slim or Warren Buffet or how about little Billy and Melinda Gates ruling you? "Oh, excuse me, sir, you over there, my valet, it's time to wipe my ass."

Bush was lyin' so hard and long Thursday and Friday he even broke down and laughed at himself once when his words got so tangled in his thick tongue he could do nothing but one of those nerdy chuckles he breaks into when he gives up on trying to express himself--his tongue was thick 'cause he's dry mouthed and obviously needs a drink--though Bush is looking pretty healthy--getting ready for the really good life now--leaving this mess to--what?, what's that I heard Bush saying to Unka Dick?, "Let's see that N-worder top this mess I'm leavin' his Brer Rabbit ass." "Don't worry, my asshole son," says Unka Dick, "We'll be bombing Iran next week and then you can declare yourself emperor." "But, shit, Unka Dick, you told me I could do the lecture circuit and kick my boots up and watch teevee down at my faux ranch...."

And hey, I heard Obama's "pastor" preachin' to his Chicago Black congregation, too--and I ask, what was wrong with this Black Chicago preacher saying this nation was built on racism, built off the backs of Black slaves, and that it still is a racist nation? Can Obama deny that? Oh, but wait a minute--Obama's half white--nobody mentions that--and Obama can speak Indonesian, the most Moslem country in the world--aha! Obama's a mulatto-jihadist! What's Hillary? A neglected wife tryin' to top her slickass egotistical husband--not with sex; women don't see sex like men do, I tried to tell you'all that in an earlier post--women are backstabbers--it must be really miserable in old Bill's lonely hotel room these days--why, he's having to call Barbra Streisand every hour or so and get her to talk dirty to him.

How sordid is all of this?

Yesterday I read where this past month was a very deadly one in Iraq for both Amurican soldiers and poor ole helpless Iraqis--including the Christian leader that was wacked the other day along with 4 of his clerics--EXCEPT this morning I read from the AP wire that violence was almost at a standstill in Iraq these days--"but for how long?" the head on the article added just in case. You think this was a Pentagon-placed newsstory? I mean Bush said yesterday the War in Iraq was pretty much won and he'd do it over and over again if he had it to do over and over again.

Osama bin Ladin I assume like Madame Bhutto said has been a long-time dead now. The War in Afghanistan, by the way, is failing, but not in our faux president's numbskull brain. Hey, the world looks fine if you're filthy rich or your old daddy is filthy rich. And, folks, there are one hell of a lot of sluts out there makin' millions a year--and you're worried about illegal Messkins beatin' you out of cleaning Donald Trump's shithouses?

We're all fools. Hey, I include myself in that.

Another crane on a construction site here in New York City fell again today. This one was pretty serious. This crane fell at 51st and Second Avenue, on the Upper East Side, packed with doctors and lawyers and department store vice-presidents and women account executives and their PR husbands and such--they all make a bottom salary of around $150,000 a year a piece--they all are living pretty good lives in their preWWII red brick, casement windowed, apartments that have no balconies (Irony: all the new luxury apartment buildings have balconies; everybody who has lived in New York City and had a balcony knows you can never use them--the air is so bad, the wind is constantly whipping around these sky-high buildings bringing with it grit, fuel oil smut, pollens, and Zeus knows what else). So they are building this 40-story luxury apartment building in the midst of all these already old luxury buildings and today just suddenly that building's crane tumbled backwards off the building and over she went first falling on the preWWII building and damaging its top three floors, then the crane cab broke off the tower and it fell on a five-story building and completely demolished it (look at it this way, they saved the building's landlord the expense of having to evict all his tenants and tear the building down himself). In the end so far 4 are known dead for sure, 20 are injured, and they are still digging out the collapsed building--more dead soon to come.

So this morning I woke up at 3:45. I had gone to bed hearing construction noise over at the new 2000-room hotel and shopping-spree mall going up on Sixth Avenue out my windows west. The noise over there today was like some piledriving but I was more concerned about the noise coming from just an apartment away from my apartment next to my building where they are beginning demolishing a couple of very old New York City buildings, one a charming white stone structure--ah, but who gives a shit, a foreigner has bought the two buildings and he's tearing them down and putting up--what?--a hotel!--there are already two hotels in my block, so the noise over on Sixth Avenue didn't bother me until when I woke up this early morn and the noise over there was still going on--a ferocious noise of heavy machinery running at full pitch and that very irritating whistle these machines have on them that activates the minute they switch into reverse--how many people were killed by backing up machinery and trucks and shit before they put those whistles on them?--but anyway, the machines were growling and the whistles were whistling like hell and I began to growl, "You, motherfuckers, it's Sunday-fucking morning--" I went to one of my windows and craned my neck out and looked over at the construction site and I'll be a monkey's uncle, the noise was? Can you guess? Why they were putting up a crane. The towers up and the cab is already on top of it and it already extends up above my floor, the 11th floor, so it's already 20-stories tall itself--it's a huge crane, which means they're going into the upper atmosphere with this tacky monster--when finished it will totally block out my western view--I can see over to the Hudson and Jersey now, but not soon, soon my view will be the solid wall of windows in that ugly hotel--and I know it will be ugly, all these new buildings are ugly--plexiglas-paneled boxes with no outer aesthetics--and even these overpriced luxury apartments inside look like they were built with supplies from a Home Depot. And talk about soundproofing--no way, New York City apartments aren't soundproof. My bedroom when I lived with my rich wife over off Sutton Place was right next door to my neighbor's kitchen and breakfast nook--I could hear these people boogie-ing in that kitchen morning, noon, and night, loud yacking, loud gossiping, loud hollering at a whiny daughter--"Ah, Ma, all the girls are going topless at school, come on, get with it." "You look like a slut. No daughter of mine is going to be a slut." "But, Ma, Larry Flynt offered me a million dollars to pose naked for him." "Sugar, saddle up, I'll go with you. I hear Mr. Flynt is such a nice man." And as I looked at this new skyhigh crane I figured as tall as it is now if it fell my way it very well could crash into my building and hell this old building would pancake down faster than one of these new luxury buildings will go down if a tornado hit New York City like it hit Atlanta day before yesterday.

Life goes on whether we like it or not.

for The Daily Growler

And to our Anonymous commenter (they've been with us since the beginning):

We say Amen, brother!

The Daily Growler Hall of Fame Salutes Clyde Tombaugh, the discoverer of the Planet Pluto, The Daily Growler official Planet--fuck those who call it an ice ball.

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