Because He's Not A Pedophile.

The frantic state of the Republican party is fast becoming the culmination of their own clusterfuck of policies and lies.

Yesterday's announcement by Mark Foley's attorney that the disgraced former congressman is an alcoholic who was accosted by a member of the clergy at a young age, and is not a pedophile is not only the latest example of the shameful practices of Republicans. It's laughable.

Remember: Mark Foley didn't ask 16 year-old boys to measure their penises, and engage in "internet sex" before voting on laws on the House floor because he's a pedophile.

He's just a homosexual alcoholic and we should feel sorry for him.

Hastert: Foley Outing Suspicious.

Denny "J. Dennis" Hastert tells Slanthead the timing of Mark Foley's outing as an alleged child smells like a dirty trick.

Interesting to not that Hannity now has "tiny stars" ad flashing on the bottom of his home page.

Oh, yes. And that he runs an internet dating service from his website for "like-minded conservatives."

Hmmm. Looks fishy to me.

Ooo, Baby, It's A Wild World.

While disgraced former congressman Mark Foley was hoping today that someone -- anyone -- would buy the alcoholic excuse for asking 16 year-old boys to measure their penises, Denny "J. Dennis" Hastert was stepping on his.

Hastert's letter to the FBI asking for an investigation into Foley's alleged predatory practices focuses on a specific request to investigate those outside his leadership circle, in particular members of the press.

Sheesh.

Will Lashy Boy capitalize on this? Hard telling. Laesch appeared on the Big Ed Schultz Show today, but still sounded like a pisher.

Of course, Hastert's inner circle went with the FBI investigation so they could claim during the final weeks of the mid-term election that they can't comment on a matter under investigation.

So tripped up is Hastert that he has told numerous (nearly unintelligible) stories at this point.

Here's How You Do It, Stupid.

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Friday Night Cock... Sucker.

Good Riddance to Mark Foley.

Who, by the way, did not know (let alone suspect) that Foley was in flames?

This, ABC now says, is only the tip of the iceberg.

God-Damned Liars and Weirdos.

Family Values? Jesus H. Christ in a Steam Room!

Denny "J. Dennis" Hastert's boy on teenage predator control.

Heh.

Hope Fades.

All around the mulberry bush
The monkey chased the weasel.
The monkey thought 'twas all in fun.
Pop! goes the weasel.

A penny for a spool of thread,
A penny for a needle.
That's the way the money goes.
Pop! goes the weasel.

Up and down the City Road,
In and out of the Eagle,
That's the way the money goes.
Pop! goes the weasel.

Half a pound of tuppenney rice,
Half a pound of treacle,
Mix it up and make it nice,
Pop! goes the weasel.

Return of the Unremitting Asshole.

I concluded long ago that Tony Snow is an asshole, but never did I actually believe that he was as fucking bananas as the rest of the Right Wing nutzoids out there.

To have George W. Bush stand up in front of a crowd of reporters now, more than at any other time (especially with Bush's recent admission of secret CIA global torture operations, and his insistence on creation of new law to allow him to legally move forward with ambiguity), presents a simple mathematical equation:
Bush > Stupid.

The president's treatment of the press is usually capricious, and at the least, harsh and dismissive. Today, however, it is clear that George W. Bush is nothing more than an uremitting asshole; a doltish and cavalier prick; a lazyspeak ne'er do well who is so unhappy with himself that he must constantly lash out at others until his energy is gone.

He talks in circles. His lazyspeak "ta" when he means "to" is indicative of the kind phoney, rich Connecticut-prep-school-boy-turned-Texan that he is. His treatment of the press, in general, and of NBC's David Gregory in particular, is so far removed from what a President of the United States should be... words now fail me.

Here's a tip to Tony Snow: the next time you want to put the president in front of a camera, just call each member of the press in your little rolodex and simply tell them to sit the fuck down, go the Hell home and fuck off. You don't need them. And you don't need the public seeing this dry drunk pretending to be a leader any longer.

There's no room for more questions about why this dolt's public ratings are sinking like a kamikaze over an aircraft carrier.

A New Hope.

Catching up on the events of the past few weeks, I came across an interesting video at Video Dog.

As I say quite a lot, if you don't currently hold an online subscription at Salon.com, get one. It's good stuff dished up regularly throughout the day and night.

I used to say that the day Matt Lauer turned into a fucking journalist, I'd probably start watching the Today Show again.

Well, when TV hosts like Matt Lauer start asking the president hard questions, actually pressing for answers -- to the point where the petulent object of his questioning starts jabbing his fingers at him -- I may just start giving NBC's morning show some of my time from now on.

Here's To A Great Lady.

Former Texas Governor, Ann Richards, is dead at 73.

You were so great, so loved. You will be missed beyond a simple expression of words.

What a Tool.

Incredible, gentle readers. I have finally come up with the appropriate combination of Friday Cock Pictures and a news item (of sorts) in a single post.

Yes, it's true. The Kendall County Democratic "organization" that the young pisher king is so proud of is full of tools. In fact, Powertools, as it were. Kind of like this one, I think.

By the way, I have no idea if the website where I found this is for real or not. I can't imagine the amount of Astroglide you'd have to have onhand to sooth the nether-regions... Oh, well. Different strokes, I guess (it's just that some are handjobs and some are high-speed reciprocating tools).

So the other day, I opened my email to a delicious item about the last meeting of Democrats, where somewhere around an even dozen people showed up (from what I'm told). What's so delicious is that I found the sender's name on the party's website; someone who has also posted comments here on this blog.

Such intrigue!

In the message, four incredible things came up (among other things less startling):

• The current chairman has halted the party's fundraising until after the election.
• The chairman does not support voter registration before the cut-off date because it will only register "the wrong kinds of voters."
• In the course of a two-hour meeting where the emailer said nothing of note was accomplished, more than 40 minutes was spent dealing with complaints from an old man about anonymous postings on the internet. And nothing... Was. Accomplished.

Jesus Christ on the Saturday morning cartoons!

Sorry, kids. That's about all I can muster on those three gems. After all, WHAT?! is so cliché.

More good stuff:

• The Pisherometer hasn't budged in a couple of months. It's pretty sad when Dallas Ingemunson (no lightweight, he) can raise twice as much money for his kid in a few months than the Pisher King can in a whole fucking year.

• I've been so funked out lately, I didn't even notice that 50MO is about to crash through the 21,000 mark.

Thanks to you, it's working. One day at a time.

I Have Returned.

Once again, I've enjoyed the comments and a number of emails. Thanks to the many fine readers who asked "where the fuck" I was. I do appreciate the hell out of it.

Just returned from LA last night, after which I just drove around all night listening to Jerry Jeff Walker's LA Freeway. Cried my eyes dry. I've been there, off and on for the past three weeks. And I have hair on my arms. There. Now the Laeschians can go bananas again trying to figure out who the fuck I am.

Truthfully, I've made my whereabouts unkown for strictly personal reasons, as a major meltdown has occurred locally which has had me in a funk for some time. And I do have hair on my arms. There, again, is more proof that I am a man (with great tits) named Mark Blackman.

And I tried to keep up with 50MO, but blogging while trying to keep myself on the by-and-by on a fucking four-and-a-half hour flight to LA, while trying to hide from a shiftless God-Damnable psycho and stay somewhat coherent got to be a full-fucking-time job.

I'm just wondering when John Laesch is going to be honest and say who HRC really is. Laesch doesn't have tits, but he certainly is a world-class pussy, having fucked a decent man by "outing" him and then not apologizing publicly for being an oafish dolt. And a pussy who's blown a hundred grand of your money being a jackass every day since last Christmas. Maybe it started before that.

That's right. I'm John Laesch. And I do this to get attention and respect. Two things I desperately crave.

OK. Enough. I should've slept on the flight.

There is some fun in the old mailbag, gentle readers... I'll share after a little nap. Gotta skate out of here again before 5.

Thank God George W. Bush Is Our President.

Garrisson Keillor is superlative, as usual, in today's Salon. It's nice to see him take a piece out of "America's Mayor's" ass, too.

Anyobody thinking about voting for that turncoat cocksucker Rudy Guiliani should read Keillor closely from this point on. He's got Rudy's number.

And remember his signature quote from the 2004 GOP Scare-Mongering Whore Festival in NYC: "Thank God George W. Bush Is Our President."

Hastert Getting Dis'ed By Conservatives.

At the end of this whackjob Conservative Voice piece about Jan Schakowsky, there is a clear Conservative voice dissing Denny "J. Dennis" Hastert for his role in derailing the other whackjobs in Congress on illegal immigration.

Interesting.

So why is it that the Democratic candidate can't even muster more than 33% (his own poll numbers) among registered Democrats? Of course, the poll was taken back in July, before Laesch had a chance to make an even bigger jackass of himself (which, as usual, made him the laughingstock among voters of all stripes).

Something New in Republican Circles.

Gosh. Honesty.

I know Hagel's been pissed off at Bush for our country's latest Viet Nam adventure, but I didn't really pick him to be so full of candor this close to the mid-term elections, in which Republicans face an increasingly hostile electorate.

Just the same, by bet is that this "McCain II" will sooner or later backtrack and talk about Conservative values and how much the country can trust the Republicans to make the United States better and stronger than ever.

The Secret Weapon.

First Lady Lightweight is upping her travel plans. Look out!

Like that's gonna fucking do anything for these monsters?

The very fact that this moron's coffee-brewing, enabling, Lahbarryan spouse is able to show her face in public is an example of the difference between mainstream Democrats and Republicans. Say the name "Hillary" and it reinforces my point.

Friday Night Cock Pictures.

Just one tonight. I've been in a surly mood lately.

Enjoy the ride, girls. And boys: no silly comments.

Rodney King's Words, Not Mine.

Not that I wouldn't like to emulate the inimitable Mr. King... actually scratch that. But wasn't Rodney King the one who implored everyone with the line, "Can't we all just get along?"?

Comments on this blog are free and easy, but those that suggest the slightest whiff of a threat of any kind to a government leader (like him or not) will not be tolerated.

I've been quite amused the increase in traffic (especially since I have been out of the beltway for some time), but the increased number of comments are also a kick!

Just the same, mentioning the, er, "pussy" of a candidate's girlfriend (or wife, sister, mother, etc.) is also too much for my own senses.

I don't relish the thought of deleting someone's comments, but those which go beyond the basic groundrules (which are pretty fucking broad over here) have been eliminated.

Let's take it easy on the innocent, as well making something that might be construed as a threat of harm to a public official.

And let's all be careful out there... it's Friday night.

If I Knew You & You Knew Me.

If I knew you and you knew me,
If both of us could clearly see,
And with an inner sight divine,
The meaning of your heart and mine,
I'm sure that we would differ less,
And clasp our hands in friendliness;
Our thoughts would pleasantly agree,
If I knew you and you knew me

~Nixon Waterman

One of the greatest poems ever written.

And Now! Will The Real... HRC... Please... Stand UP!

Ah, the sweet voice of the loveable Johnny Olson of the original "To Tell The Truth" game show of the '50s and '60s.

You know things are bad for John Laesch when he's getting whacked over the head by Rich Miller, a respected journalist and author of The Capitol Fax Blog, with a headline like "John Laesh Is A Jerk."

Time for the boy to pack up his bags and go back to the dairy business in Bloomington. OOPS! Can't do that. Jim Oberweis's dairy operation owns it now. And no one in Mclean County wants to have anything to do with him, either.

Factoid, Jetsons. Factoid.

The words "Monolithic Stupidity" keep swirling around in my head as I laugh my ass off.

Mr. Laesch: Loose the Cannons of the Decks of the SS Accountability! Huzzah!!

Maybe some of his female friends at the Kappa Kabana outside El Paso, Illinois will take him in. If there are any friends left.

Ironically, you know, Kappa is south of El Paso. Not the sort of place you'd expect Young Laesch to want to associate with. South of El Paso. Get it?

Maybe the noted Mr. Miller or my good old friend Bill Dennis, a Peoria area journalist of many years, would like to sort of scope out the situation at the Kabana and ask some questions about a grey-eyed, beautiful Latino girl who worked there a few years back.

Oh! And don't forget about Big Al's in Peoria. Or check up with local police reports and with club bouncers on a series of incidents at clubs in Creve Coeur and East Peoria.

No slander here. Just raw, honest doses of reality. For a smart-mouth kid who needs to get some help.

Ahhhhh. Goodness! I'm sleepy.

I Doubt He's a 38C.

This morning, I awoke from a long funk to an interesting email with a soapblox chicago link in it. The message (from another blogger) was was my first tip that I am a man named Mark Blackman.

This, at least according to a delusional misfit who's running for Congress who has a long record of not playing well with others, is a fact.

Well, it's not.

Heh.

Feel free to do your own research on this blog as to when I began referring to John Laesch as a fucking fruitcake. I think it was around the time he started a serial lying campaign to cover up the fact that he was directly involved in the petition challenge against his primary opponent, based almost exclusively on challenges of "Spanish-sounding" or Latino names.

Maybe it was the obvious delusions of grandeur.

How in the world John Laesch, who came to his political life by claiming his "Naval Intelligence background," can ever show his face again in public is beyond me. As you reread his loopy post (please do read it a couple of times for comprehension) on soapblox, which I personally gave up on weeks ago, you must be as afraid for those around this young person as I am.

I think the doctors use the term "danger to one's self or others" when they commit someone to the boobyhatch. That seems to fit this one.

For the record: I am not Mark Blackman (I don't know who that is). And I doubt this Blackman fellow is a 38C.

Anyone know how civil commitment works in Illinois?