President George W. Fuckface, bedecked with a Big Apple lapel pin, in Manhattan’s financial district, Tuesday July 9, 2002, signing an executive order creating what he called a "financial crimes SWAT team" at the Justice Department in the wake of the corporate scandal domino disasters that have rocked companies from Enron, Global Crossing and Worldcom. With shady, grubby thieves like Dick Cheney -- plucked from the creative accounting halls of Halliburton to fuckbuddies like Ken Lay, who propped up the smarmy motherfucker’s presidency to begin with to Daddy’s questionable involvement with the Carlyle Group, it’s kind of difficult to take seriously. Next the American public will be asked to give credibility to some overfed, small cocked, self-righteous, murdering, hypocritical devil blowing hot air via satellite from Moscow announcing the capture of terrorists who are about as terror inducing as calico cats on Halloween. Fucking assholes. How about a lapel pin of the twin towers with Enron and Worldcom engraved on each, Mr. President? Or appointing Harvey Pitt as chairman of the Securities and Exchange Commission? Blaming Osama for America’s economic woes is like blaming Jenna’s alcoholism on the al Qaeda.

In the environment we are in, virtually anything can pass... Everybody is trying to outdo everybody else.

Texas Senator, Phil Gramm, July 11, 2002, in response to a frantic day of legislative maneuvering over new measures to address corporate malfeasance in which members of congress are tripping over one another to create an appearance they give a shit. Gramm, the ugliest motherfucker in the Senate since Jesse Helms, has cause for concern. His weepy retirement speech in which he announced he would not seek re-election and how much the Senate and service meant to him was quickly overshadowed by the revelations that his wife Wendy Gramm, a board member of Enron, knew exactly what was going on and did nothing to stop it. Instead of leaving the Senate a hero, having served Texas honorably, most of the average Joe Assholes and bewildered Texans will remember him as the sneaky pig whose wife was nothing more than a selfish, irresponsible, greedy slut, filling her fraudulent cunt with the cooked book cocks of Kenneth Lay and Jeffrey Skilling, while emptying the coffers, retirement funds, pensions and 401(k) plans of her husband’s constituents. May they both rot in hell.

I still haven't figured it out completely.

The euphemism of the century by none other than President What’s His Name of the United States, July 8 2002, in response to mounting questions that he had failed to properly disclose a 1990 stock sale. While this might serve as the most accurate and honest answer the dumb fuck has ever uttered and could be applied to almost anything the smarmy prick has ever done, it still tends to dilute the intended impact of the corporate accountability “stuff” that paid for his Presidency and that seems to be battering the economy more than fully fueled Boeings on a September morning. What, by the way, Sir, have you figured out?

I believe that no one will conclude that I engaged in any criminal or fraudulent conduct.

Former WorldCom CEO Bernard Ebbers invoking his Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination rather than answer questions on Capitol Hill about a $4 billion discrepancy in the company's books. With $400 million in loans this corporate whore received from WorldCom and a severance package, which guarantees him $1.5 million a year, no one needs to conclude anything more than the fact that this unscrupulous pigfuck is about as sympathetic as Jeffrey Dahmer and about as credible as Hitler announcing that Mein Kampf was intended as an affirmative action treatise for Jews. Throw away the fucking key.

When you fight for me, you're fighting for all black people, dead and alive.

The ironically lily-white, self-proclaimed King of Pop, Michael Jackson, following the tanking of "Invincible" – his latest album which reportedly required years to produce and cost Sony about $25 million. A paltry 5 million copies sold worldwide compared to his 1982 album, "Thriller," which sold more than 45 million copies worldwide. While the angelic Sony would happily pay RIAA’s overeager resident cunt muncher, Hilary Rosen, to rape the relatives of Hiroshima victims to make an extra buck or two, Jackson’s playing of the race card for lack of sales is a stretch. Kind of like the stretched assholes of the little boys he’s been diddling. Hey Jacko. Get the Pope and Bishops to sell it in the confessionals. Target marketing at it’s fucking finest. ‘When you suck this for me, you’re sucking it for all Priests, dead or alive. And for Jesus.”

A lot of divorced people end up plain miserable.

Duh! Columnist, Maggie Gallagher, talking to asshole, Mike Barnicle, sitting in for bigger asshole, Chris Matthews, on MSNBC’s Hardball – angry, spitting, plagiarizing White male egomaniacs -- about some crappy study by a bunch of white Christians who never get fucking laid. Dunno what this bitch does to keep happy, but it looks like it involves fucking fortunes of calories. Could these people not find a better front for the study than Maggie Gallagher? Christ, the bitch looks like a cross between Wednesday Addams and Carnie Wilson (pre the tummy stapling) with the personality of John Ashcroft crossed with Paula Jones. Whatever the hell the Institute for American Values does, she alone seems more a fucking poster girl for men to either stay single or turn gay, but not much could be more miserable than waking up next to that. Other than, of course, the rotting gap-toothed, overfed, retard that followed on MSNBC, Terry Jeffrey, editor of Human Events. Holy fucking Jesus, if these are the poster people for marriage, it’s nothing short of a goddamn miracle that every second woman isn’t Andrea Yates, and every second man OJ Simpson.

We don't expect to try and directly shape what some screenwriter is going to write. Our goal was simply to provide a more realistic and accurate version of the drug war and what kind of challenges, what kind of threats our agents face every day.

Drug Enforcement Agency spokesman, Chris Battle, propagandizing to a bunch of wide-eyed movie directors at the Beverly Hills Hotel Wednesday July 10, 2002 with DEA Director Asa Hutchinson as well as the agency's intelligence chief and a former undercover agent. Like Jerry Bruckheimer’s dildo inducing carte blanche access to the Pentagon, the DEA now wants to spend your tax dollars controlling content rather than catching terrorists. Asa Hutchinson, the former snide Arkansas representative who spent his tenure as a congressman unhealthily focused on Bill Clinton’s cock while Osama bin Laden plotted September 11, knows shit about terrorism now? What? That it happens while you’re sniffing other men’s cigars? Thanks! Fucking twat.

One of the things I like that they do for us is that, in effect, I get good advice, if you will, from their people based upon how we're doing business and how we're operating, over and above the, just sort of the normal by-the-books audit arrangement.

From the You-Couldn’t-Make-This Shit-Up-Department, Vice President Dick Cheney, who headed oil services company Halliburton from 1995 to 2000 in a 1996 promotional videotape praising now-disgraced Arthur Andersen LLP for going above and beyond routine audits for the company he ran for five years. Fucking piece of low life shit. Not only is this as about as surprising as LAPD brutality, we’re waiting for the fucking video praising Hitler for his tenacity and determination in his innovative extermination er…cleansing program to keep people separate based on genetics. While the Veep is said to have rolled his beady eyes in response to word that a lawsuit was filed against him by the watchdog group, Justice Watch, corporate pussy, Zelma Branch, spokesperson for Halliburton, stated “We don't believe that there's any merit to this case.” Of course, everyone believes that! Sugarcoating is for pharmaceuticals you dumb bitch, not oil services and fraudulent accounting. In the meantime, the 401(k)less victims of the Enron, Worldcom, Tyco disasters are hoping for a power failure - in the motherfucker’s chest. Josef Mengele was a more sympathetic character than this old pigfuck. Hopefully all the elderly pensioners rendered penniless by Enron and the gang set up tent outside Cheney’s residence. They won’t be whistling Whistle While You Work anytime soon, but fuck knows, they’ll give Lynne a new target to censor, instead of pansy boy Eminem for calling cunts, cunts and cocksuckers, cocksuckers.