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Wednesday, November 20, 2002

New York Postmortem

Now in death, this bum Burrell makes millions by describing Di as entertaining a line of lusty lovers and even greeting a lover wearing nothing underneath her fur coat. Seems to me that if some loyal Brit wanted to take a page out of the American handbook - and give Burrell a helping hand with his vision - the next time Burrell the Bum looks in the mirror, what the butler sees is two black eyes.

Steve Dunleavy, the gossip whore from the New York Post who twitches like an unfucked cunt and looks like an overfucked cunt, but is too ugly for most cocks to fuck, rivaling the bitchiest drag queens in his obsessive focus on Diana’s rumored-to-be-gay butler. Now while we tolerate closet faggots at the New York Post, where the Andrea Peysers and Megan Turners of the world pollute the blue collar mind set with their trite off-color digs at the Pulitzer winners they’ll never be, we think this Dunleavy cocksucker is a little too far off base advocating assault in the editorial pages of the New York Post. Whatever you do, don’t show this dicklick what real patriots do to gossip queens pretending to be journalists. The cracking of the skull by a baseball bat, in this case, might soil the bat on this hypocritical snitch bitch. How much do the Murdochs pay for this type of shit?

Ralphie's surprise death Sunday night at the hands of an enraged Tony Soprano gave a much-needed shot in the arm to a series that had been inexplicably lacking in excitement for the better part of the current season - the series' fourth. It was the most prominent whacking on "The Sopranos" since Salvatore "Big Pussy" Bonpensiero took his last boat ride at the conclusion of Season 2. And for Joe Pantoliano, the colorful actor who played the volatile and sadistic Ralph for 20 episodes, it was one of the most spectacular exits in TV history.

Under the colorful header, “It's About Time Someone Got Whacked” by Adam Buckman, the New York Post continues to put on display its thirst for violence. Maybe the little anthrax scare following September 11 (resulting in the mature response we raised our eyebrows at) wasn’t exciting enough for the fuckers. Maybe the Crocodile Dundee wannabe Aussies running the newsroom of the Lachlan Murdoch headed rag are forgetting their bosses hail from mansions in Sydney rather than Alice Springs in the North. Maybe some pissed off queen or Special Forces fag or irate Italian should strap a suicide bomb to their belt and mince, march or barge into the Post’s New York offices and detonate to provide the whores with some more excitement. Perhaps then, we’ll see the New York Post editorial chill out a little and get back to killing celebrities by dangerously chasing them in cars instead of inciting their readers to do their dirty work for them. One thing we know – it’s about time someone at the New York Post got whacked (whatever the fuck that means).

But we didn't want to look foolish of (sic) we turned out to be wrong, so we told no one and picked Washington in our football pool.

Like The Wall Street Journal Opinion Journal’s resident mentally retarded twat slob, James Taranto, needs grammatical errors or typos to make him look foolish when his invective brand of murder-inducing, jingoistic adolescent claptrap is doing such a fine job already. This rabid anti-Islamic, anti-anyone-that-isn’t-a-white-East-Coast-pseudo-intellectual-overfed-opinionmonger needs to quit using sports analogies. When you slouch around like a 300 pound gorilla and farting and blowing hot air is about as physical as it gets, it’s kind of difficult for the poor reader to appreciate the score. Or throwing darts at fucking Daniel Pearl dartboards, which metaphorically equates the taste of his editorial slant.

The kinds of questions that I've asked are: how many operatives are in the United States, where are they distributed, what is their infrastructure — financially, logistically and with communications. It's the same inability to answer.

Senator Bob Graham, the Florida Democrat who is departing as chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee in a New York Times report. Of course the dumb motherfucker failed to ask why the fuck the IQ challenged cunts running the show at the Pentagon saw fit to discharge from the military seven Arab speaking linguists for being gay while the FBI can’t even find Clayton Waagner in fucking Wyoming -- whilst eavesdropping in English, let alone thwart terrorist attacks or find Osama bin Laden by interpreting Arabic. With intelligent decision making such as this, as well as the dismal failure of the intelligence community, the Whitehouse and congress deserve whatever gruesome hell they get. Just spare us the fucking memorial ceremonies.

I can't say I regret it. I regret the fact that partisans will make more of this than it deserves.

Roger Ailes, the chairman pig of the Fox News Channel, confirming that he sent a note to the White House last year suggesting policies for President Bush to follow in the wake of the Sept. 11 attacks. Now while we all now that Fox’s motto, “We report, You Decide” is about as hard to swallow as it must be for Wendi Deng to suck her much older husband, Rupert Murdoch’s, shriveled old cock for cash, the arrogance of this Karl Rove fuck buddy takes the goddamn cake. Given the pathetic advice he gave the President -- namely, that the president needed to convince the American public that he was taking "the harshest measures possible" or else the public would not remain patient with the administration -- it was probably Bush himself who sent the fucking anthrax to Fox’s tabloid toilet trash, the New York Post. The unrepentant Ailes, posing like a beached whale for The New York Times looks about as attractive as a Spanish beach post oil spill. News Corp. probably orchestrated the tanker sinking for ratings, given their positioning of late. And we all know what they say about those morons with Napoleonic complexes, don’t we? The harsher the fucking measures, the tinier the little penis. Release the fucking sniper in New York, for Christ’s sake.

[Judge Kessler] severely underrated the grave law-enforcement, public safety, privacy and national security interests at stake.

Gregory G. Katsas, a deputy assistant attorney general, before a three-judge appeals panel adding it was simply common sense that disclosing the names would help terrorist leaders by giving them a road map to the government's antiterrorist efforts. While Ashcroft’s constitution killing Death Squad obliterate freedom and privacy with the force of an atomic bomb in a submarine, it would ring slightly more true if it wasn’t revealed on the same day, by The Wall Street Journal no less, that the fucking FBI circulated the names of hundreds of people it wanted to question. Counterterrorism officials gave the list to car-rental companies. Then FBI field agents and other officials circulated it to big banks, travel-reservations systems, firms that collect consumer data, as well as casino operators such as MGM Mirage, the owner of New York-New York. Additional recipients included businesses thought vulnerable to terrorist intrusion, including truckers, chemical companies and power-plant operators. Apparently it was the largest intelligence-sharing experiment the bureau has ever undertaken with the private sector. Maybe the fucking skanky cunts running the show at the Department of Justice need to get the goddamn story straight before they bog down the fucking court system with enough bullshit to make Terry McAuliffe look like Dick Morris. Now there’s a stretch.

I am here to call for a partnership that can lead to long-term explosive growth. Stealing content is destroying opportunities for digital entertainment...Business will be crippled.

Peter Chernin, News Corp. Chief Operating Officer at Comdex 2002, alerting the world to the danger of pirating the music to Temptation Island IV, while Iraqi parents wonder where to go to avoid the imminent bombs that are about to fall on them and their children. Not as crippled, unfortunately, as you’ll probably be if you continue to allow the fucked up, cocksucking, kowtowing editors in New York and London to continue inciting hatred and violence in the pages of the tabloid trash and airwaves from the cable operations you already milk for all the fucking money in the world. Watch just how business will be crippled when some demented, deranged, sniping maniac inspired by the vitriolic crap perpetually spewed through your media properties blows up the whole damn lot of it -- and everyone involved -- to little bloody bits. Actually, maybe the world might be slightly better place. We’d tell him to rot in hell, the despicable greedy cockbreathed cunt, but Satan doesn’t deserve his fucking ilk tainting the place. If Peter Chernin could fuck your little baby up the ass for money for Rupert Murdoch, you can bet your last dollar he would -- before he snatches it from you.

We think that's a significant risk.

No shit Sherlock. James Lockhart, chief operating officer of the Social Security Administration, whose agency's B-minus rating topped a computer-security review in which government agencies that oversee military forces, prosecute criminals, coordinate emergency response efforts and set financial policy all received failing grades from congressional investigators. The risk he’s referencing is the quaint fact that computers at the department have been strengthened against Internet-based attacks, but hackers can still worm their way in through outside contractors whose systems are connected to the department's computers. Maybe if the Department of Defense wasn’t spending so much time ferreting out Arab-speaking faggot linguists from the military they might focus on some of the real threats facing America and those living in it today. According to the Bush Administration, sucking cock in the privacy of your bedroom is more dangerous and poses more of a threat to Americans than intercepting potential terrorist targets and plans in Arabic. And while young Americans prepare to die in the perpetual War of Terror this Christmas, Bush nephew, George P. Bush, who, as Fox News gushed “has been compared to pop heartthrob Ricky Martin,” models clothing, as he did at the opening of the Tommy Hilfiger store in Manchester, England. Well, George P., lucky for you, actually fighting the war is not part of your plans, or those of anyone in your combat-dodging family’s. You can fucking swish down runways in Europe modeling undies to the motherfuckers in the trenches without being booted out for being unpatriotic enough to speak Arabic. You and Ricky Martin, indeed.


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