The World O' Crap Archive

Welcome to the Collected World O' Crap, a comprehensive library of posts from the original Salon Blog, and our successor site, world-o-crap.com (2006 to 2010).

Current posts can be found here.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Irony May Not Be Dead, But Someone Just Gave It A Dose of Polonium-210

In a round-up of conservative reaction to the Iraq Study Group report in today’s Los Angeles Times, we find this:
[C]onservative commentator William J. Bennett vented in volcanic fashion. “In all my time in Washington I’ve never seen such smugness, arrogance, or such insufferable moral superiority,” Bennett wrote on the National Review website. “Self-congratulatory. Full of itself. Horrible.”
When reached at a local T.G.I.Friday’s, the nicotine-addicted former Drug Czar, secret compulsive gambler, and author of The Book of Virtues declined further comment, instead requesting a bucket as he returned his attention to his Baby Back Ribs and Jack Daniels-basted Sizzling Triple Meat Combo Platter.
You know, I knew he was a huge flaming asshole. I’m just surprised to discover how stupid he is. Every rational person in the nation, and I admit that’s not as many as I would like, came up with some variation on “Speak for yourself, pal,” upon reading that. What the hell did he *think* the response was going to be?
He wants his baby-back-baby-back-baby-back.
Remember, there’s something like twenty seven percent of the idiot nation that doesn’t see anything wrong with what’s going on.
Of course, shiny things and Britney’s kitty are much more interesting to them.
And the War on Christmas is much more serious than an “insurgency” that kills people EVERY GODDAMN DAY.
Sorry, I’m caffeinated.
I am one of the ever-decreasing percentage of people who have actually not seen Britney’s cooter so far, and is highly unlikely to, barring accident of course. I wonder if there’s a market for tee-shirts that read, “I Have NOT Seen Britney’s TWAT!” Whatever it is, it’s gotta be shrinking. Um, the market, that is. Not Britney’s pussy.

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