Friday, May 13, 2005

Do my balls look big in this flight suit?

So, really, I'm never searching long for amusement when it comes to the White House. I don't know that there's ever been anyone with so much power who's been so amusingly incompetent.

Okay, well, maybe it's not funny, per se, but if I weren't laughing I'd either be crying or pulling. (The trigger of an AK as I sprayed it into a playground full of children to save them from the horrors that they will inherit from our greed and selfishness)

So anyways, even though Shrub didn't give any sort of address or press conference today (Wo, that's a surprise, he normally holds a press conference every day, right? I've met chili-addicted bulimics that were more regular...) So instead of picking on his ignorant, incompetent, incapable, intractable, in-something else in-sulting to his in-tensely poor character and purse in-ality, (Personality. I don't think that worked as well as in-tended.) So instead, let's pick on White House spokesman Trent Duffy. First off, if your surname isn't Reznor, you shouldn't be named Trent. I know this isn't your fault, Trent, old buddy, but you're of great assistance in proving the point about being careful what you name your children. Think, folks, if you're a product of your environment, then wouldn't your name effect you? Nothing exists until it is named, so says the Enlightenment, correct? Like quantum physics, the observation affects the observed.

Consider, for example, the effect of being named Trent. Consider what it would be like to grow up with the name Trent. Consider being called Trent every day by your parents. Your parents referring to you as Trent. Even your friends would call you Trent. You would hear the word Trent more than any other word, and it would almost always be in reference to you. Trent, every day, over and over, all the time. You would sign yourself over to the government, to a bank, to a job, to a life, and all using the name Trent. Self identified as Trent. Trent becomes you. You are Trent. Trent is your very soul.

And then one day, asked about Robert Wexler's proposed alternative plan to "fix" Social Security, you say "I would be surprised if the president were anything but pleased there is another voice with the courage to stand up and put a proposal on the table." Hey Wexler - you got balls, buddy. I like you, you got cajones. Im-a wreck you faster than a Mustang driven by a woman, but I lke that you got the balls, buddy. Props. Now bend over, and prepare for the anal-raping which will soon ensue."

Dumb motherfucker.


Seriously, think about that for a minute. And if you have kids, before you choose a name, walk around for a day telling everyone your name is Trent. Trust me, you'll think better then.

Whores, adounding.


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