Weird Sisters
I was running a 104-degree fever yesterday, or maybe I was just drunk, because there’s no other explanation for the horrible dream I had where HBO decided to goose Big Love‘s ratings by replacing Bill Paxton’s wives with Mary Katharine Ham, Michelle Malkin, and Pamela Oshry Geller Coughlin Kissinger Liefeld.
Above: “Here I have Pelosi’s thumb, wrecked as homeward she did come.”
The three witches are imperfect speakers indeed, and yet we must charge them speak:
Mary Kate wants us to know that one shouldn’t judge an heiress by her criminal record or distracted-seeming, poor-quality blow jobs. I’m currently under a federal injunction that prevents me from writing anything about Paris Hilton, but I do highly recommend the article, in which the Ham Sandwich defends her claim to be “morally opposed to the death tax” by citing examples of many fine, upstanding professional descendants that “reflect well on the stock from which they sprung” and thus should be spared the horribly un-American indignity of having to pay taxes on their vast and unearned incomes. Such as, you ask? Well, such as…uh…Donald Trump.
No, really. That’s her first example. That’s her right-out-of-the-box paragon of decency, her primary argument that not all people of inherited wealth are vulgar, hopeless buffoons. Donald Trump. The man who almost single-handedly ruined New York for two decades. The man better known for his bad rug than any business deal he ever made. The man whose one major contribution to civic life has been an aggressive campaign to wipe out hot dog vendors. That guy.
But wait, she’s got more if for some reason you don’t like Donald Mayonnaise! There’s failed presidential candidate Steve “I Only Ever Had One Idea” Forbes, who claims that “passing down money” is no different than “passing down intelligence” and thus proves that he knows as much about genetics as he does economics. There’s Bill Ford, who did such a great job of running his family’s company into the ground. There’s cheap vintner Brooks Firestone, who’s leaving his own brand of anti-environmentalism as a legacy to California. There’s Georgina Bloomberg, who has turned her love of riding expensive horses into a charity that lets other people ride expensive horses, if they’re crippled or retards or something. There’s not-at-all-gay TV show host Anderson Cooper. And there’s Jay Rockefeller, who may be a liberal Democrat, but on the other hand, he’s super rich, so how bad could he be?
“Pluck, work, labor, trouble,” signs off Mary Kate, citing four things that none of these people have ever been forced to have, do, attempt, or encounter. Therein lies a valuable lesson for crazy people the world wide.
Over at Atlas’ impregnable Strong Island party barn, Crazy Pammy dispenses another valuable lesson: it is very, very easy to miss the point of things when you are an idiot. She cites ACLU criticism of an FBI terrorist watch list which contains over 500,000 names as clear evidence that liberals just don’t get it when it comes to Muslamofascunism. A different, smarter person might read the very same article and think “Wow, a list of half a million terror suspects, none of whom have done anything worth arresting them over — how useful can it possibly be?” But Pammy, blessed with the superior wisdom possessed only by the ignorant, the senile, and certain very stupid breeds of dog, takes it to mean that there are, in fact, at least half a million Islamic terrorists in the US and that, if anything, we’re not worrying about them enough.
Finally, speaking of worry, when I saw this post over at Hot Air, I was deathly afraid that I was going to have to hear Michelle Malkin sing.
Having already heard Pam Oshry sing many, many times, I feel that I have suffered enough for one lifetime, but luckily, the naughty girl is only playing the piano, with boy-toy Bryan Preston handling the mumbly vocal chores. It’s an high-larious rewrite of the Fray’s “How to Save a Life”, featuring awesomely predictable anti-jihadi lyrics; only Michelle Malkin, or possibly Debbie Schlussel, could write the couplet “Sura Nine Five of the Koran/slay idolaters wherev’r you can” and rhyme “shoebombs” with “imams” in the same song. However, I think she really missed a bet with her choice of source material; instead of trotting out her tired I-was-a-teenage-overachiever piano playing, she should have showcased her crazy handskills on the ones and twos by making the whole thing a cover of Redman’s “How to Roll a Blunt“!
Check out a new type of fatwa which is splendid
Since ya down with jihad, see if ya down wit’ this
It’s about strictly tryin’ to take a life
When you get the hang of it, hit paradise with lotsa wifes
First of all, you get a fat bag of fertilizer
Like my effendi Popeye, you’re straight-up gonna murdelize ‘er
Drive out to Philly — not the blunt, but the city
Silly punk, you’re gonna make the infidel’s lives shitty
Don’t have a detonator, straight-up blow a fuckin’ fuse
Hear me recite it as you light it and that’s whatcha use
Crack the barrier and you drive your rented truck in
Die, go to heaven, get some virgins and commence to fuckin’
Or take a rocket and a launcher to some wicked Jews
Start steady mobbin’ like an Axis of Evil do’s
Kidnap ’em and tap ’em with an AK if ya gotta
The results? MMmmmmmmm…proper!
That’s how you take a life
That’s how you take a life
That’s how you take a life
That’s how you take a life
That’s how you take a life
That’s how you take a life
Let’s all take a life
With a big-ass knife!
See, Michelle? It’s not that hard. This thing, like your column, practically writes itself!
Good job. I see the ankle biting is in top form tonight at Sadly No.
By the way, Surah 9:5 of the Q’uran does not actually read “slay idolaters wherev’r you can”. It reads “But when these months, prohibited, are over, slay the idolaters wheresoever you find them, take them captive or besiege them, and lie in wait for them at every likely place. But if they repent and fulfill their devotional obligations, and pay the zakat, then let them go their way, for Allah is forgiving and kind.” But that’s got even worse scansion than the way she writes it, so.
There’s Georgina Bloomberg, who has turned her love of riding expensive horses into a charity that lets other people ride expensive horses, if they’re crippled or retards or something.
This has nothing to do with Georgina specifically, but my daughter, who I suppose is closest to the retard end of the continuum outlined above, quite enjoyed her freebie riding lessons.
Now that I’ve made you feel bad, the whole experience was indeed weird, with elderly patricians with British accents toddling around saying “Chinaman” and “good show” and so on. The charity was doled out with real generosity but also an obvious “nobles helping the savages” air. A funny scene. Those sweet rich bastards.
Of course, basically every passage in the Koran demanding that group A or sinner B be put to the sword is derived from nearly identical language in our enlightened Western Judeo-Christian scriptures.
Man, Bubba, way to give me a guilt trip. Let me make it clear that I am 100% in favor of free riding lessons, even for the non-crippled and retarded. I just think there’s something horribly misguided about an argument against the inheritance tax that rests on “but she lets people ride her show ponies for free!”, that’s all.
Man, Bubba, way to give me a guilt trip.
I’ve been learning about identity politics in this other thread, see, and I thought I’d give it a go. I’ve already mastered pedantry:
“But if they repent and fulfill their devotional obligations, and pay the zakat, then let them go their way, for Allah is forgiving and kind.â€?
The devotional obligations here are the Islamic prayers, and the zakat is the usual tithe or alms muslims are obligated to pay. In other words, if they convert, don’t kill them.
Pammy’s a Samoyed?
Heh. Conversions under penalty of death, and forced offerings to the religion? Further proof that Islam is evil! You’d never…
Awww, screw it. It’s too easy, sometimes.
I’ve been learning about identity politics in this other thread, see, and I thought I’d give it a go. I’ve already mastered pedantry.
Ciertamente, pedants can play the victim card weeth rare aplomb, but when was the last time they swung an election?
¿eh?
The guy who actually earned the Hilton money tried to give it away to the Catholic church, leaving pittances of 6 figures or so to his biological relatives. Luckily, Paris’ forebears were able to sue that right out of the hands of papists, so perhaps the filthy lucre she has blown on blow can be seen in terms of unmolested choir boys, left alone because the Church could not afford them.
Hey, Elliott Mintz can’t live forever and a girl’s gotta eat. Apologetics for the rich, it pays good, yes?
Ciertamente, pedants can play the victim card weeth rare aplomb, but when was the last time they swung an election?
When Al Gore won?
I just made an important discovery. Surah 9:5 is followed by something called Surah 9:6, which goes like this:
And look at this. It turns out Surah 9:6 is followed by Surah 9:7!
If I tell Michelle and Bryan now, maybe they can work these into tomorrow’s number.
Shorter Mary Katherine Ham: What is it about feudalism that liberals don’t like?
What I’ve hated the most about the past six-and-a-half years is how the extremism has been in such full bloom. The wingnuts won’t debate on the apportionment of responsibility for the commons … there is no commons. In foreign policy, forget carrots and sticks … there’s only ever a stick. Balancing liberty and security? What’s liberty?
It’s like they’re all Objectivists, but without the chain-smoking, Beethoven and humiliating sexual affairs. (Okay, maybe the last one.)
I love the phrase “professional descendants”, it is both snarky as hell and entirely accurate.
Pammy’s a Samoyed?
More like a Weimeraner. The Sammys I’ve known have never been the brightest bulbs in AKC chandelier, but they possess what passes in dogs as a sense of humor. Weimeraners, on the other hand, are constitutionally incapable of shutting the hell up once their hummingbird brains have been startled by a loud noise, or a falling leaf, or the brownian motion of sunbeams. Weimeraners will fling themselves through picture windows off second-story terraces in frantic pursuit of the latest Scary Thing, screaming themselves hoarse all the while. And, unlike the small yappy dogs everybody mocks, Weimeraners are large muscular beasts, so you need to muster several well-caffinated adults to subdue them when they careen into the garden party, howling & peeding & bleeding from the shattered window they crashed through.
Weimeraners will fling themselves through picture windows off second-story terraces in frantic pursuit of the latest Scary Thing, screaming themselves hoarse all the while.
There speaks the voice of personal experience. The analogy seems apt enough.
But you left out the business of “regularly needing surgery to remove the large indigestible stones they have swallowed”. My theory is that Weimeraners were designed by a secret committee of vets, to ensure themselves a steady income.
wow, anne, i had no idea that weimaraners were so crazy. the only ones i’ve ever seen are william wegman’s—you know, the ones on sesame street obediantly and calmly doing math with rubber balls, or on calendars dressed up in suits and looking like they were dying of shame?
Wegman probably doses his dogs on Ritalin.
Lucky dogs.
The analogy seems apt enough. But you left out the business of “regularly needing surgery to remove the large indigestible stones they have swallowed�.
Ah, yes, the expensive tendency to gulp down without reflection weighty boluses that don’t even look or smell like they’d be nutritious, much less flavorful… another W favorite…
Best story around here was the woman whose Labrador gulped down yet another inedible, a life-sized plush rabbit. When the dog came out of anethesia after its (third or fourth) surgery, she playful wagged the gastric-bedraggled toy under the its nose, saying something like “Don’t you ever get tired of this routine?” Dog, of course, lunged — and gulped the nasty thing down again… and the veterinary clinic wouldn’t even give her a “frequent buyer” credit. Or put in a zipper, instead of sutures.
Although I must admit, Herr Doktor, that my Weimeraner observations have all been made at second or third hand. My personal housemates are of the small hairy yappy sort, and I can inform you that very few strictly veterinary services are calculated by weight, unfortunately!
The only strange dog story around my neighbourhood (and I mean both strange story and strange dog, and possibly strange neighbourhood for the trifecta) is this…
In the long-gone days of my yoof, the people down the street, for some reason unbeknownst to us, discovered a fondness for Basenjis. They’re the ones that yodel, instead of barking like decent, honest, god-fearing dogs do.
Anyway, the first of their (long line of) Basenjis was called Arnold. I refuse to imagine why. Arnold, it turns out, was a bit of a ladies’ dog. So much of a ladies’ dog that it caused him some discomfort, and ultimately a vet visit or three.
You see, Arnold wasn’t so much a ladies’ dog as a fuck-monster: he’d try to hump anything, including the daughters of the house, random passers-by of any gender, furniture (repeatedly), small trees, and, on one memorable occasion, a lawn mower (fortunately inoperative at the time).
Arnold tried so hard to hump so many things that he abraded the skin off his knob, and had to be taken to the vet to be sedated and bandaged and all sorts. Then taken back again, and then again, for more sedating and bandaging, and eventually to have his testicles removed and given to him as a warning (or so I believe, because he never even looked sideways at a leg again).
I’d have sedated him long before any knob-abrading happened, but then they were an odd family. I don’t know whether they kept the testicles.
Anyway, the first of their (long line of) Basenjis was called Arnold. I refuse to imagine why.
After Arnold Layne, and his strange hobby, perhaps.
I’m too damned lazy to go look it up, but I recall from my New York days (when Donald Trump was awarded the Worst Landlord designation by the Village Voice) that the Donald is pretty much a self-made man. His dad was a minor slumlord, and so technically one could say that he inherited some dough, but he’s really the one who turned it into vast wealth.
So Ham sammich is saying the Donald is an example of inherited nobility?
Um, Leonard-
The term for “idolator” in Arabic has a very specific meaning and usage. It specifically excludes Christians and Jews, and the history of the Sura in question has more to do with internal Arabic politics than any sort of Jihad against non-Muslims.
Using this line as evidence that Islam compels its followers to violence against the West is akin to reading the New Testament as requiring us to whip moneylenders whenever we see them.
I went over and read the Hamster and her commentors. One irony-impaired commentor decried those trust-fund babies Teddy Kennedy and John Kerry – without even mentioning the greatest example of low-achiever political heirs, or Preznit.
And another idiot praised Paris Hilton’s work ethic for the long hours she puts in “marketing her product” – which is true, in fact, if by “marketing” you mean going to parties. Nice work if you can get it.
You see, Arnold wasn’t so much a ladies’ dog as a fuck-monster
And now he’s governor of the world’s 6th largest economy. Go fig.
My understanding was Teh Donald turned his father’s modest pile into an enormous one by making extremely risky real estate investments and then, when he defaulted, defying bankers to pull the rug (tee hee) out from under him. In other words, were he to have tried that bullshit now, he’d be in Debtor’s Prison, but he was able to get away with it during the Go-Go, Too-Big-to-Fail, All-Hail-Saint-Ronnie 80’s.
Hey, Xenos, you know that’s Malkin’s interpretation, not mine, right? Okay then.
Donald is pretty much a self-made man. His dad was a minor slumlord, and so technically one could say that he inherited some dough, but he’s really the one who turned it into vast wealth.
To borrow a phrase, sadly, no. Trump’s father built primarily middle-class rental housing, and some very nice houses in Brooklyn and Queens. The idea that Trump is “self-made man” is as hyped a myth as his skill at dealmaking. After attending Wharton, Trump took the only job open to him and joined his father’s firm. He proceeded to leverage his father’s real estate business to the hilt for his own ill-conceived projects. Since then, he’s been an egomaniacal charlatan in every respect, and not even a good dealmaker. At one point, his failing ventures (can you say “Trump Shuttle”) owed so much money that his creditors, like addicted gamblers, had to lend him even more millions to protect their already bad investment in him—they did reduce his ownership and participation to a fraction in the process, however. His casino properties have been forced into Chapter 11 bankruptcy more than once, and if he didn’t garner several hundred million from his family’s 3/4 billion dollar sale of his father’s real estate business, he would hardly be afloat now beyond the over-hyped celebrity that props up The Apprentice.
Other than that, for a germ nut he’s a swell guy.
There’s Bill Ford
Huh?!?!?!?!?!?!?
The person running the Detroit Lions is an example of the fine, noble, shining star of American nobility who shouldn’t have to be burdened with paying taxes on the money he inherited? Yeah, I agree, it would be a shame if he weren’t able to draft a wide receiver with 4 out of 5 first-round draft picks or sign defensive tackles who go around groping women.
I need an Ibuprofen.
That’s MBA-babble if I’ve ever heard it. Paris Hilton? Product?? Riiight.
Hey, Xenos, you know that’s Malkin’s interpretation, not mine, right? Okay then.
To be fair it’s also the interpretation of a bunch of soon-to-be-exploded rubes, among others of a cranky Muslim sub-set, but Malkin’s not much interested in qualifying such things.
To be fair, Bill Ford is a fairly decent guy who’s much more like his grandfather Edsel in temperament than his Nazi sympathizing great-grandfather Henry. However, I’m of the opinion that God Himself couldn’t save the Ford Motor Company from ruination.
[…] Oh dammit, I posted this without realize Leonard had done a number on it below. Oh well, just be sure to read his too […]
[…] like that are like, members of a secret tribe living in a forbidden city. « Weird Sisters […]
Righteous Bubba: Oh, it’s PAY the zakat. I thought it was PLAY the zakat, and was imagining something like a zither. Sounds fun.
Much like Zamphir, who used to play something called the Pan Flute…
mikey
Righteous Bubba: Oh, it’s PAY the zakat. I thought it was PLAY the zakat, and was imagining something like a zither. Sounds fun.
There’s got to be a great metal band waiting to happen in some Arab-speaking country. The music is already perfect for it, with some scary-sounding scales (to me anyway) and lots of call and response revolving around major riffage.
Much like Zamphir, who used to play something called the Pan Flute…
Pant flute?
Righteous Bubba —
There’s at least one really great middle-eastern metal band that I know of: Melechesh, a mixed (Arab and Israeli) band from Jerusalem. Really fantastic stuff, lots of snaky slinky oud-souning stuff trilling through some really solid black metal. There’s another, all-Israeli band called Orphaned Land that’s supposed to have a similar sound, but I’ve never heard them. Melechesh is also fun because their lyrics are heavily Satanic and blasphemous, which form of discourse is illegal in Jerusalem, so their singer has been busted a bunch of times.
Melechesh
Many thanks. Did you see this?
Ah, yes, the expensive tendency to gulp down without reflection weighty boluses that don’t even look or smell like they’d be nutritious, much less flavorful…
That’s the best description of Pammy’s credulity I’ve ever read.
Friend of mine had a Weimeraner by the name of Eva. We took to calling her “the Eva Constrictor” because of her apparent ability to dislocate her lower jaw and swallow objects larger than her own head. That was after what became known as “the Play-Doh Incident”.
Much like Zamphir, who used to play something called the Pan Flute…
Pant flute?
It’s played in Lieder Hosen.
and kingubu for the win.
It’s played in Lieder Hosen.
…and I do my anthem-singing in my überalles.
…and I do my anthem-singing in my überalles.
Najaf, B’gosh…
mikey
Shorter Trump: When you owe the bank $5,000.00, you’re in trouble, when you owe the bank $500,000,000.00, the bank’s in trouble.
An outstanding performance. I’d love to see them open for Prussian Blue.
her apparent ability to dislocate her lower jaw and swallow objects larger than her own head.
We once dog-sat for the Stupidest Golden Lab in the World, who swallowed and then urped back up a soccer ball.
Stupidest Golden Lab in the World
Did it have to have a pair of nylons pulled out of its ass every now and again?
Did it have to have a pair of nylons pulled out of its ass every now and again?
Ah, that brings a few anecdotes to mind, but unfortunately they have nothing to do with golden labs. Or Pam Oshry, for that matter.
Righteous Bubba:
What, you never heard any Lebanese Death Metal? I give you – Oath To Vanquish.
Lets rock!