Archive for March 12th, 2010
If you are reading this, you are the Resistance
It’s a very emotional day here at Buzzquarters.
Not sure what triggered it, but we fully accept today that the current government in Washington is completely mad and hellbent on destroying this country.
We do not believe it’s possible for the Left to ram their Healthcare Rationing bill through Congress, but we believe they will indeed try every insane trick they can conjure to attempt it.
Absolute all-out political war needs to be declared on every Democrat in office if they do not rise up against the madness of their own party and put a stop to this immediately.
A national, coast-to-coast, Resistance needs to form and mobilize in this country, rising up from the Tea Party movement itself and take back this government at the ballot box in November.
Every Democrat, in every district, in every state, needs to be booted from office.
Start thinking this weekend how you can help the Resistance form, and what you can do to take back this nation and rescue it from the brink of destruction.
Terrible Person Update: David Kernell Edition
Why isn't Obama saving him too, the way he saved all the other criminals who helped elect him? Is it racism?
Do you remember David Kernell, the Boticelli curled little Obama Kool-Aid drinker who hacked into Sarah Palin’s email during the presidential campaign, posted access to her account on the Internet, changed her password to “popcorn”, and did his level best to illegally obtain and publish anything he thought could help his “Lightbringer” win the presidency?
Well, Kernell (“popcorn”…”kernel”…Kernell…get it? Get it? C’est drole, n’est pas?) looks like he’s going to prison.
Where this son of Mike Kernell, crooked Democrat state rep in Tennessee (and rejected Biggest Loser, Season Four contestant), might be forced to keep growing those curls out, applying Revlon liberally, and start calling himself “Sally” — since little Boticelli angels suffer all manner of cosmetics-enhanced indignities when they commit the sins that cast them down into the depths with other less cherubic devils. And rapists.
We never knew how aggressive the Justice Department in this new administration would be in prosecuting Kernell.
Frankly, we assumed Dr. Utopia would order Eric Holder to drop all charges against this Obama campaign operative, and refuse to prosecute him, just as Holder made sure the Black Panthers, ACORN, and Helen Jones-Kelly in Ohio were never prosecuted for the illegal activity they engaged in to help the Utopias land the White House.
For some reason, the little blond white boy, a self-proclaimed Obamacrat, who loved his Lightbringer so much he engaged in serious cyber crime isn’t getting the same Holder issued breaks as the others.
Why is that?
Is it racism?
Let’s think about that:
(1) The Black Panthers are black, and they got away with armed voter intimidation and poll tampering in Philadelphia on election day
(2) ACORN’s top operative is Bertha Lewis, who is black, with ACORN itself largely being composed of black staff
(3) Helen Jones Kelly, the former Director of the Ohio Department of Jobs and Family Services, who illegally abused her authority and misappropriated government resources to attack Joe “the plumber” Wurzelbacher, is also black. And got off scot-free. Though fired by Governor Strickland, she’s now happily hunting Muppets in the woods near Chagrin Falls, Ohio, skinning their pelts to make hideous clothing for herself and, presumably, people she doesn’t like.
We know the government’s serious about going after Kernell, because the Justice Department has asked Sarah Palin herself to testify against him in his criminal trial.
Frankly, we can’t help but remain a little suspicious about that.
Is Holder REALLY doing this to prosecute the criminal Kernell, whose corn rightly deserves to be popped into a federal pen, or is he doing this just because he wants to get Palin under oath in some effort to dig dirt to use against her in the 2012 presidential campaign?
This White House, and Justice Department, went to great lengths to protect ALL Obama allies from the 2008 campaign. No matter what crimes they committed in his name. Well, the black ones at least.
So why go after Kernell, the son of one of Dr. Utopia’s most zealous and drooling supporters, when no one else who commited crimes to elect him were prosecuted?
Anyone have a theory on that, or an idea of how much time Kernell could spend playing the part of Tobias Beecher in a federal reenactment of HBO’s Oz?
Question: Why is it party all the time in this White House?
No TV dinners or coupon clipping for these two.
You’d think the current president lives in Boystown. Or, at least wants to. For all SORTS of reasons.
It’s party all the time in this White House. While tens of millions are without jobs, don’t have enough money to keep dinner on the table every night, and are going without the basics, it’s a twirling, whirling, “Night at Versailles”, every night, in the People’s House these days.
Last night, the theme was “Hollywood Glamour”, with Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks brought in to entertain Dr. Utopia and his “fashion icon” wife.
“Entertain me! I need to be entertained! This lack of entertainment vexes me! I am terribly, terribly vexed!”, the president shouted from the middle of rows of plush red velvet seats in the White House screening room.
Spielberg, dressed up as E.T., was forced to recreate various scenes from his many films, his voice grown hoarse from repeatedly roaring like a T. Rex from Jurassic Park.
“Sounds just like Oprah when she’s hungry!,” the First Lady hooted, throwing popcorn into the air and all over the carpet, because she thinks that looks pretty and also loves the fact other people have to clean her mess up. “I’m proud of that dinosaur for the first time in my adult life!”.
Hanks was told to re-enact movies he wasn’t actually even in, like the underwear scene from Risky Business, the “Let’s Hear It For the Boy” dance montage from Footloose, and the end of Ferris Buehler where Matthew Broderick ran through the backyards of a suburban Chicago neighborhood, jumping over fences, trying to beat his parents back home.
“That s*** is funny. I am entertained!,” the president guffawed, despite aides repeatedly trying to tell him Hanks wasn’t even in any of those movies. “Who cares. Don’t get all wee-weed up. All those old white guys look the same. MORE ENTERTAINMENT, NOW!”.
Apparently, tomorrow night’s theme will be “Bedrock and Roll”, where random celebrities will be forced to dress up as characters from “The Flintstones” so the First Lady can wear her coffee filter, Hanna-Barbera inspired Inaugural Gown one more time before she “has to give it to that museum even though (she) doesn’t want to and hates giving people anything”.
What Recession?
Restraint and setting a good example?
What’s that?
MORE ENTERTAINMENT NOW!
Boystown's Take On Eric Massa's "Gay Frat House"
Tonight, the lot of us hung out at Scarlet for their Thursday “Frat Party”, which Joaquin loves — beer pong tables, Super Mario Bros. video games, $5.00 40s, lots of built guys rocking Aberzombie and Hollister, people saying “dude” and “WHOA” a lot. You can picture it.
The topic of Eric Mass came up, and the “gay frat house” he ran in DC, in which he forced his young, gay, male staffers to live with him, paying them so little money they had little option of leaving his “frat”, or saying no to his sexual advances. A debate arose as to how something like this could go on, why nobody noticed, and what sort of guys allow themselves to be debased like that by a Congressman.
“You know, stuff like that happens right here in Chicago, just around the corner actually,” Panda said, guiding a super-star-powered Luigi on course to smash the living fungus out of pixelated mushroom Gumbas. “You remember that creepy house we went to during the Hillary campaign, the one where you tried to get them to donate and the guy was all Jabba the Hutt and you said he should be eating frogs? That was funny”.
Panda was talking to Robby, playing Mario for the night, who helped collect volunteer names in Boystown in our pre-Super Tuesday push for Hillary, while hitting up big donors in the community to fund the Clinton campaign. Together, we used FEC records to find all the major contributors around Boystown and went door to door making the case for Hillary. We knew exactly the house Panda was talking about, but hadn’t thought much about it until Eric Massa’s antics hit the news.
Robby and Panda knocked on a seemingly normal looking house one day, not far from the bars on Halsted. It was a pretty house, Victorian, with the turrets and fancy woodwork common in the neighborhood. Delicate pastel flowers lined the white picket fence on the walk to the front door, which was enormous, and had a massive lion’s mouth for a knocker, as ostentatious as could be. It was hideous — something an older gay man with too much money and too little taste picks up in Florence, on the Ponte Vecchio, just so he can tell anyone who knocks, “Oh, THAT, isn’t it just fabulous? I bought it in Florence, on one of my many trips, in the quaintest little shop on the Ponte Vecchio, don’t you know. That means “Old Bridge” in Italian, and it was just gorgeous. You really must go, when you can afford it”.
Robby expected a Truman Capote impersonator in a large paisley caftan holding a snowball of a Persian to answer the door, but instead a tall, very sun-burnt (in January), tie-dyed hippie smelling vaguely of “herbal glaucoma medication” appeared instead. His name was Tom, and he very quickly told Robby and Panda he was the butler. The owner of the house, Tom explained, was in his bedroom, which apparently he rarely leaves.
We knew the owner was some sort of a day trader and had his own investment firm; we also knew he donated large sums to all sorts of Democrat politicians in Chicago, and gave to the Clinton Foundation and President Clinton’s library too. He also was a 2000 and 2006 donor to Hillary Clinton’s Senate campaigns, so we figured he’d be a good source of help in her presidential run, too.
As we followed “the butler” Tom through the cavernous old house, we saw photo after photo of a large man with various famous Democrats through the years. As the hair styles, glasses, and clothes melted through the 70s, 80s, 90s, and into the 2000s, the man in all the photos became larger and larger, until the pictures just stopped round about 2003 or so, with a photo of a morbidly obese version of the man standing next to a white-haired, post-presidency Bill Clinton at a fundraiser in someone’s house.
As we were looking at the photos, waiting for Tom to tell the owner of the house we were there to see him, Panda peeked into the kitchen, because Panda is incredibly nosy.
“I just wanted to see how clean it was, because I thought it would be filthy, I don’t know why, and there’s two naked guys in there, just hanging out,” Panda told Robby, with that tone in his voice he gets when he knows none of us will believe him about something. As if he’d said, “I saw a monster in the bushes” or “I think I’m attracted to a woman”, again.
“There aren’t naked guys in the kitchen just hanging out,” Robby insisted, before brushing passed Panda to see for himself — and sure enough, there they were, naked as jaybirds, two young, built, hung guys literally just standing around doing absolutely nothing except listening to their individual iPods, totally ignoring one another.
“What the heck’s up with that?”, Panda asked, but before Robby could conjecture Tom reappeared, opening a set of large French doors in the hallway, which led to what once might have been a formal dining room in the house, converted into a makeshift, enormous bedroom.
The room smelled stale and sweaty, and Tom told the two of them to have a seat in the matching leather armchairs set before an enormous wall of televisions, all flat screens, in various sizes. Each of them was tuned to either a major news network or some sort of computer program following stock trading. We saw several telephones all lined up in a row on a credenza, and stacks of papers and reports littered just about everywhere. The bed was enormous, and unmade, with filthy white sheets stained yellow from, we hope, cigarette smoke. There were four or five ashtrays in the room, full of butts, with big stacks of Marlboros piled high in one corner of the room, next to a motherlode of porn – all Freshman, Bel Ami, and other rags specializing in young twinkie guys.
“Who lives here?”, Panda whispered, in the quiet, surprisingly subdued, uncharacteristic voice he uses when he thinks a monster’s lurking. Left unsaid was the “Is he going to eat us while watching a dozen TVs at once?” part.
Tom told us the owner of the house would join us shortly, after he finished his breakfast outside on the patio. It was then that we noticed another set of French doors, hidden behind thick, yellowed, lace curtains, absolutely ruined by what looked like five years’ worth of heavy smoking.
“Why does he need so many TVs? It’s like he’s a big spider, with all those eyes, staring at people,” Panda said, not realizing how common it was for investment guys to multi-screen their offices so they could watch news reports across many channels at once, following the little electronic ticker tape listing off codes that make sense to brokers on the bottom of the screen.
Before Robby could explain, the door from the patio opened and one of the largest men they had ever seen moved into the room, wheezing with every step, his belly EASILY traveling a full foot ahead of the rest of his frame. The man was enormous, and though it was the dead of winter, and freezing outside, he was sweating like he’d just ran a marathon.
He shuffled to his bed and plopped into the middle of it, excusing himself while he got comfortable, rearranging the remotes left on his nightstand onto his belly, which seemed like a mighty aircraft carrier with plane after plane landing upon it in a frothy sea of pillows and stained blankets.
Not knowing what to do, Robby and Panda just started talking about Hillary, and how important it was for her to win the nomination and the White House, and how much this man’s help would mean to our victory on Super Tuesday. Even though we expected Dr. Utopia to win Illinois that day, we were focusing efforts to win Massachusetts, California, New York, and other big states for Clinton, so every dollar we raised would go to good use somewhere, despite the fact Illinois was a lock for her opponent.
The man only vaguely listened to us, before picking up a little dinner bell he had on his nightstand and ringing it several times, the effort of which made him sweat some more.
Suddenly, the two naked guys from the kitchen came into the room and started attending to him, readjusting his pillows, repositioning the remote controls, going over to the fax machine and bringing over pages and pages of numbers to where he could reach them when he went back to doing whatever he did that earned him enough money to have a staff of naked house boys at his beck and call.
“I’m THIRSTY!,” Jabba shouted, still sweating, and a third naked boy, all of 19 from the looks of him, came running into the room with a frosty cold Pepsi that he cracked open just before reaching the bed. He popped a straw into the can and raised it to the fat man’s mouth, holding it there while he slurped and slurped every last drop of the liquid candy. As he drank, Soda Boy used a paper towel by the bed to mop some of the sweat off the fat man’s brow and cheeks. Much later, after they’d left this house, Robby and Panda both had the same thought: “We bet that guy’s sweat tastes like pure sugar, with all that pop he must drink. His sweat’s simple syrup by now”.
The meeting didn’t last long because the fat man told Robby and Panda that, because he does so much business with people in the City, he had to support Dr. Utopia and could not help Hillary Clinton at all, though he liked her very much and wish Dr. Utopia hadn’t run because he would have been 100% behind Hillary. We got a lot of responses like that in Chicago, though this man was the only one who delivered it in a house full of stark naked attendants, scurrying around, dangling bits and tackle, fetching more cheesy poofs and Pepsi for someone who looked all the world like he was liable to die of a stroke at any moment.
Now, since everything’s come out about Eric Massa, we’ve seen many of you wondering how Massa could have gotten away with running “a gay frat house” like that in Washington. As we said before, this makes perfect sense to us, because two of us have been in “a gay frat house” right here in Boystown — though we most certainly remained fully clothed during our visit. The fat man who owned that “frat house” very clearly had millions upon millions of dollars. He also very clearly was so obese he had to move his bedroom to the ground floor sometime in the last decade, and probably travels no further each day than to that patio outside to smoke, eat breakfast, and get a little fresh air once in a while. For entertainment, his wealth and power afford him a house full of bare-assed young dudes who must make more than enough catering to this man’s whims to make up for whatever revulsion they’d feel servicing Jabba.
At Scarlet, for Frat Party Thursday, it’s easy to look around the room and see guys who came to Chicago from all over the Midwest, many with no real idea what they’d do for work once they got here. We personally know two guys who went to EXCELLENT schools — Ivy League — who made the critical life decisions of majoring in Dance, Theater, or Philosophy, who are now working as barbacks or go-go boys in clubs here in Boystown because the competition for respectable jobs is just so intense in this economy. We estimate REAL unemployment here in Chicago is 25%. Easily. We also have a friend who, until a year or so ago, was a Dairy Trader at a big firm down in the Loop…until he got downsized…and now he’s a male stripper in Boystown, too, because “it’s more money than I’d make getting a regular job”.
In the time since the visit to the fat man’s house, Robby actually spotted the naked Soda Boy working at MiniBar, probably making good money, being used for his looks by a new cast of creepy owners. As unpleasant as that might sound to many out there, in Boystown the easy money that’s made working in a shirtless bar like that, and the status being “a MiniBar guy” carries means someone, most likely the fat man, had to recommend Soda Boy for the slot (which he’ll keep so long as he’s great looking and pliable, or until someone younger, cuter, and more flexible comes along, fresh off the bus from Nebraska). Perhaps more than needing the money, Soda Boy was a naked maid because he wanted the bar gig and well-connected investment banker guy was a quick opened door.
Hearing about what Eric Massa was up to with his own “gay frat house”, we realized how easy it probably was for him to have his way with all those young guys, no matter how personally gross and disgusting he was.
The economy is terrible, so any job is better than no job.
The guys probably want to go to law school, or to become lobbyists, so working for a Congressman for a year is worth any Hell they have to go through.
Considering the above, it’s easy to see how they would take the job for almost no money…because they saw it as a ticket to riches in the future.
With no money coming in, it’s easy to understand why the guys decided to live with Massa in his “frat”, even if he preyed on them. Perhaps the abuse part of things didn’t start until months after they moved in, when they’d depleted enough of their savings that they had no choice but to stay, since they had no money to buy a ticket home and move. If Massa was as skilled a predator as people are claiming, that’s what he would have done: invited the boys in, kept their pay low, let them burn through whatever money they had, and then start using them for sex when he knew they had little money left and were desperate to keep their jobs after investing so much in this process already.
“Why couldn’t they just ask their parents for help and leave?” is a question we’ve seen asked on a lot of message boards about the guys who lived with Massa.
We came up with two things to say about that:
(1) Not every gay guy has a PFLAG mom and dad, so maybe those guys were on their own. Out of all of us here, only one of us has parents who still love him after they realized their son was gay. In our circle of friends, it’s about 70% of people we know whose parents cut them off completely when they realized who their sons were. So, not all of us have safety nets, and when there’s little money coming in, we can imagine some of those guys didn’t have a lot of options.
(2) For guys who have parents who still talk to them, we wonder how many of the parents would be understanding in this situation. ”You live with a Congressman? He’s helping you and you want to leave? Why? You live there rent free and you don’t like it? What more do you want?” might be one response. Some parents are dense enough to never listen to their children, seeing only the bragging rights of “my kid works for a Congressman. A CONGRESSMAN. Hear that, Anne? While your little Rory’s still flipping burgers down at the McD’s, my little Brenden is working for a CONGRESSMAN”. It also might have been hard for a guy, especially one who is not yet out, to admit to his parents that he was tricked into moving into a gay frat house run by a perverse, debauched deviant who molested them and essentially turned them into prostitutes paid for by taxpayers.
Because that’s what house boys are: prostitutes.
Those naked dudes fat man has serving him Pepsi, fluffing his pillows, and wiping simple syrup off his face: prostitutes.
Congressional staffers living en masse in the home of a Congressman who uses them for his pleasure: prostitutes.
The only difference is in that last one, TAXPAYERS are footing the bill, not a 500 pound day trader in Boystown.
Muppets on Parade
Why would they release a photo that looks so terrible?
The strangest photos come out of this White House.
Here’s a snap for a fundraiser Dr. Utopia just did in Missouri for Robin Carnahan’s 2010 Senate bid, where the White House pretended it was for Claire McCaskill’s 2012 race instead, which makes no sense unless you remember how spectacularly Dr. Utopia failed in Virginia, New Jersey, and Massachusetts, where any candidate he came 100 feet within radius of was shellacked at the polls by voters tired of the hopeychange nonsense.
“I love hopeychange! I wore my Miss Piggy costume tonight ’cause I’m Senator and this my party!,” Claire McCaskill enthusiastically told anyone who would listen. “Welcome to my party! Did you bring me presents? I like blocks and paper clips and bugs and stuff I can eat, like sammiches. I’m Senator! It’s my party!”.
Jane Putipon, Chief of Staff to Claire McCaskill, doesn’t seem able to control how often the junior Senator from Missouri wears her favorite Halloween costume in public. Apparently, whenever Jane reminds McCaskill “it’s time to dress like a normal, grown-up person, not like a spoiled Muppet lusting after frogs”, she just gets a barrage of “I’m Senator! I’m Senator! I wears what I wants!” in return, so maybe she’s just completely given up at this point.
Just as the people of Missouri have given up on Claire McCaskill ever doing anything sensible or worthwhile.
It’s VERY curious that the White House pulled this McCaskill stunt, though. We’re not aware of this particular ruse ever being played before, in all the years we’ve followed politics. We’ve never once seen a fundraiser for someone who was not running for re-election for years, when there’s a candidate running THAT year who needs the money…and, presumably, all the money raised at that event is going to be funneled to Carnahan anyway.
It really is, as many have said the last few days, an admission by the White House that the current president gives the kiss of death to all he ventures out of the White House “to save”.
Friday Open Thread: March 12th, 2010
What’s on your minds this Friday?
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What do you think about the controversy surrounding the new Robert Pattinson movie, “Remember Me”, which opens today in theaters?
We’re not going to tell you the ending of the film, though many movie sites out there have done this. But, if you don’t want to read anything more about what happens in the movie, just skip ahead to the next item in the Open Thread, and avoid the rest of this paragraph, because we will talk in general about the controversy. So don’t read anymore on this thread if you don’t want to get any hints about what happens.
