Even Their Dog Was Ugly
When fascism comes to America it will goosestep out to the fifty yard line in full dress regalia for the coin flip at the Super Bowl.
I strongly suspected that it was going to be trouble when they were cheering the flyover, an awesome display of a sky full of screaming state of the art weaponry (wasted tax dollars that could have been spent on schools, infrastructure or health care) that was brought large into the mecca of an American living room on a 64 inch high definition television with digitally enhanced sound that rattled the taco bar bowls and sent a chill up my spine, but I had no idea of the epic intensity of the three and a half hours of earthly hell that was to come.
Then when that ass-kissing little chickenshit General David Petraeus goose-stepped out to the giant red, white and blue NFL logo painted onto the midfield grass at Raymond James Stadium in Tampa for the ceremonial coin toss and they marveled at his greatness, patriotism and valor any doubt of a relaxing evening went right down the shitter. General Betray-us by the way is already barking at the President’s policies to withdraw from Iraq, according to this story by Gareth Porter, the great front man for the even greater bait and switch public relations campaign known as The Surge. Gen P, according to Porter, left the Oval Office meeting with Obama “visibly unhappy” and is said to be… get this, plotting to resist orders:
A network of senior military officers is also reported to be preparing to support Petraeus and Odierno by mobilising public opinion against Obama’s decision.
What we seem to have here is a real life version to General James Mattoon Scott, a reference to the Burt Lancaster character in the classic 1962 movie Seven Days in May who led a cabal of renegade brass in an abortive coup against a president who was perceived to be weak on that great phantom menace and predecessor of current national dread terrorism that was the scourge of communism. Petraeus crony General Ray Odierno who is also bucking the president was said in a New York Times story to have a different plan than Obama’s in Iraq withdrawal. I would seriously consider this a firing offense and if B.O. had any balls he would bust both of those intransigent assholes down to buck private and send them both off to the nearest stockade. I seem to recall such disagreement being referred to as treason when the royal ass of King George W. Bush was still parked upon the throne.
But I digress…..
I had allowed myself to be coerced by the spouse into attending a Super Bowl party over the weekend at a home of a good friend of hers who also happened to be a (gasp) Republican and a true one at that. Hoping that the big game would at least be able to hypnotize the vipers for a few hours was futile, the pit was teeming with animosity from practically the minute we walked through the door. I had been under savage pressure for months to meet the extended family and finally caved figuring the attention would be on the Super Bowl and not the painfully obvious ideological differences. Myself, I have no qualms in saying that I would rather eat with a pig than with a Republican because the pig after all can’t help being what it is so I just avoid them as if they were lepers. It’s quite obvious that they feel the same way because I was about as out of place as Gaylord Focker in Meet the Parents.
The game might have been the ‘official’ reason for the gathering but the thing that really jazzed up the hosts and their troglodyte friends were the commercials, not that this is an uncommon phenomenon in Dumbmerica, there is a reason that NBC charged $3 million for 30 seconds of ad time this year. The added joy that a large amount of said commercials were of an animated variety for ridiculous infantile dross that passes for entertainment was even more enjoyable to the gathering assembled in a large circle around the monster TV with their chips, beer and drool buckets. At first it went reasonably well but as the alcohol kicked in the banter about Governor Palin started intruding during the rather dull first half (but they shut right the fuck up during the commercials like the good little murkans that they were) and the racist Obama jokes were making the rounds during the second quarter. Things began to deteriorate after that and when the dipshit lord of the manor was fiddling around with his high tech entertainment command center (he had more gadgets on that thing than fucking NORAD) trying to record the amazing halftime epic 3D preview of Monsters vs. Aliens (since it never occured to numbnuts to pick up an extra set of those silly glasses for his better half) and crashed the entire system, with only minutes left in the second quarter. Fortunately for everybody there for the game he was able to get the entertainment industrial complex wall of electronics back up and running just as James Harrison was 20 yards or so from the goal line on what would be the longest play in the history of the big game. Score a touchdown for the Steelers and another triumph for the forces of stupidity. Jesus Fucking Christ!!!!
The animosity in the room was palpable as Bruce Springsteen (you know, that goddamned New York librul who campaigned for the darkie) delivered a spirited but lame halftime show (lame because other than Born to Run the setlist sucked but as even the Rolling Stones learned a few years back noone is going to float a turd in punchbowl at the NFL’s showcase by being allowed to sing anything even remotely controversial. They were the typical American Republican family, clueless, overfed, boring, mean-spirited but nice in eerie way that must have horrified many Jews in 1930’s Germany as they witnessed what were once thought to be normal people into malignant, blood thirsty automatons with an internal override ready to be triggered by any piss reeking miscreant demagogue with a big enough soapbox. Even their dog was ugly, a wretchedly whiny little rat terrier that was named after a fucking athletic shoe – it was like I had been teleported into Idiocracy: The Reality Show.
The youngest brother was the real piece of work though. You know the type, a smack talking, penciled necked, dough-faced geek in his mid-twenties endlessly fuddling with his Blackberry like a jacked up on caffeine version of Steve Buscemi and spewing the anti-Obama talking points as though they were being texted to him from Rush fucking Limbaugh himself. He was a one-man show, a legend in his own mind and he took particular delight in targeting Mrs. Encho who had once come out and admitted to being a GASP – librul. Now that ‘Sonny’ had no idea that directly behind the spouse sat one of the most vitriolic leftist bloggers on the internet was especially amusing in that I could have in a matter of minutes verbally stripped him naked and sent him wandering off into the desert of shame riding a donkey and wearing a giant Glenn Beck head like Mad Max in Beyond Thunderdome. But though inwardly seething as I was, I just let her continue to catch the flak, after all, she was the one who dragged me into this menagerie of mentally challenged masturbating monkeys in the first place.
His mother sat beside this progeny of Reagan’s generation of shit, sipping wine in a rocking chair and chiding sonny to not talk politics during the Super Bowl, little did she know that in true Bizarro world Republican fashion that her little boy through his very existence was the strongest argument in favor of abortion that I had personally seen. She should long ago have been cited by the EPA for dumping toxic waste and here’s the kicker, the craven little punk has aspirations to one day be a member of the CIA. Ladies and gentlemen, we have our newest death squad commander, it made me want to bolt from my chair like a jack in the box from hell, physically drag the pigfucker outside and go to work on him with a tire iron like Jack Bauer would do.
Were I not an agnostic I would be thanking God for giving me the strength to restrain myself.
As for the Super Bowl itself, it was what it always is, an over-hyped football game wedged in between millions of dollars of advertising directed at chumps, I found the obligatory E-Trade spot to be especially revealing of the innate nature of modern American stupidity, the vampire scum on Wall Street is still trolling for suckers to keep their Ponzi scheme going for just that little bit longer. When taken as a whole the commercials were the same vile potful of swill of smutty juvenille sexual jokes, random acts of violence only in a funny sort of way, enticements to buy more shit that you don’t need, high dollar attempts by Hollywood studios to hype the miserable failures that typically get dumped out right about now before the summer blockbuster season and the inevitable plugs for even more dumbed down sitcoms and new series (a strange new focus on the police state has all too often been materializing so as to subliminally enforce the concept of servility and snitching) which the host network enjoys the biggest viewing audience of the year to peddle their garbage.
From watching the commercials alone it is apparent that high fructose corn syrup is good for you, that T.V. does not rot your mind and anyone who dares to suggest otherwise has just been tagged as a paranoid lunatic courtesy of Alec Baldwin’s great turn in the Hulu spot that comes right out and equates such a heresy with a belief in an alien takeover (who the fuck would even want us?), there are still jobs to be had (the CareerBuilder ad was actually quite amusing to a corporate slave like myself) and there is money to be made in the stock market (according to E-Trade)….welcome to chumpland!! Time to go back to sleep now.
Other than the company and the mind melting barrage of commercials the game actually turned out to be quite a thriller in the fourth quarter with the Steelers cutting through the tissue paper thin Cardinal defense as though it were the Republican minority marching on Harry Reid’s Senate to pull off a 27-23 victory in which Arizona managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Fortunately it was over and I was able to go home and away from those people and may I never darken their doorstep again. I always prefer my own digs where the distractions are at a minimum and despite my paltry 25 inch RCA I can actually relax, enjoy the game and make the best use of the multi-million dollars of commercial time to do the really important things, like go take a leak and grab another beer.
Posted on 2009/02/07, in Advertising, American Consumerism, Corporate Media, Corporate Propaganda, General Petraeus, Idiocracy, Looter Capitalism, Republican Ghouls, Republican War On America, Sarah Palin Republicans. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.