Class enemies abound, Comrades!

Some kulak bastard at www.SugarloafToday.com (no, it isn't a porn site, sadly) is sullying my good name by posing as your's truly! This villain has no shame, Comrades! No shame whatsoever! He is evil, corrupt and completely without any regard for the feelings of others -- others being me, of course, and most importantly! I am ashamed! Ashamed that these sugarloafers would allow one of their own to disgrace a name that is above disgracing! I am ashamed that someone would be so low, so vile and completely out of touch with all decency, morals and dare I say reality to actually be allowed to profit off my good name! This man is a crook, a con-artist and a low-life beyond all reproach!

Comrades, I cannot stress how low this character is. I am more than certain he has made millions already off my name. I am certain that this person -- this whoring, unscrupulous little cretin -- is gallivanting about the internets shaking down my most fervent patrons, supporters and closest and dearest associates! I bet he is even sleeping with all of my hookers, Comrades! I bet his grubby little paws are feeling up all over my drug-addled ex-wives! I bet he even has my personalized key to the Lincoln bedroom! Oh the horror! The horror of having one's identity stolen! My eyes flood with tears, Comrades! My eyes flood with the tears of a man whose name and reputation has been usurped by a commoner! A commoner, Comrades! A low-life middle-class commoner!

I am beside myself. I am beside myself thinking what this little charlatan really does for a living. I bet he cleans up horse shit! I bet he cleans up horse shit during the day and by night he hits up the swankiest clubs posing as your's truly! I am more than certain he has been sitting in my private booth at the Purple Panda! I bet Rocco and Patrice allow him to get ahead of the line outside the Domingo Club! My blood boils! My blood boils thinking some surly horse shit picker-upper is getting into the uber-exclusive Domingo Club using my name! MY NAME! I bet he has a family! I bet he is a registered Republican! Can you imagine? Can you imagine someone running around pretending to be you and to make matters worse they happen to be a middle-class Republican and a family man to boot!

Here is the forum where the imposter uses my good name: https://www.sugarloaftoday.com/chat/viewforum.php?f=6

I bet he has my credit cards. I bet he is going on a spending spree WITH MY CREDIT CARDS! Oh, wait, they're not my credit cards, per se. More along the lines of credit cards that came into the possesion of the PRC and then managed to trickle down to the Obama campaign and then, finally, they came into my possesion. Actually he can keep the credit cards. Yes, he can keep them. I hope his prints are all over them, too.

My reputation. Ruined. My families name. In shambles. I will never be able to show my face at Party HQ again, Comrades. My pride is broken. My rosy outlook on taking other people's money is destroyed. The once eternal optimist for a better tomorrow is now a cynical douche bag.

I am a douche bag, Comrades. This imposter has turned me into a douche bag.

I must now go to rehab.


Adieu

Don't leave us Chairman!! We know who you are and NO one will sully your good name as long as you're a High Ranking Party member and Official.

How dare this prole steal your name and parade around like he was you!! Don't worry about the credit cards. The Obama will provide you with all the cards you need after the swearing in ceremony.

Shall we turn Marshal Pupovich loose upon this impostor??

Sugarloafers, be damned! Damn you all! Damn you all to Detroit!

Oh come on, Meow, you silly drama queen. I know you don't look anything like Stalin. Not a bit. He had a much steadier eye than yours, I know what I'm talking about. When you were at the Rancho de Rio Grande I couldn't even see what color your eyes were, for they shifted about so trying to figure out to the penny what you could get for them. And my phone bills. To fences I find out.

For six months after you left, the place a shambles, I kept getting visits from Rocko and Vinnie wanting "a word" with you.

Serves you right, Meow, serves you right. You and your sticky fingers.

You are very kind, Theocritus -- and wealthy. Well, mostly just wealthy and to that end I call you my friend. I may be a a crook and a cheat - but I have good intentions, Comrades. I have the best intentions at heart when I liberate one's items of value. I think about all of those in need and who are with want when I liberate those items of value.

I think of Maureen Philips who has to make difficult decisions every day. She has to decide -- on I daily basis, mind you -- whether to use her meager earnings to pay for her prescription medication or instead a weeks supply of cat food to feed her and her precious little kitten Muffy.

I think of Daniel Gales who lost his pension. Daniel use to work at the Ford plant in Beavershire where he would hold a clipboard and check off boxes. He was the best clipboard holder on that side of Beavershire and by God he deserved that pension.

I think about little Abby who has dreams of becoming a ballerina like Rahm Emanuel or Ron Reagan Jr. I think about her and how the Bush Administration slashed funding for the arts.

I think about those people, Comrades. When I liberate I think about Daniel, Abby and Maureen. I think about how hard their lives are and how someone else's money may help them. That is why I take, Comrades. Or, at least, that is how I rid myself of a conscience when I take and then spend what I like to call "the People's Earnings" on a little something something for myself.

I do it for the Maureen's and the Daniels and the Abbys of the world. I do it all for them.

Chairman M. S. Punchenko

We here at the NC collective stand at the ready. Workers are armed with shovels, pitchforks and impaling poles (something I learned from a guy in my neighborhood. I think his name was Vlad something). Just give the order.

Commissar Theocritus
Have completed harvest of Fava Beans and the workers chipped in for a few cases of a nice Chianti. We await shipping instructions. I hope comrade Che will be pleased.

Why can only vote once? That's not Fair.

Grigori, thank you. I do appreciate the fava beans. I have been in touch with Comrade Ché and she (yes, she) will be glad to serve up a fine hypothalamus for us. After all, what is a Party convention without sweetbreads? And so close to the throat too. Tender throats.

Meow, you had me weeping which is a hard thing for the Commissar of impaling to do. Weeping that is. Laughing, eating, throwing bits of barbecue down my throat as I stroke the stakes For The Common Good™ (or is it for the Children™? So hard, so hard, a <i>mal de tête</i> here). But you have touched me.

A <i>clip-board holder who lost his pension</i>? Is there no shame? No shame at all? And I'm sure that his panache as he ticked off those boxes as unmatched by Homer as he wrote about Ulysses. For who was Odysseus, but some old Greek with a dog and a wife? A <i>clip-board</i> holder?

And Rahm Emanuel? How could we be so inconsiderate? When I think of him at a dinner orating with a knife, "Enemy!" and stabbing the table, and doing it over and over and over until the table was a wreck, fit only for an NEA grant, I could weep. How could I have been so base? I propose him for the Hannibal Lector Culinary School of Enemy Elimination. With the loser, of course, to be cooked up by Ché Gourmet.

But my problem, which I ought to have mentioned right up front, is that I doubted the provenance of your OPM OP credit cards. They were no more from China than George Soros is a philosopher. In fact admit it: those credit cards <i>were</i> from George Soros. And they were just money that he got from forcing Britain out of the ERM. Not something like the biggest commie nation on earth. Only a man who came here from a little tiny commie nation and then did some talent shitting on the place that he came to.

Admit it, Meow, admit it. You're a whore. You're nothing but a whore.

God, I love you. Come back to the Rancho. All is forgiven. All I want to do is worship your rascality. I work on the finer points of being a true Progressive. Conspicuous compassion, and even impaling, simple and fancy. I steal, cheat and lie. People were, I thought, proud of me. Of my little efforts to bring about the Progressive World of Next Tuesday.

But you take it away, Meow, you take away all my little accomplishments with your simple perfection of the true progressive. Your black little heart, your greedy little soul, your self-justification, your nasty little cracks, your whining--like a Bach fugue your whining--you're Beethoven's 10th symphony of what the Perfect Progressive should be. None of us here can touch you in your utter depravity and self-absorption and self-aggrandizement.

You're my hero, Meow. My true hero.

God, I love you. Come back to the Rancho. All is forgiven. And you can have back the Hummels I haven't sold. Or broken.

Nice to see The Chairman is taking in some skiing with the trust fund kidz in Maine.
Please explain to them all your trust belongs to Obama now and all your base of 6-10 inches and funds belong to us.

Here's his signature block:

Chairman S.S. Punchenko
Director of Transition Services
Ministry of Truth
Stavropol, USSR
190-ARB79

That's S.S., not M.S. Punchenko. Chairman Meow, perhaps this is your long lost twin brother from whom you were separated at birth? (Where were you born, anyway?) Or even half brother, who until the Obamessiah's ascension was living in a hut in Siberia and was paid only one ruble a month?

You wouldn't happen to have any illegal, indigenous aunts that you just can't seem to touch base with, for all your knowledge of communications technology and savvy in keeping in touch with everyone else everywhere all the time, unlike the out-of-touch Geezer McCain who still listens to his ABBA records on an old Victrola?

Commissar Theocritus wrote:Admit it, Meow, admit it. You're a whore. You're nothing but a whore.

I am not a whore, Theocritus. A whore has the common decency to leave without much fuss when the deed is done and the transaction complete. I have no such decency and refuse to leave content, satisfied or even midly pleased. Contempt. I have utter contempt in the pleasure and the happiness of others which is why I proudly declare myself a Progressive Democrat.

Commissar Theocritus wrote:None of us here can touch you in your utter depravity and self-absorption and self-aggrandizement.

The self becomes moral when you proclaim yourself to be in the service of others, Theocritus. My selfishness makes my job of helping others a little bit easier.

Do you really think I could wake up every morning and crush the hopes and dreams of the middle-class by taking their money if I didn't have my 440 acre estate? No, I couldn't!

Do you think I could deny a child Christmas presents by asking his/her parents to pay more in taxes if I didn't have my chauffeur and limousine? Absolutely not!

Do you think I could muster the strength to ask a patient suffering with cancer-like symptoms to forgo her examination so that I may instead go ahead of her and see the doctor about the worrisome wart on my ass if I didn't have the interest of others at heart? A worrisome wart that may be contagious and could, possibly, spread to others if not treated right away!? The thought alone is appalling!

By serving myself I serve others! I am a hero, Theocritus. CNN should be doing a special on me and my noble contributions to society! No one suffers more than I! I suffer because I care too damn much! I care about everyone and everybody and I don't give a damn who doesn't like it!

Now then... Who is picking up and paying for lunch today? I myself could go for some Chinese.

Commissarka Pinkie wrote:Or even half brother, who until the Obamessiah's ascension was living in a hut in Siberia and was paid only one ruble a month?

Impossible! I had Yuri snuffed out years ago so that I could sleep with his wife. She was a lousy lay and I do regret my actions regarding Yuri. I regret I didn't have Yuri leave me his hovel and what few rubles were left in his name.

I mean, It would only have taken a few days to get the paper work done and what not. I could have rented out his hovel. A lot of people like vacationing in Siberia now. Something about the ruggedness of the area. Yes, I kick myself in the ass to this day for not taking the time to get the paper work done and have him sign off on it. I could have made a few rubles more if it weren't for my carelessness!

Damn my carelessness! Never again! Never again will I be so foolish!

On further thought, I scrutinized the signature block again:

Chairman S.S. Punchenko
Director of Transition Services
Ministry of Truth
Stavropol, USSR
190-ARB79

Perhaps this person really is Stalin, and he's now employed as Chairman of a ship christened obamened the S.S. Punchenko.

His picture is there, recognizable to all, so no identifier is necessary. Just a clarification of his new position in Obama's New World Order.

Why would Stalin name a ship after me? I thought I made it clear that I wanted to be CNN's Hero? That is what I want. I want to be a hero! I don't want some leaky rig from Sugarloaf named after me!

I'm disappointed, Sugarloafers. I am very disappointed.

Meow, if you want Chinese, just call the f*@#$ing Chinese. I know that you're a commie of the Russian persuasion but if you don't have street cred with the Chicoms, you're not the commie that I took you for.

...Bruno. We've got Meow now. He's actually asking people to buy luncheon for him. That's a sign of weakness...

And Meow, about that worrisome wart on your ass. You may not recall it but the Party decided some months ago that blemishes on your body which might be related to STDs were not to be given high priority because they would clog up the medical system so much that it would be rendered totally ineffective. And think about it, Meow, think about it. If the medical system had not been so clogged up treating every scale, lesion, wart or weeping sore on your body, you would have had the pills that you needed, instead of stealing roofies from me, and would not have woken up in Mao's coffin.

And really, Meow--roofies <i>and</i> Mao? I mean, have you no shame.

Ah. Sorry. I wet 'em.

Pinkie, I'm getting just a touch worried that you're so comfortable with the chairman. I worry for you, m'dear, I really do. You are wise beyond your years, and a valuable member of the party, but over the years I've lots of dealings with the Chairman and I can say, with a lump in my throat, and memories of bruises on my body, that the Chairman has never once done a single decent thing in his life, not once, not as a child, not as an adolescent, and certainly not in his adult life.

The Chairman is almost as unscrupulous as Joe the Biden.

Meow, I rejoice in being the Director of Unanimous Caring, Compassion, Backstabbing, and Impaling for the Common Good™.

I now nominate you as the Commissar of Lesions and Weeping Sores. Red, might an avatar revision be in order? Meow, before you cry foul, you might think that a weeping sore might be mistaken for true compassion. Which is my racket but in this one case I'll not prosecute the copyright infringement.

Grigori E.R. wrote:Chairman M. S. Punchenko

We here at the NC collective stand at the ready. Workers are armed with shovels, pitchforks and impaling poles (something I learned from a guy in my neighborhood. I think his name was Vlad something). Just give the order.

Commissar Theocritus
Have completed harvest of Fava Beans and the workers chipped in for a few cases of a nice Chianti. We await shipping instructions. I hope comrade Che will be pleased.

To Grigori E.R.

NO I AM NOT PLEASED! [email]Fu%^$@#@%$ing[/email] FAVA BEANS? So labor intensive for the doubtful flavor quotient. And any Chianti that proles could afford would taste like sour vinegar. I am a student of the occult, so I find you fairly interesting, but you won't win any points with fava beans, comrade. Oh, what the hell. Bring the beans over to the Peoples Hells Kitchen and I'll make up some Byesar. I suppose I should start filing away some Arabic recipes. Gonna need 'em sooner or later.

signing out,

Che' Gourmet

Good Day to you Commissar Theocritis:

Thanks for revealing my trangender operation (to conceal my true identity) to the whole collective!!! This does not, hopefully, minimize my value as Chef to the Inner Circle? I will rat everyone out to the ACLU for gender discrimination, and have no doubts, I will win.

As for the hypothalomus glands, yes, they will make a suitable appetizer for the Party's Elite.
Since the glands are only the size of almonds, they make for delicious finger food. I'll just serve them up with the frickin' fava beans. Am I to perform the lobotomies too? Psychosurgery is not my forte', Commissar. I am sorely understaffed, already, so I could use a doctor or someone who can wield a scalpal.

Plans for the mass-exterminations are progressing nicely. Did Commissarka Pinkie agree to part with the potatoes, yet? I've got to sign off, getting another delivery of RRRR's.....Shut up, you stupid losers!

your devoted Chef,

Che' Gourmet



PS - I'm sure that you are properly remorseful for you unintended slip of the tongue? Imagine : Foie gras w/ Lobster medallions in puff pastry, w/ Bosc pear/Fuji apple confit finished w/ Calvados buerre blanc sauce. Sometimes, I just amaze myself!

Ché, here in the Cube among the upper levels, we find that gender is flexible. Compare Betty to his avatar. If that's not a man, or Janet Reno, I'm Leonardo da Vinci. Also there are many <i>other</i> secrets around too. In fact I happen not to be gay and am one of the biggest skirt-chasers in the history of the People's Republic of Austin. I had hot and cold running women in my flat when I lived there.

We progressives believe that gender is a construct, to be constructed at will.

...Bruno. I feel <i>so</i> tired. Put on that Judy Garland CD...

Well, the cat is out of the bag now.

S.S. Punchenko is none other than Meow's alter ego and thoughtcrime fighter, Super Soviet.

Faster than a 7.62 round from a Kalishnikov
More powerful than a party purge
Able to leap economic realities in a single manifesto.

It's Super Soviet!

Super Soviet.

("Look! Up in the sky!" "It's Sputnik!" "It's a Yak!" "It's Super Soviet!")... Yes, it's Super Soviet. ... strange visitor from another commune who came to Earth with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal Communists! Super Soviet. ... who can change the change of mighty change, fold banknotes in his bare hands, and who, disguised as Meow Punchenko, mild-mannered Chairman for a great metropolitan Party, fights a never-ending battle for Pravda, summary justice, and the Soviet way!

Super Soviet! All hail Super Soviet! I'm impressed by him having a neck bigger than his hat size. And he leads the world also in having the world's only square codpiece.

Laika, noble space dog, are you sure that Meow is Super Soviet? After all, would SS wind up in Mao's coffin? I thought that they had a fight some decades ago.

Commissar Theocritus wrote:Ché, here in the Cube among the upper levels, we find that gender is flexible. Compare Betty to his avatar. If that's not a man, or Janet Reno, I'm Leonardo da Vinci. Also there are many <i>other</i> secrets around too. In fact I happen not to be gay and am one of the biggest skirt-chasers in the history of the People's Republic of Austin. I had hot and cold running women in my flat when I lived there.

We progressives believe that gender is a construct, to be constructed at will.

...Bruno. I feel <i>so</i> tired. Put on that Judy Garland CD...

Commissar Theocritis -

If you have any idea of who I really am, you will know that I am a pure, bleeding-heart Marxist Revolutionary and much loved around this glorious planet. I too know many secrets, but unlike you and the Inner Circle, I will carry them all to my grave a second time, if necessary. All I have asked of you is to let me make the Party Officials happy with my culinary talents and to hopefully bask in the shadow of your magnificent presence, should you choose to allow it. I will always fight the good fight for my ideals, but I do understand and will follow the Party's doctrines no matter how often they might change.

your colleague in revolution,

Che' Gourmet

EVER ONWARD UNTIL VICTORY!

PS Like anyone here believes that you are straight LOL

Ché Gourmet wrote:I will carry them all to my grave a second time, if necessary.

You <i>are</i> dedicated. Which must be from someone with the patience to make demi-glace. Or even, shall I suggest it, puff pastry, the hard way? Come to think of it I could probably make puff pastry and quit sniggering. Thinking of rolling and pounding the people that I'm pissed at. Of course that could come with the experience of giving a massage to the steatopygian form of Our Many Titted Empress. I swear you think that that gluteous maximus will never relax and let you beat it into shape.

And carrying them to your grave the second time. Do not let the secret of your resurrection escape for then you would be hounded by the Goracle who wants to ascend again to the throne of the High Priest of the First Church of Gaia, when we all know he's a sad, sorry, washed-up has-been.

Super Soviet! All hail Super Soviet! I'm impressed by him having a neck bigger than his hat size. And he leads the world also in having the world's only square codpiece.

Yes, all hail!
Notice though...no knees! No begging from this Super Hero!
Square codpiece is the future comrade!
Super Soviet will show world how to fit round hard peg into dry, no petroleum, hole.
Just like 4 year Obama economic plan.

KP Cook!

I too know many secrets, but unlike you and the Inner Circle, I will carry them all to my grave a second time, if necessary.

Who told you about the Inner Circle?
Confess!

Laika, it is obvious that there is an inner circle. But what keeps me up at night is the fear that there is an inner circle in the inner circle and I'm not in that one. That I'm not in the best parties.

Oh dear. Status anxiety.

Commissar Theocritus wrote:And he leads the world also in having the world's only square codpiece.

Well, uh, I, uh, I actually stuffed a sock down there. I, uh, well... I really don't want to talk about it.

Isn't the Inner Circle where the Square Piece of Cod goes?

For your education and amusement:

http://www.thehendricks.net/codpiece_history.htm

I like the "foofy" one--or maybe it's just I like the word "foofy."

Commissarka Pinkie wrote:Isn't the Inner Circle where the Square Piece of Cod goes?

For your education and amusement:

http://www.thehendricks.net/codpiece_history.htm

I like the "foofy" one--or maybe it's just I like the word "foofy."

Commissar Theocritus has already written about the "huevos rancheros" codpiece in an earlier post.

"Huevos Rancheros?" I deny it. I deny everything.

And Pinkie, foofy? Am I going to have to rise back on my hind legs and start shouting about homophobia? I mean, after all, we are in the age of the Sonorous Unctuous Vacuity and all will be made new and I won't be lumbered by Bruno any more and Meow will no longer be the Commissar of lesions and weeping sores and you will have a Tiffany shovel and Pul will be able to pul at his codpiece to the delight of the devotchkas in his retinue. And I won't have that vexing pimple on my ass.

But I have been thinking of the square codpiece. Crabs can interbreed genetically but their privates don't fit in, and so they can't, unless assisted by some San Francisco lesbians with an Oxo turkey baster. Is it possible that we are headed for a time when Progressives will segregate themselves by the configuration of their privates?

"I'm a Progressive with an octagonal pecker. Are there any Progressivettes out there who would like to make beautiful octagonal music with me?"

We could have our protests segregated by orthogonality. I only wonder what camp the Mime fits in.

I only wonder what camp the Mime fits in.

Tsk tsk....Theo, The Mime™ is camp.

And why is it a codpiece?
Why not a barracudapiece for Sarahcuda?

Which reminds me of a jokecrime I heard yesterday.
What's the difference between Sarah Palin and our annointed NTE?
One is Playboy.
The other is National Geographic.

Immediately arrest anybody telling this joke.
As part of the Office of the Transition Team, I will officialy be heading up the Jokecrimes Division.

Laika the Space Dog wrote:

I only wonder what camp the Mime fits in.

Tsk tsk....Theo, The Mime™ is camp.

And why is it a codpiece?
Why not a barracudapiece for Sarahcuda?

Which reminds me of a jokecrime I heard yesterday.
What's the difference between Sarah Palin and our annointed NTE?
One is Playboy.
The other is National Geographic.

Immediately arrest anybody telling this joke.
As part of the Office of the Transition Team, I will officialy be heading up the Jokecrimes Division.

Ah...My Dear Laika, Loyal companion to the People,

Barracuda Sarah is going to be a nonperson (although I'm sure she would be pleased with the doubious honor).




And BTW- Does NTE stand for Non-titted (and big butted) Empress Michelle?

your friend to PETA,
Che' Gourmet

Ché, yes it does. But on her husband's ascension a diktat will be issued that all women bigger than fried-egg will be required to bind their breasts like flappers or drag kings lest our NTE feel inadequate. Playtex will no longer be allowed in business and all female support garments will be by Ace bandage.

And duct tape.

Michelle Obama Sexy Mannequin Bust

<br>

What is that thing perched on her head? A pilot bird? I figure if a shark can have a pilot fish our NTE can have a pilot bird. Also, has the sculptor been a bit generous with her endowment? Or is she sporting codpieces stolen from Super Soviet?

Pinkie, where do you get these things? I saw the bust of Our Many Titted Empress [I first typed "bush" and had a moment of hysterical blindness] which resides in the Museum of Sex in New York. It's right next to a John Deere combine.

Michelle Obama's ass is much bigger than our former MTE's. Oh, and what does NTE stand for?

No-titted Empress. According to Che Gourmet, whose knife skills I am in fear of.

But Meow, how can you possibly say that any ass is bigger than our MTE's ass? That is heresy.

we'd have to see the pants suit

Is that a Ferrari or a Peugeot? On the rear I'd vote Peugeot.

Commissar Theocritus wrote:What is that thing perched on her head? A pilot bird? I figure if a shark can have a pilot fish our NTE can have a pilot bird. Also, has the sculptor been a bit generous with her endowment? Or is she sporting codpieces stolen from Super Soviet?

Pinkie, where do you get these things? I saw the bust of Our Many Titted Empress [I first typed "bush" and had a moment of hysterical blindness] which resides in the Museum of Sex in New York. It's right next to a John Deere combine.

According to the description on the link, your pilot bird is really one of those Afro hair picks.

The bazoombas do look as if they're being served up to the masses on a platter, do they not? Everyone get in line to--well, you get the idea.

When I was younger, not that I'm old, except in wisdom, and larceny, I went to a school which outlawed the Afro hair rakes for they were used as weapons.

Pinkie wrote:Everyone get in line to--well, you get the idea.

Pinkie, that suggestion, made to some of the comrades here, might greatly swell the ranks of people like Bruno.

If you don't want to be surrounded by colors and fabrics and Judy Garland and hissy-fits, you might edit that suggestion out. As for me--heaven forfend.

I wonder if Our Savior will fashion out a burqa for Michelle using the White House curtains? Maybe he can make himself a turbin, too!

Hmm. You pique my fashion sense. A burqa would cover Michelle's mean mouth, wouldn't it?

But we have nothing to worry about. Cass Sunderstein says he's a right-of-center U of Chicago sort. And Sunderstein wrote a book about bitching at people to get them to do what you want. So we know that's right.