Premier appointed a consumer finance czar while Congress was NOT in recess. The agency is same as others that get its money straight from the Treasury printing pressses instead of through Congressional House appropriations hence the $3.5 and $3.6 trillion budgets in 2009 and 2010. I hear from industry that this new agency is talking about a national registry of liens. Totally unnecessary but that should employ about 10,000 new shovel ready gov't jobs immediately as they promulgate a morass of rules that similar to the tangled roots of a swamp tree.
I think they should create another federal agency to create a national registry of union workers, especially of those union members who cannot read or write to include any of the ones employed by the Chicago school system to teach students.
I hear there are Illinoisans who want Chicago to secede from Illinois.
That reminds me that every now and then we hear about Texans who want to split up their state. May not be such a crazy idea after all.
So is she mad that she has been seen for what she is, or is she mad because of what she is? Somebody needs to bring her a plate of lobster and a bucket of fries...
If I was First Lady, (angry-black) of the United States (FLABUS), and the best hairdresser in the land was at my disposal and ^ THAT is the best he/she could do, I'd be mad as hell too.
Tovarichi wrote:\If I was First Lady, (angry-black) of the United States (FLABUS), and the best hairdresser in the land was at my disposal and ^ THAT is the best he/she could do, I'd be mad as hell too.
Mwaahahaha!
Tovi, sometimes all a girl can do is laugh. And, this is one of those times!
"All a-dat", "me and Barack" and "I grew up with"?? Princeton and Harvard must be proud. And she's pointing to herself as an example of "what an investment in public education can look like". <facepalm>
Let us be considerate of Moochelle. When Dear Oleader was a Senator, he got a grant for the University of Shitcago, which made a job for Moochelle. Something about community outreach or community development. Community organizing? No, that was dear O'leader. Well that's okay because anything with "community" if peachy-keen with me because I know the fraud and graft I can get.
But when she left, the post was not filled. Such big shoes she left, that no one could fill them.
Choke! Sputter, sputter! Um, I don't know about you guys, maybe it's just me but, I think this may be a job for Commissarka Pinkie!
I know a particular canine post of mine was well, vulgar! And, Pinkie was right to chastise me for that vulgarity. I just didn't know how to say it differently.
Now, I am absolutely speechless!
C'mon Pinkie! Show us your stuff! (sorry to put you on the "spot" here)
Castrate, I've missed you. Where have you been practicing your liberation theology? That is, liberating OPM for your own purposes. As for me, I think that this is likely:
Father Prog Theocritus wrote:Castrate, I've missed you. Where have you been practicing your liberation theology? That is, liberating OPM for your own purposes. As for me, I think that this is likely:
Hello Father Prog.
As you know I am busy with bingo at the rest home subverting democracys in the southern hemispheres.
As to your depiction of the Instrument of Michelles Pleasure ™ ... no wonder she is angry, seems her husband is a dickhead.
Ya know, Tovi, I understand your calling my "Hello Kitty" vibrator, "cute". That's just your way of subsuming me into your idea of me. That is: a cute little dumbed down babe that you can control by flattering me. Maybe I'm being too harsh and presumptuous. Sorry. I know you meant it as a compliment. I'll take it! You're very sweet, smart and gallant. And, you have stood in my defense, for which I am most grateful.
One of my friends, Michael Garson, a piano player for David Bowie since the 70s, played this stunning piece at Radio City, Fashion Rocks Live, 2006, after David had a heart attack….Is There Life on Mars. An escape from all this chaos? Very moving.
In that same same show, I was introduced to ARCADE FIRE! Another hard-hitting group with great pathos. It brings me to tears. Different performance, same group.
I have thought of submitting it as a New Post but am putting it here in honor of you! I think it is so beautiful! As I do you.
Wake Up Lyrics:
Somethin' filled up
my heart with nothin',
someone told me not to cry.
But now that I'm older,
my heart's colder,
and I can see that it's a lie.
Children wake up,
hold your mistake up,
before they turn the summer into dust.
If the children don't grow up,
our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
We're just a million little gods causin' rain storms turnin' every good thing to
rust.
I guess we'll just have to adjust.
With my lightnin' bolts a glowin'
I can see where I am goin' to be
when the reaper he reaches and touches my hand.
With my lightnin' bolts a glowin'
I can see where I am goin'
With my lightnin' bolts a glowin'
I can see where I am, go-go, where I am
I am somewhat concerned that the Angry Purple Energizer, the DickHead™, and especially the HelloKitty Vibrator™ are all much too narrow for FLATUS' successfully pleasurable use.
Tovarichi wrote: I do hope this thread is approaching a "happy ending" it's starting to creep me out...
I will admit to major dorkiness on that double video post I made. Was just trying to change the subject and was quite apprehensive about it. I took an uncomfortable right turn. I admonish myself!
I see, though, that Sgt. NeoTroll has taken care of this matter.
FLABUS shown here getting "down with her bad self" thrusts her right hip out to demonstrate that in Amerikka, it's not just the white guys who can't dance. The rarely photographed expression on her face has been previously attributed to the arrival of a platter of lobster tails and french fries, and once when the bill for one of her vacations was deducted from the Defense Department budget...
Hear, hear, Tovarichi! Yeah! let's boogie down for da boss! I just love her new fitness outfit! Whoohoo! (white women's attempt to be really hip! Very fashionable in the 80's!)
ROCK, I see that you too spent some youthful time watching the capering of a transexual from Transylvania.
But I think that all of you are missing the point. The Odildo above wasn't meant for Moochelle. It was a personal gift to Bonnie Frank. Haven't you noticed how the ears are partially worn off?
You could be right, Father Theo, especially about the ears - but I can't help but point out that in Comrade Tovarichi's most equal photo of FLATUS she has JUST taken "a step to the the right".
Sister Massively Opiated wrote:She doesn't seem that angry... Just a little miffed...
Comrade Sister,
The DNC has spent a wealth of OPM to develop a special Photoshop program to make the First Horse not seem that angry. Since you admit to being miffed, the masterminds at the DNC are gleefully whispering mission accomplished!
But rest assured that the FHOUSA is only one EggMcMuffin away from a volcanic rage unknown to these parts and beyond, that no advanced Photoshop program can correct once she's engaged.
Whinny, you yet again show surprising savvy for a proglet. (You'll always be a proglet to me; you're so cute when you're eating your litter mates.) Moochelle is guaranteed to explode shortly. Barack said that you didn't want to get between Moochelle and a tamale.
Once at the Rancho I got two dozen tamales from La Nortena, just for FLATUS. Unfortunately that was also the weekend that Our Many Titted Empress was coming down to visit. She needed Bruno to polish the barb on her tail, which she has coiled in her pants which makes her look as fat-assed as she is.
Bruno, idiot that he is, took out a tamale--original red pork--and threw it on our Many Titted Empress. One of her many collops caught it and held it, but not before Moochelle had spotted it.
She dug her hooves into my terrazzo (again, and I still had the marks from our MTE), and charged our MTE.
Suffice it to say that if there hadn't been sutures for repair in the Pecos hospital, we'd have had a lesbian affair.
Now the problem is just who inflicted the wounds on whom? Hillary has tusks; Moochelle her teeth. Our MTE has collops capable of hiding the New York telephone book; Moochelle engages in football practice.
Both were bleeding. I swear if I hadn't had an audience, I'd have shot one of them and put the gun in the other's hand.
But I would never do that. I'm a true prog.
[ off ]Let's hope that the Secret Service keeps all the Obamas safe; only assassination made JFK anything but an inattentive playboy president. Obama must be safe, along with his wife.
Father Prog Theocritus wrote:Whinny, you yet again show surprising savvy for a proglet. (You'll always be a proglet to me; you're so cute when you're eating your litter mates.) Moochelle is guaranteed to explode shortly. Barack said that you didn't want to get between Moochelle and a tamale.
[ off ]Let's hope that the Secret Service keeps all the Obamas safe; only assassination made JFK anything but an inattentive playboy president. Obama must be safe, along with his wife.
Father Prog,
Thanks for the kind words. I always enjoy being underestimated. It gives me the upper hand for the times when the litter mates overestimate.
And by the way, have you ever tried a litter mate tamalé? It's hard to discern the flavor, but as always, the best descriptor is to admit "it tastes like chicken". However, I've never heard the consequences of getting between MOO-chelle and a Chik-fil-A sammich. That would be uncharted territory in my tiny little universe of experience.
Obviously, Baroke must have some experience getting between MOO-chelle and a tamalé in order to make such a stern warning for others not to transgress.
Maybe that's why he's such a skinny puke: she ripped him and made him half a man.
Next time, just for fun when you have the First Horse over at the Rancho, suggest to Bruno to throw the tamalé at her just for fun to see what would happen. It would be like those chemistry experiments we used to do as young (very young) progs mixing baking soda and vinegar.
And if Bruno really feels adventurous, have him strap on a feedbag filled with Egg McMuffins onto the FHOUSA.
Whinny! Was Bruno talking out of school to you? I'll shoot him for that. Well, that doesn't work; I've tried it. The stubble on his chest deflects the bullets.
Actually Moochelle was here at the Rancho and Bruno had fun with her. He got two dozen tamales from La Nortena (they really are the best on earth; David Castillo learned from Mike, his father, and no other tamale is edible), and when Moochelle smelled them, she dropped to all fours and started galloping toward Bruno.
I had a flashback of the time that our Many Titted Empress started galloping on all fours toward Bruno, her hooves digging divots in the terrazzo, her little swinish eyes red and angry. He dodged and her tusks ripped out the drywall, and I had to sister in two studs.
Wooden studs. 2x4" studs. That's the sort. That came from a tree. Cellulose.
Bruno however, not having the sense that God promised a chipmunk, didn't panic. He tossed a tamale to Moochelle, who caught it out of the air in her teeth, like a dog with a Frisbee. She gulped it, and then started toward Bruno again. He threw another tamale, but over her shoulder. She rounded and caught it out of the air. Really out of the air. Then she did a volte face and started digging her feet in again to rush Bruno.
But in his sly way, he knew how to handle her. He kept throwing tamales over her shoulder; she'd reach back and snap them out of the air with her teeth, and he threw one outside the front door, and locked it with Moochelle on the other side.
For the rest of the night there was Moochelle, under the bright, West Texas moon, pawing and tearing at the grass, going out into the desert and farting.
Did you know that she has anal glands? You know, cats and dogs have anal glands, and they can get infected. Hers actually secrete phosphorous, and if she' not careful, she can light her own farts.
She'd had over a dozen tamales, and her anal glands were in good form. Let's just say that if I weren't for the creosote in the impaling stakes on the South Forty that I wouldn't have my Saturday entertainment.
Really. Do you know how hard it is to burn greasewood? I've tried with a flamethrower, but Moochelle can light just one of her own farts and set fire to an entire acre.
Bruno is amazingly brave - and resourceful - I must say. The over the shoulder throws quite possibly saved his (and maybe your) life.
I must also say, I would love to have seen it - did you or he, perchance, videotape the event? I know Bruno frequently does so, in order to watch his escapades over and over later on... and to possibly sell them to the highest bidder...
ROCK, Bruno does at times record his, er, exploits. Yes, that's it. Unfortunately on Carmen Miranda's birthday the entire house is awash with a mash-up he's made of her performances, him performing as Carmen Miranda and so forth. He passes out after shall we say a surfeit of happiness. That's when I drug him and haul him into a body transportSuburban and drive him to 50 miles north of Billings, Montana, and drive back.
Now I've done this many times before, but if it's the day after his Mirandagasm, it takes him three days to return.
Unfortunately we are not allowed to video Moochelle. The Obamas don't permit videotaping without getting a healthy royalty check. I told her it was of course for out own personal use but I'm afraid she'd seen some of the videos that I'd let out of our Many Titted Empress and Janet Reno using the Hildo Turbo-Hydromatic.
And you know, she has a point. Moochelle started showing her guns and every mirror in the house broke. My camera is an expensive one.
And you know, she has a point. Moochelle started showing her guns and every mirror in the house broke. My camera is an expensive one.
I just love the line: "Looking into a mirror that is clapping."I just love that.My query is: Clapping with what? Um, thunder, explosives, other incendiary devices?
Clap? Clap? Pam, this is Progressive Clap. It's Socialist Syphilis! There is no better clap than Socialist Syphilis! Once a friend called AIDS the Clap of Doom. Not AIDS. SS will be the clap of doom for AmeriKKKa and her evil, imperialist ways.
Lord Obama has seen that we are evil and iniquitous, and he has determined that we shall be healed by giving us the iatrogenic disease of Socialist Syphilis.
Wow Father Prog! Iatrogenic? Perfect! (Tovarich says I use too many exclamation points, thereby diminishing the sheer power of the point itself! He sweetly attributes this to my innate enthusiasm) He's right, of course, and I have taken steps to eliminate this writing flaw! However, in this case I must make an exception.(!)
The term "iatrogenic" implies….. hell, it absolutely describes our true power!
When I clicked on the response to this post and started reading what you said, I just knew you were going to say something about the "Clap!" Socialist, Fascist Syphillis! Ha! This proves we are on the same page!
Today, the Conservaturd, Rush Limbaugh, played an audio of two Oleander speeches overlaid on one another, with digital delay. They were exactly the same!
This reinforces my belief that we are all united! Yeah, that's the ticket!
I can only imagine the thrill our colleagues like Sandy Flucke and Sister Blabby Shultz must feel.
Rumor has it that the end of the DNC will end in an ecstasy of inflated condoms, some with ridges on them for extra fun, raining down on the participants! They will settle for flesh-colored balloons, not having the money for the traditional red-white-and-blue! A magnificent tribute to "the masses." (!)
For some reason this reminds me of something that I heard. A woman called 911 because she said she saw him making an obscene sexual gesture in his van. She followed him until the police came, and he let them search his car.
They found two drumsticks between the seats. It was his custom when driving to beat on the wheel with his drumsticks. She of course thought that he was flashing her.
She swore an affidavit of complaint, saying that she knew the difference between a penis and a drumstick.
Now as for me, I would think that the only man on earth with a dong that long would be Dear Odongo, and of course only he would have two to them.
Well, that's an easy one, Father Prog. He, Oleander, actually does have two! I mean, how else can he explain his "incomplete" score on his presidency?
I am reminded of the "Long John Silver" accusations made to discredit Supreme Court Appointee, Clarence Thomas, a black guy, albeit, Conservative. Irrelevant who he is/was, he was a conservative, Constitutional clinger. That's all we need to know.
Run the Ship of State aground. That's very poetic. So is, he's a pox on the body politic. But I didn't say that. I promise I didn't say that.
Lord O hasn't any masters. He was a professor constitutional law and it seems never talked once with other professors of law about what it meant.
Of course not. He was born Barack Damian Obama, and if you shave his head, you'll not see 666 but you'll see the hammer and sickle.
Which is as it should be. The constitution is just another inconvenient document to be ignored by a man whose vision is so overmastering, so overwhelming, that it sweeps all other verities under the rug, so we can stand and gape in awe of his sheer awesomeness.
Because in the entire world, he's the only one who down deep inside doesn't believe that his shit stinks.
Bruno is amazingly brave - and resourceful - I must say. The over the shoulder throws quite possibly saved his (and maybe your) life.
Maybe it's just me but I think this is just a hint of what Michelle wants to do regarding the foods available at our grocery stores. That thing in front of her sure looks like a big wad of pasta that could feed a family of four!
No, Pam, that's a tamale. You know, put a pig's head in the oven and roast it all morning. Pull off the meat, spice, put inside masa, and steam. But that's not really made from a pig's head.
That's white RethugliKKKan virgin head in that tamale.
But soft. Something bothereth me. The female preying mantis, or praying, eats the head of the male--the top one--before they mate.
I would like to see if Dear Oleader is in reality a sock puppet with a mannequin head.
It makes sense, what with all the TelePrompTers an all...
Uh, yes. I see nothing but white. The complete absence of head, which might have been said by Slick Willie to Paula Jones, or by a Feminazi preying mantis to some pussified metrosexual, is most obvious. Nothing there.
Is that a picture of a cranial CAT-scan of Dear O'leader? I'd have thought that in his cranium he'd have at least visions of commissars dancing in his head.
And pressing a finger to the side of his nose, the jolly old commissar rose up the chimney.
It's late and I've watched some television rubbish. I was allowed to hear Nanski Peloski inveigh for Dear O'leader and experienced that moment of perfect hatred.
You may say that there is no such thing as perfection. I'm in many ways a fool but even I have never been a perfect fool. I have a degree in math and only that is perfect which is why I love it. Nothing else is.
But that moment of perfect hatred, so taut that if struck it would ring like a Tibetan bell, occasioned by the rantings of that sick old rich-woman totalitarian, the Queen of Botox, the Gasping Goblin, Nanski Peloski.
I truly admire your description of the most-coveted moment of hate regarding Nanski Peloski. This is the very thing that keeps us all going. What would we do without it?
I especially admire your love of math. Math is, indeed, perfect, and does expose flaws in the "truth." Things either are or they aren't. And it's always best to reduce things to lowest terms, for the sake of "convenience." We all know how this can be twisted or spun, however. Especially the part of lowering expectations, reducing things to lowest terms. It's alarming.
In retrospect, I only wish I had said something earlier about our observations regarding Oleanders' "dual "guns". This is Oleander's concept of his next "Stimulus Package." He really get's off on this stuff.
Pamalinski, when the Odingleberries talk about guns, they mean Moochelle's arms. She is I think ambidextrous in her eating tamales; one gun is not bigger than the other. The way that the right arm on the kid with the pimpled ass who does the commercials for SiriusXM is, from playing World of Warcraft in his mother's basement when he's not abusing himself.
Moochelle does not abuse herself. She abuses a buffet line.
And as far as Odongo's Stimulus Package goes, I have it from good sources that there's not much to rise to the occasion. As Gennifer Flowers said, "Bill has a small penis and Hillary has fat ankles and they'll both have to live with each other's flaws." She added. "And I'm a stupid bimbo who can't spell a name except for Sealy Posturpedic and that's because it's permanently impressed into my back."
Oh, and I heard Nanski last night rallying the troops at the Charlotte convention. Did you know that NCIS was there? There's enough material there for three seasons and at least enough indictments to keep an federal attorney's office busy for years.
If they weren't in on the game, and thank Stalin they are.
I appreciate your supreme ability to read between the lines, what with your math background and all. I, by way of contrast, am just trying to pass the Algebra test, in addition to the English test so I can take some courses, notably, InDesign, Photoshop and Illustrator at the local college. I am surprised I am actually getting the Algebra. I get it but don't yet have it down.
As far as Moochelle's guns: I think you are right about this.
Regarding Genny Flowers about Bill's pathetic "endowments", I have it on good authority that it isn't small, it's just "bent." This is the heritage of all prigs, dented dicks. Um, I meant progs. I just love "spell check." This is what our "heritage" is all about.
You referred to Many Titted Empress' collops above being able to conceal a New York Phone Book, or something like that.
In spite of my thorough spin through the Jifi Lobo™ rinse cycle, I actually found rare "fun" (Stalin forgive me) in Googling the term "collops." This forced me to actually look up the word. I love doing that! Thanks for keeping my "mind" fit. I know it doesn't matter but, what the Hay?
What a great word!I have a Radical Prog friend from many moons ago who, in reaction to Don Imus' comment about "Nappy Headed Hoes" said: Obama is a Thinker, unlike Don Imus. Obama is a "Thinker." I was amazed by this. I never knew actually thinking thoughts was a new paradigm. Stupid me!
Edited to include last paragraph. Sorry Father Prog!
Something bounced into my brain cavity tonight about my last comment saying Oleander doesn't shit. I just had to respond to this deep inspiration.
The echo chamber of prog "minds" is powerful!
I realized in that very special moment that Oleander simply recycles his shit! He ingests everything, and before it reaches his final digestive unit, has the DNA to just pump it right back up to his brain cavity. Ga-zing! No problem.
This is like having eternal life!
I have a friend who owns a dog who she refers to as the "Turd Burglar." I'm not kidding. This dog, living with 3 other dogs and one cat, is always on patrol for defecation by the other "family members." Before they can actually take one, this doggie is right there lapping it all up.
Pamalinski, I quite like the idea of Dear Oleader's plumbing. Bear in mind that Aristotle thought that we saw because our eyes shot out something, and that blood didn't recirculate. It was made and destroyed.
Why shouldn't shit recirculate? After all, the lobster that the Obimables enjoy would make the highest quality shit, and of course it should go up into his brain cavity.
Which never had to go to Jiffy-Lobo™ because he was born without anything between his ears. Bill Ayers put his hand up Dear O's ass from time to time and moved his mouth, and then wrote his books, and formed what he is pleased to call his mind. But we both know that there's nobody home.
I really have no words that serve me at present, except for a couple of snorts! The visual of Ayers inserting his hand up into Oleander's rectum is more than I can bear. I mean, we're talking about the ultimate "sock puppet."
Humor always involves some annoying truth, doesn't it?
I think there might be others who wait in line daily to serve this purpose. You know, like Soros, Jarrett, Carney, Biden, Hillary, Billary, Nanski, Dingy Harry, Moochelle, et. al. There are so many more. (Snort.)
As it happens, I have a friend who complained about her former boyfriend because, before "getting busy" he would always ask, "Where is that sock?" A clear attempt to provide contraception Thing is, that sock was always the one he threw up against the wall to see if it stuck. If it did, it was good. If not, cleaning was given a new name: Money laundering.
Comrade Evil Smiley! Thanks for bumping this thread. I love it! Such wonderful memories of my exchanges with our dearest Father Prog Theo. I had forgotten about how much we actually got into it, so to speak. I do miss him.
He did have a way of bringing people out and encouraging their self expression, as he did with me. I found myself saying things I never knew I had in me. I am most grateful to Father Prog for this. In a way, he saved my life.
The uncontested absurdities of today are the accepted slogans of tomorrow. They come to be accepted by degrees, by precedent, by implication, by erosion, by default, by dint of constant pressure on one side and constant retreat on the other - until the day when they are suddenly declared to be the country's official ideology. ~ Ayn Rand
If I was First Lady, (angry-black) of the United States (FLABUS), and the best hairdresser in the land was at my disposal and ^ THAT is the best he/she could do, I'd be mad as hell too. 
[/album] 
[/album] 
FLABUS shown here getting "down with her bad self" thrusts her right hip out to demonstrate that in Amerikka, it's not just the white guys who can't dance. The rarely photographed expression on her face has been previously attributed to the arrival of a platter of lobster tails and french fries, and once when the bill for one of her vacations was deducted from the Defense Department budget... 
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