About matscheck

Matthew C. Scheck is an automation engineer, freelance writer, and former US Army Medic. Mr. Scheck resides in Philadelphia and travels extensively for work and pleasure.

Party Like It’s 1978

Disco. Let me start by saying it did not suck. The only people who screamed that epithet in the late 1970s were monumentally douchie morons who dressed badly and couldn’t dance. They hated Disco because they were afraid of the unabashed sexuality and unbridled personal expression that dancing to this sensual, beat-driven music afforded so many people. Whatever. I was a teenager when Disco Fever struck the USA, and I loved every goddamn minute of it, all the crowds gathering to dance to this amazing and sexy music, bodies contorting, spinning, rubbing, bumping, and boogying. I kissed a girl for the first time to “How Deep is Your Love” by the Bee Gees; that was not unusual in 1978. Disco did not suck if one embraced its magical energy and let go of inhibition. Dancing to me is such an important aspect of my life even now, some 40 years later.

Straight, gay, black, white, latino, Asian, whatever, Disco was for everyone. It was the celebration of life and the truest, most sacrosanct democratic principles of liberty, fraternity, and equality.

Anyhow, here are ten of my favorite Disco songs. I could list hundreds, but these are my go-to songs. Enjoy.

1. Dance With Me – Peter Brown

 

2. I Feel Love – Donna Summer

 

3. Everybody Dance – Chic

 

4. Stomp – Brothers Johnson

 

5. Shame – Evelyn “Champagne” King

 

6. Love Thing – The Whispers

 

7. Born to Be Alive – Patrick Hernandez

 

8. September – Earth, Wind & Fire

 

9. Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood – Santa Esmeralda

 

10. The Groove Line – Heatwave

Gomer’s Heroes

Gomer’s Rangers – Cosplay all you want, dude, but you’re not a soldier.

Gomer’s Rangers – Please, Rambo, don’t trip and shoot yourself!

Charlottesville, VA, Saturday, 12 August 2017. Do these gentlemen look like “peaceful” protesters merely exercising their Constitutional right of the people to peaceably assemble? Many are wearing body armor, dressed in military-styled camouflage uniforms, and toting military-styled assault rifles.

To police SWAT snipers: Aim for the fat guts protruding from the body armor. Center mass. Most of these idiots would accidentally shoot each other in a real skirmish. For the amount of money these yokels have spent arming themselves like they’re Army Rangers, they could have taken a nice vacation somewhere sunny and warm with the wife & kids. Or paid off their piles of debt to banks and credit card companies. Or just saved it for retirement.

My advice to you “militia” dudes: If you go out looking for trouble, trouble will certainly find you. Sadly, lots of innocent people will get hurt due to your insanely stupid concept of “vigilante” justice. You’re not chivalric knights or even patriots. You’re just a bunch of silly wannabe cops and/or soldiers who never had the moral and physical courage to actually serve your country. I imagine the guilt and self-loathing is immense because you didn’t serve, couldn’t serve because you were a fat, out-of-shape loaf, or you were just too fucking lazy. We the American people do not need your “protection.” What we really want is for you to put away your popguns before you hurt innocent citizens.

We have an Army,

Gomer’s Rangers – Be vewwwy quiet, I’m hunting lib-o-walls.

Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard defending the USA, the finest fighting force the world has ever seen. We have plenty of police at the local, state, and federal level. We even have a National Guard–the well-regulated militia of which the Second Amendment of Constitution addresses–comprised of willing citizens who have sworn to serve and protect the citizenry here at home, and lately they’ve served overseas fighting our wars to boot.

Gomer’s Rangers – The fitness requirements to join this unit are pretty lax, as you can see.

Moreover, an overwhelming majority of these brave American military and police serving and protecting us are good, decent, upstanding American citizens, our neighbors, our friends, our family. Plus they are magnificently trained in their work well beyond what most civilians can even imagine. Most importantly, they have sworn an oath to abide by the US Constitution and uphold the laws that our democratically elected representatives have passed. I still believe these brave Americans are protecting us well enough.

Gomer’s Rangers – On Monday these brave heroes will be back stocking shelves at Home Depot. But today they are WARRIORZZZ!

We do not live in a militarized police state. Not even close. I have been to such places, like East Berlin during the Cold War, and I can personally bear witness to the massive difference between a militarized, tyrannical police state and the current state of freedom and democracy in the USA.

What we don’t need are private citizens running around in vigilante posses like they’re Rambo the Ranger. You’re not Rangers. You’re not soldiers. You’re not cops. You’re nothing close to that. You’re play actors in military garb like cosplay goofballs at a comic book convention, with questionable mental stability while toting dangerous military-grade weapons, and, most importantly, without a lawful mandate for your actions and behavior. You’re a danger, threat, and menace to the peace and well being of civil society. You’re the problem, not government or the “them” you think is coming after you. It’s all in your head, Rambo Fatass.

Gomer’s Rangers – God, what fine specimens of American manliness on display here!

The only threat to any of you is your delusional mind that has led you to think you’re capable of “serving and protecting”–and against what, against whom, exactly? Your fellow citizens, a vast majority of whom don’t give two shits about you, let alone pose a threat to you?

 

I really have to ask: What great tyranny or grave injustice do you face? Being forced to pay child support? Highway tolls? Taxes, some of the lowest in the industrialized world? Being asked not to smoke indoors in public places? Facing the lowest violent crime rate in generations? Yes, the USA has its problems, like all civilizations great or small, but overall your chance of survival and living in peace is greater here than just about anywhwere on Planet Earth. BIG LOL on all your paranoid, existential angst, dude. You don’t need an arsenal, you need mental health counseling and a physical fitness program. Take away that dangerous weapon you’re waving around and your balls shrink to microscopic size.

Gomer’s Rangers – Freedom don’t come cheap. It cost General Patton here three months wages to build this Ricky Recon cosplay outfit.

Personally, I do not fear these chumps. One-one-one, unarmed, they are harmless little cunts to me. I certainly don’t fear their popguns. There’s nothing about these morons that sparks one electron of fear in my nervous system. I pity them as misguided losers searching for a manhood and masculine identity they’ve never quite gained.

Scheck’s Doomsday Zombie Apocalypse “Prepper” Bugout Bag Contents

These days all the rage is going on YouTube to show off the survival gear and weaponry one packs just in case zombies (or those pesky Liberals, EEEK!) take over the world. Well, like any good “Prepper,” I’ve put together my own kit and I’d love to show it off.

1. Food. This is easy, 500 Tabasco-flavored Slim Jims and 50 packs of Twinkies. I’m set. Once in the field, like any good hunter/gatherer, I’ll seek out the closest Chili’s.

2. Water purification. Screw that, I’m bringing my Ronco Doomsday Preppers Beer Maker in Woodland Camo™. They say one cannot live without water; well, beer has water in it, right? I’m set.

3. Clothing. Three pairs of undies and my trusty Ronco Skidmark Removal Pen™—a MUST in any prepper’s bag. Plus to keep warm at night I packed my Batman jammies.

4. Knives. Of course I have my trusty Ronco Combination Ninja Sword and Pube Removal Shears™. Dude, I’m civilized, I’m not living in the wild with hairy and icky ‘nads. And a Ninja sword, hot diggity-dang, how cool is that? It can be a machete, can opener (if I don’t take off a few fingers first!), and back scratcher.

5. Weapons. I’ve got my trusty wrist-rocket slingshot and 500 marbles. That should make the zombies pause, bitches! I want to bring my Soviet-made RPG launcher, but my friggin’ beer maker takes up all the space. Beer or rockets? What would any prepper choose? Beer, of course.

6. Misc: My kazoo to make sweet music, a deck of porno playing cards I got in Amsterdam, nose hair clippers, my Scooby Doo flashlight, a fake turd to scare off interlopers to my camp site, and a can of Silly String for no reason but because I’m psycho. And beer. Have I mentioned the importance of beer vis-à-vis surviving Armageddon?

7. Tactical Adaptive First Aid Kit (AFAK): A couple of Power Ranger band-aids just in case I cut myself shaving my pubes, a bottle of Robitussin, and that complementary pack of Kleenex I stole from my hotel last week. I should add condoms to this kit, but, hey, the world’s ending, so the clap or a couple of knocked-up camp groupies ain’t gonna matter. And when the prepper babes hear me play Adele’s “Someone Like You” on the kazoo while sitting around the campfire, camouflage survival panties will drop.

8. Hygiene. I’m a metrosexual prepper, so I need the following inventory:

  • 100 litres of Hermes Eau d’Orange Verte Foaming Hand and Body Gel
  • 10 bottles of L’Oreal Paris Vive Pro For Men shampoo
  • 100 tubes Clinique for Men Oil Control Mattifying moisturizer
  • 10 jars of Paul Mitchell Clean Cut™ Medium Hold/Semi-Matte Hair Styling Cream
  • 1 bottle of John Varvatos Oud Cologne spray
  • 1 bottle of Frederic Malle Musc Ravageur Men’s Eau de Parfum
  • 10 bottles of “Old Reliable,” aka Chanel Bleu De Chanel Paris Eau de Toilette Spray, the Swiss Army knife of survivalist prepper colognes
And there you have it. I figure I can last, oh, shucks, at least three or four days—or until my body gel runs out. Then I am, like most of humanity in a doomsday zombie apocalypse, truly fucked.

Fiction Break

The Right to Choose

A short story

©1984 Matthew C. Scheck

Like any footloose and fancy free, lifelong bachelor, I had always taken my freedom for granted because I knew no alternative. Then one day I got a phone call, and after saying “hello” the young girl on the line said these words: “You don’t know me, but you’re my father.”

My first thought upon hearing this news was that telemarketers were developing new strategies to get the attention of people. How insidious! How clever!

“Huh?” I managed to reply after a moment of stupid silence.

“You’re my biological father. My Mom is Anne Foster. Do you remember Anne Foster?”

“Anne Foster? Good God, yes, of course…She was my best friend at Army Medic School…God, like 20 years ago…”

As soon as I said those words I knew this girl on the phone was my daughter. Anne and I had never actually dated—although we were deeply in love with each other from the moment we first met—and we only spent one night together as lovers, the last before we parted ways and never saw each other again. I nearly drowned in the tidal wave of memories that washed over me as I stood there with the phone in my hand.

Like every other classmate of mine at the 91B Medic School at Fort Sam Houston, I came to the school directly from Basic Training. I was the last to arrive for my class, as a horrible ice storm in the Midwest had delayed my departure from Fort Knox for three days. When I got to Fort Sam it was a Friday night, and my class had been given a weekend pass, so no one was in the barracks when I showed up.

After I unpacked my gear and changed into civilian clothes, I wandered down to the recreation area, or “dayroom” as we called them in the Army. It was dark and quiet there, lit only by a large television. The only person in the entire room was a tall, very well built, beautiful blonde girl, casually dressed in a pair of running shorts and a University of Maine sweatshirt. Since I hadn’t seen a girl—any girl: fat, tall, skinny, ugly, beautiful, blonde, brunette, whatever—in eight weeks, I was immediately lusting for this lovely stranger.

“Wow,” I said to her when she noticed my presence and looked up, “I thought I was the Omega man for a minute and all humanity had died. Thank goodness someone else is alive.”

She smiled. “Yeah, everyone’s out. As soon as the First Sergeant announced everyone had a weekend pass, it took about five minutes for everyone to get the hell out of here.”

“Except you.”

“Except me. I’m trying to be a good girl. I have a boyfriend I love very much back home, but after being in Basic Training for eight weeks, I’m afraid to face any temptation right now.”

“I had a girlfriend I loved very much before I quit college and left for Basic Training. I believe her last words to me were, ‘How could you do this to me, you bastard, I hate you, blah, blah, blah.’ I guess I don’t have to be faithful to her since she dumped me and I haven’t heard from her since. And it’s funny, when I first saw you my first thought was that I haven’t seen a girl in eight weeks.”

“You’re funny—and that’s sad, I’m sorry.”

“Sad because my girl dumped me or sad because it’s been so long since I’ve seen a female?”

“Both, actually.”

“You’re funny too. By the way—I’m Alex Garrity.”

“Anne Foster. Nice to meet you.”

“Where did you do Basic?”

“Fort Jackson. How about you?”

“Fort Knox.”

A long pause followed this as we stared at each other as if we’d just seen the opposite sex for the first time in our lives and we liked what we saw. I could tell from her wantonly lusty expression and my massive erection that there was a definite attraction between us.

Finally, after in my mind I ravaged this beautiful girl in every depraved, perverted, and kinky way imaginable, I spoke. “Tell you what, Anne. This place is pretty depressing. How about I try my best not to tempt you and we go get a beer somewhere, as friends of course. I am totally dying for a beer.”

“Sounds like a plan, Alex.”

We had many beers that night but did not act on our attraction. Although I was immediately in love with her, and she would have easily fallen prey to my wiles had I seduced her, I respected her fidelity. Every time I thought about tearing off her clothes that night, I imagined myself as her boyfriend back home, and I realized I wouldn’t want some asshole making me into a cuckold like this, so I stifled any attempt to sleep with her.

From that moment forward she became my best friend at medic school. Due to a fortuitous twist of fate, we sat next to each other in class because our seating was arranged in alphabetical order. We literally spent all our time together both in and outside class. Next to a few innocent pecks on the cheek and some friendly handholding as we explored downtown San Antonio, we enjoyed a very chaste and platonic friendship. She even told her boyfriend back home, Devin, about our friendship, and he seemed to approve. I could see why too, because she was a very trustworthy person in every way. Devin was a lucky sonofagun.

I slept with a few girls while I was there, but none made much of an impact on me other than as outlets for my sexual longing for Anne. Most people in our class refused to believe that Anne and I were just “friends,” and the ones who knew better would often tell us, “Why don’t you two just fuck and get it over with?” Obviously that was my wish too, but I was too afraid to ruin our friendship by making sexual advances. Mostly I just jerked off at night thinking of her, or screwed other girls but only thought of her during the act, then spent the rest of the time wishing she’d come to her senses and love me back.

I was in the Regular Army while Anne was in the Reserves. After medic school she was heading home to finish her last two years of college at the University of Maine. She and Devin were engaged and were getting married that summer. My future was less certain—God knows where the Army would send me after graduation.

As graduation from medic school approached, we found that we became more dependant on each other. We realized that after school was over we would never see each other again. I began dreading that day when we’d part.

I was insanely in love with her. Since she appeared to love Devin so much, I kept my feelings deeps inside myself and just enjoyed the fact I could spend any time with her. Being with her and not being able to kiss her and hold her was torture, yet I would gladly take whatever part of her she would give me, and this platonic relationship of ours brought me more joy than the many relationships I’d had in my life that I consummated.

The night we graduated our class had a party at the enlisted club on the base. During the course of the drunken celebration, the DJ played a set of slow songs. I grabbed Anne’s hand and dragged her onto the dance floor. We were both mildly drunk and caught up in the moment. We held each other close and slowly danced. She had never looked more beautiful and yet so sad.

“I’m going to miss you more than I can even begin to describe,” I told her.

She held me tight and started crying, burying her face on my shoulder. After a while she lifted her head, her eyes filled with tears, and made a declaration: “Alex, I love you. But I love Devin too. I don’t know what to do.”

Upon hearing this news I kissed her. What I could have done the first night I met her I now did with great gusto. We practically sprinted back to my barracks room and had the wildest, most athletic and passionate and romantic sex I have ever had in my life. We declared our love for each other over and over again. After many hours of this, we passed out in each other’s arms.

When we woke a few hours later, we held each other in silence and stared at each other. I silently prayed Anne would make the right choice—me—so we could spend the rest of our lives together. I knew she loved Devin and that her whole life—family, friends, school—was back in Maine. To ask her to give all that up and run off with me was too much to ask, even though I loved her deeply, madly, and truly beyond belief. It was her choice to make. I had decided the first night we met that I wanted to marry her. I didn’t beg her to choose me, nor did I even ask. I just held her that night and hoped she would choose me.

She chose Devin and her life back at Maine.

In the morning we parted ways and never kept in contact—not one letter or call, ever. I thought about her every day for the first ten years, and after that I still thought of her often, but only if something triggered the memories, like a song from that era, or a whiff of the kinds of perfume she wore, or whatever else reminded me of her. That fucking song, “Always Something There to Remind Me,” came out that summer after she and I parted ways, and I still cannot hear it without breaking down and bawling like a little girl.

My life has gone well except in this one aspect. After the Army I went back to college and got an engineering degree. I have carved out a fairly successful career as an engineer, which has provided the means for me to live a very comfortable and self-indulgent lifestyle. I have dated many beautiful women and have lived with a few, but I’ve never been close to getting married. Now that I am forty, alone, and feeling rather needy these days, I wouldn’t mind getting married if the right woman came along.

“Alex—Dad? Are you there?” the girl on the phone—my daughter with Anne—asked.

“Does Devin know?” I asked.

“No. Mom and Dad—Devin—divorced nine years ago and they don’t really like each other much these days, but she never told him even when she caught him cheating on her and left him. Honestly, I don’t like him much for what he did to Mom, and knowing now he’s not my Dad has been more of a relief than a shock.”

“When did she tell you.”

“Can you believe last night? We were arguing about abortion, and when I kept screaming at her how it’s the woman’s right to choose, she broke down and confessed her secret to prove it really is woman’s right to choose, but not the way I thought of it.

She told me about you and how much she loved you, and how she married Dad—Devin—because she was pregnant and scared, and despite the fact I was yours and not his. She would have searched the world over to find you and be with you, but she didn’t leave Maine because she was terrified that you wouldn’t want her. After that we cried for hours—and I’ve been up all night preparing myself to talk to you.”

“How’d you get my number?”

“Mom had your mother’s number all these years. I called her just now and she gave me yours.”

I was stunned. It was as if my entire life had been wasted. All I had to do that one fateful night was ask Anne to stay with me and she would have. I chose to let her choose without trying to influence her decision, and because I didn’t try hard enough to convince her to stay with me, we ruined the next twenty years of our lives.

“I—I—I…I don’t even know your name.”

“Alexandra, but everyone calls me Alex.”

Right vs Left Protests

No danger here, move along, these are “real” Americans peacefully exercising their rights. God bless! Cue Lee Greenwood song. Lock and load, patriots!

Open Carry March on March 12, 2014

Good, clean white psychopaths toting dangerous assault rifles during their protest rally. No threat at all!

 

Criminals! Traitors! Riot! Call in the National Guard! OMG! That Oriental kid knows Kung-Fu! Be afraid!

Dirty, smelly, fanatical, unarmed America-hating Liberals: RIOT! Run for the hills!

See? Get it? The distinction is so clear! Someone alert Sean Hannity that a revolution is afoot here. These dirty Liberal hippies are a bunch of traitors.

Heroes of the Alt Right

Rush Hudson Limbaugh III, aka Fat Fuck Numero Uno

rush_limbaugh7

  • Invented the bloviating, right-wing gasbag asshole media and helped popularize “white male hate” as a political movement.
  • Extreme militarist who was unfit for military service during the Vietnam War due to a pilonidal cyst, otherwise known as an ingrown hair follicle on his fat fucking ass. How perfectly appropriate, eh?
  • Mocked teenaged Chelsea Clinton in 1992 as “The White House dog.” Har, har, har, fatso. Called Amy Carter “…the most unattractive presidential daughter in the history of the country.”
  • On women and feminism: “I have long told you, for example, Undeniable Truth of Life No. 24, written back in 1987: Feminism was established so as to allow unattractive women easier access to the mainstream of society.” This from a morbidly obese, ugly sagging cock sack of a man.
  • Degenerate drug addict who for years cheered on the War on Drugs as long as only blacks and hispanics were being convicted.
  • Married four times. Charming. Wink-wink, and all four married him for his handsome looks, amazing charm, fabulously sexy body, and huge, throbbing, insatiably hard cock. Right?
  • Taunted Michael J. Fox for “faking” his Parkinson’s disease symptoms. Thus spake Fatty: “He is exaggerating the effects of the disease. He’s moving all around and shaking and it’s purely an act…This is really shameless of Michael J. Fox. Either he didn’t take his medication or he’s acting.” Jeez what an asshole. Seriously.
  • Praised Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s assassin. Thus spake Fatty: “You know who deserves a posthumous Medal of Honor? James Earl Ray . We miss you, James. Godspeed.”

Rush Limbaugh: Chickenhawk, junkie, racist, homophobe, sexist, and, frankly a despicable creep who would stoop so low as to taunt and demean the children of two US Presidents. The Hermann Böring of right-wing fascists.

 

Andrew James Breitbart, aka Still Very Dead Asshole

  • Never served in the military (duh). Sure, serving in military uniform is not a prerequisite for being a patriot or nationalist, but, holy shit, some of you cunts like Dandy Andy could have gotten off your fat asses and enlisted instead of rabidly cheering for the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan from your gaming recliners. Then some of you conveniently retracted your furiously fist-bumping cheerleading when it was obvious both wars yielded zero contribution to US national security. Meanwhile over 4,000 KIA and 37,000 WIA of your American peers who did fight these wars suffer the immense indignity of the Tea Part fanatics Andy and his cunt followers helped get elected to Congress deny helping Veterans and their families because, you know, the Koch Brothers—two more festering cunts who never served in uniform but loooooove America!—think taxation is theft and pay out the wazoo funding think tanks and compost heaps like breitbart.com to do their sleazy groundwork.
  • Founding Father of this so-called “Alt Right” movement, essentially a gaggle of hyperventilating, ultra-fanatical, batshit crazy right-wing assholes famous for their penchant for shamelessly vicious and utterly specious character assassination and slander, ragingly knuckle-dragging sexism, racism, and homophobia, extreme faux-masculine narcissism (laughably so), a bunch of douchebags who would love to have joined the Nazi SS except they’re far too effete and cunty despite all the steroids, HCG, Viagra, and endless hours at MMA training dojos and gun ranges. None, like King Cuntface above, ever served—or will serve— in the military though they all masturbate wildly to war images, old episodes of 24, and Jack Reacher flicks, moreover they feel no hypocrisy while impugning the patriotism of others.
  • He’s dead, so dancing on his grave is kind of icky, but he was such a vile fucking asshole I don’t mind pissing on his grave instead. Maybe even taking a huge steamy dump too.

Andrew Breitbart: Dead right-wing asshole. Enough said about that twat.

 

Stephen K. Bannon aka Kingpin Fat Bastard of the Alt Right

steveo-bannon

  • Wife beater. “In 1996 he was charged by the Santa Monica, CA District Attorney’s office for misdemeanor domestic violence, battery, and dissuading a witness after a violent confrontation with his then third wife who divorced him soon afterwards. On Aug. 12, 1996, the case was transferred to a different court, and was called for trial. According to the court records, however, the ‘victim/witness’ was ‘unable to be located.’ As a result, the judge ordered the case dismissed.”
  • Anti-Semite and white supremacist. “Under Bannon’s Leadership, Breitbart News Openly Embraced The White Supremacist Alt-Right. Andrew Breitbart despised racism. Truly despised it. He used to brag regularly about helping to integrate his fraternity at Tulane University. He insisted that racial stories be treated with special care to avoid even the whiff of racism. With Bannon embracing Trump, all that changed. Now Breitbart News has become the alt-right go-to website, with Milo Yiannopoulos pushing white ethno-nationalism as a legitimate response to political correctness, and the comment section turning into a cesspool for white supremacist meme makers.” “In his roles as editor of the Breitbart website and as a strategist in the Trump campaign, Mr. Bannon was responsible for the advancement of ideologies antithetical to our nation, including anti-Semitism, misogyny, racism and Islamophobia,” said Rabbi Jonah Dov Pesner, the director of the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism. “There should be no place for such views in the White House.”
  • Homophobe. “A 2011 radio interview surfaced in which Mr. Bannon praised Ann Coulter, Michele Bachmann and Sarah Palin by saying they were not “a bunch of dykes that came from the Seven Sisters schools up in New England.”

Stephen K. Bannon: Fat, bloated, wife-beating, racist, homophobic, fascist pig. Ass clown. Creep. Cunt. Upside: at least fatty served in the military as a naval officer, which is lipstick on an otherwise turd.

 

Milo Yiannopoulos, Raging Queen of the Alt Right Jungle

milo

  • Couldn’t win a fist fight with Betty White, but he’d Twitter-bomb your ass, mutherfuckaaaaahhh—if he weren’t banned from it. Internet macho is sooooo scary, flame on, bitchezzzz. I lie awake at night terrified I’m the subject of a meanie Reddit character assasination thread. I just peed myself imagining it. Then again, Reddit and 4chan are for dull, intellectually lazy douchebags who argue relentlessly about “important” issues like how fedoras make dudes who wear them look gay/douchie/creepy/sad (pick your pejorative), ergo I don’t surf either.
  • He’s militantly gay! Oh, SNAP! Good for him, and bravo! Begs the question: a vast number of the Rust Belt folks who voted for Milo’s sugar daddy, Donald Trump, are insanely fanatical Evangelical Christian wack-jobs who think God really fah-showah hates fags and they’d love all “pervert homos” to perish in a holy, cleansing bonfire accelerated by all those faggy metrosexual grooming chemicals they imagine gays stockpile. They’d pray for your soul, Milo, as they draw and quarter you (KINKY!!!!) then fling you into their holy bonfire. Nice political allies you have. Sure, some far-left, fanatical, crusty dumpster-diving Berniebots smell awful and might steal my weed stash, but they’re essentially harmless. The left’s radical far left is considerably less scary than those gun-toting crackers itching to experience their own encounter with their personal Trayvon.
  • But, hey, let’s not split hairs, Milo, honey. Liberal straights like me live in or around urban gayborhoods and stood by our gay and lesbian friends fighting for their rights against the batshit crazy homophobic right wing religious freakazoids that wish gays and lezzies and trannies dead, let alone agreeing to their inalienable rights as citizens of the fascist theocratic state Preacher Fred D. Barffo promises them. You and I might disagree about the size and function of government, or tax policies, or whatever other political horseshit about which we would never find common ground, but, really, seriously, I don’t hate you because you suck cock or wish you dead because of it, moreover, though I think you’re a despicable and creepy, right-wing ass clown, if we were strolling together and a crowd of pro-Trump rednecks tried to lynch you for being a “gawd dayum quee-yer,” I’d fuck them up Jack Reacher style even though you’re a shitheel. Really. I come from the 2×4-weilding, pro-labor, muscular wing of liberalism, bro. I’m Eugene V. Debs with serious close-quarter combat skills and extensive military training with small arms.
  • Nothing you say is going to piss me off, cutie, because over-the-top provocateurs like you are fucking lame attention whores. Oh, you’re sooooo controversial! Provoke me, baby, you naughty little potty-mouthed instigator! The more uncivil and boorish you become, the more I’d just want to give you a big old sloppy kiss, you Bond villain of the intertubes’ right-wing mean girls, Ernst Stavro Blowjob.
  • Isn’t even a US citizen? Go back to Bulgaria, girlfriend. Oh, you’re a Brit? Same thing after Brexit takes shape.

Milo Yiannopoulos: The Kim Kardashian of the Alt Right, vapid, boorish, vainglorious, sure, but monumentally inconsequential to substantive public discourse. Go rile up the more ridiculously hyperventilating Bernie supporters who are as equally silly as you. Leave real discussion to the adults, you adorable little rabble rouser. I just want to pinch your perfect ass cheeks with every super-meanie pejorative and logical fallacy you’d fling at me.

Rudy: The Slobbering Slithering Sophist of Sleaze

DESCRIPTION HERE

Rudy, Rudy, Rudy, unctuous opportunist, sleazy slobbering slithering shameless sophist (imagine the spittle Rudy would spew with that alliteration), vile human being extraordinaire, cunt, creep, villain.

How do we explain to our grandchildren about how America’s flawed Presidential electoral system vaulted Donald Trump to the Presidency? How could a barely literate, moral degenerate of a man win so many votes, he who not once proposed a shard of substantive public policy agenda in 15 months of relentless campaigning, I mean none at all other than to castigate Mexicans and other minorities, belittle and demonize Hillary, treat women like blow-up sex dolls, and vaguely wax philosophical about “Making America Great Again” minus any of the hundreds, no, thousands, of details on how this would actually take place?

Then there were Donald’s “surrogates,” chief among them this putrid pile of rotted flesh named Rudy Giuliani, whose every utterance begins, as Joe Biden quipped so brilliantly, “with a noun, verb, and 9/11.” Rudy’s every utterance is also copiously complemented by his lisping, drooling, hissing verbal delivery, making one wonder where all that spittle he spews smacks those in close proximity. He is, to me, one of the most repugnant public figures in the USA, a puss-filled, festering sore on the ass of America that simply will not heal or go away. His penchant for lying and skull-fucking facts is the stuff of legend, and even Rudy himself cannot contain his mirth over some of the shamelessly, luridly, monumentally specious horseshit he babbles. And just when you thought this vile creep has sunk to the most abjectly low depths of depravity imaginable, he stuns your imagination by sinking lower than is abstractly possible to fathom. He’s just fucking horrible.

The problem with left-leaning Liberals and Progressives, if it is really a problem, is that many are just not ruthless people who are willing to compromise their intellectual values and personal ethics to viciously, speciously, and relentlessly berate and demonize the other side with the kind of bawdy hyperbole and shamelessly over-the-top rhetoric like Rudy can do with such reckless hubris. Wanton slander and sneering character assassination are to Rudy valid debate tactics. What really makes him so vile is the almost winking, smirking, knowing expressions he uses to let you know he’s just “playing the game of thrones,” that it’s all political theater and he relishes the role as Iago the Villainous Cunt for the fanatical Alt-Right, woman-abusing, racist, homophobic fascists.

Rudy is the master of the slanderous false meme. Lying so shamelessly evokes not a moment of guilt in his conscience. To gain a cheap political point this bastard would declare his mother a cocksucking street whore. In the next breath he’d declare her a saintly cocksucker nonetheless.

Yet because Donald won with the rigged Electoral College despite losing the popular vote, Rudy will probably be offered a sweet gig in Donnie’s Cabinet, maybe Attorney General.

How utterly depressing, America, and how low we’ve sunk, that this creep will have so much power over us.

Bullshit Meme Du Jour

Steve Schmidt, tubby, lispy jackass, former campaign manager for John McCain’s losing Presidential bid in 2008, on why the lumpen idiot white males in the Rust Belt voted for Trump:

Steve Schmidt, political “expert.” This look of clueless gravitas is so common among the morons of the media chattering class. Expert my ass. His guy McCain got his ass handed to him by a black man in 2008.

SCHMIDT: It’s over. It’s something new. And I don’t know quite what that looks like over time. But don’t underestimate the cultural condescension heaped on millions of these working class Americans by elites in this country. Their God is mocked. Their service to the country is mocked. The fact that their patriotism, they get teary eyed when they see the flag. Their values are scorned and you saw this massive resentment manifest itself in this campaign and it’s a huge part of it.

Here’s the problem with your babbling theory, you pompous douchebag: Liberals have since the crash of 2008 been desperately trying to pass legislation to provide job training, cheaper education, and other means to uplift the undereducated and underemployed lumpen masses in the Rust Belt. Plus pass programs to promote job growth in these depressed areas. The Tea Party nihilist fanatics in Congress denied and obstructed every attempt to uplift these people, of course mainly to keep the tax bill of the Koch brothers lower. How convenient that you and so many other babbling twits in the media failed to report this to these millions of sad, underperforming working folk in the Rust Belt just exactly who fucked them. But, please, carry on, fatty, with this specious pile of horseshit. Mention snobby Liberal elites. Throw in Benghazi. Dirty Mexicans. Hillary’s email. But for fuck’s sake don’t blame the obstructionist Republicans who really fucked the Rust Belt underclass who swarmed to vote for their false hero, Generalissimo Trump.

With political “experts” like this, it’s no wonder our public discourse is so monumentally fucked up. This slobbering rat turd is unqualified to offer expertise on how to wipe an ass.