Category Archives: AmericaFTW

“I got yer fiscal responsibility…

…right here in my lapbanded gut.”  Governor Sammiches:  football seasons 2010 and 2011, somewhere in Fuck-All, New Jersey

Chris Christie has t3h munchies

Chris Christie has t3h munchies

Short and sweet:  how in the name of sweet holy fuck do you rack up $82,000 in expenses on fucking stadium food and beer when you have a gastric band in yo motherfucking belly?  Let’s just ask the resident blowhard in Joisey, Governor Chris Christie, to tell us.  But he won’t.  He can’t.  His mommy told him not to talk with food in his mouth.

Now, I’m sure there is a logical explanation for this astounding display of supply chain management discipline.  After all, we Sayers-of-the-Word-NO make damn sure there are limitations in place so the P-Card system couldn’t possibly be abused.  You know, used at places such as department stores and sports arenas.  Unless, of course, you’re the governor and you can throw any purchasing and contract grunt out on their ass with the snap of a greasy finger and toss of a chicken bone over one’s rotund shoulder and quadruple chin.

Awww.  I’m being hard on the man, am I?  Fuck him.  I’m going to call him a fat, miserable lout.  I’m going to take the low road and mock him whenever the opportunity presents itself and it’s not solely because he’s from the cesspool that is New Jersey, either.  I’m going to do it because he’s a double-talking, idiotic shitstain who yells at teachers and is, generally, a blight on humanity.

$82,000.  How many teachers, combined, make $82,000 Governor Sammiches?  Of the teachers you have verbally eviscerated while provolone cheese drips down your Jabba the Hutt chin, how many of those would have to work one year to make $82,000?  And, what would their personal financial outlay be to make sure their classrooms are appropriately equipped with all necessary supplies that you and your horned cohorts cut from budgets like you slice through butter to put on your margarine covered bread?

Governor Sammiches, you could come up with an iron clad alibi.  You could provide receipts showing that you took every single foster kid and/or orphan in your state to a game for Christmas for all I care.  There’s no excusing $82,000 on foodstuffs in two years.  I don’t spend $82,000 on stuffed animals, toys for my kid, my hair and my wardrobe in a decade and I can spend some money.  I’m so motherfucking talented at spending money, I made a career out of it.

Such a gross display of disregard for one’s office, one’s civic duty and the tax payers is so vile it doesn’t even merit a spot in the Go Fuck Yourself Weekly hall of shame.  Nope.  It merits a much nastier penalty:  living in New Jersey for the rest of your artery clogged, loud mouthed life.  And to be precise – Newark or Trenton.

Random Misanthrope’s…

….Go Fuck Yourself Weekly!!!

Since my return from my self-imposed exile, I have refrained from scribbling about politics because, at this point, it’s pretty much like shooting fish in a barrel.  It’s effortless skewering requiring little thought – these idiots write the material themselves.  All we need to do is read any old newspaper (note:  NOT BLOG.  A blog is not a legitimate news source, you right winged asshats.  Neither is a newsletter from your local “I have a throbbing hard-on for the 2nd Amendment” gun club.) and it’s all there in its glory.  Be it from Palin, LePage (a personal favorite of mine), Chris “Governor Sammiches” Christie or Rand Paul – it is an infinite font of stupid.  Thus, I have been reluctant to dispense of the stink-eye because *everyone* is doing that and Kang is not a joiner.  Kang is a trendsetter.  Remember that.  ಠ_ಠ

Until today.

Until I had some inspiration.  Or…several sources of inspiration.

Aside from my daily devouring of various LIEberal (tut tut tut) media websites, I also troll for memes and keep a reasonable cache of them for quick and easy reference.  I do this because, sadly, my humor is not far removed from that of a 12 year old boy or the average 4chan user. The more ridiculous the meme the better, too.  For instance – take any children’s show, slap adult language on top of it and I’ll keel over with laughter.  It has become the visual version of the “what do you call a guy with no arms and no legs?” jokes that, for whatever reason, bring forth a laughter induced asthma attack.  Not only am I a cheap date, I’m easily amused by dad jokes and shit.

Between the reading of the news and the trolling of the memes, I thought “Hmmm…it’s been years since we have done any sort of writing exercises.  The last time I had posted any asshole du jour spleen vents was back when Kang World was still Kang World – 2008, mebbe?  What if I tried a serial?  Do I have the attention span and stamina for that?”  Welp – let’s find out.  And let’s give it a catchy title, too.  How about:  “Random Misanthrope’s Go Fuck Yourself Weekly?”  A nice lilt.  No irritating alliteration.  Includes the word “fuck.”  Ok, possible.  I might get bored and change things if I find it’s not succinct enough.  Or, I might get bored and forget about it altogether (the more likely of the two possibilities).  But let’s just amuse the strange lady and let her have her moment, shall we?

The inaugural installment of Random Misanthrope’s Go Fuck Yourself Weekly is dedicated to the junior senator from my current state (how I miss living in a Commonwealth.  It sounds much more dignified.), Thom Tillis.

Thom Tillis.  Think about this for a second.  Thom.  Thom with an h.  This annoys me.  This annoys me almost as much as Toms who spell their names with the letter ö.  No, assholes, your names are not pronounced “Teum” so, for fuck’s sake, stop using a letter that has no place in American English.  Just stop it.  And to you, Senator Tillis…learn to spell.  You’re making us Southerners look bad.

Once upon a time, Pa Tillis and Ma Tillis birthed a baby in Jacksonville, FL, America (see…he’s not even from here.  Wait…most of us aren’t.  Never mind.).  Being born a white male in the United States, this lad was destined for great things and a life of marginal leisure.  After frittering about at two universities (1/2 the amount of colleges attended by Sarah Palin), he managed to obtain his sheepskin at the tender age of 36.  According to Wikipedia, the source of all things correct and valid, Senator Tillis’ life of public service began shortly after moving to suburban Charlotte and serving on the park board for his town (Leslie Knope or Leslie NOPE).  After serving as town commissioner for two years and getting a taste of that sweet, sweet nectar that is power, Tillis set his eyes on a higher branch of government, The State House of Representatives.

Really?  Who the fuck cares.  The guy is our junior senator because the evil Koch brothers bought an election and threw an otherwise competent and exceedingly moderate senator out on her ass (Sorry, Kay.  I tried.  I really tried.).

Yesterday (see how interested I am in the body politic these days), Thom-with-an-h makes some noise news.  This bastion of Conservative Values® thinks that people who work in the food service industry should be freed of the yoke of socialist oppression and have the freedom to decide whether or not to wash their own damn hands (soap optional) after throwing mud, as our Founding Fathers intended.  I guess that’s reducing the stranglehold of the nanny state?  But…he does feel that a sign should be posted (so, would that not be a form of…regulation????).  Ultimately, Senathor Thillis feels the Frhee Marketh will remedy the situation and the businesses that don’t make their employees engage in appropriate hygiene practices will go under.  That’s great, Thom.  What happens in the interim when one of the poorly paid line cooks comes back from his trip to the potty with a ½ wiped ass and unclean paws and gives everyone an extra serving of E. Coli with their barbecue?  Please refrain from saying the market will take care of that.  It won’t.  Now shut up and sit down before I make you sit in a corner or something.

So, for the man who thinks that public health is a non-issue, the man who thinks excrement the perfect flavor enhancer for any meal – all I have to say is “Congratulations for being the first in a line of an esteemed many!” or until I get bored with the concept of Random Misanthrope’s Go Fuck Yourself Weekly.

Hugs and kisses
/Kang

Go fuck yourself

Oh for fuck’s sake…

…do grow up.

Nothing grabs my attention more than the moans and groans of “Mah Christmas was ruuuuuined forevaaaaaah!!!!”and “ZOMG! Scarred for life!”  This is likely due to the fact that I have zero compassion for anyone or anything.  Really.  Years ago, my husband turned to me and said “I have finally figured it out.  You’re basically the real-life version of Frank Pembleton from Homicide.  No emotion or compassion what-so-ever.”  Now, we all know he’s wrong.  I do emote and feel the things.  It’s just that I only feel the things that are important or relevant to my own interests (ok…that’s called sarcasm, kids.  Narcissist, I am not).

Trying to get myself excited about working on bariatric analyses, I needed to surf the old internetz for inspiration (erm…riiiiiight) and I happened upon this bullshit on Gawker.  Apparently, some parents had a very unmerry Christmas because Santa brought their precious snowflakes a Play-Doh kit with a penis.  Working in healthcare for as many years as I have, I immediately assumed it was clinical and thought “Golly jeepers!  Educational play, at last!”  Nope.  The kit in question is Play-Doh’s Sweet Shoppe Cake Mountain Playset (so girls can prepare themselves for the workforce, I suppose).  Within this set is an icing extruder that happens to look phallic.  Maybe.  I mean, I’m pretty much the most frigid woman on the planet and I have neither seen nor touched a penis since I did my wifely duty of procreating five years ago (for the record, when I closed my eyes, I did not think of England) but after reading that it could, potentially, resemble a penis – I admit – I can see it.  I can also see that it looks like a really bizarre syringe.  We have tons of play syringes around the house for Milkface because he wants to be a veterinarian when he grows up (or maybe he wants to be a smack addict and lacks the temerity to fess up to that).

Christmas day comes ‘round and those blessed with the Make-Your-Own-Dry-Crumbly-Fondant-Nightmare-Cum-Poor-Excuse-For-A-Cake-Kit open their packages.  Much to their parents’ chagrin, the penis comes tumbling out.  Twitter goes bananas, as does every other form of social media.  The verbal spanking of Play-Doh begins.  The screams of “YOU RUINED MY CHRISTMAS!” echo throughout a good, Christian nation.  Appointments will be made with qualified mental health professionals to deal with the impending PTSD.  One family member will inevitably snatch up the icing extruder/penis and spirit it away to the bathroom to perform unspeakable acts which will be featured in DeadSpin’s “What Did We Get Stuck In Our Rectums Last Year” series.  Trauma will be inflicted upon otherwise clueless children who see things for what they are because that is what egocentric children do.  That is how the child brain works.  It is what it fucking is to kids.  You can hold up a pipe cleaner, tell them it’s a mind-reading device that detects fibs and they will believe it.  And, once again, a grown-up who is supposed to be setting the example of appropriate behavior shows the child how to behave like a fuckstick.

Behold the circle of idiocy.  Is it not a thing of beauty?

As Milky grows and his genius brain expands, I try to instigate some profound discussions with him in the hope that some of my wisdom and/or observations make an impact.  One thing I often tell him is that while grown-ups are the voices of authority and are to be the voices of reason, grown-ups are flawed and far from perfect.  Grown-ups make stupid mistakes from time to time.  It’s imperative to not only observe the mistake (and it is exceptionally impolite to point it out) but observe the follow-through; how the grown-up remedies the mistake.  There are times grown-ups won’t because they don’t understand they have done something incorrectly or, to be blunt, wrong.  There are times grown-ups won’t because grown-ups can be prideful which is foolish.  We don’t dance with fools.  Time is precious and precious time is not invested in fools.

The mind I previously considered a curse because it never shuts off, never stops thinking and never stops formulating ideas has become an actual blessing in this regard.  I’m able to quickly examine the situation, Milky’s behavior, my behavior and what the long term implications are going to be from my example.  It’s why I would never scream “Christmas is ruined!” in front of my kid.  If the phallic icing extruder came tumbling out of the box and landed in front of Milkface, I’d likely laugh and just carry on like it was nothing.  But, if I was genuinely offended, I certainly wouldn’t carry on in front of him and potentially ruin his experience (tainting the toy and potentially making Christmas awkward).

These stories pop up in the news and result in two outcomes:  a source for moral outrage for those who feel they are more righteous than others and a source for intellectual validation for those of us who feel we are smarter than others.  And yes, I ate the bait and am giving it play by writing about it and looking down on the ridiculous idiots who let their entire Christmas be ruined by something that really wasn’t worth being upset over.  So, shame on me.  And, shame on me, again, for being higher and mightier for laughing at people for being so thin-skinned and tight-assed.  Triple the shame for my judging their parenting.  Although, in this instance, I really think my brilliant approach is better.  If you don’t make a big deal out of something, your kid won’t either.  If you leave things be, you don’t run the risk of ruining a pleasant experience for others.  If you manage to keep your mouth shut, you may actually be giving the best gift of all:  selflessness.  You may also be teaching your children something, as well:  use of histrionics does not result in a positive outcome.

Yule Pride


‘Tis the Season of the holiday lights contest.
Of which house’s display is the biggest and best.
As expected as kids writing Santa a letter.
The more overdone and obnoxious the better.
With proportion gone comic, figures animatronic.
Clark Griswold’s display but gone mad, supersonic.
Like turkey deep fried and all things bacon covered,
What could be American than outdoing each other?

RIP Russell Means

Perhaps one of the greatest interviews I’ve ever witnessed. The eternal wisdom of this Native American is transcendent throughout the entire freedom-loving world. Let your voice be heard, and your love for Mother Earth and people be the focus of your life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3IUnFq3U0Y

http://www.russellmeans.com/

…raining on your morality parade

It’s a watershed moment in America.  A woman who was suspected of murdering her daughter, dumping her in a field and living the high life for 31 days before notifying authorities (excuse:  missing child) was rendered not guilty by a jury of her peers.  The peanut gallery gasps in horror at this miscarriage of justice for the slain toddler.  News, being news in the United States, can only focus on one story per day and this is it.

The jury is a collection of fools.  The prosecution was robbed.  The toddler’s memory was tarnished.  The peanuts take to the street, marching in lock-step tooting their horns and waving the “It’s unfair” flag while singing songs about the terrible, murdering mother.  All while overlooking some significant facts:

  • It is the responsibility of the prosecution to prove guilt.  Clearly, from the jury’s perspective, it did not.
  • Children are abused on a daily basis.

I understand the concept of cause célèbre.  We all have our pets we choose to support.  But let me ask the peanuts in the parade some critical questions:

  • Where is your outrage when it comes to other children being abused, beaten and slain?
  • Are you fully aware of the broad reach of child abuse?
  • Aside from Twattering and Fecesbooking, what are you doing about it?

Now…I’m certainly not denying the right to one’s opinion.  What I am trying to do is offer a different side to the tale.  It’s very easy to lash out at a monster who would harm his/her child when it’s the dominating story in the daily news.  It’s very easy to express outrage. That said, if you’re so horrified by child abuse, what are you doing in your community to stop it?

No one is omnipotent.  Dollars to donuts, abuse goes on behind closed doors and the general public is never even aware of it transpiring. That does not change the fact that it does happen.  A parent doesn’t have to murder a child to be a monster.  A parent doesn’t have to get caught to be guilty of this crime.

The sad fact of the matter is that a variation of Casey Anthony lives on every block in every neighborhood in every state/country. The sad fact of the matter is that most of us are blind to it.  Rather than taking the easy way out and joining groups supporting the non-purchase of any tell-all book, why not get involved in your communities and schools and help a child in need?  Surely that is a far better investment of time and energy, yes?

The Fourth

Many people wonder how and why,
We celebrate the Fourth of July.
What are we really celebrating?
It’s certainly worth investigating.
What’s being an American all about?
They say we kicked the British out.
But did we gain our independence,
Or did the British just abandon us?
Saying, take the bloody colony then!
And don’t ever ask for help again.
Whatever the reason, it’s our day,
Celebrated in the traditional way.
With big emotions, and big explosions.
And lots of alcohol-fueled commotion.
Obnoxious and big and brash and loud.
It’s what we are and we’re damn proud.
Don’t mess with us. Don’t even try.
Have a Happy Fucking Fourth of July.

Memorial Day Chicken Recipe

1.  Get some chicken.

2. Get a grill.

3. Take chicken pieces out and place in a bowl.  Pour olive oil all over the chicken and then add Old Bay Seasoning.  Put your hands in the bowl and mix chicken all around making sure that the olive oil and the seasoning cover all the surfaces.

4. Heat grill and then grill the chicken till it’s done.  Stick a thermometer in there so that you don’t get some kind of food poisoning.

5. Let’s recap:  Chicken, grill, olive oil, Old Bay Seasoning, bowl, heat, thermometer.  Done!