Nancy Grace

I feel like there is no good way to start this post. I used my good spiel about refining my hatred over the years at the beginning of the post about Dane Cook, someone who is far less worthy of such a monologue than the subject of my hatred for today.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you someone who is not only the problem with America, but is possibly one of those helming the entire Shitship as it bulldozes through the 24-hour News Cycle and into every aspect of our lives.

Ladies and gentlemen… Nancy Grace.

Please, hold your applause, or more realistically… fecal projectiles.

Yes, reader, the vile subject of arrow is the one and only Queen Bitch of News Media. The one who openly mocks those on her show and makes them feel like the putrid sludge that she inaccurately claims not to be. The one dismisses others as bad parents but admits to cracking open a couple of beers while watching her infant children.

The one who was so repulsive to an interviewee that the girl actually took her own life afterward.

That’s the one and only Nancy Grace.

My hatred for this sorry excuse for a sack of meat is thick and moldy enough to dip my favorite hot wings into, but instead of containing the creamy, soothing quality of that delicious dip, she burns my ass more than the wings ever could.

She is the saddest sort of media talking head, so sorry that I can’t even use the word “journalist” in a sarcastic way. I wouldn’t dare let the word and her name escape my lips, pen or keyboard in the same sentence.

I have a problem with any person delivering the “news” by making swift judgments of others and interjecting their “valued opinion” into ever sentence, especially one that is of such a finely honed “Christian” variety.

I recall an incident on her show. I don’t remember who was on the show or what they were talking about, but I remember the interviewee fumbled on a few words. It honestly sounded like he was a bit of a stutterer.

Nancy degraded him for his dumb tongue in every way short of yelling “t-t-t-t-TODAY, Junior!”

This is not a woman who should be at the helm of any TV show. Period.

However, she has been knocked down a peg or two.

I recall her infamous “wardrobe malfunction” on the set of whichever show about dancing it was. And the incident on her own show in which one of the switchboard girls, Elizabeth, went rogue and put videos of animals having sex on the screen in the place of Nancy’s face.

A far more appealing sight, honestly. Brings less bile to my gullet.

So, what have we accomplished? Not much. I hate Nancy Grace. End of story.

And honestly, how can’t I hate a woman who caused a preacher to audibly curse in front of me?

True story.

ghjr

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This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Lisa Hostuttler for along my member of veiny hatred to again afront your virginal minds.

More and more, she is tricking me into posts I wouldn’t normally want, but they honestly just give me a venue to spout some steam.

It helps, especially since they cancelled The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Truly ghjr

Richard Nixon

Richard Nixon is by far my favorite President of the United States of America.

Not because of all of the lies and cover-up, or all the scandals.

And not because of all the things about not being a crook.

I love Richard M. Nixon because of Futurama.

Now, it’s no real secret that I am a huge fan of Futurama. I have been for the better part of a decade now, ever since I first saw an episode of the show. I didn’t really understand what it was that drew me to it at first. I didn’t know the story line, the characters or the vast amount of quotes and trivia that I know now.

But the humor drew me in.

And the more I watched, the more I simply loved it.

Zoidberg was always one of my favorites. His simple hopelessness makes him one of the best sad-sacks the 31st century has ever seen.

But one of the sleepers on the show is Richard Nixon.

Of course, until he finds a shiny new robot body, he is simply a head in a jar.

But, what celebrity isn’t, aside from the crew of the Starship Enterprise in the episode about the Star Trek Wars (definitely not to be confused with the Star Wars Trek, mind you)?

So, Nixon’s fat head resides in a jar, usually carried around the headless body of Spiro Agnew. He has the same attitude and the same mannerisms.

The voice is a bit different, as I am sure you know.

Honestly, it’s so over the top that I can’t help but think of it every time someone talks about Nixon.

With that deep, gruff voice, the constant shaking and the unmistakable “ha-ROO!” he utters in every episode, what’s not to love?

Seriously. Someone make me a list of what is not to love about it.

And his singing voice? Impeccable.

Unfortunately, we only get to hear it once, when Nixon takes advantage of the new arms on his shiny new robot body that he picked up at the pawn shop by playing an old Gibson hollow body that he picked up in presumably the same pawn shop.

He whips out his rendition of Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit.”

Now, it’s only the last line, but he does end it with some signature Nixon flair.

After belting the last line, Nixon strums the guitar once more and heartily declares: “I’m meeting you halfway, you stupid hippies!”

And therein lies the signature humor that dragged me into Futurama and turned my feelings around about Nixon.

Of course, in the real world, Nixon was a rather unpleasant man, one I am privileged to not have known, but like everything else, he inspired something that was much better than himself.

But you know, when you take the head of one of the most notorious presidents ever and inject it into the year 3000, how can gold not come of it?

ghjr

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This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Sam Jones for that string of ridiculous political posts that I had to turn on their ear.

Also, if you realized this one is late, that’s my fault.

Apparently, I scheduled it for the year 2013, not 2012.

So sue me.

Truly ghjr

George Bush

This world has seen its fair share of George Bushs. More than enough, if you ask me.

I can’t go on record to say that they are both national embarrassments or that they were dangerous individuals that turned into the country’s worst presidents.

I don’t know enough about all the presidents to be able to make that claim.

But, at various points in their time in the Oval Office’s grand spotlight, both George and G.W. have shown their bumbling idiot sides.

Imagine, if you will, that our President has taken a trip to Japan. It’s mid-January, 1992.

Perhaps the President has a 24-hour bug. Perhaps he got a hold of some bad sushi and unsettled his already weak stomach in his doubles tennis match earlier that day.

Perhaps he just hated Japan.

Who knows.

Either way, imagine the shining eye of the television stations capturing a live feed of George H.W. Bush as he begins spewing the food of the Japanese back onto its creators.

Imagine Barb holding napkins over his face in an effort to contain that royal vomit.

We all know that that never works, but dammit, Barbara was going to try.

The Bushes were surrounded by 135 Japanese diplomats. At an important state event.

Held at the home of the Japanese Prime Minister.

Now, we can all understand how embarrassing this is. After all, I’m sure we’ve all had an experience with public puking.

Either way, it’s quite an embarrassment, enough to keep the vomiter red in the face well after the burst blood vessels from the force of the trauma subside.

But, little G.W. was enough to keep Bush, Sr.’s face red for the remainder of his days.

Now, keep in mind that I’m not here to discuss his foreign policy, his need to drop our country (and others) into an endless, unnecessary war or even his post-9/11 stunt of continuing to read “Chompy the Goat” to a class full of naive, drool-dripping booger-eaters.

That’s right… I’m talking about the pretzel. The pretzel that almost ended a presidency.

Throughout all the stress and uncertainty of the events of 9/11, Bush aged indefinitely. The stress took much toll on him, leaving him vulnerable to the attacks of one of his closest friends: the crispy, salty pretzel.

Almost ten years to the day, a full, complete decade after food betrayed his father, the delicious snack would then betray G.W. as well.

Late one night, as Bushie chomped on his delightful treats, one went rogue, breaking off from the pack and travelling down the wrong pipe.

Bushie fell, hitting his head and losing consciousness for a few seconds. Sadly, he was quickly revived and allowed to continue with his presidency.

It’s a shame the pretzel failed to take him out. I’m sure the next few years would have run more smoothly with Cheney calling the shots.

Oh, wait…

ghjr

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This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Sam Jones for starting out this coming political trilogy.

I’m not so big on politics anymore, but I’m always big on making fun of famous people.

Some say that’s what I do best. Other say (insert perverse sexual innuendo here).

HEY-OH!

Truly ghjr