Jon Stewart recently featured this amazing site on The Daily Show, and I can’t help but to pass it along. I swear it is not a joke. My favorite part is the “Setting the Record Straight” section – make sure to check out the wealth of information it has to offer. Also, if anyone has an in with this fine group of people or any other ideas on how to become a member, I’m all ears. Jake Rister and I could really use a pair of tickets to one of their events.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
New Favorite Website
My Prescription for America
Moriah
Like so many barbarian hordes sweeping across the plains of central Asia, the healthcare debate has swept the nation with a surprisingly vicious force. As usual, we at Ruthless Ranting have many things to say on the subject, but I’m sure you’ve heard enough from every media outlet, not to mention every random-ass kraut-lite that has decided to weigh in with their oh-so-highly informed opinions. (If you’re interested in a real and informed take on healthcare, our friend over at Class Warfare does a great job of shedding light on the issues at stake – and for once I’m not being sarcastic). But there is one thing that I would like to address.
I may not be a doctor, but I do have a prescription for America: a healthy dose of RUTHLESS FISH BEATING is needed to counter the recent epidemic of CRAZY that has been circulating like wildfire around the country. The phrase “pull the plug on Grandma” in itself is so ridiculous that I can’t even mock it further… I literally have nothing to say to the people that believe this absurdity. Where did they get the idea that it is appropriate to take themselves so seriously and lose all control of their emotions at town hall meetings while sobbing that they want “their” America back? My cat Puscifer is a 3-month-old feline and he seems to have about a million times more control than the average American. Which is why they all need to be beaten with a fish.
Even Obama can’t believe that he regularly has to address this shit as if it’s a real issue. It’s like if a professor was hired to teach a college-level human biology class, only to discovery that half his students still think that babies are brought by storks. I mean, have you seen the man’s facial expression in his recent speeches? It’s like he really wants to make fun of the assertions that his health care plan involves a “death panel,” but since he can’t do that, he teeters between a desire to hug us and punch us in the face.
But what he should really do is beat the entire country with giant pickled fish. Maybe then, when we have pearly beads of fish juice running down our cheeks, we will cease to believe the nonsense being spouted by kraut royalty such as Bill O’Reilly and Glenn Beck. Speaking of which, I have some presents for Bill O’Reilly to reward him for spreading his holy gospel. One of them is black and furry, and the other one smells like fish.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
A Severe Case of Not-So-Straight Love
A faithful reader needed our help, and we were only too happy to comply. Send us your questions, we have many nuggets of wisdom to give.
Dear Ruthless Ranters,
I am having an issue with straight love. I’ve just moved to Arlington, VA; business casual attire capital of the world, ground zero for the Happy Hour, and homeland of the kraut preferred, mother approved, binary gender expression. This is the straight capital of Virginia and maybe the entire eastern seaboard (well, excluding Golds Gym’s Sauna around 10 on Wednesdays). Amid the sea of light blue J. Crew oxford shirts and khaki shorts I am finding myself increasingly attracted to the guy who stands out, Mr. Duke Lacrosse.
I see him in Georgetown. I see him at Whitlows and at the Clarendon Ballroom. I see him everywhere I go in his mesh jersey with the cut off sleeves. I hear him pontificate on how the captain of his team only acted with the best of intentions when inviting that stripper over for some fun with his teammates. Now I know without a doubt that he was falsely accused. So, in light of these developments I ask you, oh experienced one who’s stripped down, strapped on, and conquered more sweet laxers than she can count, how do I take this one down – is my straight love for him getting in the way of getting his legs in the air?
Please Help!
- Blue Shirt and Khaki Shorts
Dear Blue Shirt,
Your situation does indeed appear daunting: you are living amongst the filthiest of kraut, who, despite their prestigious liberal arts college degrees, probably still believe at the core of their soulless shells that sex and gender are the same thing. The “heteroflexible” craze that has recently swept across certain parts of the northeast has clearly penetrated no further into the Arlington scene than the occasional str8 gurl humming Katy Perry. Your love interest, our dear friend Mr. Duke Lacrosse, appears to be the height of hetero, and some might say to forget it. But I, my dear friend, know what it’s like to lust after such a man: how he smells (Polo by Ralph Loren), what he wears (same), and above all that beaming, rosy face (there’s something so sexy in the way his cheeks closely resemble a baby’s ass). My dear khaki-clad friend, you will be overjoyed to hear that I don’t have to make the acquaintance of this fine gentleman to know that he wants you too.
How do I know this? First of all, I think everyone is missing the point of the whole stripper mess: it’s clearly a cover. Better that these sweet laxers be a part of that time-honored tradition – the sex scandal – than let everyone know the only too obvious truth: they love the cock. Watch closely as the object of your lust takes a moment to greet his bros (a lot of ass-grabbing is involved). But this bro-love will never be consummated, because despite his strength, swagger, and that weird thing he does with his shoulders, this laxer has a secret desire: he just wants to be dominated. Coming from a fine tradition of rich white men, he has been taught his whole life to act as if he has personally just conquered the new world, but trust me, in his heart he wants nothing more than to be thrown up against a wall, tied to the bed, and ravaged by you. So invest in a whip or some handcuffs, and make some particularly intense homo eye contact the next time you see him at Starbucks. It won’t be long before you’re using his lacrosse stick to play a game on your Astroturf.
Go Duke!
- A fellow lax-lover
Dear Ruthless Ranters,
I am having an issue with straight love. I’ve just moved to Arlington, VA; business casual attire capital of the world, ground zero for the Happy Hour, and homeland of the kraut preferred, mother approved, binary gender expression. This is the straight capital of Virginia and maybe the entire eastern seaboard (well, excluding Golds Gym’s Sauna around 10 on Wednesdays). Amid the sea of light blue J. Crew oxford shirts and khaki shorts I am finding myself increasingly attracted to the guy who stands out, Mr. Duke Lacrosse.
I see him in Georgetown. I see him at Whitlows and at the Clarendon Ballroom. I see him everywhere I go in his mesh jersey with the cut off sleeves. I hear him pontificate on how the captain of his team only acted with the best of intentions when inviting that stripper over for some fun with his teammates. Now I know without a doubt that he was falsely accused. So, in light of these developments I ask you, oh experienced one who’s stripped down, strapped on, and conquered more sweet laxers than she can count, how do I take this one down – is my straight love for him getting in the way of getting his legs in the air?
Please Help!
- Blue Shirt and Khaki Shorts
Dear Blue Shirt,
Your situation does indeed appear daunting: you are living amongst the filthiest of kraut, who, despite their prestigious liberal arts college degrees, probably still believe at the core of their soulless shells that sex and gender are the same thing. The “heteroflexible” craze that has recently swept across certain parts of the northeast has clearly penetrated no further into the Arlington scene than the occasional str8 gurl humming Katy Perry. Your love interest, our dear friend Mr. Duke Lacrosse, appears to be the height of hetero, and some might say to forget it. But I, my dear friend, know what it’s like to lust after such a man: how he smells (Polo by Ralph Loren), what he wears (same), and above all that beaming, rosy face (there’s something so sexy in the way his cheeks closely resemble a baby’s ass). My dear khaki-clad friend, you will be overjoyed to hear that I don’t have to make the acquaintance of this fine gentleman to know that he wants you too.
How do I know this? First of all, I think everyone is missing the point of the whole stripper mess: it’s clearly a cover. Better that these sweet laxers be a part of that time-honored tradition – the sex scandal – than let everyone know the only too obvious truth: they love the cock. Watch closely as the object of your lust takes a moment to greet his bros (a lot of ass-grabbing is involved). But this bro-love will never be consummated, because despite his strength, swagger, and that weird thing he does with his shoulders, this laxer has a secret desire: he just wants to be dominated. Coming from a fine tradition of rich white men, he has been taught his whole life to act as if he has personally just conquered the new world, but trust me, in his heart he wants nothing more than to be thrown up against a wall, tied to the bed, and ravaged by you. So invest in a whip or some handcuffs, and make some particularly intense homo eye contact the next time you see him at Starbucks. It won’t be long before you’re using his lacrosse stick to play a game on your Astroturf.
Go Duke!
- A fellow lax-lover
Saturday, August 8, 2009
John DeVore Quote of the Moment
"Unfortunately, I know what it’s like to smoke the crack pipe of infidelity. It’s all secret meetings, whispered promises, stolen moments, and forbidden sex in the backseats of cars, in stairwells with hands covering mouths, fumbling with belt buckles, lifting skirts."
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