How drunk does one have to be?

Ahem. Before I get on with the bile-bucketing, I thought y’all might like a little mood music. Maestro, hit it, please:

Ah, that was soothing.

So how about that Rory Carroll? I know he must do an awful lot of drinking with the country club set in Venezuela, but that overpriced rotgut they served him had him pooping in his mouth a little. (Or a lot.) Fortunately, we’ve got Dissident Voice‘s Francisco Dominguez to pimp-slap him back to reality and call him a cab. (Or a fucking jackass.)

And then there’s that crazy ol’ Grandpa Munster. The man can sure project his pudgy old ass off, and no wonder: He went on a hunger strike to protest the alleged “authoritarian drift” of Chavecito–allegedly. But as Mario Silva and the Robertos pointed out, he’s the first hunger-striker in history ever to emerge from it with a weight gain, rather than a loss. Just as Chavecito is the first “authoritarian”, as Francisco D. so helpfully points out, to increase the democratic power of the Venezuelan citizenry.

Finally, as much as I love Eva Golinger, I just have to call shenanigans on this. Watch this clip of Michael Moore on Jimmy Kimmel’s show, and tell me if you think he was serious:

Item #1: “The guy that’s gonna take me out” is not a bodyguard; he’s Nicolás Maduro, the Venezuelan foreign minister. Moore is joking because Maduro almost always has that dead-serious vibe going on. (And considering that his job consists largely of kicking foreign butt over insults to Venezuela, it’s hardly surprising.)

Item #2: Venezuelans drink rum or aguardiente, rather than tequila. The po’ folks prefer beer. (And in the case of oligarchs, like the ones Rory Carroll stenos for, scotch by the case.)

Item #3: How drunk do you have to be to seriously believe that Michael Moore wrote Chavecito’s UN speech? Or that anything he’s saying above is anything but hilarious exaggeration? He’s clowning. It’s his job. Remember, his movies are funny. Chavecito is probably laughing his ass off over this too by now. (It appears on a well-known Venezuelan humor site.)

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go murder a bottle of something. (A damn good beer from near where my dad was born, if you must know. I’m German, and that’s what we drink.)