Wankers of the Week: Piano Man edition

A little mood music before we get on with the fappers, maestro?

Kudos to the ladies at A Creative Revolution, that was pitch-perfect.

My dear ol’ dad, who saw only the sanitized-for-TV version, thinks this sad little stunt will get Harpo a parliamentary majority. Or rather, he was told to think so by the “liberal” media. He forgets two things: (a) Canadians are sick of having an election a year just so the SupposiTories can go on branding themselves “The NEW Conservative government” (and try in vain to get out of the minority leagues); (b) Harpo is not really playing the piano OR singing here. His performance is CANNED. Let’s hope that he will be, too. We don’t need a bogus “guy we can have a beer with” as head of state–remember where that landed our dear friends and neighbors just to the south of us?

Ahem. On with the show. Here’s who else was caught with their pants down and their ugly bits out on stage this week:

1. Julio Cesar Fucking Vizuete. Guess what–not only is the Magic Laptop a farce (or should that be written “a FARCe”?), but Raúl Reyes’ diary is also a fake. This Ecuadorian “journalist” ghost-wrote it, apparently with a great deal of “incriminating” embroidery. The question is, for whom? (We already have a fair idea of why.) The other question is, will the Chicken Noodle Network now issue a correction for this piece of crap? (We already have a fair idea of how many crickets we will hear chirping on that one.)

2. Ileana Fucking Ros-Lehtinen. For putting the “twit” in Twitter with her moronic (and patently false) declarations that Honduras doesn’t want Mel back. Oh, but it does. It DOES.

3. Nicolas Fucking Eyzaguirre. Why does Argentina owe the IMF (dirty MF) anything? If I had been so brutally raped, I wouldn’t want anything more to do with the assailant, either. Much less let him rifle through my underwear drawer.

Oh boy, I feel a song coming on. Take it away, Bruce:

And on a related note,

4. and 5. Amado Fucking Boudou and Dominique Fucking Strauss-Khan. For not having learned a goddamn thing from George Santayana. But hey, at least neither of them will be around to take responsibility when Argentina’s economy implodes…AGAIN. (PS: Please hold the jokes about “Boudou economics”.)

6. Philip Fucking Crowley. Srsly, dude, stop obsessing about how much Chavecito travels on his nation’s business (hey, he’s bringing home the bacon for all of Venezuela!), and mind YOURS.

7. And that goes for Ian Fucking Kelly, too. If this silly fucker only knew how much debate was actually going on within Venezuela…but hey. It’s easy to criticize that from Washington and with zero accurate information, right, State Dept. hacks who read this blog?

8. Fucking Memorial High School of Houston, Texas. Because anyone who criticizes cartoons on T-shirts depicting the other schools’ cheerleaders being raped by horses is just an old humorless feminist prude, apparently. Look, kids, I don’t care if the shirts were “underground” or that high school football is everything in Texas (gawd, how awful for Texas if that’s true!)–that shit is still not funny. But you wanna know what is? YOUR HORSES DON’T HAVE ANY COCKS!

9. and 10: Bill O’Fucking Rly? and Mad Michelle Fucking Bachmann, as seen below:

Can’t you just hear his hands just working away below the table? And is she not bothered by the prospect of having him rub falafel over her in the shower? No, of course not. She’s batshit. That makes her perfect for him. (That, and the fact that she’s IN government, but still claims not to need it. For anything other than her wingnut welfare cheque, apparently…)

11. Andrew Fucking Newcomb. Something tells me that this teabag d-bag got his hallucinogenic nightmare visions of pill-poppers on the public teat from none other than the pill-poppin’ Pigman.

12. Anne Fucking Leary. For permitting her widdle potato head to be messed with, soooo badly.

13. Paul Fucking Hewson, better known as Bono. Look, I enjoy U2’s music as much as the next person (up to and including Achtung Baby; everything after that is pretty much jumped-the-shark crap). There were even times in my life when I was deeply moved by it. But by the singer himself, and the example he purports to set? Not so much. He dodges taxes even while preaching anti-poverty charity; not good. Even worse, he’s behind a company that made a shitty video game which pretty much declares war on Chavecito and Venezuela. (Chavecito, incidentally, is fighting poverty in Venezuela and winning–using socialism, a thing Bono never mentions.) Once, he was an on-the-ground aid worker in Africa; now, he tells us to “shop till it stops” to fight AIDS. One could think that he’d use his money and clout to make a real difference, instead of just trying to winkle more of ours out of us who can ill afford it. (Hell, even Madonna builds orphanages!) But it seems that he’s more intent
on improving the stockmarket performance of Brand Bono than changing our world for the better. He’s not a true voice for conscience anymore; he’s only in it for himself. And yes, using “conscience” as a means of self-aggrandizement makes anyone, even him, a wanker!

Okay, since I opened this with music, with music I shall close. Here’s Bono at his high-water mark, before the wankitude ate him alive:

What a pity he couldn’t take his own advice, instead of becoming the bastard.

Good night, everybody, you were fabulous! Except, of course, for the wankers. (You know who you are.)