Hitlary’s in.
Game over.
The 2008 presidential election has already been decided. Hilary Rodham Clinton from Park Ridge and transplanted Chicagoan Barack Obama will be president and vice-president respectively two years from today (already-disproven-by-CNN Muslim school slurs notwithstanding; it’s such a crude attempt that everyone’s already blaming the right wing, since this is straight out of their trick bag). Chicago will dominate, the Republican Party will be outlawed, all registered Republicans will be arrested for treason and packed off to concentration camps, and I will get to fulfill all of my deepest fantasies as I send them to the execution chambers, but not before my pack of trained Rottweilers commit anal violations on them while I force them to watch videos of gay marriages. Ah, watching them go to the death house chanting out Bible verses…it’s a good time to be a Democrat. Hell, even Fleabag said that he’d vote for her, because he made all of his money with a Clinton in the White House and wants to relive the good times.
Hitlary’s victory became especially clear after that yahoo Sam Brownback declared on Saturday. He was the one person guaranteed to totally f*ck up the primaries for McCain, who’s the only Republican capable of beating Hitlary. Remember, I lived in Kansas for two years and had the pleasure of voting against him, so I got to watch him in the midst of a campaign. The mindless, superstitious sheep of the Religious Reich flock to him, and he’s the good shepherd, waiting there with his pants down, erect and ready, to f*ck them, and they won’t bleat any kind of objection. He’s the worst kind of creature in American politics, as my idol HST once said about Hubert Humphrey. Except that HST and I are going from different perspectives. Humphrey’s problem, in Hunter’s mind, was that he was a bland, acceptable, old-fashioned Democrat whose preservation of the status quo was a crime in a time of massive social change. Brownback’s crime is that he panders to the worst of Americans, the ones who think their moral and political agenda should be the only one and that we should all follow some two thousand-year-old work of fantasy to the letter. He’s a complete piece of shit, which reflects his constituency perfectly. But it doesn’t reflect America. I swear to f*cking God that I should have had to obtain a green card to work in f*cking Kansas. Is it any wonder that KC’s part of a two-state arrangement and it’s an easy jaunt from Wichita to the border (albeit the border of Oklahoma, which is another story considering their Senate contingent)?
Good, you pandering cocksucker, run. I want to see your freak core support knock out McCain like Dubbaya and Rove did to him in South Carolina in 2000 through their judicious use of lies and slanders. Thus, any candidate that gets out of that snake pit will be Scooby Snacks for Hitlary and Obama.
Ah, but I have another twenty-two months of that. Better pace myself.
Now, on to other business. Memo To Tom Daniels (happy birthday, by the way), Carlos Zarur, that glorified turnip Cox, 65% of the Den of Smelly Proles, Dr. Z, Michael Silver the Noo Yawk Jew, most of the experts at si.com (and, by the way, Don Banks, you came across as a whiny cunt with a major case of Sour Grapes in your post-game column), and all of the experts at espn.com (but surprisingly not The Imbecile Bill Simmons):
Two words: FUCK. YOU.
(And Fuck You, Terry Bradshaw, for bringing up the “first African-American coach in the Super Bowl” thing, a statement that now looks asinine in retrospect because we’re now guaranteed that a black coach will win the Super Bowl. And for kissing Gross-out’s ass after you’ve lambasted him for half the season. You disgust me, you f*cking hick. And Fuck You, Curt Menifee. There are places in Chicago other than that overpriced high-rent-but-still-smells-like-stale-urine Rush Street to celebrate. Rush Street hasn’t been cool since the early Sixties, when Lenny Bruce, George Carlin, and every music act worth its salt would play the nightclubs.)
I had better not hear from anyone (especially you, Cox) that the Aints lost the game. Hell, it wasn’t even the best choke job on Sunday (that belonged to Justin Rose at the Hope). No, the better team won. The Bears made those turnovers. Berrian, Jones, and Benson rolled over that suspect defense. Gross-out was brought back to life in the second half by some necromancy yet to be determined. The only points that were directly on Nawlins’ stupidity was Brees’ intentional grounding (and it was intentional grounding; bitch was in the pocket). The Bears won. Your little feel-good piece of shit team was battered. Mister Halas and Sweetness were smiling through the snow. You want a team of destiny? Every twenty-one years, bitches, like locusts. In 1985, the only loss was to Miami, and the decimation took place in Nawlins. This year, it’s Nawlins as the penultimate step and on to Miami for the final act. Fuck you, Katrina. This is destiny.
To rub it in, The Proud Graduate Of Dartmouth His Own Self has decided to link the two threads of thought together into one grand Bush-related conspiracy theory. Similarities between the Bush in Nawlins and the Bush in Washington?
– Both are cheaters (Bush under investigation for getting benefits from agents while at USC).
And both are sacrilegious in their cheating. Reggie pushed Leinart into the end zone in the sight of Touchdown Jesus, and Dubbaya’s crimes in the name of Jesus are legendary, starting with the 2000 election and that f*cking freak Katherine Harris, who gives born-agains a bad name.
– Both are given to being excessively cocky (as that dive into the end zone showed).
And they’re cocky for the wrong reasons. Nawlins thought they were getting a running back and got a receiver who works out of the slot, while (some) Americans thought they were getting a president and got a ludicrous buffoon who’s humiliated us in front of the world.
– Both of them are big losers.
(Removed that caveat that you threw in there, El, since the Bears not only hung on, but finished the burial.)
– Reggie Bush was the No. 2 pick in the draft, Dubya is just plain No. 2.
And Mario Williams did a pretty good job, just like Gore or Kerry would have had Dubbaya not cheated in both elections.
I’ll insult the final victims next week as I ease into smug mode and assauge my disappointment that it’s not who I hoped. But I can still gloat over the loser. Hope that was a Stomach Punch Game for you, Simmons, you f*cktard. It was almost as enjoyable to see the Faggots lose as the Bears win.
Oh, well, on to other stuff…
THE PIMP SECTION
Vin-Man‘s head is going to explode if Michaels and Punk are the last two guys in the Rumble Match.
Blatt thinks he’s figured out Vince’s Plan 9 From Outer Space for ECW. It’s actually a decent hypothesis.
Biscuiti writes songfic and gets away with it.
Burnside published a letter from a person who 1) admitted to reading The Prick and 2) dissed Bugs and Daffy. He should be happy that he didn’t write that to me. I send hit teams out after people like that (however, Nick Howells, if that was you, I may consider clemency).
I gave Price the one name I’d like to see in his HoF, and it was probably a great shock to him.
Paul doesn’t realize that without reviews, critics would be out of a job, and we can’t support turfing out a significant segment of our population, can we?
If MacKay just admitted that he masturbated to Lucy Lawless, it would be fine. Of course, now he has to switch objects of affection. Tricia Helfer is mine, MINE, DO YOU HEAR?!
Cox still doesn’t have the hang of this whole “corporations like to save money” thing…yes, I insulted him earlier. I get to insult anyone as often as I want, and they have no option other than to take it. That’s the way it goes here.
Mathan will listen to more music this year, he promises. How? He already has an iPod surgically implanted in his chest cavity.
Fernandez lost a bit of the nasty when he moved to Mondays. Let’s hope he gets his rhythm back soon.
LET’S PREP THE ENVELOPES AND STATUES
I like to delay this column on Oscar Nomination Day to get in IP’s First Look And Predictions. It really pisses off the guys in Popcorn Junkies. Plus, it’s now a column tradition, so they can’t criticize me for it. So, let me give you the Early Line as I see it in the Big Six…
Best Picture
Nominees:
Babel
Letters From Iwo Jima
Little Miss Sunshine
The Departed
The Queen
Oh, boy, that void in the front teeth you feel is called Dreamgirls. Its absence has totally cleared the boards, and made it absolutely clear: it’s now Marty’s year, and no one’s going to stop him. The only possible way to prevent a win by The Departed is for a groundswell for Little Miss Sunshine, although Eastwood is such a fave in Hollywood that Iwo Jima wouldn’t end up being a surprise winner. No, it’s safer to stick to the obvious, I think.
Winner – The Departed
Best Actor
Nominees:
Leonardo DiCaprio, Blood Diamond
Ryan Gosling, Half Nelson
Peter O’Toole, Venus
Will Smith, The Pursuit of Happyness
Forest Whitaker, The Last King of Scotland
Ooooooh, here’s where the theory starts to break down. Witness Leo’s nomination for Blood Diamond rather than The Departed. Flash beats substance again, I guess. Gosling instead of Sacha Baron Cohen is a bit of a surprise; the field was weakened by that substitution, because Cohen would have garnered a lot of votes simply on the basis of what he’d do during the acceptance speech and next year’s Actress presentation. Everyone’s saying that this is Whitaker’s to lose, and I agree. Except for one little thing…O’Toole should have won at least a pair of Oscars by now. This is his eighth nomination, if memory serves, and he’s been shut out. In similar situations, the Academy has tried to make up for past injustices of this scale (see Newman, Paul and Pacino, Al under the entry “Oscar wins for inferior performances”). This will probably be O’Toole’s last nomination (although we’ve said that the last couple of times he’s been up for one). Whitaker may never have another role as flashy as Idi Amin, but he’ll get another chance, and soon, and there’s going to be that swell of “doing the right thing” votes that he can’t overcome this time.
Winner – Peter O’Toole
Best Actress
Nominees:
Penelope Cruz, Volver
Judi Dench, Notes on a Scandal
Helen Mirren, The Queen
Meryl Streep, The Devil Wears Prada
Kate Winslet, Little Children
As the song goes, there is nothing like a dame. Except for two of them. And when you tack on the Queen Of Hollywood, that makes the category that I normally f*ck up like a retard doing calculus attractive. And I always end up screwing the pooch when it comes down to two choices and invariably go the wrong way (like last year when I picked the tranny over the country star). And that’s exactly what we have this year, so I am totally f*cked. La Streep pulled off the trick that Oscar voters love to honor: she took the most un-Streepian role imaginable, a glamour-puss villain in a comedy, and pulled it off. But Dame Helen pulled off a trick with a much-higher degree of difficulty: playing a living celebrity, and probably the most famous woman in the world to boot. She did it so well that everyone gave her the Oscar the moment the first critics saw the previews. I don’t think there’s anyone that can catch her.
Winner – Dame Helen Mirren
Best Supporting Actor
Nominees:
Alan Arkin, Little Miss Sunshine
Jackie Earle Haley, Little Children
Djimon Hounsou, Blood Diamond
Eddie Murphy, Dreamgirls
Mark Wahlberg, The Departed
Marky Mark instead of Nicholson? Holy shit. Jack would have been a cinch with this competition. Now it’s pretty wide open. This is the most difficult of the major categories to handicap this year because of that. Do you honor Haley because of his comeback from the dead? Do you honor Murphy for finally getting the perfect role to showcase his multifaceted talents that are only now being appreciated? Or do you honor Arkin for being one of Hollywood’s most reliable actors for four decades, shining like a beacon in this year’s most acclaimed American indy effort? This is Hollywood, and this is the category that started off by giving three Oscars to Walter Brennan for being everyone’s buddy. The answer is obvious.
Winner – Alan Arkin
Best Supporting Actress
Nominees:
Adriana Barraza, Babel
Cate Blanchett, Notes on a Scandal
Abigail Breslin, Little Miss Sunshine
Jennifer Hudson, Dreamgirls
Rinko Kikuchi, Babel
Predicting this category this year is like betting on Secretariat: you feel a bit guilty, but, damn, it’s just so obvious that you can’t resist. Biggest chalk on the board, and who am I to disagree?
Winner – Jennifer Hudson
Best Director
Nominees:
Clint Eastwood, Letters From Iwo Jima
Stephen Frears, The Queen
Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, Babel
Paul Greengrass, United 93
Martin Scorsese, The Departed
This year, it’s all or nothing. And when I say that, I’m talking about McCullar. If the words “And the Oscar goes to…Martin Scorsese” are said, the Metroplex will drown in Mike-spooge. If the words “And the Oscar goes to…Clint Eastwood” are said, I’ll be able to hear the screams in Chicago, followed quickly by the CNN story on the vaporization of everything from the Oklahoma border to Waco as his head explodes. So, Dallas-Fort Worth, is it evacuation or get our your waders? Get the waders.
Winner – Martin Scorsese
Be back later on for the guys who write all the time in Popcorn Junkies commenting about this, and stay tuned for the Oscar Round Table as the day approaches, when I’ll handle the rest of the categories.
And since there have been no cuts over the last couple of days (at least of anyone who matters), it’s on to Raw…
THE SHORT FORM
Match Results:
Jeffykins over Joey Maskury, Non-Title Match (or maybe, because Lawler implied…oh, forget it) (Pinfall, Twit of Fate): Oh, poor Joey, having to job to both Hardys in less than a week. You know, I can understand ECW Originals getting screwed over on ECW, but on the other shows too? What cruelty there is in the Booking Star Chamber at Stamford these days.
Jack Doane gets into the spirit of the occasion by going aerial
Super Crazy over Gym Bunny (Pinfall, Moral Equivalent Of A Stratusfaction): Hold it, does this mean that Super Crazy is getting a push? Or is Masters getting de-pushed? And, really, how much of a push is it when you go over Chris Masters?
Have you hugged your Mexican today?
The Great Khali over (in order of elimination) Trevor Murdoch, Shelton Benjamin, Charlie Haas, GarriLance Cade, Viscera, and John Cena, uh…Over-The-Top-Rope Gauntlet Match? Over-The-Top-Rope Handicrap Match? Imbecilic Attempt At Pimping The Rumble Match? Pick your own, folks…; John Cena over Jonathan Coachman, Punishment Match (for us, that is; DQ, Jamalga-ference): You can’t really comment about something like this. There are two ways to do something this utterly disorganized, chaotic, and downright idiotic: you either plan it very, very carefully, or you just do nothing at all and let it come out the way it comes out. This was quite the example of the second of those principles. Just a complete, utter mess, the wrestling equivalent of explosive diarrhea.
Isn’t using an entire redneck for this a bit wasteful?
Vince’s ultimate fantasy; our ultimate nightmare
MickieLexis LaJames and Candice Michelle over Victoria and Melina Perez (Pinfall, Michelle pins Victoria, twisting flying elbow): Hold it, is Candice actually learning to wrestle after all this time? Who’s teaching her with Finlay busy on Smackdown? That was a pretty nice-looking flying elbow. They also seem to have some confidence in her if they let her get a clean pinfall on Victoria of all people. Hmmm, maybe they’re serious about the post-Stratus era after all.
Melina and Victoria demonstrate a way to not properly treat split ends
My Illegitimate Son Ken Doane over Carly Colon (Pinfall, rollup with tights): Son:
I know you’re busy, but I wanted to drop you a quick note about two problems that I saw regarding Monday night’s match.
1) You know how I feel about wrestlers who wear pink and black. I have this feeling that you’re doing this to rebel. You’re 20 now; you should be over that phase and into the “I’m sorry I made dad’s life such hell during puberty” one. The only way I’d countenance this is if you were dating Nattie Neidhart instead of that tramp LaJames and you were trying to suck up to her family. But you’re not, so I expect you to change your ring outfit post-haste.
2) Don’t beat up on the Puerto Ricans. They’re okay. Save it for the Mexicans. Although with only one Mexican on the Raw roster, your choice there is somewhat limited.
Please don’t take my criticisms lightly. You know that I only want the best for you. Now, I know from personal experience that San Antonio on a Saturday night is a pretty rocking place, but resist the temptation to party. Remember, you’ve got a big day Sunday and I expect you to make the Final Four as the “surprise” guy.
Your loving dad
Ph3ar Carly’s 1337 Ninja ski11 of hiding in plain sight
Edge over Shawn Michaels, Street Fight (Pinfall, Orton RKO): I was about to call this one better than the Christian/Rhiyno Bloody Cage Spectacle until the obvious ending. Well, they had to do it and everything, but it did undercut the fact that Michaels and Edge went out of their way yet again. Goddamn, these two are pros. This was a PPV Main Event given away for free, and they gave it PPV time. Sometimes WWE can pull something out of their asses that’s good.
Well, at least the trash can lid sold
I think I was required to put this one up
Angle Developments:
Kudos to Edge for trying to keep a straight face while looking at Orton’s hideous make-up job
I am saying this far too often: sometimes, it’s just too easy
A true work of art, with a capital F
Geez, there’s so much non-wrestling in here that it seems like it’s 2003 again. Just add a You’re A Moron and I’m set. But we didn’t have ECW or Impact in 2003, and those will be coming up later this week, along with Smackdown and the big Rumble Round Table, where people who don’t bother to contribute to Round Tables come out of the woodwork. Enjoy our extravaganza, as we start the cliched Road To Wrestlemania and loads of new features and some new contributors (congrats, KC). See ya.
