The good news: Paul Broun won’t be in Congress next year. The bad news: Jody Hice will take his place.
“The parallels as you’re talking are just incredible with what we are seeing in America,” he said, adding that “like a politician here in America,” Hitler “made all these wonderful promises” before transforming into the “monster you never saw coming.”
“And so, you’ve got the nationalized education, nationalized banking, nationalized press that you alluded to, the nationalized medical care,” Hice said later in the program. “It sounds like you were describing America. And the last thing that you mentioned was the gun control. It sounds like you were describing to us tomorrow’s newspaper here in America. Every one of these issues we’re facing right now.”
Russell Brand appeals to those people who like their comedians unfunny and their ideologies naively Marxist. When he’s not urging people not to vote, Brand touts moronic conspiracy theories and screams “Islamophobia” anytime someone mentions Islamic terrorism.
(T)he host asked Brand to explain the portion of his book that gives credence to theories that the destruction of World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001, looked like a “controlled explosion.”
“I think it is interesting at this time when we have so little trust in our political figures, where ordinary people have so little trust in their media, that we have to remain open-minded to any kind of possibility,” Brand responded. “What I do think is very interesting is the relationship that the Bush family have had for a long time with the bin Laden family.” He then accused the BBC of building an “anti-Islamic” narrative in its coverage of the Ottawa shootings this week.
Any list of stupid would be incomplete without amateur historian Louie Gohmert, one of Rush Limbaugh’s “all-time favorite members of the House of Representatives.”
I’ve had people say, “Hey, you know, there’s nothing wrong with gays in the military. Look at the Greeks.” Well, you know, they did have people come along who they loved that was the same sex and would give them massages before they went into battle. But you know what, it’s a different kind of fighting, it’s a different kind of war and if you’re sitting around getting massages all day ready to go into the big, planned battle, then you’re not going to last very long. It’s guerrilla fighting. You are going to be ultimately vulnerable to terrorism and, you know, if that’s what you start doing in the military like the Greeks did, as people have said, “Louie, you have got to understand, you don’t even know your history.” Oh, yes, I do. I know exactly. It’s not a good idea.
Not satisfied with becoming the most commercially successful of mawkish, paint-by-numbers romance novels, Nicholas Sparks also believes he’s the best.
From a 2010 interview:
“There’s a difference between drama and melodrama; evoking genuine emotion, or manipulating emotion. It’s a very fine eye-of-the-needle to thread. And it’s very rare that it works. That’s why I tend to dominate this particular genre. There is this fine line. And I do not verge into melodrama. It’s all drama. I try to generate authentic emotional power.” …
“I write in a genre that was not defined by me. The examples were not set out by me. They were set out 2,000 years ago by Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides. They were called the Greek tragedies.
“Hemingway. See, they’re recommending The Garden of Eden, and I read that. It was published after he was dead. It’s a weird story about this honeymoon couple, and a third woman gets involved. Uh, it’s not my cup of tea.” Sparks pulls the one beside it off the shelf. “A Farewell to Arms, by Hemingway. Good stuff. That’s what I write,” he says, putting it back. “That’s what I write.”
Cormac McCarthy? “Horrible,” he says, looking at Blood Meridian. “This is probably the most pulpy, overwrought, melodramatic cowboy vs. Indians story ever written.”
Sparks’ latest straight-to-celluloid tearjerker, “The Best of Me,” opens this weekend. I bet Aeschylus will be first in line.
It’s 2015 and you still can’t disown the Confederate flag? Hell, Georgia put that embarrassing relic behind us 10 years ago.
At least Gov. Nikki Haley, the Republican incumbent, didn’t refer to the “War of Northern Aggression” in this classic profile in this paean to cowardice:
“You know, the Confederate flag is a very sensitive issue, and what I can tell you is over the last three and a half years, I spend a lot of my days on the phones with CEOs and recruiting jobs to this state. I can honestly say I have not had one conversation with a single CEO about the Confederate flag… We really kind of fixed all that when you elected the first Indian American female governor. When we appointed the first African American senator.”
Libertarian opponent Steve French called bullshit:
“If you wanna paint your house in the Confederate flag, I am completely fine with that, as long as your HOA approves it. Now, Governor Haley talks about other businesses that never brought that up. Now, I disagree with that. I’ve got a friend, an MIT grad who works in California, who continues to bring up the fact that he wants to start his own business. And when I bring up it starting here in South Carolina, he laughs. He smirks. He still thinks of South Carolina as being this backwoods good old boy network. And that flag, I think, represents a lot of division in this state. And we need to be coming together.”
The South Carolina GOP is rife with assholes, none bigger than the state party’s former executive director and general counsel, Todd Kincannon.
People with Ebola in the US need to be humanely put down immediately. RT @AP: Dallas hospital: U.S. Ebola patient in critical condition
I was in elementary school when “Mork & Mindy” was a hit. Nanu nanu? Not for me. Maybe I was turned off by the rainbow suspenders.
Over the years my dislike of Robin Williams’ brand of frenetic, dated humor only grew. I have even less tolerance for his mawkish turns in “Dead Poets Society” and “Patch Adams,” which, according to one critic, “Indulges to the hilt every obnoxious, hyperactive, oh-what-I-wouldn’t-give-for-a-tranquilizer-gun aspect of Robin Williams’ performing style.”.
See, I was not alone. You wouldn’t know that now.
I’m not suggesting people should trash a guy when he’s dead. And if I thought any of his family members or friends read this blog, I wouldn’t be posting this.
But this latest example of our culture’s desperation for communal experience has gone too far. Social media was awash in Huffington Post-like tributes of 140 characters or less — “The moment we all fell in love with Robin Williams.” Speak for yourself.
Look, if Mr. T and Nancy Reagan jokes are you thing, go ahead and mourn. To everyone else, let’s curb the phon.
We’re told he was a nice man, and his under-the-radar USO appearances bear that out. But as a comedian and he was not my cup of tea. That doesn’t make me a bad person.
I just hope I die before Adam Sandler does.
Ann Coulter manages to excoriate the missionaries who contracted Ebola while treating the infected in Liberia AND play the white Christian victim card.
Coulter theorizes many do-gooders choose to help out overseas because they’re “tired of being called homophobes, racists, sexists and bigots” when they work in the U.S.
“They need to buck up [and] serve their own country,” she writes
What did Kid Dyn-o-mite ever see in her?.
Meanwhile, Michele Bachmann has declared war on illegal immigrants
“What we have to recognize is that this truly is a war against the American people,” Bachman said. “And if we don’t act like it and take this border seriously, we’re going to have even more gangs.”
Kanye West continues to insist celebrities are as oppressed today as blacks were in the 1960s — an absurd premise likely to be rationalized by media lickspittles.
Kanye says there’s a parallel between blacks fighting for civil rights in the ’60s and celebs fighting for theirs today: “I mean in the ’60s people used to hold up ‘Die N****r’ signs when my parents were in the sit-ins also.” Goldberg asks if he equates the struggle of blacks in the past with celebrities today and Kanye says, “Yes, 100 … I equate it to discrimination. I equate it to inequalities.”
Kanye goes on, “We, as group of minorities here in L.A., as celebrities have to ban together to influence guys like this — guys trying to take the picture, guys trying to get the big win, guys trying to get the check.”
You could argue celebs are even more oppressed. Martin Luther King Jr. never had to deal with problems like these:
I can think of only two occasions when I bought a ticket for a movie I knew would suck:
10.) “Fast Food” Starring Jim Varney and the guy who played Jo’s boyfriend on “The Facts of Life.” A friend of mine was an extra. His big head made a brief cameo.
9.) “Battlefield Earth” Leaves you pitying Scientologists.
As for the rest, I was either too young to know better or unfairly duped:
8.) “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil” Entertaining travelogue, respected director, gifted actors. Aimless script, bad Southern accents, terrible movie.
7.) “The Secret of My Success” A thorough encyclopedia of 80s cliches that reminds you just how much the 80s sucked.
6.) “Top Gun” Older, gayer version of an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. Will sequel top or bottom the original?
5.) “Celebrity” Of all the bad Woody Allen impressions, Kenneth Branagh’s was the most insufferable. Soon-Yi must’ve written the script.
4.) “Magnolia” Overrated sadist Paul Thomas Anderson subjects a dying Jason Robards to Tom Cruise warbling overwrought Aimee Mann songs. At least we were spared Fiona Apple.
3.) “Reality Bites” Makes you want to stab the 90s in the heart with machete used to kill Ethan Hawke’s character. I got your winter of discontent right here, bitch!
2.) “St. Elmo’s Fire” A unapologetic stalker gets the girl, a 23-year-old bore gets his own newspaper column, Judd Nelson, Rob Lowe plays the sax and Mare Winningham dons a girdle. And Judd Nelson. Yep, the 80s sucked.
1.) “Very Bad Things” A badly cast snuff film. Unfortunately, not everyone dies.
No idea how “Born on the Fourth of July” and “JFK” didn’t make the cut. “Fast Food” was better.
To get the autograph of Mr. Personality, Nick Saban, of course.
Just before he reaches his Mercedes, Saban is approached by an Alabama fan who wants to thank the coach for signing a football for his son. It meant so much to the boy, the man says. Saban gives the man a confused look, as if not comprehending how this large animate object had suddenly appeared in his path, and gets in the car without saying a word.
Stationing Steve King and Michele Bachmann there would make anyone reconsider coming to America.