A Good Monday Morning

Tater Gets a Chubby Over the Horrors of War. Jumps Head First into Woodchipper.

Someone should probably tell Brian Stelter that popping a chubby because a bunch of people watched the horrors of war on CNN is not a great look for any so-called journalist or pundit. We get it, Brian feels like they’re losing relevance (he blames YouTube and TikTok and not their crap reporting, which is adorbs) but claiming ’emergencies’ help their ratings … yeah, that sucks, even for him.

The past 24 hours are a reminder that consumers in an era of YouTube and TikTok still gravitate to trusted, established news outlets during emergencies. They "know where to go," so to speak. And television coverage is essential. https://t.co/qRDt82p4S0

— Brian Stelter (@brianstelter) February 25, 2022

This is pretty damn ghoulish, Tater.

He either knew it was f**ked up or figured it out when people started dragging the shit out of him, because he blocked/disabled replies from anyone he does not follow. Brave, eh?

So the only things that get your ratings out of the toilet are war and Trump. That explains a lot of your “reporting” https://t.co/M55k2zkWI0

— Elrond Swanson (@jollygoat) February 25, 2022

Brian Stelter, according to him the face of trusted news, has turned off replies because he’s tired of people calling him a liar. https://t.co/YBLbbi6SVN

— Matt (@tandog421) February 25, 2022

It's hard to believe this pathetic ball of fat is still on twitter at all. He and his news letter buddy Oliver both get humiliated daily.  You can see a sample of Tater getting dragged Here

[Twitchy]

[NewsBusters]

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Middle Finger Symphony Theater

 ~ NO TUXEDOS REQUIRED ~

Brought To You By BLUESJUNKY: Middle Finger Symphony Music Chair of Music

Reader Email

During the recent onslaught of the Chinese Virus and resulting time spent at home, reader email to your Illustrious Editrix experienced an unprecedented uptick. Mainly chit-chat and some personal questions.  Some were interesting *cough* and some made me laugh. Some surely written before their daily medication took affect, and some I thought should be answered publicly in the name an informed citizenry.

That said, you guys can stop requesting I send pictures of my breasticials, as the sheer vision of their magnificence could possibly trigger a cardiac episode in some valued readers, and I would feel responsible. So I find that a bad idea. So Stop. Ain't gonna happen.


from bejohnce@.....................

Dear Ms. Sarcastica, 
Look me in the eye baby and tell me how boats work.

Dear bejohnce, this is simple string theory metaphysics. You see, water wants to go down, so does the boat, so water pushes the boat up to get boat out of the way. The trick is you need to find a boat that wants to go down less than the water does. Once you've done that, the boat remains on top of the water (which is real slippery) you can push it.  Your welcome, and don't forget to floss.  


from crispy_fried@...........................  

Yo Dio,
Is it gay to be a man??? I mean assuming an Aristotelian view of mind-body dualism, you'd be inside a man at all times, No?

Dear Crispy, 
There are two things that come to mind when reading your question, things that modern man should refrain from participation. (1- never sit duct-taped to a chair, locked in a room with a three year old playing with a loaded gun. (2- never attempt to explain our present world gone crazy in terms of the ancient philosophers. Were they alive now, they'd be standing in a pool of their own pee on a street corner in Berkeley yelling at passing cars.  But to answer your question, Yes you're Gay.

from basketcase_belinda@llllllllllllllllll 

Dear Jan,

My son accidently colored something Blue instead of Green, so I told him to just color over with Yellow and when it turned Green he asked me if I was a witch. I didn't say no. Did I do the right thing?

Dear basketcase, Hell Yeah. Advantage Belinda!

Here's my advice. Go buy a parrot and train it to say these simple phrases:

* "I miss my hands"

* "Never break a promise to a Witch"

* "I just want to hug my kids again"

.......then I bet he will clean his fucking room!

from bactrac24@......................... 

Dio. 
You once mentioned you had some Scottish blood. Me Too, cousins maybe?  What is one of you favorite memories of Scottland?

Dear Bactrac, Yes, my paternal grandparents are proud Scots. I mean, Really Proud.  Some of my fondest memories are of summer travel in the Scottish countryside.  You don't know what fun is until you witnesses a drunk on the Edinburgh to Glasgow train screaming "a hate fuckin' hedgehogs...come at me ya jabby wee cunt" while angrily circling a hairbrush that's been dropped on the floor.

from heckler99@ooooooooooooooooo

Dear DS,

If I were to ask your best friend what legendry act they would always remember you for, what would they say.

Dear Heckler, I once told my bestest friend in all the world that I was coming to one of her epic Halloween parties dressed as Amelia Earhart. Then I never showed up.

What You Get When Inviting a Crazy Commie Race Baiter to Discuss Ukraine

 The Look on the Panelist's Faces is Priceless

On "The Beat," pundit Terrelle Jermaine Starr lectures on "Putin's Critical Ukraine Theory. He's completely reconfigured the ways and fantasized the ways he thinks about Ukraine. It's pretty psychotic," like a racist in the ways they're making up things about race in America. pic.twitter.com/ak3jZ1qiD2

— Tim Graham (@TimJGraham) February 23, 2022

Sounds to me the he is equating the leftist precious 'Critical Race Theory' as equivalent to the lies & wars of a dictator. 🧐

~ Thank You MJA@IOTWReport for the Linkage! ~

Your Official Semi-World Famous Irredeemable (Early) Mid-Week Open Thread

Your Beloved Blog Editrix Turns Things Over to You, the Readers. 

You May Talk Among Yourselves. 

Please Keep All Weapons In Plain Sight

 ____________________  

This Week Your Hump Day Open Thread Is Sponsored By: 

THE STARSHINE DINER

 "That's Some Serious Gourmet Shit" - Jules Winnfield"

Happy Pisces Season! 🐟 pic.twitter.com/vcKcuZ324g

— Chelsea Pope (@chelseathepope) February 19, 2022

Presidents Day - We Remember the Last Words of #16

Dear citizens, I know that I am not well. Amid this evening at Ford’s Theatre, my body has borne within it an abominable manifestation of political strife, and I feel my senses beginning to take leave. As the light departs my corporeal form, yearning to move on to destinations unknown, I have but one final request.

I beg of you, please commemorate my birthday with mattress sales. Downy, tufted, even memory foam: none shall be exempt from the wholesale slashing of prices. Reserve for this great endeavor a day—nay, an entire weekend, for only a weekend would suffice for the monumental scale of these savings. Throughout our fair land, postboxes spanning as far as the stately eagle soars shall be papered with announcements, each a herald to the approaching cavalry of discount mattresses.

When this grand republic was first conceived, our Founders proffered a unique conception: that every man, no matter his creed, race, or sleep number, would in equal terms be free in the pursuit of happiness. Though we have not often lived up to these ideals in practice, I implore one further leap toward them—with a bedroom blowout bonanza the likes of which no man has ever seen.

It is true that during my tenure war has tested our national resolve, pitting brother against brother in this trying time. But by the hand of providence, even the most quarrelsome of kin shall come together against our common enemy: nighttime sweating. Why merely lay down arms when there also exists occasion to lay down upon moisture-wicking fabric with pressure point relief?

Still, I do not deny the existence of deep, unresolved, and lingering divisions between our fellow citizens. For instance, some have a particular predilection for softness, and others, for firmness. My soul longs for a time when we proclaim the end of such calamity—a time when men of every stripe may finally exercise the fundamental liberties enshrined within our noble founding document, the Sixty-Day Slumber Money-Back Guarantee.

Now my breath begins to slow, and my mind returns to my love, my Mary Todd. Soon I will be reunited with our poor, sickly son Willie in the vast showroom of the heavens. Regrettably, he was not and will not be party to many glorious milestones in American history: the end of war, the ratification of the Thirteenth Amendment, the first rebate on a box spring.

As with many at death’s door, the legacies of my earthly affairs trouble me no longer. If the postwar reconstruction process were to falter? No matter. If the battle flag of the former Confederacy were to be adopted as a race-baiting symbol in an all-consuming culture war? I take no heed. All that concern me are deals, deals, deals!

I cannot help but be overcome by a deep comfort, even in my last moments, as I reflect upon the studied image of an entire nation finally united by a good night’s sleep, at an affordable price.

[He takes a final breath and dies.]

A Good Monday Morning

Middle Finger Symphony Theater

 ~ NO TUXEDOS REQUIRED ~

Brought To You By BLUESJUNKY: Middle Finger Symphony Music Chair of Music