I Be ILlin
What the fuck is a Cantata? Is it a fruit? Is it the fruit they extract all the taste out of to make that tasteless, calorie-less, almost-generic-orange-like-carbonated-beverage in the non-swill swill isle at your local grocer’s locally owned and overpriced emporium?
Ding Dong Kim Jong IL II is Dead! That was about as hard to see coming as watching Peter North finish off a facial with a pair of Bausch & Lomb Astronomical Field 4.2 11 x 80 binoculars from two pearls of a necklace away. KJII had already been proclaiming he wasn’t dead for years. And, his third name is IL. And it wasn’t an abbreviation for the home state of his favorite professional sports team. More so than everyone else, this dude was destined to die. I’ll tell you what I found really creepy about him. KJII was always dressed liked the crazy dictator who just finished a segment showing Letterman some animals from the Pyongyang Zoo. I get that it was supposed to be some kind of military motif, but the vibe was far less authoritative than it was “I got this shit on sale after I toppled the government of the Bananna Republic!” Actually, upon further review, review, review, review, review…….. which is being caused by this seizure inducing cycle of repeated clips of KJII, it appears his chosen attire seemed to be a cross between a Bass Pro-Shop Jumpsuit and something Trekkish. Functional. It allows you to carry some of the tools necessary to keep oppressing millions of your people, while simultaneously fucking with several other world governments thereby affecting global diplomacy. Nerdy. You get a kick out of the hidden pockets, velcro, extra zippers, snaps and places to hide the type of shit you would have to kill yet another member of the would-be free press if they found out and tried to report it.
A thing about the Holocaust just came on the History Channel. Before it started, it warned there would be pictures, videos and frank discussions. It’s the fucking Holocaust! It’s not like you can talk about that shit with pie charts, sock puppets with cocks, and Power Point demonstrations with cartoon characters.
The only real difference between an assailant and essayist is that the former physically takes out his aggression on someone, and the latter takes theirs out on a piece of paper. The majority of the time, they both leave someone hurting, pissed off and wishing they could either kick their ass or write a complete sentence with correctly spelled words to convey just how they felt.
Christopher Hitchens gave up believing in breathing this week. I wonder what the first drink he ordered at the first bar he found was wherever he ended up. My next question is, who did he piss off 1st?
“The Presidential Suite” at the Broadway location of Embassy Suites in Nashville, Tennessee is quite the value for a mere $229.00 American. You get a large living area that is adjacent to both sleeping quarters. It’s got a table to do business of whatever flavor on it. You can set up your laptop, break out your brief, chop up some lines and call some hoes. The tables big enough and the motherfucker is sturdy. The couch is a decent size. It’s upholstered in a fabric that doesn’t immediately irritate the skin. The 42 Flat Screen t.v. is nice. The remote control has been dumbed back down into the late 80′s for some reason. It is not too far off from needing a fucking wire attached to it. It has channel and volume buttons. There are individual button numbers which I was told have been known to confuse the less presidential by making them futiltly attempt to take advantage of free long distance dialing while all the long really only skipping between the History Channel, HGTV and ESPN. The bathroom is a little weird. You could barely shit one president in it at a time, much less the required Secret Service Agents. It only has a normal size tube. There is a mini-living appliance area. It’s kind of like one corner of your room was designed for midgets. Everything is smaller. The refrigerator is the size of a microwave. The microwave is the size of a shoebox. The coffee maker is smaller than the bag of coffee it purports to be able to brew. You do get a pretty good free breakfast with this here abode. It’s omelets, pancakes and all the swine related products the eye can see. So, I highly recommend getting your William Henry Harrison on next time you come to Nashville.
JIS
