Showing posts with label Donald Trump. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Donald Trump. Show all posts

Friday, July 25, 2025

Trenitalia Hates Its Passengers (except Executive): An Open Letter to Trenitalia

Last night I was returning from Milan to Venice, where I am spending two weeks' vacation, on your train Frecciarossa #9757. The direct road was blocked by your police, who had the brilliant idea to investigate an accident for hours without any regard for the fact that the trains need to go through. Train #9757 was then rerouted via Bologna, which was an acceptable solution to me (second only to my preferred solution of abolishing the state, including the police and your state run railroad, and introducing Anarcho-Capitalism, with the trains going through being prioritized over any investigations by the then private security companies, no matter what accident or crime remains unsolved, but I digress). 

At Bologna, the conductor of train #9757 (hereinafter conductor #1) had the brilliant idea to tell her passengers to Padua and Venice to "forget tickets" and to transfer to train Frecciarossa #9434, which was going directly to Padua, bypassing Verona, so we'd get back with an hour less delay. I was in no hurry to return to Venice, as long as I got back at some point last night. In hindsight, I should have stayed on train #9757, where at least I had an assigned seat, but I figured the conductor knew what she was doing and took her advice. Of course, giving adequate information in Italian and in English was difficult in the hurry, but conductor #1 at least should have warned me that in return for getting home faster, I'd be literally treated like cattle. 

In retrospect, it's never going to end well if a petty official tells you to forget your documented rights. They're not going to give you anything extra. They'll only take away what you had. 

Train #9434 turned out to be moderately crowded already, so there weren't enough seats for all the newcomers. I ended up finding a vacant seat in the executive car. 

I should add that your executive seats are nothing to write home about. Granted, they recline and swivel, but otherwise they are, if anything, less comfortable than your business class seats, probably because they need to be adjusted, which I didn't bother to figure out under the circumstances and because I didn't want to interfere with your equipment any more than necessary, as I hadn't paid for its use. I had considered booking executive for my trip to Milan, but for some reason business was the highest class your system offered me for both outward and return. Maybe they were all booked, or maybe one needs to have special connections to be allowed to book one of those sacred seats of yours? The behavior of the conductor of train #9434 (hereinafter conductor #2) certainly seemed to suggest that much. Are they reserved for the pope and President Trump, or something? Anyway, the only real benefit appears to be the extra space, so other passengers can't sneeze and cough at you as badly and infect you with their respiratory diseases. 

Back to the main story, when I entered the executive car, there was an American couple with I think two kids and a baby, a young American lady, and a young Italian gentleman. The young lady and the kids seemed to be particularly enjoying lounging in their executive seats. She was like, "Yay, we get to ride in executive!" 

At that point your conductor #2 had the chance to become the hero of the night by making up for the misconduct of your police. We'd have gotten a free upgrade to executive, we'd have all but forgotten the delay caused by the misconduct of your police, and we'd have had nothing but good things to say about your railroad. All she had to do was nothing. Instead, she chose to defend the sanctity of her executive car against us business class bums with all her petty powers. 

I offered to pay for executive by credit card or trade the compensation we were owed for the delay for upgrades, but conductor #2 flatly refused all offers. Now, I get it that the root cause is your primitive booking system, which apparently doesn't have a miscellaneous category for selling ad-hoc upgrades. That reflects poorly enough on your railroad, but the real problem is the insulting way your conductor #2 handled the situation. 

She claimed she was doing us a favor by letting us on "her" train at all. Obviously, she considers "her" train her private property, her own miniature railroad, where she gets to hand out favors to passengers of other trains. Well, I paid a fare to Trenitalia, not to an individual conductor, and getting me to my destination as efficiently as possible under the circumstances is the responsibility of all Trenitalia (my auto correct now wants to call your railroad Genitalia) staff. The concept of staff doing a customer a favor is an impossibility. Anything staff does for a customer should be done happily. The customer is king. 

She said she was unable to sell us upgrades to executive as "Your tickets aren't valid on this train," as if we we were fare dodgers. She should have said, "You weren't originally booked on this train." 

The worst part, however, was that she kept saying, "You're business class passengers" in a tone as if a business class passenger were something she just found under her shoe. 

Some of the dialogue I attribute to conductor #2 may in fact have been said by her assistant. That, however, doesn't matter so much it's a Doesn't Matterhorn, as both were in perfect agreement on their nasty treatment of their passengers. 

In the end, four other passengers and I had to spend the whole trip at a tiny conference table in the executive car, seated on what's is best described as stools, while all the executive seats remained vacant all the way to Venice Santa Lucia. So your conductor #2, in one of the dumbest businesses decisions I ever witnessed, destroyed a product (let the seats go to waste) rather than give it away as free upgrades or free samples. 

I don't know if that's company policy at your railroad, or if conductor #2 was acting on her own nasty initiative, but it is an act so petty, so wasteful, and so insulting that I, for one, will never set foot on a Trenitalia train again. You could have made more than a half dozen passengers happy, turning them into loyal customers who'd have told everyone how your staff unbureaucratically solved the problem your police created, but now you have the same number of former customers who have nothing to say about you except how petty and nasty you are and how you hate your own customers (except executive, and executive apparently is sold only to your insiders). I, for one and for sure, will tell everyone and publicize everywhere what a horrible railroad Trenitalia is and how much your staff hates its passengers (except executive). 

Given that all but one passenger in the executive car were foreigners, your conductor #2 also acted as a terrible, horrible, very, very very bad, no good cultural ambassador for Italy, leaving the impression that Italians are petty, nasty, and cruel. I, for one, despite having had to deal with one or two petty and nasty Italian officials before, thought that Italians in general were less rude than, for instance, Germans. That, of course, was naive, and I now have the impression that in Italy there are just as many nasty people as in every other country. I had even considered moving to your beautiful country and exploring it by train, but given that I won't do business with Trenitalia ever again and that Italo seems to serve only the major cities, that's off the table now. 

The only thing I regret doing last night, in addition to changing trains in Bologna, is referring to conductor #1 as a "train captain" in my discussion with conductor #2 and her assistant. Trains don't have captains. They have conductors. Especially yours, as your conductors decidedly lack the competence and courtesy one would expect of a ship's captain. I heard that ridiculous term from the conductor of the only other Frecciarossa (funny, my auto correct turned this into "Freakarrosia," which is frankly closer to the truth) train I took before, telling me to show my ticket to the conductor of another train I had to transfer to due to a missed connection, of course on account of another delay of that so-called high speed train of yours. 

Let me conclude by congratulating you on your truly Teutonic level of customer service. I have never been treated this disrespectfully outside Germany, by Lufthansa and Deutsche Bahn, two (formerly?) state-owned companies legendary for their poor customer service. I bought a business class round trip ticket from your railroad. Your conductor #2 made it abundantly clear that to your railroad business (and presumably all lower) class travelers are nothing but scum. There's that old Prussian militaristic saying, "Mankind starts at the petty officer," implying that anyone who isn't at least a petty officer is subhuman. Apparently, to your railroad, anyone below an executive passenger is subhuman. 

As for a possible resolution, I don't think you're going to be willing to do what it would take, simply because qua faceless government bureaucrats, some of whom are probably keeping those executive seats off the market for their own personal use, you aren't even able to understand what a level of disrespect it constitutes to force passengers to ride in basically jump seats while executive seats are available mere yards away. A mere refund of the remaining fare would only add insult to injury. The absolute minimum would be warning conductor #1 to consider the consequences of her crazy plans, firing or at the very least docking one month's pay of conductor #2 and her assistant, and a free executive ticket for a distance equivalent to Bologna to Venice Santa Lucia for every person who was booted from an executive seat last night, or if those cannot be identified, for every person who made the fateful decision to change trains at Bologna. As I doubt you have the moral fiber for that, I'll just keep telling everyone who will listen or not what a horrible, terrible, very, very, very bad, no good railroad you are. I'll keep my account open for a bit, awaiting your bedbug letter. If you don't know what a bedbug letter is, Google is your friend. 

Monday, July 12, 2021

Cock Island Line

Now, this here's a story about the Cock Island Line 

Well, the Cock Island Line, she runs down into Pussy Town 

There's a big gal gate down there, and you know 

If you got certain things on board when you come to the gal gate 

Well, you ain't gonna get yourself no gal 

Well, a pile driver, he pulled up to the gal gate 

And the gal pouted and asked him what all he had on board, and he said 


I'm a snowflake 

I'm a snowflake 

I got Marx 

I got blacks 

I got masks 

I got rules 

I got all feminist 


Well, she said, you're alright boy, you are gonna get this gal 

You can just go right on through, so he went on through the gal gate 

And as he went through, he started pickin' up a little bit of speed 

Pickin' up a little bit of steam 

He got on through, he turned, and looked up at the gal, he said 


Well, I fooled you 

I fooled you 

I'm a Trump man 

I'm a Trump man 

I got all MAGA 


Down the Cock Island Line, she's a mighty good road 

Cock Island Line, it's the road to ride 

Cock Island Line, it's a mighty good road 

Well, if you ride it, you got to ride it like you find it 

Get your ticket in a blue state for the Cock Island Line 


Wednesday, June 14, 2017

The Battle Hymn of the God Emperor

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the idiots where the democrats are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on.

(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the pictures of a myriad memic clone,
They have builded Him an altar in The Donald Reddit zone;
I can read His righteous sentence on a dim and flick'ring phone:
His day is marching on.

(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His day is marching on.

I have read his fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my tweets shall deal";
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the leftoids with His heel,
Since Trump is marching on.

(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Since Trump is marching on.

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat;
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! Be quick to like His tweet!
Our God is marching on.

(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Trump was born across the lea,
With a courage in His bosom that transfigures you and me.
Like He lives to drive cucks crazy, let us live to make men free,
While Trump is marching on.

(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
While Trump is marching on.

He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave,
He is Sanction to producers, He is Succor to the brave,
So Europe shall be His footstool, Angela Merkel His slave,
Our God is marching on.

(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Our God is marching on!

Happy Birthday, God Emperor Donald J. Trump!

"I can't spare this man — he fights."

— Abraham Lincoln

Happy Flag Day, one and all!

Praise Kek!

Shadilay, my friends!

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Little Red Riding Hood

Once upon a time, Little Red Riding Hood went visiting her grandmother. So Little Red Riding Hood put on her little red riding hood and set out on a dangerous hike on the winding paths under the gloomy canopy of trees, where the wilding wolves had taken many a jogger. Finally, after a perilous journey past the tree huggers, hippies, bums, junkies, and perverts of the forest, she emerged on Central Park West.

When she got to the tiny cottage at the end of the limestone canyon where her grandmother lived, she knocked at the door. "Granny, Granny, are you home? I brought you your favorite rugelach!"

But when the door creaked open, it wasn't her grandmother opening it, but a handsome, charming prince with a head of luxuriant blond hair, much like a golden pussycat.

"Why, what orange skin you have!" exclaimed Little Red Riding Hood in wonder.

"The better to stain you with!" the prince growled.

"What tiny, deep-set eyes, framed by pale circles, like a negative image of the raccoons in the woods, or a highwayman's mask, you have!"

"The better to ogle you with!"

"What short, vulgar fingers you have!"

"The better to grope you with!"

"What shiny big hair you have!"

"The better to seduce you with!"

"Uh, is my Granny home, sir?" Little Red Riding Hood timidly changed the subject.

"No, she very, very, very much isn't! And you'll really, really never see her again, you little red anchor baby! I deported your huge illegal alien grandmother to her ancestral homeland! Sad. Will you marry me, you huge little hater and loser?" the prince boldly changed the subject. "It's going to be amazing. Believe me."

"But why would I marry you, you who deported my Granny?" Little Red Riding Hood sobbed.

"Because you're a really, really hot piece of ass under that very, very, very silly little red riding hood, plus I really, really like marrying aliens. Because I'm the God Emperor Donald J. Trump, and I'm very, very, very rich. I'll give you $10,000,000! Because I'll make you great again, like everything I touch! Because I have huge, well-formed hands! Look, having God Emperor Donald J. Trump — my uncle was a great professor and scientist and engineer, Dr. John Trump at MIT; good genes, very good genes, OK, very smart, the Wharton School of Finance, very good, very smart — you know, if you’re a conservative Republican, if I were a liberal, if, like, OK, if I ran as a liberal Democrat, they would say I'm one of the smartest people anywhere in the world — it’s true! — but when you're a conservative Republican, they try — oh, do they do a number — that’s why I always start off: Went to Wharton, was a good student, went there, went there, did this, built a fortune — you know I have to give my, like, credentials all the time, because we’re a little disadvantaged — but you look at the nuclear deal, the thing that really bothers me — it would have been so easy, and it’s not as important as these lives are (nuclear is powerful; my uncle explained that to me many, many years ago, the power, and that was 35 years ago; he would explain the power of what's going to happen, and he was right — who would have thought?), but when you look at what's going on with the four prisoners — now it used to be three, now it’s four — but when it was three and even now, I would have said it's all in the messenger; fellas, and it is fellas because, you know, they don't, they haven’t figured that the women are smarter right now than the men, so, you know, it’s gonna take them about another 150 years — but the Persians are great negotiators, the Iranians are great negotiators, so, and they, they just killed, they just killed us. Oh, and otherwise, I'll have to deport you to your ancestral homeland. You'd really, really be a not smart person. Believe me. Sad."

By now, Little Red Riding Hood was deeply in love with the God Emperor Donald J. Trump, with his unwarranted self-confidence, his money, his power, his fame, his charm, his wit, his intellect, his handsome good looks, and his beautiful hair, like all women. Plus, he had freed her from her really, really not good, nasty, horrible, fat, old illegal alien grandmother with the face of a dog (who used to bleed from every possible orifice in her younger days).

And they lived happily ever after, if he didn't leave her for a younger woman. Sad.

A Fairytale of New York 

Monday, October 17, 2016

Hilly and the Great Man

(With apologies to Tanya Tucker.)

He came ridin' in on the sunrise on a hot West New York day
A fancy man in a golden limo with some fancy things to say
Looks like you folks need some greatness, well, greatness is my game
And if you folks can raise some one trillion dollars, I betcha I can make you great

Step back, nonbelievers, or the great will never come
Someone start them crosses a-burning, somebody stroke my bum
He said, some may think I'm crazy for making all these claims
But I swear before this year is over you folks are gonna be so great

They all just stood there a-staring, trying to believe
But there was one named Hilly Clinton who said he was a lying cheat
She said, you call yourself a great man, well, you oughta be ashamed
Starting all these people dreamin', thinking you can make 'em great

Step back, nonbelievers, or the great will never come
Someone keep them crosses a-burning, somebody stroke my bum
He said, some may think I'm crazy for making all these claims
But I swear before this year is over you folks are gonna be so great

Hey, Hilly, well, a man's got to have a dream
And if you will come on inside with me, I'll grope you in between
Oh, come with me, Hilly, and the arse will write your name
And if you still think I'm lying to you, look yonder, there comes the great

Step back, nonbelievers, or the great will never come
Someone keep them crosses a-burning, somebody stroke my bum
He said, some may think I'm crazy for making all these claims
But I swear before this year is over you folks are gonna be so great

[Repeat and fade]

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Trump: A Is Non-A

With Fox Mulder nailed to his scalp, Donald Trump obviously forgot all about the law of identity, if he ever knew it.

Over the last few years, according to interviews and hundreds of pages of court documents, the real estate mogul has aggressively marketed several luxury high-rises as "Trump properties" or "signature Trump" buildings, with names like Trump Tower and Trump International — even making appearances at the properties to woo buyers. The strong indication of his involvement as a developer generated waves of media attention and commanded premium prices.

But when three of the planned buildings encountered financial trouble, it became clear that Mr. Trump had essentially rented his name to the developments and had no responsibility for their outcomes, according to buyers. In each case, he yanked his name off the projects, which were never completed. The buyers lost millions of dollars in deposits even as Mr. Trump pocketed hefty license fees.

Those who bought the apartments in part because of the Trump name were livid, saying they felt a profound sense of betrayal, and more than 300 of them are now suing Mr. Trump or his company.

"The last thing you ever expect is that somebody you revere will mislead you," said Alex Davis, 38, who bought a $500,000 unit in Trump International Hotel and Tower Fort Lauderdale, a waterfront property that Mr. Trump described in marketing materials as "my latest development" and compared to the Trump tower on Central Park in Manhattan.



"There was no disclaimer that he was not the developer," Mr. Davis said.



Alan Garten, a lawyer for Mr. Trump's company, said that, regardless of what Mr. Trump himself or any marketing materials had suggested, his role was disclosed in lengthy purchasing documents that buyers should have carefully scrutinized.

Make no mistake, Trump lied. He said he was the developer when he wasn't, which is proven by the disclaimers in the contracts.

He guaranteed these projects to his customers with his name, which to them stood for quality, and now he claims the disclaimer nullified that guarantee. It is an interesting legal and moral question whether you can make an oral guarantee and then simply go, "April fool!" and revoke it in the written contract. No matter what the courts decide, however, morally speaking, Trump should indemnify his victims at least to the amount that he profited from the deals where they lost.

Instead, The Donald cynically claims that, due to the crash of property values, his victims would have lost even more on the apartments if the developments had gone forward. This is completely immaterial.

After all, if his victims had made a killing with the apartments, he would have claimed it as being due to his "genius." Success has many fathers, but failure is an orphan.

If his victims had turned a profit, Trump would have taken all the credit for that. Now that they have lost money through him, he blames it on the market.

This kind of deception constitutes a worrisome trend I've seen growing worse over the last couple years. Marketing materials claim that a service is exceptionally A, only for the contract to painstakingly insist that the service provided is not to be considered A in any way, shape, or form.

Don't ever believe anything you see in an ad. All ads lie. (Except for my book ads on the right, of course.)

Read the contract. Read the fine print. That's where the truth is out there.

Trust no one. White-collar criminals will go through all the motions to appear legitimate and respectable to you. You can't go by appearances. Read the fine print, or you will be defrauded.

And no one has anything to give away. If it sounds too good to be true, it very likely is too good to be true. Stay the fuck away.

No, you don't need the government to protect you, even if you're not a Randian hero. In the fine print, there will be a very clear disclaimer saying that the service advertised as A is not in fact A and that you can lose all your money. If you read such a disclaimer, run like hell.

It's in fact those white-collar criminals that clamor to be regulated by the government, so they can advertise the fact that they're regulated. But all the government regulation in the world doesn't help you none if you sign a contract where you waive your right to receive the service you paid for. And once you sue them for deceptive advertising or the like, they're already in Brazil with your money.

"Trump. Owning here is just the beginning." What a threat. Do you really want to own a property that's infested with Foxes Mulder?

The sad thing is that even an unethical businessman like Trump would be a better president village idiot than Obama or the shrub. At least Trump can run a multi-billion-dollar business, give or take a bankruptcy or two, and not just commie unity organize. (*Wince.* Read: At least Trump knows how to successfully separate people from their money.)

Trump's borderline fraud is chicken shit against Obama defrauding auto company bondholders and thereby revealing that the village idiot has no clothes and that the "rule of law" was a myth all along. And at least Trump knows there's no such thing as "shovel-ready projects."

What's Trump's conduct compared with social security, the largest Ponzi scheme in history? What's losing a deposit compared with income tax?

Trump for president. A skyscraper on every corner. A dead cat on every head.

I mean that sincerely. No joke.

Well, a sad joke. Or rather, sad, but no joke. Or a joke, but not as sad or as big a joke as Obama.

At least things will not get boring with The Donald as village idiot. And you can make fun of him without the moon bats automatically bestowing the title "racist" on you.

Trump says that when he's elected village idiot, the world will no longer laugh at America. True. The world will be busy laughing at Trump.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

The Donald Foxed

Hey, I just realized where The Donald gets all those conspiracy theories from. The fox he nailed to his forehead — it's Fox Mulder.

Monday, May 09, 2011

Dead Foxes Are a Little Bit Racist, Too!

Donald Trump shows off his newfound presidentiality by proving that he's not racist. You probably noticed long ago that The Donald doesn't exactly have the gift of the gab.

When it comes to racism and racists, I am the least racist person there is. And I think most people that know me would tell you that. I am the least racist. I've had great relationships.



In fact, Randal Pinkett won on The Apprentice a little while ago, a couple years ago, and Randal's been outstanding in every way. So I am the least racist person.

This, of course, does not follow. Even if "Randal Pinkett won on The Apprentice" did prove that Trump is not racist, how does it prove that there are no less racist persons than Mr. Cathead?

And not only is it illogical, it sounds stupid, too. "So I am the least racist person." Just about like a kindergarten kid or a total retard (a racist word, or just politically incorrect?) would defend himself. I've known a total retard who used to defend himself exactly like this.



In fact, his logic and language sound a lot like Sarah Palin.

Here's what Mr. Dead Fox should have said upon being called out for his racism:



And of course, I'm a little bit racist, too. Or in other words, gentlemen prefer blondes.

Sunday, May 08, 2011

Trump Pattern Baldness

Trump pattern baldness (also known as reverse mullet or alopecia grandiosa) is a rare cause of hair loss in male humans. It also occurs in chimpanzees and orangutans. In classic Trump pattern baldness, hair is lost in the front, while the hair in the back grows forward to cover the bald patches.

Often, the final result resembles a dead fox plastered to the forehead or a dead cat nailed on top of the crown of the head. This is dubbed "developer's balding." Rarely, the condition may progress to complete delusion.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

The Birthers Trumped

Now that Obama finally deigned to release his original birth certificate, it doesn't look so good for the birthers, or for that matter, for my favorite conspiracy theory, that Obama's biological father was not Obama, Sr., but one Frank Marshall Davis . The latter conspiracy theory isn't refuted by the document, though. It just, contrary to the conspiracy theorists' expectations, doesn't show any blood types at all and thus neither proves nor refutes the theory.

We'd need someone who knows the blood types of all involved, or Obama and company would have to submit to DNA tests. But why should they?

An who cares? Obama's communistic enough as it is, and it's not like communism is inherited genetically, as far as I know.

As for the birthers' key claim that Obama was born outside the US, this should be the end of it. He showed the document he was supposed to show, and that's the end of the line.

Only that to the birthers, it won't be. Of course, there's always a chance of forgery. The certificate is a copy from some sort of a ledger, so there's an outside chance that some entries or further pages were cropped/omitted, but from the layout, like the numbering and the position of the signatures, that looks extremely unlikely. Then, for all we know, the whole document could have been made up by the CIA out of whole cloth.

Then again, Obama could be an alien, like Michael Jackson. If he were born at Area 51, would that make him eligible to rule the free?

The only two things you can know with absolute certainty are that you exist and that you are conscious. For anything else, there is less than 100% proof, and anybody can make up nonfalsifiable theories about it.

Who's to say god or the Flying Spaghetti Monster didn't tamper with all archeological evidence to make dinosaurs look millions of years older than the 6,000 years they are, to tempt men to doubt him? Who's to say there is no invisible, disembodied, mute, odorless, tasteless miniature Loch Ness Monster in my closet?

Good that Trump made Obama release it (the birth certificate, not the Loch Ness Monster), though. Obama shouldn't get a free pass just because he's black and can pull the race card whenever he doesn't like something he's got to do. Obama should have to provide the same amount of documentation that McCain would have had to provide for being born in Panama / the Panama Canal Zone / the Panama Canal / whatever.

Looks like Obama was just stubborn, after all.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Warmest Cheers for The Donald

Donald Trump recently stated with a laugh at a speech to his membership at Trump National Golf Club in Westchester "with the coldest winter ever recorded, with snow setting record levels from Virginia all the way up and down the coast, the Nobel Committee should take the Nobel Prize back from Al Gore."

As Mr. Trump explained, "Gore wants us to clean up our factories and plants in order to protect us from global warming when China and other countries couldn't care less. It would make us totally non-competitive in the manufacturing world and China, Japan, and India are laughing at America's stupidity while they go along with the good act of pretending they're all for spending dollars on global warming." The entire room of 500 people stood up and cheered.

Sunday, February 01, 2009

A Do to Remember

Make no mistake, I don't like that man. But I have got to hand it to Blagojevich, he has got great hair.

"I think he felt a certain kind of immunity," Ambers said. "It's part of the grandiosity — 'They are not going to be able to punish me because I'm above the law, I'm smarter, I will outfox them.' "


Not so. It's more like a Dogbertian "I'm so cute, no jury will convict me" thing.

If Blagojevich gets acquitted, it'll be on account of his hair. If he gets convicted, it'll be in spite of his hair. If The Donald had done what Blago is being accused of, he'd already be on death row by now.

Then, of course, charity begins at home, so when Blago pays one last wistful visit to the State of Illinois Center, he may want to try being a good neighbor, walk over to the new Trump Tower, and if its owner's in, donate some locks. Sharing will no doubt ease his conscience and make him feel better.

It's a win-win situation. And it sure beats that dead cat.

In other words:

There once was a man from Chicago:
We'll not name him, just call him Blago.
Thought: I'll just play the machine —
It's an easy crime routine:
The voter's as dumb as a Dago!

Thought: My hair is my greatest asset;
If caught in office, on I'll pass it.
A jury may get picked,
But it will not convict,
For I am as cute as a basset!

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Donald, Meet the Hatfields and McCoys

And the Trump Bromide division is doing overtime again: "After watching the movie Frost/Nixon I was thinking about Nixon's children. Where are they? Whether you liked Nixon or not, family is family and I find it incredible that no one has surfaced to defend him."

That is perfectly immoral. If person A does something bad, why should person B aid and abet that just because they happen to share some genetic material and/or have lived together/known each other for a long time?

Not "right or wrong, my country," but — maybe an even worse kind of collectivism — "right or wrong, my family." For the result of such tribalism or clanism, look at Somalia.

Thanks a lot, Donald. Now every time I think of you, I'll have in mind an image of some Hatfields and McCoys killing each other over some perceived wrong to their clan. I guess it's all relative in New York, too — at least in some families.

Ever heard, "You cannot choose your family, but you can choose your friends"? To paraphrase Martin Luther King, I have a dream that children will one day live in a world where they will not be judged by their relationship status, but by the content of their character.

PS. Donald, you've been renamed. Now you're called Joe Roberts.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

The Multiple Vote

Sometimes even wing nuts have a good idea: The multiple vote reform proposal recognizes, at least implicitly, that the chief drawback of democracy is that every moron gets an equal vote. Thus, this innovative approach gives multiple votes to productive and responsible individuals.

As a first principle, a multiple vote system in 21st century America should be designed to favor those who have put forth the greatest effort to be economically self-sufficient, and those who contribute most to society. In other words, those who have demonstrated that they understand the importance of making good choices in their lives would be rewarded. Just as a suggestion, a new American voting system might confer additional votes to all those of voting age, as follows:


And that's where the ground drops from under the wing nut.

"One additional vote for those with a college degree and/or active duty military service."

Hmm… An effort at bipartisanship or just plain thoughtlessness? After all, colleges are dominated by liberals. Well, who cares, at least it's one more vote for me.

"One additional vote for those with 20 years or more of demonstrated voluntary civilian service to church, community, state, or nation."

Now the true fundie spirit shines shit stinks through. Rewarding mystics for becoming witch doctors? And what about the latter half? Rewarding each and every bureaucrat and politician, no matter how corrupt?

"One additional vote for individuals who have raised at least one child to age 16 without being divorced."

Hmm… He doesn't mention all those enlightened folks who raise their kids without ever marrying. So it must be OK with him. If never marrying is OK, why then is he against divorce?

He probably can't even imagine that kids are ever born out of wedlock! Looks like that fundie would have to be more enlightened to be unenlightened.

Now for the hard part: What means raising? Shouldn't there be some success test? Or should anybody who shits out a baby and doesn't file for divorce for sixteen years be rewarded with another vote, even if she raises her kid to become a serial killer?

"One additional vote for those without a felony criminal record."

Again, nice in theory. But that would require a justice system that makes a credible effort to discover the truth instead of hunting scapegoats. Remember the West Memphis Three? And it would require a justice system that does not treat things like drug dealing and tax evasion as felonies.

"One additional vote for those who own their principal place of residence, mortgage free."

So why not cut through the red tape and simply introduce plutocracy? The more productive the individual, the higher the income, the more votes. There would be the problem of worthless heirs, but that could be addressed.

Look, for example, at The Donald. I used to admire him, but he's a textbook case of the Wynand syndrome: I still admire his work, but since I started reading his blog and got to know his petty and often borderline-irrational personality, I don't care much for him as a person anymore.

Nevertheless, even an average-to-bad capitalist like The Donald would be a billion times better at running a country than your average Obamabot or Palin disciple. (And I know some. I wish I would not.)

In any event, the multiple vote would be an important first step on the road towards anarcho-capitalism. Unlike anarcho-capitalism, however, state plutocracy does not address the problems inherent in the monopoly government's claim to exclusivity: No competition and an inherent mysticism.

In other words, vigilantes, even if they punish the right criminal justly, would still be persecuted just for not being the government. And government would continue to be a Hegelian juggernaut, instead of just another utility: People would still be ready to murder and to sacrifice their lives for the state, something they would never do for a non-mystical, corporate, private utility.

But I digress. If you want to know more about solving the problem of worthless heirs and minarchy versus anarchy, you'll have to wait for my next book, Mystic Triangle. And now back to our regularly scheduled programming:

Can it ever happen? Probably not… at least not so long as liberals control the White House and/or hold majorities in at least one house of Congress. It is precisely the under-educated, the uninformed, and the indifferent voters, and those who can be convinced that they are in some way "victims" of all the rest of us, who are essential to liberal success at the polls.


And here the wing nut mudslinging, predictably, goes off the scale. Need I mention college liberals again? Need I mention that many, like drug offenders, are indeed victimized by the fascist man?

So if you want to know the politics of friends or relatives who say they never discuss politics or religion, there's an easy way to find out. Just run this idea up the flag pole. If they salute it, they're probably conservatives; if they try to shoot it down, they're probably liberals.


Nice try, buster. I agree with the idea of the multiple vote, but I'm no conservative. You probably never heard the word libertarian?

Monday, January 12, 2009

A Brain Cell in Every Hair?

Apparently, there's a brain cell in the root of every hair on a human head… In other words, The Donald went off the deep end — again. (Hilarity ensues.)

Imagine a multi-billion-dollar real estate tycoon pestering a reporter over some perceived slight… One should think he has bigger fish to fry.

And look at that URL: That BS was published under the "Trump University" imprint. Latest class: Being a Jerk 101, huh? Well, that I can teach you for free.

And look at that poor chick's resume — why the fuck would she want to fuck that up with an appearance on reality TV? Could anyone tell me what in that resume, in The Donald's opinion, is "very unimportant" in comparison with The Holy Show? Or what he smoked?

Better never do business with The Donald, or you'll never see the last of his clingy, insecure self. What was that with the Napoleon complex? Tiny self-confidence = huge ambition.

What The Trump Blog fails to deliver in business tips, it sure replaces in entertainment value. Again, take the time to read the lickspittle comments.

Here's the random winner I picked, "member1847017":

She didn't forget to acknowledge Mr. Trump. She wants evryone to think she got where she is today without any help from anyone.

If she was of good character and good intellegence she would have paid tribute to those who deserve it. One day the lack of courtesy will com back and bite her very hard in the ass. Mr. Trump would not have gotten to where he is if he failed to acknowledge the people that helped him get to where he is today.


If she really cares about The Donald, she'll buy him a toupee. Or at least get him a big brown bag. Or at the very least, a new dead cat.

Maybe I should do a PayPal donation drive? "A chicken in every pot, a car in every garage, and a toupee on every Donald"?

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

Anything Goes (Shrub Edition)

Dubya dined with Obama and the other extant looters-in-chief… Such a farewell dinner would not be complete without some serenading:

Times have changed,
And we've often rewound the clock
Since the Puritans got a shock,
When they landed on Plymouth Rock.
When today,
Some shock the shrub fought on a whim,
'Stead of landing on Plymouth Rock,
Plymouth Rock did land on him!

(Lyrics continued below.)



Nowadays a glimpse of stocking
Is looked on as something shocking,
For sure everybody knows,
Only fundie prigs wear hose.
The Alex too who once knew better words
Will only use four-letter words
Writing prose,
Anything goes!

If parking the next bimbo you like, (Why not?)
If lines of llello you like, (I like chocolate, dude.)
If old hymns you like, (Like the shrub…)
If bare limbs you like, (Boy, do I!)
If Jim West you like, (So totally platonically!)
Or me undressed you like, (Yeah, baby, yeah!)
Why, nobody will oppose. (Oh, behave!)
When every night the set that's smart is (You talkin' about me, partner?)
Intruding in nudist parties in studios, (Come on in, y'all!)
Anything goes!

When them guys at ExxonMobil (Hank bless them)
Still can hoard enough cash for Jim to "Yes" them
Then I suppose
Anything goes!

Plus, when The Donald still can hoard enough
Money to make a chick come
And take the vows,
Anything goes!

The world has gone mad today,
And good's bad today,
And black's white today,
And day's night today,
And that gent today
You gave a cent today
Once owned half of Lehman Bros.
When folks who still can ride subway trains
Find out that Alan Greenspan's famed brains
All money blows,
Anything goes!

If Valley girls can with great conviction
Instruct us all in diction,
Then Fluffy shows,
Anything goes!

When you hear those fundie morons lonely
Believe preaching abstinence only
Flies with bros
Anything goes!

Just think of those scores you've got
And those whores you've got
And those blues you've shot
And those clues you've got
And those pains you've got
(If any brains you've got)
Playing Grand Theft till blood flows.
So Mr. W., wasting taxes,
Can broadcast from a shed in Texas
'Cause the shrub knows
Anything goes!

You want more?

Encore:

If auto execs can swoop down in private jets
And get DC looters to underwrite their bets
'Cause pensions rose
Anything goes!

Bye-bye, shrubby! Have fun at Farewell Ranch in Texas! Beware of those evil pretzels. And if you happen to meet a bottle of bourbon, remember: abstinence only!

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Bench That Dench

Uh, I mean, ditch that bitch. I guess it's no secret that I'm no fan of Judi Dench.

I don't care that our British friends believe she's one of their finest actresses. I mean, Brits believe Roger Moore can't act.

(Shouldn't become a closet collectivist here, though. It should be: "most Brits," not "all Brits.")

Anyway, let's cut to the chase. Dench's #1 problem is that basically she's nothing but a punk: She's rebelling against beauty itself.

Until a cure for aging is found, one can at least try to age gracefully. Letting one's face implode into a crater with wrinkles around and then smearing eyeliner and lipstick on the remains like whitewash on the ruins of the WTC is only adding insult to injury.

Like so many things, it's either or. Either go for a facelift or forgo the makeup.

And if she doesn't want to dye her white hair, fine. But that doesn't mean she has to opt for a do that looks like it's been nibbled by boogle of weasels. The Donald's do has more dignity.

As for her "acting," I've seen her only in Shakespeare in Love and in those disastrous howlers that pass for Bond movies these days. Nevertheless, in both roles she played a mean old bat, and from her performance as M it's obvious that she can't act, can't even tell acting from frenzied histrionics.

So I can't help but wonder, is she being typecast or isn't she acting at all — is she just playing herself? If an actor's playing the same type again and again, that's basically the only two possibilities.

Either she's had some real bad luck being cast, or she enjoys being a mean old bat because she is a mean old bat in real life. Given her open rebellion against beauty, I tend to think the latter.

Monday, October 20, 2008

People Who Live in Glass Towers…

Having defended The Donald's do, I can't possibly let this one slide… In case the link goes dead, it's the good old "flip-flops and skimpy attire in the office aren't professional" routine.

(Note the toadying comments below his post! Hilarious!)

I have to admit, I was a bit surprised to hear that from The Donald, of all people. Who would you rather do business with: someone in skimpy attire and flip-flops, or someone in an outrageous comb over — who, to add insult to injury, even refuses to shake hands with you? The Donald should be the last person in the world to criticize anybody's style.

By the way, the other day I saw a pic of him in an old magazine, from the early nineties. Back then, his do didn't look quite that bad. I think it was some kind of a comb over even then, but he still had a reasonable enough amount of hair to wear it with some dignity.

I think the evolution of The Donald's do is like frying a frog. They say if you set a frog in a hot frying pan, he'll hop out. But if you set him in a cold pan and slowly turn up the heat, he'll never notice the gradual increase in temperature and allow himself to get fried.

Now, I'm not a Frenchman, so I wouldn't do that to a poor varmint, but it sure has some bearing on the matter at hand, or rather, at hair. Likely, slowly losing hair after hair, The Donald never noticed how his comb over got more and more, to use his expression, "inappropriate" over the years.

Anyway, when I start hiring, it'll be:

"Keep, ancient firms, your professional pomp!" cries me
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your sweating masses yearning to breathe free,
The flip-flopping refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the workless, Trump-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside Trump's golden door!"

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Whatever Happened to Rosie O'Donnell?

Speaking of horror, fascists, and moronic gun control freaks… What's up with Rosie?

The ruins of her face somehow imploded further. I thought that was physically impossible.

Thar she blows:


Image courtesy of David Shankbone, licensed under the GNU Free Documentation License.

Serious self-tanner malfunction? (LOL, I just typed "elf-tanner." Obviously not a product Rosie would use.)

No, I guess she just crept into an oven to get at the cookie batter before it solidifies into cookies. So stick a fork in her: She's done!

Before, it was bad enough:



Image courtesy of Jason Chatting, licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License.

Now, no doubt due to the same hormone imbalance that caused her hoplophobia, she felt compelled to slap on ten times the amount. Clearly, this knocks her from a 2 down to a 1.

(Yes, of course I've seen a 0. I tried to take a photo of her, but she broke the camera. No joke.)

Or maybe she's such a hoplophobe 'cause every time she passes a mirror she's tempted to improve her looks and state of mind by shooting herself? Anyway, Rosie, you are not allowed to spook folks with that mug of yours, and if you do run around without your bag on, I think you should go to prison.

Man, it'll be a sad day in Heifer County when Kelli Carpenter decides to have her eyesight restored… 6+1= Major mismatch.

"I mean would you want to wake up next to that? … Would you want to kiss that face?"

— The Donald

True in 2006, twice as true now. The Donald rules.

His comb over, you say?

"I don't say my hair is my greatest strength in the world, but it's not terrible," says he.

I agree. That puts him head and shoulders over everybody's favorite gun control freak.

Now, you wonder, what could poor Rosie do to escape comments like these? In fact, there are two things.

First, she could eat less — about a ton a day. Second, she could stop making light of other folks' right to self-defense.

Friday, March 07, 2008

Soaring Toward the Heavens - Again

While David Childs' latest design for New York's New World Trade Center Freedom Tower is much improved over Daniel Libeskind's nightmarish vision and Childs' own skeleton-topped contraption dubbed "the world's tallest chicken coop," it still does not necessarily amount to the full rebuilding New York and America deserve. Gone are the physically impossible sliver greenhouse and the morbid skeleton Libeskind and Childs respectively had earlier contrived to push a 70-story office building past the height of the destroyed 110-story masterpieces. On any other lot, this simple, symmetrical design — a crystalline prism with a perfectly square base and chamfered corners dropping back elegantly as the tower rises — would qualify as one of the world's most beautiful buildings.

But can one such building replace the Twin Towers? The Twin Towers were my favorite buildings anywhere because they had all the qualities that I think make an office building great. They were tall. They did not have any setbacks to apologize for their greatness. They looked tall — their facade columns stressed the vertical and let the Towers soar. They had logical, simple floorplans flexible enough to allow for customization by the tenant. They did not have any decorative elements other than necessary due to the aforementioned four points. The Twin Towers were the perfect embodiment of form follows function. Frank Lloyd Wright modernism is wonderful for residences and museums — but the best shape for an office skyscraper is usually a box. The Twin Towers were the logical thing: If you want to make an office building the tallest in the city — make the box 110 floors. If you want to make it "so New York" — build two of them, while you're at it.

The latest version of Freedom Tower is said to have 82 floors instead of 70. Instead of about 1,100 feet, its roof will now rise to the 1,362 feet of the old Two WTC, while a glass parapet will reach the 1,368 feet of One WTC. With some good will — ignoring the facts that glass is not aluminum or steel and that visitors on the elevated observation deck above the roof of Two WTC stood higher than the 1,362 feet they can reach on Freedom Tower's rooftop observation deck — one might say that the first of the new WTC Towers will be not one inch shorter than before. This is of course the paramount requirement for a rebuilt WTC. But the requirement not to retreat from the skies in any way whatsoever is not met in a host of other dimensions. Well, if they would only build two of these Freedom Towers! (Why not call them "Freedom" and "Liberty" as a friend of me suggested?) However, the Libeskind-decreed downward spiral dictates that all other WTC Towers must be even shorter than Freedom Tower.

Deplorably, Freedom Tower supposedly will only have 82 floors versus the Twin Tower's 110. This comparison is however somewhat deceptive. Looking at drawings of the Twin Towers in engineering textbooks, it appears that they have been cheating up back then: To arrive at a floor count of 110, they must have counted the tall lobbies as multiple floors and double-high mechanical floors as two floors. Real floor count must have been more like 102. I have not seen such detailed drawings for the new Freedom Tower design, but by some simple calculations I wager to say that by the old method of counting, one might arrive at a floor count of up to 102 for Freedom Tower. So depending on how you count, the Twin Towers had at least 102, at most 110 floors (of which 92 were office floors); Freedom Tower will have between 82 and 102 (69 office floors). The remaining discrepancy despite equal height to roof is explainable by the fact that in today's office buildings, individual floors are higher than in those built 30 years ago. Anyway, where they have been cheating up in the past, they are cheating down now, in order to not scare the tenants on the top office floors, who are supposedly afraid of being "up there." What those of us who want to have an office on a cool three-digit floor are to do, has not been addressed.

In any event, authorities' claims that Freedom Tower will be materially taller than the Twin Towers are not true. The old 1,368-foot-tall One WTC Tower had a 1,728-foot communications tower (read: antenna) on top; the new 1,368-foot-tall Freedom Tower will have a 1,776-foot spire on top that doubles as a broadcasting antenna. The real-life difference between the tips of the two buildings is all of 48 feet. Only the more or less arbitrary decision of the Council on Tall Buildings and Urban Habitat (sounds like one more Toohey council!), the self-appointed, unofficial umpire on what counts towards building height and what does not, declares the old Tower to be 1,368 official feet and may declare the new one 1,776. Functional broadcasting masts do not count towards building height; their existence is blanked out. A purely ornamental spire however does count. Freedom Tower's spire will be both an antenna and an ornament. Depending on the Council's whim, there is a fifty-fifty chance that the building will be pronounced to be 1,368 or 1,776 feet.

Freedom Tower will have a slightly smaller footprint (200 by 200 feet versus 208 by 208). As the building tapers considerably, it will comprise only slightly more than half the office space of ONE Twin Tower. The office space once contained in two monumental towers will now be broken up into five smaller buildings. What is more, even when the last new WTC Tower is completed, not all office space destroyed by the terrorists will have been rebuilt. For a failure to effect a full rebuilding in this respect, "thank" communitarian urban planners who cry "less density" as an answer to all questions they are faced with. I guess if you ask one of them the time of day he will answer: "Less density!"

Deplorably, developer and WTC leaseholder Larry Silverstein has been no help in getting the Twin Towers rebuilt. He is only focused on rebuilding as much office space as the urban planners let him get away with, no matter if the new WTC buildings are shorter and constitute a retreat from the skies. Silverstein seems to be the man Howard Roark warns Gail Wynand against: "The man whose sole aim is to make money." A man who does not mind if a building is shorter and smaller than the one it replaces, if shorter and smaller is more short-term profitable. A developer whose end is not the best, greatest possible skyscraper, but who treats the means to an end — money — as an end in itself.

Some people say we must rebuild the Twin Towers to show that we are not afraid of terrorists. While this is one reason, I say we must rebuild the Twin Towers — terrorists or no terrorists. Rebuilding the Twin Towers would be just as important if they had been destroyed by an earthquake or a hurricane. One simply does not replace a great thing with something less great. Period.

Now, there is a controversy over whether tax money should help pay for rebuilding the WTC. Of course, in principle the government has no business building or operating office space. On the other hand, the government has no business prohibiting developers like Donald Trump from building 140-story towers via the FAA or zoning laws. Maybe the government owes New York a 100-plus-story skyscraper or two? Moreover, the Twin Towers were destroyed in an act of war; countering acts of war is the legitimate business of government. Finally, as the money has already been looted, there are much worse ways to spend it. Ayn Rand said in "Apollo 11":

As far as "national priorities" are concerned, I want to say the following: we do not have to have a mixed economy, we still have a chance to change our course and thus to survive. But if we do continue down the road of a mixed economy, then let them pour all the millions and billions they can into the space program. If the United States is to commit suicide, let it not be for the sake and support of the worst human elements, the parasites-on-principle, at home and abroad. Let it not be its only epitaph that it died paying its enemies for its own destruction. Let some of its lifeblood go to the support of achievement and the progress of science. The American flag on the moon — or on Mars, or on Jupiter — will, at least, be a worthy monument to what had once been a great country.


Let me paraphrase this: The American Flag in the sky on a 110-story — or for that matter, why not 220-story — Tower on this Earth will be a worthy monument to what can again be a great country.

Originally published on August 1, 2005, on The Atlasphere.