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Archive for May, 2009

–*Naked wine show

–*Naked C-SPAN

–*Naked minutes of the CIA Nancy Pelosi waterboarding briefing by the Bush administration

–*Naked waterboarding

–*Naked minutes of the Chrysler reorganization plan, featuring naked back room arm-twisting of the car company’s subordinated debt holders by the Obama administration, especially if those naked lenders think they don’t have to play ball with the administration and have this naked re-org shoved down their naked throats

–*Naked stockholders up shit creek

–*Naked Supreme Court selection hearings

–*I’m Fucking Matt Damon

–*Bill O’Reilly’s “Fuck It, We’ll Do It Live”

–*Some cute chick in a bikini on YouTube talking about how we should all live in tents

–*Naked monkey smelling feces, fainting

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–*Red eye

–*Sun glare

–*A piece of gristle in our teeth

–*Our first wife

–*The whole landing strip

–*The low, black curlies

–*Original Supremes singer Flo Ballard

–*The welt we got when we ran into the door

–*The welt we got when we ran into the door if you believe that load of shit and not that it was really domestic abuse

–*The welt we got when we ran into the door no seriously it was an accident, Johnny’s a good man

–*The tattoo of a rose that runs down from our cleavage to our landing strip

–*Certain parts of Article I of the U.S. Constitution

–*Lisa Rinna’s Montgomery glands

–*Tara Reid’s nipples (oh wait, sorry, they’re actually just not there anymore)

–*A cigarette in Arnold Schwarzenegger’s mouth

–*A whole pizza in Bill Clinton’s fists

–*A reflection of Dick Cheney in a foggy mirror on the set of “Three Men and a Baby”

–*Taylor Hicks

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–*We crashed the car

–*We walked into a manhole

–*We sucked the cat up into the vacuum cleaner

–*We drank from the bottle of Old English polisher instead of the glass of orange juice

–*We lost control of the New Jersey transit train and it jumped the tracks in Secaucus

–*We left the lens cap on the camera the whole time and didn’t capture most of Angelina Jolie’s Oscar-worthy performance

–*We weren’t paying attention during our calculus exam and failed to find the proper area under the curve using the integral

–*We weren’t paying attention while building a new dam and failed to find the proper area under the curve using the integral and killed thousands of Chinese peasants

–*We bought Merrill Lynch in our capacity as president of Bank of America and didn’t notice that it was so toxic with bad debt that it could eat a hole in the floor

–*We came

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As part of its efforts to plumb the depths of the financial crisis, the Obama administration has subjected U.S. banks to “stress tests,” to determine if these institutions have enough capital on their books to keep lending and survive a prolonged economic slump. Regulators project that the losses at the biggest banks could reach a staggering $600 billion by 2010.

What are some of the shortfalls at the nation’s largest banks and where did these gaps come from?

–*SunTrust is short on money it lent to the Christian right for a now abandoned “Tower of Babel To Heaven” construction project, one that now sits unfinished in Topeka, Kansas after rising only five stories and which has since turned into a squatters’ town.

–*Northern Light Bank in Cincinnati, Ohio is short on credit card loans it provided to Ohioans to buy plasma TVs.

–*Fifth Third Bancorp has an estimated loss on credit card loans it offered to consumers with the strict stipulation that they were supposed to go build their own Interstate highway bridges with the money, not buy muscle cars, but then they went out and bought that god damned car anyway, which is now sitting in the driveway, its motor having fallen out and making our house an eyesore.

–*BB&T lost billions on the falling value of collateral on houses, and in a crude attempt at raising their value, tried to people them with a race of stunted, red-eyed Morelocks it had fabricated in a clone lab.

–*U.S. Bancorp failed to raise $9 billion it needed by breaking into the homes of its clients and shaking them down for blood money Mexican gangster style.

–*PNC Financial Services Group gave a billion dollar loan to its Uncle Ernie to get him back on track after his alcohol meltdown, but after three months on the wagon, he had a terrible relapse, and all the money was gone. “What did you do with the money, Uncle Ernie?” said PNC as it slapped the poor man silly. “What did you do with the fuckin’ money, Uncle Ernie, you god damned old souse?”

–*KeyCorp took the initiative and spent billions of dollars of its own money to rebuild the New Orleans levees so that they could withstand a category 5 hurricane, thus preventing thousands of needless deaths in the future–a loan that of course makes absolutely no economic sense.

–*Regions Financial loaned out billions for what seemed to be second lien mortgages on houses but which actually turned out to be a speculative investment in the cardboard refrigerator box industry, which now serves as the major source of America’s dwellings.

–*Wells Fargo lost billions through an insidious little machine called a “credit card” that through no inherent value of its own can be used to procure goods and services.

–*Bank of America fucking bought Merrill Lynch which was like buying a fucking black hole of fucking limitless debt.

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Dear Leticia,

I remember it was 1995 in a Brooklyn hip-hop bar and we were plucking No. 8 bird-shot out of Kropotkin’s shoulder and thigh with a pair of surgical tweezers, asking him how he had come to such a sorry pass, when suddenly Bede’s 20-year-old younger sister Virginia appeared in a shirtwaist dress. As we all remember, this June Cleaver mode had enjoyed something of a revival in the late 1980s, but by Virginia’s time was patently out of date; thus, as we summed up her forlorn silhouette against the Fort Green night, it must have struck us all at once: Virginia Van Der Meer was not only a fashion victim but perhaps a virgin as well.

We sought out clues. Bede told us she had gone to an all-girl’s school in Rhode Island called Havershire, whose enrollees, according to the most recent Farmers’ Almanac, were most famous for rarely rising above 4 foot 5 inches in height. Thus the school had earned some not-so-flattering sobriquets, such as “the Daughters of Emily,” the “Pocket Vestals” and “Band Camp.”

We immediately drew straws to see who would be the man who must immediately deflower Virginia, if only for her own good, and I, dear Leticia, unfortunately drew the smallest silage.

I walked her home that night, going as far as her boudoir, tip-toeing past her Korean roommate. My idea was to seduce her by way of a sort of word game I had devised, in which I would kiss one of her knuckles whenever she dropped the name of a female author and tell her it was punishment. Instead, before I could get to the first knuckle, she sucked me up into a tight embrace, climbing halfway up my knee and kissing me on the mouth for several uncomfortable minutes before confessing that someone had actually already ruined her, but this man then immediately broke up with her to become a priest. It left her feeling not only ugly and sexually ambiguous but with a great deal to prove.

It was all too awful, not to mention frankly funny, for me to possibly ever look her in the eye ever again, so the moment she went to the bathroom to affix the Dutch cap that her ever-hopeful father had bought her, I jumped out the window and ran back to the pub where I told the rest of my hale-fellows that the mission was a bust.

After another hour of dialectic about the commodification of black rage, I became smitten by a smoky eyed woman in a tam and a shoddy down coat named Sabine who bragged about having completely furnished her home with found items on the New York City streets and thus was above feelings of capitalist alienation that seemed to obsess the rest of us. Intrigued, hooked, besotted, I asked her to promenade with me along Atlantic Avenue where we could discuss prolonged people’s wars and other delicious topics.

“Wait!” she said. “It’s a full moon.”

“Yes?”

“We must chase it.”

Before I knew it, I was running down the street after her in the middle of the night, following the moon as it left its trail for us in various pools of standing Brooklyn bilge water, Sabine often losing it behind a building only to find it again as we turned a corner moments later with a delighted shriek of “There it is!”

With all due respect to your fair sex, Leticia, this stone crazy bitch ran me around for two hours chasing windmills, only to land us about three miles away at the Red Hook wharfs at two in the morning where I was quite in danger of being attacked by a gang of drunk, angry hoods.

I called my friends from a pay phone to come get me in a taxi, and they sent Bede, who, got out of the car and punched me in the eye.

“You leave my poor sister alone like that? Don’t you know how fragile she is? She tried to jump in the Hudson River, you unfeeling bastard.”

As it turned out, Virginia jumped not into the river but into the arms of a Russian sailor near the Chelsea docks, a man whom she married and retired with back to Siberia where I hear they now have 8 children. I understand she has become a stocky and muscular farm woman who can punch an ox in the face and almost knock it down. Meanwhile, Sabine, the woman I chased all night trying to find the moon, has become quite famous by convincing Larry King she has cured autism.

And where does that leave me? Still pining for you, Leticia. In what chambers of the sea do you linger? What compass could ever help me navigate the map of red and blue veins under your pellucid white skin? What set of directions could ever lead me to you?

I am yours always. Remember what we used to say in Munich: “Is this bitter, or is it just me?”

I am an ancient reluctant conscript,

Salo

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We love our fans, and we hope our fans still love us after waiting much too long for this, the latest installment of “The Retributioners.”

This is also the long-awaited follow-up to “Facebook Friend Purge,” in which Stephanie finally confronts her erstwhile friend Jessica about a spat they had on somewhat well-known social networking site.

Here we find out that sometimes it’s not good to look past the profile page into the seamy underside of someone’s real life.

This episode guest stars the incredibly funny leading lady and Web star Allison Lane, who worked with Stephanie on The Video Guys.

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WASHINGTON, D.C. (API) Facing a massive swine flu pandemic and fears that have raised the World Health Organization’s flu alert to phase “5,” Joe Biden told Americans today that they should avoid getting on airplanes and buses, avoid sneezing, coughing or being around anyone, even family members, and in fact, that Americans should isolate themselves completely from all human contact.

Then he ran away.

“My advice to you in the face of the swine flu epidemic is ‘Run!’” said Biden, “Run like hell,” right before turning heel and bolting away from the group of assembled reporters in the White House Rose Garden.

Veteran reporter Helen Thomas was just about to ask Biden a follow-up question about whether Biden’s “run” strategy contradicted President Obama’s more circumspect “wait and see” approach to the flu pandemic that originated in Mexico, a virus that in the last couple of weeks has spread to major U.S. cities and infected 257 people around the world.

“Mr. Biden could you … wait a minute, where’s he going?” asked Thomas.

CNN reporter Rob Gates specifically wanted to know from Biden whether it was true the pandemic in Mexico had stabilized.

“I figured Biden, with his impeccable international affairs credentials, would give a great answer to that one,” said Gates. “But he just took off faster than a greased pig, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

“That was a good pun,” said CBS News correspondent Laura Winters. “I’m sorry, I’m at a loss here. Biden left. We’re just kind of gawping at each other.”

It wasn’t clear where Biden would run to or what his advice for other Americans was rather than to simply panic and to go wherever the inspiration of pure, cold animal fear took them.

“We all know he hails from Delaware and Pennsylvania and usually takes the train home with his good friend Arlen Specter,” said Winters. “Perhaps Arlen knows where he is. Maybe they are on the train together.”

Specter, who shocked American politics earlier in the week by switching political parties to become a Democrat, said that he indeed often rode home on the Amtrak train with his friend Biden, but not today.

“I asked Joe if he was getting on the train with me, and he said, ‘So long, sucker.’ Then he ran up the apron and jumped down into the tracks, over the switchyards and through a stand of paper birch trees in a straight line headed north. I have no idea where he’s going unless he’s running all the way back to Delaware.”

President Obama tried to throw Biden’s remarks in some relief.

“Look,” said Obama. “We’re not sure exactly what Joe is thinking. Joe is Joe. He says what he says. And he … thinks what he thinks. Obviously, he thinks … we should run. That we all … should run. Run like hell. That is his position. It doesn’t happen to be mine.

“What we know is that the situation in Mexico has stabilized. There is no reason for countries like Egypt to slaughter their pigs. The CDC have so far done their job and found the locus of outbreak. People do not need to curtail their plans or overburden their health care system.”

And Biden?

“Joe will be back,” promised Obama. “He will smile with that big smile. And he will show in that smile the embarrassment and chagrin that we have come to expect as sure as the clock strikes 6 twice a day. We will, all of us, prevail.”

Biden’s wife was asked whether she had heard from her husband yet.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s somewhere, probably in a parking lot, feeling pretty stupid right about now. I’m going to go ahead and make him dinner.

“Is it too cruel to make him sausage?” she cackled. “How about chicken? Or maybe a nice plate of spine.”

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