Archives for posts with tag: idiot

Sometimes Mr. Blunt and Cranky happens upon a post that deserves sharing. Thus it is today, with this bit of awesomeness from Internet DJ Mr. Scorpio:

Today, as it just so happens, I found out that Sarah Palin is worth twelve million dollars

Marinate on that thought for a moment: As a person who all but demonstrates the intellectual dexterity of a rusty crankshaft all of the time, she has somehow accumulated twelve million dollars.

Obviously, you don’t need to be smart in order to get rich in America. That much is sure.

Now, how much of that she had before she became America’s most egregious example of poor family planning, I don’t know.

But she’s rich beyond her dreams of avarice now. Scratch that… Her dreams of avarice knows no bounds, as long as there are gaggles of willing rubes for her to grift. Hence, we see her advantage.

Basically, to get rich, all she had to do was invest in a complete lack of scruples. Let’s forget about any moral compass that she may have… It only points toward money.

Just recently, our favorite Wicked Grifter of the North indicated that she may toss her pointed hat into the political ring in some upcoming election. Now we’re talking about a person who’s too moronic to be voted dog catcher, but that’s not going to prevent her from exercising her delusions of grandeur, now is it?

Say whatever you will about this babbling, gun toting wolf murderer, she has a purpose and she has the blindingly stupid belief in herself to achieve that purpose. Personally, I’m aghast that she incoherently blundered her way into accumulating 12 million dollars. This says even less about her than it says about how many people who are walking around today who are willing to give her all of that money.

Many of these people vote, I’m sure of that. And they consistently vote wrong.

Now, I’m not worried for one second that Caribou Barbie is going to stumble into the Oval Office. If she can still operate her lucrative business model in the same way she has for the last six years, getting elected would be too expensive for her and limiting as well.

The grift is on. That’s all that matters. Whatever she does, just remember that no one ever got rich by underestimating the stupidity of the American people.

In Bible Spice’s case, quite the opposite.

Nice takedown of the Sparklemoose, innit? Thanks to the author for allowing this repost. Check out his writing and musical activities.

Mr. Blunt and Cranky

And they wonder why we call Congresscritters idiots?

Read or listen here.

Mr. B & C

Everybody knows this little rodent and what a pain in the arse he is:  a bunch of kids at recess decide to play kickball (or whatever), and he decides to be The Rule Maker. At first, everybody goes along, because, hey, it’s kickball, not too complicated, what can he do to mess it up? No worries, knock yourself out, ferret-face.

But as the game progresses, he re-writes the rules for his own benefit whenever things don’t go his way. Pretty soon, fights break out and the game goes up in flames, all because of the little snot and his sneaky crap. And he keeps doing it, recess after recess, day after day, until the whole classroom decides to take him down in the next dodgeball game. Pretty ugly scene, if you remember those days from your youth.

It is certainly no more palatable in adulthood. From bosses who “interpret” contract rules to shaft certain workers they dislike, to elected officials who implement legislation to skew the playing field in their favor, we see that the snotty little weasel was not improved by being smeared all over the second grade playground. Indeed, he grew up to be even sneakier and more mendacious than he was before. And he intends to take that old dodgeball and give it back to you, right where you will find it to be the least comfortable.

Today’s Grown-Up Little Playground Snot (GULPS) is Florida  businessman crook Governor Little Rickie Scott, who reallyreallyreally wants to make sure his team wins this fall’s electoral kickball tourney (and when one thinks about it, ball-kicking is pretty much what politics has become). In spite of the other players (the counties, the auditors, the feds, the voters, etc.) he is going to interpret existing rules and write new ones on the fly, so as to make sure he wins.

Just as in those halcyon days of yore, the other players are getting madder and madder, and the allegorical dodgeballs (lawsuits) are flying at the GULPS. Also as in those aforementioned days, he is insisting that he alone is right, and that anyone who does not follow his super-duper extra-special  personal set of awesome rules is a cheater.

Maybe we were too harsh on the GULPS when he was a wee tyke. Perhaps some gentle understanding would have helped him to grow up into something other than a sleazy, conniving, serial rule-rewriter with a heart of pig poo and the eyes of a rabid stoat.

 Or maybe we weren’t harsh enough. Pass the dodgeballs around, kids, that recess bell is ringing.

Mr. Blunt and Cranky

(Link to pile of badly-written crap)

As one might expect, there are some extremists who worry about losing this or that electoral contest this fall. Among those wackjobs we find the Greene County VA Republican Party, whose newsletteradvocates armed revolution should Obama win re-election in 2012. You’ll find the ignorant screed (penned by the editor himself) on Page 7, in the lower right-hand corner.

This newsletter’s editorial staff are clearly crybabies, possessed also of seditious, violent, un-American tendencies (and the apparent absence of Spellcheck).  Come on, grow up. And if you lose, fight harder and smarter next time. But don’t act like terrorists and start a war if your stupid, useless political party loses a single race to the other stupid, useless political party.

Newsflash to all extremists: you are not entitled to a 100% winning record. No one is. Sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose. If you aren’t sufficiently mature to understand this basic fact of life, this writer suggests you ask Mommy to buy you a new binky.  You can then go cry in a corner, muffling the inane talk of violence with your pacifier.

Mr. B & C.