The Blog That Nobody Reads has an informal policy about naughty language. We are mindful of the fact that some of you might be browsing to our humble pages during your lunch break at work, perhaps waiting for some script to compile or whatever. Now that the hour is late, some social compacts have emerged in the world of blogs, which have been divided into those that try to remain somewhat “work safe” and those that do not. They are mostly common sense. For example, we used to put the “S” word that describes fecal matter right into our headline. Gasp! It seems a little nit-picky to enact an informal policy against that, but we did, and we don’t do that anymore. George Carlin’s Seven Words You Cannot Say, are kept out of the headline, or anything that’s in big font. That’s the line we draw.
We also went a little overboard, in our view, going so far as to keep George Carlin’s Seven Words You Cannot Say out of the text itself. We will do that, to a certain extent. But we’ve softened it a bit. That’s because we like to make everyday life safe for real people…not for ninnies. And, I’m sorry, but if you’re walking along in front of some other guy’s computer terminal when he’s on his lunch break and you see in our humble font the word “titty” and suddenly you’re tearing down the hallway to the H.R. department screaming with your arms flailing over your head…well, maybe someone somewhere wants to make life less traumatic for you, but we shall not be joining in that sad charade. No, if we were going to keep that policy rigid and zero-tolerant, it would be out of conern to those corporate firewalls that block websites automatically when they see these words going up the tubes. But how concerned should we be about those? The latter is a direct consequence of the former. Besides, it’s a batshit-stupid policy. I don’t know who actually still enforces it. Having a dirty word down in the actual text of something, could be a situation that easily comes up with doing actual work on the innerwebs. No, I’m not trying to be funny. Think of technical advice forums, professional information exchange forums, membership-only, things that are behind some kind of closed door.
We’ll not think on that too long. In a world where we try to be diverse and all-inclusive, it quickly becomes futile to think every possible scenario out to the very end — at least among things that involve people. We take the Jim Morrison Human Resources approach: “People are strange.”
And, if you act like a grown-up, solutions to problems tend to fall into place.
We use our courtesy-language decal (above) when things are about to get spicy. Out of respect to our readers, so they can apply their best judgment.
We do not use the word “fuck” as many times as we possibly can to show how tough we are. If you want some of that, hang out on a middle school playground. Or, go browse Feministing.
We do not use cute punctuation marks as substitutions here. We’ve simply gotten tired of trying to noodle out the “gray areas” of rules like those. Is “titty” a George Carlin word? (We found out, to our great surprise, that it is.) Should you use bangs in it, i.e., “ti!!y”? The intended meaning does not seem obvious unless the context sheds some light on where you’re going with it; looks kind of like “tilly.” Besides, FARK has a virtual copyright on fark, biatch and shiat. We love virtual copyrights here. We love ’em more than real copyrights. They remind us that people can behave with civility and courtesy toward each other without a bunch of rules forcing them to do so. Renews our faith in humankind. Kind of like, when you’re at the bank, and there’s seven tellers and suddenly six of ’em go on a lunch break, everyone gets into one line.
Besides, we are beneficiaries of the virtual copyright, since we never did actually patent “The Blog That Nobody Reads.” But the catchphrse is still ours, thanks to the common courtesy and decency of others.
No naughty pictures embedded in the pages. Penises nipples and verginers should be covered up; if they are not, then that picture is linked-not-embedded. Unless it has to do with civilized, non-prurient artwork that doesn’t focus on the anotomical tidbit, like for example, here.
So that’s our policy. Use common sense, good judgment, be a little flexible in all things, act like an adult and things will turn out alright for the most part.
Having said all that…and with our little mouth-covered-man in place to warn all you weenies about what’s coming up…we’re going to indulge in the unusual practice of excerpting Misha’s fine prose from the Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler without cleaning it up. And the occasion is Rahm Emmanuel throwing a hissy fit, in that adorable way liberals do when they think they’re being manly, when they’re really being quite the opposite. You know how they get when they’re trying to be all big-and-bad — with that whistle tucked in between their lips, tooting on it every two seconds as this thing is declared out of bounds and that other things is declared out of bounds. Like bossy little girls. “Not s’poseda do THIS! Not s’poseda do THAT!”
After a lifetime spent trying to avoid that kind of shemale, we find our skills for dealing with them somewhat atrophied. Which suits us just fine. That’s a man adapting to his environment, there. But a man also has to know his limitations, and the Emperor Misha I is, quite plain and simply, much better qualified for dealing with this type of…eh…personality…than are we.
But it’s not January 20 yet and the Holy One has not yet been crowned. Let that event come and go and tack on another year or two, maybe we’ll have adapted to our environment yet again. It’s about to become a whistle-sissy world.
And if that’s a sign of civilization, then how come things are falling apart so quickly? It’s still early! The iPresident Man-Messiah-God isn’t going to be coronated for a long time. The carpenters aren’t ordering the boards and nails to assemble those platforms for inauguration day, just yet…the pyrotechnicians aren’t even thinking about it.
What a Sad Pussy
Posted by: Emperor Misha I in Democrat Culture of Corruption, Useless Swine
2:08 PM
Rahm Emanuel is now whining that he’s been “receiving death threats” over his obvious involvement in one of the nastiest corruption scandals in the history of our nation, which is saying a bit when you talk about Democrats.
Back at his home, Emanuel appeared “beet-red,” according to an ABC News cameraman who was invited inside by Emanuel to use his bathroom this morning.
“I’m getting regular death threats. You’ve put my home address on national television. I’m pissed at the networks. You’ve intruded too much, ” Emanuel said, according to the cameraman.
Awwww… What a sad, metrosexual pussy of a seemingly male member of the species. What happened to the Capone-like “man’s man” who once listed a number of defeated political enemies at a dinner, punctuating every cry of “DEAD!” by stabbing his steak knife into the table?
Time to brush the sand out of your vagina, “Rahmbo”, isn’t it?
And, by the way, where was your outrage when Joe the Plumber was subjected to similar treatment and worse simply because he’d had the nerve, nerve to ask your nutless empty suit of a Jug-Eared Marxist Freak Candidate an honest question that your neophyte dumbass Anointed One couldn’t answer without shooting himself in both feet?
Have a fucking cookie and a glass of milk, you gutless pansy masquerading as a man, because you’re beginning to annoy us with your whininess. Make mommy kiss it and it’ll be all better, we promise you.
Cowardly corrupt Chicago Machine fuck. It’s all fun and games bragging about how you’ve “killed” your political opponents until the shoe is on the other fucking foot, isn’t it?
That’s art, right there. Don’t argue with me about it…if my Government can declare a crucifix soaked in urine to be art, then what appears above damn sure is some kind of art. Brings a tear to my eye. And besides, I’m not expecting anyone else to pay for it.
Pay close attention, Feministing fans. That is how you use the word “fuck” to make a valid point. How to use it as a tool, the way a man uses it, not as some kind of decoration to be hung on your Christmas tree as many times as you need to in completion of some kind of weird decorating scheme. Like an airheaded woman trying too hard not to look like an airheaded woman.
I note the rich irony, again, that I’m reading about this the morning after watching Kenny Rogers’ 1981 film. That story, too, is about a guy who used his two-fisted masculine Power To Destroy Things with a high degree of selectivity. Except he did it after “twenty years of crawling,” and when he did, it was all substance, no form. Making a mockery of everyone who “considered him the coward of the county.”
Rahm Emmanuel is a completely different type of seasonal aggressor, in that his mouth means everything to the exercise and his fists actually mean very little. He’s all form and no substance. He’s the loudmouth kid on the playground, the one who can dish things out all day long but can’t take ’em.
And that fucker isn’t doing twenty years of anything. He’s not bottling anything up at all. He’s shoving people around when the situation suits him, and changing overnight when the situation changes, suddenly all thin skinned and “receiving death threats.” Good one. Christ, I’m tired of liberals receiving death threats. I wish I could wave a magic wand, and make it so that anytime some asshole drones on about receiving his death threats in his e-mail, no matter for what purpose, he’s got sixty seconds to produce them in fucking hardcopy or his head fucking explodes.
It’s e-mail (I assume…Rahm-a-lama-ding-dong does not say…I’m just making the leap, and it isn’t a big one). Private e-mail. Not like Sarah Palin’s e-mail. Most e-mail isn’t hacked. You could say there’s an invitation from Queen Elizabeth to join Her Majesty at tea time tomorrow afternoon, and nobody is in any position to doubt it…only to call it into question, and that’s all. Whining about “death threats in my e-mail” is about the most gutless thing you can do, even if it’s true. The whole generic statement, no matter what the probability in any context, would be stigmatized into meaninglessness overnight in a truly sophisticated society.
Hardcopy printout or it didn’t happen. And even then I call shenanigans. Fuckers.
