Jimmy Smits is a OUTLAW. Why?

I hit a new low watching the pilot of some POS NBC show called “Outlaw”.

The “writers” of this turd start off by having badboy Supreme Court Justice ??????????????????????????  Jimmy Smits get publicly lambasted by a hot putana from the ACLU.  The next scene the bitch is curled up on his couch after a no-doubt hard Smits hump.  Some hack  must’ve just rewatched the original Iron Man and thought, Shit, I’ve got no talent, I’ll just rip-off that Tony Stark fucks sassy reporter scene.

Jiminy Smits, as the most Conservative Supreme Court judge is “evil” while his late liberal activist father (photoshopped with RFK and Cesar Chavez) is, of course, “good”.  According to the Dad via flashbacks, here’s the reason why his son is a principled Conservative:  “He’s wrong.”  That’s it.  That’s the whole argument.  So Smits, shooting hoops alone and weeping during flashbacks, decides to resign from the Supreme Court—a lifetime job with large pay and fame—to become a shitheels moral-crusadey lawyer.  In terms of ambition that’s equivalent to Hugh Hefner leaving his Playbore empire to become a telemarketer.

I must be a masochist, breaking my long blog silence during which I’ve done other things to write this much about this awful excuse for a show.

Bail Organa Smits isn’t alone in (t)his stupidity.  His law team includes a dumb blonde liberal (talk about redundancy) in love with him, a tight-collared Conservative stereotyped kid, a Negro lawyer of indeterminate origin and a bisexual smartass cunt private eye.  Oh and a sexy GILF who runs the law firm Smits joins.  Of course the GILF claims she won’t fuck him, just so it’ll be SHOCKING three episodes from now when she does.

The first episode centers around a Hollywood Propagandized Negro in prison.  Unlike real prison Negroes, the HPN is an UNfairly sentenced-to-death gentleman who speaks the King’s English and wants only to marry his equally eloquent baby-mama.  He is an INNOCENT VICTIM of RACISM (though they don’t call it that) and at the end an old, decorated White cop is found Guilty instead.  Yaaay!

This ridiculous show is DOA and I’m glad. In the real world, a kenyan muslim occupies the White House and not one, but TWO unqualifed racist communist dumbfuck bitches are on the Supreme Court.  FUCK.  YOU.

So this butterface walks into a bank…

Gets a job, gets fired, then sues her former employer, claiming she was fired for being “too hot”.

Couldn’t care less about this individual.

I’m sure Playwhore has already made an offer.

If you’re high like me right now, go watch the “slideshow” of this broad, but only after clicking this link.

Random Shit

What you call Thanksgiving I call Thanxgetting. It’s not really a ‘giving’ for me since I don’t cook anything, just set the table and do the dishes later. It’s the greatest holiday of all, and the most sincere.

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For Playboy readers: is there a cartoon with a post-coital Pilgrim buckling his belt (or hat) alongside a sexy Pilgrim maiden every year? The capton is always the same: “Thanks!”

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My rant/review about Bushite Fury’s The Virus seems to get a lot of hits. The longer I go without re-reading it the more ridiculous the novella seems. At the end, hero Aaron Winters is laughing with his family about shutting down the entire government’s computer grid. So with the entire government angrily threatening to hunt him down, Winters thinks he’ll be safe because he’s in the woods of a national park aka federally-owned property. Author B. Fury also doesn’t take into account that the feral Black gangs, once the food in the ruined cities runs out, will ALSO soon be scouring the woods. Fury states his case, but his conclusions are wrong: the real war is a war of ideologies. There’s nowhere to run.

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Although I’d love to be a positive voice promoting White history as noble and proud (inexorably linked with American history like DNA) I do have some Jewish blood, which means no Aryan Discounts for me. 😦 Maybe my role is to help divorce the legitimate and necessary Whiteness movement from the taint of goose-stepping morons.

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GTA IV. Graphics? Holy shit.

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The “Word-Maker”, a dedicated keyboard with tiny LCD screen, arrives Tuesday. It arrives on a day-off, hopefully early enough that I have time to get familiar with its controls. Like a recovering alkie, I’ve already admitted I have a problem. The internet to me is a fifth of Wild Turkey at the center of an AA circle.

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Man-made global warming is a religious belief, unsupported by factual evidence. Those that smirk at the priest’s sermon as being fiction are yet ready to throw away their freedoms because some asshole in a white lab-coat tells the biggest lies possible about the weather to win his government research grant. This is the folly of our age.

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Never invoke the gods unless you really want them to appear. It annoys them very much. –G.K. Chesterton

Everyone’s a victim of heartbreak, especially…Hugh Hefner –> ‘ <– teardrop of pity

Hugh Fucking Hefner, 81, next to Buddha and Christ, is the only man I don’t like because I’m not him. It seems odd that one man alone should have been the first to combine cameras with naked women and that years later, as the sewer of raunch continues to overflow like an anti-antidiluvian avalanche (<–makes no sense but sounds cool) Playboy continues to sell.

No, I don’t like Hef, and not because he experimented with The Gay in the 70s.

Mostly it’s plain old envy.

A bank of 6 or 7 televisions across the front of the gym’s treadmill farm brings We the Damned all the food commercials we can eat. In between the commercials are shows, spanning several pre-set channels.

One was a docu about Hefner. He talked about his accountant father who was “uncomfortable” with affection. The next time I looked up from magazines and over from other TVs, a litany of blondes was explaining how heartbroken Hef was as a young teen when a girl 2 years his senior didn’t return his crush.

The many Playmates seemed truly devastated for Young Hef’s loss, fake titties weeping silicone, and lo, they’d even managed to find the Crush herself and interview her…in two words: oblivious grandma.

It takes a lot of nerve to be Hugh Hefner and complain via pussy-proxy about having your heart broken over half a century ago.

I don’t have a cavalcade of cuties to explain my trouble with the ladies. I have to type it myself.

Everyone’s a fucking victim, even Hugh Hefner.

Boo hoo. Boo Hef. Have a teardrop of pity ‘ or 12 ”””””” <–that’s less than a dollar per drop! A 66% savings off the cover price!