Even I am sick to death of reminding Panchito he helped hugely in the Bushwhacking of America. But one of his latest paycheck justifications, passed along by my e-pal who knows him from way back when, merits particular scorn. He’s actually trashing a lesbian for TMI on her scarf-and-barfin’? Didn’t he tell beyond all with his ka-ching? Really, he should just go suck a bag of Cheneys.
Archive for the ‘panchito’ Category
Meanwhile, the original weapon of misdirection still has a steady paycheck even as one of the smartest guys in NYC food has been shitcanned. “Freelance bloggers” are already being recruited, because everyone knows advertisers will prop up your site if there’s rabble-regurgitation going on on it. Not surprisingly, the hometown paper took an oddly passive tone in reporting the major upheaval, headlining and leading with “loses” and “leaves” rather than “shitcans,” but everyone working for the Pharaoh knows what that’s all about: Speak up/against and you might be next to find your ass on the curb. And so, just as with the Twinkies tale, readers cannot be informed that olds, like union members and the pension-promised, simply cost more. No joke. It’s just sad.
I’ve always been tempted to try Sandra Day O’s enchilada recipe from my home state, but now that I know she’s too remorseful too late, I’m hoping she and Panchito will just go off to contemplate the damage they did. Into the tequila sunset should suit ‘em both.
Someone needs to alert Panchito: No one wants his “lessons.” We’re still trying to unlearn the last one. The inestimable Charlie Pierce deserves a Pulitzer for this observation alone: Sportswriters have been accused of selling out for a steak dinner, but “you can buy the Washington press corps with a cheap nickname.”
My Panchito tracker again alerted me he had horked up another hacktastic word salad, but I again made it only a graf in before clicking that tab straight off. The real amusement came over to the Twitter, where his BFF was lauding his singular wisdom as if her gig depended on it. And, even better, where a big name who actually can eat and write DM’d me to observe that “his lack of wit almost rises to the level of a medical condition.” Well, he did once sell a joke: the Chimp. Too bad it was a terrible one.
How do you say “towel snapped across the ass” in Italian? It was rather rich to see Panchito dissing Italy’s very own Chimp. Oh, Texas. Such a rich trove of food. Such a spawning ground of Cruzes . . .
Wonder why a guy whose byline once appeared under “I Was a Baby Bulimic” was allowed to lecture everyone else about overdoing it. Especially right after he praised Ed Koch for “always overloading.” Bingeing is nothing new. Just ask the president he sold, the one who spent like a drunken bankster.
On this Kenyan muslin socialist morning in America, I have to point out that in a sane world Panchito would never have been deemed fit to print again after selling America on the Bushwhacker 2000. Given that his employers seem to be strapped for lunch money, though, maybe now’s the time to save a few hundred thou a year and cut his vapidity loose. He’d be fine living off all those vicarious dieters willing to be bored round.
Once you’ve been cheerleader in chief for the Chimp, I guess you never have to worry about selling your soul — the deed is done. Which must be why Panchito is now advocating sacrifice in a Bushwhacked economy. I guess he doesn’t see the irony in suggesting the little people get by on fewer food stamps when he can simply purge if he binges on foie gras.
Finally, it’s only taken 12 years, but Panchito is finally getting the towel snap across the fanny he deserved. Lesson for voters: Make sure the guy you want to have a beer with can actually drink. Otherwise, you could sign up for some boozy FB group and wake up in a FEMA camp — or, in a fate after death, baptized as Mormon.
Once again, I have to thank my Panchito tracker for tipping me off to the latest embarrassment, which involved damning workers near the bottom of the food chain for getting duped in a movie and maybe in real life. As MPT noted, it’s a pot/kettle black mark on his already abysmal record as a non-S&B columnist. Did he somehow forget who let the hot dog out?
A secret source who knows him from way back in his word-salad-shooting days does the reading so I don’t have to and has now alerted me that Panchito definitely did not learn his lesson when he was last seduced by a “real” “he-man” — he’s back and fluffing the Zombie-Eyed Granny Starver. Will the sequel be “Noodling Through History”?
And this is not Fud, but it is good, passed along by a reader who knew Panchito back when his word salads did nominal harm in the “let ‘em go bankrupt” capital of America.
And my supremely wise consort has long insisted any think tank given print time should be identified by its political bent: Left or KKKrazy. Never was that more needed than the day the Egopedist became the dummy for ventriloquists who hide their animal-rights activism behind the white coat covering 5 percent of their organization. I can’t remember who on Twitter added the perfect hed to the milk dis — “Got ghostwriter?” — but I was glad to see I was not alone in calling BullShit. This is where the editors who mistook a $500-a-week gig for a deal might want to face what a monster they’ve created. An audience of millions needs to be fed truth, not pop science. Especially when it’s being spoon-fed by an organization that cares nothing about health and the environment. Contrast the “milk’ll kill ya” with this sanity. As I have said many times, the first time I was assigned a piece to edit, I was warned: “He’s not a very sophisticated writer.” He was brought on when the 1/2/3 passed on the zombie Franey gig. One day the seersuckers will look back and realize they should have put Panchito on the nutrition-nuttiness beat. At least the word salad could have been doused in Ranch dressing . . .