Secret sauce

And I Tweeted this, but will say it again: The hometown paper had to be fucking with us, running a photo of a meal tray at Guantanamo with one item labeled “yellow cake.” The only thing worse would have been a Judy Miller byline alongside it. Sicker still was that the story was all whining about reporters’ not getting access to the real story while another photo showed Ensure and a feeding tube looking as innocent as the Harry Potter books in the library at the hellhole. Anyone who saw “Titicut Follies” knows force-feeding is horrific. Showing the accouterments without discussing the technique is like a spin inside a spin. Can you imagine Upton Sinclair being shown a workman’s boots protruding from a sausage grinder and only whimpering about his obstructed view?

Yes, I have no forgiveness

Keith McNally went even higher in my estimation the second I saw Mr. Calamitous Judge of Character has deemed him a horrible person. I’d reserve that adjective for the affable fool who destroyed the economy and dragged the country into endless wars after lying to a very gullible guy. Heckuva job, Panchito.

Brain bleach for flabby thighs

Maybe there is a god. While the Chimp is safely holed up with his Old Grand-Dad, Panchito his enabler is sentenced to hang with the sort who, to paraphrase a very angry man on Bleecker Street one night who had had about enough of the “Sex and the City”  tours, promise: Buy me drinks and you can micturate where the sun don’t shine. Somewhere Johnny Rotten is laughing.

Take a table? Nah, sign a petition

Right after reading about an oceanologist who worries countless species are already going extinct in the Gulf gusher, I saw lots of Tweets about an admirable New Orleans chef suing BP for loss of seafood and business. I feel her pain, and rage. And I guess enriching lawyers is the predictable American response. But it really will do as much good as Cindy Sheehan taking Dick Cheney to court for miring us in two wars that are pumping billions to BP. Money isn’t going to change anything. Still, someone suing makes more sense than the wingnut I saw ranting that America cares more about sea turtles than the “preborn.” I assume she never eats eggs.

Nighttime, in the Cheney lair

And here, from an e-release I got, is everything you need to know about Americans’ cluelessness on who’s to blame for the unending eco-disaster off Texas/Louisiana/Alabama/Florida: Grilled blue Hawaiian prawns. Yep. A New York restaurant is actually flying in seafood for a benefit for the oil-soaked Gulf Coast. Forget New Zealand lamb. Why not put the waiters in BP-powered mini-cars while they’re at it?

Did someone say Wall Street got drunk?

One argument for teaching history objectively: 18 percent of the country would know what was dumped overboard in Boston Harbor was not Lipton’s. Poor fools don’t even know their namesake was not actually invented until 1909 (in Manhattan, incidentally). And I hate to go all elitist on their asses, but if they knew anything about tea they would evoke the top of the line — just go ahead and call themselves the White Party.

Dick-harvested quail

One of the most depressing things I’ve read lately is that pineapple upside-down cake was the Chimp’s dessert of choice as he ended the first disastrous year in his reign of error. Once again, it brought home how we were “led” by a rich guy whose palate was as evolved as a death row killer’s. I guess I’m only amazed he didn’t want to save his slice for later. . .


Another sign that we’ll be digging out of that useful idiot’s mess for a good long time is a huge and underreported recall of salami that has people puking and squittering across 80 percent of the country. Amazing how much energy/$$ was wasted scaring everyone about furriners all these years rather than putting cops on the food beat. What’s also weird is that the salmonella may be coming from peppercorns, which once were considered preservatives, not poison. Funny to think that if the spice was imported from China, they’d be on that case like stink on shit. As it is, good luck even knowing more than a million pounds of risky meat-like substance may be contaminated. The media would prefer to keep you more focused on Edwards’ porking than on cured danger in the deli case.

Hiding the salami recall

Thank allah Mrs. O stays on food message, because the whole country seems to be becoming a Failblog on her husband, who has had exactly a year to clean up nearly a decade of tax-cutting, warmongering carnage by that dry drunk and his smokin’-and-readin’ lump in the bed. But partly because one party believes nope is a plan, crucial jobs are going unfilled, and every week brings another recall of meat, and “meat-like substances.” No one seems to understand why health insurance reform was a priority. But right now people are sick from salmonella in at least 38 states. Who needs terrorists when shit is what’s for dinner?

No meth before its time

Maybe there is a god, and she’s rubbing the Chimp’s nose in it by allowing the special needs mom to collect megabucks speaking to the booze cartel while the O’Doul’s poster boy has to dry out long enough to help raise money for Haiti rather than replenish his own coffers. I guess she was for prohibition before she was against it.


For the record, I have never referred to the Cheney puppet who Bushwhacked the country as “Chimpie.” I always gave him the proper honorific — The — before Chimp. Not for fear of libeling him, though. Get your darts in a row, pls.

Culture of wine at the “library,” too

No one else wants to even say his name these days, as if the eight-year bender never happened, but I thought the Chimp really outdid himself for shamelessness by showing up at Fort Hood to “visit” the wounded. Imagine being roused from your drug-induced escape to confront that smirk. Must have been like waking up with norovirus and seeing Heston Blumenthal holding warm oysters.

Camel-toe chocolates

Thanks to Twitter, I now know the trashier of the Skank Twins has a new teevee gig bloviating about education. I do hope she gets a chance to explain how margaritas help you power through exams when your family is well-connected. And isn’t the next natural step for the Food Network to hire her mom to host a show? “How to Cook a Dead Boyfriend,” maybe?

Ice Cube, Curveball, what’s the diff?

Speaking of the French, I know they have no word for entrepreneur, as the Chimp contended. But Americans are learning it big time lately. The latest example is the lemonade stand three little boys in our co-op have set up on the sidewalk in the last week. They charge 50 cents a cup, and of course who isn’t going to give them a buck and tell them to keep the change? One of those boys will be president one day, too. The second time I stopped, the littlest brother was energetically shilling to passers-by, the biggest was pouring out the drinks and the sign read “B&L lemonade,” for Ben and Lucas. And where was the middle one while B and uncredited brother were slaving away in the heat? “He’s upstairs practicing his music.” Buy that L a bunker.