The latest proof that there is no justice in this world: The Chimp has done more than enough to be convicted of war crimes. But considering the hot dogs he has inflicted on guests in the White House, he would not suffer a second on a prison diet. Maybe he could be force-fed foie gras?
As cynical as I am, though, I was still surprised to see Jersey farmers this summer have to spring for big signs reading: “Our tomatoes are safe to eat.” This was on 97th Street, and at least the photo looked like what was on offer, too-perfect specimens straight from the greenhouse, not the field. But once again, it made me wonder why we are not all storming the Capitol with pitchforks over the unbelievable fiasco the FDA has fermented with its bungling of the salmonella scare. Now the fools allegedly watching out for both bioterrorism and regular old food safety are saying the culprit might be jalapenos. Or maybe cilantro. And don’t forget scallions kill, too. Thank allah it’s only food, or half the produce aisle would be penned up at Guantanamo.
Leave it to the Chimp to make the Bud Heiress look like the pettiest of thieves. She only swiped a few recipes (well, and a lot of drugs, too). He stole the whole cookbook on Chinese torture. Are false confessions as good as mock apple pie?
As Charlie Rangel’s stand-in warned long ago, anytime the Chimp is photographed smirking broadly you can be sure he is up to something evil with no cameras watching. Case in point was the Skank Twin’s “modest” wedding, seen ’round the world. The White House Champagne reception for 600? Held behind closed doors while the Mississippi kept rising. And they probably served Pet Goat cheese.
Bad enough the Brits wined and dined the Chimp as if he were human and not a war criminal. But now they’ve gone and denied sweet old Martha Stewart a visa (never mind that she did her time, unlike so many Scooters). And that could make it awkward if the Mrs. Chimp Wannabe ever needs an audience with the Queen. After all, she steals not only recipes but drugs and husbands, too.
As always when the Chimp goes jackassing overseas, there’s a depressingly ridiculous moment, and this one came when he started blathering about German asparagus. It’s not surprising he would be taken with it considering it lives the way he does, head buried in the sand. I just cringe to think what his reaction was when it arrived, not green but ghostly, as if his grandfather had underwritten it.
We’ve come a long way from those scary old days of duct tape in every room, judging by the reaction to the media-induced killer-tomatoes frenzy. CNN’s poll the other day showed respondents were about equally split on giving up the salmonella balls in wake of the news that our bureaucrats have let us down once again. This story has yet to unfold completely, but what’s fascinating me is how a whole food group was condemned when increasingly it looks as if the problem was what it so often is: One “restaurant” chain. We need a new Agatha Christie to write food who-dun-its. Was it the tomato or the egg, or the spinach or the cantaloupe? But that series wouldn’t last long. The culprit would always be greed. Enjoy your 99-cent burger while you can.
I always used to say the best steak I ever had outside Spain was a slab o’ buffalo at the Bridge Cafe way back in the last century. Because I’m not a “real” food person, though, I can also admit that flesh from non-cows does make me queasy, so I have to say I don’t exactly seek out the other red meat. Even so, the Harper’s story on the savage efforts by cattle ranchers around Yellowstone to wipe out the last descendants of the beasts that were here when Columbus landed is sickening. If the argument is not ironclad, the descriptions of the bison themselves and their indigenous world are heartbreaking. Read it and shit (from salmonella and E. coli).
Seeing Mrs. Chimp roboting around the land of the un-routed Taliban in her inappropriate ’Lil Kim outfit (all those ill-gotten gains and she can’t afford a tailor?) was a sickening reminder that we have a week of international embarrassment ahead with her lame fuck in Eutopia. All those state dinners and so few table manners. . . .
Panchito should have been squirming this week with all eyes on the Lapdog Handler who has suddenly confessed he was had, too. (Yeah, right.) As if things aren’t bad enough, now we have to hear the Chimp is constantly boasting of his drunken days. What would the world be like today if “one of the most powerful journalists in America” in 2000 had actually reported what a sociopath he really is? Heckuva job, Frankie.
Only because the soulless Chimp has managed to cow the media into never showing the human horrors of his Operation Endless War, almost the most depressing image I spotted over Memorial Day weekend was the photo op of him promoting American exports. The sad little piles in front of his lectern made his 23 percent approval rating look huge — the only thing grimmer is that rusting old bridge you see from Amtrak with the sorry sign reading: “Trenton makes, the world takes.” If cabbages are our great green hope, we’re down to some seriously slim pickings from the fruited plains.
I’m sure I’ve said this before, but the one mission actually accomplished in the last seven years has been the vanquishing of the English language. I actually heard a newscaster referring to “food insecurity” among the cyclone and earthquake victims. When raging hunger escalates to rampant starvation, will it be “calorie deprivation” on the BBC?
The award for worst “Are You Shitting Me?” e-release has to go to the one touting a Father’s Day booze-and-golf package priced at a mere $118,000. But I know just who should spring for it. The lying Sacrificer in Chief must have enough ill-gotten gains from his insane war by now to buy 4,080 of them for the dads who won’t get to have a beer with their kids this June. To him and his blood-sucking overlord, that’s just Chimp change.
I can’t be the only one who suspected the Chimp sent the lump in his bed out to distract the press on Cinco de Mayo simply because he was busy meeting with Jose Cuervo. But my cynicism was validated by the Vino Fossella affair: Where did that hypocritical fool start drinking on DUI Day? At the executive drunk tank. Obama is going to have a heckuva job restoring honor and integrity to the Animal House.
Now might not be the smartest time for a relative of the Chimp to be publicizing a food-related enterprise, given how his li’l brother’s latest scam has been proven to be just like all the others: not simply a scam but a bilk-the-taxpayers-big-time scam. (Would you buy a used curriculum from that family?) But I see the vacuous niece is grandstanding again with $30 grocery bags allegedly designed partly to raise money for what the simpering simian has dubbed “food insecurity” among children around the world. Why do I suspect it’s all a sneaky way of figuring out how to get school lunch subsidies here down to 30 cents a day, too?