Mrs. O & skinny kids & all

Getting hit with e-updates on Panchito’s innocent-abroad tour was fascinating, not least as he hit the Asian Carnegie Delis. Was there really once a time when a major international news outlet could just pluck a lightweight off the Spanish Steps next to McDonald’s and make him arbiter of tastes in a city with so many representations of vibrant, authentic cuisines? But mostly I laughed. The guy who sold a totally bogus “compassionate conservative” to America can now spot fraud in China?

Bogota on $3,000 a day

The latest reminder that I should type faster: Skittles have overtaken broccoli as the sad fud in the news. Before that, wingnuts were spewing spittle over the report that the Big O told kiddles his favorite edible is broccoli. I’m half with ‘em — it’s a weird choice. But even if it were a whopper, was it really worse than the Chimp and his yellowcake? Oh. Right. One was a white lie.

Pants on the ground

Finally I have something to thank Panchito for: rousing me from my torpor here. So much silliness flies by in the fud world that it’s hard to get worked up these days, but his about-face on the Butter Guzzler really was beyond the pale, so to speak. Suddenly “the champion of downscale cooking” scorned by elitists is now a “Confederate caricature” to be scorned by elitists. It’s telling that the guy who sold America a dangerous dry drunk in the guise of a good ol’ boy never bothered to weigh in when the ultimate shill for garbage food cashed in on her secret diabetes. And it’s laughable that he and his colleagues now all seem shocked, shocked by her blatant racism on their very own stage. Somehow, they had to wait for “cyberspace” to address it. Not for nothing is this my favorite photo in the whole mess. Just like the Lump in the Bed, they have an “out, damned spot” on their hands.

Truffle boner

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.

“Flashing cleavage”

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.

For the mammaries, thanks

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.

Chick season

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.

Bloomin’ blossom

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.