Effective new voice for the conservative movement

I'm about fed up with Teabaggers and righties who constantly bark about the Constitution, but can't see anything wrong with the turd of a law Arizona just passed.

Anyone wanting a brilliant and concise explanation about why the Arizona immigration legislation is unconstitutional should listen to the last seven minutes of this podcast. Kevin Johnson, Dean, UC Davis School of Law, and a professor of immigration law, explains why the legislation is headed right down the same path as California's Proposition 187.

It's a Supremacy Clause, thing, baby.

In a nutshell, the Supremacy Clause says you can't have a state regulating and enforcing something that's covered by federal legislation.

CODE RED NEWS ALERT: Immigration law is under the exclusive jurisdiction of the federal government.

Then there's the little darlings over in Oklahoma, with a new abortion bill that mandates a woman to undergo a medical procedure against her will. Predictably, your righties have no problem with that.

But forcing medical procedures on women isn't the only wonderful thing in this bit of genius legislation. Per CNN, "The other measure prohibits pregnant women and their families from seeking legal damages if physicians "knowingly and negligently" withhold key information or provide inaccurate information about their pregnancies."

Fortunately for a bunch of lawyers, this too shall go right down the shitter. Don't believe me? These Okie clowns did the same damn thing two years ago, passing, vetoing, and repassing unconstitutional abortion legislation, which was promptly struck down.

Maybe the righties' next law will mandate all women wear burkas.

Nah, that would make it too hard to tell whether we we have brown skin or not.

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Today's YouTube was brought to your humble hostess's attention by Lil' OB.

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News correspondent love and Politico is candy-ass

Politico's front page was so right-leaning and obnoxious this morning, it turned my stomach. The lead headline was Why Reporters are Down on Obama.

"President Obama and the media have a surprisingly hostile relationship," the photo caption said.

A long and stunningly self-referential article followed (it's seven pages long, with no less than six links to other Political stories on page one).

Jake Tapper is ABC's White House correspondent and one of my favorite favorite favorite people to follow on twitter. So I tweeted that I'd love to hear Tapper's response to the Politico piece.

Oh joyous day of days, Tapper tweeted me back!

"i'm not part of any of that," Tapper said, "if i have issues with Gibbs, i talk to Gibbs about it myself."

So there you have it. Politco sucks. Jack Tapper rules. And I've got a new sugarpop to add to the short list.

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Save waste fats for explosives

This is the type of thing that you just have to roll straight through, so bear with me.

Yes, this was an actual propaganda poster, circa 1943.

-Meat dealer? I thought they were called butchers in 1943.

-Look at how nicely her nails are manicured. You can't get nail lacquer like that anymore. The stuff they had back then was the real stuff--pure toxic poison that stayed on forever. The nail polish crap they have now is safe enough to drink. I know. I just threw back a shot of Pure Passion Pomegranate.

-Take me to your meat dealer! is awfully close to Take me to your leader!

-This poster might have something to do with a woman's fingernails and a butcher's back, but that's just me.

-Heretofore, fat bomb always meant doughnut in my world.

-Those bombs look like dildos.

-If Marilyn Sheppard had had that pan, she could have taken that bushy-haired intruder mo-fo out.

The other guys had plenty of propaganda posters as well. Dig their duck poster. The caption translated to, Shame on you, chatterer! The enemy is listening. Silence is your duty.

No wonder we won the war. Our meat-fat exploding dildos beat that giant duck head any day of the week.

More German propaganda posters and info for the curious.

Yes, I purchased the Rosie the Riveter puzzle. No, this post wasn't inspired by that or the fact that I just rented Inglourious Basterds. Yes, this link was the impetus for today's musings. This always intrepid and sometimes dubious internet buddy forwarded it to me.

Okay, The O'Brien has to get back to work now.

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And I can't stop making the soap dish, that's the problem

For those who are wondering whatever happened to Susan Powter, you're welcome.

Not safe for work

I surely basked in the moment when I discovered what sort of "research" Halliburton employees do on the job, but hearing that the SEC was hot on the wrongest and hottest of trails as the global economy was disintegrating has moved me to see what other sort of inappropriate individuals I can lure to these pages. Hence, I thought I'd post a filthy link.

I'm not about to throw out just any filthy image. I want a special filthy image. One that is at once explicit, pornographic, pro-woman, and probably still illegal in some states.

Do I have one? You bet I do!

I've been saving this for just the right occasion. So dear readers, you can thank the SEC and their big fat porno mess for finally giving me an excuse to let this baby fly.

Here it is.

For the dear love of God, I don't know what I love best about that pic. It gets better and better every time I revisit it. For starters, the shoes and the outfit are darling. Even her hands are demurely placed. Her hair looks really nice as well.

LOOK. AT. HER. MAKEUP.

This might be a black and white photo, but I can tell that chick is wearing lipstick. And dig those eyebrows. A girl does not get out of bed in the morning with eyebrows like that, baby.

But in the end, it's the look on her face that clinches it for me. She is at once smirking and victorious; confident and poised. That's saying something for a girl in her (ahem) position.

How satisfying it is to know that, by simply viewing this photo online, I have something in common with a bevy of SEC employees, as do all of you who have chosen to partake.

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Thanks to 404--not found for today's link and to Babeland for the embedded graphics, which included the Sqweel (?) and the Jimmyjane Form 2 (which looks like an upsidedown tooth to me).

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Extreme puzzle love

This is a set of four hand-cut wood jigsaw puzzles from 1932.


I may not be very good at taking photographs, but I'm pretty good at putting together jigsaw puzzles.


It is not possible to express how much I love these puzzles. Dig the star-shaped piece. Can you find the numbers 7 and 1? There's a cat piece and (I think) a telephone piece in the puzzle above.

The shaped pieces make me think that jigsaw puzzler sawers probably had a pretty good sense of humor back then.


Each puzzle has its own little cardboard box that fits into a larger wood box.


This is the label on the outside of the wooden box. I guess Macy's used to have puzzle contests. I wonder if my original puzzle putter-togetherer won the contest.


There's a tag inside each cardboard box with the date, sawed by info, polished by, etc. All of my puzzles were cut on April 22, 1932. Hence, my puzzles will turn 78 tomorrow. They're in pretty good shape for 78, with all their pieces intact.

Happy birthday, puzzles!

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Your reservation is confirmed

I spied this item at Crate and Barrel the other day and wondered about who might use place cards. Does anyone still have sit-down dinner parties with enough guests to mandate the use of place cards? Imagine arriving for dinner at someone's home and looking for your place card, assessing how you rate based on who you're next to and where you're seated. Imagine all the implied politics.

What bullshit.

As a public service of sorts, here are some inventive and useful suggestions for alternative place card designations:

~Asshole~

~Wife Of Asshole~

~Assorted Inlaw~

~Associate in Dubious Standing~

~You~

~Not You~

~The Other You~

~UnYou~

~YouBoob~

~SpongeBoob Squaredance~

~You, Only Younger~

~Guest With High Cholesterol~

~Sexually Active Guest~

~Sexually Inactive Guest~

~Guest Invited To Dinner Party By Host Pretentious Enough To Employ Place Cards~

~Soylent Green~

~Guest With Substandard Genitalia~

~Flatulent Guest~

~B-List Guest In Place Of A-List Guest Who Canceled~

~Alpo Breath~

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Vit-O-Might or Might I vite?

Dear CNN,

I read the following paragraph in your vitamin article:

"The Puerto Rican study, which was not published in a peer-reviewed journal, looked at the capacity of DNA to repair itself in the face of damage. A low DNA repair capacity has previously been linked to cancer risk, said Jaime Matta at the Ponce School of Medicine. Researchers surveyed 268 breast cancer patients and 457 healthy controls and took samples from them to analyze their DNA repair capacity."

If you paid me one million dollars, I could not tell you what any of that means. Thusly discouraged, I did not read the rest of the article very closely, but I think I'm supposed to move to Japan or Sweden and eat a lot of broccoli.

Whatever is contained in the article, you will likely disapprove of the amount of vitamins I take.



I took that video three years ago and have since run out of vitamins. Fortunately for me, my vitamin company is running another sale.

That is all.

* * *

The ego monster

The O'Brien will be out of the office for the next few days. I'll be presenting at a writer's conference in Toledo, Ohio.

Now for a recommendation in my absence. I'm reading Game Change by John Heilemann and Mark Halperin and finding it completely engaging. It's the inside story of big politics for little political junkies and I can't get enough.

But here's the kicker: the most fascinating player thus far in these pages is John Edwards. I simply cannot peel my eyes from him.

That a man who was so close to being the Democratic candidate for President was screwing a broad whose business card read, "BEING IS FREE: RIELLE HUNTER—TRUTH SEEKER," stuns me to no end. And just wait'll you get a load of Elizabeth.

Need a better teaser? Dig this excerpt.

I'll just say it. Edwards was the hidden Palin of the Democratic party in 2008. Thank Christ he didn't make it out of the primaries.

I'm only on Chapter 10. I just hope this book can keep on delivering. I haven't even gotten to McPalin yet.

When I'm done with this, I intend to start tackling this list, at least in part. The interviews I've heard with Lewis on The Big Short have my eye teeth dripping.

Have a great weekend everybody.

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A girl with kaleidoscope eyes

Golden Throat selections I possess in my iTunes library include:

It Ain't Me Babe by Sebastian Cabot
Blowin' In The Wind by Eddie Albert
Twist And Shout by Mae West
House Of The Rising Sun by Andy Griffith
I Walk The Line, Proud Mary, and If I Had A Hammer by Leonard Nimoy
And finally, Mr. Tambourine Man and Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds as interpreted by the great William Shatner

O'Brien reporting for duty, Captain.

* * *

Mona Lisa is candy ass

So you ask yourself, self, you ask, why does a completely reasonable adult person such as yourself spend hours doing kid-stuff jigsaw puzzles?

Then your other self says, you don't really want to ask yourself that, do you, self?

This ain't no kid stuff, baby.

This is high-end thinking, for chrissake. It is transcendent. What reasonable adult person wouldn't want to tediously recreate "Allegory of Sight" by Jan Brueghel the Elder or "Femme a Tete de Roses" by Salvador Dali?

You put together ol' Hieronymus Bosch's "Garden of Earthly Delights" one tiny agonizing piece at a time and you learn some shit, baby. Yes, that is a little piggy in a nun's habit sucking that guy's ear in the lower right hand corner. And yes those are a bunch of posies sticking out of that guy's ass right underneath the guy holding the giant fish head in the center panel. And this was like, 1503!

Van Gogh's staccato brush strokes in "Cafe Terrace at Night?" Ear or no ear, this guy knew his starry nights, mo' fo.

But this Mona Lisa babe? Chick's got zippo. DO NOT believe the bullshit. She's got no intrigue, no secrets, no surprises. I did the whole puzzle--all one thousand pieces--and all I had when I was done was a silly little broad with bad hair and no eyebrows. Made me sort of wonder iffin' the da Vinci in drag people aren't onto something. I mean, look at her hands for chrissake.


As for feminine mystique, where are her fingernails? What about her knuckles? Wonder how she was in the sack. My advice to you is, if you're into puzzles, forget this broad.

I am off to buy my next puzzle. I'm looking for something I can understand. I want eyebrows where there should be eyebrows and fingernails where there should be fingernails.

I want regular American plain, and I don't anticipate having any trouble finding it with this chick.

* * *

Phone cam round-up

Hmmm ... fifteen bucks ... COOL! Any chance you got the matching shoes?


Jeez. Guess they didn't like the book.


Groovy earring, baby.


Two over easy with hashbrowns and a double order of bacon, please.


Hope your boo boo's all better.


Gimme two greens, a purple, an orange, one brown, and a red. Nah, on second thought, no red.


Is it incense or is it top menthol? Only her hairdresser knows for sure.


YOU'RE WELCOME.


Ham on a stand. A standing ham. Doing a ham stand.


Roadkill me Elmo?


My cheese curls are happier than your cheese curls.


Nice pants.


Dude, your ride's here.


Okay. Somebody needs to 'fess up. Who let him through the Mason Dixon line?


Holy shit!

* * *

Eat, sleep, repeat.

Winston Churchill would rise at 7:30 and stay in bed until 11:00 where he would eat breakfast, read several newspapers, and dictate to his secretaries. When he finally got out of bed, he would bathe, take a walk outside, then settle in to work with a weak whisky and soda. Lunch began at 1:00 and lasted until 3:30, after which he would work or play cards or backgammon with his wife. At 5:00 he napped for an hour and a half, then bathed again and got ready for dinner. Dinner was considered the highlight of his day, with much socializing, drinking, and smoking that sometimes went past midnight. After his guests left, he would then work for another hour or so before heading to bed.

--from Famous Thinkers and Their Inspiring Daily Rituals.

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How long you going to let that kooky broad showboat like that?

Dear Visitor,

Your humble hostess has been otherwise occupied with chores of the domicile this week. Hence, here is yet another lazy post. Nonetheless, you are wholeheartedly urged to view all six and a half minutes of this brilliant footage and, if you are so moved, to enter your favorite bit of dialogue from it in the comment section. Any other thought that might be floating around your marvelous noggin is equally welcome.

Sincerely Yours,

The Management

* * *

Ol' Jane and the Kingster

Why in the hell anyone gives Larry King a microphone is beyond me. He has to be one of the worst interviewers of all time, yet there he is on CNN every night soaking up perfectly good human energy.

I do not normally watch the Kingster, but for some reason, I decided to see what ol' Jane had to say the other night, so I lingered for a while and can report that the above excerpt is as good as the interview got.

Jane kept doing this weird thing with her lips. There were dozens of awkward pauses. She also plugged her fitness "concert" (with the Pointer Sisters and Richard Simmons for only $75 a head!) so often, that it even began to irritate King.

Fonda sniped at King over his ex wives (I have to agree, Larry, seven ex wives is just plain embarrassing) and King brought up the Hanoi Jane thing. Fonda called it a created myth and said she was sad so many people were stuck in the past. I was seven years old when the controversy happened and don't know much about it, but this 38-year-old topic can still get some righties really pissed off.

At 76, the Kingster is like Skeletor in suspenders. It doesn't have to be this way, but seeing as he's only slightly more animated than a cadaver, what's a person left to notice about him?

I'll admit that ol' Jane looks pretty damn good for 72, and that there is no effing way I could have gotten into that cute V pose at any age, but I do sort of dig those snappy yellow leg warmers.

* * *

Woof woof

Eat this: the SLT

Put those slotted salamis in a non-stick skillet alone, no oil or butter or anything else (do not eff around and try to improve on this with some half-assed idea of your own, genius, just do like I'm telling you). Fry the salami on medium heat, turning it once or twice, until it shrinks and crisps up.

Hell if I know how long it takes. I just know when it's done.

Okay, that's just one bite to tempt you. Here's the whole recipe.

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Yul makes me drool

Easter means God-squad flicks, which mean The Ten Commandments, which means Chuck Heston and (heaven help us) Yul Brynner.

Brynner is the subject of my favorite male nude photograph of all time. Out of respect for the holiness of this day, however, I have used advanced computerized techniques to alter the image and make it family-friendly.

For those mature adults who'd like to see the untouched photo and learn exactly why I want to sit on Brynner's chest, I offer this post.


I'm ready for my egg hunt, baby.

* * *

Egg hunt

Oh dear. Upon Erin O'Brien the Lord hath bestowed a camcorder.

April Fools

I dedicate this post to the Republican National Committee, Sarah Palin, John Boehner, Dick Cheney, and all the rest of the righties.

Fools?

We've got the bottom-feeding thug contingent screaming epithets and throwing bricks; and on the top of the pile, we've got the likes of David Frum getting his nose quickly, harshly and publicly clipped for daring to speak out against his party's collective tactics.

How's that obstructiony thing workin out for ya?

* * *

Now for those readers who are thirsting for even more snarky politics:

I wrote this "Conservative Eulogy" in May 2009. No, the righties ain't sunk yet, but they haven't improved their lot much either in the past year.

No where--NO WHERE--will you find more glaring evidence of rightie bitterness than on the March 26th KCRW "Left, Right & Center" podcast. Tony Blankley has never been so red-faced and spittle-flecked.

I'll give the righties one point: I've never been more entertained.

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