"Klotz" As In "Blood"

Rummaging through the weekend papers after returning from the west coast (Florida) after a few days, I come across this:

Though Frail, Castro Denies He’s Dead

Published: October 29, 2006

HAVANA, Oct. 28 (Reuters) — Fidel Castro, looking thin and tired, appeared Saturday on television and defiantly dismissed rumors that he was dead, as images showed him walking, talking on the telephone and reading the day’s newspaper.

Mr. Castro said he was taking part in government decisions, following the news and making regular phone calls as he recovers from emergency intestinal surgery in late July.

“Now that our enemies have prematurely declared me dying or dead, I am happy to send my compatriots and friends around the world this short film material,” he said. “Now let’s see what they say. They will have to resurrect me.” — NY Times

To quote occasional comment contributor Rollo Nickels, “I Call Bullshit!” As a resident of south Florida for better than two decades, I have learned that if Fido says it, it has to be a lie. So if he says he’s alive, one thing we can be sure of: he’s not.

Hot Damn and Media Noche!! There’s gonna be a 10-day party in Miami make Key West look like Century Village after dark! I hop on-line and check out the usual suspects, the bloggers whom I consult daily when I seek clarity (if not brevity), for the inside scoop…..and there’s not one word about it! WTF?

What am I missing here? Is this a tacit admission that Fido speaketh with straight tongue? The cockroach lives? A precedent set in his 8th damned decade?

I check all my favorites: 26th Parallel, babalublog, Cuban American Pundits (at least here I found the original “I Ain’t Dead Yet” story linked to the Toronto Star), En Vivo Y En Directo, even Miamista, MIA for damn near a month. Nothing. No confirmation, no condemnation. And no party.

What, he was actually alive when he said he was? The sumbitch told the truth? Shitting fuck! Is nothing sacred, no eternal truths on which a concerned and informed populace can count with confidence and certainty?

Ladies and gentlemen, I’m disappointed on so many levels I’m afraid I’ll be driven back to posting about gay bestial necrophilia, risking links from every sex-site spammer in Creation.

Last week a post featured commentary on an eclectic collection of perverts, one of whom a man caught on camera (by his wife) screwing his dog. Just when you think you’ve scraped bottom, here’s Ronald Kuch of Saginaw, MI:

A 44-year-old Saginaw man remains jailed today on charges of bestiality after he was seen engaged in sexual acts with a dead dog, Michigan State Police troopers said.

Troopers said a woman from the day care center called for animal control because there was a dead dog near the property that had been hit by a car several days earlier….Before officers could arrive, the man showed up and began engaging in sexual acts with the dog, police said. The animal control officer also reported seeing Kuch involved in the sex act and as he approached him, Kuch shoved him away and ran off.

Officers determined that the house belonged to the man’s girlfriend and later learned that the dog, a black Labrador retriever, also belonged to the girlfriend. The dog had been dead for four or five days. Bay City Times

Necrobestiality. Just in time for Halloween!And speaking of monsters, in a Casper, Wyoming congressional race, Republican candidate Barbara Cubin told Thomas Rankin, her Libertarian opponent, if he wasn’t in a wheelchair she would slap him.

After a debate on Sunday night in Casper, Wyo., Ms. Cubin approached the libertarian candidate, Thomas Rankin, who had questioned her on taking campaign aid from Tom DeLay, the former majority leader, and suggested that if Mr. Rankin, who has multiple sclerosis, did not use a wheelchair, “I’d slap you across the face.” — NY Times

Coincidentally, the seat up for grabs used to be Dick Cheney’s. Contacted in his Washington office, Vice commented, “That shouldn’t have stopped her.” He went on to recommend waterboarding.

The article contains a half dozen other entertaining incidents from the campaign trail, confirming that every rotten thought you’ve ever entertained about the character and personality of our so-called political leadership understates the reality of how low these vermin actually sink. Keep it in mind next time some necktied legislator clambers up on his hind legs to deliver remarks about “family values,” “mainstream morals,” and “teaching character in our public schools.”

Most of these people make the dead dog fucker look good.

Excuse the delay — SoTP and 26th Parallel are ‘way ahead on this –but actually getting through to Rafael (“Rotten Ralphie”) Arza these days has been challenging, and I didn’t want to post this until I did. Here’s the highlights of my interview this morning:

“Make this quick, Macacawitz, ” he growls. “I’m a bit hung over, I mean, sleepy.”

It’s Klotz. “Klotz” as in “blood.” Not “Macacawitz;” you’re thinking of…..

“Whatever. Anyway, it’s true. First that negrolita mouthed off to the paper, then that back-stabbing Rubio bitch turns on me, and now the Cuban-hating Herald puts the whole thing on audio. So I’m outta here. I’ll resign before the election, get re-elected, then re-resign and announce my new position.”

I guess you’re referring to Rep. Dorothy Bendross-Mindingall.

“Yeah, him. Bitch couldn’t wait to toss me under the bus. No compassion for a man with alcohol and anger management issues. And does anybody consider that I’d been molested as a child by Catholic School nuns? I oughta out them ghouls in time for Halloween, what I oughta. Sister Steven Seagal. Wonder how many other little boys she ruined.”

Save your tears, Ralphie, onions cost money. What’s the new gig?

“Color commentary — wait, can you say ‘color’ like that? Or is that racialist, too? Anyway, yeah, WQAM wants me to cover UM games for ‘em. They were under pressure by these sensitive do-gooder types to fire their token moule for ‘inappropriate statements’ on the air or some such shit. Have these bozos ever actually heard what kinda crap gets said on radio any more? Ever listen to Fatass DeFede in the Morning? Anyway, I start next month.”

Great PR move by the radio station, Ralph. We’ll be listening.

“Yeah, of course you will. I’m a hero. You’re “klotz” as in “blood,” I’m “hero” as in “sandwich.”

Hot dog no doubt. Or baloney.

“But listen — this ain’t supposed to come out yet, so mum’s the word got it? This was strictly off the record.”

I promise, Ralph. I won’t breathe a word.

Fifty years ago this month, the citizens of Hungary found themselves revolting. Wait. Holy Bela Lugosi. Let’s start over.

October, 1956: Hungarians take to the streets in a desperate attempt to overthrow their Russian occupiers. Thousands storm government plaza, only to be rebuffed by heavily armed Russian ground troops headed by tanks that roll over the city, quelling violence and restoring order by brute force.

Some 35 years later the Russians end up departing anyway, and the Hungarians hold free elections in 1990. A celebration was planned for this month, but many Hungarians are in no mood, thoroughly disgusted by their prime minister, Ferenc Gyurcsany, after the leak of a tape recording in which he admitted lying about the economy to win national elections in April.

“Shit yeah he lied,” noted one commentator at the time. “Nobody here is surprised, or even minds that he lied — that’s what governments do. What hurts is the fact that the asswipe got caught. For Hungarians, lying is a way of life, but getting caught on tape, why, that’s unacceptably stupid!”

(Ralph Arza take note. In this analysis, as bad a Cuban as you are, you’d make an even worse Hunky.)

So for months, thousands of protestors have gathered before the Parliament building in Budapest to chant abuse and demand Gyurcsany’s ouster. Clashes with police occur daily. But last Monday the real fun started.

Tens of thousands, gathered to protest a memorial ceremony, were pushed back by police from the area in front of Parliament to Deak Square, where a disarmed Russian tank from the 1956 uprising stands on display. As protestors began throwing stones (their parents had lobbed Molotov cocktails), others commandeered the tank and started driving it back toward Parliament! Police fired water cannons, tear gas, and waded into the fray swinging batons. The tank stopped rolling as the crowd dispersed.

“No one gives a shit about the tear gas,” commented one protestor, disgustedly. “But water cannons? We don’t like getting wet.” The ceremony was cut short.

Bearing Hungarian ethnic credentials, I admit to a sense of pride when I read this account in the NY Times. Not about the expression of freedom, courage of the citizenry, outrage at the corruption — shit, that goes on everywhere. No, what impresses me is, they stole a tank. They fucking stole a Russian tank! Gentlemen, this bottle of Bikavér (Bull’s Blood) pours for you.

Front and center: news reports regarding three notable citizens of the world.

#1 The Mannequin Manhandler

A Detroit resident doubtlessly come unglued by the unexpected success of the Tigers in the World Series,

…was arrested after breaking a window at a cleaning-supply company to get at a mannequin in a black and white French maid’s uniform. His erotic pursuit of mannequins over the past 13 years has led to at least six convictions for breaking and entering and a stint in prison, police said. — wcco.com

Experts (in Dania Beach) assure us that dummy fetishes are common, and that very lifelike models of either (or both) sexes are readily available, as are hundreds of costumes including that of a French maid. Evidently this fellow enjoys the element of surprise or danger. If he simply wanted to have sex with a lifeless but human-shaped objects, he could attend Katherine Harris rallies.

2. The Train Shitter

A man has been defecating in trains across south-east England, causing damage costing £60,000 to repair…….British Transport Police have released CCTV images of the man, who has struck on at least 30 trains since August.

He waits until he is alone before committing the offence, smearing excrement inside carriages……. “This is a serious public health issue as well as being exceptionally anti-social – we need to locate this man,” said Detective Constable Donna Fox. — BBC News

(Not to be confused with trainspotting.)

The report is silent on the origin of the excrement. Presumably it’s his own — easy enough to harvest, and no witnesses — but perhaps not, in which case our unique graffiti artist has additional issues. Police are looking for a paper trail. Ugh.

3. Dog Fucker

Remember Senor Trenta from Indiantown, FL? He has a soul mate in the Pacific Northwest:

Pierce County [WA] prosecutors say Michael Patrick McPhail, 26, had sex with his family’s dog Wednesday…..According to a Pierce County Sheriff’s Department report, McPhail’s wife told investigators that she caught her husband on the back porch about 9:30 p.m. Wednesday having intercourse with their 4-year-old female pit bull terrier….She took photos of the act, the report says. — News-Tribune.com

Sr. Trenta’s enduring comment was, “What’s the problem? It’s MY dog!” (It was also male and underage, like a Congressional page.) I imagine Mr. McPhail will offer a similar protest, and perhaps claim alcohol addiction and priest-molestation. Meanwhile, in addition to bestiality and statutory rape, there are exhibitionism and pornography to consider in light of the photos. And is his wife a co-conspirator?

Now if these three tales don’t put a spring in your step this fine autumn day, you need to return to bed and start all over again tomorrow.

Better than a week after the FIU/UM debate at the Orange Bowl there’s still talk resonating through the nation about it, a sufficiently sad commentary in itself made worse by its composition. While I’ve heard nobody say anything particularly positive about college athletes brawling like barflies, I managed to trip across one local sportshole defending a media mouth’s gleeful on-air celebration:

Take the case of Lamar Thomas. He’s a loud, colorful clown. One would imagine that’s why Comcast Sports Southeast hired him instead of, say, Wesley Carroll or Brian Blades or any other quieter ex-UM receiver.

So when the UM-FIU brawl broke out, Thomas sprayed lighter fluid by singing about how great the melee was. It was unprofessional, inappropriate and dumb. But it was real. Real as a helmet to the head.

Thomas was being Thomas. Did they expect him to be someone else? Thomas gave a loud, singing voice to a part of the populace that loves Miami’s swaggering reputation for nonsense. Should he have lied instead? Maybe called the fight a disgrace even if he clearly didn’t think it was? It was about as honest a moment as you’ll hear in the church of sports. –Dan Le Batard, Miami Hurled

Somehow, from this lopheaded perspective, although the stuttering dunce’s comments were “unprofessional, inappropriate, and dumb,” it was okay, even refreshing, because it was genuine. Does he come off as a thug, a cretin, an insufficiently evolved humanoid with Crisco and Quickcrete for frontal lobes? Well, that’s who he is, that’s why he was hired, so embrace and enjoy it.

Don’t think so, Danny. Assholes get no prettier when they’re on display, and their emissions grow no sweeter with an increase in volume. If the on-field display of poor sportsmanship and immaturity delights the former player turned commentator, he’s poorly placed in his position before a microphone. Let him celebrate his “genuine” appreciation of decency’s destruction in private; perhaps an echoing cave where he can commune with like-minded flying rodents.

That spewed, Le Batard’s point about the way sports coverage has been co-opted by necktie and silk-stocking media nice guys is legitimate. Then again, professional (not amateur) sports themselves have been terribly watered down. Football defense is a study in ballet and finesse; what happened to the bellringer, the head spear, and my all-time favorite, roughing the passer? Pitchers rarely knock down batters any more, and when they do, the sucked teeth and tut-tuts are audible. In the old days both benches would empty, not endure an umpire’s warning. And what the hell happened to hockey? Where’s the blood on the jerseys, teeth on the ice? Dude, where’s my goon?

This celebration of violence does not belong in college play, goaded by adults, let alone media professionals. I suspect the real issue is deeper: what the hell is the purpose of college sports at all? Is there so much room in the study hall that corn-fed and inbred hulks need to be invited in to take up space where real students might attend and learn? Is this the best way for academia to support itself and keep its goober alumni writing checks? Can’t professional sports afford its own minor league system? Is anybody else embarrassed that the highest paid bipeds on the campus are athletic coaches, not musicians, scientists, philosophers, or poets?

Dump this corrupt, mission-drifted mayhem and as a byproduct, we might get a better class of sports journalist as well.

I have this nasty little post about Dan LeBatard’s vapid insights in his Sunday column all planned and I sit my ass down to write it when I discover that this blog has been plastered by a zillion spam comments from “viagra,” “anal insert,” “fetish sex,” “lesbian oral,” “penis enlargement” (they must have confused me with Sex On The Beach! I’m flattered), several alleged pharmaceutical distributors, investment services, and a dozen other cyberspace plagues.

So by the time I get it all cleaned up the World Series has started and the beer is chilled to perfection. So sorry, but that post is gonna wait which is ironic because the first line is about how life-free people are for still wringing their hands over the UM/FIU debate and its fallout at the Orange Bowl two Saturdays ago.

I gotta do something about these spam-comments clogging up the works, but as usual, I don’t know how or what.

Typical shitty thing to greet you on a Monday and the start of a new week.  So, sorry. Please check back tomorrow. Hey — how ’bout dem Detroit Tigers?

About that mysterious disappearing and reappearing comic strip in yesterday’s post:

Following the recommendation of Alesh at CM, I emailed my concern over to Henry “Conductor” Gomez whose blog, Herald Watch, keeps an eye on the monkey business transacted daily at One Herald Plaza. (Last time I emailed a concern to the Hurled I was simply ignored. I guess they figured I was a witless crank. Imagine.)

Henry e-mailed Fiddler Tom, Executive Editor, directly, who credibly claimed complete ignorance about the matter (he can credibly claim ignorance about most matters) and referred it to the Features Editor, Shelley Acoca. Her response: the whole thing is just a mistake. The comics section is prepared 3 days before it appears in the paper by an outside vendor, who inadvertently dropped Pearls Before Swine, which nobody noticed until the paper came out (Monday). They notified the vendor who switched it back in, but because of the 3-day gap PBS didn’t appear until Thursday.

So to sum up: It’s just purely coincidental that 2 of the 3 strips had the duck character wearing a fido castro disguise after he bombed the neighbor’s minivan. Nothing to do with anybody at the Miami Hurled wetting their pants about community reaction. No connection at all to that regrettable spot of nastiness involving the Danish comics depicting Muhammad with a bomb for turban. No, no.

You can find the exchange here. And you can check out prime Florida swampland for sale here.

Whatever. Meanwhile, in a totally unrelated matter on the other side of the world, the Turks experience a comedy of errors worthy of the Keystone Kops:

Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s security staff rushed him unconscious to a hospital in Ankara on Tuesday after a drop in his blood sugar level, and accidentally locked him in his car. As they arrived at the hospital, Mr. Erdogan’s driver and bodyguards jumped out of the car and slammed the doors, activating the automatic lock system, with the car key left in the ignition. As the prime minister lay unconscious inside, they reportedly struggled for about 10 minutes to break the thick window of the armored car, aided by workers at a nearby construction site who brought a sledgehammer and a chisel. He was treated for about nine hours and discharged. Doctors said he had had a drop in blood sugar, caused by exhaustion and fasting for Ramadan. — NY Times

Where’s YouTube when you really need it?

At this point it’s speculation, but I’ll try to get to the bottom (and I encourage your assistance, as always!). First, the background:

Back in March, the Miami Hurled conducted a revision of its comics page line-up, dropping Get Fuzzy and replacing it with Pearls Before Swine (PBS). Get Fuzzy is a tremendous strip, so I raised hell (fruitlessly, of course).

Today, PBS mysteriously reappeared. The hell? But the strip made reference to one of its characters, the psychopathic militaristic duck, throwing a bomb at a neighbor then disguising himself as Fidel Castro. Intrigued, I went on-line and checked out the strips that the Hurled omitted this week. Here are two (click for full-size):

As I say, it’s still speculation, but it sure appears as though sycophantic Hurled management determined that these little cartoons ran the risk of inflaming its volatile Cuban-American constituency, much as the Danish images of the Mohammed with a bomb for a turban outraged Muslims around the world. If that’s the case, it reflects very poorly either on the way the Hurled regards the community, or demonstrates its own weak-kneed obsequiousness in the matter of editorial direction. Again.

Sobering thought: next time you place an exasperated call for technical service, reservations, help with your medical insurance, etc., the voice you hear from Bangladesh might have a New Jersey, midwest, or even Florida accent. Seems Indian firms, desperately seeking employees to replace the local talent pool depleted by emigrants to the west, have lured young Americans to come east. Details here.

How’s this going over? I head on over to the Inn-dian Bed and Breakfast on Hollywood Beach to ask my pal Redot Singe, whose family and friends shuttle back and forth to their native India monthly.

“Mostly over there we don’t care,” he shrugs. “But there’s bound to be some resentment in certain quarters, like what you would call ‘the working poor,’ and we would call the ‘medium-low caste’.”

What kind of resentment?

“They would see the Americans workers as threats to their own jobs. Why hire a foreigner when there are Indians who desperately need jobs?”

Are they getting paid less?

“Probably. And treated worse. They are probably mocked for their pale skin, bland food, funny clothes, brash manners, and irritating nasal voices. And unless these few are quite different from the Americans I see every day here in south Florida, they will be singled out as lazy and spoiled when it comes to hard work and long hours.”

Whoa. Harsh.

“And religious differences may become an issue. Americans can be thoroughly obnoxious about their silly bible sayings and intolerant attitudes, even as they stuff their faces with meat from the holy cow, which gives them that strange wet-chicken smell we find so perplexing and off-putting.”

Hmm. Never noticed.

“But at the same time, most Indians recognize that Americans will not stay very long. They scorn the so-called American work ethic. There is neither the ambition nor the vision to learn the system, establish businesses, build communities, win trust, and do all the things that Indians and other minorities do here in America, despite the crime, prejudice, and intolerance we face. So they should be alright for the brief time they remain, as will the next wave and the wave after that.”

Meanwhile, on this end, we can only hope that whatever wiseass American we end up talking to when we need telephone assistance has an Indian supervisor standing over him to keep his hairy yellow ass in line. The local service is rotten enough in these parts; we sure don’t need to hear it long-distance, too.