Quantcast
Home » Archives » Panic in Funland (Page 3)

Scott Brown would rather hang out where men poop than answer your dumb Hobby Lobby questions

By TBogg
Thursday, July 17, 2014 16:03 EDT
 
scottbrown_daughter_pic

Former nudie model and perennial seeker of civil service jobs, Scott Brown, having been told to ‘pahk his cah in someone else’s yahd’ by Massachusetts voters,  has been scuffling as of late — looking for another job, 3 hots, and a cot. After a brief stop camping out on the couch at the Fox Halfway House For Losers before he got kicked out, Brown picked up some day laborer work hawking  guns and shampoo, but that fell apart too.

Finding the pickings slim, Brown packed up his truck — just like the Joads –and headed for the greener pastures of New Hampshire, looking for fresh start and a Senate seat to call his own.

Things have not gone so well  — just like the Joads — and Brown has found himself trailing  the third female candidate he has run against, incumbent Sen. Jeanne Shaheen who leads him 50-42 in the polls.  Worse for him is that he is trailing Shaheen in the all-important Vagina-American demographic, 59 percent to 34 percent. In Brown’s last campaign he lost the lady vote to ethereal progressive godddess Elizabeth Warren by 18 points.

How to overcome this blatant misandry by women who no longer find Brown a hunka-hunka burning love with a happy trail that leads to the promised land of Penistown?

One way would be to run like hell when confronted with questions about lady’s vag maintenance, which is actually good advice for all Republicans.

While Brown is relatively cool with socialism slutpills, particularly as they apply to his daughters, he is also leery of twisting up the undies of the base who viewed the recent Supreme Court ruling  on Hobby Lobby  as the voice of God speaking through Strip Search Sammy Alito.

So when Guardian reporter  Paul Lewis sought out Scott Brown to get the low down on ‘down there,’ Brown suddenly decided that he needed to take inventory in America’s National Urinal Cake  Repository:

I found Brown at a table at a restaurant called Priscilla’s, introduced myself as a Guardian reporter and enquired if I could ask him some questions. Brown smiled nervously and replied: “What do you want to ask me about?”

“Hobby Lobby? That would be a start,” I said.

“I’m all set,” he replied. “We’re enjoying ourselves right now.”

“But you’re standing for Senate. It is routine for journalists to ask you questions and usually the candidates answer.”

“Not without notifying my office.”

Brown stood up, walked to the back of the diner, and took shelter in the bathroom. A campaign aide, Jeremy, looked bewildered. He lingered beside me for a few moments, before politely excusing himself – “Nice to meet you” – and joining his boss in the bathroom.

I decided to wait in the parking lot for Team Brown to emerge into the sunlight. Four minutes later, a white SUV swung round and parked next to the steps of the diner. Brown came out with a phone pressed to his ear. “Get in! Get in!” said a campaign worker holding open the car door. Another man asked me to leave. “You’re getting in the face of people that don’t care to talk to you,” he said.

Undeterred, Lewis followed the musky scent of Brown’s testosterone permeating the crisp New Hampshire air and tracked the skittish candidate down at the next lip ‘n grip on his schedule:

His next campaign stop, I was told, would take place three hours later, on the second floor of the Hobbs Tavern and Brewery, in West Ossipee. I was at the tavern, mingling with about a dozen locals, when the candidate arrived. Brown walked up the stairs, spotted me in the audience, frowned, turned around and walked back downstairs.

Jeremy, looking even more anxious than he did at Priscilla’s, took me to a corner and told me that while I could witness Brown’s electioneering, under no circumstances was I permitted to ask questions.

I was explaining to Jeremy that Senate candidates don’t get to dictate when and where journalists ask them questions, when Brown re-emerged. Gruffly, he told me I had intruded in a private event. He was not going to answer my questions about Hobby Lobby. “I’m not making any more news,” he explained. “You’re being unprofessional and you’re being rude.”

A large man with chest hair poking out of his shirt put it more bluntly. “You have to go,” he said. “We can either do this the right way, or we can do this the wrong way.”

“What is the wrong way?” I asked. “I don’t want you to find out,” he said.

You have to appreciate how the Brown campaign butches up when confronted with some news reporter person who wants to talk about lady problems. Why can’t Lewis talk about something manly in a New England  bar …. like the Red Sox, for instance?

Okay, maybe not that

ALstandings_allstar+break

Patriot’s camp opens next week.

I bet Tom Brady could beat Jeanne Shaheen.

Scott Brown, not so much…

Crisis management guy not very good at crisis management, kind of dumb about law too

By TBogg
Wednesday, July 16, 2014 16:48 EDT

It was inevitable that, after weeks of hating on The Blacks for turning out and not-voting for current Teabagger hottie Chris McDaniel in Mississippi, then moving on to the trollops who are all slut-bags who can’t keep their whore legs together, that Conservatives would start looking  for another group to turn their inchoate rage upon in order to make themselves feel better about their wretched lives. And, oh hey, look over there!  Immigrant children escaping…

 

Never mind those dead kids, check out our NRA gunbunnies

By TBogg
Tuesday, July 15, 2014 9:54 EDT

In the wake of the Sandy Hook slaughter, where Adam Lanza watered the Tree of Liberty with the blood of 20 small children between the ages of six and seven, the NRA saw that they had their work cut out for them. If you thought by ‘work cut out for…

 

TBogg: I was the NRA

By TBogg

I was fortunate enough to have been born and to have spent my life living in a part of America where the climate is conducive to outdoor living year-round. The San Diego of my youth was the fabled “sleepy Navy town” of yore; scrub-filled canyons and mesas extending to the…

 

You too can talk like an embittered divorced white man with anger issues. Learn how now!

By TBogg
Saturday, July 12, 2014 14:11 EDT

I have developed a certain fondness for the men’s rights activists know as MRA’s, or more colloquially:  ‘Restraining-Order-Americans.’ Normally you would have to turn to PETA or Code Pink to find a group whose words and deeds are so completely detrimental to their aims and just make people go, “Ugh,…

 

Sarah Palin wants to be on The View. Make your own damn ‘Russia from my house’ joke

By TBogg
Monday, July 7, 2014 13:59 EDT

So you want some hot Sarah Palin news? Of course you do, you clicked on the link. Don’t lie. Well, since you’re here and since you asked so nicely, let’s get caught up on America’s favorite 7-year-long exploding-railcar-of-fertilizer career that is Sarah Palin, Snow Queen of the Northern Meth Tribes.…

 

Mitt Romney is tan, rested, and ready to lose again, so let’s do this thing

By TBogg
Thursday, July 3, 2014 14:35 EDT

In a move that can be seen as either desperation or ‘we’re all gonna die anyway, so what the hell?’ conservatives are casting their eyes westward to a man — a stoic man, an honest and true man of values, standing knee deep  in the Pacific Ocean watching the sun…

 

This Tea Party 2nd American Revolution Dream Team will shock and delight you

By TBogg
Tuesday, July 1, 2014 13:42 EDT

Recently our gal pal from Alaska’s meth capital, put America on notice that she is not in the least bit happy with our tribalistic slave-to-the-oligarchs duopoly where there is not a dime’s worth of difference between the two parties. Tossing her hair in disdain, albeit carefully lest she suffer the…

 

Sparsely attended ‘men’s rights’ soirée arrives at source of their problems. Hint: It’s women

By TBogg
Sunday, June 29, 2014 14:49 EDT

If you’re a white man, a dude, a bro, a man’s man, a guy, a studmuffin, and you didn’t spend your weekend hanging out at a VFW post in the Detroit area, you are probably unaware that you are the most put-upon powerless useless flap of skin attached to a…

 

The Charlie’s Angels of Bullsh*t

By TBogg
Saturday, June 28, 2014 13:33 EDT

“Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” ― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland Tammy Bruce who once speed-dated fame but, alas, it didn’t work out (fame didn’t call the next day, doesn’t return texts, eventually took out a restraining order) has set up shop at…

 
Google+