Embarrassed Santorum admits to paying twice the tax rate of rival Romney

Presidential hopeful Rick Santorum attempted to draw a contrast between himself and Republican rival Mitt Romney when his campaign released four years of tax returns Wednesday night. The move appears to have backfired, however.

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“Dr. Doom” Predicts The Obvious

Or does he? Economist Nouriel Roubini, nicknamed “Dr. Doom” for his gloomy predictions in the run-up to the financial meltdown four years ago, has predicted that going to war with Iran would be very bad financially, not only for the U.S., who will cause the war, but for everyone else, too.

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I just made the best fucking salad in the Cosmos. It was so good I had to race over here and tell you, the internet, that I just made the best fucking salad in the Cosmos.

First of all, kalamata olives. I don’t piss around when I make a salad. I make it like a man, like fucking Clint Eastwood, all squint-eyed and kalamata-olive-using. There are people walking around on this planet right this very minute who don’t like kalamata olives, but that’s ok because I am very accepting of pathetic loseriness.

Next, the base: iceberg lettuce, which featured prominently in the salads served aboard the Titanic, ironically enough. The amount I used is called in technical culinary parlance “a baseball-sized hunk”. I chopped it up on my bamboo cutting board with the awesome red knife I got for Christmas.

Then you need a little feta cheese, chopped portabella, grape tomatoes (six or eight), and a stout clump of alfalfa spouts.

Now toss that salad, baby. Oh, yeah, you know how daddy likes it.

The dressing I make myself and it is comprised of extra virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar and white wine tarragon vinegar. Predominantly it is vinegar, though, mostly balsamic. Seasoned with salt, pepper, thyme, oregano, garlic powder, and onion powder, then shaken like a Polaroid picture. Hey ya!

Jesus christ it was good. I ate the living shit out of that salad. Rabbits all over the globe hung their furry little heads in shame. It was the perfect punctuation point for the sentence of 8 beers I had just drunk.

Now if you will excuse me, I am off to continue my never-ending awesomeness.

Government So Small It Can Fit In Your Uterus

You wouldn’t know it from looking at me, but prayer is a big part of my life. Whenever the cameras are on me BANG! I immediately start praying, just like Tim Tebow. Instead of touchdowns, however, I ask for answers. For example, why are so many young white men crushing hardcore on Ron Paul? Surely, oh lord, there’s more to it than the whole “Dude, he’s totally gonna legalize pot” thing?

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Open Up and Say “Ahh”

A recent Freedom of Information Act request has revealed that the FBI wants what it calls “food activists” prosecuted as terrorists, perhaps because nothing could be more terrifying than exposing where our so-called food comes from and how it is manufactured.

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The Rick Santorum Diet for Poor People

Of the two ridiculous Ricks running for the presidency, I can’t decide which is ridiculous-er, Rick Perry, with his odd Marlboro Man looks and faux Christianity, or Rick Santorum, who thinks abortion is wrong in every case except for his wife’s. After a great deal of Herman Cain-like prayer and soul-searching, I have opted for Rick Santorum because the coin I flipped was tails.

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299

At the mess-tables the boys in training were brought to war:
the sound of crimson, hair long in the old way.
On their lips, the State.

Soldiers:
beget, loaned, assumed.

In their absence:
admirers claim brutality
better than deathless heroism.

Battle immortality:
die oneself,
continuing the life of Sparta.

Subordinates:
memories,
cowering in brave.

Michael Kindt

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