Emptybottle.org

The theme today is: poo.
You know, some days it’s almost enough† to make one want to pick up an automatic weapon (you know, at the Gun-o-tron™ vending machine down on the corner) and start mowing down motherf–kers. The only problem with that, though, is that any motherf–kers you might in fact mow down, were you in a mowing mood, wouldn’t be the Bad People, they’d just be poor ordinary sh-t-blinded slobs like you or me, lied to, marketing-besotted, diaper-slinging members of demographic groups, and there’s no joy or sense in that. None at all. And, you know, killing folks is baaaad, mmkay?
So it’s down to trying with every breath one takes to fight the sh-tweasels in the boardrooms and situation rooms. Laughing at them, passing over the worthless crap they try so goddamn hard to sell you. Thwarting them, and believing nothing they or their turd-fellating father-figure-worshipping infantile apologists tell you. Not as cathartic certainly, and dangerously curmudgeony-enhancing, but it’ll have to do.
(And f–k that neck-flexing opportunist Howard Dean too, while I’m at it, just in case you think I’m just on an anti-Bush-te tear again. The American system is so deeply and completely f–king rotten that there is little doubt that, like Clinton before him, he’s just another poo-pellet washed up on the shore of the vast open sewer that is American politics. I’d almost prefer Bush won the election next year, as the blind, bumbling, lockstep stupidity of him and his corporate-coprophile posse would do more to hasten the decline and fall of the good ol’ US of A than anything else, and spur the kind of catastrophic, revolutionary change that may be the only option left to save that fading republic. I’m afraid there is very little hope, friends, and what little may be left is disappearing fast. Their lies are ascendant; they own your ass outright (and they’re making the final payments on mine). Emigrate while you still can, and start sending money back to fund the revolution.)
Oh yeah, here’s the nugget that set me off :

†No it’s not, really. Gotta cut down on the coffee.
Thus endeth the rant.