DUmmie FUnnies 05-30-05 ("What do you love?" ---Pitt Posts "Trype" And Conspires With Scamdy)

Pied Piper Pitt has once again consulted his ever-ready thesaurus in preparation for this paean to himself posted in DUmmieland. The most interesting thing about this DUmmie THREAD titled, “What do you love?” isn’t Pitt’s tedious and overlong self-glorification but his interaction with co-conspirator Scamdy. So let us now view Pied Piper Pitt telling us how wonderful he is in Bolshevik Red while the commentary of your humble correspondent, who will be asking the judge at the Scamdy trial to permit a large screen monitor with an internet connection at the Scamdy trial so as to allow the jury a better view of the vital evidence contained in the DUFUs, is in the [brackets]:

What do you love?

[I love following this whole Scamdy Scandal and you, Pitt, provide among the best entertainment of all the co-conspirators.]

I love my mom. She had me when she was 26 and then watched her marriage fly apart for reasons I have no place to judge.

[Perhaps the breakup was caused by your mom blaming your Dad for the way you turned out. But continue with the sob story, Pitt…]

She went to school with a young boy on her hip and became one of the best in her business, all the while with the whip-hand raised to make sure her son was worth the world he was to live in. She lives today, paintbrush in hand and canvas at the fore, at the end of five miles of dirt road in New Hampshire in a small log cabin by a lake. She is the strongest, smartest, wisest, funniest and best person I will ever know.

[Your mom paints? Great. If cameras are not allowed in the courtroom at the Scamdy trial perhaps she could be the courtroom sketch artist. Please tell your mom to make sure that she sketches Scamdy as healthily plump as the day he arrived at Johns Hopkins.]

I love my dad. He was born out of red North Alabama clay to love FDR and the Tennessee Valley Authority, and met my mom just before he volunteered for Vietnam duty in 1969.

[Uh-Oh! We seem to have a veracity problem here, Pitt. If your Dad was young enough in 1969 to volunteer for Vietnam then why would he be reminiscing about FDR and the TVA? That love for the TVA is mainly something that folks who grew up in the DEPRESSION would do. Somebody who is a Baby Boomer (or even a just few years older than that) wouldn’t be expressing love for the TVA any more than someone born in, say, 1930 would be expressing his love for the Panama Canal because it was a bit BEFORE his time.]

Yes, volunteered. He watched his marriage fly apart for reasons I have no place to judge, and embarked upon a 40-year oddessy of public service that took him from the Secretary of State's office to the Attorney General's office to the US. Attorney's office - all in Alabama, where Democrats are awfully popular, you know - and only in the last couple of years did he figure out that you can actually make money as a lawyer in private practice. He is the strongest, smartest, wisest, funniest and best person I will ever know.

[Hopefully your Dad is not an ambulance chaser like a certain recent vice-presidential candidate.]

I love my city. Boston, cold, rainy, hot, sunny, bitter and snowy altogether, with a confluence of 400 years of history marking the cracked streets.

[You left out humid, windy, and foggy in your Boston weather report, Pitt. However, I am happy to see that you consulted your ever-present thesaurus in time to come up with “confluence.”]

We started slavery and ended it - the slave trade came from here, 'Boston Baked Beans' were slave food for generations, and yet The Liberator was printed here, the Union Clubs were started here, and the spine of Union strength during the Civil War was found here. Never mind the Guns of Ticonderoga and the lashing of the British. That's just the fun stuff. Boston is America: Every race, and every racism, dirty and clean together, a port city at once looking ahead and anchored to the past, with all the weather of the country pouring out along the jet stream and across the Cape. Don't like it? Wait five minutes. Oh, and the Sox. And the Pats.

[I’m impressed with your interjection of history on the heels of your Boston weather report. Can I just kiss your tuchus right now, Pitt, or do I have to wait for that privilege?]

I love my country. We made the slaves, and freed them. We slaughtered the natives, and carved out a space for millions of others to find freedom from their own lands, opressions, tortures. We stand for freedom and sell it out every day. We stand for profit, we exude the excess of victorious capitalism from every pore, we are governed by an avarice and a body-lust that has nothing to do with the soul or the spirit, and yet, with a million billion kindnesses done on streetcorners and church pews and protest rallies and God knows exactly where else, we show with every breath that profit and money and wealth are not a reason to breathe in and breathe out.

[Boston weather report: A long hot wind coming from the direction of a certain Pied Piper Pitt.]

No propaganda can paint over the blood and horror and woe we have created. No propaganda can obscure the greatness of the ideal - Of the People, By the People, For the People - nor can any propaganda obscure the greatness of our accomplishments. We have done great things, and terrible things.

[No appeals can get Pied Piper Pitt to keep from bloviating. No plea for mercy Of the People, By the People, For the People can make him cease his hot air attack.]

We are guilty, and we are innocent. We have done great things, and boy o boy, we have a lot of cleaning up to do.

[You are guilty of being Scamdy’s chief cheerleader on the Web and you are innocent of having the slightest lick of common sense. And boy o boy, you have a lot of cleaning up of the Scamdy “documents” on your hard drive to do.]

What do you love? What do you fight for?

[I love reading your rationalizations about how Scamdy really really does have pancreatic cancer and I will fight to get a front row seat in the courtroom at Scamdy’s scandal trial.]

Do you fight for an ideal, a promise at the end of your struggle? Or is the fight itself so much a habit now that you have forgotten what it is that got you started in the first place? Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I lose myself in the warring between party, between ideology, hell, sometimes in the warring within forums here.

[Sometimes you forget that self-glorifying paeans actually do have to END at some point, Pitt.]

But then I remember.

[Please remember to someday terminate this tribute to yourself.]

I'm an American. My family came over her on boats from Ireland, England and Germany. My family farmed, went to school, busted their humps to make sure their kids did better than they did. This is a lot of what we are missing these days, that idea of sacrifice, that immigrant ethic: You aren't in this for you, but for your kids, for the future.

[It’s bad enough that we have to hear you tell us how wonderful you are, Pitt, but now you are torturing us with what great folks your long forgotten ancestors were.]

Once we lost that, once instant gratification became the state religion, then easy gas and easy steel and easy labor and easy war and easy death became, well, easy, and we forgot that there is a price to be paid in the end.

[Why don’t you take it EASY, Pitt, and quit with the (inevitable) segue into politicization of everything?]

Everyone is born owing a death. Every man, every woman, every nation, every empire. To think this escapable is to laugh in God's face, and God is not mocked.

[Actually God is pissed that you are invoking His name in your never ending spiel.]

I'm an American. I am proud of my nation and ashamed of it. I am proud of the ideals of our institutions of government, and ashamed at how easily they are corrupted by money, by that instant gratification desire which mouths platitudes of patriotism while spitting on the nation entire.

[Speaking of being corrupted by money…How is Scamdy doing since his “miraculous” recovery from his pancreatic cancer operation?]

Somewhere in history, I'm pretty sure my family owned slaves. Somewhere in there, I know for a stone fact my family fought to free them. I'm an American, so I'm conflicted. That's how it is.

[Doesn’t matter if your family freed their slaves. You still gotta come up with the reparations payments. BTW, my family only ran whores in Chicago so I don’t have to make those reparations payments.]

But I know we can do better than this. I know we will. I am a profound believer in what-goes-around-comes-around, with the caveat that nothing will come around without some shoulders to the wheel.

[I too am a profound believer in what-goes-around-comes-around and since you were the chief Scamdy cheerleader it will all come around in a courtroom at his fraud trial.]

I love my mom, I love my dad, I love my country, and I hate it, too. I love the fact that I can sit here and say whatever the hell I want, trype it out and push a button and make my nonsense the fodder for hudreds or thousands or millions. That's freedom. That's raw democracy. But I wish I could say only good things about my country, my people, our history, or legacy. That would be nice.

[“Trype it out.” A Freudian slip that is ever so TRUTHFUL.]

What do you love? What do you fight for? What would you die for?

[I would DIE for you to finish trying to “trype it out.”]

This is Memorial Day Weekend. Better men than I am or ever will be marched off to fight and die for the best ideals this nation has to offer. This weekend, millions of assholes will stuff themselves into cars and ram down Routh 3 to the Sagamore Bridge for a hoped-for weekend of sunshine on cold Cape Cod beaches. Why? Because they got an extra day off. Sure, they'll maybe get choked up during the ballgame when the extra-special 'God Bless America' gets sung, but hell, Normandy was more than 60 years ago, and sure, Dad fought in Vietnam though he doesn't like to talk about it, and sure, the sister-in-law of the neighbors who moved last year might have had a son who was supposed to get shipped off to Iraq...what was his name?

[Meanwhile Pitt is trying to feed us the “trype” that he is so wonderful because he is sitting in his hole in the wall this weekend instead of going to the beach.]

Do we even remember what we stand for anymore?

[Do you even remember that all essays, even ones that are self-glorifying “trype, have to reach a conclusion?]

When was it that we were last a people governed by something besides ease, or the desire for ease; money, or the desire for money; fear, or the desire to kill what it is we fear? Have we ever been anything other than people motivated by base instincts? Of course. Can we be more than that? Of course.

[And of course your buddy, Scamdy, is not motivated by money, especially that $50,000+ that he scammed with your aid for a non-existent pancreatic cancer operation.]

What do you love? What do you fight for? What would you die for?

[What would you give for Pitt to terminate his repetitive “trype?”]

Those questions need to be asked and answered, and quickly.

[WHEW! FINALLY you finished your “trype,” Pitt. And speaking of questions that need to be asked and answered quickly: Why won’t you post on the web the documentation about Scamdy’s diagnosis and bill for pancreatic cancer that you claim to have on your hard drive?]

Well, I read all that and I thought, damn, that person really knows how to write.

[I agree. Pitt really knows how to “trype it out.”]

What an awesome article ,,,,, It is one of those that will stay in my thoughts for days,,,, haunting, paradoxical, bittersweet…

[…tedious, narcissistic, self-important, laughable, “trype”…


I love that I am alive. Life is good!

[It sure is Scamdy! Don’t you just love the fact that you so easily bilked the DUmmies thanx to the aid of Pied Piper Pitt cheering you on from the sidelines? Yup. Life is good!]

Get off the internet. I am so totally serious. There are some amazing vampires running around lately, and you don't need to bother with it.
Get off, go rest, or I will break your f*cking arms. I swear to God, Andy. Oh, P.S., hi. No go rest.

[Better listen to Pied Piper Pitt, Scamdy. Anything you post in DUmmieland is copied into the DUmmie FUnnies and can and WILL be used against you in a court of law. Please get off the internet, Scamdy, so as to not post things incriminating to Pitt. If Pitt is convicted due to your postings, he will break your f*cking arms.]

Yes sir. Oh and BTW callme...I want to talk to you!

[Good suggestion, Scamdy. You and Pitt need to chat offline and piece together a cover story that might hold up in court.]

I will. If you post again, I smash you.

[I will call you up, Scamdy, to devise a good cover story. However, if you post any more incriminating stuff on the web, I smash you.]

HI Andy. Glad to see you up and at em.

[Hi Andy! Glad to see you up and at them with your miraculous recuperation from pancreatic cancer surgery. Oh, could you give me a phone call from your ICU and maybe we could do some AIM chat on the ICU computer?]

Heeee...I adore both of you boys...now play nice or I'll bang your heads together.

[I adore both those co-conspirators.]

I love everyone with the wisdom to question what is widely accepted.

[Unfortuately, DUmmie LaraMN, if you question the widely accepted “fact” in DUmmieland that Scamdy had pancreatic cancer surgery, you will be tombstoned.]

I love collaboration and the power engendered by that simple gesture.

[That’s true, DUmmie sfexpat2000. We know you love collaborating with Scamdy in his $$$ scam.]

I love a pure heart. Nobody has one, but we can try to attain it.

[How about Scamdy? Doesn’t he have a pure heart?]

I love my kittyboy who is dying of cancer, he will be going to heaven very soon......This is my first pet that I have to put down, pure devastation

[Does your cat have pancreatic cancer? If so, then don’t post that fact in DUmmieland. The words “pancreatic cancer” are TABOO there.]