Pied Piper Pitt PUI (Posting Under the Influence)
Mama! Papa! Don't you know me? I'm your little Sonny Boy! Mama! Mama! Don't hide your face! Go ahead and look at my disgrace! Your little Sonny Boy is wasting away all his Trust Fund Money on drink! Oh Papa! Aren't you proud of your little Sonny Boy! I coulda been a player! If only...IF ONLY! If only Karl Rove had been indicted! If only what everybody had expected to happen had happened today your little Sonny Boy would have been the apple in your eye. A major media star who scooped everybody with the Rove indictment story. I coulda been the next Bob Shrum! Appearing regularly on MSNBC, greeted warmly at fancy restaurants, and lauded by Democrats everywhere. Instead fate played a dirty trick on your little Sonny Boy! Despite assurances of David Shuster and Jason Leopold with his absolutely solid leads, no indictment! And now your little Sonny Boy is the butt of jokes! Absolutely no respect is thrown my way. And every year, on May 12, I am cruelly reminded of my humiliation. They never let your little Sonny Boy forget. It is the permanent roadblock to any chance of my success. Aren't you proud! My only solace is the bottle nightly at a phony themed bar to make Trust Fund kids feel like they are part of the Working Class. Heaving up my guts and fouling my pants. Then crawling home like a craven animal to post inflated bloatings on the Web. That's the life from now on of your little Sonny Boy! Yes, it could have been different IF ONLY the Karl Rove indictment had happened as I was sure would happen. I wouldn't be lying in bed staring at the clock all day staring at the clock because I haven't really slept in 3 years. Staring at a clock as the seconds, minutes, and hours continue ticking by, cruelly reminding me that my non-existent career is going nowhere. Don't you just love my wasted life, Mama?
Yes, this is the sad (but hilarious) fate of one William Rivers Pitt. He tried to scam his way onto the fast lane of success and is now forever stuck on the offramp to oblivion. No Rove indictment! No fame in the warm media lights! No fans lining up for your autograph! Only the painful memories of your public humiliation made worse each year on the Anniversary of your Fitzmas Hoax. Perhaps there is a parallel universe in which Rove was indicted, where you became a media darling, and where you are wooed by the political players. But that is not to be in this universe! In this universe you must SIT on the sidelines in the midst of the hottest political primary in history. Oh, how you must yearn to be part of all the political excitement. How cruel to be relegated to the sidelines! Well, that is the price you pay when a hoax backfires bigtime. Meanwhile the bottle continues calling out to you, William Rivers Pitt. Hear its alluring song. Drink me! Drink me and forget all your troubles! Drink me and drink me and drink me until you actually believe you are a political hero. Drink me and hope that you never wake up to your own depressing obscurity. Drink me and pretend that they are not laughing at you on the web. Drink me and maybe, just maybe, I can somehow awake from this perpetual nightmare.
Such is the fate of Pied Piper Pitt. And this week must have been especially hard on the Pittster considering the Fitzmas anniversary. Therefore it is not at all surprising to read of Pitt's drunken RANT appropriately titled, "OK, ya bastids. It's 6:30am, I'm quite completely drunk...and here we go." And yet. And yet as drunk as Pitt is in this post, he still can't bring himself around to finally acknowledge his Fitzmas humiliation. The pain runs much too deep and even hard liquor cannot alleviate the pain. So let us now watch Pitt post comedic pathos amidst the vomit ridden stench of his Bostonian hovel in Bolshevik Red while the commentary of your humble correspondent, noting that PUI is the normal state of affairs for the Magic Man, is in the [brackets]:
OK, ya bastids. It's 6:30am, I'm quite completely drunk...and here we go.
[With another round of pompastic blather while PUI.]
(I started typing at 4:30am, and lost my train of thought exactly seventeen times, but I have never let little things like not making sense stop me from...um...not making sense. Anyway, proceed with caution, you've been warned )
[Confessional time for the drunken Pitt here but not drunk enough to acknowledge the Hoax of Fitzmas Past.]
Been a while since I've attempted to navigate a keyboard with a skinful of Jameson and Gritty's Scotch Ale. No, it isn't easier with practice. Well, yeah, it actually is. Oh, hush.
[Booze provided courtesy of Trust Fund payments.]
By the way, and not for nothing, if you want to post on DU while cross-eyed blasted, I finally figured out the trick. Hell, it only took me seven years, 40,000+ posts and maybe a thousand moments I'd like to forget but can't, because I typed out some watever and...
[Do tell us the trick sometime within the next 24 business hours.]
...Oooh, yeah, the trick.
[Not really but that won't stop you.]
DON'T REPLY. EVER.
[Expecially when Fitzmas is mentioned.]
The OP process was always smooth as butter, cuz we're all Shakespeare in our little DU post-a-thread box. No, the train would always flip the tracks if I replied to posts in my own thread, especially if I replied to posts from vindictive Dean '04 people in the last iteration of this hyperlink bedlam asylum...you want to talk about grudge-keepers...man...
[Somewhere in the midst of that booze and barf there might be a point but probably not.]
...but when you post drunk, whatever happens (fire/flood/meteor strike/Godzilla attack) is your fault automatically, because you're the idiot and you're posting with one eye open and a glass of scotch at your elbow...and someone replies with comments that are stupid enough to embarrass stupid people, and you know that, but you're drunk, so you take a swig and maybe even have good intentions when you reply to the reply, but this story ALWAYS has an unhappy ending, which often includes outrageous spelling errors and maybe a beat-down from Skinner to boot.
["Dear Skinner... When this story pans out, and all the little fish try to swim home, I am going to say 'Sorry, you had the chance to stand with an ally, and instead, decided to say 'I find it very hard not to be skeptical.'"]
Yeah. Memories...in the corners of my mind...all say the same thing: DON'T REPLY. Post your ass off, have a ball...but save your rapier wit and excellent typing skills for the morning. Trust me...there are people here and there and wherever who'd like to see me in Hell with my back broken, and I'd apologize if I could only remember whatever the f*ck it was that pissed them off...it was some reply to some reply, I think...or something.
["You could have asked. I would have gladly explained the inside sourcing that I cannot reveal publicly. I would have told you. Happily. I would have explained how Joseph Wilson independently verified a half dozen other sources, none of whom are connected. We had a guy **deleted**."]
Because, seriously, scary Jedi/ninja grudge keepers once prowled these halls, serious people who may still be here, voodoo-doll-making people whose dolls actually worked, who therefore collected pins and/or anything sharp so as to ventilate the doll that looks like you if you were a doll who didn't support Dean. These people remembered that misplaced comma in your post three years ago and used aforementioned punctuation error as an allegory to explain how wrong you are and will always be, how your candidate sucks, how you're ugly and your mother dresses you funny, etc., and yeah, it was a comma, but like I said, these people were wizards, masters of bad-feelings-all-around sorcery.
["I'd have told you, had you asked, because you are owed that much. But sadly, no. You threw me and Jason and truthout under the bus. Publicly, because you do not have the COURAGE to stand with someone who has stood with you. You couldn't even do it silently."]
And...um...yeah, so...hate to say it, but...HA. 2003-2004 makes this place look like Captain Kangaroo's happy silly place for ping-pong balls and fun, etc. Basically, simply put, it was waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay worse in 2004. Don't take that as a personal challenge. Instead, count your blessings. Someone hates you for calling Clinton a racist, or for calling Obama a rookie? Ooooooo...*snort*. Call me when you've wound somebody up enough that they threaten to kill you. But only call me if they really mean it.
["This was a wheat-from-the-chaff moment, and you failed. You spend a good deal of time talking about standing strong, but you publicly f*cked one man who has stood stronger for you more than any other. Name for me please the New York Times and international best-selling book, translated into twelve languages, that thanks you and your site above anything else. First and foremost."]
2004. Feeeeeeel the magic.
[From the Magic Man.]
P.S. 99.9999999% of the shit I got back then was actually created by...yup...me. I haven't really waded into the zoo here this time around, though I read it every day (man, some of you need an 8th grade civics textbook like the desert needs the rain, no offense, or lots, but it's true), but that's because 1) I don't have the stomach lining available to be decicated to smash-typed replies to posts that God couldn't even understand, and; 2) I have too much shit to do;, and 3) the 2004 bloodbath showed me exactly what kind of asshole shit I am capable if given a keyboard and 20 minutes...and that guy sucks, so f*ck him.
[What about the May 12, 2006 guy?]
I'm everyone's friend this time around. I haven't insulted anyone (sorta), and I have for damn sure spoken with nothing but respect for both candidates and their campaigns. That part was easy, because I meant it. I decided who I support in the voting booth back in February, and I stand proudly by my choice, but it is a hell of a thing to have lived from Nixon to Bush, to have seen so much shit, to have pretty much whored myself out to shitass bag-o-hair candidates in the name of "the greater good" because it was either that or take up firebombing...coin toss...
[So you whored yourself out to John Kerry by feeding him Dennis Kucinich campaign info while pretending to act as his loyal press secretary? Perhaps you can blame that act of deceit on the bottle. Yes, that's the trick! Blame your backstabbing of the Evil Elf on the bottle.]
...and this year, I'm in the booth literally having a Lincoln-Douglass debate with myself...because here were two kick-ass candidates, both of whom are amazingly flawed in different ways (my rule of thumb: if you've heard of a candidate, it means they have signed up to work with The Program in exchange for a shot a the title, which means they are NOT ON YOUR SIDE), so dig your own grave and lie down, or else do as Ms. Ivins said and dance with them what brung ya, even if you can't stand the stink. It isn't about me being happy or satisfied with my votes or my positions.
[Pitt so drunk that he is confusing Frederick Douglass with Stephen Douglas here.]
The Devil or the Deep Blue Sea, right? The perfect is the enemy of the good, but goddam, what passes for "good" nowadays could use a little polish and maybe some integrity...or something...so I had my debate and made my decision and cast my vote in that booth, and what I realized after inking the box was this: I'll take either one, and will throw down for either one after the balloon party and the bullshit, so we can put on our steel-toed boots and helmet and mouth-guard and Holy Water cologne and whatever else might get us from Now to Later in one piece, so we can use those boots to kick Ol' Johnny-Boy up one side of Main Street and down the other, because keeping guys like that out is more important than letting our favored cretins in, just a little bit, but enough.
[Pitt turns into the simple act of entering a booth and casting a vote into his personal Illiad. And now stand by for his Odyssey...]
I was born into this Age Of Bedlam, I didn't have a say when they backed Hussein in '79 or when they overthrew Mossadeq in '53 or when they changed the economy to suit the bullet-makers in '47 or when they taught Bin Laden how to undo a superpower in '89 or when they legalized political bribery in '76...I didn't have a say, but I'm tasked to sweep up all the bones and busted glass left behind, and all I have is the idea that is America and the Constitution and the rule of law. That's all any of us have...and you know what?
[No but I'm sure you'll try to tell us with several volumes of nonsensical rantings.]
[Does this mean your meaningless post is over? Huh? Huh? Huh?]
I don't expect to live to see the repairs I sweat daily to try and make happen, maybe, after the quorum and if they have the votes and if nobody says we're soft on defense or whatever. Whatever, indeed. The idea is worth a lifetime of toil and setbacks and votes for the lesser evil, and is absolutely worth my death after a life dedicated thus...because if I do what I can, even in the dark and to no apparent effect, I will have at least bent my knee and given what I could to the idea. The idea deserves no less, and to me, that is a life well spent, come what may.
[Pitt the self-imagined martyr heroically struggling to fight the system no matter what the sacrifice to his Trust Funds.]
One of the most magnificently cheesy, totally trite yet basically awesome anyways lines I know by heart, one of the really raw-voltage bursts of truth I keep close to what passes for my heart, was uttered maybe ten thousand million years ago by a president named Clinton, who will be remembered for beating some seriously twisted ghouls at their own f*cked-up economic game, and who will be remembered for getting crucified over two long televised years for daring to do so.
[Meanwhile the PIttster will be primarily remembered for the Hoax of Fitzmas Past.]
["I did NOT have sex with that woman..."]
"There is nothing wrong with America that cannot be fixed by what is right with America."
[So are you ever going to end this drivel. It MIGHT be interesting if you finally work up the guts to publicly confront your Fitzmas hoax but so far you are only bathing in your own pathos.]
I'm drunk, and have been typing since Lent or something. Give me a break, if you can. This is the fourth national election I've spent on DU (that's FOUR, 1 2 3 4, quattro, your hand without a thumb, the Brady Bunch with a bastard child sharing the bottom bunk, four goddam times, two of which resulted in calamity, one in a checkmate, and one yet to be determined), so have a heart.
[FOUR elections and you were a player in NONE of them (if you don't count the Kucinich backstab).]
[Sigh. More volumes to come...]
Obama crew: Don't go whomping on Clinton supporters if you're for Obama and think you've got it made and have some grudges to settle. First of all, be thankful that there are people like the Clinton supporters on DU who give as they get, who care, who are loyal to the crew they chose, who don't give a f*ck about your hurt feelings, and who may be in the foxhole with you someday if the deal finally does go down. Second of all, schadenfreude is ugly in any language. Pray you don't have to suffer similar feelings of anger and frustration come November. Pray hard. And third, speaking from experience, just give it a rest for your own sake. You must have better things to do than wage word-war with some screen-name...and if you don't, you need to find it fast.
[An ethics lecture from the author of the Fitzmas Fraud.]
Clinton crew: thank you for the service you have given your country, and f*ck anyone who says otherwise. Oh, also, if you can manage it, please please please please vote for the Democratic nominee come November. Remember, this isn't about you (nor about me, nor about anyone else here who pissed you off, etc.), but is about the idea of America, which will not do well at all under another GOP pillage-and-be-dumb regime run by McCain, who openly embraced Bush's all-powerful Executive branch concept. Nothing that has happened here or elsewhere to make you hurt, nothing but nothing, nothing could be bad enough that you refuse to participate. Decisions are made by those who show up, and patriots show up. You have served long, hard and with love. Don't stop just yet. And thank you again, from my heart.
[Lecture all you want, Pitt, you still won't be allowed to play with the pros in the political sandbox.]
I might have had a point when I started this, but that's pretty much a lost cause. So let me try to make a point up on the fly...
[And be sure not to point at Kevin Spacey's fly in public when you invited him to your apartment.]
My mom tells a story about some fight-to-the-death mess she got into with her brohters when she was wee. Her mom broke it up and said something she has always remembered, and has repeated to me and whoever else could use some straightforward wisdom.
[Mama! Aren't you proud of your drunken Sonny Boy! The sun shines east, the sun shines west, I know where the moonshine's best!]
"You and us, you and your brothers, you and your family, is all you've got in this world."
["You and your bottles, you and your sixpacks, you and your flask, is all you've got in this world."]
Properly grim Irish Catholic stuff...but yeah. We're all we've got in a bunch of ways. You hate those candidate backers and they hate you and it's so frustrating...
[It's so frustrating that in the midst of the hottest political primary season in history that you, William Rivers Pitt, are playing absolutely NO PART in this drama. ...Take another swig.]
Bag that shit.
[Oh, you want me to place your Thunderbird in a bag today, Mr. Pitt?]
We're all we've got. 99% of people here believe absolutely in 99% of what you believe...and if you're willing to throw out the baby with the bathwater over 1%, that probably means you're one of those useless zealot loudmouths who jumps from cause to cause and gets nothing done but your conscience is simon-pure, a trait shared by narcissists everywhere...
[You're still trying way too hard, Mr. Pitt. You STILL won't be allowed to play in the political sandbox.]
...or you're just plain crazy, made so by too much participation in an invisible insane asylum populated by brave flame-warriors who post under fake names and type shit they'd never say to your face, which makes you do the same, and that's just noise. If you're so wound up by whatever goop someone posted at you twelve primaries ago that you are planning to piss away your unbelievably important vote just to get back at someone named "Cheney8MyBalls" who you'll never meet, etc., it is safe to say you have lost your perspective. In other words, go outside, meet people with real names, press the flesh, wear down that shoe leather, and for the luvva Christ, VOTE "D."
[I voted "F" for "Fitzmas."]
We're all we've got, in the sense that pretty much none of us can talk about all this madhouse shit, can vent, can learn, can flip out, anywhere else the way we do here. The fund-drive threads seem to indicate a lot of people are bullshit at the Admins (for, um, like, giving us a free place to abuse each other? Hell, 30 years ago, that was a felony ), but what this place was back in 2001 is still what this place is. We are here, and we need each other, and we're all we've got.
[Pitt would jump the DUmmieland ship in a hearbeat if he knew he would be accepted in KOmmieland which he won't be.]
Cheese-fest over. Be kind to each other. Vote. Defeat Republicans.
[Be kind. Unwind.]
I'm not really drunk anymore, which is A Good Thing. Experiencing the onset of a hangover while still awake. Not so good. Ow.
[Just continue lying in your bed staring at the clock as it ticks away the lost minutes of your wasted Trust Fund life.]
If you've read this far, wow, like, what were you thinking?
[That Pitt Pathos can be quite FUnnie...but only in limited doses.]
We're going to win. All of us. So there.
[Posted a real "winner." and now to hear from the DUmmies and "NO REPLY" Pitt go back and forth...]
Good morning, Mr. Pitt. What did you think of the president's comments yesterday? I thought he did our party a favor.
[A party favor?]
He's a living monument to the dangers of fetal-alchohol syndrome...and a walking billboard for why inter-party squabbling makes the Baby Jesus cry.
[Whever you think I'm being to hard on the Pittster, just remember his compassion above.]
Thanks, Barb. You look like George Washington, and your sons are appropriate inheritors of your family's Nazi past: power-mad, ego-centric and badly inbred. Way to go, mom. Seig f*ck yourself.
[Posted the inheritor of unearned Trust Funds.]
Jesus, Will! GO TO YOUR ROOM!!!!!!!!!
[Demanded the Raven Mom.]
Last time you busted me for drinking, I was 14.
[The first time you were 4.]
Not for Will Pitt...... he cut his teeth on a bottle of scotch. He's a man's man.
[Who is unafraid to invite Kevin Spacey to his room.]
Paging Dr. Freud...
[Pleaded the Pittster in an unconcious cry for HELP!]
I need sleep. Cheers.
[Especially since you haven't slept since April 2005.]
It was dark when I started typing, and I had a theme to pursue. Then it was light, and I wasn't making sense, and...yeah. Sorry.
[Was it light or dark when you posted about the birth of the Third Amerian Empire at a hockey game? In either case it still didn't make any sense.]
I am soooooooooooo glad I stayed out of the wars. It really made a difference in the way I approach the whole thing. I swear to God, I'll go to the mat for either one. They don't matter. We need to win 10 more elections before we make a dent...but these two are galaxies better than the alternative. Choosing between a shitty status quo and a deranged planetary kamikaze dive...I'll take shitty, with an option for improvement if we work hard enough for it.
[Pitt always opts for shitty.]
How's your new book coming along.... if you sober up for a few months again, you'll be back on top again.
[Back up at #563,205 on Amazon again.]
He's a natural. ... he doesn't need to be sober to write a best seller. He's WILL PITT for god's sake
[He's the MAGIC MAN, the Hoaxer of Fitzmas Past.]