According to Mediaite, Rep. Blake Farenthold was accused of harassing a female staffer in a lawsuit filed last Friday. On Monday, it emerged that Farenthold is the owner of the URL “www.blow-me.org,” a currently inactive web address.
“Any woman can come forward right now and say ‘Billy Cosby did this to me 40 years ago’ and be on the cover of US Weekly,” he said. “With no vetting.”
“They will print your story, and maybe it happened,” Scarborough said. “If it did, it’s tragic. But if it didn’t happen, you get your 15 minutes of fame,” he added.
–Joe Scarborough, the patron saint of dead interns.
Nancy Reagan is having a bad week. First she loses Oscar De La Renta the designer (and the only straight man to put clothes on her), and now she has lost her astrologer, San Francisco heiress and socialite Joan Quigley.
In his 1988 memoir, For The Record, Donald T. Regan, a former chief of staff for St. Ronnie, revealed what he called the administration’s “most closely guarded secret.” Quigley was kept on a $3,000 month retainer and conversed with Nancy up to three times daily, and had set the time for summit meetings, presidential debates, State of the Union addresses, etc. Without an O.K. from Quigley, Regan said, Air Force One did not take off.
Needless to say, Regan was Nancy’s arch nemesis.
Once again, we turn to The Clothes Have No Emperor, by Paul Slansky (Buy this book, you will love it; oh and the author is a Scissorhead and has given me permission to excerpt it as long as there is a link to buy it.)
Donald Regan’s memoir, For the Record, exposes Nancy Reagan’s secret obsession with astrology, which led her to consult a stargazing “friend,” San Francisco heiress Joan Quigley, before approving her husband’s schedule. “Feb 20-26 be careful,” Quigley would warn. “March 19-25 no public exposure … April 21-28 stay home.” Among the other highlights:
*Nancy’s comment about Raisa Gorbachev after an evening in which she held forth on Marxist-Leninist theory (“Who does that dame think she is?”)
*Her efforts to keep abortion out of Presidential speeches (“I don’t give a damn about those right-to-lifers!”)
*Her insistence that Casey be fired as he lay dying of cancer (“He’s dragging Ronnie down!”)
*The President’s reaction when fire broke out in his study (“He continued reading … until guards asked if he wouldn’t like to move while they put out the fire. He hadn’t wanted to bother anybody.”)
Actually sounds like the Regan book might be fun, too.
“There was never a cow going around slobbering on another cow, sending a signal that I’m in love with this cow,” he said. “And when the bull got in the pasture, we didn’t have to give them a course in bullology or cowology. They had an inborn nature, they knew exactly and precisely what they needed to do to make sure that the Baity family had cows 20 years from now.”
–Berean Baptist Church Pastor Pastor Ron Baity, comparing LGBT people to cows.
Oh, that will win over women and the youth, who are nothing but marriage-hungry harridans.
Notice that the one thing never shown in this ad is… Florida’s own bat boy, Rick Scott. Methinks these retrograde women would flee from the showroom, screaming.
So Reince, once again I ask: How goes the rebranding?
Somewhere, ancient hate goblin pessary Phyllis Schlafly is smiling.
Shallow, mirror-gazing home wrecker Sally Quinn writes the most shallow, mirror-gazing memory of Lauren Bacall:
It was the night on the dunes in Amagansett that nearly did me in. George Plimpton was having his annual fireworks party and Ben Bradlee and I had heard Lauren Bacall was going to be there. We had never met her, but Ben had had a hopeless crush on her since her sensational debut in “To Have and Have Not.” I looked forward to the encounter with some trepidation. Not without reason. She looked spectacular that night, of course, and as we were introduced it was clear that Ben was dazzled. To my consternation so was she. That tilted chin, that come-hither look, the husky voice were all in full play and I could feel a knot forming in my stomach. Ben and I, who were not yet married at that time, separated in the crowd, talking to other people, although I couldn’t help noticing that he and Betty, as she was called, never left each other’s side.
When it came time for dinner, I went to find him and he had disappeared. Coincidentally, Betty was also nowhere to be found. I could see the pitying looks on the faces of my friends. I pretended to be unconcerned, got my plate and joined a group, but I was frantic. Ben and I had only recently gotten together, and now I was about to lose him to the sexiest movie star alive. It was at least an hour before they emerged from the dunes, laughing and talking as though they had no concept of time. Ben looked so pleased with himself I could have belted him. He was a bit sheepish when he joined me, and I looked hawkishly for signs of dishevelment, lipstick on the collar. I found nothing, but still. . . . It was no consolation when Betty came over to me as we were leaving and confided in me that Ben was the only man who had ever reminded her of Bogey. (Bogey, of course, being her first husband, Humphrey Bogart.)
And it continues on and on and on, you know, being about Sally.
Libs are still angry I pointed out religious liberty trumps their desire for employer subsidized consequence free sex. Poor dears.
— Erick Erickson (@EWErickson) July 2, 2014
Consequence Free Sex (and more grammatically correct consequence-free sex) seems to be Wingnuttia’s new meme dujour. And let me add, that consequence-free sex is what men have enjoyed all along. No wonder they don’t want women to have it: it could mean careers, financial independence, and autonomy.