Rick Santorum Defends Sweaty Men in Tights

Does it strike you as peculiar that Rick Santorum has such a hard-on for talking about homosexuality? Just my opinion of course, but I just find it hard to believe that anyone who is that preoccupied with anuses (and the men who love them) doesn't have some sort of complex. In early childhood development we would call it the "anal stage." In the adult phase, I think it smacks a great deal more of repressed homosexuality. But you make up your own mind.

Howver, once upon a time, our aspiring theocrat and wannabe "Pope of Your Pants" gleefully advocated and profited from -- the business of watching sweaty, well-built men rolling around on the floor in tights. That's right. Rick Santorum once proudly defended the rights of two, pumped-up, greased males to grope each other's biceps and pectorals -- and the rights of one man to press his tight gluts against another man's thrusting, turgid groin.

For the record, when Rick Santorum was practicing law (with his elitist degree he got in Law school, the snob!) his biggest client was World Wrestling Entertainment -- a.k.a. the World Wrestling Federation. While representing the WWF, Santorum worked tirelessly to shield the WWF from federal regulations banning the use of steroids in sports. But that crafty Santorum, lobbied hard to circumvent these laws by arguing that since wrestling was not a "sport" the steroid rules should not apply. Plus, without steroids -- where would we go to ogle massive chests and strong, manly thighs? GAY PORN?

So whether it's lobbying hard against the rights of two men rolling around on a bed -- or lobbying hard for the rights of two men rolling around on a mat -- it does seem that Santorum is always "lobbying hard" for something to do with men rolling around together.

But like I said earlier, you make up your own mind.

Casey Anthony: Let's Be Reasonable About Reasonable Doubt

The media frenzy that surrounds the murder trial of Casey Anthony, the Florida woman accused of murdering her child then not reporting it as she partied hearty for 31 days is veritably unprecedented. It is the first trial since the trial of OJ Simpson to captivate the nation's conscience to such a palpable degree multiplied exponentially by the fact that it is the fist such trial of the social media age.

What grips me most about the trial is that the concept of "reasonable doubt" has become so unreasonable. In today's testimony Dr. Jan Garavaglia, the Chief Medical Examiner for Orange and Osceola counties who in 2008 had called the cause of Caylee’s death homicide by undetermined means testified.

Dr. G as she is known told jurors that a portion of the right tibia was sent to the FBI for DNA testing and came back a positive match for Caylee. Garavaglia was the medical examiner that performed the autopsy twice and sent the post-mortem samples to be tested for toxicology as well, which came back negative. She acknowledged, however, that she did not expect to find any substances like chloroform in the bones, and that the absence of positive results for toxicity did not exclude the acute use of them.

Though she could not determine the exact manner of death, she believed the method of death was homicide. She sustained that she could reach conclusions based on the condition of the 2-year-old’s remains and other factors including the duct tape wrapped around her skull.

“The fact that there’s duct tape anywhere attached to that child’s face is to me indication that it’s homicide.”

Flustered defense attorney Cheney Mason argued that Garavaglia did not have any actual scientific evidence about how Caylee died, and that her conclusions were based on the media and circumstantial evidence presented.

As a medical examiner, she stated that it was her job to take more than just the skeletal remains into consideration when she determined how someone died.

“There’s the fact that she was tossed aside to rot, there’s the fact that her death wasn’t reported. Accidental deaths are reported unless there is a reason for it not to be,” Garavaglia responded.

The defense claims that Caylee drowned in her grandparents’ pool, and that Casey never told anyone.

The celebrity witness who appears on the Discovery Health Channel show “Dr. G: Medical Examiner” also stated that several studies show that accidental drownings are reported to the authorities 100 percent of the time.

“That’s your opinion,” said Mason.

“No, that’s systematic observational studies,” she replied. “There’s also the presence of the duct tape. No child should have duct tape on its mouth when it dies.”

So there it is. Simple logic. What we all know as human beings -- whether you're a parent or not -- if you're child is wounded or even very obviously deceased...? You would call 911. Why?? Because the parental gene, nay the basic human gene that drives every involuntary response would compel you to dial for emergency assistance in the hopes that your child (or any human for that matter) could be saved. Keeping oneself from calling for emergency services would be like trying to stop paristalsis or one's own heartbeat. Not possible.

When does "reasonable doubt" entail satisfying every preposterous assertion lobbed into the ether that can't be disproved by an eyewitness or date-stamped security cam footage? Just because Mr. Baez & friends bully away regarding snippets of clear evidence that can't be corroborated with diamond-encrusted, videotaped evidence certified by The pope and Jesus himself -- it doesn't mean we aren't reasonable enough to know a murder when we see one.

It is UNREASONABLE to think that any parent would find their child accidentally drowned a pool and then duct tape the child's mouth shut, put it in a trash bag and throw it by the side of the road; then go out and kite checks, get a tattoo and party for a month.

It's UNREASONABLE to think that two police dogs and seven separate witnesses don't smell a cadaver in a car trunk because there was an empty cheese wrapper in there.

It's not reasonable.

Here's what I know. My heart pumped blood through my veins last night while I slept.

I don't know that because I was hooked up to an EKG machine with Havard-educated, Nobel Prize-winning cardiologists certifying that my heart did it's job. I know it because I woke up this morning.

That’s systematic observational studies. No child should have duct tape on its face when it dies. No mother refuses to report her child's death for 31 days unless there is a reason. PERIOD. That's common sense. Some things are obvious. Asking us to consider, justify and disprove the ridiculous and the unreasonable is a vile debasement of the human condition.

I don't favor the death penalty. That's another topic entirely. But I do favor a return to reason and sanity.

Casey Anthony had a hand in her child's death. If Jose says she knows how Caylee died -- then let's put her on the stand and ask her why he needed that duct tape. If it was an accident, then tell us why and plead to the crime that fits.

Jose Baez Gets Free Bowl of Soup with Law Degree

I admit it. I am shamelessly marinating in the filthy cesspool of the Casey Anthony murder trial. I'm not proud. I don't even know why I am so entranced and entrenched in this despotic tragedy. At first, it was I thought I was obsessed by the horrific thought that a mother could NOT report her missing child. But now I know that the real star of this hot mess is what keeps me tuning in for more. But as Jane Valez Mitchell so rightly says, "You're only as sick as your secrets." So I am prepared to confess. I'm obsessed with Jose Baez.

Is it his pudgy frame? His Men's Wearhouse ensembles? His Supercuts coiffure? It's all such a hot simmering soup of hubris and incompetence flavored with a soupcon of spicy WTF...? It's hard to pick just one thing.

Let's meet Jose Baez!!

For eight years after he graduated from law school, however, the board that screens prospective attorneys in Florida would not let Jose Baez practice law. The Florida Supreme Court agreed with the decision, issuing an order in 2000 that cataloged unpaid bills, extravagant spending and other "financial irresponsibility" up to that time. Justices reserved their strongest condemnation for his failure to stay current on support payments for his only child.

His overall behavior, they wrote, showed "a total lack of respect for the rights of others and a total lack of respect for the legal system, which is absolutely inconsistent with the character and fitness qualities required of those seeking to be afforded the highest position of trust and confidence recognized by our system of law."

An obvious catch, Jose married at 17, became a father, earned a GED diploma and joined the Navy in 1986. So right away, you know he bonded with Casey Anthony over failing to graduating High School.

According to his résumé, Baez spent three years assigned to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization in Norfolk, Va., trained as an intelligence analyst with what he described as a "Cosmic Top Secret" security clearance. Sure... right. Because you know they give all the High School drop outs with GEDs "Cosmic Top Security' Clearance. What does that mean anyway? Can you give Buzz Aldrin an enema? Do you know the security codes for the Milenium Falcom?

Next Baez divorced, attended Miami-Dade Community College and graduated from Florida State University. A community college education...? Well! Hello sailor -- wait?? You're a sailor too??

But wait for it.... Baez is also a black belt in tae kwon do. Oh! Jose, you had me at "tae..."

After graduating in 1997 from St. Thomas University School of Law in Miami, Baez applied to become a lawyer. In April 1998, he was called before the Florida Board of Bar Examiners, which screens prospective lawyers. The later Supreme Court order outlined how this review uncovered the debts and other problems that concerned the Bar examiners. Uh oh!!!

That order is the only public record of the review, which is designed to protect the public and safeguard the judicial system. The Bar examiners have responsibility for ensuring that all lawyer applicants meet Florida's requirements for character and fitness, education and technical competence, according to Supreme Court rules.

According to the Supreme Court summary of the case, the Board of Bar Examiners filed formal allegations against J.A.B. in September 1998. In addition to unpaid child support, a personal bankruptcy and default on a student loan, the investigators said he left out parts of his history, including that he wrote a bad check (another Casey Anthony move) and entered a pretrial program to avoid conviction. Nicely dodged, Jose!.

Investigators also found fault with J.A.B.'s participation in a foreign-studies program in summer 1995 and his leasing of a Mazda Miata in Miami — unnecessary expenses when he owed money to others, they said.

While any ho in Miami will attest to to the nearly nuclear pussy-magnet allure of a Mazda Miata (please say it was convertible... please say it was convertible...) I'm possibly made more soggy in the Southern regions by the thought of Jose Baez brushing the sweat from his chubby brow as he studies for his "foreign studies program." And by "foreign studies" I mean launching a Brazillian bikini company - but we'll get to that in a moment.

After a formal hearing, the board found the allegations proven and recommended that he not be admitted to the Bar.

"Additionally, the Board found that J.A.B.'s misrepresentations and lack of candor in his answers to the specifications and during his formal hearing testimony were further grounds for disqualification," the Supreme Court wrote.

Many details in the order can be confirmed in public records for José Baez:

•Miami-Dade Circuit Court records show that Baez failed repeatedly to pay his $200-a-month child support after his 1993 divorce. The sum owed reached $12,000 by 2004. Asked recently about this, Baez said through his spokeswoman that he and his ex-wife have resolved their child-support issues.

•Baez declared bankruptcy in September 1990, the same month and year cited for J.A.B. The records on Baez are filed with the U.S. Bankruptcy Court for the Eastern District of Virginia, where he lived during and after his service in the Navy.

•The Virginia Education Loan Authority filed liens against Baez for $4,336 in unpaid loans in 1995, the same year the Supreme Court says J.A.B defaulted on his student loan.

•Baez leased a Mazda Miata in 1998, just as J.A.B did. The Sentinel obtained a copy of his Progressive Express insurance card for the vehicle, which Baez had submitted to the Public Defender's Office in Miami. Files from the State Department of Highway Safety and Motor Vehicles show the car was leased.

In April 1998 — the same month that the Bar examiners held their investigative hearing into J.A.B.'s qualifications as a lawyer — the Miami-Dade Public Defender's Office reassigned José Ángel Baez to tasks that did not require a law degree.

Baez spent the next 16 months interviewing witnesses and investigating cases to compensate the office for its investment in his preparation to be a lawyer, records show. He resigned in September 1999.

The following year, in June 2000, the Supreme Court issued its findings in case No. SC95855, Florida Board of Bar Examiners RE: J.A.B.: "Accordingly, we approve the Board's recommendation that J.A.B. not be admitted to the Florida Bar at this time."

Baez tries bikini business. I told you it was coming!!

Turned down by the Bar, Baez started a series of businesses.

They included Bon Bon Bikinis and Brazilian-Bikinis.Com to sell bathing suits, corporate records show. He also applied for a real-estate license and created two companies selling computer know-how: LawStudentWebsites.Com and LawyerConcepts. Let's face it - if Jose is selling it - I'm buying!

From 2000 to 2005, according to his spokeswoman, Baez worked for LexisNexis, the information company. In an interview last year, he said he taught lawyers and judges to research cases using the Internet and made twice as much as he could practicing law.

Records show that a court in Miami docked $550 a month from his LexisNexis paycheck in 2004 to pay child support to his first wife. What?? That kid needs to eat?? Selfish baby! Doesn't she know her father has a Miata to wax and a..? Ummm...? Dolphin to wax??? Strike that! That is prejudicial and frankly leading. Asked and answered. Objection! Beyond the scope!

An applicant denied admission to the Bar can reapply after two years or other such period set by the Bar examiners. The application must include a "written statement describing the scope and character of the applicant's evidence of rehabilitation," according to Supreme Court rules.

The court requires them to produce "clear and convincing evidence of rehabilitation," such as strict compliance with judicial or administrative orders, assurances to "conduct one's self in an exemplary manner" and demonstrations of excellent character, good reputation for professional ability and "positive action" in their occupation, religion or community or civic service.

Baez launched two community-service ventures during his time away from the law. I think he supplied bikinis to sportswear-challenged aspiring models. Objection! Not in evidence!!

But for me, the real allure of Jose Baez is his unmitigated taste for the limelight and his shameless ability to dole out heaping helpings of bullshit in an effort to make a buck. But most of all...? You have to give props to a chubby High School dropout who got a free bowl of soup with his shitty law degree -- that by sheer fucking luck will manage wholesale to lower the human condition in this country.

Jose Baez doesn't fucking care if Casey Anthony murdered her child. He doesn't even fucking care if she accidentally killed her beautiful 2-year-old girl and attempted to cover it up in some sort of emotional fugue state.

No. Jose Baez cares about making money. See - there's a reason he keeps pointing out prosecution witness' flaws, faults and alleged "financial motives." It's pure projection from an overcompensating, marginally intelligent, money-grubbing boob with no qualifications to prosecute a death penalty case in Florida.

But, hey -- he got a free bowl of soup and his 15 minutes, right?? And a Miata. Let's not forget the Miata.

P.S. Octomom -- Humans Are Not Like Fruit Flies

Damn me to hell... I'm talking about Octomom. I know. I'm feeding the endless Bermuda Triangle that is her need for media attention - but I need to make succinct comment.

A) Humans are not like fruit flies. Human children need 18+ year to teach them the ins-and-outs of being human (i.e. how to bargain shop at Marshalls & pretend you have plenty of money, text while driving, steal liquor from your parents house and not get caught, eat with a spoon, talk, walk, etc.,). You can't just drop a litter and expect animal instinct to take over.

I'd go on - but why? The truth is self-evident. I'm so sorry for your children.

The Unreal Housewives of Beverly Hills

As a general rule, I have avoided the lure of the much-ballyhooed flagship series of the Bravo network -- the "Real Housewives of..." But recently, I found myself in front of the idiot box watching the idiotic boxes on "The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills."

At first I deluded myself that I just wanted to check in and see what Kim Richards was up to. Remember her? The husky-voiced, blonde actress from one of my childhood favorite Disney flicks, "Escape From Witch Mountain." I liked her. She was spunky before Punky Brewster ruined spunky with Rainbow Bright garishness and the fake orphan pout. Well, as it turns out, Kim's still pretty normal and likable as an adult. Bravo! Bravo. So far, not terrible.

Next housewife is Kyle RIchards -- even though an aunt to Paris Hilton -- she seems down to Earth and charming. I get the vibe she's just genetically blessed good people. And lets face it, I could stare at her bewitching mane of brunette locks for hours. Get this woman a Pantene commercial stat! Maybe her sister, Kim Richards found some hair care secrets on Witch Mountain and shared them with her sis before she escaped. I don't know. But again, so far - so good. I don't flip away. You're luring me in, Bravo you temptress of cable!

But then the oily smear of humanity that is Camille Grammer slithered on screen.

On an episode of "Mythbusters" they proved that you can actually polish a turd. That's right. You can take a loaf of tiger dung and slowly buff it into a shiny, rather stunning object d'art. Something about all the protein the big cats eat, anyway... Apparently, all that meaty goodness keeps the chunks of feline fecal matter intact long enough for it to withstand the intensive buffing and rubbing required to create a gleaming globe of pooptastic glory. I'm not kidding I would display that turd-ball on my mantel.

However, I can assure you , you can't polish the turd that is New Jersey-born, former-MTV-dancer-turned-titty-model that is Camille Grammer. That particular brand of white trash stink can not be masked by fancy digs, spray tans, famous husbands, expensive tooth veneers, his and hers hot tubs or an El Camino-full of Fabreeze. Grammer has no substance, no meaty goodness -- no protein-rich core that offers stability. Just a thin veneer of silicone and Swarovski crystals vainly attempting to cover a bad case of crazy-eye.

On the season preview clips Grammer blithely quips, "Don't judge me, I have four nannies." That's FOUR nannies for TWO children. That's man-on-man defense -- squared. Kobe Bryant doesn't need that kind of coverage.

What are her children up to? Are they on 24-hour arson watch? Are they prone to spontaneously spraying the neighborhood house pets with a thin layer of buckshot? Do they have a taste for meth and German porn that can't be contained by normal maternal supervision? Explain, please.

Camille's not one of the Duggars. She's not raising her very own marching band. She's not even Kate Gosselin who manages to parent eight tiny Goslins (and one large, errant, Asian Ed Hardy aficionado) while simultaneously finding time to shake her flat ass with the stars for some lunch money.

What is it YOU do, Camille Grammer? You keep yammering about how you're so busy and your houses aren't big enough to contain your staff and your fabulosity. But save for the odd PSA about IBS - I can't for the life of me figure out what you actually DO to earn any of the millions it costs to pay for the multiple houses "you" own that sit empty so you can condescend to allow your "friends" to live in. So in fact, I do judge you. I think you're nauseating. And I'm a pretty good judge of character.

So back to the busy thing. Clearly making sure any man within a 5-mile radius has seen your plastic rack and knows you're up for it, is a relative time commitment. But I wouldn't think it keeps you all so busy. I mean, you can work at any old Walmart and flash your ass crack and make suggestive comments whilst ringing up tube socks, right? It's not like one precludes the other. "Hey Nick, would you like some tennis BALLS to go with these tube socks...? NO? That will be $4.98." See? It can be done. It's not like you're curing cancer AND holding down the overnight shift on the production line at the Whirlpool factory.

Of course there's posing for People magazine photo spreads to drum up sympathy for you after you thanked karma for allegedly killing your estranged husband's & his new girlfriend's unborn child. That's gotta kill a few hours. But other than that, I'm not sure simpering and cock-teasing is a truly marketable skill for a woman of your age. Fair enough -- there's the obvious dedication to grooming, shopping, delegation of personable responsibility to hired help; self-aggrandizing, condescending, name-dropping and conference calls betwixt all six personalities ("Shut up!" "No! YOU shut up!") -- but those aren't so much a jobs as a character defects.

But I have to say , in support of Camille's inability to live in a 3,500 square foot apartment in New York. I feel you doll. When you suffer from IBS as you do, I can only imagine that you need at least a 2,500 square foot safe zone around you at all times to buffer the stench of your mad gas queefing out of your crass, gold-digging ass.

An open letter to Meg Whitman

Dearest, darling Meg Witman:

So I thought I'd write you and kindly let you know that I will be posting a great deal about you in the coming months. You see, while I suppose most mouth-breathers and Goldman Sachs employees think you're awesomesauce, I don't.

Despite your having more millions than I've had hot meals, you're still not going to browbeat me into submission with your pernicious, omnipresent and frankly sanctimonious bullshit campaign ads. I won't be "glamoured" by your your well-funded, soulless vampiric lies -- or be hypnotized by the thumping of your heartless rhetoric drum. No matter how much of your own lunch money you spend, I'm not going to vote for you.

Here's why.

Your career highlights include marketing Mr. Potato Head for Hasbro and running an online garage sale.

Under Meg Whitman's gold-plated guidance, said online garage sale (a.k.a. Ebay) lost $30B -- which was HALF it's TOTAL stock value.

Meg violently SHOVED an Ebay employee Young Mi Kim in a petty tantrum on the job.

By the time the dust settles, Meg Whitman has threatened to flush $150 MILLION of HER OWN MONEY down the toilet rather than just invest it in California jobs.

Meg Whittman sucks the Mitt Romney teat, so regardless of what she and her five-head say, she's taking BIG Morman money to make sure the gays in California (and everywhere else) don't have the same civil rights as the rest of the inbred, high fructose corn syrup-drinking nation.

Meg Whitman wants to cut government spending. Meg Whitman spent $500,000K last year on private jets ALONE.

Meg Whitman wants to "create California jobs." Meg Whitman exported an estimated 40% of Ebay jobs overseas.

So you see my point.


I get it. We get it. You don't fucking care. You just want the TIARA.

You'd rather spend $150 MILLION on photoshopping out your double chin and female pattern baldness in a CRAPSHOOT effort to BUY your way in to the California Governor's seat. You don't actually want to have better jobs or schools for the people of California - because at the VERY least, if you divided up the money you were spending on your own campaign among the 36 million people in California -- you could buy each of us a Happy Meal.

Or how about it you divide that $150M among California's 2M unemployed. Do the math there, folks. $150M divided by the $2M jobless in California. Now THAT's a Happy Meal.

But you don't even care that much. Maybe you'll win? Maybe you won't. But you'd rather roll the dice than ensure Californians at LEAST have a Happy Meal. THAT'S why you are a failure. Not just in this political arena, but in life.

Guess again.

I'm really not going to let that happen and I invite my fellow literate, non-billionaire compatriots to join me.

Contrary to what the current laws say, money does NOT equal freedom of speech. Yes, that's the current wisdom as to why there are no caps on use of private money for political campaigns. Because MONEY EQUALS FREE SPEECH.

I'm going to go right out there on a limb and point out that MONEY ISN'T FREE.

So in closing, Meg...? I will be diligent. I will be stirring the pot. You can't buy me. You care so much about California but you'd rather gamble a reported $150M in ads rather than just give it to Claifornia? Really -- you'd rather roll the dice than just let us have it? AND...!?? When you get in office you will CUT TAXES FOR THE RICH???

So let me get this, you will spend $150M of your own money to get in office and suck your rich pal's knobs...?

It's on.

Sincerely,

The Facial Mirkin

Prince Has Bigger Balls Than You

People are giving Prince...? Or, 8==>...? Or whatever the hell his new moniker is a bunch of sparkly purple shit because he told the UK Mirror newspaper that the Internet was, "completely over." "I don't see why I should give my new music to iTunes or anyone else. They won't pay me an advance for it and then they get angry when they can't get it," Prince told The Daily Mirror.

You know what, Prince -- you're so fucking right. iTunes DOESN'T pay you for your music so they have no fucking right to it. iTunes and the rest of the recording industry want to convince artists they should sell their valuable music catalogs in downloads, ringtones or Hostess Twinkie format - or whatever the new fucking delivery mechanism is, because if they don't...? The artist is, "driving the fans to steal it from non-legal sources."

I wonder if that logic works for Mercedes -- or better yet, Bugatti! I want one of those cool Bugatti cars, but damn!? They just won't sell them to me for the price I want to pay (which would be approximately $1.72). So, in retaliation, I think I'll go about stealing one. See, Bugatti! I told you! You won't put the same price tag on it as a bag of gummy worms, so now I have to steal it. See what you made me do??

For those of us olde school music fans, there's this great urban legend about another one of Minneapolis's finest musical offerings, The Replacements. Legend has it, The Replacements got all kinds of liquered up and broke in to the Minneapolis offices of their record label (at the time it was Twin Tone) and stole their own master tapes so they could chuck them in the Mississippi River rather than allow their music to come out on the new uncool, sellout format..."compact disc."

I don't know if that story punk rock urban legend or a true tale of typical, boozed-induced 'Mats "shoot-yourself-in-the-foot-rather-than-wear-fancy-shoes" rock logic. Don't care. Because I love The Replacements and their shambolic, grubby, middle-class, neo-punk, heartfuckingbreaking brand of snot-nosed rock n' roll.

And guess what else...? If The Replacements wanted to get drunk and chuck their meal ticket in the Mississippi rather than sell their music in a format they didn't want....? Well, that just makes me love them all the more. It's called ARTISTIC CREDIBILITY.

Prince has earned the right to be Prince. He can sing his new album into a bucket (albeit a really fancy, purple bucket) and it's his right. He can chuck his whole new album into the Mississippi River alongside The Replacements' master tapes if he so chooses. He doesn't have to sell it to YOU at all. He can do what he wants with it because he's the artist.

Guess who else is right? AC/DC, De Leppard and whole bunch of other big-balled rock stars who decided they didn't want to scrape on bended knee before the vandals who are defacing their art and stripping it of context and value. Record labels want artists to scrape off their album art; chisel seminal concept albums down to a 10-second ringtones and throw the bones on iTunes for a few thankless ducats.

Since when does Terra Firma (a.k.a. the refuse removal company who now owns EMI - yes, a GARBAGE company owns the record label that is home to The Beatles and Pink Floyd's catalogue) get the right to tell Pink Floyd to sell RINGTONES which specifically violates their contract not to mention artistic statement?

Since when do WE the consumers get to tell Prince in what format he should release his ART and how much we think it's worth? You can just not buy it, sure. But that's your choice. Neither I nor Prince care. But I don't see that your opinion matters. Have you sold 100 million albums? If not, you don't get a vote. Just like when I call up Mr. Bugatti and tell him about my cool new pricing plan for the Veyron 16.4.

Music is still art. Musicians are still artists. You don't cut the eye out of the Mona Lisa and sell if for a cut rate -- just like you don't sell "Wish You Were Here" as a ringtone just to make a cool 99 cents.

Maybe it's a Minneapolis thing, but I LIKE the idea of artists who don't have to create art that fits into your iPhone and at the price you decide you might pay -- 'cause if they don't...? You'll STEAL it. Really? You'll just STEAL it...?

Count me in with the 'Mats & Prince. Fuck you. I'd rather just chuck it in the river and have the integrity and sense of self to know that all the fucking great unwashed non-fans, jackals and fuckos who are pissing in the collective talent pool of the recording industry aren't going to get their thieving hands on my goodies.

I like the idea that artists are willing to create art and sell it in a way that satisfies them creatively instead of creating music that can be sliced and diced up for sale like cheap, day old bread.

Here's a link to the article.
And here's a link to The Replacements because they are the fucking best, you just don't know it yet.



And here's a link to the Bugatti Veyron 16.4. It ain't no gumball.