Larry Flynt > Asshole Of The Month

Mike Lee

Monday, December 16th, 2013

Imagine if you called a plumber in to fix your bathroom and all he did was whack off into your sink all day. You might want to say to him, “I’m glad to see you’re passionate about your work, but how the hell is this fixing a goddamn thing?!” That’s what Tea Party voters are facing with the goons they sent to Washington in 2010, especially our Asshole dishonoree Mike Lee, freshman U.S. senator from Utah.

So far Congressional Republicans in the House have voted 40 times to repeal the Affordable Care Act. 40! Guess how many times they voted to repeal their own government-subsidized healthcare. You guessed it. In Lee’s brain, Tea Party rookies like him were elected “specifically with the charge to stop Obamacare,” so they’re obligated “to do everything in their power to stop it.”

But since legislative repeal is about as likely as Sarah Palin explaining string theory, Mike Lee and his Senate cohorts have been lubing their members to a defunding fantasy. The plan, if you can call it that, is to block any budget funding the Affordable Care Act, thereby threatening a government shutdown that—in their wet dreams—everyone will blame on Obama. Hey, if you can’t fix the plumbing, blow up the bathroom!

As for the people in his own party who think he’s an ass-clown (which is most of them), Mike Lee squeezed this old chestnut out of his rectum for them to chew on: “The fact that they’re against it simply tells me that I must be doing something right.” To think this guy’s been called arrogant!

Mike Lee wants you to think he’s a regular, aw-shucks yokel who went to Washington to kick some ass. The reality is, he’s an insider’s insider, a lawyer who clerked for right wing Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito and was indoctrinated by his dad, Utah’s notorious Rex Lee. Big Daddy served as Ronald Reagan’s solicitor general and later became president of Brigham Young University, where all the master Mormon-bots are built. Mitt Romney was indoctrinated there. But compared to Mike Lee, Mitt’s a raving heathen.

At age ten, by all accounts, Lee was more conservative than his dad. Obsessed with states’ rights, the brat carried around a hard-on for the big bad federal government. Daddy made sure his rancid seed got the golden pass at BYU, then croaked from cancer and chronic self-righteousness. Even though ol’ Rex shriveled into a miserable end likely caused by nuclear-test fallout, his son still fought to let radioactive waste be dumped into Utah and now wants to cripple healthcare. If there’s one thing “Let ’Em Suffer” Lee ain’t got, it’s a human heart.

He also hasn’t gotten that Congress isn’t a church. He talks about rights in religious terms, even comparing the Declaration of Independence (a real thing) with Christ’s Sermon on the Mount (a shaky story at best). His approach to the Constitution—which he treats the way Fundamentalists treat the Bible—is what’s called “originalist.” A country’s basic law evolves as the society matures, but an originalist thinks it can only mean what people understood it to mean when it was ratified. Lee, in other words, is living 200-plus years in the past. Even his own BYU professors were creeped out, calling him “very, very conservative.”

But ultimately his originalism is bullshit too. Since taking office, Lee’s been pimping for amendments that will never happen, including a spending cap, term limits for legislators and a reinterpretation of the 14th Amendment to prevent “anchor babies” (his words) from being citizens. Oh, and he doesn’t think the government should guarantee a minimum wage, enforce civil rights or ban child labor either.

Just getting warmed up, Lee recently shat out his vision for the country. It’s something he calls the “Utah Model,” a magical “voluntary civil society” in which Mormonesque pod people “harness individuals’ self interest to the common good.” So next time you need to pay for that cancer treatment, just knock on your neighbor’s door. No need for Obama care in the Utah States of America!

After Lee won his Senate seat, newspapers from Salt Lake City’s Deseret News  to The Washington Post  advised him to not storm into office with a bullhorn, but to take it slow and build alliances if he was interested in political longevity. Fat chance. Not only is Lee the playground bully, he’s also a colostomy bag of contradiction.

His claim that “raising taxes on the rich will hit the poorest among us hardest” is already a classic. Later, in an interview with his personal groupie Rush Limbaugh, Lee claimed that Obamacare was “universally despised” outside the D.C. Beltway, but Republicans in Congress were scared to join his defunding effort because once the law really kicked in, “it is going to be liked,” just like Social Security and Medicare (which he also wants to slash). Let’s get this straight. Right now Obamacare is hated, but most people will soon come around to see that it’s actually a good thing? Even its biggest enemy is admitting this? So why doesn’t he leave it the fuck alone already?

It’s because he’s got two groups to rim – job: 1) “grassroots” (poor) bigots who want to smackdown the uppity black President (when Lee says “Obamacare,” he means “Obama”) and 2) the handful of libertarian fatcats who want to keep sucking America’s wealth, untaxed, to the top of their pyramid scheme.

Maybe Mike Lee sincerely wants what’s best for the country. He just doesn’t understand that the best thing would be if he quit politics, became a shitty plumber and literally spent all of his time whacking off into strangers’ sinks. That’s about as close to the “common good” as he’ll ever get.

Steve King

Monday, November 18th, 2013

We can hammer away day and night at the Republican Party, but let’s be honest. Nobody can do as much damage as its own members. Like demented earthworms writhing in a Mid western manure pile, they seem obsessed with screwing themselves as often and as brainlessly as possible. For that reason, this month’s Asshole is also a bonafide hero!

Just when the GOP’s rebranding fantasies were starting to firm up like an impending dump moving into the bowel region, Representative Steve King from Iowa let this one rip: “For every [undocumented immigrant] who’s a valedictorian, there’s another 100 out there that weigh 130 pounds, and they’ve got calves the size of cantaloupes because they’re haul ing 75 pounds of marijuana across the desert.”

Bravo, Steve-O. That’s serious Jackass shit! King’s crapola came during a discussion about DREAMers— immigrants brought to the U.S. as children who hope to gain citizenship through the proposed DREAM Act.

By his own account, King never says anything off the cuff. Like some sort of xenophobic Vulcan, he believes everything he says is logical, carefully considered and void of emotional contamination. As his devoted brother and chess opponent Jon has said about his sociopathic sibling, “There is no emotion in chess. If you start getting upset, you lose control.”

King himself has said he has a thing for “exact science” like math, with its “finite answers” free of “judgment calls.”

Logically, then, King’s now-famous “cantaloupe calves” comment was no slipup. Each of his quips outshines the last and is scientifically calculated to pluck at the cold heartstrings of his support base. He may not speak from actual emotion, preferring to rely on rockhard facts about cantaloupe calves, but King knows full well he is speaking directly to the roiled emotions of Tea Party voters. People who are unable to carry conflicting or even multiple thoughts in their brains at one time take to broad generalizations like fruit flies to a moldy muskmelon.

Take for instance another of Steve-O’s greatest shits, when he compared selecting visa recipients to choosing a mutt to retrieve dead birds. “You get the pick of the litter, and you got yourself a good bird dog,” he said at an Iowa town-hall event in 2012. No whiff of judgment there.

The congressman must have been thinking about how he settled on his wife, Marilyn. He probably rolled back her lips to check her teeth and ran the bitch around the back forty a few times to make sure she was good breeding stock. Judging by the fact the sons she squeezed out for him are lame lapdogs for Daddy who can’t seem to form their own views of the world, she’s a genetic failure. Ain’t so easy to get the “pick of the litter” after all, is it, Steve?

King grew up in a little buttfuck town in Iowa called Goodell, which still has a population under 150 and a Caucasian demographic of 95%. He likes to talk about his idyllic, “Norman Rockwellian” boyhood, when things were “as perfect as they are ever going to be,” and everything was “under control.” It was a whitewashed world of baseball, church and mom’s pot roast with gravy. There were no gays, no slackers and no cantaloupe-calved drug mules.

It’s always been a right-winger’s dream to turn the whole country into a self-governing, “under control” Mayberry where everyone is the same, and surprises are evil. As King spins it in his phony Vulcan-speak, “The argument that diversity is our strength has really never been backed up by logic.” Oh no, of course not. Our strength obviously lies in a depleted, non diverse gene pool of incestuous, small-town cretins! Fess up, Steve. The dream of a racially pure America is as empty as Strom Thurmond’s KKK sheet, and you know it.

Birddog-gate wasn’t the first time King fascistically likened immigrants to animals and probably won’t be the last, but there’s an even more sinister side to his choice of metaphors: The suffering of animals— whether the furry or border crossing kind—seems to get his rocks off.

Before his cantaloupe fetish kicked in, he enraged people who actually give a shit about our four-legged friends when he tried to block legislation against dogfighting. That’s right, dogfighting. And it wasn’t the first time! Check his voting record: No one has worked as tirelessly as King to make sure animals keep dying in horrific ways. Getting your kicks from that, by the way, is a well known trait of the basic psychopath.

It’s hard to keep up with King’s rapid-fire attempt to chop his own party off at the knees. He was the first doofus to defend Todd Akin’s senile delusions about “legitimate rape,” actually claiming he never heard of anyone getting pregnant from incest or statutory rape. (Maybe in Goodell, that’s just called love.) His antiabortion and anti-gay rants are so mind numbingly GOP-typical, his dead “hero” Joe McCarthy must be using Steve as a sock puppet. And he hates Obamacare so much, he skipped his own son’s wedding to lodge a knowingly futile vote against it.

Why stop now, Congressman King? We urge you to take inspiration from your love of dog fighting and finally introduce your DREAMer Deathmatch Bill. Can you imagine the kind of hootin’ fun we’re in for when those dope-totin’ cantaloupe calves take each other on? Yeehah! Embrace your true talent and show the country what going full Jackass really looks like. And whatever you do, Steve-O, keep talking. Proclaim your “facts” loud and proud, make sure there’s always a live microphone nearby and don’t listen to those illogical, know nothing strategists who tell you Iowa is a swing state, and your district is still winnable for the Democrats with a dumbass like you using your mouth as a rectum. You’re the logical one. They don’t know what they’re talking about.

James Taranto

Monday, October 21st, 2013

We could hurl our usual shit-related epithets at The Wall Street Journal ’s hack columnist, but that would be letting him off too easy. Instead, we’ll take a shot at doing what James Taranto says Gabrielle Giffords can’t: write “900 publishable words.”

Giffords, an ex-congresswoman from Arizona, was shot in the head by a rampage shooter in 2011 and miraculously survived. She went on to testify before the Senate Judiciary Committee in support of sensible gun laws. After the Senate failed to pass the weakest guncontrol imaginable—expanded background checks—she shamed them in a New York Times op-ed.

Taranto’s response: “So we are supposed to believe that somehow in less than five hours a woman who has severe impairments of her motor and speech functions was able to produce 900 publishable words.” Excuse us, James, but wouldn’t it have been more straightforward to just spit in her face? Or were you worried Gabby’s “impairments” wouldn’t keep her from kicking you in the balls?

Taranto, by the way, offered zero research to back up his claim. But that didn’t matter because Giffords had hit the trifecta in Taranto’s hate stakes: She’s a Democrat, she’s a woman and, being a victim of gun violence, she makes assault weapons in the hands of lunatics look like a bad thing.

Taranto is the kind of troll who measures his success by how much angry feedback he generates. For years he harped away at things like affirmative action (notoriously implying that a rooster could get into college), hate-crime hoaxes (college kids exercising “free speech” with racist threats) and, of course, Obama. Taranto couldn’t hate the Presi dent more if he turned out to be Oprah in disguise.

Taranto’s nonstop bloviating year after year helped drag the GOP far enough to the right to hook it up with the Tea Party. His program boils down to a few simplistic talking points: Federal government is bad, private companies do no wrong, and if white men didn’t need something before, nobody needs it now. It’s an ideological bedpan that he can crap his entire agenda into.

But even government-bashing and racebaiting get boring, so Taranto tapped into another bottomless reservoir of venom: sexism.

In 2012, after the Aurora rampage shooting— in which three guys died protecting their girlfriends from gunfire—Taranto tweeted: “I hope the girls whose boyfriends died to save them were worthy of the sacrifice.”

In midst of the blog barrage that followed, Taranto claimed his comment was an “errant tweet.” Bullshit. He meant exactly what people thought he meant: Women’s lives are secondary to men’s. His mea culpa ended up reinforcing his original comment, since it recast the boyfriends as vigilant daddy figures: From now on, girls, you’d better focus on making the menfolk proud of you!

Taranto’s Giffords and Aurora comments brought him waves of the contempt he so craves, but they turned out to be just warmups for his next resounding brainfart, the “War on Men.” Take a second to guess what that is. Forced castration? Bill O’Reilly’s dress-up fantasy? Wrong. It’s the attempt to protect women in the military from sexual assault. What else?

Taranto’s inner Neanderthal was prodded into combat in June 2013, when Senator Claire McCaskill (D-Missouri) blocked the nomination of General Susan Helms to be vice commander of the Air Force Space Command. Helms had granted clemency to an officer who was convicted of aggravated sexual assault.

Good call, McCaskill. Outrage over rape and sexual assault in the military are at a high. Women are now fighting side by side with men. Why march backwards?

Taranto must have been praising the asshole gods. Finally, this was his Fort Sumter! He shot his whole load in the opening paragraph of his next op-ed: “Lt. Gen. Susan Helms is a pioneering woman who finds her career stalled because of a war on men—a political campaign against sexual assault in the military that shows signs of becoming an effort to criminalize male sexuality.”

In response, Senator McCaskill soberly noted Taranto’s “bizarre and deeply out-of-touch understanding of sexual assault.” The reason Taranto’s views look that way to sane people is because they arise out of a deepfestering chauvinism. Yes, you read that right. HUSTLER Magazine just called The Wall Street Journal ’s James Taranto a sexist pig! Sweet irony. We print spread vaginas for men to whack it to. We churn out movies like Monster Dicks in Young Chicks. How can it be that we are more enlightened about sexual equality than he is?

James, read carefully: You may be surprised to learn that male sexuality doesn’t always include assault. As for feminism, it’s not about claiming that women and men are the same— as you’ve accused the “leftist ideologues” of preaching—but that they are entitled to the same rights and protections. Men still swing dicks, and women still have vaginas. (We’ve provided backup for that on most of the pages in this magazine.) As for your tactic of “reframing the debate,” you’re not fooling us. It’s just the old game of derailing legitimate discourse into emotionally charged tripe. But please, go ahead and lump us in with the “lynch mob” of your critics. It’s good company.

We’ve already wasted enough words on Taranto. Let’s save a few for his boss, WSJ ’s editorial page editor, Paul Gigot: Hey, Paul, Taranto better have a photo of you doing something disgusting with your Pulitzer Prize that keeps you from firing him. But even that excuse wouldn’t be good enough. Thanks to you and Rupert Murdoch, The Wall Street Journal has gone from the most-carried, least-read newspaper in America to something we’d be embarrassed to wipe our asses with. What’s the word we’re looking for to describe your editorial standards? Oh, yeah. Unpublishable.

Justin Bieber

Monday, September 16th, 2013

The time has come to celebrate. The international nightmare known as Justin Bieber has entered self-destruction mode. By the time you read this, there’s at least a 50-50 chance this talentless pile of wuss will be dead, maimed, jailed, held in a basement by crazed adolescent lesbians or crucified by hordes of Beliebers for changing his fucking hairstyle. Even atheists should start praying he circles the drain swifter than Lindsay Lohan on her way to BevMo.

But wait a second. Why do we give a shit? Because in this apparently meaningless phenomenon, there’s a dire warning: Our country is now populated by infantile drones. Quality is dying. What matters is how well you can hit the lowest-common- denominator, two-dimensional image and make the idiocracy piss away a million dollars a minute.

This Auto-Tuned asswipe is currently the entertainment industry’s premier profit whore, despite the fact that—according to a Public Policy Polling survey—a solid majority of Americans actively hate him. “Haters are just confused admirers,” Bieber retorts. We must be very, very confused.

But majority opinion doesn’t matter because Bieber heads a greed-driven promo machine of musical pedophiles. They tap into the pliant minds and emotions of young girls, exploiting their natural insecurities along with the nascent fantasies that the poor kids don’t yet know have zero to do with reality.

Wait, you say, don’t smut peddlers do the same thing? No, we prey on pathetic grown men. That’s why it’s called adult entertainment. Adults have legal decision-making power. Why should underaged girls get to decide what gets shoved down our collective cultural throats?!

If you think something like Ass-to-Mouth Whores From Planet Cumguzzle is disgusting, try listening to Bieber crap like “Baby” or “Rich Girl” all the way through. The vomit will project from your belly like a ballistic missile headed for North Korea—a place, incidentally, Bieber knows all about: “Whatever they have in Korea, that’s bad,” he’s said. When drugs and stupidity finally deep-six his career, he can always host a show on Fox News.

Which brings us to the best reason to hate Justin Bieber: He’s a Ted Nugent in training wheels. As his testicles drop, so does his IQ. Already a Jesus freak, to the point of tattooing the phony savior on his leg (always classy), he’s also thrown in with the gaybashers, pro-lifers and rape apologists. “Everything happens for a reason,” squawks the Christian parrot. The subject gave birth to a classic Bieberism: “I don’t really believe in abortion. It’s like killing a baby.” That one no doubt prompted a sweaty booty call from Pat Robertson.

Speaking of failed abortions, there is a reason to let the kid off the hook: his fame pimping mom, Pattie Mallette. She likes to brag that she refused to abort Bieber. But like most white-trash pro-lifers, her parenting skills were dead on arrival. Did the kid have a chance to not be trash?

“Baby,” coincidentally, was Bieber’s first monster hit. Let’s speculate on the psychological buttons that song pushed. Even more than they do his music, his Beliebers love him. They’d chop off their limbs for him and bleed out blissfully as he rifled through their pockets. Why? Do his hordes of teen fans fantasize about being knocked up with a Bieber baby that would tie them to him forever? Or is he the baby millions of Beliebers have already aborted and feel guilty about as they huddle in the corners of their pain and reread their Twilight books?

Whatever the sad fantasy, one thing is certain: He’s an empty thing to project their pathetic needs onto—like a pet rock but with less talent. As any con man can tell you, preying on shriveled dreams is a frickin’ gold mine.

But like most buttholes that get used up and blown out too fast, Biebs the person is starting to rebel against Biebs the commodity. Nearly every tab loid move he makes these days is a blatant effort to pull the escape hatch.

No. 1, he adopted a monkey— a more evolved creature than most of his fans—apparently to prove he’s on the Michael Jackson fast track to Whackoville.

Exhibit 2: Bieber has been leadfooting his cars down L.A.’s already deadly freeways in an apparent attempt to show that if James Dean could merge his body with metal at the height of his fame, so can he. He even roars around his gated community, nearly mowing down the local brats. When his neighbors confront him, he allegedly spits at them like a meth freak on bath salts. Hulking ex-NFL wide receiver Keyshawn Johnson even chased the Biebs down—raising hopes that the Canadian curse would be shipped back home in a body bag. Sadly, Biebs ran into his house like a little bitch and locked all the doors.

Thirdly, Biebs the moneybot has been malfunctioning. He shows up late for shows or cancels, ends up passing out or puking when he does show up, has sudden freakouts at photographers, and pals around with a black kid so he can blame everything on him. (That last bit he learned from Lohan.)

At press time the Biebs was trying to blast himself into space by jumping onboard the Virgin Galactic. How obvious could it be? The kid wants out. Bieber is aware that Bieber has become a colossal asshole, and to escape Bieber, Bieber may have to kill him.

Alas, we suspect the nice youngster from Ontario is already dead, consumed by the overgroomed, swaggerized narcissist that carries his name.

It’s just a matter of time before what’s left pulls a Britney Spears, shaves his head and descends into total incoherence. Not even that would be original, but it would be better than Bieber releasing any more so-called albums. All hail the downward spiral. Short of going back in time and convincing Pattie to have that abortion after all, it’s our only hope.

Ken Cuccinelli

Monday, August 19th, 2013

What kind of absolute, total asshole tries to outlaw blowjobs? This one does. With his recent attempt to reinstate Virginia’s throwback “Crimes Against Nature” law, the state’s attorney general has once and for all declared himself the mortal enemy of all men. If Ken “The Cooch” Cuccinelli had his way, there’d be no oral sex, no anal, no handjobs, no anything that doesn’t result in a God-fearing baby. Hell, he’d probably even outlaw those “VIRGINIA IS FOR LOVERS” bumper stickers. But here’s the really bad news for Virginians: This anti-sex goon is trying to be your next governor.

The Cooch’s recent effort to suck all the fun out of his state came after his prosecutors failed to nail a 47-year-old dude who asked a 17-yearold girl to blow him. They ignored the obvious charge of attempted statutory rape and instead tried to dust off the state’s musty, crusty sodomy law since it would slap the old creeper with a rock-hard felony rather than just a limp misdemeanor. The U.S. Appeals Court—which exists in the 21st century—rendered a smackdown. The Cooch stepped in to stiffen up his cherished sodomy law. The court had to again slowly spell out unconstitutional for him.

That case involved a man and a girl, but Cuccinelli claims his war on penis-polishing is aimed at gays. He’s so afraid of another man falling onto his dick that he’s willing to ban any kind of sex that doesn’t involve a vagina. “My view is that homosexual acts, not homosexuality, but homosexual acts are wrong,” he crows. What the fuck does that mean? It’s okay to be gay as long as you keep it bottled up until your balls explode? Can any straight dude ever imagine saying, “I sure do love the ladies, but I ain’t ever gonna fuck one”?

Cuccinelli has tried before to turn his obsessive cock blocking into legal precedent. In 2010 he spouted an official—and failed—recommendation that Virginia’s public colleges and universities not include sexual orientation and gender identity in their nondiscrimination policy. What’s next? Straight-only water fountains?

Let’s be clear about this: The idea of men fucking each other makes a lot of guys nauseous. But there’s a big difference between not wanting to think about it too much and Cuccinelli trying to turn his homophobia into state-sponsored hate. Consenting adults should be able to fuck whomever they want and not have to be treated like second-class citizens for it. This is America, Kenny, not Saudi Arabia or Botswana or some damn place.

According to The Cooch, the kind of blow jobs he can’t stop picturing “don’t comport with natural law.” The irony here is that Ken “Crimes Against Nature” Cuccinelli has already demonstrated louder and longer than a goose in heat that he doesn’t know shit about nature.

Take his positions on global warming and pollution, which boldly display his ignorance that even Virginians need fresh air, water and a lack of hurricanes to live. Like a blustering Tea Party sock puppet, Cuccinelli plugs his ears and hollers blah, blah, blah at any mention of the Environmental Protection Agency.

He claimed the EPA “falsified data” in an attempt to drive Virginia’s “economy into the ground.” Why would the EPA would want to do that? Cuccinelli’s not clear on that, but he’s darn sure it has something to do with that black man in the White House, the one who also dared to raise fuel-efficiency standards in line with the Clean Air Act. (We won’t even bother to go into The Cooch’s flirts with birtherism and his war on Obamacare. It’s the same old racist, obstructionist Tea Party claptrap.)

We can already hear Ken braying in objection: He’s not anti-environment; he’s against the government telling free enterprise what to do! Unfortunately, that’s more Teabag ger lip service. Taken as a whole, Cuccinelli’s collective crusades reveal him as a typical rightwing ideologue who cares more about his imaginary wishworld than reality.

No one knows that better than Virginia’s scientists. They’ve had The Cooch up their asses for so long, the state is now suffering a brain drain. Abusing his legal power to carry out a witch-hunt against climate researchers, Cuccinelli embarked on a long campaign to discredit the University of Virginia’s former assistant professor Mich – ael Mann, along with his colleagues, on the basis of the state’s Fraud Against Taxpayers Act. The Cooch’s claims of phony data were ruled vague and unwarranted—unlike Mann’s precise, peer-reviewed work. According to Kenny’s logic, climate change is a giant scam cooked up by crafty eggheads to milk taxpayers out of all that sweet funding cash.

The scam theory is one of Kenny’s most pervasive and insidious themes. In his recent manifesto The Last Line of Defense, The Cooch vilifies all forms of assistance and funding as no better than theft and subsidized addiction. Medicare is “despicable,” welfare is “unconstitutional,” and covering healthcare needs specific to women is like being forced to pay for “kumquats.” In Virginia, being a donkey’s ass won’t necessarily lose you an election, but Cuccinelli’s bag-of-hammers approach to women’s issues just might.

While the attorney general was at it, he decided to piss all over the minority vote as well. Not only did he openly oppose the federal government’s lawsuit against Arizona’s “show me your papers” law, he also tried to authorize Virginia cops to ask anyone they stop to prove their legal status. The one good thing about Kenny is that he’s a useful blueprint of what’s unfixable about the Republican Party.

Virginia’s state Senate Democratic leader, Richard Saslaw, summed up Cuccinelli: “He was Tea Party before there was a Tea Party.” And what if he gets elected governor? “The state is screwed,” Saslaw said with a fine choice of words.

Obviously, there’s only one good way to use Cuccinelli’s beloved “Crimes Against Nature” law: to stop him from sodomizing Virginia.

Pope Francis

Monday, July 15th, 2013

With the mainstream media hailing the new pope as a cuddly, squeaky-clean messiah for the shamed and shit-stained Catholic Church, it looks like it’s up to HUSTLER—and a few diligent historians—to do the journalistic dirty work. Formerly known as Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio from Argentina, the new human hotline to heaven may have dropped his old moniker, but he still has some serious historical baggage. The closer you look, the more this papal savior resembles Pontius Pilate.

During his country’s military dictatorship and its “Dirty War” of the 1970s, when scores of resisters were killed or disappeared, Bergoglio honed his reputation as a guy who would gladly bend over for any junta that came along. After all, complying with dictatorships and fascism is a deep-seated tradition in the Catholic Church.

As local head of the Jesuit order at the time, Bergoglio stripped two priests— Orlando Yorio and Francisco Jalics—of their official functions, withdrawing the protections provided by the church. The priests were involved in helping the poor, an activity that smelled to the junta’s jackboots a lot like Peron ism. Anything Juan Perón and his wife Eva fought for—like democracy, trade unions and care for the underprivileged—was a scourge to the new regime. How dare Jesuit priests follow their vow of charity when they should be rimjobbing the new Butchers of Buenos Aires?

No sooner had Bergoglio made the priests unfair game than they were grabbed by paramilitary thugs and delivered to the torture chambers of the notorious detention camp Escuela Mecánica de la Armada, or ESMA. Later, when people started asking questions, the priests turned up drugged and naked in a field outside Buenos Aires. Yorio later testified that “Bergoglio never warned us. It was him who provided our names to the military.” The future pontiff, they charged, even lied to the priests’ families about their fate.

As if that weren’t disturbing enough, Bergoglio dutifully looked the other way while newborn babies were stolen from detainees and given to regime-friendly families. He claimed he didn’t know it was going on, but witnesses under oath swore otherwise.

Bergoglio has consistently invoked privilege and dodged questions about his complicity with the deadly regime that ruled Argentina until 1983. The Catholic Church, of course, denigrates the accusations as the usual anticlerical attacks. Anybody see a pattern here? People accuse the Catholic Church of disgusting deeds; the church denies everything; then it all turns out to be true.

The unsurprising revelations that the Catholic Church turns out to be rife with proven pedophile perverts is by far the Vatican’s biggest bummer these days. It tends to put a damper on parents handing their sons over for altar-boy duty when the job likely involves sucking off Father O’Diddley.

Witness the Grassi affair. Father Julio César Grassi was a priest in Buenos Aires who founded a charity called Happy Children. Creepy already, right? Turns out, the charity was his personal groping pen. Bergoglio and Grassi were bosom buddies, so the future pope vouched for him even though Grassi was a convicted child molester!

Pope Francis, whose name supposedly comes from St. Francis of Assisi (we suspect it was actually borrowed from Francis the Talking Mule) is obviously the clean-up guy whose job is to sweep the whole nasty childrape chapter under the chapel carpet. In full bury-the-bodies mode, the Vatican is loudly proclaiming that “what is important is what the Holy Father does now.”

What Bergoglio promptly did upon nailing the papacy was to get in some prayer time at the basilica where Cardinal Bernard Law happens to reside. Law is the arch – bishop emeritus of Boston, who fled to Rome ten years ago when his shitty practice of protecting child molesting priests hit the big fan. The archdiocese left behind by Dirty Uncle Bernie has since paid out over $100 million in settlements to victims.

Francis, of course, gave the old prick a big papal hug, something advocates for survivors of priestly abuse called “extraordinarily hurtful.” Sure, but ain’t that a Catholic Church specialty? First Grassi, now Law. Makes you wonder just how many pervert pals the freshman pope has.

Despite the humanitarian hype around Francis, his cultural attitudes are still stuck in the days of the Inquisition. When Argentina’s president pushed for a gay-marriage bill, Francis bayed that it was “a destructive attack on God’s plan” and “the devil’s work.” As for the pro-choice movement, it’s an insidious “culture of death.” Let’s be honest. Francis the Mule would never have become pope if he had any intention of rattling the church’s entrenched dogma about women, gays or anything involving penises entering anything (other than children).

Some pope-watchers do, however, speculate that Francis could soften up one bit of traditionally Viagra-hard dogma, namely the church’s old condom phobia—probably under pressure from the mass of fornicating padres. He’s even said the celibacy rule isn’t a matter of faith and “can change.” Time to bust out the blessed ultra-thins!

Ultimately, whatever good Francis might do, he is still the head of the world’s most relentlessly evil institution. The Catholic Church’s extended, Satanic history of corruption, torture, greed and perversity has caused so much misery and harm, it’s going to take more than one old coot in slippers to turn it around. The only pope we’d hail would be the last one. So our appeal to Pope Francis is this: Admit to the world that catholicism was a sick prank that’s gone on way too long and just shut the whole thing down. Sure, you’ll go to hell, but admit it: You were on your way there anyway.

Ted Cruz

Wednesday, June 5th, 2013

In the proud tradition of our very own Graffilthy, let’s kick off this crapfest with a verse cribbed from a shithouse stall: “Here I sit, my buns a flexin’. Just gave birth to another Texan!” The Lone Star Stater this time is the Tea Party pile we like to call Turd Cruz.

Now brace yourselves for a shock: We’re actually going to give crusty ol’ loser John McCain some props for nailing Cruz and his fellow Tea Party thugs Rand Paul and Justin Amash in a TV interview as “wacko birds.” That’s the great thing about dementia: Sometimes it lets the truth come out. What McCain should have added is that Cruz is a wacko by design—a cold, calculating opportunist spoonfeeding fanatical dogma to the GOP’s hardline fringe.

Just about everything about this guy is a lie. He likes to play the good ol’ boy gone up to War-shin-tin to kick some ass around, but Texas is only where he got his Ph.D. in douchebaggery. Like droolin’ Dubya Bush, Cruz is actually an Ivy League one-percenter. Born in Canada, he was groomed for power at Princeton and Harvard. He honed his forked tongue as a college debater, learning to say anything—even outright falsifications—to win no matter which side he was on.

Logically, Cruz was drawn to the lawyer profession like a blowfly to roadkill. He was one of the legal goons Bush sent to Florida during the 2000 recount fiasco that led to the worst American presidency of all time. For that reason alone, Cruz should be considered for Asshole of the Decade. Sidenote: Cruz’s wife, Heidi, is a Goldman Sachs banker. So much for Cruz’s outsider myth.

During his legal career, Turd specialized in defending morally reprehensible causes: He made sure Texas could execute foreign nationals who weren’t even allowed to contact their consulate before being charged with capital crimes. He defended cutthroat companies that had no qualms about ripping off patented inventions and firing whistleblowers. Through it all, he never tired of spouting about the land of opportunity and success at all costs being what “freedom” is all about.

But, despite Cruz’s being the son of a Cuban immigrant, his idea of freedom and opportunity doesn’t include the Dream Act, which would give immigrant children a path to citizenship. Cruz is against it. Maybe he wants immigrants to prove they can be as heartless a dreamcrusher as he is before they be allowed to share his twisted idea of the American Dream. Need we even mention that Cruz, like most residents of the distant past, is scared stiff of gays, to the point of hating on gay-pride paraders? Maybe Heidi should speculate on what that obsession might mean.

Hitching his wagon to the brain-dead Tea Party because who the fuck else would want him, Cruz is a nasty cocktail of hard-right fanaticism and utter lack of charm that’s turning into a huge gift for the Democrats. They’re quickly realizing that all they have to do is give this throwback enough rope to hang himself with.

Apparently blanking on how badly Romney shot himself in the foot with his propaganda that “47%” of the population is “dependent on government” and “believe they are victims,” Cruz resurrected his own party’s worst nightmare— months after the election—by equating the 47% of people who pay no federal income tax with the much smaller number who actually get government checks.

Cruz even elaborated—something a shitty liar should never try to do—by implying that his “dependent” group was all single moms, blacks and Hispanics. At this point, only Tea Partiers holding racist, misspelled signs still swallow that crap. You gotta feel for the GOP functionaries trying to put the wheels back on their party. In marketing speak, Cruz is an epic rebranding fail.

There may well be a genetic component to Cruz’s anti-intellectual fervor. His dad went from being a bombthrower for Cuba’s Communist icon Fidel Castro to rampant pro-capitalist entrepreneur to fire-and-brimstone preacher. Turd obviously inherited Pop’s fanatical fundamentalist DNA. Maybe that’s why he keeps fighting yesterday’s battles. He can’t let go of the “47%” dogma; he still harps on about repealing “Obamacare,” which even most Obama haters know ain’t gonna happen; and extols just about every one of his obstructionist antics as “a stand for principle.”

Cruz’s most nauseating spectacle may have been his public humiliation of secretary of Defense nominee Chuck Hagel. If you want to go back in time, watch the YouTube video. It’s vintage Joe McCarthy, the bully who led the Red Scare witch-hunt of the ’50s that made a mockery of American freedom. Cruz’s baseless suggestion that Hagel took payoffs from North Korea has become a classic in the annals of WTF politics.

Freshman Senator Cruz’s self-righteousness has already made him one of the most hated members among fellow lawmakers. During a debate about guns, he flashed back to his schoolboy days as an amateur Constitutional debater and smugly lectured longtime senators on the Bill of Rights according to his absolutist interpretation. Senator Dianne Feinstein shot back, “I’m not a sixth-grader.”

Like McCarthy, Cruz is more than a hypocrite and a dangerous ideologue. He’s the kind of regressive roadblock that takes two steps back every time our country takes one step forward. He just doesn’t get today’s America. And he doesn’t get that the Constitution is a living document, not a dead Bible.

“2014 has the potential to be a very, very good year at the ballot box,” the oblivious Turd recently told a gaggle of archconservatives. “The number-one way we can screw it up is if Republicans fail to stand on principle.”

Our appeal to the Republican Party is this: Please listen to Turd Cruz and choose him as your Presidential candidate for 2016, eligible or not. We can’t wait to see Hillary Clinton have wacko bird for breakfast.

Carmen Ortiz

Monday, May 6th, 2013

Will dragging the name of U.S. Attorney for Massachusetts Carmen Ortiz through the shit bring back Internet martyr Aaron Swartz? No, but it’ll serve more justice than the poor guy ever got at the hands of this sadistic inquisitor. Ortiz is a bitter reminder that sometimes the good guys lose and the war must go on.

Carmen “Killer” Ortiz hit the national radar early this year when Swartz—an Internet activist and technological whiz kid who, at the age of 26, had already pioneered cutting-edge social-networking systems—hanged himself after landing in Ortiz’s clutches.

What did he do that merited a soul-crushing federal indictment? Expose national security secrets? Hack into the nuclear codes? No, he downloaded content from JSTOR, a database of scholarly articles openly accessible to universities all over the country. And what did he plan to do with it? Plagiarize it? Sell it for illegal profit? No, he was going to distribute it free of charge, believing that everyone should have free access to educational content.

JSTOR must have pressed for Swartz to be sent up the river, right? Wrong. JSTOR got all its content back and refused to press charges! If anything called for the proverbial slap on the wrist, this was it.

But Ortiz, always on the lookout to score cheap political brownie points, knew low-hanging fruit when she saw it. She sent her ass-sucking henchman, Assistant U.S. Attorney Stephen Heymann—a G-man with a notorious hard-on for hackers—after Swartz. Heymann’s prosecution had already driven another young hacker, Jonathan James, to suicide after naming him in an identity theft and hacking case.

Ortiz’s office slapped Swartz with four felony counts that could have put him behind bars for 35 years and financially crippled him with $1 million in fines. But she was just getting warmed up. Even though Ortiz knew that Swartz suffered from severe depression, her office upped the felony count to 13. That meant a possible 50 years. Basically, a life sentence for the victimless, nonviolent crime of downloading some fucking college papers!

That’s what’s called prosecutorial abuse. Read that carefully, Ortiz. Our lawyers already have. So if you want to come after us, fuck you!

Now let’s consider this carefully for a moment. A brilliant, ambitious young mind with all the potential of a fledgling Bill Gates, working at the forefront of a field in which our country desperately needs to excel to remain a world leader in innovation, is snuffed out by an aging, dogmatic and vindictive dinosaur who has never so much as innovated a new way to wipe her ass.

“Objection!” Ortiz would no doubt screech at this point. Like most overzealous benchwarmers, she drapes her absolutist, all-or-nothing interpretation of the law in bloated sanctimony. When justified objections started flying as she carefully wove Swartz’s judicial noose, she bellowed, “Stealing is stealing whether you use a computer command or a crowbar.” That’s the same kind of shit medieval magistrates spewed before torturing people to death for stealing a loaf of bread. These days we have something called judicial discretion that is supposed to keep the legal process from turning into an inhuman nightmare.

Flaunting the basic precept that a defendant is innocent until proven guilty, Ortiz’s office has a history of shifting the burden of proof onto its targets. Under Ortiz’s watch, DEA agents allegedly combed through crime reports to find juicy real estate that could be seized under a statute that allows for forced forfeiture of assets with suspected links to crime. In one case, the Feds grabbed a shabby little Massachusetts motel because of some minor drug offenses even though the owners were never accused of wrongdoing. Here too, Ortiz’s goons went after easy pickins: small fries that couldn’t mount a costly defense. The magistrate judge reviewing the case ended up laughing it out of court. As Swartz’s loved ones can attest, most of Ortiz’s victims haven’t been that lucky.

Eager to add an anti-terrorist stripe to her robes, Ortiz once hunted down a pharmacist who posted stupid pro-al-Qaeda YouTube videos for “conspiring to kill Americans overseas.” No actual link to any planned attack was ever proven, and the defendant claimed he was being persecuted for not being an FBI informant. But Ortiz knew that few people would give a shit if the guy rotted in jail, so that’s where he landed. Meanwhile, she got to strut around like the baddest bitch in Boston.

If there’s one good thing to come out of the Aaron Swartz tragedy, it’s that Carmen Ortiz’s path to a coveted seat on the U.S. Supreme Court is now so strewn with bodies, it’s a longshot she’ll ever get there. No President is going to relish the crapfest of an Ortiz confirmation that would be sure to get shitcanned anyway.

As it is, Ortiz will be lucky if she keeps her current gig. Aaron Swartz was a hero to many fighting for Internet freedom. Even in death, he has some high-powered allies who are now turning their sights on Ortiz. As for the Obama Administration that originally applauded her as Massachusetts’s first Latina U.S. Attorney, she’ll be lucky if anyone takes her calls.

Here’s a nasty footnote to the Swartz chapter: Ortiz’s husband, Tom Dolan, saw fit to lash out at the grieving parents by tweeting that they purposefully ignored his wife’s rejected plea offer. What’s wrong, Tom? Home life a little tense these days married to America’s hated Lady Injustice?

The best way to remember Aaron Swartz is, of course, to go online and read all about him. Once you do, you’ll understand why his death is such a big loss. Check out his story at his own activist site It’s free for all to read.

Mark R. Levin

Thursday, April 18th, 2013

This month’s addition to the asinine shitpile has such a twisted idea of patriotism, he’d sue the government if it tried to regulate fireworks that backfired on kids. As president of the notorious Landmark Legal Foundation, Mark R. Levin has positioned himself as the new ideologue behind the conservative push for a new hard-right, antiliberal, antiunion, antiregulation America that rimjobs the rich and fucks over the rest of us.

Levin is the quintessential scumbag lawyer. His foundation has tried to use the courts to shut off funding for vital agencies like the Environmental Protection Agency and the National Education Association, claiming they’re political organs in disguise. In 2007 Landmark nominated an actual corrupt organ, Rush Limbaugh, for a Nobel Peace Prize. No shit.

As a talk-radio pit bull and phony political theorist himself, Levin has carefully cultivated the fine art of name-calling like a connoisseur of fertilizer, mixing shitheel meanness and academic euphemism to make his turd blossoms bloom. His rantings range from lazy sub-Rickles insult humor like calling Hillary Clinton “her thighness” and redubbing NOW the “National Organization of Ugly Women” to beard-stroking characterizations of “the Modern Liberal” as a “statist.”

What the fuck is a statist? Well, reading Levin, it would seem to be anyone who doesn’t hate the federal government as much as he does. Levin’s into the all-or-nothing mindset, so thinking the federal state might be good for something—like helping those who need it or stopping corporations from wrecking the planet we live on—is the same as worshiping it like a drooling, dead-eyed cult member. That’s why he picked a word that sounds like Satanist. Ain’t he clever?

It’s about as surprising as crap in a toilet that Levin gets his sphincter sucked by Fox News whenever he farts. Need someone to peddle the myth that Obama’s tax proposals will hurt everybody and that people earning over $250,000 a year aren’t rich? Call Levin. Need a nonscientist science-hater to talk about how global warming is good because it will stop a new Ice Age? Call Levin.

He once infamously spun a report in Nature magazine to claim it said “greenhouse gases (like carbon dioxide) could actually be the key to averting the chill,” so we should “just leave it alone.” Levin left out a key piece of info: The report’s authors warned explicitly against warping their words. The “findings do not mean we should stop fighting warming,” they emphasized.

The episode was a stark illustration of Levin’s favored method: Start with a rickety agenda, then cherry-pick things out of context from people smarter than you to shore it up, leaving out anything that doesn’t fit. It’s lazy and dishonest, but perfectly in character for this particular donkey’s ass.

Levin pulls the same shit in his books, honing it in Liberty & Tyranny and bloating it to farcical extremes in his follow-up, Ameritopia. Why do we care? Because these books are instant bestsellers and treated like Bibles by the hard right. The Levin gospel is worming its way into our nation’s spongiest brains like some sort of mad cow disease.

Behind all of his regurgitations of great thinkers like Plato and Locke, Levin’s just another antigovernment stooge crapping out the fantasy that the federal government is a big oppressor. Idiots who live on blind anger eat this shit up because it gives them a big target to be mad at. Life sucks because of the government. My wife won’t blow me because of the government. But you don’t hear a lot of people bitching about the government when their Social Security check arrives or when Medicare keeps them from croaking. In Levin’s view, those programs are stages in the “unmaking of America” drafted by evil “masterminds” like Presidents Roosevelt and Johnson.

Levin counters the need for government by claiming that Americans are noble people who angelically blend self-serving individualism with compassion. Leave them alone and they’ll do the right thing. Who’s being utopian now? How many of Levin’s ideal Americans sit in Wall Street’s greed-driven boardrooms or in the offices of health insurers deciding on who should get care and who should be left twisting in the dirt? Levin’s true assholery lies in making valid points about the dangers of utopian thinking that would apply to any political party or system, then gluing them ineptly to his own antiliberal platitudes. We all want our government to act like the perfect neighbor: Leave us the fuck alone until we need its help. That’s true no matter who the President is. But Levin knows that nonpartisan analysis is headed for the pulp bin the day after it comes out. Spewing angry, lopsided dogma devoid of all nuance? That shit pays all day long.

There are, of course, people who pray for utopia every day. They just have another name for it: heaven. So why isn’t Ameritopia about the Religious Right’s dream of turning this country into an antifreedom theocracy? Because that isn’t Levin’s agenda. He writes sentences like “only an army of drones is capable of building a rainbow to paradise.” No, he’s not talking about Billy Graham’s mindless hordes or even crazed Justin Bieber fans. He’s talking about people who fight for social causes!

According to Levin, “the Modern Liberal believes in the supremacy of the state, thereby rejecting the principles of the Declaration [of Independence] and the order of the civil society.” We’ve met plenty of liberals, including ourselves. Not one of them would salute “the supremacy of the state.”

That is, unless it decides to defund Mark R. Levin by suing his lying balls off. Then we’re statists for life!

Roy Moore

Monday, April 8th, 2013

In America’s race for stupidest state, the results are in. Alabama is home to enough troglodytes to actually reelect Roy Moore as the state’s chief justice. This shit for brains with hair plugs was ousted by Alabama’s own Court of the Judiciary back in 2003 for blowing tons of taxpayer dollars on a hunk of rock with the Ten Commandments carved on it—plopping it in the judicial building, then refusing a court order to get it the hell out of there.

In other words, Alabama, you just turned the clock back over 3,000 years. While you’re at it, be consistent and give up electricity, dentistry, running water and incest laws. Wait, incest is okay in the Heart of Dixie. We forgot. That must be how we got Judge Moore in the first place.

Let’s look at the ol’ decalogue through his dark lens:

I. Thou shalt have no law above Roy Moore’s.

Like the old motherfucker in the sky who insists puny humans kiss his ass and not even look at another god (typical jealous bitch), Moore thinks the courts are there to do the paperwork after he decides what’s right. Moore argues that it’s not his law but God’s—meaning his God.

Moore recently said that secular government “that is denying God” would eventually lead to Islamic law in the United States. Yes, Sharia law would suck balls, which is why it would be unconstitutional—just like Christian theocracy. Non-religious government doesn’t deny God; it keeps crazy shit like talking snakes and rock-carving fingers of fire out of the lawmaking process. “It would bother me if a judge told me how I had to believe,” Moore once said. So you know how we feel, Judge.

II. Thou shalt not make any graven image, unless it’s of Roy Moore carving the Big Ten.

The jurist’s vaulting hubris—from enshrining the Golden Calf known as “Roy’s Rock” to naming himself the voice of divine law—is an obvious violation of the humility taught by scripture. Moore even enlisted his wife Kayla to spam Alabamians with emails proclaiming him the “national spokesperson for Christian conservatism.” How’s that for humble?

III. Thou shalt not take the name of God in vain, unless it makes a bitchin’ book title.

Calling his autobiography So Help Me God, Moore argues that the Founding Fathers habitually swore oaths to God and intended the Constitution to specify allegiance to a Christian deity. Actually, bona fide historians have documented that the only Founders who took Moore’s position back then were those against ratifying the Constitution.

IV. Remember to beg God for stuff every Sunday because it sure as shit works for Roy Moore.

It may seem like a miracle that Moore is back in office after being a public shitbird for decades, but God’s got nothing to do with it. If there’s one entity Moore should be on his knees thanking, it’s his mortal foe, the American Civil Liberties Union. Before it sued him the first time for hanging the Ten Commandments behind his bench and leading pre-session prayers, he was a nobody. Two lawsuits later he was “Ten Commandments Judge” Moore. Without that ACLU godsend, he’d be just another senile coot in a robe.

V. Honor thy father and thy mother because they brainwashed you first.

Moore relates that he grew up with a father who “shared with me the truth about God’s love.” It’s a good bet the pious codger didn’t spare the rod either. A bag of venom like Roy takes some nurturing. When Moore commanded an MP unit during the Vietnam War, his troops hated the hardass so much, he had to sleep on sandbags so he wouldn’t get fragged in his sleep by a grenade of justice rolling under his cot.

VI. Thou shalt not kill anybody but the ones God doesn’t like according to a hodgepodge of politically motivated writing thousands of years old.

Alabama has been offing death-row inmates for 200 years, but now a theocrat will be wielding “the power of the sword.” Once indicating that gays could be subject to “execution,” Moore has shown no propensity for mercy when it comes to those who defy his Old Testament will. Let’s fence in Alabama and see how long it takes to turn into a real-life Walking Dead.

VII. Thou shalt not commit adultery—or any other kind of adult fun.

God forbid your sex life isn’t as geriatric and trapped in a moribund marriage as Moore’s. If the judge ain’t having a good time, thou shalt not either. As for gay sex, Moore proclaimed it “an act so heinous that it defies one’s ability to describe it.” Don’t that sound like someone who tried it and forgot the lube? “Until we reject those evils,” he moaned, “we shall suffer accordingly.” In other words, bad shit happens because some guys have an innate hankering for dick and some ladies don’t. That’s some intelligent design, that is.

VIII. Thou shalt not steal, which is why there are so many other words for it.

Like earmarking taxpayer funds and church contributions for the biblical boondoggle that boosted his profile but didn’t help a soul.

IX. Thou shalt not bear false witness, unless it’s for political gain.

During his attorney years, Moore was dogged by investigations for accusing his enemies of “suspect conduct.” His claims were tossed out. He also lied about Coral Ridge Ministries, saying “I have no connection” after it poured moolah into his Ten Commandments fight. Most of the campaign cash that put this low-rent Moses back into office came from Michael Peroutka, a lawyer tied to League of the South, a gaggle of white supremacists who do their damnedest to keep the slackjaw redneck stereotype alive. Moore’s response? “I have no idea what they stood for.” Peroutka, by the way, also likes to appear on a white-power radio show called The Political Cesspool. God is one ironic motherfucker.

X. Thou shalt not covet crap that ain’t yours, like happiness and freedom.

Just because you’re miserable, Judge, no need to make everyone else the same way. As Alabamians voted in their Chief Troglodyte, the New York Times reported that even Republicans were “despondent” about how Roy Moore’s victory would affect the state’s image. Amen to that. Not even Lynyrd Skynyrd could bring Alabama back from this one.

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