Y’know, Denizens, I would  tell the Fag Scouts of Amerika what they can do with themselves – that they can kiss my lily-white cracker ass & come suck my dick.
But I have the distinct feeling that that…is what those effeminate, sitzpinkling pussies that remain would like  to do.
From: Realm HC
To: Realm CC, Southern Command CC
RE: Boy Scouts of America
Venomous and General, the Vicar recommends that should the Boy Scouts reverse their ban on open homosexual members and leaders, the Realm and Southern Command sever any and all relationships with the BSA.
Signed:
The Vicar
IN THE SOUTHERN COMMAND –
Guess what?  I don’t fucking trust them, either.
[SCENE:  Deep inside that sector of the Fifth Intergalatic Realm™ known as the Southern Command.  Slow pan to a point about 140 degrees from the opening shot.
We then see a spatial displacement come into view.  The translucent shimmer becomes the faint outlines of an image, which then coalesces into an oversized, seemingly-upside-down Klingon Bird-of-Prey.
Cut to:  the bridge of the recently repaired ISS Pegasus, which has just decloaked someplace it was not previously known to be.]
VENOMOUS:  And that’s a problem, Narrator?
KORRIOTH:  Well, we usually file a flight plan with someone, y’know.
VENOMOUS:  Look, Bumpy, when I go on vacation, I don’t give a shit if anyone  know where I’m gonna be…
K’HADIBAK’H:  Uh, guys…
KORRIOTH:  …you know, so a certain Black Helicopter Fleet™ isn’t tempted to engage in…
[At that very moment, the bridge is rocked violently, back & forth.  Cut to previous external view, and the Bird-of-Prey is now surrounded by what seems to be four Husnock warships, each taking turns firing on Pegasus.
Cut back to Pegasus’  bridge.]
KORRIOTH:  …target practice.
K’HADIBAK’H:  Four warships, Admiral.  IDs… [Kha double-checks his board] …it’s the Black Helicopter Fleet™, sir.
T-BONE McMANX:  Admiral, we’re being hailed.
VENOMOUS (with a very  annoyed look on his face):  (sigh) On screen.
[On the viewscreen, space is replaced by a very familiar image.]
VENOMOUS:  Supreme General Rayegun.
RAYEGUN:  What did I tell you about coming through the Southern Command™ without proper permittage-ery?
VENOMOUS:  And what did I tell you about the Southern Command™ being part of my  Realm™?
[The Supreme General of the Realm™ renders what could only be described as a smart-assed smirk.]
RAYEGUN:  Damned straight, Narrator.
VENOMOUS:  I do  hope you’re enjoying your new toys, General.  Figures you’d hog ’em all and not share…
RAYEGUN:  Funny you should mention that…
[Cut to external view.  Yet another spatial displacement shimmers & coalesces into a fifth Husnock battlecruiser.
Cut back to Pegasus’  viewscreen.
RAYEGUN:  Meet your new flagship, Admiral – ISS Vengeance.
[It’s a Realm™ first:  Admiral Darth Venomous…is speechless.]
RAYEGUN:  What did I tell you, Korrioth?
KORRIOTH:  Five hundred credits on their way, General.
VENOMOUS:  Wait.  You had a bet  on this…?
[Rayegun & Korrioth look away & adopt feral grins as we fade to black…]
—
IN THE SOUTHERN COMMAND – She had been christened Excelsior II.
That was before I got it out on Texas State Highway 130.  (For the Uninitiated™, that’s the Austin-to-San Antonio toll road, where the speed limits run up to 85.  Not that anyone ever observes them…heh…heh…heh…)
This car makes the original Excelsior  feel like driving my old Cavalier.
Damn.  Just, damn. 
SAN ANTONIO – (Actually, I probably got it right the first time.)
As I’m sure you know by now, Denizens, the Outer Northern Rim of the Realm™ (aka Oklahoma City) was blasted yesterday, and we here are praying for the missing and the survivors & their families.
At least, those of us with a bare minimum of some semblance of humanity are.  Others…well, not so much.
The mile-wide tornado that destroyed Moore, Okla., and leveled at least two elementary schools was still weaving a path of devastation when Daily Show co-creator Lizz Winstead thought up a funny. Too soon?
With all respect due, Twitchy owner Malicious Malkin…never  would be too fucking soon.  And I guess you and the rest of the Twitched-ass douchbags over there think it’s okay, now that this waste of oxygen has “apologized”.
Made a political joke, Twas before devastation revealed. In hindsight, had I understood, I would have refrained. Beyond sorry. #LetMeHaveIt
Believe me, bitch, you wouldn’t like it very much if I “let [you] have it”.
Trust me on that.
Asswipe. 
SAN ANTONIO – (Hat tip:  the kind folks at ReaganCoalition.com.)
Looks like my estimation of the Philthydelphia Beagles is going to have to go up a few notches.
Admittedly, the first words that come to mind when on thinks of the Philadelphia Eagles are not “class” or “appropriate.” And that mostly applies to their fans. But it seems the Iggles fans’ antics are rubbing off on their on-field idols, if offensive guard Evan Mathis’ Instagram photo from earlier this week is to be believed.
Mathis, an eight-year NFL veteran, posted a photo of himself standing outside the Internal Revenue Service’s headquarters at Pennsylvania Avenue and 12th Street NW in a position suggesting that he was urinating on the building’s signage. He tweeted out the image with the caption, “Audit this.”
Hell, any more like him, and we may  just have to add the Iggles to the PFW… 
Those of you who have read me for any  length of time – well, you probably knew it was coming all along, didn’t you? – but you know damned well what this is.
For now, click the link.  Go ahead.  Click it.  I effin’ dare  you.
And turn it up.  Waaaaaay  up.    )
That’s right, sportz fanz:  It’s vacation time for His Rudeness™.  A chance to Get Away From It All™, as it were.
This year, Mrs. Venomous & I are traveling Purt’Near™ to the Southern Command, “down aroun’ San Antone”, as the Doobie Brothers are wont to say.  Mrs. Venomous wants to see the Alamo.
MRS. VENOMOUS:  Along with other  stuff…right, sweetie…???
VENOMOUS: 
Vicar, General – you guys have the conn.  General…when you’re done chlorinating the gene pool of Twinkie-hating union goons down there in the Southern Command™, could I borrow another squadron of those black helicopters…? 
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
(This one will stay on top all day.  Look below for new posts – today only.
And HDD – I don’t wanna hear it, okay?  I already know what you think of all this.  This is more for me than for anyone else.)
—
(ED. NOTE:  The following originally appeared in this space a couple of years ago.  (Don’t bother clicking the link – it’s not there anymore, thanks to Internet America and their piss-poor bookkeeping.)  I’m reprinting it now, with appropriate tweaks.
And Skip – my son, you may not understand this now, but the reason I’m writing this has absolutely nothing to do with you, and everything to do with why you not only don’t get to ever spend any time with me, but also why you (probably) haven’t received a birthday or Christmas present since 2003, thanks to your mother and your grandparents. (More on that later.)
And thanks to what they’re probably telling you about me, you might not even believe any of this – but it’s true, and I have the documentation to prove it.
I do love you, son.  I realize your mother and grandparents will try mightily to persuade you that I don’t – but I do, very much.  Someday – hopefully – I’ll get to tell you to your face.)
As most of you have probably figured out by now, this is my boy – or, as Denizen David Hartung has called him, “Spatula II” “Darth Viper”.
Hmmmm.  “Prince Darth Viper”.  Kinda has a ring to it. (grin)
(Side note:  Certain excuses-for-humans in East Texas still  don’t know how I got ahold of this picture.  Bet it’d be a shock to them to know that some of their “friends” aren’t quite  as reliable as they’d thought… (snicker))
Anyway, today’s his 11th birthday.  It’s the latest in a series of birthdays I’ll never get to see.
It occurs to me that I need to again tell you guys what eventually happened with his (*hack, spit*) mother (*hack, spit*) not allowing me to see him.  (Yes, I realize you’ve probably heard it all before – humor me, okay?)
That was resolved, and not necessarily for my benefit, either – but at the very least, neither will she  benefit.  In fact, if you get down to brass tacks about the whole thing, the real loser here is Skip himself.  Anyway, here’s the story:
The divorce was granted October 17th, 2003.  A visitation schedule had already been negotiated and agreed to – in fact, I’ve blogged on that already.
Picking the story up from there:  I started making the specified trips to Greenville, Texas, for the purposes of collecting Skip for his agreed-to visitation with me.  Collected evidence that I was there and everything.
Naturally, She Who Can’t Be Tasked To Obey Court Orders™ refused to show.
So I took my evidence and filed a criminal complaint against her.  What is not commonly known is that it’s a criminal offense to interfere with child custody rights in Texas.  It’s what they call a “state jail felony”, lodged right in there between a Class A misdemeanor and a 3rd-degree felony.
And, had the District Attorney of Hopkins County, TX, had the balls to pursue the complaint, things could have gotten very  bad for our favorite fat-assed bitch.  You tell me  what school district would’ve wanted to consciously hire a convicted felon?
But – as I had partially expected and fully feared – the good ol’ boy network in Sulphur Springs kicked in.  The district attorney not only sat on his hands regarding the case, but I strongly suspect he tipped off Steffi’s excuse-for-an-attorney about it.
Said excuse-for-an-attorney began to harass me concerning an obscure concept called a “transistion scheme”.  Theoretically, because of the so-called “estrangement” between me and my son, they wanted to get him “used” to having me around again gradually, in stages.
Of course, they failed to point out that: a) Her Doublewide Assness caused  any “estrangement”, and b) during the two times in 2003 this trollop was gracious enough to let me see him, he sure as Hell™ didn’t look  “estranged” from me.
But something else  they failed to do…is incorporate the words “transition scheme” in the final divorce decree.  As a result, what was  in there were dates specific and time periods specific when I was entitled to have my boy.
Dates and times specific which they ignored without fear of penalty whatsoever, as they had the district attorney in their back pocket.
Eventually, however, the evidence mounted to the point where they had to do something, else the DA would have no choice but to prosecute, lest someone in the media take note and launch an investigation (and yes, I was beginning to contact media types for just this purpose).
I was served in February with papers requesting that the judge in the original case modify the visitation schedule to include the words “transition scheme” and start with the gradual shit again.  In other words, Denizens – she wanted a do-over.
I hired an attorney in Sulphur Springs (who, thank Gawd™, was more competent than the loon I’d had previously), paid him another  year’s bonus, and got him to work.  We filed a counterclaim accusing her of contempt of court by failing to abide by the letter of the original agreement.
They countered with the only thing they could’ve – and the thing I was hoping they wouldn’t:  A contempt charge of their own for failure to pay support.
See, this loon I’d hired previously had assured me that the court would set up a garnishment schedule for the child support.  Naturally – maybe this is the good ol’ boy system, or just sheer incompetence on their part – the court never set it up.
As a result, Steffi the Doublewide Bitch Supreme never got a penny from me.  So yes – they had a case.  Marginally.  But it was  a case, by the letter of the law.
This put me in the position of very likely being found in contempt of court, put on probation, forced to check in with a probation officer every month (and pay a $40 fee for the “privilege”)…and, were I to miss checking in or paying the fee by so much as one day, a warrant could be issued for my arrest.
By this time, I’m making plans to marry the Lady Spatula and possibly move to Miami.  Therefore, I can’t have this hanging over my head.  And I’ll be damned  if I was going to let Her Bitchiness control me in this fashion.
With that in mind, my attorney recommended – and I was forced to agree – to deploy what I call the “nuclear option”.  It’s so-called because it’s the option no one wants to see deployed, since it blows up everything.
The option:  Complete termination of all parental rights to Skip.  Meaning, I would no longer have any say in his upbringing, nor rights to see him any more…nor would I owe any child support, back or future.
My attorney explained it this way:  All that it amounts to is just a sheet of paper.  And whether I had rights to my son or not, Her Doublewideness would have him most of the time, and she & her family would constantly be poisoning his mind against me.  This way, the bitch would lose her control over my life – and, after a few years, if he wanted to seek me out, she would be powerless to stop him, and I could then tell him my  side of the story.
I deliberated for about half a nanosecond.
“Do it”, I said.
Termination – which the aforementioned loon in Forney, TX said I couldn’t possibly  get – was granted March 30th, 2004.
So that’s it, guys.  The bitch finally accomplished her objective – she forcibly extracted me from his life.
And it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even send him presents or cards any longer.  They have become so fucking small-minded that Her Doublewideness’ fat-assed son-of-a-bitch daddy is even refusing to accept the presents I send to him.  (UPDATE:  Well, not him anymore.  Seems the fat-ass’ heart finally finished rotting from within, and he died of a heart attack in 2011.  File that  one under “Good riddance”.)
(Most of them, anyway.  I don’t get the rejection notices from Wally World like I used to, but who’s to say that the bastards over there don’t take what I send and just throw it in the trash?  It would  be just like them, if one thinks about it.)
No doubt the lot of ’em will lie to my son like they usually do and say that I don’t even care about him enough to send him so much as a card.  It’s what I’ve come to expect from a bunch of country hick-asses who were willing to lie to a judge and violate other Texas laws to get such a simple thing as a divorce.
Enjoy him now, O Fat-Assed One.  You’ll have a helluva  lot to answer for down the road – and not just with him when he grows up, either.
Chew on that  for a while, bitch.
(UPDATE:  It has been pointed out to me by our beloved Vicar that this could be interpreted as a threat against Her Fat-Assedness.
Therefore, let me take pains to point out – the bimboid has nothing to be worried about from me.  I’ll not be lifting a finger to bring any sort of harm to her.
What I’m referring to is this:  God has been watching what you’re doing, Lard-ass, and I tend to doubt your manuevering in this whole mess has left Him very much impressed.  You’ll ultimately have to answer to Him, not me.
Don’t get me wrong – I’ll have to answer for things I’ve done, too.  On the other hand, I’m not the one pretending I’m as pure as the wind-driven snow in all this, am I?)
Anyway, happy birthday, Skip.  I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to enjoy the presents I’ve tried to send you.  Someday – when they can’t dictate to you where you can go and whom you can meet – I’ll get to at least give you some of them.
Always remember son – I love you.  And I will, forever.
Five.
Why, yes.  Yes, I do.
You forget, Kimmieslut – you had Avoirdupois Ass™ loooooong  before you found yerself preggers.
Next shit-for-brains question?
Oh, dear.  They’re getting downright un-comity-like over at Gay Patriot again.
Look, I know that life is not easy. And we each face our own challenges. Sometimes in the face of frustration as we struggle with setbacks, we need, well, we feel that we need to vent. A lot of people seem to do that in the political sphere, projecting their personal demons onto their ideological adversaries.
And since we don’t usually see those adversaries’ faces, we don’t always appreciate their humanity. If if we disagree with someone else’s politics, even if he (or she) makes (what we perceive to be) a lame argument, he remains a human being, facings challenges and suffering setbacks just as we do. Bear that in mind each time you read a comment you find outrageous.
Critique what that person said. Don’t speculate about his private life.
Oh, really?  But…but…but I thought your private  lives were all that defined you.  That, and making sure we all  knew everything  about you and how you liked to get your rocks off.
I mean, what’s the point of being a bunch of flaming heterophobes if you can’t be fucking PUBLIC  about it, hm???
But all that’s not the main purpose of this post.  Down later on in the comments, I found this.
And it can’t go unanswered.
Thank you for the reminder and also sorry it was necessary. It’s saddening that so many “adults” refuse to do the necessary emotional growth to deal with their FEAR better. And yes, anyone who I saw in previous threads systematically going after others with personal attacks are SCARED whether they want to admit it or not. I will repeat it again! Those people are reacting out of PURE, RAW FEAR!! Trust me, I’m far from calm and collected and I find myself on the verge of panic some days over what is happening in this country.
And while I don’t want to, I’ll psychoanalyze certain people as needed because trust me I’ve been there. The only humble advice I can give is start with yourself. Be honest about yourself, whether it’s your identity, what your core beliefs and how much of them are overly motivated by FEAR and PANIC and stop being SO AFRAID to be yourself and maybe you’ll find you won’t need to be so reactive and on a hair spring trigger to jump over certain people’s views.
Comment by PopArt
Okay, PopTart, let’s get one thing straight: I don’t FEAR a whole helluva lot – and I sure as hell  don’t fear you or your fellow faggots.
What you and your fellow limp-wrists call “homophobia”, us normal people call “abject disgust”.  (And yes, to borrow from a notorious El Aurian scientist, normal  is what everyone else is, and you  are not.)
But if you think we FEAR you…think again, Skippy.
I understand and respect why those of you who value Christian beliefs and the family unit are concerned about same-sex marriage advocates. All I can say is you NEED to do more than just wholesale condemn all of us who happen to be gay.
Then you neither understand nor respect us, PopTart.  Not in the ever-lovin’ slightest.
It is not we that condemn you, son.  It’s God’s holy Word.  I mean, what exactly is it about “You shall not sleep with a man as with a woman; it is an abomination” do you heterophobic  idiots (see what I did there?) not understand?
My own relationship with God was being HONEST about how I was created and God doesn’t make mistakes.
Well, you’re half-right.  (Guess that kinda comes with being a half-wit, doesn’t it?)
In the first place, you’re not  “being HONEST about how [you were] created”.  You were, and are, created to be attracted to the opposite sex.  No ifs, ands or buts about it.
Should you care to disagree, you will have to prove it:  Show me the DNA sequence that absolutely, 100% without fail, determines your so-called “sexual orientation”.  It will have to be true of every single person who carries this as-yet-unidentified DNA sequence that, should a person possess it, that person is an avowed homosexual.
And I trust you realize, PopTart – if identical twins possess thet specific sequence, and one is not  “gay” (yes, the sneer quotes are deliberate)…then your “born that way” theory is blown to shit.
But what the hell, y’know?  Y’all made the claim of being “born that way”…y’all get to prove it.
However, you are right about one thing:  God does not make mistakes.
You know what that means…don’tcha, Sparky?  You’re  the one who screwed up, dumbass.
We can find common ground and discuss this maturely.
No…no, we can’t.  Not as long as you & your ilk call us “breeders” and “haters” and “bigots” and “homophobes”.  Not as long as you try to co-opt our  institution, as God gave it to us.
And certainly  not as long as you assholes keep accusing us of having “FEAR and PANIC” when it comes to you effeminiates.
While I would avail myself of marriage, really all I ask is that you not threaten to reign down the government on me and stop me from building a life for myself with a loving partner.
You can call it “marriage” all you want…even unto turning blue in the face (and believe me, some of us would appreciate you doing just that…and more) – but it never has been “marriage”, isn’t now, and never will be, no matter how much you screech about it.
You can whine, and snivel, and squeam and play crybaby all you want, in a pathetic attempt to get us to say that what you do is “okay”.  But as long as I have breath, there will be at least one person on Planet Earth that says, “No, what you do is not  okay, and I oppose it with all my being”.
And I don’t give a shit whether you like that or not, PopTart.