Rudy Giuliani: Douchebag of the Week

Douchebag of the WeekI’ve been so wrapped up in the results of the Iowa caucuses and other things that I completely forgot to honor this week’s Douchebag of the Week!  That would indeed have been unfortunate, as there were a number of contenders, this week.  You would have expected as much, what with this being the week between the Iowa caucuses and the New Hampshire primaries.

Some were surprise entries, like John McCain suggesting we be in Iraq for the next hundred years.  Or how about Hillary Clinton suggesting that she was the only “innocent” player in the Democratic primaries?  Holy crap, Hil, let’s not open that can of worms, shall we?  In fact, it might have even been a good time to give Tweety the nod for his sycophantic love of John McCain, simultaneously praising McCain’s 82% loss while pooh-poohing Hillary Clinton’s 29% win.

But however predictable and lamentable this man’s methods may be, there can simply be no more fitting an award winner than former Mayor Rudy Giuliani for his comparison of his stunningly crappy sixth place loss to – what else? – 9/11:
Election Central | Talking Points Memo | Rudy Invokes 9/11 To Deflect Questions About Iowa Loss

“None of this worries me — Sept. 11, there were times I was worried.”

Could it possibly get this lame?  Could there possibly be a worse attempt at sticking to your bullet points?  Could it be any more bald that the only thing this guy really has to run on is his renown for having walked through New York on 911?

I think not.  And what’s more, this comment has made his entire argument – that he is tested by the 911 experience and ready to lead the country – seem even more unseemly than it actually is, which is pretty frickin’ unseemly, if you ask me.

And so congratulations to you, former Mayor Rudy Giuliani!  You’re the douchingest douchebag in a week filled with douchebags.


Douchebag of the Week: Mr. Christmas Standard Cover Man

We cast a wide net with this week’s Douchebag award, but I felt ready to tackle an issue that must be addressed. This award is meant to cover a whole group of people for whom recognition is well past due and yet whom we only wish could be “unsung.”

This year, the airwaves, the gas stations, the malls and every other nook and cranny of our society reachable by radio have been drowned in a sea of Christmas standards, covered in the most objectionable ways by a host of musical miscreants. The soul singer warbling and yodeling through Nat King Cole’s Christmas Song, rendering it a meaningless, inaudible mess. The country singer trying to “Boot Scoot” through Carrol of the Bells. The sappy bubble-gum pop singer who thinks that four tracks of her whiny-ass voice abusing Jingle Bell Rock is a legitimate alternative to Bill Haley’s original. Its enough to make a music lover to want to deck the halls with balls of feces.

I’m not opposed to cover songs. I’m not opposed to remakes of Christmas tunes. I think both have their place, when they honor the original. And of course, I know that every year includes a few “updates” of old classics, to help people celebrate the season with voices they recognize. I get that.

But this year’s glut of reprehensible repertory is neither tribute nor celebration: it’s just the seepage of a corporate media that’s lost any sense of passion, joy or originality. It is uninspired and uninspiring pablum, tuned to what marketers and salesmen hope is a key that will elicit a Pavlovian compulsion to spend, spend, spend.

And it’s every-freakin’-where. It’s inescapable. I’ve tried. And it doesn’t make me want to spend, it makes me want to roast someone’s nuts over an open fire. It makes me want to run the responsible persons over in a one horse open sleigh. So, if you are one of the winners of this week’s award, do yourself a favour: if you should hear those sleigh bells ring-alin’, ding-ding, ding-alin’, do yourself a favour and get the hell out of the road.

Because somewhere at the root of all of it, there is some executive in a $1000 suit, furtively consulting his Blackberry, sipping a soy latte, flashing his million dollar smile at disinterested waitresses, chomping Viagra and making the decisions that will finally make Christmas as flaccid and ineffectual as his dick. Or maybe there’s more than one, who gives a shit? To him and to all of them, I proudly hand this week’s Douchebag of the Week award. Merry fucking Christmas, douchebag!