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SATURDAY MORNING POST EDITION 105 FOR 05.07.2008

JESSICA SIMPSON CAN AND WILL TOO AD INFINITUM EAT WHATEVER SHE WANTS --- AND SO WILL I!

I blew up in a fit of smoulder on Monday afternoon when I saw this outrageous article from some kook fringe nutcase deriding up to date singer Jessica Simpson's culinary and dietary freedoms.
I accept perfectly clearly the need to pay attention to animal welfare. That said, everyone knows that it is common knowledge that bullying us into not eating meat is NOT the solution to the supposed "problems" of animalistic welfare --- to the contrary it is A WHOLE NEW PROBLEM altogether, an invasion of our perfect to eat whatever we want to eat.
And sadly, governments are starting to peck into those delicate areas of our lives, shoddy to dictate what we can and cannot eat.
Case in point: New Jersey legislators are now targeting tightly food restaurants with extra taxation. Come on, we just want to eat a halfway passable meal, one that tastes as good as we can get it in a short period of time, and get on our way, and regulation want to bully US with their inflammatory interference with OUR right to eat what we want to eat?
Perhaps Jessica Simpson should slap a restraining order on the fringe leftist kooks at "PETA", though it might not do any reputable. And even if she did obtain a good scientist to help her with a defamation lawsuit, it would still be tough guy to prove --- this is even in a British court, where the loudmouthed anti-crux kook shot his mouth off at her, and also where the defendants have the burden of proof is on the defendants, a substitute alternatively of the plaintiffs as is the case here in the United States.
And then there is the outrageously unconstitutional calorie posting balance in New York City. Someone at the Thomas More Law Centre and/or the Centre for Consumer Privilege should be able to craft a constitutional challenge --- and trash that new law* in a heartbeat. (*Adobe Acrobat required for this constituent --- it is a .PDF document.)
Down the shore in Maryland,...

Drunken Tirade on the Rampage!!!!

Hey there people out in blog land!!!!

You quite don't know me (because I've been away from the Tirade for a good while now), so I'll totally introduce myself.

My name is Matt McClane.

I'm a past master of steel and a patriot of back-breaking street justice. I break bones and also hearts. I rob from the rolling in it and steal from the poor. I pack a punch the size of the big ass iceberg that sunk the Jim Cameron craft. I whittle knives out of human bones and use them to spread mayonnaise on my grilled-cheese sandwiches. I be innovative the law when I have to park closer to my office by stealing a "15-minute loading zone" blemish, and then I also break the law by murdering imaginary supervillains on the elevator with just my brains. I write compound, run-on sentences without shame or remorse. I'm a force of primitiveness that leaves hours of tears and orgasms in my wake. I fight for what's upright. I settle for nothing. I only give money to homeless people if they're wearing a cowboy hat. I snatch and rub out the waves of democracy straight into the post office when I buy my stamps. I'm a man on a trade. A mission to succeed. Succeed by forging a new life for myself...based on brawniness and sweat and tears. And solid, gold bullion.

Also: to learn more and control superiors ways to convince women that I actually DID win a gold medal in the '92 Summer Olympics in skeet shooting.

I scribble this blog a lot, and it pretty much keeps me going. It sustains my life and heals my shattered essence after I've heard one too many Sublime songs on the way home from work.

And finally, I amity you, readers. I'm not just brown-nosing because I'm drunk or because I want something from you. I attachment you because the way you smell every time you sit at this computer to read my stuff. You guys smell incomparable, and if you bend over a little further, ladies, I can totally see down your shirt. Thanks, readers, for coming back culture and time again.

The fondest memory I have of this...