Friday, March 31, 2006


The Left's Fear of Giving Me Money, Part MMCMLVQXXIVZPPII

by AssParrot in Shangri La - 3/31/2006 08:58:00 AM

Megadittoes to John Aravosis for
his post on AMERICAblog yesterday taking the hatas to task for their jealous green-eyed envy of the successful set. I too have written frequently about the fear of giving me money that some people have on the left. I think it's time for the next installment.

Last night I attended a bird’s nest soup tasting soiree in Brunei Darussalam. I got invited by an oil-industry friend who had bought a few favors from the Sultan. It's a biggest-of-the-year kind of gala which anyone who's anyone in jet-setting cobaggery attends, from Sheiks to would be court dandies. Sally Field is usually the invited guest, but ever since the
“Not Without My Daughter” incident, not so much, so Christiane Amanpour attended.

I knew, because of past experience with some reading this blog, that when I got back home and posted my Annie Lieobowitz originals of the event that I’ve had rendered in narwhale scrimshaw, a minority of my readers, but a very vocal minority, would be upset. Why? Because I'd be wearing a tuxedo made of gold flake and transshipped GMO silk at a party with famous people.


The reaction was quick and furious, and rather vicious. Some examples:

1. One gentleman wrote in to complain that with three children to support, rent to pay, rising healthcare costs, blah blah blah, he’d only be able to send me $20 this month. Astounding. Folks, if you can’t recognize the priority of sending me more than a piddling two sawbucks, then I’m afraid you don’t really want your country back. Another woman had the audacity to attach a note to her check for $200 that read, “For Assparrot to upgrade his blog at his discretion.” Look, it’s not your job to tell me how to spend your money. It’s my job to tell you how to do it. If you want me to continue to fight the good fight for accountability and transparency in our government, you’ll just have to trust me on this. Also, you’re just jealous.

2. People have complained about my fabulous lifestyle. It’s gotten to the point where I no longer can call it a fringe phenomenon. Too many of you are doing it for these baseless, jealous, envious, scurrilous, hateful, jealous attacks to be anything but the core agenda of the American left. The other day I whipped up a small pledge drive to enable me to charter a jet to attend a splendid gala at the Parthenon in Athens thrown by a dear old friend to celebrate
the unbirthday of her beloved Grammatophyllum multiflorum. I was criticized mercilessly for it. Never mind the camp value of refereeing a kamikazi shot-drinking contest between Tara Reid and Princess Alexandra of Luxembourg. If the plebes can’t comprehend the incredible value of such galavantery to the progressive cause, then I must assume they want Hitler to rule them.

3. I maintain summer homes for all 12 of my cats in Riyadh, Jakarta, St. Tropez, Nantucket, Tiburon, Buenos Aires, a private island in the Sulu Archipelago, etc. etc. My neckties are air-freighted from Saville Row on the Concorde then put in cold storage by my manservant. I have never eaten a salad that cost less than $125. Apparently this means I’m living high on the hog. That I’m “rich” or something. As if the fact that I have wealthy friends who pay my way in the world is somehow “lucrative” for me. Also, last week I got a mild case of the sniffles as a result of my tireless efforts to wrest power and prestige from the Republicans. Everybody hates me because I’m beautiful and marvelous and can speak 18 languages at a time through my mastery of the Tibetan glottal technique. I have been to the Moon six times to better my understanding of Bill O’Reilly.

4. Go read Hannah Arendt before you talk to me. You are stupid and ugly and I hate you. Better yet, don’t talk to me even after you read Hannah Arendt. Because I said it first and you are copying me. Just give me your money and go away.

5. Nobody complained when I was the self-proclaimed Emperor of Prussia. Next time I won’t bother to tell you that just last week I was in your living room rearranging your furniture to my tastes and presetting your TIVO to record my CNN appearances. You can thank me when you grow up or die or both.

Clearly, many of you have no idea about the sort of you-giving-me-all-your-money that it takes to win in politics. You’d rather make my life miserable with your jealous criticisms.
Marla Ruzicka had it easy, in my book. If anybody deserves a Caribbean cruise to unwind after all this hatred, it’s me.

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