Tomorrow I’m leaving on a short trip to visit family. But before I go, I’ve got to carry out a little blood-pressure-control exercise. (That is, I’ve got some ranting to do, so buckle up.)
Today I bring you two sad tales, one that focuses on one poor, individual bonehead, and another that focuses on one useless international governing body.
The first story involves the GOP figure who has done the most to disappoint me in the last 10 years (and yes, I’m counting Guiliani in that group): Mitt Romney.
Romney’s “Pierre Delecto” fake Twitter identity has to be the saddest thing I’ve read since Hillary re-emerged from the woods around Chappaqua to blame her election loss on Macedonian hackers, Russian oligarchs, sexism, and anyone else in the world except herself. Also gluten, for some reason.
In the last several years, Romney has revealed himself to be a shoddy human being in many ways. It’s gotten so bad that many of us are now almost to the point that we’re glad that he lost to Obama in 2012. (Almost.)
But this Twitter story is a new low. Not just because a grown man faking an online identity to defend himself in the third person is sad. (Though holy moly, is that sad!)
Still, that’s not the saddest part. Nope, the morose cherry on the melancholy sundae has to be the name Romney chose for his nom de lurker.
“Pierre Delecto”? Really?
I never thought I’d say this. But Mitt Romney has made me admire Anthony Weiner. Because when he needed to make up a name for his teen-girl-cruising alter ego, Weiner came up with “Carlos Danger.”
Sure, it’s something you’d expect from a junior high boy struggling with a changing voice and the least attractive excuse for a weak little mustache you’ve ever seen. But what was he supposed to do? “James Bond” was already taken. So were “Mike Hammer,” “Sam Spade,” and “Martin Simpson.”
Hence, Carlos Danger.
But Pierre Delecto??
First, if you’re considering going foreign language first names, don’t go French! That’s “Create Your Pseudonym 101.”
Spanish works, because Carlos, Mateo or Antonio can be bad asses. So would a variety of Nordic language names: Thor, Sven and Axel are going to get some serious respect at Lincoln Junior High.
German’s a little tricky. I don’t think “Hans Weltanschauung” is going to get many swipes right.
Russian’s out, because Cyrillic letters are just close enough to English to be creepy, like a CGI special effect, or a sex robot that is lifelike enough to make you momentarily think “mmm?” followed by, “Ugh, no!”
Polish is out too, because five consecutive consonants is an affront to all that is just and holy.
And don’t hit me with Arabic, because that calligraphy looks like a sword fight is going on, and we’re not invited.
But “Pierre?!” No. A thousand times NO!
Pierre is a gender-confused detective who focuses on solving robberies involving garish clothing, rare perfumes, and plumed hats. Or he’s the foppish original boyfriend who mistreats the female lead and is then tossed aside in favor of Ryan Reynolds in the third act.
And if “Pierre” isn’t bad enough… Delecto?
Didn’t that guy team up with the Green Goblin in SpiderMan #23? He was an evil chef who gave his victims food poisoning so that his henchmen could storm City Hall and take over the metropolis, right?
It almost shakes my confidence in my own judgment that I once thought that Mitt Romney was the strongest candidate in a Republican field.
But then I remember that I also chose my wife out of a sizeable pool of piping hot Norwegian-American girls who were going at each other hammer-and-tongs competing for my affection in the late 1980s, and that I chose Cassie the Wonder Dog out of the herds of fine canine companion options in the world. And I realize that I’m like 64,349-and-1 in fantastic life choices.
64,349-and-2, if you count selling my Apple stock to go all-in on MySpace in 2005.
But still, knowing that I once respected Mitt Romney really stings!
The second sad story involves the worst international governing body to blight our planet since Germany, Italy and Japan formed the Axis.
I’m speaking, of course, about the execrable UN, and their unutterably terrible Human Rights Commission.
How bad is the UN? The number of reasons to oppose the existence of the UN is larger than the number of fantastic life choices that I have made. It’s that bad!
Consider:
Reason number 1: the UN charter granted permanent membership on the 5-member UN security council to Russia.
Reason number 2: the UN charter granted permanent membership on the 5-member UN security council to China.
Reason number 3: the UN charter granted permanent membership on the 5-member UN security council to France. (Sure, France is not Russia or China. But the last time the French were militarily impressive was in 1066, and that was because their army were basically French-speaking Vikings. And don’t give me the Grand Armee, because they were mostly grand because they were led by a short Corsican with a grudge and a Napoleon complex. Literally.) (But I’ll grant you Lafayette.)
Any club you belong to that includes two of the worst mass murdering leftist slave states in the galaxy has gone wrong from the beginning. And they didn’t stop there: over 30,000 of the reasons to despise the UN involve the number of anti-Israel resolutions alone!
And that’s not to mention reason number 41,556: a creepy devotion to the metric system.
Anyway, reason number 65,213 happened this month, when the wretched hive of scum and villainy voted Venezuela onto the Human Rights Commission.
You read that correctly. Venezuela. Human rights.
“Venezuela” and “human rights” should never appear in the same sentence, unless separated by the predicate “lacks even the barest traces of.”
Once-proud Venezuela was the wealthiest Latin American country not much more than a decade ago. Then — in a disaster of such epic scale that you would usually only see it unfolding in times of plague, famine, or in the wake of Nazi armored columns roaring into a wooden-hut village populated entirely by orthodox Jews on the eve of Yom Kippur — Venezuelan society was utterly destroyed.
The culprit? Not typhus, or ebola, or an ELE (Extinction Level Event).
But close: the systematic application of the governmental/economic philosophy that is currently being pushed by Bernie Sanders, Grandma Squanto and AOC. I.e., socialism.
You don’t have to believe me. (Although, c’mon. You really should.)
Listen to this opening from a story in – I kid you not – the New York Times from this May: “MARACAIBO, Venezuela — Zimbabwe’s collapse under Robert Mugabe. The fall of the Soviet Union. Cuba’s disastrous unraveling in the 1990s. The crumbling of Venezuela’s economy has now outpaced them all.”
Do you notice anything that those four econo-cides (term trademarked by me, right now) have in common? And before you can guess: no, it is not a slavish devotion to free market economic principles.
Anyway, super-thug Hugo Chavez took control of formerly successful Venezuela, and after accepting hugs and kisses from know-nothing celebrity American leftists like Sean Penn, Oliver Stone and Bernie Sanders, he promptly drove the country into the ground.
When a vengeful God struck him with a fatal cancer of the ego, he was replaced with blocky ex-bus driver/thug/Saddamesque-mustache-wearing Nicolas Maduro, who quickly went to work proving that under socialism, the wheels on the bus do NOT go ‘round and ‘round.
Fast forward another year or two and – again according to the NY Times – “nearly all of the butchers in the main market have stopped selling meat cuts in favor of offal and leftovers like fat shavings and cow hooves, the only animal protein many of their customers can still afford.”
Fun fact: In the late 1990s, the White House Secret Service code names for Bill and Hillary? “Fat Shavings” and “Cow Hooves.” What about Chelsea, you ask? “Offal.” True story.
Anyway, the UN continues a long and shameful tradition of appointing bloodthirsty dictatorships – past members have included Cuba, Zimbabwe, Uganda, and Somalia, among others — to the Human Rights Commission.
I saw we withdraw from the UN, then evict them from the gigantic building that occupies prime New York real estate and bulldoze the entire site.
Then, just to watch Chuck and Nancy’s heads blow off, we give Trump a 99-year lease for $1, and let him build a gold-plated Trumpatorium to house his presidential museum there.
Avenatti/ Pierre Delecto 2020!
Martin Simpson 