Silvio Berlusconi, your prayers have been answered.

The Italian edition of GET YOUR WAR ON is now available.

If you’d rather read GYWO in the language of surrender. . .

. . .the French edition is still available.

If Barack Obama is going to practice a new kind of politics, the kind that doesn’t tempt all thoughtful people to tape scorpions to their eyes and jump off a bridge, his campaign needs to stop with all the “WE ARE SO OUTRAGED BY THE LATEST OUTRAGEOUS THING SAID BY THE CLINTON CAMPAIGN” press statements.

This is the lamest, most disingenuous form of political gamesmanship, bar none. It is the propositional equivalent of a soggy VHS copy of Weekend at Bernie’s. It’s over. Leave it behind.

Like with this whole Geraldine Ferraro flap, where she basically said “The only reason Barack Obama is doing so well is because he’s not white(!?!)”

The Obama people are demanding Clinton reject Ferraro, or cut ties with Ferraro, or repudiate Ferraro’s assertative modality, or whatever dumb-ass thing you’re supposed to do these days.

Nobody cares. I’d rather they just went into surreal mode:

Once again, Geraldine Ferraro has proved that her lasagna is crying. It’s the same, tired zebra-skin astronaut fart we saw in Omaha, New Mexicoca-Cola. Let it hum with YOUR harmonica, America. WE ARE THE OBAMA.

See? All of a sudden, I’m paying attention again!

Admiral William J. Fallon, the Commander in Chief of Central Command (i.e. the guy who is in charge of America&#146s forces in the Middle East, i.e. the guy with the crappiest job in the world) resigned because he was afraid people thought he DISagreed with President Bush&#146s policy of acting like a complete dumbass.

Like I always say: NOTHIN&#146 BUT THE FUNK.

By the way, does anybody know if Adm. Fallon is related to ex-SNL funnyman JIMMY FALLON?

I always found myself charmed by his giggling and incessant eyelash-batting! (I am referring here of course to Jimmy Fallon, not Adm. Fallon.)

You know how, when you talk to someone in the military, and you’re like, “BABY KILLER! THE BLOOD OF A THOUSAND INFANTS WILL CURSE YOUR DREAMS!” and then you wipe your fake blood on them, and then you look around for an American flag TO BURN RIGHT IN THEIR FACE, but you can’t find one, which kind of takes the ol&#146 wind out of your sails… and then you take a deep breath and say:

“Well, in any event, thank you for your service to our country?”

Am I obligated to say that to Jimmy Fallon?

Because: Hoo boy.

Don’t you love it when newspaper columnists get a case of the lazies and try to pad their column by stringing together a bunch of one-sentence paragraphs?

Hoo boy.

There’s no excuse for that.

None whatsoever.

And anyone who disagrees. . .

Doesn’t understand the first thing about right and wrong.

Or anything at all–

Anything.

This interview with Sinbad is filled with more SNAPS then a sugar-snap farm run by red snappers in Snappersville, Snappsylvania:

“What got me about Hillary was her attitude of entitlement, like he messed up her plan, like he had no reason to be there,” Sinbad said. “I got angry. I actually got angry! I said, ‘I will be for Obama like never before.’”

But he’s less ticked off with the Clinton campaign than he is with Saturday Night Live for its Hillary-loving sketches that portray Obama as an unqualified nervous Nelly. What really bothers him is SNL’s choice of actor (Fred Armisen) to play Obama.

“My problem is &mdash you couldn’t just temporarily hire a black man to play Obama? You had to put a white man in a black face? You couldn’t find a light-skinned brother to play Obama?”

You know what Sinbad brought to this interview?

NOTHIN’ BUT THE FUNK.

DREAM TICKET: SAMANTHA POWER/SINBAD 2008!!!

I wasn’t crazy about the series finale of The Wire &mdash Michael-as-the-new-Omar was completely retahded, as was/is everything about McNulty &mdash but television history was made Sunday night, as Lance Reddick (as Cedric Daniels) delivered the GREATEST “I DON’T GIVE A FUCK” IN TV HISTORY! Best line reading ever! All Emmy superdelegates must vote for that, please please please!

Remember? It was when he burst out of the courthouse with A.S.A. Ronnie Pearlman and they were really upset, and she was like, blah blah blah the case will fall apart, our careers will be destroyed or something, and he was leaning on the wall and then he said, “I don’t give a FUCK.”

I like to consider myself a connoseiur (conneseuir? connuisserur? hard word) of “I don’t give a fuck”s, and I gotta say, that one made me L-Out-L with pleasure. It was like watching Tiger Woods hit a bogey-9 under the par, or however you say all that golf junk.

In a long post about the global wheat shortage’s impact* on Afghanistan, Barnett Rubin slags the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC)’s latest assessment of Afghanistan’s drug economy (otherwise known as Afghanistan’s economy).

With a complete deadpan delivery, the same report praises cannabis growing provinces as “poppy free.” Afghan governors who succeed in convincing farmers to grow cannabis, the price of which has jumped, instead of opium poppy, the price of which is falling because of Afghan over-production, are now considered to be counter-narcotics heroes.

Jukin’ the stats!

(*Like most things’ impact on Afghanistan, it is negative.)

Should Eliot Spitzer resign?

YES — MAYBE — NO

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From the Emporers’ Club* web site:

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This is my favorite style of writing: “Sex service trying to sound high-class and fancy”-style!

(*My governor’s favorite escort service.)

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HEY GANG! LET’S HAVE A “MOVIE MINUTE.”

Man, I loved “Monster.” Charlize Theron’s Oscar(TM)-winning portrait of a woman whose moral center had been abraded by years of desperate, bitter conflict was positively chilling. Remember her last line? The sarcasm was toxic:

“‘Love conquers all.’ ‘Every cloud has a silver lining.’ ‘Faith can move mountains.’ ‘Love will always find a way.’ ‘Everything happens for a reason.’ ‘Where there’s life, there’s hope.’ Well. . . they gotta tell you SOMETHING.”

Ouch! How’d you like to have that charmer in your life?

I also dug “Some Kind of Monster,” which examined a group of dysfunctional has-beens whose endlessly rehashed psychodramas prevented them from doing anything productive. They had turned themselves into such an institution– such an industry— nobody had the courage to tell them:

A.) They had sold out and become uninspiring parodies of themselves, and

B.) They hadn’t written a decent song since. . . oh, maybe. . . the 1990s?

Don’t know what made me think of those two movies today. I guess I’m bored?

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