Shivery to Idiots: Hi, I'm Earth, have we met?

You guys. I just. I don't know if I even have anything to add.

Let Gawker fill you in on the details.



Check back here for further comment, once I'm through beating my brains out with my keyboard.

Teabagging Baucus

So the senate finance committee essentially killed the public option today. Which means there will be one less option, a seriously devastating loss of an option, if and when healthcare reform is passed. We have many factors to blame for this, another in a long line of democratic failures.

For shifting the debate from vitriolic spewing of misinformed hatred at town hall meetings to vitriolic spewing of misinformed hatred in front of congress. Obama gave a great speech. It descended to the level of debate preferred by Kanye West.

The central argument against the public option was that it was socialist, since the government would get far too involved and fuck everything up. You know, like other socialist fuck-ups, the library, firefighters, the post office. Also, competition would run the current healthcare providers into the ground. Like how FedEx, UPS and DHL are no longer in business.

Don't think I'll forget the teabaggers. As I mentioned before, this raucous group of moronic individuals helped the press paint a one-sided picture of a public that doesn't want the government in their business. Like they do with medicare! Oh wait...we like medicare? And medicaid? Fuck. Whatever, I'll yell some shit anyway!

But perhaps most importantly is the guy that led us down this fail of a path in the first place, Max Baucus. Put simply, you suck, sir.

I hope you enjoy that money you'll get from big healthcare out of this. You'll need it when we vote your sorry ass out of senate.

Fast Frank and the Art of Screwing Yourself

Unfortunately, I work in financial services. This is not because I'm particularly good at math, care about money or got an economics degree (none of those things are true). This is because I needed a job and this is where I got one. Along with a steady paycheck and health benefits, the perks include great gossip and -- well, actually that's pretty much it, unless you consider getting a socioeconomic golden shower everyday a perk. Here's what I learned at work today:

Nowadays, ponzi schemers are dropping faster than Glenn Beck's ad revenue. It seems like everyday there's another story about some fraudulent loser getting busted by the SEC (who have finally decided to show up to work, apparently). I generally glaze over these stories because a) I don't really fucking care and b) reading them just makes me angry. But the story that broke today of Michigan broker "Fast" Frank Bluestein being charged in connection to the E-M Management Company fraud of 2007 really got me riled up. According to the WSJ:

The SEC doesn't allege that the 59-year-old Mr. Bluestein knowingly solicited older investors to invest in a fraud. But the agency's complaint says he failed to conduct due diligence before telling seniors that E-M securities were low-risk investments, and did little to investigate the legitimacy of E-M offerings despite being confronted with what the SEC says were numerous red flags.

The agency also alleges that Mr. Bluestein failed to disclose that he received $2.4 million of commissions from May and E-M on top of the $1.4 million in disclosed compensation he got from Fast Frank.

This is really fucking annoying for a few reasons. One: being paid to ignore clearly illegal activities is such a cowardly kind of crime. You're not even being a PRODUCTIVE criminal. You're passively leeching off of real criminals while you actively leech off of the poor stupid idiots you've convinced to invest with you. Two: even if you weren't connected to a major ponzi scheme, neglecting to report $2.4 million in commissions is fucking illegal, you mouth-breather. You're obviously going down for something. Three, I don't care who you are, what kind of work you do, or what your target audience is; the company name Fast Frank Inc. sort of draws attention to your less savory characteristics, doesn't it? Like, I don't know, being a fat, greasy liar?

Finally, just please everyone, unless you want to really get busted for something or have something terrible come back to bite you in the ass, don't ever, EVER take a picture like this in your office:

.0526315

Hey doods!

I know I'm, like, a full month behind on this particular chunk of news, but you have to understand - I was trapped in what I thought was a hurricane. I was poised to write you all a brief yet sincere apology for getting so worked up in my last post when WHOOOOOOOOOSH. I was whisked away into a nightmarish weather system. Or so I thought.

Really, I was just feeling the atmospheric and emotional effects - as we all did, really - of Michelle Duggar getting fucking knocked up again. Nineteen.

Ninteen babies. One vagine. In case you were wondering, 1 divided by 19 is .0526315. I'm no mathematician, but that basically means that ol' M. Dug only has 5% of a hoo-ha left. Wait, that's not right, is it?

Anyway. This is not really a shock. Michelle is 42, but will probably continue to spawn until the late 2100's. Here's the real shocker. I want to warn you, the images you're about to see are extremely disturbing.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

You guys. Look at her hair. What is this?? What IS THIS? Did she know all along? I don't know what to make of this.

And really, it just keeps getting better and better. Remember how their eldest oopsie-daisy is expecting a child with his newly pubescent bride? Do you also recall how they are going to name all their kids names with an M? Ladies and gentlemen, October will give you Mackynzie Renee. Yeah, that's not a typo.

So, what do you think guys? What comes out of .0526315 next? Here's hoping for Jenjamin. Or another one of these. I think .0526315 can probably squeeze one of these out during a commercial break:

Speaking of Assholes...

Imma Let You Finish, But You're An Asshole!

No, this has nothing to do with Kanye. Who wants to read about that asshole anymore? Especially when there are far more worthy assholes due for primal, disgusting violation than that windbag? For instance, John Edwards.

Oh, John Edwards, where do I even begin?

Let's start from the top, shall we?

When you told your mistress you were going to marry her? A little skeezy, but ok.

On a rooftop in NYC? A bit ostentatious, but sure, you go for that, you politician, you.

With Dave Matthews Band playing? Alright, that's a little fratty douche of you, but you do that, sure (I'll bring the Ed Hardy and Affliction tuxedos).

Now here's where you get all asshole on me. After your wife dies? Of breast cancer? Cock.

That's suck a bastard move, I have no way of even explaining myself here. You know it's a cock move though. And here's how I know you know this:

Because you fucking coerced your staffer to take the fall and tell the press that the baby was his! WTF? And then, after agreeing to a paternity test, tried to find a doctor that would forge it. Class, John Edwards. Pissing 100% class.

Now, let me just say that I don't care about sex scandals. Sex scandals are a dime a dozen. People like their shit freaky. The more power they have, the more stress in the job, the freakier it gets.

I don't care if your mistress is shoving broken Coke bottles up your ass sans lube. Personally, I could give a shit (or you couldn't, due to ass shards). But when you plot, scam and lie your way out of that hole you dug for yourself, you make me hate you. And more importantly, you lose your credibility.

All those merit points you got while being that milky white, "hard working American," southern gentleman on the Kerry campaign? Gone. Your family? (should be) Gone. Your credibility as a human being with feelings and a general moral compass? Do I even have to say it?

In summation: Fail, John Edwards. Fail.

An Introduction to Shivery McPickles: Duggarmaniaphobia

Hi kids. Shivery, here. We've not been introduced. I really apologize for that, but there's been this bag of Natural Cheetos on my counter and a Top Chef marathon on for the last, I don't know, three years of my life.

But I've broken loose. And I want to tell you a little bit about myself.



I have never aspired to hate rich people. In fact, I'm related to a few of them. I can appreciate the fact that people who work hard and are persistent get rewarded with success. Here is my plea to all of the richies who are, doubtless, pouring over this blog with unbridled concern for what I have to say to them: Please don't be an asshole about it. Please don't tell me that you are at the epicenter of the recession. Please don't ask, as I've just heard a man query on a Bay Ridge Lexus commercial, "Is it Lexuses? Or Lexii? I have four."

Excuse me, sir, is it lobotomies? Or lobotomii?

I mean, is the worst thing about this that he is the most repugnant, self-satisfied, grammatically clueless TWAT in Brooklyn? Or is it the brash, blatant, go-fuck-yourself air of societal and ecological irresponsibility?

Which really brings me to the meat and potatoes of what I want to talk to you about. And by meat and potatoes, I mean Roast Beef Curtains.


I heard the news today that the Duggar clan was expanding and I thought to myself, Michelle Duggar probably squeezes out another child every time she rolls over, sleepless, in bed and thinks about what could have happened if she'd just finished college and not married the walking bag of sperm twitching in his sleep beside her.

As it turns out, Michelle has managed to ward off Jim Bob's constant jabbing for long enough to let her brand new daughter-in-law have a bit of the pussy-flapping glory. Joshua Duggar, the eldest Duggar child, and therefore least FUCKED in the J-name department (I'm looking at you, Jinger), has managed to inseminate something not related to him.

In case you've been hiding under a rock for the last few years (or, possibly in the cloaking folds of Michelle's hoo-ha) here's a Duggar primer: Jim Bob and Michelle were "normal" young people. They lead a heathenous life, sploshing around in the sin of human flesh (by this I mean, used contraception). One day, Michelle's birth control took the day off, she got knocked up, and I believe, miscarried. This course of events led young Michelle and Jim Bob to decide that God hates birth control. God loves it when you screw your spouse until they don't even have the energy to update their hairstyle for two or three decades, but only if you're succumbing to his will in the process. Oh yeah, God has a total boner for your obedience. The Duggars decided to throw caution to the wind and have as many children as God wanted them to.

Not to bore you, but let me posit a theory: Has anyone considered that "God causing you to miscarry" could just as easily mean he doesn't want you to contribute 18 screaming, drooling, shitting, new religious wackadoodles to the universe?

Jim Bob Duggar is a rich asshole. Or, at least, he would be, if he didn't have 18 fucking kids. Instead, they all eat Campbell's soup every night, ride to church in a TOUR BUS, have a TV show and generally infuriate the shit out of me.

The Lexii guy and the Duggars are the same kinds of gaping assholes to me (although not Michelle, I don't think you can impregnate an anus... yet). Whether you want four cars, 18 kids, 6 houses or a $28 million chair, you are CONSUMING CONSPICUOUSLY. Does our planet, stretched to the absolute breaking point (I promise, no more vag jokes) need 18 more garbage-machines? Does anyone else find this totally fucking irresponsible??

Just in case anyone has any concerns as to whether or not Joshua Duggar and his new bride Anna (20) are planning on following in Ma and Pa D's footsteps:

When asked on the Today show if they were planning on following tradition and naming all their kids according to a certain letter, they said they'd been thinking about the letter M. Hmm. Mathusela? Mattathias? Mmmdirt-nap? Go take one.

Teabag Obama!

I have no idea how these people don't know the true definition of "teabagging", but I'm glad they don't. This clip made my entire week.

Can I even express my level of envy over Rachel Maddow's ability to say "teabag" so many times on air? And in such a knowing, "I can't believe I'm getting away with this" way!

I heart her.

But seriously, can we discuss for a minute?

How is it that all of these Republicans that are doing this "teabagging" have no idea what the implications are, yet a lesbian without a TV in the wilds of upstate Massachusetts and one that has likely never even performed the act know the definition? This is crazy. Get with it Republicans, you have no idea of the delights you're missing out on!

But back to the video, as our friend Chris"Topher" put it:

Shut.
The.
Fuck.
Up.

Indeed. And special thanks to Mo for pointing this gem out.

Doga: Because You're an Asshole.

Yes, you read that right. Doga. As in, with dogs.

Yoga. With dogs.

Allow that to sink in. Grab that letter opener, jab it into your eyeball until it's more gelatin-like than you'd wish.

Now try again.

Doga.

It didn't work for me either.

Highlight, anyone? Oh, there is a doozy of highlight. Get this:

“A stuffed animal — but not even a dog-shaped stuffed animal — was used by the instructor,” she said. Owners struggled to get their very real dogs to replicate the stuffed-animal poses, she said, and bags of treats were used to get the dogs to change positions. “It was lunacy,” Ms. Apro recalled. “Peanuts, my retired racer greyhound, didn’t participate at all. Instead, I did downward-facing dog while he ate the most treats he’s ever had in a 60-minute period.”

Very true, Ms. Apro, it is so terribly strange that it didn't work. Because it's a fucking dog!

And while we're on the subject of "lunacy," Ms. Apro, let's discuss how you actually brought your dog into doga, that implies you were under the impression that it would work. It's a fucking dog!

I'm not sure if my point stuck. Let me try one more time. It's a fucking dog!

For more on this latest unbelievably, incredibly, mind-blowingly true fad, follow me down the rabbit hole.

Thanks to Mr. Flood for the link. I think we can all agree with his sentiment that it's "stupid stupid, not dope stupid."

P.S. You're Terrible.

Important question for today. How do we define close-minded? Is it not allowing gay marriage in your state? Harboring racist thoughts? Hating Muslims for no reason? Or simply shutting down that which is foreign to you regardless of the impact it makes? All of the above clearly suffices. But then, so does Kate Ahlborn.

Kate is a Harvard graduate, Upper East Side inhabiting, Vanity Fair blogger. Here's what she has to offer the world of the interwebs:

Somehow it happened that in all the years I've lived in New York City, I'd never been to Brooklyn. But when I heard that choreographer Noémie Lafrance had a new show opening in Williamsburg, I decided it was as good an occasion as any to venture beyond Manhattan for the first time.

First off, to say you've lived in New York for years and never have been to Brooklyn is disgraceful. I've lived here for less than six months, most of which found me broke as dirt, yet I've already been to Brooklyn (obvs), Manhattan, Harlem, Staten Island and Queens. AND I'm lazy.

Additionally, "somehow it happened in all the years..." Let me assist you. "Somehow" it happened because you're a pampered, sheltered and unadventurous person.

So on Tuesday night, I boarded the L train (heading away from the West Village) and made my way to hipsterville.

I know Williamsburg gets all the buzz, but Brooklyn isn't just W'burg. In fact, I might even argue that W'burg is more an extension of Manhattan than Brooklyn, much of that due to train availability from other sections of Brooklyn. For instance, the easiest way for me to get to W'Burg is by taking the train from my stop at Atlantic Center (Brooklyn's central hub if there is one) into Manhattan, changing trains, then heading back to Brooklyn.

Perhaps my tweed J. Crew jacket and Tory Burch ballet flats weren't the best wardrobe choice for that day, but I overcame the fact that I was a total Williamsburg misfit and hoped my foreigner status wouldn't be glaringly obvious to the natives. (It was.) After narrowly escaping death by skateboard on the Bedford subway platform, I made my way to a rickety building in what felt to me like Brooklyn's outer banks. (It wasn't.)

Oh, Kate. Poor, poor Kate. Skateboards! Who would imagine? Such things don't exist in the wilds of Manhattan!

You'll find that if you venture to Brooklyn Heights, Ft. Greene, Park Slope, Brighton Beach, Coney Island, Sunset Park, Carroll Gardens, Cobble Hill, Prospect Heights, Windsor Terrace, Red Hook (outer banks! scary!) or the Fulton Mall. But that's right, she won't. So she won't discover that the borough has contributed much to the art, music, film, theatre and food scene in New York over the past several years. Not to mention Notorious B.I.G.

I left the rickety building slightly shaken up and eager to get back to Manhattan. After this experience, I'm fairly certain that's exactly where I belong.

Right. Because Manhattan has no rickety buildings. Or hipsters. Or artists. But you're right. You do belong in Manhattan. Stay right there on the Upper East. We'll enjoy the rest. Because of all the places I've ventured to during my life in NYC, the one place I've yet to go is the UES. I've been there once. I'm not missing much. Unless I feel the sudden urge to view those lovely tweed J. Crew jackets.

"After this experience, I'm fairly certain that's exactly where I belong." Kate, for once, we agree. Stay there. We'll enjoy the rest.

Hostess Cupcake Redux.

Not sure if you heard. Lohan and SamRo broke up yesterday. Via Twitter.

Lindsey Twattered that Sam should stop doing drugs.

Sam responded with this photo:

















And now I respond, "Samantha! Wasting a cake with lines of coke? And lines of coke on a cake? And in this economy?"

There Will Be Snacks, There Will Be Snacks.

9.12.08. Shivery McPickles and Fred Swayze decide to pursue their lifelong dream and move to NYC.

9.15.08. The stock market died.

With a shrug of the shoulders and a "fuck it" attitude, they moved anyway.

They landed in Brooklyn. More specifically, Park Slope. Where people push these:


After several months of job searches, they landed jobs.

McPickles works in Midtown. Where people buy these:

Fred works in DUMBO. Where people drive these:

The sheer WTF? produced on a daily basis by the ostentatious belongings of others makes them angry. They chose to express this anger in the form of a blog. This blog. Here is the Mission Statement:

For decades, we found ourselves in an unhinged financial environment that coddled the wealthy, where fat-cats preyed on the working class, bilking them out of even the simplest life while doling out millions in payoffs to the sickeningly rich, atrophying executives, binging on non-existent wealth all in the name of capitalism.

And now we get to watch that era die.

That's what we're here for. As America folds in on itself, reverting to the needs versus wants society we always should have had, we get front row seats. Tuck in your napkins, because it's time to snack on the rich.

So welcome. Andrew Bird once sang, "There will be snacks, there will be snacks." We agree. Also, poop jokes from time to time.