and u call *me* rude... ?

As I have been deemed, uhm -- "a tad course," shall we say? -- in some of my diatribes hereabouts, I thought I'd offer a bit of the Rude Pundit's prose here, talented bastard he, purely as a "we're not worthy!" comparison to my relatively inadequate meanderings:

Of course Geppetto wanted Pinocchio to be a real boy. The old puppetmaker was tired of plucking splinters out of his fingers, tongue, and cock. For no matter how much you sand the pine sphincter of a marionette, it's still just an asshole made of wood. But flesh, god, how Geppetto dreamed of young, tender boy flesh, even as he pulled Pinocchio to him tight and wept about how wonderful it was just that he had been cut from his strings. When that Blue Fairy finally granted the wish, when she made his sticks supple and changed his sap to blood, Pinocchio knew that he had to try, once again, to run away, even if it meant becoming a donkey. Better an ass than just a piece of ass for an old man whose breath stunk of Lambrusco. So, on his pudgy new boy legs, Pinocchio ran, with that vile cricket constantly pimping for Geppetto, whispering in the boy's ear that he would be better off home.

The humorous allegory here being Gepetto as Bush to Malaki's Pinocchio.

Hoo boy! Those Italians.