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Showing posts with label Things that amuse me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Things that amuse me. Show all posts

Monday, January 26, 2015

Fool’s Gold

Color.

That's what they call it when you find traces of gold in a stream.

In the old days here in Alaska, the sourdoughs would pan the streams and rivers looking for that golden telltale, that glittering hint of treasure in the bottom of the pan. Color itself isn't worth much, just a thin thread of brightness among the mud and sand - but see, that color was a clue to greater things, a treasure map.

They'd follow the color upstream, through the twisting rivers and washes, to the source. The mother lode.

Color, that's what we're seeing now, we miners of political gold.

We're still far downstream from the mother lode of 2016, but already the mud in our pans is bordered in bright yellow.

And then there are the nuggets.

Things must change for our government. Look at it! It isn’t too big to fail. It’s too big to succeed! It's too big to succeed, so we can afford no retreads or nothing will change with the same people and same policies that got us into the status quo, another Latin word, status quo, and it stands for, “Man, the middle-class everyday Americans are really gettin’ taken for a ride!” That's status quo, and GOP leaders, by the way, y'know the man can only ride ya when your back is bent, so strengthen it, then the man can't ride ya, America won't be taken for a ride, because so much is at stake and we can't afford politicians playing games like nothing more is at stake than, oh, maybe just the next standing of theirs in the next election.

Jesus Jumping Christ!  I was a Navy codebreaker, an intelligence officer, I've had professional training and decades of experience, and I can't parse that gibberish.

 

Yes, I know. It's been killing you. Hasn't it?

 

For the last week, my inbox has been choked with queries, wondering why I haven't said anything.

I haven't said anything because last week when Sarah Palin declared her "interest" in running for president in 2016, it was just political color.  And you don’t get excited about color.

I was waiting for Iowa, that’s where you find the first real nuggets.

Speaking at the Iowa "Freedom" Summit, the Sourdough Shill didn't disappoint, did she? It's too big to succeed or fail with the retreads for changing Latino men riding other men because we won't be taken for a ride! America!  She contemptuously dismissed the President as “a little boy” and then sneeringly declared liberals and democrats are racists and sexists. It’s the same tune she’s been singing since John McCain took her to the prom and got his ass beat by the star basketball player.

I've read that paragraph two dozen times now, it's pure buttery yellow Palin. It's ... beautiful.

I have no idea what it means, but it’s wonderful.

I'm a skilled writer, I'm even more skilled at mockery, and there is nothing I could have penned that would have come close to that golden horde of ... well, hell, you can't call it word salad, it's more like finely ground mulch. Compost.

Edit:  No in retrospect, mulch and compost are the wrong words.  "Word salad" is pitifully inadequate. It’s more like Word Coleslaw.  Wordslaw!

Palin’s speech was so bizarre, so utterly incomprehensible, that the Democratic National Committee issued only a two word response via their communications director: “Thank you.”

See, apparently, Palin’s teleprompter froze.

And she had to speak off the cuff, and that gibberish above is what came out.

Her teleprompter froze. Teleprompter.

And it’s like the jokes just write themselves. Lame jokes. Old tired jokes that have been told a hundred time before, but nevertheless…

Sarah Palin is the Zsa Zsa Gabor of American politics.

She’s a diva. She got where she is on, well, to use her own words, her rack. It sure wasn’t her brains. She had a few bit parts and she’s got her fans. She plies the talk show circuit as the queen of glitter – along with the same old cast of characters – and nobody can understand a goddamned thing she says. She’s good for a few laughs on Late Night, but nowadays she’s mostly famous for being famous and ain’t nobody offering her a part in their movie.

She’s grifter, a political con artist. This is her MO. She sort of maybe hints she might be maybe interested in possibly maybe running. The chumps flood her PAC with their cigarette money. Then she tours the country in her Patriotic Juggernaut of Patriotic Flag Humping Freedom, signing books and giving speeches composed entirely of disjointed Tea Party sound bites and utterly devoid of any originality whatsoever.

And then?

Nothing.

She doesn’t have the chops to go all the way, or even part of the way.

At best she’s color, a little excitement in the pan as we plod upstream to the real treasure.

Monday, October 7, 2013

Wright Answers The Mail, Accidentally Unleashes Toothy Reptiles

Some of you asked about my hate mail.

Specifically the stuff in response to the previous post.

That post, Deadlock, hit big.

It’s still hitting big.

I don’t know that it’s viral per se, but it’s big. Like more than 200,000 page views in the last 36 hours big. Like shared 20,000 times or more on Facebook. Like the size of Newt Gingrich’s ego big. Like the size of Michele Bachmann’s insanity big. Okay, maybe not quite that big, but big. That’s what I’m saying here.

So, of course, there’s going to be hate mail.  Because there’s always hate mail when I write something that goes viral. Hell, there’d be hate mail if I wrote about cotton candy and bacon (and how Obama is trying to outlaw both! Socialism! Nazis! They’ll take my bacon when they pry it from my hot sticky hand! Ur, um, but I digress).

So anyway, hate mail.

A lot of hate mail.

Now, you know me, I recycle. I’m not just going to throw the hate away after it’s done warmed my flinty black heart, it’s still good for lining the catbox or for compost. And I know how much you love my hate mail. And because I love you, each in your own special way, I was going to do my usual thing and pull out selected bits and snark on each one individually for your entertainment. Because I know that makes you smile and dream happy dreams of peace and bacon flavored brotherhood and Canadian style universal healthcare.

Because, as I said, there’s a lot of hate mail.

But the problem is that there’s really not much variety this time around.

I’ve got quantity but not much quality.

Frankly, I look at the volume of messages clogging my inbox like so many undigested jelly donuts in Rush Limbaugh’s large intestine, and I think the least the nuts could do is maybe put a bit more effort and creativity into their insanity, that’s what I’m saying.

After the first couple dozen or so messages, the frothy yellow bilious hate becomes a bit redundant and it all just sort of runs together.

Listen, about the two hundredth time you get damned straight to bible hell, you just sort of nod and say to yourself, well, you know it’s got to be better than this bilge. At least Lucifer knows how to spell and, and yeah, he may be the evil dark lord of the underworld and all but, you know, he can structure a sentence in a grammatically correct fashion. Jesus should have spent a little less time on parables and maybe a bit more time teaching English 101, because seriously, Folks, crack open a copy of Strunk & White. Please.

So anyway, like I said, it all just starts to run together. Hell. Socialism. Jesus. Hate America. Rapture. God. Communists. States Rights. End Times. Ben Franklin. Obamacare. Federalist Papers. Gun Rights. Antichrist. Small Government. Thomas Jefferson. Bleat bleat, blurt blurt, ook ook.  Honestly, how many damned times can you read the word “Nazi” before you start thinking about rounding up all of these hysterical Tea Party chowderheads and herding them into FEMA death camps? No, really, hand over the tinfoil hat, Ben Franklin, and get in the sack, get in it right now.

And then I thought, hey, you know how when Hollywood is turning a big complicated story with lots of people in it into a movie?  Sometimes they take several similar bland secondary characters from the book and for brevity’s sake and budgetary reasons they just kind of mash them all together into a more interesting “composite” character?

Just so.

If you took all of the tediously similar hate mail that I’ve gotten from that last post on Stonekettle Station, and you pulled out the prevailing common themes, mushed all the commenters together into a sort of noxious hybrid of red-faced spittle-flecked yellow-eyed beer-bellied powdered-wig-wearing booger-eating flag-buggery, this is what you’d end up with:

(We shall henceforth refer to this composite character as “Corn,” as in Corndogus Walkuserectus. You may now conjure up the appropriate mental image, don’t forget the powdered wig).

Me: Welcome to Stonekettle Station, how may I help you?

Corn: I’m very upset. I want to lodge a complaint.

Me: Spiffy. Put on this official complaint suit and stand in the square labeled “DANGER! Keep Clear!”

Corn: Why does the complaint suit smell like ham loaf?

Me: No reason. One of our customer service representatives will be along momentarily.  You’ll recognize him by his toothy grin.

Corn: I read your stupid blog. It makes me, like, crazy angry. There’s a lot of stuff in there that I don’t like.

Me: What about the part with the Velociraptors?

Corn: I didn’t actually read it. It’s too long, and there are really big words.

Me: Like “velociraptor?”

Corn: Dinosaurs are a lie told by Satan to make Jesus soggy and hard to light.

Me: Fun fact, scientists have discovered that velociraptors love ham. Tasty delicious ham.

Corn: I will now tell you why you’re wrong.

Me: About the velociraptors?

Corn: About everything.

Me: You didn’t read the essay. Did you maybe read any of the three hundred comments?  Likely your criticisms have already been addressed.

Corn: I’m busy saving the country for Jesus, I don’t have the time to read that stuff!

Me: But you don’t mind wasting my time, is that about it?

Corn: My penetrating observations are totally new and different and all my own and not like the other ten dozen nuts who’ve already posted the same exact things word for word. I get my information directly from Alex Jones, not third hand like those other guys.

Me: Let me get a fresh beer.  And remember: Velociraptors are more scared of you than you are of them.  Back in a sec.

 

[… sometime later …]

 

Corn: Hello?

Me: Good Gravy! You’re still here? All in one piece too. Darn it. 

Corn: I will now refute your little essay by regurgitating a big hairball of Glenn Beck like a cat yakking up noxious orange goo onto your brown leather beanbag chair.

Me: I admire your ability to choke down both Little Friskies and conservative talk radio. I can understand the urge to vomit. However, I don’t, in point of fact, own a burnt orange leather couch, you’re thinking of John Boehner. 

Corn: Leathery … what?

Me: It’s your argument.

Corn: What about it?

Me: You’re drooling on yourself. There, just wipe, right at the corner … uh, never mind.  You were saying?

Corn: OK, I shall now mock your manhood by swiftboating your military service.

Me: Meh, it’s been done. And yet my manhood remains massively intact. See?

Corn: Well, your fans are all sycophants!

Me: Not all of them. Some of them are toadies, a few are henchmen, there are some hangers-on, and there’s one fop but he’s more of an admirer and not really what you could call a fan.

[edit: I somehow forgot to mention the Minions, Cronies, various and assorted Stormtroopers, Fangirls, Fanboys, Groupies, Lurkers, Skulkers, Berserkers, and some guy named Steve.  My most abject apologies, loyal followers]

Corn: Seriously?

Me: It’s a union thing.

Corn: What if I just call you a communist and claim you’re trampling my Freedom of Speech?

Me: Are you guys all reading off the same crib notes?

Corn: Read?

Me: Did you have an actual complaint?

Corn: You said that America is a democracy. Ha ha ha. You’re a big dummy.

Me: Ah, I see. 

Corn:  Dummy!

Me: I don’t suppose you’d buy that in common vernacular, one of the several accepted definitions of democracy is America’s form of republican governance? Kind of like “America” is a commonly accepted term for the United States, even though the US isn’t the only country in America.

Corn: THAT’S A LIE! YOU TAKE THAT BACK!

Me: Could you maybe act more like a cured meat product? Perhaps honey maple flavored? 

Corn: We’re a Republic!

Me: Okay. We’re a republic. Here, try wearing these pineapple rings.

Corn: Hah! It was a trick question! We’re a democratic republic!

Me: Demonic Publication. Got it. Look could you maybe wiggle around a bit? Velociraptors are attracted to motion.

Corn: You’re such an idiot. America is really a constitutional republic!

Me: Okay, we’re a constipated public. Maybe if you tried whistling… Here boy! Dinner time!

Corn: What a moron! We’re really a representative democracy!

Me: Damn it, I think those scientists are full of it. Try acting like a stegosaurus.

Corn: Obamacare is all tricks! Tricks and lies! Everybody hates it!

Me: That’s it! Big, dumb, and cold blooded! Keep doing that. 

Corn: Obama is an alien reptile in a rubber human suit! He stole the elections with his Magic Negro Ray of Chocolate Mojo! He’s totally a fake president! Obama hates America! He’s a Muslim!  Liberals eat babies! He wasn’t even born in America! False Flag! False Flag!

Me: Damn it, now you scared him off. That’s some powerful crazy, you’ve got going on there. Do they even have a name for what’s wrong with you? Seriously? I bet you could get that treated … under Obamacare.

Corn: Do they have a name for what’s wrong with you? Yes they do, Nazis!

Me: Hey, I’m not the one acting like a shrieking soon to be extinct dinosaur. Dude. Just saying.

Corn: Obmacare! Obamacare! Socialism! Abortion! Gay Marriage! Doom! Doom!

Me: Say, could you excuse me for a minute?

Corn:  Ah Hah! I win! I win! Wait, where are you going?

Me: It’s the beer. I need to see a man about a large carnivorous reptile.

 

 

Honestly, if I see one more email about how Obama “stole” the election via some “cult of personality” or how the ACA was passed because of some secret magic Negro Mojo so therefore it’s okay to implode the government, I will feed myself to the velociraptors just to make it stop.

Select all. Delete.

And the mailbox is clear for a brief moment.

Friday, November 16, 2012

The Weakest Link

 

Remember Calvin & Hobbes?

What am I saying? Of course you do.

It was only the best comic-strip ever drawn. Like ever.

My favorite installment, besides Spaceman Spiff of course, was at the end of the first “Transmogrifier” story arc.

The Transmogrifier, for those of you not familiar with the astounding brilliance of Calvin & Hobbes, is a fantastical machine invented by the strip’s main character, Calvin. It is based on the infinite malleability of cardboard box technology and is powered by imaginarium. It bears a striking, if inverted, resemblance to Calvin’s time machine and the spacecraft he and Hobbes used to become the first six year old and tiger, respectively, to reach Mars. The Transmogrifier’s primary function is to transform boys into other lifeforms, such as  eels, slugs, bugs, and small dinosaurs. 

In this particular installment, Calvin and Hobbes are standing in their yard next to the machine discussing their recent groundbreaking experiments with lifeform transmogrification.

Hobbes: Your machines works amazingly well.
Calvin: It’s my own design.
Hobbes: What will you do with it now?
Calvin: Good question… (About this time, Susie Derkins, the slimy girl next door, happens by. Calvin raises his voice) …although I suppose we could turn Susie into a BOWL OF CHOWDER, if we could just get her in the machine!
Suzy doesn’t break stride and snarls over her shoulder, “Leave me out of your life’s plans, you little weirdo.”

 

God, I miss Calvin and Hobbes, and most especially the biting sarcasm of Susie Derkins, a girl after my own heart and who bears an unnerving resemblance to my own wife, especially the biting and the sarcasm part. 

 

What brings this up?

We the people.

Lately, these last four years anyway, I’ve been hearing We The People a lot.

I mean, like a lot.

Now, sure “We the people…” sounds pretty damned awesome when you put it in front of an entire Constitution, but I’m pretty sure Thomas Jefferson used the phrase only once, maybe twice, in conversation before George Washington called him out on it. What’s this “we” shit, Tom? You got worms or something?

Lately, every time, every single time, I hear the phrase, “we the people…” it’s almost always followed by some cockamamie demand or nonsensical scheme for “fixing” the United States of America.

We the people.

Oh, please.

Google “we the people” and see what you get. Go on, it’s fun. Like hitting your thumb with a hammer is fun.

We the people demand an end to war.

We the people demand the truth about the alien spaceship recovered from Roswell, New Mexico.

We the people demand to know the truth about fluoride.

We the people demand disclosure of bigfoot!

Remember that joke with the Lone Ranger and Tonto surrounded by hostile Indians? What you mean “we,” white man?

Like that. Exactly like that.

What do you mean “We?”

We the people? We? We, as in all of us? Who, exactly, appointed these lunkheads to speak for all of us? I don’t remember voting on this, because I’m pretty sure I would have voted them right off the island instead of electing them spokesman. Not even if I’d been drinking, because, seriously, I’ve never been that drunk. Never.

We the people. You’re kidding right?

I’m going to be honest with you, it seems to me that a lot of the people lately are, well, idiots. And by idiots I mean the drooling hairy palmed kind who are fascinated by their own bellybuttons. I’m sorry to be the one to point this out, but there it is. Idiots. The people are idiots. And I really don’t want to be included in any “we” that also includes them.

Leave me out of your life’s plans, you little weirdoes.

In states with concealed carry permits, when confronted by the police you are typically required to inform the officer immediately if you’re packing heat. I think we need something similar for idiots. I think they should be required to begin all conversations with “We the People” proclaimed with ponderous gravity and their arm raised like Lincoln giving the Gettysburg Address. See, that way the rest of us will know right away. Oh, you’re an idiot. Excellent. Now I don’t have to waste time listening to the rest of your silly jabber. Well, goodbye then and remember, first pants, then shoes.

Typically, these idiots are the ones screaming the loudest about having a voice in government.

Which is probably why the Founding Fathers specifically decided to form a Republic instead of a straight up democracy. 

Now granted, the First Amendment does give all American citizens the right to petition their government, even if they are idiots.

But up until recently, it’s been a huge pain to petition the government.  Which, upon reflection, was probably on purpose because it cut down, somewhat, on the idiots.

Theoretically you could talk directly to your congressional representative or senator – if you were the CEO of Exxon, say, or like really, really hot and not particular about banging creepy old men who smell of bourbon and dollar bills. Or what you could do is create a petition and then hang out in front of shopping malls pestering the hell out of random people for their signatures. See, that’s where the checks and balances part comes in, you’ve got to really want something if you’re willing to put up with the abuse of the general public in person, because, as I’ve mentioned, most of them are idiots. Once you’ve convinced, oh, say, like bizallion people to sign your piece of paper, you can either mail it in to the government or simply shred it yourself at the nearest Office Max.

However, when Barack Obama was sworn in, he brought a charming optimism to the Oval Office and he ordered the creation of a new White House website where citizens could directly petition the president and actually get answers. If twenty-five thousand people are willing to put their name on a petition, the President has promised to provide a response.

Because, really, what could go wrong with that? Right? Hello?

So far, eighty-two petitions have been answered by the President – including a detailed response to The People’s Freedom of Information demand for full disclosure of Obama’s beer recipe. The People had a right to know if there were any Muslims hiding in there, among the hops.

The White House calls it We The People and it ushered in a new era of closeness between The Idiots People and their elected leaders.  The website provides guidance for creating your own petition on behalf of the rest of us. Petitions should follow a specific format and should be on subjects that are of concern to all Americans.

Here’s an actual example from the website:

WE THE PEOPLE of the United States of America, pursuant to the Bill of Rights, Amendment One, declare that we are grieved over the presence of "CHEMTRAILS" in the airspace over the U.S.A. and hereby petition the United States government to take immediate action to cease all Geo-Engineering, HAARP & "CHEMTRAIL" activity in the airspace over the United States of America. WE, the People, further DEMAND an immediate, thorough and honest investigation into Geo-Engineering, HAARP, & what the substance called "CHEMTRAILS" actually consists of and discover the true purpose of spraying America (and its people) with harmful substances. THEREFORE, it is concluded that Americans are, and have been, under attack and have become the victims of BIOCHEMICAL WARFARE. We deserve answers to these charges.

Now that you know what this is all about, let’s see what The People have done with their First Amendment rights besides requesting more government issued tinfoil for their Magic Negro Ray Cranial Protection Cap and bun warmer.

Yes, let’s just take a look, shall we?

Let us just.

As I write this, there are one hundred and ninety-six petitions on the website.

At least one third have something to do with secession from the United States of America.

Texas leads the way with over a hundred and ten thousand signatures – most of which are from people in the other forty-nine states. Ouch.

Oregon wants to secede but remain an “ally” of the United States. Or in other words Oregonians would like all the benefits of being Americans, but without having a stinky black guy in charge.

Fourteen thousand people have signed a petition asking that all fifty states be allowed to secede, and then form their own nation together. Apparently they want to call it “The United States” to distinguish it from the nation they’re planning to secede from.

There’s a petition to require all seceding states to pay off their portion of the national debt before they secede. 

Now, I got to thinking about that. If we coupled this petition to the previous one, we might actually have a workable plan. Step 1) Pay off your part of the debt. Step 2) secede. Step 3) Once all fifty states have seceded, reform the Union debt free

Or, and here’s an idea, we all secede from Texas!  Sure.  See, we all  sneak out one by one without paying and then secretly reform the United States – leaving Texas stuck with a $16 Trillion tab. Hilarity ensues. 

Alternatively, if Texas stops acting like a dick, we could take them with us … and stiff Guam and Puerto Rico!

What?

Oh, right. I’m goofy.

Have you seen the actual budget plan?

Exactly.

Fine. Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.

A number of cities within the seceding states have started petitions to secede from the seceding states and rejoin the United States – I recommend we call that the “West Berlin” option and I’m waiting for the petition from the seceding states requesting that the United States pay for a wall around the cities that succeeded in seceding from the seceding states.

Then there are petitions demanding that the secessionists self-secede or be unceremoniously stripped of their citizenship and deported to the country of their ancestors. I think this is a bit unworkable and it will probably end up costing us more than it’s worth, so I’m starting my own petition demanding that Obama issue an executive order making it legal for any loyal citizen to give any secessionist an atomic wedgie – alternatively you may key their Hummer.

Now not every petition on We The People comes from crazy secessionists.

We request that Barack Obama be impeached for the following reasons.
1. He proclaimed war in libya without getting congress approval first. Article I, Section 8- Only congress can approve to start war.
2. Obamacare is unconstitutional. Forcing US citizens to get health insurance whether they want it or not.
3. Obama disrespects our Constitution calling it flawed and trying to change it even after taking this oath: "I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the united States."
4. Appointing agency “czars” without Senate approval.
5. He’s black! Oh my God! He’s so black! There’s a black man in the WHITE House!
(Ok, I just added number five in myself. But it seemed to fit)

There’s another one that petitions Barack Obama to allow the public examination of his birth certificate and school records.  I’m onboard with this, but only if Donald Trump is also required to admit his hair is really the malignant offspring of a unholy mating between biochemical warfare created from “CHEMTRAILS” and John Boehner’s self tanning lotion. Also, there should be some Nazis in there somewhere.

There’s a petition that demands the United States Government finally admit that Israel was responsible for the 9-11 terrorist attacks. I’d like to add an amendment to this petition making Ghana responsible for the sinking of RMS Titanic and designating Denmark as the scapegoat for Disney’s John Carter disaster.  Also, while we’re at it, let’s pin the blame for Windows Vista on Rhode Island.

In the “be careful what you wish for” category, there’s a petition to make President Obama implement a policy for declassifying discoveries by NSA Mathematicians (I swear I’m not making this up).  I used to work for NSA, I know a few of those “mathematicians.” I’ve had to sit in briefings while these socially awkward Wizards of Warcraft fumbled through a hundred Power Point slides filled with indecipherable gibberish. I’m not sure what the petitioner is expecting, but if you need a powerful sleep aid that will drop an ox, this would be it.

Then there’s the petition demanding that we “Stop destruction of our U-233 for more NASA space exploration, new cancer treatments, and thorium based energy abundance.”  Ah, yes, the Free Thorium Brigade.  They’ll be up to 25,000 signatures in no time.

My personal favorite is the petition that wants the White House to “Outlaw offending prophets of major religions.” I’m hip. Let’s outlaw offending prophets.  I’ve got a list of prophets who offend me, where do I sign? Also can we add in preachers, pastors, priests, rabbis, mullahs, shamans, witch doctors, and Ted Nugent?

Now it would appear that the entire site is filled with secessionists and conspiracy nuts and Obama haters.

And it is.

Because, really, didn’t see that one coming, right?

However, there are some, a few, petitions that are well reasoned proposals and I think the president should consider these seriously. Such as:

Nationalize the Twinkie Industry (America cannot afford to lose the sweet spongy goodness).

Build a statue of Master Chief Petty Officer John-117 on the lawn of the White House (because he’s done so much for us!).

Establish a new legal system of motorcycle riding "Judges" who serve as police, Judge, jury, and executioner all in one. (I AM DA LAAAAW!).

Have the president attend a Fark.com party, if scheduling doesn't permit at least have a beer with Drew Curtis. (I admit, this would be seriously cool).

This is what We The People have done with their First Amendment rights to free speech and to petition the government.

We the people. I hate to be this way, but how about you weirdoes leave me right out of your life’s plans, Okay?

 

But, hey, I’m sure they’ll totally do better with their Second Amendment rights.

There’s probably no need to worry.

But I digress.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

The Homeliest Girl in Dogpatch

The Republican National Convention starts on August 27 in Tampa, Florida.

If you’re thinking of attending, you’d better make reservations now.

Or rather, you should have started making reservations about six months ago.

The best hotels in Tampa have been booked solid for months along with the convention halls, rental cars, rental tuxedos, and RentBoys escort services. You can probably find yourself a Motel 6 out in Plant City, but anything closer than that is likely booked up by now including the campground at Lettuce Lake.

It’s going to be big – not, you know, Rush Limbaugh big, but big. Husky sized.

The first Republican National Convention in 1856 was a dinky little affair held in Pittsburgh. That convention was mostly about electing a national committee and getting things organized. The party was formed out of a diverse bunch of anti-administration types (think 1800’s version of Tea Parties), disaffected political groups, and a large number of folks opposed to the Kansas-Nebraska Act. In that first convention, Republicans established a platform that was anti-slavery but interestingly enough called for increased federal sovereignty in US territories and specifically demanded federal assistance to the transcontinental railroad (A private business who at that time was struggling financially and needed a bailout, but I digress).

Also, ironically, the new party platform was quite explicitly anti-Mormon.

Republicans met up again later that same year in Philadelphia to nominate a candidate for president, John C. Fremont, who handily beat the Know Nothing (American Party) candidate Millard Fillmore but soundly lost to Democrat James Buchanan. They did win a number of congressional seats however. Four years later, the 1860 Convention nominated Abraham Lincoln and they won their first White House. The rest, as they say, is history.

Republican National Conventions since then have been notable for certain contentious events.

For example, former Republican president Teddy Roosevelt showed up at the Republican National Convention in 1912 and challenged the incumbent William Howard Taft for the nomination in a move that nearly broke the party in half.  Roosevelt, despite being my favorite of all presidents, was engaged in a pretty blatant bit of assholery.  See, at the end of his second term Roosevelt had personally chosen Taft to be his successor, but was so disgusted with the resulting administration that he challenged his former protégé for the nomination. Taft won the nomination and Roosevelt stormed out of the GOP to form the Bull Moose Party and compete against the Republicans for the Oval Office anyway – and thereby spit the party and handed the election to Democrat Woodrow Wilson.

In 1964, Barry Goldwater beat out a bunch of Republican candidates who were much more popular with the  conservative establishment and won the GOP Nomination at the convention - and suddenly presidential primaries became almost as important and hotly contested as the general election.

At the 1976 Convention, Ronald Reagan directly challenged the Republican incumbent Gerry Ford for the nomination – and very nearly won. Given the events that transpired during the last years of the 70’s, I have to wonder how very different the world would be today be if it had been Reagan vs. Carter that year. I strongly suspect the Iranian Hostage Crisis would have had a different outcome if Reagan had beaten Carter for the Presidency in 1976 (Note that I didn’t say a better outcome).

1976 was also the last contested Republican National Convention. Contrary to early predictions, 2012 doesn’t look like it will break that string and devolve into naked mud-wrestling for the nomination – though there may be a bit of that going on in the Tampa Airport bathrooms, but I tactfully digress.

Reagan was back in 1980 and the Convention that year was about as joyful as conservatives ever get outside of a book burning. They had a sure winner that year and they knew it, nobody wanted poor hapless Jimmy Carter reelected – not even the Democrats.

By 1992 the glory days of the Reagan Revolution were emphatically over. George H. W. Bush stumbled into office on Reagan’s coattails and promised no new taxes. Instead he delivered four bemused years of material for late night comedians and talk radio hosts, both on the left and the right. The only thing Bush had going for him was that he managed to get the hell out of Iraq in under six months without killing more than a handful of American troops, a lesson apparently lost on his idiot progeny. After raising taxes, even if it was the right thing to do, Bush couldn’t have gotten himself reelected  if he was running against the rubbery preserved brain of Blondi, Hitler’s own pet German Sheppard, in a pickle jar full of onions and formaldehyde. It was pretty obvious that a liberal was going to be the next president, and not just any liberal either but a hayseed bumpkin from Arkansas with a ball-busting dyke-bitch feminist lawyer for a wife. Predictably, conservatives began uncontrollably pissing themselves in earnest and forlornly heralded the coming of the Horned One. They went back to their do-it-yer-own-damned-self homemade backyard bunkers and furiously stocked up on generators and canned beans to await the End Times. The Republican National Convention in Houston, Texas, was notable that year for the pervasive stench of desolate panic and for Pat Buchanan’s speech where he basically told progressives, moderates, and less extreme members of the GOP to fuck right off to hell, sooner rather than later. Sane republicans could have marginalized that message right then and there, instead in their Clinton-induced panic they embraced Buchanan’s extremism and thundered hard right en mass waving their bibles and automatic rifles like talismans against evil.

They’ve been stampeding in the same direction ever since, hell bent for leather and trampling the memory of Lincoln beneath their churning hooves. At this point they’re not going to veer aside until they hit a wall or charge headlong over a cliff.

The 2012 convention is unlikely to change the course of the Republican Party. Just like 2008, they’ve ended up with a lackluster candidate who reminds me of one of those cardboard cartoon cutouts they have at fairs. You know, you stick your head though the hole and somebody takes a picture of your face on the strongman’s body, or the clown, or the Wall Street executive, whatever. It’s hard to tell who Mitt is going to be this week, the guy is a chameleon in a thousand dollar suit. Conservative enthusiasm is more than a bit forced again this year. The spiritual descendants of Pat Buchanan don’t much care for Mitt Romney, just like they couldn’t stand John McCain, but Romney’s the guy they’re stuck with like it or not.

As a result, the Republican National Convention this year isn’t going to be about Mitt Romney. Indeed, the convention this year is much less about getting Romney into office than about getting Obama out.

Conservatives don’t have much love for Mitt, but they sure as hell embrace the idea of “anybody but Obama” even if they have to vote for Hitler’s pickled dog brain.

This year’s convention isn’t about how much conservatives love Mitt, it’s about how much they loathe Obama. 

Seriously, it’s the only goddamned thing these people have talked about for the last three years.

At the 2012 Republican National Convention, you’re not going to hear the modern analog of Abraham Lincoln “talking like a giant inspired” about all men being equal. Instead you’ll hear about those lazy minorities and those filthy  immigrants and the poor with their entitlement mentality. 

You’re not going to hear a Ulysses S. Grant imploring his own party to reach across the political divide and heal the nation.  What you will hear is how America is for Americans and how they’re going to take “their” country back.

You’re unlikely to hear a Theodore Roosevelt, winner of both the Medal of Honor and the Nobel Peace Prize, pounding the podium and thunderously demanding the progressive regulation of business and power, you won’t hear him speaking about the obligations that the wealthy and privileged classes owe to the nation.  No, what you’ll hear instead is how rich people and Fortune 500 companies shouldn’t have to pay taxes because they’re going to create jobs, eventually, probably, real soon now, and how regulations are bad because business has learned its lesson and will be self regulating, just like JP Morgan demonstrated yet again last week, and HSBC Bank USA is demonstrating this week before Congress. Self regulating, right.

Nor will you hear a Dwight D. Eisenhower, the great Republican president who planned and commanded the defeat of Nazi Germany and who was the first Supreme Commander of NATO, who created the Departments of Health, Education, and Welfare, extoll the virtues of expanding Social Security or the Interstate Highway System. However, if you’re really lucky, Dick Cheney might speak about his five draft deferments, after which Glenn Beck can explain how taking care of old people and helping the poor get access to healthcare is the first step to Marxism.

You’re not even going to hear any big Reaganesque ideas for restarting the economy or creating jobs or restoring America’s supposed lessened place in the world.  You’re not going to hear about bringing Americans together,  or about a shining city on a hill or even about ending a Cold War. But what you will hear is how we maybe ought to start another Cold War, with China this time or maybe India.  You’ll hear all about how shitty America is nowadays and how we just need some more tanks and stealth bombers and maybe a war with Iran or the Muslim Brotherhood to pull us out of our downward spiral.

And you’re going to hear a whole lot about that traitorous Kenyan socialist who’s stinkin’ up the White House.  He’s the Anti-Christ, you know, End Times, Armageddon, Last Days and all of that. Ook ook!

Hell, it’s already started, today Romney declared that this election is for America’s soul.

Frankly I thought the guy was creepy enough when he was just into magic underwear, now he’s after our souls.

Accordingly, everybody who’s anybody in conservatives circles will be at this year’s Republican National Convention.

Well, everybody who’s anybody except for Sarah Palin that is.

Seems she didn’t get an invite.

Not that she’s sulking or anything.

It’s her own fault, for tellin’ the truth.

“I’m sure I’m not the only one accepting consequences for calling out both sides of the aisle for spending too much money, putting us on the road to bankruptcy, and engaging in crony capitalism. In accepting those consequences, one must remember this isn’t Sadie Hawkins and you don’t invite yourself and a date to the Big Dance.”

This isn’t Sadie Hawkins and you don’t invite yourself to the big dance?

Uh, actually, Sadie, you sort of do invite yourself to these things.

And, what? She can’t get a date? Todd’s busy that night with, um, fishing? Hunting? Dancing with the Stars? What?

Of course, Sorry Sarah is all soggy and hard to light because so far she hasn’t been invited to speak (What? Now, now, let’s not be making jokes about asking the pit bull to speak. Speak, girl, speak! Good doggy, yes you are… er, I mean that would just be petty and juvenile).

I’m not really sure why this is a surprise to Ol’ Sadie. The Tea Party has made no bones about disliking Romney and neither has their Princess. Palin basically ran Romney over with her Paul Revere I’m-Not-Campaigning Campaign Juggernaut of Patriotic American Freedom here a couple months back. Palin herself never forgets a slight or an insult, ever, so, you know, not asking her to speak at the Republican Convention just seems like returning the favor to me.

And seriously, what’s she going to say in her big speech? Hey, I’ve been bashing the hell out Romney for the last year, but, uh, now, uh, pit bulls, lipstick, everybody, Mitt, Mitt, Mitt!

Yeah.

Here’s the thing, Romney doesn’t need Palin. The Tea Party is going to grit their yellowed teeth and they’re going to hold their noses and they’re damned well going to vote for Mitt Romney, because, well, anybody but Obama. You can bet money the Tea Party will turn out to vote, they don’t like Romney, but they purely hate Obama and just like sex they won’t get any pleasure from it but they’ll do their duty nonetheless. 

No, what Romney needs are the fair-weather Republicans, he needs the undecided vote, he needs the moderates – and frankly, Palin and her simple-minded word salad rhetoric and her legion of tea-maddened flesh-eating zombies turns those people right the hell off. 

Add to the fact that Romney makes more than enough verbal gaffs on his own, he really doesn’t need Palin muddying up the waters.

Not that she isn’t busy doing it anyway.

Yesterday she told Fox’s Greta Van Sustren (because, really, who else, right?) that she thought Condi Rice would make Mitt a “wonderful vice president.”

“She has much more experience than our sitting President does today.”

Really, Condi’s got more experience at being a president than Obama? Really? OK, obviously some of us haven’t moved past 2008.

Sustren asked Palin what she thought about Condi’s well known pro-choice stance.

“We need to remember, though, that it’s not the vice president that would legislate abortion, and that would be Congress’s role. And we’ll keep that in mind.”

Suddenly Palin’s all, hey, it’s OK to be pro-abortion because, you know, it’s like Congress that’ll be doin’ the legislatin’ and shit. So, we’re all good with that baby abortiony stuff now.

Really?

Seriously what the fuck?

Oh yeah, that’s what Mitt needs, right there.

Mitt Romney should be damned glad that Palin is right, this ain’t no Sadie Hawkins Day.

See in the Li'l Abner comic strip, Sadie Hawkins was the "homeliest gal in all them thar hills.” When she didn’t get invited to the dance, her father declared Sadie Hawkins Day and called together all the unmarried men in Dogpatch for a footrace.  At the threat of being shot, the men started running with Sadie close behind. The one she caught and dragged over the finish line had to marry her.

You know…

Then again, maybe that’s not such a bad idea for picking Candidates after all.

It would sure make this year in Tampa a whole lot more interesting, that’s for sure.

Run Mitt, Run!

Monday, July 2, 2012

Here Be Monsters!

Update: About the title:  In ancient times when mapmakers didn’t know what lay beyond the edges of explored territory they would often print “Here be monsters” or “Here be dragons” or some variation of the same on the charts.  The voyage of HMS Beagle, among many other voyages of discovery, was an effort to fill in those gaps. There were no monsters, only ignorance.  There were those who cowered from the unknown, preferring to make up myth instead of seeking out the truth, and there were those who had the courage to go look for themselves.

Today, there are those, like the so-called educators described in the article below, who would erase that hard won awareness and replace it with Here Be Monsters.  These people are fearful idiots.  - Jim


 

In 1831, Charles Darwin set sail on the HMS Beagle.

Beagle’s voyage of discovery lasted nearly five years and visited many wondrous places.

Along the way Darwin formulated the genesis (sorry) of ideas that would eventually become the scientific theory of natural selection – i.e. Evolution.

Now, generally, Americans have some vague idea that Beagle visited some weird place somewhere and there were some weird birds or weird monkeys or some such weird stuff there which caused Darwin to swear unholy allegiance to Satan. More astute Americans might even be able to identify Darwin’s epiphany as having its origins (sorry) on the fabled Galapagos Islands – though the vast majority of those same Americans couldn’t find the Galapagos on a map if they were given unlimited access to an infinite number of monkeys typing on an infinite number of GPS enabled smart-phones surfing Google Earth with an infinite amount of bandwidth, but I digress. Be that as it may, Darwin spent some time there in that strange place studying rocks and birds and giant tortoises among other things.

I can understand Darwin's fascination. I've sailed to the Galapagos myself – though at the time I was studying the evolving (sorry) tactics of local cocaine smugglers and not the weird fauna which so captivated Darwin. The islands are strange and mysterious and exotic, the kind of place you’d expect to find a fifty foot tall ape who digs hot blonds and likes to climb skyscrapers, but I digress yet again.

Since Darwin’s landmark voyage and his theories have been almost completely edited out of modern American schoolbooks, it's not surprising that many Americans don’t realize that the Galapagos Islands weren’t the only place Darwin visited. In fact, Beagle circumnavigated the world on a voyage of scientific discovery like a  19th Century version of the starship Enterprise (except Darwin didn’t lose his shirt and get laid in every port, so far as we know, though he’d probably be more popular today if he had).  The ship set sail from Plymouth on December 27, 1831, under command of Captain Robert FitzRoy and voyaged first  to the Azores and Cape Verde Islands, then to the east coast of South America down to the Falklands and through Tierra Del Fuego via the Straits of Magellan. From there, the Beagle sailed north up South America’s west coast to the Galapagos. Then she turned west and made sail for Tahiti. The ship visited a number of atolls, New Zealand, Australia, Tasmania, more atolls, islands, and reefs, and then crossed the Indian Ocean to South Africa. The Beagle then sailed northwest to Ascension Island and across the South Atlantic back to Brazil.  Finally, she set course north towards the Azores once again and then on home to England, reaching Cornwall on October, 2, 1836.

You’ll note that although Beagle visited many lands she didn’t make a port-o-call in Scotland.

Yes, Jim, we see that, I hear you say in that puzzled yet curious tone you use when you’re wondering what the hell I’m going to do next and if it will involve the adorable human-like shenanigans of monkeys. The ship didn’t visit Scotland. It also didn’t visit the forests of America’s Pacific Northwest or Canada’s Lake Okanagan or the goatherds of Central America or the snowy peaks of the Himalayas or the mysterious and unknown Skull Island. Is this significant?

Of course.  And, really when have I ever mentioned the irrelevant for no reason other than my own amusement? OK, that’s a trick question but I think I’ve made my point here.

Now, Darwin’s role as the Beagle’s naturalist made him famous in scientific circles. He was always a workaholic, but after the voyage he became even more driven. Not long after the ship returned to England, Darwin was nearly incapacitated by stress and overwork and as a result he was repeatedly ordered by his doctors to take periodic rest breaks in the quiet countryside, which he did, sort of – predictably, most of his rest breaks turned into working vacations.

One of those breaks, a “geologizing” trip in the summer of 1838, was to Scotland.

Yes, Scotland again (at this point, in your head, you should be hearing the music that heralds ominous foreshadowing).

Darwin was so, so close, but unfortunately for The Truth he confined his trip to Glen Roy, an area of the Scottish Highlands, and mostly spent his time studying rocks. And it was here that Darwin made his “Gigantic Blunder,” speculating that the strange geologic formations in the area (known as the Parallel Roads) were formed by receding oceans (instead of ice damming during the last glacial period).

That wasn’t the only gigantic blunder Darwin made.

See, if he had only ventured a bit further afield, his Origin of the Species would have looked far, far different.

Yes, if Darwin had but visited Loch Ness, all would have become clear and his entire contribution to science could have been summed up in a single hyperlink to the Book of Genesis.

You see, deep beneath the cold wine-dark waters of the loch lurks irrefutable proof that not only was Darwin nuts, but that all of modern science is wrong as well.

"Are dinosaurs alive today? Scientists are becoming more convinced of their existence. Have you heard of the 'Loch Ness Monster' in Scotland? 'Nessie' for short has been recorded on sonar from a small submarine, described by eyewitnesses, and photographed by others. Nessie appears to be a plesiosaur."

A plesiosaur?

A plesiosaur, a toothy long-necked aquatic dinosaur that scientists say died out sixty-five million years ago – give or take a year or so – that plesiosaur?

Yes, that plesiosaur. Alive. And living in Scotland.

Obviously if dinosaurs live among us,  not only evolution but pretty much all of science must be wrong, including science’s assessment regarding the age of the earth.  Obviously, obviously, existence of the Loch Ness Monster proves beyond any shadow of a doubt that Noah built an Ark and survived the Great Deluge and that he carried two (or five, or seven, or maybe it was fourteen) of each animal – including dinosaurs (the Bible isn’t clear, but presumably Noah kept the plesiosaurs in a giant Zip-lock bag during the voyage like when you bring goldfish home from the store).

Holy cats!

Nessie the Scottish Plesiosaur proves that Young Earth Creationists are right! Paleontology is a crock, evolution is bunk, the Earth is six thousand years old, snakes talk, trees walk, and living dinosaurs prowl the dark corners of our world pretending to be mythical creatures hidden by the vast global conspiracy of science

I know what you’re thinking: when you phrase it like that, Jim, it all makes perfect sense!

Yes, I know. It’s a gift. From the Unicorn.

The quote above is from the actual no foolin’ science class curriculum taught to kids at Eternity Christian Academy in Westlake, Louisiana. Yes, that’s correct, the “school,” which is taxpayer funded (or soon will be, thanks to Governor Bobby Jindal’s efforts to bolster Louisiana’s reputation as a science and education powerhouse) and uses the fundamentalist Accelerated Christian Education (ACE) Curriculum, teaches its students that the Loch Ness monster is not only real but actually disproves the theory of evolution. The ACE curriculum claims to teach students how “to see life from God’s point of view” which is a neat trick given that even the best of America’s institutions of higher learning such as MIT and Harvard can’t grant degrees in omniscience.  One presumes that ACE graduates are automatic shoe-in’s for both Glenn Beck University and a lifetime membership in the GOP. ACE also offers students a “Biblically based curriculum infused with Godly character,” which frankly scares the shit out of me given God’s track record in the character department and the fact that the ACE website also offers a course in “Sharpening Your Axe.”

What?

No, I’m not, in actual point of fact, shitting you.

This so-called school, one of many in The Birdbrain Pelican State, also uses “bible-based math books” and substitutes creationism for actual biology and science texts. The school uses an “earth science” textbook that explains what God made on each of the six days of creation.  According to the pastor-principal, the school tries to “stay away from all those things that might confuse our children” – you know, like an actual education – because the offspring of creationists, delivered via stork no doubt and having not evolved along along with the rest of us, are morons.

Folks, we’re never going to get anywhere if you keep interrupting. What is it now?

Oh, yes, that. Look, bible-math is like word problems. Let me give you an example: If Joseph starts his own ministry which he then expands into a multi-billion dollar faith-healin’ salvation-sellin’ EVILolution-denyin’ Reality TV show that is broadcast on three cable channels and carried by one hundred and forty three radios stations in twenty-seven different countries, how much can he expect to clear tax-free off the top if he tells everybody that the world is going to end? For extra credit: After he become famous and buys his own senator, when Father Joe gets caught snorting cocaine out of Rentboy’s shaved bellybutton how many liberal homosexuals will he have to condemn to hell before God forgives his transgression? (The answer is: OMG! Nazis, Nazis everywhere!).

Now using the Loch Ness monster to prove creationism opens the door to some other interesting scientific proofs.

Yes, I’m talking about using a myth to “prove” another myth. So?

Look, it’s not like science, reasoned debate, or dazzling displays of logic are going to sway these chowderheads anyway. So, I say sure, let’s go all in and why the hell not?

That said, let’s check out some other elusive monsters, cryptids as they’re called, and see how they can be used to teach creation science.

We’ve already covered biology, how about World Religion Class?

Take the Pope Lick Monster for example…

 

Really? That’s how you’re going to be?

Sigh. Go on, get it out of your system, I’ll wait.

 

Done?

So, anyway, as I was saying, down in Kentucky they’ve got this thing called the Pope Lick Monster, part man, part goat, part sheep…

Stop giggling, it’s a real thing.  Look, we’re doing science here and you’re distracting the others.

Anyway, most legends of the Pope Lick Monster describe it as a hybrid man/goat with a twisted body, furry legs, and alabaster skin with an prominent aquiline nose. The Pope Licker lures the unsuspecting to their doom by appearing to be someone they trust…

Whoa.

Not laughing now, are you, Smartass? Maybe there is something to this creationism stuff after all.  If Darwin had spent time in Pope Lick, Kentucky he’d be singing a different tune (probably one involving banjos) – you spend a night in the woods there, trust me, you’re going to be praying to Jesus pretty goddamned quick.

There’s the Loveland Frog. A warty skinned humanoid with the leathery face of a toad. From Ohio. Coincidence? But, I digress.

The Loch Ness Monster as a basis for, well, I guess we can’t call it Evolutionary Biology can we? Creationary Biology then. So how about the Yeti for teaching the climatology portion of Earth Science?  You know the Yeti, Meh-Teh, Migio, Mirka, Kang Admi, The Abominable Snowman, Big Frosty – sometimes goes by the name of Steve.  Lives in Himalayan regions of Nepal and Tibet.  Snowman. Lives in the cold. Look, heat rises doesn’t it? If global warming was true, how come there’s snow on top of mountains? Pretty obvious that the Yeti proves Al Gore is a minion of the Devil. Hey, don’t blame me, folks, blame science.

We’ve got Dinosaur Biology and Snowman Climatology. You’ve heard of Voodoo Economics? Right idea, wrong myth.  Native Americans tell tales of the Wendigo, a creature who is the literal embodiment of gluttony, greed, and excess – think love child of Bernie Madoff and the Koch Brothers. Wendigos are never satisfied with sucking the life from just one person, they’re always searching for new investment opportunities. Ordinary people who give themselves over to greed and avarice can themselves turn into Wendigos.  Is it just me, or are we looking at scientifically biblical justification for unfettered Wall Street capitalism right there?

Sex Education Class? Well, there’s the Fur Bearing Trout of Montana…  Uh, you know, on second thought, never mind that one. That’s probably more of a Bible College level course.

Godless scientists say that Will-O-the-Wisps are nothing more than glowing swamp gas. Methane and phosgene gas from decaying plant matter bubbling up through water? Sure you can believe that, if you want to go to hell.  Just like you can believe that Obama isn’t a Nazi Muslim Kenyan bent to the destruction of the United States using captured UFO technology from Area 51 piloted by Bigfoot, or you can avoid eternal damnation and acknowledge that Will-O-the-wisps are really angels sent by Jesus to show petroleum companies where to drill the fracking wells.  Moses only saw a burning bush (and really, burning wood? Big Woop), we’ve got flaming water shooting out of our shower heads. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Darwin.

What’s left? Chupacabra International Relations? The Goat Sucker, the Chupacabra, a mangy diseased creature who haunts the Southwest, it comes from Latin America, it crosses the border at night and sucks the life from our very children. Jersey-Devil Genetics? Half man, half horse, half bat, half dragon, half devil and all bad (What? It’s bible math folks, try to keep up). Jersey-Dee is what you get when you mess with stem cells. How about Blair Witch Media Arts? Ogre P.E?  Ogres eat kids, if they can catch them. Imagine an Ogre coaching your school’s Cross-Country program, those kids will run like hell – I smell championship!   Meanwhile, down in the computer lab, we’ve got trolls…

What?

Oh, right, I’m the one being silly here.

Maybe so, but I’m not the one setting my kids up for the Darwin Awards.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to stop by the enchanted wood and talk to my Leprechaun travel agent, I’m thinking about moving to the Galapagos Islands.

Or maybe Scotland.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Well, That Certainly Explains The Hate Mail

 

 

The previous post regarding outlaw vaginas has generated the expected hate mail.

Big surprise there.

As I’ve mentioned in the Hate Mail From Jesus post (which if you haven’t read it, you really should because it may save you wasted motion in the future), sending me hate mail is generally a futile exercise.

Not that that actually prevents silly people from sending me angry letters. 

I typically don’t read this crap, mostly because I really don’t give a fig if you hate me or not. I was in the military for more than two decades and I’ve been writing about politics here on Stonekettle Station for going on five years now, I’ve been hated on by professionals.  Frankly, my hate mail is generally predictable and not particularly imaginative.  I think we can all safely assume that I’ve been fully informed by my manifold critics that if the Rapture ever does finally happen I’ll be left behind to boogie with the devil and the other sinners. Barring square-dancing with Satan, if the gibbering Jesus monkeys do manage to “take back ‘Merica for real ‘Mericans” before the End Times, I will no doubt be shot out of hand or shipped off to the gulag with the other undesirables in the first purge. 

I’m good with either of these scenarios and I don’t spend much time dwelling on it.

However, that said, some folks really feel the need to keep telling me about how offended their deity was by something I wrote (why their deity doesn’t do something about it himself has never been adequately explained. But I digress).  I do find a certain degree of amusement in this, and so I do upon occasion read a selected sample of my correspondence – especially if the hate seems out of the ordinary.

Today I started getting messages from the faithful accusing me of extra special deviltry.

Something about me tricking their kids into reading about OMG! Vaginas! or OMG! Homosexuals! instead of Jesus.

Huh?

I went back and checked yesterday’s post just in case I had accidently titled it “Hey Kids, Let’s Read About Jesus!”  It could happen. I’m getting old and according to one keen letter writer in the Hate Mail From Jesus post, war must have messed up my ”little atheist monkey brain” so, you know, better check. But nope, there it was big as life and in your face, VAGINA! In fact, I used the word twice in the title. I really couldn’t see how anybody could think that “When Vaginas Are Outlawed, Only Outlaws Will Have Vaginas!” was a post about Jesus for kids.  I tried squinting my eyes to see if I could maybe make VAGINA look like JESUS (and you know people have seen him in stranger places. Also certain folks tend to shout out one when in the presence of the other) but not even a double shot of Bushmills could change water into wine if you get what I’m saying here.  Besides, if you’re letting your kids drink Irish whiskey, you probably aren’t the kind of parent who gives much of a shit if they surf the internet for vaginas.

Well, OK. So I checked the software that tracks who’s looking at what on my blog.

There were a lot of people looking at vaginas.

But wait, what’s this?

It seems I was getting traffic from a website called, wait for it, waaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiit for it, Stories of the Bible for Kids.

Stories of the bible for kids?

That’s when I began to giggle uncontrollably.

 

image

You can click on the image for a bigger and more readable version.

 

You know, I call Shenanigans. These people are all over my ass about use of the word vagina, but I’ve read the Bible – seems I remember something about a certain “valley of death” in the same sentence with finding comfort in your rod and staff

How come Jesus can make double entendres and I can’t?

Mote, beam, eye, folks. Just saying.

 

Hate mail, I get it.

Sometimes it’s hysterical.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Letters from the Porn Wars

 

War.

Is it just me, or do we seem to be having a lot of wars lately?

I mean just in the general sense.

It seems you can’t turn around nowadays without running into another charge of the right brigade.

Now we Americans, we love war. We do, don’t we? Right from the birth of the nation, Americans have loved war the way Brazilians love soccer.  We love war the way Canadians love beer and the English love misery and Australians love sheep. We love war the way the Japanese love a little girl in a sailor suit.  Sure, war, that’s our thing and we’ll die with our boots on, you bet. 

To paraphrase the late great George Carlin, we’re not much good anything else these days, but war, that we can do. From twelve O’clock high to the darkest hour, it’s our great escape.

We have a major one every twenty years or so.  And a couple of minor ones in between.

Heat of battle, cold war, police actions, bush wars and brushfire wars, from Algiers to Zulu and a dirty dozen in between, we love ‘em all. If it’s war and peace, we're not stopping midway we’re going for the glory.

And when we’re not at war elsewhere, well, we declare war at home just to stay in practice.

War on drugs, war on terror, war on poverty, war on guns, war on religion, war on science, war on Christmas, war on business, war on obesity, war on illegal immigration, war on saggy pants, war on crime, war on music, war on Wall Street, war on socialism, war on freedom, war on education, war on the homeless, war on this and war on that.

Hell, we once fought a war to end war, and we won!  

We just love war, we Americans. That’s why so many Americans drive Hummers and carry guns, we’re always looking for some war.  We don’t always need thirty seconds over Tokyo, but a quick skirmish in the Wal-Mart parking lot or a running fire fight on the I-5 would do nicely, anything to stay in practice for the next big one.

We’re open to suggestions, you just tell us what you want blown up and we’ll have the B-52s commence carpet bombing at dawn.

At the moment, seems we’re in the midst of a war on women with new fronts opening every day.   Frankly, I can’t get excited about this conflict.  Sooner or later, I’m probably going to get court martialed.  See, I’m far too inclined to fraternize with the enemy.  Listen, you guys stay here and guard the tree-fort, I’ll go over to the enemy lines and see if I can negotiate a cease fire. Soldier, hand me that bottle of wine.  If I’m not back by dawn, send room service and remember the fighting 69th!

War on women, how’s that going to play out?

I don’t want to sound like a defeatist, but, men, we’ve lost already.  Here’s why, women have all the vaginas. 

They didn’t tell you that when you signed up, did they?

It’s like nuclear weapons, they’ve got ‘em and we don’t and sooner or later they’re going to use ‘em.

It doesn’t matter how big your bunker buster is when the other side can totally go all Sargent York on your ass.

Oh sure, the war effort is pouring money and research into artificial vaginas, perhaps ones that could even fit into a pocket, and we’ve got fabulous kill squads of Log Cabin Republicans, but like a gaily painted V-2 rocket it’s too little, too late. 

A couple weeks back I read that the Left had declared war on babies.

Now see, I could get behind a war on babies.  I think we could totally win that.

Think about it, babies suck. I hate babies, they’re such selfish little bastards. They drool. They smell funny.  Babies never offer to pick up the tab.  They don’t drink, but do they ever volunteer to be the designated driver? No. I hate that. They’re everywhere too, they’ve totally infiltrated our society.  Illegal aliens? Gimme a break. You know how much babies cost us each year?  Talk about a drag on the economy.  So, yeah, war on babies, I’m hip. They’re either eating or sleeping or crapping, when are they going to train for war?  It’s hard to fight with a load in your nappy. They don’t cooperate worth a damn either. They’ll probably start crying at the sight of first blood. They’re easily startled by loud noises, one good artillery barrage will have them howling for their mommies. Babies are weak.  Old and lamed up as I am, I’m pretty sure I could take a dozen of them at the same time in close quarters combat, more if the rules of engagement let me steal their snotty little noses.  Babies have lousy hand-eye coordination, I bet they can’t shoot for shit.  Sign me up for this one, I hate babies. USA! USA!

And you know, it’s about time we got an easy one, we’ll totally put those babies in the hurt locker.

And then, this week, Rick Santorum declared war on porn.

Well, alright! Put on your green berets and follow me, men! We can lick these filthy immoral …

Wait. What?

War on what’s that you say? Porn?

Hey, now don’t get me wrong here. I’m not unpatriotic. I like a good war same as the next American, but when I first heard General Santorum’s declaration of war on the Kingdom of Porn I had some serious misgivings. I thought, you know, this might be a bridge too far, this could be an apocalypse right now.  Waging war on porn could be our Dunkirk, our Waterloo, our downfall (I know, I know, now I’m just being a pain in das boot, but hey, we were all soldiers once, weren’t we? And young?).

War on babies, that’s one thing. War on women, little more difficult but winnable unless they unleash the big red one, go all crimson tide. But war on porn? 

Does anybody really want that?

Porn is a lot like China, sure we say we don’t like them but they’re our biggest trading partner, aren’t they?

I just don’t want this to turn into another war on drugs. Remember that fiasco?  We thought it was just going to be a walk in the sun, but it sucked up the best years of our lives.  What if the war on porn turns out the same way?  People will be making illicit porn in their basements and bathtubs and the next thing you know stores will be keeping cameras and the KY behind the pharmacy counter with the pseudoephedrine. They’ll be smuggling it in from South America, you know they will, or maybe Thailand. When I was a kid, the potheads used to debate the merits of different kinds of Mary-Jane, from Baja Gold to Maui Wowie, will our kids end up arguing over the different flavors of illegal porn? Vatican Twink to Mormon MILF?

When Navy and Coast Guard ships are sent to the Eastern Pacific to hunt drug smugglers, the sailors call it a “crack pac” – the war on porn is going to give that term a whole new meaning.

You know some people need porn, right.  Hey, I’m not saying that they’re addicted, they just use it to unwind after a long hard day.  What about those people? Sure the priests and politicians will be able to get it, same as always, but what about the common man?  Will they have to seek out some back alley porn dealer?  Or will states make an exemption strictly for medicinal purposes?

Think of the cable companies! And hell, the internet will probably be out of business in a week.  I mean, seriously, without porn what the hell is the net good for? Email?

But then I thought a bit more about it and I said to myself, why Santorum, you inglorious basterd, you!

As long as it’s for America, I mean.

"America is suffering a pandemic of harm from pornography.  It contributes to misogyny and violence against women. It is a contributing factor to prostitution and sex trafficking."

A pandemic!

I had no idea it was a pandemic

I thought we declared war on pandemics a while back? No? Well Hell’s Angels, we’d better get to it then.  A pandemic. 

For America!

The war on porn will be long and hard and we’ll likely face stiff opposition, but we won’t take it laying down, will we?

Yes, yes! For America

Remember how World World II kick-started the economy and ended the Great Depression? With the war on porn there’ll be jobs for everybody, hurrah!  Jobs and liberty, and tanks.  We'll secure our borders, end hunger, cure poverty, defeat homelessness!  The war on porn will end forever predatory lending and runaway healthcare costs!  Watch the gas prices fall as we advance on the smut masters who hold our economy in check, those filth mongers will finally get what’s coming to them.  No more porn subsides to the Midwest I say!  As the bastions of porn fall, so will taxes.  No more will we allow porn to spend our children’s future, with the final defeat of the porno dictators balance will be restored to the national budget and the trillions we spend on wanker material now can be diverted to more useful pursuits, like war.  Nothing will keep rogue nations in check like the war on porn, yessir, once they see what we do to porn they’ll be bending over to please us.  No porn, no gay marriage!  It’ll be traditional family values just like at President Santorum’s church, ok, that’s a bad example but I blame that entirely on porn. 

Uncle Samortorum needs you to help spank porn’s ass.

For America, for mom and warm apple pie!

So, don your chastity belts and put on your full metal jackets and remember loose lips may sink ships but the ships go down smiling.

Now, let’s get out there and beat porn.

For America.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Down And Out On Moonbase Freedom

Date: June 1, 2019

To: President, United States, Earth

Fm: Governor Acting Governor Pro Tem, Lunar Colony, Moon

Subject:  Help us, you rat bastard! Status Report

 

Die Asshole Die!  Dear President Gingrich,

Sir, I’m writing in desperate hope that you’ll finally pull your fat head out of your ass hear our plea for assistance.  Unless we receive federal funding soon I fear this will be my last status report.

Please don’t get me wrong, we here on Luna do indeed appreciate all you have done for us so far.  We really enjoyed the inspirational movie you sent up on the last supply rocket.  Really, who doesn’t love Newt Gingrich Saves The World? Personally, Sir, it makes me want to vomit until my space boots come up I could watch it over and over. Brad Pitt’s depiction of you as a child genius who overcomes crippling morality just in time to save the world from Bill Clinton Satan brought tears to my eyes.  And I thought Orly Taitz just totally nailed the part of Monica (Honestly, I wouldn’t have guessed that she could, uh, act).  On a side note: I don’t want to complain, but it sure would have been nice if you’d thought to have NASA send up a couple of air bottles with the movie.  Ah well, I’m sure we can breath inspiration if we have to.

Despite our efforts to live up to your new American Motto, “Arbeit macht frei Annoy a liberal, work hard and be happy,” I’m sorry to report that colonization of the moon is not going well. Jesus Christ, get us the hell out of here! 

The problems are manifold and the men have taken to calling our little outpost “Beano Station” – because there be no water, there be no food, there be no fucking air! … well, you get the idea. Very soon, there will be no people – well, no Americans anyway because there’s no fucking air! The Chinese Base New Yuèliàng Province seems to be thriving and there’s been some talk about joining up with them since most of our moonbase parts and equipment come from China anyway. Now, I know what you’re thinking, Sir, but I can assure you that this kind of thinking is confined at present to only one person. I have to say though, socialism seems a bit trivial at this point.  That might sound like selling out, but some people really like breathing, plus the communists give you free pajamas when you sign up.  Also, we could use the medical coverage.

I know that you don’t believe in government subsidized assistance unless there’s oil involved, and believe me we’ve looked, but despite the expertise and assurances of Vice President Palin, there doesn’t seem to be any here on the moon. Perhaps you could send her up to show us what we’re doing wrong. I think she’d be right at home, it’s cold as hell and you can actually see Russia from here, terrestrial cloud cover permitting. 

Now, obviously, we were supposed to pay our own way, and, Sir, we tried.  We mined tons and tons of Helium-3. Unfortunately, as you may know, the market for He-3 is sort of stagnate at the moment, what with there being no actual  Ayn Rand perpetual motion fusion power plants having been invented and all. Now, I’m not saying that it’s because you had all the scientists put to death. I’m not criticizing, you idiot Sir, praise Jesus, you understand, it’s just that it sort put a damper on the whole “The Moon Will Be The New Saudi Arabia” thing when your administration fired all the teachers and shut down the public school system for indoctrinating the kids into science liberalism. Turns out colonization of the moon is rocket science after all.  Who knew?

Additionally, as you know, attempts to build an He-3 pipeline from the moon to the Lower 48 have repeatedly failed.  Personally, Sir, if we must blame somebody, I recommend we blame the homosexual environmentalist agenda for our failure to expand capitalism beyond the bulkheads of our little settlement. I suspect that despite your generous funding of the Bachmann Center for Faith Based Americanism, a few gay environmentalists remain unconverted and at large conducting subversive sabotage of our precious freedoms.  Homos hate capitalism, Sir, everybody knows that.

The good news is that with passage of the recent National Life Begins With The First Budweiser Personhood Act, individual spermatozoa are now considered people. Trust me, Mr. President, after eight years up here living in a tin can without getting any action, I’m pretty sure I can push us over the 13,000 person population threshold for statehood all by myself, especially if I can get five minutes of non-censored access to the internet. 

The bad news is that it turns out faith-based terraforming is somewhat less optimal than we first hoped.  We held a rally to ask God for atmosphere and stuff.  However, despite herculean efforts by our prayer engineers, when Colonial Governor Perry stepped into the airlock to go outside and sample our new Garden of Eden he unfortunately exploded.  We’re not sure why.  Everybody we sent in to scrape him off the walls also exploded.  We are now blaming Muslim terrorists.  Also, you’ll want to avoid Airlock 3, just saying.

I know you’re busy with preparations for your pending marriage (fifth time’s the charm!) and  the war in Iran, Praise Jesus, but I know that we will be ultimately victorious.  After eight years of invasion, you’d think they’d just give up, wouldn’t you? I must admit that we do enjoy watching the show through our telescope, I assume the bright blue flashes are the nuclear ones? 

Anyway, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d really appreciate it if you’d consider sending up some air and maybe a little something to eat. Also, if you’re looking to get rid of, say, a couple dozen morally questionable liberal types of the female persuasion, we wouldn’t mind. At all. Seriously.

 

Sincerely,

Acting Governor (Pro Tem) and sole remaining multi-cellular resident of Moonbase Reagan

 

P.S. I hear gasoline is now over a hundred dollars a gallon, are you sure I couldn’t interest the other Fifty States in some Helium-3?

P.P.S.  You ever read Heinlein’s The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress?  Remember the part about the linear accelerator? No? Pity.

P.P.P.S.  Hey, I can see your house from here! Why do I mention it. No reason.

Friday, November 18, 2011

The Ballad Of Rick Perry

Ever heard of Irving?

You know, Irving. The Kosher Kid? The Jewish gunfighter? Big fat Irving? Ranked 142nd among professional pistoleers? Faced down Bad Max and the James Boys? Famous for his bovine art and impeccable table settings? You know, Irving.

Not ringing a bell, eh? Really? Well, obviously your education in American history is sadly lacking. Sigh.  You never studied, did you? I pity you and your poor wastrel childhood, I do.

The Doctor would be so disappointed.

What do you mean, what doctor? No not that doctor, not that prissy Englishman and his silly call-box. I’m talking about a true American and the most brilliant doctor of them all, Dr. Demento, of course.

Since you haven’t done your homework, here, listen to Frank Gallop.  Go on, I’ll wait. Hell, partner, tell you what, I’ll listen with you, I love me some heroic western storytellin’:

 

 

I was reminded of poor old bumbling Irving this week. To be honest I spent pretty much the whole day caught in between fits of giggling interspersed by singing various stanzas from the Ballad of Irving.

Why?

Rick Perry challenged Nancy Pelosi to pistols at twenty paces.

He was mean and nasty right clear though, which was kind of weird because he was yellow too!

Perry is like one of those dudes from “back east,” the kind of sarsaparilla cowboy that the real cowpunchers used to make fun of in the old Wild West.  He fancies himself a steely-eyed gunfighter and he was King Shit back in whatever little cow town he’s from.  He’s got himself a fancy rig: big horse and a genuine silver trimmed western saddle (made in China), chrome plated spurs, shiny belt buckle and an embroidered Brooks Brothers fringe-sleeved shirt. He’s got the biggest hat he could afford with a fancy leather band, and he spends his nights twisting the brim into the perfect Cowboy curl. He practices his patented Man With No Name squint in the mirror every morning and he’s got that pointy-toed gunslinger swagger down pat.  There’s one of Colonel Colt’s equalizers slung low on his hip with the sere filed down and the trigger wired back and he spends a lot of time practicing slappin’ leather and fanning the hammer in front of a life-sized pasteboard cutout of Ronald Reagan as Farrell in Cattle Queen of Montana.

Just one problem, ol’ Hair Trigger Perry can’t shoot for shit.

Every time he goes into the saloon, the other cowboys knock his hat off and tape a kick me sign on his back and he can’t seem to get a shot off.

They’re out there, the wild bunch, the notorious Norquist Gang, in the street, waiting for him right now.

There’s Herman The Harasser Cain, who sprays hot lead in all directions and about half the time accidently guns down members of his own posse. There’s Crazy Horse Bachmann, she wears a faded saddle blanket like a poncho and holds her huge heavy pistol in a splayed legged two fisted grip, she screws her eyes shut and spastically jerks the trigger … and fires randomly into the crowd.  Slick Mittens Romney, the grifter who runs the local poker game and kills men with a concealed Derringer he hides in his sleeve next to the spare aces.  John The Ambassador, he’s an enigma, he doesn’t talk much, he just slouches in the back cradling his shotgun and stroking the trigger like it was a woman.  There’s the Santorum Kid, he’s just an cowhand who was done wrong and fell in with a bad crowd, he rode with Quantrill’s Raiders during the war and now his soul is owned by the Devil. Doc Paul, pale and wizened, tubercular, a dangerous unpredictable loner, the ranch hands say he’s killed a hundred men (mostly uninsured renegade illegal Mexicans).  And, of course there’s The Newt, disgraced prewar Congressman, now he’s a fast talking snake-oil salesman and proprietor of The Salamander Medicine Show, wanted by the Pinkertons in ten states and the Indian territories for horse thievery, robbing the stage, and serial buggery, rumor has it that he came out west after he got caught diddling a powerful Senator’s wife, he’s dying of the Pox and it makes him mean.

And there’s Rick Perry, looking for all the world like Marty McFly in Back To The Future III.

That’s what Perry’s fellow Texicans call All Hat, No Cattle.

Rock bottom in the polls. Mocked by bloggers (hello!) and late night comedians everywhere including foreign non-English speaking countries without cable TV.  Contributions suddenly nonexistent, funding drying up.  Campaign workers sneaking out the back door for other candidates.  Every time Perry pulls out his piece he either shoots himself in the foot or it turns out that he forgot to load the damned thing.

Like Clint Eastwood-McFly hiding improvised body armor under his shirt, Perry needs a gimmick to keep from getting killed.

So he cooked up an idea to create a part-time Congress and hire Kelly Services temps to work the Supreme Court. On Perry’s Big U.S. Spread, the President will  be the undisputed Cattle King. The Rail Tycoons are already rubbing their hands in glee and eying the homesteaders’ paltry few acres. The prices are up in the General Store and likely to stay that way and they’ve dammed up the river. Perry’s suddenly shaking hands and making the rounds of the bars and brothels shopping his plan. Apparently the logic being that since he just completely sucks giant fuzzy donkey balls at real live debating and can’t even hold his own against the likes of Michelle Bachmann and Herman Cain (see? Thus the giggling) let alone Ron Paul, Newt Gingrich, and Mitt Romney – and since he obviously has no chance whatsoever against the very eloquent Doc Brown Obama – he’s decided to go looking for somebody smaller and weaker that he can beat up.

He walked into Sol’s Saloon like a man insane! And ordered three fingers of two-cents plain…

Unfortunately for Perry, he picked on the town school marm – and just never mind the fact that she’s not even running for President.

Pelosi’s response? Her public response? On Twitter? Read by millions so far? Priceless: “Re: Gov. Perry – Monday I’ll be in Portland. Later visiting labs in CA. That’s 2. I can’t remember the third thing…”

He was sittin’ there twirlin’ his gun around, and butterfingers Irving gunned himself down…

Believe me when I say that I am not a fan of Nancy Pelosi. But, dude! She not only owned Perry in a 140 character double-tap, she saddled him and drove him around the internet like a little pastel pony-shaped squeaky toy. The only way Perry could have pantsed himself any worse would be if Pelosi did agree to the debate and then showed up wearing chaps and spurs and rode him around the stage waving her giant hat and slapping Perry on his bare pink shaved bottom. Gittyup! Little Perry!

Honestly, what was he thinking?

That Pelosi would be an easy mark? That debating her would have some relevancy to his sagging presidential campaign? Because conservatives hate her? Because Perry’s Texan base hates her? Because she’s a girl? He can’t hit in the big leagues so he figured he’d go down to the batting cage and knock out a home run there – and instead got himself beaned by the pitching machine. What? What was the reasoning here?

A hundred and forty-one could draw faster than he, but Irving was looking for one forty-three…

Who’s Perry going to challenge next? A ham sandwich? Seriously, if he can’t beat Pelosi, who I remind you again isn’t even running for the office and isn’t exactly the wittiest cowgirl at the dance, in a twitter dust-up of all things then who can he beat?

I saw a comment suggesting that he take on that talking baby from the E-trade commercials. I dunno, that kid was day trading at nine months, it’s a good bet the little curtain-climber can count to three. Seems like an awful risk for Perry. I’ve seen that kid on TV with a smartphone, he’s probably got a twitter account. What? I’m just saying that’s a sarcastic little drooler is all.

Bad Max said draw and draw right now! And Irving drew, drew a picture of a cow…

The problem is that Perry chokes in the clutch. Look, the bar girls down at the town saloon don’t call him Powder Burns for nothing.

What he needs to do is start small and work his way up to progressively harder debates.

Think Karate Kid. What I’m saying is that Perry needs to walk before he can stagger home from the bar.  He needs to work on basic skills:

Establish a Clear Message: You can’t be a good debater if people don’t understand what you’re saying.  Perry gets flustered when he has to deal with contrary people face to face, so he should start out by getting a little emotional separation from the other side of the debate. He needs to depersonalize it.  He should start by debating a drive-thru speaker (takes a minute to start, be patient, it’s worth it. Thank you again, Dr. D). Start with something simple, say a happy meal and a juice box. Next, a special order like extra onions on the burger or no pubic hair in the Lo-Cal sandwich wrap. Once he can order for the entire campaign bus - from memory – at three different drive-thrus on the same food run and get everything he asked for correctly including the weird PR chick’s small hot water and extra ketchup packs, he’s ready for the next exercise, i.e. actual face time in a live training environment. Say like getting coffee for everybody at Starbucks. Simultaneously dealing with the baristas’ scornful contempt and the hostile remarks from those standing in line behind him while they wait impatiently for his huge order to be filled will be excellent practice for a real debate.

Understanding The QuestionSociopaths NeoConservatives Texans Politicians have a hard time with empathy. They just aren’t good at listening to anything other than their own oversized throbbing ego. Perry needs to learn how to listen to constituents.  He can practice by debating  Rusty The Talking Dog .  This is a timed exercise, if Perry can’t figure out what Rusty wants within a limited amount of time he’s going to need a roll of paper towels and a steam cleaner.  Either way, he’ll learn a useful skill and if his presidential aspirations don’t pan out he can always find a job cleaning up the local park.  Once Perry can walk the dog, he’s ready for the real skill challenge: Cats in tanks.

Dominate the Stage:  In order for Perry to stand out in a presidential debate, he has to rise head and shoulders above some pretty big egos. He needs to learn how to boldly seize the moment and hang on unashamedly. Blatant self promotion is just another arrow in the political quiver and if Perry doesn’t stand up for himself, who will?  For practice, Perry should debate Kanye West.  When he can keep control of the microphone for more than thirty seconds, he’s ready to stiff-arm that candy-assed Wolf Blitzer and take control of the debate agenda like a boss.

Dress for Success:  Since Perry isn’t very good at talking under pressure, he needs to appeal on a non-verbal level to the diverse bunch of folks who make up the core conservative base (the innovative entrepreneurs, the college educated, and Wall Street Executives).  Perry should practice by debating as a street mime.

Wax on, wax off.

Once Perry has mastered the basics, like a gunfighter in a Dodge City saloon he needs to focus on his individual opponents. He needs to practice against the unique strengths and weaknesses of each member of Biff Norquist’s outlaw gang.  The followed training scenarios should help:

Ron Paul  (in this simulation, Paul is the one on the left)

Herman Cain  (in this simulation, Herman is the one who says, “Well, of course I’m on drugs.”)

Michele Bachmann (not safe for small children, people with heart conditions, or those susceptible to cults)

Newt Gingrich (This simulation is not safe for work,but then neither is Newt. Newt is the blond)

Rick Santorum (Go on, push the button. I saved the best for last)*

 

 

The Ballad of Rick Perry, The Hundred and Forty-Second Best Debater in the West

- With apologies to the late great Frank Gallop

 

He was tall and tan and came out the west

With open pit BBQ smoke on his breath

He was smooth and slick right clear though

Which was kinda weird, ‘cause he was a douchebag too.

 

They called him Rick

Slick Rick

Slick Botoxed Rick

Slick one percent Rick

The hundred and forty second best debater in the West

 

He came from the old Bush Family Spread

With a ten-million dollar campaign contribution under his bed

He always followed the evangelical’s wishes

Keeping the queers from getting married was just plain delicious

 

Rick

Big Rick

Big Bigot Rick

Big Gay Rick

The hundred and forty second best debater in the West.

 

A hundred and forty-one could debate better than he

Tongue tied Rick couldn’t even count to three.

Challenged Pelosi to a fight and said winner take it all

Got his ass kicked on Twitter and went home with only one ball

 

Rick

Big Rick

Big Stupid Rick

Big Girl Rick

The hundred and forty-second best debater in the west

 

One day drought happened in the town

It was so bad it threatened to bring all of Texas down

The people said we need relief oh can’t you see?

Perry prayed to Jesus … and then blamed D.C.

 

Rick

Big Rick

Big Christian Rick

Big fat hypocrite Rick

The hundred and forty-second best debater in the west.

 

A financial crisis was coming because of what Wall Street had done

The townsfolk were hurting, they lost their homes and mutual funds

Make me the president, I can fix it Perry coo’d

The first thing we’ll do is cancel unemployment insurance because, fuck you

 

Rick

Big Rick

Big Oil Perry

Big Rick the Dick

The Hundred and forty-second best debater in the west

 

Well finally Perry took three slugs in the belly

it was just outside the Tea Party rally

MIlitia man had an AR-15 and was foolin’ around

Second Amendment solutions, that’s what went down

 

Rick

Big Rick

Big Target Rick

Big he’ll live, he just won’t hold water Rick

The Hundred and Forty Second fastest Master Debater in the west.

 

Thank you and good night.

 

 

 

 


* What? Rick Santorum? Rick Perry? Don’t act like you didn’t see the Rick Roll coming.  There’s a joker in every deck.