Timid Feminism = Timidism

While there is much in the news to discuss, much of it inter-connected; and I have certainly spent the better part of the week collecting news articles, videos and links in preparation for a post addressing said issues, instead of spending time and energy fanning the “blame Islam flames,” I’m much more strongly compelled to lash out against what I see as the undue timidity of so-called feminist women in the face of coordinated attack, especially when confronted with forces lead by other women.

Lord knows I am not alone in my outrage about the all-too-predictable capitulation to the Right by our Mighty Morphin’ Majority Democrats for no Earthly apparent reason.  Women everywhere are bitchin’ and  moanin’ about the seemingly calculated attempts at the  Stepfordization of American females.  While I see this as the inevitable result of the efforts of that faction of the country’s politics now being fronted by the insidious Bachmann Palin Overdrive, the eager surrender of females on the Left, either because of faith in the illusion of the myth of political expediency, or due to belief in fantasies of sisterhood, unattainable even in legend and fairy tale, as being necessary for success, the end result is the same; when women buy into the “helpless second, weaker, yet, inherently evil sex” patriarchal theory as their self-identity starting position, women lose.

Leaders lead.  They stake a position, articulate it, and invite others to join.  Whether anybody takes them up on their offer or not, they proceed according to their plan.  You cannot lead by consensus, or by whining about who doesn’t see things your way, thereby blaming them for your condition.   Constantly complaining about other women who don’t support your vision, and how much you wish they would for everybody’s sake, is a masochistically masturbatory waste of time.  If only “she” would think like “me,” “we” could do x, y, z, is a crackhead’s pipe dream.  To take it a step further and fantasize that Utopian Nirvana can only be reached by aligning oneself with “her” anyway, regardless of the width of the gulf between your points of view, simply on the strength of shared anatomical features, is a crackhead’s delirium.

Democrats’ Stale Lunch

There’s a saying that any Grand Jury in the country worth its salt could indict a ham sandwich.  The theory is that grand juries are tools of the District Attorney, designed to do his/her bidding and rubber stamp whatever they want, just for formality’s sake.  Whether that is true or not, that’s the perception.  In the 2008 pretendidential election, Barack Obama benefited from a similar perception; that the Democratic party could have elected a ham sandwich.

And, they did.

Unquestionably, Obie is now the Democrats’ stale lunch, stinking up the whole place after smoldering in their lunchbox for a whole year, not counting the previous months they spent rejecting the obviously more nutritious meat and potatoes in front of them in favor of the McHam Sandwich they gleefully and greedily invented with intent to market.  Now that they’re being forced by Fate-as-a-cruel-parent to eat the spoiled porky lunch they had a fit to have, they’re smacking their own fool foreheads, crying and whining and moaning and dreaming about the V-8 they coulda had, and how they coulda been contend-uhs, like a bunch of washed-up, three-year old Marlon Brandos reduced to reprising his glory days in a cheesy vegetable juice commercial.  No better for ‘em; they did it to themselves.

Sadly, the bigger problem is they did it to the rest of us, too, with the majority of their party members playing rubber-stamp grand jury to their D.A.  Even sadder is that the way they did it was so fucking obvious and simple.

First, play up on the “any Democrat beats Bush” inevitability thing, then, establish Hillary Clinton as the inevitable Democrat, before exploiting the already publicly accepted right-wing meme of Hillary as Dragon Lady.  Rile up the country’s latent misogyny and present your guy as not only “not her,” but, a guy to boot.   Throw in a little, “I’m black, so voting for me will make you feel good,” and Bob’s your uncle.  Voila!  You’ve just nominated a ham sandwich, and set him up to win big.

It was really that simple.

Starring Barry O As Mr. Lucky

To hear the media tell it, Barack Obama is the luckiest guy in the world.  Of course, they never come out and say that; no, they use words like “compelling” and “destined,” to describe the improbable rise of a guy who seems to have not much but skin tone and personality going for him.  Obviously, for a large segment of those lonely individuals around the country and the world, otherwise destined to the isolation of today’s solitary online…life, that is more than enough.

Consequently, today marks the day before the Most Historic of Historic Days when legions of normally Negro-averse people, male and female, inspired by a common Mandingo love fantasy fever of acceptable blackness, along with their formerly scary brethren and sistren of color, hoisted the object of their inexplicable affection upon their collective metaphorical shoulders and propelled him forward with a mighty thrust to the near-pinnacle (the Nobel Peace, Brother Prize being the top) of his destination to Plantation Overseer, the Presidency of the United States.  The occasion is being duly marked with the release of HBO’s documentary, By The People, an inside look at the meteoric rise of Barack Obama for no apparent reason.  Talk about failing upwards.

Now, if said documentary were but a Spinal Tap-esque, “what if?” spoof, it would hold far more interest and potentially intrinsic value.  However, after reading more articles and reviews about the thing I have no intention of watching without anesthesia, than any human being not also being waterboarded for war crimes in conjunction should ever have to endure, I’m convinced that the parties involved are all deadly serious about their Holy Mission.  I’m also left to scratch my head in puzzlement as to what it is about this guy, what has he done, who did he fuck to inspire such irrational devotion, and is there You Tube-ready film available I can post online since I’m sure most of us would like to study such awe-inspiring technique so that we, too, might exploit it similarly to our benefit.  I mean, according to published reports that usually hail his mighty mind, he seems not to actually know dick about shit, and, according to most Americans, many of whom probably wouldn’t vote for him again, ain’t got a clue about a plan to fix nothin’:

The survey suggests that the president’s approval rating remains over 50 percent even though most Americans disapprove of how Obama is handling the economy, health care, Afghanistan, Iraq, unemployment, illegal immigration and the federal budget deficit.

And yet…through some quirk of fate, wave after wave of wealthy, influential movers and shakers just happen to cross his path, bearing alms, pledging to drink his bathwater in return for possession of his dirty drawers, and have done so since the beginning of his political career.  What up wit’ dat, huh?

Somebody Better Call Pat And Vanna

Quick!  Somebody get  Pat and Vanna on the phone, stat!  The Obamaniacs desperately need to buy a clue!

Answer:  Clueless in the White House.

Question:  What is the constant state of the Obama administration, Alex?

Alex:  You are correct.  Pick again.

Though many of us have known all along that Barry and the Bus Drivers never had any idea what the hell they were doing, a quick perusal of the weekend news round-up proves that despite Obie’s delusion that he was actually, at least navigating his “historic” course to the Nobel Prize, if not driving his custom, tricked out, re-built, rented GM Fishbowl, and owed his current position to his own aptitude and the acumen of his pit crew, nothing could be further from the truth.  No, a careful reading of the “tidbits” contained in David Plouffe!-There-He Goes!’s upcoming tell-nothing-cuz-he-don’t-know-shit “expose” of the behind the scenes machinations of the Axelrovians, Audacity To Win, proves that whoever is responsible for the front man status of the Spokesmodel-in-Chief, it ain’t none o’ these clowns.

According to CNN, reporting on excerpts of the book now running in Time Magazine, Obombo was seriously considering nominating Hillary Clinton as vice-president, unbeknownst to Double David, both of whom were absolutely horrified about the prospect, horrified, I tellya! and thus, majorly relieved when Obie came to the conclusion, all by his lonesome, mind you, that he was too shy about exposing his potentially shriveled-looking, at least one short huevos in a political threesome with Billary to ask his Dream Girl out.

Obama Is Not A Disappointment

Barack Obama’s performance as Pretendident In Name Only has not disappointed me in the least.  I never expected him to do jackshit in the first place.  I never expected the American people to put up with his obvious bullshit and lack of “eptitude” for this long just because they’re scared of of all things black, especially people, though, either.

I can hear the chorus of mental denials, now.  “We are not a-scared of no black people!  Pish tosh!” you think loudly.  “Big bags o’ bullshit,” I think, and write, back.  Every black American is familiar with that unacknowledged fear.  We wear it every day like a second skin as our second nature public mask.  From the wide-eyed, furtive glances meant to be discrete from car-to-car in everyday traffic, to the stiffened backs of people in stores, banks, gas stations, lines of any sort for any reason, to the proximity within which kids are kept whenever the big, scary black person approaches to say, “hi!” we black people have become just as comfortable with keeping our distance without thinking about it, as non-black people are un-comfortable in our presence.  We are used to being, perpetually, the Ultimate Stranger.  “Hurry, give them what they want, maybe they’ll leave!”

Some white people, tired of the discomfort of constant fear, but too cowardly to admit it and confront it head-on, lash out at the problem as the cause.  To them, the problem is racism against them, by exploitative shifty, clever black bullies.  The theory goes, “you know you scare me witless, so you take advantage of me by calling me a racist and asking me to stop!” shouted most often from behind the metaphorical couch with bug-eyed terror by people trying to sound tough with their hair standing on end.

Smoke ‘N’ Mirrors

If “universal healthcare” coverage is your goal, all ya gotta do, is require everybody to buy it.  If you can get away with that nifty little piece of in-your-face ledgerdomain, the rest is gravy.  Public option, schmublic option, if ya gotta buy it, what difference does it make who ya gotta buy it from?  Once everybody ponies up, healthcare coverage is universal.

Yah, baby!

There Ain’t No Kumbayah

When you live on what is arguably the most well-endowed National Plantation of the coalition represented by the Global Boys’ Club of Powers That Be That Rules The World, simmering rage and frustration is simply a naturally integral part of your shared human condition, regardless of position in the pecking order, or place on the illusionary Ladder of Success.  And, while the Mistuh Chollies that sit on the board would prefer that their minions join hands and sing gospelized versions of a Kumbayah/I’d Like To Teach The World To Sing mash-up medley 24/7, that’s only because the cacophony resulting from protracted intervals of caterwauling, kvetching, bitching, and moaning has a tendency to obscure the sound of ice tinkling in cut glass tumblers of single malt Scotch and birds chirping on their private  golf course.

I’ve been thinking about the rage of oppression, where it comes from, and how it manifests itself in our society, a lot lately.  From the decades-long, seemingly concerted assault on minority culture in the media, through the deliberate use of stereotypes as weapons against positive perception, (i.e., blaxploitation, minstrelcoms, gangsta rap, etc.) to the current political pretzel-twisting contortions and hoop-jumping divide-and-conquer race and gender maneuvers disguised as honest efforts to promote the common good that charlatans posing as public servants are executing as corporate marionettes, to the exploitation of working people at all income levels, legal and il-, the country, if not the world, seems to me, to be a veritable cauldron of simmering rage, deliberately assembled, stoked and stirred.

The scope of this issue, as well as my personal limitations, preclude me from composing a cohesive, comprehensive treatise on this subject, so, I’ll just present my disjointed thoughts, open the floor for discussion and debate, and offer myself up as whipping girl.  But, it seems to me, given America’s unique melting gumbo pot/tossed salad composition, the peculiar experiment that she is positions her as potentially holding the key to our shared global futures.  If people as  diverse as those who make up our nation can find a way to peacefully co-exist and prosper equally, as a single human race, there is indeed hope for the world.  If not, we get the powder keg we sit on now, times infinity.

Same Old, Different Day

Gee whiz, now that I’m (mostly) semi-recovered, there’s not jack squat in the news worth  thinking, or talking, much less writing about.  First, the so-called “illness.”  Frankly, I think I was just exhausted.   For at least two years, I’ve been pretty much exclusively resting by naps.  3 or 4 hours of sleep per night with intermittent catnaps during the day wreaks havoc on an OBB (Old Broad’s Bod) after awhile.  It’s not that a full night’s rest is undesirable, or unfeasible, I’ve got the time, after all, it’s just that, for a lot of reasons, it’s been out of the question.  The OBB most often simply refused to comply with my orders.  Settling in for a long summer’s nap with the best of intentions has much more often than not, been interrupted by my traitorous eyes’ insistence upon flying open of their own volition whenever they damned well felt like it, and refusing to close back and transport me to Dreamland’s bliss like I told them to.  What’s a woman to do?

So recently, when the OBB screamed, “Crash!” in my head, I did so.  It wasn’t the direct order, per se, it was the implied “or else” that got my attention.  The ominous feeling of general malaise that accompanied the mindscream was alarming enough for me to force myself under the covers (alone, alas) and stay there until my body acquiesced to its own demands for restful healing.  Thankfully, I’m feeling much better, now.

Monitoring the shenanigans of the Obama Camp Runamok lo, these many past months hasn’t exactly lent itself to R&R, either.  Like being forced at bazooka-point to ride shotgun in Marty McFly’s DeLorean after it’s been commandeered by the Ringling Brothers for use as a clown car thrill ride attraction at Six Flags Over Purgatory, I’ve most often found myself screaming, “what the holy fuck?!?” as I tried to hang on desperately between alternating bouts of wide-eyed terror and maniacal delirium disguised as amusement while being flung around hairpin turns by BozoBama the Driver.  Neither state tends to lend itself to the dreamless slumber of REM sleep, as I’m sure you can imagine, and as my prior writing from that mindspace reflects.

Whadda Buncha Maroons!

Hey, gang, still not quite up to the weather, (get it? “under the weather,” not “up to the weather?” never mind, any joke you have to explain is not much of a joke, and anybody who tells it anyway knew that it was more about not  “wanting it,” than “getting it,” and that it sucked big, hairy weenies all along.   Toldja I didn’t feel good.  Waaahhhh!)

Anyway, I’ve been half-watching The Great Fox vs. Obot War in the news with a good deal of merriment, though.  What the fuck does the Baranold McBamold clown school of an administration hope to accomplish with this buffoonish declaration of pre-emptive war against the buffoonish rightwing poor excuse for a news organization?  Do they, (clueless Obots) really believe that “”no relevance equals “no pow-ah, Cap’n?”

Ha, ha, ha!  Oh, how the privates packages must have shrunken en masse once the Obacrats and Demobots who perpetrated this fraud upon the Republic realized that merely serving up Hillary Clinton’s head on a platter as red meat didn’t cause the Fox News hounds to eat their fill, lick their lips, then roll over and play dead at the feet of the Baracus T. Firefly, Coronated Unworthy.  Ha, ha, ha!  The Keystone Kops Meet the Marx Brothers panic that must have ensued in the halls of Obuck U.’s Chicago Loop think tank, (modeled on Ray Kroc’s Hamburger U.) once the realization that they had no second act sunk in around the KoolAid Kooler, must have been priceless enough for its own MasterCard commercial.

Whadda buncha maroons!

Hath it not dawned upon their collective tiny minds that having been rebuffed by His Arrogance, the Mighty Forces of Ailes will now train their sights, and  focus their well-honed Vast Rightwing Conspiracy-esque Attacks of Slings and Arrows, upon the equally bogus and journalistically bereft, Obotified Farces of Ails, aka, MSNBC?  Did they, (clueless Obots) really think they (the Dark Side) would stop there?  Ha, ha, ha!

Uninspired

Hey, gang!  I promised I would never go away again without warning, and I won’t.  In fact, I haven’t really gone away at all; it’s just that the news has been so…blah lately that I haven’t really been moved to write about anything.  How many times and ways can you say Obama sucks, after all?  As for the other stuff, like parents launching a cheesy faux weather balloon and pimping their kids for publicity sake…eh.

All the latest back and forth about whether or not we’ve turned the corner on race is equally uninspiring, even while it is continually frustrating.  Yeah, some black folks pimp racism for profit, but that doesn’t erase, excuse or mitigate against the fact that there’s a whole lot of racism around to be pimped.   Just because Sharpton, Jackson, etc., can make a decent living wage extorting racists and exploiting racism doesn’t let those individuals and institutions who make huge corporate and personal profits from extorting,  exploiting, marginalizing and intimidating minorities and women (goes hand-in-hand) in various and sundry ingenious ways off the hook.

So today, I’m gonna open the thread, which is something I rarely, in fact, never, do.  But, if there’s something on your mind you want to kick around, which I hope there is and you do, I’m willing and eager to discuss it with you.   It’s just that in the words of Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five in their hit, New York New York, (that Tupac later took and ran with) besides trying to figure out creative ways to make a dollar out of fifteen cents,  I got nuttin’ but music.

Ignore It And Maybe It Will Go Away

When I was a small child, I used to try to get my mother’s attention at times when she didn’t feel like being bothered.  Sometimes this would happen when she had company over, and she would often continue her conversations with her invited guests as if I wasn’t there, or worse, as if the Ranger scolding Yogi about the way he mistreated Boo-Boo just wasn’t all that important.  Can you imagine?  First of all, how dare she divine what I wanted without being told, assess the merits of my unspoken request for sympathy and understanding, and then dismiss me and my concerns out of hand – in advance!  The nerve of that woman!  I always loved the ladies and gents she called “her company,” though, because they would undoubtedly take my side with a smile, (smirk) and ask my unfeeling maternal parent why she insisted upon carrying on as if her earnest, darling oldest child was a mere figment of their collective imaginations.  Mama would then invariably lean toward her obviously barren inquisitor(s) and utter the first line of the survival book, “Invaluable Sayings and Truisms of Motherhood; Official Handbook and Study Guide,” issued in hospitals and home delivery rooms worldwide since the dawn of time, “if you ignore them, maybe they’ll go away.”

Of course, the follow-up paragraph in that indispensable tome explains that such advice is only to be applied to those teeth-achingly annoying, yet essentially trivial situations like the one I described; the rest of the time we kids were to be treated as precious little joy bundles shining blinding light beacons upon our parents’ previously pitiful lives for them to bask in in front of their friends, enemies and acquaintances whenever we weren’t around to spoil the illusion.  However, neither the trials and tribulations of Wilma and Fred, nor the earth-shattering news that once Chatty Cathy’s hair got pulled out because all the stinky plastic heifer would say when you pulled her string was, “runmmmnlwwerrugh” you just could not get it back in the little holes, were ever sufficient to grant us special audience with the Queen at such times. 

Where’s Kanye West When You Need Him?

It seems like the sheer number of people who, like me, just can’t seem to wrap their heads around this Obama/Peace Prize thing, is starting to get under the formerly esteemed Nobel folks’ skin and majorly piss them off.   Duh.  And, they’re surprised because…?  The Associated Press is reporting that, in an “unprecedented move,” the jury what voted for to put the Pretendident in the company of greatness, is speaking out in justification of their mind-blowing decision.  And, in the real spirit of their phony “unprecedented” honesty, let me be the first to go on record as saying, methinks the Nobel Publisher’s Clearinghouse Peace Prize jury is full of shit:

To those who say a Nobel is too much too soon in Obama’s young presidency, “We simply disagree … He got the prize for what he has done,” committee chairman Thorbjorn Jagland told The Associated Press by telephone from Strasbourg, France, where he was attending meetings of the Council of Europe.

Jagland singled out Obama’s efforts to heal the divide between the West and the Muslim world and scale down a Bush-era proposal for an anti-missile shield in Europe.

“All these things have contributed to — I wouldn’t say a safer world — but a world with less tension,” he said.

Oh, wipe my ass and call me “Whitney,” why doncha, huh?  Gee whiz.  First of all, Obama may have received “the prize” of prizes for his platitudinous Cairo speech, among tedious others, but that’s not why he was nominated for it.  According to the Nobel folks’ website, the nomination had to come in February, after less than two months in office, about two months before his April-in-Prague call for nuclear weapons reduction, and almost exactly two months before his June Sermon on the Nile shoutout to the Muslim world.  So, what, these Nobel guys are prescient, too?  Or, did they get a timeline, or blueprint of his proposed agenda by carrier pigeon flown paper airplane the day after he and the Chief Justice channeled their inner Moe and Curly and flubbed, then dubbed his acceptance speech?

Sex-Starved Women

Okay, so, I’m just cruisin’ the ‘net, rather aimlessly, looking for something to write about besides Baracus Hubris Maximus’ (Hail, Ceasar!) fluctuating degrees of suckitude, and who pointed out what about that to whom when.  In that regard, I came across a Politico piece asserting that Think Progress, the blog arm of the Center for American Progress, (the George Soros-funded Clinton-era think tank that guided Urkelbama’s transition from presidential candidate to candidational pretendident) is pretty much solely responsible for outing Freedom Works as the Republican party’s AstroTurf crew.  According to Politico, since April, Think Progress, and Think Progress alone, has been beating that particular political drum in the wilderness.   Bullshit.  When I began taking PUMA shit for calling out Armey’s Army and their TEA Party shenanigans, Think Progress was just one of many quoted sources, and remains so.  Though TP deserves some credit for staying on the story, a whole bunch of folks besides them, or me, have been issuing that particular clarion call, many without the backing and resources TP enjoys.

Be that as it may, while browsing an ABC News article about a website called SideTaker.com for couples who can’t resolve arguments by themselves and don’t trust their friends and relative’s advice so they’d rather let strangers decide, I came across one from January, 2008, about a book written by Michele Weiner Davis, entitled, “The Sex-Starved Wife,” that really pointed up the fact that Obama Obsession has caused a lot of us to miss some pretty important stuff.  I mean really, while we’ve been stressing about lack of female representation in the political arena, and the attendant misogyny and sexism that ensures that said condition will likely prevail throughout all our lifetimes, across all social strata, and in every facet of every society unless something approaching a global Lysistrata Alert goes out and is heeded; the news that women, if they’re married, that is, often want to “do it” more than their big, studly, Viagra-fueled, breadwinning Lord and Masters do, has gone completely under the friggin’ radar.

Embracing Race

Wow!  What a welcome back.  To all my friends, old and new, some since Day One, or damned near, thank you.  It’s nice to be loved, and I felt all the affection directed towards me through your kind words, admonishments and threats.  All I can say, besides “thank you,” and backatcha big time, is, message received.  If ever I have to take another break, I’ll be sure to give fair warning.  And, until then, I promise to do my very best to reward your faith in me.

However, in going through the comments left in my absence, I noticed that a bit of a contretemps erupted from a discussion without debate about that most volatile of subjects; race.  Ah, yes. Race. R-a-c-e.  Such a small, deceptively innocent looking, ordinary, yet dangerous word defining a loaded subject.  What is it about that little bitty word, “race,” that gets all our underwear twisted into such inextricable knots?

We all know that any discussion about the merits, or lack of same, of Pretendident Baracus Whosayin’ YoMama’s selection/election/coronation debacle is fraught with racial pitfalls.  If one makes the obvious, inescapable observation that a rather sub-ordinary presidential candidate was awarded unwarranted “brownie” (ha ha) points leading to his acceptance into the rarefied atmosphere of the Upper Echelon of Society, simply on the basis of the novelty of his skin color, coupled with his willingness to go to heroic lengths to divorce himself of the inherent baggage of said skin tone as much as is humanly possible, one is predictably dismissed as a disgruntled, belligerent, racist haterator, regardless of one’s own skin color, or the merits of one’s argument.  Insidiously, such dismissive responses are not based on visceral offense to baseless insult, but calculated club-wielding counter-punches designed to beat political opponents into submission.

You Go Away For One Minute…

Okay, first of all, mea culpa, I’m sorry, I was wrong, forgive me.  Going away without warning was inexcusable, and I know I should have checked in and let everybody know what was up.  But, to be honest, I’ve learned over the past couple of weeks that there’s no way possible to predict when and how “crash and burnout” will occur.  It just does.  At least, it did to me.

I love this blog.  I started it for the noblest of reasons, in my opinion, to add my voice to the cacophony of outrage about the way the Democratic Party orchestrated its last sham of a primary/caucus presidential nomination process, albeit, to no avail.  While I don’t regret a second, and, as I said, loved every minute of it, after more than a year of doing more work,  research, and writing than I’ve ever done before in my life, for love, or money, about a subject I have no background or expertise in, and frankly, had little to no interest in until recently, I fucking hit the wall.  Of course, like most burnouts, there was a precipitating event of sorts, and, like I imagine in most  cases, mine had nothing to do with the subject at hand.  Nobody pissed me off, or did anything wrong by any stretch of anybody’s imagination.  This was all on me.  My actions, my fault.  Everybody who supports this blog is wonderful, and, I missed you terribly, but to tell you the truth, it all of a sudden got to the point that I had simply had enough.

Barack Obama had become unbearably boring to me, which I find unforgivable.  I can tolerate insufferable, offensive, repulsive, perplexing, etc.  But when a making fun of a guy who has nothing but manufactured persona to offer by AstroTurf gets boring, it reeaaaaalllly sucks.

Barack Obama Bores Me

Barack Obama bores me.  But, then, he always has.  The only remotely interesting thing about him is watching his fans slowly come around to the realization that pretending not to be as boring as he is, is pretty much the only thing he’s really good at.  Yes, the befuddlement slowly dawning on their faces as they grapple with the fact that they’ve been majorly duped, is indeed a joy and wonder to behold.  How they could ever have fallen for such rudimentary trickery never seems to cross their minds, however.

Let’s face it, the tactics used by the Obama Noise Machine (Come On, Shake Your Body, Baby, Do That Obie) were pretty simplistic.  It wasn’t really a whisper campaign, it was more like a calculated Come To Obie series of moments.  Instead of, “Pssst!  Have you heard about the new guy?” the professional and amateur Obacolytes of Axelfraud proselytized from the street corners and rooftops and basements of their parent’s house, “Obama is coming!  Prepare, ye sinners!”  “Where will you be when the Obamessiah arrives?!”

Yea, how the unworthy quaked.  Verily, they did onto him.   And thus, the excitement about the rapture of excitement built.  How could it not?  Who could ignore the magical allure of a black man who, unlike his brethren, actually liked white people?  Lived among them?  Born of them?  Had the people ever laid eyes upon such an extraordinary man before?  A real, honest to Goodness black man, with a black wife and everything, who was One of Them?  No wonder the masses found the idea of him irresistible.

No matter that in reality he was a pretty ordinary guy.  Average in all things, at best.  He was black, but, not quite black enough to frighten the children.  After all, the blood of most of the people flowed through his veins.   And so, like Sally Field at the Oscars, the people exalted him, crying, “He likes us!  He really, really likes us!”  “And he likes us, too, ya know?”

Put A Teething Ring On It?

The above video went up a couple of days ago following the shorter version posted the day before.  It joins a body of other videos featuring children dancing and singing to Beyonce’s “Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)” and other popular songs, some equally erotically charged.  On a previous thread, in response to commenter Itsjustmel of Sue & Mel’s Cafe Society, I posted the booty shakin’ baby video, and drew a blistering response to the “entertaining” part of my “disturbingly entertaining” characterization.   Many of the questions that had been festering in my subconscious about the video immediately sprang to my mind as a result, some of which I expressed in my answer to Mel.

Was it a boy or a girl baby? Why’d his/her Mom/Dad record it? Why was the song playing anyway? Was the child responding to the erotica, or the beat? How come it’s so popular on You Tube? Do you have any idea how many others there are? What does that say about the parents? Society? Women?

Personally, I believe the children are innocently reacting to the music.  And, in today’s warp speed digital information onslaught age, we cannot reasonably expect to shield children from all things sensual/erotic/romantic, can we?  However, in light of the recent news reports about a couple that was arrested, ultimately vindicated, and have subsequently sued for trying to develop innocent vacation photos of their children bathing, where do we draw the line?  When does it become sexual? Pornographic?  Degrading?  Abusive?

In my opinion, if there is a problem with the content of the children’s performances, it lies with the parents, music industry, the artists and society-at-large.

Here’s a sampling of the available offerings.  What say you?

Poor Post Racial America

Poor America.

It’s so disillusioned now that the myth of post-raciality has been exposed as a complete crock of a sham scam.  I mean, if you can’t believe in a Clean, Articulate Black Guy and the White People Who Vouch For Him when they  promise that voting for him will prove once and for all that it’s possible to be racism-free without actually knowing any black people, what can you believe?  Who can you trust?

Gee whiz.

I mean, it’s not like you’ve never met any real African Americans, right?  Of course you know black people, everybody cool knows Somebody Black.  This is America, ya know?  And, Somebody Black gets around.  There’s the guy who installed the new sustainable Malaysian bamboo floors in your open concept great room after you overpaid for your mini McMansion-lite in the new sub-division 6 months before the housing bubble went kerblooey and you still had a job.  His assistant, the one who pulled up the old standard carpet that came with the model you bought, but not the one they sold you, he was black.  Real nice fella.  And, weren’t all your possessions exactly where they were supposed to be when he left?  Then, there’s that lady at the school board meeting who patiently explained that she was not allowed to put anything dangerous in the secret recipe for Mystery Meat, after little Annie Andrews put Billy Bratt in a hospital his parents can’t pay for when she conked him upside the head with a 2 week old brick sandwich of it that she had kept wrapped in tinfoil at the bottom of the deep freezer in the basement for just such a purpose after he called her Big Foot on the school bus.  She was nice, too. The Lunch Lady, not Annie.  She’s a cow like her Mom, Mrs. Sasquatch.  How could you be racist if you let black people feed your precious kids, and, even liked them better than some of your abominable neighbors?

Today ACORN, Tomorrow Your World?

I’ve been watching the gleeful celebration of the death of ACORN around the PUMAsphere with sadness and dismay.  It’s not because I’m an ACORN advocate, far from it.  I actually know very little about the group, and, to be honest, most of what I’ve heard hasn’t been good.  It’s because I’ve realized that I’m a pretty liberal Democrat at heart, and a liberal institution is under vicious right wing attack, primarily for being a liberal institution:

Republicans have long seen the group — which offers housing and other services, including voter registration, to the poor — as a shady operation devoted to electing liberals and siphoning off taxpayer money.

[edit]

O’Keefe, however, said that he and Giles’ work was done independently and dismisses claims that the videos were paid for by conservative organizations. O’Keefe said he did receive advice from a conservative columnist.

After O’Keefe had filmed the first two videos — in Washington and Baltimore — a conservative friend urged him to share his project with Andrew Breitbart, a conservative Internet entrepreneur who had plans to launch an anti-liberal site called BigGovernment.com. Breitbart said he was skeptical after a June phone call with O’Keefe.

But when he saw the video in Los Angeles in July, Breitbart said, he gasped.

Breitbart, who had written a column for The Washington Times, advised O’Keefe to roll out the videos one by one, rather than at once.

“When I saw these videos, I couldn’t help thinking, this is the Abu Ghraib of the Great Society,” said Breitbart, who put the videos on BigGovernment.com. “Everybody that is a conservative news junkie thinks that ACORN is the most important institution for us to uncover to the American public.”

Spokesmodel-In-Chief Struggles To Be Clear

As Pretendident Bah!Rock Whosayin’ YoMama prepares to assault the nation’s airwaves attempting to do the job he was selected to do, sell crappy government programs and policies to the easily duped for corporate clients with a smile, he faces a dilemma amid a firestorm, both of his own making, for precisely the same reason.  You see, Alfred E. Urkelbama is deathly afraid that if the wrong people realize he’s black, he’s toast.  So, like a drunk who thinks he’s invisible trying to navigate multi-lane traffic from the highway divider, The First Brother tries to straddle racial lines as if he actually is only black to those who really want to believe he is.  Otherwise, so as not to offend those who need no other reason to hate him, his family, his parents, policies, laundry, tone of voice, the space he takes up, air he breathes, and everyone who knows, likes, approves of, or tolerates his very existence, he pretends to be post-racial, transcendent, translucent, transparent, neither black nor white, fish nor fowl, colorless, odorless, indistinct, non-threatening, and, for all intents and purposes, epidermally clear.

Unfortunately, not only have the easily duped and hard-to-sell alike realized long ago that he is indeed black, (since he has been forced to let the cat out of the bag occasionally to impress and/or reassure the segment of the dupable population that otherwise would have taken one look at his tissue-thin resume for the real job he was elected, and is now pretending, to do, and avoided him like the plague) everybody else has too, and, are currently either scratching their heads as they stare at his stumblebumbling shenanigans with confused Nipper puppy looks on their faces, or being driven to bouts of resentment, uncontrollable anger, and near-hysterical rage at being played for fools by him and his merry bunch of inept bunglers who make the Keystone Kops and Three Stooges look like Hepburn, Tracy and Poitier doing Shakespeare’s Guesseth Who Cometh To Dinner.

Serving ACORN As A Party Favor

Everybody hates ACORN, the Association of Community Organizers for Reform Now.  To those on the right, ACORN almost literally represents everything they hate about the left.  Even Politico is now dropping its pretense of neutrality to gleefully report the organizations current troubles, sporting a “Come and get us, suckers!” headline today.  For PUMAs, ACORN is the thuggish voter intimidation arm of the Obama Primary Express.  For both, ACORN is, in many ways, responsible for at least some of the housing market crash.

I dunno, I’ve never been quite sure ACORN is the Satan spawn-filled abomination it has been made out to be.  Swept up in anti-Obama hysteria like many people upset with the way and how of Obama’s securing of the Democratic nomination for president, I’ve leveled my share of invective at the group’s shenanigans on his behalf.  However, I can’t help but wonder if they, like everyone else who helped Obama get elected and is now under the proverbial bus, weren’t courted, embraced, deployed, used like a tissue, then discarded just as casually as all the rest.  As far as the right wing is concerned, I remember them going after the group in ‘04, and every election year before that, too, in the same way, for the same reasons they are now.

Everybody Loves Black People

Oh, goody!  Everybody seems to love me, and all other black people nowadays, except Barack Obama, and anybody who voted for, or supports him.  Since that lets me out, I have never felt so loved in my life.  “Loved” as in “squuzzed to death by an over-enthusiastically appreciative 4-year old with a new puppy they’re scared of.”

The only thing worse than people who play the race card indiscriminately is people who use the fact that they do to excuse their own racism.

“I can’t be racist, I just hate certain kinds of black people.”

“It’s ridiculous to call people who don’t like black people racist.  A lot of black people are unloveable assholes.”

“Racist?!?!  Are you kidding me?  I have lunch at least twice a week with two of my black employees at a Mexican restaurant in Chinatown.”

“Listen, I dated a black woman once.  Her family loved me.  This racism stuff is bullshit.”

These are not actual quotes, more like an compilation of the type of things I’ve heard ad nauseum throughout my life as I navigated the melting pot world of American integration.  Like most people forced outside of their comfort zone, I’m sure I’ve naively lobbed a few loaded insulting grenades of my own while traipsing through the racial minefields.  However, observing the sort of point-counterpoint racial goading going on nowadays under the guise of legitimate political debate makes me sad.

We Be Black, Ha, Ha, Ha!

We be black.  We was black befo’ Obama got elected, and we still black, nah.  Summa y’all don’t like dat, an’ it piss y’all off.  Y’all be trippin’.  Y’all suck.  Chill.

Don’t nobody care what y’all think, no way.   Y’all the ones always be tryin’ to keep a brotha down.  That’s whack.  Fuck dat.  Fuck y’all.  – Black America

I often try to illustrate the not-so-hidden racism rampant in our society by comparing it to the similarly hidden-in-plain-sight sexism we live under, hoping that women will at least consider that many of the “race card” claims being pooh-poohed on a regular basis do actually have some basis in fact.  Unfortunately, far too many women, themselves victimized by insidious institutionalized bigotry, obvious to them at every turn, no matter how small, slight, or insignificant such behavior might be considered by perpetrators of said sexism, simply cannot see the same sort of racial bias right in front of their eyes.  Though they are not only adept at recognizing overt discrimination directed towards them, but quite skilled at ferreting out intended sexism no matter how cleverly couched, even correctly identifying incidences where deliberate bigotry is intentionally dressed in politically correct clothes in order to escape detection, no such leeway is accorded those who empathize with those of us who suffer racially.

I Hate Everything Today

I hate everything today.

Kanye’s  now predictable antics.

Serena’s meltdown.

Creepy couples.

Obama speeches.

Politics.

Lies.

About race.

From anybody.

And polls.

Intolerance.

All kinds.

Against anybody.

About anything.

Freedom Works

TEA Parties

Stories about TEA Parties.

Like this one.

And this one.

This one.

Male And Female Made He Them

So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them. Genesis 1:27, King James Version

Such a seemingly innocuous passage, known to all, but filled with mystery rarely fully considered.  God created “man” in the singular, male and female.  Are we to read “mankind,” or “humanity” for “man?”  Were “male and female” alternately created, some of each, or all at once, each possessing characteristics of both?  If “male and female” refer to God’s image, why is He referred to as “Him?”

And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.  Genesis 2:7, King James Version

Of course, some will say only men were created in God’s image; “male and female created He them” refers to women being created separately as “lesser than,” and not in His image.  But, is that really the case?  Did the first humans created by God, both in the image of God, possess qualities of both genders, in what we currently call “intersex,” previously known as “hermaphroditism?”  Is that the reason for a second Biblical creation narrative where gender-specific humans were created separately?  Whether true or not, why do some Christians consider such questions regarding sexuality, gender identity, and God, to be blasphemous?

Scratch a Christian about “gender” and the conversation immediately becomes “what the Bible says about sex.”  I literally Googled “gender Christian values” and the very first hit was all about what Corinthians says about sex.  Never mind that “Corinthians” is just a long letter written by Paul to some people he couldn’t visit, or, that Paul was a Christian persecutor who admitted to being the lookout at the first Christian martyrdom, who most likely never knew Jesus in His lifetime, and who only “converted” after being “blinded by the Light” when out walking one day.  He also claimed willingness to do whatever necessary to accomplish his goals, and some say, somehow managed to usurp Jesus’ chosen successor, Peter, as the foundation of the Christian Church.  Just sayin’.

Talking Loud, Saying Nothing

Pretendident Baracus Hubris Maximus, (Hail Caesar!) Spokesmodel-in-Chief, says nothing better than practically anybody living or dead (especially the latter) could ever possibly have potentially dreamed to.  Which is not surprising, since he is most often reading carefully crafted sweet nothings designed to bamboozle the eye patch panties off of even the most resolutely celibate lobbyist among us, without even spreading his or her tightly crossed legs.  These rather ineptly recited, poor man’s Barry White-esque, “ooooh, baby, baby, oooooh,” entreaties against common sense and self interest are no less annoying for their much less than baritone, faux streetwise, preachery delivery and improbable success, than they are for their air of frantic backseat fumbling during an ill-considered mercy date with the president of the A/V Club.

However, I suppose if one is sufficiently lonely, desperate, and/or imaginative, one can project enough pseudo-suavery onto his twerpy waffling to satisfy one’s own fantasies of a personal, God-delivered, just your size, slipper in hand Prince Charming to melt one’s own Candy Pants.  But, for me, no amount of supplemental digital manipulation can adequately whet my libidinous political appetites, so to speak; on the contrary, repeated exposure to his inartful seduction renders my pleasure points dry as the Sahara.

Just Add Scotch

Formulating meaningful health care reform is a lot easier when you’re tanked.  To the proverbial gills.  I know it really helps to be schnockered when it comes to understanding and accepting it.  Then, the plan that the Spawn of Mr. Magoo and Thurston Howell, III, (Baucus, Backus, potato, patootie) is pushing makes perfect sense:

Sen. Max Thurston Magoo, III:  Okay, in a perfect world for me and the Companies What Luv Me, health insurance rates would keep going up.

Drunken Masses: Oooookkaaaaayyyy!

Sen. Max Thurston Magoo, III:  And, you’d have to buy it.

Drunken Masses:  Allreeeety-root toot toot!

Sen. Max Thurston Magoo, III:  We’d fine you up the ass if you “opted out.”

Drunken Masses:  Nooooo, problemo, Duuuuuude!

Sen. Max Thurston Magoo, III:  You’d still have huge deductibles…

Drunken Masses:  Sweeeeeeet!!!

Sen. Max Thurston Magoo, III: AND I WOULD BE KING OF THE WORRRRLLLLLDDDDD!!!!

Drunken Masses:  Go, Maxie!  It’s your birthday!  Parrrrtaaaayyy!  Wooo! Wooot!…

Not Another Speech!!!!

What political rocket scientist developed the theory that gaping political wounds can be healed by repeated laying on of words?  Exactly how many butt-numbing, head swiveling, TelePrompTer-read, yah da-dah da-dah da-dah daaahhh-paced regurgitations of speeches past, comprised of precisely how many empty words, are required to actually produce tangible results?  Is there no limit to the number of excruciatingly boring repetitions of the same soup warmed over pre-empting our favorite television shows we are expected to endure?  How many episodes of Andy Griffith Meets The Brady Bunch On Gilligan’s Island are we supposed to watch instead of the Pretendident Formerly Known As Present?

Are these “experts” really unaware that a given speaker’s effectiveness is diminished in inverse proportion to the number of times a helpless audience is subjected to him?  Have they not yet been informed that entire villages of small countries have recently been known to abandon their homes and possessions in screaming terror when even a hint of the specter of the possibility that he might be considering maybe delivering another preachifying diatribe in prime time in any way enters their consciousness?

My Prescription For Overpoliticitis

Since I am currently suffering from a severe case of overpoliticitis, the condition caused by excessive exposure to contentious, yet inconsequential,  political debate, I have decided to nurse myself back to health with my own home remedy.  I suspect many others are likewise needlessly suffering, so I will share Aunt Cinie’s Handy Dandy, Super-Duper Rx For What Ails You And Colon Cleanse.

First, count your blessings.  Thank God that that menace to society environmental “czar” is gone, thanks to the diligent efforts of Glenn Beck, Gateway Pundit, and World Net Daily, effectively repudiating first-person testimony on his behalf posted on that far left, progressive snot rag of the Bloviasphere, HuffPo, and we can now all sleep peacefully in our beds.  Score one for truth, justice and the American Way.

Secondly, take comfort that revenge is a dish best served cold, and that those whose sensibilities were seriously wounded by liberal opposition to George Bush’s readings of My Pet Goat and other often unintelligible motivational recitations and speeches to for, and about, school children, can take comfort in the fact that their online metaphorical raspberries have in many instances, successfully thwarted Pretendident YoMama’s similar efforts to similarly bore a significant segment of America’s youth similarly silly.

We’re All Commies

Never having studied political science, and having been a kid who started first grade in 1960, the only thing I know for sure about Communism and Communists, is that Communism is ba-a-aa-aaaddd, and, it’s their fault I know how to hide under a desk in case of nuclear attack.  In light of the fact that White House “czar,” Van Jones, was forced to resign for admitting to being a dirty Republican-(read: “real American”)hating, foul mouthed, race-baiting Commie, and, that I no longer have access to one of those nifty little bolted, bomb repelling desks, I figured some research might be in order.  What I found is that, with surprisingly little effort, we might all fit the description, one way or another.

Seems ironic that on the American holiday celebrating the proletariat, on the eve of the release of an avowed left-winger’s anti-capitalism film, in an era where the media continues to push the myth that the majority of the country is in favor of a bipartisan, single party-like approach to government, that we would be discussing one man’s “Communism.”  How many Americans really even know what “Communism” is?  According to some sources, feminists are Communists, i.e., “feminazi.”  As far as some folks are concerned, anybody on the left side of the political aisle qualifies as a “Communist,” or, at the very least, a “Socialist,” which is basically a “Communist,” as yet not fully radicalized.  From Wikipedia:

Leading The Follower

Bah!Rock Whoosayin’ YoMama’s pretendidentin’ style is the exact opposite of Follow the Leader.  Rather than setting off on a bold course and expecting everybody to either walk by his side or follow along behind him, our Celebritician in Chief is far more apt to send everybody out in different directions and then try to follow all of them simultaneously.  Then, he and the AxelRocket Science Crew would stand around with one finger of one hand up their butts, and a finger of the other up their nose, wishing they could scratch their heads ar the same time, while looking around lost and confused about how come they’re lost and confused, seriously clueless about where everybody went, and how they ended up right where they started, in the middle of nowhere, all alone.

Like the one kid in every crowd who’s so smart he’s stupid, people delight in inviting ObiWan to play and letting him be “It,” as long as he agrees to close his eyes and count to a million.  Like Charlie Brown and Lucy with the football, Everybody’s 3rd Cousin Clem never seems to tire of finding himself facing a tree at midnight, halfway through the count, hours after everyone else has not only gone home, but finished dinner and homework, gone to bed, and been deep in REM sleep for at least an hour, convinced that one of these days he’s gonna find everybody before daylight.

The Fog Slowly Lifts

Okay, so it’s a lazy pre-holiday Saturday and I’m sitting around drinking beer and surfing the ‘net.  One of these things is a regular habit with me, blogging snockered is not.  But, reading all the hand-wringing, head scratching, “gee, you think maybe we screwed up?” type posts from A (for Van Jones’ Republicans)-listers of the Obotia-sphere compels me to comment.

Hahahahahahahahahaha…hahahahahahahaha…hah!

(Insert raspberry sound FX here)

Oh, man, reading these “experts” bewilderment is deliciously rich.  They just can’t wrap their Ivy League caliber minds around the fact that they spread ‘em wide for Pretendident Pet Rock in spite of the fact that the Bitter Knitters told ‘em, and told ‘em, then ran around ‘em in circles, got in their faces, and told ‘em again.  We wrote it out for them, we rented billboards, we set it to music, we shouted from the rafters, and we spelled it out in sign language, and they steadfastly ignored us because we were just stupid Old Ladies and the Clueless Who Loved Us.

Hahahahahahaha….!!!

Titter, titter, guffaw, snort, chuckle, hardy fuckin’ har har.

David (Smartypants) Sirota is contorting himself into geometric shapes trying to extricate his head from his ass without getting his fingers dirty, and Myiq2xu over at the Confluence called him on it good.

Jumping The Gun

Seems to me, if the Anti-Obots were smart, they would have saved their protests against the ObaMessiah’s planned mass indoctrination of America’s school children into Obacunism until after he actually gave the originally planned Obagandizing speech.  By jumping the gun, they gave him ample time to alter his subliminal messaging into the pure Pablum children are sure to see it as, anyway.

Does anybody really believe that kids listen at forced assemblies?  When did they stop trying to use these events as feel-copping, note and drug exchanges, or hair-pulling, fidget fests and naptimes?  Have things really changed that much since I was in 5th grade?  Did aliens land and invade our classrooms, transforming our children into polite, attention-paying, sponge-like automatons, eager to become politically active and aware?  Even making them write about the best way to help the president is unlikely to produce more than, “I think we should take out the garbage and recycle like Mom says, and try to be better people, blah, blah, blah…”

Nope, the Obaphobes shudda waited.  Left to his own devices, the Obacorator was sure to spew some juicy, “get in their faces”-type tidbits interspersed throughout his head-swiveling, TelePrompTer read drivel delivered by rote of the type we’ve come to know, and love, that they cudda used to make him look deviously silly.  All this advance hubbub accomplished was to serve notice for Obie to be on his best behavior when he takes to You Tube to bore the nation’s school children to tears.

Bipartisan Batshittery’s Backlash

Let’s be honest.  The real reason Sarah Palin, now a private citizen not running for anything, at least, not officially, and some of her arguably batshit crazy galpals, engender so much support throughout the largely female PUMAsphere is not merely because they’re women, but, because the equally batshit ‘Bama ‘Bots of Loony Left Cheetosphere and “liberal” Lame Scream Media insist upon bashing them because they’re women.   Policy differences do not suffice for these rabid misogynists and the women who love them, for some reason, they are pathologically compelled to impugn female politicians’ worthiness as women.

Case in point, many of these “progressives” are in a dither of delirious delight about Vanity Fair’s upcoming Palin hit piece by Levi Johnston.  “Ooooh, he said she’s a lousy parent!”  “According to the unassailable Mr. Johnston, she doesn’t even cook, can you believe that shit?”  Johnston claims he was one of the the only two people screwing in her house, just like we thought!”  “She lied!”

Batshittery In The Obama Haterz Klub On Bachmann Palin Overdrive

Yesterday, I once again tried to warn my sisters and brothers of the PUMAshpere against allowing our mutual dislike of Pretendident Bah!Rock Whosayin’ Yo’Mama to lull us into a false sense of camaraderie and solidarity with political factions whose intense, visceral hatred of every principle most of us hold dear borders on the psychotic.  Again, I tried to point out that political strategists seeking a political toehold in a bleak political landscape would hitch their political wagons to their female politicians and encourage them to use their feminine wiles to seduce segments of society quickly becoming un-infatuated with their blushing virgin presidential bride by bringing tasty housewarming pastries to the neighborhood meet n’ greets.  Of course, bitter knitting haggish victims of prior bad marriages would be easy pickin’s, if they could be persuaded to suspend their natural skepticism of wily snake-like interlopers in favor of common disgust and disillusionment caused by their own experiences with wayward spouses (spice?).

Feminism, Fanaticism, FrootLoopery, and Fantasy

They say there’s a thin line between love and hate, and, that may, or may not, be true.  However, whether or not there is indeed one, I believe that the line between sanity and sheer batshit crazy FrootLoopery is real, and much, much, thinner.

Let’s face it, at first blush, people who are totally Looney Tunes are nearly indistinguishable from normal people, or even from the only mildly deranged.  They pretty much function okay on a day-to-day basis, their madness only revealed through sustained exposure.  In fact, since the difference between lunacy and passion is “notmuch,” a case could be made that most of us with strong opinions cross the line on a semi-regular basis.  It’s only after hearing a given person’s argument over a period of time that one realizes that said person’s passion about something that seems to us to be rather trivial and inconsequential, leads them to become more than a little unhinged on their regular commute home to LaLa Land.

Dueling AstroTurf Express

When the “Only Obots AstroTurf” deniers of the clearly rightwing AstroTurfing of the TEA Parties/Recess Rally/Townhall Ruckus/Hot Air Mess With The KoolAid Krowd’s Heads campaign first started calling me everything but a child of God because I said, “uh…PUMAs?  Ya might not maybe wanna get involved, ya think?…I was pissed the fuck off pretty upset.  Now that the whole sordid mess is in warp speed gear from both sides, and is so out in the open that when the ShameScream Media asks for quotes from either/or both faction’s lamebrain trust that nobody even thinks about pretending to be fauxraged, I’m simply amused.  Ha!

Double ha!

Pretendident Bah!Rock Whosayin’ Yomama’s Our House Now, Baby’s officially sanctioned fake grassroots-laying arm, Obagandizing For America, is taking their Obama’s Witnesses show on the road to counter the GOopers’ RNC sanctioned-on-the-downlow Malkin/Beck/Hannity promoted FreedomWorks “We Got Healthcare, Screw Your Granny” bus tour.  Quoting spokesfolks from the DNC, RNC, FreedomWorks, Health Care For America Now, and Americans For Prosperity, the Washington Post reports:

Crystal Blue Persuasion

Whew!  After months of bare knuckle, knock down, drag out, down and dirty, street-style political virtual cyber fighting, I’m exhausted!  Man, some of you guys are soooo stubborn!  It’s all a peace loving mellow chick like me can do to woman up and hold the fort against all the wee-wee’d up forces against reason and common sense on both sides of the aisle!  Gee whiz, I need a break!  You?

Well, I’m giving us a time-out today, anyway.  I mean, really.  I’m no ultra-conservative religious evangelical, and I’m sure not anybody’s tree hugging hippie pacifist, but I do think we should take a moment now and then to think about all that’s gloriously holy and reverent in Nature’s chaotic beauty.  I’m convinced that if left to Her own devices, She would reclaim Her Earth in an explosion of random awesomeness, the likes of which we cannot even expand our puny minds wide enough to wrap our tiny little pinheads around.  Animals would scamper with abandon amid riotous growths of foliage patterned by Her whim, for purposes of Her design, to proliferate and nourish the next in line of Her inspired food chain.  Storms would rage, oceans would roll, fires would burn in their time, according to Her hand, without interference from humans, with the result being whatever it was to be, sure to be as glorious to behold as it would be terrifying.

My PUMApology Of Sorts

Okay, where to begin?  First of all, I admit to being one of the most vocal opponents to Republican AstroTurfing of TEA Parties, townhalls and Recess Rallies against any and all things Democratic under the guise of being anti- anything Obama.  And, exposes like this Think Progress one that I came across courtesy of Edge of Forever at Not Your Sweetie, only reinforce my findings and strengthen my resolve to rail against the sneaky, fake grassroots public support tactics of the Rigid Right as vehemently and vociferously as I bitch about the same kind of Axelrovian Obaganda shenanigans from the obnoxious KoolAid ‘n’ Hopium Nation.

Be that as it may, there’s something to be said on behalf of those offended PUMAs who take exception to being labeled as merely being unduly manipulated tools of the evil right wing.  Though there is no doubt that many PUMA sites have been overly influenced by deliberate GoOPer infiltration, there’s more to the story than has as yet met the eye.

Look On The Bright Side

Gooooood morrrrnnninnnn,’ PUMAsphere!  Time to rise and shine!  Put on a happy face and get your bright-eyed, bushy tail in gear!   It’s a brand new day!  Okay, so it’s closer to the crack of noon, but, so what?  It’s gotta be daybreak somewhere.  Sheeeesh!  Lighten up, willya?  Good.  Now, take a deep breath.  Ummmm ummmm!   There ya go!  Again…that’s good.  Can’t you feel it?  Smell it?  That new day smell?  Sure you can!  Huh, can’t ya, huh?

I know, I know.  I hear a lot of you grumbling like Fred Flintstone after Wilma told him he couldn’t go bowling…”riggafraggamuckastuckfuckoff, Cinie.”  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Kwitcherbitchin, will ya?  Things could be much worse, ya know.

An Era Ends

For those of us who came of age during a time when a visit to anyone’s home featured a photographic display of our era’s modern day Kennedy-King-Kennedy Trinity above, or on, a mantle, a piano, or whatever served as a particular household’s substitute shrine, with the news of the passing of Senator Edward Kennedy, also comes the realization that that era has now officially come to an end.

Political achievement, personal accomplishment, and legacy aside, Teddy Kennedy was the last living vestige of our shared American youth, as iconic as Woodstock and Warhol, as American as apple pie, as close to royalty as national identity will allow.  Like Hugh Hefner, Kennedy was a remaining embodiment of our youthful exuberance, excess and dreams, one of the few permitted by fate to grow old as we, ourselves, age.

He Didn’t Have To Die

The news that the Los Angeles Coroner’s Office is soon to release it’s findings labeling the death of Michael Jackson as a homicide is hardly surprising, only confirming what anybody with half a brain could figure out in their sleep from the beginning.  And, while some dismiss any news relative to Jackson as unwelcome sensationalist trivia, I find it all incredibly sad.

That Jackson had become a self-exploited, P.T. Barnum-style, crotch-grabbing caricature of himself more than half of his life ago is undeniable.  Yet, though easy to demonize as a child molesting weirdo, the jury in the court of public opinion is pretty conclusive on the weirdo part, while the jury in the court of law found the legal evidence insufficient to judge him a pedophile.  Be that as it may, for me, there’s more than enough available information to determine that, more than anything else, he was a troubled to the point of tortured man.

Buried in the stories of the coroner’s report is the news that at his death, he was suffering from an enlarged prostate, and his insomniac body was covered in bed sores, said to have been the result of his depression following his trial.   Whether his inability to sleep is evidence of his own feelings of guilt is up to more learned minds than mine to forensically psychoanalyze.  However, the fact that he could neither find peaceful rest, nor rouse himself to function productively, is something I find heart-wrenching.

Triangulating The Chicago Way: Starring Rahm AxelBama

If you ask the wrong questions, you’re sure to get the wrong answers.  Such is the case for pundits questioning Pretendident Barack Obama’s lack of a cohesive, comprehensive, and comprehensible approach to what is quickly degenerating into a bad parody of a failed burlesque review, the Health Care Insurance Reform Follies.

“Is He Weak?” asks WaPo’s Jim Hoagland of Bamboozlebub.  Answer:  Duh.  “What Went Wrong?” on the road to meaningful health care reform, laments Salon’s Thomas Shaller.  Answer: You and your tingly-legged shills and fluffers in the Mainstream and Outer Cheetosphere Media let David ORahmba con you into helping them con America into electing an inexperienced West Wing actor as president, that’s what, Tommy.

I’ve always found it interesting that there were organized Republicans For Obama before there was an official Obama for President.  However, being born into the Chicago Machine of the Illinois Combine, I can really say that such a thing doesn’t really surprise me in the least.

Everybody of color in Chicago is born a Democrat; so are like, 95% of the white people.  In fact, if you count the Republicans, you could say that everybody in Chicago is born Democratic.  Everybody in Chicago is also born knowing that there are ways to get things done; things that have nothing to do with campaign promises, ethics, or who’s in charge.   If you’re willing and able to pay, somebody knows somebody who will be available to play.

Well, At Least He’s Not The AntiChrist

Pretendident and Spokesmodel-In-Chief, Baracus Hubris Maximus (Hail, Caesar!) is a lot of things to a lot of people.  To some, he is a lying, cheating, thieving pseudo-politician so inexperienced and unqualified as to be undeserving of even that name, who lied and cheated to beat the band on his way to stealing the highest office in the land from the rightful inheritress of the Bushegas, the periodically clawed Woman Known to Him as ” Entitled Brush-off Bitch “.  Can I get a “what-what!“?

To others, admittedly a rapidly diminishing number of KoolAid-annointed Hopians, the Celebritician is the ObaMessiah, sent by a Loving God to save the world from prejudice, poverty and guilt.  To these soon-to-be-lonely-and-disillusioned Truly Bamboozled, he can do no wrong, due to his propensity for, and proficiency at, divinely inspired 11th Dimensional Plutonian Chess.

Another significant faction sees him as the Godfather, a mild-mannered, conciliatory community organizer cum college professor cum dedicated public servant by day, and, a ruthless gun-at-knife-fight-wielding check collector by night, determined to serve his constituency the Chicago Way, by any means necessary, often dispensing his minions to lay political horse’s heads in his emenies’ beds during canoli runs.

Happy AstroTurfing ObamaCare Day!

Today is AstroTurfing ObamaCare Day, didja know?  If you’re not a right wing anti-socialized medicine groupie, you probably didn’t.  If you’re just a regular old anti-socialized medicine groupie, you might just think it’s Protest Obama’s Non-Existent Health Care Plan Day, ‘cuz…well, that’s what you’re supposed to think.  Only the clued in are aware that “ObamaCare” is a Gooper dog-whistle.

In case you forgot it was coming up, or your neighborhood Fuck Health Care Reform Group neglected to send you your own personal hndy dandy “Get Out The “No” email in a timely fashion, Fox News printed a helpful announcement to remind you to do your part to further the cause of the side of your choice in The Great Dueling AstroTurf War:

If Democratic lawmakers thought all the furor over President Obama’s health care plan expressed this month at town hall meetings was dying down, they might be in for a surprise Saturday.

That’s when citizens are planning anti-”Obamacare” rallies across the country Saturday in all 435 congressional districts.

And their message is clear: We will not stand for socialized, government-controlled health care.

The same groups who made the “tax tea parties” possible in April are behind this weekend’s movement. American Liberty Alliance, FreedomWorks and Americans for Prosperity are working with The Sam Adams Alliance, among others, to stage the rallies.

Screwed

The reason that we, as a nation, are as embroiled in this ridiculous debate about “access to affordable health care,” as opposed to “government guaranteed access to comprehensive health care” for all its citizens, is because the politicians, press, pundits and PR firms paid to punk the public are very, very good at what they do.  If they were not so adept at re-framing and complexifying simple issues, otherwise intelligent people, unduly influenced by these influence peddler-backed influence pushers, might use their collective common sense to ask different questions than the ones currently being debated, and demand that our country’s best and brightest make proper use of their good old Yankee ingenuity to come up with some practical solutions.

Why are we even talking about a “public option?”  Why not a “private option” to a guaranteed government single payer health care program?  There’s your competition right there.  Make the insurance industry compete between themselves for the privilege of providing coverage over and above basic, yet comprehensive services, in order to justify their obscene profits.

Just A Loose Coalition

I’ve written about the AstroTurfing activities of the ObamaNation and the TEA Partiers so often that I’ve started having nightmares about angry blindfolded protesters dressed as Native Americans dumping cases of Snapple on the floor of the Houston Astrodome for no other apparent reason than it’s fun to do on television.  And, while the evidence of well-funded propagandists on both sides ginning up the outrage of ordinary citizens for sinister corporo-political purposes is overwhelming, for some reason, nobody wants to cop to the truth that their side is doing it, too.

Those all-too-willing to jump on the Evil AstroTurfing Obot Train to Townhalls, will routinely recoil in horror and indignantly swear up and down that they would never, ever, ever, Heaven and all things Holy forbid, AstroTurf anything themselves, if any but the demonstrably institutionalized were to actually have the temerity to even suggest such a thing.  “Oh no,” they cry, “nobody’s paying or manipulating me!  I’m really well and truly pissed!”  Yet, according to these same people, the only reason Barack Whosayin’ Yomama is Pretendident now is because Soros-backed David Axelrove channeled Jim Jones and turned a large portion of America into a KoolAid addicted, liberal/progressive/socialist Jonestown, solely due to the machinations of paid Nutroots bloggers and their commenters, ACORN, MoveOn and anybody with a union card.  And, their private corporate pseudo news organization, MSNBO.

Protest! That’s How They Getcha!

Everybody’s protesting something about healthcare reform, nowadays.  Everybody’s got some kind of complaint, or another, about the subject, though it seems that each individual is pissed off about something entirely different.  When everybody shows up with their own personal gripe, it’s often difficult for the guys and gals they’re yelling at to hear themselves think, much less see just exactly what it is most folks are upset about.  The fact that there’s nothing in Congress even close to being enacted into law at this point, only adds to the confusion.

When the meetings to hold hearings to make plans to discuss proposals first began, people in favor of a Single Payer program, who already had their own handy, dandy House bill, John Conyers’ Medicare for All, HR 676, all tied up and ready to go, weren’t even given a seat at the negotiators’ table.  Groups that took exception to that raised a ruckus.  And rightly so.  Though they were technically (okay, not so technically) protesters, what they were protesting was being denied the right to advocate their position.  That’s the key.  They weren’t just barging into meetings just to hear themselves yell for the hell of it.  They had demands.

The folks attending townhall meetings for the purpose of protest are, for the most part, not advocating anything.  They’re not always really protesting anything, either, cuz it’s hard to protest what doesn’t exist, effectively.  It’s just so gosh-darned easy to be mad.

Death Panel “Dropped!”

Considering the fact that the current health care debate is being driven by certifiable wackadoodles on both sides, running circles around each other, wild-eyed, and yelling like their hair is on fire and they have bottle rockets up their asses, in a determined, Olympic-caliber competitive effort to see which group of psychopaths can garner more camera time, it’s quite a testament to the equanimity of the majority of Americans that we haven’t all taken to the streets in gleeful abandon, tearing our hair and rending our garments, screaming incomprehensibly to the top of our lungs, surrendering our sense of decorum as well as our mental facilities for the sake of potentially acquiring our 15 minutes of fame via concentrated bouts of mindless ranting.

Perhaps the fact that so many Americans are so woefully under-educated by our long-failing Public School System that our dutiful media can be corporate-ly directed to manipulate the conventional wisdom of the Sheeple by not-so-skillfully employing the most basic tricks of pseudo-journalistic misdirection, with every expectation of success, and little fear of reprisal, has a little sumpin’ sumpin’ ta do wit’ it.  How else to explain the most recent spate of “Death Panel Dropped!” headlines screaming from every orifice of the MainScream Media and Bloviasphere?

Way Too Much Ado About Nothing

http://blog.nrf.com/2009/07/24/nrf-board-max-baucus-and-the-future-of-health-care-reform/

There is no health care plan.  There is currently no single health care bill.

Let me repeat.

There is no health care plan.  There is currently no single health care bill.

So, you may well ask, what’s all the yelling about?  Good question.  Simple answer?  That’s the plan.

The way I understand it, there are are two bills headed out of committee onto the floor of the House, where Congressmen/women will yell at each other politely before they vote one of them down, and pass the other.  The one that makes sense, HR 676, John Conyers’ perennially introduced and perennially rejected  Medicare For All, single payer bill, is going down in flames, straight to the dumpster, do not pass “Go,” be sure to tip your waitress on the way out, Elvis has left the building, g’night Gracie.  That’s the plan.  The other one, HR 3200, the one I call the ‘kitchen sink” bill, that they stuffed everything imaginable that anybody’s constituents might possibly raise hell about being, or not being, in, just in case somebody actually took the time to read it, will pass, then go on to the Senate, where it will be ignored; tossed straight into the dumpster, not pass “Go,” blah, blah, blah, you get the idea.  That’s the plan.  After the “esteemed colleagues” from their respective Bumfucks, in both the Senate and the House, get done calling each other “asshole” as nicely as possible for the cameras, on their respective floors, they will all vote for the grocery list given to them during their recess between sham townhall shootout shoutdowns, by the health care corporations that financed the PR campaigns that persuaded the Sheeple, (deluded into thinking the “esteemed assholes” would work for them) to elect them.  That’s the plan The Man built.

Barack Obama Really Does Want To Kill Your Grandmother

Okay, it’s time to start looking for the truth in some of these outlandish myths regarding health, “you say care, I say insurance,”  reform.  If the kinds of spurious claims being spouted by “concerned” citizens, “real” Americans about a plan that doesn’t yet exist, in true bipartisan democracy-at-work fashion, are allowed to stand uncountered, why, we could find ourselves  looking at a debacle the likes of which we haven’t seen since…well…the last time we saw a health care/insurance reform debacle.  (Sorry, Hillary, I had no choice but to bring that up).

First off, I think it’s safe to say that Baracus Hubris Maximus, (Hail, Ceasar!) as alluded to by Facebook/Twitter-happy former Alaska governor, Sarah Palin, really does want to kill your grandmother.  Let’s face it, when it comes to family, the guy’s got issues.  The man dreams of a father who practically made a career of abandoning women like his mother, and the children he sired with them, in order to travel around the world to find new women to knock up and leave.  Who wouldn’t be irreparably scarred by that?  Add pee-stained shorts clad hugging episodes with his scotch-soaked “Pop” (Grandpa?  Frank Marshall Davis?) on the brink of manhood to the mix, and, it’s no wonder he spends holidays railing about how badly lazy-assed, irresponsible, black boy-fathers suck.

Why Is Single Payer Off The Table?

If you don’t ask the right questions, you’re never going to get a sensible answer.  So, how come it seems nobody’s asking, why is single payer off the table?  Could it be that the game has been rigged from Day One to keep that particular option from ever being seriously considered? Some of us really want to know.

If that is the case, the natural follow-up question is, why?  Why would our elected officials, the media, and everybody else simultaneously stick their fingers in their ears and go “lalalalalalalala” when it comes to the question of “government run health care?”  Could it be something as simple as, if the American public was to be offered a “single payer, Medicare for all, everybody in, nobody out” solution, they would jump on it, forcing the party in control of Congress and the White House, and the other one, too, to implement it, or face the wrath of the voters next time up?  What would that do to their personal bottom lines?

According to a Fairness and Accuracy In Reporting (FAIR) article highlighted by Allegre yesterday, the fact that many pharmaceutical companies share board members with a lot of corporate media might have a little sumpin’ sumpin’ to do with it:

Manufacturing Real Outrage

The current news reporting about the Dueling AstroTufing going on regarding health care reform, or the lack of it, aka, “health insurance reform,” is just as disingenuous as the motivations of the instigators on both sides.  While I don’t think anyone seriously discounts the obvious truth of the notion that “conservative” factions, at the behest of anti-health care reform lobbyists,  ginned up dissent and directed it, and the resultant anger, at primarily Democratic Congresspeople, (persons? critters?) holding town hall meetings during their summer recess, those uncomfortable with the idea of being manipulated by forces of the GOP defiantly claim that their “anger is real.”  Duh.  It is possible to be both, ya know?

Those “innocent” manipulators of the real fauxrage now standing back with their hands in their pockets, hunching their shoulders while trying to whistle and maintain a “who me” expression at the same time, even have a name for the game:  The Recess Plan, complete with Rocking the Townhall memo, confirmed by its author.  I’m pretty sure they don’t mean playing hopscotch in the schoolyard after milk breaks, even though any school-aged child is familiar with the tactics suggested.

AstroTurfing Works

The insidious danger of AstroTurfing as a political/public relations/advertising/marketing/propaganda tool lies in its seductive, yet simplistic beauty.  Once successfully planted, it has the power to take root and behave as if organic.  Artificially created out of whole cloth, if blanketed and aggressively enough tended and cultivated, it becomes sod-like and grows like wildfire.  Were this not true, Barack Obama would not be president today.

There is simply no other justification for Obamania.  Let’s face it, when our currently embattled, yet once almost universally beloved, Pretendident initially threw his hat in the ring, there was no groundswell of support.  If not for the determined efforts of his personal news network, MSNBO, and its tingly-legged staff of on-air “talent,” and partners, like Slate, the Washington Post, and The Root, (launched in January, 2008 by Henry Louis Gates) along with the repossessed former Republicans-turned-”progressive” (“reprogressives?” “fauxgressives?” lying, bought-and-paid-for Axelrovian shills?) Obama cheerleading denizens of the virtual, Sheeple-thought control compound of Sullivan’s HuffCheetoville, Outer Blogistan, Barack Obama would have been the mildly interesting also-ran his resume and accomplishments justify.  Yet, when combined with a few other timely elements of former newsman and then-current political PR hack, David Axelrod’s Machiavellian AstroTurf campaign, this 98th-ranked, inexperienced junior Senator, (D-Illinois Combine) suddenly became the darling of a racially repressed nation supposedly starved to that point for representation by a semi-competent black TelePrompter reader.

Snarkasm

Snarkasm is two steps beyond sarcasm, one giant leap over snark.  It’s the level of incredulous disdain a resourceful writer must create when simple humorous derision just won’t do.  It’s snark plus sarcasm squared on steroids, or, the equivalent of saying, “Did you make this yourself?” when being fed a big, steaming pile of horseshit on an heirloom silver platter.

In politics, when every news story reported elicits a response of “what the fuck?” or “do they really think we’re stupid?” or, the increasingly more likely compound, “what the fuck, do they really think we’re stupid?” if not its inverse, “do they really think we’re stupid?  what the fuck?” the simple act of reading the news for entertainment, or, just for the hell of it, qualifies as snarkasm.

When the CEOs of two big corporations that own shit like money losing MySpace, Fox News, NBC, and the Pretendident make a pact, reported in the news, to get their on-air “talent” to stop fighting each other about how they make the money to pay said “talent” to fight over stuff, publishing it like people are gonna be outraged has gotta be snarkasm.  C’mon, does anybody really believe that knowing that these guys who buy and sell Pretendidents on their lunch break tell their minions what to report is really gonna bother anybody?  Doesn’t everybody know they’ve been buddy-buddy since they founded Hulu?

1-2-3, What’re We Fighting For?

Lately I’ve been wondering just what the PUMA movement stands for.  Are we a coalition of former Hillary Clinton supporters dedicated to holding the Democratic party accountable in an attempt to make them live up to their own principles, or, are we a pissed off group of anti-Obots sworn to oppose any and all things associated with anything and anyone He Who Cheated touches?  If we are the former, count me in; the latter, I’m out.

I am not of the “enemy of my enemy is my friend” school of thought.  Sometimes, the enemy of my enemy is my enemy too, only moreso.  That is certainly the case for me when it comes to Democrats vs. Republicans.  Just because the Democrats pissed me off royally with their thuggish, undemocratic tactics and policies, that doesn’t make me want to run out and embrace thuggish, undemocratic Republican ones.

Tea Party/Recess Plan AstroTurf designed to kill health care and all other forms of liberal/progressive reform is not attractive to me just because Obots promote Alinsky-style, “get in their face” HuffCheeto-esque tactics cut from the same cloth to pretend to promote it.  Both suck, and are only tools to contain and confuse the real issues both sides would prefer that everybody ignore.  Neither side wants to alienate the special interests dedicated to preventing real reform at any and all costs, and thus, would rather engage the voters in charades designed to obfuscate the issues by disingenuously stirring their emotions.   “Pay no attention to all the men and women behind the curtain, and we can keep screwing you to our hearts’ content,” seems to be the motto of both factions.

Dueling AstroTurf III

In an earlier series of posts about Dueling AstroTurfing, Parts I and II,Obaganda, GE/MSNBO/FOX News, etc., among others, I have examined the phenomenon of main- and minor-stream media spin, collusion, distortion and all the other neat little Sheeple Mind Control tricks in their their seemingly bottomless greasy little Felix the Cat goody bags, and their role in using them to advance various corporo-political agendas.  And, while they never take a break, (this is American politics we’re talking here) the information dissemination forces of darkness, evil and insane profit, and their assorted nefarious blogospherian satellites, are at it again with a vengeance.

First up, after a week or so of speculation that Pretendident Baracko Bama deliberately, and disingenuously, amped up the volume on the country’s historic racial discord by shooting his mouth off at his snoozefest of an interminable press conference on health insurance reform about the “stupidity” of the Cambridge police in arresting his “good friend,” Professor Henry Louis (Skip) Gates for being Uppity While Black, in order to deflect attention from the “fact” that his “plan?” was tanking, seems that the Forces of Axelrovian Disinformation have thrown the wolves new meat.  Sarah Palin.  Ah, Sarah.  Remember her?  Well, obviously somebody does, and since the GOP’s Alaskan Answer had, for reasons known only to her, stopped chattering via Twitter and Facebook, somebody (wink, wink) decided to give her hungry fans and foes sumpin’ ta talk about.

Dreams And Nightmares

I’m beginning to believe there hasn’t been a single legitimate charge of racism by any black people or person since Martin Luther King’s “I Have A Dream” speech.  At least, not according to what I read in the blogosphere.  Of course, some will admit that, “well, sure, racism exists, but I’ve never said or done anything that a black or minority person could find offensive or objectionable,” right before they launch into an offensive, objectionable tirade.

The government’s non-response to the needs of the citizens of New Orleans during and after Hurricane Katrina compared to Rita?  Not racist.  White police officers shooting and killing black men across the country?  Not racist, either.  And, of course, Officer James Crowley’s treatment of Professor Henry Louis Gates was certainly not racist, even his black brother policemen say so.  Besides, he even gave a black man CPR once.  And, another Boston brother officer, commenting on the arrest by email, who uses the phrase “banana eating jungle monkey” can’t be considered racist, since he didn’t call Professor Gates one, he said he was acting like one.

If the president, who we don’t like anyway, had just kept his mouth shut, none of this would have happened.  What’s he gonna fix with a beer?  And, why didn’t he invite the woman that called it in?  You know, the one that Gates said he hoped would do the same thing in a similar situation, even though her attorney said Gates asked Crowley if he was going to believe a white woman over a black man, remember?

Using the word “nigger” is not racist if you’re a well-liked politician who was only repeating a joke previously told to you verbatim.  Politicians should be able to say “nigger” all they want to, after all, niggers call each other that all the time.

Nothing said or done to or regarding Barack Obama can be construed as racist by definition, since we don’t like him.  And, the Revs. Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton have forfeited their rights to claim racism in any sense, ever, since they have both been known to overreact on occasion.  Besides, now that we’ve got our black president, we no longer have the right to bitch about anything racial.

The Power Of Her Sex

The subject of female sexuality fascinates me, not just erotically, but, primarily as it relates to the study of it, feminism and our collective quest, as women, for equality.  The lack of control over our bodies is the bedrock of patriarchal domination; so how come we don’t make more of the common sense leap that the cornerstone of liberation is the reclamation of feminine sexual power?

Women all over the PUMAsphere have explored many of the questions relative to women and power, misogyny and sexism, patriarchy and control.  But, all too often, we tend to skip right over the bottom line and start fussing over the line by line entries.  The individual slights, insults, incidences of unspeakable violence and horror, and all other shameful examples of attempts to dominate and control women, though righteously deserving attention, scrutiny, outrage, and outcry, also have the capacity to consume us all to the point of losing sight of the proverbial forest for the trees.  The truth is, global patriarchal domination throughout the span of generations, is merely a thinly veiled attempt to attain social relevance where there genetically is none.

Let’s face it, if women did not allow men the illusion of control to the extent that we are all too often forced to do, the vast majority of men would face the specter of complete irrelevance.  When it comes to sex, the woman chooses the time, the place, and the partner, when it comes to childbearing and rearing, women are perfectly capable of doing so alone, or, in concert with other women in a communal, lioness pride-like, Amazonian matriarchal environment.  To procreate, only small numbers of adult males would be required, and to ensure Darwinian genetic diversity, who could, and should be replaced seasonally, perhaps in a male lion-like, Gladiator-esque fight to the finish for mating rights.  Have such societies ever existed?  Who the hell knows?  As long as archaeology is primarily a Western male construct we’re unlikely to find out, but, my imagination can fully wrap around the idea.

On Obama And Race

I do not like Barack Obama.  I never have. To me, he has always been overrated and unimpressive, much more hype than substance.  I have never given him points for trying to “rise above” race by running away from all things black for the sake of protecting the sensibilities of the all-important whites.  I believe his “hands-off-unless-critical-of-the-black-community-in-order-to-score-points-with-the-white” stance is much more damaging to the self-image of young black people than any possible benefit of the symbolism of electing a “black” man to the highest office in the land can ever possibly offset.  Like Jesse Jackson, I agree that “talking down to black people” is an offense worthy of castration.  If electing a black man president comes with such a high price tag, in my opinion, it’s simply not worth it for the sake of appearances.

That being said, Barack Obama is no more responsible for racism than Hillary Clinton or Sarah Palin are for sexism.  These individuals may have served as unwilling lightning rods that briefly illuminated ugly realities in flashes of blindingly harsh light, but none of them caused the ugly landscapes they inhabit to come to be.  We were a nation awash with racism and sexism before anybody knew any of their names, and we continue to be after their unfair and unflattering treatment has been exposed.

That’s not to say that certain behavior has never exacerbated the situation.  Some have claimed that Hillary Clinton’s tears, and/or “perceived whining” have made bad matters worse, however, as far as I’m concerned, those are merely more blatant examples of the double standard imposed upon women, sometimes even by women.  If she doesn’t cry or complain, she’s a cold heartless bitch who’s so wrapped up in herself she doesn’t care about anyone or anything else, or worse, it’s not sexism; if she does, she’s a manipulative and exploitative faker, because we all know that not-so deep down, and all the way through, she’s really a cold, heartless bitch who’s so wrapped up in herself she doesn’t care about anyone or anything else, and the sexism still didn’t happen.

Wimpitude In/Suckitude Out

I’ve been saying for months that we are not going to get any substantive health care reform in this country any time soon, no matter what the Pretendident, his cronies in the press, Congress, or anybody else says he’s working really, really, no, really super hard to try to do.  He, and they, are damned liars, as a quick perusal of the headlines will easily show.  “Dems Alone Can’t Deliver Obama Health Care Win” screams the AP’s.  “Why the fuck not?” scream I.  He’s got solid majorities in both Houses, and, the most powerful, effective Speaker of the House in history running point and gleefully playing Wicked Attack Witch From the West for him, according to Politico.  Her ostrich-sized eggs more than make up for Senate Majority Leader Harry (Casper Milquetoast) Reid’s lack of anything comparable to them, so, why can’t the most popular, articulate, persuasive black Pretendident of Any Color schmooze the Sheeple and their representatives into a real Democratic health care plan, instead of bending over and grabbing his ankles to accept whatever the overly influential Republicans want to shove?

There are a couple of glaringly obvious reasons why.  One, he’s lying through his teeth.  Waffles Obama does not want real health care reform.  If he did, he wouldn’t be talking health insurance reform.  You can’t “reform” the problem.  That’s like “reforming” a tumor.  He wants digitized medical records.  Period.  Everything else is smoke.   The reasons for this are myriad, but simple.  Digital medical records by 2014 have been the government’s goal for years, and, those companies and corporations desperate to implement it, paid dearly for him to deliver for them, and others don’t want to be left behind.  I’ve speculated many times about the Republican support Obama has always enjoyed, maybe it’s partially because the use, and misuse of said records represents a veritable gold mine for all interested parties, including multiple government agencies.  And, maybe that’s why he seems so willing to cave.  That’s probably it in a nutshell.

In Search Of Your Loch Ness Monster

Okay.  There’s no delicate way to broach this particular subject, so, I guess I’ll just jump right in, so to speak.  Forgive me in advance if your sensibilities are offended by frank talk of intimate subjects, I’ll try my best to be gentle with you.  Ladies, Sisters, Girlfriends, you know who you are and how you like to be addressed; but, did you know that there’s an area of your body so woefully under-explored, both scientifically and recreationally, that there’s still no medical consensus as to whether or not the damned thing actually exists?

Yup, we’re talking G-spot, here.

They have got to be kidding me.

How can it be that 60 years after a German doctor, Ernst Grafenberg,  identified the source of vaginal orgasm and ejaculation, that the medical community can’t agree upon the location, or even the existence, of a pleasure point every Lesbian can find with her eyes closed and her hands tied behind her back?  Well, at least one hand, but, that’s not the point.  The point is, why is the study of the mechanics of women’s sexual pleasure so lacking?

What brought the subject to my attention was a Salon post I ran across from a link on BuzzTracker yesterday, commenting on a segment of The View from last year, according to IMDB with plastic surgeons Drs. Linda Li and David Matlock (Dr. 90210.)  Why somebody posted a link yesterday to an article about a year old segment is a puzzlement, but, since I’m not a regular View watcher, it was the first I had heard of it.  The ABC video of the piece is dated 7/24/09, so either it was a rerun, or at least two other sites haven’t updated their calenders, and Elizabeth Hasselbeck is going to have to count her pregnancy in elephant months, but, who cares?  Again, not the point:

Welcome To The Twi-White Zone

Imagine, if you will, you’re a white person, recently promoted to a once-in-a-lifetime dream job, and transferred to a new, unfamiliar town.  Once settling into your luxurious corporate digs, suppose you decide to take a stroll through town to kinda get the lay of the land, so to speak.  As you leave the downtown area, you soon find yourself in a very pleasant, quiet neighborhood full of tree-lined streets and cul-de-sacs, well-maintained, stately upper middle class homes and trendy late-model cars.  As you enjoy the beauty and serenity of your surroundings, say you begin to notice that passing cars often slow down imperceptibly as you walk by, that blinds and curtains behind large picture and bay windows often shift, and wooden doors seem to crack a notch in your wake.

Would it bother you when you finally noticed that passing pedestrians, all of whom smiled and or nodded in greeting, even when they didn’t verbally address you with a friendly “hi,” or wave at you from their now up to speed automobiles, were black?  When you realized that even the service people you’d encountered since arriving in town, like the guy who drove you from the airport, and the person who carried your luggage to the car, and the doorman who greeted you at your new condo, were all black, too, would you begin to question your own perceptions and prejudices?

What if, feeling more than a bit conspicuous, you passed an incongruously located upscale Mom-and-Pop convenience store, tucked away in a small shady enclave of boutique small businesses?  Would it unnerve you when the proprietor smiled in greeting and said you must be the new manager/executive officer/director at the big plant/company/corporate headquarters downtown, and welcomed you by name as he/she tracked you through the store?  Would you be relieved, or a little creeped out by that sort of intimate greeting from a stranger and his patrons, all of whom are now offering welcomes and tidbits of personal information they know about you and people you know in common?

The Big Sleep

I was all set to deliver another snark-filled response to last night’s Really Big, Important Health Care Speech by the Greatest Black Pretendident Ev-ah this morning, but, as they say, my best laid plans aft aglae’d.  I mean, I was sitting here at the computer, sober, fingers limber, ready to go, so I started the You Tube video of the 55 minute event, and promptly fell asleep.  Twice.  Once it dawned on me that my body and subconscious mind were trying desperately to tell me something, I decided to read the transcript.  And, it happened again.

Not only is his voice and manner soporific, how many times must I read, or listen to, the man say the same damned things over, and over, as if sheer repetition imbues empty, platitudinous verbiage dubiously linked with an overabundance of incomprehensible jabberwocky, with reason, wisdom, and/or plain old Yankee common-fucking sense?  My God, man, say something, or stop talking!

But, nooooooo!  “If you’ve got a plan, and you like your plan, you can keep it!”  C’mon.  Are people really burning up the White House phone lines pleading with the government not to take their good, groovy health care plan away?  “Health insurance reform…”  When did that happen?  What happened to heath care reform?  I guess when your spinmeisters were raised on Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, that’s what happens when you send a half-truth through the spin cycle; you get another half-truth just like it, only different.  How is making everybody buy insurance “reforming” the insurance industry?  Unless he means “re-forming,” as in, deconstructing and rebuilding in their favor, I must be missing something.

Have Gun, Will Travel

For the life of me, I can’t figure out why a Democratic president with a Democratic Congress is having so much trouble getting anything democratic done.  And, as the Democrat’s Spokesmodel-in-Chief prepares to take to the airwaves to once again attempt to explain to the nation that bought into his “hope and change” bullshit and provided the illusion of democratic process in his election, why his inability to do more than give all their money away to the Wall Street Mafia that was actually responsible for putting him in office, is anybody’s fault but his own, yet another major fail looms on the horizon.

We all know that the Pretendident’s hands-off approach to his non-plan for not significantly reforming the health care industry is headed straight for the crapper, thanks, in no small part, to the foot-dragging GOP.  The guy who doesn’t seem to have the stones to commit to his once-stated preference for single payer, opting instead to speechify to the public and Congress on behalf of doing something to nullify the naysayers who want nothing done, (or, something like that, I really can’t tell what he believes his function is in not getting anything accomplished) is losing support for his foot-stomping, “give me any old kind paper plan I can sell to the clueless as long as it makes me look good, waaaaaahhhhhhh” approach to pretending to reform the country’s health care delivery system by leaps and bounds.  The insured, and uninsured alike, are beginning to rip their Hopium-laced KoolAid IV drips from their arms with an ever-increasing vengeance.  When callers to Al Sharpton’s radio show start breaking ranks, you know the guy who was put in office by the right-wing voters who deferred to the image-starved, and thus, easily placated, black voters, and stayed home, is in big, big trouble.  And, the advice Sharpton gave his callers holds true for all the slowly awakening Obots, black, white and every color in between; kwitcherbitchin’, y’all voted for him, and he ain’t changed.  Neither has Al, for that matter.

If She Ran…

Okay, let’s tackle this Sarah Palin support question that’s been bugging me for days now, head on.  I have to admit, I find the rabid “all women must be on board the Palin train” position to be unsettling.  It insults and upsets me as a woman, as if, unless I agree with it, my opinions as a woman are less valuable than that of other women who do.  What about those of us who abhor sexism/misogyny in all forms against any woman, but refuse to support women as candidates whose positions we can’t accept?  Can’t we be in the club, too?

To be clear, as far as I’m concerned, when women/feminists, left and right, agree to support any and all women candidates for political office, from Palin to Pelosi, equally and unequivocally, I will gladly jump aboard the bandwagon.  Unless, and until, that happens however, I will continue to reject the pro-Palin propaganda.

My feelings are that, based on the things she has said she stands for, she’ll never get my vote.  Until she specifically states that she would not undermine women’s reproductive rights, advocates for handgun control, supports Affirmative Action, and LGBT equality, she will continue to be unattractive as a potential candidate for any office to me.  But, that’s my position.  However, I am interested in how you feel.  In light of that, I offer two very non-scientific polls, the first of which concerns Sarah Palin for President.  Please vote, and, if you are so inclined, leave a comment explaining why, or, why not.  No holds barred, let ‘er rip.

Yippeee!! The Pretendident’s Going On TV Some More!

Obama's EarPrompTer?

Oh, goody!  The Obamessiah and his minions, or, Barry and the Obacolytes, as I like to call them, have decided, in their infinite wisdom, that the way to combat falling poll numbers and the Screamin’ Blue (Dog) Meanies opposed to his sweeping ambiguous health care suggestion plan, is to take his case to the people via yet more interminable TelePrompTer-read sermons speeches in public, on television and You Tube, on Facebook, MySpace, and Obamaweb, by e-mail, and yes, even Twitter!  Oh, joy!  Is your breath bated?  Are your loins girded?  Legs a-tingle?  I know mine are…not.

Frankly, as far as I’m concerned, a day without Barack is like a day without having cod liver oil-laced grapefruit juice squirted into my eyeball socket with a syringe.   I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but, something about the stage-managed, over-produced “events” featuring the head-swiveling, boy-stood-on-the-burning-deck, frat boy written, less-than-inspiring, recitation of whiny-assed, often contradictory platitudes leaves me cold.  Far too often, I find myself half-listening, staring at the mole on the side of his nose with a scowl on my face and my mind wandering to contemplation of more pleasant activities like, listening to chalk, fingernails, or Styrofoam  screech, or breaking in new 6-inch, 2 sizes too small platform stiletto boots with severely pointed steel reinforced toes.  The idea of being the lone adult human passenger on a sold out flight to Antarctica with barking puppies, crying babies, novice pre-school aged bagpipe and didgeridoo players, and cats in heat occupying alternate remaining seats provides a more enjoyable diversionary daydream.

Is This “The Guy?”

For months now, (since at least September of last year) I’ve been making the case that if there’s indeed a mastermind behind a scheme to get Barack Obama into the Oval Office in order to advance a corporate, Wall Street-friendly agenda, it’s none of the usual suspects whose names are always thrown into the mix whenever these things are discussed, like Henry Paulson, but this guy, JP Morgan Chase CEO, Jamie Dimon.  A profile of the bankster in today’s New York Times, while inaccurate on a few points, imo, does nothing to disabuse anyone of conviction resultant from such speculation.  In fact, the piece, in detailing the New York Federal Reserve Board of Directors‘ member, who was selected along with Pepsico’s Indra Nooyi, another Obama campaign economic advisor, and his cozy relationship with the White House, especially with Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel, could be seen as express validation of such a claim.

Thanks primarily to Matt Taibbi and his recent Rolling Stone article about Goldman Sachs, The Great American Bubble Machine, especially in light of the company’s latest profit report, Hank Paulson’s name has been prominent in the news.  Everybody from Paul Krugman to Seeking Alpha to Congress has weighed in on the meaning, effect, genesis and reality of said profits in light of their new status as a bank holding company, the company’s bailout, and their relationship of the architect of the TARP program that provided it, Paulson.

However, the fact that JP Morgan has also benefited every step of the bailout/extortion way is inescapable, while the reality of Jamie Dimon’s relationship with Obama usually flies under the radar.  As does the fact that where Obama, Dimon and Paulson are concerned, all roads lead to Chicago.

We all know that Paulson is from Barrington, Illinois and served as Goldman’s Midwestern Investment Division chief in Chicago before becoming the company’s CEO.  A Republican, who once served as an intern to Richard Nixon, Paulson has nonetheless been accused by fellow Chicagoan, Robert Novak and Nina Easton of being a Republican in Name Only (RINO) whose appointments were to serve as groundwork for his wife’s college friend, Hillary Clinton’s cabinet, despite the fact that Paulson’s political donations were primarily in support of his party.   However, if Paulson was trying to pave the way for anybody, it was Barack Obama, not Hillary Clinton.

Post-Racial, My Ass

In a speech akin to that of a black slave driver addressing a congregation of his subjects about the injustice of their enslavement at a prayer meeting, while entreating them to overcome the inequities they face by simply being better slaves, Pretendident Barack Obama adopted his now-familiar Reverend Brother Daddy persona and verbally bitch-slapped his most loyal supporters for not rising above the similar backgrounds they share with him, as he did.  Presenting the keynote speech at the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People’s centennial anniversary dinner, and, once again reducing the major challenges confronting the African American community to bad parenting,  he yet again exhorted black people to turn off their XBoxes and make their children do their homework, as if that alone will make their schools, circumstances, and lives better.

While admitting to systemic inequities, he nonetheless falsely equated the right-wing meme of “personal responsibility” with the justification for the abdication of government obligation to ensure equal access and opportunity to a segment of society to whom those basic rights have long been, and continue to be, denied.  This is all too familiar territory for the man, who, like many of the children of his mythical, stereotypical Ray-Ray and Pookie, (who he exhorts to get up off the couch and stop watching Sports Center and feeding their kids Popeye’s fried chicken for breakfast) was raised in a “non-nuclear” family most of his life.  However, instead of stressing that the family dynamic is far less important than the opportunities to provide that caregivers have to offer their charges, he insists upon promoting the “dysfunctional” black family as the root cause of the majority of black people’s ills.  Let’s face it, he was primarily raised by grandparents, just like many African American, and other “disadvantaged” children “abandoned” by their fathers, yet, unlike those inner-city and impoverished youngsters, his family was able to give him access to world travel and private  school education, options unavailable to the families he now so fondly assails.  Additionally, though when living in two-parent households, the parents in question were never both his, he, for some inexplicable reason, continues to recite the fairy tale that two-parent families are the only, or best path to black success.

She Believes She Can Fly

Fifteen year old Kimberly Anyadike took off from Compton Woodley Airport in a single engine Cessna on June 29, 2009, and landed there July 11, becoming the youngest African American female to fly cross country solo.  Her adult safety pilot was 87 year old Levi Thornhill, a Tuskegee Airmen pilot during World War II, a fact which Kimberly says made the accomplishment all the more special:

Anyadike said she didn’t want to make the trip to set a record or become some kind of celebrity. “I wanted to inspire other kids to really believe in themselves,” she said. She also wanted to honor the Tuskegee Airmen, the U.S. Army Air Corps’ all-black combat unit who served during World War II.

“They left such a great legacy. I had big shoes to fill,” she said. “All they wanted to do was to be patriots for this country. They were told no, that they were stupid, that they didn’t have cognitive development to fly planes. They didn’t listen. They just did what they wanted to do.”

So did Kimberly.  The courageous young woman who learned to fly planes and helicopters as a student in the Compton-based Tomorrow’s Aeronautical Museum after school program for “disadvantaged” and “at-risk” youth, told the museum’s founder, Robin Petgrave of her cross-country dream not long after enrolling in the program.  Warned by Petgrave that such an undertaking could be daunting, Anyadike reportedly replied, “Put it on.  I got big shoulders.”

Indeed she does.  During her record-breaking trip, Kimberly met about 50 of the legendary Tuskegee Airmen and had them autograph the museum-owned Cessna so that they could “fly with us forever.”  Before embarking on her solo journey, Kimberly explained her motives:

“I’m extremely excited because I’ll be paying tribute to the great Tuskegee Airmen,” said Anyadike, an Inglewood resident. “They were told that they didn’t have the cognitive development to be able to fly a plane, and they proved everyone wrong. They didn’t lose a single bomber in battle.”

Why Not Sotomayor?

Ever heard the expression, “stop the world I want to get off?”  Suffice it to say that if the world were ever to stop for me, I wouldn’t be disembarking, I’d be tossing looney toon butt wiping twits left and right into the stratosphere with gleeful abandon.  Maybe then, the rest of us could return to some degree of something that in some way at least resembles something approaching normalcy and reason.

Over at The Widdershins, in  the comment section of the post, “Hillary Clinton: Ready To lead On Day One” which examined the differences and similarities between the media treatment of Hillary Clinton and Sarah Palin, by “Be Mindful,” commenter “La-t-da” was moved to ask this question near the middle of the thread:

Where is all the Sarah rah rah fest coming from? Aren’t there some liberal women out there that we can be rah rahing about?

I responded that yes, there is an ostensibly liberal woman we could be rah rahing about: Sonia Sotomayor, which touched off a pretty spirited discussion.  I pointed out that just the day before, the Associated Press had run an article, which was reprinted many places, including Salon, noting that women’s groups were, by and large, taking a “wait and see” approach to giving full support to the newest Supreme Court nominee.  Yet, throughout the PUMAsphere, and elsewhere, support has been given much more freely to the soon-to-be-former governor of Alaska, sometimes becoming full-throated, energetic, and downright passionate.  Christianity Today pointed out that when David Letterman made his insulting “slutty flight attendant with the daughter that should be knocked up during a baseball game” jokes, women’s groups rushed to her defense.  The groups named in the article range from the conservative “anti-feminist” Concerned Women for America, to that bastion of feminism, the National Organization For Women, though they seem to be unaware of the vigorous campaign launched by PUMA Pac, participated in by women all over the PUMAsphere and GretaWire.  Those combined efforts forced the unrepentant talk show host to issue a series of “apologies.”

AstroTurfing AntiFeminism: The Myth Of Feminist Self-Destruction

One need only assess the sorry state of modern feminism today to realize the movement is in pretty total disarray.  From the schism between so-called second and third wavers exemplified by the shenanigans associated with the latest National Organization for Women’s election, to the current elevation of Sarah Palin, and to an extent, Michelle Obama, to the status of poster girl for modern womanhood, to the suggestion that Barack Obama somehow exemplifies modern feminism, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out something is very, very wrong with this picture.  The question is, what?

Let me once again be very clear, I have never considered myself to be a feminist.  I have never taken a Women’s Studies course, or really paid much attention to the movement at all.   At least, not until recently.  Lately though, I’ve been doing my own brand of research in an attempt to try to get a handle on just what the heck is going on, especially as it relates to the PUMAsphere.  Because as things stand now, whatever’s happening is something I don’t quite like.

So, in my meager efforts to scratch the surface of the vast subject that is feminism, imagine my surprise to find that there is an equal and opposite counter-movement called “anti-feminism.”  Now, I was aware that there have always been factions opposed to the concept of gender equality on a variety of bases, but the idea that their efforts rose to the level of  separate, and equal,  movement was a bit disconcerting.  I suppose it would be akin to finding out that their was an acknowledged, coordinated, and accepted anti-Civil Rights, white supremacist movement that openly advocated the defeat of all minority gains.  I imagine if such a coalition exists, it is relatively underground, if not in their efforts, at least in their advertising.

The End Of Men?

Researchers, specifically, sperm biologists, (who knew there was such a field?) claim that eliminating human males from the reproductive process is not their goal.  In fact, quite the opposite is the case.  In attempting to create viable human sperm outside the testicles from embryonic stem cells, they insist they’re trying to help infertile men produce children who are genetically their own.  However, without letting one’s imagination run too wild, it’s possible to envision a new Amazonian master race capable of reproduction without the assistance of men.  Especially if some intrepid scientist were to resume research into developing sperm from XX chromosomes, previous attempts at which were unsuccessful, and prevail.  Of course, attempting such a thing would be unethical, probably immoral, and currently illegal.

However, British scientists are claiming success at creating quasi-sperm from stem cells in spite of the current restrictions in place:

A team of British scientists claimed Wednesday to have created human sperm using embryonic stem cells, in a medical first that they say will lead to a better understanding of fertility.

Researchers led by Professor Karim Nayernia at Newcastle University and the NorthEast England Stem Cell Institute (NESCI) developed a new technique that allows the creation of human sperm in the laboratory.

They stressed that the sperm, developed from stem cells with XY chromosomes (male), would not be used for fertility treatment, as this is prohibited by law and in any case is not their main interest.

“This is an important development as it will allow researchers to study in detail how sperm forms and lead to a better understanding of infertility in men — why it happens and what is causing it,” said Nayernia.

“This understanding could help us develop new ways to help couples suffering infertility so they can have a child which is genetically their own.”

Dang That Sarah To Heck!

So, Sarah Palin managed to knock weeklong news reports about Michael Jackson’s death, reminiscent of Saturday Night Live’s running gag about Generalissimo Franco, and the usual compelling Obamessiah stories ranging from his upcoming slap-in-the-face trip to Africa to his predilection for proper name pronunciation, right off the front pages on what’s usually a slow news dump day by announcing her resignation as Alaska’s governor, out of the clear blue.  And, to tell you the truth, it pissed me off.

After spending most of yesterday researching and composing what I consider to be a rather interesting, and certainly lengthy, post, I finally managed to publish the damned thing, only to find myself scooped by Palin’s news.  What’s up with that, Sarah P.?

Dang that woman!

I mean, really!  And, to make bad matters worse, it forces me to admit something sure to put me at odds with my fellow PUMAs.  I really don’t care.

Now, I know that to march in lockstep with my anti-Obite sisters and brothers, I should be up in arms over this latest development, but I’m not.  Frankly, I don’t even understand the overabundance of SarahLove I see daily in the PUMAsphere.  She’s okay and all, and, I certainly respect her pluck in the face of the manufactured adversity she’s had to endure since Day One from the right and left, whether such controversies and attacks were personal or political in nature, but…well, that’s about it.  I’m not all emotionally invested like some of my colleagues seem to be about it, though.

Frankly, I find the “support Palin because she’s a woman” stance so many advocate so passionately to be puzzling, and, to tell you the truth, a little hypocritical.  The same factions who so adamantly denounced African American support for Obama based solely on skin color, seem all too willing to devote themselves to Palin simply on the basis of gender.  I didn’t buy that crap when it was pushed on me about “voting for the brother,” and I won’t buy it on feminist grounds regarding Palin.  Seems to me there’s a difference between a willingness to defend any woman against sexist attacks and misogyny, and full-fledged political support for someone whose policies you can’t endorse.

Did Feminism Kill Macho?

On June 20, the National Organization for Women elected a new board in what has been characterized in some circles as something of a coup d’etat.   Calling it a coup is something of a mischaracterization however, since the old board was out anyway, with the former president, Kim Gandy, stepping down due to term limits.  Yet, the victors were successful in labeling their opponents as “more of the same” and continuation of the status quo, due to Gandy’s support for the slate, and endorsement of its candidate for president, Latifa Lyles, who served under Gandy as Membership VP.  The incoming slate, headed by Terry O’Neill, former VP of membership before said office became something of a black woman’s glass ceiling, has promised to take the floundering organization in a new direction by returning it to its roots.  Stay with me, now, it gets better.

On June 22, Foreign Policy posted an article entitled, The Death of Macho, discussed this morning on CNN’s AMfix, which posits that the testosterone-fueled patriarchy has so screwed the world, especially economically, that they have basically engineered their own demise as a power structure. Which means women are now poised to take the lead by stepping into the void and dutifully, and competently, and, as should be expected, clean up the boyz’ mess, thereby saving the world while effectively emasculating John Wayne.  Or, something like that.  Of course, the article’s author, Reihan Salam, doesn’t credit feminism for the demise of machismo, he blames the recession, which he terms a “he-cession,” due to its devastating effects on male employment opportunities.

However, though unspoken, one cannot escape the specter of the effects of feminism in all this, and, Salam does not, even though, he truly doesn’t seem to recognize his error:

The era of male dominance is coming to an end.

Seriously.

For years, the world has been witnessing a quiet but monumental shift of power from men to women. Today, the Great Recession has turned what was an evolutionary shift into a revolutionary one. The consequence will be not only a mortal blow to the macho men’s club called finance capitalism that got the world into the current economic catastrophe; it will be a collective crisis for millions and millions of working men around the globe.

Wingnut Or Moonbat?

“I know what you are, but what am I?”

That’s how I felt after noticing that my blog had been linked by another blog, Elle Est Belle La Siene La Siene Elle Est Belle, which means….fuck if I know, I’m one of those foreign language illiterates Pretendident Baracus Whosayin’ Yomama looks down his nose at.  Anyway, the title of the post in question is, Wingnut With Moonbat Tendencies: The Political Blogger’s Bait And Switch.  Near as I can figure, the “not preeminent blogger,” (her words, at least I assume she’s a “her,” I may not speak French, but I can figure out that much from the name of the blog) thinks I’m a “wingnut” who can’t decide what I really want to be when I grow up.  And while that may, or may not be true, (I haven’t decided what I want to be when, and if, I do ever have to grow up) the example she uses to laugh at me is funnier than her amusement at my expense.  At least, I think it is.

Seems Elle La Belle thinks my post Sotomayor Gay?  Who Cares? is Limbaugh-esque in title, but Obot progressive in text.  Or, something like that.  Now, I can see where that might be funny, if the author of the critical post had a clue about whatever the hell she’s talking about, but in this case, it’s just, well…okay, it’s funny, albeit for drastically different reasons than those she supposes to be true.  Whatever.  Here’s her “logic:”

All because über-ultra-conservative wingnuts (I prefer the unadulterated wingnut to the hyphenated form. O, get up off the floor and be quiet) — all because they have me stuttering when I write, laughing when I read.

They do things like write a fairly cogent post about, say, Sonia Sotomayor — in the guise of — oh, I don’t know — a post about Obama’s inability to speak without use of the teleprompter. Follow along now, it makes perverted sense! Then The Dickwad — oops, I mean The Wingnut — directs traffic in the comment section, where perversion goes to be brought to fruition. Now… my example is of a Two-Stepper but to really make nice with The Evolutionary Bilge, you should go in search of a nicely done Three(or Four)-Stepper, usually constructed with an intermediary entry that serves to narrow the topic focus. In this instance, I could see a post about The Supreme Court reversing one of Sotomayor’s rulings… and wouldn’t it be absolutely Faustian were that to turn out to be something about discrimination “against whites”? Mwa-ha-ha!

And The Wheels On The Bus Go…

So, ya wanna talk noncommittal commitment?  When it comes to not quite making empty promises but sounding like you might be about to, nobody pulls the wool over the eyes of the Sheeple in a soundbite like Pretendident Wishy Washy Waffler.  I mean, I believe in giving credit where credit is due, so, I have no problem unequivocally declaring Baracko Bama, King of Jabberwockilicious Doublespeak.  Take, for example, this doozy of an example of talking loud and saying nothing.  At yesterday’s stage-managed Kiss Up to the Pissed Off Gay Community Meeting on the Downlow, which may, or may not have been exclusively attended by real LGBT activists, since an unspecified number of them were flown in from Chicago, and they were all ushered in and out through the back door, the Spokemodel-In-Chief had this to say:

“I suspect that by the time this administration is over, I think you guys will have pretty good feelings about the Obama administration,” the president said.

Oh, be still my heart.  He “suspects” his administration might could maybe perhaps do some unspecified thing that he thinks could probably make us guys less pissed to the point of pretty goodness.  Oh, joy.  And, since I’m sure you guys want proof, beyond the fact that the camera loving Homo Helper, (toot do do dooooo!) protector, defender and promoter of gay rights, did not appear with said protectees on TV, that he actually papered the room with seat-fillers, and snuck the 300 people in attendance in and out so he could lie to them in private, here’s two snippets, one from the Chicago Sun-Times article linked to above…

President Obama and first lady Michelle welcomed gay activists to the White House on Monday, with a contingent from Chicago flying in to mark LGBT pride month.

Invited guests from Chicago (not spouses or partners who came with) included Debra Shore of the Metropolitan Water Reclamation District of Greater Chicago, Michael Bauer, Fred Eychaner, Vernita Gray, Mary Morten, Miriam Redleaf, Catherine Renna, Laura Ricketts and Jane Saks.

Sex, Sex, Sex

Americans are preoccupied with sex.  And not in a good way.  We don’t celebrate our sexuality, more often we question it, pretend to try to hide it, exploit it, deny it, use it as a weapon, or, blame it on somebody else.  We are never horny, “somebody else” holds the power to unleash our passions, not us.  It’s never our fault we’re turned on by whatever turns us on; if it wasn’t for that guy, girl, melody, scent, whatever, hell, we’d never get sexually excited at all.  So, how come every commercial, every movie, every song, every news story, somehow, no matter what it claims to be about, comes back to sex?  And, just how often are we skillfully manipulated against our interests because of our collective immaturity?

The news stories about Michael Jackson’s passing invariably mention child molestation.  Why?  The man has 3 children, even if they’re the products of artificial insemination, he had to indulge in some sort of sexual activity to achieve fatherhood, even if they attached a milking machine to his member.  He was acquitted of all molestation charges brought against him that weren’t settled, not all of which were really the result of outrage and anger on behalf of the aggrieved parents, but by the determination of the state to convince those parents to file after Michael claimed to see no problem with allowing kids to share his bed.  Where are all the shotgun-wielding dads?  The screaming, hysterical moms frantically dialing 9-1-1?  Who would want to protect the image of a pervert who was actually molesting their kid?  But no, for some reason, we’re more comfortable with the image of him as a pedophile than of a lonely, confused guy with a porn addiction, something that came out (so to speak) at trial.  Even the parents testifying against him said they took their kids back to the ranch after they became suspicious, and the guy who claimed to witness abuse didn’t freak out and so much as yell at him to stop.  Can you really imagine such a thing?  The only way it makes sense is if he really was a rather androgynous, sexually confused weirdo who saw nothing wrong with sleeping with kids as long as you don’t touch them.  Otherwise, our attitude about his behavior says much more about us than it does about him.  After all, he was a song and dance man who kids, and their parents, still love.  And, where there’s smoke, there’s not always fire.  Sometimes all you find is a prop guy with dry ice and a fan.

Hillarizing The Mom-In-Chief

Uh-oh.  Seems like the Place Putters of the Patriarchy have run into a snag in their well-coordinated Chick March to Cleaverville.  Their duly appointed, previously compliant mascot, First Lady of the Ebony Arms, Michelle Obama, has apparently realized she has a pair, and that hers are not only bigger than theirs, they’re up front, where they count.

Of course, such insubordination from the Symbol of Submission is sure to cause considerable consternation to the Weenie Warrior Brigade, who, by dispatching their allied footsoldiers to go on the offensive, toy guns a-blazing, launching a preemptive opening salvo,  the generals of AstroTurfania have given away their position.  Thus, the Times Online, UK screams the panicked headline:

Michelle Obama raises fears over Hillary Clinton-style debacle

…and features this picture:

Hahahahahahahaha…wooooooo!  I’m dying here.  What, you may ask, on God’s Green Earth could FLOTUS have possibly done to shrink the packages of so many that they would actually lob such loaded grenades directly at her, and, through Hillary, indirectly at women in general, from the sanctuary of their little laptop barricades?   Had a sandwich-making cigar session with Mark Sanford and John Ensign in the Lincoln bedroom?  I mean, pulling out the “Oh my God, she’s acting like…Hillary!  Save us!!” card before they even hint at what Sleeveless Sue might have done, denotes a pretty high level of irrational fear and desperation  from the Skid Mark Crew.  And, maybe the Boyz in the Backroom are right to be so afraid, because Ms. Obama is making it patently clear that from here on out, she’s gonna be…involved!

Bwahahahahahahaaaaa!

What’s Good For The Gander

Now, I don’t know a lot about local Detroit politics, and, what I know about Chicago and Illinois politics is based upon voluminous reading and distant memory.  But, that being said, in my very humble opinion, if Rod Blagojevich had to resign or be impeached because he had been arrested, but not indicted until much later, Monica Conyers certainly must go, too.  Fair is fair.  However, according to the Detroit Free Press, just because  United States Congressman John’s wife has plead guilty of accepting a bribe, she doesn’t have to resign her seat as President Pro Tem of the City Council unless she feels like it.  And, based on what little I know about the feisty Mrs. Conyers, she’s probably not likely to feel like it any time soon.

Seems the woman who collaborated with her husband to circumvent Michigan’s very practical rules against voting for people who aren’t on the ballot, by promoting a “Vote Uncommitted For Obama” campaign during last year’s Democratic primaries, didn’t consult her husband at all when she played “Let’s Make A Deal” with somebody from Synagro Technologies two times in front of McDonald’s and a rec center in exchange for her vote.  Though she has admitted to the charges, the powers that be, such as they are, in Detroit are not calling for her head en masse, like their Illinois state-level counterparts did for Cabbage Patch Weeble Blagojevich’s full, supple scalp.  In fact, one of the only people who seem to be screaming for her to resign is the former President Pro Tem, then, interim Mayor, (after Kwame Kilpatrick got busted) and now, current Council President, Ken Cockrel, Jr., and, that’s just because he’s still mad she called him “Shrek” on the Council floor last year.  Monica is probably still ticked about the whole thing too, since she got cussed out by an 8th grader on TV for doing it.  Anyway, Cockrel’s stepmother, Councilwoman Sheila, and Councilman Kwame Kenyatta are also lined up to put a foot up Conyers’ behind and send her flying to the curb and under the bus, as the entire Illinois legislature did to Blago, but, former Pistons’ guard, Mayor Dave Bing, is trying to walk back his earlier condemnation based on the fact that the Divine Ms. M got around being indicted by pleading guilty.  Besides, he’s busy.  No, I’m not making this up:

Michael

The news of Michael Jackson’s death has made me sadder than I would have thought it would, had I ever allowed myself to consider such a thing.  Which I didn’t.  Who did?  When you thought Michael Jackson, you never thought “dead,” you thought, “weird.”  Because, let’s be honest, that’s what Michael was, what Michael seemed to most enjoy being, what we liked about him best.

Michael made a career out of being everybody’s crazy old elderberry wine-drinking aunt with a favorite window seat, or that scary/lovable uncle who liberated Auschwitz and now lives in the basement/attic, who the kids are taught not to ask him about “you-know-what,” whatever “it” is, to his face.  Totally whackadoodle, but family.

Even after allegations arose of him being a child abuser, parents continued to allow him access to their children; introducing them to his music, taking them to his concerts, applauding their clumsy efforts to imitate his dance steps.  Some even took their kids to his home and dropped them off, even knowing that he saw nothing wrong with them sharing his bed.

Perhaps because of his endearing, soft spoken nature, we were comfortable with the idea that he was an innocent soul, exploited and victimized for our benefit, robbed of his childhood and so determined to perpetuate it into infinity and beyond.  In order to bring his talent to us, he had been abused, so we allowed ourselves to think, making us equally determined to protect and indulge his illusion of innocence.  Of course a poor guy like that would sleep in a bariactic chamber and tote a chimpanzee around, wearing one glove, high-water pants, sparkly socks and ill-fitting jackets with loud colored bow ties, when he wasn’t adorned in fake medal festooned toy soldier outfits with his greasy hair and plastic face.

Pretendidential Perfection

Okay, it’s official.  Pretendident Backtrack Whosayin’ Yomama is perfect, and we, the mere mortals he deigns to pontificate to from on high, are unworthy of even the privilege of smelling his dirty underwear, kissing his funky feet, or wearing his pearl necklace, if one was to be proffered, unlike his Chief Obacolyte and Waterboy, Press Secretary and high school soccer star, Robert, son of Tom Arnold and Mr. Peepers, Gibbs.  That last piece of invaluably crucial info comes to us courtesy of the circle-jerking fratboy fluffers over at MSNBO, whom I so foolishly tried to cut some slack yesterday, empathetic as I was about their being butt fucked and passed over in favor of Oval Office conduit, George Snuffleupagus’ network, ABC, for the Panderer-In-Chief’s Prescription for America Talk/Variety Show and Cheerleading Competition Extravaganza.  Silly-assed me.

However, it’s thanks to the buttsniffers at rightwing-lite Politico (hey, its all about the blog hits, you don’t gotta like the guy) that we know the ObaMessiah walks among us, divinely incarnate, on a mission from God, ala the Blues Brothers.  In a post second only to that San Francisco guy’s O Holy Lightworker column from last year, the wanktards at Politico spend a few hundred wasted words lamenting the fact that That One So Perfect’s only flaw is that he’s so fucking gloriously flawless:

Let’s be honest: Barack Obama is better than you are.

He’s a better father — taking breaks from running the world to cheer on his daughters at soccer and basketball games.

He’s a better husband — zipping his wife off for dinner in New York and Paris.

He’s got a better diet — nibbling on vegetables from his homegrown garden to keep his love handles in check.

And he’s got a terrific jump shot.

You? Not so much.

MSNBO KoolAid Weaning?

So, for some unfathomable reason I cannot really explain, for the first time in at least a year, I’m sitting here watching MSNBO.  I don’t know what brain demons compelled me to turn to it this morning, probably the fact that I was awake and bored at 4:00 a.m. contributed to my decision to play with my own head like that.  Whatever.  Anyway, while I’m not willing to declare Pretendident Snippypants’ favorite network as a KoolAid free zone, to do so would require much more evidence, as well as considerably more resources than are available to me in the confines of a mere blog, the hopium juice does seem to be running low.  I mean, really, if the Obaporn fluff staff of the GE donor-owned pseudo news source ever fully turned on the object of their affection, a squadron of rocket-propelled, pamphlet-dropping, DayGlo painted Goodyear blimps with flashing strobe lights, amped-up calliope music and bungee cord-connected, dangling dancing girls booty bumping parachuting Elvis impersonators clad in Christmas tree light festooned black velveteen sequined jumpsuits and Ronald McDonald clown masks, all leaping and cavorting mid-air while special jets pumped out multi-colored cotton candy-like skywriting messages proclaiming, “So what if he’s black?  Obama sucks!” would be required, at a bare minimum.

So, while I don’t think it’s time yet to sober up the marching Oomp pa pa band, three things happened on the Network of the Sheeple that deserve note.  First, they covered semi-soul patch adorned Chuck Todd’s prodding of the pretendident to snippitude during the Narcissist-in-Chief’s latest Love Me Tender, You Know You Want To pointless press conference.  Seems Chuckie actually called Barry out on his wimpitude re: Iran, and Baracus Hubris Maximus (Hail, Ceasar!) went into “oh, snap! I know you di’int just go there” mode.

Tee hee

Demand Single Payer

“If you push a negative hard enough, it will push through and become a positive.” Violence from the other side can win the public to your side because the public sympathizes with the underdog. (Unions used this tactic. Peaceful [albeit loud] demonstrations during the heyday of unions in the early to mid-20th Century incurred management’s wrath, often in the form of violence that eventually brought public sympathy to their side.)

Alinsky’s Rules For Radicals, Number 10

After a week of reading and writing about the horrors of the Twitter Revolution, both in terms of the human tragedy, and (mainly) the specter of external agitation, I was all set to explore the madness of HBO’s new series, Hung, about a guy with nothing going for himself but a big weenie, and this Salon piece about how the economic downturn is causing American women to resort to the fall back asset they were born with, (as opposed to typing and shorthand) prostitution.

Then I read this.

Don’t have health insurance? Don’t want to pay for it? Too bad.

It’s looking like President Barack Obama and the Democratic-controlled Congress are going to require you to pick up the bill.

In Washington-speak, it’s called an individual mandate — or a requirement that people who don’t already have health insurance to purchase it, much like most states require drivers to have automobile insurance.

What The Fuck?

Obama, Barack Obama

So, is Pretendident Big Daddy Baracko Whosayin’ Yomama channeling his inner James Bond, or what?  Due to his tendency to play his personal information cards ridiculously close to his vest, speculation has naturally arisen in many diverse camps that he may be some sort of stealth undercover agent of one of the government’s various alphabet soup covert organizations.  Dunno about that, but in light of the latest Twitter Revolution’s possible origins, I found an MSNBO article about his desire to turn America’s college campuses into recruitment arms of the CIA pretty interesting.  Imagine my surprise, nay, shock, shock, I tellya, to find that said article found yesterday is no longer available there today.  Not.

That’s not to say the piece was deliberately, or even permanently “disappeared.”  To the contrary, MSNBO’s sister source, the Washington Post still has the article up.  But, ya do gotta wonder why it’s no longer available on the Celebritician’s favorite network.  In fact, why was it up there in the first place?

But, let’s back up a minute.  The protests in Iran, originally supposed to be in response to allegations of voter fraud by opposition candidate Mir Hossein Mousavi, have been characterized as a women, youth and student-led revolt.  With the Iranian government’s crackdown on news reports, it’s pretty easy to see how the anonymous, unverifiable tweets, photos and emails could be manipulated by outside agents infiltrating college campuses specifically for that purpose.  That doesn’t mean that the concerns of the protesters are illegitimate, or that the violence and confrontations are staged, however it could be that the hornet’s nest has been deliberately poked with a stick by entities with an agenda of their own.  That’s what makes this little story so compellingly interesting:

Daddy Dearest Duz Dinner

Pretendident Baracko Bama donned dinner jacket and deigned to dine with the Lesser Minions of the Lamestream Media on the eve of the Eve of his Destruction, Fucked Up Father’s Day.  Of course, according to Barack Oedipal, all fathers are fucked up, except him, and those willing to be “fathered” by him.  Thus, every freakin’ year, men have to be preached to about their shortcomings as parents by the man who sits at the right hand of the father he invented as a child, then re-invented as an adult, who he continues to mold, shape and reconfigure into an entity worthy of being worshiped by him.  I’m not a guy and it pisses me off.  Who the hell are you, O Father Where Art Thou, to be ragging on manhood as if children were raising themselves under the inadequate supervision of incompetent, unqualified minor beings, i.e., girlz, until you came along in full Mighty Mouse mode to save the friggin’ day?  I hate to break it to you, Little Orphan Barry, nobody gives a flying flip about the  abandonment issues inflicted upon you by the paternal parental unit you only know in your dreams.  It ain’t our fault you’re black.

You’re not very funny, either Barko.  Besides the fact that you have to snicker at your own “jokes” to cue a friendly audience as to when it’s okay to laugh, you committed a couple of other comedic sins, on top of the bad “jokes” during your “performance” at the Radio and Television Correspondents Association dinner last night.

Bitter Knitters, Spinning Wheels, And Pretzel Logic

I am not a bandwagoneer.  It takes a lot to get me to go along with anything, or anyone, at any time.  Given the way perceptions can be radically shifted by agents employing fairly subtle techniques, I have a hard time accepting things that are reported as “prevailing wisdom,” or “common knowledge,” or anything suggesting that whatever being discussed is something “everybody knows.”  Everybody knows shit.  Nobody knows squat.  However you want to say it, unless you’re under the age of 17 and trying to cajole a parent into granting permission for something you want, but know good and well you shouldn’t have, “everybody knows” has no place in anybody’s vocabulary.  Everybody knows that.

When I hear people compare the current power struggle in Iran to last year’s Democratic party primary shenanigans here in the United States, and cast the Iranian dissidents in the role of PUMAs, i.e., disgruntled voters outraged about voter fraud, I can only scratch my head.  Trying to cast Mir Hossein Mousavi into the Hillary Clinton part is way too big a stretch for me.  Although in the primaries and caucuses, the “establishment” was felt to be unfairly supporting Obama, especially in the case of Michigan and Florida, and it was Obama who bussed shitloads of people to out of state caucuses and gangstered them, not Clinton, and it was Obama who bought off the superdelegates, and strong armed any number of people in order to circumvent a true floor vote at the convention, it was Obama’s camp that threatened to riot in the streets, and, who spread their message through the social media.  It was Obama who captured the malleable passions of the latest gullible campus bound Pepsi Generation, and conscripted them into an online army.

Obamboozlogandizing AstroTurf: 101

Obamboozlogandizing AstroTurf is the art of of spreading deodorized bullshit, aka, hopium laced KoolAid, to Sheeple, by preaching sanitized nonsense via the media and internet.  The goal is to hoodwink said Sheeple, by any means necessary, into believing that whatever claptrap being offered is the fulfillment of an as yet unarticulated dream, satisfying a wish, or need, they may or may not have any idea they had, while doing the opposite, without getting one’s hands dirty.

Of course, this technique is not exactly novel; it is simply an amalgamation of many Sheeple herding tactics from history, gathered under one umbrella, and wielded by Baracko and the Obacolytes.   Credit for the biggest block upon which this house of cards, smoke, and mirrors is built goes to Screamin’ Howie Dean, who, but for the shortsightedness of web cowboy Joe Trippi, might well be into his second term right now.  You see, Dean Trippi’s shared Achilles heel was their inability to appreciate the vital necessity of The TelePrompTer for pretenditicians seeking higher office.  Had Dr. Creeple People had a  Trusty TelePrompTer of his very own, chances are the Edvard Munch impression he did would never have happened; and, if it had, he could simply have read a heartfelt, fratboy written, cliche-filled, hackneyed speech by rote  the next day and been forgiven by all the teary-eyed bleeding hearts impressed with his Meetup fund raising innovation.

Back In The Saddle Again

After taking a couple of days off to deal with the dreaded Real Life Stuff (RLS) I’ve learned a few interesting things.  One of the few things that make sense to me lately is this painting of Pretendident Black Whosayin Yomama being eaten by a Hell Burger, done by Dan Lacey, the guy who likes to paint portraits of famous people, mainly politicians, with pancakes on their heads.   The main lesson I’ve learned however, is that even with all the stuff consuming the news and the PUMAsphere, such as, the Twitter Revolution, the Obama/DOMA/DADT brouhaha, his firing of Inspector General Gerald Walpin, and the Letterman not funny “slutty Palin family” rape joke fiasco/apology, (Go PUMA!) it’s pretty easy to function fairly fully without being overly concerned with any of it.  Seeing as how I’ve been immersed in the political process pimping of the Obacrats for he past two years, the realization that the success of Obathugging is dependent upon the triumph of reality over stagecraft is an epiphany.

In other words, people who’ve been paying attention, regardless of party affiliation or anything else, are fully aware of the gamesmanship of the Pretendident’s Obacolytes, and, either fully embrace and support them as necessary and novel, or, reject them as…well, what they are.  Cheating.  Whether you accept or reject those tactics and/or the man on whose behalf they were employed, depends on your principles, and not so much on your politics.  Some Democrats are fully on board, hands out, ready to roll, others are reluctantly riding along, and still others are disgusted that a man who has never won a fairly contested political race in his life is now pretending to represent them, their interests, and their values on TV.  Read the ‘Prompter, yadda, yadda, turn head, blah, blah, blah.  Republicans are similarly affected, with larger numbers in some camps, lesser ones in others.

Muddied Waters

Where’s the outrage from the left?  Gays?  Women? Uninsured people?  That’s the question being asked by Barack’s Bewildered and everybody else nowadays.  That, and, “what the hell happened?”  The Sheeple are finally starting to “wake up and get it,” and they don’t like it.  Not one little bit.

Hahahahahahaha ha ha!!!!!

That’s what they get for electing a guy just because he’s brown.

The outrage is where it’s always been, right here in the PUMAsphere.  Yep, us angry old bitter knitters have been righteously indignant for so long it’s almost starting to get old.  The only thing that’s fresh is the wind-twisting of the Under The Bussers.”  Those finger-pointing, childish, raspberry blowing Nyah Nanna Na Na Crowd are now experiencing the difficulty of trying to navigate their own self constructed labyrinth in shoes on the other foot.  Now, the David Letterman jokes don’t seem as funny as they did when Bill Maher was telling them about Hillary Clinton.  Where were these people when Jon Favreau was groping Hillary Clinton’s cardboard tit?  Predictably defending Obie’s frat boy brain for just being a boy, that’s where.  Boys will be what they are, after all.  So, what’s the diff now that the “boy” has gray hair?

Pretendidential Sneakitude

I’ve heard the leadership style of Pretendident Black Whosayin Yomama referred to as “11th Dimensional Chess on Pluto.”  I call it, “wimpitude.”  For those hopium hooked Kool Aid addicts impressed with the Waffler’s habit of saying one strangely enticing, yet ultimately, incomprehensible thing and doing another, polar opposite, incomprehensible one, the Celebritician’s “hardball with clean hands” approach seems Solomonaic.  To rational people, his TelePrompTer read doublespeak is infuriating.  And, it pisses people off, too.

Basically, Obama’s style is to try to get his goals accomplished without revealing what they are, by getting other people to do the dirty work.  He imagines himself Godfather-like; “send Clemenza out to get Paulie and the cannoli, but make sure nothing comes back to me but dessert.”  Thus, his interminable, ubiquitous speeches sound like wire tapped phone calls between the Capo and his henchmen, “tell the guy to do the thing, but, if it gets done, he didn’t go it, and we never had this conversation, capice?”

He’s Still Pretendident

Hey kids!  Shake it loose together, the spotlight’s hitting something th…never mind.  Anyway, I’m baaa-aaaack!  Now, I can hear you thinking from here, “where the hell has she been?  Far as I know she didn’t go anywhere.”  And, Smartypants, you’re right.  But, I did take a few hours down time to decompress and try to get my head together, rather than succumb to my self-imposed pressure and just scramble around to throw up some kind of post, any old kind of post, you know?  I was hoping that after a little rest, maybe things would be brighter, my focus would become clearer.  And, you know what?  Nope.  Didn’t happen.  In spite of how hard I prayed, how fervently I wished with my fingers crossed so tight they looked like those wiggly cartoon hands when I finally unwound them from each other, when I woke up, the Con Artist Formerly Known As Cheat was still Pretendident.  Damn!

I know I’m a dreamer, and that my desire to awaken to a world itself awakened with me, having collectively and spontaneously come to the realization that they had been hoodwinked, bam-boozled, led down the garden path, had the wool pulled over their eyes, bent over and fucked, was most likely to be an unfulfilled fantasy.  I’m not stupid.  But, I proudly admit to being a cockeyed optimist, and hey, a girl can still hope, can’t she?  He hasn’t passed a law taxing that yet has he?  Just because he co-opted it doesn’t means he owns it, right?

My God’s Bigger Than Your God

It’s after 3:00 a.m. and I’m sitting here trying to write the post I had been composing in my head all day.  I had great little news bits to work with, too; Salon’s helpful refutation of anti-Obama right wingnut talking points through the use of interchangeable left wingnut pro-Obama-sanctioned talking points, the American press’ defense of Baracko Bama in the face of the European press’ slam against their visiting meal-ticket and love object ’s trademark rude aloofness, Hillary Clinton’s “I’m Secretary of State ‘cuz he begged me,” Obama rah-rah, and other tasty little juicy morsels upon which to chew.  I was so looking forward to giving verbal raspberries to the Sheeple Mind controllers for theior hysterical, “He Went!” “He Came Back!” over-the-top non news reporting.  And, man, I was really going to enjoy ripping PUMA-bashing AOL blogger Tommy Christopher for lying about being fired for his part in exposing the ugly Playboy invitation to rape article they put up and snatched down in just enough time for it to go viral, when in fact, according to his boss, Melinda Henneberger, Mr. Christopher was relieved of his duties along with his co-workers when the company decided to go in a new direction and hire real journalists.

However, after perusing the news and the PUMAsphere, one particular discussion about turmoil resulting from religious conflict really started to stick in my craw, wherever that is.  They omitted craw location in the human anatomy in my high school biology classes, but then, I’m from Chicago.  Anyway, the holier-than-thou, “my God can lick your God” attitude inherent in a lot of the posts and commentary available on the web, really started to piss me off.

Where Is The Muslim World Carmen Sandiego?

Ever since The First Most Freakishly Awesome Half Black/Half Amazing Historically Historic Son Of A Kenyan Goatherder To Be Elected President Of The United States Considering Its Complicated Racial History Evah, Barackallah Whosayin ObaMessiah, (The Man Who Would Be God If We Didn’t Already Have One)  gave his Latest Most Critically Important Speech On Something Really Important Evah, this time about The Muslim World vs. Normal People, in Cairo last Thursday, I’ve been a little obsessed with the media’s reaction to it.  Some over- and under-paid media pundits in print and onscreen think it was just ooey gooey goodness personified, while other over- and under-paid Sheeple Mind Movers claim it was pretty good…but.  A few heretofore unknown analysts with advanced degrees, called up from the minors of academia and/or the outer offices of basement office holders in politics to provide “balance,” said the speech sucked dirty toilet water and totally missed the point.  They, along with the “C-list” independent bloggers of the right wing and PUMAsphere, (who currently exist only to be mocked by the co-opted, corporate and/or political PAC backed, or corporate and/or political PAC backed wannabe, “A” and “B” listers of the mainstream media and the too-stupid-to-realize-they’re-under-the-bus blogosphere, privy to e-mails, press releases, occasional lunches and other Obacrat ass kissing opportunities) seem to be the only humans on the planet, besides the Taliban, unmoved to heights of ecstasy by the most recent example of the Obasmic oratory of ObiWan-NaBeKing, EP.

The (C)Ombination of Church And State

While most of the media is still waxing rhapsodic about Barackallah’s (He Who Thinks He’s God) Kumbay’all speech in Cairo, Egypt, Thursday, the meaning, the purpose, the effect, the sheer scope and breadth of the magnificence of his grandiloquence is being touted, beheld, and celebrated with awe and wonder.   Yet, no one seems to be asking the question uppermost in my mind: why’d he do it?

Yes, I know he claims to want to open the door to peace, yada yada, waaah, waaah.  And, I know he knows that one measly little speech will not solve the problems emanating from the Middle East that are now facing the world.  By all estimations, it’s gonna take at least six, maybe more, depending on approval ratings.  But, he didn’t address the Middle East, or terrorists, or a particular nation’s particular problems.  In fact, he pretty clearly stated that that wasn’t his job.  His job, as he sees it, is to address and protect Islam.  From his speech, A New Beginning:

So I have known Islam on three continents before coming to the region where it was first revealed. That experience guides my conviction that partnership between America and Islam must be based on what Islam is, not what it isn’t. And I consider it part of my responsibility as President of the United States to fight against negative stereotypes of Islam wherever they appear. (emphasis mine)

Sermon On The Nile

And I consider it part of my responsibility as President of the United States to fight against negative stereotypes of Islam wherever they appear.

-Barack Obama, Cairo

While the media, mainstream, mid-stream, and off the deep end included, is still stuck in it’s traditional, preliminary “suck up to the Pretendident” mode in their coverage of his “suck up to Islam” speech, we’re still at least a couple of days, if not weeks, from anything approaching objective journalistic analysis.  Since I never pretend to bother with such restrictive standards in the first place, being equally inordinately fond of my own opinion as the best (and, worst) of them, I figured I might as well jump into the fray with my pontifications on the ObaMessiah’s Sermon On The Nile.

Rather than start out with his shout out to the brotherhood, which of course could not have been a shout out to the brotherhood since Obrother is not a Muslim, but a committed, never verifiably baptized Christian who’s been to church maybe once since he kicked his pastor of nearly 20 years, (whom he had embraced after the Catholics and Jews he fronted for as a community organizer encouraged him to join some kind, any kind, of church, in order to better pimp the poor) to the curb in return for unearned delegates at the Rules and Bylaws Committee meeting nearly a year ago, I’d like to start with the latest episode in the now characteristically Obambivalent  assault on womanhood he likes to engage in.   In any classic example of Obambivalence, the ObaMassah puts forth a  seemingly even-handed nudge to the position he favors, cleverly disguised as a condemnation of it.  Or vice versa.

The World’s Gone Mad

*UPDATE: Here’s the transcript of Baracus Hubris Maximus (Hail Caesar!)’s
“A New Beginning, ” speech to the Muslim world, for those, like me, who just can’t bear to watch him read it to us.

As I write this, an American Pretendident, Barack Hussein Obama, is in the Middle East about to tell people who hate his country, but love them some him, that he’s not a Muslim, but he feels their pain, from personal experience, while his Jewish Chief of Staff, Rahm Emanuel, stands at his side embodying everything they hate about his country.  Seems he wants to kiss and make up for all the bad stuff George Bush has single-handedly been doing in the region since, oh, I dunno, the Iranian hostage crisis.  I think he’s also planning to try to make the Muslim world, or at least, the Arab part of it, understand that even though he’s gonna keep bombing the shit out of some of them, he really, really wants to be their friend.  That’s because he’s from Chicago, and there are a lot of Muslims there, in fact, there are so many Muslims in this country period, that you could call us one big ol’ Muslim country.

Oh, So NOW He’s A Muslim?

You know, I don’t care if the ObaMessiah worships at the altar of the Great and Powerful Ozbama, (which I’m pretty sure, he does) but I do care that he, and the self-god he prays to, are both bald-faced liars.  Jake Tapper, of ABC News, like me, wonders what the fuck is up with all the “his Muslim background” shit, now that he’s the Pretendident, safely ensconced in the overheated Oval Office cum Hothouse?  Unlike me, they can’t say it that way, so, just as a favor to Jake, I will.

What the fuck is up with all the “my Muslim background” shit now that you’re president, huh, B Hussein O?  How come all of a sudden it’s okay to use your middle name-o?  Did the school you went to in Indonesia have another miraculous transformation and go from being Muslim, to non-denominational, to Catholic, and back to Muslim, like your smearing smearers claimed it was in the first place?  When you’re standing in front of your full-length mirror, nude, flexing, and admiring the beauty and perfection of your own self creation as you make the Muslim call to prayer, which religion have you abandoned in favor of your own Obamianity?  Obamish?  Obamim?  Whatever.  From ABC:

During a conference call in preparation for President Obama’s trip to Cairo, Egypt, where he will address the Muslim world, deputy National Security Adviser for Strategic Communications Denis McDonough said “the President himself experienced Islam on three continents before he was able to — or before he’s been able to visit, really, the heart of the Islamic world — you know, growing up in Indonesia, having a Muslim father — obviously Muslim Americans (are) a key part of Illinois and Chicago.”

Sotomayor Gay? Who Cares?

Okay, now the speculation about Supreme Court nominee Sonia Sotomayor is getting stupid.  Whether she’s the sharpest knife in the drawer, or a bitchy bully, or a reverse racist seems mild in comparison to the current “is she a Lesbian?” nonsense.  So what?  Even if she is, what the hell difference does it make?

Don’t get me wrong, some things I don’t know about her do worry me.  Mainly because Barack Obama chose her, and I don’t trust him as far as I can throw the Empire State Building.  I worry that she might not be supportive of abortion rights, or gay marriage.  But, that’s because I worry that the Pretendident’s lip service to those issues hides a contrary agenda.  The fact that he won’t actually take a stand and actually do something to protect women and gays not only worries me, it pisses me off.  And, because I don’t trust him, I wouldn’t put it past him to try to put a stealth candidate on the Court.  Sotomayor’s reticence on those issues is not exactly confidence building, ya know?

Lying Liars Indeed Lie

I don’t know if Al Franken is the originator of the “lying liars lie” line, in fact, I don’t know much about Franken at all, except, I never thought he was very funny.  I’m not much of an SNL fan, but, I do seem to recall that the Franken years were among the show’s suckiest.  And, I don’t know anything at all about him as a politician, and that’s just fine with me.  Minnesota’s not my home state.  But, all that aside, the “lying liars” sentiment he used as a title of one of his books is spot on when it comes to politics, and journalism, today.

Enumerating all the “lying liars” examples in my mind today might take a while, and take us all over the map, so bear with me, ‘kay?  I guess I’ll start with Salon’s Glenn Greenwald’s vendetta against Jeffrey Rosen over Rosen’s NPR “hit piece” on Sonia Sotomayor.  Seems Greenwald has a butt bug about Rosen’s report that some people think the Supreme Court nominee is kinda bitchy on the bench.  Greenwald says, yeah, she’s tough, but, so’re a lot of judges, and, if a lawyer’s prepared, he or she has a better chance of escaping unscathed from Sotomayor’s wrath.  So far, so drama-less.  The episode takes on a bitch-fest quality of its own, though, when Greenwald takes exception to Rosen’s use of anonymous sources, in fact, it’s at that point that the whole thing proceeds to the Twilight Zone.  For Glenn to get his panties in a twist over Rosen’s use of unattributable quotes is almost, nay, definitely, laughable.

Happy Birthday, PUMA?

Happy birthday PUMA!????

Somehow, that doesn’t sound right.  Look right.  Feel right.  When I think of what happened a year ago today, what it meant, and where it’s lead us, I’m not happy at all.  In fact, the more I think about it, the pisseder I get.

I could rehash the events that lead up to today’s festivities, but, not only is it more cathartic to just visit PUMA sites and use the search features to find the gut wrenching words written in real time, but itemizing and chronicling the step-by-step process by which we came to be feels more like the stupid torch carrying ceremony on Survivor, or, the let’s-stop-the-party-and-show-you-who-died part of the Oscars.

The truth is, as I see it, none of us wants to be here.  If we had our druthers, there’d be no PUMA.  And, truthfully, there might not be a Clinton in the White House, either.  Whoever had won fairly, by the rules, with even a modicum of integrity, honor, and dignity, would probably have been fine, and not sparked the kind of explosive rage that the piss-in-your-face hijacking the Rules and Bylaws Committee of the Democratic Party had to engage in to prop up it’s shallow sham of an unworthy, unqualified, incompetent, “B” actor wannabe with the way cool money machine, did.

Obaganda

Propaganda is defined by Wordnet as “information that is spread for the purpose of promoting some cause.”  Sounds innocent enough, right?   However, Wikipedia gives us this definition:

Propaganda is the dissemination of information aimed at influencing the opinions or behaviors of people. As opposed to impartially providing information, propaganda in its most basic sense, often presents information primarily in order to influence its audience. Propaganda often presents facts selectively (thus lying by omission) to encourage a particular synthesis, or gives loaded messages in order to produce an emotional rather than rational response to the information presented. The desired result is a change of the attitude toward the subject in the target audience to further a political agenda.

The Case Against Gay Marriage

Gay people should not be allowed to marry each other.  That goes without saying.  They cannot breed, and the things they do in their bedrooms, and in public restrooms, and under gaudy mirror balls on sweaty dance floors, are unnatural, and, just plain icky.  Therefore, they should be forced to marry straight people or be banished to the fringes of society.  If not, and they are allowed to marry each other, and worse,  adopt, or otherwise have and raise children, they will soon infect our society with their depravity, and open the door to those who wish to marry children, animals, multiple partners, and even whole families.

Everybody knows this.  God’s Holy Rule Book and Instruction Manual for Humans is very clear on this.  Why, on its very first pages it clearly states that God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, or Adametta and Stephanie.  There is no ambiguity whatsoever in that story.  One must consciously, and deliberately, reject God’s word to argue otherwise.  Got it?

Surprise! It’s Sotomayor?

Okay, I was wrong.  I thought Pretendident Waffles would choose a moderate, centrist, Christian, (Roe threatening?) black woman to the Supreme Court to replace retiring Justice David Souter.  He didn’t.  He chose a moderate, centrist, Catholic, (Roe threatening?) Puerto Rican woman.

In a way, the announcement is kind of anticlimactic; Sotomayor was, being a moderate, centrist, Catholic (Roe threatening?) Puerto Rican woman, at the top of the short list from Day One.  The knocks against her, both left and right, mainly, that she’s a moderate, centrist, Catholic, (Roe threatening?) ballsy, Constitutionally challenged, less-than-100W bulb, have been on the radar for weeks.

Who Cares What Party Colin’s In?

So, Colin Powell is locked in a pitched battle against the Rush Cheney or Dick Limb-awe-types  for control of the soul of the Republican party?  Who gives a shit?  Isn’t Powell the guy who rammed “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” down everybody’s throats in lieu of the free to be you and me policy favored by the president he served?   Wasn’t he the guy shaking little vials and pointing at charts and fuzzy pictures in front of Congress, making the case that we should be storming desert beaches yesterday or democracy as we then knew it was done for?  Are we talking the same Colin Powell who was comfortably kicking back in his Barcalounger of irrelevancy to the delight of the majority of the nation who only occasionally came across his name in impromptu games of Trivial Pursuit, and liked it that way, until his ideological twin prevailed upon him to suit up and give him a verbal brother-to-brother fist bump so the Sunday talk shows would have name justifying fodder that slow news week?  Why do we care what he thinks about anything?

Excuses, Excuses

There seems to be a movement afoot to send women back to the kitchen, happy, barefoot and maybe, unwillingly pregnant.  Now, I could be seeing bogeymen in the bushes, so to speak, but, this “women need permission to make decisions, men don’t”  developing theme bears watching.  Between the Barackulator’s backtracking on selecting a woman to replace retiring Supreme Court Justice David Souter, (which really doesn’t count as backtracking since he’s only responded to that trial balloon floated in the Omedia by advocates, like the Wimpy Wishy Washer he is) and “Michelle’s Got The Whole World in Her Bare Arms” articles all over the place, one can be forgiven for seeing a typical Axelrovian AstroTurf campaign in the making.   Add the feminist-endorsed-by-their-silence, “FOCA is not a legislative priority, because women usually do the right thing when they talk to their Daddies” happy crappy recently uttered by the Face of Feminism, and, I think it’s past time to worry.

“Duh”mb And “Duh”mber

Sometimes it’s hard to imagine that so many people entrusted to run our country are as dumb as they are.  Sometimes it’s harder to imagine that the people entrusted to bring us information about the dumb shit the dummies in charge do in our collective name are even dumber than the dummies they’re reporting on.  But, if reading the news reports of the past week can be trusted at all to contain any smidgen of a hint of a scintilla of anything resembling truth, we are being governed by a plethora of Keystone Kop wannabes, and we know that because Spanky and Our Gang, Jr. told us so.

Let’s face it, ya gotta be at least a little stupid to get punked by White House Press Secretary and Tom Arnold/Wally Cox love child look-a-like, Robert Gibbsmeabreak.  But, according to Fox News, that’s exactly what happened to the White House press corps Friday.  Told ya they were all stupid.  The whole lot of ‘em.  In fact, not even I could believe they were that dumb, and kinda figured maybe the humorless drones over a Fox were having their idea of fun and yanking everybody’s chain with a belated April Fool’s Day-type prank, but, no, other sources like the Christian Science Monitor, and the Talking Points Memo press conference transcript, also confirmed that the sorry attempt at humor did indeed happen:

I Am…Poetry

Okay, I’m on record as saying that I’m not a big poetry fan.  But, it’s not often that poetry moves me to tears.  Yet, when I saw a CNN filler story, pretty much lifted whole from WROC-TV, about nine and ten year olds in Rochester New York, who were assigned to write “I am…” poetry about themselves, I found myself blubbering like a baby with a heart breaking and melting at the same time.  The simple elegance and eloquence exhibited by these young people would soften the heart of the grinchiest Grinch, and make generous the heart of a Scrooge.  If people like Jo(k)e Biden really want to know from  “articulate,” the potery of these children would be a good place for them to look.

Football PUMA, Nasty Pancakes, Rush Limb-awe

Looks like we got us a PUMA in the NFL, y’all.  Fox News is reporting that Pittsburgh Steeler James Harrison is standing firm behind his, “I won’t dance, don’t ask me” decision not to join his teammates on their upcoming “You just won the Superbowl, what are you going to do now?” trip to ObamaLand.  Harrison, unlike all those critics he has incurred against him who are delighting in questioning the Defensive Player of the Year’s motives, intelligence, and sanity, doesn’t see the invite as any kind of big deal, and said so, according to ESPN:

“I don’t feel the need to go, actually,” Harrison told Pittsburgh station WTAE-TV. “I don’t feel like it’s that big a deal to me.”

Harrison doesn’t believe the invitation is all that special, saying if the Steelers hadn’t beaten the Cardinals 27-23 with a last-minute rally, “He [Obama] would have invited Arizona.”

Barack Attack

Hellllllp meeeeee!  Barack Obama is stalking me!  Every day, every single flipping day, there he is, inserting himself, unwelcomed, into my consciousness like a hellish evil spirit rapist of the soul.  Turning up time after time, and time again, like a bad rash, mugging for the camera while sanctimoniously pontificating, ad nauseum, about NOTHING!   Absolutely nothing!  Every single fucking day, sometimes two, three or even more times a day, on and on, and on some more, for what?  Why?  Why, dear Lord, is this man stalking me through my TV?

I’m beginning to think my television set is possessed.  No kidding, it must be.  No one else could be suffering the kind of incessant interruptions that I’m experiencing, or the sale of replacement TV’s alone would be enough by itself to correct our current economic woes and save or create gazillions of jobs in China.  No matter which infotainment show masquerading as a legitimate news source, on whichever corporate disinformation channel I happen to be watching, sooner or later, what must be a computer-generated OBobblehead pops up and starts sputtering complete nonsense about totally-unrelated-to-anything stuff.

Media Admits Fluffing Obama

http://chrismatthewsleg.wordpress.com/

Okay, I’ve found two sources, neither exactly “mainstream,” though one, Slate magazine, with its MSNBC/Washington Post connections comes close, that rather cavalierly admit that, like Chris Matthews, fluffing Barack Obama at all costs is deemed by a lot of the media to be a top priority.  While anybody awake and sober knows this to be true, since, nobody is denying it, seeing it in black and white is unnerving.

The Slate piece, regarding those recent allegations that the New York Times deliberately killed a potentially “game changing” ACORN/Obama story last October, because it might derail the woefully under-qualified Celebritician’s campaign chances, asserts that even if the allegations that Obama was illegally involved with “impermissible political activity by Acorn,” were true, the Times reporter was justified in not publishing it because of the paper’s, and both the original story’s reporter’s, and the Slate article’s author’s, political beliefs.  Stunning.

Slate’s Mickey Klaus says that he disagrees with a friend, code-named, “Max,” who claims that any “red blooded,” responsible journalist today would, and should, have been ecstatic to break such an explosive story, especially one that “brought down a presidential nominee,” and that the writer’s paper and colleagues would have been “high-five” proud to publish that potentially Pulitzer quality article.  According to Klaus, that kind of thinking is just so yesterday:

More Tale Of The TARP

News of the release of documents detailing the shenanigans of the particular parties involved in perpetrating the 700 billion dollar fraud bank bailout, or Troubled Asset Relief Program, came out last week and didn’t really get the attention it was due, what with the Pretendident-as-Solomon’s first “Split the Fetus” tour stop at Notre Dame, and his fingernail clinging, bus undercarriage-headed Speaker of the House, Nasty Pancake’s, more-serious-because-chicks-have-a higher-standard, CIA never lies, and all going on.  The Freedom of Information documents obtained by Judicial Watch show that TARP, (or, as I’m sure it is known in certain circle jerks, the Rape of They, The Sheeple, those willing, clueless, hopium-addicted, changeling co-conspirators, who managed to both bend over and grab all of our collective ankles, while forcing everybody’s, theirs included, hands up in a “reach for the sky” surrender gesture at the same time, by electing the Chicago Robbin’ Hood whose vig to the Merry Band of Banksters who he fronted for was due) is  the cross-party, cross-administration, shady scummy scam we’ve all known it to be all along.  From Politico:

Good Girls Never

pornography: generally, that which is designed to stimulate sexual desire.

erotica: generally, softcore porn, i.e., nude couples riding white horses through a field of heather in slow motion until the film dissolves into rough, loving sex in a hay-filled barn.

obscenity:generally, porn that pisses you off, and/or disgusts you, i.e., pedophilia, degradation, bondage, submission, etc., or, for some people, all of the above, and everything in this post.

Women do not like sex.  We do not enjoy displaying our bodies, we are only comfortable engaging in sexual activity when we are alone, in the dark, or, so in love that we would be willing to reluctantly submit to our partner’s debased requests.  We absolutely hate the idea of watching other people have sex, and would never, if left to our own devices, agree to have sex in public,  be filmed, photographed, or sculpted nude, or performing sexually for the pleasure of others.  Why, to even think about doing such things would be positively…icky, unwomanly, and blow big chunks.  And, it scares us mute.

I Just Don’t Care Today

Today’s post is late going up because after following the news religiously for more than two years, and intensely religiously for the last few months, I’ve had it.  I just don’t care today.  Tomorrow is another day, yet, unlike Scarlet, I’m not so sure it holds redemption for our recent past.  And, frankly my dear, I don’t really give a good, hot damn.

There’s no one breaking point, no single straw that can be called last.  The whole mishegas that is our current American political landscape is so pervasively depressing that to say the whole thing sucks is not only an understatement, it is an Herculean exercise in restraint.  Pissy, turd-filled cesspool of bilgewater is more like it.

So, Nasty Pancakes is a bald-faced liar.  What else is new?  Why do her lies make her an undouched twat, while the nation’s Commander-in-Chief ’s lies don’t seem to make him a smegmated dickhole?  They’re both acting like little kids who fervently believe that simply wiping the evidentiary crumbs from their chocolate-smeared mouths will convince Mommy that the whole bag of magically delicious Keebler cookies they swiped were indeed eaten by the tree-dwelling little elves that made them.  At least the kids have the excuse of being children; grown folks calling government agencies liars, as if that doesn’t make them stupid for listening to, and believing anything said liars tell them, or claiming that the impossibility of further inflaming people who would blow themselves up in order to kill somebody who might have once met somebody who’s heard of somebody who knows you, is justification for anything they do, have no excuse for such irrational, illogical behavior at all.  “Don’t let the serial killer see you making finger circles around your ears, or rolling your eyes while you load your gun and set the house alarm, or he might get mad,” only makes sense if your head is so far up your own ass you can kiss your tonsils every time you sneeze.

Supreme Court Diversity? Who Cares?

If former Constitutional law “professor,” Our Mr. Obama, is feeling pressure to replace retiring Supreme Court Justice, David Souter, with a homosexual, woman, or person of color, it’s sure not coming from the public.  At least not according to a Gallup poll reported in the L.A. Times, May 13.  Seems when asked if the Neophyte-in-Chief should appoint a woman to the court, a full 64% of respondents yawned and hunched their shoulders:

“There is simply no large groundswell,” reports Frank Newport, editor in chief of the Gallup Poll, in a survey released this morning by the independent polling institute.

Nearly two-thirds — 64% — of Americans surveyed say it “doesn’t matter” to them if the president appoints a woman, according to the results of a Gallup poll conducted last week.

The Great Bamboozled Masses are even less concerned with whether the next justice is black or Hispanic:

Slightly more of those surveyed — 68% — said it doesn’t matter whether Obama names a Hispanic justice. And even more — 74% — said it doesn’t matter whether the first African American president appoints a black justice.

On the question of whether the next appointee should be gay or Lesbian, the Gallup poll is noticeably silent.  And, though advocates are actively lobbying for such a move, most agree that given the Wishy Washy Waffler’s record, that’s not likely to happen any time soon.  While various reports claim the short list is either down to 6 names, or it’s not, and that Baracus Hubris Maximus (Hail, Caesar!) will either name his nominee soon, or he won’t, the most interesting name being bandied about by far is…Bill Clinton?

I want some of what they’re smoking.

Fauxbama Has Left The Building

Okay, President Bam-Bam Bamboozle hasn’t exactly left the building, but he has somehow morphed into this strange, zombie-like reincarnation of an Elvis clone, complete with legions of impersonators who look and sound nothing like him, and only qualify as “impersonators” because they say so.  That, and, they wear clothes like the ones he usually dons.  That’s it.  Obelvis Pressein Fauxbama.  Uh-uh-huh.

Now, I thought we, as a nation, had jumped the shark back around the time of the over-the-top, once-in-a-lifetime, you saw it here first, step right up, come one come all, sold out in ten minutes Inaugurationapalooza, when Omygod was being featured on the cover of a special-edition Spiderman comic book cuz, ya know, he always liked Spidey as a kid in Blue Hawaii, and well, people who read the chronicles of Peter Parker love them some Obestillmyheart, right back at him, cuz he’s…brown? I dunno, but it moves product, and, that’s the American Way.

We nuked the fridge when ObaMassah ducked into a phone booth to have his picture taken changing into his “my hero,” Ms. Magazine-as-Polly Purebred, face of feminism persona.  Somehow, the twisted irony of a man whose actions make him more resemble the Denzel Washington, Training Day, “King Kong ain’t got nuttin’ on me!” character than a tan Gloria Steinhem with a dick penis, being celebrated as Prince Charming rescuing Cinderella the Riveter as she stumbles on her broken heel on the way to the ball after work, managed to both sail over the top and slide under the radar of ridiculousness at the same time.  Fridge effectively nuked.