You know, I never thought I’d ever do this, but I have to agree 100% with Andrew Sullivan.
As someone else who has suffered job discrimination because I am trans*, I am utterly sickened at the way that Eich has been hounded out of his job just because he identifies as a transman. Especially as he would have been the first trans* person to ever hold such a lofty position in a major company and-
What? That isn’t actually what it is about? Oh, I shouldn’t have given Sully that much credit, but still, it’s worth noting that anti-gay discrimination is still rampant, especially in the upper echelons of companies where bigoted attitudes can thrive and fester on the backs of rich white men who’ve never had to interact with the greater culture and-
Really? No? Okay, to be absolutely fair, I haven’t actually read his post yet, just the seventy-three million iterations of anti-gay conservatives claiming he has apparently been the only gay rights activist who has ever lived and a “champion” of gay marriage who spotted a nasty case of discrimination and if I can’t trust professional bigots who’d lie about the color of the sky if they thought it would give them an electoral advantage, who…
Maybe I should double check what this is all about…
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Bu-bu-but the free market is only supposed to work against the under-privileged! That’s not how libertarian talking points are supposed to work.
You all just made up this “sex” thing to confuse us asexuals, didn’t you? I mean, sure, you have all this so-called “porn” on the internet, you all talk about it amongst yourselves, and you’ve bribed the greedy bankrollers in Big Biology to make it seem like the primary form of reproduction and recreation amongst a huge swath of the Animalia Kingdom.
But tell it to me straight. When all us asexuals walk out of the room, you just devolve into giant peals of laughter about how gullible we are, right? Yeah?
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Oh lawdy, lawd! Sex? For fun? Oh you kids are inventing new and more exciting ways to be heathen little sinners aren’t you?
Oh, we have gone far too long, my friends. Far too long since the last epic meltdown piece by desperate conservatives desperately trying to grasp onto some falling piece of youth culture or hip relevance.
And it’s a real shame, because these posts practically write themselves with their total failure to grasp even the outlines of the broader culture the wingnut finds themselves lost and confused within. I mean, with their insistent demand to dominate all culture and gain its reputation without work or effort, and of course their myopic failure to grasp just why they will never ever understand the culture they flail around, it’s pretty much a gold mine for us snark merchants.
Even more so when the whiny conservative in question decides to mix some good old fashioned dominant group with a persecution complex baggage into the mix in order to blame his personal failings on some Lovecraftian conspiracy of PBR beer cans and trucker hats.
In short, ladies, gentlemen, non-binary individuals, and fluberts, start up the popcorn, because we are in for a treat.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
The only possible reason my hacktacular rip-off show bought for me by wingnut welfare trying to ape the success of The Daily Show without a single understanding of its appeal failed is because of a vast conspiracy of PBR-drinking, truck hat-wearing, ironic racism-spewing hipsters working overtime to personally destroy me and other conservatives. It’s not my fault, it’s the coolocracy, I’m telling you! THE COOLOCRACCCCCCYYYYYYY!
Bob in Himmel’s anus, am I tired of reading wingnut drivel about Russia in Ukraine.
Fresh off their brief love affair with the Russian tyrant in the wake of his anti-gay policies, we’ve got an unending spring of intense polemics.
I mean, yes, duh, Putin is an asshole who invades sovereign nations because they think being a UN security state with a nuclear arsenal and a large military gives one a free pass for whatever war of choice one wants to perform. Gosh, I wonder where he got that idea! Couldn’t possibly be our decade plus of dicking around the Islamic world for our personal game of Crusade Reenactment Porn. Nope, must be Endless Tyrant Obama quailing like a little mouse before Putin’s virile chest and “showing weakness” because apparently global politics is apparently supposed to operate on the self-delusions high school bullies tell themselves.
And yes, there’s a host of other bullshit in everything. Right down to the way that some people in Eastern European states pining for the days of the Soviet Union after seeing how crony capitalism and mass corruption led by Anti-Communists has left them. Putin’s own brand of corrupt corprotacracy. And the way that the EU has treated sections of the former Eastern Bloc in their efforts to join. Not to mention that Russia wants to rebuild its own empire by sucking up the “rebel nations” that escaped it and how a lot of his moves are about punishing countries for resisting his heavy-handed efforts to steal elections to serve his cadre of corrupt capitalists and his perverse nationalism.
And who knows, if we were having an earnest conversation about the failures in the Post-Soviet era and modern Russia, that’d be great.
But all through the media and especially on every right-wing blog on the planet, it’s not about that. It’s instead about one thing.
Shorter Every Fucking Idiot on the Right since Putin Coughed in Ukraine’s Direction:
Oh please say the Cold War is back. Oh please say the Cold War is back. We’ve been desperate for an enemy as perfect for our interests ever since they went away. The existential terror of annihilation, the supposed leftist point of view which let us posit right-wing capitalism and christian dominism the opposite, the spies and secrecy which let us blacklist and demonize whole swaths of activists and intellectuals and prop up our own talking heads as patriotic heroes, the way conformity could be posited as patriotism, and so on. Oh, we’ve tried our best with the “terrorists” but you just can’t dress up those right-wing religious nutjobs as the same existential threat that the commies represented. Fuck, we just want our apocalypse. C’mon Putin, we’ve been good. We need this release so fucking bad.
And she’s only one of the meaty offerings up for display this fine day.
A Whole Lotta Fail, The Usual Suspects:
So thanks to educating the young sprogs of America, I have managed to catch the Grand Daddy of Fuck You Colds. As such, I’ve been reduced enough in mental faculties to be able to shotgun far more than the usual amount of toxic chemicals… I mean, wingnut bullshit, I mean… wait, was I right the first time.
Point being, dwelling on the plague bearers that cursed me has reminded me of the favorite wingnut rant about kids these days (as in literally, rather than the usual all-encompassing rants about anyone under the age of 60).
That being that kids have been COMPLETELY RUINED by the “everyone wins” culture. A demonic consortium that rewards participation instead of only celebrating those whose jaws drip red with the limbs of those who came in 4th. Or at least that’s how they would categorize it.
Which has baffled me, because the types of assholes who whine about this are not at all the sorts who would be winning any competition that wasn’t bought and paid for with their daddy’s money (or perhaps an Upper-Class Twit of the Year style event). I mean, sure, they rubbed themselves until they spurt blood at the thoughts of the swaggering jock assholes, but that doesn’t mean they were anywhere close to the running.
And that’s when it hit me. The poor bastards are jealous and have misinterpreted rewarding the effort to at least try as a conspiratorial action against their clear and obvious genius in combing Obama’s birth certificate for kerning.
As such, I think it’s right time we rewarded these recognition starved incompetents and hand out some awards for what meager spoils the poor bastards do succeed at. Read the rest of this entry »
it’s an act of faith to be anything other than completely despairing.
That’s one act of faith I have had a hell of a time with lately.
I mean really. I grew up in a house where we knew personally a lot of the people involved in many struggles for social justice. But I have never felt worse about the prospects for having grandchildren at all.
We have a whole class of people that is hell bent on not only taking everything and re-instating slavery, but committing species suicide as well. I feel that at least the ancient Greeks understood how to live in a world like this: make sacrifices to the capricious, sociopathic gods and hope they didn’t decide to kill you this morning.
I don’t even know who to sacrifice to.
And then I see people like Goldberg. And I just wonder why I ever bothered to even try. I spent all those years trying to improve myself, to do my bit to make the world better. What the hell was I thinking? Moral courage? Shit, that was pretty stupid of me, evidently, and completely futile, since the conservatards are bent on making any future for humanity a moot point.
Sorry I am having a bad day.
*Never apologize when empathy takes the breath away.
Not even a quarter past ten and I have the pleasure of choosing to make a noise at the local greasy spoon or to walk away and write the following.
It is unfortunate that one does not always possess the energy to launch into battle especially when one seeks only breakfast. Whilst having to endure the badinage of a couple of Whitemaninstanians™ about their perceived privations endured during the reign of BlackHitler I felt that discretion was warranted and kept my tongue.
For a bit,
When my suggestion that Obama was simultaneously the source of all malevolence in this world and a blithering idiot was met with un-ironic assent I bit down on my tongue.
In response to the graybeard who suggested that Obama was gonna put a white woman in every bed of a black man I was forced to say something and I told both the greybeard and the idiot he was speaking with that they were both fools as I made my way to the register.
Right-wingers have a very complicated relationship with “the kids these days”.
On one hand, they hate them. I mean, that’s been true of every conservative movement of every age. Demonizing and despising the youth and blaming them for everything wrong in society largely because the march of social evolution means the youth by and large are less willing to support the dominant bigotry of the times, whether that be against black people, women, queers, the poor, or so on. The youth are a convenient scapegoat for the simple fact that one cannot stop time in place until one is fully interred with the rot of worms.
On the other hand, they fucking hate them. Whoever is the youth represents more than a more liberal generation or a group whose strange pop tastes in music and clothing baffle and confuse them. They are also often a symbol. Unfortunately in our society, there is often a presumption that once one has “grown up” and “become an adult”, they are done learning and growing. Read the rest of this entry »
Getting older is often presented as a universally terrible thing by society. And there’s certainly arguments to be made in that direction. The cold march of entropy, the loss of faculties one has grown accustomed to, the weakening of muscles and immune systems.
But there’s also a number of benefits as well. A greater and greater awareness of one’s own self, a lifetime of meaningful connections and knowledge, a personal connection to historical context.
But superior to them all must be the moment when a bit of activism you have been fighting for years for finally pays off. The moment when that mad crusade of filthy hippie commie liberalism becomes that thing that everyone agrees is sensibly moderate and all the mushy centrists so scared to support human rights cough and shuffle over to the right side of history.
My Bob, no one ever told me it would feel so utterly amazing.
You see, me and my partner have been in the trenches of the gay marriage battle for years. So many years that when we first started phone banking and pounding the pavement, we had no awareness that we would ever personally benefit from the institution. Read the rest of this entry »
Holy fucking squirrel balls do conservatives despise democracy.
Well, not the reputation of democracy. Much like with academic scholarship or science, wingnuts absolutely love exploiting the goodwill and regard given to democracy because of the battles won by liberals. They love pointing to freedoms of religious pluralism, the equality of representation, or the ability of the people to redress wrongs when they want to feel smugly superior to brown muslimy people living in some country we’ve actively destroyed for decades.
But actual democracy? It might as well be rocket anus for how quickly they’ll dodge out of the way and shield themselves.
At every point of our nation’s history, conservatives have fought tooth and nail against the notion that “certain” people count, whether as voters or people and those marginalized groups have had to get bloody and battered to simply access the very first stage of having a voice in this country.
And the reason for it is very simple. Conservatives are repulsed by the central ideology of democracy. That their voice as rich white men in society should be treated as equivalent as a black trans* lesbian. That their concerns should be treated as equally important as those who are considered the least in our society is something that makes them physically ill and it’s why voting rights and meaningful representation is something conservatives have tried to undermine at every turn for huge swaths of the population.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Niggers and spics having the right to vote is the worst form of voter fraud.
For those who are blissfully unaware of everything having to do with the Book of Faces, Facebook recently changed their “male or female” gender options to also include a “custom” option, which if you click it, you can type a number of different transgender options including genderqueer, gender-fluid, and trans*. Coolest part of the whole affair is that you can set your preferred pronouns to neutral pronouns for those who do not identify within the binary.
This being the Book of Faces, I’m sure there is some nefarious advertising reason behind the top-level decision about this, but hey, if companies think trans* people are a big enough market share to be worth exploiting, that’s a compliment in and of itself.
Especially when you consider the shit storm they’ve ignited in the sub-rock populations.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Being an edumacated mans, I can says with absolute certainimititude that the existification of trans* people freaks me the fuck out and makes me worried about my masculinitiness.
Man, it is fucking educational to see the Wall Street Journal’s race to the motherfucking bottom. I mean, yeah, they’ve always been scum-sucking bastards. That’s just what you expect from a newspaper whose only raison d’être has been treating the rigged casino game sucking on our nation’s intestines like the world’s biggest tapeworm as if the dancing lines were somehow critical to life, the universe, and everything.
I mean, regular level suck, doucheastrophysics conservatism, a belief that the parasites are the poor suckers just trying to survive and not the people stealing millions of manhours of productivity in order to build a new fleet of luxury yachts? That’s the shit we’re used to.
But ever since the Journal was absorbed into Rupert Murdoch’s sweaty taint as part of his NewsCorp bid to make all English-speaking countries worse for his existence, it has continually amazed in the utter speed and enthusiasm to which it has plummeted into the wet mossy heart of the swamp where even the likes of American Thinker fears to tread.
I mean, today’s post is bad. Of course, it’s bad. It wouldn’t be on this site if it wasn’t bad. But I think it’s the fact that it’s labeled the “Best of the Web” that just adds that extra sheen of what the everloving fuck.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Hey, if she didn’t want the D, she shouldn’t have passed out. Am I right fellas? Holla! Also, what’s with this epidemic of false rape accusations. I mean, I could, I mean, poor men who aren’t me can be accused of raping someone just because we use our target’s inebriation as an excuse for raping someone. It’s totally unfair and feminism’s fault.
Best of the Web, ladies, gentlemen, genderqueers, and fluberts.
And the rest of the posts and links rounded up aren’t much better, mostly consisting with bizarre attempts to neg the New York Times as if that rotting bag of corpses was a)still relevant, and b)actually gave a shit what the likes of James Taranto thought about anything.
Which I get that it’s just the name of Taranto’s shitty little failed stand-up routine turned article, but the fact that those words are the first thing one encounters before a tired little flatulent bubble from the rapist’s lobby, just adds that extra little bit of fuck you to help start your morning.
The headline in the New York Times’s Education Life section reads “Stepping Up to Stop Sexual Assault.” The story, by reporter Michael Winerip, is more balanced than that.
I was Just at the Scottish Clown across the street and ran across a spare USA Today and discovered that The Brooklyn Nets had signed Jason Collins to a 10 day contract. After tossing a fist in the air and shoveling the rest of the fries and burger into my maw and despite the fact that I did not hit the rack after nearly 24 hours I figured that I needed return home immediately, grab the lappie, cross the street to the Sbucks across the way and get on the freaking KeyBoard.
This space does not break news and it has become a much more personal space since Cerberus and I have become the primaries. I don’t think that movement in focus represents a distraction of the mission of Sadly,No! Simply a reflection of the changes in the paradigm, addressed in other fashions. We tend to share many more personal elements of our lives. Which gives me a reason to relate that the primary reason I was up for nearly 25 hours involved an invitation to hang in a hot tub which involved myself and a couple of astonishingly beautiful ladies.
Apparently my money at the sbucks across the way is not worth anything as in generally speaking I get what I order and they wave me away, now generally speaking whether or not I have to pay I do tip generously, and was informed that it is not unusual for them to act in this fashion with people they like.
Anyhoo, before we get to the nub of the biscuit, I just ran into a dude wearing a letter jacket from my High School alma mater, and out of the corner of my eye, I thought I recognized a familiar symbol…Sure enough he was a Cross Country Letterman. After a short chat following the introduction, I returned to this space worked on the last graph and then decided to plant a seed…and what this has to do with the first openly Gay professional Athlete in the NBA will have to wait, because after I finished the previous graph I felt the need to lay down a gauntlet. I approached my brother and explained that I had broken 5 minutes in the mile on every indoor track in town including a 4:59 on a 22 laps per mile track without a bank (believe me, not an easy task, which was why it was the last one attempted.) Anyway I asked that he make a similar attempt so the we could start a club, plus sent along greetings to my old coach, etc…
LOS ANGELES — Jason Collins became the first openly gay athlete to play in North America’s four major professional team sports Sunday when he played 11 minutes in the Brooklyn Nets’ 108-102 win over the Los Angeles Lakers at Staples Center.
I cannot tell you how much joy I feel that this barrier has finally been broken. While I am a black, cis, heteronormative male and former athlete of modest repute, which might suggest that I have not a dog in this revelation, I have gay, bi, and trans friends that I love dearly.
And while I know that it is only a 10 day contract, a ceiling has been transcended and that, in and of itself, gives me a glimmer of hope for humanity.
I hope to lay my broke ass hands on a #26 Nets Jersey, something I will wear with pride.
I honestly don’t fully know how to process this last week.
There’s been some colossal bad. My girlfriend’s disability discriminating employment saga ended with the seeming happy note just being an excuse to try and obscure the obvious fact that they were discriminating against someone they had heralded as exactly what they needed and the most qualified person they’ve seen in a while because she was disabled, leaving her without job. I’ve been struggling with the emotional fallout and depression of everything I went through last year finally starting to smash home. And my partner and girlfriend both got to see what a day in my life often looks like in the form of sitting through possibly one of the most belittling and unsubtle restaurant dick moves I’ve dealt with in a while**.
And there’s been some massive rays of light. Chief among them being that my Obamacare has come through and paying off. I had my first check-up at a super trans* and queer aware clinic and it was better than I ever hoped to dream it would be*** and I’m going to get hooked up with a number of resources that I’ve probably been needing for awhile****. I also had two fantastic Valentine’s Day celebrations, one with my partner and another with my girlfriend.
So with all that happening at once, it’s been hard to sort out how to feel. Elated? Miserable? Both at the same time?
So fuck it, time to delve into the sweaty underbelly of humanity where I know exactly how I feel about certain people.
And by sweaty underbelly, I mean Hollywood.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
My ex-wife is an evil sorceress who has the power to create all the long-term effects and multiple angles of evidence one would expect if I was a child molester. Also apparently, she has used this power to convince her daughter I’m an asshole instead of using this magical power to rule the world.
The following stood out to me in Roy’s most recent piece at the Voice
Obama’s policies “may be archetypically liberal,” snarled FrontPageMag’s Daniel Greenfield, “but Obama carries his own reality with him, his own mathematics, his own history, his own dictionary and his own moral code which he adapts to the moment.”
Having never been previously acquainted with Greenfield and only vaguely with FPM, I decided to take a dive off of the boat. Inspired by the Octoplexiplese link to a hot air article titled “Study: Democrats more likely to think astrology is scientific, less likely to know Earth revolves around the sun.” Which when all is said and done is yet another example of “I am rubber, you are glue…” “It only took us 40 years to bolt 40 IMAX theatres together” levels of projection. Anyhoo let us take a look at the loon, and out of the gate comes:
“My first thought was, he lied in every word.” So began Browning’s famous poem and so began Bill O’Reilly’s interview of Obama.
Blink,,blink,,blink. Can there be enough drugs or alcohol on the planet to convince me that I do not exist in a temporal realm filled to the gills with assholes at the top end of the spectrum that actually pay a vastly more numerous batch of simpering shitheads to write such…I have no…Words escape.
I am not a big fan of poetry so I might be a liability on a quizbowl team on that account, but I presume he is referring to Elizabeth Barrett, [ed: and I would be wrong, it was actually Robert Browning] but what that has to do with “and so began…” other than to cop a veneer of sophistication and “erudition”, I can’t be bothered to cypher.
When Obama doesn’t like a question, he rephrases it. Challenged by Bill O’Reilly on the 72 percent out of wedlock birth rate among black women, he rephrased it as a question about the importance of men paying child support and taking responsibility for their children.
But he avoided the M word: marriage.
First of all, Obama should have countered by asking O’MutherFuckingTeaReilly on the out of wedlock birthrate in Whitemanistan. Fuck this asshole and the horses he rode in on. but one last point, while Obama avoided the “M word…” I guess there really is no bottom to the RacistShitHeelBarrel™
Had the pleasure of a return to the wall of sound last night and the jamming was good. Met a nice new guy, enjoyed some excellent food and for the first time in my experience had to tell a guy who was playing through a Marshal stack that he needed to turn it up because I couldn’t hear him.
I was playing through a much punchier amp (or setup) this time around had all of the tone and volume I could want. A couple more times (given that I was playing not my bass through not my amp) and I will get the shebang totally zeroed in. Also setting up right next to the drummer made it easier for us to lock in. Both of us are a bit out of shape and so these nights make for awesome workouts and we have a show in just under a couple of months and I would like to leave a cratered hole where the stage was when we finish our gig.
One of the cool things about playing in a completely unstructured fashion is that you are forced to think on your feet, inside and outside the box and that any one can be driving the bus at any given time. Having a combination of tone and punch nearly to my liking allowed me to drive the bus about half of the evening and no one seemed to bother. In fact I think that the host and his friends are happy to have a rythym section that can play any style they can, can lock into a groove nearly immediately, and can turn on a dime and follow when something interesting appears.
At the end of the evening I was queried earnestly by each of the three if I actually enjoyed comming out to play. My answer was a resounding yes. Generally speaking, while I have had the pleasure of playing with more talented guitarists, these guys are better than good enough. Most importantly they listen, are creative, can lead and follow, and this is an act that I would not hesitate to take live. Though I admit that I would prefer to perform with an actual set list, unless we were hosting a musical feast, during a holiday.
Bottom line, if those guys could not play, the room of amps would not be enough of an enticement for me to return with any regularity. I definitely look forward to the opportunity to get my “sound” dialed in.
Also, too, Tesla.
Don’t know why the first pic is sideways but fuck it for now…
Once the drooling runs its course consider this an open thread.
Oh and a post jam, jam session led to the discovery that at least four of us had been at the same Bad Brains show in cincy early 90′s. Now those nice young men knew how to properly crater a stage.
Thursday afternoon I received a text from my drummer indicating that that evenings rehearsal would start as a run-through at his place then head to a space about five minutes away where he indicated I would see eight Marshall stacks and what would prove to be two full drum-sets previously owned by Kenny Aranoff. The picture of what a version of Musical Valhalla might begin to look like to me was taken by my phone after my initial freekout was allowed (once I cleared the top of the landing and allowed my lower jaw to return to its normal location I did a quick count and informed my buddy that there were not eight stacks but in fact nine, at which point I went immediately to my spot where the four string was-extreme right side of the picture examined the insane wall of speakers and amps, studied the drum kits in detail.) I returned to the three waiting on the other end of the room.
I am pretty sure that the owner of the place gets a kick when a musician that has never seen it arrives, and I am certain that I followed a predictable script, one which he has seen several times.
Once back I was alerted to the ground rules, which started with asking me if I would be offended by the presence of smoking and my answer was a firm no, to which his reply was “perfect” then followed by an inquiry about whether I would like wine, whiskey or beer, “I’ll start with a beer.” “Perfect.” And no sooner than that, a 16 oz can of Bitburger was thrust into my hands, shortly after that a cigarette, after which, I was informed that in these jam sessions “We don’t do covers” I said “Cool; generally speaking, neither do I.”
At this point his partner in crime stepped in to ask me about what I played and whether I would be interested in playing other instruments. I explained that that would not be a problem at all, but given that there was only one person in the room with which I had played previously and the fact that we were going to be pulling shit out of our ass that I would prefer to start with the four string.
After that was sorted, and my request to take some pictures was granted and that mission accomplished we started for the wall of 9 amplifiers and 72 speakers. And I knew that I had just become acquainted with two nut-jobs that were right up my alley. After about 20 minutes of jamming in the keys of E and A I inquired of the partner in crime if it might be possible to introduce a little structure, as in say start in A, shift somewhere in the middle to a diminshed minor 7th and finish in say D minor or F. He was not opposed to the idea, but indicated that he was not quite sure what I was on about.
We took a break after that for a dinner that I had not been aware was in the offering and it was delicious. My buddy and I had, prior to arrival , snarfed down some chips, salsa, and guacamole, but the short workout had managed to reinvigorate our appetites.
After dinner we retired to the studio and played for another hour and a half. I had the pleasure of pounding on both drum kits and thought about taking the 88 key keyboard for a stroll, but that will wait for another day.
A blast was had by all, I was given an open invitation to return and participate in future jams at the joint and provided with a roadie…namaste!
Postscript and Prelude.
As we entered the house and were walking through the garage the owners buddy made a point of mentioning that his pal had an electric car. I’ll have to admit that with the vision of Marshall stacks running through my head I had given the sleek blackness little thought. Wheeling around and laying my eye on the rear end I exclaimed something along the lines of “Holy shit, a Tesla”
which seemed to surprise the partner in crime who asked “You are familiar with them?” as I began the requisite “are you fucking kidding me” lap around the little thing swabbed in carbon fiber, studying the lines, the two seated interior, recalling that I was looking at a sub 4 second to 60mph vehicle…Stifling the urge to ask about looking under the hood and recognizing that a day was being made…
As I was attempting to remain on my best behavior and knowing that there might be a wall of music waiting…Actually the existence of the Tesla kinda confirmed what awaited upstairs…We started upwards towards a room that would re-blow my mind.
Thursday was a perfect distillation of why I will have to sell the auto-bio as a work of fiction. A day that started with possibly ferreting out the identity of our resident pustule, followed by a wheel build (lacing, actually, one spoke shy) ending in Musical Nirvana that began with the coolest thing I have ever seen (I have yet to visit the Louvre)…Days like these do not often come my way, but for some reason they do tend to seek me out.
Now I would like to dig through the crate filled with bags of fancy hammers and take a certain cartoonist to task. The party in question embodies everything that wingnut welfare, balance, and the scourge of mediocrity has wrought upon not only the body politic in general but humanity at large.
Some of you may be familiar with the work of Edward Bruce Tinsley the fourth for he is the auteur behind the Mallard Fillmore Comic strip syndicated by King Features. He became an editorial comic writer because some ass clown at the Washington Times King Features was interested in “balance” feeling the need to add halfwit lacking wit to whatever truth based, facts have a Liberal bias, cartoonist was being published at the time. Oddly enough while there were idiots with megaphones in the early nineties, It had not yet come to pass that being an abject idiot was regularly within the intersection of a Venn diagram with circles consisting of sets “cool” and “well off.” Unfortunately we have come to a place in time and space where being a vacuous dunderheaded asshat can pay the bills. Hell it is what keeps the doors of this place open. Random offering of a piece of Tinsleys “work”
Aside from the fact that IT IS ALWAYS PROJECTION for this particular Octoplexipus the number of logical phallusies, tendentious rendering of history, us v themisms, and missing points like baseball teams missing pitches thrown by Bob Gibson on his best day in 1968 or 1967.
Such is the density of stupid piled upon moronity that frequently serves as humor in Bruce’s “art” that one familiar with physics might wonder why a singularity has not swallowed up the building housing their local fishwrap. The foil in his “gags” is always a straw liberal of the type that only exists in the fevered imaginings of someone who is likely to spend half a night worrying if a terrorist is lying in wait under their beds or people who mainline Megan Kelly and Fox News, though now that think about it, that Venn diagram almost certainly would be indistinguishable from a single circle.
In this comic strip, you get 382 percent more asterisks than in Doonesbury*. Mallard Fillmore has more asterisks than an MLB record-book. Why? So you can check out the sources of the outrageous assertions and iconoclastic animadversions I put in my little comic strip. Because I try to give you the scoop that the mainstream media don’t. Lots of readers find my valuable information so incredible, that they think it must BE incredible.Hence the *s.
My favorite kind of emails are the ones that start out, “I didn’t believe you, but I checked it out”, and end with “why wasn’t THAT on the news?”
I’m not gonna bother to unpack this one, but do note a familiar tone, arrogance and fractured syntax that lead me to speculations concerning the identity of a certain tenacious resident underpass dweller. While it is possible that the shartiste, Edward Bruce Tinsley the fourth is not the the troll that when not nym-jacking goes by the nom de plume of Dennis, it would be irresponsible not to speculate.
If I was a believer in a God-like being that watches over us (no offense to those who are), one who was responsible for how our lives are ordered and what befalls us, it would be tough for me not to assume that deity was malevolent and hateful, a force worth fighting to the death to stop.
Because all around me, like a constant barrage of theodicy, me and mine keep getting plowed under by this broken ass system we find ourselves trapped in. The sheer number of brilliant, many-talented, deductive, kind, and empathetic people I know who seem to get regularly slammed in one horrifying way or another. It’s at the point where there is not a single one of the people I know intimately who doesn’t have symptoms of PTSD. Who hasn’t struggled with depression or homelessness or being a rape survivor or being a victim of discrimination or having an impossible time finding a job or paying the bills or more often, all of the above.
And not to base an argument solely from anecdotal evidence, but it really does hammer home just how broken this system is. I mean, sure, I could cite the statistics on happiness and economic opportunity. I could bring in my observations and the observation in studies of Danish life and how much better that system serves those within it by establishing robust safety nets and thus allowing a great freedom of entrepreneurship. But it would just be window dressing on the thing that even the most addled-minded capitalism-fetishist knows: That there is something terribly wrong with America and the American Way of Life. Read the rest of this entry »