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 »
Recent almost events; triggers that have caused me to contemplate pulling mine have led me to the following epiphany: As I am the oldest of three (first born male) with two younger sisters I have always been burdened with a predilection towards protecting or helping those that lack strength or agency. My sisters are now far from me, and I know that they are equipped to handle themselves, but the residuals remain.
On Sunday I work with my favorite crew, and it coincides with the bosses day off (I actually like and respect the boss, but you know, boss.) Winner winner, Tandoori dinner. Actually I make a point on most Sundays to show up an hour early and make breakfast for all of us, because I really enjoy their company, and they really enjoy my eggs.
I have known the boss since second grade and I am not too far from beginning my fiftieths turn round the sun. There is someone we work with whose default setting is asshole (strongly suspect libertarian tendencies.) He also tends to regard himself as the smartest guy in the room, which on occasion, when I or one of my aforementioned Sunday co-workers are not in the building, might be the case, and I might give a fuck, if it mattered to me. Anyway the dude in question had managed to spend the last two weeks metaphorically standing on my balls and I decided to set up a meeting with the boss to discuss my problems with the guy.
I am from the school of management that Praises in Public, Rebukes in Private, but with the fact that we work in one room, are generally busy as all fuck and staffed in such a way that it is impossible for two people to leave the place at a given time…Showing up for work three hours early to take the pulse of the boss seemed the best place to start. What I wanted to avoid was going fully Nuclear on a day which represents my Friday. The following morning after one of my co-workers made it clear that she would like me to wait, I called off the meeting, deciding to sleep on it over my “weekend.” The bosses response was one of palpable relief. As I have said, this guy and I have known each other for a long time and he is well aware that I do not traffic in trivial complaints.
I do not know if words of my concern were exchanged, or the delivery of the extended “Live at Leeds” CD delivered on that day, or both had any pull, but the dude in question demonstrated that the phrases “thank you” “please” and “you’re welcome” have suddenly entered his workplace vocabulary.
For the time being, in any event, I will choose to let sleeping dogs lie.
Prevarication and Prejudice…
Which brings us to the spawn of the “Loins of Lucifurryanne™” also known ’round these parts as “DoughBob LoadPants” and whom was roundly taken to task by Cerberus, our current SnarkMeister In Chief™ for whom I would like to coin a new sobriquet, DoughJo™, though I must admit that preceding DoughJo™ with teh the, might also be an appropriate way to describe “The Corner” as in “I went to the DoughJo™ and discovered that their mastery of martial idiocy is where anything resembling coherence shuffles off to die, almost like an elephant graveyard of anything encroaching upon the realm of sanity and yet where the corpses are picked clean, reassembled and re-branded for “rubesylvanians” as they claw their way through Regnery’s remainder bin.
Upon further reflection, I suggest that “the DoughJo™” should become part of the Sadly, No! lexicon moving forward when referring to “The Corner”, though I am open to arguments.
Back to LoadPants™ If the laziest beast in the entirety of time, who blew his wad on the shittiest tome to make its way past the goalies at what ever pathetic publishing house actually sidled up to back the most a historically inaccurate piece of crap that has, aside from the bible, taken down a forest, continues to collect a paycheck, then there is something wrong with us all.
At this point I will admit to not either reading his magnum dopus, nor having the remotest concern of who published the excrescence. If damning with faint praise and waisting my time were within my wheelhouse I might be inclined to oblige the nepostistic bastard, that is, if I might find me a sucker to pay me for a review. Needless to say, one need look no further than the title of the piece which gives the entire game away.
When Goldberg farts it is certain that a turd is honking for the right of way, looking for the choicest seat at the nearest Octoplex.
Spite and Sensitivities
While I have a dump truck full of bags of hammers remaining to dump on the Goldbergian subversion of meritocracy, I feel the need to move on to a Colorado state Senator, one Vicki Marble.
MARBLE: We can’t force them to stop doing what they choose to do, but to give them the information. These are our families and our neighbors in the black community… Honestly, I learned how to smoke meat from my black friends down in Texas because they lived with me… and stayed at my house… Did we talk about cooking? Yes. The whole time.
Unpacking this line of reasoning could result in a, hell, fuck the one, multiple, graduate level theses. Starting with the paternalistic and patriarchal “version” of what passes for “freedom” as she jumps out of the gate, following with a wonderful variation of the “I have Black friends therefor I am not a racist” dodge, while demonstrating the racism inherent inside by using the word “they” which at the very least stands as a textbook example of an “othering”.
Beep, beep, beep (signifying the warning sound of heavy machinery backing up) I find myself looking at the stinkbug that I am currently watering while figuring out how to parse the “…but to give them the information.”
When one is born of privilege, White, under educated, and a discredit to ones sex, yet a protector of the current presumptions about race that are prevalent, one is likely to assume that facts not in evidence an argument makes. I am sure that someone in comments will educate me to the proper Latin phrase to describe the logical phallusy, though QED comes to mind.
Sorry, reader(s), I have to admit that I have not the Goucher education that Jonah received, and while I spent a minute in college, I have only 18 credit hours banked.
However, I decided to set up my own institute of technology, which unfortunately has been hijacked by necessity to focus on the evisceration of wingnutology.
I would like to add that I had a wonderful conversation on the phone with Fenwick yesterday morning. Adding another feather in my good fortune of meatspace greetings with previously “only known in comment sections” pals.
If anyone thinks I might just be a fan of the work of Jane Austen, they might just be right.
Stinky is still hanging out on the moistened napkin that was prepared for it. This, for some reason, makes me happy.
If you add onto that projects I am actively working on or have plans to start soon, that workload starts to scream into the stratosphere. Tomorrow, or rather what is rapidly becoming today I have various tasks and duties and job stuff from 8 am to midnight. That is not an uncommon day for me.
And I try to do right by my obligations. I mean, yes, I gotta eat, but if I’ve promised somebody something, I aim to deliver, because at the end of the day, I want to be known as a woman of my word. In point of fact, I’ve just posted something on my personal blog. A little asexual polyamorous manifesto, simply because a friend of mine wanted help finding something like that for her grey-asexual boyfriend and there just wasn’t a good one online that I could find.
I don’t say these things to brag or to beg sympathy when I leave you all hanging for days. But rather because of two reasons.
1) That’s rather quickly become the new normal for my generation and a lot of working poor, working unsustainable workloads in order to pay the rent and feel like a full human with something to offer the world and I want to relate that honestly.
And 2) Jonah Fucking Goldberg.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Huh what? That State of the Union thing that it should be my top job to respond to right now? But it’s like… early…late… in the morning… evening… afternoon, something like that, anyways, why don’t one of you do the job of responding for me so I can get back to my nap?
It’s a very transformative time to be a conservative tribe member these days. Years of piling on the bullshit and shunning non-believers has lead to a new normal where not only must one believe false things. Where not only must they, in fact, live in a world wholly unsullied by the filthy liberal-loving hand of reality. But to be perfectly ignorant of any other reality to the point where you are only barely capable of navigating the real world at all, if that.
And that’s lead to a lot of new concerns for the wingnut population. I mean, yeah, living life literally in a psychotic break may be fun in terms of making liberal heads explode and can be spun in exciting ways when it turns out polls are real and elections can’t just be wished the right way, but what about things like propaganda.
I mean, after all, you still need to enforce which lies people believe. I mean, take something like the new “liberals are the real bullies” pose. It’s a great bit of IT’S ALWAYS PROJECTION pose, but when everyone is doing their best to really truly believe it, it runs the risk of letting everyone know who the super macho top dog really is.
So what is one propaganda merchant to do?
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Now some of you may have gotten the idea from drinking our propaganda horseshit surprise that liberals are a terrifying bunch of masterminds and super butch bullies and therefore are intelligent and “manly” by our toxic understanding of such. And I just want to assure you that no, most liberals are indeed the pussy fag ignoramuses you have always felt good about beating down for being gaywads who are being manipulated by a very tiny group of super-scary ten-foot tall super geniuses capable of deluding everybody that blacks and women are real people. Isn’t that much better?
First off I want to say that I just watered a stinkbug, which may or may not prove to be a good thing (will fires be fueled, no idea.) I simply noticed that its movements seemed a bit desperate and that it was tending to return to my libations. Having woken and noting the utter lack of humidity and putting a pot of water on the hotplate to ameliorate my suffering, I decide to drop a pool on the desk. The little thing has been at its waterhole for the last half hour, and I may have only one of those** to get this one through the transom.
I happened to fall asleep before the end of tsam personally winning the NFC Championship* and spent a couple of days blissfully unaware that Nigzilla had erupted on the sidelines after the game, possibly scaring a blond white woman.
As we live in a “post racial” Amercia we simply cannot stand an athlete enthusiastic about his contribution to his teams victory to voice said enthusiasm. This cannot be tolerated, under any circumstance, unless of course you are or look like John McEnroe (Davis Cup, bitches.)
**half hour before the ‘bucks connection gets too occupied, in which case across the street I must go.
Mr. Stinky seems to have had his fill of moisture and seems satisfied. I am sure that my concern for another life form, recognition and attendance to its needs, should be the default response of a proper human…That is at least how the Provider rolls. So yes, I watered a Stink bug, and Sherman burned down Hatelanta™ I mean Seattle, and a Niggocalypse™ was born.
When Erin Andrews asked Sherman to rehash the play, the cornerback instead barked out: “I’m the best corner in the game. When you try me with a sorry receiver like Crabtree, that’s the result you’re gonna get! Don’t you ever talk about me!” Then he glared directly into the camera.
It was so powerful, so raw of a reaction that Andrews needed a moment before proceeding. The league’s best cornerback had made the best move of his career on the biggest play of his career to win the biggest game of his career, against an opposing wide receiver and college head coach with whom he shares not a little bad blood. This was a triumphant moment, and still to a lot of people there was something viscerally ugly about Sherman standing over a pretty blonde woman, yelling into our living rooms with an emotional mixture of joy, relief, and excitement, arrogance, and anger. Dude was turnt up.
This humble author has in his day been an extremely competitive person and an athlete of minor note in a variety of pursuits; if you could see me right now you would be looking at a cat who was willing to put his head between the throw from third and the first baseman’s mitt to acquire a safe position at first. I am kind of nuts like that, so I can get the “take no prisoners” aspect of exuberance and anger.
In my relative dotage, I appreciate that never did I block a throw to first with my head as I just happened to be quick enough, most of the time, to beat the throw, In the parlance of the time my next plate appearance was usually accompanied by a warning from the third baseman that I had “wheels.”
The previous is only Germain to the fact that those of us who love competition, no matter how rational we may appear in normal day to day existence, can be moved to craziness in service of competition. Ever seen a bicycle roll through a 90 degree turn at 30 mph with a rear wheel two feet in the air? Neither have I, but I have been the guy with his hands on the handlebars on three such occasions.
Let us take a gander at the outrageous display that led to lifting the veil on what remains a hideous stain on our Country.
Terrifying stuff to be sure, what with a black dude expressing his feelings in the heat of the moment after making one of the more amazing game saving plays I have ever seen…[attempting to find a vid that I can embed...]
As one who has assembled a highlight reel of “how the fuck did he do/get away with that” that could easily be green-lighted for a top ten on sportscenter, I have to say again that the play in question was among the finest plays I have seen.
Within a minute, he responds to a question about the play and responds in a way that a black man is not ever supposed to do.
Millions of Americans took to their cell phones, to social media, to the bar patron next to them, to cluck at Sherman. We called him classless, a bad sportsman, a troll. We called him a monkey and a nigger. We threatened his life. We said that he set black people and race relations back 30, 50, 100 years.
Because in that moment, Sherman—a singular kid from Compton who won both the athletic and intellectual lottery so completely, so authoritatively, that he spent three years playing on Stanford’s football team at wide receiver before converting to defensive back and becoming the NFL’s best at the position—was in the public eye. In that moment, whether he knew, cared, or neither, Richard Sherman, a public figure, became a proxy for the black male id.
When you’re a public figure, there are rules. Here’s one: A public personality can be black, talented, or arrogant, but he can’t be any more than two of these traits at a time.
The only problem your not so humble scribe has with the last sentence is that not in any of the many lives have I experienced has a black person been given a complete pass at arrogance. One can not be black and arrogant without suffering and talent will only abrogate the arrogance until a justification to destroy the edifice is uncovered.
This would be the spot that would follow with the litany of assholishness on display, but just check the first link provided above.
*Just kidding with a bit of hyperbole, tsam. Happy for you and the other Northwestern Sadlynauts….Go Seahawks!!!
So yeah, you know that death plague that has been floating around… yeah, turns out that kids are great at transferring it to people… say, their teachers. So yeah, haven’t been a fun weekend to say the least for the Cerberus household.
So yeah, seeing as how I’m still at the phase where standing upright for prolonged periods of time is a hit-or-miss thing, writing one of my stamina-breaking epic pieces is probably not in the cards.
However, I’m happy to say that my new fever-induced delirium state puts me in the perfect condition to dive into the happy harbor of American Thinker’s broken-down madhouse and bring forth a few disease-ridden mangos while they still have no effect on my addled mind.
First up, is a nuanced take on Chris Christie’s recent revelation to be the exact small-minded “taking it out on his political enemies” asshole, we’ve always known him to be (I know! It’s so shocking!). What? He went out of his way to “punish” those he saw as not supporting him? Gosh, who could have seen that coming? What’s that NJ teacher’s union, you said you did? Ha ha, who listens to teachers these days?
Now, given that Christie is currently conservative Jesus and pretty much the only man with a hope or prayer for the Republicans in 2016 because he’s the only one who can occasionally sound halfway sane to the desperate bipartisan-seeking Beltway crowd, you might think this post will tend towards the hagiographic, trying to whitewash his sins as one more proof of the million-handed left-wing conspiracy (ha ha, as if we can spare any after ensuring that Saint Sarah can’t use her magic superpowers to make all non-conservatives disappear forever).
But you’re forgetting that he once accepted Obama’s help when his state was literally drowning instead of fucking himself over and crowing victory over the evil black man. And that means that he is SATAN TIMES A BILLION to the type of untreated psychotic that graces the front-page of American Thinker.
Legitimate Shorter this Time:
Chris Christie is a terrorist-loving liberal in cahoots with the time-traveling Obama birth-certificate hiders because he hasn’t killed every towel-head who has a residence in his state. Death to the infidel! Er… wait…
But ah, one post is far too short, it feels, so on my return sojourn, I make a little sidetrip down a tributary for one last mad-dash to shore.
Have I mentioned recently enough that I absolutely admire the conservative ability to always live lives based in the moral clarity, where even when mistakes are made, they always stand firmly behind their decisions and accept the consequences of their actions, no matter what they may be? Cause I really do. Also how they don’t try and erase whole embarrassing swaths of history just because it is inconvenient to their political ideologies. That really takes guts.
Totes Real Shorter Y’all:
The Reagan and Bush years never happened. The complete economic collapse and widening gap between rich and poor happened entirely because uppity bitches wanted to work outside of the home and poor people decided they had a right to basic survival.
*P.S. Occasionally some of you awesome fuckers send me things, maybe it’s an email, maybe it’s a card in the mail, or a little donation in my paypal with a little note on it. I don’t say it enough, but there has never been an occasion where that hasn’t brightened my day immensely and made me feel great. I just got a little New Year’s card this morning and it’s left me smiling all day. So thank you, you big old sentimental bastards and bitches. You melt this little doggie’s heart.
Ahhh, really fucking hesitant to circle back to this well so soon. I mean, I eviscerated “Dr.” Keith, what? Three posts ago? And I did my last trans* post only like two post ago. I mean, I know I have my regular ports of call and my usual obsessions, but I do try and mix it up a little on this blog.
So why are we here, doing the same dance on this Saturday night? Well, there’s two main reasons.
First? It’s about AB1266, i.e. The School Success and Opportunity Act, i.e AIIEEE trannies will be using bathrooms with your kids, California is officially an anarchic hellscape. And I’ve been waiting forevvvver to talk about this law. I mean, there’s been no shortage of TV talking heads acting like trans* kids being able to join the right sports programs or use the right bathrooms or locker rooms was Satanism plus 10, but I’ve been completely clit-blocked on finding a good right-wing freakout in print that I could use for the blog (until now).
And second? Well, just look at the title! So many times in anti-trans* screeds we get the same old angle, so often we could recite it by heart. “Trans bill, oh dear, no, that means there will be a ‘man’ in the girl’s room with your precious artifact daughter and then she’ll be molested, because that’s what happens whenever a ‘man’ is in a room where people remove their panties for any reason”. Rinse, dry, repeat.
But this time the panic is about trans-men invading the oh so precious spaces of cis-men with their “girl” cooties and I’m not seeing any way it’s not going to be homoerotic, gynophobic, and utterly novel in its immense stupidity.
So yeah, fuck it, we’re so doing this.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
If “women” can be in the boy’s bathroom, then that’ll feminize the boys and make them self-conscious about their pee-pee size. Also, really, is it so much to ask of the trans* community that they hide themselves forever so that the little ones never have to know that trans* people exist, because learning things in school is unconstitutional.
This might be the “fight” that best exemplifies the right. I mean, let’s be frank, there isn’t a generation left on the planet for whom pot hasn’t been a major social institution, so common in usage to be wholly unremarkable. And yet, despite the fact that pretty much everyone, young and old at least knows someone who blazes up, the conservatives still react like shrieking death monkeys to every slow incremental change to reflect that reality.
And the amazing thing is that for nearly all of them, they have personal knowledge of how inane this “battle” is and how obscene it is that a drug less harmful on a personal or social level than tobacco or alcohol is only just now starting to become legal for wide use on a state by state basis. Many of the fuckers screaming their head off about the evils of legalizing pot or how obscene it is that Obama or Clinton have lit up have lit up themselves or done harder drugs.
But they keep up the “battle” out of loyalty to a legacy. To the fact that conservatives of the past cared about the issue and railed against it, so by the transitive power of dumb, so must they carry the torch to the giant flame of failure.
And those old bigots of days yore only cared about the damn sweet leaf to begin with because as a drug it was more associated with queers, blacks, beatniks, hippies, and assorted young people. That was the only reason why they hated it and fought so hard for such strict criminalization.
So yeah, we’ve got idjits holding their hands athwart history yelling stop because they have inherited a legacy hatred that only got started because “liberals liked it”.
If there is anything that better exemplifies modern conservatism, then I’ve yet to see it.
And if there’s anything that better exemplifies the fact that weed really shouldn’t be facing the barriers to legalization it does, it might be irony-soaking works like this one from anti-meritocracy proof incarnate Bobo Brooks.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Oh man, I remember when I used to smoke weed. God, that stuff’s so ubiquitous even a perpetual stuffed shirt like me lit up back in the day… oh wait, I’m supposed to be against it, because conservatism, right? Uh, weed is totes bad so we should like make it illegal, because morality and shit. I dunno, hey man, it’s puff, puff, pass, not hog the whole damn roach!
Dick. Trouser Titan. AC/DC’s Big Balls. Wang. One Eyed Snake Monster. Cock.
Bring up the subject of transwomen to most people on the planet and you can struggle to count the nanoseconds before people start wanting to wax poetic on ding-dongs and schlongs. Which isn’t to say that transmen get it any easier. Most general public discussion of transmen inevitably devolves to an endless round of snatch talk and muff elocution.
All. The. Fucking. Time. And one starts to wonder after awhile if there’s something desperately wrong with cisgendered people to cause them to become more obsessed with the exact state of trans people’s genitals than a family dog with their own butthole.
Overall, it is the thing that people think of when they think trans people and unfortunately like most “one things” that privileged people know about a minority community, it tends to become the sole vector of discourse and interaction. I’ve had random dudes on the street inquire about the state of my genitals simply that’s the only commonly understood point of understanding for too many people.
And it comes with a number of downsides. Obsession about my genitals and the state of them was used as an excuse for my dad to dismiss and look down upon my existence. And I guaran-fucking-tee that the association of trans* people with genitals and then the following attempt to associate that with me being a teacher was a driving force of the justification for discriminating me out of a decent job I loved.
And that being the only thing people associate with trans* people is what leads clueless, but well-meaning, people like Katie Couric to think that it’s required for a trans* person to talk about their junk on national TV on a daytime meaningless talk show.*
Which is why it was something remarkable and downright badass to have human awesome machine, Laverne Cox, actually get right down to the reality of what being trans* in America means instead of playing into the same old dance of letting the trans* experience begin and end with one damn procedure that a good number of trans* people do not even get.
Needless to say, conservatives lost their damn fool minds over this.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
So-called trannies want to pretend that they are more than their genitals. But we must scrutinize every inch of their wing-wongs or vayjayjays in order to best know how to criticize them as the sex-obsessed freaks they are.
Please join me next week for my weekly article on how liberals are sex-obsessed crude assholes.
Dearly beloved, we are gathered today to mark the passing of a noble individual. Harold T. Marriage had a long life, long predating the religions that have sought to unilaterally own him. And he had a troubled life as a long-standing and rigid institution. Impossible to change, he rapidly spent life flitting between different incarnations, whether the hallowed institution of one man and an ever-sprawling harem of women and captured slaves forced into life-long rape or more recently, as a bill of sale from father to husband. He has served as soulless and loveless political unions of pointless royalty and as a means of acquiring houseslaves one could legally rape. Yes, he had a good life.
But sadly, all great lives must come to a close and after many years battling deep illness caused by his transformation into the creation of legal family for reasons of love, he finally succumbed and became no more in the dimming lights of 2013.
All those he has touched, the legally bound couples he has spent so many years tying together in warm loving connection must now become unholy fuckbuddies only able to refer to the people who light up their lives as “that guy/girl who lives in my house”. So it is written in our free copies of the Republican Bible, amen!
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
If we can’t have marriage (exclusively), then no one can have it! Burn it down as we retreat to future victories!
Did I survive that holiday season? Holy fuck, how?
So yeah, turns out that one’s first holiday season after being disowned sucks such great donkey balls that it served as Christ’s first bestiality porn show.
It’s a fitting end to 2013, a year which has served as probably the worst year of my entire life, I suppose. Which is a shame, because overall, I rather like the number 13.
But it’s no matter, for today is the beginning of a new year, one that I can’t really be too pessimistic about, because I swung by our good friends at American Thinker and, you know what, I found out that apparently, I’m some kind of badass ninja assassin or something.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Comedy is a deadly weapon because McCarthy is a joke.
Happy Fucking Tabula Rasa day, Fuckers of future and or already Mothers.
A tip of the cap to all of the FatherFuckers™ out there; for without you we would have nothing: My atoms would have remained floating incoherently in the vacuum that lies betwixt the
galaxies (which upon further reflection may have been put to better use, the atoms, that is.)
In any event, let me extend the warmest greetings to humanity as a whole, to the cadgers that spend most of their time (fellow traveler) worrying about the state of things and wishing for better, and even to the dropouts and ne’er do wells of the Dunning-Kruger Academy.
Is it just me or are the made-up right-wing scandals literally getting dumber by the second. What’s next, guys? How Obama’s sock color choice proves he hates America? Whether or not Obamacare whitens your teeth enough to protect America from darkies?
Conservatives have a weird relationship with marketing.
I mean, the whole image before substance deal that once were critiques of the shallowness of campaigns like Reagan’s or Bush’s have become major badges of pride. Which is one thing, but like a malignant tumor, it has grown from there into a full-out religion of marketing as something akin to a God or powerful magic spirit.
Marketing one’s “brand”, winning the “image war” has become conservatism’s one obsession and at every level there is a firm belief that throwing enough money at marketing or yelling really loudly to win the “day” should be able to rewrite reality, bend people to their wills, and erase all history.
We saw it with the “we create our own history” delusion during the Bush years, in the stunted confusion of Karl Rove when it turned out all the advertising in the world didn’t magically make Mitt Romney likeable, in every right-wing pundit trying to argue that fictional works prove that everyone is as bigoted and small-minded as they are, in the bizarre defensiveness about the Duck Dynasty star not getting his Constitutional Right to be on TV, and of course, most disturbingly, in the frantic and rabid responses to the existence of advertising from “the other side”.
Whether its a frothing reaction to some company not being bigoted bastards for once and using something other than young white straight people or something like Malkin’s sputtering rant about previous Obama advertising, they seem physically pained to see something dared presented in their last little bastion of lily white male dominance that can in the slightest way challenge them and see everyone’s job to be to protect this “real world” from the predatory tendrils of the actually real world.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Obama released a twitpic on his twitter feed! Clearly we have defeated the dark beast, for he is slain and routed and must clear the White House to make way for Sarah Palin, because as long as we rant super angrily and displace all our fucked up issues on a goddamned meaningless piece of fluff public announcement, then we can finally have that big win that will turn the last 5 years into just a painful haunting dream.
No, I don’t think I’ll ever let go your textbook example of literal gynophobia anytime soon. At least, not as long as you still keep trying to sell gender norms for women that went out of style about four hundred years ago.
Ross Douchehat, The New York Times is a Worthwhile Newspaper and Other Jokes: The Daughter Theory
Holy fucking shit, first Bobo and now Douchehat with awkward apologia for think tank bullshit.
Did Krugthulu stomp around the NY Times office delivering smackdowns with a Cluebot 9000 or something? Because all the usual fuckwits seem to be licking their wounds about the fact that they are lifelong wingnut welfare hacks who wouldn’t know real science if it bit them on the taint.
And huzzah to that brave soul, whoever it was, that has them smarting so visibly as it’s at least got the cradle-to-grave shills to at least acknowledge the vile mess they’ve been leaving on the carpet and at least make some sort of half-hearted response.
And while, neither blow was wholly successful, they both seem to have left their share of psychic damage, reducing Bobo to a bizarre Two Face re-enactment as he tried to dodge self-awareness.
As for our favorite “Chunky Reese Witherspoon-fearing” gynophobe, his response is well…
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Are we complete hacks who cling to our think tank pseudoscience as if it was a life raft? Well, you love it when your so-called “real” science proves your point, so clearly this think tank piece I’m being asked to pimp arguing that everyone are stereotypical TV dads is super science and will make everyone a conservative and prevent us from ever having to drop our war on women so there!
In this fantasy, I could have a choice between any magical superpower. I could fly or communicate with fish or lift a planet over my head. And in this fantasy, I don’t choose any of them. Instead, I choose the ability to punch through self-delusion and make people see themselves as they really are.
Like many powers, it has its nice uses (aiding those struggling with the confusion of who they are and making it harder to build destructive closets), but they’d be a side-venue to the real satisfying work of making self-delusional bigots have to face themselves as they really are and as their actions have made them.
No delusions of meritocracy, no pretenses at fair-minded ideals, no complex fantasies in order to justify petty bullying. Just a person having to accept themselves and their actions or be destroyed by the weight of it all. It’d be the end of all the rich white people trying to claim they are being oppressed by poor brown people existing. It’d be the end of fucks like my dad trying to argue that not being bigoted in one venue means they should get a free pass to recycle that bigotry against another group*. Hell, it might even end the Republican Party as we know it.
But there is no such power and the fantasy is just that, a comforting thought experiment to ease the stress of living under the bootheel of crazy people.
But if such a power did exist, I think someone might have used a beta version against poor little Bobo.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
God I suck… I mean, God does an imaginary liberal version of me suck… who totally exists, you guys. Sniff, stop staring at me.
Now having tits that I am proud of is something of a newer development, so I have only recently become aware of the Secret Powers that having a pair of knockers grants one. With one little wiggle, I apparently have the power to summon forth eldritch powers beyond space and time to ensorcell the minds of feeble-minded male-identified Libertarian douchebros and bend their otherwise totally manly and indepednent superpowers to my dark and evil will.
Which is why so many not at all insecure and emotionally stunted entitled fuckwits straight up need to claim public ownership of these dirty pillow and their associated Weapons of Mass Eroticism, lest I and other filthy females lay low their rock hard rigid ranks.
And all I can do is weep and beat my tender fun bags in lamentation and excoriation at what violence my bewitching breasts have wrought upon those once noble purveyors of all that is right and super-ultra-mega logical (because unlike me they have superior manbrains, the only thing capable of processing true objectivity).
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
If we can’t street harass and sexually harass women who are so entitled they think they can walk on our streets without being constantly reminded of their duties to us as public sex objects, then we will all be condemned to a dystopian Matriarchal future where all our freedoms have been stolen and men are forced to serve as slaves to our Gynocratic Overlords!
Also, the fact that this is the most “oppressive” thing we can think of to whine about should totally be taken as proof that white wealthy cis-heterosexual men are the most oppressed people in the world instead of proof that we’re a pack of whiny assholes who can’t handle people other than us being anything other than property for us to buy and sell.
“It is better to lead from behind and to put others in front, especially when you celebrate victory when nice things occur. You take the front line when there is danger. Then people will appreciate your leadership.”
On December 5, 2013, Nelson Mandela passed away.
It’s a little awkward to try and synthesize what he meant to black South Africans, South Africa, Africa as a continent, and the world.
And it almost seems disrespectful to talk about how he impacted me, because I’m just a white bitch living in the United States. When I was finally old enough to pay attention to and understand current world history, Mandela was already larger than life, having succeeded in staring down the tyrants and getting the world to accept him and his country. I wasn’t there to worry that he would end up another Steve Biko. I wasn’t there when it looked like Apartheid would never end nor was I there when it looked like no one would care. And I definitely wasn’t there on the ground, suffering that oppression, wondering if I would live another day, much less those I respected as activists and leaders.
And on top of that, I only had access to his story in barest fragments. Despite the name, my “world” history classes’ coverage of Africa began and ended with Ancient Egypt. So I had to go outside to hear his story and to respect him. How he survived a brutal prison environment that had claimed so many of his compatriots. How he fought for what was right even when it cost him and even when all the Western world was happy to treat South African blacks as an unruly bits of property that needed to learn their place. And afterward, how he made those same fuckers actually respect him and South Africa as a nation to be treated as an equal and how he has been instrumental as a spokesperson for his entire continent, slowly helping to move it into its own away from its colonialist shadow.
It’s small and it’s narcissistic, but yeah, I respect the shit out of him. Every time I find my courage fail in activism, I remember his courage to stay true. And even when he compromised, he knew what was right and spoke in favor of it. A strong ally on feminism, LGBT issues, class consciousness, and anti-xenophobia, he fought hard to get protections for other marginalized groups enshrined in law even when it was already a struggle to get rights and protections for himself and those like him. He may have been inspired by Gandhi, but I don’t think I’m the only one who has been inspired to always try and do what is right by him.
And my most poignant memory of his isn’t even an iconic one for most and isn’t even all that remembered, but is the passionate way he supported Caster Semanya, the South African sprinter who was harassed by Olympic officials for being intersex, and spoke clearly about the exact forms of bigotry and bullshit that were going on.
Even when it wasn’t his fight. Even when his hardest battles were complete. Even when it was just a person in his nation when he was already old and frail and could have easily ignored it. He took the time to stand up for them. That is my memory of the man.
He was, simply, in many ways, better than we’ll ever be and the world is much poorer for his leaving.
I don’t know why I didn’t do this ages ago. I mean, the New York Times is a distinguished newspaper with a long track record and while their conservative pundits might be embarrassing at best, they are at least trying to look semi-coherent. For those who’ve been seeking shelter from the ever-shrinking tide of Endless Obamacare posts, this seems like a safe harbor.
Now, of course, as I write this, I haven’t done more than look over the title and I haven’t even selected my image for the post yet, but I’m sure that’s not at all a foreboding warning of what’s to come.
So what’s today’s post about anyways?
The Obamacare rollout is exactly like the Bay of Pigs invasion. When it’s not worse.
Maureen Dowd, Seriously, New York Times, What the Fuck Did we Ever do to you to Deserve this Shit: Why the Y?
I have a fantasy.
That one day a strapping young man will give me a lift on his time machine and I can finally go back in time and strangle whoever thought it would be a great idea to give Maureen fucking Dowd a regular column.
Now, I know there are people who less deserve a regular column expressing opinions in major metropolitan newspapers. Bobo Brooks, Douchehat, JoeDonBob Surber, Dr. Stangel-Krauthammer, George Fucking Will. But Maureen Dowd just seems the most galling.
And I think I know why. All of them, Maureen Dowd included, are pathetic nepotistic beneficiaries of “both sides are equal” delusions of “objectivity” that somehow means that right-wing ignoramuses be highlighted more than slightly liberal columnists who are at least aware of the world that exists.
But Maureen Dowd is an extra crotch grab to the insult, as the excuse for her nepotistic hire is that they wanted to deal with their “no girls” allowed mentality by hiring a “feminist” who could be counted on to relate nothing but sexist garbage and Mean Girl™ cliches.
Cause, you know, if you weren’t quite yet convinced that the New York Times was a sexist pile of trash, what with the way they are the most reliable marks for every “50s gender roles is totes nature” evo psych “paper” ever written, the snide dismissal every time they are required to write about a prominent woman, or the number of major columnists who are twue believers in various sexist conspiracy theories, then hiring an anti-feminist nitwit with massive daddy issues as their “feminist” columnist might, just might, be that last little clue.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Even genetics is in on the conspiracy to make men more feminized and smaller so that the feminazi hordes can conquer and harvest their sperm energy and establish the Eternal Amazonian Empire and the death of all men!
Thanksgiving is a really fucking weird holiday. I mean, I’m not the first one to note this shit, but Thanksgiving has always been more than a little fucked up.
Like many holidays its a pagan feast day run through the xerox machine a couple of times and given vaguely Christian and/or capitalist overtones. It’s supposed to be a day of mindfulness and being thankful for what you have, but the retail orgy that is Black Friday is spilling more and more into it and everyone seems to be trying to do their best to not think too much about the holiday and its implications.
And then, we’ve got the official history, which, yeah, snarky title, but that is kind of how that whole thing ended up, with hundreds of years of genocide, broken promises, and just generally being a dick to the people who had actually been living here.
And that official history gets even more dark when you start to think about why this official history is even raised as “important”. I mean, at best, the much vaunted “first thanksgiving” was just a day (the whole “thanksgiving” thing was an already long established christianization of “harvest feast days” that were supposed to complement fasting periods) largely caused by a bunch of natives justifiably nervous about all the gunfire around their camps and wanting to check up on this “feast” the settlers were saying it was for.
At worst, it was a colony of religious assholes who believed they were entitled to anything good that ever happened to them, so fuck the people who actually kept them from dying. As they were saved from certain death caused by them being religious lunatics who knew nothing about preparing a new settlement for winter by sympathetic natives, they responded largely by many years of just utterly dicking around with the nearby settlements and blaming them for all ills when they weren’t busy blaming them on witches (which often translated to anyone who had favorable land and was speaking out about their being a dick to natives policies).
And then we get to the part where this holiday is used as the excuse to focus on Pilgrims as the “first Americans” and the “true Americans”, blessed by the very natives whose land they stole to represent what we think of as “America”. Despite the fact that they weren’t the first Anglican settlers and weren’t even that remarkable outside of the random importance given to this day.
A day whose modern interpretations are like most holidays products of 1950s suburban advertising. A day by Norman Rockwell painting are supposed to be about family and diversity but just end up meaning anyone who is in anyway non-normative is asked to sit down and shut up and lie about their life so that those who most fit the status quo can go on and on about their regressive bullshit without socially approved counter in the name of “family togetherness”.
But then, even though it’s this whole institution with so much stress and nasty history, it’s got good food and no one seems to care that much, so what use is it getting upset with the whole rigmarole?