So as the overlong and bizarrely descriptive title notes, we’ve made some big changes behind the scenes that we’d let you all know about.
The biggest news?
We have moderators now! Yup, Sadly, No! has finally grown up and put on its big boy pants and upgraded some of you to the super-envious position of mucking out our shit so us glorious front-pagers do not have to stain our royal spats whilst we fop around on our gilded carriages.
So yeah, Big Bad Bald Bastard, bbkf, Oregon Beer Snob, and VCarlson have joined us behind the scenes to help take care of business and so far have been doing a fantastic job that we on the writing team are greatly appreciative of. Who knows, later on, we might even fix the blog roll or our contact page or stop running the site on daily sacrifices to Vishnu. The sky’s the limit, baby!
We might try organizing some meatspace reader meetups for those who are interested in it. The conversation in the last thread about a potential future Chicago meetup makes me think a West Coast meetup sometime could be fun.
Beyond that, we on the front page have been using Google+ Hangouts to confer and plot our dread master Soro’s will, so that’s the cheap and free option sometime in the future if people are interested in doing an e-meetup sometime.
Also, we are planning to update some of the other pages of the site so that they include modern additions.
But enough about all that. Let’s jump straight to the wingnuttery!
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
EEEEEEE! Trayvon Martin wasn’t some kid bringing home a drink and some candy for his little brother! He was a black person! I mean DRUGGIE! Doing vile evil drugs like… cough syrup because… if it turned out he used a traditional young-person method of getting drunk on the cheap and without having to show ID despite their being literally zero evidence this ever occurred then it would mean he was a criminal and therefore perfectly legal to shoot… right?
I have found it on occasions, recently, difficult to breath, to peer throught the veil of tears while processing the loss of one of my betters. The fact that I have to attempt this encomium in a public venue, while choking back tears, adds to the adventure.
Doghouse Riley has shuffled off his mortal coil at the age of 59. I am not sure exactly where I saw his first comment, eventually leading me to his blog, but I have read everything the dude wrote there and it was always brilliant. Born in a retrograde state that somehow managed to produce Vonnegut and Riley, I have managed to find a small measure of solace and pride in the place in which I was born as a result.
There is a pantheon of writers online that I aspire to and realize an unlikliness to join. Douglas Case was one of them. His humour, humility, sagacity and singular brilliance will be missed, dearly.
Another scribe has suggested that Twain would be looking over his shoulder had Riley been a contemporary. I cannot disagree.
“White Heaven is for decent, good, God-fearing Christians who just happen to, well, hate everyone and everything relating to black people. That means no Muhammad Ali, no hip-hop music and no fucking Jesse Jackson.”
It is often said, by us heartless demonic liberals that conservatives suffer from a failure of empathy. Unable to put themselves in the shoes of those who are suffering. Those who have less of the advantages shitbird conservatives squander. Those who are brutalized and oppressed at their hands.
And while those things are, one might say, a wee bit DUH. I would strongly argue that these failures are NOT due to a lack of empathy. Hell, I would even go one step beyond and argue that conservatives are FULL of empathy.
Look no further than George Zimmerman, child murderer, wife beater, and possibly more. Conservatives just can’t stop empathizing with him and his “suffering”, placing themselves in his shoes, identifying with his paranoia and gun nuttery, the way mean old liberals view him as a racist just because of a couple of incredibly racist incidents like stalking and murdering a kid for being black in his neighborhood. Can’t stop feeling sorry for him being the coddled child of a politically connected figure whose various soldiers can be counted on to bail him from whatever “oops” he might get himself into. Can’t stop fantasizing about how it must have felt to live the dream of getting away with offing one of those filthy escaped slaves.
Much like they had trouble pulling themselves away from identifying with Anders Breivik or Scott Roeder.
No, they have empathy in spades. What they lack is imagination. They can empathize with someone perfectly as long as they are a tribe member, have the same paranoid overprivileged fears as them, the same soft-life uneasiness that leads to barricading oneself in one’s gated community with a small hillside of guns and ammunition and chattering one’s teeth at the thought of encountering someone with a tan. Is in essence, nearly 100% just like them, or at least, what they’d like to be if they had the ovaries to live their ideals in the way these murderers did.
What they have a harder time with is imagining what it’s like to not be a terrible person. What it’s like to be the target in the guns, the victim of the paranoia, the poor regular person just trying to get by in a world they made wretched. Which often leads to the twin defining aspects of modern conservatism. 1) IT’S ALWAYS PROJECTION and the way they displace themselves on their enemies because if all you can imagine is yourself, then your enemies must just be twice as you so you can be the good guys and of course 2) Bizarre conspiracy laden justifications for the horrible people and actions they end up actually identifying with. Ways in which it’s not their fault or someone else made them do it.
No flashing ahead to the results of this poor decision.
There is a drinking activity known as “shotgunning”, I say like the complete teetotaler I am (Hey guys, did you know you can ferment vegetables or fruits in order to induce an altered state of consciousness? Oh, really? Majority of the sum of human history has already known this? Oh.). Usually this technique is employed in college party circles where finances and lack of palate ensure that the beer on offering is only of the lowest quality possible and thus quickly imbibing is one’s only hope for saving one’s taste buds the agony of being able to remember drinking Bud Light or PBR (Is it wrong that when I drink, I mostly like to drink for taste? The answer is yes. Extremely. Bad Cerberus.), I say as if you didn’t already know this.
Well, the point I was trying to get to before you so rudely interrupted me, random imaginary reader, is this. Oftentimes, when I dive into the floating cheap beer infested swimming pool that is Outer Wingnuttistan, I drink carefully and slowly, swirling every rotted mango microbrew failure around for true palate immersion.
And while this is clearly a solid method for ensuring a long, prosperous and not at all prone to food poisoning life, sometimes, my taste buds, having listened to vile liberal college professors, decide to go on strike and demand the sweet release that only a binge drinking purge can provide.
So who am I to deny the tortured metaphor any further? Let jam the sharpened blade in and guzzle deep of whatever may have once resembled dignity among these overwrought wastes of space.
As a non entity, I used to peruse the front page here on at least a weekly basis for years, and then discovered the comment section* and decided that I really enjoyed the community that had assembled here. I lurked for awhile before diving in and becoming one of you. It is generally how I roll (getting to know the ways, customs and flow of a place before opening my big fat mouth.)
During what I would call my tenure here (starting about the time I would cough up hairballs of hopefully humorous (thanks Manq) gibberish in the comment section) there have been a number of changes in personae in the place, both above and below decks.
I would like to assure the patrons of this place that Management (currently comprising of previous patrons and possibly an original or two) is looking into the least invasive pesticide solutions to deal with the Dutch Elm situation that has become a concern.
In the interim, please set your default response to ignoring** and while I have sympathy for some of the badinage, patience is ebbing.
Nymjacks of the turd will end up in the sewer along with the turd.
Consider this a navel gazing open thread, penis gags and puns a go go.
*and all of the lovely and brilliant and funny people, some of whom I had crossed paths with in other places, yet many others that were new to me and fucking hilarious.
Between 1992 and 2008, the number of bachelor’s degrees awarded rose almost 50 percent, from around 1.1 million to more than 1.6 million. According to Vedder, 60 percent of those additional students ended up in jobs that have not historically required a degree–waitress, electrician, secretary, mail carrier.
[Emphasis added and really, mail carriers?]
Not yet a year later, what has become of this “fact”? New Cokeversion:
Yet playing with the interest rate on student loans is not going to give much of a boost to the middle class when already 60 percent of college graduates are taking jobs that haven’t traditionally required a college degree. Better educated waitresses may be a fine thing for America, but is it really bolstering our bourgeoisie?
[Emphasis added, misquoting in the original.]
I would call it a big jump to go from 60% of of the additional 500,000 college grads taking jobs that have “historically” not requiring a college degree to 60% of all college grads taking up jobs as waiters, etc… As in, a jump from 300,000 to 960,000. Must be one of those it’s a hypothetical, not a statistic sort of thing.
I was recently on vacation (to the place where I was raped… no, no, it was way awesomer than you’re imagining and WAY less triggering that I had been bracing myself for*) and so was unable to deliver the swift ballkicking this post so richly deserves in any timely fashion. But that hardly means I should let such an easy target pass by without retroactively applying some ballkickification (totally a real world).
Verbatim (Yes, these words were typed without anyone spontaneously bursting into flames):
From boyhood through adulthood, the White American Male must fight his way through a litany of taunts, assumptions and grievances about his very existence. His oppression is unlike anything American women have faced.
Yes, a paean to how White American Men are the most oppressed Amateur Mode whiners on the face of the planet!
A quick and dirty one to relieve the pressure on the bilge. I started a variation of the following theme a month or three at Roy’s place and will revive it here. The gag revolves around starting with the masthead of a place previously unknown and a comment on the first sentence or paragraph leaving the rest for you ravening hounds and kittens. Let’s begin with the Masthead: There is a veritable life raft laden with mangoes in the following image. Have at the delicious bounty.
We are gonna deal with the first sentence in this case: “Sheeple is an oft used word when people describe the manipulations exhibited the current Executive Branch and POTUS administration.”
[blink, blink, stares across the sidewalk, glances admiringly on the newly installed parking meters, blink, blink] I got nothing for now, so consider this an open thread, I may cough up something else after work.
I’ll admit up front that I paid very little attention to the trial of Trayvon
Martin George Zimmerman. The bits and pieces that did fall into the bit bucket
confirmed for me the correctness of this strategy. Having read a raft of commentary from
the legal perspective of the particular reading of the Floridian implementation of the
“Stand your ground” “law” last summer, led me to the conclusion that “shoot a Nigger and
claim self defense” had become the law of that land. There are times when discretion is
the better part of valor when it comes in service to the maintenance of a semblance of
When the story initially broke, I thought that something smelled funky in Denmark, but
felt inclined to wait before waltzing to a conclusion, though when initial details emerged:
I.E. the recording of the conversation with the police dispatcher, I knew that I had witnessed
my first lynching. When I saw a picture of a group of Zimmies including a guy (white) wearing
a hoodie holding on to a pack of skittles and some tea; when I read that Zimmerman had
crowd-sourced nearly a hundred thousand dollars through a paypal account, I became certain
that I had witnessed an actual “high tech lynching.”
Young Black men have always been acceptable targets for murder most foul. Clarence Thomas
himself was completely aware of this fact when he cynically employed the phrase “high tech
lynching” as his defense agains the allegations of Anita Hill during his confirmation
I love hyperbole. It is my stock in trade and in general I appreciate its employment, but
Thomas tried to gut-fuck that pooch to death in what might constitute the first salvo in
the Republican war on shame or on anything else that might fall within the realm of the
They have been successful. While it should be hyperbole to state that Trayvon
Martin was lynched, it is not. There was no rope involved, but that matters not.
There were no post-cards of crowds bearing witness, but that matters not. There was not even
a white girl/woman involved, but that matters not. What matters, and makes this a high tech
lynching is the fact that armed with the indesputible fact that Zimmerman sought out and
shot an unarmed teenager, millions of people surged forth in support of the man that tied
the rope around Trayvon’s neck. And now millions celebrate Zimmerman’s release…There is
your lynch mob.
I have been trying to search for a small bit of funny in this affair and have failed, miserably.
So yeah, no random wingnut dancing on the grave of Trayvon Martin today, nor a rundown of bizarre sexual obsessions from some repressed homophobe. Instead, we’re talking about the rundown shack we’ve all decided to huddle under as our adoptive home.
We here up on the front page have been discussing a number of long-term and short-term changes for the blog, most of them sexual (I’ve been told not to talk too much about Operation Orgy Night before we invest adequately in plastic sheets, alcohol wipes, and duct tape). Some of them already in place (better and more regular communication between front-pagers), some definitely scheduled for later in the future (Giant Robot Apocalypse).
Most of which is about general updating and improvement of the site as a whole (in addition to the various secret plans for a complete overthrow of the Florida State government), some dealing with aspects that have far too long been neglected.
Which leads to the topic we’re putting to you all today.
Trolls. And how to deal with the problem in the long-term.
Basically, one option we are currently exploring is instituting a policy wherein before a comment appears, the author must have a previously approved comment.
Upside of this model: Complete obliteration of our pet stalker troll before he escalates to real world actions as well as allowing comment threads to be 100% fixated on terrible puns and food porn (as God intended!).
Downside of this model: Increased inconvenience to new posters and we’d definitely have to have a boring post day where all the regulars post and get approved early on. Also, 6% chance of rousing Cthulhu from his eternal slumber.
Full disclosure: This is not the only solution we’re looking into. Instituting a sign-in system would be another potential option. Additionally, a good short term solution would be promoting some readers as moderators, though we’re looking at how to work that with the current FYWP setup we are using. And there’s a few other options that we could institute. And of course there’s just continuing what we’re currently doing. I mean, it’s not like it’s terribly difficult work to take out the trash from time to time.
So yeah, discuss amongst yourselves, give us feedback one way or the other, raise issues we’re not thinking of, ask questions of us about the potential change, or just book your spots for Operation Orgy. Whatever.
Or just trade puns. Oh c’mon, you know you want to.
Our Justice System is totally not broken, what are you talking about?
Shorter Zimmerman Trial Jury:
Shooting a nigger kid is always legal, no matter what the damn law, facts, or reality says. P.S. Racism? What racism? I mean, it’s not like we’re still lynchi-EEE anyway, look over there.
Fuck. The. World.
Fuck America. Fuck our broken Justice System. Fuck the whole pox-ridden limp-dick state that could have possibly engineered the near constant stream of fail that has characterized the Zimmerman trial on every level. Fuck every wingnut who is going to be cheering this on for weeks as a personal validation of every id impulse they’ve ever had. Fuck our toxic masculinity gun culture and the way its erosion of rights have conspired to invent a means to turn LYNCHING into America’s Favorite Legal Pastime. Fuck the vile soulless husk masquerading as Florida’s Attorney General and her nonexistent rationale for why this even masquerades as something other than a travesty of justice. Fuck the Defense Attorney and his slimy opportunist bullshit. Fuck the Florida Police Department and its attempts to cover this shit up. Fuck the news organizations who were forced by protesters to even pay attention and chose to do so in the most sensationally racist fashion possible. Fuck the trial for making the machinations surrounding Manning’s trial look dignified. And Fuck Zimmerman, most of all, hood-wearing, child-murdering fuck who counted on the law letting him getting away with stalking and murdering a kid just because he was black.
Fuck me for still having the ability to be shocked and appalled by bullshit like this.
Fuck everything, because maybe in the empty embrace of sweating heaving bodies, maybe we can forget for one solitary second what this represents for our country and our society and how far we still have to come to fix ANYTHING worth mattering.
And if this was the way he chose to live his life, we’d have so many fewer issues with this unrepentant piece of shit.
Neal Boortz: Asshole for Hire, Clownhall: Airplane!
So yeah, there was a plane crash in my neck of the woods, killed two people, injured more. Now, you or I or someone with a rudimentary understanding of basic human decency and a functional sense of empathy, might react to such a tragedy with concern, shock, or sadness. One of those fleeting type human emotions that we filthy “caring about other people” liberal-type people infect ourselves with on a regular basis.
So when it came time for Neal Boo-rtz, narcissist and low-functioning sociopath, to react to the crash, he knew that such vile hippie-claptrap wasn’t for him. Instead, he chose a different tack.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Goddamn liberals. It’s all their fault I ended up noticing that Fox News sucks. And it’s all their fault that I can’t stop watching. And it’s all their fault I ranted like the asshole that I am on Twitter.
But Cerberus, you say, how the fuck does any of that follow from a runway crash of an Asiana Air flight?
Oh Oscar, Oscar, Oscar. When last we left God’s gift to internalized biphobia, he had been lightly tonguing the balls of Homophobia Inc, looking for his salty payout of excusing all his various fuckups on having lesbian parents.
Since then, he’s spent the past year toiling in the used needle infested alley of American Thinker while the once firm and plump balls of Homophobia Inc have withered and shrunk from the estrogen treatment that has been “the majority of the populace aren’t bigots anymore and so there isn’t a reason for cowards to side with them”. And the stress and strain of desperately trying to hoover up the last few drops of cash flow before the “queers for homophobes” get relegated to the same dustbin of history as the kapos, the Phyllis Schaffleys, or the Quislings, may… I repeat, may, have turned his mind just the tiniest bit syphilitic.
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
I sold out THIS close to the end of the gravy train?!? FFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!!!!!! Also, faggots be queering our alternative fertility options and thus must be stopped at all costs!
Who’s up for some wacky fun with the Zimmerman trial? I mean, the whole media has gotten into the spectacle and dug in deep to enjoy every little bit of fun as if this was the second coming of the OJ Simpson trial (though no one ever suspect that the media is hoping for an equally “unfair” ending to “make up” for that one). So why not join in?
Trayvon Martin reacting like a normal human being to having a psychotic stalker hunting him like prey in ways that proved eerily prescient when said sociopath decided to murder him in cold blood, fully expecting his social rank and his community’s racism to get him completely off the hook, is clearly proof that Trayvon Martin was the true racist that night and a homophobe to boot whose attempted gay bashing was valliantly defended by Zimmerman’s cold steel.
My proof of that is that no one could ever mistake a filthy wetback for a human being… I mean white person. Also I have apparently been kept in a sterile vat for the last five centuries and thus common as fuck slang like “creepy-ass” are completely foreign to me.
I mean, there is so much to love! Like oh, that Rachel Jeantel! I mean, she’s BLACK! And FAT! And reacts like a human being at the joke of a justice system we have in this country literally dismissing the humanity of her best friend and her own self because being black is viewed by far too many as a capital crime deserving of nothing less than death and which is in no way a shallow revelation that the days of lynching aren’t really gone… er…
Oh man, and then there’s George Zimmerman’s piece of work lawyer who is definitely trying his damndest to play the Johnnie Cochran to our lowest-common-denominator mass media. Oh, what wacky fun he gets to, whether it be opening with knock-knock jokes or being a racist piece of work raising two racist piece of work daughters. It’s like it’s tailor-made to be the comedy circle-jerk of the century!
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Rachel Jeantel is young and black and fat and doesn’t speak or look like a proper white person, therefore she is inherently a liar like all black people or women are and Trayvon Martin as a fellow young and black person deserved to die and there shouldn’t be a trial.
Also, there is no such thing as white privilege, blacks are the real racists, and I feel no shame arguing these things in the wake of the continued racist farce that has been the Zimmerman story so far.
Thanks Hammer for reminding me that our band fucking Hammered the shit out of our set last night, I think we just might have scared the shit out of our younger selves were they scheduled to follow us 23 years ago* “jesus, those old dudes can fucking rock and were tighter than bark on a tree, how are we gonna top that?” is a sentiment that would have passed through every one of our younger heads.
After our set, I got to jam with a couple of local music legends including a former Grammy nominee for best guitar performance who was also the roomie that knocked on my door one December night asking if I would be interested in becoming part of his rhythm section a month after picking up the Bass, who informed me, after I said “Hell yeah!” that we had a gig in three weeks. It has been 12 years since I have played in front of a real crowd live, with rehearsed material. I failed to check if we got a recording out of the show but if so, I will upload that shit and post a link.
Now, I am a lover of baseball (PlayersToBeHatedLater™ should be a clue) and fellow lovers of the game will appreciate the following analogy: It might have been like watching a game in Pittsburgh in the late sixties and the visitors started every inning with a triple, the following batsman flies out to right, Clemente’s frozen rope outfield assist makes for a double play, fly out, inning over. Nine times in a row. a Clemente homer in in the fifth is the only run scored in a game that can only be described oddly as a ‘pitchers duel’.
That is about how hard we rocked last night, and generally as a
musician I will be the first to account for the 27 mistakes made during any performance and there were at least 27 on my part last night, I just do a more creative job covering them now.
*in a town and time with an amazing amount of original musical talent there came a point when no one wanted to follow us on stage and being in the main, nice guys, of the type you might want to bring home to mom, we would often play the last set. On our last performance 22 years ago (lead singer moving) we decided that we would play second. The band that followed probably had their best performance (they did rock and eventually caught up with a label), during their performance their Bass player broke a string on his primary rig and noticing the fact I turned Roadie, asked where to find his strings and if he wouldn’t mind If I took care of the problem. Armed with information and without a tuner, I returned his Primary to his stand midway through a four minute tune. The look of the surprise on his face when he picked it up and realized that it was in fact, in tune, accompanied with a thumbs up, was priceless.
Which is just an example of which the many ways I roll. Will clear out the forest accompanying below…
Lindsay Graham leaving a snail trail…There are certain things once thought that cannot be unthought. Thank you very much TBGOT, If I manage to keep my breakfast I will be her-prized*
Whilst Cerb usually takes the clue by four to the Octoplex™ and then drags the nap victim around the park for some needed exercise, for at least some time, whilst I develop my sea legs, I might spend a bit of time on not only Projection, but Privilege.
I will start with the Fundigelical: Mostly because I bolted a picture of his head, in what is a beloved shopworn tradition here at Sadly, No!, to the body of a cat reclining in a toilet.
Summertime coincides with one branch of Government airing out the
national Dirty Laundry, which I guess would be as good a time as any, If Kennedy had a clue about laundry.
Now that I have been staring at the page responsible for the fauxto-shop above posted at Amercias Shittiest Website™ the National Review Online, I realize that I will have to familiarize myself with something called a Phi Beta Con. Curiosity is mingled with an urge to shake an angry fist in directions alternating between California and France, at the bastiges that sanctioned this career move.
And fuck, I have yet to read the article titled Vetoing Democracy by John Fund which undoubtedly relates to “Working the ref related pogrom activities” marinated in a Conservative Butthurt Vinaigrette about the SCROTUS ruling on something which if had to guess, involves ladyparts…or teh ghey.
Turns out to be the latter:
Chief Justice John Roberts has done it again. His twisted
reasoning in last year’s Obamacare ruling wasn’t the only unpleasant
surprise he’s sprung on supporters of the rule of law.
His majority 5-to-4 opinion in California’s Proposition 8 case —
throwing the issue back to California because plaintiffs lacked standing
to argue in his court — is as bizarre as his Obamacare decision. His
opinion was joined by an ideological tossed salad of justices that
ranged from Ruth Bader Ginsburg to Antonin Scalia. But the fact that its list of supporters is unusual doesn’t mean it won’t present real
problems for both liberals and conservatives when it comes to democratic freedoms. Has the initiative process in 26 states now been fatally undermined?
I’ll render the guy his “ideological tossed salad” ‘cuz to be honest I wished I had coined the phrase, but his Privilege™ is showing when he suggests that a subversion of Democracy has occurred when it is no longer OK for a tyranny of a privileged minority (usually sects of conservative fundamentalists) to curb-stomp the rights of an even less privileged group. But that is how these fuckers roll.
His whine is about ballot initiatives, tools used by assholes (generally) to give the 27%’ers an opportunity to beat on puppy’s and kittens (and in this department, it would seem that their lust is never slaked.)
It’s a busy time at the Cerberus household. Because of the many exciting victories I had in the genetic lottery, I have a number of events that apply to me or close loved ones. I’ve already completed the Bisexual BBQ (partner) and Trans March (clearly no one I know personally). And for the next two days, I’ll be smashing together an Asexual Pride Event (me), Dyke March (me and partner are in a homoromantic pairing), Pansexual Pride (partner again), and Pride Pride (now with extra pride).
So far, it’s a pretty amazing experience. Events have been bigger than usual, the diversity of the community is on display, more people are supporting on the sidelines and participating in the marches, and everyone is happy and excited about recent victories. It’s Gay Christmas and that means that queer family and friends come in from around the world and come together. It creates a nice high that would take a truly horrible e-
Wait, what was that title for today’s post again?
(TRIGGER WARNING: Rape apologetics)
Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):
Serena Williams is right, the Stuebenville rape victim deserved to be raped. Frankly, if women don’t want to be raped, they need to stop thinking they are full human beings who are allowed to do things like go out drinking or being at parties like their male counterparts can do without worrying about being raped and then blamed for it.
Friends, SadlyNaughts and Countrymen, lend me your ears. I come not to praise, or toss the salad, but to bury it. Twice on the Lupercal we enjoyed the dressing with a hearty and hoary gusto. At thrice, we discovered quickly, that there were not enough toilets in Rome….
Cheap ‘Borscht belt’ gags about the “wife” will likely follow…
Hello fellow travelers, and welcome to a slightly darker* version of the blog. For some reason I have been asked to participate in the show and I consider it a singular honor. Really. It was about a month ago when an email arrived from Cerberus about joining the team and I am pretty sure that within the first seven words I sent in reply was the phrase “are you kidding me.”
Having just examined the email exchange in question, exchange “shitting” for “kidding” and first seven with first four. In the meantime life, liberty and the pursuit of something resembling both have transpired to truncate my visits to this lovely place.
And while I forget what the first outrage which might have generated the sauce for my introduction, the Supreme Court made it imperative as of yesterday.
I am referring to the evisceration of the VRA, by the what passes these days, as the SCROTUS™ (trademark thingy here. [Not gonna go full hog FYWP just yet] )**.
I will return to examine, in more detail, this particular ruling once I have enjoyed breakfast and read a few smarter than I, as well as get a handle on the reins of this particular platform.
*not a white guy, though occasionally mistaken for a CentralAmerican or Quaida.
**could be that as I am composing this on a mac as opposed to my usual Linux environs that I will have to make adjustments to my ASCII style, before blaming WordPress, that is.
ps. having been led down a rabbit hole by Cerb’s most recent offering, (shakes fist in Cerb’s general direction…I have 3 clown hall tabs open as we speak) I suspect that part of the day will be devoted to bolting GIMP to the mac, and if that is not possible, drinking, while looking for pictures that might be appropriate to bolt the head of John Fund to (and possibly a toilet…if nothing else a screen cap of the Chappelle Show gag about the first black dude to be caught taking a dump in a whites only bathroom should suffice.)
UpdateII: I have now pulled my head out of my ass and figured out how to compose in text as I am used to…Carry on!
Addendum:While I kind of stomped on Cerb’s post below, and you should read it in its entirety bye the way. At this point, almost properly lubricated, I will start with Fund and end with whoever the fuck. I am not sure that I will get past the Goalie before the morrow.
Oh, you poor damned fools, letting us have these victories, now our Homosexual Agenda shall wreck havoc upon your formerly straight marriages as omnisexual fluberts use their magick powers to absorb your very souls!
It’s been a pretty good week for the queer community. Not so much for democracy or even any pretense that the Supreme Court isn’t still willing to do everything in its power to keep the rotting corpse of the Republican Party jittering forward on its last shattered leg. And not so much for revealing that nearly every decision lies in whether or not Justice Kennedy hates a given group enough and/or wants to help his party succeed illegally rather than anything even remotely having to do with the rule of law. And definitely not so much for our broken media and their selling of their last scraps of dignity in order to cover every event like paparazzi looking for an upskirt shot.
But for us faggots? Yeah, pretty good week.
A pair of monumental decisions that directly affect my life as a California homosexual is far less important and interesting as starting to write the same book I’ve been attempting to start for months. But hey, if you need me to say something, let me just link to two dismissive posts from my facebook page while whining about faggots needing some “federal goverment” to give them “approval” like the sort of weepy eyed weak-willed women who’d care about full legal rights.
The Prop 8 decision and the DOMA decisions both loom high and will very likely be the main topic of conversation in the upcoming Pride weeks as it has already been for the various wingnut and traditional media outlets.
And yeah, of course, these decisions deserve to be trumpeted and celebrated as much as wingnuts weep and despair over them. These are huge stepping stones on the road to equality. Long delayed victories that have been fought over for years to ensure that those who are already married have access to the federal benefits extended to every other married couple in America and also to put an end to the constant Calvinball game of marriage rights in California (it’s legal, wait, no it’s not, okay it is, but wait to see if it really is, now hop on your left foot and SPIN).