Archive for the 'election ’08' Category

I’ve Insulted Georgie W!

Pippi:

I done figgered it out!

Tell you what I say: So-called President George W. Bush is the precise reason why America’s Founding Fathers provided We The People with the Articles of Impeachment. For goodnesses sake — use them!

Give him & Dick Cheney both the fair trial which is their Constitutional due.

Subpeona Colin Powell. He’ll tell the truth. Under the power of a Congressional subpoena General Powell will be duty-bound to. Much like he felt bound to lie treacherously, at the Commander in Sleaze’s behest, to the peaceful inhabitants of Earth.

People Magazine will rate it in the top 5 most memorable events in television history.

Billions will watch the world over. Most important: Earth’s peaceful inhabitants will feel proud to watch America take responsibility for the cruel acts of our leaders.

There’ll be music in the cafes at night and wild dance bashes in the street. Peace will get the chance. America will have president Nancy.

It’ll be our first genuine victory since Georgie W. declared war on terror.

Georgie W. will lift off on Marine One from the white house lawn. The red presidential carpet is rolled & whisked off — never to be sullied by Georgie W’s crooked footsteps again.

Impeachment.

Eviction.

Humankind breathes a sigh of cosmic relief.

Yeah! All this — So easy a crackhead could do it!

Alas it’s in the hands of congressional Democrats. We best redouble efforts to force our representatives to act on behalf of the voters to whom they’re beholden. History will frown gravely on inaction. Impeachment is a life or death matter. Bush/Cheney are deeply & rightly suspected of High & murderous Crimes. They must be tried.

Meanwhile back at the White House…

Hmm. Isn’t that where the President lives? Yeah. But W. Bush is not a duly elected president.

“Well,” Pippi wondered in her blog some while back, “Should we call him the Resident?”

But Pippi is hardcore and Resident doesn’t verbally gouge that rude smirk right off his face. So she went with squatter. To which I objected on grounds of my belief in the essential goodness of squatters. I occasionally take up temporary residence in a building to which I’ve no claim. A place where, according to police, it was not my prerogative to sleep.

It was wrong, I commented, to lump the largely innocent squatter culture inadvertently in league with the murderous ilk of Bush/Cheney’s.

Pippi agreed. But how to formally address our nation’s unelected leader until he gets his ass kicked deservedly to the Pennsylvania Avenue curb?

Hmm. Bush deals crack cocaine. Shacks up at some digs which ain’t his. What does that make him?

The Crack Kingpin in Residence?

I was stumped as an under-ripe plumb. I promised Pippi I would take enough drugs — soon — to think up a moniker befitting that dumb hoser.

Historians may hope one day to learn whether Americans of conscience resisted the cruelty unloosed on an already weary Earth by Bush/Cheney. They’ll want to know what people thought about a president who assumed power granted by a Supreme Court facilitated internal coup. On the heels of an election he incontestably stole.

Every nefarious move the thieves made was captured on film. Minutest nuances were detailed & analyzed & glossed deceptively over. With assurances that a victory declared by the candidate who clearly scored fewer votes than his opponent would make Thomas Jefferson beam with pride to be American.

When I gamble money on a racehorse I must remember to learn — or pretend at least — to enjoy it when I lose.

Perhaps I should study the strategy Bush’s team used to propel their narrow loss into a two-term Oval Office stint.

With greatest ease for those who wish to not just enjoy but profit unnaturally from the spoils of their own defeat.

Yeah. Well I don’t care how splendidly defeat has treated him. Bush lost. And in the interest of historical accuracy — as requested by my old friend Pippi — I propose a title to befit the current White House occupant.

Nice & simple. Just the truth. One morsel for future historians who will want to know how smart people like my blog readers & I describe George W. Bush. I’m tempted to call him a dumb honkey slut & leave it at that. But whether he stole the election or won it fair & square W Bush would still be a dumb honkey slut in my book.

The point is he did not win. And what do we call people who do not win? We use one word. Which niftily encapsulates what George W. Bush is — a character description of sorts — in the eyes of a decisive majority of Americans.

Loser.

George W. Bush is a Loser.

Ooh! Better yet:

the Two Time Loser!

Yeah — and you know the rules Loser.

3 strikes & you are Out.

the Warning Shot

“You guys,” I asked. “What’s going to happen to all the people who live there when God flicks the entire state of New Hampshire off the face of the Earth like a booger?”

“Who gives a fuck??” Mommacake demanded. Mind you: this is the same Mommacake who gathered 50 friends into a circle at her 30th birthday party and sang us “You Are My Sunshine.” Solo. Just so we all knew she cared.

Mommacake does genuinely give a fuck. Just not about people from New Hampshire.

Can you blame her?

I leaned back into the cool early morning dirt and downed a fat swig of alien turd tea. Offered it around to the half-dozen friends who were still up with swerves still on from the previous night’s party. No takers: so I downed another. And popped a Dexadrine for good measure.

We sat on the bank of the river — the Connecticut — which forms the border between Vermont & New Hampshire.

vtnhmap1.jpg

That’s Vermont on the left, New Hampshire on the right. Brattleboro, where I live, is in the south-east corner of Vermont — so close to New Hampshire that we’re forced to look at that dumb lump of lousy bull every single day.

There’s a joke told in these parts:

Q. What’s the best thing about New Hampshire?

A. The view of Vermont.

I gazed across the river. But quickly covered my eyes & turned away; so blindingly did the mere sight offend me.

“I know, I know. I hate them to!” I assured Mommacake. “But…is it really their fault that they’re so stupid? I mean — we know that the southern part of their state is a polar ice cap flood plane. Why don’t they?”

“Because we’re smarter than they are!” Said Mommacake.

“And faster!” Someone said.

“Better looking!” Said someone else.

“YEAH — and we have more fun then they do!!”

Suddenly everyone eyed me with suspicion, there on the banks of the Connecticut River.

The whole New Hampshire thing is a running joke sort of deal we have around here. Like this one other morning. We were at a party on the 4th floor of a warehouse. When the sun came up we noticed that you could see New Hampshire; so Mommacake drew a middle finger sticking up at it with a sharpie marker on the window.

That kind of thing.

Why?

Besides the mentioned reasons — we’re smarter & better looking etc. — I’d say it’s because we’re bored. Maybe we’re trying to cheer ourselves up about the fact that it ain’t so great in Vermont, either. And it would be a gigantic improvment for us personally if New Hampshire was covered by seawater. That way the Connecticut River would be part of the Atlantic Ocean. And the riverbank we lounged on, all looped out of our skulls on drugs that summer morning, would be the Beach.

A very popular idea on our side of the river.

And god wants Vermont to have New Hampshire’s beach because we’re incontestably superior.

Not everyone agrees. Like right wing jerkoff Bill Oreilly from the Fox pretendaNews channel. He loathes us passionately. Hell we pissed him off — yet again — just this week.

It’s awesome when we do that dudes!!

“I feel sorry for Vermonters.” He said, after my hometown newspaper proposed in an editorial that George W. Bush was the worst president in American history. “They’re being held hostage by a bunch of extremists who put ideology over the safety of children and the good of their nation.”

Bill Oreilly is on New Hampshire’s side. He thinks the state “Gets it.” Says the people who live there are the “Stars of New England.”

Plus he kidnaps children and sells them to al-Queada for money to buy crack rocks. Yep — I know for a fact.

I’m Bill Oreilly’s crack dealer.

So obviously God made us Vermonters better than the New Hampshireites. But is that their fault? I’m just wondering…

“HEY!!” Mommacake shouted & roughed me up with her glare. “Whose side are you on, anyway?!”

She wore cut-off fatigue shorts with a wrap around belt. Doc Martin boots. And a tank-top that said Ass Grass or Gas in money-green glitter across the chest.

“Yo I’m on God’s side!” I swore. “But…I dunno. Maybe there’s some people over there worth saving?”

‘Dude.” She corrected me. “Those people are so dumb they teach their kids that babies come from Wal-Mart!”

It’s true. I was shoplifting at the Wal Mart just across the bridge in Hinsdale yesterday — and saw a New Hampshire youngster try to exchange himself for a PlayStation.

But he was a human being of sorts and I am a humanitarian.

“I think we should fire them a warning shot.” I insisted. “Yeah. It’s the right thing to do. They can take it or leave it — stay or go, don’t give a hoot — but they have a right to know.”

Mommacake’s eyes threw a spark.

“YEAH!” She exclaimed. Whistled & simmered with controlled combustion like a fresh-lit pyrotechnic fuse. I mean — should we??”

I looked in her eyes and saw she was laughing — silently, at the joke only she knows.

The rest of our early morning riverside party crew laughed helplessly out loud though we weren’t yet certain why.

Mommacake stood, hands on her hips, directly between the river & me. Stomped her foot twice and turned her back to the crowd. Her tattooed angel wings unfurled from beneath the tank top, spread over the width of her shoulders. The back of her shirt was emblazoned with the words: nobody rides for free!!

Then in one unreal motion she unloosed the wrap-around belt from her cut-off shorts. Shrugged her shoulders. Laughed wildly. Dropped her shorts half down to her knees. Bent over, swung out, wheeled round & wagged her freshly bared ass in a seismic Fuck Off to New Hampshire – and all the dumb shit it stands for.

Kaboom.

Guts rupture.

Bodies hit dirt.

“Oh we hate them that fucking much!!” I gasped.

Then our early morning party crew choked gleefully near to death on hairball spasms of laughter.

Some time passed before we could breathe. When we could, finally, Mommacake rolled to her feet, shook her fist eastward & said:

“There’s your Warning Shot ASSHOLES!!!”

Hillary’s B.S. Exploration Committee

Is it just me — or does Hillary Clinton’s announcement that she has formed a “Presidential Exploratory Committee” seem a touch disingenuous? Even a little contrived.

Huh. Like, Hillary Clinton is officially thinking about running for president. No shit??

Really!

Wikipedia says:

Candidates use an exploratory committee as not only a transitional phase for their bookkeeping but as an extra claim on media attention. Some of the most skillful handlers like to leak word that their candidate is testing the waters, then leak word that he or she is thinking about forming an exploratory committee. Additional “news” can be made when the same candidate actually forms such a committee and registers with the Federal Election Commission. Yet a fourth round of attention may be generated when the word exploratory gets dropped from the committee filing.

Barak Obama also recently announced formation of a committee to explore his own presidential ambitions. I buy that, somewhat, on the basis of a possibility that Obama may yet not run for president — dependent on what transpires between now & the first televised debate in April.

Senator Obama wants to run. Everyone wants Obama to run. Barak Obama may win & that’d be awesome dudes. But he is scared. He should be; Obama is a presidential campaign trail amateur. Hillary Clinton — his presumed chief rival — is a very unique kind of Pro.

Who, if taken at her word, has of late been bit by the whim to explore her viability as an ’08 conteder.

Forget that her first run on the US Senate, 6 years back, was that exploration’s literal inception. Forget for now that Hillary enjoyed front-runner status in the ‘08 race before John Kerry even conceded his loss in ’04. Remember what Hunter S. Thompson once pointed out:

“A man on the scent of the White House is rarely rational.”

And bear in mind that Hillary Rodham Clinton was keenly & irreversibly & deservedly on the White House scent back in the day when America’s Vice President attended DC-area Grateful Dead gigs. Before America “was ready” for wildly popular women & black male presidential candidates. Before Barak Obama made his first run on the Illinois state assembly.

Of the Democrats, she has wanted it longest. No doubt.

Remember when First Lady Hillary was publicly accused, in the early 90’s, of wearing the pants in the Clinton family? The media suggested she maybe wielded more presidential powers than the duly elected president. To hazard a guess: that’s when Hillary first laid her own designs on the presidency.

She’s one smart cookie. A cosmic rule-breaker superbly poised to be our next Commander in Chief; potentially the most dangerous woman in Planet Earth’s history.

So why launch her bid with some lumpy bull about an Exploratory Committee?

Not for the free publicity. Contrary; her non-committal stance is designed precisely to avoid media scrutiny. To temporarily dodge the question: What has Senator Clinton done for America lately?

Last thing I remember was her go-ahead to unleash a truly frightful catastrophe on the most volatile region of an already perilously war-whipped world. She voted to use force to topple Saddam Hussein from power in Iraq. For it she remains unapologetic. Perhaps not wanting to appear like a girly-girl & a sissy.

At all costs not wanting to alienate any pro-war Republicans who may swing their votes her way.

But now that the race for her party’s nomination is heatedly on Mrs. Clinton by appearances has taken steps to secure a few votes from her own compadres.

Very recently the senator conceded that — had she known then what she knows now — she would’ve voted the other way.

Well no shit Sherlock.

I mean…ya would‘ve? What a gigantic relief!

Know what? A yes vote for War was the dumbest vote ever cast by any US lawmaker. And that Says Something. But who the fuck cares? The question is now how do we deal with it?

Let’s talk about how to bring the right end to the war in Iraq and to restore respect for America around the world.
>>Hillary Clinton 1.20.07

Ah? Yes. As I suspected. Mrs. Clinton turns now to her party’s freshly empowered senate majority for salvation:

Clinton said [her proposed] legislation would establish conditions for the U.S. government, such as certifying that the Iraqi government had disarmed the sectarian militias and made constitutional changes to ensure rights for all ethnic minorities, as well as requiring participating in diplomatic activities with Iraq’s neighbors.

If those conditions are not met, the legislation would require a congressional resolution authorizing the mission in Iraq.

>>Washington Post 1.17.07

Hmm. Disarm the sectarian militias. End the civil war? WAY — sounds like a plan! Require diplomatic activities with Iraq’s neighbors…Like, Iran & Syria? Well. No harm I suppose in a little chit-chat with the terrorists. If it’ll help spare the human species from the embarrassment of self-extermination!

One question though: How will Iraq’s government disarm those militias? And…will we really talk to Syria & Iran — is that what Hillary means? I can’t tell. But to hazard a guess: these things won’t happen. Clinton’s proposed legislation will accomplish no progress on the ground in the war zone. Because it’s designed not to bring peace but to give Hillary Clinton a way to change her 2002 yes vote for War into one more befitting the Democratic Party’s presidential front-runner.

If those conditions are not met — ie disarmament of sectarian militias, diplomacy with Iran & Syria…the really impossible ones — The legislation would require a [new] congressional resolution authorizing war in Iraq.

Just in time, perhaps, for the leadoff primary contests in the ’08 election season?

Cheap Thrills on Planet Earth

part one: conspiracy theories & longshot bets & make.believe

How does one describe the Super Bowl to Plutonians?

First question: why would I want to?

I need practice.

I’ve been hired to cover the ’08 presidential race for a periodical on Pluto. Which one you ask? I, ah…I get back to you on that. I’m not done making it up yet.

It’ll be a good one though! Very prestigious.

~e

To gain an intellectual grip on what their problem is one must understand Americans’ relationship to their National Football League.

“What’s the big deal about American Football?” Any Plutonian will ask. That’s because they think football is a 2-team contest where players kick a ball into nets with their foot.

Every toe & heeled inhabitant in the cosmos plays football, right?

Yes. For certain. But in America they call Football soccer. American football is a different creature entirely.

Dig:

[For video: Click then scroll to 11.27.2006 Hail Mary Play option].

Despite that it largely involves an oblong shaped, just barely ball-like object handled, when it counts most, by the hands of two violently opposing hoards, Americans are raised to believe that the word Football most accurately describes their nation’s version of the game. They accept this failure of linguistics as fact and are prone, even, to wonder bewildered why the rest of the world calls soccer football.

Stupid foreigners.

Each year in early winter America’s National Football League holds its’ playoff/elimination contests to determine which two teams will compete in the final match known as the Super Bowl. The Super Bowl’s winner is the World Champion of American football.

As I write this just four hopefuls remain. One of these is the New England Patriots.

In the north-east corner of the nation, New England is the region of America that was first colonized by Europeans. This wave of settlers came from England across 3000 miles of sea. The British royal family claimed lordship over these colonial settlers. Charged them high taxes to live in what, soon after, became America. So the colonials declared their independence from England and fought them off with rifles, cannons & bayonets.

Proponents of America in this war were called Patriots. The war began in the region we now know is New England. So they named the local pro US football team after the Patriots. The New England Patriots.

After two planes knocked the World Trade Center down in 2001 it was very important to be a known Patriotic American. One example: in the wake of the attacks, tens of millions in the US attached miniature, red white & blue American flags to the FM radio antennas on their automobiles. The fuel efficiency lost to reduced aerodynamics was more than offset by a sense of participation in this unprecedented display of national pride; this way for ordinary Americans to show they, like Patriots in the Revolutionary War days, wanted America to win big.

Who wouldn’t? Unless you’re With The Terrorists…

Those flags are long ripped, tattered & gone poof. Like sad snips of confetti swept up in dirt piles from the dance-floor of last night’s party. Another good time that was too good to last. But back in the day…boy! Everywhere you turned there was a flag snap-whapping in the noxious, exhaust fume-filled breeze. And it was good to be an American.

Hell the PATRIOTS even won the first Super Bowl after September 11!

Security was tight at whatever stadium hosted 2002’s big game. Officials feared America’s most-watched sporting event could prove fertile ground for another attack. But the game came off without a hitch — right down to the celebratory confetti.

Much ado about lost American Lives was made during the pregame television programmes. Paul McCartney praised the US military for their fine work bombing Afghanistan — a conflict, coincidentally, whose commencement was announced on TV by the so-called President, some months earlier, during the half-time break of an NFL game.

At half-time in the 2002 Super Bowl names were scrolled across a giant screen of all the innocent American heroes who courageously gave their lives for Freedom at the World Trade Center & Pentagon on Sep 11 2001.

Stored at each end of the playing field in gigantic container drums, the confetti was red & blue — Patriot team colors. There were drum-loads filled with their opponent’s blue & orange moniker colors as well. But these were arranged for only to not tip off the confetti vendors to one blindingly plain Fact: the likelihood that the blue & orange team would win was roughly equal to the odds that something George W. Bush said was true.

The game went down to the wire. The score was even with seconds left to play. Then, a heartbeat before time ran out, the Patriots scored & broke the tie & won.

BOOM. Phwoof!

Confetti.

Hurled skyward.

The stadium’s lights reflected from the confetti snips to conjure the optical illusion of a third color, white, flashed amid gargantuan, resplendently spiraled red & blue plumes.

Like a Freedom Tornado. Ripped out from the top of a big ol’ can of Osama bin whoop ass.

The confetti settled. America caught its’ breath. And the profundity sunk in.

The Patriot’s long-odd victory provided proof positive that God is America’s staunchest proponent. A Patriot of Biblical proportions. God had the Patriots win that day so there’ll be no doubt that He wants America to win & Win Big. Bigger than big.

God wants America to win everything.

I watched the ‘02 Super Bowl with friends at Superstar Brown’s crib. We were swept in by the moment and got a little carried away.

“U-S-A!” The room erupted in chant.

“U-S-A!!! U-S-A!!

U–S-ayyy!!

Yeah — and we think America sucks. Shit I don’t even like Football — I think it the dumbest game in the whole wide world of sports. The only thing I like less than football itself are the New England Patriots.

They stand for all the wrong things in my book.

Still I cheered like a goon when they won. Because the ‘02 Super Bowl was a farce; the outcome rigged surely as the 2000 Presidential election’s. And we knew it. We called it for the Pats, at a beer party the night before, on the basis of conspirtorial hypothesis.

So we cheered for ourselves & had us a cheap thrill & some whoops.

What truly amazes, in retrospect, is that it worked. It was, and remains, America’s single greatest — indeed only Global War on Terror triumph.

Hail to the Pretenda Chief!

~e

This year I’m hootin it up for the New Orleans Saints. I hope they win it all and stomp lots of opponent’s faces along the way.

I don’t like football. Really. But I’m perpetually broke & a sucker for a good time. And when you pick a team you want to see win & they do it’s cheap thrills that don’t cost a dime.

Only thing is: the want must be genuine. There’s gotta be risk taken; to get a hoot when they win it’ll need to not matter precisely but bum you out a bit nonetheless if you lose. Cheap thrills don’t come free afterall.

Here’s why I’m for the Saints:

1. The time me & Superstar Brown dropped $150 on breakfast in the French Quarter. We couldn’t finish off the bottle of wine that accounted for a disproportional share of the tab. So the waiter brown-bagged it. We stepped out in the mid-morning New Orleans soup-heat. Promptly passed out on the sidewalk, bottle of wine gripped firmly in hand.

Awoke. Sipped. Whooped & strolled on. Thinkin to see if those girls from Memphis were still around…

2. I favor the underdog. I like it when someone who’s not supposed to win does — I like what that says about me. And — based both on their team’s Super Bowl win odds (5-1: the longest shot on the board) & by virtue of their city being submerged recently — the underdog qualification is well met by the town of New Orleans.

I say bet ’em smartly to win on the basis of their own raw want to. That’s my plan — soon as I get my first paycheck from Pluto.