Archive for the ‘Agitprop’ Category

Grrl power

July 27, 2016
Gracie Allen ran strictly for laughs, as opposed to Donald Trump, who doesn't seem to realize that he's comical. Photo by CBS via Getty Images

Gracie Allen ran strictly for laughs, as opposed to Donald Trump, who doesn’t seem to realize that he’s comical. Photo by CBS via Getty Images

Nearly a century after women won the right to vote in this country, a major political party has finally picked one to be its candidate for the presidency.

Others have had a go, of course.

In 1964, Margaret Chase Smith was the first woman to have her name placed in nomination by a major party (the GOP).

Too, the Green Party and various socialist parties have regularly put women at the top of their tickets.

And Gracie Allen — yes, that Gracie Allen — ran in 1940 under the auspices of the Surprise Party. Her platform? “Redwood, trimmed with nutty pine.”

“My opponents say they’re going to fight me ’til the cows come home,” she said in a campaign speech. “So, they admit the cows aren’t home. Why aren’t the cows home? Because they don’t like the conditions on the farm. The cows are smart. They’re not coming home ’til there’s a woman in the White House.”

Gracie was (mostly) kidding, of course. But Hillary isn’t. Neither is Sarah Silverman, a supporter of Comrade Eeyore who told the Bernie or Bust faction that they were “being ridiculous,” which they were.

And definitely not kidding was the other Clinton, the Big Dog, who brought his gift for rambling discourse to the rostrum last night.

Ol’ Bill freestyled a lot of his speech, ’cause he likes to and ’cause the teleprompter was acting out (Ber-NIE! Ber-NIE!). I always appreciated the way the man could shoot the shit (his mendacious Monica Lewinsky chatter not included). But I never voted for him, because I didn’t trust him out of my sight, and I said more than once that his old lady was smarter, tougher and meaner than he was.

Well, Bill seems to agree with me. And so does the works faction of the party, because they gave her the nod.

Now, I don’t trust the Hilldebeast any more than I do her old man. Peas in a pod, those two. The Clintons seem all too typical of our political elites, many of whom think rules are for rubes. That said, there’s no denying that they’ve done the work, unlike the other fella in the contest, who won’t even pay for it, much less perform it.

Herself and I placed our faith in Bernie. But clearly faith wasn’t enough. Works will have to do. Say g’night, Gracie.

Vuelta de Bosque

July 25, 2016
The northbound view.

The northbound view.

With the Tour in the books, I actually managed to saddle up while it was still coolish outdoors and went for a long, pleasant spin along the Paseo del Bosque trail.

Southbound, en route to the Rio Bravo turnaround.

Southbound, en route to the Rio Bravo turnaround.

Raptors and bunnies were playing hide-and-seek for keeps as I zipped down the Paseo del Norte trail, which drops off the North Diversion Channel trail and feeds into the bosque trail, and there were plenty of two-wheelers out and about as well, despite it being a workday (bums).

After enjoying a slight tailwind out, I decided to skip the 5.4-mile circuit south of Rio Bravo, which turned out to be a poor decision — I missed making my 62nd-birthday mileage by the length of the loop. And the headwind for the return leg was not so much of a much, though the steady climb back to El Rancho Pendejo was the usual struggle.

Speaking of struggles, it sounds as though Comrade Eeyore’s cadres are going all Little Red Book on pretty much everyone at the Democratic National Convention, including Dear Leader himself. Good times. Maybe not.

And yeah, I know me some Little Red Book, yo.

And yeah, I know me some Little Red Book, yo.

I feel their pain. As a retired commie myself, I enjoyed voting for the old socialist in the primary. And I’m certainly not feeling that old smash-the-State love from The Hilldebeast, though Comrade Downhill Bill speaks highly of her running mate in comments. Comrade Pierce approves, too, albeit with reservations.

But you go to vote with the system you have, not the system you wish you had. Ask any old Red.

And if the choice is between Ronald McDonald McTrump and The Hilldebeast, well, that’s no choice at all, is it? You pinch your nose, vote D, and then go home and give yourself a swirly for three or four hours in a toilet full of cheap gin.

 

Red moon rising

July 20, 2016

I’ve been striving mightily not to watch as the GOP continues eating itself alive — it will get around to its big orange asshole tomorrow — but Lord, is it ever a tough ol’ slog.

All my usual news feeds are awash in pomposity, prevarication and psychosis. Not even the Tour could cheer me up today, and I took little pleasure in being proved correct when I predicted early on that Tejay van Gardenhose would enjoy his usual jour sans. Even an old, blind dog can unearth a moldy Milk-Bone now and then.

Tonight’s speakers list is a veritable Murderers’ Row of mendacity: Koch-sucker Scott Walker, Marco 3P0, Texas Ted Cruz the Gucci Shitkicker, veep-in-waiting Mike “Deadeyes” Tuppence, and Newt and Callista Gingrich, who probably have never starred in an adult movie titled “Mr. Toad Boinks a Robot,” no matter what you’ve heard about the uptick in porn consumption during the GOP confab in Cleveland, City of Light, City of Magic.

A red moon rising indeed. I think I’ll go crawl under my bed now.

Honky, please

July 19, 2016

OK, white people have been appropriating black culture since, like, forever, but this seems a little over the top.

If Michelle Obama were Big Mama Thornton, Melania Trump would be thinking twice about trying to snatch a sister’s purse.

You told me you was high class … but I could see through that.

I got your scoop right here

June 7, 2016
Extry, extry, read all about it!

Extry, extry, read all about it!

Charlie Pierce, as usual, is spot on when he calls out The Associated Press for its shameless eyeball-hogging stunt declaring the Hilldebeast the presumptive Donk nominee the day before primaries in a half dozen states — New Mexico among them.

Happily, I cast my ballot for Comrade Eeyore early, on Saturday, before the AP could tell me I was wasting my time. Whether this news flash depresses today’s turnout and affects down-ballot contests remains to be seen. But just in case, the dickhead who greenlighted that stupid horse-race piece should be compelled to write “IT’S AN ELECTION, NOT AN ERECTION, SO QUIT PLAYING WITH IT” in letters a hundred feet high on the Tomb of the Unregistered Voter.

It’s true, of course, that Comrade Eeyore can’t heehaw his way out of this beating. But as Mr. Pierce notes, he and his supporters should feel free to campaign right up to the convention. Make his arguments to the bitter end, and hold the Hilldebeast’s hooves to the fire in hopes of stopping her from pivoting back to the center in the general.

Plus she needs a sparring partner to keep her sharp and on her toes for the main event come November. That dude fights dirty.

• Addendum: Also, Paul “Lyin'” Ryan wants to have his tasty Bag o’ Dicks and eat ’em, too. This posing pissant is banking on a Trump-thumping and a one-term Hilldebeast. He started his 2020 campaign long before the AP called this one.

Illumination rounds

May 23, 2016
You may never have read "Dispatches" by Michael Herr, but chances are you've shared some of his experiences at the cinema, in "Platoon," "Apocalpyse Now" or "Full Metal Jacket."

You may never have read “Dispatches” by Michael Herr, but chances are you’ve shared some of his experiences at the cinema, in “Platoon,” “Apocalpyse Now” or “Full Metal Jacket.”

Once we fanned over a little ville that had just been airstruck and the words of a song by Wingy Manone that I’d heard when I was a few years old snapped into my head, “Stop the War, These Cats Is Killing Themselves.” Then we dropped, hovered, settled down into purple lz smoke, dozens of children broke from their hootches to run in toward the focus of our landing, the pilot laughing and saying, “Vietnam, man. Bomb ’em and feed ’em, bomb ’em and feed ’em.”

That quote from Michael Herr’s “Dispatches” just snapped into my head as I read this New York Times piece about the prez authorizing the sale of “lethal military equipment” to Vietnam.

Pretty much describes our entire foreign policy, doesn’t it?

Bomb ’em and feed ’em; bomb ’em and feed ’em.

There goes the king

May 11, 2016
Budweiser overthrows its king and declares a republic.

Budweiser overthrows its king and declares a republic.

OK, here’s my pitch:

The commercial opens with a long shot of an inpenetrable, red-white-and-blue Wall being built along the U.S.-Mexico border. A Wall made of … wait for it … cans of America.

Pop. Hiss. Slurp. Clink. Pop. Hiss. Slurp. Clink.

In the background, Pink Floyd: “All in all it’s just another brick in the Wall.”

And finally, the scroll: “There’s is no other one. There’s only something less. America: You’ve been canned. Trump 2016.”

Pay me.

Grave consequences

May 4, 2016
One of these things is not like the other.

One of these things is not like the other.

On this day in 1865, Abraham Lincoln was laid to rest in his hometown of Springfield, Ill.

One hundred and 51 years later, Honest Abe is spinning in his grave.

Ordinarily I dismiss the “both sides do it” argument, but I think in this case we might agree that while the Pachyderms are the primary architect of this clusterfuck, the Donks share the blame for morphing into Republican Lite in the decades since Nixon flogged McGovern.

When both sides of the aisle focus on making themselves and their benefactors comfy-cozy as the working stiffs enjoy another tasty plate of shit soufflé, this is what you get.

I remember a snarky slogan from my faux-hippie days that seemed funny at the time: “America: Fix It or Fuck It.”

Coming to a ballot box near you in November 2016.

See Cruz

March 26, 2016
We report, you decide.

We report, you decide.

OK, I think I’ve got this whole Ted Cruz/five women thing figured out:

• One to sprinkle pepper on his crotch.

• One to listen for the poor little thing to sneeze.

• One to locate it through the magnifying glass.

• One to grab it with the tweezers.

• And, of course, one to leak the whole sordid tale to the National Enquirer.

Oo-ee … oo-ee, baby. …

Butthurt Mountain

March 25, 2016
Oh, to live on Butthurt Mountain, with the barkers and the coiored balloons. ...

Oh, to live on Butthurt Mountain, with the barkers and the coiored balloons. …

Ho, ho. Texas Ted Cruz, the Gucci Shitkicker, who never saw a line he wouldn’t cross, wants to get Western with Ronald McDonald Trump over a perceived insult to his special lady.

What’s it gonna be, fellas? Secret Service details at 50 paces? Or maybe it’s Cruz getting all “West Side Story” with his monogrammed Harvard Law letter opener while Il Douche defends with a gang of undocumented Eastern European laborers erecting a yuuuuuuuuge wall of Chinese bricks purchased with someone else’s money.

“Spouses are generally seen as off limits,” says The New York Times. Uh huh. Tell that to the Hilldebeast and Michelle Obama, guys.

But how about mamas? It can’t be long before we’re into the yo’-mama stuff, right?


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