Archive for the ‘Agitprop’ Category

It’ll all come out in the wash

October 5, 2018

I’m ditchin’, man.

Well, no; no, it won’t.

But I’m in the wash* anyway.

 

*We call washes “arroyos” down here, and sometimes we don’t come out, either.

Checks and imbalances

September 28, 2018

Speaking as an angry white man, all these angry white men are starting to piss me off.

That eternal sense of entitlement was on full peacock display in yesterday’s Cirque du SoWhat? over whether the mendacious and elusive Bart O’Kavanaugh can stand erect long enough to make it to the Supreme Court.

The well of privilege seems bottomless from the top, and these angry white men will continue to draw from it until the bucket finally comes up filled with their obituaries.

Then, I suppose, their angry white sons will inherit the family business.

That business is bankrupt, but failure is for lesser men, and women. The angry white man picks himself up using our bootstraps and plows forward, like the dolt who, when told that he’s penniless, broke, flat busted, says, “That can’t be true. I still have checks in my checkbook.”

Actually, it’s our checkbook. And one of these days the angry white man’s mouth is going to use it to write a check his ass can’t cash.

But I don’t think we’re there yet.

The angry white man still has that big orange credit card we gave him back in 2016. And he’s gonna use that to buy shit the country doesn’t need and can’t afford until we take it away from him.

Remember your Martin Luther King: “We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.”

 

Trumped

September 5, 2018

I’m with Charlie Pierce and David Graham on this one.

We have legitimate constitutional tools for removing an unfit president from office. Anonymous preening chickenshittery is not one of them. It’s a little late to try selling us on the notion that you’re just the piano player in this whorehouse.

“A very principled position,” me arse. Sack up and speak up — in the daylight — or shut up.

 

Just. One. Senator.

August 27, 2018

One senator could make a difference? What a Capitol idea.

That’s all it would take, given the present composition of the Senate, for that august body to do its fucking job for a change.

As James Fallows notes:

Every one of them swore an oath to defend the U.S. Constitution, not simply their own careerist comfort. And not a one of them, yet, has been willing to risk comfort, career, or fund-raising to defend the constitutional check-and-balance prerogatives of their legislative branch. …

In any circumstances, the Senate’s arcane procedures mean that lone senators, determined to make a stand, can hold up business or block nominees to get their way. When the ruling party holds only 51 seats, or for the moment 50, the power of any one or two members goes up astronomically. With great power comes great responsibility—a responsibility that 50 men and women are choosing to shirk.

Orange crush?

August 21, 2018

His Lardship on the throne.

For all the Trumpetistas who are having trouble reading the tea leaves, in the words of Mandy Cohen, mother of Brian of Nazareth:

“Now you listen ’ere! ‘Ee’s not the Messiah, ’ee’s a very naughty boy! Now go away!”

Chickensheet

August 13, 2018

Jeff Sessions and Donald Trump chuckle (“Sheeeet”)
before getting back to work.

Before we celebrate the utter failure of the “alt-right” to attract anything like actual numbers to their “white civil rights rally” Sunday in DeeCee, let’s remember that they still have control of the Justice Department and the White House.

Space farce

August 9, 2018

The Empire has cornered the Tang market in preparation for galactic conquest. | Liberated from @Todd_Spence on Twitter.

Emperor Pompatus wants a Death Star.

It figures he’d have an interest in space, since there’s so much of it between his ears. Also, and too, he looks like an astronaut wanna-be who couldn’t make the weight and washed out of the program after a Tang overdose.

Might be nice if we settled a few of the fights we’ve picked down here on Earth before we blast off in search of the Rebel Alliance, don’t you think?

 

Vlad gets a little face time

July 16, 2018

Well, there you have it. And to think people went batshit when the black guy bowed to the emperor of Japan. At least he didn’t blow him in front of the whole world.

Henceforth, voting Republican shall constitute prima facie evidence of treason, as well as incontrovertible proof of brain death, and whoever is standing closest to the decedent should be empowered by law and paid at the prevailing medical wage to pull the plug. We can settle the treason issue afterward, perhaps in the obituary.

Charlie Pierce makes an excellent case for how to proceed from here. Sadly, his advice makes so much sense that no one will take it.

One less cracker in the barrel

July 5, 2018

Scott Pruitt is going back to lifting twenties out of the collection plate at First Baptist in Broken Arrow, sneaking tips off nearby tables at Cracker Barrel, and surreptitiously peeing in Tulsa’s municipal pools.

As Hunter S. Thompson once said, “Well shucks. It makes a man’s eyes damp, for sure.”

The Good Doktor was speaking of Nixon fluffer Pat Buchanan, who was whimpering publicly about the harsh treatment afforded The Boss as the hyenas of Watergate gnawed on his political carcass, and what Thompson had to say about that administration 44 years ago goes double for this one:

“By bringing in hundreds of thugs, fixers and fascists to run the Government, [Nixon] was able to crank almost every problem he touched into a mindbending crisis. About the only disaster he hasn’t brought down on us yet is a nuclear war with either Russia or China or both but he still has time, and the odds on his actually doing it are not all that long.

“This is the horror of American politics today — not that Richard Nixon and his fixers have been crippled, convicted, indicted, disgraced and even jailed — but that the only available alternatives are not much better; the same dim collection of burned‐out hacks who have been fouling our air with their gibberish for the last twenty years.

“How long, oh Lord, how long? And how much longer will we have to wait before some high‐powered shark with a fistful of answers will finally bring us face‐to‐face with the ugly question that is already so close to the surface in this country, that sooner or later even politicians will have to cope with it?

“Is the democracy worth all the risks and problems that necessarily go with it? Or, would we all be happier by admitting that the whole thing was a lark from the start and now that it hasn’t worked out, to hell with it.”

I’d let Pruitt run the siren all the way back to Oklahoma, if he didn’t mind that his personal vehicle was a splintery rail. Meanwhile, his replacement as EPA chief is a former coal lobbyist, because of course he is. Right again, Doc.

• Bonus Extra Credit Venom: Read HST’s obituary of Richard M. Nixon, who many of us thought — wrongly, as it turned out — was as bad as a president could get. 

 

Yankee doodling

July 4, 2018

Sam hasn’t been keeping the place up. Why, I remember when they used to call it “The White House.”

Uncle Sam has become that neighbor nobody likes.

Mind you, Sam has always been prickly. All over the map politically, and a stickler for the letter of the law as defined by the neighborhood association, though truth be told he’d been known to cut a few corners himself.

But he subscribed to the newspaper, walked the dog morning and evening, and kept up his property. From time to time he might have some pointed advice as to how you might improve your place, too. But Sammy meant well. Plus he was always good for a box or two of Girl Scout cookies.

Now he’s old and querulous, and if there’s a loon campaigning for something, you’ll see his sign in Sam’s yard, which is not nearly so well kept these days. Fox News is on what appears to be an endless loop, with the volume cranked to the max so he can hear it out in the garage, where he’s perpetually working on … something. The dog has likewise gone gray and mean, and stays chained up out back in what’s become more salvage yard than back yard.

And when the Girl Scouts come calling he runs them off, threatening to call the cops, or worse, especially if the kids are Brownies.

His old pals from the war don’t come around anymore. But there’s this new crowd nobody’s too keen on. Loudmouths with attitude, the sort you don’t dare turn your back on, guys who break things because it’s fun, and because nobody cares to stop them.

The neighbors all hope the family takes charge, because property values are dropping like a stone and it’s just plain bad for business. But they have their own problems and don’t seem to much care what goes on in that old white house any more. They’ve got the time to put on this big barbecue, though. It’s a national holiday or something.