Category: Agitprop

Friday Funnies

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments

Ah, Black Friday: The gift that keeps on giving. As some Walmart employees are agitating for a living wage, Sears customers in San Antonio are throwing hands and drawing firearms. Some people clearly did not enjoy enough mood-altering tryptophan on Thanksgiving.

At the higher-end shops, meanwhile, those mannequins you’re inspecting are inspecting you right back, with cameras and facial-recognition software not unlike that used by les flics. Hey, there’s one … whoops, nope, it’s just Mitt Romney.

Meanwhile, here’s something to leave on the shelf, no matter where we are in the shopping season. And fuck Weepy John Boehner and the horses’ asses he rode in on.

Election Day 2012: Real-time snark ‘n’ bark

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 14 Comments
I voted: Nov. 6, 2012
Another feeble blow against Fascism, more properly described (by Mussolini himself) as Corporatism.

Chores will take me away from the iMac from time to time during the day, but I’ll pop in irregularly to provide my own personal lack of objective perspective on the big doin’s throughout This Great Land of Ours®. Posts will be listed below, with the most recent at the top and the least so at the bottom.

In the meantime, keep an eye on Charles P. Pierce’s Politics Blog. He’s going at it hammer and tongs over there.

And if you haven’t done so already, vote.

More below the fold: ↓

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Twilight of the dogs

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 21 Comments
Riding into the sunset
Is the sun setting on the American Experiment? Just remember, things always look their darkest just before everything goes totally black.

Looks kind of rural and peaceful, doesn’t it? A fisherman stands by a mountain lake just before sundown. …

Actually, it’s a pond upstream from a water-treatment plant in north-central Bibleburg. The place is surrounded by high-traffic roads, a dog-boarding operation and a hamburger stand. And it wasn’t nearly as dark as the iPhone thought it was when I shot this pic on yesterday’s afternoon ride.

Likewise, things aren’t nearly as dark as they appear to be as the minority of Americans who actually take part in their representative democracy prepare to do so once more tomorrow.

Yes, there will be voting problems, both manmade and heaven-sent. And yes, fully half the people who intend to cast ballots are clinically insane, woefully unqualified to operate the napkin dispenser at a burger joint, much less the right to vote.

But I cling to the faint hope that there may be slightly more of us than there are of them, and urge you to drag your deeply disappointed selves down to your neighborhood polling place tomorrow, and take two or three friends and neighbors with you.

Unless you plan to vote for the RomneyBot v2.012, that is. Then please to stay home, clinging bitterly to your guns and religion.

Up the rebels!

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments
Bog Trotters jersey
The famous Bog Trotters jersey, which sold about as well as Frankenhein’s fantasies about Big Tex once the deal went down.

It beats me how a guy with no job can have so little free time.

Today’s simple two-hour chore turned into a seven-hour slog, and tomorrow could be worse. Friday is traditionally a day under which PR types hope to bury unpleasant stories, and there are still a few of them shambling around out there post-Halloween, Lycra zombies badly in need of a hotloaded .44 Magnum round to the brain.

Today’s tidings brought a smile to my face, however. It seems that Paul Kimmage has filed a complaint against Fat Paddy and Frankenhein, the first for being a Guinness-soaked mouth attached to a prolapsed asshole with a reverse flow and no filtering apparatus in between, and the second for being a shameless striapach whose teeth fold back at the flip of a wooden nickel.

I considered it a delightful riposte to these spalpeens for having brought a similar action against the crusading Irish journo’ for merely calling them what they are. And so today, in Kimmage’s honor, I wore my Bog Trotters jersey on the daily ride, with a green headrag under the old brain bucket.

Some days previous I also kicked in a smallish sum to Kimmage’s defense fund, managed by the merry band of misfits at Cyclismas. It’s some of the best money I’ve ever spent outside a pub, especially considering that Fat Paddy and Frankenhein get to enjoy the hangover.