“Just one more thing. …” Photo hijacked from the Internet. So impeach me already.
So this is impeachment.
With just two counts at the moment — basically, being a dick and punking Congress — it feels a lot like a cop catching one of the FBI’s Most Wanted driving a stolen Brinks truck full of automatic weapons, fentanyl, and dead teenagers, and then warning the guy about a busted taillight and waving him on before getting back to his donut.
I’m not sure this is gonna be must-see TV for a viewing audience grown fat on “Watchmen,” “Avengers: Endgame” and “Crisis on Infinite Earths.” It’s more like Mickey Mouse.
And anyway, seriously, fuck a bunch of Batman. I think a lot of us would settle for Columbo right about now.
He’s a walking, talking cartoon character with incalculable power who lives for TV, and impeachment is unfolding like episodes in an HBO series. The orange Dr. Manhattan* won’t take the stage until the end is nigh.
What next? Don’t touch that dial! Stay tuned!
* In the original Watchmen comic, of course, Dr. Manhattan went to Vietnam … and won the war. He also ran around mostly butt-nekkid, but let’s not think about that with this version.
“Every data point was altered to present the best picture possible,” Bob Crowley, an Army colonel who served as a senior counterinsurgency adviser to U.S. military commanders in 2013 and 2014, told government interviewers. “Surveys, for instance, were totally unreliable but reinforced that everything we were doing was right and we became a self-licking ice cream cone.”
Except ice cream cones taste good. This tastes like death.
I don’t suppose it has anything to do with knowing that he’d come out looking like a purse dog that went three rounds with the Hound of the Baskervilles.
No, better he should stay all bunkered up, hiding behind various knaves, minions, and varlets, tweeting like a hyperactive budgie, and wait until The Turtle can run interference for him in the Senate, where he has the home-field advantage.
I’d like to have the lip-balm and breath-mint concessions at that ass-kissing contest. A couple days of the big money and I could retire, is what.
Deadspin’s writers conducted their own exit interviews.
Well, shit. Now I wish I’d been a Deadspin reader. The writers who, after being ordered to “stick to sports,” told their Great Hell overlords to eat a bag of dicks seem like my kind of people.
Nitwits who disliked the often-political tone of my columns, “Mad Dog Unleashed” and “Friday’s Foaming Rant,” often suggested that I likewise “stick to sports.” I did no such thing, because everything is political, and happily my editors and publishers never added their voices to the shut-the-fuck-up chorus, though like Deadspin we often found ourselves owned and/or licensed by eejits.
It’s a dire state of affairs and regrettably far from uncommon. Over at The Nation, Dave Zirin tugged on Deadspin‘s founding editor’s coat, and Will Leitch spake thusly:
“I will say that craven dopes like these people buy media companies all the time, and they slowly suck the life and vigor out of them until they are shades of their former selves. Usually, people who work there have no choice but to stomach it and make tiny but real compromises because they have families or mortgages or medical bills or real-life stresses. It is to the ultimate credit of everyone at Deadspin that they did not roll over to ridiculous and incompetent non-plans and brainless edicts out of self-preservation.”
“It is tempting to see the demise of Deadspin as another depressing instance of how things work: a private equity firm full of almost comically idiotic media bros blunders into a successful media property and destroys it because the only thing it knows how to do is juice ad impressions. But the collapse of Deadspin is so spectacularly stupid, so clearly self-inflicted, that it has an epochal quality. If there were any justice in the world, the site’s absurd decline, which could not better contrast the integrity and talent of Deadspin’s staffers on one side and the craven shit-eating of their corporate masters on the other, would serve as a wake-up call to the powers that be. Since there isn’t, it’s almost certainly a harbinger of much worse to come.”
Much worse to come, indeed. I’ve never been a sports fan, but I’ve been a fan of good sports writing, especially when it didn’t have much to do with sports.
And I wish I’d caught Deadspin‘s act before it turned into a vulture capitalist’s turd.
Mad Blog Media 