Archive for the ‘Deep political thought’ Category

Of artists and safety nets

November 13, 2019

No, your eyes do not deceive you. That is a story in the Colorado Springs Sun, mentioning President Nixon, written by Your Humble Narrator in the Year of Our Lord 1974.

Thank Cthulhu I’m not an artist like Russell Chatham. We hacks have a safety net.

Here’s mine: This past weekend, Herself signed me up to start collecting Socialist Insecurity payments beginning in March 2020. If I live that long, and assuming that Agent Orange doesn’t redirect all SS monies to his Wall or his wallet, I will receive a princely sum indeed, each and every month.

After accounting for inflation, it’s roughly equal to what I was paid as a copy boy back in 1974, when I first got into the writing racket.

I figure I can score a used Chevy Express 1500 for about 12 large. The monthly payments should take about 18 percent of my income, which sounds about right. The camping gear I’ve already got.

And parking down by the river? It’s free! Winning!

Stations of the Double Cross

October 31, 2019

One more step along the way for Cheezwhiz Heist.

He’ll probably get away with crucifixion. Yeah. First offense.

 

Hot and cold

October 30, 2019

The backyard maple is giving up the ghost, just in time for Halloween.

Elections should not be held as the days grow shorter, darker and colder.

One is not inclined toward optimism or fellowship as the furnace begins clicking, on and off, on and off. Our better selves are very much not in evidence. What we’re thinking about is not how we might strive together to build a brighter future, but rather which of our neighbors we would kill and eat first when the power goes out, the grocery stores have been stripped of toothsome tidbits, and the backyard gardens have been grazed down to the bedrock.

Which is the scenic route toward saying, yeah, I punched the buttons that activate the Compound’s heating systems last night. Also, and moreover, I am wearing pants this morning. The horror … the horror.

But at least I am in my own house, unlike at least one of my people out in Santa Rosa. My man Merrill has fled south to his brother’s pad in Hell A, which may be called an improvement only because Hell A is not currently on the barbie. Yet.

When last heard from, Mayor Chris was sheltering in place and continuing his bid to become Commissioner Chris. More from that smoke-filled room as I hear it.

One wonders about the mood of the electorate in Sonoma County. If PG&E were a candidate for anything other than a vigorous tarring and feathering I would predict a massive beating that would make Nixon-McGovern look like a friendly rub-and-tug in a Healdsburg hot tub.

But who knows? The People are a fickle bunch, and winter is coming. They might just elect PG&E president.

Slouching toward impeachment

October 8, 2019

Get on with it!

 

‘Off with his head!’

September 30, 2019

What a card.

That old queen is at it again, this time questioning whether the chairman of the House Intelligence Committee, Rep. Adam B. Schiff, should be arrested for treason. For, y’know, like, being a big ol’ blue meanie, an’ stuff.

What next?

September 25, 2019

Article 2, Section 4.

Old-timers slumped around the Mad Dog cracker barrel will know the impeachment drill from the Clinton and Nixon days.

That said, even us whitebeards can use a bit of continuing education to stay sharp, and political veterano Ed Kilgore provides a useful explainer of our current situation over to New York Magazine, which was just snapped up by Vox Media (another one bites the dust).

The New York Times has another, this one from Charlie Savage.

The Washington Post has one, too, but it feels less authoritative, especially since it suggests that Ginger Hitler could run for re-election if impeached and removed. Article 1, Section 3 of the U.S. Constitution seems pretty clear on that topic when it states: “Judgment in cases of impeachment shall not extend further than to removal from office, and disqualification to hold and enjoy any office of honor, trust or profit under the United States. …”

It’s worth noting, however, that one rarely finds high-priced shysters with a specialty in constitutional law blogging about politics in their skivvies at dark-thirty when they could be logging billable hours. In the unlikely event that the Senate gives Il Douche the shove, I would not be in the least surprised to find them stopping short of the disqualification portion of Article 1, Section 3.

Shit, they might award him a gold watch, a ticker-tape parade, and a teary rub-and-tug by Sean Hannity.

First day of the fall

September 23, 2019

“The State? Yeah, that’s me. What of it?”

Can we please impeach His Execration now? His Louis XIV act grows wearisome.

Here’s your cup, there’s the door. …

September 17, 2019

Make vinegaroons great again.

As I was getting set to hop in the shower last night I saw movement in my peripheral vision, and holy shit, there was a largish vinegaroon, lurking down by the baseboard near the sink.

I clapped a plastic chile container over him (or her), slid a record album underneath (Stray Cats, “Built for Speed”), and ferried her (or him) out the front door.

We don’t like having scary things scuttling around and about in our house, and we remove them with a minimum of violence as quickly as we are able, because nobody who lives in our house is a fucking idiot.

Speaking of which, “What do we want? When do we want it?” Seriously? Jesus, people, find a new hymn to sing. That’s got as much white hair in its ears as “Hey hey, ho ho.”

Garbage in, garbage out

September 16, 2019

“Goddamnit, he wants to ‘drive’ again, which means he just sits there, turning the wheel back and forth, making ‘vroom-vroom’ noises and honking the fucking horn. Later he’ll want us to run over a few homeless dudes panhandling in the median, maybe pick up a few hookers down on Central. Jesus. We’re gonna be out here all day.”

Monday is trash pickup day here in the cul-de-sac.

In Rio Gabacho, however, the trash is being delivered.

The good news is, the Mickey D’s on NM 528 is gonna make bank today. Unless he stiffs them, which wouldn’t surprise anyone who’s ever done business with the crooked sonofabitch. One of the SS boys flashes a piece in the drive-thru and that’s that. Another free Happy Meal for ’Is Lardship. So much winning.

The usual protests are planned, of course. Here’s hoping the anarchists stay home, waxing their weasels into their black bandanas and denying the media its both-sides narrative, and that the hippies at Tiguex Park have a couple new chants worked up for the TV cameras. I don’t care how much weed you smoke, that “hey hey, ho ho” shit hit its sell-by date in the Nixon administration.

Freshen that up for you, hon’?

September 15, 2019

Mr. Coffee passed away this morning. He left two survivors, one of whom got a cup of marginally drinkable java.

Did Monday come early?

The coffeemaker croaked before I could get my morning fix, compelling me to brew java The Cowboy Way (via pour-over into a Thermos). And our Sunday bike ride looks to be rained out.

Ah, well. They still sell slave-made coffeemakers here in the Land of the Free. And rain is good for the vegetation.

Speaking of vegetables, with any luck at all the rain will continue through tomorrow’s Two Minutes Hate, so Ginger Hitler’s Red Caps can get their bodies washed along with their brains, if any. No amount of rain could wash the dumb off they ass, though.