Category: Deep political thought

May Day! May Day!

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 29 Comments

Today, as you all know, is International Workers Day, when we celebrate the final triumphant victory of the working class over the ruthless despots of global capitalism.

Whoops — kind of skipped a step or two there, didn’t we? The “fighting” and “winning” bits, if memory serves.

A quick Google search finds a few stalwarts still out there manning the barricades: the International Workers of the World (IWW), better known as the Wobblies; the Socialist Party USA; the Democratic Socialists of America; the World Socialist Party (US); and of course, Old Reliable, the Communist Party USA.

I haven’t seen an actual commie on the hoof for the better part of quite some time — since I fancied myself one, back in the late Seventies. They appear to be as rare as honor and dignity in the workplace.

Small wonder. Considering the calumny and vitriol heaped upon the decidedly non-socialist Democrat currently occupying the Oval Office, can you imagine what sort of horror awaits someone who actually declares himself a pinko in public?

And more’s the pity. It would be refreshing to see someone standing tall for working people instead of heaping more shit on their plates.

So, until someone shows up — perhaps the Judean People’s Front Crack Suicide Squad — we’ll just have to settle for some old-style agitprop. Here’s an English-language version of the Internationale from the late folk-punk artist and socialist Alistair Hulett to put the red back in your blood.

Tulips and Tea Baggers

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments
Frosty tulips
The tulips seem to be saying, "If this is spring, you can have it."

This is the second day lately we’ve awakened to a light, slightly crunchy frosting on the ground.

I don’t know whether it’s a light snow or a heavy frost. I do know the lawn drinks it like Birthers chug Insane-O-Tea®. You want a solid argument against evolution, these folks are your poster children. Chimps look at these asshats, shake their heads and say, “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”

The Barbour cuts … and runs

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments

Haley Barbour will not be running for the presidency of these here U-nited States of America. Seems he couldn’t find the requisite fire in the belly, and to be fair, it must’ve been quite the hunt.

“I shore thought it was in here some’eres,” said Barbour, sloshing through rancid puddles of barbecue, bourbon, fatback, moonshine, sowbelly, grits and nicotine-drenched jism from Big Tobacco. “Mebbe some nigra stole it.”

Goes to show you how much times have changed since I was a sprout. I remember when you couldn’t find a white guy who would give a black man a job. Now it seems you can’t find one with the balls to take one from him.

Enslaved to the pump

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 20 Comments
I-25 at 10 a.m.
Rising gas prices have made a virtual wasteland of Interstate 25 in Bibleburg. Or not. And the "Keep Right" sign is an amusing redundancy here.

If rising gas prices are curtailing driving, as so many of the usually reliable sources are reporting, I sure haven’t seen it here in Bibleburg.

I drove the Subie north to Whole Paycheck yesterday and felt like a minnow caught up in a salmon run. Eighteen-wheelers, SUVs and pick-em-up trucks zooming by at 10 to 20 mph over the 65-mph limit, honking and swerving, tailgating and gesticulating. In short, just another day on the American highway.

But clearly, The People are suffering:

“We have an au pair from France, and she recently filled up our minivan and gave me a bill for $70,” said Melanie Janin, a mother of three from Bethesda. “I was like, ‘Oh, my God.’”

Indeed, I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just; that his justice cannot sleep forever.

Wide world of sports

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments

Plenty of sporting propositions this weekend, ladies and germs. First we have the Elefinks and Donks playing pocket pool with people’s lives, then we have Paris-Roubaix, where I’m gonna go out on a limb and say George Hincapie will not win again.

If I were to cross the water to watch a bike race, it would either be cyclo-cross worlds or the Hell of the North. Paris-Roubaix is like the original heavyweight championship of the world, when there was only the one sanctioning organization. The guy who can take it and dish it out is the guy who gets to stand with his fist in the air at the end of this slugfest.

I do not, however, care to journey to DeeCee to watch white millionaires in dark suits fart higher than their fat asses. A country of smart people with a lower tolerance for bullshit would have stormed this Bastille long ago, taken their heads, stuck them on pikes and paraded them around the National Mall.

But even voting is too wearisome for our flabby body politic, which spends its time at another mall altogether, in the food court. “Yeh, gimme a double-cheese Republican, extra bacon and Freedom Fries. Drink? Tea, a’course.”