Category: Deep political thought

One long-ass week

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments
Outgoing Decider Gen. George Armstrong Bush (Texas Air Farce, ret.) says history will judge him a great leader instead of a damned dirty ape.
Outgoing Decider Gen. George Armstrong Bush (Texas Air Farce, ret.) says history will judge him a great leader instead of a damned dirty ape.

That’s what we’re looking at here — one long-ass week until Gen. George Armstrong Bush (Texas Air Farce, ret.) returns to shitting in his own nest instead of yours and mine.

I have assiduously avoided reading, listening to or watching any stories about his farewell tour, which has lasted longer than many a banana-republic dictatorship, foreign film or Russian novel. I never cared what he had to say when he was The Decider, and nobody cares what he has to say as the lamest of lame ducks in the history of lame duckdom, our ADHD national media aside. I simply want him gone, long gone, and Darth Cheney with him.

I plan to buy an expensive bottle of French wine soon and store it safely away for the day when I will be able to pull its cork, drink deeply and then piss on both their graves. Houston is too good for the sonofabitch. Let him pedal that Trek of his around the Lake of Fire for eternity, with Beelzebub just seconds back and closing fast.

That said, it will be strange not to loathe and despise the occupant of the Oval Office for the first time in — well, in quite some time. The only president I ever revered was JFK (hey, I was an Irish-American, all of 9 years old when he died, and anyway he boinked Marilyn Monroe). And the only presidential candidates I was ever truly enthusiastic about were Bobby Kennedy and George McGovern, and you will recall how their campaigns ended.

Jimmy Carter I like much better as an ex-president than I did as a president, and I hope the swine who swiped his bicycle gets a tainted rock from his crack dealer and sets his pointy skull ablaze. Bill Clinton seemed even more like a used-car salesman than Nixon did, and so I never voted for him.

In fact, I blame Bubba for the past eight years. If he could’ve just sworn off fat chicks for eight years, we might not be in this fix today, with the Republic in ruins, the economy circling the bowl and just one largely untested skinny dude from Illinois on hand to clean up the wreckage.

More power to his arm. He’ll need it.

On the eve of a new year

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments

Soon 2008 will be in our collective rear-view mirror, and good riddance, says I. Adios, motherfucker. For the first time since January 2000 the world can look forward to a United States that isn’t hagridden by a clique of junior-varsity fascists bent on making the world safe for their bidness buddies and a bloody nightmare for everyone who doesn’t know their Secret Handshake.

I don’t envy Barack Obama. Sure, he asked for the gig, but cleaning up after The Decider has to be the worst janitorial job since Heracles tackled the Augean Stables. We’re not talking a fresh coat of paint and some air freshener here — more like dump truck after dump truck full of stinking sludge and toxic waste.

So when you’re celebrating this evening, raise a glass to the president-elect. His new year is not likely to be a happy one.

And on a lighter note, for a look back at the year in cycling, pop on over to VeloNews.com. I’ve posted all my editorial cartoons from 2008.

News you can’t use

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments

If David Wright still had a wife he’d have someone to tell him he is insane for wanting to piss away a few mil’ on Singular, a magazine targeting the single crowd with “advice, travel suggestions and profiles of unmarried people who travel to Tonga, collect vintage sex manuals and play polo when not performing acupuncture.”

The only people writer Alana Semuels quoted in this Los Angeles Times article are over 50. Yeah, there’s a growing demographic for you; 50-somethings with money to burn. How ’bout a sister publication — Shit for Brains: The Journal Proving That Wealth Can’t Buy Smarts?

Speaking of the endless human capacity for self-delusion, Laura Bush and Condi Rice say history will reveal the true greatness of the Bush presidency. Uh huh. Here’s Steve Benen at Political Animal:

It must be comforting for Bush, Rice, and other top officials in the administration to think this way. It’s no doubt frustrating to wake up every morning, and go to work knowing that you’re reviled by most of the public, here and around the world. If you can convince yourself that you’ll be appreciated years from now, it probably takes the edge off.

But that doesn’t make it true. Indeed, wishful thinking about history’s judgment, in the midst of widespread failures in every aspect of government — foreign policy, economic policy, constitutional policy, domestic policy, environmental policy — borders on delusional.

Remember the end of the Clinton administration? How the Repugs were gloating about the adults finally being in charge for a change? Whatever happened to those wise old heads, anyway? This crowd apparently still believes in Santa Claus, the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny — and thinks all three of them are retarded.

Didja get any onya?

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments

The Decider has finally turned the money hose on Detroit, and don’t I wish I were standing nearby with a bucket. One of my paychecks has mysteriously gone walkabout again and Visa would like nothing better than to get me by the plums with a downhill pull.

Meanwhile, in the spirit of the holiday season, there’s a fresh rant up at VeloNews.com. No charge. Think of it as my little gift to you this Zappadan.

Interesting concept, eh? I get paid (or don’t, as the case may be) to dash off my little online japes. The editors get paid to read and post it. And the publisher has to write the check (or not). But you, you lucky devils — you get off scot-free. Except for having to notice all those bloody ads for this and that in your peripheral vision, which does tax the eyeballs, does it not?

Not only is my stuff free to you, it’s easily accessible. Couple clicks of the mouse and there I am in all my pointless, content-free glory. It’s a pretty specialized delivery system, when you think about it. If all you care about is reading me, or Lennard Zinn, or Bob Mionske, you don’t have to thumb through a wad of other stuff to get to us. Click, click and off you go.

(More on this later. Herself is screeching that I look like a coconut and am in dire need of a haircut.)

OK, I’m freshly shaven and back to deep thought. I click the mouse for my national and international news, coverage of fringe sports like cycling, leftist political commentary and expert advice I can use to make my life richer (investment advice, recipes from elite chefs, and so on). I know where to go and how to get there.

I would like to read local news, too, and plenty of it, without having to wade through a wad of other stuff that is more easily available online: the aforementioned national and international news; pointless coverage of mainstream professional sports already covered to excess by TV; and the endless smelly pile of treacly features keyed to days of the week (Food, Life, Money, et al). But I can’t get local and regional news — not a lot of it, anyway, and certainly not reliably — with a click of the mouse.

If the Gazette were to do without all the trappings that defined the Newspaper v1.0 and become a strictly local news source, I might subscribe again. But if it keeps trying to be all things to all people, I’ll continue to withhold my pennies and watch it die a slow, lingering death.

Late update: Incidentally, if this post seems even more scatter-brained than usual, it may be because the cats were dancing on my head at 4 a.m. and set me to thinking creakily about some of the excellent comments in an earlier post.