Parliament O’Hoors

December 14, 2023 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments

In his classic examination of the U.S. government, “Parliament of Whores,” P.J. O’Rourke included a section titled “The Three Branches of Government: Money, Television and Bullshit.”

If P.J. were writing what he called his “Devil’s Civics Text” today, his three branches might be the Fed, the Supreme Court, and social media.

The Fed decides which of your dreams you won’t be able to afford as it arranges soft landings for Wall Street. The Supremes decide which ones won’t come true at any price, unless you’re one of their deep-pockets pals. And then everybody hollers about it all on social media, which seems to be one-third Nazis, one-third child molesters, and one-third people who just like to watch.

Money, television and bullshit are still very much with us, of course. P.J. is not, more’s the pity. I’m thinking we could all use a good chuckle right about now.

First Loser

December 7, 2023December 7, 2023 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 13 Comments

Anybody remember who else was on Paul von Hindenburg’s shortlist to be named chancellor of Germany in January 1933?

Could’ve been Baron Hoodat von Votsizface for all we know.

In most competitions, political, sporting, or otherwise, the runner-up doesn’t get a lot of press, the main reason being that s/he is the First Loser.

The winner gets the trophy, a parade, the keys to the Republic; the First Loser gets a polite interview or two — “Them’s the breaks, hah?” — and then toddles on home to gnaw on his or her liver before hitting the rubber-chicken circuit.

And even this shabby treatment is predicated on there being an actual competition taking place.

So why is the goat rodeo the GOP is trying to pass off as a horse race to nominate its pestilential candidate still on the nation’s front pages?

“Hope is not a strategy,” Chris Christie, one of the aspirants for the First Loser’s tinfoil tiara with bottle-cap medallion, told Faux News on Monday. Especially when one has none. (He’s sticking around anyway.)

Exactly why remains a mystery. The Joisey Jagoff and his fellow aspirants for the glue factory are still whinnying at each other in the paddock while Multiple Felonies lumbers around turn three, farting and wheezing old Nazi marching arias.

Face it, Chris, Nikki, Ron, and Vivek. The only horse’s ass in this race that matters is the one you haven’t even seen since before the starter’s pistol fired. You’re racing for second against a fat Nazi.

Even Hindenburg beat Adolf Hitler, f’fucksake. Only once, and not for good. But still.

We’re just waiting for it to come around. …

November 23, 2023November 23, 2023 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 12 Comments

It ain’t a dump, and it ain’t closed on Thanksgiving, and you can’t get anything you want.

Still, it’d be a friendly gesture if you took all the garbage down to the city dump, starting with that big orange sack of shit that keeps stinking up the church, downstairs where the pews used to be in.

And remember, if you want to end war and stuff, you got to sing loud.

Might not hurt to recite the Haudenosaunee address of gratitude, either. Props to Charles P. Pierce for showing us the way. For more on the Six Nations, a.k.a. Iroquois Confederacy, click here.

Some coal-blooded shit

November 9, 2023 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments

Joe Manchin will be hitting the rubber-chicken circuit.

Huh. Looks like we’re losing a fake Democrat and getting a real Republican out in West Virginny.

Props to Charlie Pierce for the “Pulp Fiction” reference, which itself is a “Kung Fu” reference.

Cracker Barrels throughout the heartland just can’t wait for the diesel-powered Joe Manchin Machine to come chugging through town, rolling coal on all those loony-lefty, bike-ridin’, tree-huggin’ prairie fairies.

Them rubber chickens ain’t gon’ eat theyselfs, y’folly me, Obadiah?

Squash court

November 6, 2023 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 16 Comments

I see Mr. Congeniality made himself some more friends in (and out of) court today.

Doesn’t matter. He wasn’t trying to cozy up to Justice Arthur F. Engoron, or even the appellate court(s).

The Not-So-Great Pumpkin was aiming straight at the electorate, no doubt emboldened by recent polls of the dummies, feebs, and shut-ins who haven’t learned that you never answer the phone when a stranger calls. It can only end badly for you. The Nigerian prince is not your friend. Neither is this guy.

I’d like to think that somewhere in East Jesus one of his fartsniffers will be inspired to have a slurred and meandering go at the judge preparing to sentence him for his third DUI.

Alas, the Secret Service will not be there to stop the bailiff from feeding that fool his nightstick, tasing him in the nutsack for dessert, and dragging his ass off to the stripey hole for the better part of quite some time.

So many dummies. So little time.