Category: Deep political thought

Going off half-cocked

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 20 Comments
The pen might not be mightier than the pistol, but its output is easier to edit.

I had heard of Charlie Kirk.

That’s about it.

Now I hear of nothing else.

So, thanks for that, to the asshole that killed him, elevating the bloody corpse of a right-wing provocateur light-years beyond any merit he accrued while still walking the earth.

I am opposed on general principle to shooting mouthy nuisances, in part because I have been one myself and may be one again. I may be one right now, depending upon your point of view.

So, please: Don’t shoot. If only because should you miss I may very well shoot back. And then where will we be? I may be a mouthy nuisance, but so many of us are, and ammo and lawyers and bail bondsmen and prisons and funerals are time-consuming and expensive.

Plus every good cult (and the bad ones, too) loves a martyr. The right stiff puts the pinheads in the pews and their pennies in the plate. These Elmer Gantrys don’t need a new angle — they’re doing just fine hawking Genuine Pieces of the One True (Double) Cross to the rubes.

So, instead of potting someone from a rooftop, why not turn up to debate with them? Append a nasty comment to the video! Make a plausible fart noise with one palm tucked in an armpit! Whatever blows your skirt up. Or your kilt. Crotchless panties, tactical boxers, fuck, I dunno, Christ, everybody’s so fucking sensitive these days,

Whatever you wear, or don’t — musn’t forget the nudists! Naturists! Jesus! — keep the Colt in its holster. Or better yet, at home, in the gun safe. Arm yourself with words.

Phone home

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments
The Grand Wazoo meets Elena Gallegos.

Full moon? Two consecutive days of medium-hot posole for dinner? Whatever … Herself and I both had weird dreams last night that seemed to peak around 2 this morning.

In these dreams both of us had lost our phones. Herself was able to borrow one to have an extended chat with her dead mom.

I had a gun, which trumps the phone in anyone’s game. You got a gun, you can talk to anyone and they have to listen. That’s a call doesn’t go to voicemail, y’follow me, Skeezix?

I was talking to someone in a Batman mask without the ears.

Hoo-boy.

To flush that out of my skull I went for a 5K run right after toast and coffee, lifted weights when I got home, and following a more substantial breakfast hit the Elena Gallegos to ride a few trails I’ve been neglecting.

If that doesn’t hit the reset button I don’t know what will.

The usual nightmares continue in DeeCee, of course. But we can’t blame them on posole. Maybe the moon. …

The straight poop

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 10 Comments
The Shit Show! Coming to a … well, it’s already here. Has been since Jan. 20.

Is there a wall left unbeshitted in the Benighted States? If he flings it, it might stick?

“Department of Defense” to be rebranded as “War Department?” OK, one syllable instead of two, so I suppose he might be able to say it without drooling all over his tie. And he could even spell it, maybe. The first word, anyway. If someone spots him the “W” and the “r.”

But when his country wanted him to go to war Cadet Bonespurs was all about playing defense, right here at home.

Hundreds of Koreans ICEd at the construction site of a Hyundai-LG battery plant in Georgia as our two nations struggle to negotiate one of his fabled “deals?” Are these the drug mules with cantaloupe-size calves that screeching racist dipshit Steve King was raving about when some folks — the press, mostly — gave a runny shit what he thought or had to say?

No, this lot had to cross an ocean instead of a river. Talk about your “bad hombres.”

And taking over the 9/11 memorial and museum in New York City? Which commemorate a disaster in which he did … fuck-all? Other than jack his jaw in complete and utterly pampered safety, like the REMF he is and always will be, that is.

Damn. Those Epstein files must really be the shit. He’d bomb Harvard to keep that story out of the news cycle.

Dead air

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 52 Comments
KRCC is just one of the three public broadcasters we support.

CPR, we hardly knew ye.

The Right got another zopilote feather in its asshat with the news that the Corporation for Public Broadcasting will cease operations in 2026.

What’s the problem? Why, money, of course. There’s just not enough to go around! Writes The New York Times:

The Corporation for Public Broadcasting has been in the cross hairs of Republicans for decades. Conservative policy advocates, legislators and presidents argued persistently that the public shouldn’t be responsible for financing media they perceived as having a liberal bias. But repeated attempts to defund public broadcasters failed, until this year.

Congress voted last month to claw back more than $500 million of the organization’s annual funding in a narrow vote that played out along party lines. That forced the corporation into a cash crunch.

Hey, $500 million here, $500 million there, and pretty soon you’re talking about real money. Money for stuff like — oh, I don’t know — say, a $30 million military parade to give Felonious Punk a chubby on his birthday. Or $1 billion to refurb’ a Qatari jet that he will take with him to his “library,” which will be a walk-in closet full of fuck books, golf scorecards (see the Fiction stacks), and classified documents (homeless dude thumbing through them whilst on the shitter).

And then there’s the tab for flying this fat cunt around the world to visit his golf courses, where the locals gather to jeer, snigger, and call him a fat cunt. We can call him a fat cunt right here at home for free. See? I just did it. Didn’t cost one of the pennies we won’t be making in 2026.

Maybe that’s why the Corporation for Public Broadcasting got it in the neck. No pennies for that crowd.

‘Who’ll Stand With Us?’

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 27 Comments
It’s a Dropkick Murphys kind of Fourth around the Dog House. Up the rebels!

As Dropkick Murphys release a new album, “For the People,” frontman Ken Casey has a few thoughts about the big red pickle in which we find ourselves during our annual Independence Day picnic.

Speaking with Jeffrey Goldberg, editor-in-chief of The Atlantic, Casey said he was shocked that so many people in his life fell for Trumpism:

“My father died when I was young, and I was raised by my grandfather, who was basically like, ‘If I ever see you bullying someone, I’ll kick the shit out of you. And if I ever see you back down from a bully, I’ll kick the shit out of you.’”

“I’ve just never liked bullies, and I don’t understand people who do. It’s really not that hard. I wish more people would see that it’s not hard to stand up.”

So stand up with Dropkick Murphys and the people on this Fourth of July, and all the other ones, too, even after we kick the shit out of these bullies. And sing along, if you can keep up. Here are the lyrics for anyone who’s not fluent in Celtic punk.