There’s a chain across this dump and a big sign that says “Closed on Thanksgiving.”
Here’s hoping that you’re all having a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn’t be beat. Don’t forget to pick up the garbage. Look out for Officer Obie, the judge, and the seeing-eye dog.
And if the “Alice’s Restaurant Back By Popular Demand Tour” comes around on the guitar, well, remember — if you want to end war and stuff you gotta sing loud.
Remember how it feels to lose?
We ought to keep that in mind when we win.
The only people who should be dancing in the end zone are the cheerleaders. And they’d best be full of Gatorade, ’cause this game is only at halftime.
Yes, yes, yes, it’s another Friday Afternoon Club(bing) from Radio Free Dogpatch. But you won’t need the performance-enhancing drugs to get through this one. You’ve probably stayed clean through longer political ads.
“Democrats eat babies.” This one features a heavily Photoshopped image of a smiling Nancy Pelosi with a platter full of tiny arms and legs, a hammer-and-sickle bib, and barbecue sauce smeared over her lips.
“Republicans boink babies.” Well, we won’t need the Photoshop for this one.* But still, you get the idea, right?
* Sorry. I couldn’t resist. Comity only goes so far around here.
• Technical notes: This episode was recorded with an Audio-Technica ATR2100-USB microphone and a Zoom H5 Handy Recorder. I edited the audio using Apple’s GarageBand. The background music is “Tiny Town” from ZapSplat, and the “National Emblem March” was performed by the U.S. Air Force Heritage of America Band.
It’s morning in Albuquerque, if not throughout America.
The Donks took the U.S. House, which means, as Charlie Pierce notes, “for the first time in two years, there is an institution of the government that is neither afraid of, nor controlled by, the president*.”
But the Elefinks held the Senate, even padding their slim edge. So, yeah. The Turtle will be with us for a while yet.
Elsewhere, Wisconsin shitcanned Scott Walker, and Kansas told Kris Kobach they’d had quite enough of him and his racist machinations, thanks all the same. “Carried by prayer,” me bollocks. The Lord works in mysterious ways, shit-for-brains. Back to remedial law school wi’ ye.
Up in Colorado, Mike Coffman finally got his. And my former state elected a gay Jew as governor while keeping Lil’ Dougie Lamborn in the House despite his long record of doing not much beyond running his fat yap and cashing checks. As I said, the Lord works in mysterious ways, when He works at all.
Florida was a trainwreck, because, well, Florida, man. The best thing to come out of that hot mess was SNL’s Pete Davidson observing that Rick Scott “looks like someone tried to whittle Bruce Willis out of a penis.”
Something smells in Georgia, too, and it’s not cherry blossoms. Brian Kemp had his fat white thumb on the scales there, and I’d guess that investigation he ordered in the final days of the election is pointed in the wrong direction.
Speaking of odors, a dead Republican pimp won election to the state Assembly in Nevada. I think he should be seated, if only as a wake-up call to the electorate.
Here in New Mexico the Donks crushed it. The hoped-for blue wave dreamed of nationwide may not have arisen, but we had one here. Props to Herself for working the phones and canvassing the electorate. Thanks in part to her hard work, the former federale Melanie Ann Stansbury ousted longtime incumbent Jimmie Hall in our own little state-House contest.
There’s more out there I haven’t yet managed to absorb along with just one cup of coffee, but I’d have to award a qualified “well done” so far. You don’t want to hand the Donks everything all at once and expect them to do anything with it beyond fucking up.
Record-setting early and absentee voting numbers indicate “a great deal of enthusiasm and interest” among New Mexican voters in this midterm election, says one Duke City pollster.
This reflects what I heard from a poll worker when I threw the bums out the other day. Is it good news? Bad news? We’ll find out tomorrow evening, or Wednesday, depending on how close a thing it is.
Both parties were turning them out, but the Donks have the numbers in the early going, and New Mexico has a lot more registered Donks than Elefinks. You can get down in the Land of Enchantment’s political weeds over at Joe Monahan’s place.
Herself has been working the phones and going door to door, and she reports mostly positive interactions with The People, many of whom seem energized by the antics of Il Douche.
Charlie Pierce, meanwhile, is in Kansas, which he considers a bellwether for whether the ruthless avarice and ignorance that helped steer The Republic up to the hubs into a quagmire of orange sewage has overstayed its welcome.
All will be made known after the polls close tomorrow. Well, maybe not all. But we’ll certainly have a better idea of whether we’re still spinning our wheels or have decided to get out and push.
Is anyone else having trouble ginning up the requisite hope and enthusiasm for the midterms? Without resorting to actual gin, that is?
Election Day has a bit of a Christmas feel to me, but that’s not necessarily a good thing.
We were far from poor, but our parents had known Depression and war, so while Christmas around our house meant you were going to get something, it wouldn’t necessarily be whatever you wanted.
The folks had already seen plenty of surprises by the time we came around, and they were always on the lookout for the next one. So if we were compelled to endure the occasional Christmas-morning stunner as a consequence — jeans that weren’t Levis, some hardware-store bike instead of a Schwinn, and a dearth of official Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model air rifles — well, tough shit, kiddo. Welcome to the real world.
Some days, and especially lately, I feel half Ralphie and half his old man. Ginger bullies by day, flat tires by night. Hopes and dreams clash with doubts and despair, overlaid with a soundtrack in which “fudge” is never heard. There’s only “the word. The Big One. The queen mother of dirty words. The f-dash-dash-dash word.”
So, yeah. Go ahead and wish. Pit those hopes and dreams against doubts and despair. Get out and vote, unless you’re a Trumpetista, in which case you should stay home and shoot your eye out.
But keep a bar of soap handy in case you need to wash the fudge out of your mouth come Wednesday morning.
Mad Blog Media 