Category: Deep political thought

There’s a new tariff in town

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 16 Comments
The “Rubáiyát of Owe-More Khayyám.”

Hoo-lawd. Anybody’s portfolio turn into a postcard yet?

In case you’ve missed Paul Krugman, he’s speculating over at Substack that Elon’s Hitler Youth may have cobbled together the tariff scheme using ChatGPT and/or other A.I. models.

In my post immediately following the Trump announcement I speculated that Elon Musk’s Dunning-Kruger kids might be responsible for those tariff numbers. That now looks like a distinct possibility.

Who makes policy this way? The key point is that Trump isn’t really trying to accomplish economic goals. This should all be seen as a dominance display, intended to shock and awe people and make them grovel, rather than policy in the normal sense.

Again, I’m not being snobbish here. When the fate of the world economy is on the line, the malignant stupidity of the policy process is arguably as important as the policies themselves. How can anyone, whether they’re businesspeople or foreign governments, trust anything coming out of an administration that behaves like this?

Good time to be heavily invested in the knee- and elbow-pad markets.

In which the suckitude is minimized

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments
The Soma Double Cross and I took five for a photo op’ at the foot of the climb to La Cueva Picnic Site.

Not everything sucks.

Case in point: I spent a couple hours on the ol’ bikey bike yesterday. And while the high temperature did not break the record of 83°, set in 2012, I found the observed high of 78° downright pleasant for the tail-end of March. Riding in shorts and short sleeves I was. Even had to break out the SPF 50 and the Pearl Izumi sun sleeves.

La Cueva Picnic Site has yet to open for the season. Being something of a scofflaw, I’ve been known to circumvent the barrier and ride the steep mile to the top anyway. But yesterday I gave it a miss. Still managed to bank 1,600 feet of vertical. So, winning, etc.

La Cueva is a reminder that the government is not always the problem. Listed in New Mexico’s Registry of Historic Places, it was the work of the Civilian Conservation Corps, part of FDR’s New Deal. According to the U.S. Forest Service:

There are stone picnic tables and structures built by master stoneworkers during the 1930s to blend seamlessly into the existing landscape. You will soon discover a rock pavilion that is hidden by the trees, plus other small structures sprinkled throughout the site. Keep your eyes open for picnic tables, vault toilets and fireplaces that are tucked away in nooks and crannies, throughout this site.

The pavilion, picnic tables, fireplaces, and toilets remain. But the road is in poor repair, which may be due to a lack of funds or part of a plan to keep vehicular speeds low. I know I tend to mind my manners on the descent. Shredding the gnar is one thing; shredding yourself is a whole other deal. Especially if the barrier’s down and the ambulance can’t get to you before you bleed out.

Remember La Cueva Picnic Area and the CCC whenever some fathead quotes that overdone ham Ronnie Reagan to you: “Government is not the solution to our problem, government is the problem.”

Even a blind pig finds an acorn. But it generally takes him a while. Forty-four years later Ronnie’s right on the money.

Ralph Spoilsport Motors, ‘The World’s Biggest’

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 14 Comments

Say, when did Ralph Spoilsport open a White House dealership?

Man, they really do it in the road at their West Gomorrah location. Let’s just look at the extras on this fabulous car! Wire-wheel spoke fenders, two-way sneeze-through wind vent, star-studded mudguards, sponge-coated edible steering column, chrome fender dents, and factory air-conditioned air from our fully factory-equipped air-conditioned factory. It’s a beautiful car, friend, with doors to match! Birch’s Blacklist says this automobile was stolen, but for you, friends, the complete price, only two-ninety-five hundred dollars, in easy monthly payments of twenty-five dollars a week, twice a week, and never on Sundays. …

I got your speech impediment

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 3 Comments
Yes, it’s the return of the Communications Digit, dislocated in a 2009 bike crash. It’s much better now.

Here’s a reminder for King Donald the Short-fingered that the First Amendment isn’t subject to his whims and tantrums.

Come and take it, bitch. You can deport me to County Clare, maybe fine me a finger, but I’ll just swim back and do it again, with the other hand.

Zero’s Day

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments
Understatement of the year. But it’s only March 5.

Congress is like a drunk dad watching as his sugar-crazed rug monkey tips over a display of Easter treats at an understaffed Walmart, wondering whether he should deal harshly with the little shit, blame it on the ex, or just hit the door running.

And no, we did not watch last night’s episode of “The Worst Wing.” I use the word “episode” in its medical sense, “an occurrence of a usually recurrent pathological abnormal condition.”

No, instead we watched the new Robert De Niro vehicle, “Zero Day,” in which the smart Black lady is president. (In this instance, Art does not imitate Life.)

But at least I didn’t already know what was going to happen in “Zero Day.”

You didn’t have to be Nostradamus to call the play on Zero’s Day in DeeCee.

Zero was going to rave like a poorly raised toddler. The Repugs were going to find it all oh-so-cute. And the Donks were going to be as bold, decisive and effective as a Walmart shopper, watching the kid step out of his overflowing diaper in the produce section as dad idly thumbs his phone, and thinking, “Somebody really should do something.”

Yes, somebody should. We’re still waiting.

Guess what. Didn’t stop. And this was in 1954.

I’m not picking on Rep. Melanie Stansbury here. I’ve met her. I like her. But god damn, etc.

You don’t derail the Dingaling Bros-Barnum & Beelzebozo Circus train by standing on the tracks holding a tiny sign, like Wile E. Coyote. What you get there is run the fuck over. Take it from a guy who knows what it feels like to get hit by a locomotive.