Category: Feddle gummint

Just. One. Senator.

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments
One senator could make a difference? What a Capitol idea.

That’s all it would take, given the present composition of the Senate, for that august body to do its fucking job for a change.

As James Fallows notes:

Every one of them swore an oath to defend the U.S. Constitution, not simply their own careerist comfort. And not a one of them, yet, has been willing to risk comfort, career, or fund-raising to defend the constitutional check-and-balance prerogatives of their legislative branch. …

In any circumstances, the Senate’s arcane procedures mean that lone senators, determined to make a stand, can hold up business or block nominees to get their way. When the ruling party holds only 51 seats, or for the moment 50, the power of any one or two members goes up astronomically. With great power comes great responsibility—a responsibility that 50 men and women are choosing to shirk.

Today’s pig is tomorrow’s bacon

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments
This is not the President Pigasus for which the Yippies had hoped.

There are seven pigs for every person in Iowa.

In DeeCee, of course, the pig-to-person ratio skews even higher on the Sooey Scale, and thus the relentless oinking from that quarter has become deafening.

The truth is simply not in these swine, when it comes to immigration detention or anything else. If Kirstjen Nielsen told me the sun was rising in the east I would step outside to verify it. And all she’s doing is spreading the aromatic manure provided by her boss, Il Douche, King Donald the Short-fingered.

“(N)o law actually requires that families be separated at the border,” says The New York Times.

Even tools like Texas Ted Cruz the Gucci Shitkicker, Orrin “Down the” Hatch and Joe “The Moderate Mannequin” Manchin find the separation of children from their parents distasteful. And those guys will swallow anything.

Ironically, this administration may have provided its own solution. Il Douche wants a space force? Fine. Let’s draft him and every one of his appointees, fixers, enablers, thugs and stooges, and deploy them via Elon Muskmobile to Mars.

The Martians may detain them in cages for a spell, just to see whether “they could be murderers or thieves and so much else.” Especially since we’ll stencil that warning on the exterior of the spacecraft. “Contents: Murderers, thieves and so much else.”

But hey, they’ll just be trying to protect their interplanetary borders. Ack ack!

‘Save Money. Live Better. Do As You’re Told.’

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 10 Comments
This mural depicting Il Douche greets children at Camp Walmart. That should keep appetites suppressed and food expenses down. Arbeit macht frei, bitches. | Department of Health and Human Services via Jacob Soboroff (MSNBC) and Kevin Drum (Mother Jones)

As a child I went to summer camp in Texas. I didn’t like it.

I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like this modern version, either, especially if I didn’t hablo the Inglés and didn’t know when (or if) my parents would be coming to take me home.

Time to call the congressional delegation again. Lord, are they gonna be tired of hearing from the O’Gradys.

“Go back to Ireland already before we put you in a camp,” they’ll mutter after hanging up. Ná bíodh eagla orm.

Singing up the sun

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments
It’s not moonrise, and those are not pikes. But still.

Betimes I fear the Ó Grádaighs intercoursed the penguin when they fled County Clare for Americay.

Were we still on the auld sod we’d be kings, or druids, lighting bonfires, rubbing up against the mistletoe and singing up the dawn on solstice instead of watching helplessly as brigands, highwaymen and landlords make off with every salable item in the Republic.

Well, maybe not. We’d probably be on the dole, trading our excess offspring for drink and stealing the neighbors’ pigs.

Still, damme if I feel like singing up the dawn on this side of the pond this morning. ‘Tis only the rising of the moon will have me tuning up so.