Category: Journalism

Your ‘duh’ moment

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 3 Comments
“Just another day on the set, people. Lights, camera, action!”

I should be happy to see that someone in the elite political press has come to the same conclusion I have.

But still, I mean, like, “Duh,” an’ shit.

Of course TFG came swinging wildly out of his corner when the bell rang. Call it blitzkrieg, shock and awe, “a mix of signal and noise,” whatever. I called it flinging shit against the wall to see what sticks:

“At this pace there won’t be a wall without shit running down it before Valentine’s Day. A lot of it won’t stick, but it’s gonna pile up. The forecast calls for deep doo.”

A “deliberate strategy,” they say. An attempt “to disorient already despairing Democratic foes, leaving them so battered that they won’t be able to mount a cohesive opposition.”

C’mon. Anyone who’s watched this clown act for more than 15 seconds knew this going in. Nice to have the deets and the anonymous whispers and whatnot, but a casual glance at his wildly successful legal spasticity would give even a Democratic strategist or an East Coast journo a clue and a half.

“If you can’t dazzle them with brillance, baffle them with bullshit.” Coming soon to a wall near you.

Right in the eggs

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments
Cool with a side of clouds.

Whew. Looks like I picked a good week to go on a news fast. These pendejos are pitching fastballs. At this pace there won’t be a wall without shit running down it before Valentine’s Day. A lot of it won’t stick, but it’s gonna pile up. The forecast calls for deep doo.

My news fast coincided with a cold snap that kept me off the bike. I don’t object to cycling in the 30s if the sun’s out, but when Tōnatiuh abdicates in favor of Ehecatl, it’s time to go for a run.

Thing is, I’m not a runner. Not really. A runner certainly wouldn’t call me one. Especially if s/he’d caught me at it.

I can pretend for 45 minutes but that’s about it. And that doesn’t burn a lot of daylight for a fella trying to avoid the doomscrolling.

Still, I managed. For about four days. Who can avert his or her eyes while passing a domestic disturbance in daylight or an unshaded window at night? This is like driving past a five-car crash without checking the gutters for rolling heads.

So I eased back in, slowly. A little Kevin Drum. Then a bit of Charlie Pierce. This is akin to reading the police report, if Joseph Wambaugh wrote it. The Atlantic, for a soupçon of button-down viewing with alarm.

Finally, I hit the hard stuff. The New York Times. Holy shit, etc.

I hope the rubes who elected this bozo are enjoying the shitshow. Looks like it’ll be a good long while before he gets those egg prices down.

Post this, yo

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 22 Comments
A snippet of the Ann Telnaes cartoon that the WaPo found objectionable. | © Ann Telnaes

Salud to cartoonist Ann Telnaes, who quit The Washington Post after a cartoon critical of Management — and by Management, I mean Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, Sam Altman, Patrick Soon-Shiong, and Mickey Fuckin’ Mouse, who are all managing to affix their chapped lips to the Pestilence-Erect’s ass at once — got croaked by the WaPo’s editorial-page bots.

At her Substack HQ, Telnaes explains:

As an editorial cartoonist, my job is to hold powerful people and institutions accountable. For the first time, my editor prevented me from doing that critical job. So I have decided to leave the Post. I doubt my decision will cause much of a stir and that it will be dismissed because I’m just a cartoonist. But I will not stop holding truth to power through my cartooning, because as they say, “Democracy dies in darkness.”

Ho, ho. “Just a cartoonist.” Telnaes knows, as I do, that a sharp pen can puncture a gasbag as thoroughly as a sword, and encourages onlookers to snicker at the well-deserved deflation.

As Boss Tweed once said after getting righteously stuck by cartoonist Thomas Nast:

“Let’s stop those damned pictures. I don’t care so much what the papers write about me — my constituents can’t read, but damn it, they can see pictures.”

I kinda wish I still had a WaPo subscription to cancel. Mebbe I’ll sign back up so I can cancel the fucker again.

See Mike Peterson at The Daily Cartoonist for more about Telnaes and her stellar work.

Ho, ho, ho

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments
Francis Phelan explains how he wound up a bum in Albany. (Apologies to Jack Nicholson, William Kennedy, and “Ironweed.”)

Gov. Michelle Lujan Grisham, via Michael Corkery and The New York Times, gives Duck! City Mayor Tim Keller a little sumpin’-sumpin’ for Christmas.

The New Mexico governor’s mansion sits on a hilltop in Santa Fe, roughly 7,100 feet above sea level.

The air smells of pine needles and sweet meadow grass. An original Georgia O’Keeffe painting greets visitors as they enter the foyer of the elegantly appointed home.

Michelle Lujan Grisham, a Democrat entering the final few years of her governorship, has been spiffing up the grounds of the residence to showcase her state’s rich culture and immense beauty. But for all its splendor, New Mexico faces some grave problems, she said. “Have you ever been to Albuquerque?”

Hoo-boy. And you thought socks from grandma were bad. I wouldn’t expect a thank-you note.

The Nanofesto: writing a wrong

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 14 Comments
Do the write thing.

When the John Laws collared their suspect in the CEO assassination he was said to have had in his possession a ghost gun, some fake I.D., and a 262-word “manifesto.”

A 262-word manifesto?

By the ghosts of Marx and Engels! That’s what I call phoning it in.

Except our man didn’t use a phone to compose it. Or a laptop. It was handwritten. Whether on papyrus, stone tablets, or a shithouse wall was not made clear.

What is abundantly clear, however, is that 262 words do not a manifesto make. And let me tell you why.

Yes, yes, yes, it’s time for another political-science fiction episode of Radio Free Dogpatch.

• Technical notes: RFD is loving the Ethos mic from Earthworks Audio; Audio-Technica ATH-M50X headphones; Zoom H5 Handy Recorder; Apple’s GarageBand, and Auphonic for a sonic colonic. “The Internationale (Traditional)” and “The Internationale (Death Metal Edition)” both come from YouTube. The typewriter comes from Freesound. The police siren, screeching tires, ballpoint scribbling, and game-show buzzer all come from Zapsplat. All other evil racket is courtesy of Your Humble Narrator.