Posts Tagged ‘Comrade Eeyore’

Comrade Eeyore stands down

April 8, 2020

Adios, muchacho, compañero de me vida. …

Well, that, as they say, is that. Comrade Eeyore is hanging up his hammer and sickle.

Quick, somebody tell me why I should be thrilled that Daffy Uncle Joe is going to be our nominee.

As The New York Times notes: “Mr. Sanders, 78, leaves the campaign having almost single-handedly moved the Democratic Party to the left. … But Mr. Sanders stirred deep unease among party leaders, and as he ascended to the top of the field in February, establishment Democrats scrambled to block his path, convinced his far-reaching proposals would alienate great swaths of the electorate and make him an easy target for Mr. Trump.”

Thank God for that, eh? Because the party leaders and establishment Democrats got it so right the last time around.

Make it March

March 1, 2020

We got some Sandia pink going on in the backyard
this first morning of March.

Buds on the maple, bits of grass peeking out, and some pretty pink clouds. Well done, Yahweh.

Elsewhere, I see the media are finally getting the story they’ve been craving — Daffy Uncle Joe Resurgent, a.k.a. “dude just won his first primary in three presidential campaigns,” and he had to go to what Chazbo Pierce calls “the home office of American sedition” to git ’er done, with a big assist from Rep. Jim Clyburn.

Now that they’ve got it, of course, they have to dry-hump it. What next? Does Daffy have Big Mo®? Will Comrade Eeyore hammer ’n’ sickle him on Super Tuesday? What about “the remaining candidates?” Etc.

Over at the WaPo, Dan Balz notices the same thing I did: The networks (and the WaPo, and the NYT) all called it for Daffy about 30 seconds after the polls closed, based on exit polling, with something like 1 percent of the vote actually tallied.

Notes Balz: “That guaranteed him hours of positive analysis on cable television and the setting of a narrative favorable to him between now and [Super] Tuesday.”

It’s all about the narrative, bay-beee.

The Granite Slate

February 12, 2020

Is Comrade Eeyore strictly a creature of the hard left?
Depends on who’s talking.

“There’s a lot of supposin’ going on in the immediate aftermath of New Hampshire,” writes Mojo’s David Corn.

Oh, yeah.

John Nichols at The Nation says Comrade Eeyore, lacking definitive victories and facing electability questions thanks in part to less-than-amiable press coverage, must move beyond simple sloganeering to make his campaign “a new center where Democrats, independents, and millions of new voters have a place. …”

Meanwhile, the talking heads who want those “new center” voters pretty much anywhere but Bernie’s place are taking heart in the rise of Amy “Minnesota Nice” Klobuchar and, to a lesser degree, in the tenacity of Mayor Pete.

Senator Professor Warren is now said to be sliding off the back by the same keen observers who ignored her performance in the Hawkeye State Hayride & Corn-Fed Clusterfuck®. If nobody covers you and your campaign stumbles, does it make a sound? Apparently so.

Daffy Uncle Joe is one step closer to that rocker on the porch.

And Mike “Stop & Frisk” Bloomberg still has a big, fat wallet and is looking to slap the shit out of someone with it.

Everyone seems astonished that the Democratic contest remains … well, a Democratic contest. Messy. Noisy. Inexplicable at times, with a smattering of candidates you wouldn’t elect to a school board.

But I guess I’m relieved that we don’t have an Anointed One this time around. Daffy Uncle Joe thinks it’s his turn, or did at one time, but he was and is sadly mistaken.

I’m gonna have to give Minnesota Nice a closer look. There’s something about her that rubs me the wrong way and I’m not sure what it is. Maybe she reminds me of a publisher I’ve butted heads with. There’s a certain smugness in her expression that says, “Oh, I think we can do nicely without you and your bullshit.”

And Mayor Pete? Can’t say I’m a fan. He seems a little too well drilled, and about half a Republican. I’d like to see him on the back foot, watch what happens to his confidence when someone snatches the script away from him.

Grrl power

July 27, 2016
Gracie Allen ran strictly for laughs, as opposed to Donald Trump, who doesn't seem to realize that he's comical. Photo by CBS via Getty Images

Gracie Allen ran strictly for laughs, as opposed to Donald Trump, who doesn’t seem to realize that he’s comical. Photo by CBS via Getty Images

Nearly a century after women won the right to vote in this country, a major political party has finally picked one to be its candidate for the presidency.

Others have had a go, of course.

In 1964, Margaret Chase Smith was the first woman to have her name placed in nomination by a major party (the GOP).

Too, the Green Party and various socialist parties have regularly put women at the top of their tickets.

And Gracie Allen — yes, that Gracie Allen — ran in 1940 under the auspices of the Surprise Party. Her platform? “Redwood, trimmed with nutty pine.”

“My opponents say they’re going to fight me ’til the cows come home,” she said in a campaign speech. “So, they admit the cows aren’t home. Why aren’t the cows home? Because they don’t like the conditions on the farm. The cows are smart. They’re not coming home ’til there’s a woman in the White House.”

Gracie was (mostly) kidding, of course. But Hillary isn’t. Neither is Sarah Silverman, a supporter of Comrade Eeyore who told the Bernie or Bust faction that they were “being ridiculous,” which they were.

And definitely not kidding was the other Clinton, the Big Dog, who brought his gift for rambling discourse to the rostrum last night.

Ol’ Bill freestyled a lot of his speech, ’cause he likes to and ’cause the teleprompter was acting out (Ber-NIE! Ber-NIE!). I always appreciated the way the man could shoot the shit (his mendacious Monica Lewinsky chatter not included). But I never voted for him, because I didn’t trust him out of my sight, and I said more than once that his old lady was smarter, tougher and meaner than he was.

Well, Bill seems to agree with me. And so does the works faction of the party, because they gave her the nod.

Now, I don’t trust the Hilldebeast any more than I do her old man. Peas in a pod, those two. The Clintons seem all too typical of our political elites, many of whom think rules are for rubes. That said, there’s no denying that they’ve done the work, unlike the other fella in the contest, who won’t even pay for it, much less perform it.

Herself and I placed our faith in Bernie. But clearly faith wasn’t enough. Works will have to do. Say g’night, Gracie.

Vuelta de Bosque

July 25, 2016
The northbound view.

The northbound view.

With the Tour in the books, I actually managed to saddle up while it was still coolish outdoors and went for a long, pleasant spin along the Paseo del Bosque trail.

Southbound, en route to the Rio Bravo turnaround.

Southbound, en route to the Rio Bravo turnaround.

Raptors and bunnies were playing hide-and-seek for keeps as I zipped down the Paseo del Norte trail, which drops off the North Diversion Channel trail and feeds into the bosque trail, and there were plenty of two-wheelers out and about as well, despite it being a workday (bums).

After enjoying a slight tailwind out, I decided to skip the 5.4-mile circuit south of Rio Bravo, which turned out to be a poor decision — I missed making my 62nd-birthday mileage by the length of the loop. And the headwind for the return leg was not so much of a much, though the steady climb back to El Rancho Pendejo was the usual struggle.

Speaking of struggles, it sounds as though Comrade Eeyore’s cadres are going all Little Red Book on pretty much everyone at the Democratic National Convention, including Dear Leader himself. Good times. Maybe not.

And yeah, I know me some Little Red Book, yo.

And yeah, I know me some Little Red Book, yo.

I feel their pain. As a retired commie myself, I enjoyed voting for the old socialist in the primary. And I’m certainly not feeling that old smash-the-State love from The Hilldebeast, though Comrade Downhill Bill speaks highly of her running mate in comments. Comrade Pierce approves, too, albeit with reservations.

But you go to vote with the system you have, not the system you wish you had. Ask any old Red.

And if the choice is between Ronald McDonald McTrump and The Hilldebeast, well, that’s no choice at all, is it? You pinch your nose, vote D, and then go home and give yourself a swirly for three or four hours in a toilet full of cheap gin.

 

My brain hurts

June 24, 2016

Clearly, the Universe is hellbent on putting satirists out of business.

First, the Brits tell the EU to go pound sand.

Second, Floyd Landis will be fronting a whacky-tobacky enterprise, dubbed “Floyd’s of Leadville.” Cheech and Chong must be shittin’ themselves. I guess someone else already cornered the whiskey, beer and synthetic-testosterone market. (Pro tip: Never get high on your own supply, Floyd old scout.)

Third, Comrade Eeyore says he’ll vote for The Hilldebeast. Bernie Bros everywhere ring up Floyd.

My brain hurts.

Morning sickness

June 8, 2016
Color? Don't talk to me about color. All is black.

Color? Don’t talk to me about color. All is black.

Feeble sunrise this morning. The Universe must be disappointed in the results of the Democratic presidential primary.

Just wait till it hears about the results of the GOP presidential primary.

Still, things could be worse.

I got your scoop right here

June 7, 2016
Extry, extry, read all about it!

Extry, extry, read all about it!

Charlie Pierce, as usual, is spot on when he calls out The Associated Press for its shameless eyeball-hogging stunt declaring the Hilldebeast the presumptive Donk nominee the day before primaries in a half dozen states — New Mexico among them.

Happily, I cast my ballot for Comrade Eeyore early, on Saturday, before the AP could tell me I was wasting my time. Whether this news flash depresses today’s turnout and affects down-ballot contests remains to be seen. But just in case, the dickhead who greenlighted that stupid horse-race piece should be compelled to write “IT’S AN ELECTION, NOT AN ERECTION, SO QUIT PLAYING WITH IT” in letters a hundred feet high on the Tomb of the Unregistered Voter.

It’s true, of course, that Comrade Eeyore can’t heehaw his way out of this beating. But as Mr. Pierce notes, he and his supporters should feel free to campaign right up to the convention. Make his arguments to the bitter end, and hold the Hilldebeast’s hooves to the fire in hopes of stopping her from pivoting back to the center in the general.

Plus she needs a sparring partner to keep her sharp and on her toes for the main event come November. That dude fights dirty.

• Addendum: Also, Paul “Lyin'” Ryan wants to have his tasty Bag o’ Dicks and eat ’em, too. This posing pissant is banking on a Trump-thumping and a one-term Hilldebeast. He started his 2020 campaign long before the AP called this one.

Bare trees

February 9, 2016
The Marin Four Corners Elite (dog not pictured).

The Marin Four Corners Elite (dog not pictured).

Back to work, and what a hideous chore it was, too — riding the Marin Four Corners Elite on a new-to-me trail south of Embudo Canyon.

Lots of dog-walkers out in the late afternoon; too many, actually. But who could blame them? It was fiddy-sumpin’, if windy, and a fine day to step away from the desk for a while.

Today should be equally pleasant, unless you live in New Hampshire, where evil weather and presidential aspirants abound. Marco 3P0 is still jammed on repeat (his programmers insist this is a feature, not a bug); Jeb (!) asked his mommy to fetch his testicles (apparently he’s discovered some use for them); and Trump, The Great and Powerful, is expected to dispute their very existence while simultaneously squeezing them (and everyone else’s) with his very small hands.

On the Donk side in today’s primary, Comrade Sanders is expected to deep-fry The Hilldebeast, who has let the Big Dog off the leash, which may raise as many questions as it lays to rest. As celebrity tag-team pairings go, this may not exactly be The High Flyers.

Whatever. As the elite political press corps says, after tonight we can all go back to not giving a shit about New Hampshire. There are bikes to ride, after all.

Out on a limb

February 8, 2016
It was pleasant enough by afternoon to ride with knee warmers, but it ain't spring yet.

It was pleasant enough by afternoon to ride with knee warmers, but it ain’t spring yet.

We just can’t seem to get in step with mainstream America lately.

The interminable “feets ball” season came to a conclusion yesterday in San Francisco, but we did not watch, as we do not care for the “feets ball,” not even if Bruno Mars and Mark Ronson are performing “Uptown Funk” at halftime. The poor sonsabitches are doomed to do that number for the rest of their lives, or at least until their first hip replacements.

No, instead we watched “Saturday Night Live” a day late, so Herself could catch Comrade Sanders serving up his patented Kamchatka Fried Chicken (“Left Wings Only!”) to the kool kidz in the key white/50+ demographic.

Larry David was hosting, and did his spot-on Sanders impersonation, but the only real laugh-out-loud bits were his monologue and the closer about two rummies (David and Kate McKinnon) deep into the mating ritual at closing time in a bar.

OK, that’s not true. The musical guests, The 1975, were pretty funny, too. But I don’t think they had intended to be.