Posts Tagged ‘Congress’

The big show

January 6, 2021

Let’s not start sucking each other’s — well, you know — quite yet.

Well.

Keeping the advice of the redoubtable Winston Wolf in mind, the news out of Georgia seems … well, frankly, astonishing. Shit, I might ask for a recount, and these are my people we’re talking about here.

Next in the spotlight is what should be a routine confirmation, during a joint session of Congress, of Sleepy Joe’s victory in the Electoral College. One small step for man, one giant leap toward issuing that eviction notice effective Jan. 20.

Yet again, we acknowledge the wisdom of The Wolf.

The Turtle has many tricks up his shell, as does the Flying Monkey Caucus. Also, Adolf Twitler’s Brown Noses are in the streets, and one wonders how many more are wearing brass hats in the Pentagon.

And Mike Ha’pence, the Envelope Opener-in-Chief, is such a fence-straddling chickenshit that you will never find his feet firmly on the ground on one side of an issue.

Particularly this one. His bet was called and now he has to show his hand, which contains nothing but an envelope full of bad news for his dumb ass. He has peered timidly into the future and seen that neither Jesus nor history will treat him kindly, if indeed the Republic survives to have a history that chronicles his craven, self-serving obesiance to a dime-store dictator, and that our posterity retains enough literacy to read it.

All he can do is dance like a puppet, one final time. But to whose tune? One foot to one beat, the other to another, as per usual. No matter who’s holding his strings for this final performance on the American political stage, he will never be a real boy.

He’s gonna have one helluva nose, though. Stained a deep and odiferous brown, too.

• Update: Well, Adolf’s Brown Noses aren’t in the streets anymore. They’re in the Capitol. Naturally, they didn’t check their white privilege at the door. These dudes were Black, they’d have been dead 10 times already. I also seem to recall a rather robust response to Vietnam War protests in the vicinity. But them was hippies, so, whatevs.

The lighter side of the news, from
the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

• Update No. 2: Mother Times calls it for Ossoff in Georgia, which means the Donks have the Senate. Storm that, motherfuckers.

• Update No. 3: Rep. Ilhan Omar (D-Minn.) tweets that she’s drawing up articles of impeachment against Adolf Twitler. Sounds a bit like horses and barn doors, but there has been discussion of this elsewhere as a prophylactic measure to keep the stubby ginger dick from rising again. The National Association of Manufacturers, meanwhile, called on Ha’Pence to A25 his boss’s fat ass. Yeah, good luck with that. He’s already soiled his armor.

• Update No. 4: Charlie Pierce has gone full “throw the rascal out.” And as usual, I agree. Adolf Twiter goes out on his fat ass, Ha’Pence gets to be president for a few days, and then the shovels and mops come out. Sure, maybe he wants to get tossed out, and then have Ha’Pence pardon him, a la Nixon-Ford. Still, sez Chazbo: “Leaving him in place even for an hour would be the final dereliction of duty, and we have had far too many of those. Force him out. Do it now. Complicity is its own dark reward.”

Catch, bitches

April 18, 2019

Add a six-pack and you’ve got a seven-course Irish dinner.

Bob Mueller tosses the hot potato to Congress, which will probably … oh, hell, I don’t know. Freedom Fries, anyone?

Life is but a dream

December 19, 2016
Life is but a dream; it's what you make it.

Life is but a dream; it’s what you make it.

Those last few moments of sleep before the bathroom light snaps on and a cat jumps on you are prime dreamtime.

So I’m drinking beer with Tom Waits and while we sip we’re wandering around his cabin, which is more of a shack, really, and with a decidedly M.C. Escherish tilt to it, and I’m apparently staying the night ’cause Tom rasps, “You know where the mattress is, right?”

And I ask where Kathleen is, and he says she’s dealing them off the arm downtown at some hipster hash house, and he wonders what that’s like, because every time he and the band are trying to wrap up a track it seems they get hungry and need a bite to carry on but even getting a simple sandwich from this posh beanery is a pain in the ass because the chef is always short some effete ingredient.

“Sorry, can’t finish your sandwich without my artisanal mayonnaise,” I quip, and we both have a good laugh about that and then the bathroom light snaps on and the Turk jumps on me.

And none of this has anything to do with the fact that the Electoral College votes today and with a little mercy, a lot of balls and a metric shit-ton of educated, far-sighted patriotism they could save us all from ourselves and deny Sir Donald of Orange his dubiously acquired electoral majority.

This would dump the whole hot mess into the fat lap of Congress. And the House would select some garden-variety-nightmare Republican to be president, and just maybe — maybe! — given the popular vote, the Senate would pick some run-of-the-mill Democrat to be vice president.

But being a presidential elector in these circumstances must feel a lot like being the maid at the Motel 666 in Federalist 68 Hell. We get to shit the bed and she has to wash the sheets?

No, thanks, honey, she purrs. I’d rather make a sandwich for Tom Waits. I know what kind of mayo he likes, and I hear there’s some beer left.

Life is but a dream. Hail, Beelzebozo.