Posts Tagged ‘Il Douche’

Bingo!

May 13, 2020

“Learn Big Numbers as you Play.” Or not.

Thomas B. Edsall at The New York Times cranks out another keeper about the unholy combination of church and casino that is the Il Douche re-election campaign.

This dude alone is worth the price of a subscription to Mother Times. He throws a wide loop and brings ’em back alive.

A Democratic tech strategist describes the campaign website as a casino, “purposefully built to keep gamblers inside and at the table … trapping people inside an ecosystem of dangerous misinformation, conspiracy theories, and grievance politics. And it’s doing so while making the experience as fun and exciting as possible.”

In the nation’s “political churches,” meanwhile, a survey of hymn-singing white Protestants finds “clergy speech is driving up the religious significance” of Il Douche. In short, a strong plurality of respondents believe this gibbering gobshite was anointed by the Lord to be our Leader.

While elite “right wing media are having a profound effect on public opinion, serving to insulate Trump supporters,” the authors write, the process is also “built and sustained from the bottom up. That is, political churches, among Republicans especially, reinforce the argumentation that is also coming from above.”

I consider this another solid argument for taxing churches. Uncle Sugar gets a cut of what I earn for preaching my gospel. You want to play too, padre? Ante up, sucker, the pot’s light again.

The Omega Cat

March 21, 2020

Miss Mia Sopaipilla mans (cats?) the battlements.

Miss Mia Sopaipilla, The Last Cat Standing, checks the southeast perimeter for any sign of Spike the Terrorist Deer.

Things are greening up and budding out, and staff seems preoccupied with other matters, so Mia stands the watch.

In addition to the wine delivery we had a couple of packages to drop off at USPS, so I strapped a Wald basket on the rear rack of the Soma Double Cross.

One never knows. The sneaky sonofabitch might like cat food.

Meanwhile, staff kitted up for another wine run yesterday afternoon. We chatted briefly with Herself the Elder via phone, next to her closed bedroom window, and then scurried back to El Rancho Pendejo as a light sprinkle began.

We saw quite a few cyclists on the Tramway bike path, in some cases moms herding mobs of children.  I think of being on lockdown with a herd of bored and restless rug monkeys, and I wish I’d been kinder to me sainted ma, who was sentenced to life without parole as a housewife and mother.

Elsewhere, I see our “leaders” have been up to the usual, which is to say not much barring high crimes and misdemeanors.

It really is long past time for the press to quit covering what Chazbo Pierce calls “the daily briefings from the Coronavirus Superfriends,” which have devolved into miniature campaign rallies for Il Douche, free telemarketing for his only product, bullshit.

There is no breaking news to be had at this surgical theater of the absurd, and responsible journalists should take the time to suck it up, watch the comedy, pluck the rare diamond from the dung, and pass the stone, with an addendum tallying the ratio of facts to lies. No diamonds? No distribution. See James Fallows at The Atlantic for more. I like James so much that I ponied up for a subscription.

In other news, United Airlines is cordially invited to go fuck itself. Jesus. These people are completely without shame. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I would rather pay to push my Subaru uphill into the wind, wearing roller skates and this goddamn ankle brace, than fly United for free.

Which Corleone is Il Douche?

January 4, 2020

Nolo cojones

December 6, 2019

What a blockhead.

Gosh. Il Douche won’t mount any sort of defense as the House Judiciary Committee contemplates articles of impeachment.

Imagine my surprise.

I don’t suppose it has anything to do with knowing that he’d come out looking like a purse dog that went three rounds with the Hound of the Baskervilles.

No, better he should stay all bunkered up, hiding behind various knaves, minions, and varlets, tweeting like a hyperactive budgie, and wait until The Turtle can run interference for him in the Senate, where he has the home-field advantage.

I’d like to have the lip-balm and breath-mint concessions at that ass-kissing contest. A couple days of the big money and I could retire, is what.

‘Season liberally’

October 12, 2019

I go through smoked paprika and Mexican oregano faster than
Il Douche commits impeachable high crimes and misdemeanors.

I like Penzey’s Spices for their excellent products, some of which I used yesterday in this posole verde, and for their cheerful, helpful staff here in the Duke City.

Now I like the company for another reason. It’s outspending everyone save Il Douche on impeachment-related FaceButt advertising, according to The New York Times.

Penzey’s Spices also used ButtFace to urge people to vote in the midterms, with owner Bill Penzey saying: “Don’t let history lump you in with the white hoods and robes crowd. History has its eyes on all of us, and history remembers.”

In a chat with Mother Times, he added: “We’ve always been about kindness and compassion. And with the recent trends in the Republican Party and unlimited political spending, it’s created this message of anger toward marginalized people in order to create votes for tax cuts for the very wealthy.

“If you are a company and you have values, now is the time to share them. Now is the time that it’s important to share them.”

Consider them shared by this salty ol’ dog, Bill. Keep spicing things up.

BOHICA

March 25, 2019

Mooned again.

The best take on special counsel Robert Mueller’s report so far comes from Kevin Drum at MoJo, who writes: “The truth is that we barely know anything more today than we did a week ago. It’s likely there’s a reason for that.”

Runner-up is from Charlie Pierce, who observes: “In fact, the basic overriding result of [Attorney General William] Barr’s summary is that the whole matter now has been dumped into the laps of a divided and hyper-partisan Congress in such a way as to guarantee that the Congress will be more divided and more hyper-partisan than ever before. The Democratic House will hold hearings and the Republican Senate will yell about Hillary Clinton. The Internet will be indiscriminately insane for the foreseeable future.”

For what it’s worth, my own uneducated guess is that our keepers have decided that “government of the people, by the people, for the people” is the people’s problem. We shit the bed, we do the laundry. No indictment, no impeachment, and open a window, f’chrissakes. It stinks to high heaven in here.

Absent an abrupt change of course based on the Mueller report, the Donks seem to be betting that they can clean Il Douche’s clock in the 2020 election, which sounds an awful lot like drawing to an inside straight. Or maybe it’s more like the kind of lame-ass, no-balls, break-even poker playing that sends you home neither richer nor poorer while the big boys take all the pots.

Are they still hunting, Elmer Fuddlike, for that mythical Moderate Republican, hoping they can bag enough of these fabled centrist unicorns — without hurting the MAGA dummies’ fee-fees — to take the White House and the Senate, pad their edge in the House, and govern free of interference from the Flying Monkey Caucus?

Fuck me running. I wish I had some magic beans to sell these rubes. I could use a more reliable income stream. This hand looks more like a foot.

In the meantime, we all could use some more information. There’s an election coming up, or so we hope. Release the damn report, shitheels. We paid for it, and in more ways than one, too. It’s ours.

Alto

March 18, 2019

Temps remain a bit below normal in the Duke City, but you don’t have to shovel cool.

Stop? Not me.

It was a gorgeous St. Patrick’s Day in the Duke City, and everybody and his/her granny was out and about, trying to sweat out the remnants of Gaelic brain eraser.

I awarded myself a day off from riding other people’s bikes and used one of my own, the Steelman Eurocross pictured in yesterday’s post.

The great thing about a ’cross bike — the original gravel bike, don’t you know — is that you can ride it pretty much anywhere. And that’s exactly what I did. Pavement, good and bad; singletrack; two-track, whatever.

For instance, it’s great fun to zip down Tramway Road from Juniper Hill, pull a U at the bottom, and ride back up the gullied trail that parallels it instead of grinding along next to the hordes of goggling tram-bound tourists.

It would be easier on a modern gravel bike, like Salsa’s Journeyman Claris 650, with its 2.1-inch 650b’s and low end of 30×34. The Steelman maxes out at 700×33 and a bottom of 36×28.

But if God wanted our lives to be easier He wouldn’t have given us Il Douche.

Make it March

March 2, 2019

March is coming in like a lawn sprinkler.

The headline is from Robert Heinlein, whose immortal protagonist Lazarus Long frequently employed the phrase when he wanted some yapper to cut to the chase.

So, marching on. …

I met my new primary-care doc this week and am delighted to report that she is a pleasant young African-American who recently bought a Co-op bicycle from REI. There may be hope for the bike biz, ladies and gentlemen.

Our lawn guy collars me while prepping our sprawling estate for spring and he sez to me, he sez: “I’m finding all these little rocks in the yard …” I sez to him, I sez: “Oh, that would be from me shoveling snow off the roof.” Look for my forthcoming science-fiction novel, “Flat Roofs Are Stupid,” about a man who travels back in time to teach the Anasazi about peaked roofs.

Always wear your glasses when scouring the refrigerator for a toothsome tidbit. The other day I was rooting around in there like a blind hog hunting truffles and somehow managed to shoulder a door shelf out of the sonofabitch. Two glass jars hit the brick floor — one containing soy sauce, the other maple syrup — and exploded like cluster bombs. It took both of us to mop up that mess and for about 24 hours the house smelled like someone simmering barbecue sauce in a nursing home.

And finally, Elon Musk got some press for doing something other than being a douchebag. The SpaceX Crew Dragon rode a Falcon 9 rocket into space and toward the International Space Station. The only passenger was a dummy. No, not that one.

 

What hath God wrought?

February 14, 2019

“Sure, I can send that message, but I think they already got it.”

Anybody who didn’t see this coming hasn’t been paying attention. Dude telegraphed this shit like ol’ Sam’l Morse.

Sure, there are legal options to explore. But this dude likes getting sued. Especially when he’s spending other people’s money on both sides of the argument.

Screwed again

February 12, 2019

Fake news.

“‘Tool Disposal Notice?'” I said. “At long last, they’re impeaching him!”

Nope. Just a Harbor Freight Tools ad. Still, a fella can always use a bigger hammer for those delicate adjustments to this and that.