Saturday, July 23, 2016

Fear itself

Well, that was fun.

It started on a note of high comedy, when we were assured that a Slovenian underwear model would deliver a speech of her own composition.  Nobody believed  that until it turned out to be a crib from the speech Michelle Obama delivered just eight years ago.  Surely there were less obvious Democratic sources she could have stolen from -- an Eleanor Roosevelt column, say, or Grover Cleveland's second inaugural address.  No one would have spotted those for weeks.  It's not nice to humiliate your own green-card bride that way.  But her husband pronounced himself pleased because it was the most famous speech of all time, or something, the implication being that the plagiarism was not only deliberate but a stroke of brilliance.  The tone was set. 

Next came the charges.  Did you know that Hillary Clinton is guilty of Bengazi, Boko Haram, the Zika virus, the murder of police in Dallas and Baton Rouge, treason, piracy, Windows 10 and the disappearance of that Malysian Air flight?  I was surprised when no one accused her of witchcraft, because someone has clearly put a spell on Rudolph Giuliani. (Perhaps she tried to turn him into a Newt but remembered they already had one.)   I have watched conventions for years, sometimes with the help of Gordon's excellent gin, and I can't remember one quite so suffused with what Hunter Thompson -- how we need him! -- called "fear and loathing."  We were promised something different and we got it, not feel-good celebrations of the past and rosy promises of the future but a four-day character assassination.  Dr. Goebbels would have implored them to dial it down.

There was one moment of deja vu, when Ted Cruz submitted, Christ-like, to the jeers of the mob.  He repeated all the depressing reactionary formulas that have characterized his career, but in the end, he refused to kiss the stubby orange fingers of the man who insulted his wife and slandered his father, and the mob, which cares nothing for ideology, turned on him.  Understandably "Vote your conscience" is heard as an insult by those devoid of one.  I flashed back to the Goldwater convention of 1964, when Nelson Rockefeller was booed by terrifying Republican women in San Francisco.  In those days, children, Rockefeller represented something called the "liberal wing" of the party, people who wanted low taxes and smaller government but were generally not racist or isolationist.  But that wasn't the sticking point for the ladies.  You see, Rockefeller was embroiled in a messy divorce, and back then divorce was unforgivable.  "Lover!" they shrieked.  Not until Ronald Reagan and his second wife came along would that change.  Gotta love the bottomless hypocrisy of the right.

Maybe it was the Gordon's but by closing night I was sure I was watching a movie.  All day we heard about the downfall, cushioned by millions of Murdoch dollars, of Roger Ailes.  The allegations of employees hinted that Ailes fancied himself the Alfred Hitchcock of Rightzi media, except that Hitch was more than a fat guy who hired a lot of blonde women (and, it has been suggested, sexually harassed them).  His women had talent and he had genius, two words nobody would associate with Poxy News.  Anyway, I was in the mood for a celluloid dream long before Hank Quinlan -- I mean Joe Arpaio -- took the stage.  Like Quinlan, the corrupt, Mexican-hating sheriff played by Orson Welles in Touch of Evil, Joe really needs to knock off the candy bars.  I may have closed my eyes for just a brief interval, but I opened them convinced I was watching that prescient classic Citizen Kane.   

Not content with the power that comes from his newspaper empire (and really just craving the love of The People), Kane runs for governor.  He makes all the right noises about his plans to lift up "the working man and the slum child," but the cornerstone of his campaign is a promise to prosecute and imprison Boss Jim Gettys.  It's an obsession, a mania, what we now would call Gettys Derangement Syndrome.  "I'm gonna put you in Sing Sing, Gettys!" he bellows dementedly.  Of course, it doesn't work out.  On election night his paper readies two possible headlines:  KANE ELECTED GOVERNOR and FRAUD AT POLLS!  (When Trump lost a primary or straw poll it was always because the process was "Corrupt!  Unfair!  Fraud!"  Imagine if Kane had had Twitter...)  At last we see Kane wandering around his hideous Florida estate under the eye of his sinister butler, abandoned by his wives and the few friends he has managed to make, smashing up furniture like a furious child and mumbling about Rosebud. 

Trump is no Charles Foster Kane.  There's a tragic grandeur about Kane that keeps us studying the film after seventy-five years.  "You know, Mr. Thatcher," he tells his old nemesis in a moment of insight, "if I hadn't been born rich I might have been a really great man."  If Trump hadn't been born rich he'd be the retired manager of a Wendy's, or possibly trying to put together a half-assed Madoff-type pyramid scheme.  There is no grandeur and certainly no capacity for insight, just greed, ego, malice, vanity and the black hole described by Tony Schwartz, the actual author of The Art of the Deal, perpetually unfilled.  Which would be bad enough if all he wanted was to be a governor.   

Friday, July 01, 2016

Oh, come on

Bill Clinton decides to have a clandestine, improper conversation with the Attorney General of the United States, presumably about the never-ending FBI investigation of Hillary Clinton's emails from four years ago.  Where does he hold this conversation?  In a parking garage beneath the Watergate?  On a beach near Asbury Park?  In his kitchen in Chappaqua?  No, in the middle of the Phoenix airport, surrounded by reporters with nothing to do but drink coffee and cobble a story out of absolutely anything.  Remember, this is Bill Clinton, not some barely sentient life-form like George Wanker Bush.  Plausible?

Meanwhile, the Trump, uh, "campaign" and a freshly-created Trump superPAC are bombarding legislators in half a dozen European countries and Australia with emails begging for cash contributions, which violates any number of well-established laws (and annoys the legislators).  Has anyone asked whether the Attorney General is investigating this?  Is she?  Or would that be "partisan"?

When you lean over backwards long enough, it's hard to straighten up.

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

False flag!

Everything you know about the "Orlando terrorist attack" is wrong.  I'm sorry, but it is.  There is no "Omar Mateen" (as opposed to Omar Mateen, a New York-born rent-a-cop whose identity was stolen by the Obama regime and who left Orlando for San Francisco (of course) last week.  Very early on June 12  "Mateen" called 911 (so the call would be recorded) and claimed to be shooting people in a gay dance club.  Reading from a script, he declared his loyalty to Hezbollah, the Shiite militia which supports Bashir al-Assad; to the  Sunni fighters of ISIS; and to al-Nusra, which is fighting against ISIS.  His handlers assumed most Americans would not notice the absurdity of this, and by and large, they were correct. 

In an immense conspiracy involving the entire city of Orlando state of Florida, all gay advocacy groups, and of course the Liberal Media, the Kenyan Usurper made his boldest bid yet to take away our guns before flying off to vacation (yeah, right!) in a National Park.  Also to present Mr. Donald J. Trump with an irresistible opportunity to make an ass of himself while simultaneously driving a wedge between him and his core constituency of freedom-loving Second Amendment militants.  They refused to believe the lies about Sandy Hook Elementary School, but once you put an assault rifle  in the hands of a "terrorist" -- well, what's an American supposed to think?  Or "think"?

Exactly.

Next:  What Jo Cox, MP, knew about the assassination of Vincent Foster and why she had to die.


 

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Wednesday, June 01, 2016

Short-fingered vulgarian

The sad vagabonds of the press, drifting in the wake of the Presumptive Republican Nominee, pulled themselves upright for a few moments yesterday to ask what became of all the millions of dollars the P.R.N. supposedly raised for "veterans' groups" some five months ago.  After the expected torrent of abuse for asking an unwelcome question which could in no way be answered with the phrase "crooked Hillary" or "Ya mean Pocahontas?" it was revealed that the money was remitted -- last week.  I was not surprised.  Shall I tell you why?

Where I come from, the term "short-fingered" has always meant "cheap."  As in "When the check came, his fingers were too short to reach his wallet."  As in "Why shouldn't this money sit in my account for a few months, earning interest for me?"  As in "Watch me drain the savings of less-than-bright old people with my fake university."  As they say, grifters gotta grift.  Anyone who took "short-fingered" to imply a lack of penile amplitude would have to suffer from a serious personality disorder, where I come from.

Need I go into "vulgarian"?  

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Sunday, May 15, 2016

Every day a little death

The pharmaceutical giant Pfizer announced on Friday that it had imposed sweeping controls on the distribution of its products to ensure that none are used in lethal injections, a step that closes off the last remaining open-market source of drugs used in executions.
Pfizer said it would restrict the sale to selected wholesalers of seven products that could be used in executions. The distributors must certify that they will not resell the drugs to corrections departments and will be closely monitored.
 
Not to worry, killer states.  Pfizer makes another product which is freely available and can be used to give the condemned an erection lasting over four hours.  Repeat as needed.
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Saturday, May 07, 2016

Hooray for New Math!

From Raw Story:

"An award-winning professor from Penn was removed from an American Airlines flight on Thursday after his seatmate reported him as a  terrorist based on watching him do some math calculations while waiting to take off...Guido Menzio was forced to explain to FBI officials that he was doing research..."

How do we know he wasn't radicalized by al-Gebra?  Children all over the country are exposed to this alien arithmetic.  I blame Common Core even though I have no idea what it is.  Barack HUSSEIN Obama!  It's not too late for impeachment, sheeple.

Tuesday, May 03, 2016

Spiders in Chernobyl weave deformed webs

That was the headline on my log-on page, and I know exactly how they feel.  (Are they catching mutant flies, who scream "HELP ME" in tiny voices?)  "When you awake, you will remember everything," The Band sang long ago.  That's the problem.  Am I awake?  I kept waiting for the Trump campaign to burn itself out or suppurate or something, but no.  It's as if, at the climax of A Face In the Crowd, Lonesome Rhodes went off on his audience and instead of outrage, they just smiled and said, "He's right, we are dumb shitheads.  He's so honest. Arthur Godfrey would never say that.  What a guy.  Let's give him the launch codes."

Surreality is the new reality.  Last night America was apparently informed that Rafael Cruz (the senator's father) was an associate of Lee Harvey Oswald.  (I have to say "apparently" because all I have is a Trump transcript, and it's easier to parse the Dead Sea Scrolls than his authentic Queens gibberish.)  That his source is the National Inquirer makes me long for the good old days, when Ronald Reagan got his information from the Reader's Digest, and Sarah Palin was unable to name any periodicals at all.  There were giants in the earth, we just didn't know it.  Trump is amoral, narcissistic, detached from reality and a pathological liar.  If it's true, does it matter that this acute character analysis comes from the equally disgusting Ted Cruz?  And that even John Boehner called Cruz (in an uncharacteristic burst of eloquence) "Lucifer incarnate"?  At what point does this enemy-of-my-enemy-of-my-enemy fugue turn into a wilderness of mirrors?  (Fugue?  Mirrors?  You see what I've been brought to?)  When do we awake?

I have an apocalyptic vision of my own, and it's called an Open Convention.  On the streets of Cleveland where Harvey Pekar once walked, I want a Second Amendment face-off between the Tedophiles and the Stormtrumpers.  I want the National Guard to come in at the end and kill the wounded.  I want American splendor and deformed spider webs. 

Jesus, I can't face another six months of this.