Illegitimate president
Illegitimate “war”
High crimes
Misdemeanors
Premeditated mendacity
Sanctioned corruption
Political perversion
Democratic subversion
One can only take so much
Of this folly of fools
Think I’ll go to the backyard
See if the snapdragons are blooming
Listen to the sparrows
Study a worm
Wait for a swallowtail
Come back inside
Hug my wife
Kiss my kids
Sink into the real
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Truth in Whoring
Give the Republicans credit for sticking to the Party line, no matter what. When it comes down to a choice between average citizens and their corporate, well-heeled, business-lobby constituents, the Republicans choose the latter every time. The decision is a no-brainer. Whoever lines their pockets gets their vote, pure and simple. It’s the best Democracy money can buy.
Yesterday, by a near straight party-line vote, the Republican controlled senate killed an amendment that would have increased the minimum wage for the first time in a decade. During that decade, Congress raised its own pay by about $35 grand.
Working people on the low end of the economic ladder can’t catch a break. If you toil at minimum wage for forty hours a week, you will languish below the Federal poverty line. You won’t make it, pure and simple.
It’s about time we have some truth in labeling from our Congressional representatives. Therefore, I propose that every member of the House, and every member of the Senate, be required to sport the logo of his or her corporate sponsor(s). Like NASCAR race cars, let’s plaster the suit coats and trousers and blouses of Dennis Hastert and Rick Santorum and Hillary Clinton with corporate logos so that we can easily identify the constituents they serve. Forget the pretense of representing citizen interests -- let’s call a diamond a diamond, a spade a spade; if you serve Exxon in Congress, wear the Exxon logo. If you shill for Wal-Mart, wear the Wal-Mart logo on the seat of your trousers, if you’re in bed with CitiGroup, wear their name.
Let’s mark the people’s “representatives” for who and what they are: corporate whores.
Yesterday, by a near straight party-line vote, the Republican controlled senate killed an amendment that would have increased the minimum wage for the first time in a decade. During that decade, Congress raised its own pay by about $35 grand.
Working people on the low end of the economic ladder can’t catch a break. If you toil at minimum wage for forty hours a week, you will languish below the Federal poverty line. You won’t make it, pure and simple.
It’s about time we have some truth in labeling from our Congressional representatives. Therefore, I propose that every member of the House, and every member of the Senate, be required to sport the logo of his or her corporate sponsor(s). Like NASCAR race cars, let’s plaster the suit coats and trousers and blouses of Dennis Hastert and Rick Santorum and Hillary Clinton with corporate logos so that we can easily identify the constituents they serve. Forget the pretense of representing citizen interests -- let’s call a diamond a diamond, a spade a spade; if you serve Exxon in Congress, wear the Exxon logo. If you shill for Wal-Mart, wear the Wal-Mart logo on the seat of your trousers, if you’re in bed with CitiGroup, wear their name.
Let’s mark the people’s “representatives” for who and what they are: corporate whores.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Distract & Conquer
I dipped my toe in the mainstream entertainment media this morning, checked out a few minutes of Good Morning America, found it more tolerable than usual because Diane Sawyer was on vacation. Diane gives me a pain in the ass, though she doesn’t irritate me as much as Katie Couric.
Anyway, this morning Bush was on, jabbering to the press about his recent trip to Baghdad, and how great things are turning out over there. Yes, Bush checked into the Green Zone – the only territory in the entire country that is reasonably safe – and met a few hand-picked Iraqis, posed for photo-ops, and generally did his level best not to make a fool of himself. After all, this is an election year and Bush’s approval rating is hovering around 37%. Most Americans have finally woken up to the fact that the Iraq Invasion/Occupation is a total failure, with 2,500 Americans killed, thousands of Iraqis killed or maimed, and billions of dollars poured down the shithole.
Never one to stress about inconvenient facts, Bush was still beating the dead dog, mouthing “stay the course,” and “remain until we succeed,” and so on. In short, the usual unconvincing blather.
The sputtering heads at GMA then announced the results of a recent poll which indicated that those Americans surveyed are concerned about Iraq, immigration, gay marriage and abortion, though not necessarily in that order. That a fairly large number of Americans list immigration, abortion and gay marriage as their chief concerns is testament to how thoroughly the Right controls the agenda and debate on our fruited plain.
Why should the average American give a rat’s ass about abortion and gay marriage when the wages of working people are stagnant, when health care is a disaster, when gasoline prices are at record highs (at least in this pampered nation; Euros have paid even higher fuel prices for years) and official government policy is to transfer as much wealth upwards as it can? The answer is that gay marriage and abortion are simply distractions.
Distract and conquer, that’s the Rovean mantra. The people are ignorant, so busy scratching for the crumbs left by the wealthy that they don’t realize how thoroughly we’re screwing them. While they argue about gay marriage we steal them blind! If that’s not pure genius I don’t know what is! He He He He. They don’t call me Bush’s brain for nothing! I am the man! All we have to do to manipulate those dipshits is raise the specter of legalized gay marriage and willy-nilly abortion on demand. It’s like taking cookies from a toddler. And when a few of them start to see the rough outlines of our grand scheme, all it takes is repetition of our mantra, like “small business,” “tax relief,” and “American competitiveness.” It’s so easy that it should be illegal. He He He He.
And the Democrats, the supposed champions of the working class, well, they can’t find their asshole with both hands. It’s as easy to hoodwink them into playing by our rules and debating in our language as it is to fool the “people” into thinking that abortion is more important than the economy. Yes, distract and conquer. I live for this!
Anyway, this morning Bush was on, jabbering to the press about his recent trip to Baghdad, and how great things are turning out over there. Yes, Bush checked into the Green Zone – the only territory in the entire country that is reasonably safe – and met a few hand-picked Iraqis, posed for photo-ops, and generally did his level best not to make a fool of himself. After all, this is an election year and Bush’s approval rating is hovering around 37%. Most Americans have finally woken up to the fact that the Iraq Invasion/Occupation is a total failure, with 2,500 Americans killed, thousands of Iraqis killed or maimed, and billions of dollars poured down the shithole.
Never one to stress about inconvenient facts, Bush was still beating the dead dog, mouthing “stay the course,” and “remain until we succeed,” and so on. In short, the usual unconvincing blather.
The sputtering heads at GMA then announced the results of a recent poll which indicated that those Americans surveyed are concerned about Iraq, immigration, gay marriage and abortion, though not necessarily in that order. That a fairly large number of Americans list immigration, abortion and gay marriage as their chief concerns is testament to how thoroughly the Right controls the agenda and debate on our fruited plain.
Why should the average American give a rat’s ass about abortion and gay marriage when the wages of working people are stagnant, when health care is a disaster, when gasoline prices are at record highs (at least in this pampered nation; Euros have paid even higher fuel prices for years) and official government policy is to transfer as much wealth upwards as it can? The answer is that gay marriage and abortion are simply distractions.
Distract and conquer, that’s the Rovean mantra. The people are ignorant, so busy scratching for the crumbs left by the wealthy that they don’t realize how thoroughly we’re screwing them. While they argue about gay marriage we steal them blind! If that’s not pure genius I don’t know what is! He He He He. They don’t call me Bush’s brain for nothing! I am the man! All we have to do to manipulate those dipshits is raise the specter of legalized gay marriage and willy-nilly abortion on demand. It’s like taking cookies from a toddler. And when a few of them start to see the rough outlines of our grand scheme, all it takes is repetition of our mantra, like “small business,” “tax relief,” and “American competitiveness.” It’s so easy that it should be illegal. He He He He.
And the Democrats, the supposed champions of the working class, well, they can’t find their asshole with both hands. It’s as easy to hoodwink them into playing by our rules and debating in our language as it is to fool the “people” into thinking that abortion is more important than the economy. Yes, distract and conquer. I live for this!
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Reading Barbara Ehrenreich
Got nothing that important to say. Who has anything important to say? Hasn’t it all been said, by poets and writers and mystics and seers? Henry Miller, where are you now? Watch the NBA Finals on the tube or the Daily Show or some dry-ass government access program that features white right-wing Republicans pawing over thirteen-year-old Thai virgins. Vapid, no wonder millions of Americans take anti-depressants, sleeping pills, bladder control pills, blood pressure pills, etc. A nation of pill-poppers and Bible thumpers, and no hypocrisy anywhere in sight. We babble for hours about gay marriage, how immoral it is, how dangerous to the national moral fabric, but it’s perfectly acceptable to drop 1000lb. smart-bombs on innocent Iraqi civilians. Morality, American style. What a country! It’s a wonderful place to be really, really rich.
Sorry, been reading Barbara Ehrenreich again, and while she stimulates my mind, she always depresses the hell out of me. Are we fucked, Barbara, royally fucked? “Definitely, my friend! Definitely!” Yeah, I know, I was just hoping for a light in this cave, a way out of and beyond the Wasteland of Bush Jr. It’s a carnival house of mirrors, with two-headed clowns and men with three arms roaming about with scythes and loaded pistols. Hear ye, hear ye, if you are not white like Tom DeLay, and worshipping with Pat Robertson, and banging Ann Coulter on the side, forget about making it here. We will eat you alive if you’re lucky, or let you die slow if you’re not.
Right, this is the American Dream, to roam the landscape freely and without official interference, to own the freedom to break the law from time to time, drive a little tipsy, puff a fat joint at a Neil Young show, perhaps engage in an extra-marital affair, and still live to tell about it. Christ, these days there’s some addled Christian avenger at every turn. Smoke some dope? Fifteen years. Drive drunk? See you in the lethal injection chamber. Covet another man’s wife? Death by dismemberment. Yes, this is our age in all its perversity. And that’s only the bad news from the social front, wait till you see what we have in store for you on the economic side. Oh, boy, we are going to ream you so thoroughly that you will beg for more. We will shut your factory, outsource your job to India, beat unions into submission, and oh this is great, transfer the maximum amount of risk from the shoulders of government to your shoulders. Oh, baby! Health insurance…gasoline…four walls and a roof…you know what? You’re going down to the bottom rung of the ladder. We’ll preach the gospel of self-reliance and free trade and global competition and rig the system so it’s You’re Own Your Own, Dude, all across the land, and then watch you slink your poor, stupid ass down to the corner Wal-Mart to buy some shit made in China by a twelve-year-old kid who is chained to the fucking machine, with a cup of water and a bowl of rice to eat. Yeah, you’ll forget all that harsh reality when you come into our Hall of Bargains. You’ll gasp, you’ll drool, you’ll beat your chest, you’ll jump up and down, you’ll scream, you’ll pass gas, you’ll belch just like your Uncle Clem does after every meal. Your pig eyes will pop out of your head and your teeth will rattle in the gums.
America. America. America. Can you hear me now? You’re in Good Hands. In God We Trust. (And in his holy name we steal, maim, destroy, rape, violate, penetrate, eviscerate, you get the picture.) Yeah, it’s just another night in the burbs, middle-American bliss, staring slack-jawed at American Idol – or some hyperactive couple in the midst of remodeling a ski lodge in eastern Wyoming. Doug, should we vault the ceiling or demo the living room? Brought to you by Chevrolet! Ask your doctor about Cialis. Old men in retirement homes, amped on Viagara, chasing male nurses down the brightly-lit halls, pawing underage volunteers sent over from the high school. Seventy-nine-year-old man with a hard-on that lasts four hours. Hard as when he was seventeen! It’s a miracle. How do them smart people do that? Make a limp dick rise like a skyscraper. Maybe it’s God’s will. You remember what Tom Waits said about God and the devil, don’t you? “There ain’t no devil/that’s just God when he’s drunk.” Thanks for clearing that up, Tom. You’re probably right. God on a bender and messing with his little invention, the human race. I’m drunk and angry and I think I’ll pour some molten lava on ‘em, just to see what they’ll do. He he he. Laughing when he snaps his fingers and makes it happen. Sound of steam hissing from the Earth.
Barbara, baby, this is all your fault.
Sorry, been reading Barbara Ehrenreich again, and while she stimulates my mind, she always depresses the hell out of me. Are we fucked, Barbara, royally fucked? “Definitely, my friend! Definitely!” Yeah, I know, I was just hoping for a light in this cave, a way out of and beyond the Wasteland of Bush Jr. It’s a carnival house of mirrors, with two-headed clowns and men with three arms roaming about with scythes and loaded pistols. Hear ye, hear ye, if you are not white like Tom DeLay, and worshipping with Pat Robertson, and banging Ann Coulter on the side, forget about making it here. We will eat you alive if you’re lucky, or let you die slow if you’re not.
Right, this is the American Dream, to roam the landscape freely and without official interference, to own the freedom to break the law from time to time, drive a little tipsy, puff a fat joint at a Neil Young show, perhaps engage in an extra-marital affair, and still live to tell about it. Christ, these days there’s some addled Christian avenger at every turn. Smoke some dope? Fifteen years. Drive drunk? See you in the lethal injection chamber. Covet another man’s wife? Death by dismemberment. Yes, this is our age in all its perversity. And that’s only the bad news from the social front, wait till you see what we have in store for you on the economic side. Oh, boy, we are going to ream you so thoroughly that you will beg for more. We will shut your factory, outsource your job to India, beat unions into submission, and oh this is great, transfer the maximum amount of risk from the shoulders of government to your shoulders. Oh, baby! Health insurance…gasoline…four walls and a roof…you know what? You’re going down to the bottom rung of the ladder. We’ll preach the gospel of self-reliance and free trade and global competition and rig the system so it’s You’re Own Your Own, Dude, all across the land, and then watch you slink your poor, stupid ass down to the corner Wal-Mart to buy some shit made in China by a twelve-year-old kid who is chained to the fucking machine, with a cup of water and a bowl of rice to eat. Yeah, you’ll forget all that harsh reality when you come into our Hall of Bargains. You’ll gasp, you’ll drool, you’ll beat your chest, you’ll jump up and down, you’ll scream, you’ll pass gas, you’ll belch just like your Uncle Clem does after every meal. Your pig eyes will pop out of your head and your teeth will rattle in the gums.
America. America. America. Can you hear me now? You’re in Good Hands. In God We Trust. (And in his holy name we steal, maim, destroy, rape, violate, penetrate, eviscerate, you get the picture.) Yeah, it’s just another night in the burbs, middle-American bliss, staring slack-jawed at American Idol – or some hyperactive couple in the midst of remodeling a ski lodge in eastern Wyoming. Doug, should we vault the ceiling or demo the living room? Brought to you by Chevrolet! Ask your doctor about Cialis. Old men in retirement homes, amped on Viagara, chasing male nurses down the brightly-lit halls, pawing underage volunteers sent over from the high school. Seventy-nine-year-old man with a hard-on that lasts four hours. Hard as when he was seventeen! It’s a miracle. How do them smart people do that? Make a limp dick rise like a skyscraper. Maybe it’s God’s will. You remember what Tom Waits said about God and the devil, don’t you? “There ain’t no devil/that’s just God when he’s drunk.” Thanks for clearing that up, Tom. You’re probably right. God on a bender and messing with his little invention, the human race. I’m drunk and angry and I think I’ll pour some molten lava on ‘em, just to see what they’ll do. He he he. Laughing when he snaps his fingers and makes it happen. Sound of steam hissing from the Earth.
Barbara, baby, this is all your fault.
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