Friday, June 25, 2010

What Else Should You Do With a Kid in a Laundromat?

If the new $1.60 tax on a pack of smokes wasn't outrageous enough, now we find out that many city laundromats have been installing (illegal) cut-rate slot machines! Many of these laundromats,incidentally, happen to be in "low-income" (read: Deadbeat) neighborhoods, and while the machines are illegal, since enforcing the law will eventually mean "taking cops off the street" (in New York, everything eventually means "taking cops off the street" or "teachers out the classroom"), it wouldn't surprise me if the City and State didn't find away to just say "Fuck it!"... and then tax that, too. Of course, pretty soon all we'll hear is how "the poor" are being preyed upon by these machines, and the Children are getting hooked on gambling.

Within a week, there will be a story in the Daily News about some 12 year-old who has gunned down his classmates for their quarters, so he could get his laundromat fix on. It'll almost be safer to walk the streets of Harlem -- at 3 a.m., stark naked, "Rob Me!" written across your forehead in fluorescent ink, and with an asscrack full of $100 bills -- then it will be to enter a laundromat with loose change in your pocket.

Official: Pot Now Cheaper Than Tobacco...

Only in New York will a pack of smokes set you back a whopping $12.00!

I've said for the longest time that the reason behind the increasing taxes on cigarettes was to make every New Yorker want to turn to drugs so that our elected douchebags can continue to pick our pockets, only by then none of us will notice.

It's the same song every year: the cost of healthcare is breaking the bank. The State needs more money, or the hospitals will all close, and we'll all die of ingrown hemorrhoids or something. Smokers, because they engage in a habit that leads to serious health problems that tends to require expensive courses of treatments, should be expected to shoulder this burden, because it's because of THEM that the State has to spend these outrageous sums.

Umm, no.

The reasons why New York State has to devote so much money to pay for healthcare, are;

a) it's paying for the care for those who don't pay for it themselves, like the welfare queens, illegal immigrants, the"poor" (who all seem to have Bluetooth and Patent-leather Air Jordans, while I don't; "The Poor are the Rich That Jesus Warned You About" -- Kathy Shaidle),

b) is paying for the care of people who engage in even riskier behavior, which require even more expensive treatments, but who are also politically-protected (or cossetted) classes, especially AIDS victims, blacks, IV Drug users, and crack addicts,

c) The asswipes in Albany have never heard, apparently, of an effective cost-containment strategy known as "tightening one's belt" or "economizing", or even -- dare I say it? -- privatization,

d) The State government continues to mandate payments for conditions and procedures that have nothing to do with people's basic healthcare needs (like...ahem..."Family Planning", sex-change procedures, needle exchange programs).

e) The State mandates that insurance companies also pay for these non-basic healthcare requirements, and then add a laundry list of even more ridiculous procedures and treatments (like penile implants and vasectomies),

f) The State allows illegal immigrants to use our emergency rooms for every need from a case of the sniffles to multiple gunshot wounds without even making an attempt to 1) collect a dime from these people, and 2) deport their fucking asses after they've been treated,

g) The Fed'ral Gubmint mandates coverages and treatments, and then leaves the responsibility of paying for them to the States,

h) We have a bunch of pig-ignorant political ticket-punchers in both Albany and Washington, D.C.. For some of them, ticket-puncher might actually describe more work than they actually do,

i) The healthcare unions in this state goon strike every fifteen minutes, until the guy who wheels you to-and-from the hospital door gets paid six-figures and has nine weeks of paid vacation, can retire at 59-1/2 with a fat pension, and can't get fired short of committing multiple child rape, and the dismemberment-murder of a miniature poodle in front of 12 witnesses and a video camera,

j) The Lawyers treat the medical malpractice system like a personal feeding trough where it's somehow a doctor's fault if your child was born with Cerebral Palsy, harelip or Forked tongue, prehensile tail and other GENETIC defects, and you can sue his ass into another galaxy for it.

k) Medical science is making it possible for people to live longer (or is it really just linger longer?) with health issues that once would have killed them off relatively young. Many of these people are elderly, and rely heavily on city health services to supplement what State and Federal Medicare won't cover or provide.

Okay, I can see the point of encouraging people not to smoke by making it prohibitively expensive. But then what happens when enough smokers actually quit because of the high price? Why, then the expected tax revenue which justified the tax increase in the first place just might dry up faster than Hillary Clinton's teat at a Sahara Desert Shamwow convention! And then, of course, the "solution" will be to raise cig taxes again, naturally! The concept that smokers tend to die younger (thus consuming fewer healthcare resources!) is never even seriously entertained. Cutting the fat from the system is a laughable suggestion. Saying "No" to the unions, the lawyers, the deadbeats and the druggies gets you a queer look, as if you've just landed from Mars and have asked for a Sarsaparilla and a blowjob.

Soon, some clueless douchebag of a City Councilman will wonder where the hell the smokers all went, while lamenting the closure of yet another city-run hospital, the predictable result of the very policies he's advocated for years! New York politicians are dumber and denser -- and less in-touch with reality --than the national norm, you know.

But then again, this is New York City/State, and if someone suggested to the Mayor, Governor and Assembly Speaker there was a buck to be made by recycling the undigested corn in your stool, they'd find a way to tax you per cob. Those Regal personages can't be expected to engage in common-sense solutions to these problems -- or even make tough decisions on them -- because they're too busy addressing the really vital issues of the day: making sure you don't get too much sugar in your doughnut, too much salt in your street meat -- or have too much cash in your wallet.

Or something similarly Earth-shatteringly important, like this.

I say that instead of lighting up a Marlboro, perhaps it's high time to light up the statehouse in Albany, and Gracie Mansion. Of course, even saying that here facetiously will probably earn me a visit from the NYPD. Judging from the whopping 1-hour-and-16-minutes it took them to respond to a a two-car accident in front of my house two days ago --- when the Precinct House is but a mere 11blocks away -- I can probably expect the SWAT team to arrive on-or-about Columbus Day.

I expect that within a month's time, we'll be hearing that the "Loosey" will become the new underground currency of choice-- replacing the overinflated, Chinese-financed, ObamaDollar Monopoly money we use now -- and enterprising drug dealers will soon be dealing in Lucky Strikes instead of heroin because of the higher profit margin.

Dipshits, all.

Words I'd Thought I Would Never Type...

"Al Gore" and "Sex Scandal". In the same sentence. Allegedly.

Though I struggle not to form some mental picture of the Goremeister wrapped in a towel, rivulets of white, doughy flesh hanging over the tuck, my inner eye has just such an image burned into it. The very thought is profoundly disturbing, and if I don't keep my guard up, it pops, unbidden, back into my tortured mind and activates the gag reflex. I've thrown up into my own mouth so many times in the past week that no amount of toothpaste or Scope will wash away the lingering taste of involuntary bile. Even Cayenne and Jalapenos have not scoured the residue of nausea away.

The scene my subconscious insists on creating has me on the verge of committing a violent act, as if the release of all that pent up disgust and rage will somehow scrub the grey matter clean of the mental version of ring-around-the-tub. I shan't link to any of the stories floating on the Web because they'll only make you projectile vomit, but all the highlights of this sordid..ahem...affair (allegedly) are included. It's always the same unwanted vision running through the diseased landscape of my inner mind:

"...His swollen, puffy, corpulent body lay stretched out upon the masseuse table, face-down. A towel covers his flabbier parts, but he's still clenching his butt cheeks together in an attempt to leave the impression that there's still a few remnants of sinewy youth there beneath it all. His manly back, covered in a thick, Brillo-like fur, was glistening with scented oils and lotions. Somewhere in the background, Barry Manilow was softly playing; the Muzak of the Rutting Bore. Manilow knew how to make chicks cream. Al had selected it exactly for this purpose. The masseuse, a vision of early-middle-aged American womanhood -- thrice-divorced, a stray hair protruding from the mole on her chin, face frozen in a mask of permanent surprise from the combination of poor eyebrow-pencil skills and Botox, the Low-End-Store-Brand-Danny-Kaye-Auburn dye job -- leaned over the Beached Whale of an ex-Vice President in that starched, institutional-green smock that always turned him on because it reminded him so of the Good Old Days of Soviet Communism. She was rubbing away the knots and strains of the rough-and-tumble universe of The Sanctimonious Bullshit World Tour, and the absolute Roman-Coliseum Fishbowl that was the Modern Indulgence Selling that used to characterize much of pre-Reformation Christianity, but which still smelled slightly enough of capitalism that the rubes hardly even noticed.

Her strong hands, much like her donkey-like Slavic ankles, swollen from so much water-retention that she had been unable to file the Last Wedding Ring from her finger -- even though her last divorce was finalized five years before -- found a tender spot. The Gorebot winced momentarily, and then relaxed as her expert digits rubbed the tension away. He sighed, a sound that was almost half-seal-bark-half-phlegmy-rattle. She paused to pluck an errant, wire-stiff back hair or two from under her fingernail, and in that moment, the former Vice-President-in-Litigation made his move. With a great deal of grunting but less struggle than usual he had turned over on the table, and a hint of his manhood became visible as a bump under the hospital-white towel, like a miniature Washington Monument caught beneath the the thick, cold layers of another Ice Age. But that was an illusion: were it not for the triple-layered rolls of belly fat that slid past his waistline and sloughed off between his spongy, varicose-veined thighs, there just might be a whole whopping four, perhaps four-and-a quarter, inches of pulsing Inconvenient Truth lurking beneath that linen.

She was taken aback. She caught her breath, a staccato-sigh of surprise, nay, perhaps even fear. She tried not to look, but couldn't help herself; for even laying down the Vice-President's boobs were strangely bigger than her own, with great, fleshy, earth-toned nipples and the same thick, stiff hairs pointing out of them. They strangely reminded her of Sputnik for a moment, and she was caught in a web of confusion, embarrassment...and lust? She flushed and appeared faint, the first sign of the coming glow of perspiration began to darken the smock beneath her armpits. Her slightly fried-onion-y underarm scent aroused him further -- but this hunter liked to play with his prey first.

"They all react that first", said Al. His dark eyes looked into hers. They were hypnotic, but she could not decide if it was because he was such a magnificent specimen of Old-Money-Hypocrite-middle-aged pork, or because even when he spoke in short sentences he was still such a dashing figure of bone-crushing boredom and banality. She stepped away from the table, but he grabbed her wrist -- gently-yet-firmly and still somehow clammy-and-slimy. She was strangely aroused and repulsed, all at once.

" You know", Al begins., "I was the Inspiration for Love Story..."

Her Drug-store false eyelashes fluttered, her face reddened, and she nervously licked at her lips. Al knew that he had her now; they all fell for that line. Tipper fell hard for it --- that and the inherited Controlling Interest in Standard Oil. So did that Naomi Wolff, that little vixen. He began to remember fondly the whole minutes he had held Naomi in the sodden grip of flop-sweaty passion. It had been his crowning achievement, and had infused him with a sense of manhood that he had not felt since the days when he was writing for Stars and Stripes and pretending to be fighting the War in Vietnam until Daddy could pull enough strings. He remembered the blazing fire of the assault upon Tipper's head on the campaign trail, when he appeared so passionate and devoted to her that he almost sucked her into his being as if he were sucking the Bavarian Cream from the center of a doughnut.

Yes...panting feminists and women in prisons everywhere around the world mailed him their soiled underwear for months after that. Not even Clinton got that sort of love. But that was all in the past; the future, for at least the next three-to-five minutes -- more if he could manage to contain the raging Beast Totem in the Towel -- was now there before him. She was panting now, her chest ( with one breast hanging four inches below the other, and the thick, reinforced underwire of her brassiere became visible beneath the fabric ("Steel-Belted Radials", All liked to call those. He wondered, "Front-loader or back-loader?) was heaving like the stormy North Atlantic.

The Goremeister had caused a Storm in her Maidenforms. She was dead in his sights now.

"Don't be afraid, Yummymuffins. I may have invented the Internet, but no one will know of our passion. It will be OUR guilty secret...".

She wilted at that, delivered as it was with a slight Southern drawl and that sibilant-yet-slightly-effeminate "s" of his. She was now all his. He pulled her closer and began to negotiate the towel so that his throbbing, massive-relative-to-your-average-cocker-spaniel Pelvis Bazooka -- the Green Hornet, as he liked to call it -- could be unleashed in all of it's glory. Yes...she was well-and-truly his, and She would be yet another notch in his ever-expanding belt. There was a flash, like lightning. A quick stirring in his loins, an explosion of ecstasy that caused white-hot spots to float before his eyes, and which made him slightly dizzy thanks to the Watered-Down-Canadian-Healthcare System Viagra he had been taking, and he had marked her forever with a hot load of Environmentally-friendly Man-Milk...all over that sexy-as-a-Phony-Carbon-Credit-Sold-Under-False-Pretenses (allegedly) starched smock. "Mark your territory well", Bill had always told him. It was a valuable lesson. He held her gaze for another seven, maybe ten seconds, so that she could bask in the afterglow. All women needed to bask. Al knew this, being the quiet, passionate, unselfish type who always saw to a woman's needs.

"I'll bet you keep that smock forever, Snugglelumps. No one does it like ManBearPig". She sighed, and was about to speak. "No...not another word about it", he said as he pressed his thoroughly-gooey finger gently across her lips. "We must part now, and keep our Runaway Passion a secret, for those parts of the planet that manage to avoid being flooded by sea-level rise, de-forested by the Inhumanity of Mankind, the shores piled waist-deep in drowned polar bears, all destroyed in the Name of the Internal Combustion Engine, burned to the ground by Acid Rain, or frosted over by the Next Ice Age could never understand what passes between us...".

With that, Al Gore, The Love-em-and-Leave-'Em Ambassador of Mother Gaia, wiped his sexed-up hand upon her cheek, hitched his towel back into place, and in a motion that was reminiscent of a crippled walrus trying to refloat itself from a shingle beach, swung the massive U.S.D.A. Grade-A hamhocks he called legs off the table, and waddled to the door, leaving a tangled mat of greasy back hairs on the smooth, vinyl surface of the table. An Oil Slick of Romance. He paused to give her one last, piercing come-hither look from his watery-yet-still-somehow-smouldering eyes, that bulged out from beneath his Just-for-Men-treated eyebrows, only to find that she was vomiting copiously upon the floor.

It was always the same. Al always had that effect on women; he made them all sooooo fucking hot -- hotter than a rapidly-heating atmosphere burdened with the excess carbon dioxide of a civilization intent upon it's own doom -- that their bodies just could not withstand the onslaught. Now that his Inner-Beast had been Unleashed, he set about seeking more nubile prey. There must be a sixty-plus-year-old T.V. satirist's wife just dying to be Gored by Gore...."

And now you know why I've been puking for a week...

Me and my goddamned imagination! I won't sleep for a year.

There's Money in That Thar' Shyte!

So, here I am, looking for a new start and wondering just what the hell I'm going to do with whatever time I have left before cancer, or some Islamic Nutjob with an Explosives Fetish, finally finishes me off for good.

Prospects have been, for a very long time, bleak. I mean, I spent my early working years doing "Brain Work" -- I was Computer Operator for a decade, and then a Data Center Manager for five years, and then a System's Automation programmer for five years after that. I'm not exactly the kind of guy who knows one end of a hammer from another, and when someone asks me to pass a screwdriver, I start looking for the Absolut bottle. In fact, asking me to work with my hands (unless you're a Lady, wink-wink) is a dangerous thing; I haven't fixed anything of value since I did that nasty thing to my dog with a fork (just kidding). There's not much Brain Work to be done, nowadays,and when there is it usually requires ridiculous qualifications (this is done purposely to discourage "Cattle Call" interviews of potential candidates....and discrimination lawsuits).

I've tried finding more "White Collar" work since my illness, and the subsequent destruction of my chosen profession in recent years; I have done some "Contract" work (only to find I'm not Asian, or cheap, enough to get steady work, even when I drop my price).There have been a few technology "side jobs" here and there, and once, I even tried to sell Green Energy (door-to-door) to sanctimonious assholes who simply loved the idea of the Green Economy...until they find out what it costs.

I've tried to apply for government jobs, only to find that I'm a) Too White, b) Too Male, and c) Too Smart, which puts me at the bottom of any hiring list for those plum Municipal and Federal jobs that require little thought, no sense of responsibility, and the ability to simply occupy a desk for 20 years until the prospect of "Early Retirement" with a generous pension kicks in. At this point, my only viable career options were beginning to look like "Pimp" or "Mafioso".

Ah, but then came all those internet thingies that say "Qualify for Job Training Funds in Your Area!", that I usually delete as spam before they even get comfortable in the inbox. But then one day, I figured "Why the fuck not?" and clicked away, and was actually surprised when one of them actually turned out to be legitimate. Wouldn't you know it; there really are a few (very few) "programs" that Straight White Guys might (key word) actually qualify for!

Serendipity having called, I responded, and found that there were a wide array of careers open to me, but that they don't fall under the categories that one might consider "careers", as much as they are "trades". Certainly, there must be a trade for me, right? Well, I considered culinary arts at first, specifically, baker or pastry chef. I could get the money for that, and even if the hours suck and the job can be messy, it's at least better than digging trenches or pumping gas, right?

But the pay sucks, and the one thing I'm not willing to do is take low pay -- I once had a six-figure income, and dammit, I'm going to have one again. So, I did some thinking (a dangerous thing), and my train of thought led me here:

We live in a world of shit. It's full of people who are full of shit, obsessed with their own shit, and enamoured of the smell of their own shit. I'm surrounded by assholes who pour forth the most inane an uninteresting --and often, frightening -- shit you can imagine, and just when you thought things couldn't get worse, scatalogically-speaking, the whole thing is run by politicians and businessmen who are experts at flinging bullshit with both hands. And when they're not trying to sell you a load of crap, they're all in the commode grunting and pinching some off. There's money to be made in Shit, if you're willing to be an unabashed opportunist (just ask lawyers, psychotherapists, political consultants, and Used Car Salesmen).

So, I've decided that I'm gonna take that grant money -- and go to plumbing school -- where, hopefully, they finally teach me that a wrench is not something you monkey with, or throw into the works, and that when you screw or nail something, it had better not have breasts and a heartbeat, or an irate boyfriend.

When Life hands you Shit...Learn to become a Horsefly. The Path to Being Waist-Deep in Cash is to be Knee-Deep in Shit, First.

In addition to the plumbing training I'll be receiving, this school will also teach me the finer points of tile work, a bonus when you stop to consider that there's more to the Plumber's Life than clogged toilets and leaky faucets -- there's also kitchen and bathroom renovations to be had (as well as heating systems, septic, pool and solar-heating systems). I expect to be "apprenticing" after training for a couple of years, but at least I'll have a license that says "This Guy Knows His Shit". I expect that the average workday will leave me...ahem...pooped (groan!)... but let's face it -- if there's any sort of work that people will pay top dollar for, in any economy, it'll be of the "Keep that Shit Away from Me!" sort.

Wish me Luck with this Shit.

P.S. - Imagine my surprise when I went to the "Retraining Center" and ran into not one, but THREE guys that I used to work with back "In the Day" -- a "real" programmer (master's degree, and former teacher!), an Electronics Engineer (former IBM Field Engineer), and another man with both a CNE and MCSE -- a veritable Networking Guru of Newtonian ability -- all with more than 20 years of experience "in the field".

The sad truth is that unless you're willing to relocate to some godawful place like North Dakota, or worse, Punjab, Magnitogorsk or Jakarta, and work for less money than the typical Dental Hygienist makes, you ain't finding high-tech work. Even the sort they advertise for in North Carolina and Texas are less "Tech" and more "after-sale-support". Unless you want to work 93 hours a week on contract for a major software developer who can break the contract just because it's partly-cloudy-with-a-chance-of-showers, you're not going to work in the sharp-end of the technology field at all... especially if you're 40+ and don't have a degree.

The scuttlebutt amongst my three former colleagues is that many people they've known "in the business" , have either picked up a trade (carpentry, painting, electrical work, roofing), or taken jobs driving buses, joining Law Enforcement, or had become the subject of a "Deadliest Catch" or "Dirty Jobs" episode or two. A few were lucky -- relatively speaking -- and died young (all seem to have died from problems usually associated with overwork and stress, like sudden heart attacks and strokes), with not a few suicides. The time was when the field was an "interior" one, restricted to those who did it, and those who knew about it, and the "community" here in New York was rather small. It was not unusual to work with someone for a couple of years, part ways and not see or speak to each other again, only to wind up working in the same joint a decade later -- where everyone knew the same people and told the same stories.

It seems the "community" is getting smaller, and less-personal, and the "Old Breed" is rapidly disappearing.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Something Annoying...

With regards to the double-edged sword of Obama Criticism by those "on the right";

We hear almost every day that President Odickhead is in over his head. He lacks Executive Experience, and this makes him an ineffective leader, as well as contributes to his confusion about how "government should work". We are beginning to hear the brilliant formulation that Obambi "never really wanted this job" (nah, he only spent half-a-billion of other people's money, and invented 57 states to visit, and took all the Birther and Jeremiah Wright stuff for shits and giggles). They suggest that, maybe, he takes far too many vacations and breaks, because he's not up to the task of governing? He's totally unqualified for the office, runs roughshod over the Constitution leading some to question if he has ever even read it. He's a tool of the Left -- or worse -- of the Evil Triad of Emanuel, Pelosi and Reid.

That's when he isn't a total tool of the Unions and the environMENTALISTS, and George Soros, and that when he isn't mollycoddling terrorists and bowing to foreign potentates. He's a Manchurian Candidate from Hawaii and Indonesia, sent to restore the Comintern. He's capable of trying to turn the United States into a New Soviet Union (on a bad day), or a new Greece (on a good one), apparently all by himself, and despite his lack of acumen and ability, which is just an act, you know.

They complain that his "vision" is Un-American, that term typically being defined by the same people who bought George W. Bush's "Jesus is my favorite political philosopher" spiel. American-ess is now being judged by what church you attend, whether or not you wear the flag on your lapel, and all that which passes muster with a crowd of people, who, if they could, would burn fags at the stake, and frog-march abortionists to the ovens. And do so cheerfully if their Pastor told them it was the will of the Almighty. He's arrogant, continually turning a deaf ear to the will of the"American People".

Why, Barack Obama is perhaps the worst thing to happen to America since Jimmy Carter, Disco and the Pet Rock hit us all in the same decade. He is an unmitigated disaster of Biblical Proportions, so bad that even the people in Zimbabwe, Sudan, Outer Mongolia and East Buttfuck, Bangladesh laugh at us. He is a a National Embarrassment, so much so that even the 52% who actually voted for this douchebag are ashamed to admit it in public.

Why,Obama is soooo godawfully-bad that he's made it perfectly safe for Black Conservatives to come out of the woodwork, show themselves at Tea Parties, and even to call for his Impeachment in public.

Then, when something happens (an Oil Spill, a foiled Terrorist Attack, and so forth), and the man who isn't qualified to run the local Taco Bell, who has no business being in the White House for his lack of experience and qualifications, the Man with the Absolute Worst Judgement on Planet Earth, somehow becomes the Only Man on Earth who can and should provide "leadership". And he gets hammered when he can't do it.

Suddenly, when it becomes convenient, the Punditocracy on the Right demands that He be everything they say He cannot, nor ever, be.

Now, I agree that Barack Obama will go down in history as the worst American President Evah, provided we aren't all made extinct by an Iranian or North Korean nuke. He is probably the last Black Man who will ever reach such heights in my lifetime, setting the cause of Civil Rights back 100 years. He will, historians will say, have done the impossible:Obama will have made George W. Bush seem Regal, John McCain seem saner, and Hillary Clinton appear to have been the better choice all along. He will have made Sarah Palin a billionaire and Kingmaker of the Right. He will have made Jimmy Carter appear to have been smarter than he ever was, and Joe Biden seem a goddamned statesman of the First Rank.

It's apparent to me that Barack Obama couldn't lead a three-year old to the crapper without a Blue-Ribbon Commission and a 2,500-page piece of legislation that no one will read before voting on, and only after he's made a dozen Potemkin-village stops to rally the Union Workers being paid to attend the rally and feign enthusiasm. I get it. I got it a very long time ago. However, could we PLEASE stop with the endless parade of "conservative" flapping rectums on TV who make the wild swing from "Obama's Utterly Incompetent" to "Obama Should Suddenly Get Competent"?

Quite frankly, I'm damned happy that he's not"engaged". I'm ecstatic that he plays golf three times a week and makes as much time for the wife and kids as he can. I'm tickled to death that he spends half his time flying from staged-event-to-staged-event, re-fighting battles that have already been won (that, incidentally, is the stock-in-trade of the Civil Rights/Community Organizer crowd. It's what they do because they are allergic to original thought and hard work) . I'm so happy I could shit that Obama spends less time in the Oval Office than the (presumably) Illegal Alien who cleans it every night.


Because an "engaged" Obama always results in higher taxes, more government, the destruction of the free enterprise system, transparent pandering to every "victim" group under the Sun, charges of racism where none exist, panic in the markets, uncertain Allies, more-brazen enemies, more debt, fewer jobs, more misery. When Obama is not thinking "wouldn't it be cool if...." , and then actually working to see it come to fruition, I feel safer, and better. Imagine what kind of damage he could do if he were actually qualified for the job...and trying!

I understand the nature of political criticism is "damned if you do, damned if you don't", but the recent criticism seems, to someone who actually agrees with most of it, to be exceedingly gratuitous. It's like shooting fish in a barrel. It's like kicking three-legged, blind puppies. It's like hunting turtles with a power drill. It's that's easy, and requires little in the way of sophisticated thought, or preparation. It's getting to be almost as annoying as those stupid horns at the World Cup. You can't make the case for incompetence one day, and then --mystically -- demand it from the man the next, and expect me to take you seriously.

I'm not defending Il Doofay, nor his Insane Clown Posse. They deserve most of what they get. I'm just annoyed at the pundits who apparently assume we're all dummies who need to be reminded every day of just what is happening (or not happening) in this country.

Quod erat demonstrandum -- the thing speaks for itself. You can make a point or two for the really dense people in the room -- the ones who might be obsessed with 16 and Pregnant, or Jersey Shore, but the rest of us don't need the constant repetition and Power Point slide shows. This continual hammering upon a single theme is, in part, why Republicans lost so badly in 2008 -- they did the same thing and repeated the"the terrorists will get you"meme 700 times a day. Eventually, it turns people off, even the ones who agree with you, because it wearies the ears.

Now, as for the flapping rectums on the Left, who go out there to defend President Asshole -- You've pissed me off, too.

I'm getting rather tired and annoyed with you, too. While the Right-wingers get on the TV and yap-yap-yap like poodles, ad nauseum, about what is painfully obvious to a brain-damaged hedgehog, you guys simply look into a camera and lie. There's not even a question as to whether or not you're being truthful, because your pronouncements defy the evidence of my eyes and ears. I can tell you don't even believe the crap you spout, because you look so ridiculous trying to defend it. There was one democratic dickhead on Fox last night who tried to brazen out the fallacious idea that Barack Obama was the best thing to happen to America since penicillin.

That he looked guilty as hell as he did it -- like a schoolboy who has wet his pants in the presence of the Headmaster -- that he gave you not the slightest indication that any of his defense was waged with any real conviction. It was too much to hide from the camera. I realize that this is your bread-and-butter, but goddamn it, at least try to make a logical case for what you argue instead of trying to turn turds into silver coins, and when you can't even make a good argument, then at least have the good grace to shut the fuck up.

I suppose that we're reduced to this 3rd-grade level of political criticism (on both sides) because this is, for better or worse, a country inhabited by mouth-breathing morons. This is the same public who pays far too much attention to some publicity-whore dipshit with 8 kids, or which considers NASCAR, Lady Gaga and American Idol to be entertainment of the highest caliber. I understand that we have created a country full of idiots, run by and for the benefit of idiots, and that, therefore, our political discourse will naturally be idiotic. It's not in the least to be wondered at that the people who make their livings on criticism will often be bigger idiots, themselves (The Poli-Sci majors and ex-lawyers who make up the Punditocracy often turn out to be the biggest, dumbest, assholes you'll ever meet. They're like fanatical ex-smokers, the In-crowd that snubbed you in High School, and Jehovah's Witnesses all-rolled-up-into-one).

I'm just wondering when intelligence will make it's way back into our conversations -- on any subject at all -- and this cheap, "gotcha!" opportunism, from both parties, will come to an end.

Maybe I'm asking for too much?

Monday, June 21, 2010

Why Some Women Should Not Be Allowed To Vote...

Because this is not only extremely stupid, but I probably know at least half-a-dozen women who might seriously consider it.

This might explain how we got Barack Obama, and why Hillary Clinton is still hanging around; if you were ever dumb and shallow enough to actually do this, you were probably also stupid and clueless enough to pull the lever for either of them.

(H/T Instapundit)

This is Why We Don't Want a Fucking Mosque Here...

...because we're still finding body parts nine years after September, 11th.

The MAS can complain about racism all it wants, but until it recognizes what has been done by their co-religionists-- to this community -- they will never understand the hostility. Of course, the MAS will never recognize what other Muslims have done, because that would mean they would have to bear the burden and shame themselves, or worse, question the motives of their phony-baloney deity.

Personally, I'm still wondering why, after a decade of a War on Terror, there are still Muslims left alive anywhere, let alone in my neck of the woods. If George Bush had just listened to me all those years ago, every Muslim in the Middle East would have been killed already and replaced by bio-engineered amoeba that eat sand and crap crude oil. Hell, the beaches in Florida might still be pristine, and BP would be a good investment right now, if he'd just taken my advice! We would have avoided the greatest environMENTAL catastrophe in American history, and Barack Obama would be cleaning the toilets on the night shift at McDonald's, the first and only real job he might ever have had. But I digress...

Take the hint, MAS: don't go where you're not wanted, and stop insisting that you have the "right" to do so. Around here, that kind of attitude only gets you your ass kicked.

Here's more on the protests from this past weekend.

But, here's my favorite form of protest, thus far -- Boycott the Basket.

Yep. I've always said that if you wanted to change someone's attitude, attack his wallet. It always worked on Wall Street, and it for damned sure works even faster for the Catholic Church. Cardinal Egan must have had a heart attack when he opened his paper this morning and saw that sign. A few Sundays of empty collection plates, and I'll bet the Archdiocese will have one of those "Saul on the Road to Damascus" moments, and then find some excuse to get out of this deal.

Now, if we could just find a way to defund Islam...

Had A Great Father's Day...

...even though I'm not a father.

I took my nephew to see 'Toy Story 3' yesterday (seventeen thumbs up! A must see! If you don't see this movie, you're a commie douchebag who says things like"bourgeoisie sentimentality" and expects to be taken seriously!). He's the last of the Piccolino Boys (for now, we think -- my sister has four boys, and I think she's like to go for the girl, it's just that her uterus needs a long vacation), and he's just turned 5, which makes him just capable of sitting still for 90 minutes, so movies are a pretty safe entertainment bet with him, nowadays.

Three weeks ago, we went to see "Shrek 3", and had a blast there, too (you had better see that, too, or you're no better than a Pro-Obamacare democrat -- small "d' intentional).

It's always the same: slice of pizza, over to the Dollar store to get movie candy (I'm already paying $8.50 for a kid's matinee ticket, and $10.50 for my own ticket -- New York is an expensive place to live, you know -- I'll be damned if I'm going to pay $4.50 for a box of fucking Raisinettes. Same for soda and popcorn (broke down yesterday because the kid actually wanted it -- $7.00 for a small popcorn!). And when the movie is over, assuming I don't have to rush him right home -- there's always the ice cream cone. By the time you're done, it's easily a $50 afternoon.

At our local theatre, they'll try to stop you from entering the premises with"outside candy" (there's a sign posted saying that this is prohibited), but I just dare them to try and take it from me. The one time I was actually stopped for this apparently grievous violation, I told the skinny bastard that I would kick his ass and then bang his sister afterwards if he didn't stop playing Theatre Cop right then and there. I think he works for the Border Patrol, nowadays. No one has made an attempt to halt me with contraband candy ever since. These kids today have no balls.

Anyways, taking the Boys to the movies is sort of a privilege I have always reserved for myself. As soon as all of my nephews were all old enough to sit still for a movie. It's been a decade now, and I get a kick out of it. We get to hang out, they get to gorge on junk food, we have a blast.

Four nephews, and perhaps 100 movies, amusement parks, mini golf courses, and goddamned Chuck E. Cheese visits later (if I ever have to walk into a Chuck E. Cheese's again, I'm bringing a gun and a stocking mask, and maybe taking hostages), it's still more fun hanging out with those kids than it is with 90% of the adults I know.

And I keep all the ticket stubs. I don't know why, but it just doesn't seem right to throw 'em away. I'm not going to tell you that whenever I see those stubs, I get a rush of "Oh, I remember when we saw "A Sharks Tale" or"Teacher's Pet" at the Such-and-such Theatre"nostalgia. I just remember the boys when they were small, and when going to the movies was an exciting adventure for them.

One day, they're all going to grow up to become great, hulking manly-men, but I'm going to remember them all as four-and-five year-olds sitting in a semi-darkened theatre, staring up at a screen, amazed, laughing, or just with a face full of melted chocolate. You see, the oldest (he'll be14 in October) already doesn't want to hang out with me anymore (he's got friends, and has discovered girls, you know), and soon his brothers will follow his lead -- the kids who were attached to my hip, and called every time they knew I was home to come and play with them, will eventually drift away from their Uncle. And that, I guess, is just Life.

Best to enjoy what you can while you can. Right?

I seriously hope that when Alzheimer's comes for me (with my luck, I'll not only be stricken with Alzheimer's, but with the rarest and cruelest variety that will allow me to remember the entire Disco Era with crystal clarity. Best to just shoot me now) and I can't tell the difference between delusion and reality, that I still -- somehow -- manage to see four little boys at the Movies, stuffing their faces with popcorn and candy, and asking me to read the subtitles on the screen for them when Buzz Lightyear starts speaking in Spanish, or laughing at the antics of CG-generated characters.