I believe it was the late George Carlin who once said, paraphrasing, that the biggest industry in America was the production, packaging, marketing and distribution of Bullshit.
Sometimes, when you look at the blasted heath that was once the landscape of this Great Nation, and you think about how it all devolved to deposit us at our current state of affairs, it's difficult not to agree with that cynical sentiment. You need look no further than the corridors of power in America for proof of this maxim:
President Obama is a bullshit artist.
Most members of Congress are bullshit artists.
Local governments are overflowing with bullshit artists, from the execrable personage of Mayor Michael Bloomdouche...errr...Bloomberg...of my great city of New York, to the "Honorable" Jerry Brown, governor of a bankrupt California which is rapidly becoming Mexico, only with indoor plumbing and food.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
About Paul Ryan...
I humbly beseech a thousand pardons for being late to this..whatever it is… but I have a valid excuse:
The selection of Ryan as Mitt Romney’s running mate did not, as the conservative (small ‘c’ intentional) pundits tell me it must, ‘electrify’, ‘thrill’, or ‘energize’ me. Not that I’m not a fan of Congressman Ryan (in fact, I’m not), and not because his selection tells me anything about Romney that I either didn’t already know or couldn’t easily discern, but because…well…he’s been asked to be Vice President.
Someone has to attend foreign funerals, I guess.
I imagine that when Joe Biden was chosen there was a similar attempt to rally the troops and generate the same (media) excitement that just wasn’t there, but let’s face it; being Vice President means you’re usually sitting around waiting for someone to have a heart attack, either in anticipation of an instant promotion, or of a State visit to Kathmandu to pay America’s respects to the Nepalese Junior Deputy Assistant Minister for Sewage and Trash Removal.
Come to think of it, Joe Biden would be perfect for that sort of job – the sewage thing, I mean.
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