I am the last person on earth that I thought would ever be a children’s advocate of any kind, however, there is a serious issue terrorizing this country’s kids. Soccer Dads.
I live next door to a community park. The good news is that the west side of the house has large windows facing the Red Rocks mountains. Unfortunately, my immediate view is a little league soccer field. On Saturday mornings, you see a blur of youths dressed in uniforms of primary colors kicking a fat white ball around on the grass. There’s always a wall of parents protecting their children, cheering them on. At least, that’s how things appear at first glance.
This morning I decided to go for a jog around the park. It’s sunny today, and the kind of winter weather we all moved to Vegas for (unlike the past 2 months which has been the kind of winter weather people on the East Coast try to escape). As I neared one of the ongoing soccer games, I noticed a line of dads watching their little boys play. These kids are no larger than my cats, and when they ran on their tiny little legs, they looked cute, like midgets running wild. I was feeling good about myself, here I am, Saturday morning, out of bed, jogging, burning calories, doing fine things for my heart and building bone mass by exercising, I was thinking, “this is a good day.” But then I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard something that should only be heard behind closed doors and after downing a fifth of Jack Daniels. One of the dads yelled at a kid, who evidently screwed up. “YOU LITTLE SON-OF-A-BITCH! YOU'RE USELESS!”
I’m not a parent and I’m not even into sports. I think it’s okay if I am watching Fox News (as if I would do that!) and suddenly blurt out, after seeing an image of W on TV, “G@#d!)*m *$@r.” That’s one thing. Calling your kid useless in front of his team and everyone’s parents is another.
I used to go to the Ole Miss Rebel games with my own father and can honestly say he threw the F word at players a time or ten thousand. But, I’m relieved to say, he never called me “useless” or “a little bitch.” I think the worst thing he ever said to me was, “Can’t you do better than a D in math?” And when I made a C the next semester, he actually told me he was proud of me. Yeah, I didn’t do so hot in math.
I can’t single out this one hot-headed dad, because right when I was working up a personal rage against him, another kid did something wrong and another dad threw his hands into the air and YELLED AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS, “OH MY GOD! WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”
Jesus H. Christ. These boys are going to grow up to love Mommy more than Daddy. Although I didn’t see any mommies react to the daddies' outburst. They sat in low lawn chairs and talked to each other, laughing about something mundane like the way the guys get so worked up at the kids over this silly game.
It wasn’t just those two dads who lost it. It was every dad standing in this line. Obviously, this was where the losing team’s fathers hung out, because they were all very unhappy with their kids. In the course of a few minutes, each father had a fit over something his kid did. Of course, here’s a bad thought, maybe it wasn’t their own kid they were having a fit over, but someone else’s. That means that the kids’ fathers didn’t come to their defense. Perhaps they thought the verbal beating was justified.
Behind every bad child is a lousy parent. I don’t know how these kids act in public or at home, but I do believe they are going to be in some serious need of therapy pretty soon, if not right now. Forget the after-game pizza. Get those boys a nice Jewish shrink.
The game is over. The parents and kids have gone home. The day is still beautiful. My cat, Sammy Davis, Jr. sleeps next to the fireplace, one paw covers his eyes to block the sun streaming in through the window. Earlier, I fed him too much and he threw up on my favorite throw blanket. “Bad boy,” I scolded him, but I didn’t have any venom in me. I fed him too much. He threw up. That’s what I get. I’m a parent in a way. This cat depends on me for everything except fur balls. I bet I love him more than most parents love their kids, at least more than those soccer dads love their kids. I can only hope that those boys get the chance to one day stop kicking soccer balls, and instead get the opportunity to kick their daddies in the balls. Both parties deserve it.
February 26, 2005
February 24, 2005
Guckert Gate? What Guckert Gate?
Who am I kidding? I can't leave Gannon/Guckert alone.
Here's a story from Salon.com on the way the mainstream media is ignoring a scandal that dwarfs anything Clinton could have ever done.
From Eric Boehlert in Salon:
Gannon
Ordinarily, revelations that a former male prostitute, using an alias (Jeff Gannon) and working for a phony news organization, was ushered into the White House -- without undergoing a full-blown security background check -- in order to pose softball questions to administration officials would qualify as news by any recent Beltway standard. Yet as of Thursday, ABC News, which produces "Good Morning America," "World News Tonight With Peter Jennings," "Nightline," "This Week," "20/20" and "Primetime Live," has not reported one word about the three-week-running scandal. Neither has CBS News ("The Early Show," "The CBS Evening News," "60 Minutes," "60 Minutes Wednesday" and "Face the Nation"). NBC and its entire family of morning, evening and weekend news programs have addressed the story only three times....
Meanwhile on the newsstands, through Thursday, there had been no meaningful coverage in USA Today or in the Los Angeles Times, Miami Herald, St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Detroit Free Press, Cleveland Plain Dealer, San Francisco Chronicle, Indianapolis Star, Denver Post, Oakland Tribune and Philadelphia Inquirer, to name a few that have effectively boycotted the White House press office scandal....
As for the editorial pages, it's curious that the nation's five largest papers, all pillars of the media establishment (the New York Times, the Washington Post, the Los Angeles Times, the Wall Street Journal and USA Today), have been silent on the Guckert saga -- especially when dailies in more out-of-the-way places such as Tulsa, Okla.; Bangor, Maine; Niagara Falls, N.Y.; Augusta County, Va.; and Pensacola, Fla., have all deemed the story troubling enough to require attention, as noted by Media Matters for America, a liberal advocacy group that first raised questions about Guckert and Talon News
Here's a story from Salon.com on the way the mainstream media is ignoring a scandal that dwarfs anything Clinton could have ever done.
From Eric Boehlert in Salon:
Gannon
Ordinarily, revelations that a former male prostitute, using an alias (Jeff Gannon) and working for a phony news organization, was ushered into the White House -- without undergoing a full-blown security background check -- in order to pose softball questions to administration officials would qualify as news by any recent Beltway standard. Yet as of Thursday, ABC News, which produces "Good Morning America," "World News Tonight With Peter Jennings," "Nightline," "This Week," "20/20" and "Primetime Live," has not reported one word about the three-week-running scandal. Neither has CBS News ("The Early Show," "The CBS Evening News," "60 Minutes," "60 Minutes Wednesday" and "Face the Nation"). NBC and its entire family of morning, evening and weekend news programs have addressed the story only three times....
Meanwhile on the newsstands, through Thursday, there had been no meaningful coverage in USA Today or in the Los Angeles Times, Miami Herald, St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Detroit Free Press, Cleveland Plain Dealer, San Francisco Chronicle, Indianapolis Star, Denver Post, Oakland Tribune and Philadelphia Inquirer, to name a few that have effectively boycotted the White House press office scandal....
As for the editorial pages, it's curious that the nation's five largest papers, all pillars of the media establishment (the New York Times, the Washington Post, the Los Angeles Times, the Wall Street Journal and USA Today), have been silent on the Guckert saga -- especially when dailies in more out-of-the-way places such as Tulsa, Okla.; Bangor, Maine; Niagara Falls, N.Y.; Augusta County, Va.; and Pensacola, Fla., have all deemed the story troubling enough to require attention, as noted by Media Matters for America, a liberal advocacy group that first raised questions about Guckert and Talon News
I want my Rummy TV
Now that Guckert Gate has blown up in the Bush administration’s face, it’s time to turn our attention to the next big thing: The Pentagon Channel, a 24/7 Department of Defense-brewed network, and affectionately known as Rummy TV. A number of cable systems, including Time Warner, already carry the Pentagon Channel, and now the Dish Network will soon begin beaming the station to its more than 11 million viewers right alongside the half-dozen porn channels the satellite corporation offers. Forget war and peace, we have war and porn.
Special shows include “Queer Factor,” a half-hour reality show where Donald Rumsfeld forces liberal democrats to denounce the right to choose, listen to Toby Keith, and openly discuss their personal relationship with Jesus.
Rummy TV is covered quite nicely by Arianna Huffington in her column yesterday (yes, Lablogda is always a day behind. I have a damn life so get over it).
Special shows include “Queer Factor,” a half-hour reality show where Donald Rumsfeld forces liberal democrats to denounce the right to choose, listen to Toby Keith, and openly discuss their personal relationship with Jesus.
Rummy TV is covered quite nicely by Arianna Huffington in her column yesterday (yes, Lablogda is always a day behind. I have a damn life so get over it).
February 22, 2005
Fear and loathing without you
Dear Mr. Thompson,
I guess it’s silly to write a letter to someone who is already deceased, but if there is a blogosphere wherever you are, maybe you’ll read this. I’m one of those people who has caused searches on your name to jump over 1,330% since your death this weekend. I just wanted to let you know, as so many others have, that you made an impact on my youth. My parents would probably say that you corrupted me, but I just want to say thanks for showing me a good time.
When I read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas for the first time, a highway in my brain opened up. I was a teenager in Mississippi (of all places) and to say that I was bored is like saying W has problems pronouncing big words. You were one reason I started going from wishing I could Get Out, to actually plotting my eventual escape.
In college, I picked boyfriends based on whether or not they had read your work. In fact, I remember sitting in a bar one night and falling in love for a few weeks with some guy who had curly blond hair and Roger Daltrey eyes. I can’t remember his name, but I do remember that he claimed he had met you once. I remember touching his arm with a finger, as if I by touching him made me a part of your inner circle. Ironically, I’m just the type of person you would have made fun of.
It wasn’t so much how you wrote (although you came up with some great lines, like “I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me.”) but the way you wrote about a life more jaded than a Buddhist statue. You also once said that when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. With that one line, you probably inspired untold amount of writers. There will never be another you, but hopefully, some of us can have moments where we are as wonderfully weird and free. Wherever you are, I hope you are having a good time.
I guess it’s silly to write a letter to someone who is already deceased, but if there is a blogosphere wherever you are, maybe you’ll read this. I’m one of those people who has caused searches on your name to jump over 1,330% since your death this weekend. I just wanted to let you know, as so many others have, that you made an impact on my youth. My parents would probably say that you corrupted me, but I just want to say thanks for showing me a good time.
When I read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas for the first time, a highway in my brain opened up. I was a teenager in Mississippi (of all places) and to say that I was bored is like saying W has problems pronouncing big words. You were one reason I started going from wishing I could Get Out, to actually plotting my eventual escape.
In college, I picked boyfriends based on whether or not they had read your work. In fact, I remember sitting in a bar one night and falling in love for a few weeks with some guy who had curly blond hair and Roger Daltrey eyes. I can’t remember his name, but I do remember that he claimed he had met you once. I remember touching his arm with a finger, as if I by touching him made me a part of your inner circle. Ironically, I’m just the type of person you would have made fun of.
It wasn’t so much how you wrote (although you came up with some great lines, like “I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me.”) but the way you wrote about a life more jaded than a Buddhist statue. You also once said that when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. With that one line, you probably inspired untold amount of writers. There will never be another you, but hopefully, some of us can have moments where we are as wonderfully weird and free. Wherever you are, I hope you are having a good time.
February 19, 2005
Even the Christian Science Monitor is Mad about Guck
Even Christian Science Monitor is appalled by the Guckert/Gannon scandal. Good God Almighty, why isn't Fox News making a stink out of this. Oh I know, those crazy liberals, making a mountain out of a ho-hill. (that is not a misspelling, by the way)
Cmonitor
Cmonitor
February 17, 2005
More on W's favorite faux journalist
When someone says something better than you ever could, why mess with perfection? Maureen Dowd, in a NY Times article (which Betsy posted in the comments to the previous post) talks more about the Guckert/Gannon thing. Cutting to the chase, here's what she says that hits the nail on the head:.)
"At last month's press conference, Jeff Gannon asked Mr. Bush how he could work with Democrats "who seem to have divorced themselves from reality." But Bush officials have divorced themselves from reality.
They flipped TV's in the West Wing and Air Force One to Fox News. They paid conservative columnists handsomely to promote administration programs. Federal agencies distributed packaged "news" video releases with faux anchors so local news outlets would run them. As CNN reported, the Pentagon produces Web sites with "news" articles intended to influence opinion abroad and at home, but you have to look hard for the disclaimer: "Sponsored by the U.S. Department of Defense." The agencies spent a whopping $88 million spinning reality in 2004, splurging on P.R. contracts.
Even the Nixon White House didn't do anything this creepy. It's worse than hating the press. It's an attempt to reinvent it."
Dowd
"At last month's press conference, Jeff Gannon asked Mr. Bush how he could work with Democrats "who seem to have divorced themselves from reality." But Bush officials have divorced themselves from reality.
They flipped TV's in the West Wing and Air Force One to Fox News. They paid conservative columnists handsomely to promote administration programs. Federal agencies distributed packaged "news" video releases with faux anchors so local news outlets would run them. As CNN reported, the Pentagon produces Web sites with "news" articles intended to influence opinion abroad and at home, but you have to look hard for the disclaimer: "Sponsored by the U.S. Department of Defense." The agencies spent a whopping $88 million spinning reality in 2004, splurging on P.R. contracts.
Even the Nixon White House didn't do anything this creepy. It's worse than hating the press. It's an attempt to reinvent it."
Dowd
February 15, 2005
Rhymes with Guck
Much has been made of the Guckert/Gannon access to the White House briefings. The right is mad because the left has made a big deal of it. Those crazy bastards on the left are always making a big deal out of something, right? Of course, the left is mad because the White House planted a non-journalist from a phony news organization in the press room to ask really easy questions, like how was dinner with Jesus last night? (W and Jesus have a personal relationship, so I figure they must have dinner together.)
Fine. As usual we have our typical partisan fighting. But this time, the Democrats really are right (pardon the pun). The National Debate made a big deal out of the fact that some Dems were in a tizzy that Guckert used a pseudonym. Well, I would too if my name were Guckert. I’d have changed my name to Jeff Gannon in preschool if I were him. But even the craziest of Dems have not taken their eye off the big picture. Why was this guy in the press room? What the hell? Bush won the next four years and he sure is showing his true colors. He’s never liked the press because sometimes they ask him hard questions, like “what weapons of mass destruction?” Or they have the temerity to challenge him, like, “But, sir, there were no weapons of mass destruction.”
I’ll take Clinton and his cigar-stomping intern any day over a President who wants phony journalists planted in the white house to make sure he gets asked first date type of questions. Mr. President, if you want a fake journalist, hell, invite me to the press room. I’ve got some questions for you.
Fine. As usual we have our typical partisan fighting. But this time, the Democrats really are right (pardon the pun). The National Debate made a big deal out of the fact that some Dems were in a tizzy that Guckert used a pseudonym. Well, I would too if my name were Guckert. I’d have changed my name to Jeff Gannon in preschool if I were him. But even the craziest of Dems have not taken their eye off the big picture. Why was this guy in the press room? What the hell? Bush won the next four years and he sure is showing his true colors. He’s never liked the press because sometimes they ask him hard questions, like “what weapons of mass destruction?” Or they have the temerity to challenge him, like, “But, sir, there were no weapons of mass destruction.”
I’ll take Clinton and his cigar-stomping intern any day over a President who wants phony journalists planted in the white house to make sure he gets asked first date type of questions. Mr. President, if you want a fake journalist, hell, invite me to the press room. I’ve got some questions for you.
February 12, 2005
Jesus, George and two crazy homosexuals
Yesterday was my good friend Sean's birthday and as I do with all my good friends, I missed his birthday. I've known Sean nine years and I don't think I've ever managed to call him or send a card on his special day, so to make up for it, I'm honoring Sean in this post by reprinting a short-story I wrote for him and his partner, Robert, on their last anniversary. It's a little sci-fi story about gays, George W. Bush and, of course, his side-kick, Jesus. Enjoy!
Robby and Sean Celebrate Ten Happy Years
October, 2005
It had been a year since Robby and Sean last celebrated their union, and 11 months since the country accelerated toward its inevitable destruction and voted George W. Bush back into office. On election day 2004, Robby and Sean voted their conscience, and with a sure sense of resolute ethics, cast their ballot for John Kerry. They had personally campaigned hard against Bush, convincing a few of their friends who thought they might vote Republican to do the right thing and vote against the little cockeyed cowboy from Texas, the redneck-right-winger, George W. and to vote for a man the world could actually accept as president. Their efforts, no matter how noble and true-hearted, fell short. They underestimated the injudicious masses, and their false perception that being Republican somehow meant you were either successful or a good Christian, or both.
To shake off the events of the last year, where France and Germany formally called America “an enemy of the world,” where young men were called to draft, where women lost the right to chose, where gay bashing was quickly becoming politically correct, and where wearing solid black was seen as a liberal fashion statement, the two lovers decided to go to Las Vegas to celebrate the only pure thing in their lives, their love. Also, Robby was concerned that his long time dear friend Donna was having a nervous breakdown over the fact that a fascist had been reelected in a country she had previously thought was democratic.
They made the four-hour drive to Vegas in high spirits, ignoring the bumper stickers of Orange County republicans on their way to Sin City for the weekend. Bumper stickers that read: Jesus and W. Don’t Break for Liberals. Or: Jesus is My Personal Friend and W’s. Or What Would Jesus and W. Do?
The bumper stickers came as no surprise to Robby and Sean. In the last year, W had declared war on Iran and Syria, and had his sights on little Dubai just because Cheney wanted to open a branch office of Halliburton there. With the war in Iraq taking in excess of over 3,000 young American lives, and the addition of the new wars, plus the half-hearted attempt in Afghanistan, it seemed everyone under 30 was in fatigues and wintering in the Middle East. In this time of despair, rather than blaming themselves for voting in a cockeyed cowboy from Texas with large ears and a speech impediment, the country had turned full throttle to Jesus, who had suddenly become the new Britney Spears, who was the new Madonna.
Having a personal relationship with Him had become the new rage, and its leader was W, who had nightly conversations with Jmosthighest, as W called him, “Jmosthighest wants us to fight the Middle East,” W said in his one and only press conference during the past year. It seemed to bother no one that he was sitting on Dick Cheney’s lap the whole time, and that the neocon VP’s hand was resting in the middle of W’s back, or that as W spoke, the VP’s lips moved slightly.
“Watch out, they’re republicans,” said Robby as Sean passed an SUV with a bumper sticker that read, “Gamble on Jesus and W!”
“I hope we make it to Vegas,” Sean said. “I read a story about how republicans are pulling over gays on the highway and making them wear cable knit sweaters and teaching them how to swing golf clubs.”
“I heard the republicans have a gay slave trade in Scottsdale,” Robby said, shivering. They hold you hostage for years and make you cook and decorate.”
“And pray,” Sean said, nodding knowingly. “I heard that, too.”
They made it to Vegas okay, but when arrived and saw the state Donna was in, they almost wished that they had been sold into gay slavery in Scottsdale.
“What’s wrong with her?” Robby asked Roger, her near-deaf Kung Fu fighting husband.
“Strong? Yes, she is strong, especially for such a small woman, isn’t she,” Roger said, mishearing. “But I tell you, she hasn’t been the same since W was reelected.”
“Whores,” Donna said, her head twitching sharply and her eyes blinking rapidly. “Ties with the Arabs. In bed with big corporation. Whore minions to the rich.”
She wore a faded blue Kerry/Edwards 2004 t-shirt. Her gray Korat cats, Sammy and Liza wore little cat shirts, matching hers. They sat on their mommy’s lap in the living room. Roger had slipped a blanket over her legs, and she stared out the window, makeupless, twitching, repeating invectives against the neocon stronghold. “Jesus is just a marketing tool. Whore minions of the Arabs and corporate America. Stole the first election.” Joni Mitchell played softly from the stereo.
“I knew it was bad,” Robby said, shaking his head, “I had no idea it was this bad. She’s listening to Joni Mitchell.”
Roger whispered to the two men, “She’s shut down completely. She doesn’t eat. I can’t even get her to drink red wine.”
They men slapped their hands to their mouth, appalled at what they had just heard.
“Can’t get an abortion anymore. Hate kids,” Donna yelped. “Bastard can’t say nuclear.”
“She just blurts out fragmented sentences. They were once complete statements, her battle cries against Bush,” Roger said.
“Cockeyed mother-f%^&*r Texan. Wears cowboy boots to state dinners.”
“She’s not making sense now,” he said, shrugging, a tear coming to his eyes. “I mean, did you hear her? She just said ‘black eyed peas are for spanking.”
“Laura and I . . .” Donna said, and Robby and Sean knew she was mocking W and his drawal. “Daddy, did I win yet? Daddy, did I win?” She laughed a secret laugh, and the three men looked at one another sadly. Sammy the cat looked up at his mommy and meowed, sounding scared. The humans didn’t understand Cat, but what he just said was, “mother-f@#$%&g republicans drove my mommy crazy and now she never feeds me. I’m hungry damnit, vote a Democrat in office, will you?”
Robby and Sean decided to go for a walk in the park near Donna and Roger’s house. They hadn’t gotten far, when they ran into Jesus. He was wearing his signature outfit, a white shapeless shift and flat sandals. His hairy legs looked pale and gangly peaking out under the hem of his shift. He was walking his dog, a Standard Poodle named Pontius Pilot, who Jesus had nicknamed Ponty.
“Jesus H. Christ, what are you doing here?” Sean asked.”
“Well as of last night, I was headlining at Caesars,” Jesus says. “I wrote and directed a play called ‘End Days.’”
“We’re actors,” Robby said. “Our last play was An Appalachian Hamlet, but it had to close because critics thought it was obvious and redundant that a guy from Kentucky would have something going on with his mother.”
“I saw that,” Jesus said, “Course, I see everything.”
“Really, because you’re omnipotent?” Sean asked.
“Oh no. I just like to go to all the plays.”
The men nodded, understanding and sharing an affection for theater.
“I sympathize with you on having to close your play. I just opened and closed ‘End Days’ last night.”
“Why?” The guys asked.
“People are pissed because they suddenly realized that I’m actually liberal. I guess my 1,500 hundred years of fame are coming to an end.”
Ponty barked, showing his disapproval of Jesus becoming a has-been overnight.
“Well, most people only get 15 minutes,” said Sean.
“Yeah, well being son of God, I got a bit more. Good thing I’m a nice guy. You know what they say, be nice to people on your way up because you have to see them again on your way down.”
They all laughed appreciatively.
“What does this do to your relationship with W?” Robby asked. “Has he forsaken you?”
“What? W? That cockeyed brat from Texas? We never had any sort of relationship.”
“But he said you were personal friends,” Robby said.
“Yeah, yeah. Like I’ve got time for him. I’m too busy helping the suffering victims he has waged war against. The soldiers, the citizens of Iraq. The French.”
“Donna said he was evil,” the boys said in unison.
“Evil? Hell, Satin won’t even have anything to do with him. W is Cheney’s lap dog and let me tell you, talk about evil, Cheney scares the bejesus out of Beezelbug.”
“Hey, can you work a miracle?” Sean asked. “Our friend Donna lost it when Bush got reelected.”
“Yes, she has lost her faith. I have heard her pleas late at night. She keeps praying for a recount, and for more Prada in her closet. I can’t help with either. Both are forces larger than Faith, though Prada and Faith are cousins. But I can help her restore her sanity,” Jesus said. “Come, my gay lambs, let us go so I can heal your friend.”
They were too late. Roger met them at the door, sweat matting hair to his forehead. “I was just coming to find you. Donna stole the keys to the Audie TT and she’s gone down to the Strip. She heard Bush was in town talking at a Conservatives Against Jesus Because He’s Liberal Rally.
“Good God, let’s go,” Jesus said.
“Okay, well that dog can’t stay in my house,” Roger said. “Dogs aren’t clean.”
“But he’s a dog of the Lord,” Robby said.
“A log and a board? What do you want with those?” Roger asked? “Oh, I get it, we’re going to bash Bush.”
“No, that’s what this story is about,” Sean said.
They stuck Ponty in the back yard, and he peered in through the window at Sammy and
Liza, who peered back, and told him in animal talk that their mommy had gone nuts because Bush used Jesus as a marketing tool and got reelected. Ponty said, “how do you think I feel? Jesus lost his fame because he was outed as a liberal.”
“Humans suck,” all three animals agreed.
Robby, Sean, Roger and Jesus stood in the stadium interest and watched a nightmare unfold: conservatives having their idea of fun. There was 20,000 of them en masse at the MGM auditorium. W and Cheny were center stage, whipping the conservatives into a frenzy.
“What are we?” W yelled?
“Arrogant!” the crowd yelled!
“Do we feel superior to liberals?”
“You bet!”
“Who do we hate?”
“Flip flopping liberals!”
“Who else do we hate?”
“Jesus!”
“Why do we hate Jesus?”
“He’s a liberal!”
The crowd roared with their own self-approval. Bush smiled his cockey, smug grin and Cheney parted his lips, unsure of what joy looked like. All of sudden, Donna rushed the stage in her Kerry/Edwards 2004 t-shirt and jumped on W’s back, her hands wrapped around his eyes.
“Guess who, you cockeyed cowboy? I’m your worst nightmare. A liberal on your back!”
Cheney screamed and ran off the stage. He hadn’t avoided Vietnam five times just to get into a fight with a girl in Vegas. Bush started screaming, “Daddy, Carl Rove, Daddy, Carl Rove, Help!”
Carl Rove rushed to the stage to pull Donna off of W. Robby, Sean, Jesus and Roger made their way to the stage, Roger kicked box secret service agents who tried to block their passage. Jesus raised his hand and parted the crowd.
Meanwhile, Donna punched Rove in the eye. “I know your marketing tricks, you hobag.
I’m in marketing, too. I see what you are doing. Using Jesus as a marketing tool! You’ll burn in hell with the likes of me, republican!”
The guys made it to the stage and Jesus put his hand on Carl Rove’s forhead. Immediately, a demon stepped out from inside Rove and the body of Rove fell to the ground in a melted heap.
“I’ll get you Jesus!” the demon hissed. He looked like a cross between Bill O’Reilly and Ann Coulter.
“Hell isn’t good enough for you, demon,” Jesus said. “Off to Texas you go.” And with that, Jesus banished the evil one to Tyler. “He’s confined to a house in the suburbs,” Jesus told the crowd, “where he has to listen to Toby Keith for eternity.”
The stunned crowd gasped to silence. Donna was still on Bush’s back, sputtering phrases like “Arab minion whore.”
Jesus his hand on Donna’s head and said, “Calm down, child.”
“Give me my president,” Donna said. “I want my president.”
Jesus waved his hand and Al Gore appeared on stage. “My fellow American,” he said to Donna.
“Not him. My president,” Donna said.
Jesus nodded, understanding. Another wave of the hand and Jimmy Carter appeared on stage, replacing Bush, who had disappeared back to Texas. “I’m going to triple federal park land, again,” Carter told Donna. That calmed her only slightly. “I’ll ensure that every woman has the right to chose.”
She calmed a bit more.
Then he brought out the big gun. “From here on out, every American must wear only Prada. And Prada must be affordable without losing any quality.”
She fell to Carter’s knees. “Thank you, oh kind one.”
“Let’s go have some peanuts,” Carter said, “Afterwards, I’ll read you some of my poetry.”
“I can talk in complete sentences again,” Donna said. “Thank you, Jesus.”
“My pleasure. Go, articulate to the world the atrocities caused by conservatives. The bad clothes worn, the poor taste in music, the blandness they have spread across this nation like mayonnaise on a Wonder bread sandwich, oh, and don’t forget that they’ve chipped away at civil liberties and legislated morality .”
“You truly are a liberal holy one,” Donna said,
“We all are, except Allah. He’s just nuts,” Jesus whispered to her.
Later, Robby, Sean and Jesus sat in the casino bar at Caesars drinking martinis.
“Here’s to another ten happy years,” Jesus said, raising his glass to the guys.
“Amen,” they said.
“Hey look, I’ve decided to take ‘End Days’ on the road. My two main actors quite, though, because I’m liberal and they think that’s not very Christian of me.”
“Republican actors? I thought that only happened to former Nazi’s,” Sean said.
“I know, just my luck!” Jesus agreed. “Anyway, I’m going to reopen my show in France. They think I’m a stitch over there. All of a sudden, I’m the new Jerry Lewis. You guys wanna star in my show?”
Robby and Sean looked at each other. The last ten years had brought many changes in their lives. They had supported each other through good times and bad, through the happy Clinton years and through the dark age of W. Now that Carter was President again, there was peace in the middle east, though gas prices were higher than ever. Most importantly, everyone was wearing Prada, and it was affordable. You couldn’t have everything, except a good wardrobe. It was the beginning of better times.
“We’re in this through thick and thin,” Robby said.
“Through Republicans and Democrats,” Sean said.
“Through right wing and left wing,” Robby said.
“I get it, you’ve been through it all. So do you want to move to France or not.”
“Okay, but we have to be back in three years,” Robby said.
“In time for the next election,” Sean added.
Jesus, the all-knowing nodded. “I understand. You want to come back for Hillary’s campaign.”
“Praise God,” Robby said.
“Thank you,” Jesus said.
Robby and Sean Celebrate Ten Happy Years
October, 2005
It had been a year since Robby and Sean last celebrated their union, and 11 months since the country accelerated toward its inevitable destruction and voted George W. Bush back into office. On election day 2004, Robby and Sean voted their conscience, and with a sure sense of resolute ethics, cast their ballot for John Kerry. They had personally campaigned hard against Bush, convincing a few of their friends who thought they might vote Republican to do the right thing and vote against the little cockeyed cowboy from Texas, the redneck-right-winger, George W. and to vote for a man the world could actually accept as president. Their efforts, no matter how noble and true-hearted, fell short. They underestimated the injudicious masses, and their false perception that being Republican somehow meant you were either successful or a good Christian, or both.
To shake off the events of the last year, where France and Germany formally called America “an enemy of the world,” where young men were called to draft, where women lost the right to chose, where gay bashing was quickly becoming politically correct, and where wearing solid black was seen as a liberal fashion statement, the two lovers decided to go to Las Vegas to celebrate the only pure thing in their lives, their love. Also, Robby was concerned that his long time dear friend Donna was having a nervous breakdown over the fact that a fascist had been reelected in a country she had previously thought was democratic.
They made the four-hour drive to Vegas in high spirits, ignoring the bumper stickers of Orange County republicans on their way to Sin City for the weekend. Bumper stickers that read: Jesus and W. Don’t Break for Liberals. Or: Jesus is My Personal Friend and W’s. Or What Would Jesus and W. Do?
The bumper stickers came as no surprise to Robby and Sean. In the last year, W had declared war on Iran and Syria, and had his sights on little Dubai just because Cheney wanted to open a branch office of Halliburton there. With the war in Iraq taking in excess of over 3,000 young American lives, and the addition of the new wars, plus the half-hearted attempt in Afghanistan, it seemed everyone under 30 was in fatigues and wintering in the Middle East. In this time of despair, rather than blaming themselves for voting in a cockeyed cowboy from Texas with large ears and a speech impediment, the country had turned full throttle to Jesus, who had suddenly become the new Britney Spears, who was the new Madonna.
Having a personal relationship with Him had become the new rage, and its leader was W, who had nightly conversations with Jmosthighest, as W called him, “Jmosthighest wants us to fight the Middle East,” W said in his one and only press conference during the past year. It seemed to bother no one that he was sitting on Dick Cheney’s lap the whole time, and that the neocon VP’s hand was resting in the middle of W’s back, or that as W spoke, the VP’s lips moved slightly.
“Watch out, they’re republicans,” said Robby as Sean passed an SUV with a bumper sticker that read, “Gamble on Jesus and W!”
“I hope we make it to Vegas,” Sean said. “I read a story about how republicans are pulling over gays on the highway and making them wear cable knit sweaters and teaching them how to swing golf clubs.”
“I heard the republicans have a gay slave trade in Scottsdale,” Robby said, shivering. They hold you hostage for years and make you cook and decorate.”
“And pray,” Sean said, nodding knowingly. “I heard that, too.”
They made it to Vegas okay, but when arrived and saw the state Donna was in, they almost wished that they had been sold into gay slavery in Scottsdale.
“What’s wrong with her?” Robby asked Roger, her near-deaf Kung Fu fighting husband.
“Strong? Yes, she is strong, especially for such a small woman, isn’t she,” Roger said, mishearing. “But I tell you, she hasn’t been the same since W was reelected.”
“Whores,” Donna said, her head twitching sharply and her eyes blinking rapidly. “Ties with the Arabs. In bed with big corporation. Whore minions to the rich.”
She wore a faded blue Kerry/Edwards 2004 t-shirt. Her gray Korat cats, Sammy and Liza wore little cat shirts, matching hers. They sat on their mommy’s lap in the living room. Roger had slipped a blanket over her legs, and she stared out the window, makeupless, twitching, repeating invectives against the neocon stronghold. “Jesus is just a marketing tool. Whore minions of the Arabs and corporate America. Stole the first election.” Joni Mitchell played softly from the stereo.
“I knew it was bad,” Robby said, shaking his head, “I had no idea it was this bad. She’s listening to Joni Mitchell.”
Roger whispered to the two men, “She’s shut down completely. She doesn’t eat. I can’t even get her to drink red wine.”
They men slapped their hands to their mouth, appalled at what they had just heard.
“Can’t get an abortion anymore. Hate kids,” Donna yelped. “Bastard can’t say nuclear.”
“She just blurts out fragmented sentences. They were once complete statements, her battle cries against Bush,” Roger said.
“Cockeyed mother-f%^&*r Texan. Wears cowboy boots to state dinners.”
“She’s not making sense now,” he said, shrugging, a tear coming to his eyes. “I mean, did you hear her? She just said ‘black eyed peas are for spanking.”
“Laura and I . . .” Donna said, and Robby and Sean knew she was mocking W and his drawal. “Daddy, did I win yet? Daddy, did I win?” She laughed a secret laugh, and the three men looked at one another sadly. Sammy the cat looked up at his mommy and meowed, sounding scared. The humans didn’t understand Cat, but what he just said was, “mother-f@#$%&g republicans drove my mommy crazy and now she never feeds me. I’m hungry damnit, vote a Democrat in office, will you?”
Robby and Sean decided to go for a walk in the park near Donna and Roger’s house. They hadn’t gotten far, when they ran into Jesus. He was wearing his signature outfit, a white shapeless shift and flat sandals. His hairy legs looked pale and gangly peaking out under the hem of his shift. He was walking his dog, a Standard Poodle named Pontius Pilot, who Jesus had nicknamed Ponty.
“Jesus H. Christ, what are you doing here?” Sean asked.”
“Well as of last night, I was headlining at Caesars,” Jesus says. “I wrote and directed a play called ‘End Days.’”
“We’re actors,” Robby said. “Our last play was An Appalachian Hamlet, but it had to close because critics thought it was obvious and redundant that a guy from Kentucky would have something going on with his mother.”
“I saw that,” Jesus said, “Course, I see everything.”
“Really, because you’re omnipotent?” Sean asked.
“Oh no. I just like to go to all the plays.”
The men nodded, understanding and sharing an affection for theater.
“I sympathize with you on having to close your play. I just opened and closed ‘End Days’ last night.”
“Why?” The guys asked.
“People are pissed because they suddenly realized that I’m actually liberal. I guess my 1,500 hundred years of fame are coming to an end.”
Ponty barked, showing his disapproval of Jesus becoming a has-been overnight.
“Well, most people only get 15 minutes,” said Sean.
“Yeah, well being son of God, I got a bit more. Good thing I’m a nice guy. You know what they say, be nice to people on your way up because you have to see them again on your way down.”
They all laughed appreciatively.
“What does this do to your relationship with W?” Robby asked. “Has he forsaken you?”
“What? W? That cockeyed brat from Texas? We never had any sort of relationship.”
“But he said you were personal friends,” Robby said.
“Yeah, yeah. Like I’ve got time for him. I’m too busy helping the suffering victims he has waged war against. The soldiers, the citizens of Iraq. The French.”
“Donna said he was evil,” the boys said in unison.
“Evil? Hell, Satin won’t even have anything to do with him. W is Cheney’s lap dog and let me tell you, talk about evil, Cheney scares the bejesus out of Beezelbug.”
“Hey, can you work a miracle?” Sean asked. “Our friend Donna lost it when Bush got reelected.”
“Yes, she has lost her faith. I have heard her pleas late at night. She keeps praying for a recount, and for more Prada in her closet. I can’t help with either. Both are forces larger than Faith, though Prada and Faith are cousins. But I can help her restore her sanity,” Jesus said. “Come, my gay lambs, let us go so I can heal your friend.”
They were too late. Roger met them at the door, sweat matting hair to his forehead. “I was just coming to find you. Donna stole the keys to the Audie TT and she’s gone down to the Strip. She heard Bush was in town talking at a Conservatives Against Jesus Because He’s Liberal Rally.
“Good God, let’s go,” Jesus said.
“Okay, well that dog can’t stay in my house,” Roger said. “Dogs aren’t clean.”
“But he’s a dog of the Lord,” Robby said.
“A log and a board? What do you want with those?” Roger asked? “Oh, I get it, we’re going to bash Bush.”
“No, that’s what this story is about,” Sean said.
They stuck Ponty in the back yard, and he peered in through the window at Sammy and
Liza, who peered back, and told him in animal talk that their mommy had gone nuts because Bush used Jesus as a marketing tool and got reelected. Ponty said, “how do you think I feel? Jesus lost his fame because he was outed as a liberal.”
“Humans suck,” all three animals agreed.
Robby, Sean, Roger and Jesus stood in the stadium interest and watched a nightmare unfold: conservatives having their idea of fun. There was 20,000 of them en masse at the MGM auditorium. W and Cheny were center stage, whipping the conservatives into a frenzy.
“What are we?” W yelled?
“Arrogant!” the crowd yelled!
“Do we feel superior to liberals?”
“You bet!”
“Who do we hate?”
“Flip flopping liberals!”
“Who else do we hate?”
“Jesus!”
“Why do we hate Jesus?”
“He’s a liberal!”
The crowd roared with their own self-approval. Bush smiled his cockey, smug grin and Cheney parted his lips, unsure of what joy looked like. All of sudden, Donna rushed the stage in her Kerry/Edwards 2004 t-shirt and jumped on W’s back, her hands wrapped around his eyes.
“Guess who, you cockeyed cowboy? I’m your worst nightmare. A liberal on your back!”
Cheney screamed and ran off the stage. He hadn’t avoided Vietnam five times just to get into a fight with a girl in Vegas. Bush started screaming, “Daddy, Carl Rove, Daddy, Carl Rove, Help!”
Carl Rove rushed to the stage to pull Donna off of W. Robby, Sean, Jesus and Roger made their way to the stage, Roger kicked box secret service agents who tried to block their passage. Jesus raised his hand and parted the crowd.
Meanwhile, Donna punched Rove in the eye. “I know your marketing tricks, you hobag.
I’m in marketing, too. I see what you are doing. Using Jesus as a marketing tool! You’ll burn in hell with the likes of me, republican!”
The guys made it to the stage and Jesus put his hand on Carl Rove’s forhead. Immediately, a demon stepped out from inside Rove and the body of Rove fell to the ground in a melted heap.
“I’ll get you Jesus!” the demon hissed. He looked like a cross between Bill O’Reilly and Ann Coulter.
“Hell isn’t good enough for you, demon,” Jesus said. “Off to Texas you go.” And with that, Jesus banished the evil one to Tyler. “He’s confined to a house in the suburbs,” Jesus told the crowd, “where he has to listen to Toby Keith for eternity.”
The stunned crowd gasped to silence. Donna was still on Bush’s back, sputtering phrases like “Arab minion whore.”
Jesus his hand on Donna’s head and said, “Calm down, child.”
“Give me my president,” Donna said. “I want my president.”
Jesus waved his hand and Al Gore appeared on stage. “My fellow American,” he said to Donna.
“Not him. My president,” Donna said.
Jesus nodded, understanding. Another wave of the hand and Jimmy Carter appeared on stage, replacing Bush, who had disappeared back to Texas. “I’m going to triple federal park land, again,” Carter told Donna. That calmed her only slightly. “I’ll ensure that every woman has the right to chose.”
She calmed a bit more.
Then he brought out the big gun. “From here on out, every American must wear only Prada. And Prada must be affordable without losing any quality.”
She fell to Carter’s knees. “Thank you, oh kind one.”
“Let’s go have some peanuts,” Carter said, “Afterwards, I’ll read you some of my poetry.”
“I can talk in complete sentences again,” Donna said. “Thank you, Jesus.”
“My pleasure. Go, articulate to the world the atrocities caused by conservatives. The bad clothes worn, the poor taste in music, the blandness they have spread across this nation like mayonnaise on a Wonder bread sandwich, oh, and don’t forget that they’ve chipped away at civil liberties and legislated morality .”
“You truly are a liberal holy one,” Donna said,
“We all are, except Allah. He’s just nuts,” Jesus whispered to her.
Later, Robby, Sean and Jesus sat in the casino bar at Caesars drinking martinis.
“Here’s to another ten happy years,” Jesus said, raising his glass to the guys.
“Amen,” they said.
“Hey look, I’ve decided to take ‘End Days’ on the road. My two main actors quite, though, because I’m liberal and they think that’s not very Christian of me.”
“Republican actors? I thought that only happened to former Nazi’s,” Sean said.
“I know, just my luck!” Jesus agreed. “Anyway, I’m going to reopen my show in France. They think I’m a stitch over there. All of a sudden, I’m the new Jerry Lewis. You guys wanna star in my show?”
Robby and Sean looked at each other. The last ten years had brought many changes in their lives. They had supported each other through good times and bad, through the happy Clinton years and through the dark age of W. Now that Carter was President again, there was peace in the middle east, though gas prices were higher than ever. Most importantly, everyone was wearing Prada, and it was affordable. You couldn’t have everything, except a good wardrobe. It was the beginning of better times.
“We’re in this through thick and thin,” Robby said.
“Through Republicans and Democrats,” Sean said.
“Through right wing and left wing,” Robby said.
“I get it, you’ve been through it all. So do you want to move to France or not.”
“Okay, but we have to be back in three years,” Robby said.
“In time for the next election,” Sean added.
Jesus, the all-knowing nodded. “I understand. You want to come back for Hillary’s campaign.”
“Praise God,” Robby said.
“Thank you,” Jesus said.
February 11, 2005
California's Letter of Good-bye
My friend RI sent this to me and I had to pass it along:
Dear President Bush:
Congratulations on your victory over all us non-evangelicals. Actually,
we're a bit ticked off here in California, so we're leaving - California
will now be its own country. And we're taking all the Blue States with us.
In case you are not aware, that includes Hawaii, Oregon, Washington,
Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois, and all of the North East.
We spoke to God, and she agrees that this split will be beneficial to almost everybody, and especially to us in the new country of California. In fact, God is so excited about it, she's going to shift the whole country at 4:30 pm EST this Friday. Therefore, please let everyone know they need to be back in their states by then.
So you get Texas and all the former slave states. We get the Governator,
stem cell research and the best beaches. We get Elliot Spitzler. You get
Ken Lay. (Okay, we have to keep Martha Stewart, we can live with that.) We get the Statue of Liberty. You get OpryLand. We get Intel and Microsoft. You get WorldCom. We get Harvard. You get Ole Miss.' We get 85% of America's venture capital and entrepreneurs. You get all the technological innovation in Alabama. We get about two-thirds of the tax revenue, and you get to make the red states pay their fair share.
Since our divorce rate is 22% lower than the Christian coalition's, we get a bunch of happy families. You get a bunch of single moms to support, and we know how much you like that. Did I mention we produce about 70% of the nation's veggies? But heck the only greens the Bible-thumpers eat are the pickles on their Big Macs. Oh yeah, another thing, don't plan on serving California wine at your state dinners. From now on it's imported French wine for you. Ouch, bet that hurts.
Just so we're clear, the country of California will be pro-choice and anti-war. Speaking of war, we're going to want all Blue States citizens back from Iraq. If you need people to fight, just ask your evangelicals. They have tons of kids they're willing to send to their deaths for absolutely no purpose. And they don't care if you don't show pictures of their kids' caskets coming home.
Anyway, we wish you all the best in the next four years and we hope, really hope, you find those missing weapons of mass destruction. Seriously. Soon.
Sincerely,
California
Dear President Bush:
Congratulations on your victory over all us non-evangelicals. Actually,
we're a bit ticked off here in California, so we're leaving - California
will now be its own country. And we're taking all the Blue States with us.
In case you are not aware, that includes Hawaii, Oregon, Washington,
Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois, and all of the North East.
We spoke to God, and she agrees that this split will be beneficial to almost everybody, and especially to us in the new country of California. In fact, God is so excited about it, she's going to shift the whole country at 4:30 pm EST this Friday. Therefore, please let everyone know they need to be back in their states by then.
So you get Texas and all the former slave states. We get the Governator,
stem cell research and the best beaches. We get Elliot Spitzler. You get
Ken Lay. (Okay, we have to keep Martha Stewart, we can live with that.) We get the Statue of Liberty. You get OpryLand. We get Intel and Microsoft. You get WorldCom. We get Harvard. You get Ole Miss.' We get 85% of America's venture capital and entrepreneurs. You get all the technological innovation in Alabama. We get about two-thirds of the tax revenue, and you get to make the red states pay their fair share.
Since our divorce rate is 22% lower than the Christian coalition's, we get a bunch of happy families. You get a bunch of single moms to support, and we know how much you like that. Did I mention we produce about 70% of the nation's veggies? But heck the only greens the Bible-thumpers eat are the pickles on their Big Macs. Oh yeah, another thing, don't plan on serving California wine at your state dinners. From now on it's imported French wine for you. Ouch, bet that hurts.
Just so we're clear, the country of California will be pro-choice and anti-war. Speaking of war, we're going to want all Blue States citizens back from Iraq. If you need people to fight, just ask your evangelicals. They have tons of kids they're willing to send to their deaths for absolutely no purpose. And they don't care if you don't show pictures of their kids' caskets coming home.
Anyway, we wish you all the best in the next four years and we hope, really hope, you find those missing weapons of mass destruction. Seriously. Soon.
Sincerely,
California
February 10, 2005
Republicans to Reid: get out of our sandbox!
Senate Democrats are circling the wagons around Sen. Harry Reid. The RNC distributed a 13-page compilation of criticisms, dissecting Reid's voting record and accusing him of obstructing Bush's agenda over the years, meaning he doesn’t agree with Bush on every single point, like world domination, abolishing civil liberties, and blowing up free speech.
One portion of the document notes that the Nevada lawmaker lives in a expensive condominium when he is in Washington. Republicans, the document noted, would NEVER do anything like that.
The attacks are reminiscent of the treatment Daschle received for many months while he was Senate Democratic leader. They aren’t quite as bad as the attacks the Republicans launched against Clinton for the eight years in the White House, but the RNC has other things to worry about like launching their smear campaign against whoever will be the 2008 Democratic candidate.
“You can never start too early,” said a source close to Bush.
In response to allegations that he is behind these attacks, W said, “I am not and you can’t prove it. Daddy, tell them they can’t prove it.”
One portion of the document notes that the Nevada lawmaker lives in a expensive condominium when he is in Washington. Republicans, the document noted, would NEVER do anything like that.
The attacks are reminiscent of the treatment Daschle received for many months while he was Senate Democratic leader. They aren’t quite as bad as the attacks the Republicans launched against Clinton for the eight years in the White House, but the RNC has other things to worry about like launching their smear campaign against whoever will be the 2008 Democratic candidate.
“You can never start too early,” said a source close to Bush.
In response to allegations that he is behind these attacks, W said, “I am not and you can’t prove it. Daddy, tell them they can’t prove it.”
February 08, 2005
A kinder gentler, oh never mind.
Is it just me, and it’s highly likely that it is, but is Condoleezzzz(snore) Rice missing the point big time?
"It is time to open a new chapter in our relationship and a new chapter in our alliance," Rice told Paris' Institute of Political Studies as she defended W’s foreign policy in hostile territory, such as San Francisco.
"America stands ready to work with Europe on our common agenda, and Europe must stand ready to work with America," she said.
What common agenda? The Europeans aren’t thumping bibles and declaring freedom or else. And what is this whole thing about Europe must stand ready to work with America. They must? Damn, Condi, now that’s reaching out!
Rice's French counterpart, Foreign Minister Michel Barnier, later delivered double-edged thanks. After meeting with Rice, Barnier told reporters, "It's time to get off to a new start," but he added that "alliance is not the same as allegiance."
When W heard this, he raised his toy laser gun to the TV screen, and said in his best Borg-like voice, “Resistance is futile.”
Rice did not engender any goodwill during W’s first term when she said the United States should "punish France, ignore Germany and forgive Russia" for their opposition to the invasion.” Well, the ignore Germany part was kind of funny, but forgive Russia? What a kiss ass! There’s more money in Dubai. Let’s cozy up to them, make them our best pal.
She did not back down from Bush's call last month in his inauguration speech to spread freedom across the globe, a challenge perceived as arrogant or naive on some European opinion pages. Well, “perceived” may be the wrong word. They thought he was a jackass.
"History will surely judge us not by our old disagreements but by our new achievements," Rice said.
Like screwing up social security even more, decreasing funding to places like housing for the disabled, raising the bar when it comes to dividing the country, and God only knows what other new achievements they have in store for us.
"It is time to open a new chapter in our relationship and a new chapter in our alliance," Rice told Paris' Institute of Political Studies as she defended W’s foreign policy in hostile territory, such as San Francisco.
"America stands ready to work with Europe on our common agenda, and Europe must stand ready to work with America," she said.
What common agenda? The Europeans aren’t thumping bibles and declaring freedom or else. And what is this whole thing about Europe must stand ready to work with America. They must? Damn, Condi, now that’s reaching out!
Rice's French counterpart, Foreign Minister Michel Barnier, later delivered double-edged thanks. After meeting with Rice, Barnier told reporters, "It's time to get off to a new start," but he added that "alliance is not the same as allegiance."
When W heard this, he raised his toy laser gun to the TV screen, and said in his best Borg-like voice, “Resistance is futile.”
Rice did not engender any goodwill during W’s first term when she said the United States should "punish France, ignore Germany and forgive Russia" for their opposition to the invasion.” Well, the ignore Germany part was kind of funny, but forgive Russia? What a kiss ass! There’s more money in Dubai. Let’s cozy up to them, make them our best pal.
She did not back down from Bush's call last month in his inauguration speech to spread freedom across the globe, a challenge perceived as arrogant or naive on some European opinion pages. Well, “perceived” may be the wrong word. They thought he was a jackass.
"History will surely judge us not by our old disagreements but by our new achievements," Rice said.
Like screwing up social security even more, decreasing funding to places like housing for the disabled, raising the bar when it comes to dividing the country, and God only knows what other new achievements they have in store for us.
February 06, 2005
Ass me what I really think
I have met an inordinate amount of asses in my life. I’ve met dumb-asses who can’t hold down a job, I’ve met dumb-asses who think they are smartasses but are really jackasses. I’ve met assholes who run red lights as a matter of habit and think they are great drivers (the other drivers are either too slow or have no where important to go like the assholes).
In Vegas in particular, I’ve met a ton of conservative dumb-asses. You would think Sin City would be full of decadent liberals, but no. It’s a conservative town.
Just the other day, I got accosted by one dumb-ass who told me I needed counseling because “I hated children.”
“I don’t hate children. I just don’t want them near me.”
“How could you possibly feel that way? There’s so much to learn from them.”
I tried to explain to this dumb-ass, as I have many times over the years to other people, that children are noisy, they smell dirty, and if you spend two minutes talking to them, contrary to popular belief, you will not be amazed at the delightful things they say, but instead, you will be bored our of your eye sockets.
Anyone who has ever had to sit next to a squirming, kicking toddler on a flight from San Francisco to New York knows what I’m talking about. When the plane lands, instead of heading to baggage claim, you run to the bar to calm your frayed nerves.
The dumb-ass told me that to not have children is selfish. Yes, this dumb-ass was a guy.
“Wait, I am selfish. I admit it. You want someone who cares more about moisturizer than other people to be a mother?”
“When you have children, you stop being selfish,” Mr. Dumb-ass gave me look that indicated deep Jesus-like pity.
Uh-huh.
“Let me explain something,” I said in my best clinical voice, as if I were talking to a mental patient. “If you know you will not be a good parent, if you have no interest in being a parent, if you think you might be the kind of parent who tells the kids to go into the middle of the street to play, why would you have kids?”
“Because to not have children is selfish.”
The thing about dumb-assess is that they don’t know they are stupid and worse, they believe with all their heart that they are right (case in point, W and everything he says).
This story has no great ending. I didn’t say anything to convince the dumb-ass that he was wrong. The more I talked, the worse I made it in his eyes. At one point he said, “Just the other day I was telling my wife that I work with a bunch of selfish liberals.” I took the high-road and refrained from saying, “why just the other days, I was telling my childless husband that I work with a bunch of dumb-ass conservatives.”
You can’t win with dumb-asses, you can only ignore them. We both agreed that we liked pets a lot and ended the conversation there. We haven’t spoken to each other since. I’m good with that.
As an aside, I’ve only ever had two people tell me that it was wrong of me to not want children. Both were men. Women, even those fertile Myrtles with a dozen kids and a bible hard-wired to their brain, have always told me I’ve made a smart decision, and that they wish more people who don’t want kids or who are unsure if they want them, would come to a similar conclusion. Their attitude? If you aren’t going to take the time to raise your kid right, it might grow up to be an ass. Who wants that? The world has enough asses already.
In Vegas in particular, I’ve met a ton of conservative dumb-asses. You would think Sin City would be full of decadent liberals, but no. It’s a conservative town.
Just the other day, I got accosted by one dumb-ass who told me I needed counseling because “I hated children.”
“I don’t hate children. I just don’t want them near me.”
“How could you possibly feel that way? There’s so much to learn from them.”
I tried to explain to this dumb-ass, as I have many times over the years to other people, that children are noisy, they smell dirty, and if you spend two minutes talking to them, contrary to popular belief, you will not be amazed at the delightful things they say, but instead, you will be bored our of your eye sockets.
Anyone who has ever had to sit next to a squirming, kicking toddler on a flight from San Francisco to New York knows what I’m talking about. When the plane lands, instead of heading to baggage claim, you run to the bar to calm your frayed nerves.
The dumb-ass told me that to not have children is selfish. Yes, this dumb-ass was a guy.
“Wait, I am selfish. I admit it. You want someone who cares more about moisturizer than other people to be a mother?”
“When you have children, you stop being selfish,” Mr. Dumb-ass gave me look that indicated deep Jesus-like pity.
Uh-huh.
“Let me explain something,” I said in my best clinical voice, as if I were talking to a mental patient. “If you know you will not be a good parent, if you have no interest in being a parent, if you think you might be the kind of parent who tells the kids to go into the middle of the street to play, why would you have kids?”
“Because to not have children is selfish.”
The thing about dumb-assess is that they don’t know they are stupid and worse, they believe with all their heart that they are right (case in point, W and everything he says).
This story has no great ending. I didn’t say anything to convince the dumb-ass that he was wrong. The more I talked, the worse I made it in his eyes. At one point he said, “Just the other day I was telling my wife that I work with a bunch of selfish liberals.” I took the high-road and refrained from saying, “why just the other days, I was telling my childless husband that I work with a bunch of dumb-ass conservatives.”
You can’t win with dumb-asses, you can only ignore them. We both agreed that we liked pets a lot and ended the conversation there. We haven’t spoken to each other since. I’m good with that.
As an aside, I’ve only ever had two people tell me that it was wrong of me to not want children. Both were men. Women, even those fertile Myrtles with a dozen kids and a bible hard-wired to their brain, have always told me I’ve made a smart decision, and that they wish more people who don’t want kids or who are unsure if they want them, would come to a similar conclusion. Their attitude? If you aren’t going to take the time to raise your kid right, it might grow up to be an ass. Who wants that? The world has enough asses already.
February 05, 2005
Imagine if they had left flaming dog poo
A Colorado judge ordered two teen-age girls to pay about $900 for the distress a neighbor said they caused by giving her home-made cookies adorned with paper hearts.
The pair were ordered to pay the fine after a 49 year-old woman filed a lawsuit complaining that the unsolicited cookies, left at her house after the girls knocked on her door, had triggered an anxiety attack that sent her to the hospital the next day.
The girls baked cookies as a surprise for several of their rural Colorado neighbors on July 31 and dropped off small batches on their porches, accompanied by red or pink paper hearts and the message: "Have a great night."
The Denver Post newspaper reported on Friday that the girls had decided to stay home and bake the cookies rather than go to a dance where there might be cursing and drinking.
It reported that six neighbors wrote letters entered as evidence in the case thanking the girls for the cookies.
But the woman said she was frightened because the two had knocked on her door at about 10:30 p.m. and run off after leaving the cookies.
She went to a hospital emergency room the next day, fearing that she had suffered a heart attack, court records said.
The judge awarded medical costs, but did not award punitive damages. He said he did not think the girls had acted maliciously but that 10:30 was fairly late at night for them to be out.
If only those girls had gone to the party and misbehaved like normal teens.
The pair were ordered to pay the fine after a 49 year-old woman filed a lawsuit complaining that the unsolicited cookies, left at her house after the girls knocked on her door, had triggered an anxiety attack that sent her to the hospital the next day.
The girls baked cookies as a surprise for several of their rural Colorado neighbors on July 31 and dropped off small batches on their porches, accompanied by red or pink paper hearts and the message: "Have a great night."
The Denver Post newspaper reported on Friday that the girls had decided to stay home and bake the cookies rather than go to a dance where there might be cursing and drinking.
It reported that six neighbors wrote letters entered as evidence in the case thanking the girls for the cookies.
But the woman said she was frightened because the two had knocked on her door at about 10:30 p.m. and run off after leaving the cookies.
She went to a hospital emergency room the next day, fearing that she had suffered a heart attack, court records said.
The judge awarded medical costs, but did not award punitive damages. He said he did not think the girls had acted maliciously but that 10:30 was fairly late at night for them to be out.
If only those girls had gone to the party and misbehaved like normal teens.
February 03, 2005
Right-Wing Ralphie
In case you missed this link from my pal JB in the comments section of the Phoenix post, here's a funny new cartoon for all those kids out there who can't watch that old queen SpongeBob anymore.
http://sfgate.com/columnists/fiore/
http://sfgate.com/columnists/fiore/
One Thorny Rose Garden
Country singer Lynn Anderson was arrested on Monday in Taos, N.M. for allegedly stealing a Harry Potter DVD - and then punching an officer as she was being put in a police car. Anderson, 57, who won a Grammy for "Rose Garden" in 1970, was also charged with drunken driving in December after police said they found her passed out in her car on the shoulder of a Texas highway.
February 02, 2005
By the Time I get to Phoenix, I'll be crying
I've been in Phoenix for a few days, at a trade show where Hacidic Jews didn't want to shake my hand because I'm a woman. It was a slow show, so when our booth seemed deader than, well, Phoenix, I walked the floor and purposely brushed up again men in yarmulkes. I know, I know,abstaining from hand shakes is a cultural thing, but hey, that doesn't stop fat women from wearing tube tops.
While in Phoenix, I surrendered to the temptation of road food, and my idea of exercise was pulling up the covers on my bed around my head. So I came home tonight, ate a salad during Malcom in the Middle, then went upstairs to exercise. I left the TV on, and about an hour later I heard my cat, Sammy Davis Jr., YOWLING as if he were being slaughtered. I rushed downstairs to see little Sammy hunched up in front of the TV listening to W's State of the Union address. He turned around, looked at me, dropped a little, um, gift on the floor, then ran into the next room. Sammy leaves these little gifts when I've angered him. Obviously, I pissed kitty off because I allowed W on our TV.
What's the point of this story? It's not that I have a smart cat or even a bad cat. The point is that even my cat hates W.
Good kitty.
While in Phoenix, I surrendered to the temptation of road food, and my idea of exercise was pulling up the covers on my bed around my head. So I came home tonight, ate a salad during Malcom in the Middle, then went upstairs to exercise. I left the TV on, and about an hour later I heard my cat, Sammy Davis Jr., YOWLING as if he were being slaughtered. I rushed downstairs to see little Sammy hunched up in front of the TV listening to W's State of the Union address. He turned around, looked at me, dropped a little, um, gift on the floor, then ran into the next room. Sammy leaves these little gifts when I've angered him. Obviously, I pissed kitty off because I allowed W on our TV.
What's the point of this story? It's not that I have a smart cat or even a bad cat. The point is that even my cat hates W.
Good kitty.
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