We’ve come a long way from, “I retire from the great theatre of action”; and, “A republic, if you can keep it.” To, “I have been tested”, so said the John McCain.
Sadly, when the President handed back his test paper, the score of 2.0 was circled in red. In a class where any score less than 80% is failing.
McCain claims cooling his heels in the cockpit, parked on the flight deck of the U.S.S. Enterprise (“Beam me up Scotty”) waiting to do his part for World War Three is the same as what politicians vainly call “being tested”.
Perhaps McCain means he might have taxied off the flight deck of the Enterprise and into the sea. There would have been no repercussions. The three planes he lost as an aviator would have become four, four planes he lost before he ever went to Vietnam. It was three. Phew, lucky.
The eight stars belonging to his daddy and granddaddy trump three lost planes every time.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
First Dick and then Governerete
What we suspected all along is true: Capt. McCain aspires not just to the office of President ( a chair history has proven to wield far greater power than intended by the Framers), but to the grander of a Franco, a Stalin, a Borgia, in other words, Generalissimo. A title more modest than Supreme Dictator, Defender of the Faith and Family Values and Promoter of Retrograde Change. He gets his own Junta, much like the Supreme Dick, Cheney. Dickie Bird got a Junta without the taste of battle, as did Little Bush ( he just went buzz, buzz in an obsolete airplane).
Too bad for the Generalissimo, the Supreme Dick departs his office taking Little Bush with him, and the Generalissimo need a pliant second in command. A Gun Moll to carry his message along with his 20 mm chain gun and spare ammo. The Alaskan Governerete fits the bill. She can shoot congressman from airplanes and dress out the kill on the White House lawn. Kabang! Splat! Who left this mess on the White house lawn? Who's the Boss?
The Alaskan First Red Neck wants a son he can code-name Zamboni. Sadly, Sarah has retired form the baby making business for the Presidency of the Senate (as if they don't have enough trouble) Perhaps the Commerce Committee can buy her off with new clothes. Graft for a vice Presidential Gun Moll house is out of the question as the vice President already has a house. The First Dick resides there at the moment.
After the Republicans steal the election, she can get right down and make some Senatorial changes. Kick some booty. Do some good. Promote comity and a tax free life for the rich. How 'bout an exemption from sales tax for 'em. Its the right thing.
Too bad for the Generalissimo, the Supreme Dick departs his office taking Little Bush with him, and the Generalissimo need a pliant second in command. A Gun Moll to carry his message along with his 20 mm chain gun and spare ammo. The Alaskan Governerete fits the bill. She can shoot congressman from airplanes and dress out the kill on the White House lawn. Kabang! Splat! Who left this mess on the White house lawn? Who's the Boss?
The Alaskan First Red Neck wants a son he can code-name Zamboni. Sadly, Sarah has retired form the baby making business for the Presidency of the Senate (as if they don't have enough trouble) Perhaps the Commerce Committee can buy her off with new clothes. Graft for a vice Presidential Gun Moll house is out of the question as the vice President already has a house. The First Dick resides there at the moment.
After the Republicans steal the election, she can get right down and make some Senatorial changes. Kick some booty. Do some good. Promote comity and a tax free life for the rich. How 'bout an exemption from sales tax for 'em. Its the right thing.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Bourbon/Pretzel Logic
Those who suffered from alcoholic dementia now seen to suffer from religious dementia. This is nothing new in history.
Edward Gibbon reports newly minted christians would pound on a Roman magistrate's door in the dead of night, loudly admitting their religious crime, and demand to be burned alive on the spot. The magistrate would respond with a comeback in the morning, say after 10 AM, I'll be condemning some actors and musicians tomorrow and you can join in. It'll be flames up at three PM. Invite the family and friends. Kids pay half price.
The religiously demented are notoriously self centered, unwilling to share the flames and the audience with riffraff like actors, and worse, musicians, and demanded from the magistrate a pre demise cremation at that very moment. The flames do stand out better in the darkness.
OK, a Centurion and 80 soldiers (those Romans always could spell better than they could count) had to be called out along with the wood haulers in the middle of the night, on double OT (damn unions).
So they got their pre-dawn immolation just to shut them up. The magistrate smelled liquor on the breath. Gibbon further reports the demented seemed to bathe in the flames, all the time calling out, OK Edith, here I come.
Pre Council of Nicaea AA meetings were tough.
The funny this is, the J Man never asked of his followers any such behavior, especially waking grumpy Romans in the middle of the night . The Man was no fool.
He did instruct his followers to render unto Caesar, a suggestion his modern followers seem to forget, or brand socialistic and Un-American, and quite possibility terrorist related. It is felt by some to be a mistranslation of the Lord's Word. The J Man has a hard-on for the rich. Coin should pass in the other direction. Concentrated wealth is very large plank in the religiously demented platform.
The poor are hungry? Are there no horse apples on the roads?
Caesar making payment to those who can't pass through the eye of a needle is called tribute. Any coin remaining should go to defense.
It takes alcoholic dementia to prepare the mind for the religious dementia that leads to that kind of thinking.
Edward Gibbon reports newly minted christians would pound on a Roman magistrate's door in the dead of night, loudly admitting their religious crime, and demand to be burned alive on the spot. The magistrate would respond with a comeback in the morning, say after 10 AM, I'll be condemning some actors and musicians tomorrow and you can join in. It'll be flames up at three PM. Invite the family and friends. Kids pay half price.
The religiously demented are notoriously self centered, unwilling to share the flames and the audience with riffraff like actors, and worse, musicians, and demanded from the magistrate a pre demise cremation at that very moment. The flames do stand out better in the darkness.
OK, a Centurion and 80 soldiers (those Romans always could spell better than they could count) had to be called out along with the wood haulers in the middle of the night, on double OT (damn unions).
So they got their pre-dawn immolation just to shut them up. The magistrate smelled liquor on the breath. Gibbon further reports the demented seemed to bathe in the flames, all the time calling out, OK Edith, here I come.
Pre Council of Nicaea AA meetings were tough.
The funny this is, the J Man never asked of his followers any such behavior, especially waking grumpy Romans in the middle of the night . The Man was no fool.
He did instruct his followers to render unto Caesar, a suggestion his modern followers seem to forget, or brand socialistic and Un-American, and quite possibility terrorist related. It is felt by some to be a mistranslation of the Lord's Word. The J Man has a hard-on for the rich. Coin should pass in the other direction. Concentrated wealth is very large plank in the religiously demented platform.
The poor are hungry? Are there no horse apples on the roads?
Caesar making payment to those who can't pass through the eye of a needle is called tribute. Any coin remaining should go to defense.
It takes alcoholic dementia to prepare the mind for the religious dementia that leads to that kind of thinking.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Mista Jone, He Daid.
In this version of the Indy Jones Chronicles the monkey people retreat
to the back of the Monkey House and pelt the audience with feces, after
which they sat back and watch the producer, director, writer, in fact
all the above the line leaches, masturbate to distract the audience
from the realization that watching this movie is like swimming across a
river of snot.
In this installment Indy has a son named Mutt. A truly talented writer
would have given the poor lonely child a brother named Jeff. Maybe the
two of them together could have come close to a convincing performance.
"You're not my Dad! He was a RAF pilot who's kite was shot down by a
ME 109 flown by the Red Baron!" You see, Matt never finished school,
he's a motorcycle mechanic, like those guys on SONS OF ANARCHY.
Cate Blanchett is a sword welding transvestite Soviet Army Officer in a
quest to learn mind control from, you guessed it, the Red, I mean, the
crystal skull, which turns out not to be crystal, but ETs lost head
("Elliott, do you believe in Tinker Bell?)
John Hurt seemed to think he was doing the last act of KING LEAR ("my
poor fool," in this case Spielberg," is dead. Or in one of the radio
versions of HEART OF DARKNESS, "Mister Kurtz, he daid".)
There's the obligatory fat guy who turns out to be the turncoat. Yeah,
fat guys have no loyalty except to pizza and ice cream. The only
dramatic purpose he served to is play the fool to Hurt's Lear (sans
storm).
This abomination was part X FILES and a lot of the NATIONAL TREASURE
pictures. NATURAL TREASURE was much better.
Oh, in this turkey, ET didn't phone it in, Harrison Ford did. He's
going to end up doing dinner theater in Florida.
to the back of the Monkey House and pelt the audience with feces, after
which they sat back and watch the producer, director, writer, in fact
all the above the line leaches, masturbate to distract the audience
from the realization that watching this movie is like swimming across a
river of snot.
In this installment Indy has a son named Mutt. A truly talented writer
would have given the poor lonely child a brother named Jeff. Maybe the
two of them together could have come close to a convincing performance.
"You're not my Dad! He was a RAF pilot who's kite was shot down by a
ME 109 flown by the Red Baron!" You see, Matt never finished school,
he's a motorcycle mechanic, like those guys on SONS OF ANARCHY.
Cate Blanchett is a sword welding transvestite Soviet Army Officer in a
quest to learn mind control from, you guessed it, the Red, I mean, the
crystal skull, which turns out not to be crystal, but ETs lost head
("Elliott, do you believe in Tinker Bell?)
John Hurt seemed to think he was doing the last act of KING LEAR ("my
poor fool," in this case Spielberg," is dead. Or in one of the radio
versions of HEART OF DARKNESS, "Mister Kurtz, he daid".)
There's the obligatory fat guy who turns out to be the turncoat. Yeah,
fat guys have no loyalty except to pizza and ice cream. The only
dramatic purpose he served to is play the fool to Hurt's Lear (sans
storm).
This abomination was part X FILES and a lot of the NATIONAL TREASURE
pictures. NATURAL TREASURE was much better.
Oh, in this turkey, ET didn't phone it in, Harrison Ford did. He's
going to end up doing dinner theater in Florida.
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