Tag Archives: politics

What to do if, hypothetically, your big-shot Rapture was a huge disastrous flop

GateHouse — IMPORTANT RAPTURE PREFACE: When you’re making snarky jokes about the end of the world with your 7-year-old and his friends, it is important to ASSURE THEM THAT IT IS NOT ACTUALLY HAPPENING, because first and second-graders are WAY less plugged into the notion of hilarious dark sarcasm than us adults. Have you ever seen the look on the face of a second-grader who’s just spent a day at the beach until 5:15 p.m., and then hears that the world is ending at 6? It is the most heartbreaking thing ever.

Actually, it’s the runner-up. More heartbreaking are the boulder-dumb pudding-brains who subscribe to the overcaffeinated blustering of a crazypants octogenarian on AM radio, people whose places in the world, whether by dumb luck or a series of incredibly questionable decisions, grew so suffocating that their best option became hoping for a planet-cleansing fireball. And sure, in that case your “rapture” is actually “justify the fundamental lousiness of your life by assigning yourself some sort of self-assigned supernatural superiority,” but in any event, WHOA super-depressing right?

My apologies in advance for beating a dead apocalypse, and I think we can agree that if there’s a rapture joke that hasn’t been made yet it exists only in an undiscovered dimension, but try to imagine preparing — literally preparing, doubtlessly, devoutly — for the Actual End Of Days, and then waking up at 8:23 a.m. Sunday to find the world spinning normally, life proceeding in its well-carved patterns, everything pretty much free of devastating earthquakes and horsemen.

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Mose Allison – Ever Since The World Ended

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When freeze tag is outlawed, only outlaws will play freeze tag, or, I Will Steal The Bacon When I Damn Well Feel Like It

It's weird to think this guy would be bad at running a state, somehow

GateHouse — First of all, let me say that I fully support anything that outlaws dodgeball in any form. Yeah, you heard me, The Years 1987-1989, and you too, Delayed Onset Of Puberty.

Second of all, let me say that my son fully supports anything that outlaws freeze tag. The boy has been voicing his irrationally bilious, near-Gingrichian objection to freeze tag for months, on the admittedly understandable basis that freeze tag, unlike regular tag, does not offer a Base, the primal first-grade safety net that grants  utter invincibility to anyone who is, say, touching the monkey bars. From the bits of his argument I can glean in between his instructions for me to buy him things, the regular tag-vs.-freeze tag debate has been POLARIZING first-grade recess for months.

Happily for everyone, I have a solution: We are probably moving to New York State, where freeze tag and dodgeball were nearly outlawed by The Large And Overbearing Government, probably because children never played it in Kenya.

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Bruce Springsteen – Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out (piano version)

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Yes, we are bombing Madagascar, but Cap’n Crunch isn’t retiring so it’s a pretty even week overall

I'm ALIVE! Neckless, but alive.

GateHouse — Happy Spring Break, everyone! Hope you all had/are having warm, froofy-drink filled vacations and/or forced furloughs. Sit back, put your feet up and inhale a few more precious moments of clear-eyed fiction before you return to the unfettered horror that has become everyday life, the drive back to which will cost you $2,400 in gas.

Indeed you are probably going to want to return to whatever blissful malt-liquor induced haze you just reluctantly emerged from, because everything out here on planet America is, as is so often the case, worse than ever: Gas prices are ohthisisweird forehead-slappingly high again, the country’s largest corporation, G.E., pays exactly zero in American taxes in an inexplicable tongue-unrolling hilarity which will be humiliatingly justified by most of your boring GOP presidential losers (“Obamacare!” Tim Pawlenty will shout to an empty Elks Lodge), you have to pay to read NEWSPAPERS online now and though your public school hasn’t the remotest hope of “fixing those bus exhaust problems” or “replacing those teachers,” we’ve magicked up several billion dollars of bomb money for that 45th war going on in, I think it was Madagascar? Kazakhstan? Whatever. It’s brown on my globe.

And yet, in an age where daily soul-crushing reports of untethered greed and corporate power drive the nation’s economy, one hideous headline stands apart: They’re getting rid of Cap’n Crunch.

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Blues Explosion – Crunchy

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Republicans support Styrofoam, oppose Natalie Portman. VICTORY IS THEIRS

Styrofoam cups, which Republicans approve of more than Natalie Portman.

GateHouse — If you should happen to find yourself enjoying a twilight stroll this spring, if you should be out soaking up the blood-warming sunshine, breezes and birdsongs and thinking there might just be some hope left in this wacky world after all, look up the story about Republicans, Capitol Hill and styrofoam cups. If you are anything like me, which you’re not, because you’re probably not crying inconsolably, it’ll send you into instant depression and a degenerative terror spiral that will culminate with your packing your valuables into a tied-up handkerchief, slinging it over your back and vanishing forever into the frozen Canadian wilderness where, with any luck, you will be mauled by a bear.

Let me hop back a step: Most clear-brained Americans, and by that I mean anyone who has never appeared on TV identified by the word “Commentator” or (ED.: PLEASE INSERT SHEEN THING HERE, THANKS) would agree that in a rational universe there can, and should, be debate about a kamikaze budget. There should be debate about the appropriate and wise way to proceed with health care reform. Apparently there can be debate about how much health care the school teachers in Wisconsin should get which is OK but you know what, whatever, debate is good, right?

There is no longer debate about Styrofoam; the matter, much like the hazards of smoking and the mathematical whole of that rap-metal movement of the early 2000s, has been settled, at least by anyone who doesn’t spend a good deal of time commenting on message boards in the dark. Styrofoam is petroleum-based and if it was brought over by the Pilgrims it might have broken down by now. No one likes Styrofoam, there are only people who disapprove of it by varying degrees, ranging from “Gravely Concerned 23-Year-Old Whose Parents Are Buying Her A Volt” to “It’s A Cup, I’ll Use This One Instead, And Why Are We Still Talking About This Again?”

And yet it’s in the news again, because after a lengthy, yearslong and complicated debate over matters of environmental concerns, political posturing and oh for God’s sake Republicans are being children about it.

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House budget slashfest: NASCAR = OK. Elmo/women/mercuryless seafood = not OK.

Yeah, take that love to the CBO with those budget forms, you chirpy red granola bar

GateHouse — Big losers in the budget passed by the House of Representatives: Ira Glass, people who have yet to realize the dream of having Carl Kasell’s voice on their home answering machine, people who hate eating hairball-and-sawdust-contaminated hot dogs, women, Elmo. Actually those last two may be redundant, as I’ve never been able to satisfactorily determine the gender of Elmo (despite its name, which can be either a boy or girl name in his Kenyan birthplace), but it doesn’t matter, as funding to research the gender of Elmo has also been cut.

Welcome to month one of Budget Nightmare Hellscape Awful Craptacular Hatefest, only the very beginning of almost certainly intolerable decades-long hypocrisy slog in which everyone will light torches and carry pitchforks and light pitch-torches (the latest new thing in angry mob chic, Kanye blogged about them even) about how important it is to cut the budget, and then light torches and carry pitchforks and light pitch-torches when things they like start getting cut from the budget.

Indeed, many Americans, having failed after the last election to see an instant, glorious and revelatory increase in their quality of life, have made a Drastic Change, which will remain firmly in place precisely until the next election cycle, in which people will very likely fail to see an instant, glorious and revelatory increase in their quality of life, and make a Drastic Change. This will continue to go on for time immemorial, until hopefully, Earth is hit by an asteroid, which we won’t know is coming, as asteroid-looking-for funding has been cut by the House.

The budget is a slashfest of non-defense discretionary spending, which is pronounced “the part that isn’t Medicare, Medicaid, Social Security or the military,” so it’s a little like carrying a $79,000 credit card bill but being really serious about maximizing the Red Lobster gift certificate. Luckily, many of the of the most visible targets are all Muppets, like Snuffleupagus and Big Bird and Jim Lehrer, as the House budget zeroes out funding from those controversial Juan Williams-firers at NPR, PBS, and other stations that occasionally contain programming that doesn’t involve something like Bret Michaels crossing a rope bridge over a pond of flaming crocodile, which I’ve just realized I’ve written like it’s a bad thing.

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Tom Waits – ‘Til The Money Runs Out

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Under no circumstances should you vote in the midterms

This is among Google's top Image Search matches for "Paladino." Tragically, Carl Paladino actually looks like the guy below.

GateHouse — Two years ago Barack Obama soared to victory on an unprecedented wave of unity and a promise to bring together a nation torn by years of war, goalless partisanship and the erosion of American power, and that all went really badly, because it was a terrible idea that never had the remotest chance of working.

Good news, though: Because there are elections like every 20 days, we’re just a tantalizing few weeks from the midterms, which will solve all your problems, or at least they would if they weren’t being contested by terrible ogre-people who have made this easily the most appalling election ever. But don’t take it from me:

  • Funny story: Turns out ashen porno fiend and Tea Party-approved New York Republican gubernatorial candidate Carl Paladino, who has basically spent the last two years e-mailing pornographic and/or racist emails to his MySpace friends and who insisted that that kids shouldn’t be “brainwashed” into not making fun of gay people, rented part of his sprawling real estate empire to gay bars where gay people hang out and brainwash each other. But I’m sure that’s nothing. I mean, it’s not like militant ultra-conservative anti-gay crusaders are ever found to be hiding anything.

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Fat sweating Sen. Jake Knotts: Reinforcing the world’s hilarious drunken jokes about South Carolina since ’02

State senator and fitness aficionado Jake Knotts, The Pride Of South Carolina

GateHouse — Months ago, during an uncharacteristically unpleasant period in what has been an over-erudite political environment too heavy on facts and pie charts, I wrote a long and extremely mean-spirited piece about the state of South Carolina, which had broken off and floated into a magical space fairy-land in the sky, where there was no NPR or reuseable grocery bags or desegregation and everything was well-preserved in amber in 1951.

Ha! I’m kidding, of course — what South Carolina was actually doing was requiring terrorists to register with the state of South Carolina before, ostensibly, attempting to reduce to a smoking crater the state of South Carolina. (It’s called record-keeping, people!) For people who write about the focal points of human idiocy for a living, and by that I mean a laughably meager figure that necessitates a third-shift side job at the wastewater plant, it was a little like walking into a castle made of key lime pie where margaritas were served to you daily by thousands of chambermaids who all looked like Megan Fox.

As a rule, I try to avoid revisiting topics, unless of course the topic is pierogies, but we return this week to South Carolina, where, against the well-chiseled laws of human decency and basically physics at this point, politics IS EVEN MORE AWESOME THAN BEFORE, and by “awesome” I mean “there’s more fat sweaty racists than there used to be.” And there used to be quite a bit. Obviously.

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One man’s quest to free the town from junky-looking campaign signs

Multiple campaign signs make this average lawn shine with class and charm.

Island Packet — Just throwing this out there, just spitballing, just doing a little brainstorming — because that’s what I do when it gets humid and heavy enough to make the birds literally bang on my window with their beaks and plead for death — but if we here in Beaufort County have rules, guidelines, codes, covenants, unspoken laws, unbreakable vows and sternly worded press releases regarding things that can and cannot besmirch our greenosphere, is there some reason we allow official-sounding political types to acne up our landscape with cheap-looking red-and-white-block-lettering campaigny signs?

I realize that the balance of this column will result in my sounding the very oldest I have in my life, except for that one time I handwrote a complaint letter to Andy Rooney because he made fun of Gene Krupa, but to that I say: “Hey, you kids, get off my lawn!” Because it stands to reason that if I cannot successfully locate a grocery mart after nightfall without knowing my precise longitude — which, thanks to my iPhone is no longer a problem but I’m still sniffly about this — if I can’t enjoy the calming glow of the average American streetlight, if I can’t go for a lousy evening run around my stately, verdant neighborhood without wearing a coal miner-style headlamp because of the constant threat of stepping on, around, or into an alligator in the pitch-blackness, I should not have to be reminded, upon venturing out for coffee, who is running for governor. (Incidentally, it’s blogger-affair lady and some other people.)

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Evo Morales: Eating chicken makes you gay and bald, probably in that order

Do not even get Evo Morales started on this guy.

GateHouse — The legitimacy of global warming is still being debated in some quarters, mostly quarters containing people currently hand-painting signs with the words “Obama” and “Maoist” on them, at least two of which are misspelled, but if there’s anything we can all agree on from last week’s World People’s Conference on Climate Change and the Rights of Mother Earth (yes that is its actual title, because organizers ran out of time before they could think of something more wankery), it’s that processed chicken is making everybody bald and gay, in that order. Or maybe the opposite order. Either way, hopefully it’s a gradual process, because that’s a lot to deal with in one day.

Regular readers — and hello again to some cousins, whoever the new Facebook is giving all my personal information to and the 325 pornbots now following me on Twitter — will note that this is in flagrant defiance of the point I made here last week, which was that “Glee” was the thing gayening everybody up, as a major component of the leftapaganda globasocialist conspirawashing and basically a gateway into whatever school you attend in order to become a mullah (I think it’s Fairleigh Dickinson).

But in my defense, I wrote that both after the Madonna-song episode and before reading a speech by Bolivian president Evo Morales, the leftist leader and aspiring comedian who is currently pictured wearing a hat that resembles a Scrabble board and luxurious lei-type accoutrements which appear to be missing only their JIMMY BUFFETT VIP lanyard. (I would make continued hilarious comedy about his Scrabble hat if I could stop trying to think of a 5-letter word that ends in B and involves the Triple Word Score on the left back corner sorry I get a little OCD with the Scrabble it’s hard to stop how many points do you think you could get for “lanyard?”)

Last week Morales, as part of his last-ever invitation to speak at a climate change conference, took the opportunity to make a couple of slightly off-topic points:

  1. Capitalism is dumb.
  2. Chicken and Coke are responsible for all of the baldness and homosexuality in the West. (They are also responsible for Zaxby’s value meals, but that’s for another conference.)

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http://bit.ly/d3EO8l

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This old and crazy person named Hugh is right: Things were SO MUCH better in the ’50s

Look at how happy these smartly dressed Caucasians are! COME BACK TO US, '50S

GateHouse — Hope you all enjoyed your Easter break, everybody! Now please return to your normal lives, where all is consumed by a black-lunged and unfettered misery.

Like what I imagine to be many of you, I regarded last week’s Washington Post poll that found that 26 percent of American citizenry is “angry” and thinks the country is on the wrong track with one single thought: What the hell is wrong with the other 74 percent of you?

Because despite the onset of spring, the arrival of baseball season, the debut of that show where Sarah Palin sexily introduces years-old interviews with formerly important musicians and only like a few more episodes until “Lost” reveals what will almost certainly be its shockingly disappointing finale, things have simply never been more rustingly, probingly, zombie-movie awful than they are right this very second. Actually, now. OK, now. No, I mean, now.

Because we are on the wrong track, speeding chaotically down the Express Line To Doom, through the station at Northeast Communism, helmed by Engineer Spendypants, past Tortville and Illegalimmigrationburg and sorry, my kid is obsessed with trains and it is literally a daily struggle to think of in non-train metaphors anymore. Chugga.

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http://bit.ly/bW3gSE

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