Archive for November 6th, 2012
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6:22 p.m. The farcical kabuki that the rag doll could prevail in Pennsylvania is over. With about two votes counted, Fox Radio News has called the state for Obama. The announcer relayed this news in the same tones as he would adopt if he just heard that his son had perished in an automobile accident. Similarly, the pathetic delusion that the people of Michigan might hug Ass Backwards to their bosoms, that too is over. And Wisconsin, home of defeated vice-presidential nominee Paul Ryan, has likewise been Obamaed, despite stubborn hallucinations in recent days that it might go GOoPer. The Fox Radio News people have pronounced the situation for Captain Underpants “dire.” With Obama maintaining a lead in Florida with 68% of the votes counted, this thing may officially go “the party’s over” before the polls close out on the west coast.
6:51 p.m. In the coming days and weeks will come many Realities seeking to explain why the rag doll stayed limp. Few may be as puckish as that offered by a New York Times writer, who asserts that the deciding factor was: Bruce Springsteen.
The kingmaker in the 2012 presidential election? Why, The Boss, of course. In the way that the first flutters of a butterfly’s wing in Africa can set loose a chain of events that leads to a hurricane, Gov. Chris Christie’s long odyssey to meet his idol Bruce Springsteen may turn out to be the thing that decided the race.
Stay with me here: Christie worships Springsteen, and has been to 130 concerts, but his fan love has never been returned. As a lifelong pilgrim in the Church of Bruuuuuce, he cites lyrics at the oddest of public occasions, does air guitar riffs in his down time, and swaps fetishist stories of bootleg tapes.
When he was elected governor in 2009, he so wanted the Springsteen soundtrack to be a part of his triumph—but he was spurned.
When Christie, to the surprise of right-wing absolutists, embraced and praised President Obama for his quick response to the devastation of Hurricane Sandy, many conspiracy theorists thought he was playing for 2016. The idea was, it would be better to have an open race for president than to wait out the second term of the man for whom he has been a chief surrogate, Mitt Romney.
And yet, there seems to have been another more complex (and more obvious) motive in play.
I told my friends, only half in jest, that Christie was really after a chance to meet Springsteen. That he would do anything, even kill the momentum of his party’s nominee, for a bromance with Jersey’s favorite son. This would explain why he was playing nice. Sure enough, on Monday, during his now-daily call to Christie, the president handed the phone off to Springsteen. The governor may never clean that ear again.
A few days earlier, he had met Springsteen at the benefit concert in New York. Afterward, Christie went home and wept.
“We hugged,” Christie said at a news conference on Monday. “He told me it’s official: we’re friends.”
So the Boss loves the new Big Man. “I’ll treasure it forever,” Christie added.
Now: the exit polls show the hurricane had only a minor effect on voter attitudes. But if, as many believe, the chance for Obama to appear bipartisan and presidential in the last week of the campaign with one of his most strident critics was just enough to tip independent voters in swing states — well, I rest my case.
In that case, it wasn’t Sandy that determined the election. It was the man who wrote “Sandy.”
Of course, this embrace may doom Christie among the party base; those elephants never forget. Rush Limbaugh, the most mean-spirited among the knuckle-draggers, called Christie “fat” and “a fool” last week. I have a feeling Christie would say that’s a small price to pay for the chance to meet Springsteen.
Rush Limbaugh called somebody else “fat” and “a fool”? Oh projection. Thee is unerring.
6:57 p.m. With the news that New Hampshire—another state the Underpants loyalists had hallucinated would go for their man—has cleaved to the black man, the Fox Radio News people have announced that although “the fat lady has not sung, she is warming up.”
7:20 p.m. A Fox Radio News woman is veritably weeping that New Mexico has gone for the black man, bemoaning that “it used to be a state that was a little more conservative.” Yes, but voting there now are brown people, and oo-ee-oo white people. It is the future, for the Americans.
7:35 p.m. Texas has voted for Captain Underpants. But I am confused. Is Texas still in the United States?
7:51 p.m. BULLETIN I have just received an advance copy of Captain Underpants’ concession speech. He will begin by saying: “I saw something nasty in the woodshed.” Then he will expose his endowed penis.
7:55 p.m. The Fox Radio News people are saying that Allen’s abrupt concession in the Virginia senate race means that he and all of Reality know that when all the votes are counted there Obama will take the state. They are also saying that Underpants has as much chance of taking Ohio as becoming Saturn.
8:12 p.m. The Normal people of Iowa, as expected, refused to go for the man with his legs screwed on backwards. And Fox Radio News has called Ohio for Obama. The only “path to victory” for Captain Underpants now lies in another Universe.
8:13 p.m. At Romney headquarters, say the Fox people, all is silent “except for the monitors.” None of the humans are speaking, or even moving. It is like some Russian SWAT team pumped that poison gas in there that they use to “rescue” hostages by killing them.
8:16 p.m. Fox Radio News wakes up and notices that Oregon has voted for Obama. By their electoral count, that makes the black man a re-elected president. It is accomplished.
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12:53 p.m. The older he gets, the less concerned is “Bob Dylan” with concealing the fact that he is a space alien. Consider the accompanying photograph. Probably soon he will just let his antennae sprout. No one who writes something so precise and exact as “the ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face” could be wholly of this world. Anyway, Dylan has pronounced the black man victorious. Since he is no doubt in tune with the extraterrestrials who assembled this year’s clown car of Republican presidential candidates, we can trust that he knows what he is talking about.
1:03 p.m. Fox Radio News just cannot stop reporting, every hour on the hour, that while Captain Underpants is flapping through Pittsburgh, vainly flailing to assemble his mutant coalition of Three Mile Meltdown survivors and albino Appalachian banjo-pickers, the black man is playing basketball. The glow-in-the-dark racists of Fox need to emphasize this, in an attempt to emphasize his blackness, his otherness, his utter unsuitability to serve as president of this nation founded by and for slave-holders. Founded by and for the people of Fox.
But of course Obama is playing basketball. Anything you want to know about him, can be found in the clip below.
2:02 p.m. Galicia Malone voted this morning at New Life Church precinct in Thornton, Illinois. She was in labor at the time, contractions coming five minutes apart. For most of the lifetime of the United States, Malone would not have been permitted to vote, as she is a woman. She is also black. Which means that for much of the lifetime of America, odds are good that not only would she not have been considered a human being, but she would have been owned by someone like Mitt Romney. Malone voted for Obama.
2:13 p.m. Paul Ryan is on the Sean Klannity radio show. Ryan is what the real live boy version of Pinocchio would look like, if we were a child molester. Ryan is best known for proposing a “fiscal” redesign of America that would result in great gobs of dead people. This doesn’t seem to concern him. For Christmas, he should be visited first by Jacob Marley, and then by the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future. Klannity is dumb as two rocks, and so has been happily blathering all afternoon as if the GOoPers are victoriously marching on a road of bones. Ryan perceives Reality, and so his voice says it all: I am the Loser.
2:37 p.m. The loser cavalcade continues on the Klannity radio show. Now there is George Allen. He was once intended as the GOoPer 2008 presidential nominee, until in his 2006 Virginia US Senate re-election effort he let his racist freak flag fly, and referred to an Indian-American attending one of his rallies as “macaca.” Virginia voters decided they did not wish to be represented by someone with a burning cross tattooed on his forehead, and so threw him out. Today he is trying to retake that Virginia senate seat, but he is a Loser. Allen is dumb as dirt, and a stone racist; he kept a Confederate flag and a noose in his office. He and Klannity are made for each other. They should enter into a same-sex marriage.
5:02 p.m. Both Kentucky and West Virginia have gone for Captain Underpants. No surprise there. The only possible way in this particular universe that either state would have gone for the black man is if all the white people therein had been raptured up to hebbin some time on November 5.
5:13 p.m. The Los Angeles Times surmises that the money people are having a Cry. Four years ago, the financial-services industry supported Destry over Old Man Shouts At Cloud. This year, however, the wheelbarrows rolled instead to the rag doll. Seems some 77% of the monies shoveled forth from Wall Street have gone into the Underpants. This includes funds from Ass Backwards’ number one contributor, Goldman Sachs, which four years ago favored the black man. No longer. Bank of America, Morgan Stanley, JP Morgan, and Credit Suisse also luvs them some Underpants.
Money people are so sad. As Anthony Peyton Porter this week wrote:
The political news that seeps into my awareness makes it clear that money determines the winner, which means that the capitalists will always win because only capitalists are allowed to run. If money isn’t the most important thing in the universe to you, then it’s too bad for you and your delusions. You’re out of touch with reality.
Of course, quite the opposite seems to be the case, that our happiness and satisfaction have nothing to do with money, ours or anybody’s.
Anthony should know. He recently lost his wife.
5:23 p.m. I suppose the Americans could reflect that it could be worse. Shortly after the Roman Empire went in for the emperor thing, whenever the nation needed a new Daddy—the previous one usually having been assassinated—mobs of drunken soldiers would get together to yell and shout and shake their shields, and settle thereby on a successor.
5:34 p.m. Very soon now, the lights will go out for Captain Underpants. He will be alone in the dark, and he will have a Sad. He will must needs return to a life of baptizing dead Hebrews, strapping the dog to the roof of the car and driving glumly across the land, and tripping his pregnant daughter-in-law in order to win a footrace. Meanwhile, his spawn will have to make their way into the world, where they do not do at all well.
During his approximately one-year tenure with the Dodgers, insiders described [Tagg Romney] as everything from a “very nice guy who was just in way over his head” to a “vacuous-eyed, transparent political appointment.”
His one claim to previous sports marketing was at Reebok, where he was something called vice president for on-field marketing. One Dodgers official said they later learned his primary responsibility was to watch NFL and NBA games, counting how many times Reebok was mentioned or its logo caught on camera.
5:40 p.m. The polls have been closed for about five seconds, but already it is clear that the endowed penis has plowed to victory in Alabama, Arkansas, Georgia, Indiana, Kentucky, Mississippi, Oklahoma, South Carolina, Tennessee, and West Virginia. This is so because the Mormon Member is opposed by a black man, who would be eschewed by the peoples of these states even if his opponent were some sort of fearsome combo of John Wayne Gacy, Wile E. Coyote, and Vlad the Impaler.
Meanwhile, the Normal American takes a look at that list of states, and wonders: what do they have there that is even worthwhile?
8:43 a.m. Election day. So we shall play the national anthem of the Americans. Because there are no coincidences, when I entered the truck yesterday morning, and turned the key, said anthem immediately sounded from the radio, from first note to last.
8:45 a.m. We are cleaning up around the Manor. The deer droppings on the walk, these we call “Ryans.” The nastier, smellier stuff, there in the catbox, these are known as “Romneys.”
9:07 a.m. Runt Limprod is on the air. He has Oxycontin drips inserted in both arms. He is screeching like a man undergoing testicular surgery without anesthesia. All his howling delusions, he shares with us. The white people, say he, will today vote more for Captain Underpants than they did four years ago for Old Man Shouts At Cloud. While the black people and all the other inferiors will not vote as heavily for Barack Obama as they did four years ago. Captain Underpants will therefore walk his backwards ass into the White House, where he will immediately toss out onto the lawn everything the black people for four years touched, and there set fire to it. This is his Vision.
9:18 a.m. One of the peculiar traditions of the Americans is that the first votes announced in each presidential election come from a small village in New Hampshire, 20 miles from the Canadian border, monikered Dixville Notch. I do not like that name: it sounds like a place where people furtively creep through the night to cornhole one another: I do not want to go there. Today 10 cornholers voted, and they split their votes 5-5 between the black man and the underwear alien. The Drudges are so desperate they are beating this nonsense like a gong of certain doom for the black man.
9:35 a.m. Copts are a form of human who have been around since the First Century CE. They are into that Jesus guy. In the Fifth Century they broke with the Eastern Orthodox Church over theological matters so opaque and obscure that no one today can really describe or even recall them. Copts were the dominant religious outfit in Egypt until the Muslims rode in amid the Seventh Century, at which time they became red-headed stepchildren. They’ve pretty much been pouting about that for the past 1,300 years. Still, they persist in pretending they’re Important. Last week the Copts selected their 118th “pope.” They did this by placing the names of three candidates in a box, and then herding a blindfolded child to the box, who grubbed a hand inside, and pulled forth a name. That Copt became the new pope. Maybe the Americans could try something like that, for their elections.
9:50 a.m. Recently a Florida woman was arrested for masturbating in Starbucks. Why, passeth understanding, for masturbating in Starbucks certainly beats drinking their coffee. In any event, when the police arrived, she told them she was waiting for a friend to take her to the hospital, where she would confront the medical people with the tiny spiders crawling on her skin. This woman is a crack person, and spiders on the skin are a common side effect of huffing the stuff. Back in the day, I would periodically encounter people who wished me to scrutinize empty glass jars, which they claimed were roiling with crack and/or meth spiders. The point of all this, is that the Captain Underpants aficionados who will soon be screeching that the black man “stole” the election, will be the political equivalent of these people with phantom arachnids popping in and out of their pores.
10:19 a.m. People who are not Americans are not caring much about this election. It is probable that this disinterest began during the interminable Republican primaries, when non-Americans quickly sussed out what we also determined here on red: the Republican candidates were not actually Real, but instead pseudo-humans bred and/or assembled by extraterrestrial beings, out there somewhere having a laugh, fucking with the Americans. These other-worlders offered as “candidates” such preposterousness as a Dr. Moreau-like farm animal bred from a man and a steer, a grub in a skin-suit, a Wizard of Oz knock-off with eyebrows that moved and melted and slid down his face like something out of the climax of The Devil’s Rain, a bedbug in a skin-suit, a demented goose, and a raccoon. Eventually selected as the sacrificial goofball was the underwear alien, a sadsack who appears to have had the bones sucked out of his arms, and whose ass was placed where his crotch is supposed to be. He is like a rag doll sewn by inebriates. When tonight he walks off into the sunset, he will do so with his endowed penis dangling neath his back, rather than below his stomach, like in a Normal human.
10:43 a.m. A man with a brain parasite has posted a piece to Redstate in which he vows that Captain Underpants will attain 337 electoral votes. He awards to the rag doll states that in no known Reality in this particular Universe could flow the Ass Backwards way. These states include Nevada. No. For in Nevada they like their sex and gambling. And Nevadans know the Captain Underpants cult eschews both— except when a properly endowed penis is deployed in order to transmit a soul to a woman. There is much sexual weirdness in Nevada, but at least they appreciate there that intercourse is not necessary in order to award a woman a soul. Also, there are brown people in Nevada, and they know that the underwear alien has no use for them, except to mow his lawns. Too, Iowa. No. Iowans are Normal People, and they cannot go for a man who, when he walks, it is clear that his legs are screwed on backwards. Plus, Ohio. No. The people there understand that Captain Underpants would kill all their car companies and then rob their pockets when they lay dying in the gutter. Then, Michigan. No. See Ohio. Next, Wisconsin. No. Those people are of cheese, and cows. They can intuit that if the underwear alien ate cheese, he would break out into a rash, and, as for cows, he would strap one onto the roof of his car and then drive it across many states. Finally, Pennsylvania. No. Here, Ass Backwards hopes to cobble together a strange and unnatural coalition of radioactive mutants scarred by Three Mile Meltdown, and wild-eyed cohorts of albino banjo-pickers swarming from out the Appalachians. But this is not to be. During the recent hurricane, a Pennsylvania woman plunged into a raging torrent in order to save some baby ducks. No state where a woman on election eve has risked life and limb to save baby ducks has gone Republican. This is historical Fact.
10:58 a.m. Speaking of the Appalachians: West Virginia. There, they so hate the black man, that in the 2012 Democratic presidential primary more than 40% of Democratic voters cast their ballots for a Texas prison inmate, rather than Obama.
It has just been confirmed that white people who vote for Obama in West Virginia may enter the federal witness-protection program.
11:31 a.m. Brain parasites are increasingly a problem among Underpants devotees. For instance: Dick Morris. For the past week he has been flapping around the nation predicting the rag doll will prevail by six percentage points. This is the man who lost his consulting gig with the Clinton White House when a hooker he hired ran to the tabloids to reveal that Morris had sucked her toes while Clinton ranted on the speaker-phone about Monica Lewinsky. I am thinking that he sucked some dirty toes, and contracted a brain parasite, and that is why he is spouting this nonsense.
11:38 a.m. The hot water ran out before I had finished my shower. In keeping with the national pastime, I blame Obama.
11:59 a.m. Not even the oxy drip could keep Reality three hours at bay. Limprod just concluded his show with an Underpants obituary, praising the rag doll, and his wife—who may receive a soul so long as she receives Ass Backwards’ endowed penis—as “just the nicest-looking, most normal people.” Translation: white.