Archive for November 8th, 2012

Repo Man

“Ever feel as if your mind had started to erode?”

“No.”

“Ever been to Utah?”

—Repo Man

Life is rough, even when you’re worth in excess of $250 million. Look at Captain Underpants. He owns and controls more dollars than any human in a natural lifetime could even count. But when Tuesday the American electorate dropped its collective drawers and very publicly mooned him, he felt such Pain that he was compelled to immediately Fire the Help.

The next time you have the misfortune of hearing a Wall Street titan or other one-percenter whine about how their trickle-down contributions are not appreciated by the masses remember this tidbit, courtesy of Garrett Haake at NBC.

“From the moment Mitt Romney stepped off stage Tuesday night, having just delivered a brief concession speech he wrote only that evening, the massive infrastructure surrounding his campaign quickly began to disassemble itself.

“Aides taking cabs home late that night got rude awakenings when they found the credit cards linked to the campaign no longer worked.”

No doubt a whole host of Boston taxi drivers found themselves stiffed when it came to tips early Wednesday morning. That’s what happens when the money trickles up, not down and it’s why healthy economies don’t depend on the trickle down whims of overlords. The minute Richie Rich decides he doesn’t need all that stuff staff … well, that’s that.

What did it matter, if these people had no direction home? Neither did he.

Dreaming Of A White Christmas

(Now that he has officially been declared The Loser, the standard-bearer of the National White Male People’s Party, he has angrily strapped his family to the roof of the car, setting out to drive across many states, to the great temple in Utah, there to resume his career of baptizing dead Hebrews and furiously endowing his penis. And in his glum wake I thought I would reprint here that speech of Captain Underpants—a.k.a. Mitt Romney—delivered before the National White Male People’s Party Convention in late August. This version originally appeared in an iPad app that briefly lived and died—sorta like a fruit fly, or Underpants’ hopes for victory—this summer.)

(The following is a full and complete transcript of Willard “Mitt” Romney’s address before the Republican National Convention. This has been verified as the voice of Captain Underpants. Transmission 11; August 30; Sector Zulu King Zulu.)

Mr. Chairman; delegates. I accept your nomination for President of the United States of America.

I do so with humility, deeply moved by the trust you have placed in me. It is a great honor. It is an even greater responsibility.

Tonight I am asking you to join me to walk together to a better future.

True: some of you may decide instead to run, rather than walk, into that future.

And that’s okay.

Or you may choose to fly in personal jets. Or drive fast and expensive cars. Perhaps you’ll hire a private train.

All of that is alright, as well.

Others of you, however, may seek to hobble along on crutches. Or roll sadly along in wheelchairs.

You: you will be left behind. For you are Failures, and Mutants. And I have no time for you.

furthur=>

Fear Of A Pink Planet

(Below is a piece I wrote in August for an iPad app that briefly lived and died this past summer. Given that with Tuesday’s results the Republican Party stands naked and exposed as the National White Male People’s Party, and that it failed to capture the Senate solely because its white male candidates just could not refrain from recurrently shooting themselves in the stomach by flapping their yaps about women’s vaginas, I thought I’d reprint it here. Todd Akin, the ur-human at the center of the piece, this man it was once believed would easily secure a seat in the Senate—so long as he did not do something like  pork a pig on national television. As it happened, he more or less did just that, and lost by some 15 points.)

This week the name on everyone’s lips—very often accompanied by projectile vomit—was Todd Akin, the freelance dingbat who opined that women possess magical lady parts that will prevent pregnancy if subjected to “legitimate rape.”

Horrified that Akin had vocalized what they all believe, every pol and pundit in the National White Male People’s Party—also known as the GOoPers—proceeded to screech at top volume that Akin needed forthwith to cease his attempt to unseat Claire McCaskill as US senator from the state of Missouri.

They are so scared, see, are the GOoPers, that the flaming dirigible known as Mitt Romney will crash and burn, in the race with Barack Obama for the White House—and he will; it’s already happened—that they have decided that every little thing that seems as if it might prevent the aerial flamewagon from outdistancing the Black Man, must immediately be heaved overboard.

And Todd Akin—he, most definitely, the GOoPers decreed, needed the heave.

Else the electorate perceive that the Akin imbecile embodies everything the White Male People’s Party is all about, when it comes to the truly—to them—scarifying subject of women, and their vaginas.

furthur=>

Broken English

Robbing is an occupation fraught with peril. The authorities frown on it, and so do most of the Normal people. And, once the caper is launched, there’s just no telling what might happen.

Of course, generally this is true only of robbery at the retail level. As Woody Guthrie observed: “some will rob you with a six-gun/and some with a fountain pen.” The latter is mostly pretty safe. You just sit in an office and sign stuff.

Out on the street, though, that’s different. My friend S—-, in recalling his criminal career, would ruefully recount the time he and a friend resolved to rob a bank. Meticulously they had planned. The job, there at the end, required running three long city blocks, after the money had been secured.

This seemed, in Idea, no problem, the running. However, when it came time for Execution, S—- and his pal pantingly discovered that they had failed to factor in to the Plan that each man carried a giant heroin monkey on his back. This great weight, they quickly learned, elided any running.

Neither man had run anywhere for some months. They’d just naturally assumed they could. But no. And so they went to the pokey.

Recently in Orlando, Florida, a trio of robbers just naturally assumed that their victims would understand that they were being robbed. But no. And so, no robbery.

[T]hree masked men entered the New China eatery in Orlando a little after 9 p.m. Monday and demanded three employees hand over the money from the cash register.

However, the employees apparently had trouble understanding the robbers. Two of the masked men pounded on the register in an attempt to open it, accidentally firing a gun in the process.

Police said the attempted robbers left without any cash and hopped a retaining wall into Woodridge Apartments.

The employees spoke only Cantonese: the robbers but English. Holding a gun to an employee’s head apparently did not properly transmit the message that a robbery was underway. Neither did banging a gun on the sealed money machine, causing the gun to discharge and bullets to whine round the restaurant.
There was, here, a failure to communicate.
This seems useful information to me. Robber come hither, with gun or pen? Simply make it clear that you simply don’t understand.

When I Worked

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