Saturday Odds & Sods: Just My Imagination


The Legend of John Brown #19 by Jacob Lawrence.

I decided not to whinge about the heat to open the post this week. Why? We’ve had our first genuine cool front of the fall, that’s why. I was tempted to dance in the streets but that would be undignified even for me. I only dance in the streets during Carnival.

This week’s theme song was inspired by last week’s successful fundraiser. Posting the Temptations show and Oscar begging made me want to hear some more sweet, sweet soul music. Ain’t nothing sweeter than hearing Eddie Kendricks croon Just My Imagination (Running Away From Me.) It was written by Norman Whitfield and Barrett Strong who specialized in funkier tunes than this lilting soul waltz. They nailed it: Just My Imagination went to number-1 on both the pop and R&B charts.

We begin with the Temptations’ glorious studio version produced by Norman Whitfield:

The Rolling Stones covered Just My Imagination on the 1978 album Some Girls. I’m terribly fond of the live version they did during their 1981 tour, which I saw at Candlestick Park in San Francisco. Here’s a backstage view of the Stones live in the swing state of Arizona:

You may have noticed that I didn’t use the entire title in the post header. There’s method to my madness for a change. There’s also a swell Cranberries song of the same title. Let’s give it a spin:

That video gave me butterflies: Irish butterflies. It’s time to regress from a butterfly to a larval caterpillar. Trust me, I know that’s impossible but I wrote myself into a corner. Guess it’s time to give y’all a break by going to the break.

Continue reading

The Fog Of 21st Century History: Charting The Debates

Nate Silver and the crazy kids at have compiled a fascinating debate chart. It verifies that Hillary Clinton kicked some Trump butt this year:

debate screen shot

Chart by Screen shot by Adrastos.

I knew that HRC won but I had no idea that it was by the widest margin this century. The biggest surprise was that Willard Mittbot Romney was the overall winner in 2012 in the quality polls. He tied Bill Clinton’s one debate record of +42, which occurred in the town hall debate whereat Poppy Bush checked his watch.  I also thought Kerry kicked ass by a bigger margin but W did have his hardcore supporters.

Silver’s conclusion is that the race has been decided. The sole question is the margin. I’ve been saying this since the Democratic Convention. Glad to have the numbers on my side. Time to play a a few songs titled It’s Over BUT please do not forget to vote. Don’t make me a liar, y’all:

A fart in church

One of the best parts about writing for this blog is the diversity of thought and experience of the readership. That’s not me blowing smoke. It’s true. I have found that I learned a lot about my own position on this big blue rock from hearing of the positions of others here than I learned anywhere else. Agreement, disagreement, whatever. It comes down to people coming at an idea I have from a variety of angles.

Never more is this true than in the field of religion, where not only do people come from various faiths, but various positions on faith, spirituality, organized religion and other “not for me, but do what you dig” ideologies. So this piece isn’t as much about me offering thought as me asking for the sounding board to bounce thoughts to me.

I spent a dozen years in Catholic school and remain a semi-regular participant in the ritual that is Saturday/Sunday mass. My kid is in Year Six of the schooling and gets more of that at home from my mother-in-law, who spent her whole life as an educator of the faith and a pretty “hardline Catholic” (if such a thing exists). My parents are active in the church back home: Dad’s an usher, Mom does the readings. They still attend the same church they got married in almost 50 years ago.

So that’s the set up for what happened two weeks ago as I took Mom to church on a Saturday afternoon when I was in town for our other religious ritual: The monthly baseball card show.

The new priest we got (we seem to be going through them at a fairly brisk pace) isn’t the world’s most likeable man. He met me for the first time about a month ago and noticed that I had lost a lot of hair as he had at some point in his life. “I like your haircut,” he said as he laughed.

Thanks, Father.

The bigger “problem” is that the man is hearing impaired, which makes him difficult to understand. To that end, he has his own personal deacon who does a lot of the talking for him, including the homily.

For those uninitiated in the faith, a deacon is a layman (all men still. My faith needs to grow up.) who serves as kind of a “caddy” for the priest. I’m sure some of them are decent people, but I’ve yet to meet one. My experience with deacons is that they are power-hungry, self-important assholes who believe that God has chosen them to fill the role. This man is like an Alpha Deacon in that regard. He has created rules that prohibit church members from approaching the altar during certain parts of the mass. He forbids readers to sit up front, which means they have to walk up to do the reading, walk back after the reading and then walk back to do the second reading. All of this makes no sense, as most readers are in their 70s and are lucky to be walking at all.

Above all else, however, this guy has that “presence” about him: Holier-than-thou. Smug. A Chosen One. He also looks like Ben from the Dilbert cartoons.


So all of this conspired to let the priest give Deacon Dickhead the mic for the homily at mass two weeks ago.

My mother kind of captured my thoughts on what the homily should be for me: “I go there to feel better,” she said. “I want something that makes me feel inspired or at least like I shouldn’t feel bad about something that is happening in my life.”

I agree. Even if it’s a little more toward the fire-and-brimstone side, it can be helpful and inspiration.

The readings were good ones: Moses holding up his arms with the staff of God helps his people win a battle, but as he grew tired, his arms fell. When his arms fell, the opposition had the better of the battle. Thus, two guys gave him a place to sit and held up his arms for him. The Gospel was similarly about getting by with a little help from your friends. (I don’t complicate my faith, I guess…) Thus, I’m looking forward to a good bit of preaching, even given this guy’s limited capabilities.

Instead, I got a political lesson.

The guy got up there and started talking about the election and how neither candidate was good, but one of them was going to make it easier for people to get abortions and we can’t have that. He told some story about Hillary Clinton not clapping for Mother Theresa. He then told this “real story” about a guy who died:

A guy feels sick and goes to the doctor. He finds out he has a virulent strain of cancer that despite every effort, he can’t overcome.

He dies and meets God. “God,” he says. “Why do we have something horrible like cancer? Why can’t you send us a cure for cancer?”

“My child,” God replies. “I did send you a cure for cancer. But she was aborted because her mother wanted a boy.”

At the end of this horseshit, people broke out in applause.

In church.

During mass.

Did I mention we’re Catholic, where we don’t pretty much get jacked up about anything during church?

I could feel my field of vision narrowing and my head pounding as I saw a woman two pews up clapping like it was a Trump rally. I looked over at my mother who was just silent, so I had a hard time getting a feel from her about this.

When communion came (or as my kid once noted, “That time where you go up and get a cookie from the priest), Deacon Dickhead was running my line. I was torn between three actions:

  1. Stay put, take the thing, don’t embarrass mom
  2. Cut across the aisle to the other line, likely create a small scene, but feel better
  3. Stay put and when he says, “Body of Christ” respond with “Fuck you you fucking fuck” and then take a swing at the guy. Larger scene, but probably worth it once in a lifetime.

I went with the first one because it was my parents’ church and I didn’t want to bring shame on the family. I did the perfectly Catholic thing: I sucked it up and took it. At the end of mass, the priest made a point of complimenting the deacon and people applauded again. I wanted to tell them both to fuck off and die. I remained politely Catholic.

On the way to the car, I began with the “So…” line, only to have my mother start railing against this like she was Regan in “The Exorcist.” Certain words don’t sound natural coming out of the mouth of a 70-year-old woman on her way out of church.

Mom found them all.

It got so bad, she forced my father to avoid that topic of discussion at dinner, a meal that was accompanied by a big jolt of wine.

I spent the rest of that week bitching up a storm in my head. Separation of Church and State. Self-righteous prick. Use open records and FOIA the shit out of everything he ever did and hope he had a sexual rap battle with Ken Bone.

I still don’t know why this is eating at me so much. It’s not like the church ever would be in the “Do what you do, just don’t get any on me” kind of thing when it came to anything sex-based. I never imagined my faith to be OK with life not beginning when a man unhooked the woman’s bra. What is it about this one speech that really pissed me off?

Part of it was the messenger, I’m sure. I dislike people who enjoy talking the talk but have never been forced to walk the walk. I also dislike people who cling to false stereotypes of people that serve as strawmen for their bullshit. I REALLY don’t like bullies and this guy is one of those as well. He’s basically an asshole fondue of everything I hate, so I get that.

Part of it was the venue. When I’m watching a baseball game and I get a commercial for Trump or Ron Johnson or Viagra (all equally helpful in getting old angry white guys hard), I’m not thrilled, but it comes with the territory. I also know that my faith tells me God is supposed to be everywhere, and if you watched the ALCS, you know he’s with me when the Indians are playing. Still, when I’m in His house, I’m not watching commercials on my phone, so I’m thinking I’m safe from this shit.

Maybe there’s another part of me that has allowed me to kind of compartmentalize my faith into areas of agreement and areas I ignore. When I’m forced to confront those things I like to keep in the trunk of the car, it really irritates me. I don’t know.

What I do know is that for all the trouble this faith is having in keeping people engaged, pissing off one of the few people in that joint under the age of 70 isn’t a great idea.

Thus, I leave you with the questions that have bothered me: Is this a big deal? Am I overreacting? What should I do?

That’s Why I Call Him The Insult Comedian: Al Smith Dinner Edition

Donald Trump likes making history. It suits his inflated sense of self-importance. He usually, however, makes history in-as he himself would surely put it-a BAAAAD way. It happened again last night in New York. He was booed by a largely Republican crowd at the Al Smith dinner and even vexed ultra-conservative Cardinal Dolan. Way to go, Donald.

The Insult Comedian brags about his ability to judge a room; actually he brags about everything. Believe me. His Trumpy-spidey-sense failed him again. He misread the nature of a charity event that’s meant to be a very mild roasting of one’s opponent and gave them the full Rickles. He cannot help himself. He did smile a few times but, as usual, never laughed, another reason he was booed and bombed. Additionally, his idea of self-deprecating humor is to mock his wife. Take Melania, please.

In contrast, the next POTUS did a good job. I particularly liked her ode to immigrants. It worked in that room, which is heavily Irish Catholic as was Al Smith. Hillary can read a room. Donald cannot. That’s why I call him the insult comedian.

Friday Catblogging: Open Your Eyes

Dr. A  was disappointed in this devil eye picture. I think it’s pretty darn good. I think Della’s eyes were less devilish because of her big brother’s presence. He’s a sweet kitty. It’s a pity he can’t influence her.


Now that you’ve seen the glowing eyes, here’s some eye opening music. In fact, two different tunes with the same title both featuring Steve Howe on lead guitar:


Dark Stone Of The Moon

The lunatic is on the grass.
The lunatic is on the grass.
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs.
Got to keep the loonies on the path.

The lunatic is in the hall.
The lunatics are in my hall.
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paper boy brings more.

And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too
I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon.

The lunatic is in my head.
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me ’til I’m sane.
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There’s someone in my head but it’s not me.

And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear.
And if the band you’re in starts playing different tunes
I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon.

I rarely start a post with a quote let alone song lyrics, but another Roger’s weirdness has led me to post these Roger Waters lyrics. The other Roger is, of course, Stone, Roger Stone. I sometimes wonder if Tricky Dick dropped Roger on his head thereby causing, well, Brain Damage.

Roger the Ratfucker has some interesting hobbies in addition to supporting Donald Trump and defaming the Clintons. That is, however, what he’s de-famous for. It turns out that Roger Not Waters is a moon landing truther.

Roger Stone claimed that video of the moon landing was “a hoax … shot in a warehouse in” New Jersey. Stone is a longtime top Donald Trump adviser and one of the Republican presidential nominee’s go-to sources for research.

Stone, who remains in regular contact with Trump (and whose talking points and theories Trump regularly adopts), is an ardent conspiracy theorist. For example, he has claimed that the Clintons orchestrated the murder of four people this year; the Clintons killed John F. Kennedy Jr.; President George H.W. Bush tried to kill President Reagan; President Lyndon Johnson killed President John F. Kennedy; and Sen. Ted Cruz’s father is connected to Kennedy assassin Lee Harvey Oswald.

In a January 2013 Twitter exchange, Stone wrote in response to someone stating that Americans “stepped on the moon”: “whole moon shot thing a hoax. Video shot in a warehouse in NJ.”


The New York Times wrote in 2009 that “polling consistently suggests that some 6 percent of Americans believe the landings were faked and could not have happened” and noted that there “is no credible evidence to support such views, and the sheer unlikelihood of being able to pull off such an immense plot and keep it secret for four decades staggers the imagination.”

Why Jersey? Hasn’t it suffered enough from being the locus of the War Of The Worlds radio show hysteria, the Lindbergh kidnapping, and the Christie governorship? What do Nucky and Chalky think of this? Does this make Bert Cooper’s final episode on Mad Men a lie? I obviously miss Boardwalk Empire and Mad Men

The other weird thing about this is that Stone’s hero, Richard Nixon, was President at the time of the moon landing and took full advantage of it. Is Roger the Ratfucker saying that Tricky Dick was tricked? Me, I think Roger is not only cruising for a bruising, he’s batshit crazy:


I’d like to thank the fine folks at Media Matters for providing some comic relief during this rather grisly-n-grim campaign season. I’ll see you on the dark side of the stone or is that dark stone of the moon? I’m confused. Perhaps I should contact Roger’s pal Alex Jones for the straight scoop. Nah, I’d rather hear some Pink Floyd:


Pulp Fiction Thursday: F. Scott Fitzgerald

In the early paperback era, many authors of “quality fiction” received the pulp treatment. Every once in a while I like to present some of those covers. There’s no time like the present.

Scott Fitzgerald was largely forgotten in the early days of paperbacks. The Fitzgerald revival didn’t begin in earnest until the early 1960’s. I’m glad it happened: I still think The Great Gatsby is one of the best English language novels ever written. It’s a good place to begin this week’s pulp parade:


Jazz AgeBeautiful and Damned


Egopithicus Gropus


Couldn’t agree more with Adrastos; about all I’d add is, as usual, Trump was graded less on a curve than a cliff…to the extent that some of the libruls even let wingers spin the idea that “the first half hour” was, what — Reaganesque? — simply because it wasn’t a total disaster? That Trump, by not visibly drooling, exposing himself, and/or rolling around in a puddle of his own filth, “exceeded expectations?”

So, sure, I’m fully on board with Team Prog…but simple observation, not leftist perspective, saw through the spin. Trump was, is, and will forever be terrible in this kind of forum. What works with the wingnuts stinks up the joint (like sulfur) when it comes to the broader public. His verbiage was incoherent word salad that might have  embarrassed Sarah Palin (emphasis on might), multiplied by PharmaBro Shkreli facial expressions, with more than a little condescending, knuckle-dragging mansplaining…and that’s before Donald really let loose his inner clod with as dumb a response as has ever been made to the easiest of softballs — “will you accept the results?” Hell, Trump managed to not trip over his own, um, Little Donald, on that one during the primaries. That he couldn’t tamp down his inner inchoate rage during the final big event of Campaign 2016 — the longest of dreary slogs — demonstrates an unfitness for office that, even if he loses, ought to sober all of us up from the heavy drinking that helped get me through the hour and a half last night…he’s still a major party nominee.

Three more weeks…

Instant Analysis: The Vivisection In Vegas


Screenshot via Business Insider.

Since Athenae wasn’t able to negotiate a deal on a new Crack Van in time for tonight’s showdown, I got kicked out twice and gave up. I plan to kick the tires of the next one and hard.  I only hope it doesn’t run over my foot and crush it like Donald Trump got crushed by Hillary Clinton tonight. You’re a fucking LOSER, Donald.

Few people actually write their own epitaph. It happened at the Vivisection in Vegas. Trump wrote his political epitaph tonight when asked by if he’d accept the result of the election:

“I will look at it at the time. I’ll keep you in suspense, okay?”

Talk about sealing one’s own fate or putting the last nail in one’s own coffin. Name your cliché, Trump did it. That’s totally disqualifying dumbassery. No Oval One wannabe has ever said such a thing in a public forum since 1860. It undermines the essence of our democracy. I hated like hell when Al Gore conceded after the Supremes defeated him in 2000 BUT it had to be done. That’s our system. I hope that every Republican who supports Trump will be asked about those 15 words that HRC aptly called “horrifying.” It was the only moment that really mattered. I’m not sure if he’s toast or overcooked chauvinist suckling pig but one can definitely stick a fork in him. Let’s twist it while we’re at it. Fuck you, Donald.

Hillary mopped the floor with the Insult Comedian for the third time. He kept his cool for the first half-hour, then the meltdown commenced. He sniffed, fidgeted, lied, and glowered. He’s the whiniest so-called tough guy I’ve ever seen in my life. I wonder what he actually knows about Generals Patton and MacArthur beyond their names. I bet he hasn’t even seen the bio-pics with George C. Scott and Gregory Peck. Btw, George C. Scott was as big an asshole in real life as Trump. As for General Patton, he would have slapped the shit out of the sniveling draft dodger Trump. Greg Peck, of course, was a perfect gentleman and Dugout Doug MacArthur was a pompous windbag. End of oddball history lesson.

The other big moment was when Trump muttered “such a nasty woman.” It confirmed the worst fears of all those college educated suburban women (the soccer moms of 2016) about Trump’s misogyny. He was mortally offended that a mere woman had the Billy Bush to stand up to him. Hillary *is* made of steel, and not Chinese steel either. Fuck you, Donald.

I thought Mike Wallace’s kid did a decent job as moderator until the last two questions, which were stale Fox News talking points. Otherwise, he controlled the two candidates fairly well although I know Trump would demur: WRONG. That’s demur, not demure: Donald is never demure and probably doesn’t know what demur means. Actually de muir woods is a national monument not far from San Francisco…

Another thing that struck me was when Trump claimed that he didn’t know *any* of the women who came forward after the pussy dragging tape came out. There were two he knew quite well: Summer Davos who was on The Apprentice and Natasha Stoynoff who covered him for People Magazine. Trump also claimed the allegations were so specious that he didn’t apologize to his wife. WRONG. Moe’s wife said that Moe apologized to her even if was Larry’s fault. Fuck you, Donald.

I spent much of the debate on Twitter. Here are a few highlight from lil ole me as well as the peanut gallery. We’ll start with two self-quotes:

Enough of online Sheckiness. Let’s move on to some other folks; one of whom is Dr. Jill Biden.

Finally, the intrepid Tony Schwartz the co-author of The Art of the Deal turned Trump tormentor attended the Vivisection in Vegas:

I’m tired, folks. Listening to Donald Trump lie for 95 minutes is exhausting. It confirmed my belief, however, that Donald Trump will not be the first Insult Comedian elected President.

I’ll let the Traveling Wilburys play the miserable bastard off-stage:

I forgot something: Fuck you, Donald.

Debate Night Crack Van

The chat company is being a dildo about the upgrade I ordered after our fundraising drive was done, so we might still have to eke out one more ride in this broken-down Chevy. If Adrastos keeps trying to pimp Della out the back of it for petting we’re going to keep attracting ALL KINDS OF ATTENTION JESUS GOD, so try to conceal your drug paraphernalia and degenerate sex appliances a little better this time.

But we will have a paid van for election night. If I have to build it myself from scratch. Don’t worry, Doc will make sure it runs good.

VAN CLOSED. It’s over. She slayed. Everybody VOTE. And come here after you vote for our Election Day Van!


Malaka Of The Week: Jefferson Beauregard Sessions


Sessions and Trump do Alabama.

It’s time to play some inside baseball. A friend recently asked me why there have been fewer malaka of the week posts of late. He pointed out that there’s an abundance, even a surfeit, of malakatude. Here’s why: quite a few posts start off as malaka of the weekers but if I come up with a punchy-n-clever title I use that. Play ball.

I was astonished when I did an internal search a few weeks ago, and learned that Jeff Sessions had never been malaka of the week. I assumed he had been: he’s one of the worst Senators and the first member (literally in his case) of that body to endorse Donald Trump for President. (Sounds like a sentence Trump might want to grope.) Sessions been one of the Insult Comedian’s most outspoken and aggressive surrogates who is always willing to defend the indefensible. And that is why Senator Jefferson Beauregard Sessions of Alabama is malaka of the week.

Sessions has been in the Senate for 20 years. In that time, he’s been one of its few openly racist members: his idea of enlightenment is calling black folks nigras instead of you know what. His fanatical opposition to all that is good and espousal of all that is bad has had him on my radar screen for years. His pet cause is immigration, which is why he endorsed his fellow bigot way back on February 28th at a rally in Mobile. It’s leap year, which may be why he jumped the gun and endorsed his fellow Putin fan so early. That’s given this benighted peckerwood real clout with the candidate. No wonder Trump is losing.

In addition to his general malakatude, Sessions has been in the news after two of Trump’s recent controversies. At first, he was adamant that the grab them by the Billy Bush tape wasn’t about sexual assault:

Interviewed in the spin room after the presidential debate in St. Louis, in which Trump brushed off the comments as “locker room talk,” the Alabama senator noted that the real estate mogul already apologized for his “very improper language.”

“But beyond the language, would you characterize the behavior described in that as sexual assault if that behavior actually took place?” the Weekly Standard asked.

“I don’t characterize that as sexual assault,” Sessions replied. ”I think that’s a stretch. I don’t know what he meant—“

“So if you grab a woman by the genitals, that’s not sexual assault?” the Weekly Standard pressed.

“I don’t know. It’s not clear that he—how that would occur.”

He has subsequently crawfished but that quote shows his inclination to slavishly support everything Trump does or says. Sessions long ago succumbed to Trump’s domination politics. Notice the featured image at the top of the post: Trump quite literally lays his hand on his little buddy with the very Southern name, Jefferson Beauregard Sessions. They look like a demented version of Gomer Pyle and Sgt. Carter. Of course, Carter had a crew cut and Gomer wasn’t a racist pinhead just a Southern fried sillybilly,  but it still works.

Sessions has also echoed his master’s “rigged election” talking point. I suspect he actually believes this bullshit: it’s what they did in the zip-a-dee-doo-dah days of the Old South, after all. The GOP has been peddling this line for years but are now shocked that Trump and his lackeys have taken this specious argument to its logical extreme. We all know that THEM PEOPLE steal elections and even return from the grave to vote for the demonic Democrats. How do we know this? Rudy Noun Verb 9/11 Giuliani told us and Good Ole Jeff Sessions agrees with him. Would Rudolph and Jefferson lie? In a heartbeat.

While researching this post, I stumbled on to a classic 2010 Wonkette post: Vile Racist Jeff Sessions: It’s His Day To Shine. Here’s a sample of its beautiful viciousness:

Who is this vile, lisping piglet known as the “top ranking Republican” on the Senate Judiciary Committee calling everybody and everything (mostly Elena Kagan) Communist and Anti-American? Why it’s Alabama heartthrob Jeff Sessions, the Reagan-era U.S. attorney in Mobile who, when nominated by the Gipper to be U.S. District Court judge in southern Alabama, was revealed to be a complete racist and Bircher-style paranoid — the kind of trash who would tell black colleagues that he thought the Ku Klux Klan were “okay” until he discovered some of them were “pot smokers.”

Through the course of his confirmation hearings, black and white colleagues described Sessions’ constant, blatant racism: calling the NAACP “anti-American,” aggressively prosecuting fake “voter fraud” in black neighborhoods while ignoring actual fraud in white polling stations, calling a black U.S. attorney “boy,” and describing the Voting Rights Act of 1965 a “piece of intrusive legislation” — a quote he stood behind during his hearing.

How little things have changed. And that is why Senator Jefferson Beauregard Sessions of Alabama is malaka of the week. Believe it.

Since I mentioned dead voters, I’ll give a  certain rock combo the last word:

Quote Of The Day: Little Newt On Little Trump

Tiger Beat on The Potomac reads the Moonie Times so we don’t have to:

Gingrich said there’s a side of Little Trump’s personality that’s “very sensitive, particularly to anything which attacks his own sense of integrity or his own sense of respectability, and he reacts very intensely, almost uncontrollably, to those kinds of situations.”

“I think that’s a weakness,” he said on the “Examining Politics” podcast. “I hope he grows out of it.”

Grows out of it? Trump is Seventy fucking years old. The chances of him “growing out” of anything are slim and none, and slim moved to Mexico and calls himself Carlos. Btw, the real reason the Insult Comedian attacked Senor Slim (his name really oughta be Jim) is that the Mexican tycoon canceled a business deal with the fake billionaire after the rapist/build the wall speech. That’s the skinny on Senor Slim. The things you learn when you use Mr. Google…

Back to Newt’s Little Trump quote. One thing that many top Trumpers have in common is projection. They sound like they’re talking about another person when they’re really talking about themselves. Trump does it all the time and so does Newt who has always seen himself as a “historic figure.” Here’s more from the Moonie-cast:

In the podcast, Gingrich extolled Big Trump, whom he painted as a courageous outsider whose big thinking is changing American politics. “However, there’s also a part of his personality that sometimes gets involved in petty things that make no sense,” he conceded, “and I think that that’s what I was talking about when I talk about there’s a big Trump and a little Trump.”

“The big Trump is a historic figure talking about historic ideas. The little Trump gets involved at a personality level,” he said, pointing to the real estate mogul’s tweet in which he blasted “SNL” for its “hit job” and called for the “boring and unfunny show” to “retire.” Trump also attacked Trump impersonator Alec Baldwin, tweeting that his “portrayal stinks” and floating the unsubstantiated notion that the media are rigging the election.

“Well, if you’re gonna be president of the United States and a historic figure and not just change America but also change a lot about how we lead the world, you don’t descend to being the equivalent of Alec Baldwin,” Gingrich advised.

But, but, but his character on 30 Rock, Jack Donaghy, was an ardent Republican who would surely be a Trumper. Speaking of 30 Rock, it turns out that there’s a Tumblr whose stated mission is to use: “Jenna Maroney’s words. Donald Trump’s face. The worst of both worlds.” It’s called-what else?-Donald Maroney. Life not only imitates The Sopranos, it imitates 30 Rock too. Repeat after me: the things you learn when you use Mr. Google…

Where the hell was I? Oh yeah, Little Newt’s Little Donald quote. It has given me an earworm. Now that I think of it, this could be Trump’s campaign theme song even if it’s only about growth in one area:


Album Cover Art Wednesday: Chuck Berry

Rock-n-roll pioneer Chuck Berry turned 90 yesterday. Happy Birthday, sir.

Let’s celebrate Album Cover Art Wednesday style:




Ready for some live Chuck from the hippie era? It’s 1967’s Live At The Fillmore Auditorium complete with an introduction by Bill Graham. Ladies and germs, let’s give it up for Chuck Berry and the Steve Miller Band:

Don’t Make Obama Turn This Country Around

You know he has a dad voice: 

“There is no serious person out there who would suggest somehow that you could even rig America’s elections, in part because they’re so decentralized and the numbers of votes involved,” Obama said.

“There’s no evidence that that has happened in the past or that there are instances in which that will happen this time,” he continued. “And so, I ‘d advise Mr. Trump to stop whining and go try to make his case to get votes.”


I am so old I remember when Democrats who talked about who owned companies that made voting machines were so widely mocked and derided that they never talked about it again, and that was in the election right after that “hanging  chad” one. INTERNET GRANDMA.


Take Husbands and Wives

This guy’s picture is going around:

I shudder every time I see it, but not because of him.

I can’t stop thinking about his wife. She’s standing there next to him, and not that women can’t be misogynists (see Schlafly, Phyllis) but God, this election has made me wonder about so many people’s marriages. Women who are afraid to tell their husbands they’re voting for Hillary. Husbands who are “ashamed” to tell their wives they’re voting for Trump. The bargains and compromises people have made to stay friends and friendly that are being ripped up right now and set on fire, because nobody can maintain the facade anymore.

We think of politics as an abstraction. We think of it as distinct from real human events. Like there’s politics and friendship, politics and family, politics and “real life.” How many times do we hear this on TV, cats and kittens? “It’s just politics.” “It’s all political.” “Don’t politicize this” that or the other thing. And when we push back, and say all politics is personal, when we say politics is the roads I drive on and the schools my kids attend, politics is the quality of the air we breathe and what kind of jobs we can get and where we can live, we get told we’re naive and stupid and Doing It Wrong.

We’ve made this double world, of the unreal things that happen in Congress and statehouses, for the cynical benefit of this or that player, and then out here there’s the rest of us going to school and work and fixing up our houses and we can ignore it all, say a pox on both parties, a pox on the process, I’m dropping out. And we make a list of things we do not say, because they are about politics. As if politics isn’t about family, when politics determines who can marry and adopt and have children and how many and when. As if politics doesn’t grow the food and pay for it, too.

We’ve built this mirror universe, and now it’s breaking apart.

I’ve seen lots of tweets in response to the one above, along the lines of “I want to make this guy cry in November.” Don’t get me wrong, I do. But I can’t stop thinking about his wife. Imagine being so broken that you stand next to that, maybe thinking he’d never say that about me. Imagine being that certain that the kind of hate that leads you to put a sign on yourself I AM A GAPING ASSHOLE will never be turned around on you. Imagine telling yourself a hundred times a day, he doesn’t hate me like that. Imagine how scared you’d have to be, all the time, whether you know it or not.

And maybe she isn’t certain. Maybe he does hate her like that. Maybe he says things to her in private that make that T-shirt look like a compliment. Maybe he doesn’t say cunt, but he says things like this: 

“O’Reilly interviewed him and threw him 15 softballs that he should have hit out of the park and what does he do? He sits there and stares and denounces [Paul] Ryan and McCain. I was watching with interest and my wife turned to me and said: ‘I don’t know if I could vote for him.’ I said, ‘You’re voting for him!’ But it went through my mind: What if Putin insults him? Does he drop a bomb on Moscow or something? I’m not sure he is stable.”

There have probably been a thousand compromises before that, a thousand things unsaid, because politics isn’t personal, it isn’t Thanksgiving dinner or flowers on your birthday. But in addition to ripping away the veil on America’s love affair with racism and the true amount of supporters white power theology has and the GOP’s lust for power and conservo-evangelicals’ willingness to give their God a middle finger, it’s made a lot of wives understand how much their husbands hate women.

I don’t know how they come back from that. Maybe instead of a national election we should be raising money for a divorce lawyers’ fund.



Moe’s Wife Blames Larry


Moe Trump pulls Larry Bush’s hair whilst choking Curly. Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk.

I have long used the Three Stooges as archetypes for male behavior, especially of the dumbass variety. Most men are either Moes, Larrys, or Curlys. I am none of the above. I’m on the Shempish side at times but never, ever Curly Joe or, heaven forfend, Joe De Rita.

In case you don’t know your Stoogeology: Moe was the ego, Curly the id, Larry the doormat with Shemp being somewhere between Curly and Moe. Donald Trump is 100% pure-D Moe. Billy Bush is just as obviously a nebbishy Larry destined to have his eyes repeatedly poked by Moe. Btw. Howard Stern is a shaggy Curly. I thought it was important to add that. Why? I’ll never know since he wasn’t one of the boys on the bus or is that in the locker room? We’ll have to confer with Rudy who’s also a Moe whereas Newt is a Curly. I could do this for hours but I won’t. Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk.

The Insult Comedian’s essential Moe-ness made Melania Trump’s explanation to Anderson Cooper of the grab them by the Billy Bush tape even more hilarious:

Cooper asked Trump what she thought the first time she heard the now-infamous tape, and she said that she let her husband know that his comments were not okay with her.

“I said to my husband that, you know, the language was inappropriate. It’s not acceptable,” she said. “And I was surprised, because that is not the man that I know.”

She went on, though, to question whether Donald Trump knew he was being recorded and whether Bush goaded him into what she characterized as “boy talk.”

“Ss you can see from the tape, the cameras were not on, it was only a mic,” she said. “And I wonder if they even knew that the mic was on, because they were kind of boy talk, and he was egged on by the host to say dirty and bad stuff.”

“You feel the host, Billy Bush, was egging him on?” Cooper clarified.

“Yes,” she replied.

In a word: preposterous,  ludicrous,  ridiculous. I know that’s three but this is a Stooge-based post, for fuck’s sake. Moe Trump is a leader/instigator: a writer of he-man crime fiction would call him a swinging dick. In contrast, Larry Bush is a lickspittle, a cackling hyena thrilled to be in the company of a Moe. Hell, Billy Bush even has Larry-hair.

There’s no way a Larry could ever dominate a Moe and it didn’t happen in this instance either. If Melania Trump really thinks it did, she should plan to go on Dancing with the Stars after her husband loses and do the Curly Shuffle:


Alt-Right White Flight

The news has been depressing of late. The Republican nominee is one of the worst people to have ever trod our national stage, and his odious pals Rudy (Noun Verb 9/11) Giuliani and Newt Gingrich have been polluting the airwaves with racist bullshit. The Trump campaign is run by the Breitbart-Bannon-Bossie Brownshirts or as I call them B3. Many of their supporters are pistol packing ignorami/ignoramuses, what have you. Hillary calls them the basket of deplorables, I call them the MAGA Maggots. Let’s call the whole thing off. I mean that literally: I wish the third debate could be sent to live with Julian Assange in an unknown location and that election day was tomorrow. I usually enjoy Presidential elections but this is one only a motherfucker could love.

I read a WaPo piece today that gave me hope for the human race in the post-Trump era. It was brought to my attention by our favorite Suburban Guerilla, Susie Madrak. A ray of hope from Philly of all places. Imagine that. End of obligatory Philadelphia joke.

Back to the matter at hand. It’s a remarkably well-written article by Eli Saslow about Derek Black. He’s the son of Don Black, the neo-Nazi Stormfront dude. His mother is David Duke’s ex-wife and the erstwhile Gret Stet Fuhrer is his godfather. Derek used to be the boy wonder of alt-right white nationalism. Black the younger was among those to popularize the term “white genocide.” In short, he was the alt-right Tsarevich.

After attending New College in Sarasota, Florida and making a Jewish friend, Derek Black underwent a radical change of heart. He is no longer a skinhead with better hair but has become, I daresay, a liberal. His racist family is horrified:

Derek returned home a few weeks later for his father’s birthday, even though his mother and his half-sisters had asked him not to come. “I think I might be getting disowned,” Derek had written to one college friend. But he was about to leave Florida for graduate school, and he wanted to say goodbye.

He arrived at his grandmother’s house for the party, and he would later remember how strange it felt when his half-sisters would barely acknowledge him. His mother was polite but cold. Don tried to invite Derek inside, but the rest of the family wanted him to leave. “I got uninvited to my own party,” Don later remembered. “They said if I wanted to see him, we both had to go.”

They left and went for a drive, first to the beach and then to a restaurant, where they sat at a booth near the back. Derek still had his dry sense of humor. He still made smart observations about politics and history. “Same old Derek,” Don concluded, after a few hours, and that fact surprised him. His grief had been so profound that he’d expected some physical manifestation of the loss. Instead, he found himself forgetting for several minutes at a time that Derek was now “living on the other side.”

Don asked Derek about the theories that had emerged on the Stormfront message thread. Was he just faking a change to have an easier career? Was this his way of rebelling?

When Derek denied those things, Don mentioned the theory he himself had come to believe — the one David Duke had posited in the first hours after Derek’s letter went public: Stockholm syndrome. Derek had become a hostage to liberal academia and then experienced empathy for his captors.

“That’s so patronizing,” Derek remembered saying. “How can I prove this is what I really believe?”

The Washington Post has done some remarkable work during this electoral annus horribilis. The story of Derek Black’s metamorphosis from racist wunderkind to normal human being is at the top of the list. It’s good to remember that people *can* change for the better. That’s a powerful message at any time but particularly this year when the B3 Brownshirts have moved from the shadows in to the light. The best way to fight these cockroaches is to step on them with your vote.

Tweet Of The Day: Anarchy In Milwaukee County Edition


Is this what Sheriff Clarke has in mind?

Remember when Donald Trump told us he was the law and order candidate? It was, of course, another lie. He should have said he was the lawless and disorder candidate. His supporters have an anarchic streak to say the least. One of the few high-profile African-American Trumpers is the wack-a-doodle sheriff of Milwaukee County, Wisconsin, David A. Clarke Jr. The A seems to stand for arsonist:

Nice to see that the guy who runs the jails in Wisconsin’s most populous county’s hobby is inciting social media riots. Sheriff Clarke is enjoying his time in the spotlight:

His fans are gathering tiki torches to storm the castle? Is this some sort of Hawaiian or Polynesian uprising? Does that mean that Victor Frankenstein is holed up at Trader Vic’s? Does Trader Vic’s even exist any more? The original tiki bar and restaurant seems to only exist abroad according to Wikipedia, which is a real shame. I met the original Trader Vic when I was a kid. He was a friend of a friend of my father’s. I remain convinced that he created the Mai Tai; sorry, Beachcomber Don. I think Trumpers like Sheriff David Asshole Clarke should drink a few Mai Tais and catch the island vibe. That concludes this brief Adrastos-Zelig story except, that is, for this musical interlude:

Back to Sheriff Wingnut. It turns out that the lawless man in a tin foil cowboy hat is a blogger.

Clarke’s hernia inducing post is an incoherent rant that makes it rather worrisome that he’s a jailer. He’s just nutty enough to try to “lock her up” in his own jail. Here’s a sample of his unhinged writing:

When I tweeted the above image, I meant it. I wasn’t speaking in code. It’s time to run those corrupt politicians out of Washington DC and back to whatever crevices they crawled from. It’s time to put Mrs. Bill Clinton behind bars, where she belongs. And it’s time that the DOJ learns what the “J” stands for in their name.

Of course, that’s not what the “Democratic operatives with bylines” understood when they saw my tweet. They immediately reported that I was trying to “incite violence” — and unbecoming habit for a law enforcement official.  They were so desperate to make something of it, they contacted the NRA and probably the Trump campaign to get them to disavow me.)

Uh, yeah, that’s exactly what it sounds like. What do the voices in your head tell you, Sheriff Clarke? Something like this:

I’ve done nothing in 38 years of law enforcement to make any person believe that I incite violence, unless you believe that the right of self-defense which I advocate for, is inciting violence which this same media accused me of doing several years ago. Yet here goes the liberal, tolerant media giving liberals a pass while making plastering headlines across America that a black man’s conservative political rhetoric is actually violent.


That is who my tweet was directed at. I encourage them to join me in pushing back against the corruption that has infected our institutions of government. I took an oath to defend the Constitution of the United States, not the pretended legislation of federal bureaucracies that have no law making authority under the Constitution. That Constitution is being shredded with the aid of Big Media as I write. I guess that makes me old school. Fine. I haven’t forgotten that I report to the people, not Big Media.

Yes, like the Founding Fathers knew and had the courage to say, it is pitchfork and torches time in America.

I feel a liberal hernia coming on, y’all.

The most alarming thing about Clarke’s rant is that it makes no fucking sense whatsoever. The “pretended legislation” of federal bureaucracies? What the hell does that even mean? Does it have something to do with this doo-wop classic?

That makes about as much sense as Clarke’s tirade about hernias, pitchforks, and torches. Oh my.

The country seems to be divided between two camps right now: those who want to “burn it down” and those who want to build on the step-by-step incremental progress that is the stuff of democracy. The “burn it down” group is largely right-wing but I know a few lefties with an anarchic streak who think it would be a good idea. Why? I’ll never know. Slow and steady wins the race in a democratic society. The pace may be painful, especially in a fast-moving digital world but it beats the hell out of political arson.

David Clarke is a Joe Arpaio wannabe. It’s a good thing his extreme views will make it difficult for him to be elected to higher office. It is, however, scary that this tin foil hat wearing paranoid holds a responsible position. It is even more distressing that a black “conservative” is advocating mob action. I hope the voters of Milwaukee County  will take him out at the next election; not with pitchforks and torches but with votes.

I feel one more tiki torch tune coming on. Speaking of pretenders, I’ll give Jackson Browne and David Lindley the last word:

Today on Tommy T’s Obsession with the Freeperati – Dogs of Whore edition

Good morning, everyone!

Just in case you didn’t know – IT’S WAR!!

It’s Not an Election. It’s a War.
American Thinker ^ | October 15, 2016 | Debbie Hallberg

Posted on 10/15/2016, 7:21:02 PM by Kaslin

There are an awful lot of people out there who still think this is a conventional election, that we are choosing between two candidates on the basis of experience, policies, and character.

This is not a conventional election. This is, as the late, great Andrew Breitbart put it, “war!”

An all-out culture war.

It’s not a war that conservatives started or have ever wanted. It is a war that has been thrust on us. But if we don’t treat it as a war, if we don’t take it seriously as a war, we will lose and lose miserably. We will lose not just for the next four years, but for the next 40 years, and possibly the next 400 years.

In other words, this is not a skirmish or a tiny battle, as the #NeverTrump crowd imagines. If we don’t defeat the enemy in November, there may not be another chance for a long time to come.

When you’re at war, your tactics change considerably. For your leader, you don’t want a gentleman warrior or an intellectual who is good at articulating ideas but not very good in the trenches. Those are peacetime leaders, perhaps, but not wartime generals.

At time of war, you pick a general who is tough as nails and will lead you confidently into battle and be victorious. You choose someone who knows how important it is, as Winston Churchill said, to “Never give up! Never give up! Never, never, never-never-never-never!”

The general you pick may be foul-mouthed, crude, or brusque. He may have any number of personal failings. Those things don’t matter in war. What matters is:

Is he on your side?

1 posted on 10/15/2016, 7:21:02 PM by Kaslin
Freepers – will you stand up and be counted??
To: Kaslin


The war is essentially between freedom and slavery.

2 posted on 10/15/2016, 7:25:21 PM by MtnClimber (For photos of Colorado scenery and wildlife, click on my screen name for my FR home page.)

To: The_Media_never_lie


I pray there is a patriotic general left.

42 posted on 10/15/2016, 8:46:55 PM by mcshot (The “Greatest Generation” would never have allowed the trashing of our Republic.)

Some of the Freeperati have gotten the dim feeling that their bubble has gotten a lot smaller:
To: MtnClimber


I am having a hard time putting up with my liberal relatives. Most elections, I laugh off their stupidity. This time, I do not care if they get offended by the truth.

6 posted on 10/15/2016, 7:33:04 PM by LYDIAONTARIO



I haven’t spoken to my sister in over 10 years because she is a damn liberal.

21 posted on 10/15/2016, 7:57:12 PM by Quickgun (I got here kicking,screaming and covered in someone else’s blood. I can go out that way if I have to)

Love your sig line: “I got here kicking,screaming and covered in someone else’s blood. I can go out that way if I have to”.
Whatever you like.  I doubt anyone will miss you (certainly not your sister).
Or to put it another way:
To: Quickgun


My brother is a stupid libtard too and I only talk to him during Christmas and Thanksgiving.

45 posted on 10/15/2016, 8:49:34 PM by max americana (fired every liberal in our company at every election cycle..and laughed at their faces (true story))

Oh – I love Max Americana!  Remember when he said :
To: TurboZamboni


Yup. From fudgepackers to dykes.

13 posted on Wednesday, January 23, 2013 2:44:37 PM
by max americana
(Make the world a better place by punching a liberal in the face)
Whatta guy.  Let me just doxx him again, real quick-like:

“Max Headroom? Well, he did make an appearance at the Royal Canadian Legion car show:

Which leads to this (note the top winner):

Which leads to this:

30 years ago, this info would have cost me $10,000 +
Today, It cost me 10 minutes of my time.”


Was that as good for you as it was for me?
Much more after the revolutionary fold…

Continue reading

Tagged , , , , , ,

Fundraising Ends — Thank You All!

Thanks to the contributors who helped First Draft hit its goal. I’m informing the chinchillas that we are Making Them Great Again, by which I mean hit the road, we’re gonna get a lemur up in here.

In all sincerity, thank you all for supporting what we do here. On to the next debate!