One of the best developments since Al Gore invented the series of tubes is that Americans no longer have to slog through sanitized versions of how the Congressional sausage is made. We can search out our own information on these dunces and bag men/women to whom reporters have to pander to retain access. And Jeebus, is that ever helpful with the farm bill. The great Heidi Moore has a superb analysis of the epic fail, but she only touches on the hypocrisy on shameful display. A farmer who rakes in the federal bucks actually wanted to cut food stamps because they’re like stealing. As always, the question remains: Stupid or evil? Or both?
Archive for the ‘wingnuttery’ Category
I stole this from the comments on one of the many blogs that keep me dicking around on the Internets rather than creating anything for anyone else to pick to pieces: “There’s a reason Somalia has no Mickey D’s.” Apparently the only thing you build yourself is the E. coli.
But I wrote this, so I’m posting this: Real wingnuts don’t drink the KoolAid. Soda’s what’s bringing them down. First the bartender who exposed Rmoney as a soulless money grubber comes out to say he was motivated to videograph after not getting even a thank-you for pouring the sugar water. Then the Wasilla Hillbilly “goes down on a Big Gulp” and tries to turn it into Liberty symbolism. Apparently immigrants are welcome, as long as they come clutching half a gallon of Freedom Fizz.
Not sure what they think about this in Fargo, but support for background checks for gun owners in this country is even stronger than for Italian food. Good thing Congresscritters don’t get to vote on whether we’re allowed to eat “paninis.”
Also, too, it’s beyond amusing to watch everyone freaking out about getting droned while “sitting in a cafe.” The odds of being done in at table by the gubmint are much more likely with uninspected food. And of course with silly mandated budget cuts the sound of hooves gets closer every day. I don’t know why a country that eats hot dogs is queasy about the other red meat — you’re getting worked up about Mr. Ed in meatballs when there’s poop bacteria in cakes at the same store? Pretty funny that we’re actually at the point where the absence of meat in the beef potpie is considered a good thing.
You have to wonder about a state (Hoosiers’) that wants to require two transvaginal ultrasounds if a woman chooses to exercise her legal right to an abortion but that also insists it’s unconstitutional to allow anyone to photograph/videograph a factory farm. Apparently they would have no problem with force-feeding and gestation-confining women. And in Oklahoma a nutcase blocked a law banning texting while driving because, you know, it’s a slippery slope to the long arm of the law snatching Whoppers out of drivers’ hands. Oklahoma, of course, is where the new abortion laws were so overreaching a court just struck them down. Apparently a woman can do what she wants with her phone and her diet, but all her lady parts belong to the state.
Not sure this was quite the right week to run a feature exploring what the wrecking crew literally feeding at the public trough is eating these days. They get the Styrofoam cafeteria; we get the screws. Considering Congresscritters poll lower than cockroaches lately, maybe next Wednesday we can be treated to what’s cooking in the Cheney bunker. (Chickenhawk heart, probably.)
Back to pol porn: I know this is stale water, but the ship of stools got away from me, so: If campaigns are going to be conducted like Tin Chef, the Party of Stupid really needs to ramp up the production values. Or at least media-train candidates in the art of ingesting under the cruel eye of a camera amplified on YouTube. Never let your lunging distract from your lying . . .
Just back from Philadelphia, I know a couple more words for smashed (squiffy and zozzled) and a great euphemism for hooch (jag juice). But mostly, thanks to the totally vaut-le-voyage Prohibition exhibition, I have the perfect epithet for so many wingnuts, and more than a few “celebrity” chefs. And that would be the one applied to anti-booze William Jennings Bryan: “idol of all morondom.”
Not to stay too political, but it’s been amusing seeing Texans clamoring to secede since the melanin-gifted candidate won. Considering Thanksgiving is coming, and the grease is getting hot, they had better hope volunteer fire departments are up to saving them in their new Somalia.
I also liked the contretemps over W2’s li’l running mate turning up at a soup kitchen after all the souping and kitchening had been done and all the poors were safely out of sight. As commenters noted, of course you leave your expensive watch on to “scrub” pots. And as I’ll note, he complained a hot KitchenAid dishwasher will give you calluses. Spoken like a guy who has never lifted a blister in his life.
Given how much of my life I squander on the Twitter/FB/Wingnuttialand, I really was amazed when a friend dropped by the other day and mentioned she still pays attention to the wack in the hat. She said his blaring siren for hours had wailed about a dodgy chef’s deli having allegedly been vandalized by anti-Semites; I responded that it was news to me even though I squander much of my life on Twitter/FB/wingnuttialand, not to mention the whole excitable world of food blogs. Of course my instant reaction was that I’d seen that movie before (and I don’t exactly mean “The Godfather”). I forget who first said that “sometimes the news is in the noise, sometimes it’s in the silence,” but it is more true than ever in a multimedia era. A crime against the Jews fell on Columbus Avenue and only the anti-islamists heard it? Call that a good reason to check to be sure your credit card was not hacked as you walked past the string of Chapter 11s.
As I noted over to the Epi Log, Julia Child had a whole other side, and it did not take well to wingnuttiness, which was at peak baying-at-the-moon level in the McCarthy years. Funny how on her birthday my copy of her book of letters just fell open to page 215 and to this, from Dec. 8, 1954: “I cannot regard the Republicans as people, somehow, only as monsters, fools, beasts, and foul excrement. Must I turn a new leaf, or another cheek?” And I can’t decide if it’s a good or a bad thing she’s not around to see the current crop.
A secret source who knows him from way back in his word-salad-shooting days does the reading so I don’t have to and has now alerted me that Panchito definitely did not learn his lesson when he was last seduced by a “real” “he-man” — he’s back and fluffing the Zombie-Eyed Granny Starver. Will the sequel be “Noodling Through History”?
Relatedly, I was not encouraged to see the guy who wants to be king of the world crapping out so soon. He was too “exhausted” to campaign at one event in Florida. Maybe next election someone should nominate an Immalokee tomato picker with some stamina. But at least “the M in Willard is for mendacity” did show up to profess his love for mango, Cuban slang for vagina. How many feet can one mouth fit?