Worst Person In The World

Has Keith Olbermann ever nominated President George W. Bush to receive this high honor, whether for gold, silver, or bronze? If not, he should.

The Hill reports on an exchange between he and my new senator, Jim Webb. Webb, as you probably already know, will be the only member of the 110th Senate who has a kid in Iraq. Webb campaigned in his kid’s combat boots and made quite an issue of the Dirty Big War.

Bush, or as I like to call him, “Rude Vile Pig” (sorry, Elton), asked Webb how his son was doing. Webb replied that what he’d really like to see is his son come home. Bush reportedly said, I didn’t ask you that, I asked how’s he doing. The Hill says Webb has admitted that at that moment, he wanted to slug the Resident. I’m glad he didn’t. I need him in the Senate, not San Quentin. But I sure can understand the compulsion.

So I’ll be watching the Countdown tonight and hoping for Mr. Olbermann to remove whatever presidential exclusion he’s had until now. Bush has certainly deserved to be the WPITW probably at least half the nights since the feature’s been running. But if he doesn’t take it for this Webb thing, something’s just not right in the world.

On a sort-of related note, if you can listen to today’s Randi, please do. Randi’s got her Sarnac hat on today. While the press is just now coming to grips with the reality that the Dirty Big War is a “civil war,” she’s gone to the next step toward the real deal: It’s “ethnic cleansing.” Why was Cheney meeting with the Saudis? Because they’re Sunni, and they’re nervous about how their Sunni friends in Iraq are being treated. Der. 

George Allen Is A Mean Nasty Little Girl

Update, 3:18 p.m.: Okay. So he conceded. He’s still a mean nasty little girl. 


George Allen has really misread the results of the 2006 mid-terms, hasn’t he?

Among the many messages that should be drawn from these results is that the American people mourn the loss of the hair-breadth degree of chivalry that George W. Bush stabbed in the heart in 2000. If you’re behind, George, you’re supposed to concede.

But there’s something terrifying about George Allen. Last week, Olbermann interviewed Mike Stark, the Calling All Wingnuts blogger who was uncerimoniously ejected from a George Allen campaign event. Stark pointed it out, that of all the people in the room who could have deflated the incident, George Allen could have been most effective. Yet, he did nothing. Nothing. He turned his back and allowed one of his constituents to be thrown to the ground.

That’s the kind of person George Allen is. He’s a mean nasty little girl who won’t concede when he’s clearly lost and who refused to step in when one of his own constituents is getting beat up. Not to mention, he’s the kind of person who points at the brown face in the crowd and says “Macaca” and the kind of person who thinks it’s “casting aspersions” to intimate that you might have Jews in your family.

Pray for Webb. That’s right. I said “pray.”

Begone The Dog And Pony Show

I have discovered two terms that distinguish different forms of mind-boggingly stupid statements made by Republigoats and their accomplices.

A “Tartlets Tartlets Tartlets” is a phrase or idea that is so unfathomable that if you attempt to argue it to yourself long enough, it loses all meaning. See “Friends,” “The One With The Stoned Guy,” guest starring Jon Lovitz. President Bush’s stance on stem cell research is an excellent example of a Tartlets Tartlets Tartlets.

An “If It Weren’t For My Horse” is a phrase or idea that is so utterly stupid that it should cause you to heed comedian Lewis Black’s warning about it: “Don’t—don’t think about that sentence for more than three minutes or blood will shoot out your nose.” If you’re unfamiliar with this iconic comic routine, please search for it at YouTube.

The notion fermenting that the Democrats who bulldozed the Republigoats were “conservative Democrats” is an If It Weren’t For My Horse—as is that idiocy’s twin idiocy that Madame Speaker-Elect Nancy Pelosi is some kind of Communist Goon Hippie Dope-Smoking Communist Faerie Communist Goat-Humping Pagan Communist (not that there’s anything wrong with that). No, friends, what happened was that the Democratic Party stopped taking America’s pulse with its thumb.

There was nothing more striking about the 2006 mid-term drive than the strident message against the President’s Dirty Big War. I can’t recall a single Democratic TV spot I saw that didn’t tout the candidate’s stance against the Iraq war and that didn’t accuse the opponent of licking the President’s belly button.

Contrast this election season with 2004: Dennis Kucinich said “the war is wrong,” and all the other candidates looked around and said, “Who farted?” And then Howard Dean bellowed, “The War Is Wrong!” and started getting results, so all the other candidates started trying to say the same thing but couldn’t quite hold their mouths right, so they ended up saying weird things like “The War Has Cheese!” And then Howard Dean got up in front of a crowd and transformed into a giant horny lizard creature and had to drop out of the race, leaving all the other candidates to run around in scatters screaming “The War Has Cheese!” “The War Has Cheese!” “The War Has Cheese!” And then John Kerry went snowboarding, causing George W. Bush to “win” “reelection.”


Anyway. No way in Topeka did the Democrats win this by wearing Duncan Hunter masks. The ideas that swept the Democrats in were overwhelmingly “progressive” and do not in any way resemble the ideas put forward by the Republigoats. Sorry, Bob Schieffer.

Pelosi has some excellent stuff tacked to her clipboard, including the idea of fully enacting the 9/11 Commission recommendations. A novel idea: America needs to stop flapping its gums about that tragic event to actually manage the problems that were caused and revealed by it.

And we’ll do it, no matter what labels they’d like to slap on the Dems who are taking the saddle.

Get ready. Stuff is about to happen.

(Also published at The Smirking Chimp.)

Thank You Notes

I have purchased a packet of 18 thank you notes and intend to send them all. Here’s the list of folks I’m thanking.

  • Howard Dean √
  • Air America Radio √
  • Nancy Pelosi √
  • Rahm Emanuel √
  • Chuck Schumer √
  • Jim Moran √
  • Jim Webb √
  • Sherrod Brown √
  • Bill Clinton √
  • Keith Olbermann √
  • S.R. Sidharth √
  • Jack Murtha √
  • Katrina vanden Heuvel
  • The Huffington Post
  • The Smirking Chimp
  • Jann Wenner

I must admit that I am tempted to send one to Donald Rumsfeld. You know. “Thank you for resigning.” But I don’t want to be a smartass.

Gloat Gloat Gloat

First, the ugly. I like Virginia and all of its gifts. I like living in Arlington. It has good restaurants. But it has forced me to counsel my transsexual uncle and his wife to consider a vote via Nike. And if they go, so might I. This amendment is stupid. One can only hope that the courts don’t like it, as they are wont to do, or that the unintended circumstances will be untenable.

Aside from that, the play was very nice, thank you. One can’t complain about wrenching the House of Representatives from Republigoat control so overwhelmingly. One can’t complain about making them sweat this profusely over the Senate—a brass ring we weren’t even thinking we’d be able to grab—nor over the results in governor’s races nationwide, and state legislatures, and all the dog catcher positions that will be filled by Democrats as well.

I have to say, I like Rep. Pelosi’s 100-hour plan. Immediately taking up the issue of a federal living wage, that’s beautiful, then of shattering the stranglehold of the K Street thugs, that’s even more sweeter. I hope they’ll also consider throwing down the gauntlet of campaign finance reform. Nothing matters if we can’t fix that. It would also be nice to start investigating what on Earth is wrong with our voting system. I mean, yes, I’m happy with the results, but there are still questions about how our votes are counted and by whom.

What a lot of work we have to do. Let’s roll up our sleeves and get started.

Kerry Should Be Fitted For A Muzzle

It was terrific to see John Kerry all plucky on Halloween. Terrific. Stunning, it was. Almost Bill Clinton-Chris Wallace redux. Still, though. It doesn’t hardly count when your courage comes to you while you’re busy mopping up your own brain vomit.   

“Education, if you make the most of it and you study hard and you do your homework and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don’t, you get stuck in Iraq.”

As they say on Grey’s Anatomy: Seriously?

Noting first that the adjective “botched” these days most often modifes the subject “boob job,” it is worth noting second exactly how many things were wrong with John F. Kerry’s  “botched joke.” For starters, even if he hadn’t have stepped on it, it wouldn’t have been funny.

It’s not funny anymore to say that George W. Bush is stupid. It’s especially not funny if you’re the man he vanquished to acquire another go at residency in the White House. It’s also not funny anymore because the chimp’s stupidity has led to such an awesome tragedy. Pointing out that George W. Bush is occassionally prone to malapropisms or that he was a C student is like telling a pollack joke or watching Eddie Murphy’s “Raw.” 

However. John Kerry did step on it, and how. In his indignant press conference, Kerry acted as if nobody in his right mind could have construed from his comments what the press secretary claimed to have construed. Ballocks. It’s right there on its face. You have to run it through a filter to get what Kerry meant to say, not to get what he said. The White House did no heavy lifting whatsoever to haul all that sweet ammunition in. Kerry just handed it to them, they said “thanks,” and they used it.

There should be no surprise about this, of course. This is John Kerry’s M.O. He was for it before he was against it. He’d fight a sensitive war on terror. Let’s go snowboarding. Shall I hold the door for you, George?

Don’t get me wrong. It’s good to see John Kerry all plucky and mean. We need more articulate Democrats to stand up and look all stern and say things like “if anyone owes our troops in the fields an apology, it is the president and his failed team…” and “enough is enough” and so on. That’s precisely what we need to do. But John Kerry—let’s put it this way: He had one hell of an audition, but he didn’t get invited to Hollywood. He should take a page from failed presidential candidate Al Gore. Grow a beard. Get fat. Stay away from microphones. Refect a while. Then come back and be Thomas friggin’ Paine.

I want John Kerry in a muzzle. I don’t want him running for President. I don’t want him speaking. Just show up to the Senate to vote, then go home. Good boy.  

Freedom’s Untidy

Fred and Ed are housemates. They’re hanging out one day and the guy from the funny orange house up the street walks in through the front door. Neither Fred nor Ed seem to notice him. The guy walks up to the second floor, then jumps down to the landing. He lands on the cat. Both cat and neighbor die instantly.

Fred jumps up off the couch and starts loading his car up with guns and explosives. Ed watches Fred load the car and helps him a little. While they’re loading the car, Fred is talking about how the neighbor was evil, and that the other people who live in the funny orange house are probably planning to come for the hamsters and the beagle, and that he’s determined to get them before they do. 

Ed doesn’t argue. In fact, he asks if he can help. He thinks Fred’s verve is a little weird. But he’s pretty pissed about the cat, too, so he’s with Fred no matter what. He helps load the car and asks if he can do anything else. Fred says no and backs out of the drive.

He drives up the street and parks in front of the orange house. He gets out of the car. He walks up to the house. He kicks the siding. Then he gets back in his car and drives around the block to the blue house down the street on the other side. 

He drives the car over the sidewalk, through the gate, up the walk, up the porch, through the front wall, and into the living room. He exits his car and starts shooting and setting off explosives. This goes on for about 20 minutes. When he’s done, Ned, who lives there, comes out and says, hey, thanks. I had ants.

Fred surveys the damage and says he’ll help fix it and in fact that when he’s done it’ll be a palace. He tells Ned that he really ought to move the sofa. From there on out, they spend three hours rearranging furniture. Finally, Ned begins to bristle. We’re just moving furniture, he says. We’re not actually accomplishing anything. And goddamit, he says. I still have ants.

Ed has been watching from across the street. He’s been trying to call Fred on the mobile but hasn’t been able to get through. He finally gets through and says to Fred, hey, Fred, what the hell was that all about?

And Fred says, “Hey, man. Back off.”

It’s not a perfect analogy, not by any stretch of the imagination. But it’s, you know. Somewhat. 

A Coarse Course

Now that the Bush administration has abandoned the moronic phrase they’d pounded into our heads for years and has in fact attempted to claim they never actually used the phrase—these dirty rotten Stalinist hogfuckers—I can’t help but sit down and try to create new, innovative ways for them to wriggle out of this one.

My first idea was to propose a compromise, possibly between the erstwhile phrase and the accusatory and shamefully purposely inaccurate phrase, “cut and run.” I initially proposed “cut the course.” But of course that makes no sense. So a friend cut in with thus: “The new bipartisan slogan incorporates themes from all sides of the debate: ‘Let it run its course.'”

One could, of course, claim that what the President meant to imply was that there really isn’t a war, that what we’re actually doing in Iraq is competing in an obstacle course. Or, perhaps, that he was actually offering to feed every American a nice meal, as in, “Stay. Please. Have another course.” He might have been actually trying to say that the United States would have to stay rough and tough, as in, “We’re going to stay coarse.”

Where, oh where do these people come from?