Saturday, October 11, 2008
It’s not the freakish, shrill non-answers she gives in the
few not-quite interviews by not even close to journalists. It’s not the hard
core fundamentalism, sugar-coated to create an illusion that she supported her
unmarried teenage daughter’s “choice” to carry her fetus to term, when she
would have insisted on it regardless -- even if the father was her husband, who
had raped her. After making her pay for the sex assault kit. And firing anyone
who sought funding to cover the costs for said rape kits.
It’s not her inability to avoid sounding like a
malfunctioning former beauty pageant contestant robot when responding to
questions about serious topics around foreign policy experience -- by
regurgitating talking points about mavericks. Like Senator McCain is a
maverick, Charlie, and like world peace, like, such as.
It’s not her strong affinity to pastor Thomas Muthee and the
Assembly of God Church, parading their tragically comical “former gays’” for whom
all powerful God, apparently in between warding off evil, car accident-causing href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jl4HIc-yfgM">witches, is able to cure
of homosexual urges, although seemingly incapable of curing their limp wrists.
A sad testament to the inefficacy of lisping in tongues.
It’s not her Greta Van Susteren moistening husband, the “First Dude” of
Alaska, Todd, wrecking the Tundra while the underage kids binge drink and snort
Oxycontin, nor the precision with which she was able to strong-arm the supposed
father of her child’s child, a self-described child-averse redneck, from a
carefree hockey playing teenager into a brooding, neutered mute destined to
loathe and resent and blame Bristol for the rest of his life for her mother’s
commitment to someone else’s at the expense of his.
It’s not the over-amped, Aderall fueled, slightly manic data
dump that all but immersed debate moderator Gwen Ifill, who McCain suggested
had racist intentions based on her writing of a book about Obama, perhaps in an
unsuccessful attempt to distract those of us who remember his buddy, Don Imus,
referring to Ifill as a “cleaning lady.” McCain would make sure Sarah wasn’t
intimidated by any nappy-headed hos.
Anymore than he would refer to his wife, Cindy, as a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOl4iT46Eec">cunt.
It’s this freak of nature. The anti-Christina of Feminism.
This aw shucks automaton that will earn Tina Fey an Emmy, and elevate
the ratings of Rachel Maddow on MSNBC, gives me the chills in ways I don’t
quite understand. The notion that after nearly eight years of George w. Bush,
America still believes that they’d rather have a President who they could knock
back a beer with than one who might be able to string together a coherent
sentence. The Tits on the Ticket personification of America’s racist undertone, allowing the narrowest of minds the perfect conduit to get away
with voting for the bitch rather than the nigger and still look progressive.
Sarah Palin has managed to undo years of feminist progress, despite
intelligent arguments to the contrary by the likes of Camille Paglia. Whether
it’s the Black movement, the Women’s movement or the Gay Movement, the ultimate
mark of progress is demonstrated by a new generation at liberty to simply
accept and demand the rights and freedoms they deserve without any appreciation
of the blood, sweat and tears sacrifices made by the activists that came before
them. Sarah Palin could pursue her ambitions – from pipe playing beauty pageant
contestant to Alaska governor – unapologetically without playing the victim
card. Good for her. But make no mistake, Sarah Palin is no Hillary Clinton, Benazir Bhutto or Winnie Mandela.
Her interviews with Katie Couric of CBS News set the bar for
the one and only Vice Presidential debate so extraordinarily low that the fact
that she didn’t sound like a lobotomized drunk was enough for Pat Buchannan to
declare that conservatives across the country were heaving a collective sigh of
relief, and the rest of America to declare her performance a success. But, as
Maureen Dowd pointed out, “she dangles gerunds, mangles prepositions, randomly
exiles nouns and verbs and also — ‘also’ is her favorite vamping word — uses
verbs better left as nouns, as in, ‘If Americans so bless us and privilege us
with the opportunity of serving them,’ or how she tried to ‘progress the
The problem is not how low Sarah Palin set the bar for the
debates, however. It’s how low she has set the bar for the Vice Presidency, and
given John McCain’s precarious health and age, the Presidency. Contestants for
American Idol are given more scrutiny than Sarah Palin’s vetting process and
subsequent media access combined.
As we head into the final stretch, Sarah Palin has
transformed into an attack dog, zoning in on Obama’s supposed ties to 60s
radical William Ayers. “Our opponent ... is someone who sees America, it seems, as being so imperfect, imperfect enough, that he's palling around with terrorists
who would target their own country," Palin told a group of donors in Englewood, Colorado. "This is not a man who sees America like you and I see America. We see America as a force of good in this world. We see an America of exceptionalism."
A strange strategy, given Palin’s own dubious ties with the
likes of pastor Thomas Muthee, or her links to an Alaskan group that wanted Alaska to secede from the United States.
In response to her less than adequate performances,
particularly with her Katie Couric interviews, Palin stated: “The Sarah Palin
in those interviews was a little bit annoyed. It's like, man, no matter what
you say, you are going to get clobbered. If you choose to answer a question,
you are going to get clobbered on the answer. If you choose to try to pivot and
go to another subject that you believe that Americans want to hear about, you
get clobbered for that too."
No, Ms. Palin. You aren’t being clobbered for answering a
question. You’re being clobbered for the pivoting. The notion that you somehow
know better what American’s want to hear about as opposed to the Americans
asking you the actual questions.
In the days leading up to the election, we are not going to
learn anything more from Sarah Palin. She will continue to regurgitate talking
points that contradict others she has made – less government, but more
oversight, a fresh, energetic start that excludes an old Washington insider
like Joe Biden, but not John McCain, Obama’s inexperience compared to her
ability to see Russia from Alaska – and it’s the best we can expect from her.
Say it ain’t so, Sarah! There you go spewing talking points again
like a senile Arizonian senator... Now, doggone it, let’s answer just one
fucking question and tell Americans who and what the hell you are. You mention
this imaginary media filter, and I’m glad you did. They are a pathetic bunch.
But with your genuine belief in evil witches and the Flintstones, a little
clarity from you is not asking too much now, is it? God help us. Our reward for
your ascendancy is in hell, right?”
My only fear, and this is why Sarah Palin gives me the
chills, is that for America, this inadequacy masked as mediocrity may just be
In perhaps the most embarrassing
interviews ever aired, setting female journalists back a good few decades,
Fox News’ Greta Van Susteren interviewed Sarah Palin’s husband, Todd, gushing
like a nun at a prison rodeo, with in-depth, probing questions like “Go back to
this ‘First Dude.’ I mean, who came up with ‘First Dude’? It's a great name. I
mean, who came up with ‘First Dude’?’ This, at a point where Palin had
expressed his refusal to comply with a subpoena in the unfolding href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alaska_Public_Safety_Commissioner_dismissal">Troopergate
scandal – the firing of the Public Safety Commissioner for the State of
Alaska, Walt Monegon by Governor Palin.
Following the suspension and then firing of radio personality, Don Imus, from
ABC and MSNBC respectively, after he referred to the Rutgers basketball team as
“nappy headed hos,” John McCain was one of the few politicians to stand behind
him, and was the first to appear on his new, albeit, castrated radio show.
Cliff Schecter's book, href="http://rawstory.com/news/2008/McCain_temper_boiled_over_in_92_0407.html">The
Real McCain, recalls an incident in front of aides and consultant Wes
Gullett in which McCain’s wife Cindy joked about his thinning hair. The ever
even-tempered McCain is said to have responded, “At least I don't plaster on
the makeup like a trollop, you cunt." McCain’s excuse was that it had been
a long day. The generic excuse for Cindy’s tolerance is also known as
Thursday, September 06, 2007
I don’t usually write about my sex life. But to all those who asked, or plan on asking me questions about secret codes in the wake of Senator Larry E. Craig of Idaho’s sex sting arrest in a Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport bathroom, from people who just assumed I would know, I thought I would lay it all out.
Let’s just say I’ve been around the block once or twice.
I couldn’t possibly count the number of people I have had sex with. Math was never my strong suit. I’m not bragging or strutting my prowess. It’s simply a fact.
I’ve done it everywhere. On a plane, in a car, on a beach, in a forest, in a park, in a parking lot, in the ocean, in a pool, in a hot tube, in a sauna, in a steam room, in a school toilet (I was a student at the school at the time).
I’ve had sex with a Fedex carrier, a plumber, an electrician, a painter, a mechanic, a yoga instructor, a personal trainer, a film star, a porn star, a politician and almost every other profession under the sun in almost every city in the many countries I’ve visited over the years. There have been twosomes, threesomes, foursomes, and fivesomes (and higher numbers too, but who’s counting?) There’s hardly a porno fantasy that I’ve seen that I haven’t actually experienced myself.
Yet even the times that I did it in a public place, the likelihood of being caught by anyone was slim to none. The thrill, you see, wasn’t about getting away with a risky situation, but rather unwillingness to deprive oneself of an opportunity that was presenting itself right there and then.
Maybe it’s just an innate sixth sense, but I’m pretty good at picking up what the score is. Even without the help of the Internet, (or travel guides before that), I can usually sniff my way around until I find the most conducive spot, where the attainment of my desire has the highest probability.
Perhaps this is why my friends assumed I would automatically know what happened to Senator Craig in the airport bathroom.
But in all my years, and uncountable encounters, never have I known about a foot-tapping code in a public restroom, nor the bizarre signal of sliding one’s hand under the stall of the intended, neighboring target. While I am astounded that Senator Craig seemed to be so familiar with the conduct he denies ever happened, it makes sense that a closeted person seeking an anonymous encounter would need to be familiar with such codes.
Who would have thought that there was something new to learn in the cruising for sex realm from an anti-gay, conservative, closeted, Republican senator? Why hadn’t I ever heard of nor encountered these tawdry mating rituals?
Had I been in the stall next to Senator Craig, I would likely have mistaken his foot tapping for impatience at his bowels for ignoring the pressing time restraints of his tight flight schedule.
Maybe it’s because I don’t need to do an elaborate, toilet-inspired tap-dance to get laid. It’s not that I consider myself unusually good looking by any means, but I do know what it’s like to be objectified, and to be desired for my looks alone, my brilliant mind, alas, having no bearing on the situation whatsoever.
Could it be that I don’t feel a need to conduct my sex life in the shadows, embarrassed over who I am? Maybe it’s because I haven’t half-heartedly taken sacred vows and fraudulently committed myself to someone who expects my shrill rhetoric about “protecting” families and hatefully embracing of “values” that “strengthen” marriages to match my conduct.
Yet gleeful as I am about the uncomfortable plight of an anti-gay politician, who doesn’t believe gays are fit to serve in the military (but fit to service him in the john), and as unconvinced I am about his denials, and his supposed “wide stance” that would have him “mistakenly” touch the foot of the man in the next stall (would love to see him demonstrate this seemingly acrobatic stance that would qualify him for a role in Cirque de Soleil) his arrest is disturbing because the whole purpose of a code is to determine a level of interest from someone who, by virtue of merely understanding the code, is likely looking for the same thing.
So when Senator Craig determined that Sgt. Dave Karsnia, the arresting officer, was not responding to the foot-tapping, either by foot-tapping back, or making some other gesture that demonstrated his interest, he should have had the common sense to quit. That's why there are codes, idiot! It’s that clouded judgment, along with immediately pleading guilty to make it “all go away” that suggests he is ill equipped to serve as a representative of the people of Idaho, let alone in any leadership role.
Since I would never find myself in the same position as Senator Craig, I tried to imagine what I would do from Sgt. Dave Karsnia -- the entrapper’s -- point of view, or if I was minding my own business in a bathroom stall and some strange, liver-spotted, gnarled hand swept across the underside of the stall. My guess is I would probably yank off the wedding ring, and walk out, making sure to flush first. Etiquette always.
But then again, if I was Sgt. Dave Karsnia, I would be too busy thinking about what to tell my family when they ask me how my day was, or what to tell my kids if they wanted to inform their peers what their father actually does as a “first responder.”
“Well actually I spend my life pretending to be taking a crap, hoping some desperate closet queen will tap his foot in the stall next door. And then, respond I do.” The self-actualization he must feel is heart warming.
I understand addictions and compulsions, and recognize that for some, seeking to satisfy these urges includes the risk of a dangerous encounter – like a public toilet at a busy airport. For me, there is no excitement in that sort of risk, just like there is no joy in trying to convert someone who is sexually predisposed to a different gender; no matter how attractive they may seem on the surface, or committed to pleasing me.
As I write, criticizing the players in this sordid drama, I’m sure my many critics will jump at an opportunity to condemn my immoral behavior, and the extent to which I indulge my hedonistic urges for what I term first-encounter sex (not to be confused with anonymous sex, which in turn is not to be confused with sex in a public place). While some will chalk up my promiscuity to my fear of intimacy, (many close friends already do) I prefer to see it as rather disenchantment with repeats or dissatisfaction with third encounters of the close kind. Metaphorically, to the extent that there are new, ravishing delicacies yet to be tasted, why would one keep on eating the same meal, no matter how good, over and over again?
Senator Craig saw fit to announce on the floor of the senate, that Valentine’s Day happened to be the anniversary of the first date he had with his wife Suzanne. “Am I a romantic? Well, maybe just a little bit,” he said coyly. One can imagine the romantic gift. Glade toilet spray?
"I am not gay. I never have been gay," Senator Craig doth protested defiantly following a news conference after the story first broke. A week later, as his adult children make the rounds on national television, defending daddy’s honor (and exacerbating mommy’s humiliation), proclaiming that his specious explanations had addressed all their “tough” questions to their satisfaction, Republican hypocrites like Trent Lott, Mitch McConnell, John McCain and Mitt Romney (to name a few) are now sweating like whores in a church at the prospect of Senator Craig retracting his “intended” resignation, and fighting to not only have his plea changed to “not guilty” but to retain his seat in the senate.
Senator Craig, who is up for re-election next year, will never be able to erase the screaming subtext from whatever façade he chooses adopt as a campaign theme or slogan, and politically and strategically will have no choice but to, once again, acknowledge who he isn’t and apparently never has been.
“Larry Craig for Senate 2008. I’m not gay; It's just my stance.”
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
A worthy read from BLACKAMAZON
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Resignation Seems to Be the Hardest Word
By Alberto Gonzales
(Sung to the tune of 'Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word')
What have I got to do to make you fire me?
What do I have to do if I don’t care?
What do I have to do if no one trusts me
And I can't remember when or why or where?
What do I have to do if no one believes me?
What if the truth just simply won't be heard?
What if faith in me is non existent
And resignation seems to be the hardest word?
It’s bad, so bad
It’s a bad, bad situation
And although my memory’s blurred
It’s sad, so sad
My tenure’s never over
Oh it’s clear to me
That resignation seems to be the hardest word
What can prosecutors do to keep on working?
What self-integrity cost will be incurred?
What is it I do? What did I say to who
When resignation seems to be the hardest word?
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
While Dick Cheney busies himself pouring over the private financial records of innocent American civilians, the fugliest man on the planet, (or just behind Cheney, as my friend Jayne argues), Donald Trump was dealt a number of blows this last week, none of them coming from Rosie O’Donnell, mind you.
To compensate for -- how do I say this delicately – an obviously very small penis, this delusional clown revealed his Achilles heel, by revealing his ever-so-desperate need to belong, to feel part of something he’ll never be part of. Laying out a minimum of $15,000, The Chump bought himself a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. No matter how successful The Apprentice was once upon a time, long ago, acting it wasn’t. Nasally sneering “You’re Fired,” looking as ugly as is humanly possible wasn’t exactly a stretch for someone already as ugly as is humanly possible.
Despite The Chump’s hate-filled attack on O’Donnell, the ratings for the newest season of The Apprentice were pitiful. Almost as embarrassing as a man getting his wife and daughter to attack a woman on his behalf, because his own catty claws weren’t drawing any blood.
Watching Mensa…er …Melania and Ivanka Trump both berate and urge Rosie to get help was kind of like watching Dina Lohan chide Lynne Spears for failing to intervene in Britney’s bloated, self-destructive spiral into drug-induced, career-crashing oblivion.
Then came word that Katie Rees, the “dethroned” Miss Nevada, who The Chump determined did not get a second chance, (for antics just slightly less vanilla than former Miss USA, Tara Conner’s, exposing his hypocritical, double standards for what they are), signed a lucrative two-year, $2 million-plus deal to host a revival of an "Beacher’s Madhouse" variety show at the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas. Essentially laughing all the way to the bank whilst simultaneously telling Trump to take his “second chances” and double standards and shove them up his lily-white, saggy ass.
What is this loser’s problem?
Could it be that he looks like a frightful, bloated, pale multifarious horror blend of a frog, a fish, David Gest, Tim Russert, John Bolton and Big Bird with lips that look like they’ve been bludgeoned with a Botox-filled syringe and then slammed up against glass?
Or could his bitter misogynistic outburst be retaliation for an interview his former wife Ivana Trump gave a while back, touting the virtues of her new, young, handsome, virile boyfriend whilst expressing gratitude for no longer having to share a bed with a man donning what looks like a spray-on comb-over to rival Richard Simmons’ pubic perm? Her elation that sex no longer manifests itself as an unpleasant exercise of Viagra-supported, performance-deficient, wheeze-inducing duty, degraded further by groaning and back pain whining? Enter Don Imus.
The final sledgehammer of desperation from The Chump was an appearance last week on the Don Imus show. Imus, the loud-mouthed, misogynist buffoon who’s homophobic, mid-life crisis morning radio show is simulcast on MSNBC, and who despite extraordinary lengths to position himself as a cowboy, looks like an aging, cocaine-dry-wrinkled cross between the late Ann Richards and Miss Piggy.
Edged on by Imus and his sophomoric crew, The Chump continued his high-school girl tirade against O’Donnell. “I happen to like my hair,” The Chump told Imus. Like an anorexic beauty pageant contestant given a “second chance” claiming to love her cellulite.
I’m not some avowed, die-hard Rosie O’Donnell fan, although I do appreciate her humor from time to time. And this whole ratings-inspired Donald O’Donnell fiasco is a perfect distraction from our President’s not-so-idle threats to Iran and Syria.
It’s just that if Donald Trump has an urge to prove his manhood, challenge someone like Barry Bonds. Threaten to find and catch Osama Bin Laden. Uglifying the Golden Globes and bashing Rosie O’Donnell and Barbara Walters just isn’t that impressive.
Holding up his nine month old son Barron at the ceremony forever cheapening the meaning of the already cheap-meaning stars, The Chump offered these barren pearls: "He's strong, he's smart, he's tough, he's vicious, he's violent — all of the ingredients you need to be an entrepreneur, and most importantly, hopefully he's smart because smart is really the ingredient."
Just what the world needs. Another violent, vicious, arrogant, self-obsessed, nouveau riche asshole with delusions of grandeur and an unhealthy sense of entitlement. Why not skip the charade and buy the little brat his own star too? Hey why not pick out a wife for him to betray while you're at it?
And should you, in the meanwhile, happen to be in Los Angeles and step in dog crap, feel an overwhelming urge to defecate or urinate in public, or puke upon a star (as opposed to being puked upon by a star), there’s a certain star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame…
Monday, November 27, 2006
Amidst the cries of censorship and the frenzy surrounding the OJ Simpson/Judith Regan/Fox News saga, people seem to be confusing censorship with public backlash.
Despite a long-winded screed defending her decision to publish O.J. Simpson’s hypothetical confessional, If I Did It, Judith Regan’s attempt to garner sympathy appears to have come from the Linda Tripp School of Redemption. In fact she almost sounded like Linda Tripp in her infamous, “I am you” speech, claiming that she did it for all the women who had been abused, herself, front and center.
News Corp. the Rupert Murdoch owned media empire that owns both ReganBooks’ parent, Harper Collins as well as Fox News, and who stood to benefit by this grisly cross-promotional cheap-shot grossly miscalculated how swift and ferocious the backlash would be.
Even I, on Annoy.com, took News Corp. to task, but not with the kind of hypocrisy that the holier-than-thous at MSNBC and CNN et al. saw fit to cover the story. Taking a graphic image of Nicole Brown Simpson lying in a pool of blood, her slashed throat covered by a promo of O.J. s new book and the News Corp. logo and tag line, mocking Judith Regan’s claim of domestic abuse solidarity and whitening her skin in much the same way Time magazine had once made O.J.’s darker, the piece was titled, using the same font as the book, If We Had Ethics. The irony is that I am posing the question as much to myself as I’m applying it to News Corp. After all, we are exploiting a tragedy in almost the identical, gratuitous way. The main difference though, is that ours is a commentary, and we aren’t making any money from it.
The ferocious response from the outraged public, as advertisers warned of pulling ads amidst rumors of consumer boycotts, as Fox affiliates jumped ship, refusing to air the interviews, and bookstores refused to sell the book, News Corp. bailed. Not because of a sudden pang of conscience and instantaneous recognition of the bad taste they were exhibiting, but because in totality, the endeavor was doomed to cost them, not make them, money.
If anyone thinks Rupert Murdoch’s statement was about a sudden cathartic recognition that the toilet paper garbage he produces globally is too damaging and unfair, wake up and smell the ink. His was the business equivalent of President Bush realizing in 2004 that Iraq was a mistake and pulling out. That’s why Rupert Murdoch will be around longer than President Bush.
No matter what, this was not censorship. There was no government involvement in this whatsoever, and truthfully, News Corp. has the right to say and publish what they want.
The market, however, can also tell a corporation where to get off, and they sure as hell did.
But don’t be fooled into thinking the Diana-chasing is over. Not by a long shot.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
If you’d been part of the president’s motorcade as we’ve shuttled back and forth...the president has been doing a lot of waving and getting a lot of waving and smiles.
I think he’s gotten a real sense of the warmth of the Vietnamese people and their willingness to put a very difficult period for both the United States and Vietnam behind them.
Mr. Bush’s national security adviser, Stephen J. Hadley, bragging to the New York Times whilst conceding he had not had any direct contact with ordinary Vietnamese on his whirlwind visit for this weekend's big summit of Asia-Pacific leaders in Hanoi.
The problem with living in a bubble is that you miss the most basic of signs. Grimaces are mistaken for smiles and birdie-flipping is mistaken for waving.
Given the President's penchant for traveling (he had only been on one trip outside the United States before becoming President) the only thing he really knows about Vietnam aside from the increasingly similar parallels to his war in Iraq is how to avoid it. And his speeding motorcade and whopping 15 minute visit to the Joint P.O.W./M.I.A. Accounting Command couldn't better reflect it.
On August 29, 2006 the local Hanoi city paper, Labor, reported that two ducks were found to be infected with the bird flu virus. While there hasn't been a new major outbreak, Vietnam is appropriately weary.
So it's unlikely that the visiting lame duck will be eating any on this trip, as he clucks around the conference, fastidiously avoiding contact with South Korea's Roh Moo Hyun, who, to the anger of the Bushies appears to have taken a softer line on North Korea, and who in turn holds the Bushies accountable for their Northern neighbors going nuclear.
Back at home, the President's sinking popularity forced him to bring back Daddy's friends to help him get out of his Iraqi quagmire. The over-arching message of the recent elections, despite already going unheeded by the administration, showed the world where America really stood on the Iraq war. And unlike this President, global leaders read the news and understand public moods.
Against this backdrop, Bush's presence at APEC will be tinged with pity as global leaders posture against a sitting lame duck.
It’s a pity Daddy couldn’t help him get out of Vietnam once again.