A skeptical leftist's, or post-capitalist's, or eco-socialist's blog, including skepticism about leftism (and related things under other labels), but even more about other issues of politics. Free of duopoly and minor party ties. Also, a skeptical look at Gnu Atheism, religion, social sciences, more.
Note: Labels can help describe people but should never be used to pin them to an anthill.
As seen at Washington Babylon and other fine establishments
Yeah, I heard about the first hashtag and its background; the second is, as far as I know, my original. Look, folks, a Tweet just don't cut it. You need the full story.
And, I've got it.
#Bundyeroticfanfic (For background, SCENE 1-SCENE 3 headers are clickable links.)
"I showed Obama my heart, and this
is what he did to it!" Ammon Bundy
“But, he promised to arrest me,” Ammon Bundy half-shouted,
half-pouted to everyone and nobody at the same time, in a frigid, cold room at
Malheur.* “Doesn’t Obama know how hot testosterone-fueled rage makes me?
Besides, if he’s spying on me, he knows I told my wife I like handcuffs.”
Suddenly, Ammon’s cell phone rings, vibrating firmly in his
tight jeans pocket.’’
“Goddamit, who is this calling me right now?”
“Chill, Ammon, it’s Potus Bear.”
“C’mon, I’m tired, I’m cold, I’m lonely and I’m horny. When
are you going to crash in on me, with your big guns, and lock me up tight and
hard?”
“Not yet. Hillary is triangulating again. It’s that time of
the political calendar. I promised I wouldn’t do anything to upset her rhythm.”
“You’re putting her ahead of me? You have no Constitutional
right!”
“I’m sorry, but Hillary —"”
“But I'm so cold, Barry!”
“Look, Ammi, I know. You just have to trust me.”
Ammon grew rigid, then went limp, in the frigid room at
Malheur, finally letting out a soft moan before hanging up.
“Was it good for you?” Hillary Clinton asked at the White House,
leaning over Barack Obama’s shoulder while nuzzling on the edge of his ear.
“You know it, baby. I love screwing with guys like that.”
“By ‘screwing with guys like that,’ do you mean … ?”
“Sorry, baby; some things even the NSA doesn’t know.”
“What about Snowden” she asked, running a finger through his
hair.
“Do NOT try to connect me to him. Period!"
* Editor's note on the story line:
“Malheur” is the patois metis French word for “Cowboying on
the down low.”
“I got cows that are scattered and lost,” LaVoy Finicum
said.
“Look, I’m really, really, missing the iron-tight embrace of
Obama. Nobody cares if your fucking cows are lost or lonely.”
“But, that’s it! They’re my fucking cows, and they’re
lonely, and so am I.”
“I’ve heard about your type,” Booda Bear said.
“What do you mean, ‘my type’?”
“Cow-fuckers. Like goat-fuckers, only more desperate.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You get cold, lonely,
anxious and scared, on a cold winter night riding range in the High Desert.
Your wife’s far away, and she’d give you the cold shoulder anyway, because you
smell like cow. So, you do what comes natural for a man in the saddle.”
“Listen to what he just heard from all of us. Maybe Alex
Jones is right, and there’s a false flag, and Booda planted his false flag
right in this tight hole in the middle of us.”
“Alex Jones, Alex Jones! You talk about him too much. Maybe
HE’S the false flag, with the way he calls everything else a false flag. You
just want him to call you, like Obama called me. In the same way.”
“You take that back!”
“Make me!”
Suddenly, Ryan leaps across the room at Ammon, tackles him,
and takes him to the floor. After a few minutes of wrestling, Ryan, hot and
sweaty, pins Ammon to the floor.
“This is just like when we were kids.”
“Did you ever think it would come to this?”
“You know Ammon, especially from this position, you look
kind of cute. Is that what you’re hoping Obama sees in you?”
“Once you go black, Ryan, you just never go back.”
“Tell that to LaVoy, why don’tcha. I heard he’s buying black
Angus.”
“Damn, how could Booda do this to us?” Cai Irvin asked the
question while trying to choke down tears. “I feel jilted. This is like finding
out there’s no Santa Claus.”
“Maybe he felt jilted, too,” Jon Ritzheimer said. “Did he
ever know you loved him? Did he ever feel your love?”
“You know I told him we were incompatible. Stop throwing
that in my face. It’s not my fault.”
“Well, you could have let him down easier. Next thing you
know, he’ll show up on Alex Jones, and that will get Ryan twice as mad and three
times as jealous as before.”
President Bush is going to visit Redding, Calif., Thursday, for a photo op near ground zero of the northern California wildfires.
No, I’m not asking him to part the Sacramento River or anything like that.
But, in case you’re not familiar with Moses’ full bio, he got his religious call from …
A burning Bush.
All it takes is a shift in a fire line. Not that I would do that myself, or advocate it, lest the FBI or Secret Service be as tone-deaf to parody as Democrats glancing at the cover of the current New Yorker.
Christian Lander, the author of the blog, and now, a book, “Stuff White People Like,” has a great interview at Salon about his skewering upper-middle-class liberal whites, from their being Obamiacs to moving beyond old-news Nalgene bottles to schlock like this. (Shock me that it’s from Switzerland.)
If you’re not familiar with him/it yet, here’s his blog, with the full list of the 103 cool things these types of whiteys like.
It’s hilarious the take Lander has on many things in the interview, like the holy trinity of liberal-certified Target, Apple and IKEA. Target is just Wal-Mart with better marketing (don’t you know they have labor issues there?), IKEA is coasting on Swedish image, and Apple’s Steve Jobs is, in his own way, as arrogant as Microsoft’s Steve Ballmer.
As a non-upper-middle-class white who is actually more liberal, as well as more skeptical of many things than the people he skewers, I find other things laughable.
Like Whole Foods? It’s about image for these folks, not the organics. (Which usually aren’t local, either. And, possible not fair-trade priced, either.)
Lander doesn’t go too much into the PC language side of these types of white people, who always want to read the worst into language about race, gender and other issues people outside their club use, but it’s still a great read.
No, Shrub is not publishing a parody of his bedtime reading, “My Pet Goat.” Rather, many books, including some children’s classics — although I don’t know about “My Pet Goat” itself — are becoming parody gold mines for anti-Bush authors (and others).
And, the courts are just now trying to settle things.
For example, a non-BushCo spoof, “Yiddish with Dick and Jane,” saw the authors sued by the owners of the Dick and Jane series copyright.
“Parody as fair use is a developing area of the law,” said Pamela Golinski, an entertainment lawyer in New York, “and as a result, whether a given parody merits the shield of the fair use doctrine is a complex question.”
Among parodies that DO kick Bush in the pants is “Goodnight Bush,” a takeoff on “Goodnight Moon.”
