One Shining Purple Moment

Unlike my good friend Purple, I am not a showman¹. I go about my business. I lurk. Exuberance is not my thing². I prefer not to reveal my feelings and motivations to those around me, unless I'm in comfortable company.

There are moments, though, when I am moved to action, when I forget my surroundings. I arrived at the day care with little Bam-Bam⁴ this morning, and "Beat It" was playing on the boom box as he and I went through our routine of safely stowing his coat and backpack and leaving him to his fate for the day. I began, as is my wont, to sing to the little tyke, right there in the multipurpose room of his diversity-rich school, there among his fellow day-care pupils.

Let's leave it at this: it appears that fat middle-aged white guys belting out Weird Al Yankovic lyrics is just a touch beyond the range of these kids' normal expectations.

¹ Purple knows this to be a damned lie. I simply prefer, in general, a considerably narrower audience than he does. Sasha³ also knows this to be a damned lie, but that's just because she's a Myers-Briggs slut.

² Purple knows this to be a damned lie, but can shade and correct the record as he chooses, because I'm digressing out of control here.

³ Who posted the awesomest Valentine ever.

⁴ Who outweighs his older brother by about 12 pounds and can no longer truthfully be said to be "little," but old habits die hard, said the nun as she prepared for...uhm, never mind.

Could You Please Be More Fucking Dumb?

bDr gives us this, a post on the mind-bogglingly stupid Talkleft, written by the wildly inappropriately named Big Tent Democrat who is, it seems, a blithering idiot.

From Jeebus of Spamalot*:

I understand that Senator Clinton, periodically when she's feeling down, launches attacks as a way of trying to boost her appeal.

According to Tented Pants Pseudocrat, who appears to be one of those guys affecting deeply outraged feminism because he thinks it'll get him laid**, this is "sexist."

Go ahead, watch the video:



This is a video of Senator Obama thinking his way through a minefield of a question about an opponent who has repeatedly attacked his race, his intellect, his experience, and the fact that he has more delegates than said opponent. This is not a video of Senator Obama making a remark that is, in any respect, sexist.

Check the comments thread on the Talkleft post, too. It's enough to make you question whether you wish to remain a Democrat. Not that it's necessarily Talkleft's fault (although like calls to like, of course), but many of these people are, without a care in the world, fueling the Doughy Pantload's fire. I'm a sexist because I don't think Obama meant that answer in a sexist sense? Fuck you, bitch. I'm not even an Obama supporter.

Get it straight: if you are a passionate supporter of either Senator Clinton or Senator Obama, you have a moral responsibility to vote for the Democratic nominee. Any other stance makes you another fucking Naderite.

Period.

*Jeebus of Spamalot motif is probably the intellectual property of the above-mentioned this guy.

**Sasha tells me that TPP is a male. I have no other information on this individual's gender, and if I'm wrong about your gender, TPP, I sincerely apologize. Which makes you no less fucking stupid. And please enjoy this actual sexism along with my apology, if appropriate: Golly gee whiz, are you ever a maliciously ignorant cunt.

Blogging R Hard

It's been a while. Life is pretty overwhelming right now. There was a delightful visit from the Wheezus and her husband Mister Wheezus that, most pleasantly, consumed a buttload of time, and there's this thing going on to the effect that right now, Purple would, in all likelihood, most kindly characterize me as a hemorrhoid* despite our mutual thousand-million-white-hot-suns passion, and there's an extended legal struggle with Ilse's ex, and it appears that Save the World will have no further use for me in about 60 days, so I have to get a job get a job get a job.

If you got anything from me right now, it would be whining, and of course there's plenty to whine about, from fucktards actually celebrating the death of Steve Gilliard and deigning to compare the commentary on his passing to the commentary on the passing of Jerry Falwell, to the high comedy of fucktards trashing the President that they, in their pig-ignorance and hatred, brought down on us, to the impending untimely demise of the only team in the Stanley Cup finals not named after a Disney movie, to the distracting and damaging futility of presidential debates 18 months before a presidential election, to one of Lindsay Lohan's multiple addictions not being mindless and very, very dirty sex with me.

See? Wasn't that eclectic? And marvelously substance-free? That's what you'd get. If I were blogging, I mean. Which I'm not. Go read the links. Those people actually post things.

*I'm sorry. I meant "infected hemorrhoid." Didn't mean to short-sell you, there, buddy.

Self-Indulgence Roundup

Good morning. This is your morning self-indulgence roundup from YAMM. Our special guest this morning, as it is every morning, is a self-indulgence expert. Landru, take your hand off of your wee-wee and say hello to the nice people.

Landru: Fuck each and every one of you, several of you repeatedly.

YAMM: It seems you're always in a foul mood when we do these interviews. Why is that?

Landru: Because every ten days or so, I wake up and realize that three or four hundred posts into this blogging enterprise, I still haven't done anything interesting. And because fuck you, that's why.

YAMM: Care to discuss recent top headlines?

Landru: What's there to say? The right wing is still impossibly fucktarded, some of them to the point where no one can be that stupid and pure, genuine evil becomes their only possible motivation. I mean, people don't go to Oberlin and Berkeley and come out that fucking stupid. It just doesn't happen.

YAMM: Holy shit, you just violated the no-Malkin rule.

Landru: This was too egregious to pass on.

YAMM: But think of the children!

Landru: I do. I was at Databoy's soccer practice yesterday, and one of the kids in his little group is another third-grader who looks for all the world like the offspring of Our Lady of the Concentration Camps. He's a quiet little guy, with this ferocious determination thing happening, and he kicks hell out of the ball and fearlessly wades up to streaking Latino children with soccer balls genetically grafted to their feet and stops them in their tracks. He's a really impressive little kid. Except he looks exactly like you'd expect the offspring of OLCC to look.

YAMM: Zounds! So did you meet his mother?

Landru: Someone who appeared to be his mother picked him up afterward. It wasn't OLCC. But if it was, I'd still show that child all the coaching love in the world. More than I give Databoy, in fact, since Databoy is still mostly into prancing around like My Little Pony. But that's another problem set.

YAMM: What else is on your mind?

Landru: I would like to retract the comment I made several weeks ago about all downcounty Starbucks being operated by sullen lesbian baristas. The one in the middle of the restaurant district of Bethesda is actually operated by moron baristas, and I want to apologize to sullen lesbians everywhere for maligning them by association.

YAMM: Forsooth! That's pretty manful of you.

Landru: Of course it is.

YAMM: Is it true that Your Local State has forsaken the Electoral College?

Landru: Yes. My Local Governor has thus far proven to be a near-complete dipshit. And as I feared, some of the tree-hugging dirt-worshippers elected to our state legislative bodies are equally hopeless. This measure is a waste of fucking time, a possible abrogation of the Constitution, and a witless reaction to My Political Party's inability to cheat as well as the other side. The Electoral College is the law. It is the electoral game--and make no mistake about it, elections are treated, with impunity, as games by those who should know better. On both sides.

I'm edging over into an other-side rant here, but this state has been taken over by Green fucking pussies who need to stop the nannystate bullshit and focus on adequately funding important stuff like education (that's the two most populous counties in the state that My Local Governor, a Baltimoron, got the legislature to fuck over) and transportation priorities (idiots who want to disconnect the Purple Line, effectively the Beltway Loop of the Metro system, from the actual Metro system, are too stupid to be allowed to breathe--in fact, I call on you, my legions of minions, to go out and smother them with feather pillows made with feathers plucked from actual, pissed-off, now-featherless birds. And don't wash the feathers, these dumbasses need to learn that animals don't smell very good.

So these fuckwits want to focus on telling me I can't smoke in the car when my kid is in it, and other nannyshite. They incarnate all of the reasons why Greens are too fucking stupid to govern. They are undergoing an active process of handing our state back to rightwing fucktards. Maryland isn't as blue as people like to think it is. Fuck you, Purple.

YAMM: Aren't you abusing this (purloined) interview format as a platform for launching screeds?

Landru: Of course I am.

YAMM: Well, I feel soiled.

Landru: Fuck you. We went through this already. And you should feel soiled, you're a dirty, dirty bitch.

YAMM: Why do you lash out at Purple? He's a decent enough fellow.

Landru: Because everything is his fault, and he's a serious threat to steal my cult followers.

YAMM: Shouldn't you be loading the children onto their unsafe school buses and heading off to your more-or-less daily beating at the hands of Save the World, Inc., a Not-For-Profit Corporation?

Landru: Yes.

YAMM: Thank you for joining us.

Landru: Fuck you. This format is a pain in the hinder. Go away.

Notes on Current Events

-I don't give a flying fuck about Scooter Libby, who was dumb enough to perjure himself to cover his boss's attempt to have a covert CIA operative killed out of political spite. I note only this: if you dare to compare Libby's perjury about acts of treason with Bill Clinton's untruths about getting blowjobs, you are, quite simply, an asshole who forfeits the right to be taken seriously--in fact, it's really a shame that you probably have the right to vote, because you're not bright enough to exercise it responsibly and the rest of us will have to put serious thought and time into countering the effects of your coinflipping limbic system.

Other than that, Fitzmas just isn't doing much for me, and the notion that fascist jerkoffs are assholes isn't really news anyway.

And just because it's becoming my traditional political signoff: Fuck you, Purple.

-Yes, Mme. Malkin and Mlle. Coulter are bad people. My suggestion is this: if you run into Mlle. Coulter, just cover your asscheeks and walk away quickly, because that bitch has a 10-inch cock and she wants it enveloped in your asspussy. As for Mme. Malkin, I think the best way to handle a personal encounter is to smile benignly and say, not too loudly, "BOO!" If she's lucky, she'll be wearing her Depends. If not? Pure comedy gold for you.

-I am settling in for some basketball. Little else matters: work, sleep, food, child care are all simply things that must be done to enable watching my various Terpses stumble toward whatever fate holds for them over the next few weeks. I am in Turtle Warrior mode.

I've been more in love with the boys, since they beat the University of the Color of the Sky and ran the table for their last seven games, but the mystery and deep-seated fear remain; if they win the ACC tournament, they will die a horrible and early death in the NCAAs. If they are humbled by Miami on Thursday or BC on Friday, it's too early; if they are humbled by Virginia on Sunday, it will be equally devastating, because how can you claim to have a penis if you lose to Virginia three times in one season? No, this is a must-lose-on-Saturday proposition, and the likely opponent that day? The University of the Color of the Sky, of course, which is looking eminently beatable, what with Tyler Hansborough in a tizz about his busted-up face.

The women? Ah, the women. A semifinal loss in the ACC tournament to the brazen harlot pirate hooker thugs from the University of the Color of the Sky, of course. But we saw that movie last year, and that turned out to be a damned good movie with a damned good ending, and for this year? The game that counts remains. Anything less than the Final Four will be a disaster for the girls, although a loss in the Eight will be no horrible surprise; these things tend toward a certain entropy, after all. I will sit and hope for Miss Christie Tolliver's upcoming date with Miss Ivory Latta's kidneys. Those girls just plain don't like each other, hoss.

Self-Delusion

Most people either got my last post, or didn't care. Either is fine with me. For those of you who sensed any grain of seriousness--whether or not there are any of you beyond Purple--allow me to clarify.

I don't want to be a famous blogger. I don't give a fuck if people listen to me. I don't give a fuck if I persuade anybody of anything. I don't want to have to care about the effect my words have on others (beyond the realm of the personal, of course).

Would it be really, really cool to get paid for spewing this tripe? Duh. Of course it would. Do I want the responsibility that goes with it (i.e., posting daily and putting up more posts not fairly taggable with "self-indulgence" than otherwise)? Fuck no.

Does that make my blogging wanking? I don't give a fuck. As I think I've said, I blog for me, and to maintain a communication channel with friends in a world where more conventional channels aren't always possible. If that means I'm spraying you indiscriminately like Sexy Rexy, so be it.

Enough

Yes, yes, you want news. And you want it from me. And I only give you news when I'm avoiding other things I should be doing. And my avoidance mechanism hasn't kicked in for the last six weeks or so, because my self-preservation mechanism has been overspeeding.

Okay, the rundown: Ilse and I got married on Friday the 13th, which was also Lee-Jackson Day. The best man was our friend the Wheezus, and the matron of honor was our friend Purple. BlackdogRed could not be troubled to attend, the first of my many weddings which he has missed. Something about open-heart surgery, or his sister's funeral, or feeding hungry tribespeople in the Amazon, or something. Selfish fuck. Same for my brother, 32-Ounce, who was busy raping the government in the ass, or vice-versa. Thanks to Wheezus and Purple for making sure that our witnesses weren't county employees.

I am more or less fully employed, which means I actually leave my cavern about three days a week. So far, those days have been whirlwindy, and I haven't had time to steal time from my employers by blogging. That may sort of start to ease on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. When I am working at home, my avoidance mechanism leads me to other things besides blogging, Civ4 and NHL Hockey 2006 being the other things of the moment.

Yesterday, I went to the cardiologist. He told me things my heart surgeon hadn't told me. Things like "You're going to die," and "We're going to crack your chest," and "Your coronary arteries are more clogged up than we told you earlier." These things explain the general pastiness and the shortness of breath and the abject failure of December's cardiac procedure to enable me to respire when I run up the stairs. These things are not good. I am losing weight very gradually, and I will quit smoking soon. Smells like more overhaul work in the next couple-three years, though. And, of course, I'll just get all that fixed in time to die of cancer or a Malkin/Duke-inspired aneurysm anyway.

In world news, they're still pigs. Muslims hate us, so the best course is to hate them back. Anything short of return hatred is coddling, Communism, or cowardice. Administration officials lie without consequence, and shoot their friends with impunity (breaking Texas fish and wildlife law in the process, I hear). Then lie about it, without consequence. After attempting to cover it up, without consequence. Then use it as a rhetorical weapon against us when we bitch about it. The first person to suggest, in my physical presence, a correlation between Ted Kennedy's driving and Dick Cheney's weekend misadventure, will be the victim of a felonious assault. And the world will be a better place.

Actually, the correct response to a suggestion of any correlation there is that you'd rather hunt with Dick Cheney than ride with Laura Bush. Then, at least you're defending yourself when you commit the felonious assault.

In local news, it's cold. And it snowed. There are those who did not wish to believe me when I said there would, most affirmatively, be a mid-February snowstorm, because there always is. They're crying now. And sliding. And cold.

In television news, there is no television news. I am told that a new season of Survivor started recently; I haven't seen it, and I don't intend to. I'll watch the finale in a few months, because there is some tradition that must be respected, but my intent as of right now is to watch it cold, without having watched any of the rest of the season.

In sports news, the Terps suck, speedskaters, figure skaters, and freestyle skiers are pussies, and the U.S. womens' hockey team, which I sort of dig, will win the silver medal after taking an unholy whipping from 20 Quebecois chicas named Danielle Omelette and Pauline Dusalope. I have decided that the way women look in hockey equipment is a crime against nature, and a particularly unkind one, at that. I still watch, though, because beating the snot out of Commies in hockey is what made our country great, and I expect it to continue to do so.

More sometime. Apologies to those of you who keep clicking this space hoping to find something. Try Tuesdays or Wednesdays, for now.

More News for the Squeamish

Every so often, it comes to the attention of the Minions editorial staff me--sorry, I forgot about that whole referring-to-oneself-in-the-third-person thing--that we are I am--sorry, really--just so darned rude that I should just crawl under a rock and assuage my bitter, horrible, unreasonable, partisan anger with some milk and cookies. And that perhaps I'll be better able to hugandkiss unabashed fascists, just like Jesus wants me to do, once I've done that. This is, of course, absolutely and incontrovertibly true, an unassailable position that cannot be dug out from its fortress of mighteousness.

So I think we should return to the safe place to which we usually retreat during these difficult times of stress, turmoil, and opinionation, and I present to you another edition of:

News for the Squeamish

Terror Alert

The holidays are coming up, and you know what that means! Yes, the Brown People are going to gaily wrap themselves in bombs and ammunition belts and try to disrupt the sacrament of your holiday shopping! It's uncomfortable that these killjoys want to blacken the spirit of Christmas and deny your right to worship the Baby Jesus by purchasing the Laura Ingraham Barbie for your precious Snookums, but we all have a responsibility to remain alert to protect the Homeland! Some tips:

-Carry your shotgun to the mall when you go out to do your holiday shopping. The Second Amendment guarantees that, if you're carrying a firearm, you are a member of the militia.

-If you see Brown People, open fire. The Fourth Amendment restricts their right to search you and seize your hard-earned holiday bounty!

-Sneak up on Brown People who look larger than normal people. They're probably wearing bombs under their coats. Make each shot count!

-Don't donate to Toys for Tots and similar terrorist organizations. Studies have shown that, when given any toy, a poor child will always pretend it is a gun.


War Is Peace

A rigorous scientific study by the Krovecheni School of Government has proved that war is peace! By making war in countries that promote non-Americanism, we actually make the world a more peaceful place! Support Our Troops by supporting our wars! I mean, our peace!


Bad People Are Bad

A recent Fox News poll showed that, by an overwhelming margin, the American People believe that bad people are bad. Significantly, bad people enjoyed more support among less American Persons. The proportion of Brown People who believed that bad people were not bad was close to 100 percent.

This concludes our latest presentation of News for the Squeamish. More news when it becomes available.

It's My Potty And I'll Lie If I Want To

A close friend who has, thus far, appeared in this little corner of the universe oncet, suggested to me over the weekend that I might do a better job of reaching diverse audiences that are not predisposed to believe me, if only I would tone down my tendency to explore the various conjugations of various sex- and scat-related words. And stop calling the other side names. And just not be so darned upset and hyperbolic all the darned time. Do these things in some combination and to some degree, my friend suggests, and perhaps my message will start to filter in to some of those on the other side, or at least those on the near side of the other side. This, he further suggests, might be better than preaching to the choir that is you, my minions.

My friend is not ignorant, and he knows me quite well, actually. He's really rather brilliant, both in a couple of areas of intellectual/academic interest that we share, and in other areas less scathed by the scorching heat of my interest. Unlike me, he is creative, leaving me in constant fear of boring him so much that he'll dash off to something else shiny.

He also styles himself more or less a moderate. I think he's actually more of a Social Capitalist or a Material Socialist, and I see no shame in either (I can fairly be characterized in the same way, only I have an edge on him in anger management, for a given value of "edge" defined as "there is an edge to my anger management that makes it pretty ineffective as management"). Most importantly, he is a fellow who sees shades of grey. I suspicion that that's why he is able to style himself a moderate, even though he's clearly more one of us than one of them (he has the gift or hindrance, take your pick, of having originated in The Middle Place--and I think that colors his political origins with good old-fashioned rural American sensibility).

It's worth a think; much of the blogosphere is drawn from the 20-30 percent of relative extremists at each end of the political spectrum. This blog is no exception, whether or not I fancy myself more level-headed than many libruls. Part of the reason that the middle is the middle is that it's offended by the level of rhetoric shrilling from each end of the spectrum. Doesn't matter to the middle who started it. Right is right, bad is bad, and while there may be grey, there's black and white, too.

Alas, I'm not trying to win hearts and minds here, not really. I mean, if I happened to say something that allowed some state-loving theocrat to completely toss over his or her ideology, hey, great. But right-wingers don't listen to strangers, you know, so I just don't see that as the route to goal fulfillment. No, as long-time readers know, Minions is all about ventaciousness and pressure management and hyperbole and righteous outrage.

And so? Fuck you, you fucking fucks. John Hindraker did, in fact, eat my baby. Or at least he roasted it up nice and crispy with some garlic and rosemary and fed it to a gleeful Sam Alito. Bill Frist is a pederast, and Jeb Bush...well, blame my middlefriend, he happened to sojourn in Florida for a spell, and who knows what that horror did to his voting finger? I mean, just ask Broward Jews for Buchanan.