“Joseph Smith could have dozens of wives and Sulu can’t have one fucking husband? What kind of bullshit is that?”
The only thing missing from this great No on Proposition 8 ad narrated by Samuel L. Jackson is a few well-placed f-bombs. Imagine how majestic it would sound with just the slightest of script revisions:
“It wasn’t that long ago that discrimination was legal in California. Japanese Americans were confined in internment camps. Armenians couldn’t buy a house in the Central Valley. Latinos and African Americans were told who they could and could not marry. It was a sorry time in our history. Today, the sponsors of Prop 8 want to eliminate fundamental rights. We have an obligation to pass along to our children a more tolerant, more decent society. Vote fucking No on Prop fucking 8. It’s unfair and it’s wrong, motherfuckers.”
There is still time to volunteer for and donate to No on Proposition 8. I’ve already forked over my money and harassed other people to do the same with theirs. The Mormon hate machine must be stopped. And if I could single out all of you California homos who are reading this — I’ve examined my Google Analytics and see your San Francisco and West Hollywood asses out there — I hope you’re doing your part. You don’t want the friggin’ Osmonds telling you who you can marry, do you?
Touched by a convicted felon’s rendition of Lionel Richie’s “Hello,” judges Paula Abdul and Randy Jackson gave the man a reduced sentence.
Kit Bond, the Missouri Senator who I believe was recently played by Abigail Breslin in Patricia Rozema’s An American Girl movie, gave a rousing speech in Cape Girardeau today urging voters to support John “At Least I Don’t Plaster on the Makeup Like a Trollop, You C*nt” McCain. His greatest quote:
“Just this past week, we saw what Barack Obama said about judges. He said, ‘I’m tired of these judges who want to follow what the Founding Fathers said and the Constitution. I want judges who have a heart, have an empathy for the teenage mom, the minority, the gay, the disabled. We want them to show empathy. We want them to show compassion.'”
Oh no, not empathy and compassion! That’s just plain un-American!
MSNBC ratings heroine Rachel Maddow’s blustery, bile-spewing fake uncle*, the scary death monster Pat Buchanan, is getting all worked up over John “Sweet Coconut” McCain’s new go-to threesome (replacing longtime favorites Burt Reynolds, Dom DeLuise and Charles Nelson Reilly): Barack Obama, Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid.
In fact, Buchanan can’t stop fantasizing about the possibility that should Obama become our next president, the Democratic trio might seductively embrace illegal aliens (that they’re illegal makes them that much sexier) and erotically tease the uninsured with promises of access to affordable health care.
These are some of the awful things Pat wants you to fear from an Obama administration:
Robert Draper’s much-buzzed-about New York Times Magazine article about the chaos behind the scenes at the McCain campaign went live on the Times website this afternoon, my fellow prisoners, and it’s a doozy. Not as explosive as some might have hoped, but still an interesting read. It’s nine pages long, so here’s the abridged version for those of you with compromised attention spans:
This summer, Steve Schmidt, the large, bald man billed as the campaign’s chief strategist, was all, “Aaarrrghhh, we’re losing!” Not in those words, exactly — I’m taking some creative license here — but you get the point. So he got together with his fellow strategists and strategized, as strategists are wont to do. Let’s listen in:
Anyone else transfixed by it? I’m a non-Minnesotan who donated $50 to Elwyn Tinklenberg’s campaign yesterday after seeing his unhinged opponent, the incumbent Rep. Michele Bachmann, froth at the mouth about “anti-American” Democrats on Hardball. Hitting the ‘refresh’ button every time I’m near my computer, I’ve watched his donations grow from $15,000 or $20,000 to $131,000 and counting in less than 24 hours. It’s far more entertaining than anything on TV.
UPDATE: Tinklenberg has raised around $450,000 in the 24 hours since Bachmann’s Hardball appearance first aired. That is more than his campaign had raised in the last three months and “total nearly half of what it has raised to date,” according to newspaper reports. So the Internet has had its say, and the Internet voted against Michele Bachmann.
Another night of no middle-class mentions from John McCain, and “maverick” was finally off the table. As promised, my thoughts on last night’s debate, roughly as it happened:
Oy vey with Joe the Plumber! Is he fucking John McCain or something? Is he related to Joe Six-pack? (He can’t be related to Joe Lieberman, or McCain would’ve mentioned it.) If only there was a fourth debate, John McCain could’ve told us a story about another old buddy of his, Joe Mama. (BTW, Joe the Plumber’s a real prize.)
Barack Obama says “profligate.” I love the word “profligate.”
John McCain is not George Bush … he just votes with him most of the time.
“You overcook it, it’s no good. It defeats its own purpose.”
Now that the third and final presidential debate is over, can we address the “knockout” issue?
The people who write about political debates and talk about them on TV after the fact love to bring up knockout punches. It’s a subject they’re so fond of that if you Google the words “debate” and “knockout punch” together, you get something like thirty billion results. You get more results for the words “debate” and “knockout punch” than you do for “Britney Spears” and “naked.”*
They didn’t think one was landed in the vice-presidential debate; they didn’t think any were landed in the first two debates between John McCain and Barack Obama; they don’t think any were landed tonight. Here’s the thing the pundits have been reluctant to admit, on the right because they’re hopelessly stupid and on the left because they’ve been afraid to jinx themselves: John McCain knocked himself out in August when he chose Sarah Palin as his running mate.
John McCain knocked himself out again on September 15 when he said “the fundamentals of our economy are strong.” So far he has spent the month of October knocking himself out on a daily basis with his schizophrenic smear ads and the way he has allowed his rallies to turn ugly and vicious. What is left of John McCain at this point for Barack Obama to punch?
My meager thoughts on the substance of the debate are coming sometime tomorrow, but in the meantime I had to vent my “knockout” frustration somewhere.
*That was a lie. Sorry, I thought I was John McCain for a minute. If you Google “debate” + “knockout punch,” there are currently just under 47,000 results. “Britney Spears” + “naked” gets 8,400,000. Remove the quotes from the naked word and you’ll get another million results.
My parents’ yard sign was stolen, much like the 2000 election.
Note: If the time line seems screwy, it’s because this post was originally written on Saturday night.
Last night my dad did something he’d never done before in his life: He put up a political yard sign. He’s approximately one trillion years old (or maybe he’s closing in on 50 — it’s easy to lose track), so it’s something he avoided for a long time. The whole time I was growing up, in fact, I remember him rejecting the very idea of yard signs.
He’d see them pop up around the neighborhood as elections approached and he’d get that ‘blah, blah, blah, boring dad stuff’ tone of voice that would make me close my eyes and think of things I liked, like Beach Boys songs or Edina drunkenly falling out of a car on Absolutely Fabulous. Faintly he’d drone on in the background, pointing out miserable truths like “a campaign only lasts a few months, but you’ll be living next door to your neighbors for a long time after that.” Best not to ruffle feathers, then, over something as deeply personal as politics.
What was different about this election that he felt compelled to stake a sign in his lawn? I think what finally did it for him, what made him feel he had to take a stand, was the wave of disgusting rallies John McCain and Sarah Palin held this week. The tenor of those meetings turned his stomach, and to step outside his own house each day and see McCain-Palin signs in his neighbors’ yards only added to his outrage. My mom, who’d normally do anything to avoid attracting attention, agreed: they needed a sign of their own.
And so they got one. In my official capacity as the family’s paranoid cynic, I predicted it would be stolen within 24 hours. “Attach a personal alarm to it, something the thief won’t see, so it scares the hell out of him when he tries to steal it,” I advised. They seemed to think I was overreacting. But I know what kind of people their neighbors are, and they’re not as friendly as they try to appear. I also know what kind of kids their neighbors raised. (Beasts, almost all of them. Racist, homophobic, anti-Semitic little brats who thought nothing of reheating whatever Rush Limbaugh rhetoric their parents regurgitated at dinner each night and making the rest of us inhale its putrid fumes on the school bus and in the cafeteria the next day. These were kids who’d earnestly declare between bites of tater tots that Jews are “God’s chosen people,” then solemnly inform me that I’d be damned to the fiery pits of hell if I didn’t hop aboard the Jesus train.) There was no way that sign was lasting longer than 24 hours.
So … 24 hours later, the sign is gone. Someone waited until it was dark outside, trespassed onto my parents’ lawn and stole their $8 political statement, which had been the only Obama-Biden sign on their street. (It would’ve been stolen even sooner, I think, had it gone up before nightfall yesterday.)
There’s a problem with this, beyond the obvious issues of laws being broken and rights being violated. Two problems, actually. The first is that my dad is stubborn. Really stubborn. Incredibly, impossibly stubborn. If you think that I’m a stubborn jerk — and just about everyone who knows me will tell you I’m a big one — multiply that by ten and you have the beginnings of a composite sketch of my father.
The second problem is a much bigger problem, at least for the area thief. You see, my dad owns a print shop. Not one of those rinky-dink operations college kids use to make copies of black and white flyers, but a serious, professional print shop. One that’s filled with all kinds of high-end equipment he can use to print anything he wants, from books and business cards and brochures to posters and signs (including, yes, yard signs) and large outdoor banners. If he tires of paying for something that keeps getting stolen, he might be tempted to take matters into his own hands and turn his entire yard into an Obama sign of his own creation. Stealing someone’s entire yard would be pretty hard, don’t you think? You can’t exactly swipe it when no one’s looking and disappear into the night.
Not that I’d advocate doing anything that flamboyant. (Hell, I’d never get a yard sign of my own to start with. I don’t want my neighbors to know anything about me. My desire for privacy is such that I regularly put on a Reagan mask or Groucho Marx glasses and nose just to get the mail.) My suggestion was to put up a new sign that says “Stealing My Sign Won’t Change My Vote.” Too confrontational for my parents, but it’s also beside the point: They won’t settle for anything less than “Obama-Biden ’08” in their yard, and have already put up a second sign. How long until this one disappears?
While grown-up Mormons living in Utah prove that state boundaries are no match for their all-consuming hatred of non-heterosexuals by eagerly awaiting the opportunity to help quash gay marriage in California, first-graders from the Creative Arts Charter School in San Francisco spent Friday afternoon celebrating the wedding of their lesbian teacher. The children, whose parents supported the field trip to City Hall, threw rose petals at the brides and said things like, “She’s a really nice teacher. She’s the best. I want her to have a good wedding.”
Maybe one of the church elders from Salt Lake City who plans on making phone calls to Californians asking them to vote yes on Proposition 8 could get in touch with these bigotry-free six-year-olds and explain to them why the teacher they’re so nuts about shouldn’t be allowed to get married. An education is obviously in order here, and these kids seem more than qualified to teach men like L. Whitney Clayton a thing or two.
It might also be worth noting that McCain is trying — and failing — to connect with Hispanic voters.
When you attack your opponent for his so-called “otherness,” when you make his “otherness” an issue in venues packed with angry, mostly white evangelical types, aren’t you basically telling every voter who has some “otherness” of his or her own to fuck off?
Aren’t you also, by extension, telling every voter who doesn’t seem like an “other” (whatever that means) but still appreciates “otherness” (rather than fearing it) to fuck off as well? What kind of voter base does that leave you with, other than the dregs of society and, uh, Pat Buchanan?
