Some people think that Obama is the new Lincoln. Others think he's the second term of Jimmy Carter. They're both wrong.
Barack Obama is serving the first term of George McClellan, Lincoln's do-nothing general who ran on the Democrat appeasement platform in 1864.
The similarities don't stop at their party: both were first-class politicians, both had persecution complexes, both blamed the previous administration for all their problems, both talked big but never particularly accomplished anything, and both sat on their hands when action is called for.
We don't specifically know whether McClellan would have intervened to save sailing ship manufacturers during the rise of steamboats, only to see them go bankrupt anyways. But he probably would have. Whether or not he would have also turned their management over to scurvy-ridden merchant seaman we can only guess.
And we can also only guess at whether or not McClellan would have pissed on his most ardent supporters and told them it's raining, but he did run as a pro-war candidate with an appeasement platform, on an appeasement ticket, with a peace advocate as a running mate. The will of his party, at least, seemed clear on this issue.
Whether those who wished to continue the war would have slavishly followed McClellan after he signed away half the US to the Confederate States of America is unknown, but I like to think they'd have shown a little more sand than the gays, Jews, businessmen, and peace advocates who Obama has so far spurned as he enforces the DOMA, demonizes Israel, socializes the economy, and continues Bush policies in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Guantanamo.
The only real mystery is why Republican elites didn't flock to McClellan in 1864, pronouncing him a "man of great character" and "somebody we can do business with" despite obvious signs to the contrary.
They must have had some kind of commitment to principles or something back then.
How novel.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Attacks on Pirates Making Them Bolder, Study Says
A non-partisan think tank, the Organization for Promoting Right-Wing Agendas (OPRA) today warned that recent counterattacks on pirates near the Horn of Africa could lead to "disastrous consequences" and would mean an escalation of pirate raids, not a decrease as some have suggested.
"Shooting and killing pirates only makes them bolder and causes their number to swell," said OPRA spokeswoman Cheyenne Markoni-Spitzhughes from their London offices. "Over two hundred years of data have shown that there's a direct correlation between dead pirates and the incidents of piracy on the high seas, with more dead pirates meaning more attacks. The world needs a better way."
Instead, OPRA suggests that world governments form a new UN agency dedicated to opening call centers in Somalia, where the pirate's natural aggressiveness can be channeled into more productive venues. "After all," Markoni-Spitzhughes said, "if they're willing to try to take over an oil tanker then they should be comfortable cold-calling people to see if they're interested in switching their long-distance carrier."
Top Democrats scoffed at the warning, however, calling OPRA a "thinly-disguised stink-tank for the Republican smear campaign."
House Speaker Nancy Pelosi told reporters that "every thinking person knows that pirates are like any other terror-wielding outlaw group: if you shoot them, then there are less of them active, and potential recruits inevitably turn to another, less dangerous line of work, such as tasting food additives or being a bungee cord tester."
President Barack Obama painted it in even starker terms in his White House address. "Despite Hollywood glamorizing pirates in their shameful movies, and Disney making pirating seem fun in their disgraceful rides, we will continue to bring shock, awe, and death to anyone who would prey upon the weak and the helpless on the high seas."
"Shooting and killing pirates only makes them bolder and causes their number to swell," said OPRA spokeswoman Cheyenne Markoni-Spitzhughes from their London offices. "Over two hundred years of data have shown that there's a direct correlation between dead pirates and the incidents of piracy on the high seas, with more dead pirates meaning more attacks. The world needs a better way."
Instead, OPRA suggests that world governments form a new UN agency dedicated to opening call centers in Somalia, where the pirate's natural aggressiveness can be channeled into more productive venues. "After all," Markoni-Spitzhughes said, "if they're willing to try to take over an oil tanker then they should be comfortable cold-calling people to see if they're interested in switching their long-distance carrier."
Top Democrats scoffed at the warning, however, calling OPRA a "thinly-disguised stink-tank for the Republican smear campaign."
House Speaker Nancy Pelosi told reporters that "every thinking person knows that pirates are like any other terror-wielding outlaw group: if you shoot them, then there are less of them active, and potential recruits inevitably turn to another, less dangerous line of work, such as tasting food additives or being a bungee cord tester."
President Barack Obama painted it in even starker terms in his White House address. "Despite Hollywood glamorizing pirates in their shameful movies, and Disney making pirating seem fun in their disgraceful rides, we will continue to bring shock, awe, and death to anyone who would prey upon the weak and the helpless on the high seas."
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Economic Freedom and the NFL
The intertubes are all abuzz with the latest from the NFL, namely the coming shift to an 18-game season and dropping two preseason games. The consensus among sportswriters, their commenters, and drooling idiots (but I repeat myself) is something along these lines:
"Good, because charging full price for preseason games is a total ripoff, man. Those games totally suck!"
Let me be blunt: the NFL will charge whatever they want for the preseason games, and so long as somebody pays it, it's not too much, and the price is not a rip-off. If you feel spending for preseason games is a waste of money, use the tried-and-true method that other consumers use with the Shamwow, New Coke, and the Segway Scooter: don't buy the damn thing.
But please, spare me the faux-populist outrage against "exorbitant" ticket prices. For one thing, most of the simpering nimrods doing the bitching can't even spell exorbitant. For another, nobody forces you to go to preseason games. In fact, if they suck so bad, you should be thankful to have a reason not to attend.
If the NFL started auctioning off used jock straps (complete with ball sweat!) on E-Bay, I'd not only steer clear but have to clean my E-Bay account with bleach. But you know that some wannabe's somewhere is willing to pay $110 plus shipping and handling for a used TO jock strap. Maybe even more if it was worn in a big game, or had authentic "battle stains" on it.
And that is right, and good, and the natural state of capitalism. Exercising our economic liberty to make stupid choices about sporting events and memorabilia is a form of freedom, and we should encourage people to do that.
Because freedom in abundance is never a bad thing.
"Good, because charging full price for preseason games is a total ripoff, man. Those games totally suck!"
Let me be blunt: the NFL will charge whatever they want for the preseason games, and so long as somebody pays it, it's not too much, and the price is not a rip-off. If you feel spending for preseason games is a waste of money, use the tried-and-true method that other consumers use with the Shamwow, New Coke, and the Segway Scooter: don't buy the damn thing.
But please, spare me the faux-populist outrage against "exorbitant" ticket prices. For one thing, most of the simpering nimrods doing the bitching can't even spell exorbitant. For another, nobody forces you to go to preseason games. In fact, if they suck so bad, you should be thankful to have a reason not to attend.
If the NFL started auctioning off used jock straps (complete with ball sweat!) on E-Bay, I'd not only steer clear but have to clean my E-Bay account with bleach. But you know that some wannabe's somewhere is willing to pay $110 plus shipping and handling for a used TO jock strap. Maybe even more if it was worn in a big game, or had authentic "battle stains" on it.
And that is right, and good, and the natural state of capitalism. Exercising our economic liberty to make stupid choices about sporting events and memorabilia is a form of freedom, and we should encourage people to do that.
Because freedom in abundance is never a bad thing.
Monday, March 16, 2009
REVEALED: Obama is Rovian Plant!
An explosive new expose set to publish next week will reveal that, far from the starry-eyed newcomer he poses as, Barack Obama is actually a Manchurian candidate cooked up by none other than longtime Conservative blackguard Karl Rove. While White House officials have scoffed at the allegations, some Democrats have privately admitted that they had begun to suspect this themselves.
"Cozying up with lobbyists? Putting the deficit on steroids? Trying to re-establish the welfare benefits that were discredited in the mid-90s? It's been clear a long time that something's not right with Barack Obama," said one Democratic senator. "The only thing he could do worse is get distracted with some side issue, anger our critical allies, and have half his nominees withdraw in disgrace. Oh, wait!"
Among the charges the book makes are that President Obama:
-Is obsessed with making Rush Limbaugh the pre-eminent voice on television and radio, thus ensuring that the Conservative message is heard by as many people as possible
-Intended to thoroughly discredit the traditional press as starry-eyed and naïve, by first sweeping them off their feet and then by treating them like a sophomore on prom night, leaving them puffy-eyed and sore-assed
-Staffed his cabinet with the worst caricatures of liberal excesses, from anti-Semitism to rampant hypocrisy to a total disregard for basic tax law
-Has not been criticized by George Bush not because the former president respects tradition and the honor of the office, but rather because Bush knows that Rove is really the one pulling the strings of the Obama administration
-Sleeps in Star Trek pajamas
-Wanted to revive Democrat's image as "tax-and-spend liberals" by acting as a tax-and-spend liberal
Calls to Rove's sinister subterranean lair for comment were not returned, likely because the peals of his sinister laugh were echoing off its cacophonous ceiling.
"Cozying up with lobbyists? Putting the deficit on steroids? Trying to re-establish the welfare benefits that were discredited in the mid-90s? It's been clear a long time that something's not right with Barack Obama," said one Democratic senator. "The only thing he could do worse is get distracted with some side issue, anger our critical allies, and have half his nominees withdraw in disgrace. Oh, wait!"
Among the charges the book makes are that President Obama:
-Is obsessed with making Rush Limbaugh the pre-eminent voice on television and radio, thus ensuring that the Conservative message is heard by as many people as possible
-Intended to thoroughly discredit the traditional press as starry-eyed and naïve, by first sweeping them off their feet and then by treating them like a sophomore on prom night, leaving them puffy-eyed and sore-assed
-Staffed his cabinet with the worst caricatures of liberal excesses, from anti-Semitism to rampant hypocrisy to a total disregard for basic tax law
-Has not been criticized by George Bush not because the former president respects tradition and the honor of the office, but rather because Bush knows that Rove is really the one pulling the strings of the Obama administration
-Sleeps in Star Trek pajamas
-Wanted to revive Democrat's image as "tax-and-spend liberals" by acting as a tax-and-spend liberal
Calls to Rove's sinister subterranean lair for comment were not returned, likely because the peals of his sinister laugh were echoing off its cacophonous ceiling.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
News from the Future
(Note: Living as I do near the Hadron Collider, I expected strange things to occur once they'd fired that thing up. And lo and behold, I have started receiving e-mail updates of news from the future, just like that show Early Edition except with a lot bigger audience. So I'm going to pass along to you my news updates from the future.)
Bailout Czar Biden Buys Detroit Lions
Vice President and Bailout Czar Joe Biden today instructed the Treasury Department to purchase the Detroit Lions from the Ford family, which has seen its fortune dissipate with the bankruptcy of their automotive company. The government purchased a 51% stake in the ownership of the team, which just set an NFL record for worst season at 0-16 last year, for $628 million.
"This one's a guaranteed winner," Biden told reporters at his daily State of the Bailout news conference. "The NFL is the number one sports franchise in America, and now the US taxpayer has a piece of that pie. This is one investment that Americans can be sure will pay off in the long run!"
Biden has been criticized in recent weeks for a string of investments that have quickly lost almost all of their value, including an ice-cream delivery service targeting remote Inuit seal hunters and a speculative real estate investment in a beachfront condominium resort located on the Kansas-Nebraska border. In both instances the Treasury department has had to write off the entire bailout investment as a loss.
"We're gonna move 'em to DC, too. With the boom going on, the administration felt we needed another sports franchise," Biden told reporters, alluding to the 250% population explosion that has been seen in recent months as the applicants have flooded Washington to snap up nearly 100,000 federal jobs created by the Obama administration.
For the near future the team will share facilities with the other Washington NFL franchise, the Washington First Americans of Noble Mien. Americans owner Daniel Snyder said that he was "excited to be part of this great new experiment at sharing and getting along" and pledged full cooperation with the new NFL franchise, which will be rechristened the Washington Hope.
Now that the government has a controlling interest in an NFL team, President Obama announced that he is "vigorously pursuing the appointment of a Football Czar to help bring NFL standards and practices into line with this country's values and traditions."
The president specifically mentioned concerns over injuries and long-term benefits for NFL retirees, an increase in the number of minority coaches, GMS, and owners, and granting cheerleaders greater access to labor organization.
Bailout Czar Biden Buys Detroit Lions
Vice President and Bailout Czar Joe Biden today instructed the Treasury Department to purchase the Detroit Lions from the Ford family, which has seen its fortune dissipate with the bankruptcy of their automotive company. The government purchased a 51% stake in the ownership of the team, which just set an NFL record for worst season at 0-16 last year, for $628 million.
"This one's a guaranteed winner," Biden told reporters at his daily State of the Bailout news conference. "The NFL is the number one sports franchise in America, and now the US taxpayer has a piece of that pie. This is one investment that Americans can be sure will pay off in the long run!"
Biden has been criticized in recent weeks for a string of investments that have quickly lost almost all of their value, including an ice-cream delivery service targeting remote Inuit seal hunters and a speculative real estate investment in a beachfront condominium resort located on the Kansas-Nebraska border. In both instances the Treasury department has had to write off the entire bailout investment as a loss.
"We're gonna move 'em to DC, too. With the boom going on, the administration felt we needed another sports franchise," Biden told reporters, alluding to the 250% population explosion that has been seen in recent months as the applicants have flooded Washington to snap up nearly 100,000 federal jobs created by the Obama administration.
For the near future the team will share facilities with the other Washington NFL franchise, the Washington First Americans of Noble Mien. Americans owner Daniel Snyder said that he was "excited to be part of this great new experiment at sharing and getting along" and pledged full cooperation with the new NFL franchise, which will be rechristened the Washington Hope.
Now that the government has a controlling interest in an NFL team, President Obama announced that he is "vigorously pursuing the appointment of a Football Czar to help bring NFL standards and practices into line with this country's values and traditions."
The president specifically mentioned concerns over injuries and long-term benefits for NFL retirees, an increase in the number of minority coaches, GMS, and owners, and granting cheerleaders greater access to labor organization.
Monday, March 2, 2009
News from the Future
(Note: Living as I do near the Hadron Collider, I expected strange things to occur once they'd fired that thing up. And lo and behold, I have started receiving e-mail updates of news from the future, just like that show Early Edition except with a lot bigger audience. So I'm going to pass along to you my news updates from the future.)
Two Arrested in Blockbuster Sting
Police in Brooklyn Heights stormed a Blockbuster Video last night, arresting the owner and two clerks on charges of distributing insensitive and harmful materials in violation of the 2009 Racial Reconciliation and Respect Act. Officers seized all DVD and videotape copies of four films, each of which was on the RRRA list of Socially Unacceptable Films.
The seized videos included the notorious Any Which Way but Loose, the Clint Eastwood comedy whose 30th anniversary re-release sparked riots due to its unflattering portrait of minorities.
Also taken in the raid were both the 1933 and 2007 versions of King Kong, as well as the Diane Fossey biopic Gorillas in the Mist. At the Cannes film festival earlier this year, director Peter Jackson apologized for his 2007 remake, calling it "a movie that in many ways is equally as vile as Birth of a Nation."
The search warrant also called for seizure of the 1976 King Kong remake starring Jessica Lange, but store records indicated that the no customer had ever rented the movie and any remaining copies of it were unable to be located.
Illinois Senator Al Sharpton, one of the authors of the RRRA, praised the action for coming "at a critical time for these United States as we attempt to heal the divisive wounds of racism by becoming more sensitive, more trusting, and ever more responsive to calls for censorship and blandidity in the name of harmony and unhurt feelings."
Two Arrested in Blockbuster Sting
Police in Brooklyn Heights stormed a Blockbuster Video last night, arresting the owner and two clerks on charges of distributing insensitive and harmful materials in violation of the 2009 Racial Reconciliation and Respect Act. Officers seized all DVD and videotape copies of four films, each of which was on the RRRA list of Socially Unacceptable Films.
The seized videos included the notorious Any Which Way but Loose, the Clint Eastwood comedy whose 30th anniversary re-release sparked riots due to its unflattering portrait of minorities.
Also taken in the raid were both the 1933 and 2007 versions of King Kong, as well as the Diane Fossey biopic Gorillas in the Mist. At the Cannes film festival earlier this year, director Peter Jackson apologized for his 2007 remake, calling it "a movie that in many ways is equally as vile as Birth of a Nation."
The search warrant also called for seizure of the 1976 King Kong remake starring Jessica Lange, but store records indicated that the no customer had ever rented the movie and any remaining copies of it were unable to be located.
Illinois Senator Al Sharpton, one of the authors of the RRRA, praised the action for coming "at a critical time for these United States as we attempt to heal the divisive wounds of racism by becoming more sensitive, more trusting, and ever more responsive to calls for censorship and blandidity in the name of harmony and unhurt feelings."
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
News from the Future
(Note: Living as I do near the Hadron Collider, I expected strange things to occur once they'd fired that thing up. And lo and behold, I have started receiving e-mail updates of news from the future, just like that show Early Edition except with a lot bigger audience. So I'm going to pass along to you my news updates from the future.)
Ford to Declare Bankruptcy
Ford Motor Company, the only automaker that is not part of the US Government Automobile Fabrication Corporation, announced today that its 2009 losses have driven it into bankruptcy and that it will likely have to lay off up to 40% of its workforce and may eventually sell all assets.
The move comes a week after GM unveiled its newest car, the Michelle, a sporty 3-seater made of 98% recycled parts. As all other models have been declared redundant, the Michelle is considered to be "the new standard" for GM and represents a conversion to all-green technology, getting 38 miles per gallon and capable of reaching highway speeds in excess of 48 miles per hour in non-headwind driving. Although the base cost is $36,000 per unit, after government rebates, dealer incentives, and buyer subsidies the cost is $1200, which after the New Car Stimulus Act of 2009 means that the consumer must only pay 1/3 of the sticker price, or $400.
Ford's truck line had already collapsed after the other member of the USGAFC, Chrysler, introduced the Kenyan, a sturdy two-seater with almost one and a half tons of pure towing power and a bed just over twenty square feet. The Kenyan gets eleven miles per gallon of 100% ethanol, whose $19.50 per gallon cost at the pump is reduced for consumers by 75% after the Renewable Fuels Subsidy Act of 2009. Though some have criticized its unique 3-axle design, its $750 price tag (after rebates and subsidies shave off some of the $62,000-per-unit cost from the factories) have had consumers lining up to purchase the unique vehicle.
In unrelated news, both companies have petitioned the government for an addition $62 billion, nine weeks after receiving an addition $78 billion from the government. The moves are necessary, say industry experts, because the stalemate in negotiations between Unions and Management are entering their fourteenth month. At issue is the desire of management to trim pensions for workers with less than ten years seniority by 1%, which according to a UAW spokesma "is tantamount to selling out future generations of workers forever."
Meanwhile sales of Ford's newest flagship automobile, the Daisy, have sagged after a promising start. The seven-seat "green" minivan has suffered from its excessive cost of $24,000 and criticism from environment groups, who say that its 45 MPG is unacceptably low for a vehicle that doesn't run on 100% ethanol blends. Also exacerbating the problem is the $4,000 penalty consumers must pay for the Daisy's excessive carbon footprint, as well as a $2,500 "sourcing fee" for buying outside of the USGAFC approved dealer network.
Ford has indefinitely postponed the release of the 2010 Hayek, which was designed to compete with the Michelle. The five-seat sedan would have been made of 99% recycled parts and in tests was capable of up to 70 MPH with an efficiency of 45 MPG, but its forecasted $18,000-per-unit cost was deemed "untenable" in the current market.
Former Vice President, Nobel Laureate, Oscar winner, and Pulitzer Prize author Al Gore said that the announcement showed that capitalism and environmentalism can work together to create a vibrant market. "Ford is paying for its decision to remain outside the USGAFC, and consumers are responding by choosing vehicles with a more environmentally sensitive production process. Once again the free market, guided by the benevolent hand of government experts, has proven to be the most efficient engine for effective social and environmental change."
Ford to Declare Bankruptcy
Ford Motor Company, the only automaker that is not part of the US Government Automobile Fabrication Corporation, announced today that its 2009 losses have driven it into bankruptcy and that it will likely have to lay off up to 40% of its workforce and may eventually sell all assets.
The move comes a week after GM unveiled its newest car, the Michelle, a sporty 3-seater made of 98% recycled parts. As all other models have been declared redundant, the Michelle is considered to be "the new standard" for GM and represents a conversion to all-green technology, getting 38 miles per gallon and capable of reaching highway speeds in excess of 48 miles per hour in non-headwind driving. Although the base cost is $36,000 per unit, after government rebates, dealer incentives, and buyer subsidies the cost is $1200, which after the New Car Stimulus Act of 2009 means that the consumer must only pay 1/3 of the sticker price, or $400.
Ford's truck line had already collapsed after the other member of the USGAFC, Chrysler, introduced the Kenyan, a sturdy two-seater with almost one and a half tons of pure towing power and a bed just over twenty square feet. The Kenyan gets eleven miles per gallon of 100% ethanol, whose $19.50 per gallon cost at the pump is reduced for consumers by 75% after the Renewable Fuels Subsidy Act of 2009. Though some have criticized its unique 3-axle design, its $750 price tag (after rebates and subsidies shave off some of the $62,000-per-unit cost from the factories) have had consumers lining up to purchase the unique vehicle.
In unrelated news, both companies have petitioned the government for an addition $62 billion, nine weeks after receiving an addition $78 billion from the government. The moves are necessary, say industry experts, because the stalemate in negotiations between Unions and Management are entering their fourteenth month. At issue is the desire of management to trim pensions for workers with less than ten years seniority by 1%, which according to a UAW spokesma "is tantamount to selling out future generations of workers forever."
Meanwhile sales of Ford's newest flagship automobile, the Daisy, have sagged after a promising start. The seven-seat "green" minivan has suffered from its excessive cost of $24,000 and criticism from environment groups, who say that its 45 MPG is unacceptably low for a vehicle that doesn't run on 100% ethanol blends. Also exacerbating the problem is the $4,000 penalty consumers must pay for the Daisy's excessive carbon footprint, as well as a $2,500 "sourcing fee" for buying outside of the USGAFC approved dealer network.
Ford has indefinitely postponed the release of the 2010 Hayek, which was designed to compete with the Michelle. The five-seat sedan would have been made of 99% recycled parts and in tests was capable of up to 70 MPH with an efficiency of 45 MPG, but its forecasted $18,000-per-unit cost was deemed "untenable" in the current market.
Former Vice President, Nobel Laureate, Oscar winner, and Pulitzer Prize author Al Gore said that the announcement showed that capitalism and environmentalism can work together to create a vibrant market. "Ford is paying for its decision to remain outside the USGAFC, and consumers are responding by choosing vehicles with a more environmentally sensitive production process. Once again the free market, guided by the benevolent hand of government experts, has proven to be the most efficient engine for effective social and environmental change."
Monday, February 16, 2009
A Night at the Ballet
As the great philosopher Moe Scyzlack one said, "we're all pigs, Homer. The difference is that every once in a while you pick yourself up out of the muck, clean yourself off, and show your wife that you love her."
With all due respect, Moe is an idiot.
Six months ago, Wifey informed me that one of my husbandly duties was that I was responsible for taking her out once a month without the children so that we could spend "couple time" together.
This was in the context of a discussion about my many failings as a husband. And by discussion, I mean that she spoke in a louder-than-normal tone of voice and I nodded vigorously.
Hey, I haven't been married for fifteen years on accident.
I did pretty good at it for a while. In August we went to see a movie that I loved and she hated (Cloverfield). Then in September we went to a one-night-only tractor pull, and the next month I got so drunk at Oktoberfest that I vomited down the shirt of one of the busty waitresses. Good times.
For some reason, Wifey didn't seem too upset that we didn't go out for the next three months, and I figured that meant I was off the hook.
With Valentine's Day coming up, though, Wifey decided that it would be a glorious idea to reaffirm our love and commitment. When I told her I hated Valentine's Day and that I didn't want to go anywhere, she offered to send me up Swan Lake with a Nutcracker I'd never forget.
Seeing her interest in ballet, I decided to see if there was a show in the area on Valentine's Day. And lo and behold, I found us boss tickets to Romeo and Juliet the Ballet, by Prokofiev, danced by the Moscow City Ballet.
Like I care, but she's into this kind of thing, so I figured it'd at least get her in a good humor, which is what 90% of marriage is all about.
When we went to dinner, I could see that she was really excited. She had a twinkle in her eye and a lift in her step that I hadn't seen in years. I began to get excited, thinking about the post-ballet entertainment that I had planned, and which by the Valentine's Code is required of any woman who attends an event where her spouse or significant other is forced by social protocol to wear a tie.
Hey, my tie may have read "I'm With Stupid" with an arrow pointing up, and have had a naked woman concealed on the underside, but it still counts, even if it was a clip-on.
We entered the ballet at promptly 7:50, in order to be well seated before the 8:00 curtain up. This was the first time I'd been to the ballet, and I learned three things:
1) It didn't start until 8:15
2) It takes at least 15 minutes for a ballet character to die, which is a problem in a show where half the characters are going to be murdered or commit suicide.
3) In the ballet, no one can hear you scream.
We were halfway through the thirty-minute "dance of love", where Romeo and Juliet roll around, kiss, dance on tip-toe, then repeat ad infinitum, when Wifey leans over to me and says "I have a secret."
"What? You have a secret bottle of poison stashed somewhere?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "I'll tell you later."
Then she kisses me on the cheek.
So I'm running through all the possible secrets she could have: she bought me a present, she's got polio, I have only minutes to live, she's willing to walk out at intermission, something. But I come up with nothing.
Finally, mercifully, intermission comes. Then, all too soon, it's over, and I march back into the Bataan Death Dance.
The second act starts with some sword fights, which of course culminate in Tybalt killing Mercutio, which sets off ten minutes of women in black shrouds dancing around and Mercutio staggering this way and that, never actually dying but not able to live out the rest of the ballet (although they do drag his corpse back and forth a few more times).
Just as Mercutio falls, Wifey leans over to me and whispers in my ear "I'm not wearing panties." Then she gives my earlobe a little nibble.
I now considered three courses of action:
Course #1: Do nothing.
Course #2: Jump on her like a trampoline.
Course #3: Verify whether or not this information was true before embarking upon Course #2.
You have to understand that in the entire course of our lives together, the only time Wifey has ever left the house without panties is, well, very much never. In fact, short of showering, I think she wears panties all the time. Oh, maybe not underneath the full-length circa 1860's flannel nightgown that she wears to bed. But I'd never know, since it's like +5 Plate Mail in terms of protection.
Besides, Course #1 seemed like an insult. If she's being honest, I figured she wanted me to show interest. And I was interested. Very interested.
Even in Europe, though, I'm pretty sure going at it like wild gibbons per Course #2 would get you arrested. Well, not in Amsterdam, but anywhere else it's dicey.
So I opted for Course #3.
Since I don't want this to turn into a Dear Penthouse letter, I'll just give you the broad brush stroke of what happened: I reached over under the coat on her lap and, a few opened buttons later, verified that I had received an accurate account of the state of her undergarments.
Course #2 was looking better and better all the time. In fact, I suggested it, but she rebuffed me to continue watching Juliet flail about as she tried to decide whether or not to drink the sleeping potion (total time required: 45 minutes and 22 seconds of toe-standing indecision).
In due time the ballet was finished. I think Romeo won, but I'm not quite sure, since I didn’t pay that good attention to it; I was distracted by other things. People started clapping, dancers started bowing, and I started drooling.
I jumped up from my seat, her coat in my hands so that I could help her into it like a true gentleman. My watch snagged ever so momentarily on something, but I ignored it, and I saw a shower of small white confetti bits fly out over the audience from behind us.
"Nice touch," I thought.
Wifey looked up at me in horror. I looked down at her in lust. The old lady in the row in front of us, who had turned to see what hit her in the back of her head, screamed and fainted.
There was Wifey, in all her commando glory, dress now torn open to her waist, looking for all the world like she wanted to murder me where I stood. And here I was, slobbering and shaking her coat at her and urging her to get up so we could go discuss politics and backgammon in the parking lot.
Yes, the full reality of what had happened had not yet sunk in. To be honest, I was doing most of my thinking in the southern hemisphere, where such concerns as morals and decency rarely see the light of day.
Fortunately, people swarmed to help the collapsed old lady. The house lights were brought up. I dashed into the aisle, urging Wifey to come with me, always capering a few steps in front of her and shaking her coat at her like some kind of crazed medicine man as I tried to get to the car, and paradise, as quickly as possible.
Behind me came Wifey, cursing and trying to hold her dress together and catch up to me. And behind her a group of people shouting for everyone to get out of the way, that the old lady needed to be taken out into the air, thus attracting the most attention possible to her as she tried to climb the stairs and not give everyone seated along the aisle a money shot that they'd not soon forget.
Judging from my angle, she failed miserably, and I think I saw one or two camera flashes as she came along behind me.
I was out the door quickly, an angry Wifey right behind me, now screaming curses into the night. "WOULD YOU STOP AND GIVE ME MY COAT, YOU MORON?"
I began to suspect that the night would soon take a somewhat less-than-pleasurable turn.
She didn't speak a word to me as we headed back to the parking lot, trying as she was to hold her dress closed, pull her coat down, and walk all at the same time. My Spidey-Sense was tingling, telling me that to speak was to die, so I kept my mouth shut.
The warm breezes of the Southern Hemisphere were extinguished, snuffed out by the sudden resurgence of the ice cap from Wifey.
When we reached the parking lot, it was closed with a big white gate. So we stood, and we waited. And waited. And waited. Slowly, other patrons began filing out and stood in line behind us, pointing and whispering, with the two of us standing at the center of a small circle now surrounded by gleeful onlookers, at least one of whom was kneeling and pointing a camera phone at Wifey.
"Did you have a good time?" I asked.
"Let's see," she said. "My favorite dress is ruined, I was exposed to half a theater, and I'm standing out here freezing my hoochie off waiting for the gate to open. Do you suppose I had a good time?"
"You've probably lost a little of your ardor, then," I said.
She glared at me.
"How about when we get home, I'll see if I can help you relight that pilot?"
She glared at me with death in her eyes. I knew all hope was lost, so I tried my trump card:
"Since I went through all this trouble to set up our night out, just to be fair you should still plan on having intense verbal negotiations with my silent partner when we get home."
Whereupon, to my great chagrin, she showed me the Nutcracker.
Have I mentioned how much I hate the ballet?
With all due respect, Moe is an idiot.
Six months ago, Wifey informed me that one of my husbandly duties was that I was responsible for taking her out once a month without the children so that we could spend "couple time" together.
This was in the context of a discussion about my many failings as a husband. And by discussion, I mean that she spoke in a louder-than-normal tone of voice and I nodded vigorously.
Hey, I haven't been married for fifteen years on accident.
I did pretty good at it for a while. In August we went to see a movie that I loved and she hated (Cloverfield). Then in September we went to a one-night-only tractor pull, and the next month I got so drunk at Oktoberfest that I vomited down the shirt of one of the busty waitresses. Good times.
For some reason, Wifey didn't seem too upset that we didn't go out for the next three months, and I figured that meant I was off the hook.
With Valentine's Day coming up, though, Wifey decided that it would be a glorious idea to reaffirm our love and commitment. When I told her I hated Valentine's Day and that I didn't want to go anywhere, she offered to send me up Swan Lake with a Nutcracker I'd never forget.
Seeing her interest in ballet, I decided to see if there was a show in the area on Valentine's Day. And lo and behold, I found us boss tickets to Romeo and Juliet the Ballet, by Prokofiev, danced by the Moscow City Ballet.
Like I care, but she's into this kind of thing, so I figured it'd at least get her in a good humor, which is what 90% of marriage is all about.
When we went to dinner, I could see that she was really excited. She had a twinkle in her eye and a lift in her step that I hadn't seen in years. I began to get excited, thinking about the post-ballet entertainment that I had planned, and which by the Valentine's Code is required of any woman who attends an event where her spouse or significant other is forced by social protocol to wear a tie.
Hey, my tie may have read "I'm With Stupid" with an arrow pointing up, and have had a naked woman concealed on the underside, but it still counts, even if it was a clip-on.
We entered the ballet at promptly 7:50, in order to be well seated before the 8:00 curtain up. This was the first time I'd been to the ballet, and I learned three things:
1) It didn't start until 8:15
2) It takes at least 15 minutes for a ballet character to die, which is a problem in a show where half the characters are going to be murdered or commit suicide.
3) In the ballet, no one can hear you scream.
We were halfway through the thirty-minute "dance of love", where Romeo and Juliet roll around, kiss, dance on tip-toe, then repeat ad infinitum, when Wifey leans over to me and says "I have a secret."
"What? You have a secret bottle of poison stashed somewhere?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "I'll tell you later."
Then she kisses me on the cheek.
So I'm running through all the possible secrets she could have: she bought me a present, she's got polio, I have only minutes to live, she's willing to walk out at intermission, something. But I come up with nothing.
Finally, mercifully, intermission comes. Then, all too soon, it's over, and I march back into the Bataan Death Dance.
The second act starts with some sword fights, which of course culminate in Tybalt killing Mercutio, which sets off ten minutes of women in black shrouds dancing around and Mercutio staggering this way and that, never actually dying but not able to live out the rest of the ballet (although they do drag his corpse back and forth a few more times).
Just as Mercutio falls, Wifey leans over to me and whispers in my ear "I'm not wearing panties." Then she gives my earlobe a little nibble.
I now considered three courses of action:
Course #1: Do nothing.
Course #2: Jump on her like a trampoline.
Course #3: Verify whether or not this information was true before embarking upon Course #2.
You have to understand that in the entire course of our lives together, the only time Wifey has ever left the house without panties is, well, very much never. In fact, short of showering, I think she wears panties all the time. Oh, maybe not underneath the full-length circa 1860's flannel nightgown that she wears to bed. But I'd never know, since it's like +5 Plate Mail in terms of protection.
Besides, Course #1 seemed like an insult. If she's being honest, I figured she wanted me to show interest. And I was interested. Very interested.
Even in Europe, though, I'm pretty sure going at it like wild gibbons per Course #2 would get you arrested. Well, not in Amsterdam, but anywhere else it's dicey.
So I opted for Course #3.
Since I don't want this to turn into a Dear Penthouse letter, I'll just give you the broad brush stroke of what happened: I reached over under the coat on her lap and, a few opened buttons later, verified that I had received an accurate account of the state of her undergarments.
Course #2 was looking better and better all the time. In fact, I suggested it, but she rebuffed me to continue watching Juliet flail about as she tried to decide whether or not to drink the sleeping potion (total time required: 45 minutes and 22 seconds of toe-standing indecision).
In due time the ballet was finished. I think Romeo won, but I'm not quite sure, since I didn’t pay that good attention to it; I was distracted by other things. People started clapping, dancers started bowing, and I started drooling.
I jumped up from my seat, her coat in my hands so that I could help her into it like a true gentleman. My watch snagged ever so momentarily on something, but I ignored it, and I saw a shower of small white confetti bits fly out over the audience from behind us.
"Nice touch," I thought.
Wifey looked up at me in horror. I looked down at her in lust. The old lady in the row in front of us, who had turned to see what hit her in the back of her head, screamed and fainted.
There was Wifey, in all her commando glory, dress now torn open to her waist, looking for all the world like she wanted to murder me where I stood. And here I was, slobbering and shaking her coat at her and urging her to get up so we could go discuss politics and backgammon in the parking lot.
Yes, the full reality of what had happened had not yet sunk in. To be honest, I was doing most of my thinking in the southern hemisphere, where such concerns as morals and decency rarely see the light of day.
Fortunately, people swarmed to help the collapsed old lady. The house lights were brought up. I dashed into the aisle, urging Wifey to come with me, always capering a few steps in front of her and shaking her coat at her like some kind of crazed medicine man as I tried to get to the car, and paradise, as quickly as possible.
Behind me came Wifey, cursing and trying to hold her dress together and catch up to me. And behind her a group of people shouting for everyone to get out of the way, that the old lady needed to be taken out into the air, thus attracting the most attention possible to her as she tried to climb the stairs and not give everyone seated along the aisle a money shot that they'd not soon forget.
Judging from my angle, she failed miserably, and I think I saw one or two camera flashes as she came along behind me.
I was out the door quickly, an angry Wifey right behind me, now screaming curses into the night. "WOULD YOU STOP AND GIVE ME MY COAT, YOU MORON?"
I began to suspect that the night would soon take a somewhat less-than-pleasurable turn.
She didn't speak a word to me as we headed back to the parking lot, trying as she was to hold her dress closed, pull her coat down, and walk all at the same time. My Spidey-Sense was tingling, telling me that to speak was to die, so I kept my mouth shut.
The warm breezes of the Southern Hemisphere were extinguished, snuffed out by the sudden resurgence of the ice cap from Wifey.
When we reached the parking lot, it was closed with a big white gate. So we stood, and we waited. And waited. And waited. Slowly, other patrons began filing out and stood in line behind us, pointing and whispering, with the two of us standing at the center of a small circle now surrounded by gleeful onlookers, at least one of whom was kneeling and pointing a camera phone at Wifey.
"Did you have a good time?" I asked.
"Let's see," she said. "My favorite dress is ruined, I was exposed to half a theater, and I'm standing out here freezing my hoochie off waiting for the gate to open. Do you suppose I had a good time?"
"You've probably lost a little of your ardor, then," I said.
She glared at me.
"How about when we get home, I'll see if I can help you relight that pilot?"
She glared at me with death in her eyes. I knew all hope was lost, so I tried my trump card:
"Since I went through all this trouble to set up our night out, just to be fair you should still plan on having intense verbal negotiations with my silent partner when we get home."
Whereupon, to my great chagrin, she showed me the Nutcracker.
Have I mentioned how much I hate the ballet?
Thursday, February 5, 2009
A Letter from the US Economy
Dear US Populace,
Though in the past I have never directly addressed you, preferring to act either via unseen methods (the so-called "invisible hands") or through sweater-clad proxies, I am taking the exceptional step of speaking directly to you, the US taxpayer, during this time of our joint crisis.
I have taken this drastic measure because more and more of you are being misled by charlatans, fools, and gun-toting religious nuts who want you to believe that I will receive little or no benefit from the stimulus package that is currently passing through congress.
I can assure you that nothing could be further from the truth, and I shall be stimulated more thoroughly than Ron Jeremy after swilling down a Cialis cocktail and dropping into the Playboy grotto.
Perhaps you live in a fairy-tale world where cat feces miraculously shape themselves into effigies of the Virgin Mary strangling Christ by his umbilical cord, or where bicycle paths spontaneously carve themselves in areas where they are patently infeasible and unnecessary, but here in the real world it takes tax money forcibly removed from your pocket to provide these valuable social services to the chronically unskilled and underemployed.
During your morning commute on the Interstate, where you see a large empty expanse of terrain beside the road, I see a place where an ultra-modern, high-cost light rail system could endlessly shuttle half-empty trains back and forth in an eternal procession of protected union jobs and hopelessly outdated railworker benefits packages, all taking people from a place they don't live near to another place they don't want to go.
Assuming, of course, that no tit mice or red-crested dungbombers would be disturbed by the installation of such a rail system, in which case it will have to be rerouted through a residential area.
I have read several economic "columnists" claim that there are legitimate concerns, but I can assure you that they are invalid. Even now sociology and performing-arts majors are flooding the rolls of the unemployed; don't they deserve a chance to be hired by a shoddy construction outfit owned by political cronies of the ruling party so that they, too, can have the life experience of constructing shoddy high-density housing that will crumble into disuse within the next 3 to 5 years?
To those of you who still feel that my stimulus is less important than your paltry tax dollars, which you will doubtless squander selfishly thinking only of yourselves, remember that when I am angry my wrath is terrible to behold. If you think that my boundless rage will be slaked by closing thousands of Starbucks and brutalizing the journalism industry, you are fooling yourself.
Inefficient car manufacturers are only the beginning. Unless I get my stimulation, I may turn my attention to other trillion-dollar operations that are poorly run.
Like your government.
Though in the past I have never directly addressed you, preferring to act either via unseen methods (the so-called "invisible hands") or through sweater-clad proxies, I am taking the exceptional step of speaking directly to you, the US taxpayer, during this time of our joint crisis.
I have taken this drastic measure because more and more of you are being misled by charlatans, fools, and gun-toting religious nuts who want you to believe that I will receive little or no benefit from the stimulus package that is currently passing through congress.
I can assure you that nothing could be further from the truth, and I shall be stimulated more thoroughly than Ron Jeremy after swilling down a Cialis cocktail and dropping into the Playboy grotto.
Perhaps you live in a fairy-tale world where cat feces miraculously shape themselves into effigies of the Virgin Mary strangling Christ by his umbilical cord, or where bicycle paths spontaneously carve themselves in areas where they are patently infeasible and unnecessary, but here in the real world it takes tax money forcibly removed from your pocket to provide these valuable social services to the chronically unskilled and underemployed.
During your morning commute on the Interstate, where you see a large empty expanse of terrain beside the road, I see a place where an ultra-modern, high-cost light rail system could endlessly shuttle half-empty trains back and forth in an eternal procession of protected union jobs and hopelessly outdated railworker benefits packages, all taking people from a place they don't live near to another place they don't want to go.
Assuming, of course, that no tit mice or red-crested dungbombers would be disturbed by the installation of such a rail system, in which case it will have to be rerouted through a residential area.
I have read several economic "columnists" claim that there are legitimate concerns, but I can assure you that they are invalid. Even now sociology and performing-arts majors are flooding the rolls of the unemployed; don't they deserve a chance to be hired by a shoddy construction outfit owned by political cronies of the ruling party so that they, too, can have the life experience of constructing shoddy high-density housing that will crumble into disuse within the next 3 to 5 years?
To those of you who still feel that my stimulus is less important than your paltry tax dollars, which you will doubtless squander selfishly thinking only of yourselves, remember that when I am angry my wrath is terrible to behold. If you think that my boundless rage will be slaked by closing thousands of Starbucks and brutalizing the journalism industry, you are fooling yourself.
Inefficient car manufacturers are only the beginning. Unless I get my stimulation, I may turn my attention to other trillion-dollar operations that are poorly run.
Like your government.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Why Baseball is America's Sport
While the unthinking cosmos turns in its splendor around us, and our national soul is rent asunder on the political stage, it is always comforting this time of year to know that we can turn our careworn eyes to sports to find ourselves reflected in its warming glow.
But this warmth comes not from the beer-soaked artificial grass of the football field, with the communist NFL teams each vying to be more average than one another and the slaveholding plantations of College Football using computers to see which one gets to discriminate against the Mormon colleges. Nor do we see ourselves in the vast array of minor sports, from lacross to hockey to basketball.
No, I speak of that truest of American sports: Baseball.
Baseball is a microcosm of life, capitalism, and truth: rich teams like New York or Boston are able to shower players with money, thus allowing them to hold a competitive edge that can never be erased. This is good, and right, and completely American. Who wants underdogs succeeding when we have rich, cocky favorites to support?
You see this attitude rightly reflected in sports film. When I saw the first Rocky, there wasn't a dry eye in the house when cocky champion Apollo Creed finally put the common street man in his place. Once again sanity reigned, and the favorite won out over the plucky underdog. This is why Rocky is a successful movie that won a screenwriting Oscar, the first ever awarded to a functional illiterate.
Who among us cannot help but smile when the rich, elite private school that recruits players from out of state wins out over the small, rural public school in the local sporting levels? This is right, and good, and the way that the world should work: underdogs should lose, because that is why they are underdogs.
There are signs of hope in the NFL that this mediocrity might finally begin to fracture, and we could once again have the elite and the scum, which is the way of the world. Everyone I know is praying for an uncapped year, so that we can finally see football teams vastly overpay for fading stars at the tail end of their careers, just as we so often see in baseball.
Because as the old joke goes, what's the difference between Lehman's CEO buyout package and Carl Pavano's contract with the Yankees?
The Lehman CEO wasn't a part-time employee.
But this warmth comes not from the beer-soaked artificial grass of the football field, with the communist NFL teams each vying to be more average than one another and the slaveholding plantations of College Football using computers to see which one gets to discriminate against the Mormon colleges. Nor do we see ourselves in the vast array of minor sports, from lacross to hockey to basketball.
No, I speak of that truest of American sports: Baseball.
Baseball is a microcosm of life, capitalism, and truth: rich teams like New York or Boston are able to shower players with money, thus allowing them to hold a competitive edge that can never be erased. This is good, and right, and completely American. Who wants underdogs succeeding when we have rich, cocky favorites to support?
You see this attitude rightly reflected in sports film. When I saw the first Rocky, there wasn't a dry eye in the house when cocky champion Apollo Creed finally put the common street man in his place. Once again sanity reigned, and the favorite won out over the plucky underdog. This is why Rocky is a successful movie that won a screenwriting Oscar, the first ever awarded to a functional illiterate.
Who among us cannot help but smile when the rich, elite private school that recruits players from out of state wins out over the small, rural public school in the local sporting levels? This is right, and good, and the way that the world should work: underdogs should lose, because that is why they are underdogs.
There are signs of hope in the NFL that this mediocrity might finally begin to fracture, and we could once again have the elite and the scum, which is the way of the world. Everyone I know is praying for an uncapped year, so that we can finally see football teams vastly overpay for fading stars at the tail end of their careers, just as we so often see in baseball.
Because as the old joke goes, what's the difference between Lehman's CEO buyout package and Carl Pavano's contract with the Yankees?
The Lehman CEO wasn't a part-time employee.
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