so i meet tons and tons of funny people each day i venture out into the cloudshine. the introductions typically assume a general pattern:
-polio? like the disease. chuckle.
-no dildo smack, i'm peruvian. pole y yo, like i'm standing next to a motherfucking flagpole.
so some people aren't funny, and others have combined their love for equines with necrophilia and repeat the same lines over and over. the former i can deal with b/c the world needs engineers, dentists, and other boring people to fill roles within the infrastructure, and i can't judge the latter b/c we all have our own idiosyncracies that we share amongst friends. like, kraus-AH, do you speak german??? while not as funny as it was initially, it still serves to bond people to their shared experiences and is thus acceptable. it's even welcomed. but when the time comes that yr introduced to a john bush, or a rebekkah cox, or a richard short, go ahead and make that joke. i'm pretty sure you'll be the first, especially as people like me are getting older and it's becoming less and less likely that you're the first witty person i've come to meet. but just to be safe, you could prolly reaffirm your self-esteem by following it up with, ever hear that before?
as for me and the other polios, i'm pretty sure it makes you less funny that i actually use the line myself when giving my name over the phone. it's logistical. it saves time so people can spell it correctly without fear of insulting me. but i'm complaining too much. i actually encounter a small range of responses, albeit easily categorized.
the level just beyond stoopid:
-did you get your polio vaccination?
-no, cox. my mama thought it a cruel irony and decided to chance the metal leg braces.
the intellectual:
-you afraid of jonas salk?
-blank stare
-you know who he is, right?
-dick. you're the smart guy but i'm the one who got my master's from the same institution where he did most of his research. i have hemorrhoids, though. why don't you take care of that for me?
the moron:
-did you have polio when you were younger?
and the moron's best friend:
-your parents named you polio?
-yes, my name is polio polio.
oh well. i was only thinking of this b/c i had my german army coat on yesterday and i met yet another person who thought they were funny: heil hitler. it's amusing to me how people's only association with a major g8 ally is a guy who's been dead 60 years. it wasn't too long ago i wore my dad's old army coat around in the winter; how come no one was like, george washington fucking rules! selah, i suppose it was good enough that he could identify the german flag. better than a coworker of mine:
-why do you have an iraqi flag on your coat?
-[blank]
-that's iraqi, right?
-no, leave me alone, douche.
-what is it, russian?
-no, it's canadian. have you ever read a book?
since i have no idea whom to vote for in the general presidential election, i've been consulting a wide array of sources so i'm as well informed as possible. because the spectrum of choice is so fooken expansive, i'm concerned that my heavy reliance on talk radio for the day's news may be leaving myself with a skewed idea of how comparatively sexy awol and lurch are to each other when standing butt to butt. but since you need an ak-47 and an english-only understanding of the bible to be a good right winger, and b/c the media's out to push their liberal agenda, i've had to find more reliable suggestions for how to think: front lawns and auto bumpers.
i never really cared about politics until awol was given his current gig through dubious measures. i can't really judge the validity of the whole situation, but that's b/c i was stoopid and uninformed back then. but that's not the point. the point is that i never cared about civic issues until i woke up to find a retard was my president. but where to begin? where to find enough information about current events to pass myself off as an imformed citizen? the newspapers are nothing but commie/faggot propaganda, and those who actually believe that are just pissed that children can't still work 19 hours/day in the coal mines. i need ideas, people. i also need thoughts. thank god i drive a pizza car and pass countless houses on any given day. fucking hallelujah times two i have access to a computer so i can photoblog my thought process.
yes, he's the president. maybe he's doing a good job.
what??? bush lied??? about what???
oh. i wonder who i should vote for then.
ok, if he's for america and all. it's kind of cool i'm american and he's for america, but he seems kind of angry. good thing i have another delivery..
hmmm...clark or edwards should do. who're they?
fuck, dood. will the primary season EVER end???? i guess i'm going with kerry.
but then i'm stuck in traffic and see this:
oh shit, bush is running for reelection? i thought this was straight democratic party shit.
and this:
w is for women? george women bush? that's odd.
then this:
fooken eh, even people who don't speak english like bush?
and then:
they're even naming a highway after him? he must be a good potus, eh.
ok, i'm totally voting for bush. but damn that i work in anne arbour. and more damn that the entire city smells like dead hippy.
so now i think i'm voting for kerry b/c he's the only other guy in the election. i should probably investigate his stances on the different issues, but it's a bit unnecessary to do so b/c as far as i'm concerned, i haven't spotted any good anti-kerry stickers. the best i've found is flip-flops, and that's just not funny.
i don't know. perhaps i've poorly evaluated the value of yard signs and bumperstickers. advertising is a science/art i've consistently underestimated and continue to misunderstand. and maybe there's a certain pride attached to the way you decorate yr lawn or auto. at least people and their slogans don't require the trite rationalization of debate. just a, i'm voting for this guy, and nothing else. of course there are always the guys who need to place four of these signs in their lawns, but that's b/c they have smaller penises than those who use just one.
i never really cared about politics until awol was given his current gig through dubious measures. i can't really judge the validity of the whole situation, but that's b/c i was stoopid and uninformed back then. but that's not the point. the point is that i never cared about civic issues until i woke up to find a retard was my president. but where to begin? where to find enough information about current events to pass myself off as an imformed citizen? the newspapers are nothing but commie/faggot propaganda, and those who actually believe that are just pissed that children can't still work 19 hours/day in the coal mines. i need ideas, people. i also need thoughts. thank god i drive a pizza car and pass countless houses on any given day. fucking hallelujah times two i have access to a computer so i can photoblog my thought process.
yes, he's the president. maybe he's doing a good job.
what??? bush lied??? about what???
oh. i wonder who i should vote for then.
ok, if he's for america and all. it's kind of cool i'm american and he's for america, but he seems kind of angry. good thing i have another delivery..
hmmm...clark or edwards should do. who're they?
fuck, dood. will the primary season EVER end???? i guess i'm going with kerry.
but then i'm stuck in traffic and see this:
oh shit, bush is running for reelection? i thought this was straight democratic party shit.
and this:
w is for women? george women bush? that's odd.
then this:
fooken eh, even people who don't speak english like bush?
and then:
they're even naming a highway after him? he must be a good potus, eh.
ok, i'm totally voting for bush. but damn that i work in anne arbour. and more damn that the entire city smells like dead hippy.
so now i think i'm voting for kerry b/c he's the only other guy in the election. i should probably investigate his stances on the different issues, but it's a bit unnecessary to do so b/c as far as i'm concerned, i haven't spotted any good anti-kerry stickers. the best i've found is flip-flops, and that's just not funny.
i don't know. perhaps i've poorly evaluated the value of yard signs and bumperstickers. advertising is a science/art i've consistently underestimated and continue to misunderstand. and maybe there's a certain pride attached to the way you decorate yr lawn or auto. at least people and their slogans don't require the trite rationalization of debate. just a, i'm voting for this guy, and nothing else. of course there are always the guys who need to place four of these signs in their lawns, but that's b/c they have smaller penises than those who use just one.
i'm not racist, you know, because i like people who aren't like me. like mexicans. those guys work really hard.
i've been in ypsi/arbour long enough that looks are getting recycled.
there's been an instance or two i've been caught staring at a person, and it doesn't occur to me until the policia issue me another stalker notice that i've mistaken him/her for someone i knew from sophomore year. any longer and fashions will become recycled, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. i'd love to catch teenwolf in the cinemas.
there's been an instance or two i've been caught staring at a person, and it doesn't occur to me until the policia issue me another stalker notice that i've mistaken him/her for someone i knew from sophomore year. any longer and fashions will become recycled, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. i'd love to catch teenwolf in the cinemas.
i almost delivered my first pizza with extra anchovies the other night, but it was a plain cheese deep dish with extra ranch. and there was no fantasized sorority girl sex. but she did phone the phouse to make sure i had her number. wird, i'm a pimp, if pimp means to go home and act cool without actually doing anything with the number. i guess i could lock myself in the washroom...
my cigarette to mile ratio is getting a little out of hand. life was pleasant when shane and i could smoke a beesh the night before a 10+ mile run, but now i'm fat and old, and the cigarettes burn. but i'm not bald, which is more than some people can claim if they weren't lying. not that being bald has anything to do with running. but being fat does. i think i'm going to google for bulemic methods. or is anorexia more comfortable? i think not eating leaves me the better odds for meeting one of those olsen twi(g)ns.
most of my senior seminars during undergrad focused on industrial sociology, so i'm well aware of maximizing production through healthy cooperation between employer and employee. i'm also half-ass supportive of unions, introducing my right knee to the man's testicles, and staking a claim to this vague notion of a fair shake. that doesn't mean some people don't need to recalibrate the fuck out of their sense of importance during calculations of self worth. as in, if your survival is contingent on three eh em drunks phoning in an order for overpriced and greasy food, then you probably don't qualify for union representation. i know the bush administration doesn't mind using rhetoric to shore up the job numbers, but even they would have trouble classifying us as anything other than unskilled. seriously, if anything and everything about your rolling-thunder-cloud demeanor is the fault of a pizza shop, maybe you should get yrself a biology degree and start studying for the mcat. the job's not difficult; responsibilities are:
1. drive food to person who ordered
2. _____________________
fooken rough, non? it almost makes the job hazards unbearable. people leave shitty tips? get the fuck out. and you had to drive five miles and sit in a spat of traffic? at least you had time enough to fill out all those workers comp forms you're going to need your bruised ego. don't get me wrong, the position is invaluable to a company that does most of its business through delivery; the person, however, is not. i see thousands of morons/week out on the roads, so there's a fairly substantial pool of applicants to choose from when the time comes to replace you. i'm not saying there aren't some very real concessions the company should make--treat employees like living bags of skin?--but it's going to be quite some time before job benefits include any sort of bargaining leverage for doods making $2,65/hour. plus tips.
1. drive food to person who ordered
2. _____________________
fooken rough, non? it almost makes the job hazards unbearable. people leave shitty tips? get the fuck out. and you had to drive five miles and sit in a spat of traffic? at least you had time enough to fill out all those workers comp forms you're going to need your bruised ego. don't get me wrong, the position is invaluable to a company that does most of its business through delivery; the person, however, is not. i see thousands of morons/week out on the roads, so there's a fairly substantial pool of applicants to choose from when the time comes to replace you. i'm not saying there aren't some very real concessions the company should make--treat employees like living bags of skin?--but it's going to be quite some time before job benefits include any sort of bargaining leverage for doods making $2,65/hour. plus tips.
my life is pretty boring right now, and by pretty i mean more than usual. i operate on four hours sleep most days. people getting that kind of sleep should be arguing before judges, or doing crazy fourteen valve bypass heart surgery shit, or breast feeding five-year-old children. i do none of that; i deliver food till four in the morning, which is but two hours short of when snoop's bitches finally up and leave. and then on the days i'm given time enough in the morning to sleep in, uncle eric and his deadbeat car phone to ask if i can drive them to indiana. but i only feign complaint: i actually tried to teach bronson how to drive a manual so i could "repay" him for hooking me up notre dame style. i mean, michigan and its carr-servative offense got plug raped, but getting to watch the game from the field leaves me caring less about the final score than i normally would.
but all this menial work increases the emphasis on the incredulous whaaa?? i generally exhale when i get home. i'm surprised the people i live with don't purchase that bread with already removed crust, considering how their moms probably took care of that reponsibility for them till they were twenty-three or some shit. i know how four hours straight of television can wear a person out, but i absolutely LOVE that i have to wash an entire sink of dishes just to eat b/c it's too fucking hard to invest three seconds in rinse-open the dishwasher door-pull out the dishrack-put yr dirty fucking dish in that dishrack-push the dishrack back-close the dishwasher door. and if you feel like you accomplished something after your 3.2 seconds of stiff labor, why don't you spend eight more picking up the trashbag you dropped on the floor and putting it outside with the rest of the trash. pizza boxes are discarded in much the same way.
i was pleasantly shocked the other day when i woke up and found the dog had cooked some sausage links for my breakfast. thanks, i thought, as i fried some eggs to go with them. but i discovered the hard way that sausage shouldn't smell like shit; nor should it taste like it either. no fooken wonder the dog's recently taken to shitting all over the floor three mornings out of the week (at least what's shat in plain view). i guess he's noticed how clean we are and figures why bother with the pretense. it may be uber-pathetic that we rely on a shane-in-transit for a clean house, but i can't really criticize someone for having a mother who's picked up after him his whole life. hooray, christmas bonus for you; but why don't you invite her over to make it appear like you give three shits (bosley's been giving two) about pulling your fucking weight.
but all this menial work increases the emphasis on the incredulous whaaa?? i generally exhale when i get home. i'm surprised the people i live with don't purchase that bread with already removed crust, considering how their moms probably took care of that reponsibility for them till they were twenty-three or some shit. i know how four hours straight of television can wear a person out, but i absolutely LOVE that i have to wash an entire sink of dishes just to eat b/c it's too fucking hard to invest three seconds in rinse-open the dishwasher door-pull out the dishrack-put yr dirty fucking dish in that dishrack-push the dishrack back-close the dishwasher door. and if you feel like you accomplished something after your 3.2 seconds of stiff labor, why don't you spend eight more picking up the trashbag you dropped on the floor and putting it outside with the rest of the trash. pizza boxes are discarded in much the same way.
i was pleasantly shocked the other day when i woke up and found the dog had cooked some sausage links for my breakfast. thanks, i thought, as i fried some eggs to go with them. but i discovered the hard way that sausage shouldn't smell like shit; nor should it taste like it either. no fooken wonder the dog's recently taken to shitting all over the floor three mornings out of the week (at least what's shat in plain view). i guess he's noticed how clean we are and figures why bother with the pretense. it may be uber-pathetic that we rely on a shane-in-transit for a clean house, but i can't really criticize someone for having a mother who's picked up after him his whole life. hooray, christmas bonus for you; but why don't you invite her over to make it appear like you give three shits (bosley's been giving two) about pulling your fucking weight.
why don't you people buy some meds to get over your multiple personality disorder and make up your fooken minds!!
roll call.
roll call.
three years have come and gone since 9.11, and it seems that the memories require copyrighting more than they do quiet contemplation. nonetheless, this is a letter i wrote to shane on the first anniversary. i think it's important for us to always remember how we felt in the immediate aftermath for a multitude of reasons, one of which is to make it more difficult for politicians to manipulate the public's ostensible sorrow. i only remember the fight i got into with my girlfriend on 9.11.01, so the one year mark is the best i can do to filter through the accrued bullshit the subsequent two years may have added to my memories:
i have this horrible feeling in my stomach, and it wasn't manufactured by corporate 9.11; it was created by genuine 9.11. i've given two shits about that day. i've actually hated it for all the political gasoline it's provided. "let's kill...MORE!!" fuck them, i say. and fuck your manufactured sympathy. but that's so easy to say when you don't see faces.
i purposely didn't listen to npr today like i normally do. i didn't listen to any talk radio. i wasn't in the mood for personalities to lament what 9.11 did to them. fuck you entertainer, i say. i nearly puked when i saw cher on larry king. fuck your red hair and your songs someone wrote for you. fuck you that it meant something entirely different before 9.11 and then money afterward. if three thousand people had to die, why couldn't they have been a collection of self serving hypocritical asshole fuckers who continously rummage for different ways to take advantage of others?
but then i found myself watching a firefighter documentary with my mama. it was concieved before 9.11 and began filming on 9.10. it was adulterating. not just the emotion stained into their uniforms, but what they saw. what they did. how they listened to cb intercoms read off roll calls of dead friends. the actual dialogue that came from the moments. "it rained bodies." with new york accents. how people lined the streets with their hero slogans, but these men were so dazed they did nothing but walk motionless into the next hopeless day. i began to burn with tears, right.
then a sudden flash emerges of people in the days after, standing, holding makeshift flyers that read, missing. floor what and what. last seen. and a photo, smiling. it struck me the lack of computer text. these were made in a panic, in a sudden rush to do the only thing you could: to stand among a throng of people ripped in half, with no directions to run that could make any sense or provide any answers. a person pleading for help, only those around are too busy themselves begging for anything, anyone. not anyone; the one. telephone poles that are now paper monuments to people who will never be seen again. a flickerless hope, to staple a flyer to a wooden leg, fully aware that who you miss misses you and would run straight into your heart if he was still alive.
i wish i had a small bucket to collect the tears from the thousands of people who had to staple one of those flyers to anything. collect the tears and drink the hurt that has been manipulated to sell more cars and drop more bombs. to taste real sorrow, not a horribly written ode to patriotism. to cry my own tears.
i watched more footage from 9.11 and couldn't help but be consumed by the dust. the dust. the dust is everywhere. it came belowing through the concrete ravines made by man in pursuit of money. at least in the pursuit of the consolidation of money. the dust rained everwhere. it fell on stores, on cars, and on people. it mixed with sweat. it mixed with hair. i can picture a man, standing up to think and breathe, blue fdny shirt, red suspenders, tangled hair, puddled sweat on his forehead, mustache, or no mustache, dirty, tired. dust everywhere. in his thoughts. in his food. in my mind. in his throat. but coughing won't help. water won't either, because the dust is in there, too.
i can't cry when i see footage of two insanely tall buildings fall into ash, but i can't keep from it each time i hear another woman in love with her dead husband, still waiting for him to come home.
i have this horrible feeling in my stomach, and it wasn't manufactured by corporate 9.11; it was created by genuine 9.11. i've given two shits about that day. i've actually hated it for all the political gasoline it's provided. "let's kill...MORE!!" fuck them, i say. and fuck your manufactured sympathy. but that's so easy to say when you don't see faces.
i purposely didn't listen to npr today like i normally do. i didn't listen to any talk radio. i wasn't in the mood for personalities to lament what 9.11 did to them. fuck you entertainer, i say. i nearly puked when i saw cher on larry king. fuck your red hair and your songs someone wrote for you. fuck you that it meant something entirely different before 9.11 and then money afterward. if three thousand people had to die, why couldn't they have been a collection of self serving hypocritical asshole fuckers who continously rummage for different ways to take advantage of others?
but then i found myself watching a firefighter documentary with my mama. it was concieved before 9.11 and began filming on 9.10. it was adulterating. not just the emotion stained into their uniforms, but what they saw. what they did. how they listened to cb intercoms read off roll calls of dead friends. the actual dialogue that came from the moments. "it rained bodies." with new york accents. how people lined the streets with their hero slogans, but these men were so dazed they did nothing but walk motionless into the next hopeless day. i began to burn with tears, right.
then a sudden flash emerges of people in the days after, standing, holding makeshift flyers that read, missing. floor what and what. last seen. and a photo, smiling. it struck me the lack of computer text. these were made in a panic, in a sudden rush to do the only thing you could: to stand among a throng of people ripped in half, with no directions to run that could make any sense or provide any answers. a person pleading for help, only those around are too busy themselves begging for anything, anyone. not anyone; the one. telephone poles that are now paper monuments to people who will never be seen again. a flickerless hope, to staple a flyer to a wooden leg, fully aware that who you miss misses you and would run straight into your heart if he was still alive.
i wish i had a small bucket to collect the tears from the thousands of people who had to staple one of those flyers to anything. collect the tears and drink the hurt that has been manipulated to sell more cars and drop more bombs. to taste real sorrow, not a horribly written ode to patriotism. to cry my own tears.
i watched more footage from 9.11 and couldn't help but be consumed by the dust. the dust. the dust is everywhere. it came belowing through the concrete ravines made by man in pursuit of money. at least in the pursuit of the consolidation of money. the dust rained everwhere. it fell on stores, on cars, and on people. it mixed with sweat. it mixed with hair. i can picture a man, standing up to think and breathe, blue fdny shirt, red suspenders, tangled hair, puddled sweat on his forehead, mustache, or no mustache, dirty, tired. dust everywhere. in his thoughts. in his food. in my mind. in his throat. but coughing won't help. water won't either, because the dust is in there, too.
i can't cry when i see footage of two insanely tall buildings fall into ash, but i can't keep from it each time i hear another woman in love with her dead husband, still waiting for him to come home.
vote kerry (not your conscience)
love your neighbor (unless he's pro life)
make everything political (especially if you're a blogger)
don't listen to me (except when i say don't listen to me)
never copy my sense of humor (because it sucks)
don't be self-deprecating (because all jokes have a bit of truth in them)
courtesy of bee-em-why
love your neighbor (unless he's pro life)
make everything political (especially if you're a blogger)
don't listen to me (except when i say don't listen to me)
never copy my sense of humor (because it sucks)
don't be self-deprecating (because all jokes have a bit of truth in them)
courtesy of bee-em-why
wind baskets chime
they sound like soft grass
but only if they have a certain je ne sais douchitude...
they sound like soft grass
but only if they have a certain je ne sais douchitude...
i have to wonder how i'm missing it when people tell me we're cut out for each other, even though i think i'm too good for her. at least those i've trusted more than others have agreed with me thus far. it's kind of like realizing there's a point when people move past their parents' expectations and into their own identity.
i'm sure you've already noticed, but i'm a bit limited in the range of topics i can legitamately dicuss via the push button publishing. that's b/c the only interests i have are acid trips, awol's stature (he's under 6, you know), hott women who don't know i exist, my lesbian car, whether leather collars and their leashes should be considered gay accessory or public policy, the occasional trip to the grocery, and scat. oui (or wee?), i love the poopie. oh yeah, and talking points. i'm sure ctrl-f and a search for teepees would get you at least a hit per post on any of my archived pages. that's b/c I CAN'T FOOKEN STAND HOW INFLUENTIAL TALKING POINTS ARE ON PUBLIC OPINION! i got a whiff of this crap (one of my interests, you'll notice) at work last night while listening to a cripple fight between a kerry supporter and a bush wanker. it should be noted here that i only use wanker b/c bush's middle name begins with a double-you. and anyone voting for him is a wanker. anyhow, the next time someone attempts to pass *flip flopper* off as independent thought is the first time i actually slap that face with my dick. i'm even going to take some spammer up on the offer of a bigger penis just so i leave a bigger bruise. the dick in your face threat's been pure hyperbole up to this point, but it's quickly approaching time to demonstrate how much smarter i am than other people. and not b/c i have a high iq or whatnot; rather, some people are fooken douche rockets.
so the subsequent claim i hear from my co-w(anker)orker is, i don't even know where kerry stands on the issues. for fucking really? i think i just listened to three hours of this sean hannity bee-es on the am radio, and that's b/c i was actually listening to sean hannity. here's why you don't know where kerry stands on the issues: b/c rush limbaugh's not going to tell you otherwise, and b/c your bitch ass hasn't yet thought about actually reading. i can't claim to have intricate knowledge of all things political, but the very minimum one can do if (s)he plans to act as such is listen to the two acceptance speeches, watch the debates, and presume anything filtered through the media is a fucking talking point. if ann coulter finds it important to go on and on and on and on...and...on...and (on) and (on....) and on about kerry's flip flops, that's prolly a cue to research kerry's record yourself. or if you listened to his acceptance speech, you'd have heard his appeal to check out his website to learn more about his vision. i mean, i wouldn't take what he has to say at face value, but neither would i make wholesale purchases of right wing rhetoric. or left wing. or chicken wing.
edit: shane asked if i was being elistist to castigate people for not thinking past talking points. well, yes. but i forgot to mention the w(anker) dood's aggression toward the other guy. if you're stoopid, you're stoopid; but if you're stoopid and treat people like shit, then someone should slap you in the face with his dickle.
so the subsequent claim i hear from my co-w(anker)orker is, i don't even know where kerry stands on the issues. for fucking really? i think i just listened to three hours of this sean hannity bee-es on the am radio, and that's b/c i was actually listening to sean hannity. here's why you don't know where kerry stands on the issues: b/c rush limbaugh's not going to tell you otherwise, and b/c your bitch ass hasn't yet thought about actually reading. i can't claim to have intricate knowledge of all things political, but the very minimum one can do if (s)he plans to act as such is listen to the two acceptance speeches, watch the debates, and presume anything filtered through the media is a fucking talking point. if ann coulter finds it important to go on and on and on and on...and...on...and (on) and (on....) and on about kerry's flip flops, that's prolly a cue to research kerry's record yourself. or if you listened to his acceptance speech, you'd have heard his appeal to check out his website to learn more about his vision. i mean, i wouldn't take what he has to say at face value, but neither would i make wholesale purchases of right wing rhetoric. or left wing. or chicken wing.
edit: shane asked if i was being elistist to castigate people for not thinking past talking points. well, yes. but i forgot to mention the w(anker) dood's aggression toward the other guy. if you're stoopid, you're stoopid; but if you're stoopid and treat people like shit, then someone should slap you in the face with his dickle.
i saw awol stumping in ohio this past sunday on c-span. i thought about driving the forty-five mintutes to perrysburg to see him get down live and in person, but a couple things kept me here. for one, i had neither the time nor ambition to wipe the dried spittle from my face, let alone look shit up on mapquest. secondly, i don't have blood enough to sign the required allegiance forms necessary to attend the two minute hate--err, rally--for dear leader. and finally, the program was a rebroadcast from a speech he delivered on saturday. or monday the _____. or wednesday the _____. or even every friday from last month till the end of october. you can fill in dates for the blanks; they're all the same talking points, non?
anyhow, most of the bush stumps i catch are the political equivalent of ernest hemingway. basically, i can't stand the short and constant pitter patter of hemingway's style the way i can't stand the pitter patter delivery of awol's one sentence exploration of complex subjects. i suppose it's not much his fault, though; it takes a lot of blood for each of his supporters to write their names next to the comment affirming their intent to clap wildly for each talking point. this turns a five minute stump into the hours necessary to turn my coffee cold. that said, i had applause enough to ponder this statement:
We stand for judges who faithfully interpret the law instead of legislating from the bench.
ok, clearly a pot shot at gay marriage, which is fine; opinions are the fall fashion. i just wish it wasn't so easy to sneak "faithfully" past the censors. i mean, i stand for judges who objectively interpret the law according to their ability to read plain english, the precedent of past judgements, and the legislative debates that precipitate the laws we have in the first place (the library of congress exists for a reason). as far as i'm concerned, the proselytizer-in-chief and "faith" shouldn't be within a one book radius of each other when it comes to discussions of public policy, especially since it's become increasingly difficult to gauge whether or not the guy's freuded himself again. faith/fully, fully/faith. but i'm sure it counts all the same, so long as we all have the same printing of gee-oh-dee as he does. he has great leadership skills, you know.
anyhow, most of the bush stumps i catch are the political equivalent of ernest hemingway. basically, i can't stand the short and constant pitter patter of hemingway's style the way i can't stand the pitter patter delivery of awol's one sentence exploration of complex subjects. i suppose it's not much his fault, though; it takes a lot of blood for each of his supporters to write their names next to the comment affirming their intent to clap wildly for each talking point. this turns a five minute stump into the hours necessary to turn my coffee cold. that said, i had applause enough to ponder this statement:
We stand for judges who faithfully interpret the law instead of legislating from the bench.
ok, clearly a pot shot at gay marriage, which is fine; opinions are the fall fashion. i just wish it wasn't so easy to sneak "faithfully" past the censors. i mean, i stand for judges who objectively interpret the law according to their ability to read plain english, the precedent of past judgements, and the legislative debates that precipitate the laws we have in the first place (the library of congress exists for a reason). as far as i'm concerned, the proselytizer-in-chief and "faith" shouldn't be within a one book radius of each other when it comes to discussions of public policy, especially since it's become increasingly difficult to gauge whether or not the guy's freuded himself again. faith/fully, fully/faith. but i'm sure it counts all the same, so long as we all have the same printing of gee-oh-dee as he does. he has great leadership skills, you know.
