Years ago I was searching for the biggest rooster I could find and heard about a guy in Petaluma, California who had owned a rooster called Weirdo that weighed thirty pounds. Sadly Weirdo had passed away, but his offspring were alive, and guess what? They were even bigger. I went out there and found Ralph, son of Weirdo, who weighed an amazing thirty-two pounds! Then I found Frank, a special breed of miniature horse that stood less than two feet high. I told Frank's owner I wanted to film Ralph chasing Frank—with a midget riding him—around the biggest sequoia tree in the world, thirty metres in circumference. It would have been amazing because the horse and the midget together were still smaller than Ralph, the rooster. But unfortunately Frank's owner refused. He said it would make Frank, the horse, look stupid.
—Werner Herzog
So Saturday, on this here site, extruded a pout-lip, which quickly ascended the rec list, glumly opining that it is simply "impossible to have fun with the right anymore."
To which j'accuse: au contraire.
For, in the Reality that I inhabit, the only thing one can do, with the right-bent weirdsmobiles of our day, is have fun with them.
Because: really: look.
I lived through Richard Nixon.
And I lived through Ronald Racist Reagan.
And I lived through George II.
Those people: they were definitely no fun.
Because they wielded power.
And so everywhere they went: there was a charnel house.
But these whack-a-loons, here, in 2012? They exercise power over nothing.
They are over.
They are losers, and they have lost.
Already happened.
We are here, now, in election season. And so, it is natural, for those who allow themselves to stray into the eddy of electoral politics, to accumulate a little foam, there at the corners of the mouth.
But something that I have found, personally, Very Helpful, when I myself, find myself, drifting into said eddy, is perceiving and acknowledging the Reality that, here in the "United States," what is known as "politics," is not remotely Real.
This came to me, like a goddam thunderbolt, during the 1992 convention acceptance speech of George I, at which time he famously declaimed: "Read my lips: no new taxes."
Except that, what was clear to me, was that the man had no lips.
As is evident in the video below.
So why the hell, I wondered, would the man say "read my lips," when he fucking had no lips?
Because he was fucking with us.
That's why.
And so I turned off the television. And thereafter paid no more attention to the cretin.
Until he was drummed out of office, like that fuck-up in Branded, and sentenced to occupy, for life, the same domicile as that scarifying freak who was clearly his grandmother, though it was said they were married . . . but then nothing these GOoPers do, in their personal lives, is remotely Sane, or even Normal.
And thus I missed a similar defining moment, this time for my colleague, who, some years later, witnessed this same George I of a jester, bringing crack cocaine into the Oval Office, to push it upon the American people.
From this, she, too, concluded, that there was something decidedly Not Real going on.
Outed with bells on, that the American political process is decidedly non-ordinary: that came with the ascension of the alleged spawn of George I—George II—to the presidency.
In November 2005, while in China, as recorded in the video below, George II mumbled monstrous inanities, and then attempted to open a door, a door that would not open.
Colonel Kurtz, he said:
And then I realized, like i was shot—like I was shot, with a diamond bullet, through my forehead. And I thought: 'My God: the genius of that. The genius. The will. The will—to do that.
When I viewed this Chinese door-jam, I realized, like I had been
shot—
shot—with a
diamond bullet, through the forehead: that this was
not George II.
At all.
It was, instead, Andy Kaufman.
For, through a process, the details of which I remain to this day ignorant, George II had, somewhere along the line, at some point before he entered the presidency, been replaced by Andy Kaufman.
Kaufman, who had earlier allegedly "died," had done no such thing: he had simply laid in the weeds, until he could replace George II, and thereby play his last, most lasting, joke upon us all.
This: this, is Reality.
I notice that, here on this site, people over the last several days have been bending the fevered knee to Neil Armstrong, because he no longer breathes, and supposedly was the first man to walk on the Moon.
Some kind of "hero."
No.
That first man on the Moon? Neil Armstrong?
No. The first man on the Moon, was Andy Kaufman.
Laughing. Silently. Gently. Heart riven. At, with us, all.
It could be said that I've gone off the rails.
So what? Why does a train need to stay on the tracks?
Sandworms certainly don't.
All of this is connected, as is all and everything. The point is that all is available for mockery, and that is one of the hows by which we who are marooned here may stay sane.
Across the obscured infinity symbol with which this site currently demarks The Great Divide, one may find a piece that I have shamelessly stolen from the next edition of something that is monikered a "GOS app" . . . which I don't understand, or even know how to link to.
Maybe somebody with a Computer Brain will happen by this Diary, and link and enlarge all our minds.
In the meantime, read and reflect. Upon Exhibit "A," of how it is very much possible to have much and glorious "fun," with the GOoPers of today.
And rest easy. For they—the Bad People—as they said of Mister Kurtz: "they daid."
Already happened.
This week the name on everyone’s lips—often accompanied by projectile vomit—was Todd Akin, the freelance dingbat who opined that women possess magical lady parts that will prevent pregnancy if subjected to “legitimate rape.”
Horrified that Akin had vocalized what they all believe, every pol and pundit in the National White Male People’s Party—also known as the GOoPers—proceeded to screech at top volume that Akin needed forthwith to cease his attempt to unseat Claire McCaskill as US senator from the state of Missouri.
They are so scared, see, are the GOoPers, that the flaming dirigible known as Mitt Romney will crash and burn, in the race with Barack Obama for the White House—and he will; it’s already happened—that they have decided that every little thing that seems as if it might prevent the aerial flamewagon from outdistancing the Black Man, must immediately be heaved overboard.
And Todd Akin—he, most definitely, the GOoPers decreed, needed the heave.
Else the electorate perceive that the Akin imbecile embodies everything the White Male People’s Party is all about, when it comes to the truly—to them—scarifying subject of women, and their vaginas.
Yet, like the stubbornest of limpets, Akin clung to the craft. First he stuck out his pout lip, and whined that he just “misspoke one word in one sentence on one day.” Then, having decided that he “hadn’t done anything that was morally or ethically wrong, as sometimes people in politics do,” he concluded that “the people of Missouri chose me to be their candidate, and I don’t believe it’s right for party bosses to decide to override those voters.”
And by week’s end, loons were flocking in from across the land to help hold Akin aloft. From Mike Huckabee, GOoPer would-be presidential runner-up in 2012, to various and sundry get-those-vaginas-in-chastity-belts-for-chrissake Christoid froot-loop groups.
Meanwhile, also by week’s end, “party bosses,” having tried every ploy—save dispatching an order to “terminate with extreme prejudice”—to remove Akin from the Romney dirigible, decided that they would just ignore the fellow, as if he had never happened.
And so, it developed, Mitt Romney would submit to interviews only if it was agreed beforehand that the Akin albatross would not be discussed.
Reporter Shaun Boyd: “You know, I had about five minutes with him, and we got through a fair amount of material, actually, in that five minutes. The one stipulation to the interview was that I not ask him about abortion or Todd Akin—he’s the Missouri Republican who created a firestorm after saying women’s bodies shut down in a legitimate rape to prevent pregnancy. I did ask him about health care, the female vote, and energy.”
And, make no mistake—Akin
is an albatross. One that
delighted Democrats will ensure plagues both Romney, and his running-mate Paul “Ayn Rand” Ryan—whose views on women and their bumptious vaginas are
indistinguishable from Akin’s—from here to election day.
In 1797-98, the opium-gobbling poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge languidly inscribed The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, verse describing the travails of a boat-load of primitives, including a certain sailor who, in the course of things, is required to proceed through the endless days and nights wearing a rotting albatross round his neck.
Complains this “grey-beard loon” of a mariner:
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.
That’s Mitt Romney, the sadsack mariner. His albatross, Todd Akin.
Among the many other memorable lines in Coleridge’s opiated Mariner are these:
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.
Which pretty much summarizes the state of today’s GOoPery.
So who is this nimrod, this albatross monikered Todd Akin?
Todd Akin is a homo sapien who was born in 1947 in New York City, but who was almost immediately removed to the badlands outside St. Louis, Missouri.
Akin’s father was employed in the US death industry, serving in the US Navy; later, he entered the family business: Laclede Steel Corporation. Akin’s father and grandfather both served as president of this outfit. Which closed its mill in 1998, entered bankruptcy in 2001, and ultimately re-emerged as Alton Steel.
This reemergence was permitted only after the company agreed to dump great gobs of money into a Superfund dedicated to cleaning up the toxic mess Laclede had spent 90 years spewing across the land.
Laclede was among the companies contracted to provide steel for the construction of the World Trade Center, which no longer exists.
Akin attended a private prep school in suburban St. Louis, next retrieved an engineering degree from Worcester Polytechnic, and then followed his father into the US death industry, strutting around as an officer in the US Army. Mustering out, he pushed large computers for IBM for a while, then entered management in the family steel biz.
But a Big Guy in the Sky was calling him, and so Akin entered Covenant Theological Seminary, a coven of Christos obsessives founded on the paranoid delusion that “liberals” are devouring Christianity. In 1984 Akin obtained a divinity degree from these people, having concentrated in his “studies” on “a reading of the Scriptures that is socially conservative and staunchly anti-abortion.”
But rather than preening behind a pulpit, Akin decided to invade government.
“Today we’ve gotten confused,” the confused Akin told a reporter, “and we think there’s no room for faith in the area of civil government.”
Well, yeah. It’s kinda there in the US Constitution.
Nonetheless, the people of Missouri—the former slave-slate and alluvial swamp from out slouched Rush Limbaugh, and never particularly known for fidelity to the Constitution, or even sanity—in November of 1988 gifted Akin with a seat in the Missouri House of Representatives, where he remained for the next 10 years.
There, Akin served his god by supporting the carrying of concealed weapons, giving the back of his hand to tax increases for parks and education, and foaming at the mouth and rolling on the floor whenever anything involving the genitialia of women achieved mention.
Like the Mariner, the Idea and Reality of Woman makes Akin very, very Scared:
Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.
When not paralyzed by the notion of female genitalia, Akin in the state legislature was
known for strumming gospel songs on a guitar in the Capitol rotunda. He also liked to dress up like a Lutheran colonial minister, read from Ecclesiastes, and then strip off his priestly garments to reveal a military uniform, in which, he said, he intended to march to war with George Washington.
He is a nutbar.
Akin and his wife meanwhile raised and home-schooled six children, the latter so that there would be little chance they would encounter Reality.
In 2001, the people of Missouri’s Second Congressional District elected to eschew evolution via Space Odyssey in favor of dispatching Akin to Washington DC, so that he might there drag knuckles on their behalf.
Akin has served in Congress ten years. In that time, but three bills he has authored have become law. All involved renaming Missouri post offices for members of the US death industry who perished in Iraq.
Not even George II—another junior-son family dynast with a severe god disability—could stomach this man. In 2003, as the US death industry prepared to enter Iraq, Akin called on George II to pronounce a day of “humility, prayer, and fasting.” But the then-president told Akin to go pound sand.
Akin’s attempt to consecrate 2008 as “The Year Of The Bible” also went nowhere.
As has his eternally recurring fetish for scribbling bills that would prevent judges from striking the phrase “under God” from the Pledge of Allegiance.
Akin knows who is the enemy: Satan. “At the heart of liberalism really is a hatred for God,” he told fellow Christos crazoid Tony Perkins in 2011.
Akin has also decreed that abortion is “the blackest page yet” in US history.
In concert with his fellows in the National White Male People’s Party, Akin is paralyzed with Fear when confronted with a human female. Everything about them is Wrong, and Scary: the vagina, especially, because it might Swallow them.
Thus, everything involving the vagina must be suppressed—by government, for the good of Man. The only permissible purpose and function of a vagina is to push out new GOoPers, and this should be enshrined in Law.
This world-view was made explicit in campaign 2012 by Rick Santorum, the grub in a skin-suit who finished second to defeated GOoPer standard-bearer Mitt Romney.
Spaketh the grub:
One of the things I will talk about that no president has talked about before is the dangers of contraception in this country. The whole sexual libertine idea[.]
Many in the Christian faith have said: “Well, contraception’s okay.”
It’s not okay, because it’s a license to do things in the sexual realm that is counter to how things are supposed to be. They’re supposed to be within marriage, for purposes that are, yes, conjugal, but also procreative. That’s the perfect way that a sexual union should happen.
We take any part of that out, we diminish the act. And if you can take one part out that’s not for purposes of procreation, that’s not one of the reasons, then you diminish this very special bond between men and women.
And all of a sudden, it becomes deconstructed to the point where it’s simply pleasure.
And that’s certainly a part of it—and it’s an important part of it, don’t get me wrong—but there’s a lot of things we do for pleasure, and this is special, and it needs to be seen as special.
The good news is that these people are a dead branch on the tree of human evolution. Like the Neanderthal, they are doomed. They may, as did the Neanderthal, continue to breed, at least for a while, with regular humans. But really, they’re over.
Already happened.