An Anti-American post from Minnesota's 6th

I am anti-American. But that’s okay, because my representative (my, MY representative, right here where I’m typing) is canceling out my anti-Americanism as we speak.

Michelle Bachmann is doing the good work, picking up my flag-burning slack. She’s making sure that none of the baby-killing, gay-loving, God-hating values I espouse don’t permeate our system of law. She’s cock-blocking the sodomy of which I would support the legalization, so long as it’s in public, in front of children. And she certainly isn’t doing anything to increase the sales of Paul Simon’s new album, “Jihad Jingle,” the proceeds of which go directly to funds for Ahmadinejad’s reelection campaign. On that front, I’m doing my best, but she isn’t allowing that anti-American filth, however finger-snappingly catchy, to permeate our nation’s spotless capital. She’s plumb got me beat.

But that’s not enough. Michelle dropped by the other day and started confiscating my books. I didn’t point out the irony of the fact that my collection included Fahrenheit 451 because, well, irony is the nectar of the elitists, and elitists, she has informed me in previous meetings, is just plain anti-American.

After my books, she took my computer. Writing, she informed me, leads too easily to sarcasm (at least in my case). Sarcasm, being a form of humor, is just-plain un-American in her book. I said “hey now, wh-wh-what if I just wanna use it for the calculator and the pictures and the games, the minesweeper and the pinball?!?!?!” And she said “I wish you would. I wish you would. But you won’t, like the media won’t, so I have to do it all myself.” And I was like “Hey, that made literally no sense,” and a group of her supporters, which had apparently accumulated in the meantime, began cheering raucously. “That’s what makes her so wonderful!” I heard one of them exclaim.

Michelle then left inexplicably, appearing distracted. “Her justice meter!” the crowd shouted, excitedly, and they began cheering and gnashing their teeth as they followed her in a storm of noise and brew-ha.

I followed them outside, across the road, through several miles of fields into the next town over, where a small clumping of rainbow flags and flamboyantly-mannered folk led me to conclude that Rep. Bachmann’s justice ESP had been triggered by a GLBT rights rally. Michelle turned to the crowd, of which I had become a hardly-noticeable piece, and sought words of rally and support. She then flipped on a big black bucket hat reading “CIA,” of the sort she had likely purchased from a street Gazebo on the Washington Mall, rolled up her sleeves, and crawled like a soldier into the bushes next to the rally.

“Look at her go,” members of the crowd exclaimed. “She’s fighting for us. Such a confident woman. Ready to lead. I love her smile!” And there was excitement and shouting and gnashing of teeth and foaming at the mouth.

But my representative was doing a bad job of spying discreetly, assuming that was her intent. Members of the rally began to shout “hey, look at that dim-witted grin! That constant, dim-witted grin! It isn’t going away! I know who that is!” And the crowd noticed the other crowd, and the fingers were pointed, and Michelle’s traveling band began shouting and wailing and gnashing their teeth and foaming at the mouth and shaking their fists, and finally, they charged. I stayed behind, collected the wallets that had been dropped, and donated their contents to the Tinklenberg campaign. And this is the story of the inexplicable fundraising boom that his campaign saw. That awful, disgusting, God-hating, gay-loving, baby-killing, flag-burning, terrible, horrible, no-good-very-bad, un-American campaign in which a social moderate and minister has been pitted, hopelessly, against central Minnesota’s culture warrior.

Next stop, some small town in North Carolina. Or wherever Alaska’s simpleton warrior with the Disney-informed sense of justice and articulation goes next. This is fun.

How to deal with Obama: Suggestions from the McCain/Palin Campaign for its supporters

Dear supporters,

I need to ask you, respectfully, to stop wandering around our rallies like a bunch of half-witted penguins and loggerheaded Hitler youths.

It's not that we don't appreciate your support. We really do. But racist hicks rarely look good on TV, and this campaign is riding your coattails all the way down past the Mason-Dixon line. Even if the worst of you ocassionally surfaces in Minnesota.

So here are a few suggestions. Together, we need to address the imminent and drastic threat that is Barack Obama without seeming so uppity about it. Capish?

First of all, stop referencing his suposedly Arab background directly. If you just take the microphone and say 'he's not a good family man," or "he appears not to shower often," or "he's barely qualified to drive a cab," then we'll know what you're getting at, and there's no soundbite to boot.

Second, consider the good people at the Monty Python franchise. We know most of you don't watch Monty Python, as you probably wouldn't get most of it - but senators love that stuff. And they don't need to be burdened with the constant copyright infringements that bloggers and satirists will impose by using the witch-burning scene from Holy Grail in mocking reference to...well, all of you.

Third, we can take him on directly without being outright bigoted. You can try to scare him out of town without threatening death. For instance, we can all dress up like ghosts and stand on his front lawn in a big group. That will scare him. If that doesn't work, we can make a big lower-case "t," as in "time to stop running for president," out of two-by-fours. Then we can light it on fire so he can see it better. That'll show him.

I'm John McCain and I approve this message.

A Message from First Lady Laura Bush

Hey, America. I’ve been sent here on short notice, on behalf of my husband, because the White House communications office tells me you’re all a lot more likely to listen to me, acknowledge me, and for that matter, avoid rushing the stage and barking like dogs, than if my husband were here.

Um…how can I put this? I think you’re being hard on my husband. Yes, he deserves it. Holy living hell, he deserves it today. But you were pretty hard on him back in the day, too, even when things weren’t quite as bad.

Back in 2006, people were calling him possibly the worst president ever. Hell, if your worldview is primarily informed by the show Weeds, this was practically a foregone conclusion.
But listen…things weren’t so bad back then. Sure, the war was in the tank, and some two-thirds of you who supported him at first somehow had a change of heart and decided that, being the leader of the free world and all, he should’ve had the foresight, even if you lacked it. Maybe that’s fair, if only because he has the power to mislead and yadda, yadda, yadda. And he had all those advisors. I know.

But listen – back in 2006, gas was below three bucks a gallon nationally. If you sold your stocks in 2006, you got money back, not just a piece of sandpaper whose application as a substitute for toilet paper is currently less painful than having to face the actual returns from your splurge on the online pet supply industry. And Britney had publicly melted down and been whisked away to rehab…oh, at most, once or twice. Admit it – things weren’t that bad.

Well, Phil Gramm said we were a nation of whiners, and whine we did. Even I was guilty. Whenever George would drop his pen, I would make some crack about his approval ratings hitting the floor faster than a shell-shocked Iraqi veteran who got haphazard treatment at Walter Read and therefore is still sensitive to fireworks on the Fourth of July. And every time he carved the turkey for some holiday, his dad would say “now don’t screw up, because you can’t fail upwards when it comes to losing a finger! You’re not a legacy in that department! I never lost a finger, ya dope! Can’t ride daddy’s coattails this time! Dumbass! Idiot!”

Long story short, I think we got to him. You and I and George H.W., and the writers at Showtime and Jon Stewart and everyone, everyone. And either out of spite (if he’s got the capacity) or because he started to actually believe it, he started giving half-assed speeches in the Rose Garden, and he started spending a lot of time just wandering around being sad, and Bush the Reckless became Bush the Inert, which lent itself to his transformation into Bush the Overseer of the worst financial crisis in most of our memories. And now that we’re pleading with him to do something, he’s not responding (I still can’t tell if it’s out of spite that he’s dragging his feet, doing the self-induced inept act, sarcastically, you know, ha ha). Now all he says during press conferences is “Gee mister David Gregory, you did say I was the worst president ever, gee.”

So…you get what you ask for. That’s the lesson here. And I hope you’re all happy, real happy, because you don’t have to spend the rest of your retired lives with him. Jesus God, that’s going to be fun. And yes, I am being sarcastic.

Barack Obama doesn't wash his hands after using the restroom

Conservative pundits have a hootingly rage-risin’ time hunting left-wing psychos, as well as herbal healers and heathens.

For the entirety of Sen. Hillary Clinton’s tenure as front-runner for the Democratic presidential nomination, conservative pundits and the lemmings in their audience foamed at the mouth when they talked about her.
Fingers were jabbed and accusations of the most liberal, left-wing candidacy ever conceived ran amok. Fingers punched the air, mouths foamed, and there was wailing and gnashing of teeth as pundits decried her as the most liberal senator in memory, the most radical left-wing candidate ever to stage a run for the White House.

Then, someone off-camera whispered to them that Sen. Barack Obama had just won the Iowa primary. He had won it resoundingly, the signaled, to the effect that Hillary’s candidacy had likely received a fatal blow.

The pundits collectively paused, looked down, regained composure, and immediately thereafter resumed jabbing their fingers at the camera, declaring that Obama was the most liberal senator in the history of the whole universe, the most radically socialist feminist pansy militant left-wing candidate ever to stage a run for the White House. And also that he was a right-wing Islamo-fascist, or at least the most Islamo-fascist candidate ever to stage a run for the White House. And there was foaming of the mouth and wailing and gnashing of teeth.

It’s an interesting charge (the one about his being the most left-wing radical baby-killing God-hater (who was still an Islamo-fascist) ever to run for president, that is), because the pundits were right when they insinuated, however blindly, that Obama and Hillary were near each other on the spectrum. Of the 267 issues on which both senators cast votes in 2007, they differed on only 10. The thing is, Clinton is only ranked 16th among senate Democrats in terms of liberalism, as per voting record. Yet the National Journal ranked Obama as 2007’s “most liberal” senator.

That puts him ahead of Ted Kennedy, Barbara Boxer and Jack Reed, all of whom scored above 94 in the 2005 “liberalism percentile” (meaning they were more liberal on a host of social and economic issues that at least 94 other members of the senate) used by John Bibby and Brian Schaffner to examine the actual ideological placement of legislators (Clinton was in a 79.8th percentile).

The review also puts him ahead of Joe Biden, who scored an 80.2, though the Journal still ranks him third. Both Biden and Obama are ranked as “more liberal” than Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-VT), who is, in his own words, a socialist (score: 98, according to the DNC, the liberals themselves!).

It shouldn’t be a surprise, though. John Kerry came under the same attack in 2004, as soon as Howard Dean relinquished the title “most liberal” for the joint awards “most insane” and “most horrendously, catastrophically awkward.” Yet he scored an 86.7 in 2005, which put him below seven Democrats (the aforementioned three plus Paul Sarbanes, Frank Lautenberg, Tom Harkin and Dick Durbin) and eight total senators (including Sanders).

The lesson is this: Obama voted for FISA, so shut up. Rudy, Rush, Bill, you and your lemmings shut up, because either you’re stupid (assuming that he who, being thin and young and black, looks most liberal, therefore is most liberal) or you’re lying to advance your interest. And I got sick of liars way back when we found out that there were no WMDs, and that allowing gay marriage will not, in fact, bring about the destruction of the family unit, and that Archdiocese of Boston was full of it, and that Ken Lay was castrating his employees in their sleep, and when I heard, not too long ago, that chanting “drill baby drill” was something to be proud of. Tense times.

Top 10 reasons why Sarah Palin makes the GOP ticket stronger

10. She’s a woman.
9. In no way is the excessive promotion of her aforementioned status as a woman demeaning in its effort to bring in Hillary voters, because any Hillary voter who swoons over Palin clearly has their head up their ass. Just kidding! But seriously, they won’t be reading this.
8. She seethes traditional conservative values.
7. Did I say seethes? I meant “radiates!”
6. To that end, no, she never banned any books. The Qu’ran is not a book…at least not in the eyes of the base, or the people who have legitimately been won over by McCain’s picking her. Those people can’t read anything - books, scripture, or lists!
5. She is an outsider who will bring change to Washington.
4. She knows that by saying she’ll being “change,” she’s literally repeating the message of her opponents. But she does a stellar job of pretending not to notice, with the sole intention of making the blood of reasonable people boil.
3. She brings more executive experience than either of her opponents on the Democratic ticket.
2. The fact that her former city hall resembles a southern Louisiana bait shop, in the words of James Carville, will likely appeal to the base, especially in southern Louisiana.
1. The fact that every positive aspect being promoted about Sarah Palin lends itself easily to criticism and mockery means that it also leads to a chance for the GOP to go on the defensive, which is sort of like being on the “consolation” offensive, which is good, considering they’ll take anything they can get.

Three conversations between Sarah Palin and John McCain

Unbeknownst to all but Sarah Palin herself, these two eventual running mates met a long time before either of them knew who the other was.
It was during Palin’s days as a high school basketball standout. Palin, having gotten out of practice for the evening, was standing on a corner in Wasilla. Being winter in Alaska, it was dark when the visiting congressional candidate from Arizona pulled alongside her and lowered his window. The following conversation ensued:

McCain: “Hey there.”
Palin: “Um…hi?”
McCain: “Listen, I don’t normally do this, but I’ve been under a lot of stress lately…”
Palin: “Um, I think I should be going.”
McCain: “Need a ride?”
Palin: “No, thanks, I can walk."
McCain: “You sure? I’m a veteran baby, and I know a thing or two about staying warm when it’s cold.”
Palin: “Listen, creep, I…wait, a veteran of which war? Korea?”
McCain: “Vietnam.”
Palin: “…So, when was it cold it Vietnam?”
McCain: “Well, the floor of my cell got kind of clammy.”
Palin: “Oh…okay…”
McCain: “Yeah, it was, uh…yeah.”
(awkward pause)
McCain: “Well, I should probably get going.”
Palin: “Yah.”
McCain: “Nice to, well…yeah.” (speeds off)

Fast forward to early 2008. McCain is the presumptive Republican nominee for president, and the VP vetting process has begun. For the first time in a long time, McCain and Palin are again face-to-face. McCain doesn’t recognize Palin, but she recognizes him, leaving her irony meter painfully high-tuned during the following conversation:

McCain: “Listen, Sarah, I don’t normally do this, but…”
Palin: “You’ve been under a lot of stress?”
McCain: “Uh…yes, actually. We’ve been under a lot of stress from the pro-Hillary crowd. We see a lot of potential voters there, but we need to pick a running mate that will appeal to them.”
Palin: “Well, I’m flattered, but I have to say, I’m pretty happy with my job right now.”
McCain: “Listen, I’m a…”
Palin: “A veteran, I know.”
McCain: “…Right, and…”
Palin: “You know a thing or two about warming things up, yeah I know.”
McCain: “…Uh…right…I mean, I know a thing or two about fixing chilled relations, negotiating, that sort of thing, and I think you’d be the right pick.”
Palin: “I have to be honest, Senator. I’m just not sure I’m interested at this point.”
McCain: “(mutters) oh, fuck me...”
Palin: (hears McCain, blushes)
(awkward pause)
McCain: “Well, I should probably get going.”
Palin: “Yeeeaaaah…”
McCain: “Nice to meet you though” (goes for hug)
Palin: “(forces handshake) Yes, thanks, you can go now.”

The rest, as they say, is history. Palin was won over, and the McCain camp announced a VP pick that would prove either genius and strategic or short-sighted, reckless and unfounded on an unprecedented scale. Sarah Barracuda was grateful that McCain pressed the issue and wouldn’t let her slip away, and she decided to express that gratitude at 8:46 PM on the Wednesday night after the Republican convention (8:46 PM, astute politicos will notice, is 16 minutes past McCain’s bedtime).

(ring)
McCain: (groggy, seething) “(sigh)…Hello?”
(Background noise, shrewd laughing, no immediate response)
McCain: (angry) “Hel…”
Palin: “JOHNNY!!!”
McCain: “…Hi Sarah.”
Palin: “Johnny, Johnny, Johnny! I looooove you Johnny!”
McCain: “That’s nice, Sarah, but listen…”
Palin: “(slurring) You…you stuck with me, man. You…stuck with me…and I appreciate that.”
McCain: “Sarah, it’s late.”
Palin: “You…LISTEN…I feel like I don’t say it enough, man, but you’re just…just awesome.”
McCain: “Now, Sarah, you’re a pretty god candidate. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that we’re on the ticket together.”
Palin: “SHH!...shh (giggles).”
McCain: “Sarah, I have to go to sleep.”
Palin: “Hold on, hold on…(giggles)…let’s do a three-way with Barack!”
McCain: “Huh?”
Palin: “NO, no, a three way call! (cracks up, giggles, snorts) You pervert (giggles, snorts).”
McCain: “Sarah, Barack has a lot going on…”
Palin: “(escalating pitch) But once you go black you get universal health care (cracks up, laughs uproariously, snorts, giggles, snorts)!”
McCain: “Sarah!”
Palin: “Fine, you old crab (giggles). But I’m not gonna call you that name that you like anymore!”
McCain: “Sarah…”
Palin: “Ha ha, ha ha, you’re not ‘The Maverick’ anymore.”
McCain: “Stop it.”
Palin: “Nope, Ima never call you ‘The Maverick’ any more. Haaaaaaa (giggles).”
McCain: “Sarah…don’t bring that up anymore.”
Palin: “About how I’m only allowed to call you that when your wife isn’t around? Haaaaaa (voice drifts off).”
Cindy McCain: “You know, we have more than one line in the house, John. Sarah.”
(awkward pause)
Palin: “…Well, I should probably get going…”
Cindy McCain: “Yeeeeaaaah…”
McCain: “Listen, Cindy, I can explain.”
Cindy: “I’m sure you can, as soon as you get over the back pain from sleeping on the couch, you old perv.”
McCain: “Now that’s the second time I’ve been called a pervert in this conversation!”
Palin: “Well you did think I was a hooker that one time in Alaska(chokes, cracks up, giggles)!”
(longer, more awkward pause)
McCain: “I think you should…”
Palin: “Get out of here, right. Sorry.”
(click)

The exclusive McCain interview: Part II

The conclusion of Millard's sit-down with...one of...the Republican candidate's Arizona estates

Finally, we’re sitting. The awkwardness had subsided as far as it probably will. We’re finally underway.
“So, Senator, you’ve come under fire lately for not knowing how many houses you own. Do you, uh, have a figure for us?”
“Well…ha,” he seethes. “That’s tricky, you see, because…well (laughs), here’s the thing…”
“The Senator doesn’t discuss his health problems” snaps a voice from the back of the room. A shadowy figure emerges.
“I’m sorry,” I ask, ‘but what health issues?”
“The Senator doesn’t discuss them.” His raspy, deep voice grows terse.
McCain turns around. “Dammit, Queeq, you only come in when I give you the signal.”
I’m taken aback. “Who’s Queeq?”
“My PR guy.”
“His name is Queeq?”
Queeq is perturbed “Talk to meh! I kill-e!”
“Short for Queequeg.” McCain throws a book behind him, aimed at Queequeg’s head. It falls woefully short.
“Ah.”
“Good throw-e, McCain-e!”

It takes several minutes for me to collect my thoughts and senses. Shake it out. Back to it.
“So, Senator, let’s tackle the hard stuff.”
“I’ve taken on the hard stuff! I’ve taken on torture!”
“Well, literally, yes. Even though I heard you couldn’t handle it.”
“Eh?”
“Never mind. Senator, you’ve drawn criticism from much of the far right-reaching wing of your conservative base, a base that many think will be critical to match voter turnout to your poll numbers. How have you addressed this, and do you plan to address it further?”
“Well I appreciate that question, Mickey.”
“Millard.”
“Right. Mickey. Sorry. I’m glad you asked that question, because it is something I plan to address, though frankly, I think that the criticism is a bit overblown.”
“Fair enough. Can you give us an example?”
“Absolutely, Mike. I’ve made strides to reach out to the religious right ever since I began exploring the possibility that I would run for president.”
“But isn’t that just pandering? Was that just for convenience?”
“Let me…see, the Christian Right has a lot in common with a goldfish.”
“What do you mean?”
“They have a memory span of six seconds.”
“…So…you’re overfeeding a starved goldfish?”
“(sighs)…Okay, bad example. But take a standard issue.”
“Abortion?”
“Perfect. I’ve always said it should be required.”
“Outlawed, McCain-e,” Queequeg interjects.
“Right. Outlawed. Sorry.”

I’m thinking the conservative base rhetoric is getting tired. Not that the sound bite war over energy reminds me of anything other than a bunch of elephants with magnetized feet trying to stampede across a giant sheet of cast iron. But the readers want to hear it, my editor has assured me.
“Senator, it’s been said that you’ve missed ten energy votes on the senate floor since you began your campaign, and maybe before that. Would you care to elaborate?”
“I, uh…I don’t think I’ve missed any. Queequeg, have I missed any?”
“Hold one, Queequeg check-e e-mail.”
We wait for a minute. Queequeg comes back, sulking, head down.
“Queequeg sorry…no check-e e-mail for months.”
I’m confused. “What does this mean?”
McCain is too busy giving Queequeg the stink eye. He slowly wheels around.
“We get our notifications of upcoming votes via e-mail. Apparently I’ve missed ten.”
“Senator, do you check your own e-mail?”
“No…”
“I guess I had heard that. So you’ve hired a hulking cannibal with a shaved head to handle your PR and check your e-mail for you?”
“Queequeg also holding Sarah Palin in basement-e so she don’t spill beans!” Queequeg shouts.
McCain pauses and looks down. Eventually he meets my eye. A single tear wells in his tear duct, again.
“You should probably go...”
“Yeah.”

I make my way out the door, through the barbed wire, making certain to avoid the booby traps. As the dusk looms, I turn back to wave to McCain, wishing to express my gratitude. He greets me in predictable fashion by yelling about the damned kids and chasing me off his lawn with a broom. And I think for one second that maybe this man, for all his ailments and years and disgustingly visible bodily functions, often visible through his thinning skin, maybe, just maybe, this old gramps is exactly the dose of senility and dementia America could use to get over its troubled recent past.