August 30, 2008 — 7:20 am
He did it. He showed me something. Sarah Palin is distilled essence of awesome.
Lifetime member of the NRA. Flies her own float plane. Eats mooseburgers, kills own moose first. Nickname in high school: Barracuda. Former commercial fisherman. Went to college on money she won in a beauty contest.
Her husband is an Eskimo. Dude. Her husband is an Eskimo.
Her main claim to fame is fighting corruption in her own party — which means she won her elections in defiance of the state Republican party. She’s the one who killed the Bridge to Nowhere. So, yes, this is a sort of maverick-y pick, but in a good way. I’m psyched.
Which is good, because it started out pretty depressing. I got the date wrong; today is my 25th anniversary. I got called into my boss’ office to find the walls covered in pictures of me in my twenties. It sucks to work for the art department; they take pictures.
You know who hasn’t aged all that gracefully? Me, that’s who.
Oh, well. I got a nice little camera. And a lapel pin of the company logo. And a cupcake.
August 29, 2008 — 11:25 am
I made this thing a week ago with a beam of sunshine in place of the lightning and it flat broke my heart when I realized “he thinks the sun shines out his asshole” is a British expression. Uncle B continues to pollute my ability to cuss like a true blue American.
So I was delighted to recycle it into this, my artist’s conception of the dramatic climax to tonight’s acceptance speech at the Ocropolis. I’m rather proud of this Obama, which I more or less drawed my ownself (well, the head is kind of a paint-over, but who’s counting?). I’m open to suggestions for other impressive things that might come flying out of his ass in the future. Rainbows. Marshmallows. Adorable fluffy bunnies. An actual policy position.
As usual, theft of the original artwork is encouraged.
August 28, 2008 — 9:52 am
DENVER (Reuters) – Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama’s big speech on Thursday night will be delivered from an elaborate columned stage resembling a miniature Greek temple.
The stage, similar to structures used for rock concerts, has been set up at the 50-yard-line, the midpoint of Invesco Field, the stadium where the Denver Broncos’ National Football League team plays.
Some 80,000 supporters will see Obama appear from between plywood columns painted off-white, reminiscent of Washington’s Capitol building or even the White House, to accept the party’s nomination for president.
He will stride out to a raised platform to a podium that can be raised from beneath the floor.
The show should provide a striking image for the millions of Americans watching on television as Obama delivers a speech accepting the Democratic presidential nomination.
Then he’ll hold aloft his magic sword and proclaim, “by the power
of Grayskull, I HAVE THE POWER!” And then lightning
shoots out of his ass.
August 27, 2008 — 4:21 am
I made it in to work today, but by afternoon my boss ordered me home to sleep off the Nyquil. Hence, I got nothin’.
But I can’t neglect you, my minions (we don’t ever, ever, EVER want a repeat of the Hamster Incident, do we?) So please enjoy this photograph of a weasel skull. I bought it on eBay last year for ten bucks. Doesn’t it look like some kind of tiny, fangsome alien? That’s because its face is all squoze up in the first third of its head, and the rest is an improbably huge sock of skull.
To hold its giant, throbbing brain.
August 26, 2008 — 6:27 pm
I get the impression Michelle Obama is, deep down, a pretty angry woman. But you know what really puts people off? That’s right: those scary Vampyra eyebrows. Michelle probably has a bit of a chip on her shoulder, but Michelle’s eyebrows are pissed. Michelle’s eyebrows have come to kick ass and chew bubblegum, and eyebrows can’t chew bubblegum.
It doesn’t have to be this way. Eyebrows are an artificial construct. The kinder, gentler Michelle on the right is only a pluck away (it’s just a pluck away, pluck away, pluck away). Generally, it’s not wise to take makeup advice from a weasel, but I know I’m right on this one. If Michelle came out for her big speech tonight with level, friendly, upturned suzy-housewife eyebrows, she’d bring down the house.
And that’s all the sense you’ll get out of me today. I played hooky. My cold isn’t very bad, but between that and the continued itches, I stuffed myself full of antihistamines. I’m barely connnnnnnnnnnnnnnzzzzzzzzzzzzzz………,,,,,,,,,,
August 25, 2008 — 1:34 pm
I took my poison ivy and my new cold for a spin on the river today. I rented a kayak with a bunch of friends. It was a GORGEOUS day — sunny, light breeze, low eighties. I’ve never paddled a kayak before, but I was pleasantly pleased that it wasn’t as tippy as I expected (cue music from Jaws).
I didn’t take a camera, which is just as well. After successfully paddling six and a half miles (per the GPS), I tipped the fucker over within fifty feet of shore. I was last one in, and my friends stupidly stood on the bank and watched me flail around uselessly for awhile before someone asked if I needed help. Frankly, I think those bastards were all laughing too hard to put back in.
Once the kayak tipped, it had next to no bouyancy. And I was wearing sneakers, so I had next to no traction.
Eh. My new GPS is (reasonably) watertight, and I had wisely left my wallet and stuff in the cargo area of somebody else’s kayak. Somebody not quite so retarded.
More booze, please.
August 23, 2008 — 7:18 pm
Today is my twenty-fifth anniversary on the job. Twenty five years of working for the same boss and punching the same time clock. Everything else about it has changed, though.
I was hired primarily to be an illustrator, back when that meant ink and magic markers and pretty, colorful crayons on paper. But an in-house shop does everything, so I also had to do paste-up and publications design, darkroom work, technical illustration, signage, floor plans…you name it. I once illustrated a Basic Hygeine for Retards book, because someone on the kitchen staff had horrible B.O. and everybody was afraid to tell him.
I worked there two years before we bought our first computer. I got to watch all those fields transition from manual (primarily based on photographic technologies) to digital. It was very cool.
Well, I thought it was very cool.
Anyhow, when you have a major anniversary, you get to pick out a gift ahead of time and there’s cake and stories and stuff. Only…nothing. The topic didn’t even come up today. You don’t bring these things up — it’s a pretend surprise — so I’m thinking maybe because I was late picking out my gift (a pocket camera) that they’re still waiting for it.
Oh, and I’m coming down with a cold.
August 22, 2008 — 5:10 pm
Every four years, sure as shit, the media yammers about whether the Dems should “go negative” because the Republicans always “go negative” and even though people say they don’t like it when politicians “go negative” it really does work. So sure enough the Dems “go negative” and it doesn’t work and the Republicans “go negative” and it does work and the talking heads declare that Democrats are just too doggone nice to pull off the whole “go negative” gambit.
You know, for the smartypants egghead academic party, y’all sure can be pinheads.
Lean closer; I will to tell you the secret. Shhhhh. Look at this simple two-stage flow chart. Us red state peasants pour rumors into it. If they fall out the bottom, we ignore them. If the come flying out the right side, we run with it. Simple as that.
And we apply it equally to our friends and our enemies. Most of us, for example, were persuaded that Larry Craig was tapdancing for anonymous sex in the D.C. airport bathroom (step one) and that, yes, on the whole this was unspeakably creepy and ick (step two). He flunked the flowchart; I don’t know anyone who sticks up for Larry “Widestance” Craig.
On the other hand, it’s obvious the Dems aren’t applying the same decision matrix. Take the whole Swiftboat thing. What do they say? That Kerry didn’t knock the charges down early enough, or that he didn’t knock them down hard enough — when the problem is that at least some of the accusations were factually and provably true…and materially important. How do you knock something like that down? (C’mon…you don’t have to be a student of naval history to know that three purple hearts in four months without needing a day in the infirmary can’t be right (step one) and for someone running as the Military Guy, this matters (step two).)
Or Rathergate. Dan Rather pissed his whole career down his leg trying to get to first base proving that Bush had an easier time of it in the National Guard because he was the son of a political bigshot. Dude. Duuude. Even if he had gotten past step one, this would fail step two. Of course the son of a bigshot is going to have an easier time of it; bureaucracies instinctively cover their butts that way — whether the bigshot’s son wants them to or not. (Al Gore got a journalist’s gig and, rumor has it, a full-time minder. I’m not shocked. Nor, honestly, all that disapproving).
Oh, I’m not saying every wild-ass rumor that ‘wingers latch onto is a winner. And left and right have fundamental disagreements about what passes step two. But you can bet your ass any issue that catches fire this Fall, John Q. Sixpack is going to believe it survived this flow chart first.
Exit question: if you spend a lot of your time hammering the prediction that your opponent will go negative and avoid the issues, isn’t that going negative and avoiding the issues?
Incoming! Thanks for the link, Gabe. Oh! And SarahW at the Protein Wisdom Pub (which, if you haven’t been paying attention, is where all those PW posters who are not JeffG went).
August 21, 2008 — 12:09 pm
“Hello. Nice sites! I also looking for free porns?: <URL here>” — that spammer guy in my filter
“A leader that God has blessed us with at this time.” — Nancy Pelosi, testifyin’ for the messiah
Oof! It hurts to watch the left flail around trying to communicate with us mouth-breathing redneck ‘wingers, doesn’t it? You can hear the little hamster wheels in their craniums squeaking: “These morons voted for Dubya. Twice. How hard can it be to put one over on them?”
A little beer, a little jesus, some eagles and flags and shit and eh voilà, those poor red state boobs’ll never know what hit ’em. Some lefty site I was cruising this morning had a comment congratulating the team for the great job they were doing with branding.
No. No you’re not. The faux ‘presidential seal’, the upside down flag badge, the weird retro-dustbowl iconography of the Buy American logo: pure iconographic gibberish. You’re speaking political Engrish.
It’s like…remember when your hipster mom tried to jive talk you in your own groovy lingo? Even if she got all the words right, she never got the music, because it wasn’t hers to get. When you try to talk ‘winger to ‘wingers, you embarrass yourselves and you embarrass us and you never even know it. Just like mom.
Now, Bill Clinton could speak fluent redneck. He grew up in the tents of the enemy. He was an oily, flatulent huckster, but he had the language of right-wing flag-humping populism down flat. You Obama people? You don’t. Stop trying.
August 20, 2008 — 10:39 am