B===D--- A new love story by Shakespeare

My own particular bullshit

A friend recently posted a note that he is dissatisfied with the current political state, and (perhaps jokingly) suggested he would run for president when he is eligible. I know and like this guy (to prerequisites for being friends) and I've thought along similar lines. Why, if America is in such dire straits that we can't get a budget passed without a political showdown, should I not throw my hat in the ring and magically make it all better?

I think this is like the idea people get in their heads when they can make their buddies laugh - "I should go into comedy". "I can talk about politics - maybe I should run for office." And with as much shit as I'll talk about both parties, maybe I should insert money where I've previously only put my mouth.

Hmmm. I guess that homoerotic innuendo fits. Anyone who talks such has tasted at least the tip of the glorious, glittery cock of corporate media politics. And that's the problem. If I went in, as I am now, putting aside the ludicrously low chance of winning (and complete lack of knowledge of how to win) I'd be like a liberal Tea Party. And that's not helpful (the motto of this podcast is, of course, "Fuck it and fuck you").

And if I could put aside my anger and recalcitrance, I'd at best end up like any other politician. I don't like the anti-gay-marriage laws in place, but they're coming down, albeit slowly. That, apparently, is how things work in a democracy. The people support the bad laws their representatives create, until they don't, and then the laws are overturned. As tempting as it would be to try and "fix" everything, even if it were possible (and it's not) it wouldn't be the will of the people. You can't make people be good or kind. At best, you can try to keep them from getting worse.

And that's assuming I didn't become corrupt. I know myself moderately well, and I, like many others, see myself as the hero, never the villain. It's usually not until after the fuck up that I realize I was a real douchetard. And even that level of introspection doesn't fly in politics. You've got to be right, someone else has to be wrong, or you won't stand a chance. And if you can't get elected, not only will your brilliant vision not come to pass, but some bastard's horrible plan will be implemented. So tell a little lie. Exaggerate a bit. It's all for the greater good (and hey, you can make a few bucks off of it).

This, then, is my own particular brand of bullshit; Famous Anus, of course. For all your baking needs.

Update:

Of course, I do think some of my friends are suited for helping run the country well. Here's a prototype campaign poster I thunk up:

He keeps his campaign promises.

Pay no attention to the bear behind the curtain

I changed jobs (sort of), and recording the podcast has changed. I'm trying to make it more streamlined, so I can say "I need this-this, that, done," rather than thinking up sixty things for the News, and no rants. Meanwhile, actually doing the podcast suffers a bit. I've set it up so I record the whole thing Wednesdays, but I'm still getting used to this schedule, so if my brain forgets and decides to dick around all day, nothing gets done. I'll have a story up later today, and podcastin' will resume next week, and in the meantime I wanted to talk to you about something important.

Superman

Superman has bugged me for a while. Batman knows all kinds of crazy bullshit ways to take down thugs. He can freeze 'em, gas 'em, karate-murder them or hit them with his car.
Superman can punch. He can't even punch well. All he has are haymakers, and he treats every enemy like a clumsy fat guy who can't help but wander into Superman's awkward thrusts. Worse, he's basically god and he has no experience being such; God, at least, knew how to make the cosmos before he started messing with the Jews. Which is, to be fair, kind of like applying to be a kindergarten teacher when your only experience is programming, but at least he had some experience. Superman knows how to farm. He can only stop crime that is right in front of him, because he never took Batman's Patented Detective Course. He probably murders half the purse-snatchers he stops, because he has the power of the sun and no concept of control. At least if he'd signed up for the Y karate class he might've learned not to put his fist through other people's chests.

Special Edition 1

Links:

http://topics.nytimes.com/topics/reference/timestopics/people/a/anwar_al_awlaki/index.html

http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2012/04/09/150250294/study-warns-of-autism-risk-for-children-of-obese-mothers
Holy shit, he wasn't kidding.


Sometimes I write weird things. Here's an excerpt from an epic poem I may or may not be working on, but is awesome nonetheless.

"No!" he cried, to an incandescent, hostile sky,
"anywhere but here, lest we fall under his mur'drous eye"
But as he turned to run, he found his 'scape route gone,
the path blocked by those perfect, monstrous
creatures, resembling humans only in form.

Their teeth flashed in ugly grins, devoid of all sympathy,
 his arms they pinned to his sides under that hateful sky.
in the midst of whirling scree,

He and the captain they bore, to their leader's
feet, to send them soon toward the furthest shore,
but no, he exclaimed, pain is their fate, their death
must wait, until I fully settle the score.

"Liar!" the hero proclaimed, full of fear,
yet his manliness maintained, in the face
of losing himself forevermore. "Your chance you
threw away, and on this desolate rock you'll
stay, for failing to heed the kind advice of
my well-loved leader, you deserve this fate and more.

For if you had only stayed, comfortable,
and out of the way, on the peaceful planet
where you were placed-"
At this the mad chief grew wroth, and with
great strength, picked the tiny Russian up,
and with full hate glittering in his eyes,
screamed his madness, triumph, revenge,
so that all the world must listen,
toward the sky:
"This IS Ceti-Alpha Five!"

We've got to stop Robo-Jesus

Keep the Faith

The Podcast:



And since I didn't feel like doing a real post, here's an excerpt from my upcoming fictional book:

Raising Kids, or: So you’ve decided to share your home with a retarded wolf for 18 years.
Kids are like retarded wolves. They run in packs, have obvious alpha and omega positions, do not care for the laws of god or man, and hunt anyone not part of the pack. For the parent it is necessary to assert status as alpha continually; kick your kid over a lot when they are learning to walk, just to let em know what’s up.

They are retarded wolves because children are useless, understand nothing, but it’s a crime to leave them out in a thunderstorm. They can’t bring in food, bitch if you make grilled cheese “wrong”, and are horrible little
miscreants. While wolves grow quickly and can support themselves after time and get along with the pack (or get kicked the fuck out) you have to keep your kid alive for 18 years, during which they go from horrible, to okay, to awful, and during the first and last stage their “pack” is either other smelly, small, abominable beasts, or teenagers. And if the fucker gets hooked on drugs or booze, you look like the bad guy if you beat it, even if it deserves it.

So that doesn't sound very wolf-like, you say. Ahh, but they bite. And they are supremely adaptable, despite constant complaints that "this sammich has too much bread". They run in packs, greet new things with hostility until said new thing has proven useful, and despise baths. So they are wolves, just not useful like wolves. You can't put them in the backyard to thin out those damn deer that eat your garden. With that in mind, I wrote this book to help parents keep a handle on the monsters.