'Duck Dynasty' is a show I've only seen once, under duress. It is a reality show that isn't reality, and is barely a show. Until last week, I had no idea I gave a shit about it.
This week, however, I care a great damn deal about it.
Such is the power of FOX News.
FOX News: We Retort. You deride.
Let's start with this. Here's a picture of Wisconsin during the height of the Teabagger madness (the Teabaggers, you recall, were hatched by CNBC's Rick Santelli, whom no one recalls, not even for the holidays):
Now. See that? Of course you do, unless you have a crappy browser. See how many people there are protesting what Wisconsin governor Scott Walker, a Santelli creation, made law? Certainly you see it. You probably saw it in 2011, when it actually happened.
There are probably more people protesting than actually voted for or against Scott Walker. I mean, who votes for a guy named Scott? No offense to Scotts, but even the Supreme Court was rather hazy on Scott votes. In the US, Scott is a nice name, but a bad omen once you go national.
See also: Scott, Ridley. He started off okay, but just say no to Blade Runner 2.
Also, Prometheus sucked.
Anyway. Enough about Scotts. Let us move on to Robertses and Palinses.
Here's this video.
Now. Let's break this down.
No. Let's don't. Sarah Palin is a fucking disgrace. For a woman who enjoys the freedom of speech to call our president a terrorist, and who demands the head of David Letterman, she is very quick to defend the right of free speech when it involves a fellow reality show idiot. If Phil Robertson had said "Sarah Palin likes it in the anus," I am sure she would be on FOX News demanding Robertson's immediate termination. Extermination.
But Palin says this (Be amazed, by the way, that I'm able to do a transcript--I'm actually so pissed I'm going through the video and typing what is said):
Palin: Good evening Greta. How are you? [Greta is good friends with the Palins, and also a Scientologist, which means Greta is very well.]
Greta: I'm very well. This is sort of an interesting debate that has seized the country. I mean, even Harvy blah blah Harv is gay blah defends Phil Robertson blah. [Greta, darling, the six foot bunny does not represent all gays. Just because you know a gay does not mean you know all of us. Please stop making this about free speech. It's about fee speech--Robertson gets paid to say this.]
Greta: It set the country on fire. [Are you trying to say it looks like Palin's livingroom is on fire? Because you're right.]
Palin: Well yeah. And this is becoming a discussion now I think outside of the legal realm, letting attorneys decide whether it's a "free speech" in a, duh, uh, *sputter* ["free speech" apparently confuses Palin when others use it]...and the rurl [sic] of law or not and now it's becoming more of a discussion within the exchange of ideas in the public square, and in pop culture [shout out to Douglas Coupland!] whether we're allowed to express our personal opinions without uhm mvvv [sic] without threats of intimidation and mockery and criticism and loss of jobs and revenue [this is all one sentence, by the way, and she still has a job, and makes shit-tons of money] it's becoming a-a-a greater bigger issue [yes, this woman was not only governor but a vice presidential nominee, and is on television while you sit at home in your underwear wondering why 'greater' was needed as a qualifier of 'bigger'] than what it started out to be just a few days ago.
Again. All one sentence. Palin is the Joyce of politics.
Greta: Let me give you an out by explaining that free speech doesn't really work as you say it works.
Palin: Well, that's right, and [Palin has never met a period, and neither has her daughters, and yes I went there] that's why I say attorneys can discuss and argue whether it's a legal free speech issue or not [it isn't--A&E is not cutting out anyone's tongue] but Iheeeeeem hearing a lot of people [in my small town] start discussing now whether in our especially pop culture venues whether we're going to be allowed without threats of uh um a a a lot of intimidation and loss of opportunities to express our opinions [on, she does not finish, commercial airwaves, or in the commercial marketplace].
You know what. Fuck this. The Tea Party, of which Sarah Palin is the shining star, had their chance. They pretended to be about free speech and small government, and the voice of the people, but time and again they prove otherwise. The reason I began this post with a picture of the Wisconsin protests of 2011 is because that is the true voice of the people, silenced.
Even more, you have the men and women of Utah rushing--rushing!--to get married because they have no clue if same-sex marriage will be legal tomorrow. And I'm not even gonna go into immigration or black Santas or voter disenfranchisement or laws preventing women from doing as they see fit to do with their own bodies. Not gonna go into all of that.
What I will go into is something that pisses me off about FOX, and about Palin, and about the Tea Party in general: the gall.
These people do not believe in a First Amendment. They didn't get much beyond freshman comp, and only know about First Person. If it does not begin with 'I', they don't get it. Sadly, they also misunderstand the Second Amendment, and think it means the Second Person should be shot.
Once you get to Third, their mind is blown.
Anyway, to quote Sarah Palin: *wink*
Inappropriate sharing, incomprehensible ramblings, uncalled-for hostility: yup, it's a blog.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Monday, December 16, 2013
So I fuck with the meter, and it's not that great a poem to begin with, but Megyn Kelly's really pissing me off right now so I did the best I could. There is no fucking reason why Santa should be absolutely white, and no reason why Kelly should argue that she's being tongue-in-cheek when she clearly was pissed off at the very idea that Santa is any color other than white--I mean, I spend most of my life with my tongue in a cheek--in several ways--and I don't know which I find more offensive: her use of 'tongue-in-cheek' or her insistence that an imaginary character is white (and don't even get me started on Jesus' ethnicity).
Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The hoodies were hung from the Christmas tree branches
In hopes that St. Zimmerman would soon do some lynches.
The white children were nestled, all smug in their beds,
While visions of Riefenstahl's Triumph of the Will danced in their heads.
And pappa in his robe, and I in my trap... wrap. Wrap, not trap. Wrap!
Had just settled our brains despite the War on Christmas crap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter.
I sprang from my bed to see what was the clatter.
Clatter and clatter and clatter, I say.
It's the only thing liberals do: clatter all day.
Seriously, it's just clatter. Clutter and clatter and clatter and clutter
As if all Libs are consumed with smothering with "Other".
But I digress.
Did I mention I look great in a short nightgowness?
Peering from the window, I saw fresh white snow.
Nothing more than that, just a white soft glow.
There was a moon that shined down on us all
and nothing more to see as the snow did fall.
The flakes fell on the snow white as could be.
And all I could think was that the snow could be me.
Falling faintly and faintly falling, the snow was so white
That if it were me I would think it most trite.
Clatter and clatter and clatter some more.
It sounded as if we were besieged by unseen poor.
"On Casher, on O-care, on Tax'em and Big Governmentizing!
On Fair Wages and Self-Awareness and Nixon Demonizing!"
From the shadows emerged shades by the score.
I peed in my PJs, then peed them some more.
There were no white men to help with my fear--
my husband slumbered on, the sweet useless dear.
As dry as the wit when a news broadcast airs,
When I saw all the shadows my instinct was to pare:
"I assume you are all tongue in cheek. Now go away, go away.
Tomorrow is Christmas and a white Holiday.'
"Jesus is white, and Santa is too
So please stop attacking me--I've already gone to the 'loo
In my pants as if I had a chimney--fuck you.
I saw the dark poors, and opened my flue."
The clattering poors did something I would not:
They backed away as if they were shot
By Zimmerman and they did one thing more:
They smiled and they waved and didn't call me a whore.
Merry Christmas, they cried, and Happy Kwanza too!
Happy Hols, and whatever pleases you!
But I heard them explain as the melted out of sight:
It's important to remember life is not owned by FOX outright.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Black Friday is a day exploited, much like Sweetest Day and Mother's Day, by people who like making money. As we all know, the best way to make money in the US is to explain to other humans, domestic and foreign, why it is a good idea to lose money. If you can convince enough people that they don't need money, you can make a lot of money.
As Mr. Bernstein, from Citizen Kane, says: There's no trick to making a lot of money if all you want to do is make a lot of money. And there's no trick to making a lot of money if you can convince others to spend a lot of money.
So. Black Friday. It's an unofficial national holiday. A gross day where millions of people wake up earlier than necessary to fight over merchandise that none of them need for discounts that don't exist using money none of them have.
I did it once. I ventured into the beast of Black Friday.
It was a dark Black Friday, as it should be. It was 2 in the AM. Illogical for both me and the Sun to be up at that hour the day after a national holiday. And yet here I was (and here the Sun wasn't), awake and in line to enter a Target which promised great deals. I wasn't really there for great deals. I was there to buy Greg a video game.
This was a few years ago and Greg was working at a box store as I was shopping at one. He was getting a bonus to work where he was working, and I thought it would be nice to give him an extra bonus, so I ventured out in the early morning cold, and did my time in line, and eventually made it into the heated, luminescent Target world.
I had no goal, no determined gift for Greg, but I knew the store well enough to wander around. I went to the mid-store aisle featuring the bathroom items--towels, bath soaps, strange swirly things both mechanical and hand-cranked--and I wandered into the aisle for kitchen items. I did the food aisles, and I did the clothing cloistures. I skipped the toy aisles.
As I moved through the aisles of Target, I listened to Tom Waits music, pushed roughly into my ears through earbuds and a cord running into my pocket.
As 'Murder in the Red Barn' started up, I passed the garden section of Target, and turned down another illuminated aisle. Perhaps to best enjoy what happened next, and best recreate it, you should start listening to the song I was listening to. Please turn down your volume when you get to the part where I plucked my buds from my ears to process the threats coming from the Target employees.
Here's what I did: I wandered down a long aisle towards the games, and I began searching for one to buy Greg. I'd been in the very spot several times. I may have been singing aloud, "Pin it on a drifter," but who knows. What is certain is that, not long after I spotted a Silent Hill special edition, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, and plucked the earbuds from my ears.
"Why are you here?" I was asked. The tapper was an employee of Target. She was bleary-eyed.
"Just looking." Honestly, I felt sorry for her. Neither she nor I needed to be where we were so early on a day that need not exist.
"You can't look," she replied. "You have to wait."
The bleary-eyed young Target employee gestured to a clump of people waiting behind a makeshift fence near the shoe aisles. All of the people were either staring at me with hatred, or staring at the Silent Hill games I was holding with envy.
"But I'm just browsing," I said. "I don't even know if I want this." I waved the Silent Hill package in her bleary-eyed face.
"You know you can't just browse."
Two things: I have absolute respect for those who do retail. And I absolutely hate arbitrary rules. So when I responded, "Yes, I can just browse," I knew I was being a dick. I also hoped I was underscoring to the bleary-eyed worker just how silly it was to insist I join the corralled herd of shoppers. The shoppers, after all, had a goal--they wanted a TV, or a specific game, or gaming system. I just wanted to browse.
But according to the Target employee, I could not just browse. I needed to wait.
"I've wandered all over the store," I said.
"Sir. You need to go over there." She pointed to the human Habitrail.
"I'm just looking."
"There are people here to buy."
"They probably won't buy what I look at."
And then there was a hand on my arm, and a security guard at my side, and a question: "Do you want to be arrested, or do you want to be escorted out?"
And the corralled people pressed against the makeshift fence, and some cried out for my arrest. I put down the Silent Hill collection--which I'd only picked up because it was the first game both G and I played together--and told the guard, "Let me go."
I'd like to say the bleary-eyed early-morning Target employee and I exchanged glances, but we didn't. What happened was I left, and walked over to a nearby GameStop, and stood in line for a bit to buy Greg a gesture of appreciation for his own time spent at work on Black Friday.
Again: Black Friday is a holiday created by those who have money, for those who think they need to spend money.
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