the senate this week voted more time-wasting and self-righteous resolutions than a southern baptist theological conclave. the menu included the "fuck off, move on" strangling of free speech resolution and the "bomb iran, part dieu" dessert course.
suckers ever, dems always fall for these liebermanian effusions.
this is the new role of the united states senate - an irrelevant jawing gaggle producing inane policy statements - an endless blusterthon, a c-span of f-troops, a b-list of a-holes; profiles in dotage.
next up they will take a wide stance debating the "times traitor prevention" act, the vital "britney haircut authorization" act, and the "spit shine the generals' boots" act.
these are "sense of the senate" resolutions.
when has this senate had any sense?
mister a. blister ray
unpronounceable, necktieless iranguy flew khomeni air into the big app this week. the reception was not sweet and delicious.
his visit pumped the hysterical bloviatariat to f-16 decibel levels. talking mouths foamed. op-eds goebbelsed. a college president became bill o'reilly.
we're re-entering september, 1939: "the poles are creating intolerable provocations against the glorious new order."
the bush admin readies the rollout of their blockbuster new hit "burkhaville blitzkrieg." coming soon to a war theater near you.
all of us vs. mall of u.s.
ken burns' war, showing on pbs, unlike bush's war, lacks a dipshit president, a jerkoff general staff, and an uninvolved citizenry.
and no disney world to fly to.
what was wrong with them back then?
was there no syntacticly challenged frat boy chief exec oozed in by a corrupt supreme court?
no minimum-wage army led by a covey of disposable lapdog generals?
no saponaceous cheering section plumping consumer excess?
no no-bid contracts?
they saved aluminum, steel, rubber? voluntarily?
they rationed gasoline?
they drafted people?
they were unified?
they sacrificed?
they won?
what a quaint old war.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
senator handjob
larry craig sashayed back into the u.s. senate this week wearing a darling gray suit, black tasselled wide stance loafers, and a lavender tie with oscar wilde's visage on it. he was not greeted with sassy air kisses by miss mitch and miss lindsey. they gave craig (r-idaho') the hrrrmmph treatment.
or maybe not.
we do know that the men's room of larry's infame has become a sudden tourist destination. digicams and cell phones frame faces by the wc door. inside, photohogs jockey for position at the row of stalls. was he behind the the sixth or seventh door? isn't there a brass plaque yet? can paid tours be far behind?
we can only guess when the musky allure of tea room frolics first raised larry's wanger. was it when, farm fresh at peckerwood junior college, he noticed the oval hole in a stall divider? or at a religious school (even hotter), st. peter of the second coming, let us say, where when not swallowing religious dogma, blond students ingested something more secular and creamy?
perhaps little larry dreamed of a life like j. edgar hoover's. a life of czar-like power, living with a butch g-man, the silk dresses locked securely away, shameful urges wrapped in ruthlessness.
did he respond to the mysterious bond between the lone ranger (the masked man) and tonto? or the erotic spark of robin for batman (two more in masks with day identities)?
or was larry a late cummer? did he miss the demimondaine of school dickdom utterly? was it the boredom, the unfulfillingness of midlife, the locked longings that fired his toilet travels? was he a prisoner of hardons and risk?
larry will never tell us.
and that is the sepulchral silence of the closet.
when larry was of college age a rabble of queens battled new york cops for several nights running. they gave the tactical police a street shaming. gay liberation was born.
suppose larry had been inspired by this rebellion. with his intelligence and eloquence, his drive for power, he might have become a national figure for freedom.
but larry became a moldy closet queen. a moldy closet queen in denial. a right-wing moldy closet queen.
and so, like j. edgar, like mark foley, like others, larry put on rectitude and played pocket pool. false face must hide what false heart doth know.
a human waste.
a dead man walking.
or maybe not.
we do know that the men's room of larry's infame has become a sudden tourist destination. digicams and cell phones frame faces by the wc door. inside, photohogs jockey for position at the row of stalls. was he behind the the sixth or seventh door? isn't there a brass plaque yet? can paid tours be far behind?
we can only guess when the musky allure of tea room frolics first raised larry's wanger. was it when, farm fresh at peckerwood junior college, he noticed the oval hole in a stall divider? or at a religious school (even hotter), st. peter of the second coming, let us say, where when not swallowing religious dogma, blond students ingested something more secular and creamy?
perhaps little larry dreamed of a life like j. edgar hoover's. a life of czar-like power, living with a butch g-man, the silk dresses locked securely away, shameful urges wrapped in ruthlessness.
did he respond to the mysterious bond between the lone ranger (the masked man) and tonto? or the erotic spark of robin for batman (two more in masks with day identities)?
or was larry a late cummer? did he miss the demimondaine of school dickdom utterly? was it the boredom, the unfulfillingness of midlife, the locked longings that fired his toilet travels? was he a prisoner of hardons and risk?
larry will never tell us.
and that is the sepulchral silence of the closet.
when larry was of college age a rabble of queens battled new york cops for several nights running. they gave the tactical police a street shaming. gay liberation was born.
suppose larry had been inspired by this rebellion. with his intelligence and eloquence, his drive for power, he might have become a national figure for freedom.
but larry became a moldy closet queen. a moldy closet queen in denial. a right-wing moldy closet queen.
and so, like j. edgar, like mark foley, like others, larry put on rectitude and played pocket pool. false face must hide what false heart doth know.
a human waste.
a dead man walking.
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