July 2009


Rock on.  No, seriously.  Rock.

And

Ray’s got wisdom. Lots.

cardinalhat1

cardinalhat2

beerntv

Lee Atwater on the crushing weight of political correctness and how it put a crimp in Republican Party messaging efforts:

You start out in 1954 by saying, “Nigger, nigger, nigger.” By 1968 you can’t say “nigger”—that hurts you. Backfires. So you say stuff like forced busing, states’ rights and all that stuff. You’re getting so abstract now [that] you’re talking about cutting taxes, and all these things you’re talking about are totally economic things and a byproduct of them is [that] blacks get hurt worse than whites.

As always, necessity is the mother of invention. And hate springs eternal.  And so on.

So in 2009, you say stuff like “where’s your birth certificate”? to the black guy with the funny name  – no surprise that Andrew “Bell Curve” Sullivan and Lou “Dirty Meckscuns” Dobbs* are all over it.  Pure coincidence, I’m sure.  Though to be fair to Andy, he usually shows the same zeal if there’s misogyny* to partake in.

But thanks to liberahomohollywood brainwashing all our kids into war-averse wishy-washy fags, in 2009 instead of saying spic (or not), you have to harp on that uppity “wise Latina” who is obviously stupid and hot-blooded (she’s PUERTO RICAN!11!@!! fercryinoutloud) and who only graduated at the top of her class at Princeton because of affirmative action – which doesn’t actually affect grades (and wasn’t she privileged to be born in the South Bronx housing projects!).  

You could also suggest that Obama’s a secret Muslim, or couch the same accusation in terms of faux concern for what Muslims might do if they deem Obama a deserter of the faith.  Not that he’s a Muslim.  Just sayin’.

But why stop there ye timid little hatemongers?  Go for the gold and accuse Barack Obama of hating white people.  Or being racist himself.  Or, for those extra special industrious little Michelle Malkin Overachievers™, all of the above.

The stuffed monkey effigies, though, are more than a little passe.  More 1968 than 2009.  Get with the program.

(* edited as per secondH)

UPDATE: I believe this only reinforces the notion that Obama is a “banana eating jungle monkey” racist.

For anyone wondering what an Afghan’s life is worth, here’s mention of the going rate in terms of airstrike authorizations:

The law is certainly vague, and military commanders are left an awful lot of leeway. But consider how it works in Afghanistan. In a grisly calculus known as the “collateral damage estimate,” U.S. military commanders and lawyers often work together in advance of a military strike, using very specific, Pentagon-imposed protocols to determine whether the good that will come of it outweighs the cost.

We don’t know much about how it works, but in 2007, Marc Garlasco, the Pentagon’s former chief of high-value targeting, offered a glimpse when he told Salon magazine that in 2003, “the magic number was 30.” That meant that if an attack was anticipated to kill more than 30 civilians, it needed the explicit approval of then-Defense Secretary Donald H. Rumsfeld or President George W. Bush. If the expected civilian death toll was less than 30, the strike could be OKd by the legal and military commanders on the ground.

Well, isn’t it great that we’re burning through trillions of dollars to “liberate” the Afghan people – keeping them safe from various malefactors?  Also, dead – within acceptable ratios of course.

As for the morality of the situation, I believe it goes something like this:

1. A terrorist deliberately targeting civilians is pure evil – regardless of how many civilians are killed.

2. The US dropping a bomb on an Afghan village that will result in up to 30 innocent civilian deaths is an act of pure moral goodness. 

3. If more than 30 will die, then it requires Bush or Rumsfeld’s signature for the act to be redeemed. 

They hate us for our freedom.

You know, some things are actually worse than a slight increase in taxes for those whose cups runneth over:

On July 1, nearly 3 million Californians–mostly low-income parents, seniors, and people with disabilities–lost ten key benefits in their Medi-Cal coverage. The biggest concern is dental coverage, which over 900,000 of these patients use in a given year. Other benefits these patients lost include podiatry, optometry, psychology, and speech therapy.

All of these cuts are foolish: Dental coverage allows for better nutrition and prevents emergency room visits. Podiatry is an early warning signal for diabetes, etc. But these decisions don’t even meet the “penny-wise” cliché. In addition to being cuts to preventative care, the state is losing $1.60 in federal matching funds for every dollar we cut, impacting our health system, and our economy.

And while those cuts focus on all adults on California’s safety-net programs, the children have not been spared. Far from it. Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger has proposed fully eliminating Healthy Families, California’s version of the state Child Health Insurance Program that covers nearly one million children.

Last Friday, July 17th, the board that runs Healthy Families closed enrollment, both to new applicants and even to those who are shifted from other state programs. Children on Medi-Cal coverage turning one or six-years-old in certain income categories will get a birthday gift of losing their health insurance. It is estimated that over 350,000 low-income children will be frozen out of health coverage and placed on a waiting list in the next year.

The news today is even worse: the cuts that legislative leaders just agreed to as an alternative to full elimination would force the program not just to impose a wait list, but also to actively dis-enroll hundreds of thousands more children from coverage. The consequences will be kids not getting glasses to see the blackboard, missing school for toothaches, and otherwise delaying care. One ailment or accident on the playground would put families at risk of financial ruin, and needed care will be delayed or avoided altogether. Children’s and other community groups don’t mince words when they say that cuts at this scale mean kids will die.

Naturally, it’s the party of Jesus – the champions of family values – that are leading the charge to kick poor kids off the health care rolls rather than raise taxes on the uber-wealthy/others.   Perhaps we need another symposium on how God-less Democrats can better connect to faith voters.   Is Amy Sullivan available?

Greed sure is a bitch though.  It’s as if the California GOP/voters are in a plane going down, and each would rather grasp their bag of gold than grab a parachute.   Or rather, they’d use a parachute for themselves and then use one for their gold rather than give it to a poor kid. 

Like Jesus would do.

UPDATE: And of course, while a blind eye is turned to the real-world consequences for actual people, the shrieking is reserved for alternate-reality health care whereby Obama euthanizes your grandmama.  We’re doomed.

Damn.

Talk about retiring at the top of your game.  Who is even in her league?

Someone think of something, fast.  Come on.  What do you think I pay you people for?

THE EDITORS ADDS:  I feel like this -

Ah, the racism that doesn’t exist in America anymore (and would y’all quit complainin’ already):

More than 60 campers from Northeast Philadelphia were turned away from a private swim club and left to wonder if their race was the reason.

“I heard this lady, she was like, ‘Uh, what are all these black kids doing here?’ She’s like, ‘I’m scared they might do something to my child,'” said camper Dymire Baylor.

The Creative Steps Day Camp paid more than $1900 to The Valley Swim Club. The Valley Swim Club is a private club that advertises open membership. But the campers’ first visit to the pool suggested otherwise.
 
“When the minority children got in the pool all of the Caucasian children immediately exited the pool,” Horace Gibson, parent of a day camp child, wrote in an email. “The pool attendants came and told the black children that they did not allow minorities in the club and needed the children to leave immediately.”

This is all so familiar.  Also, the type of thing that the National Review made hay defending back in the day (retooled, refitted, updated).

Despite my rugged exterior, Jay Z-like street cred and remarkable penchant for being down at all times – and as unlikely as this may sound to you dear reader – I grew up in a rich white burb (of NYC mind you, not Alabama or Mississippi).  And by white, I mean police-enforced, purest white. 

The next town over was the inverse (lower income scale, minority population, knowledge among locals that life had progressed past 1952, etc).  Thus, as it was known to all involved, the police would make a regular habit of pulling over/stopping minorities that had the nerve to cross the border into Pristineville.  Just for being there.

Even minority children got harassed.

My town had a bunch of parks that were little Meccas for the snot-nose set, and so it wasn’t uncommon to see the occasional young black or Hispanic kid showing up at the front gate with wide eyes.  Of course, the park tenders would snap into action, halt the interlopers before they entered and let them know that you had to be a resident of the town – or the guest of a resident – in order to be let in.  Obviously, by virtue of their melanin count, they weren’t residents.

After discovering that loophole (Guest of a resident? Is that all!), bleeding heart liberal that I was even at age 5, I took it upon myself to forever guest-in any and all kids from surrounding environs that wanted to partake of our gold-encrusted jungle gym.  That pissed off the park reps to no end, but that only sweetened the pot. 

Took a couple of beatings from the local bullies too, and was called “n**ger lover” so often it was my nickname for a while.  But I was an ornery little cuss when I thought I was doing the right thing.  Besides, playground violence was nothing compared to the savagery that racial animus produced as the children got older.

And the bigotry wasn’t limited to blacks and Hispanics.

A decade or so ago (long after I fled that mess of a town) I heard of how one of the local families was kicked out of the country club because the club’s leaders discovered the patriarch’s grandfather was…Jewish.  Seriously.  That’s the level of racism/bigotry thriving right outside of liberal, elitist, multi-culti, homo-friendly, New York City.

One of my friend’s fathers (a dreaded trial lawyer with a sense of right and wrong) threatened to bring the whole damn plantation down if they went through with it.  The country club relented, but the damage was done.  Not sure if the family even wanted membership after that.  I kind of hope not.

Which is a long, roundabout way of saying: Fuck you “racism doesn’t exist in America.”  And fuck you to everyone who’s hung up on the perils of – clutches pearlsreverse racism.  Or racialism.  Or political correctness.  Or affirmative action.  Or whatever way it is that people are choosing to express their frustration that being openly racist just isn’t as acceptable as it once was. 

Though not exactly gauche in all settings, obviously.  Still, we make them feel guilty, and that makes us fascists.  Or something.

And I have to respect His decisions in these matters.

I never particularly liked Michael Jackson.  I’m not being a music snob – I own enough Rush albums to choke Geddy Lee’s shnozz, if that makes this any easier to take – I just never liked it.  But I didn’t like his music in 2nd grade – I was more of an El DeBarge man, if you must know – and I don’t like it now, and while he may not have been a child molestor, yes he was.  But now he’s gone, and now we’ll never cure cancer.  Or something.  I’m sure there’s some reason why, two weeks after he floated to his reward on a pillowy cloud of lab-grade pharmacuticals, everything is a tribute to Him, the Greatest Human Ever To Live.  So, fuck him, fuck that 70’s chick with all the hair, that guy who isn’t Donovan McNabb, that dude from that one old cop show, and everyone who brings any of this up, including me, and let’s hope Madonna’s next.

When Neal Peart dies I’m going to light myself on fire.  In a spinning, strobe lit drum kit 50 feet above the stage.  Tickets go on sale now.  Post here if you have any good Dead Michael Jackson jokes, or if you have his doctor’s phone number.

Sarah Palin, why do you keep playing with my emotions? 


I’m pretty sure she can hear these guys from her front porch. And woe is us who lost our sentinel to the north, tirelessly policing our airspace for unauthorized incursions by giant floating Putin heads. Doomed. Doomed I tell ya.

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