GOP Convention Update #31

The following report from the Republican National Committee's Social Secretary updates Attendance Plans of VIPs at the GOP Convention.

*Arnold Schwarzenegger will NOT attend because of the California budget crisis which he said is growing "like a Toooooomuh."

*President George W. Bush will NOT attend the GOP convention because of Hurricane Gustav. (Updates earlier excuse that he'd be "too busy clearing brush at the ranch.")

*Vice President Dick Cheney will NOT attend. He's in Florida trying to blow hurricanes out of the sky with Double Ought buckshot.

*Speaking of which, Sen. Larry Craig has yet to RSVP. He may be stalling. (Sorry-Pesky)

*Benito Mussolini will NOT attend because he feels the Irony would be too obvious.

*Generalissimo Francisco Franco will NOT attend because he is still dead.

*Idi Amin Dada. Ditto.

*Gov. Sarah Pallin will attend if she can find an adoreable set of Go-Go boots to wear during her Snappy Spoon Number, reprised from the Miss Alaska Pageant.

*Sen. John Edwards will attend, but only if Sarah Pallin does.

*Presumptive Nominee John McCain will attend if he can find his flip-flops, shoo them little bastards off his lawn, and find out just what the Hell "presumptive" means.

*Cindy McCain called to remind everyone Alaska is still near Russia and to ask if New Orleans is still near St. Paul.

*St. Paul will NOT attend because he is a Democrat.

And last and certainly least....

*Former FEMA Head, "Heck of a Job" Brownie will not attend because he is busy as an on-air disaster expert for MSNBC. (Not making that up. Sometimes the jokes just write themselves.)

Hey, Beckham, Bend This, Why Don’t You?

Haven’t watched the Olympics much. (Still waiting for Ski-jumping to begin.) But one morning I accidentally tuned in during the final moments of the USA versus Netherlands Soccer Match. Shockingly, it wasn’t nil-nil at the time, but a high-scoring shootout with the USA leading the Belch, 2-1.

Then, with victory seemingly in the American’s grasp, All Hell broke loose.

First, somebody on the US team had the audacity to kick a Netherregionlander on the shin! The Belch guy acknowledged this egregious invasion of his personal space by falling down, grabbing his leg and writhing in agony. (Soccer players attend finishing school to learn the dramatic art of agony-writhing, in which they engage whenever a verdant breeze wafts near one of their extremities.)

Well, the Ref spotted the Belch agony-writhe, nodded his approval, and blew his whistle. He then showed the offending USA player his grocery list, which refs must keep in their pocket on a neat yellow index card. The American saw the card and shook his head, disagreeing with the ref’s plans to purchase Broccoli. This act cured the writher of his agony, and he lept to his feet, none the worse for wear.

No Shin-kicking Permitted

Kicking someone on or near the shin is frowned upon in Soccer. So the Nethers got a "free kick" from about 20 yards out.

Before the kick, the US selected several players their coach doesn't much like. These poor unfortunates have to stand in front of the kicker grabbing their package with both hands. (Their own package, thank you.)

The kicker, seeing this Maginot Line ready to block his Force de Frappe, has several options.

He could try to kick the ball around the wall—“Bend it like Beckham” style.

He might try to belt the ball over the guys with their hands on their cranks. To counter this, the crankholders jump as high as they can. (Players with ballet experience are encouraged to sissonne or bourree while airborne.) As one may not use one’s hands in soccer, one must block the ensuing kick with one’s head or face. (NB: That’s right, ladies, men will put their unprotected Dome in harm’s way—risking a shattered nose or scrambled brains—but we use both hands to protect our penis.)

There was another option. When the Americans did their Bunny Hop to block a high shot, the Belgian kicker did the unexpected. He fired a low-flying, grass-hugging, worm-burner. The ball rose no more than an inch off the ground. (If you’ve seen me play golf, visualize the trajectory of my Seven Iron.)

The Sneaky Belch

The Belgian kick was so low and so hard it was too late for the Jewel Jumpers to abort their Bunny Hops. Up they flew while the ball rocketed under their feet and into the goal, tying the match.

I was so disgusted—not at the goal but the fact I’d actually wasted time watching Olympic Soccer--that I turned off the set. I just didn’t care who won. Also our dog was subtly informing me she was hungry by peeing on the rug. (Our dog is old, stupid and hates me.)

What a sport that Soccer is! You run around like idiots for ninety minutes and while you’re doing the Bunny Hop, plieing and sou-sousing with your hands on your crotch, you lose the match! Or tie. Or, maybe you…oh who gives a rat’s ass?

America may be wrong about a lot of things. But we’re right about Soccer and the rest of the world is wrong. Soccer is a stupid sport unless you're nine years old or a ballet dancing bunny hopper with scrambled gray matter and a dented codpiece.

U.S. Suffers from "The China Syndrome"

Try as I might I can’t place the entire blame for the Decline and Fall of the United States on the doorstep of one George W. Bush. Even when you add in his backup band, Cheney & The Henchmen, it just won’t fly. Oh sure, they deserve not only the lion’s share of the blame, but the Giraffe Chow, Bamboo Shoots for the Pandas and that carload of peanuts earmarked for Dumbo.

And credit where it’s due--no Presidency has given the collapse of this Republic the rocket-assisted kick in the Booty Bush’s has. Dude turned the Constitution, the Environment, the Iraq (such as), and the Economy into his personal Beeyotch. When Edgar Mitchell’s Extraterrestrials return to dig through the remains of American Civilization, forensic evidence will lead right to ol’ #43. (The latest? Bush’s Welcome Wagon gift to the next POTUS, a $490 Billion Fiscal 2009 Budget Deficit.)

Not absolving the Idiot-in-Chief, but there's only so much just one man can do. Credit must be shared.

History: Face it, countries always decline and fall. Ask any Greek or Roman. A Bell Curve denotes how this works. First, it rises. Then everyone gets fat, dumb, and happy. Soon they grow overly complacent, greedy, shifty, horny, dopey, sleepy and sneezy. Next a bunch of other stuff happens. Eventually, Society collapses and the process starts over again. You want details, Google your ass off. I’m just setting up my premise here.

Sex, Drugs & Rock & Roll: Rampant drugs and the sexual revolution chipped away at Values. Priests seduced Altar Boys; dogs and cats slept together, porn became ubiquitous. Rock & Roll wasn’t so bad at first, but it went south as soon as Boys2Men cut an album.

Reagan: A great big round of applause for Reaganism. It really got the ball rolling by decimating the Middle Class.

Clinton: NAFTA was Bill Clinton’s baby.

Egomania: Put your hands together for those Decline and Fall Accelerants like Ralph Nader, whose Megalomania made it possible for Bush to steal Florida. The Media traded in its journalistic chops for wealth and invites into Power Brokers Homes. Artists sold their Souls for a piece of the pie.

The Loyal Opposition: Don’t forget the ongoing inability of the Democratic Party to stop bickering long enough to select a candidate who could actually win a General Election.

There are more, but these are your primary known knowns about what went wrong with America. Feel free to add your own unknown knowns, known knowns you never knew about, and those unknown knowns no one knows. ("Madge! Get me Rummy!”)

We now formally conclude the premise-setup portion of this column. Summing up: Country is going to Hell in a Handbasket, blah blah blah. Watch carefully as this leads to my clever Catchphrase for the mess we’re in.

It hit me Sunday while watching a CBS Sunday Morning piece about how everyone and his Uncle Bob is riding a bike in America these days. People ride them to work, to the store, to Grandma’s house. Bike business is booming. Why are Americans giving up their cars and riding bikes? Because they can’t afford gasoline. Why is gasoline so expensive? Because in China, everyone and his Uncle Wong is trading their bikes for cars. It’s the old Hitchcockian “Criss-cross.”

So here’s Cork’s Decline and Fall Catchphrase. “We’ve become China!”

Oh No! Ralphie is Back

Recently the producer of a new Ralph Nader commercial proudly noted that he'd finally done a spot for a Presidential candidate. This is my open letter to him.

Dear Alex:

I know we all have to make a living, but allow me some commentary about the person you are helping promote. There once was a time I had nothing but admiration for him. There once was a time when I thought he Mattered. There once was a time when I thought he was part of the Answer for much of what was wrong with America. But no more. And it pains to say that.

So I hope you understand why I believe you are helping to enable a once-revered, now pathetic Megalomaniacal to continue to hasten the country along the road to ruin.

Because of Ralph Nader’s unfettered Ego, George W. Bush is President of the United States. Any expert without a bias will tell you that without Nader siphoning off Democratic votes in Florida in 2000, Bush would not have been close enough to steal the election there from Gore.

Think about that the next time you are paying $4.71 (my neighborhood Shell this morning) for gas. Think about it when you meet someone whose kid or father or aunt died in Iraq, or whose family was destroyed when the spouse left after the third deployment. Think about it the next time a Katrina hits and an idiot President flies overhead looking down in a photo op as he returns from a political fundraiser. Think about it when the US can't react to a genuine world crisis because our military equipment has been eaten up in the sands of Iraq. Think about it the next time Afghanistan takes a Taliban hit--like today's--because the President went after Saddam and not bin Laden.

Think about it as Social Security runs out, as Exxon laughs at the country when they announce their obscene profits, when the Far Right gets another Supreme on the court and does away with Habeas Corpus for good.

You can't blame the entire presidency of George Bush on Nader, of course, but he is a major, perhaps THE major reason why Bush got to be President. And Nader did it, pure and simple, out of his own neediness. He could have had his moment in the Sun, taken his bows, then bowed out and thrown his support to the man who should have been helping the planet from a position of power, not just winning awards for his Ecological Slide Show. Without Ralph Nader, America wouldn't be sucking hind teat on Global Warming and Alternative Energy development.

Then, in 2004, when we all knew better, when anyone with a brain understood the damage Bush was capable of continuing to inflict, Nader came back again for another stint in the Spotlight. The topper was when Bill Maher literally got on his knees and begged Nader to get out of the campaign before he did more damage. Nader smugly sat there on Maher's show, basking in the attention, and said “no,” he was just too important.

In 2008, Nader is at it again. And again he will take more votes away from Democrats than from Republicans. How many votes may be determined by how much free publicity he gets from an inept Media, and how naive some voters still are. If McCain squeezes in by, say, winning Florida, Nader will have another skin on his belt. At the very least, Alex, please offer your artistic services to Ron Paul, who will siphon from the Right.

Another small complaint. Despite his high-falootin’ self-image, Nader's "commercial," is as trivial as flag pins or pledges of allegiance or middle names are to the real needs of the country. NBA cheating, while important to sports fans and morality fetishists, is right down there with the other non-issues being overblown in the current campaign. Why the NBA, Ralph? Because it's in the news. Because it's a means for Ralph to grab back the spotlight. The Media can't send me into the oblivion I deserve, says Ralph's Ego..

So there's another disappointment for those of us who once honored and praised Ralph Nader. Turns out Ralph is as cynical and pragmatic and needy as any of the real candidates. Turns out Ralph craves his Fame Jones like any other addict needs a drug fix.

The personal tragedy for Nader is that he has seen his genuine legacy of achievement set aside as he has become a punch line, a laughingstock and a bitter sidenote to the cesspool that is American politics today.

Eight years of George Bush would make a Relativist out of most Idealists. Like it or not, Politics is not about absolutes, but compromises. So those of us in the Real World can't afford NaderThink. Hence, I don't give a rat’s ass if Obama and McCain took medical money, as Nader so proudly huffs.

A vote for Nader is worse than a wasted vote. First of all, Nader is no more Our Next President than Mike Gravel, Mr. Whipple, or Little Mary Sunshine are. Second, even if Nader could win, Senator Obama, on his worse day, would be ten times the President sad sack Ralph might ever hope to be. Hell, I even think Senator McCain would be better, and the thought of McCain in the White House terrifies me.

So, if you must do Nader commercials, Alex, consider this suggestion. Convince him to run for something he won’t ruin the country doing. Run him for NBA Commissioner.

Sincerely,

Pesky

The GOP Don't Know & Bush Don't Care

You remember the old joke about the frustrated professor who asks a student: “Are you ignorant or indifferent?” The response: “I don’t know and I don’t care.”

Which brings us to the GOP and the Bush Administration. Two events earlier this week confirmed that like the hapless student, they are ignorant and indifferent. (I say “this week.” I’m not sure how that makes this week different from any other. So just humor me and buy the premise.)

Let’s start with the GOP’s newly unveiled slogan, shall we? As we all know, the operative political buzz phrase for 2008 is “change.” Every Democratic candidate has been claiming he or she is the candidate of change. Makes sense. Things suck and the public figures change would be for the better. The GOP may have taken a peek at what they’ve accomplished over the past seven years and agree with the Dems’ assessment. So they decided to incorporate “change” into a new GOP slogan.

Unfortunately, the good “change” catchphrases have already been used by their opponents, so they came up with the wishy-washy “The change you deserve.” Like most catchphrases and ad slogans, it doesn’t actually say anything. I mean, what is the ‘change you deserve?” Logically, it might mean a new party running the show, but that’s probably not the GOP’s intent.

What the GOP may not have known is their new slogan isn’t so new. It’s being used to advertise a prescription drug called Effexor. I can tell you after a dozen years of satisfied personal use, Effexor is a highly effective mood enhancer. (“Mood enhancer” is a euphemism for “anti-depressant.”)

How good is Effexor? Ever since I started taking it I’ve been nothing but sunshine and lollypops. Not a cynical thought has crossed my mind. People are constantly admonishing me to stop being such a durn Pollyanna. “John,” they admonish, “You’re much too happy. Cheer down, will you?”

Did the GOP rip off Effexor’s slogan for it’s Ironic context? Naaah. Those humorless bozos wouldn’t appreciate Irony if it bit them on their lead-bottom asses. So let’s just call it incompetence, and move on.

This brings us to the “I don’t care” portion of our program. George W. Bush just told the country he gave up playing golf in 2003 because of the war in Iraq. Not to give him time to serve in it—we already know where Bush stands regarding personal combat—but out of respect for those serving there. Of course if he’d bothered to ask, those serving there might have voted for him still playing golf but stopping the war.

Forget the political implications for a moment. Only a pinhead like Dubya would try to convince people giving up golf is a sacrifice. Every year millions of Americans give up golf voluntarily because they suck at it and want to stop the bleeding. Others stop because it’s too expensive. Some military men have been forced to stop because they’re in Iraq or Afghanistan. Other soldiers stopped playing because they’re currently dead.

Of all the outrageous lies, prevarications and exaggerations Bush has foisted on this country, this ranks up at the top with Saddam bought Yellowcake and domestic spying is good for Democracy. Golf, as it has done for so many other golfers, help detach Bush to lie real good.

So Bush is a liar and an idiot, but he’s no fool. Since his popularity is already mucking around in Whale poop at the bottom of the ocean, one can only assume that he just doesn’t care anymore.

And that’s no lie.

Numbed Down as Well as Dumbed Down?

Is irony dead?

Or did I just imagine George W. Bush lectured the Myanmar Junta how to properly run their disaster?

Sure, those Myanmaniacs have gotten some 50,000-100,000 citizens killed with the help of a Typhoon--and Bush’s work in New Orleans pales in comparison--but doesn’t anyone get the essential absurdity of it all?

What does Bush want from Myanmar, a country he calls Burma in that cute way he still calls the Democratic Party the "Democrat Party"? Does he want Flyover rights? Does he Jones for a new photo op of him gazing longingly down from 35,000 feet over a tragedy he couldn’t be bothered to drop in on?

Or is Dubya hoping for a Burmese ice license, the better to load up and ship hundreds of tons of frozen water where it isn’t needed while ignoring where it is needed? (For this tragedy, may we suggest sending the ice to Iceland?)

Could Bush be looking for a new parking lot for the tens of thousands of trailers which never reached the people they were intended for?

Or maybe Bush just wants to don his Mr. Snugglecrotch flight suit again, land on a carrier and declare another Mission Accomplished?

And while the body count in Myanmar and N.O. don’t match up, let us not misunderestimate Bush’s Skilz as a Master of Disaster. Throw in the grotesquerie that is Iraq and Bush's body count rises significantly. Tote up dead Americans in Iraq and New Orleans plus dead Iraqis and it will likely sweep past the Burma Shave body count.

Yeah, I get it. The dudes running Myanmar are worse people than Bush, Cheney and Rummy combined. Certainly we can all agree Americans are generous to a fault when it comes to responding to international disasters. But if Dubya appointed “Heckuva Job” Brownie to run the show, would that shock us? Or are we Americans numbed down as well as dumbed down?

And another thing: What’s with Bush sending the Missus out as his Point Man? You don’t suppose he saw how Clinton put his Little Woman onstage to try to continue his dynasty and so Bush thought...Oh, dear God, NOOOOOOOOOO!

Old People have Sex; Tell Oprah

Let me start by noting I have nothing against good cosmetic surgery. Facelifts have been with us for a long time. So has Barbara Walters. It appears the twain have met.

Barbara is a legend. She is the Cal Ripken, Jr. of female TV news personalities. She is head and shoulders above them all, even Oprah, who may be bigger now, but can’t catch her for longevity or trailblazitudeness.

Barbara Walters (l)

How old is La Babs? They say late seventies, and we should all look that good and remain so vital at that age. I doubt, however, we’ll ever know Ms. Walters’ true age for sure without felling her and counting the rings in her legs—and I’m not advocating that--but my guess is she’s actually about 125 years young.

Recently, she appears to have sipped a Jeroboam of bubbly from her own Fountain of Youth. Either that or she’s had some extraordinary work. Babs, you look terrific. Her plastic surgery was so successful she got a frantic call form Priscilla Presley, who asked, “Mmmmm Gffff Mmmjmgh Mgggh?” Huzzah for her Plastique Surgeon. Dude rules.

With the single exception of the experimental Full Body Cap Regis had in December, it’s the finest work I’ve ever seen on a living human. (Full disclosure: After I contracted Bell’s Palsy in 2003, I had plastic surgery on an eye that drooped like dewlaps on a Bloodhound.)

Now the bad news. Apparently, Barbara’s latest rejuvenation has inspired her to announce to the world—maybe as a preemptive pre-outing strike—that she did the nasty last century with a now dead, then married formerly African-American, U.S. American Senator. Not just any dolt, but Sen. Edward Brook of the great State of Massachusetts.

Ooops. This just in! Edward Brook is still alive! No word on whether he wishes he were dead and/or wishes Babs had kept her pie hole closed. (More Full disclosure: To my knowledge, I have never slept with Barbara Walters. Or, for that matter, Edward Brook.)


Fat Chance of getting Babs to shut up about this. She is slated to babble on about her dalliance on—where else—Oprah. As if the meeting of the two Top Doyennes of television femaledum wasn’t enough, she‘ll talk about the affair there, and if time permits, jump on Oprah’s couch.

And this is the gift that keeps on giving. Geraldo has slithered out from the rock under which he hides to announce he really really wanted to nail Babs his own self, and shock of shocks, she turned him down.

Geraldo then theorized in that racially sensitive way he has that the shootdown was due to “Once you’ve been back, you never go back.” Not to be outdone, the current occupant of the Joan Rivers Chair of Cosmetic Reconstruction at UCLA, Cher, announced that she once nailed Tom Cruise. Cruise, of course, also is appearing on Oprah, not to deny dalliances with strange women—he has a enough trouble convincing people he even dallies with Katie--but to claim he’s not really wacky as a Loon. Uh-huh.

Then the new Governor of New York, David Patterson, announced the only reason he released his laundry list of illicit affairs was because he thought someone was about to out him on the matter. I’d love to have been a fly on the wall when he ‘splained that to the Missus.

I know I’m a voice crying in the Wilderness here, but enough, already. I’m no prude. I don’t poopoo Barbara or Cher or the Gov’s dalliances; nor do I condone them. Just, for God’ sake, shut up about it. The world is going to Hell in a Handbasket and when not discussing Obama’s Preacher, all the media can concern itself with is who was porking who decades ago in Senor Village.

I guess insecurity plus the years ticking by are not good for one’s sense of self-esteem, no matter the accomplishment to date or the quality of facial reconstruction. But, sadly, it appears Pallaver, Blather, Gossip and Glop have just become the new Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.