Month: March 2017

That Woman Syndrome

One last thought before heading back to the old country where rational thought (still) prevails in the confines of political discourse. I spent a lot of time joining my mother this visit to her various church gatherings. Whether it’s mass on Sunday morning or happy-hour at a local lodge, I’m there watching her, witnessing, taking in the carnage that is my beloved #americant–and its old people. The only problem I have with hanging out with mom and her “friends” are the staunch republicans that occupy not only her church but the entire community where she lives. Which is kind of odd because, well, at least at the church, the pastor is an obvious liberal type–liberal as in he’s a hippy. That combined with an open door policy towards minorities, gays and, goodness forbid, immigrants (there is a sign in front of the church that reads: “immigrants are welcome”), it’s a bit of a wonder that so many church goers are atypical republican followers. Or maybe not. Nonetheless.

I was sitting at a happy-hour gathering of Mom’s church goers the other day and an elderly couple started complaining about Nancy Pelosi. It was right out of the blue. They were chomping down on their tuna salad sandwiches and chips and sodas when suddenly the doors of TV propaganda hell opened up and Pelosi was the wrath occupying their mind’s eye. I assumed that since they had gotten rid of Hillary in the last election, Pelosi was next in line–which I guess, for them, made sense. But then I popped a question to the patriarch that lead the anti-Pelosi wrath.

“Why are you concerned about a Senator that represents California? Aren’t there more important things for a Marylander to be worried about?”

“She’s the worst. She’s gotta go. Trump’s gonna take care of her, too.”

Keep in mind, dear worst-reader, this conversation was right in the middle of Trump’s attempt at getting rid of Obamacare–which, btw, was on the brink of failure.

“Let me ask you a question, sir,” I said. “I’m fifty-three years old, can you name me a liberal policy in the last thirty years that has negatively effected your life?”

“Obamacare!” he said.

“But sir, Obamacare is Mitt Romney’s health care plan for the state of Massachusetts, when he was that states republican governor.”

“Oh, then I guess you know everything,” the old, wrinkled, spoiled rotten American said.

“So you can’t answer my question, then,” I asked.

Both he and his wife got up with their paper plates full of processed food and walked to the other side of the room. They sat with other old people and continued eating.

It was a disgusting moment as I watched all those old people, born around the end of WW2, filled with rage because, well, they weren’t able to take even more than they already owned to the grave with them. Shame. Shame. Shame.

Rant on.

-t

Pathology 101: #Americant Greed Galore Times Three

Scream no fear all worst

Fascinating but winded article. I suppose that’s why writers for The New Yorker get paid the big bucks. With that in mind, the article linked to below is a doozy. Just when I thought Citizens United had created an ideological political Autobahn to hell paid for by the über-rich that would lead my beloved #ameircant straight to…, here comes a new twist on reality. Not only are rational minds the world over competing with the batshittery of American (1) conservatives and (2) religious nut jobs, but there’s now a third beast to deal with. Indeed. Imagine a boxing match where it’s two against one. Then, suddenly, a third boxer joins the other two. That’s right, dear worst-reader. There are three beasts fighting against one. All three have one thing in common: political conservatism.

  • money greed (old money inherited, protected, etc.)
  • religious greed (tax free mega churches and pastor jets, etc.)
  • new rich (dotcom cracks, hedge fund instant winners, etc.)

Although a few truth seekers out there have mentioned the fact that America’s wealthy are pretty much socially and amorally pathological at this point in our history, the article linked below may provide a bit more info about how this came to be. The rich man written about is, at least for me, the scariest character yet in this freakshow. Scarier than the Koch brothers, scarier than wannabe Ronald Reagan, scarier seven hundred clubs, scarier than Rush, etc., etc.

For the life of me, I can’t figure out why the mind’s of rich people get so cracked and damaged to make them think this way. But then again, what the fuck do I care. #Americant is getting what it deserves. Or?

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.

-t

Link that motivated this post:

The reclusive hedge fund tycoon | The New Yorker

Who Hates Who Most Or How To Compare Hairdos Between #Merkel, #Trump and #Putin

Merkel Trump happiness

It was a good press conference, I’m sure Trump would say. But then again, what else can he say? I mean, come on, dear worst-reader. Have you actually listened to him talk? He talks like…

  1. a butthole from a rejected William Burroughs novel
  2. Cousin ITT from The Munsters (after he finally got a hair cut)
  3. a bored pumpkin waiting to be ejected from a failed cannon–if it could talk, etc., etc.

But allow me to move on.

The thing that world citizens should remember (in case you’ve forgotten or never considered) is that the person most interested in the press conference between #americant and the corpo neo-feudalistic Germanin state is Vladimir Putin. In fact, there is only one thing that Putin hates more than Hillary Clinton–which he most likely proved by helping Trump get elected. That’s right. He f’n hates Germany.

If nation states could pick a fight in a redneck pub to determine which form of corruption would rule the world, Putin would have beat the krapp out of Merkel by now. And do you know what’s stopped Putin from doing just that?

  1. Russia (under Putin) is such an economic failure that it can barely tie its own shoes
  2. Between Russia and Germany there is the old, fading but grand idear of #americant’s WW2 win even though the Soviet’s actually won the war.
  3. That’s right, dear worst-reader, there is still a Soviet state (not a union) and Putin’s been running it since… (insert your favourite number here)

The only western country that has suffered the least from neoliberal globalisation (but by no means is it unaffected by it) is Germany. Putin and many in #americant hate that. The reason they hate it is because Germany…

  1. has been able to maintain its manufacturing base (as opposed to decimating it like the US has done)
  2. facilitates, supports and enables savings and therefore has an economy where people spend money–as opposed to spending credit
  3. compared to other EU countries the Germans have not subjected themselves to the whims of corrupt world finance that I like to call The Anglo Way.

Indeed. Putin, oligarchs and certain banking figures around the world hate Germany for its collective nation state success which enables it to NOT choose The Anglo Way. Ironically Germany has built its own bulwark to fight off the whims of modern neoliberalism and thereby, maybe, perhaps, rivalling with The Germanin Way.

But don’t get me wrong. I’m not tooting Germany’s horn here–even though I’ve been living as an expat in the country since the summer of 1989. (Oh that wall fell hard on me.)  I have my issues with Germany’s politics, with Merkel’s silly refugee policy and, even though I’ve been able to assimilate into German society by learning the language and drinking the Bier, the country’s automaton corporatists that live in and run the show have never accepted me fully. But that’s a whole other worst-post.

Oh well.

Rant on.

-t

Mother’s Footstool, Sad News And My Toes

chesapeake bay defunding and toes

The Red Sea is the best place to scuba dive, the Adaman Sea is pretty good, too. When the weather works with you, Bali has some beautiful waters to swim in. Then there’s my initialisation to crystal, turquoise waters. I will never forget the first time I swam in the Indian Ocean off the shores of Mauritius. But you know what, dear worst-reader? Nomatter where I swim, nomatter where the seafood comes from, the best water in the world is the Chesapeake Bay. Grey and green obviously can’t compare to the crystal waters of exotic places. But that doesn’t matter. The best seafood in the world comes from Chesapeake. The best place to sail and fish is the Chesapeake. Heck, even the duck taste special after you shoot them out of the sky above the Chesapeake. Indeed. She and her water’s are always on my expat mind–especially when I’m cheating on her swimming in other waters. Having grown up with/in the fight to save the Chesapeake from the greed-mongers who exploit her, the recent news that #Americants new comb-over-n-chief is gonna rip funding–that was never enough anyway–is yet another tear in my bleeding heart. When will the psychotic, drug induced populace wake from its insane high and finally start doing the difficult right instead the easy wrong? This visit to my beloved #americant is proving more than ever that hope is gone.

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.

-t

Stuff I Never Knew Existed Or Why Not Politics In A Redneck Pub

stuff never knew existed brussel sprouts
Living abroad so long means not being able to follow all the new über-happy hip food designs.

I know you’re not supposed to talk politics while consuming beverages at your local redneck pub. This is doubly so when beveragizing during happy-hour. Yet. Being the politically accute person I am, there are times when I can’t help myself and I do that which I shouldn’t. (Does that contradict being acute?)

Scene: extremely windy late afternoon, the sun is shinning, the hour of happy at local pub just started. I walked from my parents ageing beach house down wind–the whole time conscious of how many beers I would consume to make the same trip upwind. Put another way, even sober, if my long coat got caught in the downwind I’d be blown off the sidewalk. Nomatter. The day was less weather hectic compared to previous days and the winter storm had passed us by to the north. The temperature was just below freezing.

When I reached the bar I entered through a door that looked as though it had been broken into recently. The rim of the door was reinforced with steel platting and heavy rivets. The bar was not yet steamy from bodies and drink but a few fellow rednecks occupied the seats that got the most sun through the large front window that was mostly covered in neon ad lights. I sat on the corner of the bar next to an older lady that had bouffant hair. She wore too many pieces of jewellery and when she reached for her tall, pink drink the rings on her fingers clanked and clicked. I ordered my first draft and thanked the easy-on-the-eyes bartendress.

By the time I got my drink a group of four entered and sat at the shadowy end of the bar. The bartendress obviously knew the group. While she filled their drinks and also added drinks to the few people next to the bouffant lady, a commercial flashed on one of the many TVs hanging from the wall behind the bar. It was an add for the army. When the commercial was over the bouffant lady yelled: make America great again. The people next to her said here here here. Astonished at what I just witnessed I turned to the bouffant lady and asked:

“Mam, I’m curious. Were you not offended by Trump’s vulgarities during the campaign?”

“Hell no,” she said. “I know for a fact that men have said worse things about me. And besides. That damn Bill Clinton raped five women…”

And so. Dear worst-reader. That is how it begins. That is how one opens a can of worst-worms in the redneck happy-hour bar that is (my beloved) #Americant.

Which brings me to the following question: Why do shredded Brussel sprouts (pic above) remind me of how an entire country can sink so deeply into a cesspool of the obscene where intellect is the enemy, where rational thought a rarity, where life itself cannot find a way out of the psychotic. Oh my.

Rant on.

-t