Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Afghanistan in 60 Seconds

When he was running for President, Barack Obama called Afghanistan the necessary war, in contrast to Iraq. He had to say that to win. Americans might not like being in two wars simultaneously, but if we don’t have any wars going on we feel a slight malaise. Iraq has slipped into a slow boiling civil war as we always knew it would, and we’ve stopped caring, just as they always knew we would. Afghanistan, however, follows a different pattern.



Afghanistan (The name is the Pashtun word for “Mordor.”) is known as “the place empires go to die.” There has been intense lobbying at the Afghani board of tourism for a new slogan, but no dice so far. The Afghanistan invasions of Alexander the Great, Britain, the Soviet Union and (in the least recounted and geographically most ill considered invasion) Peru all eventually met with humiliating defeat and withdrawal. The Afghan’s secret is digging into a rocky terrain no one would ever live in if they weren’t too busy killing invaders to think about it. Really, if we just pulled out and legalized heroin everyone in that country would probably emigrate to London. Then a bunch of goats would take up arms against all invaders.



General McChrystal has issued a gloomy assessment of the Afghan conflict, dooming it to failure without the addition of 40,000 more troops. McChrystal is widely respected, but not infallible: he was behind the disastrous marketing in the late 80’s of McChrystal Light, a powdered beer marketed to the Irish as a Pentagon pacification program.



So now the choices are stark. It’s either “all in, or all out” as several commentators have said, even though there aren’t the troops to go all in, and no one’s really suggesting we withdraw all our troops, making that formulation an oversimplification of mongoloid dimensions. It could be argued that we would have to go all out to go all in, or that we have to go all in order to get all out. Or we could focus on the actual logistics of war rather than the linguistics of spin. You like that logistics/linguistics thing? Pretty smart, huh? I must know a lot about Afghanistan.



Joe Biden wants a scaled back approach using predator drones, because nothing wins over a population like death from above delivered by flying robots. Secretary of State Hillary might be more hawkish, but she shrouds her opinions in State-speak, popping B complex vitamins and watching her cholesterol, in hopes of running against this war, which will no doubt still be raging in 2016.



The one person it’s hard to read is the President himself. He talked tough on Afghanistan in 2008, while being an anti-war candidate. The public’s sick of the war, especially Democrats, but any downsizing of the mission will be relentlessly portrayed as weakness by the opposition. This is the same opposition that was behind a six year and counting distraction in Iraq, which killed a ton of people all because W had daddy issues, so that opposition is as qualified to argue foreign policy as a retarded gerbil with rabies.



In a long neglected war where the options all look bad, how much will politics affect a decision about human lives? Can we leave the women of Afghanistan to the mercy of the Taliban? Does the corrupt and ineffectual Karzai government merit the investing of nation building? Would a resurgent Afghan Taliban undermine nuclear Pakistan’s gains against the Pakistani Taliban, or are those two Taliban’s on two different missions?




Will Obama be taking a political hit for the sake of our soldiers, dying for a pile of rocks, or will he be abandoning a vital mission for political expediency? Personally, I trust the guy to make the right decision. I also don’t see how anyone could know what the right decision is. So let’s go back to linguistics. Obama should “Go long and go low.” Someone needs to set some sort of strategy to that phrase. I don’t know what it means.



-- Dan Kilian


The Line


When The Xylem Flows Beware!


Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Sardines

We huddled under the old dinghy, trying not to giggle.  There were six of us – Laurie, Jeff, Sylvia, Mike and Mike, and me.  John was It so he had to look for us.  There were some dried up white cocoons in there and a fair number of millipedes and armadillo bugs had scuttled off when we crawled into our hiding spot.  Sylvia was right next to me and I could smell her apple shampoo mixed with the damp wood and soft pine needles under us.


It was already August and we'd be going back to school in two weeks.  But for the short time between when John called Ready Or Not and the littler Mike sneezed and gave us away, we were safe and Sylvia's arm was next to mine.  I could see her smile in the light that came through a knothole in the boat's keel.  There was no schoolbells in that smile, no alarm clocks or buses to catch, no shivering on the track for first period gym class.  There was only coconut suntan lotion and beachsand and Nutty Buddies dripping ice cream down your fingers, and knowing that we wouldn't kiss this summer but maybe the next, and that this was soon enough.


So I wasn't too angry at Mike when John lifted the boat.  We scrambled out and ran laughing toward base, but Jeff got tagged.  I think John may have let Laurie get away because he liked her, or maybe because he had poison ivy and didn’t want to give it to a girl.  Which was more or less the same thing, back then.


--Steve Kilian




Monday, September 28, 2009

Thursday, September 24, 2009

The Hall of IP

I had to pass a battery of tests at the training seminars before they let me out in public.  The Hall of Indigenous Peoples has high standards.  A series of earnest and engaging graduate students patiently drilled me in syrup harvesting, chowdermaking, and proper dialect.  I ran through these unfamiliar tasks, struggling to remember the names of landscape watercolorists and presidential family trees while boiling sap or shucking clams.

One day they dressed us in tweed coats and Birkenstocks for a dress rehearsal.  We marched out to the front half of a Cape Cod house they had trucked in and installed in the Hall.  It was situated between polyurethane igloos on one side and the fire-retardant thatched-roof huts of Equatoria on the other.  We were going to be dipping candles that day.  The instructor's phoneband chirped and he stepped away to conduct his conversation.

One of the Eskimo group sat not far from us.  He seemed to be having trouble with his task, which appeared to involve threading a coarse line through a bone needle.  "Fuck, man, I can't get this," he muttered.  A grad student came over and told him to run the line across a block of seal-fat.  "OK, thanks," he said, and then looked up and saw me staring.  He shook his head and said, "I'm not even Inuit.  I'm Aleut, and I was planning on going to Johnson and Wales to study hotel management.  What the fuck happened?"

The Reinstatement of Traditional Lifeways Act is what happened, I thought.  All across the continent people were being relocated to their ancestral places of origin based on their lineage.  In a way we were lucky.  The Act established the Hall of Indigenous Peoples at the Smithsonian, and we ended up here.  Better than being shipped off to Vermont, or God forbid Alaska.

--Steve Kilian

Demon Brand Choco-Mallows

Humanizing Death From Above by MQ1-178

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Bless Me

The unnecessary ecstasy of a sudden sneeze

Propels me backward in my rolling chair

Downstream through time -- my pleasure’s messes

I leave before me in the future

*

I rocket into the past and out

Through the wall through the ceiling, the clouds in the sky

Peering down from the wheel, the amusement park

Looks fake, a child’s construction set

*

Backward! Faster! Physics be damned!

Through space I see the Earth below

And tail-lights on the cars ahead

Playing the story game, drowsy on Dramamine

*

Are we almost there? I fly on further

Earlier and earlier curiouser and curiouser

A baby is born, a smack and some wetness

Life erupts like a sudden sneeze

*

--Dan Kilian

Sawsquash


Six Song Selection: Radio Lives

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Awkward Conversation Near the Breakfast Buffet at The U.N.

These lemon poppy muffins are delicious! Oh...ah...hello.

Hello, President Obama.



I was hoping this…ah…wouldn’t…I’ve got to say hello to…Hugo! Hello! Loved the book!



Just a minute Mr. President.

Really, I don’t want to talk to you.

Why do you treat me so badly?

Well, you stole an election.

The people voted for me!

There are too many reports of irregularities. Your election was a fraud.

I’m sorry you feel that way.

We’re supposed to stand for democracy. But let’s get Realpolitik. We’ve dealt with autocrats before, and we’ve dealt with bad players who have corrupt regimes, but you don’t even seem to have control over your country. I can’t respect that. I can’t deal with you.

Don’t you have anything nice to say about me?

The beard’s looking very nice these days.

Well, I thank you for that. Have a good U.N. session, Mr. President.

You too, President Karzai.

--Dan Kilian

A Nonsensational Speech On the Detainee Abuse Photos by Barack Obama



Olde Tales of The Sea

Monday, September 21, 2009

Friday, September 18, 2009

Another Phone Option

Editor's note: This one gets a little rough, folks.



Alternately you could swallow hot coals after calling my work number.  When I pick up I'll revel in the sound of you choking on the embers as they stick to the side of your throat.  I will laugh uproariously at the whistling sound produced when they burn through the wall of your trachea and your oxygen-starved lungs suck in air through hundreds of pinholes – air that becomes superheated by this negative-pressure bellows action.  I will giggle with glee at the crackling sound of your alveoli being seared into crispy lung-nuggets (for a moment I'll think about coating them in chocolate so that I'd have a snack to bring to the movie theater).



The sound of your final gasp and rattle will likely cause me to unleash yet another yard-long man-serpent onto the underside of my work surface.  I will calmly reach for the staple gun which is kept holstered at arm's reach, and then I will secure the writhing beast in place, its bifurcated tail lashing back and forth, caustic venom sizzling on my mailed fist.  Finally I will reach for the serrated wooden plug – the one with the lead handle gouged with crude runes filled with feces – and I will ram it home into my urethra, once again sealing that battered tunnel before it can vomit forth further abominations into this fragile plane.


--Steve Kilian


Epideme


Bromance

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Healthy To The Max

Senator Max Baucus has released his I-partisan plan to the Senate. Senator Baucus announced, “We wanted it to be Bipartisan, but in the end, only I, Max Baucus, could agree on a plan. I had much Baucus debate before coming to my I-partisan plan.”



Now the wrangling begins. Here are the proposals to look for to get Health Care over the finish line.



The Death Facts Tax



Acknowledging that people die will become illegal. People who die will be given a stiff fine, for reminding the rest of us that we will die, and tempting us to somehow plan for it.



The Beige, Red and Fade to Black Rule



Anyone who looks like a Latino must provide a birth certificate before receiving emergency care. Failure to do so will leave that potential border crosser to die in a pool of his or her own blood. To say that anything less than that doesn’t provide illegal immigrants with health care would be a lie.



The “Whatever Olympia J. Snowe Wants” Clause*



Senator Snowe is sometimes referred to as a “RHINO.” That means  that as the lone Republican still negotiating on the plan, and potential  sixtieth vote to override a filibuster, she’s as powerful as a rhinoceros; don’t do anything to upset her. So far, under the new plan, band-aids will have a smiling image of Snowe’s face on them, ambulance sirens will change their distinctive wail to a ring-tone of Snowe’s favorite song (The Carpenters’ “Superstar”), and the next time a U.S. city hosts the winter Olympics, all snow-machine generated snow shall be referred to as “Olympia Snow.”



The Wish Trigger



As a substitute for the Public Option those who would for some reason like the cost of health care to go down are proffering a new compromise: The Wish Trigger. Should an insurance Co-Op fail to provide the low price competition needed to keep Insurance companies from gouging us, it will trigger a “wish” that prices were lower. If enough people wish hard enough, maybe somehow prices will magically get lower. Then, if enough people wish for the public option, maybe we’ll revisit the idea in ten years and a few trillion dollars that we’ll wish we hadn’t had to spend.



The “Something” Provision



Commentators have been making the bold pronouncement that Congress will give Barack Obama “something.” It might not be actual Health Care reform that solves the problem of exploding costs, but it will be “something.” Look for some thing. Any thing, really. It’ll be better than no thing.



--Dan Kilian


*Yipes, looks like those Snowe jokes are now dated. I'm going to leave them in because, quite frankly,  I'm running out of Health Care jokes.



Obama Health Care Speech


Giving Your Input, Getting Your Kickback





Senator Max Baucus has released his I-partisan plan to the Senate. Senator Baucus announced, “We wanted it to be Bipartisan, but in the end, only I, Max Baucus, could agree on a plan. I had much Baucus debate before coming to my I-partisan plan.”



Now the wrangling begins. Here are the proposals to look for to get Health Care over the finish line.



The Death Facts Tax



Acknowledging that people die will become illegal. People who die will be given a stiff fine, for reminding the rest of us that we will die, and tempting us to somehow plan for it.



The Beige, Red and Fade to Black Rule



Anyone who looks like a Latino must provide a birth certificate before receiving emergency care. Failure to do so will leave that potential border crosser to die in a pool of his or her own blood. To say that anything less than that doesn’t provide illegal immigrants with health care would be a lie.



The “Whatever Olympia J. Snowe Wants” Clause



Senator Snowe is sometimes referred to as a “RHINO.” That means she’s as powerful as a rhinoceros; don’t do anything to upset her. So far, under the new plan, band-aids will have a smiling image of Snowe’s face on them, ambulance sirens will change their distinctive wail to a ring-tone of Snowe’s favorite song (The Carpenters’ “Superstar”), and the next time a U.S. city hosts the winter Olympics, all snow-machine generated snow shall be referred to as “Olympia Snow.”



The Wish Trigger



As a substitute for the Public Option those who would for some reason like the cost of health care to go down are proffering a new compromise: The Wish Trigger. Should an insurance Co-Op fail to provide the low price competition needed to keep Insurance companies from gouging us, it will trigger a “wish” that prices were lower. If enough people wish hard enough, maybe somehow prices will magically get lower. Then, if enough people wish for the public option, maybe we’ll revisit the idea in ten years and a few trillion dollars that we’ll wish we hadn’t had to spend.



The “Something” Provision



Commentators have been making the bold pronouncement that Congress will give Barack Obama “something.” It might not be actual Health Care reform that solves the problem of exploding costs, but it will be “something.” Look for some thing. Any thing, really. It’ll be better than no thing.




Monday, September 14, 2009

Vote for Whatshisname

Today we go local at KLOG. This is the twenty-four hour period before the primary, wherein a small percent of New Yorkers scramble to form any opinion at all about the people running for whatever positions there are for whatever they do.



“All politics is local,” Tip O’Neil famously said. “Who the hell are these people, and why should I vote for any of them?” is something I said, though I imagine I’m not the first. I can’t answer that question, but a good place to start is the NYC Voter Guide or by calling 866-VOTE-NYC.



Let’s go over the various titles being campaigned for.



Alderman: I could have sworn we had aldermen in New York, but it doesn’t look as though anyone is running for Alderman, so that’s one weird position you don’t have to worry about.



Mayor: Somebody’s going to run against Michael Bloomberg and lose badly. Vote for someone you don’t like.



Public Advocate: The Public Advocate looks around for something to do. He or she is directly in line to replace the Mayor. Makes sense. This position is also considered the Ombudsman, which I always thought was a fancy title for the guy who sells you your weed. It’s New York law that Mark Green run for some public office, and this time it’s public advocate again. He says he was responsible for 311, but I don’t think that’s really true. Vote for someone else, maybe that guy with the goatee.



Comptroller: You might think that when a bartender gives you a buy-back that it’s just an arbitrary gesture to generate good-will and keep you drinking. Actually it’s a complicated and highly regulated system, overseen by the Comptroller. The Comptroller sends out the upside-down shot glasses bartenders use to indicate a free drink is coming, and annually checks those shot glasses for cracks. There’s a pretty lady running for this position, and David Yassky, who seems like a penny pincher.



Borough President: Really, there isn’t an Alderman? At this point even the savviest of us just figure out who our current Borough President is, and assume they must be doing a halfway decent job at whatever it is they do under what are probably tough circumstances.



City Council Member: There are these guys you see handing out flyers in front of the subway. Some of those flyers are menus. Don’t vote for those guys. The other guys are running for city council. Decide which one’s vibe you like, and cross your fingers. Then when you’re in the voting booth, forget who it was you like, and vote at random.



By the way, a lot of these positions pay pretty well. I recommend running for something next time. Join a bunch of groups and “fight” for some things. A drunken argument in a bar about how high the rent is counts as “fighting for lower rent stabilization for New Yorkers.” Get a decent head shot, put together a decent flyer and hang out by the subway. Who knows, you might get lucky. At least vote: Remember, your poorly researched decision controls the fate of New York.



--Dan (Tirelessly Fighting for Working Class Families) Kilian



Five Song Playlist: Twenty Pounds of Gay


The Rose Armonica

Friday, September 11, 2009

What's Wrong Dollface?

It was Wednesday when Bob awoke, and that meant it was his turn to buy beer for the apartment. Upon looking out the window though, he realized that he had no idea where he was. He was either uptown or in some kind of alternate dimension that bore a strange resemblance to uptown. He decided that he was probably just uptown.


After making this affirmation, Bob’s gaze shifted back down to his unfamiliar bed. In it, curled next to him, was a figure of particular heft and altitude. From under the comforter protruded the most heinous set of bunions he had ever seen, and somewhere amidst them was a pair of feet too. He knew he had to get out of there before this sleeping giant awoke, but his pants were nowhere to be seen.


Throwing himself upon a set of scattered dresser drawers, Bob rifled through for dear life. The only thing not covered in blood or semen was a bleach-stained floral print muumuu. He was about to throw it back when he heard a coarse, screeching yawn from the bed and knew it was too late.


Walking out onto the streets, Bob was hollered at by everyone he passed. It annoyed him at first, but then he realized how easily free shit started coming his way. He never had to pay for a train ride or cigarette again. He could even get some lovesick businessman to buy him the 40s he needed.


“Thank God I 86’d that moustache the other day,” Bob thought as a stockbroker bought him a half dozen St. Ides, “or else this scam woulda never worked!”


Clutching the bottles in hand and waiting for another train, Bob thought to himself about women’s rights and equality. He couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would want to relinquish free gifts like these just to be on a level playing field with the opposite sex. As a man, he had to busk his ass off in the streets to make money; learning how to play guitar since no one would support a bum with no talents. But within his first 12 hours dressed as a woman, he’d raked in more freebies than he could ever imagine.


Just then, a group of scantily clad Jezebels approached twirling purses filled with bricks. “Look at the new girl,” one laughed amidst dainty chomps of a White Owl stogy. “Cuttin’ in on our territory and not givin’ us a cut!”


“Poor form,” said the hooker at the head of the pack, and before Bob could get a word in he was on the receiving end of an imitation Prada pummeling. Somewhere in the fray his bottles fell and smashed with a vibration that ricocheted off the linoleum walls.


The fight was called when there were no more press-on nails to reapply. The head hooker rallied her troops, gave Bob one last kick in the ribs, and said “You ain’t getting no more freebies in this town looking like that. Now you godda work for it like the rest of us!”


As they left the terminal, Bob sat on his bench and wept. Even dressed as a woman, he couldn’t find it in him to hit a woman back. What’s more, without the alcohol he knew we wouldn’t allow him in the apartment, and he didn’t even have money for a train ticket. He was at an all time low when a pudgy business type waddled in and took the empty seat next to his.


“What’s wrong dollface?” said the suit as he produced a tissue and wiped Bob’s tears. “So you got a little banged up, it’s a rough neighborhood, that sort of thing’s bound to happen.”


“But,” he said as he whipped out a wad of bills, “at least your lips still look good.”


--Ilan Moskowitz


The Man From Corporate


The Disproportionate Orgy

Skeleton

skeleton--Dan Kilian

Celebrity Farts


Steve’s Fart

Thursday, September 10, 2009

New Photos of Khalid Sheikh Mohammed


New photos of Khalid Sheikh Mohammed (including the shot on the right above) taken at Guantanamo Bay are being used as a recruitment tool for Al Queda.  Somehow the earlier photo from his arrest hadn't generated the same swoon appeal. Later period shots of Saddam Hussein (A certain Middle Eastern swarthiness and similar facial hair patterns is all that connects these men. This was used as evidence to justify the Iraq war. ) and Khalid should prove to all Middle Easters what we've known in the west since the late '60s; full beards are better than mustaches.



But don't be fooled potential terrorists! That man, Kalid Sheik Mohammed is a liar! He's no Mohammed, he's a lousy Sheik, and I even question his Kalidosity. On top of it all, that's not even a beard! Since adolescence, KSM has been physically incapable of growing a beard. That's actually untrimmed chest and back hair, growing up to his face not the other way around. What's more, that robe is just that same T-shirt, stretched out a little more.



So yes, he looks better. Just remember that it's all a lie. Also, Bin Laden? You look like a sissy chump since you started dyeing your beard.



I think I've said enough to stop terrorism in its tracks. You're welcome.


--Dan Kilian


Khomeini and Khamenei: A Dialogue


Mark Twain, Karl Marx, and Socrates: At It Again

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Why I Listen to Monster Magnet



Why do I listen to Monster Magnet?

Why does the Sloar root beneath the charred trunks of the stonewood trees after the summer fires?  Why do the tusks of the Sloar become hardened by the smoldering ash, and why do the men of the steppes harvest the tusks of the Sloar for their siege engines?

Why do those men celebrate their victories in ancient verse, calling in vain to the daughter moons that braid the Worldrings with their fickle orbits?

And why, in forgotten chambers beneath the polar mountains of those moons, do the waiting godlings slumber in tanks of crystal and titanium, submerged in life-sustaining fluids that chill them to numb immortality?

Why do we wait for the third moon to fall burning into the sea, boiling away the watery veil that obscures the trench-dwellers, casting those atavistic shapes shrieking onto shores unprepared for such unevolved ferocity?

Why do the hill-tribe smiths work the meteoric steels shed in the desert by that fallen moon?  What secret works do they wrest from those strange ores?

Why has the great crystal bell in the temple been left un-rung for millennia?  And then why do the monks now paint with blood the great suspended ram which will finally strike that fragile bell, releasing from its form the toll that is its own death-knell?

What will wake upon hearing that sound?  For how many eons have they rested in primitive beds of stone and ice?  Across how many galaxies have they traveled?  How many of those galaxies have swallowed themselves in perfect annihilation?  How many suns have been flung into the deep wastes, trailing dying worlds peopled with doomed races?

When those sleeping gods rise, and take up the tusk of the Sloar, and shatter the gates of the temple, and crush the monks' skulls, and wield the great mithral hammer to unmake the cryogenic palaces of the fallen astronauts, and sing again in victory, will they ask,

"Why do I listen to Monster Magnet?"

--Steve Kilian

Listening to Sunn O)))

From Space to Destroy

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Obama Health Care Speech Advance Transcript

This Wednesday President Obama hopes to puncture the cloud of misinformation and distrust regarding his plans to reform the national health care program. He’s turned things around before with big speeches, but that was during a presidential campaign. Now he’s got to get legislation from a number of politicians who are eyeing reelection next year. It’s a greatly anticipate speech and we’re pleased to have gotten an advance transcript.


 


Sergeant at Arms: Any Representatives whose parents do not wish them to see this speech are now excused from this session. Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States!


 


President Obama: Thank you, Madam Speaker, Mr. Vice President, members of Congress, good guys and assholes. I’m not going to say who the assholes are by name, as we need to keep pretending to be working together on this health care bill, but let’s just say there are some characters who claim they’re working on a bipartisan plan with us who turn around and say I’m out to kill people’s grandmothers. One Senator I’m particularly pissed at is Senator…Assley-Gray, let’s call him. You might think I’m using Pig-Latin, but I’m really just describing the guy’s pallor.


 


Speaking of pallor, I notice that “pink” and “red” are the new “black.” I don’t recall Clinton getting all this “socialism” business, so I’ve got to wonder why I’m being called a commie. Let me tell you, we could have gotten a lot more socialist with this health care plan, but we went with the same Frankenstein’s monster private/public hybrid we tried last time, because let’s face it, Democracy’s a farce paid for by big money. Clinton got “there’s got to be a better way.” I get “this guy’s Stalin.”


 


Well, it’s time to quit “Stalin” on health care. (Pause for laughter.) Now, there’s no way the public option is going to fly, not in today’s hyperventilated atmosphere, but if I totally admit it, then we’ll all be arguing about some other crucial element that needs to be killed. So let’s go with some gimmick like a “trigger” or some other fig-leaf for me to cover my ass with on the left, and that way we can still pass a plan, that might not contain costs, but still make me look good.


 


The truth is, all these mandates and options and such are just a shell game to cover up what we really need to do, which is lower the cost of Medicare. Everything else is pretty fundable, but with the baby boomers getting old, and old people wanting everything done possible to keep them even remotely alive until way past their due date, well, the whole thing becomes unsustainable. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Old people are selfish and ignorant.


 


Yes, it’ll be nice to give some poor people Healthcare, but what we’re really doing is kicking the can down the road, because any suggestion of getting savings out of Medicare is called “killing Grandma.” No one seems to care about killing Grandpa, for some reason.


 


Also, they really don’t care about grandkids. The kids are going to get some crazy amount of debt, and when the dollar finally collapses because the Chinese switch to the Euro, they’re going to have high taxes, inflation, and a bloated Medicare system they’ll have to finally chop down to size. The executives from the insurance companies will be living in a walled city of privilege, so you won’t be able to get that money back. There’ll probably also be some hideous disease plaguing the planet, spread by a wave of refugees from islands destroyed by the rising oceans of a dystopian future, but that’s a different speech.


 


So in closing, let me reiterate: Old people are selfish, and the young are doomed. Let’s kick the can down the road, pass some rudimentary health care plan so I can take credit. We’ll still be the worst nation in the developed world to get sick in, but at least we won’t be some third world evil joke. That’s the bar, people, let’s get over it.


 


Oh yeah. God bless you, even the assholes, and God bless the United States of America.


--As transcribed to Dan Kilian


BLAAAHH!!!! Blaah blaaah blaaaaHHH!!!


The C Word

Thursday, September 3, 2009

5%

We're likely off until Tuesday with 5% chance of a post on Friday.

Giving Your Input, Getting Your Kickback

As Congress reconvenes, the battle over health care shall ramp up anew. Only this time, instead of town hall mania and crazed propaganda exchange, the actual decisions and compromises will be made that either cobble together some vestige of health care reform, or send the Obama presidency hurtling into the flames of hell. Concerned citizens will want one last chance to impact the legislature.


So what is the best way to make your opinion known? Screaming and writing letters isn’t the way. Here’s the best way to maximize your individual voice in Washington. Just follow these steps.


Start a business.


Make hundreds of billions of dollars in that business. Make yourself into a corporate colossus.


Donate millions of dollars to both parties. Give slightly more to the party that already favors policies beneficial to your business. Don’t worry; it will all pay off in the long run. Good thing there are only two parties; there really could be a lot more people to buy off.


Play a lot of golf.


It’s easy!


At some point the frustrated agents of change will get wise. They’ll try to draft an amendment to the constitution that money doesn’t really equal speech. They’ll make some crazy argument that if money is the same thing as speech, then only rich people and corporations will have any real volume. You can drown out that argument. They’ll say that the members of Congress are servants of the people and as such anyone holding high office or running for high office should have to follow strict rules about what kind of money they can accept. You’ll control congress, and congress decides what rules to make for itself. There’s the rare populist uprising, but that can usually be baffled with propaganda and distractions. Even if they do bring about a change, it’ll take years, and you’ll have gotten your way and pocketed your winnings for a nice healthy retirement. Anyway, by then you might actually want an effective government, what with the financial crisis from Medicare costs spiraling out of control, and the Revolt of the Uninsured setting houses on fire throughout suburbia. We’re going to need a bigger national guard!


Congratulations, you’ve effectively impacted government! Good for you!


--Dan Kilian


BLAAAHH!!!! Blaah blaaah blaaaaHHH!!!


Rationing the Death Panels

Wednesday, September 2, 2009