San Francisco voters will be asked to decide whether to name a city sewage plant in honor of President Bush, after a satiric measure qualified for the November ballot Thursday.
The measure, if passed, would rename the Oceanside Water Pollution Control Plant the George W. Bush Sewage Plant. McConnell said the intent is to remember the Bush administration and what the group sees as the president's mistakes, including the war in Iraq.
This is cool!
Perhaps, it may take a generation, or two, but little children will learn, when the graduate from potty training, to "Bush" the toilet, when they are finished.
I wonder if The Commander Guy's buddy, Stephen Payne, will be trying to raise money for this?
We hope you are all doing well (at least those of you not trapped in the heat and humidity, which is to be oppressive over the next few days).
I meant to post this last evening (see above heat and humidity), that I wouldn't be posting yesterday.
Things just got too jammed up on the homefront, and, then, too burned out (drained - see above heat and humidity) to sit down and be creative.
Something new (which goes to explain, to some extent, the odd-timing of posting) this month, is I got my Aunt a wheelchair, so as to get her out-and-about more often.
She walks fine (with the aid of a four-post walker), so it is more a dementia/mental thing, rather than physical, and I was loath to think of another summer with her sitting in the house all day.
Surprisingly, she has embraced it (that was a big worry).
There was some minor carping ("what will the neighbors think", or "people will think I'm crippled"), but that has subsided and she's groovin' on it.
(There has been a downside to it though, her dementia. More-and-more, she is getting confused, asking me to "to her home" referring to her childhood home. Now, with each wheelchair excursion, when we get home, it's a 15-or-20-minute thing, that she is in "her house", recognizing all her "things".)
Aside from walks around the neighborhood, we've taken her to the supermarket, out every morning down to Central Square, to get the paper, and, slowly, easing her back into going to the Senior Center.
And, that's where we where yesterday afternoon, for an "Ice Cream Social".
Yes, it was about as exciting as that sounds.
About 30+ elderly, gathered and sitting around tables (in their clicks, of course), being treated like kindergarteners by the staff person running this "Ice Cream Social" (including speaking in a, forced, patronizing, slow voice), and giving agonizing directions how all those 30+ elderly would get up, come to the ice cream table, and get their "two scoops", and then the choice of three different toppings (bowls, barely filled of Cool Whip, sat on the tables).
Though, no one asked, I expect it was verboten to put two, or all three toppings, on your two scoops.
And we definitely got tagged as subversive, when I only got my Aunt one scoop (which she didn't finish).
At least we left with party favors (small lollipops, and an even smaller bottle of Bubble Blowing something, which didn't work very well).
So, we'll try to play catch-up today (provided the heat-and-humidity doesn't overtake me) and, as always, endeavor to keep things sharp.
Many Thanks again, for visiting and reading The Garlic
In our first election satire since 2004's "This Land" and "Good to be in DC", we bid farewell to Bush and give Obama and Mccain a proper JibJab hazing! And, of course, who could forget about Hillary and Bill? This rip-roaring musical romp gives the election process the proper spanking it deserves!
You're traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That's the signpost up ahead — your next stop, the Twilight Zone."
Yes, there he is, the recently-departed Jesse Helms, relaxing in his big, plush condo, the extremely comfortable Barker Lounger, favorite beverage in-hand, settling in to watch some television.
Quickly, though, Helms blanches, fear and anger overtaking his body.
Republican Senator Dole introduced an amendment to name an HIV/AIDS relief bill after the recently deceased Jesse Helms. Helms, of course, was a strident foe of HIV/AIDS prevention, research and treatment.
A guttural, anguished cry comes out of Helms.
Then, on the screen, is "Joe My God", and he begins reading off the list;
Jesse Helms, the man who in 1987 described AIDS prevention literature as "so obscene, so revolting, I may throw up."
Jesse Helms, the man who in 1988 vigorously opposed the Kennedy-Hatch AIDS research bill, saying, "There is not one single case of AIDS in this country that cannot be traced in origin to sodomy."
Jesse Helms, the man who in 1995 said (in opposition to refunding the Ryan White Act) that the government should spend less on people with AIDS because they got sick due to their "deliberate, disgusting, revolting conduct."
Jesse Helms, the man who in 2002 announced that he'd changed his mind about AIDS funding for Africa, but not for American gays, because homosexuality "is the primary cause of the doubling and redoubling of AIDS cases in the United States."
"No!, No!", a weeping Helms shouts back at the screen.
"Stop! Stop!"
Over and over, the same thing plays on this television - for hours and hours.
He can't escape it, the television won't turn off, the volume can't be lowered.
Then his host enters.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Helms?"
Maybe it's Louis Cyphre, coming to claim his soul.
Or, little, six year-old Anthony Fremont, who liked to create his own television (which Helms best learn to say, very quickly, "Real Good Anthony ... That was some real good television", otherwise, run the risk of being wished into the cornfield).
Or, is it the cornfield is where he is?
I prefer to think of it being Sebastian Cabot's "Pip", with Helms clutching at him, crying, pleading ...
"Why ... Why are you doing this to me? ... Why would you bring me here and do this? ...I'm a God-fearing man ... This could only happen in the other place and I'm a God-fearing man ... I'm a believer ..."
As in the episode, Pip retorts "Heaven? What ever gave you the idea that you were in heaven Mr.Helms? This is the other place!"
It's history tonight, the last Major League Baseball All Star game in old Yankee Stadium
Yes, we are performing our tri-annual public service, of assisting you in making your baseball viewing much more enjoyable.
You don't have to sit in front of your television set, like Stumblin' Bumblin' John McCain sits in front of a computer, scratching your head, waiting for someone to tell you what's going on (hopefully, unlike SB John, you do have the ability to turn the thing on).
Soon after, you'll be jabbering with the best of them ... You become a veritable Red Barber, or Ring Lardner, tossing out the baseball bon mots like your were born at home plate (and, you'll know from the essay, it's not really a "plate").
After reading your very fine baseball piece (okay, we didn’t exactly read it; It got swept up in our Domestic Surveillance Program), we decided to shift Alec Station to Summer Hours, so they could catch more baseball games.
Sorry for any confusion
General Michael V. Hayden Director, Central Intelligence Agency
Since I’ve been in a letter-writing mode lately, thought I’d drop you a note to say how much I enjoyed the baseball essay and how much I learned from it. Perhaps, someday, we’ll have the game over here (and with the stadium lights powered by our new nuclear energy!)
Your quotes come from a parody blog, meaning the statements concerning Blackwater being hired by Shwe and Rush Limbaugh calling Burmese protesters "phony" are false and completely made up for the purpose of satire.
“This Bush you call President does nothing but lie,” declared a defiant Ahmadinejad during a 4-hour rally in Tehran, before an estimated crowd of 500,000. Later in his speech, Ahmadinejad charged that “Bush wrote the letter himself ... To prepare for his evil forces to invade our great country.”
Many of those gathered carried white envelopes, with the name “President Bush, White House, USA” scribbled in English on them. Iranian government officials worked their way through the throng, with large baskets, collecting the letters for mailing, to which Ahmadinejad exhorted the crowd with chants of “We will bury him with letters” and “Send Satan the Iranian truth”.
Regrettably, I can't find, or lost the email, of the comment thread, that had those hotheads steaming, and calling for a similar campaign, of good ol' American patriots writing letters back to Ahmadinejad.
Unfortunately, we don't generate such uproar every day, however, we endeavor, ever so mightily to such ends (you can take a scroll down the left column to view some of the highlights and favorite posts).
From when I started The Garlic, in late January, 2005, I had no clear vision as to ending up here, at post 2,000.
I was coming off the end of a dream, the crash and failure of my own business, that I saw as being the last job (a non-profit Jazz Festival and Jazz Education Outreach Program) I would ever have, and, along the way, the situation on the homefront has become more cumbersome with the Aunt I am caretaker to.
So, for many of these 2,000 posts, it was an escape, a hiding place, to sneak refuge in for a few hours and, hopefully, whether you are a longtime reader, have just recently stumbled on The Garlic, or only read it via the feeds, the hope is you have been entertained, perhaps, enlightened on occasion.
And, it's enough of a hook that you'll stick around for the next 2,000 ...
So, 1987. That’s when I got my diploma. But I want to tell you something that happened the week before I graduated. It was life-changing, it was profound, and it was deeper than I realized at the time.
The week before graduation I strangled a hobo. Oh wait, that’s a different story. That was college. I’m speaking at my college later this month. I’ve got both speeches here. Let me sum up the college speech – always have a gallon of bleach in your trunk.
Check it out and read the whole thing ... It's sprinkled with some, hilarious killer stuff ...
Bonus #2
Just because it has that kind of feeling today ...
No doubt, you heard the news, yesterday, the passing of former Faux News anchor and Bush Grindhouse mouthpiece Tony Snow, losing his fight against colon cancer.
Condolences, certainly to his family (and especially to his children; It was noted in one of the slobbering obits, that Snow's mother also went down to colon cancer ... Let's hope medical science gets a handle on it ASAP).
Faux News, likely, had to ponder quit heavily, whether to send Snow off with a Russert-like media tsunami, but, then again, it's Faux News, a Murdoch entity, so whatever happens, whoever dies, it's still about the dollars ... Always about the fuckin' dollars (As Joe Pesci noted in 'Casino').
No tears on this end.
Snow worked for, in his adult life, Fox News and the Bush Grindhouse(in essence, you could say his "work" never changed - just keep obfuscating the truth, lie, stonewall and otherwise smear whoever doesn't agree with you).
That's a SuperSizeMe barrel of bad karma.
With that double whammy on his resume, we're talking mezzanine level in the House of Evil, only a level or two above the likes of Pol Pot, or John Wayne Gacy(but they are building a new wing, just for Dick Cheney).
There are a few, that didn't follow the script, or use the perfunctory "no matter what you thought" line, or shed a William Hurt tear, that you should take a look at.
