Author Archives: Pap Finn

Prove It, Plutocrat

It isn’t cute anymore, Willard.  In fact, it’s getting tiresome.

Doesn’t he, or anyone around him, understand that the more he insists on the uprightness of his tax history while pissily withholding the evidence to support the claim, the more hilariously mendacious he looks?  Who the hell is advising him?

Just release the goddamned returns, Mitt.  Like everyone else who runs for president.


Mastodons Bellowing In A Tar Pit

It’s a comfort to know that in 30 years, this image:


will be classed with this one (if it isn’t already):


Herman Cain: A Postscript

Proving yet again that the campaign for the 2012 Republican nomination is just a macabre circus of cruelty that will permanently diminish us as a species, Herman Cain yesterday proposed building an electrified border fence to kill Mexicans who try to enter the U.S. illegally.  I guess the Great Wall/alligator-infested moat plan was just too candy-assed.

Update:  Cain said this morning on Meet The Press that his proposal was a joke.  Ha Ha Ha!  Oh, Herman, you are a panic!

Fuck off, autocrat.

Update II:  Cain now says that he wasn’t joking.  Which is it, you goddamned clod?  Reasons to take you seriously were scarce enough yesterday…

The Great Orc Alliance: Herman Cain And The Tea Party

After a long day of tramping across the hinterland (and putting the odd gay/Muslim/socialist hobbit village to the torch), the Uruk Hai of the Republican base finally lay down their scimitars, unbutton their gore-spattered leather jerkins, and gather round the campfire to discuss which cruel, all-powerful necromancer they’d most like to serve in 2012.  Perry?  Hmm…given the chance to turn a family of illegal immigrants into dog kibble with Apache gunships, he could hesitate.  Next!  Bachmann?  The complete package, sure, but…she’s a girl.  Romney?  If you speak his name again, we will flay you alive.  Santorum?  You ever Google…?  *snort,* never mind.  Cain?  Cain…

Cain.  Yes.  A growing number have begun, with rising menace and ferocity, to chant the name of Herman Cain.

ABOVE: A Tea Party voter contributes to American civic life.

So, what accounts for Cain’s popularity among the dribble-stained unfortunates of the lunar Right (yes, I know I just compared them to orcs, but this is a new paragraph, and now they’re dribble-stained unfortunates.  Just trust the process.)?  For one thing, Cain is a former CEO, and nothing triggers the primitive bootlicking reflex* of exurban reactionaries like a Promethean Ubermensch capitalist who tells carping peasants to go fuck themselves to death.  For another, he is always in thrilling voice when singing from the anti-immigrant hymnal:  just listen to Cain here as he advocates for a barrier along the Southern border modeled on the Great Wall of China – only, his Wall would be tricked out with an alligator-filled moat.  Cain is even better known as a virtuosic hater of Muslims, and that, of course, will cost you exactly zero support among the Teabaggers:  back in March, he pledged that, if elected, he would combat the (completely hallucinatory) “creeping attempt” by Muslims to incorporate Shariah law into U.S. law by never appointing a Muslim to a Cabinet post or judgeship.  In July, Cain declared that communities are legally free to ban mosques.**

Jesus Christ.  Do I even need to mention that Cain, in vintage Teabagger fashion, considers himself a “strict constitutionalist” even though the U.S. Constitution – the real one, not the Applebee’s coloring placemat version preferred by Cain and his supporters – expressly forbids a “religious test” to hold public office?  This same document, as you may have heard, also proscribes any law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.  It is sheer futility to point these things out, however, since the Tea Party’s habit of truculently claiming the country’s founding documents and institutions as their personal property while loudly insisting on their diseased understanding of them is so deeply ingrained by now that they will never be broken of it.

All well and good, you say (or all unutterably vile and horrid), but wait a minute:  isn’t Herman Cain a bit, ah, too dark a Dark Wizard for the neo-Confederates Uruk Hai, if you catch my drift?  They tend to despise anyone unlike themselves, right?  Well, yes and no; I mean, yes and yes, but you must recognize Cain’s specialized role in the wingnut ecosystem to understand why he is given a pass.  The beauty of Cain’s blackness is that it gives chronically aggrieved, rice-white, pants-pissing nativist hysterics and bigots permission to share in his inexhaustible loathing of (certain) dusky enemies.  Cain isn’t just their Black Friend Who Proves They Aren’t Racist (no matter how many images of President Obama with a bone through his nose they brandish at their rallies); he makes it OK to hate those other people.

If the U.S. had more than the tattered remnants of a democratic culture, authoritarian ignoramuses like Herman Cain would be mercilessly ridiculed, then instantly forgotten.  As it is, sadly, it looks as though Cain, and the Sam’s Club goosesteppers who love him, are going to be with us for a long, long time.

GOP Logo

GOP Logo, Updated

* I have been tempted at times to say that the conservatism of middle class Americans is almost nothing but a primitive bootlicking reflex, i.e., support the Alphas (whoever has the money and the guns), or the entire ape troop will die.  A caller on Limbaugh’s show a while back said he hoped his boss’s tax rate was lower than his own because he thought that might enhance his chances of getting a raise.  What can you say to a scraping slave like that?  I’ll take that up in a future post.

** Cain has since issued a quasi-apology to Muslims, though he continues to cling to his phantasmagoric ‘creeping Shariah law’ horseshit.

Dirty Undies All Over The Lawn

At the urging of a few readers (and with Cacky’s kind blessing, of course), I reproduce here a slightly edited version of my response to a draft sent to me last night by Cacky of her ‘Home Grown Tomatoes My Ass’ post.  The Editors are pleased to offer our loyal readers this rare glimpse into the byzantine inner workings of the Tactile Peggy empire.

Dear Cacky,

Oh, my. I have so much to say about this, I hardly know where to begin, so I’ll just jump in:  please bear in mind the enormous love and respect I have for you as I ask, what did you expect?  [G] has certainly demonstrated to my satisfaction that he is a romantically/emotionally retarded douchelord; are your evidentiary standards really so much higher than mine, or are you just that hopelessly in love with – forgive me, [Cacky] – this colossal, puckered asshole?  How many buckets of grit are you going to haul up from this well before you throw up your hands and look for a man who doesn’t conditionally, grudgingly, parsimoniously ladle out his love for you, but rather gives it freely, joyously – who is, indeed, unable to help giving it to you? At this time in your life, after all you’ve survived (and are surviving now), you deserve no less.  I may as well tell you now that I will keep saying this until it actually happens.

Oh, and can we now add megalomania to his ever-lengthening list of personal failings? I’m referring, of course, to the Steve Jobs comparison – I mean, dude, you gotta be fucking kidding me. Does he really take such an ultra-serious view of himself?  When he designs an iPhone, or a Sydney Opera House, or gets appointed to the fucking U.S. Supreme Court, then sure, I guess we can grant him a license to be a grim, towering rock of Greatness against which people who love him may unavailingly dash themselves while he thinks Deep Thoughts and does Great Things – but until then, he really ought to shut the fuck up about the commonalities he imagines he shares with Steve Jobs (and no, his saying “not to compare myself to Steve Jobs” immediately before comparing himself to Steve Jobs does not absolve him of egomaniacal overreach).

And another thing: this is relatively unimportant, but just for the record, I have never actually conceded that [G] is smart – though I guess I should, and do, what with all the fancy book-learnin’ he has. My comparison of him to Rain Man was based more on his staggering emotional ineptitude than anything else.

Buckets O’ Love,


PS   Oh yeah, the point I originally meant to make is that I love your post, and think it definitely belongs on TP.  Hostility becomes you.

If you were not convinced before that I am the last guy to look to for romantic advice, you should be now; and with that, if you’ll excuse me, I have to run along to deal with a terrible backlog of uncracked Republican skulls.

Trends In Sociopathy II: An Update

This is getting tiresome, but I am duty-bound as Tactile Peggy’s political correspondent to keep the public (or at least the handful of family and friends who read this blog) abreast of the descent of the Republican base into utter barbarism.  They held another Republican debate last night, and – stiff upper lips, everyone, you must look the devil in the eye if you would finally conquer him – there was yet another outrage from the audience:

Yes – some of them actually booed an active-duty soldier in Iraq because he is gay.  Support the troops!

To sum up (see my earlier post, Trends In Sociopathy):

1)  State-sanctioned murder is doubleplusgood.  The more corpses, the better.

2)  Persons who choose not to buy health insurance should hasten to die when they get sick, and decrease the surplus population.*

3)  It is not enough to volunteer to fight in George W. Bush’s endless, catastrophic, hopelessly immoral thrill kill in Iraq; you must be heterosexual while doing so, or it doesn’t count.

Any questions?

*paraphrasing proto-Teabagger Ebenezer Scrooge, of course.

Political Theater, Grand Guignol-style

The very first thing Michele Bachmann does upon returning home to visit the folks is bound up the stairs to reminisce in the lovingly preserved bedroom of her childhood:

Explains a lot, doesn’t it?

Just joshing!  She was touring a meat packing plant in Iowa, which may be the least of the indignities she will have to endure (if Fortune smiles) in her doomed quest for the presidency.  What the hell is it with Iowa and Republican candidates, anyway?  A scant six weeks ago, Bachmann (along with nearly everyone else, apparently) was forced to consume comically phallic prolefeed before a leering, snickering world, and now we find her wandering through a forest of mutilated cow carcasses wearing a butcher’s smock and a fantastically incongruous smile.  Is this any way to choose a leader, even one as manifestly goose-honking insane as Michele Bachmann?

I always supposed that right-wing sadism was theoretically boundless, but Jesus – I never thought they’d inflict it on their standard-bearers.