DNC: A Parody Song
From my friend DarcPrynce over at The Daley Gator.
54th Annual Grammy Noms: Left-Wing Freak Show Set to Bad Music
Something in American music has gone horribly, horribly awry.
And if you don’t believe me, may I present for your viewing wonder and dumbstruck bemusement the nominations concert, gala, fashion show, celebrity hobnob, unlikely musical fusion, duet rap shindig, and posthumous honorarium for the 54th annual Grammy awards show… show.
Being like fish who don’t know we have swum into a sewer drain, sometimes it takes a foreign eye to point out how unintentionally satirical our culture swamp has become. To say that our entertainment media have become revolving doors for variegated freaks does not do it justice. So let’s draw on some of that famous British wit from people who do not give a shit to get at the surreal essence of our pop crazy culture. Read more 
Revolving Door President Putin Delivers “All Your Base Are Belong to Us” Address to Stunned Russian Populace
Revolving door Russian President Vladimir Putin, who has been operating in the shadowy broad daylight as the prime minister, while pulling the strings on Dmitry Puppet boy President Medvedev, delivered a stunning address to Russian populace effectively informing them ‘all their bases have been seized.’
Translator: We have set up us the bomb. Main screen turn on. All your base are belong to us. You have no chance to survive make your time. For great justice.
With that, the president disappeared in a cloud of smoke, leaving the national audience dumbfounded.
Occupy Wall Street’s Version of the Zuccotti Eviction
Maybe it’s just the Vicodin, but I found this to be a pretty funny mash-up.
Thus Spake Obamathustra
WHEN Obamathustra was thirty-six years old, he left his home and the island of his home, and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed his spirit and his solitude, and for ten years did not weary of it. But at last his heart changed,- and rising one morning with the rosy dawn, he went before his mirror, and spake thus unto it: Thou great star! What would be thy happiness if thou hadst not those for whom thou shinest!
For ten years hast thou climbed hither unto my cave: thou wouldst have wearied of thy light and of the journey, had it not been for me, mine eagle, and my crescent.
But we awaited thee every morning, took from thee thine overflow, and blessed thee for it.
My Evening with Hirman Cane
I am publishing here an email I received in my Inbox this morning. It was signed “Anonymous,” and I will do my best to protect the identity of the victim.
Dear sur, you may have seen da media reports about Hirman Cane sayin’ that some two little floozies accused him of sexshal harassment. Since I done told da Politico about my story, the media has gone hog wild making all sorts of ackyuzashins about da victims. Well one of dem victims is me.
I just wanted to set the recahd straight about what happend. It was an ordinarry evening working at the Nashinal Restorant Associashon when I met Hirman Cane. He was tall and handsome, but der was something about him I didnt trust. When he sed dat he was going to take me for a tor of one a his restorants, I was immedyatly suspishis. I didnt know what makin a pizza had to do with being a corprat secretary, who had evry right to a job under affirmitive ackshin laws. He told me dat maybe I might be intristed in seeing how a restorant bizness works, so I sed OK Ill go wich you.
When we arrived at da restorant in his Mersadees Benz, I thot I saw him looking at my backside when I left da car. But I didnt say anything cuz I thot, “Hey, Mr. Cane looks like an onest guy and he wouldn’t do dat to me.” We went into da Pizza Hut and he took me to da backroom, wer day make da pizzas. He asked me if I wanted to see sum pepperoni, and I told him, “No, Mr. Cane, I don’t want to see your pepperoni.” But he laft and axed me “why not?” And I thot he was rude and sexshaly obseen from dat moment forwerd.
It only got wers. He kept offerin to show me sausage and other kindza meats. I was embarassed. How coud such a nice man like Mr. Cane keep hittin on me? I was afraid he wuz gona rape me right der.
But da werst part was when we went to da oven and he handed me a pizza and axed me if I wanted to put it in. That was da last straw. So I ran out da place and called my atterny who told me we could sue him for millions if we want to, but I didnt cuz Im nice. We only took one years pay, small price for a brokin heart and lost job.
This is my story da best I recollekt it. I cannot say no mo cuz I’m under a confidenchality agreement. If you wants to no mo, please contak my lawyur.
P.S. If you woud like to contribyute to ma legal defens fund or make a book offur, pleas contak my agint.
Tugging on Superman’s Cape: How the POTUS Lost His TOTUS
Like a plotline from one of those hoaky Superman movies, some network of criminal masterminds has stolen a van filled with Barack Obama’s podium, presidential seal, and yes, even his prized teleprompter. Whether a band of merry pranksters or some hapless schlubs now drawing the attention of every Johnny Utah hotshot FBI agent in the country, the crooks may have unintentionally given America the greatest benefit imaginable: a day off from a Barack Obama speech.
It is unclear the motives of the thieves, whether the tea party’s answer to “Anonymous,” or a chance for the ultimate joyride, but one thing is clear: these badboys are tugging on Superman’s cape. If there is a Lex Luther mega-genius behind all this, he better have a huge stash of Obama Kryptonite on hand: a crate full of empty 1099 forms would do the trick.
In the truck was about $200,000 worth of sound equipment, also a key power of “the most eloquent president in American history.” Obama will need his god voice back if he is to overcome his flagging approval rating. Never underestimate the power of overamplified echo.
For the time being, the Obama administration has gone into lockdown, putting out an all points bulletin to have the suspected apprehended, and the president’s mojo returned. Without his special effects and predigested thoughts, he’s just another radical community organizer with a penchant for umming his way through overcalculated utterances.
[Continued at Political Crush]
The Democrat Party: We Need Less Democracy
In a stunning reversal, the Democrat Party has updated its party platform heading into the November 2012 national elections to include, “rolling back this messy democracy thing.”
The Democrat Party explains:
We gave it a good go, America. Democracy has served our country well. It gave our constituents a bunch of goodies by the sweat of other people’s brows, cushioned our air-conditioned staff lounges, and made sure that even the most petty social activist can reach the soaring heights of elected office. We don’t have to tell you how much we appreciate that after sneezing under oath, one can retire with full pay and the bennies. That’s not the point.
We’ve reached a stage now where we’re having a different crisis every day – a terrible place for a country to be – and we have put it upon ourselves to take all the decision-making out of your hands. Don’t worry, now – that’s our job.
Let’s face it, we’re smarter than you people. We have our ivy league degrees, and the time we spent at that one conference in Cancun last year, what was it – Public Policy: Who Needs It? – and we feel it would be inappropriate for you to tell us how to do our jobs. We’re so much more advanced than that, and we wouldn’t want you to blow a neuron trying to keep up with us.
So although we’re going to keep the name “Democratic Party,” trademarks and copyrights, you see, we’re going to have to start doing away with this messy democracy business. Ironically enough, it’s bad for business, and to speak plainly, yall are just interfering.
Now we’ll take good care of you, don’t fret. We are going to give you universal healthcare of the highest quality, retirement pensions starting at age 40 (with good behavior), free education, free college, and no more of that nasty military business. We’re going to go ahead and cut that out, hope you don’t mind. We will also give you free food, free shelter, free clothing, free wi-fi, free computers, free cable television…these are all human rights now, and no one can ever take them away from you. This is all predicated on your perfect amenability to these arrangements, I’m sure you understand.
Anyways, it’s been fun America. We enjoyed these little election exercises. It gave everyone a chance to get out for a while, get some fresh air, finally meet your neighbors. But you see, it’s all such a waste of time and energy. Things would be so much more efficient and just plain better if we could attend to our duties of ruling you without your interference. And we don’t mean to meddle, it’s all a part of making a better world, and we want you to comply.
Take care, America. We hope you like your new masters. If not, you can always call us at 1-800-4YR-GOOD and a professional citizen service representative will try to contact you within the next 24 hours (due to high volume, we cannot always ensure prompt response).
Most sincerely, The Democrat Party
The Democrat Party, when asked to comment, did not return our phone calls.
Poll Shock: Obama Ties Zombie Candidate, Still Trails Tweety Bird, Box of Crayons, Can of Spaghetti Os
President Obama’s 2012 election campaign is breathing new life now that he has finally tied “Zombie Candidate,” whom he has trailed since the debt ceiling debacle, and is closing the gap on Tweety Bird, Box of Crayons, and Can of Spaghetti Os.
Here are the latest numbers from Public Confidence Polling (PCP):
President Obama’s most favorable head-to-head matchup is against “Zombie Candidate,” who has struggled with a number of gaffes in recent GOP debates.Disturbingly for some, Zombie Candidate is yet to produce a birth certificate. But the candidate’s public relations team has been quick to point out that the American people still know more about Zombie Candidate than they do about President Obama.
Obama did less well against rising star Tweety Bird, who has distinguished himself with his relatively tough talk and fiery brand of oratory. A tea party favorite, Tweety Bird has criticized the president harshly for his “socialist” policies, making him unpopular with establishment Republicans. Still, Tweety Bird remains very strong, and will continue to be the populist favorite.
Another unfavorable matchup for President Obama is Box of Crayons, who is popular among moderates and is even drawing off some Obama supporters. When asked why they favor Box of Crayons over Obama, Democrat respondents were likely to point out that crayons were simply “more diverse” and “sharper.”
Lastly, we have the worst potential GOP opponent of all for the sitting president – Can of Spaghetti Os. Americans were unable to explain why they were drawn to the dark horse candidate, whose meteoric rise is baffling pollsters nationwide. Some contend that the electorate were mesmerized by Obama’s “O” in his first campaign race, and have transferred that excitement and enthusiasm to Spaghetti Os.
Regardless of the GOP candidate, Obama is in deep trouble. The president will continue to trail his potential opponents as long as the economy is stalled, and he remains more tone deaf and less responsive than inanimate objects.
President Obama: Operation Get the Crackerz is On!
America’s first post-racial president has a challenge for black voters: How many whites can you scapegoat before election day?
Unofficially referred to as “Operation: Get the Crackerz,” Barack Obama’s initiative focuses on a two-pronged program: One, shut up about rampant black unemployment. Two, blame whites for your problems, not me.
“I need your help,” the president said.
“So many people are still hurting. So many people are barely hanging on,” he continued, then added: “And so many people in this city are fighting us every step of the way.”
After several shouts of, “Let’s get those whities!” President Obama smiled and waved for them to calm themselves. One woman fainted, and he obviously had to instruct the paramedics to get her some air and some water. When the crowd was adequately soothed, he proceeded with his instructions.
“Take off your bedroom slippers. Put on your marching shoes,” he said, his voice rising as applause and cheers mounted. “Shake it off. Stop complainin’. Stop grumblin’. Stop cryin’. We are going to press on. We have work to do.”
Later in the day, the president was compelled to deliver a follow-up address to nutrition activists who misunderstood Mr. Obama’s message and had marched on a Ritz-Nabisco factory. The activists were just about to burn down the plant, chanting, “Let’s toast some crackers!” when word came of the mix-up.
“Settle down now,” Obama said with a smirk. “Not those kinda crackers.”
The black community instantly responded to Obama’s challenge, as officially represented by Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton.
“We’re ready to cut some teabaggers’ nuts out,” said Jackson on live network TV.
“We are ready to follow Obama’s drive to push back and build a movement of resistance,” Al Sharpton added. “Resist we much, we must, and we will much, about that, be committed.”
When reached for comment, Obama grimaced, wiped his sweating brow, and nodded his head painfully.
“Resist we much,” was all he could mutter.
The Self Parody Administration
President Obama woke up restless. His vision was so grand, so all-encompassing, he could not let any detail slip from his imagination. He donned his pink bunny slippers and slipped out the backdoor of the White House kitchen for a smoke.
The pinkish glow of the morning sun yawned over the horizon and glossed the capitol dome, whose fuzzy glare made it resemble an overripe peach for the plucking.
As he struck the match and lit his Kool cigarette, he contemplated all the CFCs being emitted into the atmosphere from non-prescription asthma inhalers. Those would have to go, he resolved.
The president threw down his half-lit cig onto the lot, ground it into the asphalt, and chortled while he imagined a teabagger. Why would anyone but a racist oppose his agenda to introduce some compassion into the system?
Entering the kitchen he bumped into Juan, the head chef.
“What’s on the menu today, Juan?” Obama said, grasping his stubbly chin.
“Salmon tartar, asparagus tips…” the cook said pleasingly.
“Cool all that noise. We’re ordering pizza. There’s that great little place in St. Louis…”
“But Mr. President, won’t the pizza get a bit…cold?” Juan replied, perplexed. “And also,” he added nervously, “what about the health plan the Mrs. came up with?”
“Oh, right.” He paused and then sighed. “We’ll just fly the chef in to make pizza here,” the president said, dreading his explanation to Michelle. “Let me handle her.”
“Yes, sir!” Juan said and threw the asparagus in the trash.
The president made his way back to the Lincoln bedroom, where Michelle was already up and eating breakfast in bed. Before her was a spread of Belgian waffles, sausage patties dribbled in Nova Scotian maple syrup, and a tall glass of Valencia orange juice.
“Good morning, honey,” she said, putting down her fork. “You’re up early, as usual.”
“I just keep wondering how we’re going to get my agenda through with so much public opposition. The Republicans…they’re no problem. But these tea party guys…”
“Oh, don’t worry about them. We’ve got the media in the bag. Come sit down and have a few waffles.”
“About that…” the president started in. “I made a few…alterations to today’s menu.” He took a breath. “I’m ordering pizza. From St. Louis.”
“Barry, how could you? Michelle said indignantly. “You know I have that school lunch menu presentation. And then we have the shakedowns of McDonald’s and Darden restaurants later…”
“Don’t worry honey. The outrage will pass,” the president sat down next to her and stroked her black glistening hair. “We’ll do something even more outrageous tomorrow and the public will get over it.”
Michelle looked him in the eyes, and after a moment, smiled and resumed eating.
“You’re right, baby,” she said, chewing her waffle and then swallowing. “Now I know why I married you.”
“I’ve got to run honey. I have to take the Beast to the airport, and then on to Air Force One to fly to northern Virginia to give a speech on curbing carbon emissions.”
“Oh, do you know what you’re going to say about the sky-high gas prices?” she said while the president fumbled with his tie. “Some people are complaining about your oil moratorium and all the fuel efficiency regulations.”
“I haven’t seen what TOTUS has in store for me yet,” he mumbled, exasperated.
“Well be sure to talk up that Chevy Volt,” she said. “And go after those nasty polluting coal plants.”
“Will do,” he said tersely, then threw his hands down in frustration. “I imagine I’ll give them some spiel about keeping their tires properly inflated.”
“Will you come here?” she said, laughing. He bent over and she fixed the president’s tie. “Red,” she said. “My favorite color.”
“I’ll just flash them that winning smile and they won’t even know what hit ’em,” the president said with a grin.
“You do that,” she replied. “And I’ll miss you.”
She stopped, and added as an afterthought, “Don’t you think you’re working too much lately?”
“Now, Michelle,” he replied. “You know I said I wouldn’t rest until we get this jobs picture under control. Besides, we’re taking another vacation Friday.”
“Oh goody,” she clapped excitedly, the syrup dribbling onto her chin. “Where are we going?”
“As far from the disapproval ratings as possible.”
Official Day of Rage Song
From Misfit Politics.
The Yippie Thermopylae: 300 Brave Leftists Rage Against Wall Street
It’s already being called the yippie equivalent of Thermopylae. 300 brave graduate students, armed with piping hot lilac-infused chai, held off over 125,000 houseflies at the socialist last stand against capitalist banksterism – Wall Street. I was among them.
The Day of Rage, alas, turned into a Day of Malaise. Ginned up anger and resentment at that most nebulous of foes – a many-tongued demon known only as “Greed” – exploded into the unexpected guise of scraggly trust fund babies in dancing panda bear suits, soon to be found sleeping off a Red Bull crash on a NY Times-littered streetcorner.
“What capitalist sorcery is this?” Many of us asked ourselves before urinating in an Arizona pomegranate tea bottle. My Lennon-rimmed comrades familiar with Dungeon & Dragons know well the chicanery of Greenstax the Dread, the black magician whose blood rites bless the top hedge funds.
How could only 300 steely-eyed souls show up out of a promised 20,000, when the crimes of Wall Street are so notorious? Some speculated that the anti-government teabaggers had conjured up the succubus Sarahpalinisteles to suck the brains out of our compatriots and convert them to the dark side.
To counteract such evil elements, a hacky-sack game broke out to build our collective spirits. The smell of cloves and hemp hung heavy in the air to drive off the blacks forces that pervade throughout America’s financial district. The sound of tambourines and Indian rattles warded off the specters of moneylust seeping into the camp, as many craved chocolate-drizzled biscotti and pumpkin-scented cappuccino near midday.
Some tried to remain strong and resist the corporate temptations of Starbucks and Panera, but defected when the tummy rumblings grew louder. In true socialist spirit, they broke cranberry bran muffins among the hungry masses, a mission Che Guevara, the communist Jesus Christ, would have been proud of.
The day was destined not to go down in the annals of American history as Woodstock did. John Ratzenberger, Cliff Claven of Cheers fame for those not in the know, had already outed his fellow hippies in the traitorous rabble-rouser Mark Steyn‘s After America (gawd, one could only hope):
I was at Woodstock – I built the stage. And when everything fell apart, and people were fighting for peanut butter sandwiches, it was the National Guard who came in and saved the same people who were protesting them. So when Hillary Clinton a few years ago wanted to build a Woodstock. memorial, I said it should be a statue of a National Guardsmen feeding a crying hippie. (343)
We were determined that WallStock would not turn out like Woodstock. We wanted to fight, damn it! Fight!
But when the fuzz showed up, we could only go so limp. The pigs wouldn’t even bother to drag us off to jail for 24 hours in the tank. They acted like it wasn’t even worth their time to combat the true revolutionaries in their midst, since the stupid cops have no grasp of the historical import of our ideals. The fat fools just stood there, incessantly chewing their Dunkin Donuts kruellers, shooting the bull about the Yankees game and laughing while texting on their I-phones.
What does a socialist freedom fighter have to do to get some attention? When they said the revolution wouldn’t be televised, they didn’t say it would be because of boredom.
Barack Obama’s “Brave New World”: Is Our President a Closet Right-wing Extremist?
The DHS better investigate Obama‘s reading habits soon. It appears our president might be a closet “right-wing extremist.”
In honor of President Obama recently picking up Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World for some pointers, a modified passage of the famous dystopic novel – coming to an Obama prayer session near you?
The President stood up, made the sign of the O and, switching on the synthetic music, let loose the soft indefatigable beating of drums and a choir of instruments–near-wind and super-string–that plangently repeated and repeated the brief and unescapably haunting melody of the first Solidarity Hymn. Again, again–and it was not the ear that heard the pulsing rhythm, it was the midriff; the wail and clang of those recurring harmonies haunted, not the mind, but the yearning bowels of compassion.
The President made another sign of the O and sat down. The service had begun. The dedicated soma tablets were placed in the centre of the table. The loving cup of strawberry ice-cream soma was passed from hand to hand and, with the formula, “I drink to my annihilation,” twelve times quaffed. Then to the accompaniment of the synthetic orchestra the First Solidarity Hymn was sung.
“Obama, we are twelve; oh, make us one,
Like drops within the Social River,
Oh, make us now together run
As swiftly as thy shining Flivver.”
Twelve yearning stanzas. And then the loving cup was passed a second time. “I drink to the Greater Being” was now the formula. All drank. Tirelessly the music played. The drums beat. The crying and clashing of the harmonies were an obsession in the melted bowels. The Second Solidarity Hymn was sung.
“Come, Greater Being, Social Friend,
Annihilating Twelve-in-One!
We long to die, for when we end,
Our larger life has but begun.”
Again twelve stanzas. By this time the soma had begun to work. Eyes shone, cheeks were flushed, the inner light of universal benevolence broke out on every face in happy, friendly smiles. Even Ezra felt himself a little melted. When Ariana Rothschild turned and beamed at him, he did his best to beam back. But the eyebrow, that black two-in-one–alas, it was still there; he couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t, however hard he tried. The melting hadn’t gone far enough. Perhaps if he had been sitting between Rachael and Joanna … For the third time the loving cup went round; “I drink to the imminence of His Coming,” said Ariana Rothschild, whose turn it happened to be to initiate the circular rite. Her tone was loud, exultant. She drank and passed the cup to Ezra. “I drink to the imminence of His Coming,” he repeated, with a sincere attempt to feel that the coming was imminent; but the eyebrow continued to haunt him, and the Coming, so far as he was concerned, was horribly remote. He drank and handed the cup to Peggy Deterding. “It’ll be a failure again,” he said to himself. “I know it will.” But he went on doing his best to beam.
The loving cup had made its circuit. Lifting his hand, the President gave a signal; the chorus broke out into the Third Solidarity Hymn.
“Feel how the Greater Being comes!
Rejoice and, in rejoicings, die!
Melt in the music of the drums!
For I am you and you are I.”
Democrats Propose National “War on Death”
In accordance with the Obamacare mandate, the Democrats have unveiled a measure symbolizing the party’s finest principles: the Death Equality Program (DEP). Already being hailed in bi-partisan fashion, the program seeks to correct the social injustice of humans dying at different ages by capping life expectancy at age 32.
The program would be administered by a senior blue ribbon panel of experts that would address the nationwide epidemic of “death randomness.” Justified on the wholesome Democrat values of death and equality, the DEP seeks to correct the role luck plays in in bourgeois society, as John Rawls lamented.
Dr. Zack Trevorkian, an analyst with the lobbying firm Morticians International, has already detected a problem in that some people die younger than age 32. In that case, he explained, the death ceiling would have to be lowered.
But how low is too low? That’s one question being asked by Planned Parenthood, which has already filed a petition to define life as originating outside the womb. Death industry analyst Sally Lungardner explains that if the death ceiling is dropped too low, it might cut into Planned Parenthoods’ vital abortion operations.
“The danger we run is that by dropping the maximum age limit in the name of equality,” Dr. Lungardner argued, “we will eventually come upon the age-old conception of when life begins – inside or outside the womb. For if we get rid of the seniors first, obviously, we will be left with a population of 32 and under. The mean age would redistribute downward, to say, 24, and then capping at the mean would again put us in the same dilemma. It is not inconceivable that sooner or later we would be left with only three-year olds running the world. And then who would do the abortions?”
In order to combat what the Democrats claim is widespread “misinformation” and “fearmongering” about their controversial proposal, the party has launched a massive public relations campaign called “The War on Death.” A series of PSAs is to be broadcast on public airwaves, particularly targeted at “vulnerable” audiences like Rush Limbaugh Show listeners, including such titles as “Where’s granny?” and “What is that big needle for?”
Touting the potential long-term savings of such a program, tapped death czar Mike Bloomrose said the program would eventually rescue social safety net programs like Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid from insolvency.
“Occasionally one’s country demands shared sacrifice,” said Bloomrose, sipping an espresso in his posh executive office, “and we all need to get a little skin in the game. Now if you excuse me, I have a round of golf with the president.”
One prominent Republican claimed the program didn’t go far enough in terms of slashing costs and the program would eventually lead to increased taxes.
“Who needs another death tax?” he commented off the record.
Watchdog media groups have already pre-emptively declared that anyone who argues against the DEP is not only racist, but “deathist.”
“We demand fairness and equality in all things, including death,” said Rebecca White, a sophomore at Radcliffe college. “Anyone who disagrees is hateful and probably a deathophobe.”
The measure is being brought to the floor on Tuesday, before a crucial House vote on what kind of light bulbs Americans should be allowed to buy.
A Proposal for a Mass Ritual Suicide Credit Exchange (MRSCX)
In the course of ruminating on one of the most disturbing rants I’ve encountered on The Internets yet in regards to bringing humans to climate justice, I came across a question posed by blogger JustMEinT to the Australian grand duchess Julia Gillard:
By how many degrees, (or parts thereof) will your Carbon Pollution Reduction Scheme – your Carbon Tax – your Emissions Trading Scheme, reduce the warming of our planet?
Amazingly enough, the carbon tax temptress deigned the question important enough to make time out of her busy day to address the plebes:
So if carbon dioxide is a smidge over 3% of the greenhouse effect, and man contributes 3% to yearly CO2 increases, or approximately 2ppm…and according to logarithmic scales showing the average correlation of CO2 increase to increase in global temperatures (accounting for such factors as ocean CO2 re-uptake)…we have about 100 ppm per .1 degree Celsius. In other words, not a spot.
We could utterly destroy all industry, indeed, all life on earth, and we could drop the global temperatures by .1 degree Celsius over 50 years.
Hope this helps. Julia Shillard
Whom I once considered to be a forked-tongue succubus has actually given me pause to reconsider my staunch opposition to the carbon tax. A punitive carbon tax is a good beginning, but it will not ultimately solve the problem.
It seems on retrospect that since my life is meaningless and empty, I want to be part of something bigger than myself – something grand, something monumental – a final solution to our climate crisis!
Let it be a lesson to the enviroleft that Julia’s honest missive has compelled me far more persuasively than all of the green movement’s lies put together. Those lies were well-intentioned, but they only served to understate the magnitude of the problem. Jet-setting climate guru Al Gore could take a page out of Gillard’s book and be more forthright in his upcoming 24 hour greenwashing marathon.
It is painfully clear to me now that my very life itself has been poisoning the planet, and I simply cannot bear the thought of contributing to the earth’s woes any longer. I fear that the carbon tax does not go far enough – what we need is mass ritual suicide.
I know, I know. The proposition smacks of fear and alarmism. But once we all step up to the collective buffet table lined with arsenic-laced lime-flavored Koolaid, and bravely imbibe, the planet will finally get a moment of peace.
Crushing all industry on the planet? This is hardly serious. We humans exhale carbon dioxide, for Gaia’s sake!
No, no, this will not do. We must repent. We must prepare the way for the return of Eden. Let’s nail ourselves to the cross, and die for man’s climate sins!
This is the only way out, I’m afraid. Man is a virus, and the carbon tax would only treat the symptoms, not the disease. We’re going to have to croak the parasite for Mother Earth to get back to climate health.
That is why I am proposing that we dispense with the carbon tax proposal, and go straight to a zero-tolerance based carbon policy. What we really need to form is a mass ritual suicide credit exchange or MRSCX, and allow people to directly cash in on their self-sacrifice for the cause.
Here are the rules: One human life equals one suicide credit. Murder is frowned upon, because that is just plain wrong. Mass ritual suicides are encouraged.
Meet me in December 2012? Who’s with me?
Barack Obama, You Might Be a Sociopath…
Barack Obama has shown many of the signs of narcissistic personality disorder, as has been popularly described by Dr. Samuel Vaknin. But such symptoms of malignant narcissism are a component of a broader psychological profile on Barack Hussein Obama: Our president is likely a sociopath.
I know, I know. I don’t have a degree in psychiatry (though I studied psychopathy intensely, wrote approved research on the subject, scored and assisted with personality research, interviewed clinical psychologists regarding the causes of psychopathy, and was recommended for a career in psychiatry after working as a departmental assistant). And the use of such diagnostic measures as the Hare PCL-R (Hare Psychopathy Checklist-Revised) carries with it more caveats than the number of times Obama’s missed par this year.
Still, last time I checked this isn’t a laboratory. We are not in a clinical setting. I have no power over Barack Obama, but the power-hungry tyrant sure has plenty of power over me. So I think the question of whether or not the aspiring tyrant is a sociopath is fair game, but I’ll leave it to the professionals to ascertain how closely or widely I miss the mark.
There is widespread debate on the difference between psychopathy and sociopathy. But for the layman, I will boil it down to brass tacks. Psychopathy is usually considered to be a neurological condition where the subject is unable to process fear, and thus is tremendously difficult to socialize. Psychopaths do not develop a healthy conscience, and often commit acts without remorse to serve their own selfish ends. Sociopaths, on the other hand, are able to develop emotions, as shallow as those may be, and may feel some guilt for how they exploit others for personal gain.
While psychopathy is widely considered to have neurophysiological causes, sociopathy is hypothesized to be caused by environmental factors, such as growing up in an unstable home environment. As expert Robert Hare wrote in Without Conscience: The Disturbing World of Psychopaths Among Us, the difference between psychopathy and sociopathy ”reflects on the origins and determinates of each.”
A fairly good blog post explains the distinction further:
The last main difference between psychopathy and sociopathy is in the presentation. The psychopath is callous, yet charming. He or she will con and manipulate others with charisma and intimidation and can effectively mimic feelings to present as “normal” to society. The psychopath is organized in their criminal thinking and behavior, and can maintain good emotional and physical control, displaying little to no emotional or autonomic arousal, even under situations that most would find threatening or horrifying. The psychopath is keenly aware that what he or she is doing is wrong, but does not care.
Conversely, the sociopath is less organized in his or her demeanor; he or she might be nervous, easily agitated, and quick to display anger. A sociopath is more likely to spontaneously act out in inappropriate ways without thinking through the consequences. Compared to the psychopath, the sociopath will not be able to move through society committing callous crimes as easily, as they can form attachments and often have “normal temperaments.” The sociopath will lie, manipulate and hurt others, just as the psychopath would, but will often avoid doing so to the select few people they care about, and will likely feel guilty should they end up hurting someone they care about.
So, while these two terms seem interchangeable on the surface because they share many of the same characteristics, they are more like two sides of the same coin. Looking at the differences may seem futile; however, looking at psychopathy and sociopathy as different constructs may prove to be helpful in understanding the etiology of these disorders, and in the development of effective treatment methods.
This isn’t an academic paper, therefore I will dispense with the formalities and go to the meat of the argument. I don’t believe Barack Obama could be a psychopath, because as a professional politician, he would need to have higher emotional intelligence than a psychopath. If one does not feel empathy, one must at least be able to fake it, which I believe Obama does.
Barack Obama’s tumultuous childhood, where he seems to have been raised by shadowy socialists, matches the background of a sociopath in almost textbook fashion. Perhaps he was raised not only to be a socialist, but a sociopath as well, due to the sociopathic personality traits one would desire of a budding dictator. Obama might have been raised to be a socialopath, if you will.
We will use the popular version of the Hare PCL-R to lay out the case. Of course, nothing could be confirmed without testing. But we can’t even get the guy’s college records, so the point is moot.
The lists are below, without commentary. To fully lay out the case would require far more documentation than can be compressed into one fairly readable blog post, so I will simply put forth the list and link articles above that touch on relevant traits. I trust that the reader is informed and has been awake during the Obama presidency. I will make no attempt to convert a true believer in Obama with an exhaustive list of links and references. If a reader demands specific examples on a particular score, I am glad to provide them.
Factor 1: Personality “Aggressive narcissism”
Glibness/superficial charm
Grandiose sense of self-worth
Pathological lying
Cunning/manipulative
Lack of remorse or guilt
Shallow affect (genuine emotion is short-lived and egocentric)
Callousness; lack of empathy
Failure to accept responsibility for own actions
Factor 2: Case history “Socially deviant lifestyle”.
Need for stimulation/proneness to boredom
Parasitic lifestyle
Poor behavioral control
Lack of realistic long-term goals
Impulsivity
Irresponsibility
Juvenile delinquency
Early behavior problems
Revocation of conditional release (N/A?)
The informed reader capable of dispassionately analyzing Barack Obama should see stunning overlaps between the list and Barack Obama’s background, personality, and behavior. Again, this is sheer speculation. But if Bill O’Reilly can call Obama’s father a “sociopath,” I think it is fair game to discuss the possibility with the president himself.
EPA Investigates Coke, Pepsi, Others for Climate Crimes
In a surprising development in the EPA’s war against manmade climate change, Pepsi Cola, Coca Cola, and numerous other soft drink manufacturers have been issued subpoenas to testify before Congress for “climate crimes” related to their sale of carbonated beverages.
The Environmental Protection Agency claims that the compressed carbon dioxide in retail soft drinks represents a significant “public threat” because the greenhouse gas contributes to manmade climate change. The EPA argues that every time a consumer opens a carbonated beverage, harmful gases are released into the atmosphere.
Carbonated beverage expert Michael Greene, spokesman for the EPA’s food and beverage investigation or FBI unit, commented that, “Opening bottles of Coca Cola, Pepsi, even Fanta, releases dangerous greenhouse gases into the air. This is not only dangerous, but it sends the wrong public message. We should all be more socially conscious of what responsibilities we have for the environment. While cracking open a cold one on a scorching summer day may seem like a cool idea, when the summers are regularly 105 degrees, it might not seem so hot.”
Millions of soft drink bottles have been seized by Hazmat crews pursuant to an EPA directive that described the liquids as “potentially hazardous.” Whether or not the bottles will be returned to the manufacturers is a matter of EPA discretion, pending an agency ruling on just how much release of carbon dioxide by human beings is to be tolerated.
Food and Drug Administration administrators objected to what they perceived as EPA encroachment onto their jurisdiction. Since carbon dioxide has been officially designated as a “poison,” as was upheld by a Supreme Court decision, the FDA argued, what the soft drink bottlers are engaging in is tantamount to poisoning consumers.
“These sugar daddies of the retail beverage industry are profiteering as they aggravate the obesity epidemic,” says Janet McElroy of the FDA’s Safe Drinks division, “and now we learn that these soda merchants are literally poisoning our public. We feel the FDA’s record of prosecuting food and beverage crimes shows that we are eminently qualified to take the forefront in these public trials.”
Further complicating matters is the Department of Justice’s complaint that the EPA is getting too much attention and funding for the ongoing “war against climate change.”
“Prosecuting these soda bottlers is a matter of bringing these criminals to climate justice,” Suzanne Harris, a DOJ expert on environmental law, commented. “What better government arm is there to exact climate justice than the Department of Justice?”
Coca Cola, Pepsi Cola, and numerous other soft drink manufacturers refused to speak on the record regarding the matter. But one analyst made a small case for the bottlers’ right to continue their industries, though with increased taxes and further regulation.
Dr. Evan Schneider, top climate scientist at Columbia University’s Institute for Climate and Environmentalism, proffered a defense of the manufacturers.
“My research has led me to conclude that the manufacturers’ receptivity to recycling activism has shown that they acknowledge their culpability in climate crimes of the past, and have thus already done some penance for their environmental sins,” he said, adding, “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t tax and regulate them more. Just saying.”
A political scientist at Johns Hopkins university, Dr. Lucy Lopez, sees the public trial of Coca Cola and Pepsi as an opening salvo in a broadening war on manmade climate change.
“What the trial of the Coke dealers represents to me is an initial stage in an assault on all fast food offenders,” Dr. Lopez said. “Many people don’t know this, but methane gas also contributes to the greenhouse effect. If I were Taco Bell, I’d be very worried.”
Hate facts. Snark. Just a splash of derision.
Rogue Government 