Category Archives: Uncategorized

Donkey Punched

Last Friday, my friend Alex visited this site, clicked on an ad, and was traumatized. No, the link didn’t whisk him off to or anything of the sort. While that might have been distasteful, or even stomach-turning, he could at least get through the experience without fear for the contents of his wallet.

Not so with Why Mommy Is a Democrat, a website promoting a children’s book of the same name. I went to visit the site and it didn’t take long to see what all the fuss was about.

The section featuring sample pages shows Mommy Squirrel and her blue-state brood leading a considerate existence while the text on the page tells us “Democrats make sure we all share our toys, just like Mommy does.” For contrast, two selfish people, presumably Republicans, seem not to give a shit as they walk by some guy, presumably homeless, hunkering on a park bench and lamenting his sorry lot.

I can see how this might cause my friend concern. He owns his own business and due to a combination of brains, talent, and the willingness to work to the point where it nearly kills him, he has managed to amass a fair chunk of change. The sight of indoctrinating a future generation to want to take it all away from him when he’s too old to defend himself can’t be pleasant.

My objections are a little different. I actually favor social programs as long as the safety net doesn’t turn into a hammock, though the real reason I side with the Dems is that they pose a lesser threat to our inalienable right to fuck and get high.

The problem I have is that the author has unwittingly written propaganda for the GOP. Drug-addict endomorph Rush Limbaugh has already pitched a hissy over the book. There will be more to follow and I know exactly what line they are going to spew: “Big-government Democrats’ agenda has always been to take control of people’s private lives. Vote Republican. We respect the individual.”

Yeah, unless the individual doesn’t get a stiffy for Jesus, wants to marry someone of the same sex, or has a problem supporting an unwinnable war sold to the public with a heaping helping of lies.

Here’s Looking at You, Skid

Saturday’s picnic, despite being a two year-old’s birthday party, turned out to be downright pleasant. I give a round of applause to the kid for being well behaved and a standing ovation to the adults who were who were instrumental in ensuring that behavior.

The parents, as well as the father’s sister, took turns escorting the birthday girl to a nearby playground where she could whoop it with the other screaming hellspawn. That kept us old folks free from the outbursts of a bored and cranky youngster as well as providing the kid a chance to enjoy herself in her element.

If only such arrangements could be made all the time.

I remember what it was like being a kid in the company of grownups. Not at the age of two, of course. I’m referring more to elementary-school age, but the same dynamic still applies. Instead of doing what I wanted to do, I had to sit and politely endure mind-numbingly dull adult conversation, usually between my Mom and some other equally bored housewife she was visiting.

Fortunately for me, I was older than two. I was old enough to fight back. My preferred tactic was harsh, almost terrorist in nature. Since I was a good kid, I would only unleash this form of retribution if the situation became intolerable. Intolerable, in case you were wondering, meant the conversation was dragging on long enough for me to miss part of a favorite TV show.

What I did first was to ask to use the friend’s bathroom. Permission attained and now perched on the toilet, I would shift my weight to one side and then let fly with as much force as I could. Due to skill attained through sheer repetition, not to mention the high-bran breakfast cereal my mother made me eat, I was able to achieve the hit-and-slide on the dry porcelain more often than not. A single flush afterward did little to censor my statement. Vindication was mine.

I am positive that a similar battle, in some bathroom out there somewhere, is being waged today. Mothers, and I suppose fathers too, really should think twice before yammering on about some piece of crap they bought on sale. To kids, it’s not as interesting as a rerun of “Star Trek” and it never will be.

Sweating the Small Stuff

Betty and I are going to Golden Gate Park today. Friends of hers are are throwing a party there for their two-year old daughter. There might be other small children attending.

Now here’s the tricky part. How much should I drink? It needs to be enough to make the afternoon tolerable but not so much that I wind up making a complete ass of myself.

I’ll see how I’m doing after knocking back my first forty.

Al Gore Skull Fucks Panda, Eats Its Butt

What seems to be all the rage, at least among conservatives, is to portray the former vice president as an eco-hypocrite. “An Inconvenient Truth,” of course, is what started all the brouhaha.

First, there was the matter of his $30,000 annual energy bill, high enough to suggest he left the light on after leaving a room at least once in a while.

Then, there was that incident with the Patagonian toothfish served at his daughter’s wedding. Early reports pretty much had him slapping his expansive gut and saying “Extinction never tasted so good.” Well, this turned out to be bullshit. The restaurant has documents proving that the fish in question originated from a well-managed and sustainable population, and may have even liked the idea of being killed and fed to a fat rich hillbilly.

Stay tuned for a report of him parking his SUV on top of nest full of ducklings and draining oil all over them.

But is he a hypocrite? Yeah, probably. We all are to some degree and career politicians are more than most. But unless I’m missing something, shouldn’t a reasoned debate about global warming and the environment concern itself with science and facts rather than all this ad hominem neener-neenering?

Or perhaps not. After all, his wife Tipper was a total pain in the ass during her PMRC glory days. If he couldn’t persuade her to shut the fuck up, how is he going to get me to give up my two favorite pastimes, dynamite fishing and Styrofoam bonfires?

Give No Quarter

I usually enjoy being a bleeding-heart liberal. Showing concern for progressive issues makes me feel better about myself and expressing contempt for President Bush is downright fun. If I stand in front of the mirror and spew socially conscious affirmations at myself (“Yes Dave, you DO believe that the plight of the downtrodden is a real buzzkill”), I can walk out the door confident that I am an enlightened champion of all humankind.

Then I get panhandled.

If I were richer, I wouldn’t have to worry about people begging. I still wouldn’t give the bums any money, mostly because they would be nowhere to be found. I’d live in a neighborhood where a little police brutality goes a long way toward keeping the property values high. The only poor folks would be on the TV screen, half a world away, flashing cute toothless smiles as flies crawled around the corners of their mouths.

Instead, I approach the BART station at 24th and Mission where I am set upon by a surly alcoholic with psychiatric problems, a pant load, or both. The path of least resistance, and the one I invariably choose, is to avoid eye contact and pretend I don’t notice the scumbag shaking a paper cup at me with a few coins of primer change clanging around at the bottom.

This daily ritual makes me guilty not of only being a selfish bastard, but a cowardly one as well. If am so intent on hanging onto my money, I should least have the requisite pluck to say “Get a job, lumpen dude. Haven’t you read Max Weber’s The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism? Neither have I, but I did take a peek at the Cliff Notes and so should you.”

Hot Celebrity Talk with Ames C. Pacer, Supercock

I can’t wait for Paris Hilton to start driving drunk again. She needs to put one wine cooler too many down that deep throat of hers and start running red lights in her Porsche. Her last stint in the slammer was nothing but a tease but this time she’ll be going down, on her cell mate if I have anything to say about it…Angelina “Womb Raider” Jolie keeps adopting third-world babies. By outsourcing childbirth to women who have that as their core competency, she keeps that part of her I think about every night free from the ravages of squirting out pups. You’re a hero to me, Angelina. Call me…Venus Williams just won at Wimbledon. You rock, hot lady jock. Care to trade in that match point for love?…Dakota Fanning has three new films in the works. She’s still a little too green on the vine for my liking but she’ll ripen and I’m a patient man…Which brings us to the girls of Prussian Blue, speaking of jail bait. Those little heiling honeys need to erase the hate if they expect Uncle Ames to ask them for a date…And let’s not forget my favorite golden girls, those luscious lasses from days gone by…We haven’t heard much from Julie Andrews since that botched throat operation gave her a voice like a whoopie cushion. She stole my heart as Mary Poppins and I still care for her deeply. I hope that over the years, a spoonful of sugar helped the calcium go down so she won’t have to pay a lot of do-re-mi to treat her supercalifragilisticosteoporosis…And finally, I give a big Ames C. Pacer shout out to the Sunshine State for the former US Attorney General and avenging valkyrie of Waco, the lovely Janet Reno. Hey Parkinson’s Lady, you can shake it one time for me.

One Thumb Up, One Thumb Down

Betty came to my house yesterday morning. After a yummy brunch at The Last Supper Club, our bellies were too full to flop down on the couch and let digestion run its course. I reflected upon the problem of obesity in this country and found one detail puzzling. While I could certainly stand to lose a few pounds, why are most of the serious fat asses found in parts of America where the food sucks? This paradox made my brain hurt so decided to numb it with television.

I subscribe to basic cable, nothing fancy, but one nice feature is the on-demand free movies. There are plenty to choose from and some are even watchable.

The first choice was Six-String Samurai. I had high hopes for this one. World War III happened in 1957, Elvis became king of Las Vegas, and after his death 40 years later, a sword-wielding Buddy Holly lookalike travels through the post-apocalyptic wasteland on a quest to assume the throne. An awesome premise, right? Yes, and that’s all it was.

There were a few entertaining moments thrown in to make the trailers look enticing, but overall, the movie was a bland exercise by the filmmakers in trying to impress the viewer with how cool and edgy they were. Unfortuantely, they were neither. For one thing, sword battles and a PG-13 rating should not go together, not for the discerning patron who demands a flash flood of gore out of this genre. Then there was the annoying child who did nothing but scream. If his character were an altar boy in a movie called “Father McBugger,” he would have had pretty much all the same lines.

Next came Lifeforce, a Golan-Globus Production directed by Mr. Chainsaw himself, Tobe Hooper. The movie is about this hot naked space-alien vampire chick who comes to earth to…who cares, she’s a hot naked space-alien vampire chick.

Actually, there’s a lot more to this movie than her, ahem, charms. Though technically science fiction, it plays more like a Hammer film set in modern London. There is the same kind of tension and dry humor between scientists and figures of authority. There are also murderous zombies running amok. And have I mentioned the hot naked space-alien vampire chick?

I often ask myself how the eighties, that Reagan-era lung oyster of a decade, could produce such great splatter horror such as Lifeforce and Re-Animator. I have no definitive answer. Flashes of brilliance are better enjoyed than explained.

I’m Drunk

The bartenders at the Argus cannot be trusted. They have been puring huge amounts of liquor into my drinks, no doubt at the behest of the Global Managers who want to see me silenced. They may have succeeded temporarily but my liver will prevail, at least this time.

I’ll give you a full report tomorrow morning.