Archive for the ‘My Mother’ Category

My mother had this shiny metal bowl with a lid, a bakelite knob to lift it and bakelite handles on the side to carry it. Its function was to preserve the warmth of any kind of bread stored inside. It’s outside was decorated with penguins.

I never understood it but it fascinated me.

Of course, now I understand it functioned as a “Bun Warmer”

She used to order these craft kits. They came in small white boxes. The contents were always so compelling. Thread spools made of clean white wood. Swatches of fabric and suede. Pins and buttons and dowels. Paint and glue in tiny foil envelopes.

One Thanksgiving my mother transformed our little twenty by forty foot trailer into the most beautiful fall setting for a feast imaginable. She’d made the little white craft boxes into elegant, somber pilgrims. They were the centerpiece on a long immaculately appointed table. That penguin bowl was positioned on the far end. I remember Uncle Larry taking a poppy seeded roll from it.

I was very young. I woke to the smell of cooking and the sound of a kitchen. The scene in the living room, now a dining room, because it was really the only room we had, it honestly took my breath away. My mother had made it into something so strange and enchanting, I barely glimpsed the room I knew it used to be.

I got so excited, I had to go to the bathroom. I remember sitting there on the toilet, thinking about what I’d just seen.

She’s been doing it in one way or another ever since.

There was a time when there were no less than two Christmas trees, a Nativity, an elaborate snow village complete with a working train, more iterations of Santa Claus than you can imagine………

She had her own permanent shed in the backyard exclusively for holiday decorations. She’s a Harding. They don’t mess around, these people. They run straight at it, whatever it is.

There’s eleven of them. She has ten brothers and sisters. Well, nine now that uncle Warren is gone. The most amazing bunch of Siblings, In-Laws, Cousins and Begats you’ve ever seen. Good people, every last one.

Lotsa Republicans, oh well.

Uncle Larry is sick. Very sick. A small man who knew, understood and loved horses. A jockey. Some of my earliest memories are of him racing horses in San Francisco.

He was a dick.

He deliberately shocked me with the horse equivalent of a cattle prod. He told me he’d caught a frog and wanted to show it to me. With glee, he electrocuted me.

He once moved our Christmas tree into the front yard and decorated it with my mothers bras and underwear.

I woke up one morning with his socks in my mouth.

I watched him wipe snot on my mother’s neck from the backseat of my father’s Mercury Cyclone.

He visited egregious acts on everyone he ever liked. It really was his way of showing you he loved you. Really.

Ten or twelve years ago, the Hardings had a reunion in a small town owned by my uncle Tyke in Washington just south of the Canadian border. I brought The Fish, my new girlfriend at the time.

The Matriarch of the clan had just passed. My Grandmother, eighty nine years old. She was awesome. We’d been lucky enough to have her for the holidays.

There were color themed t-shirts indicating which family you were from. We were purple.

We tore it up.

A very small town. If you didn’t mention you were a Harding and therefore related to uncle Tyke, you got no service, not even a smile. Play the Harding card and you were royalty.

We tore it up.

One night we cousins got to talking about Uncle Larry and how we’d suffered his obstreperousness. His orneriness. We decided to act. We dispatched one of his own children to secure his motel room key. A younger Begat had caught a six inch fish in the creek that day; it was confiscated under rules of executive privilege.

We salted his sheets and crumbled potato chips in them. We removed all towels and toilet paper. We covered every surface with shaving cream. We turned the thermostat all the way up. I placed the dead fish inside his pillowcase. We returned to the reunion and drank with him.

We tore it up.

Last time I saw him was two years ago at another family reunion. He and my Uncle Skip are a pair. It occured to me they may as well stick thumbs up each others asses. There was chaos that only the Harding clan produce or tolerate. I’m sorry now we didn’t visit much but it sure was nice to see him. I can’t honestly remember if he knows I was the mastermind behind that revenge.

He is sixty six years old and cancer has invaded his body. There are plenty of loving Hardings, In-Laws and Begats to do everything they can. They will.

I will come too. I will make sure he knows I put that fish in his pillow.

Goodnight Uncle Larry, I will see you soon.

Drinks for my friends.

I was born with Tabula Rasa in hand.

I once wore pink socks with white hi tops, light blue cotton pants with pink flowers and a pink sweat shirt with the sleeves cut off. My girlfriend at the time was mad I wouldn’t at least give her the pants. I was studying audio/music in Atlanta GA. I also wore a white ankle length coat and a fedora.

I liked the Osmonds when I was nine.

I once killed rabbits randomly with a semi automatic twenty two caliber rifle. It had a scope. I was thirteen or fourteen. My grandfather gave it to me after I proved I could shoot it.

An afternoon of senseless testosterone, having our fun, I clipped one instead of killing it. It began to scream. Not unlike a human infant. I went from a great hunter wielding a ridiculous pea shooter, to humiliated, ashamed and afraid.

We weren’t complete idiots, my fellow retards and I. A few merciless seconds flew before we understood it must be put out of its misery immediately and it was my responsibility.

I found it in my scope. It laid against a dune, beneath a sagebrush, incapacitated, bleeding red, horror and confusion in it’s eyes as it wailed.

A creature no bigger than my cat. No less innocent.

I pulled the trigger until the screaming stopped.

I will never in my life forget what I saw through the scope of my rifle that day. I will never forget that sound. I will never not regret my ignorant arrogance.

Hunting rabbits is one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. It’s easy for evil to gain purchase in adolescent boys. Susceptible and often willing vessels.

I was a vegetarian for almost a decade.

The ASPCA has access to my checking account to this day.

I liked the Jackson Five and Kiss too.

My fellow retards and I evolved. We began blowing shit up to satisfy our testosterone fueled cravings for destruction, mayhem and chaos.

There was a time at A&M Recording Studios when us runners decided it was copasetic to add a meal here and there to the check of a wealthy rockstar. We were all guilty of it at one time or another. Call in an order, add some crabcakes and pick it up with petty cash.

One can never justify taking anything that does not belong to them.

There was an inquisition. Spanish style. One of us was fired everyday. They sat us in the cavernous tracking room of Studio A and picked us off one by one when we wouldn’t talk. This was a place where careers were made. We’d all done it. Our peers who got fired protected the rest of us.

All of us, save one, kept our mouths shut.

His name was Jack Hayback. He got my good friend Dexter sacked for spending a rockstar’s money to feed a homeless person a sandwich. A man who would become one of my very closest and loyal friends joined me in cornering Jack in the back hallway. We told him in no uncertain terms, there in front of the coffee station, that his days at A&M Recording Studios were coming to an end. We also imparted to him, in very clear and certain terms, that he would be well advised to watch his back for as long as it took for us to get him fired. We both meant it.

We were called on the carpet for it the very next day. We never handed him his beatdown but were still able to end his career in a mere few days.

All the while, my ultimate boss was using studio funds to procure rare and expensive gear, selling it to other people and keeping the equipment and money for himself. He was a dirty bastard persecuting five dollar an hour employees for having a decent meal here and there.

This cancer of thievery was practised in front of most of us.

A decade later that close friend an I were drinking at the infamous Rainbow Bar & Grill on Sunset in Hollywood. Jack approached me with an open hand for a shake and a stupid grin. He asked if I remembered him and reminded me who he was. I was as concise as I could be. I confirmed I knew exactly who he was and still hated his fucking guts. I told him my old friend was with me and we’d always been disappointed we never had a hand in Jack being able to taste his own blood.

Didn’t see him after that.

It still makes me smile.

The elementary school I attended was literally across the street from my mothers office. I used to love to go there after school. Sometimes I never went inside. I’d bring a ball or a book and wait for her to finish for the day. She worked for the Council Bureau of the Nevada State Legislature, research division.

The offices fascinated me. The paraphernalia, machines and exact order of a government office in the early seventies. The possessions at each desk to personalize an anonymous workspace. The smell of fresh ink and old paper.

Volumes and volumes of ancient texts bound in leather that made very little sense when I cracked them open. I searched and searched for their importance. I barely managed to glimpse it but remained in awe.

Smart purposeful people. Men in ties and quick talking fast moving women in suits.

One winter afternoon she left me in her boss’s char. At his desk. His office was filled with interesting things. I liked being in there. I endeavored to be conscientious. Put everything back the way I found it. That afternoon there was a jar of M&M’s on the desk. I simply could not stop myself.

My Mother’s boss called her on it the next day. Sometimes I look back and think I lied about it because of just how much embarrassment I’d caused her. I could not face it. I have to tell you that to this day it easily one of the most shameful things I’ve ever done.

All these things cemented a certain ethical Rosetta Stone for me. I began to have hard and fast rules. Honesty was the imperative. It all served as a valuable lesson for me.

As of today, I’m an expert recreational liar. I can tell a clerk or a waiter anything. I can lie to a the DMV or any customer service representative. When it really matters however, a child can see right through me. I suck at lying.

Drinks for my friends.

What follows is an e-mail from my uncle to my mother.

He’s an inlaw, married to Mother’s younger sister for a few centuries. This particular uncle is like all the others, blood or not. Remarkably capable, intelligent and manly men with an absurd sense of humor, an abundance of optimism and the ability to do just about any damn thing.

Despite most of them being clueless Republicans, my mother’s family are medal contenders for the Olympic coolest group of people competition. Some are stranger than others, but all are people I’m very lucky to know. Eleven siblings all married at least once as well becoming successful engines of procreation.

I’ve participated in the binding and torture of my cousins and I’ve purposely been electrocuted by an uncle. To single any of them out is just foolish. So many colorful people. Reunions are the most impossibly organized chaos anyone could ever wrap a brain around. They involve things like cooking omelettes in plastic bags and cousin Rod wandering around with endless amounts of Patron. Fill your ziploc with your favorite ingredients and hand it to stoic uncle Jim. He doesn’t say much but hands you an omelette ninety seconds later. Take a pull off Rod’s bottle, it’s tasty.

Find cousin Derek and see if he’s started drinking yet because if he has, you can too.

There will be huckleberry pie and ice cream.

An existential yet delightful surreality.

Every goddamn one of them is nuts and I’m sure they think the same of me.

Here we go:

“so what’s your summer schedule.. any date when your going to be here??
Sharon went to Spokane Tuesday,, and come home yesterday, thinks she likes the idea of shopping with your Sisters.
say’s her back is out and needs to see the chiropractor but i think it an excuses to head down..
DD had dentist appointment yesterday so she was in Spokane also.
Skip and Mitch stopped by on the way back from working up north.. then DD got here so they went over and seen her place.
Skip is going to help her put the cedar on the front deck ceiling.
Diana was here Sunday and stayed, then over to DD’s and decorated and stayed Monday night. Brian Orr was over Sunday and we had dinner at DD’s while we were setting there two bear run by the back window.. don’t tell Shirley !!!
we had a moose and coyote go by last week..
Every thing is nice an green course with all the rain what else could it be.. oats looking good.
i made deck for Dawn’s side door and took it down two weeks ago, and yesterday i cut the step risers so will take them down today and get the steps started.
Dawn is off today, getting ready for graduation tomorrow night.
Brian will finish the steps tomorrow , he is off.
Went in Tuesday and helped Carey install the upper hydraulic cylinder on the excavator.. was a heavy mother.. weighed 700 lbs.. had to use 2 chain hoist and 3 come a longs to jockey it into position, was never so happy when we got the top pin in.. was afraid the damn thing was going to spin on our jury rigged stuff and drop in the hole.. but its done now and Carey is finishing the basement dig..
as soon as this gets done the builder is putting in the footings.
he is having everything done but the electrical,, were going to do that. think we will take the MH up and stay for a few days when we do.
guess Scott is coming over this weekend to do Steve’s plumbing rough in.. just hope he don’t meet some of his old gang and get to partying.. DD kind of worried about that. he’s been doing pretty good on the coast.
headed up to Rice tomorrow with Russ. he is building a road and were going to use the cat to load a disc i bought. he also bought an old plow.. so will try to load that also. have to get done so we can get to the graduation by 7 but found out Sharon has some other stuff she wants to do also , so might have to hurry..
have an old laptop that i got running with radio last week, set it up for Tudor and Ken to use. Sharon took it in when she went down, but couldn’t get it to working. i will check it the next time i am there.
Ken has been doing some scraping at Jakes,, been taking old sign stuff apart and selling the silver, brass, and copper. guess he was getting a pretty good price on the silver, but took a sample into another place. then sent it out for assay and found out it was worth twice as much as he was selling it for.. so he lost a few bucks. but still has some to sell so is changing buyers..
Sharon said he even has Tudor doing some stuff and is paying her.. quit an operation..
Well that’s about it, have to get my oatmeal on and get ready to head out
See ya
Tell Doug hi, and were working on a list of things we need done when he gets here.
talked to Jim yesterday, they had a good day at the store opening,, they got another load of inventory in and its blocking the esle so they were headed down yesterday morning to stock it.”

Drinks for my friends.

What a difference a day makes. Twenty four little hours.

The Pantsuit is gonna walk as of Saturday.

The jury is still out on whether she’s coveting assistant manager or just pining to be asked.

The nail in that tire is Big Bad Bill. He’s made it pretty obvious the last few months that he’s a House Afire. Doesn’t appear as he can help it. I’ve been a William Jefferson fan for near two decades. Not perfect but one hell of a human as well as a damn good President.

Without a doubt, he’s been pissing on a few parades lately while shilling for his wife the Pantsuit. Ugly. Kind of ironic that he’s suddenly a boat anchor attached to her chances for for any gig better than crew chief. The way they behaved, I’d start them both at the fry station and shitter duty.

What Bill can giveth, Bill may taketh away.

Were Hills to become our VP, I’m pretty sure I’d come to loathe our man. I’m not looking forward to that.

What I’d like to see is Bubba as Secretary of State. He would rock that shit. Diplomacy, without his wife as an imperative, is a suit he wears better than anyone.

Some pundit floated the idea of Joe Biden the other day. We likes us some Biden. He’s a bit of a loose lipped cashier, however. My Mother suggested Edwards for AG. Awesome. Other ideas for VP are Wes Clark and Ed Rendell.

I like Clark. Solid. Four Star General. Screwed the pooch by starting his last bid for President way too late. West Point valedictorian and Rhodes Scholar among other things. This guy is smart and might be a good choice given the size of his lumber in a national security debate.

I don’t know much about Ed Rendell. Governor of Pennsylvania. Seems to be kind of a blowhard but not stupid. Not VP material.

What matters most today is how the Pantsuit comports herself over the next little while. Anything less than grace, gratitude, respect and sincere enthusiasm will not pass. I’m sure it sucks to be her right now but it’s time to man up. There’s still a much bigger picture to be painted.

The world will wait until Saturday, but it wouldn’t hurt to get started sooner. Nice start at AIPAC today even though they kinda suck. Time to be classy and cooperative. Don’t be stupid. Send Bill on holiday and show us you give a mad fuck.

Drinks for my friends.

You know, gently, when a foot slips from beneath the sheets?

Change is inevitable. Unavoidable. Hard.

I left a job I’d been at for almost a decade. I had to. I hear they replaced me with a ringer. That’s good.

Some days are productive and sometimes I never shuck my robe. I try to always brush my teeth. And write. My robe stinks.

Obama parked a dozen balls tonight with a Gibson Flying V plugged into a wall of Marshall Amps. Iowa. People with televisions heard it all over the world. The grace he exhibited when talking about the pantsuit was mesmerizing. It’s already been said and it will continue, yet I must; Barack Obama is as fine an orator as seen for generations. If he means what he says, and I believe he does, he will be the finest President in generations.

I try not to fire up the plasma too early. It’s been warm and she runs hot. It’s an anesthesia I need to monitor the consumption of anyway.

Bad news about Teddy huh?

My mother is so cool. She packed a grocery bag full of food for our train ride back from Yuma. Chicken salad sandwiches with fresh lettuce, water, juice, stawberry pie with an Oreo crust, rhubarb cake and potato chips.

We hung out under the awning of a palatial coach and a bigger thing on a slab with a structure of steel and a skin of white aluminium siding. We grilled and ate. We cruised the neighborhood in a Subaru to look at my uncle’s properties and where their friends live. Cocktailed and watched election returns. We drank good wine with stellar pork chops and a fantastic corn casserole. We drank better wine with a giant tin of Stouffer’s Mac & Cheese and Cesar salad.

There’s a bay on the side with a sliding platform. It has a refrigerator full of beer and sodas as well as my brand of gin. There’s satellite tv.

A three legged black lab named Billy who never met a man she didn’t like. She’s about as sweet as a domesticated animal gets. I think of her as Tripod. She enjoys licking and tug of war with toys.

Maybe we’re not supposed to live as long. After the age of fifteen or sixteen, how pure can your soul be?

We all lost consciousness. The train was to leave Yuma at 4:15 a.m. She must have been up for the better part of an hour. Everything in individual ziplocks or perfectly sized tupperware packed neatly into a grocery sack with a pristinely folded top. I have to tell you, that was the least of her kindness. My mother is very much the matriarch. She takes it seriously. She does whatever she can possibly do to help her children, her husband, her brothers and sisters and their children.

She will cook, clean, do laundry and ride a white horse over the horizon waving a broadsword.

She decides where everyone sits in the car.

I had a scrape with the law twenty years ago and could very well have ended up in prison for possession. She bailed me out of jail, took me home for a shower and change of clothes and we got down to business. Within a few hours and after a pleasant meeting with a very prominent attorney, my worries were over.

Too bad it made the front page.

My old man had that paper in his hand when he hugged me and told me he’d done a lot worse. My folks rock.

My mother is whip smart. An intellectual without the hubris of her son. She and my father are ardent NASCAR fans. Democrats who pay attention. She can cook. All her sisters can cook. Her brothers are awesome whackjobs. She comes from a family of eleven, all good people.

The in-laws are somehow crazier. Just about every man or woman selected by my mother and her brothers and sisters is arguably even crazier than his or her mate. Family reunions are an absolute blast. The amount of chaos is impressive.

By the way, my sister can really cook. I mean really.

She once showed up at my house with her entire family for Thanksgiving. They drove five hundred miles on a few days notice with an entirely prepared Thanksgiving meal save for the turkey languishing in brine.

In my family, if you get sick, you won’t spend a day alone in the hospital. If you’re down and out, someone will take you in and help you find a job. Be a shithead, and all will be forgiven.

These are my people.

It’s intimidating. I think I might be the lamest of the bunch.

Drinks for my friends.

So yeah, Hillary takes a steamer on our man Obama’s forehead last night with the help and complicity of just about every toothless hillbilly in West Virginia. It was an ass whooping for sure, albeit by a demographic for whom the most common and prominent skill might just be the ability to play the banjo or make Ned Beatty squeal like a pig.

My point is this. West Virginians do not by any means, represent white America.

Despite all this, it’s too bad she’s unable to revel in the best bowel movement she’s had in months, even for a single twenty four hour news cycle.

Ya’ll know I likes me some John Edwards. I damn near did the potty dance when he arrived on a white horse in Michigian today to endorse our man Barack. In the words of that famous philosopher and arbiter of contemporary zeitgeist Bart Simpson, Ha Ha!

So much for testicular fortitude, huh Hills? As a male, I have a grasp on just how disastrously uh, moist, the concept of pissing in the wind could be. I can only imagine that for a woman, the potential for a soaking increases exponentially.

How long does she intend to flirt with such an obvious calamity?

I reclined sanguine in Yuma Arizona last night with my parents, we mused about the possibility of the Pantsuit as a running mate while sipping Turley zinfandel in a motorhome far nicer than my apartment. I took the opportunity to posit again that I thought that was precisely what she was up to and floated the idea of Edwards, despite his overt statements to the contrary.

That’s what they all say, I observed.

My mother is quick and sharp. She said he’d be a dream Attorney General. Damn she got me.

After the twin turbo charged disaster that was Gonzales and Ashcroft, and the current trainwreck of Michael Mukasey, who’s unable to wrap his brain around waterboarding, Edwards would be far more than a breath of pristine atmosphere. He’d be a sustained gust powerful enough to scour our constitution of all the shit the Republicans have spent the last seven years smearing on it.

A crusader against corporate influence as the Attorney General of The United States? Awesome.

Brilliant brinksmanship. Talk about a counterpunch.

In related news: Travis Childers visited a whooping in Missafuckingssippi while facing a full frontal assault from the evil blackhat Republicans wielding their most racist broadsword. He may be a bit of a nut but BOOYA MOTHERFUCKERS!

Drinks for my friends.

Yesterday Dumbya, in an earnest impersonation of Alfred E. Newman, told us no worries, we’re not in a recession.

Oil up over one hundred seventeen dollars a barrel. Up from thirty or so under Clinton. You’re all aware, I’m sure, of the mortgage bloodbath. The job deficit. Half a million a minute in Iraq on CREDIT.

Those stimulus checks are on the way. Help you out with that two hundred percent increase at the pump. Yep, help to pay ExxonMobile. Richest corporation in the history of man. Sounds good. Nice little circle of larceny.

It goes on and on.

(CNN) — John McCain’s campaign sent supporters a fundraising e-mail Friday that claims Hamas approves of Democrat Barack Obama’s foreign policy vision, and is hoping for his victory this fall.

I guess there’s some truth to this but for fuck’s sake people, you think they’d put their money on a man like Doubtfire who thinks we can hang around for a hundred more years?

I an upcoming interview on 60 Minutes, Supreme Court Antonin Scalia says of the controversial decision which handed Bush the Whitehouse in two thousand that America needs to “Get over it”.

I hate that prick. You know, he and Darth Cheney are pals.

And once again we are being beaten about the head shoulders with the opinions of Jeremiah Wright. I will point out again, ad nauseam , there isn’t much of what he said that isn’t true. How goddamn sad our man is being impugned by the media for truths he did not even utter.

“In a fiery sermon in April 2003, Wright said: “The government gives them the drugs, builds bigger prisons, passes three-strike laws and wants them to sing God Bless America.”

“God damn America … for killing innocent people.”

“God damn America for threatening citizens as less than humans”

“God damn America as long as she tries to act like she is God and supreme.”

“We have supported state terrorism against the Palestinians and black South Africans, and now we are indignant because of stuff we have done overseas is now brought back into our own backyard. America is chickens coming home to roost.”

“Barack knows what it means living in a country and a culture that is controlled by rich white people,” Wright said. “Hillary would never know that.”

“Hillary ain’t never been called a nigger. Hillary has never had a people defined as a non-person.”

-All quotes from FOXNews.com

You motherfucking tell me what is dishonest or untruthful about any of that. America’s problem is that she cannot handle the truth. Goddamnit and goddman you who would question that. We are a society of cowards, hypocrites and cold calculating reptiles.

On September 18, 2006, Pastor John Hagee — whose endorsement Sen. John McCain (R-AZ) said this past Sunday he was “glad to have” — told NPR’s Terry Gross that “Hurricane Katrina was, in fact, the judgment of God against the city of New Orleans.” “New Orleans had a level of sin that was offensive to God,” Hagee said, because “there was to be a homosexual parade there on the Monday that the Katrina came.”

Now, that offends me and my sensibilities.

Shrillary is ahead in the popular vote if you count Florida and Michigan even though they all agreed they don’t count. That’s her new bugle from atop the hill.

Gimme a fucking break.

Anybody notice we’re not talking about the war?

It’s pretty bad again.

I believe the second and last time I heard my mother say the word “fuck”, her sentence was something like, “We are the best country on earth and we are going to fuck it up.”

The first time had something to do with me not vacuuming the astro turf on the porch in front of the trailer when I was fourteen.

I am in awe. I can’t believe this shit.

You people are as hopelessly gullible as a small gathering of primates. I don’t doubt they’d be embarrassed eventually.

They are ramming this shit down your throats because the only thing that gets you off is to gag on it.

Understand that this is a man who comes from just a slightly different place than most of you and I. That’s a good thing. Just consider, he has already seen what you are about to see and he may just be the man to help you through it. Change must come. It’s only now begun to arrive. The antidote will only come from a man such as this. I don’t see any others, and if you’re smart, you’ll be happy he’s here.

And stop worrying that he’s some sort of Muslim or that he hates America.

Don’t be a damn fool.

Drinks for my friends.

Looks like I’m all but forced to weigh in on this ugliness yet again. I’m doing so because well, Hillary did so today with all the panic, recklessness and shameless irresponsibility of a desperate woman who again demonstrates a glaring sense of entitlement for our nation’s Presidency.

I’m sure you’re all aware That Senator Obama delivered a compassionate, sincere and very personal disquisition on race in America last week in response to his Reverend’s sermons from the lectern. A speech that was as refreshing in it’s honesty and eloquence as was the absence of a cowardly mea culpa or spineless abandonment of a life long friend.

He took the onus off himself and placed it squarely on us. He did so by talking to us like adults.

I’m compelled to point out; a fair amount of what Reverend Wright said was true.

As she read from a prepared statement in response to a question today, she essentially said she indeed would have walked away from that church and it’s Reverend and followed up with the callow observation that we are free to choose our friends but not our relatives.

I don’t buy this shit for a minute. This, a transparent attempt to draw attention away from a blatant and chronic lie about ducking and hiding from sniper fire in Bosnia, by exploiting racial divisivness in the same breath. The only chance Shrillary has is to keep as many white people from voting for Obama as possible. The most efficient means of course, play the race card.

Hillary, you ingnorant slut.

You continue to disappoint. My own mother mentioned she glimpsed a cut-throat passive aggressiveness in you that she’d only observed in the very worst of her female bosses.

Nevermind that your efforts may ultimately be the Democratic party’s demise in a season that was once filled with possibility, potential and hope. Nevermind how proud and delighted I was to have our very first woman and our very first black man as genuine and viable candidates for the leader of the free world and for the longest time, race and gender were not at issue. Nevermind what you and your husband have done to soil what was shaping up to be a glistening Clinton legacy. Nevermind all of that and more.

Have you no shame? No integrity? Is there a line that you won’t cross in order to clutch that brass ring?

If for no other reason than your own posterity, I implore you to let it fucking go. You are embarrassing us. You are staining this process. You ARE an embarrassment to America.

Take a lesson from your own daughter, who when asked about Monica Lewinsky today, you know the intern that sucked your husbands dick, told the questioner it was none of their business. I would suggest that to be far more appropriate an answer as opposed to your obviously prepared remarks today.

And by the way, for you to allow James Carville’s cheap shot comparison of Governor Richardson to Judas without immediate repudiation is just more of the same. Shame on you. Rovian tactics indeed.

It is largely up to you whether or not this contest becomes a protracted battle in Denver this summer. If you allow that, it most certainly will be at the expense of us all. The time for you to walk away is fast approaching. Do the math.

Drinks for my friends.

Chelsea is hot.

I really think so.

“I think I’m turning Japanese, I think I’m turning Japanese, I really think so” – The Vapors.

Anyway.

They did swing hard. Some good stuff. We like a good dustup between mostly like and right minded people.

Obama does very well. He’s taller and tends to throw his punches down. He really is impressive.

Hills takes punches and throws uppercuts like Roberto Duran. She is tough and fascinating.

I do believe Obama’s remarks about Reagan are what they are. His point was that Reagan was a transformative president, no value placed, good or bad.

I think he was alluding to Ronnie being able to so effectively snow so many rednecks and the great unwashed. See, Reagan sucked and he was, in the contemporary tradition of Republican presidents, an absolute out of touch dipshit.

Ronald Reagan was a human hurricane for the have nots. Let me be clear here; Reagan fucking sucked.

Russia was broken on the backs of our middle class and poor. And the rich began to get richer.

Reaganomics. Trickle down. Shut the fuck up. He was an actor, and not a great one by any stretch.

Ok, sorry.

Edwards is a class act. My mother was a delegate in the Nevada caucuses and she was there for Edwards. I agree with her. He is the best of the three. She wasn’t able to make it happen. He got his “butt kicked”.

I would like to see Edwards prevail in South Carolina. A little leveling of the field would be healthy and his is a good voice in this contest. The man has integrity.

To one degree or another, I like them all. It’s not perfect, but we are lucky. This is an excellent group. Intelligent and passionate.

Then there is the big picture. The entertainment value. Not since the last time a diminutive jug eared paste eater waded in (Perot/Kucinich), has the contest for leader of the free world been so compelling.

Sometimes I wax pessimistic and realize that what we have here is the best of a worse case scenario. Our country is so broken. I understand that not one of these three may be capable or even desirous of the profound shift we absolutely need.

America is in a very bad way. Yet, despite which one prevails, it is a long step in the right direction. I really can’t afford to think about whether any one of them can do enough. Probably not.

But you know, small steps?

Drinks for my friends.