Archive for the ‘Uncle Tyke’ Category

This fucking Harry Reid as a racist thing is comedy.

Harry Reid will never be caught in an ethical or moral scandal.  My Mother was his secretary and he is at least an honest man.  I will take your money over this.  I simply know it to be true.

I blame society and the media.

Really, I do.

I haven’t always agreed with him and he’s pissed me off.  I understand he’s not polling well.  I dare say it might and maybe should come down to the Devil you know versus the one you don’t.  Harry Reid as Senate Majority Leader is a big deal for a state with our meager population and vast tracts of irradiated desert that Washington wants to turn into the nation’s toxic nuclear septic tank.

Fuck that shit.  No more nuclear energy until we figure out what to do with the waste.  Thanks be to Harry thus far.

Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid of Nevada described in private then-Sen. Barack Obama as “light skinned” and “with no Negro dialect, unless he wanted to have one.” -Yahoo

Sounds a little rough.  Context kids.  Biden said something like clean and articulate.  A far poorer choice of words and he’s Vice President.  See, Mr. Reid was speaking with candor among colleagues.  He was assessing the candidate’s chances of success in light of how racist America remained.  Remains; because, bear with me here, we’re really finding out just how racist America still is.

You must admit it’s really reared its ugly head.

Mr. Reid was guilty of being matter of fact in light of what the stupidest quarter* I’ve alluded to before would end up thinking and doing.  For the record, the stupidest quarter have behaved exactly as we all thought, thus vindicating Senator Reid.  They didn’t make fun of how he talked and only accused him of being an Arab or maybe Muslim.  Turns out Harry was exactly right.

Senator Reid apologized immediately and our President said, “I’ve seen the passionate leadership he’s shown on issues of social justice and I know what’s in his heart,” Obama said yesterday. “As far as I am concerned, the book is closed.”  -Yahoo

More than enough for me.  To be fair he also characterized the comments as “unfortunate”.  Who knows what he meant exactly but I agree.  Unfortunate.  Yes.  It shouldn’t be an issue, but it is, and you’re an idiot if you can’t see it.  I’m not here to apologize for ignorance or stupidity and I don’t believe that’s what has occurred here.  What we have here is a truthful man speaking privately in support of a man who would become our first black President.

I know it’s awkward but Harry Reid was being honest and I admire his prompt contrition.  He knows what he he meant but he’s humiliated by how it sounds.

Michael Steele called for Dirty Harry’s resignation today.  Didn’t see that one coming.  Let’s politicize racism and who better to foment than a black Republican?  He asks rhetorically.  Somewhere Gomer Pyle chuckles with abandon.  Surprise, surprise, surprise.  Michael Steele should be the titular Head Douchebag of the Republican party forever.  He’s as good for the world as Sarah Palin because they’re both the same caliber of stupid.  The somewhat sociopathic kind that is relatively rare in most walks of life but prevalent in low IQ conservative, ideological and fucktardian political circles.

You know, the kind that fail up.

Is this racism?  You bet.  Is Harry Reid a racist?

Piss up a rope.

Drinks for my friends.

*When Nixon was forced to resign, his approval rating was about 25%.  When George W. Bush left office, his approval rating was about 25%.  I can think of no better proof that one in four Americans is a dipshit.

I remember when I had my first beer.

Instead of the Hostess cherry pie my father usually bought for me at the Country Store on the way back from the dump, Dad furnished me a Bud tallboy. We came home, I opened it, set in on the fence and started mowing the lawn. I don’t think I finished the the lawn or the beer. Suddenly, I needed a nap.

GOP Senator George Voinovich from Ohio announced today that he won’t seek reelection in 2010. Kit Bond from Missouri, Mel Martinez of Florida and Sam Brownback from Kansas are all walking away. All Republicans. Salt in the wound, Jeb Bush, “the smart one” says he won’t be running. Thereby proving he’s at least somewhat smarter.

Forgive my cynicism, but what I think is going on here is that the proverbial fat lady has sung. The GOP knows this, they got theirs, oh boy did they get theirs. Now it’s stage left and a pile a filthy lucre. Bush, Cheney et al. can’t wait to get out and with a little luck and black cancerous evil, they will all somehow avoid prosecution for war crimes.

These are very bad men.

Ask yourself how you can let this happen. They are dirty filthy bastards. Criminals. Scum. Sewage. Picture Cheney’s face. Dick-in-Bush should be consigned to an 8 X 10. A glossy and a cell. Dumbya is in good health. He’ll last forever. Cheney has five years, he will expire from a huge greasy black hole in his useless heart.

Dick Cheney is an asstard. He sucks. I want the glossy, autographed.

A familiar refrain I know; but we’re fucked. The planet is fucked. The economy is as fucked has it’s been since it was the most fucked ever. 1933 through 45 or so. The world hates us. Our rights to privacy and everything else constitutional are fucked. Civil liberties out the goddamn window. We fight unjust wars and then torture those who would object along with anyone else. The rich are richer and the poor are poorer. This administration has orchestrated and overseen the largest redistribution of wealth in the history of man.

Check it out uncle Tyke, it’s true.

The Republicans were evil and the Democrats were pussies.

Now, one by one and in groups, they will walk away. Gleefully and without remorse, they will leave this new generation of hope to shoulder a burden of filth and impossible moral turpitude. Events and policies that stain the perception of a once great country for decades.

A new generation with a moral and fiscal defecit.

Now I’m going to give you some culinary advice for the dark days to come. There is no actual nutrition to be had here. Merely a greasy, very satisfying gut bomb that will not end in you shitting like a goose.

Two packages of Top Ramen and a half stick of butter. In a smallish four quart pot, bring water, copious amounts of salt and hopefully some olive oil to boil rapidly over the highest heat. Violently. Plunge the noodles. Have a smoke. After a while, when the noodles are pasty and gluey, drain the water so that it barely covers the noodles. Add dry suace packets and sesame oil if you have any. Have another smoke. Make a short phone call, check out some free internet porn, watch a little of the Daily Show. Whatever.

Use your ears. It will begin to smack and splatter.

Wash a shallow bowl and a big fork. Drain almost all but a little bit of the water from the noodles and add the butter. Reduce the heat to about half. Add some canned peas or maybe some supermarket brand deli mustard, whatever you got, but be conservative. At this stage, the noodles are delicate and will absorb flavors like a sponge.

You’re frying over pretty high heat so stir vigorously.

Once the water is boiled off, upend the pot into the bowl and eat in front of a fan. The fan cools the noodles to an optimum temperature before you shovel them into your maw. Try to take really big hot steamy bites. It is a most satisfying density into one’s gulliver for less than three dollars. You’ll sleep well if even if you’ve been drinking. No need to worry about morning mud unless you flirt with hot sauce or canned vegetables, delicious but their may be consequences.

Now, back to the future and the legacy of the GOP. Expect the exodus to continue. They can’t possibly face their constituents after the ass rape they’ve subjected them to. They will walk away quietly. Clever but not smart, greedy shallow men. Horrible people who lack a mad fuck about anyone. I can’t stand it.

We’re about 90 degrees out. The world may have caught up with me.

Drinks for my friends.

What’s the rumpus?

So yeah, the Xmas vacation.  Pretty cool actually.  I brought the best bottles from my dwindling stash. Leonetti and Pejut.  Pedestrian tongues drank Two Buck Chuck or beer and they were happy.  I’m only selfish with my grapes to the extent of anyone’s ability to appreciate them.  Know and understand what you’re drinking and you can have all you want. I will only share my wine with them gullets that can appreciate it. I’m a dick like that.

Some still call me The Cock.  

I was asked to say grace at Christmas. Heh. I took it upon myself to thank the powers of the universe for family, friends and health, as well as the wisdom of the American people in their overwhelming support for Barack Obama as President Elect of The United States of America.  The caveat intended for my beloved uncle Tyke, an unapologetic Republican. 

At least they laughed. I’m sure they saw it coming.    

Dinner was excellent.  Culinary rockstardom visited upon us by my sister bearing an extraordinary mixed green salad with pomegranate seeds and an absurd pumpkin soup.  Dear cousin Marlow played an excellent solo with her fresh green beans, almonds and ham melody.  Otherwise, an excellent medley of turkey, mashed a’ tatas, gravy and various appetizers. Oh, and cauliflower in cheese sauce.

It was all I could do to not rub it in my hair.

Then there was the bloody roast beast with horseradish. Had to look away.

Among the pies were chocolate, pumpkin and a perfect pear and cranberry with crust to die for from my mother. She tells me she nails grandma’s crust better than any of her sisters. I don’t doubt it. I wonder if they know that.

Extraordinary people looking a little Norman Rockwell, yet moving at the speed of real life. Sharp, funny, pointed, loving and respectful. No matter where the day took me, no matter the people I was with, there was not just a glue of shared experience, but the bond of loyalty and acceptance. Dialog, debate and discussion almost all optimistic. Hopeful.

The first white Christmas in Northern Nevada in twenty years.  

Christmas eve, a study in silliness and inebriation.  I always have a party, but my father’s illness and the weather over the Sierras have conspired against it for the last two years.  I ended it at the house of my cousin’s Marlow and Derrick on the eve.  No worries.  I found myself in bed with cousin Derrick as well as Uncle Tyke.    

Decidedly outta hand.  Gorgeous.  Good to love and be loved. To be tolerated even. 

Visited the Madame. She was classy gorgeous.  

My sister the city planner, has changed the entire face of downtown Carson City in a handful of months and she’s managed to put an ice rink right on top of the town anthole. The rink thrives.

I’m here to talk about Uncle Tyke. Roland Emil. Sometimes I worry his eyes may be too far apart but he’s a crafty bastard and I can’t help but adore him. An excellent man despite being a shameless Republican. Uncle Tyke’s wife is aunt Bobby and she’s the shit as well. A devout Catholic who still manages to be completely honest and very funny. I adore them.

She was my smoking buddy but she quit. Replaced by daughter Marlow.

So, they begat Marlow and she chose Derrick. They all four rock. Marlow has gorgeous completely, an enormous heart, sweetness and honesty. Her husband Derrick slays me. I think he gave me the benefit of the doubt because of my father. I’ll take that. The respect he has for my Old Man, they for my people, makes my heart swell. I try to do my best towards them all.

This is a subject. These folks are real.

Derrick says, Hey you fat bastard, first time he lays eyes on me. Inside is the beautiful house he built with my father, his father and father-in-law-uncle Tyke. Inside, my little shit cousin Marlow puts out a delicious Christmas Eve spread. The salt in my ocean. No shit.

I ate with my hands. That just occurred to me. Hope I wasn’t offensive. Everyone else was doing paper plates. I’m sure I was loud and drunk but I’m just as sure I wasn’t the only one.

My feet stink like broccoli. Like babyshit. Lysol.

He drives a race car and can build just about anything this side of a nuclear reactor. Derrick. They tell me he’s pretty good. I don’t doubt it. He’s both fearless and egoless. I couldn’t take him down without a bat or a shovel. If I didn’t like him so much, I’d crack him with either.

My brother in law Todd worked up some powerful anticipation over three dollar roast beef sandwiches and dollar beers at The Carson Station. He did do the most remarkble thing by arranging to have Don Carlson meet us for drinks and then he and my sister held him there while I enjoyed pork chops with my folks. The overwhelming priviledge. Awesome. Marvelous. Thank you both.

My sister, who can best be described as a house afire, has taken it upon herself to broker my birthday present in the form of the brainspank logo on cousin Derrick’s race car. I understand the near matter vs. anti matter dynamic here. But to have my logo on a my cousin’s fucking race car. My sister, I still call her Pissy, is a genius.

Trust me when I tell you that she’s changing downtown Carson City at a rate that is making the old guys look really bad. She’s really starting to floor me. I’ll have to get published or this sibling rivalry thing might be over. I’ve been coasting on a gold record for a decade. It went triple platinum but that horse is dead.

She’s wicked, my sister. It’s not that she’s exceptional. It really is that she’s almost always exceptional. Goddamn Tam. Enough is enough. I’m here to warn you that your brother is comfortable as second superhero in charge. I’m reminding you that you may never enjoy the respite of second most accomplished sibling ever again.

I may choose to rest on my laurels.

You, as most accomplished sibling, have the burden of higher expectations. More Superhero stuff. I intend to get by with a few flourishes and self sufficiency.

I cannot believe the amount of food in my parent’s refrigerator and pantry. One can choose between a handful of different kinds of cereal, soup, crackers, chips, nuts, vegetables, fruit, sauce, spices, grains, pastas, vinegars, oils, syrups, mixes, dressings………….

The pantry is a huge closet with a divided glass door. Somehow it’s light is the most comforting in the house.

Three appliances. My guess is the one in the garage is long term parking.

I checked out Tam’s larder. Very impressive as well.

I spent more than a few evening’s end with the Tripod named Billy Jean. A sweet black Lab who lost a front leg while training with my house afire sister for a marathon. She assured me she would stay happy and spread it as best she could to all involved. She included a special promise for my Mom and Dad.

I made her swear.

I get home to discover my handsome refrigerator ceases and desists. The upside of being broke is that there wasn’t a damn thing in the freezer or the fridge. The downside will be a repair bill. It’s rough all over.

I hear that despite all logic, the universe continues to expand.

Drinks for my friends.