Fall flat so as to consult Oliver Platt.

Bake awhile and take awhile.

Introduce yourself to Joe. Don’t trust him. He will know.

Undue and undo to you

It is after all, all that you knew.

Whatever he says cannot be new.

Not to you.

She hides.

Pretends it’s about the color blue.

Patented, patent leather blue

This opportunity to tell you a thing, at least two.

People who stare don’t care

Then there’s us, me and you

We look away

Too much ado

We cannot survive the blue blue blue

Well, that’s my shotgun attempt at rhyme. It is what it is. I leave for home the day after tomorrow. I doubt I’ll write from there. You never know. I want to wish you all the utmost warmth you can find with family and friends etc. Our darkest days have yet to come but there is light. Not all of us are our finest, but so many of us are.

We deserve to take some measure of pride in what we’ve accomplished. It’s pretty goddamn cool. It’s a start. A start. The mountain is insanely, unimaginably high. We stand the remotest chance of coming together. You my friend must be willing to embrace a few rotten mouthed neocons if only to keep your enemies close. Get used to the idea. Embrace it.

NO FREE LUNCH. No such thing.

They have us so afraid. So many Kool Aid fiends.

Almost anyone will steal from you, lie to you or kill you. It’s just not true. Many people are not what they seem. There’s an assload of sociopaths. Check out the current administration.

Then, think about the people you know you can trust.

So there it is. Don’t be stupid.

Nobody gets away with everything forever.

Drinks for my friends.

of all I know.

Spent the afternoon drinking with my best friend. A fine Saturday. I don’t know where my girlfriend is. Toto’s Hydra is an amazing record but the bottom sucks. I hear the mastering engineer on the new Metallica asked not to be credited.

The guy he hired to replace me, a man we all thought was a ringer, ended up nearly burying the business. A liar and a thief. Watch for me in dark alleys you prick. Terry.

You really can’t trust anybody. Well, I trust my Mother and Father, Sister, My Friend and my Girlfriend. Certain other people I’ve known for decades. Cats.

“you can’t trust anyone, trust me I have” -Agnes Gooch

All women have what I think of as a pooch. Unless they’re bodybuilders or prepubescent gymnasts. It’s the lower abdomen. Below the button. I spent time with a gorgeous woman who named her pooch “Gracie”. I adored her for that, among other things.

He’s a whackjob, my old boss and best goddamn friend. Within the last week or so he’s had to deal with his ex-wife crashing into the front of his house and turning other women away as a result. Someday he’ll let me write his book.

Crazy as a shithouse rat and one of the finest people I know. Showed me his guns, been working out with El Muerte. Ha!

So anyway, it’s been cold here in LA. It’s always weird when the sun is that low and still fat in the sky. Making heat in winter.

Not long ago I sought to impugn the character of my ex fiance’s new man by labeling him a giant vagina. I apologize for that. I’ve never met him. I imagine he’s a man of character and integrity because my ex is whip smart and has remarkable amounts of honesty and integrity. She has high standards.

Sorry about that.

I’ve been thinking a lot about canned peas lately. Nothing better than butter, salt, a little pepper, peas and the taste of the can. They should set it up so you can nuke it just like that. The way soup is these days. Peas or beans in a nukable container. Hot Pineapple anyone?

What else did I want to say.

The cats are golden. They make me happy because they can. Otherwise they’re horrible beasts that crap and pee everywhere. I put up with them because they are soft, furry and hysterically funny.

Here’s the the thing. They wear hats. Sombreros, porkpies and stupid red cowboy hats. Everyday I leave the house, only to return to a fashion show. It confuses me so I can’t really talk about it. Put yourself in my shoes. Walk in the door. Spotlight on a disco ball. The dignity of your felines compromised by the cheap and tawdry costumes.

A nightmare of pageantry.

It really is a bit much.

Nobody knows the trouble………….

Drinks for my friends.

I suspect we’d all be a lot happier if they could.

Oh, I don’t know. Merry Xmas. Yeah, Xmas.

I hate it when people don’t understand me. It’s worse when they think they understand me. Christmas. Man, whatever. My ass is broke and even the idea of it is daunting and depressing.

I’m anxious for family and friends. I just talked to my Mom. I needed for her to remind me what Cristmas is about for us, for our family. I needed to hear her say it. It worked. It helped. I’ll book a flight tomorrow.

Why do I still dream of going over a cliff in a motorhome? Giant waves and sinking ships? We debate until the end. Conflict is thick and before you know it, all is lost. Family and friends and me over a thousand foot drop. The bottom rushes at me. I lay in bed an extra half hour for that shit movie. Perverse nightmare lunacy. Why?

I’m a mess. This is a mess. I’m flirting with the wind and the very edge. Closest I’ve ever been. The gusts dictate my balance. We all fall down. That’s why. That’s the rumpus.

Broke for Christmas. Fucking awful. I have a reputation for generosity. I will bring wine and my etchings. That will be enough. Mom said so.

I just want to see and touch them all. My family, my friends.

My definition of crazy: Not Boring.

My definition of insanity: Sometimes blue is purple…………look at that truck.

Celery and grapefruit. Red cherries on green slices of melon.

Dive in headfirst and get water all up in your face. Like snorting horseradish.

Then there’s the ghosts. They move everywhere and beneath everything. They are on your side and then not. No way to schmooze them. They don’t care at all.

Drinks for my friends.

December 18, 2008 – Thursday – 9:01 PM
The Gold Standard

‘With the right hand out begging for bailout money, the left is hiding it offshore.’
Texas Democrat Rep. Lloyd Doggett, of the House Ways and Means Committee

Goldman Sachs, the Gold Standard on Wall Street, announced it’s first quarterly lose in it’s history, but it’s yearly earnings still showed a $2.3 billion profit. It may look like a big number, but for Goldman $2.3 billion is a large drop in earnings.

Let’s not drop too many tears for Goldman. They have been taking care of themselves. Last year, they paid their employees $10.9 billion in compensation. Not bad.

At Goldman Sachs, employee compensation made up 71% of total operating expenses in 2007. In the auto industry, by contrast, autoworker compensation makes up less than 10% of the cost of manufacturing a car. Hundreds of billions were given to the financial-services industry with barely a question about compensation; the auto bailout, however, was sunk on this issue alone.

But let’s not knock Goldman they after all may be the smartest guys in the room. In 2007 Goldman paid a tax rate of 34.1% , or $6 billion. This year, with profits of $2.3 billion, Goldman paid a tax rate of 1%, $14 million.

How?

Goldman attributed its lower tax rate to ‘more tax credits as a percentage of earnings’ and ‘changes in geographic earnings mix.’

What does that mean? They moved their money off shore. Ooops, sorry, they moved our money, $10 billion in bail out money, off shore, untaxed!

And who’s handing out the bail out money? Secretary Hank Paulson.

So?

Paulson was CEO of Goldman Sachs until mid-2006, and earned $35 million at the firm in 2005. He drew a $16.4 million salary in 2006 — even though he served as chief executive for just half the year.

As Goldman employees take home huge salaries, and are getting ready for their holidays, the big three are closing factories, shutting down operations for extended periods, just in time for their holidays.

Peace,
J

I don’t like most people. Most of them.

Then there are those I adore. Blessed me. The wonderful people. Amazing family, incredible friends, all who’ve chosen to show me affection despite my selfishness, arrogance and narcissism. I’m no walk in the park. Yup, I’m one lucky bastard and grateful for it.

Let’s talk about something else.

Why do people you’ve never seen and won’t ever see again acknowledge you in a random public setting? Some impulse of manners? It doesn’t offend me, it does confuse me.

I can’t believe this fuckstick Cheney. Richard Bruce Cheny admits to personal oversight and approval of torture.

We hanged Japanese for waterboarding but Darth says he’s cool with it. The team of Dick-in-Bush is unholy and sociopathic. Incredibly toxic.

This is a gift that will keep on giving. It’s all fine to flog the corpse, as long as you understand it’s not a corpse. It’s a fullblown zombie that will live another two decades at least. Wandering from town to town, infecting people and crashing through department store displays.

I’m here to remind you that zombies poop. We’re not talking Tootsie Rolls here. What we are talking about is egg drop soup from the ass of a zombie. Messy. As aromatic as the bowels of an ancient sewage facility. I bet it shows up on a Geiger Counter.

You know, get used to it. I hope people still want to like America. We will find out with this man Barack Obama as our President. Americans are far better people than how they are portrayed and perceived these days. Yes, I know millions of us suck.

Understand that the stink of rot and decay from the Dick-in-Bush regime will linger for years without end. The ghost of Christmas futures. If America lasts, folklore will remember them as the Murderer and the Retard. An idiot and an asshole. I can’t believe you people put up with this.

Enough is enough. It’s high time we abandon the low road. It’s hard not to hate. Hold a grudge. Punch the ignorant.

I think we must. Retribution and revenge are not useful now. I’m not saying it would make me sad to see any of these bitches at The Hague (the ICC), but we need to fish on. Karma will not be the only reason they taste their own blood.

Worst President and worst Vice President ever. Ever.

Drinks for my friends.

Man I’m in a ditch. Can’t seem to get out of the lower gears. Like a dream where I can’t sprint. Things taste funny and I barely clean up after myself. If only I could postpone Christmas. It rushes at me like a sheet of plywood caught and flung by a desert gust.

I think I should be some kind of Special Agent. I’d be very cool.

I’d still like to live in the forties. When you slammed the phone down in those days, everyone knew it.

I admit, I’m scared of chicks.

America is the only state to ever utilize nuclear technology as a weapon against another state.

The world was far more young then. Humankind had no paradigm available for such technology and it’s use.

We still don’t.

There’s been some championing of nuclear as energy of late. Help me out here. Have we come up with a way to deal with the waste that I don’t know about? I’m guessing we haven’t or I’d know about it. Understand that nuclear power is about as dumb an idea as can be without an efficacious methodology for dealing with the byproduct. The waste. The toxic fucking waste with a half life that lasts thousands of years.

Clean coal. Two words. No evidence.

If you wanna talk to me about this kinda crap, be prepared to blow me.

Moving right along. McCain can’t bring himself to vouch for Palin. Not because she’s stupid but because they both are.

Gas broke it’s eighty six day drop today.

Gun sales are all we can hope for.

Looks like meat’s back on the menu.

What exactly are we up to?

She said “Hang the rich.” -Robbie Robertson

Yeah, oh well.

Drinks for my friends.

Bear with me. Take your time. I had a lot to say.

Little explosions of pork fat in a heavy iron skillet. The fire is hot and I’m not sure, so I pull it off. Good move. The bacon just overdone but still sweaty and fatty. No aroma like that of fresh thick bacon. Most folks like it cooked this way. I use tongs to put it on a plate.

Motes bob and dance in rays of sun, a subject of birdsong, butterflies and dragonflies.

Man has almost complete authority over his own clock. Animals, from rodents to whales, have the sun.

I drop a fistfull of white raisins. Some diced yellow onions and a little butter into the cast iron.

Next up is to smack some eggs in the fat and put the skillet back on the crackling morning combustion. Beneath a canopy of primeval. This part’s easy. They cook like that, the eggs. Smacking and spattering. Hope ya like yours yellow loose. Quick and hot. Soft in the middle with brown bubbles at the edges. They’re done. Sea salt? Tapatio?

Someone else is doing coffee. I smell it. Raw like tilled earth. Berries.

Potatos cook the longest, garlic and rosemary. Moist in the center, otherwise crispy and taut. Steaming. Glistening with butter and oil. Fresh ground pepper. With potatos, I don’t play games I can’t win. The best way I’ve found.

Everyone stares up and around. Nobody looks at their food while they shovel it at their mouths. The savour does not compete with the vista, it compliments it, the ambiance of a deciduous forest in the chill of a late summer morning.

Have some champagne.

Next up, pine trees and a good classic novel. Some Fitzgerald or maybe Jack London. Twain. Capote. Then a nice clean spot to evacuate oneself and soap and water and towels after and what not.

I bring my own ointments and salves.

Maybe an afternoon walk.

I never would have made it as some pioneer or frontiersman. Maybe if I was some version of royalty. Afforded a certain amount of privilege and staff.

I just want to live in San Francisco.

Gin and chocolate.

I believe in mankind’s right to self medicate.

There is simply no reason in a country as wealthy as ours that people should go hungry, without health care or as much education as anyone can tolerate. I can’t stand it.

I’m gonna go out on a limb here and proclaim that a little socialism might not be bad for us. Not just to give the folks who fall through the cracks a leg up, but to headbutt the absurdly wealthy who have enjoyed political, social and economic advantage by virtue of obscene largess for so long, the phenomena has manifested a momentum of it’s own now centuries old.

It may also serve to highlight the perverted version of Capitalism and Democracy we have chosen to embrace. We are in a place where our adherence to and practice of “free market capitalism”, as is the contemporary model, isn’t merely foolish, it is reckless, dangerous and unconscionable.

Fear and spying, rendering and detaining, holding people indefinitely without charging them………what does that look like to you? An economy hit by a wave any fool saw coming, so strong as to temporarily capsize us despite our size, displacement and power? More waves on the way.

Rotting infrastructure and an attitude of every man for himself on twenty million lips at least.

Hated so much a journalist throws shoes at Dumbya’s melon inside the Green Zone? More on that later.

We are stupid and greedy. Not necessarily in that order.

Fuck anything that moves.

Make these prick CEO’s live in a motel for a season. Three months. Twenty bucks a day per diem. Introduce them to the miracle of cheap chunky peanut butter and applesauce on the same spoon.

Ssshhhhhhhhh!!!

I covet and admire the idea of self determination. So far, the concept and my practice thereof has allowed me to reap almost exactly what I’ve sewn. Can’t ask for more than than that. What I’d like to see is that degree of parity afforded to not just every American regardless of race, color or creed, but every human.

We could render organized religion obsolete by achieving just that. Wouldn’t that be nice? I think so.

Replace an archaic institution that withholds (religion), with a concept, maybe a mandate, far more inclusive and progressive that holds as a fundamental ideal, prosperity of the earth and it’s inhabitants simultaneously. I’m a goddamn genius. Give me a can of beer and a Nobel, bitches.

Anyway.

I honestly believe that the defining moment of Dumbya’s reign occured on this very day, December Fourteen, the year of our Lord, 2008. I’m sure you’ve seen the footage by now. To his credit, our President did skillfully dodge two well launched shoes from not very far away. We learn that this is some major insult in that part of the world. To throw your shoes.

An Egyptian reporter with a pretty good arm fired said shoes at Dumbya’s head and screamed:
“This is a farewell … you dog!” “You killed the Iraqis!” -CNN

Ha! That’s goddamn golden. Forgive me, but if he’d taken one right in the fucking face? I would have called paramedics before screeching sobbing laughter could consume me. Go ahead, picture it. Me laughing ’til I puke or him taking one right in the kisser. Sheezus. That would have been gorgeous.

Picture it.

In any case, it was just so perfect. Vicariously cathartic. This really should be the swan song for the dumbest man to ever be President of America. We should remember him forever as the guy ducking shoes thrown hard by a journalist at a press conference in the “Green Zone”, the safest place in Iraq.

Bush Sr. had, “Read my lips…..”, Clinton had “I did not have sexual relations with that woman……”, Nixon had “I am not a crook”. Dumbya, among all the other ridiculous shit he’s said and done will nonetheless be remembered for his physical adroitness in ducking angry shoe leather in contrast to his profound lack of any kind of mental acuity in any shape or form.

He still doesn’t get that he’s an idiot.

Meet your legacy you stupid sonofabitch. Beet the Meatles.

I just want him to know what a complete loser he is. It’s not just angst. Hundreds of thousands died because no one in this man’s life had sense enough to teach him banjo and take him to the river everyday. They took him to school instead. Millions of Americans made the same mistake and now we’ll pay for it.

I went to hand her the remote. She said put it next to me dear, I’m scratching my butt right now. I looked and she was. So I did.

The Holidays. Weird. Didn’t have the Christmas I was used to last year. The old man was sick. Very. Spent my time at the hospital or sleeping because I’m a pussy and that’s what I do when I’m afraid. He’s so good now I want to punch him in the mouth.

To know my old man is to understand that he’s the shit. He’s only afraid of one thing. It has nothing to do with him. If you’re smart you’ll guess it.

My brother in law, Todd, a man I’ve known of since we were boys, lost his Mother just a few months before. Her name was Dixie and I really liked her. She was a writer. I see her face.

Here it is again. The Holidays. I’m expecting something different this year. It will be somewhere between now and then. Holidays are always a little step back in time. We may all have a similiar lense for this one. I hope so. I’m looking for the love and warmth of family unmitigated by illness and sadness. He is well now. I think it will be big and special.

My ass is broke so the only gift I have is my etchings.

Not being able to buy Christmas presents used to scare the crap out of me. It nightmared me. I was a fairly prodigious giver. I’ll bring really good wine.

Life is good.

Here’s the thing. A well worn theme for me, forgive me if I bore you. The difference between humans and animals is not the ability to reason. It’s not love or compassion. If you’ve ever been lucky enough to share your life with an animal you loved, you feel me. The difference isn’t even a sense of humor. Every cat I’ve ever shared a house with has been funny as fuck and tragic all at once.

The difference is art. Animals don’t make art for the sake of art. Humans do.

I sit telling you this, one of my cats is high up in a ficus tree I’ve had for twenty years that has been dead for at least a year. My other cat sits next to me on a dilapidated red velvet sofa staring at her. If only they could talk and I could understand them.

Happy Holidays.

Drinks for my friends.

My Old Man told me once that some people are dumber than dirt.

Joe The Plumber.

Fuck me.

Douchebag.

Think Progress reports that Joe Wurzelbacher isn’t a huge fan of the man who made him famous. He told conservative radio host Glenn Beck that he felt “dirty” after “being on the campaign trail and seeing some of the things that take place.”

Asked why he didn’t leave McCain’s campaign if he was “appalled” by the candidate, Wurzelbacher said, “Honestly, because the thought of Barack Obama as president scares me even more.” -The Huffington Post

The faux plumber felt dirty.

Touted and foisted on us as some kind of average American, Joe The Plumber, first name not Joe and not a plumber, fooled a lot of the people a lot of the time. The really dumb ones. Seems there’s an assload of them.

Us. Turns out, he represents.

He’s in the mirror.

A cro-magnon arbiter of what is everyman in America.

Even if he were genuine, how well would that work? This guy is uninformed, simple and stupid. It does reflect badly on us that a cartoon character so lame as to barely occupy two dimensions in black & white, is so adept at inspiring so many open mouths on blank faces. I mean to say that this man is an idiot and you might be too.

Watch for his book soon.

I’ll take two, one to shit on, the other to cover it up with.

While Wurzelbacher was critical of McCain, he gushed about Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin. “Sarah Palin is absolutely the real deal,” he said. -The Huffington Post

See what I’m saying?

After all is said and done, Wurzelbacher bought Palin’s schtick hook line and sinker.

Douchebag.

Only in America.

To assess the phenomena of Joe the Wurzelbacher, one would have to approach from an intellectually honest, learned sociological perspective. I’m far too sedentary for that shit. I will tell you this. He represents the zeitgeist of archaic and lazy minds. Millions of them. Tens of millions.

Frightening.

Despite this recent grandiose display of wisdom and common sense presented to you by the majority of the American electorate, there are still an incomprehensible amount of fucktards out there. What exactly to do about this I have no idea.

Drinks for my friends.

Dec 11, 2008 6:18 PM
Employee Free Choice Act-What is it and why it is so important
If only one bill makes it way through to passage in Congress during their next session, it should be the Employee Free Choice Act. Unless you are a union activist, or a worker who is trying to organize a union in their workplace, you probably have no idea what the EFCA is, or why it is so important.

In a perfect world, where the basic human rights of the working person were respected, there would be no reason to have labor unions. We don’t live in a perfect world. In fact, more workers than ever before need labor unions because without them, workers are unable to collectively bargain with employers for decent wages, safe working conditions, healthcare benefits for themselves and their families, and retirement pensions.

In the business world, labor is simply thought of as a cost to be contained. The ivory tower of highly paid executives gives little or no thought to the idea that the labor cost numbers reflected on their profit and loss spreadsheet actually represent people. If they were to look beyond the numbers, and understand that people are important, more important than stockholder equity, or corporate profits, there would be no need for labor unions. But that is not the real world.

Over the last several decades, many states have enacted “right to work” legislation. The direct result of this legislation has been to allow workers to benefit directly from union negotiated collective bargaining agreements, without having to join the union, and pay membership dues. Union treasuries have lost millions of dollars, and with this, they have lost much of their power. Most unions now have significantly fewer members. There is little motivation for workers to join unions when they can get the same pay and benefits as the union members get without having to join the union.

Ultimately, the purpose of “right to work” legislation was to push labor unions to the brink. With fewer members, unions have less clout in the form of bargaining power with employers. This means fewer employee pay increases, less healthcare coverage, and little money for retirement pensions. All of this has been good for corporate execuitves and bad for workers and unions.

Today, when many workers attempt to organize their workplace, they meet tremendous resistance from employers. It is typical for employers to force employees to attend “educational meetings” where they must listen to anti-union propaganda, and for them to hear that a labor union will force the company to go bankrupt and they will lose their jobs. It is also not unusual to hear about union organizers getting fired from their jobs, simply because they want to join a union.

The Employee Free Choice Act would go a long way towards righting some of these wrongs. President-elect Obama has promised that he would sign the bill if it is approved by Congress. Under the terms of the bill, workers would be free to hold an election to join a union, and with a simple majority, the union would immediately be able to engage in collective bargaining with the employer.

Many misconceptions exist about unions. Many are old stereotypes about corruption that are outdated and simply untrue. Labor unions do not seek to have employers go out of business. That is foolishness, and runs counter to the goals of providing workers with employment security. The goal of the labor union movement is to provide workers and their families with a decent life. It is time we see labor in human terms. We need the Employee Free Choice Act to become law so that workers and their unions can work together to improve the quality of life for working Americans.

When I took my oath as a union member of an AFL-CIO affiliated union, I promised that, “the will of the majority I will always abide by”. That is at the center of my beliefs as an American. We live in a free society with a democratically elected government. As workers, we should have the same right to govern ourselves within our workplace.

Write your members of Congress today and tell them how important passing the Employee Free Choice Act is to you. With your help, we can get this bill signed into law, and improve the lives of millions of working Americans.

Dec 13, 2008 3:18 AM
The Union
The American Civil War (1861–1865), also known as the War Between the States and several other names, was a civil war in the United States of America. Eleven Southern slave states declared their secession from the U.S. and formed the Confederate States of America (the Confederacy). Led by Jefferson Davis, they fought against the U.S. federal government (the “Union”), which was supported by all the free states and the five border slave states.

No, not that Union, this union:

The International Union, United Automobile, Aerospace and Agricultural Implement Workers of America, better known as the United Auto Workers (UAW), is a labor union which represents workers in the United States, Canada, and Puerto Rico. Founded in order to represent workers in the automobile manufacturing industry, UAW members in the 21st century work in industries as diverse as health care, casino gaming and higher education.

Why are these guys against the auto industry loan guarantees? The Union, the United Auto Workers (UAW).

Alabama Senator Richard Shelby, who has been particularly vocal in his opposition of financial assistance for the Big Three, said on “Meet the Press,” stated that:

We don’t need government — governmental subsidies for manufacturing in this country. It’s the French model, it’s the wrong road. We will pay for it. The average American taxpayer is going to pay dearly for this, if I’m not wrong.

Senator Richard Shelby is the senator from Alabama. The same Alabama that offered lucrative incentives (subsidies) to Mercedes Benz in the early 1990s to lure the German automobile manufacturer to the State.

Alabama offered a stunning $253 million incentive package to Mercedes. Additionally, the state also offered to train the workers, clear and improve the site, upgrade utilities, and buy 2,500 Mercedes Benz vehicles. All told, it is estimated that the incentive package totaled anywhere from $153,000 to $220,000 per created job. On top of all this, the state gave the foreign automaker a large parcel of land worth between $250 and $300 million, which was coincidentally how much the company expected to invest in building the plant.

Where was your outrage then Senator?

Tennessee Senator Bob Corker has crafted a separate, three-pronged plan:

It would require the two firms closest to bankruptcy, General Motors and Chrysler, to reduce their debt by two-thirds. Bondholders would have “plenty of incentive to make sure that the debt is reduced by two-thirds” or risk losing even more if the firms go into Chapter 11, where their bonds might be further discounted, Corker said. “We’re going to force them into bankruptcy if they don’t do this,” he said bluntly.

He also would require that the Voluntary Employee Benefit Association, the entity created by the car firms and the UAW to handle retiree health care benefits, accept stock in lieu of half the cash payments due. The carmakers had agreed to fund VEBA but can no longer afford to do so. “If a company goes bankrupt, these future payments are never going to happen anyway,” he said.

Finally, Corker’s bill would force the UAW to lower its members’ wages to the level of workers at the American “transplants,” the factories in Tennessee and other states owned by Toyota, Hyundai and other foreign car companies.

Notice he is going after the Union. Why?

Senator Corker, how’s that new Volkswagen plant going in Chattanooga? How about Nissan’s North American headquarters and Nissan plant in Tennessee?

Tennessee offered its richest incentive package — and perhaps the most government assistance and tax breaks ever for an American automobile plant — to lure Volkswagen to Chattanooga. How about $500 million in government assistance and tax breaks for VW alone?

Where was your outrage then Senator?

Then we have Kentucky Senator Mitch McConnell. I’m sure you know where this is going. McConnell said the bill would be more appealing if Sen. Bob Corker (R-Tenn.) could add amendments that would require the automakers to reduce two-thirds of their outstanding debt through an equity swap with bondholders as a condition for aid. Corker would also require the companies to reduce labor costs, and mandate that a portion of payments automakers make to labor unions consist of company stock.

Senator, how’s your Toyota plant, the largest plant outside of Japan? Senator McConnell claims Toyota is doing well, while their stock has fallen 50% since the beginning of the year.

Toyota makes hybrids in Kentucky, as well as other cars, yet Senator McConnell has led the charge to stop any legislation that would have pushed up CAFÉ standards, that would have driven the auto industry to higher MPG standards.

McConnell also voted FOR the $700B bailout of Wall Street.

Where was your outrage then Senator?

So, why are so many Southern Senators against loans for the (American) auto industry? Are they confused about the whole “Union” thing?

Peace,
J

Just by talking.

Who is this fuck from Illinois? This Governor. An idiot. Rod Blagojevich.

Forgive me, it’s a stupid name. Just this side of pornstar without the requisite cheesy moustache. Too bad. Low hairline. Good enough. I’ve barely ever heard of this guy. He looks a little like a complete dipshit.

We likes us some Patrick Fitzgerald. Same prosecutor who smoked Scooter Libby. Subpoenaed Darth Cheney. This guy I admire. Big cubes and what seems to be a an absolute lust for truth, justice and the American way. Not pretty at all, just matter of fact. His reputation is thus: Don’t fucking lie to him.

I’m pretty sure this dickweed, Rod Blagojevich, lied to Mr. Fitzgerald. That pissed off this special prosecutor. You won’t like him when he’s angry.

Our Man should promote him. He may be compelled to.

I imagine this take down was a little easier than the Plamegate clusterfuck. The level of douchebaggery was far less sophisticated. Four of the last eight Governors of this state have been ignorant prideful dipshits. This guy, a Democrat no less, might just be the world’s premier idiot.

At least this week.

I’m not some patsy. I understand Democratic politics in Chicago. It goes back before JFK. I know. I know.

I hate hubris.

Seriously, how big of a megalomaniac must one sonafabitch be to assume he can sell a United States Senate seat to the highest bidder? I mean, the seat at play has been vacated by a President Elect. Are you fucking kidding me?

The asshole in question has an impressive pedigree. Northwestern, Pepperdine and a hardscrabble early life. I wonder if that’s why he thinks he’s someone or something he’s not. However he arrived at that notion, I loath him for it. Throw his ass on the fire. Never even talk about him again.

Rasmussen called him “America’s Least Popular Governor.” He’s a low hairline gangster. How does this happen? This is regoddamndiculous.

I understand the culture of corruption in Chicago to be pervasive but come on. Seriously. Who does this fuck imagine himself to be?

Today Our Man asks him to walk away. Dick Durbin too. To go as far away as he can get. True to form, the idiot stays and plays the idiot, turns his back instead of taking a walk. The giant vagina move. Trust me.

I honestly can’t give a mad fuck what this guy’s party affiliation is. Where do these people come from? How do they get elected? Yes, he’s a Democrat. But he’s a sociopath first. Just like Tom DeLay, Bill Frist, Kwame Kilpatrick and Larry “widestance” Craig. All ridiculous people at the end of the day.

Then an absurd populace right there in the mirror. C’mon. That’s what it is. We are responsible. Not me. Heh. The people of Illinois, the people of Sugarland Texas, Tennessee and Detroit. I wouldn’t be suprised if each one of these losers has access to the water supply of their respective constituencies.

It’s either that or most Americans are simply retarded.

Me, I think it’s some embarrassing ratio that math would demonstrate is almost exclusively absurd, somewhat retarded with a distant third being crazy.

How do Americans stay hopeful with this shit in the headlines?

We’re working on it.

Drinks for my friends.

I never actually bleed when I’m sick.

When there is pain, there is no blood.

When I’m sick, the bleeding stops.

An ear closes and the blood stops.

It will return when I feel better.

The bleeding.

See, the insistent periphery of my enduring malaise only rises to the occassion when other issues are at a minimum.

To remind me that no matter what, I’ll never be well.

Normal is out of my reach, and therefore, so is peace.

My cross to bear, for whatever reason.

Who, besides a fool, trusts the universe?

Drinks for my friends.

Biscuits and gravy baby.

Glazed ham. Mint Jelly and foul smelling lamb. Men in porkpie hats and seersucker jackets.

People who refuse to understand.

Me, I like to plumb the depths. Best way to go. People are always interested in the bottom. As am I.

Because I can’t stand it. So many men are boys and that confounds me. Dumbya is one bewildered little boy. He had no idea what he was getting into and no doubt he’s not even remotely cognizant of the damage he has wrought. Absolutely tragic.

I could tell you things. Crazy shit. Fishmongers. Surgeons. Sausage kings. Cigar aficianados. Whistle punks and excellent shovelers.

Sometimes I like to pile on, make something out of nothing, call a spade a goddamn spade. Always ends up being the absolute truth.

I gotta tell ya, craziness is pervasive. It’s everywhere.

I don’t like people or dislike them. I love them or hate them.

We are all just dust in the wind.

Matty is a punk.

He believes he’s funny. He is mistaken. I may need to wash my hands.

It’s as though he anticipates the worst place to put a foot when the time comes.

It burns burns burns, that ring of fire, that ring of fire.

Between me and mine. Stupid fuck.

Things are awful among those I know. Just awful.

I see their faces and I know to worry.

On the other hand, untruths. Bad ones. Ones that give me pause.

What to do now? This is fucked up.

Eddie Money’s first record is as pure a pop masterpiece as ever has been. Genius production and songwriting. Gorgeous. It rivals the Foo Fighters “The Color and The Shape” and Green Day’s “American Idiot”, in terms of butter flavor and bursting nuggets. We’re in Roger Miller and Neil Diamond territory. Don’t even look at me.

I’ll do my best not to embarrass you.

Here’s a tip: Crunchy brand Cheetos and Tostitos Salsa con Queso.

We move on from one place to another. Nobody notices.

My girlfriend is gubernatorial. Ever seen the movie “Excalibur”? It’s like three hours long and she knows every single word. “Gubernatorial” therefore being long for “goober”, as in geek. Who knew?

It’s crazy how we watch the the world literally atrophy while waiting for Our Man to assume the position. I suspect the attitude dividend will at least afford a glimpse at blue sky again. I’m counting on it.

Sometimes my own breath smells like an ass packed with gorganzola.

Reagan, what an anti-intellectual joke. George Dumbya is the labotomized brain on Reagan drugs. The Republican agenda. The post modern conservative doctrine. Trickle down bullshit. Stupid. Forgive me but Republicans are dipshits. Assholes. Idiots. Mouth breathing, crystallized snot festooned faced, barely distinguishable from the unfucking dead, unrepentant helmet wearing riders of the short bus to the goddamn mall.

To believe what they believe is a deformity. A genetic flaw that no amount of truth and/or physical therapy can correct. It makes me sad to tell you that they should probably all be institutionalized. This, for their well being as well as our own.

Here’s the thing. I found this Der Winerschnitzel that has beer on tap. Told ya about that already. The thing is this: my girl and I have discussed it; we can afford to explore the menu. It’s doable.

What I’m trying to tell you is that an open mind is optimum and essential. Don’t be afraid to combine various flavors. Combine Tater Tots with bacon, sour cream and avacado. All the sudden you’ve got trailer park nachos. The key is an open mind. Sometimes you’ll shit gravy and sometimes you’ll achieve a pinnacle of white trash cuisine. A palette of flavors deserving the accompaniment of wine from a chilled glass bottle.

At the end of the day, what’s to lose?

The other thing I’m trying to impart to you, in all seriousness, is that my significant other, much to my embarrassment, is a taco head. There are times where that is challenging in public. I worry. She has special needs. Certain ointments and protective gear.

I once knew a chronic masturbator named Sam. He was a damn good guitar player.

Sorry I couldn’t do any better Hunter. It’s all I had. This one’s for the lovely Ella. All six pounds and thirteen ounces of her innocence. Blessed be her red head. Welcome to earth. Peace to you and yours.

Drinks for my friends.

I actually discovered a Der Wienerschnitzel today that has beer on tap. In Burbank right there on Alameda and Olive. Fuck me, that’s genius. C’mon!

So we’d been drinking, we’re outta smokes so we so we go down a flight of stairs and we’re out the door and in the 7-11. It’s right next door. The guy behind the counter is new. First time either of us have ever seen him. Jesus Christ look at this guy’s hair I say to my girlfriend.

His hairline started just above his eyebrows and he’s got the thickest black pompadour I’ve ever witnessed. I can’t help it, I clock these things and they crack me the fuck up. I think of the phrase “shock of hair” and nearly piss myself. It looks as though it’s bursting from his skull. Ever seen the cover of Bad Music For Bad People by The Cramps?

In other news, I think about this whole hemp/marijuana issue and I’m disgusted. You know, the solution to a considerable amount of our problems could be contained in this right here. Oil, fuel, textiles. It’s one of the strongest natural fibers known to man and a renewable resource that can be turned around as often as every twelve weeks. So far we’re talking about a crop that wouldn’t get you high if you smoked a bale of it.

Production thereof originally outlawed by virtue of the influence of nineteenth century oil and paper magnates. Think William Randolph Hearst and the Rockefellers.

Then they demonized the weed by distributing propaganda where evil black jazz musicians smoked it and raped clueless unsuspecting white women. That shit happens all the time. Everyday. Whatever.

Did I tell ya I’m addicted to Viennna Sausages?

It’s completely ridiculous. All these people facing foreclosure need merely to be given the opportunity to renegotiate their loans. Forty years instead of thirty. An interest rate that isn’t usury. The bank still makes it’s money and people get to live, plant gardens and mow the goddamn lawn.

Frustrating because it’s so simple. Gimme a fucking break.

Four years ago today we found Tondaleo Bean The Negress dead on the floor. Today I was given a picture of her in a handmade frame. It was a sad day in general. I absolutely adored that cat.

Drinks for my friends.

Is a man at least as crazy as I am and I think maybe more so. Couple things about him. He’s an excellent artist who’s work I purchase whenever I have money and he paints something brilliant. He’s the most soft spoken honest man I’ve ever encountered. I’ve seen him shirtless, he has little wings between his arms and his torso.

He’s a little creepy but very friendly. His wife, LZ, is very similiar.

If I were rich, I’d purchase their son and hire them to hang out with me. I like these people. Friends for decades. You can’t imagine my affection for this man, his wife and their son. That son part is a little phony because I don’t really know him but I like what I see.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Chris Hataway

1. What is your occupation right now?
Artist, Cook, Handyman, Garbage man, Papa, Satan Worshiper, Doll stabber, dime store hood, bit part player in the play called life. Card carryin’ Loon

2. What color are your socks right now?
Socks? We don’t hafta show you no stinking socks (Sierra Madre answer)

3. What are you listening to right now?
Dogs Fucking. Yarn balls ageing. Mountains forming. It’s so quiet, I can’t hear myself not think…

4. What was the last thing that you ate?
Turkey nachos. Steamed shoe laces.

5. Can you drive a stick shift?
I can drive a stick through Draculas heart

6. Last person you spoke to on the phone?
Piston Remington, the famous soap box derby king

7. Do you like the person who sent this to you?
No, not one bit, I sent it to myself.

8. How old are you today?
Old enough to be your punching bag

9. What is your favorite sport to watch on TV?
Is cooking a sport yet? Midget pole vault. Yard Flailing

10. What is your favorite drink?
Free booze. What you do is, you take a jigger of Virgin Blood, two tablespoons battery acid, a thimble of cocaine, one goat milk ice cube, a pinch of grave dirt, shake well and strain into a highball glass with an eye of newt at the bottom, give it a float of nitro glycerin (light it), garnish with bat wing. It’s called Draculas Awkward Flatulence

11. Have you ever dyed your hair?
My stars, yesterday I dyed it race car orange and then back again. Once I dyed my hair Purple because I really wanted the carpet to match the drapes.

12. Favorite food?
Dog. Denver Omelets. Leftover surprise. Nachos. Carne Asada Super Burritos. Pasta whathaveyou. More turf than serf, but serfs ok too. Sausage. Savory over sweet, but sweet treats come in handy sometimes.

13. What is the last movie you watched?
Dracula Jack-knife I-80, the Trucker Fuckers. The true answer is an oddity from 1974 called Prime Time. Television parody sketch comedy. Very non PC and pretty damn funny. One of many from the box I just bought called 50 Drive In Classics… Tonight I think I’ll be watching TNT Jackson. Before Prime Time,I fell asleep to The Bad Sleep Well. And before that I watched Shine a Light, the Rolling Stones concert film. Leslie and I just re-watched Lord of the Rings, it took us five days… Dracula VS. Mecha-Draczilla (why hasn’t anyone made that one?)

14. Favorite day of the year?
I like that one day when you wake up and you have a mission, a task, a plan, and you have all the tools you need and all the supplies, or if not all the supplies, you know where to get them, and when you get them, the traffic flows your way and you get back to the project and set to it and everything goes smoothly and if you hit a glitch you brain your way around it and keep on going until the task or the list of projects are all complete and the sun goes down and you can feel good about your day, job satisfaction ho! That happens once or twice a year…

15. How do you vent anger?
Kick Vents. Pop off at strangers. Stab kittens. Run my head into fence posts. Tell the Lord to go fuck a dust speck. Saw through Otter pops and toss curses to the wind.

16. What was your favorite toy as a child?
Rubbers.

17. What is your favorite season?
White Pepper. Sprong, Summner, Oddum, Winner. To every turn, thing- thing- thing-, there season is a, thing- thing- thing-, and to all turns, a heaven, under purpose…

18. Cherries or Blueberries?
Former Pie-ward, latter Flapjacks. Cherries are sexy, Blueberries sad

19. Do you want your friends to e-mail you back?
Fuck no, thems a bunch o’ meanies

20. Who is the most likely to respond?
To what? Probably loud mouth Billy

21. Who is least likely to respond?
Trevor Rabin

22. City or country?
I like crappin’ outside.

23. When was the last time you cried?
Last time I crapped outside. Why, just this morning I cried over spilt milk. I don’t cry, I weep. I’ve been weeping for a few years straight. Last time I cried was when I couldn’t stay up all night to watch the Ten Commandments on TV when I was seven…

24. What is on the floor of your closet?
Gay skeleton bones

25. Who is the friend you have had the longest that you are sending to?
Jesus of Nazgul. You read me Jesus? I’m a-sendin’ Got yer ears on good buddy? See, the friend I’ve had longest that I’m sending to… The Earl of Cunt. Get thee behind me Santa

26. What did you do last night?
Tied myself up and threw myself over the falls. Bent over backwards for people. Read three Curious Whore-Hey books front to back, back to back.

27. What are you most afraid of?
Bags of chips. My brain turning on me. The world catching on that I’m totally full of shit. Aliens with chips on their scrawny shoulders. Vengeful Dinosaurs. Pole-shift. A-bombs. Horny teens.

28. Plain, cheese, or spicy hamburgers ?
Bacon Cheeseburder ga’dammit. Gimme the Awful-awful

29. Favorite dog breed?
Foot long trouser dogs. With jalapeños, kraut, mustard, catsup, red onion, and pickles. Give or take Mayo.

30. Favorite day of the week?
Monday, in your face joe workforce. Favorite day of the week… I’ve got to turn that one over to Janus Jop: “It’s all the same fucking day, man.”

31. How many states have you lived in?
Pretty much just one- confusion. Let’s see, 5 if you count up to ‘em on one hand, which I did.

32. Diamonds or pearls?
Shiny rocks or oyster tumors. I’ll go for pearls cause they come from the briny snot-monsters and then look so damn moonlighty. They cut your hand off if you steal diamonds from down the mine.

33. What is your favorite flower?
The Dragon Dungweenie. The Michalob Back-stabber. Bloom Bloom OutGoDaLights.

I’ve seen a spring.
I have.

We used to hike through the simmering sand and sagebrush to the closest mountain. Not far really, inside of a few miles. Other side of the airstrip. Hot and bright. Snakes in mind. Not much for a northern Nevada mountain. Maybe a thousand feet. Maybe.

Enough to pucker my starfish at ten years old.

The west face was closest, that was the side we climbed. A rockslide almost all the way up. Mostly volcanic I think. Pretty treacherous. The top was high enough to be cold with wind enough to make your jeans flap. It furnished an amazing view. Enough to put a choke in your neck when thinking about the same way down.

Scared the crap out of me.

The base of the mountain ended in a shallow canyon between it and a much smaller hill. Just behind the mouth of the canyon was a spring.

I clocked it’s greenery on the way up and wondered.

Very happy to be there after the way down.

Water pushing desert sand along with itself from a dark, half dollar sized hole at the bottom of a small pristine pool. This pool feeding a larger one under trees with cattails, reeds and grass growing lush. There were rabbits and birds and snakes.

Yellows, greens and blues with much sun and sky.

I had an epiphany that day. Frogs. The climb was the scariest thing I’d ever done. There was a gust of relief. Synapses lit up and dancing as I grasped the little oasis in a single swipe.

What I suddenly understood floored me.

We spent a little time. Maybe forty five minutes. Grateful to be there. I soaked it up. Moss, bees and dragonflies. Sunflowers and bubbling.

Was I a little late? I don’t know. Life’s complexity and requisite for balance began to reveal itself. An improbable ecosystem in an unlikely enviroment. Yet it thrived and sang. It vibrated and I knew why. I could see how and why it worked. It made sense to me. Scared me a little.

Pow.

I emptied a quart of sand from each shoe that day. That night I stared at the sky. I never stopped dreaming about that place one way or another. It allows me to contemplate the universe.

It frightens me now. It informs my nightmares. I’m sure it’s a scarier place today. Polluted.

The first time I remember my gaze landing on the big picture. The powerful gift of cognizance despite the self.

See what I’m saying?

Drinks for my friends.

“We don’t smoke marijuana in Muskogee;
We don’t take our trips on LSD
We don’t burn our draft cards down on Main Street;
We like livin’ right, and bein’ free.” -Merle Motherfuckin Haggard

We can target you by your cell phone and vaporize you. Level the entire block you’re on within ten minutes. A half an hour tops. Almost anywhere in the world.

Your mother was here. She didn’t have much to say. She left abruptly. Poor woman. Tragic underbite. Find her a stock car racing dentist. Ha. I know at least one.

We can’t pay our bills.

People run and just can’t seem to hide. Sometimes I have to get involved. Know them as I open them. Like books of blood, wherever you’re open, you’re red.

I stole that. From a master.

It just keeps coming.

“Boil, boil, toil and trouble”.

Canned tomatos.

“Ring around the rosy,
A pocketful of posies.
ashes, ashes.
We all fall down!.”

Everything’s fine. We’re doing great here. Who’s asking?

These days it’s like driving a beater. Nothing to lose. Park it anywhere. Abandon it if you need to.

As an undead, it’s comfortable. Anonymity is currency. Ignorance is bliss.

The DOW plummeted today like the breasts on a ninety year old mother of sixteen with double D cups upon being released from her bra. Like hanged men. Golf balls in fishnets. Get it? Fishnets?

India and Pakistan have long been less than fond of each other’s smell. So of course, terrorists from Pakistan really stiirred the shit in Mumbai last week. Just so you know, both countries have nukes, they hate each other and America hasn’t provided any incentive or example to behave at all.

“Things are great. Couldn’t be better. Better, start this again.” -Agnes Gooch

My idea of comfort food these days is Vienna Sausages and Cheetos. I like that cranberry juice without the high fructose corn syrup.

In the meantime, Our Man is assembling what was known in the 70’s and 80’s as a “Supergroup”. A dream team if you will. Hillary and Bill as Secretary of State? That’s good shit right there. They wonder aloud whether he can harness and control a stable of such strong and talented runners. Horses. I have not a single reservation. Not a single doubt.

He will make mistakes. Not yet though.

Big Bad Bill acquiesced a dowry and nine points to get his wife this gig. Obama gets to check Bubba’s ass if he wants. He can ask for a cough while he cups Bubba’s balls. He will request more than one deep breath.

This is a man that knows exactly what he’s doing.

Flat earthers that would lament the number of personnel invited to serve from the Clinton administration should be advised that those years were of unprecedented peace and prosperity. Literally, like nothing America had ever seen. Those who aren’t interested in that as a jumping off point can blow me.

The days of Don Rumsfeld, Condi Rice, Mike Brown, Henry Paulson, Tommy Franks, Paul Bremer and George Tenet, incompetent sycophants all, are over. Clearly not as concerned about his own ego as he is the future of his country and our world. The wind of their wake on your face as they leave the gate.

It is competence above all else. All the big brains that the ignorant love to make fun of. You will not be invited to join this team unless you’re whip smart. Unless you can bring it, you can’t come. It will be a formidable braintrust.

Who knows? The climate is mad. Hell may experience it’s first frost on inauguration day.

Everything seems to be falling apart and coming together at the same time.

Oh boy.

Drinks for my friends.

I want to take The Swirly with me to Denny’s. There’s no way she’d be cool with it. Still, I wish I could.

All she’s gonna want is a small bowl of water with some tuna juice in it. She has never shown the remotest interest in anything besides IAMS and Fancy Feast.

Human food is barely on her radar. She no longer goes out of her way to even smell it.

If only she could accompany me so we could exchange glances and knowing looks while we people watch.

You can take dogs anywhere. They’re dogs. Dumb and overly optimistic. Most won’t bite. Far more likely they’ll try to nuzzle your genitals. I really hate that. Not so much for being violated but more for the dog snot on my hands after pushing it off my junk. No cat has ever done anything nearly as invasive. Except for peeing on me.

You just can’t take a cat to Denny’s.

If you bring your goddamn dog to whatever restaurant I’m in I might stab you with a pen. Maybe your dog. With a fork. Both of you. With a fork. Cat’s have enough sense to realize the craziness of any given human. Cat’s don’t give humans the benefit of the doubt. Cats are smart.

They don’t come running. Even if the only two faces to walk in your front door in like six months are the only two faces to walk in your door in that time, they still give you the up and down. I’ve had to let my oldest smell my drivers license. They let you know they’re happy you’re home at their own pace. Might not be until the next day.

I do wish I could just buckle a harness on Beddy and have her strut urgently to the 7-11 with me. Strutting urgently while looking back is her default. I hope she’ll talk to strangers as much as she talks to me. It would be fantastic if she would yell at others the way she yells at me when she’s cornered me in the kitchen. I’m there for a drink. She’s there for treats.

Did I tell you she’s got a real chip on her shoulder for the Latin homosexual and transgendered community? It’s pretty funny. I think it’s from me leaving the Hooker Paper on the bathroom floor.

Otherwise she’s a very classy broad. A lady.

Here’s what else:

1) I’d like to not ever have to scrub my shower. I’ve been kinda broke and decided to forego the magic defunkifying spray and it’s more than a little uh, calcified in there.

2) I need more info on these new LED lightbulbs.

3) I’m really tired of having things to do. I no longer want to have any scheduled activities. I’m exceptional at filling my waking hours with things that please me.

4) I’ve often thought that justice should be more poetic. Ironic. Limericky. There’s always a pay off in a limerick. What if a friend of Dick Cheney’s shot him in the face, and then Dick apologized publicly to his friend for the inconvenience his being shot in the face must have caused? You can see where I’m going with this.

5) I no longer wish to be burdened with the fear of cell phone radiation. I keep my shit far from my sack.

6) Here’s who I do not wish to hear on the radio ever again. Top of the list is the fucking Chili Peppers. I’ve come to hate them. The mechanicals alone pay them mad cash. “Highway Star” by Deep Purple. I hate that song. Any song by Cream. Clapton is way over rated. Oingo Boingo, I hate them. The Doors, fuck The Doors. I can’t really talk about contemporary music. I don’t dislike it, I just don’t know their names. We may have to come back to this.

7) I’d like for people who’ve never seen me before and never will again to stop acknowledging me. When I do that, it’s because I’m feeling confrontationally obnoxious. Why are they doing it?

8) Hot women should walk slower.

9) I’d like too see candy become a lot more nutritious and far less caloric. Science has proven that you can’t make food taste good without too much salt, sugar and fat so we really need to get going on this one.

10) Ok, this one’s big. No coincidence it ended up being number ten. Let me ask you something. Do you like this shit? You dear reader, do you like it? Are you entertained? Informed? Amused? Honestly.

If you are any of the above, and I sincerely hope you are, I’m asking for your support. Pimp me. Tell your friends. Post my banner on your page. I’m specifically encouraging pretty girls and hot bitches to post my banner.

Shut up. It makes sense.

Only you, can prevent forest fires.

The deal is this. The more readers I have, the better I look to advertisers and that’s easily the best way for you to get to continue to read me for free. See? It’s perfect. Symmetry. Help me out here.

11) Health and Human Services for us all. Happy Holidays.

Drinks for my friends.

There was a shooting in a Toys R Us somewhere down here today. Palm Desert. Not gang related. It was “an argument between two groups of shoppers” -WSJ.

Well now, that’s encouraging. Fighting over what? Toys? Two people dead, so probably at least two dipshits ambling slowly down the aisles of a goddamn toy store carrying guns.

This makes complete sense. If I had kids, I wouldn’t even start planning a shopping trip for them unless I was wearing a firearm and extra clips in my pockets. I’d arm any over twelve going with me.

Sheezus.

Now I understand how so many people voted for McCain.

Americans are in serious need of a bitchslap and it’s on it’s way. That’s the good news. The other news is what’s on the way is more serious than an open backhand. What we have here is a vicious hook.

Just count to two and you’ll be bouncing off something. As per normal, the legitimately stupid and those who spend all day in the short attention span theater will be bouncing on floors.

Man. Why are we so fucking stupid?

I’m confident the most salient reason is a lack of empathy and an abundance of apathy. Everyone is guilty. I, will not be bouncing off the floor, however.

The best thing to do is get involved and stay involved. Even if it’s just paying attention. Reading and listening as opposed to just watching. Take a poll. Write a letter. I hate the idea of sermonizing, but at the very least, pay fucking attention.

Look, if you really stay on top of it, American politics and world events are as compelling and isidious as any daytime drama. Dumbya’s last gasp is to about escape his puzzled countenance and it will stink of pardons and all kinda smelly fuckery. In like a lamb and out like a a rotting bovine tongue.

“I would like to be a person remembered as a person who, first and foremost, did not sell his soul in order to accommodate the political process,” Bush told his sister in an interview released Friday by the White House. “I came to Washington with a set of values, and I’m leaving with the same set of values.” -an interview of George W. Bush conducted by his sister Doro Bush Koch, lifted from chron.com

Poke this idiot out of a dead sleep and he’ll wake up singing Happy Birthday.

He’s just as fascinating as Ozzy Osbourne and only a little less articulate.

Let’s review: Two assholes killed each other in a toy store today, the day after Thanksgiving. The media tells us there was an “argument”. Lesson learned. Always bring your gun while shopping in America. Don’t forget that Dumbya has not compromised his values or sold his soul. He said so.

By far the stupidest man to ever sit in that chair.

We suck.

Drinks for my friends.

What exactly is that? I’m thankful I’m not some random dumbass. Happy I’m cognizant and able to react and able to self determine to a degree.

Love in my life. Good family and good friends. Fuzzy loving critters. Animals are to your hands and heart what delicious pie is to your mouth and stomach. Try to have at least two wandering around at all times. Trust me.

A few days back my ex called me and asked if I wouldn’t mind not attending what has become the annual Thanksgiving dinner for the misfit toys. Those of us not from here and without geographically convenient family. A burgeoning tradition. She was bringing her boyfriend and was concerned about his comfort level.

In the interest of diplomacy and respect, I agreed not to show.

In the days since I gave her my word, I’ve begun to regret it.

These are my friends. Before they were her friends. The house at which the dinner takes place belongs to one of my very best friends of some two decades.

I smell chickenshit.

I’ve made other plans, I’ll be fine.

The more I think about it, the more it irks me.

She’s met my girlfriend. As a matter of fact, she met her for the first time at last year’s Thanksgiving dinner for the misfit toys. I realize I’m walking on ice here but I’m pissed off enough to flirt with indignant.

They’re about to move in together and he’s not comfortable enough to meet me with my friends and my girlfriend?

Then the very worst occurs to me. She’s embarrassed. Of me. Maybe it’s her and she doesn’t want him to know me because she’s ashamed. Maybe my friends agree. What an awful thought. Any part of that idea would crush me.

Sheezus, that’s ugly. I’d rather go with the idea of him being a gigantic vagina.

She could knock on the door of any member of my family on any day and be invited in, loved, engaged and fed under any circumstances. She could bring her man and not a single eyebrow would be raised.

My family adores her. Her family thinks very little of me.

This sucks. I’m pissed.

Thanksgiving day:

I had an extraordinarily pleasant evening in house full of people I’d never seen before. Nice, normal friendly folks. Excellent food and I brought excellent wine because that’s what I do. Wonderfully moist turkey, home made mac n’ cheese. String beans and red potatos with bacon, dressing with apple, pecans and onions. Serious cornbread prepared by an actual matriarch.

Lemon cake, peach cobbler, pumpkin pie cheesecake.

I’m not sure where we were but we drove around downtown. Way around. It stayed on my right. Downtown. We collected my girlfriend’s son in a place called Cerritos. One of the craziest houses I’ve ever been inside. Giant murky fishtanks everywhere. Wierd. Dark and bubbling.

He’s an awesome kid. At first he was detached and uncommunicative, but we were brawling openly by the time we got to where we were going.

I bought him a jar of ham glaze for his sixteenth birthday.

We stopped at a place called the Liquor Bank on Crenshaw for cigarettes. He and I sat in the car. He advised me to stay in the car despite my superpowers. This place was amazing. I need to go there again before I can tell you about it. She thinks as long as I’m cool, nobody would think twice.

Before it was over, he steadfastly refused to believe I could defeat a dragon with a fork. My point was show me a dragon and hand me a fork.

Warm people, good food. My girlfriend’s friend is awesome. A strong woman with one son in college and another bound for it.

We talked politics and we talked Barack. A well informed group of people. Skeptical and honest.

At the risk of sounding gratuitous, I was the only white man there.

Drinks for my friends.

Nov 17, 2008 12:49 AM
What If We Let The Banks Fail?
Since the beginning of the financial crisis, one of the things that has been most striking is the unanimity of opinion that large financial institutions cannot be allowed to fail. The conventional wisdom is so one-sided in this regard that nobody (that I’m aware of) has actually gone through the exercise of asking what exactly would be the result if we simply did nothing and allowed the banks to fail. Given the enormous costs we are incurring to prevent this outcome, we have to at least consider the alternative. Would it not be more economical to simply let any bank fail that can’t stand on its own and let the government print money to pay off all the claims of the FDIC?

In broad terms, the banking industry uses three primary inputs in order to fulfill its functions. These inputs are capital, information, and human resources. Obviously much of the first category has been destroyed, but capital can always be rebuilt in time. The other two categories of inputs are largely unaffected by the current crisis. The informational infrastructure of the banking industry is completely intact (and will almost certainly be improved upon as a result of the hard lessons we are currently learning), and the available human capital is undiminished. So, even if the greater part of the banking industry were to cease to exist, new institutions would spring up (and would employ many of the same people – hopefully a little older and wiser now – who staffed the old ones). What would be so terrible about that?

As with a dilapidated house, sometimes the most economical choice is to demolish the existing structure and rebuild a new one from the ground up. At least in this case you know where you stand and your costs are fixed. If you instead refuse to accept reality and go on pouring money into a terminally-flawed structure, there is no end to the amount of money that can be wasted in a futile cause. What if we spend trillions of dollars in an effort to save the banking system but the problems persist? What then?

Our financial authorities seem to be turning a blind eye to the most recent and instructive historical parallel to our current situation. Everyone makes comparisons between the current crisis and the Great Depression, but a more relevant and contemporary example would be the case of Japan in the 1990s. Japan experienced a massive real estate bubble in the 1980s during which the Nikkei stock average reached a high of around 40,000. In 1990 the bubble burst, leaving the Japanese banking industry in shambles. Now, almost 20 years later, the Nikkei stands below 9,000. One of the main reasons for such a protracted period of underperformance is that, rather than allow economic forces to run their inevitable course, the Japanese financial authorities spent years and years trying to prop up an essentially bankrupt banking industry. As a result, the economy remained mired in a recession for the better part of 15 years. Had the authorities simply acknowledged and accepted the bankruptcy of the banking industry and started from scratch, the length of the ensuing recession would almost certainly have been much shorter.

I recently had a discussion with a former colleague in the investment banking industry, and he argued that, in spite of hopes that we have already seen the worst and that things will now start to improve, many existing financial institutions are basically insolvent and will almost certainly get significantly worse. He gave two reasons for believing that the worst is yet to come. First, corporations which have been forced to raise capital quickly have sold their best assets first. This only makes sense, since these are the assets for which there are both demand and observable prices. What is left on the books of these companies is the most toxic, unmarketable assets. Many of these assets haven’t traded in months or years and are therefore marked at prices far above their current value. If these companies are forced to start selling off these lesser-quality assets, the write-downs incurred will be far larger than the ones we have already seen.

The second argument for believing that many institutions (especially hedge funds) are likely to fail has to do with the incentive structure facing the executives of these companies. An ironic consequence of the public outcry against excessive executive compensation is that the best and brightest in the business have greatly reduced incentives to stay and try to turn things around at their present companies. Their compensation is tied to the performance of their equity, and since things have already fallen so far, they know that even if they succeed in avoiding complete collapse, they will never cash in to the extent they had hoped. This creates a strong incentive to walk away and start fresh somewhere else. This trend is already underway in the hedge fund community, and there is no reason to think that it won’t accelerate. So, if we continue to bail out existing institutions, it is likely that we will end up with companies which have sold their best assets and lost their best people. This is yet another argument for taking our lumps now in order to prevent even greater damage down the road.

A final argument for allowing the banks to fail is the message that our current actions send to corporations of the future. If we go down the road of bailing out banks and insurance companies, what is the message that is sent to executives of the future? Businesses will believe that they can always rely on the government to bail them out as a last resort. In an industry that is already based on “playing with other people’s money”, this will almost certainly lead to reduced prudence and less responsibility. In addition, what does it say to non-financial corporations which, in spite of having strong core businesses, are being forced into bankruptcy? Why is it fair that those who caused the problems get rescued while those who were innocent bystanders are left to their own devices?

Conversely, if we simply allow companies to fail, the message will be unambiguous and salutary. Executives in the future will understand that they will suffer the full consequences of their mistakes and their very survival depends on responsible and competent risk management.

All of this is not to say that nothing should be done to support the existing financial industry, but given the enormous cost that is being absorbed by the American public, we owe it to ourselves to at least consider the alternative.

I got nothin. I’m rolling the bones, hoping I can come up with something. Sometimes it works.

Where is everyone on wind chimes? Love hate for me.

I never wear bright red. It’s a dumb color on a man no matter what.

It’s raining. Excellent.

She was a class A cruiser aspirated by an engine that took her to warp in under an hour. I just wanted to write that sentence.

Here we go.

I think the rules for fluids in your carry-on are preposterous. If there just happens to be a regular sized tube of toothpaste in your luggage, it will be seized. Confiscated. It’s because of the barbarian terrorist hordes who storm our train stations and airports every day with ordinary toothpaste tubes filled with high explosives and containers of over four ounces filled with socialist DNA and yellowcake uranium.

Hint: Pay special attention to any retard trying to light his shoes on fire.

Ignore that shit at your own peril.

There are specific rules about the size of your Ziploc. Before you know it, you’re taking off your shoes and trying to remember when you last cut your toenails.

This, while we barely bother to pay attention to over ninety percent of the 20 x 8 foot shipping containers that show up by the tens of thousands on our shores everyday.

Here’s the deal. If they want blow up an airliner or use it as missle, they will. They can poison your water or your food. Nothing we are doing now in terms of security, policy or protocol is even remotely efficacious. Doesn’t even address the problem.

By the way, the bad guys haven’t tried any of that for awhile if ever.

It’s kind of analogous to the saturation of cars with alarms in LA. They pollute the atmosphere everywhere. No one even looks. Mine could be going off within yards of me and I wouldn’t know. It’s an archaic and obsolete solution to a problem that is far too unimportant to warrant the industry that’s prospered around it.

See what I’m saying? These are things they’ve implemented to show you they’re doing something and make you feel better but still afraid. What you should feel is insulted and pissed off.

I’m here to tell you that forcing Americans to study the cubic or liquid volume of their various toiletries is not paying out any dividends in terms of enhanced security. I’m saying it’s really fucking stupid.

See, Ziploc freezer bags make ultimate sense for one’s personal creams, potions and lotions. More than big and durable enough to contain all of ones necessary liquids while protecting the actual luggage from leaks and oozings propagated by the pressure differential that occurs in the cabin of any commercial jet.

Just how dumb are we?

Let me think of another one.

I thought of another one. It’s a really good one. The ultimate in absurd. It’s really big. One of the biggest devices embraced by the Great Unwashed. Gen Pop. Perhaps the most insidiously self defeating institution ever endorsed by humankind. The world’s largest bureaucracy of shame, guilt and hypocrisy.

Starts with an ‘R’.

We’ll save that for another time.

Drinks for my friends.

Fuck me.

So there was this piece on CNN tonight about how Michelle Obama has a chance to alter the stereotype of black women as overwieght, loud and ignorant. Guess what footage they used? Eddie Murphy as his fat obnoxious wife, Rasputia, in “Norbit”.

What?

Blackface.

How lame is that?

I share with you that I’ve dated black women and I’m in a relationship with a black woman and how that stereotype isn’t one I even understand, but what I want to know is, how many of you clueless cracker mouth breathers buy this shit?

Did I mention our new First Lady is the epitome of poise and dignity? Crazy smart and in possession of wisdom and composure beyond her years? Our fortune is not merely about the man.

And, she’s hot.

Fuck you CNN.

Goddamnit.

Anyway.

Spike Lee’s “Do The Right Thing”.

A review. An assessment.

An analysis. Bitch. Oooh.

Excellent film.

Prescient.

Mookey, played by Spike Lee, is far from stupid. He chooses the path of least resistance consistently. Willfully ignorant. A pussy. Not a bad guy, but plagued by his own weakness. Lead antagonist in a movie full of them. Angry?

Yep. No legitimate malice. His circumstances are his own.

Sal, Danny Aiello’s character, ultimately plays bitch to his pride instead of his obvious capacity for compassion.

Sal’s internal conflicts shaped as metaphorical characters and played by his two sons. Each is a side of the war inside him. An ugly day in the life. He’s not necessarily a bigot but circumstances keep piling on. Eventually he is presented with a choice and blows it. Instead of doing the right thing, he chooses the wrong thing and chaos blasts through like a tsunami.

Mookey makes a choice at least as pregnant with bad circumstances and events descend into a maelstrom.

What Lee took pains to show us is the difference between doing the right thing and ignoring it. At the onset of the defining conflict, Sal could have merely invited the dipshit antogonist to bring some pictures of black heros for the wall. At the behest of one black customer, but a gesture everyone from the block would have welcomed, regardless of color or ethnicity.

Simple.

It’s a moment that hangs briefly and then rolls from one unfortunate escalation to another. Hard to watch as Lee does his level best to show us how it can happen and how ridiculous it often is. In the end, the Korean grocer plays by example. He tells the angry mob sincerely that he is black, just like them, and they understand. His life and business are not demolished in front of his eyes.

The scene defines the the movie and the message as much as any other. Sal on his corner for decades and the Koreans across the street for less than two years. Reactions dictate fate. Life goes on. Sal loses.

Powerful stuff.

My hero is Ozzie Davis. “The Mayor”. The Mayor embraces humility just after saving a boy’s life by risking his own. He sees what’s coming and does the best he can. The protagonist is Sal. As innocent as a man can be in a morality play such as this. Same as Mookey, until the end of the film where they both fail spectacularly. The antogonist is the neighborhood, the police and racism from every side.

The antogonist is a malaise.

The catalyst is the heat.

It’s a fascinating film that looks like a play. It is a play. I became a Spike Lee fan today.

My girlfriend who just happens to have her ethnicity enhanced by blackness, you know, African, says this, “Spike played the character Mookey and that’s one letter different than Monkey -Spike Lee is annoyed by the willfully ignorant black man.”

Then she tells me something far more interesting. She tells me Our Man’s chances of achieving what he has would have been substantially reduced were he a descendant of slaves and the product of black mother and white father. She tells me this would have been a result of the way he saw himself and of little consequence in the way we saw him.

How interesting is that? That’s racism. The hidden, ugly, pervasive head thereof. Damn. A special brand of vulgar.

Makes it obvious we’re not even close.

Still, beauty to be had. America has chosen a liberal black man to lead us. We didn’t choose him because he’s black. We chose him because he looks to be our best chance.

Begs the question, what’s next?

So many Americans aren’t ready for this. It’s my guess the midwest has shat itself, if only from confusion. I’m hoping the rednecks have crapped themselves moistureless and moved on to iced coffee and some goddamn sense. You don’t have to order a bagle or a muffin. You can have toast.

Forgive me, but I worry. We need to sail over the torpor and wash it it out of our mouths. Spit out any violence. Everybody. Not just us. All of us. Look at me. All of us.

Conventional wisdom seems to have out shouted cognitive dissonance. Nice.

From your heart try to be respectful at least once or twice. Sometimes it gets heavy. Trust me I have.

Do your best. Walk right out into a brand new day.

Stop being such pussies.

Drinks for my friends.

I’ve got to tell you how strange my life has become.

I don’t work anymore. Car and apartment dirty. Filthy. Full of unnecessary things, copious refuse and random detritus. Grime. Disgusting. Can’t bring myself to care. Keeping an eye out for bugs.

They knock at the door all day. They knock and check the knob. All goddamn day. They rattle it. In the afternoon, they pound. They hammer and that upsets me. It suprises me. I’m startled and so I have to clean up. Clean myself up. I shave and shower. Bag some trash.

Sometimes I dust and vacuum.

I leave my toilet a mess.

When I look through the hole it’s always at the instant they are turning away.

I hate them.

Short blonde women, tall dark men.

Short blond men. Tall dark women.

I get angry.

At night they wear hoodies up.

Many wear a blue apron but I can’t read the logo or the slogan. I think there’s a pig on it.

It’s a fisheye parallax view kinda thing. Can’t make it out.

I either make people like me or I don’t. It’s simple so I just do it. Whoever you are, I can make you like me.

What do you think of that? It’s totally true.

Really mad. I get super pissed.

I have a unique view from my balcony. I leased the place sight unseen. I saw that it had twenty five to thirty feet of uniterrupted tiled deck outside and signed the lease. I can see three stories up. It’s like a canyon. Everything reverberates. The click of my lighter. My foot steps even in slippers. At night sounds multiply.

From the balcony I see common areas, like where the elevator spills my neighbors. One of three jacuzzis. I got a letter on my door today about the jacuzzis telling me they were to be replastered this month. Great. Can’t wait.

Sometimes I see them from my balcony on the floors above me not really talking to each other. Their lips move. They touch a lot. It’s subtle. They never look at each other.

They always see me. Always. They look right fucking at me. They don’t exactly point with their fingers.

It begins. A clatter, some rustling and then some random knocks. After that, pounding, rapping and bell ringing. So loud! I get angry and charge the eyehole. Sometimes I yell at them as they turn away. Sometimes just one. Often groups. I feel better screaming at the groups.

I pound at my door as they scatter.

I never open it. That would be crazy.

Sometimes, I peer out the hole in the middle of the night and they go by in boats, the hallway a rushing river. Torches burning. Backs paddling away from me. Hoods up. The water is violent and green. My feet are wet and river water splashes the skin of my feet and ankles.

I dream of portals and portholes.

Morning, there is no evidence of a river, yet I wake with rashes on my feet.

They leave things at my door. Minature boxes of cereal, deflated balloons and wrinkled party favors. Glitter. Plastic champagne flutes. Soggy candy cigarettes. The hallway smells like leather and the sea.

Weeds and insects.

Everyone I encounter that day looks like they’ve been swimming. Dry skin, red eyes, wild hair.

Fucking grasshoppers careening, leaping abberantly in front of me wherever I walk.

People don’t know what I know. They can’t see what I see.

Every time I go to the 7-11 after sunset, one of the bastards opens the door for me. I recognize them all.

Crazy is everywhere you look. Color outside the lines. Be creative. Kill people.

This last one was old and chapped. His face was ruddy and he moved rheumatic. I usually try to give them something. Who knows what power they have. I hate when I’ve got no cash and say as much on the way in but they still ask again on the way out.

I’ve been avoiding it lately. Always bugs in the condiments at The Hot Dog Buffet. Only buy stuff that is prepackaged. Always bring home mayo packets.

They mingle by the elevators. They whisper. They always drop a few Crackerjack prizes when they gather. On the floor in the common areas. Little red striped envelopes with a semblance of a sailor in blue. Like where the mailboxes are. Sometimes I pick them up off my balcony. That spooks me. What bugs me most is when they’re beside my car. Sometimes all around my car.

Dozens. That spooks me.

There’s always a guy who’s balding wearing corduroy with bad teeth. Sometimes tall, sometimes not. An elegant redhead in black who maintains her youth by eating nothing but grains and raw vegetables. Children in costumes. An over perfumed elderly fat woman dressed immaculately. A guy I can only describe as Karl, The Mortition, and a handful of others. From the girl at the drycleaner to the hairy guy in a stupid shirt at the mall who kept walking in front of me.

I see the goats and hear the monkeys. I never see the monkeys and hear the goats. Never.

There’s a window outside of my apartment, in the hallway, that opens onto my balcony. That’s how they’re getting in. I close my shit up before I sleep no matter how hot it is.

A woman in the elevator the other night had what looked like a hamster cage. It looked heavy but she still held it high. Yellow plexiglass, the smell of woodchips and sour rodent turds. There were tiny frogs inside. They kept leaping against the sides, making me flinch. They slid down, leaving smears. It sounded awful. Smacks and whisper moist scrapes. She had a moustache. Sideburns. Her dress was a smock of burlap somewhere between lime green and pastel robins egg. It was morbid against her skin and the simian coating of black hair on her arms.

Burping amphibians with huge eyes. A woman named Halgromson, moles erupting with thick and ropy whiskers.

Sheezus!

Once in a while I smell crazy. Smells like dust. Smells like rocks and rotting flowers. Penetrates everything. Sweet but cloying and dense.

Smells like cabbage boiling with a fair amount of porkfat. Get used to it. Come to Daddy.

Drinks for my friends.

We’re fucked.

In the past few months the market has lost forty seven percent of it’s value. Unemployment is a vertical dragrace. A precipitous ascent. These two items represent America’s testicles. The market and jobs is our nutsack. Balls meet vise.

There’s probably not a single business in this country that could weather a near fifty percent reduction in revenue and stay afloat. America, and the globe, are in huge trouble. We are in a free fall. I’m glad I have a place to go. There’s room for my stereo. Barely. Limited growing season, but that might change.

Bill Maher said that he always knew Dumbya had one giant fuck up left in him. Here it is on a platter. The mother of them all. Saved the worst for last. Where are the neocons on this anyway? Where the hell is Dumbya and Darth? Fucking clowns aren’t gonna do shit. They’ll wait it out and then take a walk.

A long time coming. Decades. Any fool with common sense understood our lifestyle wasn’t sustainable. The raw material we consume. The resources we exhaust and the pollution we spew.

I’m a little pissed my generation has to bear the burden. It matters not where the bodies are buried. If your at all curious, check your own backyard. Pervasive.

No one single action will solve this debacle. There is no magic bullet. We are in for a very long night.

Get ready, things are about to change.

Having said that, we need to tip the fuck out of Iraq and seriously slash defense spending. Pay the troops, take care of the vets, maintain infrastructure and walk away from everything else. Sounds drastic and it is, but once the DOW dropped below eight thousand and stayed there, the theoretical bottom disappeared.

This will take a decade at least.

Our Man is bequeathed a shitstorm of extraordinary magnitude. A cat five economic hurricane. I worry that he’ll spend his first term putting his fingers in holes as opposed to being able to move us forward. No matter what, the blood will make it to the stairs. Americans are impatient and stupid and I worry they’ll see it as an ineffective Presidency.

Bleak, bleak, bleak.

I’ve got ER on the plasma with the sound off and see that it’s pretty much the same. I learn US Attorney General Mukasey took a dive at the podium in front of the federalists. I see that gas prices are looking for bottom. This is not good news. Bear witness as the harbingers of doom testify.

It’s not just that we’ll be poorer. My ass is broke. I’ll find my own way out. I can deal with that. It’s the inevitable atrophy of society that gives me pause. Crime and corruption will enjoy a renaissance. We will be less safe from ourselves, never mind the mythical terrorists.

Get ready for an army of homeless. Abandoned vehicles. Fire. Food shortages. Fuel shortages.

See, I’m not looking to lower expectations, it’s just that the complexity and severity of what we all face is a long fast moving train with brakes that will take awhile. We might just aspire to counting ourselves lucky if we’re treading in the same water we are today four years from now. It may just look like a victory come 2012.

It’s bad.

Official brainspank prediction is that markets rebound enough tomorrow to prevent mass suicide this weekend. At least a few hundred points, probably four or five. Get ‘er up over eight.

See what I’m saying?

Drinks for my friends.