Sunday, May 8, 2016

In Which paleo Messes With Evil

Combination squirrel feeder/dog entertainment system.

























Thoughts?

Are We Pathetic Or Do We Just Need A Juicebox And A Nap

Fuck us. Genuinely.

Every country in the world, save us, should get together right now.

Have a nice spare rib dinner, with sauerkraut, sauteed cauliflower colliettes, and fresh salad, kale, radishes, scallions, and a basil-infused olive oil with strawberry-apple cider vinegar. Finish with a nice snifter of Amrut.

And then turn the surface of the United States to glass.

What may provoke paleo to continental annihilation this time?

  • Could it be Small Hands*? 
  • Berniebaggers? 
  • Sarah Palin swearin' on her lief that she will defeet Paul Ryan you betcha**?
  • Yet another revelation that Joe Paterno knowingly enabled Jerry Sandusky to rape an unknown number of prepubescent boys at Penn State, but now taking the timeline back to 1976?!?!
No. Actually, this morning's desire is due to television.

Newton Minow was early in describing TV as a vast wasteland - were he alive today, he'd be really, really, spectacularly old. Oh, and speechless. Because really, really, holy fucking old. TV in the United States may not take the actual prize, but we do suck. Nineteen Fondlings and Counting***. Jimmy Fallon. Seven different cake shows - 216 wedding shows - coming soon: The Divorce Show with Kim Davis. The entire TruTV network. We're no shrinking violets when it comes to digital quaalude.

But Imma thunkin' this is a new level.

Arranged.
After seeing the commercial, oh yes I did have to look up this broadcast venereal disease.
In “Arranged,” three couples from different cultural backgrounds have one thing in common – the belief in arranged marriages. From a young Romani gypsy couple in New York City, to a southern couple from the Bible belt, to a couple raised by traditional Eastern Indian parents living in Los Angeles – these brides and grooms don’t just marry each other, their unions include their entire family. Viewers will see each couple’s relationship from the lead-up to their weddings, to the several months after the reality of married life sinks in. 
Even though the marriages stemmed from the heart of their culture, the marital stakes are heightened as the couples do not have the level of intimacy common in most modern marriages. For some, it will be tough to give up their independence and their new roles as husband and wife prove to be more than they bargained for. Pregnancy scares, money concerns and over-protective parents will add even more stress to an already overwhelming situation. Viewers will learn compelling relationship advice as they watch these unique journeys and find out if these couples hold the key to a long-lasting marriage by being arranged.
Their description.

Erpp.

to the several months after the reality of married life sinks in? 

the marital stakes are heightened as the couples do not have the level of intimacy common in most modern marriages?

Viewers will learn compelling relationship advice as they watch these unique journeys and find out if these couples hold the key to a long-lasting marriage by being arranged.?

In a number of my kultursturm posts, I'd now pivot, I'd say let's ignore the unbelievable underlying fundamentalist religion crap, the control issues, the wild goddam misogyny, and attack a a prime mover if one seemed detectable. Nope.

The fundamentalist religion crap, the control issues, and the wild goddamn misogyny ARE THE PRIME MOVERS. Jesus H Christ playing piano at the Bunny Ranch, this is GENUINELY SICK.

The couples pushed together, undoubtedly at the behest of religious leaders, by cultish parents, do not have the level of intimacy as a couple who went out, willingly, to White Fucking Castle, and Jellystone park, and then figured out they own bad selves how to proceed. I know, what a stupid fucking notion. Couples holding the key to a long-lasting yada yada in an event they had no play in?

Children, and particularly in our society, young women, are not a commodity, to be traded or used as bargaining chips for family mergers. These young people will, must, have to, at some point, unless the new married couple is locked in Daddy-In-Law's basement, grow up, and they are soon going to, have to, must, do some self-evaluation.

And guess what. There's a serious chance they are going to be distinctly pissed off.
There is an equal chance they are going to be seriously broken.
There is a better than equal chance they are going to be both.
If the marriage survives, and I actually kind of hope it does, I'm a romantic, I believe in love, my wife walks on the ground I worship, it will be by dint of massive amounts of work, or unfathomable delusion.

So, yeah, the makers of this show? Find a nice, quiet, island. Google maps, your friend. Pack up, move there. Take up cannibalism.

 Again, we've been here. Nineteen Assaults and Counting. The show, in and of itself, is NOT the reason the United States needs to be leveled and the earth salted.

The commercial was for ARRANGED: S2.

*also Clapton's worst album, it sounded as if he difficulty with the solos
** I mean, go for it, you meth-addled plastic-surgery-addicted sociopath with a bright future of decaying in a rocking chair while Gargle argues with you and needs to keep plunging the blood in the shower
***so, that was on for what, 3 years, times average 22? episodes, times 39.42 people in the house, ummm, carry the pi, HOLY GODDAMNIT THAT SHOW WAS ON FOR 24,007 HOURS. GAHHH.

It's Alive! IT'S ALIVE!

Okey Dokey.

MY TRUCK LIVED.

As pointed out by OBS in the previous comments (and now verified by me), Toyotas are apparently beasts - the truck moved 4 feet before anything useful was bent. It ended up being solely body work. And the car owner's insurance was current, so other than inconvenience and a near aneurysm, it's all good.

For me.

Now, I've received the police report. As of a few days ago (when the report was received), the other screwball has not been found. As far as the young lady, no, Imma not out her. But, the facts of the case:

  • 20 years old
  • 15 year old sister in the car
  • suspended license
  • hit and run/leaving the scene of the accident
  • underage drinking
  • DWI, with the sister in the car
Lady, I'm sorry that the dude beat you, I'm angry AS HELL you drove through yards in residential neighborhoods, pretty damn unhappy you hit my truck. Shocking, I expect. But shit, you've torched yourself, and you're still so damn young.

Please take the opportunity to realize that, hey, this is fucky, gotta fix it.

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Ban the Pontiac Grand Am

So, this happened.

Monday, after work, I went out into my driveway to work on my boat, taking off the winter tarp and putting on the summer cover, getting the batteries in. As I worked outside, Jaxson, the 82# dogfood recycling machine, sunbathed on the driveway. I found that one of my batteries had spring a leak, and so halted work at that point, a smidge pissed, but wevs, I'll get another battery. C'mon, Jax, inside.
I left the main front door open, Sweetie would be home soon and Jax likes to look out the storm door.

About a half an hour later, as I am mixing the dogfood into the incredibly arcane mixture that Sweetie has decreed her boy get, Jax started raising a ruckus, but not like 'Mom's home!!1!eleventyone!' I looked out front.

There was a young(-ish? not sure) man out in my driveway. As I went to the door, I heard an engine rev, and the guy took off between my truck and my boat. 

A red car slammed, seriously, slammed, into my truck. Maybe 30 miles an hour and judging by the engine rev, accelerating.

Ummm.

The car backed off, tore ass out of my driveway, across a curb, a street, another curb, a lawn. I was grabbing my phone and memorizing the plates as the car disappeared. At this point, I was confuzzled and pissed. Called 911, reported as I went outside. Most of my immediate neighbors were on the way to my driveway. At least one other was on his phone, presumably 911-ing.

All the following photos are by Sweetie - I'll explain later in the post, but at this point I was a goddamn puddle, literally.

The approach:

















Looking at these photos, regrettably, she did not get a good photo of the front of the truck, I'll update when I get home, but here's a close-up - the black bar is the frame.

I'm not a mechanic by any stretch, but I see I'm not hemorraghing fluids, so I suspect the truck will start and run. However, and this is why I should get a better picture of the truck, the tires are seriously askew, and while I'm not entirely sure, the whole front end looks, umm, offsies. I have internal concerns about the future of the vehicle, but it still needs to be appraised. (That story will be here shortly...)

The dude is the sweater is my neighbor, pointing at where my truck had been at the start.

Third party information, from other neighbors:
There seems to be some backstory. The neighbor above, with his wife, and others, had seen the occupants of the car, two women and a man, stop on our block, apparently arguing, and one woman and the man got out and were fistfighting on another neighbor's lawn. He was already on 911 for that. The fight seems to have ended, and only the woman returned to the car and she started driving off, he started walking off. She said something to him, and he opened her car door and started beating on her, then started running. She followed. Onto my lawn and etc. etc.etc.

While the cops were at my place a woman from a block down came to tell the cops that someone was chasing a man across lawns on her street and the man had stolen someone's bicycle and this is a kid intensive area and oh, it seems you already know about it. 

After my initial anger I'd said "and my dog was right there 30 minutes ago and" paleo was done. I went into quasi-freakout - my dog is my kid, you know, and I am famously bleeding heart commie-lib-stanian but if you hurt kids or animals your ticket should be punched, and if you hurt my dog/kid I'll do the punching. So other than telling the cop what I saw, Sweetie had come home, and she handled things. 

Aside: Not 10 minutes before this I'd asked Sweetie to pick me up a six pack, I'd worked hard on the boat, and she later said, "I thought you really needed that beer now, and maybe a bottle of Xanax, but if I gave you that beer at that point the cop would have been thoroughly convinced he'd gone to WhitetrashWood". My dog had been right there. I'd been on the boat. Fucking christ.

So, by 8pm, everything, including most of paleo, had calmed down. Dinner plans had changed from Southwestern style omelets to ham sandwiches. About 9, the neighbor stopped by, my phone was off, the police had called, they'd put an all-MN BOLO on the car, and picked her up (hammered) in Circle Pines, about 30 minutes away. The cop who handled my case went to pick her up and interviewed her, and of course she denied everything. He said we have three eyewitnesses who can identify you, I don't know who, no one Sweetie talked to said they'd had a good look, I didn't, the car windows were very tinted. But, in the lawn, he'd picked up a few plastic bitties, turned out to be press-on fingernails. He told her to hold out her hands and lo!, three missing pink press-on fingernails and she confessed.

As the man was initially running, he'd dropped something. His wallet. The neighbor above gave it to the cops and according to the lead cop his driver's license had him wearing the exact same hoodie we'd all described.

The driver was apparently unlicensed, the car was not hers. Unsure of the insurance situation. And we'd just changed insurance a couple weeks ago, but the State farm underwriters are apparently behind, so while we have insurance and have been assured we're covered, even if the deductible comes out of our pocket (again, unsure of the insurance situation of the car) (which will thoroughly infuriate me but infuriation is in my comfort zone), but they are scrambling with ours to get the 't's dotted so we can get the truck looked at, we're doing some scrambling but stuff happens. Arggh.

SO. Casualties. Again, I don't know, nor do I need to know, the backstory, but apparently she was seriously bruised. Whether from the beating or hitting a fucking pickup with a Grand Am I neither know nor care. She is facing DWI/Hit and Run and may face stronger charges based on trying to kill a guy. I don't know that he's been arrested yet, I'm certain as soon as he found out he'd lost his license he went underground. My truck? Uhhhh. Still need to have it looked at because of the underwriting stuff not being through yet, but I have, I believe legitimate, fears (IANAM) that it's gonna be a thing, and replacement value on a 5yr, 80k mile truck does not get me a new truck. My piece of mind? at the moment still queasy, this is a very diverse, friendly, family neighborhood, lot of kids, and this is certainly extraordinary, and Jax will not be on the driveway until paleo mellows the fuck out.

Anyhow, stuff.














Thursday, April 7, 2016

Who Is Qualified To Be President?

Okay, Imma blaming this one squarely on the goddamn Bernie Bros.

Senator Sanders claimed that Sec'y Clinton called him 'unqualified' in response to a Washington Post headline. One of his subcultures, who would be, in other election cycles, Naderites, or 'Dr. Jill Stein Or Bust', explodes with Clinton hatred.

But, Baby Jesus Christ at the Shrine Of The Six Foot Water Pipe, she never said that! 

The interviewer, Morning Intern-Killer, was fishing for her to say something like that and she didn't. So, now, is the Washington Post completely untrustworthy until it is? I have trouble keeping up with the daily party line.

She asked how he was going to shut down the banks, and while I completely agree with that goal and volunteer manacles and tumbrils, my plan involves violence, and tears, and lots of Vaseline. Also electric blenders. And other electric blenders for the tequila, as you really don't want to cross-contaminate a good margarita. What is Sen. Sanders' plan? 

I want free college tuition for the younger folks. My plan involves kangaroo courts, a sudden decrease in the population of Waltons, and a visible effect on the world's recycled copper market, so it is probably untenable. But what is Sen. Sanders' plan? 

I. Want. Single. Payer. Now. My plan involves a front-end loader, a JATO rocket, fourteen Hap-Kido masters, and a competency hearing before the World Court. They guard those JATO's like a son of a bitch. I, ummm, think. 

Please, Sen. Sanders, tell us the pissengutter plan. Tell us what you need us to do. And the next goddamn time I hear/read "Well, REVOLUTION!", I will fucking puke up my appendix.

I may be a savage old bastard socialist, but in my (near-)maturity, I don't have the time or extra energy for street theatre. I want to hear a fucking plan.

The Underpants Gnome theory (h/t Bob and Chez - Bubble Genius) doesn't work in the real world. The POTUS is not a dictator. I fucking love Sen. Sanders, (although I will be just fine with Sec'y Clinton) but c'mon, tell us what he intends to do because he ain't going to do it without us, and he is going to need one metric fuckton of work from us. He needs Democrats elected downballot, he'll need 70 Dem senators to get anything done (60 to beat the filibuster, but count on there being up to 10 or so worthless Blue Dogs), and he needs to flip 40-some seats in an unbelievably gerrymandered House and in the face of Republican Election fraud.

Sec'y Clinton, nothing in the previous paragraph does not apply to you. Give us a damn plan.

If we gotta be a goddam circular firing squad, could we at least point our vote-rifles outward?!?!

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

A 2016 Election Plea

Every comment section I look at nowadays is full of Democratic Party intramural squabbling. So. If I may:

Jesus Insane Amphibious Christ wearing a teddy, fucking fuck, we are so good at snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. Typical D circular firing squad. No wonder I hate people!

First of all, if you like Sen. Sanders, vote Sen. Sanders. If you like Sec'y Clinton, vote Sec'y Clinton. And then vote for whoever wins the primary. 

Driftglass' Law - Imma vote for Sanders in the primary, then for whoever he tells me to in the general. 
paleo's Addendum: I suspect it's not going to be Donald J Fucking Trump, accidental pregnancy as a result of anal sex Ted Cruz, or Marky Mark, the World's Oldest Justin Bieber Cosplayer.

Calling Sen. Sanders a starry-eyed unicorn fucker and hypocrite, on guns, whatever, ignores that fact that Senate proposals are very craftily made to screw all of us, and any Senator interested in the people needs to be nuanced, and make some lousy votes because the perfect is the enemy of the good. 

Hating Sec'y Clinton means you're responding to 25 years of smears by right-wing filth. She's a politician, not Vlad the Impaler.

Expecting either of them to work miracles ignores the fact that the President is not a dictator, and he/she will not have free rein. See: 
Motherfucking gerrymandering.

Second, either of them is more likely to respond to our applied pressure than any filthy RWNJ, who will not give a molecular shit.

THE ELECTION IS NOT OVER IN NOVEMBER. AND THE ELECTION IS FOR MORE THAN THE PRESIDENCY.
We have to vote locally, and for legislatures and governorships, and then we have to keep fighting. 
Every. Single. Goddamn. Day. 

Every day, think of a good way to take a ten ton press (with votes) to the shit-filled melons of the Filth Party. 
Every day, think of a good way to keep the pressure on the people we elect to work our issues. If they know they won't get any pushback, anyone of them, they do dumbass things.

And THINK. Use your damn heads.

Saturday, March 5, 2016

Sportsperson Opens Yap. Stupid Ensues

Mike Ditka, former NFL coach and current sportsball analyst, went on a radio show and used vocal chords.

Let's roll the 1's and 0's.
Ditka went on WABC’s The Bernie & Sid Show on Thursday and told the hosts that “Obama’s the worst president we’ve ever had.” 
“Barack Obama’s a fine man,” Ditka said of the former Illinois State Senator. “I mean, he’s pleasant. He would be great to play golf with. He’s not a leader. This country needs leadership. It needs direction. It needs somebody that steps up front. We need somebody like Ronald Reagan. Every once in a while you’re gonna get punched in the chops but you keep going forward. That’s all there is to it.”
Let's ignore the 'play golf with' TeaBagger dogwhistle and go to
Every once in a while you’re gonna get punched in the chops but you keep going forward.
Ermmm. Geopolitical crises are getting 'punched in the chops.' Well over four thousand American military personnel dead, thousands more in some state of disability, and an unknown, unknowable number of dead civilians is getting 'punched in the chops'. Way to minimize real-world life-and-death, suffering, poverty, you serious, as in setting-the-new-standards-for-excremescence-achievement serious, piece of waste.

No one is able to achieve the level of Bear hatred as I can. This time, this is not the case. Ditka won a single Super Ball Bowl with a once-in-a-millenium defense. One. Eins. And was a simple salary suck every other place he was involved.

In that Super Ball Bowl he refused to give Walter Payton, the only Bear I could ever tolerate (but still not like), who had played brilliantly for years on teams that could not have beaten a Tebow-led Lions team, a guaranteed rushing TD, instead giving it to William 'the Refrigerator' Perry, to thumb his nose at everyone who called it a ridiculous draft pick*.

When it comes to rationality and judgement, yeahhhh, I think Imma go with President Obama.

Oh, yeah, and Lil' Mikey is a Trumpenfuhrer supporter. I'm shocked. Probably met at the same spray tan booth distributor.

Oh, yeah, and he wanted to be a senator in 2004, says he'd have beaten then-state-legislator Barack Obama. Probably would have, too, but it's Illinois. With two recent governors having spent time in (admittedly white-collar, and screw the 'Murkin justice system) Club Feds, a damn lot of Illinoyances earn the FIB** nickname honestly, and I also refudiate their rationality and judgement. (except for (DUCKWORTH SENATE 2016!!)


An Open Letter
Dear Mike Ditka (and, for that matter, Curt Schilling), 
There are reasons you are not well-known destinations for those who seek universal truthisms, why you have not been invested in the CERN project, why there are not schools of economics or political theories named after you. 
You were athletes, uneducated, largely incapable of functioning outside of the rarefied world of the American Entertainment Sphere. You have been blessed far more than you deserve because you had some sportsball talent. Take it for what it is and enjoy it, but leave the rest of us to solve the actual issues.  
And with any luck, we'll get to the Sportsball Industrial Complex soon enough. For example, there is a stadium going up in Minneapolis that some legislators need to go to jail for, and a worthless Sopranos cosplayer needs to be back-charged for. 
I wish nothing but misery and tragedy for you, and if your kids spit on you for being despicable human beings, Imma count one in the win column. 
Love, paleo



*To be fair, Perry eventually did become a passable defensive lineman. A better lineman than Tebow was a quarterback, a better professional football player than the Lions are a professional football team. Not squattle to do with Ditka.

**Thought I could make one single goddamn amphibian molesting post without cussing, didja? Fucking Illinois Bastards.