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.


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.

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.

Sunday, February 28, 2016

The World's Dirtiest Word


I'll give my usual disclosure: Whatever you believe, great. If it helps you sleep better, if it makes you a better person, great.

That's faith.

Mine? Given the ridiculous stuff I believe on a daily basis, I can hardly call myself an atheist. I'm not certain what eschatology I fall into. One thing I'm positive of, I don't believe there's an old man with a book or iPad waiting for me to either:
a.) be good and so get to go listen to cherubim holler Ave Maria until I put a celestial nuclear weapon in my mouth, or;
b.) be sent to a pitchfork wielding Pan expy who has all the good musicians and a long pork barbeque.
I try to be a decent human to be a decent human.

Now. I am on the mailing list of the Minnesota Family Council. Most well known for being pro-bullyingespecially if gay kids die, it is a hard-right-wing political action committee. I stay on the mailing list because these people are dangerous as hell and it's a smart thing to keep an eye on the bastards. The CEO, John Helmberger, sends out pleas for money, prayers, action, and money. He asks for donations as well.

So, his latest 'testimonial', encouraging caucus participation, needs to be explored a bit. To begin, though, let's face it, this 'event' never happened. Lying for Jeebus.*

A Defining Moment at a Precinct Caucus

Only behave as citizens worthy of the gospel of Christ Philippians 1:27
The Red Words? Nope. Paul. Color me surprised, most evangelicals have never read the gospels. They like Paul and the Old Testament, books and letters what give them an excuse to kill. The Rabbi Yeshua ben-Yusef, if he existed, seems to have been pretty chill. Feed the poor, heal the sick, whomp the ever-loving hell out of bankers. Paul's a complete bastard.
As a university graduate student, I arrived late at the precinct caucus for my new neighborhood. The room was full, with standing room only, and I could barely find a place to squeeze in near the entrance. As it turned out, that was a good thing.
Okay, basically true. Political engagement is a great thing. Although I have major issues with the caucus process, preferring the primary system, good on you. Good on everyone who goes.
Having grown up in a politically active family, it was only natural, now that I was out on my own, that I also would participate in the grassroots process of debating and voting on issue resolutions, hearing from candidates, and choosing delegates to represent my neighbors and me at upcoming conventions where candidates would be endorsed.
 Again, engagement. How can I have a problem with this cat?
But something had changed. Or rather, someone had changed.
I had been conditioned from my childhood to identify with a party that increasingly valued personal autonomy above any faith or moral code, looked to government as protector and provider, and oftentimes viewed faith in God with open hostility.
And, we're off. Meine dog's ears are bleeding. Who's faith? I know all'y'all don't believe in Papism or Smithism, but even more than that, the pre-millenial dispensationalists think the post-millenial dispensationalists think the Prosperity Gospel crowd think the UCC bleeding hearts are all wrong and going to hell. And everyone hates the Jews (h/t Tom Lehrer).

"Above moral code"? Moral code, is, ummm, laws. And you're damn right I want government protection, from bankers and 'patriots' and Lost Cause types and godbotherers who feel the need to dictate faith and moral codes.
Of course, I had never thought about it in those terms. In fact, I never thought about my party affiliation at all. I just followed the path I’d grown up in without questioning it.
So, it took you until graduate school to think?
But now, in that crowded caucus, I couldn’t do that anymore. Some years earlier I had become a Christian. It took a while to get serious about studying God’s word, but as I did, it started changing me. It changed my values and priorities. It gave me a new lens through which to view everything, including politics. I found myself evaluating policy on everything—from abortion to taxes and spending—in light of Scripture.
Abortion? Not a word. (Although the Old Testament was awfully approving of killing kids. Dash the children against stones, anyone?). Taxes? Render to Caesar what is Caesar's. Spending? Before Pauly stuck his misogynistic beak and lust for authoritarian power into things, the early Christians were egalitarian socialists, share what you have, Mary Magdelene one of Christ's beloved.
Which religion will save the world, Johnny? Seems Lil' Teddy Knickers; Stabby McNeurosurgeon; Florida's Parched Theocrat; Cousin Itt cosplayer, college president, and one-man Ukrainian model immigration agency Don 'Don' Trump; and the rest (Mary Ann, Ginger, Kasich) have vowed to set much of the world on actual fucking fire
I now knew I had a calling to engage in the process as “salt and light” for the sake of the gospel of Christ, the only power that can truly transform hearts and minds and cultures.
Back up, dear. I don't believe any of your nonsense. I have my own nonsense and have yet to stab or set fire to anybody.
As I stood in that caucus meeting listening to demands for one policy after another that conflicted with what I saw as God’s pattern for a truly just and moral society, it hit me. “I don’t have anything in common with these people,” I thought. “I don’t belong here.” Thankful that I was near the door, I slipped out as quickly as I could, making a clean break from the inherited politics of my youth.
You were not the only thankful one, John-John. These people were exploring solutions to problems. Together. Not looking for the simplicity of listening to 200 preachers arguing about when Jeebus comes back but agreeing that the gays must be killed.
Since that defining moment, I’ve caucused with another party whose platform—and usually candidates—more closely align with biblical principles (though not perfectly—that never happens in our fallen world). I’ve become more actively engaged than I ever had been before, spurred by our calling to “behave as citizens worthy of the gospel of Christ” (Philippians 1:27, ESV literal rendering of Greek).
Ok, bucko. Let's take the revisionist history - The republican party invited you yahoos into the party in a quest for political power. Votes. As late as Barry Goldwater, you were kept at arm's length. Abortion was chosen as the visible politically acceptable way to organize for misogyny, segregation, and an alphabet soup of phobias. Reagan then brought you guys in. The republican establishment has used you for 36 years for votes. They, prior to the rise of the Teabaggers, would never have outlawed abortion. Too politically useful. And the road went both ways. A couple of notable items were added to your laundry list. The rights of rich people (yeah, the irony is like rain on a wedding day). The end of the Public Commons.
If you haven’t participated in a precinct caucus, I encourage you to give it a try on March 1. Find your precinct caucus location and learn more about Minnesota’s precinct caucuses. There’s more at stake than ever before, including the freedom to engage openly in our culture as a Christian. Come shine your light—it’s needed!
John Helmberger
CEO of Minnesota Family Council
Yeah, I'm going to participate in my caucuses. Sorry, JJ.

'freedom to engage openly in our culture as a Christian'?!? We're riddled with you rodent molesters. Fuck yourself. 


Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Another Supreme Court Theory, Somewhat More On The Less Conspiratorial Side

So, of course, Fat Tony is tits up. I do feel bad for his family, death sucks on ice. I feel bad for Justice Ginsberg, who considered him a close personal friend, as, surprisingly, did Justice Kagan, who made more than some efforts to befriend him. Sympathy, to all of them, and I am being quite serious.


Given the makeup of the Senate, confirmation of anyone who is not David Barton will be difficult. We may well looking at an extended 4 (left/center left - Notorious RBG, Justice Kagan, Justice Sotomayor, Justice Breyer) to 4 (monsters - The Silent Man, Chief Justice Roberts, Justice Alito, and... oh, wait...)

The makeup of the Court has been long referred to as 4 to 4 with a Kennedy swing vote, I'm not pulling this out of any available orifice.

Four left/center left and three serious brownshirts. And Anthony Kennedy.

Anthony Kennedy. Confirmed during a presidential election year, by the way, so Ted Cruz, lil' Marco Rubio, et alia can choke on this convenient box of hammers.

(Surprisingly, not near the top of google images, apparently there is some tweeny looking film called Bag of Hammers.)

His personal politics have to be at least mainstream rightie, likely an economic hard-rightie, but he doesn't rule by his political beliefs. Instead of political beliefs, he makes his rulings based on the political environment, and relishes the role of swing vote, as the bargained chip, as an elder windsock.

I submit that in order for him to maintain that role, he may go with the left side of the court surprisingly often, in an attempt to be An Hero, in an attempt to burnish his legacy as the Decider. We may see a lot of 5 to 3 rulings, and if President Obama can push though another center left appointee (I have no hope that he will nominate a true liberal, we're likely to end up with a Wall Street hack like Lynch or Srinivasan, who, while they at least may be reasonable on cultural issues, will happily continue the cudgelling of the working class), I would not be horribly shacked to see frequent 6 to 3 rulings.

I don't know, just a thought.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

I Can Haz Shortwave Radio Nao?

Mr. Grain posed a puzzler.

Per Alex Jones, President Blackenstein had a Judge offed. TenGrain is holding a small collective creational Kaffeklatch to figure out how. This aggression cannot stand.

Thus, I posit this.

President Obama put his PLAN into place shortly before New Years with a diversion in Oregon. Special Raptorforce Agent Ritzheimer, J., put the ouija-board pieces in place, then, informing his pawns that there had been a contrail sighting at the Jade Helm Camp Alphabits and his presence was required, he headed for Texas.

Wearing his issued Hyperthelegic Duck-aticion Inviso-foot Caster, he snuck 4 cases of Megovaltine into the Palatial Patriotic Palace and Pyoluretic Podiatrics Practice in Paris, Texas, where the Council on Fraternal Relations was having its annual epistemic closure.

On Friday night, the ELF receiver implanted in Deep Stage Agent Ritzenwollenstein (his actual name, and a lot of good men died horribly of Samoan Cunnilingusboarding to get that information) gave the go signal, three short brrrrrts and a beep. He turned on his negroidizer to blend in with the staff, and upon Shadow Chief Justice Scalia’s page requesting a warm milk and two small pre-punctured children, entered the moratorium, where Scalia had already spread plastic, making the agent’s job even just that much more pleasant.

Pulling his gauss gun, he quickly injected electromorphins in the judge’s chest region. Placing the gun in the hand of one of the, by now, rather sloppy children, knowing that in doing this, the mainstream of the party would blame Scalia’s passing on age and the continuing presence of America’s Funniest Home Videos on many Fox affiliates, the Agent tapped the transmitter stitched to his prostate, announcing the deed had been done, and bit down on his thermite molar.