I was thinking the other day of the moment I learned about Michelle Malkin. You see, Graeme Frost, a 12-year old from Baltimore, had dared to talk about he and his sister - both seriously injured in a car accident - had benefited from SCHIP.
But you see, he spoke on behalf of Democrats and against President Bush's plan to cut SCHIP funding, so Michelle Malkin found it necessary to stalk a little kid who is permanently disabled to prove that she was an unhealthy piece of shit who should probably be in jail. That's not what she set out to prove, but that's what happened.
In retrospect, this sort of behavior seems benign. Almost playful. Look, Auntie Michelle has come to peek in your kitchen windows and hang around outside of your school!
It has become almost impossible to keep track of the number of ways these people have shown their ugly, hairy, wart and boil covered, hemorrhoid filled asses to the public. However, I think the rescue of Sgt. Bowe Bergdahl has given the world a steady diet of Conservative Ass and the quality of the ass has gotten worse with each passing day. And not just any sort of ass, but contradicting what I said a minute ago because OBAMA, ass.
Fortunately I am spared the work of ass wrangling by No More Mister Nice Blog and Gawker. Enjoy! And the next time someone talks about trying to reason with these people, ask if they'll share their drugs.
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Monday, June 2, 2014
The Housewife Economy. Or...
Why everything will be perfect forever once women get back in the kitchen.
Roy Edroso - brave soul he - read the latest and greatest ideas from the Republican notelligentsia and summed them up for people with delicate constitutions.
Like Rove's The Math, these are The Ideas that will cause us to rush to the polls and vote R, only to find some of us can't vote because we didn't have our passport photo taken by a left-handed, one-eyed white supremacist named Lars who lives in a bunker in Idaho like it specifically said on the Voter ID Requirements.
One of the smellier turds in the burning paper bag was this:
However, a commenter came back with a fittingly contemptuous and fact laden response that also took on the smelliest turd. See below for that one but the response began:
But if women are only performing unpaid domestic labor - housework, child care, elder care, it would appear to solve what the libercons see as problems.
For one, they can continue to devalue paid work that is traditionally performed by women - domestic care, child care, teaching, nursing.
"Hey, why the hell should my precious tax dollars go to some teacher when my wife can teach 'em at home?" "No Medicare doesn't need more funds for nursing homes or home health care. Why, my father is comfortable where he is and the girls take good care of him!"
Another: It certainly would open up the job market if women stopped cluttering up the place. Besides your died in the sheep Republican knows that women aren't really suited for the rigours of the workplace.
The delicate lady creature is much better off living the easeful life of the housewife. Keeping a house spotless, cooking three meals a day and bearing and rearing several children until her uterus (or husband) is like, "L8rz!"
And speaking of hubbers, they believe that making women completely reliant on men for their upkeep will do wonders for the social environment, as defined by a marked decrease in UBTBs (Uppity Bitches Talking Back).
Even better, teaching girls not to do anything to anger daddy if they like food will mean no teen sex, which is an invention of the liberal 60s caused by faked moon landings and jazz and did not exist before then. And because she'll be eager to get the hell out of the house, she'll probably marry the first semi-presentable male dad shoves in front of her. Just like the did in the good old days in TV Land.
The smelliest turd - in case you're wondering -
Roy Edroso - brave soul he - read the latest and greatest ideas from the Republican notelligentsia and summed them up for people with delicate constitutions.
Like Rove's The Math, these are The Ideas that will cause us to rush to the polls and vote R, only to find some of us can't vote because we didn't have our passport photo taken by a left-handed, one-eyed white supremacist named Lars who lives in a bunker in Idaho like it specifically said on the Voter ID Requirements.
One of the smellier turds in the burning paper bag was this:
Lukas further denounced liberal programs "increasing funding for Head Start and Early Start, and bolstering other government support for child-care centers" because "as the price of institutional child care goes down for the user, the value of the service provided by the stay-at-home parent or grandparent also goes down" -- and how's a kid going to get to know his parents and grandparents unless poverty forces him to?Yes. Yes of course. And if you lower the price of health care, the Mom Kissing Your Boo-boo Better Market will crash and we'll all wind up living in a corridor.
However, a commenter came back with a fittingly contemptuous and fact laden response that also took on the smelliest turd. See below for that one but the response began:
Um. Good luck convincing working parents that lower-cost childcare is a bad thing because it makes grandma doing it for free less valuable.It kicked off an interesting exchange and eventually brought me to the following conclusion, which I modify a tad here:
Republican economic and social models won't work unless women stay at home.Work is perhaps a generous word, because nothing they ever come up with works and their conviction that there was some magical era where all women were housewives (or spinsters looking after the Aged Ps) comes straight from TV Land. (I won't bother going into whether all housewives were happy or if any might have chosen to do something else, given the opportunity.)
But if women are only performing unpaid domestic labor - housework, child care, elder care, it would appear to solve what the libercons see as problems.
For one, they can continue to devalue paid work that is traditionally performed by women - domestic care, child care, teaching, nursing.
"Hey, why the hell should my precious tax dollars go to some teacher when my wife can teach 'em at home?" "No Medicare doesn't need more funds for nursing homes or home health care. Why, my father is comfortable where he is and the girls take good care of him!"
Another: It certainly would open up the job market if women stopped cluttering up the place. Besides your died in the sheep Republican knows that women aren't really suited for the rigours of the workplace.
The delicate lady creature is much better off living the easeful life of the housewife. Keeping a house spotless, cooking three meals a day and bearing and rearing several children until her uterus (or husband) is like, "L8rz!"
And speaking of hubbers, they believe that making women completely reliant on men for their upkeep will do wonders for the social environment, as defined by a marked decrease in UBTBs (Uppity Bitches Talking Back).
Even better, teaching girls not to do anything to anger daddy if they like food will mean no teen sex, which is an invention of the liberal 60s caused by faked moon landings and jazz and did not exist before then. And because she'll be eager to get the hell out of the house, she'll probably marry the first semi-presentable male dad shoves in front of her. Just like the did in the good old days in TV Land.
The smelliest turd - in case you're wondering -
lower the risk associated with hiring long-term unemployed workers" for businesses," said Scholl. How? "By temporarily lowering the minimum wage," she cheerily explained.Of course, of course. Say you didn't come up with that idea because it would be easy for corporate lampreys to abuse that set up and workers? No reason, just wondered.
These people are moral sinkholes.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
"Not reasonable in light of subsequent developments"
Depending on where you live and how you get your news you may have heard that Medicare changed its policy - first published in 1981 - to allow coverage of medically necessary sex-reassignment surgeries.
Or you may have heard OH NOES DEATHPANEL PENIS FOR GRANDMA!!!
I'm not linking to any of the stories because those stories have comments and the comments are all the proof you need that human beings, as a whole, are fuckweasels.
Here's the ruling [pdf].
Patients and doctors regularly appeal Medicare's coverage policies. This appeal was brought by Denee Mallon a 79-year old veteran. What's interesting to note is CMS didn't bother to defend this appeal.
Congratulations to Ms. Mallon and all of the Medicare patients who'll benefit.
Or you may have heard OH NOES DEATH
I'm not linking to any of the stories because those stories have comments and the comments are all the proof you need that human beings, as a whole, are fuckweasels.
Here's the ruling [pdf].
Patients and doctors regularly appeal Medicare's coverage policies. This appeal was brought by Denee Mallon a 79-year old veteran. What's interesting to note is CMS didn't bother to defend this appeal.
Congratulations to Ms. Mallon and all of the Medicare patients who'll benefit.
Friday, May 30, 2014
Don't wanna talk about politics ... book review edition
In keeping with my decision to be contrary whenever I can get away with it, I'm going to kick off an allegedly political blog with a non-political post.
Ladies and Gentlemen and Folks Who Know There Is No Box, my reviews of:
Raising Steam - Terry Pratchett
and
The Ocean at the End of the Lane - Neil Gaiman
There might be spoilers and there will certainly be not nice things written so leave now if either upsets you...
OK, let's get Pratchett out of the way. And let's do it in one word:
DISAPPOINTING.
I been wanting to write about this book since I read it a couple of months ago and I can't get past that one word.
Maybe this would be a great book for someone new to Pratchett, I don't know. This must be the 43 1/2th book I've read by him and it certainly has a lot more of the trademark Discworldy Pratchettness than, say, The Colour of Magic. But it also has a distinctly bootlegged feel. Rather like - to drag another author in here - what would happen if Jurisfiction had to replace a book's entire cast all at once with a bunch of B and C characters.
And another thing: Young Sam is not in this book. This starts off as mildly puzzling and becomes very problematic until you're turning each page and wondering where the boy has gotten to and thinking someone should smack him when he does turn up.
Also, I'd be interested to know why Vimes ripped off his shirt in the middle of a fight with dwarves.
Enough, this is depressing. Time for his former writing partner, Neil Gaiman.
O.K., so if you read Good Omens (and if you haven't, you should fix that), you remember it as a very funny book with a host of interesting characters including some not inaccurate child characters.
The Ocean at the End of the Lane is not Good Omens. OK, you say, Good Omens was co-authored by Terry Pratchett, so it is unfair to expect Gaiman to write it on his own. True.
I will also say that The Ocean at the End of the Lane is not American Gods. It is not Coraline or Stardust or the not too awful The Graveyard Book.
Here's a thing. I was not going to read this book. This probably isn't Gaiman's fault, but charging full whack for a book that doesn't even hit 200 pages is cock-knobbery and I wanted nothing to do with it.
And perhaps this is weird, but I followed him on Twitter for a while and I found him a bit of a bore. This is why we should ignore people who produce things we like until they do something really cackwitted or they're dead.
And the reviews didn't make me eager to pick it up at the library.
However. A co-worker started a reading club a couple of weeks ago and after I said the only book on the proposed list that I might read was OAEL, they decided to read that book. So in the interest of not being a complete dick at all times, I picked it up at the library.
What to say? How about: On the back of the book there is a blurb from Erin Morgenstern, which begins "I read The Ocean at the End of the Lane in one sitting."
On reading this I snottily rolled my eyes and thought finishing an 178 page book in one sitting a sad thing to boast about.
BUT THEN
I tried to read the fucker.
Unholy Mother of Wilbur Whateley, is this thing duller than a hard boiled egg or what?
Trick question. It is duller than a dozen boiled eggs.
The main character is a colorless man who has a flashback to when he was a colorless little boy and then not much at all happens for approximately 117 zillion pages and then the sun goes nova and you don't have to read any more, hooray! Just kidding it only seems that long.
As an added bonus it is in the first person, so the dreary dullness of the man/kid is right there in your face at all times and you can't get away from the little shit and you start to wish that something particularly gruesome and fatal would happen to him for about 100 pages, so you have something to laugh about but of even that faint hope Gaiman deprives you because of the aforementioned boring ass adult bloke so you know he survives, damn it.
One day I will write about children as they are portrayed in literature, but for now I am already pissed off enough for one evening.
Let me reiterate that this book is dull, the narrator is dull. Some of the characters are slightly less dull and some not completely dull things happen a few times here and there, one of the first things being the death of a kitten, which really should be all the warning you need to close this book and re-read American Gods.
Let me conclude by saying there is no reason for anyone to ever write the following or any variations thereof, but Gaiman did perhaps due to creeping hackdom: "...the kind of tomatoes that actually taste like something."
Seriously, everyone but especially authors. It is time to shut the hell up about the flavor of solanum lycopersicum, even if you're being tongue n' cheeky get off my lawny ironical for fun. Find another fruit or vegetable or animal with which to illustrate the freshness or wholesomeness or realness of a meal, you morons.
And in case it isn't clear, I do not recommend this book.
Ladies and Gentlemen and Folks Who Know There Is No Box, my reviews of:
Raising Steam - Terry Pratchett
and
The Ocean at the End of the Lane - Neil Gaiman
There might be spoilers and there will certainly be not nice things written so leave now if either upsets you...
OK, let's get Pratchett out of the way. And let's do it in one word:
DISAPPOINTING.
I been wanting to write about this book since I read it a couple of months ago and I can't get past that one word.
Maybe this would be a great book for someone new to Pratchett, I don't know. This must be the 43 1/2th book I've read by him and it certainly has a lot more of the trademark Discworldy Pratchettness than, say, The Colour of Magic. But it also has a distinctly bootlegged feel. Rather like - to drag another author in here - what would happen if Jurisfiction had to replace a book's entire cast all at once with a bunch of B and C characters.
And another thing: Young Sam is not in this book. This starts off as mildly puzzling and becomes very problematic until you're turning each page and wondering where the boy has gotten to and thinking someone should smack him when he does turn up.
Also, I'd be interested to know why Vimes ripped off his shirt in the middle of a fight with dwarves.
Enough, this is depressing. Time for his former writing partner, Neil Gaiman.
O.K., so if you read Good Omens (and if you haven't, you should fix that), you remember it as a very funny book with a host of interesting characters including some not inaccurate child characters.
The Ocean at the End of the Lane is not Good Omens. OK, you say, Good Omens was co-authored by Terry Pratchett, so it is unfair to expect Gaiman to write it on his own. True.
I will also say that The Ocean at the End of the Lane is not American Gods. It is not Coraline or Stardust or the not too awful The Graveyard Book.
Here's a thing. I was not going to read this book. This probably isn't Gaiman's fault, but charging full whack for a book that doesn't even hit 200 pages is cock-knobbery and I wanted nothing to do with it.
And perhaps this is weird, but I followed him on Twitter for a while and I found him a bit of a bore. This is why we should ignore people who produce things we like until they do something really cackwitted or they're dead.
And the reviews didn't make me eager to pick it up at the library.
However. A co-worker started a reading club a couple of weeks ago and after I said the only book on the proposed list that I might read was OAEL, they decided to read that book. So in the interest of not being a complete dick at all times, I picked it up at the library.
What to say? How about: On the back of the book there is a blurb from Erin Morgenstern, which begins "I read The Ocean at the End of the Lane in one sitting."
On reading this I snottily rolled my eyes and thought finishing an 178 page book in one sitting a sad thing to boast about.
BUT THEN
I tried to read the fucker.
Unholy Mother of Wilbur Whateley, is this thing duller than a hard boiled egg or what?
Trick question. It is duller than a dozen boiled eggs.
The main character is a colorless man who has a flashback to when he was a colorless little boy and then not much at all happens for approximately 117 zillion pages and then the sun goes nova and you don't have to read any more, hooray! Just kidding it only seems that long.
As an added bonus it is in the first person, so the dreary dullness of the man/kid is right there in your face at all times and you can't get away from the little shit and you start to wish that something particularly gruesome and fatal would happen to him for about 100 pages, so you have something to laugh about but of even that faint hope Gaiman deprives you because of the aforementioned boring ass adult bloke so you know he survives, damn it.
One day I will write about children as they are portrayed in literature, but for now I am already pissed off enough for one evening.
Let me reiterate that this book is dull, the narrator is dull. Some of the characters are slightly less dull and some not completely dull things happen a few times here and there, one of the first things being the death of a kitten, which really should be all the warning you need to close this book and re-read American Gods.
Let me conclude by saying there is no reason for anyone to ever write the following or any variations thereof, but Gaiman did perhaps due to creeping hackdom: "...the kind of tomatoes that actually taste like something."
Seriously, everyone but especially authors. It is time to shut the hell up about the flavor of solanum lycopersicum, even if you're being tongue n' cheeky get off my lawny ironical for fun. Find another fruit or vegetable or animal with which to illustrate the freshness or wholesomeness or realness of a meal, you morons.
And in case it isn't clear, I do not recommend this book.
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