The Ugliest Election Ever?
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye. - Miss Piggy
Politics used to be the last refuge for the old and wealthy white man, a blissful utopia of big beards and bigger cigars where money flowed like the Mississippi and Affirmative Action was systematically denied by the bouncer. Not so much anymore. The Boys Club has been infiltrated, and there’s no turning back. Some might blame Hillary Clinton. Some might blame Barack Obama. Some might blame Geraldine Ferraro. Well, some people are idiots. There’s only one culprit to point the finger at for destroying this glass ceiling, and his name is John F. Kennedy.
Decades before Justin Timberlake, John F. Kennedy brought sexy back. He flirted with Marilyn Monroe, got your mother wet, and made your father wish he had a New England accent. JFK was a stud, a dashing forty-something with movie star good looks and socially-sophisticated DNA. Wide-eyed idealists bitterly defended him in bars. Some of the most beautiful women in the world threw themselves at his feet. He wielded his unlimited power with a certain flare, an irreverent, aww shucks charm which delicately obscured the hardened, battle-tested core within. Winded West Virginian coal miners saw through the facade and into that core; so, they respected him with the same reverence they gave to fallen World War II soldiers. He was John, Paul, George, and Ringo in one package, one sleek and sexy envelope. I’m no fan of his policies, but God do I miss what he represented. (more…)
Ron Paul isn’t right about everything, but at least he’s about something. The one candidate who has absolutely no hope of winning the presidency, but who is also the only one with anything substantial to say about the presidency, went on CNN recently and gave the first interview we’ve had in a long time in which a candidate actually spoke about the real issues facing America. In particular, he hit hard on the economy. Watch the video:
Last summer, my friend Handles and I found a Slip-N-Slide on sale at Target. We each threw down twelve bucks and carted the monstrosity home, briefly forgetting about it for the rest of the day. Ten shots and about fifteen people at our house later, Handles stumbled upon the childhood throwback and set it up in our front yard. For the next hour and a half, we pounded cheap whiskey straight from the bottle and cajoled other party-goers into ripping off their clothes and joining us for some naked nonsense.
Hillary Clinton won tonight’s debate. I don’t think there’s any question. She had a little help though from ABC, whose moderators decided to dedicate the first 40 minutes of their 2 hour broadcast to asking Hillary questions which basically boiled down to “Ms. Clinton why do you think Barack Obama is a racist?” or “Barack Obama is obviously an elitist, what do you think of that?” 
On December 16th, 2007, I did something I’d promised myself I’d never do. I donated money to a Presidential Candidate. One hundred dollars was transferred from my bank account and into the outstretched arms of the Ron Paul campaign. Realistically, my drop-in-the-bucket-donation did nothing. It probably didn’t even sway one more voter to cast his ballot for the aging Congressman from Texas, but my hundred dollars was meaningful, if to no one else other than myself.
I love the internet. I work on the internet, I live on the internet, I breathe on the internet. My life is nothing without the internet. But it’s far from perfect and while everyone is busy screaming about bandwidth problems and piracy issues as this medium continues its search for an identity, the world seems to be overlooking the real problem with our world wide web: It rewards mediocrity. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that it rewards mediocrity and quality equally, at least where content providers are concerned. And content, as you may have heard, is king.
I don’t want to vote for Hillary Clinton. I don’t want to vote for John McCain. I don’t want to vote for Barack Obama. Like most Americans, I’m fed up with our political system. Sure Bush and the Republicans have screwed things up royally, though perhaps not so much for themselves and their bankers. Yet, it’s not like the Democrats have done anything about it. And don’t give me that minority party bullshit. They’re just as busy getting rich as their elephantine counterparts. But, like most Americans I’m going to pick one of them. There are literally no other options.
When I was sixteen years old, I went to summer camp, some filthy, teatherball obsessed shithole in the middle of the Bible Belt. For the five longest days of my life, counselors trekked me around this mosquito Mecca, pointing out all the unchanging beauty God had given us. My fellow campers hooped and hollered for Jesus and his ability to pull the Universe out of his ass, but I kept my hands in my pockets, unwilling to bestow faulty credit on a deity when science was so clearly responsible. Without properly sizing up the youth pastor before opening my fat mouth, I unleashed a verbal diatribe upon my Jehovah-fearing leader, explaining why it was so ignorant to think God had created nature exactly as it appeared today. After his initial shock at my blasphemous tirade wore off, he escorted me into the woods and uttered these heroic words, “If you can’t look into the distance and see the face of God, I don’t think you’re really looking.”
Has anyone else ever realized that God is pretty much the definition of a douche bag? If you met God on the street, you would absolutely hate him. It’s true. God personifies nearly every quality that I despise in friends, relatives, and complete strangers; yet, for some reason we worship each and everyone of those attributes. It’s like the asshole buddy that is such an over-the-top dick that everyone accepts it. Here’s a rundown of all of the qualities that the average Christian believes God embodies:
I’ve never met you, or at least I don’t think I have. That means we’re at the point in our relationship when society obligates me to shake your hand (with a firm, manly grip) and mumble something about being pleased to finally speak with you. I’m not going to do that, though. Why, you’re invariably asking? Because I have no idea whether I’m genuinely glad to have made your acquaintance.