“Joe The Plumber” Grabs “Asshole of the Day” Award

I always struggle with the political thing–liberals are such candy-asses, and conservatives just plain old asses, and the highest levels of both mainstream parties have their lips pressed so tightly against the bleached sphincters of their corporate masters that one must wonder how they manage to breathe–which might explain some things, actually: asskiss-induced cerebral hypoxia.

Still, I end up closer to the simpering wussies on the left because–well:
1. I’m an outdoorsman of sorts, and every time I turn around some conservative politician is trying to log, drill, pave, explode, or dump toxic substances on a perfectly good piece of scenery. 
2 I don’t give a goddamn who someone I’ve never met falls in love with or marries.  Just. Don’t. Care.  Politicians who pretend they do are just kowtowing to the ignorant among us, wasting time that should be devoted to things that matter.
154.460x3253. Dubya.
4. I don’t believe corporations are people (but since conservatives think they are, I’m wondering: is it okay if corporations marry each other and adopt kids?).
5.  All my children’s ancestors were immigrants, about half of them since 1900 (and none of them spoke much English)–which by most conservative accounts makes us all very, very terrible people.  Because all good Republicans walked here across the Bering Land Bridge during the last ice age–except that, um, there couldn’t have been a last ice age because the earth is only 3,000 years old, give or take.

And there’s the rub. I don’t have much in common with the sissies in the Democratic Party, but the Republicans are so rife with fire-breathing whackjobs it would be hard for me to make it through a right-wing rally without going on a shooting rampage, which would probably be okay, because they’re sort of allowed on that side of the aisle.

Or so were hear from one of those whack-a-doodles, the infamous Joe The Plumber, whose name ain’t Joe, and whose job ain’t plumbering.  On the heels of yet another douchebag coward’s shooting spree, Joe defied The Warholian Accords by reaching for a second fifteen minutes of fame (although, to be fair, his first go round was more like 6 or 7 minutes, and Andy never said you had to round up to the nearest 15).

joeplumYep, good ol’ Joe snagged himself a coveted Asshole of The Day award for managing to stick his foot AND most of his leg not only in his mouth, but all the way down to his colon, with this gem “”I am sorry you lost your child. I myself have a son and daughter and the one thing I never want to go through, is what you are going through now,” wrote Wurzelbacher. “But: As harsh as this sounds – your dead kids don’t trump my Constitutional rights.”

His quote was directed at this comment by grief-stricken parent Ricardo Martinez, who was gunned down last weekend.

I’m not here to comment on the whole gun issue, but on the utter inability of conservative icons to keep from being dicks when they ought to be bite tongues and be silent.  I’m reminded of one of my favorite scenes from Deadwood, when George Hearst has succeeded in buying out Alma Ellsworth’s gold mine, after killing her husband, but can’t resist menacing her one last time. Sheriff Seth Bullock, seething with restrained rage, calls out the evil Hearst, who for all his wealth and violence fears Bullock

“Can’t shut up! Every bully I ever met can’t shut his fuckin’ mouth… except when he’s afraid.” ( at 1:15 in the video below).

Sounds familiar.

By JunkChuck

Native, Militant Westsylvanian (the first last best place), laborer, gardener, and literary hobbyist (if by literary you mean "hack"). I've had a bunch of different blogs, probably four, due to a recurring compulsion to start over. This incarnation owes to a desire to dredge up the best entries of the worst little book of hand-scrawled poems I could ever dream of writing, salvageable excerpts from fiction both in progress and long-abandoned. and a smattering of whatever the hell seems to fit at any particular moment. At first blush, I was here just to focus on old, terrible verse, but I reserve the right to include...anything. Maybe everything, certainly my love of pulp novels, growing garlic, the Pittsburgh Steelers and howling at the moon--both figuratively and, on rare occasions, literally.

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