President Newt to Re-Right History - Every Week!

Although he's not quite there yet, Newt Gingrich has a presidentially grandiose plan for History. Like most of his Republican peers, Newt wants to go back to the past. In his case, of course, he wants to take American society and its government back to 1802, even before there was a Nevada to caucus.

More personally, however, he only wants to return to his glory days of the early 70's academia when he was a Mash teacher--a semi-pro, in fact--lecturing on Geography-based History at the College of West Georgia and Map Repair. There his most daring course as a Wolfie, “Mason and Dixon Were Not Straight Enough” was famously, and wrongly, criticized by Liberals and West Virginians.

Candidate Newt is faced with the difficult task of feverishly rewriting rewritten history on the fly, mostly in the pearly teeth of his supporter Sarah Palin's literate revisionismitis.

Unlike Sarah, Newt is an acknowledged expert in such things and knows how to re it right.

For example, in the undiscipline of Middle Eastern Geography, as evidenced by his Biblical History From 1517 course. Newt is truly unparalleled. It is narrowly believed that he, alone among candidates, has endorsed this Blog's sage use of Proximania in lieu of the histrionically inaccurate term “Palestine” and Firstians for always-there Israelis and Laterians for the non-existent Palestinians.

There is likely zero truth to the disappointing rumor that Newt advocates this Blog's own One Again Proximania Solution, to be implemented by Crazy-Gluing individual Firstian and Laterian Proximates together (at their shoulder-to-shoulder) into a single united Proximate. This geographically inspired effort would render Proximate punches fully self-inflicted and not very hard, ultimately leading to happy fist-bumping and an alphabet someone can actually read.

All this erudition aside, as President, Newt would bring more to the bully lectern than any president since Bill Clinton's Oval Office tutoring. For President Newt and America, his Geographical History on-line course would be enlightening and efficient, doubling, perfectly, as a foreign policy.

With the help of modern technology—Google Earth from an iPad, thrown onto a whiteboard via an LCD projector--and a Sharpie, Newt could redraw borders willy-nilly, as he expertly remembers them or wishes them to be.

The syllabus for the first semester of 2013, released yesterday to Miami voters, indicates that new borders for Cuba are the first lesson.

And those hangmen beardy stick figures? They are just Newt's doodling.

The Alice Sarah Palin: The Creator

There are few celebrities who command attention as does Sarah Palin, know principally as The Alice of the Tea Party of Wonderland.  She has seen great distances and traveled far.  She has single-handedly helped to nearly elect many.

But she is now credited as the poster pinupfore in the dimly remembered cause of "If You Won't Go Back to Hispania, Learn Some Frakin' English!"

It is unfair, of course, to misreprobate The Alice for this creationism, but she has disappointed, too.

Flexicoining, The Alice called for New Yorkers to refudiate the implantationing of the Very Spanish-sounding Cordoba Center.  She was zeroing in on the plan to build a cheerful Islamist Shrine and Yoga Bar pretty much where the twin towers of the World Trade Center were once knocked down by... well...  some bad guys of irrelevant faiths.

The Alice has brought mockery upon a more noble crusade:  To create words as if she were a god.  Or at least, as she Twittated, Shakespeare.

Forget the whole Allahu Akbar and a Few Laps in Our Face thing, this word creation is creating, itself, a mighty stirrup.  There is even a whole new world in Twitteria, @ShakesPalin, to populate with repurposed and prepositioned Shakespearean doublet cuff-offs.

It is a sad misdirection, for The Alice is, by her very nature, the Queenessence of the newly concocted.  Who but Lewis Carroll himself reimbued English with words from nowhere but Wonderland.  The great Jabberwocky is a poem that the Bard himself could never match in quilling words that had never even been declined in Latin.

The Jabberwock's poem was an original part of The Alice's Odyssey, "Through the Looking Glass and What [The]Alice Found There".  Has she forgotten her Wonderland heritage?  Is The Alice so busy velcoring syllables together for Tea Party retweettating that she can not refer to the nearly limitlessness of her birthright?

Worse, Twitteria has missed this as well.  The Twiterians seem so bespeckeled by The Alice's own Shakespearean insight that they, too, forget her most libertarian literary running--and jawing--mate.

Perhaps, we can take heart, though, as the Jabberwock itself did not make it to the end of its own story even if the Jabbertalky did.

Ragheads (and Hatters) Unite!

It only took a deep South minor league Republican to do it.

Jakie "Not-Really-Webster" Knotts jested about his fear of having a "raghead" in both the White House and the South Carolina Governor's Plantation.  This side-splitter was Jakie's highlight on a June 3rd internet radio show.

It seems that his opponent, Nikki Haley, was born a Sikh and, like TBO, converted to Christianity.  Sikhs are not Muslims, by the way, and their Dastaar brand turban-style hats are no more rags than Jakie's own midnight-white head covering.

As a religious convert and, herself, a name-changer, Nikki should be a soul mate (sorry, Nikki) of Jakie, who converted from Webster to Knotts, as soon as he was old enough to know he was not unusually short, black and a TV star.

Ragheads, anyway, are a large faction of American culture.  If one is old enough, one will remember Catholic women wearing everything from bonnets to doilies to half a spare Kleenex as head coverings before they were allowed to enter a church.  Head rags in places like Pittsburgh and Milwaukee are sometimes called babushkas and there are usually yummy pierogies involved. The Crips and the Bloods Social Clubs popularized certain colors of head-wrappers, called do-rags, to tell each other apart when under stress.

And, Jakie, you probably still ride by night with a bunch of dedicated headcoverers.

So, Jakie, there are lots of ragheads out there, many converted to nonragheadedness, but still feeling (and probably dying) their roots.  You've pissed off a whole lot of voters and some who don't bother with ballots in favor of spraying bullets, swinging baseball bats and knotting ropes.

Worse, Jakie, you've gone up against one Nikki-endorser who should scare you plain sh_tless:  The all-powerful, ubiquitous (that means all over the fraking place, Jakie) The Alice herself, Sarah Palin. Coincidently, she and a dozen really mad Hatters are coming to your neck of the backwoods, accent on neck, just hoping you'll keep on jesting.

Don't think (please), Jakie, don't talk (double please), just hide the hell under the sheets tonight.

Oh.  Like that would be any different.

Arizona Passes. In Kentucky: Ru Paul Son Wears TP Well

Politics makes stange bedfellows, the saying goes.

"Throw the Bums Out!"  Great, and fittingly throwback, slogan.

Now combine them.

You surely love the spunk of the Tea Party of Wonderland ("TP" on this blog) and their attitude of take-and-torture-prisoners, like Jack Bauer used to when he was calm.  But getting into bed with Ru Paul and his son, R& Paul?

No offense Ru, but uh huh.

And this is in Kentucky?  The place didn't allow Ru's people on its storied basketball team until last month.  Give or take.  And still won't allow women, no matter their origin, on its men's team.

And if any one exemplifies "Choice", it is Ru Paul!

Perhaps, TP doesn't care whose butt it favors as long as it TP's some establishment bum, as he/she (no pun intended) flees the political woods. They sure helped R& chase Republican-designee Trey Grayson (almost certainly the protagonist of a Stuart Woods or John Grisham novel) right back to his cozy smoke-filled room.

Wait a second?  Didn't the whole TP thing start with movable gatherings of bunches of hazing-crazed Republican frat boys? (But don't call them Greeks these days.) Well, yes, it did, but it has become so more than the still-included close encounter with a teabag and midnight snipe hunt.

TP just hates the Federal Government so much that it will travel over hundreds of miles to put the wipe on anyone wearing a lapel flag pin bearing more than 44 stars.

In fairness, some more modern-minded TP'ers accept the 2009 Republican version of the wearable Stars and Stripes, which sports 49 tiny stars, the island Hawaii being considered part of Indonesia.

And the colorful gray Stars and Bars lapel pin, with its barely noticeable silver medal finish, is always cheered at TP port-a-rallies.

So it is that R& Paul will be gunning (metaphorically one hopes) for a Socialist (TP for "Democrat") bureaucrat in November.  Any of you Democrats thinking you can Obalm Kentucky are in for a very rude awakening.

That will be Ru and R& Paul snoring right beside you.

Miss USA: Girl Gone Uncontrolled

It had to happen.  We elected a Mr. USA, The Big O, who was born a Muslim in some place Far Far Away, very west of California or very east of Newfoundland, depending on which way you are facing.  He even has a very Middle Eastern name like Barak and a very Osama-like last name

It figures that we'd push back by electing a Miss USA from smack in Middle America, except almost to Canada: Dearborn, Michigan, home, also, of the Ford Taurus.

A Miss USA who happens to be an immigrant. Who happens to be an Arab.  Who happens, unlike TBO, to still be Muslim.

(Oh, and, for some gratuitous irony, the Taurus mountains are in the Middle East, at the heads of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers that flow through Iraq.)

At least she is Lebanese, like Danny and Marlo Thomas, pretty damn TV-Star American, those two.  Not to mention Danny's Uncle Tonoose.

Rima Fakih may be a Muslim, but she left her burqa in a closest up in Dearborn.  And thank God and Allah both for that.  She might have broken her pretty neck if she had tripped over a burqa  instead of just an evening gown.  Fortunately, her swimsuit was not very long (God and Allah, again).

Rima is a Shiite and most of those are in Iran.  Therefore, she should know--and would if she read this blog more regularly--that her gorgeous, swooshing hair will almost certainly be causing earthquakes in Tehran.  And most other places without adequate cloud cover, for that matter.

An immigrant, Rima was lucky not to get the Do You Like Arizona question that sunk Miss "Round-Baby-Round" Oklahoma. Or the Is Mohamed in that Bear Costume query (wisely bleeped out).  Rima only had to declare the birth control pill a controlled substance, instead of the controlling substance it is.  But a wink from The Donald overcame the participle problem without the inconvenience of a google.

Speaking of control, Rima went a little girls-gone-wild a couple years ago in winning a Stripper 101 contest hosted by a local radio show called Mojo. Newly released video, however, shows that her t-shirt stayed down below her navel and didn't even get damp.  She may have thought it a college class, the way she was dressed.  The worst part of the whole bit was that she couldn't keep her hands or pretty butt off the Pole with whom she did the popular ethnic Pecker Dance. The dance being the "ethnic" part.

Like Piotr or whoever complained.

Conservatives in the USA were shocked and frightened by Rima's Muslim victory over the many Crusader choices The Donald had. Many demanded the Threat Level be raised to Reddish Orange or, worse, Orangish Red. Questions ran riot in gated communities:  Was this Political Correctness run amok? Was it the Barak-Ombalming of America? Was it a slap in the faces of Reddish White Arizoniums?

The Tea Party of Wonderland, through its spokes-grizzly, The Alice Sarah Palin, asked if Rima will use her new powers to cut income taxes, but only on its members. And can they keep their guns?

They are, ironically (again), nearsighted.  You may fear Rima now, but she will soon be in a position to go really wild in America, and far, far beyond.  Wait until Rima becomes Miss Universe.

The Alice Story Headed to Silver Screen?

A pretty accurate fictionalized film of Sarah Palin's journey from Alaska and Arizona to the top spot in The Tea Party of Wonderland?  You betcha.

Blog favorite, Megan Fox is attached to play the lead, The Alice, as a slightly shorter (in centimeters),  much smarter dresser (in square centimeters), more literate (in tattooed words) version of the real fictional character.

(This blog is too humble to reveal who wrote the original 23-word screenplay, even while the sequel "Drill Babies BP Cavalcade of 2010" is stuck, really stuck, on page two.)

Lindsay One-Name had originally been tagged as The Alice, but her rigorous, nightclub-and-alley-centric training for her Linda Lovelace vehicle seemed to have her slurring her screen-test line readings.

Ms Fox snagged the choice role on the strength of her work in "Jennifer's Body", in which she played a similar character, and her running body in "Transformers Two.

The challenge for Ms. Fox is to play The Alice beginning in her youth, as the perky point-guard nicknamed "the Barbie-cuda", through her triumph as Miss Gnome (Wasilla being way too hard to pronounce with a sexy giggle), to her stint the cheer captian for a snow-mobiling Dude sponsored by BP.  Ms. Fox is fascinated with playing The Alice as a donkey-skinning, ultra-farsighted politician, but is mostly “thrilled to get to run for Vice President with that old beer salesman guy from Panama Mr. Obama beat.”

It is a true American tale of the transformation of a short, small free-country girl to an indomitable presence towering over the nation's political landscape like the Colossus Helios did the island of Rhodes.  Before it fell over.

The A-list role has its perks.  “It is fun flying in private jets, eating at six-star restaurants and staying in penthouse suites,” actress Fox said.  “But I miss Olive Garden and I sneak out for a few bread sticks sometimes.  You really need a napkin with all the garlic.  I bring one from the hotel.”

“I won't be getting those after a couple weeks. Not the napkins.  I still get them.  But it's not like the Car-Bot shoot, where they made me gain ten pounds for running in the t-shrit.  That was bread sticks 24-7.  The Beef was cool--I called him that 'cause it's French--Anyway, Shia?  He'd kiss me anyway"

So hard to believe.  What a trooper, Shia.

"But this time I have to lose thirteen pounds, can you believe it?  Anyone can kiss me now."



"It's because The Alice gets pregnant.”

As the later scenes of the script are being finalized, Ms. Fox, now in gloves, is being fitted for her million dollar Vice Presidential campaign wardrobe.

As for the titleating climax, Sarah Palin's coronation as The Alice, Ms. Fox will, in spite of a the off-the-shoulders pinafore-only costume, “try to play it at least as as realistically as Meg Ryan.”

Casting the fanciful Tea Party of Wonderland characters, each wearing identical 19th Century Libertarian hats and speaking identical lines?  Well, that is a chore Ms. Fox is happy to leave to the producers.  “I do like animals and I even dated a teabagger.  But I know that hatting, it can make your brain swiss-cheesey.  Which may explain the Tea...”  When a PR assistant interrupted Ms. Fox with a handy breadstick and napkin.

Sarah Palin had demanded final script approval, but yielded when reminded that she had to finish her newspaper first.

The film, in full 2-D, is expected to be released in May 2012.

Just in time.

A Tea Party Huzzah for Health Insurers

The Heathcaristas in TBO's Socialist administration may be turning cartwheels to the point of dizzying the liberal media.  It doesn't take much to figure their misguided glee.

WellPoint.

No, not Good Point, but there's a beacon of goodness for all adherents of the Tea Party of Wonderland ("TP")

WellPoint is a big health insurance company, with 33 million insureds.  Many had though the name meant something about making people well, but, it turns out, it has everything to do with only intelligently incentivizing women who stay well.

Seems the huge, free-market health insurer borrowed some unemployed computer programer from Lehman's and cooked up an algorithm--computer-speak for a routine that figures certain things out on its own--that plucked out, from WellPoint's millions of paid-up policy holders anybody who no longer did not have breast cancer.  Having done that, algorithm raised a little pink flag next to all those names and went back looking for more.

The next step was left to tireless WellPoint staffers, TP'ers themselves perhaps, who sent pink slip-like notices out to the flagged women, stuck on a pink Post-it on those files and passed along them to magnifying-glass-wielding file-reading specialists.  Those intrepid, if strained-eyed, gallants scrutinize the pink-Post-it'ed policy applications for omissions, errors or downright misspellings to justify the previously sent cancellations.

WellPoint's CEO, Angela "Pinkie" Braly, surely gets a bonus based on such algorithms.  And she should. Wellpoint's charter does not mention justice, welfare or blessings and the corporation mission should not be diverted by such preamblings.  WellPoint's precept is singular, as is Pinkie's job:  Profit.  Pure and simple.  Women with breast cancer are bad risks for any insurance company.  They will almost certainly cost more than a woman whose worst complaint is a weekend of Viagra.

As you the critics out there, ask yourself this, and think of it as your money at risk:  Would you insure a sick person against getting sick?  They're already sick, for God's sake.  No one can expect you to insure someone who is guaranteed to require a big reserve before she pays her second premium. Taking a risk, you could live with that, but a known sure thing headed the wrong way? That's not insurance, that's a bottom-line uglier than a quart of Pepto.  It's flaming, bonus-blotting red.

So, don't you flinch, Pinkie. In the Tea Party of Wonderland's Kool-Aid pinned eyes, you are a superstar!  You are what TP was invented for.

And, Pinkie?  Don't wear a ribbon when go to get your well-deserved, if ironic, Teabagger of the Quarter Award from Alice Palin.

Welcome to the New Hell

It is official.  Really official. It doesn't get any more official.

Your Tweets will remain available forever.  Eventually, everyone with an independent study in Smiley Faces or Texting in Dyslexia (actually Dyslexia in Texting) will be able to read everything you ever Tweeted and will judge the whole of your existence accordingly.  They may Tweet about it, although Tweets will probably seem awfully long to those future scholars.

Tweets?  No way.  They're, well, dumb.  Compared to erudite, well-comma'ed blogs.  No one wants to archive a passing impulse, more like gas than thought, reduced to short bursts of grammar mangling.  Right?

The Library of Congress of Congress does.

And you thought those guys still wore powdered wigs twenty-four-seven and simply kept only the quill-pen-on-parchment-or-worse-vellum stuff from getting too dusty to read.  Like something Jefferson wrote praising the Parisians' efficient, and repeated, use of the guillotine to enforce term limits.  At most, otherwise, the LoC archived maybe a Lincoln speech written on an envelope.  Or Myspace pages. 

Nope.  The LoC plans to store everything on Twitter, including... well, "everything" means everything.  It inked a deal with Twitter to gobble up everything you impulsively put in a Tweet, like your enthusiastic endorsement of something Sarah Palin said to Katy Couric; your voting for George III, twice; your agreeing with Scaley, also twice; or your quasi-linguistic slavering over of Megan Fox's... eyes, way more than twice.

All that stuff you assumed would be washed away by the daily tsunami of Tweets, it isn't going under.  It won't even be damp or smeared.  Go ahead, delete it or set fire to your laptop.  That electronic bit of drivel will still be there, even if there is only one (not bloody likely), for all who just don't get your sense of humor to read.  To coldly evaluate.  For all eternity.

It is a harrowing, but undeniable truth.  Sartre was wrong:  Hell isn't other people.

Hell, my tweeting friend, is you.

Pitty the Foo!

So, it is not the Mr. T Party.  Mr. T would not worry about voting the Socialists and Wimps out of office.  Gold chains clanking and dialog lacking, Mr. T would just throw them directly into Boston Harbor.  Or any nearby Ave.

Don't pretend you don't feel the same way about your computer, either.

America's Fraternity of Teabaggers, which changed its name to The Tea Party Of Wonderland, is still at it.  And now, they have their own heretofore bored, 3D Alice in Sarah Palin, the Governor of Alaska who can see farther than the Who on a clear day.  The Teabaggers finally have the honest-to-God, really high-pitched squeak that might get them some serious media grease.

Especially the serious part. At the outset of their coverage, the media reported on the Teabaggers with a stage snicker and all the immediacy of a snipe hunt.  Could anyone get past the fact that the Teabaggers loved that name and had no idea how to use Google (there being no "Bing!" on your favorite TV show at that early date).  After the media-lashing about their collective face, the Teabaggers did some research on a borrowed set of Wikipedia and said, "Oh."

And the Tea Party ("TP") of Wonderland was born.

Long before Tim Burton and IMAX landed a Hatter's hat or a Red Queen's foot-pig in you lap.

The TP is all about squeaking out against taxes.  Any taxes, all taxes.  And spending.  Any spending, all spending. And government, all government.  The TP wants Americans to keep all of their money so that they may invest it wisely in new jobs and credit default swap options.

The shockingly almost-bold, near-revolutionary TP wants any politician who is in government and who casts an aye toward taxes or spending to be voted out of office. 

Yes, voted.  Not lined up against a wall and pelted with New Classic Comic Bibles.  (Even the abridged ADHD version can really hurt if thrown only a foot or two.)

Yes, voted.  Not sprayed with blood, dropped twenty feet from a Boeing 777, or sunburned with a looking glass in a soccer stadium.

Whose a whimpy Dormouse?

Some Republicans, mostly peeking out from under the checkered tablecloth when the TP is nigh, are worried that the ultra-reactionary TP will push the Republican party off the underlying table, spilling GOP candidates along with the caffeine water, by pushing the Greed Old Party farther to the Right.

Like that's possible.

And, don't tell anyone, but that Cheshire-stlyle smile you see floating above the Tea Party?  That big, toothy smile looks awfully Hawaiian, doesn't it?

Stop With the Scouting Trip Stuff!

Angelina Jolie was in Haiti last Wednesday.  Not everyone hid their children under rubble.

Gelina was there without her better-name-half, reportedly checking out the adoptee pool. She was in the Dominican Republic part of the island the day before, but those kids all have good jobs in T-shirt factories.

Besides, her visit was official.  Gelina is an ambassador of goodwill for the UN, Americans having a such surfeit of that for the UN.  She had to visit a quota of medical facilities, housed in smaller-than-Cirque tents, as part of her mission.  She went to villages that care for newly orphaned Haitians youngsters, many seriously hurt in God's Pat-Robertson-Approved Retribution (but we've covered that).

One boy, who had lost a leg, laughed out loud about some goofy book he was reading.  At least, Gelina thought it was, but she hadn't read Sarah Palin's work before.

Many of you may mock Gelina's jaunts around the world adopting locals.  But I don't care what her reasons are.  She goes where most of us won't even catch on the Discovery Third World Channel.  She is a big star, played Lara Croft twice and could simply do her nails in Hollywood if she and her party-of-the-first-part-name could stand the place full time.  Now that you mention it, she is perfect for my latest screenplay, too.

Unlike Americans, most folks in the underdeveloped world did not see "Changling" and don't worry she'll lose or even take their children.  She is also beautiful with a smile any kid would remember well beyond next week's dinner.

Does anybody accuse Bill Gates of using his Foundation's good work to get Africa addicted to Windows Mobile OS?  Well, all right, but that was before.

So lay off Gelina.  She, that smile and her heart at least end up in the right places.  So, last Wednesday?  I was here in Naples, pretty damned close to Haiti.  Where were you?

What snow?

CIC or Now Get that Biggish Bonus

Today must a day for short posts.  This will thrill some critics of this blog who suggest that the posts--and indeed, the very sentences--are too long and complicated for any reader who has, say, a longish walk on his or her schedule, longish being open to interpretation.  (And I do, too, take criticism well.  If it is any damned good.)

Anyway.  To the topic:

The Chinese are buying our stuff.  That's a switch, isn't it?  Only, they are not buying our stuff at our Walmarts or Dell.  The China Investment Corp., CIC for the ADHD'ers out there, is buying biggish (subject to interpretation) chunks of some biggish US, if multinational, companies.  Figure Coke, Johnson & Johnson, Apple, Motorola (especially after a certain ad during the Super Bowl) and even your plastic best friend,Visa.

China's CIC is what we call a Sovereign Wealth Fund and it is stocked with about $300 Billion.  And that would be in US dollars, because the Chinese are swimming in them.  And looking about for a shore to land on.

The CIC is like a Politburo-owned Warren Buffet. They have plunked lots of dollars in this fund and can dump more in any time they want.  Getting Dollars into the fund is not the problem.  It is how fast can they get the damned Bucks out without trashing the value and drubbing their own reserve in a Megan Fox-sized bathtub.  So, buying top-of-the-heap (I chose my words carefully) US companies seems like the next best thing after over-printing Dollars with Yuans or, maybe, feeding them into a bonfire.

Do you hear the Republican shouting of "Socialism" about this CIC Sovereign Wealth Fund?

No.  But relax, they're already Communists, which is like the Barry Bonds of Socialists.  They make TBO look like Sarah Palin.  Except smart.  And it's not like it's the Red Army buying up the Yankees or something.

Personally, I think the latest news puts this CIC business into a cheerful perspective.  Sure, the idea that the Chinese may end up owning all of Walmart is intimidating, but CIC has also been buying up shards of Citi, Morgan Stanley and Bank of America, which, among other things,will let the Chinese speak freely about making their cherished hope of making The First Dude into The First Lad. 

Maybe that free speech angle isn't great, but you know what trumps it all?

Guess who has to ask the Chinese Communist Party for their Billion Dollar Bonus payouts?