BP's Drill Babies (tm) need to evolve. And fast.
The Gulf-Tar-based dolls are popular enough, especially on Alabama beaches, but, they are, as of now, yesterday's news cycle. Even The Alice and The Tea Party of Wonderland, whose early promotion of the dolls made them a must, have moved on.
The Oil Toy business moves faster than a diesel-powered Loop Current.
The developer of the Drill Babies line, had set to work immediately to diversify the line and to adapt to political pressure in the market.
The first addition was a Drill Baby Inaction Figure, complete with three-piece suit, a miniture Congressional Committee Hot Seat and functioning sweat glands. The early prototype could only move one arm, but could point its index finger in three directions. Now, both arms can move through the full 360 degrees needed. A well-dressed adjunct is the near perfect replica of The Alice, only really, really tan. The Alice figure's head swivels automatically away from other Drill Babies and in the direction of a truckload of assault rifle (being included as of yesterday).
The second is dressed like a deep sea fisherman and has a scale model of a 100 ton sea box (the model weighs less than one ton). The sea box can be attached to a fishing line and dropped in a swimming pool (sold separately) with no effect on anything. But the resulting super cool thud can be heard in DrillBabyDrill headquarters (also sold separately) or at the Republican National Committee (sorry, already sold).
An additional accessory kit allows the fisherman Drill Baby to lower a true-to-scale, remote controlled Iranian Space Worm, equiped with a little rubber stopper in its mouth (whereever that may be). The Tar Baby's Space Worm will snake through the very deep end and attempt jam the plug into any pool's filter or your ear, if you happen to be doing laps at the time.
The number one sold-separately accessory is a full set of 100 scale 55-gallon drums of Drill Baby Chemical Dispersant and Surface-Only Body Wash. The directions make it clear that the dispersent should only be used in a pool your children do not frequent, like your asshole neighbor's. Clever marketing has made use of a Drill Baby without the dispersant completely unrealistic. It's like a Transformer bot without a Megan Fox t-shirted doll to tuck under a crushed toy helicopter. Or a pillow.
Real debate has centered on a third proposed Drill Baby line, targeted at young girls with strong stomachs. The farsighted inventor designed the initial Drill Baby with room for a playful additions. But, now, you can buy your child an extra Drill Baby head, arm or toe to add on. (But, seriously, get the complete set of extras. Evolution moves quickly, too.)
It is easy--and, really, inevitable--for Drill Babies to "grow" their extra parts. But it is recommended that addition be made only after dunking the Drill Baby at least once in a salt water-heavy oil mix made with the Drill Baby Dispersant (using the free cruet). Without the use of the mix to modify the Drill Babies genome, the new parts won't stick very well.
A word of caution: The grateful designer made The Alice-inspired add-on Drill Baby head unusually dense. So, what's new? Well, that means it will likely fall off and stick for years to the kitchen floor. Or get itself scarfed up as your dog's last meal.
Showing posts with label Republican National Committee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Republican National Committee. Show all posts
Monday, May 17, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Save Lobbyists Cash
How much does a Congressional Committee Cost? It is a simple enough question, but Lobbyists are confounded by it.
But, now, we know.
It's $22.8 million.
The very amount financial lobbyists have rammed down the collective throat of the Senate Agriculture Committee.
The what?
Well, technically, it can now be called the Committee on Agriculture, Financial Nutrition and Can't See the Forestry. But, yes, them.
This (or some of it) is according to the New York Times article by Ed Wyatt (Old French for "Where at") and Eric Lightblau (Old German for "KMart bargain").
If you think that odd, Ed and Eric have a better one: Those dollars are Two and a Half as much as Charlie Sheen has spent getting into rehab and a similar multiple of what the Committee members have reaped from the guys who give us soybeans and Wheaties, the guys who are supposed to buying the Committee lunches and golf clubs.
So that's the however-weird reaping part. What about the sowing? Shouldn't that come first? Well, in politics, the committee member's reaping is really the lobbyist's sowing, keeping the whole harvesting metaphor lucratively intact for all.
Apparently, the Democrats' Twelve Agri Men (okay, and women) get to decide whether derivatives should (1) be allowed to grow wild, as done under the Republicans; (2) be intelligently regulated, as not done under the Democrats; or (3) simply be exiled back to Calculus where they can boggle students minds because the needed symbols are not available for texting.
Idiotic? A word usually too hackneyed when tied to Congress, but, here, go ahead.
Once upon a time, Agriculture was more important than either Tweeting or securities fraud. Farmed commodities were the first to be subject to futures trading, mostly in the relatively sane city of Chicago. Regulating such made-ups things based on real things, like carloads of pork bellies or corn on the cob, fell, sort of logically, to the Agriculture Committee.
Sometime after the cocaine was taken out of colas and put in rolled hundred dollar bills, Wall Street decided made-up things could be based on other made-up things, like a mathematician's idea of a hedge fund's bet against sub-prime mortgage nano-interests. The Agricultural Committee couldn't see anything that needed regulating, since there was nothing but air to see. And they don't get to regulate that.
We know where that got us and some of us would like not to go there again anytime soon.
Hence, 22.8 million buys the financial lobby a committee they don't really want, but have to have, because some of us are still fussing over 2008.
Seem like a waste?
All those committee people. All that money. The solution is fewer and, therefore, less. Or really fewer and a lot less. Pay each committee member a half a mil each, even the Republicans (though that is optional). That comes to, at most, $10.5 million. Ship them, first class, to Idaho for a well-deserved, but unpaid vacation, generous at $100,000. Sit a single financial lobbyist behind twenty-one cardboard cut-outs, costing $10 each, but allow $200,000.
The lobbyist gets the draft bill via email from Wall Street as usual, prints it out, say in Icelandic to see if anyone notices, and sends it in boxes to the floor of the Senate. And saves twelve million bucks which could be donated to Iceland's derivative-busted banks, since we used their language on the bill or could be used to compensate the blogger who came up with the idea in the first place.
Billions in lost time, productivity and sanity avoided.
Oh. And those committee members? They won't be coming back from Idaho.
But, now, we know.
It's $22.8 million.
The very amount financial lobbyists have rammed down the collective throat of the Senate Agriculture Committee.
The what?
Well, technically, it can now be called the Committee on Agriculture, Financial Nutrition and Can't See the Forestry. But, yes, them.
This (or some of it) is according to the New York Times article by Ed Wyatt (Old French for "Where at") and Eric Lightblau (Old German for "KMart bargain").
If you think that odd, Ed and Eric have a better one: Those dollars are Two and a Half as much as Charlie Sheen has spent getting into rehab and a similar multiple of what the Committee members have reaped from the guys who give us soybeans and Wheaties, the guys who are supposed to buying the Committee lunches and golf clubs.
So that's the however-weird reaping part. What about the sowing? Shouldn't that come first? Well, in politics, the committee member's reaping is really the lobbyist's sowing, keeping the whole harvesting metaphor lucratively intact for all.
Apparently, the Democrats' Twelve Agri Men (okay, and women) get to decide whether derivatives should (1) be allowed to grow wild, as done under the Republicans; (2) be intelligently regulated, as not done under the Democrats; or (3) simply be exiled back to Calculus where they can boggle students minds because the needed symbols are not available for texting.
Idiotic? A word usually too hackneyed when tied to Congress, but, here, go ahead.
Once upon a time, Agriculture was more important than either Tweeting or securities fraud. Farmed commodities were the first to be subject to futures trading, mostly in the relatively sane city of Chicago. Regulating such made-ups things based on real things, like carloads of pork bellies or corn on the cob, fell, sort of logically, to the Agriculture Committee.
Sometime after the cocaine was taken out of colas and put in rolled hundred dollar bills, Wall Street decided made-up things could be based on other made-up things, like a mathematician's idea of a hedge fund's bet against sub-prime mortgage nano-interests. The Agricultural Committee couldn't see anything that needed regulating, since there was nothing but air to see. And they don't get to regulate that.
We know where that got us and some of us would like not to go there again anytime soon.
Hence, 22.8 million buys the financial lobby a committee they don't really want, but have to have, because some of us are still fussing over 2008.
Seem like a waste?
All those committee people. All that money. The solution is fewer and, therefore, less. Or really fewer and a lot less. Pay each committee member a half a mil each, even the Republicans (though that is optional). That comes to, at most, $10.5 million. Ship them, first class, to Idaho for a well-deserved, but unpaid vacation, generous at $100,000. Sit a single financial lobbyist behind twenty-one cardboard cut-outs, costing $10 each, but allow $200,000.
The lobbyist gets the draft bill via email from Wall Street as usual, prints it out, say in Icelandic to see if anyone notices, and sends it in boxes to the floor of the Senate. And saves twelve million bucks which could be donated to Iceland's derivative-busted banks, since we used their language on the bill or could be used to compensate the blogger who came up with the idea in the first place.
Billions in lost time, productivity and sanity avoided.
Oh. And those committee members? They won't be coming back from Idaho.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Hand Jive and the Law
The next step is down the slippery slope is finally underway. Its not about guns, but something almost as commonplace in American Culture. Jan Larimer, the RNC Co-Chair (and why not "chairman", this being the Republican Party National Committee) made the announcement: Republicans have decided to regulate another part of the female anatomy, the reproductive organs pretty much sewn up.
But what part(s)? Oh, give up. You won't get it.
Their hands.
Co-Jan spelled out for the Party apparatus what males of all political persuasions already suspected, but dared not say: Women need to have their hands held. Not "want", you wishy-washy, hands-off Democrats, "need".
I don't know what prompted the landmark announcement, but it makes me feel both proud and smart. Why now? Maybe, the Scaliaist Court was about to legis... rule on the hands issue later this Spring. Knowing, as all men do, that Co-Jan is right about this, I can only say, "About time!"
Since the '60's, women have been pretty brazen about their hands. They stopped wearing white gloves for most functions and putting on hemp-wreath rings on their fingers (not that I knew any such women). Many began raising their hands in High School and College classrooms. Some would wave at friends across the street like they were Queen Elizabeth II. Feminine hands would sneak their long French-nailed fingers into the cookie jar for hard earned dollars intended for an X-box or a case of Bud.
The breaking point for Republicans and me was surely, the use of Hillary Clinton's hand to throw her pink flowered hat into the Presidential Primary ring. Now, she's using that same hand (or maybe not, since she is probably left-handed, you know, the way she is) to shake the hands of International leaders. Recent Democratic women's Big-Brown-inspired finger-paint...(Oops again. Sorry, sorry NPR) -pointing may have finally sealed the deal.
So it is, finally, that the Republicans have acted. Women's hands must be held, preferably both. If you need more than one guy or Born Again Christian woman to do it, call 666... That's enough really, and talk to Co-Jan directly. She will dispatch local Volunteer Hand Police to enforce the new rules the way the Taliban kept all those charcoal gray Burkas in place, but without the soccer stadiums, which we don't really have.
I know the Constitution and Bill of Some Limited Rights will not stand in the way, as women were not even in the Constitution except to be counted as more fifths than slaves for census purposes. Being counted is protected and women will be counted until it is time for something important.
An unintended but sweet consequence is that women will not be allowed to own cats, which are already in short supply since so many have been sold in France last month by Google. It takes two free hands to hold a cat in order to kiss its head because cats hate that.
Note, I said, "free" hands. Not any more. Not here.
The Scaliaist Court may still have to intervene, as it is not clear if both hands must be held or if one can be free (if you can call it that) to talk endlessly on a cellphone or clutch a purse. Is it all the time or just when women are thinking serious thoughts as they are wont to do on occasion? Maybe it is only when they want to turn thought into action or, worse, speech.
I always thought that my wife wanted to hold my hand as we walked down the boulevard, unless, of course, she was in a hurry to get to the shoe store before it closed, at which point she would drop my hand in disgust and take off like a 2008 Corolla. The fact is that she needed to have her hand held. (Trust me, you didn't want to suggest that without your best Ronald Reagan impression.)
Under the new Regs, women can still raise their hands in class, but only when it is held by a man or an approved woman. The latter can be quite efficient--always a plus in a pretty free market society--because you get two women's held hands with one, I don't know, stone? Which we won't have to use up throwing at defiant or lonely tabby-secreting women kneeling together in that soccer stadium we still don''t have in spite of David and Posh Beckham's best efforts. Yet.
I realize that am getting way ahead of myself and polite society, but I am a blogger. How about women's feet? I know from personal experience that these feet can be disturbingly sexy when used properly under a starched, white linen clothed table or a 500-thread-count Egyptian cotton sateen-weave sheet and damn the color. I'll email Co-Jan to see if she can schedule a hearing or something on women's feet. I'd include the ankles, too, since they are attached and can be way too nice too look at in five inch heels.
But what part(s)? Oh, give up. You won't get it.
Their hands.
Co-Jan spelled out for the Party apparatus what males of all political persuasions already suspected, but dared not say: Women need to have their hands held. Not "want", you wishy-washy, hands-off Democrats, "need".
I don't know what prompted the landmark announcement, but it makes me feel both proud and smart. Why now? Maybe, the Scaliaist Court was about to legis... rule on the hands issue later this Spring. Knowing, as all men do, that Co-Jan is right about this, I can only say, "About time!"
Since the '60's, women have been pretty brazen about their hands. They stopped wearing white gloves for most functions and putting on hemp-wreath rings on their fingers (not that I knew any such women). Many began raising their hands in High School and College classrooms. Some would wave at friends across the street like they were Queen Elizabeth II. Feminine hands would sneak their long French-nailed fingers into the cookie jar for hard earned dollars intended for an X-box or a case of Bud.
The breaking point for Republicans and me was surely, the use of Hillary Clinton's hand to throw her pink flowered hat into the Presidential Primary ring. Now, she's using that same hand (or maybe not, since she is probably left-handed, you know, the way she is) to shake the hands of International leaders. Recent Democratic women's Big-Brown-inspired finger-paint...(Oops again. Sorry, sorry NPR) -pointing may have finally sealed the deal.
So it is, finally, that the Republicans have acted. Women's hands must be held, preferably both. If you need more than one guy or Born Again Christian woman to do it, call 666... That's enough really, and talk to Co-Jan directly. She will dispatch local Volunteer Hand Police to enforce the new rules the way the Taliban kept all those charcoal gray Burkas in place, but without the soccer stadiums, which we don't really have.
I know the Constitution and Bill of Some Limited Rights will not stand in the way, as women were not even in the Constitution except to be counted as more fifths than slaves for census purposes. Being counted is protected and women will be counted until it is time for something important.
An unintended but sweet consequence is that women will not be allowed to own cats, which are already in short supply since so many have been sold in France last month by Google. It takes two free hands to hold a cat in order to kiss its head because cats hate that.
Note, I said, "free" hands. Not any more. Not here.
The Scaliaist Court may still have to intervene, as it is not clear if both hands must be held or if one can be free (if you can call it that) to talk endlessly on a cellphone or clutch a purse. Is it all the time or just when women are thinking serious thoughts as they are wont to do on occasion? Maybe it is only when they want to turn thought into action or, worse, speech.
I always thought that my wife wanted to hold my hand as we walked down the boulevard, unless, of course, she was in a hurry to get to the shoe store before it closed, at which point she would drop my hand in disgust and take off like a 2008 Corolla. The fact is that she needed to have her hand held. (Trust me, you didn't want to suggest that without your best Ronald Reagan impression.)
Under the new Regs, women can still raise their hands in class, but only when it is held by a man or an approved woman. The latter can be quite efficient--always a plus in a pretty free market society--because you get two women's held hands with one, I don't know, stone? Which we won't have to use up throwing at defiant or lonely tabby-secreting women kneeling together in that soccer stadium we still don''t have in spite of David and Posh Beckham's best efforts. Yet.
I realize that am getting way ahead of myself and polite society, but I am a blogger. How about women's feet? I know from personal experience that these feet can be disturbingly sexy when used properly under a starched, white linen clothed table or a 500-thread-count Egyptian cotton sateen-weave sheet and damn the color. I'll email Co-Jan to see if she can schedule a hearing or something on women's feet. I'd include the ankles, too, since they are attached and can be way too nice too look at in five inch heels.
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