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.
Showing posts with label Tea Party. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tea Party. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
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.
"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.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Mississippi Welcomes Drill Babies(tm) Ashore
The festive days of Gray History (or We Were Number Two) Month are so over for Haley Barbour, Governor and Historian-in-Chief of Mississippi.
Northern Mississippi more under water than a BoA mortgage, even though Tennessee's Governor and Nashville get all the ink. Haley has had to ask TBO to send Socialist relief money, but only as much as the Feds would have if they only had a fair and Capitalist flat income tax. And please don't call it "relief", it sounds lilke welfare or food stamps, although Haley will quietly take the latter.
Haley is plain desperate for something upbeat.
The news may have given Haley the break he deserves. BP brand Drill Babies will soon be washing ashore along the gulf coast.
Now, most of you don't know exactly what a Drill Baby is. This is hardly surprising since a Drill Baby is borrowed from an old design very familiar to Haley and his nostalgic supporters: The no-longer available Tar Baby.
(No longer available means don't be bugging Amazon.com about it. But you can buy Uncle Remus' stories for you Kindle there, but keep that to yourself.)
You'd think that you'd have a hell of a time having a decent Gray History Month without Tar Babies or lawn Jockeys, but the Grinch known as Political Correctness dampens even the most sacred celebrations. Tar Babies were Americana dolls, as much in demand all across the deep South as knotable hemp rope or midnight white pillow cases.
Tar Babies were made of thick black tar--left over from feathering--and delicately perfumed with turpentine. Most were cheerily dressed like well-treated slaves. These were not your American Girl(tm) dolls, mind you, but they were inexpensive and hard as could be to give up. They were also one quick way to a fox fur coat. Or at least an ascot. But that is another story and one that can not be repeated here (see above).
You can imagine Haley's big eyes getting teary at the mere mention of his boyhood favorite d... action figures. Haley's website leaked plans for Tar Baby Beach Blanket Fortnight in late May...
And quicker than a Loop Current could grease a near-sighted barracuda off Ft. Lauderdale, Haley's site went quite on Tar Babies.
Seems that he received a three AM ring from the Dude-of-Staff of the leading Presidential candidate. After a funny anecdote about jet skiing on the second floor of a house in Ripley, Tippah County, Haley got to speak to his very own political cousin, The Alice of The Tea Party of Wonderland (TP), and former BP employee-in-law, Sarah Palin.
The Alice had stayed up late working with BP to refine (pun intended) her message on BP's great new, if unintentional, oil gusher, which gusher just so happened to be south of Haley's state. She and BP had gotten wind (and ugh) of Haley's Tar Baby Fortnight plans and had something better to suggest.
The Alice had invested much political capital in BP's Drill-Baby-Drill ad campaign and she hoped to capitalize on the highly ranked brand identity (falling somewhere between E-Trade and Lindsay) and "what the heck is a Fortnight, Hilly?"
"It's 'Haley, Madam Alice'"
"And what's a 'Haley', Hilly?"
Still. Notwithstanding the source, Haley went with the idea.
Everyone relax and enjoy a jolt of the new BP brand Deep Gulf Crystal Meth(ane). Or the Mississippi State drink, Bottled Second Floor Tap Water. Late May in Mississippi will be Welcome The Drill Babies(tm) Ashore Fortnight. There will be Petrol-Black-Tie fancy dress balls, backyard cookouts perfectly contained under giant BP-donated domes, gaily... uh, straight-ribboned gray uniforms and of course thousands of Drill Babies at $45.00 a pop and available now on Amazon.com or at participating BP stations for the small version. The Alice-sized doll will be $10,000 a plate and will not be ashore for another week or so.
Drill Babies are pretty much water-safe, so feel free to use them in your neighbor's pool. And forget fireworks, because Drill Babies burn like hell.
Best of all the "ashore" part? That's in Alabama.
Northern Mississippi more under water than a BoA mortgage, even though Tennessee's Governor and Nashville get all the ink. Haley has had to ask TBO to send Socialist relief money, but only as much as the Feds would have if they only had a fair and Capitalist flat income tax. And please don't call it "relief", it sounds lilke welfare or food stamps, although Haley will quietly take the latter.
Haley is plain desperate for something upbeat.
The news may have given Haley the break he deserves. BP brand Drill Babies will soon be washing ashore along the gulf coast.
Now, most of you don't know exactly what a Drill Baby is. This is hardly surprising since a Drill Baby is borrowed from an old design very familiar to Haley and his nostalgic supporters: The no-longer available Tar Baby.
(No longer available means don't be bugging Amazon.com about it. But you can buy Uncle Remus' stories for you Kindle there, but keep that to yourself.)
You'd think that you'd have a hell of a time having a decent Gray History Month without Tar Babies or lawn Jockeys, but the Grinch known as Political Correctness dampens even the most sacred celebrations. Tar Babies were Americana dolls, as much in demand all across the deep South as knotable hemp rope or midnight white pillow cases.
Tar Babies were made of thick black tar--left over from feathering--and delicately perfumed with turpentine. Most were cheerily dressed like well-treated slaves. These were not your American Girl(tm) dolls, mind you, but they were inexpensive and hard as could be to give up. They were also one quick way to a fox fur coat. Or at least an ascot. But that is another story and one that can not be repeated here (see above).
You can imagine Haley's big eyes getting teary at the mere mention of his boyhood favorite d... action figures. Haley's website leaked plans for Tar Baby Beach Blanket Fortnight in late May...
And quicker than a Loop Current could grease a near-sighted barracuda off Ft. Lauderdale, Haley's site went quite on Tar Babies.
Seems that he received a three AM ring from the Dude-of-Staff of the leading Presidential candidate. After a funny anecdote about jet skiing on the second floor of a house in Ripley, Tippah County, Haley got to speak to his very own political cousin, The Alice of The Tea Party of Wonderland (TP), and former BP employee-in-law, Sarah Palin.
The Alice had stayed up late working with BP to refine (pun intended) her message on BP's great new, if unintentional, oil gusher, which gusher just so happened to be south of Haley's state. She and BP had gotten wind (and ugh) of Haley's Tar Baby Fortnight plans and had something better to suggest.
The Alice had invested much political capital in BP's Drill-Baby-Drill ad campaign and she hoped to capitalize on the highly ranked brand identity (falling somewhere between E-Trade and Lindsay) and "what the heck is a Fortnight, Hilly?"
"It's 'Haley, Madam Alice'"
"And what's a 'Haley', Hilly?"
Still. Notwithstanding the source, Haley went with the idea.
Everyone relax and enjoy a jolt of the new BP brand Deep Gulf Crystal Meth(ane). Or the Mississippi State drink, Bottled Second Floor Tap Water. Late May in Mississippi will be Welcome The Drill Babies(tm) Ashore Fortnight. There will be Petrol-Black-Tie fancy dress balls, backyard cookouts perfectly contained under giant BP-donated domes, gaily... uh, straight-ribboned gray uniforms and of course thousands of Drill Babies at $45.00 a pop and available now on Amazon.com or at participating BP stations for the small version. The Alice-sized doll will be $10,000 a plate and will not be ashore for another week or so.
Drill Babies are pretty much water-safe, so feel free to use them in your neighbor's pool. And forget fireworks, because Drill Babies burn like hell.
Best of all the "ashore" part? That's in Alabama.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Key Condition Met for Peace in Proximania(tm)
The peace talks for Proximania's messy God-Gave-Who-What-When dispute can now proceed to the next precondition. The thorniest of them all has been resolved.
Israel will now allow both Israelis, their tourists and their Arab Proximates to buy and use iPads without warrantless detention.
Virtually everyone on Facebook hailed the announcement as "liked", right under the precious picture of the family puppy's really cute rear end in action.
The Gang of Four met secretly in Geneva, because of the good fishing pond, to discuss a tentative response to the news. And possible sanctions against puppies. On a related note, The Big O was so delighted that he texted a jolly invite to a celebratory afternoon tea on his very own iPad, which mistakenly routed it to "TP" on his contact list, which is why Alice Palin showed up in her pinafore instead of the expected Hillary Clinton.
iPads in hand, Israelis and their favorite Proximates can instantly know where in Jerusalem they are building houses. This is important because... well, because each side says so.
With iPads, all Proximates living outside of Proximania can more easily find their way back to the beautiful ranch houses and bountiful farms they left behind when Nebuchadnezzar II deported everyone to Babylon; or, much later, when the rest of were forced to move by Otto Preminger to clear the battle scenes filmed for the fabled Exodus, but with Paul Newman instead of Moses.
iPads will change everything.
Iranian President Egad, spinning anticly atop an advanced centrifuge, had only good if garbled things to say about the breakthrough, so his remarks went unreported.
Israel will now allow both Israelis, their tourists and their Arab Proximates to buy and use iPads without warrantless detention.
Virtually everyone on Facebook hailed the announcement as "liked", right under the precious picture of the family puppy's really cute rear end in action.
The Gang of Four met secretly in Geneva, because of the good fishing pond, to discuss a tentative response to the news. And possible sanctions against puppies. On a related note, The Big O was so delighted that he texted a jolly invite to a celebratory afternoon tea on his very own iPad, which mistakenly routed it to "TP" on his contact list, which is why Alice Palin showed up in her pinafore instead of the expected Hillary Clinton.
iPads in hand, Israelis and their favorite Proximates can instantly know where in Jerusalem they are building houses. This is important because... well, because each side says so.
With iPads, all Proximates living outside of Proximania can more easily find their way back to the beautiful ranch houses and bountiful farms they left behind when Nebuchadnezzar II deported everyone to Babylon; or, much later, when the rest of were forced to move by Otto Preminger to clear the battle scenes filmed for the fabled Exodus, but with Paul Newman instead of Moses.
iPads will change everything.
Iranian President Egad, spinning anticly atop an advanced centrifuge, had only good if garbled things to say about the breakthrough, so his remarks went unreported.
Friday, April 23, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
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?
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?
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