Probamastance: Wednesday!

At best, CLINTON INC succeeds only by making Americans think Obama is as shitty as Americans think Hillary: she can drive down his positives; she can not drive up hers. And if people think Hillary Clinton is a liar

...

denouncing Che Obama as a marxist/nigger-theology radical/sleeper muslim terrorist/effete San Francisco fag elitist helps Obama doesn't it? I mean, who thinks the American public is stupid here?

The "I can call my brother a bastard but you can't call my brother a bastard" rule works in more than one direction. The family member may call the brother a bastard if the brother is indeed a bastard, but when the brother clearly isn't the bastard the family member claims, the sister calling him one loudly and shamelessly is seen as a bitch.

Oopsy!

   *

• CLINTON INC tool declares Hillary not negative enough, sanctions negativity past and negativity future.
• Yes, cling was the voodoo word.
• And yet, after Hillary's liltingly sarcastic and Republican condemnation of San Francisco, Obama's national poll numbers are up.
• Our national stupid.
• Bill Clinton tells the next generation of potential Democratic voters they're stupid.
• I'm neither a Springsteen fan or Springsteen hater, but I do know I'd rather have Springsteen's support than Elton John's.
• Know your wingnuts' Stupid/Evil Ratio!
• Shockingly, Pastor Gerson calls Obama a marxist. I mean, who thinks the American public is stupid here? He's a fly laying maggots in a leper's rotting foot, the Pastor.
• Yawn. I mean, ZOMG! Yawn!
• On arrogance versus elitism.
• I thought it obvious so didn't mention it, but of course there's an uppity element to charges Obama's an elitist.
• After America.
• A band I've never got. What I've heard so far of the new one hasn't changed that.
• At their request.
• On tail-wagging.

   *

Apropos of nothing, of everything

 

The Excrement Poem

Maxine Kumin

It is done by us all, as God disposes, from
the least cast of worm to what must have been
in the case of the brontosaur, say, spoor
of considerable heft, something awesome.

We eat, we evacuate, survivors that we are.
I think these things each morning with shovel
and rake, drawing the risen brown buns
toward me, fresh from the horse oven, as it were,

or culling the alfalfa-green ones, expelled
in a state of ooze, through the sawdust bed
to take a serviceable form, as putty does,
so as to lift out entire from the stall.

And wheeling to it, storming up the slope,
I think of the angle of repose the manure
pile assumes, how sparrows come to pick
the redelivered grain, how inky-cap

coprinus mushrooms spring up in a downpour.
I think of what drops from us and must then
be moved to make way for the next and the next.
However much we stain the world, spatter

it with our leavings, make stenches, defile
the great formal oceans with what leaks down,
trundling off today’s last barrowful,
I honor shit for saying: We go on.