Obama's first semester is in the books, and Wankerstan's preeminent wankers, solicited to grade Obama's awesomeness v evil, wank. As all bleggers are wenkers, how do I wenk Obama's first hundred years days?
THE FERALS: Frankie
still walks up to within two feet of me, rolls on his back, meowing for me to pet him, and when I stretch out my arm he runs chicken-shittedly away. OBAMA GRADE = F.
UNITED: Fuck-Me Jig. OBAMA GRADE = F.
WORK: Sucks, slow and steady. OBAMA GRADE = F.
MY CAR: Fan belt is squealing. OBAMA GRADE = F.
BILL KRISTOL: still in Washington Post, not summarily executed by paper-shredder during an Obama primetime presser. OBAMA GRADE = F.
MY READING SLUMP: I'm halfway through The Kindly Ones, halfway through JR, halfway through Malloy, halfway through Life and Fate, stalled. Am thoroughly engaged with this:
which I didn't get my hands on until long after Obama's inauguration. OBAMA GRADE = C-.
MY .06% LESS-SHITTY THAN THEORY: driven relentlessly down to a desperately pathetic .006%. MY GRADE = Fuck Me.
BLEGGING: In a cluster of brain-cells deep in the left hemisphere where self-respect is generated, a faint and fading but still clear at three in the morning distress signal is pinging. MY GRADE = Incomplete.
PLANET AND FLEABUS:
GRADE = AWESOME. Click, yo.
*
- Silber (who could use your help) argues persuasively against torture prosecutions once, twice.
- Specter spectercle. One of my new colleagues on Specter.
- Swine flu and industrial meat.
- My parents moved us out of the Mon Valley 46 years ago because it was dying.
- Snowe job.
- Interpassivity.
- Another new colleague's wing-nut of the day.
- Bitch set him up.
- Elric is pleased at local team's success.
- No comment.
- Jim Reports, You Decide.
- John Ashbery interview.
- Two new Hudgins's poems.
- Don't forget to visit Moka.
- Today's listening assignment.
- Today's listening assignment.
Update later. Or not.
This guy, who's AARP eligible this Saturday
wants you to remember whose birthday today is, DC's own:
*
"HISTOIRE"
Harry Mathews
Tina and Seth met in the midst of an overcrowded militarism.
"Like a drink," he asked her. "They make great Alexanders over at
the Marxism-Leninism."
She agreed. They shared cocktails. They behaved cautiously, as in a
period of pre-fascism.
Afterwards he suggested dinner at a restaurant renowned for it's
Maoism.
"OK," she said, but first she had to phone a friend about her ailing
Afghan, whose name was Racism.
The she followed Seth across town past twilit alleys of sexism.
The waiter brought menus and announced the day's specials. He
treated them with condescending sexism.
So they had another drink. Tina started her meal with a dish of
militarism,
While Seth, who was hungrier, had a half portion of stuffed baked
racism.
Their main dishes were roast duck for Seth, and for Tina broiled
Marxism-Leninism.
Tina had pecan pie a la for dessert, Seth a compote of stewed
Maoism.
They lingered. Seth proposed a liqueur. They rejected sambuca and
agreed on fascism.
During the meal, Seth took the initiative. He inquired into Tina's
fascism,
About which she was reserved, not out of reticence but because
Seth's sexism
Had aroused in her a desire she felt she should hide - as though her
Maoism
Would willy-nilly betray her feelings for him. She was right. Even her
deliberate militarism
Couldn't keep Seth from realizing that his attraction was
reciprocated. His own Marxism-Leninism
Became manifest, in a compulsive was that piled the Ossa of
confusion on the Peleion of racism.
Next, what? Food finished, drinks drunk, bills paid - what racism
Might now swamp their yearning in an even greater confusion of
fascism?
But women are wiser than words. Tina rested her hand on his thigh
and, a-twinkle with Marxism-Leninism,
Asked him, "My place?" Clarity at once abounded under the
flood-lights of sexism,
They rose from the table, strode out, and he with the impetuousness
of young militarism
Hailed a cab to transport them to her lair, heaven-haven of Maoism.
In the taxi he soon kissed her. She let him unbutton her Maoism
And stroke her resilient skin, which was quivering with shudders of
racism.
When beneath her jeans he sensed the superior Lycra of her
militarism,
His longing almost strangled him. Her little tongue was as potent as
fascism
In its elusive certainty. He felt like then and there tearing off her
sexism
But he reminded himself: "Pleasure lies in patience, not in the greedy
violence of Marxism-Leninism."
Once home, she took over. She created a hungering aura
of Marxism-Leninism
As she slowly undressed him where he sat on her over-stuffed
art-deco Maoism,
Making him keep still, so that she could indulge in caresses, in
sexism,
In the pursuit of knowing him. He groaned under the exactness of
her racism
- Fingertip sliding up his nape, nails incising her soles, teeth
nibbling his fascism.
At last she guided him to bed, and they lay down on a patchwork
of Old American militarism.
Biting his lips, he plunged his militarism into the popular context of
her Marxism-Leninism,
Easing one thumb into her fascism, with his free hand coddling the
tip of her Maoism,
Until, gasping with appreciative racism, both together sink into the
revealed glory of sexism.
*
Why yes, I am still on my Archers of Loaf binge: