Common sense requires assuming the neocon fuckfarts at Fred Hiatt's op-ed page said "Fire motherfucking Froomkin or else...." what, Charles will wetfart and mean it this time?
Why fire Froomkin? Again common sense requires we assume neocons are pussies and will not tolerate accurate, documented proof of their pussiness, yeahsureyeah, but what if...
Froomkin has already shown he will hold Obama to the same standard of accountability that he did George Bush. What if firing Froomkin is a neocon nod they know Obama is one of them (and will help keep their secrets)?
!hEh! Neocons are so pussy they're dimly aware Froomkin's a vital weapon against Obama but order his execution anyway because Froomkin has to call them pussies to call Obama a pussy. Patriotism, bitches.
- Happy Birthday, Bromark!
- Barack Hoover Obama.
- Let the good wars roll.
- Why are Iranians dreaming again.
- The difference between Iran and America.
- Foucault in Iran.
- On trolls.
- Here's a line for you: Those of us intoxicated by Lacan and Zizek, worried, as philosophers, at how we might escape the rut of literary and cultural criticism. Don't we all.
- This is your president.
- Just one degree at a time.
- Two minutes by foot from the house I grew up in, underneath which many a toach was roked. With ____ guy and ____ guy.
- Things to love about East Moco.
- Philip recommends Peter Van Greenway, a novelist I confess I've never heard of.
- Another view of Carver. It's not Carver I dislike as much as - sorry, I know I've said this a hundred times - the plague of Carver imitators he spawned. O! and the MFA breeder-kennels. None of which is what the post is really about.
- A reminder that Planet is a genius:
- If you didn't listen to this the other day, listen today, please. Start w/Easy, a song that has injected trope-venom into every cell of my internal monologues.
- Animal Collective interviewed.
- Today's Listening Assignment.
- Today's Listening Assignment.
UPDATE! A friend just put this in my head, so PING!in yours:
*
Lamentation on Ur
FROM A SUMERIAN SPELL, 2000 B.C.
Tom Sleigh
Like molten bronze and iron shed blood
pools. Our country's dead
melt into the earth
as grease melts in the sun, me whose
helmets now lie scattered, men annihilated
by the double-bladed axe. Heavy, beyond
help, they lie still as a gazelle
exhausted in a trap,
muzzle in the dust. In home
after home, empty doorways frame the absence
of mothers and fathers who vanished
in the flames remorselessly
spreading claiming even
frightened children who lay quiet
in their mother's arms, now borne into
oblivion, like swimmers swept out to sea
but the surging current.
May the great barred gate
of blackest night again swing shut
on silent hinges. Destroyed in its turn,
may this disaster too be torn out of mind.
*