Sarcasm’s “It’s the End of the World” Edition

Drill, baby, drill. Drill, suck, chew, swallow.  Consume like mad because Jesus is coming and he’ll fix everything we fuck up in the meantime.

What kind of stupid way to run a country is this?  What I can’t figure out is that Republicans cry and wail about the debt we’re leaving our children, but act as though the damage we do to the environment through drilling and fracking doesn’t matter.  As if the only thing that matters is the fucking debt.  Here’s a clue.  People with a toxic atmosphere and toxic water WON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THE DEBT.

So you think Jesus is coming soon and he’ll set everything to rights.  The rest of us, including those Christians who don’t necessarily think Armageddon is around the corner, have to live, and govern, as if there’s a consequence to all of this.  That we can’t afford to poison our air and our water because our grandchildren will have to live with it.

It’s like there’s some drastic misalignment of their psyches, an inability to grasp anything that doesn’t have dollar signs.  If it doesn’t have monetary value, fuck it.

Our President went full-tilt liberal in his Inaugural Address.  The right took this as some kind of affront, as if they’d been extending a hand in friendship all this time and he slapped it away.  I’m pretty sure it was the other way around.  And, for once, we liberals heard the speech and breathed a sigh of relief.  You all think he’s going to become some kind of dictator.  Project much?  That was Bush’s deal, remember?  “This would be easier if I were a dictator,” or something to that effect.  Obama has gone out of his way to be conciliatory, to the point it drove half of us half crazy.  We all saw what that got him.  We thought Clinton had it bad.

Forget about our fiscal debt.  What about our ecological debt?  What about the rare Earth minerals we’re consuming like they’re going out of style?  Yes, it’s entirely possible that we’ll find the materials in space, on the moon or in the asteroids.  That would be good.  But it still doesn’t change the simple fact that we’re changing the climate in unexpected ways, we’re destroying habitats as if they’re going out of style.

So these folks might believe Jesus will fix all their fuck-ups when he comes back.  But the rest of us have to live in the world where nothing like that occurs, a world in which we’re responsible for our own actions.  They should try it.

This is our country too, you assholes.  And our world.  We’re trying to leave it to our children and grandchildren.  We’d really prefer it if you morons would stop destroying it before we get the chance.  Make up your minds.  How is money more important than fresh air or fresh water?  Land that isn’t poisoned by fracking?

Explain that.


Sarcasm’s “Not a Person” Edition

Daily Kos: A fetus is not a person if it costs us money, says Catholic Church.


An already dead fetus is not a person.  Only a potential human is a person, despite the fact some 50% or so don’t make it to term, or even to the point anyone knows they existed in the first place.  That stumble, fall down the stairs, accidental misstep that sends the mother-to-be careening into something at belly level?  God’s work.  God’s the ultimate abortion doctor, don’t you know?  Thousands a day.

Let’s set aside the passage in the bible that tells a man how and where to get an abortifact draught, just in case he suspects his wife may be carrying some other man’s child.  Yup.  Not even the woman’s choice… her HUSBAND’s.

Everyone knows the bible treats women much the same as children, unable to make decisions or choose wisely if they do.  I suppose it’s easy to buy into its teachings if you can pick and choose and aren’t FORCED to take it all at face value.

Of course, at that point one has to ask what the hell the point is, then?  If the bible isn’t true, then what is it?  A book of stories.  Conflicting stories?  The description of a mad god and his sane son?  How right were the Gnostics?

Right enough, I imagine.  As right as any sect of Christianity, as far as that goes.  Which is to say, in my mind, not very.  It’s difficult to believe in a just God and read the Old Testament.  That deity was a psycho.

Jesus is okay, but his old man has issues.


Sarcasm’s “Ho-down mow-down showdown” Edition.

Private sales at gun show on hold after three hurt in accidental shooting ::

I don’t think I like their idea of a party.  To me a party involves good people, good booze, and good times.  Usually deadly weapons are not included in the festivities, though there were some… irresponsible… moments when I was a teenager that… well, never you mind.

That was back before I realized how deadly a weapon a simple stick might be.

These “gun shows,” these patriot parties featuring people for whom guns are fetishized to the point of sexual sublimation, toughness and masculinity is somehow bestowed upon these artifacts of steel.  Much as a martial artist, fantasy, or LARPer might enjoy the weight of a sword in his or her hands,

One primary difference?  Few of those people take up a weapon and imagine having to use it in order to protect their lives.  They understand the difference between theory and reality, and theory and practice.

We really don’t know where you folks stand, but it’s nowhere we want to be.

Sarcasm Saturday Review “Captain Vorpatrill’s Alliance.”

Captain Vorpatrill’s Alliance

by Lois McMaster Bujold


If you’ve yet to be introduced to the wonder that is Bujold, race right out to your nearest library and bookstore and pick up any one of several books that make good jumping off points into the series.  I recommend, personally, The Warrior’s Apprentice, which was my introduction to the series.  My wife, on the other hand, might suggest one goes all the way back to the beginning.  Komarr is another good starting point, as the author herself suggests, as he embarks on his second career path after dying and being brought back from cryo-sleep.

This book is the first full novel to feature the viewpoints of Miles Vorkosigan’s laid-back cousin, Ivan Vorpatrill, unwitting pawn in any number of his brother’s schemes, and now subject to the whim of other Imperial Security agents aware of his security clearance and ability to remain solid and dependable regardless of the task he’s put to.

In this case, however, the deep cover agent steps over the line by involving Ivan, who is, by this time, more than a hop, skip, and a jump from the imperial throne (or camp stool, as the case may be), but still well protected by friends and family.

When Ivan returns to Barryar with a new wife in tow, the scion of a fallen Jackson’s Whole’s Great House, it becomes suddenly of greatest interest to family and friends.  Who is this girl, and what’s she doing with our Ivan?

Ivan is not his cousin, though he does have some of Miles’s creativity and ingenuity when hard-pressed, but Ivan would rather his life remain as uncomplicated as he can possible arrange.  This is one reason he expected the marriage to be a temporary affair, an emergency stop-gap measure to keep his new wife and her companion, the blue-skinned genetic dancer, Lapis Lazuli, from falling victim to their House’s enemies.

Of course, taking a wife home attracts the interest of his mother, the formidable Lady Alice Vorpatrill and her paramour, the retired chief of Imperial Security, Simon Illian.  Before Ivan has even the chance to consider what he may have gotten himself into, and had more than a ghost of a chance to examine his feelings toward his new wife, her family, thought dead, arrives on Barryar’s Doorstep.  These are formidable people, easily as influential in their way as his mother, his cousin Miles, Uncle Errol, or his Aunt Cordelia herself.  When he finds himself drawn into the schemes of this Jacksonian crew, Ivan is shocked to discover that Simon also has his hands in somewhere, and that’s when things start to get very complicated.

It’s just a good thing his Lord Auditor Cuz is off doing Lord Auditor things, because things are difficult enough without his help.  He knows he’s in trouble when Simon Illian starts quoting Emperor Gregor.  “Let’s see what happens.”

The catchphrase for this installment, however, seems to be “Simon, what the hell?”

Sarcasm: Wounded Ego Edition

Matthew Hagee: Massacre at Wounded Knee Shows Dangers of Gun Control | Right Wing Watch.

If the Natives had have had guns… unless I’m mistaken, selling guns to Natives was illegal, and where it wasn’t exactly illegal, it wasn’t looked upon with a great deal of favor.  So, basically, had the Natives invented gunpowder, or, subsequently, invented firearms, then maybe we white folks wouldn’t have been able to tell them that our great Sky Father thinks they’re a bunch of pagan sinners and then take all their shit.

I wholly approve of casinos, at least in their hands.  Why not use our vices to take back what our vices, suitably introduced to the native population, helped us steal in the first place?  Tobacco, alcohol, and gambling.  Sounds like poetic justice to me.

I’m sorry, but having this debate with Right Wing wackadoos is like having a snowball fight with a monkey.  It may start with a punch of soft-pawed balls of snow, but at some point excrement will fly.  Indians?  Really?

Seriously, man, what the fuck is wrong with you?

Sarcasm “Idiots with guns” Edition

Daily Kos: School’s new armed security guard forgets gun in school bathroom.

Weapons are hard to keep hold of, I’ll admit.  I was wheeling out a cart of swords–don’t ask–from the local Death Merchant store–and I realized I’d left my keys inside.  I ran inside, grabbed my keys, and by the time I ran back out all my swords were gone.  Weapons are always plotting an escape.  Seriously.

Criminals represent only half the danger that can be caused by irresponsible use of firearms.  Idiots represent the other half.  Don’t be an idiot or an asshole.  Be responsible.

Sarcasm’s Raunch Lowbrow Edition

Limbaugh: The Left “Will Not Tell You That They Want To Eliminate The Second Amendment” And “Confiscate Guns” | Video | Media Matters for America.

Listen, Rush, and try to wrap what little is left of your mind around what I’m going to tell you.  You’re a rancid bag of meat, your pronouncements the fetid stench of your corruption, your followers mere maggots pursuing your putrescence.  You could make a vulture gag and a wolverine vomit.  A bucket of excrement is like a bouquet of roses next to your intellectual miasma.

I hope you live a long life, Rush, rotting in your cocoon.  Maybe you were supposed to emerge as something beautiful… or at least human.  But we’ll never know, will we?