Via MaddowBlog: FL Senator Marco Rubio told a huge whopper on Twitter:
Rubio is marginally more intelligent than the average tea party loon, which is why, although he was happy to ride their Cap’n Crunch coattails to the US Senate, he is careful to keep them at arm’s length. That may come in handy for him.
Rubio’s party doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the deficit the tea party idiots are howling about; Rubio’s party wants to continue looting the US Treasury on behalf of Mitt Romney’s class. To do so, Rubio’s party needs to destroy Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid and any other social program that implies by its existence that corporations and the plutocrats who run them have an obligation to the country.
Rubio doesn’t have a problem with his party’s objectives, but he does have an optics issue, in that he represents a state with a significant number of senior citizens who will be cheesed off if Rubio’s party—led by the tea party nuts—continues to champion cuts in social programs to ensure that Mitt Romney pays less than 14% a year in taxes on his investment income.
There’s no rational case Rubio can make to his constituents on why they should favor screwing themselves to shovel largess to multimillionaire dancing horse hobbyists. So Rubio will just try to bluff his way through this conundrum with big fat lies and hope it blows over before he’s up for reelection.
Will people be dumb enough to fall for that? Could be! This is Florida, after all. But there’s some evidence to suggest that there’s a limit to the stupid.
For many of us, 2012 marked a low-water point in American politics. Dark money, smear campaigns, world-class prevarication and some of the most flamboyant wackaloons to ever run for political office letting it all hang out.
And, evidently, a few were so beside themselves that they never heard the “fat lady” singing. Like the quintessential sore loser in the mug-shot above, Gary Smith, who ran for the Republican nomination in New Mexico’s 1st Congressional District, this year.
Smith, a self-described fiscal conservative answered the call to public service with a pledge to Repeal Obamacare! and to create a Balanced Budget Amendment to the US Constitution. Pretty stock GOP agenda items . . .
Two things that never appeared previously in the Superman Comics Universe:
• Fashionably color-dampened Superman without his bulging red underpants.
• Stylishly-bearded Cluck Bent answers Bruce Campbell’s immortal book title, If Chins Could Kill.
Sad to say, that’s all I know about The Man Of Steel franchise that debuts its first $1.95 burger platter later this year. For all intents and purposes, it looks like The Man Of Steel will more nearly resemble That Guy From Last Night or audition-losing talent who weren’t selected for the Brawny paper towel wrapper. If Jor-El sucks as badly in this film as he did during ten years of hyperventilating fatherhood in the TV series Smallville, the next Superman film will be the last one ever…starring Michael Richards.
Although this poem references war it can just as easily apply to orphans. I haven’t written yet about this awful crime against children as I was hoping against hope that Putin would not sign the bill. But he has put politics over the needs of children, many of them disabled or suffering from other disorders, living in orphanages, waiting and hoping for forever homes. Not to mention the families here who are in the process of adoptions but now may never see their kids come home.
I have a big dog in this fight as I am an adoptive mother of three kids from Korea. (I probably shouldn’t say “kids” as they now range in age from 28 to 34 but they’re always kids to their mom.) And I know what these families and their waiting kids are going through as, when we were in the process of adopting in 1989, the Korean government got miffed at the U.S. and announced their intent to cancel all pending adoptions and terminate the adoption program. Eventually they relented and, after six months of limbo, we got the call that the kids (who are biological siblings) were being thrown on a plane before the government changed its mind and be at the airport on Tuesday!
23 years ago that was and I still remember the misery of possibly losing our kids, whose pictures we had, who we’d written to, who we were already deeply bonded to, so intensely that I broke down and cried when I read that Putin had actually signed that cruel bill.
Children should not be pawns in political games. Period. Putin and the Russian legislature should pick on someone their own size. I don’t know exactly what the best course of action is. When we were waiting we were advised not to try and get our Congressional representatives to interfere as the issue was “sensitive”. But in this case the Russians have made it clear that the decision is political retaliation for recently passed U.S. legislation dealing with human rights abuses. Funny that you would express dismay over being called on abusing human rights by trampling on the rights of children to have a loving home. So maybe, if anyone is so inclined, writing your Congressperson and/or Senators is a good idea. If I get any other information I’ll put it in an update.
This morning I became aware that a rather heated discussion arose in the comments thread of one of my recent posts. A reader, identified as “aveskde,” took issue with some of the positions on gun control taken by myself and several Rumproast readers who commented on that post.
The gist of the discussion ran to whether or not it is possible (or desirable) to restrict guns and their use in American society.
So. The goose has been cooked, the nog guzzled and special “gifts” from special “friends” received, but, rather than the usual month off for holidays, a handful of the Big Guns, the Young Guns and Loose Cannons of the GOP have slouched back to The Capitol to twiddle their thumbs in DC rather than in their home districts.
Let the dysfunction recommence!
Lest you forget the pre-holiday debacle that was Speaker John Boehner’s “Plan B,” it was an abrupt departure from negotiations on avoiding last year’s GOP exercise in forging a “sword of Damocles,” lovingly dubbed the Fiscal Cliff—a gnarly combination of expiring tax cuts and sequestered government spending designed to strike fear in the hearts and minds of Americans.
I like this post from Adele Stan on Alternet about as much as I like anything that highlights the disarray into which the House Republicans appear to have fallen, but the bit that jumps out at me is the titillating concept considered by conservative thinker, Norman J. Ornstein, that the replacement for John Boehner needn’t necessarily come from the House itself.
Now, to give some background—there was an interesting footnote that occurred right after the elections, when TX Rep. Louie Gohmert suggested Newt Gingrich be the Speaker of the House, again. Because there’s no reason why we shouldn’t party like it’s some time prior to 1999, I guess. He wasn’t entirely off base though, in that there really is no Constitutional reason why the Speaker of the House has to be a member of the House. The problem, though, is in getting enough members of the House to go along with you as to which outsider you want to fulfill that office.
I think getting House Republicans to move together on someone like Jon Huntsman or Mitch Daniels would be a pretty hard sell, no? Wouldn’t that be like, first they have to admit there is a problem? And then they would move on to acknowledging there’s an answer outside themselves? I don’t see them taking those steps. The folks who have the knives out for Boehner would, in actuality, probably be the least likely people to say, “Hey, let’s get a somewhat reality-based deal-maker up in here to whip our asses into a deal we don’t like!” They would be more likely to want Eric Cantor or someone who they feel listens to the “true conservative” side of things.
This is why, if there was a kind of coup (hopefully a non-armed coup—unlike the Freedomworks situation recently described), I would guess the lucky candidate would be a Tea Party kind of GOP-er. Except I don’t think all the GOP would get behind that. And no Dem would. Which leaves us with Boehner—the default-mode.
The simpler problem is math. The fault in GOP leadership has nothing to do with Boehner’s character or flaws or anything else about him—it’s the numbers. No matter who is in charge, that person would still be dealing with the Louie Gohmerts, Paul Brouns, and Michele Bachmann’s that make John Boehner’s job the thankless thing it is.
I could be proven wrong. But if the GOP majority chose anyone but Boehner, it wouldn’t be an outsider, and certainly not anyone you could, however laughably, call a moderate (a RINO), or even reasonable (an appeaser). And it would probably make zero difference in how any vote turned out going forward (probably still disappointing and clusterfuck-ish). The debt ceiling and the fiscal cliff have, in a late echo of the Mayan pseudo-prophecy, coincided. A pretty serious tone for the next two years of wrangling is about to be set. If the GOP is about to do whatever they will with a weak Speaker—the die is already basically cast.
And FWIW, can anyone see a knight in shining armor seriously riding in on his white horse and piercing the RW “bubble” with his trusty lance? It strikes me as fairy-tale stuff.
Just about every outlet runs a recap of the year at this point in the calendar, so I figured I’d join ‘em.
After the fold and in the subsequent parts you’ll find a whizz through the highlights and lowlights of the year I’ve chosen to cherrypick from the pages of Rumproast, along with some nominees for Headline of the Month. All this is obviously open to debate and I’m sure there are plenty of folks who’ll disagree with my choices in what is of necessity a very sketchy and superficial skim of 2012’s themes. If so, feel free to pipe up in the comments.
I took y’all’s advice and cancelled the Christmas soirees due to illness. Actually, my husband called people and told them I was down with possibly the flu. A few people turned up anyway, but they were forewarned, so if they get the crud, it’s not my fault.
From what I hear, this nasty virus is laying people low nationwide. I feel a little better today, but still shaky. I’ve been piled up on the sofa since Saturday. Thank god for Roku. I’ve watched a ton of movies plus a couple of seasons of Julia Child’s “The French Chef” from the 1960s.
My dogs joined me on our L-shaped couch, mimicking my burrowing behavior with whatever blankets and throws they could steal from my nest. These glowing green eyes have haunted my fever-wracked dreams:
I went ahead and cooked a ginormous standing rib roast that I already had on hand, but I haven’t tried it yet. My husband says it’s good. I usually make French onion soup with roast leftovers, which I plan to do this time as well. But now I’ve got tons of leftovers. Any suggestions?
I hope you all had a nice holiday. Please discuss whatever!
Reflecting back on the year that was, I think it’s apt the the post-election season seems to have provided the liberal blogger so many gifts. Things like this New York Magazine story about the National Review cruise, rich with detail that keeps the shaden right on freuding. It’s a stocking stuffed with images of the clueless, the bitter, the regretful, and ruminations on the unbearable whiteness of being Mitt Romney. For that matter, this tasty tidbit served up by Romney Number One son, Tagg, is fascinating as a psychological study despite its brevity for the depths it possibly reveals—
Is it possible Mitt Romney did not really want to be president? How does one run for about seven years without actually wanting to be president? He faced a contentious field in not one, but two primaries. He fund raised, he fibbed, he glad-handed, he glibbed, in short, he gave every indication to the outside world that, why yes, he might very much like to live in the White House (not that this is necessarily synonymous with being president). And yet he did not win, and his campaign was not run very well. Who knows what this explains?
Mr. Obama repeatedly lost patience with the speaker as negotiations faltered. In an Oval Office meeting last week, he told Mr. Boehner that if the sides didn’t reach agreement, he would use his inaugural address and his State of the Union speech to tell the country the Republicans were at fault.
At one point, according to notes taken by a participant, Mr. Boehner told the president, “I put $800 billion [in tax revenue] on the table. What do I get for that?”
“You get nothing,” the president said. “I get that for free.”
reads just a bit like wish-fulfillment (although my post had to do with a Mitch McConnell viewpoint-correction—which may well be coming, yet).
For the confounded ever-loving sake of Jesus, Mary and Joseph! can we now talk about combating this blight that is stealing our children, our heroes, our young men, and our dreams?
And please don’t come at me with the G-D Second Amendment—that antiquated, perennially misunderstood piece of verbiage does not trump ALL of the rights of those young firefighters.
Don’t tell me we need guns to keep ourselves safe—guns are the biggest public health threat to our society, today. They cost us billions of dollars in loss of life, medical expenses, permanent disabilities and fractured families all to protect the right of the manliness-challenged to tap a keg and fill a Nancy Pelosi target full of holes.
Your arguments are the demented fever dreams of arrested development. They are pure bullshit and you know it. Guns are fun, you say? Try sex, you’ll never go back.
And Merry Fking Christmas to you, Wayne LaPierre, you degenerate old goat. Guess these firefighters should have bought the body armor you’re pimping—as if fighting fires isn’t hard enough already. What kind of program are you going to market to every Fire Department in the land, Wayne?
My erstwhile fellow-Roaster, B4, struck a chord with several of us, yesterday when he said:
We ignore the NRA at our peril, we need to ridicule them, and to marginalize them- hopefully to the point of negation.
My New Year’s resolution, this year, is to take B4’s admonition very seriously and to dedicate my time, energy and efforts to doing anything possible to getting guns out of our daily lives for as long as I live. And Wayne LaPierre, be warned, because I plan to outlive you and your money-grubbing constituency. We got tobacco out of our daily lives, now it’s time to get rid of guns.
I would have preferred to be writing something cozy and festive, today, but, as long as these young people will no longer be able to appreciate “peace on Earth, goodwill toward men,” I’m afraid I have to shake my fist and rage, instead.
I’m in charge of holiday planning, prep and execution at my house. Not because of patriarchal oppression but just because that’s how we choose to break it down (picking up dog turds in the yard, for example, is thankfully outside my bailiwick).
Well, Saturday morning, I woke up feeling nauseated and achy in every bone. My head was pounding, my nose was stuffy, and I had a hacking cough. I tried to eat something and ended up tossing my waffle. So even though I had a million things to do to get ready for Christmas, I made a nest of quilts on the sofa and stayed there all day and all night.
The dogs were happy to keep me company, what with a little cold snap we had (it’s in the high 60s / low 70s, which causes my wimpy boxers to channel their inner Malamutes). I laid around alternately snoozing, watching TV and staring at the Christmas tree lights in a Nyquil-induced daze. I drank herb tea and munched a few soup crackers from time to time, which is about all I can keep down.
I didn’t feel much better yesterday, and I still feel lousy now. I’ve been dragging myself from room to room, dusting furniture, sweeping, cleaning out the fridge, etc. I’ve pressed my kid into service more than I normally would to complete errands and assist with housework.
Mr. C always handles Christmas Eve dinner, so I’m off the hook for that, but I’ve got a slew of people coming by at various times today and tomorrow. I’ve got all the holiday meal stuff, but I have no idea where I’m going to find the energy to put the Christmas Day feast together and deal with a houseful of guests. My husband and kid are more than willing to help, but they’ll just fuck up whatever I assign to them. I know that sounds terrible, but it’s true.
There’s no point at all to this post; I just felt like whining. Open thread!
Poll, if I may interrupt for a second, I am really irritated at the way they allow Newt Gingrich to continue living on.
—my mother, at noon, and not a drop taken (so far).
Mama-San arrived yesterday, with her traditional complement of leftovers in baggies, family-size bottles of vino in case Chez Polly does not provide, and the non-crushable Shirt Which Must Be Carried Separately, which must not be housed in any kind of luggage, but travel with its own hanger, not to be confused with any other hanger which could not possibly be as good. I had been introducing her to Charles Pierce with this piece, which is how we got to Newt, though with Mama-San, we could just as easily have gotten from there to her hatred of English toast racks or “EC cetera.”
My nonagenarian mother will be here taking care of me while I do a four-day internship taking care of youngsters in their eighties, starting Christmas Eve. So if I don’t get another chance to say it, Roasters, how rare and wonderful it is to spend another year with you! And Merry Whatever You Wish.
Mrs. Polly and Bette Noir have admirably slammed the odious Wayne LaPierre already, but I figured I’d jump in on the pile-on…
I’m going to preface this post by stating emphatically that I do not believe in a devil. While the famous aphorism claims that “the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist”, I’d postulate that the greatest trick the authoritarians ever pulled was convincing the world that the devil exists. By creating a supernatural devil, the authoritarians have stifled genuine inquiry into the conundrum of the existence of evil, and have thrown spanners into debates about how to handle “evildoers”. Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I’m going to rip Wayne LaPierre, the Devil’s Right-Hand Man, a new one… metaphorically, of course.