02.28.10
What They Say- What They Mean: Health Care Reform
You’ve seen “ER” and I’ve seen “ER” and I think we can both agree that if bipartisan health care reform were a patient, Doctor Obama would be dejectedly dropping the paddles, ripping off his mask and asking Nurse Pelosi to call it. Oh yeah. Its finished. Done with. Caput. Defunct. Deceased. Extinct. Artifacto. Fuggedaboutit. Game over, man. Part of the vast past tense. Washed up. Down the drain. Sleeping with the fishies. Sheer finito. Totally obliterated. See ya. Wouldn’t want to be ya. Pushing up daisies. Eaten by the undertoad. Down Goes Frazier! Rests in peace. Bereft of life. Shuffled off its mortal coil. Crossed the distant shore. Run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible. Stick a fork in it. Its history. A memory. In the archives. Way gone. Say bye. Then again… you never know. Reconciliation. Such an innocent word.
With the deftness of Houdini, the President conjured up a seance where Democrats and Republicans sat down together and aired out differences like actual humans and while the festivities conspicuously lacked any hand- holding choruses of Kumbaya, the two sides did refrain from physically throttling each other and nobody staggered out in full view of the cameras cradling a bloody stump. Which, for these guys, is a leap. They did however continue to lock out ordinary Americans by talking in a special Congressional code known as Politico- Speak. And I’m here to decipher.
What they say: We may have differences but they can be bridged.
What they mean: Of course, theoretically, so can the Pacific Ocean.
What they say: We need to start over from scratch.
What they mean: Let’s start fixing it tomorrow. Or never. Whichever comes last.
What they say: It’s obvious the other side is simply engaging in political posturing.
What they mean: Was my chin sufficiently lit well and thrust forward on that?
What they say: I just hope this isn’t more political theater.
What they mean: Because satire closes on Saturday night.
What they say: Of course we’re willing to compromise.
What they mean: Of course we’re willing for them to agree with us.
What they say: At the end of the day a solution will be found.
What they mean: And that day is Tuesday, November 2nd, 2010.
What they say: We’re determined to go the extra mile.
What they mean: Admittedly, we’ve haven’t moved fifteen inches, but we’re pooped. Maybe we’ll hold committee hearings on switching to the metric system.
What they say: If Dick Cheney had the same health care as the rest of us, those 5 heart attacks would have killed him by now.
What they mean: I wonder if doctors have totally ruled out phantom limb syndrome?
What they say: All we ask is that the other side negotiate in good faith.
What they mean: The city of Good Faith in Queensland, Australia.
What they say: We’re the ones reaching across the aisle.
What they mean: Pay no attention to the chainsaw.
What he says: This is not partisan. I’m looking for answers from either party.
What he means: Although, as the smartest guy in the room, I already have most of them.
What they say: The United States has the Best Health Care System in the World
What they mean: The Insurance Oligarchy has the best funded lobbyists in the World.
What they say: This is a wonderful opportunity to watch government in action.
What they mean: Argh. My eyes!
Will Durst is a San Francisco based political comic who writes sometimes. This is an example.
Ask for his new one-man show, The Lieutenant Governor from the State of Confusion to appear at a performing arts center near you.
Or catch him in stand up mode at the Tahoe Improv March 3- 7. And the Vegas Improv March 9- 14.
New CD, “Raging Moderate” available from Stand- Up Records March 23.
Hopefully, another book coming out soon. We’ll see.
02.14.10
The Original Palm Pilot
A few words of advice for all you anti- Obama conservatives out there. Quit it with the whole teleprompter fixation, would ya? Okay, okay, we get it, you don’t like the President. And you’ll throw the kitchen sink to attack him on everything under the sun; from being responsible for the recent rash of substandard Vermont maple syrup crops to the irksome infestation of grunge rock into country- western music all the way to wormy pears. Everything he stands for is bad, and everything he’s against is good. Got it.
But in order to avoid major mortification, you’ve got to stop with the “overly dependent on the teleprompter” charge. Please. Really. You need a new argument. And trust me, there’s a veritable plethora of opportunities available. Why don’t you make fun of the way he cocks his head and looks Messianically upward like he’s trying to catch the whisper of God on an errant zephyr? Or you could profess incredulity at the global- cooling shade provided by his overlarge ears or remark on how he’s such a conciliator he probably clogs up the express lane for hours while dithering over the dilemma of “paper or plastic.”
I’m serious here, and only trying to help. You look like idiots. For one thing, Everybody uses a teleprompter. No. No. No. EVERYBODY. I’m talking CEOs, news anchors, dog- catchers, dog- throwers, late night talk show hosts and every politician on the face of the planet. When Glenn Beck spits contempt at the president’s lame reliance on a teleprompter he’s reading his criticism… off a teleprompter.
A teleprompter is a tool. Like rolling notes. It’s the words that count. You might as well castigate cooks and chefs for their preposterous dependence on pots. What is it with fireman and their hoses? Ski poles are obviously snow crutches and anyone using them at the Olympics should be disqualified. And shot. Or are you just emulating Emerson by eschewing the foolish consistency that is the hobgoblin of little minds?
I assumed that the President’s appearance in front of a group of Republican congressmen answering questions would put a stop to this ludiculous charge, since he skated for an hour and a half without benefit of notes or teleprompter or transmitter hidden under the back of his suit coat. But, no. You guys are like a pit bull with an invisible chew toy.
At the recent Teabagger convention, which is like saying Republicans squared (uber elephants,) Sarah Palin gave a speech mocking the President for using a teleprompter, while she was wearing crib notes inked on her hand. Talk about the Bering Sea calling the Chicago River moist. Hypocrite, or retro techno geek? After all, what are notes on a hand besides a fifth grade teleprompter? Hey, Sarah, so how’s that inky- palmy thing working out for ya?
She had the words “energy,” “tax cuts,” and “lift American spirits” written in Sharpie right on her left god- given palm pilot. Apparently, she wrote her core beliefs on her hand as a way to emphasize them. Either that, or she was trying to provide her detractors and Katie Couric with indisputable proof that indeed she can read. Oh wait, I think I’m starting to get it. I guess I got a chew toy too.
Will Durst is a San Francisco based political comic who writes sometimes. Of which this would be a conspicuous example. Check out his new one man show, “The Lieutenant Governor from the State of Confusion” appearing at the Rrazz Room every Monday in February, located at 222 Mason St., San Francisco, CA 94102. 415.781.0306
02.06.10
My Two Cents
I’m only guessing, but a major problem with being President has to be people around you being more likely to stick their face in a cast iron oscillating fan than tell you the truth. Let’s say you slip and fall and rip a hole in your pants down to your ankle while spilling hot coffee on a little blind girl in a wheelchair in front of a nationally televised audience. The worst you could expect to hear from a staffer is “well, that could have gone better.”
Therefore, I consider it my patriotic duty to offer up a little unsolicited advice intended for the President’s Eyes Only. Yo. Barack. Dude. You should totally chill. And listen up. Why? Cuz I can tell you the stuff that Mister Chaff of Staff Rahm Emanuel can’t. And I won’t go all ballistic on your butt or singe your receptionist’s eardrums either.
First thing. Don’t worry so much about the Republicans. They’re going to do what they’re going to do. You don’t even enter into the equation. Expect to be accused of everything. All the way from “done nothing at all” to “moved too quickly” and all permutations in between. At least you always know where these guys are coming from. From behind and in front and 16 different sides- throwing knives of negativity.
It’s your so- called friends you need to watch out for. The ones who smile and nod and laugh at your jokes to cover the slip of a shiv between your third and fourth ribs on the left side. Trust me, with friends like these, you don’t need Richard Shelby. Unfortunately, most of your buddies are Democrats. Which is a lot like saying most of a general’s fighting force is terra cotta. The difference being terra cotta soldiers don’t cut and run so fast they leave little puffs of cartoon smoke.
The second thing is, you need to develop an “or else.” Work with you, or what? Or Joe Biden sits next to you in the Congressional dining room and cuts your meat every day for a week? Lyndon Johnson plucked at the horsehair holding up the sword of Damocles for his “or else.” Walk the line or find yourself whisked back to your home district as a clerk in Park and Rec’s lost and found. His idea of compromise was letting you use his pen to sign your vow of allegiance.
Finally, your people have lost all sense of urgency. You got to fire somebody. You know- ax. Can. Dump. Sack. Pink slip. Terminate with extreme prejudice. Discharge. Unassign. 86. Downsize. Furlough. Ease out. Make redundant. Perform a bum’s rush. Give the boot. Hand someone their marching orders. Assist in an accelerated career development shift. Impose a synergy related headcount restructuring. Heave a ho.
It doesn’t matter who. Are you telling me in more than a year, nobody in the administration has made a mistake bad enough to be let go? Because if they haven’t, you have. If you can’t come up with an obvious target, pick someone out at random. You really want to put the fear of god into Team Obama, get rid of Michelle. Or one of the kids. That’s the best way of saying, “don’t anybody want to get too complacent.” Anyhow, that’s my advice. No thanks necessary, I’m here to help. First one’s free.
Will Durst is a San Francisco based political comic who writes sometimes. Of which this would be a glaring example. Check out his new one man show,“The Lieutenant Governor from the State of Confusion” appearing at the Rrazz Room every Monday in February, located at 222 Mason St., San Francisco, CA 94102 415.781.0306
01.31.10
Obama, Year–One: A Report Card
When asked how he thought his first year as 44th President of the United States had proceeded, Barack Obama gave himself a B+. To say other parties have been less enthusiastic is like saying Tiger Woods is unlikely to receive the NOW Husband of the Year Award. Although the Divorce Lawyers of America might be coerced into throwing a testimonial or two.
Admittedly, there are three camps in the whole “How has Obama Done So Far?” debate. The right, which has been calling for impeachment since this time last year, Independents who consider every politician the enemy of the people and the left which can be seen wearing their disappointment like dented chain mail on returning Crusaders.
For those of you wishing to celebrate the occasion, may I mention that the traditional first year anniversary gift is paper. And a piece of photographic paper incriminating Republican Senator, Mitch McConnell, in sexual congress with a Kentucky thoroughbred would be most appropriate.
Granted, history will give the ultimate grade and you’d have to be a fool to judge an entire Presidency based on 12 months, but this particular fool thinks it's not only instructional but also a lot of fun to produce a quarter term report card, so here goes.
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English. B+. Good understanding of vocabulary words, and the ability to use them correctly. Nice having a President who when he speaks with a foreign leader, the other guy isn’t more eloquent in English as a Second Language.
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History. C+. Apparently wasn’t paying attention during Clinton Health Care instructional in 93. Looks like we’ll be forced to repeat this class every sixteen years. Geography. A+. Displays exceptional work habits. Visited more countries in first year than any other president in history. Most of that necessary to rebuild the bridges torched by a predecessor who shall remain nameless.
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Mathematics. Incomplete. Seems to be working with a malfunctioning abacus. Further review by Professors Bernanke and Geithner not expected to help much.
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African American Studies. B+. Has innate understanding of the subject.
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Semantics. B plus. Is a conscientious worker. No matter what you think of his policies, you have to admire his ability not to get involved in them.
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Business. C-. Needs to increase speed and comprehension. Tends to allow himself to be bullied by the louder students.
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Physics. C. Seems unable to grasp rudimentary concepts like how every action affecting Congress will have equal, opposite and totally disagreeable reaction.
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Creative Writing. A-. Exhibits enormous creativity. Sometimes gets carried away and confuses other students.
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Home Economics. C. Shows initiative; thinks things through for himself. Must come up with more encouraging phrase than “We’re losing jobs at a much slower pace.”
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Sex Education. B plus. No visible activity at all. Pleasant change for a Democrat. Helpful to have so many negative role models in Congressional ranks for comparison.
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Attendance. Satisfactory. However, whole school is beginning to suspect that the most dangerous place in Washington is between him and a camera.
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Physical Education. Exemplary. Photo of him emerging from Hawaiian surf set off beefcake war with Scott Brown.
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Penmanship. Satisfactory. Leaves very few fingerprints.
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Home Room Conduct. Cooperative. Polite. Plays well with others. Sometimes fails to stand up for himself.
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General Comments. Continues to grow in independence. Has problems accepting responsibility. Needs to work on leadership qualities.
Overall Grade. B-.
Will Durst is a San Francisco based political comic who writes sometimes.
Check out his new one man show, “The Lieutenant Governor from the State of Confusion” appearing at the Rrazz Room every Monday in February, located at 222 Mason St., San Francisco, CA 94102 415.781.0306
01.21.10
The Barack H. Obama 2010 State Of The Union Drinking Game!
What You Need To Play:
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4 taxpayers: 1 rich white guy banker type wearing a suit. (Bank Boy.)
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2 ordinary folks wearing jeans, 1 in a blue work shirt, the other in a white shirt, no tie, sleeves rolled up (the Jeans,) and
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1 person wearing clothes that look like they were involved in some sort of sewage treatment plant engagement ring retrieval operation. Belt and shoelaces safely secured (Rags.)
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1 living room with a large screen HDTV tuned to C-SPAN.
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1 shot glass per person. Everybody furnishes own, placing it on a coffee table in front of TV.
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Bank Boy gets first choice for use during game. White shirt picks next, then blue shirt. Bank Boy takes last shot glass as well, and Rags either rents it from him, finds a replacement or drinks out of own cupped hands.
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Everybody antes up 20 bucks. Cash. Except Bank Boy, who tosses in an I.O.U.
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2 cooked packages of Vienna Beef Chicago style hot dogs in middle of table with butter grilled buns and pickles and tomatoes and onions and condiments and that weird neon green relish on the side.
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1 bottle of bourbon.
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A large stash of beer in cans on ice.
Rags gets whatever is on sale, like Heileman’s Old Style Light.
Bank Boy gets whatever import he wants.
The Jeans get domestic, but must pay for all the beer, bourbon and hot dogs.
Rules Of The Game.
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Every time Barack H Obama says "Democratic leadership," the first person to stop laughing is exempt from drinking 3 shot glasses of beer.
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When the President says the State of the Union is good, but could be better, the last person to eat a fully accoutered hot dog has to drink 1 shot of bourbon.
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If either the Vice President or the Speaker of the House gets caught napping on camera, last person to sing the chorus from “Wake Up, Little Susie” has to drink 4 shots of beer. If Senator Robert Byrd ever appears awake, everybody has to drink 6 shots of beer.
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As soon as Mister Obama starts a defense of Cap & Trade, everybody must drink a whole beer then throw the empty can at the television. If anybody hits Harry Reid in the head, everyone else has to drink 3 shots of beer.
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Whenever Barack uses the phrase “economic stimulus package,” the last person to slap the side of his/ her forehead with a hot dog, has to drink 2 shot glasses of beer.
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If Obama speaks of how he sympathizes with the electorate's fundamental desire for "change," the last person to cough ?Hack!? must drink 3 shots of beer.
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Every time the Chief Executive winks and/ or points at Michelle, all four players swordfight with hot dogs. The last person with an intact weenie does not have to eat an entire shot glass full of that weird neon green relish.
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If the President relates a touching heartfelt story of some poor unfortunate denied health care, Rags gets to kick everybody else once. Twice, if the subject of the anecdote is in the audience. Three times, if he/ she is sitting next to an astronaut.
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Whenever Obama makes a reference to his faith getting him through tough times, last person to fall to their knees and shout “Hallelujah!” has to drink 1 shot of bourbon.
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The first time Barack H Obama mentions bipartisanship, the last person to pretend to faint has to drink 3 shots of beer.
Extras:
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Before the speech, everyone writes down who they think is giving the Republican Response. Anybody who correctly identifies the person doesn’t have to watch it.
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Bank Boy takes home all the money and the Jeans have to pay off his I.O.U..
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Leftover bourbon, beer and hot dogs go home with Rags after he/ she finishes washing the dishes.
Political Comic Will Durst writes sometimes. This is certainly one example.
Catch Durst in the premier of his new one man show “The Lieutenant Governor from the State of Confusion” as part of the Solo Mio festival at the Cinnabar Theater in Petaluma. www.cinnabartheater.org . 707.763.8920.
01.16.10
The Two Handed Wedgie
Just when you think we got enough to worry about, along comes a big old raging controversy over airports utilizing full body scanning machines that can see through fliers’ clothing all the way down to our naughty bits. Let me tell you where I stand on this brouhaha: I don’t care. Haha. In the whole modesty versus safety argument, you can count on me to crawl behind the Kevlar couch with the Safety First! crowd every time.
All because of the underpants bomber. Yes, the underpants bomber. And no, it’s not funny, but then again, yes, it is. Here’s my theory, if the bad guys are willing to shove bombs up their butts, you know what, we’re not going to win that war. Who can afford to pay the necessary costs to hire people to check for this? “More anal probes please.” Because when we do come up with a defense for explosive suppositories, the terrorists will just develop some sort of kim chee, 1000 year old egg, garlic- onion paste resulting in murderous bad breath.
Another point as dependable as Tofu Corn Dogs at a Berkeley street fair, is these attacks always produce a surfeit of feigned media outrage leading to an equally transparent government overreaction. Pilots now have the option of restricting passengers from using rest rooms for the first and last hours of the flight. Battling terrorism with toity deprivation. And you thought those middle coach seats were grotey before. Captains have also been instructed not to point out landmarks along the way. And no peeking out the windows either. That would be cheating. Destination announcements- a thing of the past. From now on, guess where you’re going.
Even though the fruit of the loom bomb didn’t go off, conservatives are still screaming it’s all Obama’s fault. And one thing that hasn’t changed with administrations is the Executive propensity for deflecting responsibility. Must be on page one of the White House primer they hand out with the keys to the front door. Raising an interesting question; do you get actual keys to the White House? And if so, did Obama go down to Ace Hardware to have spares made, or did he make the kids do it?
The official excuse reeked of recycling. “The information was there but nobody connected the dots.” Connected the dots? This guy paid $3000 for his ticket with cash, didn’t have a passport, flew sans checked baggage after the British tried to warn us and his own dad dropped a dime on him at the Nigerian embassy. Those aren’t dots. Those are day- glo beach balls the size of weather balloons filled with concrete.
Not to mention Mister Abdulmutallab was flying from Amsterdam to Detroit. C’mon, people, think about it, who voluntarily leaves Amsterdam to go to Detroit? In the dead of winter? Without a frequent flyer number? Everybody on that flight should have been suspicious and subjected to a body cavity search with a defective chain mail glove. Boarding and deplaning.
But like our lame response to the shoe bomber (putting smiles on the face of sock manufacturers everywhere,) it’s only a matter of time before the TSA refocuses on the new most dangerous airborne menace known to man: poo- poo undies. Going to be tough training 45,000 screeners in the speedy implementation of the dreaded two- handed wedgie. Aah, the TSA: you got to love them. Fighting today’s security threats with yesterday’s technology, tomorrow.
Will Durst is a San Francisco based political comic, who writes sometimes; this being a first-rate example.
Catch Durst in stand- up mode on the Places We Wouldn’t Mind Living if We Didn’t Live in San Francisco Tour, Friday, January 15th at The Kuumbwa Jazz Center in Santa Cruz; Saturday, January 16th, at The Center for the Arts in Grass Valley; and at Silo’s in Napa on Sunday the 17th. See the Appearance Schedule on Durst's website for more info:
And catch a fleeting glimpse of him on MSNBC’s Chris Mathews special “Obama’s America” on Monday January 18th.
01.08.10
2010 Predictions
All right, it was a hecka long holiday season. I'm tired and you're tired. And neither of us has the energy to go through the whole post- modern deconstructionist explanation as to why you're reading a predictions column here. Yes, I'm doing a predictions column. What's the matter with you people? It's the beginning of a new year. Hell, it's the beginning of a new decade. That's what journalists do: prediction columns. It's a festive tradition. Like mistletoe or Hopping John or calling hospital emergency rooms when Uncle Bud goes missing in the wee hours of Boxing Day. And no, I don't care that we're already deep enough into January that most of our resolutions lie broken on the calendar floor like branches of a discarded Noble fir on the shoulder of a logging camp approach road. C'mon people, what am I, flying solo here? Deal with it. Or don't. Because here they are: a list of predictions of what we can or should expect from various people during the 1st year of the second decade of the 21st century.
I Predict That In The Year 2010: