6.23.09
Grading Democracy On a Curve
Want to take this time to congratulate the Iranian people for upgrading to a participatory government where they feel empowered enough to take to the streets to complain. For those of you who have been too busy digging under bushes for returnable bottle deposits, there is major rioting going on in the country formerly known as Persia, due to their sneaking suspicion of rampant voter fraud. Hundreds of thousands are risking arrest, death and worse demonstrating their shock at the corruption of their leaders. Of course, here in the US, we’ve learned to take that sort of thing in stride and grade on a curve.
The election results in dispute find Members Only aficionado Mahmoud Ahmadinejad winning the Presidency with 63% of the vote. Well, there’s your problem right there. Mahmoud, Baby. You want to rig an election, you don’t claim 63%. You squeak by with 51%. Didn’t you guys learn anything from Karl Rove? At least let the other guy appear to win his home district. After all, he’s not Al Gore.
In that knee jerk manner as peculiar to totalitarian regimes as bikini waxing is to cast members of “Gossip Girl,” Iranian authorities blamed America for the unrest. That’s right. We’re responsible for their amateurish rigging of a phony election. They may have a point. In a way, it IS our fault. Re-repressing a populace after they’ve Twittered and Facebooked and Tranny Shacked is like trying to stuff the subjugation toothpaste back into the tube. Best way is to razor the nozzle off, cram the domination back in with a rubber spatula then staple the nozzle back onto to the tube. Which is a bit unwieldy. But much easier when not exposed to the sun guns of the Western media.
Of course, our excitement over this burgeoning democracy may be a bit premature. It’s not like the dissident challenger, former prime minister, Mir Hossein Moussavi, is a raging capitalist. We keep referring to him as a moderate, but in Iran, a moderate is any Shi’ite who’s run out of bullets. Another inconvenient truth.
Even if the election is overturned, (about as likely as the eventual victory celebration being held at an Irish pub,) you might want to hold off on sending that Constitutional Starter Kit. Don’t think they’re quite ready for a string of NRA chapters is all I’m saying. Just to get on the ballot over there you need the okay of the Supreme Leader. And there’s another problem. How free and open is your election really when you have to clear your candidacy with somebody called Supreme Leader? Sounds like the eternal adversary of Moose and Squirrel.
The Supreme Leader in question is Ayatollah Khamenei, a totally different despot than the Ayatollah Khomeini but they do share the same barber. In response to the massive officially banned protests, Khamenei recanted his initial rubber stamp of the election and called upon the 12 member Council of Guardians to investigate the vote. Unh-hunh. Oh yeah. That’s going to help. Kind of like putting the 2000 Florida election into the impartial hands of one of the candidate’s brothers.
Of course, one big difference is, in Iran, when they talk about hanging chads, they’re not referring to cardboard punchouts, but foreign journalists named Chad. Pretty sure they have hanging Jeremys and hanging Rogers as well. Not to mention a soon to be veritable rash of hanging Mir Hosseins.
Will Durst is a San Francisco based political comic who writes sometimes. This is one of them.
Catch him at the Mason City Limits Comedy Club in Mason City, Illinois on Friday and Saturday June 26th & 27th. Go to mclimits.com or call 217.482.5233 for more details.
Or check out his Rooftop Comedy minutes at Rooftop Comedy.
Just a heads up. Taking the month of July off to write my little one- man show, “The Lieutenant Governor From the State of Confusion,” so you’ll get nothing till August. Have a great summer. Stay cool and dry and vertical. Or hot and wet and horizontal. Whichever works.
6.17.09
DC Pious Minvan
One of the biggest joys of the open road is its pure democracy... Bentleys and Pintos idling side by side at the same red light. Limos, BMWs, Fords and those little enh cars that look like they’ve been squashed between two big rigs, all subject to the same speed traps, congestion and potholes big enough to swallow locomotive engines. Valet attendants who can be reliably counted on to scrounge around gloveboxes for loose change while burning an eighth of an inch of rubber off of high end Pirellis and cheap Chinese retreads with total egalitarianism.
That is not to say that all cars are created equal. With the license comes the knowledge of which ones to avoid getting stuck behind driving uphill cross town in traffic. Elderly drivers wearing hats rank high on the list. Tinted glass is right up there, as well as any ride sporting bass vibrations rippling the back windows. Hummers most especially, but any gas guzzling SUV with their thick headed tank-like attitude clogging our paved arterials like permanent transfusions of liquid pork fat on wheels.
Conversely, there’s the Toyota Prius. It’s not the automobile that rankles. A sensible car. The car of tomorrow. Today! No, not the vehicle, rather the people in the drivers’ seats that make you want to drag a body out from behind the wheel and knock it in the head with giant plastic inflatable cartoon hammers and make “thunk, thunk, thunk” noises till the tolls come down. Political correctness and piloting a one and a half ton piece of sculpted steel traveling 88 feet per second go together like little league practice and freeway median strips.
These are the same people who 30 years ago drove VW Vans, and though they now wallow in luxury options such as antennas and floorboards, their former tenuous command of the road has disintegrated badly and they appear flummoxed by this new horsepower dealie thing. Not to mention, the quietude, which has to be unnerving. And isn’t it a shame these beautifully designed $25,000 MSRP Japanese machines arrived on our shores sans turn signals?
In addition, the Pious operator’s manual apparently comes folded inside some sort of secret deed granting sole possession of the entire road to the bearer. 57% of Prius drivers say they bought the car because “it makes a statement about me.” It’s all about them. Just like DC politicians, they exist in a special world where everyone else is invisible. A sentiment subtly reinforced by the way they misoperate the machinery.
But we cannot in good conscious anoint the Priutics with the imprimatur of Worst Drivers on the Road. That recognition has been meritoriously earned by the countless screeching veers caused by a vast fleet of clueless Minivan drivers shifting aimlessly across our byways. Prius drivers think they ARE the Messiah, but Minivan drivers know they have been charged with the greater responsibility of shepherding many tiny snot nosed Messiahs to and from band practice. Talk about mobile germ labs.
While Prius drivers make sane folk honk and curse and pound dashes in frustration due to turning left from the center lane and stopping for no apparent reason and refusing to turn right on red, minivan drivers will do all this, only slower AND you can’t see around them. What I’m saying is, if Toyota ever makes a Prius Minivan, do not even think of leaving your driveway. And if you live near DC when that happens, you best remain parked safely in bed.
Will Durst is a San Francisco based political comic who writes sometimes. This is one of them.
Or check out his Rooftop Comedy minutes at Rooftop Comedy.
6.9.09
Saint Taxes
The government has it all wrong. Yeah, yeah, I know. Who’s ever heard THAT before? “This Just In: Water Is Wet.” What’s got my knickers in a big old knotted ball the size of Kobe Bryant’s ego this time around is the age- old practice of politicians balancing their financial shortsightedness on the backs of the little guy. The little BAD guy. I’m talking about sin taxes. Of which I might be secreting a bit more firsthand outrage than the rest of you guys, since I’m pretty much that little bad guy everybody is talking about.
Oh yeah, I’m bad. I eat red meat. Often. And I drink and even smoke. Not so often, but still. Not much into sweets, but make up for it with the savories. Cheetos? Doritos? Kettle Brand Salt and Fresh Ground Pepper Krinkle Cut potato chips? You betcha. And what drives me nuttier than the pecan pie shelf at a truck stop off the I- 95 in Georgia is the self- righteous attitude these pillars of the community adopt while squeezing folks like me tighter than a two headed nickel in a vise grips.
We sin tax targets aren’t allowed to squawk either, because, well… we’re sinners. We’re expected to quietly cower in our greasy damp smoky donut crumb littered corner as they slap and gouge us for doing things every 4th grader knows oughtn’t be done. Like pouring stuff into our bodies that is used to wash the rust off of chrome bumpers. For cupping our hands over our ears making la la la noises whenever a nutritionist pops up on TV. And possessing less impulse control than a mountain lion in a fish market after closing time.
It may seem short term tempting, but I’m convinced these new liquor, cigarette and sodie pop surcharges are entirely the 180 degree wrong way to go. It’s a scientific fact that we degenerate reprobates kick off early. Hardly manage to crawl our way into our sixties. Just tip right over. Every time I eat, I can hear my arteries harden. And that’s what the government should be encouraging. It’s those darn health nuts that end up lingering. They’re the ones sucking up all our Social Security and Medicare money.
So I propose; instead of sin taxes, we go the other way around entirely, and institute a series of saint taxes. Holistic tariffs. Longevity levies. You want to live forever? Fine: pay for it. First we throw an excise fee onto fresh fruit. Subsidize distilleries. French fries and cigarettes are handed out like government cheese, but every six months you are required to apply to the DMV for a license to wear a seat belt. Joggers pay tolls based on GPS readouts in their shoes. Beer drinkers receive cash rebates for every six- pack consumed and cholesterol credits can be sold or traded.
Fast food vouchers are handed out on street corners to make up for tofu being illegal and asparagus only available by prescription. Water fountains are removed from public parks and replaced with salt licks. Possession of sunblock is a felony and the only place to get vitamins is from waitresses in jazz clubs. Stress is ladled out free of charge on a regular basis by the federal government. And finally, you can waltz into any bar in the country for nothing but are charged incredible amounts of money to see a doctor. This whole paradigm shift should be easy to implement, especially when you consider those last three, are already in place. Four, depending on how loosely you define the meaning of the word “vitamins.”
Will Durst is a San Francisco based political comic who writes sometimes. This is one of them.
Or check out his Rooftop Comedy minutes at Rooftop Comedy.
5.2.09
Sonia from the Block
The President revealed his nominee for the Supreme Court, selecting a 54 year- old daughter of Puerto Rican immigrants who had been elevated to The Second District Court by George H W Bush. And what a genius political move it was. Sonia Sotomayor: a woman AND a Hispanic. From the South Bronx. A Catholic with diabetes. Regrettably, it looks like the search for an albino midget lesbian unwed Buddhist Bangladeshi mother with a bum leg and lycanthropy fell just a wee bit short.
It was a mite disconcerting that President Obama came up with Justice David Souter’s replacement in about a quarter of the time that it took for him to choose the family dog. Of course that dog is destined to become an integral part of the First Family. And a choice they will have to live with for ten or twelve years. A Supreme Court Justice simply affects the country and the world for the rest of our natural born lives.
Although dogs and Associate Supreme Court Justices do share many commands. A judge must SIT on the bench. They STAY there for a lifetime. Tend to LIE DOWN at the first sight of a third rail issue. SPEAK only when questioning precedents. Clarence Thomas took a year and a half to HOUSE TRAIN. Antonin Scalia is a HEEL. Rumor has it John Paul Stevens’ law clerks regularly follow him around with a ROLLED UP NEWSPAPER. And generally all nine will BEG anytime they can FETCH a consensus.
Though they lack the votes to derail the nomination, Republicans will not ROLL OVER and PLAY DEAD. Their antagonism was evident even during the decision process. Qualms were expressed about the President’s use of the word “empathy” describing his search. It was interpreted as code for a radical left wing activist judge. Empathy, to these guys, is a pejorative. Well, there’s your problem right there. No wonder the GOP approval rating is lower than steel tipped fingernails on a schoolhouse blackboard.
A tape was discovered of Sotomayor riffing off a Sandra O’Connor quote, rhapsodizing about the hope that “a wise Latina woman with the richness of her experiences would more often than not reach a better conclusion than a white male who hasn’t lived that life,” and a chorus of Conservatives jumped so far down her throat only the soles of their shoes can be glimpsed wriggling at the ceiling in choreographed mock fury.
Thus they charge Sonia Sotomayor with racism. For suggesting white men are not the ultimate end- all be- all in this country. Admittedly, this accusation has not been leveled by any real elected Republicans; just the usual peanut gallery rejects of Coulter, Limbaugh, Gingrich and Tancredo. That’s right. Tom Tancredo accusing a Latina of being racist. You can't make stuff up like this. All the gas emitting from these blowhards is just another example of the Hummer calling the minivan annoying. What’s next? Bernie Madoff publicly complaining that the auto bailout math is suspect?
Their determination to escalate a confirmation fight has multiple motivations. 1. It’s necessary for the party to appear halfway relevant. 2. Combat provides an excellent opportunity to energize the base and raise money. 3. And most importantly; they can use the practice. Obstinacy, like a muscle, must be exercised.
Will Durst is a San Francisco based political comic who writes sometimes. This is one of them.
Or check out his Rooftop Comedy minutes at Rooftop Comedy.
5.25.09
Staycation Fun
It's harder than frozen bratwursts to believe we’ve reached the end of May already, but there it is- Memorial Day- delivering a swift kick in the buns to any lingering memory of a very ugly winter. And the mustard rises on another summer. Co- incidentally, gas prices continue to spike.. Again. Hey, alright. Just in time for travel season. What are the odds? Of course, none of us have the money to go anywhere. So, there is good news.
But we Americans would rather spread kim chee on a tofu hot dog at a dental office than give up our summer vacation. Even considering fiscal conditions that are uglier than naked rugby in the rain sponsored by the AARP. So, once again its time to trot out that old Chamber of Commerce chestnut: the Staycation.
We all know the program: Due to incredible brokeness, we go to great lengths to fool ourselves into thinking that we’re embarking on a festive pleasure trip while not actually traveling anywhere. Self- delusion as a budgetary exercise via local tourista escapading. A brave attempt to make lemonade out of surplus lemons infested with a greenish mold and spider mites.
The problem with most folks planning a Staycation, is they focus on all the high points of landmarks- visiting and unfrequented restaurant- frequenting but forget to include all the little moments that truly distinguish memorable holiday excursions. So allow me to help with a couple of handy hints to keep in mind when replicating the ultimate resort experience from the comfort of your own couch.
How to Perfect Your Family’s Fun Filled Staycation.
• Pack luggage like you’re really headed on a trip, then pick a piece to misplace for the duration. Rip off one end of a handle to complete the simulation.
• Duplicate inevitable airport delay by wasting four hours at a 7/ 11.
• Listen to Bjork’s Medulla CD on headphones at high volume as if the airlines sat you next to a screaming infant. Repeat.
• Sit on curb outside your house for 90 minutes because your room isn’t ready yet.
• First night of Staycation, drink way too much upon arrival and pass out on bathroom floor by 10 pm.
• Set alarm for 6 am to receive wake- up call for room next to yours. Knock on door at half hour intervals with cry of: “Housekeeping!”
• Remain in bed most of the first day because of third degree sunburn received after falling asleep at the beach.
• For full tropical experience, dump sand in your bed.
• Watch a pay- per- view movie, then refuse to pay for it, citing lousy reception.
• Ignore neighbors and friends by pretending you are your own long lost twin.
• Eat at a strange restaurant and grunt and point at the menu, unable to speak the native language even if it’s only Floridian.
• Grind broken staples into your carpeting before walking around in bare feet.
• Turn air conditioning off. It’s broken. Call imaginary maintenance man who never comes.
• Food poisoning. 3am. Sound like a match made in heaven? Oh, it is.
• Every two hours, burn sixty dollars.
• And finally, when time to end your Staycation, stuff all the soap and Kleenex and a towel into your bags.
Will Durst is a San Francisco based political comic who writes sometimes. This is one of them.
5.20.09
The Cheney Doctrine
I’m sick of torture. And the fact that we’re one of the countries way up there on the J.D. Powers annual “torture reliability” list makes me unwell as well. As does talking AROUND torture. What this country needs is an up front national referendum on whether we should or shouldn’t be torturing people. Oh wait. That’s right, we did have one. Last November 4th.
These aren’t your normal ordinary everyday forms of torture we’re talking about either: like 12th in line at a understaffed Starbucks or shuffling through life a Golden State Warriors fan or being forced to watch NBC’s prime time lineup against your will, I’m referring to real, state sponsored, “talk or we do something crazy” Jack Bauer on steroids kind of stuff.
The big difference being, Keifer Sutherland’s rascally television torturer gets most of his best results simply by raising his voice. “Are you going to talk?” “Never.” Compelling him to move in real close and yell in the dastardly scoundrel’s face: “ARE YOU GOING TO TALK NOW?” “Okay. Okay. I’ll talk. Just lower your voice. The kids are trying to sleep.”
Now we got Nancy Pelosi and the CIA exchanging torture lying charges. Don’t you hate it when lovers’ spats go public? The Republicans are gleefully sliding into the House Speaker cleats up because she has little of the President’s Teflon coating. To many Americans she’s that great aunt who smiles too much at Thanksgiving and always uses your full name when scolding you for poor quality table manners. “William, only cows chew with their mouths open.”
Even Dick Cheney has gotten into the act with a recent talk show offensive defending his administration’s torture policies. And as far as everybody in the nation who sees his face being mightily offended, he’s been successful. This is not a partisan thing. A National Journal poll of Republican insiders shows 57% of them think he’s hurting the party. So pretty much everybody agrees, Dick Cheney speaking on torture is redundant.
He called the enhanced interrogation techniques used at Gitmo regrettable but necessary. And you got to love that phrase: “enhanced interrogation techniques.” Sounds like instructions on how to turn on the fluorescents at a job interview. He’s not being tortured, he’s being solicited to provide easy answers to exceptionally difficult questions. In bad lighting. And those car battery cables attached to his nipples are “nervous system awareness amplifiers.”
What I don’t get is how anybody can defend waterboarding a single prisoner 183 times. Operationally, wouldn’t you think the effectiveness would start to wear off after about 60 or 70? What genius kept pushing, “I know we’ve gotten nothing the first couple hundred times here, but I got a hunch, this next time- we’re gold.” Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me 183 times, shame on me. As my daddy always said: 183rd time’s the charm.
The best way Dick Cheney can help this country is to creep back to that undisclosed location of his, and maybe take Joe Biden with him. Still haven’t figured out why Cheney is so obsessed with selling the positive merits of torture. Though there is that old axiom about one man’s torture being another man’s S&M turn- on, so maybe that explains more about the Cheney Doctrine than we really need to know. TMI. You want torture? Dick Cheney in fishnets. Try to pry that image out of your mind.
Will Durst is a San Francisco based political comic who writes sometimes. This is one of them.
Check out his Rooftop Comedy minutes at Rooftop Comedy.
5.12.09
First 110 Days
We sort of skipped past President Obama’s first 100 days last week due to the looming horror of the dreaded SWINE FLU EPIDEMIC, which now looks about as lethal as your average bunny rabbit furball contagion. Although people do continue to flip out, like Egypt, which slaughtered nearly Every Pig in the Country. But fear not, Anne Coulter was nowhere near the joint at the time. All I’m saying is don’t expect BLTs to show up on the daily specials menu at your favorite Cairo deli.
So let us belatedly jump into this whole 100 day retrospective dealie thing, which recently became a heavy duty benchmark of real importance, because, hey: TRIPLE DIGITS. The media has dutifully kept us informed upon the significance of this monumental occasion and have not used their indoor voice while doing so. But this space will address the first one hundred and TEN days of the Obama administration, hence OUR look back will be 10% more accurate. 10% more comprehensive. 10% better. By being 10% later.
Exactly how has the fourth Democratic administration since 1968 fared in its first 110 days? Unh. Well. You know. About what you’d expect, I guess. Depends on whom you talk to. Not a lot of agreement. General consensus is: “too early to tell.” Or as my knock- off discounted Magic 8 Ball said when consulted: “Still not cleahr. Outlok cloudy. Try again alter.”
Some experts proclaim the 44th President has done brilliantly under adverse circumstances. Others blame him for everything gone wrong with the planet in the last 3 months including the unusually high, late spring upper Midwest humidity. Unfortunately, that vaunted Bipartisan Outreach Program was about as successful as barbed wire crib rails. As they say in Variety and exceptionally frantic frog restaurants: “no legs.”
Neither is Barack getting what you would call your major assistance from either side of the aisle. “We want to work with the President.” Mmm- hmm. The same way a starving coyote wants to work with a nest of baby ducks. One discouraging word circulating the Beltway accuses the Chief Executive of being arrogant, but you know what, at least he’s smart. Because we tried arrogant and stupid and that didn’t work.
From a comedic stand- point, I’m severely disappointed. The foremost scandal thus far has been couple of Cabinet appointments that didn’t want to pay their taxes. Which most of us can relate to. Problem is, Bush was a satirical motherlode and even Clinton hit the ground running as a corpulent womanizer. But Obama is smoother than liquid black velvet affording little purchase to hook a barb onto. Besides, you can’t mock hope. Too much like kicking a small furry whimpering thing with big eyes. Got to wait for hope to scab over a bit.
Not to mention the economy being more fragile than a spun glass step- ladder, so pretty much everyone not named Rush Limbaugh is rooting for him to succeed. But with pirates and pandemics and Pakistan all set on High Menace, the job ahead looks tougher than untying a centipede’s shoe laces while wearing oven mitts. Which is bad for the nation, the world, the planet and the solar system, but good fodder for us political comics. Of course, at this point, we members of the CCJU (Comics, Clowns & Jesters Union,) just might be wiling to take one for the team.
Will Durst is a San Francisco based political comic who writes sometimes. This is one of them.
Check out his Rooftop Comedy minutes at Rooftop Comedy.
5.20.09
The Cheney Doctrine
I’m sick of torture. And the fact that we’re one of the countries way up there on the J.D. Powers annual “torture reliability” list makes me unwell as well. As does talking AROUND torture. What this country needs is an up front national referendum on whether we should or shouldn’t be torturing people. Oh wait. That’s right, we did have one. Last November 4th.
These aren’t your normal ordinary everyday forms of torture we’re talking about either: like 12th in line at a understaffed Starbucks or shuffling through life a Golden State Warriors fan or being forced to watch NBC’s prime time lineup against your will, I’m referring to real, state sponsored, “talk or we do something crazy” Jack Bauer on steroids kind of stuff.
The big difference being, Keifer Sutherland’s rascally television torturer gets most of his best results simply by raising his voice. “Are you going to talk?” “Never.” Compelling him to move in real close and yell in the dastardly scoundrel’s face: “ARE YOU GOING TO TALK NOW?” “Okay. Okay. I’ll talk. Just lower your voice. The kids are trying to sleep.”
Now we got Nancy Pelosi and the CIA exchanging torture lying charges. Don’t you hate it when lovers’ spats go public? The Republicans are gleefully sliding into the House Speaker cleats up because she has little of the President’s Teflon coating. To many Americans she’s that great aunt who smiles too much at Thanksgiving and always uses your full name when scolding you for poor quality table manners. “William, only cows chew with their mouths open.”
Even Dick Cheney has gotten into the act with a recent talk show offensive defending his administration’s torture policies. And as far as everybody in the nation who sees his face being mightily offended, he’s been successful. This is not a partisan thing. A National Journal poll of Republican insiders shows 57% of them think he’s hurting the party. So pretty much everybody agrees, Dick Cheney speaking on torture is redundant.
He called the enhanced interrogation techniques used at Gitmo regrettable but necessary. And you got to love that phrase: “enhanced interrogation techniques.” Sounds like instructions on how to turn on the fluorescents at a job interview. He’s not being tortured, he’s being solicited to provide easy answers to exceptionally difficult questions. In bad lighting. And those car battery cables attached to his nipples are “nervous system awareness amplifiers.”
What I don’t get is how anybody can defend waterboarding a single prisoner 183 times. Operationally, wouldn’t you think the effectiveness would start to wear off after about 60 or 70? What genius kept pushing, “I know we’ve gotten nothing the first couple hundred times here, but I got a hunch, this next time- we’re gold.” Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me 183 times, shame on me. As my daddy always said: 183rd time’s the charm.
The best way Dick Cheney can help this country is to creep back to that undisclosed location of his, and maybe take Joe Biden with him. Still haven’t figured out why Cheney is so obsessed with selling the positive merits of torture. Though there is that old axiom about one man’s torture being another man’s S&M turn- on, so maybe that explains more about the Cheney Doctrine than we really need to know. TMI. You want torture? Dick Cheney in fishnets. Try to pry that image out of your mind.
Will Durst is a San Francisco based political comic who writes sometimes. This is one of them.
Check out his Rooftop Comedy minutes at Rooftop Comedy minutes at Rooftop Comedy.
5.2.09