Category: Drawing The Right Wing With A Left Wing Brush

An evolution denier and a proboscis monkey

I sometimes think people look very much like monkeys, but I do not want to insult the family of the great ape by saying it out loud in a zoo.  

I do believe that some monkeys could easily fall in love with some conservatives. 

In their denial of evolution conservatives hoot, howl, and scratch their smelly bits, like various new world and old world monkeys.

I find this wonderful.

Apes who escaped the cage of  studying themselves because they did not develop language, are caged for us to enjoy.

Evolution deniers escape the cage of  studying themselves by saying God does it for them everyday.  

They are waiting for a great study  on the human race to end when God kills us all.

This makes monkeys wonder what went wrong with evolution.  

 

 

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Patheticism In Conservative Politics

 

There is deep sadness in the young ultra conservative who works out in the Congressional Gym,   trying for that muscular lack of human fitness that qualifies as true Patheticism.

To be pathetic and yet define what a woman should be allowed to do with her body gives the Patheticism of the super conservative male a false sense of manhood.  

Its like the old story about the weakling on the beach who gets sand kicked in his face. 

They are too intellectually weak to get buff with true science, or a God that is the free range birth and death of a universe.

They live near the bling of pubic mound politics about abortion, birth control and family planning.

The patheticist  never has enough false patriotism.

The patheticist declares war from the weakest part of his ego.

The Patheticist hates science, because denial is the high ground of ignorance. 

Denial is a bird rack in the sea of the mind, where Guano is collected.

The young patheticist is a sadly constipated bird at sea. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Empty Suits

Empty suits hang on the party line and flap in the wind.

People cheered the newly washed Neoconservative leaders.

Having hollow suits running for high office was wonderful for the shapeless money standing behind the suits. 

 The money that paid for the starch in the party platform was nearly  invisible. 

Smart money can beam itself from bank to bank. Pocket to pocket.

Smart money has a good tailor.

A little dog was barking up Mittle Me’s pant leg

He tried Pullet Hawks pants as well.  

He found they smelled empty. 

Empty smelled worse than anything else.  

He knew what a man was by his smell.

The Republican party has lost its sense of smell, but a dog knows.

A dog knows when the political pants are running on empty.

 

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Neoconservative Head Press

You should be able to have the shape of the head you feel you need to succeed.

If you admire a television pundit who shouts This is the ‘NO SPINE ZONE’ who has a real tall head, and a resonant voice, get your self some Genuine Tea Party Head Boards.

After a hot shower when your head is soft, strap them on and tighten the cords.

Each time you shower, do this, and after a while you can have a head like other leaders of the Tea Party movement, or Possum News Network pundits.

If you get a real tall head,  gravity will cause the brain to settle in the bottom of the brain pan.

This will leave a hollow space near the top, and you will have a much more distinguished voice.

You can say almost anything, and it will be empty of real content and yet beautiful in tone.  

There will be some problems with the change of air pressure on planes.

Should you begin to believe in science you will have room for your brain to expand.

If shot in the head by another gun toting conservative your chance of survival goes up by 30%. If shot by a liberal, they aim low.

Do not cheat yourself out of the look you so richly deserve.  Get the genuine Neoconservative Head Press.

 

 

 

 

 

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The Death Of A Puppet

 You repair your own strings.

You  move when you need to play on the stage of family, job, friends.  

Your show is the small theater of daily life. 

You know that you pull your own strings some of the time.

You can pull your strings with love or hate.

Others can pull your strings as well.  

Disasters can cut lots of strings at one time.

It can produce a dying sound.

Puppets do not like carry permits for scissors.

The phrase scissors don’t kill people puppets do, rings hollow when a puppet kills his or her entire family.

How many scissors are sold out of the back of cars at flea markets to crazy puppets.

We try to live in a nation that believes in keeping the strings alive in family, job, and country as long as possible.

We do not want to put our fellow puppets in an Urn.   

A policy can be as dangerous as scissors in the hands of a mad puppeteer.    

                                

 

 

 

 

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The Vice President’s Toothbrush

The young neoconservative in the nest is not always a raptor. 

Often he is a chicken with a scary toothbrush.  

He lays eggs that never hatch, passes no bills that make any sense in Congress.  But he has a special toothbrush with a rubber beak for massaging his gums.

 It has stiff bristles for getting that smile clean for a photo op.

He often looks mad or sad, and the smile is practiced, like drawing a gun in front of a mirror.

He has a toothbrush to scrape the remains of bullshit off of his tongue.

He knows that no matter how loudly he crows,  he is a chicken pretending to be a raptor.

He wants to run something down and kill it,  even if its a program or policy that helps people die with dignity.

He comes out each day with a quick draw smile.

 

 

 

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What Is A Shithead?

Is it an organic sculpture in a mobile form?

Is it natural?

Is it an acquired practice?

Is it nature or nurture or manure? 

Is it accidental, that stinky ideas make their way to the national breakfast bowl by generative gas?

Is using racism as a way to get people to vote against others  a bit like fracking for gas next to a pristine river of DNA? 

Is there a river of national fairness that is like a pristine river of clean mountain water?

One has to stink up by degrees the environment of poltical discourse or the idea of clean water so much that its ok to be a Shithead?

In fact, being a Shithead is patriotic.

There should be a law against wrapping the flag around a shitty idea for profit.  

There should be a law about fracking that makes the company CEO drink from every well.

Kings had poison testers. Towns should make the kings of gas and oil be the posion testers. Not their women and babies and children, and farmboys and cows and wildlife.

Your T shirt smells bad with that racist slogan on it.

Your water smells bad with that ancient shit in it.

If you look like a felon who excaped from reason and saved madness as a chunky bit of honored excrement-

If you want to go back to the past as a thin runny discharge of Libertarian ichor;  if you want to poison others for profit-

Own it.

 

 

 

 

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Cold Nose of Pullet Hawk Scares Mittle Me

He knew Pullet Hawk was ambitious  chicken in the Tea Party Youth Movement.  

He thought Pullet wore a face that would charm all of the Anglo Saxon elderly while leaving  the ‘others’ in the backwaters of political failure.

In a flood of extreme conservatism, the weak have to drown.

Its an ethical position tested since the Dark Ages.

Who says the Dark Ages were really dark anyway?

One should have the right to be destroyed by Wall Street CEO’s who fix the books and hide their earnings. Its the American Way.

He thought Possum News Network lies would take care of the ideas a young Pullet had left squirming on the bleeding skin of the American Dream.

The first time they touched noses,  Mittle Me was filled with a chill a penguin would feel if its child turned out to be a shill for Leopard Seals.

Mittle Me was terrified, and he knew that nose was one step away from the White House if he was elected.

A dog’s cold nose was natural, but a man’s cold nose was pathological.  He would not be able to put Pullet Hawk on top of the car. He would ride behind him in the White House.

He knew Pullet was not frostbitten by natural means.

Mittle was willing to turn America into a sheep farm. Tended by a blood clot of lawyers, tax accountants and an intestinal blockage in the Supreme Court.

Suddenly he knew the Vice President was an ice road leading to a frozen grave.  

 

 

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Trying to mop up the Tea Party floor with a Vice President’s head.

Mittle Me knew that Southern conservatives found him to be a Milch Cracker.

He knew he could never be a real Cracker or a real Southern country boy, no matter how many times he rode in a ‘Norquistrian Anti Tax Rodeo.’

Dressage seemed like Bronco Riding In Spats and Waistcoat.

He did not understand that country people, who knew how to do things with their hands, knew his soft hands got dirty only by firing others who had callouses on their hands. 

He was the big ranch owner who could sell their jobs overseas. 

Chinese Cowboys would be spitting tea leaves instead of tobacco.  It was so confusing.

Milch Crackers apparently do not have to list the ingredients of their tax records on the party box. 

Real Crackers have to count those cows, and KNOW how many cows they have, and disclose that number when the buyer shows up at the cattle pens.

Country boys knew a Chinese farmer might not like a Milch Communist Noodle, any more than they liked a Milch Cracker Capitalist.

They knew he played the race card to see if he could make them feel taller by standing on some other poor boys neck.

The blame some other skin game could work for a while, but the more he cried Obama, the more it seemed he cried Wolf.

After Osama had been killed, Obama seemed more like a Wolf than a Milch Cracker seemed like a real country boy.

He had to get that Tea Party Floor politically mopped, so he stuck Pullet Hawk’s head on a stick and dropped it into the bucket of cheap hope. 

Hope for cowboys ever owning their own spreads in a Corporate feed lot landscape?

Milch Cracker swabbed the deck with someone else’s face.

Maybe if they did not like a Milch Cracker for president, mopping the floor with a young rooster would make them feel more like they were at a Cock Fight.

Having a rooster on a political stick, and slamming him onto the Southern political floor to draw a little blood in front of smart Southern women needing a good job, did seem to disrespect their women.

Once should not expect a Rich Milch Cracker to understand ordinary work, but disrespecting Southern women by wanting them to to carry a rapist’s baby just seemed like real bad mop water.

 

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A Guidance System Failure in a Political Nose.

He had a good political nose.

He had always been good at a soft landing in the clevage of a Neo Consevative idea.

He felt confident he could land his beak in the valley of American motherhood.  

Unless they were in a teachers union, a service industry union or any sort of union.

Unless they wanted control over their reproductive rights.

Unless they did not want to be forced to have unprotected sex.

He found those women a bit too strong a landing field for his beak.

He often flew straight into them like a North Korean space shot. 

His nose did not have a very sophisticated guidence system.

It did have a self distruct button.

Women who had been beaked on the peaks of their own self esteem by Pullet Hawk were just starting to feel that he might crash into a real neighborhood of jobs, family, and the working mom, and explode 50 years of hard fought progess.

They liked to be thought of as full citizens first, and landing sites only by consent.

They did not mind being full figured, but they liked to be respected for being able to figure as well as a man.

Even moms who stayed at home with the babies could add up coupons better than he could add up his budget.

Pullet Hawk had smelled his own ambition too long to be able to smell anything equal in a woman.

 

 

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