February 2nd, 2007


...fa ya

As everyone knows, one of my most favoritest things in the whole wide world is being made an unwilling part of other people's racism. Hello, white privelege! Pull up a chair, let's have a yak. Anyway, a few days ago, I was tooling aimlessly around Santone, and I noticed I was "low on the petrol", as the lads say down at the chip shop on St. Swivin's Day. So I pulled into a station, gassed up the Chickwagon, and decided to go in and buy a sody pop. While in there, I noticed that they had, for no particular reason, a huge rack full of brand-new hip-hop tees of fine quality. After inquiring after their price and finding it reasonable, I picked one out -- the one, as it happens, that I am wearing right now which I think you'll agree gives this story an extra-spicy frisson -- and took it up to the counter along with my sody pop*.

Behind the counter was a young feller, perhaps in his mid-20s, who appeared to be of Arab or perhaps East Indian origin. "Ah!" thought I to myself. "One of my people, or near as dammit! Surely this will be an auspicious transaction, and not at all rife with awkward silences!" He rang up my sody pop, and, in preparation to ring up my snazzy hip-hop tee, inspected its color (light blue, with a multicolored front logo) and design.

"I like this shirt," he said, allowing me about five seconds of feeling all cool before he delivered the nuclear follow-up: "It's black, but not TOO black."

*: A Dr. Pepper, but not a Dublin Dr. Pepper. As potent a combination as is featured in that product's retro packaging and real-sugar crisp sweetness, seven bucks for a six-pack of 8-ounce bottles is pretty absurd.

I'm helping!

Let me be honest with you: I know you do not read this journal to hear about the things I do at gas stations. No, you read this journal to hear my prescient, sparkling political insights, and at no time is this more in demand than in the months leading up to a presidential election. And with Nancy Pelosi already making history as the first female speaker of the house, and Hillary Clinton trying to do the same as the first female presidential candidate of a major party, many of you have asked me: "Can a person without a penis be an effective leader?"

The answer to this question, briefly, is "no". At greater length, the answer is "absolutely not". Women, while a major part of our economy and much better than men at things like cleaning the house, raising the children, shopping, and letting their emotions get in the way of things, suffer from an inability to keep more than five things in their heads at one time (especially if those heads are covered in blonde hair). Those things are:

1. Having babies
2. Shoes
3. Menstruation
4. Talking to us while we're trying to get some work done
5. I dunno, soap operas? Jell-O recipes? Something

As a result, they cannot possibly be expected to understand things like throw ratios, the alternative minimum tax, the location of Canada on a map, the infield fly rule, or any of the other extremely complex ideas of which one must have a complete understanding before becoming president. This is not a bad thing: this is just as God made them, when he created us a helpmeet out of our extra rib, and it only becomes bad when mankind attempts to thwart God's plan by letting women kill their babies or play sports.

Additionally, the possession of a penis is what gives men their mighty strength. (It is a little-known fact that in the Bible, "Samson's hair" is actually a metaphor for "Samson's dingus", just as "Satan" is a metaphor for "Soviet Russia "Islamofascism".) All of the great warriors throughout history have had penises, both their own and those of other people, and without one, it is impossible to make war against your enemies, the most important skill a leader can possess. Who would follow a woman into battle, knowing the only thing between her legs is a baby-slide? Only the French, and look what happened to them. What are we to do on the day the King of Mohammedstan challenges our president to a fistfight, and then finds out it's a sissy girl? The day we elect a woman president is the day before we all start speaking Muslim.

It is sometimes argued that America is backwards, because other nations have elected female leaders. In fact, the opposite is true! We are frontwards, for having the good sense not to do so. Most of the countries that have elected female leaders are run-down third world garbage piles with nothing to lose; they elect women to positions of leadership in much the same way one might elect Carrie prom queen, or make a German Shepherd president pro tem of the Senate. As for the oft-cited case of Margaret Thatcher, let us be perfectly honest. I've seen Monty Python. I know a man in drag when I see one. Clearly, Margaret Thatcher, a woman with the good sense to help poor people help themselves and show Argentina who's boss, was a transvestite. Why this quirk was tolerated by the British is as incomprehensible to me as why they court Stalinism by allowing their citizens universal health care, but at least they did not do something so autohomicidal as elect a woman Prime Minister.

None of this is to say that women have no place in the political process. They should be allowed to vote for the correct candidate; they form a strong voice against the evils of abortion and out-of-control coloreds; and they are especially useful (especially if their heads are covered in blonde hair) at helping relieve penis-equipped leaders of the unbearable pressure of guiding the nation safely through a dangerous world when you have an aging, no-longer-optimally-attractive wife. But the role of President must always, for the good of the country, go to the non-vaginal.

Also to the non-darkly-pigmented, but that's a topic for another day.
stella stella can't you hear me yella

Whorin' and morin'

No Ludic Log again today, though I expect to catch up over the weekend, since it's gonna be mizzable outside and I finally (FINALLY) finished the two huge freelancing projects who have been treating me like their own personal Gerry Cooney for the last month. There are a couple of new posts up at Clown Central Station you might enjoy, including a remarkably stupid Powerline Blog item.

Meanwhile, I've been thinking of designing a new line of GI Joes -- the old, fully articulated kind with real hair and cloth and metal accessories, not the little plastic '80s ones -- based on more modern archetypes. For example:

Comes with oversized pants, fuzzy blue kangol, Strokes t-shirt and black video iPod. Pseudo-military pre-distressed shoulderback contains latest issues of Revolver, Maxim and the Urban Outfitters catalog as well as a nearly-expired MetroCard. Realistic BlueTooth action. Turns in a different direction and starts talking about Li'l' Jon when it hears the words "trust fund".

The shortest member of the team, both in height and in hair. No weapons, but sleeveless Ani DiFranco t-shirt reveals wash-off tattoo of double-headed battleaxe. Three pair of shoes: combat boots, Docs with Wite-Out separatist slogans, and Birks. Twitches uncontrollably when forced to team up with G.I. Joe. Comes with bass guitar and three assault Sharpies. Legs have lesbionic jumping action.

Outsize belt buckle is made of Kevlar, and Stetson has totally non-gay photo of Alan Jackson tucked into the inside of the brim. Drives G.I. Joe Action Assault Pickup with six back wheels and gas-tank-fed flamethrower. Press panel on his back to hear lengthy, profanity-laced condemnation of Title IX. Comes with little metal spittoon; bottom lip lights up in the dark.

Now you try!