Not from Nantucket

Priebus, McConnell, and Ryan
Said; "We really ought to be cryin'
Because Donald Trump's
Made us all look like chumps
But if we said we were sad we'd be lyin' "
   Christopher Mahon

He got a Bruzing

  Tonight, Ted (The Immigrant) Cruz dropped out of the race, effectively giving Donald Fucking Trump the nomination. John (Low Expectations) Kasich is still doing something, but since nobody knows what the hell it is, let's leave him as alone as his party has done.
  Even though he dropped out, what Cruz said can't be called a concession speech, since he not only failed to mention the winning candidate, he failed to even mention his own party. Cruz is looking down his own road-to-power. He was gracious enough to say that Carly (Planned Parenthood is cooking and eating babies) Fiorina was the world's best running mate. And, quite possibly, the shortest-acting running mate on record, at barely eight days. But we'll have to consult with the Guinness people about that record. (Or, at least, consult their wonderfully frothy product.)
  As a side note. Donald Fucking Trump mentioned, during his victory speech, that his parents were "looking down" on him. For the record- they're not alone.

  For the Democrats, tonight gave Bernie a very nice victory that will help him run all the way to the convention. Also for the record: Neither Democratic candidate is giving me much to work with here, satirically speaking.

Warm Fuzzies

  Today, Ted (The Immigrant) Cruz chose Carly (Planned Parenthood is cooking and eating babies) Fiorina, to be his running mate. Cruz is proving that his admiration and imitation of the Gipper knows no bounds. Ronald Reagan was the last candidate to pick a potential V.P. before the election, and Cruz is channeling that energy. Of course, Reagan made that particular move in 1976, when he lost the nomination to sitting president, Gerald Ford. (Who then lost to Jimmy Carter.)
  Which brings us back to Carly.
  Fiorina has run for elected office exactly twice. And lost exactly two times. This is precisely the kind of experience that Cruz is going to need. And let's not forget: between them they've won an entire election; not to even mention the amazing quantity of warmth and compassion these incredible human beings generate.
  Are you feeling the love?

Sophie Had it Easy

  After making the amusing observation that choosing between Trump and Cruz was like having to choose between getting shot or poisoned, Lindsey Graham chose poison as he endorsed Ted Cruz.
 

Go, Marco, Go

  Tonight, after failing to even come close to winning his home state, Marco Rubio left the race.
  It is important to remember that Rubio will be able to run again and again, after he grows up.

Double the Pleasure, Double the fun

  Ben (Should have kept the day job) Carson decided to cinch his position as "The guy who should have kept his day job" by endorsing Donald Fucking Trump. During his announcement, Carson stated that there were, indeed, two Trumps, a sentiment that was then seconded by one of the Trumps (I don't know which.)
  I am of the opinion that there absolutely must be two of them.
  It is impossible to pack that much shit into one human being.

In other news: Happy Pi Day!

Some Summing Up

  Although some small things have happened in the GOP primaries since the beginning (yes, I'm referring to their candidates); some events have recently overtaken me, as I've increasingly taken to drink to wash the sour taste out of my mouth that I've gotten from watching the damned primaries.

  First off (or out.) Ben (Should have kept the day job) Carson has quit the race. I don't really have an exact idea of when, but he faded to the point of invisibility, and finally called it. Buh-Bye.

  Carly (Planned Parenthood is cooking and eating babies) Fiorina has recently endorsed Ted (The Immigrant) Cruz for president. The potential synergy between these two amazingly warm and fuzzy people promises to change politics forever. (I feel like hugging someone.)

  In other news: It seems like the two Democratic candidates still insist on debating actual issues. And, unless they can, somehow, get past this unnervingly mature behavior, I'm not going to be able, in good conscience, to mock them.

Pumping Irony (Presidential Edition)

  This is, of course, a leap year; which brings us not only an extra day in the cheerful month of February; but also the Olympics, the presidential campaign and, for keen observers, a Mitt Romney sighting. Romney, who likes to think of himself as a statesman, has no desire to do the actual work of statesmanship, which would keep him much too busy during the off-years. Instead, he trots himself out during the presidential race, to inject his views on how badly everyone else is doing things.       
  Today, he went after Donald Fucking Trump.
  Romney, correctly, noted that Trump was the son of a rich man, had things to hide in his tax returns, and that Trump's bankruptcies hurt many small businesses in this country. Romney also saw fit to mention that Trump was a liar and unfit for the office of President of the United States.
  To sum up: Son of a rich man
                     Problems with tax disclosure
                     Questionable business dealings
                     Liar
                     Unfit to be president
  I think that fits. Oh yeah, it applies to Trump as well.

Quantum Baby-sitting (An Open Letter to the Physics Community)

  Although I am not myself a scientist, other people are. And many of those scientists have written books, which I've read. That is to say, I've read the easier ones-- well, some of them; the ones that weren't too thick and intimidating. All right-- I've skimmed some dust jackets and I have access to Wikipedia. So I know a thing or two about science. (Perhaps as many as five or six things, but I don't like to brag.) Over the course of the last few years I have made certain observations and noticed peculiar correlations which have led me to discoveries that will knock the world of science on its ass. (Or asses. It really depends on how many scientists read this.)
  I am Uncle to.... I was about to give the number of nieces and nephews, but blogalistic integrity compels me to mention that my siblings and I disagree on what that number actually is. Due to the geocentric nature of my home in relation to my family (poor planning on my part), I am the victim, or as my family likes to call it, "host" of many family gatherings. Based on the decibel levels and seismic measurements meticulously recorded at these events, my kid-count is one or two orders of magnitude greater than theirs. Compared to the kind of scientific accuracy that I have achieved, my siblings' claims that "We were there during the delivery" and "We know how many children we're raising" seem rather weak. But let us not pick at that scab today, we have bigger fish to fry.
  I am Uncle to... many.
  The relationship between uncle and child is an important one, but given short shrift in our culture today. Nevertheless, the responsibility of uncling is one which I have taken quite seriously. I have given these... many... children the full benefit of my great wisdom and experience in ways that parents and other authority figures simply cannot. Indeed, ask any one of my nieces and nephews who taught them that matches and gasoline are outside toys, or who always made them share the razor blades and poison. Indeed, ask them who it was who gave them the magnificent opportunity to use their wits and bravery to find their own way home from neighboring towns. To a one, they will point at me with a shaking finger and say in a quavering voice: "He did." (I am almost as proud of their honesty as I am of their survival skills.)
   My various siblings all married within three years of each other and, as if all of those ceremonies and receptions weren't enough, began their begatting at a prodigious rate, seemingly without coordination of any kind. (Poor planning on their part.) Interestingly enough, once having produced these larval hominids, the parents felt an immediate need to foist the helpless little homunculi off on the nearest adult relation. (Why didn't I move into a cave when I had the chance?) The tiny primates are simply handed off with vague excuses such as: 'going shopping', 'running errands' or, 'If we don't get some sleep we'll go insane.' This practice of outsourcing parental duties is known as 'baby-sitting', although, in my experience, no sitting actually occurs. This is especially true once the miniature mammals reach the stage that is blithely, and misleadingly, referred to as 'toddlerhood'.  And it is this shocking and disturbing stage of human existence which occasions this letter.
  Horses, antelope, zebras and such, can all walk, and even run, within hours of birth. Not so with humans. The human baby doesn't walk for over a year, during which time it gathers its strength, observes its surroundings, and concocts its plans for total household domination.
  The word toddler conjures up a vast array of images of domestic bliss. One pictures the little munchkins walking awkwardly around, holding lollipops and sippy-cups and talking about eating 'pisghetti'. Awwww. Nothing, however, could be further from the truth. Their short, little legs carry those pint-sized Tasmanian Devils with the speed and destructive energy of your average tornado. And in the midst of diaper changes, hazmat-suit purchases, feedings, and television shows featuring improbably cheerful sauropods, I noticed a remarkable thing. Those messy little dynamos were actually acting out the laws of  physics and quantum mechanics.
  Below is a basic primer of Quantum Baby-sitting followed by my paradigm-altering discoveries.

My position as Uncle to the toddler swarm is known as special relativity. Strangely, this relationship went unnoticed until Einstein's famous paper of 1905. (Perhaps, prior to this, most people used nannies.)

The fact that the juice can not un-spill, the red dyes in it will not un-stain the priceless Persian
carpet* and that the commemorative martini glass from Harry's Bar in Venice can never un-shatter into a billion pieces is derived from the laws of thermodynamics and is known as entropy.

The attempts, by the Uncle, to prevent the aforementioned catastrophes, is relative motion, also discovered by Einstein. (Did he already have kids at that time?)
(In a related phenomenon, the inability of the Uncle to grab the prized martini glass in time is described by the Fitzgerald-Lorentz Contraction, whereby the length of the arms actually shortens in direct proportion to their forward motion.)

The slow motion of the glass, as it falls, is, of course, due to the effects of time dilation.
 
  Everything above is certainly textbook physics. That is, I think it is. (Have you ever priced those textbooks? They're also really thick and scary) Perhaps any students out there can check their own volumes and get back to me.
   What follows are my kick-ass discoveries.

  While the Laws of Thermodynamics have their uses (See entropy, above, as the reason for my ruined home), the laws fall short in several areas. First is the claim that energy can neither be created nor destroyed, followed by the highly dubious proposition that perpetual motion is impossible. And, there is an even bigger boo-boo in the laws of physics that must be toppled.
  Just as my hero, Albert Einstein, used thought experiments to help him work out and explain his theories, I, too, shall use one now.

  Imagine, first, a group of toddlers. Next, picture a man (the Uncle) attending to them. Now, add ice cream and birthday cake. Over the course of the next few hours, you will see energy created (theirs); energy destroyed (mine); and a quite convincing demonstration of perpetual motion. The most astounding discovery is this: That within mere minutes of consuming dessert-- all of the pint-sized life-forms are capable of exceeding the speed of light!
  Due to the inability of my smart-phone's stop-watch app to measure billionths of seconds, I have no concrete proof, and I know that there will be doubters. To them I will say only this: If you believe that I am wrong, you come over and baby-sit the little darlings at the next party, and observe for yourselves. Please. Really. Please, pleeeaze watch them for me.

* Synthetic dyes were first developed in Imperial Germany in the late 19th century. I won't say that the industrialization of those dyes had anything to do with the Kaiser's plans for world domination (see World War One), but a country busy scrubbing stains from the upholstery is much less likely to notice a pending invasion.











  

 
 

Rub My Belly

Chris ("I worked the cones") Christie seemed uncomfortable as Trump's lap-dog as he stood in back of Trump during his Super Tuesday victory speech. Whether the calls for Christie to resign by a group of Jersey papers, his tanking favorability numbers (worse than turnpike traffic), or the fact that he is now supporting a man he once claimed was unfit to be president, is suddenly getting through his thick skull, Christie did not look amused Tuesday night. Who could have guessed that standing behind Donald Trump would be as onerous as kneeling behind him?

The Road Not Taken

  As a political satirist of some renown, (I must have at least some, don't you think?) I aspire, as do most of my colleagues, to the heights; the rarified air wherein exist the like of Voltaire and Jonathan Swift, Mark Twain and George Orwell. But that's a fucking lot of work. I tend to accept less lofty results, which give me much more time to sleep late. I've found, though, that I am not alone on my chosen path.
  Marco (Gunga Din) Rubio has shown us he thinks that his path to the presidency is as an insult-comic. He went after Trump for his Ooompa-Loopa spray tan, and his small hands. He neglected Trump's comb-all-over, and his surprisingly small mouth.  Yeah-- for all the noise he makes, Trump actually has a tiny little mouth. In fact, whenever he's emphasizing a point, his upper lip contorts into a shape usually associated with the parrotfish or your average parakeet. It actually looks beak-like.
  I may be stealing the thunder from Rubio's next set, but if you're going to go there, then just GO THERE. Donald Fucking Trump not only lives the low road, he built a lot of it.

Ass Kissing Ass

  Looking for a good reason to stay out of New Jersey, where he's as popular as holiday traffic on the turnpike, Chris ("I worked the cones") Christie has endorsed Donald Fucking Trump for president. He was right behind Trump on stage tonight,  just as he was behind Trump when he was running against him. The only difference is that now Christie is a lot closer to Trump's behind.

  On the subject of 'What took you so long', Lindsey Graham said today, that his party is "Bat-shit crazy".

Dynasty Schmynasty

  Jeb (My last name is) Bush has left the race. As most of you know, this Bush replaced Jeb (I'm my own man) Bush earlier this month as he called in every member of his family to help his dying campaign.
  Anyone who is still wondering about the legacy of the last Bush president just isn't paying attention.

Clearing the Room

Chris ("I worked the cones") Christie did indeed rethink his campaign. He thought he'd had enough and dropped out. He may sit down, but I have no real hope that he will ever shut up.

Also gone is also-ran Carly (Planned Parenthood is cooking and eating babies) Fiorina. As the only Republican woman running, Fiorina provided a patina of warmth and hominess that will be sorely missed.

Jim (I don't know enough about him to give him a nick-name) Gilmore has also dropped out. After experiencing the exponential increase of votes from Iowa to New Hampshire (from 12 to 133), Gilmore left before we could see if this was a trend. If he were to continue to increase his votes exponentially, my calculations show that he would have had 1.3 billion votes by the seventh primary. Too bad we'll never know.

These Just Out....

  Rand (Son of Ron) Paul dropped out of the race for president today. Once considered a real contender....
 
  Rick (santorum) Santorum also dropped out of the race today, although he vowed to spread his...uh... magic over Marco Rubio. I am sure the Florida Senator relishes the endorsement.

  In a related incident, Ted Cruz called the Donald's whining after his loss in Iowa a "Trumper-tantrum". This type of cheap shot barely even qualifies as sophomoric. I resent the competition.

Wish I was Making This Up

  Sarah Palin endorsed Donald Fucking Trump tonight.
  During the course of the ramble, she mentioned the 'squirmishing' among the various factions in the middle east.
 
Note: I want to thank Lawrence O'Donnell of MSNBC, both for playing the clip of Palin and confirming that I had indeed heard her say 'squirmish'. I imagine there's some sqirmishing going on in the GOP right now.

I Am Not Shitting You

Today, the British parliment debated whether to ban Donald Fucking Trump from entering the country.

Not So Super

  "I have, like, this incredible vocabulary."
                                 Donald Trump, December 21, 2015
   "Fershur. Totally."
                          Your Blogger, just now

Update (A continuing tradition of rhetorical eloquence):
    "Her statement changed bigly."
                                 Donald Trump, March 29, 2016

  It is, rightly, said, that there can be too much of even a good thing. It must also be said that there are, of course, a few things of which there never can be too much. Off the top of my head that includes: beer, redheads and chocolate. Although not necessarily in that order. But definitely in combination.... Yes.... Definitely in combination.
  I digress. But, yeah, in combination....
  Right, where was I? Oh yeah, too much of a good thing.
  In oratory, as in writing, the impact of a superlative is directly inverse to its frequency of use. The more often a word is used the more commonplace and insipid it becomes.
  Which brings us back to Trump.
  Traditionally, there have existed two kinds of political speakers; the man of few words, and the great orator. For a man of few words, whatever he says, due to the laws of supply and demand, seems to have more substance. A great orator, on the other hand, can speak often, and at great length, if, like Winston Churchill, he can draw his thoughts and phrases from a deep well. Trump is neither of these. He speaks often, and at great length, but his supply comes from, at best, a stagnant puddle. He is a man of few words, repeated endlessly.
 
Herewith; a Trump lexicon:

Great, nasty, terrific, horrible, amazing, disaster, powerful, important, awful, tremendous, disgusting, incredible, terrible, and, of course, yuge.

  Throw a handful of random nouns and verbs in with the above, stir well, and you have a pretty typical Trump paragraph. It might even make an interesting drinking game. With beer... and redheads.... Well, once again, I digress.
  We must still see how the primaries shake everything out. But, as I said once before: schadenfreude.