Wednesday, September 16, 2009

You are not a vampire

Nope. Sorry, you're just not. I don't care what it says on your Facebook or your MySpace or your Twitter, because you're just not a vampire. Actually, even if vampires existed (which they don't, consequently making me so certain that you are not one), I'd gather that you probably wouldn't really want to be one anyway. Oh really? I don't understand the pain inside you and you really really do want to be a vampire? You sure about that?

Here's the thing about vampires: it doesn't matter what some fat, unpopular, Mormon chick dreamed up as her perfect scenario to escape her fat, unpopular, Mormon life (and then sold by the millions to other fat, unpopular girls of varied but equally retarded belief systems) because none of it is true. The whole sparkle-skinned, able to fly, don't melt into blistering sores out in daylight bullshit--it's all just that: bullshit. What makes me such an expert on vampires, you ask? Did I take some kind of upper level college course on them or something?

Actually, I did.

Yes, at the University of Pittsburgh there is a course called "Vampires: Blood and Empire," and my A in that class I believe makes me about as much of an expert as anybody can be about something that doesn't fucking exist. So let me educate your asses. Being a vampire sucks. If you've read any vampire-related literature, or seen any vampire-related movies pre-dating Stephanie Meyer's Twilight, you'll know just how shitty being a vampire is. You are forever stuck in your body, for the rest of time itself and then probably beyond that, watching the people around, your friends, your family, all get old and weak and die. Plus, half the time you can't even hang out with them because you can't help but want to eat the shit out of them. Either that, or your ass is being chased all around town for murdering people. Chances are, you're not going to be falling in love with every dipshit high school bitch you stumble upon for a thousand years; you're probably going to be pretty surly.

That's the whole intriguing part about vampires. They're not soulless beasts like mummies or werewolves, they've got far more complex issues. They are trapped in a netherworld, despite their normal appearance, and they can never interact with the rest of humanity in the same way again, no matter how much they want to. Watch the brilliant Francis Ford Coppola film, Bram Stoker's Dracula, or The Hunger (with David Bowie!) and see how fucking painful it is to be a vampire. The torment you are put through at every turn. But you're already tormented, right? Mom and dad didn't let you go to that My Chemical Romance show, so you drew on your arms in sharpie, and then they got even more pissed, so now you're grounded. Man. If you were a vampire, you'd show them.

No, you wouldn't. You'd start to feel pretty terrible about that decision to become a vampire when you realized you'd watch your entire family die around you and be cursed to a solitary existence for all eternity. Not to mention you don't have a reflection, you can't eat Italian food anymore (garlic!), you have to sleep in a coffin with dirt from your homeland... oh yeah, and you can't go outside in the daylight ever again. You hear that Stephanie Meyer? YOU CAN'T GO OUTSIDE IN DAYLIGHT!

But she wrote it, she gets to decide! Nope. Not true. There is a pretty long-standing set of rules about vampires that have been in existence long before Miss Meyer decided to wipe her fat ass across three hundred pages and call it a bestseller. Some of them bend, and others come and go with the fashion of the times, but a standard was set way in advance of the travesty that is Twilight being put to print. Being a vampire isn't about cute boys and floating around through the trees and eternal love blah blah shut the fuck up. It's about pain and suffering and isolation and drinking blood.

You're not a vampire. I don't care if you're on MySpace with your little stupid fangs, or on some forum talking to other "vampires" or on some fucked up dating site trying to meet, date and marry your perfect blood-sucking match. You're just not one. And to prove it, I'll make you a deal. For the next few months, I have decided to let four pints of blood every two weeks. The entire operation will be overseen by medical professionals and my blood will be safely and hygienically stored in a cool, dry place. If you really think you're a vampire and want to make me eat my words, you can choose between two courses of action:

Option 1: You can purchase some of this blood to drink in four pint containers. You must document this via video from start to finish, send it to me, and I will post it to YouTube when legitimacy is verified, as well as hosting it here on the Hypermagic Headphase.

Option 2: You can actually come to see me in Lancaster, Pennsylvania and drink my blood right in front of me. You won't have to pay a nickel. In fact, if you're into it, I will slit my wrist right then and there, and you can suck the very life force from my veins. Not that you'd need me to do that--you can just puncture my neck with your fangs and do it that way.

FURTHERMORE, in the course of either of these events, you may not throw up, cry, or even cringe. YOU MUST APPEAR TO ENJOY EVERY SECOND OF IT. If you're really a vampire, this shouldn't be a problem. But don't think I'm being mean here! I'm just trying to help you achieve your dream! Or "be yourself," if that's what you're calling it, along with thirty million other screaming seventh grade girls and bored housewives in loveless marriages. I'll tell you what: if you choose Option 2 and come visit me, I'll even throw in two night's stay in historic and beautiful Lancaster County. I'm no slouch! I'm sure I can knock together a nice tight pine box coffin in a day or two. You should be plenty comfy in there, right?

Wrong. You're not a vampire.

Monday, September 14, 2009

The beast of apathy

So I've been writing for Daily Kos lately, and today marked my third article. In fact, if you've been reading this blog lately, you've been reading my Daily Kos articles. At least the political ones here--the MySpace rant didn't make the cut. I want it to become a regular thing, because Curtis thinks that if I can garner a following there, maybe someday someone might want to pay me to write for them. It's a pipe dream, but one that I can cling to. Plus, I love ranting about politics, so it's a win-win. And today, my article made it beyond my 7 and 9 comment response-rate of the last two... to 146 and counting! In fact, it made it onto the Recommended Diaries listing on the Daily Kos homepage! I was so happy that I had to take a screenshot to remember it by!

See it down there on the right? You're gonna have to click on it, because I know that little thumbnail is pretty small. But isn't that awesome?? Well, except for the whole subject matter of what I was writing. That's about as shitty and depressing as it gets. So without further ado, the most horrible thing you will read all day (available also at dailykos.com, if you want to get into the comment discussions and such):

Here in Pennsylvania, it seems that we have finally seen the wretched beast of our twisted priorities rear up and show its hideous face. And scrawled across its forehead, carved in ragged, bloody letters are these words:

"We deeply regret to inform you that without the necessary budgetary legislation by the State Legislature in Harrisburg, the City of Philadelphia will not have the funds to operate our neighborhood branch libraries, regional libraries, or the Parkway Central Library after October 2, 2009."

Patrons of the Free Library of Philadelphia, your city has cried wolf for the last time. The Pennsylvania state government has been threatening to cut back library funding to the point of closing for a decade or more, slowly inching the budget back further and further each year on each of the state's libraries, and now, just less than a month from today, the deed will be done. You didn't think it was possible; how could you? For them to shut down libraries? It was just a scare tactic, a scapegoat for "budget concerns" that they liked to kick around to make sure you knew they were talkin' business. And yet, now all that stands between the closing of the FLP in a month (and inevitably, tens if not hundreds more libraries around the state in the many months to come) is the State Legislature and their willingness to pass a funding legislation. They've got two weeks.

Good luck getting money piped down through the works in the current political climate. It's fucking monsoon season right now. With all the fear of our money going to such horrible socialist ideas as keeping each other healthy and safe and alive, do libraries really stand a chance? If we can't even come to a common ground on the worth of the lives of other human beings, what the fuck do we need books for? Reading is for liberals and pussies! Not to mention after-school programs, daycare and senior centers, computer courses and GED and ESL classes! ESL!! If you can't SPEAK American, then you can't READ it either, so what are you doin' in our libraries anyway? Am I right??

Reading down through the list of canceled programs that the closing of the FLP really brings to light how much libraries do for a community, and seeing the city of Philadelphia be forced to close down its twenty-four branches makes my heart break and my blood boil. My brother works as a cameraman for the Pennsylvania Cable Network, and has covered these budget hearings in Harrisburg and said they are the most depressing things he has ever seen. There is no debating at them; the two sides stand up, give their piece, don't listen to a word the other side is proposing, and sits back down. The budget is already months overdue and may well continue to sit until the end of this year. But by then, it won't matter what happens. The Free Library of Philadelphia will have closed and be remembered as nothing more than a footnote to the debate, a sad but necessary casualty to the cost of cutting back and scaling down.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Why I just don't mind seeing newspapers go out of business in the slightest

Most people think it's the internet's fault that newspapers are slowly going the way of the dinosaurs. It's online news sites and bloggers who can break stories faster than the rickety old presses can print, and they do so without the inherent bias of a giant company with vested interests in their investors who need to be placated with every article. Plus, web news is free, while you're forced to pay for a subscription or an inflated newsstand price to get your daily paper--and it's still half full of advertisements. And most of the rest of that space you skip anyway because you're only interested in politics, or in sports, or in local news.

So the newspaper industry is on its last legs, that much is certain. But record players still exist in this day of MP3s, and books are still being written even though we can see every single bestseller at our local cinema. They might be scaled back, but these industries haven't sounded their death rattles just yet. Because there is inherent worth in them. There are people doing some amazing work, and therefore, the public can never let them die.

Now, I'm not saying that there is no one worth reading in your local and national newspapers, but dear god is it a depressing state of affairs when you crack open those finger-blackening pages. This week just took it to the next level for me, when I happened upon two amazing pieces out of Southern California. The first one was blasted all over the internet, and is being claimed by some websites as "The Worst Newspaper Article of All Time." It's pretty hard to disagree.

It's from the Orange County Register, written by a right-wing sportswriter named Mark Whicker. I could go into depth about just how horrible it is, not just in writing, but simply in idea. Or how blatantly racist the guy is. I could mention that it's about the last eighteen years in sports--written expressly to, and making light of, Jaycee Dugard, the girl who was recently found eighteen years after having been kidnapped at the age of eleven, raped and forced to bear the child in a tent in her kidnapper/rapist's backyard! I could mention those things, but I'd rather you just read it yourself. Don't miss the punchy closing, where Whicker's witticism really hits a homer: "Congratulations, Jaycee. You left the yard."

I thought it couldn't be topped, as I read more internet news all day. And then I came upon another right-wing wack-job, one Andrew Malcolm, and his political blog on the Los Angeles Times website. It's nowhere near as incredibly tactless as Whicker's, but for all it lacks in unabashed insensitivity, it makes up for in sheer stupidity. At least Whicker's article had a point. A completely horrible one, but a point all the same. Malcolm's rant on the city of Pittsburgh, the sport of hockey and that goddamn foreigner "President" Obama just didn't really have much of a direction. It sounded more like a snot-nosed diary entry than an article for one of the biggest newspapers in the United States. Someone in a Malkin jersey must have cut him off on the 5 and he just couldn't get over it by the time his editor made him turn something in.

If this is really the state of the newspaper industry today, may it all go directly to hell, do not pass go, do not collect any more of my money. It's not just about the piss-poor writing, though I'll admit that's most of it; I mean, seriously, here I am, a writer myself who wishes his writing could be read by the millions that stumble over these two bozos' idiotic pap every week--and I don't even get paid for it! This isn't just the fault of two idiot paleoconservative hack "political" writers; it's the fault of their editors, their byline authors, and their newspapers at large. The simple fact that this kind of shit can make it into print at all is indicative of the standards to which our papers have fallen. This isn't even Pat Buchanan making his retarded, but at least well-written, weekly rants to the Washington Post. This is just... bad. It's horrible. It's a 9th-grader's attempt at humor on his Xanga blog. And there's a reason no one uses that site anymore.

In closing, I thought I should share just one more thing: my response to Malcolm, which apparently the LA Times didn't approve, because it hasn't showed up on the site a full ten hours later. And by "LA Times", I apparently mean Malcolm himself, because if you click through the comments that have been left, you'll notice little annotations beneath the better part of them... see them down there in the parentheses? Yeah, those are little notes that Malcolm actually added to people's posts, just to try to fit in more fun little jabs. He's the one modding his comments? Wonderful. This is who we are paying with our subscription money. I can't figure out why he didn't do the same to my post, or even let it show up at all. Guess it hit a little too close to home.

But I digress, as always. Now, my response. And to all my readers, have a happy somber 9/11!

Man, between you and Mark Whicker, this has really been a watershed week for Southern California newspaper columnists. But as deeply disturbed as I was at his complete lack of tact, I at least saw the ill-fated point of his article. You however... what exactly was it that you were even trying to say here? This couldn't really just be a rant about the city of Pittsburgh. I mean, you're a professional journalist, for one of the biggest newspapers in the United States. They don't print diary entries there, do they?

It's about hockey, right? You've just got sand in your shorts about the Kings, I guess. Hey man, we're Pirates fans, we know how it is to be on the losing team. Or is this about football? Are you still worked up about losing your Rams and your Raiders? It's been fifteen years, you know. Probably time to move on. Maybe it's just President Obama getting you all riled up. I'm sure just hearing that name gets your knickers all in a twist. Sounds kinda foreign, doesn't it? Man, you sure don't like that; especially not with that pesky "President" out there in front. So that's what it's got to be, right? A little bit of hate, maybe a touch of jealousy, a sprinkle of racism thrown in their for good measure. Because it can't just be about how much you think Pittsburgh sucks. There's no way your editor let this kind of thing slip through.

Seriously now, Mr. Malcolm. To pick this thing apart would be a field day for any legitimate journalist. The least you could have done when you decided to turn in a snot-nosed diary entry to your editor this week was take a minute for some fact-checking. You've already been called out on the history of Pittsburgh and the whole inviting national championship professional sports teams to the White House thing, so it's pointless to retread. But as a Californian, I'm sure you know that the "guns and religion" quip, which is always taken spectacularly out of context, was spoken at a fundraiser in San Francisco. But then again, I'm sure you don't pay much attention to the northern part of your state. Too many hippies and gays for your liking, eh?

Regardless of your politics, I'm ashamed. Not just as a Pittsburgher, or a sports fan in general, but as an aspiring political writer myself. To think that you've got a job and millions of subscribers while I write for free and reach only those who go looking for it; it just about makes me sick to the stomach, sir. This is absolutely some of the worst writing I've read since... well, since this morning when Mr. Whicker's ridiculous article was blasted all over the internet. I can only hope that the both of you find your desks empty come Monday. The newspaper business is already sounding its swan song, and they're probably looking to cut some fat in your office anyway.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Vote Zerbe in 2024!

More than once, people have told me I should run for public office. It's not something I get off on, thinking I'm so clever or smart and knowing everything there is about politics and how to fix them all right up--plainly I do not, and could not. However, it does make me think about it, about starting off as a city councilman maybe, and moving my way up to something that could, perhaps someday, make some drastic, sweeping changes to the way we do things in these United States. It's a dream of mine like it is anyone else in America: that someday someone will give a shit about what you have to say, and better yet, have to listen to you.

My aunt says it every once in a while. "I wish you'd run for president," she caws, with an exasperated sigh. And I do too, and I totally appreciate her support, but I just can't bring myself to tell her how much she wouldn't like me as her president. It's pointless anyway, because I don't have a political science or law degree (and no intention of getting either), and am not at all interested in compromising my belief system for a couple extra votes. Plus I'm loud and opinionated and I swear too much. I don't, however, have any secret dealings with huge corporations or shoot people in the face, but I guess at this point that kind of stuff really doesn't get painted in that horrible a light.

But my aunt probably wouldn't like me as president. You probably wouldn't either. I don't know what I'd do with taxes, but you might see a hike, but hey, there's a lot of stuff we all need to be paying for. Especially if you, dear reader, make way more than you should. Yes, that's a subjective statement, but I'll be damned if I won't try to quantify it during my term as your supreme leader. Are you a Pittsburgh city bus driver making $80,000 a year? Sure, your job is a sucky one that no one really wants, but you, my darlings, make too much. Especially for how surly you can't help but being. Or are you a cosmetic plastic surgeon making more than a surgeon that actually fixes people's hearts and brains? Consider yourself taxed to the utmost extent of my executive power. Maybe you make a million dollars on the backs of working stiffs that you pay eight bucks an hour and then force to buy your products because they can't afford anything else? Do you quake at the frightening words that get spoken every few years when our economy isn't trying to climb its ragged ass out of the muck: "LIVING WAGE"? Well, you might as well start packing your bags, because you ain't gonna like my new economic policy one bit.

"But Jeremy! That's SOCIALISM!" you are shouting by now, face aglow with righteous indignation at what you think I'm trying to do to our wonderful and flawless nation. You're damn right is. This Neo-McCarthyism we've got going on in our country right now is alternately the silliest and most frightening obsession we've had since... well, McCarthyism. And I certainly do side with socialist policies over capitalist ones. Break down the words once:

 - Capitalism ... capital ... profit
 - Socialism ... society ... people

Ask yourself which you truly care about more. If you have the massive steel-plated balls to really answer "Profit," then congrats! You just won a Senate seat in Texas. They're just giving them away to people like you. Karl Marx (ahhh! oh no!) said that eventually all successful civilizations go through a series of political governance. They begin with feudalism, where the rich ("bourgeoisie") that in effect "civilized" the given civilization by creating industry exert full power over the peons below them ("proletariat"), allowing them a minimal amount of freedom for their constant work and respect. Eventually, however, the proletariat grows in exponential numbers and frustration and they revolt, turning the tide on the few but powerful rich.

After stabilization, this creates socialism--where the rich are forced to concede a degree of power and money so that society can have the things that it finds necessary: health, safety, and happiness. Through this, the gap between the two disparate levels of society is eventually bridged: everyone receives the same amount of care and respect, and therefore is brought to a level social and economic plane. This is called communism. It is the focus of his famous pamphlet, The Communist Manifesto, that this is the ideal place to be as a society, and for good reason. However, every time a civilization starts to get close to it, another feudalist uprising inevitably takes place because someone sees a way that they can increase their own power and prestige by exploiting the equality apparent in their society.

I'm told it's a product of human nature. But then why do I (and the people I surround myself with) care so little for money? I know I need it to eat and put shoes on my feet, and I won't lie about being prepared to eat McDonalds and wear Skechers for the rest of my life because, yes, I definitely do like nice things. But that's a menial sin in the Great Face of Money compared to the things that someone like Dick Cheney has managed to do at the cost of, virtually, the better part of the world's economy as it has ultimately turned out. Money is a means to an end for me--not the end itself. My grandparents have more money than they could count in a lifetime, but you wouldn't know it to meet or even talk to them. And they haven't experienced anything that all that money could afford them: they've never been to the barren wilds of Alaska, or the quaint village in southern Germany where our family came from hundreds of years ago. They haven't improved anyone's lives vastly with endowments of scholarships or research money for medical institutions. Hell, they didn't even give me a dime for college, though they could have paid for it a hundred times over, as well as a decent portion of my graduating class, I'd guess. They just saved, and by saving, saved more. When they die, we'll get a big ol' heap of cash, but it won't mean anything. It will just be numbers passed through the system, and it will have meant nothing to them at all and will mean nothing to me, except perhaps the end of my student loans.

Fittingly, of course, my grandfather hates one of the most beloved and respected presidents of all time: Franklin Delano Roosevelt. He can't say enough bad things about Roosevelt and the welfare state that he created. Even if my aunt somehow comes to love me as president, my grandfather most assuredly could never. The kinds of restructuring of our social caste system I would try to make a reality would make FDR look like Pol Pot. I just can't understand what good money is if it just sits, ultimately someday being taxed to the gills for inheritance when it eventually gets passed down. Wouldn't it be a better idea to just... give it out? If the Bible is to teach us anything (and despite my better judgement, I'm told it is), it's that the shit we have here just don't count when you get up to the big afterparty in the sky. And my grandparents are religious folk. Lots of people around where I live are. Very religious. But they get hung up on the social "issues" of the Bible, and not the economic ones. Jesus Christ wasn't a socialist as some say--he was a damn communist. All the way. He even kinda looked like Jewish Che Guevara (unless you're a Mennonite--then he kinda looked like Hulk Hogan). Minus the beret, of course. However, if they'd had berets in Jesus' day, I'd put my money on him rockin' one for sure.

That will be the worst part of my presidency for those who think I'd be so wonderful, layin' the smackdown on the corporate fat cats and their militarized boy scout clubs that seem to run the world. Because the second pillar of my administration would be to just finally live and let live in the social spectrum. We've got a whole lot of rules about things we don't need rules about in the United States. Somehow, we've been convinced that we have the right--nay, the duty--to snoop around in the everyman's personal life, while we are happy to let corporations and banking institutions go completely (and I mean, completely--listen to Alan Greenspan if you don't believe me) unchecked while they reach into our pockets and pluck our wallets right out in front of our eyes. And all of this under the guise of patriotism.

Here's my administration's basic rule of thumb: "If it affects us, it's kinda our business. If it don't, have at it." By us, of course, I mean the nation at large. So if, say, you own a business and you're using bailout money to pay off huge bonuses to your high rollers instead of giving a break to your laid-off workers, or cutting away some profits to keep people in their jobs--that affects us. However, you wanna smoke a J? Light up; the "War on Drugs" is ridiculous and un-winnable anyway (whatever "winning" it would entail). You wanna marry your best friend, even though you're of the same gender? Who gives a rat's ass? Go for it. "But that's damaging to the fabric of our society, Mr. President!" you say, incredulous. Maybe to your society, not to mine. I have gay friends, and they have never once tried to "convert" me or rape me or whatever the hell you are so afraid they're going to do. The only guy who I've ever had try to kiss me was straight as James Dean (and absolutely as cute), just a little bit drunk.

Seriously, don't worry, because I won't be affecting your lives in any adverse manner anyway. You see, I have to admit, I do have one holdover from the Scaaaaary Socialism you've heard so much about while you were painting Hitler moustaches on the face of our current president: internment camps. That's right, bucko. You and all your Baptist buddies who can't stand to see freedom flaunted so flagrantly in your faces all get to move--completely free of charge--to a massive compound for others just like you, which I will be building out of the Midwest. Not in it--the entire region. We frankly don't need it, and half of you already live there anyway. Then you can yell and scream about the End Times all you want, and the rest of us will finally be able to live our lives without getting your 2000 year old fairy tale smacked over our heads at every turn.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not proposing to create a state of complete lawlessness here. I just happen to take Marx's theory that I expounded earlier one step further than he explicitly does: after achieving the level of cooperative understanding and mutual respect that he calls "communism," we no longer will need established governance at all, finally reaching the apex of a civilization's potential. Call it "social libertarianism" or "anarchism" or even "utopia" if you're feeling generous, it all means the same thing: a society whose people have learned to treat each other as true equals, not in constant competition for power and prestige. If we truly can come to respect each other without hem or haw, we can govern ourselves completely.

Think of a family. Yours perhaps, so long as you weren't raised in a Bible-brandishing dictatorship like you probably were. So think of another family, where each member does their darndest to fit to their given role and make things run as smoothly as possible. I'm not talking about reinforcing gender roles, I'm talking about responsibility and respect. There aren't any "laws" in your house. If you steal your sister's lip gloss, you get yelled at by her and maybe by your parents, but you don't get locked in the basement for ten years. The rules that exist in a typical household are nothing more than standard social mores, intact to keep the living situation civil. You take out the trash or else it piles up and stinks. You wash the dishes because you need clean ones to cook with. You clean up your room because you don't want animals/plants/fungi living in it. Sure, kids are bad at this because they have no responsibility, and often, little respect. But as they grow into caring human beings, these things are no longer needed to be asked of them. They get done because it makes sense to do them. You borrow and trade and share.

So imagine it on a grand scale. Or try to, because you can't. I already know that. You think it's impossible, that humans can't help but be selfish and greedy. You're probably right, but I for one would like to imagine otherwise. If I can control my basest desires, so can you. It might take a little work and a bit of guidance, but that's why we can't just get on the Ron Paul boat and skip right to libertarianism. We aren't ready for that yet, and if it came to be, it would be exploited even worse than communism has been in the past. I mean, when you read those different Marxist steps to society, which one sounds closest to what we have? Did it start with an F? That's what I thought. Now could you imagine that getting even less regulated than it already is? We'd have three companies that own everything, and they'd be run by the people who are already the most powerful in the nation: Rupert Murdoch, Dick Cheney and Sam Walton's pack of maladjusted hellspawn. Does that sound like a stable kind of nation? When they start overtly (instead of covertly) dictating what goes on in our country?

We need socialism. As scary as it sounds, it's just a word. Talk about the tenants of socialist philosophy with any normal, hard-working American and they'll probably be on board right until you spring the trap and show 'em what's behind door number three. We're so scared of words in our society that it is truly appalling. They hold no meaning but what we give to them. Try this: start saying "fliggut" around your workplace or school when you're angry or frustrated. Really loud, just let out a resounding "Fliggut!" when your computer freezes up or you get stuck with overtime. It'll only take weeks, maybe even days for someone to approach you about it. But guess what! I JUST MADE THAT WORD UP! It doesn't mean a thing. It's all about perception and what we need to perceive is ideas, not catchphrases and buzzwords. We need socialism as a national ideal to move onward and upward from the mire that we are currently stuck in. We need to ignore what people are saying and pay attention to what they are thinking. What they are doing. And what it means to all of us.

I'd love to lead this revolution, but I just don't have the chops. I can't be President. The best I can hope for is a shorter, angrier Keith Olbermann--but that I'll gladly take. If Rush Limbaugh can be the voice of the Republican Party (and he really, sadly is), then perhaps I can be the voice of some party all my own. I just don't think the Democrats will like me much either, not with all the "Blue Dogs" hanging out in the aisles. But that's a completely different set of brands to be pokin' in my fire and I'm sore already.

The lucky thing for you is that if you're still with me (and at that I'll be impressed, because this blog is loooOOoooOOooong), you've got something you can do. You like what I've said and want to find out more about more of my policies and stances? Check out my brand new website. Since I'm not 35 yet, I've got this guy running in my stead, warming up the seat for me. When the next primaries roll around, get yourself registered and vote for him. It's the only chance we've got to come out of this in slightly less of a mess than we already are. Then in ten years, I'll see you on the flip-side. And I'll buy everyone ice cream.