Open Tummler 09/13/16

On Sunday The Mad Bomber gifted Fristian Phrenologists all and everywhere with Christmas in September, when she woozily wobbled at some 9/11 shindig, and then collapsed, bodily, into a van. Like any sick animal, she sought refuge in a place she associates with safety and comfort—in this case, her daughter's apartment. From which she emerged some 90 minutes later, smiling brightly, petting a small child, and pronouncing it "a beautiful day in New York." Then, she went on her way.

But this would not be the end of it. Oh no. Because, in these days, all and everything, and always, it is filmed. My bowel movement, yesterday morning, for instance, it was filmed by two separate cameras: one, fixed to a small drone passing by the bathroom window; two, an in-the-bowl "Colon Cam," apparently now standard equipment with such plumbing fixtures, connected directly to the federal Department of Howdy Doody, so that the health of the colons, of all the people, it may be monitored, and in real time, and for the Good, of All the Nation.

And so, of the Bomber's wamble and fall, there was Footage. And this Footage, it went out unto the tubes. And the tubes, lo, and yea, verily, they, and immediately, became unsane. Great crashing waves of ecstatic orgasms, they pulsated through the Fristians, as they rhythmically ejaculated, great streams of Theories. She'd stroked out, The Mad Bomber. Her battery-pack, it ran down. She'd ODed, and on jimson weed. Anus exodus_moses_charlton_heston_red_sea.jpgJones, he was on the case: Parkinson's. The Express weighed in: advanced vascular dementia, and she will be dead, in six months.

The Bomber people then rolled out, as would-be Moses, to attempt to part this red sea of Fristing, the Bomber's personal sawbones, who said she'd diagnosed the Bomber with pneumonia on Friday—and, it was this pneumonia, that had caused the Bomber, to must needs be wheelbarrowed on out, from the 9/11 bacchanalia.

But the Fristians, they were not buying the pneumonia—they would not buy anything, even if the Bomber were to undergo a complete physical, live and on the television: the Fristians, they would say it was fake, like the moon landing. Meanwhile, the Normal people, in the press and elsewhere, they were wondering why the sam-hey the Bomber, she didn't just announce the pneumonia on Friday, rather than sitting on the news, until after she'd had a bad jimson-weed reaction, in front of all and everybody. "I didn't think it was a big deal," the Bomber said of the pneumonia, while aides mumbled anonymously about "privacy." But the Bomber, of all people, she should know that, for those wanting to be the president, there is no privacy, and everything is always a big deal, about each and every body part, which belong, to all the people, at all times, and not to the presidents, or the president-tryers: her husband, after all, was the man whose penis was intensively dissected by the people, and for eighteen straight months, until utimately it was actually impeached. With the very semen, of the Clenis, entered, as Evidence. On its way. To permanent, stained, display. At the Smithsonian.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u0Bx4oY4mt0]

The Hairball, on September 11 itself, he had been prevented, by his oberfuhrers, and by main force (they muzzled him and strapped him to one of those restraining boards, like Hannibal Lecter), from emitting or twitting anything whatsoever.

But on Monday, he flapped out, like some orangey dawn bat, to screech that he has recently endured some sort of medical encounter, and "when the numbers come in"—"and they will be very, very beautiful numbers, the best"—he will publicly reveal them on a previously booked quack-show hosted by something called "Dr. Oz." He also expressed pity for the Bomber, whom he described as the human equivalent of an old worn-out horse; good, now, only for the glue-pot.

The Bomber's running mate, Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, he got too deeply into the whiskey jar, and suddenly bumbled out on stage to babble on like the Bomber had already been taken away on the Final Stretcher, and he, Stay Puft, was now the Democrat's president-tryer: "I'll tell you a little bit about me," he slurred. "In campaigns, I have run eight races, and I have won eight races. I'm undefeated. And can I just tell ya, I'm not gonna lose this one. I am not gonna lose this one."

Stay Puft, he was yanked off, with one of those big stage-hooks—and then the Bomber's people, they rushed out to Stay-puft-marshmallow-man_0.jpgannounce that she, and very soon, will be throwing out way more medical info, than The Hairball's mere "numbers."

By day's end, both candidates had vowed to, commencing immediately, and for the remainder of the campaign, hook themselves up to multiple invasive Machines, that will Measure and Broadcast, in real time, and 24/7, all of their medical vitals, through all of the tubes, and to all of the people.

Then, they topped even that, by agreeing, just around midnight, that the presidency, it will be decided, here in 2016, by a marathon. In which all of the president-tryers, they will run, until all but one of them, drops dead.

They will be like that nitwit Pheidippides. Who ran like twelve bastards from Marathon to Athens, to announce to the people that the Athenian serial killers, they had prevailed over the Persian serial killers, in some numbnuts battle. After running flat-out for 26 miles, Pheidippides, he arrived in Athens, with the news. "Rejoice! We conquer!" he gasped. And then he dropped dead. Some 2506 years ago. Yesterday.

The presidents, they have never really been well. Two-thirds of them have died before reaching life expectancy. Half of them, or more, suffered from some mental disorder serious enough that they should have been taking Medicine, if not been placed in a Home.

And all of the people, who have tried to become the president, and then actually did become the president, they have regretted it.

They never tell you. About that one.

For instance: in June of 1923, President Warren G. Harding, he was in a ship off the coast of Alaska, when it, lightly, collided with another ship. All persons aboard the president's vessel, they were ordered to go up on deck, in case the thing started to sink. And everybody did so. Except Harding.

One of Harding's aides, he went down to fetch him.

Harding was lying on his bed, his face hidden in his hands. Without uncovering his face, the president asked what had happened, and the aide told him there had been a slight collision. Even though everyone had been ordered on deck, it A_NIGHT_TO_REMEMBER_DISC01-11.jpgwas not serious. Harding lay there, motionless. "I hope the boat sinks," he said softly, his face still hidden.

Two months later, Harding was dead. In a hotel room in San Francisco. He had pneumonia. His gastrointestinal system was fucked up; so was his heart. Then, his brain blew out. He was 57.

Harding was succeeded by his vice president, Calvin Coolidge, who, at first, very much liked, being the president.

Previously in the politics, Coolidge had been an active, energetic fellow. And so he was now, when he took over for Harding, a-moldering there in the grave. An associate recalled that, there in the White House, Coolidge "would almost tiptoe around, touching things, and half-smiling to himself. As if he were a small boy whose daydreams of being a king had suddenly been made real by the stroke of a magic wand."

So, with Harding's term expiring, Coolidge, he decided, to run, for another. He was pretty full of himself, Coolidge. The chief White House usher at the time, he said that Coolidge displayed more "egotism, self-consciousness or whatever you call it" than any of the nine presidents the man had previously served.

Then, early in the campaign of 1924, Coolidge's son, and namesake, Calvin Jr., sixteen years old, was playing tennis, on the south grounds of the White House. Calvin Jr., he was wearing sneakers, but no socks. After, he developed a blister, on a toe. And the toe, it became infected. He contracted blood poisoning. The doctors pronounced the boy's condition serious.

For Coolidge, it was now no longer fun, being the president. He was thoroughly distracted, "going about as if in a dream." Journalist William Allen White recalled that Coolidge "moved a dozen times a day back and forth from his desk to the boy's sickbed. One day, remembering little Calvin's love of animals, he coaxed and caught a small brown grace-coolidge-calvin-jr..jpgrabbit among the plants in the White House garden, picked it up gently and came trotting through the White House to the sick room. In return, across the pained young face, came a smile." The rabbit went back to the garden when the boy was moved to Walter Reed Hospital. Where, shortly thereafter, he died.

That was in July. In November, Coolidge was elected to be the president, for another four years. But Coolidge never really served the term. Instead, he slept. Twelve hours each night. With a nap or two during the day. It might be said he delegated his responsibilities, but he didn't really do even that. He mostly told his cabinet people to do what they thought best, and he had the same message for Congress. He was haunted by his boy's death. "When I look out that window," he said to an aide, "I always see my boy playing tennis on that court out there." Being what these days is frequently referenced as "the most powerful man in the world," that meant nothing to Coolidge, because, even in it, he had not been able to save his son. "In his suffering," Coolidge wrote in his autobiography, "he was asking me to make him well. I could not." He said the same to White: "When he was suffering, he begged me to help him. I could not."

"I do not know why such a price was enacted for occupying the White House," Coolidge reflected. He would rather have not been the president. With his son, alive.

Coolidge, he was in grief. And he received no Medicine. For grief relief. So, for four years, the Americans, they, basically, had, no president.

These are among the grim tales that are related in The Mortal Presidency: Illness and Anguish In The White House, one of the books that keeps leaping off the Interstellar bookshelf.

When the Bomber was Sunday undergoing her jimson-weed crisis, I picked this book up off the floor, and leafed through it. And there was reminded of such unsettling factoids as Ronald "Where's The Brain Of Me?" Reagan evincing as much lululand denial about his own health, as about everything else in the whole friggin' universe: though they drug big lumps of cancer from out his colon, Reagan insisted that "I didn't have cancer. I had something inside of me that had cancer in it, and it was removed."

And that George I, when he launched the famous heave-ho into the Japanese Prime Minister's lap, he had already been hurling all over Japan, but felt he needed to IH0FDKR.pngstagger into that dinner to "prove himself strong," or some such would-be he-man balderdash.

And that this televised barf-in-the-lap incident, combined with this 66-year-old old-man's heart going totally wild while he was out jogging one day, helped to elect The Clenis . . . as people became concerned that "Poppy," he might suddenly drop dead, and Poppy's running mate, Dan Quayle, was then considered, by only 19% of the electorate, to be even a minimally, sentient, human, sorta, creature.

The core of Gilbert's book consists of detailed examinations of the health histories of Coolidge, Franklin Roosevelt, Dwight Eisenhower, John Kennedy, and Reagan. You come out of the thing in awe that any human being, can long live, much less a human being, who is also the president.

Eisenhower, for instance, was a fucked-out old wreck, with one foot deep in the boneyard, before he ever declared for the presidency.

Which is basically the problem facing the Americans today: both The Hairball, and The Mad Bomber, they are so old, that they are supposed to be dead. They are both past 65, that age designated by the federal government as retirement age. No government is ever about freely giving money to people—unless they are serial killers—and so it is actuarially presumed that, by 65, at least half of the Americans, they shall be dead.

These people—The Hairball, The Mad Bomber, among the lucky ones, the Survivors—they are supposed to be counting their blessings, if they are still mentally and physically competent enough to actually count, contenting themselves with shuffling around playing horseshoes, or bocce ball, while gumming lines from TS Eliot:

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

But no. Instead, they are out there. All day. Every day. Melting our minds. Trying to be the president. And, both of them, sick as itchy skinny rickets-ridden old heartwormed coon-dogs. They have to be. They're old.

The Hairball, without a doubt, he is one KFC bucket away, from a mammoth aorta blow, right there on live television. The Bomber, jeebus knows, what's wrong with her: according to the Fristian Phrenologists of the National Enquirer, true pioneers, in the Fristian arts, she is "suffering from strokes, brain cancer, depression, alcoholism, multiple sclerosis, endometriosis, and paranoia, among other dire conditions." Not to mention that she chows down, like some fuckin' animal, on jimson weed, and then goes, barking, into some 9/11 hullabaloo.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NNl7VrYoygo]

If the Americans are going to insist on considering for the presidency people so old they should be dead, the Americans, they are going to have, to learn, to accept, some fraility.

I mean: look at The Kenyan. He was elevated to the presidency while still in his 40s; and, today, at 55, he is the freaking living picture, of Dorian Gray. He is, like, in his presidency, what happens in the true-life documentary film The Omega Man, where, when the virus strikes, your hair, almost overnight, omega-180x170.jpggoes all totally white, and shit.

We know, from an earlier Sesame, why people age so, when once in the White House.

Because, as revealed by Robert Coover, in his true-life non-fiction tome The Public Burning, Uncle Sam, long believed to be but a mere symbol of the United States, is, in truth, a real, super-corporeal, semi-divine being. Who dashes to and fro, at home and abroad, getting about the country's business. And who, meanwhile, from time to time, "incarnates" in the body and mind, of whomsoever happens to be the president. And this "incarnation," it is accomplished, always, through anal rape. An act which does not occur, but, once, to each president. But which must be repeated, over and over again, whenever an important decision is to be made, or speech given, or the like. And so long as that particular "vessel," of the incarnated Uncle Sam, occupies the office, of the presidency.

And. Such a thing. It can wear. On a person.

I had intended, in this piece, to review, in some detail, the blood-curdling medical history of Dwight Eisenhower, while in the Oval Office—he stroked out, had a heart attack, and also had a gastrointestinal operation to remove a huge impacted celery chunk from his gut: apparently there did not occur a lot of chewing, in the Eisenhower mouth—but that is not going to happen, because I am running up against the JtC deadline for timely filing these OTs, and the cat, he will just not, get off, the book.

This animal, he has declared dedicated cat-war, against all img_0568.jpgprinted material: the magazines, these he now simply shreds; and, if I am lying there, reading any book, for any extended period of time, he begins scraping at it with his claws. And, if I lay a book down, here, to reference it, as I am typing into these tubes, he simply lays on it, and gazes at me, with The Eyes, which let me know, that it is Against All Laws, to attempt to move him.

Which. Of course. It is.

He is, clearly, trying to reduce—or elevate—me, to pre-literate man. Which is, maybe, probably, not a bad idea. But it is certainly, not consistent. With the Mission Statement. Of these Tummlers.

So, I'll sneak in here, an ending, brought in from a tube, rather than a book; a tube, upon which, this animal, is not, at least currently, lying.

And that is. The Science Men. They think. Now. That all the humans. They are speaking. The same. Language.

Humans across the globe may be actually speaking the same language after scientists found that the sounds used to make the words of common objects and ideas are strikingly similar.

Research which looked into several thousand languages showed that for basic concepts, such as body parts, family relationships or aspects of the natural world, there are common sounds—as if concepts that are important to the human experience somehow trigger universal verbalisations.

"These sound symbolic patterns show up again and again across the world, independent of the geographical dispersal of humans and independent of language lineage," said Dr Morten Christiansen.

"There does seem to be something about the human condition that leads to these patterns. We don't know what it is. But we know it's there."

This. Makes. Me. So. Happy.

Because. We really are. All. One.

Meanwhile. Back. On the lowest. Of all the low. Levels.

The politics.

The Hairball. I think. He should eat some purple berries. The Mad Bomber. Too.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QySJPJ8Igmc]

/

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G3XWd0IDVBw]

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Pluto's Republic's picture

…while observing horrifically bad decisions being made — I called for Presidential brain scans with monotonous regularity over the years. This was met with unwavering indifference, at best. My fellow travelers saw this as an extreme invasion of the President's privacy. It was unAmerican. It was a Fascist idea, and possibly Nazi. It was definitely unconstitutional to demand the President submit to comprehensive brain imaging.

But cognitive ethics being what they are in the USA, USA, USA, Presidential brain scans are just what the doctor ordered, this week. Or what she should order. Along with the toilet cam.

And, ironically, I have lost all interest in brain scans. Indeed, the People have the definitive smoking guns and the utterly deplorable human disaster that resulted from the war crimes that the SOS committed. The People have every reason to fear the very worst and to engineer, with their strategic votes, a direct defeat of this sociopath and her Neoliberal Party — for the greater good of the entire nation and the world.

Yet they dither for months on end with Hail Mary Passes that are politically impossible, if not embarrassing to pursue: Classified emails, over-priced speeches, collusion with their own kind, election fraud, and possible seizures. Essay after essay of hoped-for intervention, rolling off these pages day after day.

This is the USA. Those things don't matter, they never mattered. They are distractions that will not relieve the politically aware of their obligation to block these monstrous globalist grifters and their coterie of blood-thirsty Neocons from the White House. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity to topple both Parties at the same time — which happens to be ticking away.

On another note, I believe you forgot to vilify Putin in your consistently fascination Open Thread, today. So, I fixed it for you.

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____________________

The political system is what it is because the People are who they are. — Plato
riverlover's picture

Sounds like he's probably single now and a baby daddy. I had to look.

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Pluto's Republic's picture

Do you know off hand what Hiteleresque-level evil attack — or horrific act of global terror was committed by Putin? What made the US so insanely rabid to destroy Putin and his nation?

All I can come up with is he declined to extradite Edward Snowden.

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____________________

The political system is what it is because the People are who they are. — Plato
lotlizard's picture

https://consortiumnews.com/2016/09/12/the-existential-madness-of-putin-b...

Though Putin may have thought he was simply contributing to a worthy international debate in the spirit of the U.S. Declaration of Independence’s assertion that “all men are created equal,” his objection to “American exceptionalism” represented fighting words to America’s neocons.

Instead of engaging in mushy multilateral diplomacy, muscular neocons saw America as above the law and lusted for bombing campaigns against Syria and Iran — with the goal of notching two more “regime change” solutions on their belts.

Thus, the neocons and their liberal-interventionist fellow-travelers came to see Putin as a major and unwelcome obstacle to their dreams of permanent U.S. dominance over the planet, which they would promote through what amounted to permanent warfare. (The main distinction between neocons and liberal interventionists is that the former cites “democracy promotion” as its rationale and the latter justifies war under the mantle of “humanitarianism.”)

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Pluto's Republic's picture

…do you suppose he might give up that madness about rebuilding the entire US nuclear infrastructure?

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____________________

The political system is what it is because the People are who they are. — Plato
riverlover's picture

and smallpox? Or is that supply in another country now?

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hecate's picture

on the brain scans.

Now, is not the time, for Putin. Later. If this election. Ever. Gets over.

Mostly. Tonight, I am really happy. That we are all. At least trying. To speak. The same. Language.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q_WbC7FUqds]

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Pluto's Republic's picture

…always did have the ring of Truth. Unlike the Rapture.

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____________________

The political system is what it is because the People are who they are. — Plato
hecate's picture

Science Man news, proves Yahweh fumble-fingered it, as always. He thought he Babeled us all up, in the languages. But, he didn't. The tongues, they've all come through, anyway.

He's really. A pretty much. Kinda, sad, god, I think.

I think. He should be given. Medicine. And, then, be gently, guided. Into a Home.

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hecate's picture

when, god, he shuffled, his feet.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UL80p4wHda4]

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... what needs to be seen. I think before tax returns or self-serving doctor's notes written in crayon are released, we should see neuropsychological assessments of each of the candidates. Are they as smart as they're portrayed? Any memory or judgment issues portending future problems? What personality disorders or traits do they actually show evidence of?

This would probably be the best change in the political process, short of the public making billionaire campaign contributions automatic disqualifiers for office, I can imagine.

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hecate's picture

of The Hairball:

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kS1I5kLk4JQ]

Brain scan, of The Mad Bomber.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=se_Q_KRGTNg]

Not a lot. Of difference.

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riverlover's picture

It's my pup, magazines and phone books (remember them?) are in tiny pieces on floors, just a tad large for vacuuming and a chore to lift bits. I have books sequestered on high spots or in a closed room now.

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Gerrit's picture

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Resilience: practical action to improve things we can control.
3D+: developing language for postmodern spirituality.

hecate's picture

the election edition:

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f72U351vd5U]

jackstraw from wichita
cut his buddy down
dug for him
a shallow grave
and laid his body down

half a mile from tucson
by the morning light
one man gone
and another to go

my old buddy
you're moving
much too
slow

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Gerrit's picture

From the Arctic News blog today:
http://arctic-news.blogspot.ca/2016/09/august-2016-another-month-above-p...

It's important to compare the temperature rise with preindustrial levels, given that end last year at the Paris Agreement countries pledged to keep temperatures from rising by more than 1.5°C above preindustrial levels.

NASA typically calculates anomalies by comparing temperatures with the period from 1951 to 1980, so without adjustment and without including seasonal cycle, the picture looks like the one below.

Aug-2016-no-adj.png

The added polynomial trendline shows that the anomaly grows, when comparing the temperature rise with an period that goes back further. On the image below, a 0.28°C adjustment is applied to the data, to bring the baseline back to the year 1900.

Aug-2016-adj.png

Going back further than 1900 will result in even higher anomalies, as illustrated by the image below that applies a 0.58°C adjustment to cater for the rise before 1951-1980, as discussed in an earlier post, resulting an August 2016 anomaly of 1.56°C

August-2016-pre-i.png

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Resilience: practical action to improve things we can control.
3D+: developing language for postmodern spirituality.

TheOtherMaven's picture

According to those charts, we have already way overshot the "Medieval Warm Period" (there is in fact some question as to whether that was a global or merely regional phenomenon) with no slowdown in sight.

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There is no justice. There can be no peace.

hecate's picture

"Medieval Warm Period," emanated from Henry II. Nothing, in this age, even remotely, approaches it.

; )

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bf9q3npuKl4]

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Gerrit's picture

stick. It has already left the ice and is climbing the stick now. Sadly, the Paris agreement is worthless: closing the old barn door and all that.

Thing is, the elites will draw up the drawbridges on their castles and leave us peasants out in the countryside at the mercy of the elements. They will have underground towns, domes, oxygen-producing tech, RE, hydroponic underground food production, medical facilities, and private defenses. We peasants will be right back in the Dark Ages. I am not sanguine about the future.

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Resilience: practical action to improve things we can control.
3D+: developing language for postmodern spirituality.

hecate's picture

he did a good job, with Thief. Also, Heat. And, The Insider.

Interesting. To me. That the hockey-stick people. Never address. The hockey-stick. Of Information.

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Gerrit's picture

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Resilience: practical action to improve things we can control.
3D+: developing language for postmodern spirituality.

enhydra lutris's picture

nobody really expected anything to happen. The US' owners and rulers have no intention of taking the kind of steps needed to achieve them nor of allowing anybody else to do so either.

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That, in its essence, is fascism--ownership of government by an individual, by a group, or by any other controlling private power. -- Franklin D. Roosevelt --

hecate's picture

like a grump.

Let's pretend: we're young. Let's: dance. ; )

I'll touch the ceiling. And: so: shall: you.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQ9pYwCKopE]

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LapsedLawyer's picture

HRM's courtiers:

Thus forever changing her nom de fromage from "The Mad Bomber" to "Pneumonia Lisa"

Oh, yes, and the shirtless boychic made his debut shortly thereafter:

https://twitter.com/mtracey/status/775551834647826432

Aaand we're back to the Mad Bomber again.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pklr0UD9eSo]

Because the Cold War was so easy to write about: It was Us versus Them. Freedom-loving God-fearing 'Muricans versus Commie Totalitarian Atheist Russkies.

Yeah. Good times.

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"Our society is run by insane people for insane objectives. I think we're being run by maniacs for maniacal ends and I think I'm liable to be put away as insane for expressing that. That's what's insane about it."
-- John Lennon

hecate's picture

I can see a "Pneumonia Lisa." Sliding into: "Carmelita." To. There. Express. Truth.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B9L8jLPE84g]

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People have speculated for months that something is seriously wrong with her based on her behavior and previous health issues. Yet, her campaign brushed it off and derided those individuals as crazy conspiracy theorists. Now there is video of her practically collapsing in breezy high-70 degree weather, and her campaign still refuses to admit that they were wrong.

If she were honest and just told the truth, none of this would be happening. The American people have a pretty good sense of when they're being lied to. Sometimes it takes them a while to pick up on it, like almost 30 years in this case, but they get it eventually. Once that impression hardens, they ignore the official narrative and look for any signs that might indicate what is really going on behind the scenes.

That is what has allowed some of the more extreme ideas about Hillary's health to settle in the political discourse. There are logical lapses in the narrative we are being presented with. Why go to her daughter's apartment when suffering from a medical episode? How did she emerge feeling "fine" a few hours after nearly collapsing in public? None of this makes any sense and we are not being given any real answers, so people are being forced to come to their own conclusions about the episode. Even the idea of a body double seems so extreme to me, yet this revelation about her health marks the second time that a supposed CT has turned out to be factual this election season (the first being the DNC rigging the election against Bernie), so who's to say where the truth lies at this point? HRC certainly won't point us in the right direction.

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hecate's picture

Cranky Brooklyn Deli Man, he lost, legitimately, to The Mad Bomber. That is just a fact. The Mad Bomber, she is an old woman, who should go off and live in a shoe. That, is another fact.

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Anja Geitz's picture

I agree that both Hillary and Trump have earned their mocking monikers, but balk at Bernie being coined as a "Cranky Brooklyn Deli Man". I think he's earned a little more respect than the other two. No?

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There is always Music amongst the trees in the Garden, but our hearts must be very quiet to hear it. ~ Minnie Aumonier

hecate's picture

Way back when, before the dawn of time—that is, before the Invasion/Immigration—he was dubbed, thus, here, The Cranky Brooklyn Deli Man. By me. With all affection. Who regards, cranky brooklyn deli men, as, more or less, the apex, of humanity. Certainly, occupying, a place, infinitely, higher. Than any. Mere. "President."

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Anja Geitz's picture

In a different light. Thx for the clarification.

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There is always Music amongst the trees in the Garden, but our hearts must be very quiet to hear it. ~ Minnie Aumonier

hecate's picture

serves god's own lunch.

And Jews. Cranky. 'Cause way too busy. There In Brooklyn. Serve it best.

This. Is a True. Science. Fact.

; )

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janis b's picture

because I had a grandfather who bought and smoked fish and sold it to the delis in Brooklyn. Despite being busy during the hours of 3-11am he was almost never cranky. Now the employees at the deli, that's another story.

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hecate's picture

even crank at those customers, who were dilatory, in stepping up, when it was time, for them to order?

How, and in Brooklyn, is that, even possible? ; )

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janis b's picture

supplemented by my grandfather's travels to Canada (Indian country) to buy fish.

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WaterLily's picture

Wink

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Cachola's picture

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Mundus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur.

hecate's picture

He lost. She won. Learn, from it.

One of the many problems, with knee-jerk defaulting to conspiracy, is that you never learn anything.

I was there, in 1972, when—and I am not making this up—people said Nixon, stole, the election, from McGovern. That McGovern, he, actually, won.

No. He did not.

And neither. Did Bernie Sanders.

Learn. From it.

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Anja Geitz's picture

Private machines with proprietary software can be hacked. That's a fact not a conspiracy.

https://youtu.be/B95t5bMibR8

Question is were they hacked in the states where the results did not match exit polls?

I believe they were. You apparently do not.

At least we've learned that much. Smile

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There is always Music amongst the trees in the Garden, but our hearts must be very quiet to hear it. ~ Minnie Aumonier

Anja Geitz's picture

but I think this quote from a weekly Jewish publication called the Forward, which has been sympathetic with Clinton in the past, sums up my feelings exactly:

"[E]ven after her illness caught up with her on Sunday morning and she was hustled unceremoniously out of the September 11 memorial ceremony, she continued to cover up. For nearly eight hours, from the time she left Ground Zero at 9:30 a.m. until her pneumonia was disclosed at 5:15 p.m., the mystery of her condition dominated the news cycle. Throughout the day, while Americans anxiously awaited word, the Clinton camp was all but silent. And what little was said was dishonest — most importantly, her chipper remark as she left her daughter’s apartment close to noon: “I’m feeling great. It’s a beautiful day in New York.” She knew she had pneumonia, but rather than tell the truth, she acted exactly the way her worst detractors expect her to act.

Worse still, she acted as though she doesn’t understand the significance of her actions as a candidate for president of the United States. The president cannot disappear, in obvious physical distress, and leave the nation and the world wondering for eight hours what’s going on. That sort of uncertainty would rattle the financial markets and unsettle the international community. A president needs to know that. So does a candidate for the presidency."

The Clinton's appear to act as if the norms don't apply to them. I have no idea why but they create most of their own bad PR all by themselves. Gosh, it's gonna be fun times at the White House with those two in there again!

http://forward.com/opinion/politics/349650/did-hillary-forget-watergate-...

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There is always Music amongst the trees in the Garden, but our hearts must be very quiet to hear it. ~ Minnie Aumonier

Shahryar's picture

Hills, standing out there in the heat for us like any normal person wearing a 50 pound bullet proof vest got overheated. It's been asked "who else fainted?" Well nobody else was wearing a 60 pound bullet proof vest, were they? And have you ever felt the humidity in New York in the dog days of summer? I can tell you, for sure, that if I were there now, wearing a 70 pound bullet proof vest, I'd swoon too. Especially if I saw Gina Lollabrigida, the 2nd best looking woman in the world. Not that she was there. I'm "just saying".

In any case, she feels great now. I saw a photo of her chatting with a little girl shortly after the episode. People say it was a body double because this "Hillary" was so much thinner. Well you'd be thinner too if you finally took off the 80 pound bullet proof vest.

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hecate's picture

not considering the effect of gobbling twenty pounds of jimson weed, before donning the seventy pounds of bulletproof vest. And then wandering, stoned beyond imagining, into all those 9/11 people. And when, on top of it all, you're pure fucking crazy. And have been, totally out of your mind, and for at least, the past, twenty years. Having lost, all that remained of your shit. When, for eighteen straight months, all night, every night, whenever you turned on the television, there: they were: all the people: all, and everywhere: blibbering, blabbering, non-stop, about your husband's, penis

Yee. Haw.

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Cachola's picture

Not that subscribe to the body double theory, but people were comparing the behinds and thighs. Also, why would she be wearing a bullet proof vest atthe memorial where she was fully protected but not afterwards where her posse seems to be far from her. (I know you were being facetious.)

BTW, it wasn't La Lollo, but Sophia Loren was in my neck of the woodsthat day.

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Mundus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur.

hecate's picture

fully armored, at all times; my thighs are basically iron; bullets, they bounce right off, my buttocks.

There are at least nine of me, that I Know of.

One of us. Is. Currently. The President.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKc9CgpIqlA]

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WaterLily's picture

That I once wrote a grade-school report on Warren G. Harding.

The Encyclopedia Britannica, she did not inform me of his Titanic ideations.

That report would have been much more interesting.

(Thanks, as always, hecate!).

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hecate's picture

should get a gold star. For impregnating a mistress. In a White House coat closet.

Because, not even JFK. Or The Clenis. Or Randy Tom Jefferson. Are known. To have accomplished. Any similar. Feat.

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WaterLily's picture

So Harding was a nominative determinist!

This detail would definitely have made my report more interesting. Except. You know: The nuns.

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shaharazade's picture

This Sesame was for me good medicine that cheered me up immensely. I do not understand the obsession with pathology like brain scans or the next or last's Emperors health. These power hungry psycho killers are all unfit to rule. Raygun he was senile stupid and a bad actor to boot, from day one. When he was governor of CA he had no use for trees. 'You've seen them all'. My mom who was a native of southern California had a big hate on for him from the time he was a well known war propagandist turned commie hunter and head of the Screen Actors Guild. Apparently he was a FDR Democrat in the 30's but took a turn to the right after the war ended. Wasserman manipulated Reagan and Raygun in turn manipulated the American public.

https://thehairpin.com/scandals-of-classic-hollywood-ronald-reagan-plays...

And over his seven terms as SAG president, he worked to keep the organization neutral, cutting deals with producers in explicit or implicit exchange for favors. As George Dunne, chronicler of Hollywood’s labor movement, observed, SAG “was operating in conspiratorial cooperation with the Hollywood producers to destroy what was the only honest and democratic trade union movement in Hollywood. And Reagan was part of that movement.” ..........

In 1947, Reagan and Walt Disney testified that communists were a serious threat to the industry; in private, Reagan advised the FBI that “lacking a definite stand on the part of the government, it would be very difficult for any committee of motion-picture people to conduct any type of cleansing of their own household.” As a result, the House Committee on Un-American Activities (HUAC) pursued its above-mentioned persecution of those in Hollywood with past and/or present affiliations with communism, eventually leading to the blacklisting of the “Hollywood Ten.” Reagan then led the charge for all officers of the Screen Actors Guild to swear a “non-Communist pledge,” approved by the SAG membership on November 17, 1947.

I realize that it’s easy to look back on this period with self-righteous indignation. I realize that Reagan was by no means the only friendly witness who facilitated the culture of fear and suppression in Hollywood and America at large. But it seems clear that without the support of the president of the Screen Actors Guild, things could have proceeded differently. Reagan was, in the words of film historian David Thomson, “a bureaucrat of McCarthyism and a shortsighted searcher after redness.”

He did not bring good things to life. Seems to me that Obama was a better actor during his campaign then Reagan was but could not stay in character after he was elected. He should have retained Plouffe as a scriptwriter but Reagan was never convincing to me either but he managed to play the Gipper for all it was worth. At some point he could not even remember his lines and Nancy had to be his prompter.

The circus of American politics has hit an all time low with the current crop of 'bad actors'. The suspension of belief is impossible as we watch the show proceed which is why Giant Meteor is out polling the two candidates were faced with. Throughout my political active lifetime I have never understood why anyone would want to have a beer with Bush or watch a real time movie starring Reagan or considered any of these people fit to govern.

Too bad that being a professional politician doesn't automatically disqualify them from being able to play one in government. None of them are 'likeable enough' or good enough actors to play anything but what they are evil villains. The Mad Bomber doesn't even bother she just plays the bad ass she really is and calls it empowering women. The Hairball is a reality horror show. I could careless about the pathology health problems sorry to be so callous but it's the least of the reasons why they are unfit to rule.

Can you measure mad power lust or lack of basic respect for living creatures in a brain scan? If you can what good does it do if science men reserve the right to impartially diagnose the truth of the physical evidence and ignore all the self evident inherent truths that humans have developed over centuries to keep these monsters in check.

"There does seem to be something about the human condition that leads to these patterns. We don't know what it is. But we know it's there."

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hecate's picture

I don't know what, all, a brain scan, is supposed to say. I know that, with our clients, when we can afford it, there are four or five different types of scans, that we order, and what we are then looking for, is some sort of observable, physical, something-or-other, from which we can then argue: "s/he did it for some reason, other, than, that s/he is an asshole."

The terminal, and at present intractable problem, with such scans, is that while consciousness is seated in the brain, it is not of the brain.

The brain, it is matter.

Consciousness, it is not. Matter.

Consciousness, therefore, it is not going to be reflected, in any scan. Any screen.

Because. Consciousness. It is Magic.

That's why, Mr. Zimmerman. He can write:

the ghost of electricity
howls in the bones of her face

And that will show up. Nowhere. On any. Scan.

So, fuck the scans, really. ; ) I mean, they are certainly useful, on the lowest of larval levels, to determine which of the politics people, are so cranially malformed, they should never be allowed, to try, to be the president.

But then, we already know, that those people, as soon as they set out to actually try to be the president, thereby disqualify themselves. Do we not? ; )

I mean: really.

I just don't, really, care.

About the politics.

I care. Really. About. Chagall.
tumblr_lc4rd8ZCUb1qep93so1_1280.jpg

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shaharazade's picture

picture's of people's brain scans in passing and think those are some day glow interesting colors but what do they tell you. I mean what's normal and who among the science men or women are normal? Same with explaining the world with data. You can break it all down to binary pixels, demographics or charts and graphs but they too are not real, not alive.

I sometimes think that the geeks have created a binary world which has now affected/infected our brains and causes people to think like the machines do. It's frightening to me when the geeks start talking about 'automated intelligence' being the next step. Algorithms are not intelligent they are binary. The Pandora station can not tell the difference between Jack White and led Zeppelin fer god sake. Bill Gates vision of a world where your refrigerator tells you you need milk will make us all beyond stupid. It's dehumanizing and insulting.

Smart bombs or wars and Mad Bombers should not be considered normal regardless of what colors they glow.

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hecate's picture

the coming wonderfulness, is that the humans, are going to download their brains, into machines. And/or, also, when any human body-part blows out, it will be replaced, by a machine part.

So boring. So already been there. So already happened. In the best, of all, the stories. "For A Breath I Tarry."

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJ8ODnVLidE]

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WaterLily's picture

or her body double, sell uranium to Russia?

Forget brain scans. She needs to be Geiger-Countered.

Let us sing:

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enhydra lutris's picture

the picture of the couple jitterbugging by Chagall.

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That, in its essence, is fascism--ownership of government by an individual, by a group, or by any other controlling private power. -- Franklin D. Roosevelt --

hecate's picture

saw
chagalldefaut.jpg

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enhydra lutris's picture

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That, in its essence, is fascism--ownership of government by an individual, by a group, or by any other controlling private power. -- Franklin D. Roosevelt --

hecate's picture

& so here. we. are.
a0e3f03d56a3416e19effb9469ca4834.jpg

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lotlizard's picture

Former Google CEO Schmidt to head new Pentagon innovation board

Eric Schmidt, the former chief executive officer of Google, will head a new Pentagon advisory board aimed at bringing Silicon Valley innovation and best practices to the U.S. military, Defense Secretary Ash Carter said on Wednesday.

Carter unveiled the new Defense Innovation Advisory Board with Schmidt during the annual RSA cyber security conference in San Francisco, saying it would give the Pentagon access to "the brightest technical minds focused on innovation."

Schmidt, now the executive chairman of Alphabet Inc (GOOGL.O), the parent company of Google, said the board would help bridge what he called a clear gap between how the U.S. military and the technology industry operate.

Israel using “black ops” against BDS, says veteran analyst

The tyranny of 9/11

This is how the CIA botched Iraq post-9/11: Bob Gates, careerist sycophancy, and the real history of the Deep State

United States announces $38 billion Israel military aid package

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hecate's picture

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hecate's picture

Let's try this one, then. A shah fave:

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ISqPnSNcVG0]

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janis b's picture

That jimson weed medicine sounds like the perfect antidote to the 'mad bombing' disease, but only if administered by a proper guide, like an ayurvedic or cherokee. From the following description, it sounds like it would make far more entertaining filming than the one released on Sunday.

In the United States, the plant is called jimson weed, or more rarely Jamestown weed; it got this name from the town of Jamestown, Virginia, where British soldiers consumed it while attempting to suppress Bacon's Rebellion. They spent 11 days in altered mental states:

The James-Town Weed (which resembles the Thorny Apple of Peru, and I take to be the plant so call'd) is supposed to be one of the greatest coolers in the world. This being an early plant, was gather'd very young for a boil'd salad, by some of the soldiers sent thither to quell the rebellion of Bacon (1676); and some of them ate plentifully of it, the effect of which was a very pleasant comedy, for they turned natural fools upon it for several days: one would blow up a feather in the air; another would dart straws at it with much fury; and another, stark naked, was sitting up in a corner like a monkey, grinning and making mows [grimaces] at them; a fourth would fondly kiss and paw his companions, and sneer in their faces with a countenance more antic than any in a Dutch droll.

In this frantic condition they were confined, lest they should, in their folly, destroy themselves — though it was observed that all their actions were full of innocence and good nature. Indeed, they were not very cleanly; for they would have wallowed in their own excrements, if they had not been prevented. A thousand such simple tricks they played, and after eleven days returned themselves again, not remembering anything that had passed.

– The History and Present State of Virginia, 1705[38]

Thanks hecate. I'm glad your cat allowed you to at least present a partial historical peek into the state of some of our past president's mental and physical health. Maybe you could use 'decoy' books next time to try and fool your cat. You know, like warm up the book in your hands, lay it down, and sneak back to the real one. He needs to understand that you have a very eager audience ; )

The last song of the tummler is the perfect song to get me skipping happily out of the hose this morning. Thank you.

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hecate's picture

this cat can be fooled, or diverted. He knows, what he's about.

I selected the jimson weed intentionally, because white people who ingest it, they usually end up hopelessly babbling, sprawled in a wheelbarrow—as would have The Mad Bomber, if the van, hadn't been, pretty darn, handy.

I had a really huge jimson plant spring up, spontaneously, in my garden, once. I ate none of it. Because there were no red or brown people about. To guide me.

Glad, you liked, the fade-out tune. You, were in mind. ; )

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janis b's picture

... and watch out for any springing weeds ; )

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WaterLily's picture

I feel a need to confess (not that you don't already know) that I participate in wildly speculative discussions about the Mad Bomber's health.

It's a form of therapy for my anger over this entire "election," and the fact that the Cranky Brooklyn Deli-Man cannot be our President.

That said, there are other things to be joyful about, as your essays always remind me. So perhaps I'll stop the speculating, ingest some Medicines (not jimson weed) and be happy. Smile

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