From The LA Times
By Bill Maher

President Obama should just join the cast of “I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here!” It’s not that farfetched; he’s been on everything else.

I’m still a fan, but there’s a fine line between being transparent and being overexposed. Every time you turn on the TV, there’s Obama. He’s getting a puppy! He’s eating a cheeseburger with Joe Biden! He’s taking the wife to Broadway and Paris — this is the best season of “The Bachelor” yet!

I get it: You love being on TV. I love my bong, but I take it out of my mouth every once in a while. The other day, I caught myself saying to a friend, “Don’t tell me if he’s fixed the economy yet, I’m Tivo-ing it.”

Remember during the campaign when John McCain attacked Obama for acting like a celebrity and we all laughed at the grumpy old shellshocked fool? Well, it turns out he was right. Sorry, senator. I’m sending a nice gift basket of high-fiber muffins your way.

It’s getting to where you can’t turn on your TV without seeing Obama. Who does he think he is, Dick Cheney? Come on, sir, you don’t have to be on television every minute of every day. You’re the president, not a rerun of “Law and Order.” Save some charisma for a rainy day. Taking strangers from a TV show on a tour of your house? We have that show; it’s called “Cribs.” And letting reporters ask you questions like “You like to be the one who picks out the shaving cream, don’t you?” Or as it’s called today, “journalism.” I was willing to give the guy the benefit of the doubt until I saw him take Brian Williams into his bedroom, and at the end of the bed there was a teleprompter and it said, “Who’s your daddy?”

Read more Obamathon

From uExpress
By Ted Rall

It’s the end of the world as we know it and, while I can’t say I exactly feel fine, it’s all too easy to dwell on the downward spiral of our job prospects and 401(k)s. Even in the midst of economic collapse (possibly presaging political disintegration and ultimately social chaos), there’s cause for optimism. And so, in the same spirit of contrarianism that drove me to declare the boom economy of the late 1990s a sham we’d all live to regret, here are nine good reasons not to kill yourself over the economic meltdown:

1. Bushies Will Pay. President Obama is inclined to “look forward as opposed to looking backwards” when it comes to investigating Bush and his minions for torture, war crimes and spying on Americans. Fortunately, one of Obama’s first acts as president ensures the bastards will probably get what they deserve.

Obama has ordered government agencies to revitalize the Freedom of Information Act, which requires that declassified government records be released to the public. Under Bush, the flow of documents slowed to a trickle. New FOIA requests will enjoy “a clear presumption” that “in the face of doubt, openness prevails.” Investigative journalists will now be able to use FOIA to uncover Bush Administration officials’ nefarious deeds, forcing Obama’s Justice Department to prosecute.

Should they waterboard Rumsfeld? Only if it’s on pay-per-view.

2. Conservatives Are Discredited. Your fat chain-smoking doctor may give you good advice, but will you heed it? So it is with Republicans. They’re right about Obama’s fiscal stimulus plan: it won’t do much to help the economy and will drive the deficit even higher. But no one’s listening. “Most of the people who are complaining about Obama’s fiscal irresponsibility today uttered not a peep of complaint about Bush,” writes John Chait in The New Republic. America needs a loyal opposition.

Read more Cheer

From The S.F. Chronicle
By Mark Morford

Call it the backlash against the recoil against the collapse. Call it the completely natural response to the downward-spiraling times, though that seems a bit feeble and pansy-assed and not at all in alignment with the general attitude of raging seethingosity.

Call it, then, the death of all we once held dear, if what you held dear consisted of seven McMansions and three trophy wives and five revolving psychiatrists and four personal trainers and regular spa treatments for the Wheaten terriers, along with blatantly rubbing your aging genitalia against the stiff leather of your fleet of Porsche Cayenne Turbos after drunkenly nailing your mistress in your corner office at Goldman Sachs. Ahh yes, that’s more like it.

Whatever you call it, there’s a bitter tang in the air, a nasty streak of anti-Everythingism, a collective bullet of disgust and frustration that’s most violently aimed at the most precious American commodity of all: the rich, the overly entitled, the uberwealthy, the manicured bankers and CEOs and Wall Street cash jockeys we used to cherish like royalty but who now smell vaguely of death and foreclosure and Bernie Madoff.

What a strange phenomenon. From the public outcry against giant investment firms daring to hold fancy Christmas parties, to the image of those bloated Big Auto CEOs driving themselves to Congress in cute little hatchbacks, to Obama himself decrying the obscenity that is the typical executive salary, it’s like you can’t swing a dead Gulfstream 450 these days without hitting a wall of anti-privilege outrage. Frugality might be the current national pastime, but it’s also a mean sonofabitch.

Read more Anger

From The Virginian-Pilot
By Daryl Lease

My old friend Winston Smith was at a window table, exactly where he said he’d be. He was drinking gin and looking rather dour, just like the old days.

Our meeting place, the Chestnut Tree Cafe, was nearly deserted. After all these years, it was going out of business, another victim of the recession.

“So,” I said as I took my seat, “how’s it going?”

Winston heaved a sigh. He’d mentioned on the phone he had a new job with the government but hadn’t said what.

The cafe’s lone waiter, the only employee I’d ever seen in the place, inched closer to our table, as eager as always to eavesdrop on our conversation but as disinterested as ever in taking my order.

We both awaited Winston’s reply. “Awful,” he said, finally, staring sullenly into his drink. “Just awful.”

The waiter frowned in commiseration and then – ignoring my gesture for a drink – slowly began packing salt and pepper shakers, one by one, into a cardboard box atop the table next to us.

Read more Depression

From The Virginian-Pilot
By Daryl Lease

On Monday, on the baleful morn the National Bureau of Economic Research declared we’re officially in a recession, I realized I couldn’t put it off any longer.

It was time to check the balance on my 401(k).

I’d avoided this moment of truth for months, ever since the stock market took its first bungee jump into the abyss. I was overdue for a peek down there, to see what peeked back.

Later that evening, as I shuffled with dread toward my computer, I took a deep breath to try to calm my nerves. Unfortunately, this proved difficult, as my head was almost completely encased in bubble wrap.

In the retelling, I can see my preparations may seem excessive to you, perhaps odd. But, given the grim task ahead, I felt I had to take precautions.

There was, for instance, a distinct possibility that the sheer horror of what I was about to see would cause me to lose consciousness and send my oversized noggin kerplopping against my desk.

So protective headgear – particularly something that emitted a pop-pop-pop in an emergency – seemed prudent. One certainly doesn’t want a concussion on top of a recession.

Read more 401k

From True Blue Liberal
By Walter Brasch

President Bush, as has every president since his father began the practice in 1989, annually pardons a Thanksgiving turkey.

Amid hundreds of spectators, most of them members of the media, the president makes a few cute comments, issues a pardon for the turkey and a “runner-up” (in case the Main Bird can’t fulfill all the duties), and then sends the turkeys off to a petting zoo or ranch, where they live about a year. Why they live only a year is because domestic turkeys are bred to become so pleasingly plump so quickly that disease takes over their bodies if not slaughtered. A domestic turkey has a 26 week life span; wild turkeys, if not killed by natural predators, have a 12 year life span.

Why domestic turkeys have to be “pardoned” is another matter. The birds did nothing wrong, nothing illegal. All they did was to be born and be turkeys. But, the entire ceremony is a good PhotoOp for the president, while encouraging the sale of turkeys for Thanksgiving dinner. Americans will eat about 46 million turkeys this Thanksgiving, according to the National Turkey Federation.

The Federation first gave Harry Truman a bird in 1947. While most media declare that was the beginning of the pardons, there’s no evidence that Truman did anything other than eat turkey for Thanksgiving. In 1963, days before he was murdered, John F. Kennedy chose to spare the life of the turkey he was presented, but did not grab the salivating media to watch him “pardon” a turkey. The Federation gives each president a live turkey and two dressed ones. Read the rest of this entry »

From YouTube

Its been eight long years since the boys said wassup to each other. Even with the effects of a down economy and imminent change in the White House, the boys are still able to come together and stay…

Watch Video

From This Can’t Be Happening
By Dave Lindorff

A week out from Election Day, with the polls looking pretty good for Barack Obama’s election, especially in the Electoral College, focus is shifting to the Senate, where Democrats would need to pick up 10 seats in order to be able to both prevent Republican obstruction via filibuster, and send Connecticut’s turncoat Sen. Joe Lieberman into well-deserved oblivion.

Getting to a 10-seat gain may look like long odds, but it occurs to me that this really doesn’t matter. In fact, a President Obama could have fun picking off a couple of Republican senators from states that have Democratic governors, by naming them to posts in his administration, thereby simultaneously demonstrating a bi-partisan approach to governance while ensuring solid Democratic control of both houses of Congress. And he could do this without having to name out-of-synch conservatives to any position.

For example, Obama could invite either Sen. Susan Collins or Olympia Snowe, both Republican senators in Maine, to serve in some capacity in the cabinet–perhaps in the role of EPA Administrator or Secretary of the Interior, or as Secretary of Health and Welfare or of Education. Either one would be hard put to turn down that offer, and if accepted, Maine’s Democratic governor, John Baldacci, would get to name a replacement, who would be a Democrat.

Oregon Republican Senator Gordon Smith is in a tight race for re-election in that liberal state. If he succeeds in returning to office, Obama could offer him a cabinet post, too–perhaps Secretary of Commerce. Smith has been campaigning almost as an ally of Obama in his effort to defeat Democratic challenger Jeff Merkley, so he’d be an easy fit, and that would give Oregon’s Democratic governor, Ted Kulongoski, the chance to name a Democratic replacement–probably Merkley. So everybody (except Senate Republicans) wins!

Read more Fun Thoughts

From The Virginian-Pilot
By Daryl Lease

The White House is alive with the sounds of the season – blood-curdling screams, bone-rattling boos and spine-chilling screeches. And that’s just McCain campaign manager Rick Davis, reading the latest opinion polls.

The president and first lady’s annual Halloween party is in full swing when Dick Cheney steps into the room. He snarls as his eyes adjust to the dim light, a tad brighter than he prefers to keep it in his secure, undisclosed location.

“I’m sorry I ever agreed to this,” he grumbles to himself. He’d wanted to spend a quiet evening in his bunker reviewing and shredding torture memos, but his wife, Lynne, convinced him he could use the fresh air.

The silly costume was her idea, too. The long-haired wig itched, and the entire get-up – bell-bottom jeans, tie-dyed T-shirt, beads and sandals – made his skin crawl.

“Bill Ayers, indeed,” he mutters. “What a stupid costume idea.” As far as he’s concerned, the gag fell apart when Colin Powell refused – refused! – to dress up as Barack Obama and accompany him to the party.

Cheney stares glumly at his feet and wiggles his toes in exasperation. He’s just about to pivot and leave when someone calls out his nickname.

“Big Time!”

Read more Nightmare

From The S.F. Chronicle
By Mark Morford

No one can really quite believe it.

It is the thing That Can Barely Be Named, the Great Unspoken, the impossible truth that feels too good to be true and hence few dare actually mention it aloud lest it somehow vanish and time reverses itself and the devil snorts and chuckles and reveals his grand, horrible joke, and suddenly it’s 2001 all over again. Please, no screaming.

Can you sense it? Do you feel the deep tingle? Because amid the fiscal meltdown and Obama’s stunning poll numbers and the stress of the election, this staggering fact: George W. Bush is nearly done. He will soon be gone forever, America’s most spectacularly incompetent footnote, the oily residue left on the pavement after his administration’s giant Hummer of ineptitude is finally hauled to the crusher.

It is, to put it mildly, a bizarre feeling. Surreal. Disorienting. After all, the nightmare has lasted so long. This wound has been raw and open for years.

No matter. It is easy to lose sight of the bigger picture. It is easy to overlook the grand prize, the greatest gift this decade has yet to offer. Yes, it’s Obama, but also the flipside: an America without Bush anywhere near the steering wheel. Hallelujah indeed.

So then, I have made a quick inventory, a short preparatory checklist of things you can do, right now, to get ready for the magnificent shift, the massive exhale of thanksitude. Because no matter how bleak and tense it all seems right now, just remember: He can never be president again. God, my fingertips quiver just writing that.

Read more Sodomy