Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Kyle-Anne Has a Freak-Out Up to Ten Years Later.

Hey guys, it's our old friend, Kyle-Anne Shiver (last seen here, giving Newt Gingrich a papal dispensation for adultery, and predicting he'd make a huge splash and zoom head-first into the White House like a kid on a Slip 'n Slide, assuming the kid was an ossified Troll doll, and the vinyl runner was lubricated with the effusions of female voters made moist by a genteel but dashing Southern cavalier who knows how to accept a parking lot hummer in a courtly fashion).

Today Kyle-Anne is getting estimates on America repairs, so let's listen in on her conversation with the Service Manager, then maybe enjoy a complimentary Styrofoam cup of overbrewed Yuban, and see if Judge Judy's on in the waiting room.
Is This Republic Worth Saving?
Now that Kyle-Anne has some free time, after her column was dropped by Creators Syndicate, I'm glad to see that she's bringing back the old "Can This Marriage Be Saved?" feature from the Ladies Home Journal, except with bitterness and tricorn hats.
There's been a great deal of talk lately on the likely demise of this Grand Republic of ours.
In fact, I was talking about it just yesterday with the clerk at the OTB (I took Collapse of the American Experiment in Self-Government to win, but bet the Grand Republic would cover the spread).
Very wise and scholarly Americans have taken to opining publicly on the dire state of things, all asking the basic question, "Can this Republic be saved"?
As long as we're reporting the opinions of mythical creatures, I'd like to know if the Loch Ness Monster agrees with Louisiana private schools that her existence debunks the theory of evolution, and if Sasquatch has volunteered a contrary opinion.
Some historians have compared our current plight to that of the Roman Empire in its fall-apart days.
Specifically, Edward Gibbon in his History of the Decline and Fall-Apart of the Roman Empire.
 Some Hollywood doomsayers point to the end date of the Mayan calendar: 2012.
But did we listen?  No.  For in Matthew Mark 6:4 we read:

"And Jesus said, Verily I say unto you, No prophet is accepted in his own country."
And Justus, that is Joseph, who is called Barshabbâ said, "Dost thou mean thyself, Lord?"
And Jesus said unto him, "Actually, no, I was just talking about Roland Emmerich."
Biblical prophecy experts see an apocalyptic climax forming.
That's what she said.  They also see a low-pressure system forming, so the Five Day Forecast calls for gusty winds and showers tapering off toward the weekend.
Sociologists study the decline in marriage, the tsunami of out-of-wedlock childbirth, the failed public education system, the rising disparity between rich and poor and come to the conclusion that without desperate measures, America cannot sustain herself.
Our Strategic Marriage Reserve is almost depleted, and with the panic buying of licenses and long lines forming at Vegas wedding chapels, local government officials and ordained Elvis impersonators are considering going back to that odd-even license plate system.  Worse still, insurance rates in California skyrocketed after the last major Pacific Rim earthquake, when low lying coastal regions were devastated by a massive rogue wave of Pampers-wearing bastards (even in places like Indonesia, where recovery is underway, you can still see the high baby mark on many of the buildings).
 Demographers point to drastically declined birth rates in every outpost of Western Civilization and remind us that demography is destiny; without new citizens civilization itself is unsustainable.
How do we combine a tsunami of out-of-wedlock childbirths with a drastic decline in birth rates?  Who cares?  All you need to know is that we're passing the savings on to you!  (Okay, okay, before the FDA gets on our back, we'll disclose that for the purposes of this bitchfest, declining white births are considered a social pathology, while increasing minority births are a natural disaster -- so the Secret Ingredient is Racism!  But don't tell the kids it's good for them.)
 Meanwhile, political polarization grows more and more heated and less restrained.
Kyle-Anne, we've had our differences, but I do appreciate your willingness to show restraint, lower the partisan temperature, and strive for a more calm and evenhanded approach.
 Things seem to be reaching fever pitch here at home while communists and Islamofascists join forces for war games in the Middle East.
And they never let poor America play in any communist/Islamofascist games -- now Uncle Sam knows how Rudolph felt.  This leaves us with only two possible responses: we can deploy overwhelming air power, or a peppy Gene Autry ballad.
Wise watchers see an ominous similarity between pre-WWII economic conditions and rising totalitarian political systems, warning that what happened then could be about to repeat itself -- this time, with nuclear weapons.
Instead of sending billions of Euros to Greece, the German Central Bank will send V-2 rockets tipped with Heisenberg-built atomic bombs.  Personally, I can't see it, but who am I to argue with brainy voyeurs?
In short, this looks scary as hell, foreboding in the extreme, and it would surely take a ninny of historic imbecility not to at least be quite angst-ridden over the future.

So, can this Republic be saved?

Well, of course, it can.
I have to admit, I wasn't expecting Kyle-Anne to join the Ninnies of Historic Imbecility for a Non-Angst-Ridden Future, but maybe they've got one of those spiffy K-cup coffee makers in the Break Room, or their Ladies Auxiliary is really active in League Bowling.
The real question for every American citizen ought to be: Is this Republic worth saving?
Well, it's got sentimental value, but when you add up all the parts and labor, you're probably better off just leasing a new 2012 Oligarchy. 
If the vast majority of us do not answer that question in the affirmative --with all the guts and gusto we've got -- then there isn't one chance in hell that this Republic can be saved.
And we'll slide into anarchy, knowing in our hearts that we didn't drink all the Schlitz we were capable of.

Kyle-Anne will now interrupt her Socratic dialogue on the viability of our system of Constitutional governance in order to have an acid flashback.
You see him -- whether you want to or not -- just about every single day on television, on the internet, standing at the teleprompter, jiving on late-night comedy hours, delivering his lines in the Rose Garden, yucking it up with brainless movie stars, leaking national security secrets, pontificating on his final-4 basketball picks, spinning tall tales about his "roots" narrative, throwing coming-out parties, juking onstage with Paul McCartney, playing golf, golf, golf, and more golf.
Bob Hope?  Billy Graham?  Sam Snead?
You've seen him at the Vineyard. You've seen him in the surf in Hawaii.
Bruce the Shark?  Kam Fong as Chin Ho?
You've seen him in flip-flops, sipping Slurpees, playing ping-pong on the Continent. You've seen him bowing to dictators and chatting it up with banana-republic warlords. You've seen him giving the "President of Cool" wink, nod and shout-out to adoring groupies. You've seen him on The View, yak-yak-ing with Whoopi and Barbara. You've seen him on Oprah. You've seen him singing the praises of Solyndra, even as owners prepare to shut it down and laugh all the way to the bank with your millions.
Waldo?  Is it Waldo?... No?  Carmen Sandiego?  The Travelocity Gnome?
You've see him in all his "Choom Gang" glory announcing this or that czar's plan (You thought he devised the plans? It's the czars stupid!) to ignore the rule of law and unilaterally bypass democratically-passed statutes.
Haile Selassie!
You've seen him pretending to get Bin Laden all by himself. You've seen this president pivot to jobs so many times that your head is spinning. You've seen him role-play a chief executive claiming executive privilege to cover for his Department of Injustice.
Art Fleming?  Art Linkletter?  Art Metrano?
And this now-going-on-four-long-years spectacle of an Eddie Haskell presidency is what it looks like, my fellow Americans -- wait for it -- when a Grand Republic does not want to save itself. This is what it looks like when a going-on-250-year-old Republic decides to elect a celebrity B.S. artist pretending to be a statesman.
Jerry Mathers?  Mike Lookinland?  That kid from The Courtship of Eddie's Father?
This governance by a committee of nitwits deemed czars, with an actor playing the role of Commander in Chief/Chief Executive of the U.S.A., is nothing but a poseur-presidency for the cosmic-joke record books.  You couldn't make a movie out of it because this truth is too strange to pass the "suspension of disbelief" test for good fiction.
No, doy, now I really feel stupid.  (Sigh)  Okay, let's flip over all the cards..
And there is not a single American who was eligible to vote in 2008, who does not bear at least some of the blame for it.
Oh, I can intuit what you patriotic, conservative, McCain/Palin voters are thinking right this minute.

You're probably thinking in terms of those tacky, childish bumper stickers that read: Don't Blame Me! I voted for the other guy!

And you call yourselves patriots?

Oh, please. That excruciating sound you just heard came from a heavenly realm, where all the millions of Americans who've died to make you free let out one unrestrained, in-perfect-concert, cosmic scream of utter disgust and frustration.
When did the the Heavenly Choir start doing a Philip Glass medley?  Anyway, if you truly respected the sacrifice of these Americans who died to ensure your right to vote, you'd admit it didn't work, and save them from having made a really stupid and futile gesture by putting down that ballot, picking up a gun, and shooting at any suspected Democrats or Independents who approached the polling place.
You want to call yourself an American patriot? Then, speak up now or prepare to perish.

President Barack Obama has the keys to your kingdom only because too many "patriots" sat on your hands and applied duct tape to your mouths in 2008.
The patriots apparently mistook me for Liam Neeson's daughter in Taken.
You went to family gatherings and listened politely to your liberal-ninny wives, daughters, nieces and nephews babble on incessantly about their "Obama crush."
Hey, if you're going to practice polygamy, you've got to allow for a broad spectrum of political opinion in the home -- take it from one who knows. And to be fair, some of the sister-wives are moderate-ninnies.
You paid for junior and junior-ette to go to those liberal indoctrination centers, euphemistically called "colleges," to imbibe the Obama Koolaid and you stood around with your mouths agape while they prepared to cast votes that would all-but-kill your own country. And you said nothing!
Well...not nothing. I did say, "You know, it's not easy these days, putting your kids through liberal indoctrination center, and you'd do your old dad a big favor if you could switch from Kool-Aid to a less expensive powdered drink mix, like Funny Face, or Alba 66."
Instead, you went home, got on your PC, went to some conservative chat-room and let off your steam with your flying fingers. For nothing.
C'mon, give me a little credit -- paysites can cost over 29.95 a month.  And Free Republic is not that easy to masturbate to.
You showed up at dinners and cocktail parties and social gatherings of all kinds
...passing myself off as Sally Quinn.
...with old friends, and allowed them to prattle on about Barack-this and Barack-that -- his alluring dark skin, his preacher-man voice, his GQ look, his exotic, B.S. "narrative," his cool, his posh -- every single thing about him but his sorry-as-good-for-nothing character and empty resume. And what did you say to those 52% about to give this poseur the keys to your kingdom? Nothing!
It was my first key party, and I was too shy to make small talk.
Instead, you put their 'ittle feelings above your freedom and went home to blast out an email of frustration to your favorite conservative columnist. Wow. That's surely the modern equivalent of Paul Revere's courageous ride and crossing the Delaware with dysentery and frost-bitten toes.
If, while sitting at your PC and letting off your steam with your flying fingers, you'd paused long enough to have diarrhea, it would have been a lot more patriotic.
Gotta run now. There's a neighbor lady two doors down who still thinks Barack is cool and that cool makes a country go, and I'm about to clue her in with the most calmly insulting tirade I can conjure -- over coffee.
Yeah, I'd recommend hitting Starbucks on the way, Kyle-Anne; you may be leaning on that doorbell for awhile.
Happy hunting, my fellow Americans.

It's sort of like if the League of Women Voters adopted Charles Whitman as their cartoon mascot.
Kyle-Anne Shiver is a frequently ranting American commoner. And darned proud of it, too.
That's the way, Serfette, loud 'n proud. But once the feudal system has been completely restored, we'll see how much surplus breath you have free for rants when you're crotch-deep in His Lordship's cranberry bog.


Bogie said...


Another great takedown, but your fonts got hosed just before the photo of St. Ron. Guess that's what happens at 4:39 am.

ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

We are not worthy!

We are not worthy!

Anonymous said...

Hmmm...looks like her four glasses of Jack Daniels kicked in about halfway through her piece....

Anonymous said...

"This governance by a committee of nitwits deemed czars, with an actor playing the role of Commander in Chief/Chief Executive of the U.S.A." ... ♫You don't have to be a czar, baby, to be in her rant ♫

Jay B. said...

...So, in conclusion, Things Fall-Apart.

Scott said...

Thanks, Bogie. Should be fixed now.

maryclev said...

Do you think Kyle-Anne even comprehends the irony of her ranting to her blog (or "column") about how the only thing conservatives have been doing in response to Obama is ranting to their blogs and such?

D Johnston said...

Ever hear the old saw about guys telling jokes in prison? It's always the same jokes, so to save time one of the cons yells out "#35" and everyone laughs because they all know what #35 is.

It really feels like wingnut writing is going the same way. Every column and blog post is just a handful of right-wing memes about the President, rephrased and shuffled around a bit. In a sense, that stream of consciousness bit in the middle of Kyle-Anne's column is very visionary. Why bother with writing at all? She knows what people came to see.

If trends remain apace and the President wins re-election, by 2015 right-wing blogs will no longer contain words. All writing will be replaced with an alphanumeric code that informs the reader what should be making him or her angry today.

Carl said...

Holy crap! It's amazing. She manages to hit the evaporation of every single artificial construct that American society has imposed on humans as the collapse of civilization!

For example, children born out of wedlock...does Kyle-Anne realize that children borne IN wedlock is a relatively new phenomenon, that most societies, including most sane societies today, don't look at out-of-wedlock babies as anything but, you know, children whom have mouths to feed and diapers to be changed, not one of the Four Hosemen?

What a d-bag.

Cole said...

Biblical prophecy experts see an apocalyptic climax forming.

If one takes religious eschatology to be, like the rest of major religious texts, mostly metaphorical teaching with traces of bean-counting and decorated with bullshit, as I do, Biblical prophecies of the apocalypse are nothing short of these ancient folks saying (even back then): “Humanity is a unique mix of potential and fucked-upedness, and, tragically, fucked-upedness will win out sooner or later. You can bet your life on it.”

The fact that the vast majority of humans in the world abdicate responsibility for our destiny to an abusive Sky Father, rather than try to live up to our potential, is just another fucked-up example of how inevitable our end is.

Cole said...

By the way, Scott, you are a master of imagery. I love little lines like this: "let's listen in on her conversation with the Service Manager, then maybe enjoy a complimentary Styrofoam cup of overbrewed Yuban,..."


I swear I can hear the whine of air compressors of every Midas I've sat in.

Kathy said...

That photo bothers me. It looks like a year-book photo of one of the "mean girls", the one who caused another teen girl to commit suicide. Creepy.

Carl said...

It looks like a year-book photo of one of the "mean girls", the one who caused another teen girl to commit suicide.

To me, it looks more like the mugshot of a well-to-do suburban housewife who supplements hubby's modest income as a junior executive for an insurance company by brewing meth in her bathtub. She's so proud of how many suckers have made her rich beyond her wildest dreams.

Stacia said...

Wonderful take-down, as usual. Me, I see "jiving" and "dark skinned" and get all ARGH BARGH-ey. It's hard to joke about these sorts of things, but it's important to; that's why you're paid the big bucks.

Blogging IS a path to riches, right?

Our mechanic doesn't spring for Yuban, but it is overbrewed and it used to come with complimentary Glenn Beck episode on the high-def, until Beck got his sociopathic ass fired.

heydave said...

Speaking of Beck, I saw a bumper sticker today that read"Palin/Beck" = Lipstick/Dipstick