Hello Nick Mockiavelli Readers,
My friends, my friends. The Presidential election has come and gone and after two years of Joe Biden's creepy grin, Bristol "Momma" Palin, and a host of other memorable moments, we've arrived right where conservative Republican's assumed we'd end up after George W. Bush's Presidency: electing an African-American guy from Indonesia and Hawaii with a name that riffs on two of our generation's most vicious terrorist masterminds.
As such, I've moved away from my nom de plume Nick Mockiavelli and can be found writing at www.barnesburning.com on a variety of topics. Sometimes I'm funny. Sometimes, I glance right smack up against the meaning of life. If you're interested, y'all should click your mouse on that there link, drop your email in the box in the upper-right corner of the page ("Enter your email address") and click Subscribe. That way I can continue to drop knowledge in your inbox.
Happy New Year!
Seth Barnes née Nick Mockiavelli
www.barnesburning.com
These are challenging times. Recession. Slowing growth. An economic hiccup. Hard Times. A downturn in the economy. The Great Depression (Millennium Edition). Squeeze on the American pocketbook. Housing crisis. Rich dads now poor. Credit crunch. Financial setback. Period where money evaporates for no reason. Living lean. Deteriorating market conditions. Tightening budgets.
No matter how you phrase it, the economy is looking a little iffy these days. And luckily, you can always get an update on the situation with round-the-clock cable news, broadband Internet, mobile connections and those offensively intrusive screens that assault you with Headline News when you're just trying to pump gas or buy a quart of milk at the grocery store. A recession is specifically defined as a decline in GDP for two or more consecutive quarters, but rather than wait for that to actually happen, the modern way of dealing with this is TO FREAK OUT ABOUT WHAT'S GOING ON WITH OUR MONEY!!!! (even if none of us actually understand how macroeconomics work). And since many have already lost their jobs, homes and general financial stability, it's fair to say we're anxious for our elected officials to do something about the mess.
Accordingly, the Presidential campaign has taken on the economic downturn as the number one issue on the campaign trail. While the candidates have proposed various measures to stimulate the economy (in recessions, politicians spend their time on "stimulus"....imagine a sanitation worker holding his nose and prodding a hunk of spoiled meat with a stick with the faint hope that the slab of beef comes back to life, and you get the picture) and boost productivity we thought it might be worth examining the various solutions available to the candidates.
Pay Citizens Hush Money – Otherwise known as “the IRS economic stimulus tax rebate,” this strategy effectively pays taxpayers some of their own money so they shut up, stopping crying/asking tricky questions and head out for spas treatments and iPod Nanos on Uncle Sam. For couples receiving the full $1200 rebate, an evening of stuffed shrimp and Mango Madness margaritas at The Cheesecake Factory await
Politicians Are Just Like You! – Even if Bill and Hillary Clinton pocketed $109 million in the last few years and Barack Obama is a telegenic, once-in-a-generation speaker who regularly fills sports arenas for a 15 minute stump speech, politicians like to mix it up with regular folks on the campaign trail. In wearing goofy hats, bowling a string or two, and knocking back light beers, they’re proving they’re just like you. And you ain’t so bad!
Blame The Oil Companies – Oil companies are big, shifty, faceless enterprises that apparently do nothing other than corral mounds of $1000 bills with lawn rakes (probably gold-plated lawn rakes at that!) and fill out an almost infinite number of zeros in the “net income” section of their quarterly reports. Basically, while those of us in goofy hats who swig light beer at the bowling alley don’t have any idea how crude is extracted from the earth and processed, we don’t think anyone who has such knowledge should profit from it.
Blame The Lame Duck – Let’s just say that George W. Bush won’t go down as the Tiger Woods of U.S. Presidents. As he moves into official lame duck status, he’s an easy target for both Democrats and Republicans. As Bush himself joked the other day when talking about daughter Jenna’s upcoming nuptials, “Jenna’s moving out too.” Everyone's hating on W. because it works.
Nondescript Job Creation - Jobs. Good quality, living wage jobs. We all want 'em and we all need 'em. I don't think anyone really knows how jobs are created or taken away, but you won't meet anybody running for President who won't promise a boatload of 'em just for the heck of it. It's one of the top plays in the recession playbook!
School Daze - In general, our schools could always use improving. Will this ever not be the case? Will there ever be a time where parents, teacher and students alike all turn to each other and say, "Hey, our schools aren't so bad! Every one is safe, happy and learning lots and lots." This better not happen, or it will cut down the ways politicians can slice and dice their campaign trail promises!
The New York Times has a slick interactive feature today on Al Jaffee's Mad Magazine fold-ins. The pieces, running the gamut from 1960s politics to the current MLB steroid scandal aren't just great satire -- they're, like, meaningful and stuff. Groovy.
LOS ANGELES - The uniforms are freshly pressed. A bat cracks through the spring air. Players on the bench chatter in support of their teammates. Is this the jolly banter of baseball spring training? The familiar cadence of our national pastime coming to life under the Florida sun? While the rituals and banter is the same, there's not a baseball or batting glove in sight, because this is spring training for high speed chases in Los Angeles. And the deputy who just exited his squad car is using his titanium nightstick to pummel a Styrofoam dummy fugitive beyond recognition. With a final "crack" he knocks the facsimile head clean off the body and it bounces onto the freeway. His uproarious companions cheer his homerun swing.
The news helicopters may not be following these police officers as they careen across the Los Angeles basin at over 100 mph, but that doesn't mean they're taking it easy. "Spring training is where it all starts," claims Deputy Richard Knox. "If I'm not prepared to drive my squad car at unfathomable speeds now, what makes you think I'll be able to do it on July 4th weekend? Without practice, I won't be ready to risk the lives of innocent citizens by firing my Glock at random out the driver side window with the small hope that I hit a petty criminal on the run to escape a misdemeanor loitering charge." With that, Knox flipped on his red and blues and swerved dangerously into the breakdown lane to avoid rear-ending a minivan.
While some have criticized the aggressive high speed chase tactics employed by the LAPD, Chief William Bratton sees them as opportunities to showcase the department's skill and raw firepower. "These officers are like professional athletes, and as such, we certainly need to devote man hours in preparation for the heavy summer season of high speed pursuits. Watching a team of officers corral a rusty Subaru Impreza driven by a miscreant who didn't use his left turn signal is absolutely beauteous. Do you think that happens without practice? In the summer months, my department is on live TV more than the Dodgers and Angels combined. If we want to keep our ratings up, we need to put some thought into the drama and spectacle I like to call "Magic On Asphalt."
And the police aren't the only ones getting into shape. In South Central Los Angeles, Felix Hernandez and Ray Dobson are holed up in a boarded up tenement smoking crystal meth. Felix, who usually smokes enough crystal to fell a herd of male elephants, is careful to inhale a smaller "Spring Training" dose. "It's just an exhibition, yo," he asserts, the tendrils of smoke rising to the dingy ceiling. "We ain't going crazy yet. Wait till it's all hot and humid and my tolerance is crazy high. Then we gonna drive from Santa Monica to San Bernadeno with the pedal to the floor."
In fact, citizens would be surprised to learn that criminals and cops actually collaborate in these early season months. After slamming junk for a few hours, Felix and Ray drive their late model Ford Thunderbird out to the City Yards on the outskirts of the city. They meet up with a team of squad cars. After exchanging pleasantries (not unlike opponents chatting around the batting cage), the hoods casually walk to their car and pull away at a reasonable, even street-legal, speed. The cops follow, and though their lights are flashing, you can tell both parties are using the exercise to test our the finer points of the freeway cat-and-mouse death match they love so well. Felix has purposely flattened his two rear tires to test the handling under such conditions. The deputies fire rubber bullets at the back of his car looking for the right kill angle. The sun shines. The grass on the median is green. Cops and bad guys are getting ready to kill each other on the freeway, and all is right with the world.
In the wake of scandalous reports that New York Governor Eliot Spitzer frequented an elite escort service, many have wondered what drives his wife to stay by his side. Silda Spitzer ascended with her husband to his podium of shame yesterday as Mr. Spitzer related to the world that he has a predilection for high priced prostitutes, envelopes stuffed with cashy cash, and posh hotel rooms (often in the same night). Clutching his hand and staring blankly into la la land, you can almost hear Silda hearkening back to her days as a little girl, when she dreamed about the knight in shining armor who would give her the world, an armful of dreams, and maybe, just maybe, a nasty venereal disease:
"When I grow up, I want to marry a man who crusades for the common man against the dark forces of capitalism. I want a man who will leave no stone unturned in his quest to stamp out unchecked greed. I want a man who will stand up for honor, integrity and the honest ideal of American prosperity. I want a man who's blood run thick with ambition. And beyond all else, I want to marry an unfaithful sex fiend who turns into a dirty, dirty slut lover the second he's out of my sight."
High ranking members of the New York Legislature are considering the appointment of a sexual deviant featured on the popular NBC show "To Catch a Predator" to the position of Interim Governor. It is widely expected that acting Governor Eliot Spitzer will resign following revelations he recently had a liaison with a high-end call girl in a Washington, D.C. hotel.
Marvin Jenks, an unemployed mechanic from Upper Needham Falls, New York was recently featured on the Dateline NBC show attempting to rendezvous with a 13 year-old boy for a sexual encounter. Jenks entered the sting wearing a silk lavender thong, carrying a case of whipped cream, and singing the lyrics to David Bowie's "John, I'm Only Dancing". "I'm a sick prick!!! And my brain's messed up," sobbed the semi-lucid Jenks as he was dragged away from the scene.
Why appoint a soulless child molester to the most important leadership position in one of the biggest states in the nation? In short, officials don't think there's a single politician left with moral fortitude to hold the office. By picking an individual with rock-bottom expectations, the public will have a Governor who can only get better in the eyes of the public by virtue of the fact that he's already committed the most heinous act imaginable. "Every day he doesn't molest is a win for Mr. Jenks and a win for the state of New York," said an aide who requested anonymity because his family, high school civics teacher, and Lord God Our Father in Heaven would be ashamed and astonished about his views on the matter.
Officials hope that the appointment of another overstimulated sex maniac will mute the public outcry when, inevitably, Mr. Governor drops his pants and does something wicked, wicked naughty. As the unnamed aide reasoned, "The strategy here is to be honest: politicians are greasy sex addicts who would steal their grandmother's purse if they're jonesing for a 5 minute roll-around session. It's time to be upfront about it, it's time for the public to stop being surprised by their shocking compulsions."
Our friends at Wikipedia tell us: "Thumb wrestling (also Thumb War) is a popular children's game played with two players, or in tournaments."
I respectfully disagree. Thumb wars may have started as an innocent children's game, but the time has come for the sport to settle important political and cultural disputes....like which of these two poobahs gets to run against Johnny Be Good McCain. We've had 20 debates in this election. Is it to much to ask for a half hour of silence where nothing can be heard other than Hillary and Obama's thumbs writhing over each other in winner-take-all quest for the Democratic nomination?
Join us now! We will not sit silently by while politicians try to settle this election by conventional means. We demand that they resort to the most honorable hand-to-hand combat known to mankind: the 1,2,3,4 Thumb War.
Whereas the 2008 Democratic Presidential nominating process has turned into a gynormous clusterf#ck, and whereas the state of Pennsylvania will probably melt into a formless, molten blob after seven weeks of campaigning, we submit that Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton engage in a Thumb War to resolve the current impasse.
Please join us...we won't stop until the two of them go into a small room by themselves, clasp hands, and participate in a traditional Thumb War per the rules of the International Thumb Wrestling Association. The winner is the presumptive Democratic nominee for President of The United States.
Wouldn't that be easy? JOIN US NOW!!