Money, tariffs and divination
OK, so you’ve got a person named Sam, and Sam does a job. You pay Sam a certain amount X to do this job. Whether Sam is Samuel or Samantha, it just doesn’t seem all that difficult to grasp the concept that Sam should get paid that X amount no matter his or her gender. Am I missing something here? What exactly is the complex existential challenge posed by this equal pay thing? Or is it not the concept that’s the challenge, but the actual execution of the concept? Whatever the case, we can once again see a situation where it’s obvious we’re not exactly grappling with nuclear physics here—but grappling with yet another instance of firmly entrenched assholism disguised, as firmly entrenched assholism so often is, as tradition. To which modern American gals rightly proclaim, “Phooey!”
You know, that Impossible Burger at Burger King ain't bad. It really is a reasonable facsimile of an actual hamburger. The main ingredients, if you haven't Googled it up, are a soybean blend worked up with coconut oil, sunflower oil and potato protein, with just a dash of soylent green for that special finishing touch. Aha! So this is how Trump is gonna make it up to Midwestern soybean farmers for ruining their gigantic Asian markets with his wacky tariff jive. He's gonna morph the American fast food burger business into a gigantic, churning Soybean Scene as Impossible Imitators explode into action.
Time for another spot-on quote from one of the all-time quotable journalists, the great H.L. Mencken, who once observed, "The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed, and hence clamorous to be led to safety, by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary."
Of course, the gold standard of Mencken quotes is this one, which is obviously deserving of revival: "As democracy is perfected, the office of the President represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. We move toward a lofty ideal. On some great and glorious day, the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron."
Ouch! And touche! (Let's give H.L. some Nostradamian style points for that call, which he uncorked in a column 99 years ago, July 1920.)
Joe Walsh, Republican candidate for President, on the Nevada Retrumplicans decision to cancel its party caucus in order to kiss Agent Orange ass: "It’s utter bullshit."