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Eight years to be exact.
For those of you that don’t know who I am, allow me to introduce myself: I am Wayne Chinsang. From time to time, I’ve been known to go by Insane Wayne Chinsang. For many years, I ran a little magazine/website/cult named Tastes Like Chicken. There will be more announcements about Tastes Like Chicken in the near future, but for now I’d like to talk about some more pressing issues.
Earlier today, I received this email from my old boss. Some of you may know him as Shady:
You see, during the run of Tastes Like Chicken (from 1998 to around, say, 2007 or so), Shady quietly ran shit anonymously behind the scenes while I was the angry (and much prettier) face of the magazine. That isn’t to say Shady and I didn’t see eye-to-eye on most things, but I was always much better at voicing my… let’s just call it dissatisfaction with the world than he was.
And, I mean, let’s be honest here: Shady is a shell of the man he was during his TLC days. He’s now the father of a little girl. He has a tattoo of the Muppets on his arm. And that’s not even to mention his male-pattern baldness, or the fact that he just turned 40.
None of those things describe me. I am the father of exactly zero children (that I know of), the only tattoo I’d ever get would be of the phrase “TATTOOS ARE STUPID,” and I have a luxuriously full head of hair. Oh, and I don’t age. No, seriously, I never age. That’s what happens when you’ve spent the last eight years of your life sleeping in the abandoned ruins of a castle in Romania.
But I digress….
See, the thing is, I was able to take an eight-year break from reality because, as far as I could tell, humanity was mostly back on track. Sure, there was awful shit going on in the world, but we’re never going to be able to fully eradicate all misery. Not as long as contemporary country music exists, at least. Still, humanity was progressing nicely. We all seemed to be getting along together fairly well, or, at the very least, we respectfully accepted our little differences as simply that: little differences.
But then today I get that email from Shady, and after a quick Dogpile search (I told you, I’ve been gone awhile) I find out that 60 million Americans willingly voted a pussy-grabbing fascist into the White House. I’d like to say I’m surprised by this outcome (as Shady obviously was, as illustrated by his sophomoric and minimalist reaction of teen angst), but I’m really not. I mean, we’re talking about a country that elected that Texas hilljack Dubya (AKA George W. Bush for the newbies) into the White House twice. Twice!
All of this is to say that Trump’s ascension to the top of the political shit pile that is the U.S. government is about as surprising as Kanye West’s mental breakdown. (I spent a lot of time on Dogpile today.)
And so, Shady has decided to pass the anger baton on to me for the next four years, and rightly so. Because, when compared to me, Shady just doesn’t possess the appropriate amount of anger needed to adequately tackle this fucked-up turn of events. I, on the other hand, most certainly do.
Need proof? I once started an online petition to God to give Dubya cancer. For real! I really did that! And I don’t regret one goddamn second of it. Know why? Because Bush and his entire crew are still nothing more than petty war criminals. And I’ve said it before, and I will say it again: I will throw a fucking party each and every time a member of that administration leaves this mortal coil. Red Dog and Jack’s Frozen Pizzas on me, y’all!
But until that happens, Donald Trump, I’m turning my attention to you.
So while Shady concentrates on his silly “this is what I’m reading” or “here’s a misspelled sign” or “read this dumb quote one of my friends just said” type of posts here on The Blarg, I’m now in charge of managing the anger around here.
Because let’s be honest, folks… suddenly, there’s a fuckload to be angry about.
Stay tuned, dear reader. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.
…my good friend Milan gave me this t-shirt as a present for my 25th birthday.
Here’s a closer look just in case you can’t make it out.
I got this shirt two weeks to the day after September 11th. Needless to say, it wasn’t the most popular article of clothing to be wearing right on the heels of the nation’s worst terrorist attack, especially while living in Ohio.
In those months that followed, I got a lot of dirty looks from people while out in public. Once, while waiting in line at a grocery store, a cashier mumbled something under her breath about me being either a traitor or a terrorist. She spoke loud enough for me to hear her, but soft enough for me not to fully make it out.
Still, I wore this shirt with pride for the rest of George W. Bush’s presidency. Actually, I continued to wear it well into Obama’s first term, mostly just to remind myself of what dark times we had just emerged from.
For those eight years, while running Tastes Like Chicken, my friends and I went after Bush every chance we got. I’m not proud of everything we did and said in those years, but a lot of those funny little jabs still hold up today.
Especially this one.
But those years are now in the past (thankfully) and George W. Bush is mostly forgotten. Of course, over time he’ll probably become a glowing poster boy of pride for the GOP, but that won’t ever change my opinion of him.
He’s still not my president. And I don’t have to wear a t-shirt anymore to prove it.
I’ve had this shirt for more than eleven years. It feels great to finally get rid of it.
Heading to Goodwill,
No, not because I’ve seen the “light” of the GOP because we all know that’s never going to happen. And no, it’s not because I’m disheartened with what Obama has or hasn’t done with his time in office thus far. (Though both Obama and his administration should be ashamed of themselves for their ridiculous appeal attempts against both same-sex marriage in Massachusetts, and of the recent repeal of the military’s repugnant “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. But I digress….)
The reason I was going to encourage you to vote Republican next Tuesday is simple: It would be an insurance policy for 2012. Let me explain.
As it stands, Democrats rule Washington and, in doing so, are absorbing 100% of the blame for pretty much everything. Of course, they’re far from perfect because… well, they’re politicians. But to say that Democrats are entirely responsible for the woes of America would be like blaming the CW for all crappy television. Crappy television existed before the CW came along and, sadly, it will continue to exist long after it’s gone.
Still, I honestly was okay with throwing a few Democrats under the proverbial bus. For me, the math was simple:
U.S. Congress – Democrats + Republicans = GOP-ruled Congress in 2012
This way, when Obama’s ready for his reelection bid, the tables will have been turned. At that point, we can all point at the Republicans and blame them for the country’s miseries.
But you know what? I’ve changed my mind. Of course, I personally had no real intention of voting for a Republican (or, God forbid, a Tea Party) candidate, mostly because there isn’t enough soap in the world to cleanse me of having done so. But I honestly was fine with others doing it if it ensured a second term for Obama in two years. You know, the whole “breaking a few eggs for an omelet” mentality.
Now, as some of you may already know, I’m not a huge proponent of Obama. Sure, I voted for him against McCain but that was only out of necessity. Still, I’m a firm believer in giving the man a chance. So this message isn’t aimed toward those who voted for McCain in 2008, and it surely isn’t geared toward anyone who has ever attended a Tea Party event or is an avid listener/viewer of Glenn Beck, Bill O’Reilly or Rush Limbaugh. Instead, this message is aimed at the sane folks who voted for Obama two years ago, but aren’t all that happy or excited with the current state of affairs.
Again, my message and my math are simple. This one’s a word problem:
George spends eight years destroying a house. By the time he leaves it, the house is barely standing; it’s just a frame with a few nails sticking out here and there. Barack then comes in and tries to get the house back up to code. After two years, the house is definitely better than it was before, but it has a long way to go and still looks pretty awful. And so the question is: Who’s responsible for the state of the house?
You don’t need to be a genius to know that eight is greater than two.
So give it time, folks. Be patient. Disneyland wasn’t built in a day. Or was that Rome? Either way, they’re both accurate.
Bush and his army of fellow Republicans had carte blanche with this country for six years. Giving Democrats another two to figure things out and push forward some real progress isn’t going to hurt. Besides, what will Republicans have to complain about if they win?
So fight the good fight next Tuesday. And spread the word.
Remember: It’s not over until Rush Limbaugh dresses in drag and sings.
John Yoo is the dickbag who worked in the Department of Justice under Dubya’s administration. He’s also the moron who played a key role in the administration’s justification of the use of torture on Abu Ghraib prisoners.
With his seedy glory days behind him, Yoo has turned to the college lecture circuit where he pollutes the minds of America’s youth with his bullshit rhetoric. He lectures at both Berkeley and Chapman University.
It was during one of these lectures that a guy from the Australian comedy show “The Chaser’s War on Everything” hopped up on his desk and started asking Yoo questions… while dressed like an Abu Ghraib prisoner.
Yoo awkwardly cancels the rest of the class, not knowing what to say or do next. He bumbles and fumbles around with some papers, and quickly makes his way for the door.
Does that make you uncomfortable, John Yoo? Not as uncomfortable as having your balls wired to a car battery, I’m sure.
Watch the hilarity unfold here:
The war criminal is Yoo,
A few months ago, back when McCain still thought he had a chance, an angry old man took the mic while at a McCain/Palin rally that was being held in Waukesha, Wisconsin. He yelled and screamed about how mad he was, how pissed all conservatives were about what seemed to be an impending Obama win.
If this doesn’t ring a bell, here, check it out for yourself:
Now, what really surprised me about this guy’s comments was how much I could relate to what he was saying. No, I don’t have a fear of the “socialists taking over the country” like this guy clearly does. But I am mad, and have been for eight long years now.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have one ounce of sympathy for this guy or, for that matter, any of the people who feel they “lost” on November 4th. These people are mad? They’re upset? They’re angry? Good. Welcome to the world I’ve been living in for the past eight years. You and your anger can go have a powwow in Fox News’ parking lot for all I care, because what you’ve been feeling these past two months pales in comparison to the disgust that has been growing inside of me like a parasite for nearly a decade.
And this, George W. Bush, is what you’ve made me. You, your monkeys and your collective blasé attitude towards anyone and anything that truly matters in the world fills me with such contempt for your miserable administration that it almost makes me embarassed to admit it.
Some people dealt with you with shrugged shoulders and a “What you gonna do?” attitude. And granted, for years we did very much the same thing: making fun of your hillbilly nature; poking fun at the fact that you’re barely smart enough to even swallow a pretzel correctly; shaking our heads in disbelief as you stumble and mumble and bumble over words that a sixth grader should know.
After all, you, George W. Bush, are a moron, so it’s been easy to make fun of you as such.
But your days in charge are now over, and you can take your wide-eyed, blank-stare wife with you back to Texas. You’re relieved of your duties.
But before you go, I wanted to give you a little going-away gift; something personal, just from me to you.
The gift I want to give you is my anger; my hatred; my contempt; my belief that people really were stupid enough to re-elect you; my disregard for everything that is good, everything that is meaningful, everything that shines brightly; my apathy, and any other negative thought or ounce of tissue that still exists in me today.
I give it all back to you because I don’t need it anymore. I’ve done what I could with it for these past eight years, and now I think it’s time for you to deal with it.
Tomorrow I will wake up a happier man, George W. Bush. But not as happy as the days when you, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Wolfowitz, Rice and Rove all leave this mortal coil.
On each of those glorious days I will throw a party for those closest to me, and we will all eat, drink, laugh and talk about how the world is now at least a tiny bit better.
Until then, may you disappear into complete obscurity, realizing little by little with each passing day that you were nothing more than an eight year-long bad joke; a crappy tourist-trap t-shirt; a forgotten cartoon character.
May you remain that way forever.