So poor me Joe isn’t feeling too eager to spout his bullshit any longer. This is what happens when you lie like hell and falsify your own victimization to a Presidential Candidate. Joe the plumber is actually:
Fail
- Not independent
- Registered Republican
- Planted by the local GOP
- Possibly related to Charles Keating (!)
- Not a plumber
- A tax cheat
- Not making anywhere near $250,000 a year.
- Set to save more on taxes under Obama than McCain
- A moron, and kind of a bitch
I mean, even if you were who you claimed to be, then buck up you fucking whiner. You’re making a quarter-million a year? Good for you, you’re in the top 1% of the country. So you have to pay $30 more per $1000 earned OVER $250,000 under ‘Bama’s tax plan? Well shit, somebody grab me a violin, so I can play it just for you and your incredible burden.
Joe’s scenario about not being able to buy a business because of Obama’s tax plan was total bullshit. So naturally McCain and the right wind are slobbering all over his cock. And then we find out that Joe’s a total fraud, and the GOP look like idiots. Like they always do.
It's always Friday inside Guy Fieri
I decided to follow Peanut’s lead and take myself out on a date last night to one of the local suburban eateries. You could say Benjamin Light lives in one of those areas, much like a doughy, calorie-rich donut, that surrounds an urban city. It was Friday, so I chose TGI Friday’s. Parking was a nightmare. After sitting at the bar and ordering a beer and a steak, which I’ve read is what pro-Americans eat, I put on my headphones and listened to my iPod nano, staring at other patrons until they made eye contact.
The crowd was maybe not quite Sarah Palin’s pro-America. I mean, there were a fair amount of minorities there. The music blasting in my ears lent the meal a certain frenetic immediacy that almost made it feel like I was in a real bar. Pro-Americans took pictures of each other at tables. My plate slid around on the bar while I tried to saw through the petite sirloin with my knife.
There was this batshit republican chick (member of congress to boot) on Hardball the other day calling for a new House Un-American Activities Committee. A day later, her democratic opponent, who had previously raised like a few Gs for his campaign, found his war chest half a million dollars richer. Nice to see that even in an economic crisis, American’s can scrounge around for 500 grand just to stick it to one self-righteous cunt.
It's just a matter of time.
On the television at the bar, they were playing the 2002 Niners-Giants playoff game on the NFL network. The one where NY blows like an 85-point lead. Back when Jeff Garcia and Terrell Owens were still dating. Them were the days. Some asshat changed the channel to preseason basketball before the game even got to the good part. A guy sat down nearby, latest fashions, bulky jacket, big fake gold watch and a blinged-out phone. Ordered a girly margarita. I don’t understand masculinity in 2008.
I’ll need to find a better bar for the 4th. Probably have to venture into the city. Not The City, but someplace a little less “American.” Not to get cocky and jinx things, but November 4th + alcohol + progressive women = I mean, come on. It’s like when Bill was in Office. Everybody got paid, everybody got laid.
I finished my meal and left a reasonable tip. The steak was just so-so, but the beer was good. Went back to my soulless condo complex to read some political erotica. For a second I thought I heard somebody fucking in a nearby unit and that actual human beings lived here, but it was just a hungry cat.
Well, here it is, kids. The long and winding road of Britpop week has lead us here and what a long, strange journey it’s been. And if I could’ve packed that sentence with more references and cliches, then by God, I would have. But for our conclusion, I (Marco) think Lollipop and I would like to kick it old school (like we have all week, really) with just a few more of our favorite songs…
And I’ll let my co-blogger kick it off. Lollipop?
Lollipop Gomez: Yes, we are finally fucking done with London. We have no money, we’ve already gone through every flavor of potato chip, the novelty of buying diagonally cut sandwiches from Tesco for 98p has worn off, Yorkie candy bars no longer make us laugh (yeah we get it they’re not for birds. Shut up!), we no longer jump onto the Tube when she tells us “Mind The Gap!”, and we wear so much black we’ve been asked for directions from 4 different earnest Americans already, so we kind of, sort of feel like we are one with London. It’s time to move on, one last hurrah, one last cup of tea, one last English breakfast, one last curry, one last pack of Silk Cuts.
Marco Sparks: Women, women, women. I think I’ve had probably more failures in romance than I have had successes (especially circa the Britpop era) but I did have one English girlfriend a long time ago and, I’m not going to lie to you, my friends (if I can sound like John McCain for just a moment there), this song…
…more than reminds me of her. That’s “Female Of The Species” by Space, and having never seen Space before watching some of their videos just now, I never knew what chavs they were. But damn talented chavs, for sure.
Lollipop: Like Marco, I haven’t done very well with ladies either. Maybe that’s because I date men. I was dating a man when I was in London. Traveling with someone you are in love with is simultaneously the best and worst thing you can possibly do for your relationship. You’re far away so you feel so close to this person, but you’re also spending every waking minute with them and you want to push them into the River Thames. Or you just want them to leave you alone as you check your e-mail at Burger King (which for some reason, has Internet). But, as you walk through Covent Garden or the cute little shops of Notting Hill or you sit in a basement eating fish & chips with the one you love, you can’t help but feel mostly love. Love that they’re there, love that you’re sharing this experience with them, love that they’re drinking that gin and tonic and they light your smokes in the pub and you can’t help but feel the way you did when you first met…which is like this song (“Temptation” by New Order):
Marco: Another excellent choice there, Lollipop. Much like the reader, I’m following along on your vacation with you, not so much a tourist in the sense you are, or were, but more voyeuristic, like a tourist on vacation in your memories. I love that you used “Temptation,” an excellent song, and I’m going to use one by the same band that makes me think lyrically of similar experiences to the adventures in your continuing travelogue.
“Ceremony” cover by Radiohead on their “Thumbs down” webcast on November 9, 2007.
This is from the last batch of songs that Ian Curtis wrote before he died when the band was still Joy Division and thus it became the first New Order single. It’s an amazing song from a band with a full catalog of amazing songs and I really like cover by the experimental one hit wonder band that went on to have a few more hits and experiments, Radiohead.
Lollipop: I love New Order so much as well as Joy Division that I’m going throw it back, Sparks and give you a little bit of Joy Division. On those nights at karaoke when I’m crying into my Jack Daniel’s, there is no better song to sing than this one. And in any case, it’s so true, love will tear us apart. Again and again and again.
Marco: And now it’s become my duty to cheer up Lollipop. Love will tear us all apart, bit by bit it’ll devour our hearts if we let it. But you have to. You have to make yourself available to the cannibal urges of romance, because that special love, that something perfect will only find willing victims and will never, ever sniff it’s way to the carefully guarded cautious boring types. You can’t stay still, you always have to be ready to move again, to get back on that metaphorical dance floor…
There was a new movement thrown together years and years ago called poptimism to semi-ironically combat rockism. Basically, as the afterword to Phonogram states, it was just an excuse to dance, which is something you never need an excuse to do. Right now dancing makes me think of Hot Chip, (I feel honor bound to mention that the singer dresses up like the Joker in that bizarre video because the lyrics refer back to Jack Nicholson’s portrayal of the character in the 1989 Batman movie) and gets me thinking of this song, of which I actually prefer the cover by Duffy. Duffy (whose producer on her debut was the guitar player in Suede, thus buying her ample Britpop cred out her Welsh wazoo) is unabashedly an attempt to cash in on a little of that Amy Winehouse train wreck vibe, but personally, I’m okay with that since I’m not really that in the Winehouse club (she looks like something that goes bump in the night, honestly)(bumping for crack!). Duffy strikes me as just as talented, but more enthusiastic about music (despite very talented singers like Estelle and Allison Goldfrapp slagging off on her), and a hell of a lot better looking with a tinge of a young Brigitte Bardot thing, which is never a bad thing.
Lollipop: I’m going to have to disagree with Sparks, as the original version of “Ready For The Floor” is way better. I do an excellent version of it at karaoke (no video exists, but ask me after next Saturday, I may be
able to reproduce it). One way to combat rockism is with hot synthesizers and very few do it better than Dave Gahan and Depeche Mode. Continuing our la-la-la love fest, here is a song about giving in to sin, because well, you have to make this life liveable.
Marco: Not surprisingly, Lollipop goes and ups the ante on me. But am I scared? No, not at all. Marco Sparks always has an ace up his sleeve. Or, barring any sleeves, he has one somewhere in a pants pocket. And here it is:
I do sometimes have to question if Ronson deserves the level of attention he gets, but another thing you should know about me is that I love Bond films. And as a non-limey, how can you talk about British music/culture and not talk about how the Bond phenomenon has impacted both? I love this live version of one of my favorite Bond tunes (to one of the most ridiculous of the movies) because it’s a wonderfully fresh take on the tune and is preceded by a fancy little Bond theme medley. This is me dancing into the fire and all over Lollipop’s face.
Lollipop: Get your dirty shoes away from me, bitchface! My next song is Pulp’s “Common People” which I stole from Marco by pointing at a shiny object in the opposite direction. It works every time. I stole the song, he started to cry, I slapped him for being a little bitch, he kept crying. I play the song as loud as possible. It’s so good!
But I guess that leaves me to end it, and on somewhat of a high note, if possible. Bloody hell! We hope you enjoyed Britpop week as much as we did and are left drooling madly at what new, weird shit we’re cooking up in our sodding TARDIS. Well, as the British would say, Piss off!
