Oh, look: Christine O’Donnell was on the record back in the ’90s claiming Bill Clinton needed to be tried for the “murder” of Vince Foster. As Talking Points Memo helpfully explains, the Murder of Vince Foster was to the ’90s what the Kenyan Birth Certificate is to the oughts.
But that’s not all — she also claimed “scientists” have created “mice with human brains.” “Fully-functioning” human brains, no less.
Well, that’s good. My own feels little Swiss-cheesey at the moment; I could use a donor that comes without moral baggage. Although, I dunno. I’m trying to cut back on cheese.
The thing is, I know these people. I do. Not well, but I know them. They were seemingly half the population of Indiana back in the day, and would occasionally call me up to gnaw on my ear about Vince Foster, among other things.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but could I show you some literature about another candidate?” one called to me as I made my way into my polling place on election day. “It’s Bo Gritz. Rhymes with ‘rights.'”
Oh yeah, that guy. He’s still out there. My measure for Crazy back then was whether the lunatic in question had a radio show available on shortwave; many of their natural constituency lives far off the grid in Unabomber cabins and need that extra service. Nowadays, the internet serves for everyone, and I guess they do their reading at the library when they come to town for more 50-pound bags of rice.
But Vince Foster was a biggie, even with mainstream crazies. Was it Dan Burton who restaged the shooting (using watermelons) in his back yard, before concluding yes, yes, it was MURDER? He was a Hoosier. I don’t know why Christine O’Donnell didn’t relocate to Indiana when she was looking for a launch pad for her political career. She’d fit right in. She’d be mainstream.
Speaking of which, I guess everyone has heard by now of the twin Comedy Central rallies planned for D.C. next month. If I could, I would so totally be there:
Think of our event as Woodstock, but with the nudity and drugs replaced by respectful disagreement; the Million Man March, only a lot smaller, and a bit less of a sausage fest; or the Gathering of the Juggalos, but instead of throwing our feces at Tila Tequila, we’ll be actively *not* throwing our feces at Tila Tequila. Join us in the shadow of the Washington Monument. And bring your indoor voice. Or don’t. If you’d rather stay home, go to work, or drive your kids to soccer practice… Actually, please come anyway. Ask the sitter if she can stay a few extra hours, just this once. We’ll make it worth your while.
America, the Greatest Country God ever gave Man, was built on three bedrock principles: Freedom. Liberty. And Fear — that someone might take our Freedom and Liberty. But now, there are dark, optimistic forces trying to take away our Fear — forces with salt and pepper hair and way more Emmys than they need. They want to replace our Fear with reason. But never forget — “Reason” is just one letter away from “Treason.” Coincidence? Reasonable people would say it is, but America can’t afford to take that chance.
I like that line about reason and treason. That’s worth stealing.
I’ve got a meeting in 45 minutes that’s a 25-minute bike ride away. Should I? Of course I should. I’ve been staring at a screen all week, and it’s time to remind my body it exists below the level of its burning eyeballs. So, a skip to the bloggage:
New York City hit by a tornado-like storm. It’s always strange to think of New York as even vulnerable to weather at all.
Madonna is “a director.” Ha. The project is “W.E.,” allegedly about Wallis Simpson. Terrific — another Madge-branded project on a strong woman who is simply ahead of her time and cannot be grokked by the squares. Can’t. Wait.
The new Kickstarter I’m backing — the Mower Gang. They go out with lawn mowers and weed whackers and reclaim city facilities from nature. The video is recommended — last summer they found, and reclaimed, a velodrome. In Detroit! They’re currently trying to raise $600 to make a labyrinth and maze in some overgrown grass. Chip in if you feel like it.
Onto the bike, and outta the door.