Thursday, January 29, 2009

Subterranean Governor's Mansion Blues

Apologies to Zimmerman.

Patti's in the basement
Cursin' Cubs management
Blago's on the pavement
Runnin' the government
Blago in his track suit
Woke up, no joke
Takin' Blago to the poke
Look out kid
It's somethin' you did
Fitz knows when
And you're doin' it again
You better duck down the alley way
Lookin' for a new friend
The man from Kankakee
In the big pen
Wants eleven packs of smokes
You only got ten

Blago comes fleet foot
Wig full of black soot
Talkin' that the heat put
Rahm into bed but
The phone's tapped anyway
Sam Adam says he can't say
Easter Bunny knocks in early May
Orders from Oba-may
Look out kid
Don't matter what you did
Jog on your tip toes
Don't go on talk shows
Better stay away from those
That wear support panty hose
Keep a clean nose
Watch the plain clothes
You don't need the Skilling clan
To know which way the wind blows

Hair thick, clothes black
Tap Burris for your hack
Talk smack, Reid's flak
Democrats are sure to crack
Try hard, get barred
Get jailed, make bail
Quote some poets, you can't fail
Look out Trib
You're gonna get hit
But users, cheaters
Six-time losers
Hang around Springfield
Lawyers and their steno pool
Won't represent a big fool
Meanwhile the leaders
Privatized the parking meters

This thing's gold, won't fold
The fuck you say, no way, pay to play
You schmuck, get fucked
This teat is here to be sucked
Please me, please her, demand gifts
It's not stealing, not a grift
Six years in office
And they give you shitty short shrift
Look out, Quinn
You'll be the next one done in
No one'll light a candle
Good luck avoidin' scandals
Don't wanna be a bum
Pinched between the cheek and gum
Machine still works
Same old vandals turn the handles

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Dirty Politics

"Stimulus package." Think about that for a minute.

Heh heh heh.

And presidents. We've had two Bushes and two Johnsons. That's a good even number. When there are more johnsons around than bushes, trouble could erupt at any time.

Heh heh. "Erupt."

But I think the dirtiest president was Harding. Hard. Ding.

Heh. Heh heh.

Yeah, he's got a package for you. And it's already stimulused.

(This has been my throwawayiest blog post ever.)

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Screw the hot stove -- spring's about to sproing; I can feel it

After last week, this week's weather -- with sunny days in the 20s -- has felt like, well, warmth. Which puts me in the mood for ... you know what. And also too as well -- baseball.

I'm hype-averse (plus, hey, I had actual work to do), so I did not watch any of the inauguration festivities, but I caught wind of the massive "na na hey hey goodbye" chorus with which the crowd serenaded Ex-Commandante Bush. And I do proclaim that to be excellent. It will be good to have a Sox fan in the White House.

In that connection, I have a very small suggestion for President Obama, which I think will go a long way toward cementing the success of his first year in office. That suggestion is as follows: Issue a proclamation making the following the official song of the 2009 Chicago White Sox season. Yes, it's Finnish, but we've only just begun.

Eläkeläiset - Humpatkaa (Thunderstruck)


In re: "Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye," Wikipedia sez:

The song was transformed into a stadium anthem during the 1977 Major League Baseball season. Chicago White Sox organist Nancy Faust had played the song many times before when opposing pitchers were relieved or when the Sox had clearly won the game, but without much reaction from the Comiskey Park fans. During a critical series with the Kansas City Royals, however, the crowd began singing along with the tune, and a tradition was born.

My very first White Sox game attended in person by me was in 1977, versus the K.C. Royals. I don't have specific recollection as to whether that game was during the above-referenced critical series, but I do recall much joyous na-naaing and hey-heyying (not to mention good-byeing) taking place, and that commotion being one of my favorite things about the night.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

"I am what you call a 'controversial figure.' People either hate me or they despise me."

Quick pop quiz. Who said the above?

If you guessed Rod Blagojevich, you're wrong. But you're close.

The 40-somethings among us in the (peanut-free, allergies being what they are) gallery may remember a charming little man (probably best-known for his frequent appearances in the Retching '80s on Late Night With David Letterman) named Brother Theodore. To jump the gun just slightly, I happen to believe that Brother Theodore and Rod Blagojevich are one and the same ... or twin brothers. Well, there is a certain temporal dysplasia between them, so perhaps they are better described as dutch uncles and nephews (or nieces or cousins or shirt-tail relatives of some other taxonomic designation, I don't know what, exactly).

At any rate, they're both deranged fellows with crazy hair and a fine sense of fashion. Can you dispute the resemblance? For the sake of my thesis, here are two depictions of Brother Theodore as a young(ish) man:

To complete my argument, two recent photographs of Governor Theodore, er, Blagojevich:

I might have mixed them up. I ... I'm not sure. So ... look-alike-able. So ... indistinguishable.

Through all of Governor Blago's travails, all his Kiplingings, all his Roland Burrisings, his "I will fight, and fight, and fight and fight and fight, fight fight fight, fight fight fight, the Itchy and Scratchy show" self-defense vowingsings ... I keep seeing nothing and nobody but the ghost(s) of Brother Theodore ... the Ghost of Theodore Past, and the Ghost of Theodore Yet To Come.

Yes. Yet to come. The Governor may be down, but don't count him out. When he gets a little bit of what my old law-firm boss used to call "gray matter" on his poufy head, don't be surprised if you find Rod B. turning up on late-night talk shows and in dingy store-front theaters, acclaimed as a genius. Perhaps, even, THE genius of our time.

For a preview of that, watch these. Squint a little, and ignore the slight Germanic accent, and you may be able to imagine what low-rent TV will be like 25 or 30 years from now. (First a short one that captures the gist of my case, and then a longer one, enticingly titled "That Itchy Chick.")


Here's our man riffing on a little "Who's On First" action with Sammy Davis Junior (Billy Crystal) in an old HBO special (featuring Chris Guest, and with Eugene Levy doing very little.)

Friday, January 16, 2009

Mingus and Piper's Book Club

At some point during the night or morning, the cats knocked a single paperback book from the bookcase next to their food dishes. I wonder if they're trying to tell me something.

That book: Will: The Autobiography of G. Gordon Liddy.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Meanwhile, in the Aleutian Islands ...

My goodness, it's cold. It's so cold I can't even work up the gumption to swear. Let alone write -- or even think up -- a blog post. Forget it. I'm hiding under blankets until further notice.

ICONOGRAPHICAL POSTSCRIPT: I did manage to create this nifty fascistic personality-cult poster over at Paste Mag (even though they're getting crippling traffic & the site isn't working properly, so I had to make a screen capture to save it).

The moral of that story: STDPM DON'T TAKE NO GUFF FROM NO MACHINERY!!!

Friday, January 09, 2009

Hit Steve Gnaws?

Sorry for the garbled title, but my ears are ringing from being overloaded with incessant and shrill news coverage of the Cubs' acquisition of Milton "Silly Name, Too Easy to Mock" Bradley.

I was going to say I didn't care about it, but I guess I am looking forward to the remote possibility that Bradley will get in another fight with a racist, moronic umpire. I respect the beauty and majesty of the game and all that jazz, but I do enjoy a good fight now and then. Especially if an ump is involved. We're not big fans of "The Man" here at CBRAT HQ -- where we don't care which way the flags are pointing in the outfield, daddy-o, because you don't need a weather man to know which way the wind blows. Or something. Plus, since we're underground, wind is not really an available factor in our weather forecasts. But I digress.

Speaking of digressions, did you know that Milton Bradley and Parker Brothers are both brand names owned by Hasbro? And here I thought they were different companies. Huh. And Hasbro owns a Japanese subsidiary called Kosuke Fukudome, but the outlook is not particularly good for that line of toys. Market research shows that once Kosuke Fukudome board games are purchased -- at extremely high prices -- consumers tend to play with them once or twice and then put them away in a closet, toy box, cupboard, or even a dugout, where they are forgotten forever ... except when the monthly installments have to be paid. Plus, the translator takes up a seat on the plane that could be put to better use. Like, for storing Lou Piniella's booze. (That joke would work better if the Cubs were managed by Tony La Russa, but you play the ball as it lies, I guess.)

Meanwhile ... down at 35th and Shields, the sound of crickets. Which is no mean feat in January, when all the crickets are sleeping -- hibernating in their little caves, like the grizzly bears, mountain lions, and Ligues.

The top headline on the White Sox home page today is: "Sox rotation questions similar to 2008." Can you beat that for excitement? Yes, you can. Even if you are incredibly boring.

The story does contain an account of Don Cooper being questioned about a rumored possible not-gonna-happen-but-there's-nothing-else-to-talk-about trade of Gavin Floyd for Brian Roberts -- but that would be so much more entertaining on TV or radio. Because Don Cooper always cracks me up. And his thick NYC accent is a nice contrast from that of local sports radio hosts, such as, say, "jerk off" Mike North. In a written story, I have to imagine it, which is fun enough, but it usually leaves me wishing that sports writers could get away with phonetic spelling of dialogue.

Anyway, I would think that a Floyd-for-Roberts trade would raise totally different questions about the rotation from any that characterized the 2008 season. Such as -- "How exactly are the Sox going to replace Floyd in the starting rotation?" Because adding a hot leadoff hitter -- while a worthwhile thing to do, in itself -- doesn't exactly accomplish that task.

One (two-part) question about the Sox rotation from '08 that will go pleasingly unasked in '09 is, "Does anyone honestly expect me to believe that Jose Contreras was born in 1971? Don't they have the last two digits inverted?"

OK, that's enough Hut Stiff Noobs for now. Keep it warm, but keep it.

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

"Hot Stove" News: "Everybody Get Yer Hankies Cuz We Only Talk Wankees"

So ... one thing has already happened this year. The newest bastard child of Bud Selig -- the MLB Network -- a whole channel about professional United States of American baseball, in case you hadn't guessed -- or noticed it, since it's way way way up in the five-digit channel numbers, right next to such powerhouses as "The Albanian Folk Dance Channel," "The Arts and Crafts by Mutes, for Mutes, Network (TAACBMFMN)," and "C-SPAN 2" -- has finally sprung into life on the cable television, over by there. If you call that living. I guess I could wait until the season starts before I start bitching about it, but why? I'm not waiting until Inauguration Day to bitch about Obama's rocket-powered Cannonball-Run-like "drift" to the right. And I see no reason to treat pre-baseball MLB-related television programming any differently.

Of course, their current pre-actual-baseball-season flagship programme is called "Hot Stove." I haven't gotten any cease and desist letters or any other forms of threat due to my mockery of the trademark, but maybe if I try real hard, I will.

Anyway, here's my impression of MLB Network's "Hot Stove" (cable) televisual showcase:

This just in! Derek Jeter had Chinese for lunch today! This just in! Hank Steinbrenner farted this morning and made his personal assistant take the blame! This just in! Joe Girardi was spotted at a Manhattan nightclub last night with a booger in his nose that he didn't seem to realize was visible, and nobody felt socially bold enough to tell him!

This just in! Yankees, Yankees, Yankees!

(huff huff huff huff ... deep breath)

Oh yeah, and something called "Red Sox" exist, too. Strange world we live in.

But, mostly ... YAANNNKEEEEEEEEES!!!

(Then the out-of-breath sports-dork host drops dead on the spot, and an old Arte Johnson looking dude in NYY pinstripes waddles onto the set and sweeps his body up. Credits. The end.)

The best thing about it is that it's re-run about six times a day, so -- in case you missed their in-depth coverage of every waking moment of every employee of the New York Fucking Yankees, and every inch traveled by every penny of every one of the uberkaboodleplex million dollars they will spend in 2009 -- you have plenty of chances to catch up.


In short: No sir, I don't like it.