An Exciting Elixir for a Stale Statesman: Mitt Romney Inspires Our Beer of the Week

It’s barely 2015 and we already have our first official casualty of the Almighty 2016 Presidential Election Cycle. Mr. Romney, we hardly knew ye. Just kidding, Mittens. You’ve been clambering toward the highest office in the land since all the way back when John McCain was a widely respected figure in national politics. We’re well over a decade removed from those days. As you close the door on yet another campaign, allow me to open the fridge to a fresh new Imperial ale out of Brooklyn. Threes Brewing has just thrown its hat in the ring as a candidate in the New York City IPA Primary, introducing its first heavily hopped offering. With a name evoking the same level of excitement that Romney has always elicited in (at least 47 percent of) the electorate, we bring you Superf*ckingyawn — our beer of the week.

When Threes Brewing opened late last year, it brought more than just the promise of inventive craft styles to Gowanus. The mammoth brewpub on Douglass Street incorporated a rotating pop-up kitchen, a beer garden, artisanal coffee bar, and multi-use event space, all under one roof. With something for everybody, the new neighborhood hangout represented the same sturdy consensus-building defining the Romney/Ryan ’12 ticket.

Noticeably absent, however, was a debut IPA. Presumably, the three owners who inspired the bar’s numerical name were tired of all the so-called hops-takers. You know the type; no matter how many IBUs their brewers offer them, these folks are always thirsty for a bigger handout. Rather than appease these nasty ne’er-do-wells, Threes launched with subtler styles: saisons, wheated session ales — the kind of stuff that’s only enjoyed after you’ve pulled yourself up to the bar, by your bootstraps.

But learning from the mistakes of Mitt’s past, Threes quickly realized that you gotta give the depraved masses what they want. Enter Superf*ckingyawn — a 9.5 percent hop bomb with undertones of tropical fruit and sticky pine resin. It’s that big, bold beer you want to stack up against grilled, spiced meats. Happily, the brewpub agrees and will team up with The Meat Hook on March 1 to host its own convention of sorts, although this one is unlikely to feature Clint Eastwood or many empty chairs. The Sunday-afternoon celebration will, however, showcase a whole roasted lamb.

In the meantime, Superf*ckingyawn is now on tap at Threes along with the brewery’s newest pilsener, Vliet Pils. Since Romney has yet to make an official endorsement, let’s just assume he approves. He should know; he’s tried both of them. Actually, as a devout Mormon, probably not. All the more to pour for the fine craft enthusiasts of the five boroughs.


Caucus Is an Irresistible Crash Course in Why Republicans Lose National Elections

Despite the presence of some Occupy agitators, nobody shouts “This is what democracy looks like!” in the irresistible politicians-meet-the-people documentary Caucus, probably because to do so would be to risk inviting despair. AJ Schnack’s film follows one of the great humiliations of American life: the slow, soiling ritual of presidential hopefuls pressing the flesh in preparation for the Iowa Caucus — and often discovering that much of that flesh has already been pressed, persuasively, by some other candidate the week before.

“If you change your mind, we’d love your help,” we see Rick Santorum tell a Michele Bachmann supporter, one of the 15 folks who bothered to schlub into a Days Inn to hear Santorum speak with less than a week left before the 2012 caucus. Facing a similar situation, Bachmann’s husband, the jolly and theatrical Marcus, is more direct than polite Santorum would dare. “Perry? Are you kidding?” he asks a fellow who looks every bit as stubborn as The Music Man insists Iowans are. To try to win a vote away from Texas governor Rick Perry, Bachmann somehow charms the fellow into a spirited thumb-wrestling match, all while candidate Michele, just feet away, declaims her plans to the smallish crowd: building a wall with Mexico, abolishing the tax code, shuttering multiple government agencies. There’s joy in her voice as she imagines dismantling the government, just as there is when we here her talking to Wolf Blitzer via satellite. “Americans want an American Iron Lady, and they’re flipping to Michele Bachmann,” she says, hugging a nonplussed African-American boy her staff managed to find.

The film’s subject, the 2012 Republican presidential caucus, determines the form: This is a gently dispirited farce, a spectacle of also-rans and why-did-they-runs desperate to prove their fealty to every qualm and misapprehension of one small slice of an already homogenous population. Bachmann talks up that wall because, 1,000 miles from the border, illegal immigration from Mexico is something Iowans continually drill the candidates about. “Our enemies” are “sneaking across the border,” grumbles an old man at a Godfather’s Pizza, just after bragging to Santorum about saving Medicare money by having sent back an apparatus to help with his sleep apnea.

Agitated, the man asks: “If we ever have a revolution, who do you think those people are going to be fighting against?”

Rather than assuage the man’s paranoia, or point out that there is no race war coming, Santorum says, “I support securing the border.” He gets hit with more of that kind of talk at a diner months later, when a sweet old heap of a woman insists to him that Mexican truckers are stealing American jobs — they shouldn’t be allowed across the border, she declares. Santorum, to his credit, says that Mexican trucks should be held to the same standards as American ones, but that not allowing them into the country is infeasible. In response, the woman stink-eyes Santorum as if he’d just shared with her Dan Savage’s definition of his last name.

Since we know none of these candidates will win the presidency, the stakes feel small and comic, especially when we’re treated to sights like Ron Paul struggling to make sense of the child-lock on a minivan door, or Mitt Romney unable to hide his disgust at the food on offer at the Iowa State Fair. Romney comes off like an ersatz Jay Leno, a prig whose joking reveals that he considers everyone else in the world dumber than him: “Fried cheesecake? Think I’ll be skipping that one. Do they serve a coronary with that? Defibrillator?”

But the laughs, even the bitter ones, don’t detract from the urgent truth at the film’s center. As clownish pretenders like Herman Cain and Newt Gingrich crash the race, and Sarah Palin swans through the state in her bus, not running for anything but the maintenance of her fundraising relevance, Caucus demonstrates as well as any film could the particular rot that prevents the GOP from fielding national candidates. “Did you hear what Rush said today?” a voter asks Bachmann. “What did Rush say?” she asks eagerly. Later, Santorum faces an audience question that opens with “I was watching FOX News today, and —”

Here are purportedly serious candidates for the highest office in America whose agenda is set each day by the conservative-entertainment media complex, an industry designed not to win elections or — God forbid — encourage good governance but to fleece this worried constituency out of as much money as possible. The terms of debate in Iowa and in the national election to follow were set each day by hucksters whose job is to go on TV and the radio and find things to be outraged about.

Caucus is a lively, hilarious, upsetting crash-course in recent history. It’s also revelatory at times, especially as it reframes infamous sound bites in their of-the-moment context. Do you recall that Romney challenging Rick Perry to a ridiculous $10,000 bet came just moments after hapless Perry reminded Romney — in his fumbling, halfwit way — of his onetime support of an Obamacare-style “personal mandate” requiring Massachusetts citizens to purchase health insurance? Or Gingrich’s personal fan-fiction vision of what the fall election would be like if he were to win the nomination: he would challenge Obama to seven Lincoln-Douglas–style debates of three hours each, with no moderator. That idle fantasy makes more sense once the film documents how little his heart is actually in the campaign. Gingrich, that geeky Hostess Sno-Ball of a man, tells a reporter how much he hopes to sneak away the next day to go to an out-of-state zoo, which is a hobby of his — “I’ve been to over 100 zoos,” he boasts.

Most revealing — and most painful — is a long scene of Romney awkwardly engaging rural Iowans in a town-hall setting. The candidate gets asked about whether this is now a nation of “givers” and “takers,” an amusing question in a state that’s engorged-tick fat on ethanol subsidies. Romney responds with the same boilerplate that would ensure his loss in November: Too many Americans, he says, have forgotten John F. Kennedy’s “Ask not what your country can do for you . . .” bit. Instead, Romney says, they ask, “How much free stuff can you give me? How big a check will you give me? How many more benefits will you give me? When we have 47 percent of our people who pay no income tax — and there are some who would raise that number to an even higher level — I think at some point you question ‘Can we survive that?'”

He goes on like that, to great audience approval, demonstrating the bitter reality of national Republican politics today: The things a candidate must say to get the nomination are exactly the things that guarantee that candidate doesn’t win an election.


2012: The Year in Review

We won! Barack Obama was reinstated as president mainly because the other guy was so bad. So bad, in fact, that he couldn’t even figureout how to steal the election!

Conservatives found Mitt Romney too moderate. (Sure, he was a hater, but not nearly enough so for them. Certainly not as much as his running mate, Paul Ryan.) And a lot of others thought he didn’t stand for anything, because he seemed to keep flip-flopping and pandering like a chameleon dressed like a used-car salesman. So Mitt’s evasiveness came to haunt him, with various moments in the campaign exuding a “Don’t vote for me” chill that proved ruinous.

There was the creepy convention performance of on-screen gunman Clint Eastwood talking to an empty chair representing Obama, a stunt that made the entire nation hide their furniture. (At least it eclipsed Romney’s speech later that night.)

Big Bird also became an unlikely issue when Romney boasted at the first debate that he’d pull funding from PBS—yes, that’s how to save the country from ruin—while his second-debate contention that years ago he had to go through “whole binders full of women” to look for qualified females led to more than a few undecided voters taking Romney out of their own binders.

On election night, not only did the way more populist Obama get green-lit again, but gay marriage was approved in Maine, Maryland, and Washington; a proposed ban on same-sex marriages was rejected in Minnesota; openly lesbian Tammy Baldwin won as Wisconsin senator; and there were many other LGBT victories, not the least of which being the “evolution” of our returning president on gay marriage (he still sounds halfhearted, though, saying the issue should be left to the states for now; too bad evolution is so slow).

But move over, Big Bird. This year, it was Chick-fil-A that was the most highly politicized poultry. LGBTs avidly battled that chain’s gay-bashing and funding policies, and in turn the world got a Chick-fil-A Appreciation Day, with the Bible-toting damnation-mongers wolfing down chemically saturated sandwiches while declaring themselves American heroes standing up for freedom. At least they never claimed to have good taste in food.

Bizarre, entitled behavior seemed to be the order of the day all over the place, lots of local yokels obviously having sprinkled bath salts into their possum stew. In Florida, neighborhood-watch coordinator George Zimmerman was accused of the second-degree murder of Trayvon Martin, a black teen whom the prosecution said Zimmerman confronted after racially profiling him. (Zimmerman pleaded not guilty, citing self-defense.) It was one of those explosive incidents that fueled countrywide speculation and anger all year, mirroring the outrage over the New York City police’s racially charged stop-and-frisk tactics, which have made life hell for some perfectly innocent people.

Equal opportunity offender ex-football coach Jerry Sandusky was sentenced to 30 to 60 years after being convicted of serial child molesting, a true American Horror Story finally getting some payback.

And far less seriously (but still ickily), Patricia Krentcil became known as Tan Mom when she was thought to have brought her five-year-old daughter into a tanning booth for an ultraviolet browning. Krentcil vehemently denied that charge, but the woman seemed really burned out—or, if you prefer, toasted—when she was the guest of honor at a drag revue held at the New York gay club xl in August. Krentcil spent the night falling down, speaking in semi-coherent sentence fragments, and even turning belligerent and yelling “Fuck you!” at the bewildered crowd. With her cocoa-brown face, she’s probably lucky we don’t have neighborhood-watch coordinators in Manhattan.

In the real celebrity arena, males crawled out of the woodwork to claim John Travolta had sexually harassed them, with massage the most-cited form of expression. (Grease is the word.) But Travolta wouldn’t wait for oral arguments on the charges—his lawyers shot them down—and the actor continued with his fairy-tale marriage to the lovely Kelly, Scientology beaming down its approval all the while.

That was not the case with Tom Cruise, whose wife, Katie Holmes, stunned the world by filing for divorce. Why so shocking? Well, a lot of cynics had assumed this was a deal with the devil that was eternally binding, Katie having sold her soul for a career break. Maybe her agent had gotten her an out clause?

Also out of a relationship was Demi Moore, who was reportedly devastated that Two and a Half Men replacement Ashton Kutcher was flouncing around with far younger babes. Demi was promptly hospitalized for “exhaustion and health reasons,” which, of course, is code for inhaling whip-its, a form of nitrous oxide known mainly to mature folk from their school days long ago.

I’m not sure what Lindsay Lohan was inhaling this year, but every attempt at a comeback seemed to be greeted with a setback (or a stinky Liz Taylor TV pic). She’s back on the court docket for 2013. And though he was hot again, singer/rapper Chris Brown got involved in a brawl with Drake in a New York nightclub called W.i.P. (no relation to what Demi was taking), with Rihanna the invisible impetus. The incident led to a proposed city crackdown on bottle service—as if the poor bottles were to blame!

Bottle-pink transsexual director Lana Wachowski grabbed headlines for showing off her new look, and so did Stephen Beatty (Warren and Annette’s son) and Chaz Bono. Chaz is now losing weight on national TV to help people! How giving!

And CNN’s Anderson Cooper came out as a gay man, as half the world said “Duh” while the other half screamed “Finally!” But the U.K. enjoyed no such relief about their own royalty. Yes, Queen Elizabeth’s Diamond Jubilee was a good-time gala capped off by disco singer Grace Jones gleefully spinning a hula hoop. But in other corners, when photos surfaced of a naked Prince Harry and a topless Kate Middleton, it became clear that the young royals were actually fun-loving humans with private parts, and that simply could not be allowed to happen. They’ll no doubt never be seen in public again (which is fine with me).

In movies, the jewels in the crown continued to be gleamingly aggressive action franchises, with The Hunger Games, The Avengers, Breaking Dawn, Skyfall, and The Dark Knight Rises raking in the ka-ching. But the dark side of The Dark Knight happened in July, when a Joker opened fire at a midnight showing in a Denver suburb on the opening night of the relentlessly gloomy film. By the end, 12 were dead, more than 58 were injured, and a lot of people watched movies at home that weekend. (The Connecticut elementary school shooting in December fed even more cries for increased gun control, though the concept of whack-job control seemed out of everyone’s grasp.)

Sad psychos were certainly in tune with the bleak mood that cinema was reflecting. Most of the big Oscar movies were based on horror, whether it be a tsunami, shipwreck, plane crash, slavery, 9/11, or Scientology. Les Misérables indeed, even if the accent was on human dignity and survival against all odds.

The year’s real horrors included a sinking Battleship, a schizo Dark Shadows, and an unfunny Casa de Mi Padre. The Paperboy was a wan attempt at satirizing elaborately trashy behavior—it looked way better on paper—while the expensive flop Cloud Atlas was a wildly imaginative exercise in time-spanning and gender-morphing (partly written/directed by Lana), though as it went on interminably, it seemed like a movie about prosthetics buried inside an epic about makeup.

Prosthetics ruled the Academy Awards in February, when The Iron Lady‘s Meryl Streep won her first Oscar in 29 years, but she somehow made her acceptance speech a self-deprecating exercise in “Oh, her again?” What an actress! But even Meryl was upstaged by Angelina Jolie’s leg sticking out of a slit in her dress, a très Jolie pose that was so bold and wacky it captivated the world as everyone set about putting the jutting leg on photos of Betty White and themselves. Quickly, the leg-out stance began to be seen as the only sensible response to a culture, economy, and ecology gone amok.

Straight out of The Paperboy, Honey Boo Boo and her family nabbed better cable ratings than the debates, proving that white trash is better off running for beauty titles than for elected office. And with Uncle Poodle along for the ride, there was even a positive message that “ain’t nothing wrong with being a little bit gay. Everybody’s a little bit gay.”

In music, a yay-gay Carly Rae Jepsen video (“Call Me Maybe”) launched the year’s most unavoidable hookup anthem, while Justin Bieber and the Brit boyband One Direction also stoked the Clearasil-for-lunch bunch with looks and ambiguity. The indestructible Madonna got into various battles with the new her, Lady Gaga, whose “Born This Way” Madonna mashed into “Express Yourself” to make a point about reduction. But the older gal put away her hate pom-poms for a moment and asked Gaga to perform with her, maybe so they could bury the hatchet in Katy Perry. When Gaga declined, Madonna no doubt started rustling through whole binders full of other divas.

On Broadway, medium-successful movies like Newsies and Once morphed into large musical hits. But in books, it was big-name sex that sold, especially if the big names happened to be extremely dead. Ex-Hollywood-pimp Scotty Bowers’s Full Service revealed that virtually every old-time star was gay and ate doody sandwiches, while actor Frank Langella’s Dropped Names went for more probing portraits of late legends, while also dissecting a lot of their sexual predilections (if not always his own).

New York City itself went through a full plate of proverbial crap sandwiches—probably courtesy of Chick-fil-A—from a shoot-out in front of the Empire State Building (overreacting police did most of the killing) to a harrowing death on the subway tracks, which a photographer controversially snapped for posterity, then “licensed” the photo. A natural disaster was inevitable, too, one so whopping it destroyed Halloween while supplanting its fear tactics. On October 29, Hurricane Sandy traumatized the country and the Caribbean, killing more than 100 people in and across New York. The accompanying blackout caused major inconvenience while reinforcing our long-running have-and-have-not divide. Downtown Manhattanites (south of 39th Street) and residents of the far reaches of certain boroughs found themselves utterly powerless, while uptowners went department store hopping without even realizing there had been a problem.

As the affected returned to a state of dry safety—some faster than others—none of the angst could be washed down with a Big Gulp, since the board of health had approved Bloomberg’s measure that would ban movie theaters and restaurants from selling sodas larger than 16 ounces. As a result, we wondered: Is this so Drake won’t be able to throw large sodas? Can’t we just order seconds? And won’t this be another unneeded blow to—everybody now—the economy? Oh, well. Cheers (with 15 ounces) to a better 2013. Tan off, leg out, hand on hip, kick that empty chair away, and smile. And stop picking on Big Bird! Elmo, on the other hand . . .


Barack and Mitt Will Have Lunch Today; Here’s What They Could Talk About

It has been almost a month now since America went to the polls and re-elected President Obama to another four years of running this whole place. Since then, we’ve collectively done well in the whole “taking our minds off the election” business. We’ve had Petraeus, the progress of the Sandy recovery, the Gaza conflict, and a whole slew of other issues to cannon-fire our attention toward.

Besides, the only things we’ve heard from Romney was something not so nice about “gifts” and pumping gas in La Jolla, California.

But, lo and behold, there is a light at the end of the infinite 2012 tunnel. At a conference yesterday, Press Secretary Jay Carney let us in on a little date that’s happening today. At some hour between noon and 5 p.m., president-re-elect Barack Obama and the defeated Mitt Romney will have lunch together at the White House.

In his victory speech, Obama mentioned that he wanted “to talk about where we can work together to move this country forward.” And, today, he will have that chance. But is that what they’re really only talking about?

Here’s a list of some possible other topics that could/should be discussed at the lunch date:

– What Romney really did at Bain Capital

– What will happen in the second part of the last Breaking Bad season

– Why Paul Ryan was such a big Kid Rock fan

– What Romney’s plans are for Valentine’s Day

– If either of them is a fan of Lena Dunham

– That anti-hipster NYTimes piece on living with irony

– If either of them are on Instagram and/or what their favorite filter is

– If millionaires should pay a higher income tax

– If either of them is a fan of Lil B

– Mormonism

– What their favorite Bond movie is/was

– If they thought Daniel Day-Lewis’s performance in Lincoln was “Oscar-worthy”

– What they think about the “Reply All” feature on e-mails

– What the whole “47 Percent” thing was about

– Joe Biden

– Why they didn’t text Bill Clinton to join them

– Why Romney named a son “Tagg”

– The implications of Obamacare in the coming years

– The future of the GOP

– The new Rihanna album

– Where they were for Hurricane Sandy

– Where they were for Black Friday and/or Cyber Monday

– America

If Breaking Bad isn’t mentioned, I give up.


Redditor Finds Romney Pumping Gas Like the Rest of Us

Reeling from his loss to President Obama and now-notorious ‘gifts’ gaffe, Mr. Romney has been shying away from the public eye. Who knows what he’s up to? He could be skiing in the Alps, lounging in the Bahamas, backpacking across Europe or climbing Mount Everest. Luckily, we have Reddit, the Big Brother of grassroots surveillance.

So we now know he’s not doing any of those things; he’s just pumping gas in La Jolla, California.

Yesterday, this picture above went viral. Uploaded by a passerby native/user named mkb95, the shot of Romney shows a man much different than the one we recognize from the campaign. Hair tasseled, shirt slightly unbuttoned, self-government (pumping gas on his own); this is a truly New Mitt.


And mkb95 added the caption: “Mitt Romney at my local gas station… he looks tired and washed up.”
“I talked to him for a good three minutes while he was filling his tank,” the Redditor continued. “I guess he’s moving to one of his houses in the town I live in, La Jolla,”
Now, pumping gas is a true symbol of middle-class mediocrity, as we all know. So does this mean that Romney has dropped down to the 47 Percent level?
Net value remains above $20 million. So, no, he hasn’t… maybe the guy just needed some gas for his SUV. Who knows really.
Oh, and we also heard he went to see ‘Breaking Dawn: Part II.’ Okay, we’re done with annoying the guy. Let’s move on.

Mitt Romney’s Under-Utilized Secret Weapon: Donald Trump (According To Donald Trump)

Pardon our redundancy, but the sun came up today, which, of course, means one thing: America’s stingiest billionaire made an ass of himself on Twitter.

On Wednesday, we started a petition to get Donald Trump kicked off the Internet, and we did so as a favor to him — to keep things like this from continuously happening.

But Trump is still granted Internet access, so his 140 -character or less nuggets of wisdom persist.

The latest: Mitt Romney could have won the the presidential election if he’d only asked Trump to campaign for him.

“Romney campaign used me in 6 primary states and won every one- they should have used me in Florida and Ohio & he would be President,” Trump tweeted this afternoon, apparently after catching a glimpse of an electoral map.

At a rate of roughly three to five “tweets” per hour, Trump wasn’t quite done tooting his own horn.

“Of the 9 battleground states, we only carried North Carolina. I’m proud of @NCGOP & glad I delivered keynote at their state convention,” he “tweets.”

Of course, there was a reason Trump was used (yes, used) during the primary but not during the general election: only in a GOP primary is Trump’s brand of conspiracy theory, batshit craziness appreciated.

In a race where Michelle Bachmann and Rick Santorum are considered credible candidates, Romney had no choice but to call on the king of conspiracy theories to prove to far-right-wing voters that “hey — I can do crazy, too.”

In other words, a tinfoil hat may work during a primary, but it’s not gonna fly in a general election — that’s why Romney didn’t use Trump: he didn’t want to get completely blown out in the general election.

The rest of Trump’s last 24 hours on Twitter include some ranting and raving about China, picking a fight with filmmaker Anthony Baxter, and humble-bragging about a woman who used a Trump-owned building to seek refuge from Hurricane Sandy.

Please, sign our petition. 


FoxNation’s 2 a.m. Wishful Thinking

This screengrab was snapped by our own Alan Scherstuhl from the FoxNation blog at 2 a.m. — several hours after Governor Mitt Romney conceded defeat in last night’s presidential election.

It came roughly four hours after precisely none of these predictions came true.

Wishful thinking?

To quote Alan, “Dewey, Truman, etc.”


“My Job Is Fucked”: NY Republicans Respond to Four More Years of “Obamunism”

New York Republican Party chairman Ed Cox started last night’s “victory party” in a ballroom at the Westin Grand Central hotel in midtown by assuring the roughly 300 attendees that he was confident that Mitt Romney would be the country’s next president.

By the end of the night, Cox looked like someone shit in his cereal — and he wasn’t the only one.

In the roughly four hours we spent celebrating a nonexistent victory
with the state’s GOP, we watched the mood go from jovial (read: tipsy)
to hopeful to worried. By 10:30 p.m., as it became clear that securing
the must-win states of Florida and Ohio for Romney was out of the
question, New York’s Republicans acted like teenage drama queens.

“My job is fucked,” one woman sobbed into a cell phone.

we asked her what she did for a living — thinking that she’s probably a
healthcare worker who might feel the wrath of the implementation of
Obama care — she responded, “I’m a manager at a hotel.”

Another man explained that he was “reluctant to call [Obama] evil,” but he leaves “aborted babies suffering in the sheets.”

then summed up the impending loss by claiming that “the Dems have a
better ground game — a get-out-the-vote game — than we do.”

Of course! It’s not unpopular policies — barging their way into people’s
bedrooms by telling gay people they can’t get married, or pissing off Hispanics (the largest emerging voter bloc in the
entire country) by failing to embrace comprehensive immigration-reform measures like the DREAM Act — that doomed Romney, it’s the lack of a “ground game.”

Another woman screeched that she doesn’t “understand how an unqualified person can be president — and he wins again!”

Must be the ground game.

other observations from last night’s “victory party” include the
following: failed Senate candidate Wendy Long gave a concession speech.
But only about 20 people heard it — as she admitted defeat, the
majority of the attendees were sipping drinks and barely paying
attention. Missouri Senate candidate Todd “legitimate rape” Akin’s
inevitable defeat was no skin off the ass of New York Republicans —
there was barely a “sigh” as Fox News reported the loss. Even New York’s
right-wingers seem to think Akin’s an asshole.

The most apparent
observation we made during last night’s party was the lack of color —
and we’re not talking about the decorations. We counted approximately
nine black people. Nine. In New York City.

Just prior to Romney’s
concession speech, Conservative columnist Charles Krauthammer appeared
on Fox News and said the following: “Republicans need to rethink how they address Hispanics.”

while the missed opportunity to embrace Hispanic voters probably led to
Romney’s only receiving about 30 percent of the Hispanic vote, that’s
just part of the problem Republicans must address before they try their
hand at national politics again.

GOP candidates could appeal to much of
mainstream America when it comes to economic and foreign policies. And
according to a lot of the polling taken before the election, they did.
But then idiots like Akin start talking about things like “legitimate
rape” and how a couple of dudes who love each other shouldn’t be
allowed to tie the knot because a fictitious book written thousands of
years ago says so.   

The hateful stupidity of the GOP’s social policies distracts from legitimate issues — and that’s why Mitt Romney lost last night.

But what do we know? It was probably just the “ground game.”


Voter Fraud: A New York Tradition. Here’s Who To Call To Report Any Election Day Scumbaggery

Today is Election Day, which means two things: you are expected to perform your civic duty by participating in the Democratic process, and you can expect the possibility that slimeball political-types will be looking to cheat the system by doing things like getting your dead uncle to cast his vote for the candidate of the aforementioned slimeball’s choice.

Since the days of Tammany Hall, voter fraud has been an ongoing problem in New York’s political process. For example, between 1868 and 1871, the votes cast in the city totaled 8 percent more than the entire voting population. But federal authorities are on the lookout for any political scumbaggery and need your help to bring those who commit it to justice.

To help curb any potential voter fraud, the United States attorneys for the Eastern and Southern districts of New York have setup hotlines for voters to report any possible voter fraud.


Voter fraud can be perpetrated in many ways, including bribing or intimidating voters. Obviously, it’s also a crime to forge signatures on absentee ballots — as several Upstate Democratic politicians learned the hard way earlier this year.

The Feds have given examples of voter fraud — and provided phone numbers to call if you see it — in the document embedded below.

Happy Election Day, New York. The weather sucks and it’s only gonna get worse, but make sure you get out there and vote — but only do it once.



Last Chance Not to Vote for Nazi Germany!

It’s your last chance to not vote for Nazi Germany! All right, I got your attention there, didn’t I? Well, yes, I know it was a cheap trick, and I’m deeply ashamed of myself for it. I mean, I used a split infitive!

What’s more, I’m aware that any such mention of Nazism trivializes an unspeakable horror and that as of press time, Mitt Romney has no actual plans to send Jews, gays, gypsies, or even Big Bird to their death. I know full well that I’m being offensive and tawdry and sensational, blah blah blah. But it’s your last chance to vote against Nazi Germany!

People, do you want a man running the country who doesn’t stand for anything—he’s only against things? Can you stomach a guy who will slash your income, especially as you age, in favor of giving tax breaks to himself? Can you tolerate a smug car salesman who will set back human rights to the 1950s, all while praising God and family and lying up a shitstorm? (No, wait, Mitt all of a sudden no longer supports the Federal Marriage Amendment, said an adviser. No, wait, she clarified, he still does. Got that? Yikes.)

The fact that Mitt boasted on TV about wanting to pull funding from PBS—something that actually elevates the landscape—gave me chills because it made clear what an insensitive boor this man really is. Only a true bully thinks of culture as something you gain points for deriding and also that the deficit can be saved by withdrawing pocket change from a kiddie show. At least he didn’t declare a ban on “degenerate” art.

And can we respect a man who looked through “whole binders full of women”—or claims to have done so in his alleged quest to promote equal opportunities, which, as the Times noted, he made sound like a Herculean task? Did he not get the memo that plenty of qualified women have long been in the workplace and are pretty easy to locate without a whole lot of outside help?

“Oh, you’re just preaching to the perverted,” is the familiar cry, but you’d be surprised how many enlightened people I’ve known for years who are suddenly looking all glazed while chirping, “Who cares about Mitt’s social politics? We need someone to fix the economy.” I’ve even seen some gays turn into Romney apologists because they feel he will somehow magically get everyone jobs, a lunatic fantasy that has appeared in a puff of toxic smoke and managed to override all other concerns, leaving me choking and gagging.

But let’s be serious. Has anything Romney said convinced you that he’ll actually make the economy better, or that he even understands how to do so? And can we at least give Obama three points in his defense? A. Our country’s plight is hardly an isolated situation. This recession thing is connected to a worldwide crisis. We’re a part of an international chain of falling dominoes. B. Obama inherited the situation from eight years of a Republican presidency. By the time he stepped into the White House, all anyone cared about was mending the disaster zone created by various Repubs, banks, CEOS, and other corrupt parties. There has been some progress, but, naturally, you don’t pull a country out of the wreckage overnight. C. Obama has tried to do all sorts of things—not just with the economy—and has often been stymied by the Republican presence in Congress, which has obstinately scuttled his attempts at change. And then he gets the blame!

One friend had the nerve to tell me he thinks Romney’s opinions on rights issues don’t matter at all because Republican presidents end up being the most agreeable ones on those topics. “After all,” he argued, “George W. Bush did the most any President ever did for AIDS.” Well, yes, he did more than Reagan, but Dubya’s monumental paycheck for Africa (where most people with HIV are hetero) didn’t convince me that he cared much about gays in our own courtyard. While he fought for “equal rights” for whole binders full of gays, he vigorously opposed same-sex marriage and adoption, sending out mixed messages with every conflicted utterance. And Romney’s “the states can maybe grant gays certain benefits” routine is every bit as halfhearted, especially because he keeps drowning that out with the “man and woman equals marriage” message as if mere repetition will give it credence.

Yes, Mitt might be slick, but it’s only to cover up a lack of purpose and strangely evasive intent. At first, he seemed like a better debater, but we soon realized it was only because he has the bravado that goes hand in (glad-) hand with a campaign based on spinning and flip-flopping. The guy alternates between avoiding details and making them up, convenient bouts of what Obama dubbed “Romnesia” allowing him to start anew with every sound bite.

“I don’t want the reality contestant. I want the boring one,” a friend of mine wisely remarked during the third and last debate. “They’re both boring!” exclaimed someone else in the room, emphatically. “Yeah,” replied my friend, “but Romney’s sleazy boring.”

The worst-case scenario will have a terrible jobs report arriving right before the election, at which point the undecideds could well throw their votes to this sleazy-boring huckster, making him the winner strictly by default. But I’m jumping ahead of myself. Right now, we’re in a position to avert all that and stick with someone who has gone on the line for human rights while proposing more reasonable means for us to stay afloat as a country and as individuals.

Please heil—I mean hie thee to the voting booth and do the right thing.