Study their mothers to get to the roots of their misogyny

Men who are violent toward women, even those who simply hold them down while trying to have a few sexual thrills, even if they indignantly claim to be feminists while defending themselves against actual women with credible complaints against them, behave this way for a reason.   They felt traumatized, or abandoned, at some point in their early lives, by a woman who had power over them.  I would think that in most cases this woman was the boy’s mother.  This is not to blame the mother for raising a misogynist.   Sometimes the most harmful things a mother did were also very subtle, even done with love. Sometimes nothing the mother did or failed to do could have changed the outcome for the angry son.

My father’s mother, for example, whipped him in the face from the time he could stand.   This had an effect on my father’s personality — he tended to be dismissive of women most of the time.  He married a woman who pretty much worshipped him, his great intellect, his moral stance, his unshakably secure ego.   That last bit struck my sister and me as particularly hilarious, nobody was more shaken by a particular kind of challenge than our father.   Anyway, a guy who’d been whipped in the face by mom grew up to marry a very bright woman who believed the sun shone out of his ass.

Brett Kavanaugh, only child, often claims that his mother was his inspiration.  I believe him.  She was an ambitious woman who went to law school as the mother of a ten year-old, became a lawyer, a prosecutor, a judge.  Before that she taught in predominantly black public high schools and taught her son that racism was bad.   Pretty impressive.   All she expected from Brett (or perhaps only he expected it from himself) was the same kind of diligence and ambition, all the way to the Supreme Court.   

Kavanaugh claims to have been number one in his class at elite Georgetown Prep (number one?  smells more like number two to me…).    This claim is possible, I suppose, at least as plausible as his claim that he got so shit-faced he didn’t know what teams were playing at games he was at, so drunk he didn’t black out, just fell asleep, by drinking good old American beer. 

In senior year, he points out, when he was eighteen, it was legal in his state to drink beer.   He did it legally, after a few years of doing it illegally.  Beer.   He stated many times that he drinks beer, only beer.  Beer.  Who hasn’t been so drunk on beer they fell into a deep sleep after raving drunkenly, with no memory of any of it afterwards?  Beer is really pretty harmless, as everyone who has ever drank a couple of six-packs on a hot summer day knows, worst that will happen— you fall asleep.  That’s the only reason they don’t sell beer in stadiums after the fifth inning, they don’t want the fans falling asleep.  Now turn your head and let me piss in your other ear.

It is clear that Kavanaugh has a lot to hide.  He is hiding his extreme right wing views, his long pedigree as a strict partisan, hiding his right wing zealot resume, the thousands of questionable memos he wrote for Bush and Cheney before they rewarded him with a lifetime federal judgeship. 

It could not be more clear how much he has to hide after his defensive, tearful temper tantrum the other day during which he whined that he had to wait weeks, WEEKS, to find out if— yo, I have to quote this amazing talking turd in his own words, they are curiously vulnerable, childish words:

“When I at least did OK enough at the hearings that it looked like I might actually get confirmed, a new tactic was needed.”   (and the passive voice used)

What a fucking worm, what a victim.   Yes, at least OK enough that you deserve your lifetime appointment, no questions asked, no witnesses called.   The woman who remembers clearly that it was you testified credibly and convincingly.   It was clearly wrenchingly difficult for her to step forward.  You did nothing but double down on your denial, ratchet it up to 100% to match her 100% certainty that it was you.  Then, like the simple-minded partisan hack you are, you stood to deliver your indignant defense about the Clintons having it in for you.

The Supreme Court was my mommy’s one and only dream for her number one son!   How dare they?!!   

Indeed.

How dare this woman, Christine Blasey Ford step forward to accuse somebody of your sterling reputation, your impeccable credentials?  She may have had hard years learning to deal with the traumatic memory of the mocking laughter of you and your asshole friend Mark Judge after the two of you, allegedly, allegedly,  locked her in a room, turned up the music and had some fun she wasn’t on board with, but does that give her the right to step forward at the eleventh hour?   This seemed to be his point, that there was barely time to get fucking Mark Judge into hiding.  The fucking Clintons, the ruthless Democrats who call ME evil!!!  They did the same thing with Anita Hill, boom, sneak attack two days before the vote to confirm Clarence Thomas. 

They always do this shit, it’s what they do, keep in mind all the people the Clintons  murdered, starting with Vince Foster, and GOT AWAY WITH – THEY GOT AWAY WITH MURDER!    It’s why they must be permanently crushed, no matter what ethical shortcuts must be taken (and the passive voice used, to avoid, you dig, saying out loud that we are the ones taking ethical shortcuts).   This hearing has nothing to do with what I did or did not do one early evening when I was stinking drunk on beer, only beer, America’s favorite beverage.  This is about anger at our wonderful president and revenge by losers, fucking vicious losers.

I have to think the reason Kavanaugh was a black out drunk in high school, and a mean and aggressive one (the tendency shown even while sober, angrily defending his ruined ‘good name’ and raging against the machinations of his enemies, a cabal of well-funded, unprincipled weasels conspiring against his good name, ruining his life, traumatizing his family), while studying hard to be the number one student at Georgetown Prep, and going to church, and being of service to everyone, and having many close female friends, just friends he had beers with, and following in the good Christian footsteps of Ignatius of Loyola  (the Jesuits have since abandoned him, up there on his cross)– well, I have to think that Brett’s mom had something to do with it.  Quite possibly through no fault of her own, sometimes kids are just irrationally needy creatures that nobody could love enough.

Perhaps she was as demanding of Brett as she was of herself.   She expected even more of her only child than what she herself had achieved, which was considerable.   Imagine growing up in this household, with the pressure to do even better than your accomplished mom.   So, it stands to reason you need to blow off some steam from time to time, get shit-faced, hammered, so drunk you are visibly staggering.  A cute, younger girl comes in, goes upstairs to use the bathroom.  The parents aren’t home.  You and your drunk friend Mark, just as a goof, go upstairs push her into a bedroom across from the bathroom and lock the door. 

Nothing, so far, that any two drunken male high school assholes wouldn’t do.  The rest, the things that would sear themselves into the hippocampus of the young woman, traumatize her for decades to come, are things that only misogynistic drunken high school assholes do.  Throw yourself on top of her, grab her, rub against her.  Suddenly she starts to cry for help.  Fuck that, a meaty hand over her mouth will put an end to that!  The girl’s bathing suit, under her clothes, is what saved her from worse, Brett was too drunk to forcibly remove the bathing suit, keeping his other hand over her mouth as she struggled.   Oh, well!   Have a good laugh, go outside and ralph on the lawn.  Have you boofed yet?

It seems to me that in the cases of most rapey assholes, the uncontrollable misogyny at the root of that power-crazed behavior often comes from mom.   Not to say that all boys raised by difficult mothers grow up to hate women, but some do.   The extreme right wing partisan zealot Neil Gorsuch (Georgetown Prep, ’85), Trump’s first Supreme Court pick,  had a mother so powerful Ronald Reagan appointed her to head the Environmental Protection Agency, to make things a little more comfortable for his super-wealthy job creator friends who were being badly hurt by the hysteria over potential catastrophic climate change. 

Gorsuch’s mother was a powerful conservative ideologue with a mission.  You can only imagine the humane values young Neil imbibed with his mother’s powerful milk.   The results can be seen in his fair-minded, even-handed application of the laws, his unflinching instinct to protect the rights of those eternal “persons” who have been so unfairly oppressed in this great, deluded nation liberalism has brought to the edge of godlessness.

Perhaps the most obvious case is the misogyny of Donald J. Trump.   He rarely makes a peep about his sainted mother, in contrast to the many things he’s said about his father over the years.  Everyone knows his father was an overbearing, ruthless, larger than life asshole who reluctantly groomed his younger son for the job he’d hoped his oldest, Fred Jr., would take.   Fred Jr. was too nice a person, too decent a guy, by all accounts, and so Fred Christ Trump groomed the younger Donald, who had always exhibited the required meanness of spirit, to be his successor, inheritor of the great Trump Empire.  The wife and mother was at home, she had everybody’s backs.

Trump, in addition to his many fine attributes, his finest attributes, is clearly a cruel man.   He takes pleasure in humiliating others.   You want to know the roots of his cruelty toward women, which is as famous and often displayed as his cruelty toward blacks, Mexicans, the children of illegal immigrants and asylum seeks, Muslims and other rapist-types, look at his mother.

Fred Christ Trump’s father, the president’s grandfather, an immigrant from Germany, was a self-made wealthy man.   Fred Christ Trump took a small fortune and made it a much bigger fortune in the decades after his father died.  At some point he was looking for a wife.   A poor immigrant woman fresh off the boat from Scotland somehow caught his eye.   He married her.   She was a rich man’s wife, now rich herself.   She would put on a mink coat, have her driver take her in the limo to one of the Queens laundromats they owned.   She would collect the bags of quarters in that outfit.  Take them home and count them. 

Not much more is known about Trump’s mother, except for her proud professions that she always knew little Donald would grow up to be a great and important man, but I can only imagine he never received her love in the quantity needed.   His rigidity speaks to that, his insistence that he has never, ever, been wrong about anything, even his multiple bankruptcies were all the right moves, made after winning bigly.  

He makes a canned remark about his mother any time he is asked about her.  Identical words each time.  A great woman, a great, great woman.   Very smart woman, very smart.

Unsaid, of course, but hinted at like the artist of innuendo he is:  if any of my wives had been half as great as her, I wouldn’t have cheated on them, wouldn’t have divorced them after publicly humiliating them.  My mother was a saint.   My bad luck to marry a series of whores.  I can’t tell you how much money I’ve had to pay to these fucking bitches over the years, you wouldn’t believe it.

Trump’s misogyny is beyond dispute.  He treats men badly too, but he feels a special urgency to belittle women.   If you are reading this, Mr. President, I don’t blame you, not entirely.   You apparently had a pretty bad  mother, even though she arranged photo ops for you with a series of pretty models every weekend when she and dad visited you at the military academy they sent you to because they worried about your uncontrollable bullying.  That was the beginning of your Ladies’ Man brand, those photo ops with pretty girls hired to make you not look like the cringing bully douche-bag you’ve always been.   You were voted Ladies Man of your school by your all male classmates at the Maladjusted Sons of Wealthy Assholes Academy.

It is no mystery why Trump supports Kavanaugh.   Kavanaugh has changed his opinion on the accountability of a sitting president for ordinary civil and criminal prosecution.  As a zealous young Republican operative he believed with all his heart that a Democratic president who lies under oath about a blow job must be aggressively investigated, impeached, thrown out of office for the felony of perjury and then prosecuted for it and imprisoned, if possible.   A president like Trump?   He has such a hard job, the hardest job, the hardest job, a job that he can’t do well while burdened with civil and criminal investigations into his alleged conduct while he is the sitting president.   Kavanaugh writes in that tell-tale 2009 law review article that his views have changed a little, or evolved.  Wait,  I thought you twats don’t believe in evolution.   I’d say Kavanaugh’s views changed by Intelligent Design.

The larger reason that Trump is insisting on Kavanaugh as the only Supreme Court justice he wants, of course, is that Trump sees himself in the unfairly maligned Kavanaugh.  It’s always about The Donald, after all. Many people sincerely hate Trump, many women accuse him of things they can never prove 100%.   Women are always trying to attack Trump, according to him, because they are jealous, or simply liars, now there are three women falsely accusing Kavanaugh of the same kind of utter crap, this bitchy “she said, I said” slander.  All lies!  Thank God for the law in this great nation that says they have to prove it 100%!   100% you fucks!

Trump apparently told Kavanaugh to show some balls at the hearing, come out swinging, attacking, they can’t prove shit, they’re liars, a well-funded attack network of lying liberals propped up by a couple of freedom hating class traitor billionaires — blast ’em, Brett, with both goddamned barrels.   He defended the impeccable moral credentials of his nominee at a rare presidential press conference the night before the Blasey Ford testimony.   An object lesson in being a brazen alpha male.

Now, after Kavanaugh’s alpha bitch performance defending his “good name”,  he and Trump are definitely BFFs, two victimized wealthy white men, being unfairly held to the same standard as powerless Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, Blacks, poor whites who do– allegedly!– the same things to women that they’re accused of.   Those types go to prison behind the same charges we have to face down, Brett.  See, it pays to be a rich white guy with mad connections to powerful people, LOL!  Am I right, Brett?  Am I right?

Kavanaugh’s victims, ALLEGED victims, well, he’s very sorry that they had some kind of traumatic experience they mistakenly recall he was involved in, things he has 100% no recollection of, but that he is, at the same time, 100% sure never happened, not him.  100% positive.   The gold standard of irrefutable rebuttal, 100% certainty, just like Christine Blasey Ford.  These women may believe they are being truthful, but they are the tools of liars.

It is because I have always been an unwavering far-right partisan that these false allegations have been orchestrated by a powerful group of well-organized, well-funded rabidly liberal enemies.  By bitches.  I treat ALL women with dignity and respect, even these lying ones intent on destroying my reputation as a pious and humble church-going Christian on the cusp of fulfilling a lifelong dream, my mother’s and mine.   SO UNFUCKING FAIR!!!   Arrrgggghhhhh!!!!!

Kavanaugh’s mother and father sat in the small audience in the Senate hearing room during his passionate, petulant rebuttal.  I wonder if Judge Martha Kavanaugh was as proud of her boy as Trump’s mother always publicly pretended to be of her troubled son Donald. 

Those Who Always Get A Pass in Life

There are people, born into the right families, who will always, always get a pass for fuck ups.  Fair is fair, you dig, if you are among the best of the best, that’s what privilege is all about.  

Brett Kavanaugh, with his $40,000 a year prep school and Ivy League education, is one of these, the best of the best.  They call it the Boy’s Club, the people you meet at the finest schools become important connections who will introduce you, hire you, promote you, protect you when you fuck up.   You can be a liar, it’s not a vice if you lie for a really principled reason, if you are privileged and have other privileged people to vouch for you.   Who among us is perfect, after all?  

Kavanaugh told Fox the other night that he was a virgin throughout high school and therefore, somehow, it followed he could not have committed the sexual assault he is accused of.   He had previously bragged to his high school classmates, other wealthy boys, on his year book page, that he was a “Renate Alumnius” (sic), a boys will be boys reference to having had sex with one of the girls who’d grow up to sign a letter defending his character. [1]    Reminds me of that old Andrew Dice Clay throwaway:  Mother Goose?  I fucked her.  Like many contradictory claims liars make they can’t both be true.   Either you fucked Mother Goose or you were a virgin.

We don’t know whether Christine Blasey Ford, no matter how credibly and sympathetically she testified, was correct in identifying Kavanaugh as her attacker.   It seems very likely, otherwise why would she have faced the nightmare she did to bring the accusation to the public?   On the other hand, we know that Kavanaugh did not do what an innocent man with nothing to hide would have done, asked for a full investigation to clear his good name.   He was evasive, he was angry, he was belligerent and entitled.

As his mother, Judge Martha Kavanaugh always told him, according to Brett: “Her trademark line was: ‘Use your common sense. What rings true? What rings false?'”

If we use our common sense, and weigh what rings true and what rings false, if we compare their demeanors and their candor/lack of candor, put the two versions side by side, Blasey Ford’s very detailed and precise, Kavanaugh’s merely an angry categorical denial of something he said never happened, blaming the Clintons for this vengeful ordeal he was being put through, it would seem Judge Kavanaugh is, sadly for him, kind of fucked.  

Fortunately for him, perhaps, none of that should matter, since he, like the man who nominated him, has never been held responsible for anything in his life, has a glib, angry answer, or a sullen evasion, for all of it.  And his team holds a 51-49 majority and unlimited money to deploy against disloyal Senators when they face re-election.    If it was put to a public vote he’d probably get around the same 30 something percent that supports the leader of his party, a similarly unfairly besieged, privileged victim.   Lucky for Brett Kavanaugh, such things are kept out of the hands of the rabble, left in the hands of his powerful peers.    

By the way, this Guardian editorial made some excellent points.   Worth a look just to see the collage of Kavanaugh facial expressions as he tried to defend his ruined name during the rebuttal phase of the trial of Christine Blasey Ford.

 

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AP/Getty images

[1]   Renate herself, now an adult and mother, was outraged, horrified to learn that those prep school boys bragged about having sex with her (Kavanaugh explained the reference was about dancing– Dance YOU, you transparently lying asshole), almost said she regretted signing the letter with 64 other wealthy women from Montgomery County.   But  I’ll say this for them, they stick do together, usually.   Here’s a bit about the adult Renate’s reaction to the yearbook page.  

And to underscore that the above is not from some Clinton-Soros-Oprah fake news liberal hatchet job publication, here’s the pop-up ad that popped up when I tried to read the article linked above.   You might not want to miss this summit!

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Lindsay Graham is a Detestable, Stinking Sphincter

Lindsay Graham’s giddy playfulness right after the hurried 11-10 vote to send the Kavanaugh nomination to the full Senate told everything one might want to know about Kavanaugh and the Republicans and their plans to ram him through, unrepentant rapist style.   

No concessions were made by the men with the solid one vote majority, outside of one of them saying he might could … you know, vote against the nominee if they don’t do a quick FBI investigation before the vote.   He could do that, might could.   If Mitch McConnell suddenly grows a moral self, if Donald J. Trump decides to do the fair thing (right after my brother-in-law the hunchback straightens up)  (remember who these two moral black holes are)– then … ha, just kidding.   Vote Monday!

Graham, a prissy single white southern man if there ever was one, went from screaming and hissing in fury about the unfairness of investigating a man credibly accused of very bad behavior, to outright playfulness with members of the lying media, smiling, happy, excited puppy dog — all in less than a day.  All it took was an 11-10 party line vote to send Kavanaugh’s name to the body that will actually confirm him, his God willing, 51-49.

As for emotional Lindsay, he stinks a mile, as my grandmother would say. 

What the Jesuits say about Brett Kavanaugh

Amy Goodman reports today on Democracy Now!

All Christine Blasey Ford really claimed at the hearing was this old news, that, according to Republicans, Kavanaugh completely demolished with his forceful denials:

“Brett groped me and tried to take off my clothes. He had a hard time because he was very inebriated and because I was wearing a one-piece bathing suit underneath my clothing. I believed he was going to rape me. I tried to yell for help. When I did, Brett put his hand over my mouth to stop me from yelling. This was what terrified me the most and has had the most lasting impact on my life. It was hard for me to breathe, and I thought that Brett was accidentally going to kill me.”

Now, we honestly don’t know what Jesus Christ would say about this, but we know what the Jesuits of the United States say, and the ABA.  Today America, as embodied in its ruling elites, wears the tiniest fig leaf of decency.  Actually, no fig leaf– it’s just naked aggression against the vicious, coordinated, well-funded Left Wing Conspiracy that demands a credible investigation into charges of attempted rape.   You’d expect Kavanaugh to angrily demand exactly that if his daughter was the victim of a sexual assault like the one Christine Blasey Ford describes.   Hence, the insane rush to get this man confirmed for his place on the Supreme court.

The vote today went, as expected, 11-10 in the Judiciary Committee.   Jeff Flake proposed a mealy mouthed, completely non-binding call for short vote delay and a quick FBI investigation, before voting with the other ten Republicans to send the nominee out for a 51-49 vote of the full Senate (with pallid homophobe Mike Pence as the tie-breaker).  Trump celebrated by tweeting his call for an immediate up and down vote in the Senate on this historically well-qualified, truthful man of the highest principles, and sterling character and breeding.  

Straight party line vote, same as any lynch mob, the guys with the rope and the guns having the final say.  You can also think of the 11 Republicans as guys waiting (younger versions of themselves, to be sure) their turn in a “train”, outside the room where a future partisan colleague is having his way with a drugged high school girl. Same high moral principles, half the calories!

 

Rape Culture

I remind everyone, and myself, that in spite of living in a rape culture where the denials of powerful, privileged men still work just fine in cases of doubt, where the indiscretions of the inebriated privileged are weighed on a different scale, there are two rounds of voting before even the elite partisan Brett Kavanaugh can get on to the Supreme Court.   The Republicans should really kill this one in committee, rather than brazening it out in the full Senate for a confirmation vote.   Not likely because Republicans are now ideologically against abortion in all cases, even in the case of an extreme monstrosity.

The first vote will apparently be tomorrow morning, in the Judiciary Committee composed of 11 Republicans and 10 Democrats, expected to be a straight 11-10 vote to put Kavanaugh’s name up for a vote by the full Senate where Republicans appear to be doubling down in hopes of brazening out a robust 51-49 confirmation.   If Jeff Flake, or perhaps the high-minded Ben Sasse, has a moment of conscience over night, Kavanaugh goes down in the committee, crying, by that same 11-10 margin.  It’s anybody’s guess right now, though one presumes Grassley made sure he had the 11 votes before committing to the full committee vote tomorrow at 9:30 a.m..

If it gets to the full Senate it will be fascinating to watch those six female Republicans, (though most come from locked down right wing Republican strongholds) and picture their moral dilemmas as the 51-49 majority is being whipped into shape by the Whip.  The Whip says even if Kavanaugh is less than 100% truthful, even if he is, as said by his Yale roommate, a mean, aggressive drunk, even if he did once, but only once, when he was really, really fucked up.., never mind… nobody can prove that.  

It didn’t happen, it never happened, nothing happened, but if it did happen it was nothing, really, really nothing, even if it did happen to happen that one time, decades ago, a time I have no recollection of because I used to get that drunk when I was really happy back in the Jesuit school.  As I had them print on my yearbook page, I don’t recall who won that Orioles game or who the other team was.  Who cares?

Christine Blasey Ford testified, credibly, sympathetically and without any doubt, about a sexual assault and the identity of the man who tried to rape her one long ago summer evening in high school.   Dr. Ford even quickly explained the science of how photographic memories of traumatic moments are indelibly frozen in the hippocampus.   The most traumatic single thing she can’t get out of her head from that evening was the uproarious laughter of Kavanaugh and football teammate and fellow Renate Alumnius [sic], toxic buddy Mark Judge as they stumbled back downstairs after Kavanaugh’s ballsy rape attempt gone awry.   No reason to hear from Judge, the other guy in the room during the attempted rape, he’s already sworn that Blasey Ford is a liar.

The man she’d identified as one of the two drunken boys, President Trump’s nominee for Associate Supreme Court Justice, came into the hearing angry, defiant, prissy, insisting that he was the victim, he was the one under attack, that it was his good name being destroyed, his dreams they were trying to crush, his life being ruined, and the lives of his family, and the lives of every American who believes in democracy.    He put on a tour de force of judicial character, lashing out at everybody, imagining vicious partisan conspiracies like the ones he’s taken part in, acting like a drunk prep school asshole for the international TV audience.

Judicial character, yo.   He bullied everyone in the room who suggested he didn’t want the fair process he’d called for, tried to stare them down, with that smug, supremely punchable face.   He looked, whenever he felt cornered, every bit the entitled, intemperate, belligerent handsy drunk he’s been depicted as.  The kind of stupid drunk who would hold his hand over a squirming girl’s mouth and drunkenly struggle to get her one piece bathing suit off.   Looking at his poorly restrained anger, it was easy to picture him saying “no means yes and yes means anal,” and laughing mirthlessly about it with the macho little turds he got drunk with in prep school.  It’s what the football team at an elite all-boys school does, perform rituals of toxic masculinity for each other.

He was very sorry about the woman, Dr. Blasey Ford, he said, and held nothing against her, it was the evil Democrats sneakily and viciously trying to get revenge against him for things like his zeal in the Clinton sex impeachment, his role in stopping the Florida recount in 2000, his advising Bush and Cheney on the legality of the torture program, and extrajudicial killing by drone, the classification of 90% of his writings, the whole sick well-funded Democrat partisan attack machine, but he had never tried to rape her, not even one time, or anyone else, even after he’d had several beers.  He liked beer, still does, beer, just beer, nothing stronger than a good old American beer, like everybody in America likes to drink.

She might think that she was 100% sure it is his leering face indelibly implanted in her hippocampus, but she was wrong.  It 100% was not him, 100%.  He might have had a lot of beer on some of those high school nights (too drunk to remember scores of several sporting events he attended while at Georgetown Prep, as he fondly recalled on his yearbook page), but it wasn’t him, no way, no fucking way you goddamned godless fucking fucks!   He was 100% sure that it could not possibly have been him who tried to rape this woman, and would subject himself to absolutely any investigation Republican committee chairman Chuck Grassely would call for.  

He didn’t blame Blasey Ford, a well-meaning but sadly mistaken tool of bitter, lying partisans, maliciously lying in wait until the very last minute, their hearts filled with hatred, thirsting for injustice, intent on a personal vendetta against him, upon decency itself.

“These are last-minute smears, pure and simple. They debase our public discourse. And the consequences extend beyond any one nomination. Such grotesque and obvious character assassination — if allowed to succeed — will dissuade competent and good people of all political persuasions from serving our country.”

That’s Trump fucking nominee there all right.  No doubt.  The president is very proud of the angry, brazenly lying bitch, can see a lot of himself in the boy.   You can practically see Trump nodding along as his nominee indignantly expresses how personally aggrieved he is by the unbearable unfairness that is being perpetrated against him.   Then he defiantly stated that he will not back down, never, will fight to the end to protect our great democracy by taking his place on the Supreme Court, the job he was born and bred to have for the rest of his lifetime.

I texted my sister “the partisan doth protest too much, methinks,” and then he started crying.   He was literally crying, that frustrated, entitled boy being so unfairly, and so falsely, challenged by such a compelling witness, and so close to the lifelong prize he’d been groomed for since before his prep school days!   Frustrating!    In front of this nation he loves, in front of his wife and his parents (present live in the room as he defended his good name), the emotion of the moment overcame him and he began to sob as he told a story about his Christlike ten year-old daughter.   He had to pause while he cried, gather himself.  

I thought the tears were a nice touch, especially considering that Christine Blasey Ford, the actual victim of his drunken piggishness, had put on such a brave yet meek face and held it together so admirably, spoke with such humility as she faced a hostile committee of ossified white men too intimidated by the optics of the situation to ask her anything, but pressing on with a female prosecutor.

That Christine Blasey Ford’s testimony was completely credible is beyond dispute.   Kavanaugh’s crying didn’t make his bullying, self-pitying act any easier to watch, I have to say.   He lied some more, very indignantly.   He blurted a false claim during his opening rant, trying to discredit Dr. Ford by claiming that her friend had said she was wrong, that there never was a gathering like the one she remembers:

…Kavanaugh claimed that Christine Blasey Ford’s friend, Leland Keyser, “refuted” her account of the party she was assaulted at by Brett Kavanaugh. In fact, Keyser has only said that she does not recall the event but believes Ford’s allegation.    source

He said, she said, now it’s time to vote.  

The Republican men of the Judicial Committee are cowards, hiding behind the skirts of a woman they brought in to speak for them, for the optics, the optics, we must do the opposite of Biden with Anita Hill.   We don’t talk at all, we get a female mouthpiece, for the optics, the optics.   The female prosecutor in the end was hard-pressed to impeach the credibility of an extremely candid witness.   Blasey Ford was an extremely sympathetic witness, by the end of her testimony every fair minded person in the world believed her story, including, it seemed, the sympathetic sex crimes prosecutor herself.

 To state the obvious once more — Christine Blasey Ford had nothing to gain and has already lost a good deal by coming forward.   The Republican men of the committee apparently gathered during the long recess to coordinate their hissy fit for the afternoon session when the nominee would deny all this uncorroborated testimony and they would rally around him like the fucking blindly partisan pussies they are. The Republican men exploded in indignation after Kavanaugh went into brainlock when Dick Durbin pressed him about sitting for an FBI investigation.   Kavanaugh was literally slack-jawed when challenged about why he won’t ask for an FBI investigation.   Angry Republican men began snarling on his behalf.  The female prosecutor, their mouthpiece, didn’t utter another word the rest of the way.

The Democrats aren’t much better than the Republicans, of course, though not quite as vicious, organized or implacable when it comes to how they wage war.   Republicans will do anything, they’re not concerned with grace, or looking bad, not afraid to look clumsy, desperate, tone deaf, immoral, they will pay any short term price (usually make others, the Takers, pay the price) for the final victory.  Individually they may be fine people, very fine people, the finest people and some very classy people, very classy ladies and gentlemen.   As a pack, the extreme right, our current Republican party, tend to run in lockstep, disciplined, following their leader without condition, unconstrained by ethics, conscience, moral qualms, the appearance of fairness, decency and many other things most good people take for granted.   Soldiers of their cause, power to the people, that small sliver of the very best people who deserve it most, the best of the best.   People like Brett Kavanaugh.

A friend told me the other day he thinks radical Republicans (the only kind we have at the moment) are mentally ill.   I didn’t have any good arguments against this proposition.   The best we can say is that they care only about themselves and that their elected representatives are acutely self-interested and not ashamed to march in a parade of powerfully stinking, bullying clowns, as long as they retain power.   

The stench of this confirmation farce to get the most extreme partisan hack yet quickly put up, for life, on the nation’s highest court, is powerful.   It’s not like anyone is accusing the man of smoking pot!   That guy, Douglas Ginsberg, Ronald Reagan’s nominee, stepped down when it came out he’d smoked marijuana. Nothing that serious has been alleged against good Christian Brett Kavanaugh.  Therefore, it was up to the eleven angry men to speak up for what is right, and true, and fuck you!  Lindsay Graham, a hissy douche-bag who finally couldn’t contain himself, after being so fair and listening so fairly to everything, finally had heard enough, eventually went berserk.

Lindsay Graham 2018-09-28 at 12.48.55 AM

These middle aged and old white guys are the victims, always, and they are so fucking sick of being nice guys about it.  Goddamn it!  Jesus Christ himself wouldn’t sit still for this kind of fucking bullshit!

The 11-10 Republican Committee plans to vote first thing tomorrow, brazen it out full stink, shoot the moon, fuck the bitches and their credible sympathetic fucking testimony.  A fair process, now, a fair process, immediately!   Before any more of these lying jezebels come forward, claiming more lies against this most excellent, most deserving man. 

Will be interesting to see, assuming he makes it out of the committee, and then somehow makes it to a full vote, if any of the 51 Republicans will find a spine, or a modicum of shame, if the women in the Senate, the six Republicans, between them will find a pair of ovaries.  

If this asshole gets an up and down vote next week,and somehow gets to 51 votes, it will be quite a triumph for rape culture.  Hopefully its last triumph before a united front of decent people sweep these scumbags out of power.    Either way, this jerk-off will have a lot of time, in his old age, to cry over the fate his pathetic behavior has already ensured for the little girl, now ten, who made him cry today, for love of her gentle little soul, in that moment of human frailty in front of a live audience of many millions.

 

Ode to an angry, rapey mean drunk

The nominee wants an immediate fair hearing
by his peers, zealots,
no evidence against him,
only one witness’s
uncorroborated word against his
but a fair process
he wants a fair process, a fair process 
 
Goes on their channel to make his case
says this over and over, and:
Dignity and respect, nothing but dignity
and respect for girls of every age
and fuck those lying teenaged bitches
How dare they?!!  My good name!  The fucking whores.
 
FBI, no thanks, I would, of course,
but you know… the committee
 
“False Acquisitions!” snarls a dotard. 

Dignity and Respect

“Dignity and respect,” said the outraged, unfairly attacked entitled man to the friendly interviewers on the president’s favorite fake news channel.  His good Christian wife sat dutifully next to him, one hundred percent on his side. “I have nothing but dignity and respect for women, never would even think about committing a sexual assault against one, never!  Even while stinking drunk, especially while stinking drunk.   How dare they?!!  I regard all women with dignity and respect, dignity and respect, always have, even for the drunken, horny, unattainable sluts I encountered as a hard-drinking prep school virgin and an equally soused freshman virgin at Yale.  All I want is a fair process, a fair chance to not be persecuted like our Lord and Savior was, a fair process to show that these bitches from hell are lying, partisan, fetus slaughtering whores.”

Thus the Supreme Court nominee made his case to American partisans, via Fox News.   The interview was set up by a disgraced former Fox executive, one Mr. Bill Shine [1], who made his bones defending a series of sexual predator Fox executives who all subsequently had to step down, as, in the end, did Shine.   Not that Shine didn’t do his best to protect his powerful white male friends, it’s just that these bitches are fucking determined and women now, suddenly, are the fucking victims of everything, don’t you know?   And their high priced lawyers were good, demonically so.   Now Shine works directly for Trump, in Scaramucci’s old job.   “Let’s put Brett on Fox, Bill, let him speak directly to the base,” the President must have said.   The president is a genius, he says so himself.  

All Kavanaugh is asking for is, as he stated over and over to the fawning interviewer at Fox, is  “a fair process”, a fair process, a fair process where no evidence against me is admissible if it is prejudicial in any way.   The same standard of evidence I require in my court, except nothing detrimental to the life-long dream of an entitled, powerful white man who loves his family and is poised to become among the nine most elite and powerful people in the nation, if not the world.  

Dignity and respect, he said again and again, suggesting that he too is entitled to those things.  You could see, behind his beady, lying eyes, the wheels turning in his brilliant, high-achieving, lawyerly brain, “…since birth, my mother, a late in life lawyer and then a judge, was an inspiration to me, and I also hated her, as you might expect, which is why I got so drunk so often and though I always, always behaved with absolute regard for their dignity and respect, even though no female ever reciprocated my sexual interest– what did I have to do, playfully brush my dick across their fucking faces?—  I was always respectful, even when my shows of affection did not result in my penis penetrating their vagina, which is the only true definition of sexual assault.  Never got so much as the goddamned tip in.   Case closed.  How many more questions?  Is it time to say it again?”

“All I am asking for is a fair process that allows an immediate up or down 51-49 vote to confirm me without undue delay for a gathering coven of lying, godless partisan women to prepare any sort of real case against me.  Fair process means no FBI, no witnesses called to assassinate my good name, no evidence produced to impeach my testimony, or me, or my high minded Jesus inspired family values purity.  Look, I produced a fucking 1982 calendar to prove I was never once at a party of any kind the year I am accused of the heinous things made up against me.  Proof that the whores are lying! All of them!

“Fair process means we fairly (51-49, bitches) violate the rules of the Senate and allow the optically unsympathetic white men on the Judiciary Committee who unconditionally support me to interrogate the witness against me using a powerful woman’s voice.  The voice of a single witness, the lying, or mistaken, or mixed up, or partisan academic bitch who claims that when she was fifteen I did the unthinkable to her against the voice of a strong woman.  I was a fucking virgin, OK– so, by definition I couldn’t have raped her.  And as any choir boy knows, if there is no penetration, no rape.  Case closed.  Shut your hole, lady.”  

So the old white Republican men on the Judiciary Committee, to avoid the sickening gang rape optics of the Anita Hill sessions (and the many lost confirmation votes that followed) lawyer up, find a suitable mouthpiece, a staunch Republican female pitbull from Maricopa County, Arizona, home of pardoned contemnor Joe Arpaio’s infamous desert concentration camp penal colonies,  to confront this lying professor Blasey Ford.  

A partisan woman prosecutor attacking a woman testifying about an attempted rape– you have to admit, the optics are much, much better than stern, horsefaced Chuck Grassley, or the equally fair-minded feminist member Orrin Hatch, hoarsely insisting: “isn’t it true, missy, that you are a lying fucking whore?”  The optics of Anita Hill’s ordeal were horrible, and these two conservative pricks were part of it (Democratic Judiciary Committee member Patrick Leahy was also there during the Hill testimony– though he called for a postponement to have a full hearing– SAD!) , so better for everybody if we have an impartial yet aggressive female lawyer take this lying professor apart.

A fair process is all I ask for, insists the shameless Kavanaugh.   One day of hurried testimony to brazen my way through and a straight up or down 51-49 vote for confirmation the next morning.   Keep the pressure on those two Republican swing votes, those two female senators, at least one of whom has indicated if they are convinced a younger Kavanaugh attacked an even younger woman and is now lying about it– before he can do a more complete job attacking all young women as the fifth vote against the murder of innocent fetuses– they would vote against him.  

Got to have the vote now.  NOW!   A fair process demands no less!  A fair process!!! Quick, before Mueller can complete his anti-Christ witch hunt.  I am the only one who can protect our president against his legions of ruthless enemies.  Vote now, confirm me NOW!  A fair process, dignity and respect, dignity and respect, a fair process!!!  For the love of God and His Only Son, in the name of all that is good and holy.  I am the only one who is committed to fully protecting our leader!  Beside Stephen Miller, a great man who reminds me very much of my younger self.

As fifth generation American George Lopez might say;  “fuck those putos”.

 

[1] top Google blurb, from the Grey Skank:   

Bill Shine, the former Fox News executive who was pushed out over his handling of sexual harassment scandals at the network, was named …

Note:   Shine was named four or five days before well-bred shit-don’t-stink dignity respecter Brett Kavanaugh was nominated, as the Pussygrabber-in-chief’s guy to handle the spin for the confirmation, the Mueller probe/witch hunt and everything else.  

And God bless these United Shayssssh.

False Acquisitions.png

The Stories We Tell Each Other

My mother used to complain to me about a certain person’s conversational style, said that it eventually drove her almost insane.   The talk was always rapid fire, the meandering stories long, involved, usually about friends or acquaintances of people this person knew, who my mother didn’t know, had never met or heard of.  There would always be many twists to the endless, meandering tales, and a large, shifting cast of characters, and, not knowing any of them, my mother was hard-pressed to follow most of the drama, let alone care about it.  

My mother would be at a loss for how to respond, she’d venture a polite, inane comment once in a while, just to prop up her end of the monologue.    Her friend understood this non-engagement as a sign of my mother’s dementia and looked at her with a mixture of concern and impatience.   My mother didn’t have dementia.  She had strong opinions, and she spoke them to the end.   She also tuned out when she was bored, like many of us do, but she was not demented.   It was rare for my mother to have nothing to say and when she honestly had nothing she was at a loss, stumped, reminding herself that there was really nothing in the conversation for her.  Trying to remember not to make another lunch date with this high pressure talking hose.

To the other party in these chats, it was easy to make the case that her old friend was demented.   “First, she can’t really follow a simple story.   I had told her all about these people already, only last week.   Memory is another issue, she has no short or medium term memory, none!  She stares at me blankly, her mouth partly open, like she’s in a daze.”

“It’s true, I go into a daze, like an alpha state, just to try to keep myself from screaming.   I’m pretty sure if I ever started yelling it would hurt her feelings, there’d be some kind of trouble afterwards.   But every week, these endless tales of interlocking, uninteresting strangers she barely describes, over generic food I can hardly eat.  I hate that place, but it’s the only restaurant she likes to go to, it’s cheap.  

“If she was a good story-teller, at least, but she’s not, she doesn’t set anything up right, there’s no through-line to anything, no dramatic shape or pay off,  it’s all just:  ‘So X and Y go over to Z’s house, and everybody knows what Z’s house is like, I must have told you about that shithole.  Now, if you recall from three weeks or so ago, there is a couple named G and H, they were friends of U and V, the ones from college that they sort of aren’t really close friends with anymore, though they all claim to love each other and their kids, and those goddamned kids are another long, terrible tale, but anyway, as you may recall, G recently lost her hot shot job, a big blow to the ego and also to the family checkbook, and so H says…”

“It’s sad, the dementia.  I still try to tell her stories, keep her engaged, interested in life, but it seems she’s sunken into her own dour thoughts, whatever they may be.   It’s impossible to arouse her interest or engage her at all.  She doesn’t even seem to care about eating anymore.  It’s so sad, she was such a bright interactive person and now she’s just… like this.'”   The eyes half close, the mouth falls half open, under the dropped eyelids the eyes move around slowly, without plan or hope of a plan.  

“I become a zombie, I really do.   After ten minutes of her endless narration I just want to sink my teeth into somebody’s arm and go ‘ahhhhnnnnngggggghhhhh….’ the way zombies do.  I just want the noise to stop, that’s all it is, nervous, chattering white noise.   ‘So H has the temerity to say, and when I say temerity, I mean, you can’t compare H to even Z in that regard.  How people get so brazen and oblivious I will never understand.   Anyway….’  

“Last time she called I told her I’m sick and she said she’d come over, bring me that prepared overly salty chicken soup from Publix.  I told her she’s very kind but that the doctor told me I’m very contagious.  I almost told her I might bite her face, hard, if she didn’t let me hang up the phone right then, but thought better of it.  I’m lonely enough and at least she calls, you know?”

I understood my mother’s loneliness better than most things.  I urged her to write, but she never did.   There was a world in there that was too painful to relax in, let alone explore, better to keep the mind busy with books, murder mysteries, and murder mysteries on television.  It was uncanny how quickly she would tell you who the murderer would turn out to be, she pounced on plot points with the lightning quickness of a terrier grabbing a rat by the neck.  She’d give it a quick shake and leave it twitching when the commercial hit.  In the end, she was never wrong about the killer.