Archive for ‘Crazy Cousin John’

July 18, 2009

‘Integrity’? Like Paul F***ing Anka, Baby

Ace of Spades mentions “integrity” in discussing his services last year “as an apologist for the horrible candidate John McCain.” I traveled a good distance down that particular road myself — I’d link some of it, if only it weren’t so traumatically embarrassing — but I knew when to pull the ripcord:

John McCain lost the election Sept. 24 and Barack Obama will be the next president of the United States. Nothing that is likely to happen between now and Nov. 4 can change this outcome. . . .
Democrats are already rushing to promote Obama’s coming victory as a mandate for their “progressive” agenda. Conservatives need to begin telling the true story of McCain’s defeat, which must be admitted before it can be explained.

That was published Oct. 7 by The American Spectator, nearly a full month before the election. In fact, my spontaneous reaction Sept. 24 to McCain’s stunt (“insane . . . I can’t see the benefit, either in terms of policy or politics”) was almost a perfect bull’s-eye. And let the record show that, once everything was said and done, all informed analysts agreed with me that Crazy Cousin John’s support for the bailout was the decisive turning point in his well-deserved defeat. (See also Doug Mataconis: “The McCain Campaign: What Went Wrong.”)

The question has since been asked, by friends, whether I have any regrets. Short answer: None at all. I didn’t vote for Obama and I didn’t vote for Crazy Cousin John. Let other people apologize for their choices, but I have nothing to regret. (Don’t Blame Me, I Voted For Bob Barr.) So I felt obligated to make this point in my reply to Ace:

If the Republican Party could nominate as its presidential candidate a man whose only apparent political principle has been the advancement of his own ambition and still win, what kind of cynic would call that a good outcome? When the GOP nominates the wrong man, the electoral debacle that inevitably follows cannot be interpreted as evidence that the party should nominate more scoundrels like that.

Which is to say, What Would Paul F***ing Anka Do?

Lots of people disagree with me, and I have no problem with that. They have the right to be wrong. I understand that my habit of being 100% right all the time is annoying to people who are wrong. Yeah, it might be kind of boring if every other blog on the planet was nothing but a series of links like this:

Stacy McCain Is Right!
Once Again, Stacy McCain Is Exactly Right!
How Much More Nail-On-The-Head Accurate Could Stacy McCain Possibly Be?
Holy Freaking Crap! That Guy Could Split Atoms With His Infallible Logic!

Boring, yes. But accurate. What’s the point of being a know-it-all if you don’t actually know it all? Isn’t that why people read Hot Air, because Allah knows everything?

So when I’m right, right, right, right all the time, and other people are reliably wrong like clockwork (e.g., David Brooks), then maybe a good political strategy for the Republican Party would be to listen to me: Do the exact opposite of whatever David Brooks says to do. Cf. “How to Think About Liberalism (If You Must).”

There was a time — perhaps as recently as yesterday — when my prophetic omniscience may have been incomplete. As of today, however, just call me Mr. Authoritative Truth. So believe me when I tell you that, even though Ace is wrong about this one thing, he isn’t a total whore, no matter what David Frum says.

(Yeah, I did steal that Photoshop. Sue me.)

UPDATE: Linked by Paul Anka Instapundit, and please also see my sentimental tribute to Ace of Spades at the Green Room. And while I have no regrets about my political choices in 2008, that’s not the same as having no regrets.

(Regrets? I’ve had a few, but then again . . .)

UPDATE II: Dan Collins is a genius, and also has some interesting arguments on ObamaCare. Everyone who cares about the future of the Republican Party the conservative cause America the world the universe should commit to memory every priceless word that Dan Collins writes.

UPDATE III: Dr. Melissa Clouthier:

Well, we’re not being screwed, these days. We’re being freaking gang-raped. . . . Does anyone really believe that a John McCain presidency would have sold out the country to the Unions? Does anyone really believe we’d have to be beating back the biggest power grab by the federal government ever?

Yes, and how did this happen? Because I voted for Bob Barr in Maryland? I think not. The GOP nominated as its presidential candidate the only candidate in the primary field for whom I could not vote. (S. 2611.) The most electable candidate in the Republican field, Mitt Romney, quit two days after Super Tuesday.

When the Republican Party nominates a guaranteed loser who — surprise! — loses, how is this result to be blamed on those who opposed the nomination, who specifically, accurately and concisely predicted what events would happen? I predicted it on Super Tuesday, and you may read “Bill Kristol & the Idiocy of Hope” — from Monday, Nov. 3 — and be assured that I have no regrets about that post, either.

How many times do I have to repeat myself? If you volunteer to be a doormat, don’t complain about the footprints on your back.

If the Republican Party can nominate Bozo the Clown with the calm certainty that, on the day before the election, Bill Kristol, Fred Barnes and Sean Hannity will be lecturing conservatives about how important it is that they vote for Bozo — “That clown is a Great American! He’s pulled to within the margin of error in Idaho!” — whose fault is it that the GOP gets its ass kicked and nobody takes the conservative movement seriously?

Obama, Pelosi and Reid are running roughshod over the Constitution, and this is to be blamed on me?

Fine. It’s all my fault. Blame me. Or Sarah Palin. Or Rush Limbaugh. Take your pick. Since it seems absolutely essential to some people that the clueless GOP hacks who orchestrated this disaster never be held accountable for their errors, please don’t let me me disturb the search for a convenient scapegoat.

But why keep searching? It was me. Mea culpa.

Whatever you do, don’t blame John McCain, or any of the idiots at GOP-HQ who squandered $792 million on the 2008 Republican campaign — hey, let’s hire the Dynamic Duck Duo! — because if you blame them, somebody might accuse you of trying to be “morally superior.”

UPDATE IV: OK, excuse the outburst. I’m just tired, is all. Everybody knows exactly what needs to be done. Except me. I’m the only person in the entire conservative blogosphere who doesn’t know anything about politics, or media, or campaigns.

So whatever you do, ignore me — until it’s time to blame me.

July 1, 2009

Palinpalooza!

Just finished the Vanity Fair article by Todd Purdum (earlier comments: Part I, Part II, Part III) and discovered that Professor Glenn Reynolds had dubbed my recent blogging a “Palinpalooza.” This would also include:

To demonstrate the basic problem with Purdum’s article — and much other press treatment of the Alaska governor — let’s turn to Page 9:

More than once in my travels in Alaska, people brought up, without prompting, the question of Palin’s extravagant self-regard. Several told me, independently of one another, that they had consulted the definition of “narcissistic personality disorder” in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders—“a pervasive pattern of grandiosity (in fantasy or behavior), need for admiration, and lack of empathy”—and thought it fit her perfectly.

Right. Did Purdum ever write about the narcissism of Bill “Better Put Some Ice On That” Clinton? Of course not. Nor has Todd Purdum ever written about the extravagant self-regard of Crazy Cousin John, whose “pervasive pattern of grandiosity” involved the “fantasy or behavior” of his quixotic presidential campaign — a campaign that, Purdum observes, involved the belated and impulsive choice of a running mate for whom “no serious vetting had been done.”

Digression: Why can’t anyone from Team Maverick ever take responsibility for their own failures? It could be argued, given the disastrous result of his campaign, that everyone who supported him in the Republican primaries was guilty of flawed judgment. (Purdum notes that, after McCain clinched the GOP nomination, Palin didn’t publicly endorse him — evidence of superior judgment on her part, I’d say.)

Yet Purdum wants to talk “grandiosity” about Palin, while Barack Obama believes he can suspend the laws of economics? (It Won’t Work. The Fundamentals Suck. Economics Is Not a Popularity Contest. Weimar America.)

The problem with the MSM is not that it has no standards, but that it has two standards. Or perhaps — considering how the MSM savaged Hillary Clinton in the primaries last year — we can now say there are three standards: One for Republicans, one for Obama, and one for Democrats who get thrown under Obama’s bus.

But back to the Vanity Fair article: If none of McCain’s aides had the foresight to anticipate his selection of Palin — which would explain the lack of “serious vetting” — whose fault is that? And if choosing an unvetted running mate was a blunder, whose blunder was it?

This is what the Blame Sarah First crusade by McCain campaign staffers is about: Exculpating them for their own bad judgment, including their decisions to join the McCain campaign in the first place. Make her the scapegoat, so they can walk away pretending that they’re perfect.

Of all the decisions for which Sarah Palin has been criticized, saying “yes” when asked to be Maverick’s running mate was most clearly a misjudgment. I’m sure she sits home in Wasilla late some nights and thinks of the answer she should have given:

“Are you kidding me? That guy’s nuts. Besides, he’s going to get stomped in November. Why would I want to associate with a RINO loser like that?”

Well, hindsight is 20/20, eh? If Sarah Palin is reading this: Governor, please pay close attention to Part I of the Vanity Fair critique, which includes a very specific recommendation. (No, not the part about the hand grenade.) My 2008 American Spectator articles about Sarah Palin:

UPDATE 11:27 a.m.: Sully’s Jauvert-like determination — “We must know the Truth!” — gets linkage from Howie at Jawa Report, William Teach at Right Wing News, Pat in Shreveport, Professor William Jacobson and, most importantly (because she’s a mother of seven) Pundette:

I’ve tried to avoid the disturbing weirdness from Andrew Sullivan about the birth of Trig Palin. You’d think ignoring it might make it go away, especially eight months after the election. But no. He’s still beating on this ghost of a dead horse. There’s something very unhealthy going on here.

Read the whole thing. Allow me once again to suggest that the “very unhealthy” part of what’s going on involves a matter of identity. Sully self-consciously identifies as gay, and he identifies Gov. Palin as Mom.

Could anything be more simple? (Perhaps Dr. Helen will dare to weigh in. She’s a mom, too.) The unnoted imbalance in the Sully-Palin grudge match is that Sully’s gay identity is politically protected in contemporary America, while Palin’s maternal identity is not.

The War Against Mom is one of the most hideous aspects of postmodern misogyny.

UPDATE 12:19 p.m.: Red State‘s Moe Lane advises to back away from the Sully-bomb. And I have tried to avoid it. Honestly, Ace of Spades has been doing an excellent job on the Bomb Squad, behind his Kevlar pseudonym.

It took a helluva lot of provocation — Sully’s accusation that I am an advocate of “genocide”(!) — to make me finally take the risk of saying in my own name what Ace has been saying for months: Sully’s got a problem that is not strictly political in nature.

One of the horrible realities of the Culture War is that in the past 30 years, the opportunistic political exploitation of the AIDS pandemic has converted the vibe of the gay community from Mardi Gras on Bourbon Street into the spirit of the 1934 Nuremberg Rally. The remorseless momentum of sexual politics has changed “gay” from a hedonistic personal proclivity — Laissez les bon temps rouler — into the totalitarian identity of the ubermenschen.

What is tragic about Andrew Sullivan’s recent totalitarian turn is that he was one of the most famous victims of the brownshirt “outing” squad. Sully was forced out of the closet in the most vicious way possible and has evidently taken the wrong lesson from that experience. Rather than join forces with freedom-lovers like Tammy Bruce, who oppose the Ernst Rohms of the Official Gay Movement, Sullivan appears to have succumbed to a species of Stockholm Syndrome, adopting the mentality of his tormenters.

Sullivan seems to prosecute his crusade against Sarah Palin’s privacy on the theory that, “If my sexuality cannot be private, no one’s sexuality can be private.” Thereby he advances the Orwellian specter in which all of us might as well post a YouTube video of our every sexual act, because there can be no privacy in the Big Brother state, where the personal is political — and vice-versa.

It is not too late for Sullivan to renounce this evil, but he will not renounce it until he recognizes it as evil. Sorry that it took a “skilled attention whore” to point this out.

UPDATE 1:05 p.m.: “Shocking Crime Against Humanity”!

June 30, 2009

VF on Sarah Palin, Part I

As mentioned, I previously took time only to glance at Todd Purdum’s Vanity Fair article on Gov. Sarah Palin (h/t Memeorandum). Now I have printed it and begun reading. On Page 4 there is this:

The consensus [among McCa8in campaign personnel] is that Palin’s rollout . . . went more or less fine . . .

Wrong. The botched rollout set the stage for every subsequent error by the campaign staff. As I said within days of her announcement, they should have called an impromptu press conference immediately after her first Ohio rally.

The reporters would have had no chance to research their “gotcha” questions. The traveling media would have been pleased merely to be present at such a historic press conference, and would have hesitated to attack. The reporters from whom Palin took questions would have been grateful. And she would have bought herself at least a week before she could have been accused of “dodging” the press.

Republican “media strategists” don’t understand the press, and for a simple reason: You could throw a hand grenade into a meeting of GOP “media strategists” with the calm assurance that among the dead and wounded, there would only be perhaps one or two who’d ever worked a day as a reporter.

If Gov. Palin wanted to hire a press secretary who really knows how a reporter thinks, she would get in touch with Audrey Hudson of The Washington Times, who once did a stint as a press secretary on Capitol Hill.

(BTW, that “hand grenade” stuff was just a figure of speech, not a serious suggestion. I disavow responsibility for any extremist who misunderstands the intent of such rhetoric. The legal department forced me to add this disclaimer. Damned lawyers.)

March 30, 2009

A Boy Named Stacy

Sometimes I get questions about my name: “Should I call you Robert? Stacy? R.S.? What do you go by?” And I answer facetiously: “You can call me Mr. McCain.” But I also answer to “Hey, Stupid.”

Little Miss Attila tries “R. Stacy McCain,” which was my byline until I moved to Washington. (Attila also says she was “a bit underwhelmed by Animal House,” which makes me want to react like Otter when Mandy Pepperidge tells him it was “not that good.”) Since I so frequently get questions about the name, I will endeavor to explain.

Using my full name as my byline is not an effort to be one of those Pretentious People With Three Names. I go by my middle name, but unfortunately, it got hijacked by girls.

This is not my fault. The well-known tough-guy actor Stacy Keach (b. 1941) is proof positive that “Stacy” used to be a perfectly respectable name for a man. The guy played Mike Hammer, for crying out loud. But shortly after I was born, “Stacy” — along with virtually all other ending in “y” — were taken over by the girls.

Like many other Anglo-American given names (including Sidney, Kelly and Lindsey), “Stacy” was originally a surname, a patronym. Genealogical records reveal no Stacy ancestors in my lineage and, while my mother never said anything one way or another about it, my assumption is that she borrowed the name of our family’s pediatrician, the late Dr. Stacy Burnett of Atlanta. Who was also a man and who, I assume, was named for some of his Stacy family ancestors.

Coincidentally or not, I am the middle of three brothers in my family. My parents never had a girl, though I’m sure they wished they had, and one can forgive my suspicion that I’d have been named “Stacy” either way.

As fate would have it, I was born with hair that grew into golden ringlets, which my mother adored and refused to cut until I was about age 3. This was 1959-62, when most boys wore crew cuts. My father used to tell about going through the grocery store with Baby Stacy riding in the shopping cart, and all the ladies would exclaim, “Oh, what a pretty girl!”

Can you say, “overcompensation,” Dr. Freud? I became a thoroughgoing hellion of a boy — a crazy daredevil of boyish energy. This hellion streak was aggravated by the fact that my older brother Kirby, two-and-a-half years older, was the charming, clever, dark-haired joy of our mother’s heart, so that I strove eagerly to match or outdo his efforts. For example, there is a scar over my left eye that is the result of 6-year-old Stacy’s placing second in a rock-throwing contest with 8-year-old Kirby, whose hand-eye coordination was always far superior.

And of course, Dr. Freud, I was girl-crazy at a precocious age. Kirby was naturally attractive and, in my constant rivalry with him, I suppose I made myself less attractive simply because of my overeagerness to be liked by girls. The first girl I remember having a crush on, in kindergarten, was Priscilla Yates, a chubby brunette with big brown eyes, freckles and the cutest little gap between her front teeth.

Priscilla was followed in sequence by Carol Purdy (first grade, and also brunette), redhead Joanna Richardson and blonde Janet Howton (who shared my unacknowledged fascination in second grade), then back to Carol Purdy for a couple of years. There was also Carol’s friend Rhonda Pilgrim and Ginger Whiteside, both blondes, as was the adorably dimpled Darlene Goza. Darlene was a cheerleader for my youth football team, the Sweetwater Valley Red Raiders, and one memorable night in 1970 became the first girl who willingly let me kiss her on the cheek.

OK, so you get the picture there, Dr. Freud. And then there were the playground taunts: “Stacy? That’s a girl’s name!”

My daddy left home when I was three
And he didn’t leave much to ma and me,
Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now, I don’t blame him cause he run and hid,
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me “Sue.”
“A Boy Named Sue,” written by Shel Silverstein, recorded by Johnny Cash, 1969

Now, it happens that I was extraordinarily intelligent as a child. If I live long enough to write a memoir, one chapter will be titled, “Confessions of a Former Boy Genius.” Being born in October, I started first grade at age 5 and was nearly always the youngest boy in my grade. Which would not have been such a source of memorable woe, had it not been for the fact that I was also relatively small for my age.

Being the wee lad on the grade-school playground required survival adaptations, especially when you’re the smart-aleck class clown. Ignorant Yankees up here in D.C. think I’m a wild dangerous redneck but, as any of my childhood friends would tell you, a real redneck would whup my ass. And many did, or tried to, anyway.

You see, older brother Kirby has always been a fighter, and he considered whupping my ass to be sort of a proprietary fraternal privilege. If I did something sufficiently stupid (which certainly wasn’t unheard of) as to actually deserve an ass-whupping, I was on my own. But woe unto any bully who thought he was going to pick on Kirby McCain’s little brother without facing the most severe and violent repercussions. So I had that going for me. Plus, I had a fiendishly quick mind.

Never much of a fighter — “Turn the other cheek” made a strong impression on me in Sunday school — I did become adept at wrestling, so that I could usually keep from getting hit more than once in a fight. (Man, I’ve been sucker-punched so often . . .) And I also developed a knack for befriending guys whose tough reputations could help ward off attacks on their smart-aleck little friend. Enter D.W. “David” Brook.

Now, it’s kind of ironic that every week on this blog, I celebrate “David Brooks Fisking Day,” when my best childhood friend has such a similar name. My friend’s name, however, was Brook, not Brooks, even though in middle school our posse of hoodlums was notorious as The Brooks Gang. And his actual first name isn’t “David,” either, but there is no need to go into that here. He is the only one of my friends to call me “Bobby,” and I call him “D.W.,” and if he hadn’t grown up to be such an eminently respectable citizen of his community, man, could I tell you some stories on him. To say nothing of the stories he could tell on me. But I digress.

From ‘R. Stacy’ to ‘Robert Stacy’
An aspiring cartoonist as a lad, who used to make a nickel or a dime selling unflattering caricatures of unpopular teachers, I took to signing myself “R. Stacy McCain,” and maintained that as my byline when I made my debut as a rock-music critic for the Jacksonville (Ala.) State University Chanticleer in 1981. That byline followed me all the way through until, in November 1997, I left the Rome (Ga.) News-Tribune to join the staff of The Washington Times as an assistant national editor.

Working in small-town Georgia newspapers over the years, I’d sometimes have to deal with readers who called up asking to speak to her, this “Stacy McCain” girl who’d written some story they wanted to gripe about. Such misunderstandings had been relatively rare, however, because (a) these were small towns, where most readers eventually had a chance to meet me personally, and (b) from the time I joined the staff of the Cahoun (Ga.) Times in the fall of 1987 until I departed for D.C. a decade later, I had my own column, which was accompanied by a thumbnail mug shot that made it obvious that I was a guy. Or else the ugliest woman in the newspaper business, not excluding even Helen Thomas.

Of course, my secret hope was that my award-winning ability as a columnist would eventually land me a regular spot on the op-ed page of The Washington Times, a hope frustrated by circumstance. My advice to would-be D.C. newspaper columnists: Never go to work doing news for a paper. The high (and transparently phony) wall between “news” and “opinion” in D.C. means that, if you want to be a newspaper columnist in the nation’s capital, your best bet is to get a Ph.D. and hire on at a think tank. “Journalist” and “columnist” are almost mutually exclusive in Washington. To my knowledge, neither George F. Will, nor Charles Krauthammer, to name a couple of examples, ever did a day’s work as a reporter. Again, however, I digress.

Because my photo would never appear in The Washington Times, and because D.C. is not the kind of place where I could hope to meet every reader, it seemed the smart thing to switch from my accustomed “R. Stacy McCain” byline to “Robert Stacy McCain.” Whereupon, relieved of the problem of people calling to speak to “her,” I suddenly became aware of a previously unanticipated problem: Some other guy named McCain.

Crazy Cousin John
When I got to Washington, I would often find myself in a situation familiar to any D.C. journalist: On the phone with a government receptionist who was paid way more than me and who understood her job to be making sure nobody ever spoke to her boss. It was perhaps unethical when, after the government receptionist finally agreed to take a message and asked me how to spell my name, I would reply, “Robert Stacy — S-T-A-C-Y, no ‘e’ — M-C-C-A-I-N,” like the Arizona senator.” (Ethics, schmethics, I always say.)

Now, if the receptionist asked if I were related to the senator, I’d honestly answer, “No.” But usually they didn’t ask, and their bosses usually returned my calls.

However, in February 2000, as the GOP primary battle between George W. Bush and John McCain was heating up, one of my bosses assigned me to do some research on the Arizona senator. During the course of that investigation, I read his book Faith of My Fathers, and discovered that we were in fact distant cousins, descendants of a McCain whose name appears on the 1790 Census of South Carolina. (I learned to do research spooling microfilm in libaries, and geneaology was a keen interest of mine for a while in the early ’90s.) My investigation of John McCain never turned into an actual story because he flamed out in the South Carolina primary and then befouled himself by attacking Christian conservatives in a notorious speech in Virginia, but . . . knowledge is power, eh?

You might say I’m a victim of reverse nepotism, having suffered for the unsavory reputation of my more famous kinsman. John McCain’s vicious backstabbing habits made the family name an epithet among conservatives. It is a fact that, although Rush Limbaugh at times over the years would read my news articles on his radio show, it would always be “there’s this story in The Washington Times.” He never once said my name, obviously because he figured it would confuse his listeners, who had learned to associate “McCain” with all that is treacherous and unworthy. Sigh.

So this explains why when I launched this blog, I called it “The Other McCain” and have habitually referred to the Republican from Arizona as Crazy Cousin John. Under no circumstance would I want to be confused with that son of a bitch or any of his RINO supporters. (Don’t Blame Me, I Voted for Bob Barr! ) Since Crazy Cousin John bears an enormous burden as the incompetent fool who lost the election and inflicted the Obama presidency on America, I congratulate myself for having had the foresight to distance myself from him as best I could.

Having now spent half a day explaining my name, I will tell you that I spent a lot of time thinking of what I should name my own children, and my children all have very classy names: Kennedy, Bob (Jr.), James, Jefferson, Emerson and Reagan.

Each of those names, including their middle names, has a little story behind it. For example, I was a raised a Georgia yellow-dog Democrat, remained so until my mid-30s, and my Ohio-born Republican wife was gracious enough to let me name our first child Kennedy Catherine McCain.

The “Kennedy” was actually less in tribute to the slain president (his funeral, when I was 4, is my first clear memory of seeing something on TV) than it was a quest to find an elegant, distinctive name. Say her full name aloud, and the effect is obvious — the triple alliteration, the rhythmic cadence, and the “president-and-a-queen” factor all work to the same purpose. Furthermore, we were at that time living in Calhoun, Georgia, where my radio DJ buddy Kevin Casey was “K.C. in the Morning,” and it occurred to me that if my daughter ever aspired to a career in Top 40 radio . . .

However, in agreeing to let our first child bear a Democratic name entirely of my own choosing — I thought it up one afternoon while driving to Chatsworth to cover a football game — my longsuffering bride insisted that our next daughter should be named “Reagan.” Four sons and 13 years later, Reagan Elizabeth McCain weighed in at a whopping 11 pounds. Again, the president-and-a-queen motif, the attention to rhythm and, as I’m typing this, Our Little Princess is playing Barbies in the den.

Back during the fall of 2008, Jeremy Lott was assistant online editor at The American Spectator and urged me to write a column about Crazy Cousin John. I started it, but never finished it, because I became so enraged when I recalled the Kennedy-McCain Illegal Alien Shamnesty Bill.

That worthless two-faced son of a bitch named that un-American piece of treasonous villainy after my daughter and it would have been inappropriate during the height of a presidential election campaign for a conservative journalist to vent his spleen upon the Republican candidate over what was, after all, a deeply personal insult. So I held my peace. But I swear to God, if I should ever own a campground, lady visitors to McCain’s Rural Retreat will have the privilege of attending to calls of nature in the Meghan McCain Outhouse. (The men will just use The John.)

So that’s my story. I will add only that, for several years in the late ’60s and early ’70s, my mother worked as a bookkeeper/secretary in the Atlanta offices of RCA Records. Through that job, she had the opportunity to meet many of the big names in music, including Johnny Cash, whose autograph adorned the album that included a song that my parents thought was hilariously funny. In retrospect, I guess they kind of had a point.

He said: “Now you just fought one hell of a fight
And I know you hate me, and you got the right
To kill me now, and I wouldn’t blame you if you do.
But ya ought to thank me, before I die,
For the gravel in your guts and the spit in your eye,
‘Cause I’m the son-of-a-bitch that named you ‘Sue.'”

March 30, 2009

HotMES: ‘Use Discovered for Sen. McCain’

By Smitty
Monique is not a member of the Senator McCain fan club. She thinks she may have found a use for him. The Puffington Host has a convenient caption contest going on at the moment. We could, say, hijack that:
“Joe, do you really think I make a good cautionary tale? Should I have listened to Thomas Jefferson:

‘In matters of style, swim with the current; In matters of principle, stand like a rock.’

“Do you think?”

March 16, 2009

Obama’s new tactic

Be John McCain:

The administration’s reaction to any new economic news thus far seems to come from a list of four options:

  • 1) Panic.
  • 2) Spend a few hundred billion dollars.
  • 3) Blame Rush Limbaugh.
  • 4) Blame George Bush.

Go read every righteous word of it, and be sure to hit Jimmie’s tip jar, you ungrateful sons of bitches.

March 13, 2009

Headline of the Day

Will Everyone Named McCain
Please Leave the Republican Party!

Well, don’t you just wish, a$$hole? (And hey, Don’t Blame Me, I Voted for Bob Barr!)

I started this blog and named it with the specific idea of distinguishing myself from the short, old, bald, grumpy geezer who — exactly as I said from the get-go — (a) was not conservative and (b) could not win in November.

This is clear proof that Crazy Cousin John’s RINO ways have imparted a stain to the family honor — and let’s don’t even talk about Meghan and “stain” in the same sentence, OK? A long-serving U.S. Senator and war hero has now become more of a disgrace to our name than me, perhaps the most notorious right-wing journalist in America.

I long worried that all the moonshine runners, snuff-dippers and bar brawlers in the Alabama branch of our family tree might feel I had failed to uphold our ancestral honor by working in the disgraceful racket that “journalism” has now become. Yet the two-faced, backstabbing, open-borders, bailout-endorsing crapweasel, Crazy Cousin John, has brought such odium upon our name that no one even pays attention to me.

Rush Limbaugh won’t even mention my American Spectator articles on his radio show, because the very name “McCain” has become an epithet among conservatives. If it weren’t for The One Thing Crazy Cousin John Did Right, I could never forgive him for the shame and embarrassment he has cause me.

And I should mention, BTW, that this Fox Forum article was sent to me by Atlanta’s lovely Carol Purdy Fields, whom I had a crush on in third grade, fourth grade, fifth grade . . .

January 27, 2009

‘When a presidential campaign calls up and offers you a job you take it’

So says the Weekly Standard‘s Michael Goldfarb, talking about his six months on the John McCain campaign. I profoundly disagree — I don’t like the Beltway revolving door between politics and media, even ideological media — but I don’t want to argue about that. Some highlights from Goldfarb’s interview with Columbia Journalism Review:

I thought from the beginning that we would lose.

Well, duh. I said so after Super Tuesday: “McCain is not a conservative, he will lose in November . . .”

I am not convinced that Sarah Palin hurt the campaign. People think that this decision was made in some kind of vacuum. I’m not convinced that a McCain/Romney ticket would have outperformed a McCain/Palin. Well, maybe if we’d done Lieberman we would have been down fifteen points after the convention instead of up four. I’m not convinced that Palin, even with all her weaknesses, wasn’t the most plausible ticket you could have put forward this year.

Well, any ticket headed by John McCain was in deep trouble, no matter who the running mate was. And McCain cut his own throat with his bailout stunt, so any attempt to shift blame to Palin is scapegoating, period. The fact that McCain even considered putting Lieberman on the ticket illustrates how this year’s defeat is 100% McCain’s fault.

Lots more good stuff in the interview, including Goldfarb’s denunciation of the anti-Palin leakers inside the campaign. He ought to denounce them by name, because they deserve to be persona non grata henceforth.

January 16, 2009

Meghan McCain dissing Palin?

John McCain’s 24-year-old daughter told a New Hampshire blogger this week: “Sarah Palin is the only part of the campaign that I won’t comment on publicly.”

As Harry at MyPalPalin.com points out (scroll down to his “special feature”), this is a stark contrast to Meghan’s unabashed enthusiasm for Palin during the campaign:

Back on August 30, 2008, Meghan McCain wrote in her own blog, ” … Dad’s choice of Governor Sarah Palin as his nominee for Vice President is a moment on stage I will never forget. She and her family are so down to earth and so much fun. I could not be any luckier to have these wonderful people join us on the road. I had the pleasure of spending the day with kids Bristol, Willow, Piper and Trig. Not only do we have a new Vice Presidential nominee, but I have three new awesome girls to share the road with. I am looking forward to spending more time with them hanging out on the Straight Talk Express.” . . .
Then on September 16, during a Larry King TV interview, King asked Meghan what she thought about her father’s selection of Sarah Palin for vice president, and Meghan answered: ” … I’m very, very pleased with it. I love her. I’m really excited about it.” . . .
King asked Meghan what specifically she liked about Sarah, and Meghan said, “First of all, she’s really chill. She’s really nice, really friendly. She’s really up on pop culture, which I always respect. She’s very smart. She doesn’t act entitled, which unfortunately sometimes you get with some politicians. She’s just like your average girl, like just a mom. But she’s very, very shrewd, very smart. I’ve heard her talking about issues.” . . .
Now it’s the middle of January, 2009 and Meghan gushes to a nameless blogger that there’s nothing about the election she would change, that “it was the most liberating experience of my life,” but says she will not respond to any questions about Gov. Palin.

Worth noting. Steadfast loyalty isn’t a prominent trait in Crazy Cousin John’s branch of the family.

January 8, 2009

Crazy Cousin John

“We didn’t pander enough to the open-borders lobby,” or words to that effect. Russ at AOSHQ has more.

Don’t blame me — I voted for Bob Barr!