Best of May 2017 II: The Second One

1. Finally, a social protest movement that I can get behind. Venezuelan socialism is working out as well as Vietnamese socialism did, and Cambodian socialism, and Cuban socialism, and Russian and East German and other socialisms. Which is to say, not at all.

In case you’ve just woken up from a century-long nap, Rip Van Sanders, socialism keeps producing poverty and famine and environmental destruction and drum circles and gulags, and lo, it has now done so in formerly prosperous (by Latin American standards) Venezuela.

Enter Liborio Guarulla, the governor of an inland region in Venezuela, and a man with a plan. He’s cursing the socialists who are running the country into the ground. And not in the way that I’ve been doing the same thing here in the USA for the last 20 years. No, instead of my Anglo-Saxon-based anatomically-tricky-suggestion-involving curses, Liborio has invoked the very cool-sounding “curse of Dabukuri.” (And yes, how is that NOT a movie featured on Mystery Science Theater 3000?)

In a press conference on May 9th — during which he wore a funky headpiece that is far more attractive than certain reproductive organ headgear that I could mention – Liborio let fly thusly: “I am going to call upon our ancestors, our shamans, so that the curse of Dabukurí will fall upon those that have tried to do us harm. I can assure you that they will not die without torment. I can assure you that, before they die, they will suffer and their souls will haunt the darkest and most pestilent places before they can close their eyes.”

That sounds about right to me. You go, Liborio. (If Venezuelans had any spending money, I would immediately copyright that slogan and slap it on thousands of t-shirts. But they don’t have any spending money. Because socialists have been running Venezuela.)

Anyway, google the “march of the shamans,” and take a good look at what protests should look like: angry gourd rattling, cool puka shell ornamentation, big ol’ spears being carried theatrically, and a whole lot of cursing at socialists. I wish every Tom, Dick and Loborio around here could take a page out of their book.

2. No matter what kind of new trouble Trump or the GOP can get themselves into, and no matter what kinds of wild exaggerations the MSM can bring to bear on said trouble, there is one political constant that we can all count on: the Democrat party (new slogan: “When they go low, we go much, much lower.”) is behaving horribly. If it’s not Carlos Danger sexting the toddlers at a local daycare, or Nancy Pelosi losing her place three times per cue card, or DNC lead vulgarian Tom Perez swearing like he’s just got the lead in a Tarantino movie, it’s the California Democrat state convention.

On Saturday, 20 May, some of the sophisticated convention attendees began a rousing chant of “F**k Donald Trump.” And because those sweet-tempered lefties are always sensitive about not excluding the differently abled, they accompanied the chant with a visual aid for the hearing impaired, in the form of upraised arms and extended middle fingers.

(By the way, do you know the most calorie-burning and yet easiest gig ever for a sign language interpreter? Translating for the CA Democratic convention. You start out with the gestures for, “Hello, Sacramento!” Then you paste a wild-eyed look on your face and flip the bird maniacally for 13 minutes. Then you sign, “Here’s Maxine Waters,” and circle your temple with one forefinger in the universal symbol for “cuckoo” for 11 minutes. Then you introduce Tom Perez, and alternate between bird flipping and pelvic thrusting and grabbing your crotch like vintage Michael Jackson and sneering like Sid Vicious at a meeting with the Pope. Then you hammer your check and go home and take a long, hot shower. But you can never wash off the shame.)

I know what you’re thinking: well, you can’t blame the state party if a tiny group of trouble-makers in the back of the room gets picked up on a hot mike, and inadvertently exposes what they’d meant to express only privately.

Au contraire, mon frere. This wasn’t a handful of stoners on the fringes. This was a huge group of attendees front and center, during the convention in their most important state, being lead in the chant by outgoing CA Democrat chairman John Burton, with elected officials on the stage laughing along with the high-brow hilarity.

And how did the AP write up the story of the profane chant, you are probably not wondering, because you already know? That’s right: “In a sign of the vigor of the party’s distaste for the president….” Ah yes. “Vigor” and “distaste.” The report does manage to admit that Burton is “known for his blunt and profane manner.” You don’t say.

Stay classy, Sacramento.

3. In a reversal of every Polish joke you’ve ever heard – and you should all be ashamed of yourselves – the Poles are showing a great deal of common sense in their foreign policy. And as you know, the best way to demonstrate common sense, if you are European, is by resisting the snooty, busybody poke-noses in the EU, who (after all) know much more about how you should run your life and your country than you do. In this case, the EU elites have decided that the Polish have not taken in their fair share of angry young Muslim males who don’t want to be Polish.

The Polish foreign minister – who seems to like being Polish, despite the overabundance of “W”s and “Z”s and the corresponding dearth of vowels in his last name – expressed the crazy, offensive opinion that “no state has the duty to accept immigrants.”

In public polling (call it “Pole polling,” if you insist on being less mature than me), most Polish women were not thrilled with the idea of importing rape gangs, and were decidedly cool on the prospect of being forced into wearing bee keeper outfits in public.

When California Democrats heard about the Polish position, they tried for several minutes to come up with a chant that included the Polish Foreign Minister’s name, before giving up and settling on “F*** that guy!”

4. As a well-rounded citizen of the world, I cannot start my day without a quick look at the font of all hilarity that is Everyday

(For the record, I consider myself an equity feminist. See Christina Hoff Sommer’s work for a definition, or consider the short version: equity feminist – noun, “not the crazy kind in you-know-what kind of hats.”) I challenge you to randomly scroll down the page there and stop and read the first thing you see, and not be entertained.

This morning’s experiment landed me on the following gem. Under the category heading of “Compassionate Activism,” we find an article entitled, “Healing from Toxic Whiteness.” I don’t want to ruin the article for you, but I don’t think I’ll need a spoiler alert to suggest that being any color other than white would be a huge step up, you racist.

But I did have two thoughts to share: 1. “Toxic” is a pretty strong word. Could they not have softened the blow a bit – “Irksome whiteness?” “Not completely optimal whiteness?” 2. If a screed telling me that my racial identity is toxic is in the “Compassionate Activism” category, I’d hate to see the “Non-compassionate Activism” category.

5. Finally, Monica Lewinsky has written an editorial in the New York Times, in which she bemoans a “culture of exploitation.” But she’s not talking about the creepy sex offender who exploited her – or his creepy wife who organized the bullying and intimidation of Bill’s victims — but Fox News and the late Roger Ailes.

Honestly, my heart goes out to Lewinsky. She was taken advantage of by one of the most powerful men in the world, and even though she’s now in her mid 40s, she is obviously still dealing with the ramifications of that exploitation. And though I agree with her that all of the media behaved badly – as they always do with a scandal from which they can profit – she still hasn’t come to terms with the proper object of her anger.

Have I mentioned lately how glad I am that Hillary is not the president?

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