I hope you’re not getting tired of columns about entertainingly stupid people, because here’s the fourth in a row:
Exhibit A: the Hillary Clinton Comedy tour continues. This week Hillary admitted to a sympathetic interviewer that she was probably hurt in the Democratic party because she was a capitalist. That is both funny and depressing: funny because she doesn’t know the difference between a capitalist and a crony capitalist. (How’s that income to the Clinton Foundation coming along, now that you don’t have any “quo” to distribute for any “quid” that might come your way?)
And depressing because in one of the two major parties in the most powerful nation in the world, it’s a serious liability to be considered a capitalist, and a plus to be seen as a socialist. (And that’s after a century since the Russians first put socialism into practice, starting a run that has produced a record of 0 wins, 88 losses, and 3 ties – assuming you count three wildly anomalous Scandanavian countries managing to limp along with a capitalism/socialism hybrid without totally imploding as “ties.”)
But the best Hillary-related news is from a story reporting that she is “gearing up to influence the mid-term elections.” That’s right – the Achilles Cankle of the Left ™ is getting ready to tug on her dancing galoshes for one more spin around the mine field—er, dance floor. (And yes, I know I used that joke in a previous piece. But c’mon – “Achilles Cankle” is funny. If I were doing stand-up, I’d work that into every set.)
This is so great! All GOP fans should be praying that Hillary will come tromping through their district, giving off the thick musk of voter repellent that she seems to generate as a part of her normal biological functioning.
Which reminds me of one bit of 2016 post-election analysis that I’ve always disagreed with. The commentariat seems to have accepted as axiomatic the idea that Hillary’s decision not to campaign in states like Wisconsin and Michigan were fatal errors, the idea being that she lost those states narrowly, and that spending more time there would have allowed her to win them.
But had those people ever heard or seen a Hillary campaign event? Think a bunch of creaky folding chairs in a community college gym, with a couple of local pols whom nobody knows giving a few banal comments, followed by ferret-like John Podesta or some other listless, unattractive Dem introducing the Candidate Herself. She takes the stage, stumbling several times before clinging to the podium for dear life, and starts her speech.
“Hello, Ypsilanti! It’s always good to be here with the deplorable scum—I mean the common people. CAW, CAW. Isn’t that Donald Trump just terrible? CAW. We’re on our way to a historic victory, after which I’ll be doubling down on the unpopular policies of Obama, only without the glib speaking skills. CAW, CAW. Plus, you’ll have a president with different genitalia from all past presidents! CAW. In conclusion, I look down on all of you, and I believe the opposite of what you believe about everything. CAW! So get out on Tuesday and vote for me, and you can look forward to being condescendingly lectured to in this grating tone of voice for the next 4 years! CAW CAW CAW!”
Her opinion polls as first lady almost always went down as she gained visibility – pushing Hillary-care, for example – and went up only when she disappeared from the public stage for extended lengths of time. So it’s likely that if she had spent more time in the Midwest, she may have lost the popular vote, too.
In other words, you go Hillary! Please make an extended, nationwide tour of every battleground state in October, stumping for every Dem candidate in sight.
Exhibit B: more animal follies.
In a recent column I noted the increasing menagerie of emotional support animals making air travel increasingly unpleasant. In the last several days, I’ve come across several more animal stories, one depressing and one uplifting.
The depressing one happened at the home of many depressing trends: Yale University. The Yale Daily News featured a story entitled, “Emotional Support Animals Proliferate at Yale.” (“Proliferate” is fancy Yale talk, but it’s not helping: a headline like, “Holy Crap! We’re Ass Deep in Support Animals” would not make Yale sound any dumber than this story does.)
The trend is what you would expect: last year there was one registered support animal on campus, this year there are 14. Soon our Ivy League campuses will look like a cross between a Southwest non-stop from San Francisco to Austin and an off-broadway production of 101 Dalmations.
The story also reports that support animals aren’t just dogs or cats anymore – you species-ist jerk! – noting that one Yale student has a support hedgehog on campus.
I’m too lazy to look it up, but aren’t hedgehogs one of those animals that curls into a defensive ball when startled? Because if so, I’d like to go to New Haven, startle the hell out of that emotional support hedgehog – perhaps by sneaking up on it and screaming a Squanto Warren-style war-whoop (#wemustneverstopmockingher) – and then hurl the hedgehog with great force at the empty head of the Yale student who thought it was a good idea to bring an emotional support hedgehog to campus.
I’d tell you what I’d do with the emotional support porcupine and the moron who brought him to campus, but that would be a hate crime. (“GET YOUR HATE QUILLS OFF OUR CAMPUS!)
On a lighter note, the other animal story has a much happier ending. You can find it in the NY Post, under the title,”Man Mauled to Death by Bear While Taking a Selfie.”
Oops. Spoiler alert.
This delightful tale takes place in the eastern Indian state of Odisha. (I know: I thought she was married to Jay Z, too. But apparently she is a state in India. Live and learn.)
It seems a super genius named Prabhu Bhatara (one of those “B”s might be silent) was urinating beside the road (as one does), when he spotted an injured bear. I can only assume that he was urinating what had a short time before been some frighteningly potent alcohol, because his next thought was apparently, “You know what would look good in a photo snuggled up right next to that injured apex predator? My stupid face!”
By the way, it wasn’t just a bear. It was an INJURED bear. You may have noticed that you never read stories about how serious injuries are known to improve the disposition of giant predatory beasts. “Wounded Bengal Tiger is Looking on the Sunny Side,” said no headline ever, or, “Lion with Infected Thorn in Paw Surprisingly Upbeat, Mellow, according to authorities,” reported CNN.
The story offers video of the mauling, which it helpfully identifies as “disturbing.” But I found that if you watch it while listening to the Benny Hill/Yakety Sax theme song, it’s not that bad.
The cherry on this Darwin Award Winning sundae of a story is that this is at least the third selfie-related animal-induced death in Odisha since December! Early that month a 50-year old man was taking a selfie with an elephant when he was crushed, and not too long after that a younger man, in a separate incident with another elephant, did the same thing.
At least I think it was a different elephant.
How cool would it be if there were one hilarious, photogenic elephant making the rounds in Odisha and Nicki Minaj — and whatever other Indian states there are that I don’t know about – playing the same practical joke on various dim-witted Indians? Step 1: Spot a guy with a cell phone. Step 2: Give him a tusk-y smile. Step 3: CRUSH! (and for the soundtrack, it’s the obvious choice: “Baby Elephant Walk”)
And, scene.
Exhibit C: Speaking of famous Indians in the news…
No. This is not another Liz Warren story. That would be too easy.
This is an Apu story. As in Apu Nahasapeemapetilon, the Indian character on the Simpsons. In yet another example of how the humorless, perpetually offended left is doing their damnedest to rob all life everywhere of its joy, some moron didn’t just object to Apu. He spent a year of his life making a documentary about how offended he is by Apu.
This alleged comedian whom you’ve never heard of called his documentary, “The Problem with Apu.” The “problem” is exactly what you’d guess: humor based on the ethnicity of a character – even a cartoon character – is offensive and terrible and a hate crime, you European-American creeps.
Now, you might be thinking that if we have to go to a broadly-written character in a well-intentioned cartoon to find a serious problem, we are officially out of problems. And you’re right.
In a sane world, this bonehead would be laughed at and then ignored and forgotten. But not in our world. In our world, the actor who voices Apu – Hank Azaria — has taken this dope seriously. He apologized to the Indian and south Asian people, and offered to stop doing Apu.
What a relief it is to know that the Simpsons will no longer feature a hurtful stereotype of a character that some hyper-sensitive group could object to!
I mean, other than angry Scottish Groundskeeper Willie. And oily Italian mafia character Fat Tony. And slack-jawed yokel and Appalachian-American Cletus. And drunken womanizing Irishman Mayor Quimby.
Come to think of it, the cops on the show are all incompetent boobs, and the teachers are all lazy, burned-out clock punchers, and those groups both have unions that should be contacting Fox any minute. And Mr. Burns is a heartless, greedy 1%er, and Barney has a serious alcohol problem that is played for laughs, and Nelson’s single mom might be a drunken hooker. Flanders and the Reverend Lovejoy make Christians look stupid, and Grandpa Simpson is mocked for his age and incipient dementia.
Homer is a working class idiot, and Bart’s juvenile delinquency and troubles in school are no laughing matter in a nation where young boys are falling behind girls in every significant social category. And I suppose we are to believe that all comic book fans are obese, sexless nerds like Comic Book Guy? (Worst. Stereotyping. Ever.)
If the makers of the Simpsons keep caving to these humorless social justice warriors, they’ll have no characters left except Lisa and Maggie.
Wait: Maggie is a voiceless female, the most potent symbol of patriarchal oppression there is, so she’s out. And Lisa plays blues and jazz on her sax – be gone, culture appropriator!
Ugh. I hope the maker of this stupid documentary agrees to sign autographs and take fan pictures after one of his speaking engagements, and finds himself posing with one arm around an injured bear and the other around a smiling elephant. Then let nature take its course!
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For those of you who like short fiction, I’ve posted another short story called “Dancing About Architecture” on my site, Martinsimpsonwriting.com. Full disclosure: it’s a magical realism piece, with no political snark or Liz Warren mockery, so proceed at your own risk. If you like it, let me know. If you don’t, keep it to yourself, bub.
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Martin Simpson 