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Category Archives: Books

Follow The Red and Green Road To Xmas

Vintage Department Store Window Display

So here’s a fun story as we come to the end of the Xmas shopping season.

Back in the mid 1890’s when department stores were just beginning to become the shopping norm, they very often had dull, uninspired window displays that did little to attract customers into the stores. This is ironic as once inside the shops, storekeepers did everything they could to keep their customers, mostly women, happy and content. They offered amenities such as complimentary tea service and lounges to rest in. Very nice of them, but those amenities were useless if no one was coming through the door.

A failed playwright and actor, desperate for money to feed his family, thought a bit of showmanship could encourage folks into the stores. He convinced a Chicago department store to let him decorate their windows with life sized dolls, these new fangled things he called mannequins, to display clothes and accessories. In addition he set up theatrical scenes that used stuffed animals and other products sold inside as key focal points for the displays. He even devised a mechanical head that seemed to magically float in thin air and then disappear.

Just to be on the safe side and to make sure he could draw a crowd, he hired an actor friend to portray a “gentleman of considerable wealth” to walk down the street and be suddenly (and very theatrically) entranced by what he saw in the window. This tactic is still used by stores even today. And of course it has morphed to online shopping. Or did you think influencers just popped up out of nowhere?

Though the department store owner had been skeptical at first, the crowds streaming into his store convinced him otherwise. This window display idea was a hit. So much so that it didn’t take long for this new style to catch on. Quickly the failed playwright and actor was in demand from all the department stores in Chicago to do their windows. Even the venerable Marshall Fields store, then managed by the legendary Harry Selfridge, asked him to do their window displays. Soon stores around the country came calling. When Selfridge moved to London and opened his self-named store, one of the first things he did was to imitate the window displays. Once again they were a rousing success.

Our wizard of windows eventually started a magazine detailing the techniques he used, a magazine that became the bible of the window dressing industry for many years to follow called The Show Window. He was also the founder and for many years after an officer of the National Association of Window Trimmers of America and published the first book dedicated to the subject in 1900, “The Art of Decorating Dry Goods Windows and Interiors”. That book would be a boon to the industry, but it’s selective audience made it’s sales minor, especially compared to the OTHER book our man published that year.

You see his window display work made him a lot of money. That money allowed him to go back to his first love, that of writing; specifically writing children’s books. One of the books he wrote was about a young woman who goes on a journey to find a fabulous storehouse of wondrous things, aided by a couple of mannequins (one straw, the other metal) and a stuffed animal. The mysterious mechanical head makes an appearance as well, as do all of his other display ideas like a fairy granting wishes and yes, even flying monkeys.

Oh I’m sorry. Have I ruined The Wizard of Oz for you now that you know it’s really all about going shopping at a department store? L. Frank Baum wouldn’t think so.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Holidays. Be kind to one another, that’s the greatest present of all. And remember, there’s no place like home.

And that while you can get back, you can’t buy love…

Shapiro Out

Pulp Fiction Thursday: Murder Is Served

Oh, waiter, what else is on the menu?

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Beatles Vérité

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It’s been 41 years since Mark Chapman murdered John Lennon. Unlike Shapiro, I don’t have a great story about where I was when I heard the news. Besides, I came to praise Peter Jackson’s remarkable documentary Get Back, not to bury John Lennon.

I was shamed by friends into subscribing to Disney+ in order to get back to where I once belonged. You know who you are. Thanks, y’all. I can always cancel without pain or penalty. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I have a different take on Get Back than Shapiro so let the games begin.

I’m in the minority on Let It Be. I’ve always liked it. The album came out when I was laid up. I had mumps and mono at the same time. I rarely do anything halfway. Let It Be was the new Beatles album so I listened to it intently on the record player my mom bought so I could play music in my sick room. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I do, however, prefer the 2003 Macca remix Let It Be Naked to the original 1970 release. The running order is different, and the Phil Spector effect has been expunged. The result is the stripped-down album the Beatles thought they were making before the dread Allen Klein brought in Spector. More about Allen Klein anon.

Until recently, I bought the conventional wisdom that the Fab Four were at each other’s throats during the Get Back sessions. The CW was wrong: the vibes were good with intermittent squabbling. All bands bicker. It’s called creative tension.

There *were* genuine moments of tension. George Harrison walked out, but he was convinced by his mates to return. The day after the band met with Allen Klein there was a dark cloud in the room, but it was dispelled when they strapped on their instruments and played. The presence of Billy Preston helped considerably: the man was a ray of sunshine with musical chops to burn.

I’ve been reading at Philip Norman’s 827-page biography of John Lennon. I say reading at because it’s absurdly over-detailed. Norman is a music writer, but as a biographer, he’s what Gore Vidal called a scholar-squirrel who includes more details than even this lifelong Beatles fan is interested in hearing. I did like the bits about how much John loved cats. Claire Trevor approves. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I consulted with Norman’s mighty tome after seeing Get Back. The source of many of the gloom-and-doom stories is Let It Be director Michael Lindsay-Hogg. I was not surprised. In Get Back, he’s forever stirring the pot hoping some drama will emerge from a bunch of guys sitting around in a room smoking and playing music.

To gin up drama, Lindsay-Hogg keeps asking why John and Paul no longer write songs together. They rarely take the bait. In fact, John makes significant contributions to the song Get Back, which was written in the studio during the sessions.

MLH also ratchets up the pressure on The Beatles to be great when all they want to do is rock. I caught Ringo rolling his eyes several times at the director who is much posher than the lads from Liverpool.

I’ve got a feeling that it’s time to jump to the break. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

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Saturday Odds & Sods: More Than This

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La lumière, la solitude by Yves Tanguy.

The weather has been beautiful this week in New Orleans: brisk, chilly, and sunny. Yet I’m still cranky verging on irascible. It must be the news cycle.

We went to a Confederacy Of Dunces themed birthday party last night. It was fun even though Burma Jones was not there to mop the ho flo. The birthday boy’s wife went to high school with former First Drafter Jude. As Jude would surely say at this point, it’s a small fucking world, after all.

As you know, the holidays are hard for me. This year I’ve been plagued with calls from telemarketers. I even marked one of them as SPAM RISK, but they keep calling from a variety of Gret Stet exchanges. Blocking them is emotionally satisfying but doesn’t work that well. It makes me appreciate caller ID even more.

This week’s theme song was written by Bryan Ferry in 1982 for Roxy Music’s Avalon album. It was also the title of a 1995 compilation album. It contains one of Ferry’s finest vocals more or less or is that more than this? Beats the hell outta me.

We have three versions of More Than This for your listening pleasure: the Roxy original, Robyn Hitchcock, and Matthew Sweet & Susanna Hoffs.

Before we go off hoffs-cocked, let’s join hands and jump to the break.

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Pulp Fiction Thursday: Peril Is My Pay

This one has a title to die for as well as a cover by Robert McGinnis.

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The Law Is An Ass

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The law is an ass is a quote from Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist. Hence the featured image of Mr. Jaggers from David Lean’s film of another Dickens masterpiece, Great Expectations. It’s a venerable phrase that Dickens popularized according to The Phrase Finder, which is a nifty site I frequent from time-to-time. The original meaning of the phrase is “Said of the application of the law that is contrary to common sense.”

FYI, the ass in question is the critter that us Yanks call a donkey, not the human posterior but that works as well.

Not only is the law an ass, many people make asses of themselves when talking about it. There seem to be too many asinine asses to accurately assess, but I’ll give it a shot. That’s right, I’m on again about amateur lawyers. The worst offenders are the media. Their clicks and ratings are down because the Kaiser of Chaos is in exile at Mar-a-Doorn. Hype is what drives cable news coverage, so naturally Rachel Maddow had to *overstate* what a decision in the Mississippi abortion law case would do:

Tomorrow, the Supreme Court will hear the case that Republicans have designed to overturn Roe versus Wade and make abortion criminal.

This is classic cable news hyperbole. The law in question is terrible, but it would only criminalize abortion in Mississippi and states with similar laws. It won’t happen in the more enlightened corners of the country. Unfortunately, I don’t live in one of them. I live on a blue island in a sea of red.

I have another drum to beat on. The controlling abortion rights case is Planned Parenthood v. Casey, which superseded Roe in 1992, but nobody ever gets that right. Oh well, what the hell.

If I were a cable pundit looking to hype the news, I’d point out that the right’s ultimate target is Griswold v. Connecticut. That’s the right to privacy case written by Bill Douglas in 1965. The Federalist Society types hate Griswold because it eventually led to Justice Blackmun’s opinion in Roe v. Wade. Stay tuned.

It remains unclear if the Supremes will explicitly overrule Casey and Roe this term. There are three justices ready to go for it: Thomas, Alito, and Gorsuch. Even though they have the hammer, the other conservatives might prefer to place it in limbo. Hit it, Bryan:

That brings me to a brilliant essay in the WaPo by Ruth Marcus, The Rule of Six: A newly radicalized Supreme Court is poised to reshape the nation.

That’s some scary shit, innit?

The title is rooted in a saying by the great liberal justice Bill Brennan. (I’m on a first name basis with both Bills.) Here’s how Marcus puts it in the Post:

Brennan, master vote-counter and vote-cajoler, was right — but there is an important corollary to his famous Rule of Five, one powerfully at work in the current Supreme Court. That is the Rule of Six. A five-justice majority is inherently fragile. It necessitates compromise and discourages overreach. Five justices tend to proceed with baby steps.

A six-justice majority is a different animal. A six-justice majority, such as the one now firmly in control, is the judicial equivalent of the monarchy’s “heir and a spare.” The pathways to victory are enlarged. The overall impact is far greater than the single-digit difference suggests.

The Marcus corollary nails it. The current court is divided between radical reactionaries, conservatives, and three liberals who are powerless to do much but dissent. As Oliver Hardy was wont to say to Stan Laurel: “This is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into.”

The person who has gotten us into this fine mess is Mitch McConnell patron saint of the Federalist Society. Not only has he ruined the senate, he’s ruining the Supreme Court. Does that sound conservative to you? He’s a radical reactionary with a weak chin and a fat bank account. The Turtle can go fuck himself.

Finally, Dickens wrote extensively about the law. Bleak House is centered on the endless case of Jarndyce vs. Jarndyce. This quote is from the Old Curiosity Shop but it’s a fitting last word:

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Pulp Fiction Thursday: The Thursday Turkey Murders

It’s a day for ritual as well as gluttony. I’ll be publishing both my annual Thanksgiving posts this year. I’m determined to disprove the notion that liberals hate this holiday.

This book cover makes its fifth appearance here at First Draft.

Thursday Thanksgiving Murders

What’s Thanksgiving without some lagniappe. Here are Martha Stewart and Snoop Dogg mashing potatoes:

Saturday Odds & Sods: Into The Lens

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Noir et blanches by Man Ray.

New Orleans weather is as variable during the fall as it is unchanging in the summertime. It’s been cold and dry then warm and muggy, but I have not resorted to air-conditioning. So it goes.

The Orleans Parish runoff election is scheduled for December 11th. I’m supporting an old school NOLA pol in one race and a reformer who’s running against an old school NOLA pol in another. Sometimes I even confuse myself.

I voted to reelect Jay Banks as my district city councilmember. He ran first in the primary despite all the mud thrown at him by his “reformer” opponents. They lost me forever when I saw that they’d rented a billboard together to plug their primary candidacies. Collusion is a bad look.

In the Sheriff’s race, longtime incumbent Marlin Gusman just missed winning in the first round. He’s a terrible sheriff but an excellent politician. I’m voting for his opponent, Susan Hutson, but she looks like a long shot because of all the local political muscle massed against her.

Like many others on the left, Team Hutson seems to underestimate how conservative many older black people are. When I was a neighborhood leader, the most rabid people about crime were elderly black folks. They’re also comfortable with Gusman who is favored to stay in office despite all the outside money being spent on behalf of his opponent.

This week’s theme song was written by Trevor Horn and Geoff Downes in 1980. It began life with the title I Am A Camera and was intended for the Buggles second album. Then Horn and Downes joined Yes, and it became Into The Lens, the first track of side two of the Drama LP.

We have the song in both incarnations for your listening pleasure. I prefer the Yes version because of Howe’s guitar and Squire’s bass, but Downes excels on keyboard on both versions.

There’s an oddball link between our theme song and this week’s Friday Cocktail Hour. Cabaret was based on John Van Druten’s 1951 play I Am A Camera, which in turn was adapted from Christopher Isherwood’s 1939 novel Goodbye To Berlin. It doesn’t get much odder than that.

Before we nod off like Lee Miller in the May Ray featured image, let’s jump to the break.

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Pulp Fiction Thursday: On The Road

I’ve had beatniks on my mind, daddy-o. The ultimate beat era book was published in 1957: On The Road by Jack Kerouac.

It’s been republished many times over the years. Here’s a sampler, man:

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The last cover features the real Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarity who were the author and Neal Cassady respectively. The latter became one of Ken Kesey’s Merry Pranskters when beatniks morphed into hippies, man. Cool, daddy-o.

The last word goes to King Crimson with a song about Neal and Jack, man:

Pulp Fiction Thursday: Someone Is Bleeding

Richard Matheson is best known for his sci-fi novels such as I Am Legend. This potboiler with a great tagline is one of his earliest books.

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Pulp Fiction Thursday: Black Alibi

Cornell Woolrich was one of the best, and most successful, thriller/mystery writers of his era. Black Alibi is one of his most interesting books and that’s saying a lot.

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Handi-Books? Are they like handi-wipes? Enquiring minds want to know.

Producer Val Lewton and director Jacques Tourneur made a fine film out of Black Alibi. They changed the title to The Leopard Man.

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Heritage auctions? They’re selling off our heritage now? Sounds like heresy to me.

Anyhoo, here’s the trailer for the movie:

Malaka Of The Week: Laura Murphy

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Another person has emerged from obscurity to be “honored” in this space. This time, it’s a Virginia woman whose crusade against Toni Morrison’s Beloved ran from 2013 to 2017. It was recently revived as a wedge issue by Republican gubernatorial candidate Glenn Youngkin.  And that is why Laura Murphy is malaka of the week.

There are so many time shifts in this story that I’ve enlisted the help of Mr. Peabody, his boy Sherman, and the Wayback Machine:

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Murphy’s son was a senior in high school when our saga began in 2013. Reading Beloved was too much for the poor baby:

Now a freshman at the University of Florida, Blake Murphy, 19, recalled reading the book before bed and having night terrors after he fell asleep.

“It was disgusting and gross,” he said. “It was hard for me to handle. I gave up on it.”

School officials point out that AP English is a college-level class that often involves discussions of adult topics.

“To me, mature references means slavery or the Holocaust,” Laura Murphy said. “I’m not thinking my kid is going to be reading a book with bestiality.”

I wonder if it steered the lad away from being an Aggie to life as a Gator? Enough sophomoric levity.

Beloved *is* about slavery. It’s a searing account of the cruelty and barbarism of the slave system. Is such a book supposed to be soothing? The fact that Beloved scared poor Blakie wakie is evidence of its power. Great literature is supposed to evoke strong reactions. All that Laura Murphy remembers is that there’s bestiality in the book. Holy animal husbandry, Batman.

During her 4-year crusade against this beloved novel, Murphy disclaimed any intent to ban this or any other book. She was lying: that was exactly the impact of her efforts. Funny thing that the author is Black. Imagine that,

Blake Murphy was so terrified by reading Beloved that he’s now a lawyer for the Republican National Committee. That means he lies for a living. His mother lied for her cause. Which is worse? Beats the hell outta me.

Cue the Wayback Machine:

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In the years since her son wet the bed over Beloved, Laura Murphy helped push a bill through the then GOP controlled Virginia Lege requiring parental consent for books malakas like her deem offensive. Governor Terry McAuliffe aka the Macker vetoed the so-called Beloved bill. Murphy was not pleased but vanished from airing her malakatude in public until this year.

Hit it, Mr. Peabody:

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Good boy, Sherman.

Glenn Youngkin is trying to thread the Trumper needle in his campaign against the Macker who was obliged to sit out four years because of a fakakata law that limits Governors to one term at a time. Youngkin was all palsy-walsy with the Impeached Insult Comedian in the Republican primary, but he’s trying to keep his distance in the general election. Why?  Virginia has gone Democratic in every presidential election since 2008. And Northern Virginia is loaded with federal employees. Rumor has it that they take a dim view of the Dipshit Insurrection. Imagine that.

What’s a troubled candidate, in a state where the GOPers haven’t won a statewide race since 2009, to do? Embrace the culture war cliches embraced by GOPers everywhere, that’s what.

Critical race theory? Youngkin is agin it; even if it isn’t taught in Virginia schools.

Mask mandates in schools? Youngkin is agin them and for freedom, man.

There are times that Youngkin sounds like he’s running for school board in the most benighted county in the Commonwealth.

Looking for the largest dog whistle possible, Youngkin seized on Laura Murphy and her bestiality fixation. The result was this ad:

Poor Mommy Malaka Murphy dissed by the mean old Macker. That nice Glenn Youngkin listens.

Notice that neither the title of the book nor the race of the author is not mentioned in the ad. They don’t even urge banning the beastly book in question. This is some old school Republican dog whistling. Tricky Dick would be proud of Glenn Youngkin.

The Virginia governor’s race has been nationalized by all concerned. The Democrats are rolling out the big guns: Obama, Harris, and Biden. The Republicans are rolling out Laura Murphy and her weenie shyster son. And that is why Laura Murphy is malaka of the week.

I gave myself an earworm while pondering Blake Murphy’s matriculating at the University of Florida. Tom Petty is from Gainesville. That’s why he gets the last word:

Manchin Fatigue

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Image by Michael F

I woke up this morning with a less than earth shattering revelation: I’m sick of writing about Joe Manchin. I’m sick of seeing him on TV. I’m sick of reading about him. I dream of a Manchin-free news cycle. It’s an impossible dream. We’re stuck with him as long as there’s a Fifty-Fifty senate.

Yesterday, the Man of La Manchin dominated the news. Senate Republicans refused to allow debate on Manchin’s voting rights bill. So much for his assurances that at least ten GOPers would vote for cloture to allow the measure to be debated. I’m sick of Joe Manchin’s empty promises.

David Corn of Mother Jones published a piece about Manchin’s supposed two-stage plan to leave the Democratic party if he doesn’t get his way on damn near everything. Manchin denounced the article as BULLSHIT.

I’m sick of Joe Manchin’s bullshit. I also don’t believe he plans to become an American Independent. He says he favors tax hikes on the wealthiest Americans. No GOPer in Congress today has *ever* voted to raise income taxes

Manchin says he supports a $1.5 trillion human infrastructure plan. The GOP’s topline is zero, zed, zip, zilch. Plus, Manchin sponsored the voting rights bill they shot down yesterday. The GOP favors voter suppression, not electoral reform.

This was also the week that the coal state senator came out in opposition to the climate provisions of the reconciliation bill that I call the RIF. Coal made Joe Manchin a wealthy man, so we shouldn’t be surprised. But he also voted for a budget resolution that included a $3.5 trillion RIF jampacked with climate provisions. That’s right, he was for it before he was against it.

Manchin seems stuck in the triangulating Nineties. He wants a work requirement for the child tax credit. This, too, is bullshit. He represents one of the poorest states in the nation. The child tax credit benefits the vast majority of his constituents except for the coal barons he loves so much. Speaking of the descendants of robber barons, former Democratic Governor/Senator Jay Rockefeller’s adult children came out in favor of the RIF arguing that West By God Virginia needs it, By God.

The Man of La Manchin styles himself as a man of action. He claims to seek bipartisan solutions to the nation’s problems. That, too, is bullshit. Every time he gets involved in major legislation, it fails, flops, fizzles. Remember the post-Newtown massacre attempt to pass gun control legislation? Manchin got a lot of favorable coverage that time too. The legislation failed but Manchin still took a bow for his efforts.

As you can see from the featured image, Michael F was the first at First Draft to call the senior senator from West By God Virginia, the Man of La Manchin.  It’s not only a brilliant pun, it captures the essence of the man as a legislator. He poses as a legislator who wants to get shit done. That’s, in his own words, bullshit.

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Pulp Fiction Thursday: Babe Ruth Sports Comics

Yesterday, Babe Ruth the band. Today, Babe Ruth, the comic book. It ran from 1949-1951.

Who knew? Not me.

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Saturday Odds & Sods: Art For Art’s Sake

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Ambiguous Figures by Max Ernst.

There are rumors of a cold front later this morning. It’s really a cool front but cold front is the technical term and I’m a stickler for something or other. I’m just looking forward to not running the air-conditioner.

We’ve been talking Carnival in New Orleans. We all want it to happen but it’s unclear when it will be safe to cavort in the streets with strangers. Perhaps we should consult with Laurence Olivier’s character in Marathon Man:

Is It Safe Dustin Hoffman GIF by Top 100 Movie Quotes of All Time - Find & Share on GIPHY

Beats the hell outta me, Larry.

The City is allowing the annual Halloween parade for tourists to roll. It’s called the Krewe of Boo and this year it’s going to serve as an experiment into public gatherings. Contact tracing will be involved. If things go well, the chances of Carnival 2022 happening increase. If not, stay tuned.

This week’s theme song was written by Graham Gouldman and Eric Stewart for 10cc’s 1975 album, How Dare You. That’s what Dustin Hoffman should have said to Olivier.

Here’s Art For Art’s Sake, money for God’s sake:

Graham Gouldman trivia time. He also wrote this wildly successful Hollies hit:

Let’s pick up our umbrellas and jump to the break.

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All The Children Cringe

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You learn something new every day. I did not know that Trump-loving, eyepatch-wearing Texas Congressman, Dan Crenshaw, has written a children’s book. It’s about so-called cancel culture. I say so-called because it barely exists and surely doesn’t merit its own raft.

Here’s the publisher’s description of Fame, Blame, and the Raft of Shame:

In this Book 4 of Saga 1, “Fame, Blame, and the Raft of Shame,” BRAVE Books and Dan Crenshaw explore cancel culture and the effect it has on society. While today’s culture presents canceling others’ opinions as the solution to their problems, they don’t realize that a culture of canceling eventually cancels culture entirely.

Deep in the ocean, Starlotte City blooms beneath a dome made of glowing seaweed. The city’s beauty and strength are mirrored by its vibrant culture, and Eva wants nothing more than to take her place on Starlotte City’s stage. But, when one star performer suggests that they ought to cancel some animals for insensitive comments, the true strength of the seaweed city and its citizens is put to the test.

Will Eva have the courage to stand up to the crowds, or will she allow fear to silence herself and others?

Eva? Which Eva? Braun? Peron? Marcelle? Enquiring minds want to know all about Eva…

Dig how the suit-wearing cat has an eyepatch. I guess that’s supposed to be Danny Boy. He’s eternally vigilant and on the job or some such shit.

The illustrations are by a professional children’s book illustrator, Andre Ceolin. I wonder if the uber-nativist Crenshaw knows anything about his illustrator. Ceolin is Brazilian and has also worked with Scott Kelly, the twin brother of Democratic Senator and well-known gun grabber, Mark Kelly. It’s a small fucking world, after all.

Here’s hoping the raft of shame sinks under the weight of its own malakatude.

The post title was inspired by a Todd Rundgren song. Todd gets the last word:

Pulp Fiction Thursday: Mrs. Candy and Saturday Night

Robert Tallant is best known for his non-fiction books about New Orleans. With this book, he tried his hand at fiction.

I wonder where John was when Mrs. Candy was out on the town. I hope everyone remembers John Candy. That joke was in his honor.

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Ashli Babbittry Revisited

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I’m sick of writing about Donald Trump. I had a lot of fun mocking him for 5 years, but much of the fun went out of it with the 1/6 Dipshit Insurrection. He was always a menace but the threat amped up over 100 decibels on that day. Ever since then, the Impeached Insult Comedians and his followers have minimized what happened. Their motto is: When In Doubt, Lie.

One of most dangerous lies they’ve told about the Dipshit Insurrection is that Ashli Babbitt was a martyr to the MAGA cause. They’ve turned a deeply disturbed woman into their very own Horst Wessell. I explained that in the first Ashli Babbittry post:

Like most right-wing populist movements, Trumpism is based on grievances, real and imagined. Such a movement requires martyrs. The Nazis had Horst Wessel a Brownshirt who allegedly died in a street fight with Communists. The truth was more complicated but his death led to an anthem of the Nazi movement, Horst Wessel Lied. Lied is of course the German word for song but it describes the modus operandi of both Nazism and Trumpism better known as the BIG LIE.

It Can’t Happen Here and Babbitt have converged in the name of Trumpism’s latest martyr, Ashli Babbitt. She was one of seven people to have died as a result of the Dipshit Insurrection. The Trumpers, however, have chosen to honor a troubled woman instead of the police officers who died defending the Capitol from attack. So much for law and order.

Yesterday would have been MAGA martyr Ashli Babbitt’s 36th birthday. The MAGA Maggots celebrated her sad, pathetic life as if she were a hero instead of a victim of the Big Lie.

From his gilded Florida exile in Mar-a-Dorn, the Kaiser of Chaos recorded a propaganda video. The MAGA morons love to be lied to and the former president* did not disappoint.

“My heart and the hearts of millions of Americans across the country are with everyone — everyone — who knew and loved her,” Trump said, after wishing Babbitt a happy birthday.

“Together we grieve her terrible loss,” the former president said toward the end of the brief video. “There was no reason Ashli should have lost her life that day. We must all demand justice for Ashli and her family. So on this solemn occasion, as we celebrate her life, we renew our call for a fair and nonpartisan investigation into the death of Ashli Babbitt. I offer my unwavering support to Ashli’s family, and call on the Department of Justice to reopen its investigation into her death on Jan. 6.”

Her death *has* been thoroughly investigated. The actions of Officer Michael Byrd have been vindicated by the DOJ. The reason he’s been singled out is that he’s Black.

It’s a racist trope straight out of The Birth of a Nation, a dangerous black man harmed an innocent white chick.

Former President* Pennywise made his feelings clear at a rally in July:

“If that were on the other side, the person that did the shooting would be strung up and hung.” At least one person in the crowd responded by shouting “Hang him!”

Robert Kennedy once said that “Richard Nixon represents the dark side of the American soul.”

Nixon was a piker next to Donald Trump. Nixon was a racist and a criminal, but he was smart and slick. He played on racial fears but never advocated lynching. Nixon was a seething pit of resentment and grievances, but he had a hardscrabble childhood to explain it. Trump grew up in a mansion wanting for nothing. His grievances reflect his greed for more, always more.

Trump not only represents the dark side of the American soul, he brings out the worst in people. He’s the reason that Sinclair Lewis’ dark vision in It Can’t Happen Here remains a threat to our polity. All the lies and Ashli Babbittry in the world cannot explain that away.

The last word goes to Billie Holiday:

Pulp Fiction Thursday: Mansion Of Evil

I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to live in a Mansion Of Evil. Dead bodies and men with thin mustaches give me the creeps.

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Pulp Fiction Thursday: No Way Back

It’s another book written under a pseudonym. The writer’s real name was Lionel Fanthorpe. He wrote some 250 books under various names. Karl Zeigfreid was his sci-fi guy.

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