ThePaleoReport.com

Lady Luck is on Obama's side

2010-01-29T01:23:00.001-06:00

I watched President Obama’s State of the Union speech twice. Once with the sound on, and once with it off. It was interesting to read the faces and body language of his supporters and opponents.

Nancy Pelosi looked like a Shakespearian mother: “Reclaim your kingdom, my son, from those who plot your downfall!”

Joe Biden came off as a gung-ho high school football coach: “You go out there and show ’em what you’re made of, Barack. If you want change, you gotta show ’em who’s the boss of change.”

Every time the cameras panned to the congressmen, the Republicans were posed like stone cold statues. Their faces said: “We are here to destroy your presidency, Barack Obama, and we will succeed in our mission by repeating the words, “No! No! No!” over and over again until the day you leave office.”

Then there were the smirky senators, like John McCain, who was constantly side-whispering to a colleague sitting next to him. Oh, yeah, Senator, like you could’ve done a better job, right? Aren’t you the same guy who almost put Sarah Palin one heart attack away from the presidency? I think that says all we need to know about your luck with big gambles—you have none. We need a president who has Lady Luck on his side—and that’s Obama. Just look at his story. What are the chances of a just-elected U.S. Senator becoming the president of the United States? Who’s African American? Who beat the fearsome Clinton political machine and then came up from behind to beat the even scarier Republicans?

There’s no denying it, Lady Luck loves Obama. We can’t control luck—not with good deeds, not even with prayers. When Lady Luck calls, you better get out of the way if she’s not calling you, because she’ll roll right over you like a bulldozer. It’s not that she didn’t like McCain or Hillary. She just fell for Obama.

And I think luck is going to have some surprising twists of fate in store for the Republicans in the near future. For instance, Republicans are fully expecting to pick up a lot of congressional seats in the mid-term election in November. You keep hearing it over and again: The Democrats will lose their majorities in both the House and Senate—just like they did under Bill Clinton in ’94. The Republicans are already rewriting the tax codes for the rich.

That’s where Lady Luck comes in. She’s the wild card—the wild, crazy card. For all we know, the economy may pick up dramatically right before the mid-term election and, in a stunning twist of fate, re-establish the Democrats’ filibuster-proof majority in the Senate and maintain their sizeable majority in the House. The stone faces will crumble and Obama’s programs will go through. Totally unrealistic? Nobody knows what LL has up her sleeve.

Obama was right: Change is never easy; reform is messy, complicated and tough as hell to bring about. But along the way, Lady Luck always has her say. And where Obama’s concerned, it’s usually: “I’m on you’re side, Sweetie.”

Who's whispering, "You can do it!" in Sarah's ear?

2009-07-08T01:37:00.000-05:00

What was Sarah Palin really trying to say behind her babbling brook speech announcing her resignation as governor of Alaska?

I’m proud to say that I can interpret her speech because, after watching her closely over the past 10 months, I can speak fluent Sarah Palin.

This is what she really meant to say, but couldn’t: “Republican strategists have told me that I need to get my ass down to the Lower 48 NOW, if I expect to win the Republican presidential nomination in 2012. So my fellow Alaskans, let me put it to you this way: I’m goin’ on a moose hunt for the White House, and if you try to stop me, you may end up on my wall.”

She was in such a hurry to get out of Juneau, there wasn’t even time to finish her term. Why? Because she desperately needs to woo the magical people of Iowa, who turned Barack Obama from a long shot into the front runner. She knows she can charm the britches off “the good people of this great state” by methodically going from farmhouse to farmhouse, picnic to picnic, and corn husking to corn husking over the next three years. Iowa’s conservative voters will surely embrace her and, with a punch of their enchanted ballots, give her the power to fly high over her opponents and ultimately land her in the White House.

I just don’t buy her “You won’t have Sarah Palin to kick around anymore” speech. It’s a smokescreen. In effect, she’s dumping the “good people of the great state of Alaska,” for a shot to lead “the good people of this great nation.”

Sarah’s strategists have most likely urged her not to listen to critics calling her a lightweight, a diva, too conservative for the mainstream, or generally uninformed. “They’re jealous of you, Sarah. They’re afraid of your values. You love freedom and they don’t.” Besides, they tell her, look at all the horrible things that liberals said about George Bush, yet Americans elected him twice—well, once for sure. “Even after he totally screwed New Orleans!” they remind her. “So don’t worry, the votes are out there—and we can get ’em for you.”

They tell her all of this without giving her an equally important piece of information—the mood of the American public has changed. After 9-11, Americans were in a Dr. Evil mood for six years strong. And who better to carry out their thirst for violent revenge than George Bush? They re-elected him in 2004 for one reason: to finish what he started. They were also afraid John Kerry would’ve immediately withdrawn troops before the Iraq War could be considered a success. Fast-forward to 2009. Americans feel like “We kicked some terrorist ass.” Now they’ve got that “We Are The World” feeling again. They’re ready to bring over the apple pie and be neighborly to other nations. Suddenly, Americans want diplomacy: “No need to get nasty. Let’s twitter about it. We love you, people of Iran—it’s just your government that sucks.”

The last crucial piece of information that strategists aren’t telling Sarah is this: there’s no way on God’s green-dollar earth that Americans are going to trust her with the economy. After her interview with Katie Couric, Americans wouldn’t trust her to referee a basketball game, let alone do mouth-to-mouth on the economy. If I had done an interview like that, I would’ve impaled myself on a live moose antler (Alaska’s version of hari kari).

I’m not here to advise Sarah Palin, but I will remind her of something. The strategists currently pumping up her ego and her presidential ambitions are the same types who convinced Joan Rivers more than 20 years ago that she could beat Johnny Carson in the ratings. And we all know how that turned out. I have no doubt that Sarah Palin, like Joan Rivers, can win “Celebrity Apprentice.” But the presidency?

Post-pres Bush wrestles with demons

2009-02-15T01:03:00.003-06:00

Since George Bush was FedExed to Texas on January 20, the country hasn’t heard a word out of him. I kinda wonder what he’s up to. How do you fill your days after you’ve been King of the World for the past eight years? Does he call Dick Cheney to ask directions when he gets lost going to Sam’s Club? Does he miss Condoleezza? Does Obama ever call? “Hey, George, you forgot your razor. It looks pretty expensive, so I’m over-nighting it to you.”

Does he resent Obama’s popularity? Does he sit there wringing his hands, repeating again and again: “Oh, you just wait, my little pretty—just wait a few years and see what happens to your precious popularity.” Or maybe he wakes up in the middle of the night yelling: “Give me back those ruby slippers!”

It’s hard to know. After all, Bush was our most secretive president. He made Richard Nixon look like TMZ.com. Only poor Laura Bush knows what’s truly going on at the Crawford ranch. Now that the paid personnel are gone, he’s all hers, and I’m sure she’s feeling the pressure of having to entertain him. “Thank God baseball season starts in two months,” she’s probably mumbling to herself. “Lord, please get his ass out of the house before I run out of nerve pills.”

Which brings me to Condoleezza Rice. I really don’t think Condoleezza’s ready to give up George. In a Freudian slip, she once referred to Bush as her husband. And Bush recently said she’s like a sister to him. The point is that Condi has invested too many years in this husband-sister relationship. She’s got to be callin’ him every morning with daily briefings: “Hey there, Georgey-boy . . . I saw Dick the other day and he’s looking more and more like Old Man Potter from ‘It’s A Wonderful Life.’ I wish he’d get out of that wheelchair and grow some hair before some CNN reporter notices the resemblance.”

Look for Condoleezza to use her frequent flyer miles to visit Texas at least twice a month. This will thrill Laura because she can leave them to blather on about Pootie-poot while she goes shopping: “Just leave the coffee cups in the sink—I’ll wash them when I get back.”
If Laura ever goes—God forbid—I believe Condoleezza would be the next Mrs. Bush. And I think Laura believes that too. There are some wives who know who their replacement will be once they bite the bullet. They even cultivate a friendly relationship with the future Mrs. because they magnanimously want to leave their clueless husband in the hands of someone who can competently manage his life.

But Bush needs more than Condi to calm his bad, post-pres nerves. He’s probably crying on Bill Clinton’s shoulder, calling him every couple of days and asking: “Does Daddy think I’m a failure? You know him better than I do. Whaddaya think?”

Clinton—suddenly thrown in the role of family counselor to the Bushes—does his best to reassure W that he wasn’t the worst president in U.S. history. “You really whupped terrorist ass,” he most likely tells him. “I can’t say I did that—and either can your Daddy. Osama’s been hidin’ like a badger for eight years. They were scared shitless of you, Bro. Be proud! You had the balls to stand up to ’em. Millard Fillmore—now there was a president with no balls. You were better than him! And James Buchanan—you were better than him too!”

But George can’t seem to convince Daddy that he was the Michael Corleone of U.S. presidents. Not Mr. Silent Disapproval—with that constant “My son tarnished the Bush name for all eternity” look on his face. Would he please get off George’s ass and give him a break? After all, W won two terms. But Daddy secretly wishes he had lost after the first—and spared the family and the nation his Hooveresque finale.

No, life in Crawford probably isn’t so easy for George Bush. I can see him walking the ranch, trying to channel the ghost of Harry Truman. “Harry, now help me out here. Was I or wasn’t I ‘The Great Decider?’ ”

Laura rolls her eyes every time she hears him ask that question to the wind. Then she picks up the phone and calls Condeleezza. “Catch the first flight out,” she urges.

Blagojevich soul mates need more sole

2008-12-22T01:17:00.006-06:00

Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich and his wife Patty are truly soul mates. They share the same values, have a similar outlook on life, and obviously want the same things in life—money, money, money and power.

The pair also proves that finding your soul mate could be the worst thing in the world for you. Why? There are no checks and balances.

I know this goes against everything Oprah has taught us, but let’s look at the facts. With a soul mate, you have someone who thinks just like you do. So basically you’re married to a “yes man” or woman. Your soul mate willingly signs on to any plan you hatch and then helps you carry it out. You don’t have someone to ask those small but important questions like: “What the hell are you’re doing?” and “Are you out of your mind?”

Whenever I read about a couple wading hand-in-hand in the shit-pool of politics, I think: Uh-uh, must be soul mates.

Too bad Patty wasn’t more like Lisa Vito from the film “My Cousin Vinny.” Those two were tied at the hip, but nevertheless always at odds. Remember the scene where Vinny asks Lisa if she thinks it would be all right for him to wear dress pants to go deer hunting with the prosecuting attorney?

“Whadda 'bout the pants I got on?” Vinny asks Lisa. “Do you think they’re okay?”

Lisa, played by Marisa Tomei, responds this way in her great Brooklyn accent: “Imagine you’re a deer…You’re prancin’ along, you get thirsty, ya spot a little brook, put your little deer lips down to the cool, clear water—and bang! A fuckin’ bullet rips out part of your head! Your brains are laying on the ground in bloody little pieces. Now I ax ya: Would you give a fuck what kinda pants the sonofabitch who shot you was wearin’?

On the morning Blagojevich was arrested, he was wearing jogging pants. What do you think Lisa would’ve said to Blagojevich if she were married to him? I’m guessing it would go something like this: “You’re all over the phone tryin’ to sell Obama’s Senate seat, when ya know the feds have been stuck to your ass for four years. And now you wanna know if you should wear joggin’ pants to work this morning. Now I ax ya: Are the feds gonna give a fuck what kind of pants you’re wearin’ when they bust down the door, slap ya in handcuffs, and take ya to jail?”

Unfortunately, that’s not what Patty said. Her attitude was basically the same as her husband’s: “What’s in it for me?” Instead of a soul mate, Patty should’ve been a sole mate—in that she should’ve stuck her foot straight up his ass years ago. But what can I say? That’s not what a s-o-u-l mate does. A soul mate gets on the phone and tells her husband’s aide to order the Chicago Tribune owner to “just fire” his editorial writers if he wants tax breaks from the state on the sale of Wrigley Field. Talk about total support for your husband. She is a soul mate supreme.

Note to my New Age friends: This is a real good case for marrying your opposite. It could save your life. Think about it. If you like to spend money, the best person for you—no matter how much you can’t stand it—is someone’s who’s cheap. If you have two people who like to spend, spend, spend, the inevitable conclusion is bankruptcy, bankruptcy, bankruptcy and divorce. If you’re a liar, marry someone who’s honest. Realistically, they can’t keep you from lying all the time, but they can probably cut you back to 50 percent and maybe keep you out of jail.

A marriage should be like a democracy with two opposing parties in power—a Democratic president and a Republican Congress. That way, no one’s agreeing with the other 100 percent of the time, and both are keeping close tabs on any ethical violations.

So next time you see a couple on Oprah blathering on about how they found their soul mate and how perfectly wonderfully happy they are, don’t buy the bullshit along with whatever else Oprah’s selling that day. Try the Vinny and Lisa model on for size. A sole mate is safer than a soul mate.

How to become the first She-President of the United States

2008-11-25T00:48:00.004-06:00

The happy message to little girls across America this Christmastime is: Yes, Virginia, you can be president.

The yucky part is explaining to them that they’ll have to walk over the political corpses of Hillary Clinton and Sarah Palin.

I think there needs to be a class in “She-President 101” to prepare our sensitive young ladies for the campaign trail. A lot can be learned about the do’s and don’ts of female presidential politics from its latest casualties.

First off—the clothes. When running for president, you should always look—clothed. That’s it. Just wear clothes. Follow Hillary’s lead on this one and buy one style of pantsuit in a thousand different colors—but feel free to skip tangerine and lime green. So what if the press makes fun of you? No one’s gonna elect a president because she smells nice or is red-carpet ready. It’s what comes out of your mouth—not your closet—that matters. Look at Nancy Pelosi. Does anyone respect her more because she wears Armani? No. She’s an ineffectual leader with or without her designer suits.

Which brings me to Sarah Palin. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. Never, ever buy expensive clothes with someone else’s money. Why? Because that person will feel used, get mad and blab to the press. You can’t use campaign cash to flatter your figure. All you needed was one black skirt, a pair of black pants, one pair black heels, and 12 cropped blazers in assorted colors. I’m estimating $3,600 tops. Even French women own only a few great outfits, which they wear over and over. And no one needs to dress better than a French woman.

Second lesson for a woman running for president: You need a lot of gravitas. The dictionary defines gravitas as a serious and solemn way of behaving. President-elect Obama has loads of it. So does Hillary, who has the bonus ability of making men tremble. It’s one of her special talents. When she went toe-to-toe with her six male opponents during the presidential debates, fear was in the air because they knew Hillary could pounce like a leopard. Even blue-collar guys thought she was tough enough to be president. And if anyone can spot a woman with a steel vagina, it’s doz guys.

Which brings me to Sarah Palin. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. Folksiness is great. Noun-verb agreement is even better. Unfortunately, your timing was off. After eight years of George W. Bush, America maxed out on folksy and suddenly craved intelligence and rationality. I was actually shocked that Alaska’s most famous moose-hunter turned out to be such a lightweight. I expected more killer instincts out of her. Instead, the hunter became the hunted, and she was tragically felled by Katie Couric with her relentless barrage of easy questions.

Third lesson to our future female presidential hopefuls: No f-ing winking allowed. If Obama had winked, they would’ve said it was a signal to his domestic terrorist friends. Winking belongs to Paris Hilton and Miley Cyrus, not a future president in charge of two wars and an economy in cardiac arrest.

Lesson No. 4: No lying. Hillary, Hillary, Hillary. You of all people should know that everything a former first lady did during her tenure is well documented and videotaped. How could you possibly think that you could get away with your claim of “landing under sniper fire” in Bosnia? Let’s get reacquainted with history. We know just about every detail of Abraham Lincoln’s life from birth to assassination. We know all of Benjamin Franklin’s mistresses—which ones had cellulite, and the color panties they liked to wear. Did you really think no one would dig back and find out you were lying about the landing zone? There’s a name for what you have, Hillary: Blind ambition gone deaf.

Lastly, a female presidential candidate can’t whine—no matter what. She can’t blame the media for unfair or sexist coverage, even if that’s actually the case. Whatever the media gives, you’ve gotta take—with a smile. That’s the golden rule. This is one case where the truth has no effect. For instance, Saturday Night Live made fun of the Obama-crazed media for giving Hillary a hard time. The only reporter who seemed halfway bothered by the accusation was Anderson Cooper. Then Obama gave him a special inside look at his campaign and his eyes said “I love you” once again.

Little Virginia, please remember that the presidential campaign trail is not for the dainty hearted. It’s longer and harder than Ulysses’ 10-year journey home after the Trojan War (except the Cyclops were a lot friendlier than Hillary during the primaries). But if you endure and succeed, you will be the first She-President of the United States. Just don’t wink it up.

Palin goes moose hunting for bin Laden

2008-09-02T08:39:00.002-05:00

Senator John McCain has promised again and again to follow Osama bin Laden to the gates of hell. Now he’s got someone to actually do it—his vice presidential running mate Sarah Palin. I’m convinced that’s why he picked her.

Before the November 4 election, her task will be to hunt down bin Laden—just like she hunts moose—and drag him back to Washington like a dead grizzly bear.

This is how it’ll all go down. She along with a special commando team will be dropped in the area where bin Laden is most likely to be hiding—somewhere along the 1,600-mile Afghan-Pakistani border. That’s not much to go on. But don’t worry, Palin won’t be deterred by the fact that bin Laden’s trail went cold in 2001. She’ll chalk it up to greenhorn hunters who’ve never felt the stench of bear breath on their face.

Palin will take along her husband, the “First Dude” as he’s affectionately known in Alaska, because the two have a proven record of working well together as a hunting and fishing team. Plus First Dude won Alaska’s Iron Dog, a punishing 2,000-mile snowmobile race from Nome to Fairbanks. She’ll need him to make it through the mountain snow and the endless treks across the desert sands.

Wearing a kaftan and matching headscarf, her trademark glasses and combat boots, she’ll head off into the border villages of Afghanistan and Pakistan. The former Miss Congeniality will immediately make friends with all the Villagers she encounters. She’ll show them pictures of her five children, sew a few goat hides into blankets with the local sewing circles, and demonstrate her 1-2-3 busy-mom recipe for sheep intestine stew. (Trust me—you have no idea how good it is until you taste it.) The women will go crazy. She’ll be the Rachel Ray of Eastern Pashtun.

Next, she’ll challenge the men to a game of Buzkashi, the national sport of Afghanistan. Players on horseback try to grab a headless goat carcass lying in the center of the field and pitch it across a goal line. The Alaskan governor will jump on her horse, get hold of that bloody, stinky carcass with her bare teeth and fling it across the goal line like a warrior princess. She may have been a runner-up for Miss Alaska, but you can bet the Afghans will crown her Miss Buzkashi for this one. The bad news: the crown is made of wooly sheep’s feet.

Late in the evening, when everyone is sitting around the campfire roasting another poor unsuspecting goat, Palin will casually ask the Villagers if they know where bin Laden is. They will all clam up and tell her that she and her husband must now leave. There is nothing more to say.

This scenario will repeat itself time and again over a six-week period. When the presidential election is only a week away, Palin will turn to the First Dude and say: “Let’s go huntin.’ They’ll meet up with her commando team, which was waiting inconspicuously in the nearby mountains as she tried to schmooze her way into the hearts and minds of the Afghan people. Plan B goes into action. Palin must now rely on her finely honed moose-hunting instincts to locate her prey. “Don’t worry,” she assures the commandos. “I’m much better with a rifle than Cheney.”

The group treks hundreds of miles across brutal mountain terrain. As they pass the vicinity of Tora Bora, she yells: “Stop!”

They do.

“He’s here. I know it. I can feel it. He’s in that cave over there. He never left.”

Members of the commando team immediately take their offensive positions and wait for activity. They wait for three endless hours in the blistering heat. “It’s nice to feel warm for a change,” Palin whispers to the First Dude.

About six o’clock, bin Laden comes walking out of the cave holding hands with al-Zawahiri. Palin stands up and points her semi-automatic at bin Laden. “Die, Satan!” she yells and starts firing. The commandos take out his al-Quaida bodyguards as they pour out of the cave.

When the carnage is over, Governor Palin runs up to bin Laden. He’s still alive. She puts her ear close to his lips. With his last breath he says: “I can’t believe a hot governor from Alaska did me in. What a world . . .what a world . . . ” With that, he expires and the earth trembles as his soul descends to the seventh level of Dante’s Hell.

With tears in her eyes, Palin turns to her fellow commandos and says: “I just put another crack in the glass ceiling. Somebody call Hillary. By the way, have any of you ever stuffed a moose?”

“Come on,” says First Dude. “We’ve got an election to go to and you need a new toothbrush.”

When news of bin Laden’s demise reaches home, CNN host Campbell Brown and her latest panel of political commentators predict Obama-Biden will still win the election.

“Governor Palin’s shooting of bin Laden was impressive,” Brown concludes. “But it still doesn’t beat Obama’s acceptance speech at the convention. Nothing can possibly top that. Wow!”