Willis Gordon

***willis gordon is an extremely talented writer living in the DC area, with a strong pen for political and social commentary. I am proud to call myself a friend through correspondence to this awesome fucker, and he will be a featured Revolutionary on the new Drunken Absurdity site. enjoy***

Send lawyers, guns, and money; the shit has hit the fan.

The fucked up thing about our current situation is that we’ve seen it all before. Different context, sure. But we’ve seen this room and we’ve walked this floor, a cycle of mindless followers, zombies of the Right and Left. Somewhere deep in the heart of the modern American is a true disdain for understanding, truth, and critical thinking. We want media idols and political demagogues to stroke our egos and tell us we’re doing the right thing, even when we know damn well we aren’t.

Tea Party fanatics and Limp-Wristed Liberals continue to squabble like kids in a sandbox; the only difference is, unlike the kids, the never get down to brass tacks and fight it out. They continue to posture and pose, and yell, and hoop and holler. Puffing out their chests and flashing their feathers in an empty attempt to scare off their opponent. We knew this day would come, however. The day it goes too far. The day the rhetoric and the posing and all the other bullshit finally allow us to stumble over the line like the Acid-freak who finally jumps out the 9th story window.

“Don’t retreat, reload!” “If ballots don’t work, bullets will!” These homespun,(if not slightly psychotic)little phrases seemed cute at first. A folksy, John Wayne approach to politics. But there’s a reason Rooster Cogburn never ran for Governor. He was a fucking madman! A fat, one eyed, crazy old drunk with an itchy trigger finger and a 2nd grade reading level. Is this who America wants making its decisions for her? Some half-retarded cowboy ready to shoot first and forget to ask any goddamned questions? I think we’ve already answered that. Twice.

The recent shootings in Arizona are troubling to say the least. It shows me that the rhetoric is hitting home to some people. Do those people happen to be completely batshit crazy? It seems that way. But it’s hitting home nonetheless. Can I blame Sarah Palin or the Tea Party solely for what happened out there in the Desert? Sure I can. Quite simple, really. Can I do it credibly? No. Though I do find it strange and suspicious that it took her four days to scrape together some sort of jangled, mistake ridden, blundered response to the attacks. A veritable lifetime in our 24hr news world. But the mood of the country, the pent up, misguided rage, the middle-aged angst, the anti-government hate-speech rallying to a fever pitch, all roads point to these type of events. The bullets fly, the blood spills, and Lady Liberty hangs her weary head. When the dust clears there is no shame in the air. Not a hint of remorse. Just a slew of fingers being pointed, words being spewed, blame being placed.

“The crosshairs did it!”

“It was that goddamned marrywanna!”

“The tea party is making people crazy!”

“His friends called him a ‘dope smoking leftist!”

The Tea party is NOT making people crazy. However it IS giving them a nice little club to join. And people like Jared Lee Loughner don’t usually have “friends” like you and I. He’s what we refer to as “That Guy”. You know. The guy with the secret nickname that you and all your buddies came up with. The one you won’t make fun of to his face. Or at least not too much fun. Because you know that one day he’s going to come marching down the halls with an M-4 in each hand, pumping your coworkers full of lead and you will be left, pants pissed, cowering behind your cubicle, pleading for your life with the line, “I was nice to you! I was your friend!” THOSE are the kind of “friends” Jared Lee Loughner has.

I will say this. We’ve gotten to a point in this country where total darkness is closing in, and we seem to be spiraling out of control. We need a boot in the ass, and fast, or else God knows what will happen next. Soon the last few patriots this country has will be run down like dogs, beaten, slandered, and slaughtered by some mindless political freaks, slobbering wildly and clawing at their raw, naked bodies in a psychotic frenzy. The mess we’re in is too deep, that even lawyers, guns, and money can’t save us now. Now that the shit has really hit the fan.

I'll try and act like I'm not jealous, but...

...a former supermodel as your First Lady?

France, I'm normally not on your side when it comes to anything other than Fashion Week and foie gras, but this time I gotta hand it to you -- these surprise nuptials deserve a resounding "well played".

I just wonder how poor Mitt is gonna handle that first State Dinner next year. God gives one strength, I suppose, but those legs, that voice, those legs...this could get very interesting.

I'll try and act like I'm not jealous, but...

...a former supermodel as your First Lady?

France, I'm normally not on your side when it comes to anything other than Fashion Week and foie gras, but this time I gotta hand it to you -- these surprise nuptials deserve a resounding "well played".

I just wonder how poor Mitt is gonna handle that first State Dinner next year. God gives one strength, I suppose, but those legs, that voice, those legs...this could get very interesting.

Squarely on Team Hillary

Ahhh, Carla Bruni.

You've seduced a mogul, two rock legends, and now a President, this last conquest pushing one of the most socially liberal nations to the brink of something they haven't felt since the fallout of the Congress of Vienna in 1815 -- disapproval.

Leggy, effortlessly chic and talented chanteuse though you may be, when I look at you -all 5 feet, 10 inches of you- I can't help but think just how smart it was of your boyfriend (and his advisers, I'm sure) to keep you hidden in the country home during his tough campaign against Ségolène Royal last Spring.

That you're a siren of the highest physical and intellectual standards is nothing to be ashamed of, don't get me wrong, but when in the throes of a close election, you have to agree a candidate can't be taking chances by indulging publicly in what he thinks is acceptable knowing full well that that decision might influence voters -especially embittered, middle-aged female voters- to side with his opponent.

Inauguration first, supermodel girlfriend reveal second.

Now onto the little spat between Vogue Editor Anna Wintour and democratic presidential candidate Hillary Clinton.

Whether Hillary herself thinks wearing a series of $14,500 Haute Couture gowns in the pages of a glossy fashion magazine will render her "too feminine" really isn't the issue at hand. Frankly, for a woman who has spent her entire life over-achieving, over-working and over-compensating, I can't think of a person more deserving of a day of I-feel-pretty excess.

Excess, however, that can -and should- wait until after our very judgmental John Q. Public casts its collective vote in November.

Inauguration first, Dior second.

Squarely on Team Hillary

Ahhh, Carla Bruni.

You've seduced a mogul, two rock legends, and now a President, this last conquest pushing one of the most socially liberal nations to the brink of something they haven't felt since the fallout of the Congress of Vienna in 1815 -- disapproval.

Leggy, effortlessly chic and talented chanteuse though you may be, when I look at you -all 5 feet, 10 inches of you- I can't help but think just how smart it was of your boyfriend (and his advisers, I'm sure) to keep you hidden in the country home during his tough campaign against Ségolène Royal last Spring.

That you're a siren of the highest physical and intellectual standards is nothing to be ashamed of, don't get me wrong, but when in the throes of a close election, you have to agree a candidate can't be taking chances by indulging publicly in what he thinks is acceptable knowing full well that that decision might influence voters -especially embittered, middle-aged female voters- to side with his opponent.

Inauguration first, supermodel girlfriend reveal second.

Now onto the little spat between Vogue Editor Anna Wintour and democratic presidential candidate Hillary Clinton.

Whether Hillary herself thinks wearing a series of $14,500 Haute Couture gowns in the pages of a glossy fashion magazine will render her "too feminine" really isn't the issue at hand. Frankly, for a woman who has spent her entire life over-achieving, over-working and over-compensating, I can't think of a person more deserving of a day of I-feel-pretty excess.

Excess, however, that can -and should- wait until after our very judgmental John Q. Public casts its collective vote in November.

Inauguration first, Dior second.

In the Vogue primary, my vote goes to Hillary

I apologize for the lack of posting today, but I've been buried under a massive pile of work work since last night, and unfortunately, I don't anticipate a reprieve until tomorrow afternoon.

Check back then for a post a week in the making on why, when it comes to this fashion-versus-function battle, I fall squarely and surprisingly on the side of Ms. Square-Toed Pumps herself, Hillary Clinton.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to tend to the pair of steamer trunks forming underneath my eyes with a couple of fresh, cool pumps of Darphin...

as you were,
Johanna

In the Vogue primary, my vote goes to Hillary

I apologize for the lack of posting today, but I've been buried under a massive pile of work work since last night, and unfortunately, I don't anticipate a reprieve until tomorrow afternoon.

Check back then for a post a week in the making on why, when it comes to this fashion-versus-function battle, I fall squarely and surprisingly on the side of Ms. Square-Toed Pumps herself, Hillary Clinton.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to tend to the pair of steamer trunks forming underneath my eyes with a couple of fresh, cool pumps of Darphin...

as you were,
Johanna