Sarah, Proud and Tall

Have your man place, into a large cocktail shaker, a jigger each of fresh lime juice, Diplomatico aged Venezuelan rum (for the flavour), and British Navy Pusser’s rum (for the kick), along with half a jigger of Cointreau, a heaping half of orgeat and a small spoonful of brown molasses sugar. Have him add tons of ice and shake like buggery. Pour into glasses and serve in the afternoon sun with a selection of snacks and the new Ball Park Music album.

Cheers to Walter, and his new mum Debit, and especially to our blogmaster, Cole – a fine and decent man who makes the world a better place.

Mai Tai Early Morning Open ThreadPost + Comments (35)

For most of my career, I have been a fixer. More the makes a few calls, has a quiet lunch, bends a few ears kind of fixer than the kind that sidles in the back door and puts six bullets in the problem’s head.

That kind of malarkey was fine and dandy, and frankly a bit of a buzz when I was a 27 year old girl clearing the forests of Baden-Württemberg of an infestation of Kthanid-worshipping Himmler clones, or a 35 year old woman putting the frighteners on the odd racist dickhead Democrat governor for Ike. When I turned 50, I made a new rule to turn down any job that meant I had to put down my drink.

I have no shame. I’ll stack branches, and queer primaries, and have quiet words with people which inspire a sudden interest in them in employment opportunities in the ice fishing industry. I’ll work for anyone who can pay my fees, and I’m not cheap, although nowadays there’s rarely anything so crass as payment in cash.

Five days ago, I got the call I have been expecting since day two of Cleveland Hatefest ’16.

My client is am old man with old money. Before his family became an old Republican family, they were an old Whig family, and before that an old National Republican family, and before even that an old Jeffersonian Republican family. They’ve been on the grift for so long, they collect rent on just over 1% of the continental United States

Some of you may wonder how I write the things I write over here, and still get calls from the Republicans. The answer is simple and comes in two parts – first, the 90% of the Republican Party that think they run the Republican Party don’t read lefty blogs like this, and even if they did they would assume it was some bolshevik pretending to be me to destroy my reputation. More importantly, I don’t work for them because they can’t afford me.

I will work with the other 10% of the Republicans, the ones who actually own the party – or at least own the trusts that own the companies that own the consultants that own the Republican Party – they know that what I write is true. The thing is, they don’t care. It’s not their names or reputations that I am holding up to ridicule – these are not the kind of people who give press conferences or do anything so vulgar as joining a committee. So long as the faces of the Party keep drumming up business, so long as the rubes continue donating, so long as they cash they funnel off keeps trickling down into bank vaults in Bern and Barbados, they don’t care about anything else.

Still, getting me involved is not without risks, so a call from this client means only one thing. They’re fucked and they would like me to come take the two foot dildo out of their Party’s arse, or at least swap it out for something a little less challenging so early on in the evening.

The first thing Mr James said – I’ll call him Mr James because that’s not his name – the very first thing was, “We’ve got more cock up us than a two dollar whore at Christmas.”

“Rude. I blame the eggnog.”

“I wish I could blame the fucking eggnog. He’s out of control. He can’t fucking stop talking. And he’s going to fuck us hard and dry and with a complete absence of lube or snuggling for the next three months.”

“You’re only just realising this? The man has been dementing since Marla got him in the skull with a bottle of Cristal. How did you let him win?”

“Have you seen the team we fielded at the primaries? Fuckups, slow kids, racists, cockheads and loons.”

“And some of them all five. Including the one you ended up with.”

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I’ll find us a way to make lightPost + Comments (59)