The Elvis Conspiracy

I’m not generally much of a conspiracy theorist. I don’t believe Elvis is in Wisconsin working at McDonald’s, or the moon landings were staged in a NASA studio, or that somehow the September 11 tragedies were purposely staged by the government. I am, by nature, a skeptic. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt and try as hard as possible to base my decisions on fact.

However, I have a low tolerance for liars and charlatans once I do satisfy myself of their guilt. Nothing chaps me more than someone who tells a lie and then defends it by saying it’s to my advantage that they told the lie. I’m also inflamed by the notion that if said liar or charlatan is caught red-handed, telling the lie is somehow my fault. Someone telling a lie doesn’t make me a traitor, terrorist, or maniacal morale squasher.

It does, however, make them a liar.

Give Them Enough Rope…

I used to give the Bush administration plenty of leeway. If someone accused them of a lie, I generally countered there was no proof. I tended to explain each mishap as just blundering by a crew of incompetents. Of course, I also believed that no matter the reason we ended up in the soup, it was still inexcusably bad and Bush was still at the helm. I believed the cause of the blundering didn’t matter much. Whether you’re a ninny or a liar, bad stuff is still bad stuff.

Finally, the house of cards began to collapse. It became more and more difficult to look beyond the daily revelations of arrogant, dishonest behavior. With each oily drip, any benefit I was willing to offer found itself simply a doubt. Information conflicting with the party line was invariably blamed on lower level functionaries, the person who leaked, or the victim of the leaks. Everyone in the administration became overnight Alzheimer’s victims. Executive privilege came to mean, “I dare you to come and get the information.” The President came to look like a tin pot dictator protected by a squad of political suicide bombers. Eventually, the pretense of honesty or legitimate mistakes was abandoned along with the truth. The administration had gone to the well of distraction far too many times and the public came to trust them about nothing.

See that blue sky? If they said it was blue, at least 2/3 of the American public would consider it a hoax.

Blue Sky? What Blue Sky?

I don’t like living in a country where I question whether the sky is blue. I don’t like living in a country where every explanation from the administration is bound to cause a scandal within the week. I don’t hate America. I detest what it has become through dishonesty and incompetence. I also don’t like living in a country where I can’t give my elected officials the benefit of the doubt.

I’m surprised to find that I – the prototypical skeptic – now find myself constructing conspiracy theories of my own.

I look at the deepening cesspool of scandal and avarice and begin to consider the unthinkable. I see top-down rust throughout my government. From the inner circle to the lowest-level cronies, I see a tower so thoroughly weakened by corrosive bad behavior that I don’t see how it continues to stand. My government no longer serves me. A rabble of hubris-bloated hobnobbers have hijacked it for their own gain. Our national prestige and considerable treasure have leaked as readily as the levies in New Orleans and those leaks have eroded my natural resistance against conspiracies. Checks and balances have become a thing of the past. Our government is stacked and every switch and lever is off, allowing the administration and their supporters to stride like giants across the land.

A Real October Surprise

Looking at the facts, I can only conclude the wholesale rejiggering of my government will eventually lead to one thing – a real October surprise. Our next election may be outrageously stolen, or simply just called off. Once, such a thought would have been the worst of the worst conspiracy theories. Now, it seems to take on the patina of truth.

I sincerely hope my conspiracy theory is wrong, but if it isn’t, I may find myself heading to Wisconsin in search of Elvis.


Intelligently Designed Randomness

Another Cell Phone Scourge – Hang up the damn cell phone and fly the plane!

Anal Retentive Workers – There’s kissing up and then there’s kissing up in a BIG way.

Self-Propelled Rocky – Rocket J. Squirrel goes low-tech on self-propulsion.

She Needs to Get Out More – She be woikin’ them feminine ways.

Screeeeeeeeeeeam! – Somehow pedaling takes some of the thrill away.

Hey Karl, You Need One of These – Karl Rove needs one of these. Destroy evidence and stay green. Kudos on reducing that carbon footprint Karl!

That Just Fries My Ass – Japanese crapper technology goes awry! Hundreds injured. Film at 11!

How the Mighty Have Fallen – Another exciting episode on the secret lives of retired Rolling Stones.

That She Blows! – I hate it when that happens.

Who Would Jesus Call – Hey catholics, time for confession? Just call it in.

Dick’s Been Giving Shooting Lessons Again – The Gang Who Couldn’t Shoot Straight is apparently being guarded by the G-Men Who Couldn’t Shoot Straight.

Eye-Kea or E-Kay-Uh? – Somehow, the sale at Ikea when terribly awry.

Which Is Worse? – I don’t know what’s sadder, that he built it or that he plays it. R.I.P., Don Ho.

Unclear On the Concept – This seems a little counter-intuitive to me. Maybe that’s why they discontinued it.

Strangely Compelling – Lay down a funky beat with those funky pits.

There He Goes Again! – And this interview is surprising, how?

A Prohetable Career – That Jesus! He was one damn good capitalist. (Tip of the omnipotent chapeau to Hiromi)

Just Go See – Some of the best photography I’ve seen in awhile…no joke…just go see it.


The Incompetent’s Incompetent

It’s no secret the Bush administration prizes political patronage for “loyal Bushies” over anything else. All administrations dole out plum assignments, but Bush has stacked the entire government right down to the Assistant Postmaster in Hooterville, USA.

Bush’s nominee vetting is inept. He selects his junior Turd Blossoms based on their belief in God or willingness to walk through fire to protect his craven ass. He has the uncanny ability to select people who don’t have the faintest whiff of experience for their feather bed jobs. The result? They dig open pit mine-sized holes from which there is no escape save once again becoming lobbyists and CEOs.

At Least He’s Our Turd

Congress, especially the Republicans, only compounds the problem. Their approval rationale goes, “I think he’s a turd, but by God, he’s our turd and that’s good enough for me. Let’s vote!”

The dysfunctional selection process guarantees appointees selectively bred for failure. A Presidential staff, who never met a donor they didn’t like, submits nominees with no experience beyond the brownest nose and plushest lips ever to graze a Texas backside. Congress holds their nose and approves the nominee even when the nominee can’t identify the three branches of government, much less run one. When the nominees stumble into trouble, the Bush/Cheney/Rove troika give them their full, unqualified support…while handing them a bar of pig iron as a floatation device.

With a process like this, it’s amazing the country continues to stand. Every nook and cranny of our government is chock-a-block with people having the perception of a tree stump. They are so magnificently incompetent you might refer to them as incompetent’s incompetents.

The Incompetent’s Incompetent

Alberto Gonzales is the latest one. He, or whoever pulls his strings, stupidly decided to replace Federal prosecutors in a spectacularly ham-fisted way. He could’ve said, “It’s legal, we can hire and fire at will” and shut his mouth. Instead, he started a long slide down the slippery slope of a self-made dung heap. First, he justified the firings by explaining the sacked lawyers were sub par performers – except for that one he canned because Karl’s office boy in charge of BJs needed a job. When that didn’t fly, he blamed it all on his sub-incompetent consigliari. Shockingly, they balked, resigned, and spilled the beans to a now very interested Congress. Each of their conflicting statements was another shovelful of dirt from Al’s giant excavation. The fired prosecutors charged political interference with on-going investigations and records and notes contradicting Al’s testimony fell like a blizzard. The White House was involved, and then it wasn’t. He took full responsibility even though everyone except him and screwed something up. Al was living a hyped up through the looking glass existence.

Finally Al whimpered, “Hey boss, I need some help here.” George replied, “He has my unqualified support…by the way, what was his name again?”

Dick said, “Frankly, he’s an Al Qaeda agent and should be waterboarded.”

Karl tried out the delete feature on his email and five million keystrokes later said, “Oops, my bad“.

He’s Passing Through the Earth’s Crust

Meanwhile, Gonzo kept digging. He’s miles past the Earth’s crust now and well on his way to an inevitable meeting with the hot magma of truth.

People expect Bush’s cronies to be incompetent, but they expect them to be incompetent in the Dick Cheney, shoot a guy in the face way. It takes real incompetence to rise above such a pathetic field. But Al has done it.

He’s worse than Wolfowitz. Dumber than Rummy. Less stately than Condi and more incindiaryingly ill-fitting than John Bolton.

The Amnesiac Defense

Al has diminished himself with so many misleading statements, white lies, and giant whoppers he couldn’t get Barney to follow him to a plate of Snausages. An angry mob is calling for his testicles, his own cronies have turned against him, and he’s portrayed himself alternately as a liar and nitwit incapable of doing his job. His remaining defense is as an amnesiac.

“Mr. Gonzales, state your name for the record.”

“I’m sorry Senator, but I don’t remember my name. I’m afraid I wasn’t present at that birth and never read the birth certificate in question.”

Oh, if only I could get a case of amnesia. I don’t know how much longer I can put up with the present.