Unbama

"I think I'll take one of those Bronx Cheers."


Ok, I'm confused. What exactly did Obama do to get so many of my fellow citizens so pissed at him that they elected a passel of nabobs to thwart what remains of his agenda? Two years ago, this guy was a rock star--suddenly edging out everyone's pick to clique Hillary. Today he and his party are singing "Brother Can You Spare A Dime." Or so news addicts such as myself have been led to believe.

The real story is this: The Youth Vote Didn't Show.



"How far can we go on this bus?"
(Translation for the unobservant: the man is asking how much sexual activity will be allowed on the bus.)

Let's face facts, youth is worthless. As a constituency that is. Oh, they spend a lot of money and all of the radio stations and clothing stores have to cater to them, but as a voting block, youth has a long history of just not showing up. Electorally speaking, Obama has a three sided stool for a base: liberals, minorities and young people. That really is a majority. Without the youth, however, it seems to have a sort of parity with the Republican base of Rich People, Gun Lovers and Bible Thumpers. As for the supposed unaligned, they are kind of split.

I'm kind of P-Oed. Not that I love Obama, but I think he's better than a ham sandwich. Although I am basically a Conservative, I find the current batch of Republicans worse than a ham sandwich. They are peddling air. Not even hot air. Nothing air. Go home and nuke it yourself like it was a Whopper from Burger King it's so not hot as delivered air. Whatever Obama is, he is peddling something, and I want to give him a chance and not quit two years in. But no. It's essentially all over, right?

Before I go on, I should fess up that I, like America's youth, failed to vote last Tuesday. I had a good excuse (he says). I was abruptly YANKED to go on an unplanned business trip which equally abruptly ended this noon. I have now been returned to my abode. And I am a little P-Oed about that too, but I make it a point not to really talk about my life here...even though that might be what's bugging me. Instead, I vent about pulp magazines or write stories or whatever. Also I have a bunch of neat illos from Ballyhoo that I wasn't able to fit in but which are neat to look at. So I thought I would share. That's what I do. Distract myself with things that I enjoy to avoid getting bummed about that vast mountain of thorough crapolla that Providence dictates I can do little about. (Like the possible complete implosion of an opportunity.)



"Hm--Are you broad-minded, Miss Zilch?"

I wonder what the guy in the above cartoon thinks his options and opportunities really are? The situation has certainly gotten worse, but there wasn't much he could do to improve it. At least he still has company. I find myself in much the same straights. Moreover, I find myself in the company of people in a similar situation. Our circumstances aren't what we had. There seems little hope of getting back to what we were. But things could be a whole lot worse. In this setting you ride things out and hope to be pleasantly surprised by the outcome.



There is a suspicion in the land that there's some secret over-culture that we've all dropped out of. Someone is hoarding my share of happy days. I have less, therefor someone else has more. How fair is it that Wall Street gets bailed out but we don't get free health care? To whose satisfaction are these outcomes being rigged? I could go on and on.



The illustration on this (above) does keep one guessing. Is that her husband coming in with a gun drawn or just some random intruder? It takes some perspective to even know that this is a parody of a long running ad for mens underwear. Even armed with this information, what the illustration means depends entirely upon which figure you identify with The actual ad was just as ambiguous. The entire point was just to get you to take notice of an underwear ad.



With a little work, this is an ad for the Tea Party.

There was a brand of car called Nash whose models were notorious for their gadgets. In the parody, the gag gadget is a gag. It's also fairly much what the Tea Party is about. Enough with you. Shut up. If I don't have your problems, they don't exist. If I don't hear your problems, I don't have to act on them. You and your kind--whomever you are--are an annoyance. Besides. I don't have the money for anything fancy right now. (A total stretch: actually this is an illustrated mother-in-law joke.)

I once had a long email conversation with someone named "Scanner Bitch" who worked at the National Lampoon's website. His job was to essentially post old material with some running commentary about it. All of this was being done primarily to promote the National Lampoon trademark which was being used to market a highly forget-able movie. I asked him if they were ever going to post new material or try to breath some life into the site. (In a lot of ways, he inspired me to start Hil-Gle.) His response was that his commentary alone made the material new. I suppose there was a point to that. In any case, once the movie flopped, "Scanner Bitch" went from doing radio interviews to being unemployed.



At this point the National Lampoon is about as relevant as Ballyhoo is. Reality recycles. A true portrait of what actually happens to the classes during a downturn can be found here on the January 1935 cover of Ballyhoo. In scene one, rich lady is attempting to warm her rear end on a malfunctioning radiator. In scene two, she calls down from the penthouse to the basement to find out why there isn't any heat. In scene three, or Janitor explains that he doesn't have any coal. And in scene four, the classes are again united. All hoarding schemes and denial do eventually give weigh.

After the youth failed to show, Obama's stool became overwhelmed by what is the real biggest voting block, the ultimate reality recyclers, the elderly. The elderly like divided government. They have since the end of WWII. It's our natural state. So far, it works best. Or so people who know have decided.

(Yes, I've used up all my illustrations.)

Next: Story time.