crappy hour
They are known to let dead people come back to vote for ward leader in Philadelphia, but when I arrived at my polling place of the last two elections yesterday, I found my name mysteriously removed from the rolls. My friend and South Philadelphia homeowner Ryan, meanwhile, got turned away for not being a Democrat, even though he changed his registration the
last time he realized the Green Party was lame during last year's mayoral primary. Look: the last machine still running in Pennsylvania runs its voters. Hillary was going to win that. No one on Crappy Hour ever predicted Barack was going to carry this, or even get close, or if we did it was a joke or we were too hungover to know what we were doing,
obvi. So I'm not really that mad about Barry's inability to "close the deal." I
am, however, kind of baffled by the
Abercrombie & Fitch thing. From blind gayvotion to NAFTA to centimillionaire executive pay packages to
endemic racism to bland pointless predictability Abercrombie is the
epitome of everything about the America that is not "ready" for a black Muslimy Marxist freethinking president. Were those the best white kids you could find, Axelrod? That and more minutiae with me and a very hungover
Megan after the jump.
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email from philadelphia
Today was the first time in many years that I had the objectivity to see Philadelphia as crappy. One man's objectivity is another's spoiled upbringing, so you might also say I saw my old city with the contemptuous eyes of my old classmates at Penn, the ones who complained about panhandlers and run down buildings and all the other superficial symptoms of a plague they'd been so lucky to miss. I hated those fucks. I defined myself against them. I wanted to stay purely out of spite for them, but Philadelphia had no job for me. Philadelphia had no job for anyone who wasn't a barista or a bartender or a bike messenger or somehow a member of the entrenched, and I was sick of being a barista. The beauty of Philadelphia was that it had plenty of rotting houses for those wise enough to recognize that jobs are dumb and ephemeral and overrated and that
that notion wasn't just some loser philosophy they should have left behind in art school.
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crappy hour
Readers, this campaign season we've borne witness to many things. The rebirth of the word "trollop" and Ann Coulter endorsing Hillary...Geraldine Ferrarro fell victim to racism, and now Bill Clinton telling us Obama used their
vast race card conspiracy against him too; he's got memos to prove it. We've learned about Obama's
brother in China and Hillary's
brothers from Retardville. We've watched Hillary throw back shots like a drunk sorority girl and
promise to totally obliterate Iran like a drunk frat guy. We've seen Barack Obama reference
Faulkner,
Marx and
Jay-Z like some consciousness-raising enlightened hip-hop dude who gets laid way too often for you to trust him entirely. But readers, for six weeks we have been stuck in this state, a state so authentically lowbrow it gets away with calling its homeless shelters
overnight cafes, and somehow we have yet to see a presidential candidate eat a fucking cheesesteak. So
Megan and I are off to do that now (oh, yum) and vote, but not before gracing you with this morning's riveting IM exchange.
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crappy hour
Megan and I are convening in Murderdelphia tonight for tomorrow's Pennsylvania primary! This morning a seven-alarm fire reminded everyone once more there used to be an economy there. Now there are too many vacant buildings and not enough crackheads to fill them. Five murders happened over the weekend in Philly. Chelsea Clinton submitted her ass to a
fag hag gang grope. Michael Moore endorsed Barack Obama. The railroad industry made a comeback. The Pope made some speeches. Jeremiah Wright is going on TV. Some Republican told other Republicans to forget Reagan. Jimmy Carter won't make it so easy on you! Obama said he thought John McCain would be better than Bush. (Maybe because the Walnuts'
stubborn refusal to wear a flag pin dovetails with his own 1960s radicalism?) And number one Jezecrush Thomas Frank got a
weekly column in the Wall Street Journal. "The landmark political fact of our time is the replacement of our middle-class republic by a plutocracy," he wrote. "If some candidate has a scheme to reverse this trend, they've got my vote, whether they prefer Courvoisier or beer bongs spiked with cough syrup." There's a thought to drank to! His new book is called
The Wrecking Crew.
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crappy hour
You knew the universe was absurd. But did you know Hillary was in the White House the whole time Monica was
blowing Bill? (Well, by now, probably!) Or...that the appropriate response to a cartoon defiling your favorite prophet as a bloodthirsty murderer is to plot to murder the cartoonist? That linking Mohammed to violence in a cartoon is even more worthy of violence than linking him to a Teddy Bear? (Some opiate, that religion.) Osama Bin Laden has something to say about all this, and that something is:
Fuck the Pope. And, oh yeah, by the way, it's the fifth anniversary of that war everyone (and the Pope!) has been ragging on to boost his poll numbers lately, but Bin Laden doesn't mention that, or the fact that a philandering sex-addicted governor who billed his sexytime to taxpayers was just replaced by a
philandering sex addict governor who billed his sexytime to campaign contributors, only this time he'd blind. So you know, the Bin Laden message probably isn't new, although, honestly, I don't know and neither does
Glamocracy's Megan Carpentier, so instead we mainly discuss whether we'd buy the Eliot Spitzer
Playgirl after the jump.
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Jezebel
