Tag Archives: lies

Shitler’s Apologist-in-Chief

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Shitler’s Apologist-in-Chief

In 2009, when President Obama’s approval poll numbers were high, Kellyanne C. wrote an article for humanevents.com which dismissed approval polls. She said such polls were nothing more than a polite nod of the head. She said they didn’t mean much.

Kellyann C. in 2009: President Obama’s “adulation abroad and a perception of charm and charisma at home is not a mandate for the type of sweeping transformations to the domestic economy and foreign policy currently on the table. After all, Candidate Obama ran on ‘change we can believe in,’ not ‘revolution you must pay for.’”

And this morning, in 2017, on CNN? She utterly dismissed Shitler’s current critics because, “frankly, their approval ratings are half of his.”

Apparently, approval polls are either informative or meaningless depending on who’s writing Kellyanne C.’s paychecks. She is the calmest liar I have ever seen. She must load up on benzos before each interview. She can barely keep her eyes open.

If President Obama had no “mandate” for “sweeping transformations,” what, then, does Shitler have?

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She Hates Numbers

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Opening editorial message for Truth, the magazine, 1st draft

illustration truth the magazine opening editorial statement

Opening editorial message for Truth, the magazine, 1st draft:

First off, my name is not really Kimberly Townsend Palmer. It is, or rather, should be, Kimberly Townsend Pomikala. Pomikala is a Bohemian name, which my father was born with but which was changed by his family not too long after he started school in Arcadia, California. It was changed because one fine, sunny day he came home in tears after being called a “dirty Bohunk” by the other children. It was 1943, and the world, and finally the United States, had long been at war. The biggest battles were not being fought on battlefields but being fought inside the human heart. Many families lost their entire physical existence, multiple generations snuffed out in less time than it takes to inhale, exhale — mine lost only its identity. A small price to pay for being safe in southern California, in a town named for the residence of the Greek gods. So my father grew up as a camouflaged ethnic. The name was changed, but the inside could not be changed. He never felt at home anywhere he went. He might well have been a war refugee of a metaphysical battle — a battle, the fundamental struggle humanity has been waging since its inception, the inexorable war between truth and ignorance. Factual accuracy is not always the truth — truth goes to the essence of a thing. Not the surface, but what is deep within.

The story is told how Eve caused the fall of humanity from the garden of Eden by eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. What is the remedy for this? What is the essential nugget of truth we may take away from that crucial moment? My answer is: there is no absolute good, there is no absolute evil — there is but truth and ignorance. Eating the apple and gaining the surface knowledge of good and evil was a trap humanity fell into, a trap we have been struggling to release ourselves from ever since. Love exists. Hate exists. Both can serve the truth. Both can serve ignorance. We must harness ourselves to the wagon of truth and pull our heavy burden to wherever the driver leads us. The driver is God, the driver is love, the driver is peace, serenity and acceptance of the way things are on this planet. Many things we label good and many things we label evil are in fact neither. They are simply in the service of truth or in the service of ignorance. Satan, in the guise of the serpent, led Eve and Adam into a terrible, incomprehensible trap and God is now and has always been guiding humanity out of that trap. The reason God forbade eating of that fruit was it was not yet the right time for humanity to have that knowledge.

Plainly put, we are not yet advanced enough to receive the knowledge of good and evil. God is the only entity qualified to eat of that tree. We have taken a small, superficial bite of knowledge and used our imperfect bodies, minds and hearts to inflict merciless cruelty and oppression on others. Our biggest enemy is pride — believing we, as fragile, physical and temporal beings, can ever know enough to accurately judge another’s worth before God. How dare judges and juries impose the death penalty! It is not our role to take life, which is bestowed by God. It is our role to live it and seek the truth and banish ignorance. We are entitled to keep ourselves safe, we can ensure our physical and emotional safety from injustice and repression — but we cannot ever presume to know the will of God.

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president barack obama is being quoted out of context by the radical fringe right, and I’M SICK & FUCKING TIRED OF THIS SHIT

illustration president obama

the full text of president obama’s speech in which he advocates FOR democracy, not AGAINST it. a paragraph is being circulated, ENTIRELY OUT OF CONTEXT, to defame him. I WON’T STAND FOR THIS SHIT.

“And it was here in Europe, through centuries of struggle, through war and enlightenment, repression and revolution, that a particular set of ideals began to emerge, the belief that through conscience and free will, each of us has the right to live as we choose, the belief that power is derived from the consent of the governed and that laws and institutions should be established to protect that understanding.

And those ideas eventually inspired a band of colonialists across an ocean, and they wrote them into the founding documents that still guide America today, including the simple truth that all men, and women, are created equal.

But those ideals have also been tested, here in Europe and around the world. Those ideals have often been threatened by an older, more traditional view of power. This alternative vision argues that ordinary men and women are too small-minded to govern their own affairs, that order and progress can only come when individuals surrender their rights to an all-powerful sovereign. Often this alternative vision roots itself in the notion that by virtue of race or faith or ethnicity, some are inherently superior to others and that individual identity must be defined by us versus them, or that national greatness must flow not by what people stand for, but what they are against.

In so many ways, the history of Europe in the 20th century represented the ongoing clash of these two sets of ideas, both within nations and among nations. The advance of industry and technology outpaced our ability to resolve our differences peacefully. And even — even among the most civilized of societies on the surface, we saw a descent into barbarism.”

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Soon After My College Graduation, a novel fragment

illustration soon after my college graduation

Soon After My College Graduation, a novel fragment

Soon after my college graduation, I became engaged to Harold.  I’d known him since freshman year; we had dated casually until my senior year, when he watched me perform with the modern dance ensemble and fell in love with the way I moved across the stage in my clingy leotard and filmy skirts.  Everyone in the family adored him.  My father, who never learned to drive a car himself, let Frank drive our very first car home from the dealer.  Though I was happy about the engagement, I wasn’t in a rush to marry.  I wanted to work for a few years, get a taste of the world before settling down at home with a brood.  My parents were skeptical, but they didn’t make a fuss.  They knew I wanted a big family, at least six.

Harold was very good-looking:  strong chin, auburn hair, lean and athletic torso.  We were engaged, so it was the usual custom to sleep together.  His touch was delicate, his hands smooth and lovely.  It was a peaceful, dreamy experience, being with him.  He gave me a pear-shaped blue diamond set in platinum — I wore it and real silk stockings to the office every day.  My family was just middle class, but people thought I was rich.  Nobody knew my father got the stockings free as part of his job at the patent office.  In those days my hair was dark brown, cut in a short pageboy, draped gracefully over my forehead and curled at the ends.  I looked good in simple tailored skirts; my legs were long and well-formed from all that dancing.  Of course the stockings were a plus!

It was about a year into the engagement to Harold that I happened to work with the same young lawyer on several complicated adoptions, right in a row — Robert was Italian, short and bald, and his suits were nicely cut though threadbare.  Something about the confidence in his fluid voice grabbed my attention; one evening after work we met for a drink.  He wasn’t classically handsome, but he had bright, lively features and a charming way with funny stories.  That night, over a pitcher of Rob Roys, he confided to me that he was leaving the Department after the first of the year.  He had an office and secretary all lined up, and could hardly wait to get into practice on his own.  We ordered another pitcher of drinks to celebrate his daring move.

I suppose my big mistake was letting him take me out to dinner, too.  I was drunk:  not so drunk I didn’t know what was happening, just so drunk that I didn’t much care.  Robert touched my cheek, tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, then closed his eyes and sighed.  I was all over him in a second — he kept saying, are you sure, are you sure?  As I unzipped his trousers, he asked, what about Harold?  I said, I don’t owe him anything.  What I had then with Robert was neither peaceful nor dreamy, but a jolt of electricity that kept my nerves humming for hours.  Afterward, I held my breath for ten days, then kept right on holding it when my “friend” never showed up.  I started having trouble sleeping.  I was all mixed up.  There was no one I could talk to.

See, if I married Robert and the kid looked WASP, no big problem.  But if I married Harold and the kid came out looking Italian, what then?  I went with the easiest lie.  Does this seem terribly evil?  I had no real alternative at the time.  Now, I suppose I’d have an abortion and be done with it.  It’s true that I felt a little less awful as time passed and Robert and I had three more children who resembled their father, but I was never entirely certain about Robert Junior’s pedigree — depending on the time of day and the season he had the look about him of both men.

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in defense of lawyers, a prose poem

illustration defense of lawyers quote anton-chekhov

quote:  anton chekhov

 

In Defense of Lawyers

Inevitably, a person’s defense of an idea becomes most impassioned just before they cease to believe in it altogether. Passion comes to open the way for the loss of innocence: the world we once loved is lost. What does this say about the plight of lawyers? They shoulder the breach of your dreams for simple cash and nothing more. Everybody sympathizes with garbage men: well, somebody’s got to do it. Lawyers handle the garbage of the soul.

I myself had clients I believed in — false teeth and all, I took them to my heart; well, somebody’s got to do it. I wasn’t unusual in this regard; it’s a phase all of us go through. Granted, most people don’t understand our system of laws. We’re born into this web of relationships, whether we like it or not. No way to opt out, though I always kept one eye open in hopes of that promised loophole, wanting to wriggle away from society’s tight grip like a stray dog out of a stiff new collar. Nobody, not even a liar, wants to live in a cage; we all went to law school to figure out how to open the cage doors. What we found is that there is no way out, not ever. For all of us, the only sure finish is bankruptcy, or death.

Yet, there came the day I wanted only to crawl under my desk and stay there. My client had informed me he would lie to the judge. All the rules about keeping quiet were no comfort. I could no more allow him to lie than I could rip out my own intestines. I wept, in the ladies’ room, wanting to die of a broken heart and have it over that way. My client lost, no fault of mine. I’m sorry, I told him. He spit in my face, coming close, pointing his weathered index finger like a weapon. You being sorry doesn’t help me, he yelled. I feared he would strike me. That day was my last hearing ever. Everyone blames their lawyer for what happens later — no one talks about the price lawyers have paid, in dreams.

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