The Story of Me

If you want to know the truth about a person, you just ask them. That’s especially true with politicians, who are renowned for honest and objective self-assessments. So if I were running for the Governor of Georgia, I would almost certainly lose. But with significantly more melanin, estrogen, and steatopygia, along with a moderate brain injury, I could at least secure the Democratic nomination. And that would mean a comically fawning interview with a formerly dignified periodical.

The link above is to one of the most embarrassing hagiographies the media has debased itself to print in the last 24 hours. Daily being the normal cadence of pieces featuring Africans of modest intellectual endowment proffering their Deep Thoughts for liberal genuflection. In this case the subject is Stacey Abrams, who is seeking to become the country’s first black lesbian governor. She is aided in this endeavor by a customarily complicit media, a state undergoing rapid foreign colonization, and a ruthless pursuit of discount buffets.

The campaign literature cum politics article begins by describing Mt. Abrams’ standard stump speech. You will fall prone from disbelief to hear that her remarks commence with dat raysis. Specifically in regard to her father, who was “relegated” to a life of menial labor, not by virtue of his own modest facilities, but by the malice of those few whites whose guilt she hopes to cultivate into votes.

The author, a woman whose face must envy the allure of a shovel, amusingly describes the formidable charisma of her gal while simultaneously acknowledging that demographic change is the sole impetus of her candidacy. Why bother convincing us how delightful she is if diversity would just as well elect a can of tuna? The election has nothing to do with the candidates, it is simply a racial referendum. Though “journalists” aren’t paid to clarify their own premises, but to cover them. And Stacey takes a big cover indeed.

So after the requisite invocation of white racism and hetero male malevolence, we begin receiving reports on Miss Abrams’ remarkable battery of aptitudes—from Miss Abrams.

Abrams used her legal experience to pore over the text of proposals. Early in her tenure, when a Republican legislator was struggling to explain the details of his own bill, she passed him a helpful note, and then another, and another. Finally he sat down next to her and let her explain it for him, she recalls.

Haha. It reminds of the occasion Time magazine interviewed me for its annual “All-Stars of Hate” issue. It was quite lavish praise, I’m almost embarrassed to admit.

Porter used his astrophysics expertise to pore over Stephen Hawking’s papers. When Hawking struggled to explain the details of his own theories, he passed him a helpful note, then another, and finally one more before chiding the handicapped Brit that he was going to “hang him on a hat rack” if one more goddamned equation wasn’t correct, Porter recalls.

So what happened next, Stace?

After that, Republicans would bring me their bills and ask me to look at them.

You almost wonder how the author brings herself to print such idiotic oatmeal. But then as a pseudonymous blogger I have a far greater reputation to uphold than whatever “Time Magazine” supposedly represents.

But this chunky imp wasn’t finished alleging to have taught white dullards how to count their toes.

In 2011, as one of the Democrats appointed to a commission to study the state’s tax system, she argued that the Republican proposal to cut income taxes while raising a sales tax on cable service would increase the amount most people paid. When the committee ignored her, she asked the chair for an electronic copy of the fiscal model used to construct the bill. “He said yes, because he did not know what that was,” she tells me with a grin.

And later she built a calculator from a coconut shell, she said still grinning.

Though that’s probably where the grinning comes to a rest, for both of us. Because this sapphic fantasist understands the only concept that’s important: numbers. And in grudging acknowledgement of her insight, that’s more than conservatives have historically grasped. Says her bizarrely named spokes-beverage Lauren Groh-Wargo, “Communities of color plus progressive-leaning whites are a majority of the population.”

So if the coalition that wants to grind your family into feed meal is unctuous white progs attaching themselves as a barnacle to the ship of POC, then perhaps we should persistently contemplate the size of that ship. Maybe it isn’t actually prudent to be the only race-blind man in a room that communicates by color. But who the hell am I kidding? There’s still succulent preening left to be sucked out of that straw.

And that means democrats will continue to field more and more ridiculous candidates, as the “tide of color” washes aside any need for quality control. In fact, quality will trend toward being counter-productive to their appeal. You think Maxine Waters would be more popular with her constituents if she were less dumb? Regardless, I often muse that societal dysgenics manifests first in politics. If so, there’s a monotony of imbeciles preparing to rule.

Clop, clop, clop
He felt a foul leering over his shoulder and tensed to take flight.

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