For our foreign readers, “grab some bench” is an American sports idiom which, roughly translated, sometimes means “you’ve done all you can, sit down and let us take it from here.” As in so many other things, (“bless his heart” springs to mind) tone and context are key, so “Sit your sorry butt down you’re making a fool of yourself and you’re making the rest of us look bad,” is actually a more common reading.

Example:

In Ala-damn-bama, where erstwhile Chief Justice Roy Moore sits astride the judicial bench, an ethics panel has told him to leave that real bench and grab some metaphorical kind.  The Alabama Judicial Inquiry Commission  filed abuse of power charges stemming – as they always do – from Judge Roy Moore acting not like the Chief Justice of  the Alabama Supreme Court, but rather the Chief Justiciar of the Lord Almighty (who, in Judge Roy’s head, may actually be the same Himself).   Until the matter is resolved, Roy Moore is suspended from the Alabama Supreme Court… again!

Huzzah!

All this stems from the shenanigans Judge Roy pulled after SCOTUS ruled in favor of gay marriage last year.  When we last discussed Roy’s jurisprudery, SCOTUS had slapped him upside the headfake he had made towards contrition, but still wouldn’t allow marriage certificates to be issued.

Strike one was when he was de-Justiced in 2003 for being Cecil B DeMille.  Strike two was the SCOTUS smackdown.  This, if there is ANY justice in Alabama, should be his third and last strike and he can permanently grab some non-judicial bench.  He should be out of the judging business for good; so now he can sit by the phone all day, waiting for Trump to appoint him to the Supreme Court.

Bless his heart.

You’ve heard me speak before of the con job that is politics. We politicos prey on your weaknesses and, as sharp as any street magic hustler, we show you what you expect to see, tell you what you want to hear, and separate you from your money, from your vote, and from the inherent power you have in a democracy.

A consistent version of the politi-con has been the ANGRY VOTER. The Angry Voter is the Hulked out version of David Banner, Real American.  They’ve been around forever, but they got rebranded and packaged as Nixon’s Silent Majority, Real Americans who did real American things, unlike not real Americans who protest and/or want free stuff and/or come from someplace else and/or aren’t white and/or don’t know their place.  They’ve always been angry, but at least back then they were mercifully Silent.

So, here we are today: Voter ANGRY! Voter SMASH!

Voter HATE puny insiders and elites.

The essence of a great con is that the mark will TELL you what he wants to hear. All you have to do is wave your arm and tell people they are not alone in their anger, that their anger is justified, sanctified, and shared by you, their Great White Hope.

That anger, while real, is actually unjustified and misdirected. But the con man will not tell you that.  He will tell you that the world works EXACTLY the way you think the world works.  “Yes, we CAN build a wall.”

Over and over we’ve talked about how the Republicans are ignoring reality to feed into and enforce that anger. The authoritarian mindset that waters the base of GOP politics like a malignant underground spring dictates that words like “disgusting,” topics like bathrooms, and images like two men kissing elicit visceral reactions of revulsion.

The authoritarian looks for a daddy figure to simplify life, remove uncertainty, and de-stress human-to-human contact, so that nothing can impede their cocooned serenity.  In spiritual matters, God and the preacher fulfill that daddy role.  In law enforcement, it’s the sheriff.  At home, it’s actually daddy.   And in politics, it’s a combination of all of the above, because in the authoritarian, all that stuff is hard-wired together, you can’t separate the two because the pluralism that informs our political discourse is actually the source of their anxiety.  Right wingers frack into those short-circuited brains, pump in a toxic cocktail of BS and righteousness, and pump out energy, while methane exits through the mouth.

Enter Donald Trump, descending his golden escalator.   Unlike every other politician who had to work within the system, and whose con was in support of political goals within a broader –albeit fungible – ideology, Trump’s WHOLE LIFE is about the con.  He HAS no ideology, beyond whatever makes the con work.

“He says what I’m thinking,” how many times have we heard that? Of COURSE he does.  He says whatever he thinks you’re thinking, whether or not it dovetails with what the guy 5 minutes ago was thinking or what he may have said 10 years ago on the topic.  Or with what he said 5 minutes ago.  He contradicts himself in his own speeches, he flips and flops left and right.

We saw some of this with Romney  because he was also very much a situational flip flopper, but when you come right down to it, anyone reading this column could probably sit down and come up with a fairly consistent description of what Rmormoney really thinks. “Rmormoney” pretty much sums it up.

Not so with sui generis Trump, whose very existence in the national consciousness has been built on a set of cons. I think there is one thought in his head, crowding out all the others: “I Am AWESOME!”   That’s his whole philosophy.  Everything else is patter for the benefit of the mark.  Holding reasonable, coherent, cohesive positions is a lot of work, and takes up a lot of brain.  There’s no room inside Trump for that, or self doubt.  That is by design, because really, a smidgeon of true self-reflection would be fatal to this narcissist.

So Donald Trump won the Republican nomination because, in a Party whose whole existence depends on the Angry Voter con, a professional finally showed them how it’s really run.

The Winky Watchers in North Carolina have been facing increasing pressure to back off on their HB 2 which limits bathroom use to the stalls assigned to the gender assigned to you at birth.   For weeks now, various artists, like Springsteen and Pearl Jam, have boycotted the state, disappointing thousands of fans most of whom, I imagine, understand the reasoning, but how many more 3.5 hour concerts does Bruce have in him anymore?

Hundreds, I hope.  Thousands.

 Knows far too much about bathroom trolls. 

Along with paypal and porn, many cities and states have been threatening to boycott the state as well.  Austin just started considering the question to boycott both NC and Mississippi.  Minnesota banned non-essential state travel to NC and has now said they will send no state college teams there.  My own Ohio is considering a similar measure, incongruously right alongside another right wing nutjob bathroom bill.  OH Rep John Becker is uncomfortably knowledgeable about the habits of public bathroom predators.

The Federal Gubmint has now dipped its oar in the water, threatening federal education funds to the state because the new law violates the Civil Rights Act of 1964, not to mention common sense, common courtesy and common decency.

“We won’t be answering,” said the Right Wing Speaker.

“Oh yes we will,” said the Nut Job Governor.

Derp.

It’s time to play everybody’s favorite game show, Good Guy With a Gun, starring ME, Tio Primo. Let’s go to our first round:

You come upon a couple fighting, and the man fires a gun twice into the ground, wounding his wife’s ankle, and then gets in his truck to leave. You are an ex-Marine who owns a crossfit gym named for a kill zone, “Crossfit Abattoir” (catchy!). Contestant 1: What do you do?

“Well, Tio Primo, I’d try to note his license plate, and call 911.”

Interesting, but moronic. Contestant 2, what would you do?

“Tio, I’d call 911 AND assist the woman writhing in pain grabbing her bleeding ankle.”

I’m sorry, you’re BOTH morons! The name of the game is “Good Guy With a Gun,” and neither of you used “gun” in your answer.

The correct answer is: “Step over the bleeding woman, go to your good guy car, get your good guy gun, stop the armed assailant from fleeing/de-escalating the situation, then have him exit the vehicle, slap the gun from your good guy hand, and shoot you in your good guy head, to death, while someone weaker calls 911, for a meat wagon to scrape up your dead good guy ass.”

THAT’S a winner!

I swear, people, if you’ve heard me say it once, you’ve heard me say it 357 times: people who buy guns “for protection” just CANNOT WAIT to use them on somebody, especially someone with different melanin levels. I have trouble feeling sorry for either of them, and I’m glad they both won’t ever be packing again.

Update: fixed link – soooorry!

Ah, today calls to mind fond memories of my childhood, when the entire Hachecristo clan would gather around the Cinco de Mayo arbusto, decorated with exactly 5 ornaments made of mayonnaise jar lids.

My cousin, Jesus Hachecristo, and I would hang around under the table while the adults drank homemade pulque and Dos Equis or Bohemia beer, picking up fallen cards or poker chips and sneaking them to favored uncles in exchange for a sip of beer, which we sometimes kept the whole bottle of.

Then everyone would go outside and the blindfolded children – and some drunk uncles – would take wobbly whacks at piñatas of Napoleon III or Maximilian I, singing patriotic Mexican songs and Mayo carols, until someone got bored and shot the piñata, shattering the clay inside and showering the ground with coins and candy.

No, not really.

Cinco de Mayo actually celebrates Mexico winning the battle of Puebla in the 1860s over the French Army, which had not lost a battle since Napoleon. Unfortunately, they lost the war, so not many people in Mexico actually celebrate it.

The US had been imperializing at Mexico’s expense for some time (remember the Alamo?) and the Mexican-American War in the 1840s had left Mexico with a huge debt. Luckily, gold was discovered in California. Unluckily, California was now part of the US. Eventually, Mexico stopped paying its debts to Spain, Britain and France, so those three Great Powers sailed up to Veracruz and called their notes due.

Bill Collectors at the Gates!

Britain and Spain were persuaded to leave, but France had more than late fees on their mind. They invaded and, despite the short blip at Puebla where 4000 Mexicans defeated 8000 French, they did manage to win the war, and the French Emperor, Napoleon III, installed a Mexican Emperor, Maximilian I, as the head of a client state in America.

Napoleon III

They only reason they were able to get away with this was that the Monroe Doctrine, while strongly supported by the US, was  unfortunately unenforceable during a little internecine dust-up called the Civil War. Lincoln didn’t want to annoy France at the time, so Maximilian’s reign lasted just long enough for us to get our shtuff together, and support the Mexicans in driving him out a few years later.

Maximilian I at his Coronation

Meanwhile, back at Sutter’s Mill…

During the French conquest, news of the remarkable victory at Puebla had reached formerly Mexican citizens in the gold fields, who fired guns into the air, gave speeches, sang songs and got drunk, all in celebration of the Glorious Fifth of May. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that some Forty-niner Paul Harvey let them know the REST of the story.   Nevertheless, Cinco de Mayo remained an important cultural holiday among California Chicanos and, eventually, became Mexican St Patrick’s Day for the rest of America.

Happy Cinco de Mayo

In Mexico, it’s only really noted around Puebla, and in the board rooms of certain breweries.

But, anyway, Feliz Cinco de Mayo from la familia Hachecristo. May your Fifths be Merry and bright. And may all your mayonnaise be white.

Hey!  A rare Kasich sighting in C-bus!  It’s to make a big announcement.  Lucky for us, we’d forgotten what our Governor looks like.  Not much luck left there for either him or us.

My guess is, he’s NOT going to select Carly Fiorina as his running mate.

Johnny, we hardly knew ye!  Perhaps that’s why you lost.  Or maybe that’s why you got this far at all!  Either way, from here on out for the GOP, it’s Trump all the way down.

UPDATE:

He’s been talking for a half-hour and he still hasn’t actually quit.  And, slipstream, I’ve forgotten his name just since he started talking. 😉

Good ol’ Whatsisname!