CommunityFDL Main Blog

I Don’t Think We’re In Kansas Anymore. . .

So, here’s the thing:  these people are crazy.

These liberals think they can make a difference in national politics.

They think they have values that matter, that they can go home after a conference ready to take back their communities and their country, one person, one neighbor at a time.  Totally loony.

They think the Constitution applies to all presidents, even ones with "W" as a middle initial.  I came here to get laid, and here they are talking about building a movement.  Note to liberals:  a movement is what you have after a full meal.

Just check out this video of these people. 

Dan Froomkin is tall.  Adam Nagourney. . . isn’t.  Little Aristotle Moulitsas didn’t seem to dig his dad’s keynote too much, though maybe it was the mention of Joe Lieberman that made him scream like that kid from The Omen in a church.  Little Ari looks just like Markos, only blond. . . and maybe he looks older.  Emptywheel is so smart, I bet she’s forgotten more stuff in her life than I will ever know.  Joe Wilson and Larry Johnson like cigars.  Byron York needs a gay hairdresser, like, now.  Lots of good stuff in the panels this morning about the "clean election system."  I need to get more informed on that stuff, but it’s something to write about in the future.  I have yet to see anyone wearing pajamas, and in many cases, I suppose that’s a good thing.  Some other people need to flash some skin:  this is Vegas, baby!

I haven’t really seen much non-Ykos news today. Glenn Greenwald has a good post up about Arlen Specter trying to make the president’s crimes retroactively legal.  What do you see happening in the news today?

(PS:  Their values do matter, they can make a difference, and honey, I swear, I did not come here to get laid.  It was a joke, fer cryin’ out loud!) 

Previous post

Greetings from Yearly Kos

Next post

Vegas, Baby



Pachacutec did not, as is commonly believed, die in 1471. To escape the tragic sight of his successors screwing up the Inca Empire he’d built, he fled east into the Amazon rain forest, where he began chewing lots of funky roots to get higher than Hunter Thompson ever dared. Oddly, these roots gave him not only a killer buzz, but also prolonged his life beyond what any other mortal has known, excluding Novakula. Whatever his doubts of the utility of living long enough to see old friends pop up in museums as mummies, or witness the bizarrely compelling spectacle of Katherine Harris, he’s learned a thing or two along the way. For one thing, he’s learned the importance of not letting morons run a country, having watched the Inca Empire suffer many civil wars requiring the eventual ruler to gain support from the priests and the national military. He now works during fleeting sober moments to build a vibrant progressive movement sufficiently strong and sustainable to drive a pointed stake through the heart of American “conservatism” forever. He enjoys a gay marriage, classic jazz and roots for the New York Mets.