Author Archives: ReallyBadWrighter

Bloodhound Mike Goes National




Alone in Indi Ana’s bathroom, Mike looked with delight at the blood that dare not speak its name. He lowered his nose to sniff.

Indi opened the bathroom door. Catching him in the act AGAIN, she scowled. “I told you, I don’t like you nosing around in my trashcan!”

Mike jabbed his finger at her. “Darn it, Indi. I can’t hide what I feel! What I NEED! Not anymore!”

Indi gazed into Mike’s soft brown hound-dog eyes. Tears bulged on his lacrimal caruncles. “How long have you been paddling the red river?” she asked softly.

“Oh Indi,” gushed Mike. “I’ve been doing it so long, I don’t remember how long. I am so ashamed. I feel so alone.”

Indi’s mood swung like a wrecking ball. Her eyes lit up like fire. “Stop whimpering, Mike. You’re Governor! If you wanted, you could OWN the red river!”

The next morning, the Governor pounded his fist on his desk. “Gosh darn it!  Indi is right!”  He called in his most trusted flunkie, a man with a Pornhub addiction and a bumper sticker on his car that said “I LOVE MY WIFE.”

“Find a way to get me into the tampon tunnel. Legally,” ordered Mike.

“Yes sir!”

And so it was that Mike turned the secret shame of menophilia into a deep and probing official interest in women’s…health.

The backlash was fierce but Mike expected that from the godless liberals. What he did not expect was a twitter account by a rabble-rousing Indiana hussie called #PeriodsforPence. As he read the tweets, he began to see red; then his knees went weak and wobbly. “How can I get this AWESOME site to go national?” he wondered.

Suddenly, a smile flashed across his face. Dialing Trump’s cell phone, he silently pleaded, Please answer. Please answer. Please answer.

Trump answered on the fourth ring, “What can I do for you, Mike?”

THANK GAWD!!!!! thought Mike.

“Donald! How are you?”

“I’ve got a real hottie coming to give me an in-room massage.  I gotta tell you, Mike, she looks a little like your daughter but with way bigger ….”

“That’s super, Donald. The reason I called …. Um, you know that VP position I turned down a few months ago?”

The rest, my friends, is history.

TP: #TrumpforTampons #PeriodsforPence  The hounds paddle out into the bay and head for the vast red sea.





Where is Southpaw?

Oh where oh where has my little dog gone?


With any luck, folks, he will be back in form after mid-July.  He broke his writing arm!

The Twelve Days of Lovemas: Ziauddin Yousafzai

by kj


A lot has been written about Malala Yousafzi, the remarkable Pakastani teenager who was the subject of a 2009 New York Times documentary and was shot in the head by Taliban fighters on October 9, 2012, for her criticism of the Taliban’s ban on girls’ education. Not a lot has been written about her father, Ziauddin Yousafzai.

Ziauddin is not a saint. There are no saints in this world–just notable fighters and peace-makers. As an advocate for girls in Taliban territory, he is both.  I have not been able to find anything that explains the genesis of Ziauddin’s interest in the education of females–perhaps because journalists have not found the story to be of interest. Looking at the timeline of his life, one can see that he opened a private girls school in the Swat Valley, about 100 miles from Islamabad, shortly before the birth of Malala. Ziauddin states that when he saw his newborn daughter, he looked into her eyes and knew she was very very special. And indeed she is, no doubt in large part because of the dedication of her father to the development of her mind.

Some might argue that Ziauddin is a pushy father–at least by our standards.  But our standards–including the idea that individuals should be able to choose their own career path–take a great deal for granted.  When his daughter declared that she wanted to become a doctor, Ziauddin countered that she must grow up to be a politician. The reason, he said, is that Pakistan needs politicians who will make it possible for all girls to become doctors.

Ziauddin has paid dearly for his and his daughter’s advocacy. Malala was nearly murdered and remains in a Birmingham hospital where she is fighting infection and receiving rehabilitation.  He and the rest of his family have received death threats. But he insists he will not give up. “The Taliban cannot stop all independent voices through the force of bullets,” he says.

Ziauddin now has a powerful ally in his mission to educate girls: UNESCO and former British Prime Minister Gordon Brown who is the U.N. Special envoy for Global Education. Brown says that the United Nations is more determined than ever that every child (including 32 million primary-school-aged girls who have no access to schools) will be enrolled in school by 2015. Brown also indicated that Ziauddin–who has grass-roots expertise–will be named a U.N. special advisor for global education to help accomplish the goal.

So my wonderful readers, enjoy Southpaw’s delicious Hatemas posts.  Then top them with a small dollop of hope. Hate and love. Fighters and peacemakers. This Christmas we celebrate both.

The Twelve Days of Lovemas

by kj

It’s important to hate injustice, hypocrisy, power-lust, and all the other malfunctions that grind the human soul. Make no mistake, the Hatemas celebrities turn the crank on the meat grinder, the process through which we are broken down and extruded in malleable, homogenized clumps–made ready for digestion and disposal. But there are in our midst, prophets who do not grind easily, and to the consternation of the powerful, are indigestible.

I do not hold religious beliefs about Jesus. But I love his radically non-conformist mind and I know he was authentic because he was murdered. The same holds true for Ghandi…and for Martin Luther King. The Christians did a terrible, thing with the Jesus I admire. They built a church in which men wield power by creating a terrifying orthodoxy about a “savior.” And in a fearfully ironic twist, Jesus, who was heroic in his non-conformity, was smelted and recast as a blade…and for nearly two thousand years has been used by the crank turners to tenderize the docile and obliterate the defiant.

If Christmas were true to Jesus–to Jesus the murdered subversive–what would it be like? The one thing I know is that it would be counter-cultural…which means Christmas would of necessity be at war with itself.  Another thing I suspect is that it would be a celebration of love–love at its most subversive–which means that it would be a oriented towards a dangerous, defiant, liberating idea. It would not have be a Toys for Tots feel to it, as fine as that feel may be. No, I have an inkling it would have more of a flavor of how can we radically challenge the way we think in order to be true to the best of what we imagine we were meant to be. 

So, for the Twelve Days of Lovemas, I propose fleshing out this inkling–or perhaps even smashing it. Any ideas among our blessedly subversive readers?

Southern Strategy Commits Suicide; Republicans Lay Body to Rest

by gordita

Today marks the one-week anniversary of the date when Southern Strategy committed suicide by jumping to his death in front of an anxious and transfixed world-wide television audience. Today conservatives came together to decide what to do with the rotting, festering, bloated, putrid corpse.

rotting, festering, bloated

…and putrid

Laura Ingraham:  The Republican Party needs to modernize and show that it is viscerally in touch with white working class men who can no longer afford burials.  What better way to hook up with that demographic than to cremate  Southern Strategy?”

Burn baby, burn

Pat Robertson: “Cremation certainly isn’t biblical. In the Old Testament, none of the biblical patriarchs – Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, or David – were cremated. I think we should bury Southern Strategy in a nice little rock tomb (and hope and pray that it will be raptured like the rest of us good Christians).”

Karl Rove: “Wait! Do you feel what I feel? That’s a pulse! Praise Jesus! Southern Strategy is risen!”

Megyn Kelly: “Are you sure you’re not using a Republican method of pulse-checking that you use to make yourself feel better?”

Oops. Pretend I didn’t just say that.

Bill Kristol: “F*ck you Rove. We will never win another election until we Republicans stop living in a fantasy land. Southern Strategy is all smashed up. He is turning green and starting to ooze. It’s time to dispose of the corpse and find a new best friend.”

John Boehner: “In the House, we already have a new best friend. His name is Gerry.”

Michele Bachmann: Hahahahahahahaha!

George Will: “People, we have at least another year to talk about our new BFF. Right now we have a massive pile of stink that we need to dispose of. We have one person voting for cremation, another voting for burial in a rock tomb. Any other suggestions?”

Paul Broun: “I dunno. Being a science guy who believes the earth is 9000 years old, I think I’d like to see a donation of Southern Strategy’s remains to my old medical school (where I did not learn a single f*cking thing).”

Or we could give the remains to my taxidermist

Paul Ryan: “Donation? What are you? Some kind of commie?”

Donald Trump: “Yeah, f*ck donating. We can take the remains through probate and sell them.”

Ann Coulter: “Damn!  Think what the Bodies Exhibition would pay for a Caucasian!”

Bill Kristol: “Gentlemen, Southern Strategy has been the salvation of the Republican Party for over 40 years.  You’re all Christian and I am a shameless panderer to Christians I loathe and despise. So I say we should do what you people have historically done when your savior dies.

Mike Huckabee: “You mean, EAT Southern Strategy?  All of us together?  Including Catholics and (gulp) Jews?”

George Will: “F*ck that. It would look like we were all eating crow.”

A man who has not and never will eat crow…or, to the deep chagrin of the ladies, something else

Sarah Palin: “Aww, come on everybody! There isn’t a person here who wants to get rid of Southern Strategy. I vote we prop the old poopyhead up the in a chair and carry on as usual.”

Clint Eastwood: “Hmmm. You’re thinking about something along the lines of Psycho where Norman Bates is so attached to his evil dead mother he puts her in a rocking chair, and assumes her identity?”

Sarah Palin: “I’m not that deep, Clint. I was thinking of something more along the lines of Weekend at Bernie’s where we all go to the Hamptons and party.”

Karl Rove: “Anybody have a pair of dark sunglasses?”