How Mitch Made It

#PutiPoodle | #WhatTheyVotedFor

There is a question of whether political messaging is similar to sentiments regarding the periods in which humans have been recording audio or video, and the proposition that we should, as a society, have passed the threshold by which it seems plausible to say one did not say it when anyone in their right mind already knows there is a definitive recording of the very words one really did say. Perhaps it seems obscure, but twenty years ago, traditional Christianist evangelism faltered on the internet and required transformation in large part because countless repetition wore it thin, while myriad objections and retorts pelted traditional religionistic grifting into remission. At some point, then, we might wonder when the necromancy required to raise the dead horse in order to kill it and beat it to chum all over again becomes apparent to political audiences. NBC News brings the latest ouroboros ’round Republican mulberries:

Former White House Chief of Staff Denis McDonough on Sunday said Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell “watered down” a warning about Russia’s attempts to interfere in the 2016 election and defended the Obama administration’s response to foreign meddling in the campaign.

The language in a September 2016 letter from congressional leaders to state election officials was drastically softened at McConnell’s urging, McDonough said in an exclusive interview Sunday on NBC’s “Meet The Press” . . . .

. . . . Asked if it was watered down at the insistence of McConnell and only McConnell, McDonough responded, “yes.”

Or, as Steve Benen reminds:

The problem, of course, is that every time Trump World turns its attention to officials’ response to Russian intervention in 2016, we’re reminded that it wasn’t Barack Obama who was negligent—it was Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-Ky.).

Pedantry in High Dudgeon

“In a press release Thursday, the committee accused the Pentagon of not being upfront about what it knew:”

―Amanda Terkel

This is a pet peeve.

Look: “Upfront” is not a word.

An Obvious Question with an Obvious Answer

To: Facebook casual gaming advertisers

re: Why would I want to?

There are, certainly, a few things I might say about this or that. “Won a big win”? This must be what we call the dynamic evolution of language. I’ve been learning a lot about this aspect of human communication over the last few years, from friends on the internet. And it turns out I’m some sort of old, pedantic fuddy-duddy, beacuse I have yet to understand that the language must evolve, and that means it must diminish its communicative utility. Sentence structure, proper spelling, and even basic literacy are just too oppressive for free, intelligent humanity.

Never mind. Inside joke. Filler material.

Look, the bottom line is that these constant adverts telling me that my friends are playing and winning your games actually discourage my participation.

And, seriously, if I want to gamble, I’ll go to a casino. If I want to play slots, I’ll consider assisted suicide instead.

But no, you’re not actually contributing to the species. Indeed, your endeavors are to its detriment.

Seething, Useless, Petty Rage

Okay, in the first place, yes, there is obviously something amiss.

The Salon article itself is by Kendall Anderson, and bears a familiar, queasy sentence for a headline: “I wish I’d never reported my rape”. It is, of course, as depressing as you might expect; and it is also another one of those pieces that ought to be some sort of required reading.

I sit in the windowless interrogation room, fingers brushing against the cool metal of handcuffs attached to the chair, and try to comprehend what the detective sitting across from me is asking.

“Were you a virgin?” he says, his lips curling slightly as he repeats the question. “Explain to me, how could you have been bleeding if you weren’t on your period? Have you had sex before?”

I feel my face flush with embarrassment as I think about how to respond. Before I can say anything, there’s a knock at the door and another officer walks in.

“The suspect’s attorney is here.”

Suspect? My stomach drops. Did he really just refer to me as a suspect?

The detective turns to his colleague.

“She agreed not to have the lawyer come in for this.”

I open my mouth to object. Our “agreement” consisted of the detective asking me why I needed a lawyer if I was innocent. Before I can speak, the other officer leaves, the door closes and it’s just me and the detective again, alone in the windowless room.

There are so many things to say at this point.