Karla Keffer

Archive for January, 2009|Monthly archive page

Bush’s Brain Makes Me Want to Rip out My Own and Saturate It in Bleach

In Uncategorized on January 30, 2009 at 10:17 pm

Nausea. Migraines. Horror. I can laugh at all kinds of godawful people, places, and things, but I have never been able to laugh at the shitweasel, the pustule that is Karl Rove. Dick Cheney, as a “person,” is too deep into cartoon character territory for me to summon any but cartoonish, or at least matter of fact hatred. Hating Dick Cheney, for me, has the same amount of punch as hating having hot knitting needles poked into my eyes. I mean, I would think most people do. But Rove…?

It’s not that most of the people I know don’t hate Rove. I’m sure even my Republican grandparents think he’s a worthless feeb, at the very least. But Cheney, as I said, is too cartoonish, too much like Darth Vader for me to say much beyond a calm, “He is evil, and he must be destroyed”—to paraphrase Shirley MacLaine in Steel Magnolias. Cheney hides in a bunker. Rove gets out there and fucking raps at the White House goddamn Correspondent’s Dinner. He appears jovial and human, when he’s not sabotaging the political careers of decent people by spreading rumors that they’re child molesters, that is. And that is why I find him far, far more insidious and terrifying than the cyborg that shoots his friends in the face, and why I am completely unable to laugh at him.

So if anyone is in dire need of an emetic, I suggest you check out this article, courtesy Michael Isakoff at Newsweek (and my friend the Pirate, who sent it to me in the first place):

Just four days before he left office, President Bush instructed former White House aide Karl Rove to refuse to cooperate with future congressional inquiries into alleged misconduct during his administration.

On Jan. 16, 2009, then White House Counsel Fred Fielding sent a letter to Rove’s lawyer, Robert Luskin. The message: should his client receive any future subpoenas, Rove “should not appear before Congress” or turn over any documents relating to his time in the White House. The letter told Rove that President Bush was continuing to assert executive privilege over any testimony by Rove—even after he leaves office.

My brain hurts.


I’m Famous!

In Uncategorized on January 29, 2009 at 10:48 pm

Well, not really. In fact, not at all. I’m anonymous. But I did anonymously make The Brian Lehrer Show this morning, and I like to think that counts for something. You know, some sort of anonymously famous, albeit local status. Like that, maybe.

Scroll down the page to the “Project: Uncommon Economic Indicators” segment. I’m the one talking about hipsters at the 4:05 mark or so.

Good Americans

In Uncategorized on January 28, 2009 at 4:28 pm

And the fun doesn’t stop in Minnesota. I may have to move there, and not just because of Neil Gaiman and the Mall of America and the eight feet of snow every ten days. Check out Norm Coleman’s latest flabtackulations on Fucked Nose, er, ah, FOX “News” from last night.

From TPM:

“Sean, this recount is an expensive proposition. Al Franken’s got George Soros, he’s got MoveOn.org. I need just good Americans to contribute,” said Coleman (emphasis his own). “ColemanForSenate.com, http://www.ColemanForSenate.com. It’s an expensive proposition. Don’t let George Soros, MoveOn.com or the far left buy this race.”

“Good Americans.” BA HA HA HA! Again, I laugh that I may not rip out my eyeballs. And I revel in being a bad American, because bad Americans are the best goddamn kind. And as Dano says, bitch is paying by the hour. That makes me happy, too.


In Uncategorized on January 28, 2009 at 1:41 am

My friend Emilyon just coined the term “Blagoje-hair” to refer to a person with hair like, well, Rod Blagojevich. She hopes it will catch on, and I do too. If you could please do your part and promulgate this bon mot, you will be satisfied. Try some today!

Give me a head with hair/Short, feathery hair...

Give me a head with hair/Short, feathery hair...

Shining, gleaming, greasy, flaxen, waxen...

Shining, gleaming, greasy, flaxen, waxen...

Everywhere, Daddy,  Daddy, HAAAAAIIIIIIRRRRR!!!!

Everywhere, Daddy, Daddy, HAAAAAIIIIIIRRRRR!!!!

Disney Dachas.

In Uncategorized on January 27, 2009 at 10:03 pm

Ugh. I am such a fat, stupid, hideous ass. Of course the “Disney Dachas” I was all set to chuckle about are an expatriate goddamn residential complex. Of course they fucking are. But do we pay attention to such minor details as the British International School of Moscow, even when it’s mentioned on the site, even when one doesn’t actually have to click on the link to find out more information? Oh, nooooo! We do no such thing. No, no, we post the link on Facebook. We email the link to our far more intelligent (and not fat and hideous!) friends and go, “Hee hee, ha ha, Disney Dachas!” as if this is witty. Meanwhile, everyone is looking at us and doing the screwball gesture next to his/her ear and going, “Um…yeah…it’s an expatriate residential complex, dumbass.” And everyone is silently thanking the Great Gourd in Halvah that they are not us. Not stupid, not impulsive, not fat, and not hideous. Ogh. I can just feel the lasers of pity and contempt boring down upon me.

(Fifteen minutes later)

Okay. Calmer. Food has been eaten. Paxil has been taken. Temples have been massaged. Please excuse my tantrum. Shit happens. Mistakes are made. Objects are thrown.

Anyway. I still have to laugh, or maybe cry, about an ex-pat compound in rural northwest Moscow that would not look out of place in suburban St. Petersburg, as in Florida. I mean, there’s your living example of The Accidental Tourist right there. Now, having lived in Krakow for three months in 1996, I’m certainly not insensible to the desire to minimize the grit, filth, and agony of daily life in a former Soviet bloc country. I was one of four people knocked almost literally flat on my ass by food poisoning in the first six weeks (the Europeans in our program scoffed at us Amurricans as a bunch of germ-phobic pantywaists, which, uh, yeah, but still). And while it’s awesome for kids to learn second and third languages, it’s just cruel to drop them in the middle of a public school system in a country where they don’t speak the language, hence the need for English-speaking international schools. But Jeezis, if you’re living in a foreign country, take as much advantage of it as possible. Don’t wall yourself off in a fiberglass community and take all your meals at the Irish-style American theme restaurant and bar, like you do in the U.S.



I have to say, I am totally grooving on that bathtub. Gah! If I lived in a Disney Dacha, I would never, ever, ever get out of that tub. Ooouuuuu!


stop doing it in the U.S., too. Get off your ass and drink some kefir and eat some pelmeni. Wash your laundry by hand. Get some goddamn dirt under your nails. It’s just dirt, people. I mean, boil your water and don’t eat the sulfuric-smelling hard-boiled egg at the hotel in Prague, unless you desire to wake up two days later in Krakow too dizzy to make it to the bathroom, which hasn’t even a proper shower, just a drain in the middle of the floor. But don’t be such a goddamn tourist. If you must be a tourist, go visit a Nazi death camp. I am completely serious. Your shit will get fucked up. And although this may be near-impossible to believe, this will be a fine, fine thing. You will learn many important lessons about yourself, and death, and despair, and resilience in the face of hell as drawn by Hieronymous Bosch, and you will emerge more compassionate, and wiser, and less able to see the world in black and white, right and wrong. And although the exorcism will be excruciating, and you may spend the last month and a half in your former Soviet bloc country hating it and everything about it, you will have got out in the world, and you will be stronger, and better for it, and, yes, safer than you are, or ever could be, walled up in that luxury compound, afraid of disease and death and your own terrible, wonderful self.

Thus endeth the sermon. Don’t forget to plunk some rubles in the collection samovar on the way out. And when you get back to the U.S., come visit us in the ghetto. Help us plant a garden or something. You can even move here as long as you promise not to drag along your Starbucks and your Pan-Asian-African-Icelandic ‘inotecas and drive rents up 5000%. Amen.

And P.S.: I was going to edit out that introductory tantrum. I changed my mind. Let it stand. I was tantruming when I started, and look where we finished. Again, amen. And again, P.S.: For an excellent account of resilience, and not simply survival of, but life in a Nazi death camp, read Playing For Time by Fania Fenelon, about the Birkenau women’s orchestra.

Extra! Extra! Read All About It! Senator Chick Fight! Gay Evangelist Goes Gayer!

In Uncategorized on January 27, 2009 at 2:23 am

Oh, I love trash. As long as it’s liberal/moderate trash. The Post and FOX News are scum-sucking right-wing bottom feeders that belong on the bottom of the Great Kills dump. Check out today’s Daily News cover:


Memo to Photo: Get a picture of the two a’them blond broads lookin’ pissy. That shit’s HoTt. Signed, Mort Zuckerman

Or how about this pixel a’porn:



Truthfully, it makes me so happy to see a cool cat like Obama and his awesome lady Michelle “making whoopee and meaning it,” as Whoopi Goldberg put it. (Quote courtesy of my friend MarkRickSteve, who saw Whoopi on “The View,” I think, on November 5.)

Did YOU KNOW Josh Brolin was A GOONIE before he was the star of W.? You do now! WOOT

And does Ted Haggard give love (of God) a bad name? Vote in this poll!


What a foul, hideous beast of a man Ted Haggard is. Shudder.

Okay, enough junk food, kidz. Here’s some grade-A prime rib from WaPo: Neil Gaiman wins the John A. Newberry award for The Graveyard Book, which you really, absolutely, positively must and should read. (I think that bit about Neil’s “ex-wife” is a gaffe, however.)


That’s a wrap. Tune in tomorrow for Disney Dachas and probably some more busting on Ted Haggard.

I want a golden goose, Obama, and I want it NOW!

In Uncategorized on January 25, 2009 at 9:27 pm

I am tentatively emerging from four very depressing days steeped in grief and despair over two roles I didn’t get, because if I am not cast in a play now, as in this second, two days before last Wednesday, I am a complete fraud and have no right to exist save as a corporate drone and breeder of dull, snot-nosed children. You know, because I’m thirty-two and a woman. Thank the good gourd in Halvah there are news items like this from Gallup.com to make me laugh:

President Barack Obama earns a 68% approval rating from Americans for his first three full days on the job, in interviews conducted Wednesday through Friday.

Um, that’s…great? And what does this portend for our 44th Commander-in-Chief?

The public is generally warmly disposed to newly inaugurated presidents, but a substantial proportion of Americans typically await more information to form their initial judgment. Thus, the no-opinion levels have ranged from a low of 18% for George W. Bush to a high of 43% for George H.W. Bush. The percentage of Americans with no opinion of a president is usually much lower after his first year in office.

The percentages approving of newly inaugurated presidents have ranged from a low of 51% for Ronald Reagan in 1981 and the elder George Bush in 1989 to a high of 72% for John Kennedy in 1961. The average across the last eight elected presidents is 60%.

The three presidents who took office after the death or resignation of their predecessors tended to start out with even greater public support, as the nation rallied around the new chief executive in times of crisis. These include Harry Truman in 1945 with an 87% approval rating, Lyndon Johnson with 78% in 1963, and Gerald Ford with 71% in 1974.

One complicating factor in comparing initial approval ratings for the elected presidents is differences in the timing of the first measurements. The four presidents whose first readings came in January after their inaugurations averaged 55% job approval and 34% no opinion, compared with an average approval rating of 66% and 23% no opinion for the presidents whose first ratings came in February, after they had been in office a bit longer.

But these timing differences hint at the general trend in early approval ratings for elected presidents: as people become more familiar with the presidents and their work over the course of the first several months in office, the already-high percentage approving usually increases. In fact, all but Bill Clinton and Jimmy Carter had higher approval ratings about 100 days after taking office. That is why the early months of new presidencies are commonly known as “the honeymoon period.”

Ah. Okay. So, everything and nothing. The usual.

I have to laugh. I mean, I HAVE to fucking laugh, because the alternatives are too depressing to contemplate, and I’m still crawling out of this latest of black holes. I mean, is this news? Seriously, are we that fucking stupid that we need Gallup to tell us the first 100 days of a new presidency, provided the new leader is not the cranial case under whose moronic aegis we suffered for eight years, are a “honeymoon period”?

Maybe it’s not about stupidity, although I would wager the answer is, in part, yes. I mean, yes, we humans are criminally dumb, even the smarter of us. Maybe it’s about despair. Maybe it’s about the black hole of grief and rage in which we’ve been steeped for so long, much longer than the past eight years. We are fucked up. We are miserable. We are broke. But we are human. We want to survive. We want good things in our lives. And eye-rolling cynic that I am, I am far, far from immune. I want that golden goose too, and I want it now. Just like everyone else.

But seriously, three days? Come on, us. Let’s just calm down. Obama’s all right. He’s a Steelers fan, for god’s sake. Let the man do his job. Save the report cards for later. Just give us our golden geese. Now.

Kidding. But not really. I’m working on that, though.

Back to School…

In Uncategorized on January 18, 2009 at 7:25 pm

This paragraph, from this article in Friday’s New York Times, just slays me:

The Senate is developing its own version of the stimulus bill, and intense haggling is expected over the next few weeks. The House speaker, Nancy Pelosi of California, has said the bill must pass by mid-February or she will cancel the Presidents’ Day recess.

You gotta love the image of Principal Pelosi addressing the 535 students of Bicameral Consolidated High School whilst Assistant Vice-Principal Reid prowls the hallways, looking dour and spindly and nervous. A friend of mine thinks Reid would be wielding a paddle, but  I think he’s more the hall pass type, actually. Of course, my friend went to school (in Texas, yet) at a time when paddling was considered an integral part of a student’s education. By the time I was in elementary school, in Pennsylvania, corporal punishment was officially verboten, much to my teachers’ disgust, I would think. Shitheads.

Anyway. No recess ‘til you finish your homework, lazy-ass congresspersons! And whoever thought it was “cute” to flush all the Capitol toilets at the same time has another think coming. We will find you.  Yes, we can.

Ten seconds in Purgatory.

In Uncategorized on January 16, 2009 at 2:12 am

I am recovering from a head cold and an upset stomach. The last goddamn thing I needed to see/hear was the outgoing president’s farewell speech. Even ten seconds of it, which I stumbled upon when tuning into “Countdown.” I don’t know if it’s because of the shuddery hiss that escaped my person at the first glimpse of THAT SMIRK on its face, but the image that keeps coming to mind is Francie Nolan’s description of the bottom of the airshaft in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. To wit:

The airshaft was a horrible invention. Even with the windows tightly sealed, it served as a sounding box and you could hear everybody’s business. Rats scurried around the bottom…Since this bottom couldn’t be reached by man (the windows being too small to admit the passage of a body), it served as a fearful repository for things that people wanted to put out of their lives. Rusted razor blades and bloody cloths were the most innocent items. Once Francie looked down into the airshaft. She thought of what the priest said about Purgatory and figured it must be like the airshaft bottom only on a larger scale. When Francie went into the parlor, she passed through the bedrooms shuddering and with her eyes shut.

Maybe it was the line about the rats. At any rate, eeeuuuggghhh.