Parkside Q

John McCain: Change You Can Xerox

Hat tip to Sam Stein at HuffPo for catching this:

Clearly, even McCain doesn't want to vote for McCain; he wants ObaMcCain to be the next President. Above is a recent screengrab of both Obama and Gramps McCain's websites. Notice something eerie about the second pic (besides Gramps' pedo-smile)? McCain's page has adopted the stylistic cues (not to mention a blatant slogan ripoff) of Obama's own web portal. As much as I can't stand his music, Soulja Boy said it best: "I see you trying to do it like me, man that shit was ugly."

His feeble attempt to co-opt Obama's inspirational phrase completely misses the mark; we aren't drawn to Obama because of his logo (as nice as it looks), we praise him for his honesty, his principles, and his uncanny ability to rise above playing "politics as usual". Obama's message of hope, reform, and rebuke of the failed policies of the Bush years has been consistent since day 1, and people are starting to recognize that.

To contrast, in a widely-panned speech delivered near New Orleans last night, McCain admonished the government's response to Katrina, calling out its "failure... to meet even its basic responsibilities." This man really had the gall to come out of his mouth criticizing government reaction to the disaster, when he himself voted against freeing up federal emergency relief aid for victims in Louisiana and elsewhere. What's that smell? Oh, that's just the horseshit McCain's talking.

Gramps is only willing to say and do whatever he thinks will get him votes. How can "we believe in" him when he doesn't even believe in himself enough to stand on his own two feet, without damn near infringing on his opponent's artistic license?  Even Fox News asked, "Why use Obama's slogan?"; it's very telling when even the GOP media vehicle itself calls out McCain on his ineptness at swagger-jacking.

They say "imitation is the sincerest form of flattery", but I doubt there's a single bone of sincerity left in Gramps McCain's aging body. He's a double-talking slogan-stealing war-mongering joke of a candidate, whose only reason for stepping foot in the White House should be as part of a walking group tour.

Also, Gramps needs to fire his entire website design team. Man, that shit looks ugly.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do, Especially Without Warning

I still can't believe you walked out of my life and into the Brooklyn night. It took a while for me to even comprehend how and why our relationship could have ended so abruptly. I've been having a hard time gathering my thoughts since you left, but now I'm finally level-headed and sober enough to express how I feel.

Let's start at the beginning. When I first met you at school, I could tell you were very popular. You had the attention of guys and girls alike; everyone wanted you to hang out with them. That led me to believe you were a little high maintenance, but I was only judging from what I saw on the outside. When I finally got a chance to meet you up close and personal, chilling with you made me realize I was mistaken. You did have a cool, almost metallic exterior, but looking deeper I saw how beautiful you were on the inside, which only made me appreciate your stunning good looks even more.

Soon after that first introduction, we became close. Inseparable, even. You would come with me everywhere: class, meetings, dinner, the whole nine. People started to get annoyed since they thought you were taking over too much of my time, especially when I would listen to you while they were trying to tell me something. But I didn't care; you brought me joy, and I never thought that you being with me all the time was anything more than simply indicative of the bond we had. Or so I thought.

Happy St. Patty's Day, Bitchez!!!

Today is St. Patrick's Day, in case you lost your calendar/PDA/cell phone sometime last week. It's a day where we as a country (USA, I mean) celebrate a patron saint. And what better way to celebrate a saint than to get so sloshed that our piss turns green from all the beer that goes Hulk on us in the middle of March sometime?

It's a time-honored tradition that lets us all be Irish for a day. Which, as a Black Jamaican, I am the furthest thing from. Although, since historically the British shat on Jamaica and Ireland alike, maybe I have more in common with the Irish than I once thought. I mean, though Jamaica invented Red Stripe, I know many a Jamaican that love them some Guinness. You just have to like it, there's no choice in that one.

So yeah, here's to Margaritaville, "Braveheart", Shannen Doherty, Beenie Man, and Family Guy: shit that Jamaicans and Irish alike can drink to. I don't know if you can tell, but I've been celebrating today. Go figure that this post would be random as all fuck.

Skittles And Williamsburg

Have you ever noticed that when people get drunk at a house party, the discussion will always turn to sex, relationships, and other such topics? No matter who it is, no matter where, alcohol makes people want to open up and chat about fucking.

Last night's house party in Williamsburg was no exception (and yes, Elaine, you missed out!). I had already gotten crunk with some coworkers at this wings place near City Hall, but I was ready to knock back some more booze and dance the night (and the calories) away. Genevieve's birthday was the perfect occasion for both.

Anyways, a friend of hers that was at the party is pregnant (in case it's not abundantly clear, she was NOT drinking with us). We ended up talking about babies and how this is her second child and whatnot. Here's where the conversation took a turn down Sex Drive (see what I did there?)...