What could possibly have drawn the Monocle out of its coma? Was it the surprisingly viable Huckabee candidacy (WE CALLED IT! WE CALLED IT AGES AGO!)? Was it the moronic hooha surrounding Hillary's allegedly career-turning sniffle? Was it the inevitable race-based fracas between Hillary and Barack, a fight which proves, once and for all, that the Democratic party is perfectly capable of losing this race all by themselves, THANKyouverymuch? Nope. It's a Salt Lake City Blog. Click here to peruse the work of one a few brave Utah women, as they ask the one question no-one's afraid to answer: Mitt Romney's sons: Hott? Or Nott? Now, when you reach the pink haven of this gorgeous slice of Internet Punditry, remember to take some time to browse these boys' Myspace pages. It's worth it, believe us.
Oh, and welcome back, Upper East Siders. You know you love me. xoxo
As our national football team miss-kick England's dreams in an operatic, mud-splattered failure, our minds turn to another booboo across the pond. Last week Hillary Clinton was polling at 46% in the race for the Dem's nomination. This week: 36%. What the he'? How'd THAT happen? Suffice to say, she has had a bit of a 'mare, these last few news cycles. Let's take a closer look.
Suzanne Goldberg of the Guardian, in town last week to flog her new book (but none the worse for it) got her Mystic Meg on and predicted something: the issue that's going to follow Hillary Clinton around like a bad smell ain't her husband, it ain't her continuing (dude! Stop it) votes in support of the Bush/Cheney foreign policy, it ain't her pants suits or her spine-chilling laugh. No, said Goldberg, rather than being stuck between Iraq and a hard place, she's going to be hung out to dry on the subject of Immigration.
Hillary, as an elected representative for the state of New York, came out in support of some pretty progressive immigration legislation, and generally bigged up the subject. She wadn't going to get elected in New York otherwise. UN fortunately, what gets you elected in new York is eh-he-hexTREMELY unlikely to endear you to the good people of, well, practically anywhere else in America.
And lo, she was thusly hoisted on her own petard:
And further lo, did Edwards and Obama bear down upon her, great shiny white teeth a'glinting, and tear her answer limb from limb and sniggering all the while.
Nobody knows yet where Hillary Clinton's going to come down on the subject of Immigration, or quite how her campaign are going to wrestle their narrative back into position. Indeed, the Clintonians have been leading the story for so long that they might have plum forgotten how to do anything else. Of the 8 points they dropped last week, Obama took 2, Edwards took 4, and 3, like, don't even know anymore man. As the anonymous lobbyist says, perhaps the people Americans want to see politicking aren't necessarily the people they want to see in charge of the country.
Mind you, at the Democrat's death-match-cage-fight in Las Vegas last week, Hillary stood triumphant and bloodied at the end:
Sorry, guess we must have passed out in a drunken stupor on the couch after the 300th New Debate Format Extravaganza. Even PAID bloggers don't try to do too much. Where are we now? Hold on a sec...ok. Right. Weeee're...pretty much where we left off! Turns out this race is like The Archers: 3 updates a day, and you could emigrate for fifty years without much happening. Though at least the Archers had a gay marriage, and, while our great aunt threw her embroidery across the room when it happened, that was a price Radio 4 was willing to pay, unlike SOME leaders of the free world we could mention.
Jeez, something must have happened. Ok, ok, everyone got all het up about Hill-Clint's laugh: and you can kinda see their point. It looks like she's about to kill us. But then again, we like that about her, right?
John Edwards was accused of cheating on his (AWESOME, DYING, SHOULD-TOTALLY-BE-PRESIDENT) wife. There are no links to this story available on the internet anymore, which means that The National Enquirer was probably about to get the living bejesus sued out of them by the Edwards Campaign. Edwards also seems to have been losing some ground in Iowa, his last chance saloon, to Obama AND Hillary. This makes us so depressed we want to get drunk and pass out again.
Hillary is winning. Everything. Still. But seriously, read Gail Collins. And listen to the Archers. And hell, have a slice of cake. Aaah; it's good to be back.
Now a certain someone has finally come on out and said who they think's gonna win the democratic primaries. Pundits have been waiting with baited breath for this moment. But who is our mysterious political soothsayer? Is it Al Gore? Newt Gingrich? David Letterman? Britney Spears? Woah. Hold up. Check this, you guys: it's the President. You know, the President of the United States? Medium-sized, cowboy hat, undead wife? No? Um. Anyway, he reckons Hillary Clinton's going to win everything.
Deep. It's not like she's polling in the stratosphere, spent this Sunday on all five breakfast talk shows, has raised trazillions and is attracting other people's campaign staff like she's a magnet and they're iron shavings. It's not like if aliens attacked and were vanquished by a nuclear arsenal (hello? did no-one think of this? when we're fighting an intergalactic war we'll be whistling a different tune about Iran, that's for sure) the single comprehensible piece of information they'd take away from the planet is that Hillary's pretty much gonna get the nomination. It's not like Bush predicting this is the same as him putting on his deepest voice and saying "MARK ME: TOMORROW WILL BE A WEDNESDAY." Mind you, he's not all that good at the days of the week.
WHY do the Repubs keep bandying Hillary about? Are they afraid of looking stupid when she does get the nomination? Or is there a darker reason? Might they...WANT her to get it? Might they be massaging the conservative voting base by issuing dire warnings? Think about it. We're going on holiday...Back on Monday. Love you, byeeee.
Hello, birds, hello trees! All you need is love, da-da-dada-da, All you need is love - and a stupendously hot wife growing out of your left shoulder - da-da-dada-da. And possibly a small amount of high-grade, da-da-dada-da. Democratic Presidential Candidate Dennis Kucinich is no longer the Former Mayor of Cleveland, he's the Goddamn Mayor of Love. Unhuh, get down! And while you're down there, let us know if you can see what Elizabeth K is doing to her husband from behind to make him smile like that. Then go to your happy place. In ours, Kucinich has been elected president entirely on the back of this Ad:
Sigh.
The time when The Monocle felt most loved was when we called our mum at 4 in the morning, and she said "Don't worry about waking me, I can take the chutney out of the oven" then totally talked us through a really hard time. Mums are the best! See, bet you thought we'd be snarky. Snarky no more! It's a new day, and we're gonna make sure Kucinich is President. Now. In order to get him elected we'll have to get rid of that smile, run some negative ads, take a lot more money from special interest groups, denounce that sh*t about gay marriage, refuse to talk about abortion, ignore the immigration bill, at least mention Jesus, get some lifts on those shoes and...Oh. Oh wait.
Rudolph Giuliani has an iffy history with the National Rifle Association, to say the least. As mayor of New York F*ckin Citeh in its Taxi Driver days, he was kind of mean about guns. If you believe New Yorkers, back then a thirteen-year-old girl could buy a massive bazooka from her nearest Bodega and roam the streets unchecked, holding up steakhouses. So it's no wonder he said this:
Unfortunately, one can't swan about slagging off the NRA when one is running for President. Rudy's method of Mayoring in New York Citeh involved the heavy, heavy hand of the law taking a vice-like grip on all 5 boroughs. This doesn't really jive so well with the NRA's anti goverment-interference 'tude.
Inevitably, at the NRA conference on Friday, (like a beauty parade entirely for your wierd neighbour who sits out on the porch in a vest all day and stares at your wife for way too long) poor Rudy was required to backpedal, dodge, twist and shimmy in front of a stony-faced crowd. Brrr. Especially when Mike 'the governator' Huckabee of Arkansas kept going on about how he hunts every other day and named his youngest son Rifle and stuff.
Of course the best Gudy can hope for is that the NRA won't actively try to block his nomination; if they sit this election out - apart from muttering under their breath - he'll be ok. Rudy did his best, equating his LAWSUIT AGAINST GUN MANUFACTURERS (what was he thinking?) with the NRA's commitment to crime prevention. It was a masterful attempt. And then. This happened.
What. The F*ck.
We don't like to big ourselves up, but if a British politician tried a stunt like that little number the country would declare a national holiday entirely devoted to taking the piss; there'd be street-fairs, mandatory re-enactments, dancing and huge screens with the whole thing playing on a glorious, insulting loop. The politician would be forced to sign a pledge that he would never again run for elected office and would retire to a life of guest-hosting 'Have I Got News For You', writing for the Spectator and being papped outside Mahiki. His obituary would be accompanied by a photograph of him taking part in a charity football match dressed as a mobile phone.
Here's a tasty taste of what happens when you don't let a candidate sleep for 40 days:
Is it us, or does Hillary look like she forgot that her role as best man at a shotgun wedding wasn't over and got stuck into the 'poo way before lunch had even started, so that by the time the speeches rolled around she had to be poked in the gut by her beady-lookin' wife, slipped a little on her way to the mic, forgot the name of the bride, told a dick joke, realised she was bombing and, in desparation, thought it'd be funny to liken the bride's mother to Darth Vader.
We like this new, 'Boris Johnson' Hillary. It's a great way to go. Though: at least, if you're going to let your candidate talk trash about how the Vice President is a supervillain, put a little blusher on her. Give her some coffee.
Welcome to The Monocle. We hold these truths to be self-evident: The race for the race for the Whitehouse has begun, and over the next year fine political minds will chant in unison. They will wander, lost and shivering, through their own sentences, they will sleep 1 hour in 400, and, in some cases, hunt duck on live television. By this process the American people will, in November 2008, be given the opportunity to choose the leader of the free world. Join us, as we pick the best bits out for you.
Honk For Kerry
The Monocle once campaigned for John Kerry. It stood at an intersection in the centre of Philadelphia holding a sign that read HONK FOR KERRY! There were 5 other people on the roundabout doing the same thing. The Monocle jumped up and down and waved the sign in the air. Some people honked. It was pretty cold out there.
The lady in the shed called it 'consciousness raising' and handed over signs. People stupid enough to run skidded dangerously on a rolling sea of Sharpies and Pentels. The Monocle was sent to a specific roundabout - a special, designated junction, mind - with a couple who had driven all the way from North Carolina. The couple were wearing matching lavender fleeces. They were accompanied by an older lady dressed in newspaper. Everybody drank Dunkin' Donuts coffee and rubbed their hands together. The Monocle felt quite sick with excitement.
Some people honked so much that they drove round the block to do it again. Some slowed down to shout encouragement. Some slowed down to throw trash. A yellow truck slowed down so that a man could lean out the of the window and shout "No thankyou! No thankyou! He wants to have lunch with Saddam Hussein!" before he was out of earshot.
A lady wandered up and touched The Monocle on the elbow. She said "What do you care, no offense, but what do you care, being from Australia?" The Monocle patiently explained that no, though it may sound as though The Monocle was Australian, it was in fact from England. The lady said "Well, what do I care?"
That was in the high hours, the heady minutes before the election, when the Monocle was pretty sure it knew what was going to happen. Anyway, whatever, it didn't. The Monocle woke up the morning after the long night and went out, prepared for riots. People in the cafe next door were reading the newspaper. 'Did Kerry lose?' asked the Monocle. 'Pretty much' said the cafe owner. The Monocle looked around. A couple of people turned a page. Someone stirred their coffee, someone else sneezed quietly.
What could possibly have drawn the Monocle out of its coma? Was it the surprisingly viable Huckabee candidacy (WE CALLED IT! WE CALLED IT AGES AGO!)? Was it the moronic hooha surrounding Hillary's allegedly career-turning sniffle? Was it the inevitable race-based fracas between Hillary and Barack, a fight which proves, once and for all, that the Democratic party is perfectly capable of losing this race all by themselves, THANKyouverymuch? Nope. It's a Salt Lake City Blog. Click here to peruse the work of one a few brave Utah women, as they ask the one question no-one's afraid to answer: Mitt Romney's sons: Hott? Or Nott? Now, when you reach the pink haven of this gorgeous slice of Internet Punditry, remember to take some time to browse these boys' Myspace pages. It's worth it, believe us.
