Invasion of the Kochtopussies

March 01, 2011

Multiple Pages
Invasion of the Kochtopussies

Ever since last August’s game-changing New Yorker article about the intergalactically wealthy Koch brothers and their unholy, unfeeling, and ecologically unsanitary war to harass and undermine Our First Black President, American leftist tribespeople have finally been able to put a face on their Own Personal Satan. Technically, it’s two faces—one which looks like a weatherbeaten dildo and the other which (quite curiously, I might suggest) looks like Stephen Colbert’s secret evil libertarian father.

As if they’d received a gift-wrapped voodoo doll, all of Team Blue’s gentle and enlightened souls eagerly began ramming footlong knitting needles into the Kochs, desperate to make up for lost time and catch up to all those crazy tinfoil-hat-wearing, UFO-spotting, Bigfoot-sodomizing dumbass retarded inbred hope-you-all-die-soon rural crackers who watch Glenn Beck and had been sticking pins in their own personal George Soros voodoo dolls for a year or two already.

Because, don’t you just know it, when anyone on Team Red suggests that politics might not always be what they appear to be and that all those mountains of power and cash may lead self-interested oligarchs to pull strings and influence events in ways that might suit them, well, those toothless hillbilly conspiracy-freak living abortions are out of their goddamned meth-soaked coconuts.

Because, don’t you just feel it, there is only ever one kind of conspiracy—the kind that they’re planning against “us.”

As I go about my ablutions and various shaving procedures every morning, I make it a general rule never to trust even one-half of a word that any politician says, whether it’s left, right, up, down, North, South, and even some parts of Philly. I’ve never been good at team sports, and when forced to choose between Democrats and Republicans, it’s like having to pick whether it’ll be my parents or the nuns at school who slap me in the face. Not for a nanosecond, even when I was really bored, have I ever considered myself “right-wing” or “conservative” or “libertarian,” and I took the Last Train out of Leftville about 20 years ago, long after they’d lost their sense of humor and had become so insufferable, you didn’t know whether to fart in their face or stab them in the neck.

It’s hard if not impossible to ever find me saying anything in favor of the “right,” but I’ll talk your ears deaf about how much leftists suck. The reason—let’s come clean, everybody—is because people who identify with the “left” have been The Biggest Assholes in the Universe for quite some time now.

I’m not Don Rickles, but I’m at least a Brown Belt when it comes to the ability to insult, denigrate, and even make people cry. I can launch the kind of ad-hominem attack that will make Mr. Hominem and all his children wish they’d never been born.

But whether it’s caused by head trauma or not, I’m also an obsessive thinker, always weighing facts against one another, considering contrary evidence, finding inconsistencies, wondering what parts they’re deliberately leaving out—and this is all while I’m still shaving my taint in the morning.

“Cut the Adderalls in half next time. That way, the Kochs will only look half as evil.”

And that’s why I love to argue. I approach it like a bloodsport. But increasingly, I’ve noticed leftists shying away from any project that might require logic, evidence, or anything really beyond wishful thinking and cheap character attacks against anyone who doesn’t think as wishfully as they do.

Oh, they’ll call you a retarded, sickening, loathsome, repellent, malignant, subhuman, slithering, imbecilic, anencephalic shitstain on a piece of shit that was wrapped in shit and baked in a shit casserole at 400 shitty degrees for 60 shitty minutes—but that’s only because you were engaging in hate speech and deserve to die a slow, painful death for it.

But just you try getting into an earnest discussion with them about trivialities such as, I don’t know, the facts and whether anyone in the room is making any sense. It can’t be done. It’s been a long, long, lonely time not only since I’ve seen a leftist who is able to argue, it’s probably been before Chelsea Clinton sprouted pubic hair that I’ve encountered one who is so much as willing to argue. They figure if they call you right-wing, conservative, or—kill yourself immediately if they even suggest it—a “racist,” that’s an effective magical substitute for a legitimate argument.

So these Koch (pronounced “coke,” as in “got any?”) brothers have morphed into a mile-high eight-armed monster called the “Kochtopus,” a term which, quite frankly, sounds a little octophobic to me. The Kochtopus is now being blamed for everything leftists hate in this lifetime and throughout eternity. They’re being blamed for buying the recent Wisconsin governor’s election, although if you were suddenly compelled to do something insane such as look at the actual numbers, you’d find three unions who each kicked down more cash to the Democratic candidate than the Kochs gave to Scott Walker. You might even learn that all Wisconsin unions and public workers welded together their angry oppressed fists to outspend the Kochs by a factor of at least 20-1, and that as a quotient of total Republican donations, the Kochs’ contribution to Scott Walker’s campaign amounted to less than half a percent.

Less than half a percent. That’s roughly the quotient of black people who live in Saratoga, CA, hometown to polemical political writer and MSNBC meme-distributor Mark Ames, who roughly looks like a Turkish beeper salesman. Afflicted with a severe (but possibly treatable) lisp, Ames is the sort of fella who makes a point of telling you he eagerly bones 15-year-old girls well into his thirties and pops Adderalls in his mouth as if they were little candy hearts. His hometown’s laughably puny Black Quotient is noteworthy only because Ames never shuts up about this thing called “racism” and how Desmond Tutu once called Ronald Reagan a “racist” and how working-class whites are retarded bigots keeping the blacks down from, oh, one day even hoping to approach parity with them on intelligence tests.

Ames’s hometown boasts a median income of $138,206 and suffers a staggering 1% unemployment rate. Nearly a third of Saratoga’s households are perched up high in that oft-maligned “upper two percent” income bracket against which Ames is always railing. This is noteworthy because he seems to actually believe he’s marching alongside “poor, desperate humans” and the “impoverished” in some Iliadic Fantasy War against the “oligolopolists” who seek to crush and eviscerate he and his comrades. He claims to have lived “in poverty” and criticizes Cindy McCain’s “rich family connections.” He slams people “born into a filthy rich family” and the very concept of “inherited wealth,” failing to grasp that, hey, jerky, you were born into much cushier surroundings than the “lower 98 percent” will ever know. In a movie review, Ames criticizes a character thusly: “He behaves like some thrill-seeking rich kid committed to little more than his own whim.”

Takes one to know one, Chumpy.

Ames tends to insist the entire Tea Party movement—all of it, every last crumb and even the bedbugs—is merely a front for the Koch brothers’ sinister plot to manipulate the dumb rednecks that Ames openly derides and whose minds he presumes are unable to hatch anything resembling a political opinion themselves. Apparently these Tea Party gatherings were not authentic “people’s uprisings” as the concept had been explained to him at Berkeley.

It couldn’t possibly be that, oh, someone lost a leg in Vietnam, lost their home last year, lost their job last month, lost their health insurance last week, and they’re angry and desperate and have made a conscious decision that this “Tea Party” thing most adequately represents their personal interests—no, these dumbfucks saw a 30-second commercial and were hypnotized.

He made a big public screaming ass out of himself last fall in The Nation by suggesting that the TSA scanner “Don’t touch my junk” scandal was not a legitimate public response to enhanced, aggressive, borderline-molestful airport pat-down procedures that had gone into effect a week or two earlier. That explanation would have been far too simple and extravagantly sensible. Instead, Ames blamed the Kochtopus. Nearly everyone in the world, even little starving children in India, called him out on his shoddy reporting, but he remained impenitent. He continued fingering the Kochtopus online, during speaking gigs on MSNBC and, possibly, in his bathroom at home late at night.

Last week, he called me a tool of the Kochtopus for expressing what I, in my mind-controlled robot-zombie confusion, had all along led myself to believe were actually my sincere opinions about the Wisconsin teachers’ situation. He accused me of being a Koch “waterboy” rather than, say, a lifelong private-sector worker who thinks union teachers are useless fat entitled overcompensated crybabies who poop out a new crop of unemployable, uneducated retards with every year’s graduation. He also Retweeted someone else’s comment that I am “libertarian swine” who should be imprisoned. After Ames fired these shots, I offered to defend my article in a debate with him, he pussied out, and you can read all about that situation here.

Despite all his quixotic and possibly speed-fried assaults on the Kochs, I have yet to see Ames mention that Über-billionaire George Soros funds The Nation via the Nation Institute. He doesn’t take great pains to inform you that Soros owns stock in General Electric, which owns MSNBC, which routinely trots out Soros-funded puppet shows such as, Media Matters, and Move America Forward as if they were impartial sources. Then again, Jane Mayer’s landmark New Yorker piece also carefully neglected to mention that several of the ostensibly objective sources she cited for her anti-Kochtopus novella—sources such as Rob Stein, Think Progress, the Center for Public Integrity, and NPR—all have received funding from George Soros’s scaly pterodactyl claws.

You know how the saying goes, Ames—when you point your hairy finger at someone, there are three fingers pointing back at you while your thumb’s stuck up your ass.

Cut the Adderalls in half next time. That way, the Kochs will only look half as evil.


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