SMCD -- Two Millionth Hit Edition

Very Leonard Cohen today


Especially this bit:

"... I saw there were
No oceans left
For scavengers like me..."

Sometime in the next few hours my little blog will cross the two million hit threshold. Which is both a dauntingly high number that took me 5.5 years of constant, daily effort to achieve...and the total number of people who will have read "Lindsay Lohan Slams Dad Michael, Eyes Restraining Order" on the online Serious Liberal Journal of Record this weekend.

There's a lesson there somewhere :-)

Anyway, five and a half year, closing in fast on 2,200 posts, and two million page views, which means that, by now, if I am not well-known or influential enough, I am at least persistent enough that my email in-box (driftglass00 AT yahoo DOT com) is usually full of correspondence that is non-Nigerian banking/miraculous penis cream related.

But really only barely.

You see, every day, organizations like "Democrats DOT com" presume to send me long urgent lists of what I or Nancy Pelosi or Barack Obama MUST DO RIGHT NOW.

To which I say, "Fuck. You." RIGHT NOW I am trying to figure out how to keep doing this while keeping the castle's roof over my head and avoiding making the wenches take any more unpaid furlough days.

There are also petitions I absolutely HAVE TO sign and causes that demand I travel across the continent to wave a sign and fill out the crowd scene in the fourth reel of someone else's made-for-YouTube micro-Woodstock . "The Nation" is one Liberal institution among many which takes it upon itself to urgently inform me that they may not survive without my generous infusions of dough-ray-me...without bothering to extend to me the common courtesy of attaching even a one, single nekkid picture of Katrina vanden Heuvel.

Now, I ask you, is that neighborly? Is that grass-rootsish?

Oh, and speaking of grass roots, Netroots Nation warns me once every 104 hours that my window to bid on the actual Styrofoam coffee cup from which the actual Atrios was actually sipping when he put up a gen-u-ine "More Thread" post LIVE from Pittsburgh is closing fast.

So much for the pallid fruits of persistence.

So I started my Sunday the same way I usually do; bolt upright and screaming my way out of the middle of a nightmare that Dick Cheney was still President.

Nine Advils later...I set my clocks back an hour as required by the God Damned Federal Time Thievery Czar, and curse you Comrade Barack Hussein Obama and your whole illegitimate Marxist Government for compelling American schoolchildren to begin their mandatory indoctrination one hour earlier [Or is it later? I could never figure that out.] and -- oh so much more sinister..ly -- dictating that some Washington Bureaucrat now gets between Americans and their snooze buttons AND forcing the entire country to treat Time itself as something weak, nuanced, Liberal and European as opposed to the fixed and inherent Universal freedom-and-Jesus-loving value all Real Americans know it to be!

So where was I?

Oh yeah.

Persistence.

After waking up in the middle of the Soul's Midnight, and the Advils, and finding "no way to hold my head that didn't hurt", I warmed up for the Mouse Circus by watching Local Fox.

That was a mistake.

You see, they were doing a glowing interview with Jack Higgins, Sun-Times Cartoonist. He draws funny pictures for one of our three major metropolitan papers (now that The Chicago Reader is swinging major reportorial timber, it definitely deserves inclusion into that rarefied club), and his work elicited remarks from Local Fox interviewers sush as this:

"You can say things that we can't. That writers of editorials can't."

To underscore Mr. Higgins' awesomeness, they showed a little of his work, starting with this piece

from September of 2009.

Which flicked the blear straight out of your humble correspondent's sleepy eyes and caused me to notice a certain, striking similarity between Mr. Higgins' observational art from September 2009, and this piece of observational art by your humble correspondent

from July 2009.

Which sent a thousand cruel and unworthy thoughts flittering through my mind until, at last, I settled on the timeless reminder from Ecclesiastes that:

...the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them.

Fuckin'-A.

After which I watched what was arguably the greatest advance in jaybird-naked cross-promotion since

Mork showed up on Happy Days.

Rush Limbaugh being "interviewed" for 30 minutes on FoxNews.

Why bother?

I mean other that noting that this:

Wallace: And without putting you on the couch…so you guzzled the Hillbilly Heroin because you felt inadequate?

Boss Limbaugh: True, Chris. True. Now that I have spent seven weeks in rehab I have zero sense of inadequacy. It hasn’t been replaced with an irresponsible ego…

Wallace: And don’t get me wrong – I think you’re a great broadcaster and I want to have your babies – but how can you be worth 400 million dollars?

Boss Limbaugh: Free markets, bitchez!

was the most "heated" exchange, and that Boss Limbaugh was given 30 unopposed, free-fire minutes of public air time to accuse President Obama -- over and over again -- of deliberately trying to destroy the country and eviscerate the military to advance a Sekrit Marxist Agenda that, somehow, Boss Limbaugh of all people is privy too, it was exactly like watching a hooker interview her pimp at the point of a gun.

Down the dial I caught Traitor Joe Lieberman once again converting his latest "Judas (I-Scariot)" escapade into 15 more minutes of lucrative teevee face-time on "Face the Nation", followed by an eyeful of Al Fucking Sharpton treading the boards once again as the "liberal" on "This Week...", and I realized just what a comically bad series of career moves I have made in my life so far.

That however insightful or clever or penetrating or funny I may be,
There are no oceans left for scavengers like me.

That it is too late for me to learn to belch hate to the Pig People for big money.

Too late to get rich selling sanctimony by the pound; richer still selling out my alleged principles; to follow George W. Bush and my own bloodthirstiest Zionist fantasies into the political grave, only to claw my way out by creating my own political party; then further enrich myself by re-betraying everyone who stood by me during my first few rides on the Quisling-Go-Round.

Too late to turn a Velour track suit, a mile-high pompadour, a flair for slingin' scripture, a 150-decibel voice and a ruthless pursuit of the limelight into a career as a camera-ready "Liberal"

quote machine.

Too late to figure out how to plug into Sun Times Cartoonist Local 317.

I can only hope for the sake of the castle wenches that it's not too late

to learn to dance for my supper.