Forgotten, except for this post: Rhode Island

Mentioned only 3 times on United States television in all of 2007, with all major broadcast and cable news networks combined, this inchworm of a state prefers to remain below the radar of political and social messiness.

Just 37 miles wide (Seattle to Tacoma) and 47 miles long (Downtown Manhattan to Asbury Park, NJ), Rhode Island causes little trouble and doesn’t ask for much. The first of the 13 colonies to claim it’s independence from British rule and the last state to ratify the Constitution, Rhody is proud to say that minding it’s own business is it’s finest export, but only off the record.

Known to an unnamed few as the Denmark of North America, Rhode Island (from the Dutch Red Island) has a gifted temperament akin to Canada’s. A postage stamp stuck on the wrong end of the envelope, this spiritual leader of all 50 states can only remain so by maintaining it’s anonymity. Little Rhody, your salty shoulders shall still be exalted…neatly and quietly.

CLICK HERE for RI history of slavery, abolition, and Brown University

CLICK HERE for RI U.S. Presidential Primary Results!

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Angelina Jolie and Sandra Bernhard holding the world up

In the dream, Sandra Bernhard was holding a red metallic mini-disc recorder. She wanted to record herself remembering her dreams. We knew we were already inside one of those dark mortality dreams, with that “I’m gonna be dead someday” feeling. Sandra and I were both scared, our faces and necks getting hot, like fever. Sandra held the recorder near her mouth, then decided that I should go first. I put my hand on top of hers and brought the recorder close to my own mouth. I wanted to kiss the back of her hand but was distracted by the glossy green stones in every ring on every finger of her hand, each stone reflecting the light that was coming from the end of a telescope she had stationed by the window.

“In the year 2525”, I said, leaning in against her arm, “500 citizens got quite good at switching eyeballs with each other. A Minus 425 nearsight for a Plus 1200 farsight, in diopters, got to be no big deal for them, it was the resulting emotional perception exchange that was the real gamble”.

“Yeah”, Sandra imagined, “my 20-20 for Angelina Jolie’s Minus 175, hardly a change in vision really, except for night driving, I could get by squinting when I had to…but Angelina’s emotional rub…I…no, too packed tight like a snowball in spring…”. Then Sandra clicked off the recorder and wrapped her hands around mine, “Tell me your numbers, darling”. Before I could say just how I thought I saw, footsteps sounded up from the stairwell that led down to the stage where someone had just finished a performance, we could hear the applause spilling over. Sandra and I turned together toward the doorway and waited. We were awestruck, when the footsteps stopped, to see Hillary Clinton there, grinning at us, looking smart in a long red gown that exposed much of her beautiful breasts. In her right hand she was loosely holding a pair of binoculars.

CLICK HERE for Sandra Bernhard info

Juicy Planet guest post of the week: Obama, Clinton and the Little People

CLICK here for entire essay: EMPTY SUIT VISITS THE LITTLE PEOPLE, by Mark Nickels

EXCERPT:

Cintonistas and the GOP have relentlessly brainstormed for ways to frame Barack Obama to the media and the little people who are, per Hillary loyalist Paul Begala, the sole arbiters of his political fate. Bob Dole snarled about Obama that, like the pied-piper, “ calls them, and they come.” Hillary, willfully deaf to all irony, derided all the known political coin of the realm as effectively used by Obama, finding fault with “speeches”, “big rallies”, “caucus-goers”, “money”, anyone presumably not “hard-working”, and finally, in a sort of reverse apotheosis—her absolute career nadir, her personal worst— all but the “white.”

There are two other characters. On the one hand is Obama as the amiable and naïve Prince Mishkin on whom the politically needy pin their aspirations. This is a tactical representation from an earlier stage of the primary campaign, only a few months ago, just before their repressed memories of his eleven (or was it thirteen?) consecutive victories. Prince Mishkin (or, to update, Elwood P. Dowd?) appears to be played out. Nothing is likelier to dissolve the image of the stammering but smooth Elwood P. Dowd than having his wingtips on your neck, repeatedly.

Just lately, assorted dittoheads and Bush dead-enders have been delighted to resurrect empty suit. One upon a time, this was applied to their own George Walker Bush, mostly by opponents but even by manifest allies, namely like the generalissimo of the Swift Boaters, a Texas businessman who had a low opinion of the man he did so much to re-elect. Empty suit, as used by empty suits, is another example of the classic projection rhetoric of the right. Other notable examples, this time standard issue…

CLICK here for entire Barack Obama essay by Mark Nickels

Obama, Clinton, and the American perversion of the testes

As the 2008 U.S. Democratic Presidential primaries continue to roll themselves out like artificial turf over the natural sod of the American psychic landscape, Juicy Planet is perplexed by recent and frequent references to the gonads of male human beings, as they may or not relate to Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama’s perceived personas and how that persona influences their ability to win the nomination.

So Juicy Planet took an informal testicle straw poll of 917 Midwestern respondents of all genders and the results indicate that even though there is absolutely no rational or scientific basis for it, there is a perverse cultural belief that the ownership of testicles and further, the size of those testicles, has something or other to do with a person’s perceived mental strength, social courage, and/or political attractiveness.

Some voters in Indiana’s primary race last week were overheard stating, “I’d rather have a woman with balls than a man without balls…Obama is a nice man, but he is a wimp”. (Balls are another word commonly used in place of the word testicles). But what exactly is behind this testicle business? What do these gonads have to do with getting anything done that is any different than the tough workaday complexity and clarity of purpose put forth by the ovaries? The testicles, in fact, are one of the most vulnerable, sensitive, passive, chilling-out parts on the male body. So, how is it that Obama is being characterized as having less of these balls, and Clinton as having more of these balls?

Sexism takes many shapes, sometimes in the shape of a television frame, sometime in the shape of a ball. Hillary Clinton does not need a pair of testicles to be a tough, resilient, effective leader any more than Barack Obama needs to show the ones he has to prove he has the qualities, the brilliance and the fortitude to be the President of the United States, and to help bring us closer to the moral, educational, and economic redemption we’re so clearly pining for.

Hillary Clinton wrote me a letter

Juicy Planet is enthused to finally understand that money equals access to opportunity! After contributing $25 to the Hillary Clinton campaign, in a euphoric, generous state of mind after some dental work, Juicy Planet has been invited by former President Bill Clinton to maybe attend a special concert by Sir Elton John in New York City, where we will have the opportunity to meet and get drunk with rich gay folks and Democrats alike! For a mere $25, which Juicy Planet would have lost anyway betting on college basketball finals, we received a personal note from Hillary Clinton herself assuring us that, if we are able to contribute a few more bucks in time for the Pennsylvania Primaries, we might possibly end up breathlessly standing just behind and to the far right of Hillary as she sways along to Elton’s, “Levon, Levon likes his money…he makes a lot they say…”
 
We told her that once we decide between going without goji juice or Zoloft for a week, we will send another $25 in to the campaign. That’s only if Barack Obama doesn’t make a better offer, like the chance to eat spaghetti and meatballs with Oprah on the ferris wheel at Navy Pier while Obama croons out his much more progressive vision for the future, which may include the vast majority of American citizens who can’t buy their way into such privileged access to power. (see personal note below!)
Help Hillary Win

Dear wenjo,

 In the interest of harmony — and melody — I promise you there won’t be any duets. I’m really looking forward to the solo concert my friend Elton John is throwing in New York to help our campaign –and I would very much like the chance to meet you there.  

We’re sending two supporters, along with their guests, to New York with VIP tickets for this very special, one-night-only concert on April 9, and it could be you. We will have a chance to talk just you and I — and you will get to meet Elton John at the party we’re throwing afterwards. It’s going to be a great night. Thank you so much for all your support. I hope you know how much you mean to me and my campaign. 

Sincerely, Hillary hillary.jpg

Juicy Planet Guest Blab of the Week: Clinton or Obama, Who’s Better in Bed?

by field correspondent Mr. Randall TeVelde

Choosing a presidential nominee is not like picking a brand of peanut butter, or a pilates class, or a place to eat. Or is it? It’s tempting to say that president-choosing is pretty much its own thing, like the way choosing a college is its own thing. But, really, there are only three critera that are important for the Democratic nomination, and one overshadows the other two combined.

Best Drinking Buddy
Winner: Hillary Clinton clinton_drink.jpg

The most entertaining drinkers have gossip to share that hasn’t leaked out yet. Buy Hillary some jello shots and she just might tell you what she said to Bill when she found out about Monica, or Jennifer, or, better yet, Janet Reno and Madeleine Albright. You know she’s got dirt on half of Washington, since anyone would trade their petty little secrets for hers. No one gets invited to her parties who hasn’t confessed something career-threatening.

Barack Obama looks like he’s barely had one good drunk under his belt. Sure, he says he experimented with drugs, but that didn’t hurt him, since most people think all African-Americans do drugs anyway. He wishes he were wild enough to do everything he claims, but he’d look a lot more like Quincy Jones if the claims were true.

Best Sexual Partner
Winner: Hillary Clinton clintonobamalaugh.jpg

The skin on her face looks pulled super tight, and no amount of layering can cover her Weeble shape. Yet Bill keeps coming back for more. He’s tried every brand on the shelf, but he still likes it homemade. There’s a reason she smiles every time someone trash talks her at the debates. Her handlers just tell her: “Don’t get mad; just think how much better you are in bed than they are.” Her handlers know.

Barack Obama would not be such a good speaker if he had a good sex life. He chooses his words carefully and delivers them so well, because the cheering crowds are more satisfying than going home to Michelle. But don’t blame her; he’s up late every night writing new speeches for his groupies.

Best Roommate
Winner: Barack Obama obama_icecream.jpg

You can count on Barack to return any bacon he snitched off your shelf in the refrigerator. In fact he’ll probably give you thick slices in exchange for the wimpy Oscar Meyers you bought. He’s just that kind of guy. And if you go too long without cleaning out your shelves on the fridge, he’ll clean the whole thing without saying anything.

On the other hand, you know that Hill is the roommate who’ll fill seven-eighths of the fridge with Weight Watcher’s so far out of date that mold oozes out of the packages. She eats out every night. But don’t dare throw out her science experiments, or steal from her doggy bags; she’ll insinuate that you should replace them. And if you don’t, she’ll be happy to file in small claims court.

When it comes down to essentials, you don’t want a president for a night at a bar, or for a one night stand. You gotta live with your choice for at least four years; early divorces are exceptional. No doubt he’s a rare drunk and a snooze in bed. But take the guy who keeps the fridge clean, and you’ll be happier about it later.

I hugged Hillary Clinton in a hotel this morning

hillary_listening.jpg

In the dream, I was spending a weekend with George Clooney and some of his buddies somewhere in a snowy Midwest ski area, where no one was skiing they just wanted to be able to ski if the mood struck. George invited me to stay with him in his hotel room after meeting me on the side of the road, where I had just slid my motorcycle into a steep snow bank, on purpose, because I knew the road was too icy to stop without getting hurt. It was dumb to be on the motorcycle but it was the only way to quickly get away from my lover, who I saw flirting with another woman and winking at her in that “my girlfriend won’t know what I’m really up to” way. So I was real glad to see George with his sweet face and understanding invitation to sleep with him, as I saw fit.

George and the gang all went swimming in a warm lovely little lake, where I had to walk in my wet underwear and Tshirt past George and hoped my skin wasn’t too winter pale for his taste. We returned to the ski slopes just as the ice storm picked up again, turning the wooded trail into a dangerous slippery mountain climbing passage. I was just about to swing open a metal gate that led to our hotel when I was struck by lightning. The intensity of the light was unnatural, blinding and complete, and the voice of lightning found the deepest place in my heart and suddenly stopped talking altogether, the silence louder and sadder than anything I’ve ever heard.

When I woke up I was laying wrapped in a blanket watching George on the end of the hotel bed rearranging his shaving kit. He stood by me and winked, kissed my cheek, and left for work. The door opened again immediately and it was a woman. She was short, dressed in business casual, and had sexy brown lipstick on. She sat on the floor next to the bed and draped her arm over me. I brought my arm out and pulled her face closer. Since I didn’t have my glasses on, I didn’t know it was Hillary Clinton until she was near enough to kiss. Her hair smelled like daffodils and leather. She said, “Thanks,” and then I sat up so we could hug better. I wanted to kiss her more, so I got up to brush my teeth. Hillary propped herself up on the pillows and started reading a page from The Onion that was strewn on the floor. I stood in front of the sink brushing for a very long time, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t get all the ground up peanut fragments out of my mouth.

“You’ll get used to it”, Hillary said.

lipstickmug.jpg