Thursday, August 31, 2006

Game: On

It's on, motherfuckers. No more hiding behind the comments or hidden identities. No more locking Snarky Boy out of your precious little insider sites. Because, this Sunday, the Snarky Boy will settle this nonsense once and for all. Let it be known from Brattleboro to St. Albans, and from Putney to Norton (where?), that the Snarkmaster is bringing his A-game to the Thunderdome of Worship to settle it all and to settle it now. That's right. It's a mud war! I have communicated via private email to all seven of Vermont's liberal bloggers, inviting each to a Snarky vs. their tag-team of rag doll pansy asses in what can only be described as -- well -- a mud wrestling session. This is serious. This will end the flame war once and for all. Because the last blogger standing at the end of the night gets one thing and maybe two things only: A photo of themselves with Philip Baruth that will -- of course -- be posted on his website (and you know how much he likes that). But that's not all: the winner of this take-no-prisoners mud war also gets to declare himself -- sorry but the only chick in this game is a rightwinger -- Master of the Blogging Community (behind, of course, King Phil and Queen Cathy).

The rules? Bring it on. You show up, you get dirty, and either offer Snarky a beer to distract him or get in the pit to fight him. And when the first liberal blogger says "uncle," it's over, and Snarky is the man.

Got it? Good.

You can email me at for more information.

Let's get it on.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Rumsfeld's Speech (made simple for the Fox News crowd)

Feel the Love

My goodness, people, either you're going to take me seriously or not. But we can't have anymore of this in between bullshit. I mean, come on, the good lady at the Burlington Free Press writes these good words, followed by the Queen of Vermont Blogging writing this review of the good words and you snot-nosed little blogging dweebs have to go and jump ugly about it all.

I mean, come on, I’ve been nothing but nice to you people – and this is the thanks I get? (Thanks, Snarky Mom, for that last line from my childhood).

Yesterday I had to visit my therapist about it, trying to reconcile the love and the hate of it all. And here's the best line I got from my nervous little mental-helper, in an apparent effort to get me to understand the attacks from the bloggers I thought were my friends: "The hideous scars of jealousy are best covered."

I have no idea what the hell that means but I nodded just like I think I’m supposed to. I’m terrible at therapy encounters. I can’t stop thinking that I need to fool the person trying to help me. You know, like not letting them know that anything’s wrong. I’m the exact opposite of Woody Allen in those situations, just claming up or going into a manic state of super-okayness.

I also don’t know why she’s so goddamn nervous either. It’s not like I’m that nuts. Maybe it’s the whole double identity thing going on, and my refusal to let her question it. Or maybe it’s because she’s my nephew’s school psychologist and I’m visiting her during school hours. Who knows. But she’s not very nice about any of it, either. I mean, get over it, I pay my taxes. And it’s not like I bug her during the summer break. Whatever.

But this whole Vermont blogger jealousy thing is perplexing. Notice, for example, that it’s the pompous blogosphere liberals who are leading the charge to duck tape Snarky’s mouth. That, my friends, is a fine example of how far today’s liberalism has drifted from its vaunted beginnings – way back to…hmmm… oh yes…. Jesus. Now he was quite the wandering slacker, huh?

Today’s liberalism is a joyless little affair. Don’t believe me? Just say these two words: Bernie Sanders. There, got my point? I mean, come on, can you imagine having a beer with Bernie? First, I have a feeling he’s got terrible breath from chronic dry mouth and, secondly, he’d just be obnoxiously boring. I’ll bet when he gets tipsy he just says the same things he always says but only faster.

Imagine Bernie telling a joke. Imagine Bernie laughing so uncontrollably that his soda comes out his nose. Imagine Bernie doubling over in laughter. Imagine Bernie telling us he saw the movie “Jackass” and liked it because it took his mind off suffering people.

Sorry, it ain’t gonna happen.

Today’s liberalism seems to be about joylessness and control. I bet I could put a pencil between the butt cheeks of any modern liberal and it wouldn’t fall out until I took it out. These bastards never lighten up. Never let loose. And get totally fucking freaked out when anyone dares to veer from the script they live their pathetic little lives by.

These are the kinds of people, for example, who get excited about recycling for crying out loud. It will never dawn on them that it’s still just glorified garbage. And it will absolutely never occur to them that they’ve got so much recycling because they’re buying way too much crap for their kiddies.

Yeah, you know the type. It’s the “getting things done” liberals. They keep their hair short, their lawns short, their clothes clean and pressed – even the jeans!, and if there’s any sex to be had that will happen on schedule on Saturday night at 9:45.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not giving up on the opportunity to be a trickster, to revel in “risky” humor, or to stick my finger in the eye of the pompous bloats once in a while just because I live in the land of Vermont, home of the uptight liberal and 1% for peace. (Did the other 99% go to war?)

I don’t know where in the hell I was going with any of this but I’ve got to get back to work.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Just a Thought

Now It's Making Sense

This just in! The Matt Dunne campaign has contacted Snarky Boy to try and explain his awkward performance during yesterday's online debate with John Tracy. It turns out that the man Green Mountain Daily assigned to monitor his typing, Neil Jensen (aka Vermonter) [see photo above], came dressed in what Dunne described simply as "rather intimidating attire." Well, I'd agree with bizarre but "intimidating" may be a stretch. Worse, Dunne also said that every time the screen name "Odum" appeared on the monitor, Jensen would jump down from the table he used to stand over Dunne, swing his sword around and just yell, "Dude! Dude! Dude!" It was, as Dunne concluded, more than a bit distracting.

Our apologies to the Dunne campaign. That must have been difficult. And, as a result, the Snarky Boy now declares you the winner. Unless, of course, we're informed of similar nefarious activities at the site of Tracy's typing. Come on, Jack, you got something to tell us?

Lunch Break Library Blogging: Malek Mops Up

One can only imagine what kind of backslapping is going on over at GMD today over their fiasco of a debate yesterday between the Democratic candidates for lite-guv, Matt Dunne and John Tracy. I’d spoof them again but the real-life version is even funnier than the whacked out stuff my tired mind can make up. If I had to take a guess, I’ll bet Vermonter is wondering if he looked fat on the television coverage or Odum is pondering a career move following their “amazing breakthrough” by applying for an associate blogger job with Baruth. Whatever the case may be, I’m sure it’s fucking hysterical. It’s like a bunch of bloated ex-jocks cheering the third inning error call that went their way. Dude! We did it. Whatever.

But the GMD debates of yesterday became even more meaningless today after Dr. Marvin Malek, the Progressive Party candidate for lite-guv, hit nothing short of a grand slam homerun in his one-on-one debate with Mark Johnson on Radio Vermont this morning. If I were Dunne and Tracy, I’d shit-can that sleepy rhetoric about how this year’s health care reform was “a first step,” because Malek’s gonna eat you both alive if you keep that candy-ass nonsense up.

It’s the first time I’ve actually heard Malek address the issues and he blew the Snarkmaster away. Granted, he got a bit lecturish and long-winded from time to time, but he certainly knows his stuff and can swap away the middle-of-the-road garbage that critics often throw at universal health care advocates.

If Malek continues to perform this well, he’s going to be stealing a whole hell of a lot of votes from whoever the Dem is in this race. And that will certainly spell another accidental victory to Vermont’s Mr. Magoo of politics, Brian Dubie.

The Dems, of course, will sit up and scream about how Malek “spoiled” it for them, but it’s obvious from comparing yesterday’s debate with today’s that Malek’s got what neither of the Dems have: political guts. This is what the Progs are supposed to be offering Vermonters, someone who is saying things that none of the other candidates are saying – and, better yet, saying it well.

In this regard, Malek is a much better Progressive candidate that Anthony Pollina ever was or ever will be. Malek’s genuine where Pollina’s just desperate. Malek’s articulate where Pollina can’t finish a sentence without correcting himself. Malek’s got the credentials where Pollina’s just got a losing record. And Malek’s got no baggage where Pollina has – well – a losing record.

It’ll be interesting to see how much support the Progs are going to throw behind the Malek candidacy. I know his entrance into the race was not “party sanctioned,” a big deal for a group of people who run their party like some Stalin stepsister. But my guess is that Malek has put them in a bind with his issue-focus and well-spoken manner, forcing them to give him a public nod for the time being. I hope it’s more than that, though. Malek deserves it.
So go ahead, GMDers, keep pounding those chests over your 37-person audience yesterday for that sleepy little affair. But you’re facing a certain ass whipping in November unless you start waking up your candidates and learning a little something from Malek. Unlike your blow-dried fellows, this guy’s the real deal.

Monday, August 28, 2006

Yo Whiners: Ride This.

The Great Oops Debate

Oh no, what’s that funny feeling I’m getting in my head region? It’s so foreign. I’ve never felt it before. Oh shit, it’s……compassion.

Yep, the Snarky Boy is feeling compassion for the yahoos over at Green Mountain Daily who hyped their online debate with the Democratic candidates for lieutenant governor, Matt (all) Dunne and John Patrick Henry David Tom Tracy. What a fucking disaster. Ouch.

I thought it was just going to start bad, but then it actually got worse through the entire awkward hour that it lingered on my library screen. The rules were ridiculous. The technology was clumsy. The planning was atrocious. The candidates were bored. The questions were sleepy. And, worse, the answers were bland.

Debate? What debate?

The best line of the debate went to John Tracy, without a doubt. When asked about wind and Dubie, he let loose with this line: “I noticed recently that Brian broke with the Gov. on wind, notice I did not say broke wind….”

That’ll earn him a Snarky vote. If, that is, Snarky bothers to vote on this toss up.

But, for the most part, the debate was a big technical mistake. It began late with Odum even coming into the chat room to say, “I think we’re all getting the hang of this system folks – stand by.”

Hey Odum, ever hear of a rehearsal? Practice makes perfect, you know.

And then technical difficulties and/or poor planning just kept plaguing the otherwise bland affair. Questions like this one from Dunne, “Hey Odem [sic], not clear on question or who goes first,” were more interesting than the actual questions and answers anyway.

It was also quite comical to imagine the panicked typing going on by Dunne and Tracy as they were allotted a mere 90 seconds to respond to questions that were seemingly searching for a book’s worth of information. But Odum realized about half way into the debate that the 90-second rule was ridiculous, adding 30 seconds to the limit.

“Even I think that’s a little ridiculous,” Odum typed.

Well, again, that could have easily been ironed out with some better planning and a rehearsal with the technology.

Poor Odum. That was embarrassing. And the poor guy even tried to get the two candidates to lighten up a bit by using some slang in his questions.

“Matt,” Odum inquired of Dunne, “my property taxes are kicking my
butt. Any thoughts?”

If I were Dunne, I would have offered this response: Kick ‘em back.

And then when he asked Tracy the same question, he ended it with, “throw me a bone, here?”

A bone wouldn’t have helped, Odum. You needed a lifeline.

Sorry about that, Odum. Get well soon.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Snarky Visits the Vacationing President

Oh boy, Snarky Boy really did it this time. I told you I was done with those ninnies over at Green Mountain Daily. I mean, come on, have you heard about their pathetic day jobs? These boys are such amateur Democrats that they can’t even land decent campaign jobs at the height of campaign season. Can you spell l-o-s-e-r-s? I knew you could. And, by the way, as the “associate membership director” of VNRC, Odum would like all of you to know: don’t forget to donate to Vermont’s most worthless eco-group. And Kestrel Ed would like you to listen to him call out the dial numbers and time at his radio station in Virginia next time you’re there. Sure, Kestrel, we’ll do.

But where was I? Oh yeah, Snarky Boy overdid it this weekend. I was wrapping up my state office-building job on Friday when my buddy, Buddy, heard that President Bush was heading to his mommy and daddy’s tony little abode on the Maine coast. Oh shit, I thought, there goes my weekend.

“I’m going,” Buddy declared from atop a ladder in full head protection from the state-sponsored lead abatement program. “If Bush is in Maine, I’m going to let him know he’s not welcome.”

“But you’re in Vermont,” I let it be known.

“I know, fuckface [ed. note: that’s painter talk], but it’s a half-day’s drive to protest. And I’m sure we won’t be the only ones there.”

And so it went. Or, better yet, there we went: straight to Kennebunkport, Maine, fresh from a day of painting, then lickity-fucking-split in some rickety goddamn Chrysler small-shit car that rattled to the heavens. Ah, the bliss of it all. We were four men in a car, traversing the Northern tier. We were four rather confused – but still radical – painter fellas on our way to just say, “no, thank you” to the President of the United States. We were Kerouac’s Sal and on our own road, but this time with politics, not pussy.

But, honestly, we didn’t know where the hell we were going or why we were going there. Missing one of those questions is usually okay, but missing both of them usually leads to a very long weekend. And it really sucks when you get home, realize the Snarky fan club hasn’t been fed their daily allotment of words, and then tomorrow morning we must face the last brutal hours of a most boring painter gig. There ain’t no peace.

But – wait a second – that’s why we went: there ain’t no peace. Oh yes, of course, after six long years of the simian-like presidency, one tends to forget that being in a constant state of war isn’t normal. But this privileged little prick – Bush, that is – is having one grand time with the nation’s rather obscene arsenal at his fingertips.

So we set out for several hours of nighttime driving to stand at his parents’ house to let him know that a wartime president shouldn’t be allowed a high-class break from his dopey little war when the rest of us are anxiety riddled from his nonsensical world outlook. If, for example, we’re all supposed to be so goddamn scared of everything that may or may not be in our midst, why is he always so friggin’ jovial and carefree.

Oh yeah, now I remember: it’s the infamous “Carter Lesson” at work here. That’s the lesson that every president since Carter has chanted as a mantra since poor Georgia-Jimmy got shown the door in 1980. And it goes like this: Don’t look weak. Don’t get caught showing real emotion. And don’t – whatever you do – put solar panels on the White House even though none us have a nickel’s worth of wisdom about where in holy hell we’re going to get our energy in the future. There, got that?

Speaking of our energy future, I hope some of you good Democrats caught one of Martha Rainville’s responses to an energy question during her Radio Vermont debate with Count Dracula, Mark Shepard. In it, she said something like this: It’s really unfortunate that this energy crisis wasn’t addressed thirty years ago when we first learned that it was going to be a problem.

That’s when Mark Johnson and Radio Vermont need to implement a laugh track. But Mark kept his cool, refusing to even offer a chuckle at the absurdity of Rainville – the Republican’s – bullshit. Earth to Rainville: A certain president, a man by the name of Jimmy Carter, tried to address the energy crisis more than 30-years ago as you suggested, but you and your Republican ilk ran him from office faster than you can say “stick your heads in the sand.” Remember? Yeah, and your presidential-replacement-hero, Ronald Reagan, made the Republican masses swoon when he took office and yanked the Carter-installed solar hot-water panels from the White House roof.

Oh yeah, ignorance IS bliss! And it must be even more blissful for Rainville to spout such nonsense thirty years later as if history doesn’t matter and facts are made of Play-doh! But, hey, we should probably cut her some slack because she really doesn’t know what party she’s running with. And, lucky for her, the dog running against her as a Democrat seems to think that the less he barks the better.

There I go again. Off on some tangent that probably made you forget that I was on my way to Kennebunkport on Friday night to tell President Bush to stop the bullshit. I missed most of the ride to a delicious snooze, fortunately, but I was rudely awoken to the startled exclamations of my more alert comrades. Something really articulate like: “Oh shit.”

I was thinking of something benign like a flat tire or a meandering moose. But when I lifted my head to see nothing but a skyline filled with cop lights and spotlights, I knew the “oh shit” was warranted.

“Oh shit,” I interjected, almost as a communal kind of ante to the situation.

We were in the town of Kennebunk, the last town before the Bush compound’s abode on Kennebunkport. And the security culture was in full force, making sure that the man who insists on war was at peace. Go figure.

Before we could even think about turning around and avoiding the litany of FBI/CIA/Secret Service questions, we were overwhelmed by a blinding barrage of search lights and angry men with flack-jackets and all the armaments to remove Saddam from a rabbit hole.

“State your purpose!” was what I heard more than a few times. And, worse, they were yelling it as much as asking it. In fact, if you want to know what the whole thing felt like to me, try this: ask a loved one to randomly barge in on you during a deep sleep and, with a flashlight directly on your face, yell “What’s your purpose?”

Jesus fucking Christ. There I go, getting redundant again.

I wasn’t doing a damn thing wrong other than sleeping in a wickedly dangerous car (mechanically, that is) but when I heard this question and saw those lights, my first reaction was quite obvious: wake and run, baby, wake and run.

But I didn’t. Or I’m convinced I wouldn’t be writing these words today. Trust me, these guys don’t fuck around. Odd as it seems, they really believe that the man creating war throughout the world deserves peace, even from a rag-tag bunch of painter-guys who plan on doing nothing but bang a drum and chant stupid-rhyming shit for a few hours in the hopes to disrupt one measly second of the warmaker’s getaway.

Luckily, calmer heads prevailed, and we were able to convince the great simian protectors that we came in peace – protest, for sure – but peace nonetheless. After a search of the car and us, we apparently passed the test of ninnie-hood and were actually given directions to the “assigned site of protest.” I felt like such a failure. Good grief, I wondered, do I look like one of those vigilers? Am I so past my activists prime that I just get automatically directed to the site of fellow-past-our-prime-activists so we can do whatever it is those whom we’re protesting have pre-approved?

Please, I thought, someone take me home to Charlio’s where a beer and a buzz can be obtained without the pretence.

No such luck. We were stuck. We were now on the highway to approved protests. It’s a slippery slope, you know. One minute you think you’re radical and the next minute you find yourself “yes-siring” a federal agent and then standing around with the Maine equivalent of the Raging Grannies. And it all happens before you fucking know what’s happening to you.

And it only got worse. When we got to the pre-approved protest site, we had more cops directing everything we did from where we parked to how we were to behave. One even started to read us the Kennebunkport noise ordinance, a cute little document that was clearly passed to protect the Bushies. Basically, the ordinance says, “shut the fuck up.” Oh wait, and it adds this little twist: “Or else.” Whatever.

If they were smart, they would have encouraged America’s disaffected riff-raff to come here to suffer through a somnolently night of –well – political disaffection. Oh, feel the power of the few gathered in our appointed grounds of so-called protest. Me-fucking-ow.

The dawning of morning didn’t help my snarky mood, either. Because just like we had a designated place to protest in Kennebunkport, we also had a designated place to defecate. One designated place, that is. Worse, there were lines to the port-o-potty that would have made a Florida or Ohio minority voter envious. In other words, the lines were long. And the keepers of peace from the Security State of the United States took their bathroom duties as serious as serious could be.

I almost got “busted” for veering off into a path to take a leak at one point, and you’d think I was the second coming of Osama the way they confronted me. “You can’t pee there!” they yelled. And I thought I had logic on my side when I started in on my dialectic of the outdoor peer, even going so far as to show them the wildlife prints from our natural brethren like the abundant deer who didn’t seem to give a hoot about the port-o-potties.

“You ain’t Bambi, buddy,” was the best response I got. And he had a point.

Trust me, I haven’t felt this foolish at a protest since I was last suckered into attending one of those State House love-fests starring Joseph Gainza and his cast of all-too-predictable characters. You’ve seen one of those protests and you’ve seen them all. But because Joseph’s drawing a handsome salary to keep it up, he keeps it up. Profit in the name of peace? You bet. Ben & Jerry did, so why can’t Joseph? Except when it comes to Joseph’s salary, it ain’t 1% for peace, it’s 100% for peace – Joseph’s economic peace, that is. Yeah, keep singing Grannies.

Speaking of Gainza, I see from the Montpelier Bridge this month that he’s getting ready to possibly think about perhaps doing something that he loves to talk about from afar. I’m speaking, of course, about civil disobedience. Gainza was apparently all jacked up for the Cindy Sheehan appearance in Montpelier recently and got all giddy at the mouth, including a threat to engage in civil disobedience – just like the radicals of the past! But Sheehan didn’t show and Gainza was left with his same audience who’ve heard this promise too many times before to take it seriously. Yawn.

But the promise of Joseph waking himself up certainly caught the attention of The Bridge’s just as sleepy editor, Nat Frothing-something. Nat was clearly intrigued by the timelessness of Gainza’s pledge, and then let him wiggle out of it in one his famous meandering articles, ending with Gainza back tracking so much on his civil disobedience pledge that you forgot he had even called for it in the first place. And the real sad part is that Nat Frothier-than-thou didn’t even appear to notice that the article he started writing had nothing to do with its ending.

Way to go, Joseph! Collect that check for peace, baby!

Damn. Where was I? Oh yeah. The protest in Kennebunkport yesterday morning.

Here’s how it went: We stood where we were supposed to. We chanted what they expected us to. And we left just like they thought we would, too.

And all the Snarky Boy got from the whole miserable affair was a fatigue headache, some fine conversation on the way home, and the limp happiness of knowing I showed up to do what very few other people in this so-called democracy could give two-shits about showing up to: a protest against the worst president in the nation’s history.

Now I’ve got to go face that same stupid wall of lead paint tomorrow morning.


And what the hell did you do?

Friday, August 25, 2006

Honesty Sucks

Deal with it.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

This Just In: Dunne's Winning!

Dunne vs. Tracy: The Liberal Dilemma

Holy shit, liberals never had it this bad. You can feel the sweat running down their ass cheeks over the upcoming Democratic primary between liberal Matt Dunne and liberal John Tracy. Besides, as Snarky has pointed out before (click here), they're both so damn cute!

The two "went at it" this morning on Mark Johnson's radio show that is -- interesting enough -- called the Mark Johnson Show. How in the hell did he think of that? But as much as they tried to be different, by the end, all we knew is that they are more the same. Let's face it, radio ain't gonna settle this one. These boys need to go to television so Democrats can get to what really differentiates the two: their smiles, their size and their charm.

And one thing's for sure, neither is pulling the old primary game of running to the left for a Democratic primary so as to get the so-called activists voters. Take, for example, the issue of health care. Both Dunne and Tracy think the legislature made a "great first step" with the legislation that Governor Jim Douglas all but forced them to pass. And, unfortunately, they did, thus killing the one and only issue the Dems had in getting rid of Douglas (yes, that was Douglas laughing all the way to re-election when he saw the Dems bend over so far as to break on this one).

I listened to as much of the debate as I could today and I can't think of one issue where there was serious disagreement. In fact, I thought Mark Johnson was going to announce that the two were just going to seal the deal with one of those famous Vermont Civil Unions and run as a couple.

But there was no such luck for the liberals. So now they have to actually make a choice. Worse, they have to pretend to make a choice since there really isn't any, which is probably worse. And we all know how damn hard it is for Vermont liberals to actually take a stand that might be -- oh shit! -- divisive!

But, rest assured, it hardly matters. Because the good Progressive doctor, Marvin Malek, is going to run circles around these two Democratic bland brothers on the issue of health care, stealing more than enough votes to let incumbent Brian Dubie stroll to re-election. And we all know who to blame for that one, don't we: Yep, Mr. Confused Liberal, himself, Anthony Pollina.

Poor liberals, this one must really hurt.

Cartoon (duh)

Snarky's Night Out

Whew, rough night. But you wouldn’t understand. Or maybe you would.

See, the Snarky Boy has a little policy here that you need to know about. When you or anyone else you know even ponders a critical thought about me, I set off to break into your car and try to steal your parking meter change. I know, I know, it might sound crazy….but I AM crazy. That’s why I’m Snarky Boy.

And I’ve been getting a lot of negative vibes lately from a whole bunch of people afflicted with what is obviously a complete lack of a sense of humor. You know the kind, usually uptight liberals who’ve developed ass hernias from holding their buns so tight for so long. They’re so disconnected with what they think that they don’t even know what they think any more.

The final political result, of course, is that they actually find excitement in political candidates like Dukakis, Gore, Kerry, Welch, Parker, and the like. Hell, they love the Gore bore so much they’re bringing him back for a second political act – this time as a movie star! And they’re so goddamn gullible that they’ll even let Gore get away with blaming Bush for the entirety of the global warming fiasco, forgetting, of course, that Gore was the number two guy right here in the USA for EIGHT LONG YEARS. But, sure, it’s all Bush’s fault.

Notice I didn’t put Clinton in that mix. Clinton was the embarrassment to the crowd of lifeless Dems because Clinton sought pleasure. That’s a big no-no. And as if to atone for the collective sin of electing a pleasure seeker, they handed two elections to Bush by nominating two limp pricks to oppose him, Gore and Kerry. Whew! Penance complete! Or maybe not, because there’s apparently never enough penance for the joyless.

But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I’m meandering, probably because there’s still enough liquor in my body to still be legally drunk. And it all began with a rendezvous at Charlio’s last night, where my merry band of “equalizers” got right to work pumping alcohol into our bodies and checking our lists of who said something bad about Snarky in the last 48 hours. And what a list it was!

If Snarky’s therapist wasn’t such an obnoxious prick in her own right, she’d probably have convinced me that I should just swoon under any attention. But we haven’t gotten there yet. So Snarky seeks revenge. Sure, it’s petty, but I’m petty – especially when I’m drunk.

With an appointed designated driver we planned to travel all over the state to hunt down the cars of people we suspected of not liking us. We were even organized, too, taking the time, for example, to alphabetize the list. One of the “equalizers” fought strenuously against the alphabetic plan, instead arguing for a more geographic approach. But all we had to go by were names – not addresses – so we stuck to the alphabet, something we know a bit about.

Off we went – beginning with “a.” First up: Anonymous. This bastard has been everywhere on the Net spewing spineless barbs at the Snarky Boy. Fucking coward. He or she won’t even use her or his own name. Worse, Anonymous isn’t only a coward; he or she is obviously confused. One minute Anonymous likes Snarky and the next Anonymous hates Snarky. But, whatever, we needed to find Anonymous’ car for that spare change.

First stop: Borrow the phonebook and look the confused creep up. Ha! Anonymous won’t even put himself or herself in the phonebook! What a panty waste.

But we were stuck. No “Anonymous” in the book other than some reference to alcohol but none of us feel ready to pursue that path quite yet. So we tried the next person on our list. Damn! Another Anonymous! And that one wasn’t in the book either! Fuckers.

So we went back to the first Anonymous, determined to work our way down the list with a new plan. We’d ask around. Certainly, someone would know our first Anonymous and steer us to his/her car for some spare change.

No such luck. Anonymous is clearly a wily character because everyone seemed prepared to cover for him/her. With each, “do you know the first Anonymous,” we only got studied shoulder shrugs and well-rehearsed looks of irritation (To be fair, I think some of them smelled the alcohol on our breath and were a bit suspicious. But, hell, all we were looking to do was steal spare change from Internet adversaries. I mean, get a life, people.)

So not only did we not find the first Anonymous, we didn’t come close to finding his/her car. And then, as happens most of the time with our plans, we were too drunk to do much more than shoot pool, hang with our Charlio’s fan club, and play Vermont’s fastest growing drinking game: 1) Get a bottle and a television set tuned to ANY local channel; 2) Take a drink every time you see a Tarrant commercial.

And don’t forget the designated driver.

This spare change thing didn’t seem too smart anyway. I can make more in an hour painting rich people’s houses than I could in a week of spare change thievery. And I doubt anyone would make the connection between their missing spare change and the important political revenge that it was a part of. Well, except those whining Democrats. And they think everyone’s out to get them, even if you could care a less about them.

Besides, I think they’re onto us by now.

But, hey, that’s life in the land of make-believe.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

It's Your Call, God

Now that the liberals have got their panties in knots over Snarky Boy, let's see if we can get the religious right involved.

It's Rainville Time!

It’s Rainville vs. Welch in November, surprise, surprise. In the congressional race to replace Bernie Sanders, that is. Although Rainville’s facing a Republican opponent in the primary, Mark Shepard, she did about all she needed to do in yesterday’s debate on WDEV’s Mark Johnson Show to finish off the much-overmatched Shepard.

With the weight of the Republican Party hierarchy already behind her, Rainville’s been playing the catch me if you can game with Shepard – dodging debates and refusing to even acknowledge his existence.

Until now. And it looks like we know why: Mark Shepard is clearly not ready for prime time. Besides, where, exactly, do these rightwing nutjobs think they’re going to get in Vermont with open support of the war, strident pro-life positions, and big smooches to the nuclear energy corporations?

Shepard must have thought he was on the radio show after Johnson’s, True North, where it’s host and his bevy of whack-jobs spill forth with enough rightwing venom to make Jim Douglas stay away. And Jim Douglas doesn’t stay away from much.

If yesterday’s debate were a boxing match, the ref would have declared a technical knockout after the first question. Shepard was stunned from the beginning, barely able to finish sentences and nervous as all hell. Johnson even tried to help him out of a few verbal meanderings and one complete loss of thought. Yikes.

The She-General just whacked Shepard around like he was some Abu-Ghraib detainee. I’ll bet she was busy trying to rewire her headphones to give Shepard’s nipples a good jolt of juice. But she hardly needed to, not with the way Shepard just lolly-gagged around the whole affair, except, of course, when he got to get all passionate about supporting the war, preventing abortions and building more nukes.

Yo Shepard, take that flock elsewhere. Or better yet, keep it confined to True North radio so we can all still have our comedy hour on the dial.

But that leaves us with the She-General. And damn she’s slick. The question is: is she too slick? The Republican trainers have obviously got her primed for this race on all the important factors, most notably how to avoid answering a question and camouflaging your true ideology.

That, my friends, is right out of the Jim Douglas playbook. It’s really quite simple: be nice, smile, and avoid the issues. And the good news for the candidates who employ this strategy is that the Vermont media will snuggle up in your lap for a long, election season nap. Oh sure, you might have to rub behind their ears from time to time, but you’ll never have to worry about a challenging question or – heavens forbid—the threat of investigative journalism. Yep, you never heard of that up here, did ya?

So once the She-General gets done making an ass of Shepard, she’ll be off to face this year’s king of blandness, Peter Welch. And, sadly, this race feels a whole hell of a lot like the Douglas vs. Doug Racine race of 2002. Douglas just smiled and spoke in amazing generalizations and the obnoxiously bland Racine, running as if he deserved the governorship, got a good ass whipping.

Well, folks, the Rainville’s acting a whole lot like Douglas and Welch is doing his best imitation of Racine. Welch, in fact, doesn’t even seem to like himself. Just look at his ads. Welch’s first ad was all about his now-deceased wife. And now his second ad is all about his fucking dog. That’s nice, Peter, but how about you?

Welch’s handlers apparently know that they more they focus on Welch the more the voters are likely to reach for the barf bag. Besides, when people see Welch being Welch they think of one think: ambulance-chasing lawyer. Yep, we all remember the REAL Welch back when he saturated the media with ads that begged for clients for this law firm.

The Democrats of today deserve Welch. These lethargic ninnies are so scared of passion that they keep getting passionless candidates. Imagine that. Only a modern Vermont Democrat could screw up a race against a former general in an outrageously unpopular war. If you looked at the issues alone, Welch should be in a cakewalk toward office this year. But Welch has been largely invisible on the issues and, when he does show up, he just reminds us how goddamn bland he is. Yep, just like Racine.

But the race is on. Hand me some more popcorn….

Comments Are Open. Let It Rip.

Okay, okay, the Snarky Boy is tired of responding to email after email and seeing my work discussed everywhere but here. So, by popular demand, the comments are now open on this site. Let's see what you've got for me. But, please, be creative.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Green Mountain Nonsense

Shhh...don't speak too loudly or quickly, you might scare the little Green Mountain Daily chicken bloggers. And -- holy shit! -- if you engage in creative writing or use foul language they'll make the assumption that you break into cars by evening. Yeah, that makes sense.

But they're just fragile little bloggers over there. We know that. Why else would they attack the Snarky Boy and then lock him out -- thus preventing a response?

Can you say: Swift-Boat Bloggers. I knew you could. Come on, fellas, that's soooo Republican.

Oh boy, the Snarkmaster loves the feeling of the soft, little beaks at GMD pecking at me. Ah, watch the site meter jump!

You gotta feel for these little birds, though, they still think the only humor in Vermont comes from Rusty Dewees and Fred Tuttle. But we'll just keep feeding them until they're big enough to eat.

Monday, August 21, 2006

Next Up: Radio!

Yo, good folks -- at least those with a sense of humor. Good news from Snarky Land. The Snarkmaster has been invited to submit sample tapes for what could be a soon-to-be-announced Snarky Radio Show! Imagine that! Holy -- oops -- I was already warned about the language. But I'll trade two "shits" for a radio audience any day. It's happening, folks. I knew Vermont had a sense of humor. Stay tuned. [And, yes, it will be streamed. I'll insist on it.]

In the meantime: Lead, follow or get the fuck out of the way.

This Just In!

Hello dear readers (and thanks for all your comments and cash of late)!

It's been a frantic day of painting -- er, I mean -- monitoring the news desk. I'll be getting to the best of the mail bag later but, until then, check out this letter I got from Paul Bremmer to Odum at Green Mountain Daily. Old Pauly clearly sent it to the wrong address and as many times as I try to post it to Odum's site, he keeps deleting it. Imagine that. Some people will never learn. But, as a public service, here's Bremmer's letter:

Letter to a Young Leader
By Paul Bremmer

Trust me, Odum, I know exactly what you’re going through in your attempts to bring calm and civility to your website. As you may remember, I was the first “ambassador” (it still feels funny using that term) to Iraq after the great liberation of that nation. Now, also like you, I live up here in Vermont, a place where we both can agree allows people to do stupid things but still live in a – well – certain bliss born from a kind of professionalized cognitive dissonance. I hope you get my drift.

At first blush, comparing the newly democratized Iraqi people I was trying to tame and the leftists verbal monsters you’re now facing may seem like quite the stretch but, trust me, we’ve got a lot in common. We both, for example, speak power to the powerless. Better yet, we’re not afraid to wield that power. Like the good father these people apparently never had, our role is to make ‘em bow to authority, no matter what the sissy-pant-liberals think about that kind of iron fist. Oops, did I say sissy-pant-liberals? Damn right, I did. Deal with it.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, praising ourselves. Never – ever – underestimate the well-practiced quality of speaking out of both sides of your mouth. I can’t help but think of my work in Iraq when I hear you declare your desire for an “open forum” but then keep pulling the plug on your most active participants. There’s nothing more frustrating than people actually believing in what you’re saying! That’s so 1950s!

The people I tried to support in Iraq and the ones you’re currently embattled with cannot be trusted. Why the hell do you think it took a billion dollars worth of security to keep me alive there? Likewise, it ain’t gonna be cheap for you to keep swatting away your leftists antagonists. But you must stay the course (Rummy taught me that line – and it really seems to work).

Like us, you need to throw wisdom (and ideals) to the wind. This isn’t, as you know, about any of that, anyway. Once you get yourself in a battle like this, the only thing that matters is your ego. I know it might sound crass, but it’s the truth, goddamn it.

I know it may seem lonely there at your site now that you’ve seemingly swatted away the trash but don’t get discouraged. Repeat after me: I am right. Power is always right. See? Doesn’t that feel better?

I can’t tell you how odd it felt sitting around in Saddam’s old digs all by myself for hour after hour, day after day, wondering: Am I doing the right thing? But then Rummy or Condi or GW himself would give me one of their lift-me-up talks and – damn it – I felt better. GW even told me this once: “Pauly, if there ain’t no need for a man on the front lines than there ain’t no need for the front lines to be protected against the people on the back lines who must not like what we’re doing for ‘em.”

I’ll admit, it seemed better at the time. In fact, it even seemed to make sense. But maybe it was just because the Prez was talking in my ear that it made me feel better. And that’s how you’ve got to keep feeling when your buddies talk in your ear. You’re all in this together and reason will not – repeat: will not! – get you out of this.

Besides – and I really didn’t want to bring this up – none of your blogging friends seem to be running to your defense anyway. But that’s neither here nor there. If they want to be pansies, let them be pansies. Baruth, for example, will never tire of talking about himself and you’re just NOT going to change that now.

The real issue here, Odum, is persistence. We must be persistent – no matter what. Cheap shots can’t stop us. Rumors can’t stop us. And, gosh darn it (I just realized your two-year-old kid might be reading this), logic can’t stop us. Because this is, after all, about us. And more than that, it’s about us being right.

I guess I just want to say: Stay the course, Odum. It’s worth it. I stayed the course for a year and now I’ve got a great abode in your state of Vermont. I’ve got all the security and protection I need and the money just keeps flowing in no matter how many walks I take. People up here seem to care for soldiers like you and me. In fact, the only people they seem to care more about are their elected officials who are NEVER voted out of office.

I know, I know, my soldiers ran the security state of the United States, but you’re not far behind, my friend. You keep busting ass on those silly leftists, propping up folks like Parker and Welch and, before you know it, you’ll be raking in the big bucks at a firm like Kimball, Sherman & Ellis before you know it. Trust me, they respect power like no one respects power – just look at their lifestyles, you fool!

I love your rhetoric of concern. It’s cute. But I really love how quickly you’ll shelve it to protect what really matters: your ass and the oh-so-non-confrontational website community you’re trying to create. It’s that new school/old school dichotomy that makes it so palatable.

Don’t mess it up. And don’t let reason get in your way.

Like my friend, Bill O’Reilly says (and I know you may have issues with him), at this point it’s about two things: You can finish the job you started or you can cut and run and let your enemies win. The simpler we make it, the simpler it’ll be.

Semper fi, baby. Semper fi.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

The Sad Truth About Vermont Liberalism (a one-act play)

Lead character: Odum

Secondary characters: People who think like Odum (otherwise they wouldn’t be allowed onto Odum’s website).

Opening scene: People gather to celebrate anything worth celebrating, mostly just the happiness of knowing they’re not victims of working class wages. These are modern liberals, you know, folks who are connected enough intellectually with the history of social and political change but disconnected enough to avoid the pain that comes with the connection, if you know what I mean. Let me be more blunt: They attend fundraisers for the wealthy guys who talk about wanting to make it better for the poor guys. There, are we clear now? Whew.

The first scene involves the mighty-liberal Odum deciding to start a Vermont website that will give all his liberal, privileged friends a place to gather on an Internet medium that the people they want to help don’t otherwise have the time or resources to gather on. He’ll have, for example, the liberal Bill Simmons, from the swanky condominiums of Burlington, join him for all kinds of smart talk about homelessness. As long as, of course, none of those “folks” will intrude on Bill’s abode at the Ledgewood Condominiums. It’s one thing to talk about the poor and the underclass, but it’s a whole other thing to let them into your condo! Liberals do have their limits, you know?

Besides, ponders Bill, “ can they be trusted when I leave for a few hours to attend the Ned Lamont fundraiser? I mean, come on, it would be a total fucking drag to come home to a house full of slovenly pigs after I pitched in my two cents –er, make that $50 – to support a millionaire for Congress. I have, after all, my principles.”

You go, Bill. But, better yet, you just keep giving us the weather and other distractions on your website. It’s your strong suit.

Oh shit, I forgot about the play we were in the middle of. Damn. This always happens to me after a few beers with the boys. Let’s get back on track.

The second character is “Vermonter,” a man so insecure with his social standing that he posts a picture of what he’d like to be himself on his website.Vermonter is so confused that he uses a name like “Vermonter,” a certain and see-though indication that he’s trying to be someone he’s not. He obviously feels guilty about something – a common affliction in the circle of Odum’s friends. On one occasion, for example, Vermonter will scream to high heavens about Joe Lieberman being nothing but the devil in Democrat’s clothing, but then, in the next moment, just as seriously declare that Hillary Clinton has a “good heart.”

Yeah, let’s just hope Vermonter has a good therapist. Or maybe – even better yet – he’s got a good trust fund. Because he’ll need either – or both – to get through this cognitive dissonance.

The final character in this play is Ed Garcia. Ed is banking on one and only one quality: The seemingly ethnic quality of his name. He’s clearly hoping that a man named “Garcia” will be given a free pass in the liberal community of Central Vermont. He hasn’t, after all, proven much in his arguments. And he’s been more than willing to fire his punitive pistol at anyone who dares to utter an alternative opinion to his mighty hero, Odum.

And so the play begins. The curtain is drawn. The poor souls who made it all happen – the workers, that is -- are chased away with the hissing sound normally assigned to pigs, and Odum, Vermonter and Ed Garcia take the stage. And the dialogue begins:

Odum: Thank goodness, we’re alone.

Vermonter: Amen, Father Odum. This is what I wanted, some alone time with you and –well--- also a link to my miserable website.

Odum: Don’t worry, my brother, a link is granted to you. You have clearly proven your willingness to drink from the Odum cup of liberalism.

Vermonter: Oh, great Odum, how can I thank you?

Odum: It’s simple, Vermonter. I need only one favor. I ask that you don’t say a word of displeasure toward my rather unsightly fondness for “Charity” of the rightwing blog, “She’s Right.”

Vermonter: But, Odum, she’s in favor of everything we oppose, things like taxes on the rich, environmental regulations, and even an end to the war on Iraq.

Odum: I can’t hear such dissention. I am the Lord of this website and I will not tolerate such intolerance. Charity has an ass the size of mine – I mean – an ass the size I like, and I will not tolerate any further condemnations of her. In fact, from here on out, I declare that Charity and her rightwing drivel shall be declared to have a link to our vaunted site.

Vermonter: But?

Odum: No but. Be it declared.

Simmons: I know I’m getting in on this a bit late, but I’ve been at a condo committee meeting and I’m so thrilled to give you, Odum, my news.

Odum: It better be good, CandleBoy, because, remember, I got 7 more votes than you did in the Seven Days Whatever Contest.

Simmons: You should know me better than that, Sir Odum, because I am nothing beyond my loyalty to you, my condo community, and the belief that – well—fucking over those who can be so easily fucked over should be fucked over.

Garcia: Hey, I heard that!

Simmons: Heard what?

Garcia: You spoke about fucking people over.

Simmons: But not you, Ed. Certainly not you. That’s why we’ve given you a password and the privileges to fuck others over on our site.

Garcia: Cool. Carry on, then.

Odum: Thanks, Ed.

Vermonter: I’m most concerned that Snaky Boy is going to make us look like fools. I mean, we keep proclaiming our concern to the important issues of the day but then we also keep going on vacation. I don’t think it looks good.

Odum: I’m sorry, I missed the last thing you said, my cell phone connection is terrible down here in the Vineyard. But I can’t seem to find enough Hillary t-shirts for the kids.

Garcia: You’re where, Odum?

Odum: Never mind. I’m in Randolph, Ed. I’m taking the kids through a corn maze. Yeah, that’s it, a corn maze in Randolph.

Vermonter: But I thought you were going to meet me and my boyfriend at the Tiki Beach Pub later?

Odum: What the fuck, Vermonter, knock it off. I’m speaking in code to give the old slip to Ed. Get real.

Garcia: You guys are SO Vermont.

Odum and Vermonter (in unison): You bet!

Odum: And the plan is simple from here on out: attend the fundraisers, attack Snarky Boy, and keep the bullshit piled from here to eternity.

Vermonter: You forgot something.

Odum: What’s that?

Vermonter: Go Welch and go Parker!

Odum: Who?

Vermonter: OUR candidates!

Odum: I was kidding.

Garcia: Who?

Odum & Vermonter: Shut up and attack Snarky Boy.

The End.

It's Okay to Laugh

Memo to My Liberal Blogging Friends

Contrary to the rumors I heard on the street, Snarky Boy is not dead yet!

Ha! Take that, you stuffy little blogger community.

After a day on a four-step ladder, painting state-office hallways and offices, the Snarkmaster took a stroll to my favorite watering holes in Montpelier. Yep, more than one. And in more than one I got greeted by the chatter of blogger gossip. To those fellas who find it so funny that the sultans of stuffiness haven’t figured out my identity yet, consider this: The stuffmasters aren’t real people.

They mostly represent the worst strain in liberalism: bullshitters. They ain’t real folk; they barely work honest days of work; and they certainly wouldn’t be caught dead in a bar rubbing shoulders with the Harley crowd, other workers, and – heaven forbid – free thinkers. Sure, the freethinking I was a part of last night involved far too many beers and more than a couple complimentary shots of whisky (aka: free drinking), but it was real.

Besides, all the members of Vermont’s stuffy little liberal blogging community were at the Ned Lamont event last night. You know, the place where people paid $50 or more to rub shoulders with people who shared their myopic worldview.

Life would be so simple if I could just get myself to believe the same bullshit as the Lamont liberals. Just think about it, I’d be happy to waste – er, I mean – donate $50 to a multimillionaire. I’d swim in the happy and delusional waters that the current state of the Democratic Party has a plan to rescue us. I’d be offering words of encouragement – not deeds or donations – to the under-classes from a very safe distance (like, for example, a swanky Burlington boathouse). I’d be flabbergasted by the “foul” language of those same working underclass folk, and be relieved to be in a room of clean, shiny people, where concern can be not just dignified but very, very distant. Fuck that.

What these Lamont liberals don’t get is that they’ve been eating from this dream fruitcake for generations. I guess amnesia has to be a big part of believing that “the next” milquetoast Democrat is going to be the answer to our problems. Hell, there are even seemingly rational, bright people running around the so-called socialist republic of Vermont thinking Hillary Clinton is on our side.

Hello! Do any of you folks remember what Hillary did when she was the queen of the White House? Let me remind you: Not a goddamn thing. In fact, she did more damage than anything. Sure, she got all hot about health care but then she did what all spineless liberals do when they bump up against the kind of opposition that makes you take a stand: she bailed out. As a result, this nation has been stuck in the same health care crisis ever since, with every attempt to revive it being given the same chicken shit lecture: remember Hillary tried! No, Hillary fucked it up.

But now, thanks to a heavy dose of liberal bland cream, Hillary is being talked about as the next great liberal hope. Yeah sure, but we’ll ignore her history on health care. We’ll ignore her support for the war. We’ll ignore her support for the U.S.A. Patriot Act. And we’ll most certainly ignore her wishy-washy nonsense on flag burning.

Sorry, but that’s some strong Kool-aid they’re drinking, folks. And I’d prefer to get real, have a beer and confront these fools with the error of their ways. Because, if this plan fails, at least I’ve still got a good buzz.

But the day after kind of sucks. Until, that is, Saturday night begins. See you at the bars.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Green Mountain Sell-Out

The not-so-fine folks at Green Mountain Daily have banned me from their site. Imagine that. Boy, that took them several days longer than I predicted. Pussies. But beyond the Snarkmaster’s banishment, there are bigger issues here, especially the issue of the fright of liberals to embrace the tolerance they preach.

GMD proclaims to be liberal but they’re pretty quick to banish the thoughts and opinions of anything that veers from their proscribed little view of Democratic thought. They argue, for example, that Ned Lamont is close to the second coming of Christ but scream holy hell about anyone criticizing Hillary Clinton, questioning media monopolies, or – god forbid – swearing. GMD is about everything that is wrong with liberalism in Vermont: they love activists and renegades from afar but shit their pants when it comes to their doorstep. Lamont for Connecticut? Great. But criticism of Welch in Vermont? How dare you.

They’ll get what they deserve: more milquetoast Democrats promulgating more ridiculous reforms like the meaningless health care bill passed in the last Democratic-led legislative session. And they’ll continue to applaud mediocrity, because mediocrity is all they know.

Like the Democrats nationwide, the Vermont Democrats are unable to be real or speak the truth. They’re stuck in some obnoxious paradigm that tragically affixes them to the quicksand of deceit. They start out with ideals but turn to mush when it’s time to fight for those ideals. They talk the talk of change but chicken out when it’s time to walk the talk of change. They preach tolerance but practice censorship. They worship change but cling to the same old, same old.

And if you don’t believe me, consider these two less-than-dynamic names: Scudder Parker and Peter Welch.

What’s most tragic, however, is that GMD thinks it’s following in the netroots tradition of liberal Internet activism like the national sites they so want to emulate, sites like DailyKos and MyDD. But what they don’t understand is that these sites don’t censor and these sites have a significant audience – and these conditions are NOT mutually exclusive. GMD’s national godfathers created the audience and then wielded their power, whereas GMD has tried to wield their power WITHOUT their audience (just look at the same 7 participants!). Worse, they’ve dutifully disdained anyone who has visited their site with a thought outside their stultifying little constrictions of thought. Sound familiar? Yep, it’s the same notions that have kept the Democrats in the powerless position they’re in.

The Snarky Boy went onto the GMD site to see if there was hope. Unfortunately, the Snarky Boy has learned that there is no hope for GMD in their current mindset. Oh sure, the same old folks will heap praise on them and exchange links with them, but those are the same old folks who thought Howard Dean was a liberal while governing Vermont and that Gaye Symington’s ridiculous health care compromise meant anything other than two-more-years for Jim Douglas.

GMD, unfortunately, is like the dog that chased cars. They tried and they tried until, finally, they were run over. They thought they won, but everyone else saw how obviously they lost.

Fine, GMD, kick me out. I knew you would. But while you’re cutting off your nose to spite your face, consider this: Without me, your site got as boring as the candidates you support.

Get real. Sleep well.

Working for the State

Well, let me tell you, working for the state sucks. It almost made me long for the libertarian streak in me. Can you say: uptight? I knew you could. Good fucking grief. And the waste! I lost count after a while but there must have been two-dozen state employees who bitched and moaned to me, the painter, about paint fumes in their office. Oh yeah, baby, I know all about paint fumes. That’s why I’m fucking here!

The funny thing is, it was the people who seemed to be doing nothing the most who also bitched the most. I swear these people think working for the state means they get to walk around all day. Up and fucking down the halls they went, time and time again. One second they were off to get coffee and the next they were off to take a piss. And on and on and on it went, all damn day.

As a painter, they notice you at first but then they seem to think you’re just part of the wall you’re painting, unable to hear the same shit they spew to the people they pass. I swear to you, for example, that I heard this one small-kidneyed-old-bag say “getting things done?” to at least fifty different people in the morning alone. It took all my snarky power to stop myself from leaping from my ladder and saying the obvious: It’s pretty fucking clear that I’M the only one getting things done around here.

From my not-so-brilliant ladder perspective, these folks have got it pretty damn nice. They’re walking all day, chatting most of the time and, unfortunately, bitching about the obvious paint fumes to the guy creating them. And what, exactly, would you like me to do about it?

The good news is that these people and I are in on one not-so-secret secret: The state pays well. And there’s little supervision! But I’ve got to get these goddamn cubicles painted so I can get back outside where the Snarky Boy likes it best. As for them, they’ll be happy when they can trade the same boring comments to the same boring people WITHOUT the paint fumes. But I know they’ll find something else to bitch about.

No Break Today

Damn. No time to write today. The Snarky Boy landed an "emergency" gig for the -- get this -- State of Vermont. Yep, your friendly snarkmaster will be roaming the halls and offices of a certain state-owned building to apply paint and pick up the pieces apparently left by the last crew that no one seems to be able to find. It's more common than you think. It's the paint fumes -- well, that and the crack by day and alcohol by night. Ouch.

See you soon.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Ding-Dong, PoliticsVT is Dead!

Do we really care? They were, after all, just posers. And, worse, they were liberal posers – the typical kind, the ones who act like they’re objective but you can see through their shit like they passed glass.

But that won’t stop the Vermont blogosphere from sending their phony words of sorrow, led by the new darling of irrelevancy, Philip Baruth over at Vermont Daily Briefing. If you want to know about him, just ask him, he’ll be happy to tell you, fry a burger for you, show you pictures of him, and – the best part – drink a shitty beer with you. All, of course, in an effort to convince you that he’s NOT a failing novelist. Yeah, sure, Phil, whatever. Just buy me another goddamn beer.

But Vermont being what Vermont is, PoliticsVT hit a nerve. They never said much and, if they did, it was just to the left of the Dean and Hillary show, thus making much of the self-important crowd swoon with pleasure.

Ironically, the same folks who seemingly can’t stand anonymity seemed to swallow it just fine when it came to PoliticsVt. The key ingredient to the bypass of the rules being, of course, a bland acceptance of all things – well – bland. It’s too bad the site is down, otherwise I’d put a link or two here or there so you could see just how goddamn benign they were. But benign in the service of power is totally accepted here in Vermont; all, of course, in the name of “alternative.”

That’s why Sanders and Douglas are both running with a smile on their faces in their “races” this year. They know the game: get in office and then watch the little peasants get in line and suck their ass until they either get caught in bed with a sixteen-year-old or decide to run for higher office. It’s really not that hard, especially with the non-existent “’alternative” media here. Once in office, always in office – thank you media friends.

If you don’t believe me, go to a press conference near you. I’ve been to a few and it’s all too predictable: the same folks sitting around the same table while the same people spin their asses silly. The worst part is that Peter Freyne, who apparently thinks he’s alternative, is stuck in some bizarre notion that alternative means everything is about him. So he banters, and he jokes, and he stalls, all apparently in an effort to get the person in power to refer to him by name. And then – voila! – that becomes “alternative” news! All power to Peter and his colorful shirts! But fuck the rest of us.

That’s why I’m not sad PoliticsVT is going away. That, and, the obvious fact that they promised to be going away soon anyway.

Finally, let me be the first to say: I don’t trust any of this bullshit about a “laptop theft” anyway. If you read their site, you’d know that they were getting tired of it and the work required to maintain their anonymity. And what’s the easy way out? Well, proclaim a horrific act of theft, of course.

Sure. Whatever. But I’m not buying it.

It smells like the same shit that is being passed off as “successful” health care reform.

I dare you: Prove me wrong.

Jesus Fucking Christ (is that redundant?)

Oh shit. Here we go again. I can’t keep these wannabe-blogger-gatekeepers off my ass. I’m just trying to have some fun here, folks, but you keep stomping all over my painter buzz. I came home to an email box jammed with nervous rants and threats. Oh boy, you really know how to get my motor running.

I put in a simple little half-day today, too, wrapping up a job and cashing a nice check in the process. One thing’s for sure: Montpelier folks hate to paint their own houses. And once you present yourself like a guy who isn’t going to snort crack and steal their plasma televisions, they’ll open their wallet to the heavens for a boy like me to come and scrape and paint their not-so-little abodes. In fact, they keep thanking me over and over and over. It’s as if they never expected me to show up.

But then I got home and opened my email (, for those unable to look for it here). Good-fucking-grief, you’ve got to be kidding.

First, the fine folks at Green Mountain Daily are in a total rip shit about the Snarky Boy, even contemplating banning me from their site. Well, that would be smart, especially since they’ve shown their cards and are apparently masturbating to the same chick Bill Clinton threw to the wind for his Monica blowjobs. Yep, they’re actually defending Hillary over there. Ew. But it’s soooooo Vermont, you know.

Then there were the emails from the two of the fellas at GMD who fucking begged me to partake in their little endeavor. When they approached me, they said their site was in desperate need of some spice and content. Well, I offered it up, fellas, and now you act like I’ve got the plague or something. They’re lucky I’ve got a policy for not outing people in public without their permission; otherwise I’d have a field day. They know who they are and all I can say is: get real.

The best thing about the GMD diatribes is that they’re clearly getting what they wanted from me: juicing their site up a bit. And the only things that will keep me around are their cheap shots and lame attacks. Keep ‘em coming, fellas, because the Snarky Boy loves to write. My guess is that they’ll blow-off the advice from the real thinkers there and “ban” the boy from their site. Whatever.

And then I also got several emails from Cathy Resmer over at 7 Daze. Like her compatriots, her “alternative” edge is all packaging. Oh, the language, she proclaimed! Oh, the incivility! Oh yeah, baby, I forgot, this is Vermont and we’re not supposed to really speak our minds. Fuck that. That’s why we can’t ever get rid of a Republican pig like Douglas – you liberal posers won’t speak truth to power.

Strangely, Ms. Resmer was most annoyed with the Snarky Boy’s use of the photo she displays on her website’s homepage. Yo Cath: Any publicity is GOOD publicity. I didn’t doctor it in anyway, so what are you bitching about? And I certainly don’t think anyone who reads the piece will think you’re endorsing my site. Besides, don’t you have a 7 Daze Meet-up to cover?

The Snarkmaster conferred with my snappy team of legal minds and we came up with an official legal response to Resmer’s request: Sue us. It’d be great publicity.

And we haven’t heard a peep from her since. And it’s a good thing, too, because I’ve got Gerry Spence on retainer and if she’s goes any further the Snarky Boy will own 7 Daze. Imagine that.

Finally, there were a slew of emails saying basically this: Where in the hell have you been? And to these fine folks, I say: On a stupid ladder, painting houses, listening to talk radio, and at the bars.

It ain’t a bad life. I’m not complaining. And it’s nice to have you here. ( (

It's in the Open Now

I feel terrible. I've lied to you good people. That's not really a picture of me in my "profile." That's really just a drawing, a line drawing. So, to make amends, I'm unveiling this REAL Snarky family photo. That's me as a kid, and my Snarky Mom and Dad. The hair thing was their idea. They were soooo into Journey.

I hope this helps to clear a few things up. I guess what I really mean to say is: I need love.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Vermont Blogger Self-Love-Fest

Oh fuck, here we go again. The incestuous little Vermont blogging community is about to embark on one of their little “goddamn, I love myself” endeavors. It’s sooooo Vermont. Only a few weeks removed from their navel-gazing-fest of a blogger picnic, whereby they basically dropped everything political to stop for an afternoon and gaze in one another eyes to say, “I love you,” but think, “I will only love myself, sucker,” now the wannabe-gatekeepers of Vermont blogger-think are ruminating on a conference. And whom will it feature? Well, themselves, of course. Fuck. I’ve got a better idea: Why don’t they all just look into their mirrors and repeat these lines: “You’re hot. You’re great. You’re funny. You’re smart. You’re different.” And then – and only then – they might spare use us the endless goddamn entries on the specifics of their next public masturbatory session.

For the fun of it, go to Cathy Resmer’s 802online site, and see the discussion begin to form about the blogger conference. My favorite angle is the oh-so-fucking-serious discussion about whether or not the conference should “be political”. What the fuck? And this from bloggers who blather without end about the beauty of political blogging? Aren’t these the same candy-ass word pimps who were just bragging about the blogosphere and its role in the Ned Lamont phenomena? Oh yeah, we can’t do that in Vermont. Up here, we can only cheer that shit from afar and then hold our political assholes so tight that we can barely shit a thought that matters.

Speaking of shitting a thought, here’s what my secret web cam is picking up from the Green Mountain Daily bathroom cam: “Oh no, I’m about to pass a bad thought about Bernie. But wait, he’s not one of us. Or is he? I’m so fucking confused. But I must fight the confusion. I must move to thoughts beyond the border. I must think Connecticut, where they fight the pro-war candidates. I must think positive. I must think about how the meaningless – oops, I mean meaningful – Democratic health care plan really matters. Oh great, I’m done. Now I will wipe my liberal ass and get excited about the blogger panel I’m sure to be invited to in October!”

Good fucking grief.

By all means, keep the politics out of your blogger conference. We wouldn’t, after all, want to make people think we have opinions. That’s sooooo NOT Vermont.

In Vermont, as we all know by now, we turn to our “alternative” publications and leaders to learn where to “alternatively” shop. I, for example, only want to know where it’s cool to shop. Who it’s cool to read. And where it’s cool to be seen.

That’s why I send “I spies” about myself to 7 Days. I want to know that you know that there MIGHT be others who want my ass. Please, tell me you do that to, don’t you?

That’s soooooo Vermont.

I should have stayed on the fucking ladder. Life was easy on the ladder today, so free from this nonsense.

P.S. If you do, indeed, go to the Resmer’s site, beware of the entry about her “sperm donor.” Please, Ms. Cathy, do you really want me to think about you and a sperm donor? I was in a fucking cold sweat all night trying to contemplate that little donation. Can’t you just keep that shit to yourself?

Monday, August 14, 2006

Now THIS is Terror

Ew. You know what? There are a few things I DON"T want to see in the news when I come home for lunch. And one of those things is Tony Blair's man boobies. I know, I know, I'm already being accused of having a boobie fixation but how in the hell can I ignore these lard muffins?

But I guess the bigger question is what in the hell is Tony Blair doing in a fucking bathing suit while his nation's airlines are under super-secret-double-frantic-hyper-alert? If I was some poor Brit standing in a hot line at Heathrow and saw Old Tony hanging on the beach, I wouldn't be too thrilled. Hell, I'm just sitting at a hot office desk and I'm not thrilled.

Hey Tony, put your fucking clothes on before we all throw up.

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Happy Saturday Night!

You can't paint in the dark so you might as well drink, talk and laugh. I'm out of here...

Pollina Turns to Milk, Democrats Cheer

With the not-so-secret news that Anthony Pollina and his rag-tag band of not-so-accomplished cohorts are about to jump into the milk business, don’t think you’re hearing things when you hear cheering from your Democratic friends. The cheering is real. And it’s accompanied by the relief that the Pollina show has found a political and economic dead-end to occupy his time for a few years.

Democrats, still smoldering over Pollina’s election night hug to Brian Dubie in 2002, have been wanting Pollina to find a hobby outside of politics for years now. Things looked good when he got into the radio business a few years ago at WDEV, but anyone who’s listened to his show for any amount of time knows that it simply can’t last.

First, Anthony’s got no radio presence. He’s apparently become so confused over the years after running for political office under every political banner except Republican that he can’t get his thoughts straight before coming out of his mouth. The result is a bizarre hodge-podge of left/liberal platitudes, served with more than a heaping helping of apologies. In other words, not exactly the ingredients necessary for successful radio talk shows.

Compare, for example, Pollina’s meanderings and his constant apologies for his “opinions” with that of his rightwing cohort at WDEV, Paul Beaudry. Both pay handsomely for the their hour of time, but Beaudry doesn’t mind spewing opinions without apology and pushing an agenda. Pollina, on the other hand, seems to have his own internal opinion editor that stops him from saying ANYTHING that matters. Or, if he does, he apologizes before anyone has a chance to rally behind him. It’s just tedious.

There’s no fight left in Pollina. And that’s clearly understandable given how many times he’s lost. But instead of standing up for some principles, Pollina thinks that if he just keeps blurring his real feeling he’ll fool enough people into supporting him in the future. What he doesn’t understand, however, is that this is about as transparent as transparent can be.

But now, after having failed at electoral office, failed at issues like campaign finance reform and genetically modified foods, and on the precipice of failure in political talk radio, Pollina’s now going into business: the milk business.

Given his business experience – zero – we can all easily predict where this is going. But, hey, it’ll certainly keep him out of the electoral arena for a while. And, if his everything-he-touches-fails streak continues, it might even keep him out of politics for good.

Pollina’s got quite the uphill battle with his new milk effort. We all know from the headlines that the dairy industry is struggling big time right now. The dairy monopolizers in Vermont – Cabot, Booth, etc. – are screaming to the high heavens about how hard it is to turn a profit on dairy in this region. And the reasons are obvious: Vermont’s terrain and climate simply will not allow our traditionally smaller dairies to compete with the mega-dairies in the Midwest and West.

There’s only one segment of the dairy industry that’s making a run at the big fellas of milk and that’s the organic producers. But Pollina and his new milk venture have already announced that they will NOT be organic at first, instead trying to lend a hand to the “traditional” dairies in the Northeast Kingdom. Yeah sure, and I’ll bet there were well-intentioned people who were willing to lend a hand to the dinosaurs at one point, too.

But the business math simply does not add up with Pollina’s plan to turn a profit in the milk business. If Cabot and Booth can’t do it by paying less to the farmers, how can the inexperienced Pollina do it by paying more to the farmers AND having the enormous capital overhead of a start-up? Sounds like someone needs an intervention.

Interestingly enough, it was the State of Vermont that gave the best reaction to Pollina’s nefarious adventures into milkdom. A couple of years ago, as he and his merry band of hangeroners approached the State for $500,000 in taxpayer capital to launch this very same project, the legislature responded with the obvious: Your business plan sucks.

But now Pollina’s apparently got the private capital he needs to purchase a milk processing plant in the Northeast Kingdom – most likely a site in Hardwick – to launch his latest failure. And the Democrats can only cheer because St. Anthony will be too busy toiling in the milk plant to hand yet another statewide office to the Republicans.

P.S. I wonder if Brian Dubie is a donor to Pollina’s milk dreams?

Douglas Finds Honesty

I just got this from Reuters. Damn, they're good.

Purring with Snarky Pride

Congrats to “Odum” at Green Mountain Daily and “Vermonter” at What’s the Point for publishing nice words about the Snarky Boy. I’m purring like a cat in a sunny window. See how easy it is to tame the snark right out of me – for a minute or two, at least. But, being the childish, selfish, and unpredictable bastard that I am, I’m going to take action while I’m in this haze of praise and put both of your sites up on my links. Good boys. We’re all such good boys. Now, how about some goddamn reciprocation? I’m waiting...

Friday, August 11, 2006

WDEV's Mark Johnson: The Best of Vermont's Talk Radio

I've got the kind of job that requires talk radio. I'm a house painter, you see, and there's nothing more boring than seeing your brush go back and forth 20,000 times a day and listening to that same voice in your head over and over. No thanks. I'll take talk radio over that voice any day, and everyday I do.

WDEV's my favorite station by far - at least in the morning. And Mark Johnson's got the best show going - by far. Sure, he can get a bit bland more frequently than I'd like but he knows how to interview better than anyone else in the state. Johnson's at his best, however, when he's had a little too much of that Vermont Coffee Company coffee he flacks for. His hyper-silliness is strangely endearing in a very nerdy kind of way. You can imagine his offspring rolling their eyes and giving that youthful "Daaaaaaad," when he gets rolling into his giddy zone.

You can always count on Johnson having a more than listenable show. He usually does his homework - with the exception of the other day when he had a man named "Robin" on the show and he introduced him as being a woman. Oops. But he rolled with the blunder and came out and admitted the obvious: “I obviously haven't read your book." Or the book jacket, I might have added.

The worst thing Johnson's got going for him are his obnoxious regular callers. Good grief, where do these folks find the time - or gall - to call every single day? Worse, they say the same damn thing every time they call. Don't they know that we know what they're going to say before they say it? Hell, all I need to hear Mark say is "we've got Dick from St. Albans on the line" and I can hear Dick's rant about the big, horrible government in my head. And the same goes for "Bill in Waterbury" and his angry rants about the Constitution. Or "John in Barre," who has to begin every call with a bit of history about himself (where he worked, where he studied, how long he's been retired). Ugh.

As these all-to-frequent-callers attest to, Johnson's one-call-a-day policy is way too lax. He needs to figure out a way to shut the door on these same old, same old, same old callers, one after the other, day in and day out. Not only do they bring the show to a grinding halt, I think they prevent new callers from calling just because they don’t want to be lumped in with the caller drones. "Ew," I can hear someone saying to themselves as they dial up WDEV, "am I going to sound like THEM?"

For the most part, however, Johnson just puts up with them. I guess that's what makes Johnson such a nice guy. Until, of course, the nutcake named Brian Pearl calls him. But even Pearl gets through and gets his time to spread his hyper-right-wing paranoia. If anyone ever gets Johnson’s ire, it’s Pearl. Notice, for example, the little game the two of them have with the introductions they give themselves. Most everyone else is simply referred to by his or her first names, but Brian Pearl is introduced as "Brian Pearl." To which, Pearl responds without fail: "Hello, Mark Johnson." Oh boy, feel the tension.

Pearl doesn't have the guts to bitch about Mark to Mark, though. He knows Johnson will cut him off at his knees. Instead, Pearl waits to bitch about Mark until True North Radio begins after Mark signs off at 11. On True North, Pearl gets to fall into the rightwing arms of host Paul Beaudry, a man who is trying like hell to be Rush Limbaugh but he’s missing one key ingredient: a brain.

Last week, Pearl called Beaudry to report that he was convinced a "terrorist cell" was formed in Central Vermont and they were calling Johnson's show to foment the notion that Israel might be overreacting in its response to the kidnapping of two of its soldiers. And Beaudry latched onto it like Rush would latch onto a prescription medication, later declaring that these "terrorists sympathizers" wouldn’t be allowed on his show. Way to go, Paul! Score one for homeland security!

Other than the fact that Johnson’s listenable and Beaudry's not, there’s another big difference between the two: Johnson's paid to do his show and Beaudry pays for his hour of airtime. Trust me, WDEV’s Ken Squire is no dummy. If someone like Beaudry's going to slobber on Squire's microphone, he’s going to pay handsomely for it. I've heard that Beaudry and his rightwing supporters are paying close to $200 an hour for the chance to spew their hate on a daily basis on WDEV – the same Anthony Pollina pays for his "Equal Time" show.

And there's a reason Johnson gets paid for his work. He's damn good. And he helps me get through the morning. I just wish I wasn't on a ladder so I could give him a call once in a while. What's your excuse?

More Reader Feedback

Good afternoon, folks. Thanks for all the emails and feedback. By the way, for those who haven't figured it out, you can send me your comments/suggestions/photos/rants to:

This image of the Brittany Spears-giving-birth sculpture comes from "Senator Knee-Hi." Hmmm. Any guesses who this is? It came with this note: "Is it just me or is there a certain stylistic similarity between that bust of Hillary Clinton and this.... uh... tribute to everyone's favorite popsicle?"

What the fuck do I know? I'm just a house painter.

Only a couple more hours until Charlie-O's. The first person to walk in and say "Snarky Boy's an asshole" gets a beer on the snarkmaster.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Tarrant's New Logo

Message from a Reader

Thanks, Henry from Lyndonville, for sending me this photo of support. It was kind of you to take time from your grooming habits to let me know what's on your mind. Keep 'em coming, folks. I think we're onto something here.

Not Man Boobies

Yes, that's Hillary Clinton. And, no, it does nothing for me. You?

I would, however, like to see similar sculptures of male politicians so we could see their tiny little penises. Now that might bring 'em down a few notches, wouldn't you say?

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Man Boob Reaction

Well, well, well. After my little post about Governor Douglas' man-titties, I got this emailed photo from Josh in Middlebury, clearly feeling a bit defensive about his nerdiness and budding boobies.

Sure, Josh, whatever you say...

Youth Message

"Thanks, you fucks, for the planet you're leaving me!"

Memo to Rich Tarrant

Oh please, Rich ( and I do mean RICH), tell me what you're going to do for/to me. I know this has nothing to do with you because you clearly only care about me. But...wait...let's talk for real. If you really love me and want my vote, send me some goddamn cash. Otherwise, shut the fuck up.

Fuck Shit Up

Jesus-f-ing-christ, how much more shit do I have to hear about Joe Lieberman and his candyass challenger, Ned Lamont? Fuck it. No, fuck them. These liberal motherfuckers act like voting Ned Lamont -- he's kidding with that name, right? -- into the U.S. Senate will mean that our troops will be coming home on the night after he celebrates his election. Say what? These people can't even remember a name called George McGovern can they? And how did he do? Go ahead, play your little political game of insider bullshit, but, in the end, it won't mean shit until you decide to "fuck shit up." The Vietnam war wasn't stopped by good Democrats doing what they should have done. Nope, it was stopped by the good people taking it to the streets -- outside of the buttoned-downed world of politics -- and making it impossible for anyone to do anything other than opposing the war.

Until the war becomes as uncomfortable for the nice people who just shop 'til they drop while sporting all the right bumperstickers (Parker? Welch? Sanders?) as it is to the real victims who have REAL bombs falling on their heads every night, we're all just pissing in the wind.

And I really hate golden showers.

(Sorry, I've been working all day, painting a big-ass house for a big-ass woman who seemed more interested in my ass crack hanging up high on the ladder than her two little rugrats running around her yard.)

My Thoughts Exactly

Monday, August 07, 2006

Better Than Politics

Firefighter in a dryer.

Now For Something Really Creepy

Now I can’t stop Googling the Vermont candidates for whatever the fuck they want to run for. For a real creep-out, check out the website for Greg Parke, a Republican candidate for U.S. Senate. Let’s put it this way: You have to be a real asshole to make Rich Tarrant seem palatable. I mean a REAL asshole. Just check out that photo of him in the fighter plane (see above). Yeah, it’s real. This idiot actually thinks he’s going to get somewhere in Vermont by touting his military credentials. Ew.

As opposed to Rainville who apparently has the political smarts to have military credentials AND run against Bush, Parke has the military credentials and is actually running to the right of Bush. Proof? Parke is accusing Bush of “hiding” the evidence of weapons of mass destruction they found in Iraq. Yeah sure, that makes a whole lot of sense.

My favorite headline from his website is this goody: “Parke Says Senate Primary Rival Tarrant Was Too Harsh in Criticizing Republicans.”

Let’s see, every poll in Vermont shows that Bush’s approval rating in the state is somewhere in the 20% range. So, why in the hell would someone like Parke think that running to the right of Bush would make electoral sense?

Answer: He’s nuts.