Bye Bye Bachmann, Bachmann Good-Bye

The Best of Bachmann

“If you hate me after what I say,
Can't put it off any longer,
I just gotta’ tell you anyway,
Bye bye baby, baby good-bye” -  Crewe/Gaudio

 
"I'm not a deep thinker on all this. I wish I was, I wish I was more knowledgeable." - Michele Bachmann

Many years ago, little baby Michele sallied forth from her Mama's most private of lady parts (deepest apologies for the technical medical jargon), was poked by her pediatrician, and for the first of multiple and multifarious moments, took leave of her senses – now, with her announced decision to not seek re-election, she also takes leave of the United States House of Representatives; and the world of comedy will suffer greatly for it.  While not to dismiss or downplay the dubious mental stability of Texas Congressman, Louie Gohmert (then again, the Lone Star State does stand alone with its impressive and unprecedented production of senseless and nonsensical statesmen) Bachmann may possibly have been the most legitimately certifiable member in the long history of Congress.

To fete Congressman Bachmann’s wonderfully welcome withdrawal and as a final and flagrantly less than fond farewell, “… and several butcher’s aprons” appropriates (steals? plagiarizes?) from its vast and voluminous archives and, along with a soupcon of fresh reflections, re-presents some previous contemplations, comments and comedic considerations in a sort of “Best of Bachmann.” For those of us who convivially convene in the corridors of cable, we would proudly proclaim this an “encore presentation,” you, more upright and honest Americans would simply refer to it as a rerun.

 Anyone Can Grow Up to Be President

Some might suggest that the modern-day GOP has more nuts in it than Grandma’s Christmas fruitcake, more loons than a Eurasian aviary and more screwballs than Tug McGraw’s left arm (for you non-Met fans, go with “more crack pots than a china shop on the San Andreas fault” or “more whack jobs than a Corleone family baptism“) - but you’ll never read such slander in this forum.

In a party and occupation where flagrant falsification and promiscuous prevarication is the expected mode of behavior, Bachmann is the rabbit at the dog track - she’s the pace setter. Do you recall the hopeful Republican nominees for the 2012 election? Bachmann? Cain? Santorum? Gingrich? Romney? Paul? Perry? Among this destitute collection of wanna-be and never was GOP pretenders; this assortment of oddities and eccentrics that would have been rejected from the Island of Misfit Toys - Michele was to the lie, as Segovia was to the guitar, Astaire to the dance and Alfalfa to the croon - a fantastical fabricator of facts and phrases. Lest you suspect I advance such claims haphazardly, referring to one of the earliest of the 657 Republican debates - “Politifact.com, the Pulitzer Prize-winning fact checking service, found 17 of Bachmann's 24 statements to be false.“ And should you desire more evidence that Bachmann tends to the extreme in every possible arena, there is the fact that she has had 23 foster children. That’s not fostering, that’s hoarding. Michele Bachmann collects kids like Home Shopping Network devotees do cubic zirconias and Hummel figurines.

Bon Mots from Michele Bachmann

To appropriately appreciate the actual inner workings of such a distinct and devious psyche, it’s best we let the lady, the legend, speak for herself as we give you Michele Bachmann in her own words - Michele Bachmann of whom Sigmund Freud would have bemoaned, “oh man, even I can’t do anything for her, let Jung take a shot;” Michele Bachmann of the frighteningly frozen, wide-eyed gaze - a silent movie-like, facial expression that constantly communicates a perpetual state of being goosed. A woman Will Rogers would have met and proclaimed, “Okay I take it back,” and a politician whose list of lies is longer than the Desperate Housewives’ cast Botox injection schedule.

 “Carbon dioxide is portrayed as harmful. But there isn't even one study that can be produced that shows that carbon dioxide is a harmful gas."

 "I wish the American media would take a great look at the views of the people in Congress and find out: Are they pro-America or anti-America?"

"The President of the United States will be taking a trip over to India that is expected to cost the taxpayers $200 million a day."

 "It is a brand new, billion-dollar high speed train that is going to go from Disneyland up to Las Vegas... Harry Reid, the Senator from Nevada, was behind this measure, and it makes us wonder, is he more interested in making sure kids start gambling at younger ages?"

“Why is it so dangerous? It leads to the personal enslavement of individuals. Because if you’re involved in the gay and lesbian lifestyle, it’s bondage. Personal bondage, personal despair, and personal enslavement.”

“The immediate consequence, if gay marriage goes through, is that K-12 little children will be forced to learn that homosexuality is normal, natural and perhaps they should try it.”

''And what a bizarre time we're in, when a judge will say to little children that you can't say the pledge of allegiance, but you must learn that homosexuality is normal and you should try it.''

"I find it interesting that it was back in the 1970s that the swine flu broke out then under another Democrat president, Jimmy Carter. I'm not blaming this on President Obama, I just think it's an interesting coincidence."

''We will talk a little bit about what has transpired in the last 18 months and would we count what has transpired into turning our country into a nation of slaves.''

"I don't know how much God has to do to get the attention of the politicians. We've had an earthquake; we've had a hurricane. He said, 'Are you going to start listening to me here?'"

"But we also know that the very founders that wrote those documents worked tirelessly until slavery was no more in the United States. ... I think it is high time that we recognize the contribution of our forbearers who worked tirelessly -- men like John Quincy Adams, who would not rest until slavery was extinguished in the country."

And Michele speaks with the first African American Chairman of the Republican National Committee in a parlance with which she feels he will be most comfortable - “'Michael Steele! You be da man! You be da man!''?

La Cage Aux Fools -The Bachmanns of the Beltway. The Liza Minnelli and Peter Allen of D.C.

Popular scuttlebutt  is that Marcus Bachmann, virulent anti-homosexual crusader and gay-curer, (yes, that’s correct, he claims to cure male homosexuals of their debilitating, vagina-less ways) is, in fact, actually gay himself. While the true nature of Dr. Bachmann’s sexual orientation is obviously only known to Marcus, Michele and the Native American from the Village People, such prominent behavioral scientists and sociologists as Cheryl Sarkisian LaPiere Bono Allman (Cher) have weighed in on this critical, crucial and consequential issue - @Cher: “Boys I’m not kidding ! I’m listening 2 this… I’m thinking GAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAY Without Style !“

With such concrete and irrefutable evidence, why not join in on the unsubstantiated fun at the expense of an odious individual who, after all, very much deserves to be ridiculed for his bigoted, repressive and hateful ways? Has Marcus Bachmann joined the ever-growing list of self-loathing, closeted, Republican homosexuals who fervidly proselytize in favor of “family values,” but against liberty, freedom and equality for homosexuals, and then inevitably wind up embroiled in gay sex scandals - if so, how soon, then, before the traditional and obligatory airport men’s room arrest?

“We have to understand: barbarians need to be educated. They need to be disciplined. Just because someone feels it or thinks it doesn’t mean that we are supposed to go down that road. That’s what is called the sinful nature.”

Dr. Bachmann operates a Christian-based counseling center in Minnesota whose main purpose it to “un-gay” the “sinful,” “barbarians.” Interestingly, the good doctor is not registered with any of the three boards that certify mental health practitioners and professions in Minnesota. So, overzealous zealot “doctor” might this be a stereotypical case of “me thinks thou doth protest too much?” May I be so bold as to say, “Physician heal thyself?” Though again, we must be careful of stereotypes- just because RuPaul has declared Bachmann’s demeanor “needlessly flamboyant,” doesn’t necessarily explain why only 5 of their 28 children are biological. The rumor that up until their wedding night Marcus believed Michele to be a man with a frou-frou, pretentious, French-sounding name is only internet fodder. And the fact that he’s been known to experience gut-wrenching nausea and severe vertigo, while dissolving into a pool of acrid, bitter tears, accompanied by convulsive, ear-splitting sobs, when sharing the sacred marriage bed with Mrs. Bachmann - is a perfectly understandable reaction when one considers with whom he's carnally cavorting.

Obviously, as to the true nature of the Bachmann marriage, they deserve the respect and consideration to be taken at their word. Their relationship is private and something that is really between themselves and this strange form of Christianity that they’ve invented that preaches bigotry, intolerance and hatred and has no actual connection to the teachings of Jesus Christ.

But alas, because of Michele’s and Marcus’ very public and very destructive prejudice, and hurtful campaign against homosexuals, unfortunately, they really deserve no such respect or consideration. The scorn, ridicule and glut of easy jokes often directed at them are textbook “reaping what you sew.” Politically, if Michele Bachmann’s Evangelical and reactionary-right supporters thought that the mister might be gay, they’d drop her like Marcus dropping the garter at a wedding reception.

So, is it fair in this modern, tolerant,  just and more open-minded time; when such great strides have been made toward equality and acceptance to suggest that if the Bachmanns had made the historic leap to the White House, the country would not only have had  its first female president, but also its first queen? In this case it’s like the warranted shooting of hateful, hypocritical halibut in a barrel. So look, I’m not saying he’s ridden more poles than the Warsaw piggyback team. I’d never imply he’s smoked more pipe than contestants in a Bing Crosby look-alike contest. I’m not sure if he’s had more hot Italian sausage than revelers at the San Gennaro Festival, more tools in his shed than Bob Vila, charmed more snakes than a swami, launched more rockets than NASA, tooted more horns than Herb Alpert or attracted more flies than an open jar of honey at a company picnic, but I do know that he and his wife support a Constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage and that they have referred to homosexuality as “sinful” and as “part of Satan” and something that needs to be prayed away.

So, to Marcus and Michele, as you ungracefully leave the public stage and America bids you a, hopefully, ending adieu - be gay. Be straight. Be bi. Be transgender. Bewitch, bother and bewilder. Be all that you can be. Be whatever you are, or whatever you want to pretend to be. Just don’t hurt others, no matter what you imagine your God tells you, you just don’t have that right.

We conclude with the preciously alluded to fare thee well from those boys from the Garden State as Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons perform, “Bye Bye Baby.”


Have any comments, questions, criticisms, compliments, candid confessions, cash contributions? Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com. 

  

  

Saturday Song Selection: Good Morning Good Morning – The Beatles and Micky Dolenz

“I’ve got nothing to say, but it’s okay.”– Lennon/McCartney

"The Monkees are still finding out who they are, and they seem to be improving as performers each time I see them. When they've got it all sorted out, they may be the greatest."- George Harrison

"I think you're the greatest comic talents since the Marx Brothers. I've never missed one of your programs."- John Lennon 

"I like their music a lot...and you know, their personalities. I watch their TV show and it is good."- Paul McCartney

Imagine, if you will, this nightmarish scenario, as if from the dark imagination of a Rod Serling teleplay (“That's not fair! That's not fair at all! There was time now. There was all the time I needed...”) You’re a blogger. You love blogging. As a matter of fact, there is so very little in your life of equal or comparable worth to the freedom and creative release enjoyed and unleashed - good, bad, or mediocre - when you put electronic quill to digital papyrus.

"Well, at least I still have my books. And the best thing is, there's time now... all the time I need"

Every rule, every tenet, every decree, every mildly suggestive hint pertaining to the success of maintaining an active, working and popular or even demi-popular blog is to post, as we vote, early and often.  As with, “Fred Garvin: Male Prostitute” frequency and dependability are the hallmarks of achievement in the blogosphere.  And a blog without readership is but a knobcone pine falling in Yosemite without a soul about to hear it; a gripping and grieving emotional howl of expression trapped within a vacuum, as hollow and empty and wasted as the cumulative grey matter of the entire Tea Party Nation,  and as soulless and vacuous as the pandering punditry and politicians at CPAC and the platform presented at the Republican National Convention (Winner 2013 Blogger Award for Most Over-Stated, Over-Dramatic, Over-Written Sentence Ever.)

"I'm Fred Garvin, male prostitute."

And you, essayist of politics and pop-culture peccadillos, have hit a wall as hard as the head of an avowed Palinista. Benghazi is too complicated, at once both a tragedy and, as audaciously and excruciatingly exploited by the partisan pismires of the GOP, a farce.  And the other supposed scandals just furnish further reminders as to the pathetic level this shameless, shamming and perishing political party is willing to stoop; the muck, mire and slime in which they choose to tread, in their continuing desperate attempt to destroy a good man whose pigmentation does not suit their myopic vision of appropriate presidential material. After three years and more than 100 posts, you've got nothing to say, but it's okay - good morning.  And then, like Phil Spector to a Ronette, it hits you.

In commemoration, celebration, recognition and astonished amazement of recently surpassing 200,000 views (moving substantially above and beyond the good will and good graces of friends, family, loved ones and courtesan-like, purchased participants, "... and several butcher's aprons" proudly presents an historic event, decades in the making, and so reminiscent of the time travel saga that allowed the Jetsons and the Flintstones to gather together in animated harmony. Today, the Beatles meet the Monkees (or a Monkee, anyway) on a double “Saturday Song Selection” featuring one classic song and two distinctly different interpretations.

The Fab Four and their made for television doppelgangers who, despite their unusual origins, quickly developed into a superior and legitimate pop/rock group, did in reality, convene in London in 1967 at the gracious invitation of the Liverpudlians. Mike Nesmith sat in on the “Day in the Life” sessions, having been a lucky man who made the grade (although, the news was rather sad) and Peter Tork contributed to George Harrison’s solo project, “Wonderwall.” The Mickey Dolenz composition, “Randy Scouse Git” was also an artistic outcome of this sojourn across the pond. And by all accounts, a good time was had by all.

Peter recalls, “Micky and I are meeting the Beatles at a London club called the Speakeasy, and in comes George and John singing to the tune of "Hare Krishna" "Micky Dolenz, Micky Dolenz, Dolenz, Dolenz, Micky, Micky." And Paul is with Jane Asher, and the other guys didn't bring anybody, and I had just done some STP which was an LSD-type psychedelic drug. I mentioned it to John and he said, "We heard that's no good. Mama Cass told us not to take it." But he said, "Okay". So I went back to the hotel and I got some. Popped one down his throat. I guess he was alright because he seemed to survive. I don't think I'm responsible for "Strawberry Fields" though."

Six Degrees of nycityman

And now we’ve arrived at that section of every post that battles the boredom barometer and tests the egotism tolerance of you fine readers – uninteresting, accidental anecdotes of personal encounters between author and subject. Of course, like millions of others I have garnered valuable miles (kilometers?} on the Virgin Airlines Amex card purchasing ducats of musical memories and unforgettable evenings spent in concert halls and clubs enjoying the incomparable work of many members of both of these famed and fabled foursomes. I've experienced Mr. Starkey and his traveling road show at Jones Beach, Sir Paul at the world's most famous arena, Madison Square Garden and Mickey and his cavorting crew (both with and without the dear departed Davy, and Elephant Parted Michael) in venues too numerous to mention. Nycityman's background appearance in a decades old MTV Christmas video featuring all four of the television band mates best remain a saga for another day. But additionally, as is commonality when one is fortunate enough to reside in the planet's most vital and glamorous cosmopolitan, I have encountered Messrs.’ Dolenz and McCartney on the often walked streets where I live. At the time Micky was appearing in the Broadway production of Aida, and best I can tell, Paul was aimlessly wandering the thoroughfares of Hell's Kitchen, perhaps in search of a satisfying, yet meatless Sabrette.  The unspoken New York law, when happenstance plops you in the presence of admired luminaries, it to do and say nothing, and so I acquiesced.  But as the seconds ticked away on the "Don't Walk" sign at the corner that Micky and I shared, my mind did race in desperate search for clever repartee, but as is needless to tell you, no such cleverness was forthcoming and we each went our separate ways, Dolenz better off for narrowly escaping my dull-wittedness. 

Now, as at some early juncture, this piece was intended to be about, “Good Morning Good Morning” here are the two takes of the tune. First, the original Beatles classic, from “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,” followed by a bit mellower, more acoustic, very enjoyable and intelligent, reinterpretated cover version by the former Circus Boy, himself, Micky Dolenz from his fine 2012 release, “Remember.”  Then, as an added attraction, take a listen to Micky’s Monkee track (not the Smokey Robinson number) previously alluded to, “Randy Scouse Git.”

Have any comments, questions, criticisms, compliments, candid confessions, cash contributions? Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com.