Tag Archives: elections

It’s Democracy, Buttface!

Democracy is a scamDemocracy is a scamDemocracy is a scamDemocracy is a scamIt’s Democracy, Buttface!

So, despite the COVID pandemic, fear, isolation, intimidation, excessive body hair and an ever expanding belly filled with sugary baked goods made with these two frequently washed hands, I have decided to weigh in on the subject of democracy, and the impending election.

It should be noted for posterity’s sake that nary a one of my fervent readers, followers and/or groupies has asked me to comment on power-sharing agreement via the ballot box. However, it was high time I made a statement of some kind on what democracy is, was and always will be. A scam.

Wait, don’t leave yet. I’m not advocating for another form of government. I like democracy. Let me explain.

Essentially, the word scam derives from the past tense of the verb ‘to scum’, which in ancient Babylonian poker games referred to the greasy sweat wiped from the brow of the guy who went all in holding a measly pair of 3s but who was already in debt two sheep to Udug and his shady, semi-employed brother-in-law Mummu. Funny, neither Udug nor Mummu ever had a clear source of steady income, but they always showed up at the weekly ritual animal sacrifice with attractive sheep and goats. Something was fishy even back then. But I digress.

Democracy, The Crap-shoot

So why is democracy a scam? Because it’s like poker, it’s a crap-shoot. People bluff all the time in poker, they’re trying to convince you they’re holding the winning hand and you either fold or they clean up and take your money.

Democracy and poker have a lot of similarities. Both are rigged (at least that’s what Trump says. He’s not a compulsive liar, I swear.). Both involve people who really don’t want to hold down a day job. Both have hors d’oeuvres served at meetings and gatherings. Both require an implicit belief that although you’re getting screwed right now, next time will be better.

Democracy, also like poker, requires you to gather information to make an informed decision even if that information is sketchy or difficult to find. It’s about gathering bits of data and coalescing them into some kind of educated guess, assumption or dare I say, a fact! Taking those guesses, assumptions and facts, you place a wager. Sometimes you actually win, like in Chile where they recently voted overwhelmingly to rewrite the constitution. That one worked.

We’ve Moved to ButtFaceBook

However, in our neck of the woods, we have turned to the digital sewer of the Internet, a.k.a. Facebook, to inform ourselves.

It should be argued that Facebook is populated buy a vast number of what Arthur Schopenhauer referred to in his famous work I Hate Life and Tying My Shoelaces Every Morning as “buttfaces”. A buttface for the non-scholarly out there is a stupid and/or stubborn person, usually one who drinks cheap beer and feels it necessary to share his or her stupid opinion when no one ever asked.

By my sleep-deprived reasoning, Facebook should be renamed to ButtFaceBook, or BFB for the brevity-obsessed. Because only a buttface would believe QAnon conspiracies and other outrageous crap peddled on that pitiful platform. Only a buttface would say “The Russians could never sucker me in with some lame-brained story. Now where are my guns at again? Right, I keep them in the bathroom and the kids’ rooms.”

ButtFaceBook. I like it.

Maybe we should decide our elections on that platform instead of using democracy, that time-worn scam machine.

I need some chocolate.

Lovingly isolated and losing his mind,
Marduk (look it up) Druker

How To Mask Your True Emotions

Mask True Emotions
Mask True Emotions
Mask True Emotions
Mask True EmotionsMask Your True Emotions. Please.

I just read a scientific article (without moving my lips too much) on what may have been the worst year ever — 536 CE. Or AD if you prefer that abbreviation. According to these scientists — Trump devotees by default excluded because facts are involved — 536 was the worst year ever! Volcanic eruptions, freezing winters, no sun, failed crops, and perhaps worse, no TV or Netflix to get through it. Neither chocolate nor cinnamon danish had been invented yet. Times were literally and figuratively dark. A mask of misery had covered the globe.

I can only presume with little or no scientific evidence, and even less research because it’s too damn hot today, that people back then must have been freaking out. (Kind of like now, except we have Netflix and danish of various sorts.) The superstitious and  uneducated masses, lacking any real guidance, must have run wild in the unpaved streets, begging for help, searching for any answers, and fearful of their neighbours (also, kind of like now).  The many simple and few enlightened folk must have hid in their homes and hoped for the best and some kind of miracle to free them. (Also, kind of like now. Is it just me or does anyone see a trend?)

2020 vs 536

Many have said that 2020 is the worst year ever! Virus, death, racism, riots, an American election with two old white guys, China spying and running rampant over democracy, millions unemployed. The usual. But people have become very angry and vocal of late. [Note to reader: I am not suggesting people don’t protest. Quite the opposite, they should stand up to the entrenched powers that be. Or kneel. Or whatever gets some good media attention. It gives me great material to work with for the blog.] But at times it might be a little too emotional. Too in your face. Too much fomite-soaked anger blowing in the wind.

We could all really use some emotional masks.

Emotional Masks

I am not talking metaphorically here. Some smart person (Trump devotees by default excluded) is going to come up with some kind of mask that inhibits or in some way tempers our emotions.

My design, which was rejected by the patent office for using too many swear words and containing a selfie of me wearing nothing but a moose hat and slippers, is simple. It will look like your regular everyday mask you can buy at any of the major mask outlets (such as Musk’s Masks, Masks-R-Us, Masks, Flasks and Basques).

The difference is it will come with a 12oz (355 ml) container of liquid emotional modifier (read: booze) of your choice. To start, four kinds would be available: Scotch Whisky for the upscale set, Beer for the blue collar audience, cherry-flavoured schnapps for the rustic crowd, and Vodka for those who wish to keep their consumption discreet, but still not give a crap. At the start of your day, soak your mask before you go out. Or talk to anyone in your household. Repeat at lunch, coffee breaks, dinner and bedtimes. I’m not saying you have to drink the booze, just inhale the vapours until you’re giddy and a little sleepy maybe.

While there are other ways to tame our emotions, such as therapy, weed, pills, yoga, archery, wood-working, setting small fires, or playing strip poker, I say give your mask a shot. Of schnapps preferably.

Manifestly mediocre,
Friar Druker of Snickerdoodle

How To Replace Democracy – TwitFace

 

Stanko & Tibor - How To Replace Democracy TwitFace

Date: December, snowy, and bathed in the glow of a computer monitor. Still trying to find a replacement for democracy that doesn't involve fascists. Or social media.

Democracy: It’s Easier Than Flossing

For some time there was a theory that flossing regularly could somehow help deter heart attacks. That theory has been disproven and rightfully so. Anything having to do with flossing is inherently evil, largely because no one I know, except dentists, the children of dentists, oral hygienists and psycho-killers, has ever been for a dental checkup and heard from said oral care specialist “your flossing habits are excellent!” We always get the drill of guilt for not having flossed either sufficiently or at all. And then a weather front of shame rolls in.

How does flossing in any, way, shape or form relate to my valiant search for something to replace democracy yet does not involve secret police, fascism, communism, or a form thereof? It’s a stretch, I admit, but I had a lot of coffee and sugar this morning so I think I can make this work.

Practice Makes Imperfect

Like so many things in life, the more you do something, usually the easier it gets. For example, kissing, thieving, knitting a wool hat, or hammering a nail. Same goes for flossing.

Your first attempt usually involves a valiant and often violent struggle with the roll of dental floss, or if you use one of those new fangled flossing implements, repeatedly stabbing your inner cheek walls or upper palette to the point where the pain-induced tear that runs down your eye winds up in your mouth, mere seconds after you’ve rattled off a series of profanities best suited for a confession box. (See National Lampoon’s That’s Not Funny, That’s Sick)

But after a while, you get it, you know how to do it, and it becomes almost second nature if you practice a bit. Sure, you might not be perfect, but you know what to do come floss-time. Same goes — or should go — for democracy.

Show Up, Choose, Leave

The democratic process is pretty simple, and depending on where you live and under what conditions, you usually have to practice the skill (and art) of choosing a candidate (or defacing the ballot) maybe every couple of years. So you do get some practice.

Not unlike the flossing described above, you do have to suffer a bit before you get to vote. There are course the interminable election campaigns, which are not unlike the fear one experiences prior to going to the dentist’s, or better yet, these campaigns may be more akin to actually being in the dentist’s chair just before the gum-wrecking, tooth-extracting, needle-inserting, pain-enhancing physician and assistant enter the room to tell you several thousand dollars of expensive and painful fixes are required, and to take out a loan to cover the costs.

Election campaigns are horrendous, wasteful, vainglorious affairs but, like flossing, they are part of the procedure and you can become numb to them with enough exposure. That could be bad if you experience blood loss living through either the flossing or the election campaign. But at the same time, its not all that hard to do your democratic duty. It takes 3 simple steps: Show up, choose, and then leave.

But Am I Qualified?

This begs the question — if, in a democracy, anyone eligible can vote, are they really qualified to vote? Many have suggested the same holds true for making and rearing a child. Too many are eligible and too few are qualified, yet we let that happen all the time (until that kind Mr. Trump spikes our drinking water with birth control pills). But I digress.

We test people who want to drive a car to see if they are competent — and again, too many are eligible and too few are qualified, even if they didn’t sleep with and/or bribe the driving instructor. Yet, 22-chromosed morons and idiots show up to take their driver’s test, choose some answers, spin around a parking lot and leave with a permit for motorized mayhem in their sweaty, greasy, unwashed, little hands.

Should we have means testing to determine who is qualified to vote? Who would decide this? (Answer: me, and me alone) How would this even be enforced? (Answer: lots of robots and a ton of domestic spying). If we tested for intelligence, would it be based on math? science? or a canonical knowledge of Star Wars and Bugs Bunny? (Answer: I’m leaning towards Bugs Bunny)

So much to contemplate, yet it’s so perilously close to dinner. And food wins every time over deep, rational thought.

With a warm heart and a glaring bald spot,

Mephistopheles “Bringer Noxious Emissions” Druker

Trump, Rump, Dump, Chump, Sump Pump – Rhyming Crap


Stank and Tibor - Loving Trump the Drumpf


Trump, Rump, Chump Dump, Sump Pump – Rhyming Crap

It wasn’t long ago that Donald Trump was the butt of many jokes. A rich butt, but a butt all the same. Now, Herr Hair Piece has made life a little scarier with his bid for the Republican presidential nomination and of course his subsequent attack on the — dare I say — The President! None of which is news, of course, as every one and his brother (or sister) has been glued to the TV, radio, mobile device and anything else that reports the so called news these days. You can’t escape it, much as I would like to.

Trump Rhymes With ‘Rump’

It’s not rocket science as to why small-fingered Trump is so popular – and it isn’t his vouching for cuts of Grade ‘A’ beef, so beloved by men with a subconscious wish for an early coronary and preceded by a fine bout of colon cancer. (I think if If he vouched for a mediocre rump roast, it would have hit a little too close to home for him, but apt it would have been, indeed.)

Trump the Rump is a bully, plain and simple. A charismatic shmuck of a bully, but a bully all the same. That’s why so many people love the guy – they’re afraid of him. Or strangely he’s adored and lauded for “telling like it is”  – which is usually code for “I won’t use logic to assess that statement because my rage-related hormones are boiling  like a thin beef broth over an open flame.”

Bullies and blowhards make all kinds of false statements backed by nothing more than bluster (Wow, I used a lot of ‘B’ words in that last sentence. Amazing I didn’t use ‘ball-busting bastards’ – I must be losing my edge.) This aspiring presidential rump is one of the best at beating up (verbally) on anyone and everyone. How nice.

Trump Rhymes With ‘Chump’

It’s quite shocking that a stylish bully like Donald Fart Face has made it this far, because in essence he is a chump. For those who don’t know the word, a chump is defined as “A stupid or foolish person; a dolt.” Oddly, it’s also defined as “A short, thick, heavy piece of wood.”

Foolish he is not, how else could he get legions of people to do his bidding by punching people who disagree with him? Maybe he really is short, thick, heavy piece of wood, originating from a genetically manipulated cross between dog wood (hence his bark) and pond scum that has been poisoned by toxic sun tan lotion? It would explain his stubby fingers…

Trump Rhymes With ‘Dump’

If he is elected the Republican presidential nominee, despite the party’s best efforts to derail him, and goes on to defeat Hilary Clinton in the general election, I think he stands a good chance of having the White House redecorated to look like a Vegas Casino. I can’t really tell you why I believe that. Maybe it’s the spicy Thai chicken I had that’s clouding my brain and making me pass wind.

Since the Trump style involves a lot of gold, hair product, and no doubt a Trump-endorsed male cologne probably made from gasoline and cheap Amaretto, there will be an industrial smell about his presidency. The kind of smell used to mask a city dump.

 Trump Rhymes With ‘Sump Pump’

How one gets to a sump pump from a Trump isn’t as long a twisted journey as you’d think. This kind of pump is used to remove excess liquid, usually from a flooded basement. Where sewage tends to back up, like after a torrential rainfall of crap. Not unlike that which spews from Donald’s mouth on a regular basis as he spits bile and filth at those who oppose him. Nice. How dictator-like.

And it’s not just me who finds it amazing that this chump of a sump pump clump of orange hair masquerading as a human has inspired so many people to come out and vote. He’s certainly tapped into a vein of anger that the Republican elitist jerks neglected for, oh, 30 years or so. Maybe we shouldn’t be so amazed that Trump is where he is given his skill for oratory and showmanship, and his keen ability to reason and use logic like a 4-year old pissed off at the playground.

Enough ranting for one evening. I have other more important things to do. Such as eat marmalade-filled cookies that contain something akin to heroin, hence my predilection for spending actual hard-earned cash on something I m sure is made from petro-sugar, sawdust and chocolate-flavored styrofoam.

Swimmingly swollen,

Field Marshall Druker of the Azores

PS – Happy 80th Birthday, Dad

I Win, I lose

It has been so long since my last comic, many of you have become oblivious to just how happy you were not having to massage my delicate ego by clicking on the Stanko & Tibor link just so I’d stop harassing you via Facebook, Twitter, email and anonymous phone calls from bus stations.

Well, your favorite reason to swear out loud that your junk filter is not working as it should is back – I have posted another comic, closing out the political topic for a little while — while I work on the bios of the characters, and the new ones who will shortly be introduced to a comic near you.  Think family, think plant life, think more wildlife. Many a story line to come, all as brilliant and skewed as you could imagine. So I am pumped!

On a cold October night, just before Halloween and my kids’ upcoming sugar-high, we have seen our first flakes of snow. And to think my daughters were playing in a pile of leaves, close to 3 feet high, just a few hours before that. Time for snow tires. My friends in southern climes, you may mock me, but the cold kills the bugs, and the politically right of wing.

Oh, and please give me some comments on the new header I created for the comic. I liked it, but Kirsten savagely criticized it. I was wounded. But I will make a t-shirt out of it.

Much love, happy Halloween, be well.

Ugly Man Upsets Politics
Ugly Man, Ugly Situation

Coffee & The Motto

It’s cool and fall-like outside, politics is rampant, my cold is rampant and I need some time to sleep. Or hibernate.

This the continuation of the absurd politics storyline (is there any other kind?) that I felt needed some additional silliness. So he’s founding the Coffee Party since the Tea Party is already taken. And tea is for sissies anyway.

What is truly odd is that there is a real coffee party, which I think some drug-addled Democrat came up with to counter the Tea Party. no one said the Dems were any smarter than the GOP. And that rally is the crux of the issue, isn’t it? We elect people who have marshmallow for brains, doesn’t matter what side of the electoral isle you’re on. Kind of like choosing between root canal and voluntary spleen removal, both without anesthetic.

Makes me also think that if I could have a benevolent dictatorship that ensured fresh bagels, Italian sausage and possibly fresh radish salad on demand, I could live without voting.

I promise to have some zippy election campaign mottoes for you to laugh or sneer at in coming episodes.

Enjoy the comic, and if you don’t get the humor, don’t worry. Neither do I.

Hugs and kisses
Emperor Cassius Drukerus

Election Friction

BaraClint


There are some battles that are eternal: chocolate vs. vanilla, pinkos vs. fascists, McDonald’s vs. Burger King, Godzilla vs. Mothra, inferior sesame seed (a.k.a. white seed) bagels vs. superior poppy seed (a.k.a. black seed) bagels. Let us not forget other battles such as fast vs. slow, geeks vs. jocks and north vs. south, but east vs. west is less well-known and they want to keep that way. And what do all these battles have in common? No, it’s not nudity as so many have of you have suspected. It’s all about Harmony vs. Friction.

Why did I capitalize those two words? Because someone from the Marketing Department told me to.

And this episode of the comic that no one dares to admit they will read – even on the toilet, in jail, in solitary confinement – has produced a deep, insightful and mesmerizing commentary on that eternal battle of Harmony vs. Friction. You see, harmony is what most of us in the universe seek and crave deeply because we get enough friction at work, the grocery store, Costco and the damn gas station, those filthy thieving bastards. They raised the price again last night! Sorry.

So we need harmony to move forward and cope with life – either in the form of meditation, alcohol, sleep, or pills that help us sleep. Or laughing gas stolen from the dentist’s office.

But there are those who revel in friction as they see it as the metaphorical generator of static electricity to shock others into action. Friction leads to the smoke that leads to the fire that leads to the insurance claim for the imaginary Picasso and Rembrandt you said you had stored in your basement before the fire. Friction is the stuff of politics, the stuff thoughts are made of. You know that smoke that comes out of your ears when you get an idea? It’s mental friction, baby. Friction is the rug burn you got when you figured “oh, it’ll be a quickie and it’ll be worth it” but then your best friend saw the rug burns and knowingly looked at you and thought “you filthy slime bag, can’t you keep it in your pants?”

So as the friction of Obama and Clinton will lead to lively debates, the ensuing fake, big-toothed whitener-enhanced smiles will denote harmony among the political class and the people who seek some kind of stability and respite from a world of chaos around them.

Let the battle begin, and end quickly, since Return of the Jedi is on in 20 minutes.

May peace and anger be with you always.

Zen Master Kobo Mookie