Once again Vic Berger comes through with the goods. Here’s his latest supercut of the most recent Trump/HRC face-off. I was shrieking with laughter throughout it.
The master’s “artist statement” follows:
After the release of those scandalous tapes, the pressure was on for Donald Trump at the second debate. But the presidential nominee proved he doesn’t need the support of his party, or women, or pretty much anyone else – so long as he believes in himself.
Press play. Do it now.
After the jump, watch Vic Berger’s take on the first one, ‘Trump Has A Total Meltdown At The First Presidential Debate’
At this point, it’s a question that’s been pondered—quite a lot—by the professional political pondering class:
Is it even possible to change the mind of the hardcore Donald Trump supporter?
Is there any argument whatsoever that would sway the steadfast fan of the anus-mouthed orangey-faced bellowing billionaire fascist blowhard who sits atop the Republican ticket? Stupid is gonna stupid, and if there is one thing that this year’s election has accomplished it’s demonstrating that the American electorate is—scientifically speaking—much dumber than many of us would have liked to believe. There’s no other way to explain it. Why bend to political correctness—the great bugaboo of reichwingers everywhere, of course—when the simplest and most obvious statement of fact will suffice:
[Amusingly one of the rare times that anyone whatsoever has sent me any pushback on any of my anti-Trump tweets and retweets was none other than Trump advisor, frequent guest on The Alex Jones Show and complete shithead Roger Stone, who must search for his own name constantly. Then I sent him this. It was fun. Bigly fun. I love Twitter!]
But going back to the original question, is there anything—any fact, TV commercial, slogan, viral video, bumper sticker—whatever—that would change the minds of soft-brained morons who would happily line up to vote for Biff Tannen? Something that you could make them watch, with eyes pinned open like Alex DeLarge in A Clockwork Orange that would get through to them or make a difference?
Maybe there is. The video below, made by the Patriotic Artists & Creatives PAC—which features an actual terroristic man-toddler standing in for the one who used to host The Apprentice—might be able to pry even the tightest shut minds open for a second.
Wisdom from the mouths of babes? It’s perhaps the only thing that would work on the simpleton Trump voters. Best that I’ve seen, anyway. So post it everywhere. The video, I mean, probably don’t repost this blog on Facebook, that’s just being mean (and they won’t get the jokes anyway)
What country do you want your children to grow up in?
As Dangerous Minds—and pretty much every online source of news or cultural info—reported about a month ago, an edition of five utterly monstrous and hilarious statues of a nude Donald Trump, titled “The Emperor Has no Balls,” appeared all at once in five American cities, namely Los Angeles, Seattle, New York, San Francisco, and Cleveland. Most of those statues were seized by police almost immediately upon their discovery, and all of them are meeting very different fates.
Most notably, the City of Cleveland Heights has released its confiscated statue to the sculptor, Joshua “Ginger” Monroe, for a nominal impound fee of $110. Monroe got his start in haunted house design, has done work for Cirque de Soleil, and served as the director of Eli Roth’s now-defunct Goretorium in Las Vegas, his current city of residence. Cleveland boasts the distinction of being the only non-coastal city to host one of the original five, and it wasn’t chosen just because that city served as the venue for the RNC. There’s a more personal connection, as Monroe originally hails from the Cleveland suburb Garfield Heights, and he requested that one be placed in his hometown.
More after the jump…
One distinct post-9/11 memory I have was purchasing Is This It, the debut album by The Strokes, and noticing that it was missing a track. It turns out the song “New York City Cops” had been removed—the NYPD had essentially been canonized and absolutely no one wanted to be seen as critical of first responders. It turns out the same thing happened to the great George Carlin, who recorded some some anti-police material just a few weeks prior to 9/11, only to have it shelved in the wake of terrorist attacks and subsequent ennobling of the NYPD. Now via SiriusXM’s “Carlin’s Corner” you can hear the offending bit below.
George Carlin, let’s not forget, had very good—and personal—reasons to resent the police, having been famously arrested himself for obscenity in Milwaukee in 1972 for performing his “Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television” routine—an off-duty police officer who was in the audience dropped a dime on him for using profanity onstage. As the well-known story goes, Carlin’s wife Brenda got onstage during her husband’s set to let him know that the police were congregating and waiting to arrest him. Carlin’s performance ran 30 minutes longer and he brought the house down, all the while making to ditch the cocaine in his pocket right before the cops nabbed him. Carlin only spent a few hours in jail and was freed on $150 bail, but it was a narrowly missed disaster over some dirty jokes.
The bit about cops, titled “Rats & Squealers” will be on the upcoming album of previously unreleased material I Kinda Like It When A Lotta People Die available from MPI Media/Eardrum Records on CD, limited edition vinyl and digital platforms on September 16, 2016.
Members of the anarchist artists collective INDECLINE have unveiled life-size statues of Donald Trump naked—and with no testicles and a teeny weenie—in New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Cleveland and Seattle. “The Emperor Has No Balls” is the name of their multi-city guerilla installation.
What I like best about this is that clearly these wonderful pieces of ostensibly “public” art were made, really, for just one person’s dubious pleasure: Donald Trump’s! That the rest of us might find them amusing seems like a bonus.
The eyes scowl, the mouth pouts and the veiny, almost reptilian skin looks like it was torn off a human-size frog and dipped in bronzer.
The job of conceptualizing and creating the statues fell to a man who goes by the name “Ginger,” a Las Vegas-based artist. Ginger told The Post that he has a long history of designing monsters for haunted houses and horror movies.
In addition to doing makeup for a Busta Rhymes video, Ginger’s résumé includes another source of great pride for the artist: He’s a regular keynote speaker at haunted house conventions across the country. (We checked and, yeah, they’re a thing.)
“When the guys approached me, it was all because of my monster-making abilities,” he said, referring to INDECLINE members. “Trump is just yet another monster, so it was absolutely in my wheelhouse to be able to create these monstrosities.”
The statues were commissioned in April. The INDECLINE pranksters said they wanted Trump’s effigy to appear to have a “constipated look.” Each statue was glued to the ground using industrial strength epoxy.
The “saggy old man butt” view from NYC’s Union Square.
When I read about the very recent incident wherein the estimable Mr. John Lydon shrugged off a bleeding head gash inflicted by a bottle-throwing audience member to continue performing as though nothing had happened (this at age 60, folks—a lot of MUCH younger performers have stopped shows for less) I couldn’t help but be reminded of the great moments in early punk lore—the time that the Sex Pistols, on the brief US tour that catalyzed their demise, played Randy’s Rodeo, a former bowling alley converted into a cowboy bar in San Antonio, TX.
Such an inappropriate booking was clearly a deliberate provocation—this was at a time in when civilians still found tales of routine onstage sex and vomiting at punk shows plausible. So a crowd made up of cowboys and heshers (plus some pilgrims from Austin) had come expecting to see the most preposterous rumors about punk made real, and they had no shortage of missiles to hurl at the band—the usual bottles, cans and cups, hot dogs and popcorn, someone even pelted Lydon with whipped cream, which not only doesn’t hurt, it’s surely more welcome than the more customary gobs of spit.
The Pistols did do a fair job of delivering on punk’s rumored promise—singer Lydon, wearing a gay cowboy t-shirt by Tom of Finland and baiting the presumably hostile audience as “cowboy faggots”, farmer-blew snot onto the stage and the fans in front. Bassist Sid Vicious, actually experiencing heroin withdrawal, removed his coat to reveal “GIMMIE A FIX” scrawled on his chest, and endeavored to silence a heckler by bludgeoning him with his bass.
This clip from the 1980 documentary D.O.A.: A Rite of Passage, of the song “New York” from that storied performance, shows pretty much all that’s described above, and it wasn’t even a third of the way through their set. There’s great audience footage as well—rural metalheads air-guitaring, a seemingly normal woman who’d pierced her nose with a safety pin, and at the end, the guy who Vicious hit with his bass admitting he’d deliberately provoked the musician in performance, still cryassing about his retaliation.
What would you give to be able to time-travel to attend this show?
There’s really no point whatsoever in me describing this for you, you already know what it is from the title alone. Is mocking low IQ Trump supporters like shooting fish in a barrel? Sure it is, but that makes it no less funny.
Although fewer than 25k people have seen this so far, that’s not going to be the case for long. Despite the fact that it requires a 15 minute investment on your part, Mr. or Ms. Modern American ADD person, it’s worth every second.
Triumph the Insult Comic Dog stages a focus group with Trump’s biggest supporters, presenting a series of increasingly outrageous and extremely fake campaign ads, to find out how far they’re willing to go in support of their candidate.
Stay with it. OMG... stay with it till the very end. It builds into a crescendo of idiocy that will have you… in tearsone way or the other!
If you don’t “get it,” well, the joke’s on you, bub.
Though they were among hardcore’s early adopters, the intermittently long-lived Portland punks Poison Idea have remained a connoisseur’s buy, a genre band for people really really into that sort of thing. Their most triumphant flirtation with the great washed knowing that they even existed was when the inarguably uncute band was hilariously selected in June of 1992 to be highlighted in Sassy magazine’s “Cute Band Alert” feature.
CUTE BAND ALERT! The fellow in front went by the name “Pig Champion.” (RIP 2006)
But like many HXC lifers, Poison Idea have soldiered on through breakups, lineup changes, and the indifference of all but their most steadfast devotees. But they may soon find themselves the objects of greater attention, if not outright surveillance: their latest video, for “Calling All Ghosts,” brings hardcore back to its ‘80s I-Hate-Reagan glory by depicting the assassination of GOP presidential candidate Donald Trump. (It was released before the candidate was formally declared the party’s nominee, and so before he qualified for Secret Service protection.) The video’s narrative borrows ideas from The Manchurian Candidate, A Clockwork Orange, and Taxi Driver, showing a hapless rocker dude being brainwashed by a cabal of punks into serving as an assassin, and giving himself a Travis Bickle makeover before engaging in the fateful act.
While we wish the band well in avoiding any undue scrutiny, it’s probably not something to fret about—the ending is ambiguous enough to give the band wiggle room, and besides, by now I imagine there could well be members of Trump’s security detail who’re hoping someone gets a good shot in.
Now that I’ve seen it, it feels like it was inevitable that SOMEONE was going to think of this—a Tumblr user has made a series of image macros captioning the histrionic, toxically vain, not very bright, emotionally abusive, easily threatened and shockingly insensitive GOP Presidential candidate Donald Trump with dialogue from Jane Krakowski’s histrionic, toxically vain, not very bright, emotionally abusive, easily threatened and shockingly insensitive 30 Rock character Jenna Maroney.
Much like in the Trump/Calvin & Hobbes mashup “Donald and Hobbes” (about which we told you not long ago), the fictional character’s lines dovetail frighteningly well with the candidate’s numerous raging pathologies. But the “Donald and Hobbes” strips were cherry-picked for scenarios in which Calvin was being his most awfully self-centered. With these, the pickings were probably a good bit less slim. Really the only way this could be improved would be if some real Trump quotations were thrown in so a game could be made of guessing who actually said what.
I’ve been collecting Residents ephemera since I was in short pants, and I have an unfortunate tendency to start talking like The Simpsons’ Comic Book Guy if some poor soul mentions the band. But I’ve never seen this footage before.
Promoting their appearance at the 1983 New Music America festival in Washington, D.C.—their final performance of the Mole Show, a concert that’s come to be known as the “Uncle Sam Mole Show”—the Residents held a press conference on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, and it’s captured on this camcorder tape.
The Residents at Mount Rushmore, 1981
Given the camera’s proximity to the limo the Residents emerge from at the beginning, the video seems likely to have been shot by someone inside the band’s organization. The members of the group, or four people wearing their eyeball masks and tuxedos with miniature American flags sticking out of the breast pockets, file onto the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in silence, fiddling with their costumes, taking snapshots, and posing for photographers.