Yours truly was able to escape from the Home for Retired Fast Food Mascots just long enough over the past few days to attend the Texas Democratic Party’s 2014 Convention in Dallas. I continue to thank god that it was not held in Corpus Christi, because they would have had to carry my ass out of that overly-humid town in an ambulance to the nearest location with less than 98% humidity and skanky seawater.
I brought Birdie back a Wendy Davis sign, and she and The King are already snorting lines off of it–and it isn’t even 10 a.m. My work here is done!
Seriously, though, not a bad convention. On the bright side, the drinking at this convention was finally significant enough to put me on a list for a liver transplant (THANK YOU, HAPPY HOURS!). On the downside, who the hell were all the 20-somethings at this convention? For a minute, I thought that a chapter of Delta Tau Delta had taken over operations of the convention floor–then I realized all those kids were actually sober. There were so many damned volunteers and young people (TDP Fellows, I think they call them now), that all old-timers like Bill Brannon had to do was stand at the door of the Rural Caucus room and re-direct people to other locations–and Harold Cook must have left early because I didn’t see him anywhere. With all those kids running around in suits, the old-hands didn’t seem to have much to do (which is good, because those guys have been carrying this thing on their back for the last two decades, and they deserve a break).
Aside from running with an efficiency not seen during the reign of the Graham Cracker as Party Chair, and those fucking mustache posters (seriously–the biggest joke teetering under the surface of the convention had to do with mustache rides), it was a pretty normal convention.
So far, the only thing I’ve found that the right-wing has been too much up-in-arms over is Trey Martinez Fischer’s comment about GOP standing for, “Gringos y otros Pendejos.” See this. Sadly, though, that one is too funny even for most Republicans to get their panties in too much of a twist. And, since Michael L. Williams is the only African American I’m aware of in the Republican Party of Texas, it has the added virtue of being at least true enough to laugh at. Plus, I think Trey Martinez Fischer is at least half gringo (Fischer, anyone?), so that must surely temper the Republican outrage.
So, now that the niceties (i.e., saying just enough about the convention to prove I was at least sober enough to be at parts of it) are out of the way, it’s time for a list of shit. Because it is Monday, my liver hurts, and I am still traumatized by the site of Leticia Van De Putte’s hands laying waste to a plate of chicken. So deal with it.
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