Motley Moose – Archive

Since 2008 – Progress Through Politics


GOPasaur Extinction Update: Rewriting The Fossil Record

 grossly oversimplified

Actually, the GOP version is only about 6,000 years

[Cross-posted from Teh Orange]

It’s not easy being green a GOPasaur. All signs points to their individual and collective extinction, yet they still walk the Earth, seemingly oblivious to their fate, unable to see what any sentient creature could see: it’s so over. The planet, it seems, is moving on without them and they’re left to ponder the cruel vicissitudes of fate. For surely, it must just be fate, right?? It couldn’t have been anything that they said or did, could it??

Like young children, taking to heart their teachers’ threats that their latest malfeasance would be etched in stone on their Permanent Record, GOPasaurs live in perpetual dread that their crimes, misdeeds, ethical lapses, and offhand remarks about female reproduction. Unfortunately (for them), while their witless song may have ended, the malady lingers on, thanks to the preservative properties of the fossil record.

Thus is is with unalloyed joy that some of our paleo-pals have discovered a solution to their extinction fears, a way to wipe the slate clean of their missteps and recast themselves in ways that the votersaurs will find appealing, even irresistable. Follow along below the Gobi Desert Easter Egg for the Rest of the Story…  

Extinction Update: Brontosaur Romneii (The Song Has Ended But The Malady Lingers On)

Brontosaurus print

Seismometers across the continental plate reverberated as previously-thought-to-be-extinct Onepercentasaur Brontosaurus romneii emerged from one of his well-appointed caves to grace the world with his witless utterances. With the onset of the paleosequester, this unwelcome political behemoth felt it necessary to return to the miasmic swamps of political life to point out that, had he eluded electoral extinction, Things Would Be So Much Better. This insipid viewpoint was amplified by B. romneii’s mate, Dressageasaurus cruella, whose vocalization – like nails on a Cretaceous chalkboard – continue to jangle the nerves of all organisms in the drainage basin.

“If only”, they sigh, in carefully rehearsed unison, we had been the chosen ones. All of this awfulness could have been avoided.” Indeed. Awfulness of an altogether different sort would have pervaded the land, or at least 47 percent of the land. Latinosaurs would be stampeding in throes of self-deportation. Venturecapitasaurs would be driving workers into the streets while expanding their vast offshore caverns to accomodate still more wealth. The cries of the unemployed, the impoverished, the elderly, and the ill would reverberate across the land. All the while, B. romneii’s dynastic wealth would grow to proportions that would cause serious global tectonic disruption.

When last we heard from these two, they were licking their wounds after the painful realization that all their grand evening of fireworks and victory toasts had come crashing down around them. Indeed, the only joy of that dark night came from the immediate termination of employment of B. romneii’s campaign staff, and the concurrent cancellation of their credit cards, stranding them far from home. Yes, good times, but alas, over all too soon.

As fellow GOPasaurs engaged in the gnashing of teeth, self-loathing, and blamestorming that has become their hallmark, B. romneii and D. cruella slunk away in the night, never to be heard from again, until now, when their vocalizations have resumed, fueled by a heady mixture of righteous indignation and denial. Follow along below the coprolite horizon for The Rest of the Story…  

Friday Fossil Follies: The Dinosaurs Of Downton Abbey

Given your intrepid diarist’s obsession with the extinction of lumbering organisms who have outlived their usefulness, it was only a matter of time before she was drawn into the hypnotic vortex of Downton Abbey. With the benefit of streaming technology, she has lost countless hours immersed in the dealings of early 20th century aristocrats facing and overcoming truly daunting challenges. One can only marvel at their ability to soldier on, despite having to dress for dinner in black tie, rather than white, or having to cope with the horrific prospect of downsizing to a smaller mansion. Even an unexpected inheritance sends them into multi-episode bouts of self-loathing and handwringing.

Neither hunters nor gatherers and shunning any form of productive activity, these impeccably dressed and coiffed creatures spent their days heaving prolonged sighs of ennui. There’s Simply Nothing To Do other than watch as their way of life erodes away beneath them. Having been blessed with Vast Wealth that could have ensured their economic and social dominance for generations more with just a bit of husbandry, they instead frittered it all away through extravagant spending, witless investments, and dereliction of even the most basic fiduciary responsibilities.

No worries, however, as with the miracle of inbreeding, they continued to reproduce with and siphon away the inherited wealth of extended family members. Attempts to deepen their Smurf-deep gene pool by mating with those outside their list of acceptable relatives met with disaster, as we saw when Lady Sibyl – up to then probably the most energetic and genetically robust of the bunch – succumbed to a very dramatic post-partum extinction. The rest of her melanin-deficient clan could only stand by in helpless horror holding the newborn spawn of their former chauffeur. See what happens when the classes mingle? Don’t be doing that again, please.

Clearly, though, there were limits to the Downtonasaurs paleo-Ponzi scheme, and eventually, it became painfully apparent even to the most cerebrally-challenged among them that they must adapt to their new circumstances. Not right away, of course, as it was time for another dinner party, wedding, funeral, scandal, fox hunt, or bout of what passes for introspection.

Darwin would have looked upon these socially elevated life-forms with contempt, as they eluded extinction for far too long.  Those “below stairs” seemed far better suited for the rough-and-tumble life, as they were only too keen to jostle one another for position, even relying on early forms of social networking and psy-ops. The Dawn of the Age of Mammals might have looked a bit like this. But… I digress.

Where, one wonders, did this whole family begin their march towards irrelevance and extinction? To find the answers, researchers revisited Downton Abbey, this time equipped with a Kubota backhoe, and began the quest for family paterfamilias Cretaceous “Creepy” Crawley. Creepy made his fortunes the old-fashioned way: threatening overextended tenants and driving them off their property, strip mining the available coal and iron ore, selling these important resources in a controlled market to his corporate cronies, and leaving the resultant environmental shambles for future generations to restore.

Having amassed more wealth than he could possibly spend in geologic time, he set about finding a suitable mate. Fortune smiled upon him the day that he laid eyes, and perhaps a bit more, on local barmaid Molly, an opportunistic Mesozoic wench who knew a good meal ticket when she saw one. With her marriage to Creepy, she made the leap to life as Lady Molly Crawley, leaving behind her humble origins. What she lacked in gentility she more than made up for in fecundity, and soon the Crawley cave was alive with the pitter-patter of little Crawley feet.

As time went by, these illustrious offspring went their separate ways. Some of them achieved great distinction in science, medicine, engineering, and the arts. Accordingly, these family members were lopped from the family tree, as that is simply not the sort of lifestyle appropriate for a true aristocrat. After generations of pruning, we find ourselves left with the likes of Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, and his emotionally-blocked kin who can wonder for days on end what on Earth they could be doing other than staring into the face of impending ruin. It’s all so awfully, awfully tedious, and only by drowning their sorrows in alcohol can they endure their existential pain. Frankly, it’s remarkable that they didn’t succumb to cirrhosis of the liver, every last one of them.

Just as the real dinosaurs of the Mesozoic must have done, the Crawleys watch, transfixed, as that bright shining ball of flames illuminates their cosmos, getting ever larger. What is that, they wonder. Then, suddenly, it hits them.  

GOPasaur Extinction Update: More Fossil Follies from Griftasaurus Karlroveii

As reported in the New York Times and other reputable sources – and widely mocked elsewhere – Griftasaurus Karlroveii has concocted yet another plan to stave off extinction… or at least make some money off it if it’s really unavoidavle. In a party where dinosaur-on-dinosaur violence has reached levels worthy of paleo-pay-per-view coverage, the bespectacled behemoth believes that he has found the Secret of Eternal Relevance. As always, it involves money. Other people’s money, obviously.

His latest Life Extension scheme involves establishment of the Conservative Victory Party. While that sounds dreadfully bland, rest assured, blood will spill, and carnage will result. Don’t touch that dial! First on the CVP’s hit list? The witless Baggasaurs whose moronic Mesozoic meddling has already cost the GOPasaurs some key seats in the House and Senate. Like a clown car filled with velociraptors on crack, the Baggasaurs provided ample amusement for those of us on the other side of the aisle, but have been an unending torment for their supposed allies.

Spawned by the evil genius and deep pockets of the Kochasaurs and a few other one-percenters with more free time and money than brains, the Baggasaurs were foisted on the American public as a true grass-roots Paleo-phenomenon. Easily identified by their curious headgear, poorly-spelled signs, and angry vocalizations, the Baggasaurs played their parts to perfection. Their walnut-sized brains ensured that they would never discern that they were simply “extras” in the Greatest Story Never Told, and that despite their daily trips to the mailbox, their checks would never arrive.

Still, when measured in terms of damage done versus IQ points, the Baggasaurs will leave a dent in the fossil record. In retrospect, their Reign of Error may represent the Beginning of the End for GOPasaurs. Some analysts surmise that G. karlroveii is very much in agreement with this view, but clearly not above using it to advance his own objectives. Follow along below the coprolite horizon for more…  

Dinosaur Extinction Update: GOPasaurs Gone Wild!

It’s been eons since my last dinosaur extinction diary over at The Place That Shall Not Be Named. For those of you who’ve been following me from there, you know the drill: they’re periodic updates on GOP dinosaurs (GOPasaurs) who are long overdue for extinction, but still of interest to the Grim Reaper. I’ve long suspected that the Reaper is keeping them alive purely for entertainment purposes, so let’s join him in the fun!

Wisconsosaurus ronjohnsonii – new on the scene – at least in the scale of geologic time – this Baggasaur already displays delusions of adequacy. Attempting to sink his teeth into Clintonasaurus hillarii in a shameful display of misdirected Mesozoic self-aggrandizement, W. ronjohnsonii has caused massive tectonic upheaval in the Wisconsinan terrain, as millions of residents fall to their knees simultaneously, begging forgiveness for electing this Cretaceous miscreant.

McCainasuaurus getoffamylawnii – what? Not extinct yet? For the love of [insert name of deity here]. Proving once again that there’s no time limit on crankiness, M. getoffamylawnii continues to vocalize his deep, deep dismay at the current state of affairs in every available venue. Following the meteoric rise and stunning fall from grace of his protégé, the hapless Griftasaurus palinii, M. getoffamylawnii has found a new paleo-pal, Granitestatasaurus ayotteii to reprise the role of Etta Place to his geriatric Sundance Kid, to very creepy effect.

Nonnamedforaynrandasaurus paulii – with his octogenarian progenitor gone from the scene, it falls to young N. paulii to pick up the Mesozoic mantle. His bizarre mammalian coif is a useless disguise, for this is a cold-blooded creature with Freon in its veins.  Under his [highly] theoretical faux presidency, Things Would Be Different, and C. hillarii would have been tossed into the nearest volcano for her role in the Benghazi Extinctions. Fortunately for all concerned, N. paulii has already reached the limits of his evolutionary journey and will not be redecorating the White Cave, ever.

Behemasaurus christii – taxonomists are giving this hefty Jerseysaur a second look as researchers continue to identify mammalian tendencies such as genuine (seeming) compassion for the young, the weak, and the storm-tossed. These behaviors (and B. christii’s “palling around” with Obamasaurus Rex) have inflamed fellow GOPasaurs who rightfully fear that B. christii will loom large in more ways than one as the 2016 election nears.  

Brontosaurus romneii – after a crushing defeat, all that’s left of this Bainosaur is a pile of unpaid bills for the fireworks and catering at the over-the-top victory celebration. Acceding to the wishes of millions (including many in his own party), B. romneii has indeed disappeared from the scene, returning to the world of corporate doings, surrounded by his vast (or half-vast) dynastic clan, his domestic staff, his multiple well-appointed caves, and his untold wealth. Since his mate, Dressageasaurus annii, announced that this was B. romneii’s Final Campaign, perhaps he has truly taken his place in the fossil record. One can hope.

Prevaricasaurus ryanii – slowly realizing that he had aligned himself with a losing venture, this witless follower of the Ayn Rand Petroglyphs continues to scratch and claw his way back to some semblance of relevance, to no avail. As his fellow GOPasaurs tear each other limb from limb, they just don’t seem to care about their paleo-wunderkind any more, proving that you needn’t be old to become extinct.

Bloviasaurus limbaughii – as his sponsors run, screaming, into the hills, B. limbaughii ratchets up his caustic Cretaceous crudeness to unprecedented levels, to the delight of the six remaining listeners in Misogyny, Montana. Once a Force To Be Reckoned with, spewing his vile pronouncements across the land from his Oxycontin-filled cave, B. limbaughii is now at the top of the Reaper’s list, as soon as the Reaper can find a large enough volcano.

Boehnersaurus lachrymosii – how this weepy orange creature has eluded the Reaper is a mystery, but despite attacks from his closest allies, he remains to fight another day. With the help of his goggle-eyed sidekick, Archelon mcconnellii, B. lachrymosii has led the Great Capitulation of GOPasaurs who are too busy with their GOPasaur-on-GOPasaur violence to organize against the Greatness Of Obamasaurus Rex. Extinction, when it comes, will look an awful lot like Velociraptor cantorii, the most cold-blooded of the bunch, who is just biding his time until he sinks his fangs into his colleague. Nothing personal, he’ll say. It’s just business.  

Light Relief Palinology: Human Footprints in Dinosaur Tracks

I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist this. Some light relief – or at least it seems like that watching the Dow index

Having heard Matt Damon ask:

I need to know if she really thinks that dinosaurs were here 4,000 years ago. I want to know that, I really do. Because she’s gonna have the nuclear codes.

I was fascinated to read this recollection of Governor Palin’s beliefs recalled by a Wasilla Resident, Philip Munger, and reported into today’s LA Times

More below the fold.