At noon, my father will be marking the holiday by tweeting our Family’s annual Christmas get-together with my Uncle Carter on the Cockfight “Farm” property.

You can follow it by refreshing this page a bunch of times and watching the sidebar to the right, or by clicking here.

This is all brought to lessers, as always, by CFIA.

Happy Holidays!

PRESS RELEASE

December 23, 2009

COCKFIGHT FAMILY URGES OTHER ALABAMA POLITICIANS TO FOLLOW ‘PARKER’ GRIFFITH’S LEAD, COME OUT OF THE CLOSET

Now playing for the other team.

NATURAL BRIDGE, AL – The Cockfight Family, one of America’s oldest and most blunt political clans, today urged several Alabama politicians to follow the lead of newly extra-white North Alabama Congressman Parker Griffith and “come out of the closet” about who they really are.

Griffith, who was elected as a Democrat last year and is still believed by several Cockfight Family members not to be an actual human being but a sentient shopping mall in Madison (“I hear there’s a really nice Best Buy there,” the Rev.  David Cockfight said.), only sorta-kinda shocked his colleagues in Alabama and Congress by turning GOP on Tuesday, probably because his ass was going to be beat real bad by a conservative more comfortable admitting he or she is really a Republican in 2010.

But members of the Cockfight Family, who have been busy for much of the past month compiling their annual holiday enemies’ lists, were not surprised at all by the announcement.

“These kind of revelations tend to happen a lot around the holidays,” said King Cockfight, a Georgetown-educated failed political consultant and alleged Weblogger. “People come back from Washington for holiday dinner and show up with an oil lobbyist or somebody from big business, and before they can open their mouth to tell those close to them the big revelation, their donors realize that whole voting against healthcare thing and being really against abortion thing from the campaign wasn’t just a phase.”

“I remember all the shame I felt when my son came back from college and told me he was only a moderate Republican,” said J. Eagle Cockfight II, a semi-retired conservative Mountain Brook lobbyist and former Reagan administration staffer. “He told me that maybe we shouldn’t be so relentless and close-minded about abortion and that perhaps, and it pains me to say this even now, that Social Security might not have been such a terrible idea.

“But in time, I learned that both us are owned to the bone by big business and not very fond of helping minorities and especially the poor, and while I don’t approve all the aspects of his unorthodox politically un-belligerent lifestyle,  that common ground has helped me accept and love him for what he is.”

Still, Family members applauded Griffith’s move and urged several other Alabama politicians to bring their lifestyles out in the open to be honest with themselves and their voters — especially one freshman congressman in particular.

“Bobby Bright’s all like ‘I just have some really flamboyantly neoconservative friends!’ and ‘Voting against healthcare reform is just something I like to do for fun — I’m still very attracted to Democratic donors!’” King said. “But we all know the real truth, Bobby, and you don’t have to hide it anymore.

“Everybody knows you’re a big, flaming GOP.”

Other Alabama politicians the Cockfight Family believes should be more truthful about who they are:

• Republican Attorney General Troy King: “Illiteracy is a problem that affects so many Alabamians,” King said. “Much like Lucy Baxley has been an inspiration to those who have suffered strokes, T.K. could really inspire hope among the illiterate attorneys who don’t understand or know how to practice or enforce the law as he is beaten handily and righteously by a comic book super-villain in his party’s primary next year.”
• Former Democratic Governor Don Siegelman: “Everybody knows you’re corrupt as shit, man,” King said. “Come on.”
• Former State GOP Chairwoman Twinkle Andress Cavanaugh: “Even though you’re restricted by Asimov’s Three Laws and the strict rules Governor Riley has set for you, you can make a brave first step for a world where android Republican operatives are considered as human as those born as flesh and bone,” King said.
• Democratic Lt. Governor Jim Folsom: “It’s well past time to admit you’re a Kodiak bear dressed as a man!” said Carter McCarthy Cockfight, 2012 presidential candidate for the “NO DAMN IMMIGRANTS!” Party. “Now come on and fight me!”

Temporarily demoted to probationary black man status.

Congressman Artur Davis’ vote against healthcare reform has had some folks questioning whether he’d rather mortgage his political future these days than represent the people who put him in a position to entertain a run for Governor, prompted his mustachioed Democratic rival to suddenly be as in favor of a public health plan as any latte-sipping, cock-sucking, weed-smoking San Francisco, California, liberal, and, most recently and importantly, led to important and critical questions about his blackitude by the Rev. Jesse Jackson:

We even have blacks voting against the health care bill. You can’t vote against health care and call yourself a black man.

And by “blacks” Jackson means, well, Artur Davis who was the only Black Congressional Caucus member to vote against the bill in the House and thus, in Jackson’s parlance, earn Multiple Black-Man Status (MBMS).

In response, Davis attempted to repel and celebrate Jackson’s comments at the same time and restated that he supports healthcare reform, just not the particular politically realistic and most likely as good as we’re going to get with the current population of dumb politicians and sheeple being considered on Capitol Hill. Political experts even say that his split with Jackson, along with his vote against a reform that is unpopular in Alabama because we like fucking ourselves to death with that rusty metal pole and we’ll lick our  lips for you because you like it when we do it like that don’t you big daddy?,  is likely to strengthen his chances of being elected Governor next year.

All that being said, I’ve been consistently underwhelmed by the Davis campaign — and not for those “Oh it’s because he’s a Democrat and I’m a nacho-eating neocon” or the “Oh and he’s black and I’m one of those Huntsville/Mountain Brook racists who talks around hating black people as if it’s some sort of medical or social condition like AIDS and crime and boy how I hate AIDS and crime” kind of reasoning you might find elsewhere in the Alabama Weblogosphere.

My concern has been that the Davis’ alleged campaign staff have not shown any signs of being particularly capable or fully cognizant of the raining racial hellfire they will have to cope with if he wins the Democratic nomination next year.

There’s running post-racial, then there’s running in a happy-happy la-la version of Alabama that doesn’t exist where it’s a matter of fact we either can ignore or that we don’t have to get to yet so we can make stupid moves like letting the Internet determine our campaign platform.

Given my background, I tend to see these things in terms of emotionless political calculus, and I imagine Davis does to some extent as well. My read is that Davis probably supports healthcare reform — maybe even in its most liberal yet logical form — but trusts his Democratic colleagues in the House and Senate to at least be able to do some approximation of getting the job done without him so can cover himself to perhaps –  switching back from the political to the ideal –  do greater good in Alabama from 2011 onward.

Unfortunately, reading things in political terms tends to desensitize you to what’s right an awful lot. If there’s a general election and a broad portion of the voting population die-hardedly believes that skullfucking homeless people to death is the only way to instill values and rejuvenate economic development — and please, Alabama Republicans, don’t take this as a commentary on your party’s platform right now — and you needed at least a good chunk of those people to form a winning coalition, a hardened political “expert” like myself would recommend you give at least a little qualified support to doing some awful things to homeless people for the good of our economy and to preserve morality for our children’s future.

That’s because while most human beings know socially and morally what’s the right thing to do, most of the time they are too politically and personally stupid and immature to do it. It’s how jackasses who have no fucking idea what the hell they’re doing (not to mention candidates who actually believe government can be run as a for-profit business as if they are the same fucking thing) get elected all the time. It’s why President Liberal-Black-Man-Raised-In-A-Poor-Interracial-Household-And-Worked-As-A-Community-Organizer has to play to the bigots feelings about The Gays (TM) instead of letting them experience the empty, sexless joy of marriage or openly die in our latest pointless military quagmires.

People, especially voters, are petty little children who refuse to drink their milk even if they know it’s the only thing keeping all their teeth from falling out. And Alabamians are among the biggest, toothless babies of them all.

So yes, Artur is taking the right stance to appeal to the stupid, immature, anti-progressive majority of Alabama voters — you know, the same people who are still totally too stupid, immature, and anti-progressive right now to vote for him because he has a skin tone a shade darker than mother of pearl.

Oh and by the way, Artur, your home base, poor black people such as those in your poor black congressional district, who I will remind you are — at least according to stereotype — seen as only slightly more electorally reliable than “politically-motivated” college-aged liberal youth, might remember how you voted pretty blatantly against their interests and could decide not to show up records numbers that Black Belt counties will obfuscate through voter fraud on Election Day 2010. That too.

(Again, I don’t think they’re even the slightest bit prepared for that whole racial hellfire thing.)

So let’s break it down.

Is Davis the most palatable gubernatorial candidate there is right now? Considering that the other candidates are an irrelevant, unprepared mustache man who has suddenly had a Saul-to-Paul moment on healthcare reform, a quietly unaccomplished allegedly accomplished non-threatening White Republican who has the physical appeal of a gray-at-the-temples middle-aged man that horny White Republican women would love to see in one of those bathtubs in the Cialis ads, a fool who fucked-up managing your kids’ college money and has limply attempted to absolve herself by blaming the money, an empty-headed Jesus freak retread, a bored, unappealing Tuscaloosa dermatologist, Tim James, and an anonymous far-right dumbfuck whose entire last-place campaign has morphed into a giant fuck you to the sitting lame-duck governor for forcing him out of a job most Alabamians don’t care about or understand, I’d say so.

Does he have to work harder and be more perfect than any of us can imagine — even if he’s amply more qualified and trustworthy than the rest of these jackasses — because he’s a black man running for a statewide elected office in Alabama? Hell yes. A hundred times more than any of the fine young Democrats working on his campaign realize — even he knows it in no uncertain terms.

Is it fair? Fuck no.

Is it reality? Until further notice, unfortunately so.

Did he just sell out the people he represented and thus cast doubt as to whether he’s the grown-up Alabama needs to make it a better place?

Yeah. He did.

And he should have known better than that.

"It's okay to be attracted to me. I did wear the light blue polo today..."

Allegedly accomplished white Republican Bradley Byrne, who may or may not done something important and credible by not putting a hit out on anybody while running the blood-soaked coke-brothel that was (is?) the State’s two-year college system*, this week revealed a ten-point plan for at least eliminating the appearance of the State’s political leaders having their jobs only to buttfuck cash and privilege out of Alabama’s government.

And I’m not alleging any sort of bias or anything like that, but after reading this article I do think that the Mobile Register might have some unusual feelings about Bradley Byrne that make them feel special and icky inside at the same time:

Ethics in government has been one of Byrne’s three Es — the others being education and economic development — since Byrne entered the race earlier this year. But today’s news conference represented his most detailed proposal on the topic yet.

Byrne made his remarks across the street from Bishop State Community College, where allegations of ethics lapses led to front-page headlines before he took the helm of the entire two-year system. The school was a literal and figurative backdrop for Byrne’s insistence that he could push through reforms that have died in the Legislature many times before.

When not making the Bay Area press swoon and crave the warmth of his milky-white Republican arms, Byrne proposed a plan that would kill pass-through pork, expand the “double-dipping” ban, strengthen the State Ethics Commission,  broaden who is required to make disclosures to the commission, and other things that the Republicans probably won’t be too excited to do once they take over the Legislature in 2011.

And I would totally mock his promise to call a special session after he’s sworn-in when I assume — but am too lazy and drunk this morning to fact-check — the next Governor will be inaugurated a few weeks at most from the beginning of the regular session, but it’s not like we get any  governing done during the legislative session, so I can understand why he might think that’s the best approach in this situation.

Oh, and the Family wanted me to note that blood will totally run through the streets of Haleyville as Winston County declares it’s independence from an ass-choked Alabama government should this ethics bullshit even come close to passing and devastating Alabama’s graft-based economy.

It’s just how we roll.

*I can’t tell you how sad I was a few years ago to hear about the end of Northwest Shoals Community College’s great marketing campaign from the 1990’s: “Northwest Shoals Community College — We WILL Suck Your Dick For Money!” Progress has its costs, I guess.

Guest post by King Cockfight
Author of this goddamn Weblog

At one point during this weeks-long absence, I was in a state of paralysis in a dimly-lit hostel in Amsterdam. I could see, I could think, but bountiful consumption of legal sin had left me unable to move or affect the dirty things around me. Greasy, pierced figures moved around the room, fornicating with every warm, possibly living thing they saw. I watched them dart from unconscious form to unconscious form, seeming to plug away a little harder at every stop. I wanted to halt it, but I could not move, still unable to shuffle an inch of myself as a byproduct of my own selfishness. And I wondered, with increasing concern at each passing moment, when they would get to me.

It reminded me a lot of living in Alabama.

It has not been a good past however fucking long I’ve been gone.

The idea of a break from Weblogging started out well enough: With Brewer the Family Historian out with a routine case of borderline fatal heroin addiction, there was a lot work piling up as Interim President and Curator of the Jebediah Cockfight Society for Alabama History and Remedy of Idle Blind. Sure, four hours of negotiations with the mayor of Pigeon Forge to reclaim some beloved ancestors’ mummified corpses we might have sold them less for the money and more to  enjoy the adoring ogling by hundreds of hillbillies each year who can’t afford a better vacation, kindly writing threatening letters to the latest historians to discover some of the ample evidence that a fateful round of chicken combat won Family patriarch and germ warfare pioneer Oglethorpe Cockfight his alleged “life’s dream” of a vicious evening of homosexual love-assault with President Andrew Jackson and the right to kill anyone on his property who “looks Indian,” and feeding Brewer’s pitbulls named after racist Alabama governors their daily supply of “racially pure” bacon in front of a “motherly” photo of Lurleen Wallace (Brewer’s stipulations) all sounds easy to manage your life around, but fitting it all in one day — everyday — is much tougher than you think.

Then, as America geared up to see if Chicago would host the 2016 Olympics, the Cockfight Family realized we had missed a golden opportunity. After an emergency Parliament of Cockfights at a Blount County Stuckey’s, my Uncles Eagle and Carter and I were off to Copenhagen.

It could have excitement over the possibility or, more likely, the belief that it’s because it’s where we live that convinced us that, despite the rest of the world giggling at us for thinking it, we could actually lure the Olympics to come to a near-vacant, largely infrastructure-less region of camo-wearin’, gas station breakfastin’, minority-despisin’ redneck North Alabama.

It could have also been because we were bribing them. That too.

“If the fuckin’ Mormons can do it, why can’t we?” Uncle Carter demanded repeatedly — often to Olympic officials we were attempting to bribe — during the trip. I think it was the only thing keeping him focused on the grand financial benefits of having the Olympics and not vomiting at the thought of the cacophony of thousands of foreign visitors on engulfing his native soil.

Unfortunately, we, like so many other cities, learned that the rest of the world didn’t give a rat’s shit about coming to America because, to our great s surprise, it’s not like the fall down on their knees and worship us every morning then offer to suck our cocks. I mean, sure, I found in Europe that there are places where you can experience that, but it’s less a universal attitude and more a situation that involves at least one cash exchange.

(Also, we didn’t know that someone could just take bribes of sex and money and not do anything in return. These Olympic guys are good macro-level thinkers like that. We learned so much!)

Even though I knew in my heart (and my brain when I wasn’t inebriated) that we stood no chance of winning the Olympics, I was devastated. As Carter and Eagle returned to Alabama for to spend days showering the stink of the Old World off their skin, I stayed behind and took out my frustration and disappointment by sinning in Amsterdam for days on end.

Then, word came that President Obama had won the Nobel Peace Prize for not being George W. Bush. The Family routinely (as in every year we don’t win the award) sends a letter and/or video to the selection committee berating them and telling them to “suck it” for not recognizing the amazing contributions the Cockfights have made to this planet. We thought we had the award this year for not declaring Winston County’s independence because of potential State ethics reforms, but alas, those goofy Swiss-Men just didn’t recognize.

I’m told Obama’s win produced a great deal of poorly-thought humor and general conservative bitchin’ here in the States about how he doesn’t deserve it because he just took office, he hasn’t redeemed the coupons that let him poot gold, and he’s the black Antichrist who deserves to die because he refuses to die and/or not be black  while being president in an allegedly conservative, white America that elected him by via landslide a year ago.

Here’s a sample of what Dad told me I missed:

“Any random conservative American cause would have been a better pick!” said my Uncle Eagle, a semi-retired conservative Mountain Brook lobbyist who worked for Presidents Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush. “Plus, I didn’t fire any of my … undesirable staff this year because of the economy and replace them with cheaper labor that lives in Hoover to respect Carter’s thoughts on the immigrants. Doesn’t that deserve recognition?”

“They should give me a peace prize,” Uncle Carter said, “for not killin’ any immigrants yet until I’m elected president. Because I fucking hate immigrants, and the only peace we’ll have is when they die. That’s a peace prize, ain’t it?!”

“I fukked your ddady neerly blak tonite,” my mother texted me while I was away.

“Theres a Noble Prize for that rite?” she added before I blocked her number from my phone.

But I had more important things to do than to think about Carter and Eagle’s bitching and my father’s potential sexual de-Caucasianification, I had to restore our Family’s honor.

It took several weeks — or at least, that’s what the mushrooms made me think — but I finally tracked down the selection committee. So instead of sending them a “Suck it!” message they might have never opened, those fucking Swiss got a crotch-chop from a Cockfight Family member in person.

I may or may not have been wearing pants at the time.

Luckily that isn’t against the law over there.

With the Cockfight Family’s honor restored, I returned home. But an important concern remained: If the Cockfight Family can neither secure rural West Alabama the Olympic games or win a Nobel Prize in the same year, then it’s obvious our popularity and fame has decreased to troubling levels.

We have decided to spend the next few months making effort to restore that prominence in Alabama politics. It will be hard and beneath us to spend so much time courting the love of you filthy, Godless lessers we can control like puppets made of animal feces, but it is a quest we believe we must undertake to ensure the prosperity of the Family’s future.

Plus, it’s not like we’ve got anything else better to do.

Of course, I’m not the only member of the Cockfight Family who deserves the lessers’ attention — when I’m drinking a lot, as I am now. To save time, here’s a round-up of what a few select members of the Family are up to these days:

• Uncle Carter has been in a bit of an emotional funk — and yes, that means he’s shooting shit while drunk in the woods more often — over the low interest in his anti-immigration presidential campaign. Many of his potential  supporters are still caught up in the whole Obama-is-a-foreign-born-Antichrist, but Carter is wary of Orly Taitz’s accent and is a firmer believer in the Obama-is-a-Manchurian-Candidate-planted-in-an-American-woman-by-a-Kenyan-android-reverse-engineered-from-Mayan-designs-to-bring-about-the-end-of-the-world-in-2012 theory, so that, joined with his ongoing struggles to accept his son Collins as something other than an indelible, embarrassing stain upon the world that has his face, has really seen his campaign falter at the already premature start. So he’s looking at getting the word out again. The whole “Balloon Boy” incident in October gave him some ideas, but we’ve been trying to assure him that A) the media isn’t likely going to fall for it again and B) that no remotely credible TV station — and maybe still not even WIAT — would film his son’s hung, lifeless corpse floating over the Alabama wilderness while suspended from a hot air balloon with “IMMIGRANT FUCKED MY WIFE!” spray-painted across it. Oh, and that doing that doesn’t really say why he would be a good president. That too.
  (Also, for some reason that I presume is related to aforementioned funk, Carter has taken to wearing a Crimson Tide logo’d Snuggie at pretty much all times. It wouldn’t be so bad if we didn’t have to see his bare-ass every time he got up and walked away. Dad has told me it’s not even worth it to ask why. I’m just tired of his seeing his saggy balls.)
• In a related note, my half-brother C.J., a half-black social worker who once played for the Atlanta Falcons, has been writing posts for orlytaitzisacunt.biz. It’s the only way to keep even the ghost of the one-time sexual danger of his interracial marriage alive. At least that’s what he IMs me when he’s drunk. Swear we’re the only two people who still use AIM…
• Though he fully expects to support Kay Ivey in next year’s gubernatorial race, Uncle Eagle is helping to put together a campaign that could remedy some recent embarrassment in the Family while offering a candidate that far-right conservatives seem to really want:
  
• Family Historian Brewer T. Alberts III is in his second lengthy stay in recent months at Bradford Health Services Decatur rehab facility. Brewer, as you may know, surprised us late in the summer when dad and I discovered he had a massive heroin problem that made him a quark stranger than he has been for forever. After several difficult weeks, he returned shaky but solidly in recovery — only for us to learn that his heroin addiction had started at least in part to cover a vicious methamphetamine addiction.
  We learned of this in explosive fashion — as in the explosion of a mobile meth lab in the trunk of his car after he had tried to mix the jug-processed traditional recipe and the cheaper, human urine recipe. Luckily he was inside his cabin, but it caught flame and he was so meth’d out that one of his “inside” pitbulls named after racist Alabama governors had to drag him out. Unfortunately, that dog was then fatally ambushed by a horde of “outside” pitbulls not named after racist Alabama governors. (That’s four dead pitbulls this year. There’s going to have to be a lot of promotions from outside to inside dogs if Brewer gets better. And a house again. And law enforcement doesn’t find out.)
  The surviving “inside” pitbulls are doing fine. Uncle Carter’s keeping them at the Family’s “Farm” Property and wrestles them pretty much every day to keep them sharp and maintain his alpha manhood. He thinks their a good influence on BattleSteer IV, the Family’s prized fighting manatee. Especially since the polar bear has fallen out of favor with Carter since Dad and my sister tied that Greenpeace bandana on the bear over Labor Day weekend…
  Oh, and please keep Brewer in your thoughts.
  If you want to pray for him, well, the Family thinks that’s your prerogative, not ours…
• Some days my mother thinks she loves me.
• My sister, a freshman at the University of Alabama, recently lost her virginity bent over in a bathroom stall at the Iguana Grill in Tuscaloosa, or at least that’s what I tell people to piss her off…
• Cousin Collins, a self-ordained “Prairie Orthodox” Baptist preacher who just recently first-read a Bible he didn’t write himself based on the original Transformers cartoon, has been working to “market” Christ and that may translate soon — unfortunately — into a new feature for the Weblog. And while he wouldn’t want to admit it, we probably wouldn’t have to shoulder all this fake proselytizing crap if Collins’  was having his virginity taken in a bathroom stall at the Iguana Grill in Tuscaloosa.
  But that’s probably a little heretical to say.
  We all know it would be a Taco Casa.
• Speaking of prurient Tex-Mex sex, my “cousin” Puffin Cockfight, the head coach of the Southwest New Mexico A&M Skeet-Shootin’ Owls, a NAIA Division II football team, has guided his team to what will at least be their third-straight winning season, a massive accomplishment for those who know even an iota of the fucked-up history of “Skeet-Owls” football. But Puffin has still ended up on the hot seat with the university’s administrators for referring to his players as “fish-smellin’ dick-tractors” in the lead-up to their Chile Pepper Conference rivalry game with The Mesa Heights Mining College for Women Tractors. Not because it’s profane  or anything — anyone who has been around Puffin knows he’s mentally incapable of being anything other than profane — but because Puffin did not properly academically define “fish-smellin’ dick tractor” and explain how it fits into God’s vision for the world as per Southwest New Mexico A&M’s Christian mission. It was such an obvious error and troubled waters are likely ahead for Puffin, but NAIA authorities, and to a lesser extent NCAA authorities, have cleared him to continue contributing columns on college football for us every so often.
• My cousin Jamison E. Cockfight III remains a prominent Birmingham attorney.
• Dad is still travel-preachin’. Oh, and he plays BrickBreaker a lot on his  BlackBerry. When I goof off, he tries to teach me how to get past Level 7. I still wish I had an iPhone.
• Oh, and, even though this is about me, I just finished working up a new ad campaign for the Family’s struggling insurance agency. It’s built to management’s … unique intentions for rebranding their company during this tough financial time:

So things have settled down at work — though I’m back in charge — and I’ve got enough free time to Weblog again. And also, I’m supposedly heading up the Family’s quest to restore its prominence in the region, even if it’s through (translation: “most preferably through”) the cheapest of means.

And you should care about this.

Because we’re better than you.

To our great chagrin, the State of Alabama continues to ignore the Cockfight Family’s recommendation that the State’s mentally ill be dumped in some of the more annoying suburbs of Huntsville. Instead, Alabama leaders are looking at moving forward with a possible sale of Bryce Hospital to the University of Alabama and potentially relocating the State’s official crazy house* to Birmingham.

In response, the City of Tuscaloosa has filed a lawsuit challenging that Governor Bob Riley has no authority to move the hospital and that people from Tuscaloosa work at it, so therefore it can’t be moved from Tuscaloosa because Tuscaloosa is apparently legally required to have as many institutions around at once to justify its existence as an independent entity from Birmingham. Also, the win football team might not be able win forever except they always will when the cyborg Paul Nicholas SaBear 2.0 Leopard Edition takes over in 2026 ROLL DAMN TIDE!

But they’re not the ones who appear to be pitching the biggest fit over this land deal. That would be Paul Davis, a Department of Mental Health trustee who recently resigned and did his best to prompt an “Aw snap!” in talking about how the University of Alabama isn’t paying enough for his former department’s charming plantation crazy-house and maybe the schizo store-house ought to be put on the open market:

The idea of ever moving Bryce was because the university wants the land. We voted unanimously to sell the land provided the price was right. They’re about $20 million or so short, or about the cost of two skyboxes.**

 ”AW SNAP!”-LIKE REACTION TO THAT COMMENT, Y’ALL!

As I’ve said before, I think the State’s asking price for Bryce is a little much, given how there’s a fair bit of historic preservation going on and the fact that the University will have to pay to clean up contaminated land that’s already leaked onto the Capstone’s property. 

Here’s a list of several analogies to inappropriate offers that might better relate what the State’s asking the school for in this situation:

• Sell them a stale muffin for full price then tell them to find their own napkin to pick out the fly eggs they let be laid there for an entire afternoon. 
• Offering them a $5 dildo for $20 and telling them that it just might so happen to be used and need a fair bit of industrial-level bleaching because it’s “just a little herpes-y.”
• Request that they buy an empty cigar box to put their coin collection in from them for $5 then make them pay an additional amount to clean up the clumps of various human/animal poo they left in the box.

So, it’s a bad deal, and that State probably should be more reasonable in the support and growth of higher education at the State’s biggest and baddest university, but times are tough and you got to corn-hole somebody for as much as you can take for him if you’ve got their market cornered. Even still, Tuscaloosa has a better justification for being dickheads about this deal: It’s never good to lose jobs in your city during an ass-ripping recession, especially when there are very specific court orders making sure some of those jobs are nice, well-paying doctors with degrees and everything instead of the shirtless janitors with “Doctor of Batshit Crazy” tatt’d on their chest that some but probably all penny-pinching State officials would rather have in there in execution of the fiscal side of Social Darwinism. 

And there’s no end to how holding up this sale is counter-progressive: The University has so many important and useful things they have to build to name after Dick Shelby…  

*Other than Auburn University-Montgomery.
**Davis then added, “Because they play a lot of well-watched football games there … and it’s not like they have to spend money on academic or anything since the State gutted their appropriations or nothing … because that might mean we oughtn’t be price gouging the State’s flagship University or something… why aren’t you shouting ‘Aw snap!’ yet?!” 

Second-place Democratic gubernatorial candidate and radical Leftist Ag Commissioner Ron Sparks picked up the endorsement of 28 Alabama sheriffs this week.

Strange how lawmen might be attracted to an impressively mustachioed white gentlemen…

Other upcoming endorsements: Dr. Robert Bentley will be endorsed by 13 older, bored Tuscaloosa doctors, Roy Moore will be endorsed by 45 Southern Baptist preachers who also agree that things ain’t Jesus like they used to be, and Kay Ivey will be endorsed by a lobby of vicious animals that kill good things off of unknowing, mindless instinct…

We apologize for the meekness of our return. Our last two weeks have been difficulty harried — not in the Secret Girlfriend we-have-funny-slacker-friends-and-have-hot-sex-with-hot-chicks-all-the-time-19-year-old-fratboy-life-fantasy harried*, but legitimate, important life stuff that chose the worst weeks possible and delayed our execution of our surprisingly well-laid plans.

There will be posting on Friday — we think — but things will kick off properly on Monday to begin our markedly mentally ill overarching plan for the next few months’ worth of blogging. Again, expect two to three days of updating per week from now until further notice.

Think of this week a lot like the NFL preseason — a test drive of the team before the real, meaningful games begin. You play with some new ideas, you’re reminded that the Lions still suck, you get a surprisingly honest grade on what the Panthers’ season will look like, and you are delighted to learn that Larry Langford in a sombrero is as funny as it sounds.

Oh, and hopefully this will be the last time you read us talking to you directly for a long, long time…

*We are have become frighteningly obsessed with this show and its brilliant awfulness. If we are the star of the show, why is our living situation so murky — weren’t we living separately from our two friends in one episode, but now we are for some unexplained reason? Why do hot women find us so attractive and always want to have amazing and inventive sex with us anyway? Is it a relative thing — you know, because apparently we’re incapable of making male friends who can’t be described by the adjective “puggish”? Why is it our friends are the only ones who seem to have jobs? What do we and our hot pseudo-girlfriend do for a living that gives us so much time and disposable income to have keg parties and visit strip clubs in the middle of the week? Wait, is this show exclusively set on weekends? Because you know that would make sense. And why does it seem like our life is being scripted by writers who are coming up with increasingly contrived reasons to keep our crazy ex-girlfriend around? Is it that hard to get a restraining order in California, or do we not have the time or money to do it because we’re too busy drinking with our friends and fucking hot chicks? And why are we so accommodating to her — like when we drove her home instead of finishing that hot chick in the shower after she’d stormed off? Perhaps we take some sick pleasure from hearing her shout “WHORE-FUCKER” in each of these neatly capsulized adventures of our life?

These questions demand answers, dammit!

Guest post by Terry Tangforde
A Birmingham political expert who is not criminally convicted former Mayor Larry Langford in a sombrero

"Let's do something -- Mexican!"

There are a lot of  candidates who are runnin’ for mayor! I didn’t think there needed to be much of a change, but then again, I’m not the one that the federal government treated like Birmingham Mayor Black Jeffrey Dahmer Hitler. Because I’m not Larry Langford.

But there’s a lot of candidates who could be runnin’. There’s Carole Smitherman, who has no vision. I think she might be blind! I once waved a spending–I mean, a Twinkie in front of her and she didn’t immediately pass that Twinkie! No one can resist the Twinkie! Twinkies are always delicious and important for Birmingham’s future! Even when they cost $14 million annually!

And then there’s Patrick Cooper, who needs to mind his own business! It don’t matter where a man watches his NFL Sunday Ticket or sleeps each night or has established residence if he has the experience and vision to be mayor of a great city! Not that I have any experience with anything like that. My possibly Mexican parents probably did. I think! My childhood is rocky and unclear and makes me long for nice clothes!

And Richard Arrington’s dead!

But the people of Birmingham need to think nicer and bolder and bigger to in their choice for fake-mayor-who-shouldn’t-be-put-in-charge-because-the-old-one-wasn’t-that-bad-and-is-praying-and-crying-about-going-to-jail-pretty-much-every-other-minute-now! They need a leader who’s gonna watch over them, be silent and imposin’, and light their way in their darkest night!

City needs to elect Vulcan!

"LEADERSHIP THAT DON'T WEAR PANTS!"

Now I know you might say,  “Vulcan can’t be no mayor! Vulcan’s a statue!”

But that didn’t stop the people of Birmingham from being misled into electing Bernard Kincaid as long as they did.

(Bernard Kincaid is actually a golem. Put some Hebrew letters in his mouth and he’ll do whatever you want! Except govern!)

And some folks might think that Vulcan lives in Homewood, but it don’t matter where Vulcan lives if he wants to be Mayor as long as he finds a place to put his stuff in time. But he’s gotta watch his NFL Sunday Ticket back home! It’s hard to get it set up at a loft apartment!

But even if it won’t so much govern as be a really good idea that might prompt direction (He holds a lamp! Direction by a lamp!), he would be a better choice than any the rest of these vision-less chumps tryin’ win my–I mean, Mayor Larry’s job that he might not should have lost.

The only problem is that Vulcan is damn near naked! No wants a naked mayor!

Maybe someone should buy him nice clothes! I understand that a Mayor of Birmingham might like nice clothes! Perhaps a wealthy businessman who can keep his fool mouth shut could chip in!

Elect Vulcan,  Birmingham! He’s the right choice!

NOW  LET’S DO–I mean, LET’S HAVE ACTIVITY!

Terry Tangforde is a renown Birmingham-area political expert and former mayor of Fairfield who is not criminally convicted, forcibly removed former Mayor Larry Langford in an oversized sombrero. He lives in his home that may be in Fairfield or Birmingham, dependent on whether or not he wants to watch a Chargers game this week, and is coincidentally preparing for a sentence to a federal prison.

With Birmingham Mayor  and Former JeffCo Commission President Larry Langford’s conviction last week for having wealthy men buy him nice clothes* and the four other former commissioners convicted on corruption charges in recent years, Jefferson County Commissioners say they are tired of people thinking they’re corrupt.

Commissioner/Associate Dumbass Jim Carns says the perception makes it hard to solve the $4,771 trillion sewer debt problem that has the county regularly on the verge of either financially blowing its brains out or selling shit-pots to the State’s retirement fund:

There’s been a morph­ing of all county commis­sioners into one big pic­ture of dishonesty.

Commission President/Lead Jackass Bettye Fine Collins:

There is no doubt that, be­cause of things that have happened, we have suffered for things we are not re­sponsible for. It casts a shadow over all.

Look, I hate to be the one to break it to you guys, but the reason people don’t like or take the County Commission seriously is because you’re asses. Giant, mouth-breathing, fume-spewing asses who have proven time and time again that you’re more willing to play your petty political games or pull your silly territorial bullshit rather than do the right thing and make sure the county is managed effectively and carefully.

There’s a complete leadership void in Jefferson County — all you “leaders” seem to know to do is move JeffCo toward bankruptcy, beg other people for help, and do things inappropriate things like hanging out with all Republican buddies in San Diego during a financial meltdown or running for Congress.

And if you’re wondering why this whole corruption thing might get in the way of you fixing the shit-pipe and bond problem,  consider that four out of the five commissioners’ convictions — including Langford’s — had something to do with bonds and the county sewers.

In summary: The JeffCo Commission is probably more stupid and blatantly incompetent than corrupt at the moment — though I’m hoping there’s a November surprise! — but the obvious corruption problems with the County Commission  is why people keep complaining there are corruption problems with the County Commission.

So please, spare folks the pity circle-jerk and do something responsible.

Oh, and shut the hell up.

*Because that doesn’t sound gay at all. Don’t let ‘em put up signs!