Each Thanksgiving at the Flucke household, we have a special tradition where we open up the mojo bag and drop in some new gris-gris, playing Dr. John and Professor Longhair while we’re doing it, in order to refresh its magical powers for warding off neoconservative politics and their self-serving media mouthpieces like that Connecticut elitist Ann Coulter and her sociopath pal Rush. We got a little something extra for Sarah Palin, too.
Apparently, the stuff we put in the bag last Thanksgiving wasn’t strong enough because those clowns are annoying as ever, and even louder than last year at this time. Alternately, it might have worked just fine but Rush and Ann consulted with some witch doctor to give them some stronger stuff. That, or they’re just yelling more.
Either way, we’re trying to get our Mojo workin’ in a new way this year, by doing a comparative mixtape of seven versions of the classic Preston Foster song originally recorded by Ann Cole but popularized by Muddy Waters, who grabbed that composition by the horns and made it one of his signature tunes. Enjoy, and remember this is powerful stuff not to be taken lightly. (more…)
My wife – a (sorta) Jewess who emerged from the film similarly exhilarated, and ready to grab a baseball bat for some impromptu strip-mall justice – recovered her faculties quickly and asked to stop in at Big Box Boox (i.e., Barnes & Noble) to pick up some chick lit. So she went off to fiction and I stopped at the bestseller rack, where I was confronted by an entirely different array of “revenge porn.” The titles included Mark Levin’s “conservative manifesto” 