Bashing Peanut Farmers for Fun and Profit

Well, only one peanut farmer, really. Steve keeps saying he's no longer blogging about politics, but apparently can't help himself. That's good, because we get gems like:

I can't figure Carter out. Imagine you're an old guy who gets fired from his job for incompetence. So instead of redeeming yourself by getting a new job and doing it well, you keep hanging around your old office, criticizing all the new guys who get your job, all of whom do it way better than you did. That's Jimmy Carter's gig. If people like him worked at Wendy's, every time you went to the drive-through, you'd see some nut standing by the window, yelling things like, "Oh, NO, Lakeisha, you did NOT touch the toppings without a plastic glove!"

Seriously, is there a better critique of Carter's post-presidency ever? If there is, I haven't read it.

Jimmuh Loves Cats

We take great delight in mocking the nadir of the American presidency, so learning of Jimmy Carter whacking his sister-in-law's cat with a shotgun was particularly welcome. A couple of observations are in order here.

First, sack up and do this face-to-face. Writing someone a letter that says "Sorry I killed your pet" is right up there with texting your break-up. Some things deserve your actual presence.

Two, it's awfully speciesist of Jimmuh to value the life of the birds over his SIL's cat. Simple courtesy to one's relative should place their pets higher in your regard than random critters moseying about the universe.

Thirdly, did we forget the second rule? "Never let the muzzle cover anything you are not willing to destroy." Of course, since he was apparently not too broken up about the cat, maybe he didn't forget this one.

Finally, bird shot is designed to kill birds. There isn't be much size differential between a large duck and a small cat. If bird shot kills birds, why wouldn't it kill a cat? BB guns are way more appropriate for non-lethal control of cats, et al.

I don't know how the family dynamic plays out here. Maybe it's accepted in rural Georgia to shoot your family's pets and shrug it off with some crap about saying a prayer when you bury it. I just know that if I shot my sister's cat, accidentally or not, I'd better stay the hell out North Carolina for the rest of my freakin' life.

Truly, the old goober-grubber is the gift that keeps on giving. Of course, I'd still rather have had a competent president instead, but I so rarely get what I ask for in politics.