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audacityofdespair.bsky.social
Dramatist, author, apostate newspaperman specializing in artisanal contempt and discerning maledicta. The claim that I am the angriest man in television is faint praise indeed; the second angriest is yelling at an agent because residual checks are late.
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English sanitary engineer George Jennings, inventor of the first public flush toilet, died on this day in 1882. "Shit" was his last, dying rasp as he was overshadowed by a contemporary, inventor and plumber Thomas Crapper, largely because it is less fun to say you are going upstairs to take a Jenn.

On this date in 1886 was born Ernst Thälmann, German communist leader who amid the rise of Nazism would brook no alliance with Social Democrats, who he termed "social fascists." Arrested in 1933 and later murdered by actual fascists, he was sanguine: "He who dies with the purest ideology wins."

Friedrich Haarmann, the Butcher of Hanover, was executed on this date 100 years ago for the rape and murder of at least 24 boys and young men. He dismembered and diced his victims, selling remains to others as a pork mince. "Sold it, sure. But I didn't eat it," he assured police. "I'm not crazy."

On this date in 1914, famed libertine and socialist Hubert Bland, who fathered children with three women including his wife, children's author Edith Nesbit, yet managed to keep everyone coexisting and tolerant of his lifestyle, was felled by a heart attack. "I'm fucking tired," he rasped at the end.

On this date was born novelist, playwright, poet, and Nobel laureate Samuel Beckett. Beckett, who would be 116 had he lived, offered a bleak, tragicomic vision of humanity. His writing is such that any deathbed quote we might conjure for him would seem credible, so I can't go on. But I will go on.

William "Boss" Tweed died in jail on this date in 1878 having fallen from grace as the Grand Sachem of the Tammany political machine that stole up to $45M from New York. "I was never a president or a casino owner or able to manipulate entire stock markets," he mused, "but I did what I could."

What is astounding here is that the Trump administration doesn't just say, okay, we made an error in deporting this one fellow and here he is back. Minimize the barbarous act and the affront to the rule of law. Nah. The denigration of all legal authority and the rank cruelty are the point. Fascism.

The same arguments were offered at Nuremberg. We are certainly not at such a moment presently. But check back if American military personnel are asked to engage in an unprovoked shooting war with a NATO ally.

Until informed otherwise, I am going to assume that this officer, consigned to a posting at some place called Pituffik in Greenland, sent the email in the earnest hope that she would be cashiered and sent elsewhere. In addition, of course, to wanting nothing to do with her government's assholery.

We are the shithole nation. Us. This is now our America.

On this date in 1794 was born famed orator Edward Everett, who spoke at Gettysburg for two hours before Abraham Lincoln took two minutes for his own remarks. Everett was entirely gracious: "The fuck, Abe? Did you write that shit on the back of an envelope at breakfast? Fuck me. I'm dead."

Do you know how contemptible, fascistic and without regard for basic human rights you have to be for Justices Alito and Thomas to join with their seven colleagues in ordering redress? We do now.

Greetings from the Jewish mother of all American municipalities.

"Let it in the back of his raggedy-ass Cutlass on a hot day." David Mills wrote that line.

Today's date marks the 75th birthday of Eddie Hazel, whose guitar work with Funkadelic made him legend, with his ten-minute flight on "Maggot Brain" rated among the finest solo achievements on any instrument. A heralded follow-up, "Eric Clapton Can Lick My Balls," remains to this date unreleased.

On this date in 1865, in a meeting marked by quiet dignity and mutual respect, Ulysses S. Grant received the surrender of Robert E. Lee at Appomattox, ending the Civil War. "Couldn't even clean your fucking boots, huh?" Lee asked. "The better to kick an old slaver's ass," came Grant's warm reply.

Had your scribe been on post yesterday, he would have noted it as the birthday in 1842 of Elizabeth Custer, who spent decades of widowhood proclaiming her late husband's heroism and blocking any criticism for defeat at Little Big Horn. "Actually, George won," she explained. "So much winning."