By now, everyone knows about the mass shooting at the outlet mall in Allen, Texas....although by the time I post this, it may well be forgotten and the national news cycle will have moved on to the next tragedy. But since I'm a resident of Collin County (the shooting happened two miles from our house), I thought I'd take this chance to provide a little backstory on some of the local politicians involved in this shitshow. 

So just sit right back and you're hear a tale, the tale of what I like to call: 

THE SLUT, THE ISIS BRIDE, AND THE SLAPHEADED "CHRISTIAN"

In early 2022, we were bombarded by TV ads extolling the virtues of Van Taylor, a Republican congressman running for reelection in our district, and trashing his (Republican) opponent, Keith Self. Around the same time, we began receiving dozens of mailers per week urging us to vote for Taylor in the upcoming runoff election that March, mailers that also made sure to point out that Keith Self was a mean old poo-poo doodyhead. They were coming so fast and furious that it started to get comical, and I had fun marking up the flyers and decorating the house with some of the more outlandish ones. 

I ended up tossing them out eventually, but I did manage to scrounge up one that didn't make it into the recycling bin. Sadly, it's not one of Van Taylor's funnier campaign mailers, but you get the idea:

"Keith Self writes his emails in Comic Sans! Keith Self tips ten percent at restaurants! 

Keith Self was the second shooter on the grassy knoll!"

"Excuse me officer, do these trousers make my butt look big?"

"Alone, bad. Friend, good. 

Friend, GOOD!"

Normal politics stuff, really, but wait! Ready for a hackneyed, totally predictable plot twist? Here it is! Van Taylor's greatest nemesis was not Keith Self, who ***spoiler alert*** went on to handily beat Taylor and win his seat in the election. No, Van Taylor's real enemy was---duh, duh, DUN!---his own penis! Yes, the calls were coming from INSIDE HIS PANTS!!! Tale as old as time....for Van Taylor was just your typical garden variety slut. 

But his side piece wasn't one of the usual suspects, like a campaign aide or a secretary. Taylor went for something more exotic, 'cause he's a man who lives on the edge. He had to go and hook up with Tania Joya, reformed religious extremist and the ex-wife of a white guy from Texas who converted to Islam and became "the highest-ranking American in ISIS." (Now that's a bloke you want to bring home to mom!) 

So yeah, not only did Van Taylor step in it, he tracked it all over the house and then stepped in it again. 

Naturally, The Daily Mail was all over this shit. Taylor's paramour (and "former ISIS bride") had this to say about her fling with the disgraced congressman:

"He didn't take me on a single date in eight months. He was like, no, I'm too famous, everywhere I go I get harassed." (Well smell you, Harry Styles!) Joya also talked about Taylor's sexual appetites: "For me it was making love, but for him it was just sex....four, five times a night, he was all over me." ('Scuse me while I fetch ye olde barf bucket.) 

"I'm not much of a man by the light of day, 

but by night I'm one hell of a love-ahhh."

But Joya wasn't the one who ran to the media to spill the beans about her affair with Taylor. Instead, she sought out a homeschooling Republican "supermom" named Suzanne Harp, who "arranged" the interview between Joya and The Daily Mail. Would it surprise you to know that Harp ALSO happened to be vying for Van Taylor's congressional seat? In fact, she was touted by her campaign as "the conservative, pro-Trump, America First candidate." 

Ugh, you can almost smell the MAGAtry wafting through the screen.

Although she was erroneously named in The Daily Mail as "Suzanne Hart," Harp at least got to insert herself into the drama and score some more brownie points with Dear Leader Trump, which I'm sure thrilled her to no end. 

Seriously, there are NO sympathetic players in this entire farce. Zero, zip, zilch, none. Which brings me to last Saturday's mass shooting. 

I'm not even going to name that dead fuckface shooter, since posthumous notoriety was one of his goals. I will say that it's been amusing to watch Fox News and other conservative outlets tie themselves in knots trying to argue that there's no way the killer could've been a right-wing nut and of course the shooting had to be gang-related, simply because the dude was Hispanic. Well, bullshit. White supremacy reaches far and wide, and today's neo-Nazis are all too happy to accept acolytes who don't fit the stereotypical "master race" ideal, as long as they're willing to help further the cause. I know it, Fox News knows it, even the idiot QAnons know it. 

When news broke about the mass shooting Saturday, John and I turned on the TV to check out the reports on the latest violent rampage in the only economically advanced nation in the world where this sort of thing happens regularly.  

That's when Keith Self popped up on CNN to offer his two cents. John and I were like, hey, it's that guy! Up to that point, we'd never heard him speak; we'd only known him as a big, bald, static character from Van Taylor's endless campaign ads. Then he opened his gob, and we suddenly loathed him as much as VT did. 

Keith Self started in with the usual, "What a terrible tragedy, thoughts and prayers, yadda, yadda, yadda," bullshit. And then this happened:

PAULA REID: "You know congressman, that is a common refrain after mass shootings, but many people argue that prayers are not cutting it. Prayers are not preventing the next mass shooting. What is your response to that criticism?" 

KS: "Well, those are people that don't believe in an almighty God who has, who is absolutely in control of our lives. I'm a Christian, I believe that He is."

Translation: "Let's not kid ourselves. We all know that, as a Texas Republican lawmaker, my ass is bought and paid for by my true Lord and Savior, the NRA. As a matter of fact, I'd drop to my knees and suck off Wayne LaPierre in the town square at high noon if need be, just to keep that sweet gun money rolling in. But since I'm on national TV, I'll take this chance to throw my Evangelical base a bone and proclaim that the only logical solution to gun violence is MORE JESUS. Now, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. Hallelujah!"

So that was the story of a man named Taylor, who fucked a former religious fanatic and flushed his political career down the crapper, thus paving the way for an even worse type of fanatic to swoop in and take over.

And they all lived miserably ever after!  

THE END

(....or is it?)

HULU'S CANDY VS. THE OTHER ONE

Fine, I'll admit it: once in a while I'll give in and watch a sensationalistic "ripped from the headlines" miniseries on streaming. Last summer I caught the Hulu miniseries Candy, based on the true story of the Texas church lady who got bored with her marriage, had an affair with another church lady's husband, and.......things didn't end well. 

As shows like that go, it was entertaining, and the acting was surprisingly good. I especially appreciated how they nailed the look and feel of middle America in 1980, when even healthy 30-year-old adults looked like they were pushing 55 because the hairstyles, clothes, and eyewear of the time made everyone appear all middle-aged and dowdy.  

Jessica Biel in Candy

Now there's another miniseries about the Betty Gore murder, HBO's Love & Death. Even before I tried to watch it, I knew it would be inferior to Candy. First of all, what a generic title. I know, I know, it's an allusion to the famous article that inspired the book (see above), but still. Second of all (if I may continue whining), it's the same title as one of my favorite Woody Allen movies. Of course, I'm sure the show's target audience isn't aware of Allen's 1975 parody of Russian war novels, but I am, dammit. I even own it on DVD.

Watch this one instead.
 

Then there's the poster: a wet Elizabeth Olsen gazing beatifically at the camera. I'm sorry, I can't get behind Elizabeth Olsen, and it's not just because her nose job bugs me. 

Hypocritical of me, I realize.

Lastly, this promotional still looks like it's from one of John Waters' lesser satires, a la Serial Mom. 

I tried to watch the premier over the weekend. I wanted to like it, I really did. But the opening scene featured the key characters sitting around, vomiting exposition at each other, and I hate that. Long story short, I only made it 20 minutes before I gave up completely.

Maybe I'll try again with it at some point. But probably not.

And now for an embarrassing confession: John and I drove by Betty Gore's old house to rubberneck. 

The address is public (unfortunately for the current owners) but the house is fairly difficult to find, so there's that. We passed by a couple in another car who seemed to be circling the block for the exact same reason we were. Really embarrassing. 

I took a half-assed photo. 

So, that happened.