White House releases Obama birth certificate

Okay, now he just needs to see the Obama baby, and we'll be all set.

I’m sure you didn’t hear about this already, but the White House has released President Obama’s long-form birth certificate. Is it a capitulation to the worst aspects of American political and media culture? Yup. Will it put to rest the most stubborn crazy accusation in same? Um…your answer here probably depends on whether you prefer feeling good or being right. Has it provided an opportunity for Donald Trump to once again confirm himself as the world’s loudest shitbag? Oh yes: “I am really honored, frankly, to have played such a big role in hopefully, hopefully, getting rid of this issue,” Trump told reporters. “Now we have to look at [the birth certificate], see if it is real, is it proper.” Donald Trump’s assessment of what’s real is like a bee’s assessment of what’s yellow. Bees see in black and white and the ultraviolet spectrum. Look, the point is that this is all bullshit, and I need a haircut.

 

 

Today in genius behavior

The Hawkeyes start off one and three again.

Combat! blog is hustling to make its train this morning—trains! east coast! food that employs seasonings!—so I have to use one half of my ass to pack. But don’t worry—the other half is completely devoted to this post. Those of us who have spent the weekend with Iowans were thrilled* at the news that Ellen Lewin, anthropology professor at our beloved U of I, responded to a campus-wide email from college Republicans with an outburst of profanity. In case you’re wondering, A) “F*** you!” means “Fuck you!” and B) I know because I was somehow able to crack Raw Story’s complex cipher and C) “responded to a campus-wide email” means “hit reply all.” Ellen Lewin is fifty. She is also in trouble, despite having issued the world’s most petulant non-apology.

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A theory of taste: fantastic naturalism

First, I’m warning you right now that there is going to be way less Combat! blog than you want this week, yet way more than I actually have time to write. Here’s a pro tip for all you freelancers out there: tell everyone you’re going on vacation. I have received more projects labeled “emergency” since I went on vacation than I had previously gotten in my entire career. The next time you see me, I will be wearing a panda skin monocle. Second, the Theory of Taste promised in the headline is not the useful kind of aesthetic theory. It is a theory of my taste, which is notoriously bizarre. Ready? Yesterday, while inflicting an interpretive rendition of a cartoon I had seen six years ago on my brother, who has long since reconciled himself to such tortures, I realized that there is a through-line in much of the animated humor that I like: ultra-naturalistic dialogue and voice acting in the context of fantastic situations. I think that cartoons in which monsters, superheroes, space cowboys and other fantasy characters have to live in apartments and work at jobs are hilarious. Those of you once forced by the pursuit of English degrees to read the execrable Gabriel Garcia Marquez are familiar with the literary genre known as magical realism, in which key aspects of human consciousness go unaddressed in favor of love turning women into butterflies. That sucks. But what does not suck is the style of humor that I’m going to call Fantastic Naturalism.

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Friday links! Disruption of normal life routines edition

Greetings from Washington DC, the hangover capital of our great nation! I have no idea what happened to my renal system last night. While I regain homeostasis, why don’t you enjoy this extremely half-assed collection of Friday links? They are united only in their profound uselessness, both to society and to the human spirit. They are also completely awesome and, since that’s how we roll, unsafe for work. Have I alienated both readers I’d retained up to this point? Then let’s get down to business.

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Combat! blog flies through air, isn’t useful

Greetings from the food court at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport, where my breakfast burrito has barbecue sauce in it for some reason! I’m midway to our nation’s capital, where I will inflict humiliation on my brother for turning 30 before passing out without considering my own advanced age for even a second.* Between that crucial endeavor and Micky’s wedding the following weekend, Combat! blog will probably be extremely half-assed for the rest of the month. Fortunately, American culture continues to write itself. Props to Ben al-Fowlkes for the news that Paul Ryan, the man who wants to privatize Social Security and Medicare, paid for college with the Social Security benefits he received after his father’s death. The grandmother he credits with raising him got ’em, too. Of course, Ryan was not yet a rising conservative star who recognized that the nation’s budget crisis was so dire as to require the dismantling of 60 years of public safety nets back then. He was also not yet a college graduate with a dependable stream of income. I will leave it to your discernment whether this news shows that Ryan is an incredibly principled idealist who considers what’s good for the country independently of his own personal experience or if, now that he’s on board, he thinks we should pull up the lifelines so the boat can go faster. I suppose it could be both.