Why did the Edsel fail? Was it excessive styling, low performance, or affordability? It had a three-year run. Can Obama do better?

The Edsel was a car that was created before its time. Many of its features - which were considered unnecessary at the time, such as opening the trunk by pushing a button inside the car - are common today. Of course, four years later came the Ford Mustang, and we all know how successful that's been. Let's hope that four years of Dear Leader doesn't result in some tea-rrorist takeover of the USSA!!! We can't afford to have the bitter clingers whose ancestors bought their Chevys and Oldsmobiles back then provide us with a president now!!

Dear Leader is ahead of his time the way Jim Jones, revolutionary hero, socialist martyr, and 1978 winner of the International Golden Pitcher Award for his drop dead delicious kool-aid recipe was ahead of his time.

The Edsel may be experiencing a resurgence, like all good ideas.

Barack Obama's administration is nothing more than the greatest collaboration EVER between the Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy and an Anti-Progressive United Center-Right Coalition of assorted villians and thought-criminals led by none other than JOHN KERRY HIMSELF! We will get to the bottom of this conspiracy! Oh yes! We will weed out those who have undermined the Party! I suggest some of you pick a side, comrades. It will either be Hillary or Obama.

[highlight=#cccccc][/highlight][highlight=#ffffff] [/highlight][highlight=#ffffff]
[/highlight][highlight=#ffffff]The purge is nigh! THE PURGE IS NIGH! The Clinton's will have their revenge![/highlight]

My dear Chairman Punchenko, at last your true colors surface: You are nothing more than a racist. That can be the only possible reason for a Party member to disagree with His Obamaness.

You disgust me.

Not taking sides here, mind you .... simply a bit of Party wisdom.......

DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE THE POWERS OF THE M.T.E. !

Expect anything, Comrades ! The silence coming from her is deafening.


( I'd write a poem about this, but I can't think of a way to rhyme Obama w/ Trotsky.)

Ivan Betinov wrote:My dear Chairman Punchenko, at last your true colors surface: You are nothing more than a racist. That can be the only possible reason for a Party member to disagree with His Obamaness.

You disgust me.

So the brain in the jug is charged with THOUGHT crime...

Oh. My. Stalin. Betinov, Meow, would you stop your bitch-fighting? I swear every time I turn my back you're onto each other like, well our dear Many Titted Empress when she smells truffles underneath a tree.

Betinov, of course Meow is a racist. We're all racists. We hate while males. Straight white males.

Meow, of course Betinov is a sexist. You ought to see some of his midnight emails to me in which he's typing one-eyed drunk, lusting over that perfect empowerment of the Prog: Nanski Peloski. Not that she's a hot mamma; she's a hot socialist with talons so sharpened by her years in office that it takes three pages of equipment from the Grainger catalog to prize her fingernails off even a skinny wallet. His preferring Nanski say to Bonnie Fwank means that obviously he's a sexist.

(Although the idea of Nanski and Bonnie making the beast would either be the funniest thing that I've ever seen, or blind me and send me into catatonia.)

Krasnodar, the rhyming in the Mother Tongue can be easy. Just as Latin poems do not rhyme--too easy really in that highly inflected language--why try overmuch to rhyme New Progressive Poetry?

Just think.
Nanski
Trotski
Obamski

Or Little Barryski.

When we moved out of the Яodiиa the kids kept repeating:

"Are we there yet?"

How annoying!!!

But the new Яэally Late Term Abortion procedure in Obamakaяэ solved that ...

I see the Chairman and Betinov are clearly engaged in a game of oneupsmanship. A game of scoring cheap political points just to win and make the opposition lose.

Haven't you comrades been listening to Obama? The games are over.

And he's tired of all your crap that's been clogging up the works when millions are hurting. So do what he says and PASS IT NOW!

"Pass it now!" This reminds me of the old, tired joke about the Polish quarterback (blame Blanche Knott) who was asked by his coach, "Can you pass the ball?"

"Hell, Coach, if I can swallow it, I can pass it."

America swallowed the Death Panel and Impoverishment Health Care Bill. Let's see if we can pass four reams of paper.

Which gives the penultimate noun just an added bit of sapor.

And the penultimate world just an added bit of stupor!

Oh, come on, ROCK. Everyone knows that all we progs love to sit on the toilet many hours, invoking our Inner MTEs. It is not stuporous to pass reams of TheftSpeak™ (which is good because we have GoodIntentions™)

Oh. You said world. I don't know. What color is the sky in your world? This morning I got up and placed Laika's latest millinery effort on my head, adjusting it just so as to hide the sinkholes of that time when I was a very steady customer of Jiffy-Lobo™, to avoid the dreaded cognitive dissonance (cognitive? COGNITIVE? I don't do no goddamn cognition! I'm a prog, goddamn it!).

I went out and saw that the sky was in fact green. And this in West Texas. I knew that there was something wrong. I instantly went back into the house, opening my beshat garage door (owing to Pupovich's talent-shitting pigeons). I took out my trusty CCCP cell phone (a 1997 Sony analog one) and threw my weight around. What was wrong? The sky was the wrong color.

I got a Laikagram telling me that I'd put the hat on backwards. I reversed it, which also helped conceal some of the divots in my skull owing to repeated treatments at Jiffy-Lobo™ and when I went back outside, the sky was blue. True, socialist blue.

I was saved.

Commissarka Pinkie wrote:I see the Chairman and Betinov are clearly engaged in a game of oneupsmanship. A game of scoring cheap political points just to win and make the opposition lose.

Haven't you comrades been listening to Obama? The games are over.

And he's tired of all your crap that's been clogging up the works when millions are hurting. So do what he says and PASS IT NOW!

Father Prog Theocritus wrote:Oh. My. Stalin. Betinov, Meow, would you stop your bitch-fighting? I swear every time I turn my back you're onto each other like, well our dear Many Titted Empress when she smells truffles underneath a tree.

He started it! He said my Oscar de la Renta ball gown made me look fat and tawdry! Fat and tawdry, Theocritus! (runs to room bawling)

Oh. My. Gucci, Meow. You're the one who has been driving up Bruno's texting bills!. This is an attempt to get back at me for those Hummels which you, in a roofie-induced flight of fancy, thought that I'd taken. And that depends on whether a Hummel is the same thing as Hummels. Let's parse these things, as we learned from our Master Prevaricator, President Lil Willie. Not to be confused with Lil Barry.

Meow, if you think that you look fat and tawdry, then the only cure for it is another trip to the Rancho and since this is ameliorative, I shall give you the Betty Fordski rates. I shall tell our Many Titted Empress that you, as an esteemed prog, are needful of a tender stroking by her tusks. I promise you that when she's stroking you with her dentition, you could be in an outfit designed by Rosie O'Donnell sold at Tractor Supply Store, modeled by Chaz Bono, and you would look as svelte as you could wish.

Just hope that she's not had a mani/pedi/tuski before she strokes you.

Pinkie, I have been lucubrating over Meow's idea that you would have to spend time in a sweatshop making cheap Calvin Klein knockoffs. I personally wouldn't take that from him. I think he's being his usual, sexist self and thinks that all wymyn are good for is sweatshop labor or in the countries of our fellow freedom fighters, Araby, walk four paces before the men to explode the land mines lest the real person, the man, of course, be injured. After all, what matter if a woman dies or loses her legs? Under Sharia law, a woman's word is worth half a man's.

I know that this is hard for you to accept, but please know that the best chance we have to destroy this horrible nation is to make an alliance with the most dominant totalitarian ideology on earth, and this is of course Islam.

So. I'm afraid you'll have to accept being a fourth-class citizen if you want the nation which has had two female secretaries of state, two women run for VP, female Supreme Court justices, emancipation of women, to go down as it must.

You must also accept this if you want the only nation on earth to have civil war, killing one person for every six freed (thanks to Tom Sowell), destroying 25% of the populace, to die.

Because obviously AmeriKKKa doesn't deserve survival.

It's bigger than progs. So it must die.

So saith Lil Barry Bama.

I just know he'll love this, when it's read to him by his TelePrompTer.

Tell me, is it true that the bathroom in the Oval Office has been expanded to make room for his TelePrompTer so he can read?

But Theocritus, I like the idea of wearing the frilly pink dresses the Chairman mentioned. And speaking of oppressed poodles attached to them, elsewhere on the Cube are pictures of Pupovich (who's always complaining of being oppressed) clad in those same frilly pink dresses.

Besides, I think Chairman Meow is simply afraid I'll look better in those dresses than he does.

Sexist? You accuse ME of being SEXIST? I will have you know, dear Chairman, that I am a charter member of the Chaz Bono fan club. And do you see any gender in this jar? Unlike yourself, driven mad by appliance lust, I exist in the world of pure Socialist intellect. I volunteer at planned parenthood on weekends and holidays...haven't seen you down at the clinic, oh, except that question you had about the rash....

Yep, nothing but thought crimes out of that jar...

And he's still a quart low.

Let me finish this ration of vodka, then give me 30 minutes. I should be able to top him off.

Jíbaro wrote:

When we moved out of the Яodiиa the kids kept repeating:

"Are we there yet?"

How annoying!!!

But the new Яэally Late Term Abortion procedure in Obamakaяэ solved that ...

For the record -- according to the Newspeak memo -- the proper terminology (chose one of the following):

Post-Term Abortion Choice
Retro-bortion Choice

Please adjust your laguage accordingly.

Tovarichi wrote:Let me finish this ration of vodka, then give me 30 minutes. I should be able to top him off.

Not surprising that he should be guilty of thought crimes... I mean, look at him. He's a brain in a jar...he could guilty of little else!

Rather we should simply purge him -- that appears to be the trend. We're running a bit low on head cheese at the death re-education camp dining facility.

Pinkie, it saddens this old prog's eyes and brings rheum to them for me to think of you wearing frilly pink skirts even with Endangered Poodles on them. And the mind just recoils from the idea of you wearing bobby sox and saddle Oxfords too. And a pony tail? Or a bob? Or, and here I must rest for a while, a beehive hair-do?

I have always admired you, dear Commissarka, for your clear vision. I recall well the days when you were entirely content to dress in your Oskar de le Renski sack dress, made oddly enough of burlap potato sacks and put in your hours hoeing your rows of beets. Never mind that they ones that you produced were either cut in half or withered or too small and hard to eat--we understood that it was the Putinka talking.

And based on our loving understanding of you, we have informed the world about Vice President Joe Biteme and how you, as a Made Prog, trained him in his dipsomania.

The problem is that neither you nor Meow can really wear a frilly dress. Just as no one can write "potato" without sniggering about the idiocy of Dan Quayle, even though he was set up, neither you nor Meow can wear a pink, frilly dress now that Bruno has staked that for his own.

If you are interested, however, in dethroning Bruno, let me suggest mastering the platform-shoe shuffle that Carmen Miranda does in "Tico tico." In true progressive style, you must conquer and destroy. Feel the rhumba. Embrace the rhumba. BE the rhumba.

And then, like a really good progressive, no one will be able to tell the dancer from the dance and you can do anything that you want to do.

I learned this one from Lil Baby Barry. But then of course I am postulating that with Baby Barry there really is a dancer.I'm not sure these days.

Betinov, I too am a charter member of the Chaz Bono fan club. How can you not love fat, self-hating, miserable men? Misery is a breeding ground for our infection, you know--that's why Lil Baby Barry wants to eat the rich. Which is of course the middle class. He knows that successful revolutions--Egypt, South America--were done by an idle but educated middle class. With the NEA so tenderly guiding our edification, teachers' unions adamant that it's all about them, and in many cases illiterate and gobsmackingly incompetent, we will have taken a more balance approach, for which read, we shall loot everyone and keep them dumb because poor peasants can do nothing but try to live.

And that really, dear comrades, is what being a Prog is all about. The assumption that our GoodIntentions™ and LoftyIdeals™ are more than utter codswallop and bullshit, which they are, they are, but as long as we get credit, we, and hold on to your seats now, be rewarded for failure..

The reason that I have love for Chaz Bono is because I could never take the step down to think of Michael Moore as being appealing even to an aardvark that had been in solitary confinement for a decade. But with Chaz as an intermediary, I have hope that I can plumb to the Stygian depths of attraction and look at Michael Moore for more than five seconds without wanting to cut my junk off.

Father Prog Theocritus wrote:Oh. My. Gucci, Meow. You're the one who has been driving up Bruno's texting bills!. This is an attempt to get back at me for those Hummels which you, in a roofie-induced flight of fancy, thought that I'd taken. And that depends on whether a Hummel is the same thing as Hummels. Let's parse these things, as we learned from our Master Prevaricator, President Lil Willie. Not to be confused with Lil Barry.

Meow, if you think that you look fat and tawdry, then the only cure for it is another trip to the Rancho and since this is ameliorative, I shall give you the Betty Fordski rates. I shall tell our Many Titted Empress that you, as an esteemed prog, are needful of a tender stroking by her tusks. I promise you that when she's stroking you with her dentition, you could be in an outfit designed by Rosie O'Donnell sold at Tractor Supply Store, modeled by Chaz Bono, and you would look as svelte as you could wish.

Just hope that she's not had a mani/pedi/tuski before she strokes you.

Yes, I could use some rest and relaxation. I will have to travel by night, however, since Texas -- and all things Texan -- have been rendered Anti-Party (except for Bush, he is undergoing rehabilitation now a newer evil has surfaced.)

The media and the Party -- rather redundant, I know -- has decreed that Texas is the Mecca for all things awful, backward, and dangerous to the Glorious Cause. I believe Gail Collins was going on and on about it in the NYT while sharpening her claws on a chalkboard. I use to know Gail intimately -- that was before she went all Chaz Bono on everybody. Or perhaps it was afterwards? I cannot remember. We use to talk for hours about politics over glasses of red wine. We wanted to change the world! Oh, so much idealism! So much hope for the future! And then, one sunny afternoon, she became poor and I never spoke to her again. End of story. That's how I end all of my relationships.

I remember when Helen first met Gail. She was so jealous, Theocritus -- Gail, I mean. Gail was so jealous. Gail knew Helen the Toaster had more femininity then her and she just couldn't handle that simple and very sad fact. I would take Helen to all the New York social galas and dance for hours. One time, at the Condoms for West Hollywood Benefit Gala, Gail threw an apple martini in Helen's face. I wailed bloody murder at Gail and threw my cocktail napkin at her it contempt before fainting. Helen's pride was damaged and we spent the whole week picking the salt out of her slots. Gail the following week tried to apologize, but I wouldn't listen. She was poor now and poor people have no place in my life -- or at benefit galas in Manhattan, for that matter.

I don't know why Pinch still lets Gail work at the Times. I was always under the impression that the rift-raft belongs on awareness-raising agitprop and not in the hallowed halls of the New York Times. My, how times have changed for the worse. All the more reason why we need Hillary in the White House.

Commissarka Pinkie wrote:
Besides, I think Chairman Meow is simply afraid I'll look better in those dresses than he does.

(GASP!) You monster!

Ivan Betinov wrote:Sexist? You accuse ME of being SEXIST? I will have you know, dear Chairman, that I am a charter member of the Chaz Bono fan club. And do you see any gender in this jar? Unlike yourself, driven mad by appliance lust, I exist in the world of pure Socialist intellect. I volunteer at planned parenthood on weekends and holidays...haven't seen you down at the clinic, oh, except that question you had about the rash....

Since you must know, the rash was an adult diaper rash, Comrade Betinov. I have poop problems, OK? I tend to poop myself when I become nervous which is why I am seldom invited to state dinners at the White House.

Meow, how could I possibly have forgotten your liaison with Helen, the toaster? I'm so glad to see that she has recovered. But if memory serves, and it's hard, you know, with all those fancy dinners with good wine bought with OPM--ask Charlie Rangel, who forgets things all the time but it's not his fault because He Cares, or he lies well. Same thing. Same exact thing.

An appletini in Helen's face would be destructive. It's not as though Helen were a human being, for Pinch's sake. She's a TOASTER and everyone knows that an appletini mars the chrome finish. Or did you decide while not only forsaking your species, but phylum, to go all the way and marry a toaster with a matte finish? If so, I would normally admire your dedication to diversity but let's be honest: those toasters with black matte finishes are just lazy toasters, which sit around the kitchen every day and refuse to toast anything more than Wonder Bread.

I am not a toaster bigot. I've just noticed that.

But here's something that I do not get. You said that you were picking salt out of Helen's nooks and crannies. Why were you eating something with added salt? You know that salt is not good for you, not that it really hurts your blood pressure but because Moochelle tells it is is not. And I accept that argumentum ad vericundiam. Because who is more of an authority than Moochelle? Because she's a progressive.

Just as who is more authoritative than Baby Barry-O? He's never held a job so he's the perfect one to run businesses.

I digress. If it was salt, I hope that it was sea salt harvested by fair-trade workers.

Chairman M. S. Punchenko wrote:

Commissarka Pinkie wrote: Besides, I think Chairman Meow is simply afraid I'll look better in those dresses than he does.

(GASP!) You monster!

Chairman! You dare to call me a monster when here I stand with a shovel in my hand? You don't really think I would ever soil my gold shovel by sticking it in the dirt for any reason, do you? Especially when Obama himself said there's no such thing as any shovel-ready job. No, I use my shovel for one thing, and one thing only--and you with no designated Whacking Boy (or Girl, or Toaster) to take what's coming to you--and at you--on your behalf.

WHACK!!!

Next time it'll be whatever is left of your Hummels, and if I have to--oh jeez--phew! What's that stink? It smells just like a--like a poopy adult diaper!

Pinkie, j'accuse. Pardon me while I wipe the tears from my old prog eyes. Eyes that were, mind you, weakened in the Service of the Party, poring over the Constitution and the Declaration nights and looking for loopholes. We cannot ever be free, as we understand it, if those two horrible bastions of personal responsibility are allowed to stand.

I recall the days when you were a mere proglet here, and we welcomed you with open arms. "At last," we breathed, "someone nasty enough that we can be ourselves and when alone sink to all fours and sniff each other's asses like good progressives."

(It was a bronchial infection from just such a progressive habit which makes Chris Matthews' leg twitch.)

I recall you as you labored in the beet fields and the potato fields, when you were rewarded by good progressive actions. I recall once that you presented two pencils stolen from a blind man, and were given an extra potato for the month. I admit that it was not a pretty potato but then out of hunger you'd chewed the enamel off the pencils. So it was mete.

Now you say that you would not stick your gold-dipped shovel into the dirt. If dipping a gold-tipped shovel into any old dirt was good enough for Teddy, it ought to be good enough for you. After all, to a good prog, Mary Jo Kopechne is no different from a row of beets because, and in unison now, she was not a prog. This neatly explains abortion but that's a topic for another time.

Pinkie, I grieve at the loss of that drunken, red-eyed, staggering old babushka with the babushka, staggering from the effects of the Putinka vodka but nonetheless digging her entire 3' of beets before calling in the shop steward to complain of an insolent grub. One which, by the way, you couldn't manage to catch and eat for the protein.

What happened? Are you with your golden shovel, one of the billionaires that Baby Barry Bama is going to tax into the ground?

Say it isn't so! You've paid your dues! You have given your liver to Putinka! And all that time that you sat on the ledge!

Come back, Pinkie, come back. We all love you in the best socialist love, meaning that I haven't found anyone more useful to me.

So that's all right then. When will you agree that I'm right, in a bipartisan manner?

I just saw a comment to this Maksim's picture on Facebook:

Uri wrote:No. The Edsel failed because the grille looked like a lady's private parts. Everyone knows that.

Just what kind of lady has Uri been hanging out with?

Apparently a heavily chromed one.

Remember girls.... guys are only after your Edsel.

Actually a better sexual metaphor is the one that Rush used for the United States as envisioned by our Dear Many Titted Empress: a huge sow with 200,000,000 tits. That was before the census. Personally I think that the US is more of a durian fruit:That's the one, remember, that has such a ripe odor that Far Eastern hotels will not let guests eat it in the room.

Much like the Rancho after a Play Party by our MTE and Janet Incompeteno.