Wait until *this* macroeconomic shoe drops:

Yup, we're totally hosed.

In related news, keep your eye on this space for "Eating Your Way To A More Active You: The BumperAtkins Diet!" Launching Nov. 4, 2008....

Yogi Berra on the closing of Yankee Stadium: "I'm sorry to see it go. I really do."

"That was so unsatisfying. I feel completely unfulfilled by that movie."

Obviously, it was her first Woody Allen experience.

On July 7, Bumperactive completed our second-ever payout to the causes and groups sponsored through our bumper sticker royalty-sharing program!

In all, we awarded $1682.14 to 27 causes and charities from across the ideological map—from Planned Parenthood to Interfaith Alliance, to the Electronic Frontier Foundation, to the NRA.

The five biggest earners for the period are: Obama for President Campaign ($324.10), Democratic National Committee (269.23), EFF ($250.00), Sierra Club ($89.98), and Doctors Without Borders ($85.89).

The median cause earner was the Republican Party ($35.01). The mean average earning among the 27 causes was $62.30.

A full breakdown of the payout is provided here, including screencaps of our online donations for verification. Our next scheduled payout is January 12, 2009. As always, you can track the earnings each cause accumulates over the period on our Causes and Organizations page.

Five sentences, stripped of context and selected at random from The Audacity of Hope:

Don't play dumb, people. I suggest reading the above statements again, this time with an eye to what they add up to in terms of a vice-presidential pick or even a hidden agenda.

There are no accidents. The truth is out there, just waiting for someone to connect the dots. Nothing is without significance.

Do you ever wish you could go back in time and undo what you did? You know, like this guy:

Peace in the Middle East.

We emailed a lot of blogs to help promote our Barack Obama sticker series, meaning we had to go out and find a *lot* of blogs. One of my favorites is NewMexiKen, by some guy named Ken. He's got loads of good Fourth Of July posts for you to check out. Though I've chosen to excerpt this one for today, in which Ken Takes the Mickey out of the Discovery Channel's 2006 list of the 100 Greatest Americans. Ever.

The first 50 of Ken's list are below. You'll have to go to NewMexiKen, though, for the rest, as well as his list of 55 suggested replacements (He's still two Americans short, so make a suggestion in the comments.). While you're there, peruse the net's definitive authority on matters pertaining to the Great Ron Howard Ron Howard's brother.

(American's listed alphabetically by first name:)

As our latest attempt to expand and explode the possibilities of everything you thought a bumper sticker could be, Bumperactive is proud to unveil the 50 Ways To Vote Obama Project! That would be 50 discrete bumper sticker designs—one for each state—in support of our candidate in the great political contest.

So far we've got 18 designs posted to the catalog: AL, AK, AZ, CA, KS, LA, MO, ND, NE, NH, NM, NV, OH, OK, TX, VA WA & WI, with several more in the pipeline, and plans to complete the series by the middle of July. Let us know how you think we did for your state, and if it's not listed yet, send us an idea—especially if the idea is for North Dakota, and doesn't have anything to do with a jelly-filled pastry!

George Carlin died yesterday, at the positively Methusalean age of 71—when you reflect that it's the life in your years, not the years in your life, that counts.

The night before Carlin suffered his third cardiac arrest in Santa Monica California, I was at a birthday party in Austin, Texas. Where, among other topics of conversation, a friend and I debated the merits of saying somebody "passed away" vs. somebody "died." It does my heart good that I had Carlin's part in the argument:

He lived as a starving lion against 1,000 jackals in defense of the carcass of Truth. He understood that the power of words is eclipsed only by the power of the words we're afraid to say. And so he spoke, and spoke, and spoke the unspeakable to make us freer and better than we are. To employ any sort of euphemism to describe what happened to Carlin, to imply the old man somehow wandered gently into a vaguely-specified good night, is high slander. Without a doubt, at 5:55 PM PST on Sunday June 22, 2008, George Carlin died.

My all-time favorite Carlin riff is "The Planet is Fine", from his 1992 HBO special:

Carlin was dark, often flat-out misanthropic in his enthusiasm for the intersection of hubris and the Law of Cause and Effect. He didn't warn of apocalypse, he rooted for it. Still, I always felt the perspective of "The Planet Is Fine" is the essential one if the environmental movement is going to galvanize the public to the degree needed to change the course we're on. It's not about saving "the trees, the bees, the whales, the snails," it's about saving ourselves.

He is of course most famous for "Seven Words You Can't Say on Television", which will soon find it's rightful place in American literary anthologies alongside Melville, Fitzgerald, Whitman and Twain (once we figure out how to anthologize standup—the ebook will help). This is the original version from Carlin's 1972 Class Clown album:

He was arrested on multiple occasions for performing that routine, and never convicted. And at age 25, he was in the audience for Lenny Bruce's 1961 obscenity bust in San Francisco. When the cops began interviewing audience members as witnesses, Carlin told them he didn't believe in the concept of "government issued ID"; they carted him and Bruce off in the same paddy wagon.

Supposedly, Franklin, Jefferson and Adams once spent a night in the same bed together while traveling to Philadelphia, because there was no more room at the inn. I imagine Carlin and Bruce's ride to the hoosegow was a somewhat comparable occasion, only with a lot more fucks in it.

Two interviews for your consideration. The first, in which the tongue leaves the mouth no less than nine times:

Yeah, good answer: it’s not about Michael, it’s about you. Well done. Set me to wondering: would a seasoned gambler or CIA field operative recognize the tongue thing as a cue that there’s a bit of a bluff on?

In the second, beholdeth pure joy, what the French, since Pascal, have been prone to call courage:

And she does look great, doesn’t she? I like the part when she asks him how “top of the world” feels. Looks like it feels sort of all right, eh?

With the Obama campaign's hiring of former top Clinton campaigner Patti Solis Doyle for the job of "Chief of Staff for the Vice Presidential Candidate," we've all been treated to another media crack-hit of her official press photo. The first time it made the rounds was when Hillary fired her, and I always sort of thought it was emblematic of the dysfunction that derailed the Clinton Coronation:

The pic's not really Solis Doyle's fault. No matter how image conscious you are, you can never really judge yourself (just like every writer needs an editor). The problem is no one else on the Clinton staff felt able to step up and say "Uh, Patti, we're trying to elect the first female president here; L.A. Law-era Susan Dey isn't exactly the look we're going for. Straighten up and fly right." It all comes down to teamwork.

There, much better. Your country needs you, Patti. Now go out and win this fucking election.

The thing I love best about running this site is when you wake up in the morning, you never know what new designs are going to be waiting in the in-box. The ingenuity of our customers is a real kick:

This design, I presume, is the first sticker in our catalog intended for a vehicle's front bumper, to be read in the car ahead's rear-view mirror. We took liberty of playing along and reversing the text of our logo bubble, too.

There's one other bumper sticker in our catalog where the bubble-text is backwards (though the main sticker text is not). I'll send a free bumper sticker of the finder's choice to the first person who correctly tells me which sticker that is.

Magnum photos has a gallery of images of some cat named Ernesto Guevara, who would have been 80 this week.... What I was most struck by is that of the 17 photos, only five are of the man—and 12 are of portraits of the man, born aloft by anti Vietnam war protestors, Cuban school children, and the bellies of supermodels.

I don't really know much about the history of The Che: It seems to me that he lived violently and died violently. Motorcycle Diaries is a wonderful movie about his life before the time that the shooting started. Man, when it comes to charisma though, you either gots it or you don't, and the man was Elvis Presley with an AK-47. Of the series, I really love this particular photo: you can just smell the tobacco and the coffee in that room, can't you, and feel the air sticking to you. And of course, our subject is shaking hands with him, but he's saying hello to you. Jaysoos Christ, it's 2008. Hey Che, the people have this invention called the internet now. And we're using it to destabilize the crypto-fascist capitalist industrial complex from within, by harnessing the cuteness of cats.

That is the subject line of an email from a buddy who is having to do some dealings with the I.R.S. This is the email body:

I give Virginia Wood's review of the Driskill Hotel Cafe five stars for side-splitting hilarity. It's not often you read a write-up and actually feel *sorry* for the restaurant critic.

Once upon a time, I was a no-account waiter at the truly Hoity Toity Driskill Grill, which is mostly a separate entity from the more informal 1886 Cafe & Bakery which Virginia reviewed. Still, I pitched in and tended bar at the Cafe on a couple of occasions. And Wow, How the Mighty Have Fallen. I see from the review that the Driskill was sold to some out-of-towners.... obviously the wheels have fallen off the place. Here's the first thing you need to do to right the ship, guys: Hire a manager who's local. And hire him or her solely on the basis of one line under the "skills" section of their resume: Can recognize Dale Rice and Virginia Wood on sight.

That's 98 percent of getting a good review in this town. And frankly, any joint with linen tablecloths that can't manage it is a waste of money. I still have my 8x10 glossy of Dale Rice. I bring it with me whenever I'm thinking about trying a new place. I show it to whoever's at the host stand and say, "Do you know who this is?" If the answer is no, I say "Thanks" and go see Jay at Quality Seafood.

I wonder if her waiter was this guy....

The LA Times reports Cyrus Yazdani, who authorities say is the legendary tagger Buket, was arrested Tuesday at a scheduled meeting with his probation officer. Sheriffs Deputy Devin Vanderlaan:

For the record, Yazdani says he didn't do it. Not sure how they they'll be able to prove it, either, since it could be anybody in those videos. Though Yazdani is already on probation for prior tagging, and they did find his apartment loaded with paint cans—I'm guessing that's a violation. Here's the Hwy 101 overpass job:

Here (near the end of the clip) is the MTA Bus job:

And here's bumper sticker #8106:

If you're reading this, please shoot me a line to say hi, because we're kindred souls. And you and me, we understand in our bones how the Baby Boom Generation and its Media just doesn't comprende the fundamentals of the way the world works nowadays, that we're not in an Industrial Age any more, but at the dawn of a new Age of Information. Which is a fucking scary thing, because they're the one's who are still nominally running the place—which is to say, jealously guarding the launch codes that could blow us all to hell. Y'know, just in case we don't slow-roast first on the collective Foreman Grill of all those midlife crisis Humvees. Huh, "Boomers," I never made the connection before: What a wickedly descriptive handle for the demographic most likely to render us back to our component atoms. My confidence in the future is now at an all-time high. I sure hope some ex-Ukranian loose-nuke doesn't vaporize Burbank before that crazy blockbuster about how the Mayans predicted the world was gonna end in 2012 comes out. Kinda points to the Achilles heel of them that named the Baby Boomers, too—our "Greatest Generation": I guess a media diet solely of Capra Corn can supply the short-term oomph required to crush the Nazi War Machine. But over the long-haul, it sure nets you a tin-ear for the non-canary song of the exigencies of Mαrquezian irony.

OK, you get it. You found me because you went looking to see who you'd find, and maybe you're planning of putting yourself out there in the same way to be found too. I say go for it, and let's link swap, and all of us band of brothers and sisters can sort of loosely float around as the silicon-powered hybrid of the Baker Street Irregulars and the Peggy Noonan is a Fucking Moran Club.

The *only* reason I'm even still going on about it is that I'm also writing this post for the cockroach archeologists of the future, when they excavate the WayBack Machine. Because while it's safe to assume they'll be smarter than the average baby boomer, who knows, maybe their insectoid hive mind might enjoy the benefit of a little 2008 (Human Common Era) context:

There's this broad called Peggy Noonan. She used to write speeches for the first Human Supreme Ruler who successfully sold the rest of us on the notion that it's kinda cute to have a Supreme Ruler who's a bit soft between the ears. Then she went on to monetize her gender by writing opinion columns carrying water for people who pay the rest of her gender $0.75 on the dollar. And on May, 23, 2008 HCE, she published the following, astounding, bald-faced lie on the Wall Street Journal website that sailed right past the smoldering remains of the copydesk of the flagship of the Murdoch empire (You know who Murdoch is, cockroach archeologists; he's the only human still living):

It's true, the woman named Peggy Noonan really wrote that. Since you've by now fully excavated the WayBack Machine, I could even provide a link to Noonan's column and you could see for yourself. Except… except my synapses are so epicly tweaked by the ridiculosity of that sentencestatement, I can't even bring myself to Ctrl + C & V the URL.

So trust me, cockroach archeologists. You'll just have to take my word for it. I mean, you could somehow try to find the article yourhiveselfves, but…. Nah. With a kajillion-trillion different pages on the internet, even for you, it'd be impossible.

If only..... If only you somehow knew a few of the words that were in the article....

Of course, that was all just for the cockroach archeologists. You knew when you came here what I am getting at, 'cause you're here now. My name is Kyle and this is my make-a-bumper sticker site. Damn glad to meet you.