The new home of tracyglisson.com

Or maybe they’re not, after all, according to this moving new video by Conservatives for Change. It’s worth the four minutes of your time to witness the power of Barack Obama to inspire and instill hope even across party lines.

Share on Facebook

{ 0 comments }

Between the shitterific presidential campaign and the craptastic economy, it’s easy to feel helpless to respond as an individual. For my own part, I’ve written my legislators every other hour and turned this uncredited illustration into one badass bumper sticker:

Mostly, however, I’ve been responding like every other red-blooded blue-stater: by clacking out indignant blog posts and screaming at the television. (And duh, by binge drinking. It’s safe to say the day Al Qaeda pries the vodka out of my cold, dead hands is the day the enemies of freedom have come to us on American soil because SOMEBODY BLINKED.)

But while I mix up a pitcher of VTs and squeegee the spittle off the flat-screen, other people I know take actual action. Like my pal Rudy Yuly, a singer/songwriter with world tours under his belt and cool friends/co-collaborators (yes, Joan Jett, I would totally make out with you), who crafted an awesome song to benefit Team Obama. So step away from your blogging, search for “Obamabots” at iTunes, and drop less than a dollar on “Yes We Can,” because the people in the idiot box CAN’T HEAR YOU ANYWAY.

(Giving up the binge drinking, on the other hand, simply means The Terrorists Have Won.)

Share on Facebook

{ 1 comment }

“You can do it at a trot, you can do it at a gallop/
You can do it real slow so your heart don’t palpitate/
Just don’t be late/
Do the Puyallup!”

Eight years in Seattle, and it took having little girls to finally be able to say, “Puyallup Fair? Check. Done did.”

A brief visual respite from Republicans and the economy after the jump.

[click to continue…]

Share on Facebook

{ 1 comment }

This from an op-ed in today’s US News & World Report:

Mountains of controversy are swirling around Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin’s strange policy of forcing rape victims to pay for their own rape kits while she was mayor of the now-infamous town of Wasilla.

The most interesting take I’ve found is posted by Alaska blogger Shannyn Moore who relates the following:

“I sat with a rape victim during the ‘harvesting of evidence.’ Mascara smeared eyes stared blankly out from a cave of shame. ‘We’ve got swimmers,’ announced the forensic tech in the lab next door. My friend didn’t look surprised. In her 60’s, she was still asked if she felt the need for emergency contraception. Surviving the process would have only been compounded and made worse with an itemized bill; victimized twice courtesy of Sarah Palin and the city of Wasilla.”

Interestingly, there’s no report on whether Wasilla police were also obligated to bill the families of murder victims for the cost of analyzing a crime scene or the victims of pedophiles for the going rate of evidence-gathering, which indicates that at Palin’s behest the only Wasilla residents (or tragically unlucky visitors) forced to pay out-of-pocket for being the victim of a violent crime were WOMEN WHO’D JUST BEEN RAPED. Classy! I wonder if they called it the Slut-Had-It-Comin’ Surcharge?!

Fortunately, one shocked Democratic legislator drafted a bill that directly addressed the Wasilla Police Department policy, making it illegal for a state law enforcement agency to bill the victim of a sexual assault or the victim’s insurer. Said then-governor Tony Knowles:

“We would never bill the victim of a burglary for fingerprinting and photographing the crime scene, or for the cost of gathering other evidence. Nor should we bill rape victims just because the crime scene happens to be their bodies.”

I don’t know what’s more humiliating, being a rape victim in Pakistan (rapist goes free, victim goes directly to jail), or a gang-rape victim in Saudi Arabia (sentenced to 200 lashes), or a rape victim in Sarah Palin’s jurisdiction: terrified, mortified, violated — shaking and spread-eagled in emergency room stirrups, and getting FUCKED ANEW.

I’m all for seeing a woman in the White House, but you, “feminist, pro-woman” Sarah Palin, are just one more self-serving dick.

Share on Facebook

{ 6 comments }

And no, it’s not just internationally broadcasting all my purdy photography and forcing Mike to do the Walk of Shame into the office and being all, “Look! My butt!” and hating on Republicans.

(Though while we’re there, I have a message for you, John McCain. I never had a beef with you; between McCain/Feingold and the POW years and the Bush-backed smears in South Carolina, I was willing to overlook you dumping your crippled, never-lost-hope first wife for the wealthier, more photogenic Family 2.0 and consider you a perfectly honorable social moderate and fiscal conservative. But now that you’ve stood on the national stage and declared that “Washington is broken” (you with your 26 years in the House and Senate, 18 of them under your party’s administration), and your transparent choice of a female VP candidate to attract disgruntled Hillary supporters, your true McCain is now showing. One that apparently finds women dazzlingly stupid enough to vote for a vagina, ANY vagina, even if that vagina is a rootin’-tootin’, book-banning fundie who supports a woman’s right to choose only when it’s a teenager choosing to keep the baby she conceived while conceivably wearing a promise ring and practicing abstinence; a vagina, in short, that’s a total cunt. And in light of that revelation, this vagina has this to say: You, John McCain, can SUCK MY DICK.)

(Just a sec while I wet-vac the bile out of the keyboard…)

Indeedy, by far the coolest thing about having a blog is that people you’ve lost touch with will FIND YOU. Old friends, former colleagues, even the occasional visit by the Ghosts of Dicks Past.

[click to continue…]

Share on Facebook

{ 0 comments }

I know you took a lot of crap over “Isn’t it Ironic,” crap you altogether deserved what with the irony of English teachers quoting your lyrics, and those were lyrics that revealed you to be COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS TO THE DEFINITION OF IRONY.

But on the unexpected chance you haven’t since cracked an English Grammar for Dummies, I’d like to offer an example in this easy-to-read screen shot.

Because THAT, snookums, is REALLY FUCKING IRONIC.

(Hugz, T.)

PS: Luuuuurved your brilliant cover of “My Humps.”

PPS: Ryan Reynolds is a no-talent dick. Kthxbai.

Share on Facebook

{ 3 comments }

Me: Wow, Michelle and the girls are so gorgeous. And so BLACK! Just the prospect of them living in the White House is so UNBELIEVABLY BAD-ASS. First thing Michelle needs to do? Yank out all’a Laura’s Texas country kitsch and burn that shit on the front lawn. Then name Lenny Kravitz Secretary of Bangin’ Decor. Then throw a National Open House Barbeque! Featuring Nelly!
“I’m goin down down baby, yo’ street in a Range Rover
Street sweeper baby, cocked ready to let it go
Shimmy shimmy cocoa what? Listen to it pound
Light it up and take a puff, pass it to me now…”

Mike: Yeah, Michelle’s way blacker than Barack. I don’t know why the media keeps making such a big deal over him being “the first African-American nominee.” I mean, he’s only half black. He’s a HALFrican-American!

Me: Why do these filmed mini-bios they air before each person speaks feel like infomercials?

Mike: Because they ARE infomercials. “Dissolve strings-of-adversities-overcome. . . Aaaaand, cue concerned pianos!”

(Sit riveted to speech while little girls use us as trampolines.)

Barack: “On November 4th, on November 4th, we must stand up and say, ‘Eight is enough!’”

Mike: “More Dick Van Patten! Less Dick Cheney!”

Me: Oh yeah, THAT’S why I love you…

Share on Facebook

{ 1 comment }

I’ll admit to being a total noob at the Flickr — it’s world’s more fun and useful than Picasa, and a lot of the photography is inspiring enough to send me skulking back to Photoshop, where I can totally dick the day away fine-tune my own work.

So I hadn’t even yet begun to explore the Group Pools, where you can apparently satisfy your visual cravings for some really obscure shit. Say, your obsession with Irish buses. Or your quirky fascination in the Crappers of the World. Or your truly disturbing fetish with what’s in other people’s freezers, you unequivocal perv.

And because I had not gone to the Group Pools, the Group Pools came to me. . . Within an hour of posting the shot of Nola smoking a tampon to Flickr, the admin of a Group emailed me requesting I add it her pool, a pool named — and no, I do NOT make this shit up — “Not So Fresh Feeling.”

(I couldn’t do it fast enough, because Nola would be HONORED. And for the first time, she could go viral in a way that didn’t end in scores of people pooping out of both ends.)

Share on Facebook

{ 0 comments }

To the naked eye, I look fairly pulled together. Some have even said “attractive,” though those people have never seen me when I realize TiVo’s eaten an episode of “Bridezillas.” And the liquor store is closed.

On the INSIDE, however, there’s a whole lotta weird shit going on, courtesy of my esteemed forebears, whom I’m now realizing could be glimpsed past the Funhouse, behind the candy-apple booth, for one shiny nickel. Behold the evidence:

[click to continue…]

Share on Facebook

{ 6 comments }