Brad writes about the whitewash of an "investigation" into the Wisconsin Supreme Court election -- a so-called investigation that looked neither at the paper ballots cast, nor at the computer tabulators used. And the manipulation of the actual conduct of elections continues while teabaggers rant about ACORN and six guys calling themselves the New Black Panthers.
Meanwhile, also in Wisconsin, Raw Story reports that a state Senator who lives outside the district with his mistress lists as his office phone number an adult chat line. I shit you not.
And now let's visit Louisiana, where at Outside the Beltway, they're reporting that former Great Republican Hope and national joke Bobby Jindal is champing at the bit to sign a "birther bill" similar to one that was deemed too wingnutty even for Arizona governor Jan Brewer.
DCap throws Leni Riefenstahl and the new Atlas Shrugged movie into a blender and comes up with The Trump of the Will.
Over at Dagblog, enjoy the veiled threat contained in Open Letter To My Daughter the Culture Voter.
Southern Beale: In case you were still in doubt that the Iraq War really WAS all about oil and had NOTHING to do with terrorism.
This is a bad sign: Dylan Ratigan fawning all over Andrew Breitbart. I guess AOL is going to buy MSNBC, too. And also at C&L, Steve Weinstein reprints the best help wanted ad ever.
I happen to be lucky enough to have a good mechanic right in town. It's one of those old-fashioned gas stations that does car repairs instead of selling corn syrup flavored with coffee and stale sandwiches. Ted is the kind of guy who if I go in saying I need tires, will say "You don't need tires yet...come back in six months." He's the kind of guy who when he does the brakes and finds a rusted out wheel bearing, apologizes for the additional $350 it's going to cost. Now the new brakes feel a bit grabby, but Ted didn't find $1500 in other work that Has To Be Done Now, the way the Honda dealer near where I work did did when I had to take the car there to fix the air conditioner fan last summer during a heat wave (no, I didn't bite).
When I was in my 20's, I worked weekends at a gas station on Route 1 in Linden, right across from what was then the General Motors plant. I was making $8500 a year as a secretary in an ad agency and needed extra money to pay the rent on my apartment and put gas into my 1965 Dodge Dart. I used to get tips occasionally, especially on rainy days. I don't tip the kids at Ted's place (but I do send Cheryl's Cookies at Christmas), mostly because they let me pump my own gas when it's crowded because they know (and are amused by) my checkered past as a gasoline jockey. But I do try to avoid making them pump gas in the rain. I realize this is a moot point outside of New Jersey, where it's self-serve gas everywhere, but all this is really just an intro to Bustednuckles telling you Why You Should Not Diss Your Mechanic.
I'm not sure that people app