She did so initially by accusing Sarah Palin of being “a traitor to this country.” This ridiculous statement caught my attention not because it had any foundation in facts, but because it was being made by Barr: a woman who made headlines in 1990 for mocking America by grabbing her crotch and spitting while singing the National Anthem for a baseball game between the San Diego Padres and the Cincinnati Reds.

Barr next accused Palin of being “a dupe” and an opportunist who’s capitalizing on the “anti-intellectualism” of Americans. And while there’s something inherently laughable about Barr speaking derisively of “anti-intellectualism,” it’s somewhat offensive that she doesn’t guard against throwing the word “dupe” around so recklessly. After all, she is the dupe who once donned a Nazi uniform and wore it in pictures that showed her taking “burnt Jew cookies” out of an oven.

Yet as stupid as all these things were, perhaps Barr’s most stupid statement was her assertion that Dick Cheney has never “[earned] one damn thing. [The] guy’s never worked an honest day in his life.” Where has she been for the last 10 years? A period of time in which Cheney was relentlessly criticized for his ties to Big Oil, via his past working relationship with Halliburton. To this day, Cheney continues to be vilified for his work with that company.

Thus while Barr tried to paint Cheney as elitist and out of touch, the truth is Halliburton has been a convenient political noose that real elites tighten around Cheney’s neck every chance they get. By “real elites” I mean people who’ve never had to work a day in their lives because they either married wealthy women or were born into families with enormous wealth: people like Senator John Kerry or the late Ted Kennedy. (Such elites have been so successful at tying Cheney to Big Oil that even the all knowing, all seeing Robert Redford was fooled into blaming him for the April 2010 Gulf Oil Spill.)

That Cheney was (and is) one of the most hardworking, decent human beings to ever hold the office of Vice President is lost on Roseanne because she is swallowed up in a world of self-loathing and bitterness, much akin to Cher and Janeane Garofalo. And for this same reason, she can only look on Palin with contempt and spew vitriol toward her because the former Governor dares to be comfortable in her own skin.

Barr is so hate-filled and so non-intellectually stimulating that I may even owe Garofalo an apology for mentioning her in this post (and that’s saying a lot).

—–

And the characters themselves are – in the classic critique offered by a thousand screenwriting teachers – less characters than caricatures.  The first real redneck we meet is a racist loudmouth.  As is the second.  And the third is, so far at least, just a wife beater, though I expect he’ll end up hating black people too.  This is no surprise.  To people who write for the entertainment industry, if you live east of I-5 and south of the Mason-Dixon, you’ve got a sheet and a flammable cross in the back of your pick-up and you could someday grow up to be a revered Democratic senator.

Oh, and there’s not enough zombie action.  Instead of flesh-eating terror, we get scenes of budding survival suffragettes complaining about having to do the laundry.  Seriously.  The little band of refugees can’t be bothered to set up the most basic security for the undefendable position they’ve chosen to occupy, but these walking, talking clichés have plenty of time to bicker about gender roles while scrubbing Dockers.

These chronic problems with characters and actions that do not ring true, mixed with lazy writing and an inexplicable decision to spend most of the each episode on discussions of feelings, means that after this six episode season ends, the viewers might not arise when the second season stumbles across the screen next year.  What a waste.

Now, this criticism does not bring me any joy, because for as long as I remember I have had a weakness for zombie films.  The only film that ever truly freaked me out me – besides Alien (1979) – was the original Night of the Living Dead (1968).  I recall the immortal Bob Wilkins on the San Francisco Bay Area’s Channel 2’s Creature Features showing the uncut Night trailer in the mid-70’s (He later showed the entire film – unedited, because he was awesome and it was like 1:30 a.m. and no one decent was watching anyway).  That thing scared the crap out of me – I didn’t feel such unadulterated terror again until ObamaCare passed.

Night is a great film – lean, mean (in fact, it is probably the bleakest film ever made) and utterly terrifying.  Its crudeness is part of its charm, as is the fact that it was not made in shiny, fake Hollywood but in gritty, heartland Pennsylvania.  Night did not (and does not) look or feel like anything else – despite the weird ghouls stumbling about, it had an air of realism (heightened by the use of TV commentators talking about the zombie plague) that made it that much more scary.

Now, in Night, director George Romero did the same things The Walking Dead is trying to do, except he did them right.   This was probably just luck.  Let’s be clear about one thing: George Romero is a hack whose movies have gotten steadily worse over the years.  His latest films are literally unwatchable – Land of the Dead is one of the stupidest, most boring movies not starring Ashton Kutcher. Its follow-ups are, astonishingly, even worse.  But in Night, his characters usually make intelligent choices, not that it helps.  No, it’s not an Edward Albee living room character study, but the characters are at least drawn with a bit of subtlety (I like how the most obnoxious character is the one who has the best ideas for survival).  And while there is plenty of character interaction, the zombies are never absent for extended periods while the survivors rehash Gloria Steinem-esque cultural battles from about four decades earlier.

The original Dawn of the Dead (1978) followed, with Romero moving his survivors into a mall.  Again, his characters generally made good choices, like blocking the entrances and bringing lots of M16 ammo.  The character work was not going to win any of the no-name stars Oscars, but unlike in The Walking Dead, they were not so obvious cardboard clichés that they practically wear signs reading descriptions like “Upright, Moralistic Cop,” “Spunky, Independent Woman” or “Evil Racist Who Probably Voted For Bush #3.”

Now, Romero did make political comments with his movies, though it is unclear whether he intended to do so or whether he just sort of nodded along when goatee-stroking pop culture course professors started pointing them out to bored sophomores seeking an easy elective “A” for watching movies all semester.  Yes, the hero of Night is a black guy, and yeah (spoiler) the sheriff’s posse shoots him at the end – though it seems like they did so because he looked like a zombie instead of out of some arbitrary hatred of African-Americans that was so intense that the posse members felt the need to stop their battle for their survival in order to indulge it.

Dawn is supposed to be some sort of parody of consumerism.  As such, it falls short.  People like to buy stuff – if that’s Romero’s insight, it’s about as profound as a “COEXIST” bumperstickers or John Lennon’s “Imagine” – which is to say, not at all.   But it’s a really good movie, once again probably by lucky accident.  It is filmed with an almost documentary-level lack of finesse and a linoleum and pastel vibe that you had to live through the mid-70’s to really recognize and understand.  The ordinariness of it – the JC Penney’s-style normality of the setting, combined with the uncertainty of that era and the appalling Technicolor violence – made it a truly modern American suburban monster movie.  You couldn’t tell yourself that bad things only happened in Transylvania.  The scary part was that this was Pennsylvania, this was the suburbs, this was us.

The 2004 Dawn of the Dead remake was slicker – hell, everything is slicker than the original Dawn –  but director Zack Snyder also understood the need to have interesting characters doing smart things with plenty of zombies to break up the chatter.  He also kept the gore and bleakness; only his running zombies raised questions among the aficionados.

In 2006, Max Brooks published World War Z, a fascinating “oral history” of a zombie apocalypse.  Using the stories of individual characters, he covers the event from the micro level we had seen in movies (small bands of survivors) to the macro-level, discussing how governments deal with a huge, inexplicable threat to mankind’s survival.  This was the part that was most interesting to me – on my military side, I have worked on catastrophic event planning and operations for two decades and his tome about man-eating cannibal corpses was the most insightful piece of fiction on how people and peoples react to enormous disasters I’ve read.  He draws solid characters, who do smart (and dumb) things, and while there is a ham-fisted indictment of Dick Cheney in there (as if Dick Cheney wouldn’t have opened up a keg of zombie whoop-ass given the opportunity), it is a terrific book with serious insights.

So where has The Walking Dead gone wrong?  The first wrong turn seems to be the idea the producers embraced of focusing almost solely on the people, not the zombies.  No, no, no, no, no.  The point of a zombie movie is how people react to the zombies.  Yeah, they react to each other too, but that’s of distinctly lesser interest.  No one cares about the stupid soap opera “I did your best friend but at the time I thought you were dead but you aren’t and now we gotta deal with this emotional baggage” crap.  This isn’t a telenovela – stop exchanging sensitive looks and shoot some ghouls, damnit!

And have the characters take actions that are remotely intelligent.  At least in Night the folks barricaded the doors – in The Walking Dead, the rag-tag fugitive flunkies gather on a wooded hilltop, vehicles scattered hither and tither, tents pitched here and there.  Security consists of a fat guy with a deer rifle sitting on the roof of his RV in a lawn chair.  You don’t have to have 20+ years in the Army to find this kind of cluster-flunk distracting. 

Part of the fun of apocalyptic fiction is the “What would we do if this really happened?” factor.  I’d probably, you know, find a defensible position with multiple exits and integrate the fighting positions should they get past my outer security.  But apparently, the gang from The Walking Dead would allow the zombies to get close enough to overrun and eat them, if they didn’t die in crashes as everyone tried to turn their cars around to use the single exit route.

And yes, I am aware I’m talking about a zombie show.  But I’m just not ready to include tactical insanity within the scope of my “suspension of disbelief.”  I find it distracting. 

I also find the fact that these people only have about five guns between them bizarre.  The producers decided to center the show on the only group of people in the American South who can’t find guns.  Hell, in Georgia most of the guns themselves own a couple guns.

But then the writers have some odd ideas about Southerners.  The great, scary Michael Rooker plays one Southern guy – I don’t remember his name but it’s probably something like “Merle.”  Guess what?  He’s a redneck racist psycho who hates black people.  Then there’s his brother – his name is “Darryl” or the like.  Guess what he is – do I hear “a redneck racist psycho who hates black people?”  And there’s another Southern guy who seems to hate everyone equally and who also beats up his Southern wife, who is played by someone channeling the silent, abused Alison Janney character in American Beauty.

In short, we get the full variety of Hollywood writer Southern folk stereotypes – both of them.

You can tell the heroes and heroines because they are handsome white men, or spunky/pretty women, or wisecracking minority sidekicks.  Again, these writers are pushing that envelope…inward.

Oh, and only occasionally do we see a zombie, which I find strange, since zombies are kind of the reason there is a show.  It’s like Twilight without shiny vampires.   I guess I should be happy we haven’t been told that the zombie plague is somehow the result of a scheme by Halliburton, in conjunction with Bu$hitler, the Koch Brothers, Big Oil and the reverse vampires.  But I can feel that coming.

Again, this does not make me happy to say.  AMC has a solid track record with its shows.  Frank Darabont, the creative force, is a talented director.  People say good things about the source material, a popular comic book (save your “graphic novel” euphemism for your dork pals, Pointdexter).  AMC is also allowing the kind of gross-out blood-letting we’ve come to expect.  The Walking Dead should be cool, and I really want it to be cool.  Come on, dudes, be cool!

But you can’t be cool and boring, or cool and stupid, or cool and annoying.  We can only hope that in the last few shows of this season, and in the second season, they dump the clichés, smarten-up the characters, and start kicking some zombie asses instead of sitting on their own talking about their feelings.  If not, someone might as well bust a cap in the noggin of this zombie show – a zombie show in both senses of the words.

I go to bed full of hate and wake up the same.  I hate blacks, Hispanics, gays, women, abortion doctors, liberals, Lefties, Democrats, you name ‘em, I hate ‘em if they’re not like me. I especially hate President Obama for being black. Just ask Janeane Garofalo, although being a Stalinist Socialist doesn’t help Obama’s cause any with me. Fact is, Obama could be a GOP Michael Steele Uncle Tom, and I’d still hate him even more than liberals hate Steele. Skin color trumps all. Thank God I was born the right color, or I’d probably kill myself. Wait, the hoods are dry! Be right back.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. Joe is my hero and role model, Archie Bunker a distant second, Ted Nugent a close third. I have posters of all of them lining my walls, alongside such conservative Republican heroes as Dick Cheney, George W. Bush, Richard Nixon, Adolf Hitler and Darth Vader.

I used to have one of Robert C. Byrd, but he lost me when he left the Klan and became the Conscience of the Senate. Whatever that means. Didn’t know the Senate had one. But I never understood that. How can a white guy in good conscience leave the Klan? But I digress.

I have a mega-gun collection and a huge stockpile of hollow-point Teflon-coated ammo that’s just itching to be used. Haven’t decided yet on which abortion doctor I’m going to target next. Maybe I’ll just go down to the border and shoot brownskins for sport. dHs, sToP mE BefORe I KilL aGAiN!

And though I really hate homos like the Good Book says I should, I spend a lot of my free time cruising aiport rest rooms and tapping footsies like Larry Craig. If I’m lucky, I’ll get some real teabagging in. If not, I’ll try to get some in at my local Tea Party. Of course, my shotgun wedding Handmaid’s Tale wife with the nice tooth doesn’t know about any of this. She’s usually home watching Jerry Falwell and the “700 Club” most of the day, and role-plays being Sarah Palin for me at night. Is that kinky or what? God, I love my wife! Would never be unfaithful to her with another woman.

As to being with other men, well, nobody in the GOP’s perfect. But it beats being a liberal! Except for the part where they get away with murder, and we get stoned for jaywalking.

Our favorite day is Sunday, named after our favorite radical fire-and-brimstone preacher Billy Sunday. We sing hymns like ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ and wash ourselves clean in the Lord. Really necessary for me. A conservative Republican can get real dirty during the GOP workweek. Good thing my wife’s family is rich. Her toothless redneck dad gave us a beat up ‘78 Ford pickup with NASCAR and confederate flag bumper stickers and an Easy Rider rifle rack. Pride of the Bayou!

I want war. Lots of it. Want the economy to get a boost? Works every time! Bomb bomb bomb, bomb bomb Iran! Of course, in the interest of disclosure, I must confess to being a consultant for Blackwater, Halliburton, the Carlyle Group and Big Oil. And so what if we all staged 9/11? Made a ton of dough and dusted enough Islamist ragheads to fill the new Yankee Stadium, didn’t we?

Liberals are such pussies! And screw Global Warming! I WANT the world to burn! Only then can Jesus bring Paradise to earth. Speaking of which, where’s that landing strip for Christ in Yosemite National Park James Watt put on order? Days are gettin’ short! And don’t forget, Jesus is white, and might is right. I’m sorry, what was the problem with slavery again?

Actually, I have to confess yet again. All the above is only what I aspire to be, i.e. the best GOPer Repug Nazi I can be. Like most mortals, I fall far short of my goals and dreams. I don’t even own a gun or hollow-point Teflon-coated ammo, but I support the Second Amendment, which is just as bad. May as well be a co-conspirator with Scott Roeder and James von Brunn.

I detest the corrupt Mengele-like genocidal statutory rape-hiding abortion industry that needs reform even more than Iran’s government, but support a woman’s LEGAL right to choose. It’s the law. Until and unless it’s overturned, what can you do? Shoot up clinics? Ya, in my Rethug dreams!

I’m really not a bathroom footsie player, or like cock and hairy ass in general. But gay marriage is legal in my home state of New Hampshire and I haven’t been sodomized yet, so live and let live. What can I say, I’m weak. And even though as a six-year veteran I believe in General Douglas MacArthur’s axiom that “no one hates war more than the soldier,” sometimes they just gotta be fought if civilization as we know it must survive. Be it a cold war with the Russians or hot ones with Hitler and bin Laden, the dirty deeds must be done. And without quarter until victory is complete.

Fight a war to the end or don’t fight it. You can’t do both. One way assures victory, the other defeat. The Art of Fighting Without Fighting doesn’t work with the abu Musab al-Zarqawis of this world.

Worst of all? I was born and raised in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Now THAT’S a confession! How can I ever face my conservative redneck Republican sister-banging moonshine-guzzling Zionist drinking buddies at the NRSC and AIPAC again?

I put it all on the table, people. Now, if only liberal Democrat lefties would freely admit to all the world that they’re all hypocritical, mentally disordered, drug-addled, tree-hugging, America-hating, nihilist anarchist recruiting office-bombing, terrorist and dictator-loving, tinfoil hat, limp-wrist pansy spoiled brat full-grown trust fund Stalinist toddlers who couldn’t get gangbanged by the Green Bay Packers hard or fast enough (practice squads included), maybe we’ll get somewhere in this country.

I seek progress, not perfection. We can all sit down together and have one big ideological circle jerk. Get it out of our systems, you know? Hey, we’re all Americans here! Confession is good for the soul. Or your metaphysical, Pagan or Wiccan existential plane of being, depending on your religious or non-religious proclivities and inclinations.

God, I feel so good now. Got it all out. Okay, let’s hear it in the comments section now. No holding back. That includes you, Unrighteous Bubba and Cognitive Dissonant. Tell us about all the kinky things you like to do with tinfoil, Vaseline and vacuum cleaners while watching sick online German porn in your mothers’ basements