The Rake Magazine

Green is the new watchword for consumer products and goods. We can track our carbon footprints, find out how many miles our food traveled to our plates, and make a point only to have toe-curling carnal gymnastics with Prius drivers — so why do we insist on persecuting those entrepreneurial souls trying to provide a local option to area pot-heads, tweakers, and cuddle-puddlers?

Despite law enforcement's best efforts, as much as 80 percent of drugs in Minnesota arrive from warmer climes, especially Mexico. This, of course, begs the question as to why illegal immigrants are demonized while most of the folks causing cross-border shenanigans are happy to leave the country upon making their deliveries, with a stop in Tijuana for a relaxing day at the spa, and perhaps a donkey show. It also represents a vexing conundrum. In a world where we supporting our local farmers is a nigh-Stalinistic directive, where people trade in their SUVs for effete gas-sipping roller skates, and where food labels have become nightmarish non-Euclidean landscapes with organic designations and seals of approval handed down by eldritch beings older than time itself, why do people not pump more money into our local economy by tweaking locally as well?

Instead of jailing these entrepreneurial souls, where they're more than certain to make recreational pharmaceuticals for penal distribution from a slurry of toilet water, Kool Aid, powdered laundry detergent and tears, we should be celebrating them. Don't look at it as 18.4 pounds of illicit narcotics. We should view it as 18.4 pounds of premium Minnesota agriculture. And not only do these enterprising young men reduce the carbon footprint of Minnesotan addicts, but they also contribute to geopolitical stability. If we choose local drugs, we reduce demand for narcotic happiness from Mexico. In turn, this reduces the power of Mexican drug kingpins, allowing police in Northern Mexico to have something vaguely resembling hope in their war on drugs. On the other hand, anything that keeps chubby prepubescent boys gainfully employed while getting some exercise can't be all bad.

Regardless, this new sustainable approach to drugs will yield benefits all around. The quality of product will likely rise, as the meth flowing through the border is only about 70 to 75 percent pure — American craftsmanship always wins out in the end. It's better for the environment, as shipping is dramatically decreased and trucks won't be crashing through pristine wilderness areas during high speed chases with the border patrol or Captain Planet. Plus, it keeps money in the local economy. Millions of dollars that once flowed south will stay in Minnesotan coffers, enriching Best Buy, Target, local liquor stores, chemical supply warehouses, and local weapons dealers throughout the metro area and beyond.

Not to mention another benefit — with increased need for drug enforcement, Minneapolis and Saint Paul will have more reason to exercise the loopholes in the new property tax cap that allow the cities to raise property taxes beyond the limit to pay for new police officers. This call for additional peace officers reduces unemployment and underemployment, plus provides more news for the ailing newspaper industry to cover, what with the increased prevalence of neighborhood meth lab explosions, police shoot outs and high speed chases.

And with the plight of the family farmer constantly in the news, this push for a more sustainable drug trade couldn't come at a more opportune time. Ready access to fertilizer, ample tillable land and isolated homesteads with few nosy neighbors investigating odd smells mean huge windfalls for enterprising farmers looking to capitalize on the new craze. Buffalo, MN could potentially be Minnesota's next boom town — reaping not only economic benefits, but rapid increases in diversity, local entertainment, and notoriety.

Of course, these benefits would not be without drawbacks. The surburban traffic that once passed through Minneapolis' less savory neighborhoods in search of their fix would move north to Buffalo. And if there's one thing no man should wish on his neighbor, it's an influx of people from Lakeville.

On the well-manicured lawn that is the Democratic primary, there resides a two large groups of little old men shouting epithets at one another, screaming for "these kids" to get the fuck off their lawn.

Sadly, these arthritic individuals aren't Edina's most senior residents, as one might expect of these wizened figures glowering at any who would dare trespass on their pristine grass. No, these crotchety creatures shaking their fists at one another are the splintered remnants of the once proudly unified Democratic party. Now, after months of spewing bile and vitriol in the most closely fought primary in U.S. election history, the party is split - a camel toe on the hot pants of American politics, if you will.

One group sides with the party's Luke Skywalker - Barack Obama. With the Force as his guide and a lightsaber wit he has systematically thwarted the ambitions of his opposition in most states without a reputation for incest or goat love. Up until a few months ago, Hillary Clinton was the presumptive nominee - basking in the collective adulation of the left-hand of American politics with a nigh-unbelievable midichlorian count. Now she has been pushed off her pedestal and is seeking to parlay her grip on America's crotch into a last desperate hope for a presidential nod.

Regardless of who is eventually chosen as the Democratic nominee, the party is in trouble. With a significant percentage of each candidates' saying they'd never vote for the other, what used to look like a potential majority in congress along with a nigh-certain seat in the Oval Office, complete with nubile interns ready to provide service with a smile, is turning into a potential tossup if Democrats embittered by the primary stay home or vote Green. Minnesota is a prime example of this phenomenon, with thousands of Obamites crying for blood in the event of what now looks like an unlikely Hillary win.

Normally, this all or nothing mentality would seem to be something to be respected, or at least be a compelling argument for instant runoff voting. And I have nothing but admiration for those who are willing to shoot themselves in the foot to take a stand against a cause they believe to be immoral. However, in this case it's not shooting themselves in the foot so much as it is packing their collective rectum with C-4 and handing the detonator to the Evil Midnight Bomber What Bombs at Midnight.

Voting Green isn't equated with explosive asses as a general rule, but those are the stakes set by Democrats this year. According to virtually every one of them, this next election is the one that will determine the country's position on the world stage - a plausible theory given that Canadian money is now as valuable as the U.S. dollar. If that's not a sign of America's pending doom, what is? But why is such a significant percentage of Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama's supporters so willing to throw away the chance to set the direction of the country for years to come when the candidates' policies bear incredible similarities, especially when stacked up against the Republican competition?

The bottom line is that the entire election campaign has consisted of talk about the necessity of change, about change for the better, about the country being unable to afford four more years of the same failed foreign policy. So why are so many Democrats already so bitter that they've made up their minds before the chosen candidate, whoever it may be, has a chance to make his or her platform known without getting a Democratic donkey punch after every speech - thus risking the very change they claim to want more than a sweaty night on a circle bed with Scarlet Johansson and the winners of The Rake's Most Beautiful People at the Capitol contest?

As the 2008 session draws to a close with no small amount of pomp and ceremony today, it is a time to reflect upon the marvel that is the modern democratic process. More particularly, it is a time to think about the countless hordes of people at the Capitol who toil every day to grease the cogs in the great machine that is our state government, their pleated khaki pants and skirts billowing softly in the gentle breeze coming in off the Mississippi. For it is not just the Sex Hog who deserves recognition. All who emerge dripping with sweat into the sunlight after months of drafting bills and desperately searching for common ground - even if that common ground consists simply of looking across the aisle gazing longingly at a particularly striking member of the opposition party.

So today, to recognize the profound brilliance, and hotness, that is our public servants at the Capitol, marks the launch of The Defenestrator's first annual "Most Beautiful People at the Capitol". The award recognizes the beauty and brains of all those who will emerge today on the Capitol steps, hungry for the alcohol and thousands of hours of comp time that is their due. And the top 10 most beautiful people at the Capitol, five men and five women, will receive a fabulous prize package and a photo shoot to be featured here, on The Rake. But to find those souls most deserving of this award, we need your help.

Yes, it's up to you to help determine who the top 10 most beautiful people at the Capitol are. So if a legislative assistant caught your eye from across the aisle, if a fetching intern's work on health care reform dazzled you in its brilliance, if you were stopped in your tracks by a strapping researcher with rippling triceps balancing a daunting stack of books that rivaled any of Hercules' 12 labors, or even if the dizzying smile of a Capitol police officer brought to mind fantasies of being "taken in" for petty larceny, let us know in the comments below (yes, we take anonymous comments) or send us an email at goldsmith@rakemag.com. Simply let us know who at the Capitol, from legislators to interns and lobbyists, fits the bill by Friday, May 30, and we'll tally the votes.

So before you run off to The Liffey to cope with the shock of effective legislative compromise, take a moment to nominate a colleague who toils in obscurity despite their obvious beauty and brains. For what is politics if not yet another quest for beauty, truth, and possibly someone who fills out Dockers in all the right ways?

Every hero needs a sidekick. Tombstone had Hammerhead, Batman had Robin, Thundarr the Barbarian had Princess Ariel and Ookla, and Paris Hilton had everyone. Repeatedly. Now, in the twilight years of his life, John McCain yearns for the same sort of comforting companionship that comes from a bosom buddy who can double as an effective lackey in a pinch. And while recommendations for this coveted position have streamed in from the furthest corners of the United States and beyond, some say the baleful eye of the GOP's very own Methuselah has come to rest in the Land of 10,000 Lakes.

Several names are being bandied about as potential choices for McCain's VP/life insurance policy, however Minnesota governor Tim Pawlenty has been near or at the top of every one. And why wouldn't he be? Our governor brings suburban good looks, boyish charm that has consistently delivered astronomical approval ratings despite nigh-constant legislative gridlock and the chance to gain an edge in a state that hasn't been in electoral play since Nixon in 1972. So what if he lacks a sense of humor and we all shift uncomfortably in our seats when he makes any sort of sexual reference? The fact remains that Gov. Pawlenty has known McCain for nearly 30 years and is rather well liked in the hallowed halls of GOP power brokers - giving pundits across the country a chance to look down their noses, shuffle papers, and expound endlessly on the subject, coming to the inevitable conclusion that Pawlenty is the man for the job.

And why am I different from those pundits? Well, I swear rather often, I'm more misanthropic, and I have a demonstrated appreciation for boobs.

So, while Gov. Timmy prepares to veto the recently passed education bill, which he warned the legislature not to if they ever wanted to see their precious Central Corridor, ever again, the unrelenting discussion spews forth from cable news networks and online media whenever there's a break in the unspeakable clusterfuck that is the contest between Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton. Who will be McCain's running mate? The Washington Post was so desperate for news this past Sunday that they even wrote a top five list of potential candidates. Of course, since no one really has much clue what sort of decisions Sen. Senility hath wrought, some of the candidates listed for the position of Senate tiebreaker and chief presidential bootlicker stretched the bounds of plausibility and entered the realm of OMGWTFLOLBBQ.

Take #5 for example - Mitt Romney. Not only was he exposed during his campaign for the presidency as an overly-ambitious, ego-driven lackwit, but this political chameleon with more hair gel than neurons has one central roadblock preventing him from merrily prancing down the road to sipping kiddie cocktails at McCain's side in the White House (aside from that whole general election thing) - Johnny despises him. Loathes him with the heat of 1,000 suns, even. And since Mr. McCain already likely feels the encroaching doom of his mortality quite keenly, he's not likely looking to give Romney a job that's but one ninja throwing star away from the presidency.

In any case, if Pawlenty does get the nod as the presidential sidekick, the bigger question is whether he'd accept the unflattering spandex outfit and wacky catchphrases that are often the job's sad requirement. And why would he? For the last two legislative sessions he's made the DFL dance to his machinations, and in just a few more years he may be able to run for the presidency against Barack Obama. A few more years, and a possible withdrawal from Iraq, would do wonders to further divorce him from the Bush legacy - which is, without a doubt, the 250lb transvestite hooker with questionable immigration status pounds on the door of virtually every GOP campaign event, demanding the money for last night.

And if Pawlenty doesn't accept, it'd be quite sad for McCain's Straight Talk Express. Tears would flow as the campaign staffers realize that Minnesota's desperation for recognition on a national level - the same desperation that leads the state to lay claim to celebrities with tenuous Minnesota ties at best - won't work in their favor this election cycle.

But really, who are we kidding? How often does the office of the vice presidency get offered to a man? Here we have a savvy politician with ambition and a hunger to reduce Democrats to groveling and simpering lumps of flesh, fighting for scraps from the very government they should be controlling. Would he say no to his Great American Hero? Would he defy the call to arms? Could he resist the siren song of this real life Captain America, forswearing the clinging spandex and short shorts of the sidekick, possibly forever? Could he resist the temptation of vice presidential booty calls given that Mary has denied him her womanly charms for so long, so very long?

I say thee nay.

As the debate at the capitol starts to sound eerily Tyra-inspired, it's important to note that, according to The Defenestrator's highly-knowledgeable sources, had House and Senate leadership handled Pawlenty's veto of the Central Corridor differently, many of the problems the DFL caucus has with Tim Pawlenty's demands likely would have been non-issues. As things stand, (or sit, bound and gagged to a chair, really) Sen. Steve "Technicolor Dreamcoat" Murphy and Rep. Margaret Kelliher are in dire need of Mick Jagger's sage counsel, not to mention a safe word:

You see, the DFL caucus blew their proverbial wad when the veto of the Central Corridor came down. Rather than allowing the public to comment on this great disturbance in the Force, the one that felt as if millions of public transit users cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced, the DFL legislators tipped their hand, letting Gov. Pawlenty know just how desperately they craved the long sinuous track running sensuously through Frogtown's deepest and most secret crevices. And while the train is rather important, the fiscal solvency of Minnesota's cities would seem to be even more important than joining hands and riding the love train.

And what could possibly threaten our urban areas enough to risk jeopardizing quiet and comfortable public transit to our finest ethnic eateries? Simple - in a bizarre twist, our executive branch wants to play nanny. Not to any delicious babies, of course - he prefers free range - but to property owners. It's no secret that our governor has not enjoyed the nigh-daily dirty sanchez he receives from irate constituents and opponents who blame him for stratospheric hikes in property taxes. And it's true that, while he may not exert direct control over said taxes, his cuts in local government aid and other funding has forced our cities and towns to look for revenue in other places...like our homes. Now that he has the DFL caucus bound, gagged, and spread-eagled, Timmy has decided that the best way to address the situation is to place a cap on those property taxes. Of course, out of the goodness of his heart he tied it to the consumer price index to account for inflation - his version of the reach-around. Too bad he has freakishly short arms.

While Gov. Pawlenty's concern for the taxpaying public is like a warm fuzzy blanket made from the fur of 1,000 virgin kittens, the consequences to urban areas could be disastrous. Minneapolis and St. Paul were forced to drop the quality of essential services during the last downturn, shedding police and fire department employees, not to mention Minneapolis residents' unrequited desire to borrow books on Sundays. Given that no one wants to see Minneapolis cops any more surly, hamstringing one of the cities' primary sources of funds seems like a profoundly bad idea. The sort of idea that would come from the diseased mind of a crack-addled human/badger crossbreed, actually.

This is not to say the DFL's magical new formula for determining property tax refunds is sent down from the heavens, carried by rainbow riding valkyries singing show tunes. Capping property taxes at 2 percent of income for anyone earning less than $100,000 would make the tax code more progressive, but there are far simpler ways to accomplish that goal - like perhaps actually making the tax code progressive. Wacky idea, I know, but it just might work.

In any case, the legislative session continues on unabated despite the governor's hand wrapped firmly around the collective genitalia of the DFL caucus, squeezing more tightly every day. The only question remaining is just how much will the legislature sacrifice to preserve its precious precious light rail. And whether Rep. Kelliher and Gov. Pawlenty agreed on a safe word. The variable that still remains to be determined, of course, is what DFL legislature has to give up in exchange for freedom. Delicious. Tantalizing. Freedom..