(Cross-posted at Pajamas Media.)

Not everything that happens outside the Democratic National Convention fits into a “theme” of some sort. Instead, a chaotic kaleidoscope of sights and scenes assault your senses, until you just get overwhelmed. The following series of images were all taken within the space of two hours. I present them here to give everyone a more gut-level impression of what walking around Denver is like this week.

The factory had a huge inventory of Bill Cosby dolls left over from the 1980s; Obama gets nominated — bingo! — dust off the boxes, change the names, and we’re back in business.

Wherever there was a blank wall of sufficient size in downtown Denver, the Obama campaign or the Democratic party or someone hung these gargantuan Rocky Mountain Messiah posters.

Lady, I hear what you’re sayin’.

I found this quite interesting: never before have I seen the Secret Service and the FBI (notice the “USSS” and “FBI” tags in the window) patrol city streets like beat cops. I’ve been noticing cars like this one prowling downtown Denver night and day.

Haven’t heard or seen the word “Change” enough recently? This guy’s got your fix, jumbo-style:
CHANGE CHANGE CHANGE CHANGE CHANGE CHANGE!

I thought the guy in the foreground was just another Obama supporter, trying to talk Nader-ites into voting for a candidate who could actually win. But when I spoke with him, it turned out he was a fan of the original Jesus, not the new one.

Recreate 68 had a permanent encampment in Civic Center Park which they optimistically called “The Festival of Democracy” because they had scheduled a full slate of speakers, performers and musical acts all day every day. But whenever I swung by to check out how the festival was going, the scene inevitably looked like this: a desolate, near-empty amphitheater, with a tiny handful of bored stragglers. Perhaps they should have called it the “Festival of Where Is Everybody?”.

One of the festival’s many speakers was Ward Churchill’s wife and communist firebrand Natsu Saito (if anyone who speaks in a monotone as she does can be called a firebrand), who seemed to be guarded by bandanna-wearing members of the American Indian Movement.

No more ass-crackery!

Well, at least you’ve got to give them credit for being honest.

Every now and then, a protester or three would show up who just didn’t fit in to any of the existing protest categories. Anarchists? No. Hillary supporters? Nope. Abortion activists? Nuh-uh. Communists? Nyet. Environmentalists cult-members extremists bikers Christians feminists Palestinians? No no no no no. So they’d usually just stand off by themselves, wondering what to do.

Lo and behold, my old friends the Bush Legacy Bus showed up as well, but once again I was denied: the last time I saw them, the bus had nowhere to park, so I couldn’t get on to see the exhibits. This time they had successfuly stopped, but — isn’t life ironic? — they had a power failure in the bus and had to close.

This sign conveys in the most concise manner possible the Left’s self-negating thesis concerning the American military: our soldiers are crude, violent occupiers who fight wars to steal oil; AND they’re sad, pitiable victims who get their legs blown off fighting wars they don’t want to fight (notice the artificial legs), and that the way we can “support the troops” is to bring them all home permanently. I see this paradoxical and fundamentally illogical position promoted everywhere these days.

It can be yours for the low low price of twenty Amerikkkan dollars.