cars vs chickens

America has fallen hard for the 'Cash for Clunkers' program, and the House today approved an additional two billion dollars in funding to help keep the love affair alive. The wildly successful program was supposedly funded through October, but has run out of cash after only a week. "America loves that new car smell," said House Appropriations Chairman David Obey, who ironically is also the owner of a brand new automobile. "It makes them happy and optimistic about their future. People have been acting like they're all flat busted, but I guess this proves that a lot of them were just faking. Hopefully now they'll go out and buy all sorts of other crap, and before you know it, the economy will be soaring." Not everybody is pleased with the Clunkers program, however. Take Congressman Jeb Hensarling, who is upset that his Texas district is not getting two billion dollars. "Recently, one of the largest poultry producers in America - Pilgrim’s Pride, just a few miles outside of my congressional district, had to declare Chapter 11," fumed Hensarling. "Maybe we should have a 'Cash for Cluckers' program and pay people to eat chicken." "That's ridiculous," replied Obey, "you don't need to pay people to eat chicken. Chicken is delicious. People just love to eat it. And it's economical, too. Right now you can get a twelve piece box at Popeyes for just $11.99, and it comes accessorized with a half pint of mashed potatoes and four buttermilk biscuits." "Maybe that's true, and maybe that's not," Hensarling shot back. "I haven't seen the documentation, so I don't know. Anyhow, it's a moot point, cause we don't have a Popeye in my district, and now we don't have a Pilgrim's Pride, either. So in the Fightin' Fifth District, we're plumb out of chicken." "I suppose you could import chicken... Why not send an appeal out to Colonel Sanders?" “Because we don't have a Kentucky Fried, either, you sanctimonious prick," Hensarling retorted. "I tell you, the fact is we're flat out of chicken. It’s not humorous, because this is an extension of a program that has the government picking winners and losers. Why is the auto industry the winner? Why is the poultry industry the loser?" "Because paying the people in your district to eat chicken doesn't accomplish a damn thing, Hensarling." "It'd make the voters happy, Obey. Just like your car program." "Point taken. Wanna sponsor a joint resolution?"

Birthermania

Well, lookie here! According to a poll commissioned by Daily Kos (and what could be more reliable than that?), a whopping 58% of Republicans either believe President Obama wasn't born in the US (28%) or aren't sure (30%). Even in the brave new culture of proud ignorance, I have trouble believing those numbers.

I have my own interpretation of the numbers - 58% of [the surveyed] Republicans are willing to feign stupidity as an additional crutch to help deal with their fear and abhorrence of having a liberal black man as the president.

Nice party you got there, GOP. You must be proud.

Yer Friday Funk

Funkadelic - 'I got a Thing'
This is the earliest Funkadelic footage I've seen. From a 1970 Cleveland TV show on WEWS called Upbeat, and hosted by the station's weatherman. Note that the still very underground Funkadelic appears before special guest Bobby Sherman...

Complete Friday Funk

Joe Jackson wins top prize

"Omer Bhatti is Michael's secret son," confirmed proud grampa Joe Jackson, placing a cherry atop what has been for him an almost perfect day. The morning began with the surprising news that his wife Katherine had been awarded full custody of all three of deceased pop star Michael Jackson's children, a decision in which the eighty-year-old tyrant was not even mentioned. Elated, Jackson went a near-by 7-11, where he celebrated by purchasing half a dozen scratch-off lottery tickets. One of these yielded the top prize - a cool $20,000!!! "It was a 'California Crossword' ticket," said the beaming patriarch, who admits that in the past he's shied away from this particular game. "It's kind of literary, whereas most scratch-offs are all about the numbers. This one is all words that you have to cross-reference to prize amounts, so it can be quite confusing. See, you have to completely uncover two words using the letters you get at the top of the ticket, and then you go to the bonus word which doesn't count as a word in the prize key and then... Oh hell, like I said, it's quite confusing. You just have to play it for yourself and see what I'm talking about." Jackson reluctantly agreed to return to the topic of Omer Bhattie, who is a 25 year-old aspiring Norwegian rapper. "I told him 'Son, they don't know beans about rap music over there in Norway, you're just going to have to move to California and listen up to Daddy Joe. But I tell you what, he looks like a Jackson, acts like a Jackson, and can dance like a Jackson. So he must be a Jackson, even with that funny name of his. But back to California Crossword, it took me a couple minutes before I even realized that I had a winner, trying to make sense of those instructions and all. But then I realized what I was holding and I said 'Dang, Joe, you just had your birthday two days ago, but it looks like the real party is happening today." Asked what he would do with his $20,000 top prize, Joe paused before replying "Well, as of today, I've got myself four out of a Jackson Five, so I might just give it to Jermaine in exchange for using one of his kids for a few years."

Ratzinger's Angel

In an incident which may portend more disharmony to come, Pope Benedict today blamed Cindy Webster for an Italian trip-and-fall mishap which resulted in a broken right wrist. "Unfortunately, my guardian angel - certainly following orders from above - did not prevent my accident," claimed Benedict, handing Cindy a ready alibi just in case he happened to need her services again in the future. Webster, who splits her guardian angel apprentice time between the Pope and some eight hundred other far less worthy mortals, was not in the least amused by the Pontiff's pontificating. "I didn't prevent his latest little boo boo, oh my. Guess I might as well turn in my wings right now, your holiness," she chided. "I suppose I should have forgotten all about old Stanly Walichovski and left him peacefully to his slumbers so that he could go ahead and drive into that bus full of Swiss tourists. Or maybe I could have let little Kluzu Ghamana expire from her typhoid fever. That way I could have rushed back to Italy and turned on the light switch for you so you wouldn't trip over a friggin bedpost." Noting that she had already "saved his ass more times than you can shake a stick at," Webster suggested a meeting. "Perhaps we should have a nice little chat about those long forgotten days back in the German Army... No? Well then, don't be trying to bust my chops now, Ratzinger."

Mr Freeze

Coupla stories, separated by only twelve hours, from the broke-ass state of California, where they're still printing IOUs to pay for city services. As you probably know, the one-time golden state finally managed to put together a budget, one that rather severely scaled down social services ranging from education to AIDs funding to state parks. Well, it happens, you over-spend and under-tax, and before you know it, you hardly have enough scratch left to give Michael Jackson a decent send-off. Yesterday: Once the budget hit his desk, Governor Schwarzenegger, in a dramatic gesture, used his line item veto super-powers to make $489 million in additional cuts. "This budget is kind of like the good, the bad and the ugly," he said, apparently with the most disadvantaged taking the Eli Wallach role. Among the new cuts, $80 million for workers aiding abused and neglected children; $50 million for healthcare to children in poor families; $50 million for developmentally delayed children under age 3; $16 million for domestic-violence programs; and $6.3 million from services for the elderly. Times is tough, and property tax is frozen. Today: Schwarzenegger announced that "Beverly Hills Chihuahua 2 and Naked Gun 4 are among the first 25 movie and television programs to qualify for a state-funded production tax credit aimed at keeping entertainment industry dollars in California." Cost of program? $500 million. Nice symbolism, Mr Freeze. Hope you get a nice political return on your investment.

bees to honey

From the 'Things that are more interesting to talk about than health care dept."

What's it gonna be? Personally I'd recommend Olde English forties, but that's just me.

Orly Taitz has a very good day

Oh my, Queen of the birthers Orly Taitz had about as big a self-affirmation day as it is possible to have. From the one and only Official Blog for Dr. Orly Taitz Esquire come these exciting updates.



I hope no one tells Orly why politicians have Facebook pages.

Oh no, Eric Cantor, you bastard! “It is a bipartisan practice and common sense that when a person signs up to be a ‘friend’ or ‘supporter’ on an elected official’s social networking site, they are signaling support of the elected official,” said Brad Dayspring, a spokesman for the Virginia Republican. “It does not signal an endorsement of the views of any individual or group.”

Parnell tips into the spotlight

Governor Parnell celebrates his rise to power by skating a victory lap through the streets of Anchorage. "So, how 'bout in honor of the American soldier, ya quite makin' things up. And don't underestimate the wisdom of the people, and one other thing for the media, our new governor has a very nice family too, so leave his kids alone." - Sarah Palin addresses press at resignation speech Newly crowned 'Mr Alaska' Sean Parnell doesn't have much in common with his predecessor Sarah 'Quitter' Palin, although they do share one familiar trait; an attitude of ambivalent suspicion towards the media. And so it was with a certain amount of trepidation that he agreed to meet reporters in order to clarify his statement from yesterday that there was "only one word for Sarah Palin's resignation speech - 'completely inadequate'." "Sure, some of you media guys probably want to pounce all over this," said the new governor of America's icebox. "You'll be saying, 'completely inadequate', that's two words, and the fact is, that's true. It is two words. But I'm not the one that said I had one word. That was the media. Is there a singular English word that means 'completely inadequate'? No, there is not. There is an Inuit word I could have used - katakartanaq - but if I had used that, you probably would have accused me of speaking gobbledygook. How many of you know what gobbledygook means? Oh. All of you?" "Sure. Clever bunch, you media guys. You write so much of it. My point was... What's that, Nanook? You say katakartanaq is one of the seventy-three Inuit words for snow? That's very true, and I shouldn't be surprised that a reporter from the Arctic Tribune would be aware of that fact. But then, smart guy that you are, you would also know that this word is used during polar bear hunting when the snowfall is just a smattering, insufficient to drive the polar bears out of their hiding place. Henceforth, katakartanaq. Completely inadequate." "Snow doesn't drive polar bears out of their lairs? Where'd you get that from? You're not a polar bear hunter, you're a damn newspaper reporter. Your daddy was a polar bear hunter? Huh. Well, your daddy's not here now, is he? So my point is, Sarah Palin's little speech yesterday was completely inadequate because she didn't mention my name a single time. It's Sean Parnell, Governor Sean Parnell. Yesterday should have been all about me and my rather remarkable rise to power, not about some quitter. I'm Alaska's very own Gerald Ford. He was a president. Make a note of that. He came to power when there was another quitter in office. How many of you were aware of that? All of you? Damn." "Anyway, my point is. Everybody's interested in Alaska these days. God knows why, but they are. And our frozen tundra has become the stairway to the stars, politically speaking. I guess. I sure as heck want to give it a shot, anyway, so it makes a lot of sense for me to try to be available to you as much as I can stomach. So when Sarah Palin tells you to leave my family alone, take that with a grain of salt. She sure as heck tried to get her family in front of a camera at every opportunity. My daughters are teenagers and they want all the attention they can get. My wife, too, I assume. She acts like she does. All I know is that as a man I'm going to have to try twice as hard to get half the attention as you know who. So go ahead, make things up, pester my family, I'm ready. I guess."

Sunday Storytime

from the archives...

Three Ways to Friday

There were three ways to Friday, and none of them were easy. Not to add undue emphasis to the previous statement, but none of the solutions were even doable, okay, at least from a historic vantage point. They had been contemplated before. They had been attempted. But, success? Not at this juncture… Way one to Friday: cross the moat. It is an old fashioned method, to be sure, but very effective nonetheless. In a high-tech world, the enemy would often appear in a low-tech context. Superb and strong, they would fight much like the ancient kings, a sword in front, a laser in back, wearing a wide devil-may-care grin. Their bravado always had the potential to carry them over the top. “Benjy, are you getting ready for bed?” Benjy. She had called him Benjy. How little she knew of his true nature. Agent Friday shelved the heartache. It was best left this way. Way two to Friday: successful landing on the castle helipad. This would be truly daring considering how well fortified the castle top was, and the sophistication of the missile defense currently deployed here in West Goodland. Suicidal. “Benjy! Lights out in five minutes. It’s your bedtime. Way three to Friday: teleportation. This one worried him. Frankly, Friday did not understand teleportation, and it was in his nature to distrust what he didn’t understand. It was times such as these that Friday felt the burden of his young age, and he would worry that perhaps he did not possess sufficient skill and cunning to provide the sort of leadership West Goodland so desperately needed at this historic juncture. Ah, screw it. If the miserable citizens were not supportive of his labors, let them rise up and seize control of their own godforsaken planet. Bedtime my ass, muttered Agent Friday, as he called up his trusty companion Jocko on the telesponder. Jocko was not your ordinary super intelligent costume wearing Chimpanzee spacer ranger, oh no, he was also Agent Friday’s closest friend. Jocko was better than people at keeping secrets, and better than monkeys at shooting a gun. Teleportation. That possibility was weighing heavily on Friday. He just couldn't understand the concept. His mother ripped a seam in the space-time continuum, and thrust open a door where there was no door. She aimed her sonic reducer at his neck where the skin showed pink, effectively ending his mission and his life. Game over. Set. Done. There were four ways to Friday…

farewell picnic

"My, my, Sarah, I've been to a lot of parties in my life, but I've got to say this is one wild shingding you're throwing here today." "Did you mean to say shindig, Senator? Cause I'm not real sure what a shingding is." "I'm not either, to tell you the honest truth, it's just something the young people say today. I went to a shingding at Eric Cantor's place the other day, and it wasn't worth a hill of beans." "Is this another of your little tests, John McCain? Just because I don't know what a hill of beans is worth doesn't meant that I'm not totally ready and capable of governing." "But I was under the impression that the purpose of today's shingding was to celebrate the fact that you're ceasing to govern... More time for the kids, more time for hunting and fishing." "Look, if you've come up to Wasilla just to harass me, I'm going to... Oh, hi, Senator Stevens, ready for some more? Willow, give the nice old man another ooga booga." "Which old man is the nice one, mommy?" "Neither of them, Willow, but the one with the funny smell and the mustard on his shirt is Senator Stevens." "Did you just call that tube steak an ooga booga, Sarah?" "Don't you talk like that in front of my daughter, John McCain! We don't use that type of language here in Alaska!" "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I had just never heard anyone refer to a wiener as a..." "Wiener! Oh my God, you didn't just say the W word in front of a child! I am not believing this... Willow, you run along and play horseshoes with Senator Stevens... I am ashamed of you, John McCain. It's no wonder I lost to Barack Obama, saddled with a running mate like you." "Still a little bitter, are we?" "I am not bitter, I am determined! You would never call a male politician bitter or a bitch or blinded by ambition but you feel perfectly comfortable saying those things to me. Well I've got news for you, John McCain, I've got my whole life in front of me, unlike some people I could mention who have one foot in the grave." "Okay... Look, I apologize. I just wanted to come by and wish you the best... So... good luck. And... before I go, do you think I could get one of those ooga boogas?" "You'll have to get in line and wait, just like everybody else."

you know, for once I agree with Kristol...

On the Professor Gates affair: "Maybe it was Professor Gates who behaved stupidly, or at least arrogantly. He is, after all, a Harvard professor. I was once a Harvard professor, and my instinct is to side with the Cambridge cops."

I know what you mean, Bill. I wouldn't trust anyone from an institution that saw fit to grant you a Ph.D...

unconcealed

pic from WearAGun Screwed again! Now the liberals have taken away our second amendment right to drift aimlessly from state to state with a gun stuck down our pants. If we don't rise up and take our country back soon, there won't be anything left to take back, just a vast stinking shit-hole filled with skyscrapers and nail salons. And Taco Bells. I hate Taco Bells. You know who eats that shit? Mexicans and Mexican wannabes. And my ex-boyfriend Pablo who only convinced me he wasn't a Mexican by showing me a California driver's license. Real Americans go out into the wilderness to hunt and kill their own food with their new boyfriend, and I ain't never seen a chimichanga out there in the wild. I don't think. Maybe I did, but it sure didn't look like something I would ever want to eat, so I just shot it. Well, I thought about shooting it, but it was mooing so loud that some guy in coveralls came out of this barn-type thing and chased me out of the wilderness. With a gun, god bless his worthless hide.

six more months of safety

Former Vice President Dick Cheney has been granted six more months of Secret Service protection, his request being recently approved by his archenemy Barack Obama. "There's something mighty suspicious about President Obama agreeing to this so quickly," said Cheney apologist Mary Matalin. "Quite frankly, his acquiescence is downright disturbing, as though this administration wants to keep Vice President Cheney under close surveillance. I believe I know what Dick was thinking when he made his request; he was certain that it would be turned down and he could play it as a personalization of how Obama didn't want to keep the country safe. I'm afraid that we've badly underestimated the President's cunning. He'll do anything to keep the truth under wraps, even if it means keeping a great American like Dick Cheney under house arrest." "Mary is right," says protective daughter Liz Cheney, self-appointed defender of the Cheney name. "The Secret Service is a vast, shadowy, amoral organization who will work for anyone as long as they have the word 'president' in front of their name. President Adolph Hitler? No problem. President Satan? Ready to serve. President Hussein Obama? Just tell us what you need, boss. Obama's probably just waiting for the moment when he needs to bring my father out for some kind of barbaric show trial. And now they're going to have daddy all hemmed in. Oh god... They're even following me. They're not supposed to be, but I see them everywhere I go!" The man himself does not share in this paranoia, laughing off the fears expressed by his daughter. "So the Secret Service will do anything, will they?" laughs Cheney, speaking by phone from an undisclosed room in his house at 1126 Chain Bridge Road in McLean, Virginia. "Well, I once told the Secret Service to kill Senator Leahy and they looked at me like I was crazy. So Liz can calm down. Paranoia is when you think somebody is out to get you. I know that somebody is out to get me - al-Qaeda. They want revenge because I marginalized their entire terrorist movement and made their operatives squeal. That's why I need continued protection, to protect me from that group of thugs. Them, and that creepy guy who has knives for fingernails."

Beehive

HEY LADIES!! "I'm Jessica Steele, proprietor of the world famous Beehive Beauty Salon, located in the pink house off the Pallmer-Wasilla highway! And of course you know my friend here. HI SARAH!" Your client, Jessica. Your former client. "She is such a kidder!!! I've been doing her hair like forever, except for sometimes when she was trying to court the mainstream media. It's one of the Beehive's famous beehives, and it looks great!! So thick and full!!!!" I have never tried to court the mainstream media. And it is not a beehive. It's an upsweep. "Whatever. Anyway, I just wanted to say something, and I'm glad you're here with me while I say it, Sarah!" I'm not here with you, Jessica. You photoshopped me in. "Whatever. Like I even know what that means. Anyway, I'm really ticked off at the New York Times. I'm pig bitin' mad! You saw my tweet didn't you, Sarah? I tweeted 'REALLY TORQUED at the NYT!!!', right? You saw it." Over a million people follow me on Twitter. Why would I see your stupid tweet? "She saw it. Anyway, they had like this article a couple of weeks ago, and there I am with things coming out of my mouth that the New York Times just like totally made up! Like they said that I said that Sarah's hair was getting all thin and that I had to give her emergency hair first aid! Like I'm in an ambulance or something... And I do not talk about my friends!" Your client, Jessica. Your former client. And as a matter of fact, every time you've ever done my hair, the only thing we talk about is your clients. "I do not talk about my friends except to other friends, cause, you know, mi amigo es tu amigo, like we're all friends. That's Spanish! Anyway, so I know you saw my next tweet, Sarah. I tweeted 'Media is so desperate to attack Sarah Palin they are saying lies about her hair!' God, you don't lie about somebody's hair, even if it's true, which this was most certainly not, and I should know, cause I'm your hairdresser! Right? And then I tweeted 'I am her HAIRDRESSER!! U will not use me in a LIE media!!!!' Right?" "You know what, Sarah? You don't think that the New York Times would send somebody up here that would pretend to be my friend just so they could get their hair done and talk about my other friends, do you? Cause like there was there this girl that came in a couple weeks ago and she looked all foreign, you could tell she wasn't from around here and so I asked her where she was from and she said some island, like Long Island or something... You don't think she was a spy from the New York Times or something, do you?" Possibly. "That's what I thought! That's what I thought! I thought that and so I tweeted 'If the worst thing they can come up with is a lie about Sarah Palin's hair it's pretty pathetic and bottom feeder journalism!!' God! And I thought, if everybody gets the wrong idea and thinks I'm talking about them, bye bye Beehive! They'll all start driving to Shay Pit up in Palmer! So by then I was super upset, and I was tweeting like a mad woman! I know for sure you read it, Sarah. I tweeted 'U don't mess with a hairdresser and her client! It's a precious relationship! Don't mess with my girl Sarah Palin!' Your client, Jessica. Your former client.

God responds

An angry God has responded to a column that Mark Sanford had published on Sunday in The Greenville News, calling the South Carolina governor "a pathetic namedropper". The comments are contained in a letter to the editor scheduled to run in tomorrow's paper. God chides Sanford's apology/confession for "invoking My name several times in a manner that seems to suggest that I am somehow responsible for your actions. Have you never heard of free will? Stop your sniveling before I give you something to really cry about." The Deity seemed particularly irked by a passage in which Sanford compared the past few weeks to attending his own funeral, and then claims to be thankful for the experience. "Attend your own funeral?" God asks in a devastating put-down. "Be careful what you wish for; you might be the only one to show up. You seem to enjoy being humiliated and becoming a universal object of scorn and ridicule. Well, Mister Pitiful, I'm prepared to offer you a world of heartache beyond your most feverish imaginings... Scratch that. You'd probably just enjoy it."

Guadalupe #7

Krauthammer's Moon

Michael Crichton once wrote that if you told a physicist in 1899 that within a hundred years humankind would, among other wonders (nukes, commercial airlines), "travel to the moon, and then lose interest... the physicist would almost certainly pronounce you mad." In 2000, I quoted these lines expressing Crichton's incredulity at America's abandonment of the moon. It is now 2009 and the moon recedes ever further. - Charles Krauthammer, The Moon We Left Behind

I tire of the political world at times, much as, I fear, the political world tires of me. For although the realm of statecraft is my bread and butter, man can not exist on bread alone, at least not without becoming wan and pasty. One needs other worlds beyond the smoke filled room. One needs - one craves - the moon.

Next week marks the 40th anniversary of the first moon landing. We say we will return in 2020. But that promise was made by a previous president, and this president has defined himself as the antimatter to George Bush. Moreover, for all of Barack Obama's Kennedyesque qualities, he has expressed none of Kennedy's enthusiasm for human space exploration.

Ironic, isn't it, that I was forced by the standard rules of political engagement to make a cheap shot about Obama in a column meant only to mourn the moon. My editors at the Weekly Standard - Barnes and Kristol - made me add that irrelevant paragraph. It is little wonder that many people think of me as a rather droll prick, although, it must be added, few consider me to be a prick of the enormity of Barnes or Kristol. Lunar-sized pricks, the both of them, men who would turn my deepest yearning into naught but political drivel.

America's manned space program is in shambles. Fourteen months from today, for the first time since 1962, the United States will be incapable not just of sending a man to the moon but of sending anyone into Earth orbit. We'll be totally grounded. We'll have to beg a ride from the Russians or perhaps even the Chinese.

Or perhaps even Togo, you insufferable assholes. Honest to God, I am tainted by the stench of you two. I am a thoughtful, non-didactic man, not the villain as whom I'm so often portrayed. Why, recently I saw a 'comic' which portrayed me as the insidious Auric Goldfinger, my laser pointed at the genitals of Barack Obama as I insanely proclaimed "No, Mr Obama, I expect you to die!" In actuality, my words would have been quite different.

A vigorous young president once summoned us to this new frontier, calling the voyage "the most hazardous and dangerous and greatest adventure on which man has ever embarked." And so we did it. We came. We saw. Then we retreated. How could we?

How could you, Freddie 'The Beatle' Barnes? For those insipid last three words were not from my pen, and Kristol's stunted brain is not wired for introspection. My own end was a plea, which you aparently mistook for a weakness. "Promise me the moon, Mister President," I wrote, "For man was made for greatness. Fly me to the moon, and let me dream again." Not Shakespeare, Barnes, I'll admit it, but abundantly more eloquent than 'How could we?'. Let me offer you another quote, you insufferable moron, one that you might do well to ponder the next time you consider making one of your ham-fisted edits. To paraphrase what the great American fictional icon Ralph Kramden often said when his wife Alice would blithely insert herself into his business, "One of these days, Barnes... POW! To the moon!"

tiger woods loses right to upper case letters in headers

Most trusted man in America dies

No Rush, sorry, but you're still hanging in there.

Walter Cronkite, dead at 92.

Affaire de l'air

Lovelorn South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford reacted dismissively towards a new AP investigation which makes the explosive claim that 'he sure does like to fly like a king in those fancy aeroplanes with their free drinks and edible food'. The AP report details a number of trips where Sanford flew Business Class or even First Class, and in one case 'Envoy Class', a section of seating so exclusive that it is located behind locked doors in a secret part of the plane. "Let's say that Air Force One was in the shop for repairs and the President was forced to fly commercial," explained AP investigator Brett Blackledge. "In all probability, the President would be given a seat in Envoy Class. You know how in the event of an accident, you may use your seat cushion as a flotation device? From what I understand, in Envoy Class everyone has their own individual parachute. And they have their own chef trained by Outback. You can get a Bloomin' Onion any time you want. I'm not sure what kind of seats they have, but I'll bet everyone has their own BarcaLounger or something." "As far as scandals go, this is a relatively small one," explained Sanford. "Maybe I wasted a little taxpayer money, but I broke no hearts, left no devastation in my wake. You have to understand... the way I feel about luxury flight... it's more than a simple method of going to and fro. It's a love story... an officially forbidden one, a fiscally tragic one, but a love story at the end of the day." "It was wonderful, the Envoy Class," Sanford continued, brushing a tear away from the one eye not yet blinded by love. "I remember... there were these two older pilots, and I remember then watching me go in, the way I interacted with the cabin... They could see a spark, or... I don't know what you'd call it, but there was something there."

Pope proves to be fallible

"No I'm not," replied Pope Benedict, who appeared to be in good spirits after an accident in which he fractured his wrist while vacationing in Valle d'Aosta. "I proved myself to be fallable. That's fallable with an 'A', not fallible with an 'I', and of course we all know that 'I' comes before a fall, except after 'C', which would be the Holy See if you know what I mean and I know that you do. Hey, It's not like I'm speaking Latin here!"

Yer Friday Funk

War - 'Cisco Kid'

Complete Friday Funk

Romney leads the pack

With only twenty-five months to go before the all-important Ames Straw Poll in Iowa, Mitt Romney has taken a decisive lead in the latest Gallup Poll of potential Republican presidential contenders, beating out Sarah Palin by 26 percent to 21. Also eating his dust are Mike Huckabee at 19 percent and Newt Gingrich at 14. "Vroom, vroom," said Romney, speaking from a Des Moines IHOP where he is already hard at work making flapjacks for the local voters. "The people of Iowa aren't they type who forgets who feeds 'em, but just in case they do I'm here to cook up a steamin hot refresher course. Here ya go, Mabel, how bout a coupla those little sausages on the side?" This is the sort of attention to detail that scored Romney his big 2007 Ames Straw Poll victory, which was proceeded by weeks of burger barbecuing, chop charcoaling, and of course, flapjack flipping across this grand and corn-filled state. Sadly, however, his campaign faltered when voters discovered that there were even more exciting and colorful candidates than the man from Massachusetts. "Yes, that came as quite a disappointment to me," admits Mitt. "I thought I could make it through the campaign on my culinary skills alone, and I guess in the end that was the main reason I couldn't quite overcome the human dynamo that was John McCain. You see, there was a problem with my strategy from the beginning. I was thought of as a bit one dimensional. Everybody just saw me as an easy meal. And I'll admit it, I was. All of my substance was rather new to me, but now I've held my core beliefs for three or four years, and I sincerely believe that by the time the campaign gets into full swing, people will see me as the two dimensional man I really am." Romney does foresee one potential roadblock that might stand in the way of his presidential ambitions: the possibility that someone vaguely interesting might run against him. "It does worry me a little, but so far I've got the field to myself. And I am getting more interesting with every passing day, going to all the NASCAR races, hunting larger critters, and dropping the occasional 'g'. As a kind of symbolic gesture, I've switched from coffee to tea. And one more thing. There's a fascinating rumor going around that I can't keep it in my pants, but I won't dignify that with a response, at least not yet."

From the archives: empathy

¡Obtener feliz!

Take that, Sarah Palin! Not only is Senator John Ensign not resigning in the face of even meaner media coverage than you ever got, he's going to run again in 2012!

Immediately following this announcement, Ensign kicked off his new feel-good outreach program to the Hispanic community, where he'll attempt to woo them with the gift of song.

Corporate Overlords grateful

Invisible hand of the market props up Blankfein's weary head "I wasn't worried for a minute," beamed Goldman Sachs CEO Lloyd C. Blankfein, pleased for his company to be back on the golden brick road and reporting a 3.44 billion dollar profit in it's second quarter, only one month after paying back 10 billion dollars in Federal aid. "I knew the American people would never let us down. There is this strong love/hate dynamic they have always had with their Corporate Overlords. They know that sometimes the pendulum swings one way, and sometimes the other, but as long as we own the pendulum, I don't guess it really makes a whole lot of difference, does it?" "Some folks would say that it's the luck of the draw that Goldman Sachs came out of the financial meltdown smelling like a rose, and to them I would say 'you're absolutely right'. I guess we were just lucky to have placed our previous CEO Hank Paulson in a position where he could have at least a little positive influence on our future as the Bush Treasury Secretary. And boy, were we ever lucky that he was the guy in charge of nationalizing all those bad loans. That was extra special lucky, just like the fact that so many of our good friends like Timmy Geithner and Larry Summers are a part of President Obama's exciting new change administration. But of course you know the old saying - the more things change, the more they remain the same." "You know, a lot of people said that Goldman Sachs was too big to fail, and they were absolutely correct in their assertion. That's an enviable position to be in, and one we have no intention of giving up, and which, thankfully, nobody is trying to make us do so. That's why I'm willing to say that if this whole economy should go to hell, we'll still be right here, King of the Dung Hill." "Bottom line, though, is that we owe the American taxpayers a huge debt of gratitude, and we know it. That's why we're putting up a picture of them in our corporate headquarters. In the mens room, right above the urinals."

Undistracted Senator ready to battle Benjamin

"President Obama has purposely used this occasion, a time when the nation's rapt attention is focused solely on the confirmation hearings for a woman who is possibly the most contentious Justice ever nominated for the Supreme Court, choosing this moment to sneak in what is sure to be a shill for Nationalized Health Care as his choice for Surgeon General," fumed GOP Senator Jeff Sessions. "I suppose he's thinking that if he tries to sneak in this medinazi Regina Benjamin today, old Jeff Sessions will be far too preoccupied with the battle for the soul of the judicial system to pay any attention to the utter destruction of a health care system that is the envy of the entire world. Well, I've got news for for you, Mister President, the Republican party if full of multi-taskers, and I'm perfectly capable of opposing both Doctor Benjamin and Justice..., uh... Justice... aw, jeez, he's got me so flustered I can't even remember her name." "I will fight this sinister nomination until rigor mortis sets in," claims Sessions. "I'm dead serious. You think I don't know Regina Bacon's reputation? I know Regina Bacon's reputation. She had her clinic destroyed by Katrina, and I'll bet she's just itching for revenge. And she works with poor people who can't afford to pay her. What the hell does she care? If she gets in office, there won't be a doctors in America who gets a living wage, it's all part of the Socialist plan. And mark my words, only poor people will get health care. You'll go to the hospital with a heart attack and they'll tell you 'Sorry, but you've got your own good health insurance, why don't you just go out and find your own damn doctor'. But that doctor won't be there, because they'll all be laboring in forced medical labor camps giving poor people boob jobs and hair transplants. No siree, Bob, this will not stand." Sessions is also well aware of the severe damage that the Surgeon General can do to the moral fiber of a nation, and vows to fight her nomination until it is deceased and beyond all hope of resuscitation. "We've had a couple of outright disasters in the Surgeon General's office. Remember that squirrelly looking old guy, C Everett Koop, the one that sells those phony baloney Life Alert thingies on TV? That's the sonovabitch that made Ronald Reagan think about Aids. Poor Ronnie was never the same after that. And then there was that abomination that Bill Clinton appointed, Jocelyn Elders. Remember her? She wanted schools to teach young boys how to yank their wangdangdoodles. Holy Mother of God! Pardon my French, but I'm getting worked up. It's just a good thing I'm such an expert multitasker or I'd be too distracted to even focus on Justice Whatshername."

It's nice to know that Eric Holder is 'thinking about', 'mulling over', 'considering', and in some reports actually 'leaning towards' the possibility of appointing a prosecutor to investigate the use of torture during the Bush administration. Cause the way I understand it, that's the sort of thing an Attorney General is supposed to do, even when Boss wants to be looking forward and not backwards.

My lunch with Larry

By Chrystia Freeland Larry Summers, head of Barack Obama's National Economic Council, usually eats at his White House desk, which I imagine to be quite grand, yet nonetheless a desk. At times, perchance, he joins the president for lunch at the Oval Office desk, grander still, since one imagines that it can be transformed in a wink to a buffet table brimming with succulent dishes prepared with the utmost care for a president, who one imagines, eats the occasional bangers and mash only to prove his affinity for the common man. These meals must be exquisite, but truth be told, to paraphrase Gertrude Stein, a desk is a desk is a desk. Today shall be different, as Summers breaks bread and talks fiscal policy with the Financial Times, the international economic broadsheet of unparallel influence. I have challenged Bill Clinton's former Treasury Secretary to take me 'some place interesting', and he has settled upon the Ward Room, one of the many legendary dining rooms secured within the bowels of the White House itself. Dressed in a navy suit accented by a white shirt and blue tie, Summers appears both understated and elegant, as does the Ward Room itself. It is a small room without windows, dark wood and nautical paintings, and it looks exactly what I imagine an Admiral's dining room would look like if I should ever find myself in such a space. But here the similarity is lost, for my table is Formica and without linen, and the cutlery, which is made of white plastic, is itself enclose in plastic, which I assume I am meant to open by tearing it with my incisors. Never mind, I tell myself, swallowing my pride. I shall order finger food. Which I do. Chicken fingers, to be exact. A chalkboard informs me that they are today's special, although I must confess that I do not imagine something that goes by the name of chicken fingers to be special in any way whatsoever, although I shall never know, for 'Cathy' (the inelegantly dressed individual provided in lieu of a waiter) informs me that it is late and this particular delicacy has run it's course. "When we got chicken fingers, people just gobble them up" is the way she put it. She recommends, instead, the cheeseburger, "cause we always got some more burgers in the back". I shudder and nod, noting that she does not ask me how I wish for it to be prepared. “The crises that we addressed during the 1990s internationally," Summers is saying, "in almost every case, took the form of a foreign lack of confidence in a country that led to a mass withdrawal of funds and made reassuring foreigners the central priority." I do not recall asking him a question, but perhaps I did. I stare at him, much as I imagine someone would stare at a horrible car crash filled with decapitations and disembowelments, for he is eating a Caesar salad out of a plastic box. With a plastic fork. Crackers in tiny plastic packs - 'Captain's Wafers', appropriately enough - complete the scene. "That’s why interest rates often had to be increased," he prattles on. "The American problem this time has more in common, at least qualitatively, with the Japanese post-bubble problem..." I cannot follow his post-bubble talk, not at this time, not in this place. The man is twisting the top off of a bottle of soda and there is every indication that he intends to drink it straight from the container. And then my 'meal' arrives. The dreaded cheeseburger, for some reason, is wrapped in greasy waxed paper, as if to keep the awful truth hidden inside. It is served on a paper plate - not even Chinet - and accompanied by an unopened bag of potato chips. Not that I had any intention of opening them. I want to tell 'Cathy' that when I reluctantly settled for a cheeseburger and chips that I naturally assumed that chips were freshly fried potato wedges, but 'Cathy' is gone, imagining, perhaps, the wrath I would have unleashed upon her had I been given the opportunity to soak in the sight of my woe begotten banquet. She need not have feared me, however, for I am from the Financial Times and know quite well the hazards of the journalist's life. Today I'm feeling only shock and sorrow. I nudged the hideous red plastic tray away from me and began to plot my exit. Larry Summers was a changed man, a man who did not recognize the squalor all around him, a degradation so thorough and pervasive that it has spread like cancer even to the inner sanctum of the White House. “I don’t think the worst is over..." I heard him say as he futilely attempted to spear a crouton with his feeble plastic fork, and alas I fear it's true. I would have told the once mighty man that I prayed for him and prayed for America, but I was already gone, fleeing for the airport and the safety that is Britain. Tomorrow I head for Istanbul, where I shall dine with Economic Minister Ali Babacan, and I look forward to the comparative gastronomic relief I imagine the evening shall provide.

What the fuck is wrong with you, David Brooks?

For God's sake, I don't know if Brooks is complaining or bragging when he says that an 'unnamed Republican' gave him a chowtime feel.

"You know, all three of us spend a lot of time covering politicians and I don’t know about you guys, but in my view, they’re all emotional freaks of one sort or another. They’re guaranteed to invade your personal space, touch you. I sat next to a Republican senator once at dinner and he had his hand on my inner thigh the whole time."

Dinner must have been nachos, or something else you can eat with just one hand, but even so, I've never had anyone's hand in my lap for longer than a couple of seconds unless I was mighty pleased to have it there. So what's your story, David? Too intimidated to push it away? Honored by a grope from the powerful?

Or maybe it was just your own hand that you left there and forgot about. You emotional freak, you.

Yer Friday Funk

Funkadelic - 'Cosmic Slop'

Complete Friday Funk

something new under the sun

House Republicans today accused CIA Director Leon Panetta of misleading Congress by indicating that the CIA had mislead Congress from 2001 until earlier this year. "This is politics at its basest level," said Peter Hoekstra, ranking GOP member of the House Intelligence Committee. "I guess we're all supposed to believe that under George Bush we got hoodwinked but now in the shining light of the architect of the new depression, we're getting the unvarnished truth. Where are the jobs, Mr Panetta, do you have any intelligence about that? Not that I'd believe anything you said anyway." "Somebody smite me," said GOP Whip Eric Cantor. "The CIA is in the truth telling business, and to indicate that somehow, someway, they decided to set aside their best practices while George Bush was in office, that just boggles the mind. Where are the jobs? This looks to me like an attempt to give aid and comfort to Nancy Pelosi and her Socialist hordes." "Never in it's history has the CIA tried to mislead Congress," said Minority Leader Boehner. "Never, that is, before Barack Obama came into office. Now I guess I should have been psychologically prepared for Obama's lackey to lie about lying in an attempt to tarnish George W Bush, but I've got to say that this is the greatest fabrication I have seen since I’ve been in Congress. Although not as big as the one I expect to hear from the president when I ask him where those jobs are." "Shreeeeee! Shreeee glack bulghum," exclaimed resident loony Michele Bachman. "Fragulka snnug jobs? Now innnnfiltrate unmercan CIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"I found it..." Found what, Congressman Boehner? "My train of thought. Sometimes that train jumps the track and you can't tell what station it's going to arrive at. The other day I was talking about Sarah Palin to a colleague and next thing I noticed I had slipped into a diatribe about 'The Last of the Mohicans'. I had to read that in school when I was just a little Boehner. Hated it." Uh huh. Is that the statement you wanted to make? “Statement? Oh, heavens no. I wanted to say that I found it interesting, not the book but the topic I intend to address now, which is that I found it interesting over the last couple of days to hear Vice President Biden and the president mention the fact that they didn’t realize how difficult an economic circumstance we were in.” Okay... What did you find so interesting about it? "Interesting? It wasn't interesting, just like the Mohicans book. You would think that for a young lad a book with Indians and soldiers would be interesting. It was appalling." So you called up Politico to tell us that you found 'The Last of the Mohicans' appalling? "No, just boring. Of course I just made it through the first fifty pages or so. Still managed to get a C on my book report, as I recall. But I really don't want to talk about books right now, I just wanted to say that what Obama and Biden had to say about the economy, whew boy, what a whopper." A whopper? "I wouldn't mind one. I do tend to like Burger King more than McDonalds, although I generally try and stay away from fast food. The last time I was there, though, I tried that new burger they have called the Angry Whopper. It's like a Double Whopper but with pepperjack cheese and jalapenos on it. And they put onion rings on the top. I don't know why the hell they do that. I picked em off, but I still had the runs for two days." But back to topic, what about the Obama and Biden economic statements gave you offense? "Back on topic? You're the one who brought up burgers, Alex. Irregardless, when they said they didn't know how bad the economy was, I thought this is the greatest fabrication I have seen since I’ve been in Congress." Really? Because I saw that more as an admission that they had miscalculated the extent of the crisis. But even if you were to construe it as a deliberate attempt to mislead, I don't see how it could rival Bush's claim of WMDs, for example, or Clinton's denial of infidelity." "Of course you would say that, because as a journalist you feel a need to be provocative, whereas I, as House Minority Leader, feel a need to open my mouth and let the chips fall where they may. Hold on a sec... Dammit, that Eric Cantor is the greatest thief I've ever seen since I've been in Congress. I had a bag of Route 11 Mama Zuma potato chips that I just opened up this morning... Nothing left in here but crumbs. Dammit man." Okay, Congressman Boehner, anything else you'd like to add to your statement? "Statement? No, they're just really good chips, that's all."

Terminated

[once again, from the archives... I know, I'm lazy, but I do have an enormous archive...]

It happened in the dead of night, one sad Christmas back in 2005. As the citizens of Graz peacefully slept, workmen in brown flannel overalls began dismantling the once proud sign from the city's soccer stadium. First to go was the enormous Z (Austrians have a preference for reverse alphabetical order) followed swiftly by an unwieldy W, and then, yes, the S. "Arnold Charenegger," remarked one of the workmen, breaking for a smoke. "I don't even know who he is." Well, Mister Workman, I'm here to wise you up. Arrgh, there go the Rs. Anold Chaenegge was once this city's proudest native son, a star destined to burn so brightly that it would light the night-time sky of the capitol of the entire world, Hollywood, USA. A smaller man might have chosen to remain in Austria, feasting on it's famed sausages washed down with the delicious local brews, frolicking with the golden haired fräuleins, and taking a quick dip into the beautiful blue Danube before skittering off to the Mozart festival. Oh no, there goes the O. But Anld was no such man. He knew there were weights to lift, and lift them he did. Higher and heavier and swifter and longer, it seemed as if he had been chosen to lift the world itself. He did, you know. No, of course he didn't lift the physical world, but he lifted it's spirits by starring in blockbusters of such unrivaled magnitude that lesser stars - and they all were lesser stars - could only tremble in his wake. I beg of you, please put down the Ns. And so, since he could not become the president, the golden boy of Graz became the Govenator of the golden state. What, the L? All of the citizens of California sang the praises of Ad Chaegge, for he was a just man, and on his arm he wore a queen. What, the H? Oh, Jeez, there go the Gs. Austria has turned it's back on Ad, and why? Because he fulfilled his duty and let a murderer fry. How could you, Austria, how could you betray Ad Caee for a man named Tookie? You broke his heart with your relentless cries to remove his very name from Graz's glorious stadium. There go the Es as we speak. Once you issued postage stamps bearing his likeness, so every Austrian could proudly say they had licked Ad Ca's backside. Or make that A A, since I see you've demolished the D and the C. Know this one thing - he'll be back. A! A! Put those down!

gun

Former President Bush reacted angrily to a report appearing in the New York Times that matter-of-factly states that when the Bush presidential library opens in 2013, one of the artifacts to be displayed will be Saddam Hussein's enormous handgun. The supersized Glock 18C has long been one of Bush's prized possessions, ranking alongside a Cooperstown baseball bat signed by all the living Hall of Famers and a gold-plated slinky presented to him by Pope John Paul. "It doesn't seem right to me that when you lose your job they should just be able to come in and take all your stuff," said Bush, standing protectively by the colossal pistol. "I can kinda understand the baseball bat, cause even though it's mine, baseball belongs to the American people. And the slinky, well I was kinda tired of playin with it anyway. But the gun is mine, as Michael Jackson would say, the doggone gun is mine." Bush lawyers are prepared to seek an injunction, claiming that the humongous Glock is immune from a Federal statute which states that gifts to public officials valued at over $420 become the property of the government. "In the first place, that's socialism plain and clear," says Bush, who claims he would have acted to overturn that restriction if he had known it applied to him. "And in the second place, it wasn't a dang gift. Saddam Hussein didn't want me to have that gun, I took it from him, figuratively speakin, in my role as commander of the armed forces. So I'm thinkin that maybe they can have that gun when they can pry it from my cold dead fingers. This is a second amendment issue, somehow or another. Just kiddin about the cold dead fingers part, though. It'd be crazy to like the second amendment that much." "I've lost so much already," Bush says wistfully. "For example, my beautiful rug from the Oval Office, that's gone, even though Laura's the one who designed it. I've called Obama half a dozen times and he's just actin like it's his now. So I'm tellin you straight, they can't have my gun, even if it is for my own dang museum. And they better not try. Cause I've got a gun."

Beat it into the ground

'Michael Jackson and Bubbles' - Jeff Koons, 1988 (sold for 5.6 million) Let's give a little credit now to FOX News and reflect, sadly, on how of the three cable news networks have been the only alternative to round the clock Jacko Mortis Mania. I was at the gym on Friday afternoon - a full eight days after the death - with all three news networks on. MSNBC and CNN were still running about 80% Jackson stories, not even breaking in till later in the day with the Palin resignation. BTW, both networks are officially going live with (probably day long) funeral coverage. And peripherally speaking, who is paying for tomorrow's mega-memorial? Not the Jackson family apparently, although LA Council member Jan Perry said she would "love it" if they would help out. It's nice to see that broke-ass California can still find some coin in the cushions of their threadbare state couch.

It's Not That You're Not Important to us...

...from the archives..

Ms P. I am so sorry. There’s something we need to discuss, right here, right now. You’re not the proper person for this department, so I don’t want you to have to go through all the hassle of getting comfortable, only to have the seat pulled out from underneath you. Fair enough? Let’s see what else we have… Yes. Yes I do know who your daddy is. Your daddy is a congressman... Do you want a challenge? There are a number of sectors in the company that can provide you with a real challenge. For instance, our Caliper Retooling department. Our calipers sometimes get out of calibration and there’s all heck to pay in the front office. But the job is not without it’s moments of glory. Think about it, and I’m sure you’ll get my meaning. A little too challenging, you say? Well, that’s understandable. So, lets take stock: you don’t really have the temperament for the Acquisitions group, and caliper retooling seems to be a little intense for your taste… How about the Mail Room? That’s something you might like. No. M A I L. It’s not as important as it used to be in the old days, what with email taking over a lot of the communication space, but there’s still a lot of trade journals to be sorted through. The pay is not much, just 90K a year, but if you keep your nose clean, there’s a good possibility of moving up to a guardianship role… yes, that’s where you carry the keys and let the postman in and out of the building. You’d also be in charge of the UPS shipments. No, just incoming, not outgoing… The girl with outgoing UPS has a Masters in English Lit. You know her daddy? Senator daddy, not congressman daddy. Much better, daddy-wise. I know! Tunnel Master! That’s you to a T. T stands for tunnel and T stands for Timmy Thompson The Third, the first and greatest Tunnel Master Tyrone Products has ever produced. You’re not afraid of alligators, are you? I mean, you’re not afraid that one of them might sneak up behind you and bite you on the ass, are you? Because it really doesn’t happen all that often. Mmm, I think we’ve had two, maybe three ass bitings since I’ve worked here, no more than that. A good Tunnel Master keeps their eyes on the tunnel… it really shouldn’t be much of a problem. Just look up once in a while. No? You sure? Well, I don’t know what else we can offer you. You’re not aggressive enough for acquisitions, you’re intimidated by caliper retooling, you don’t want mailroom unless you can have outgoing UPS, and you think alligators are yucky. Yes, I can see that your legs go up to there. Funny thing, so do mine. But that’s neither here nor there. Weather person? …I hadn’t thought about it, but people do get tired of looking out the window. Mmm, right, right you are. I think you’ll be pleased to know that that position is going to result in a little pay bump. Yes, I suppose you will need wardrobe expenses… To an extent...

Marion Barry can't catch a break...

link "Hey. You lookin to party?" "Yes I am. Indeed I am. You are absolutely correct in your assumption. Partying is the very thing that was on my mind. I saw you standing there and..." "Well, if I party with you, I'm gonna need me some cab money to get back home." "I understand what you're saying, mama. Don't want to be out here walking the streets, heh heh heh... How much do you think a cab is going to cost this time of night?" "Two bills." "Two hundred dollars? My goodness, that is one outrageously expensive cab company. And to be honest, my thoughts right now are that, while I do very much want to party with you, I don't intend to party all night, I sure don't, so maybe I could just turn on some music and take you around the corner for something to eat..." "Well, I guess I could get a cab back from around the corner for about eighty." "Sounds reasonable to me. Come round the side here and hop on in, and let's get this party started." "You not a cop are ya? Cause I don't party with the cops." "No ma'am, I most certainly am not an officer of the law. As a matter of fact, I don't care to party with the police, either." "Wait a second... You that guy." "That guy? I'm not sure who..." "You're Marion Barry." "Guilty as charged. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" "You get outta here, Marion Barry. You just go." "Now wait a second, Miss. I thought we were in the middle of making party arrangements." "Ain't no partyin tween me and Marion Barry. You drive on outta here, motherfucker." "Listen here, bitch, I'm..." "Help, police, help! Marion Barry, Marion Barry! Helllllp!" "Oh man..."

Horiday greetings from the Beroved Reader

Good morning, United States of Imperiarism. Happy fourth of Juri. By the way, just in case you were wondering, those exprosions you heard in the sky this morning were not fireworks. Indeed they were not. They were your most horriber nightmares coming true. Those were greetings from the Democratic Peopers Repubric of North Korea. Bwahahaha. Do not threaten us with retariation or you wirr quickry find yourserves obriterated. Any resistance wirr prove futire Hey! Hey! Pay attention. Big story here! We just raunched missers! Rarge barristic missers of the type strictry prohibited by your useress United Nations Security Councir. Would you rike to do something about it? I bet you woud, but instead you are probabry trembering rike an infant. Oh come on, admit it, our missers must have shown up on your useress radar screens. Why didn't they show up on your CNN? State secret? It won't be a secret for rong. What about your saterrites? I can't berieve for one moment that your saterrites did not capture the grory of our raunch. Hey! Hey! What is that praying on your radio? Miker Jackson? Forget about your dead and ineffectuar King of Pop - he cannot save you now. You want to be starting something? We are bad, we are bad, we are rearry rearry bad. We wirr give you a rear thrirrer, Obama, it does not matter if you are Barack or white. Bwahahahaha. Barack or white, that is a good one. I must give credit to Kim Jong-un for assistance with popurar curture refference. What? You were ristening to news of the quitter Sarah Parin and not to North Korea's mighty roar? I should terr you that our missers are now easiry capaber of reaching her beroved Araska. You show weakness in even considering such a woman for your reader. She would be nothing but another George Bush, much rike Barack Obama after him and Birr Crinton before him. You are arr George Bush in the eyes of the worrd. Don't brame me, imperiarist America, you are the country that invented the stereotype You may now return to eating your hot dogs sandwiches and drinking your Mirrer Rite beer, America, now that you have been thoroughry ararmed. Happy fourth of Juri! Did I mention that we have giant robots?

Palin scandal on the horizon...

Yer Friday Funk

Cameo - 'Alligator Woman'

Complete Friday Funk

Jobs

“After five months of the so-called stimulus, Americans are left with just one question: where are the jobs?” shouted Georgia Congressman Tom Price, a fellow who only rarely raises his voice. "Forgive me for shouting, but I'm just so darn upset that we haven't bounced back from the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression after five long months. President Obama, where are the stinkin' jobs?" Stung by harsh criticisms such as this, coming at a time when official unemployment hasn't even reached double digits, President Obama today tried to lend a voice of calm to economic fears by giving a widely ignored interview to the Associated Press in which he addressed the issue head on. "Too many jobs have been lost," he said, noting that at least the financial markets have been stabilized. "Not just stinkin' jobs, but good, high paying jobs as well. But I want to reassure the American people not to worry. The recovery is on the way. As a mater of fact, just this morning I received a phone call from Marcus Brody, curator of the National Museum, who told me that an alert worker had discovered over 200,000 misplaced jobs in one of their New York warehouses. As a result, I'm ordering GSA to begin a methodical search of all the museum warehouses in the nation, beginning with the Smithsonian." "Michael Jackson was one of our greatest entertainers," Obama continued, trying to ensure at least minimal coverage of his interview. “I still have all his stuff on my iPod.“ Later in the day it was discovered that the crates were not full of misplaced jobs, but instead contained some 200,000 packages of misplaced Jobe's Fertilizer Spikes, a loss which caused the uninsured business to close their doors back in April. "At the very least, this is good news for Jobe and his 27 employees," said a White House spokesman.

Sanford confession du jour

...there were, as I'm now prepared to admit... a few cocks that I sucked... while out of town on business trips... although, on none of these occasions did my impulsive acts interfere with official business. I was just blowing off a little steam... So to speak. And I... hasten to add... that, during none of these encounters... did I cross the line... into butt sex... And insomuch as, needless to say, the penises involved were attached to men, I do not feel... in this way at least, that I was betraying the trust that Jenny, perhaps unwisely, placed in me, and which... God willing... I will try to restore, even though, sadly enough, my heart is elsewhere...