2008 is over but the scandals aren't

It wasn’t a horrible year as long as I kept myself from watching the news. Well, it’s nice to think back to happier times like the presidential race, especially when it finally ended. Come to think of it, this was one insane year and instead of going away the scandals are intensifying by the day. Everyone has a scandal going down. I predict an even crazier year for 2009. Just wait until Bush and Cheney finish their book. O.J. Simpson’s publisher signed them for a memoir entitled, “If We Did Do Any Cover-Ups, This Is How We’d Do Them.”

I think Illinois has the biggest scandal of the year next to that slut who wants us to believe she’s such a crack whore she lost track of her own kid for an entire month. I guess she didn’t realize her daughter was missing until her period came again, and no one was around to take a beating? Truth is, I was hoping the discovery of the body would prove someone else did it, so I could sit back and watch Nancy Grace’s show get cancelled.



I like to stand on the side of justice, but damn. The woman has been pounding this thing into the ground with the spurs on her boots. It takes the fun right out of channel-surfing. It’s gotten to the point that my 7-yr-old daughter wants to know why this is still news. When a girl who likes watching movies over and over says a TV show is too repetitive, that girl is probably right. Just once I’d like to hear Nancy Graceful say something in a non-accusatory manner that makes absolutely no sense at all. A few drinks before taping a show wouldn’t kill her. In fact, running away from the Anthony case altogether would probably add a few years to her life, or at least take a few off her face. I’m sure before the spackling begins it’s a scary sight. I’ll keep her in my prayers. Some day she’s bound to screw up.

So little time, so much to spew. This was supposed to be about Governor Blagojevich but the story gets richer by the hour. I just can’t keep up. One thing I can tell you is he isn’t hiding out in a cave somewhere in Illinois. I really thought by now, you know…

Even after hearing his name all over the news for weeks I still can’t say it correctly to save my life. I should be on a short bus, but fortunately there’s no room for me. They’re all filled to capacity with those “special” people who are working so hard for America. There’s an army of short buses in Washington. They outnumber the cabs 4 to 1. And one of them went to Minnesota, only to be parked there for nearly 2 months now. The driver is really fatigued. At this point he doesn’t care who is getting on the bus. The meter’s been running so long, all he can think is either Al Franken or Norm Coleman owes him a HUGE stack of quarters. I hope they’ll have enough left over, but after the lawyers take their cut, I don’t know.

What I do know? The short bus always has room for one more politician. They’re all retarded. I’m still waiting for the governor of Montana to make good use of our surplus and send us all a nice fat check for sticking around. That’s right. We should be compensated. All of those traitors who left for higher wages need to be taught a lesson.
Come on, Schweitzer. Doling out the surplus could be one of those heart-warming scandals you rarely hear about. Since we still have no sales tax (and I love you for that) you can’t deny this estimated $295 million dollar surplus was amassed mostly from:

· The thousands of gamblers who frequent their nearest video poker machines on a regular (daily) basis, conveniently located a block away from wherever they reside. They’re everywhere - in bars, gas stations, restaurants, public schools… Well, maybe not the schools yet. It’s really a shame, and a dark cloud hanging over the Native American culture. It’s killing them that they don’t have dibs on the casino cartel like they do in Minnesota. How rotten are we? It’s all dirty money I tell you. And I wouldn’t mind getting back some of what my ex threw away in 1999. In his defense he thought Prince was right and we wouldn’t live to see the year 2000.

· How about those underpaid state employees? Sure, compared to your average wage they’re raking it in. And they’re pretty much the only workers around who get health insurance and paid holidays off. The rest of us slave away for peanuts, and forget about insurance. On second thought they’re getting too much. Let’s cut out their benefits. If I have to date a doctor to get a free exam, so should they. Not that I ever have, but it’s a nice thought and kind of kinky.

· The property taxes are so high, you need to contact NASA to see how much you currently owe. You have to do this twice a year and get the latest satellite image of your bill because the thing keeps moving further and further away. Everyone pays late. Over the summer some rich asshole attempted to pull a friend’s house right out from underneath her. She came up with the money in time but damn, she’s lived in that house her entire life and almost lost it. Unbelievably, she’s a teacher. The lesson: If enough time has passed and you have some extra cash you can take a house away from a poor family. Isn’t that awesome? Well, that and teachers will always be poor.

If the surplus were divided equally among all residents we’d each get $295 dollars. I know. That’s $1,475 bucks I could take from my children. What? They get enough as it is! You should’ve seen Christmas this year. Since we’re inevitably headed for a depression, I wanted to give them some good memories to get them through the hard times at the orphanage.

Oh yeah. Happy New Year!

Merry Xmas from The Hoff and Sharon Osbourne

Numero Uno, and that means first and forelymost, I ern’t drunk. Mm kay? If you ern’t drunk too, wave your finger in the air. C’mon! I’m doing it! Wave your finger in the air like you don’t… give a rubber duck. That doesn’t rhyme with finger but you know. That’s how you, you party without - erp! Esscuse me… won’t get dizzy. Sharon? Where’s Sharon? Oh, there you… hello. Minnie You. Let’s get somethin straight before we even get gone. Going. I’m the mothafockin Hoff. Man. Ladies. Sexy men who… girls? Here’s the thang. Poppy don’t drink. Poppy for sure don’t pop. Nothin. No time. And why would I do both for that flyin high the kids all… what? Why are we here? Hiccup! Right, and thank you Sharon. Twelve Steps of Xmas. A little ditty I wrote on the back of a bottle of… NO, a napkin one night. It smelled. Maybe me, NO. But… butt… ba-wa-ha-ha-ha-ha! Silence. I was thinking. No, pondering… the pain and suffering. In this… my own backyard. I like to call it’s a place I… to get deep. Call it… why candy stripe it, man? You know? It’s the world. My backyard. I’m… yawning. Sharon Osbourne, sing. Rest your shoulder under my head.

Ha-ha-ha! I mean, Ho-ho-ho! I’ve got shoulder pads on tonight so Honey we are set! Hoff, you look sooo delicious. I could lick Cool Whip off places without wearing a blindfold. Ooh! So edible! Studmuffin, I can’t sing like my babies. No one’s hung over, but I brought a choir. They’re going to sing the song the little elves in your head told you to write. I know all about those little buggers. I went through this at home just last week. Noo! It wasn’t me! Rest your head on my chair while they sing, Sweetie Pie. I’m off to find some Cool Whip. Tee-hee-hee! Come on, Minnie Me! Of course! Mommy knows how to share. Yes! You’ll get some licks in too!

The Twelve Steps of Xmas, written by The Hoff one night in a dry bar right after he watched The Santa Clause and didn’t hide anything in his pants that may have resembled a bottle.

In the first step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
The power to admit, my life is total shit.
In the second step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
Belief that the powers, will make me smell flowers
And admitting my life is still some shit.
In the third step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
The will to give myself, to Santa and his elf
Believing in his powers, looking for the flowers
And admitting life is some rotten shit.
In the fourth step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
The strength to search within, not the house for gin
The will to give myself, to Clause and his elf
Belief in the powers, still looking for the flowers
And admitting my life is hard core shit.
In the fifth step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
Orders to confess sin,


To Santa…


And to Tim
The strength to search within, not for tonic and gin
The urge to give myself, to Clause and that elf
Believing in my powers, to find pretty flowers
And admitting life is dumb stinky shit.
In the sixth step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
Elves with knives on top-a-me, doing a lobotomy
Confessing all my sin, to Santa and Tim
The will to look inside me, not to burp up whiskey
The sense to give myself, to Santy and that elf
Believing in my power, to pluck every flower
And acknowledging that life is shit.
In the seventh step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
I think it was some humbling, or maybe he was bumbling
Crazy elves on top-a-me, doing that lobotomy
Confessing my sins, to Santas and Tims
Sense to search inside, for the booze I never hide
Hiding myself, from that dirty little elf
Gathering my powers, plucking pretty flowers
And believing that life is f**king shit.
In the eighth step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
An obnoxiously long list, of everyone I dissed
Santa started mumbling, all the while still bumbling
After the lobotomy, elves were still on top-a-me
Talkin bout my sinnin, to anyone who’ll listen
Searchin for my G-spot, dreamin of booze I ain’t got
Running like hell, from evil little elves
Feeling up my powers, boozing up the flowers
And thinking life is total f**king shit.
In the ninth step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
A chance to make amends, with all my rotten friends
Using that really long list, of everyone I dissed
Santa kept on bumbling, so we started rumbling
Wicked elves on top-a-me, trying hard to stop-a-me
Lost all track of my sins, started eating shark fins
Then bought a log cabin, to put my whiskey lab in
Welcoming my powers, f**king all the flowers
And believing life is the f**king shit.
In the tenth step of Xmas that Old Man gave to me…
SinBooks software that tracks, all of my sinful acts
So I can make amends, with all my asshat friends
And keep a running list, of every one I diss
We went back to rumbling, then we started tumbling
The elves couldn’t stop-a-me, and Santa was on top-a-me
Soon the elves got crushed, and then Santa was hushed
I went to the funeral, Santa had run outta Yule
He sued me for a million, now I’m back on the gin
Now I know life is nothing but shit.

In the eleventh step of Xmas that Asshole gave to me…
Twelve feet of snow, a lover who won’t blow
How did I write this song, it’s way too f**king long
I am done repeating, I’d rather puke while eating
All I know is life is f**king shit.
In the twelfth step of Xmas, Satan Claws gave me…
I can’t even remember, ern’t drunk rest of December
And I really have to take a shit.

How to deal with A-Holes and have a Happy Thanksgiving

Whether your own family likes to give you hell or you’re bravely facing the in-laws, YOU are what really matters on this special day of stuffing face. And in a perfect world, we ALL have an absolutely wonderful holiday with everyone we love and nothing goes wrong and we all shit rainbows. Well, get over it! Last time I checked, my shit wasn’t multi-colored (it’s been a while). So if your heart fills with dread this time of year and you’re forced to deal with assholes, you have options. Depending on your personality there are a few ways you can go about this without technically killing anyone.

Option 1: Be the happy-go-lucky one.



This means you put your happy face on, no matter what kind of mine field you’re walking into. Use humor, silliness or stupidity to your advantage. No matter how awful your jokes are, as long as you’re smiling at least one person is guaranteed to not want to kill you. Befriend them! Unless they’re super self-absorbed or a total basket case they’ll defend you when the piranhas attack, even if your partner pretends you don’t exist. And you will be completely invisible to your partner at a family gathering at least once during your relationship, so it’s important to have some comrades around. You know, for when you offend those people without a sense of humor, or those who think they’re better than everyone else… Or the elderly. And you won’t walk out of there without offending someone, you goofy clown.

Option 2: Play deaf and dumb.



Maybe you can’t smile because the sun didn’t come out, someone is dragging you out by your heels, or you like to torture happy people. If you’re not feeling good vibes that’s perfectly OK. When the assholes come ‘round, play dumb. Block out anything that doesn’t bring you comfort or joy. And most importantly, keep your mouth shut! If you can’t resist interaction, do like the chimps do and make obvious gestures. When you are asked a question, shrug. When you’ve had enough and are on the verge of walking out, throw your hand up as if to say, Step off, bitch! There’s also a finger that works for that. On second thought, just stick to the deaf and dumb routine. And it works in any situation where you don’t want confrontation, you spineless mute.

Option 3: Be the biggest asshole.



Why take shit from any turkey? You’ve been a pushover far too long now. You’re sick of the headaches brought on every year by certain ass hats you wish you didn’t have to see, hear, touch or smell. And worst of all, you’ve been holding back. Well it’s time, my friend. It is finally your time. Use this gathering as an opportunity to tell everyone exactly how you feel about them. Hold back no more! Summon your inner-beast. Give them what they’re asking for. But take heed - to be successful you must be strong and loving toward yourself. In a pinch, a strong and loving companion will do. When the dust settles, you’ll be feared. You’ll be hated. Someone will want to kill you. But you are made of steel. Now, proudly and boldly go where the few who aren’t premenstrual dare. You can do this, you coldhearted asshole.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot… Happy Thanksgiving!

People are strange, and my celebrity twin

About a week ago I learned something in a crowded room full of (mostly) strangers. People tended to be drawn to those who looked or seemed most like themselves. The few blondes in the room always sat together. The guys in plaid with baseball caps stopped talking whenever a man wearing a tie sat near them, or a female. Leather jacket people (unfortunately not the biker kind) had their own little group, and so on. I mostly sat next to Pat since I knew him, and there wasn’t time for idle chatter so it worked out. Talking to Pat is like talking to a rock.


He just can't do it.

When we took breaks the strange behavior continued as people congregated in the hallway, lounge and outside. For the most part people were polite. No one I spoke to ever snubbed me, except for one of the blondes. It was like I was invisible. In that moment I felt… so… black. Damn cracker.

Now here is the list of brave people who initiated conversation with me:

· The only Native American woman there, who sat next to me and sought me out on breaks. I was the only one she talked to and her bff that week. I’ll just say I know more about her family than I ever will about Pat’s. I don’t think he even has one.

· A red headed woman who thought I was funny, but then again, it could’ve been gas. You never know.

· When I was a few minutes late one morning a really spiffy and happy man said, “Hi! There’s an empty seat right here. Sit.”

Damn, I didn’t get his name or number.

· Pat said, “How about Perkins?” and “Let’s go to KFC,” and so on. He was definitely the bravest.

I’m a tough one to figure out thanks to my dark hair and peachy/pasty skin. Whenever someone meets me for the first time and tries to label me or guess my ethnicity they are usually wrong. The upside is being able to blend in just about anywhere. The downside is… Well, there really is no downside. When they are wrong I find it amusing. One time I’ll never forget was back when I was married and living in my husband’s home town. I’d just started making chicken-fried steak (which is the only thing I can cook well) and we were almost out of cooking oil so my husband went to the store. He returned with an old friend he had seen walking along the road carrying a 12 pack. I hadn’t even met this guy yet but here he was, at our dining room table waiting for dinner and drowning himself in his beer. They called me out of the kitchen. Right after we were introduced he blurted out, “You look like a Jew!”

I smiled and said nothing.

He turned to my husband. “She’s not Jewish?”

My husband just smiled and shook his head. Then his friend turned back to me, “You really look like you’re from Israel or sumthin’!”

To this day I’m still not sure if he was racist, ignorant or just thought I looked like Anne Frank.


Anne


Me

She's definitely my celebrity twin. Now if anyone needs me I’ll be hiding out in a house full of white kids.

The Shit List: Downtown Chain Restaurants

I wanted to reserve this list for groups of people I really dislike, but bad management IS people and the root of the problem. And I’ve heard it’s not good to “stuff” your feelings. I never have a good bottle of booze handy anyway. I spent last week attending lectures so by Friday I was numb enough as it was. And all that sitting! I hate it when my butt cheeks fall asleep. It really wasn’t the place to stand up and shake it. The first day I was surprised to see some one I knew. Pat is extremely boring one-on-one and I was in physical pain trying to have a conversation with him, but he is a nice guy and no one likes to dine in public alone. Well, we don’t. We didn’t want to risk getting back late so after factoring in everything (traffic, parking, wait time, etc.) we had to have lunch downtown. Our places of choice were scattered around the outer edges of the city and we were stuck in the center. Math is never fun and was working against us.



When I’m in the largest city in the state I normally try to avoid downtown. Traffic stinks and the only place to catch a bite without messing with a meter is a chain restaurant, which you can find elsewhere. But now I have even more reasons. Pat didn’t know what to expect either so I can’t pin any of this on him. Hence the shit list. We went to a different place each day and they all sucked. These were the two worst.



We started off the week at Perkins. When our waitress came over I immediately recognized her. I used to work with her somewhere else and she looked exactly the same as she did ten years ago, from her hairstyle right down to her pregnant belly. Talk about deja vu. But wait, there’s more. She still has this cold and pissed off look like she will either pull out a gun or start balling if you ask how her day’s going. Don’t think this just comes with being a waitress and packing a fetus. She’s always had a way of making people uncomfortable, prego or not. Well, everyone has their skills. She also hates conversation unless it involves her complaining, so I was glad she stuck to her job. I was hungry so I ordered the ‘Everything Omelet’, which was a ten dollar omelet. Ten dollars! Everything Omelet! So I’m thinking I’ll be in omelet heaven. Was I wrong to assume that? Umm… After getting my omelet I couldn’t help but wonder where the rest of it was. Seriously, it looked like something a model would not only inhale but actually leave in her stomach. I was already put off, then I noticed the cheese on top wasn’t melted. The last time I got my food like that (A&W summer 2006) the entire thing was cold. Well, it was actually much worse. My chili dog was partially frozen. So was I wrong to assume my omelet would be a little coldish? Since it didn’t look frozen I dove right into it. I burned my tongue.


I had it coming. And I’m always this scary.

As you can see I’m wrong a lot of the majority of the time. And when I’m wrong I’m very, very wrong. And as if all that weren’t bad enough, while I was pretending not to be in pain I noticed another tight-lipped, snobby snot waitress who worked with me that same year. It wasn’t weird enough to see just one of these old sour puss co-workers, so here were two of them in the same damn place. And yet, after thinking it over I left a nice tip for the walking time bomb. Some day some one might get hurt.

The next day Pat was craving some kind of KFC bowl that had mashed potatoes, gravy, chicken and cheese all mixed together. I still don’t know what it’s called. For one, they didn’t have it up on the board. Two, he couldn’t remember the name. We stood there for a while as he looked for it, until an anorexic looking young woman with greasy hair and a depressed demeanor slowly came out of the darkness (maybe some bulbs had burned out). And the place was dark too. To be more specific, this girl looked like an emo 8th grader but was Addams Family creepy. The bad lighting didn’t help any. No, scratch that. If the lighting was any good we would’ve seen more creepy.


They always start with dolls

Pat described what he wanted and she rang it up. Although it sounded grotesque, like what a one-year-old does with his food right before he throws it on the floor, I knew Pat had some taste so I told the Addams girl I’d try it. Then she said we’d have to wait while they made the chicken. It was lunchtime at KFChicken and they weren’t ready for 2 measly orders? Great. It got worse though. We sauntered off to find a table and there were plenty of them. There were only 3 other people in the place which I thought was odd, at first. Then we went from table to table. We couldn’t find one that was clean. Not one! Every single table was dirty. Magnificent. Pat went from disgusted to determined to make it better somehow. He chose a small table with only a few crumbs and used a napkin to wipe it off. He was really hell bent on this chicken potpourri so I thought it had to be good. When it was ready we had to go back to the counter. Perkins prices but no waitresses in sight? Yes, I was pissed the bowl thing cost ten bucks. I know it’s all about location, but we weren’t in a frigging mall. Okay, I’ll admit the chicken/potato gumbowl was very tasty, but it shouldn’t take a Taser to get your employees to wipe tables or show some courtesy. And they should at least look like they might not be carving out the hearts of live chickens by candlelight in a back room. Oddly enough the rest room was clean, so if I’m ever in the neighborhood and need to pee or drop something off...

Barack isn't just Biden his time

It’s hard to believe it’s finally over. And I was surprised we had a clear winner on election night. No hanging cads, lawsuits, or turning to relatives who just happen to be governing a contested state. Jeb who? Exactly.

In fact, right after Obama won I had mentally prepared myself for the Republicans to come back with a big, “Oh no you didn’t!”

Thank God that didn’t happen. Everyone hates it when the rich try to act ghetto.

It was an exciting night, and refreshing to see so many happy faces on TV. Well, except for Oprah.

And Sarah Palin. For some reason I expected her to grab the mike after John McCain’s thoughtful speech and say, “It’s not over yet America. We haven’t even made it to the swimsuit competition!”

Maybe it was the tears in her eyes, I don’t know.

Now that we have a new President working in the wings and giving the world hope, I couldn’t help but notice this past week the minorities have been out and about. It’s cool that they’ve come out of hiding.

There is only one Asian guy in my town. Just one. Sad but true. Welcome to Central Montana. He is a friendly and nice guy and everyone likes him but he’s very soft spoken. So I couldn’t believe what I witnessed in the grocery store the other day. He was standing at the meat counter, literally yelling his order to the butcher, “Yes! Three pounds! Ground beef! Thank you very much!”

It’s heartwarming to see such confidence. I assume this is taking place all over America and Kenya. It’s too bad we can’t bottle up this morale, put a big bow on it, and give it to Bush as a going away present.

We could change Election Day to a month earlier

You’ll see what I mean by end of this post. But first a little background to my dad’s worst Halloween ever, which was just last Friday. He has a shed in his back yard that (except for a few days a year) is stuffed full of Halloween crap. But for years all he had in there was a dummy wearing a hockey mask in an electrocution chair (death row style) that’s rigged to look pretty awesome when it’s plugged in. After construction he and his friends nicknamed it “Sparky” for obvious reasons. When Dad was still in his “single and hating most women because of my mother” years, he and his friends took Sparky over to a family member’s house. And others would contribute, making it the most kickassingest Halloween display on that side of town. Then Dad got remarried, and his wife turned out to be the kind of one-woman-show who puts many to shame when it comes to making holidays spectacular. Well, almost everyone.


So she says.

And from that Halloween on, Dad and my step mom teamed up to make their property really freaky. Their house and yard became the most happenin’ place in the neighborhood. But this year they were more than slightly annoyed with some of the ghouls who stopped by. And after hearing all about it, here's what I now believe are the worst types of visitors (from least horrible to most horrific)…

The super obnoxious teenaged thief

This was not your average obnoxious 13-yr-old male teen who, for example, might tell you he’s taking your daughter to his grandmother’s for cookies when they plan on watching a movie together at his house. No, this is the super obnoxious bastard who tells you exactly where they are going while he’s got his arm around her (and she’s wearing a mini-skirt and giggling way too much). The ‘thief’ part is obvious. He’s going to steal her virginity. In this case Dad would’ve done the honorable thing and send him packing with his underwear hanging out of his pants, then tell his daughter to, “Put some damn clothes on.”

Anyway, this super obnoxious jerk arrived as you might expect, with all manners out the window. He didn’t even say “Trick or treat” before slamming his entire hand into the candy bowl in an attempt to take all he could. Well that wasn’t going to fly. Dad grabbed his hand and forced the punk to drop it all. My hope is this spoiled piece of butt waste will remember this and learn something, but I have an odd feeling he’ll be in kiddy jail soon. I wonder if that’s anything like the adult-jail variety? No? Damn.

The future gold digger

This was a 16-yr-old girl who was not only NOT dressed up as anything but a slut (like those weren’t her normal clothes) but she was also hauling two large gunny sacks like she had just robbed the nearest bank. One was already full of candy, the other half-full. To witness greed of this magnitude blew my dad’s mind, and under the special circumstances he was at a loss for what to do. You see, there’s a rule most men follow called the ‘girl rule’, which means whether they know it or not (usually not) they automatically treat females differently than males. This is always to the female’s advantage. My dad belongs to the group of men who follow the rule without realizing it. It’s why for years my brothers secretly hated us (but mostly our other two sisters).

As you can imagine, the future gold-digging bitch with her sacks full of candy took from the bowl with no shame, and got away without reprimand. Her punishment will come in a few years when she’s forced to pick up Viagra at the pharmacy for her 80-year-old husband and then (as if that weren’t bad enough) it dawns on her he is expecting some action. Either that or finds out after his death she was never mentioned in the will. I personally hope it’s the latter. And that it comes after ten years of picking up Viagra and suffering through the trauma that follows while waiting for him to bite the dust.

The political fanatics

These are the absolute worst kind of Halloween House crashers. At least with the drunks you can make up an address a mile or two away and tell them there’s lots of booze and ‘easy young booty’ there and get rid of them quickly. When I say ‘political fanatics’ I’m not talking about your typical supporters just leaving a few words to mull over before moving on to the next house. I’m talking about the nuts who see the most popular house in the neighborhood as the one to haunt. They stick around and become grade A repellent. When the decent people come along and hear them arguing they run away and make a mental note not to drop by this crazy place ever again. And this story was the one that surprised me. You’d think people would take a break from their political views and enjoy visiting their neighbor’s awesomely decorated yard? Doesn’t that sound better than wasting time trying to shove your ideals (and all sides have them) down another guy’s throat and pissing off everyone in the vicinity (including the host)?

Dad didn’t want to be rude as these were adults and not kids who might actually be taught a lesson. But he sure thought it was rude how these grown idiots decided to make his yard the place to debate. This was his yard, dammit! He eventually said, “Fock it,” and figured it was much less depressing giving candy to the greedy and impolite goblins and witches.

My holiday was just fine since I do very little decorating. Last year I made fun of the teens who came by trick-or-treating. I asked them if they liked being out with all of the little kids, and mentioned it was so sad they didn’t have a date for the Halloween dance. Needless to say, I didn't see them this year. Hillary Clinton once said, “It takes a village to kick a kid’s ass.” So true.

When I fill up I won't be thinking about Kucinich

Dennis Kucinich came to me in a dream and said, “Look at these gas prices! Don’t you think it’s odd - the closer we get to Election Day the lower they go? Don’t you see what’s going on here?”

Then three gigantic men in shades, suit jackets and Speedos came out of nowhere and grabbed him. They slapped duct tape over his mouth, forced him into a straightjacket, threw him into the back of a van and took off so fast I could actually taste gravel. Yum. Then I awoke to my 3-month-old puppy licking my face and mouth. Needless to say, I felt like I got gypped. I was always under the impression, if a dog sucks your face while sleeping aren’t you supposed to dream it’s someone hot and horny, and not dirt hitting your face? Stupid dog. You sleep alone tonight.

The guys who hauled Kucinich off were wearing candy-striped Speedos, so does that make them gay or me gay (for having the dream)?


Isn't watching this after my daughters have left the room somehow okay?

It makes me a dimwit (and there are many layers here). I’m thinking no one in the gay community would be caught dead in candy stripes. Something tells me they’ve been trying to take out Richard Simmons for years, but he’s a sniper’s worst nightmare. (Stand still, dammit!)

This whole candy-striped thing has me in a tizzy. It really killed the sharp-dressed image my subconscious was trying to achieve with their suit jackets and dark sunglasses. So I think I should throw out the Disney movies and tell the girls the puppy chewed them into oblivion. Better yet, I’ll just put one in his food dish every day and call it redemption for loosening up my shoelaces (they always seem to unravel when I’m at work and on the stairs). Well, that and the chewed up internet cords (do they taste better than other cords?), making me scrub the carpet, and I can’t forget the unwanted face bath. I don’t know what’s worse - the fact that I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on Disney movies since my kids could see, or that my puppy chews on shoes and licks his balls before kissing me.

So that was one crazy dream/nightmare/make-out-session-with-my-dog. But concerning recent gas prices, I’d be the last one on earth to complain. They’ve been falling like they can’t get up. We went from $4.10/gal to $2.45 in what seemed like just a month. In fact, I’m getting excited right now wondering how low the price might possibly drop by Friday. I’m stuck with a gas hog at the moment, so for me, checking out the latest smoking hot price on the gas station sign has been just like a hot stud talking dirty to me.





Each time I drive by I wonder, Is today the day I’ll finally stop and let loose? I’ve still got enough to last another week, but I’m telling you, it’s taking all of my willpower to keep from hittin’ that. When I do prime the pump I want to make it worthwhile, so I’ll be filling up until it can’t take no more. And when I do give in to my desire, will I grab the pump slowly and savor the moment? Or will I rush right into it - stuff it in and squeal in delight with each gallon that enters my tank?

We’ll see. For now I’ll be holding out as long as possible. Nothing like letting the excitement build. But when I do it, I’m hoping everyone at the station will be inside the building or fighting in their trucks. I’d like a little privacy.

It's so hard to find a good doctor these days

I went to the doctor and said, “At night I’m having trouble falling asleep, and stay awake long after the kids have gone to bed.”

“No problem. I can prescribe you some good sleeping pills,” he said.

“But there’s more,” I continued. “When I finally do fall asleep, I don’t want to wake up.”

The doctor interrupted a second time. “Sounds like depression, and if that’s the case, no worries. Nothing a good prescription won’t fix.”

“Wait, there’s more. When I get home from work and my sweet, darling children talk to me I feel a strong urge to grab a beer and take a long swig every time they say, ‘Mom’ or ‘Can you…’. If I actually followed through, in a couple of hours I’d be drunker than Amy Winehouse at a Sunday brunch.”

I sometimes wonder if it’s just her name. Maybe if she changed it to ‘Amy Straighthouse’ or ‘Amy Soberhouse’ it would help her image? Maybe at least help keep her from always looking totally trashed?


Nah.

He winced. “Sounds like you might have the drinking disease. Any alcoholism in your family?”

“No. None. Having lots of kids is the only thing that runs in my family.”

While he scratched his head, I continued describing my symptoms. “When we’re at the grocery store, I want to throw all of the frozen foods into my cart and totally empty out the freezer case.”

“Hunger?”

“No. ‘Cause then it would be easier to stuff my kids into the freezer case.”

“Oh.”

“Just until they begged for mercy,” I added.

He frowned. “It sounds like you’re having early symptoms of a disease called KCJB - Kidamage Caustrating Jellocious Braindeadeous.”

I let out a puzzled, “Hmm?”

He continued, “In plain English - Kids Causing Jellied Brain. It’s very real, and you should be very afraid. The more kids you have, the worse it will be for you in the end. And you’ve got like - let me see your chart - holy kidlets. Five. You should be crapping your pants. Right now. I wish I could tell you there’s a cure. But what I can tell you is, there’s no cure.”

I let out a stunned, “Huh?”

“Luckily, you do have some time left to enjoy life. Mainly in those precious hours you spend away from your children. But eventually your entire brain is going to turn to jelly. One big blob of jam that will be totally useless. If I had to guess, based on everything you’ve told me, I’d say it could happen in about five years. That’s not so bad. You’ll be 40 then, so your life will basically be over anyway.”

I let out a - nothing. Just dropped my jaw into my lap.

He continued, “I admire your gaping mouth. So I’ve been thinking. You know what? I can’t lie to you and say this disease is entirely incurable. There’s nothing wrong with being proactive, now that you know what fate lies ahead. So I’ll let you know - and this needs to be kept just between you and me - I’ll totally cover you, if you want to pull a Yates.”

“If I pull a what?!”

He continued, “Shh! Not so loud. I’m trying to help you here. Surely you’ve heard of that mother who drowned her five kids?”

“Um yeah, the psycho-mama. I don’t want to drown anyone. No offense.”

He put a finger to his chin and thought for a minute. “Well, seriously? You’re going to shoot that one down without any consideration? ‘Cause although you’d be in a hospital for the rest of your life, it would be a long life without jam for a brain. You’d retain your sanity. No one will know. You plead insanity, I’ll back you. I’ve got a doctor pal working with a certain defense lawyer, and my friend owes me some favors. Think about it.”

“No.”

“Oh well. I got it! How about an accident? Here’s a good one. It’s simple. Take the kids on a hunting trip. ‘Accidentally’ make them your target.”

“HELL no.”

“Um, alright. Too violent. Okay. I got it! Take them on a long drive into the mountains. ‘Accidentally’ lose them in the middle of nowhere. The wolves and bears should take good care of them. Worst case scenario: one makes it out alive. Two tops.”

I stood up to leave. “Thanks Doc, but I think the only real solution is to send the kids to live with their grandparents. After everything I’ve learned about KCJB today, I’m thinking it’s a good idea. It’s become pretty clear - Mom and Dad are already a couple of jam heads.”

The doctor’s eyes lit up.
















“Great Scott! Now why didn’t I think of that?”


Hmm. He looks awfully familiar.

Twisted News: Obama's endorsements defy laws of nature

It all started when Hillary Clinton, after fighting like mad for the Democratic nomination, came out at the convention with just as much fervor to concede and throw her weight behind Barack. When asked why she was so willing to discard her pride and step up for this shocking display of unity, she replied, “Any night I can piss off my husband is a good night.”

That same night Bill Clinton was overheard saying, “I love the guy. Why else would I be so supportive? I don’t need my wife to get a piece. Consider that when you’re in the voting booth.”


Another shocker was just last week when General Colin Powell, a Republican, came out of the closet on NBC’s ‘Meet The Press’ to endorse Barack. While speaking to Tom Brokaw off-camera, he said, “Back when I was for the war I was really against it, but it was the most popular mind-set. Do I regret it? Of course. After eight years of Bush in the White House, am I ashamed to call myself a Republican? Naturally. I just went out and a bought a blue hybrid, a blue beach house in the Bahamas, and a great set of books for my young grandchild based on the TV show, ‘Blue’s Clues’. I’ve even got bluebirds and a donkey in my backyard now.”

Then Tom said, “You’ve been privately supporting Barack for months now. Why wait so long to make it public?”

Powell replied, “Isn’t it obvious? It’s pretty clear he’s the most popular candidate.”


Fast forward to this weekend. The Anchorage Daily News is the state of Alaska’s largest newspaper. Unbelievably, it was reported on CNN and internet news sites that the newspaper has publicly endorsed Barack Obama. When asked why they weren’t supporting a McCain/Palin White House, they came out with this statement…

“We are grateful for everything our sweetheart, Governor Sarah Palin, has done for Alaska and its citizens. We would love nothing more than to support a ticket with a VP candidate who governs our great state, but…

Seriously? For real? You’re kidding, right?”


And the last we will report on (but not the least) is the man who came out to shock the world as one of Barack’s strongest supporters, Joe Biden. It was leaked he will be chosen as People Magazine’s next Sexiest Man Alive. The editors have fallen hard for him, and stated the following reasons for their choice.

“He swallowed his pride when he accepted Barack’s offering to become the VP candidate. In the past he’s ran for President not once, but twice. That is some ‘heart-melting humility’.”

“He survived a near-death experience when an angry McCain supporter broke into his house and clubbed him in the head with a baseball bat. That is some tough. And not long after that, America’s favorite gaff machine was back to display his ‘irresistible sense of humor’.”

“He is a ‘rock solid family man’ which makes him very appealing to the ladies. Any old white guy who can make a young black woman throw her panties with abandon is incredibly sexy.”

Twisted News: Palin's first news conference

Sarah Palin may be leery of the media in general, but she was eager to take questions from many students in an elementary school gymnasium during what she thought would be a private session. This transcript is based on an audio recording, so there are no pictures. Aw, shucks.

Sarah: Hi, kids! Do you know who I am?

Girl: That lady from Saturday Night Live!? Can I please have your autograph?!

Sarah: I’m actually Sarah Palin, Governor of the great state of Alaska, as you’ve probably seen in The Simpsons Movie. I’m running for Vice President alongside John McCain. I’ll be signing autographs when we’re done here and you’ll be the very first to get one!

Girl: Uh, no thanks.

Boy: You were in The Simpsons Movie?

Sarah: Almost, but not quite. What I meant was Alaska is the state Homer Simpson ran to when his family was in hiding. Did you see me wink just now?

Girl: Why did you come to our school? We’re just kids.

Sarah: Well you may just be children, but I believe you are our future, so if we teach you well- oh wait, you’ll probably recognize those lines from School of Rock. Truth is - I needed a little break from being around grown-ups, and I was in the neighborhood, and your principal is a republican. So I’m here today, just to talk to you all and give you a sense of who I am, and hopefully you’ll go home and tell your parents about the nice lady running for Vice President. Does that sound cool, or what?

Cricket: Chirp-chirp.

Sarah: John McCain will become our next president if we are so blessed, and I hope you’ll think of us as the angels we are. We’re here to protect you from all of the evils out there and fight them while we reign supreme in the justice and liberties of which shall be determined should be held sacred, and other good and safe things like that. I even brought flag tattoos for all of you, which I recommend wearing proudly on your foreheads. Does staying safe sound good to you kids?

(Could be a) Boy or girl: My mom already taught me about ‘stranger danger’. Will we get candy if you win?

Sarah: Of course, and I’m glad you asked that question. Part of our economic plan includes distributing candy to every family in America. But it will have to be fair, so the rich families will get more candy than the poor ones. You see kids, poor families will be happy with whatever they get!

Boy or girl: Mom said not to take candy from strangers. Now I’m scared.

Sarah: Um, next question?

Girl: Who is Joe the Plumber? And Joe Six-Pack? Are they the same guy?

Sarah: I see some one here has been paying attention to my speeches!

Girl: Actually, I heard my grandma (who has Alzheimer’s) telling my mom that you talk about them a lot but it’s just a gimmick. Is that true? ‘Cause my grandma is kind of nuts.

Sarah: Hmm. Well let me tell you, Joe the Plumber is just as important as Bob the Builder. Can he fix it? Yes he can! Can he plumb it? You betcha! Joe Six-Pack is better than Joe Camel. And a Nobama is better than an Obama. No gimmicks here kids, just the facts. And I’m so sorry about your grandma. Under John McCain’s health care plan your family can put that money to good use, ensuring your grandma is always kept far away from you. Seedy caretakers are better than none, Hon!

Boy: Can you really see Russia from your house? My big sister pretends to be you when she says it, but then she laughs, so I’m confused.

Sarah: Well here’s a little secret. If I go way up on the roof of my mansion and use a really high-powered telescope, then yes I can see Russia. Yes I can! So you tell your sister that, and you can also tell her she’s not getting any candy.

Girl: I saw you on TV with Katie Couric. Did you watch yourself?

Sarah: Now I’m curious, Sweetie. Why would you ask that?

Girl: ‘Cause if I ever got on TV I would want to watch myself, so I just wanted to know if you watched yourself. Why else?

Sarah: Well, the answer to that is a firm NO. First of all, I’d much rather stick to my line- er, talking points than veer off course and talk to any mean gotch-ya journalists out there. And to tell ya the truth, I knew when it was over it would just be a side note in our campaign. I have more important things to do than watch myself on TV, like focus on winning by saying whatever I can about our opponent on the campaign trail, and making sure my good name is kept good back home in Alaska. And I will continue in this fashion to keep things relevant because I love my America.

(Another) Boy or girl: What are gotch-ya journ-lists?

Sarah: I’m glad you asked! Gotch-ya journalists are reporters who ask trick questions to get you to say something they can pick apart and say mean things about. You know what bullies are, right? Well that’s what they are. Mean school yard bullies with a lust for the taste of blood. Sometimes they give you something funny to drink before you even get started. Well, I’ll just come right out and say it ‘cause I like to talk straight. Kids, the media and news people out there are evil. Well, all of them except Rush Limbaugh. They don’t like me because I’m angelic and good. That not only makes me better than them, but also secures my place in heaven as they sink to the depths of hell. And some day, they’ll beg for mercy as I file my nails and watch reruns of Walker: Texas Ranger with John McCain in The Situation Room. So you kids need not worry. We know how to keep you safe.

Boy: Are you saying Barack Obama can’t keep us safe?

Sarah: You’d have to ask him that question yourself, but I really don’t think he’s coming here! And I won’t say you should fear him, but I’d better let you know - if you look anything like Osama Bin Laden, he’ll shoot you dead.

Boy: Didn’t you say he is pals with terrorists?

Sarah: No, I said he pals around with terrorists. There’s a difference. So when you go to sleep at night, imagine John McCain and I floating over your house. We’re just a couple of angels sent here to reprogram your thoughts in goodness to protect you from harm, is all. But now it’s time to wrap this up. I’ve got to get back to the pumpin’, stumpin’ and tub thumpin’. Just one more question.

Girl: Do you have any advice for us girls when we grow up?

Sarah: Girls, this is important. I want you all to be winners, so you’ll have to trust me on this one. You just can’t go wrong if you find a rich, old man.

The Shit List: Undecided Voters

On occasion I make a mental note of certain groups of people I hold a good amount of contempt for. But why keep it bottled up inside? So I’ve decided to share my feelings. It isn’t hatred - I just really dislike these people. I’m calling it ‘The shit list’ for lack of a better title. ‘People I really dislike’ sounds too lame, and ‘People who should disappear off the face of the earth’ or ‘People I hold a good amount of contempt for’ are too long, and that last one just plain sucks.

Watching the presidential race has been so weird this year. I can’t remember a race ever being this dramatic. It’s like a soap opera except it’s real life, which is pretty awful when I think about it that way. I hate soaps, but I do enjoy vanilla scented body wash. I also hate polls for many reasons but mainly because it’s always really close, and you’ve got those undecided voters who could swing it either way, yet they insist on remaining undecided right up until the very end just to keep the rest of us guessing. Thanks, guys! So we don’t really know how it will end, but I’m ready for it to end now.

Here’s my advice for undecided voters. The first time in my life I had a tough decision to make I went to my dad. Maybe it was something like deciding whether or not to wear those hideous leg warmers to school because they were considered hip, but whatever and whenever it was, it was a tough decision at the time. So I asked my dad how he decided what to do when he was confused about something. He said, “You’ve got to weigh it out.”

He held out his hands, palms up, like he was a human scale and literally showed me how it worked. “You put all the good on this side, put all the bad on the other side. If the bad outweighs the good, it’s the wrong choice. If the good outweighs the bad, that’s probably the right choice. Run with it.”

The leg warmers helped to keep my legs warm that winter.

So there you go. You think about everything you already know, and find out everything you don’t yet know but want to know. Then you weigh it out. It’s not fool-proof, but it’s a formula and better than just sitting on your haunches. So please, and I’m probably speaking for most political junkies here, don’t remain undecided another day.

We’ve still got over two weeks left before the standard national voting day, but that doesn’t mean the undecideds should keep telling the pollsters they have no clue who they are voting for. Everyone’s identity I assume is kept confidential, so what’s keeping them from spitting it out? Are they really still confused or are they just paranoid? Are they on drugs? Alcoholics? Is there a Nazi in the room when they get the call? I give up.

Yeah, I know. Polls are usually wrong anyway. I should just turn off the TV and go to church.

Twisted Lyrics: My Name Is Joe The Plumber

This came to me when I saw a McCain t-shirt on CNN that read, “My name is Joe the plumber.”

This is an obvious twist on Eminem’s song, My Name Is. I’m just having some fun and it won’t be long before everyone forgets all about this guy. I’m also a fan of Carly Simon but I couldn’t make this fit with any of her songs.


My Name Is… Joe The Plumber

Hi! My name is… what? My name is… who?
My name is… Joe the plumber
Hi! My name is… huh? My name is… what?
My name is… Joe the plumber

Ah hem. Excuse me!
Can I have the attention of the press for one second?

Hi kids! Do you like violence?
Wanna see me stick Palin’s nails through each one of my eyelids?
Wanna copy me and do exactly as I did?
Trick y’all and get f***ed up worse than my life is?
I don’t play straight, found a candidate to bait
but I can’t figure out why I owe $1200 to the state
John McCain said, “Joe you are a winner!”
Uh-uh. “You won the debate. Here’s your dinner!”
Well I pretend, I feel like I’m someone else
Cause I felt like a rich plumber cause that’s just how I felt
Got pissed off and ripped the democrat’s balls off
And smacked him so hard he went away crying, so I thought
You all should know who I am, my real name is Sam
I’m on McCain’s side and I don’t give a damn
I am Sam (We know your last name is Wurzelbacher!)
But please call me Joe, God sent me to be the plumber

Hi! My name is… what? My name is… who?
My name is… Joe the plumber
Hi! My name is… huh? My name is… what?
My name is… Joe the plumber

My fifteen minutes of fame sure aren't flyin by fast
Thanks a lot, I was just hoping it wouldn't last
But it’s okay that I’m on many buttons, McCain’s shown me lovin,
and even Sarah Palin gives me huggin (Wow!)
Showed up in the crowd, had my other face on
Surprised Obama, now do you all think I’m a con?
A registered voter, runnin with republicans
and the liberals are screamin at me: “Let’s just be friends!”
Ninety-nine percent of my life is just a dream
I just found out I need a license and I’m steamed (Damn!)
I told me I’d grow up to be a famous plumber
Make a statement about Palin love and try not to hurt her
You know you blew up when the McCain says your name
and the reporters flood your house givin you this fame
Barack at the debate asked to explain his plan
(Joe, can I speak about my plan?)
So I sighed, “Dear Barack, thanks for the support, Asshole!”

Hi! My name is… huh? My name is… who?
My name is… Joe the plumber
Hi! My name is… what? My name is… who?
My name is… Joe the plumber

Stop the tape, this plumber is sick of TV!
John McCain, don’t just stand there, you’re the key!
I’m not feelin too good, cause the people do pry (F*** that!)
They’ll have to slap me on more t-shirts in order to keep my name alive
Am I Samuel or Joe? I can barely decide
I just might lose my self respect, dare me to cry?
All my life I moved from there to here
I have lived in Arizona, in Alaska for almost a year
(Whoops!) You know I’m the Incredible Joe
I’m in Ohio, and I’m the star of the show (C’mere)
When I was unknown I used to get so pissed off I would throw fits
How you gonna help, Joe Biden? You ain’t got no tits! (Wahhh!)
I have to get a plumbing license to work
What the hell happened? I’ll get you media jerks (Bang!)
I’m steamin mad (Arrrggghhh!)
And by the way when you see Barack? (Yeah?)
Tell him that I kicked his ass, and my vote is locked

Hi! My name is… what? My name is… who?
My name is… Joe the plumber
Hi! My name is… huh? My name is… what?
My name is…



You can get your button at McCain's website...

How to sexually harass a co-worker

Are you ready to learn how to successfully navigate around those pesky laws banning sexual harassment in the workplace? In order to effectively break these laws meant to protect women and women only, certain criteria must be met. If you fall into any of the following categories, congratulations! You are on your way.

First and foremost, you must be:

An attractive woman, OR

A man who resembles an attractive woman, OR

Self-employed


If you don’t meet any of these basic criteria, there is simply no hope for you. Unless you resort to violence, of course. So stay tuned for the next how-to, entitled ‘How to pick up a lesbian’, as we do not wish to discriminate here.


Tips for the women and those who come very, very close...

1. The don’ts: Don’t think for a minute you can just stroll up to a guy at work and make a move on his unit. Even if he likes it (and studies have shown he will) you run the risk of getting written up or treated like a two-bit hooker. For the sake of simplicity let’s pretend this is a straight man you’re dealing with here. He could tell his wife or girlfriend (you may or may not know exists), which could be much worse. Especially if you are a man in female attire, which makes defending yourself against a mad bitch that much more complicated. And your gender doesn’t matter if she resembles a sumo wrestler. Odds are you’ll be her next meal. Even if not one of these disastrous scenarios occur, he WILL tell at least one guy at work. It won’t be long before word spreads like a meth whore in a truck stop parking lot. The bottom line: If you don’t like your job and plan on leaving anyway, then by all means, roll the dice and make a beeline straight for his junk. But if you’re gonna do it, do it right and get it on video.

2. The safest target is one who has no idea he is a target. Find a good-looking gent with tattoos. The more tats the better, as this will give you more opportunities to play. On each occasion, point out one specific piece of artwork on his beautriful body and touch away. He will not only welcome your advances but gladly tell you all about the particular tattoo - where and when he got it, what gang it might represent, etc. You can either pretend to listen in awe or keep touching it (him) until he is finished with the boring details. Then gracefully walk away, and in your mind shout, Score!

3. Additional hint: Anything in-between these two extremes is safe because you are an attractive woman (or resemble one). Have fun sexually harassing!


Tips for the self-employed...

1. The safest target is most likely the only target in sight - yourself. If you are a man and indeed resemble one, this is the only way you can be absolutely successful in the world of sexual harassment. In addition, the only time you can pull this off is while working alone. But all genders have to realize what a wonderful position they are in here. You are your own boss, so YOU set your own schedule. As long as you strike in the privacy of your own office there is virtually no risk here. And you can go much, much further than the average workplace harasser. Get yourself a full-length mirror if you don’t already have one. Set the mood by lighting a candle or wearing a leopard-print thong. If you are a woman, slap on some pasties. Men and women, you’ll thank yourself later for going all out. So… now that you’re armed with this knowledge you can get creative, and use your imagination for a most pleasing harassment experience.

2. The don’ts: Don’t think for a minute you can just sexually harass yourself in public. For example, you might remember what happened to “Pee Wee” Herman when he worked his hose in a movie theater. After making his contribution to an already sticky floor, he got arrested! Most of society still looks down on touching yourself in a public place, even if that place is dark and already swirling with germs. And if this can happen in a movie theater, Buddha only knows how you could get away with it at a bus stop or in a city park. And I don’t have to tell you how bad it would be if you DID get arrested. In these tough economic times, who could afford the related fines? It’s hard enough being self-employed as it is, so for the love of Anna Nicole Smith, don’t do it unless you’re suicidal. The bottom line: Public masturbation is much better than jumping off a bridge. If you’re thinking about overdosing on painkillers or slitting those wrists, then by all means, replace those thoughts with self-lust and pretend no one will see you working that hand (or dildo) in the poster section at Spencer’s.

3. Additional hint: Buddha isn’t watching. Have fun sexually harassing!


Today's How-to was brought to you by twisted-wiki.com, NOT twistedwick.

The star of the Republican ticket

She stole McCain’s wisp of thunder and since then has been some sort of puppet person. And according to recent polls, the ‘Palin factor’ has been working well for Obama’s campaign. Much better than Biden. However, I don’t think it’s fair for Palin to say she’s been hearing about Biden’s speeches since she was in second grade. So here’s a cheap shot for ya. I’m 35. She’s 44. Do the math. When I was in second grade she was busy getting nailed in the back seat of a Chevy.

I think Palin is just trying too hard at this point. That quip was an obvious attempt at impersonating Tina Fey that went all screwy on the poor woman. And when Katie Couric got up in her grill about her statement, she tried to pass it off like it wasn’t a dig on Biden’s age and said he was experienced three or four times. I guess Katie really threw her off there. Sarah got so confused she thought she was talking about McCain. Katie is really a bad ass. Anyone in her line of fire should be… scared?

If what America really wants is a dummy times two in office yet again, then elect me. My running mate will be my female dog, Sparky Churchill. That’s historic times two. Two bitches in office. So wrong it must be right? The dog is qualified in commandeering because she’s also named after the great Winston. What can I say. I just knew this day would come.

While Palin was on stage at the convention speaking to a semi-live audience of Republicans, she said if they just gave her a chance she could make them all fifty years younger. And the crowd went wild. There were canes waving and hair plugs flying. Exciting stuff there. Even Joe Biden flinched.

After asking that great question (back before she was actually chosen), “What does a Vice President do?”…

She has apparently been taking a crash course. The question is, will the course crash? I thought for sure it would when they took the teleprompter away. But now that they’re letting her speak on her own, the public is impressed that she can come across like she’s speaking on her own. Maybe they’ll let her talk to reporters some time in the near future for a few minutes, to prove she isn’t just a puppet in lipstick, but I won’t hold my breath waiting for a Sarah Palin news conference. Something tells me, even if he allowed that, McCain would be right behind her whispering, “No comment on ‘bridge to nowhere’.”

Did you know twenty percent of Alaskans hate her guts? You call them cheap shots. I call them fun facts.

Back to the convention… during her acceptance speech she announced she had put the governor’s jet up for sale on ebay. And she went city to city, and kept saying it like it was an awesome achievement. “I said I don’t need no stinking luxury jet! Ebay! Woo! Yeah! Ebay!”

She had me convinced. Convinced she’s addicted to ebay, that is.

Now she just needs to tell us all what she buys on ebay. This is what we really want to know. Who cares about political experience? Let’s talk online auctions, kids and lipstick. Better yet, she needs to sit down with Barbara Walters. That’s how you win an election.

Every great leader has had a love for auctions. That’s how Teddy got his guns. And that’s how Nixon got rid of those pesky documents. That didn’t work out too well for him. But Gerald Ford didn’t come around until he was his 90’s. And once he got started he couldn’t stop. He bought a steel building (on ebay) and used it to store all of his purchases. He was on the site every day, so he eventually ran out of storage space. And that’s when his heart gave out. It’s sad. His hand was still holding the mouse when they found him, face down on the keyboard. Then his wife had to auction off everything.

I wish I could relate to Palin, I really do, but among many things she’d have to suddenly realize the importance of Roe v. Wade and our right to privacy. As far as abortion is concerned, do you think someone like me with a bunch of kids has ever considered it? But it’s comforting to know the option is there. You take that away, and what’s next? Tampon machines in rest rooms? Noooooo!

But I still heart Governor Palin, because she’s a woman with a bunch of kids and a love for the elk jerky. With a little luck from the masses and a big kiss from heaven, perhaps she could become president some day. If she doesn’t want to wait as long as Bush Senior did, after “helping” McCain win the election she should keep praying to that Republican God, and maybe (if she prays it will be God’s will) the grim reaper will bump him up to the top of the list.

What? You don’t really think she has any strategy, do you? She IS the strategy.

Yes, it’s that simple. Some day she could be the first president to put Air Force One up for sale on ebay.

Twisted News: Ghost Stalkers

Paranormal Activity Titillates Sexually

PATS is an organization dedicated to stalking ghosts for sexual pleasure. Jimmy Bob Berry, Denny Waxoff and Andy Dumass formed the group after graduating from college together when they finally came to the realization that (for various reasons) they would never have sex with any human being. As time went on they soon attracted other like-minded individuals who were eager to, as Berry put it, “Get a good bone on and relieve ourselves while watching ghosts. It's not voyeurism if they know we're there. ”

Waxoff and Dumass were also available during the interview. Says Dumass, “I’m the original mastermind behind PATS. I’ve always had a deep fascination with the paranormal. It’s been a great experience so far. I’ll admit one misstep was walking in on Denny during a moment of climax, but he forgave me for that.”

Waxoff admitted, “It was hard to be angry at Andy. I mean, he unknowingly walked right into a jizz shower that day. And I never forgot to wear a condom after that.”

Berry claims PATS is very professional and detail-oriented. After taking care of business they clean up and leave no trace of their close encounters behind. And surprisingly, there is no shortage of haunted houses available.

“The phone rings every day,” a smiling Berry revealed. “People are always grateful when we show up with our equipment. They just want to know if it’s really a ghost in their building. They don’t care what we do when we get there. We get paid to do what we love.”

And exactly what kind of special equipment do they use?

“All we need is right here,” said Dumass, pointing toward his nether region. “In our pants,” he continued. “If we investigate a room and a ghost is present, it’s an automatic erection.”

Waxoff adds, “What could be better than this? Extra-terrestrials, that’s what. But we have yet to meet a willing alien.”

Dear John...

This is Elizabeth’s fake reply to John’s fake letter as posted here.

Dear John,

F*** YOU. This is all on YOU. Did you honestly think the truth would never come out? Seriously? Did you think for one minute you could not only cheat on me, but then just as easily chase me out of your life? Ah yes, that would be the icing on the mother f***ing cake.

You can plead ‘til the worms are slithering through your rotting corpse. I’m not going anywhere, babe. Not without a cage match to the death, you miserable man-slut.

I really do hate to rain on your parade, especially under the circumstances. You poor thing, you. What with all of the pressure, and the media exposing your lies... And now people are saying that bitch’s baby is yours too. I just can’t imagine what THAT must be like. BOO HOO.

You've really blown it, Johnny. I’ll never let your sorry ass off the hook. You’ll have to deal with me for the rest of your pitiful and pathetic life. Now I’m even more determined to keep my cancer in remission. If it comes back I'll fight it with a vengeance, only so I can give back all you have coming. Thank you for that.

Oh, and I WILL make your life a living hell. I'll be right by your side, haunting you at every turn. You phony, rotten, arrogant, deceitful, egotistical, slithering, back-stabbing, weaseling, lying, whore-licking, AIDS-sucking, cheating bastard!!!

Forever yours,

Elizabeth

Dear Elizabeth...

Dear Elizabeth,

I’ve been trying to put myself into your shoes lately. I’ve tried to see things from your point of view. But I’m afraid I, I just can’t do that. I just can’t imagine what it would be like to be married to a habitual liar with a cheatin’ heart. I have no idea what it’s like to suffer such public betrayal. The pain and humiliation must be terrible.

And in all honesty, I can’t believe you’re still with a man who would confess to your face he had many hot days and even hotter nights with a woman much younger and more attractive than you. Are you that needy? There ARE other fish in the sea.

Why don’t you just leave? Save what little pride you have left and get out now. I mean, Holy Jupiter! Why on earth would you want to stay? All it takes is a trip down to the courthouse. You can be a free woman! Hell, I’ll even point you into the direction of a good lawyer.

What in tarnation are you waiting for? It can only get worse from here on out.





Sincerely,

John

Magic beans, and what not...

I have this crazy sleep schedule. After a hard day’s work I lie on the sofa to watch some TV and end up passing out for a few hours. Then I catch a few more hours of sleep in the early morning until the phone rings at around nineish. It’s always a computer guy named Jim or gal named Jill who wants me to upgrade my cable to satellite or extend my imaginary warranty, or even consolidate my imaginary credit card debt. Point is, I could sleep through a tornado or monkey slapping my face. But for some reason I always jump out of bed and a deep sleep whenever the phone rings. So that works for me much better than an alarm clock. I’m pretty much awake the rest of the day. At least, until I get home from work. That’s how it’s been for the last few years or so. And now I need to change all of that. In fact, I just took a sleeping pill so I need to finish this as quick as a Vegas wedding so I don’t pass out and drool all over the keyboard. But that’s not a real scenario. Pills only seem to work when someone wants to get high. Well, I just need to hurry.

So my old boss called me about a week ago. I was his office manager for six months in ‘03-‘04 before he realized he could no longer afford to pay me. And regarding the business, he said, “Please! Just take it!”

Since then he’s started and apparently shut down another business that he ran without any outside help, and again started up an entirely new one. Now back to the phone call. I didn’t think much of it since he calls occasionally to see how things are going with me and/or needs a favor. One time I ended up selling sno-cones around town with one of his daughters from a golf cart because he got busy and needed me to take his place. And, he said I would pick up some extra cash. That only lasted about a month. After expenses and splitting the profit with his daughter, I raked in ten dollars a week.

Here’s how the convo went…

“Hey Alicia, sorry to call so early but I need to run something by you. Got a minute?”

“Uh… yeah. What time is it?”

“Ha ha. Hey, I’ve had this new business now for close to a year and it’s doing really well.”

“Tons of dough, huh?” Yawn.

“Like I said, it’s doing well. I have a new office in town, and it would be great if you would come work for me.”

“I’ll have to think about it. Can I keep my current job? ‘Cause I don’t really want to quit it.”

Translation: “I’m scared to death to quit a secure job when any time I’ve ever worked for you it’s only been temporary.”

“Hey, that’s no problem. We can work around your other job. Just think it over, and if you decide you want to do it give me the earliest and latest times you can work.”

Translation: “This I know. I will be your boss again. Muahahahahaha.”

“Sure, I’ll think it over and get back to you.”

Translation: “Oh shit! You really are serious, aren’t you?”

So I called him back on Friday, and he says this will eventually turn into full time with benefits.

Okay. Whatever!

I start first thing Monday morning. Wish me luck.

Facing the truth about politicians hurts

I really enjoy watching Anderson Cooper so I try to never miss his show AC360. He’s hawt. Anyway, I was watching Friday and it seems John Edwards (who has only been labeled 'hawt' by Larry Craig) has finally admitted he had this affair that he’d been denying for an eternity. Well, almost a year. But he’s not off the hook yet, and is obviously feeling the pressure from yet another accusation. In response to rumors that he impregnated his mistress, he’s now resorted to quoting Michael Jackson lyrics. “She says I am the one. But the kid is not my son.”

Seriously though, I like to think I’m fair 99% of the time. So, the truth: John’s mistress Rielle Hunter isn’t the one pressing the paternity issue. In fact, she doesn’t even want a paternity test done. It’s the National Enquirer. It seems they have a picture of Edwards in a hotel room holding the baby. The magazine is apparently trying to change its image from the number one source of heat and toilet paper for the homeless to America’s number one news source.

But I’ve known for a long time and have accepted the fact that politicians cheat on their spouses. Who cares about that? I found something newsworthy about Senators McCain and Obama and, well, to say I’m totally shocked and disappointed would be an understatement. It’s short so you should probably read it first. But proceed to the story with caution and keep your legs crossed. Remember, everything that oozes from these two stems from their one shared goal… getting lots of tail in the Lincoln Room. It’s just a lot easier that way.

I must admit when reading the article it really pained me to see a few of the candidates’ music choices.

ABBA? I can just imagine McCain with his wife’s iPod not long before saying that.

Sheryl Crow? Bob Dylan? These are on Obama’s short list? I’m speechless. I had him pinned as a Kenny Rogers fan.

And of course McCain just had to throw in, “But I like Usher too.”

Holy pandering politicians!

But what really cracked me up was what McCain essentially said about a character in the last movie he’s seen.



I think he may be on to something.

Just kidding, I think Harrison Ford should kick his ass.

John McCain speaks to America again

Hello America,

I’m back to do some ‘splaining about an ad you may or may not have seen comparing Barack Obama to Britney Spears and Paris Hilton. My campaign came up with this honorable spot to let you know my opponent is one who simply cannot be trusted. This was a fair and unbiased representation of a man who has only been in the Senate for 3 years. I, on the other hand, have been proudly serving this country since long before most of you youngsters were even born. And I’m proud.

I’m proud of this ad because it was hilarious. After viewing the ad for the first time, my campaign team and I laughed and laughed. I soaked my Depends within seconds. I am proud to work with comrades who are in tune with my sense of humor and know just how to tickle my funny bone. And when it comes right down to winning over young voters, humor works. Comedians themselves are insanely jealous. Come on now. Admit it. The ad is funny.

I’m proud of this ad because it finally got me some desperately needed attention. Let’s face it, my campaign is in crisis mode here. Senator Obama has been globe trotting and now he’s back on American soil and everyone knows about it. Thanks to the media, you all know when he’s taking a shit and you know its color and consistency. I've had to deal with the media sucking his ass and face for far too long now. The only way I can get any coverage is if I attack their lover in every way possible. And I might add it’s amazing just how far a rape threat can get you. I was on Wolf Blitzer’s show last week.

I am the only one you can trust, America. How can I can get through to you people? There’s just no other way to show you I am indeed the better man. So be prepared for many more ads like this one, and the one about the media boning my opponent. I’m only pointing out the Senator's weaknesses in a way that shows I am an elect-able candidate. We’ve only just begun, and I’m proud. I’m a winner.

And while we're on the subject of winning, let’s talk about my years and years of experience. For example, I have an excellent track record of thinking about the oil and energy crisis. It’s been on my mind for the last 20+ years - well - since the late 70’s. That’s got to count for something.

When push came to shove on the campaign trail, I exposed my genius by hopping on board with Senator Clinton’s proposal for a gas tax holiday that could’ve helped America immensely for a few awesome days.

Recently I’ve decided to support the off-shore drilling of oil when for years I was against it. I’ve flipped not because Bush did a 180 and is now supporting it, and not to align myself with most Americans on this issue. I've changed my position because I control the wind. And the idea of “too little, too late” is the way losers operate. Barack Obama is one of those big fat losers. Winners know you can never give up. If your head and torso are in the mouth of a shark, do you let him make a meal out of you? No, you put up a fight. You punch and kick. You scream. When you feel your body being sawed in two, you don’t give up. Blood pours out from you and attracts more sharks, but that’s okay because you’re still fighting for your life. Even when it’s obvious you only have but seconds left to live, you tell yourself it will be alright and continue your fight. That’s how to be a winner. Losers are always nitpicking and losing themselves in such trivial things as details. I’m above that, America. And I’m ready to lead you as your next President.




Vote for me, or you could be eaten by sharks.

I’m Senator McCain, and I don’t not approve this message.

What is a vacation without a theme park?

As planned, on our vacation back in June a day was dedicated to Valley Fair. It’s a magical place I visited a few times during childhood. And nothing says love like putting your kids on large metal objects that defy gravity, whip them around like dolls and make them scream bloody hell (and possibly vomit into or around the nearest trash can). I just wanted them to have the same memories as I - the kind that last a lifetime.

Valley Fair isn’t a huge theme park. I’m sure it’s much smaller than Six Flags but I’ve never been there so I’m totally guessing. But the place is big enough that kids could easily get lost or disappear entirely, so I was pretty much stuck like glue to my two daughters while the teens were free to venture on their own. Not that I wouldn’t miss them after a few days, or a week, tops. Thanks to the age of cell phones we were reunited periodically and when the park closed. Oh well. I guess my kids didn't get the full experience after all.

The day started out slow for me due to the blinding sun and heat. It was hard to believe that just the previous week/month it had been raining pretty much daily. I forgot to tack that onto my good luck charm list. The weather was great the entire week we were there. Coincidence? Perhaps, but not if you believe in the power of the frizz. Actually, I got burned pretty badly as a result so it's all just a farce. Damn.

Back to the little to zero cloud cover - I was wearing a tank and shorts thinking sunscreen on my arms, shoulders, chest and legs was quite enough. I hate that crap and avoid the sun as much as possible so I don’t have to use it. And I’m not sitting out in the sun as I write this either. I’m not that big of a hypocrite. But Valley Fair was an entire day outside so I had no choice. It didn't do me much good, but that's a post for another day.

I soon found out I’m not as brave as I used to be, so it was good for me to tag along with my 6-yr-old. She was too short to go on most of the rides, so you could say she was my crutch and/or excuse for being a total chicken shit. She did eventually con me into The Floom, which is a log ride in water that ends with one big scream and a good soaking, but I made her sit in front. Well, it was just part of the deal-making process.

As the day wore on I braved as many rides with my daughters as my weak stomach, heart and fragile back could handle. I'm perfectly happy not having any balls. And warning signs are posted for a reason, so I do read them. I went on the smallest roller coaster in the park (called High Roller) with my 8-yr-old after determining it was safe (no warning signs). Oddly enough, it was nothing like I remembered. Whenever they ask you to remove your hat, it is definitely a red flag. Forget the posted signage - it all boils down to the request for hat removal.

Near the end of the night the same daughter tried to get me on Wild Thing, which is THE biggest roller coaster that has ever towered over me. I took a good look at it and froze in fear. My bff stepped in and subbed for me. I really don’t know why it gave me comfort to know she was right there with my daughter when they were going through heart-stopping height/speed combos and swallowing bugs. As soon as they were done they got right back in line again. I try but I just don’t understand.

So at that time my crutch and I sauntered over to the Tilt-A-Whirl. It kicked ass.

These are the scariest times

I’m focusing on the first frightening day of these scary times I’ve found myself thrown into recently. At this very moment you are reading the blog of a mom who now has her first teen driver. If that doesn’t send shivers up and down your spine, well, maybe you are laughing. Or maybe you’re one of the apathetic ones. I try but I just don’t understand.

So this is how it all began. Well, after my son decided he wanted to get a learner's permit. I gathered up the required documents and drove 75 miles to pick up my son (who was at his dad’s house) and take him to the nearest DMV. When I got there his dad insisted on driving us. Like me he had taken the day off from work, but his attitude toward the whole thing was quite the opposite. Apparently he is one of those parents the DMV pamphlet was speaking to who is eager about this “exciting time” and happy to assist in the 1½ year journey our son has embarked upon in acquiring a real driver’s license. I would describe my feelings as anxious, nervous, and downright fearful. As for the length of time it will take altogether - they made the rules stricter a few years ago. Anyway, I was only asked to show up for this event because I had the kid’s birth certificate and Social Security card. I hate it when I’m so desperately needed - and it only gets worse. In order for our son to move to the next level (a restricted license) I have to sit beside him while he drives a total of 50 hours in the next six months.

50 hours. 50 hours, which must be logged in a little booklet. I can think of much better ways to die than as a passenger in my own vehicle. Losing a “Wild West” style shoot-out would be less humiliating. And I could probably find some one crazy enough to do it.

I have good reason to be very afraid. Our son, who doesn’t yet have his own car but has driven a few times with dad (dad is a thrill seeker with no fear whatsoever), well our son let me know in advance he doesn’t plan on ever attempting to parallel park my Suburban. The big old beast scares the kid. So the thought of him driving it scares me.

When we got to the DMV we took a number, which was 26. They were serving number 16, which wouldn’t have been too bad, but the waiting area only had room to accommodate 8 and there were about 20 sweaty individuals crowded in there and out in the hallway. So we hung tightly to our number and drove to a fast food place. It was now afternoon but still technically the lunch rush. When we got back they were helping number 22. So we found a little shade outside under a tree, and by the time everyone was done eating they were on number 25. Great timing. Soon it was my son’s turn and we followed him to the counter. I handed over the docs and his dad insisted on paying, so he now has something to hold over our heads. Damn him.

We were anxious to see how our son would do on the test. Would he pass on his first try as expected? Perhaps he would fail, forcing us to leave with our heads hung in shame. Then it dawned on us that our son wears glasses. Well, he is supposed to wear them but never does because it isn’t cool, so we forgot he even had them. I just chalk it up as another downside to having kids because I really have no shame. Well, he attempted the eye test without them but couldn’t pass so his dad quickly devised a plan. Our son would take the written test and if he passed we’d head straight to my house from there, hopefully find his glasses he never wears, and maybe get back to the DMV in time so we wouldn’t have to take another unpaid day off from our jobs. Round trip it would be 130 miles. The way the kid’s dad drives I figured he could do it in record time. It’s amazing he doesn’t get more than one speeding ticket per year. The problem? I also had a plan. I had some shopping to do. I wanted him to drop me off at my vehicle so I could get that shit done while he and the kid were off taking care of business. That’s when we butted heads. No, we had to do it his way. There wasn’t any time to spare, according to him, so he refused to drive me the mere ten miles in the opposite direction to my truck. So it looked like I was doomed - stuck when I obviously wasn’t needed and could be getting other stuff done. Not only that, but the guy drives like a maniac when he isn’t in a hurry. Well, there was still a chance our son wouldn’t pass the test. We could always return another day some time within the next year, after all.

He had to miss six questions to fail. He got five wrong. Oh joy.

So off we went. Everyone was in high spirits but me. I sat in the back trying to be patient. I thought about making the trip miserable for the jerk. There were so many things I could be angry about. I could even go back fifteen years, but it wasn’t worth it. This was exactly what he was hoping for. But I did tense up when I felt us surpass 80 mph on the two lane highway. I miss the days when Montana had no speed limit. Back then, 80 was my limit. Soon I heard my son say, “Wow, Dad! 95!”

I peeked over the seat to see the car could easily do 110. Great. So what could I do? I went to my happy place.





Some day it could happen. He could get arrested, I tell myself. But until then I have to live life knowing my kids can’t tell the difference between Montana beef and the imported stuff. I hate you Ronald, and your easy beef.

So we made it back to the DMV in time, no one was hurt (yet), and our kid got his permit. Hopefully my fear of letting him drive within 75 miles of me will pass soon enough, but I have my doubts. The way I see it, if he’s nervous about driving a Suburban that his own mother can handle without any difficulty, then he really shouldn’t be driving at all. I try but I just don’t understand.