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.