I have mad kitties.
They puke everywhere.

Life is increasingly absent normal.

I have children here.

I try very hard to just be shy.  I realize I can be a ginormous presence.  Being among children makes you feel loud and large.

Being around children teaches you how to be humble.  An example of how to be shy.

My kitties are mad.  Everyone in this place is crazy and even my kitties are female.  I’m  the lone testosterone ranger among five estrogen fueled womenfolk.  Whenever I’m this outnumbered, I call my mother.  She tells me my Father’s toenail surgery wasn’t the success we’d all hoped for.  I’m not at all happy to hear it because I’ve inherited the same malaise.  I know this clinic that will treat an ingrown toe for a hundred and fifty bucks.  I just need to know what they do for a sum that paltry.

I’ve come to accept that our vote doesn’t count.  That Obama’s suit is nearly as empty as that of Dumbya.  Presidents don’t drive.  They never have.  The reason the Republican reality show is so vividly absurd is because the Powers That Be already have their man.  Do the math.  Look at the money and where it came from.  Where it comes from.  Where it goes.  Trust me all that fear, if Obama loses, he won’t be walking away but he won’t be running.  I’ll be shocked if he whifs it.

Presidents are mascots.  The Senate are pious ascots and The House are jackoffs.

It’s not real.

Manufactured for your disdain and delight.  We bring you Liberal vs. Conservative.  Asshole vs. Dickhead.  Moron vs. Wimp.

You are all staring at something shiny.  Wolf Blitzer is as full of shit as Brit Hume.  Goddamn those are dumb names.

It’s true, comedians are your best bet.

Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you for going on about your business.

The dumb ones never sit it out.  We can always count on the functionally stupid.  Has there actually been 17 Republican debates?  For what?  It’s retarded.  The candidates are retarded.  I realize how politically incorrect that word is but I can’t be bothered.  It’s fucking retarded and so are way too many of us.  Something shiny.  All creepy dolls who’s eyes open when you hold them upright.  Mitt Romney as the lusty but vacuous power forward with the skinny calves, weak knees and ridiculous magic underwear.  Newt the vainglorious, cherubic blowhard short stop and Santorum, the disturbingly homophobic, sanctimonious gym coach of the ignorant and incestuous.  Michele Bachmann was a nun with a spear through her head constantly having difficulty getting through revolving doors and I weep at the loss of The Donald and anything Palin.

We never had it so good.

It’s not real.

Drinks for my friends

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