My cat has been peeing on me lately. Seriously. She sneaks behind while I lean forward on the couch working the keyboard and performs a hot moist drive-by on my lower back. She’s in heat, Got to get her fixed. She’s crazy like a shithouse rat and I’m a broke ass procrastinator.

I’m disgusted but it cracks me the fuck up.

You can’t actually expect to communicate consistently and effectively with any given cat. They really just choose to understand what is in their best interest. They love and understand you with laser accuracy. If you’re confused because Einstein Feline can’t be taught some basic thing, ask yourself who benefits. The answer will be you and there’s a good chance you’ll never get your way.

If you’re looking for the upper hand, get a damn dog.

She’s very petite girly girl with the longest tale to body ratio I’ve ever seen. It touches her face. Wouldn’t be suprised if she was under six pounds. Outstanding jumper. Bed to the top of my over six foot bookcase with the grace of a flying squirrel.

She trots into every room with the urgency of feline curiosity and a dancing tail.

Le Chat Noir.

I’ve got several plants and a young ficus about to expire on the balcony because of heat and laziness. When it comes to phlegmaticalness and brutal temperatures, I try not to move much. Pretty cool word huh? I avoid exertion and soup. I love soup and adore soup weather.

This is not soup weather.

Now is not the time for soup unless The Fish makes it. She understands completely.

This is gonna be a brutal season and I intend to lay low.

I’ll try to maintain some focus on this election I suppose, but I’m thinking of a good Rose’ and some barbecue.

Gotta get me some popsicles and creamsicles.

Just so you know, I don’t like most people. I’m an elitist, in that I think most people are douchebags.

I have one of the world’s most impressive handblown marble collections. I’ve sold more glass penises than anyone else on earth. Therefore, I know about as much about glass as any layman can.

I’m somewhat of an expert on music and sound. I have a bullshit degree and worked as an engineer/producer for a decade or so. I was pretty good at it.

Now I sell an intangible. This pleases me if only because stock and inventory are no longer a factor. They’ve been this grown man’s nightmare for years.

I’ve gotten word that someone who owes me a shitload of money is going to pay up soon. That makes me smile.

I’ve almost finished the first draft of my first novel. I imagine that there will still be a lot to do but it’s a good tired. I have a friend with multiple impressive writing degrees and she has pledged to work through it page by page with me. How fortunate can a dipshit be?

“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched c-beams … glitter in the dark near Tanhauser Gate. All those … moments will be lost … in time, like tears … in rain. Time … to die.” -Blade Runner

Life is crazy and I often wonder if I’m conducting mine responsibly. Correctly. I have no idea but I’m confident I can do much better.

I think I want to see the sun on the ocean.

I like girls a lot. I like boys too, but in a different way. I’m ok with it. I’m pretty sure I was born that way.

It’s been a while since I expressed my fondness for any cheese product in any kind of jar, plastic container or can with a nozzle. Let me tell you that they are among the products I’d miss the most on a desert isle.

No bacon or pork would really suck.

Wild Boars, heh.

Beans, onions, pasta, tomatos. I simply cannot afford to get stuck in any remote or abandoned place. It’s ok. I’m making a note. It won’t happen if I take a note.

By the way, who exactly does Jesus save?

I learned today that our own solar system is dented. Not symmetrical. From probes launched by NASA in 1977:
“Voyager 2 hit the southern edge of the solar system nearly 1 billion miles closer to the sun than Voyager 1 did to the north. Voyager 2 hit the edge at 7.8 billion miles from the sun.” -Yahoo News

Apparently, what lies at the end of our solar system is something called the “Heliosheath”. This may be the coolest word ever, naming the coolest thing, “the thick edge of the solar system”, I’ve ever fucking heard.

I want to be a superhero named, Heliosheath.

A few weeks ago I found myself in a place where I was the only white male. I didn’t think twice about it. I’d been there before. I’m a people watcher gawker. So I just stared at everyone the same as I would regardless. They didn’t seem to mind. I was with my girlfriend, she is of the color and on the pot. She thinks my nappiness is suspicious and that walking in to a place like that with her gives me the benefit of the doubt.

They assume I’m mixed. I’m honestly starting to think I am. Fascinating. I just want to know.

I just went in and cracked her on the ass a few times.

I’m not sure it would be wise to say more.

Drinks for my friends.

I’m home. No place else to go. I’m walking into it because there’s not a goddamn other thing to do. I’m not driving, but I own I’m speeding towards a vicious sucker punch.

Here we come, walkin’
Down the street.
We get the funniest looks from
Ev’ry one we meet.
Hey, hey, we’re the Monkees
And people say we monkey around. -The Monkees (Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart)

I’m in the door and immediately smacked in the middle of the face with the reek of decay. Time to take out the trash. Do the dishes. Check the toilet.

A lingering smell of The Rabbit Watership. A record skips and I am melancholy. He was soft and smart. The coolest, softest and most amazing colors of brown orange and white.

Just like that I’m leaking and sobbing.

I make a drink. A convoluted recipe with only gin and ice as ingredients. Tricky. There’s a ratio.

Check E-mail. Survey dying plants. Dead plants. Feel doomed.

She calls from down the street, coming up on my cross streets she says. Looking to hang.

I can’t wait to turn around and walk out of here.

He’s been here. There’s pyramid of rolls on the toilet tank. The four ice trays represent eight points of the compass accurately on a shelf in my freezer.

I wash up, brush my teeth. Blow my nose. Put on a little lotion. Powder the boys.

Lips like pillows. Vanilla, berries and muskiness. Sweet almond eyes I can’t always see behind. Fresh fruit from orchards under a silver crescent.

She talks and I’m soothed.

She touches and I’m softer.

There’s no helping it.

I’m so raw.

It’s what I need. See.

First I saw her, she was walking in the rain talking on the phone. She smiled a lot. Not like the sun, like the moon, quitting a cloud on a gusty night.

My nose reminds me every time I walk away.

We had drinks and she ended up with a piece of me. I wasn’t giving it. She ended up with it. She took it.

She kept it for a time. Through some holidays.

She tossed it back. Casually. Unapologetic. Not in the same condition she had come to take it. Not at all. Bruised. Swollen.

I’m a nice guy. I do the best I can. I try. Didn’t take long for me to decide against having her legs broken.

A decision based more in the principles of aesthetics than morality. Just couldn’t perpetrate that kind of crippling violence on such a beautiful woman regardless of what she may have coming to her.

I’m kidding. She deserves nothing of the sort. I made a conscious decision not to be angry and to avoid the temptation to be vindicatory. I have endeavored to be her friend.

I really try to do my best. I’m always looking for early Sunday morning in a small town grocery store with a bakery.
The bouquet of sugar and cinnamon. Men with perfectly pomaded hair and perfect piles of fruit.

Fish drown in air.

Now she’s on the phone. Wanting to see me. To confide in me.

Vulnerable. She would be angry if she knew how adept I am on the subject of her.

I understand full well the apocalypse I’m courting. I whisper in my own ear about making sure she gets home. Drive her if necessary. Get her a cab. I will, I tell myself. So help me. I will see her home safely.

We meet in a dive. Across the street. Convenient for me, I’m not trying to drive at all.

As soon as I sit she is willfull and contrary. She likes to spar. Guilty of being smarter than she is.

Behind the eyes, she’s not so bad. A pain in the ass of innocence. Culpable of zealotry. Pride. Maybe from privilege. Maybe. Too much of one thing or another I’m sure.

I want inside her with my arms around her. She is the Moon. Mercury glass. Shadows and silver light.

Enough obstinance to still piss me off. What to say to someone who barely knows shit about how much they don’t know? Whatever really, why bother? All in time, hers, not mine. Smart, capable and the heat of Georgia asphalt.

She thinks she understands. Bare shoulders and there are my thumbs. Loose sweater and a funky hat. Impossible skin. Impossible color, silk beneath my fingers. Hands turn to palms, fall to hips, the most gorgeous mouth I’ve ever seen.

I hope she resists cynical.

She charms and lures me into places where she can make fun. I return fire with as light a hand as I’m able.

The North Pole may melt this summer. The Earth may have decided it’s done with us.

We’re at each others eyes and we know where we’re headed. We think we do. She drops a credit card on the bar and excuses herself to the ladies. Her heels swing her hips away from me. Her skirt dances with flawless rhythm.

I sign the tab and do the tip in cash. She grins coming from the bathroom. No smile. Grin. I hand over her card and she takes my hand. Outside we’re having a smoke. She points her face at her car and asks if it’s ok here. I shrug my shoulders. I really don’t know.

We break the law by running across five lanes.

My place is kind of a shithole. She doesn’t seem to mind. She uses my shower. She’s wearing my robe.

Lacey thong a gorgeous contrast to flawless skin. Matching bra and I’m consumed. She shines. She writhes as she responds. Quiet until she breathes. In gusts. Little tempests.

Any man, between the ages of thirteen and fifty five to ninety something, will view bare breasts with an absolutely identical mindset.

Take the breath away beautiful. Astride me she’s smiling. She brings the moon. I take her in while I’m inside her.

I look up only to gasp. She is a silhouette in three dimensions with color, sound and smell. Her head back, the moon hangs low and plump. The night blooms.

Like flowers. Just like flowers blooming and perfuming once the sun has hidden itself only to shine the moon for an entire hemisphere all night long.

The breeze is lit and lent weight with fragrance.

This is……….. Moot.

She is dead. She is dead.

Dead.

I’m a coward and a fool.

Life is odd and painful. There is no substitute.

There is no way another person could ever love me if they knew the things I’ve done. No way anyone could trust me or believe I deserve another chance. What I have just done is as bad as even I can imagine.

I’ve sacrificed a human. A woman. A human being. Another one.

A very very special human. Beautiful and innocent. Corrupted only by the circumstances of ordinary existence, no kind of evil or malice or fuckery………

He killed her of course.

First thing he does is fold her like a piece of fucking toast as soon as he has my attention. I look up as he collapses her, shattering bones with two hands. She starts to scream out of simple fright and confusion. A few seconds and she wails like a siren with pain and comprehension. Abrupt stop. She can’t expel breath, she gurgles and burps. He bursts her at her sides, makes her pop and spray as he folds her. A cacophony of snapping and rending, moist and excruciating. Her blood is black on three of four walls lighted only by a cold silver moon.

I will travel to hell, with it being the worst thing I’ve ever seen. All of it on me.

My fault. I knew. My end draws near.

I am sorry. So very sorry.

I adored her. I loved her.

The progressive blogosphere is ablaze today with speculation and outright dismay over Our Man Obama’s shuffle to the middle. The conventional wisdom is that it’s bad form and smacks of pandering to a demographic that had little to do with his nomination.

I wish I could disagree. I can’t. Thus far I can only manage disappointed, disillusioned and frustrated.

Our Man needs to take a breath and re-examine hisself. The man who’s gotten this far and why. He was different, brave and sincere. We believed him. We were inspired because he was exactly what we wanted. He’s what we desperately needed.

I nearly wept on March 18, as Our Man was expected to deliver a mea culpa over the Reverend Wright conflagration, but instead delivered the most courageous, eloquent, powerful and intellectually honest treatise on race I’ve ever witnessed in my life. That man touched my heart and appealed profoundly to my sensibilities.

The man I imagined as leader of my country.

The man who dismissed a suspension of the gas tax for what it was; a gimmick. The man who pronounced the war a mistake before we began it. Than man who didn’t break a sweat as he assumed the role of David against the Goliath that was the Clinton machine. The man who packed stadiums and with every soaring speech imbued us with ever more optimism and hope. The man who can call McCain on the carpet on every major issue and land firmly on the right side of all of them. The man who if true to his word, stands a reasonable chance at being among the handful of truly great American Presidents by affecting change on a scale we haven’t been allowed to aspire to since JFK.

That is the man I imagined as leader of my country.

Politicspeak defines his actions as some sort of “triangulation” to focus on and court “swing voters”. I define it as bullshit and it troubles me immensely. I gotta tell ya, this FISA thing is close to breaking my heart.

Mr. Obama, don’t do this to us. Despite copious and chronic voter fraud, the last two Democrats lost their bid for the White House because they were too cautious. They listened to handlers and advisers. Too willing to play to the middle when challenged by the Dick-in-Bush juggernaut for being dangerously liberal or weak.

Guess what? They were exactly that. Pussies, both of them.

We were all hoping you weren’t a pussy.

It didn’t work for them and it will backfire far more viciously on you for cultivating our most sincere dreams of a better, more responsible government. An American people better off and in a safer world. Cleaner. Less war. A lot less war. A reinvigoration of the middle class by maybe reversing the concentration of wealth? Perhaps with new green industries and a renewed concentration on infrastructure? A change in the tax code? A robust middle class is the key to a sound economy, you know.

We have chosen you as the best man, from a formidable field, to do this thing. We’re not here to fuck around.

I’m hoping this roar behind you continues. Even if you insist on losing your way, perhaps the roar of the people will show you the map, your map, and you’ll get right again.

Absent that, we’ll still get you in, but we’ll pound the shit out of you every day until you do the right thing. Worst case scenario, you abandon who and what gave you the keys to the universe and you’ll have to work even harder than Jimmy Carter to repair your legacy of failure.

Pay us now or pay us later. Just don’t fuck with us.

Drinks for my friends.

This my territory, so I’ve posted my response first. The blog I’m responding too appears at the bottom:

I am saddened that such a clearly intelligent man has succumbed to fear and propaganda.

You say:
“I am tired of liberals who see only negativity in America; racism in her people, class warfare in her society, and flaws in her character.”

Do you imagine these things don’t exist? They do. For many, they are a part of everyday existence. A fact of life. You’re a white Christian Republican male, you will have to look outside yourself to see these phenomena. Burst your bubble my friend. It takes some courage but we can never come together unless you’re willing to see the world objectively. You’ll need to remove yourself from the equation to accomplish this.

We liberals are way ahead of you in that regard.

You say:
“I am deeply troubled by the Democratic Party which nominated John Kerry, whose qualifications revolved around labeling the honorable men and women who fought in the Vietnam War (58,000 of whom gave their lives in that action) as murderers, rapists and war criminals.”

Do you posit these things never occured? They did. He wasn’t labeling all of them, he was pointing it out. Many “incidents” are documented. They were horrifying. America fucked up. It’s embarrassing that you are only able to define Kerry in those terms. Is that really all you allowed yourself to see?

You imply we liberals are godless and lazy, unwilling to work and hate America. You are not only guilty of generalizing and stereotyping, but of drinking the neoconservative Kool-Aid.

I have worked hard my whole life. Had my own business at thirteen. Managed a restaurant at seventeen and was a recording engineer/producer by age twenty eight. Triple platinum by thirty one. Now finishing my first novel. And I don’t believe in your God.

Thank you for a genuine example of ingorance, bias and baseless piety.

Forgive me. Believe it or not, it doesn’t serve me to attack you as an individual. I’m actually fairly certain you are a good and decent man. It’s the ideology you so enthusiastically embrace and foment that I strive to to tear apart. It is false and wrong and the catalyst for evil on a level we have never seen in this country.

You say:
“I still pray that God will open the eyes of those ill-informed members of our society who, either through ignorance or deliberate malice, repeatedly attack and belittle those of us who believe in self-empowerment for all. I am grateful to have lived in a nation that gave me the freedom of self-determination and the right to benefit from my own personal achievements.

News Flash. I believe sincerely in self empowerment for all and I’m grateful to live in a country that has provided me with the freedom to pursue self determination and feel fortunate to have benifitted from personal achievment. I just don’t buy into your God.

Please wake up and look around.

**************************************************************************************************

His blog in it’s entirety:

Ask most any member of the main stream media elite, and a growing number of high school and college students, along with their teachers and professors, “What is a Republican?” and the response will likely include words such as, “greedy, self-centered, motivated only by money, unconcerned for the environment, the poor, and everyone they exploit.”

I am none of those things; I am simply a man who is proud of his country, and it’s hard-won heritage of liberty and justice for all. My own father fought two world wars to preserve freedom, and died at an early age as a result.

So, what is a Republican? I can only speak for myself.

I went to work at age 12, joined the Navy at 17, and went to war at 18. I started my own business at age 25 and worked 70, 80 and sometimes 100 hours a week for years, risking everything I had – including my health – to secure a better future for myself and my family. My own blood, sweat and tears made it possible for me to provide a secure living, not only for my family and myself, but also for literally hundreds of employees through the years, who in turn were able to buy their own homes, raise their own families, and give back to their communities and their country.

I am a Christian who loves God and his church, and who was taught to respect all religions whose teachings are based in love, peace and charity. I believe that God blessed this country because of the principles upon which it was founded. If you doubt God’s blessings still happen in today’s world, you need only look into the face of one who has received them.

I am a father who believes in the sanctity of marriage and the preservation of the family. I believe in the sanctity of life and am repulsed by the political left who pander for votes at the expense of the unborn. I am disgusted with the courts who rightly call the murder of a pregnant woman a double homicide, and then declare that the murder of an unborn baby is a constitutionally protected “woman’s right to choose.”

I am proud that our President expresses a belief in God; proud to have voted for a President who understands – politically incorrect tho’ it may be – that there is evil in this world. For the sake of all people everywhere, that evil must be confronted, and it must be defeated. I take comfort in the knowledge that our President refuses to allow decisions concerning the security of this nation to be governed by the political whims of foreign governments.

I understand that the terrorist attacks that murdered thousands of my fellow Americans can happen again. That’s why I sincerely believe America needs, now more than ever, a President who sees with a clear and focused vision and who speaks with a voice that – when heard by friend or foe – is understood, respected and believed.

I am eternally grateful to Ronald Reagan for speaking out against Communism and for having the courage of his convictions in leading the fight to defeat it; and to George W. Bush, who – in spite of the constant, vicious, personal and political attacks both he and his family have been forced to endure – has demonstrated uncommon vision, courage, conviction and leadership in America’s war against Islamic Global Jihad.

I am tired of liberals who see only negativity in America; racism in her people, class warfare in her society, and flaws in her character. I am also fed up with politicians who, when held up to public scrutiny, divert attention from their own personal, political and legislative failures by accusing their opponents of “mudslinging” and using negative attack ads.

I am deeply troubled by the Democratic Party which nominated John Kerry, whose qualifications revolved around labeling the honorable men and women who fought in the Vietnam War (58,000 of whom gave their lives in that action) as murderers, rapists and war criminals. That same Democratic Party has now embraced Barack Obama, another Harvard liberal elitist whose only claim to fame is that he was a Communist organizer and a member of a black separatist church for twenty years.

I still pray that God will open the eyes of those ill-informed members of our society who, either through ignorance or deliberate malice, repeatedly attack and belittle those of us who believe in self-empowerment for all. I am grateful to have lived in a nation that gave me the freedom of self-determination and the right to benefit from my own personal achievements.

I am blessed to be an American, and proud to be a Republican.

Remember the next line?

We torture.

Our government knows. Beyond complicit. They actively encourage and participate. This administration is guilty as fuck. These are very bad people.

“…….the Nobel Prize-winning organization Physicians for Human Rights has released a report, called “Broken Laws, Broken Lives,” that puts an appropriately horrifying face on a practice that is so fundamentally evil that it cannot co-exist with the idea of a just and humane society.” -truthout.org

On Thursday of this week, John Yoo and David Addington testified defiantly and with overt disdain on interrogation and torture before a House subcommittee. Addington is former legal counsel to Darth Cheney and his current Chief of Staff. Yoo, formerly of the Justice Department’s Office of Legal Counsel, contributed to the Patriot Act and authored memos advocating torture and the denial of enemy combatants various protections under the Geneva Conventions.

A pair of obstinate punks, mere war criminals, as well as high ranking powerful officials in our cancer ridden Executive and Judicial branches.

What the hell, the Legislative Branch isn’t worth the goddamn butane to set it on fire. Crooked cowards in a cabal of corruption, greed and perverse piety.

” The report profiles 11 detainees who were tortured while in U.S. custody and then released – their lives ruined – without ever having been charged with a crime or told why they were detained. All of the prisoners were men, and all were badly beaten. One was sodomized with a broomstick, the report said, and forced by his interrogators to howl like a dog while a soldier urinated on him. He fainted, the report said, “after a soldier stepped on his genitals.”
-truthout.org

It all took place at Guantanamo Bay, in Afghanistan and Iraq. Dick-in-Bush knew all about it. It’s often been the source of Cheny’s evil smirk whenever America is fortunate enought to have cameras in whatever place he suddenly appears. I fucking hate that guy.

Addington took it upon himself to lecture the committee on the terrorist threat. You really must watch it. He’s a quite the prick. We’ll deal with Yoo on another day. Interesting profile on him in the June Esquire.

“Rep. Jerrold Nadler (D-N.Y.), who later characterized Addington’s attitude as “smug,” asked whether, if the interrogation program was found to be illegal, he would bear any responsibility.

“Is that a moral question or a legal question?” Addington asked, then said he bore no responsibility, legal or moral.

Was President Bush constrained by laws against torture? Addington refused to offer an opinion. Putting the question in extreme terms, Nadler asked Addington if torturing a detainee’s child to get information would be legal.

“I’m not here to render legal advice to your committee,” Addington shot back. “You do have attorneys of your own to give you legal advice.” -Los Angeles Times

Man I hate these fucking guys.

America has lost it’s moral authority. America has lost itself. Those of us with the capacity to at least pay attention, are ashamed. Disgraced. We understand America has inflicted wounds on itself in a cornucopia of ways.

This wound is unique. To be able to say that truthfully is horrible on it’s own, but this wound has been neglected. It may have started out relatively minor on the chart. Now it’s the wrong color, a gaping hole in our gut, discharging the foulest vapor to ever enter one’s head.

There was a time we’d pack the seeping crater with gunpowder or sulfur and cross fingers.

“Perhaps the strangest exchange came at the end of the hearing. Rep. Bill Delahunt (D-Mass.) asked Addington whether waterboarding was discussed in meetings.

“I can’t talk to you,” Addington said. “Al Qaeda may watch these meetings.”

Delahunt replied that he was sure they did. “I’m glad they finally have a chance to see you, Mr. Addington,” Delahunt said. Without missing a beat, Addington answered, “I’m sure you’re pleased.” -Los Angeles Times

After that the Republicans crapped in their hands and threw it at Delahunt for like an hour. Monkeys. Retarded ones that throw like girls.

You know what’s just fucking nuts? Of a scale by quantity of innocent lives lost as a direct result of the American government’s obtuse warmongering since Dumbya ascended, this senseless torture, this damage and ruin to a handful of lives, is but a mote in the eye of a hurricane.

I’m inclined to believe just about anything about us anymore. Any of it could so easily be true. America has lost her identity.

Just how profoundly ridiculous have we become?

Drinks for my friends.

A friend of mine recieved some insipid spam from a relative. She agreed to let me write this but I have not been allowed to send it yet. I’m not holding my breath. Anything in quotes is verbatim from the letter/spam.

I begin.

The Bible, it does speak about untimely death, doesn’t it? I keep forgetting about that untimely death thing.

“Be not deceived; God is not mocked:
for whatsoever a man sow,
that shall he also reap.”

The idea that we reap exactly what we sow. I just can’t seem to pile on. I do believe in doing the right thing. I can’t be sure it makes a difference, but at the end of the day, might as well. Even us agnostics try to do the right thing. We like to do it correct whether we reap or not.

You make another point about people who “mocked God”. Your very first example is John Lennon. In parenthesis “singer”.

Just a singer huh?

Lennon said:

“Christianity will end, it will disappear. I do not have to argue about that. I am certain.
Jesus was ok, but his subjects were too simple, today we are more famous than Him’ (1966).”

“Lennon, after saying that the Beatles were more famous than Jesus Christ, was shot six times, even though he was probably right.”

It’s interesting. See, if Lennon was right, he was right about the failures of organized religions to inspire and motivate beyond his own humble four piece band’s ability to do so.

Duh.

“Marilyn Monroe (Actress)
She was visited by Billy Graham during a presentation of a show.
He said the Spirit of God had sent him to preach to her.
After hearing what the Preacher had to say, she said:
‘I don’t need your Jesus’.
A week later, she was found dead in her apartment”

“Bon Scott (Singer)
The ex-vocalist of the AC/DC. On one of his 1979 songs he sang:
‘Don’t stop me; I’m going down all the way, down the highway to hell’.
On the 19th of February 1980, Bon Scott was found dead, he had been choked by his own vomit.”

Yes, it’s quite clear that god killed them for their mockery and overall disrespect. They were pagans. Barbarians.

I have to say that if this is all you can find in the entirety of Christian history of peope who have “mocked God”, you my unknown friend, are reaching for shit I can’t even be bothered to make fun of.

Then I see it’s some sort of chain letter and I want to send vicious people after you.

I don’t know you but it makes me wonder who you think you are to spread this sort of incendiary, vitriolic bullshit. If you honestly believe John Lennon was some sort of threat to your imaginary friend in the sky and that he lost his life for it. You are one dangerous dipshit and a goddamn fool.

May Bon Scott dine on your viscera.

Drinks for my friends.

Ralph Nader. Impressive legacy. A prestigious record of consumer advocacy and an unwavering allegiance to truth and justice. Talked the talk. Walked the walk.

If only he would shut up and avoid leaving the house.

It is hard, painful even, to witness a once great man soil himself and embarrass those who once held him in high regard.

Obama, he said, “wants to talk white.” Unless such a petite mouthful of shit comes from the head of a racist, what can it possibly mean? Honestly, I’m reluctant to label Mr. Nader as anything but foolish and suffering from what he imagines is a lack of entitled attention.

Having said that, piss up a rope old man.

There’s credible evidence that your hubris fueled candidacy of two thousand allowed for the worst reign of crime, lies and injustice to ever be visited on the citizens of America.

Upon failing to recognize that danger beforehand, and for failing to recognize it as a mistake after, you began to consign yourself to the league of Stupid Old White Men. Powerful old white men rarely do other than one of two things. I realize there are exceptions, but they typically get mean or they get stupid.

Methinks Mr. Nader may be flirting with both.

Drinks for my friends.

James Dobson, leading evangelical, founder of Focus on The Family and therefore self righteous dipshit, took it upon himself to open fire on our man Obama today for suggesting in a two year old speech that it is impractical to govern solely on the basis of scripture.

Um, no shit. By the way, Our Man was speaking to a liberal Christian group named Call To Renewal.

“Which passages of scripture should guide our public policy?” Obama asked in the speech. “Should we go with Leviticus, which suggests slavery is OK and that eating shellfish is an abomination? Or we could go with Deuteronomy, which suggests stoning your child if he strays from the faith? Or should we just stick to the Sermon on the Mount?” -CNN.com

Dobson said, “I think he’s deliberately distorting the traditional understanding of the Bible to fit his own world view, his own confused theology,” Dobson said, adding that Obama is “dragging biblical understanding through the gutter.” -CNN.com

Well I for one would like to believe he was pointing out just how stupid and archaic so much of the Christian dogma actually is. Probably not though. I suspect he was merely saying it is impractical to base policy on an ancient text, regardless of the reverence it still enjoys.

For what it’s worth, I’m still plenty pissed at our man over the FISA thing.

I think any debate that entertains the inclusion of any amount faith into politics or government is witheringly wrongheaded and spurious. I am weary, wary and leery of it. Big suprise from an agnostic huh?

It is abundantly clear that the founding fathers had every intention of keeping church and state separate. News flash; your religion, faith or beliefs are your own. You chose them or were probably indoctrinated. I just don’t care and I’m completely unwilling to hear about it or them.

I don’t care and I don’t have to because I’ve long since made up my mind and this is America.

The idea that any religious bureaucracy wields even a modicum of influence on political discourse in this country inspires a gamut of emotion in me that ranges from disgust to rage. When I encounter it, my knee jerks as if to say fuck you in the neck.

Do people like like Dobson believe they have some kind of moral superiority and it is therefore incumbent on them, perhaps even their duty, to foist their wisdom on the rest of us? Yup, they do. That’s why I loathe them. So many insincere zealots. The quantity of their conviction almost always belies the depth of their hypocrisy. An inverse relationship that we are treated to over and over.

Larry Craig, Mark Foley, Cardinal Mahoney, Haggard, Swaggart, Baker, Roberts, Falwell, Tilton……………

Man is a Religious Animal. He is the only Religious Animal. He is the only animal that has the True Religion–several of them. He is the only animal that loves his neighbor as himself and cuts his throat if his theology isn’t straight. He has made a graveyard of the globe in trying his honest best to smooth his brother’s path to happiness and heaven….The higher animals have no religion. And we are told that they are going to be left out in the Hereafter. I wonder why? It seems questionable taste.
– “The Lowest Animal” -Mark Twain

Were it up to me, no religious spokesperson would be allowed to comment on public policy, legislation, campaigns or the merits of titty bars. Not even from the pulpit. Any who dared break the rule would see their own house of worship taxed to the fullest extent of our convoluted tax code.

A portion of the revenue would be used to reconstruct said place of worship so that it’s entire exterior would be of glass. This house of whatever God, would then be afforded the opportunity to reduce it’s tax burden by allowing it’s own worshippers to throw stones at itself.

Honestly, I don’t have a problem with Jesus. Basic Christian tenets are pretty sound. I like the one about do unto others and that one about judge not lest ye judged. Good stuff.

I can’t help but despise a good number of his fans. They should be allowed their primitive rituals and blind faith. Whatever gets you through the night is your business. Keep it that way and we’re cool. Fail to respect that and I’m free to fire flesh shredding salvos of logic at you until the lies, evil, ignorance and corruption are all that’s left.

Upon molesting the bull, one automatically qualifies for the horns.

“So much blood has been shed by the Church because of an omission from the Gospel: “Ye shall be indifferent as to what your neighbor’s religion is.” Not merely tolerant of it, but indifferent to it. Divinity is claimed for many religions; but no religion is great enough or divine enough to add that new law to its code.”
– Mark Twain, a Biography

Drinks for my friends.

None and all.

I’m not sure how to approach this but I want to talk about it. I think I need to.

Twenty some years ago I met a man. Both of us men in size only.

We began our friendship while learning to be men.

Together we undertook the difference between men and boys. We studied integrity, honesty, loyalty and compassion and came away with the same ideas about all of them.

For a good man to be your friend, you must also be a good man. A true friend will remind you of your goodness without having to point it out. You will do the same.

We have an unspoiled history of having each other’s backs. Always. Without fail. I could tell you stories. So could he.

We fought like only brothers can. Literally, ready to tear each other apart. Maybe even travelled a bit too far down the road of tearing each other apart.

Yet, he has never not stood by me. Never not acted in my best interests. I can only hope I’ve done the same. To match his loyalty is all there is for me to do. I write this with the hope my efforts leave him thinking the same way.

When the day is done, we are completely alone. So this is the stuff of life. These kinds of things end up being what really matter. As humans, the best we can do is to end up caring for and understanding another human as well as I have have been lucky enough to.

I share this because I was reminded earlier this evening just how fortunate I am. I needed something very important. A thing he would probably never give to anyone else. When I asked him about it, he pointed out that I still have keys to his business and I should feel free to take whatever I need.

There was no thought about worst case scenario or any other case scenario. Complete trust.

A gorgeous thing. It hadn’t occured to me after all this time he’d never even mentioned the keys.

Before I forget. Rest In Peace Master George Carlin. Never lost it. Always told the truth. Quite simply why he was so goddamn good. Your truth and wit will be missed. The human race is less than it was a day ago.

Drinks for my friends.

It’s bad enough what they did.

Dick-in-Bush sneered at the Fourth Amendment and gleefully engaged in an end run around existing FISA laws to illegally wire tap and otherwise surveil American citizens. They didn’t tell anybody. They even attempted to strong arm a United States Attorney General while hospitalized in critical condition to sign off on their egregious trangressions.

They sent Gonzales and Andy Card.

Upon The Grey Lady exposing them in early 2005, they postured for all the world like they had done nothing wrong and in fact, had our best interests in their heart of hearts along with the telecom companies that were complicit.

If you bought that when it went down, I’d like your phone number and credit card info.

Dumbya then called for retroactive immunity for those companies because he understood very well that they had violated the law and the Constitution and were they ever held accountable, well then, he would be too.

So the sycophantic Republicans floated a bill to make everything milk and honey for the telecom giants and therefore Dick-in-Bush. I was proud of the Democrats when they stood on principle and said no fucking way.

Responding on January 28, our man Obama said:
“I strongly oppose retroactive immunity in the FISA bill.

Ever since 9/11, this Administration has put forward a false choice between the liberties we cherish and the security we demand.

The FISA court works. The separation of power works. We can trace, track down and take out terrorists while ensuring that our actions are subject to vigorous oversight, and do not undermine the very laws and freedom that we are fighting to defend.

No one should get a free pass to violate the basic civil liberties of the American people – not the President of the United States, and not the telecommunications companies that fell in line with his warrantless surveillance program. We have to make clear the lines that cannot be crossed.

That is why I am co-sponsoring Senator Dodd’s amendment to remove the immunity provision. Secrecy must not trump accountability. We must show our citizens – and set an example to the world – that laws cannot be ignored when it is inconvenient.” -firedoglake.com

For what it’s worth, The Little Paste Eater stood proud and quoted Ben Franklin to remind us that those who would sacrifice liberty for safety deserve neither.

What’s worse is what we did. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi along with a hundred and five Democrats, aided in passage of a bill that DOES provide immunity for the telecom arm of the plutocracy. Our own man Obama brought gravel chunks of salt to the laceration by declaring his support for the “compromise”

He said in a published statement:

“It does, however, grant retroactive immunity, and I will work in the Senate to remove this provision so that we can seek full accountability for past offenses.” -Salon.com

Let’s cut to the chase. He says this, knowing full well how unlikely such an effort is to enjoy the remotest chance of success. Even Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid acknowledged the dubiousness of such.

Fuck this shit. It’s a fool’s errand and Mr. Obama is no fool.

They all know it will pass the Senate as though lubricated with Crisco. So easily was it shat by the House after insertion of a suppository chock full of fear, terrorism and national security paranoia.

Mr. Obama, fuck this shit.

You are here, a man who will most likely be the next President of The United States of America, because we the people have put you here. We put you here, because we have been led to believe that this is precisely the brand of malfeasance you will fight against. You have ignited in us a hope, that this brand of fuckery will not be allowed, not tolerated, not even negotiated.

The law has been broken and you know it.

The idea that you would break our hearts this early, in context of a principle this vital, disturbs and gives me pause. Thus far, despite your imperfections, I’ve believed in you. In this instance however, I simply cannot abide. It makes me furious that otherwise my choice is an asshat like McCain.

Don’t do this to me. Don’t do it to us. When, inevitably, efforts to remove immunity from the bill fail, vote against it. Stand on principle, the rule of law and most important, why we have come to believe in you.

Tests for you so far have been Fisher Price, pale, in the face of this most important one so far. There is no room to move here. It is as black and white as a moral imperative can be.

Vote against it. I almost care less about the outcome than I do your vote.

What exactly are you so afraid of?

Hey Barry, this isn’t change we can believe in.

Drinks for my friends.

It is easily one of the worst things there is.

Waking up, unable to breathe, smeared in your own shit.

Horrible. Blunt force trauma. Shame, fear, confusion in volts and watts of angst, without understanding.

It gets worse when I begin to remember. When I start to understand.

I’m to the point where I can’t stand myself. I’m pitiful. I loathe what I’ve become.

I’m a fucking mess.

I was going to drop the sheets in the drink until I figured out I’m back on land. I ball them up, stuff them in a pillow case and head for the shower.

I stand under it for a good long time. I scrub. It takes a long time to feel clean. I scrub some more.

Watch reads noon but it’s not yet nine thirty according to the red digits on the bedside. A pillow case full of my own shit mocks me.

I’m on the second floor of a two story chain motel. I step onto the balcony wearing a towel and alley oop the pillowcase onto the roof above. I have a smoke. Clip my nails with shaky hands.

My nails are yellow.

I honestly don’t want to think about the rest. What the fuck was that? The last fucking thing I needed. I’m scared. Now. After all of this. I’m gonna lose my shit.

He’s got me rattled.

Can’t remember my last meal.

My fingers stained from cigarettes. Better than liver disease I guess.

Tomato juice and antacids.

I see his face, hear him pant and suck back drool. I’m shaking. I puke nothing over and over and over. It turns yellow to burn on the way up. I spit dayglow bile.

Back here, on his ground, he is going to kill me or scare me insane.

I wait twenty minutes for a cab sweating like a sprinkler. The driver tells me I can’t smoke. I drop a five through the little window and burn a hole in the back of the seat. I can smell him. I smoke in his fucking cab.

Somehow I remember the garage where my car is. I get in, fire it up and crank the air. Time passes and I listen to talk radio. Randi Rhodes. Yes, Republicans, particularly neoconservatives, are assholes. Seventeen after.

I know I nodded but my watch says noon. Fuck.

The beautiful chronograph Carlo insisted I own has ceased all operations. Think that means anything?

The sun hasn’t moved much. The clock in my car is a joke.

I feel like going fast.

My car is fast.

I ask the booth attendant how much to back up and charge through the arm. I ask where they got that cool reflective tape. My fee is eighteen dollars. She hates me. I pay her and the arm goes up. She thinks I’m an ass. I feel for her. I see she’s customized her stool with duct tape and yellow carpet pad for maximum comfort. What a shit job.

Instantly I have wide streets and freeway entrances. I am a demon. A loop off the 110 with little to no traffic. I barely miss pedestrians and parked cars for a while. After a few laps, they figure out I’m coming around again and get off the fucking street. A few more laps and they give up the sidewalks by hugging the buildings.

I can’t believe I don’t get pulled over, even here in the land of the lawless.

I stop in some dark dive for a handfull of whiskies and a cold long neck. Looks good to me from the outside. Round and brick. Inside smells of men and cigarettes. Nobody smoking. Old TV high in a corner and the click of balls on a table. It doesn’t take long for me to know the place got quiet when I hit the door.

I order a shot and draught. I try to make it clear I’ll be keeping to myself. I relax as the noise rises. I have a few more and take care to pay as I go.

There’s a woman at the end of the bar holding a motor to her throat to talk. She smelled my fear when I walked in. Her nostrils flaired.

It looks like a prototype for the first ever electric razor from the sixties. One pitch. One note. Bb, B-flat, I’m thinking. No subtlety. Forget inflection or emotion. I’m spooked immediately before I’m fascinated.

She is otherwise beautiful. Crisp white blouse and a dark green skirt. Milky skin and raven haired. Red lips, black pumps with a small cluster of pearls in the middle above the toes, reminding me of the strand around her neck and the diamonds in her lobes.

I pass her to wash my hands. Smells like a meadow, woody and fresh.

I don’t look so bad in the mirror. Typical dive piss trailer. Dank and disgusting, the odor of urinal cakes as icing on the ambiance. I piss a little. Touch nothing. Wash my hands and use the paper towel to open the door before I drop it wherever.

Transfixed by her but in a quiet panic, I smile, smack a twenty on the bar and try not to break stride before I hit the door again. Unable to compensate for my ordinary shoes.

Mullholland. I hit a stretch and work the gears finding a rythm just dangerous enough. I come to a stop sign and my headlights shine through brake steam. I apologize in advance. I headlong without caution on Wrightwood, ripping down it without giving a mad fuck.

Every stop sign is stupid. My goal is no brakes.

Downshift.

Eyes wide open.

Wrightwood becomes Vineland at Ventura. I stop at the light, smoke seeps into the intersection. No cops. I creep with care.

I loaf down Vineland for a few blocks, downshift to second and put my foot in it. I’m doing sixty when I spin the wheel hard left towards an opening in the island and jerk the hand brake, drifting just right, I end up in the opposing lane.

Just like that.

I grab second and bury my foot again. A hard winding right going from third to fourth and I’m doing a hundred and thirty in fifth gear on the 101 towards Hollywood.

Sixth gear is dumb. Never use it. Once on open road in Arizona, once in Nevada.

I brake and shift down for Vine. Left on Sunset and I’m prowling.

Grease.

I pull into a Dennys. I order some grand slam thing that promises lots of pork and eggs. A side of sliced tomatos. They have good bleu cheese dressing. I like toast. I ask for coffee and lemonade. I read the free hooker paper I got from a beat to shit red box on the sidewalk right out front. Horoscopes. Movie reviews. Trannies. Oh my.

She tells me the plate’s hot as she drops it in front of me. I ask for A1 and green Tabasco. Just like that, two bottles are in front of me.

Far better than a prefrontal labotomy. I ask if she’ll cream in my coffee. She brings me a small bowl filled with those little mini shots of half & half. I’m so goddamn funny. How could you hate a loser like me.

Is the brochure on the counter the dessert menu? She tells me those are specials, all desserts are at the back of the menu.

I begin to understand how bad I don’t want to go home. I can’t get away from him, he’s waiting for me to come home now. I can’t get away from him. Kill or die. I am damaged. Way off balance. Feeling far from lethal.

I can’t kill. I want to hide. Maybe to die.

Can’t ask for shelter from anyone I care about because I can’t put anyone in harm’s way. I’m not willing to ask people I don’t care about.

I’m almost out of money.

Sheezus! Our man opts out of public financing worth about eighty five million dollars and instead, decides to bet on his own fundraising prowess where he’s so far been able to accumulate around a quarter billion.

Duh.

The ‘duh’ is my sentiment, but Candy Crowley just uttered it on CNN.

You can bet your vagina that if the situation were reversed, the former champions of amassing massive war chests, that would be Republicans, would bust the very same move.

For what it’s worth, Barack raised his money in large part from the people, in small donations. Republicans typically benefit from corporate money.

In all fairness, it is a reversal on the part of our man. However, it is a practical and intelligent decision for Barack to utilize the funds provided by individual American citizens who want to see him as President. Doubtfire calls him a flip flopper less than a week after doing the very same thing on an issue far more important; offshore drilling and expolration. Why, experts speculate that could save us a dollar a barrel in a decade or so. I thought I came up with that last point myself, and I did. Carville beat me to the punch just now on CNN.

Not only that but the poor bastard is pissed because he’s completely outmatched.

Prescience is mine. I hope.

I hope this man will remain accountable to the citizens, the Americans, who have and will fund his ascendancy to the White House because we hope and understand the fierce urgency of now. The imperative for change.

Consider the alternative. See? You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Yesterday his campaign ended up in a minor shitstorm for not allowing some women in tradititional muslim garb to appear behind our man on camera. “Insensitive”, they said. The pot indignantly describes the kettle as more black. The culture fomented by fear mongers and bigots under the guise of terrorism is the reason, right or wrong. The media insists it’s a story. It’s not our story. It’s not that we don’t care, it’s just we’re painfully aware from whence it came.

All I have to say to Cindy Stepford McCain is shut the fuck up. She says she’s always been proud of her country. Well, that’s jingoistic, nationalistic and just plain stupid. She thinks she speaks of patriotism, it’s abundantly clear she has no clue.

Did she take pride in Abu Ghraib? How about the assassinations of 1968? Is she taking pride in the geopolitical/economic disaster her husband has not only been complicit in but helped to engineer? How about the savings and loan scandal her which husband escaped unscathed? How proud of her country and her husband was she when the Little Bootlicker hugged Dumbya and endorsed him after losing the nomination in part for him being accused of fathering an illegitimate black child that they in fact adopted? Or when he voted against fair treatment and a modest education for our troops returning home from an unjustified war in Iraq? Slavery? Was she proud when her doddering husband suggested there was nothing wrong with staying in Iraq for a hundred years? New Orleans? Plamegate? Executive priviledge? Suspension of Habeas Corpus? Tax cuts for the rich? Sean Hannity? Rush Limbaugh? Ann Coulter? Bill O’Reilly? Is she proud of her country for slaughter after slaughter of millions of innocent civilians caught between competing corporate financial interests over the last five decades?

I for one, have been profoundly ashamed of all these things and it’s an abbreviated version of a very long list.

She’s proud of getting richer while everyone else gets poorer.

The phenomena of Barack Obama is reason for me to be be proud of my country for the first time in a very long time. So is Michelle Obama for that matter. They are both, a class act. I can’t wait.

Cindy Stepford McCain might be an asshole, just like the rest of them.

Drinks for my friends.

and they will wake up the same way. I started to bail at halftime. Did my homework. Turned on the sound, saw the score and walked away. Went back to ABC later to learn the final score was one thousand to six (131-92).

McCain shows up on Kimmel and the stick up his ass manages to actually whack him in the head a half a dozen times. It was wild. It just kept waving around. He was trying to protect his head but the poor bastard just kept saying stupid shit and a wooden cudgel emerged from his ass and kept beaning him on his skull with only fine grey baby hair to protect his softening pate.

It was more painful, and therefore funnier, than the game. I think McCain may have just jumped the shark. He holds his own against Stewart but Kimmel didn’t care. Sucker punched Doubtfire over and over. It was pretty awesome.

Watch Kimmel with the sound off, the first thing you notice is he never really opens his eyes. It’s disturbing until you turn the sound back on and he’s actually pretty funny. Kimmel and Pasty McSquinty share blood somewhere.

He pulled the tail off the Bootlicker but it’s no thing. McCain is amphibious, a salamander with miraculous powers of regeneration. By tomorrow morning he’ll have a new nub. By Sunday he’ll be swinging more in the back than in front.

Got Gore endorsing Our Man yesterday. Better late than never. He was waiting for Hills to walk. Politics tastes like dirt to him these days. I’ve been thinking about the cabinet lately. Time to start working on that. I got some ideas. Expect a full report soon.

A Grammy, an Oscar and the Nobel. Hometown boy makes good after being the Vice President for eight years and winning a Presidential election. Like a phoenix, he rose from the ashes of defeat and shame.

By the way, Albert Gore will not be your next Vice President. Not going to happen. There’s a place for him in this cabinet though.

The midwest is underwater and it ain’t over yet. It’s always ugly somewhere in America.

Lately it’s ugly just about everywhere in America.

In other news, Doubtfire has joined our Arsonists Laureate, Dick-in-Bush, for another round of the “let’s drill in enviromentally sensitive areas for a thimbleful of crude that we won’t see for a decade instead of investing in a new infrastructure of alternative fuels that may just create new industry and opportunity for entrepreneurialship and growth, both financially and technologically.”

It was that kind of day.

That sentence may make my top ten.

Drinks for my friends.

Today was a dark day in the great state of California. The dreaded marriage of faggots, dykes and lezbos was allowed to commence. What have we done? The venerated institution of marriage has been soiled. Shat upon by liberals and sissy lovers. Next thing you know, they’ll be marrying their pets or monkeys (I’ll be polygamist).

Woe is us.

David Lee Roth once said of this state something like, they tipped the map and everyone with a screw loose rolled to the left coast. As an agnostic, I just need to say, thank God I live here.

The same institution that until early last century legally posited a woman was a man’s property upon betrothal. The same institution that forbade the matrimony of an African American to one of European extraction until even later. The same institution that fails utterly and completely, at least half the time, with the carnage of children in it’s wake. The same institution that was the catalyst for delivering redneck bigots to the polls for the last Presidential contest in drooling, knuckle dragging packs.

Tony Perkins, president of the Family Research Council, pause for the laugh track, “decried the decision as a typical case of judicial activism in which the court overrode the will of the people. Too bad, the Family Research Council actually fought to have the will of the majority overturned when “the people of Oregon passed a law authorizing voluntary assisted suicide for the terminally ill.” -The Daily Fuel

What a tool. It was allowed because the California Supreme Court declared it unconstitutional. Hey Tony, keep your Jesus off my penis.

Now it’s going to be on the ballot. Again.

We have seen numerous examples in our nation’s history where the “will of the people” isn’t necessarily congruent with justice, compassion or fairness. This issue, in my mind, is overwhelmingly elementary. Homosexuality is congenital. It therefore belongs exclusively to the context of civil rights. Period. Next?

I’m reasonably certain most who would deny this civil right to their fellow human, have never even known, tried or wanted to know a gay person. What would they find if they did? They would discover, other than sexual preference, they are just like the rest of us. Some good, some bad, but almost all having the capacity for love, unless it was beaten out of them by some racist homophobe who’s masculinity was threatened.

The news was juxtaposed with footage of a lesbian couple that had been together since Ike was President, gingerly slicing a wedding cake. How cool, and just what the fuck is wrong with that?

I understand the terrible engine behind this idiocy combusts on fear and ignorance. What I don’t understand is what there is to be so afraid of.

I’m grateful time seems able to slowly but deliberately render discrimination obsolete as it’s practitioners are driven into shame filled closets of their own. Prisoners of their own device.

Drinks for my friends.

There are times, like now, when you people amaze me.

Self righteous liberals can be a pain in the ass.

I supported arguably, the longest shot Democrats had to offer for the nomination. Dennis Kucinich, my Little Paste Eater. I wrote about him for months. I hoped. His message was pristine. I agreed with him on everything. We disagreed on nothing.

I’m a liberal juggernaut and so is Mr. Kucinich.

I felt all who supported Dennis could afford to do so. It was the first quarter and the grass was green. We had political will and capital to spend. At the very least we could have a hand in steering the dialog towards what was true. Plenty of room for optimism.

It was early. Absolute truth was contagious.

“No I want you to fuck it. Shit, yes, pour the fuckin’ beer!” -Frank Booth, Blue Velvet

Eventually, we came to understand that our man was not to be. We went our seperate ways. I leaned into Edwards. Many of us did. It became apparent this hope would not bear fruit either. The pragmatic among us made another necessary, albeit painful, adjustment.

Turns out, we were right.

I threw myself and my rhetoric behind Obama without regret. He’s a good man. If you’re a regular reader, you’re aware of my conviction. No hesitation. He is what we need.

What I simply cannot wrap my brain around is you people who stubbornly, foolishly, behave as though ships sail off the edge of our world to this day. You who believe somehow that Nader, Paul or Gravel will magically discover the ability to make pigs fly out of the asses of the electorate.

Seriously, what’re you people smoking?

We have but one shot here. It is do or die to keep a bumbling idiot like McCain from marching us towards disaster of biblical proportions. This is no time for ideological naivete. This is it.

Really. Knock it the fuck off. You’re not helping anything or anybody.

I will make no apologies for our man Obama’s imperfections at this point. Too late and entirely beside the point. It has long since ceased to be about guys like Nader et al.

The wisest course is to get him elected and not let up for a heartbeat. Change, you bastards. That is why he is here and that’s why we are here. That is why we will not go gentle into that goodnight. It is why we will no longer fail to open our mouths. It is why they will end up confused after failing to shut us up.

If we’re lucky, someday men like Nader will show up in well worn shoes and people will listen. Men like Kucinich will speak of the constitution and America will pay attention. We have a chance at being what we once were. Too much zeal is likely to cost us the first step.

Put away your toys kids and get your heads in this game.

Don’t make me have to tell you again. Don’t make me stop this car.

Drinks for my friends.

I was born with Tabula Rasa in hand.

I once wore pink socks with white hi tops, light blue cotton pants with pink flowers and a pink sweat shirt with the sleeves cut off. My girlfriend at the time was mad I wouldn’t at least give her the pants. I was studying audio/music in Atlanta GA. I also wore a white ankle length coat and a fedora.

I liked the Osmonds when I was nine.

I once killed rabbits randomly with a semi automatic twenty two caliber rifle. It had a scope. I was thirteen or fourteen. My grandfather gave it to me after I proved I could shoot it.

An afternoon of senseless testosterone, having our fun, I clipped one instead of killing it. It began to scream. Not unlike a human infant. I went from a great hunter wielding a ridiculous pea shooter, to humiliated, ashamed and afraid.

We weren’t complete idiots, my fellow retards and I. A few merciless seconds flew before we understood it must be put out of its misery immediately and it was my responsibility.

I found it in my scope. It laid against a dune, beneath a sagebrush, incapacitated, bleeding red, horror and confusion in it’s eyes as it wailed.

A creature no bigger than my cat. No less innocent.

I pulled the trigger until the screaming stopped.

I will never in my life forget what I saw through the scope of my rifle that day. I will never forget that sound. I will never not regret my ignorant arrogance.

Hunting rabbits is one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. It’s easy for evil to gain purchase in adolescent boys. Susceptible and often willing vessels.

I was a vegetarian for almost a decade.

The ASPCA has access to my checking account to this day.

I liked the Jackson Five and Kiss too.

My fellow retards and I evolved. We began blowing shit up to satisfy our testosterone fueled cravings for destruction, mayhem and chaos.

There was a time at A&M Recording Studios when us runners decided it was copasetic to add a meal here and there to the check of a wealthy rockstar. We were all guilty of it at one time or another. Call in an order, add some crabcakes and pick it up with petty cash.

One can never justify taking anything that does not belong to them.

There was an inquisition. Spanish style. One of us was fired everyday. They sat us in the cavernous tracking room of Studio A and picked us off one by one when we wouldn’t talk. This was a place where careers were made. We’d all done it. Our peers who got fired protected the rest of us.

All of us, save one, kept our mouths shut.

His name was Jack Hayback. He got my good friend Dexter sacked for spending a rockstar’s money to feed a homeless person a sandwich. A man who would become one of my very closest and loyal friends joined me in cornering Jack in the back hallway. We told him in no uncertain terms, there in front of the coffee station, that his days at A&M Recording Studios were coming to an end. We also imparted to him, in very clear and certain terms, that he would be well advised to watch his back for as long as it took for us to get him fired. We both meant it.

We were called on the carpet for it the very next day. We never handed him his beatdown but were still able to end his career in a mere few days.

All the while, my ultimate boss was using studio funds to procure rare and expensive gear, selling it to other people and keeping the equipment and money for himself. He was a dirty bastard persecuting five dollar an hour employees for having a decent meal here and there.

This cancer of thievery was practised in front of most of us.

A decade later that close friend an I were drinking at the infamous Rainbow Bar & Grill on Sunset in Hollywood. Jack approached me with an open hand for a shake and a stupid grin. He asked if I remembered him and reminded me who he was. I was as concise as I could be. I confirmed I knew exactly who he was and still hated his fucking guts. I told him my old friend was with me and we’d always been disappointed we never had a hand in Jack being able to taste his own blood.

Didn’t see him after that.

It still makes me smile.

The elementary school I attended was literally across the street from my mothers office. I used to love to go there after school. Sometimes I never went inside. I’d bring a ball or a book and wait for her to finish for the day. She worked for the Council Bureau of the Nevada State Legislature, research division.

The offices fascinated me. The paraphernalia, machines and exact order of a government office in the early seventies. The possessions at each desk to personalize an anonymous workspace. The smell of fresh ink and old paper.

Volumes and volumes of ancient texts bound in leather that made very little sense when I cracked them open. I searched and searched for their importance. I barely managed to glimpse it but remained in awe.

Smart purposeful people. Men in ties and quick talking fast moving women in suits.

One winter afternoon she left me in her boss’s char. At his desk. His office was filled with interesting things. I liked being in there. I endeavored to be conscientious. Put everything back the way I found it. That afternoon there was a jar of M&M’s on the desk. I simply could not stop myself.

My Mother’s boss called her on it the next day. Sometimes I look back and think I lied about it because of just how much embarrassment I’d caused her. I could not face it. I have to tell you that to this day it easily one of the most shameful things I’ve ever done.

All these things cemented a certain ethical Rosetta Stone for me. I began to have hard and fast rules. Honesty was the imperative. It all served as a valuable lesson for me.

As of today, I’m an expert recreational liar. I can tell a clerk or a waiter anything. I can lie to a the DMV or any customer service representative. When it really matters however, a child can see right through me. I suck at lying.

Drinks for my friends.

What follows is an e-mail from my uncle to my mother.

He’s an inlaw, married to Mother’s younger sister for a few centuries. This particular uncle is like all the others, blood or not. Remarkably capable, intelligent and manly men with an absurd sense of humor, an abundance of optimism and the ability to do just about any damn thing.

Despite most of them being clueless Republicans, my mother’s family are medal contenders for the Olympic coolest group of people competition. Some are stranger than others, but all are people I’m very lucky to know. Eleven siblings all married at least once as well becoming successful engines of procreation.

I’ve participated in the binding and torture of my cousins and I’ve purposely been electrocuted by an uncle. To single any of them out is just foolish. So many colorful people. Reunions are the most impossibly organized chaos anyone could ever wrap a brain around. They involve things like cooking omelettes in plastic bags and cousin Rod wandering around with endless amounts of Patron. Fill your ziploc with your favorite ingredients and hand it to stoic uncle Jim. He doesn’t say much but hands you an omelette ninety seconds later. Take a pull off Rod’s bottle, it’s tasty.

Find cousin Derek and see if he’s started drinking yet because if he has, you can too.

There will be huckleberry pie and ice cream.

An existential yet delightful surreality.

Every goddamn one of them is nuts and I’m sure they think the same of me.

Here we go:

“so what’s your summer schedule.. any date when your going to be here??
Sharon went to Spokane Tuesday,, and come home yesterday, thinks she likes the idea of shopping with your Sisters.
say’s her back is out and needs to see the chiropractor but i think it an excuses to head down..
DD had dentist appointment yesterday so she was in Spokane also.
Skip and Mitch stopped by on the way back from working up north.. then DD got here so they went over and seen her place.
Skip is going to help her put the cedar on the front deck ceiling.
Diana was here Sunday and stayed, then over to DD’s and decorated and stayed Monday night. Brian Orr was over Sunday and we had dinner at DD’s while we were setting there two bear run by the back window.. don’t tell Shirley !!!
we had a moose and coyote go by last week..
Every thing is nice an green course with all the rain what else could it be.. oats looking good.
i made deck for Dawn’s side door and took it down two weeks ago, and yesterday i cut the step risers so will take them down today and get the steps started.
Dawn is off today, getting ready for graduation tomorrow night.
Brian will finish the steps tomorrow , he is off.
Went in Tuesday and helped Carey install the upper hydraulic cylinder on the excavator.. was a heavy mother.. weighed 700 lbs.. had to use 2 chain hoist and 3 come a longs to jockey it into position, was never so happy when we got the top pin in.. was afraid the damn thing was going to spin on our jury rigged stuff and drop in the hole.. but its done now and Carey is finishing the basement dig..
as soon as this gets done the builder is putting in the footings.
he is having everything done but the electrical,, were going to do that. think we will take the MH up and stay for a few days when we do.
guess Scott is coming over this weekend to do Steve’s plumbing rough in.. just hope he don’t meet some of his old gang and get to partying.. DD kind of worried about that. he’s been doing pretty good on the coast.
headed up to Rice tomorrow with Russ. he is building a road and were going to use the cat to load a disc i bought. he also bought an old plow.. so will try to load that also. have to get done so we can get to the graduation by 7 but found out Sharon has some other stuff she wants to do also , so might have to hurry..
have an old laptop that i got running with radio last week, set it up for Tudor and Ken to use. Sharon took it in when she went down, but couldn’t get it to working. i will check it the next time i am there.
Ken has been doing some scraping at Jakes,, been taking old sign stuff apart and selling the silver, brass, and copper. guess he was getting a pretty good price on the silver, but took a sample into another place. then sent it out for assay and found out it was worth twice as much as he was selling it for.. so he lost a few bucks. but still has some to sell so is changing buyers..
Sharon said he even has Tudor doing some stuff and is paying her.. quit an operation..
Well that’s about it, have to get my oatmeal on and get ready to head out
See ya
Tell Doug hi, and were working on a list of things we need done when he gets here.
talked to Jim yesterday, they had a good day at the store opening,, they got another load of inventory in and its blocking the esle so they were headed down yesterday morning to stock it.”

Drinks for my friends.

That’s what we call it. I began utilizing the action (?) as an alternative to the more customary handshake while doing trade shows a handful of years ago.

I’m a little bit of a germaphobe and it seemed an appropriate way to avoid sweaty hands, urine and booger residue. This one guy, big account in the midwest, could throw thirty to fifty thousand our way on a single order. Cool guy. Chronic hyperhidrosis.

He pretty much inspired me to join the cult of the “TERRORIST FIST JAB”.

I’m also a fan of what I call “ass gaskets”. I’m loathe to use a public restroom but I’m a pretty regular guy, if you’re picking up what I’m laying down.

I apologize to all of America for engaging in such blatant and overt support of killing the innocent and subverting Christian dogma. Not only am I a fool, but a patsy as well. I’ve been duped.

I saw that speech where that married couple who might be muslim terrorists did the dreaded “TERRORIST FIST JAB”. I saw it live. I’m ashamed. At the time I thought it was cool. His kinda hot wife gave her man knuckles.

We Americans are so naive and I’m not exempt. What I processed as a simple, perhaps somewhat hip gesture, was really a well understood signal by a pair of evil doers to the evil doers of the world to do more evil.

This is old news to some of you but I just happened onto this raging controversy today. My friend and sometimes sugar momma mentioned it as we jaywalked to my apartment after she sprung for sushi and beer.

“During the June 6 edition of Fox News’ America’s Pulse, host E.D. Hill teased an upcoming discussion by saying, “A fist bump? A pound? A terrorist fist jab? The gesture everyone seems to interpret differently.” In the ensuing discussion with Janine Driver — whom Hill introduced as “a body language expert” — Hill referred to the “Michelle and Barack Obama fist bump or fist pound,” adding that “people call it all sorts of things.” Hill went on to ask Driver: “Let’s start with the Barack and Michelle Obama, because that’s what most people are writing about — the fist thump. Is that sort of a signal that young people get?” At no point during the discussion did Hill explain her earlier reference to “a terrorist fist jab.” -crooksandliars.com

Mirror mirror on the wall, who be the most simple minded jingoistic network of all?

This is the silliest shit I’ve ever seen. Color me fucking dumbfounded.

The lowest watermark in public discourse I’ve ever witnessed. That there isn’t widespread outrage over it is definitive proof that we are a nation of dumbasses. I heard on Stewart tonight that only one in seven Americans can find Iraq on a map.

We have managed to elevate a fine man all the way to the contest for President of this once great country. He is perhaps the finest to run for that office in almost half a century.

Fox news can suck a fart out of my ass.

Drinks for my friends.

It’s more than interesting, all this speculation. The pundits pontificating, the dumb ones bloviating.

Benedict Fliptop was Gore’s choice and I thought it was a mistake at the time. I’m not sure it cost him much at all in the end. People don’t really vote for a Vice President.

Here’s a list of who I’d like to see McCain pick:

Mitt Romney. Guy Smiley. Consumate asshat. Magic underwear combined with abject cluelessness. Talk about an intellectual boat anchor. Forgive me but I’m of the opinion that the man named Mitt is the biggest fuckhead to ever run for President.

Big Jim Slade. Doubtfire could use a man of African heritage with a penis. A big penis.

Johnny Horton. Wrote some pretty good patriotic songs. Unfortunately he’s been dead for almost half a century.

Skeletor. Rudy Giuliani. He’s a complete idiot and it would be very funny.

The Mormon Tabernacle Choir. The chaos would be awesome. When the Bootlicker expires by simply turning to dust, I’ll be looking forward to press conferences with a nice melody.

Shug Knight. He’ll get arrested within the first month for beating the shit out of some prominent Democrat and trying to shake them down.

Bob Dole. He’s hysterically funny without meaning to be or even realizing it and he’s pretty old too.

Marty Feldman and Don Knotts. Just picture it. Ocular buggery.

A woman with a nice big ass. Just because I like that.

Hefty rack on her too.

Gore Vidal. I bet he’d piss in every corner of the Oval Office for which an opportunity became available. Could be counted on to get drunk and disparage his boss consistently wherever cameras are rolling.

Jesus. I bet he’d piss in every corner of the Oval Office for which an opportunity became available. Could be counted on to get drunk and disparage his boss consistently wherever cameras are rolling.

The Jolly Green Giant. Ho ho ho, Green Giant!

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Doubtfire wrestled in high school and I’d really like to see them go at it on TV in front of everyone. They’re about the same size but the Iranian President is much younger. Leaner, more muscular. Smells better. Old Spice vs. something by Fabergé.

Start by imagining them both in unitards.

Not sure which is meaner.

But, I’m thinking Ahmadinejad, (red ‘tard), would make short work of McCain (blue ‘tard). It would be genius television. Right there behind the podium. Doubtfire would tap out of course. He’d do that creepy chuckle at the post game press conference and have Mahmoud beset by Vietnamese Ninja before midnight.

Despite the rather obvious potential for death, hundreds would line up for a shot at McCain.

Where am I going with this? I must confess, I have no idea. It’s like I’m smoking reason. I mean resin.

Larry King is on with Hulk Hogan and a guy I assume is the Hulk’s lawyer. The sound is off. This lawyer guy has the worst toupee I’ve ever seen and it looks like it’s covering a fresh brain surgery wound. I’m really not sure what I’m seeing. I refuse to unmute it. I just can’t.

I’ll feel dirty and common.

There’s that and the fact that I don’t give a mad fuck about Hulk Hogan or his kid. No ill will, I just don’t care.

Indulge me for a second. It’s not like I think he’s a bad guy, I simply have no reason to care about his struggles anymore than anyone else I don’t know. He’s a celebrity but he hasn’t done anything important. He’s no Stephen Hawking, Eddie Van Halen, Steinbeck or Capote.

His clothes are ridiculous. He amuses me. Like a clown. I wish him the best. No reason not to.

Where were we?

Drinks for my friends.

Why that would be our man. The Little Paste Eater. Dennis Kucinich introduced thirty five articles of impeachment against Dumbya in the House o’ Reps last night.

He’s already delivered a carp in newspaper to Darth Cheney. Cheney had it deposited in a dumpster far from his residence and shot the man who delivered it in the crotch with an antique blunderbuss. There were reports claiming his footwear was very pointy that afternoon.

I would not deign to tongue the sack of the esteemed Paste Eater myself but I can be counted on to pitch in for hookers and booze. I’m good like that and everyone knows a man needs his balls licked now and then. I’m just goddamn giddy over this. Kucinich rocks.

Didn’t see it on TV today. After all it was really only about illegally spying on us and lying about every aspect of the war.

I understand Britney is contemplating having her vagina removed.

Did you hear McClellan is gonna show up before the House Judiciary?

Oh, and the second part of some Senate intelligence report came out last Thursday saying pretty much the same thing.

It’s nuts. One of the most logical reasons to leave Iraq is that there was a complete absence of logical reasons to show up and do what we did. If you sincerely believe the world is safer, you’re an idiot.

If you think we’re fighting them over there so we don’t have to fight them over here you’re not being intellectually honest with yourself and you might be an idiot.

If you believe you’re better off than you were six or seven years ago, you’re rich and most likely greedy. Or, you’re an idiot. Not mutually exclusive terms by the way.

If you think the health of the planet is not being influenced by the fact that their’s too fucking many of us you’re being intellectually dishonest with your bad self. Good chance you’re an idiot.

If you’re of the opinion that John McCain is going to do anything other than add tonnage to your financial burden, you have ‘assfasia’. A condition where one’s face resembles ones ass so closely that the bowels are confused as to which way to move. Same diagnosis if you’re of the mind that he has a clue about what to do in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan or any country that starts with a U.

Braincheck.

I’ll be urging you to eschew obfuscation and avoid being stupid until early November.

Drinks for my friends.

Is it a good thing that stupid people don’t realize they’re stupid?

If it’s good, who exactly is it good for?

The stupid? Yes. For them at least, it may be good. Like a handicap you’re not aware of. Everyone allows you a certain amount of trespass you wouldn’t normally be afforded. Because you’re stupid.

What about the rest of us? These fuckers can be dangerous. They cause traffic accidents and bar fights. Power failures and endless wars. They are the chronically dim. Forever in twilight. They bring us grief on a scale that is overwhelming when compared to their actual prowess.

What do we do with them?

We need for them to own their stupidity. If they understand they’re stupid perhaps their expectations will be lower. I think the logically inept ought to be given handicapped placards so they’re not circling endlessly in parking structures. I really like that word ‘placard’.

Stupid people should board early at the terminal. Seat the drooling fucks first so the rest of us won’t be disgusted or inconvenienced by their confusion.

Stupid people should not be allowed to write checks in any retail business. They don’t understand the common courtesy of having most of it filled out beforehand and they’re instantly confused with writing out the total numerically as well as in english.

Maybe they shouldn’t have checking accounts. Maybe they shouldn’t be allowed to drive. I wonder if we shouldn’t set cognitive benchmarks for people to be able to take advantage of some of life’s privileges.

Like if your IQ isn’t at least in the triple digits, you’re not allowed to drive or operate heavy machinery. Ever think we might be better off if both members of a couple were required to write a few paragraphs with nothing less than complete sentences before being allowed to reproduce?

I know that last one was rough but c’mon. Where are all the dipshits coming from? They come from other dipshits. Don’t be stupid. Please. They are breeding!

I’m in favor of taking their cell phones away.

I know we can’t impose such rules, but the dipshits really piss me off. They vote. That worries me. They are chronically underinformed and unable to process what little they’re able to take in. They dress funny. Then they sit in front of you on a yellow light while waiting to take a left and the oncoming traffic has ceased. I’m never suprised to see a McCain or Bush bumper sticker.

Either one of those is an idiot’s flag. I adore that they are proud enough of their guilelessness to wave a freak flag so ostentatiously. I’m impressed by more than any other idiocy, the abject hubris of not understanding just how dumb you are.

Inevitably it ends up being a gift of lesson for most of us.

They give us something to rise above.

Is there a way that we can keep them away from us and among themselves while still allowing them access to Ralph’s and Starbucks?

I’m not looking to punish them. They can’t help it.

I just don’t want them around me. Interacting with me. I don’t want them to touch me. I’m confident they hardly ever wash their hands.

Hot dogs are flavorful and they’re special too.

Drinks for my friends.

It’s crazy. Where we are.

Interesting that I write about ’68 and it’s relevancy and a few days later CNN has a special report.

I’m prescient bitch!

The Pantsuit spoke today. I’m such a goddamn pushover. I liked it. I believed her. She needs to show us. I’m not about to let her off the hook. I think she’ll walk the walk. It was the best speech by her I’ve seen.

This will be fascinating. I promise you he will be evaluating her as VP while watching Big Bad Bill very closely. She’ll be interning in one way or another with a handful of other junior execs.

She did very well today. I am glad. I hate it when she sucks. I do like her. Kinda.

I used to tell young bands, the first trick is the record deal, the second trick is making a good record, the third trick is mastering the universe. Until you’ve completed the first two, don’t even think about the third.

I can’t wait for a debate between Our Man and the Little Bootlicker. I wanna see Doubtfire lose his cool. He cannot possibly hope to match wits with Our Man. Even if he’s firing on all cylinders, he’s simply not bright enough.

There will be no simpering or embarrassment by the party of the first part. It’s possible there will be some degree from the party of the second part.

Having said that, I urge you all to pay attention to this campaign. Please do so while keeping your wits about you. Notice the proud and capable man our party has selected. For over a year I’ve been saying what we need is as much change as we can get.

Now it hangs right in front of you.

I’m not here to bang a drum. I’m here to point things out. You may need me to point this out.

Vote for this cat. Barack Obama is the best we’ve seen in a long time and if you let this go, we’ll slide over an edge to land in something that will be our demise. We’re that close.

I want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Grape jelly, chunky peanut butter. Choosey mothers choose JIF and I like Smuckers. I could hoover one. I see myself needing the Heimlich maneuver. An obscure German tank operation your grandparents feared.

Talking to all of you is great but I need to spend time thinking about teeth whitening options. Other things too. I admit I’m listening to Count Basie.

I can’t help it. He was a genius. Sounds like flowers. Fireworks or a starry night. Oh boy. I mean goddamn.

Drinks for my friends.

So, not a day of sartorial splendor for America’s once well turned out economy. We used to clean up well. These days the only thing clean is our clocks. Sorry.

In a single day the market plunged almost four hundred points. Unemployment numbers flirt with a redline. Dino juice was over a hundred and thirty eight fucking dollars a barrel. The news on foreclosures and households in arrears is bad. Very bad.

This shit is getting serious.

My point is this. How much longer does McCain imagine we can get away with spending half a million a minute in Iraq? While we’re on the subject, he’s openly admitted economics is not his strong suit. Still wants to keep tax cuts to the wealthy permanent. Seems to really like the war.

What does he do when his face itches? He shouldn’t leave home without a plastic pasta spoon. Keep it in his jacket pocket. That’s what I use to reach areas I’d otherwise be unable to.

He resisted Secret Service protection. That speaks volumes. A single sided example of the difference between courage and stupidity. Curmudgeonly old bastard desperate to believe he’s as invincible as he once was. Who would vote for this guy?

There’s a lotta ignorant folks want this guy runnin the show. I hope there’s enough of us with a modicum of common sense.

I know we’ve been over this a lot. Search under McCain, Doubtfire or Little Bootlicker in my categories for more facts and disparaging remarks.

I’m gonna do a glossary soon.

I hear Our Man Obama led Lieberman by the tie into a dark corner of the Senate chambers today and kneed him in the balls a few times while gently cradling his head. I welcome this news because I can’t stand Lieberman’s face. It goes without saying that everything from his allegiances, loyalties and integrity are dubious these days. I’m of the opinion that Uncle Joe can use a little playground justice at the hands of the Democratic nominee.

He’s an orthodox Jew. I tend to not give the overtly religious the benefit of the doubt, a weakness, perhaps a failing. I doubt it. He’s gleefully obsequious with Dick-in-Bush and AIPAC, as well as Doubtfire. Fool.

He needs a name.

Benedict Fliptop.

First name is obvious. Surname is due to his enormous lip span. That’s lip span. I picture his head opening all the way back. Like a broken PEZ dispenser.

Benedict Fliptop sucks.

I think he’s on Doubtfire’s shortlist for Assistant Manager. That would be very nice. It would guarantee comedy. They could play Stratego in the van between gigs.

They could hit the road after they lose.

Appalachia!

America needs a makeover.

The oficial Brainspank prediction is a win by a significant margin for the good guys.

Drinks for my friends.

Nothing really happened.

A good friend I haven’t spoken to in at least twenty years left a message on my cell the other day. I called him back.

We talked for almost two hours just now. He’s a surgeon. Painfully bright and very funny. He used to puke out the window of my VW bug after an evening of Long Island Iced Teas when we were underage. Turns out he’s comedically conservative but we still have plenty in common. A welcome catharsis. Left me with a smile.

Watched about three quarters of NBA finals game one, had to switch to Stewart/Colbert. I hear the Celtics had their way. I’m in awe of how insipid post game punditry is. Phil Jackson fascinates though. He’s got a big ass brain.

Pro athletes aren’t typically the most articulate or eloquent.

I’m convinced Paul Pierce indulged us with a little thespianism. Ah well, effectively executed.

I understand the Pantsuit invited our man over to her pad in DC tonight for some face time and maybe a little arm wrestling. Think they watched the game and played a little one on one? How tall is he? Can he dunk? The skinny thus far tells of something private and fairly intimate. I’m guessing she was looking to make her case on her own turf. Fundamental Art of War, chapter one.

I wonder how much we’ll actually learn about it.

My ear feed says now they didn’t meet at her place. Whatever. Her favorite saloon then. The staff knows her and doesn’t pay a mind when she gets heated and brandishes a nickel plated Smith & Wesson.

This just in from Yahoo News: “Obama is seeking to become the first black president”. This is gonna be huge. Who saw this coming? Not just President, but the very first negro one. Watch this story catch fire. We in journalism predict it will have “legs”.

I picture the Pantsuit getting tipsy and surly. I don’t think Michelle is with him. I see Hills lunge for his crotch with crazy eyes. Bill cackles freely in the very next room. He’s watching TV with a voluptuous young brunette but the sound is off. Terry McAuliffe, I think of him as “Chip”, is on premises. Chip is in the nearest closet rubbing one out. Launching a bootlace as it were.

The Secret Service is pulling their hair out. They hate this shit.

Chelsea spends hour after hour applying and re-applying makeup while reading Nabokov.

Our man pretends to answer his phone. He nods and grunts. He makes apologies and informs everyone that he has a sick daughter at home. Pleasantries are exchanged. His limo actually squeals out of the driveway. Inside, a handful of people including the Senator, laugh with relief as they pull onto the road.

In an oddly portentous and perhaps not unrelated development, a profoundly disturbed team of Dick-in-Bush surrogates are poised at the grave of one Richard Milhous Nixon. They are well appointed with tools to move earth. The idea is to resurrect as much black dripping hate as can be had. The operation is code named “ANWR”.

You may think this is a sign of desperation. It is. Relax though, Republicans have long courted the supernatural. Look how pale they are. You know those big ticket fundraisers behind closed doors? There’s a guy in a monkey suit walking by every couple minutes with a tray full of crackers quivering with gelatinous eye of newt. They drink blood mixed with absinthe at these things.

There is wife swapping, drug smoking and therefore a fair number of libertarians. Ross Perot is passing out mints in the bathroom trying to muscle in on the tips meant for the attendant.

And you thought liberals knew how to have fun.

This one is for you Lance.

Drinks for my friends.

I love that there are turtles. The head sticks out like a penis yet they have such grace and dignity. They couldn’t be less concerned with any of us. They appear a little grim but I bet they’re not. What they are is stoic and determined. Not here to fuck around. You guess their sex by the curve of the shell underneath.

It comforts me to think they can retreat inside their armored selves so easily. I think I want to be a sea turtle. I understand they live longer than humans. I really hope they live in peace.

She’s thick and dark and tall. Green eyes wearing business casual, barely too tight. Lips like pillows and eyes like almonds. Hands and nails immaculate, she reaches for her drink with unlikely grace. White blouse against African skin as I stop breathing for a few seconds.

She nods, so I ask if I may. Yes, she says. Her smile is perfect. A gust of femininity. I sit.

I ask to buy her a drink, she demonstrates a full one. Not yet.

Bellini in a flute.

She is beautiful. She smells of butter and violets

Where am I? Jacked up on vicodin, my tooth seems to be on AM while I’m on FM. Good news. I think about my rabbit and remember the gore. Legs ache a little.

She’s the only thing not far away.

I look at her. Hips wide, legs long and lips glisten. Teeth shine.

Smells like god just left the room.

Her name is Claire.

She extends her hand and mocks me a little when she asks, “rough day?”

A walk in the park I tell her.

She tells me her favorite hair band is April Wine. She likes Vonnegut and Bradbury. Taffy, Zots and any sour or squishy candy. She says Primus are white boy funk but admits they can play. She’s despondent over the quality of local news. She’s a legal secretary. A hint of cleavage, bust straining against the fabric of an ivory blouse.

She’s voting for Obama.

She loves Luther, of course.

I ask her about frozen diet meals, she’s non-committal. We agree whatever is on sale.

We cheers and clink a few times. Then some more.

We drink awhile and she throws down one of those cool Amexes. One of the clear ones that looks like a small laser disc.

She picked up the tab.

I decide to show her my penis.

I take her to the handicapped stall in the men’s. She rests her foot on the rail while removing her silk and I go down on her. She likes it.

Flesh consumes me. I’m helpless. Fragrance so ripe I can’t stand it.

Seconds later I wake up with dark testicles on my chin and I’m gagging.

Her teeth are black. She laughs to mock me. Eyes red and bleeding. Pink lingerie contrasts purple skin and leaking sores. She wears a black vinyl duster, thigh high boots with a stiletto heel. Some stupid military hat.

A cock the size of a high caliber handgun and she waves it while cackling.

She stinks like a bog.

We’re in my room , there’s that knife in my luggage.

How did we get here?

Wait. Wait. Wait. She’s wearing.

I wake up alone.

It occurs to me I’ve shit myself.