Here I sit in Room 708 of the Hilton Palacio Del Rio in San Antonio, looking down over the river, after an excellent dinner of albondigas and paella, and while my Mac was booting to rain terror on the Reich Wing RepubliKKKans I turned on the goggle box and saw Larry King interviewing Algore.

I have fallen under the spell of Algore. Nothing falls beneath his notice; not a banality falls from a tree that he does not notice or indeed kick out of the nest. The wisdom, pouring from his mouth, now somewhat obscured by rolls of flesh, as he dispenses cracker-barrel sound good sense on the platform provided by the obsequious Larry King. Whose glasses are literally smeared with Algoreshit.

The Gorobot delivered himself of "I'm one of those people who doesn't like to see Christmas toys put on the shelves right after Halloween!"

I would never have thought of that. Such sound good sense. Obvious, really, now that he mentions it and how much anguish would have been saved if Solomon had thought of that. What a revelation and what it tells us of him. The depth of his thought. This is a prolegomenon to him opining, and a word that Bill O'Reilly is proud of best serves, that the American people don't want to see a presidential campaign 500 days before the election.

So, Larry King asks, with the subtlety of a pin entering a balloon, will he run again? The Gorobot's modesty shineth; that question is utterly out of left field for him and I'm sure from the look on his face--good Animatronics here--that that wasn't on the list of questions that had been pre-approved. But he covered with wonderful aplomb. "I'm 59 and that's the new 58!"

How does he do it? Kant and Hume are vanquished to outer darkness. Aristotle and Plato were just a couple of old Greek buggers. But the Goremon! Now here's the real Tabasco, folks. This man has got it all.

"I'm 59 and that's the new 58!" Let us take to the streets with that as our rallying cry. How could we not have seen it? That--words fail me. His eloquence makes Demosthenes pale, and Hitler is a tongue-tied schoolboy throwing rocks through windows.

With such sterling intellectual credentials, lapping the best minds of the last three millennia, it is only meet that he should lead us, even if we do not want it or see the need of it, into our grappling with Global Warming™ and throwing all our material and spiritual hopes under the bus he drives, for He does it for us. He buys carbon credits for our sins. He tells us that "the planet has a fever." And how could we doubt a man who informs us, "I'm 59 and that's the new 58!"

This is all part of a groundswell, a draft-Al surge thrumming up from the city streets. People hunkering in fox holes, hiding from the Bush Terror. Larry King sent out his winged monkeys onto the street and they found six people who looked very seriously up into the camera and asked Algore if he was running for president. One of them even was familiar enough to say, "We need a good candidate." Perhaps he'd just seen Mrs. Clinton howling. And the dedication of Larry King. Crews, he said; plural. Crews, for the six that they found.

On seeing this, the Gorobot smiled, and Larry very unctuously suggested that it was flattering that crews had found these people. And the Goremon smiled with self-deprecation.

As further proof of his beatific status, Algore has proven to us that he keeps the best company. Evidently he has become a fellow trencherman with Michael Moore. They don't look like they eat at Shoney's a lot. They look like they eat Shoneys a lot. The result is that his nose has virtually disappeared, so sticking it into others' business will now be metaphorical only.

All hail the Goremon! Algore ahkbar!

I don't get it....

All I suppose is that he meant that he wasn't too old. Something about being young and vigorous. Who knows? It was scripted from the get-go and there was even a short feature somewhat like "The Man From Hope" crap that Cousin It (Linda Bloodworth-Thomason) did for Slick Willie.

All I suppose is that he meant that he wasn't too old.

Sounds like a lame attempt at trying to appear young.

http://www.homestarrunner.com/sbemail164.html

No doubt. Lame is not really sufficiently strong. I expect that Larry King had to wipe his nose for 45 minutes to get the brown off. If I had anything but contempt for King I would have felt sorry for him; as it was I merely lapped it up and laughed until I hurt. Nothing quite as comical as a couple of old lefties enacting a script, badly, played for the booboisie. It really played like a SNL sketch. Gore's fake bonhomie, King's lickspittle questions. You don't realize just how big a phony Algore is until you hear him trying to laugh. Have you noticed the utter humorlessness of the left? A feminist tee-shirt of years past said, "I am a humorless feminist," and humor deflates pretension and points up hubris, and therefore is deadly. Our best weapon is laughter at them for reasons fail for people do not like to think and the left's hijacking of reason in education to "self-esteem" which is nothing but self-absorption, means that all the best reasons on earth fall on ears deafened on purpose.

And the sound bite, the atomization of attention started by MTV, the emphasis on cool rather than substance, all defeat reason. Humor is the only weapon left.

LOL! Bravo, Theocritus! Bravo! Hopefully the Goracle will decide to run and we can watch him and Hill claw each others eyes out for the last danish on the set of Oprah! JOY! (That is if Oprah doesn't beat them to it first. One must not underestimate the Oprah or her appetite... BEWARE!)

Oprah's appetites are prodigious, both for the camera but also for the buffet. But let's not forget that Algore has the same appetites. Do you recall Pat Schroeder, that slit-eyed Congressthing from Colorado who as good as murdered the Navy jet pilot Kara Hultgren? That old bag was such a whore for a camera that if she saw a Japanese man with a camera across the stadium at the Superbowl, she'd kick off her shoes and body block her way through the NFL on 4th down in aftertime just to put her eyeless phiz in front of the camera, even if it had no film, to say something really incredibly stupid and annoying. And her ass was two ax-handles wide too.

Let's put Okrah, Algore, Schoeder, Our Many Titted Empress and Maxine Waters in a room with a carton of Twinkies. The ones that pass out from insulin shock we bayonette, not wasting bullets, and the ones who get hyper we use for target practice.

We have a lottery on who gets to administer the coup de grace. Or in the his case, the coup de gras.

"I'm 59 and that's the new 58!"

I wonder if that was some under the cover insult to Our Many Tittied Empress?

If not, then where the hell is Lewis Black when you need him?

Algore Akhbar!!!

--
Zampolit B. S. Blokhayev

“Socialism is the same as Communism, only better English”
--George Bernard Shaw

It might be an insult but we'll never know. I think it was from a focus group from the DKos, and Laika's radio waves were really heating up their tin-foil hats.

I wonder if we can give Laika a bigger space capsule and more food so he can rain something else down on their heads?

Perhaps we could also contract out to Mr. Lewis Black a "comedic hit" on the all of the moonbats on DKos.

Perhaps we could have our Russian comrades to send up a new Progress M-58 cargo ship to supply Laika a few tons of Alpo. Heh Heh Heh!!! I like to see the byproduct of all that Alpo hit their tinfoil hats. You have heard of fighting fire with fire? This will be fighting scatology with scatology.

--

Let's leave Laika's gifts out in the sun to harden into rocks and then fight scatology with coprolites.

Come to think of it, anyone who believes the Goracle is a coprophage.

Anyone who works at the Sierra Club is stercoraceous.

I would like a bigger capsule but I am just a humble space dog.....
Maybe an extra ration of S.A.F. Pravda Vodka?
It's laced with sodium pentathol. You get the truth with every shot.
Easier for the masses to digest.

Oh...and darling Theocritus, Laika is a bitch.

Laika, I'm a bitch too. In these days of unisex names, it applies to me too. Isn't it fun to be a bitch?

But you and I will never manage to surpass the number of nipples on Our Many Titted Empress, the great sow of Mother Socialism, with one for everyone to suckle, excepting of course for the white, heterosexual male who doesn't think that the world owes him everything.

By my reckoning, on current form, every single WHM will have to live to be 150, working two jobs, just to pay for all the sensitivity courses he'll be required to take to work to pay for people who have bad hair days or who think that people look at them funny.

My Dear Commissar Theocritus wrote:Laika, I'm a bitch too. ... Isn't it fun to be a bitch?

Uh... It sounds to me that the price you pay, Laika excluded, for being a bitch is that you get your very own Bug Eyed Queen as part of the deal? In your case Dear Comrade Theocritus, you can beat living shit out of them. If you happen to catch your BEQ in a lovely chiffon sundress .... EXECUTE THE BASTARD WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE! Society is just not ready for that. Not until The Party™ is in control.

I'm just saying.

Zampolit, the BEQ is probably dead in a ditch somewhere. I used whitepages.com under his name, not an exalted and uncommon one like Zampolit Blokhayev, and found quite a few of them, but they all had liaisons with women. That of course ruled out the BEQ.

The image of that BEQ in a sundress wobbled my tripes. You do not perhaps have a full image of the BEQ and I hope that you are sitting down for this.

Imagine a pipe cleaner--thin and hairy, with pipe cleaner arms handcuffed behind its back at the elbow. Put on this an orange, with little chin, a David Niven mustache, a receeding hairline, and eyes that look like a possessed chihuahua. My (straight) friend Ron called them Star Wars glances for they could have shot down Soviet SAMS.

Now imagine this BEQ in a mid-calf chiffon sundress, the eyes rolling, and not always in the same direction.

Pardon me, Zampolit, I need to clean the barf off the keyboard.

There. Back now. Rest assured that when I last saw the BEQ in the El Paso motel parking lot, he was showing some lividity but his glances were frying birds in the air.

I had to have my Supra repainted.

Tell me I had fun as a young man. Tell me. Well, yes, there was...and...and...

Pardon. Have to lie down now.

Oh. I forgot. The Party will never be ready for the BEQ. He was an anomoly in the space-time continuum and not really of this world. And with luck he is no longer of this world, having been murdered by a drunk trucker, who, had I been on the jury, would not only have been acquitted by given a party in celebration.

Commissar Theocritus wrote: Now imagine this BEQ in a mid-calf chiffon sundress, the eyes rolling, and not always in the same direction.

Eyes not rolling in the same direction? WOW! You must have put a serious beatdown on this bitch?

Pardon me, Zampolit, I need to clean the barf off the keyboard.

Indeed!

Tell me I had fun as a young man. Tell me. Well, yes, there was...and...and...

You had fun!

Pardon. Have to lie down now.

Take a margarita with you! Sip it slowly, I still have not found out where Lupe got that ethanol.

--
Zampolit B. S. Blokhayev

Ah. I'm back and feeling much better. Nothing that a lie-down in a cool dark room won't cure.

Now I'm back and full of vim and vigor and I think that I found a loophole in federal laws which will let me not only tax people but make them pay for the audit.

Oh. Too late. They've done that.

I've got it. I'll shoot them and then charge their estates for the bullets.

Oh. Too late. They've done that.

Well, dammit. Back to the darkened room.