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Perez Hilton remakes Nancy Pelosi at the Rancho

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"Bruno!," I said as I came back in the door with the mail, "I have a surprise for you!"

Bruno looked up from his seat on the floor where he was sifting five dollars' worth of fake plastic jewels through his fingers. He knew they weren't worth anything but they did sparkle and so that was okay.

"The new Victoria's Secret catalog? A new Liza compilation? What, Theocritus, what? Make me tingle!"

Queasily I sagged against the wall, and after a few seconds recovered.

"No," I said as I waved a letter. "Comrade Pelosi is coming to the Rancho de Rio Grande."



"Oh. My. God. Stalin's ho? Theocritus, have you lost your mind? The last time she was here every wall in the place had holes punched in it by her nose, elbows or hipbones. And the bed. You do remember that her bed looked like it's been slept in by a running chainsaw, don't you?"

"Bruno, that's beside the point. She's..."

"And the hair. And the hair. I swear that woman went through enough wigs to blind 50 Chinese wigmakers."

"Bruno! She's Speaker of the House! That's where all the power is. And we're Progs, dammit, Progs, and we go to power like flies to a gut wagon or stink to shit." I paused, thinking I'd work on my similes.

"I don't care, Theocritus. When that woman comes here it's 'Do this, do that, bring me my plane, steal this, steal that, rub my claws, caw, awk, caw, awk...' and I don't think that I can stand her again. She makes those Juarez crabs look pretty good. And by crabs I ain't talking crustaceans from the Gulf."

~
"Bruno, she's queen of the progs. She's the proggiest of all progs. This is the woman who has the ability to stiff all democratic opposition, take all the money in America, and destroy health care. I'm warning you, Bruno, she might change my luck and you'll be back hustling drinks at Miss Lillie's Nitespot."

"Yeah, like you're going straight, in any sense of the word. Especially for that rag, bone and hank of other people's hair. Have you no pity for the blinded Chinese wig-makers?"

The doorbell rang and in came Speakerette Nansky. "Theocritus," she cawed, turning her head to look at me with her right eye, "do you have any ideas about what we talked about? How I can get some more respect?" Nansky turned her head and looked at me with her left eye, which was, if anything, beadier. "There's trouble, Theocritus. The Blue Dog Democrats are really pissed that I stiff-armed them."

"Why do you care? Come the revolution they'll be on the impaling stakes along with the Rethuglicans. And, Nansky, dear, don't worry. One of your biggest fans is here to help you. Surely you know of the devotion of Red Rooster. He's used his good offices to help you get an image makeover!”

The doorbell rang and in came our next guest.





"Mario Armando Lavandeira!" screamed Bruno. "My god! He put the lavender in gay."

"That's Perez Hilton, you fruit stand," said Mario, as he trotted in, his trotters marking the parquet.

"Well, your hair looks like a Hilton's toilet brush," scoffed Bruno. "Just what chemicals gave it that color? Do we need a Haz-Mat suit?"

Perez was about reply with an unsubstantiated rumor about Michael Jackson, when he was cut off.

"Awk awk eek eek tookie tookie!" cawed Nansky. "Can we get back to me? Nansky is in the building," she said as she drove her nose through some innocent drywall and shed even more hairs from her second wig so far that evening on the floor.

"Perez," I purred at our celebrity disher, if not dish, "I've asked you here to help Comrade Nansky. Congressional poll ratings are in the dumper, you know, and it's very important that the sheep, er, pardon, something in my throat," I covered my mouth with my hand and coughed demurely, "the citizens of this great country have more confidence in their leaders. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Well, Theocritus, it's not like you have anything really styling here, going on, you know. I think I'd rather live with Carrie Prejean than that thing over there," he said as he jerked a stubby thumb which looked amazingly like a dew claw toward Bruno. Trotter, dew claw, thumb—it's sooooo hard to tell with Perez.

Bruno bristled. "I may have a melon on my head but you have a head like a melon. Do you have to dodge the garbage men after Halloween?"

Perez started to reply with an unsubstantiated rumor about Rihanna but was cut off by an avian sound.

Nansky cawed and spit out a sunflower-seed husk and shed more hairs on the floor, "If you two don't start talking about me, I'm going to fly out of here."





Bruno snorted, "Yeah, like you'll get far with those skinny old bat's wings. They may flop a good battle but they ain't gonna take you far."





"Bruno," I shouted. "Mind your manners! This is Nansky Peloski, the Speaker of the House! There's no one better at getting her hand into people's pockets and giving away the store and undermining AmeriKKKa! If you don't mind your manners, I'll put your Liza CDs in the trash!"

"Well, she sang them when she was trashed, so go ahead."

Turning back to Nansky, I said, "Nansky, I am here to help. Perez is here to help..."

"Jon Gosselin sucks! Jon Gosselin sucks!"

"Nansky!" I shouted, I thought you wanted us to talk about you."

"That was Paris, er, Perez, er Pearez" said Bruno, "You can't spend Jon Gosselin so it couldn't have been Nansky, now could it?"

"Well," I mused, "You could lie about Jon Gosselin so it could have been either one of them."

"Awk awk eek eek tookie tookie!" cawed Nansky as she shed even more hairs from her third wig and pecked yet another hole in that expensive dry wall at the Rancho.

"Nansky," snarked Perez, as he trotted across the floor, doing irreparable damage. "What you need is a makeover. People need to see there's a new you! A new People's Nansky! Someone who cares! Now who are the people's heroes?"

"Well," cawed Nansky, "I don't have a beak like George Washington, and Lincoln's beard just doesn't suit me. I don't like..."





At that time Bruno threw some more sunflower seeds under Nansky's feet. She turned one eye toward the floor, the other on the ceiling, and instantly darted down to peck up three or four sunflower seeds.

"Good seeds, Bruno. Are they fair-trade, union-grown seeds? And will the growers give me a campaign contribution?" she asked as she pecked up a few more.

"Nansky! Let's get back to business. What heroes do you admire?"

"Well, Theocritus, I can't admire an American hero because I don't want anyone accusing me of hypocrisy. So..."







"I've got it!" shouted Perez. "Trotsky! She's bought, er, got the hair, and the beak, er nose!"

"Perfect!" I agreed. "Perfect. Now for that finishing touch.





"Nansky, that's really killer. You're the bomb now. My only worry is if you can get through airport security with all that metal in your head."

"What, me worry?" cawed Nansky as she picked up the last sunflower seed from the floor of the Rancho and the ice axe chipped the fine Mexican tile, "the fools at Homeland Security are shaking down old nuns and grandmas in wheelchairs while I'm selling the country down the river. Don't give it a second thought."

With that she picked up an armadillo-shaped purse made very heavy with other people's money and stabbed Ms. Hilton with it. “That,” she hissed with the vitriol generally reserved for the nano Jimmy Carter rabbits, “is what you get when you cross me”. Then she flew to the top of the Rancho, with an ice-axe in her head.

“Well, Bruno, there's nothing to be done except to make Nansky our weathervane.”



Bruno looked at me and asked, "Are you sure that you're the smart one, Theocritus?"

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People's CopyLeft™ © 2009 Commissar Theocritus & Red Rooster for The People's Cube. Download The Original Cartoon: Nansky and Pearez Boar: The Amerikan Zero

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Awk awk eek eek tookie tookie!

I always detested the habit of spitting sunflower seed hulls, it reflects poor breeding and low cultural standing.

Comrade Theocritus, you can always call in for reinforcements if they prove to be too much for your team to handle...

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General, I have a problem with that picture. The left hand has the primitive too, the stone-age one. The right hand has the iron-age tool. Since we know that the left is kewl, shouldn't they be reversed?

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Perez and Nancy, Nancy and Perez, Hilton and Pelosi, Pelosi and Hilton, erk... *cough* Awk, Awk, Eek, Eek, Tookie, Tookie, BGAWWWWKKKK:

Nancy Pelosi and Perez Hilton

...whirrrrrrrr, rewind, edit, cut, paste:

Nansky Pelosky and Pearez Hilton's Toilet Brush.

Not quite the mess but twice the pleasure.

It's two mints in one.

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Now it is clear to me how she rammed Cap'n Trade through the House:

Nansky: Awk! Vote for the bill, Awk! Eeek! Tookie, Tookie!
Blue Dog Democrat: But I'm from a coal state! They'll lynch me when I go home!
Nansky: Awk! Vote for the bill or I'll peck holes in your drywall! Erk! More seeds!
Blue Dog Democrat: But they'll set fire to my house! You don't know my district! The way I won the seat was by telling the voters my Republican opponent drives a Smart Car and coasts down hills! They HATE enviro-whackos there!
Nansky: Awk! Vote for the bill or I'll leave Chinese hair all over your ottoman! I said MORE SEEDS, DAMMIT!
Blue Dog Democrat: You win, Nansky. I'll vote for the bill. I guess I can always go back to my old job cleaning up vomit at the bar and grill. Nansky, you're the most persuasive woman/bird I've ever met.
Nansky: WHAT PART OF "MORE SEEDS" IS IT THAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND????

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Oh, Opiate, you have captured part of the horror of that evening. Here was Nansky screeching and cawing enough to wobble the tripes of the nano Jimmy Carter rabbits.

Just to please Nansky when she next flies out here on her own fancy jet, with Air Force accompaniment, if they're not accompanying Michelle with her sparkly-toed sneakers, oh, and the kids, on a shopping spree in London, I've planted 40 acres of nothing but sunflower seeds.

But, and this is in camera, the fertilizer I've used is <i>very</i> organic. I wonder how she responds to e. coli.

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Commissar, you must look at the bright side of things; despite the horror, you may have been in on the birth of a very exciting new fashion trend. I would not be suprised to start seeing A-list celebrities, the political elite and the top-level pundits walking around with ice-axes and other such implements embedded in their skulls. I can see a new craze sweeping the land... designer ice axes, picks, crow bars, screw drivers, etc coming in a large assortment of high-fashion colors and studded with diamonds, rubies, etc, for the trendy elites who want only the best tools to implant in their crania.

Nose rings and tongue piercings? They are just so 2008; the IN crowd is flocking to the ultimate in self-multilation, Braincase Perforation!

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Braincase Perforation. Opiate, I think that you've got it. It's not my fault because there's an ice-axe in my head. And I don't have to think because it receives the signals from Laika which I heretofore had to have in tin-foil hat.

I can see this fashion trend expanding out from Nansky to the whole prog world. And why not?

I beats the hell out of thinking.

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That's right! The Commissar is the brains behind the all new TrObamashka™, The Wombat Factory™ owes it all to him...

(*Pssstttt.... Commissar is small denominations deposited directly into your Swiss Banc account o.k.?!?)

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Love it, love it, love it. Let me recommend though that all comrades visit Switzerland in the summer. So much heat escapes in the winter out of the ice-axe in the head, unless you're transmitting a lot of information <i>up</i> to Laika. Say information stolen from the USSA government which can be used to help enemies of the Fascist United States of America.


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Now <i>that's</i> stylin'. So much better than that old pedestrian tin-foil hat.

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How did I miss this?!!

A party for Bruno's favorite Prog?

Wait a minute! Something is missing here. Where is the Nanski Peloski Poop-eel Automatic Nanski Peloski personal poop portable solar powered poop recycling machine? Comrade Nanski does like to bring it with her wherever she goes. Did you not know this? Whenever she poops, she poops into it, and it churns out the main ingredient of her Nanski Peloski's Famous Chutney Sauce.

What a shame! She bottles the Chutney and sends jars of it to all of her friends, with the O'Goracle getting three jars every year at the Winter Solstice Holiday.

The Nanski Peloski Poop Chutney Sauce also makes for nice party favors, and it would have been nice if she had left you some, so that the next time Jodin Morey or Janeane Gawdofolo came to visit, you could have gifted them with a jar or two.

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Ah Comrade Leninka, nice to see you finally show up. You win! Your sauce mix, er Nanski's Sauce Mix is better, I think I'll clean up the vomit now request a bottle.

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Comrade Red Rooster,

I was very agitated to find out that I missed the premiere, as I had been waiting for the day with great anticipation. Once again, you outdid yourselves--you with your hysterical solemn and respectful portrayal of a momentous event, and Theo, with his masterful vignette! Oh, my.

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Leninka, I blush to say that we ran through all of Comradette Nanski's Poop-eel Caca Chutney. I personally do not consider myself qualified to eat of it, but I do a brisk business selling it on the internet.

Along with grape Kool-ade.

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Comrade Theocritus,

You, of a people, being from Culo de Pecos, should have planned ahead! Now, what are you going to serve the Prog Queen runners up if they come visit you after the beauty queen contest is over?

Comrade Al Franken is about to leave Washington, D.C. as we speak and is on his way up to the cave where Jodin Morey is hiding. I do expect something to come of it, but don't say anything to Bruno, just yet, or, well, just play it by ear, if you think he can handle the news, that is.

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Leninka, that'll be great just great! I'm so glad Frankenstien Al Franken decided to help out!

Commissar, Mmmmmm... Grape Kool-ade. Personally I've been doing a brisk business in Lemon flavored Kool-aid.

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Comrades Red Rooster and Theocritus,

I did observe Bruno's lack of comportment during Nanski's visit. Or was it that he was at ease with Nanski? Or is it that Bruno is simply more relaxed at the Rancho.

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The cinematographer had problems reading the script...

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Comrade Red Rooster,

I beg to differ. I suspect you portrayed Bruno in a realistic light.

And, by the way, the above is the most brilliant thing I have seen on the Cube since "The Prog that will Come." It is a privilege to have ever cast my eyes upon these magnificent works of artistry and literature.


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Comrade Red Rooster,

You can believe what Leninka says. She always tells the truth after imbibing in bourbon a shot of vodka.

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Oh yeah! The Commissars is great! I passed it around to few proles in another thread and they drank up... here have some...I'm sure he won't mind...

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Oooh, Commissar Theocritus Vodka?

Why, thank you RR. I will savor every drop. I had no idea that Theocritus had a vodka named after him. What a surprise. Now that's a step up from Leninka vodka. A big step up.

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Well, Leninka Vodka is a special brew, a rare brew, a micro brew... so what can be expected?

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It's a daytime vodka, RR. That Theocritus vodka looks to be in a completely different class, for evenings of impaling and debauchery.

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Comrades, I am so glad that you enjoy the vodka. I'll let you in on a secret. I'm currently starting production of a Commissar Theocritus gin. It will be called Mumbai Non-Conflict Sapphire. A Non-Conflict G&T is just wonderful while you're impaling, watching the sun go down in the west.

And Leninka, RR captured the essence of Bruno. The vacant smile, the fruit on the fruit...

There are times that I look to the nano Jimmy Carter rabbits for conversation.

But there are entertaining moments when the talent-shitting pigeons swoop down and pick at the fruit on Bruno's head. It's so droll watching him try to scare them off, as they exercise their shitting talents.


 
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