The CDC (Center for Democrat Control) issued a health warning today for people who mave have been Hannitized or Quinnoculated and for Rush babies. Serious side effects have been noticed, such as nausea when engaging the welfare state, uncontrollable bowel movements when they look at their FICA deductions on their work pay stub, anger when told that surrender is an option for everything, dizzyness when confronted with political correctness, and severe vomitting when told our next President is going to be Hillary Rodham Clinton.

Anti-Socialist Syndrome is no laughing matter and these vaccinations are being recalled. Whenever you suspect a person may have been Hannitized or Quinnoculated, unplug the radio, computer, or television and seek immediate professional help (ACLU).

If you know of a Rush baby, these children must be quarantined at special camps (re: gulag) to keep ASS from spreading.

ASS is far worse than the Asian Bird Flu or Mad Cow Disease and is expected to reach epidemic proportions in 2008.

After consulting with Nancy and Chairman Meow, I have decided to make a campaign promise to all Americans! If you coronat....er..elect me President of these United States in 2008, I will make it a top priority to stop the spreading of ASS in the US of A.
I will nominate Dr. Commissar Theocritus to "head" the CDC and make sure the spreading of ASS is eradicated in the United States.
Some people may ridicule me for my decision, saying that it is a conflict of interest for Dr. Theocritus to stop the spreading of ASS in our beloved country.
I say "Who do you think is more qualified?" "Who has more experience?"
The only answer is Dr. Theocritus, the People's Doctor! The People's Doctor will enforce the Fairness Doctrine with much discipline, and if he needs help in that department, Janet Reno is more than willing to answer our country's call again!
Let's take back America in 2008!

Hillary '08

I am humbled by the faith that Our Many Titted Empress places in her obd't servant, and in truth all of my life I have been trying to stop the spread of ASS and that's the reason for Gold's Gym.

In fact I am so zealous about stopping the spread of ASS that I formed TASS--Tiny ASS. It involves exercises in which people sit on the carpet and walk on their cheeks in an effort to firm them up. Unfortunately we had to stop them because whenever Progressives did it, the housekeeper would worm the dog.

And I shall take my new duties seriously. I shall make everyone like everyone else, taking up the challenge set forth by Diana Moon Glampers, the US Handicapper General, as embodied by Janet Reno, who wanted to make sure that the Branch Davidians were just like people in Dachau and burned them alive too. And after Janet and I finish, everyone in America will look like a lamprey.

After her, I shall acquire the assistance of William Jefferson Blythe Clinton and Gennifer Flowers, whose bodice-ripping expose in <i>Penthouse</i> disclosed that Slick could envy just one of the seven inhabitants of a can of Vienna Sausage--which would make Terri Heinz very happy. And further the presidential ambitions of her gold-digging husband.

I think that my medications are wearing off again... Meow, I'll lie down for a while. Hillary, all my love...which I shall never deserve no matter what I did in the past in disreputable venues...

ASS and TASS

I like it! I like it!!

Vienna Sausage--

And all this time I thought it was a knockwurst.....Now Webb Hubble! He was hung (out to dry). Ever notice how Chelsea and him look a little similar?

Ah, Hillary, if I may be so bold to address my idol in jack boots. Perhaps Chelsea is out of the AKC Grand Champion cocker spaniel by Webb Hubbell. I always thought that you were like me and walked down a different side of the street.

But when you flew Christoph out from L.A. to do your golden tresses, couldn't you have slipped him a century and said, "Here. Do something with the kid"? I missed the hair-burning gene, but even I thought about doing something. Then I had a vision of Babs singing "Memories," or rather wrestling the song to the ground and kneeling on its throat, and took hold of myself firmly. And since it was in Fort Marcy park I had no fear of competent police prosecution either.

Ugg... someone slap her with a dead fish. It might help.

But the fish might not like it. As visually challenged as she is, though, evidently there is more than meets the eye. Must be. A <a href="https://www.jessicaswell.com/mt/archive ... .html#more
">memo of secret service agents</a> is circulating which does cut her some slack, and confirms our best impressions of Algore and Our Many Titted Empress.

Ugg... someone slap her with a dead fish. It might help.

Easy there, Premier!
Just look what a liitle make-up and a new hair stylist can do!
Rumor is that they have to keep Bill away from her now.
Something about "family traditions" in Arkansas.
Chelsea also refuses to tell mom who her new stylist is. I think Chelsea should let out her little secret. Anything would be an improvement with Hillary....oops! Did I say that? Please don't tell. What I meant to say was "How can you make an improvement on perfection?" Yeah.....perfection.

Yes, Laika, the before and after pictures display a remarkable change. It doesn't tempt me, of course, but I can view it with a dispassionate eye--in every sense of the word.

Has anyone seen a picture of Amy Carter? Her mother, Roslyn, the least emetic of that crew since Billy assumed room temperature, said that when she died her hair black she looked like a witch. An improvement over her husband, who, P. J. O'Rourke said, had a smile like a raccoon eating fish guts out of a wire brush.

I wonder if this before or after Amy was arrested picketing the South African Embassy (remember those pissed-off-du-jour days) with Peter, Paul and Mary? Of course all the cameras were focused on Mary, who has grown so great with the fruits of her work, and the bon bons and eclairs and KFC, that even with a wide-angle lens there's no room to take in more than Mary's derriere. This was of course in the days of NTSC television but 16:9 might be strained.

I have an idea on how to curry favor with Our Empress! Put her side-by-side with Mary and drop a ping-pong ball. The ass that it orbits around is the greater one. The ass with the mass. If Our Empress acquires a satellite, we shoot the cameraman.

I guess it's a slight improvement, but what about those evil Bush twins?

The world will end. Didn't one of them teach poor children or disabled ones? Something like that. Actually, like, doing something instead of complaining that I'm not doing something? How unprogresive is that? WhatEVer. Don't they know that you're not supposed to, like, work, cuz that's so, like, uncool. You're supposed to, like pout and throw a fit and maybe daddy will like, uh, make someone do it for you. And since all we progressives believe that the state's first alliegence is to us..er..slap to the head, sound of gears shifting,..our first duty is to the state, it is only fitting that all shall be done for all by the state, as long as we get to decide what all all is and how all all will be done and we get to keep about 95% of all for all we want to do with it all.

slap to the head, sound of gears shifting,..

I thought they used automatics, manuals are too complex for them to comprehend. Although, I guess you could hear the gears shifting in an automatic, if it wasn't properly taken care of....

Once while a child, we were dining in Juarez, and the cabbie had borrowed his brahther's car, and he didn't know how to drive an automatic. it lurched. I was perhaps 12 then, but all Texas kids can drive, especially in the desert. I told him to take his foot off the brake while he had it on the gas. He did, and it worked and the car stopped lurching forward. He patted me on the knee and said, "You one smart fellow!"

How he got it there I'll never know.

Wow, one scoop short of an ice cream cone. It took me some time to be able to drive a stick well, but now I drive one almost every day. Although I still need to learn how to double clutch fast, and I need to prefect my heel and toe.

Owing to an unfortunate attack of neuropathy caused by two prior cats, gout, colchicine I have no feeling in my feet--which helps with gout tremendously. But means that I couldn't buy the six-speed Acura TL that I coveted. Still, with today's transmisions I'm not sure that double-clutching is as needed as before unless you're really going to wring it out. Which can be fun. I recall having a 1980 TR7 convertible which looked fast when it was not, and the cops saw it. Then a 1983 Toyota Supra which was luxurious, reliable, and fast, and didn't look it. Ah. What crumpet collectors those cars were. But a bit small for anything but the collecting...

But things have changed. In 2007 in Texas I've found that a black Acura TL is utterly invisible to everything--the gargantuan Strassenkreutzers, leviathans, dreadnaught SUVs driven by people who think that once behind the wheel they have no responsibility to others. I DO NOT object to people having them, only the rude driving they seem invariably to foster. And if they give a tree-hugger apoplexy, so much the better. On that account I nearly bought one myself.

But my car is very visible to the Department of Public Safety. More so, it seems, than the SUVs.

Well, my car is a 1975 Datsun 280Z, so double clutching with it is pretty necessary now since the clutch needs to be replaced. I don't think that the copper paint job or lack of catalytic converter helps with going unnoticed by cops, but fortunately I have been able to stay invisible to them.

But being right in front of someone with their Ford Bronco on steroids, and jacked up like a monster truck in the school parking lot is a little unsettling. However, parking in the back of the parking lot where I do helps get out before everyone else starts flooding out.

am of the opinion that a huge, jacked-up truck is a sign of a small willie. Certainly a small brain. I cannot tell you the number of times that I've seen one of these things, poorly driven, wheel in with the ponderous grace of a barge on the Mississippi, into a convenience-store parking lot and a young man with short legs and tiny little feet and hands--I know what I'm talking about here-- and get out.

Look around him, pretending not to, like the weak tomcat on the block, and swagger into the store. To buy beer and a lottery ticket, when his salary is barely enough to service the debt on the truck worth, literally, more than his house.

And in five years, the truck will be sold, there will be an SUV, he will be encumbered by neckless children with skinny legs, a slatternly fishwife, and a look of total incomprehension to the world.

Daily I deal with people like this, who enter my office with the nonsensical requirement that they want to put another name on the deed. Not having investigated the title before buying it; taking the word of someone else; investing money in faith; needing more services than something worth something will bear, and all the while being utterly unable to understand the reason, or even the fact that there is such a thing as due process of law, a corpus of law, something that stands outside the purely personal experience of their lives and culture.

If we ever made a misjudgment in the Middle East, and I am not a leftist as you know, we made the mistake of thinking that our culture can be imposed on another when daily in my own town I deal with people who are good, and bad, kind, and mean, and whose entire culture is first to God, or Allah, then to family, then to extended family, or tribe, and then, perhaps to something as vague as a polity or codex.

I survive, and thrive, here, not because of comprehension of what I do, but rather of my success at doing it. Turn that around in your mind and see the strength of character it would take not to play that into a cult of personality if I were the sort of person who did not find that utterly repellent. I am, atheist, gay, difficult, a conservative at heart and know that it's not all about me.