Daily Dollop

The Real Civil War Analogy

2009-06-19T14:08:00.000-07:00

Some people think that Obama is the new Lincoln. Others think he's the second term of Jimmy Carter. They're both wrong.

Barack Obama is serving the first term of George McClellan, Lincoln's do-nothing general who ran on the Democrat appeasement platform in 1864.

The similarities don't stop at their party: both were first-class politicians, both had persecution complexes, both blamed the previous administration for all their problems, both talked big but never particularly accomplished anything, and both sat on their hands when action is called for.

We don't specifically know whether McClellan would have intervened to save sailing ship manufacturers during the rise of steamboats, only to see them go bankrupt anyways. But he probably would have. Whether or not he would have also turned their management over to scurvy-ridden merchant seaman we can only guess.

And we can also only guess at whether or not McClellan would have pissed on his most ardent supporters and told them it's raining, but he did run as a pro-war candidate with an appeasement platform, on an appeasement ticket, with a peace advocate as a running mate. The will of his party, at least, seemed clear on this issue.

Whether those who wished to continue the war would have slavishly followed McClellan after he signed away half the US to the Confederate States of America is unknown, but I like to think they'd have shown a little more sand than the gays, Jews, businessmen, and peace advocates who Obama has so far spurned as he enforces the DOMA, demonizes Israel, socializes the economy, and continues Bush policies in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Guantanamo.

The only real mystery is why Republican elites didn't flock to McClellan in 1864, pronouncing him a "man of great character" and "somebody we can do business with" despite obvious signs to the contrary.

They must have had some kind of commitment to principles or something back then.

How novel.

Attacks on Pirates Making Them Bolder, Study Says

2009-04-27T14:35:00.001-07:00

A non-partisan think tank, the Organization for Promoting Right-Wing Agendas (OPRA) today warned that recent counterattacks on pirates near the Horn of Africa could lead to "disastrous consequences" and would mean an escalation of pirate raids, not a decrease as some have suggested.

"Shooting and killing pirates only makes them bolder and causes their number to swell," said OPRA spokeswoman Cheyenne Markoni-Spitzhughes from their London offices. "Over two hundred years of data have shown that there's a direct correlation between dead pirates and the incidents of piracy on the high seas, with more dead pirates meaning more attacks. The world needs a better way."

Instead, OPRA suggests that world governments form a new UN agency dedicated to opening call centers in Somalia, where the pirate's natural aggressiveness can be channeled into more productive venues. "After all," Markoni-Spitzhughes said, "if they're willing to try to take over an oil tanker then they should be comfortable cold-calling people to see if they're interested in switching their long-distance carrier."

Top Democrats scoffed at the warning, however, calling OPRA a "thinly-disguised stink-tank for the Republican smear campaign."

House Speaker Nancy Pelosi told reporters that "every thinking person knows that pirates are like any other terror-wielding outlaw group: if you shoot them, then there are less of them active, and potential recruits inevitably turn to another, less dangerous line of work, such as tasting food additives or being a bungee cord tester."

President Barack Obama painted it in even starker terms in his White House address. "Despite Hollywood glamorizing pirates in their shameful movies, and Disney making pirating seem fun in their disgraceful rides, we will continue to bring shock, awe, and death to anyone who would prey upon the weak and the helpless on the high seas."

Economic Freedom and the NFL

2009-03-26T12:01:00.000-07:00

The intertubes are all abuzz with the latest from the NFL, namely the coming shift to an 18-game season and dropping two preseason games. The consensus among sportswriters, their commenters, and drooling idiots (but I repeat myself) is something along these lines:

"Good, because charging full price for preseason games is a total ripoff, man. Those games totally suck!"

Let me be blunt: the NFL will charge whatever they want for the preseason games, and so long as somebody pays it, it's not too much, and the price is not a rip-off. If you feel spending for preseason games is a waste of money, use the tried-and-true method that other consumers use with the Shamwow, New Coke, and the Segway Scooter: don't buy the damn thing.

But please, spare me the faux-populist outrage against "exorbitant" ticket prices. For one thing, most of the simpering nimrods doing the bitching can't even spell exorbitant. For another, nobody forces you to go to preseason games. In fact, if they suck so bad, you should be thankful to have a reason not to attend.

If the NFL started auctioning off used jock straps (complete with ball sweat!) on E-Bay, I'd not only steer clear but have to clean my E-Bay account with bleach. But you know that some wannabe's somewhere is willing to pay $110 plus shipping and handling for a used TO jock strap. Maybe even more if it was worn in a big game, or had authentic "battle stains" on it.

And that is right, and good, and the natural state of capitalism. Exercising our economic liberty to make stupid choices about sporting events and memorabilia is a form of freedom, and we should encourage people to do that.

Because freedom in abundance is never a bad thing.

REVEALED: Obama is Rovian Plant!

2009-03-16T15:07:00.001-07:00

An explosive new expose set to publish next week will reveal that, far from the starry-eyed newcomer he poses as, Barack Obama is actually a Manchurian candidate cooked up by none other than longtime Conservative blackguard Karl Rove. While White House officials have scoffed at the allegations, some Democrats have privately admitted that they had begun to suspect this themselves.

"Cozying up with lobbyists? Putting the deficit on steroids? Trying to re-establish the welfare benefits that were discredited in the mid-90s? It's been clear a long time that something's not right with Barack Obama," said one Democratic senator. "The only thing he could do worse is get distracted with some side issue, anger our critical allies, and have half his nominees withdraw in disgrace. Oh, wait!"

Among the charges the book makes are that President Obama:

-Is obsessed with making Rush Limbaugh the pre-eminent voice on television and radio, thus ensuring that the Conservative message is heard by as many people as possible

-Intended to thoroughly discredit the traditional press as starry-eyed and naïve, by first sweeping them off their feet and then by treating them like a sophomore on prom night, leaving them puffy-eyed and sore-assed

-Staffed his cabinet with the worst caricatures of liberal excesses, from anti-Semitism to rampant hypocrisy to a total disregard for basic tax law

-Has not been criticized by George Bush not because the former president respects tradition and the honor of the office, but rather because Bush knows that Rove is really the one pulling the strings of the Obama administration

-Sleeps in Star Trek pajamas

-Wanted to revive Democrat's image as "tax-and-spend liberals" by acting as a tax-and-spend liberal

Calls to Rove's sinister subterranean lair for comment were not returned, likely because the peals of his sinister laugh were echoing off its cacophonous ceiling.

News from the Future

2009-03-03T11:36:00.000-08:00

News from the Future

2009-03-02T11:36:00.001-08:00

News from the Future

2009-02-18T12:12:00.001-08:00

(Note: Living as I do near the Hadron Collider, I expected strange things to occur once they'd fired that thing up. And lo and behold, I have started receiving e-mail updates of news from the future, just like that show Early Edition except with a lot bigger audience. So I'm going to pass along to you my news updates from the future.)

Ford to Declare Bankruptcy

Ford Motor Company, the only automaker that is not part of the US Government Automobile Fabrication Corporation, announced today that its 2009 losses have driven it into bankruptcy and that it will likely have to lay off up to 40% of its workforce and may eventually sell all assets.

The move comes a week after GM unveiled its newest car, the Michelle, a sporty 3-seater made of 98% recycled parts. As all other models have been declared redundant, the Michelle is considered to be "the new standard" for GM and represents a conversion to all-green technology, getting 38 miles per gallon and capable of reaching highway speeds in excess of 48 miles per hour in non-headwind driving. Although the base cost is $36,000 per unit, after government rebates, dealer incentives, and buyer subsidies the cost is $1200, which after the New Car Stimulus Act of 2009 means that the consumer must only pay 1/3 of the sticker price, or $400.

Ford's truck line had already collapsed after the other member of the USGAFC, Chrysler, introduced the Kenyan, a sturdy two-seater with almost one and a half tons of pure towing power and a bed just over twenty square feet. The Kenyan gets eleven miles per gallon of 100% ethanol, whose $19.50 per gallon cost at the pump is reduced for consumers by 75% after the Renewable Fuels Subsidy Act of 2009. Though some have criticized its unique 3-axle design, its $750 price tag (after rebates and subsidies shave off some of the $62,000-per-unit cost from the factories) have had consumers lining up to purchase the unique vehicle.

In unrelated news, both companies have petitioned the government for an addition $62 billion, nine weeks after receiving an addition $78 billion from the government. The moves are necessary, say industry experts, because the stalemate in negotiations between Unions and Management are entering their fourteenth month. At issue is the desire of management to trim pensions for workers with less than ten years seniority by 1%, which according to a UAW spokesma "is tantamount to selling out future generations of workers forever."

Meanwhile sales of Ford's newest flagship automobile, the Daisy, have sagged after a promising start. The seven-seat "green" minivan has suffered from its excessive cost of $24,000 and criticism from environment groups, who say that its 45 MPG is unacceptably low for a vehicle that doesn't run on 100% ethanol blends. Also exacerbating the problem is the $4,000 penalty consumers must pay for the Daisy's excessive carbon footprint, as well as a $2,500 "sourcing fee" for buying outside of the USGAFC approved dealer network.

Ford has indefinitely postponed the release of the 2010 Hayek, which was designed to compete with the Michelle. The five-seat sedan would have been made of 99% recycled parts and in tests was capable of up to 70 MPH with an efficiency of 45 MPG, but its forecasted $18,000-per-unit cost was deemed "untenable" in the current market.

Former Vice President, Nobel Laureate, Oscar winner, and Pulitzer Prize author Al Gore said that the announcement showed that capitalism and environmentalism can work together to create a vibrant market. "Ford is paying for its decision to remain outside the USGAFC, and consumers are responding by choosing vehicles with a more environmentally sensitive production process. Once again the free market, guided by the benevolent hand of government experts, has proven to be the most efficient engine for effective social and environmental change."

A Night at the Ballet

2009-02-16T12:23:00.000-08:00

As the great philosopher Moe Scyzlack one said, "we're all pigs, Homer. The difference is that every once in a while you pick yourself up out of the muck, clean yourself off, and show your wife that you love her."

With all due respect, Moe is an idiot.

Six months ago, Wifey informed me that one of my husbandly duties was that I was responsible for taking her out once a month without the children so that we could spend "couple time" together.

This was in the context of a discussion about my many failings as a husband. And by discussion, I mean that she spoke in a louder-than-normal tone of voice and I nodded vigorously.

Hey, I haven't been married for fifteen years on accident.

I did pretty good at it for a while. In August we went to see a movie that I loved and she hated (Cloverfield). Then in September we went to a one-night-only tractor pull, and the next month I got so drunk at Oktoberfest that I vomited down the shirt of one of the busty waitresses. Good times.

For some reason, Wifey didn't seem too upset that we didn't go out for the next three months, and I figured that meant I was off the hook.

With Valentine's Day coming up, though, Wifey decided that it would be a glorious idea to reaffirm our love and commitment. When I told her I hated Valentine's Day and that I didn't want to go anywhere, she offered to send me up Swan Lake with a Nutcracker I'd never forget.

Seeing her interest in ballet, I decided to see if there was a show in the area on Valentine's Day. And lo and behold, I found us boss tickets to Romeo and Juliet the Ballet, by Prokofiev, danced by the Moscow City Ballet.

Like I care, but she's into this kind of thing, so I figured it'd at least get her in a good humor, which is what 90% of marriage is all about.

When we went to dinner, I could see that she was really excited. She had a twinkle in her eye and a lift in her step that I hadn't seen in years. I began to get excited, thinking about the post-ballet entertainment that I had planned, and which by the Valentine's Code is required of any woman who attends an event where her spouse or significant other is forced by social protocol to wear a tie.

Hey, my tie may have read "I'm With Stupid" with an arrow pointing up, and have had a naked woman concealed on the underside, but it still counts, even if it was a clip-on.

We entered the ballet at promptly 7:50, in order to be well seated before the 8:00 curtain up. This was the first time I'd been to the ballet, and I learned three things:

1) It didn't start until 8:15

2) It takes at least 15 minutes for a ballet character to die, which is a problem in a show where half the characters are going to be murdered or commit suicide.

3) In the ballet, no one can hear you scream.

We were halfway through the thirty-minute "dance of love", where Romeo and Juliet roll around, kiss, dance on tip-toe, then repeat ad infinitum, when Wifey leans over to me and says "I have a secret."

"What? You have a secret bottle of poison stashed somewhere?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "I'll tell you later."

Then she kisses me on the cheek.

So I'm running through all the possible secrets she could have: she bought me a present, she's got polio, I have only minutes to live, she's willing to walk out at intermission, something. But I come up with nothing.

Finally, mercifully, intermission comes. Then, all too soon, it's over, and I march back into the Bataan Death Dance.

The second act starts with some sword fights, which of course culminate in Tybalt killing Mercutio, which sets off ten minutes of women in black shrouds dancing around and Mercutio staggering this way and that, never actually dying but not able to live out the rest of the ballet (although they do drag his corpse back and forth a few more times).

Just as Mercutio falls, Wifey leans over to me and whispers in my ear "I'm not wearing panties." Then she gives my earlobe a little nibble.

I now considered three courses of action:

Course #1: Do nothing.
Course #2: Jump on her like a trampoline.
Course #3: Verify whether or not this information was true before embarking upon Course #2.

You have to understand that in the entire course of our lives together, the only time Wifey has ever left the house without panties is, well, very much never. In fact, short of showering, I think she wears panties all the time. Oh, maybe not underneath the full-length circa 1860's flannel nightgown that she wears to bed. But I'd never know, since it's like +5 Plate Mail in terms of protection.

Besides, Course #1 seemed like an insult. If she's being honest, I figured she wanted me to show interest. And I was interested. Very interested.

Even in Europe, though, I'm pretty sure going at it like wild gibbons per Course #2 would get you arrested. Well, not in Amsterdam, but anywhere else it's dicey.

So I opted for Course #3.

Since I don't want this to turn into a Dear Penthouse letter, I'll just give you the broad brush stroke of what happened: I reached over under the coat on her lap and, a few opened buttons later, verified that I had received an accurate account of the state of her undergarments.

Course #2 was looking better and better all the time. In fact, I suggested it, but she rebuffed me to continue watching Juliet flail about as she tried to decide whether or not to drink the sleeping potion (total time required: 45 minutes and 22 seconds of toe-standing indecision).

In due time the ballet was finished. I think Romeo won, but I'm not quite sure, since I didn’t pay that good attention to it; I was distracted by other things. People started clapping, dancers started bowing, and I started drooling.

I jumped up from my seat, her coat in my hands so that I could help her into it like a true gentleman. My watch snagged ever so momentarily on something, but I ignored it, and I saw a shower of small white confetti bits fly out over the audience from behind us.

"Nice touch," I thought.

Wifey looked up at me in horror. I looked down at her in lust. The old lady in the row in front of us, who had turned to see what hit her in the back of her head, screamed and fainted.

There was Wifey, in all her commando glory, dress now torn open to her waist, looking for all the world like she wanted to murder me where I stood. And here I was, slobbering and shaking her coat at her and urging her to get up so we could go discuss politics and backgammon in the parking lot.

Yes, the full reality of what had happened had not yet sunk in. To be honest, I was doing most of my thinking in the southern hemisphere, where such concerns as morals and decency rarely see the light of day.

Fortunately, people swarmed to help the collapsed old lady. The house lights were brought up. I dashed into the aisle, urging Wifey to come with me, always capering a few steps in front of her and shaking her coat at her like some kind of crazed medicine man as I tried to get to the car, and paradise, as quickly as possible.

Behind me came Wifey, cursing and trying to hold her dress together and catch up to me. And behind her a group of people shouting for everyone to get out of the way, that the old lady needed to be taken out into the air, thus attracting the most attention possible to her as she tried to climb the stairs and not give everyone seated along the aisle a money shot that they'd not soon forget.

Judging from my angle, she failed miserably, and I think I saw one or two camera flashes as she came along behind me.

I was out the door quickly, an angry Wifey right behind me, now screaming curses into the night. "WOULD YOU STOP AND GIVE ME MY COAT, YOU MORON?"

I began to suspect that the night would soon take a somewhat less-than-pleasurable turn.

She didn't speak a word to me as we headed back to the parking lot, trying as she was to hold her dress closed, pull her coat down, and walk all at the same time. My Spidey-Sense was tingling, telling me that to speak was to die, so I kept my mouth shut.

The warm breezes of the Southern Hemisphere were extinguished, snuffed out by the sudden resurgence of the ice cap from Wifey.

When we reached the parking lot, it was closed with a big white gate. So we stood, and we waited. And waited. And waited. Slowly, other patrons began filing out and stood in line behind us, pointing and whispering, with the two of us standing at the center of a small circle now surrounded by gleeful onlookers, at least one of whom was kneeling and pointing a camera phone at Wifey.

"Did you have a good time?" I asked.

"Let's see," she said. "My favorite dress is ruined, I was exposed to half a theater, and I'm standing out here freezing my hoochie off waiting for the gate to open. Do you suppose I had a good time?"

"You've probably lost a little of your ardor, then," I said.

She glared at me.

"How about when we get home, I'll see if I can help you relight that pilot?"

She glared at me with death in her eyes. I knew all hope was lost, so I tried my trump card:

"Since I went through all this trouble to set up our night out, just to be fair you should still plan on having intense verbal negotiations with my silent partner when we get home."

Whereupon, to my great chagrin, she showed me the Nutcracker.

Have I mentioned how much I hate the ballet?

A Letter from the US Economy

2009-02-05T12:38:00.001-08:00

Dear US Populace,

Though in the past I have never directly addressed you, preferring to act either via unseen methods (the so-called "invisible hands") or through sweater-clad proxies, I am taking the exceptional step of speaking directly to you, the US taxpayer, during this time of our joint crisis.

I have taken this drastic measure because more and more of you are being misled by charlatans, fools, and gun-toting religious nuts who want you to believe that I will receive little or no benefit from the stimulus package that is currently passing through congress.

I can assure you that nothing could be further from the truth, and I shall be stimulated more thoroughly than Ron Jeremy after swilling down a Cialis cocktail and dropping into the Playboy grotto.

Perhaps you live in a fairy-tale world where cat feces miraculously shape themselves into effigies of the Virgin Mary strangling Christ by his umbilical cord, or where bicycle paths spontaneously carve themselves in areas where they are patently infeasible and unnecessary, but here in the real world it takes tax money forcibly removed from your pocket to provide these valuable social services to the chronically unskilled and underemployed.

During your morning commute on the Interstate, where you see a large empty expanse of terrain beside the road, I see a place where an ultra-modern, high-cost light rail system could endlessly shuttle half-empty trains back and forth in an eternal procession of protected union jobs and hopelessly outdated railworker benefits packages, all taking people from a place they don't live near to another place they don't want to go.

Assuming, of course, that no tit mice or red-crested dungbombers would be disturbed by the installation of such a rail system, in which case it will have to be rerouted through a residential area.

I have read several economic "columnists" claim that there are legitimate concerns, but I can assure you that they are invalid. Even now sociology and performing-arts majors are flooding the rolls of the unemployed; don't they deserve a chance to be hired by a shoddy construction outfit owned by political cronies of the ruling party so that they, too, can have the life experience of constructing shoddy high-density housing that will crumble into disuse within the next 3 to 5 years?

To those of you who still feel that my stimulus is less important than your paltry tax dollars, which you will doubtless squander selfishly thinking only of yourselves, remember that when I am angry my wrath is terrible to behold. If you think that my boundless rage will be slaked by closing thousands of Starbucks and brutalizing the journalism industry, you are fooling yourself.

Inefficient car manufacturers are only the beginning. Unless I get my stimulation, I may turn my attention to other trillion-dollar operations that are poorly run.

Like your government.

Why Baseball is America's Sport

2009-01-20T13:54:00.000-08:00

While the unthinking cosmos turns in its splendor around us, and our national soul is rent asunder on the political stage, it is always comforting this time of year to know that we can turn our careworn eyes to sports to find ourselves reflected in its warming glow.

But this warmth comes not from the beer-soaked artificial grass of the football field, with the communist NFL teams each vying to be more average than one another and the slaveholding plantations of College Football using computers to see which one gets to discriminate against the Mormon colleges. Nor do we see ourselves in the vast array of minor sports, from lacross to hockey to basketball.

No, I speak of that truest of American sports: Baseball.

Baseball is a microcosm of life, capitalism, and truth: rich teams like New York or Boston are able to shower players with money, thus allowing them to hold a competitive edge that can never be erased. This is good, and right, and completely American. Who wants underdogs succeeding when we have rich, cocky favorites to support?

You see this attitude rightly reflected in sports film. When I saw the first Rocky, there wasn't a dry eye in the house when cocky champion Apollo Creed finally put the common street man in his place. Once again sanity reigned, and the favorite won out over the plucky underdog. This is why Rocky is a successful movie that won a screenwriting Oscar, the first ever awarded to a functional illiterate.

Who among us cannot help but smile when the rich, elite private school that recruits players from out of state wins out over the small, rural public school in the local sporting levels? This is right, and good, and the way that the world should work: underdogs should lose, because that is why they are underdogs.

There are signs of hope in the NFL that this mediocrity might finally begin to fracture, and we could once again have the elite and the scum, which is the way of the world. Everyone I know is praying for an uncapped year, so that we can finally see football teams vastly overpay for fading stars at the tail end of their careers, just as we so often see in baseball.

Because as the old joke goes, what's the difference between Lehman's CEO buyout package and Carl Pavano's contract with the Yankees?

The Lehman CEO wasn't a part-time employee.

Cowboys to Build Second Locker Room

2009-01-19T13:48:00.001-08:00

Jerry Jones today hit back at growing rumors that the Dallas Cowboys sought to part ways with troublesome wide receiver Terrell Owens, saying that his organization "valued this great receiver and all of the contributions he can make on the field."

However, the Quixotic owner announced that there would be changes to the Dallas stadium for the 2009 season.

"Listen, I'll admit that the guy's a locker room cancer," Jones told reporters. "So we're going to be building a second locker room, just for T.O. It's gonna be eighty thousand square feet, with Italian marble sinks, a solid gold locker, and mirrors everywhere so that TO can see his favorite person night and day. And it might not even be in Dallas: we're thinking of putting it in Austin, where someone with TO's personality can fly under the radar."

Jones had other plans, too. "We're not just putting him in a separate locker room, though. He'll have his own staff, from coach to trainer to ballboy, dedicated to making TO happy. A separate uniform for TO. A different charter flight. A different practice schedule. Everything designed to keep TO completely isolated from the team except on Sunday afternoons, some Monday nights, and Thanksgiving Day."

Some questioned whether the plan, dubbed Typhoid TO around Dallas headquarters, went far enough. One inside source said that "everyone is completely sick of hearing TO, TO, TO. Well, everyone except Donovan McNabb and Jeff Garcia, who are laughing their butts off at us."

Fluffy Bunny Prices Soar

2009-01-08T11:10:00.001-08:00

European markets sagged today on news that the fluffy bunny shortage is expected to continue, with prices more than doubling to 55 euros/bunny on the German stock exchange. The move comes after the world's largest Fluffy Bunny exporter, Hamas, released a statement that their primary processing facility had been destroyed by angry Israeli soldiers wielding unfair, high-tech weaponry.

"Once again the evil crusading Zionists have shown their true colors and turned their computerized weaponry on our fluffy bunny facilities," said a Hamas spokesman late last night. "In addition to the total destruction of the fluffy bunny plant, we have also had severe damage to three schools, and old folk's home, and one entire side of our Sesame Street set was burned down. Big Bird was killed in the attack, and we still haven't located Oscar the Grouch, although a badly-burned trash can lid was found that may have been his."

Sue Messersmith-Cooper, president of International Response, criticized the US and Israel for their continued attacks on Fluffy Bunny factories. "How much longer will the citizens of this world put up with the barbarians who insist on destroying these cute, defenseless, fluffy bunnies? After coalition forces razed facilities in Iraq and Afghanistan, and continued sanctions strangle the fluffy bunny economy in Iran, was it really necessary to launch an illegal, immoral, and indefatigable attack on the poor Gazans, whose only source of income is fluffy bunnies and 'Hang In There!' cat posters?"

Even in the US ordinary consumers are starting to feel the pinch. Shopping with his family in New York, blue-collar worker Greg Packer said that "I'd planned on getting a fluffy bunny for my fiancée for Valentine's Day, but now I don't think I'm going to be able to afford it. I hope that Obama can do something to change this situation, otherwise it'll be a really long, cold night."

Candidates Line Up for Illinois Election

2008-12-09T14:43:00.000-08:00

With Democratic leaders calling for indicted Illinois Governor Rod Blagovich to resign, it seems clear that a runoff election will soon be coming to the Land of Lincoln. As such, numerous would-be Governors are flooding the state with applications to make sure that they can get a shot at being governor of the incoming president's home state.

The current leading candidate is former NFL star OJ Simpson, who hopes his experience outrunning federal prosecutors will allow him to avoid the fate of the last two governors.

Also expressing interest is longtime Democratic standard-bearer Al Gore, who feels that the state's proximity to the water and several fine all-you-can-eat buffets makes it the optimum location to continue hectoring citizens about the coming global apocalypse.

A popular dark horse candidate is California Governor and Republican Arnold Swartzenegger, although he would like to churn out a few more wretched movies before driving another state into the ground.

Bill Clinton has been mentioned as a possible successor, but politely declined, saying he's holding out for something more prestigious than a mere governorship, perhaps working with young, ambitious men and women, helping them learn vital skills that will help them succeed in business and politics in the future.

Most surprising of all, though, is that former Illinois senator Barack Obama has tossed his hat into the ring, saying that not only does he love campaigning, but he also hopes to burnish his meager credentials with some executive experience before trying to make the jump "to prime time."

Plebian and the Mysterious Missing Classmate

2008-12-02T10:23:00.001-08:00

I received the strangest call the other day. It was round about 7, and I was drying my daughter's hair, when the phone rang. Like a good homeowner, I answered it, and for my troubles I was met by static.

After a few moments, I was able to discern just a few things:

*The person on the other line knew me (they did, after all, refer to me by name).

*They were calling from the International Space Station, evidently deep within the Van Allen belt, because all I could hear was massive static.

So I instructed them to wait and call me back in a few minutes, to see if that would alleviate the problem. They did indeed call back a few minuets later, and I was able to figure out a few more things:

*They had gone to high school with me (they did, I think, refer to the proper high school)

*Their name was either Tom Simpson, Pete Krugerand, or Funky Winkerbean, I'm not sure which, and I couldn't understand through the scratching when I asked him to spell it out for me what the name should be.

At this point, and despite my protestations, Funky insisted on asking "So…SCRATCH-HISS-SCRATCH…do you…SCRATCH…ember…HISS…me?...SCRATCH"

"No, but I might if I knew who you were!" I insisted. The first two I'd never heard of, and I never cared for Funky Winkerbean anyways. Stupid band geek.

"Oh," the dude sounded really disappointed. "Oh, I see...SCRATCH! HISS!"

"HEY!" I yelled. "I'd probably know who you were if I could understand you! You've gotta call me back on a different line so I can understand you!"

And at this point, the line went dead.

Great. Just great. This is going to bother me for the rest of my life, you know?

And I can just see the headlines now:

"Beloved local businessman Funky Winkerbean committed suicide this evening, leaving a note behind saying that he's tired of going unnoticed in this faceless society. Funky was despondent because his dearest childhood friend forgot all about him and hung up on him earlier in the evening."

The funny thing is, Wifey has gone certifiably around the bend over this. Listen, it's no real hair off my ass if I reconnect with Funky one way or the other. Sure, it'd be nice to know who it was that called me, but he probably was just trying to trap me into buying him dinner so he could have me drugged and extract my liver to sell it to an organ trafficking ring.

Because that happens to me all the time.

But for Wifey this has become a quest. She's hunted down all the people we still keep in touch with from high school and asked both of them if they'd handed our number out. Which they hotly deny, but I swear one of them has beady eyes and I never trusted her anyways and she probably put us up on the bathroom wall under the line "for a good time call…"

So, on the off chance that one of my 40 readers is either my old friend Pete Simpson or Tom Krugerand, please be sure to call me back, because I'd really like to talk to you and catch up about old times, and I'm sure I'll fake remembering you better once we get off of a terribly staticy line.

If it's Funky, though, well; lose my number. And don't bother asking why, you know the answer!

On Teenage Values

2008-12-01T14:37:00.000-08:00

Over the past forty years, some groups have gone to great pains to “liberate” women and convince them that they are equal to men in every way, most importantly by freeing them from ancient constraints on having liberal amounts of sex with any toothy metrosexual of their choosing.

Naturally, this liberated attitude has spread from the 20-something set, and now we are not only suffering from the stories of saggy-breasted swingin’ grandmas going to key parties, but more and more we learn that there is a veritable army of trampy bimbos in high schools across the land eager to outdo each other in proving that they are eager to bed any jagoff with an earring and pants whose seat drags the ground.

This is wrong, and it threatens to destroy the very fabric of society.

It used to be that, if you wanted to get a polite kiss on the cheek, you had to take a girl out to dinner, then some sort of amusement, such as a movie, paying spectacle, or any number of fine miniature golf/bowling establishments. After you’d done this every other week for 3 to 6 months, you could arrange to have “car trouble” and, after a heavy petting session, perhaps convince her to have negotiations with your “silent partner.”

As you can imagine, this did not come cheap: there was food to buy, gas to purchase, diversions to arrange and pay for, and angry parents to dodge. And we won’t even begin to discuss the investment necessary to “go all the way”, up to and including purchasing the plastic diving bell for your little Nemo before he goes twenty thousand leagues under the girl, one of the more humiliating life experiences for a seventeen-year-old.

However, as the grainy health film they’d shown us in sixth grade drove home, the next time you had unprotected sex a bacteria known as Penus Falloffus would infest your testicles causing, among other things, jock itch and erectile dysfunction.

And having no penis will be difficult to explain in a locker room of wiser boys, all of whom spend an inordinate amount of time staring at each other’s genitals and going “how did you get that festering welt in your Johnson area?”

In order to meet the economic needs of high-class ladies (the ones that didn’t smoke nor go with boys much larger than you), you needed to make money. And since time immemorial, during the fall teenage boys have made money via the most noble of professions: leaf raking.

Here’s how it works: you pick a big house owned by an elderly widow, you take your rake, and you show up one morning and offer to rake the entire yard for ten bucks. She agrees, and an hour or two later you’re ten bucks richer, you’ve eaten some cookies and lemonade, and if she’s a particularly desperate widow you’ve received an offer which you politely declined but which you wonder about during dark nights of the soul for the rest of your life.

[If you accepted the offer, you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it, unless you enjoyed it, in which case you’ve just discovered your true calling: gigolo.]

Of course, ten bucks isn’t much, so you have to do this over and over. And eventually you run out of widows, so you move down to the elderly, then simply the lazy, and eventually (if there are enough teenagers in town) you’ll rake leaves for anybody who pays you ten bucks.

This does not happen, of course, if there are sluttily-writhing teenage girls under every other section of bleachers. In this case every zit-farmer just goes dragging his tool kit through the dirt, and eventually he finds some girl who’s just desperate to look cool, and that’s it. And what with “hip” parents and these giveaway clinics, you don’t even have to buy the latex spacesuit before you send Buck Rogers down to check out Planet Hooch.

And this is wrong.

Worse, this irresponsible behavior is responsible for hundreds of deaths in the North and Midwest every year, because these same teenage boys used to fill up their Nookie Fund in the winter by shoveling driveways.

But without them, fat old men are dying by the droves as they try, desperately, to get the driveway cleared so they can make their weekly run down to the VFW to complain about kids nowadays. And the complaints aren’t going to make themselves, you know.

So I implore all teenage girls out there to just cross their legs and hold out for dinner and a show. Really, it’s not too much to ask.

If you won’t do it for the elderly widows who need their yard raked, then at least do it for the fat, old men who are keeling over just because you couldn’t hold out for dinner and a show before you turned into Sharon Stone, minus the icepick, but probably plus better acting skills, because let’s face it, your paramours don’t have the benefits of being trained by an elderly widow.

In the end, you’ll be getting something, too. Trust me.

Pleb the Builder!

2008-11-24T14:26:00.001-08:00

One of the chief disagreements that Wifey and I have had regarding our charming European home is the lighting in the living space on the ground floor. This common area houses both our living and our dining room, and in the past we have illuminated it via several Ikea pole lamps.

I like Ikea pole lams. They’re cheap, which is nice. They’re portable, which is also nice. And when your spouse turns them off, if she does it slowly you can imagine that you’re at an upscale gentleman’s club and she’s about to give you a private dance, particularly if you choose that moment to jam a fiver in her panties and grope her.

Or maybe that’s just me. Okay, I don’t use the fiver, but I do grope. It’s one of the best non-verbal ways to say “I love you”, right?

Wifey, however, does not like the pole lamps. In fact, she finds the bottom level of our house much like a dungeon: dark, cold, and filled with people that she really doesn’t care for.

Some time ago, I accidentally installed a new wall lamp in one corner of the room. This unit has been operating now for a month without either burning the house down or going on the fritz, so Wifey decided to give me a little more challenge: she bought a chandelier.

I came home from work one evening to discover the thing in a box on the table, and her proudly telling me that she’d gotten it on sale: only sixty euros. That’s a hundred bucks in non-Monopoly money, which is actually pretty good for lamps here.

Needless to say, I was terribly excited with the thought of climbing atop a ladder, drilling holes in the ceiling, and hanging a forty-pound mass of metal and glass directly overhead. So I did what any husband does when faced with a similar situation: I procrastinated.

Weeks passed, and although eating around the box with the chandelier posed some problems, it eventually got to where we viewed it as one of the family. It was a lot less trouble than the kids, I can tell you that.

All that changed Friday . Wifey went out with friends, and I had to cut out of work early to pick up our children. Plus the two children of her friend. Plus the daughter of a woman that we don’t particularly care for but whom Wifey shuttles around sometimes. Other than the times that she gets so annoying you want to toss her in a creek in a burlap sack, this kid’s not so bad. So I hear; I spend all my time with her looking for burlap sacks.

Well, we got home, and the children went upstairs to play. I was a little disgruntled with Wifey, so I decided that the best way to take it out on her was to finally hang this stupid chandelier.

No, I hadn’t been drinking, but I do suspect mental illness played a strongly contributing role here.

I got the mounting bracket up, then hung the thing up, then realized it was time to go again, in order to get all the children ferried to their varying activities. “I’ll be back,” I said to the unwired chandelier waiting for me.

Jokingly, I told the children I was going to leave it hanging a few hours to see if it fell down.

Several hours later, we returned, to find not only Wifey but also the chandelier, right where they should be. Wifey was somewhat less than impressed, as the chandelier didn’t yet work, but did appropriately ooh and aah that I’d gotten it hung.

She did not ooh and aah when I said “if you think it’s hung well, come check me out.”

Come Saturday morning, I jumped on the task with both feet: Operation Light-the-damn-dining-room had begun! I spent some time swearing, splicing wires, and getting everything just so. My shoulders aching, I prepared to make the final tie-in of wires to chandelier.

“Do you want me to do anything?” Wifey asked.

Since children were present, I couldn’t say what I was thinking, so instead I opted for “just sit there and look pretty. I’ve got it all under control.”

Just as I said this, the house leapt six feet into the air. Either that, or the chandelier fell six feet as I knocked it off its hanger. The net effect was the same: with a loud crash, glass went everywhere, Wifey’s table, which she loves, was brutally scratched, and I had just payed a sixty-euro dumbass handyman tax to stimulate the local economy.

Wifey’s chandelier, whom I had eaten dinner next to every night for the past three weeks, was utterly destroyed.

Have you ever done something stupid, and just after, wished that you’d be injured so that you’d get some sympathy instead of blame? I felt just like that. In fact, I leapt off the ladder, hoping to break my leg or shove a shard of glass through my foot, but instead I ended up just smashing more glass flat.

If you thought the house was cold before, it was nothing compared to how cold it was gonna be, trust me.

“Never mind,” I said. “We’ll just pop out and get another lamp, right?”

“Wha?” Wifey had lost all capacity for rational speech. “Guh?”

“Great! Let’s go!”

So off we went. Turns out, though, the lamps were on sale for a limited time only, and now cost 120 euros. Well, not so bad: almost 200 euros for a lamp. Still less than I expected to pay. Right? Right?

“Hey,” I joked. “You wanna get two for when I smash this one also?”

This joke did not pan out as I had hoped.
Upon return to the house, I did what I should have done in the first place: I punished the children and sent them to their rooms. Helps me focus. Then, with a degree of skill that would make any home-improvement Bob from Vila to Thebuilder jealous, I wired up and hung my very own lamp.

And lo and behold, there was light. Lots of light. The bottom floor is now no longer dark. It’s still cold and full of objectionable people, but I’ll be darned if I’m moving out or paying exorbitant heating rates.

I have, however, moved all those Ikea stripper-pole lamps up to the bedroom, where they belong.

Cultists, the NFL, and you

2008-11-20T13:27:00.000-08:00

Some people worry about foreign strife, while others are kept up at night by a tanking economy. But unlike such ephemeral concerns, the thing that worries me is that a current NFL personality will start up a cult of personality that will end up making the Manson Family look like the Simpsons.

Okay, that was a bad analogy, because the Simpsons are awful, and just watching them will make you want to gouge your eyes out. How about they make the Manson Family look like the Osmond Family?

You're probably thinking to yourself: there goes Plebian, being crazy and worrying about something that could never possibly happen, and making up exaggerated scenarios for comedic effect.

Well, you've got some nerve, you know that?

Anyways, think about all the cult-like leaders currently roaming the landscape in the NFL right now. Think about the disproportionate influence that previous NFL personalities have held over this country's culture in the past. Why, Jim Brown alone was responsible for 23% of all Blaxploitation films in the early 70's.

Here are the guys I'm keeping an eye on:

Brett Favre

I once had a sportswriter friend who criticized Brett Favre at a Sports Illustrated Christmas party, saying that he threw too many interceptions and his personality was essentially Terrell Owens, only without the charm. They never found the guy's body.

Really, has anybody ever enjoyed the free pass from criticism that Favre has enjoyed throughout his career? From flagrantly mispronouncing his name to screwing his former team (in a plethora of ways), Favre can do no wrong for fans and the media bobbleheads.

How can I get to be Favrian? "Well, you cost the company six gagillion dollars, but it was a gutsy move to gamble all our money on 00 on the roulette wheel, so I'll let it pass. Just try to be more careful in the future, okay?"

Cult-O-Meter Risk: LOW. If he did start a cult, it'd probably get intercepted by the Feds pretty quickly.

Norv Turner

Everybody knows Norv Turner's downsides: he looks like a creepy neighbor you expect to turn up on one of those "Wanted" posters in the post office, his only claim to coaching genius is being lucky enough to have Troy Aikman, Emmet Smith, and Michael Irvin on his offense, and his teams are perennially tagged as "underachieving" without anyone ever pausing to think that maybe it reflects on him.

The potential upside to having Norv Turner as your coach? You'll get a new coach within a few years who can rebuild the shattered husk of a team he leaves behind. Note that this didn't work out so well for Oakland, though.

One amusing thing is watching sportswriters and bloggers continue to labor to find excuses for why San Diego "underachieves" without throwing up their hands and saying "look, obviously, the guy sucks as a coach."

Cult-O-Meter Risk: NEGATIVE. Turner would probably take over a successful cult, but then run it into the ground and end up turning all the members Presbyterian or something. Any chance we can get him into Scientology?

Heath Shuler

How is it that an average college quarterback for Tennessee got so heavily drafted, deep-sixed his own career with an ill-advised holdout, flamed out in the NFL, then got elected as a Representative for North Carolina, and is now being touted for the Senate?

I dunno, but it doesn't happen without some really creepy explanation involving either pictures, fraud, or mass hysteria. And great cults are built on all of those things.

Plus, the chant factor for his name is pretty high: "Shuuuuulllleeeeer." Go on, say it. Just not while smoking dope, or you'll end up peeling him grapes in your underwear. And trust me, that's no picnic.

Cult-O-Meter Risk: MEDIUM. Did you know that he has a realty business based in Tennessee, yet is a Representative from North Carolina? If he starts nosing around Guyana, we'll bump him up to SEVERE immediately.

Tony Romo

Not only does he have Favrian-level apologists who never point out that he chokes in big games, and not only does he have movie-star good looks, and not only does he have hagiographic media coverage, he has the praise of Jessica Simpson, saying that he's "calmed her down."

Anybody who can calm down a Hollywood Starlet has Rasputian powers beyond wildest imaginings.

And that's without starting to discuss T.O. shedding great big tears over him.

Cult-O-Meter Risk: BE AFRAID. Be very afraid.

Why I Love Toyota's 'Saved By Zero'

2008-11-18T13:28:00.000-08:00

And why you should, too. Let us count the ways:

1) It's from a car company that's not begging for billions of dollars in tax money so it can continue to hemmorhage cash.

2) Anything that keeps The Fixx off the streets is a good thing. It's been a long time since "One Thing Leads to Another", you know? They could use the residuals. Either you let Toyota pay them, or next thing you know they'll be in the bailout line, too. And next you'll have Thomas Dolby and Rockwell asking for a handout to boot. Are you ready for that?

3) Peter King hates it (point 8b). And if it gets under the skin of an odius hypocrite like King, then it must be for the good of society.

4) ESPN's Sportsguy hates it too (point 17)! It's like garlic for Boston Red Sox fans or something! And Lord knows we need something to repel them. Somebody start playing this outside Ben Affleck's latest movie set, stat, and save us from another Fever Pitch debacle.

5) Anything that sets off those two I back whole-heartedly, in an "enemy of my enemy is my friend" sort of way. If I still read Dr. Z, I bet I'd find the trifecta of evil are united against this commercial, making it the new James Bond.

6) I live in Europe, so I don't see US commercials, so quite frankly, even if it's awful I don't have to suffer.

7) The song pretty much sums up the Democrats this year.

8) Come to think of it, it sums up the Republicans, too, except they lost. Sunk with Zero might be more appropriate.

9) Quick: name another memorable car commercial. Just one. Can't think of one? That's because now you've been...Saved by Zero!

10) Because I hate the dancing transformer car commercial, that's why. See? I could name one, because I haven't been...SAVED BY ZERO!

IBMS: Oil Companies No Longer Evil

2008-11-13T14:41:00.001-08:00

The International Bureau of Moral Standards today announced that oil companies were no longer evil, owing the precipitous drop in oil prices, and that their executives would no longer be considered undesirable people and their profits considered excessive. They have instead been downgraded to “greedy”, in line with most other capitalistic enterprises.

IBMS head Doris Grey-Sterling told reporters that “this is truly an exciting time to be alive, what with oil companies no longer headed by evil, devilish men devoted to destroying the poor, and Americans finally proving that they’re not racist. In fact, everything is beautiful, and we look forward to four years of peace and harmony now. I can’t remember a time when things were possibly better, except perhaps the halcyon days of 1925 to 1928.”

In other actions, struggling artists and journeyman infielders were continued listed as “noble” while all lawyers outside of the public defense and community organizer roles maintained their “soulless” status.

Political Dictionary

2008-11-13T14:38:00.000-08:00

Ageist: (??) This word has no apparent meaning.

Candidate: (n) The least worst person from each political party who is put forward in an election. “I couldn’t decide if I thought the candidates this year were more pathetic than the ones in 2004 or not.”

Columnist: (n) Someone who wants to see the Democrat win. “Even though I am a conservative opinion columnist, I must say I like the cut of Obama’s jib, and recommend him as our next president.”

Discredit: (v) To destroy all shred of respectability; note that this does not appear to be possible in most places. “You’d think that airing ignorant conspiracy theories about major public figures would discredit certain highly popular writers, but somehow they keep their job.”

Harpy: (n) See Entertainment Dictionary entry on The View

Hick: (n) Non-Washington Republican. “The hicks might enjoy all that aw-shucks stuff, but to those of us in the know, it seems so dreadfully hoi polloi.”

Host: (n) Someone who wants to see the Democrat win. “It might have been short-sighted for some talk-show hosts to go so overboard endorsing Obama.”

Inevitable: (adv) Doomed to failure. “Hillary Clinton will inevitably be the next president of the United States” or “A far more conservative Romney will inevitably win over the maverick John McCain.”

Integrity: (n) Quality which may never be questioned. “Nobody doubted his integrity, they just said he was misleading about a whole lot of things.”

Journalist: (n) Someone who wants to see the Democrat win. “I question Chris Matthews’ objectivity as a journalist.”

Libertarian: (n) Wonkish oaf who is never happy, despite probable rampant drug use. “As a libertarian, I hate every candidate, yet am too incoherent to form a political party of my own.”

Presidential Election: (n) Quadrennial Event where America comes together to vote for the president of the entire world, who will give hope to the hopeless, champion international justice, fix problems at home and abroad, and manufacture a diet soda that makes your farts smell like rainbows. “I just hope those dodgy Americans get their presidential election right this time.”

Recount: (v) Process whereby votes are added to one candidate or another until the desired party gains victory. “Hey, Dave, recount those votes until Franken’s up by a hundred, would you?”

Sportswriter: (n) Someone who wants to see the Democrat win. “I know I pledged to be only a sportswriter this year, but can’t you just feel the betterness of everything now that Obama has won?”

Vice-President: (n) Single most important position in the government which must never be handed over to someone who is not an expert on every single subject known to mankind, up to and including who is the current Miss Djibouti and what the name of the Prime Minister of Fiji’s cat is. “The best thing about having Biden as vice president is it means his idiocy is out of the Senate, where it can do real harm.”

McCain Eager to Return to Regular Job

2008-11-06T14:13:00.001-08:00

With the presidential campaign finally over, Republican nominee John McCain told reporters today that he is eager to return to his true job in the Senate, where he hopes to be able to pick up again right where he left off.

"I love the Senate," said McCain in a relaxed interview Wednesday, his first after losing the presidency to Barack Obama. "I have a lot of old friends there, I like working on new legislation, and it's the only place where I can really indulge in my favorite hobby: sticking my thumb in the eyes of conservatives."

McCain said he didn't expect there to be any repercussions for his heated rhetoric on the stump. "I think that most of my Democrat friends understand what politics is about and won't hold it against me. Anyway, all of the worst stuff came from that crazy Alaska woman I was forced to saddle myself with in order to appeal to my base. I always thought that we needed more bipartisanship, which is to say, Democrats in charge of just about everything."

He said that his first priority would be "forming gangs in the Senate to find compromise on any and every issue of importance: energy, defense, the second amendment, whatever. The important thing is that we centrists gang together and meet our far-left opponents halfway, because that's what democracy is all about."

Scientific Community Excommunicates Heretic

2008-11-06T14:11:00.000-08:00

Spokesmen for the UN's IPGM (International Panel on Giant Monsters) today announced that they had delivered their harshest sanction yet on a former internationally-renowned scientist who had begun to question their conclusions on Giant Monsters.

Guy Renauld-Fourtier, spokesman for the IPGM, said in a press conference that "further dissent shall not be tolerated, and those who speak out against the pre-drawn conclusions shall be cast out, harried, and ultimately forced to either recant their heresy or spend their lives without ever having a government grant again. And this is for the good. No data will even be considered which might go against our preconceived hypotheses."

The condemned scientist, Michael Crayton, had recently issued a controversial paper titled "Attack of the Boondoggle: how fake giant monsters are causing real economic hardship." In it, he not only questioned the efficiency of the Kong Protocol, which calls for installing giant cyborg monkeys across the globe as an anti-GMA system, but he further questioned whether or not giant monsters are real at all.

"How do we know that there are hundred-foot, fire-breathing reptiles just below the surface of the ocean waiting to destroy us? Just because somebody claims there are?" he wrote in an editorial in noted right-wing crank newspaper The Wall Street Journal. "This whole thing could just be a way to enrich alarmists, while ignoring the very real problems of water shortages, traffic congestion, and the continual fouling of the air by rising burrito consumption."

Self-appointed GMA spokesman and Nobel Peace Prize winner John K. Mondale, in London for the opening of the shadow puppet version of his groundbreaking film An Uninvited Guest, said from Zuirch that he felt the punishment was too lenient.

"Ostracization isn't enough for him, in my opinion," said the former US Vice President. "He should be stoned, or drawn and quartered, or at the very least have his tongue cut out to prevent him spreading this vicious, foul lie that there aren't any giant monsters about to devour us all. If you want more of a quote than that, you have to give me an award."

Closer to home, the ACLU said that they weren't concerned with the silencing of the scientist because "free speech only applies to that speech which conforms to the government-regulated perception of truth."

(Editor's Note: It's been a while since I did one of these. The first one is here.)

What's next for Ted Stevens?

2008-11-05T15:25:00.000-08:00

With a possible conviction hanging over his re-election, Ted Stevens may be persona non grata in most places. But at least one town in Alaska has already started a "Stevens for Mayor" drive, and said that regardless of his pending legal troubles he will always be welcome there.

Stevensville, Alaska, is a small town located forty miles outside of Fairbanks. The main employer of the 1400-person town is the nearby Ted Stevens Prison, which is where the embattled Republican Senator may end up serving any jail time if he fails to win his appeals. The town is also home to the Ted Stevens Moose Museum and a VECO construction office.

From his house just off the Ted Stevens Expressway, resident Johnny Mackerson says that Stevens' experience would help the locals to "maximize the benefit of our great infrastructure here, from the Stevens Snowmobile School to the Stevensville Arena, home of the Stevensville Bagmen, four-time ice football champions. And with the soon-to-open Tedbridge over Stevens Gorge, we hope to be able to add lots of exciting outdoors activities."

Spokesmen for Stevens said that while the senator was originally not interested in the post, he has changed his opinion since discovering that the town, a primary recipient of both state and federal funds, has "little to no budget oversight."

Early Election Polling Results

2008-11-04T16:55:00.000-08:00

Top-rated pollster John Zigby, who successfully predicted not only the 2004 George Bush victory but also accurately forecast Al Gore's ultimate eating problems, has released his early data from the 2008 presidential race.

As expected, Obama is showing a commanding lead (70% or more) among starry-eyed youth, gun-toting lowlifes, and welfare/drama queens. However, what is also surprising is his good showing among pencil-necks (60%), arugula fanciers (58%), and cigar aficionados (52%), all traditional Republican supporters.

McCain, meanwhile, has seen his support among minorities more than double George Bush, capturing 4% of their vote so far. He also has a commanding lead (80% or more) with bluehairs, gun-clinging bible thumpers, and bitter angry women who despise the patriarchy.

Especially noteworthy was the two-hour line near polling stations in West Virginia to apply for temporary work permits for coal miners to work outside the United States in the event of an Obama victory.

Based on the surveys, MSNBC declared Obama the winner with "seventy million billion" electoral votes. The logic for this was explained by Keith Olbermann:

"McCain is a violent psychopath who will destroy the world. IMPEACH BUSH!"

First Space Votes Make History

2008-11-04T13:51:00.001-08:00

In a historical first for any election, astronauts aboard the International Space Station today cast their ballots for president. The voting, widely hailed as "taking Democracy to the stars," went smoothly despite the obvious logistical problems attendant with taking votes from people thousands of miles away from their home states.

"It makes Dixville Notch look like the pompous, backwards jackasses they really are," said spokeswoman Helen Thomas-Crudump from ACORN, which had spearheaded the charge to register the astronauts. "And with seven hundred and forty-five people in the space station, most of them registered Democrats from the state of Pennsylvania, it's clear that we need to make sure that their votes are counted."

She noted that "it's just like Fort Penguin, Antarctica, where over two thousand soldiers from the Third Ohio Infantry are currently serving, who ACORN helped to vote early. We're committed to getting every vote to count, in our zeal even sending the same vote to two or three different precincts."

Not everyone was pleased with the move, however. Joe Biden warned that he felt "this might be the first step on the road to a war with the Klingons, or the Russians, whichever one of them it was that had those big ears and drooled a lot. Oh, yeah, that was Laura Bush!"

When no one laughed Biden promised to "throw your asses all in prison once I'm in the White House."