Lesbian Couple Leave Each Other Standing at the Alter

Barack Obama in Vera Wang.  John Boehner’s Gown from Filene’s Basement.

With gay marriage suddenly in Vogue – it was bound to happen – a lesbian couple left each other standing at the alter.  

On Monday night the president of the United States delivered an important message to America.  No one was listening, but that’s immaterial, because the temptation to channel surf during a presidential address off into the abyss of escapism always trumps the need to learn what the public really needs to know.  Rather than anyone taking the time to grasp the historical reality of our tax issues — those issues have been stealthily and inaccurately tied to the debt ceiling.  It’s brilliant yet evil GOP propaganda – and it thrills people once the ballgame is over.  

Fear sends a thrill that always gets the blood flowing.  Distorted information gives shallow thinkers an excuse to bask in fear and hate our light-skinned African American president who’s telling us the truth.  POX News eclipses truth in favor of GOP distortions – the lies this past Monday were delivered by John Boehner with his face full of Light Eqyptianne Bronzing Creme.  Boehner knows he’s no intellectual match for Obama.  Boehner knows he’s in over his head as Weeper of the House.  Meanwhile beer-bellied Joe Six-Pack and all the other ill-informed voters in this nation are interested only in who won last night’s ballgame.  POX News offers-up select clips of Obama out of context – only to make the major story about a 6 minute sound-bite of John Boehner attempting to form whole sentences.  They don’t know what he said.  HE doesn’t even know what he said, but it was delivered by a white dude who’s name they can barely recall so it must be true.

The Debt Ceiling has to do with paying our national credit card bill – in other words, what we purchased in the past – mostly during the years PRIOR to President Obama taking office.  Bills which are now due, and we need to increase our credit limit (the debt ceiling) to avoid defaulting not only on paying-back our borrowed funds from foreign banks, but also sacred promises made to our elderly, disabled and war veterans to name a few.  The debt ceiling is one thing.  Raising the taxes on the over-privileged is a separate issue.  Combining the two is another fear-mongering fantasy designed to frighten the average working-stiff who will NOT be effected adversely by returning the tax-rate on the wealthy to pre-Bush sanity.  The tabled tax cuts, should they ever be repealed, ONLY effect the the 400 families controlling nearly HALF of America’s wealth.  Republicans are very simplistic in what they want.  They don’t want their taxes raised because shared sacrifice doesn’t dovetail well with the GOP sense of entitlement and inherent greed.  America boasts 311 MILLION people.  400 families (A.K.A. – the non-starting so-called “job creators”) sit on that wealth while American jobs are sent overseas.  In the average American’s day to day reality, joblessness holds fast, home foreclosures are at an all time high and future generations will not enjoy the standard of living their parents experienced.  That’s where eliminating the Bush Tax Cuts for the Wealthy (in caps) will actually trickle-down to benefit real people.

Everyone who’s IQ either equals or is exceeded by their shoe size faithfully follow POX News for the stimulation of being frightened half to death by fabricated terrors that will likely never come to pass.  GOP/POX doesn’t want you to know what the real dangers are.  The real danger is downgrading America’s triple-star international credit rating.  It won’t effect the wealthy.  They’re insulated and doing just fine.  It will however dramatically diminish the quality of life for working AND non-working Americans during these difficult economic times by raising interest rates — the burden of which falls squarely on shoulders of the middle class.  Americans ignore the New York Times as being too liberal, (a.k.a. too highbrow to be trusted in-spite of it being written at a 6th grade reading level) because somewhere along the line erroneous word leaked-out that ‘progressive’ was a dirty word while ‘conservative’ means ‘status quo.’   People fear change.  In case you haven’t noticed, the status quo sucks.  Is anyone really happy with the way things are going other than the 400 American families who don’t understand poverty?  There are children in America eating cat food.  Don’t even try to call-me-out on this I’ve been to the projects, and I’ve seen it first hand.

Obama bent over backwards to meet, accept and swallow concessions he does not in his heart want nor does he agree with.  As soon as the republicans get everything they want – they walk away from the table so as to drag the process on and on and on.  If the economy is still tanked in 2012, the plan is to blame the black guy.  This does not smack of seeking the common ground that’s good for all the nation.  So pundits dredge-up all these sports and trite metaphors hanging them out in the air like a stale farts.  Trite phrases like “moving the goal posts” or leaving each other “jilted at the alter.”  In case you haven’t noticed, marriage is a competitive sport.  

Take a deep breath everybody.  The lunatic fringe simply can’t accept the fact that the first genuinely brilliant American leader this country had had in decades is a black man.  Get over yourselves, he’s a white man too.  He is all of us and his vision is vastly superior to anything the in-bred Brittany Spaniels of the Republican caucus have to offer.

We have a mixed race president.  Get used to it, cooperate with him and let the grown-up gentleman lead as we elected him to do.

Rick Santorum Checking Into Bachmann Clinic

According to anonymous sources (my friend Paul) Rick Sanitarium, the vehemently anti-gay Tea Party presidential hopeful and former Republican’t senator from Pennsylvania is doing more than opening his mouth to change feet these days.  For those of us living in Pennsylvania who were exposed daily to his cock-sucking stupidity are finally getting to see his technique at work.

Sanitarium went down so voraciously on that chocolate shaft of creamy deliciousness, that his political advisers have made arrangements for him to do a stint in Herr Dockor Marcussss Bachmann’s concentration camp, (ahem) I mean ‘CLINIC’ to pray away the gay.  Mr Sanitarium will be taught to “lick” his ice cream as opposed to going “down” on it.

Dr. Bachmann, who specializes in teaching victim/patients how to pronounce the word “barbarianssszzz” with a Castilian lisp, will need to spend extra long hours “preforming” special “therapy” on former Senator Sanitarium.  The Bachmann Clinic which is currently overflowing with near suicidal ex-gays will have to make a bed available for their new high-profile deviant.  When asked about the shortage of beds at the Bachmann Clinic, Dr. Bachmann assured the press that even if no beds are available, there is plenty of closet space.

- Dissociated Press, 7/24/11

GOP Tries to Lower the Debt Ceiling and Makes the Sky Fall Instead

Apparently we still owe $57,000 remaining in order to pay-off the Revolutionary War.  

That notwithstanding, the ‘Debt Ceiling’ is a complex issue to grasp no matter who you are.  Sadly, people pay less and less attention to the things that matter most in our lives in favor of watching reality TV and ignoring genuine reality.  Therefore, no one in the heartland of the United States bearing any resemblance to common-sense showed-up at the polls during the midterm elections.  As a nation, we now find ourselves with a flotilla of rank amateur Tea Party neophytes bungling away our future.  Our fate lies is in the obstinate hands of punk nihilists who are completely in over their heads.

The Tea Party Republicans are either clueless or soulless.  In any event our country has allowed ideologues to further mislead us down the convoluted path of irresponsibility forged during the Bush/Cheney years.  The only real difference THIS time – is even Wall Street knows the inmates are running the GOP asylum.  Make no mistake, if your grandmother’s social security check never arrives and she has no food on her table… her utilities are shut-off during a record heat wave… and she can’t get medical care… It IS entirely the fault of the GOP House leadership and their own flaccid Boehner.

America was dropped-off in our current economic swamp by the previous administration.  A financial quagmire the likes of which ONLY the most elderly among us have seen during their lifetimes.  The Republican strategy for regaining the White House in 2012 is to further flush our collective quality of life down the toilet — betting on the American voter to have a short memory span as to exactly how the devil we got there.  They want to blame it on the black guy.

During the Bush/Cheney years America ran-up our national credit-card like drunken sailors buying, but not paying for 2 wars plus poorly thought-out programs designed by orangutans with a ouija board.  

Flash forward…

Obama has bent over backwards to meet the GOP halfway, and all Republicans have done is move the hoop higher in an effort to not take “YES” for an answer.  The GOP has been offered all they want and MORE – but it’s imperative to that party to drag-out our economic misery until the 2012 elections play out.  It’s a very dangerous political strategy for us all.

I’m not so sure the 2010 midterms were so much of a “mandate from the American people” as John Boehner likes to say, as it was affirmation that an alarming number of voters are pathetically misinformed – with great thanks to Rupert Murdock’s POX News empire and Koch brothers AstroTurf Tea Party.
America’s world economic standing is balanced on a razor-thin edge.  Suddenly John Boehner is limping away from the debt ceiling talks – wailing about tax increases when the tax increases being discussed are NOT coming from the average citizen.  They’re coming from the obscenely wealthy criminal corporations who’ve profiteered from the decline of the middle class.  I’m sick of hearing John Boehner talking about the “will of the American people” when what he’s really saying is the will of the wealthy — the will of Grover Norquist and the will of the Koch Brothers.  

Slithering in the background, gleefully rubbing his hind legs together is the treacherously slimy and self-serving Eric Cantor, who’s beside himself to take John Boehner’s place as Speaker of the House.  Cantor, while slightly smarter than Boehner is Machiavellian about his own ambitions for power. Be very careful of that man.

I’m watching John Boehner on the news even as I write this…  His lower lip is quivering.  The man is not strong, he is not clever and he is not wise — he’s a simpleton who has accidentally exceeded the limitations of his own intellect and doesn’t know what to do next without being told — a man flushed-upward with the tide of incompetence now finding himself as the golf-tanned face of a party flummoxed and in disarray. 

Apparently there is only one adult in our American political landscape:  Barack Obama.  Wake-up America – we can no longer keep swatting the snooze alarm.

Duck D. Duck Testifies Before Parlament

Duck D. Duck’s shocking testimony in front of Parliament in the ‘News of the World’ scandal has Rupert Murdock feigning further acts of senility.  The question on everyone’s mind, is will this hurt Ms. Duck’s American presidential chances as the Long Island Ice Tea Party frontrunner?

Ms. Duck, who was stunning, donned an original Bob Mackie ensemble borrowed from actress Joan Collins who wore it in court when testifying about who shot J.R Ewing.

Attorney, W.P. Jumpingbean, Esq.

According to candidate Duck’s lawyer and campaign manager, Winifred P. Jumpingbean, “Duck D. Duck is comfortable with her transgressions on either side of the pond, and is certain she will be cleared of any wrong-doing.”  Murdock’s media giant, POX News is reportedly responsible for hacking Ms. Duck cell phone to release unauthorized photographs of her urodaeum to the tabloids through dimwit blogger, Andrew Notsobreitbart.

The release of that photo and the hacking techniques used to acquire it may well lead to a ‘domino’ effect resulting in political implications that cause the entire downfall of all Rupert Murdock’s minions, and coconspirators — coconspirators such as the Koch Brothers and the knuckleheads in the GOP leadership of the American House of Misrepresentatives.  Further ramifications might result in Grover Norquist (not to be mistaken for Wilford Brimley) to admit he is far more taxing than any of his bogus politically-motivated tax blackmail documents.  Ms. Duck allegedly signed Grover Norquist’s ‘No New Taxes on the Wealthy Blackmail Pledge’ in invisible ink.

Duck D. Duck facing the glare of the media.


As those dominoes fall one can only hope it takes down the entire POX News, Misinformation of the World Network.  Suspected dominoes are Karl Rove, Jim Dement, Rick Sanitarium, John Boner, Eric DeCanter, Bitch McConnell, Bitchelle Mockman, Para Sailin’, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, Scotland Yard and British Prime Minister Gordon Brown.  This might suck the wind out of such POX talking heads as Sean Insanity, Bill Oh’Really? and Mount Rushbaugh.  That said, earlier casualty, Glenn Beck in unrelated developments went down on himself, causing his own pitiful disappearing act.

At the hand of POX News/Misinformation of the World, the public has endured numerous bogus “factoids,” as the manipulation of politicians and the Supreme Court in the pocket of the Koch Brothers (through “Citizens United’) and an unregulated Wall Street blatantly ran amok.  Sadly, an alarming number of gullible citizens drink blindly from the poisonous well of these skillfully crafted lies spun by the tentacles of Rupert Murdock‘s news machine.  The motto of ‘Unfair and Unbalanced’ which has come to define Mr. Murdock’s empire supplies people with what they want to hear if they’re predisposed to certain prejudices and fears.  Truth be damned.

Spokesperson, Winifred P. Jumpingbean quoted her humble typist, Beihl as saying, “If I cared about money, I’d be on Wall Street and not Tobacco Road – either way – they’ll both kill ‘ya.  Its survival of the fattest.  Poor people eat fattening food to survive.  Fat cats eat poor people’s food and call it cassolette.”  Honor matters.

Dissociated Press, 7/21/11

The Phantom

How am I going to relate this story without sounding like a fool?  It’s more than a challenge, it’s a confession.  I’m an idiot with the best of intentions.  I come by it honestly as the heir apparent to a long bloodline of such.  Has anyone other than me ever noticed how one is never equipped with a flack jacket and oven mitts when you most need them?  Nor was I wearing a pith helmet or frog-flippers.  If only I’d thought to have brought my butterfly net…  Truth to tell no one is ever prepared to just simply catch a cat.

Imagine if you will an orange tabby with a ringed-tail, white bib and amber-eyes bordered with a band of green.  That’s Phantom, the neighborhood stray cat I’ve named.  Unlike mottled or darker cats it takes only a pinch of light to make Phantom look fluorescent — and in a instant, he‘s gone. 

I’ve watched this kitten grow to near adulthood on the mean streets of Philadelphia (that being the gentrified historic district) for 6 to 8 months now.  The whole neighborhood has left-out food, mostly eaten by Arthur, the resident mayoral outdoor cat governing the neighborhood by way of payola.  Our street is sprayed, claimed and off-limits – rules are one Tom to a 3 block radius.  So Phantom kitty has only scoped-out the turf and avoided the block when Arthur is out for his daily bask.

Phantom kitty has gracefully zigzagged in-between my neighbor Linda’s ankles, but then again, who hasn’t?  Phantom had the whole neighborhood at his beck and call when he choose to sun himself in a semi-circular garden bed around the corner from me looking like a jewel set against a backdrop of lazy English flowers.  That day six well intentioned adults equipped with blankets, towels and a cat-carrier did our level best to seduce him into our confidence.  Out of nowhere a self-appointed cat expert short-cutting through the courtyard took control of the situation and spooked Phantom sending him on the run.

We all meant well.

Then there was the day I saw Phantom run through an abandoned field where the hospital has leveled an old house.  Historic commission must be on the take again.  I hitched Winnie to a post just out of sight and hand-fed the little cat doggie-salmon treats.  Winnie, who requires my every waking moment of attention, got lathered-up barking for attention and Phantom ran away sampling only a couple kibbles.

One damp night I saw him dart down the steps into the PATCO subway leading to Jersey.  I was alone, and followed him.  We were both dodging the rain.  Phantom looks like the cat perched on Audrey Hepburn’s shoulders in Breakfast at Tiffanys – the famous cat so aptly named ‘Cat‘.  He darted toward the tracks and I lost sight of him, hoping he had the sense to stay out from in-between the rails.  I had the presence of mind not to buy a ticket to nowhere merely to chase him back out into the rain.  Besides, it was late.

Phantom is a flirt with whom all the neighbors are on a nodding to speaking acquaintance for quite some time.  I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve seen him nearly flattened by a car only to skitter-off sideways and arch-backed into the night.  It was just such an evening when my friend Lori and I happened on Phantom dashing under a parked car as the headlights of the vehicle caught his colors but not his tail.  Eyes glistening.

I handed Lori Winnie’s leash and quietly asked her to get the dogs out of sight while I snuck around the corner to get a feel for where Phantom might have gone.  My plan was (if I could get close enough to him) I’d call my friend, Ruth and have her rush over with her cat carrier a blanket and oven mitts.  “Pssss-psssstttt-pssss-psssstttt” I lisped into the dark just beyond a blackened wrought-iron fence.  With very little coaxing, Phantom, perhaps remembering the salmon treats serpentined his way toward me.  He wove the classic dance of the dying hibiscus in out and around my ankles, stopping to rub his cheek against my leg.  I continued to talk to him, and slowly bent down to scratch him behind the ears.  He purred and purred – well – like a kitten – which is pretty much what you’d expect come to think of it. 

For the first time I got a really close look at his noble features and ever-so-slightly pink nose.  I picked him up and cuddled him, thinking, “MAN, after all that time, this is all it took?”  Things were going swimmingly.  So much so that I felt confident about holding him in my left arm and sauntering home like we’d known each other all our lives – which we sort of have. 

TRIUMPHANTLY I strolled toward the street lamp on Locust Street where Winifred P. Jumpingbean was a little closer than I expected and as usual, constantly aware of my every move.  She started leaping up and down like a pogo-stick sounding the sort of plaintiff wail people routinely ignore in Brentwood, CA.  This commotion caused Lori to spin-around from the sheer sound of the alarm and being jolted by her black and silver Chow Chow, Yoyo who’d also begun to howl at Phantom.

The cat freaked, and in nine-tenths of a second had given me 28 lacerations and a very deep, nasty bite on my middle knuckle.  I hadn’t even registered what had happened before I looked like a casualty in a slasher film.  I spent hours in the ER at trusty old historic Pennsylvania Hospital where I’m now on a first name basis with the entire night staff.  I’ve slept with all the day male nurses and platonically painted one of the doctors, so I’m a bit of a second-string celebrity at the hospital if I do say so myself.

After a $75 co-pay, and enduring the machinations of other inmates inflicted with their own cases of the “Screamin’ Mighty Jesus” – triage-intake saw me.  I was dripping with blood, and my hand resembled a plump ruby grapefruit topped with a continuous drizzle of raspberry puree.  Indulge me here, I’ve always wanted to say this — “She wore raspberry puree.”  The kind like you barf in a second hand store.

The nurses stuck me with more needles than Mia Farrow’s Woody Allen doll.  About 85 needles all in all – spaced every 1/4″ around all teeth marks and claw-slashs.  No stitches.   I got a hepatitis shot, a peritonitis shot, MULTIPLE tetanus shots and a rabies vaccine.  I’m relieved to report a rabies vaccine is no longer administered with a 10” needle to the stomach.  It is, however a series of 4 shots spaced five days apart where you have to register with the hookers at the public health clinic who’re also getting shots, but for luv bites — NOT the kind feral cats give you.  I go back on the 19th, and next time I plan to dress appropriately with my ass barely covered in sequins, accessorized with frog-flippers, a pith helmet, oven mitts, flack jacket and a simple strand of pearls.

The Phantom remains at large.

Shadoe McNubb Powell – May 6, 2000-July 11, 2011

A pet is more than a pet.  An animal you love is your master and teacher.  I learned how to love by the unconditional affection I received from a little stray mutt who taught me I wasn’t the center of the universe.  That little dog was. 

Shadoe Powell, through the voice of his typist was a welcome voice on WinnieToons. Whether shared opinions, or representing the flip side of the coin, that is the strength of the conversation.  And such is respect.  There’s a remarkable wisdom imparted by animals.  Shadoe will be missed, but curiously not missing.  All beloved animals make an indelible mark on the people and families who love them.  Years, even decades later they will visit you with a memory, a story, a laugh or a life affirmation.

Winnie, Duck and Beihl wish Shadoe the very best in his new journey.  We ask him to stop in and say ‘hello’ to Grandma Betty who has an apartment just to left or right of the Rainbow Bridge depending on the day of the week. 

Keep in touch, Shadoe.  Keep in touch. http://cat-of-politics.blogspot.com/

Shadoe – A class act Manx.

Who Needs a Public Option When the System We Have is SO Much Fun?

When my late father was in a nursing home I called repeatedly to tell the doctors my dad’s feet were hurting him.  He had enlarged toenails that caused him pain.  After months and months of fruitless calls, I regularly brought a Dremel-drill grinding tool to the home and ground-down the painful nails myself.  Imagine my surprise when after Dad passed-away, I noticed on the final invoice THOUSANDS of dollars for alleged care from a podiatrist who never once showed-up.  I performed that care myself, and fought the invoice tooth and nail – and won.  That’s enough talk about toenails.  We have irritable bowels yet to discuss…

My bowels. 

Click-off now if you don’t wanna hear it like it is.  I have a colon disease that requires constant monitoring and makes for unexplainable situations.

As a typically paranoid older adult who has all the health problems that go along with our inevitable decline toward the Elysian Fields – I pay my health insurance a good two weeks prior to the invoice due-date.  I also have failing eyesight.  But, as I promised to discuss my bowels, far be it from me to disappoint.  Having chronic colitis (and impaired vision) I pay my medical insurance invoice like clockwork. 

For 3 days prior to a recently scheduled colon-scope, I spent a burning hell-on-earth prepping for the procedure – call it a 3 day siege of the porcelain goddess.  I readied myself to have a high-tech camera crew travel a ‘Fantastic Voyage’ into my lower intestines with all the unparalleled joy that comes with a bowel obstruction.  Suffice it to say, it’s no picnic swallowing gallons and gallons of Miralax mixed with Gatorade along with other poisons to make ready for the test. 

Just as I was about to slip into my backless designer hospital gown, the nurse’s aid told me my health insurance had been cancelled the day before and the procedure could not be performed as scheduled.  At first I thought she was talking to someone else.  I NEVER fail to pay my health insurance.  But the last payment covering the month of July, due to my blind eyes, I made an inadvertent human error I could never have anticipated.  I read the number ‘eight’ for being a number ‘six‘, and underpaid my insurance invoice by TWO GODDAMN FUCKING DOLLARS and my health insurance was cancelled.  My medical insurance payments which up until last month had been $165 a month had just jumped to $498 a month.  Due to my eyesight I wrote a check for $496, thus making a payment which was two dollars short.  Now if you underpaid your electric bill by 200 copper pennies, they would not put out your lights.  They’d add $2 to the next month’s invoice, and all would be fine.  But NOT the medical insurance whores.  They’ll gladly keep the $496, give you nothing, and let you die over a $2 human error.  Who cares if you’re bleeding from the anus.  The insurance industry is hurting so much financially that lower level executives have to rent-out their 2nd and 3rd vacation homes to strangers.  People have priorities, misplaced as they may be…

All day today I fought to get reinstated, and they refused to accept a $2 payment over the phone, and insisted that it be paid via money-wire along with a $38.04 penalty charge.  The money transfer was $55.  SOOOO, a $2 human error cost me almost $100, wasted time and the discomfort of an unnecessary colon-cleansing – thus prolonging my worry as to what is wrong with my health.  My dearest wish is for the entire health insurance industry rot in my own personal homemade sewage.  Consider it a donation on my part.

But this is far from being my most upsetting or embarrassing hospital experience.  Some years back I was in one of the historic Philadelphia hospitals named after a founding father.  (They all are.)  I arrived for a routine physical and was made to get naked and put-on a backless paper gown.  Without warning the office sprung a ceiling water leak.  Rather than sending all the patients home and rescheduling us – we were transferred to a different floor to share offices and examination space in a dry office.  Robes and towels were in short supply, so with my clothes locked-up on a different floor, I placed my hands behind my buttocks and shimmied down the hall and elevator to the temporary examination space outside the first floor lobby.

People were placed in janitorial closets, office spaces and whatever was available.  I was abandoned to a conference room where someone had considerately placed a long paper runner down the center of the table, closed the door and and was told someone with be with me shortly.  I stared at the ceiling for a very long making imaginary shapes out of the stains on the acoustical tiles until I fell into a deep, deep sleep.  I have no idea how long I was asleep when I felt a pinch on my flesh.  I awoke with a groggy and startled disorientation only to realize I was looking like a 1-800-FLOWERS centerpiece arrangement in the middle of a conference table surrounded by international foreign exchange students.  To the left and right of me were young people in turbans and saris and other traditional national garb, all of whom were poking at me with ball-point pens trying to determine if I was dead or alive and if they could extract my spleen for extra course credits.

I screamed, jumped to my feet grabbing the full length of paper runner and bolted for the first floor waiting room where the automatic exterior doors let in arctic breezes every time anyone walked past the electric eye exposing me like a saggy old Marilyn Monroe impersonator standing over a subway grate.  My paper ensemble blew all directions at once toward the ceiling revealing what little god had given me to thunderous laughter and applause from the other victims awaiting their own humiliations.  The head nurse, still in shock said “Oh, Mister Whiting, we’re so sorry.  We thought you’d left – no one could find you.”  I secured my street clothes, changed in the janitor’s closet and beat a red-faced hasty retreat, never to return to that august historic hospital ever again.

We are all doomed.  We’re born and we die.  In-between the fates work overtime to see to it we experience the maximum number of humbling public traumas.  But always remember, we Americans have the best health care in the country, just so long as you don’t compare it with other more sensible nations who view our ‘for-profit health insurance system’ as nothing short of primitive. 

Anyone have a number for a good, reliable shaman?

Have a Safe 4th of July


The celebration of the 4th of July is the date when the Declaration of Independence was approved by the Continental Congress.  The first signature on the page was none other than that of John Hancock, who’s very name is now synonymous with the word signature.

Keep your pets indoors while the displays and stray firecrackers are going off – and lets give a special salute to the GREAT STATE of NEW YORK for passing the gay marriage bill — in the spirit of the freedom and tolerance America aspires toward achieving.


Michele Wayne Gacy wants to be President AND Perform at Children’s Birthday Parties

Not that we haven’t all known it from the start, but Sarah Palin is officially irrelevant.  Sarah has been out-maneuvered and out-navigated by Michele Bachmann‘s campaign.  You might go so far as to say Sarah has been ‘maneuvigated’ to the sidelines by Bachmann’s own fresh, new brand of crazy.  Bachmann broke new ground when she hired a team of Rhesus monkeys to do all her historical and political research on Wikipedia.  What the two women have in common is a complete lack of useful knowledge about anything whatsoever.

Michele Bachmann announced the launch of her presidential campaign in her hometown of Waterloo, Iowa, comparing herself to the movie legend, John Wayne, by saying, “John Wayne was from Waterloo, Iowa too, and if elected president that’s the American spirit I will bring to the White House.”  While Ms. Bachmann WAS born in Waterloo, Iowa, John Wayne was NOT.  John Wayne GACY, Junior, the pedophile serial-killer who worked as a clown for children’s birthday parties was from Waterloo, Iowa.  Remember him?  He murdered and dismembered 33 adolescent boys, eventually dying violently in prison.   If sent to the White House, Bachmann’s going to trans-channel the spirit of John Wayne Gacy, Jr – then someone better get her 28 children placed into protective custody and fast.

Those children would still be in danger even if left solely in the custody of her husband, Dr Marcus Bachmann – that’s pronounced Marcusssssss with a lisp.  Very Castilian.)  Dr Bachmann is publicly and vehemently anti-gay.  When interviewed about homosexuality on FOX News by Sean Insannity, Dr Marcussssss Bachmann said: “We have to understand, barbarians need to be educated. They need to be disciplined.  Just because someone feels it or thinks it doesn’t mean we’re supposed to go down on that road. That’s what’s called the sinful nature.  We have a responsibility as parents and authority figures not to encourage such thoughts and feelings from moving into the action steps…”  This would have been more convincing if Dr Bachmann didn’t have a voice that sounded like Truman Capote being tickled with a feather.  Perhaps it was FOX News’ poor audio recording quality…(?)

Like most neo-cons, these people always accuse others of doing and thinking what they themselves are actually thinking and doing.  By the way, Dr and Senator/Mrs Bachmann are in favor of abolishing Medicare, Medicaid, unemployment and welfare.  Like true-to-form right-wingers they were recently caught with their panties down around their ankles when news came to light that Dr Bachmann’s own clinic accepted $137,000 in Medicaid funding.  And just what does the good doctor DO at that clinic…?  His practice performs a weird form of psychological gender-reassignment teaching homosexuals how to not be gay.  Their patient suicide-rate (ahem) I mean success-rate is still in question — As is the doctor’s own history on the subject of temptation.

In some straw-polls, Michele Bachmann is running neck and neck with Mitt Romney, the handsome/crazy/flip-flopping Mormon with the “business experience to fix the Obama economy.” (That we inherited from George Bush.)  Mitt Romney’s business experience came when he was the CEO of Bain Capitol, LLC giving him more than ample practice sending countless American jobs overseas while destroying American companies.  That’s what Bain Captial DOES – they leverage healthy companies into the red, then sell the assets and move the jobs to India and China.  Great, just freakin’ great – brilliant in an anti-American kinda way…

If Michele Bachman and Mitt Romney become the Tea Party Republican presidential and vice-presidential candidates for 2012, they can fix the economy by freelancing as mannequins posing as the attractive older couple exchanging diamond tennis bracelets in Zales ads for 30 year wedding anniversary gifts.  Dr Bachmann no doubt will succeed to the very best of his ability in trying not to imagine what Mitt Romney looks like naked in the shower.  OK, that was my imagination projecting itself onto others.  Hey, I like hot older men graying at the temples.  We’re all human.