Grabs dem gifts, a shopping horror story
Very early last Friday morning (5 a.m. to be exact) my brother convinced me to take a trek to Best Buy. Ok, to halt you from jumping to any conclusions about my character, I am not the kind of person who drags herself out of bed to go shopping, especially on a day called Black Friday, where typically hundreds, if not thousands, of frenzied shoppers will be ready to fight to the death for limited merchandise. No, I’m not a sale monger.
On this special occasion, however, my brother was able to convince me to tag along only because we were still up from the night before. I wanted to go to bed, but some how my brother’s sad little face persuaded me to go. I didn’t want him to go alone. He’s not from Detroit, he grew up in the sticks, and he might get hurt out there all by himself. I’m the tough big sister. He needed me to take care of him. I’d protect him with my lethal karate chop.
Still too buzzed to drive, we called a cab. It was a dark, quiet morning. No birds, no stars, no inkling of the breaking daylight.
As we pulled up to the mini mall, I could see that the parking lot was no parking lot—it was a refuge camp. Cars zigzagged everywhere. Horns honked at herding pedestrians. People wandered aimlessly waiting for their homing devices to kick in to point them to the Best Buy entrance. I was waiting for a convoy of camels to appear. Thankfully, they stayed home. It must have been too early to bring out the camels.
We decided to save the cabbie from having to inch his way through the mayhem. We got out of the cab halfway through the parking lot.
At that moment, I realized how cold it was outside. The temperature was surely in the single digits. Being half-crocked when I left the house, I didn’t think about grabbing a hat and gloves. This, I noted to myself, was a serious mistake. When we reached the main entrance, we discovered THE LINE. A very long line wrapped around to the back of the building. People were waiting to get in, ten at a time. My only thoughts were, “Can we get the cab back?”
It was a good thing my brother was so dedicated about getting that half-priced digital camera, because I wouldn’t have waited in that line otherwise. It was a good thing my insides were still cozy from booze, because I wouldn’t have waited in that line otherwise. It was a good thing that the dudes standing behind us were chatty and distracted me from my numb hands and ears, because I wouldn’t have waited in that line otherwise.
It took us a half an hour to get into the store. I thought the line outside was ridiculous, but what I saw next blew my mind. MORE LINES. Lines strung people together through every aisle in the store. Want to look at radios? Get in a line. Want to look at printers? Get in a line. Want to finally buy something? Get in another line.
We got in the line for cameras and waited for another half hour or so. As we waited, I watched in disbelief as people buzzed and swarmed through the store like a disturbed hornet’s nest. These were some serious, angry shoppers. They knocked into each other and said, “Excuse you!” They swore profanities when their treasured item was sold out. Shit, fuck, piss, Merry Christmas. They literally dove--and I mean off their feet and into the air--to be the first to reach that last reduced-priced TV. They bribed the shaken, pubescent Best Buy employees to get at the head of the line. I heard one frightened employee say, “What? Do you want to cause a riot?”
Finally, we reached the beginning of the camera line to find out that my brother’s sole motivation for making this trip was gone. No more digital cameras under $300 were in stock. Just like the rest of the poor fools who made this journey and waded through the muck of holiday sneer, my brother was disappointed, and he needed a new purpose. He bought a printer/scanner/fax machine.
It was 7:30 a.m. as we headed home. The sun was up and the streets were starting to percolate with a new round of shoppers. We decided to stop at the coffee shop for breakfast. That was the best part of the trip. Eating breakfast, drinking coffee, and smoking cigarettes on a slight hangover after being up for 24 straight hours with my little bro. I’ll never go to Best Buy again.
Apparently, shoppers all over the country were lined up in the wee hours on Black Friday to grab those amazing discounts. A line up to 400 people deep was reported outside the Sears store at Twelve Oaks Mall (Novi, Mich). Sears was offering free $10 gift cards to the first few hundred customers. Ten measly dollars! Stand in line at 4:30 a.m. in 6-degree weather to get a $10 gift card! For $50, I bet you couldn’t get a fraction of those people to stand behind a counter, in the middle of the day, in a heated building, to serve food to the homeless.
At Fairlane Town Center Mall (Dearborn, Mich.) the parking lot was already 70 percent full by 6:30 a.m. Try getting half of those people to show up to a job by 6:30 a.m. Not!
Wal-Mart reported that 2 million shoppers showed up at their stores in the first hour after opening at 5 a.m. In one of its Orlando, Florida stores, customers couldn’t keep the holiday peace. A brawl broke out and shoppers flailed at each other. They’d probably gone mad over those $378 HP laptops. Why didn’t Wal-Mart hand out a cocktail of Depakote and Buspar to each customer as they entered the door? Then, they would've all been calm, happy shoppers smiling as they gathered around the Holiday Tree (oh, I mean Xmas Tree, oh I mean Christmas Tree). Happy holidays. And remember, it's about the giving not the gifting.
Spread a little Spam
The morning ritual of checking email starts around 9 am. I login. Wow! I’ve received 29 new emails. I grin to myself, “Damn, I’m popular.”
First items in Inbox:
Verna Lunsford writes to give me a hot stock tip on the transfer of a product called Lipo-laser. Since I have a lot of money to throw around but don’t have the patience or the tenacity for paying close attention to the ups and downs of the stock market, this info is invaluable to me. Thank you, Verna, for taking the time to think of me.
Blanche Molina sends me a message with the subject line: “Of fall a hurricane layout.” OH, I’m excited about this one. I’m going to finally learn about that damn hurricane layout. What does God do when he’s planning those things? What’s his design process? Does he get drunk first? Did he write a design manual so we can create our own hurricanes? When a part of the Earth gets a bit too dirty, we can whip up a Hurricane laced with 409 to clean it up. Well, I’m awfully disappointed because when I open this email, I realize it’s not about hurricanes afterall. It’s about penises, or rather pills for penises. It’s an advertisement to cure any erectile dilemma. This one gets deleted quickly. 1. I have no penis. 2. I currently know no penis. 3. If I currently did know a penis, it most certainly better not have penis issues (warning to anyone expecting to introduce me to their penis).
Ok, so I’m not that popular. Sigh my deflated ego. Most of my email comes from people with names like Leila Leach, LaTonya Lang, or Serena Stratton—all of whom are not breathing, engaging human beings but rather blowup dolls with lipo-lips. Lipo-lips that were injected with the stuff left over from the Lipo-laser. I’ll buy 100 shares of that, please!
Spam is so prevalent in our lives these days. We run but we can’t hide. Sometimes, we have to take a morsel of Spam and spread it with delight. I learned this from the dear Rory Blyth.
Having received some Spam promoting a penis-enlargement patch, Rory curiously checked out the penis product’s website. He was astonished to find, as am I, these testimonials. (Note: I’m at work so I can’t check out the “actual” website to verify the accuracy of Rory’s details. But, since I’m sure they buggered right out of his own head, I don’t feel the need.)
Thank you so much for your incredible penis patches! I can drive in the carpool lane now. All I have to do is prop my penis up in the passenger seat, put a hat on it, and away I go. Never mind that I can’t really get out of the car anymore – just getting to finally travel in the carpool lane is enough for me.
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My penis is just ****ing huge, man. Seriously. It’s B – I – G. I’m diggin’ it, but my wife was hoping you could send some vagina-enlargement patches soon since she can no longer accommodate my girth. She says that sex with me is like giving birth to a Volkswagen backwards. AWESOME!!!
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I’m writing to you from prison. Why? Because I used your patches for eighteen months straight, and now my penis is a lethal weapon. I impaled several people with it at a crowded mini-mart in October, and now I’m doing time for manslaughter. I nearly escaped by uncoiling it one night, pushing it through the bars, looping it through the guard’s keys, and bringing them back to my cell, but I got caught when someone tripped on and then noticed my forty-five foot long manhood. It was embarrassing, but I think the guards envy me. Thank you for your truly excellent patches!
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I live in downtown Seattle, and there was a fire in my office building last week. The way out on my floor was blocked, but I saved the day when thirty-seven coworkers climbed three stories down my penis to safety. The mayor got wind of what happened and presented my penis with the key to the city. He also ordered that all firemen use your patches for the betterment of public safety.
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Your patches are TOO good!?!?!!! My penis is so large now that I pass out every time I get an erection. Like last night when I was thinking about Natalie Portman naked. All I heard was the roar of gallons of blood pouring into my flaccid penis, and then nothing – the lights just went out. Yep. That Natalie Portman. She sure is a hot one. I’d really like to – oh, crap – it’s starting to-
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Your penis patches worked so well for me that I bought them for the entire family. That jerk Anderson next door isn’t so smug about his Mercedes anymore – not since we’ve taken to draping our enormous penises over the fence during dinner.
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Not only has your patch made my wife a very happy woman, it has also given me a second income. My penis now works as an emergency speed bump for the Oregon Department of Transportation. They call me whenever there’s an accident and they need a way to slow down traffic in the area. They’re also looking into using my penis as a temporary dam in rural construction areas. I can now satisfy my wife AND I’m wealthy beyond my wildest dreams!!!!!
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Wow. I knew your patches would increase the length and girth of my (formerly) microscopic penis, but I had no idea they’d make me famous, too! My penis is now being listed as a tourist destination in my hometown. They’re building a resort on the north end, and a water park a few miles south of there. It’s a little noisy when I’m trying to fall asleep at night, but even so, there’s still something comforting about knowing that so many people have made my penis a destination for their holidays this year. Thank you, penis patch company!
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I’m sending along a clip from today’s paper. That’s me in the photo, posing with my patch-enhanced penis. You’re probably wondering about everything else – it’s the deep sea camera equipment that they attached to my unit before lowering it to the bottom of the Marianas Trench with help of a crane. Because your patches were so effective, we were able to discover over TWO HUNDRED new breeds of fish, all of which have been named after your fantastic penis growth patches. Way to go!
Thanksgiving blessings from across the pond
In this time of war, it's nice to know that people still like us Americans. We're not all political anarchists, waving our mighty swords at the World. Many of us are soft and cuddly creatures overrun by doctored voting booths. This week, let us all give thanks for the precious goods we have to eat because right now American soldiers are going without, Iraqi children are starving and cold, and in many parts of the World, the country, and even your own city there is no such thing as left-overs. Thank you Wulfweard the White.
Jeff Mangum surprises fans in NYC
There are few albums that come along that change your life. I have many bands to include in my life's list of major influence. But, like most music fanatics, I am able to whittle it down to a few chronologically: The Beatles, The Who, Led Zeppelin, Neil Young, Paul Simon (thank you, Dad, for all of that) Echo, The Smiths, The Cure, Natalie Merchant, Gang of Four, all of the Elephant 6, Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs, and most recently, The Dandy Warhols.
The most prominent influence of my adult life has been Neutral Milk Hotel (thank you, Dave, for that). If you are unaware of these guys, it's time to pay homage. They were such a lightning rod that most people missed the strike. When I first heard them on In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, I was taken back to the significance of The White Album. Every song on the album plays a part to equal the whole. There is no listening to your favorite song. Each song is a must from beginning to end, stringing one well-casted melody to the next. Therefore, listening from the first track to the last is a necessity. The tragedy is that Neutral Milk Hotel decided to no longer make music after their majestic In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Nobody knows the reason for NMH's disappearance; we just know that we've all missed the genius of what may come to the future of our ears.
Last week, just like a sudden appearance of Neil Young, who turns an ordinary show into a masterpiece, NMH frontman Jeff Mangum decided to show up at NY's Knitting Factory to play with Elf Power. He slowly appeared on stage in a simple shirt and baseball cap. He crooned his usual apparatus and made fans think they'd gone to heaven.
My first Christmas wish: to own a time machine so I can catch Jeff singing last Thursday. My second wish: that Jeff rejoins NMH and shows us what his dreams are made of.
No winners, no losers in the Everglades
In this year’s Everglades Battle of the Reptiles, top prize goes to NOBODY!
After six elimination rounds, the Everglades' most anticipated contest came down to two rivaling participants. Charley, the 13-foot Burmese python from the tough neighborhood of Grassy Knoll, and Brutus, the muscle-bound 6-foot-long American alligator from The Sludge, were ready to fight to the death.
Spectators waded in the reeds, cheering on their favorite hero to win. “I’ve been waiting for this day for eight long months. Brutus is my hero. He’s going to win for sure,” said fan Titus the Frog, croaking a loud song to show his support.
The python and alligator stared each other down and sloshed their weight in the murky water. Brutus had the advantage, outweighing Charley by nearly 300 pounds. When the alligator raised his thick neck, showing off his visceral six pack, the crowd yelled for more.
At first, it seemed Charley was unsure of himself, swerving back and forth, inch by inch away from Brutus’ shards of teeth. Just when Charley was about to back into the spectators, he stiffened. He unhinged his jaw and opened his lips as far apart as they could possibly go. Brutus hissed, mocking the python’s toothless mouth. Suddenly, in a moment of shear viciousness, Charley sprung his 340-pound body toward Brutus’ nose, swallowing the alligator’s entire head in an instant.
The crowd gasped and watched in disbelief as the python slowly engorged himself on Brutus’ flesh. After 30 minutes, only the alligator’s tail remained visible. Then, an unexpected bursting noise filled the air. To the crowd’s horror, Charley splat wide open, exposing not only the dead alligator’s digested body but also his own interior slushy parts.
It was a sad defeat for both contestants. As a tribute to both Charley and Brutus, a memorial is in the planning stages. Fans have volunteered to erect a monument at the battle scene depicting a sculptured figure of a python head on an alligator body. Plans to play a recording of Sophia Hardig is also in the works. Ok, after seeing that picture, I couldn't help but to make up this story. I know my kids will love it. Hope you get a tickle from it too. Here's the factual, serious tale of the python and alligator.
Art goes with Rock
Everyone has their list of hideous Rock album covers. This week, Pitchfork's Brent DiCrescenzo gives us his view of the worst album covers ever. And, man, is it worth the read!
Not only does DiCrescenzo remind us of how important artwork is for bands (a fact we may all easily forget in this world of digital exchange), he spices us up with left-over fat from "bands ala carte." His list is brilliant and I enourage you all to take a look-see.
But, I'm not here just to give kudos to Brent DiCrescenzo. I was also nudged to mention this list because the one-and-only Ted Nuggent appears on it. You see, one of my dearest friends happens to be Ted's daughter, and she's had to live through some unworldly grief because of Ted's anti-human negotiations in this fine city we call Detroit. (For the record: those who know me personally can attest to my inhabitions about announcing my knowing Ted Nuggent. I'm a little weird about it. But, this place and time seemed appropriate to bring my understanding of him to light.)
My Review:
Ted. I can see you thinking of this pose while you're squatting your 55-year-old ass in the woods taking a solid shit and hooting about how you still "got it." Guess what? Nobody likes you. You're still attracting Taylorites with goals to "get me a double-wide." Sure, you moved to Texas, but your new neighbor eats dry bran flakes to feel the 'membrance of a conscience. Hmmm, lack of conscience...sounds a lot like you...with all them wandering offspring waiting to finally meet you an all. I guess they should be lucky to just get a paycheck, huh? How about the ones who didn't take you to court?
Keep it up, Nuge. Them howling's gonna take you down someday.
I'm not bitter. I'm only thinking of my friend. Even my kids know the bastard! What do they say when they hear him on the radio? That's Riley's grandpa! Gawd, even Britney can't compete with that.
Brent's review:
Nuge, dude, look. This isn't a nightmare, or "scream dream," at all. It's a gift from the gods! You can rub one of your guitarhands as a slide against your other guitarhand! Pickups'll pickup pickups in a gnarly buckshot of electro-fried guitarpowder! What for other people is warming hands over a campfire will for you be a wall of doe-killin' badass noise.
Kalamazoo kazoo
To applaud the Kalamazoo Promise, I propose the purchase of a cute little Kalamazoo Kazoo. You can get one here. You never know when a kazoo may come in handy. Later, if we all agree, we can join together in a kazoo celebration, playing our favorite kazoo melodies. Thanks pittcaleb for the KK info.
More than a promise, a guarantee from Kalamazoo
Earlier this week I heard an astonishing thing on the radio: free college tuition for all Kalamazoo K-12 students. Unfortunately, the radio hosts didn’t have any further information, and, in fact, they thought it might be a wild rumor.
Later that day, I called the City of Kalamazoo and checked the school district’s Web site, but I learned nothing more of this “rumor.” I dismissed it because I didn’t think it was possible that such an extraordinary event could occur, especially when it would involve millions upon millions of dollars. I’m amazed to learn today from the Detroit Free Press that the rumor is true! Anonymous donors are offering to pay up to 100% of college tuition for all of Kalamazoo's high school graduates starting in June 2006, as long as attendance is at a Michigan public college or university.
I’m in complete shock about the enormity of this generosity. College tuition is becoming more and more out of reach, especially for middle-income families who are just beyond the income limit for receiving aid.
I personally spent many years scraping by to stay below the income limit so I could receive federal aid. Can you imagine, intentionally staying dirt-ass poor so you can afford to stay in college? It's a complete contradiction. And, I’m not talking about reducing my income from one cushy number to another. I had to reduce it from $12,000 per year to under $6,000. That was just enough to subsist on Ramen and Budweiser, so I didn’t complain much. Even with the aid, I still racked-up student loans totaling $20,000.
Since tuition is a major concern for many parents and college-bound kids, the Kalamazoo plan, called Kalamazoo Promise, must come as a tremendous relief. The plan is the first of its kind in the State of Michigan, providing a 100% scholarship for children attending in the district from kindergarten through 12th grade. While its backers are aimed at providing Kalamazoo’s 11,000 students with a college education, they’re also hoping the plan will boost Kalamazoo’s economy by attracting new residents and businesses to the city.
I only have eight more years before my first born starts college. Maybe it’s time to consider a move to Kalamazoo. Heck, it’s close to the lake!
Free Press article.
More on 70s TV
Not that I'm on a 70s TV kick, but I have to mention that the entire first season of The White Shadow is finally on DVD. Produced in 1978, this show dug into the hearts of basketball-loving teens and set a precedent by covering issues such as drinking, pregnancy, and gambling (eat your heart out Richie Cunningham!). To put it short, the writing was great. I really liked the shorts, too!Unfortunately, The White Shadow was short-lived (kick me for using that word again), ending its last "quarter" in 1981. Even so, its writers duly noted their abilities and went on to work on other exemplary shows like St. Elsewhere, NYPD Blue and Northern Exposure. Get it from Amazon.
Dude, pass the seaweed
It’s not new news that the drug culture was omnipresent in the 70s--showing up in our music, movies, college campuses, and living rooms (well, maybe my living room and not yours…I was a product of young 60s love). Most astonishing though is that it showed up in our cartoons! Yes, during the 70s, it was Saturday mornings of “kids on trips.”
The biggest trips were the shows developed by Sid and Marty Krofft. H.R. Pufnstuf and Sigmund And The Sea Monsters were some of the strangest yet mesmerizing television shows ever to be seen by America’s impressionable youth. In a song and dance format, actors played alongside caricatures of colorful creatures and inanimate objects. The shows were part cartoon, part Alice In Wonderland, and part Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds.
H.R. Pufnstuf, the story of a boy, a magic flute, and a dragon donning a Southern drawl and white boots, was the more popular of the two shows. I don’t need to say much about the hippie influence on this show. “Pufnstuf” should just about say it all.
For whatever reason, I was more interested in Sigmund And The Sea Monsters. Maybe the attraction was that I, too, wanted a large pile of seaweed to be my best friend. We could’ve hung out on the beach, singing and dancing all day in our world of sun-poisoned delirium.
Hell, I want to do that now! I guess not much has changed for me since I was six-years-old.
The good news is that a new generation of kids will get to experience the dreamscape that is H.R. Pufnstuf. Astonishingly, the Kroffts are bringing Witchiepoo, Jimmy, and the Mayor of Living Island to the big screen in an H.R. Pufnstuf movie. What's more, the entire Krofft catelog is now available on DVD. 
This makes me wonder…are we currently living in a drug-influenced culture? Nah! We’re so advanced in 2005, we now have the ability to expand our imaginations through sheer will. How else can we explain the success of Tim Burton?
More by Sid and Marty Krofft:
The Land of the Lost
The Donnie and Marie Show
The Barbara Mandrell Show
Ice Man returneth
It’s exciting to announce that Team Angry Monkey successfully completed the Iceman Cometh mountain bike race. Our quickest member, Adam, finished in just over three hours! As each of us crossed the finish line, our support group (thank you guys, you’re awesome!) cheered us on and carried us to the beer cooler. There’s nothing like adding a little alcohol to your brain when you’re already in a state of delirium.
The Highlights
Sandpits 
Ryan’s leggings
The lavish night-before pasta
Goo, on your hands, face, gloves
Me and Kavita eating Nicole’s dust
Pinkie
The “condo”
The 17-mile relief team (I would’ve never made it without you!)
Dana and Bill
The 1am bathroom phone call
Justin and Chad tossing their bikes over the fence
Adam’s big burrito
$1.50 Coronas
The sweet ass banner and bumper stickers (thanks Mark!)
Chad quit a race? No way!!
The humidor
Apples
Post-race pedicures
Did I mention sandpits?
Mike’s tacos, shaken not stirred
Meeting people who really know how to train Jamie Kennedy, shizz knat
Bob Evans who?
Fantastic trip guys! Looking forward to next year! Check out more pics:
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Bring on the Ice Man
This weekend Team Angry Monkey will be heading up to Traverse City to ride in the mountain bike race Iceman Cometh. It'll be a grueling 27 miles of trails, but Team Angry Monkey is ready. We trained all summer, with me having puked only twice. I'll be taking on the trail with my 12-year-old rigid Raleigh. This is not due to some fanatical tough-ass act. No, my unemployed self couldn't bring on the bucks for a new bike this year. No fear. That bike is a beast. We'll do fine. And, come Saturday evening, I'll be bubbly inside the hot tub and out.Peace.
It's called Ramadan and there are restaurant specials
November 4th ends the month of Ramadan with a boisterous celebration of the Eid al-Fitr. Ramadan is a Muslim remembrance--marked by prayer, fasting, and charity--to pay homage to the time when Muhammad received the first verses of the Qu’ran from Allah.
The reason I know this is because I live in Dearborn, Michigan, and the public schools are closed from Wednesday through Friday this week, which begs me to understand why.
I didn’t think much of the school break, since I'm rather introspective when it comes to Muslim issues. I’m at home with the kids right now, so no special arrangements had to be made. The holiday break for Eid didn’t put a crinkle in my schedule. So, I didn’t think much of it.
Until this afternoon.
It’s Thursday. Garbage day. Time to pull out our trash for the next day’s 7:30 AM pick up. (Yes, there’s no blowing off the garbage haul to the curb at my house. You won’t be able to run out there at 7:00 AM in your undies—unless you’re very, very determined. I don’t know any people like that, thankfully.)
As I dragged my garbage cans down the drive dutifully, I noticed my neighbor’s pile. He had some beat up drums sitting on the curb. When I saw those drums, I had my first striking thought about Ramadan, and I wondered if the garbage would indeed be picked up the next day. Or, would it be held up a day like on a Christian holiday?
Gosh, I hoped not. I didn’t want to see those drums sitting out there like that, even if they did remind me of how my young neighbor has learned to really kick some shit on the drums. Take ‘em away. They make me sad.
Still, I’m remembering Ramadan. I'm wondering about my tenses.
Valerie Cherish: gimme that labia
This summer HBO came out with a comedy called The Comeback, starring Lisa Kudrow as the has-been actress, Valerie Cherish. The show sucked. Kudrow made an attempt, but damn it, she just isn't funny. However, the script is based on a funny premise. It requires you to love how much you hate Valerie Cherish. Kind of like how you love to hate Archie Bunker. But, without the success of that formula, there's no show. Kudrow couldn't pull it off. 
Her only accomplishment was making you annoyed with HBO for letting her be center stage. Not all is lost! With Kudrow out of the picture, I'm thinking The Comeback should come back--with Madonna as Valerie Cherish. Madonna would give her that necessary evil that will make you love to hate her. I mean, we already love to hate Madonna, right? If HBO can't cast Madonna, maybe they can get her labia to do the part. Trackback this pic to Something Requisitely Witty and Urbane.
Give me that old-fashioned soap opera scandal please
The Bush team makes me look back on the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal with fond memories. It had entertainment value: blowjobs, secret closets, white stains on dresses, young interns beating off old guys. It’s quite a folly how there was an impeachment process, a costly 14-month investigation, and extreme tabloid coverage of The Presidency over a girl and her lips. In the end though, it gave us an opportunity to know our neighbors. There was discourse, finally. Republicans and Democrats came together in office cubicles everywhere. All of a sudden, we were speaking to each other without fierceness or scorn. Was it because there was nothing REAL at stake?
Now, we have a White House scandal that has put people’s lives at risk. Do I really want to anticipate the next scoop? The next piece of dirt splattered on the front page? No, this isn't what I want to see happening in my country. As usual, when Big Government Goes Bad, there's a fall guy: Mr. Lewis Libby, aka Scooter. He should be called Suck-It-To-Me Scooter. Suck-It-To-Me Scooter owns a new horse. She’s called Guilty. Guilty is a quick dark steed, bred specifically to accept the ills of an entire Administration. The plan is that Suck-It-To-Me Scooter rides Guilty far, far away so that the American public will never piece together Bush-Cheney’s immoral agenda and lawlessness. Who knows if Suck-It-To-Me Scooter and Guilty will travel to some forgotten land on page 10 of The New York Times. All I know is that I’m tired of learning about Bush’s carelessness and lack of concern for the American public. It sickens me. He had a bad week last week? HA! My unemployed ass barely squeaked out a mortgage payment—AGAIN! I was squirming about how to buy tidbits for Halloween costumes.
Stay tuned to see how sick I am next month when I’m moving into one of the boxes in my garage. Mr. Bush, what the hell are you doing to us?
Tangent Time:
Nicholas D. Kristof of The New York Times wants to ask Dick Cheney the following questions. Since I’m inclined to ask the same, I’m reprinting them here. Maybe Mr. Cheney will finally speak out, or will the Big Cat in the White House continue to hold a claw in his tongue?
Did you ask Scooter Libby to undertake his inquiries about Ambassador Joseph Wilson? Mr. Libby made such a concerted push to get information, from both the State Department and the C.I.A., that I suspect that you prodded him. Is that right? If so, why? Why did you independently ask the C.I.A. for information about the Wilsons? The indictment states that on June 12, 2003, you advised Mr. Libby that you had learned, apparently from the C.I.A., that Mr. Wilson's wife, Valerie, worked in the agency. So did you ask George Tenet, then the director, about Mr. and Mrs. Wilson? Did you review the related documents that the C.I.A. faxed to your office?Did you know that Mrs. Wilson was a covert officer? The indictment states that you knew she worked in the C.I.A.'s counterproliferation division. You would think that anyone as steeped in intelligence issues as you are would know that meant she worked in the Directorate of Operations and was perhaps a spook's spook.Did you advise Mr. Libby to leak information about Mrs. Wilson's work in the C.I.A. to journalists? Mr. Libby flew with you on Air Force Two on July 12, 2003, and according to the indictment, one of the issues Mr. Libby discussed onboard the plane (with you?) was how to deal with the news media. Within hours, the indictment charges, Mr. Libby told two reporters that Mrs. Wilson worked in the agency.When Mr. Libby made his statements in the inquiry - allegedly committing perjury - were you aware of what he was saying? Mr. Libby rode to work with you almost every morning, but this topic never came up?Was Mr. Libby fearful of disclosing something about your behavior in the summer of 2003? Mr. Libby is renowned for his caution, yet he is alleged to have suddenly embarked upon a high-risk campaign of leaks and lies. If he did do that, was it a misguided attempt to protect you? The alleged lies shielded you by indicating that the information you gave him about Mrs. Wilson instead came from reporters.
Very early last Friday morning (5 a.m. to be exact) my brother convinced me to take a trek to Best Buy. 
