DNC---PREMATURE ACCLAIMATION...part3
Category: News and Politics

I used to be drawn to Democrats cuz they are more likely to be innovative and set trends. Now I understand why Republicans hate them for the same reasons. Late this afternoon, at the Mile High Tavern, Ken and I were fortifying ourselves for what we expected to be an inspiring night. Imagine our shock when the bartender turned on CNN and we see the Convention roll call taking place! What the fuck? Roll calls always happen Wednesday NIGHT! It was a premature acclaimation!!

Screwed by politicians again. I wanted to cry, but crying in a gay bar can lead to complications. Even if I was with Ken. I wanted to be in the arena when the representatives from each state stood up to announce how proud they are of having the world's largest ball of string or best Santa's Village in the South. I wanted to smell that unique assemblage of delegate sweat and Eau de Revolution. I wanted to fondle James Carville's head, dammit!

Obviously, we had no intention of spending one more dollar in the Denver city limits, so we went to the airport...it's easy to skip out on the tab at airport bars; plus, Ken loves airport gift shops. The airport is named Stapleton, which led to a small spat...I felt it was named after Jean Stapleton who played Edith on All in the Family, and Ken was sure it was named after Maureen Stapleton, who might be Irish. In any event, we were turned away when skycaps called security as soon as we set foot in a white zone. Evidently, either Ken or I was a bit too sloppy drunk, even by Denver standards...and neither of us could form a complete sentence in objection.

We plan to stay here in Colorado Springs for the night, then hit the road before sunrise. After picking up a few Air Force Academy sweats, and maybe the falcon mascot, we will turn north and head for Minneapolis, site of next week's Republican National Convention. Maybe they can get it right.

7:02 PM - 9 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

DNC in DENVER--PART 2
Category: News and Politics

The thing about Utah is that no matter which direction you look, the smell remains the same. Had we not overshot Colorado and needed to pull off I-70 in Utah to turn around, this fact would have eluded us. And, as our luck was running on fumes, the community we chose to turn around in was the only Amish settlement west of Ohio. Just try to find a bar in an Amish hamlet in Mormon Utah. Ken suggested that we should be hasty and aim for Grand Junction, Colorado. Evidently he had found that Grand Junction was safely across the border by studying I-70 on a map. (A map is sorta a prehistoric charting system, sorta like GPS but much cheaper and easier to use.)

We decided to stop over at Grand Junction, then hit Denver around noon Wednesday. As we crossed back over the Utah border, we were revisiting a discussion which first became a bugaboo many years ago...The Arquette Argument. You see, there are 4 Arquette siblings...Roseanne, Patricia, Alexis, and David. David married Courtney Cox, and Alexis had a sex change operation...which we felt wiser than marrying Courtney. Ken always had a crush on Roseanne; I guess cuz he was enamored with her ferret-face and bird-legs. I preferred meat with my potatoes, so I felt Patricia was a dandy dish...and she has an adorable snaggle tooth.

Every time we have this endless argument, I get a bit steamed but Ken is the Sea of Tranquility. I've only seen him lose his cool once...and I accept the credit. Many years ago we lived in a town that had a large pond in the local park. A few dozen ducks and maybe 6 swans made the pond home.  I made a habit on Sunday mornings, when citizens were at church getting right with God or still in bed just trying to get something right, I'd go feed the birds. The ducks stayed in the water and quacked for food, but the swans had no qualms about dry land. They happily ate out of my hand. I should mention that swans have lotsa teeth, but their teeth are like rounded nubs. When they grab food and bite, they pose no threat...actually, their teeth tickle. Anyway, one day my back hurt so I sat down and placed bits of bread on top of my sneakers, which the swans didn't mind a bit.  For the next 6 weeks we continued the sneaker ritual, and they got in the habit of simply climbing out of the pond and heading for my sneakers...it takes little to amuse me.  A couple of weeks later Ken tagged along, and as we approached the pond I gave him a few slices of bread. The swans climbed out of the pond and headed for the closest sneakers...Ken's. Did I mention that swans are fast and loud? Ken immediately backed up as the swans attacked his feet...then screamed and tried to run. The swans thought their food was escaping, so they doubled their efforts, causing Ken to panic and fall on the wet grass, whereupon the swans scaled him. And as he screamed and thrashed about, the swans became alarmed...causing a few of them to lose control of their bowels.

Ken and I never speak about that day. I was just thankful I could outrun him. Anyway, we are in Grand Junction in a nice motel with a kitchenette. Tonight I made our fave dish, falafel. I use chickpeas (instead of fava beans), Mediterranean spices, black olive pieces, and and put it in pita pockets with feta cheese. For dessert I made chocolate-covered bacon strips with maraschino cherries on the side. Sinful.

6:37 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Democrat National Convention...pour me another
Category: News and Politics

What would a Party be without your Chief News Anchor Gerbil? And I'm ready to sacrifice a week of my life so you don't have to watch one minute of the Convention on TV. I'll give an interpretation of every hand gesture from the podium, every scream from Rhode Island delegates ("We're over here!"), and every Hillary wince.

My travel partner is Ken, a buddy of over 30 years and an enigma in his own right. Viet vet who didn't get pissed off. Lousy Putt-Putt player, as I skinned him for $200 in 3 games. And a devout reader. Like me, he is pure Mensa...unlike me, he puts it to good use. Many years ago, as cable TV started to grow up and antennaes to  fall down, Ken had the idea of getting into the cable business. No, not building a cable empire...to actually manufacture cable. Countless miles of cable. When he asked me to be his venture partner, I slowly set down my moonpie and RC cola and told him to get back in the shade. Unlike me, he can be serious at times, and motivated, and successful. Enviable qualities if you are sitting on a spool table eating a Moonpie for lunch.

When I asked where we would get funding, as our respective relatives hide when they see us rounding the corner, he said the government wants to give us some...actually, ALOT. It seems that for years banks had shied away(and by "shied away" I mean slammed the doors) from minority loans. But apparently some uppity Democrats had passed a law encouraging banks to make "minority-owned business" loans by covering their financial asses and making them richer. Ken said the banks were especially keen on lending money to mixed-race partners...in this case me being melanin-challenged. I couldn't argue with him, as I was still eyeing my Moonpie and feeling a bit peckish.

I let Ken arrange all our bank meetings. All I had to do was show up, sit behind Ken as he made the spiel, and deviously raise my eyebrows every time the loan officers looked my way. This was Ken's instruction to me. Apparently if I acted a bit shifty, the loan officer would assume I had a plan...like pushing Ken out of the picture in a year or two. Hell, I was trying to figure out how I could escape. Cut to the chase: Ken made mega-millions with his factories and business sense...which easily surpassed mine. The only time I set foot in my university's business school was in 1970 as part of the "occupation" when we hippies closed down the college for 3 days. Ken agreed to buy me out of the business after a few tormented years, and we celebrated by unionizing the workers. He then quickly sold the entire operation for a fortune and followed his dream...to live with the peasants in the Bolivian mountains and study the native red-butt beetle.

When I got in touch with him a few weeks ago I was able to convince him to take a road trip to Denver with me, as we always used to enjoy rash hijinks together. Apparently my call came at the right time...it was beetle mating season and, to quote Ken, "You see 2 beetles screw, you've seen millions of them screw". Touche! So he flew up and we hit the road.

In Arkansas it dawned on him...why Denver? So I had to explain that the Democratic Convention was about to fire up, and that there was only one actor left, Barack Obama. He noted that it was good to see the Arab cause getting a shot at the White House...so I told him the truth. He immediately sent the car careening as he pulled to the side of the road, then turned to me and asked, "A brother?". I said not my brother, as I backed Hillary...and I still think Obama looks like an undertaker on a golf course. Knowing Ken as I do, it was no surprise that he simply slipped back into traffic. He's not the excitable type. Once, we were sitting in front of a space heater with our sock feet warming over it as we sipped hot cocoa. One of his socks (the left one) caught fire and he calmly asked me to bring the bottle of cold water from the fridge. (It wouldn't be hard to find...it was the ONLY thing in the fridge.) Unfortunately, I jumped up and ran smack into the wall, knocking myself out. It was about that time he scaled back his reliance on me to a more reasonable level.

Anyway, we aren't in Denver. We're in Utah. We overshot Colorado a bit when we got into a long, intense discussion about...um...er...huh, must not have been all that important.

6:40 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Value Friends...a blog repost
Category: Friends

This year I lost 2 old friends...and a pal just lost one of her friends...and Edie posted a sensitive blog...so here is a repost.

4:42 AM - 8 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Sunaday Notes and Motes...
Category: MySpace

Can you believe it? Only 4 more months in 2008--Year of the Gerbil. As I find increasingly more tan leaves on my back deck, I get all squishy inside thinking about what Autumn brings. Yes, my Phearless Pigskin Prognostications. And Thelma's Apple Cider (see 2nd blog back). And while we wait, let's see how Gerbil Land is doing today...

A man in L.A. was sentenced to 2 years in jail for brutally killing a cat. This brings me unfettered joy and a renewed faith in La-La-Landers...the silicon from their megabooberies may be leaking, but not to their heads. Who wants to sign my petition suggesting the evil dude be housed with cat-lovers?

The End of the World As We Know It--As if we don't have enough to tie our collective short-hairs in a knot, what with gas prices and Republican Agendas, there is a new threat coming from Norway, of all places. For a couple of years a group of scientists from around the world have gathered in a pastoral area there where they roosted in a huge warehouse. There they have built a mega-structure to study black holes by attempting to create one! As you know, a black hole is a space phenomenon in which the gravitational field is strong enough to prevent everything, including light, from escaping. Think of it as Uber-Hoover. Before a naive nearby mass is sucked into said black hole, it undergoes "spaghettification" ( the scientific term, actually) in which the item is stretched and deformed. The effect is sorta like putting Gumby in a microwave for 30 seconds, then  pulling him apart with an evil grin. The scientists assure us that if they are successful, it will pose no threat to us. Right. Our only consolation is that they will be closest to it when it arises, so we will hear their hideous screams before the Big Whoosh.

Good news! Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi got married! I was quite flustered several months ago when they seemed headed for Splitsville. Ellen wanted to go legit, and Portia wanted a solarium. Happily, Ellen got her dream and Portia got a dog. And, as usual in Hollywood, the man is 15 years older that the woman.

Congrats to Michael Phelps on winning 8 gold medals! You may be one goofy-looking character (aren't we all when compared to pandas?) but you are an inspiration. (Sorry, Mia, I don't have anything sarcastic to say here.)

Be Careful What You Wish For--Thomas Turnour of San Bernadino dreamed of winning the lottery for years, and in 2001 his dream came true, winning 10 million dollars. Which meant he could now buy an endless supply of alcohol...and drive drunk...and kill 3 people...and be sentenced to 17 years in prison. Oh, the victims families have been awarded every penny he had.

Finally, I want to give you a smidge of hope as we wind down the Year of the Gerbil. For more than a decade the severe religious right has been stirring our democratic pudding with its grubby fingers. However, over the last few years a counter-movement has been messin' with them and is about to shut them up for a long time to come. Who are these valiant warriors of free thought and progressive policies? None other than evangelicals. That's right, baby, they are back, hear them roar. For several years they have been grinding their teeth each time a Falwell or Dobson dragged them down the path of the Christian Coalition. But no more, as they have hijacked the Bad Bus and are turning it around. Guess what they consider more important issue-wise than abortion and family values? Lifting the unfortunates around the world from poverty and saving the environment (God's gift, ya know? Duh!). Bless them, for they have entered the Kingdom of Gerbilness.

5:20 AM - 10 Comments - 9 Kudos - Add Comment

Antiques, Apples, and the Redneck Mafia--PART 3
Category: Life

...I still blame Rich for the Hiway Hooker with a knife episode. Even someone with one eye can create havoc with a knife. And the car upholstery is a testiment to my words.

We pulled into the auction site parking lot about 6 pm. At the end of the crushed granite stone lot was an immense barnish structure. The wood exterior had decades of weathering, and it looked quite spooky...Salems Lot came to mind. Once inside I could easily see why auctioneers use the place...it was long and rectagular in shape, and on the concrete floor sat rows of ex-church seats. Lined along the walls was antique furnititure of a variety of styles and conditions. At one end of the room was a small dais with accompanying microphone and side table. Behind the dais was an open door which led to what I assumed was an office. As Rich and I wandered about (there were maybe another dozen folks doing the same...scoping out the goods for tomorrow night's auction) we were struck by the multitude of items. We later learned that the auctioneer and his partners had made a road trip through Tenn., Kent., and Ohio buying up a slew of merchandise from estate sales.

Rich and I discovered a few pieces which interested us. When we asked one of the hired muscle guys about them, he told us to talk to the guys in the office. Upon entering the office, I was overwhelmed by cigar smoke and the reek of beef jerky. There was an enormous old pot bellied stove in one corner which was aglow and combating the Autumn chill. On the walls were a variety of ex-creatures, mostly mammals, which met untimely deaths. There was no office desk to speak of, but in the center of the room was a large round oak table surrounded by cheap captains chairs which supported the fat asses of the auction owners. Actually, two were owners, the rest were partners-in-crime, as I later discovered. The 4 men were not too nattily attired...unless you consider size 54 dungarees and bib overalls a fashion statement.

Not wanting to dally, Rich hurried to ask them a few questions about a couple of cadenzas, and I inquired about an overhead projector circa 1928 and a set of depression glass, American Rose pattern. (Yeah, I had a glass fetish way back then...just didn't know it.) Before we could flee, one of the uglies asked us if we wanted to sit in on a few hands of poker, as they had just sat down to a relaxing game. Rich, who can't pass up an opportunity to snake a few bucks out of the less intelligent, quickly said thanks deal us in. Over the next few hours, I got a crash course in Texas hold'em (lost only $12, but that coulda gone towards the $15 for my next Stevie Wonder ticket) and the redneck culture. As we were leaving, the auctioneer, who was the lead man in the obese posse, pulled me aside. Apparently, he took a liking to me...no, not in a Deliverence way...and told me I was welcome to come back anytime and sit in on another game. I think he saw me as a civilized mascot. And he whispered, "Leave your buddy at home. Bubba doesn't trust him".

Over the next few months I went to Talmo often. I learned a heap about the finer points of poker...and heaps more. ("Heap" is a Southern term for "lotsa", Phil.) The auctioneer had a day job as head of the Redneck Mafia in the surrounding counties. Back in the 70's it was a lucrative business. They didn't fool with drug dealing or money laundering, as such plum pursuits hadn't blossomed yet in the mountains. They concentrated on Sunday alcohol sales (and daily sales in "dry' counties). And furnishing hookers for truck stops, honkey tonks, and low-life motels. They also owned 4 long-bed tow trucks with which the driver could lower the backs of the beds, attach a winch chain and hook to an abandoned car, and pull said car aboard. Then off to the redneck chop shop. The most cost effective endeavor was stealing large farm machinery. They had no qualms about slipping onto a farmers property and absconding with his tractor.

Though I enjoyed the many nights spent in Talmo, I eventually had to decide whether my sociological expeditions were best abandoned. Bubba disappeared and was found a few days later finely shredded by an American Harvester. At the poker table that night the guys were cracking wise about how sturdy American Harvesters are. Thus, my education ended.

5:41 AM - 6 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Antiques, Apple Cider, and the Redneck Mafia
Category: Life

Good morning Gerbil buddies. Many of you have written asking me about my philosophy of life. Well, if you want to be bored, talk to your teenagers. Instead, I'll tell you a true story.

Many years ago I was puttering along, working as a Dept. of Corrections counselor, doing the day-to-day, etc. I needed a boost. One day my pal Richard, who loved antiques, suggested we go to an estate sale. We arrived about half an hour before the auction was set to begin so we could look at the items on the block. Nothing truly interesting, so we asked the auctioneer if there was anything in the guest house for sale. He said, "Nothing important, but take a look". He was right, just useless junk...except an interesting mariner's chest which Rich admired. Upon opening it he said, "Just old clothes". They looked rather cool to me, so we asked the auctioneer to sell the chest and contents together. And for $75.00 we got the lot.

At Rich's home we examined our separate treasures. As he considered ways to refurbish his chest, I started examining the clothes. Hmm..a Gloria Vanderbilt cocktail dress from the 20's...three "flapper" dresses...4 crushed velvet capes...a matching beaded short stole and muff from around 1915...and lots more. Holy Shit! the Mother Lode!

Fortunately, in the 70's, authentic retro clothes were hot, hot, hot. And I found a new profitable hobby. And by "profitable' I mean I told the State to shove its job...who needs that kind of depression? And Rich and I decided to expand our horizons by making road trips to auctions around the South. The first auction we went to was in the north Georgia mountains outside a town named Talmo. We first made a trip up there Friday to get a close-up look at the items to be sold Saturday night.

Since it was Fall, the trip through the countryside was beautiful...trees in full Autumn colors, crisp clean air, passing the occassional horse farm, etc. As we neared Talmo we passed a small hardscrabble shack which had a crudely painted "Thelmas Apples" sign by the road. Thinking perhaps his long-lost siblings might live there, we pulled over. Walking onto the property I was struck by its unkempt personality. There were no veggie gardens or croplines, no trucks in the weedy areas (Hell, it was all weeds), and the few chickens that roamed about seemed quite confused. In response to our hollers, a massive woman about 50 years old came out of a small broken-down shed. We asked her if she had fresh apple cider for sale, and she said, "Let me call Thelma", then drooled tobacco juice down her flannel shirt. About 2 minutes after she hollered ( lotsa hollerin' goes on in the mountain regions) for Thelma, a decrepit soul appeared from behind the shed. It would be accurate to say that though the shed had fallen into disrepair many years ago, it looked brand new in comparison to Thelma. She was in her 90's, her age spots had age spots, and what few teeth remained in her head were looking to escape. Thelma motioned for us to join her in the shed. Once inside I realized that the shed may have looked tiny from our view from the front, but it was quite long, inhabited by an apple cold press and long shelves holding plastic gallon jugs of  murky brown liquids. Thelma poured out some of the cider into a nasty chipped mug for us to sample. My first thought was next week's newspaper headline, "Two city boys dead from lead poisoning". But it was damn good! We settled on a price for 4 jugs, then Rich asked the question I knew he would. Did she have anything stronger? Thelma glanced at the Massive Woman before breaking into a huge grin, revealing what I would swear was a serpentine tongue. She then slowly led us behind the shed and up a path to where she had been when we first arrived...at her still. There were a few short logs arranged nearby and Massive Woman suggested firmly that we sit down before having a taste. Sage advise, as Rich and I both swooned from the fumes that came from the ladle Thelma offered us. To say that I felt the enamel peel away from my teeth as I took a sip would be folly. But my lips did go numb and my sinuses cleared up for the first time in years. Rich and I agreed the stuff was too strong for us...and we bought 2 Mason jars filled to the lids.

...to be continued...

4:16 AM - 9 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

Olympic’s Opening Ceremony Artists...
Category: Art and Photography

Several months ago I wrote a blog in which I mentioned how much I anticipated the opening ceremony for the Olympics. The I.O.C. had selected the pyrotechnics artist Cai Guo-Qiang to create a spectacular. In addition, Zhang Yimou, director of "Red Sorghum" and "Raise the Red Lantern", was chosen as the artistic director. Here, I thought, was the perfect blending of philosophy in fireworks and creative sensitivity.

I doubt anyone was disappointed by the spectacular they delivered to the world. I'm not going to recount the display, as its power is no doubt fresh in your mind. However, if you live near NYC you might want to contact the Guggenheim Museum to see if Cai's retrospective is still there.

Naturally, this being 2008--Year of the Gerbil, I'm thinking about how to bring this glorious 12 months to a proper conclusion. And what better way than a month (December) of fireworks? So I've contacted my secret source for semi-legal fireworks...Bubba's Ya'll Yell Bangers on Hiway 23 outside Aiken, S.C. (Hiya Bubba! Is the fish hook still stuck in your nipple?) Luckily, December isn't a real hot month in  the sales world of fireworks, so snagging a huge inventory is no problem. Sure, I'd like to hire Cai to assist in the celebration, but his personal assistant insists he will be busy...for the entire month. Right...that's a brush-off if I ever heard one...what, he has big Christmas plans? So I'm doing the next best thing, considering I need folks who are experienced with fireworks. I'm putting ads in newspapers (and online) nationwide calling on those of you who have lost a finger or been partially (not fully) blinded by fireworks that got the better of you. Two reasons for this--(1) you likely now know what not to do, and (2) my insurance cost will be lower as you have a "pre-existing" condition.

Naturally, not many of you will be here in Athens to enjoy the blast, so I will be franchising my idea to anyone interested. Let's see if we can have some nice Gerbil "Oohs" and "Aahs" in hundreds of cities, towns, and hamlets! Please let me know by October 15th if you are interested, as Bubba will be at a spa in Sedona all of November. After eating pit BBQ pig and drinking grain alcohol all summer, Bubba has to re-aline his chi in the Fall.

3:47 AM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Bush Economic Stimulation Plan...
Category: News and Politics

Greetings! As you know, I, your Supreme Gerbil, have decided against running for President. But I still represent you and will fight your battles. Therefore, I will be discussing issues important to us all...some timely, some distant stinky memories. For example, Bush's Economic Stimulation Plan. (If you snickered at the sexual innuendo of this phrase, bless you.)

I received my $600.00 government bribe last week and threw it at bills rather than making a down payment on a Super Scooter. I know you did the same. So who truly did put their windfall back into the economy with this lackluster buying power? Well, 2 groups of non-Gerbils. First, the extremely wealthy, who made a payment on the yacht, the plastic surgery, the new solarium, etc. Second were the crackheads who took a week off from their daily routine of burglary, theft, etc. in order to, well, buy lotsa crack. Your tax dollars at work.

You know quite well that I'm not a Negative Nellie. When confronted with an uber-challenge, I go to the Gerbil Think Tank to crunch numbers and granola. I discovered we are trillions of dollars in debt, and that Sunrise makes a grand granola. Be of good cheer, as I offer several crackerjack solutions to our crippling debt. Now remember...50% of something is better than 100% of nothing.

Hawaii. Been there lately? Hell, no! You can't afford it, and it's 3 time zones away from the mainland. Let's sell it, lock, stock, and ukulele. We won't miss it. Besides, my ex-girlfriend lives there...so let's block all air traffic between Hawaii and the real U.S. Oh, you think having an odd number of states is treacherous? Sell Maine as well, but keep the lobster rights.

We can agree the rocketing cost of health care has sent many of us back to Medieval surgical solutions. Two words: Organ Bingo. Many of you baby boomers have spent a lifetime riding the nicotine train and will need a lung or two. Wouldn't you like to have a shot at winning a few in a dandy game of bingo? And who wouldn't like to have a certificate for one year of free dialysis? I know the all the creaky old 60's bands would, and they are cool.

When was the last time you used Tickermaster to purchase your way into a ball game/theater/concert, etc.? Remember that huge surcharge? Well, I wanna extinctify that. Ticketmaster will be required to hire only morons, idiots, and imbeciles as ticket sellers. Next time you buy a sweet ticket and the operator tells you that you owe a $4.00 surcharge, just tell him/her you already paid it. They will have to take you at your word, as they can't understand the order form in front of them anyway.

What, in the sphere of your depleted lifestyle, hoovers the money out of your retirement account the quickest? That's right, kids. Sure, they are adorable maybe a dozen times in their first 18 years, but that's a losing proposition. We can't put them to work, as we are a civilized Gerbil Nation. And we can't just put them in the streets, as they will crap there and clog up our storm drains. So let's lower their expectations. They don't need new clothes every Fall...Hell, I still wear a T-shirt from 1978. And they have strong teeth...cut back on dental appointments. (Oh..no more braces for kids...buck teeth are cute on super models, so let's level the playing field.) If the lil creatures complain, tell them to talk to PETA. 

Abandon unnecessay expenses. Like psychics. Last week it was reported that more and more of us are turning to psychics to solve our economic problems like, "Is it a good time to sell my house and move in with my neighbor?"and "Should I dissolve my 401K and invest in honey bees?". Well, I can't convince those of you who are foolish enough to be victimized by psychics to stop. But I can save you thousands...let's enslave psychics and put them to work. Imagine the warm fuzziness you will feel when you look up at a telephone pole and see a psychic in her turban and earring glory connecting a transformer. Sure, they haven't a clue as to how electricty works, but I'm counting on that...if ya know what I mean.

Those are just a few of my cost-cutting ideas. But you want to know how to increase your income as well, right? How does the Gerbil Pyramid Scheme sound? Pretty damn sexy! It works like most pyramid schemes...you get a list of ten people...you send $500.00 to the person on the top of the list, then cross them off...then add your name to the bottom of the list...then send out ten copies. No doubt, you realize that eventually this scheme arrives at a "tailend" where the last multitude of people get screwed. No problem, Bunky. As we run out of newly wealthy Americans, the list will be passed on to citizens of Dubai, the richest nation on Earth.

As you can see, I attack problems head-on. To quote Roseanne Barr, "The quickest way to a man's heart is through his chest".

4:12 AM - 11 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Presidential Election 2008--Year of the Gerbil
Category: News and Politics

The other day I received a snail mail letter with no return address, just the word "Spamela" scribbled in the upper left corner of the envelope:

   Dear David--

   I've been wondering why you didn't consider running for President, cuz you always say 2008 is the Year of the Gerbil.  We surely need someone like you to discipline the politicians in this sad country. And you are sooo Gerbiliscious! I could eat you up. Better yet, you can turn me over your knee and...

Well, Faithful Troops, I'm sure many of you have wondered the same. I considered it. After all, I am your ringleader, your provocateur, your Supreme Gerbil. But are you (expletive deleted) (see, I'm already talking like a politician!) crazy? C'mon Bunky, have you lost your mind? Sure, I'm a fine Gerbil role model. And if you want an expert on racoons, cats, nipples, goats, chocolate, etc., I'm your handservant and muse. You want a sure-fire pigskin progostication, look no further.

But look at the facts. I'm so lazy and selfish that I fired myself! (see blog) And even I know I deserved it! For God's sake, the Dalai Lama kicked me in the shins. And he is enlightened. Face it...the biggest pussy in the world kicked me and i just skulked back to the sidelines. (see blog, dammit) If I were a secure, confident, arrogant American I would have responded as any citizen would--go get an automatic weapon and shoot him in the back.

Imagine the scenario with me as President. A lobbyist drops by and makes an intriguing offer...that if I invade Germany, I can have German chocolate cake for breakfast every morning. I'd be fire-bombing Dresden before you could say "wienerschnitzel". And could you blame me? What if my cousin tells me that by crushing India I wouldn't have to talk to a Patel everytime I call AT&T. I'd lead battalions of  armored cows outfitted with surface-to-surface missles across the border. You can count on it. If some ne'er-do-well assures me the way to win the War on Drugs is to find a suitable substitute for drugs...legalizing pedophilia, for example...well, lock up your young ones, cuz I'm not too bright.

I'm not gullible, but I would want to be the very best Gerbil President and make the Gerbiltudes happy. And, as you can see, I'm not good at particulars. Never have been. I do have some ideas of my own, though. I think everytime your put a quarter in a parking meter, the meter maid with bad breath should leave a dollar bill under your windshield wiper. And my plan to conserve our energy resourses could win me a Nobel Prize...everyone sleeps 18 hours a day! Except for those who support the radical Christian Right...they will be given permanent rest, if you get my drift.

Don't misunderstand...I feel blessed to receive all your Gerbil adoration and respect. And if we ever have a giant Gerbil Minstrel Show, I would want each and every one of you to get to sit on an end chair. But truth be told, you don't want me kissing your babies. At least, not until my pesky sore goes away.

3:18 PM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment