I don't know if it was just me, but the whole dream of having Hillary Clinton as President made me long for the heady days of the James Buchanan administration, when the House of Representatives was like four votes shy of enacting legislation that would have banned any estrogen-bearing beings from White House jobs higher than "cook" and "laundress." You can bet that the Bachelor (read: gay) President most certainly would have signed that bill into law, believe me. And then, poof, no Civil War, because banning women from the Casa Blanca (hey, I just got that!) is an idea that EVERYONE, North or South, slaveholders or do-it-yourselfers, could get behind. Stupid James Buchanan, ruining everything for everyone. I mean, I know it's 2008 and all, but does anyone in America really want the White House at the whim of a woman's delicate hormonal cycle, and I don't care if she IS post-menopausal?
No, said America, according to Iowa, the Greatest State. No, we do not. Emphatically. Even if you are married to the sexiest former President since Matty Van Buren.
Sorry, Hill. I hope your holidays were nice anyway.
Mine were. Except for a bad case of Wii arm which I got from playing 21 consecutive, extremely irate innings of Wii Sports baseball during which I managed roughly 5 hits - including the errors when little exclamation points (which I assume are stand-ins for actual swearing) appeared above the heads of the fielders on the other team, or as I like to call them, "the bad guys." Seriously, the lesson here is not to make New Year's resolutions that you will blog every day because you will only set yourself up for failure a mere one days later - or at least, don't make those kind of resolutions if you have a Nintendo Wii in the basement of your suburban home in the suburbs with a baseball game that is just BEGGING to be made an example of.
I'm tired now, so I need to get back to drinking my scary colored Passion tea from Starbucks which I got as a Secret Satan gift at the Copse's annual holiday bash and pineapple-upside-down cake party. We're not like you. We don't have a plain old holiday party - not since Dole decided to eliminate cash bonuses in favor of CANNED bonuses, anyway. We all bake pineapple-upside-down cake (sometimes with rum) and get totally sick eating it all in one sitting. And we give Secret Satan gifts. I got tea from Starbucks because caffeine is as precious around here as a gold-plated rooster statue.
Seriously, this tea is BLOOD PURPLE.
You may not think of blood as purple, but cut yourself open and you'll see it is exactly the same color as my cup of tea. And also, you just got an infection. You totally should have sterilized that knife before you gouged into your own flesh, dummy.
I'm pretty sure making the tea this color was someone's idea of a funny, funny joke, like having a woman president. I strongly suspect my good buddy Alex "Dashing through the snow in a one-horse-open sleigh-Rod" Rodriguez, though his pranks usually involve wheels of smoked Gouda cheese and his genitalia hanging in the breeze for all of New York to see.
Happy fucking whatever.
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