Matt's Debate Summary: Blah blah blah Obama, blah blah blah McCain, 90 minutes, and not one "yo mama" joke. Like, "yo mama's so poor, she would qualify for a tax cut under both of our tax policies," or "yo mama's so fat that all of our impressive strides in airport security are probably an added difficulty for her," or "yo mama's so old, she was there for McCain's first debate, which was scheduled to pit him against a velociraptor, but McCain successfully managed to avoid that debate by postponing it until after the dinosaurs went extinct a mere 5,000 years ago."
Not one.
Just a lot of mumbo jumbo about policies and other countries and how K-Mart commercials, the belwether of the advertising industry, have really sucked since Rosie O'Donnell and Penny Marshall stopped doing product endorsement.
The whole hour and a half, do you know what I was thinking? Three things:
A. I hope Jesus is watching this*
B. What the fuck am I supposed to do with the 250 "O vs. O" banners I had printed after Jim Lehrer told me that they were going to let Oscar the Grouch stand in for John McCain? And why is that the third time this week I got seduced and lied to by a PBS show anchor? God!
C. What if I made a calendar with pictures of nuns stripping and called it, "Getting Out of the Habit?"
That last idea has promise.
*Of course Jesus is watching this. Jesus watches everything we do and takes notes on who's' naughty and who's nice, just like the government, and Santa Claus.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Reports of Advancing Ice in Hell...
Dear Clay Aiken,
Okay.
I can deal with the Fannie Mae collapse. I can deal with the government buying AIG. I can deal with the entire economic sector on the verge of meltdown. But you? Teh gay?
This, sir, is too much.
This is a time to set aside our partisan blinders, to forget that we are Republicans and Democrats, to ignore the bitter schism between those of us who voted for you and those of us who voted for Ruben Studdard. This is a time for idle Americans and American Idols to come together as one to solve our nation's problems, and then to vigorously massage our nation's shoulders with warm oil, like you did to me at that party in Seattle when you swore that you weren't gay.
Seriously, what the fuck are you thinking? Is this really the time to make shocking announcements? Haven't we - meaning you and me, but also all of America - been through enough this week? Mortgages are going bad. Banks are failing. Must we also now face the knowledge that you, Clay G. Aiken, are a member of Dumbledore's Army? Must we now also be forced to learn that the G is for Gay, and not for Gilbert, as was previously reported?
For shame, sir.
I think you should suspend your homosexuality and fly back to Washington, DC to meet with the president and the other leaders of Congress about how best to handle the current economic crisis.
Oops, I meant, I think you should suspend your homosexuality and fly back to Washington, DC to meet with the president and the other leaders of Congress about how best to handle the current economic crisis, you homo.
Seriously, I can't believe you're gay. You swore to me that you weren't. You swore, Clay. I am so never making out with you again. I hope you drop dead, but in a very prissy and obviously homosexual way.
But I do have a question: are gay people capable of finding themselves attractive? Because if so, ew.
Okay, bye!
Love and kisses, but in a totally manly and appropriate way,
Smokey.
Okay.
I can deal with the Fannie Mae collapse. I can deal with the government buying AIG. I can deal with the entire economic sector on the verge of meltdown. But you? Teh gay?
This, sir, is too much.
This is a time to set aside our partisan blinders, to forget that we are Republicans and Democrats, to ignore the bitter schism between those of us who voted for you and those of us who voted for Ruben Studdard. This is a time for idle Americans and American Idols to come together as one to solve our nation's problems, and then to vigorously massage our nation's shoulders with warm oil, like you did to me at that party in Seattle when you swore that you weren't gay.
Seriously, what the fuck are you thinking? Is this really the time to make shocking announcements? Haven't we - meaning you and me, but also all of America - been through enough this week? Mortgages are going bad. Banks are failing. Must we also now face the knowledge that you, Clay G. Aiken, are a member of Dumbledore's Army? Must we now also be forced to learn that the G is for Gay, and not for Gilbert, as was previously reported?
For shame, sir.
I think you should suspend your homosexuality and fly back to Washington, DC to meet with the president and the other leaders of Congress about how best to handle the current economic crisis.
Oops, I meant, I think you should suspend your homosexuality and fly back to Washington, DC to meet with the president and the other leaders of Congress about how best to handle the current economic crisis, you homo.
Seriously, I can't believe you're gay. You swore to me that you weren't. You swore, Clay. I am so never making out with you again. I hope you drop dead, but in a very prissy and obviously homosexual way.
But I do have a question: are gay people capable of finding themselves attractive? Because if so, ew.
Okay, bye!
Love and kisses, but in a totally manly and appropriate way,
Smokey.
News from the Campaign Front
I'll be honest, the atmosphere around the Oscar the Grouch '08 campaign offices has been pretty grim lately. We fumbled what looked like sure endorsements from jerk rimjob the blah (aka judge reinhold, whose name is still unworthy of capitalization), and from Ron Paul - although we were able to claim at least a minor victory in getting him to endorse third party candidates in general. The category definitely includes us, so in the most technical of senses, we actually did get Ron Paul's endorsement. Then again, technically, so did the freaking Communists.
We're also making zero headway with the Children's Television Workshop and noted chef Jim Henson. CTW is still pretending not to read this blog, and Jim Henson, it turns out, is dead. (Spoiler alert.) Bobby Flay was willing to come on board to help us out, but the grilled Gonzo he auditioned with was fucking terrible. What a hack.
Also, we have no money. The only greenbacks in the entire campaign office are the green backs of Oscar's puppeteer-controlled hands, which he keeps slapping me with every time I deliver him another piece of bad news. And bad news hasn't exactly been in short supply lately. So we got domestic abuse going for us too. But please don't tell Oscar I told you, or I don't even know what he'll do - probably send me to Bobby Flay's house to be made into inedible smoked Smokey.
I am pleased, however, to announce two pieces of good news today, the proverbial silver linings on the cloud that is otherwise raining bird shit and dog shit and the pain of being slapped by a Muppet all over me.
Firstly, we have dumped Pervez Musharraf from the ticket. Oscar's new vice president will be pause none other than drum roll sound effect Miss Piggy exclamation point.
Something seems wrong with that last sentence. But NOTHING seems wrong with our new VP choice, a pig that you can truly put lipstick on, although you will get viciously karate chopped if you try. True, Miss Piggy may not have a retarded baby, but she does have some pretty weird-looking children on account of being married to a puppet frog.
As expected, the Mrs. Miss Piggy the Frog selection has considerably shored up our support among the Muppet American community, where we currently hold a 65-30 lead over Barack Obama, who has been widely mistaken for a Muppet because of his massive ears. Other than that, putting Piggy on the ticket has done jack squat. For me personally, it means having to deal with the two most high maintenance puppets this side of Statler and Waldorf, both of whom have endorsed John McCain, by the way.
Still, it qualifies as good news, because Oscar and Miss Piggy told me so, and because they're the ones with their fingers on the buttons that, when pressed, administer high-level electrical shocks to the battery clamps on my singed nipples. Please, if you're reading this, send help. These fuckers are vicious!
I'm kidding! I love being tortured by icons of children's television! Where was I? It's so tough to concentrate past the blinding pain...
Oh, right - the second bit of good news. Which is this: no matter what else happens, Jesus is still my friend.
And he'll zap you any way he can. Word. Who needs to win an election when you have friends like this?
We're also making zero headway with the Children's Television Workshop and noted chef Jim Henson. CTW is still pretending not to read this blog, and Jim Henson, it turns out, is dead. (Spoiler alert.) Bobby Flay was willing to come on board to help us out, but the grilled Gonzo he auditioned with was fucking terrible. What a hack.
Also, we have no money. The only greenbacks in the entire campaign office are the green backs of Oscar's puppeteer-controlled hands, which he keeps slapping me with every time I deliver him another piece of bad news. And bad news hasn't exactly been in short supply lately. So we got domestic abuse going for us too. But please don't tell Oscar I told you, or I don't even know what he'll do - probably send me to Bobby Flay's house to be made into inedible smoked Smokey.
I am pleased, however, to announce two pieces of good news today, the proverbial silver linings on the cloud that is otherwise raining bird shit and dog shit and the pain of being slapped by a Muppet all over me.
Firstly, we have dumped Pervez Musharraf from the ticket. Oscar's new vice president will be pause none other than drum roll sound effect Miss Piggy exclamation point.
Something seems wrong with that last sentence. But NOTHING seems wrong with our new VP choice, a pig that you can truly put lipstick on, although you will get viciously karate chopped if you try. True, Miss Piggy may not have a retarded baby, but she does have some pretty weird-looking children on account of being married to a puppet frog.
As expected, the Mrs. Miss Piggy the Frog selection has considerably shored up our support among the Muppet American community, where we currently hold a 65-30 lead over Barack Obama, who has been widely mistaken for a Muppet because of his massive ears. Other than that, putting Piggy on the ticket has done jack squat. For me personally, it means having to deal with the two most high maintenance puppets this side of Statler and Waldorf, both of whom have endorsed John McCain, by the way.
Still, it qualifies as good news, because Oscar and Miss Piggy told me so, and because they're the ones with their fingers on the buttons that, when pressed, administer high-level electrical shocks to the battery clamps on my singed nipples. Please, if you're reading this, send help. These fuckers are vicious!
I'm kidding! I love being tortured by icons of children's television! Where was I? It's so tough to concentrate past the blinding pain...
Oh, right - the second bit of good news. Which is this: no matter what else happens, Jesus is still my friend.
And he'll zap you any way he can. Word. Who needs to win an election when you have friends like this?
Monday, September 22, 2008
Couldn't you just slide off your chair looking at this guy?
Oh my Zod, check this OUT.
Fast forward to 3:25 if you want to skip the dreck and get right to the good stuff. I'm talking, of course, about Bob Barker's exquisite coiffure. Hide your vaginas, ladies, for no female body part will be safe from the awesome erotic force that is Bob Barker's hair.
I'm trying to swallow my jealousy, but it tastes awful, like someone put too much soy milk in it.
Fast forward to 3:25 if you want to skip the dreck and get right to the good stuff. I'm talking, of course, about Bob Barker's exquisite coiffure. Hide your vaginas, ladies, for no female body part will be safe from the awesome erotic force that is Bob Barker's hair.
I'm trying to swallow my jealousy, but it tastes awful, like someone put too much soy milk in it.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Hitting the Links
Dear Jesus,
I freakhog LOVE THIS.
I thought You were maybe slightly offended with my idea for what to do with the host wafers. But this tells me You're ready to put a whole new spin on the marketing ideas for "body of Christ."
Now maybe You and me could get together and make that Sausage a little "Smokey," if you know what I'm saying. (I'm implying that We should have teh gay sex.)
Toodles,
Smokey Robinson
from Slog
I freakhog LOVE THIS.
I thought You were maybe slightly offended with my idea for what to do with the host wafers. But this tells me You're ready to put a whole new spin on the marketing ideas for "body of Christ."
Now maybe You and me could get together and make that Sausage a little "Smokey," if you know what I'm saying. (I'm implying that We should have teh gay sex.)
Toodles,
Smokey Robinson
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Dr. Ahab
Hi, everybuzzy. Smokey L. Robinson here, and I'm tellin' you the truth today. Starting with this: the L is for Love. Smokey Love Robinson. I'll give the ladies a minute to recover before I continue.
Okay.
We're taking a short trip back in time now, to a little over a month ago, the day that I sauntered past "The Future." As I mentioned, I was coming out of an early-morning medical procedure when I saw The Future. It wasn't hard to imagine I'd be seeing something, since, also as I mentioned, I was on some absolutely awesome anesthetic (hereinafter, the "AAA").
I got a call this week from my gastrointerologist, with what seemed like good news. "Your biopsy came back negative," meaning, in this case, that I don't have Celiac Sprue. I know, thank Zod, right? So I can go on eating anything I want, but the mysterious stomach pains which sometimes plague me will evidently go on unexplained. This is why I say it seemed like good news.
The doctor told me to watch out for spicy foods and dairy, which is exactly what I told him was my problem in our first meeting in June or July. But the thing is, we already knew that. Everyone knows the perils of eating spicy food. It's why Indian people and country singers make such great masochists: you can overdo it with the cumin, but you run the social risk of committing the massive party foul of crapping your pants.
But I am neither Indian nor a country singer. I'm just your average bloggerizer with a trick digestive tract.
It's a month since my visit to the [redacted] Center, and I'm finally finishing coming down from the AAA, or perhaps it's the roofie I got slipped last night at the bar when I accidentally drank that chick's cosmopolitan instead of mine. It's three months since my first visit to Dr. [redacted], whom I had really hoped would be a better criminologist. This is what I was thinking last night, when it occurred to me that maybe he was a better criminologist than that. Maybe I was the one unsolvable case that was torturing him and keeping him up nights. Maybe he was tuning in to reruns of House, or ER, or Grey's Anatomy, or Scrubs (Zod, I hope it wasn't Scrubs), trying to find some clue as to what was wrong with me.
Audible gasp! Maybe I was his white whale! I read Moby-Dick once! (Once!) I am therefore qualified to make this analogy! Maybe he was up nights, sitting at the kitchen table in front of a stack of books and a six-year-old laptop trailing wires to the wall because its battery was dead, searching the realm of available knowledge (including WebMD) for an answer. Maybe he was back to the late-night drinking, smoking again too, rubbing his jowls or the freshly waxed top of his head and muttering sweet nothings into his stethoscope. I mean, maybe the mysterious ailment that was eating me up inside was eating him up inside too!
Now, I realize that strays a little bit from more traditional representations of Ahab and Moby Dick, that maybe my gut was really more like Sir Gawaine's green dragon. I also understand that my "Dr. [redacted]'s Office as Pequod" allegory completely neglects the role of Starbuck, who may have been represented by the stern and stentorian, yet somehow warm and welcoming German woman who manned the actual office at the Dr. [redacted]'s office. I'm not really sure how, though. And the thing is, I don't really know Sir Gawaine. I read Moby-Dick once (once!), and Ahab went crazy trying to catch that whale, much like I hope Dr. [redacted] goes trying to solve my stomach issue.
I would love to read the story of that doctor's slow descent into madness. Three months till Christmas, everybuzzy. Let's get busy on this one.
Okay.
We're taking a short trip back in time now, to a little over a month ago, the day that I sauntered past "The Future." As I mentioned, I was coming out of an early-morning medical procedure when I saw The Future. It wasn't hard to imagine I'd be seeing something, since, also as I mentioned, I was on some absolutely awesome anesthetic (hereinafter, the "AAA").
I got a call this week from my gastrointerologist, with what seemed like good news. "Your biopsy came back negative," meaning, in this case, that I don't have Celiac Sprue. I know, thank Zod, right? So I can go on eating anything I want, but the mysterious stomach pains which sometimes plague me will evidently go on unexplained. This is why I say it seemed like good news.
The doctor told me to watch out for spicy foods and dairy, which is exactly what I told him was my problem in our first meeting in June or July. But the thing is, we already knew that. Everyone knows the perils of eating spicy food. It's why Indian people and country singers make such great masochists: you can overdo it with the cumin, but you run the social risk of committing the massive party foul of crapping your pants.
But I am neither Indian nor a country singer. I'm just your average bloggerizer with a trick digestive tract.
It's a month since my visit to the [redacted] Center, and I'm finally finishing coming down from the AAA, or perhaps it's the roofie I got slipped last night at the bar when I accidentally drank that chick's cosmopolitan instead of mine. It's three months since my first visit to Dr. [redacted], whom I had really hoped would be a better criminologist. This is what I was thinking last night, when it occurred to me that maybe he was a better criminologist than that. Maybe I was the one unsolvable case that was torturing him and keeping him up nights. Maybe he was tuning in to reruns of House, or ER, or Grey's Anatomy, or Scrubs (Zod, I hope it wasn't Scrubs), trying to find some clue as to what was wrong with me.
Audible gasp! Maybe I was his white whale! I read Moby-Dick once! (Once!) I am therefore qualified to make this analogy! Maybe he was up nights, sitting at the kitchen table in front of a stack of books and a six-year-old laptop trailing wires to the wall because its battery was dead, searching the realm of available knowledge (including WebMD) for an answer. Maybe he was back to the late-night drinking, smoking again too, rubbing his jowls or the freshly waxed top of his head and muttering sweet nothings into his stethoscope. I mean, maybe the mysterious ailment that was eating me up inside was eating him up inside too!
Now, I realize that strays a little bit from more traditional representations of Ahab and Moby Dick, that maybe my gut was really more like Sir Gawaine's green dragon. I also understand that my "Dr. [redacted]'s Office as Pequod" allegory completely neglects the role of Starbuck, who may have been represented by the stern and stentorian, yet somehow warm and welcoming German woman who manned the actual office at the Dr. [redacted]'s office. I'm not really sure how, though. And the thing is, I don't really know Sir Gawaine. I read Moby-Dick once (once!), and Ahab went crazy trying to catch that whale, much like I hope Dr. [redacted] goes trying to solve my stomach issue.
I would love to read the story of that doctor's slow descent into madness. Three months till Christmas, everybuzzy. Let's get busy on this one.
Monday, September 08, 2008
Saturday, September 06, 2008
A Public Service Announcement
Hey, all you Catholics! You've been taking communion every Sunday since you were eight years old, but did you ever stop to consider how fattening your host wafers are? Because it turns out they're made with (gasp of horror) Crisco™!
(Actually, the gasp of horror comes now. The last one should have been a "wait for it, wait for it..." My bad.)
This is according to the website Kingdom.com, which, I must admit, is the cleverest fucking name I can think of. Say it out loud if you don't get it. Now say it without the "dot" in "dot com." See? Genius.
What's not so genius is this ingredient list:
"Unleavened recipe," eh? Sounds like they're going after the Jewish Catholics to me. And how about that recipe, huh? "Flour, water, and vegetable shortening" - it doesn't quite set your toes a-tapping, now does it? How is this recipe going to get on the radar of any of the personalities from the Food Network? We're talking 6-second prep time, max.
The real tragedy is the tremendous marketing opportunity that everyone from Nabisco to the Vatican is missing out on. Think about the ornamental crucifix industry. People spend BILLIONS on those things every year! If they'll bring the cash for jewelry, just think of the possibilities for a snack food deal. Or don't, since I already did it for you.
Endless possibilities (Cinnamon Jeez-It? Hello?) and a built-in market. It's a surefire winner. Boo-ya.
(Actually, the gasp of horror comes now. The last one should have been a "wait for it, wait for it..." My bad.)
This is according to the website Kingdom.com, which, I must admit, is the cleverest fucking name I can think of. Say it out loud if you don't get it. Now say it without the "dot" in "dot com." See? Genius.
What's not so genius is this ingredient list:
"Unleavened recipe," eh? Sounds like they're going after the Jewish Catholics to me. And how about that recipe, huh? "Flour, water, and vegetable shortening" - it doesn't quite set your toes a-tapping, now does it? How is this recipe going to get on the radar of any of the personalities from the Food Network? We're talking 6-second prep time, max.The real tragedy is the tremendous marketing opportunity that everyone from Nabisco to the Vatican is missing out on. Think about the ornamental crucifix industry. People spend BILLIONS on those things every year! If they'll bring the cash for jewelry, just think of the possibilities for a snack food deal. Or don't, since I already did it for you.
Endless possibilities (Cinnamon Jeez-It? Hello?) and a built-in market. It's a surefire winner. Boo-ya.Dear Jesus and Nabisco,
You're welcome (again!). Send checks to [redacted].
Love and weight gain,
Smokey.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
I have to confess that Sarah Palin kept me up last night...
Not so much because of her rousing call-to-arms to a Republican party that had been back on its heels, but mostly, because she farts in her sleep.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Highlights from New York's Ongoing Fashion Parade
Sometimes, it's like every week is Fashion Week in New York City. Take, for example, this week, when an unidentified, but nevertheless totally Asian, woman wore this on her feet:
If you're stuck on the blue shoes and/or the artlessly ripped up jeans (and no one would blame you if you were), then you're missing the high point of the outfit, which is just below the jeans, and just above the shoes. Those are not socks, folks. Those are some unholy marriage of pantyhose (yuck) and those little pantyhose-material foot covers that they make you wear if you attempt to try shoes on barefoot at Kinney Shoes or Payless (double yuck).
I'm calling them stocklets, because it sounds like the retching noise you make when you see them.
But what is even more remarkable than simply one Asian woman on the 6 train wearing stocklets is this:
Yes, a second Asian woman in stocklets! On the very same train!
Now, I realize that it's hard to tell that these women are Asian without seeing them drive a car, but this whole post wouldn't have been near as riotously funny as it was if they weren't the real deal. (Ha! Try saying that with a Chinese accent!) So once you come to the conclusion that this post was riotously funny (any minute now... you're almost there), it follows logically that the women must therefore be Asian, and that my pillorying them publicly for their lousy fashion sense could quite possibly make me teh gay.
Don't worry, though. I am not teh gay. But they are definitely teh Asian.
If you're stuck on the blue shoes and/or the artlessly ripped up jeans (and no one would blame you if you were), then you're missing the high point of the outfit, which is just below the jeans, and just above the shoes. Those are not socks, folks. Those are some unholy marriage of pantyhose (yuck) and those little pantyhose-material foot covers that they make you wear if you attempt to try shoes on barefoot at Kinney Shoes or Payless (double yuck).I'm calling them stocklets, because it sounds like the retching noise you make when you see them.
But what is even more remarkable than simply one Asian woman on the 6 train wearing stocklets is this:
Yes, a second Asian woman in stocklets! On the very same train!Now, I realize that it's hard to tell that these women are Asian without seeing them drive a car, but this whole post wouldn't have been near as riotously funny as it was if they weren't the real deal. (Ha! Try saying that with a Chinese accent!) So once you come to the conclusion that this post was riotously funny (any minute now... you're almost there), it follows logically that the women must therefore be Asian, and that my pillorying them publicly for their lousy fashion sense could quite possibly make me teh gay.
Don't worry, though. I am not teh gay. But they are definitely teh Asian.
This Shit Writes Itself
“Give the woman a chance to at least have two or three weeks of answering questions before you say, ‘Oh, she’s not prepared to be president or vice president,’ ” Mr. Giuliani said in an interview on the ABC program “Good Morning America.”
See the article here.
See the article here.
Spotlight on my junk mail
From: E.Claid@surrey.ac.uk
To: Smokey R [clowntears@piealamodeproductions.com]
Date: Tue, Sep 2, 2008 at 1:53 AM
Subject: Confirmation Letter from COEFA
Dear Beneficiary,
Good day to you and Compliment of the season. I wish to Congratulate
and Inform you that you have been shortlisted as One Of the Beneficiary Of
this Year Chevron Online Endowment Fund Award (COEFA). For more
Information please contact the Officer Incharge.
Mr. Alexander Dickson
Email: chevrontexacoclaimsprocess@hotmail.com
Tel: :+44-703-592-9763
**Note: All replies and querries or questions concerning this message
should be sent to chevrontexacoclaimsprocess@hotmail.com
Yours Faithfully,
Dr.LEWIS ANDERSON
Chief Executive Officer
***
From: Smokey R [clowntears@piealamodeproductions.com]
To: E.Claid@surrey.ac.uk
Date: Wed, Sep 3, 2008 at 3:16 PM
Subject: Re: Confirmation Letter from COEFA
Lew,
Dude.
What the fuck.
Wait, sorry, that's impolite. Despite the behavior of SOME PEOPLE who don't bother answering their emails, even when you send in your application to the Chevron Online Endowment Fund Award in JULY 2003, I am going to be polite here. So let me begin again.
Lew,
Compliment of the season to you too. But what the fuck.
Are you really just going to send me this email today like NOTHING EVER HAPPENED BEFORE? Are you really going to act like we never met at that party, or like you ever promised me IN FRONT OF MY MOM that I was a shoo-in for this award FIVE YEARS AGO? Are you really going to have the unmitigated gall to stand there in your jodhpurs and your pea coat and tell me that five years later, I am merely a FINALIST?
Fuck you, Lew. I wish I never fucking met you. I don't even think I want to be one of the Beneficiary Of this Year Award. And I want those fucking cuff links back too. I only give birthday gifts to real friends.
Piss off, jerkwad,
Smokey.
To: Smokey R [clowntears@piealamodeproductions.com]
Date: Tue, Sep 2, 2008 at 1:53 AM
Subject: Confirmation Letter from COEFA
Dear Beneficiary,
Good day to you and Compliment of the season. I wish to Congratulate
and Inform you that you have been shortlisted as One Of the Beneficiary Of
this Year Chevron Online Endowment Fund Award (COEFA). For more
Information please contact the Officer Incharge.
Mr. Alexander Dickson
Email: chevrontexacoclaimsprocess@hotmail.com
Tel: :+44-703-592-9763
**Note: All replies and querries or questions concerning this message
should be sent to chevrontexacoclaimsprocess@hotmail.com
Yours Faithfully,
Dr.LEWIS ANDERSON
Chief Executive Officer
***
From: Smokey R [clowntears@piealamodeproductions.com]
To: E.Claid@surrey.ac.uk
Date: Wed, Sep 3, 2008 at 3:16 PM
Subject: Re: Confirmation Letter from COEFA
Lew,
Dude.
What the fuck.
Wait, sorry, that's impolite. Despite the behavior of SOME PEOPLE who don't bother answering their emails, even when you send in your application to the Chevron Online Endowment Fund Award in JULY 2003, I am going to be polite here. So let me begin again.
Lew,
Compliment of the season to you too. But what the fuck.
Are you really just going to send me this email today like NOTHING EVER HAPPENED BEFORE? Are you really going to act like we never met at that party, or like you ever promised me IN FRONT OF MY MOM that I was a shoo-in for this award FIVE YEARS AGO? Are you really going to have the unmitigated gall to stand there in your jodhpurs and your pea coat and tell me that five years later, I am merely a FINALIST?
Fuck you, Lew. I wish I never fucking met you. I don't even think I want to be one of the Beneficiary Of this Year Award. And I want those fucking cuff links back too. I only give birthday gifts to real friends.
Piss off, jerkwad,
Smokey.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Invisible Gallagher Fever: Catch It!
Hey, everybuzzy. I'm a little down in the dumps today. First of all because I went into Labrador Weekend without writing anything about my thoughts about the VP announcement by the re-Pube-Lick-ens. I started writing this Friday morning, back when I had all this hyperintelligent pre-pick analysis to make. But just like Hurricane Gustav's expected direct hit on New Orleans, it didn't quite happen.
I'm also a little down in the dumps because when I started to write said analysis, it was gloomy outside. And gloominess, it is widely known, is the best backdrop available for waxing philosophical about candidates for high public office. But now it's all sunny and beautiful and perfect outside, which of course makes me utterly miserable.
But because I am as courageous and daring as a beauty contestant-turned governor, I'm going to give my pre-pick analysis to alls of yous anyways. I'm going to pretend like it's Friday morning, like it's still gloomy outside, and like we haven't yet found out that Tina Fey was the governor of Alaska.
Here goes.
Hey, everybuzzy. Happy Labrador Weekend.
I'm a little down in the dumps today, because it's gloomy outside. And when it's gloomy outside, the Fruit Plant is an almost unbearably sad place to be. Most of us who work in Dole Canning Operations are pretty hardcore existentialists, and existentialists are extre-hee-hee-heemly prone to weather-related depression. This is why the powers-that-be at Dole are pretty seriously debating the possibility of moving the entire C-Ops division to Hawaii. Of course, a lot of us are glum about that too because we fucking LOVE New York, if for no other reason than it provides us relatively easy access to the Annual Briggs-Goering Existentialism-athon and Bake-Off, which is routinely held in rural Pennsylvania.
But as Sartre himself would be the first to point out, existence comes before essence. And moving to Hawaii, where everything is all sunshine and rainbows and overabundances of pineapple is bound to put some smiles on the faces of even the most hardened scabs in the C-Ops crew. So lube up those laugh lines, Rebecca Goodman! Also, get some sunscreen, because you have a really fair complexion, and you don't want to burn. Oh, and please, please, please stop with the freaking email poetry about your son's soccer skillz. Just because he's named Pele does not make him some sort of prodigy of el futbol. Sending your son away to live in Brazil, on the other hand...
But that's not the only reason I'm depressed. Additionally to the aforementioned weather-induced funk, it appears that I won't get the Republican nod for VP with John McCain this year. Not that I particularly wanted it, mind you, but I was still hoping. I was hoping blindly, in the blind way that blind people blindly hope to win the lottery without buying a ticket, or how little kids hope that the watermelon at the church summer picnic this Sunday will spontaneously explode, showering everyone in gory pink and green carnage.
It's called Invisible Gallagher.
Always brings a tear to my eye.
Anyway.
Obviously, if they're passing on ol' Smokey Robinson for Veep, they must have someone pretty good in mind. So here's my three guesses for who McCain's vice presidential pick will be, based on my detailed analysis of the political landscape, particularly the formidable challenges posed by Barack Obama and the Democrats after this week's convention, and by the torturous legacy of George W. Bush as commander-in-chief.
1. Voldemort.
His conservative credentials are outstanding. His debating skills are unmatched. And his ability to torture his opponents into submission through use of the three "Unforgivable" curses is going to prove a pretty tricky obstacle for Joe Biden to overcome in the Vice Presidential Debate in St. Louis. Also, this is a dude who managed to survive by transferring his essence to the body of one of his followers and drinking the blood of unicorns, which he presumably first killed with a legally obtained firearm. That's the kind of survival ethos the Republican party desperately needs this year.
He's pro-torture, he's pro-little people suffering, and he speaks Parseltongue, three things that are certain to resonate loudly with the conservative base and the evangelical vote. And let's not forget, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named killed that sniveling whiner Cedric Diggory, the jackass who tried to steal Harry's girlfriend. It's time we all admit that none of us really liked Cedric, and that the reason we felt so bad about him getting killed in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (oops, spoiler alert) is because we secretly wished Voldemort would step in and do the dirty work. Mission accomplished.
2. Rep. Jesus (R - WI).
Even though he voted against the Bush tax cuts, Jesus has usually been a lockstep supporter of the President for the last eight years. Yet somehow, he has managed to emerge from the Bush era with his reputation totally unscathed. Leading political analysts speculate that some sort of divine intervention may be involved, though this has largely been debunked by a series of press releases attributed to God himself, in which the Creator enumerates several complaints about Jesus's behavior on earth, citing specifically his "party tricks" of turning water into wine and walking on water as "the kind of showboating We simply do not condone up Here."
Jesus also has only tepid support among evangelicals and so-called "values voters" who see his lack of a family as hypocritical, particuarly in light of all that shit he said about cleaving to your wife. In a 2005 press conference, Jesus seemed to backtrack from the 2,000-year-old comment, noting that it was "really just something You say in an election year."
But the Jesus pick, despite its controversies, would still be a predictable move for so-called "maverick" John McCain, which has led political analysts and conservative radio hosts to speculate that McCain will forsake Jesus "like God did when He was on the cross," and pick someone completely out of left field. (Note: I wrote that before I heard about Sarah Palin, I swear.)
3. Rep. Jesus (R - WI) disguised as Voldemort
This one more or less speaks for itself. All the Jesu Bambino, with none of the softy, leftist, hippie bullcrap about being kind to your neighbors or loving each other the way God loves us. This election year, it's kill-or-be-killed. And who better to do the killing than a man who can later rip of his mask and forgive himself for doing it?
I think this is the clear favorite.
So there you have it. That's what I thought was going to happen on Friday, back when the weather was gloomy. Obviously, I now know better. But I still think Voldemort and Jesus are probably both in line for cabinet-level positions in a McCain administration. Voldemort would be a hell of a secretary of Labor, wouldn't he? And can't you just see Jesus at the Department of Housing and Urban Development, getting into fights with low-level staffers and sending memos that everyone laughs at behind his back? Because I totally can.
Get it? I totally can? 'Cause I work in canning operations? I think that's why Obama has taken the place by storm lately. His whole "yes, we can" slogan really resonates with the people here at Dole. And I hear he does pretty well among PepsiCo and Coke employees too, because yes, they can.
I'm also a little down in the dumps because when I started to write said analysis, it was gloomy outside. And gloominess, it is widely known, is the best backdrop available for waxing philosophical about candidates for high public office. But now it's all sunny and beautiful and perfect outside, which of course makes me utterly miserable.
But because I am as courageous and daring as a beauty contestant-turned governor, I'm going to give my pre-pick analysis to alls of yous anyways. I'm going to pretend like it's Friday morning, like it's still gloomy outside, and like we haven't yet found out that Tina Fey was the governor of Alaska.
Here goes.
Hey, everybuzzy. Happy Labrador Weekend.
I'm a little down in the dumps today, because it's gloomy outside. And when it's gloomy outside, the Fruit Plant is an almost unbearably sad place to be. Most of us who work in Dole Canning Operations are pretty hardcore existentialists, and existentialists are extre-hee-hee-heemly prone to weather-related depression. This is why the powers-that-be at Dole are pretty seriously debating the possibility of moving the entire C-Ops division to Hawaii. Of course, a lot of us are glum about that too because we fucking LOVE New York, if for no other reason than it provides us relatively easy access to the Annual Briggs-Goering Existentialism-athon and Bake-Off, which is routinely held in rural Pennsylvania.
But as Sartre himself would be the first to point out, existence comes before essence. And moving to Hawaii, where everything is all sunshine and rainbows and overabundances of pineapple is bound to put some smiles on the faces of even the most hardened scabs in the C-Ops crew. So lube up those laugh lines, Rebecca Goodman! Also, get some sunscreen, because you have a really fair complexion, and you don't want to burn. Oh, and please, please, please stop with the freaking email poetry about your son's soccer skillz. Just because he's named Pele does not make him some sort of prodigy of el futbol. Sending your son away to live in Brazil, on the other hand...
But that's not the only reason I'm depressed. Additionally to the aforementioned weather-induced funk, it appears that I won't get the Republican nod for VP with John McCain this year. Not that I particularly wanted it, mind you, but I was still hoping. I was hoping blindly, in the blind way that blind people blindly hope to win the lottery without buying a ticket, or how little kids hope that the watermelon at the church summer picnic this Sunday will spontaneously explode, showering everyone in gory pink and green carnage.
It's called Invisible Gallagher.
Always brings a tear to my eye.
Anyway.
Obviously, if they're passing on ol' Smokey Robinson for Veep, they must have someone pretty good in mind. So here's my three guesses for who McCain's vice presidential pick will be, based on my detailed analysis of the political landscape, particularly the formidable challenges posed by Barack Obama and the Democrats after this week's convention, and by the torturous legacy of George W. Bush as commander-in-chief.
1. Voldemort.
His conservative credentials are outstanding. His debating skills are unmatched. And his ability to torture his opponents into submission through use of the three "Unforgivable" curses is going to prove a pretty tricky obstacle for Joe Biden to overcome in the Vice Presidential Debate in St. Louis. Also, this is a dude who managed to survive by transferring his essence to the body of one of his followers and drinking the blood of unicorns, which he presumably first killed with a legally obtained firearm. That's the kind of survival ethos the Republican party desperately needs this year.
He's pro-torture, he's pro-little people suffering, and he speaks Parseltongue, three things that are certain to resonate loudly with the conservative base and the evangelical vote. And let's not forget, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named killed that sniveling whiner Cedric Diggory, the jackass who tried to steal Harry's girlfriend. It's time we all admit that none of us really liked Cedric, and that the reason we felt so bad about him getting killed in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (oops, spoiler alert) is because we secretly wished Voldemort would step in and do the dirty work. Mission accomplished.
2. Rep. Jesus (R - WI).
Even though he voted against the Bush tax cuts, Jesus has usually been a lockstep supporter of the President for the last eight years. Yet somehow, he has managed to emerge from the Bush era with his reputation totally unscathed. Leading political analysts speculate that some sort of divine intervention may be involved, though this has largely been debunked by a series of press releases attributed to God himself, in which the Creator enumerates several complaints about Jesus's behavior on earth, citing specifically his "party tricks" of turning water into wine and walking on water as "the kind of showboating We simply do not condone up Here."
Jesus also has only tepid support among evangelicals and so-called "values voters" who see his lack of a family as hypocritical, particuarly in light of all that shit he said about cleaving to your wife. In a 2005 press conference, Jesus seemed to backtrack from the 2,000-year-old comment, noting that it was "really just something You say in an election year."
But the Jesus pick, despite its controversies, would still be a predictable move for so-called "maverick" John McCain, which has led political analysts and conservative radio hosts to speculate that McCain will forsake Jesus "like God did when He was on the cross," and pick someone completely out of left field. (Note: I wrote that before I heard about Sarah Palin, I swear.)
3. Rep. Jesus (R - WI) disguised as Voldemort
This one more or less speaks for itself. All the Jesu Bambino, with none of the softy, leftist, hippie bullcrap about being kind to your neighbors or loving each other the way God loves us. This election year, it's kill-or-be-killed. And who better to do the killing than a man who can later rip of his mask and forgive himself for doing it?
I think this is the clear favorite.
So there you have it. That's what I thought was going to happen on Friday, back when the weather was gloomy. Obviously, I now know better. But I still think Voldemort and Jesus are probably both in line for cabinet-level positions in a McCain administration. Voldemort would be a hell of a secretary of Labor, wouldn't he? And can't you just see Jesus at the Department of Housing and Urban Development, getting into fights with low-level staffers and sending memos that everyone laughs at behind his back? Because I totally can.
Get it? I totally can? 'Cause I work in canning operations? I think that's why Obama has taken the place by storm lately. His whole "yes, we can" slogan really resonates with the people here at Dole. And I hear he does pretty well among PepsiCo and Coke employees too, because yes, they can.
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