Jesus, teh Obama, do I always have to do ALL YOUR WORK FOR YOU?

Oh, teh Obama. Teh Obama, teh Obama, teh Obama. If I've told you one thing over and over again since you started running to teh president, it's that you can't get anything done in American politics without getting help from celebrities. I tried to warn you after jigg razzlefrazzle the blah (the artist sometimes referred to as Judge Reinhold, but not on this here blog here since his refusal to endorse Oscar the Grouch for President) endorsed someone else other than you for president, but you didn't listen. You didn't listen then, and you don't listen now, and it's surprising that a man with ears the size of satellite dishes would not listen that much, because you would think that ALL you would do is listen, which is not true. It's like you have to wrongfully arrest a high-profile black Harvard professor just to get five minutes alone with you these days, teh Obama!

This is not the change we can believe in. Again.

And just look at the state of your Heathcliff Healthcare Reform-Time Play Pal, or whatever clever and catchy thing your marketing experts are failing to call it. Nobody wants it! Nobody was actually interviewed for the writing of this piece. Nobody very clearly went on record in support to teh Obama or to his Heathcliff Healthcare. I HAS QUOTABLE SOURCES. I AM JOURNALIST.

But this is not about me. This is about you, teh Obama, and how I can help you win back public support for Heathcliff Healthcare from more people than Nobody. All you need is two celebrities and a little bit o' hope.

Here's whatchagottadoo:

1. Get the Jesus Endorsement

Show a picture of Jesus and Heathcliff Healthcare (seriously, how is there not a man, woman, or post-op transsexual dressed up in furry mascot suit yet?) with their arms over each other's shoulders, all smiles and birthday cake and Skittles. And a banner that says, "Jesus endorses the Obama healthcare plan and the public option!"

Then you get Jesus to write a statement on his facebag page like Sarah Palin did. For instance:

I support the Obama healthcare plan because there are like 300 million Americans and I am totally fucking exhausted from having to answer prayers from people without insurance. Come on, mankind. Do you have any idea how many wide wide receivers there are that need My help to catch touchdown passes? Go Steelers! JK! LOL! My point is that I am a Busy Dude. I don't have time for that AND sick people. What am I, Superman? LOL.

Also, from what I hear up in Heaven, Obama's a pretty great guy. Then again, We really don't get that that many Republican voters visiting the Great Death Panel in the Sky.

See? Piece o' cake, teh Obama!

And then you can stand there at your town halls and be like, "who's gonna fuck with Jesus? You gonna fuck with Jesus?" Then you throw down the microphone, walk off stage, and write me a thank-you card.

2. Get Harry Potter to Bounce at Your Town Hall Meetings

People wanna show up with guns, I have a real simple fix. It's called magic. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History.

Psych! That is totally not where I read about it.

But cereal, teh Obama, this is Problem Solving 101. If you have a leaky pipe, you call a plumber. If you have people calling you a Nazi and carrying rifles and handguns to your rallies, you get Harry Potter out there to run your crowd control operation. Dude handled a fully-grown cave troll when he was 11! (SPOILER ALERT.) AND he beat freaking Voldemort! (SPOILER ALERT x2.) Some whacked-out muggle with a big metal stick isn't gonna be much of a threat.

Of course, those same asshole protesters who are out there with signs calling you a Nazi will probably show up with new signs that say "you can expelliarmus our guns, but you can't expelliarmus our ridiculous overblown partisan rancor!" But the joke's on them because yes, we can.

U.B. Kim Jong-Illin'

SEOUL, South Korea — North Korea on Thursday released a South Korean worker it had held for several months on charges of denouncing its political system, signaling what analysts called a desire by the North to ease relations with the South after months of tensions over its nuclear weapons program.

-The New York Times

It's crazy times in North Korea these days, everybuzzy. You may think it's crazy times right here in America, where the Obama evidently wants to kill old people and get the government involved in Medicare for the first time ever, but that's peanuts compared to North Korea. Remember when they used to be able to hold a grudge? Remember when they put the "is of evil" into George W. McBush's "Axis of Evil?" Remember how scared you were after you microwaved that can of Pepsi when you were 11 years old, and your parents threatened to send you to a North Korean prison, which was like the most unimaginably brutal and awful punishment in the parental arsenal?

Nuh uh, not anymore. You don't even need a swashbuckling, womanizing ex-President on your side either. In these enlightened times, getting released from a North Korean prison is basically as easy as getting out of high school detention. Just forge a note from one of your parents, and you are GOOD TO GO.

Dear North Korea,

Please let go of my Eggo. And by Eggo, I mean son, not the delicious brand of waffle we sell here in America, where we think you are evil. Adios, amigo. La puerta esta abierta.

Hola,
Mr. Robinson (Smokey Robinson's dad).*

So simple, even a caveman could do it, provided that the caveman could write Chinese, like my dad. Why, it's easier than trading in your cash for a brand new government clunker - and faster too!

Of course, the ultra-modern space children of Nowadays have far more gruesome things to worry about. Like having their iPhone 3GS's and all their apps for that and their facebag status updates taken away, or being forced to go outside and get some fresh air. Also, what's a microwave? And a Pepsi? That's what the kids say today, in this age of replicators and delicious food in pill form, because this is the future. Not this The Future either. The actual future. With flying cars and office buildings that can come pick you up if you're late for work, like in the Harry Potter show. Technology! Dumbledore!

*Not his actual name. The note, however, is real.

The Few, the Proud

From Politico:

Blagojevich's approval rating at 7 percent

The vast majority of Illinois voters want scandal-plagued Gov. Rod Blagojevich to immediately resign as governor, according to a new poll conducted by the Glengariff Group.

The poll shows 70 percent of voters believing that Blagojevich should resign now, while only 25 percent should wait until he is proven guilty. A 73 percent majority support the impeachment of the governor – including a majority of Democrats – with 58 percent “strongly supporting” his impeachment.

His approval rating, meanwhile, has tanked to seven percent. Among Democrats, only 13 percent approve of his performance.

As a lifelong Illinoisan, I am proud to count myself one of the noble Seven Percent who would undyingly pledge my support to my captain, my kinsman, and my governor, Rod Blagojevich. As long as there is breath in my body, I shall endeavor to expend that breath giving him my full-throated endorsement. Not torture, not damnation, not the very fires of Armageddon could possibly make me lessen my commitment to the Blagojevich cause. Wild wolves may tear my flesh asunder, but my enthusiasm for this man and his super-stylish haircut will not diminish.

For it is as is said in Scripture: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for thou canst go fuck thyself if thou wilt not give me five hundred thousand dollars (US) for a Senate vacancy."

Know your Bible, people. Do the right thing.

How I Imagine the Inaugural Ball Will Go: A Play in Less Than One Act

[SMOKEY slides up to SCARLETT JOHANSSON]

SMOKEY: Hey, Scar-Yo. Wasssaaaaaaaaa...? Are you enjoying the Inaugural Ball? Hey, remember just before I asked if you were enjoying the Inaugural Ball when I said, wassaaaaaaa...?

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: Ew. Who are you?

SMOKEY: I'm Smokey Robinson, baby. [sings "ONE HEARTBEAT - THE JESUS VERSION"]

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: Sorry, Smokebag or whatever, I only like guys with vaguely Middle Eastern middle names. 

[SMOKEY stares blankly.]

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: Middle name, Middle East. Middle, middle. It's about the symmetry.

SMOKEY: Do you have someone writing your dialogue or something?

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: Yes. You, stupid.

SMOKEY: Right.

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: I gotta go.

SMOKEY: No, wait. 

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: No, you wait, Mister... what did you say your name was?

SMOKEY: Smokey Falafel Robinson.

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: Oh. [This next one should be read VERY SWEETLY.] Oh! Hiya, Smokey. Wanna come back to my place?

SMOKEY: You mean, ditch out of the Inaugural Ball to go have sex with Scarlett Johannson?

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: Hey, back off, pal, who said anything about sex? I just wanted to snort cocaine off your ass and break some shit in my hotel room.

SMOKEY: You know, you really are a lot more freaky than you seem like you would be, Scarlett Johansson.

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: A girl's gotta eat.

SMOKEY: Fair point. Although I don't really see how that's related to anything we just talked about. 

[Enter JESUS CHRIST, Our Lord and Savior.]

JESUS: [interrupting] Excuse me, have either of you seen a Yellow Lab puppy? Looks like Old Yeller, only smaller? Like two months old maybe?

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: I saw a Golden Retriever once.

[JESUS and SMOKEY stare at her.]

JESUS: Man, the Obamas are gonna kill Me. I was supposed to be puppysitting but then I saw Kate Moss over by the ice sculpture, talking to Bill Ayers and some dude in a turban. I mean, Kate Moss. I had to try and tap that, man, she's a supermodel. I'm only human. Plus, I'm like Her Hugest Fan. Now what the fuck am I gonna do about the Obamas' dog?

SMOKEY: You know, Jesus, You seem like a lot more of a Douchebag Fuckup than I thought You would be.

JESUS: Dude, not now, okay? Like I don't have enough to fucking deal with just from the Parental disappointment. You think your dad is a ballbuster? Fuck, I gotta find that dog. Sparkles!

[JESUS exits.]

SMOKEY: Did Jesus just say the Obamas were going to kill Him?

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: Do you have any cocaine, Falafel?

SMOKEY: Indeed I do. [SMOKEY winks at audience and smiles expansively, that liar.]

[SMOKEY and SCARLETT JOHANSSON exit. Later, SCARLETT JOHANSSON finds out that SMOKEY doesn't have an exotic middle name, and that the song "ONE HEARTBEAT" is cheesy as hell, and also that SMOKEY has a pretty obvious crush on JESUS. Meanwhile, Jesus flees the country when He's unable to find the OBAMAS' NEW DOG, which they were going to take with them to the WHITE HOUSE.]

Welcome to the Future, America. Population: You (as long as you are not teh gay).

Boy, oh boy, America. You sure do know how to pick 'em. At least, 52.3% of you do.

For me personally, this is a pretty dark day, because Barack Obama still owes me the measly $32 he borrowed from me three years ago at a restaurant in Georgetown, and now there is virtually no chance I will be able to get him to pay up. Seriously, do you have any idea how difficult it is to get close enough to yell threats at a U.S. President if he doesn't give you your money?

Well, I'll tell you. It's very difficult.

It's a dark day for other reasons too. In picking the more sober, serious, intelligent, energetic, pragmatic, and progressive candidate, I think we've pretty much spelled the end of comedy for the forseeable future. Saturday Night Live is probably going to have to go back to forcefeeding us unbearable tripe like "Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer" and "Mr. Bill." I gagged a little just writing that last sentence.

Worse still (as if there could be anything worse than an Obama presidency) is the apparent passage of several bills that outlaw teh gay marriage. (Does anyone else smell a revival of "Church Chat?") As long as gays are facing this kind of institutional rejection, there is almost no chance that I will live to see a President who is truly teh gay and mock him/her for being a President and First Lady rolled into one. I was really looking forward to that.

Then again, up until yesterday, I never thought I'd live to make fun of a black President either, so I suppose you never know.

Calling it off?

I had one last ace I was waiting to play. I didn't have it all together just yet, though. The God endorsement. Nothing trumps Jesus coming out for the Republicans except the God endorsement. Carries a lot of weight with the aerial hunting crowd and the "we get our news from 'The Daily Show'" crowd.

Oscar's people (meaning me) have been on the horn to God every day for the past six months. You know, praying. The way people telephone their deity when they need absolution for not remembering to DVR the season premiere of "The Office."

I guess someone else was praying a little harder though.

You, O God, have raised up Senator John McCain and Governor Sarah Palin for such a time as this. . . Help them, O God, to strengthen our economy, to keep our taxes and spending low . . . and grant them the privilege of being elected the next president and vice president."

From the Washington Post, somewhere in the middle of the article

SMOKEY: (shaking head, looking downward toward the sidewalk) Republicans. (looking upward, shaking fist at the sky) Republicans!

Oscar's plans to beat Kenny Crandell are rapidly eroding.

Things to Look For At the Vice Presidential Debate

This isn't actually so much of a post about things to look for as it is about things to NOT look for, because the people who run the debates are fascist jerks and I hate them. So instead of seeing the rambling old codger with the hearing aid and the pit bull with lipstick and the pig, um, also with lipstick, all America gets is the codger and the pit bull, because the Committee Who Selfishly Runs The Vice Presidential Debates (their official name) doesn't want the voters to have to make any actual choices. Thank Zod the CWSRTVPD doesn't also run a restaurant, or else every meal at their restaurant would probably be a choice between a hamburger and a chicken sandwich, both served with a heaping helping of their special "Who gives a crap, we want Miss Piggy in the debate too!" sauce.

Fucking politics sucks. Muppet Show film festival at my place tonight. BYO episodes of the Muppet Show.

Bad Joke Alert, Awesome Marketing IDEA

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.

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.

Vote for Oscar, Or This Could Happen to You

John McCain's campaign staff was up in arms about this unwarranted, unprovoked, and irresponsible attack on the candidate's ankles by a row of jars of Mott's brand applesauce. Imagine how pissed they'd be if they discovered that this attack was politically motivated, though.

That's right, folks, the Oscar campaign funds are finally going to use!

Sadly, the applesauce barrage is about as high profile as we can afford. In fact, after the $8 bribe we paid the ham-fisted stock clerk to stack the jars just so, the Oscar '08 campaign war chest is now down to a quarter, two nickels, and a parking token from the West Windsor Parking Authority intended for use at the Princeton Junction train station.

We would obviously have vastly preferred for McCain to be buried underneath an avalanche of Oscar Meyer hot dogs, bologna, and other packaged cold cuts (available in your grocer's refrigerator section - ask for them by name!), but that would have cost an extra dollar, and we just didn't have it.

So you probably won't be seeing any national ad buys (or any regional or local ad buys, for that matter), unless those stingy rat jerks at the Children's Television Workshop come through with the donation I have been begging and pleading for, but obviously in a very dignified way.

As for Obama, he's been a little bit harder to get to, what with all the muscular, athletic, rippling-muscled Secret Service men he surrounds himself with. I wonder why he likes to be around so many chiseled guys? And also, why did he need to go to a gym full of similarly mouth-watering dudes on his overseas trip, instead of going to visit our hot and sexy American soldiers?

Audible gasp! Could Obama be teh gay?

Dear Obama,

Ha ha ha ha ha, I just convinced America that you are teh gay. Now you will never win the president because everyone will be scared that you are going to sodomize their children and make them marry other children in the same sex as they are.

I am laughing all the way to the bank, in the sense that the bank is politics and the money inside the bank is Oscar the Grouch winning the president and you not winning the president.

You are not winning the president though. No-bama.

Go check out some more guys!

Love,
Smokey D. Robinson
Chairman
Campaign to Get Oscar the Grouch Elected President, or at Least to Make The Other Candidates Look Stupid and/or Gay

Almost as good as John McCain's balls...

Need I say anything at all?

You can also read the definitive story of the controversy surrounding John McCain's balls here. I love you, Gawker.

Another high water mark for American diplomacy

Word on the street is that Mr. President W. Bush ended a meeting at the G8 Summit in Japan with the following farewell:

"Goodbye from the world's biggest polluter."

In terms of proud moments for America in Japan, I think this ranks just below President Bush I upchucking on the Prime Minister's lap in 1992, and just above Jerry Lewis's performance in the movie The Geisha Boy. (Sorry for that one, Tall Redhead. I had to.)

But there are two reasons I'm offended by this.

Reason 1: Do you have any idea how hard we've been playing the World's Biggest Polluter angle for the Oscar '08 campaign? I have gone to extraordinary lengths in the past several months to personally solidify America's standing as the preeminent contributor to global warming and environmental damage, just to make people feel more at home with a President who lives in a trash can. In April, I instituted a three-point plan to increase the size of my carbon footprint:

Smokey's Three-Point Plan to Increase My Carbon Footprint:

1. Buy a 1970s VW Bus and leave it idling all day, every day.
2. Print out all emails I receive, read them once, then burn them.
3. Wear really large shoes made out of carbon.

See? A three-point plan! My plan has points! Those points are threefold! And now this monkey-faced yokel is taking all the goddamn credit!

Reason 2: According to its charter, the stated purpose of the G-8 is "a renewed commitment to investment in the development of fruit and vegetable canning technology," so what the hell is President Goofus doing talking about pollution? Is he trying to score points with the Chinese by gently deflecting the fact that they have overtaken our polluting hegemony? Or is this part of some larger plan to keep the Candidate in the Trash Can down?

I see right through you, George W. Bush. You are as transparent as a window with no glass, or a doorway with no door, or a great big empty patch of unpolluted air above a country other than the U.S. or China. Also, much like my idling VW Bus, you stink.

Dear Jesus,

Please smite George W. Bush.

Thank You in advance for Your assistance with this matter.

Very truly yours,
Smokey Robinson.

Updates

Sorry I've been gone a while. I know how excruciating life can be without something new on this blog to read, so here are some updates for you on the various stories this website has covered since the most recent Ice Age:

Oscar '08

The same Texas vendor who got in trouble for selling racist buttons at the state GOP is back at it again, this time with an offering targeted squarely at my main Muppet, Oscar.


Personally, I don't really care about the dig at Oscar's accommodations. But I'm deeply offended at the choice of color. Why the WHITE can? Why is the Texas state GOP always fighting so hard to keep purple and fuchsia and lavender out of the mix? What's wrong with ocher, or burnt sienna? How about a nice, soothing taupe? I love taupe!

Speaking of which, for all you enterprising young enterprisers out there, ilovetaupe.com is currently available as a domain name...

The campaign, incidentally, is not going well. Recent polling indicates that McCain and Obama are way, way ahead in every major poll of both likely and unlikely voters. We're out of money, the staff hasn't been fed in a month, and my fundraising letters to the Children's Television Workshop have all gone unanswered. Also, Maria from Sesame Street is totally stonewalling me, that frigid bitch. And here I was, set to suggest her as VP. Your loss, Maria. I hope that job in public television doesn't disappear when ObaMcCain cuts all your funding. Jerk.

A-Rod, Pervez Musharraf, and Britney Spears's Vagina

Not much doing here. After a short stint on the disabled list (which is kind of a slap in the face of people with actual disabilities), A-Rod returned to the Yankees lineup with a vengeance, hitting .740 with 52 home runs and 131 RBI in his last 20 games. It is no coincidence that the smell of Gouda cheese has completely disappeared from Grand Central Station and its surrounds.

As for Pervez, he and I haven't seen each other since the State Department effectively made him persona non grata on this side of the world. We were slated to meet up in Beijing this summer at the Olympics, but we're having one tiny hangup, which is that it is fucking expensive to go to China! I could start my own colony on Mars for cheaper than the airfare alone, and that's not even including the cost of lodging, meals, cheap fireworks, and a trimmed-down budget for hookers and opium. The moral of the story is that it might be a while before Pervez and I are eating ice cream and guffawing over one of A-Rod's jokes again.

Britney Spears and her vagina remain at-large. Gross.

Lollipop the Bear

Despite his lucrative job as a delivery guy for a Korean restaurant on 32nd Street, Lollipop the Bear has been largely invisible of late. I keep searching all the Vespa Scooters in New York, but I haven't seen the elusive skull-and-crossbones decal or the side-mounted holster for his AK-47 in a long, long time. I kind of miss him, actually. New York isn't the same place without him and his unique brand of terrifying adorableness.

Lollipop the Bear would actually be a fantastic choice for VP on the Oscar ticket, in my humble estimation. Riding the recent surge of gun-wagging in the wake of the Supreme Court's decision in District of Columbia vs. Heller, Lollipop seems singularly positioned to haul in major votes from the gun-and-bullet crowd. Also, despite the machine gun, Lollipop is cute and cuddly, which balances well with Oscar's gruff, raggedy, firearm-free exterior.

But Lollipop does have pretty severe anger issues, stemming from the dismemberment of his father, Sunshine, by a three-year-old having a temper tantrum, and the rise of Build-A-Bear Workshops all over this great land of ours. Oscar and Lollipop would no doubt make a pretty serious play for the rage vote, but that's probably only good for about 10 or 12 percent of the American electorate - not enough to win the election. And since only 3-5 people read this blog (on a good day), it's going to be a little bit challenging to get the word out to Rage-Americans.

If you, or someone you know, is a Rage-American, tell that person about the proposed Oscar-Lollipop ticket. And if you survive their resulting outburst, hop back on here and tell me their reaction in the comments. After you're done, contact a physician, or visit a local emergency room to treat your wounds.

Dole Fruit Company Volleyball Team

We just broke through for a 2-games-to-1 victory over the women's team from Marshall University, and the women's team from Marshall University is no joke. Rex "The Supervisor" Hymen was an absolute monster.

Our secret weapon, though, was a dissertation on Kierkegaard written by none other than Ronny Balboa (yes, that's his real name). Using a perfect professorial intonation, Ronny read excepts of the dissertation during the match while we were serving. The ladies of the Thundering Herd, apparently not used to the soporific effects of listening to a philosophy lecture, were lulled to sleep. Literally.

Maybe they should go to class once in a while. In the meantime, they most certainly got taken to school. (Zing!)

Unfortunately, the blue-clad warriors from the Cannery are dead last in Group 19 of New York Metro League Volleyball, and Group 19 of New York Metro League Volleyball is a total joke. Most of our games are more about pints than points, and there's usually so much lager flowing by the end of a match that we're lucky if we can blow the breathalyzer locks to get into our cars when it's all over.

Alcoholism, of course, is one of the major Achilles' heals of Dole's canning division. About 12 years ago, someone in HR (probably a drunk him- or herself) instituted a campaign to specifically hire and retain admitted alcoholics. Holiday parties got a lot more spirited, let me tell you. And let me also tell you how hard it is to fire someone once they make it past the 90-day probationary period: it's really, really, very hard to do it. I don't even recommend trying, unless you like failing at things.

Anyway, it's fairly evident that our volleyball adversaries in Group 19 of NYMLV are aware of some of our... tendencies, if you will. The constant invitations to drink from their pregame keg, which they are always conveniently not using right then, are just a tiny bit suspicious. And so we end up falling all over ourselves and losing, then getting monstrously depressed and even more monstrously drunk before waking up midmorning on front lawns all over the tri-state area.

Needless to say, this is not quite what I had in mind when I joined the team. I mean, blue uniforms? Seriously?

Bananas

are still delicious, and available in the produce section of your local grocery store.

You're gonna get yours too, reruns of Who's the Boss?

There are three things about me that everyone who knows me already knows: 1) like everyone else, I breathe air and drink water; 2) unlike everyone else, I do not put my pants on one leg at a time; and 3) I have a deep mistrust of American daytime television programming, especially, but not exclusively, public television.

Seriously, take one look at Mr. Rogers sexy hair stylings and tell me the man didn't have some kind of freakish agenda. He wanted your children*! He would stop at nothing to get them*! All his songs and puppets and sweaters were part of an elaborate plan to reprogram them*!

*(to be better people when they grow up)

Network daytime programming is no better. Live with Regis and Kathie Lee/Kelly is obviously a not-so-subtle play on the term "Life with Regis and Kathie Lee/Kelly," as in "life sentence," as in being forced to watch these people drone on endlessly, day after day, about fruit and manicures and diarrhea or whatever it is they talk about. (I've never actually seen more than six minutes of an episode.)

So I was gratified to find out that Michelle Obama repaid some of the horror inflicted on the American public by daytime television, by going on The View yesterday and holding those five women - and a guest or two - hostage. Just look at her terrorizing those "women" with her frightening fists of feminine fury:


Bully for you, Michelle. No one likes you anyway, so why not just terrorist fist jab them into submission? Bravo.

You're next, Big Bird, you pretentious fuck.

Note: the foregoing commentary on daytime television is presented without inclusion of Oscar the Grouch, who may be the lone trustworthy voice gracing the American airwaves during regular business hours. Also, Big Bird, please bear in mind that threats made against presidential candidates are investigated by the Secret Service pending felony charges. Stick that in your big, yellow beak and light yourself on fire.

Sixteen down, only two to go!

True, the Oscar the Grouch for President '08 campaign can't claim a single state primary victory. Nor can it claim a political affiliation with, or an endorsement from any major or minor party. True, the Oscar '08 campaign has underperformed even the most modest financial expectations, managing to fund raise a paltry $0.0004 to date (3/4 through our website, www.ilovecheese.com!). True too that the Oscar '08 campaign strategy is essentially relying on this blog, which you are the only person not reading, to spread the word.

Sounds pretty bleak, no? But the Oscar campaign can still claim this:

It's still going.

Now that Hillary Clinton has suspended her campaign, allowing for Barack Obama to knuckle-tap and shoulder-brush his way to Denver (that's where the Democratic National Convention will be held, also where I ate at a Sonic restaurant for the first time), the total pool of candidates is down to 2, not counting Ralph Nader, Ron Paul (now available in libertarian flavor!), the late Sonny Bony, Carrot Top, and John Kerry '04.

But is the media talking about any of them? No, sir, the media is not talking about them. Instead, sir, the Jew- and Gay-run media only has the names of TWO presidential candidates on its coverage agenda these days, and boy, sir, is Jim Henson (a white, deceased, Anglo-Saxon Protestant, or WDASP) pissed off.

So what though, because my point is about electoral math. Not the kind where people are winning states and counting delegate votes though, just math relating to electorations, or elections, as the kids say these days. (Hey, by the way, are you enjoying all these parenthetical asides? I'll bet you're not!) And going by the math, we have experienced a steady attrition in the number of candidates for President during the last 18 months. At one point, there were as many as EIGHTEEN! Now, we're down to TWO!

Think about it: where once we had EIGHTEEN candidates, we now have TWO. If the pattern holds (and they wouldn't call it a pattern if it didn't), we're likely to be down to ZERO candidates long before Barack Obama gets a chance to test out his dance moves on stage in Denver.

This is great news for Oscar the Grouch. (I know, I know, another parenthetical. They're annoying, right? Not surving any purpose?) With zero other candidates, all Oscar has to do is keep his name in the running.

American voters are like robots (Clinton supporters in particular), so they most likely won't know what to do if they see a ballot with no names on it in the major party slots. They will probably step out of the voting booth without voting for anyone. Which means that if Oscar can get anywhere near 50% of the Kenny Crandall write-in vote, he might win a plurality, and be swept into office. (Probably not though. Oh, god, another parenthetical aside!)

I know, it's a long shot. (Who do I think I am, Stephen Colbert?)

I'm just saying, that at least we have a plan, which is more than you can say for all those primary dropouts like Bill Richardson whom I miss terribly. (It's almost it's own little conversation, completely separate from the heavy politix talk going on OUTSIDE the parentheses. Which is so stupid, I could, like, gag, right?)

Honestly, this all still goes back to juggs rimshot the blah (previously known as "Judge Reinhold." see also, Benedict Reinhold) and his failure to re-endorse after Bill Richardson dropped out in February. My mind is like a rudderless ship, and I, a mere robot standing on the deck of that ship, awaiting my voting instructions from my evil Sesame Street overlord. All hail the Oscar! All vote for the Oscar!

(So, it's been a little hectic at the Fruit Plant lately. Company volleyball is in full swing, and since they decided to hold our last game at 5:15PM on a Tuesday - in California - we basically had no shot of making it there on time, even with the time difference AND the express Holiday Inn shuttle to and from the airport. Anyway, sorry about not blogging.)

So I think it's worth suggesting to Barack Obama and John McCain that they follow the lead of their former rivals and quietly drop out of the race for president too. Write them letters and tell them so. Send them emails. Stalk the candidates personally, if you must. Just get them to quit. It's the perfect plan.

(Oh, hey! Remember when I mentioned eating at Sonic in Denver?


Technically, it's a short distance outside of Denver, but still within the greater Denver metropolitan area.


Okay, the guy in this photo is not me. It's my friend Drew who recently got married, who was also at Sonic, and who is wearing a Rutgers shirt to prove that he's from faaaaaar away. Also, the girl in the picture is not me either. She's a Sonic employee, which can be hard to tell. Even harder is why Drew isn't being more chivalrous and taking the tray for her.)

The Oscar '08 Keys to Victory: Being Green and Not Elite

The Oscar '08 campaign effort has been lying low lately, just waiting for fatal mistakes by the front runners in the Clinton campaign and the Obama campaign and the McCain campaign and the Nader campaign and the Gravel campaign and the John Kerry '04 campaign and the Hamburger Penis campaign and the Mickey Mouse campaign so that Oscar can sweep in and take full advantage.

As we say over at Oscar '08 headquarters, the name of the game is patience. All we need is just a little patience. I've been walking the streets at night, just trying to get it right. It's hard to see with so many around. You know I don't like being stuck in the crowd. We say that ALL THE TIME. Sometimes we whistle along too.

Oscar himself has been, well, grouchy, to be frank. It seems like being in last place really doesn't agree with him. Although, on April Fool's Day, we tried to lift his spirits by commissioning fake polls that showed him with 45 percent of the popular vote, and a commanding plurality over Obama, McCain, Clinton, Hamburger Penis, and all the others. But even before we told him it was a joke, Oscar was STILL GROUCHY.

He's kind of a jerk, if you must know. We're doing our level best to keep that from the media, but this guy, I swear, wakes up on the wrong side of the trash can EVERY SINGLE DAY. Please, immediately forget that I said that. Because this week has been great for Oscar '08.

All this "elite" and "elitism" talk plays right into our hands. Delta's Business Elite frequent flyer program notwithstanding, apparently people don't like "elite." So I ask you this, American public: what could be less elite than a candidate who lives in a [expletive deleted] trash can?

Also, let's not forget how green he is. Apart from Kermit the Frog, whom Oscar already beat in the 1996 Senate race in Oklahoma, there is no greener candidate out there. Even Al "Look at me, I'm an environmentalist now" Gore is more red than he is green, that stupid communist.

I mean, that stupid ELITE communist! Now, nobody will vote for him!

Oscar is so green, he refers to the Jolly Green Giant as the Jolly Same Color as Me Giant. Oscar is so green that his middle name could totally be "Envy", if it weren't already "The." Oscar is so green that he shits emeralds! (Please don't tell anyone about the emerald shit, though, because it might be a serious medical condition - we're not sure yet, and we can't get his grouchy ass to a doctor). This is how green Oscar is:

This image used without permission. Sorry, whoever owns this image!

And this is how NOT ELITE he is:

This image also used without permission. But what could be less elite than posing for a picture with the superimposed head of Britney Spears, which probably still carries a pretty hefty risk of exposure to herpes? Quick, check out that filthy tuxedo before the cease and desist letter gets here!

Patience pays dividends, people. [Insert additional Guns 'N' Roses lyrics here.] America, once again, YOU ARE WELCOME.

A gift idea for Paul Begala

Paul Begala's birthday isn't until May 12th, so there are plenty of shopping days between now and then to find a more ideal gift for him than Anti-Monkey-Butt Powder, which he is going to need once Hillary Clinton finally bows out of the Democratic presidential race.

I'm hoping that happens right around May 12th, so I can leap in with a perfectly timed six-pack of Anti-Monkey-Butt Powder, thereby luring him to the Oscar the Grouch '08 cause.



My political savvy knows almost no bounds. How do you like me now, Barack Obama? That's what you get for hitting on my girlfriend, mister. I could totally have used the Anti-Monkey-Butt Powder to score the endorsement for you, but you blew it, dude. You totally blew it. Just like those ugly chicks did to our blind governor.

My 100th Post. Yay.

Blogger claims this is my 100th post since I started using blogspot last year. I have to say, I was initially duped into thinking that blogspot was some sort of clothes-washing/dry cleaning service, something I desperately needed at the time. It's hard to believe that in a mere 380 days, I have nearly learned how to read and write - a skill that Charlotte, the famous and eponymous spider of Charlotte's Web fame and eponymy, had already mastered fully by the middle of her lone year on planet earth.

My therapist always tells me that I won't do my self-esteem any favors by comparing myself to other people, so I don't. But that quack has never said jack squat about comparing myself to a spider, so I do. And every time, I end up losing, and my self-esteem spirals into a miasma out from which all the Snickers and all the Twix and all the golfers crotch hooks in the world cannot lift me.

Zod knows, I have killed plenty of spiders in my time. You would think that, after all that carnage, I would have cultivated a sense of superiority over the entire order Araneae. But consider the legacy of Charlotte A. Cavatica, who could rightly be regarded as the mother of bloggerism itself. Think about it: thoroughly unimportant and insignificant daily editorials in her web that changed the mind of the country bumpkins in charge of awarding blue ribbons at the county fair? That's exactly how people use the WORLD WIDE WEB today, OBVIOUSLY!! Well, that and for making lolcats.

So no, I don't feel superior. You were wrong for would-thinking that. I feel like a jerk, and so should you. Because while Charlotte was out there weaving words into her webs so that she could get "some pig" elected president, you and I were getting jerked around in grade school classrooms and not being taught the alphabet or how to weave webs or ANYTHING. And now, I can't even get a single celebrity endorsement for my Oscar the Grouch '08 campaign, all because I was not born a spider.

The practical upshot of my persistent illiteracy is twofold. First of all, I was not invited to partake in the making of this fine, quality video:

I mean, there's no denying what these women are saying. It truthfully is raining McCain. Hallelujah. Hosanna in excelsis.

Second of all, my write-in campaign for Oscar the Grouch lacks the muscle of this campaign, targeted at getting John McClane, hero of the Die Hard franchise of movies, elected president.

As none of you may recall, four years ago, I tried like hell, and at tremendous personal expense, to get Kenny Crandall from the movie Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Dead elected to the nation's highest office. And despite fielding a candidate that many considered more viable, and less intellectually dormant, than either John Kerry or George W. Bush, K. Crandall barely managed to muster 3,000 votes from among the entire American electorate.

I never had the coverage that they give to a John McClane candidacy, and it most certainly isn't raining Oscar the Grouch the way it's raining McCain. Obviously, in the face of this news, the Oscar '08 campaign is a totally lost cause. Because nothing beats John McClane. Just ask Hans Gruber. Or that scary fucker Karl that McClane hung from a bunch of conveniently placed chains after beating the crap out of him. Or any of the other German terrorists that held the Nakatomi Plaza hostage that Christmas Eve 20 years ago. Or the planeload of escaping weirdo military psychos who got blown up over Dulles airport after McClane lit their fuel trail on fire. I don't think even Kenny Crandall himself could overcome that.

But I will persevere nonetheless, and my perseverance will know no bounds. Because if there's one thing I know how to do, it's to persevere in the face of not-worth-persevering-against odds. Which is exactly how I've managed to continue writing this ridiculous blog which you are the only person not reading. But screw this learning to read business - that is just NEVER going to happen. What am I, a spider or something?

Charlotte A. Cavatica
Wherever Dead Spiders Go
Hell, Michigan 48169

Dear Charlotte,

If John McCain gets elected, you have no one but yourself to blame. You are ruining America. Fuck you, you dead fucking spider.

Love and kisses and slow, painful death to all your spider children,
Smokey Robinson

P.S. Do you know a good clothes-washing/dry cleaning service in New York City? Thanks loads.

This is why you should eat oranges.

All right, this is total bullcrap. Why is Goofus catching heat for taking the last apple while Gallant gets rewarded for sharing his orange? Do we have conclusive evidence that the orange wasn't the last orange? Maybe it was the next-to-last piece of fruit in the bowl. Maybe that diabolical fucker Gallant just took the orange so he could set Goofus up by leaving only the one apple. Maybe Goofus was heading to the kitchen for a knife so he could cut his apple up and give segments to other people, unlike Gallant, who took the pre-sectioned fruit just to make himself look like a goddamn hero! And then maybe Goofus got caught with the knife and someone thought the wrong thing, and he ended up in Guantanamo as an enemy combatant while Gallant cheated his way into the White House and authorized Goofus's captors to waterboard him. I hate President Gallant, that orange-sharing piece of shit.

And by the way, what the hell is so wrong with taking the last piece of fruit anyway? Should Goofus just leave it in the bowl so it can rot, just so no one will think he's rude? What about the starving children in Afghanistan and Iraq who have no fruit in the first place because of the shambles made of their economic infrastructure through years of outside intervention? Maybe Goofus was thinking of those poor, starving Iraqi orphans and being conscientious enough not to waste food, while Gallant was sending in the Army to bomb those orphans' parents!

Yeah, I said "orphans' parents." What?

I'd be willing to bet that sneaky little prick Gallant wants something in exchange for that fruit too. You think people just walk around handing out fruit, expecting nothing in return? Oh no, they don't. Goofus is scrambling to get his daily recommended allowance of fruits and vegetables in a household where quite obviously his parents don't provide him the nutrition he needs, while Gallant is busy trading orange wedges for sexual favors and political clout. I mean, just look at that sense of entitlement in Gallant's eyes, as if just having a piece of fruit is any sort of basis for establishing authority in a supposedly free society! I don't care if his father gave him that orange after he lost the 1992 election to Bill Clinton! That orange was paid for with United States tax dollars! It belongs to the people, asshole!

I'm more concerned about poor Goofus anyway, who obviously doesn't have extra fruit lying around with which to bribe the neighborhood girls so they'll pay attention to him. Goofus will probably grow up thinking the wrong things about women and believing he has to pay for sex. And then one day in 2008, after Goofus gets elected governor of New York, he'll be implicated in a busted prostitution ring, while that scumbag prickwad Gallant and his myopic economic and foreign policies drive the price of gas and food through the roof in America.

The moral of this story? Highlights for Children is completely morally backward. Stay away from it. Do not be taken in by the lies and deception. And also, if you have a choice between fucking a hooker and losing your job, or fucking the entire Middle East along with the economy and the security of your own country and not getting impeached, TAKE THE ORANGE.

"What happened today," whatever that's supposed to mean...

Well, Hillary Clinton won in Texas and Ohio, proving once again that anyone with a vagina whose name isn't John Kerry can win in Texas and Ohio. And, just like before, the eyes of hopeful women and African-descended Americans will be turned toward the Democratic party to see which minority will be overlooked, become disillusioned, and vote for Ralph Nader, paving the way for the upstart Oscar the Grouch '08 campaign to sweep the first Muppet President into the White House in January. Talk about your neglected minorities.

Still, it's not the fractious primary season that has me all bugaboo today, nor is it the results from Texas and Ohio themselves. What's eating at me is an email that was sent to Sarah early this morning by none other than Barack Obama himself. That's right, Barack Obama is emailing MY GIRLFRIEND.

At 4:00 in the morning!

From the campaign trail!!

And get this: they're apparently on a first-name basis too.

From: Barack Obama [messiah@barackobama.com]
To: Sarah [ilovesmokey@piealamodeproductions.com]
Date: Wed, Mar 5, 2008 at 4:24 AM
Subject: What happened today

Sarah --

We may not know the final outcome of today's voting until morning, but the results so far make one thing clear.

When the dust settles from today's contests, we will maintain our substantial lead in delegates. And thanks to millions of people standing for change, we will keep adding delegates and capture the Democratic nomination.

We knew from the day we began this journey that the road would be long. And we knew what we were up against.

We knew that the closer we got to the change we seek, the more we'd see of the politics we're trying to end -- the attacks and distortions that try to distract us from the issues that matter to people's lives, the stunts and the tactics that ask us to fear instead of hope.

But this time -- this year -- it will not work. The challenges are too great. The stakes are too high.

Americans need real change.

In the coming weeks, we will begin a great debate about the future of this country with a man who has served it bravely and loves it dearly. And we will offer two very different visions of the America we see in the twenty-first century.

John McCain has already dismissed our call for change as eloquent but empty.

But he should know that it's a call that did not begin with my words. It's the resounding call from every corner of this country, from first-time voters and lifelong cynics, from Democrats and Republicans alike.

And together you and I are going to grow this movement to deliver that change in November.

Thank you,

Barack

Nice veiled innuendo with that subject line, B.O. "What happened today," huh? What the hell is that supposed to mean, anyway? Is that shorthand for something I'm NOT SUPPOSED TO FIND OUT ABOUT?

W.T. Fuck?

I don't even know what to say about this. You scrimp and you save, and then you take all your hard-earned money and, instead of buying a Hyundai-sized raspberry or a raspberry-sized Hyundai, you spend it on a security deposit and a broker's fee so that you can live with a woman who turns out to be on a FIRST-NAME EMAIL BASIS WITH BARACK OBAMA AT 4:24 IN THE MORNING!

Not cool.

Then again, here I am practically running Oscar the Grouch's campaign all by myself, to the obvious neglect of my significant other. You know how I spent this past weekend? Trying to line up Vice Presidential candidates for the Grouch '08 ticket, that's how. I don't even remember what Sarah was doing the entire time. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure I remember Sarah asking me to lift the other end of something heavy while I was on the phone at one point. I wonder what happened with that...

I guess I have no one to blame but myself. Sarah has gone Barack, and she may never go back. And it's all my fault.

Maybe I can make it up to her by voting for Hillary Clinton. She's a girl too, I hear! I bet Sarah would really appreciate that.

As for Barack Obama, I have some change for you if you're interested. It's 28 cents, left over from buying a bagel and an herbal tea this morning. I was going to give it to a homeless person later, but it sounds as if you and your supporters could really use it.