What the Ultra-Fast Reaction Time of Our President Is Actually Telling You

I was going to talk today about the hairstyle that has become the new object of my desire, and particularly the stiltwalker from the ABC circus who wears said coiffure. We'll come back to that later. Because in the words of The Brady Bunch Movie, something suddenly came up. Namely this:

I have to take a break from laughing for a minute to compliment the gentleman on his aim. That is precision! I have plenty of experience hurling projectiles toward people (usually volleyballs toward the bare-chested assholes from rival New York City fruit production companies... watch the f**k out, Chiquita...), but given my limited practice time throwing shoes (I have actually thrown shoes three times in my life), I don't think I could guarantee that the direction of my missiles would be quite this true.

Nice work, dude! I hope you enjoy the beating.

But I reserve my highest praise for Mr. President himself -- not because he kept his cool and somehow managed to act with less rashness than the invasion in the first place, but because he managed to dodge not one, but both shoes! You normally only see him employ that kind of dexterity fending off uncomfortable questions from reporters about his motivation and decision-making, or evading military service, or ignoring the wants and needs of his fellow Americans.

That is impressive, sir.

It has made me wonder if perhaps there is more to this hobbit than meets the eye, and by hobbit, I mean monkey-faced politician. Those reflexes can't be easy to come by. Does he maybe know karate or judo, or some other martial art? Does he fight crime during the ten hours a night in which he claims to be sleeping? Is it like a Jekyll and Hyde thing, where he is fated to forever be possessed of two rival personalities - by night, a behind-the-scenes doer of good works, valiant and of unimpeachable character; and by day, a improbably daft world leader of totally impeachable character?

Maybe that memoir won't be so hard to sell after all, eh there, Mr. Prez? YOU'RE WELCOME FOR SAVING YOUR REPUTATION. You can owe me one later.

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.

You Know Who You Are

I cannot claim credit for finding this. I can't even claim credit for blogging about this first. This comes courtesy of my college roommate and another former housemate of ours from the days when we lived on Duke Street in Nueva Brunswick, which is in Nueva Jersey. If you didn't ever stay up late enough to see NJN sign off at like 2:30 in the morning, chances are you haven't seen this. But for those other owls who were sitting awake on their living room couches, contemplating actually doing homework for once or just masturbating and then heading to bed, all while going into their fourth straight hour of channel-flipping, you know what I'm bloggin' about...

I'm blogging about this "movie."

On this subject, I can't write anything more sublime than this, which was written by our good friend Squawking VFR. Mr. VFR and I were roommates for more than four years. And rather than try to tack my thoughts onto his gorgeous testimonial to Garden State pride, allow me instead to present for you a fun fact about Mr. VFR.

Mr. VFR's favorite movie is (or at least was) none other than the 1987 box office juggernaut, Planes, Trains & Automobiles. (Directed by John Hughes, starring John Candy and Steve Martin, runtime: 93 minutes.) Who wouldn't love it, right? But VFR was a quirky dude, and his relevant quirk was that he would only watch this movie on Thanksgiving.

Understandable. It's a holiday thing, a tradtion thing, whatever. Except that we never celebrated holidays together, and we certainly never celebrated them at our college places of residence. (To some extent you could argue that at college, every Friday and Saturday night is a holiday, but again, whatever.) So why the hell did he bring the tape to school with him?

I think I know why. It was to tempt me into the embarrassing predicament, late in our sophomore year, of having to explain to a room full of my friends why my roommate had just interrupted us, 45 minutes into Plains, Trains & Automobiles, and angrily demanded that we eject the tape from the VCR immediately. And in so doing, Mr. VFR had generously also given me this very story that you're reading. And stories are the rarest gift of all, kids.

I have no shadowy psychological idiosyncrasies to share about the other housemate involved in the finding of this fine piece of Jerseyana. But if he's out there reading this, I hope he knows that he has my sincere gratitude for its discovery. Good job, man.

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.

Here's a Nickel's Worth of Free Advice

Just because two people say things does not mean that they both made valid points. Much more often, one person is just speaking nonsense, and should consequently be punished for their insolent behavior.

For example, if I say something and you disagree with it, you are wrong and should be ostracized from society.

Therefore, ergo, and henceforth, you shall all be on notice, people. No more Mister Nice Smokey. And do you want to know why? Because not ONE of you sent me a Guy Fawkes Day card. Not one.

Disappointed, America. Very disappointed. [SMOKEY shakes head.]

And don't be all like, "oh, I was busy," because I know you fucking found time to vote. Jerk.

This was SO going to be Oscar the Grouch's last-minute Get Out The Vote message!

Curse you, Barack O'Bama. You've outflanked me for the last time. I hope you nearly choke on a pretzel during the Super Bowl - even if you don't win.

Just When You Thought You Were Safe from Rush Limbaugh...

In addition to having a token Jew here in the Canning Ops Division at Dole(I'm talking about Rebecca Goodman, who hasn't stopped yammering about her kid's effing Jedi costume like it's the most original fucking idea in the world, which it maybe was THIRTY YEARS AGO), we also have a token black guy, who has been here all along and was not just invented for the sake of this blog post, I swear to Zod.

His name, by a freak coincidence, is Rush Limbaugh. That's right - Rush Limbaugh is a big, husky black dude who likes to make off-color jokes about having sex with Rebecca Goodman's kids - the boy and the girl - which we all tolerate because it's the only thing that shuts Rebecca Goldman up. You have NO IDEA how hard it is to fall asleep on the job while Rebecca Goodman keeps yammering on about her kid's effing Jedi costume, which I am mentioning again because that's what Rebecca Goodman does, and I want to share the misery with you. Smokey equals spite for the win!

Anywhoop, here is what I just said to Rush Limbaugh The Black a few minutes ago, during the annual Hallowe'en jokey-joke fest that will be occurring in front of the coffee machine in the break room all the livelong day today: I said, "hey, Rush - isn't that the same costume you had on last year, or is it just that all your outfits look the same to me?" Chuckle chuckle chuckle gum disease.

Human Resources - or Human Re-SNORE-ces, as I call them, ha ha ha - just called me up for a meeting. Not sure what it's about, but I'm guessing that despite the rough economic circumstances, and despite the constant calls for budget restrictions and the threat of layoffs due to a sharp decrease in the consumption of canned goods*, they're probably going to give me a raise.

Fingers crossed, everybuzzy!

P.S. I came dressed as Rachel from Friends today. Weird coincidence that it happened to be Hallowe'en.

*This is actually not true. Because of their durability and their long association with camping, fallout shelters and other forms of apocalypse survival, the canned goods industry thrives in the worst economic climates. Canned goods are like the roaches of the food world, which is why, for a brief time during the 1970s, Dole experimented with adding a roach to its logo.

Is There No Depth to Which this Year's Crop of Candidates Will Not Stoop?

Ever since I stopped running the Oscar '08 campaign (for which I was beaten soundly with the Big O's trash can lid), I've been hearing a lot more about this Irish fellow named Barack O'Bama who's running for El Presidente, and this other guy named Sarah Palin, who is starring in the upcoming JJ Abrams Star Trek movie. No, wait - that's Zachary Quinto. Sorry, I keep getting them confused. I think it's the ears.

Anyway, you won't believe what these two guys are up to! Check out this headline about the O'Bama guy:

He left a trail for his ill grandmother? Seriously? Why didn't he just go see her? What kind of a jerk makes his sick grandmother get up from her death bed - in Hawaii, no less - to do a scavenger hunt to find him? Is he so busy running for president that he can't just take a couple of days away from the campaign and go visit her? What about her needs?

I think it's pretty shameless to keep trying to grab votes while you're ailing grandmother is chasing after your bread crumbs. But it's not the most shameless vote-grabbing effort this week - not by a long shot. Because it turns out that Sarah Palin is actually not a dude, but a chick! And that's not all. Check this out:


Amazingly, the video has since been removed. Go figure.

Obama was on TV? And I missed it? Wait, is he the black dude or the white dude? He is? And I MISSED IT?

W*** T** FUCK?

Well, I can't be the only one. I bet ABC can't wait for the Nielsen dials to come in tomorrow - this is probably going to be an EASY win for Pushing Daisies. Chuckle chuckle chuckle crap my pants.

Oh, and P.S. Gary Unmarried will return next week at its regular place and time. So you can exhale now, America.

Whew!

That was a great episode of Pushing Daisies! Can you believe that thing that happened with Ned and Emerson and Charlotte where they all got dressed up to play poker? Remember how funny it was? Ha ha ha funny!

What else did I miss on tv?

What a Day!

Okay, what the hell, New York City? What's with the kamikaze plastic ramekin that came spinning down the staircase at me in the 59th Street Station today, and then veered off toward the turnstile like it was trying to cut me in line (which is offensive) before crashing, disturbingly into a wall? It was like a little trapezoidal wheel of fear and death and plastic. I was scared!

Uhh!

Wow. I need to unwind. I'm gonna put on Pushing Daisies and relax for a little while.

-Smokey

This Week in Guns

Hello, fellow patriots and residents of the Great Trailer Park that is the U S of A!

Wilkommen and bienvenue to This Week in Guns: a celebration of freedom and God and the rootin'-est, tootin'-est, shootin'-est amendment in the Bill of Rights - that's right, I'm talking about good old Number Two.

In this week's edition of TWIG, we're doing some good old fashioned Jew-blaming. So put down the Stroh's and the Beretta, and take off those safety goggles, and let's get started!

Ah, who are we kidding - you don't use safety goggles, do you? But seriously, put down the gun and the beer, just so you don't accidentally shoot yourself in the drinking hand, spilling beer and blood all over your keyboard and destroying your ability to scroll down and read the rest of the Jew-blaming.

Not that gun accidents are for realsies. They're just a device used by the liberal media coastal elites to rob of us the freedoms guaranteed in the God-stitution. Which brings us to today's item:

Boy Accidentally Kills Himself With Uzi

(AP) An 8-year-old boy died after accidentally shooting himself in the head while firing an Uzi submachine gun under adult supervision at a gun fair.

The boy lost control of the weapon while firing it Sunday at the Machine Gun Shoot and Firearms Expo at the Westfield Sportsman's Club, Police Lt. Lawrence Valliere said.

The boy was with a certified instructor and "was shooting the weapon down range when the force of the weapon made it travel up and back toward his head, where he suffered the injury," a police statement said. Police called it a "self-inflicted accidental shooting."

more...

Let me be the first one to call bullshit on this story.

Are we honestly expected to believe that an eight-year-old kid, firing an Uzi under professional supervision, would have an "accident" like this? Ridiculous! Shooting guns is like the safest thing in the world, and every professional knows exactly what they're doing. Also, there are no accidents, only cleverly disguised conspiracies, which is why it's so important to have guns in the first place.

This has "Children of Israel" written all over it. Think about this, anyone who's skeptical: who manufactures the Uzi? I'll give you a hint: it starts with an "I" and ends with "srael Miltary Industries." I am optimistic that you can do the rest of the math yourselves.

The boy's name is not being released. But I think it's clear that he was no Einstein, since Einstein was a Jew and a pacifist and probably never would have picked up the gun in the first place. Which is fine, I guess, if that's how you want to live your life, Einstein, you pussy. Personally, I'd rather die in a blaze of glory at eight years old.

It's Not Easy Being Green

Hey, everybuzzy. Hi. How are you doing. I hope you're okay.

Sigh.

So Oscar the Grouch isn't really speaking to me. We have two weeks left in the campaign, and it turns out that thanks to the work of ACORN, there are more people registered to vote under the name "Oscar the Grouch" than there are who plan to actually vote for him. All that red state-blue state-green state mumbo jumbo that we were hoping for has turned out to be nothing but a bunch of red state-blue state-green state mumbo jumbo that we were hoping for.

It's time to face the facts: this election is pretty much done for the Grouch-Piggy ticket. Maybe it was over before it started, like one of the aborted fetuses that Barack Obama loves so damn much and probably eats for breakfast before he prays to Mecca and calls up Bill Ayers and Osama bin Laden on the phone to talk about which buildings he's planning on blowing up first after he gets inaugurated.

In the end, we never had any hope of competing with Obama's far superior marketing machine. I mean, when you've got advertising like this:

and this:


What hope is there for anyone else? How can you look at these things and NOT want to vote for Barack Obama? I want some Obama Bucks! I want more abortions and same sex marriages! Sign me the hell up!

But the Oscar campaign was beset by further struggles too. Remember back when Hillary Rodman Clinton dropped out of the race, when the candidate field had been whittled all the way down to two with just a few months left before the election? This Race to the White House™ started with eighteen people and got all the way down to TWO! How much longer could it possibly be before the pool narrowed even further, to just ONE, and then ZERO! That was the centerpiece of my electoral strategy, if you recall.

There were a few problems I didn't foresee. First of all, these McCain and Obama chaps turned out to be much more persistent about becoming president than I thought. I just assumed that since every other Democrat and Republican changed their minds and decided not to run, so would John McCain and Barack Obama. I assumed wrong.

Worse than that, it seems I wasn't the only person who backed a surprise candidate with the hope of gaining some late momentum. Check out some of the competition:


Seriously, how the fuck is Oscar supposed to compete with Caligula? Talk about executive experience - dude was in charge of the Roman Empire! I'm sure in comparison, people are gonna be real impressed by a raggedy puppet in a fucking garbage can, right?

And the Nurglon thing? Folksy, family values - that's what the American electorate responds to! Plus, I have no idea how, but they lined up a major party affiliation! All I can say is wow. Good luck to you, being. I hear judge rimjob the blah* is even considering endorsing them, and who can blame him?

Worse than all that, it turns out the John McCain is actually a much bigger grouch than Oscar could ever hope to be.

Which brings us back to why Oscar isn't speaking to me. See, I was a little bit pissed off at him for not even acknowledging the lovely chopsticks set I got him for National Grouch Day last week, and so I may have accidentally referred to Oscar as "would not even be in the same grouch league as John McCain if there were an official league of grouches" on a conference call with members of the press and virtually all of our high-level donors.

Oops.

Anyway.

Two weeks left before the election, and I think it's time to call it on the Oscar '08 campaign. Time of death: still in the womb.

Oh, and to all those of you who will say they saw this coming, please feel free to fuck yourself with something large, metallic, furry, and partially green. Like, say, a garbage can with a Muppet sticking out of one end. Fuck yourself with that.

Have a Lousy Grouch Day!

You know what to-day is? It's official Grouch Day. I hope your grouch day is filled with trash and anger. Now get out of my garbage can!

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.