God’s Self-Appointed Personal Emissary on Earth has gone bonkers – again. George Oilwellian is having his 16 millionth meltdown du jour. The Turd Blossom is still on the loose. And Insanely Cheney is still ticking like the mean old bastard that he is. It’s just another day in this land of freedom and liberty that we all love so much.
We must admit that even if we are omnipotent, we have increasing trouble picking a topic to blog about. The news from these schlumps is either so completely beyond the pale or wickedly funny on its own that you can’t really add anything useful. The acts of crazy people always speak for themselves. We’re amazed at how Jay, Dave, and Conan can do it. Still, we read a story today that did get us thinking.
What with all his vacationing, Traveling George must suck up more petroleum than even the worst Hummer-driving knothead. If all he wanted to do was hide from Cindy Sheehan – something he does abundantly well with anyone who criticizes him – he could have stayed at the White House and saved us all a passle of money. He should have just sent the Twins out to the front gate to give Cindy a big Texas Pecan Pie for her trouble. We’re sure that would have made her feel so, so much better.
To be fair though, we wouldn’t have really expected him to actually conserve. Heck, Uncle Dick the Puppet Master once said of conservation, “Conservation may be a sign of personal virtue but it is not a sufficient basis for a sound, comprehensive energy policy.” Using the logic this administration usually reserves for important matters, we guess that means we shouldn’t even try.
How much did it cost for you and me to send El Shrubo off to Crawford for five weeks? We can’t tell because – big surprise here – that information is confidential. What we do know is that those numerous vacations are important to the efficient functioning of a crackerjack Executive Branch. As Il Douche said during his recent auxiliary vacation in Idaho, “It’s important for me to go on with my life, to keep a balanced life. I think the people want the president to be in a position to make good, crisp decisions and to stay healthy and part of my being (healthy) is to be outside exercising. So I’m mindful of what goes on around me. On the other hand, I’m also mindful that I’ve got a life to live and will do so.”
We’re sure that Casey Sheehan would agree, but HE’S DEAD YOU FREAKING MORON!
Pat Robertson is back in the news. If we were God (we mean the other Omnipotent One), we would be pissed. Need we say more?
Blogging is a confessional sort of enterprise. You bare your soul to strangers around the world (hopefully not your minister in some cases) and wait for the love and adulation to roll in. The implicit contract is that the writer (that would be us, the party of the first part) provides fodder for your snickering pleasure and the reader (that would be you, the party of the second part) will continue to stop around and stroke the writer’s (that would be us again) ego. Hey, it’s no Congressionally-approved trade treaty, but it’s still a pretty fair trade.
We’re omnipotent and we know how much you like to snicker. So, here’s a short list of our omnipotent, albeight guilty, pleasures. Go ahead, laugh. It’s what we live for.
- Nash Bridges – The now-cancelled, but still in sometime syndication cop show was regular watching at the Poobah’s castle for as long as it was on. Don Johnson was still corny and smarmy, sort of like Miami Vice plus 20 years, with socks, and minus the pastels. Though no surprise here, he still wore weird clothes like vests, bolo ties, and suits without collars. Ceech Marin co-starred and was the professional counterpunch for Don Johnson’s aging grandeur. Not a hint of the pothead, even after all those years toking up with Tommy Chong (who had a recurring role as a crooked but lovable Chinese Triad bookkeeper). Besides, you gotta love a guy named after pork rinds (en espanol: chicharrones). As a plus, they filmed it on location in the Bay Area and it was always a treat to see how one part of town poorly masquaraded as another.
- Chick Flicks – We know we’ll probably lose our membership in the Manly Man Club over this, but we’re a sucker for chick flicks. If it’s about a troubled relationship, kicky clothes, or has a girl-vs-world plot, we’re there. It all started with an odd attachment to That Girl at an early age. Oddly enough, Mrs. Poobah likes action flicks. Go figure. Perhaps we’ve got some sort of weird personality transference going on. Or maybe she’s scoping out the action hunks…hmmm?
- Sappy Music – We can’t help it, but the lilting sound of Bread’s Baby I’m a Want You still brings tears to our omnipotent eyes. We love Shania Twain because she’s just so damn cute. We even think Beautiful by Christina Aguilerra is a masterwork. Not that we aren’t masculine as well as omnipotent, but that Aretha Franklin can sure belt out a mean You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman. Uh, perhaps that’s enough of the girl stuff.
- Men’s Magazines – We also we love the new crop of snarky men’s magazines – Maxim, Stuff, FHM, all of them. We know you’ve heard this before, but we read them for the “articles” – which at a maximum of 50 words, are just right for our gnat’s-length attention span. However, we also freely admit to looking at the pictures because they’re so wholesome in a perverted, damp hair sort of way. We need only point to the pictorials on Rachel Ray and Laura Prepon as examples. Besides, our omnipotent ass has grown so fat, we don’t think we’ll be a danger to them anytime soon.
- Disco Music – While we’re not fans of all disco music, there are certain standards that still peak our interest. Patti LaBelle’s Lady Marmalade is a favorite (we even like the Moulin Rouge version, despite Pink’s egregious involvement). And who can forget I Love the Nightlife and I Will Survive? We even have a soft spot for Donna Summer and Last Dance, but only in the car where we can throw caution to the winds and tap on the steering wheel. Oddly, we hated disco music when it was new so this must be some sort of pre-Alzheimer’s regression thing. We should make a mental note to have that checked…wait, what were we having checked?
So now you see all the embarrassment that is our life. Our shame is your gain. We hope you’ve enjoyed your fits of mocking laughter, but we have one small favor. Let us know what your guilty pleasures are.
We won’t tell…honest.