Friday, August 29, 2008


It all started Thursday night following Obama’s speech. Barack’s speech was good compared to most political speeches, but for Obama it wasn’t that great. He had to attack McCain on specifics and try to convince a large portion of America that he’s not a slow-cooking sleeper cell simmering in death-to-America curry, so Obama didn’t really hit his groove until the last 10 minutes or so.

The crowd’s not satisfied and wants more, so they cheer and chant until Obama strides back onto the stage for an encore.

It’s classic Obama. He opens with “Hope” and transitions back into “White Mother from Kansas redux” before launching into a 30-minute rendition of “Yes We Can.”

The crowd goes nuts. It’s like the 4th of July combined with Christmas, losing your virginity, and the first 20 minutes of a meth binge.

Strangers hug and dry hump—it’s not even sexual, it’s just instinctive human celebration humping.

Even men cry freely, and nobody calls them a fag or asks if their dog died.

Fences are mended, walls drop, and differences are forgotten. Deadbeat dad’s call their kids and offer to play catch and pay for their college. Mongooses cuddle up to cobras, and Arabs and Israelis settle their differences over a plate of bacon. The whole world is buzzing.  

Then, just when the crowd thinks Obama is done, he busts out a cover of “I Have a Dream” and then jams into “Fear Itself.” He blows everyone's mind.

Literally. Heads explode. It’s pure pandemonium.

Even people watching at home are blown away. 

By 2:00 AM, everyone who has heard the speech has spontaneously combusted.

The right wing was right, an excitable speaker can be very dangerous for America, but even they’re dead now, because the speech was on every TV channel, and lord knows if there’s one thing Americans can’t do, it’s turn off the TV.

In fact, the only people in the whole world who weren’t watching the speech where the protesters outside who learned the intricacies of global politics during their 17 grueling years of suburban life and believe that tight jeans and a bandana make you a rebel and mumbling “this sucks” is a viable form of decent.

Anarchy and snot-nosed punks jacked up on energy drinks now rule America by default.

It’s a stoner’s Utopia: no more corporations, no more army, and everyone has healthcare.

Except this guy’s your doctor.

Then on Saturday night, everybody runs out of their allowance, and their parents are too dead to give them more money, so society crumbles and they all kill each other. By 10:37 PM EST, they’re all dead and the world has ended.

Thursday, August 28, 2008


I believe the punchline to that joke is "this guy!"



“and blowjobs in the back seat of a Cadillac!”

“Whew hew!”

"My first wife died."


“and I’m going to use that anger to attack John McCain!”


“I’m going to finish the job the Viet Cong started.”

“That pasty old bastard’ s gonna wish he only had a bamboo shoot shoved up his piss hole by the time I’m done with him!”

You can’t hide fear on an old lady’s face.

Listen Dems, if you put that artificial, no-talent, cum-crusted sock puppet Fergie on stage one more time, I’m gonna vote for Bob Barr. I swear to God, I’ll do it. Twice.

Chevy Chase didn’t get a chair because he’s a dick and no one likes him. Really.

The young guys like Susan Saradon cause she’s got all the good blow.   

I just wish the Dems could stop looking like an attack ad against themselves.

Jesus Christ, did they wait for the perfect sunset to do this, or is life always that poetically depressing and symbolic if you’re a wounded vet?

Images of decorated troops protesting the war connect with middle America. Signs that say, “Books not Bombs” do not.

Why do the Denver Police assigned to controlling the Iraqi Vets Against the War have better equipment then the vets did in Iraq?

So…. copy editors haven’t joined the movement yet?

With two conventions following the Olympics, the American flag factories in China must be having a banner year.

Clearly no one has told these two ladies that as the race tightens, the Democrats are going to distance themselves from gay marriage like Boo Radley with leprosy, AIDS, and open wounds.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008


Overlooking a sea of supporters, chanting for her, and waving signs with her name, Clinton is overwhelmed with a sense of pride for the United State of Hillary.

Seriously, an orange pantsuit? That’s almost as offensive as her race-baiting attempts to steal the nomination. Maybe she didn’t have any other options.


“No— way worse in person. Waaaaay worse. She smells like sulfur and dead babies. And her eyes are so cold it’s like she’s raping your soul with a giant, icy strap-on.”

“I support Balack Obama.”

“Did she just?!…

“He’s the best candidate from that race.”

“Now, more than ever, this is a time for us to unite behind an unqualified candidate who might be a terrorist, and look towards the future for my run in 2012.”

“Nailed it!”

I’ll stab the bitch.”

“Ha! Awesome!”

“We’re gonna stab the bitch! My idea.”

“Cut her fucking throat, sweetheart.”

It looks like she got coached in feminine gestures by Barker’s Beauties.

I’d love to see the hours of tape of her practicing these moves with a choreographer.

I’ve seen crippled seals clap more naturally.

The ol’ two finger point never works—never. That being said, it usually doesn’t go this poorly.

“Holy shit! Is she pointing at me? Shit, shit, shit! She knows I’m high! Why the fuck did I wear this and get stoned?! I should have tried to blend. Fuck!”

Looks like we finally found the precise portion of the light spectrum that botox does not reflect. 

“I support Hillary cause she’s a good patriot and cause black people don’t tip. Top you off there, honey?”

“Yay Hillary! Boo my ex-husbands!”

Watching Hillary concede is like hearing her drunk husband mock her online antique cookie store idea all over again.