Tuesday, August 26, 2008


Let’s be honest, political conventions are just highbrow tailgating. Well, maybe not “highbrow.”

God damn it, Florida! I’m all for a good party, but you’re supposed to be selecting the next leader of the free world, not mixing your new pills and with old booze at a Jimmy Buffett concert.

Look at his eyes. He’s totally spun. This is why Florida fucks up every election.

Coming down from a fist full of pills is never fun, but I imagine it’s a very rude awakening when you sober up at the Democratic National Convention and realize that Michelle Obama is talking about the values she learned from her hard-working father crippled with MS, struggling before the civil rights movement, while you’re wearing this get up and are completely out of drugs.

“Fuckin’ A, man! Who’s got the haps on late night?”

Why is it I want to beat the white guy with a broomstick until he gives up his right to vote, but the black guy makes me want to go party?

If I dreamt this image, I would seek therapy immediately. Like as soon as I woke up. I wouldn’t even brush my teeth-- I’d just get my ass straight into the psychiatrist’s office.

Barack Obama is like a Jonas Brother for middle-aged women.

Someday, this old broad’s shirt will be the greatest thrift store find ever.

What is it about selecting a presidential candidate that makes people wear silly hats? Is it like the modern day powdered wig, or is it a coded message from the inside trying to convey just how fucked the process is?

First time ever there’s been a picture of a black guy on a cowboy hat, and it didn't end in a lynching.

“Well, I need to help convince the country that Obama is the right man to lead us out of our troubled economy, fix our faltering industry, and end two infinite wars, so I took a giant, foam corn cob, covered it with shiny flair and put it on my head. Can I give you a flyer?”

Is her hat mocking the 1906 earthquake of San Francisco?

FYI, Mr. T-Shirt Maker, the word is “historic” not “historical,” unless of course, you’re trying to be ironical. 

Really, that’s your plan to get hard line Hillary feminists back on board? A sexist pun on “shoes?”

“So we’re cleared to beat the fuck out of any white kid with dreadlocks. The rule ain’t new, but it’s about time we enforced it.”

I’ll handle this question: the America you loved never existed. Before Bush came into office, you were only 10 years old—so yeah, life probably did seem a lot easier then, but what the fuck did you know, you were in 4th grade? Suck it up and deal with it—this is America.

If you really have some important message you want to stand up for, why are you hiding your face? That’s like signing a petition you support with the name “Ben Dover.”

It’s not like you have to hide your identity to demonstrate in a pre-approved protest zone on the sidewalk in Denver. Protesters cover their faces in other countries because if their identity is discovered, they will be killed, and also because they’re burning shit and the smoke is toxic. Grow a sack, youth of America.

Now that’s a badass protester. He doesn’t need a bandana to look cool- just his beliefs, some khaki pants, and a madras shirt. Take notes, kids.

It’s hard to tell because of they’re all wearing black, but that cop just came in his pants.

“I hope someone’s catching this for my American Gladiators submission tape!”

You can only shout “fascist pig-fucker” at a man with a little dick for so long before the pepper spray comes out.

Hey, if the older brother from “Wings” can’t deliver this election for Obama, who can?

“I heard Obama was having trouble reaching white middle America, so I thought, hey, I can help, I’m Spike Lee. By the way, did you notice that I’m wearing a Polo shirt? I know, I’m important.”

Well, at least Hillary’s pitching in.

McCain event across town.

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