Giving In

Last election, I made a thoughtful and well reasoned choice. I looked at the platforms of the candidates, my own thoughts/opinions on the world, and then voted for the person I thought would make the better leader in a time of high stress.

I won't be doing that again. Clearly, being well reasoned and smart is counter to the functioning of the average voter these days. So, I have decided to vote for The Donald.

Now, I have a zoologist friend who insists that a blond man can never be president . . . some elaborate story about how men are constantly engaged in a perpetual dick measuring contest and how blond pubic hairs make one's "junk" appear less impressive than darker hair.

And, The Donald has pretty appalling hair on his noggin, too. But, we know he's not paying some hairdresser hundreds of dollars to cut his hair in airplane hangers.

I think The Donald should change the title of president to The Donald of the United States . . .

If the country is gonna go down stupid, I guess I'm not going to fight it any longer and go down with them.

It's not you . . . well, it is you

So, I listen to NPR news each morning as I fight my way across town to work. Most days, my morning drive is timed to the daily business report. Lately, I've been early and have caught other news items. There was a bit about how President Obama had called the president of Egypt about that whole country-in-turmoil thing going on and urged him to step down. Since then, I've been making up the dialogue to that conversation.

O: (Please go to voice mail, please go to voice mail, oh darn he answered) . . . HI!
M: President Obama? (darn it, what does he want, doesn't he know I'm busy? He always just talks on and on . . .) Buddy! How you been? I see your poll numbers are up!
O: Yeah, Yeah, everything seems to be good. You? How's the fam?
M: oh, we're all good. We took a lovely holiday a few weeks back . . . I'll email you some of the pictures. You'd think we'd get tired of touring pyramids, but you know, we never do.
O: Yeah, that sounds great. We played it low key for the holidays . . . can't look like we're having too much fun, you know?
M: Yeah, ain't it the truth?


(silence)

O: well, um, I guess you know why I'm calling . . . seems I'm going to have to make some statement about what's going on over there . . .
M: yeah . . . I know.
O: you've been at this a long time, you know how it is . . . plus, I've only got one more shot at an election.
M: Yeah . . . sometimes I wish we had term limits . . . this is a young man's game. Frankly, the wife wanted me to retire the last elections.
O: Live the dream, man . . . you gotta take care of yourself . . . if you don't, who will?
M: Yeah . . .
O: so, like, right. I'm gonna say I urged you to step down. But, you know, I love ya, right?
M: Can you give me a day or two to make it look like I made the decision on my own?
O: Oh sure . . . yeah . . . that's good . . . go out with your head held high.


(silence)

O: well, yeah, oooh . . . my secretary is waving at me (not really), gotta go . . . you hang in there, okay buddy?
M: yeah, whatever.

The Unfounded Story

I've really been slacking on the unfounded story lately . . . I'll never get a show on Fox at this rate.

Anyway, I hear, or have entirely made up myself, that Obama has a deeply meaningful relationship with his Wii Fit trainer. And, McCain likes to post positive comments, anonymously, about himself on political blogs.

The Unfounded Story

I've forgotten to post the unfounded story . . . so, this just in . . . we have learned that Obama's favorite pjs are the ones with trains on them. And, John McCain collects tea cups.

Smug

So, last weekend, whilst hiding out in the mountains, I struck up a conversation with a fellow barfly. We exchanged the generalities without being too specific. And, then we wandered into the type of intimate conversation you can really only have in college with a complete stranger at 3 a.m. or with a fellow bar patron.

She was mad at her husband. She said she loved him dearly, but she was mad. (order another beer) She explained that she liked to write short stories. She didn't write for profit or for attention . . . only for her own amusement and creative outlet. She said she's been writing stories since she was a child. Her children always enjoyed the stories . . . and a few of her notebooks had been swiped by her children to share with grandchildren. But, mostly, the writing was her own personal outlet.

She was mad because her husband told her that she was a bad writer and that she was merely wasting perfectly good paper with her nonsense. I asked if she'd kicked him shins, hard? She said that she knew he was just being a jerk . . . but still, since he'd said it, every time she sat down to write, she thought of the waste of paper she was creating and couldn't put pen to page.

She said it was to her husband's disadvantage, since when she has an outlet, she didn't spend quite so many nights at the bar.

That night, I fell asleep smug in the knowledge that The Phenom would never try to take something I love . . . like cooking . . . away from me for such mean and selfish reasons.

OH yeah, in tonight's Unfounded Story (see CNN . . . we could call my nightly talk show The Unfounded Story with Super Bongo) . . . John McCain may or may not have a tail and Obama jumps on the bed of every hotel room he stays in.