From the Comments:
wumble says:Does Cabella's have Virtual Lawnmower yet? Or maybe Promise Keeper Neo Geo, where your .75 cents lets you pretend to tell your wife and kids what's what?
Regular-guy lunchpail-carrying war hero John McCain probably can't remember a lot of things. Once your brain gets all clogged up with the amyloid plaque, it stands to reason that sooner or later, you're going to forget how many houses you own. Shit, I forget things all the time —
like, occasionally I forget what a fancy pampered fuck John McCain really is, and then some TV news camera zooms in on his $500 loafers, or on the various five-figure rhytidectomies and sliding genioplasties preserving his wife Cindy, like a mummy. Asked by the Politico website how many houses the couple owns, McCain said, "I think — I'll have my staff get to you... It's condominiums where — I'll have them get to you." According to Progressive Accountability, the McCains own 10 homes, ranches, condos and lofts valued at over $13 million, which is totally fine — I ain't no socialist, and there's nothing wrong with owning stuff. I myself own several shovels. Sure, I'm bragging a little. They're not that hard to get.After the jump, a heartwarming coming-of-age tale in which a teenage kid from the streets teaches a tough old bastard what life is really about. Like, seriously: heartwarming old Robin Williams, who decided years ago that I needed my heart warmed up more than I needed anything to laugh at, would totally make a movie out of this story. Unless your heart is already really, really warm, click here, or on this heartwarming porcelain bisque figurine reinterpreting Disney's Beauty and the Beast in the idiom of Precious Moments:
The Plog summer internship program: In much the same way that the muscular lead character in a direct-to-DVD action movie featuring a synthesizer musical score can't just be a veteran of the army regular forces, but is instead always a veteran of the army Special Forces, the Plog unpaid summer intern is never a regular high school student, but rather a veteran of the Kansas City Juvenile Justice Center. It's like a real joke around here. The new kid shows up, refusing to make eye contact with anybody, and we all laugh knowingly and say, "How did this one get arrested?" And we roll our eyes. And chuckle. And the answer is always something like voluntary manslaughter. We get a stipend from the city for participating in the summer internship program, which is a nice supplement for all the Bud Light Lime ad banner dollars the Plog generates, but is it really worth it? I wish I could say some treacly shit like, "When you see the eyes of a teen light up the first time he sees his byline in print, that's when you know it was all worthwhile," but that's a bunch of Hallmark Channel made-for-TV bullshit.
Our 2008 summer intern Preston immediately demanded that we call him "C-Thug," and when I insisted on calling him Preston, he stabbed me in the leg with a shank he'd made out of a soup can in juvie. Before he could finish the job, he had an epileptic seizure triggered by the flickering fluorescent lights in the office. I escaped while Faysal stuffed his wallet in Preston's mouth so he wouldn't bite his tongue. When he recovered, he followed the trail of blood and the sound of whimpering back to my cubicle and hissed, "You call me Preston again and I cut you, you feel me?"
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, C-Dog," I said.
"Sea-dog!? I ain't no Popeye the Sailor." He slapped me across the head and said, "C-Thug. SAY IT!" Then my Windows screen-saver popped up — it makes the words "CHRIS PACKHAM #1 ALL-STAR" fly around the monitor, and that somehow triggered another epileptic seizure, so I stuffed my wallet in Preston's mouth.
We put him to work as a Daily Briefs research assistant. Preston's pretty laconic, so mostly, this consisted of me making loud, filthy jokes about Midwest Voices blog entries and Preston grunting noncommittally from the next cubicle. Yesterday, I came across this embarrassing, somehow gynaecological report from WDAF Fox 4, actually reporting about David Cook's latest blog entry. "HAHA! David Cook blogged about taking a day off and going to the movies, and Fox 4 reported it!" I said. "Look, he went to see Tropic Thunder! Swinging dick American Idols sure lead very different lives from us smelly regular working folks! And listen to this: 'Cook said during his down time, he was able to watch the waves in Florida and think about the road that got him there.' That's just about as girly as — well, I can't think of anything, so let's say that's as girly as a girl winning some kind of vagina costume contest. I think —" And then I stopped, because Preston was behind me, holding something sharp to my neck. "Bitch, if I ever hear you talk smack about David Cook again, I'ma put a hole in your throat," he said. The kids sure love American Idol.
Later in the afternoon, Preston had a seizure triggered by an animated advertising banner on the website of The American Prospect. I quickly shoved my wallet in my mouth. Then I looked out the window and got distracted by a shiny object in the distance. Before I realized what happened, Preston had disappeared with my wallet. This morning, my bank account was empty and my tingly spider sense tells me he's not showing up for work today. Although it's fair to say that I can start blogging regularly about David Cook, just like the teenage girls running the WDAF Fox 4 newsroom, who I assume soak in bubble baths all day while talking on their princess phones.
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wumble, I would never call your guy an elitist. To do so would mean he actually fit in to our society somewhere and then raised to the top of it. And that is just silly.
Wow, blasted by what sounds to be a chiropractor with an unconscionable diagnosis. Really? I mean, isn't like half your schooling teaching you big words, while trying to explain to you that you are not a real doctor?
That aside, can't you see the benefit for all of us if McCain chooses Lieberman? An overt ejection of the religious right would be a glorious thing.
Darn, on the p.p.p.s. I was going to guess, "qualifications to be President".
funny.
p.s. - are you stll wearing those girly socks?
'cause if so, I totally understand Preston slicing you with his soup shiv...
p.p.s. - as someone who has severed a lot of spines [and not in the special forces; just, you know, the normal forces...and in the alley behind The Cigar Box] it is my professional opinion that (the) trevor has a hemangioma tumor on T-4. This is causing him so much pain that he can't think, much less write cogently: "...reaching across the aisle to Lieberman", indeed. Lieberman has been laying spread-legged in the Congressional aisles ever since his home state voters spanked his wrinkly, smelly old ass good in his primaries.
p.p.p.s.
Q. You know what McCain and Roald Reagan have in common?
A. Early onset senility.
David Cook got a day off? He should probably skip it ad start making some cash, because I can guran-damn-tee you that five years from now, when he's shat out the bottom of the county fair circuit, he'll have a lifetime of days off ahead of him.
(Shit, Mr. Briefs. Now that you're quoting us, there's pressure to actually say something good instead of just making fun of Trevor.)
Speaking of which, mr. T. Making fun of McCain's shaky grasp on how many houses he owns is a response to the RNC silliness of making fun of Obama for being an "elitist." The point is simple, but I'll put it in language you can follow.
Ahem.
Methinks that a "regular" guy should know how many houses he owns...alas, McCain doth not.
You show McCain! Show him, Packham!! There is no doubt whatsoever that having precisely 10 houses makes you unequivocally unqualified to be President. You just ignore that he might be taking back Republicanism, reaching across the aisle to Lieberman while punching out the far right on the same side of the aisle, and performing the neo-Repubectomy that this country so badly needs. Focus on the stuff that REALLY matters.
Alas, I do feel for you guys this time�usually your hope bubble doesn�t burst until election night. This time it looks to possibly have burst prior to your convention. So�k little Democrats, you just keep your chin up and keep doing what you do best. Keep on providing hindsight commentary with no future vision, applying present day speed bumps devoid of content, and being that opossum ground into the treads of a SUV.
As far as Thug-C, I thought that was a fruit drink. Anyway, he likely choked on the Velcro on your wallet because in all likelihood, your bank account was drained by the $2 monthly service charge for having less than $100 deposited.
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