Duane Graham’s quicker reflexes beat me to the punch line. I’m left wondering who Congresswoman Lynn Jenkins thinks has the palest stones to enter the ring. Because I’ve been drinking, distracting yet another hangover, Chuck Norris is my choice to KO the reigning champ. Putting the sexy back into dyed facial hair, Walker’s the karate-chopping orangutan to Joe the Plumber’s shaved marmoset. What frumpy patriot lugging grammatically-challenged cardboard can resist Chuck’s orange chest hair? An effulgent forest of Day-Glo Liberty Trees, his pelt can spark spontaneous “Remember the Alamo!” squeals and sporadic bursts of gunfire. I’ve always thought psychedelic orange a patriotic color. Alas, freakishly bright orange pants on Caucasian men of prostate trouble age rarely grace the average tea bagging scene. Too bad men in Wal-Mart cargo shorts aren’t blessed with John Putnam’s acute fashion sense. (If I’m not mistaken, he’s fond of the bold bare ankle look during warmer weather, switching to sensible knee-high waders after the first hard freeze. To give credit where credit is due, I tell prospective employers that wearing plastic thongs with tube socks is my small attempt to show support for Putnam’s crusade against environmentally unsound lap dances. I find this testimonial breaks the ice before inquiring about drug testing policies).
One thing is certain: Michael Steele and the preternaturally tanned John Boehner would need expensive dermatological treatment to qualify as “great white hopes”. My guess is that Lynn’s McDreamy is cooling his heels in Idaho.
Juan Don
No comments:
Post a Comment