Today’s the day Michele Bachmann marches tea baggers through the halls of Congress. In anticipation of this historic charade, Democratic Party representatives have agreed to stand before their desks naked from the waist down. Actually, only male representatives will be airing out their boys: tea bagging female traitors is physically impossible. An imaginative loon, perhaps Bachmann has developed a contingency plan so as to include the fairer socialist sex. Judging from the wild-eyed siren’s previous patriotic stunts, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that girl Democrats could be assaulted with the red, white and blue Endocervical Specula ’O Liberty. We can only hope and pray that Barney Frank feels rough, populist tongue and cold stainless steel, preferably at the same time.
______________________
My pharmaceutically enhanced happiness took a hit yesterday after reading the Family Tamko has $250,000 to burn. It must be a burden to have so much money lying around. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to help. And so I offer this remedy:
Dear Humphreys,
After hearing of your cash infestation problem, I feel compelled to offer my assistance. Because Beloved made me shovel out the garage, there is approximately 200 square feet of unused floor space. Too small an area for the average libertarian to stretch his or her legs, it can easily accommodate a quarter million dollars. Assuming the money is packed in boxes, I’m guessing that the relatively clean area can handle five, maybe six million bucks. In fact, why not just back the Brinks truck up to the garage door, and I’ll take it from there.
A huge fan of asphalt,
Juan Don
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
spooky canine tooth
Here’s what I did last week while high on serious pain medication:
Devoted two days studying the Republican’s health-care plan
Phoned in a pizza delivery order to Freeman Urgent Care
Tried to make my wife a Halloween costume out of Shoe Goo and electrical tape
Set the sticky black wad on fire in a plastic trash can
Looked on helplessly while my wife galloped about trying to contain the toxic blaze
Invented a new chili recipe that doesn’t require beans, ground beef or conventional seasoning
_______________________________
Tomorrow’s election results should provide ample piles of blog material. Because I still have two serious pain pills left, I am going to clean out the vial. Dangerously close to glimpsing Limbaugh’s “American exceptionalism”, perhaps another 1000 milligrams will provide the final push.
Juan Don
Devoted two days studying the Republican’s health-care plan
Phoned in a pizza delivery order to Freeman Urgent Care
Tried to make my wife a Halloween costume out of Shoe Goo and electrical tape
Set the sticky black wad on fire in a plastic trash can
Looked on helplessly while my wife galloped about trying to contain the toxic blaze
Invented a new chili recipe that doesn’t require beans, ground beef or conventional seasoning
_______________________________
Tomorrow’s election results should provide ample piles of blog material. Because I still have two serious pain pills left, I am going to clean out the vial. Dangerously close to glimpsing Limbaugh’s “American exceptionalism”, perhaps another 1000 milligrams will provide the final push.
Juan Don
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
without partial
Squealing about the price of Fruit Loops and moo juice, Dianne Slater is back again to say boo. The scary Chicago street thug is spending money like a California conservative. Waddle for your lives, the African Marxist wants to give her two hundred and fifty bucks! Hell’s bells, Miss D, that extra cash could keep you supplied in cereal for at least another month, maybe two if you stopped swallowing handfuls while watching Glenn Beck imitate Mr. Green Jeans going through angel dust withdrawal. Not to be picky, but how did George W. Bush pay for the invasion of Iraq? Maybe I missed the local Americans for Prosperity garage sale that raised…a trillion dollars.
Bitching about the First Couple enjoying an occasional date night, I assume Miss D is cool with GW Bush expending 857 days of his presidency on vacation. It’s amazing that he found the time to defeat Terror and preside over unparalleled economic growth. Small wonder the previous president is making over $3,000 a minute motivating the morally prone.
___________________________
Ollie North is advising Congressional Republicans on foreign policy. Rep. Mike Pence (R-Uranus) wanted Sarah Palin for the job, but she hasn’t had time to purchase bigger binoculars. Ollie’s expertise in selling weapons to America’s sworn enemies is beyond reproach. I suspect the Taliban would trade poppies for Stinger missiles. Ollie could then persuade his international drug connections to convert the further processed poppies into legal tender. All politicians like slush funds, especially the covert, untraceable variety.
I’m going to go out on a limb and predict Ollie believes President Obama should order more troops into Afghanistan before launching a preemptive strike against Iran, the UN and Chicago’s south side.
___________________________
House Republicans are pushing for a resolution to honor tea baggers. Hearing the news, Gunston “Gunny” Krumpler, founder of Not Those Kind of Hershey Kisses, is upset that his organization is getting the shaft.
Firing off an email from his French Lick, Indiana headquarters, Krumpler let Rep. John Boehner know his disappointment.
Mr. Minority Leader,
As a lifelong libertarian and practicing Objectivist, I must object to reports that tea baggers are being singled out for special commendation. Described by friends as ‘loose and goosey’, I’m cool with consenting adults doing whatever floats their boat. Although sipping testicles is not my cup of tea, the activity appears popular with overweight whites who share grammar issues.
To the point: What about throwing a bone to liberal-hating gun-lovers who find pleasure in kissing and tonguing butt? Had Dick Armey thought it through, he would have realized that there are more anti-Obama ass kissers than tea baggers. Instead of a measly 70,000 marching on Washington, my organization could have fielded an additional twenty or thirty from the northern Virginia /D.C. area alone. And not to toot my own horn, but I designed a killer logo that never fails to generate media controversy.
You could prove that the Republican Party is inclusive if including anally-fixated anti-government patriots.
PS: Please don’t confuse Not Those Kind of Hershey Kisses with the George Soros funded Rectal Rangers. I don’t believe an explanation is necessary,
Hi Ho,
Gunny Krumpler
An hour later Krumpler sent another email.
Dear Mr. Minority Leader,
Imagine my shock and embarrassment when discovering that the tea baggers in question…well, I hope one day you and I can share a good laugh.
If I may offer a small defense-as-question: Why do they call themselves tea baggers? As an educated man with 23 hours of community college under his belt, I don’t think I’m alone in thinking that there was a sexual component involved. But since there isn’t, I fully understand why you wouldn’t want to add my organization into the mix.
Although NTKOHK is perfectly legal with nothing whatsoever to hide, I would consider it a great favor if FBI personnel weren’t dispatched to my humble office. I’m going through a rather nasty custody battle with my ex-wife, and I know she’d use a federal investigation against me in court.
PS: I have an autographed photo of Speaker Gingrich.
Very Sincerely,
Gunny Krumpler
Juan Don
Bitching about the First Couple enjoying an occasional date night, I assume Miss D is cool with GW Bush expending 857 days of his presidency on vacation. It’s amazing that he found the time to defeat Terror and preside over unparalleled economic growth. Small wonder the previous president is making over $3,000 a minute motivating the morally prone.
___________________________
Ollie North is advising Congressional Republicans on foreign policy. Rep. Mike Pence (R-Uranus) wanted Sarah Palin for the job, but she hasn’t had time to purchase bigger binoculars. Ollie’s expertise in selling weapons to America’s sworn enemies is beyond reproach. I suspect the Taliban would trade poppies for Stinger missiles. Ollie could then persuade his international drug connections to convert the further processed poppies into legal tender. All politicians like slush funds, especially the covert, untraceable variety.
I’m going to go out on a limb and predict Ollie believes President Obama should order more troops into Afghanistan before launching a preemptive strike against Iran, the UN and Chicago’s south side.
___________________________
House Republicans are pushing for a resolution to honor tea baggers. Hearing the news, Gunston “Gunny” Krumpler, founder of Not Those Kind of Hershey Kisses, is upset that his organization is getting the shaft.
Firing off an email from his French Lick, Indiana headquarters, Krumpler let Rep. John Boehner know his disappointment.
Mr. Minority Leader,
As a lifelong libertarian and practicing Objectivist, I must object to reports that tea baggers are being singled out for special commendation. Described by friends as ‘loose and goosey’, I’m cool with consenting adults doing whatever floats their boat. Although sipping testicles is not my cup of tea, the activity appears popular with overweight whites who share grammar issues.
To the point: What about throwing a bone to liberal-hating gun-lovers who find pleasure in kissing and tonguing butt? Had Dick Armey thought it through, he would have realized that there are more anti-Obama ass kissers than tea baggers. Instead of a measly 70,000 marching on Washington, my organization could have fielded an additional twenty or thirty from the northern Virginia /D.C. area alone. And not to toot my own horn, but I designed a killer logo that never fails to generate media controversy.
You could prove that the Republican Party is inclusive if including anally-fixated anti-government patriots.
PS: Please don’t confuse Not Those Kind of Hershey Kisses with the George Soros funded Rectal Rangers. I don’t believe an explanation is necessary,
Hi Ho,
Gunny Krumpler
An hour later Krumpler sent another email.
Dear Mr. Minority Leader,
Imagine my shock and embarrassment when discovering that the tea baggers in question…well, I hope one day you and I can share a good laugh.
If I may offer a small defense-as-question: Why do they call themselves tea baggers? As an educated man with 23 hours of community college under his belt, I don’t think I’m alone in thinking that there was a sexual component involved. But since there isn’t, I fully understand why you wouldn’t want to add my organization into the mix.
Although NTKOHK is perfectly legal with nothing whatsoever to hide, I would consider it a great favor if FBI personnel weren’t dispatched to my humble office. I’m going through a rather nasty custody battle with my ex-wife, and I know she’d use a federal investigation against me in court.
PS: I have an autographed photo of Speaker Gingrich.
Very Sincerely,
Gunny Krumpler
Juan Don
Friday, October 23, 2009
Pre-Op Ritual in E Minor
Senator David Vitter (R-LA) has been slow to question Tangipahoa Parish justice of the peace Keith Bardwell’s resolve not to marry mixed raced couples. Bardwell, known to sing Jubilation T. Cornpone after blushing brides officially become patrilocal property, doesn’t believe black-on-white breeding produces show quality pups. Bayou Bob Maggiteaux, Bardwell’s barber, is pretty sure Keith’s ugly encounter with his neighbor’s Dalmatian caused an aversion to spots.
“You’ll never see him wear polka dot shirts or enter a circle drive,” said Bayou Bob.
When asked if racism plays a role in the justice’s refusal to follow state law, Bayou Bob replied, “As far as I know he’s never been to the dog track.”
_________________________
I wrote Senator Claire McCaskill an e-mail asking her to please contact Anson Burlingame. I’m sure that his Red Team collection of north side Joplin conservatives could provide her with invaluable insight as to why they’re still sending Jim Talent money.
Preternaturally helpful, I’d like to offer Anson a few suggestions should he decide to re-name his blog. There’s nothing wrong with Shaker simplicity. But a splash of color is always refreshing. Approaching winter’s promise of monotone blues can always use a little orange peel to pucker the soul.
Please keep in mind that I’m on my second or third post-brunch Bloody Mary; Muse is still encased in wool toe socks. Up periscope:
Brace Yourself
Ding, Ding, Ding: Dive! Dive!
Okay! Okay! Sixty Percent
The Dromophobic Flaneur
I'm Not Paying for That (Not that I do Anyway)
Pruning the Nodical Hydrath
Country Club Cracknel
Damn this Thing!
__________________________
And now I must wash thoroughly before my two O’clock laparoscopic hepatic resection. The nurses become edgy if I wander into surgery in sweat pants and Bugle Boy pullover.
Juan Don
“You’ll never see him wear polka dot shirts or enter a circle drive,” said Bayou Bob.
When asked if racism plays a role in the justice’s refusal to follow state law, Bayou Bob replied, “As far as I know he’s never been to the dog track.”
_________________________
I wrote Senator Claire McCaskill an e-mail asking her to please contact Anson Burlingame. I’m sure that his Red Team collection of north side Joplin conservatives could provide her with invaluable insight as to why they’re still sending Jim Talent money.
Preternaturally helpful, I’d like to offer Anson a few suggestions should he decide to re-name his blog. There’s nothing wrong with Shaker simplicity. But a splash of color is always refreshing. Approaching winter’s promise of monotone blues can always use a little orange peel to pucker the soul.
Please keep in mind that I’m on my second or third post-brunch Bloody Mary; Muse is still encased in wool toe socks. Up periscope:
Brace Yourself
Ding, Ding, Ding: Dive! Dive!
Okay! Okay! Sixty Percent
The Dromophobic Flaneur
I'm Not Paying for That (Not that I do Anyway)
Pruning the Nodical Hydrath
Country Club Cracknel
Damn this Thing!
__________________________
And now I must wash thoroughly before my two O’clock laparoscopic hepatic resection. The nurses become edgy if I wander into surgery in sweat pants and Bugle Boy pullover.
Juan Don
Thursday, October 22, 2009
posey
Freedom
Does Terror wear yellow or red?
Perhaps a burnt umber?
The color of dead wedding guests
becoming one with
an uninvited drone’s
debris.
God
moves the joystick with deliberate
finger -- just a flick --
and His extension returns home in
time for dinner.
_______________________
Tea Bag
It could be Intelligent Design
or a game show koan
encased in sheets of plastic wrap;
wound too tight with piss and moan
like driving Sarah Palin home.
________________________
Of Rust: Ev Maddox
It struck me today,
while trying to explain to
a student how he should
go to hell, that all
my languages are rusty.
My French for graduates,
my old Latin minor, my
Berlitz German -- oh
my Esperanto’s hopeless.
All my Englishes, too,
Old, Middle, Modern,
Pidgin, Basic. In Paris
I asked for a room
dans douche. I can’t get
clichés straight: Does
water flow under the dam
or over the bridge?
How will I ever manage to ask you to come
back to me in a sentence with so many
to’s in it?
My fans must be confused
(me too) because “If gold rust,
what will iron do?” (Chaucer).
Somebody said the best
words, in any order,
were Alone in bed. E.g.
In bed alone. In alone
Bed. Bed alone. But
I think the best words
are In bed with you, and
the best order is
In you with bed. Rust
has its uses: They make
old beds out of it,
like ours you painted
white. I remember too
one winter dawn (this was
before we met), some
friends and I, loaded, drove
the wrong way up a hill
in the fog, and stopped
to hear a small mystery:
birds, creaking like hinges,
saying, it seemed to me,
just what they meant.
Does Terror wear yellow or red?
Perhaps a burnt umber?
The color of dead wedding guests
becoming one with
an uninvited drone’s
debris.
God
moves the joystick with deliberate
finger -- just a flick --
and His extension returns home in
time for dinner.
_______________________
Tea Bag
It could be Intelligent Design
or a game show koan
encased in sheets of plastic wrap;
wound too tight with piss and moan
like driving Sarah Palin home.
________________________
Of Rust: Ev Maddox
It struck me today,
while trying to explain to
a student how he should
go to hell, that all
my languages are rusty.
My French for graduates,
my old Latin minor, my
Berlitz German -- oh
my Esperanto’s hopeless.
All my Englishes, too,
Old, Middle, Modern,
Pidgin, Basic. In Paris
I asked for a room
dans douche. I can’t get
clichés straight: Does
water flow under the dam
or over the bridge?
How will I ever manage to ask you to come
back to me in a sentence with so many
to’s in it?
My fans must be confused
(me too) because “If gold rust,
what will iron do?” (Chaucer).
Somebody said the best
words, in any order,
were Alone in bed. E.g.
In bed alone. In alone
Bed. Bed alone. But
I think the best words
are In bed with you, and
the best order is
In you with bed. Rust
has its uses: They make
old beds out of it,
like ours you painted
white. I remember too
one winter dawn (this was
before we met), some
friends and I, loaded, drove
the wrong way up a hill
in the fog, and stopped
to hear a small mystery:
birds, creaking like hinges,
saying, it seemed to me,
just what they meant.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
feathery spines
Scrolling through comments lurking beneath news that Liz Cheney will skip Rachael Maddow’s invitation for Sean Hannity’s tender offer, this barb caught my eye: "She's a dumber version of Tonya Harding."
Ouch. But there is a resemblance. Assuming that her latest elbow thrown into national discourse fails to bruise Obama’s ribs, there is potential for another heart-warming (or wrenching) reality show featuring the two blond bombers. Actually, elbow should be elbows, as she has joined talons with fellow Belt Way bird-brain Bill Kristol. Stapling together another tax-exempt Freedom Works, the beneficiaries of fortuitous birth are determined to defeat Terror and other insidious nouns. Calling their foray into further nepotistic teat suckling Keep America Safe, the calumnious couple obviously decided Keep My Daddy out of Jail a tad too aboveboard for neo-conservative taste. After daring media Marxists to prove her rants wrong, Maddow gamely retrieved Daughter of Dick’s gauntlet. Alas, Liz has opted to puss out. It’s only fitting and proper that she rattle her plastic saber with an equally insufferable patriot-cum-pussy. Juan is still eagerly awaiting Hannity’s promise to prove waterboarding isn’t really torture -- otherwise known as Hell freezing over.
Of course, Liz or Bill* will never rake their fear-mongering chicken emissions atop Rachael’s garden. Real Americans struggling to read Glenn Beck’s latest comic book are up to speed (or meth) on MSNBC’s chalky connection to The Blackboard Jungle Conspiracy. As chair bound commando Geoff Caldwell knows, the only cable infotainment outlet not haunted by Mao’s chubby ghost is found inside the Fox hole. Who knew the last bastion of pristine capitalism would be owned by an Aussie billionaire married to Wendi Deng? Mrs. Deng-Murdock must not be a communist or her name would have appeared on Beck’s ever-expanding hit list.
*Debra Burlingame is the third leg of the neo-con’s latest publicity stool. Although I have no reason to believe that Debra is related to Anson Burlingame (Joplin‘s favorite rhetorical question conservative), I can’t definitively dismiss any familial connection because there is no full-time research staff available to link curd to whey. That’s how Beck was able to establish President Obama is a direct descendent of Magog.
Juan Don
Ouch. But there is a resemblance. Assuming that her latest elbow thrown into national discourse fails to bruise Obama’s ribs, there is potential for another heart-warming (or wrenching) reality show featuring the two blond bombers. Actually, elbow should be elbows, as she has joined talons with fellow Belt Way bird-brain Bill Kristol. Stapling together another tax-exempt Freedom Works, the beneficiaries of fortuitous birth are determined to defeat Terror and other insidious nouns. Calling their foray into further nepotistic teat suckling Keep America Safe, the calumnious couple obviously decided Keep My Daddy out of Jail a tad too aboveboard for neo-conservative taste. After daring media Marxists to prove her rants wrong, Maddow gamely retrieved Daughter of Dick’s gauntlet. Alas, Liz has opted to puss out. It’s only fitting and proper that she rattle her plastic saber with an equally insufferable patriot-cum-pussy. Juan is still eagerly awaiting Hannity’s promise to prove waterboarding isn’t really torture -- otherwise known as Hell freezing over.
Of course, Liz or Bill* will never rake their fear-mongering chicken emissions atop Rachael’s garden. Real Americans struggling to read Glenn Beck’s latest comic book are up to speed (or meth) on MSNBC’s chalky connection to The Blackboard Jungle Conspiracy. As chair bound commando Geoff Caldwell knows, the only cable infotainment outlet not haunted by Mao’s chubby ghost is found inside the Fox hole. Who knew the last bastion of pristine capitalism would be owned by an Aussie billionaire married to Wendi Deng? Mrs. Deng-Murdock must not be a communist or her name would have appeared on Beck’s ever-expanding hit list.
*Debra Burlingame is the third leg of the neo-con’s latest publicity stool. Although I have no reason to believe that Debra is related to Anson Burlingame (Joplin‘s favorite rhetorical question conservative), I can’t definitively dismiss any familial connection because there is no full-time research staff available to link curd to whey. That’s how Beck was able to establish President Obama is a direct descendent of Magog.
Juan Don
Monday, October 19, 2009
Voices
I prefer to think the vast majority of Joplin Globe op-ed participants are seventh graders struggling to complete a homework assignment. Because the paper’s online edition doesn’t provide photos or biographical background, it’s impossible to determine if they’re old enough to date. Not that age should be a determining requirement for submitting opinions. Carterville’s Wild Kyle Hole fathered twins before his twelfth birthday. His preteen peers -- saddled with lower levels of testosterone -- gaped in awe at Wild’s full beard; eyes were wide watching him shower after gym class. I’ll never forget the morning he jumped out of an opened third story window, nor can I erase Miss Drum’s reaction to such unexpected dare-deviltry. (Before she regained consciousness, Wild had scaled the slick bricks and was back in his seat enjoying Nurse Melvina’s frantic medieval resuscitation techniques).
Although it’s rare when twelve year olds are subpoenaed to testify in divorce court, at least three prepubescent Cartervillians were entangled in unsavory paternity suits; ten year old Bobby “Billy” Sackley was the target of late night pot shots fired by jealous truck drivers. There is strong evidence to suggest lead poisoning played a role. However, Kyle’s thick proliferation of pubic hair and freakishly abnormal sexual development can not be pinned entirely on severe plumbism: three generations of Holes all bore marked similarities to the mythical Yetti. Spending a disproportionate amount of their meager income on shaving cream and straight razors, natives gave the Hole family a wide berth when they rushed The Shamrock Café, tearing a new one in the popular Carp Tuesday buffet.
Colleen Hole, Wild’s youngest sister, could light matches off her chin stubble while being breast fed.
,
Unfamiliar with strip-mining’s toxic reach, perhaps a few lucky burgs were spared heavy metal contamination‘s dreadful assault on the orbital frontal cortex. Personal experience dictates that maternal relatives living on farms far removed from Carterville’s consumptive moonscape displayed greater facility with fireworks, as they never pointed Roman candles directly at family members or rolled M-80s beneath the picnic table where skittish great-aunts had gathered to escape Black Cat’s sulfuric machine gun pop. (I’m convinced that my youthful Independence Day indiscretions were never forgiven. While cousins received cash after completing rehab, I cornered the market on travel-sized Brut and military recruitment paraphernalia).
Once again, I’ve lost my train of thought.
Wait, something, something free-market…nope, it’s gone.
Juan Don
Although it’s rare when twelve year olds are subpoenaed to testify in divorce court, at least three prepubescent Cartervillians were entangled in unsavory paternity suits; ten year old Bobby “Billy” Sackley was the target of late night pot shots fired by jealous truck drivers. There is strong evidence to suggest lead poisoning played a role. However, Kyle’s thick proliferation of pubic hair and freakishly abnormal sexual development can not be pinned entirely on severe plumbism: three generations of Holes all bore marked similarities to the mythical Yetti. Spending a disproportionate amount of their meager income on shaving cream and straight razors, natives gave the Hole family a wide berth when they rushed The Shamrock Café, tearing a new one in the popular Carp Tuesday buffet.
Colleen Hole, Wild’s youngest sister, could light matches off her chin stubble while being breast fed.
,
Unfamiliar with strip-mining’s toxic reach, perhaps a few lucky burgs were spared heavy metal contamination‘s dreadful assault on the orbital frontal cortex. Personal experience dictates that maternal relatives living on farms far removed from Carterville’s consumptive moonscape displayed greater facility with fireworks, as they never pointed Roman candles directly at family members or rolled M-80s beneath the picnic table where skittish great-aunts had gathered to escape Black Cat’s sulfuric machine gun pop. (I’m convinced that my youthful Independence Day indiscretions were never forgiven. While cousins received cash after completing rehab, I cornered the market on travel-sized Brut and military recruitment paraphernalia).
Once again, I’ve lost my train of thought.
Wait, something, something free-market…nope, it’s gone.
Juan Don
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