Oh, you poor rich people. Why do you have to suffer so in an economic downturn? We dare to whine about stupid things like “having to choose between heating the house or buying food,” when socialites are languishing in their penthouses, fretting over whether the guests will notice they’re serving domestic champagne. But there is an upside to the downturn. Rich people wrote this week’s top five for me. I’m not making these up. These are actual ways rich people are responding to the recession, taken from newspaper and magazine articles:

5. Cutting their 17-year-old daughter’s allowance back from $100 a week to $60 a week.

4. From the daughter: not getting take-out sushi for lunch every day.

3. “Letting Yolanda go, which means I’ll have to learn to iron my own shirts.”

2. From an article describing an elegantly-dressed woman approaching a shopper using coupons: “Oh, I’ve heard about those things. Where does one get them?”

1. From the same article: “Instead of paying $250,000 to take the private jet to Singapore, I flew commercial for $20,000.”

Speaking of money, I bought a lottery ticket in Kalispell the other day. So yesterday Dean says there was a $200,000 winning ticket sold in Kalispell. I checked the numbers and hey, I’m a winner! Of four dollars. On my five dollar ticket. Guess I’ll still be ironing my own shirts. Or would be, if I ever ironed anything.

It’s a list-y time of year. Shopping lists, to-do lists, year-end “best of” and “worst of” lists, naughty/nice lists. And as my friends and colleagues in the old home state are no doubt chanting today, “We’re number one!” North Dakota topped the USA Today’s recent list of most corrupt states. Then again, their formula was based on convictions per capita, and North Dakota can pretty easily top just about any per capita-based list. But it’s good to be number one, isn’t it?

Top five ways to bribe a North Dakota politician:

5. Twenty kilos of pure white primo stuff – fresh walleye, cleaned and filleted.

4. A big North Dakota junket: free tickets to the Medora musical, plus the pitchfork fondue and two rounds of mini-golf.

3. “That’s right, Senator. My kid will snowblow your driveway and shovel your sidewalk. For the whole winter.”

2. A chance to get out of the North Dakota winter and spend a week in beautiful, balmy South Dakota.

1. “Now see, we make these legislurters . . . logislatures . . . . these government guys a free website, and then in return we tell them we want it legalized, not just decriminalated . . decriminizated . . . what were we talking about again? Hey man, any Doritos left?”

Hmm. Maybe it’s not fair to use actual conversations overheard in the workplace.

Nearly there . . .

In our little remodeling adventure that started on October 8, we've gone from this:



to this:



We now have running water in our kitchen and everything. Making a cappuccino no longer involves trips to the laundry room, the downstairs bathroom and the garage. We still need to get hardware for the cabinets and put in a backsplash. The appliances are all in and functioning, the tile floor is heated and now we just have to clean everything up and put the stuff back in. We may actually have a real homecooked meal sometime this week.

I'll post more pictures of kitchen-y goodness later. It's almost done and for a couple of losers who had no idea what they were doing, I think we did okay.

Time for Turkey

Hey, anyone can grab a Butterball and shove it in the oven. Here’s how you make a real turkey: first, you brine it. Soak it for 24 hours in enough water to cover, with ½ cup salt and ½ cup sugar for each gallon of water. Take it out, pat dry and rub with olive oil. Add salt, pepper and any other seasonings you like. Put it in a V-shaped rack in a roasting pan, breast side DOWN. Yeah, I know. That’s crazy. But all the juices from the dark meat run down into the breast, making it really, really moist.

In the bottom of the roasting pan, add white wine, water, and roughly chopped celery, carrots and onions. About an hour before it’s done, turn it breast side up to crisp up the skin. Keep adding water, wine or chicken stock to the pan. Strain the juices and thicken with a lightly toasted butter/flour roux for the best gravy you ever had.

Don’t carve the breast by taking thin slices along the length like they always do on TV. Instead, remove the whole breast, then cut thicker slices across the breast. You get little turkey breast steaks, each with a rim of delicious crispy skin.

Or you could go with one of these theme turkeys:

5. The Sarah Palin. The turkey’s free but the dressing costs $150,000.

4. The auto executive. They’ve picked all the meat off the bones and now they’re sitting around the table waiting for the government to fill their plates again.

3. The Clinton. Hope you like lots of leftovers, because this one is never going away.

2. The Dubya. You can turn up the heat and keep sticking forks in it all you want, but it still won’t be done until January 20.

1. The Karen. It’s a Swanson’s frozen turkey dinner, because our kitchen looks like this.



Those are the pieces of our living room sectional, piled up into the kitchen so the living room ceiling and walls can be textured and primed. We were just going to have the popcorn ceiling scraped, but then the contractor said he couldn’t match the existing wall texture on the places that had been patched for moving light switches and putting in the new patio door, so he’d have to texture the walls as well. That meant everything had to come out. Every other room is already stacked to the ceiling with stuff from the kitchen and dining area, so that meant the living room had to move into the kitchen.

So at the top of your list next week, be thankful you have a functioning kitchen. And that your living room furniture is in your living room.

One step forward, two steps back . . .

Everyone who has that awful popcorn stuff on your ceilings, raise your hands. Not too high -- you don't want to touch that horrible crap. We had it in every room, including the dining/living room adjacent to the kitchen. So we thought that as long as we have the big mess anyway, we might as well get the ceilings scraped. I thought that would be one of the first steps in the whole project.

Me, day one: "So you're going to start with the ceiling, right?"
Contractor: "Nah, we'll do plumbing and wiring first."

Me, day two: "So now you're going to do the ceiling, right?"
Contractor: "Nah, we'll do some drywall today."

Day after day they kept putting it off. But last week the ceiling was finally going to get done. Two days. Thursday and Friday. We had to move everything out as best we could and put plastic over what we couldn't move. But it's only for two days, right? Except . . .

They got the popcorn scraped off, sanded and started applying the mud. Which promptly rolled up and fell off. Thus bringing everything to a screeching halt until they could figure out why and what to do about it. Leaving us with a house like this:




Today (Monday) they decided the problem was the 100 tons of very fine dust everywhere, including our new cabinets and appliances, which was why we wanted the ceiling done FIRST. So today they put a coat of primer up. That should give the mud something to bond to. Then tomorrow they can mud, and Wednesday they can put the final coat of texture up. Which means we can finally start cleaning up this disaster area Wednesday or Thursday. If all goes according to plan, but what are the odds of that?

Our four-to-six week renovation project, now in week seven . . .

Let Us Salute a Brave, Brave Man

One of our colleagues, who shall remain nameless for his own protection, recently went above and beyond the call of duty. In the course of testing the ad system on the Ed Schultz website, this brave individual used his own credit card, thus creating a permanent link between this stalwart conservative and the progressive talk show host.

Top five potential consequences of this dangerous act:

5. Getting thrown out of Bill O’Reilly’s “Falafel of the Month” club.

4. An offer from Todd Palin to join him on a nice ride waaaay up into the mountains on his snow machine.

3. Every time you try to tune into Rush, the radio automatically goes to Air America instead.

2. Ending up on Obama’s e-mail list. Don’t open those messages, ‘cause they might infect your system with the insidious “hope” virus.

1. Liberal cooties!

Two friggin WHAT?

We faxed an outline and measurements of our countertop to the granite fabricators months ago. When looking through the slabs, we asked if one slab would be enough. Yup, no problem. The stuff we picked out had two slabs in the lot, one here and one in Idaho Falls. The showroom in Missoula assured us one was plenty. The showroom in Kalispell assured us one was plenty. The fabricators in Kalispell assured us one was plenty. The guy who made the template the other day assured us one was plenty.

The fabricators just called. They need two slabs. They'll get the one from Idaho Falls. In TWO FRIGGIN' WEEKS. They've had all the measurements and the exact slab we want for two months, and just today they realized, "Oh, I guess we do need that other slab they keep asking us about."

I wish I had another huge kitchen to remodel just so I could not do business with these idiots again.

So that means at least two more weeks of washing dishes in the downstairs shower. I'm still trying to pretend we're camping, but it only reminds me of why we never go camping. Because I hate camping. Especially when it's in my house.

On Tuesday, Obama’s victory was cause for celebration. Now it’s Friday and I’ve come to a terrible realization. Starting in January, it’s going to be a hell of a lot harder to toss off a quick Friday 5. Oh Dubya, I miss you already.

But this week our list was inspired by an actual headline from CNN:

Zoo gorilla gets colonoscopy

And you thought your job was tough. Top five jobs that are tougher than yours:

5. Snowplow driver in Bismarck.

4. Prank phone call screener for Sarah Palin.

3. Head writer for SNL, ‘cause now they’ll have to write funny news instead of just reading the real news.

2. Explaining to Bush why he has to move out of the big White House and won’t have the shiny fancy plane to fly around in any more.

1. And, apparently, remodeling my friggin’ kitchen, because this project is lasting longer than the election.

Starting to look kitchen-ish . . .

Most of the cabinets are in. Still need hardware and some trim.



The microwave is in. The range hood is kind of in -- they'll have to figure out how to cut off the top part so it fits under the soffit.

The granite guy made the template for the countertop today. I explained that we wanted a raised glass bartop that would be held up by stainless steel supports, and showed him a picture I had found online.

Granite guy: "Wow, that's really cool."

Me: "So you can do it?"

Granite guy: "Nope. No idea how to do that."

He did say he would ask the guys back at the shop. So he called later and said the shop guys had a brilliant solution: "All ya gotta do is get some steel posts and drill through the granite and through your cabinets down into the floor."

Me: "Uh, the cabinets there have drawers and rollout pantries and things in them."

Granite guy: "Oh, those would have to come out. We need to run these posts right through the cabinets at an angle."

Thus rendering our brand-new cabinets pretty much useless. I've asked every countertop fabricator from Kalispell to Missoula if they can do the glass bartop. Every one says the same thing: "Wow, that's really cool. Nope, can't do it." So we may have to put that part of the project on the back burner. If we had a burner.

Floor & ceiling . . .

We have a complete floor



and a ceiling.



Now we just need something in between. The cabinets are supposed to be delivered tomorrow. Then again, they were supposed to be here last Tuesday. And last Thursday. This Monday at the latest. Did I say Monday? Let's go for Wednesday.

Made it . . .

The tile is in and we made it with one half of a tile to spare. I should frame the leftover half-tile and hang it up in the finished room as a monument to our stupidity. Gotta run to Kalispell today for more grout. No, we didn't get the math wrong on that. The instructions say each package is good for 55 square feet but in reality it only covers about 40. The coffered ceiling is being trimmed out today. I'll post some pics of that when it's done.

Election night is to me what the World Series or Super Bowl is to a sports fan. I make a platter of party snacks, commandeer the remote control and skip around through all the news channels, and hop around online through the political blogosphere. But all the bullshit does start getting old by election day. Top five things I’m glad I won’t be hearing any more after Tuesday:

5. Lipstick, pigs, hockey moms, and Joe the Plumber, my friends.

4. “The _________ campaign has thrown _________ under the bus.”

3. Anything at all from profoundly stupid soon-to-be-former congresswoman Michele Bachmann.

2. A noun, a verb, and “maverick.”

1. “Karen, please stop yelling at the TV. You’re scaring the hell out of the dog.”

We’re idiots when it comes to home improvement, but you’d think we could do basic math. We measured our kitchen and dining floors about a hundred times. We planned for 250 square feet of tile, including overage. So we picked out some tile and wanted 20 boxes to ensure ample overage but they only had 19. Okay, we bought it all. Should be enough and we can probably take one or maybe even two boxes back.



As the tile went in yesterday I thought the pile of boxes was getting smaller a lot faster than the area that remained to be tiled was disappearing. Then I realized why. We had originally planned to put the cabinets in, and tile up to them. Change in plans – instead we’re tiling the whole area, including under where the cabinets will be. But like the boneheads we are, we forgot to increase the square footage to account for the extra tile.

So for those of you playing along, here are the actual numbers: square footage to be tiled: 260. Square feet of tile we bought: 261.5. We counted it off yesterday about a dozen times. Based on the remaining tile and remaining area to be tiled, our overage, which should be ten percent, now stands at half a tile. Dean’s on hot standby to run to Missoula if needed, and tile guy will be making his cuts very carefully.

The subject of dog names came up around the office last week, and it turns out a coworker has a dog named Honey. Hmmm –

Top five things that might sound funny to the neighbors if they don’t know Honey is your dog’s name:

5. “Honey, drop that squirrel!”

4. “Ewww, Honey, don’t lick yourself there.”

3. “Honey, would you please stop peeing on my flowers.”

2. “Honey, I think it’s time we had you fixed.”

1. “Honey, I’m warning you for the last time. Stop humping that bitch from next door!”

We have walls!

And unlike our old ones, they're insulated.



The sheetrock is up and the ceiling’s going in.



Instead of the god-awful dropped ceiling with the hideous fluorescent light fixtures, we have recessed lighting in a coffered ceiling made from the same wood as the cabinets.



It’s really hard to take a picture of a patio door. From the outside I get glare and reflections, and from the inside there’s too much contrast. But anyway, the door has blinds between the glass panes. And unlike our old leaky door, there’s no duct tape involved.

Today the under-tile heating element is going down. So maybe tiling can start tomorrow. The cabinets are supposed to be ready next week. So in a couple of weeks we may have a kitchen again.

Change we can believe in . . . plus drywall!

Obama has a double-digit lead in the polls, he kicked McCain’s ass in the debate, and my kitchen is slowly coming back together. New patio door and kitchen window are in, insulation and drywall are up, and they should be able to start on the ceiling today. So, all in all, a pretty damn good week. Top five highlights:

5. McCain making a slight change in his tax policy: cuts for everyone except individuals in the newly-created “David Letterman” bracket.

4. A new patio door that doesn’t have a one-inch gap along the edge that’s sealed up with duct tape. Yes, our old one really did.

3. Palin breaking with McCain and naming a new running mate: Joe Sixpack.

2. McCain breaking with Palin and naming a new running mate: Joe the Plumber.

1. Contractors have finally stopped saying, “Hey, come and look at this. Wonder how long ago that crawled in there and died.”

The one cool thing in my sucky seventies kitchen

What’s that stainless steel plate in the middle of what used to be my kitchen counter? It’s the Ronson Foodmatic! It slices, it dices, it chops, it grates, it mixes and juices and crushes and even cooks. It’s pure appliance awesomeness. You just know this sucker was sold by a fast-talking pitchman on some late-night infomercial in the 70s. It’s positively Bass-o-matic. It was here when we bought the house in 2000, along with other 70s relics like lime green shag carpeting.

I couldn’t talk Dean into putting it in our new kitchen, though. “So we splurge on a granite countertop, then cut a hole in it for a 40-year-old appliance that will probably die in a week?” Okay. Point taken. But it’s been working all these years and may just outlast our new kitchen anyway.



Press the button and the plate flips up and here’s the base unit with the motor.



Below are two trays of attachments. It has everything you need:



Mixer with beaters and a dough hook.



Slicer/shredder with three blades.

There's also a meat grinder, juicer, coffee mill, blender, knife and scissors sharpener and more. Everything pops onto the base unit.



Deep fat cooker/tempura maker. The metal basket has a folding handle so it stores inside the cooking kettle. Make French fries, onion rings or anything that needs all that deep-fried goodness. It also has a paddle you can put in to stir your tempura for you.



Turn off the heat, put ice in the kettle and add this insert, and it’s an ice cream maker.



Still has the owner’s manual/recipe book and the diagram for how to put all the stuff away on the shelves.

The blender carafe is broken and the mixer has only one large bowl. It originally had a smaller one as well. Other than that, everything’s here and it all works. I used to use it all the time, but quit about a year ago when we got serious about remodeling. I figured I’d be putting it up on eBay and didn’t want to break anything.

So there was one cool thing in my old kitchen. But absolutely everything else sucked.

Signs of the times

Sure, anyone can put up a standard McCain/Palin yard sign, but shouldn’t his supporters be more creative? Original? Mavericky? As it turns out, they are. Top five homemade political signs:

We start with a twofer:



Isn’t it nice to have a front porch where you can enjoy some beverages with the neighbors, reminisce fondly about the War of Northern Aggression, and always get a laugh when you say “I’m going to rise again . . . and get another beer!”



Obama seems friendly and outgoing, but I don’t know if he’s the “socialest” guy in the country.

This one ups the ante on that handmade “Mavrick” poster from the convention:



Hey, maybe the mavrick guy from the convention helped this guy with his poster:





You are officially stupid. Mostly for wearing that shirt.



Hmm. Do you suppose he means “half-blend muslin”? Perhaps he’s trying to make a comment on Obama’s sartorial choices on the campaign trail. Then again, maybe not. This guy doesn’t seem to be much of a fashion plate.

As for my yard, soon it will be sporting this sign, even though only Woody, the squirrels and the UPS guy will see it:

They make it look so easy on TV . . .

DIY Network, HGTV, TLC -- we've just got to stop watching so much homeowner porn. Yesterday our kitchen went from this



to this.



How do you like it so far? Woody was amazed. "Wow, thanks guys! Look at all the room I have to play now!" Yeah, pup, that's why we gutted it. Most of the work is being done by a couple of contractors. When it comes to labor that requires actual skill, we not only have no delusions of grandeur, we have no delusions of adequacy. Now the big question is how many days, weeks, months will it be before I can post "after" pictures.

Choosing the single stupidest or ugliest feature of this throwback to the 70s represents a formidable challenge. Is it the dropped ceiling with the glaring fluorescent lights? Bonus: of the three light fixtures, only one works. Is it the chipped formica, the falling-apart cabinets, or in particular the ugly cabinet hardware, quirkily placed in the center of the doors? Also note the complete lack of insulation in the corner. I used to grab a coffee cup from that cupboard to froth milk for cappuccino, because the cups there were always nicely chilled. Now I know why.

Maybe it's the god-awful heater, the only source of heat in the room.



"Honey, I need a spice rack." "Sure thing, I'll just grab some scrap wood and nail up this piece o' crap. It'll look fine."



But the winner is this little switch:



It's for the garbage disposal. It's mounted on the cabinet just under the sink. So let's recap:

1. It's in a weird spot
2. It's crooked
3. Beige toggle switch, brown faceplate. Nice.
and of course
4. It's dangerous as hell because you turn the damn thing on accidentally every time you use the sink

In the top picture you might have wondered, "what the hell is that stainless steel plate in the middle of the counter?" In a later post I'll show you the only cool thing in the kitchen.

Favorite VP debate drinking game rule:

When Palin brings up the Bridge to Nowhere, ask your hosts for a drink, then say “thanks but no thanks,” drink it when no one’s looking, then claim you opposed having it served to you.

But Sarah’s real opponent in this election may be Katie Couric. Each new interview segment is like an episode of a bizarre reality show, with its own little moment of jaw-dropping what-the-hellness. She can’t name a single Supreme Court decision other than Roe v. Wade? Really? Not even, say, this one?

The problem here isn’t “gotcha” journalism. It’s that with Palin, it’s so easy to “getcha.”

Top five questions the press is allowed to ask Sarah Palin:

5. “What can you see from your living room window, and how does that add to your qualifications to be vice president?”

4. Nothing that would require the correct pronunciation of “nuclear.”

3. “Moose or elk – which makes a tastier burger?”

2. “Are you going to respond with a memorized set of talking points no matter what this question is?”

1. And no matter what the question is, Palin reserves the right not to answer now, but “go find some answers and bring ‘em to ya.”

I know that for the good of the country I should suspend my blogging until the greedy fatcats get their paws around our money the economic crisis has been addressed, but it looks like the debates are on, so I thought I’d give the beleaguered McCain campaign a little much-needed advice.

McCain’s top five strategies for tonight’s debate:

5. Dismiss references to his involvement in the 1989 Keating Five scandal as “ancient news.” Follow up with references to his experience as a POW in 1967.

4. Keep talking about his running mate, ‘cause she’s doing great!

3. Cancel at the last minute to primp for an interview with Katie Couric.

2. Announce his new plan to solve the economic crisis: “Everyone marry a beer heiress.”

1. Just be glad he’s not debating Letterman.

Such a lovely time of year, isn’t it? I hope you’re enjoying the seasonal colors as top political hacks turn red and purple as they crank the bluster level up to eleven. The weather may be cooling down, but the politicians and pundits are heating up. Top five signs the election’s getting hot:

5. McCain refuting charges that he claimed to have invented the Blackberry. “I’d never invent a fruit with all those little seeds. Hurts like hell when they get stuck under your dentures.”

4. Sean Hannity asking Sarah Palin the tough questions, like “Why are some bad people being so mean to you, nice pretty lady?”

3. Carly Fiorina being taken off the campaign trail for saying McCain couldn’t run a major corporation. Totally unfair, because when it comes to not being able to run a company, she oughta know.

2. McCain economics advisor Phil Gramm being taken off the campaign trail for talking about the country’s economic woes. Totally unfair, because when it comes to tanking the economy, he oughta know.

1. Allegations that Palin’s e-mail account was hacked. Turns out it was just Tina Fey trying to access her own account. Hey, you try telling them apart.

Change We Just Can't Friggin' Believe

Abuse of power, hiring staffers for blind loyalty rather than qualifications, ruthlessly trampling anyone who dares to voice an independent opinion, and utter lack of even basic foreign policy knowledge – thank goodness the GOP is bringing change to Washington! Top five highlights of the election now that Sarah Palin’s on the ticket:

5. There was nothing to that whole “lipstick on a pig” thing. But the debates will be brought to you by Revlon and Oscar Mayer.

4. Palin wasn’t hiding from the press. She was prepping to be VP by getting hunting tips from Cheney.

3. Her plan to cut the federal budget by billing only $25 per diem for staying in the VP residence at the Naval Observatory. That’s half her usual rate!

2. She DID say “Thanks, but no thanks” on that Bridge to Nowhere. “Thanks, I’ll build that bridge,” followed by “No thanks, but I’ll keep the money.”

1. Her swift reaction to criticism of her support for shooting wolves from airplanes. In Alaska, legal plane-hunting prey now includes ex-brothers-in-law, insufficiently subservient librarians, and that mean Charlie Gibson for asking such hard questions.

Well put, Ms. Blutarsky

Reality shows are so educational. Last night on “Top Design,” the cheery challenge was to redesign a bunker in a fallout shelter. By way of inspiration, the designers were told to imagine there had been a nuclear attack and they had to spend 50 years in a small concrete room. Fun!

Can’t say I learned much about design, but I did get a history lesson. One of the contestants was taking the concept to heart and imagining how the nuclear holocaust happened. “I’m thinking that it would be something like, you know, China created some transformers or something to bomb us, to pay us back for Hiroshima.”

I didn’t get the contestant’s name, but it’s probably safe to say, “Well put, Ms. Blutarsky.”

Of Mavricks and Morans

Top five highlights of the Republican convention:

5. That weird demonstration when Cindy McCain, trying to top Sarah Palin, tried to show that she too could dress a moose. In Gucci, with Prada accessories.

4. The interruption by James Garner: “You’re the original Maverick? I don’t think so.”

3. A respected President Bush graciously accepting thanks for his service to his country. Meanwhile, his son Dubya stayed in the White House.

2. The stirring moment when the party showed its diversity by introducing the members of the black caucus. Both of them.

1. And this speaks for itself:



To those of us who fondly remember this guy:



Nice to see he made it to the convention.

Tax cuts for the rich . . . how mavericky!

Check out this chart comparing Obama's and McCain's tax plans.

Forward it. Print it. Plaster it on all available flat surfaces. Hand it to McCain supporters. Give piles to Obama supporters to hand out to McCain supporters. This chart is an election-winnner. Well, at least for the bottom 99 percent of the country. Whether that's enough to put Obama over the top depends on how many counties have Diebold voting machines, I guess.

Now THAT was a convention.

By now you’ve seen it all and the blogs are buzzing about the convention, so I’ll just link to our Montana guv, Brian Schweitzer. Unless you switched over to C-SPAN you missed him, so check it out on Youtube..

Fun fact: when a reporter commented that he was getting a prime spot on the speaking schedule, right before Hillary, he poo-pooed the notion that he was becoming a party bigwig: “Shucks, everyone who ever shot a gopher’s speaking at this thing.” And from the local paper, when asked about getting the crowd revved up: “Some of these other folks are used to speechifyin' in front of the bigshots, and everybody sits on their hind end. If you're gonna win an election, you need people involved.” Yes, he really talks like that.

All in all, the Democratic convention will be a hell of an act to follow. Top five predictions for the Republican convention:

5. John McCain spotted wandering around the upper class part of town with a fistful of keys, trying various doors and muttering, “I was sure I owned a house here somewhere.”

4. The vigorous vetting process for the VP slot: “We finally found someone who hasn’t been indicted!”

3. The most popular photo op: take a picture of your “stance” in the Larry Craig stall at the Mpls. airport.

2. Cindy McCain’s speech about family
values, transportation, real estate, health care, and how elitist those rich stuck-up Obamas are.

1. Bitterness, acrimony and in-fighting – and that’s just among the MSNBC anchors.

Last week’s mail contained a familiar-looking envelope from the county courthouse. I’m always in the friggin’ jury pool. Top five ways to get out of jury duty:

5. “Sorry I’m late, your honor. I had trouble getting my tin foil hat through the metal detector.”

4. “We’re supposed to vote guilty or not guilty? I thought we were supposed to vote hot or not hot.”

3. “Of course I can be objective. It’s those stupid aliens from Zontar who keep beaming ‘guilty!’ into my brain.”

2. “No offense to the defendant, but I’m saving myself for the trial of the next indicted Congressman.”

1. “I can’t spare the time until after the election. I’m the campaign manager for the next president of the United States.”

Paris for President

Paris Hilton?

Yeah, like we’d elect a vapid moron whose laughable “qualifications” are limited to being born into a wealthy and powerful family. Someone with embarrassing videos all over the internet. Someone apparently incapable of the most basic intellectual activities, like reading and understanding.

Then again, when it comes to stupid reasons to vote for someone, maybe self-proclaimed hotness is the new “I'd like to have a beer with that guy.” What the hell – top five highlights of a Paris Hilton presidency:

5. “I don’t know about, you know, presidential platforms and stuff, but I’m totally in favor of platform shoes.”

4. Office of the Vice President renamed to Office of My BFF.

3. The hair-pulling catfight between Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears over who gets the new cabinet post of “Secretary of Skankitude.”

2. Immediate extraordinary rendition with extreme prejudice for everyone who panned her performance in “House of Wax.” Which would be everyone who reviewed “House of Wax.” Or saw “House of Wax.”

1. The embarrassing press conference where she talks about her positions on offshore drilling before Helen Thomas clarifies, “I meant for oil.”

Sweet Savage Justice

You know the story by now. A government scandal involving a young woman named Monica and her forbidden passion for a president. She could not be satisfied by long, lingering glances over heavily redacted personnel files. Alone in her office, as she Googled far into the lonely night, she gazed up at the presidential portrait hanging above her, the image so tantalizingly near.

Since she couldn’t give him the one thing he truly wanted – a third war to botch – she gave him a corrupt and hopelessly politicized Department of Justice that pulped every applicant through her bizarre political sieve to strain out the impurities of experience, competence, rational thought and Democratic spouses. And gayness, but that goes without saying.

Top five questions Monica Goodling asked prospective employees of the Justice Department:

5. “If loving Bush is wrong, would you want to be right?”

4. “Okay, I know this is a tough one, but Hoover, Reagan or Bush: which president is the dreamiest?”

3. “Don’t you think that Condi Rice should stay overseas all the time and not hang around the Oval Office making big moony eyes at MY president?”

2. “I know Cheney is hot, but don’t you think Bush is hotter?”

1. “George Bush: great president, or the greatest president?”

Friday 5: Dog Thoughts

I ran across a “cute dog contest” photo gallery the other day. No, I didn’t enter Woody. It wouldn’t be fair. Those other dogs wouldn’t have a chance. But the photos were begging for captions. Top five things these dogs are thinking:


“How are we supposed to pull a sled wearing these, and what the hell is a ‘Nike endorsement deal’?”



“Heh heh heh. They think I’m being all cute and cuddly. What they don’t realize is Timmy’s coming home from school any minute now, and Fluffy’s head is right across the slot car track.”


“The vet’s gonna take my what?”


"The vet took my what?"


“I’m so glad I met you. You’re not like those other phony bitches around here.”

Still funny. Still hot.

Over the 4th Dean mentioned that he ran into Bob a couple of months after the events below and said, “Hey, Bob, that story you told about the chicken firework was so funny. I’m still laughing.”

Bob: “Yeah? Well, my ass is still burning.”

Fireworks and Liquor -- Happy 4th of July

Shortly after the 4th of July last year, Dean was sitting in the bar when a guy he knew came in with his wife and teenage son. The guy was walking a little funny and winced as he gingerly placed himself on a barstool.

Dean: “Hey, Bob, did you hurt your back or something?”

Bob: “Not my back, exactly.”

Bob’s wife Betty: “Dumb sumbitch.”

The story involves that potent combination, liquor and fireworks. Seems Bob, Betty and Junior decided to have some fun shooting off a few early fireworks on the afternoon of the 4th. Then Bob got one of those ideas that can only be conceived of under the influence of alcohol.

Bob: “We had one of them chicken fireworks. A cardboard chicken that shoots fireworks out the back. I thought it would be funny if I stuck it in my butt and then the sparks would shoot out my backside, like I was layin’ firework eggs.”

Betty: “Dumb sumbitch.”

So yes, Bob pulled his shorts down around his ankles, lit the chicken firework and stuck the cardboard head in his butt.

“It was pretty damned funny, too. ‘Hey, look at me, I’m shootin’ eggs out my butt!’ By this time the neighbors were gathering round to see what was so funny. Yeah, we were all laughin’. That’s when it hit me.

"The head’s gonna explode!"

"Shit, I had forgotten the heads on those damn things blow up. So now I gotta get this chicken outta my butt before it explodes!”

As he grabbed frantically around his backside, the head blew up. The chicken’s cardboard carcass flew off, landed in his shorts and started them on fire. Under the circumstances I guess it’s not surprising that Bob forgot the “stop, drop and roll” rule.

“I yelled at Betty to get the garden hose. So now I’m runnin’ around the yard with my butt all scorched and my shorts on fire around my ankles and she’s running after me with the hose.”

Betty: “Dumb sumbitch.”

Betty finally got him hosed down, but she drew the line at applying first aid. “No way. I ain’t puttin’ Unguentine on THAT.”

So they made a trip to the ER. Bob: “I had to fill out all these forms about what happened. I wrote it down as best I could, but hell, it boils down to 'a chicken's head exploded in my butt.' You just try explaining THAT to your insurance company.”

Then he turned to his teenage son and said, “Son, what have I always told you about fireworks?”

Junior: “If they ain’t dangerous, they ain’t fun.”

Bob, proudly: “Damn right, boy.”

Betty: “Dumb sumbitches.”

So to your patriotic Independence Day mental montage of flags, fireworks and the Statue of Liberty, you can now add a portly middle-aged guy with his butt scorched, shorts on fire around his ankles, running around his yard while his wife chases after him with a garden hose. You’re welcome.

And I’d give a whole box of chicken fireworks to have seen the look on the face of the insurance rep who had to handle the claim.

Way to go, guard dog

Friday afternoon was beautiful here -- clear blue sky, no wind, boats out on the lake and hummingbirds buzzing around the feeders. I poured a big glass of iced tea and Woody and I went out on the deck to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine.

I sat rocking in our deck swing, paging through the latest issue of Backwoods-Dwelling Government-Hating Luddite. Woody was around the corner of the wrap-around deck, out of my sight but apparently trying to work something out of his paws. He’s always barreling headlong through bushes, brambles and briars, and ends up with all kinds of stuff stuck to his coat. Scritch scritch scratch – the sound of paws scraping on something. He’s pretty good at working out wherever gets stuck to him, so I thought I’d leave him to it.

I was soon engrossed in the exciting cover story – “Is it okay to own a computer if you only use it to threaten government officials?” – and in the background I kept hearing Woody. Scritch scritch scratch. Scritch scritch scratch. Finally I decided I’d better give his paws a hand. I put down the magazine and got up to go around the corner to pry out whatever was stuck on him this time.

Take a look at the pic of Woody off to the right. Behind the deck railing is a set of cement and stone steps leading up to our deck. Beyond that there’s nothing but wilderness, trees and the Mission Mountains. Twenty feet behind that barrel of flowers there’s an old tree stump. There was the real source of the scritchy-scratchy noise I’d been hearing – a black bear, delving into the trunk for a snack of bugs and grubs.

Okay, now what? Woody must be asleep or he’d be barking at the bear. The wilderness area is the Forbidden Zone to Woody, but he’s been known to forget about the rules when there’s a critter chase involved. I didn't want him taking off after the bear, so I thought I'd sneak around the corner, wake him up and shoo him quietly into the house.

I go quietly around the corner . . . and there’s Woody, wide awake, bright-eyed, staring intently at the bear with an expression of cheerful interest. He looks at me, like “Looky there, that bear’s hungry, huh? Been watching him for awhile now,” then went back to watching the bear. No chasing, no barking, no attempt at notifying his humans that there’s a frickin’ bear 20 feet away. Way to go, guard dog.

Now the bear’s watching us watch him. I called Woody, opened the patio door and he reluctantly went into the house. “Don’t see why I gotta go in. I was just quietly minding my own business, watching that bear.” Then I grabbed something to shoot the bear. Don’t be silly. I mean my camera. But when I stepped back out on the deck again, he looked up – “oh crap, she’s back.” He ran off before I could snap a picture. Dammit.

I sit out on the deck all the time with a book or a magazine. Hell, Dean lowers the swing down into its fold-out position and naps out there on cool evenings. Nothing to worry about, because our ever-alert guard dog always barks at bears.

Saturday morning, as we had cappuccino out on the deck and took turns keeping an eye out for bears, we decided Woody’s new name is Bearwatcher. Not Bearchaser or even He Who Barks at Bears. More like "He who stares silently at bears with a big goofy grin on his face."

Saturday evening we were having dinner on the deck when Woody decided to play the Running Game. He takes off in a blur of fur, dashing down the steps, stops at the embankment at the edge of our driveway, sticks his head into the thick treeline there and barks a few times just to show off, then trots back upstairs and does it again.

Well, we thought he was just showing off. Then there was a crashing in the trees, and a black bear lumbered out and into the clearing below. Woody came bounding back, ears up, head high, tail high, prancing up the stairs. “See? I can bark at them and chase them off if I want to.”

Okay, you’ve been promoted to “He who sometimes barks at bears.” Way to go, guard dog. I feel semi-safe with you on quasi-alert.

E Pluribus WTF?

A church in the old home town was making a little plot of adjacent land into a park and an uncle wanted the family to donate a fountain or statue to the cause. He selected a hideous thing that looked like a replica of the facade of a courthouse or some type of government building. On the pediment it said "In God We Trust" and "E Pluribus Unum," in lettering that appeared to have been carved by an amateur with a paring knife. It looked like the camp arts-and-crafts project of a particularly untalented child.

Anyway, he liked it and kept insisting it we should buy it. I couldn't figure out why he was so set on something that looked like it was a salute to the U.S. Treasury or the Mint or some damn thing. Odd choice for a church, I thought. But he had a good reason:

"See, it says 'In God We Trust' twice. Once in English and once in French."

I laughed so hard I hurt myself.

My sister-in-law found a more appropriate cherub-y angel-y type thing for the church park. But if you happen to live in the vicinity of Bismarck, North Dakota, check out this beauty. It's probably still available.

A 52-year-old Los Angeles traffic cop is suing Victoria’s Secret for an injury she suffered while putting on what she claims is a defective thong. She says a piece of metal flew off the thong and hit her in the eye, scratching her cornea. It’s easy to say that if you choose to wear a thong bedecked with heart-shaped rhinestones, you’re on your own, but we must consider the danger that defective skanky underwear poses to our nation’s trollops, cross-dressing Congressmen, and seriously deluded 52-year-old traffic cops. A word of advice, hon: stay away from the really dangerous stuff, like underwire bras. You’ll really poke your eye out.

Top 5 other underwear-related lawsuits:

5. Pamela Anderson vs. her ex-husbands and Victoria’s Secret for failure to provide adequate support.

4. Class action lawsuit against Fruit of the Loom for the psychological damage caused by “plumber’s butt.”

3. Another class action lawsuit against Victoria’s Secret on behalf of every woman who ever shopped there because “This $42 bra and $28 pair of panties didn’t make me look exactly like Gisele Bundchen.”

2. William Shatner: Let’s just say the lawsuit contains the phrase “total collapse of the structural integrity field” and leave it at that.

1. Little Billy vs. Spiderman Underoos for failure to include a warning label on the dangers of atomic wedgies.

After only eight years, we’re finally almost done remodeling my office. It’s gone from dark, drafty and dreary to light, bright and cheery. Just a couple little details to finish up and it will be done. So in eight years we’ve actually finished two whole rooms in our house. Our next big plan is for the kitchen so maybe we’ll get that done in a decade or so.

Top five improvements in my new office:

5. The laminate floor, or, as we call it, “Woody’s Slip N Slide.”

4. The cozy fireplace that can be cranked up on snowy days – like June 9, 10 and 11.

3. The adorable squirr fake fur rug.

2. Pellet dispenser full of Skittles that automatically rewards interns for good behavior.

1. The customary Montana greeting system for visitors can be set to fire the warning shot at three heights: “Just saying hello,” “You do realize you’re on our property, don’t you?” and “Sorry, but it’s not my fault you’re so tall. Were so tall.”

Montana and South Dakota, apparently in a dead heat for national irrelevancy, held the last two primary elections in the country this week. Despite Obama’s win in Montana, Ron Paul did surprisingly well, garnering 20 percent among those who chose a Republican ballot. His supporters didn’t do quite so well at our polling place. Earlier in the day they had set up a table right in front of the door to the high school and had half a dozen volunteers annoying working the crowd. By the time I voted late in the afternoon, they had apparently been told that their Libertarian liberties don’t extend to politicking at the polling place. Two rather forlorn-looking guys were sitting on the boulevard by the curb in folding chairs with a Ron Paul sign at their feet. Hey, cheer up guys – 20 percent’s pretty good. You’re closing in on Dubya’s new record-low approval rating of 25 percent!

Top five results of the Montana primary:

5. Confused voters trying to write in Montana Libertarian Stan Jones, aka “the blue guy,” accidentally gave the senate nomination to Blue Man Group.

4. Voters approved a controversial new health care plan based on the medicinal properties of knoephle soup and cheeseburgers.

3. No gun control initiatives on the ballot, as usual. Hey, our voter pool contains people like this guy.

2. For the tenth straight time, we voted “No” on invading Idaho. So Mike, you’re safe. FOR NOW.

1. For the first time, we voted “Sure, why not?” on invading North Dakota. So Mike, you’re getting out just in time.

Former White House spokesperson Scott McClellan recently released a book, “What Happened,” in which he made the shocking revelation that the Bush administration consistently and deliberately lied to us. Which is news to anyone who hasn’t been paying attention the last seven years. Top five other revelations in McClellan’s book:

5. Cheney’s hunting accident was no accident – he’s licensed to kill lawyers. Unfortunately the limit is one per season.

4. After we invade Iran, Barney the dog called dibs so the next war will be against CatNextDooristan to take down Fluffy and her paws of mass destruction.

3. That perpetual glazed expression on Laura’s face? Let’s just say it would go away if Dubya would stop talking about his “stimulus package.”

2. Every Tuesday at the White House: Karaoke night! Dubya always kicks things off with the Edwin Starr classic “War,” with his own hilarious “What is it good for?” lyrics.

1. By day, Condi Rice is a globe-trotting warmonger Secretary of State. By night she dons a long blonde wig to become her alter ego, pop singing sensation Rhoda Dakota.

I pulled up at the Minot office Tuesday morning and noticed the driver in another car parking nearby. “Hey, that guy looks kinda like Pat . . . wait a sec . . . that is Pat.” Apparently the prohibition on both of us being in the same city at the same time has been lifted. Either that or he’s been inoculated against liberal cooties so I’m no longer a danger to him. Of course he had to make a smart-ass remark – “You do have some real clothes. I thought you’d be wearing bunny slippers or something.”

So . . . top five standard wardrobe items in our Montana office:

5. Gun for protection against squirrels.

4. Bigger gun for protection against bears.

3. Ginormous gun for anyone trying to take my other guns away.

2. Squirrel slippers. Bunny slippers are so tacky.

1. Squirrel slippers jammed into hob-nailed work boots in case I need to kick the ass of the nearest prison escapee, elk poacher or crazed gun-toting anti-government loner.

Yesterday the California Supreme Court struck down a law prohibiting same-sex marriages. Top five effects of the ruling:

5. Republican congressmen immediately flock to LA to publicly repudiate the ruling, and privately ask where the “special bars” are located.

4. It’s just a coincidence! Welder and Pierce were already planning a quick weekend trip to LA.

3. Idaho Senator Larry Craig denounces the ruling, saying that when it comes to marriage, the court should take a “narrow stance.”

2. Ryan Seacrest is finally free to marry the person of his dreams: himself.

1. Being gay just became more fair, more equitable, and way less cool.

Tomorrow Dubya’s little girl Jenna will marry Henry Hager at their ranch photo op backdrop in Crawford, Texas. Alas, my invitation seems to have gone astray, so I’ll have to use my imagination for the top five highlights of the shindig:

5. The look on Laura’s face when Dubya assures her he did too pick up the ice sculptures. “I put them out in the garden last week just to be sure.”

4. Dubya asking the pope on his recent visit if he’d perform the ceremony. “And Crawford’s purty this time of year, so be sure to bring the missus.”

3. When the best man frets that the video crew isn’t around to record his toast, Cheney assures him, “Don’t worry. Just speak clearly into the centerpiece.”

2. The outdoor pavilion is moldy and falling down, the portapotties don’t work, the flowers are wilted and the catering is rancid – maybe they shouldn’t have given that no-bid wedding contract to Halliburton.

1. The father of the bride’s controversial speech at the reception, in which he assures the guests that he as it on good authority that “Laura recently sought significant quantities of yellow cake from Niger.”

Friday 5: Snob Magazine

A Russian billionaire is starting a magazine called “Snob,” for – well, for snobs. Top five articles in the premiere edition of Snob:

5. Be nice to the little people. Learn two words in your housekeeper’s native language.

4. “You’re still burning jet fuel?” The biofuel Lear jet: class superiority AND moral superiority!

3. Love quiz! Can you BOTH look down on each other?

2. Domestic champagne, off-the-rack clothes, flying economy class – the horrors of life in an ungated community.

1. Subscription information: Sorry, you’re not our type.

But I don’t know what you have to be so snobby about when your web site looks like this.

Law Day. Lawless Dude.

“Law Day?” A decade ago the idea of having a day to commemorate the rule of law would have seemed pointless and quaint, like all those special “days” passed by lawmakers who want to throw a bone to some obscure constituent group. Not that all special days are frivolous – tomorrow is National Raspberry Popover Day!

But under Dubya, raspberry popovers get more respect than the rule of law. After all, raspberry popovers are delicious, while the law is just inconvenient. So it is yet another in this administration’s long list of jaw-dropping ironies that Bush could actually sign this Law Day proclamation:

The right of ordinary men and women to determine their own future, protected by the rule of law, lies at the heart of America's founding principles . . .The American legal system is central to protecting the rights and freedoms our Nation holds dear . . . We pay tribute to the men and women in America's legal community. Through hard work and dedication to the rule of law, members of the judiciary and the legal profession help secure the rights of individuals . . . the United States Constitution marked tremendous advances in the march of liberty . . . Today, we are reminded of that past and look toward a hopeful future as we work to secure the liberty that is the natural right of every man, woman, and child.
NOW, THEREFORE, I, GEORGE W. BUSH, President of the United States of America, in accordance with Public Law 87-20, as amended, do hereby proclaim May 1, 2008, as Law Day, U.S.A.

He signed it, and nothing exploded or burst into flames, providing conclusive proof that irony is non-combustible. But when (or if) he realizes that his theory of the “unitary executive” will hand unprecidented power over to a Democratic successor, his head will surely explode. And it’ll be at least eight years too late to do us any good.

Bill Moyers, Crazy Journalist

Is the Reverend Jeremiah Wright a crazy man? Bill Moyers sure is. Then again, over at PBS they probably don’t get the same memos that go out to all the MSM. What you’re supposed to do, Bill, is play the same seven-second soundbite of the Rev. Wright saying “God damn America” over and over, then invite a bunch of talking heads to natter on for an hour about what that little snippet says about Wright, Obama, damning and America, preferably in terms of presumed levels of patriotism, with extra attention to the important issues of flag pins and bowling scores.

Oh Bill. You crazy, crazy man. You couldn’t stick with the script. No, you had to go out and commit an act of actual journalism. Bill Moyers interviewed the Reverend Wright on Bill Moyers’ Journal last weekend. The in-depth interview covered everything from Wright’s childhood through his education, military career, his ministry, and the context for the soundbite you’ve all heard a hundred times by now.

So is Wright crazy? In today’s Bizarro-World of “journalism,” Bill Moyers certainly is. Because he thinks that’s a question you can decide for yourself, and he takes it upon himself to give you the information you need to do so. Bill, why do you hate America?

Hey candidates, fly out to the fly-over.

I suppose this week Pennsylvanians are cleaning up after having the Democratic presidential candidates hanging around in their living rooms for the last couple of months. Throwing out that box of frozen waffles they kept on hand for Obama, polishing off the last of the Crown Royal they stuck at the back of the liquor cabinet to hide from Hillary, trying not to be bitter about being ignored until November . . .

Though we have elected some Democrats and kicked out one deeply corrupt Republican, the state of Montana remains largely red as the inside of a rare elk steak when it comes to the top slot. In the latest polls McCain enjoys a comfortable lead over Clinton, 54 % to 36 %. The race with Obama is much tighter, with McCain just five points in the lead, 48% to 43%.

So if the candidates think our measly three electoral votes are worth fighting for, they may actually have to show up, claim to love fly fishing, pose awkwardly in a hard hat outside a closed-down sawmill, and take questions from the locals. Hey, when it comes to asking the hard-hitting, relevant questions, us plain folk can hardly do much worse than the inane Charlie Gibson and the irrelevant George Stephanopoulos.

Top 5 questions Montanans might have for the candidates:

5. Gun control: “Do you keep your guns in a vertical cabinet, or do you prefer a horizontal rack?”

4. Lapel pins: “It’s good that they wear those so we know who they are, and we don’t go for them kind of folks, so I’m glad to see that none of you has got on one of them fag pins.”

3. Health care: “Let’s say you’re gettin’ a tooth yanked. Does your health care plan pay for a fancy shot of Crown Royal, or do we have to settle for the bottom-shelf stuff?” (Hillary only)

2. Bowling scores: “A 37? Are you freakin’ kidding me? How can you be president when you roll lower than I did the day after I lost all them fingers down at the sawmill?” (Obama only)

1. War: “Montana congresswoman Jeannette Rankin voted to keep the U.S. out of World War I in 1917. After she cast that vote, what did you say to her?” (McCain only)

Nice Planet. Let's Keep It

Earth happens to be the only planet that’s conveniently located for us, right under our feet and in a nice neighborhood. Good view of the sun. Not too close to that slutty Venus or big bully Mars. Halliburton did get a no-bid contract to build another one for a bajillion dollars, but so far all they have to show for it is a crumbling, leaky asteroid with unfinished landscapes, rancid water and unbreathable air. So they’re submitting a bill for cost overruns of a kajillion dollars since the planet is “pre-polluted for your convenience.”

So why April 22? If Wikipedia is to be believed, that date was chosen because it’s the birthday of actor and environmentalist Eddie Albert. I’m sure he recycled all his cow manure as fertilizer, and he did like to wax poetic about watching the little sprouts shooting up toward the sun and sky. Usually with fife music and everything. But April 22 is also the birthday of Vladimir Lenin, thus proving that clean air and water are some kind of commie plot. Quoth the Wiki:

Time reported that some suspected the date was not a coincidence, but a clue that the event was "a Communist trick," and quoted a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution saying, "Subversive elements plan to make American children live in an environment that is good for them."

The bastards.

Top five ways the administration plans to celebrate Earth Day:

5. Carefully collect and recycle the water used in the whole day’s waterboardings.

4. Pass legislation for electronic-only voting, to save paper, trees and Republican officeholders.

3. Put Cheney into “standby” mode to save on battery power.

2. Throw a nice reception with a beautiful ice sculpture made from the last remnants of the Arctic ice cap.

1. Sign a presidential proclamation officially naming April 22 as “Earth Day.” And a signing statement officially naming the rest of the year the usual “Screw the Earth” day.

And if enlightened self-interest or concern for future generations isn’t motivation enough to take care of the only planet we have, remember this: if we destroy it, the mice will be furious.

"History will not judge this kindly . . . " Ya think?

It recently came to light that top administration officials met regularly to discuss in detail precisely what kinds of “enhanced interrogation techniques” could be used on detainees. This group was called . . . “The Principals.” Yeah, really. The world’s most powerful people convene in secret to lend an air of shadowy legitimacy to brutal and highly specific torture tactics, and that’s the best name they could come up with? They’re oh-so-creative when it comes to deciding which body parts to slap the electrodes on, and then . . . “The Principals?” Sounds like a group of middle-school bureaucrats defining the proper use of swirlies and atomic wedgies. How about something more SMERSH-y, SPECTRE-ish, KAOS-esque? These folks need a helping hand. Let’s just hope they don’t chop it off.

Alternative names for “The Principals”:

Condi’s Iron Maiden Roundtable – now with real iron maiden!
The Wet, Wild and Wacky White House Waterboarders
Who Wants to be a War Criminal?
Committee for Thinking of Things We’d Like to Do to Democrats
Dick Cheney’s Happytime Funtime Playtime Pals

Scooter and Toots

See, this is why you should never allow your parents at your workplace. Or, for that matter, let them even know where you work. The parents of a couple of my coworkers stopped by the office the other day and made casual references to their offspring who work here, using their childhood nicknames: “Scooter” and “Toots.” Okay, better than “Turd Blossom,” but still . . .

“Toots” brings to mind some platinum-haired, gum-snapping moll slinking around in a clingy bias-cut satin gown in a gangster movie from the ‘30s. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it’s not the image you want in your boss’s head when you’re up for your annual review. “Yes, I see you’ve been proactive in implementing our total quality initiative to maximize our core competencies across multiple disciplines, Toots . . . I mean, Miss Jenkins.”

Now, being called Scooter is okay if you’re a high-ranking government official/convicted felon, but it won’t earn you a lot of respect around our offices. Neither does driving an actual scooter, as you’ll see. Which brings us to our list:

Top five April Fool’s Day pranks:

5. Things people at iNet like to encase in Jello: Welder’s stapler, Welder’s coffee cup, and Welder.

4. Telling the new governor of New York that the person waiting to see him in his office is a “five-diamond Emperor’s Club girl” when it’s really Rudy Giuliani in a dress.

3. “Mr. President, it’s time for you to hit the campaign trail, so get out there and win your third term!”

2. “Dear Hillary: We’re all supporting you. Love, the Super Delegates.”

1. Getting a couple of your crazy uncles to show up at the office, introduce themselves to your boss as the parents of coworkers, and refer to them as “Stinkypants” and “Poopyhead.”

March Whatness?

Yeah, I don’t know anything about sports, but still, is that any reason not to let me in the March Madness office pool? Actually, there are at least five good reasons:

5. Sick of me asking what month March madness is in.

4. I believe in lucky numbers, so I don’t see why you won’t let me pick seven teams to make that final four thingie.

3. Telling me I always back losers anyway, just because I invested in Bear Stearns, texted for that Sanjaya guy on American Idol, and my car has a “Mike Gravel ‘08” bumper sticker.

2. I do so know about sports! That final four you always talk about is a rubber man, an invisible girl, a human torch, and a guy made of rocks.

1. Can we forget about last year? Once and for all, I'm sorry about the "The Foam Finger Incident."

Top five signs of spring:

5. Yesterday was the vernal equinox, which means that on that day, presidential candidates spent equal amounts of time pandering to the left and the right.

4. “Kristen,” Eliot Spitzer’s pricey pal, got so warm she was forced to take off her clothes. (SFW)

3. A harried-looking bunny frantically tries to get an early flight back from his Cancun vacation, muttering “why didn’t anyone tell me Easter was so freakin’ early this year?”

2. Spring cleaning gets underway in Washington, as the administration scrubs hard drives and files shiny-clean and free of any dusty old information that Congress might want to subpoena.

1. The weather’s so nice, politicians are holding their “admission of a sex scandal” press conferences outside.

Pity the weekend-homeless . . .

In hard times, why is it always the rich who suffer? As the New York Times recently reported on the wreckage left in the wake of the implosion of Bear Stearns, “some executives had moved quickly, putting their weekend homes on the market.”

Oh, the humanity! Those poor executives facing the loss of their weekend homes for no other reason than their own greed and incompetence in creating the economic Titanic that is the subprime mortgage meltdown. Why should they suffer simply because they made the mess and profited from it?

But don’t despair. We are, after all, led governed ruled by a president who labels himself a “compassionate conservative.” And it’s true. When you lose your home or face bankruptcy, he’s all conservative. A real “pull yourself up by your bootstraps, provided you still have boots” kinda guy. But when rich people need a handout, then you see the compassion. The caring. And the taxpayers’ money.

But suppose that mean old Congress won’t go along, no matter how much he threatens to call them “soft on terror – the terror of losing your beach house”? Then it is incumbent upon us to lend a hand, in the great American tradition of helping the uptrodden. Please, give what you can. Even a small donation of just $100,000 can help some poor CEO hang on to his ocean-front home in the Hamptons. You’ll be amply rewarded in the look of joy and unbridled avarice on his face as he realizes your generosity means he’ll be able to keep his weekend home and, thus, his trophy wife as well. We as a nation must come together to help the weekend-homeless.

Oh, Hillary . . .

this is such a non-response response to the Eliot Spitzer scandal:

"I obviously am sending my best wishes and thoughts to the governor and to his family," she told reporters. When asked whether Gov. Spitzer could survive politically she said "let's wait and see what comes out of the next few days. Right now I don't have any comment. I think it's appropriate to wish his family well and see how things develop."

We know what you’re just dying to say:

“A few thousand bucks on one hooker? I can’t believe the crap that passes for a career-ending scandal these days. Hell, Bill once blew Chelsea’s whole college fund on two-week ‘summit meeting’ in Cancun, and that was just on booze and cheeseburgers, ‘cause the tramps were doing him for free.

“And hey, Silda, honey, talk about ‘feeling your pain.’ I recognize that expression on Eliot’s face, and I know exactly how much pressure you were applying to his tighty-whiteys to produce it. By this time next year, ‘Kristen’ or whatever the hell her name is will be just a faded ‘Miss June’ centerfold in one of the many magazines under Jonah Goldberg’s mattress. So forget about her. Let’s get together for some margaritas and we’ll start planning your 2012 campaign for senate. Or governor. Your call. I’ll have my people start working on some ‘Spitzer’ campaign slogans that don’t read like late-night talk show double-entendre punch lines.”

As political sex scandals go, the Eliot Spitzer thing is practically wholesome. No sleazy bathroom stalls, no under-age pages, no lobbyists, not even a dubious denial or playing of the Jesus card. Just the by-now-routine press conference with his wife wearing the usual clenched-jaw “standing by my man as long as the friggin’ cameras are here” expression on her face. Only the sharp whiff of hypocrisy keeps it from being boring.

Top five fun facts about the Spitzer scandal:

5. For days he wrestled with his decision to resign – and wrestling usually costs him $4,000 an hour.

4. Why did his hooker cost so much? Half for her services and half for the gas to get to his office.

3. Why’s his wife standing by him? Let’s see, sex scandal involving a Democrat . . . in keeping with tradition she’ll run for the senate in 2012 and the White House in 2016.

2. Staffers were wondering why they were always paid in an envelope of cash left on their bedroom dressers.

1. Aides kept hearing him in his office telling someone to move to the left, now a little to the right, now left again – they thought he was talking about *political* positions.