If George Bush Can Be President...

...anyone can.


Aspirants to political careers worry about exposing skeletons in their closets. I can't imagine there are very many who may actually have literal skeletons-- in their closets, basements, and god fobid anyone should ask about the juice boxes labeled "Type O".

This guy doesn't have a past to cover up, but a present to, well--explain. Like many conservatives in this country, Sharkey wants to return to a simpler time with traditional values, and old world mores. He'd like to go back to an era not so very rife with political correctness, cell phones, or indoor plumbing. And, working within the system--if he would become president--would revert to its orignal intent and meaning. Working within the system would take only a few days--for the the sharpened stick on which one was impaled to work its way up from your bowels through your heart or neck or mouth.

This news article may look bad in anyone else's political career. I don't think it'll matter much to Sharkey's demographic. God help us all if he has a demographic.

Read My Blog, Love My Blog, Rave To All Your Friends

I'm at work, killing time during lunch. What are you doing? Waiting for a punchline? I thought as much. Sorry. This is the writing equivalent of mumbling. You might as well tune me out.

Oh, I just want to say, George, if you're reading this, mommy loves you and misses you and I'll be home tonight. And don't drink out of the toilet or scoot your poopy butt on the furniture. I know you're going to do it anyway. Damn cat.

Hugs and Head-Pattins,

Mamma Kitty

The American Taliban's Fatwa Against Uteruses Begins

Scary news out of South Dakota today, folks. Gals, prepare to remove your uteruses and courier them to the President, for that is to whom they now belong.

Wishing my privacy and physical autonomy well in their new home,


Cindy

Stop Whatever You're Doing Right This Minute...

Because my Blood Blog has a new look. Kind of.



OK. Now you can go back to whatever you were doing before reading my shrill and alarming headline.



Spastically,


Cindy

A Phase of Aphasia

Thank you everyone for checking in here at WLPF. Not feeling very talkative these days. I feel as if I've used up all my words. Sorry, I've nothing left to say. For now.

Mutely,

Cindy

Read English, Avoid Tragedy

I rode the train and bus into Vancouver B.C. a few years ago, my first trip to Canada. At the border, I stood in line to present my passport and submit to the scrutiny of customs officials. As I kicked my luggage along when the line moved forward, I read all the signs, with their instructions both in English and in French. Everything was in English and in French, except one black, stenciled message on the luggage carousel which said, "KEEP OFF."

I can take a hint.

Apparently only an American would be stupid enough to take a ride on the luggage-go-round, and only the Canadians would point this out with government sanctioned bold lettering.

If only they could vote in our elections. Or at least post signs, in block-lettered English, in voting booths demanding common sense.

Staying off the luggage carosels in the Great White North,


Cindy

Much Too Young

I'd like to extend heartfelt condolences to Art Bell, whose wife Ramona succumbed suddenly to an asthma attack yesterday, at the age of 47.

I was shocked to read the sad news on Coast to Coast A.M.'s website last night. The Bells were as tight as a couple could be, in love, inseperabe, for the last 15 or so years. I can only imagine how devasted Mr. Bell must be at the sudden loss of his best friend.

I hope, that in time, he will be comforted by all he has learned from the many experts he's interviewed over the years, who've answered his questions about life after death. To grieve is the hardest way to explore the topic, but the surest route to the truth without dying oneself.

Sympathetically,


Cindy

Moving Right Along

I'm posting for no other reason than I'm sick of seeing the lists.

Oh--by the way, Happy New Year.


Cindy