Hey whose that guy?

"Hi how are you? My names Judy and I love to paint. To paint myself."
"Would you like to give it a try?"
"Just dip you finger in the paint and start writing."
"Oh that's nice. Hey. Would you like to sock it to me?"

The Penis Monologues (A Shortened Story) by Michael H

And then the world stopped for a minute. Luci looked down and screamed. Her sister Lynda Bird who had run in the room behind her Daddy raised a hand to her mouth and giggled, then her eyes got real big all of a sudden.

The damn beagle jumped up and clawed the President right at the hips.

“Son of a bitch!” The President screamed. “Git the damn dog off’n me!”

He grabbed the dog by its ears and tossed it part way across the room.

“Now lookit this here!” he yelled, pulling his shirt out of his pants. He pointed to a fresh, red scar along the right side of his belly. We all stared in disbelief.

“Ah get half my damn intestines cut out by some damn quack doctor who couldn’t find my appendix if I woke up and pointed it out to him myself. An’ now I got to put up with this here Army loootenent trying to club my very own daughter to death in the basement of my very own White House with that damn big oversize dick.”

“I don’t know anymore what’s wrong with America. Ah’m gonna damn well not run for another term. Ah’m gonna go back to Texas and just get drunk and smoke cigarettes for whateve few years Ah’ve got left on earth!”
An’ you, young lady, you better prepare yerself to marry that Patrick Nugent boy next summer.”

“Now all y’all, get outta here afore I call the Secret Service to throw your ass out.”

Wow. It was like a bomb had gone off in the basement of the White House. The First Lady, wearing an apron, took LBJ by the arm and led him back upstairs for a nap. Lynda Bird rounded up the beagle. I reeled in my penis and prepared to leave before there was anymore trouble.

Luci grabbed my arm and told me she’d like to have my address before I left. I said that I didn’t have a pen, she didn’t either, but said “We’ll improvise.”

I don’t know much about Luci, but I do know that she must have a poor memory. We had to improvise several times before she could remember my address. Can’t say as I blame her, though, Military addresses are hard to remember because they have a lot of letters and numbers, not street name like regular addresses. She was s good improviser; that she was. I learned where the expression “writing on the wall” comes from.

She showed me out the back door of the White House on August 23, 1965. And she started a problem that took decades to repair.

TO BE CONTINUED

Hey whose that guy?

"Hey how you doing soldier. What's your name?"
"Nice to meet you. Did you know my boots are made for walking?"
"Yeah I like to walk around in them. And nothing else."
"Let't go up to my room and I will show you."

The Penis Monologues (A Shortened Story) by Michael H

Luci turned out to be Luci Baines Johnson, the youngest daughter of President Lyndon Johnson and Mrs. Lady Bird Johnson.

She was just eighteen, and was already engaged to be married the next year.

Luci was a bit chubby, fashionable for young women in 1965. She was also lonely, very lonely. The confines of the White House had kept her from living the life of a normal teen-ager. Her Episcopalian parents had raised her to be a “proper” Texas woman. They had also cloistered her in a stifling environment where contact with people her age was carefully controlled, even manipulated. Her chance for a normal date was exactly nil.

I had been in Viet Nam for twelve months. Before that, I was in Officer Candidate School, before that Advanced Individual Training, and before that Basic Training. I had seen women, alright, especially in Nam, but the opportunities for safe contact were exactly none. It was far too dangerous; there were too many spies, too much disease. It had taken a strong will, but I had remained master of my own domain.

On August 23, 1965, Luci grabbed my and pulled me along, down the stairs, into the private basement beneath the White House. We ran to the old area where years later Richard Nixon had a bowling alley installed.

She hugged me, tight at first, then even tighter until it felt like her nipples were thumbtacks pressed against the corkboard of my chest. We were breathing hard, clawing, clothes coming off, faster, faster, both wanting to get……….dogs were barking.

Not dogs, a dog. And not barking but baying as the lights went to full bright. I wasn’t a Fullbright Scholar, but I knew that full bright was bad because the hands I could account for were in places where there weren’t light switches.

“Luci! Loooci!? Y’all down here with that Army boy? Where y’all at now? Mama tol’ me to fetch y’all for supper and that’s………DAMN, SON, whatcha doin’ with muh dotter? Get back Lieutenant or this here beagle’ll tear that third leg right off’n ya before y’all can say fuck Gerry Ford…

”TO BE CONTINUED

Hey whose that guy?

"Whose that guy over there Cher?"
"Oh him. I don't know, we should go talk to him."
"What to you need to talk to him for girls, you have me?"
"Seriously Sonny we both had you, that's why we want to talk to him. That bulge in his pants alone looks like it is bigger than your entire body, you loser."
"Fuck this, I am going skiing."
"Com'on Twiggs, lets go over and say hello."

The Penis Monologues (A Shortened Story) by Michael H

It was 1965. August 23rd, 1965 to be exact. DC was its usual sweaty, swampy, suffocating self. It felt oddly normal for me, if even slightly comfortable.

I had just returned from two years in Viet Nam. I was used to the heat and the sweat. Thirty days leave in DC would do me good, I thought. Get my mind off of the war, meet some chicks, drink cheap beer, be a tourist, a normal person for a while before shipping back to Nam.

On August 23rd 1965 I woke up in BOQ at the Army base in DC. It was a Saturday. I showered, dressed and hit the chow hall for breakfast. My plan was to visit the White House; take the tour with hundreds of other Americans, blend in for a few hours.

There were protests in DC that summer. The base commander waived uniform rules, and encouraged off-duty personnel to travel around the city in civilian clothes. I dressed in civvies, plain khakis, a short-sleeved madras shirt, socks and penny loafers. Blend in, I thought.

After a short cab ride and I was queued up for the White House tour. We were told that the first family was in the WH that day, so our tour wouldn’t include any private, family areas of the WH. Jaded as I was, I hoped to catch a glimpse of the old man, or maybe one of his daughters. They had big hair, and big, ratted hair was sexy back then. I wanted and needed sexy.

The tour was okay, interesting even. The WH was smaller than I thought it would be. The history was fascinating, though. And the art was beautiful.

Part way through the tour we heard a ruckus of footsteps and saw a small crowd of Secret Service agents hustling the President from one area to another. He saw us. LBJ saw the tour group. Not one who could keep away from potential voters, President Johnson turned and bolted toward our group, his big paw of a hand extended in greeting.

“Haw’re y’all tudday? Ah’m Predident Johnson. Kin Ah shake all y’alls hands?” he barreled.

He went down the line, shaking hands, pounding backs, kissing children. He got to me and looked at my head. My haircut was Army short in a world where non-Army hair was hippie-long. “Boy, you inna Army, ain’t cha?” he asked me.

“Yessir”, I said, “Lieutenant Second Class Hasenstab, sir, just home from a tour of duty in Viet Nam” I replied.

Son, Ah’m a militerry man myself” he barked. “Was a pilot in WW Two, flew for MacArthur. Got my ass shot out of a B-26. MacArthur hisself awarded me a Silver Star.”

“That’s very courageous, sir.”

LBJ turned to someone behind him and said “Luci, tell Mama we’re havin’ a guest for supper, an’ take this gennelman with you to the family room. Y’all can talk about college or Texas or dancin’ that damn frug or whutever y’all want ‘til supper. Lieutenant, welcome to the Johnson’s house. Yer gonna stay and have barbecue with us for supper.”

I was shocked when two Secret Service guys grabbed me, and pushed me toward a woman my age who had big ratted dark hair. She was wearing a sweater to cover her pointy breasts, even though it was August. August 23, 1965 to be exact.

TO BE CONTINUED

Come in Michael, I have been waiting.

"Martin isn't around. He's out somewhere with Nimoy taking over a south american country or something."
"No one's here. Except for the security guards I have tied up in the corner. So come on in. I want to see if it's true."
"Oh my....it seems it is quite accurate. Well I don't think this is really an impossible mission. I think I can handle."
"Just one thing, if I choose to accept this mission, I hope it doesn't start to burn in ten seconds."

The Penis Monologues (A Shortened Story) by Michael H

I had hoped that it wouldn’t come to this.

The plan had been carefully created. There was a cover story that was credible, that couldn’t be blown by a mere comment or question. It was investigation-proof. Plausible deniability was established. No weak middle-men were involved, just a cutout, no two cut-outs to make the story go cold; cold like the Artic, if anyone came within one hundred miles of the truth.

People knowledgeable about these matters were retained. They were sent abroad, to investigate, to verify, to check every square inch of the facility. Their reports all came back the same: It’s a clean op.

Arrangements were made in the names of third parties. The names couldn’t be traced. The patient was known only as Mr. Long. His svelte, carefully veiled companion was known only as The Missus. Their passports and driving licenses were forgeries; excellent forgeries convincing to the border and customs authorities who waved them through without so much as a question.

Forged insurance cards had phone numbers that rang in a room above a tiffin shop in Bangalore. An articulate, well-scripted but anonymous voice told callers “Yes, full coverage is approved. There are no co-pays, no deductibles. You are authorized to proceed.” Another voice at the same number would tell the caller “Federated Healthcare is known for prompt re-imbursement payments. May we have your bank routing number so we can wire funds to your account immediately upon receipt of your invoice?”

The story told to others, the story used to cover the absence from public sight was a sympathetic play. It used the word cancer. Everyone stops when they hear that word; no one asks any more questions, except “How bad is it?” How little they knew.

On the day of the operation, after the bloody part, the surgeon walked to the private beach and whispered to The Missus “It has been done.”

“Good” she whispered back. “And Mr. Long, what is Mr. Long’s condition?”

“Mr. Long is no more.”“Thank you, doctor.”

The jet aircraft, plain white, tail number HAZ001, brought us back to the US. The onboard transponder had been briefly switched off, for an instant off 65 miles south of Key West. When it was turned back on the aircraft had a new transponder ID number, one that let is slip unnoticed into the FAA air traffic control system without raising suspicion.

It landed on a private, unmarked airstrip. There were security guards at the lodge; our team, we were home and safe. A few minutes online and the alibi had proved successful. Well-wishers posted their notes, responses were duly sent back.

The plan had worked. It was flawless.

Then Trooper York had to post that photo of Lyndon Baines Johnson. And all the bad, angering, horrible, humiliating old memories came gushing back like Maureen Dowd the next morning, reeking of gin, spackled face, begging for my phone number.

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. All that work, the cover story, the years of doubt, the long conversations with the therapist who later willingly became the Missus. It has to come out.

It wasn’t cancer on my kidney, although I wish it had been. Life would be so much simpler if it had been. A rough surgery, a week in a hospital, a few weeks of convalescence at home, and the episode would have passed. It would have been just another pothole on life’s superhighway.

But now I have to say it.

I had penis-reduction surgery because of Lyndon Baines Johnson.

TO BE CONTINUED

He is holding the trial where?

"Did he just say what I heard him say Chief O'Hara?"

"I am afraid so Commissioner Gordon. They are going to put these terrorists on trial here in Gotham City."

"We have to stop this. It would be a disaters. Quick lets get in touch with Governor Patterson. Use the Governor Signal."

"What's that?"

"It's a giant searchlight that illuminates a pair of breasts in the night sky. That's how we used to get Sptizer here in two minutes."

"But that won't work with Patterson. How the hell is he gonna see it Jesus Mary and Joseph."

"Well ring a bell or something I don't know! We have to put a stop to this. Right now!"

It's all there in black and white.

"Hello Selina, who is your friend?'

"Who...my henchwoman....errr yes my friend....Angelina this is Trey."

"Hello Angelina. Why are you joining us today."

"Well you were always talking about group and I thought we might start a little group of our own."

"That would be nice Selina. Do you have any issues you would like to discuss Angelina?"

"Oh she doesn't chatter much Trey, she just has to control her camel toe and her insatiable sexual itch. It really takes over."

"I think she should speak for herself. She can speak can she not Selina."

"Oh she is very oral if that is what you need Trey. Very Oral. Let me show you. She particular likes it when I scratch her with my long claw....Trey....Trey...Trey....help him off the floor Angelina and lets sandwich him on the couch...oh a sandwich what a great idea!'

"Hamana hamana hamana uuurrrppphhhhh!!!!!!"

Driving Eddie Curry

Eddie Curry: Davie?
Dave the limo driver: Yes'm.
Eddie Curry: You're my best friend.
Dave the limo driver: No, go on Eddie.
Eddie Curry: No, really, you are... [Takes Davie's hand]
Eddie Curry: You are.
Dave the limo driver: Yes'm. So where am I driving you?
Eddie Curry: Back to Garden. I have another game tonight.
Dave the limo driver: That’s right, you got in the game last night. First time in five years right?
Eddie Curry: Don’t be an asshole Dave. Jayson Williams still needs someone to drive him to court to cop a plea this week. Don’t you make me send you down there.
Dave the limo driver: Sorry Eddie. But you had a great game right?
Eddie Curry: Pretty good, pretty good. 3 out of 4 from the field. Went to the line a whole lot. Got to the middle. You know what that means?

Dave the limo driver: What’s that Eddie?
Eddie Curry: I was feelin’ it. You feelin’ it Davie?
Dave the limo driver: Not really Eddie.Eddie Curry: Maybe you should. Pull over. It’s time you start feelin’ it bitch.
(Driving Eddie Curry, 2009)

Hey I have been busy!

Sorry that the creativity level has been low, but I have been exhausted the last couple of weeks. What Not To Wear has come in to film at the store three weeks in a row!

This is great for our publicity but a hell of a lot of work. We totally change over the store, all the manikins and decor that will be in the shots. The wife doesn't want to repeat herself. So besides being totally clean and spic and span it all has to be different.

Today we were shop day one as we were last week. So the subject came in with just a small crew and shopped for clothes on her own. We normally are shop day two when Stacy and Clinton come to interact with the subject. But the girls were just a weird size that we could accommodate a lot better than other stores so that's why they are coming for shop day one.

We will be in the premiere episode of the new season in February as well as in March and April. We are all over the joint!

So Laura Bush got a break for a while.

Writing her diary can get her...well....bushed. Hee.

Oh AJ that's not nice.

I see our old friend AJ is busy dissing the Yankees where I can't get at him (at the evil blogger ladys joint). Someone tipped me off.

Alls I got to say is the say thing that A-Rod said to Ozzie as he picked against the Yankees in every series.

I got your A-Rod right here!

Hey Michael H get back to commenting dude.

Enough already. I want ten or twenty comments an hour. No more resting.

I know, I know. It's tough being a Packer fan.

They have sucked ever since John Brockington retired.

But nobody wants to see your scars.

Allrighty then!

Paris is burning, but only when he pees!

"Hey look at my groovy turtleneck."
"It's way cool."
"Just like my Beatles haircut."
"Much cooler than pointy ears."
"You what else is really cool?"
"Playing the flute."
"No, really. I am serious!"
"Oh, and opera too!"
"That's way cool."
"Hello...is anybody in there?"

Remembrance of Thngs Pabst.

Michael H reminded me of a story I wanted to tell you.

We had to have a dinner business meeting with a well know person. So we decided to have it in our little wine and cheese joint here on Court St. Now I have talked about it before and the problems that you have with the "regulars." Or in particular, one regular, "Special Ed."

You see he is this little elfin gay guy like the dude who was the main rival of Karen in Will and Grace. He has a Southern accent and is annoyingly gay. Not because he is gay, but because that is all he wants to talk about. I mean it is just as annoying when you have to listen to some dude who thinks he is Rico Suave and a lady killer. If you are such a ladies man, why aren't you out romancing some broad. And if you are such a gay guy, go suck a dick and leave the rest of us alone already, we are just here for some wine and cheese, not the fucking floor show.

Anyway this dude always attacks a new customer when they come in. He tries to strike up a conversation and is just annoying and overbearing. I always send people from the store there and several of them come in to complain about him. I sent this one couple that he didn't stop bothering the whole time they were there. He kept yapping at them and yapping at them to the point that after they paid the check he followed them outside to keep talking at the bus stop. Now the guy in this couple was English so I thought he would know how to handle this guy, I mean he had enough experience as a bar guy to know what to do. But I guess his wife made him not be rude. But you have to be rude.

So we walk into the joint and Special Ed starts right in talking to our quest. She goes "What...er what are you talking about" and the wife grabs her and takes her to the back. "Don't look in his eyes" she says "He's like an animal, he can sense weakness." I was bringing up the rear and I walked up to him and put my hands around his neck (in a nice way, sorta) and said "Ed I have a business meeting going on so I would appreciate it if you would pay attention to your drink and cut the crap." Which he did and was quiet the rest of the night. At least as far as we were concerned.

Now we saw him again last week and I was nice to him as I am to everybody. I asked how his cat was since that is the thing that he is most fond of in all the world. And he gave me chapter and verse on it which is OK because it was a quiet Tuesday night and real relaxed and low key. He got up and went to his apartment and got us a piece of banana bread that he had baked that day and that he wanted to give us some for our breakfast. I did have to ask him "Ed these were real banana's right, that's not a euphemism right?" But they were. I think the homeless guy I gave it to on the way home enjoyed it. It was certainly a nice gesture.

Oh the kicker was that when Ed heard that it was an important business meeting, he was confused. He turned to the owner and said "If it is so important why did they come here?"

She hit him on the head with a provolone.

Hey someone emailed me the outtakes of the Oprah Interview.

Let's just say it was a lot more interesting than the stuff they put out there at
4pm in the afternoon.

I just think it is disgusting to use Sarah Palin to get page hits and have people comment on your blog. It is just low class and crass you know?

What's your favorite chicken dish?

What's your favorite chicken dish? The wife is insisting that I make a lot more chicken and I have made all of these different dishes the last few weeks. But I want to hear what you guys like. The choices:

Fried Chicken Cutlets
A whole baked chicken
Chicken Catetori
Southern Fried Chicken
General Tso chicken

Let me know what you think. I will try to post some reciepes as well.

Oh and RH no sex talk.

Shame on you Newsweek!

You know sometimes even crazy people are right once in a while. I think it is sexist and wrong for Newsweek to use "cheese cake" and sexist imagery in talking about Sarah Palin.

I mean it would be easy to post such disgusting and sexist photos to drive traffic and get more page views.

But that would be wrong.

Doctors suck, not as bad as lawyers or journalists but they still suck.

Sorry Pogo but it's true.

Now it is fitting that Dr. Kildare won our poll because I think he is the epitome of what I call the "Yuppie doctor." We were forced to go to one in the neighborhood because you need a general practitioner to prescribe antibiotics and stuff when you have a cold and what not. There is this guy in the neighborhood that everyone goes to because he is a scrip writing machine. Now personally I never went to the doctor before I was married. I mean I did when I was in grammar school but not since then. When we were first dating my wife insisted that we both get check ups and full physicals. You see her mother was sure I was going to croak. You know a big fat pasty faced Irishman with a drink in his hand. Whenever my wife would call her mom late at night, her mom would say "Is he dead?" Now that's not nice.

Anyway it was pretty funny. The first time we went I was perfectly fine and she had a laundry list of stuff that we had to work on. You see I don't really believe in doctors. I think you should just have a glass of wine and go to sleep and you will feel better in the morning. But the wife insists on going to get antibiotics and stuff when she is sick. I just take cod liver oil and a good dump and I am usually good to go the next day. So we end up going to this yuppie guy.

Now he took over the old space of a guy that had been in the neighborhood ever since I was a kid. When we got in the waiting room there was about a million yuppie scum hipster dofus assholes in the waiting room. He saw us and then I found out why he was so popular. He wrote scrip like it was going out of style. Couldn't diagnose himself out of a paper bag but he could give you an Valium prescription toot sweet. So that worked. Anything more serious and we would go to a real doctor or the hospital emergency room you know?

So that was our situation until we get this letter in the mail. He has decided that he is going to become a "concierge" practice. He would no longer except run of the mill patients off the street. If you want his services you have to pay an annual fee if he is even going to see you. Like when the Giants charged you a seat license fee before you can even buy the fucking tickets. He wanted $2,500 a year right off the top if you were going to stay his patient. Then he said he would offer 24 hour a day service, house calls and bunch of other bullshit that sounded nice but there is no way he is actually gonna do it. Oh and he wasn't taking insurance. Otherwise he wanted you to find another doctor. What a pair of balls on this douchebag.

I think this guy is just getting his ducks in a row before Obamacare hits him. He figures if only 100 families agree to this bullshit he will have a nice little practice and he won't have to worry.

It will interesting to see what happens.

In the meantime I had already set up a hook with the old Italian doctor in the neighborhood. You in case the wife needs her antibiotics or has a cold or something. His receptionist is the mother of a guy I went to school with so I have an in and she can get to the head of the line.

Me, I am sticking with the cod liver oil.

Is there a doctor in the house?

Well the doctor poll is over and "Holy rectal thermometer Batman," the gay doctor won! Just goes to show how times have changed and how more tolerant and diverse we have become. Not that there's anything wrong with that. The results:

Dr. Kildare 28

Dr. Doom 11

Dr Joe Gannon 6

Dr. Ben Casey 3

Dr. Marcus Welby 2

I am kinda shocked that good old Marcus Welby ended up in last place. Here he is pictured before that famous gang bang he had in the stateroom on the Queen Mary with the Golden Girls and that guy who always played the creepy neighbor. Oh well what the hell.

Next up, how do you prefer you chicken?

Laura Bush's Diary

I was out shopping at Wal-Mart for Christmas stuff and what do I come across but an advance reader’s copy of ‘Going Rouge” by Sarah Palin. I thought I would bring it home to W since he is a big Palin fan. Well I mean he isn’t really a big fan he just loves the way she hates that back stabbing douche bag John McCain. So the enemy of his enemy is his enema or something like that.

So I loaded up the pickup with a couple of cases of Lone Star, a big barrel of Cheeto’s, six jars of cocktail olives, five cases of Depends, and about fifty rolls of toilet paper cause bug eyed Barb and Poppy were scheduled for a visit. I hate when they stay over because W and his dad go into the study and get all geo-politically and I have to entertain that bug eyed twat and listen to her bullshit all day and night. If wasn’t for tequila I would lose my shit and go all Dominic Carter on her ass but I can mellow with some Patron and lime.

Naturally when I get back to the ranch they are already there and Poppy is locked in the study with W and his mom is busy abusing the maids. I mean she has it in for Mexicans ever since her favorite son that suckass Jeb married one. She just hates Spanish people. She threw an ashtray through the plasma once when Ugly Betty kissed a white boy. So I have to be careful to watch out because last time I left her alone she set Consuelo on fire. She claimed it was an accident but you know I had my doubts.

Anyhoo I grabbed her wheelchair and pushed her on to the sun porch before she torched another peon and poured her a tequila shooter and gave her a big bowl of Cheeto’s. I said “Look you nasty twat you better calm down or I will keep you in the same Depends all day like that crazy astronaut bitch. Here, check out this book, it’s by your favorite Sarah Palin. Hee.”

You see that was a big joke because Barbara hated Sarah Palin with a passion. She was like a lot of broads who hate a girl that is prettier than she is and who has all the boys buzzing around her. You know old Barb was hot stuff back in the day and she was the center of attention and had a lot of guys writing her and flirting with her and stuff. But then she married Poppy and all of her suitors dropped out and she never recovered from the lack of male appreciation. Of course that was a long time ago and most of those guys died in the Civil War and stuff but she is still pissed. So when there is a hot young piece that all the boys get a boner on then old Barb finds a way to fuck her up. She was the one that first gave Lindsey Lohan cocaine you know? And told her she should be a lesbian. And she told Britney Spears that she was too young to be a mom and should go off her meds. She even told that new vampire chick what’s her name that if she really wanted to look like a vampire she had to shoot some smack. So she really hated it that the conservative fan boys all got a chubby from Caribou Barbie.

There is a whole group of these nasty girls in Washington. They even formed a PAC to raise money to send ethics complaints to Alaska. That pasty faced Irish whore Maureen Dowd was the President and Peggy Noonan and Katie Couric and Soledad Obrien and some crazy blogger were all members. Of course most of them needed a “member “in the right spot but that’s another story. They even had a membership card and a secret handshake. They just hated how all the men loved Sarah and weren’t interested in them anymore. Well the real men. Not the sensitive liberal homo types like that Boring Heads guy. They hated Sarah too. Especially her shoes.

Anyway bug eyed Barb was a charter member. She even came up with the name. “Can’t U Not Talk Sarah!” Of course she was drunk at the time. But that is what she always yelled when she saw her on the TV. You see all these bitches are just jealous. They can’t stand to see another woman get praise or attention when they are just dried up old nasty crones. So they make up lies and start trouble and write column’s and nasty blog posts and tell lies. I mean Barb was going on and on about how Palin couldn’t stop her daughter from getting knocked up and what a bad mother she was and all and she forgets she couldn’t stop her precious Jeb from putting a tortilla in Juanita’s taco maker for crying out loud.

Anyway I got her distracted from her bullshit and all by putting on midget wrestling and some videos of a chimp getting a hummer from a frog and she quieted down and gummed some Cheeto’s and did tequila shooters till she passed out. I swear W is gonna pay for this. He better do me good tonight even if I have my period. I know it’s costume night.

He can dress up.

As Captain Blood. Hee.

Hat's off to Beth!

Hat's off to Beth and all her fellow New Orleans Saints fans for their team now being 9-0.

What an impressive record.

The last team to go undefeated in t he regular season was.....ah.....hmmmm....oh yeah the New England Patriots who went undefeated throughout the whole regular season....they seemed unstoppable....a juggernaut....and then of course in the Super Bowl....they lost....ah and who did they lose to....some team...who was it.....oh yeah.....THE WORLD CHAMPION NEW YORK GIANTS!!!!!

Sometimes you have to be careful about an undefeated record and stuff.

But don't worry the Giants won't beat the Saints in the Super Bowl.

It will have to be the NFC championship game.

See you then.

Please Dr Welby

"Please Dr. Welby, I lost my insurnace when the government took over and I don't have any money. You have to take my Medicare."

"Not going to happen. I will just have to pull out your teeth until you come up with the money. Open wide and pay bitch!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!"

So you like German girls.

"So you like German girls, Herr Ricpic."

"Errrrh I guess so Colonel. I was just comment that I respect you for your choices."

"Well I think you need discipline. I will have to discipline you. First I will yank these unsightly hairs in the back of your neck. Then I will get in my leather corset and riding boots. Mach snell."

"Yes mistress."

"Oh and get my riding crop."

"Hamana , hamana, hamana, uuurrrrppppphhhh!!!!!!!"

It's a beautiful new day!

It's a beautiful new day today!

After the 10 o'clock Mass today, our friends John and Julie baptised their beautiful new little baby girl. The whole family gathered together to celebrate and to go to a wonderful brunch at a local bistro. Everyone was so happy and cheerful.

So it's time to leave Lady Gaga and her attempts to stir the pot in the dustbin of history.

Let's concentrate on what's really important: James Bond, Moneypenny, Marcus Welby, Dr. Kildare and of course Julie Newmar.

Oh did I mention that the Giants have an off week and so we don't have to talk about football this week?

Oh did I mention that I ain't the only guy who ever goes 'Oh did I mention?"

Shout out to NOLA, the Saints will fall this week on the road to oblivion. Wait and see baby!

You should not have mocked me Mr. Bond.

"You should have not mocked me Mr. Bond. I have my ways of extracting revenge."

"I am beyond your clutches Colonel Klebb. I don't think there is anything you can do to me no matter how diabolical your schemes may be."

"My minions and toady's have their ways Mr. Bond. They have their ways. Fear them. They are vindictive and shallow. Much like me. Look over your shoulder. They will be there. You fool!"

It's all there in black and white.

"Why you are all dressed up Selina. You look very pretty."

"Thank you Trey. It has been a while. You seen to have been very busy."

"Well yes family matters have taken up much of my time."

"What you have been hanging around with Urkel. I thought he was busy in Japan?"

"Be that as it may, I must say your hair style is fetching. Is that a beehive?"

"Indeed it is Trey. And it is very hard to maintain. I actually ran out of Dippity Do and I need something to help hold it in place. And you can help."

"How would I do that Selina?"

"Did you ever see the movie 'There's something about Mary?'"

"Hamana, hamana, hamana uuuurrrrpphhhh!!!!!"

"Oh Trey you always know the right thing to say!"

Please Dr. Kildare

"Please Dr. Kildare what happened."

"I am afraid we pumped all of this out of your stomach Mr. Stewart. I think you might want to change your lifestyle. Maybe you should steal your daddy's cue and make a living out of playing pool."

"Nah I don't think so. I will just be more careful in the future."

"Good idea. Hey do you know who left these handbags and glad rags by your bed?"

"Not a clue."

"Figured that. Oh well I will see if Nurse Nubile might want them."

Please Dr. Welby

"So Dr. Welby, what's the story with your partner?"

"Who Dr. Kiley? Better forget about him Cindy. It's like the song his cousin sings on Broadway. The impossible dream."

"Why do you say that?"

"Why he is engaged to this big nosed singer with a really bitchy personality. You don't want to get on her wrong size. She'll cut a bitch. Right Consuelo?"

"Stop looking at her ta-ta's Senor Welby or no chootcie chootcie for you hombre."

"Ok sorry you have to go. The last time this happened I had to buy her a Volkswagen beetle and pay for her green card. And that was only because I was squeezing some corpse tits. Health care is a very tough profession."

Hoist the black flag and play that Mexican song!

When pirates were sailing the ocean blue they often sailed under "false flags." They would sail along up to some fat merchantman disguised as some pussy Dutch or Portugee ship and at the last minute break out the false flag of piracy and attack.

Thus the terms "false flag operations" came into being. It can be logically inferred that someone using a sock puppet on the internets could be flying under a false flag. I don't view it that way if every name or identity you post under has a distinct personality or point of view. Any comment you make under any name should stand on it's own. I mean the blogging cockroach and the Sir Archy have their own voices and stand alone in their identity. So does Meade and Cedarford even though they are the same person. So they are the same person. Big deal. Each character has it's own voice.

Beth has intimated that she knows who posted the "dirty libtard whore" comment at Ace of Spades HQ. I hope she is not assuming it was me, because I have to plead innocence in this particular case. I do not deny I might have posted many comments that were not nice about the blogger lady but this was not one of them. I swear. I actually haven't ever posted at Ace before this thread. And you can tell that it is true for two reasons.

First of all I never refer to the evil blogger lady by name. I have that old Italian superstition that if you mention the devil by name he/she will appear. So you will note that I never ever mention that persons name as it was mentioned in the comment that caused all the problems.

Secondly, I certainly do not think she is a libtard.

So I plead innocent in this one. Anything I have to say on this subject will be said here on my blog under my character only. I have been trying to be good and ignoring the whole infighting bullshit and had nothing to do with any of that nonsense other than a couple of comments I posted after I found out about the whole mess.

But what do you expect from a New Orleans Saints fan. They never get anything right.

Bow to me bitch!!!!!

That's right. Bow to me bitch. You Phillies fans. You loser Red Sox Massholes. You retarded Mets fans. All of you.

BOW AND SCRAPE BEFORE THE ALL POWERFUL MATSUI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Know that the Yankees are THE WORLD CHAMPIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bow to this douchebag

Sometimes it doesn't pay to read the newspaper. Some people never learn.

It's like the friend of yours who is a douchebag and he comes to your favorite bar. I mean he is your friend and all and you are sort of responsible for his behavior. But he is all drunk in up in the face of the women at the bar and he snaps his fingers at the bartender for a drink. So what can you do. I mean you can't contol douchebaggery when it is that persons nature you know.

It's even worse when the guy is not your friend but he represents you anyway.

There is a way to treat some people. The only thing they understand.

What a mess.

Hey everybody would like a couple of belts first thing in the morning!

We also put up our new belts online. Made exclusively for Lee Lee's Valise, these 100% leather belts are made extra long for our customers and are a perfect accent piece to any outfit.

Made of several different exotic leathers. I am working on some endangered species as well just for a little extra spice.

Hey for your Saturday Morning Shopping Pleasure

Hey guys we just took in a new brand of sexy thong lingerie called "Dirty Girls." Their "Thrilling Thong" is very comparable to Hanky Panky and available at a very good price. Perfect for spicing up that quiet Saturday Night or for something to wear on your head while you are so lonely surfing the internet.

Plus I love the pictures.

Just sayn'

You know guys sometimes the image you have in your head is not all that it is cracked up to be!

Just sayn'

Pirates don't normally look like Maureen O'Hara or Geena Davis. In real life.

So you might think about that one for a while.

Before you hurt yourself.

All righty then.

Dear Mrs. Steve Phillips

You don't know me but I think we have a lot in common. My name is Kim and I used to be married to a ballplayer. And he was just a player let me tell you. It was that piece of shit Art Shamsky who was a big deal with the freakin Mets thirty years ago. And he is still eating off of that shit if you can believe it.

I bet I was just like you when you fell in love. I loved being involved with someone in the public eye who everyone wanted to talk to because he was in baseball. I mean he wasn't a nebbish like so many of the guys I used to date and all the newpaper guys wanted to talk to him and he was on the radio all the time and it was so cool. But he couldn't keep it in his pants just like your Stevarino. He would bang anything on two legs. And some of them on four that filthy dog lover. Do you know he molested my puppy. Yes he did the pig.

So I know exactly what you are going through. You thought it would be all sweetness and light and instead it is all crap and dog biscuits. I think it is because they were associated with the dog ass Mets. I mean look at the Yankees. Jeter gets to bang all the hottest actresses and A-Rod is even getting into the act. And back in the day Joe DiMaggio was doing it with Marilyn Monroe.

It sure beats the hell out of Cleon Jones banging a crack whore in a van in spring training or Dwight Gooden and all of his teammates pulling a train on David Cone's leftovers. I mean who needs that. Stay away from the Mets that what I say.

That's why I am turning to the Giants. That's me with my new squeeze Brandon Jacobs. He is a Giant. In more ways than one. He really knows how to treat a lady. Hard. Dirty. Nasty. Did I say hard. Really really hard. See I am in a club with Khole Kardassian and a whole bunch of other skanky white girls who hooked up with hot black athletes. And it is true once you go black you never go back. Well you can't go back to Jewish guys cause they can't touch the sides you know?

Anyway I think you should get over Steve and come over to the dark side. Hee. I want to introduce to my friend Eddie Curry. He is a real nice guy. Very neat and considerate. You will really like him. And he has a limo.

Why not dump Steve and let Brooke have him. I think they were made for each other. And you can get yourself a nice big piece of chocolate.

Living well is the best revenge.

Toodles,

Your pal

Kim Shamsky

Please Dr Casey

"Why did we leave the hospital Dr. Casey?"

"Oh I couldn't treat you properly there my dear. And call me Ben."

"Well Ben what can you do where we going that you can't do in the hospital."

"A whole lot of stuff. A whole lot of stuff. Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

"Ok I like a good ride."

"Me too. Hey did anyone tell you that you look like Barbara Eden."

"It's just the scarf. And my hair color. Oh and my perky breasts."

"I think I have to speed up."

Dear Mrs. Steve Phillips

I don't know how you are doing this ninja mind control on Steve and getting him to ignore my calls and emails. I mean I know you can block it with the help of ESPN who has that secret room in Bristol, Conneticut that we were never allowed in. I always thought it was where Chris Berman went to get his Cleveland Steamers from his production assistants but now I know it must have the mind control machine that controls the microchips that they implant in all ESPN personal. Otherwise how could you have so many of them picking the Phillies over the Yankees. So I know you are in cahoots with ESPN to block Steve's mind to stop him from contacting me.

Me. I know he loves ME. MEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, I wanted to give you a picture of what I looked like the first time Steve and I did it in the parking lot at Fenway Park. I am so hot. Steaming hot. Just like a Cleveland Steamer that Chris Berman had on his manboobs on Superbowl Sunday. I knew it was true love when he asked me to give him a lift to his hotel and as soon as he got in the car he grabbed my head and pushed it down to his lap and made me polish his knob and all. He said that was the best sex he ever had ....that day...but I know he meant forever and ever and ever.

I know Steve is at the winter meetings. They won't let me in the hotel and I am forced to stay out on the street with the autograph hounds and the groupies and Pete Rose. But I know Steve is in there using his contacts to get a new job with another team so he can use the expertise that built the Mets into the Juggernauts they are today. That's what he called my titties you know. The Jugger-nots. He liked them because they were meaty and healthy and not phony like the ones he had to buy for you. Bitch.

So this is the last chance I am giving you. If you don't let Steve call me I might have to do something drastic. So think it over. I am sure you will do the right thing. If you want to make it to spring training.

Toodles,

your pal,

Brooke Hundley

Please Dr. Gannon.

"Please Dr. Gannon I have to get back to work. So many shut-in's and mental defectives are counting on me."

"I'm sorry dear but it was a difficult operation to remove you foot from your mouth, you will need some time to recuperate before you go back to your normal activities."

"Well I guess you are the Doctor, Doctor."

"One thing though."

"What's that?'

"It would be a lot easier for you if you didn't keep going around with your head up your ass...just saying."

Send out your prayers to Michael H

It's not often that we are serious here at Trooper York, but I just found out that Michael H is taking care of some very important stuff health wise and he could use all of our prayers and good wishes. I now he will speed down the highway of recovery on his cool motorcycle with his very cool wife and will be back busting balls here pronto.

Michael is one of the good guys and he really gets it. His good humor and sense of fun have been a delight from his very first comment and I always search out his posts for their wit and wisdom.

So get well soon you big lug. I even hope the lame ass Packers win this week so it will cheer you up!

Please Dr. Welby

"I think she's gone Marcus."

"What do you mean she's still warm."

"Yes but you will never revive her."

"Oh I don't care about that, I just want to cop a feel. I was married to the ice bitch Jane Wyatt for so long I get whatever I can whenever I can....want a taste?"

Avast you dirty pirate whores!

Capt. Sir Henry Morgan: I wish my nature hadn't changed. I'd have made that whole assembly walk the plank.

Jamie: Can't go wrong drowning politicians, Henry.
Jamie: You can lower your pistols, Lady Margaret.

Margaret Denby: Unfortunately, I have no pistols.

Jamie: Your eyes. I've looked into pistol barrels that are warmer.

Oy my little yiddisher pickel!

"What ricpic you have forgotten me so soon."

"Never my little babtka. You will always be my little Geschmak dumpling. You always only you."

"But you said you avoided a stroke....and I know you have been taken a few strokes looking at my photo's on the internets you Fachadick Shmeckle!"

"Please baby don't get angry you know I love you."

"Well here's something to remember me by you shmuck.....never had a stroke, HA!"

Dear Mrs. Steve Phillips

I see that Steve is out of sex jail and he is going to the general manager meetings. And you are not with him. I know you can never keep us apart. I don't know how you manage to block all my calls to him and it is no fair how you gave my picture to all the hotels so they won't let me in the lobby.

I know that Steve wants to see me. I mean he said I was his perfect little catcher. I mean I was happy to squat on him if it made him happy. It hurt a little because he always forgot to lube up and pine tar doesn't work all that well. If you don't believe me ask Robbie Alomar. But it was still the best that he ever had. All three times we were together in the parking lot. Not everyone can make the beast with two backs in an Acura. Steve always said I was very limber.

I know Steve will get a job. He is just so talented. I mean he knew that A-Rod would never make in New York and win a championship. He is so much better than that Mexican guy the Mets have now. I mean what kind of name is Omar anyway. He sounds like one of those terrorist type guys. He might blow up the Mets at any moment.

I want you to tell Steve that he better call me. I am getting impatient. I need him and I need him now. I can't get through the night just watching my DVR tapes of baseball tonight with my little friend. I am out of work now and batteries are really expensive.

I don't want to have to come up to see you again. I mean you are just getting used to your new mailman. Don't make me do something I don't want to do. I have been talking to Kim Shamskey and she has been giving me some pointers.

So make it happen bitch or you will be sorry.

Toodles,
Your Friend
Brooke

Please Dr. Gannon

"I am sorry Nurse but due to cutbacks we are going to have to let you go."
"But what will I do Dr Gannon. I have no skills other than nursing. And I like to write."
"Well then maybe you should do that. And you can still nurse."
"Really nurse what?"
"A grudge. That is really what you do best."