Bubbie - Episode 2

If you haven't seen Bubbie - the first episode - YOU MUST!!!!!! The 2nd installment is good, too.

Courtesy of the National Jewish Democratic Council

FREEWAY BLOGGER!!!

Today is the day to post your own signs inspired by the Freeway Blogger.

Here are my 2 rather sad attempts at signs. I figure it will just enrage the right-wingers. I live in a heavily REPUG area. As long as they are p-o'd, I'm happy!

DOWN with the Sinclair Broadcast Group!!

As you may know, the Sinclair Broadcast Group is set to air an anti-Kerry "news" special right before the election. It is a blatant attempt to influence the election against Kerry.

Visit Stop Sinclair Broadcast Group to sign the petition. There are links to the advertisers as well.

I wrote an email to Applebee's - and here is the text of it. Feel free to copy and use it as you wish.

Ms. Carol DiRaimo
Applebee's International, Inc.

Dear Ms. DiRaimo,


My family, friends and I are frequent customers at Applebee's. We like the food, atmosphere and the family friendly environment.

Recently I learned that Applebee's is a sponsor on one or more television stations owned by the Sinclair Broadcast Group. As you may know, Sinclair has ordered its affiliate stations to broadcast an anti-Kerry movie within days of the election. I believe this is a blatant and inappropriate use of publicly owned airwaves in an attempt to sway the result of the election.

I hope that Applebee's would hold itself to a higher standard and denounce this partisan attack for what it is. I, my family, and friends, urge you to re-consider advertising with the Sinclair Broadcast Group if they continue their plan to air what they questionably define as 'news.'

Sincerely,


Matthew F. Hawn

Betty Bowers: Ask your doc which Bush is better for you!

Another hilarious missive from America's Best Christian!

Regardless of how you might score the debates on competence and veracity (two quaintly obsolete considerations that I join most Americans in never allowing to cloud my judgment), you will have to concede that our handsome President trounced John Kerry in the only criterion that matters on programs hosted by Charles Gibson – entertainment value. John Kerry, made famous by Mr. Bush's ads for being one person with two different ideas, was no match for President Bush, who is apparently two different people with no ideas. The Miami "coming down from a mighty wicked bender" Bush, who was taciturn, sleepy and stumbling over the words, was replaced by the St. Louis "one bump of crystal meth in the limo too many" Bush, who was shrill, jumpy and stumbling over the moderator. I guess campaign mouthpiece Karen Hughes (a woman I adore, but whose wardrobe and gait bespeak of an alarming and felicitous homage to Bea Arthur) had decided that if the bored insouciance of Barbiturate Bush didn't appeal to the famously fickle Undecideds, then maybe the pumped up 'roid rage of Amphetamine Bush will.

With this in mind, no one need squander speculation about why Mr. Bush is so keen to protect pharmaceutical companies from the profit erosion caused by reasonably priced prescription drugs (made, apparently, in rusty witch doctor caldrons under the hapless regulations of evil warlords in the Third World country to our immediate north reputedly called "Canada"). After the St. Louis debate, it is clear that Mr. Bush is indebted to pharmaceutical companies for not only his campaign cash, but also his courage. As First Lady Laura "Pickled" Bush is wont to remind us with a glazed smile: there is no problem in this great nation of ours that can't be fixed by a stronger prescription. Who knows what decisive behavior Barbiturate Bush might have been capable of on the morning of September 11, 2001 all for the want of Emma E. Booker Elementary School in Sarasota, Florida having a Schedule III pharmacy.


While most undecided voters (who are all also still on the fence about "paper or plastic?," "rich or poor?," "dead or alive?," and even "God or Satan?") thought that Amphetamine Bush was (or wasn't) certainly more (or maybe less) lively to watch than his listless counterpart in Miami (or was it Tampa?), many undecided voters thought that his dosage may (or perhaps not) have overcompensated for his indolence in Miami (no, on twentieth thought, they're sure it was Orlando). Frankly, those seated on the front row at the St. Louis debate were a bit scared that a surreptitious glance at a wristwatch might be interpreted by Bush as a mocking sign of boredom, provoking the Leader of the Free World to challenge them to duke it out mano a mano on live television. Indeed, until whatever Mr. Bush had taken wore off a bit as the minutes remaining dwindled, he displayed the type of edgy aggression that, no doubt, caused the moderator to recall wistfully wondering during an ABC Whitney Houston interview, if the jittery diva was going to respond to an unwelcome query by throwing herself across her free-base scorched coffee table and lunging at Diane Sawyer's throat (an impulse he has, so far, successfully quelled on Good Morning America). I will say this: regardless of what Mr. Bush was taking and how much, it certainly yields more tangible results than Ralph Nader trying, once again, to self-medicate his Narcissistic Personality Disorder with ballots.



As any loyal member of the Apocalypse's Official Sponsor, the GOP, will be keen to point out: John Kerry vacillates with the reckless license enjoyed by those not tenacious enough to white knuckle their grip on a three-word policy in the galling face of relentless contrary proof. For, truly, what greater tip-off can there be of a propensity to flip-flop than for someone to be wrong – only to change his mind simply so he can be right? Mr. Bush's refusal to fall prey to the realities of the World the rest of us are forced to live in until Glory (you know, the "Quagmire Accomplished" one with only one Internet) has led some churlish detractors to claim that our President is unable to adapt to changing circumstances.


Pardon me while I stifle the most ladylike guffaw. Thanks to numerous reports and facts being made public, American voters are now able to gauge the actual threat posed by Saddam Hussein without access to state secrets (or becoming complicit in a felony by, more odiously, sharing dinner with Bob Novak). Because of this regrettable increase in awareness of the so-called truth, Mr. Bush has nimbly recalibrated the reason for having American teenagers killed to protect America from an imminent threat of nuclear – no, make that, ur, bringing democracy to Iraq (which is sort of like bringing a veal casserole to a new neighbor – only to discovery that they are not only militantly vegetarian, but armed to the teeth). To prove his alacritous willingness to adapt once a previous rationale has been exposed as a prevarication, our handsome President has had more variations on his reason for invading Iraq than Carrie Bradshaw had shoes. Indeed, I can almost hear Carrie click click clicking away through last night's Marlboro ash on her Apple laptop keyboard:

"I couldn't help but wonder: when does a monomaniac obsession with a warmongering madman start becoming imitation?"


Well, Carrie, our warmonger has promised more tax cuts, apparently planning to slap the escalating bill for Iraq on Uncle Sam's Capital One No Hassle VISA card. But it's only fair that our grandchildren pay for the war. After all, they are the only ones who stand a chance of seeing anything that remotely mimics democracy flourishing in that backwards, tribal hellhole. Liberals accuse our handsome President of stirring up Muslim terrorists in the Middle East with an unnecessary war in Iraq, making a mess of everything he touches and rubbing the rest of the world of the wrong way. Well, frankly, this is music to my ears! According to Scripture, Jesus will not return until the World is in a bellicose shambles. Clearly, the Lord has grown impatient cooling His sandals and has anointed our handsome President to ensure that the planet's demise is put on an accelerated schedule. And, friends, this is why none of you should vote for John Kerry. Someone in the Oval Office who is competent and doesn't make sport out of needling our allies could put off the Rapture for four -- even eight -- years!


Recently, Elton John made news by revealing that he was the last follower of popular culture to realize that Madonna (the one boys wrestling with homosexuality and aging worship, not the one that pops up from time to time as a light blue concrete lawn ornament) doesn't always sing live. Honestly, what disillusioning revelation will roll from his tongue next? Campbell's Soup exists outside of art galleries? Frankly, if I had tickets to a Madonna concert and thought for one moment that she might be foolhardy enough to sing live, I would feign epilepsy with riveting verisimilitude in the limo on the way simply to get out of attending.

But it appears that Madge may not the only lipsyncher with an inexplicably large following. There has been debate on one of the Internets about a strange box that appeared under the back of our handsome President's $1,600 tailored suit (see the photo above). I'm no expert when it comes to bulges in men's suits (truly, where are one of those ubiquitous gayboys when you need one?), but there is speculation that the easily flummoxed and tongue-tied president, long famous for getting wired, has been wired. For sound, that is. Given the president's disinclination to think before a declarative sentence (such I "I declare war"), I think it was wise of Karl Rove to get Radio Shack to accomplish what proved beyond Yale's reach – to put ideas in Mr. Bush's head. My only quibble is that they should have told George they were doing it. Poor thing keeps thinking he hears the voice of Jesus telling him how to pronounce the word nuclear.

Watch out! Bush doesn't like it when confronted with facts!

WHOA! Bushie totally FREAKED OUT when Kerry nailed him during the debate last night (10/8). See it here.

Betty Bowers: John Edwards Vs. Darth Cheney

Wonderful little message from our Dearest Betty.

As Brit Hume pointed out at a convivial cocktail party last week, a lady blessed with my quality jewelry and shapely figure would be safer in an alley of Fallujah than on the sidewalks of Cleveland (or, if my memory serves, the couch in the Governor's office in Sacramento). As such, I decided to play it safe and stay home to watch last night's Cheney/Edwards debate with Jesus -- but only after exacting a rather reluctant promise from Him not to hurl invective and popcorn at my new plasma TV every time the cameras turned on our wonderful Vice President.


Being so inexplicably liberal (with His "turn the other cheek" peacenik pacifism and, even more galling to us Republicans, His "give all your tax-sheltered money to the poor" socialism), much to my temperately conveyed annoyance, Jesus volunteered a rather stinging appraisal of Mr. Cheney's brave disinclination to become a slave to facts. To which I sardonically responded, "What a friend you have in exegesis!" After several painful minutes of hearing Jesus spouting lib nonsense, I resorted to a little trick I picked up from Peggy Noonan at a dinner party where she was seated at the place of dishonor -- between two Demoncrats. (You know I never gossip except to save a soul or a conversation, but word had it that our hostess was retaliating for Peggy making a clumsy play for her husband after three refusals and five Cutty Sarks.) At the first sign of insight, I put my fingers in both ears, smiled beguilingly and said with patrician cadence (although, unlike New Jersey's Peggy, mine was real), "La la la la la I CAN'T HEAR YOU JESUS! La la la la la" until I wore the Almighty into a satisfactory, if somewhat sullen, silence.



One thing, however, that both Jesus and I agreed upon (other than trailer parks being absolutely ideal venues for tornadoes), is that it is clear that Mr. Edwards does not enjoy Mr. Bush's relationship with Mr. Cheney. That is, Edwards is neither cowered by Cheney's simmering glower nor obedient to his rather optimistic regard for the tensile strength of veracity. But let's face it: in a country where even reality shows are scripted, when it comes to virtues that are verbally touted on the condition that they not be actually practiced, only chastity outranks honesty.



So I don't know why people are scoffing at Mr. Cheney for stating that he never tied Iraq to 9/11, he'd never met John Edwards or that things are going swimmingly in Iraq. Yes, to those obsessed with facts, such statements would appear to be brazen lies. But it is like I always say to myself when filling out that rudely inquisitive "age" box on forms: If you repeat a lie, it becomes your truth. And if you repeat a lie often enough, you become a Republican.



I know we say we do, but do we really want honest people in the White House? I think this War on Terra calls for a more crafty approach. After all, liars are inherently sneaky people who stand a better chance of getting into the minds of unscrupulous terrorists than those fettered by either niggling fact checkers or conscience. In fact, if I were William Bennett I'd wager that when it comes to anticipating what an angry, politically extreme zealot might think of next, Mr. Cheney can draw more information from his most benign daydream than the CIA and FBI could ever hope to get out of a roomful of DeVry graduates trying to learn Arabic from watching Uday Hussein's confiscated girl-on-goat porn.



But a mental agility that renders reality more flexible wasn't the only inspired tactic brought to the table by Mr. Cheney last night. While Mr. Bush's "Ah, he forgot Poland" injection last week was a rather winning Don Knotts impression, it did seem to risk underscoring that, except for one person in England (who, fortunately for us, just happens to answer the phone at 10 Downing Street), America has been put on the "do not call" list by any country with a checking account, much less an army. Indeed, under Mr. Bush's "you're either with us or I never liked you anyway" approach to foreign policy, we have become so universally unpopular among that catty clique of diplomatic suitors, we are left looking somewhat like the lonely jerk who had to take his mom to the high school prom -- only to have her leave with our flask of Canadian Club for a access road motel with the yearbook editor. So, I was pleased to hear Mr. Cheney announce last night that the newest, if not most willing, members of America's exclusive coalition, if only for the convenience of already being there, are the Iraqis themselves. I guess instead of leveling with foreign countries to win allies, we are simply going to level foreign countries.



Dear Sister-in-Christ Ann Coulter, who has single-handedly proved that a steady diet of crap will lead to emaciation cheaper than meth and quicker than Atkins, thinks we need to bring Christian love to the people of the Middle East and/or kill them. Between us, apart from being uncertain if Ann is a wickedly devious liberal performance artist or -- less inventively – simply mentally ill, I'm having second thoughts about this whole "bringing democracy to Iraq" raison d'etre. As hostess gifts go, this one may turn out to be tantamount to bringing a bottle of vodka to Liza Minnelli's. You just never know what crazy thing will happen next.



While the general notion of giving all of a nation's citizens the power of voting seems appealing in theory, it might be a good idea for the U.S. Supreme Court to test the concept in Florida first. Besides, a newly wrought Iraq may turn into a Pyrrhic victory for Americans in the long run if the majority of people use their new voice to take to the streets and scream "death to the infidels," a stress-releasing activity more popular in Islamic countries than even yoga. Indeed, once the Iraqis are subjected to the torment of relentless, mendacious political ads from all parties that will inevitably interrupt their new Islamic-style reality TV (beheadings), the cries of "Death to the Great Satan" may grow slightly more strident and heartfelt.



With this in mind, I prefer Islamic terrorists and their possible protégés to be under the thumb of a deeply religious dictator who doesn't want to do anything that might jeopardize his ability to get a visa to visit the Bellagio in Las Vegas twice a year. Furthermore, if our goal is to make the Middle East more like America, why go to the trouble of boxing up the mountain and sending it to Mohamed? It would be less costly simply to allow something that also has few allies -- time -- to make the two regions of the World more similar. After all, if the United States has four more years of our handsome President and continues with our commendable trends of governmental intrusion, curtailed freedom, misinformation, vote suppression and religious fanaticism, I have a feeling we will be just like Iran in no time.

Betty Bowers: October Newsletter

Here's the October Newsletter from Betty Bowers.

Dear Members of the Republican (GOP) Guard:


I am just back from Miami and I am pleased to say that our handsome President thought that the debates went wonderfully and according to plan. Just like Iraq. In your giddiness from the relief of your disloyal vision, once again, being corrected by the balm of our President's thoughtful speechwriters, don't forget to take time out of your day to stop someone on the street and implore him or her to "Remember Poland!" No, it doesn't have quite the ring to it that "Remember the Maine" did in a previous wholly discretionary war abetted by powerful journalists (well, owners of former-journalists -- then, Mr. Hearst – now, Mr. Murdoch). But it is important to note that should those "nucular" troublemakers in Pyongyang get feisty tomorrow, Poland's cavalry could be within a day's ride of the Korean Peninsula by Christmas. Which is heartening, as we have no troops left of our own to send, as they are all otherwise engaged protecting the oilfields of Saddam bin Laden . . . or was it Osama Hussein?



In all candor, I must admit that there are days when I go whole hours without thinking of dear, sweet Poland. Nevertheless, perhaps it is our handsome President who should have joined me in this geographic slight last night. After all, President of the Republic of Poland Aleksander Kwasniewski was discourteous enough to note: "[The Bush administration] deceived us about the weapons of mass destruction, that's true. We were taken for a ride." Honestly, those Poles remind me of surly Jenna Bush sometimes. Invited to the party – and then gets all tetchy because there's a cash bar.



And speaking of poles, I don't think Jenna's pole-dancing for John McCain and the press once her mother had nodded off after her "bonus" Halcyon kicked in helped with our President's concentration during the debate. Which may have provoked his comment about "keeping my girls on a leash." Call me clairvoyant, but I took that as a harbinger of an early parole for Private Lynndie England!


I will say this: President Bush may have come across in his reaction shots as a tad surly and scared, but he is quite the sassy little coquette in his new beige blond hairdo! How fabulous that Mr. Bush chose not to stay the course with yesterday afternoon's white 'do that, all for the wont of intentionally cheap pearls, risked making him look like his mother after an elusive diet. Just an hour before the debate began, Georgie asked me, "2B or not 2B?" I quickly steered him towards the sink and lobbied persuasively that he opt for a flip with Clairol 7B (Tawny Summer), rather than an inevitable flop with Clairol 2B (Anemic Crone).



After retrieving my Aveda Sun Source tanning crème from Mr. Bush (and admonishing him that one five ounce tube is generally not thought to be "one application" by those who've never dated Ben Affleck), I tried to quell his concerns about his new saucy blond locks by saying: "Even as a Christian, I know that it's better to be whorey than hoary, dear!" (Which left him looking rather perplexed – an expression he was unable to shake for several hours.)


"Saddam Hussein, if he's alive, is spending a whale of a lot of time trying to not get caught. And we've not seen him on a video since 2001."
-- Donald Rumsfeld, September 11, 2004.



"Of course we're after Saddam Hussein"

-- George W. Bush, September 30, 2004.


Angry lib commentators danced in American solider blood when Mr. Bush appeared to make a slip by referring to Saddam Hussein as the man living in a cave in Tora Bora. This was no slip. Mr. Bush and Mr. Rumsfeld were simply adhering to the recent decision by the administration to make public what was previously a secret policy: confusing Saddam Hussein with Osama bin Laden. It keeps terrorists (and the composers of terrifyingly awful songs about being followed by moon shadows) on their toes if they think America is so diligent in the War on Terra that we are still hunting people we've already caught. Although if I were Barack Obama, I would think twice before checking into a hotel in Bora Bora. Soon, the money we devote to protecting ourselves (approximately 15 cents out of every dollar we spend protecting the Iraqis) will result in a super-complete terrorist homonym database. Just as soon as Tom Ridge finds someone to fill the FBI's Microsoft DOS 2.0 programming position. (Speaking of intelligence needs, where are the Spanish translators to decipher all those "Mexed messages" the President is so rightly concerned about?)

Between us, I do worry about the next debate between Mr. Cheney and Mr. Edwards. I fear that Cheney will look like a Rottweiler trying to attack a beautiful Springer Spaniel puppy – and America will recoil. When I told Laura this while sneering at Jenna's unladylike slacks, Laura replied: "Dick's only heart problem appears to be that he doesn't actually have one." I'll give her this: Pickles can usually be relied on for a zinger if you catch up to her before the White House pharmacist.

On a positive note, I'm glad that the President was able to clearly pronounce the non-flip-floppity Bush Doctrine of Foreign Policy: We can invade Iraq without consulting anyone, but can't even talk to North Korean without China holding our hand.

GOD BLESS YOU, BETTY BOWERS!!!!!!