The Democrats

Editorial comment by OPHELIA, Nov. 3, 2008: I leave the following post (mostly) un-edited, but, dawgonnit, I am surely in a different place now; you betcha. I'm still an Independent, but I'm not nearly as angry at the Dems. My only great fear on the eve of the 2008 Presidential Election is that the Dems will once again snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Say it ain't so, Joe!

In response to my Dear John Letter to the Republican Patry Hugo said "hello Ms Muddy,I'll admit I'm unfamiliar w your blog; but what in particular is it about the democratic party you dislike?" Oh, Hugo. Hugo, Hugo, Hugo. Where to begin?
You know, Clockwork keeps telling me that since I'm not a Republican anymore I don't have to hate Democrats. He doesn't seem to understand that I've never really hated Democrats (or anyone else) because of who I am ... rather because of who THEY are. And who are they? Howard Dean, Hillary Clinton, Nancy Pelosi, Ted Kennedy, what's-his-head-that-ran-against-Bush-last-year, Dukakis (remember him?), Al Gore, etc. They are the mealy-mouthed, the insane, the lying/cheating bastards, the wishy-washy, poll-watching, morons, the back-biting, ass-kissing, mud-slinging, ethically retarded weak-minded propagandists. They are (and this is perhaps the worst accusation of all) politicians, and I'm sick of the lot of them.
Now, I've decided to start my own two-party system: the Constitutionalists and the Marxists (no not the Communists, you fools) and I would like to invite debate. Both parties are concerned only with the welfare of the nation. Neither party will brook any shananigans from its memebrs - we're going back to the taking-the-cad-behind-the-woodshed-and-shooting-him method of censure.
Constitutionalists are committed to the study and preservation of the Constitution. I invite addition sthe the platform.
Marxists are dedicated to the welfare of the common (read disenfranchised) man/woman. I invite additions to this platform.
Any similarities to already existing two-party systems is purely coincidental -- don't get the idea that we can actually reform what is clearly broken.

Beatrice Writes

Beatrice has been writing stories and poetry since she was six years old (she is now eleven – oh God, help me!) Anyway, one of her latest stories has earned a space on this blog in part because of its insane good humor and in part because think I may need some advice from blog world about how to handle my emerging punk rock chick. Without further ado, I give you Beatrice …

Once upon a groovy time, there was a cool chick named “Beatrice.” In fact, she was so psychedelic, everyone knew her as “Foxy Cleopatra.” However, she was put under horrible conditions by her evil shagsisters named Britney Spears, Nicole Ritchie, and Jessica Simpson, who were all really ugly and dim. They would make even the Queen of England say, “Bummer, Dude!” Of course, Foxy was the exact opposite as the was super hot and very charming. Not only did Foxy have to do work for the sisters, but they all were in love with the same guy: Mike Dirnt, International Man of Mystery.

So like I was sayin’, Mike was the super-hot 70’s bass player for the groovy punk-rock band, Green Day. Mike was way cuter than the lead singer and certainly not quite as drunk or anorexic. In fact, Mike was so psychedelic, he decided to have a pre-party for the 18th annual Grammy awards and he was inviting all his friends. One of Mike’s best friends was Foxy’s father, so the19 year old and her shagsisters were invited. When Foxy heard about the party she said, “DUDE! That is frickin’ awesome!” but when everyone gave her an ungroovy look she said, “I mean, groovy!” But obviously, her evil shagsisters wouldn’t let Foxy go. So as the shagsisters were truckin’ out the door to go to the party, Foxy was left to clean and wash the dog with “GRR Your Butt Smells Terrific!” When she was done, she was down and watched a Gilligan’s Island re-run. Suddenly, the lead singer of Styx appeared in front of her and said, “If you’re going to that party, you’ll need some psychedelic threads and a groovy peace mobile, but make sure you’re back by midnight.” With that he did the Hustle all the way out he door! “What in the name of Paul Simon’s cat’s Mohawk and henna tattoos?” gasped Foxy, but he was already out the door. So Foxy followed him right into her groovy, psychedelic car.

As Foxy stepped out of her groovilicious ride, Mike instantly noticed her and tried to talk to her. They instantly loved each other and kept talking. But then as Tré Cool, the duck-like drummer of Green Day, came walking over to them like a total minority, Foxy thought, “Holy platypus and sacre bleu!” Mike, however, wasn’t as nice, and when Tré just opened his mouth to say something, he was like, “Shut the duck up, Bird Man! Go jump in a pond!” As Tré walked off he shot a bird at Mike and Foxy said, “that’s like potential cannibalism, man!” As much fun as it was talking and dancing and junk, come midnight Foxy could groove no more and ran straight out the groovy door.

For months after that, Mike had no idea who Foxy was or where she was so he was totally sad. One day, the totally mental and incredibly stoned lead singer of Green Day, Billie Joe Stupid Armstrong said to Mike, “Oh, I forgot to tell you, that girl you were talking to like, a long time ago, like gave me her number so you could call her.” Mike was almost speechless, but it was kind of hard for him to run out of words, so when he said nothing the stoned one screamed, “Aah! It’s a sign of the apocalypse! Run away!”
Later, he actually gave Mike her phone number and Mike asked, “Dude, why didn’t you, like, tell me before?”
“Hangover, man. That night I dreamt that Tré Cool dressed up like a woman and got drunk and we made out,” he replied and walked off.
Tré Cool, who was behind them, whispered to Mike, “You think we should tell him?”
“Nah,” said Mike, “ He’ll find out when he watches the VH1 countdown. Anyway, I’m having a strong feeling to become my own hood ornament.”

After Mike eventually called Foxy, they got married and lived grooviliciously ever after. As for the shagsisters, they all got arrested for improper use of wonder bras. In the end, Billie Joe eventually went to rehab and Tré Cool got a nose job.

THE FUNKYLICIOUS END