Election Widget

Ben does Keith

I love K.O., and I LOVE this caricature. Watch, and laugh!
Oh, Miss Precious Perfect, at least we can say, "We knew thee!"

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

We're through - it's over - I want a divorce

Dear Republican Party,

I am leaving you. I can longer continue this marriage. I cannot blame you entirely for the failure of our relationship. Though I loved you once, I think perhaps I fell in love with an idealized image of you. It’s like when I was teenager and I fell in love with Cary Grant. I didn’t love Cary Grant the old (and later dead) man (that would have been creepy). Rather it was the black and white and colorized versions of the screen legend. He was funny and mysterious and gorgeous as Mortimer Brewster in Arsenic and Old Lace (1944) and C. K. Dexter Haven in Philadelphia Story (1940) and Walter Burns in His Girl Friday (1940).
Similarly, I loved a much older and more idealized version of you, Republican Party. I loved you as the party of Alexander Hamilton and Abraham Lincoln. I loved you for being the party that was the watchdog for liberty and civil rights. You were the conservative party back when “conservative” had no moral or ethical connotations. I long for the day when “conservative” meant protecting freedom by preserving the integrity of the constitution and changing that precious document only if said change would enhance our freedoms, not limit them.
That brings me to the issue of your girlfriend. Yes I know all about her and I can longer brook your infidelity with that whore, the Moral Majority (who, by the way, is neither moral nor a majority). Since you started pandering to your new mistress (sometime during the Clinton era), you have changed and I have lost all respect for you. I have waited patiently for you to get over your infatuation with her and emerge from your midlife crisis, but I can wait no longer. I can’t even believe I’ve waited this long to leave you. I feel foolish for ever thinking you would come back to your roots. I simply cannot see myself standing side by side with a moralistic, judgmental, condescending, spineless bastard like you. Examples? You want examples? Okay ….
1. Abortion: no, I haven’t changed my mind about it – I still think abortion is evil. However, you have allowed MM to make it a moral issue, rather than the women’s health issue it really is. Your mistress is so busy trying to “punish” unwed mothers, that she actually fails in her supposed mission of protecting the unborn. And don’t even try to say it’s not about punishment. Of course it is. Why else would MM be in favor of abortion in cases of rape and incest but not in cases of consensual sex? Because in the former instance, the unexpectedly pregnant woman did not mean to have sex outside of marriage and in the latter she did. Clearly it’s about the INTENTION of the woman and not the INNOCENCE of the unborn. Your current position on abortion is intellectually dishonest AND morally untenable. You’re supposed to be the party of reason and intellect.
2. The War on Terror: You know and I know that we waged war on terror long before you came up with a silly label for our global-intelligence-gathering-counter-insurgency efforts.
3. The Patriot Act: what a load of malarkey this is! There is nothing patriotic about this document and you should be ashamed for supporting it. Shame, shame on you! Our forefathers are surely rolling over in the graves. By the way, your recent use of the word “patriot” as a weapon against dissent is tyrannical. How could you?!
I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is “NO.” This has nothing to do with another party. No, I am not seeing the Democratic Party. No, I do not have another party lined up after you. This isn’t about anyone else; this is about us. However, I will be looking, now that I’m single. Please do not respond to the following ad if you see it in your local newspaper:
Irish-American beauty, female, 36 seeks political party for committed relationship. Will respond to all 3rd party inquiries; no Republicans or Democrats.

Love,
Ophelia

How to Unlock a Door in 6 Easy Steps

I see dumb people :-o
I was browsing the net looking for suggestions for common household repairs. I found this:
http://www.ehow.com/how_2989_unlock-door.html

Gay Stereotypes in Film

Venereal Disease:
Hey it’s the 80’s, I’m gay, and I have AIDS! Yes, the effeminate gay man of the 80’s must have sex with lots of partners, do lots of drugs, and have those tell-tale purplish spots which denote “AIDS victim.” Most of these movies have some sort of agenda (you can’t catch AIDS from shaking hands, gay people are people too, hip/intelligent/cool heterosexuals who drink wine and eat cheese and read Whitman love gays, etc.) Ironically while the message is ostensibly pro-gay (whoever heard of an anti-gay filmmaker?), the plethora of gay AIDS victims on big and small screens does nothing but propagate the erroneous and harmful conclusion that AIDS is the God-sent plague of the gay community. Yeah, sure the dying gay man and all his grieving friends and his once-estranged-but-now-close family members garner mucho tears and the occasional Emmy/Oscar, but at what cost to the image of the much beleaguered gay community? Does is ever occur to these directors/actors/producers/writers that one of the reasons “mainstream America” continues to see gay people as “other” is because the mainstream media portrays them as strange and sick and promiscuous? With this image of gayness in the minds of the heterosexual majority, no wonder the fight for gay rights/parenting/marriage is an uphill battle. I mean what normal person would want to encourage the state to give custody of small children to an AIDS infested, perverted home? The Hollywood stereotype may be good for the box-office, but it’s a death knell for Gay America.
Hey it’s the 1800’s, I’m gay, nobody loves me, AND I have syphilis! (see above)

Costumes:
Leather and feathers and glitter, oh my!

Gay men love Divas:
Hey, I’m gay and I love [blank] (insert strong or masculine or drug-addicted actress here)!

The Lisp:
Explain the lisp thing, please! I’ve known lots of gay men and not one of them had a lisp.