7 Fun Facts About Vermin

Yep, I've got bugs on the brain lately. I've been compulsively reading about them. Nothing useful though, just trivia. I love trivia. And I really love the word vermin. It's so descriptive, isn't it? One of those words that really sound like what it is. Vermin, vermin, vermin! (Particularly, if said with a German accent.)


ver·min
–noun, plural ver·min.
1. noxious, objectionable, or disgusting animals collectively, esp. those of small size that appear commonly and are difficult to control, as flies, lice, bedbugs, cockroaches, mice, and rats.
2. an objectionable or obnoxious person, or such persons collectively.
3. animals that prey upon game, as coyotes or weasels.

I didn't know you could call coyotes vermin. How about that? It's good to learn something new everyday. Here are some other fun facts I didn't know about vermin:



1. Napoleon may have had scabies. (scabies - tiny mites that burow under the skin and leave behind itchy patches with oozy crusts.) Remember all those paintings of him with his hand inside his shirt? Some historians believe it was there so he could scratch himself while holding long poses for the portrait painter.

That's better than my theory that he was fondling a third nipple.



War is the business of barbarians. And those who itch. Gosh!



2. Cockroaches are pretty amazing if you think about it. Dinosaurs were around for 130 million years. Humans only two million or so. But roaches are 350 million years old and still going strong. They will eat anything, even the sweat out of your shoes, even bits of their own or other roaches bodies! Soap, paper, paint, and even some poisons are tasty to them. They can be frozen, then thawed, and walk away completely unharmed. Roaches are the Rasputins of the insect world.


3. Did you know that male Malaysian fruit bats have boobs that can lactate to nurse their young? I bet the La Leche League would like to know about that. They should make it their mascot.

4. Living in the Middle Ages must have been a barrel of laughs. The common belief of most people back then was that the more you suffered, the greater your chances were of going to heaven. Sweet! So when people got fleas, they did nothing to get rid of them. Probably one of the reasons why so many died of plague, as it was spread by fleas.

5. Oh and get this, boy fleas have not one but two male organs. (That's a polite way of saying dicks!)




6. A fly has bristly hair all over it's body. It's about the hairiest bug in all of insectland. This fact inspired the ancient Romans to use flies as a cure for baldness. What they would do is mash up a couple of hundred houseflies into a paste and rub it on their bald spots. Mmmm I bet that felt nice. Too bad it didn't work.

7. Rats are just as badass as cockroaches. They can fall from a five story building and land on their feet unharmed. They can climb up brick walls, jump two feet high or four feet across, swim for days on end, and squeeze through a hole the size of a quarter. These are freakin superhero powers! How come there isn't a Rat Man movie?



"Hey Granny, what do you think of my Rat MAn idea?"


"Really Granny, there's no need to be rude!"

Link Love

I need to update my links in a bad way. If I do not link you currently and you would like me to, please let me know. I am terrible about this sort of thing, on account of being the most unorganized person alive and not being able to remember squat.

Lice Update: None have been spotted so far. I am cautiously optimistic. I have also learned something about friendship. If a friend is willing to examine your scalp for bugs twenty times a day, they are worth their weight in gold. If not, who needs 'em!




I really want this poster!

Of Lice and Men

Did you know that it is only in the last century that mankind has not been largely covered in bugs?

Think about that the next time you read one of those bodice-ripping, historical romances. It's not quite as sexy if you think of the wicked Duke and the innocent young noble woman, crawling with parasites as they get it on.

I enjoy learning about that kind of gross stuff, although I have never wanted to experience head lice for myself! It looks like I might get a chance to, though. Apparently there is a now lice epidemic going around in my neighborhood. My best friend's three kids are all infested, as are all of their playmates. I have been freaking out about this ever since she told me. I have long, long hair that nearly reaches my waist and it brushes against everything, so I've surely been exposed.

Damn, bugs are so nasty! Anything with little tiny legs like that makes me shiver. I can't even stand it when my dog has fleas.

But lice are very common in childhood and extremely contagious, or so I have been reading on the internet. My mom said I actually caught a case when I was in kindergarten and that it was a nightmare to get rid of. She said she had to douse my hair with poisonous chemicals twice, and pick nits off my head for months before they were completely erradicated. Strangely, I have no memories about this event whatsoever. I can only assume they are so traumatizing that I've repressed them.


One of the main symptoms of lice is an intensely itchy scalp. Naturally my head has been itching non stop since I found out about it.



Because that little itch may be telling you something.


It's probably just psychosomatic since I haven't found any little buggers yet, but it's still driving me mad! Being a somewhat obsessive person, once I get an idea in my head (like, for instance, that I'm crawling with bugs) it is hard to let go.

It's almost like an anxiety attack the way it descends on me all of a sudden. The minute my head starts itching, I feel a compulsive urge to make sure I'm clean. So I make my mom do lice checks several times a day. And if she's not around, I won't hesitate to get whomever is to examine my scalp real quick for bugs. The other day I nearly asked the jewelry counter lady at T.J. Maxx inspect my hair.

I need a box of RID and some Valium STAT!



**Here are a few natural cures for head lice.

Fun With Fiction

So, my mom is taking a creative writing class for seniors down at the YMCA.

Man, am I jealous of whoever is teaching that class! It would be my dream job. I'd give those old people assignments like: "Write about what you were doing on the day those giant space mutants from Jupiter tried to take over New York City."

Then, as soon as some codger inevitably pointed out, "But that didn't happen," I'd scowl at them and say, "Hey, the class is called Creative Writing! Got it? Use your imagination, people."

Yeah, they'd hate me for sure. But it would still be fun. For me at least.

Anyway, the teacher told them to write a story about a car. So my mom wrote out a little story in longhand about how her sister had a car that she thought was jinxed and then asked me to type up for her. It went like this:


My sister and her husband bought a gold Lexus a few years ago. It was a lovely car and very comfortable for taking long trips in, but they had so many bad experiences with it that my brother-in-law was convinced it was jinxed! For instance, they have had several fender bender accidents in the car, gotten several speeding and parking tickets with it, and their dog has gotten sick while riding in it quite a few times, though he normally doesn't have that problem. My brother-in-law wanted to sell the car, but my sister said no. She didn't believe a car could be jinxed.

Well, one morning my sister went to the grocery store while her husband relaxed at home. The Lexus was safely parked in their garage. My brother-in-law was reading the paper when he heard a screech and a terrible crash! A neighbor had been turning around in their driveway and lost control and drove through the garage crashing right into the Lexus.

As soon as my sister got home and saw the damage, she turned to her husband and said, "Warren, go ahead and sell that damn car!"


Cute, huh? The ending has a nice little kick.

I typed it up and printed it out for her, but then I couldn't resist the urge to punch it up just a little bit. After all the class is "fiction writing" and this particular tale was 100% true! Here is the version I came up with.


My sister and her husband bought a gold Lexus a few years ago. It was a lovely car and very comfortable for taking long trips in, but they had so many bad experiences with it that my brother-in-law was convinced it was jinxed! For instance, while driving in the car they have had several fender bender accidents, been attacked by rabid raccoons twice, accidentally ran over a hobo on a unicycle, and were abducted by aliens who subjected them to anal probes on three different occasions (well, they do live in Georgia so that actually might not be related to the car).

Also, their dog was completely normal before the fateful day he jumped in the Lexus to go for a ride. They aren't sure exactly what happened, but by the time they got home, the dog had only three legs, one eye, and a tumor growing on his drool.

My brother-in-law wanted to sell the car, but my sister said no. She didn't believe a car could be jinxed.

Well, one morning my sister went to the grocery store while her husband relaxed at home. The Lexus was safely parked in their garage, where it had been ever since that family of gypsies moved in to the trunk. My brother-in-law was reading the paper and packing his bong when he heard a screech and a terrible crash! A neighbor had been turning around in their driveway and lost control and drove through the garage crashing right into the Lexus. It was a terrible scene. The gypsies were wailing and beating their breasts and chicken feathers were flying everywhere.

As soon as my sister got home and saw the damage, she turned to her husband and said, "Warren, go ahead and sell that damn car!"

"I'll do you one better," my brother-in-law said. Then he turned himself into a giant robot and stomped on the car repeatedly until it was the size of a matchbook, popped it in his giant robot mouth, and ate it.

"Never again shall this unholy car curse the world with it's presence," he declared, and then the gypsies danced and ululated with joy, and the men brought out their fiddles and accordians and they all sang Cher songs well into the night.


I printed out my version too so I could show my mom - I figured she would get a chuckle out of it - but she was taking a shower and by the time she got out I had to leave. So I just put both variations of the story in her bag and told her to have fun.

She was sipping coffee this morning when I asked her how the class went.

"Well, I'll tell you," she said, with an impish look on her face. "I have never been so bored in my whole life. We had to sit in a circle and read our work out loud, which would have been fine except that the stories were so damn dull! These people wrote pages and pages about old cars they used to own and honestly, I nearly fell asleep. At least my little story was quick and to the point. I was going to read my version, but after this one guy went on and on about how great American cars used to be, the whole class was practically in a coma so I decided to read your story to wake them up."

"Oh my God!" I said. "I can't believe you! What did they say?"

Then my mom started laughing her ass off. I had to wait forever for her get the words out.

"Well, they were very quiet after I finished reading it," she said finally. "Everyone was just kind of staring at me. And then the teacher said", here she cracked up again, "well that was very creative, Sarah."


Damn, I wish I'd seen that!

"All right! So, what's next week's assignment?" I asked, rubbing my hands together with gleeful anticipation.

"Oh, I'm not going back," my mom said. "I'm not wasting another two hours of my life sitting through that mess. Besides, now everyone thinks I'm a weirdo."

This is why I love my mom. She IS a weirdo! At least now I know who I got it from.

THE PRUNELLA JONES STORY starring Nicole Kidman

Yes, it's time once again for another edition of The Prunella Jones Story the true modern day Cinderella tale of Prunella Jones, a smokin hot freelance writer who overcame both ADD and a deprived childhood in the Inland Empire, by using her incredible body to become a Hollywood IT girl. Nicole Kidman stars in this uplifting story of a plucky gal who refuses to give up, even after she developed a serious drug/alcohol problem, gambled away her fortune, got dumped by both Johnny Depp and Jake Gyllenhaal, lost her alien baby to the Scientologists, spent time in a nuthouse AND worked as a personal assistant to NAomi Campbell. Click here for the last episode. Guess it's been quite awhile.

In today's episode, Prunella (played by Nicole Kidman) visits a hypnotist who regresses her back to a former life in the 1800's.



Hypnotist: Okay Prunella, I want you to clear your mind. Just lay back and relax and stare at this shiny thing......are you relaxed?

Prunella: mmmmmhmmmmm (drools)

Hypnotist: Okay good. Now I am going to count backwards from five and when I'm done you will find yourself in the life you lived before this one. Okay, five, four, three, two, one...........now tell me what you see.






Prunella: I'm in the English countryside on a magnificent white horse. I'm slender and gorgeous although my face looks a bit pinched, as if I can't move it much. Oh, and it looks like I'm rich. Sweet!


Hypnotist: Good, what else is happening?


Prunella: Uh oh, I've just found out that my husband ran off to Australia to get away from me. That bitch! How dare he leave me! I'm determined to go find him.






Hypnotist: Oh my! So what do you do?


Prunella: I get on a boat to Australia, of course! At least I think that's what it is. For some reason the boat I'm seeing looks like The Minnow from Gilligan's Island. Surely that little thing couldn't have gotten me all the way to Australia from England, could it?





Prunella: Now, it looks like I'm in Australia hunting for him. Man, I sure packed a lot of stuff! Ooo I look fabulous in a pith helmet too. And I'm wearing khakis with a little belt and leather gloves and...


Hypnotist: Yes, yes, nevermind the details. What happens? Do you find your husband?






Prunella: I sure do. But he doesn't want to come home with me. It seems that he'd rather ride around and pretend to be a cowboy instead. How dare he?! I'm super pissed. So I do the logical thing and decide to hang out and make him fall back in love with me.


Hypnotist: How do you do that?






Prunella: By proving what a good little farm wife I can be. While looking fabulous, of course. It appears that I do some chores like feeding the cows. Ewwww, they stink. In fact, I think I just stepped in a cow pie. Can you smell that? Ugh, the smell is choking me! (cough, cough)


Hypnotist: When I clap my hands you will no longer smell anything. (clap) Okay. Well Prunella, this life sounds very romantic. Does your husband eventually come back to you?








Prunella: Yes, he does. We've been through several lifetimes together. He can't resist me. He pulls me to his manly bosom underneath the wide Australian sky and begs me to stay with him forever and ever throughout all eternity.


Hypnotist: Oh, how lovely. So you spend the rest of this life as an Australian farm wife? Skip ahead to your death and describe that.


Prunella: Ummmm....no.






Prunella: No, it looks like I get bored with the outback and make my way to Paris where I become a performer at The Moulin Rouge, eventually dying of consumption in my lover's arms. HAwt. I like this life better than my current one.

Random Stuff

The other day I was watching the movie Rocky Horror Picture Show on my mom's big screen TV when she wandered in and started looking at it with me. After about twenty minutes of this, she turned to me with a very astonished look on her face and said,

"Oh my goodness, honey! I believe this movie is very homosexual!"

I have no idea why she would think that. What a filthy minded old lady she is!

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Here, for no reason, is a fashion critique.




The pink number on the right is okay, but it kinda reminds me of a mother-of-the-bride dress. Very blah. I wouldn't wear it.

The purple dress in the middle is really cute. Love the color and those little ruffles. I'd definitely wear it.

The checkered thing on the left is fugly, although those sleeves are pretty intriguing. You could hide a knife or even an ax in all that material. I would wear this if I were an assassin, otherwise no.


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Someday I'd really like to see a flea circus. Do they still have them? It looks like fun in this picture anyway.


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Damn you, Ceiling McCain! Quit watching me! I need privacy for this.



This isn't my photoshop - I just stumbled upon it - but I bow to whomever created it.




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Only two bloggers took up my Mad Libs Barfday challenge, but luckily they were both exceptionally hilarious so I am posting them. This one was by Nudie Muse. This girl can mad lib like mad!

Also, I just love the word balls. Something about it makes me snicker like Beavis and Butthead.


Prunella Jones awoke early on the gloriously reddish morning of June 12th, 2008. It was her birthday and she was very itchy about it.

Galloping out of bed, she wandered over to the mirror and checked herself out.

"Happy birthday, you hot Motherfucker !" she said aloud. "You certainly don't look 62.2. Although your boobs could use a little massaging. Still, all in all not too bad." She then kissed her reflection, made a few sexy faces at herself, and began to plan her day.

This birthday was going to be freaktastic. Unlike last year, when she got super dry and ended the evening screaming in a trash can. Ugh, she grimaced at the memory.

Her birthday last year had started off well enough. She met some friends at The Boys Room. It was very mellow. They had danced and cruised. And then someone had offered her balls.

"Why not," she thought, and punched it.

The balls made her feel so good that she decided to have more. Then she went to a bar and started swerving. One ball quickly became four. She thought she was being witty and fun, but really she was being loud and crazy. And the more balls she had, the louder she got.

Finally, her friends ended up restraining her to the car as she was quite vogue.

She passed out right away, but halfway home she sputtered to conciousness feeling urgently poopy.

"Oh poop" she yelled. "Pull over! I'm going to plotz!"

"No, no," her friend cried. "We're on the freeway. Stick your ass out the window and breathe!"

The window was halfway down when she began to squee'd violently all over the place, much to her shame.

"Fucking Prunella, you lightweight!" her friend groaned as he surveyed the car with disgust. She started to apologise but no words would come out, only more balls.

Now staring at herself in the mirror, Prunella shuddered at the memory.

"That won't happen again this year," she vowed to herself. "Tonight, I'm only having one ball! I swear!"



The other one was by my favorite sexy stalker Mister Underhill. Unsurprisingly, he managed to work his penis into the tale.


The sultry morning of June 12th, 2008. It was her birthday and she was very apathetic about it.

Slinking out of bed, she wandered over to the mirror and checked herself out.

"Happy birthday, you beautiful slut !" she said aloud. "You certainly don't look 13. Although your lady parts could use a little stretching out. Still, all in all not too bad." She then kissed her reflection, made a few sexy faces at herself, and began to plan her day.

This birthday was going to be phaboo. Unlike last year, when she got super addied up and ended the evening publicly fornicating in a trash can. Ugh, she grimaced at the memory.

Her birthday last year had started off well enough. She met some friends at a hookah lounge. It was very mellow. They had danced and groped. And then someone had offered her mister underhill's peen, the most addictive substance in the known universe

"Why not," she thought, and loved it.

The pulsating veins made her feel so good that she decided to have more. Then she went to a bar and started snorting. One addie quickly became four. She thought she was being witty and fun, but really she was being loud and embarassing. And the more addies she had, the louder she got.

Finally, her friends ended up pulling her to the car as she was quite fucked.

She passed out right away, but halfway home she sputtered to conciousness feeling urgently horny.

"That won't happen again this year," she vowed to herself. "Tonight, I'm only having one peen! I swear!"


Thanks so much for playing, guys. I really enjoyed them.

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And finally, I thought up a new award which I'm calling THE MOST EGOTISTICAL BLOGGER AWARD and I'd like to present it right now to....(drumrole) myself! For my amazing last post in which I shamelessly compared myself to Jesus.




I was telling a friend about this post last night (although I don't give anyone I know in 3D my blog address, that way I can feel free to talk about them). She listened with one eyebrow raised skeptically and then gave me the most appalled look and said,

"Wow, you really love yourself, don't you?"

LOL! Yep, I sure do. Therefore I am pleased to accept this award. I'd like to thank the little people for helping me achieve this, my mom (love you), my stoopid boss (hate you), various buddies and favorite bloggers (I'm mad for you!), and lastly and most importantly, I'd like to thank God for making me so hawt! Thank you! Kisses!



UPDATE: Helen decided to play Mad Libs too! Check it out:


Prunella Jones awoke early on the gloriously snowy morning of June 12th, 2008. It was her birthday and she was very irritated about it.

heaving [herself] out of bed, she wandered over to the mirror and checked herself out.

"Happy birthday, you lazy biatch!" she said aloud. "You certainly don't look 76. Although your wrinkles could use a little bacon grease. Still, all in all not too bad." She then kissed her reflection, made a few sexy faces at herself, and began to plan her day.

This birthday was going to be whacked. Unlike last year, when she got super randy and ended the evening humping in a trash can. Ugh, she grimaced at the memory.

Her birthday last year had started off well enough. She met some friends at a cafeteria at the home. It was very mellow. They had sang christmas carols and peed. And then someone had offered her candy.

"Why not," she thought, and gummed it.

The sugar made her feel so good that she decided to have more. Then she went to a bar and started hoisting her ass off the toilet. One Depends quickly became four. She thought she was being witty and fun, but really she was being loud and whiny . And the more sugar she had, the louder she got.

Finally, her friends ended up binding her in a straightjacket on her way to the car as she was quite senile and violent.

She passed out right away, but halfway home she sputtered to conciousness feeling urgently lucid.

"Oh lordy-lou!" she yelled. "Pull over! I'm going to shit!"

"No, no," her friend cried. "We're on the freeway. Stick your ass out the window and breathe!"

The window was halfway down when she began to shit violently all over the place, much to her shame.

"Dammit! Prunella, you lightweight!" her friend groaned as he surveyed the car with disgust. She started to apologise but no words would come out, only more shit.

Now staring at herself in the mirror, Prunella shuddered at the memory.

"That won't happen again this year," she vowed to herself. "Tonight, I'm only having one Werther's Original! I swear!"



Helen, this description of my birthday is so eerily accurate that you had to have been there. Are you that nice blonde nurse whose name I keep forgetting that always brings me an extra rice pudding? You are, aren't you? C'mon, fess up I.......oh shit, it seems I've fallen and I can't get up! Where's that damn Life Alert button?

What Would Prunella Jones Do?

I was driving around the other day when I noticed a bumper sticker on the car in front of me. It said Be More Like Jesus. This amused me because the car also sported Bush/Cheney 04 and Don't Believe the Liberal Media! stickers. Does this person really think that Jesus would be a republican? Jesus was a hippy!

Still, I agree with the message. Everyone should try to be more like Him. He was pretty cool. But once I started thinking about it, I realized that I already am a lot like Jesus. This might sound blasphemous but it's true. I made a list. Check it out:


Ways in Which I am Like Jesus

I own a robe and sandles.

I like hanging out with sinners.

The devil is always trying to tempt me.

I'm very loving and forgiving. (Except for those people who really piss me off! They get cut!)

I drink wine a lot.

While I can't turn water into wine, I can turn wine into water. (Well, urine if you want to get technical.)

Long hair.

Low body fat.

A close friend once betrayed me too. Bitch slept with my boyfriend.

I may not have been born in a manger, but according to my mom I was probably conceived on some fresh hay in a barn. (She was such a little farm girl, my mother.)

My dad demanded obedience too.

I've been baptised.

I can heal lepers.




Of course, there are a few differences.


Ways In Which I Am Not Like Jesus

I don't have a beard.

I don't speak Aramaic.

I'm not a jewish carpenter.

I ain't dying for nobody's sins.

Barfday Mad Lib

It's my birthday. Woot!

When I was a kid I was crazy about Mad Libs and always got tons of them as gifts. Remember those? I decided to make one myself this year. As a present to me, do this Mad Lib won't you? Have fun and be creative. I'll post the one that makes me spit out my coffee.

P.S. Don't be afraid to be filthy. You know how I likes that.




Prunella Jones awoke early on the gloriously 1._(adj)__ morning of June 12th, 2008. It was her birthday and she was very 2.__(adj)__ about it.

3._(verb)_ing out of bed, she wandered over to the mirror and checked herself out.

"Happy birthday, you 4._(adj)__ 5._(noun)__ !" she said aloud. "You certainly don't look 6._(age)_. Although your 7._(body part)__ could use a little 8._(verb)_. Still, all in all not too bad." She then kissed her reflection, made a few sexy faces at herself, and began to plan her day.

This birthday was going to be 9._(adj)_. Unlike last year, when she got super 10._(adj)_ and ended the evening 11._(verb)_ing in a trash can. Ugh, she grimaced at the memory.

Her birthday last year had started off well enough. She met some friends at a 12._(place)_. It was very mellow. They had 13._(verb)_ed and 14._(verb)_ed. And then someone had offered her 15._(noun)_.

"Why not," she thought, and 16._(verb)_ed it.

The 17._(noun)_ made her feel so good that she decided to have more. Then she went to a bar and started 18._(verb)_ing. One 19._(noun)_ quickly became four. She thought she was being witty and fun, but really she was being loud and 20._(adj)_. And the more 21._(noun)_s she had, the louder she got.

Finally, her friends ended up 22._(verb)_ing her to the car as she was quite 23._(adj)_.

She passed out right away, but halfway home she sputtered to conciousness feeling urgently 24._(adj)_.

"Oh 25._(noun)_!" she yelled. "Pull over! I'm going to 26._(verb)_!"

"No, no," her friend cried. "We're on the freeway. Stick your 27._(body part)_ out the window and breathe!"

The window was halfway down when she began to 28._(verb)_ violently all over the place, much to her shame.

"29._(explitive)_ Prunella, you lightweight!" her friend groaned as he surveyed the car with disgust. She started to apologise but no words would come out, only more 30._(noun)_.

Now staring at herself in the mirror, Prunella shuddered at the memory.

"That won't happen again this year," she vowed to herself. "Tonight, I'm only having one 31._(noun)_! I swear!"

Why We Need a Good Looking President

Wow, it's been quite a while since my last post. Where has the time gone? Damned if I know.

I've just been spending a lot of time in the gym lately, trying to reverse the effects of gravity on my butt. I don't care much for working out and used to do a quick twenty minute run and a bit of yoga and call it a day, but now I have a new strategy. Now, I spend an hour or two on the treadmill just walking at a comfortable pace. The way I figure it, if you are moving your body for two hours not only you are doing good, you are less likely to hurt yourself that way. And it's also nice and relaxing. Instead of dreading my workout, I enjoy it. My gym has these nice treadmills that have their own TVs attached, so I can obsessively watch CNN and MSNBC and catch up on all the democratic nomination goodness.

I'm happy that Obama won, unlike my mom who is livid! She really, really wanted Hillary and now she's so pissed off that she says she won't vote at all. For some reason she really hates Obama with a passion.

"I'm not voting for that old A-rab," she'll say, glaring at me like I'm the one who made Hillary lose.

"He's not Arab, Mom," I'll say. "He's half Kenyan."

"I don't know why he's pretending to be black," she'll go on ranting. "He's not black! He doesn't even have big lips!"

Wow! My mom the racist!

"I can't believe this shocking racism coming from a woman who worships Oprah and has admitted to wanting to have sex with a black man," I told her. "For shame!"

She did blush a bit at that, but kept up her arguments about how Obama has no experience and he can't beat John McCain, etc...and I kind of tuned her out after that.

My mother has never been especially political, but she was very excited about the idea of having a woman president and kept the dream long after the numbers showed Hillary was not going to get the nomination. And I think she's pretty typical for a lot of Hillary's supporters. Now her hope is that Hill's will be vice president. Her exact words were, "he'd better pick her if he know's what's good for him!"

Hmmmm. I don't think it will happen, but I'm not telling her that. She might pop me one in the kisser.

Funny how people get so het up about politics, even mild mannered old ladies like my mother.

I've never been especially political either. I pretty much agree with the Emma Goldman quote "if voting changed anything, they'd make it illegal". All politicians seem so slimy, so bought and paid for by corporations, that I just feel completely hopeless and cynical and rarely vote. I will for this election though. Eight years of Bush and company's shenanigans is enough. Obama can't do any worse than they have and at least he's young and good looking.



Oh, Barry! You are so dreamy."



That's right! I am voting for Barak strictly because I think he's hot.

You see, day after day of watching CNN at the gym I've gotten sick of seeing ugly old white men sneering at the world from their podiums in Washington. And it occured to me that ugly old white men are bad for America. Everything sucks right now and it's all their fault. Plus looking at their faces all the time is a huge turn off.




Ick. Who would want to fuck that? No wonder Laura always looks stoned.




This face is the stuff nightmares are made of.



I am completely serious. My new theory that I just made up is this: when ugly old white men are in charge things turn to shit. Consider Bill Clinton. The country was so prosperous the entire eight years he was in office that we actually had a budget surplus. And why was that? Because Clinton had the power of the sexy. He was young and vibrant. He played the saxaphone on MTV and was very flirtatious. It's why the republicans hated his guts. He had sex and if there is one thing republicans seem to hate, it's people who have sex. (Especially if they are gay or might need abortions.)



I would have hit that, oh yeah!


My dad (an uber republican who never missed a Rush Limbaugh broadcast) hated Clinton so much that he would practically foam at the mouth at the mention of his name. He was estatic during the whole impeachment fiasco. When I dared to say that I didn't see why Clinton getting a blowjob from a woman over the age of twenty-one was such a big deal and wonder why we were wasting so much time and money on such silliness, he looked at me as though I'd suggested we eat deep fried cat shit for dinner.

"Are you kidding? He lied under oath!" he'd cried triumphantly. "Do you want a president who lies?"

"Why was he asked about it in the first place?" I'd answered. "A presidents sex life shouldn't be anyone's business but his own."

It has always puzzled me as to why Bill Clinton's BJ was grounds for impeachment but Bush and Cheney could anal rape the constitution and throw billions down the sucking black hole of Iraq and republicans were fine with it, but now I know the answer. Repubs hate sex, therefore they are cool with ugly old white men fucking the country because there is no pussy involved.

This theory is not perfect, of course, but see how it explains a lot of things?


UGLY OLD MEN = NO SEX = BAD TIMES FOR THE COUNTRY


Who was president before Clinton? An old, ugly white man named George Bush Senior. The guy that gave us the first war with Iraq. Maybe if he'd been getting regular blow jobs we could have avoided the whole thing.


So people, I'm begging you, please, please do not vote for John McCain. Besides wanting to keep us in Iraq for the next hundred years, McCain is old, unsexy, and looks like Popeye. You know it's true, don't tell me he doesn't! Do you really want to have to stare at that mug for the next four years? I don't.



Ugh, all he needs is a corn cob pipe. Do not vote for Popeye! He will finish running America into the ground with his face.


With this premise in mind, I've decided that the best possible running mate for Barak would be John Edwards. Sorry mom, I like Hillary okay and all but John is pretty! Pretty, pretty! Not only would he and Obama turn the economy around with the power of their combined sexy, but the world would once again admire and respect us and America would be restored to it's place as the hawtest country ever.



Yum.


An Obama/Edwards ticket would be the greatest possible combination, don't you think? I really hope it happens. Join me in boycotting old, ugly, white men from Washington. Let's get rid of their asses! No more icky, sexless politicians! We need some good-lookers, both men and women. C'mon, at least do it for my eyes. I watch two hours of CNN everyday and Anderson Cooper can only do so much.