Democratic Poo Humor

This is an article taken from The Hotline: National Journal's Daily Briefing on Politics. It's concerning Senator Joe Biden and his vice presidential shortlist considerations leading up to the Democratic National Convention.



August 20, 2008
It Takes A Bulldog

WILMINGTON, DE - With a growing horde of reporters crowding his driveway, Sen. Joe Biden is doing his best to hold his tongue.

Under constant surveillance the could-be-VP is deflecting questions about his status, one day after he raised eyebrows after professing not to be "the guy" (then later claimed to know nothing more than we did). Instead, he is presenting himself as an everyday Joe Sixpack, heading out in his pickup truck and offering reporters some of the casual conversation for which the the loquacious senator is known.

"A successful dump," he shouted from his car window when asked if he had anything to report. Earlier, he left with a pile of logs in the back of his truck.

"I got a second load, guys, anybody wants to help me, let me know," he said.

Asked if he had any reaction to the announcement that his caucus-mate Joe Lieberman would speak at the Republican National Convention, Biden said, "I have not had another single thing I can tell you."

Even when tossed a softball and asked about his trip to Georgia this weekend, Biden held back.

"I'll do that after this is all over," he said.

Biden presented the stakeout press with bagels and coffee this morning, saying it was good to talk to us again.

Some in the quiet neighborhood have complained about the distruption caused by cars and satellite trucks parked along the tree-lined street. Other locals have taken to slowing down as they pass by his house, some stopping to ask if there was any news, others offering encouragement. One passer-by pointed to his pooch in the backseat, and asked if Biden needed a mascot.

"Gotta be a bulldog to deal with you-know-what," the man said.

Convention Sex......ewwwwww

I found this to be the most interesting article concerning the upcoming Democrat/Republican conventions:

http://www.abcnews.go.com/Blotter/Story?id=5629167&page=1

An undercover reporter has to make some quick friends and get the inside scoop of what these dirty old men are doing behind closed doors. Remember the crazy sex scene near the end of Requiem for a Dream with the girls? That's what I'm thinking.

Too bad Eliot Spitzer still isn't around; these girls would make some good money.

King of Kings

I wanted to eat lunch by myself for once, so for my midday break I drove to the closest food establishment in the area: Burger King. I try my best to avoid fast food these days, for it’s utterly disgusting and severely unhealthy, but my car was on ‘E’ and wasting precious drops of fuel is not an option.

The line inside wrapped around the line-separators in front of the register, so I waited for 10 ridiculous minutes. As I waited, I casually glanced around the room and developed an insensitive realization: every person in this restaurant was overweight—very overweight, and remember, this is lunch time, so the joint was pretty full. I only say this because I care dammit!. Being very overweight risks severe health problems--it's a big problem (no pun intended). Because I had the time, I counted the number of overweight people in the restaurant dining area (31 people) and the number of skinny people (only 2); concerning the skinnies, one was an 80-something grandma out with her pudgy grandchildren, and the other was an older man in a military uniform. Everyone else fit into the sweat pants-wearing overweight class.

I blame the food. This food is like poison! I can’t eat this. I was beginning to feel sick. I’ll nibble on a french fry (freedom fry?) and turn into some unhealthy slob! It’s not these people’s fault that they aren’t healthy: blame the food! This stuff will kill me—I have to leave. NOW!

“Can I help the next person in line?” Shit. The lady behind the register was referring to me. I was trapped. I had to order.
I cautiously settled for a simple cheeseburger, a small order of fries, and a vanilla milkshake. Safe enough…right?

A dirty, salt-covered table in the corner seemed appropriate for dining, for I could easily hide myself. I sat, watched the others, and noticed that nobody was really happy eating this food. They ate because they had to. They settled with this place because it was cheap and it wasn't their own kitchen. They ate because even though it didn’t taste great, it gave their taste buds enough of grace and nourishment to last them throughout the day.

As I sat, this younger overweight woman wearing flood pants, a faded pink shirt, and a small backpack that read “I HEART Pandas” rose from her seat with her empty cup in hopes of a safe trip to the refill station. Her walking space must have been limited in the aisles, for she tripped over a chair. Unfortunately for her, it was one of those chairs that are cemented to the floor, so she ended up going down instead of the innocent inanimate object. She hit the floor, but no worries—her mustached boyfriend (or brother) and her mother who wore a dirty off-white shirt with bunnies playing on the front stood up and almost helped her. They didn’t move too far from their table though. The fallen woman stood up by herself, wiped off the floor crumbs, and continued on her journey for a refill. Nobody in the dining area seemed to care about the woman’s well being after she fell. Most didn’t even glance over when they heard her head bounce off the floor—Burger King made everyone zombies.

We all fall. Sometimes we get back up, realize what we’re doing is stupid, and make a change. Sometimes we fall and don’t learn a lesson: we continue our journey to the refill machine. Every person in that restaurant and almost every person in our country will eventually have to make a choice concerning what they eat, but what are they going to do? Will they change their ways or continue their journey to the refill station.

I think I’ll be somewhere in between. Maybe I'll get a refill, but if I do, I'll take my time and try not to trip over any furniture.

Convention Fever!

Watch the commercials advertising the Democratic and National conventions on CNN and Fox News. They’re incredible! I never knew the said conventions had the excitement of a Hollywood blockbuster. The makers of action movie trailers designed these commercials, because all of the elements are there: overly-dramatic music, quick shots, tons of graphics, extreme narration, and just oodles and oodles of anticipation.

What will happen??? Will Dick Cheney leap from the rafters and shoot-to-kill the Iraqi war protestors innocently huddled outside the entrance? Will a Democratic secret agent attack Mrs. McCain with her one apparent weakness: a killer handshake? The Michael Bay-coordinated cage match with Hilary Clinton and Barack Obama will totally blow China’s Olympic Opening Ceremonies out of the waters.

Our 24 hour news channels promise us some fireworks. We’ll see if they can deliver.

Trash!!!!

How does one rid of his/her outside garbage cans? Let’s say you don’t want them anymore—you purchased a few new heavy duty ones on sale at Home Depot, and you want to get rid of the old ones, but how does one throw garbage cans in the garbage?

Placing a note on them for the garbage men is pointless—you’re assuming that people actually read the sides of garbage cans. Placing your old cans inside the brand new cans is more redundant than anything. Maybe just leaving the old empty container out for them will convey the message, but still, how can one expect the garbage men to throw away the one thing that they’re not supposed to throw away?

Therefore, garbage cans are one of the most sacred objects in our world.

If you placed a bag filled with thousands of dollars in a trash can, it would get tossed in the truck come pickup day. If the Mona Lisa was trashed in a dumpster behind the Louvre, it would surely end up at the garbage dump. If a person filled his waste cans with authentic American flags, though the garbage men would probably assume the said person has problems, they would still do what they’re supposed to do: trash the “trash.” On the other hand, if an old garbage can sit, waiting to be thrown away, they’d assume its owner made a mistake, and they’d keep it in its respected spot—for why would one throw away a garbage can?