Archive for October, 2005


Subject: Resignation
Date: Wed, 26 Oct 2005 20:37:17
From: (Harriet Miers)
To: (George W. Bush)

Dear Pookie,

Well, I was hoping this day woudn’t come, but it looks like I’m going to have to withdraw my name as Supreme Court nominee. Wow, that would have been a sweet job for both of us, wouldn’t it? Just thinking about having the power to overturn Roe v Wade and Affirmative Action makes my private parts tingle! But the Congress (those rats) just wouldn’t stop their demands for more and more information. I believe – and I think you’ll agree with this – that we’d be risking the ultimate exposure if we continued on with the nomination process. Think of it, pookie, our secret daughter’s well-being is at stake here. It’s bad enough that she’s being reported as Janet Jackson’s secret daughter -and I shudder whenever I think of our sweet daughter being linked, however wrongly, with those filthy Jackson people – but they’re just getting too close to the truth. A story like that would make Clinton look like a chiorboy, not to mention ruin both our careers and sully your good name worldwide.

I was thinking: we need a really BIG story now to turn the public’s attention away from this whole mess. How much do you think it would take to make sure Pat Fitzgerald returns a couple of big names on Friday? I’m talking mulah here sweetie. Think about it. You know I’d hate to see Karl and Scooter (such a cute name!) go to jail, but really Pookie, who’s more important, a couple of over-the-hill pols, or our sweet Danielle? I never did like that Karl Rove anyway and I’ve NEVER understood why you let him boss you around the way he does.

Anyway, you can make the announcement about me withdrawing tomorrow. Have somebody write something appropriate for you to say, and please try to pronounce all the words correctly! Ask for help or, better yet, put that dictionary to use I gave you last year if you have trouble. Oh, and don’t forget to slip Fitz a little something tomorrow also.

Sleep tight Pookie!

P.S. I hope Laura’s snoring doesn’t keep you up AGAIN tonight. I wish she would use those Breathe-Rite strips you gave her for her birthday. Some people…


tidbits pt.2

Hurricaine Wilma

More zombie:

Q. Do zombies eat popcorn with their fingers?

A. No, they eat the fingers separately

zombie tidbits

I was walking in the cemetary yesterday, and started thinking about zombies. Here’s the best line from a scary movie: “They’re coming to get you Bar-bara”. Night of the Living Dead. It’s a zombie movie, naturally. I heart zombies. Zombies kick ass. But have you ever noticed that the dumbshit people in zombie movies can’t ever seem to outrun the zombies? If I was being chased by zombies, I would SO totally be able to outrun them.
Here is a great website on how to fight off zombies.
It’s getting close to Halloween, so you might want to brush up on some of these techniques, just in case.

I was watching a Diane Lane movie the other night (A Walk on the Moon, 1999), that had a Joni Mtchell song in it I had never heard before. It was from the Song to a Seagull album (1968), which I had also never listened to. Turns out it’s pretty good. The whole movie had good music in it – they actually played a couple of songs from Surrealistic Pillow, which you NEVER hear. I don’t really like Diane Lane much but she was pretty good in this movie. Maybe it was the New Jersey accent. I could almost pretend it wasn’t really Diane Lane with that accent. Plus she had brown hair. In my opinion, Diane Lane would be one of those actresses that wouldn’t be able to outrun a zombie.

Last but not least.
In the event of a zombie crisis:
1. Find a good man who’s got your back.
2. Always aim for the brain pan.
3. Save a bullet for yourself, dude.

just say no

It’s official:
My parents went to Branson and were converted into one of its evil minions. After my repeated warnings to my closest family members about the Portal to Hell that is known to exist in the Branson area – and its capacity for sucking people in and turning them into grinning, hand-clapping country music robots – my parents allowed themselves to be lured there by out-of-town guests. Imagine my surprise when my nice, innocent mother called me up and said “Guess what! We’re going to Branson! We’re dropping the dog off at your house tomorrow. See ya!” I was in the middle of what turned into a 10-day variation of what I believe was the Avian Flu, and was more or less incoherent; so I barely had time to digest the words”We’re going to Branson” before she hung up. I flopped back down on the couch, where I was the next day when my parents breezed in with their neurotic dog, Crazy Daisy. Still in a virus-ridden haze, I repeatedly attempted to express my concerns about their trip, but was only able to mutter the words “Careful…danger…(cough, cough)…no Bald Knobbers – I’m begging you…” but my mother is hard of hearing and my efforts were totally wasted. The last thing I remember was her looking down on me and saying, “Oh my, you’re sick! Well, take care of that cold or whatever you have!” – and then they were gone.

Crazy Daisy must have known as well as I did that no good could come from this ill-fated trip to Hillbilly Land, because she barely came out of her kennel during the 4 days they were gone. Luckily, she also abstained from eating and drinking, for the most part. It was as if Daisy had decided to go on a hunger strike to give voice to her concerns about her owners visiting the dreaded Branson area.

4 days later, my parents returned, regaling us with stories about the shows they saw: Mickey Gilley, Ray Stevens, The Gatlin Brothers, Pam Tillis, and Roy Rogers Jr. Wow, Roy Rogers Jr. Branson may be the only place on earth where a person can make a living just by talking about their famous dead parents and singing old cowboy songs. “And one day” they gushed, “one day we saw THREE SHOWS IN ONE DAY!” Yes, it was just as I had feared. My parents went to Branson and came back somehow “changed.” Just like the characters on Invasion.

A couple of days later, Ken & I had to go down to Springfield for a soccer tournament. It was only for the day – leave at 6am and be back in Liberty by 8pm. As part of our family Doggie Exchange Program, I took my dog over to my parents’ house to spend the day.
“You know, I was thinking,” my mom said excitedly, “you’ll be really close to Branson…why don’t you two just STAY OVERNIGHT AND TAKE IN SOME SHOWS! Mickey Gilley was GREAT! Or what about Roy Rogers Jr. You’d really like that!”

She had officially slipped off the deep end.

“MOTHER!” I yelled, taking her shoulders in my hands and firmly shaking her. “Snap out of it! It’s me, your daughter, remember?”

A look of confusion passed over her face, replaced by a look of total understanding.
“Oh my” she said. “You were right. It IS an evil place, isn’t it?”

“Yes mother, Branson is a known Portal To Hell. You may have been sucked into it briefly, but you seem OK now. How do you feel?”

“Much better, thanks to you! But what about your dad? You’d better fix him, too.”

“Let’s go,” I said.

I then spent some time deprogramming my dad. He was a little harder to “fix” and I had to resort to applying battery leads directly to his brain. But I eventually got him to stop humming “The Red River Valley”, which he’d been humming incessantly for a couple of days.

My parents are no longer allowed to go any farther south than Osceola. Branson will always be a siren song to them, and to everyone else who’s ever been lured there by the promise of cheap hotel rooms and non-stop, second-rate country music acts. Just remember – if you find yourself in South Missouri, in a place inundated by billboards and bumper-to-bumper traffic, just keep driving. Go back to Osceola and buy some cheese and call it a day. You’ll thank me later.

why i could never be a scientologist

I am incapable of giving birth silently and drug-free (see Quit yellin’, it’s only childbirth)

Y’all might notice that I only have one child; the reason being that I, unlike all the other females on the planet, have never forgotten the horrific, horrible pain of childbirth. I screamed for damn near 15 hours before I gave up the ridiculous notion of “drug-free labor” and begged for the epidural that should be the God-given right of every woman about to give birth. I hold myself personally responsible for my ex-sister-in-law having never had children of her own – I’m sure that witnessing the freak show of my labor put her off having children altogether.

Whoever came up with the concept of natural childbirth was a real sick-o, let me tell you. And then to guilt an entire generation of females into buying into that stupid idea was really twisted. When I attended LaMaze class in the 80s (yet another useless ploy to brainwash females into buying into the lie of natural childbirth), the epidural was presented to us as something you really didn’t want to do because “they stick a very large needle directly into your spine.” Big deal. As if that could possibly be more painful than labor. Of course, we were all rather guillable first-time parents who would believe anything anybody told us, so we all shook our heads in unison and said “oh no, we definately don’t want to have a needle stuck into our spines.” Oh the horror of it all! I’ll bet that 100% of us ended up happily medicated by the end of it all. I know that by hour 15, I was begging for the big needle in the spine just to end the nightmare of labor pains.

I’m personally happy for the young women today who don’t have to suffer the guilt of wanting an epidural. Poor Katie. Not only will she not get an epidural, but she won’t even be able to vocalize the extent to which the pain of labor has thrust her into the bowels of Hell. All I can say is “Have fun pushing a bowling ball out of your teeny tiny little body without screaming, Katie dear.” Enjoy your trip, Sucka.

wish I had thought of it first

Here is a really great, funny article about the Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes pregnancy. This one is going into my overflowing file of “Things I Wish I was Talented Enough to Think Up and Write Down.”

try this on

When there’s nothing left to burn you have to set yourself on fire

I don’t know who said it first, but I like it!

Oh, and the pizza party thing was a total success; as if I EVER doubted myself. {insert off-camera puking noise here}

Number of people here to be entertained and enlightened

hit counters Logo