splish-splash I'm making a light dinner

Three Cheers. I get so sick of that show. An hour and a half-I get it, it's alcohol.

But if you'll permit me a dash of whimsy, I'd much like to slip into my flower-print ensemble.

There, slipped in.


Now, if you like politics, then you like the process by which people make decisions. And you like this blog: President Watch 2009: an observation of who's going to be making the decisions that might modestly impact the minor and infrequent problems that such a person might encounter: that person: the President of America.

If I had the money to buy a house I would like to buy a house that would provide sufficient shelter. But those liberals/neo-cons are too busy labeling people to throw even the slightest drunken effort to the cause of correcting our wiley housing market. I've had it up to here. (I'm holding my hand about breast-high, an indication that I'm not quite fed up with the whole ordeal, but certainly slowly approaching that point. ETA: April 18, 2010.)

You're here to form an opinion about presidents, and others who aspire to be judged cruelly by history. So let's edit out that sermon about shaving my cats' faces.

My cats' faces would look so weird without hair. I'm not sure about razor selection, of course There, sermon eradicated. Let's talk presidents/politics. As I'm sure you know by know politics is the process by which people make decisions, and presidents are the lords of a crude but sexy feudal system known as U.S.A. of America. The cats won't like being shaved. This much I know intuitively. But will they thank me later? I speculate the chances for this are dubious. In America the president lives in a white house. During the winter the house is made of ivory sheened from the world's best pianos and elephants. During the summer the hoCatuse is made out of mysteriously white popsicles. The summer-composition, as you can imagine, requires occasional maintenance. But if the social security and credit card numbers I suck out of your computer whenever you click on this site are any indication, you didn't come here to have your gullett or storage areas crammed with facts. Fact: Of this site's 78 million daily viewers, I've made them all up.
Goodnight. So who do you want to be president? Think. Wrong answer, I assume.

You wish we could throw a suit on an elderly German Shephard with bowel troubles. Well sidle up tight to the screen hombre, you can't go solving all your problems with scotch tape and whiskey. I've got the right idea. Let's take the journey together.

Final Words: violin, Cormac McCarthy, sauce