I took this little quiz and it told me which Dr. Seuss character I am. Here's the most edifying link I've found today: http://www.quizilla.com/users/amishlurker/quizzes/Which%20Dr.%20Seuss%20character%20are%20you
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
I am the Lorax, Coo Coo Ca Choo.!
I took this little quiz and it told me which Dr. Seuss character I am. Here's the most edifying link I've found today: http://www.quizilla.com/users/amishlurker/quizzes/Which%20Dr.%20Seuss%20character%20are%20you
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Democratic Process - Big Fun at the WA State Caucus
Ok, so my girl Hillary got her ass kicked by the zombie hordes of Obamites lurching through the hallowed halls and cafeterias of campuses throughout the Evergreen State during the caucuses last weekend.
But being a mellow kind of guy, a live and let live type, a "who gives a shit in the long run anyhow" sort of dude, I had a good time circling the wagons and making my stand with like-minded others at the aptly named Custer Elementary School in Lakewood, WA. At the appointed hour of 1pm -- 13 hundred hours if you're a "McCain Enabler" -- the cafeteria doors of Custer swung open and we all filed up to a table of freshly scrubbed, intensely earnest precinct volunteers. Once there we each mumbled either our precinct number or our address, and after a quick check of the precinct map we were each ushered towards one or another corner of the cafeteria, one corner per precinct. Upon making a quick demographic check, I surmised that the Hillaristas would be in the minority.
Once I reached my precinct's designated gathering spot near the school's vintage upright piano, I signed in at a well-scarred cafeteria table along with a half dozen unknown neighbors. As requested by the sign-in roster sheet's instructions, I offered up my email address as well as my mailing address and signature. I'm looking forward to the forthcoming solicitations, you betcha. I added a lonely looking "Clinton" under the Presidential Preference column on the nearly full roster, underneath a column of varied spellings of "Barack" and/or "Obama", then searched for a seat.
As I scanned the crowd, I noted that the air quality in the unventilated room was just tolerable - the mixed odors of Obama-inspired sweat and Audacity cologne were only slightly more pungent than the tangy smells of Listerine and Bengay emanating from many of my fellow Clintonites.
I snagged a folding chair in the middle of a middle row, situating myself between a cell phone addicted teenager and a ruggedly handsome cross-armed African American gentleman about my age (I'm 51). I made some small talk with "Denzel" while we waited for the crowd to finish shuffling in. I also answered a few questions voiced by others near me. A sample: "What the hell exactly is this going to accomplish - I mean exactly?!". My apparently satisfactory answer - "Hell if I know".
When a sturdily built glistening Black matron finished signing in up front, she motioned for "Denzel" to find her a chair. I offered mine, but my new found friend pointed out cheerily that this was his Mother, and that he knew damn well that there was no way in hell that she was going to get her fat ass past anyone in our tightly packed row. A chair was wisely unfolded for her directly in front of the registration table. This put her a mere sour milk breath's distance from The Baby. The Baby in its unisex "Oshkosh by Gosh" overalls commanded the goings on at the registration table with a variety of vocalizations. As it turned out, our precinct committee officer (or PCO) was Mommy, a sweet young partisan whose red cheeked cherub was clawing at the scooped neck of her "Got Hope?" teeshirt. Baby was clearly hoping to get /something/.
Struggling to use her politically correct Breathless-Whiny voice to its fullest effect, Mommy announced that it was time to convene. She pronounced her excitement at being privileged to be part of this historic moment, thanked us all for the unbelievable, awesome historic turnout, and admitted she was really, really nervous, we just didn't know how nervous, but let's get started. She then read the caucus rules aloud to the sheets of paper that she held high before her face. Mommy was barely audible between random outbursts of "Speak Up!" and "We Can't Hear You Back Here!" originating distressingly close behind me. The Baby was audible throughout the reading, which was interrupted only at those times when The Baby, using his position on Mommy's hip to his strategic advantage, took possession of the printed instructions.
The gist of the rules was that we'd hang tight while they tallied up the Presidential Preference column. If anybody had forgotten to write in a preference, he or she should do so before the tally was complete. Denzel's mother hadn't written hers in, and we waited an excruciatingly long time while she worked on finding her name on the roster and then filling in the blank box by her name.
In just a few minutes the caucus volunteers, despite The Baby's unsolicited help, had completed the initial tally - Obama 53, Clinton 48, and Undecided 1, with a resulting initial delegate count of Obama 10, Clinton 9. I maintain that if the count were completely accurate, it would have been something like Obama 37, Barack 9, Obama Barack 3, Barrak 2, O'Bama 1, "O [squiggly line]" 1, and Clinton 48. Then Mommy explained to the group that, One: Daddy should hold The Baby; Two: Anybody who wanted to make a statement in support of a candidate could do so for one minute apiece; Three: Anybody could then change their Presidential Preference on the roster sheets, with the resulting proportional delegate allocation being final; and Four: The crowd would then split into two candidate groups and choose delegates according to their allocation. Though several people continued to drown Mommy's voice with their chant of "Can't hear you!", most of us at least understood Point One: that Daddy would be holding The Baby. We were energized.
Several of us got up to speak on behalf of our candidates. There was the soccer mom who was "scared" that if we picked Hillary, the Republicans would "open up Bill Clinton's baggage" - which had me envisioning my last excursion to the airport and the look I got from the Homeland Insecurity gal who checked out the DVDs I'd packed for hotel room entertainment. I'd blushed, but my wife had just rolled her eyes. Next, a Hillary supporter spoke about the need for universal health care, and she was immediately followed by a beefy gal who'd heard that the Clinton plan meant she'd be subject to garnishment if she didn't want to pay for health insurance. I suspected that this lady regularly used a lot of garnish on her meals, but I quickly put the image out of my head when the next speaker brought up hope, inspiration, increased turnout, and the "Ute" vote. I saw no obvious Native Americans in our little crowd, but I already knew that "Utes" were young people, the hope for America. Their turnout at my caucus was strictly limited to the young volunteers and the "Ute" to my immediate left, who was busy texting on his cell phone. Most of the crowd was middle-aged and older. This apparently didn't negate the speaker's talking point, as she got an "Amen" from a goodly portion of the crowd. Somebody got up to speak about the need to end the war, and pilloried Hillary for her initial vote in support of the invasion. An older gentleman in a wheelchair rolled to the front and glowered, "I've got two words to say about why I'm supporting for Hillary Clinton - Health Care!". I got up and said that I'd gone to the candidates' websites and read each candidates' positions on various issues, and that I found Hillary's to be more thorough, concrete, practical and progressive. I said "I don't want to say Obama's ideas seem more Pie in the Sky, but that, well.... I guess I just said it." That was it for the speeches.
Vote changes were called for. Several people went up to the table. In a few minutes the new tally was read - Obama 56, Clinton 48. The new delegate count was 11 to 8. Sorry Hillary. A lot of the folks left, and the rest of us got into two groups. Sixteen of us stayed in the Clinton crowd, just enough to ensure that each of us needed to be either a delegate or an alternate. I eventually got drafted to be a Clinton delegate, an honor I'd refused until somebody pointed out that I'll just be going to the local County convention in a couple of months. I don't have to worry about getting to the State convention in Spokane or to Denver for the national convention. Yet.
But being a mellow kind of guy, a live and let live type, a "who gives a shit in the long run anyhow" sort of dude, I had a good time circling the wagons and making my stand with like-minded others at the aptly named Custer Elementary School in Lakewood, WA. At the appointed hour of 1pm -- 13 hundred hours if you're a "McCain Enabler" -- the cafeteria doors of Custer swung open and we all filed up to a table of freshly scrubbed, intensely earnest precinct volunteers. Once there we each mumbled either our precinct number or our address, and after a quick check of the precinct map we were each ushered towards one or another corner of the cafeteria, one corner per precinct. Upon making a quick demographic check, I surmised that the Hillaristas would be in the minority.
Once I reached my precinct's designated gathering spot near the school's vintage upright piano, I signed in at a well-scarred cafeteria table along with a half dozen unknown neighbors. As requested by the sign-in roster sheet's instructions, I offered up my email address as well as my mailing address and signature. I'm looking forward to the forthcoming solicitations, you betcha. I added a lonely looking "Clinton" under the Presidential Preference column on the nearly full roster, underneath a column of varied spellings of "Barack" and/or "Obama", then searched for a seat.
As I scanned the crowd, I noted that the air quality in the unventilated room was just tolerable - the mixed odors of Obama-inspired sweat and Audacity cologne were only slightly more pungent than the tangy smells of Listerine and Bengay emanating from many of my fellow Clintonites.
I snagged a folding chair in the middle of a middle row, situating myself between a cell phone addicted teenager and a ruggedly handsome cross-armed African American gentleman about my age (I'm 51). I made some small talk with "Denzel" while we waited for the crowd to finish shuffling in. I also answered a few questions voiced by others near me. A sample: "What the hell exactly is this going to accomplish - I mean exactly?!". My apparently satisfactory answer - "Hell if I know".
When a sturdily built glistening Black matron finished signing in up front, she motioned for "Denzel" to find her a chair. I offered mine, but my new found friend pointed out cheerily that this was his Mother, and that he knew damn well that there was no way in hell that she was going to get her fat ass past anyone in our tightly packed row. A chair was wisely unfolded for her directly in front of the registration table. This put her a mere sour milk breath's distance from The Baby. The Baby in its unisex "Oshkosh by Gosh" overalls commanded the goings on at the registration table with a variety of vocalizations. As it turned out, our precinct committee officer (or PCO) was Mommy, a sweet young partisan whose red cheeked cherub was clawing at the scooped neck of her "Got Hope?" teeshirt. Baby was clearly hoping to get /something/.
Struggling to use her politically correct Breathless-Whiny voice to its fullest effect, Mommy announced that it was time to convene. She pronounced her excitement at being privileged to be part of this historic moment, thanked us all for the unbelievable, awesome historic turnout, and admitted she was really, really nervous, we just didn't know how nervous, but let's get started. She then read the caucus rules aloud to the sheets of paper that she held high before her face. Mommy was barely audible between random outbursts of "Speak Up!" and "We Can't Hear You Back Here!" originating distressingly close behind me. The Baby was audible throughout the reading, which was interrupted only at those times when The Baby, using his position on Mommy's hip to his strategic advantage, took possession of the printed instructions.
The gist of the rules was that we'd hang tight while they tallied up the Presidential Preference column. If anybody had forgotten to write in a preference, he or she should do so before the tally was complete. Denzel's mother hadn't written hers in, and we waited an excruciatingly long time while she worked on finding her name on the roster and then filling in the blank box by her name.
In just a few minutes the caucus volunteers, despite The Baby's unsolicited help, had completed the initial tally - Obama 53, Clinton 48, and Undecided 1, with a resulting initial delegate count of Obama 10, Clinton 9. I maintain that if the count were completely accurate, it would have been something like Obama 37, Barack 9, Obama Barack 3, Barrak 2, O'Bama 1, "O [squiggly line]" 1, and Clinton 48. Then Mommy explained to the group that, One: Daddy should hold The Baby; Two: Anybody who wanted to make a statement in support of a candidate could do so for one minute apiece; Three: Anybody could then change their Presidential Preference on the roster sheets, with the resulting proportional delegate allocation being final; and Four: The crowd would then split into two candidate groups and choose delegates according to their allocation. Though several people continued to drown Mommy's voice with their chant of "Can't hear you!", most of us at least understood Point One: that Daddy would be holding The Baby. We were energized.
Several of us got up to speak on behalf of our candidates. There was the soccer mom who was "scared" that if we picked Hillary, the Republicans would "open up Bill Clinton's baggage" - which had me envisioning my last excursion to the airport and the look I got from the Homeland Insecurity gal who checked out the DVDs I'd packed for hotel room entertainment. I'd blushed, but my wife had just rolled her eyes. Next, a Hillary supporter spoke about the need for universal health care, and she was immediately followed by a beefy gal who'd heard that the Clinton plan meant she'd be subject to garnishment if she didn't want to pay for health insurance. I suspected that this lady regularly used a lot of garnish on her meals, but I quickly put the image out of my head when the next speaker brought up hope, inspiration, increased turnout, and the "Ute" vote. I saw no obvious Native Americans in our little crowd, but I already knew that "Utes" were young people, the hope for America. Their turnout at my caucus was strictly limited to the young volunteers and the "Ute" to my immediate left, who was busy texting on his cell phone. Most of the crowd was middle-aged and older. This apparently didn't negate the speaker's talking point, as she got an "Amen" from a goodly portion of the crowd. Somebody got up to speak about the need to end the war, and pilloried Hillary for her initial vote in support of the invasion. An older gentleman in a wheelchair rolled to the front and glowered, "I've got two words to say about why I'm supporting for Hillary Clinton - Health Care!". I got up and said that I'd gone to the candidates' websites and read each candidates' positions on various issues, and that I found Hillary's to be more thorough, concrete, practical and progressive. I said "I don't want to say Obama's ideas seem more Pie in the Sky, but that, well.... I guess I just said it." That was it for the speeches.
Vote changes were called for. Several people went up to the table. In a few minutes the new tally was read - Obama 56, Clinton 48. The new delegate count was 11 to 8. Sorry Hillary. A lot of the folks left, and the rest of us got into two groups. Sixteen of us stayed in the Clinton crowd, just enough to ensure that each of us needed to be either a delegate or an alternate. I eventually got drafted to be a Clinton delegate, an honor I'd refused until somebody pointed out that I'll just be going to the local County convention in a couple of months. I don't have to worry about getting to the State convention in Spokane or to Denver for the national convention. Yet.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
I'm going with Hillary - best rack in the pack
From a middle-aged guy's POV, she's the only MILF in the race, and she's hot, hot, hot compared to the two and a half white guys still hoping for a chance to redecorate the White House. The Mulatto, the Geezer, and the Holy Roller all have a shortage of cajones. Hillary's got more balls than the 3 of them combined, 'cuz she grew a pair during the attacks by the Vast Right Wing Conspiracy, while they've got none to speak of! First there's "Kumbaya" Obama (aka Michael Jackson). He's all about "Hope" and "Bringing us together". I hear his next big strategic move is to add the song "We Are the World" to his repertoire of BS. I don't see any balls there! Then we've got "I Lick Conservative Ass Now", McCain - Balls? His Straight Talk Express is most definitely zig zagging both ways! He should have the Log Cabin Republican vote sewn up. Then there's Mikey. He cut off his own balls in order to withstand Satan's temptations. Sad to say, his wife does NOT qualify as a temptress, but I'll bet she bakes a yummy cake!
So, cast your vote for My Girl, the Hostess with the Mostest, Our Next Commander In Chief - Hillary RODham Clinton!
Dick Cheney '94: "War in Iraq?! We're not that stupid!"
Dick Cheney got it right when he worked for Bush Senior...too bad Dubya didn't listen, and too bad Cheney swallowed his balls when he joined up with Junior!
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