lovely, dark and deep

I’ve needed to get this off my chest for some time now. You see, . . .

I really like neon.

And llamas.

Sarah Palin did not give birth by Caesarean section to a stillborn yeti-chupacabra hybrid on a plane ride from Tejas to Tuktoyaktuk and pretend that her teen daughter had actually had a Down Syndrome baby to avoid looking like an anti-sex education, Jesus freak, hypocrite failure. At all. And Bristol Palin really did have mono for four months as she stayed home from school. And, for some weird, weird reason, the mono did not affect Bristol’s body in just the way that a pregnancy would, even though most people lose weight during mono.

And even if Sarah Palin did give birth by Caesarean section to a stillborn yeti-chupacabra hybrid on a plane ride from Tejas to Tuktoyaktuk and pretend that her teen daughter had actually had a Down Syndrome baby, it wouldn’t say anything, not even a single small thing, not even the tiniest of tiny small specks of things of a thing about her integrity, credibility, and fitness for standing in the on deck circle for the greatest office in the land.

Not, like, unless those sorts of specks of things of things matter.

Here’s a fun game the entire family can enjoy. Go ahead. Pick the proper pregnant Palin.

If you care that Obama is the first black presidential nominee, whether it makes you proud or it makes you hate, by perpetuating the division of people by race you show yourself to be a true racist. Policy is all that matters. Get over it. And get over yourselves.

So, do you vote for the jackass who will raise taxes and increase spending, thereby transforming what might have been a severe recession into a hyperinflationary depression? Or do you vote for the jackass with an itchy trigger finger who will place the Supreme Court into the tight grip of fascists for the next thirty years?

Morton’s Fork.

Real people don’t have teams of consultants deciding for them what color pantsuit to wear for maximum effect.

I would rather be disembowled and eaten alive by a pack of rabid hyenas. I would rather watch an infomercial for ass cleanser. I would rather suffer total cerebral avulsion by hydraulic press. Than watch any part of either party’s convention.

If you have the pleasure to be in Denver or Saint Paul, and are not confined to one of the freedom of speech cages, give my regards to the ball-less, grandstanding leaches.

We burned Dull Care with flame from the Lamp of Fellowship. And spoke of things of little impotence. And peed. All over. Everything.

100 years from now, if we last that long, future generations will look back in astonishment at our wide acceptance of these as the innocent trappings of summer. They will wonder how we could have been so nonchalant with our health in light of available evidence.

Avoid advanced glycation end products and avoid excessive sun exposure. Your body will thank you.