Makes a mommy blogger feel like she's being listened to, and that's quite a refreshing feeling.
I was already planning on voting for him. Now? I'm planning on -- voting for him.
And to think that the Oregon primaries are almost upon us! Watch out, rest of Oregon. I'm on the verge of, uh, voting the way the majority of you are also voting.
There's so much wrong with this that I honestly don't know where to begin. First, I've totally bowled over 200 in the past, and I'm no pro, and also, I was drunk from too much bowling-pin-shaped beer, which says absolutely nothing about the skill-set required to be considered a "good" bowler. When I'm sober, I totally suck at it.
Btw, I'm a woman. *gasp*
Second, what's with the implication that a man who reads books, studies, and is *only* good at basketball and football is a girly-man? Ya gotta know how to drink cheap beer (a real big challenge, takes time and effort to develop a palate for Kokanee and Pabst) and throw a freaking paper-weight really hard and in a fairly straight line to be considered dude-ish to these fucking putzes? Pleeeeeaze.
Here they go, yo, those bobble-heads, with their attempt to character-assassinate Barack with the same mechanism they used for Kerry and Edwards (and countless others besides, but those are the ones that come to mind most quickly): just soften him up, get people to see he's a big ole woman-in-black-man's-clothes, and DOWN he goes against that, according to the swooning media, bad-ass-tough-bastard-fella, Grampa Simpson.
I'd like to see that old fool try to bowl - or, rather, on second thought, oh, for the love of Pete, not. I'd be afraid for his safety. He'd probably drop the damn ball on his foot and then we'd have to endure Gimpy McGrampa Simpson and all the subsequent pity camera shots and all the Ohhhhs and the Awwwws by his best girl, the punditocracy, for who fucking knows how long.
Please, JEEBUS, can we not listen to the dumbasses on CNN and Fox as they try to tell us Barack is something other than what he is? Can we try, really try hard, to go to the source, the man himself, and not acknowledge their bullshit?
Great. Good. I'm glad we've worked that out.
*hands out some cans of cheap-a$$ beer for the ones who stuck it out and read the whole post, to toast to its being # 500, and also the galloping onset of a political firestorm of posts that maybe quite probably no one will read but will be savored muchly in the writing of*
Because teh vot3rs aren't as stupid as you are; none of us would attempt to, *ahem*, gain access to McSnore's, uh, "lair." We don't want to date him, or make out with him, or, god forbid, allow him to run anything bigger than his tongue around the inside of his mouth. (Even that's a sketchy bet, since he's probably got inactive salivary glands these days, what with his being around a thousand years old, and the tongue probably has some hard work just making a half-circle. I would guess he has to take breaks before it makes a full circuit. Which totally grosses me out. Now I'm grossed out. Ew.)
Next time you write a piece on the Democratic candidate, you should consider who's going to ACTUALLY be President next year, because, unless you want to spend a lot of time cataloging McTwat's tongue-laps on a regular basis, you're wasting your time writing from the angle that you have just so recently done. I mean, journalists *compete* to get onto Air Force One, right? You might want to figure out how to better ingratiate yourself to the future President for that position, and not the future crypt-keeper's bro (dude).
Best of luck (which you desperately need, apparently),
Debbie
p.s. Though your love for him knows nothing of boundaries, maybe try vetting what your hopeful candidate-to-be says when he shrugs off ridiculous accusations *before* he buys dinner. (And don't forget what they say about putting out without a ring on your finger, either, Matty. I'd get that ring first, sweetie. That way, you have something to pawn when the romance is over and your fella's out of the running. Although I think it's too late in your case, given the head-over-heels piece you've written, and if you *have* gotten a ring, I'd be careful it doesn't turn your finger black.)
I cried while watching much of Barack Obama's speech yesterday, because -- and I couldn't quite understand it at the time, regardless of my logical comprehension of his brilliant articulation of issues (that I've always understood to exist that have never been confronted in such a thoughtful way that I've ever known), but today, I'm able to nail it down.
I am desperate to see us unite. I want to grab people I see and hug them, people I've never met, people I'll never know, people in the grocery store and on the street, I want to shout and dance with them and say, DAMN! Dudes! We can totally hang out! Have dinner in the backyard together! All of us! Let's all be friends and sing Kumbaya and have a coke non-brand-specific, non-toxic, delicious, healthy beverage!
I'm a corny person. I really want to do all of that. It's partly because it's spring, too, and I always want to hug random people in spring.
It's because people all over our country, no matter what they look like or how old they are or what their personal history is, they're feeling like I do.
Now's the moment in our film when we lock arms and stare down our enemy, who apparently is having a lovely vacation on some King's boat in the middle east. He should probably consider staying there. I mean, I'm sure that's his eventual plan; I can only assume he's got a private-ish residence all ready to go, complete with a private milita roaming the grounds, near Dubai. (Isn't that where his business is headquartered these days? He'll probably be within walking distance of the office! How nice! He certainly wouldn't drive the distance; because, he, like all really wise drug-dealers, must know the mantra: don't get high off your own supply.)
Or, that is, he respects us enough to answer our *gasp* substance-y questions. We, the not-so-very-famous, not-journalist-ish mommy bloggers. 
