I really did want to liveblog the RNC like I did with the DNC last week. Really. But Wife and I had to paint our new apartment. And unlike other couples, we don't just talk about improving our new digs - we actually go out and do it. Some people may sit down on a Sunday morning over their mimosas and New York Times and talk about colors and brushes and whatnot. Only the Pants Wearer and his intrepid spouse put family values and warm inviting color schemes over politics. Let's see my opponent do that.
I mean, if I had an opponent. Which, as far as I know, I do not. Except maybe our mailman. I hate that bastard.
Anyhoo, I figured today, for your enjoyment, I would un-liveblog last night. To maintain a dispassionate objectivity I have read exactly one article on the night's spectacle, and that only to learn who spoke: George Bush, Fred Thompson, and Joe Lieberman. Herewith, then, are my imagined reactions to the speeches they gave in my head.
President Bush:
I wonder how that little dialog went? "Mr. President, we'd love for you to give a little talk for the good people of Minnesota. But we're sure you're very busy, what with the whole last year in office-senioritis thing. So don't worry about actually coming to the convention."
"Are you sure? Cause after I play some golf in the morning, and write a stern e-mail to Russia about the treaty that they're not, you know, doing their thing for, holding up their end of the bargain, I'm pretty free for the next four months."
"No, sir, really. You don't even need to show up in the state. We'll set it up all nice for you in the White House, and we'll do a live feed."
"Sweet! I don't even have to put pants on! Can I mention how close John and I are now, after all that we've been through?"
"Maybe talk about the war, or Gustav, or something not related whatsoever to Senator McCain. In fact, if you don't mention a single thing on which the two of you agree, we'll send you a whole bag of Whatchmacallits."
"'Whaddayacallit? Whatchamacallit!' You know I love that commercial? Condi, call the FCC, I want to watch that fucker right now."
Does Bush even know who Sarah Palin is? Does John McCain? Because the Republican leadership has NO idea.
Fred Thompson:
experience, war hero, experience, POW, ready to lead, Sarah Palin, actual governing, corny Southern idiom, John McCain - Stallone+Chuck Norris+Ronald Reagan, war hero, experience, did you know that John McCain fought in Vietnam? experience, corny Southern joke. The end. As far as I know he didn't take a nap at the podium, so the speech was considered rousing and vigorous.
Joey Jewy Lieberman:
The one thing I did hear was that he spoke about loyalty. Excuse me while I clean up the vomit on my keyboard.
McCain is my friend. He didn't abandon me just because I support a wasteful war. In fact, that's WHY he likes me. Take that, Connecticut High quarterback Tad Whitestone. Try and give me a wedgie now, see how quickly Mr. War Hero Presidential Candidate kicks your ass.
Sarah Palin? Experience up the ass. Fights corruption once everyone hears that something is corrupt. That's efficient - if she'd gotten ahead of the people, no one would give her credit, except those who value ethics and integrity.
(Factual note - you know all that hullaballoo about Palin fighting against the Bridge to Nowhere? Yeah, she John Kerry'd that: she was for it before she was against it. But don't criticize her about that, it's in her past, and it's not nice to scold a lady. Cause if you remember, Sarah Palin is a woman. And women vote for women, right? Right? Because otherwise, why the hell is she on the ticket?)
Democrats don't love America as much as Republicans do. That's why I'll be a Republican as soon as they let me. I may have to convert, but whatever. It's worth it. And John McCain is the man to lead us into new and more exciting wars, like with Iran, or Jordan, or Syria, or the Palestinians, or Hezbollah, or the Labor Party, or Tzippy Livni - wait a second, sorry about that. Sometimes I get my countries mixed up.
(Jewish note - don't think I don't love and adore Israel, and support and burn for its right to exist and be secure in its borders. But maybe supporting military action that, in the long run, is against Israel's security interests might not be the best way to protect her. But then, I'm not a neoconservative, so what do I know.)
Oh, and all the bubbes in Boca? Don't forget, Barack Hussein Obama is black. I'm not saying, I'm just saying.
Showing posts with label you didn't think this would actually be serious did you?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label you didn't think this would actually be serious did you?. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Different ways to "pop the question"
To celebrate America's birthday Brother S proposed to his lady friend, and she accepted. So they're getting married, which is fantastic. But really it was the way in which the question was asked that makes Brother S the man he is (man? He's 22. Is he a Mormon?).
See if you can guess which was his method:
Brief tangent: I know there's been a lot of lists here lately. Too many, in fact. So if you want, I can cut back, and only write solid posts that aren't set off by any sort of bullet point whatsoever. Or I can not care what you think and keep writing whatever I want. Second choice? Excellent.
- Alien crop circles spelling out his special lady's name, and actual little green buggers singing the wedding march in harmony as he etches the proposal into thin air.
- Pixies, harvested from the nearby wood, build a mindbogglingly intricate scaffolding of pure sunlight and spiderwebs. The webs catch the morning dew in such a way that Brother S and his chiquita's names, birthdates, and future life together are mapped out in pristine droplets of rain.
- A personal show of fireworks exploding against an inky black sky, proclaiming to the gods themselves the passionate and unassailable adoration felt by Brother S for his maiden fair. Then the question, spelled out in colored flame to connote the burning love in his heart. Flashbulbs, confetti, and drunkenness ensue.
Brief note #2: There are many possible nicknames for the Future Sister-in-Law. LA Gear, for those 80's nostalgics...and that's the only one that comes to mind right now. I'm sure there are others. It may take me a while to settle on one. Let's all recall what happened when I rushed into naming something like, I don't know, this very blog. What a terrible name. But now I'm stuck with it. Goes to show that I'm often a moron.
- Mermaids construct, over decades, a coral reef that spells out the proposal. In calligraphic Latin.
- Buddhist monks craft symbols representing Brother S, the lady, the day itself, America, and the stores at which the couple will register. These symbols are then painted all over the body of Brother S, who performs a kabuki monologue entirely in Mandarin, wearing nothing but the Chinese symbols.
- A bus pulls into town with a dozen sinister-looking guys in masks with guns. They corral everyone into the dining hall and proclaim that the entire camp has been taken hostage. Ransom will be four tons of barbecue beef, and 20 jerrycans of bug juice.
Sorry, that last one was Color War breakout. My bad.
- Brother S, having written an ode to his g-fry, has it translated into all known languages, and each copy is read simultaneously in a cacophony of love and betrothal. The resulting atonal poem becomes the one true method of declaring one's undying love for another, and must be pronounced before the beginning of each United Nations session.
- "Will U MarE Me?" is spelled out in barbecue sauce on the ground. The resulting swarm of mosquitoes gives the question a life of its own, a life of fleeting existence and vibrancy, but also itchiness.
- Already drunk, Brother S vomits on his woman. Looking up at her while wiping drool and chunky snot from his mouth, he flicks the ring at her, and says "you tell your pops that if it's not big enough, he can kiss my ass." Brother S completes the grand slam by passing out on his future mother-in-law's lap.
I think I'd have liked to see the pixies one, but I'll settle for the one he did. So Mazel tov, Hermano.
See if you can guess which was his method:
Brief tangent: I know there's been a lot of lists here lately. Too many, in fact. So if you want, I can cut back, and only write solid posts that aren't set off by any sort of bullet point whatsoever. Or I can not care what you think and keep writing whatever I want. Second choice? Excellent.
- Alien crop circles spelling out his special lady's name, and actual little green buggers singing the wedding march in harmony as he etches the proposal into thin air.
- Pixies, harvested from the nearby wood, build a mindbogglingly intricate scaffolding of pure sunlight and spiderwebs. The webs catch the morning dew in such a way that Brother S and his chiquita's names, birthdates, and future life together are mapped out in pristine droplets of rain.
- A personal show of fireworks exploding against an inky black sky, proclaiming to the gods themselves the passionate and unassailable adoration felt by Brother S for his maiden fair. Then the question, spelled out in colored flame to connote the burning love in his heart. Flashbulbs, confetti, and drunkenness ensue.
Brief note #2: There are many possible nicknames for the Future Sister-in-Law. LA Gear, for those 80's nostalgics...and that's the only one that comes to mind right now. I'm sure there are others. It may take me a while to settle on one. Let's all recall what happened when I rushed into naming something like, I don't know, this very blog. What a terrible name. But now I'm stuck with it. Goes to show that I'm often a moron.
- Mermaids construct, over decades, a coral reef that spells out the proposal. In calligraphic Latin.
- Buddhist monks craft symbols representing Brother S, the lady, the day itself, America, and the stores at which the couple will register. These symbols are then painted all over the body of Brother S, who performs a kabuki monologue entirely in Mandarin, wearing nothing but the Chinese symbols.
- A bus pulls into town with a dozen sinister-looking guys in masks with guns. They corral everyone into the dining hall and proclaim that the entire camp has been taken hostage. Ransom will be four tons of barbecue beef, and 20 jerrycans of bug juice.
Sorry, that last one was Color War breakout. My bad.
- Brother S, having written an ode to his g-fry, has it translated into all known languages, and each copy is read simultaneously in a cacophony of love and betrothal. The resulting atonal poem becomes the one true method of declaring one's undying love for another, and must be pronounced before the beginning of each United Nations session.
- "Will U MarE Me?" is spelled out in barbecue sauce on the ground. The resulting swarm of mosquitoes gives the question a life of its own, a life of fleeting existence and vibrancy, but also itchiness.
- Already drunk, Brother S vomits on his woman. Looking up at her while wiping drool and chunky snot from his mouth, he flicks the ring at her, and says "you tell your pops that if it's not big enough, he can kiss my ass." Brother S completes the grand slam by passing out on his future mother-in-law's lap.
I think I'd have liked to see the pixies one, but I'll settle for the one he did. So Mazel tov, Hermano.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Just because I left doesn't mean I hate you
Boston friends of the Fancy Pants (who also, incidentally, favor stylish trousers) were mildly annoyed about the last post. Here then, as I sit in Wife's childhood bedroom in Pittsburgh, are things that made Boston peachy keen:
1) Dunkin Donuts everywhere. Turns out that not every city needs their donut fix on every block. Now where am I going to get my glazed stick? /cue penis joke
2) The Brookline Booksmith. Support your local independent book store. Find the owner, give him/her a hug. Buy a book. I recommend Human Smoke: The Beginnings of World War II, the End of Civilization, by Nicholson Baker.
3) Ice cream of all kinds. Frozen Freddy's for the portly and the lactose intolerant, Christina's in Cambridge, White Mountain Creamery in Newton, JP Lick's all over. Almost as many ice cream places as sushi joints. Sucks to Coldstone Creamery. Ice cream is not Japanese grilling - it is not more fun to watch it being made.
4) Red Sox fans. Because hating is fun. And not as easy from far away.
5) Washington Square: the Paris of Brookline. I don't know what it means, but I like an intersection that thinks big.
6) Pubs. Better than bars because they have Guinness on tap. And if you go to The Castle on BU's campus, they'll etch a shamrock into the foamy, perfectly poured head. Hooray for Ireland.
7) Chinatown. Say what you will about Boston's "ladies of the evening," but where else can you see someone getting head in the doorway of the American Cancer Society building?
8) The North End. Because it's always a rush yelling at a large, swarthy, hairy man for cutting in line for a canolli and getting shot because no one raises their voice to Tony the Forehead, mob fixer.
9) Man's Greatest Hospital. So amazing that every other health service location pales in comparison. Just ask someone who works there, they'll tell you.
10) Worcester. Leicester. Gloucester. Leominster. Peabody. Woburn. Haverhill. Billerica. These are not names of towns; they are shibboleths, they are code words.
11) The ladies of the WSM. Babes, you taught me that it's ok for some chick to not only speak in public, but to lead a community. Now maybe you girls have earned the right to vote. Or not.
I'm sure there are other things I'm forgetting (our friends, other cheesy nonsense) but these are the ones that come to mind.
1) Dunkin Donuts everywhere. Turns out that not every city needs their donut fix on every block. Now where am I going to get my glazed stick? /cue penis joke
2) The Brookline Booksmith. Support your local independent book store. Find the owner, give him/her a hug. Buy a book. I recommend Human Smoke: The Beginnings of World War II, the End of Civilization, by Nicholson Baker.
3) Ice cream of all kinds. Frozen Freddy's for the portly and the lactose intolerant, Christina's in Cambridge, White Mountain Creamery in Newton, JP Lick's all over. Almost as many ice cream places as sushi joints. Sucks to Coldstone Creamery. Ice cream is not Japanese grilling - it is not more fun to watch it being made.
4) Red Sox fans. Because hating is fun. And not as easy from far away.
5) Washington Square: the Paris of Brookline. I don't know what it means, but I like an intersection that thinks big.
6) Pubs. Better than bars because they have Guinness on tap. And if you go to The Castle on BU's campus, they'll etch a shamrock into the foamy, perfectly poured head. Hooray for Ireland.
7) Chinatown. Say what you will about Boston's "ladies of the evening," but where else can you see someone getting head in the doorway of the American Cancer Society building?
8) The North End. Because it's always a rush yelling at a large, swarthy, hairy man for cutting in line for a canolli and getting shot because no one raises their voice to Tony the Forehead, mob fixer.
9) Man's Greatest Hospital. So amazing that every other health service location pales in comparison. Just ask someone who works there, they'll tell you.
10) Worcester. Leicester. Gloucester. Leominster. Peabody. Woburn. Haverhill. Billerica. These are not names of towns; they are shibboleths, they are code words.
11) The ladies of the WSM. Babes, you taught me that it's ok for some chick to not only speak in public, but to lead a community. Now maybe you girls have earned the right to vote. Or not.
I'm sure there are other things I'm forgetting (our friends, other cheesy nonsense) but these are the ones that come to mind.
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