The Bottoms Of My Feet Are Bruised.

Jethro has a foot fetish and likes to beat them with wire hangers. Just kidding. The real reason my feet are bruised is because I seem to have a hundred appliance cords on the ground. I left the vacuum plugged in, and the girls had covered the cord with a blanket. I walked on all of it. I kept trying to escape it, but everywhere I stepped, there was more. I did the same thing in the garage. An extension cord was covered by, what else, laundry. So both of my feet are bruised on the bottoms. It isn't terribly unpleasant, but it is a strange sensation.

Show & Tell

Gwendolyn had Show and Tell at her school today. She brought these two funny little dolls. I coached her in what to say, and when she got home I asked her what she said. It wasn't exactly what I taught her, but I'll repeat it here.

Gwennie: "These are my two dolls, Lola and Secret Friend. Ong Noi [grandpa in Vietnamese] gave them to me and my sister. If I lose them I won't be able to play with them ever again. Lola has a purse and Secret Friend has a tummy shirt. I don't like tummy shirts. Their legs are bendy and I can cross them like this [bends their legs]. Me and Emma don't fight [over them]anymore 'cause otherwise, my mommy said she will throw them in the garbage."

I thought it was kind of funny.

Diet-be-gone

My diet isn't going so well. I have figured out that I overeat when I get nervous or excited or anxious. I suppose I will have to get rid of everything in my house that I even remotely enjoy eating, and stock up on celery and alfalfa and cabbage. Joy. However, I really want this sexy-sexy garter/lingerie set for Christmas and I refuse to wear it if I look disgusting.

I Trust Everyone Had A Nice Holiday

Mine was better than usual. I only fought with one sister, (Wraith) and she is basically certifiable. I gorged on food, and wine, then I happened to glance down at my thighs.

I don't normally contemplate my thighs, as they are my most offending feature. But I inadvertently did, and now I am paying the consequences in the form of a rigorous diet. The diet so far involves only eating half my weight in carbs and avoiding someone's ice-cream birthday cake. Oh yeah, and eating a chef salad while staring longingly at Jethro's plate of all-you-can-eat fried catfish.

The Hell You Say

I went to the mall the day after Thanksgiving. I know. What the hell was I thinking? Well, I'll tell you. The day before Thanksgiving, I had to pick up a few warm clothes for Gwennie and Emma. A cold front came through, and in a city which never gets below 75 degrees, winter clothes can be a little hard to come by. I went to the local mall, and was informed by the salesgirl that they were having a massive sale on Friday from 7am to 10am. She also mentioned that the mall would be open at 5am because the toy store was going out of business and they had discounted everything.

Now, being half-Jewish and half-Scottish/Euro-mutt, it only stands to reason that I would be rather tempted. The day after Thanksgiving dawned cold but humid. Really disgusting. I kissed the slumbering Jethro, and headed out the door at about 7 am. There was no way I could move myself before that.

I arrived at the mall, which didn't seem too crowded, and I headed off to the store where I had bought Gwen and Em's clothes. The sale was less than spectacular. It was pretty much ugly sweaters for 25% off. I was sorely disappointed and stalked off in a little bit of a snit. I figured the toy store would make the trip worthwhile. So fucking wrong.

I got to the toy store, which was bursting at the seams with humans and toys. I decided that at least 50% of the mall's inhabitants had squeezed their fat asses into a store roughly the size of my living room. I squeezed my own fat ass in just to see what the fuss was all about. Dear God Have Mercy On The Soul Of The Person Who Decided It Was A Good Idea To Entice Every Sweaty Ghetto Mom On The Southwest Side To A Non-Existent Toy Sale.

Being meticulous about spending money, I had researched the prices of toys on the internet. The store was naturally sold out of all the toys that the girls wanted, and nothing else was on sale enough to justify standing in a line that wrapped around the entire store twice over. There were signs of a riot when I oozed my way out of there.

I found a sale at a usually quite expensive store. They had marked their usual "so far out of my league I'd need a telescope to see them" prices to "just outside of the high end of my price range" prices. I bought a few things for the Eldest since she is in big school now. Baby still paints on her clothes, so she gets the scruffy hand-me-downs. Sorry kid.

Anyway, it was a day worthy of note in that I will never again be tempted to uphold the ridiculous tradition of getting porked by Capitalism the day after Thanksgiving.

It Doesn't Reek

Something is wrong with the new comments, so everyone will have to go back to the old blogger comments. Very sorry.

OK. Subject At Hand:

There is one other thing that bothers me greatly. Several bloggers have done this, and I hate pointing out typos, but it is 'wreak havoc', not 'reek havoc'. Wreak means to inflict, or cause. Reek means to smoke, steam, or fume, or to give off or become permeated with a strong unpleasant odor. I have never encountered a typo that has driven me so bonkers. Anyone who has done this can take consolation in the fact that I don't remember who you are. I just remember the typo.

I know, I know, I can't talk. I mix up your, you're, their, there, and they're (*cough* Tinyhands) on occasion when I'm really excited about something. But even though the typo is funny, it really does drive me crazy.

Anyone else have a typo that drives them nutso?

It must be something in the water, or it could probably be the sex, but babies are just popping up everywhere. Jay just found out he was so blessed, and two other couples we know are going to hear the pitter-patter sometime in July. Jay and Jazz and the Other Couple (Benton and Shauna of previous posts) are unmarried. Same as Jethro and me. Same as quite a few bloggers/bloggers' parents/etc.

Which leads me to my source of irritation. Self-righteousness.

They come from two kinds of people. The holier-than-thou religious types and the uber-liberal-only-the-condoms-of-morons-fail types. Their politics may differ, but their bitterness and narrow-mindedness are exactly the same. For the sake of this post, I'm going to lump them altogether and call them... let's see...what's sufficiently insulting... how about twats?Example of a religious twat's blog comment as left on one of Angi’s posts about her financial woes, and her husband's salty complaints about them.

"Sorry Angi but I’m a little shocked at all the bad language. I’ve been known to swear too if I’m really mad but I’m not “flippant” about it and would never post that kind of language to the world. Kinda disturbing if you ask me. Tommy seems really mad! And I would be too if I were him. Have you dealt with the reasons WHY you were wracking up all that debt? THAT’S the real issue…"

She added fuel to the fire after she was called on it:

"Sorry guys that you’re offended that I’d be shocked by Tommy’s post. I’ve really come to like and appreciate Angi but that doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything…I’m not exactly holier-than thou. I’ve just changed a lot since coming to the Lord in my twenties and I don’t expect the same kind of language and behaviors from Christians as I expect from those not professing any faith. That’s all."

At Jay's site, upon the announcement of impending fatherhood, he (and all the bloggers who were congratulating him) received this comment:

"Does ANYONE practice safe sex anymore? C'mon, this can't be all that big of a surprise. You take a gun out and start shooting, at only one target even, you're bound to hit it some time. I won't say congratulations until I know it's in order. I will say good luck."

I could write a whole diatribe about these comments being self-righteous, but my point is, they're fucking RUDE.

I mean, people, including myself, may have been a little premature in offering their congratulations on Jay's site, but not one of us had a malicious intention, or a wish for anything other than good for Jay. And none of us would have been such twats as to presume to lecture someone on the creation of their baby.

Honestly, what normal person says such things? It's like the second someone admits to a mistake or is caught off guard, there has to be someone there to pour lemon on the paper cut. These people come in all shapes and sizes and politics. I know they should be ignored, but I'd hate for them to get away with it without someone calling to their attention what ridiculous twats they're being.

And I'm spent.

Thunderstorms

I am a nervous person - a worrier, if you will. I lay the blame for this squarely on my Hebraic heritage. My grandmother is the world champion. She's worried about everything from my ribs (which poked out when I was little because I was scrawny) being cancerous tumors (try that for keeping you awake nights!) to a second holocaust brought about squarely because my dad married a shiksa who was secretly in league with the Christian Gestapo to bring about the destruction of the entire Jewish race.

Now I love my grandmother dearly. And getting that chronic worrier to laugh is a mitzvah all on its own. When I can accomplish it, it is like the weight of the world is lifted from this poor woman's shoulders (and mine as well).

My fear of thunderstorms, however, has been passed down directly from my mother. Which brings me to my point.

(Quick Aside): I'm trying not to write about sex so much. I almost have a degree in classical literature, and here I am writing about mundane marital naughties. But sometimes it's just funny.

Anyway, Jeth and I were copulating this morning, in the middle of a thunderstorm. Normally, I could ignore the thunderstorm, but this one was a "thunder-popper." Bursts of white hot light and popping thunder at the same time. Very disconcerting. I have to wonder how it felt for Jethro when I jupmed out of my skins everytime one would go off. I am guessing at the very least, it wasn't too distracting.

Change of Subject:

I bought the girls' Christmas dresses yesterday. Oh-my-god. I made them try on several before we decided. Honestly, they look call-heaven-there's-an-angel-missing-want-to-eat-them-all-up cute. We spent too much on them, but they were at Foley's Red Apple Sale marked down from $72.00 to almost half that. I couldn't resist. I'll post a picture, and I challenge anyone to tell me they would have had the willpower to refuse. Incidentally, they were all sold out of Christmas dresses at the yuppie mall out where we live. We had to go deep into the ghetto to find these. Incidentally, I've always wondered why people make such a big deal about shopping in the ghetto. Nothing ever happens, you get to see interesting people who you normally don't see, and you find great deals. Sure, you get ripped off a little if you don't know Spanish, but it's nothing compared to how the nice, smiley, trendoids rip you off at Yuppie Mall

New, but Slightly Related Topic:

I want to take the girls to see The Polar Express at the IMAX. So much money and effort was put into this movie, it would be a real shame if it didn't do well. I know money doesn't necessarily buy quality, but (from what I've seen) in this case, I think it did.

The End

I Have a Question for Jack

I have a question for Jack, the police officer (if he happens upon this post). Is it impolite for an ordinary citizen to call a police officer a "cop" right in front of him? My car stalled out on the highway, and a police officer came and helped push me to a parking lot. I borrowed his phone to call Jethro and told Jethro that, "A cop had pushed me into the parking lot." It didn't occur to me until later that 'cop' is kind of slangy. I did thank him profusely and shook his hand, so I hope he won't think badly of me if I did, in fact, say something rude.

New Topic:

I took a page out of Tinyhands book and started clicking on next blog just to see what comes up. I hate to be judgemental, but most blogs do, in fact, suck. And it is good to point out that random is a terrible word to use in a blog title or description. I came across one that was titled something like Random Musings of Null Thoughts. Obviously you want people to read your null thoughts or you wouldn't be publishing them. You're just trying to beat people to the punch, and trust in their good manners not to be insulting.

No point to that, except that it makes me glad to have found this little niche of great bloggers. Although my ego gets crushed a little every time I read them. They make my marital anecdotes seem a little null.

New Topic:

Gwennie asked me this morning why mean Indians ate people. !? I asked who told her that. She said her teacher.

First of all, I don't believe for a second that her teacher said any such thing. But I'm dying to know what she heard that gave her that impression. It sounds like it may be amusing, and I'm nothing if not a connoisseur of humor. I'm wondering how I can frame the question to her teacher in a way that doesn't sound accusing.

New Topic:

I worked out my butt yesterday. It is rock solid. This is unusual because it is never rock solid. I honestly think it is the stiffest it has ever been. The weird part is that I don't know what I did to give my ass such a workout. I don't do much in the way of exercise. I guess it might have been the quickie, but I'm really not sure.

Afternoon Delite

Today was extremely hectic. The girls had ballet. This always involves a whole lot of me running around like a chicken with my head cut off. I'm a very disorganized person. No, really. I am a lousy housewife. I swear.

Anyway, I had just taken a shower and was running around trying to dress myself and Emma at the same time, when Jethro burst through the door, scaring me witless.

I stood there, topless, like a deer caught in the headlights (actually that better applies to Jethro although he wasn't topless). Jeth just raised his eyebrows and said, "Hi babe."

"Uh...Hi. What are you doing home?"

Jeth didn't answer, he just gave me a kiss and slipped me the tongue. Hmmm.

I'll just say that I'm retracting my previous argument with Jeanette that you can get your pants off almost as fast as you can get a skirt up.

Tee hee hee.

Tot

I've always prided myself on the fact that I'm not terribly sentimental over pets. I mean they're animals. They have short life-spans, and their demise is just a matter of inevitability. Surely, you wouldn't want to go before your dog or cat?

But I forgot about Tot.

One time when I was about 5 or 6, my dad let a neighbor give me a kitten which I inexplicably named Buttercup. She was a pretty calico cat and I loved her. She grew quickly and became an excellent mouser. She was an outdoor cat and being such, we didn't bother to get her spayed. Quickly, she became a mother and a grandmother.

After a few years, a litter of kittens was born to Buttercup's daughter, Calico. They were the cutest kittens in the entire world. There were two almost identical ones which my sisters and I named Lumber and Mill in honor of our father's place of employment. There was another one we called Stubby. She was the cutest thing. She was chubby and hyper and she bounced when she ran. We adored her. Then there was the runt. He was the sweetest. He was so small and slow and frightened, with slightly deformed ears and feet. The other cats didn't pick on him, but he was always by himself. He quickly became the favorite. He didn't grow at all, but stayed tiny and helpless. We named him Tot, and we'd feed him and baby him and love him.

One day, as things like this always do, my sisters came running in, with tears pouring down their little faces, screaming, "Mom just ran over Tot!" We owned a big Suburban. She never knew, and Tot didn't have a prayer. I ran outside in what felt like slow-motion and saw the lifeless body of the little cat in our driveway. My sisters were sobbing and begging me to do something. I walked over to him and told them to go inside. My second-to-oldest sister got the rest of them inside and I got a shovel. I couldn't stand to see him just lying there, and I didn't want my mother to see. She loved Tot too, and she would have been devastated.

I scooped up his poor little body with the shovel and carried him to the hill behind our house, where he never got to run with his brothers and sisters, and buried him. I don't really remember how I handled it, but I remember my mom getting all teary when she found out. I was glad she didn't have to see him. I think I put on a brave face, but I definitely remember silently crying for him late at night when no one could hear.

It all seems so silly now. I mean, he was just a little cat, and he probably wouldn't have lived very long anyway with all of his health problems. It was probably more humane this way. But no matter what I tell myself, I still feel a pang of sorrow every time I think about it.

The Ears of a Snowman

When I dropped Emma off at daycare today, a little boy came running up to me with a snowman he had made out of blue and pink and green clay. It looked fine except for two lopsided, cone-like things sticking out of his head. I knew better than to ask, but I did anyway. He looked at me like I was mildly retarded and informed me that they were his ears. Dumb me. Incidentally, he and Emma are pretty tight. I think the "get" each other.

New Topic

I play the guitar a wee tiny bit. Not well, mind you, but I can eke out a few chords and play for the girls. I'm glad I learned because some of my best childhood memories are of singing to my Dad's guitar.

Now being the ever-intrepid, I got the bright idea of using audioblogger to record me singing with the girls. I was alone when I had this idea, so I decided to try it by myself first.

Let me just state something for the record to you people out there who think you have a good voice. You don't. At least not as good as you think it is. Surprisingly the recording came out ok. But I discovered that I don't play the guitar very well at all, I sound slightly congested when I sing, and I mumble a little. Very disheartening. No American Idol for me.

So, in short, if you see an audio blog, it will most likely be the case that sheer ego has won out over any type of common sense.

You have been forewarned.

A Letter to Jethro in Honor of His 30th Birthday

Dear Jethro,

Let me start off by saying Happy Birthday. And you deserve one.

Do you remember how old we were when we met? You were 19. I was 17. We've been through college, depression, lost virginity and babies. You have the distinction of being the only friend I've never badmouthed at some point. Remember when we couldn't make up our minds whether we should date or not? Remember how we tried not to, but couldn't keep our hands to ourselves? Remember watching The Muppet Movie and Austin Powers on Tammy's couch? I don't. Remember racing out the door and leaving me on the couch because you were afraid you were going to have sex with me whether I liked it or not? I realize it's a little late, but I'm sorry for being such a cocktease. I can only hope now that it was worth it.

Remember our wedding? It was beautiful, but redundant in that I already knew in my heart that I would love you until I died.

Remember the bad time right after Gwennie was born? Remember how thin and pale and haunted we looked? Remember how you were constantly annoyed at everything, and how I thought nothing would ever be the same again until I saw you checking me out when I was putting on my nightgown? Remember warming up to fatherhood when I put Gwennie on top of you and she'd wake you up by drooling and smiling into your face. I felt a little guilty about it, but I knew you were a goner.

Remember the night Emma was born and you went to go drink beer in the hospital parking lot while I was in labor? I still haven't forgiven you. Remember when she chased you in a rage on her skinny little two-year old legs because you stole her doll?

Remember when we were at our wits' end about your future? Remember when you got into TCC? It was like a weight had been lifted. Remember that first trimester? I never thought we'd make it. But you did and now you'll graduate with honors.

As you start your 3rd decade and when you're dealing with all of the pressures that come with it, just know how much I appreciate every moment I've spent with you, and how very much I love you.

Love always,

Zelda

Touch My Head

Ok. Tinyhands has just put the most dreadful thoughts in my head. Apparently guys fantasize about the ladies who cut their hair (if they're good looking). Jethro has been getting his hair cut by the same person for the past few years. She's a very pretty Vietnamese girl, and I know she thinks Jeth is hot. And he's going to be a chiropractor. And she doesn't like me that much. I can tell. I let her cut my hair a few times, and she always fucks it up. And she does it subtly so I can't tell until I try to fix it myself. The last time I let her touch my hair was the day of my SILs wedding. I ended up looking like a cross between the Cowardly Lion and Shirley Temple. And inbetween singing "On the Good Ship Lollipop" and buttonholing people to tell them, "Courage!," I vowed never to let her touch my head again.

Not the same with Jethro. I teased him about her little crush, and gave him my permission to marry her if I die. Am I just fucking stupid? The gal is so dainty and coordinated. It doesn't help that one of my boobs is bigger than her whole fucking head. Hell, it's bigger than my whole fucking head. I feel so clunky around her. She always gives Jeth a free shampoo and gently scrubs his head with perfect little nails. My nails are short and scruffy because I bite them when I'm nervous. And, as I mentioned on Tiny's blog, I don't have a chair that leans into the sink.

I guess I don't mind Jethro having fantasies about other women. I've never minded him going to strip clubs. But strip clubs are places of fantasy. I can handle it in that context because you can just leave it there. Beauty parlors are another matter altogether. And Ann is so damn accessible and available, plus she doesn't even try to hide it.

I'm not mad at either of them. I don't blame Ann at all. And I trust Jeth to at least be physically faithful. But neither of that keeps me from feeling just a little fucking insecure.

Grrrrrr. I feel moody and grouchy.

Briefly Revisiting Submission

Look what I found - from a UK source no less - on the precautions being taken by Dutch politicians in the face of islamofascist persecution:

"Also hiding is Somali-born Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a conservative legislator, who collaborated with Van Gogh on Submission, his latest film that criticised the way Islam treats women."

Notice here she's called a conservative. So much for the "European" definitions. Then again, the Dutch liberals are all starting to sound like conservatives now that they are faced with increasing violence from these particular barbarians. I'm begging the entire press - American and European - stop using these pointless labels until the threat from the Islamic death-cult is gone. There can be no liberal and conservative in the face of these psycopathic murderers.

Bits 'n' Pieces

I ran into a friend from high school yesterday in the supermarket. Our families were close and I had a wee bit of a crush on him until I met his older brother. I had a wee bit of a crush on the older brother until I met another older brother who was considerably older. He wore Wranglers, and boots, he also had a mustache and sported a golden mullet. Don't ask. It was inexplicably real and the deepest, darkest secret of my young life. Being a pragmatic person, I was aware that I stood no chance whatsoever. I was no cowgirl. But realizing that crushes know no practicality, I decided that keeping it a secret was of paramount importance. My sisters were torturous and astute little wenches. They could ferret out a secret crush from miles away, and make your life miserable from miles away.

So there would be no hearts and doodles on notebooks for me. After pondering a plan of action, I decided that it would be best to keep them thinking that I had a crush on the other brothers. This required just the right amount of denial and nonchalant interest. To this day, I don't know how I pulled it off. I think it was probably because we didn't see too much of him. He was older and did his own thing.

Eventually it faded, as they all invariably do, but it amuses me to look back on it and all the time I spent on it. If I'd applied as much time to anything worthwhile....who knows?


Have a safe weekend.

Submission

Please find a way to watch this film. A man died for it, so the least we can do is watch it. It is Submission by Theo Van Gogh, who was murdered by an islamo-fascist in Holland. Mr. Van Gogh, who was a relative of the artist Vincent Van Gogh, was shot and stabbed through the neck for making this film. His murderer pinned a note to his body with a second knife.

He made the film with a "liberal Dutch politician Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a Somali refugee who fled an arranged marriage." (BBC News UK Edition)

Take note of the differences in the labels given to Ms. Ali. The CNN report refers to her as a "right-wing Dutch politician who had renounced the Islamic faith of her birth". (CNN.com)

Liberal, yet right-wing. Get your useless labels straight, folks. Liberal because she's a woman fighting for the rights of women against an oppressive religion; right-wing because it is Islam she's fighting not Christianity?

I think we're witnessing a fundamental shift in political world view. There is always a fleeting transition where up is down, and down is sideways. We're witnessing it as we speak. It will either unite all Americans in the common cause of fighting religious extremism, or it will divide us into groups of those who are willing to submit to the most violent factions of religious fundamentalism, and those who will stand up to them.

If you read both articles, notice also how they mention that Mr. Van Gogh had, in the past, also angered Christians and Jews. Also note how they leave out the fact that Christians or Jews did not threaten his life, and that neither Christians nor Jews shot him, decapitated him, and stabbed a gloating, malicious note into his body.

I don't care what religion you are or aren't, what belief system you hold or don't. Anyone with even a shred of humanity must stand up to this barbarity. If it is given any legitimacy at all, even by silence, it will spread and kill more.

My Twenty-Something Answers

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

My Twenty Questions

The victory sex went off without a hitch. I'll spare you the porny details. I know, I know, it is what people read my blog for, but I feel ridiculous writing about it. I mean, who really wants to know that we made sure the kids were asleep, double locked the bedroom door with our new deadbolt, and made it like bunnies? I'd feel dumb telling people I don't know how Jethro grabbed me around the waist, pulled me to him, and kissed my throat. I don't like saying how I got down on my knees and sucked his dick, or about how I licked it all over like a lollipop, then took him gently and quickly into the back of my throat. I won't tell how he cradled my head as I took him deep and deeper into my mouth. I won't tell you how after about three minutes of that, he tossed me on the bed, removed the rest of my clothes, and proceeded to make love to me with a wildness that transcended even the "Four More Years." I'd feel even sillier telling folks about how his hands found my breasts (like you could miss them) and pressed my nipples between his fingers, and how his mouth covered mine and I arched into him as he pushed deeper into me. I just don't want to talk about how, with his mouth over mine, I moaned cuss words as I came over and over.

And I certainly don't want to talk about how the next day, when the kids were awake, we locked ourselves in the bathroom and did it on our pile of laundry. That's just too gross.

Anyway, I'm out of ideas. I WANT TO PLAY TWENTY QUESTIONS TOO! So you ask 'em, I'll answer 'em.

Go deep.

Victory Sex

We haven't had it yet. I imagine it will be this weekend. I expect it to be decisive. Pure Missionary with a little bit of doggie thrown in. Just kidding. I have no idea what it will be like which is what makes it so exciting. All I know is that I want my nipples pinched. I can't believe I wrote that. So much for my political aspirations. But I won't remove it. Free Speech and all. Regardless, I'll let everyone know how it goes. I've had no less than 4 gentlemen request or imply that I stop all political wankering and get back to the issues, i.e. Tits and Nookie (Gooch). Ha! And women are supposedly the shallow ones!

There. I've just annoyed Jethro in the middle of a test to demand The Intercourse immediately upon his return. To be fair, I forgot that he had a test.

The Weather: A beautiful cold-front has moved through. Not to ruin anyone's mental image of me (exaggerated to a ridiculous degree by a few good, no great, pictures), but I would be unrecognizable this morning. It's cold, dammit.

I've decided I'll post a pic of me in the corset. It's as much for The Tease as it is for Jack (much respect to Jethro).

Ta for now. I'll write more when I've gotten ....more.

I Beg Indulgence And I Will Probably Bury This Post

Okay. First of all, I am not gloating over anyone who voted for Kerry. You had your reasons, Bush voters had theirs, Bush won. It's over.

However, this will not stop me from gloating gratuitously, copiously, and at great length over the following individuals/powers that be in no particular order:

1. Osama bin Laden. May Allah grant that he be beheaded. Genitals first.

2. All terrorists. And despite those who feel ambiguous towards the term, you know who they are.

3. Fat Fucking Seditious Slob Whose Name Will Never Cross My Lips Or Fingers. The only documentary of his I will ever pay money to see is the one he makes from the spit he'll be roasting on in Hell.

4. Dan Rather. May he lose his day job and never utter another metaphor again as long as he lives.

5. The Halls Of Europe. The world is safe once again from their policies of cowardice and appeasement.

6. Kim Jong Il. Congratulations from the Nader camp on another year of keeping N. Korea corporation free.

7. Charles Rangal (DEMOCRAT from NY) - No draft for you.

8. The U.N. May it choke on the oil of Iraq that they kept that murdering, fascist dictator in power for. The blood of Iraq is on their hands.

9. The Vote For Change Tour. May they crush under the weight of their inflated, uneducated egos.

10. Bruce Springsteen. Boss of his wanker only.

11. Al Gore. You sold your moderate soul for failure. Congratulations.

12. George Soros. Money can't buy you Socialism.

13. The NAACP. Crack can't buy you votes.

I may add more to the list, or my appetite for things political may finally be sated. I doubt it though.

I'd also like to thank and congratulate the following:

1. The Bush Voters. Jeeze oh man did we get out the vote.

2. John Thune. Ding dong The Obstructionist is Gone!

3. Halliburton.

4. Iraq. You deserve our full attention.

5. Australia. Thank You.

6. Poland. Thank You

7. Great Britain and Tony Blair. I won't forget.

ELECTION DAY

There is a whole lot more politickin' on my other blog. I may even try my hand at live blogging there, if I am not self-medicating.

I voted. My polling place is in the cafeteria of Gwennie's school. I asked her teacher if she would excuse her to watch me vote. She said yes.

I was waiting in line for my ballot, when I noticed a few people with Kerry pins on looking around defiantly. Ignoring them, I asked my daughter who we were voting for President. She's kind of quiet, so she hesitated giving the answer. I said, "We're voting for George Bush." She gave me a puzzled look and then said, "No, mommy. We're voting for George W. Bush." Everyone around us laughed. The Kerry folks set their jaws and looked outnumbered.

I had considered voting straight Republican, but there was one Libertarian candidate that I wanted to vote for, so I filled out all of the little circles. Most of the races were uncontested Republicans. This is serious Bush country. Democrats don't even run anymore. I think there were more Libertarian candidates than Dems.

Anyway, I'm very proud to have voted, and I'm very proud that my daughter stood up to the Kerrywankers.