Wango Tango Mr. President!

"Never before have I turned on you,
You looked too good to me,
Your beady eyes, they cut me in two,
And I just can't let you be, "
"Free-For-All" - copyright Universal Music Publishing Group
Photo from

A recent article described the concern the Secret Service has with a possible threat to the man in charge.  The potential subject is identified as one Theodore “Ted” Nugent, of Detroit, Michigan.  Nugent, once known as the Motor City Madman, is a big proponent of the NRA and any Presidential candidate who is not named “Barrack”.

Apparently Mr. Nugent had some disparaging things to say about Obama.  He included an analogy about having a coyote in ones living room, urinating on the sofa.  He went on to say that it wasn’t the coyote’s fault for peeing on the sofa, but rather, the onus of blame laid squarely on the shoulders of the homeowner for not shooting the varmint.

Secret Service agents, allegedly fresh from reckless fun with sex-workers in South America, got right to work, trying diligently to figure out if Nugent was comparing the President to a coyote, its urine or a sofa.  In the meantime, several Colombian prostitutes, speaking under the condition of anonymity, have supposedly told Fox News that “coyote” is slang for poor tipper.  They went on to say, that a “coyote who pees on the sofa” is in fact a little-known deviant sex act involving dwarfs, upholstered sex toys and men wearing sunglasses and earpieces.

Nugent, meanwhile, has been uncharacteristically quiet.

Agents have decided to look at Nugent’s body of work for clues.  Though Mr. Nugent actually penned a manifesto a few years ago, Secret Service representatives have decided instead to focus their investigation on Nugent’s songs.  The following is a brief outline of some of the leads the agents are looking into:

“If You Can’t Lick ‘Em…Lick ‘Em” –  With incredible accuracy, it seems that Nugent’s choice of a title for this song may have predicted some of the alleged Secret Service shenanigans in Colombia.  His apparent powers as a psychic have given agents even more to worry about.

“Free-for-All” – Clearly this song outlines Nugent’s disapproval of a Democratic President who will be entirely too generous with the coffers of the treasury, wasting money on any number of public assistance programs and reinforcing the “something for nothing” mentality of the party.

“Stranglehold” – Security experts believe that this song may have about been Nugent’s concerns regarding a Democratic President’s imposition of Big Government on the American people – stifling free enterprise, effectively putting people’s individual liberties and basic American rights in a stranglehold.

“Cat Scratch Fever” – This song may well have forewarned Nugent’s America of the possible pussy-fication of our country with gun control, rampant political correctness and hot breakfasts for under-privileged children.

While the Secret Service will not come out and state that Nugent’s body of work is categorically a threat to the President’s well being, they continue to investigate.  Nugent’s documented discussion of decapitating Obama and members of his cabinet notwithstanding, agents appear to be keeping the main thrust of their investigation on song titles at this time.

The Waiting Game

You know what they say that about good intentions.

This morning I posted my satirical, goofy piece titled “Castro Gives Me Gastro”.  I’ll admit it wasn’t my very best work, but it had some merits.  Most specifically, it was under 500 words, and that’s short for a windbag like me.

Normally when I post something, I check the various categories to make sure it showed up somewhere in WordPress.  Next I go to Facebook and make some witty remark about it to try to get some of the zombies there to pull themselves away from looking for unicorn eggs in Castleville and, I dunno, maybe READ SOMETHING?!  Then I go to Gmail and fire off the link to a bunch of coworkers and acquaintances who I’ve bullied and begged into giving me their email addresses.  Once that’s all done, there’s nothing left to do but sit back and wait to see if people read it.

After 30 seconds of that, I click the refresh button on the dashboard page and check to see if anything’s changed.  On a side note, this is the same way I fish.  I bait the hook, cast it into the briny deep, then 30 seconds later, reel it in to see if anything’s on the hook yet.  To those of you who don’t understand fishing, I’ll give you hint – that’s NOT how to do it.

Anyway, back to my dopey Castro blog.  If you didn’t read it, I’m about to spoil the one small joke that was in it, so you might want to avert your eyes – or better yet, click on the title link above and read it, then come back to this.  We’ll wait.

…. It’s only 400 and some words, how long can it take him?!…what the hell!…still not back?….I bet he moves his lips when he reads…Oh!  You there??…Great to have you back with us!

So as I was saying, the sad little joke I made in the Castro piece was about a news story where Obama is going to go to some summit and wear a guayabera shirt.  As I learned from the article, a guayabera shirt is supposedly originally from a region of Cuba.  Castro was not invited to this Latin Summit and he found it amusing that Obama would be wearing a Cuban shirt to a party that Cuba was excluded from.  I’ve never knowingly seen a guayabera shirt, but I’m guessing it’s one of those blousey numbers with the plunging neckline and puffy sleeves like Fabio used to wear on the cover of romance novels.  Obama will look dashing in one of those.

Anyway, my joke was to mix up guayabera with chupacabra.  The chupacabra is a mythical beast which supposedly terrorizes the desert southwest and parts of Mexico.  I know, it’s a pretty sad excuse for a joke.  Maybe that’s why I kept it under 500 words.  You can only beat a dead chupacabra for so long, even if you throw in a few Pamela Anderson references.

So anyway, now I’m waiting for it.  Under normal circumstances, I clamor for comments on my blogs.  I prefer witty ones from people who know how to use spell check, but generally anything will suffice to feed my pathetic ego.  This time it’s different.  I know that it’s only a matter of time before some person with good intentions writes me a comment which tells me that I got it wrong.  They’ll tell me they liked the piece, to put me at ease, then they’ll “just let me know” the difference between a Cuban shirt and a mythical cow maiming dog-beast.

"No my friend, you're mistaken. While your blog was humorous, I'm afraid you were thinking of the chupacabra. The guayabera is in fact a type of shirt.. Don't beat yourself up over it - it was an honest mistake." (Einstein image from

The longer I wait for this inevitable comment, the more my brain churns out strategies on how to address it.  I treasure each and every one of my loyal followers.  For the record, I have enough of them now to form a basketball team with substitutes!   I wouldn’t want to lose one by embarrassing him or her in the quasi-public realm of the comment section.  I’m thinking that maybe the best way to address it is to respond with some glib quip like “Ooops!  Ya got me!” or “I knew I should’ve read the whole article! Doh!”

The suspense is killing me.

Castro Gives Me Gastro

"Dead men tell no tales, right Chica? Whaddya say?"
(Image from subverted

Reading the news lately has been interesting.

The other day I read an article about Fidel Castro poking fun at President Barrack Obama.  Apparently, Castro found great amusement in Obama’s plan to wear a “guayabera” shirt at some Latin American summit.  I found this to be an amazing story on a couple of levels.

For one thing, Fidel Castro died years ago, didn’t he?  It blows my mind that dead people can come out with these statements and grab all sorts of headlines.  Though in theory, I suppose dead people making statements is actually pretty big news, since the vast majority of them say so little.  Castro was never exactly the quiet type to begin with, so I guess you’d have to expect him to still be a little bit of a loud mouth even in death.

The other astounding aspect of the story is that up till now, I thought the guayabera was only a mythical half dog, half honey badger which roamed the American Southwest and parts of Mexico killing livestock and drawing pentagrams with their blood.  Apparently one of the stories I’d seen on the cover of those gossip rags had actually been true and guayaberas really had been caught.  The thought that there are enough of these incredibly scarce critters to use to make Obama a shirt tells you how out of touch I am with both political and mythical beast news stories.

I really don't see a shirt here. You're gonna have to dry clean it, and it's not going to breathe like a woven natural fiber would. (Image from

I didn’t read enough of the story to see why Barrack needed one of these animal pelt shirts, but since he’s the President, I’m sure he has a very good reason.  Considering the never-ending game of one upsmanship in Washington, it’s only a matter of time before certain high ranking members of congress start showing up in the halls of power wearing Sasquatch loafers with the little tassels on them.

It’s kind of surprising that Pam Anderson and her PETA hippy sorority haven’t shown up with water balloons filled with red paint crying about the inhumane treatment of the guayaberas and the cruelty of skinning such a rare creature for something as frivolous as a shirt for a head of state.  So many American men had fantasized about her a few decades ago, most of them are shaking their heads today in silent thanks that they don’t have to listen to her yabbering about how wrong it is to rectally electrocute cows.  Time sure gives you perspective doesn’t it, fellas?

So yeah, Castro’s corpse is talking smack about my president.  Pretty mouthy for a dead guy.  I’m considering going back and reading the rest of the story, provided I don’t get distracted by something else first.  I’ll keep you kids posted.

Breaking Political News !!!

According to an article I just read, a veteran Republican senator just called President Barrack Obama “stupid” in a Twitter post.

A member of Team Obama quickly responded, comparing the Twitter writing style of  Senator Grassley to that of a 6 year old child.

I'm rubber and you're glue, what bounces off of me sticks to you! My Mom says you show people this finger when you don't like them - so here's my finger. How's that for healthcare reform, you Ka-ka face? (Image from

Sentor Grassley’s office reportedly countered that Obama and his staff were “Doo-Doo Heads”.

Obama’s camp was quiet for a few minutes, but there are unconfirmed reports that a burning bag of dog feces were left on the steps outside Senator Grassley’s Virginia home.

Reports of subsequent toilet papering of the trees outside the White House have yet to be substantiated by the Secret Service.

Several senior Republican’s have been working on a formal rebuttal – undisclosed sources say the rhetoric is along the lines of  “I know you are, but what am I?”.

Obama himself has been unavailable for comment, as he is at Camp David this week, reportedly building a tree fort.  Rumors of Democrats having a strategic sleep over have not been confirmed.

I’ll stay out of the Oval Office, you put down that microphone…

" my mojo workin'..but it just don't work on you"

Let me save you the trouble of calling me a miserable old crank of a spoil-sport.  I am  a miserable old crank of a spoil sport!  You might want to consider getting used to it, because it appears I may have found my niche.

Now that the formalities are out of the way, allow me to do my thang.

I know that politics is more complicated than my limited, apathetic understanding of it.  Even so, I know what I like and don’t like.  One thing I don’t like is seeing the President of the United States playing karaoke with blues legends.  I honestly don’t care if he has talent or not.  Not only do I not want to see him singing, I don’t want people from all over the world watching him sing either.

Don’t misunderstand, this is NOT about Obama’s proficiency or lack thereof in doing the difficult job of being President; this is about how I get kind of queasy watching people doing things which they should stay the hell away from.  Please go back and read that again – I don’t want a bunch of Obama-lovers or -bashers leaving comments all over my nice neat blog.  I just finished getting the Vincent Price-related stains out of it and I’d like to keep it tidy.

It’s not just Obama singing the blues; I also have a problem with junior high school principals trying their hand at rap during assemblies and with corporate executives giving stand-up comedy a whirl at the shareholders meeting.  People need to know their skill sets.  They need to know that they’re only getting applause because the audience is afraid they’ll be given detention or get their asses fired.

I realize that in the never-ending desire to get themselves elected or re-elected, political candidates have to kiss babies they wouldn’t otherwise want to smooch.  To garner the votes of a largely Polish region, they might need to scarf down a few pierogies.  To woo the folks in Dallas, they might wear a Cowboys jersey (Yes, politicians can be THAT shallow).  Let’s not make any incorrect presumptions about Obama’s singing being an effort to woo voters.  To the best of my knowledge, he doesn’t need to work any harder to get the blues legend vote.  There are only a handful of true blues legends out there, and most of them are busy living and touring in Europe where their talent is appreciated.

When you think about it, being the President of the United States is not a position which is overly glamorous in appearance.  There are endless hours in meetings and sitting behind desks and signing things.  There are still more meetings where members of the congress and senate must be convinced to work together in a bipartisan effort (insert laugh track here).  Half the good photo ops are ruined by those pesky Secret Service guys getting between you and the lens.  Let me see, what else?  There are ribbons to cut, more things to sign, Christmas trees to light and turkeys to pardon.  All in all, a visually bland existence.

I’m going to go ahead and say it;  I’m okay with that!  I don’t need to see the President walking his dog, singing – alone or with Blind Lemon Jefferson – or vacationing (Lord knows, that seems to be a job with some serious vacation time).  If I have to see him at all, he should be at his desk in a suit looking serious.  He can have his sleeves rolled up and tie off if he’s hammering out some sort of proclamation or declaring war on low-nutrition school lunches.

If he has a hankering to belt out an Al Green song, he can damn well do it in the shower or at a red light, like the rest of us.