Barack Obama.

If you’re a part of the Georgepublican-loop, it’ll be three words; Barack Obama Bin Laden. (Didya notice that our dear George miscounted?) I knew that you did-educated bunch, you are!

Did you also catch his inappropriate smiling during Bob Costas’ interview in Beijing? I for one, was embarrassed for our country. Imagine a leader, (look it up- it doesn’t mean war monger) smiling when asked about agendas. “I don’t need the olympics to advance America’s agenda.” And then there’s this;  “I don’t see America as having problems…”

I do. I see us as having BIG fucking problems, Georgie-poo. We’re not leaders anymore.

If we can’t vote this right, I’m moving left.

Peace out y’all.

Yeah.

My head, like my bed is empty right now. I’m afraid that I must have let go of my, ‘WOW.’

I used to have game, y’all. Really I did. Not so much today, it’s come to the skids.

My weight that has gained, caused romance to wane. It sucks but it’s true, us women pursue…

…We want so much to look like this girl or that. We peer into mirrors and think that we’re fat.

Women are gifted, but I forget this at times. I get trapped by the notion, and the;  “size two”  head crimes.

I’m going so soon, to the land of Ohio. The girls haven’t seen me since I was sooo fly-o.

It’s all good. I’ve warned all my ladies. It’s my humor they seek, or so they’ve told all my maties.

Not such a pirate these days of dog summer, but I’m getting back on my track so it’s not such a bummer.

I’ll chuckle and snicker and make light of the scale, but inside I’ll fret over my mirror’s inner whale.

My bed lies still empty-I guess it’s ok. I doubt that I’d want you beside me today.

I’d roll over to find that you’re still not here. I’ll snuggle instead with my overweight fear.

My bed, like my head, is empty this night. But my faith in Slim-Fast makes everything allright.

G’night all you ladies who harbor self doubt. I’ll take your false mirrors and toss ’em about.

* Roommates of pals who don’t even know you feel sorry for your pitifullness and invite you for a long weekend in another state.

* Your parental unit who likes to keep you all to herself is telling you to get out and meet people.

* Nine or ten hours at the job site seem like a refuge.

* Leaving to bust your balls setting up a new store is like an oasis in the desert.

* You can’t see the forest because you just don’t give a shit about the trees.

* You start believing that the ass-shaped dent in your sofa is uber-chic.

* Your fingernails are the only real nutrition you’ve had in days.

* You depress the Hell outta folks with your woe is me blog entries.

You gotta get up. You gotta. Ok. But only ‘cuz I hafta go to the bathroom. Even dents need time to breathe.

I resolve, in this year 2008, to do or not do the following;

1) I will not eat any more taco chips while watching “The Biggest Loser.” The guilt is killlling me.

2) I will not download any more Michael Jackson songs on my iPod. Reasons obvious.

3) I will not leave town for six weeks and forget to pay my electric bill. Same goes for phone and cable.

4) I will totally do my expense reports as mandated by my employer.

5) I will totally pay someone to do my expense reports as mandated by the fact that I don’t want to get in trouble from my employer.

6) I will not donate any money to any charity until I’ve used up the last 3,000 address labels provided by such charities.

7) I will hang icicle lights in my window whether it’s Christmas or not.

8) I will not feel guilt. Oops, too late. I ate taco chips while watching “The Biggest Loser.” That’s a mulligan, please.

9) I will not smirk behind customers’ backs when they request anything with the name “Rachael Ray” on it.

10) I will quit pretending that I can stop smirking.

11) I will not assume that I’m loved by those whom I have assumed love me.

12) I will be kinder, gentler, wiser and smarterer. At least, to me.

13) I will love all my friends and family better than I did last year.  I’ll even put down the taco chips long enough to hug you.

Don’t be jealous, y’all.

I know you’re hatin’ on the fact that I get to go to such a plush, opulent resort area.

That I get to lay by the crystal blue, sparkling pool and work on the base tan that transforms me into a hoity-toity boutique shopper. That I get to go play Sun City and tee off amid the Woods’s and Palmer’s.
That I’m gonna sip pink champagne cocktails as I regale the ladies at the Windsor club with my cute little stories about how my Gucci bag was custom made and my ability to accessorize with Fifi, the Maltese, has you green with envy and quickly texting your personal assistant to pick one up on the way to the course.

And don’t be jealous that the sand beneath my toes was imported from Aruba so as to improve the look and ambience of my bikini-serape shots, oceanside. Really, they’re just postcards that I’ll send out to Elle and Vogue. No biggy.

These “natural” surroundings are nothing to bat an eye at. Speaking of eyes, I hope my mascara gets hand delivered by Coco Chanel, as promised. This sea salt spray wreaks havoc on my lustrously long lashes.

Geez, look at the time. It’s 9:00 am according to my hand jeweled, impeccably crafted, Cartier.

I must be off.

Dammit! Where is my chauffer? No tip THIS time, buster.

Ta-ta!

Probably not. Not if you don’t have cable.

Pan in on a bar.
Pigs are hanging out, drinking, being social.
(Bunch o’ swine-o’s.)
Close-up of the hot chick.
One pig attempts to talk to her.
Decides he’s not going to get anywhere with her.
He pig-walks to the mens room.
Telling himself that he’s not going to give up.
Focus on the Trojan dispenser.
(I wonder where he kept his change, maybe he was a pig-pocket? Ha ha ha, I kill me.)
Buys a condom and struts out of the john only to reveal that he’s now a handsome young man.

The ending is a word. “Evolve.”
“Use a condom every time.”

I saw that commercial several times on cable over the past week.
But then I read a blurb about Fox and CBS being unwilling to air it on their networks.
Why? Something about it not being suitable for their viewers.

Isn’t Fox the home of the Simpson’s?
I do believe that this would be the perfect commercial for their: “target audience.”

We can suffer and groan through a panoply of Levitra, Cialis, Viagra and other dick-related, limpy-lame commercials, but they don’t want us to see anything that resembles safety during sex, or unwanted pregnancy.

Yeah. That makes sense.
(Eating pork rinds, sorry for the crunchy overtones.)

What a funny letter. A letter that confuses 90% of the dumasses on Matchdotcom…
This is going to be simply an observation, ok?
Can anyone tell me why the following occurs…?
A Cadillac. Seville, or something just as gas-guzzling. Ok. If you’re going to put a bumper sticker on your $50,000 car, (which is in itself, crazy, in my opinion.) complete with all the sticky-nasty glue that is indelibly left upon said bumper, why the Hell wouldn’t you put it on straight? I mean, for god’s sake, people. Case in point;
A huge-ass, white machine is cruisin’ up 95N and lo and behold I notice the “W 04” dual bumper stickers. Yup. Not one, but two! Ok, so if I’m that hell-bent on my “cause,” the least I would do is put the fucking placards on straight! What a joke. I had to laugh… Leave it to the “W” fans, eh?