I think it’s time we finally got around to admitting to ourselves that the democrat nominee will be Hillary. Her lead is too large, her bullshit is too polished and her troops are too bloodthirsty, which collectively makes her defeat in the primary a non-option.

But Jimbo, there is still plenty of time before the candidates will be chosen. Lots of things can happen between now and then. She could really screw up.

Baloney. Based on her history and that of her husband, there is absolutely nothing – NOTHING she can do that she could not recover from, particularly with the help of the fawning MSM.

Just for fun, here are a few scenarios that would spell disaster for most candidates (and absolutely for all republicans), each followed the Headline that would report the story.

Potential Disaster: After finishing a speech, Hillary is cranky and stomps puppy to death.

Headline: HILLARY CLINTON PROTECTS PUBLIC FROM POSSIBLY RABID DOG.

__________

Potential Disaster: Hillary flies to Iran on Ahmadinejad’s private plane and, once there, collects $5 million in campaign donations.

Headline: HILLARY USED NO TAXPAYER MONEY TO FUND HER RECENT DIPLOMATIC INITIATIVE.

__________

Potential Disaster: Hillary, severely intoxicated or under the influence of a controlled substance, falls off stage.

Headline: HILLARY SUCCUMBS TO FATIGUE. LIKELY CAUSE IS MERCILESS HILLARY BASHING BY TALK RADIO. HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS SEND WELL WISHES.

__________

Potential Disaster: Five hundred thousand dollars in cash discovered under Hillary’s bed in her Washington apartment.

Headline: HILLARY’S DONATION TO LOCAL FOOD BANK THWARTED BY BUSH’S JUSTICE DEPARTMENT.

__________

Potential Disaster: Hillary hires a person to work in her campaign who, while working for her husband, stole highly classified documents from the National Archives.

Headline:
__________

Peeps, face it. The woman is coated with a much tougher and finer grade of Teflon® than ever covered the arse of John Gotti.

Sometimes all one can do is shake one’s head and hope that the dumbshittery that surrounds us is all just a bad dream.

From my friend Mike, the computer mavin.

Dear Mrs. Clinton:

I noticed that you campaign has recently hired Sandy Berger as a foreign policy advisor. I’m sure that you are aware that, three years ago:

… while acting as former President Clinton’s designated representative to the commission investigating the attacks of September 11, 2001, [Sandy Berger] illegally took confidential documents from the Archives on more than one occasion. He folded documents in his clothes, snuck them out of the Archives building, and stashed them under a construction trailer nearby until he could return, retrieve them, and later cut them up. After he was caught, he lied to the investigators and tried to shift blame to Archive employees. Link

You couldn’t possibly have missed it; it was in all the papers.

Because a person engaging in criminal conduct such as that in engaged in by Mr. Berger would have a difficult time getting a job as a supermarket cashier, surely you, as the candidate, would have wanted to know the details surrounding his criminal conduct before bringing him into the campaign for a very important position.

No doubt, you asked questions such as, “Which documents did you steal? Did someone tell you to steal documents? If so, who? Why would you risk your reputation, your law license, your career and possibly jail time by doing such a thing?”

What did he tell you when you asked?

If you didn’t ask the questions, you damned well should have, if you wish to be seriously considered as a candidate for the presidency of the United States.

Then again, if you didn’t ask the questions, perhaps it’s because you already knew the answers. One could then reasonably conclude that Mr. Berger was hired as payback for keeping his mouth shut in 2004 and afterwards, in which case you should not be permitted to be a supermarket cashier, much less the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces of the United States and Leader of the Free World.

With loathing and contempt and a solemn vow to vote for anyone but you,

Jimbo

I can continue to not read Maureen Dowd’s crap in the New York Times, only now I can continue to not read it for free.

Oh, youse guys must have read this story (from various sources) and sprinted to your computers to scare the dogshit out of ol’ Jimbo.

Yep, this guy, this guy and even one of the Usual Suspects figured that I very much needed to read about a guy who decided to go snorkeling in a South Caroling Lake, which was posted with “Beware of Alligators” signs only to have his farookin’ arm bitten off by one of those horrid creatures.

Fortunately for this possibly illiterate fellow, a bunch of nurses happened to picnicking on the lake shore (still too close for my money), saw the man flailing about in the water and stopped the massive bleeding, quite probably saving his life.

The 600 pound prehistoric beast was shot, and the fellow’s arm was removed from its stomach and flown to the hospital for possible re-attachment.

I hope the guy comes out of this OK, but snorkeling in a lake in South Carolina where there are “Beware of Alligator” signs?

Dude, not too smart.

Dear Diary,

OMG! I realize that I have neglected my diary for months now. It’s just that I have been totally busy doing government SPEAKER in the House stuff and staying in touch with my new seriously good friend Arianna Huffington. I know she sounds like Zsa Zsa Gabor, but don’t let that fool you. She is freakin’ brilliant. (I have waaaaaay better tits, but let’s not go there).

A couple weeks ago she called me and said, “Nan, I’m dying for some decent escargot. Vhat do you say you fly vit me to Paris for dinner? I know a place zat makes za best escargot you’ve ever tasted, and zee waiters wear tight pants and have vonderful asses zat look like zey are made of hard rubber.”

The hard rubber asses did it for me!

We flew on, like, her private jet, which was loaded with Cristal and caviar, but the best part was when she showed me the toilet bowl that contains a porcelain picture of that moron Bush. She said, “Nan, I so love shitting on Chimpy McHitlerburton. I feel vondervul aftervards. Dey are da best shits ever.”

I shit on him too. It was freakin’ AWESOME! LOL! Rethuglicans are just sooooooo, like, crude.

Oh, and this was really cool. Hilly came over last week. We were doing some totally primo herb and giving each other bikini waxes, when she mentioned that she needed to prepare to question that skinny General douchebag, who has been doing some stuff in Iraq. I said, “Girlfriend, I knew that, and do I ever have a surprise for you!”

At that moment Sven came to the door – all 6’4”, 185 pound, well muscled, hung like Man o’ War, blond, blue-eyed bit of him. Like I had asked him to do, he was wearing one of those silly Army Uniforms, with lots of stars and ribbons and shit.

When he saw Hilly and me, he thought it would be like our regular routine, so he began removing the uniform. “No,” I said. “Later for that.”

I made him sit in a chair wearing the uniform while Hilly and I called him all sorts of names like, “Douchebag, Liar” and shit. Hilly really got into it. “You’re a stinking, miserable, lying traitor, and you’re nothing but a freakin’ stooge for the arch terrorist Bush. You’re probably a child molester and your mother is a five-dollar streetwalker!”

It was, like, so totally cool!

Then we took turns peeing on him. This cost me an extra $500, but it was worth every penny. It was freakin’ AWESOME.

After that, Hilly said that she was totally ready to take on that Bush toady, douchebag general and his bullshit Iraq testimony.

But there was still plenty of herb, plenty of Cristal and plenty of time for Hilly and me to play “Hide the Howitzer” with Sven.

It was freakin’ AWESOME.

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I believe that we need a new rule for Congressional/Senatorial Hearings.

The necessary and proper purpose of such hearings is to provide Congressional/Senatorial committees an opportunity to obtain information concerning an issue that is within the committees’ legislative purview, presumably to assist the committee members in considering legislative matters.

The information comes to the committees in the form of documents and testimony. The process in the case of documents and witness testimony should be quite straightforward, which is to say that committee members should review the documents and ask questions of witnesses.

Unfortunately, that is not the way it works in the case of “high profile” hearings, particularly when a “high profile” witness is testifying in televised proceedings. Instead, what we see is politicians on both sides of the aisle bloviating making longwinded statements of their own positions on an issue. They either outright make statements or preface a ten word loaded question with a 1,000 word statement.

The information gathering purpose of the hearing is lost in the political, self-aggrandizing blather, all of which is utterly irrelevant to the issue at hand – information gathering. This posturing serves no one’s interest, except for that of the bloviators themselves and a press corps that thrives on politics being a blood sport.

We need a new rule.

If I were declared to be King, the following rule would go into effect immediately.

1. The only persons permitted to speak in declarative sentences are the witness and the committee chairperson and in the case of the latter, only to enforce the rules, including, of course, King Jimbo’s Rule.

2. The only things permitted to emanate from the mouths of the committee members are interrogative sentences (i.e. they must end in a question mark), and they must be calculated to elicit factual information from the witness. This is to say that questions such as, “You’re a big, fat liar, aren’t you?” don’t pass muster. Such quasi-questions will be treated as forbidden declarative sentences.

3. The Three-Strike Rule applies. Committee members may be admonished twice for uttering declarative sentences. The third time they forfeit their remaining time. Smart Alecks who would try to sneak in a few declarative sentences at the very end of their allotted time would forfeit their time at the next televised committee hearing.

Yo, King Jimbo. Wouldn’t this be a violation of the committee members’ First Amendment rights?

Fair question, given that bullshit is indeed protected by the First Amendment, particularly political bullshit. However, King Jimbo’s rule is not unconstitutional, because it is a narrowly crafted, reasonable time, place and manner restriction on speech. The politician/committee members can bloviate to their heart’s content at press conferences, in press releases, on television “news” programs and the like. The just can’t bloviate while they are being paid by the people to gather information in a venue where their opinions are utterly irrelevant.

Alas, but I’m not the King, but one can always dream.

Today I decided to rummage through a portion of my briefcase in order to toss some of the crap that has accumulated there over the past several months. I got rid of a bunch of gas receipts and some well-aged work stuff I had brought home to read.

I also came across a few scraps of paper on which were my longhand scribbling about one thing or another. Most of them were phone numbers and hastily jotted-down points relating to business matters. I did, however, find a rather beaten looking old business-size envelope, which was folded in half and on which I had scratched a few non-work related thoughts.

Turns out that the scribbles were my running notes obviously taken while I was in the Service Area waiting for the Big, Fat, Black Capitalist Car to be pampered. No doubt they were originally jotted down in anticipation of using them to write a stellar blog post. After all, I’ve written about being captive in the Service Area a couple of times before, so at the time I must have thought that the goings on were blogworthy.

Well, the scribbles never did make it into a post, but seeing as how I don’t feel like doing any heavy lifting right about now, I thought I’d share the notes from the back of that envelope, uncut, uncensored and frankly ungood. I figure it will give you a peek inside my cruller at what was a less-than-outstanding time.

The Scene: When these notes were taken, I was sitting in the dealer’s Customer Waiting Area, which has all the ambience of a bomb shelter. I had brought a book to read, but the distractions were such that reading was all but impossible. Here ‘tis:

Shit! Fake Judge What’shername is on TV.

Nice looking. Wonder where she finished in L.S. class?

Case – Who shot BB gun and broke window?

P*** – Pissed off woman – blames local kid

Witness — Some guy has homemade CSI trajectory charts – Who is this guy? Charts?

Kid = ∆? “Didn’t do it.”

“Judge” – Guy’s charts clever but wtf?

“Judge” – To ∆ — I know you did it, but … reasonable doubt …blah blah

Verdict for ∆

Case – Laptop ownership dispute – P is ∆’s former ER [employer]

∆ – “P gave me computer when I quit. Owed me $”

BS!

P — e-mail from ∆ to ∆’s former co-worker – Screw them I kept comp.

Ouch.

P wins. No shit.

Seriously fat babe waddles into room – works in connecting office – grabs two jelly donuts – back to office – BAD IDEA.

Case: P suing roofer(?) – damage to aluminum door jamb on garage.

“Judge” has hammer! Whacks piece of aluminum – dent — shows ∆ how easy it was.

Verdict: P rules of evidence?? WTF??

Hot in here – stuffy as hell. People assholes. Cell phones!

New TV Program

F**k! Another “judge” – Divorce Court. Shit.

Wife is P He knew I wanted him out ………….

At this point, I must have been summoned to the Service Desk to pay my bill and begin the day.

My cruller: Not a pretty picture.

*** In legal shorthand, the symbol for “plaintiff” is the Greek letter Pi. Damned if I could a Pi symbol in Word. Hence the “P.” The symbol for “defendant” is the Greek letter Delta, which, as you can see, I managed to find. While we’re at it, the symbol for “contract” is the letter “K.” None of the cases mentioned involved a contract, but I thought you might like to know that little tidbit. No charge.

Ten.

It isn’t a big number. We typically buy more than ten eggs at one time. Ten isn’t enough people to field a football team or to fill up one quarter of the seats on a bus.

But, sometimes, ten is a very big number.

Ten is the number of people from my town who went off to work six years ago today, only to be slaughtered by Islamic barbarians.

I will never forgive the savages for what they did on that day, and I will damned sure never forget.

“There was a lot of crotch-grabbing, lip-licking and tongue-flicking.”

No, I’m not describing Date Night at a College Fraternity. All this was going on during the Air Guitar World Championship, which were held in, of all places, Oulu Finland last week.

Yes, as reported by Sarah Lyall of the New York Times**, there is such a thing as the Air Guitar World Championship. And, this year they were attended by 19 men and one woman from 17 countries, each the Champion in his or her country.

Perhaps one of the highlights of the competition came when the French national champion, Guillaume de Tonquḗdec, at the end of a killer air riff, dove into the audience only to have the members of the audience (who obviously were not quite as hip as Guillaume had thought) step back and let him and to a chest and face plant on the floor.

In the unlikely event that there is someone out there who doesn’t know what “air guitar” playing is, think back to the days when you were listening to ass-kicking guitar music (often fueled by booze or whatever) and you saw some dweeb who couldn’t even play the radio standing in the corner pretending to play the killer guitar lick that everyone was listening to. If he was good – real good, he might well have made it to Finland this year.

The Swiss contestant described “air guitar” best when he said, “To me, it’s like a guitar, only it’s made of air, so you can’t see it. Pretty much.”
According to a past champion Cedric Devitt, produced a film called Air Guitar Nation, air guitar playing does not require that the player mimic the actual guitar playing [Duh, which would mean he maybe could actually “play” a real guitar], but that the “imitation is so good it transcends the art form.”

Huh?

I know you’re dying to know if the U.S. of A. sent a contestant to the competition. USA! USA! USA!

Well, we did, and his name is Andrew Litz. He actually holds a real job, but he stated that he hoped to win the championship, which would allow him to quit his job and become a professional air guitarist.

The end of the competition was marked by a truly memorable moment, when the best air guitar players in the world all came on stage and all rocked it out with Neil Young’s “Rockin’ in the Free World.”

Awesome.

I know you’re just dying to know who won this year’s championship, but if I told you, you might not read the whole thing, which I suggest you do.

I’ve never been able to master the air guitar, but I have been practicing my air cranial surgery.

** The New York Times can publish some good stuff when it’s not pretending to report the news.

BONUS: Here is a video of last year’s champion in action.