No ground pound this morning, as I have a sore left instep (too much ground pounding?). Ergo, my blog thinking time was zip. As a result, you’ll get the direct connection between my cruller and my fingers as I sit here:

1. Right about now, I think the best gig in the world is to be a democrat party super delegate. I figure that if I were a super delegate, I could open the bidding between Barack and Hillary and end up with that house on the ocean I always wanted.

2. A word to the Chief Munuvian: I am really, really losing my patience. It’s happened a zillion times where, once having crafted a perfectly wonderful, literate, witty comment, I see it disappear to be replaced by an unreadable error message, or a message stating that comments are closed due to spammer activity.

3. I miss Acidman. The ‘sphere just ain’t the same without him.

4. I heard today on the radio that there is a pizza place in NY (Brooklyn, I think – feh!) that is charging four bucks for a slice. Four bucks? GMAFB!

5. I got lost yesterday on my way to a wake, despite using Google Maps and Mr. Tom Tom. I need a meeting. “My name is Jimbo, and I have the sense of direction of a piece of soft coal.”

6. I should not be surprised that virtually all national politicians are scum. After all, they are the same lemons who start out locally and work their way up through state politics.

7. Sharon Stone, the well-known expert on foreign policy, is a big hit in the Arab Press. Useful idiot.

8. Have you ever seen an episode of Project Runway? It is a freak show without the physical deformities. I must admit that I laughed out loud at the episode I saw. The best part is when a male designer-contestant cries when he loses. Second best is when the grey-haired Ueberflit sashays into the sewing room to tell the designers they only have five minutes left, and the designers freak out. Looked at another way, the show leaves no doubt that we are doomed.

That is all.

I had to interrupt my ground pound a week or so ago to take this picture with Mr. Cell Phone.

I wonder if it is a common affliction suffered by people, which would cause them to mistake the exposed innards of a lamp post for a trash can after finishing a soft drink.

I do know that these knuckleheads are sucking up perfectly good oxygen, which is a farookin’ shame.

If you listen to the mainstream media and the politicians, you would likely conclude that the middle class is being “squeezed,” and that it’s struggling to scratch out a meager existence, miserable and being exploited by evil money-grubbing corporations.

The video points out that it just ain’t so.

Via The Idiom.

Yes, it was just another day in the GAH-den State, which means that yet another state politician has been indicted by federal authorities.

The crooked pol of the day is Joseph Coniglio, a former Democrat state senator and plumber, who was charged with extortion and mail fraud in connection with his arranging for $10 million in special state grants for Hackensack University Medical Center in exchange for a consulting contract paying him $5,500 per month. Supposedly Mr. Coniglio served as a “hospital relations” consultant, although the indictment described his services as “merely a name on a bank account,”

We’re just skimming the surface here. The rot in this state is miles deep.

He’s 65 and facing significant jail time. I wish I could feel sorry for him, but I don’t.

“Fuck it Dude, let’s go bowling.”**

Alternative Caption:

Ivan, you’re lawn ornaments have arrived.

h/t Suzette for the landscaping tip.

Image swiped from Curmudgeonly & Skeptical

RINNNNNNNNG

Jimbo: Hello?

GW: Hello. Is this Jimbo from PRS?

Jimbo: Yes it is.

GW: Sorry for bothering you, but someone gave me your name as a person I could call to ask some pretty basic questions. The person said that you would give me the straight story.

Jimbo: Who is this?

GW: Sorry again. I forgot that you would not recognize my voice, but I’m quite sure you’ll recognize my name.

Jimbo: OK, who are you? It’s kind of late.

GW: This is George Washington speaking.

Jimbo: Who the hell is this? Eric? Denny? Who?

GW: I told you. I am George Washington. I know you’ve read about me. I was the first president.

Jimbo: Yo, you’ve wasted enough of my time. See ya.

GW: Wait! I can prove it!

Jimbo: Yeah? This oughta be good.

GW: Do you have one of those base station phones?

Jimbo: Yes.

GW: Good. Go unplug the base station, then remove any batteries from the base station and your handset, then place it all in another room.

Jimbo: This is ridiculous. If I do that, I won’t be able to hear you.

GW: Just do it, please.

Jimbo: (Unplugs phone, removes batteries, places unit in t different room)

GW: Can you still hear me?

Jimbo: Holy crap! Have you activated the speaker phone somehow?

GW: Nope. Only you can hear me.

Jimbo: Whoa! I think I need to sit down. (Sits and takes a couple deep breaths). So what is it you want?

GW: Truth is, I have been doing a lot of resting. Time moves much differently here. Anyway, I have just begun to catch up on things, and invariably I run across things about which I have some questions, which are best asked of someone who is alive today.

Jimbo: I don’t know how you came upon me, but I’ll try to help.

GW: OK, let’s right to it.

Jimbo: OK, Mr. President, how can I help you?

GW: Is it true that there is a colored man and a woman running for the presidency?

Jimbo: Well, we don’t say “colored man” any more, Mr. President.

GW: Oh, that’s right. So, a negro man is running for president?

Jimbo: We don’t say “negro” any more either, Mr. President.

GW: Hmmmm. So, a black man is running for president?

Jimbo: “Black” is better, but that too is not the preferred term nowadays, Mr. President.

GW: Good heavens, man! What is the preferred term then?

Jimbo: We either say, “a person of color” or an “African-American,” Mr. President.

GW: I’m I bit confused here, Jimbo. What is the difference between a “colored person” and a “person of color?”

Jimbo: It’s a good question, sir, for which I’m afraid that I don’t have much of an answer.

GW: Now, this African-American man running for President – is he from Africa?

Jimbo: No, Sir. He was born in the United State. Remember that part of the Constitution that requires ….

GW: Of course! I should have remembered. But surely, a slave can’t run for the presidency?

Jimbo: He’s not a slave, Mr. President. We haven’t had slavery here for about 140 years. You probably heard of the Civil War. That was the war that ended slavery.

GW: I do recall hearing about that. I seem to recall it was a North – South thing. What side was Virginia on, Jimbo.

Jimbo: Virginia sided with the South, Mr. President.

GW: Who won?

Jimbo: The North won, Mr. President.

GW: Oh, my. And, now we have a colored …. I mean, African-American man running for the presidency. That’s quite something, isn’t it?

Jimbo: Yes, Mr. President.

GW: I’ll have to percolate on that a while, Jimbo. Obviously, I have a good deal to catch up on. Now, about the woman running for the presidency, as far as I remember, women couldn’t vote, so how could a woman be running for president?

Jimbo: Women have had the right to vote for a long time now, Mr. President.

GW: And, the Constitution allows this? I cannot remember the exact wording.

Jimbo: Yes, Mr. President. The Constitution does not speak in terms of sex in the portion dealing with the qualifications to be president.

GW: Who knew?

Jimbo: Excuse me, Mr. President?

GW: Sorry, just thinking out loud. Now, I have heard that the woman running for president is actually the wife of a former president. Is that really the case?

Jimbo: Yes, sir, it is.

GW: And who is the former president in question?

Jimbo: It is William Jefferson Clinton, sir. He was usually referred to as “Bill” Clinton.

GW: Strange you call a president “Bill.” I can’t imagine John Adams being called “Jack” Adams or Thomas Jefferson being called “Tommy” Jefferson.

Jimbo: Well, we have had a president who was called “Jack,” and we also had one called “Jimmy.”

GW: Things sure have changed. I am not familiar with this “Bill” Clinton. Would you give me a moment so I can bring him up on my screen and learn about him? It won’t take long. We’ve got some pretty fancy stuff here.

Jimbo: No problem, Mr. President.

GW:

Jimbo:

GW:

Jimbo:

GW: Oh my God! Please give me another minute or two to read up on his wife.

Jimbo: Yes, Mr. President.

GW:

Jimbo:

GW:

Jimbo:

GW: Jesus Christ! People are actually considering making this woman the president?

Jimbo: Yes, Mr. President.

GW: And they know that he will be with her?

Jimbo: Yes, Mr. President.

GW: I think I need to lie down. I’m feeling a bit sick.

Jimbo: Will that be all, Mr. President?

GW: It is now obvious to me that there is much I have to read up on. Would you mind if I were to get in touch with you from time to time when I have questions?

Jimbo: Absolutely, Mr. President. Any time.

GW: Oh! One more thing before I sign off….

Jimbo: Yes?

GW: It’s about this African-American thing. If a white fellow were born in Africa and came to live in the colonies … I mean the United States, would you call him an African-American?

Jimbo: No, sir. I believe he would be called a white guy.

GW: One thing is for sure, Jimbo.

Jimbo: What’s that, Mr. President?

GW: You folks sure screwed up the language. I don’t know how you manage to talk to one another.

Jimbo: Sometimes it isn’t easy, Mr. President. You will call again, won’t you?

GW: I said I would, and I cannot tell a lie.

Jimbo: Ha!

GW: I thought that might get a rise out of you. Later, Jimbo.

Dear New Jersey Drivers,

What the hell has happened to you? Have you forgotten how to drive in snow?

OK, so we had a bit of snow during the rush hour. Christ, you’d think it was the goddamned blizzard of the century or some shit the way you dipshits seemed to take every opportunity to slam into one another or slam into stationary objects.

You act like you learned to drive in Florida, fer Chrissakes.

Get your shit together, peeps! This is New Jersey, not Key Farookin’ West!

That is all.

Sincerely,
Jimbo

Whoa! The ever-so-precious liberal weenie, Frank Rich, has given Hillary, her husband and her campaign a merciless thrashing. I doubt he’ll be invited to sup and schmooze with the Clintonistas any time soon. And, if Hillary ends up winning in November, I figure I’ll get an invitation to one of the inaugural balls before ol’ Frank will.

In fact, I’m thinking that Frank ought to read up on Arkancide.

We are heading off in a while to witness and then celebrate the wedding of the son of Ken, my friend and bodyguard, and the Deckmistress. The Usual Suspects will be there in force, so it promises to be a memorable shindig. Among the attendees will be Doctor Doctor, the Team Physician (with Mrs. Doctor Doctor) and the Stardust Shrink, the latter spending the night at the House by the Parkway.

The Usual Suspects, the Team Doctor and the Stardust Shrink all in one place at the same time – I’d say we’re ready to rock.

UPDATE: The Wedding and the reception were excellent. There was plenty of merriment and adult beverage consumption. I can happily report that no one was injured in the process.

The following morning (Sunday), we attended a breakfast hosted by two of the Usual Suspects in honor of the bride and groom. They provided their guests with an array of delicious breakfast items that would rival that offered by a Las Vegas casino. Mimosas and Bloody Marys were also available for the treatment of those who may have needed a bit of the hair of the dog.

Did someone say vodka-containing adult beverages?

Yes, there were plenty of vodka-based cocktails, which meant that in the Usual Suspects’ tradition, the “breakfast” lasted approximately twelve hours. We returned home from the “breakfast” several hours after dark.

Damn, I love these peeps.

Check out the list of stellar citizens (complete with colorful nicknames) who had their “businesses” interrupted yesterday. Don’t miss the link to Poip Walk.

Via Mister Snitch