protein wisdom’s Republican National Convention coverage, 15
11:22 AM: For the second time in as many mornings I wake up on the floor of Ann Coulter’s hotel room, the phrase “Jooos for Bush” scrawled across my forehead in Clinique Berry Berry Long Last lipstick. Ann has already taken off for some Phyllis Schlafly presentation, but she leaves me the crumbled dregs of her Continental breakfast, which I pass up for a bite-size Milky Way bar and a pot of black coffee.
On the way over to the Garden—still a little drunk—I run into TalkLeft’s Jeralyn Merritt, who’s been covering the convention as part of “The Tank,” a collective of left-leaning blogs.
“Wow, you look like shit,” she says. “And what’s that on your head?—is that blood?”
“Yes. Blood,” I tell her. “One more Purple Heart and my handlers tell me I can go home.”
“That’s not funny at all,” she says, and stalks off—a length of toilet paper trailing from the heel of one of her flats.
When I finally make it to the Garden, some chick I’ve never seen before grabs my arm and tells me I just missed the President.” “That’s too bad,” I say, trying to rub the rest of the lipstick off my head. Then, “Say—you wouldn’t happen to have any Bloody Mary mix, would you?”
She looks confused. “No. Of course not. Why would I?”
“I dunno, why do men climb mountains –”
“– I mean, I’m here to support my party and my President, not to get boorishly drunk.”
“Fine, forget it, Christ.” I say. “Didn’t mean to get your virtue glands all bothered, honey.”
So now I’m off to find a bar, because the thought of hanging out with Rick Santorum and talking about sodomy again is just too depressing. Besides: the Lycopene in tomatoes works wonders for your prostate. So I’ve got that going for me.
6:30 prostate update: groovy.