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Recent Comments
- In The Mailbox: 02.28.23 (Afternoon Edition) : The Other McCain on Hey, longtime pw readers…
- In The Mailbox: 12.23.22 : The Other McCain on Patrick J. Carroll truly IS a sad, embittered psychopath
- Danger on Patrick J. Carroll might be a psychopath
- Danger on Patrick J. Carroll might be a psychopath
- In The Mailbox: 07.18.22 : The Other McCain on Patrick J. Carroll might be a psychopath
History will record that journalism died, not with a bang but with a giggle.
Giggles and tingles, wow, Debbie Reynolds? Doris Day? I had to look up the lyrics to Tammy’s in Love. No dice! The words sound familiar, but I can’t quite think of what song I’m misremembering.
Olbermann has to have rubbed himself raw last night.
What is it with Democrats and encephalitis?
Ralph Wiggum as Chris Matthews.
It wouldn’t be funny if it wasn’t so right.
But can he cackle?
– Of course. Mathews is borderline manic all the time anyway, and in this case he dreams that he is finally seeing a way out of the moronic little corner the Progressives have painted themselves into, if only his savior, O!, can slink under the door of the White House. I can imagine just how desperately they want to shed the surrender monkey collar, and if O! wins he will do exactly what the Reps were intending to do anyway, so they’ll be off the hook. Of course it things stretch out in Iwaq, he won’t even be able to do that, but the Left has an obiediant press that will be happy to spin reality anyway they need to for the Dems.
Obamatons are giggly.
If I hear Chris Matthews tell his audience that “I bent my Wookie” I will watch MSNBC as my only channel for a year.
I never really thought of Thor as the giggly god.
Has a “journalist” ever been quite so gay for a candidate?
(NTTAWWT.)
But only the Dem that makes them feel all tingly, like a middle school girl, BBH.
Can you hear Matthews singing, “And Then He Kissed Me”? I can.
Each time I saw him I couldn’t wait to see him again.
I wanted to let him know that he was more than a friend.
I didn’t know just what to do
So I whispered I love you
And he said that he loved me too
And then he kissed me.
I Love How You Love Me
I Want You to Want Me
To demanding, Dan. Chrissy is doing the puppy-eyes, and that is early-sixties girl groups.
A thousand stars in the sky like the stars in your eyes
They say to me that therell never be
No other love like you-oo for me-e-e
A thousand stars in the sky make me realize
You are the one love that Ill adore
Tell me you love me
Tell me youre mine once more (once more, once mo-o-ore)
And the disturbing thing is there was a picture of Sen. Obama over the site I cut-and-pasted those lyrics from. Honest.
Dan, saw Cheap Trick at the Del Mar Fair. Great concert!
They are great, Roboc.
A Lover’s Concerto
It’s as if I stole your squirt gun, your Obama-doom blaster, and used it to splash your beady eyes with warm, salty urine. Imagining you bent over, seething and bawling makes me roar. Weeping losers always give me the giggles.
Never let it be said that I failed to mark you as the butt-end of the Wonder bread loaf at this historical point in political history.
Eight hours for that? Sad.
If only your 16-year change-candidate election cycle was better understood then Barack Obama’s empty-changey balloon would surely pop.
Hillary and KK agree, “people just don’t understand.” Hot tears from day one.
The first unwritten rule of being a Confidence Man, Karl, is to never admit that you’re wrong. It’s a very strict rule, one that can make for interesting debates with, oh, say, the front counter guy at a video store in the Philippines who insists DVD’s are a joke that will never replace his superior VCR tapes.
Abide by rule one, Karl, and never stop bullshitting yourself that your opinions are unbearably important. It’s the only way, I’m afraid, that you’ll be able to sport a brave face of sanity midst the hellishness of reality.
O!
You have your own stalker, Karl.
Lucky you.
Ah, Karl’s fellow weeper, Mikey, thrashing madly while scratching at the chalkboard with his fingernails.
Morning.
I hope Hillary is O’s running mate. They deserve each other. Then they can upstage one another for 5 months.
If they put Hillary on the ticket, Obama’s should add Foster as a second middle name.
thor needs to loosen his grip on the Hope Shaft.™
thor has to have Baracky love spunk cummming out his ears by now.
Nah man, I have a Baracky spunky monkey spunk scrubber in my shower that helps me stay spunk-free.