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Barbara Walters, Baby Pimp

Backstory: “Win This Baby.” [via Michele]

Inadvertant Political Endorsements

Overheard in the parking lot of Denny’s, Alameda and Kalamath Ave, 9:27 am. Burly guy number one: “I’m gonna have the Lumberjack Slam™ breakfast, and I’m thinking maybe an extra side of sausage. What do you want? Burly guy number two: “What do I want? Well, I want some Bush, but they don’t serve that on a plate here, do they?” Burly guy number one: “Not for $4.99 they don’t.”

Where the water tastes like whine

It’s as if Haight Ashbury dosed by licking acid off Ed Asner’s back, then coughed up a giant, multicolored hairball that somehow came to life and found a box of magic markers and some cardboard. Yes it is. It’s just like that.

Boom or Bust?

Have the Bushies really failed on the jobs front? Well, that depends on whom you ask. Robert Reich, for instance, would say absolutely — then he’d plop himself down on a stack of phonebooks and invoke the name of Herbert Hoover eleven times in the course of a five minute powerlecture — none of which you’d hear, because you’d be fixating on the omelet bits in that little tiny beardlet

Brown Shirting

Claudia Winker, writing in The Weekly Standard, takes on Rep. Bernie Sanders (VT) and the ACLU, whose opposition to the PATRIOT Act, Winker argues, “propagates a caricature of the law as ‘setting the FBI loose on the American public.’” To say the Patriot Act authorizes the FBI to spy on people because of their taste in reading is like saying that equipping beat cops with night sticks authorizes the police

Livin’ After Midnight…

I ate that stuff once. Not surprisingly, it tasted just like chicken. Albeit hallucinatory chicken seasoned with opium.

Talking back to 80s music, 5

Yeah? Well I know Diane. Personally. And let’s just say chili dogs ain’t all she likes suckin’ on outside the Tastee Freeze, okay?

Alternative Programming

No “American Idol” blogging. Not here. Instead, you get this story of a Pennsylvania Big Foot expedition. Favorite paragraph: Eric Altman, of Jeannette, hasn’t had a sighting of the elusive creature, but he’s heard unidentifiable sounds and tracked miles of large inhuman footprints in the woods of central and western Pennsylvania. I think I can help you with those “unidentifiable sounds,” Eric. That’s the rest of the country chortling at

Odds, Ends

Two things: 1) Me neither! And 2) I realize it’s been almost two years, but I’m beginning to think this was a linguistic hoax of epic proportions. [update: Check back all you want, but nothing’s going to change. Unless of course closing arguments unexpectedly devolve into a dunking contest, in which case, cool.]

The monkey is dancing!  The monkey is dancing!

Oh please. He’s doing no such thing.