Anyway, the mass started ordinarily enough, with hearty prayers to the God who brought us evolution, racism, and Kentucky Fried Chicken (not in any particular order).  Before long I lost track of the monseigneur’s face and began scanning the pews for potential females.  Much to my surprise, at my three o’clock I found a jewel that would have made Francis Drake’s jaw drop.  This blond bombshell had a flawless face with chiseled features, radiantly warm green eyes, and a truly gushing smile, not to mention perfectly bronzed with a body to boot.  Not as if she needed any physical augmentation, her strapless dress further accentuated her genetic gifts.  Unfortunately for you readers, this is where the softcore porn ends.

After the marathon mass ended (I didn’t know it was the first Sunday in November) after an hour and a half, we migrated ten minutes west to the famed Sleepy Hollow Country Club.  This truly idyllic setting is quite honestly the perfect place to host a wedding reception.  I felt like I was actually living through Wedding Crashers as a far more inferior version of Owen Wilson.  When the dance floor opened, I instinctively went right for the flower girl as she was surely the key to this blond beauties heart.  As a matter of fact, it worked to a t, and we soon began talking and dancing.  After a few drinks and a few self-admittedly raunchy jokes on my end, we went downstairs for a break in the action.  That is where the ultimate revelation came out.  When asked where I went to school, I told her I had just graduated from Penn two weeks ago.  I promptly returned the question and she replied, “I go to school in Maryland.”  My reply was, “oh in college park.”  This is where things fell apart to quote Chinue Achebe if I may, and I may.

Her answer, “actually I’m in high school” most definitely caught me off guard.  The subsequent line of questioning was even more disturbing as I found out she was still a sophomore in high school.  At 16 and still very much a forbidden fruit, I did what was expected of me by New York State Law, I quickly and quietly made my way back upstairs to the party, never to speak of the event as long as I live.

Oops must have broken that self promise.

Normally, I find NBA basketball games to be extremely tedious to watch.  The one-on-one iso match ups that showcase individualism over teamwork usually doesn’t cut it for me.  However, last nights contest between the Mavs and Warriors was one of the greatest games I’ve seen in recent NBA history.  It had all the elements of a classic: timely shooting, huge comebacks, high energy levels.  Bottom line, it was everything a playoff game should be.  Both teams played fearless basketball and the final score manifested this easily recognizable intensity.  Being a devout Baron Davis fan (for fantasy reasons and UCLA reasons), I was pretty demoralized watching them blow it down the stretch, but hey, that’s playoff basketball.  Yes, it would have been nice to see Golden State attack the basket in the last 3 minutes instead of settling for horrible shots, seeing that penetrating was what cut the deficit from 20 in the first place.  Either way, it was tremendously entertaining and I can only hope that more NBA playoff games can live up to this gold standard.

Yesterday, as my impromptu trip to the driving range took me through the heart of West Philly, I realized how little I really knew about Penn’s adjoining neighborhood.  So many Penn students live in a perfect bliss regarding this hamlet best known for producing felons by 14 and fresh princes by 22.  Far too many sophisticated Penn-ites ignore the plight that faces West Philly residents.  We claim to be a liberal institution that is a bastion for progressive ideas and innovative solutions.  Penn students have clubs and organizations for everything under the sun (that’s right, I’m calling out club mini-golf), yet when it comes to an organization dealing with economic development in our own backyard, none such entity exists in the capacity that it should.  I contend that this stems from a self-chosen blindness and a sense of helplessness regarding future prospects for change in West Philly.  People do genuinely care, however this can only parlay into action if Penn students initiate an organization or forum that deals with change in our western neighborhood.  Economic, social, and educational problems should all be addressed in this venue.  Make it a requirement for students in urban studies or public policy classes to formulate bold new plans for the neighborhood.  Force the envelope because we know for damn sure John the Jackass in City Hall (or the next mayor for that matter) won’t do a thing to permanently improve West Philly (sorry welfare checks, food stamps,  and more cops don’t count).  Let’s get this ball moving.  For a community literally in our backyard, it is the least we can do.

Adieu, until our next encounter at 22:00 mountain time tonight.  Greggers from blogatraz……out.

            I have always pondered the question of which politician’s qualifications are the most utterly ridiculous for the position.  Jesse Ventura had the human growth hormone injection club (sometimes referred to by white trash as the WWE because the tree-huggers told that ogerley McMahon to f-off) as his springboard to political stardom.  Arnold peddled his extensive product of I Can’t Believe There Real Movies in a state where there are more aliens than in a Big Willy Style movie.  Currently, Charles Barkley aspires to be the governor of Alabama, putting him one giant step ahead of his opposing candidate, for Charles actually graduated college.  However, it is Howard Dean who takes the Carvel cake in terms of having the most ridiculous qualifications for a high ranking position in politics.  A walking lawsuit by his original profession (Conservatives who believe in fallibility give the name physician to this occupation), Dean served in the Vermont House of Representatives (such crucial decisions such as marijuana pricing are surely done while the House is in session) and as the state’s Lieutenant Governor.  In 1991, while tending to a patient, Dean learned that the governor had died.  Like any ordinary humanoid, he knew what had to be done: become governor, balance the budget while at the same time bolstering the state’s chief export, Mary Jane (sorry, only Dave Chapelle can refer to it as such, it’s marijuana to the masses), and finally enact a law that will lure the entire Upper West Side from their cramped condos to the tolerant countryside for a same-sex marriage out of Rosie O’Donnell’s fantasy.  Currently, Howard is a fifth of a score removed from his governorship in Vermont.  Mind you, the Chancellor of Schools in New York City presides over more people than did the self-proclaimed party animal (the legend of GW Tex Mex Edition surely gave Howard ideas on this front while in Shit Haven), and the Chancellor doesn’t even receive praise when he boosts the sixth grade literacy rate to 25 %.  Howard on the other hand, received praise for balancing a budget that is in all likelihood only marginally more difficult to balance than that of a hobo’s.

            Nonetheless, we are clearly living in an HD demand world (IBM was a bit slow on the patent), because the Democrats have recently picked up on Dean’s leadership abilities (the jury is still out regarding what these abilities actually entail) and made him the chairman of Eayore Inc (Dominick the Donkey is surely the CFO).  The Democrats seem to be stooping lower than hell on this John Williams score, although I forgot, they did nominate a man (deformed as he may seem, he still is of this world, I think ….) for president who is more esoteric than Finnegan’s Wake.  By selecting a man who is closer to having a brain embolism than Louis Black, the Democratic Party has ensured itself of being a sitcom mainstay in American culture for years to come.  I’m sure their public image will be rosier than the summer garden at Versailles.  Oh, and good luck Democrats in your mid-year elections, I’m sure Howard won’t blow it, for recent empirical evidence from his alma mater (sometimes referred to as Illiterate Presidents University) suggests that Mt. Dean tends to erupt approximately once every leap year.  It appears the donkeys are safe in their thatched huts for now, but eventually nothing stops the cyclone that is the worst Vermont Teddy Bear.                           

As enlightened Americans will tell you (unfortunately this number is lower than Hillary Clinton’s estrogen levels), CBS has had Rather partisan propensities (partial pun intended) since R squared held the throne.  Far too many Americans have been blinded from the truth.  For years, CBS has mastered the painstakingly difficult art of producing Brainwashing Gone Wild (hitting stores just in time for Christmas), a type of documentary that distracts Americans from the fundamental issue at hand.  The alleged title of the network, Columbia Broadcasting System, is about as believable as John Kerry playing quarterback in the NFL.  However, the name does contain a microscopic iota of truth because as we all know, Columbia University has been the liberal bastion for the East coast since the extinction of Blitzkrieg.  So at least in this regard, CBS is admitting its misgivings about reporting the objective reality.  Ironically, the infancy of CBS coincides with the rise to power of the Comminterns in Stalin Land.  

For over a score, Dan Rather has been the poster child for this “news” network.  Those who tune in to the electronic babysitter (only idiots call it TV) will most certainly find him to be nothing more than an attention attracting charlatan who boasts a haircut fit for the first day of training at Quantico.  As evidenced by the recent Rather scandal (or Rather recent if your George W. Bush), CBS has far more difficulty handling the truth than Tom Cruise ever did.  On Election Day, the network consistently inflated Kerry’s electoral votes and deflated Bush’s.  The burning question I must pose is as follows: How many STD’s do the Upper East Side limousine liberals really have, because they seem to be tucked in quite well under CBS’s quilted covers.  Perhaps the most famous liberal sage at the network is Mike Wallace, host of the mistakenly acclaimed show, 60 Minutes (Soviets, to those who have been cured of the blindness).  Recently, Mike Wallace put forth an impressive display of Turret’s, as he skillfully degraded a lowly busboy for possessing the terrible ailment usually referred to as White Man’s Disease (he was too slow in running outside and giving Wallace his sandwich; Mike, aren’t you a bit old to be capping off your evenings with quick eats and a beer? Anyway, Strum Thurman has earned his spot in the Irish beer book of world records in that regard).  You know there’s a problem when the faces of Rather and Wallace light up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree whenever there is bad news from Iraq.  I was unaware that it was proper to gloat over government failure because someone simply wants to prove that they were right (shouldn’t someone be bowling for a brain instead of Columbine right about now?) 

Ironically, the people who watch the most news on CBS hail from the Red States.  The good folk from Strumsville (South) and the Cultural Mushroom Cloud (Midwest) both possess generally conservative values and don’t expect to be ambushed like General Custer when they turn on the ficelmatter box.  Maybe CBS is simply trying to expand a democratic base in these areas by ramming liberal commentary down their already sore throats.  This behavior especially should not be prevalent in the media, where the entire objective is to report news clearly, concisely, and objectively for all the public.  (Why is it that Tele Mundo is the only network that rises above this travesty? Now, do Americans still support the eradication of a bilingual education?) 

Maybe all hope is not lost, as many Americans do realize the distinguished decadence of CBS, for after all CBS nightly news gets worse ratings than Sunday afternoon bowling on ESPN.                      

            Richard Bruce Cheney (Tricky Dick Jr. from this point forward) became one with the other primates eight years into the Fuhrer’s Thousand Year Empire (what a crock that was, even Alexander wasn’t that cocky).  Dick was born a cornhusker, meaning his family had a propensity to side with the elephant.  Actually, and this blows my mind like a five ton hydrogen bomb, the mom and pop were devoted donkey riders (i.e. they were persuaded that all they had to fear was fear itself).  Go figure, in a state that has bled figurative red since not so honest Abraham inhabited the bedroom named so inappropriately in his honor (the state bled literal red before that; but those outlaw territory days don’t really count).  Dick’s padre worked for the Department of Agriculture as a soil conservation agent, whatever that is.  The real question is: how did a card carrying EPA mole fail to infiltrate his son’s political mind?  The answer of course is that Dick Cheney truly is Darth Vader (and yes James Earl Jones can be heard doing all of DC’s famous grunts).  His family relocated to Micro State (with a population less than many counties, Wyoming is officially Bumble Fuck headquarters) when Dick was just a young lad because apparently the soil was beyond saving in the football mecca, incest dabbling location of Nebraska, so the pops had to conserve the mineral laden soil of the Grand Tetons. 

            Dicky boy excelled in athletics from a young age, although you never would have guessed it forty years later, as he proudly sported a gut larger than the diameter of the new tenth planet (shh, that’s still taboo in those naïve science circles).  Following juvenile playtime (high school), Cheney lived up to his facial features and became a Bulldog, an Ancient Eight one at that.  While there, Tricky Dick received grades that even John Kerry could be proud of.  Richard promptly fled Shit (New) Haven in hopes of becoming employee of the month with the power lines company.  While JFK was proving inept at feeding the pigs down at that Cuban bay, Dick was proving quite adept at breaking the law, so much in fact that he received two DWI’s in Wyoming.  Well, I guess that’s why he was the perfect Machiavellian (two hand man, not just right hand) for Jorge and Co.  Cheney was quoted as later saying that he was “heading down a bad road” (actually it would have been a better road than taking the one less traveled by that led him to the District) after he made his collegiate experience into the Pale Yale Party.  Whether it was one too many Benjie Franklin specials (electric shocks that is), or whether it was just sheer curiosity (most definitely the former), Dicky boy refocused on his academics and enrolled at the Harvard of the High Hills, Casper Community College.  He later became a master of political science (with an emphasis in mining no doubt) at the University of Wyoming in the same year LBJ (without the L, you just have Clinton……oops, that one even went over my head) unleashed his plans for a not so Great Society. 

            Cheney’s public service (the only service he has since provided is one of informing Americans that Arabs equal Satan) began under Tricky Dick Sr. the year before that Hippie Lovefest in upstate New York.  He successfully served as someone’s slave at the U.S. Office of Economic Opportunity, Cost of Living Council (a neo-con with an insatiable appetite for COLA’s; go figure, I know I certainly didn’t).  He was also special assistant (aka ass kisser extraordinaire) to Donald Rumy Rumsfeld.  I’ll bet the vast majority of Americans weren’t aware that this most dark of partnerships was molded thirty six years ago.  Hell, that’s longer than the amount of time it takes for someone to get a Ph.D in women’s studies, and that’s quite impressive.  Cheney then held the dubious honor of being Chief of Staff (the youngest, but by far not the most starry-eyed idealist) for the worst president in United States history (and yes, he shares a last name with Henry from Hub Cap Central).  Richard the Political Rocket made the mistake of becoming campaign manager for good ole’ Gerald, only to witness first hand a massacre that was on par with Antitem. 

            Cheney finally had a breakthrough when he was elected to represent his grossly overpopulated (with bears I might add) state of Wyoming in Congress (well, I wouldn’t exactly call this a breakthrough.  Actually it was like in statistics: a nice, neat regression line).  Cheney was mistakenly reelected to this position five times, most likely because his opponents ranged from Joe the Black Bear to Rocky Raccoon (minus John, Paul, George, and Ringo).  He was Chairman of the Elephant’s Policy Committee throughout the era of King Ronald (no roman numerals afterwards because his son proved dumber than a sedimentary rock, maybe even metamorphic) essentially meaning he developed new elaborate schemes to tax the poor through the formulation of Voodoo Economics (even the sorcerers were scared of this I do believe).  The sterling work on the committee allowed for his further ascension within the ranks of GOP (I can name many things grander, so I’m way ahead of you) as he was elected House Minority Whip. 

            While serving in the House (that James and Alexander built), Dick proudly voted against making Martin Luther King Jr’s birthday a national holiday, proudly citing….. well, nothing.  Even the fact that Mr. C probably saw more black squirrels than he did black humans in his ungodly small state, doesn’t justify his decision (oh wait, he’s a neo-con, so yes it most certainly does).  He also voted against creating the Department of Education, claiming that it would drain the federal budget more than super-sized Draino.  Did he ever think to curb his sci-fi habit (Star Wars: Military Edition) to alleviate some stress from Ronald’s bloated budget.  The answer is most definitely not because why invest in the future with the education of children, when you can invest in the present with guns, and other toys for boys.  Dicky C vehemently opposed economic sanctions against Mandela Land on the grounds that they would hurt the nation and not actually work.  Holla Richard, isn’t the point to inflict punishment on the country whose racial policies were more antiquated than the behavior of Don Quixote.  Cheney gave the releasing Mandela proposal the Ebert and Roepert treatment (two thumbs down actually), citing what else, but that his political party was viewed as a terrorist organization by Uncle Sam.  Dick also purported that High Fidelity down in Cigar Land did not merit unilateral sanctions because, dawg Gone it, Cuba has slivers of paradise at nearly every beach.  All the while, Dick was vigorously supporting his state’s (I know it’s a sick joke) coal and petroleum businesses.  The federal building in East Bumblefuck (Casper) was named the “Dick Cheney Federal Building” in his honor (hopefully, for even hoboes, that is the last building named in honor of the Wyoming Pacemaker Man). 

Cheney stepped up to the Big Leagues (obviously they were the ones with the same skill level as the Indians in that oh-so entertaining film) when he became supreme military dictator (aka Secretary of Defense) in the same year Ronnie barked commands regarding tearing down a delightful East Berlin structure.  Dick was the brainchild behind Operation Just Cause (just my ass; what we need is a Monroe Doctrine that prohibits USA Inc. from extending its influence beyond the bedlam of the Rio Grande) and Operation Desert Storm (Stormin’ Normin gets my vote for top military guru, sorry Dicky).  Following America’s vanquishing of the ill-trained army of the 90s (Sadaam’s boys might take objection to that reference, however I welcome it), Cheney was awarded an authentic George Herbert Walker Bush cowboy hat (actually it was a Presidential Medal of Freedom, but for GW Connecticut Edition it’s really the same shiznat) for “preserving America’s defenses at a time of great change around the world.”  If we can’t preserve our defenses against the modern day Mesopotamia, a nation whose most powerful weapon is a sandstorm, than America really should place a phone call to our old pals in Moscow, and they can make sure our nation is permanently six feet under (far scarier than HBO keep in mind).

Cheney made a triumphant return to the real world/private sector, also known as the place where the vast majority of us go when we graduate college (yeah, as if we were in a plastic fake world in college, God that trite phrase sucks more than Paris Hilton) one year after leaving his position as Pentagon master.  He immediately joined conservative think tanks unanonymous, aka the American Enterprise Institute.  For the second half of the Technology (gee wiz I have a crappy dot com company idea, let me go make my millions) Decade, Tricky Dick served as Chairman and CEO of Haliburton.  Of course, Richard is most qualified for this high ranking position, for he graduated from Wyoming.  With his fatigued intellect, I wouldn’t be surprised if a family of black bears finished college with a higher GPA, but that just means his qualifications go above and beyond the call of duty, much like Jorge the Crawford Rancher with his oil company (the baseball team debacle is to pathetic to even mention because I have sympathy for Ranger fans of the world….. haha yeah right).  Let me take several paces back and investigate Dick’s undistinguished background in an attempt to unearth if he is truly worthy of the position.  Let’s see, was he an engineer?  Check… not.  Does he have a MBA?  Check….. niet.  An economics degree?  Not even close.  You see the picture, and if you don’t then maybe you should start mastering the lost art form of brail. 

While William Jefferson was successfully getting his winky wacked, D & D (Dick and Donald) founded the “Project for the New American Century,” a conservative (that’s more surprising than a good J Lo movie, right?) think tank that had a burning desire to declare Uncle Samwise the sole hegemonic power on the planet.  The scintillating question is whether Neo-Cons Inc. took on stellar college drop outs like their most illustrious co-founder.  In the year the computer clocks struck 00, Richard the Political Rocket was propelled into the second highest position in the land by the American populous (wait, I think it was more the doing of the Divine Nine, but surely GW Tex Mex Edition is up for arguing that one).  Due to extenuating circumstances (i.e. the president consumed too much Absinth at Shit Haven, therefore his brain cell count is equivalent to Hilary Clinton’s estrogen levels), Tricky Dick was more of a hands-on vice president than his predecessor.  Wait, that’s impossible, don’t you have to get your hands dirty if you’re going to invent the internet (but that’s another story completely).  Cheney played an active role in cabinet meetings and policy formulation, meaning the Disunited States of America could expect a healthy dosage of spending on man’s best friend (guns silly, dogs are overrated, especially in a state where there are more peaks and valleys than in a day in the life of Dave Chappelle).  Call Dick British because not only does he devour cucumber sandwiches like it’s his day job, but politically speaking, his actions make him more analogous to a prime minister than Tony Blair himself.  DC (the man, not the crime infested district) directed the Energy task force against all comers except Captain Planet.  With assistance from the upstanding gentleman of the Enron executive board, Dick’s task force became the energy gurus of the new millennium, and by that I most certainly mean hell bent on exploiting Arab nations who are more proficient at ordering their women to put on head scarves than they are at accessing their own natural resources. 

The enigma of the year in 2K1 was without question Tricky Dick deserting the Cabinet as if he were in the French army.  Following 9/11, Cheney went a wall, as he remained in an undisclosed location and communicated with George II via secure video phones.  Dicky boy was definitely pondering the fact that he had all the responsibility and none of the power with regard to the terrorist response; his bitterness surely transcended dark chocolate.  The work load took on by Richard obviously contributed to that electric device lodged in his right atrium.  Honestly though, who was Tricky Dick collaborating with during his unannounced vacation at Uncle Sam’s time of most pressing need.  Wait, I know, it was the trees of the anti-state (Wyoming), because nothing quite says wisdom like engaging yourself in democratic discourse with the providers of paper.  Two years after the judicial version of Diana Ross’ Motown marvel group made Cheney numero deux, Dick was vaulted to the top of the American political pyramid when Jorge the Crawford Rancher underwent what most middle aged men deem the ultimate pleasure ride (now if that’s just because their wives of twenty years refuse to put out I don’t know, but I was under the impression that colonoscopies were not fun).  Before you ask, during his five hour reign as president, Dick did not initiate his patented poor underprivileged black babies for oil program (much to the chagrin of his partner in crime, the Real Donald).  But hey, at least for that five hour period, the fruited plain had a leader who was fluent in English and who could, at the drop of a rupee, read a briefing. 

More than anything else (wait… I’m still not sure about that), it was DC’s relationship with the Loch Ness Monster of the oil industry (Halliburton for short) that outraged so many Americans.  In defense of the first actual VP to serve as commander-in-chief, Americans are simply pissed because Dick has excess Franklins (Benjamin’s for my uber cool constituency) and they don’t.  So what, he gave out a $7 billion dollar no-bid contract to rebuild Iraq; things like that happen all the time in the rest of the civilized world, most particularly in France (the self-proclaimed center of the universe; don’t believe me, fine, just ask Louis XIV who actually believed the sun revolved around the nation of baguettes).  Additionally, American cities have a penchant for a lack of competition when it comes to doling out contracts; Philadelphia and the Windy City itself (named of course for the corruption run a mock, not the blustery conditions that weatherman salivate over like it’s pre-white trash Britney Spears).  Before we beat up on old Richard too much, we must first realize that his doctors mistakenly implemented a pacemaker that accidentally (or purposely) released the forces of green (the Pink Floyd song makes a more direct reference) that would eventually overrun his bloodstream.  The greed could only be manifested in stock options, and he had the good sense to transfer it to a charitable trust before he entered the District (which in all likelihood was re-routed to Halliburton just in time for Christmas I might add).

The future for Mr. Cheney is unclear, especially when he has a metal fist that regulates his heartbeat (hopefully it does a better job than our SEC when it comes to the Bill Gates inanimate love child) during all waking hours.  What I can be sure of is that Richard the Political Rocket will not strive for the Oval Office because 12 years as the leader of the nation is just too much (unless you have polio and make love to your lesbian second cousin).  That leaves a gentle retirement in the wilderness that he has grown so fond of in the past half century.  It will be there, in the most remote of corners that we will find the plane of the Wyoming Pacemaker Man pull in for a final approach.  Pilot, just mind the oil slicks on the runway.                                                                                                   

The Bo-Legged Bitch’s California Counterpart

            The idea of Nancy D’Alessandro Pelosi was ill conceived from the start.  In a city most known for crab cakes and The Wire, this Italian-American was born into a family of Baltimore politics and delicious meatballs. (ugggh yuck, the former……..I know).  The question that burns deep in my loins, one that every citizen journalist shies away from is this: did Nancy in fact look like a brown haired Hilary Clinton (Bow Legged Bitch is also acceptable) from the time of her conception?  No matter, this socialist in training (P.h.d. candidate) got her unceremonious start in politics by working for Pappa D’Alessandro, or in the old country, Pappa D.  It just happens to be that Daddy was a U.S. Congressman and the mayor of a city that makes Hiroshima circa 1945 look nice.  Like any Catholic girl, Nancy started late (intellectually, disregard Billy Joel’s more sexual innuendo) at Norte Dame High School.  After surely reducing her dignity to nothing in Catholic school, Pelosi attended the academic powerhouse Trinity College (wow, she did pretty, pretty……pretty good considering her amazing political connections, right?).  If not for this epic collegiate experience, Pelosi surely would not have met Pablo (Paul) Pelosi.  The two wedded amidst the crowds of the Hippie Riots (actually I can’t back that up) and subsequently moved to Gay Land (I’ll put flowers in your hair in this city).  From there it was 25 years of watching Opera, Martha, and the View (well it would have been if she lived in our age of cultural enlightenment).  In other words, the P show was a desperate house wife for a quarter century (she did once bear a striking resemblance to Terri Hatcher).  If there were ever qualifications for congressional representative, those would surely be it, wouldn’t you say?  Only in America, land of the free…..home of the dumb.

            Anyhow, ole’ Nancy hit it big politically in large part due to her husband’s brother, or in common speak: brother-in-law.  This particular Pelosi just so happened to be a member of the San Francisco City Council and Nancy milked this connection as if it were the last utter on Earth.  This disturbing imagery aside, N.P. was asked to run for U.S. Congress following a slew of deaths and illnesses that begged the question:  Did the Congressional buildings have a polonium exchange with a young Vladimir Putin?  I sure hope so.  After a year of serving America’s finest (most liberal), Nancy was elected for a full term in the same year the bumbling Greek succumbed to a “Thousand Points of Light.”  As a Congress woman who had already been elected once, well you know the rest……….let’s just say it was obvious she was going to be in power longer that the Fuhrer.  In the House, P show served on both the un-intelligence and misappropriations committees.  She even became the ranking Donkey on the former for two years. 

            In the same year the Crawford Cowboy embarked on his eight years of catastrophic decision making, Nancy was made House Minority Whip (probably would have been better off with an actual whip to beat those old Elephants).  My sources tell me that Mrs. P was the first woman to ever reach that position.  Sorry ladies, but if that’s your best shot, then I think there should be a permanent ban on estrogen in the Minority Whip’s office.  Pelosi and the rest of the Free World voted for the Unborn Victims of Violence Act in 2K1.  Additionally, Nance has repeatedly voted “ay” for federal funded baby extermination (abortion) facilities.  Agriculturally speaking, Pelosi Dosi reverted to her Democratic ways; i.e. she can’t decide weather to support investment programs or not.  No matter one’s party, one must at least admire her convictions and the passion in which she defends her position…..ha.  Regarding Uncle Sam’s bloated budget, she has some really creative ideas.  Nancy and her fellow Californian compatriots gathered the brain trust and decided to propose a tax increase for middle and upper class Americans.  Bravo, I must commend you for your authentic ideas and better still, your economic ineptitude.  I truly appreciate your Noam Chomsky-esque sympathy for the bottom 5% wage earners, really I do.  Unfortunately, if you formulate policies for these 5% at the expense of everyone else, well that leaves 95% of Americans who are for lack of a better word, screwed.  By voting against the Estate Tax repeatedly, she showed Americans that she had a thang for taxing the dead: come on Nance, they’re dead, what did they ever do to you besides spook you on Friday the 13th?  P bombs barely had the good sense to veto the balanced budget act that came before the House under the rule of King William Jefferson. 

            Nancy P is clearly a civil liberties enthusiast, i.e. she gives people the right to annaly penetrate someone in a Radio Shack.  All jokes aside, this broad supports the First Amendment like Michael Richards supports lynching: (that’s right I went there, and it was so, so worth it).  What about separation of child molesting bishops (church) and George “Devil Incarnate” Bush (state) you might ask, well P show has you covered there as well.  If it’s individuals who uphold the 14^th Amendment that gets you off at night (better than a cheap Jenna J film for some), than Nancy is your gal.  As for the Congresswomen’s take on education, she doesn’t believe in people being left behind, and gosh darn it, that means children.  Maybe she didn’t initiate the massive increases in education expenditures, but she sure nurtured the beast first bred by GW the lesser.  Regarding Mother Earth (what, dads aren’t equally apt at being environmental stewards?), Nancealicious has called for Uncle Sam to reduce his fossil fuel burning and dependence on foreign oil.  Needless to say, she was one of the naysayers on drilling in the Anoit.  Great foresight Nancy; now what exactly do we do until we develop a viable, long-term alternative energy infrastructure.  Wait, instead of drilling in Alaska and killing some delicious caribou (they go well in a nice lingenberry sauce I must say), she suggests that we suck up to some Saudi emir and Vladimir the Terrible Part Deux.  I think I’ll take my chances with Rudolph’s cousins in the Anoit. 

            From domestic debacles to grandiose foreign policy blunders; that my friends, sums up Nancy D’Alessandro Pelosi.  Nowhere do her policies reek of idiocy quite like those pertaining to Continent Ground Zero.  In no small surprise, Nancy has consistently supported the Hunger to Harvest bill and called for massive amounts of foreign aid to pour into Africa, once again proving the corollary that unqualified individuals in positions of power only hurt themselves…………..and Africans.  As any international economics course will teach, (oh wait………Trinity College only offered basket weaving that semester), ungodly amounts of foreign aid only further stuff the already bloated coiffeurs of some of Africa’s most brutal regimes.  They most certainly don’t know how to allocate this aid, especially seeing that America isn’t willing to actually invest human capital on the ground to see its implementation.  Like any good liberal however, Nancy has proved quite skillful at throwing money at problems while at the same time not actually accomplishing anything (what can I say, she’s got game…….political game).  More of Pelosi’s brilliant foresight was on display when she refused to give China normal trade relations with the U.S. following the Tiananmen.  Boy, talk about missing the speedboat on that one; no worries Nancy, you were still new to the whole public service thing, we’ll forgive you.  On the matter of our favorite Jewish state (actually, I do believe it is the only one), Nancy P has shown an unflappable commitment to defend our democratic compadres at any and all costs.  Wow, talk about a nuanced view on the situation; you know, I’ve never heard that take before, well done.  With such a thorough understanding of this historical conflict, Americans should be elated that she hasn’t proposed to engage the Palestinians in the least, right?  Her view on the Israeli situation simply illuminates the fact that she has never taken a Middle Eastern history course, nor picked up a liberal rag in the past decade.  Now I’m not saying we should dole out a-bombs to Palestine, Syria, and Iran, but the balance of power has to shift away from this police state of 10 million, doesn’t it?  Demographically, it’s time to hop on board the one-way Arab express train to Paradise (minus the annihilated Israel, plus those voluptuous virgins). 

            Perhaps Pelosi’s stroke of brilliance can be seen in her policy toward the land of the Johnny Walker loving dictator (if you’re not up to date on which dictator enjoys which type of American scotch, I can confidently tell you its North Korea).  No one who routinely masturbates to Japanese anime porn should have at his disposal an arsenal of nuclear-tipped warheads; it’s all in a U.N. resolution somewhere.  Unrelated, wouldn’t it be groovy if GW sent Pelosi to represent us at the six party talks.  Nancy and Kim Jung-Il would have about as much in common as Donald Rumsfeld and uptight assholes (oh snap, I meant the exact opposite).  Anyway, I would pay to see that over any Paul Haggis movie you could put in front of me, that’s for damn sure (Crash be damned). 

            Just when you thought Nancy supported your constitutional rights, think again all you second amendment fans out there (cue loud groan: South and Midwest).  If Nancy had it her way (thanks Burger King……..geez, shouldn’t you be reducing your artificial trans fat content in NYC or something), rednecks everywhere would have no way to resolve their disputes.  Oh gosh, they might actually have to talk out their disputes.  Heaven no; well this is simply not ok.  Little does Nancy know that this single action would ruin the livelihoods of thousands of stand up comics.  See Nancy, you need to see the big picture (with the help of an LCD TV from Taiwan perhaps).  With respect to Medicare and Medicaid, P show has called for a substantial rise in benefits.  That’s interesting, didn’t you want to lift the U.S. from its budget deficit…..that’s all.  An ardent supporter of illegal Mexicans everywhere (mostly in Texas and California), she voted against the Secure Fence Act of 2006 because of fears that her Mexican brothers could scratch themselves while flooding illegally into the U.S.  Who knew porous borders were so much fun, apparently Nancy did…..hmmmm.  I guess this opinion goes hand in hand with Nancy’s ambitions to raise the minimum wage.  With all the illegal immigration though, it doesn’t matter how high you bump the baseline.  Sorry Nance, guess you will just have to answer to your poor constituents when they come complaining after they lose their jobs because of illegal Mexicans undercutting them in respect to wage.  Pelosi officially joined the Hypocrites Unanonymous after she turned her back on being a Patriot in 2005 (I’m referring to the Act of course).  No worries P show, I think you joined the rest of the Donkeys with that one. 

            And thus completes the long and winding road that brought Nancy Pelosi to the position of Speaker of the House.  God help us.  Oh wait, he can’t because he already has to watch over Curious George W.  Damn it; now were really fucked.  Seeing that if I write another word I am liable to projectile vomit on my ThinkPad, I best be wrapping this puppy up (in some Anoit oil drenched seal blubber preferably).  Nancy, I strongly implore you to reconsider your life as a house wife, for then you can watch TeleMundo with your real constituents south of the Rio Grande and devise new strategies to bankrupt Uncle Sam.