Now lean over and grab your ankles

Senator Arlen Specter is an enabler. He's like every other rubber-stamp Republican, except that he complains about it before he does it. He loves to rant and rave about the illegal things that the Bush Administration is doing, he swears that he's going to get to the bottom of it, and then he kinda slinks away quietly into the night like a scolded puppy.

As the chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, Senator Specter is in a position to make real problems for the Administration if he should choose to do so, but he's like the parent who constantly warns their kids to stop doing what they're doing or else they're going to be in big trouble, but never follow through with the threats. It doesn't take long for the kids to figure out that they're in no danger and to just ignore the parent. That's what the Administration does with Specter. They ignore him... and he always caves.

When the news that the Administration was ignoring the FISA law and pretty much doing whatever it damned well pleased about spying on American citizens, Specter was enraged. He was on all the talk shows swearing to determine what was going on and putting an end to it. He scheduled a hearing and Attorney General Gonzales agreed to testify. Specter also wanted to hear from the former AG, John Ashcroft, and some other former employees who were at the Justice Department when all of this hanky panky first started, but after conferring with the Administration, they all refused to testify. Rather than make anybody uncomfortable, Specter dropped the request.

After a lot of noise and chest thumping, the hearing finally began. Oops...small problem. To the dismay of the Democrats on the committee, Specter decided not to put the Attorney General under oath and the Republican majority concurred. Why should they insist on putting him under oath? Surely he wouldn't lie to the committee. That's only what the whole damned hearing was all about! They'd been lying about it for 4 1/2 years but now all of a sudden they're going to start telling the truth? Give us a break!

Part of the problem with this FISA situation is that the Administration, even though conceding that they didn't follow the law, is convinced that they did nothing wrong. They didn't go to Congress to try to change the law because it wasn't necessary, to their way of thinking. When Specter volunteered to help get the law changed, the Administration flatly refused.

Time has gone by now and the public outcry has not diminished. Bush's approval ratings continue to plunge and the Democrats actually seem to be getting their act together for a run at retaking Congress in November. With this as a background, the old enabler announced yesterday his intention to introduce legislation which, for the most part, makes all of the unlawful activity of the past lawful. The Administration now says that it will cooperate in getting the legislation passed. Other than a few restrictions here and there, a few "thou shalt nots", and a little Congressional oversight, the bill, for all practical purposes just puts a nice big red ribbon on everything that they had been doing anyway.

Why did the Administration decide to cooperate after all this time? Simple. They're not going to follow the new law anyway! They ignored the old law so why would the new law be any different. It's a PR move and nothing more.. an attempt at bolstering their image. And what about good old Arlen Specter, the Pennsylvania enabler? Do you suppose he even knows how insignificant he really is?

I'm Dick Cheney and I'm pissed off

This is Dick Cheney and I'm pissed off again. How dare those terrorist sympathizers at the New York Times and the LA Times disclose my administration's illegal activities again. Wasn't it bad enough that they told the world about the mining of all of your phone records? Now they have the audacity to disclose that thousands of your "private" financial records are being looked through. I'm appalled! Warrant? We don't need no stinkin' warrant. This is America.

Since when does "freedom of the press" mean that these journalistic girlly boys can print stories about everything we Washington insiders do? Can't we have any privacy? Is nothing sacred? Next thing you know, they'll be disclosing our arrest records, or our military records, or maybe even our marital infidelities. What is this country coming to.

If these guys are going to insist on us following that damned Constitution for every little piddling thing we do, then we'll just have to interpret it for ourselves. "Scooter, get Gonzales on the phone. I want him to rewrite the first amendment. Goddamn pain in the ass anyway. What? Libby doesn't work here anymore? Who's gonna leak my stories now? Maybe that idiot in the oval office will do it for me. Get Georgie on the phone. What!!! He's in Iraq??? For crissakes, that dumbass is gonna get himself killed!"

History will never remember this day

Saddam Hussein ended his hunger strike today after missing just one meal. Now that's what I call a protest! Just think of how history might have changed if famous protesters of the past had been as dedicated to their cause as Saddam.

If Rosa Parks had refused to sit in the back seat of her car.

If Cesar Chavez had boycotted pickles.

If the patriots of Boston had thrown their baked beans into the harbor.

If the male hippies had burned their birthday cards and the women had burned their socks.

If Joan Baez had sung "We Shall Overcome" in the shower.

If the protesters at Tiananmen Square had faced down an advancing line of bicycles.

If Louis Farrakhan had decided to have a Hundred Man March.

If John and Yoko had chosen to have a pillow fight in Pittsburgh.

It's all about the sacrifice, the relentless pursuit of an ideal, and the unswerving committment to a cause that makes these events stand out and to be remembered long after the battle has been won. Saddam... a one-meal hunger strike just doesn't quite cut it!

Ahhh, the memories of an old man

The older I get, the better I use to be.

Memory: I grasped the basketball effortlessly in my giant hand. I sprung upward ever upward turning a 360 in the air and rammed the ball through the rim with such force that the backboard cracked under the stress.

Reality: With a running start on my best day ever, I managed to jump up and touch the net. In doing so, I dislocated my pinky finger and to this day, it juts sideways from my hand.

Memory: In football, I would crash the line with a ferocity never before seen in a 130 pound linebacker. I would meet the fullback head on and with legs churning like pistons, drive him backwards and into the turf.

Reality: The one time I got in the way of a charging fullback coming through the line, my helmet got knocked 180 degrees on my head and his cleats left a gash in my leg that still throbs every time it rains. After that, I took up cross country.

Memory: In the long jump, I raced up the runway like the wind.The springs in my legs launched me with from the board into perfect flight. I floated through the air and landed softly some 23 feet away.

Reality: As I plodded along in my size 12 sneakers, I stumbled over the board and landed flat on my face for a jump of minus 2 feet and 9 1/2 inches.

Memory: When I appeared at the Metropolitan Opera singing Paliachi, the New York Times reviewer told the world that I had the voice of an angel, and begged for me to be given a permanent spot in the company.

Reality: The one time I sang a solo in the choir at the Church of the Sacred Heart, my voice shattered the beautiful and priceless leaded glass window of "The Ascension of Christ" in back of the alter. I was asked to please start attending the Methodist Church.

Memory: For the Junior-Senior Prom, I was asked by three of the sexiest cheerleaders at our school to please be their date. Not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, I agreed to take all three. Afterwards, we engaged in the first of many foursomes.

Reality: After being turned down by thirteen different girls, I finally in desperation called Marigold Losquiltmeticer who after 27 minutes of begging, reluctantly agreed to accompany me provided I guaranteed that I would have her home by 7:15. Needless to say, my virginity remained intact.

Yes, the older I get the better I use to be. I can't wait till I hit 100.

Stove top politics (you're gonna eat this up)

From their very first days in office, to the present time, this administration has been heavily engaged in stove top politics. In case you don't know what that means, let me illustrate.

First of all, there are the main ingredients. There's Georgie Porgy Puddin' n Pie, playing the role of Pretzelnit of the United States of Amurika. Then there's his second in command, Angelfood Dick, aka the Cookie Monster. Holding it all together with his timeless proven Neocon recipes is the Pillsbury Doughboy himself, Karl I'm-not-a-Nazi Rove.

The first thing the big cheeze did was to come up with a bill of fare. The menu turned out be a bit pricey so they looked up their old buddies, Fatburger Jack Abromoff, and the toast of Texas, Tom Delay to break bread with them. After buttering them up and giving them all they could eat, the Special K boys agreed to bring home the bacon.

After 9-11, it was all peaches and cream for Georgie. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, the country was eating out of his hand, and life was just a bowl of cherries. Bin Laden was put on the front burner. Saddam Hussein would be next to feel the heat. Iraq would be duck soup. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we must die.

Alas, there was a fly in the soup. They brought in the cream of the crop, the salt of the earth, and cast their bread upon the waters. They found out it's not all beer and skittles. Sometimes you ask for bread and receive a stone, you bite off more than you can chew, you're forced to eat humble pie. You jump from the frying pan into the fire.

The souffle fell, the dinner was ruined, and the porridge in the pot was 9 days old. The budget was squeezed, the cupboard was bare, and they ran up a hugh tab. They were eaten out of house and home. The glass was empty. There were no rooms left in the Inn.

They fed their base and enriched the fat cats who ate like horses. They attended church socials where they said grace. It was too little too late. To make ends meet, they put the poorest citizens on a diet. Seniors don't need commodities, let em eat cake. It's all those hot tamales that are spoiling the stew so build a fence to keep them out. Teach them which side their bread is buttered on. That's the way the cookie crumbles. No sense crying over spilt milk.

What to do now. When the world gives you lemons, make lemonade. When you can't cut the mustard, cut the cheeze. If it's not your cup of tea, then have your cake and eat it too. If all else fails, put everything on the back burner, belly up to the bar, and get your just desserts. That's stove top politics in a nutshell.

Don't let the bastards wear you down

I'm 65 years old and I'm tired. Not of living, life is going great. Physically, I'm in pretty good shape considering that I smoked for 48 years and have a little breathing difficulty, but I'm dealing with it. Financially, I'm okay. Not rich, but as long as I stay reasonably healthy, I should be alright. No, those aren't the things that are making me tired.

I'm tired of being lied to by a corrupt administration that is intent on self perpetuation.

I'm tired of being told that we're winning the war when it should be obvious to anyone that we're not.

I'm tired of seeing Ann Coulter on TV raving like a mad woman and trying to blame the victims instead of putting responsibility where it belongs.

I'm tired of NBC giving her a platform to sell her books. Have they no shame? Are they getting a cut?

I'm tired of people who don't vote. If everyone voted, maybe they wouldn't be able to steal our elections.

I'm tired of the apathy I see all around me. If it doesn't fit into a 30 second sound bite, it can't be important.

I'm tired of hearing about the "liberal press". If you think that's still true, you obviously haven't been paying attention.

Most of all, I'm tired of incompetence. When did the cream quit rising to the top? When did politics quit being about public service and become primarily about money and power? When did looks become more important than character. When did PR become more important than brains? When did how you say something become more important than what you say? When did boasting about what you're planning to do become more important than what you actually do?

I hate being a cynic. I'd much rather write about funny stuff. I'm an optimistic person by nature, but right now, I'm just really tired.

Too damned hot!

Ten things I'd rather do than cut the grass this afternoon.

Draw a moustache on Ann Coulter.

Play Twister in my skid marked underwear.

Play cowboys and Indians with my Uncle George.

Tie up the lady next door.

Go to Walmart in my Rolls Royce

Get my Columbus Day shopping done early.

Go on a bike ride with my friends.

Have a philosophical discussion with Paula Abdul.

Take a nap and dream about Michelle Pfeiffer.

Have a threesome with the Bush twins.