Recently in Politik Inkorrecta Category

I know I will be there sooner than I like. I know that it isn't easy -- my father is fond of repeating (often) (way often) that "growing old isn't for the weak of heart." I am sorry the elderly are so easily confused, and so filled with aches and pains -- I can nearly empathize, fuck sake.

But when I see a truth, I have a compulsion to express it no matter how politically uncorrect, and, as god is my witness, going to Costco on a Friday afternoon is like visiting the set for Night of the Living Dead.

Think "shambling." Only instead of sticks and rocks, they use grocery carts.

Somebody is cloning dogs. The Koreans announced it earlier this year, but some Cali firm is gonna auction off five Clone Sessions, with starting bids at a hundred grand.

Scientists consider dogs among the most difficult animals to clone because they have an unusual reproductive biology, more so than humans. But the company behind the auctions, BioArts International, maintains that the technology is ready, and it is calling the dog cloning project Best Friends Again. It has scheduled the auctions for June 18.

That reproductive biology difference -- most female mammals go into estrus often. Humans, for example, do it roughly every 28 days. Some more often than that. And in most mammals, it's a regular, predictable thing. Not only that, but it can be hormonally induced. Dogs, however, go into estrus once every six to 12 months. It isn't regular, it isn't predictable, and it cannot be hormonally induced.

Kinda envious here -- a period only every six to 12 months?

Not only that, but when they got spayed, my dogs didn't get hot flashes. That is SO not fair.

Work: it isn't just for sleeping any more. I've changed my weekday morning routine. Used to be, in order to get a good hour of work-out in, shower, dress, eat and get to work at a time when traffic was most tolerable, I'd have to arise at 3:41 am. I'm an early person anyway, so this wasn't a terrible stretch for me, but it did mean that I had to go to bed while it was still light out, or suffer from sleep deprivation. My lifestyle just didn't fit with the whole bed in the daylight thing, so I opted for the deprivation.

That made driving home from the office really interesting.

I'd like to take this moment to thank all those drivers on the freeway and surface streets who avoided hitting me a few weeks back. Owe ya.

Well, it dawned on me when I got my bike: I cut back on my days in the office. I now work from home more days of the week than I drive in. So WTF was I still holding to the old commute schedule?

I now sleep an extra hour, cut my gym time down a bit (get the extra exercise on the bike, innit), and can just manage to make it to my first meeting of the morning -- still sweaty and stuff from the gym, but hey! They don't have to see or smell me, so ...

Have a great weekend, peeps!

This man is a liar. He is a bald-faced deceiver. He doesn't just prevaricate, he postvaricates, subvaricates and ubervaricates. There is more fabric in his fabrication than can be found in one of Scarlet O'Hara's largest hoop skirts. His fibs are so egregious, politicians study them in pre-law.

In short, I am disappointed.

Remember when this ... this ... pseudologue of a man ... exclaimed, gasped and burbled about how his microwave popcorn was so amazing that you would experience "most every kernel popped"?

Remember?

Well. Here's what came out of a 1.2 oz bag of Orville Redenbacher's "SmartPop" 100 calorie bags of microwave popcorn:

That is about half the contents of the bag.

He sucks.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs is my favoritest television show character of all time. He's an asshole with a heart of gold, much beloved of his team in spite of whacking 'em upside the head and scolding "NEVER apologize! It's a sign of weakness."

Today's news shows this leftyloon priest apologizing. Fr. Michael Pfleger is renowned as a Chicago activist who once exhorted an anti-gun crowd to "drag" a gun shop owner from his shop "like a rat" and "snuff" him.

That's ballsy. I totally disagree with him in all ways, but, damn. That. Is. Ballsy.

How can that guy suddenly turn into a wimp?

Political satire, lampooning, mockery is a centuries' old honored tradition. Expressing political views -- even loud, radical ones -- from the pulpit is also an old, honored tradition. In Civil War days, preachers could be heard expounding with throbbing, poetic drama their views on slavery, or secession.

Pfleger's notions on what Hilary Clinton might be thinking seem way off base but, fuck sake, they're his notions to be freely expressed!

Apologize? What a wimp. Maybe someone oughta drag him from behind the pulpit like a rat, paint him yellow, and send him running to the nearest priest hole around so he can hide like the sniveling twit he is.

I have been called "a man with boobs." I take that as a compliment because it was a guy saying it, and we all know how guys think that guyness is all that, and boobs are really terrific, so the absolute best thing in the whole universe would be to be a guy with boobs.

Okay, maybe that's second best. Perhaps the bestest of the best things in the entire male universe is to be a double-jointed-from-the-waist guy with boobs.

Yet, in spite of my guyness, and maybe because of my boobulous qualities, I have to confess that I am somewhat unsure what is meant by this quote:

You know he just plain needed it. Raise your hand if you don't know what I mean by that. You liars.

The fabulous, hipper than a lizard, Don penned that in his blog recently (see cite) while talking about "The Curious Calamitous Case of the Congressman and the Call Girl."

I have my theories, however, and I'm gonna share 'em with you before Don calls me a liar, 'k?

Gotta warn you, I really am a woman and not only that, but I was an impressionable child in the late sixties as well as a teen in the heady seventies. That means I interpret Don's statement, "You know he just plain needed it" through my own girlie filters that include a vague and fuzzy rendition of "all men are pigs" absorbed from my younger years when exposed to the bra-burning women's liberation movement through sit-coms and media.

What I think Don meant by that is that there are, and always will be, men who just plain need down and dirty sex for the sake of sex. Maybe it's all of you, except for Don and maybe one other guy. We're talking risky sex. Sex that means -- to you pigs -- power. Sex you probably are not getting at home because what you get at home is safe, accepted sex and probably even predictable sex set to some rules the little woman has crafted and you comply with because, hey, it's sex, man. There is some rutting animal need inside of each microscopic drop of your testosterone that is grunting right about now, dreaming about dirty hot weasel sex in the grime of your grandpa's hay loft and, man, you don't even have a grandpa with a hay loft, but you dream it anyway.

That's what Don meant.

How'd I do?