I am so sick of Brett Favre

Brett Favre needs to learn shuffle board or gin rummy. He needs to start hitting the Early Bird Special at Sizzler and consider running for condo board president. He needs to collect Social Security and start laying out his pills in boxes marked for each day. Most of all, Brett Favre needs to start embracing his retirement. But he won't. He won't until he has a career ending injury. Lawrence Taylor I'm calling on you to unretire as well, just for one game, so you can roll over Favre's leg the way you did to Joe Theisman. Sure it would be more satisfying to watch you charge into Favre and knock him stupid but clearly Brett is too dumb for that to matter. He already has some crazy delusion that he has some score to settle with the Green Bay Packers. Why else would he only be considering going to play for their arch rivals, the Minnesota Vikings? I'm no great Packer fan but for a town the size of Green Bay to support an NFL franchise for as long as they have shows a great devotion to the team. And Brett Favre was that team for many years. The Green Bay people opened their homes and hearts to the Favres. They made them part of the family. Who knows how many Green Bay babies were named Brett in those years and probably of few were even named Favre? The Packers, did not run you out of town Mr. Favre. You told them you were retiring. Twice. You had not one but two farewell seasons in which fans in every NFL city wished you nothing but good will and a happy retirement. The fans of Green Bay more than any others. You can't blame them for trying to build for the future now that their franchise quarterback had left the game. So when you decided to unretire right before the start of last season who can blame the Packers for saying, sorry, but we've moved on, no hard feelings. But you thought they owed you something. They looked the other way when you played (poorly) for the Jets, but that wasn't enough, you dumb meathead. Now you want to play for the Vikings, the one sin not even the kind-hearted Cheeseheads can forgive. Well, done Brett Favre. That surgically repaired arm of yours will look good for the first few games and people may even start to think you were right, but by week seven you'll be tossing up more interceptions than touchdowns again. People can only watch so much of that before they start to forget when you were a great quarterback (and what we thought was a decent guy). You could've spent the rest of your days basking in the warmth of your fame but now you're going to get a nice taste of infamy. Keep burning those bridges, Brett, and your retirement might wind up being on Elba Island.

Star Trek Unreviewed

I enjoy the movies, but, like many of you, my life gets in the way of actually seeing any movies. Instead, I like to make up reviews based on the previews I see on TV. It makes me feel like I've seen the movies without spending $10 and two hours of my life to be disappointed.

Here is my review of the new Star Trek (I feel at liberty to finally scrutinize Star Trek since this movie is self-admittedly only a bastard cousin of the original and its offspring.):


James T. Kirk is a cowboy, a rebel. He rides a vintage motorcycle (conveniently a 21st century model) and blows things up. He is recruited to Star Fleet by a mentor/secret butt-toucher but only really joins when he sees the opportunity to sleep with a black girl. He finds himself aboard a space ship with Harold and Kumar, Shawn of the Dead, Siler from Heroes, a Russian, a doctor, and that hot black chic. It seems every race on Earth has a representative on this ship except the Mexicans and the Jews. Apparently, Gene Rodenberry's one-love view of the future was not as all-inclusive as we might have hoped. The scene in which Ensign Goldstein from Accounting scolds Kirk for destroying every starship that he steps aboard or the scene where Private Martinez from Maintenance saves Kirk and Spock from an elevator stuck between between the casino and lido decks seem to have been lost to the cutting room floor. If young Kirk were a thinking man, which the previews don't lead us to believe, he might question why an alien species from a planet clear across the galaxy has independently evolved to look exactly like humans except for peculiarly pointy ears and poorly waxed eyebrows. Highly illogical Jim. But Kirk is not concerned with that. He befriends the Vulcan Spock, bangs the black chick, and blows up every starship he comes in contact with. It is a two hour long sensual thrill ride that tries not to take itself too seriously with witty one-liners like, "Man, that star was a trek," after waiting for hours for the ship to come out of warp drive. Bones, Uhura, Harold, and Scotty laugh, Spock raises an eyebrow, and we all wish for William Shattner to strap on his rug and corset one more time to save us.

Cheese Pants

As I was sitting in the cleanroom today babysitting a machine by adjusting a knob a hair's breadth every minute so that the universe or the part of it where I was sitting would blow up a song came into my head. I'd like to share it with you. It is in 2/4 time. A plodding beat set to the metronome of vacuum pumps. Here is my song:

Wearing cheese pants
wearing cheese pants
oh what fun.
oh what fun.

Wearing cheese pants
wearing cheese pants
kind of smelly
feels like jelly

wearing cheese pants
wearing cheese pants
not limberger
not brie

wearing cheese pants
wearing cheese pants
not holey Swiss
but chedder for me!

wearing cheese pants
wearing cheese pants
oh what fun
oh what fun!

Now you too can sing my fun song. Enjoy!

I'm Back Again, Again, Sort Of

March was my last post. Nine months. A lot has happened in my life and the world all of it real. I've been busy. In April I moved in with my girlfriend and her cat. Suddenly with working at the bookstore and working my way into writing a new novel I didn't have much time, energy, or humor for blogging. In November as you all know Barach Obama was elected president. I don't want to take full credit for that but you might recall that he kicked my ass in basketball so... well I let you draw your own conclusions. Also in November I got engaged to the afore mentioned girlfriend and possibly her cat. Soon after that I made the decision to complete my transition to adulthood (the darkside?) and I found a job in engineering again. One must be a proper wage earner if one is going to have a family, house, ulcer, gray hairs, bags under the eyes, etc. Not only do I have a responsible up at dawn job but it is for a company that makes things that go into things that do not make the world a better place. Yes I am very much a part of the wretched excess of this world. To make the mocking circle that is my life complete this job has me working at the very same university in the a slightly upgraded cleanroom (although with the same equipment and roller-derby fights for time on that equipment) as I spent for years in graduate school in. Yes, I've gone from pursuing my dream of being a writer to being back in my nightmare in the lab. With one very large caveate -- I am getting laid on a regular basis! Woo Hooo! This changes everything! Jessica Simpson go screw yourself. In truth I am very happily in love with my fiance and that is an earth shattering change from when Wretched Excess started. What can be learned from all this? Well, I might start blogging again since I only can snatch 15 minute increments for writing at the moment. The blogs may not be that funny anymore either so I doubt anyone will read them. Also, in a most adult fashion they will probably not have any fun Photoshopped pics anymore. No time for drawing. I will conclude by saying, welcome back to me. If you are reading this then welcome back to you. Let's start anew.

... back to the cleanroom.

We Will Barack You

I met Barack Obama on a basketball court on the South Side of Chicago. His people told me the interview would last just as long as the game (first to score 08) because the Senator had to visit sixteen states, give nineteen speeches, and inspire at least 10,000 people that day. The Illinois Senator is reportedly a big fan of basketball and a half-way decent player. I am not. At 5' 6" (in sneakers) and white as Wonder Bread I can dribble but have no moves and I rarely get off a successful shot. I've had even less success watching the monotony of the modern NBA game. Still, I'm quick, and unafraid to hack, and I figured I could keep Obama talking for a little while before he beat me. I was excited because I had been a fan of Obama's since the enthusiasm and promise of his speech at the 2004 Democratic Presidential Convention, but recently the campaign trail had raised some serious doubts in my mind about his actual policies.

I watched him warming up, draining jump shots like he was dropping them in a bucket. I would be lucky if I got in one question. "I can't believe you had the audacity to challenge me to one-on-one," he started right in with the trash talk as soon as I stepped on the court. "I hope you brought your A-game."
"Hah, that's a good one. You used the title of your book to put me down."
"In all seriousness it is a great pleasure to meet you and I hope this opportunity to reach out to the Wretched Excess population will help bridge the gap of inclusion to your constituents."
"It's mostly just my friends who let me annoy them with too many mass e-mailings and heavy handed political satire."
"Still an important constituency," he laughed. "A very similar group convinced me to run for President."

At least he had a sense of humor. I decided to break the ice by telling him an amusing anecdote that I overheard at the bookstore where I work [this is true]. An elderly society woman saw Obama's book The Audacity of Hope on display at my bookstore and commented to her friend, "I like him. He's very intelligent and well spoken." Her friend replied [these were her exact words], "Yes, and he's very clean."
A frown flashed across the Senator's face and then he caught himself and laughed.
"Do you, Senator Obama, think that other candidates are being judged on their cleanliness?"
"I should hope so. I stood next to Kucinich at one debate and I don't think that guy had seen a bar of soap since 1982. Vegan's don't have anything against bathing do they?"
"Based on the ones I've met I think they might."
Obama put up a jump shot that rattled on the rim and went in. "I'm an Irish Spring man myself," he said.
"I did notice you are fresh and clean as a whistle," I returned his banter and the ball.
"Not too clean." He gave me a good elbow to the chest and drove to the basket. "That's 2 - 0." I guess the game had started. I asked him about his stance on the Iraq war.
"Been against it from the start," he said. "And we need to get out of there as soon as possible." He dribbled to his left and slipped right by me to the basket for an easy layup. I let him have that one. 3 - 0.
"Are you a terrorist?"
He gave me a funny look. "No." Swish. 4 - 0
"Are you a Muslim?"
"No. But my grandfather was." Off the backboard into the basket. 5 - 0
"Was he a terrorist?"
He charged at me and gave me a forearm to the mouth. I wasn't going to call a foul. I deserved that. Basket. 6 - 0. I was beginning to wonder if I would ever touch the ball.

It was time for me to step up my game. I questioned him on his health care plan. Rather than provide universal care, he would just require everyone to have insurance. "It's like car insurance," he said. "If you have a car you have to have insurance and that way everyone is covered." Obama faked to his left and drove to the right and put up a jumper.
"I got hit by a dude in a pickup truck with no insurance," I said, "And was stuck with not only the bill but higher premiums." The ball rattled on the rim. "I've also paid for my own health insurance and basically I was paying $150 per month for the privilege of having only 70 percent of my hospital expenses covered should an emergency occur. Any other medical expense was out of pocket. Would that count as being covered under your plan?" The ball bounced off the rim and we scrambled for it. He didn't answer my question but he did recover the ball.

Then I asked him about his policies for protecting the energy independence and preventing global warming. He mumbled something about coal and ethanol and again faked left and went to his right. This time I was ready for him. I got a hand on the ball it came loose. He both dove for it and this time I came up with it.

"That was an audacious move. I hope you don't think you can do that to me twice," he taunted as we caught our breath. Now it was my turn to make a move. I tried my own version of trash talk. "You're pretty young and inexperienced to be President, don't you think?" I dribbled forward straight into his chest trying to create some space, but despite his school-boy appearance Obama did not give. I stumbled backwards.
"How experienced was Jack Kennedy? I'm bringing people together," he chided. "Giving them hope."

I drove to my left (really the only way I could go) and I was around him. My layup clanged off the bottom of the rim. The ball bounced right back to him. His smile said that he let me have that one. He slapped me on the back. "Keep your head up," he said. "You're watching the ball not the basket. Watch how I do it." He dribbled between his legs, spun around me and threw up an easy layup. 7 - 0. He was right. His eyes never left the basket. "You try it." He bounced me the ball.
"It's winner takes it," I protested.
"Never mind that. I'm gonna beat you anyway. Just take the shot. You don't want to get swept."
I dribbled toward the basket. Obama humored me by pretending to guard me, but when I got near the hoop he backed off and let me shoot. I scored! 7 -1.
I gave him back the ball. He didn't even move. He just shot right over me. 8 -1. Game Over. "Audacious!" he shouted.

Even though I got my butt kicked, thanks to Barack I was feeling pretty good about myself. I didn't get shut out. I actually scored! But, he was already being hustled back on the campaign bus when I realized that I still had some lingering doubts.
"Good game, Senator," I called after him. "Although, I'm not sure how much I've learned."
"With focus and determination and the sheer audacity to dream for something better we can achieve anything! That's what you should've learned!"
"Those are just a bunch of words. Is there any meaning behind them?"
"There's hope."
"You said it... Has anyone seen Al Gore lately?"

Riding that McCain Train

Thanks to all your support Wretched Excess has become a major media force. Each of the four remaining Presidential candidates have been clamoring to get one-on-one time with me to promote their causes. I was only too happy to oblige.

I met up with John McCain's campaign at a stop in Tupelo, Mississippi where a rally sponsored by the local Heritage Club was held for Senator McCain. A man in his late seventies in a plaid shirt and bow tie was on stage exhorting the other Heritage Clubbers to vote for McCain. The man praised McCain as a war hero and a true fiscal conservative and a God-fearing, Christ-loving man. "Since the Great George W. can't run again," the man concluded. "I'm casting my vote for John McCain. We sure as hell don't want no terrorist or no skirt-wearing New York Jew..."
"Thank you very much!" McCain's top adviser cut in. "Senator McCain sure appreciates your vote! But now it's time for the Straight Talk Express to get rolling again," and with that Senator McCain was hurried off the stage and onto his tour bus. I was invited on board the sleek new tour bus, a privilege beyond all others. Almost no one is allowed into the inner sanctum. I was to travel with Senator McCain to his next speech at Bob Jones University.
"Wait here," an aide told me. "The Senator is just changing his clothes." I waited in the cab outside a beaded door. A crucifix was affixed to the dashboard.
"He guides the way," the bus driver said and I nodded. When the aide returned I was ushered into the main part of the bus. What I saw before me was Rush Limbaugh's worst nightmare. Tie-dyed sheets and Indian beads hung everywhere. The smell of patchouli oil incense was so overpowering my eyes began to tear and what else would be playing on a vintage 1970 Phillips Hi-Fidelity Stereophonic record player but the Grateful Dead. Senator McCain emerged from the bathroom in ripped jeans and a beaded buckskin jacket. "Dave, great to see you. Pop a squat and we'll rap for a spell. Chill-ax as the kids like to say." I sank into a bed of shag and cushions. "Want some roasted edamame? Trail mix? Yogurt? It's all organic." The Senator was nothing if not a good host.
"This is quite a bus you've got here," I said.
"It's a little piece of home when I'm on the road. When you're in a prisoner-of-war camp sometimes the only thing that keeps you going is the thought of home. I swore that when I got home I'd never leave it again."
"I was going to make a joke, but, damn, you've suffered more than most people can even fathom."
"Lighten up! So I like the Dead? And the patchouli's because of Gary over there, he hasn't showered since we left Phoenix. He's got some issues with motel bathrooms." McCain leaned in and whispered, "I don't think he's crapped in six weeks. Look he can't even sit down." McCain started to giggle.
"Should I go poke him with a stick? See if he bursts?"
"Oh my God, YES! Do it. Do it do it do it do it. I'll pay ya' five bucks."
"I can't."
"Go on!"
"I... I can't."
"Chicken."
"I'm not chicken, it's just..."
"Dude, I was in a prisoner-of-war camp for seven years you can poke a guy with a stick."
"Don't try to bring that crap into this. I can't believe you just used that."
"Awww, I'm just joking with ya'. I used to try to use that line on my wife when she wanted me to take out the garbage. She wouldn't fall for it though. She'd say, 'Good, exercise your freedom and your legs and take that garbage out to the street.' She's a good egg, that one. Saw right through me."
"I guess old George W. didn't fall for it either."
"You mention that dirty little shit's name to me again and I'll rip your throat out! I'm a fucking war hero and that powder puff was a freakin' draft dodging Air National Guardsman. I'm weak on defense compared to him?! Screw him and his daddy and the whole fucking Party that put him in office!"
"Whoa, take it easy, Johnny. That was eight years ago. Go to your happy place. Repeat your mantra."
"I agree with the President. I agree with the President. The war in Iraq is a good thing. I will continue the war effort. I agree with the President. The economy is good. The tax breaks are working and they should become permanent. I agree with the President. Gay marriage is an abomination. I agree with the President. We should be tough on illegal immigrants but not so tough that our corporate friends can't exploit the illegal labor."
"No."
"Yeah, me neither. What happened to the McCain who stood up to the President on his tax breaks for the wealthy?"
"I never did such a thing. Those revenue readjustments helped put the economy on its feet."
"More like on its knees."
"That's even closer to God."
"Trickle-Up economics?"
"I like that. Can I use it?"
"But you're supposed to be the maverick. Where's the John McCain of McCain-Feingold?"
"Of what?"
"Campaign finance reform."
"That wasn't me." The bus hit a pothole in the road and shook from side to side. One of the tie-dyed sheets came loose and began to slip from its hanging.
"Your name's on the bill."
"Only cause McCain-Feingold sounded better than Feinstein-Feingold. That would've sounded too Jewy." The sheet fell off the wall revealing a rich mahogany panel inlaid with gold leaf crests. An aide hurried to rehang the sheet. "I voted against the bill."
"You seem to be painting yourself as a true neocon lately, but," I looked around the bus, "from the looks of things you'd rather be painting yourself with day glow paints."
"I'm not a neocon. I'm a real conservative, a real con, er, a rea-con."
"Well, at least we're getting to some of that straight talk." The bus swerved to avoid an old lady crossing the road, the record skipped and more sheets and beads came tumbling off the walls. There was gold inlaid wood everywhere and a display case with Tiffany crystal, Wedgwood china, a real Fabergé egg, and a Presidential seal made of diamonds. "Nice collection," I said.
"A friend gave it to me."
"That friend wouldn't happen to be a lobbyist from some interest group, would he?"
"I'm not sure what he does. They're not actually mine. I'm just holding them for him."
"Sure you are."
"I'm John McCain. I'm a maverick. I buck the system. I don't pander to lobbyists or other interest groups." McCain's buckskin jacket had come open and I could clearly see a pressed white Oxford shirt and a silk tie underneath. "This is the Straight Talk Express!"
"I think its time for me to get off."
"We're not even close to there yet."
"Well, this is my stop."
"We're in the middle of nowhere."
"Exactly."

I [spade] Huckabee

Thanks to all your support Wretched Excess has become a major media force. Each of the four remaining Presidential candidates have been clamoring to get one-on-one time with me to promote their causes. I was only too happy to oblige.

I met Mike Huckabee for a power walk in a park just outside Little Rock. Knowing that he is an exercise fanatic and a spokesman for weight loss I was expecting him to be decked out in skin tight spandex and an aerodynamic helmet but found him - to my embarrassment - in regular shorts and a t-shirt looking quite casual. We began our walk at a good clip and he explained the finer points of weight loss program. "Exercise, lot's of exercise and a good healthy diet. That's how I lost over 100 pounds. I don't eat any restaurant food. I have a very special diet. I only eat small amounts but I eat six times a day."
"That's sounds a lot like the protocol for someone who received a gastric bypass."
"Those rumors are completely unfounded!" Then he laughed and whispered, "Are we off the record?"
I laughed too and said, "What record?"
"It's not really a staple. It looks more like the metal number tag they clamp around a chicken's leg."
"I did not know that."

He reached into his pocket and produced a silver ring like he had just described and handed it to me. "They had that one in my body for about ten minutes before they realized it wouldn't fit."

Clumsy me, I dropped it. The clip bounced once on the trail and rolled into the underbrush. Huckabee's ears perked up and like a bloodhound on the scent he dove into the bushes after it. He rooted around for a few minutes and then there was a low rumbling like the contented growl of a great beast after the kill. Huckabee emerged with a smile on his face proudly displaying the lost clip between his fingers. "Almost got away from me," he said and slipped it back into his pocket. Our walk continued. Despite my aerodynamic advantage I struggled to keep up with Huckabee.
"So, the Presidency, huh?" I began hoping he would slow down to talk. "It's not looking too good for you in terms of delegates."
"Really? I hadn't heard that."
"It's pretty much mathematically impossible for you to get the nomination."
"Well, I didn't major in math. I studied higher figuring... THE PRESIDENCY IS MINE. IT HAS BEEN ARRANGED!" His voice took on a low rumbling like some beast was trying to speak through him. He cleared his throat and continued in his normal voice. "We're not going to give up the fight and we'll just have to see how the convention goes."

I couldn't fault the guy for his optimism. "You were a Baptist minister before being Governor of Arkansas. If you become President how will you ensure that your beliefs don't become a state sponsored religion."
"I think it is impossible and unwise for me to separate my beliefs from the Presidency. This is a Christian nation and I will maintain it as such."
"My rabbi will be so pleased to hear that."
"Tell him to vote Huckabee in November."
"I'm sure he will. You do realize, however, that the Constitution actually forbids state sponsorship of religion."
"WHAT IS A PIECE OF PAPER COMPARED THE LIVING WORD!"
"Do want a Ricola or something?"
"No, I'm fine. Just a little frog in the throat."
"Are you suggesting we ignore the Constitution's separation of church and state?"
"There is no separation of church in my state."
"So now you want three amendments, one banning abortion, one banning same-sex marriage, and one overturning the First Amendment?"
"They repealed Prohibition because it wasn't working why not the First Amendment."
"It's the very essence of our country."
"Maybe it shouldn't be."
"I think we're going to have to agree to disagree on that. Perhaps we should call it the United Church of America or the United States of God."
"Now you're talkin! Although we'd have to change a lot of letterhead. That could cost a lot. We've got to get this debt under control. Maybe instead of officially changing the name we could just replace the word America in our head with the word God when we think it."

Huckabee started doing jumping jacks while I caught my breath and tried to wrap my head around our conversation. "So, government spending is a big issue for you?" I said hoping to find more mainstream grounding.
"It is a huge problem. An even bigger problem is the taxation of hard working Americans. WHEN I AM PRESIDENT I WILL ABOLISH THE I.R.S!"
"Mike what is with that voice?"
"What voice?"
"Never mind. You'll get rid of the Internal Revenue Service completely? While that may sound nice how will the government operate without revenue?"
"We'll pass the donation plate like in church."
"Voluntary donations? That a good one. No really?"
"ALL WILL GIVE OR SUFFER THE WRATH OF AN ANGRY HUCKABEE!"
"Wait a minute I know that voice."
"What voice? Read your scripture, God isn't all hugs and kisses. There's fire and brimstone in there too."
"I know that voice."
"THERE IS NO... er, uh, voice."
"Satan is that you?"
"Hi, Dave. How's it going?"
"I knew it was you."
"Aaaawww, you caught me. What was the give away, the brimstone bit?"
"Actually, it was all that holier than thou stuff. Changing the Constitution, come on."
"You can't blame a guy for trying."
"But all this God business? That's not like you."
"'The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.'"
"All those Bible thumpers are going to be pretty pissed when they find out."
"Oooo I'm so scared. At least those guys still believe in me."
"I've got to hand it to you, you had me going. You get that First Amendment repealed and you can do pretty much whatever you want."
"It was a good plan, huh? Don't rat me out, Dave. Come on, be a buddy. Don't be a tattling little bitch."
"You know I can't do that. You'll just have to come up with a new scheme for 2012."
"Don't you worry about 2012, Quetzalcoatl and I've got some real Armageddon type-shit cooked up for that year."
"Okay then. Before you sneak back to the Underworld I've got to ask you why Huckabee? Why not McCain or someone with a chance?"
"I really wanted to meet Stephen Colbert."

BBQing with Billary

Thanks to all your support Wretched Excess has become a major media force. Each of the four remaining Presidential candidates have been clamoring to get one-on-one time with me to promote their causes. I was only too happy to oblige.


I met Hillary (and Bill) Clinton on a rare quiet evening at their home in Chapaqua, NY. "It's American Idol night," Hillary explained when I questioned whether she could time out of her busy campaign schedule to meet me at home. "Bill and I make it a priority not to campaign on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday at 8pm.
"Really?" I said. "It seems like that might be a real hindrance to your campaign."
"Well, my campaign managers have a real fit, but as the front runner candidate it clearly hasn't hurt me so far."
"Uh, Mrs. Clinton, I'm not sure you are the front runner anymore."
"Besides, I think the American people are more important than some stupid fundraisers. I think it is a real symbol of our times that thousands of Americans are pinning their hopes and dreams on a million-to-one shot at stardom instead of on a steady job with decent health care and a secure retirement and better schools for their children and affordable college loans and mortgages that won't force them to foreclose and..."
"I like that Paula Abdul," Bill said with a smile.
"I'd like to see her after eight months on the campaign trail stuffing fried anything down her gullet at every little greasy spoon that gave ten dollars to the Democratic party... I also enjoy Paula Abdul. She's a latina I believe."
"I think you're right, Hil, she is a latina. I miss that Will Hung fella, though. He was hilarious. That would've been my pornstar name, Will Hung. Get it?"
"And that Randy Jackson. I also enjoy him. He brings an element of reality to the show from his own experience. Wasn't he one of the Jackson Five?"
"I'm not sure, Hil. There was Mike and Tito and Jermaine and... I can only remember those three."
"Did you know that their father, Joe Jackson, is a direct descendant of General Stonewall Jackson," I offered to the conversation.
"Really?"
"I had heard that."
"No. I made it up."
"I like this fella!" Bill laughed and slapped my back. "Hil, you should make him head of FEMA or something."
"Why don't you get dinner started, Bill?"
"You hongry, Davey boy? I got some ribs shipped up from Arkansas. You can't get a good pig anywhere in Westchester. I'll go fire up the grill. Be nice to my wife while I'm gone."
When Bill left the room Hillary sighed, slipped off her penny loafers, put her feet up on the mahogany coffee table, and stuck her hand in the waistband of her pants.
"I suppose you'll be glad to have Bill with you if you get to the White House."
"WHEN I get back to the White House, Mr. Clinton will be confined to the East Wing. I didn't put up with all this shit just to let him have another eight years."
"Hey, ya'all want a brew?" Bill called from the kitchen.
"Bill and I are partners in every sense." The campaigner was back in her voice. "If I ever need advice who better to ask than my husband and a man who knows what it means to be the leader of the free world."
I decided to change subjects. "There are a lot of people on the right who have a special kind of hatred for you. How do you propose to reconcile this so that it doesn't cripple the government in a gridlock of spite."
"Hate is a pretty strong word. We may disagree on..."
"They have called you the Antichrist. You have been burned in effigy every night since you sworn into the Senate."
"Oh come on. Nobody hates me. People like me. They love me."
"Let's not get crazy, Hil." Bill handed me a can of Coors Lite.
"How're those ribs doing?"
"Right, I'll go check."
"They don't burn me in effigy."
"You have been called a witch with a B and a bunt with a C."
"That's ridiculous. People like me. People LIKE me. Look how much money they've given me. I've got half the delegates and all the super delegates. People like me. Bill, don't people like me?"
"What's that, hon?"
"People like me, don't they?"
"You know you're my little razorback and I love ya."
"See? People love Bill and Bill loves me."
"I can't argue with that logic," I said. "When are those ribs gonna be ready?"
"Bill, American Idol is starting. How're those ribs coming?"
The ribs were done to perfection which is more than I could say for the contestants on American Idol. The Clintons didn't seem to mind. They couldn't believe any of them didn't make it to Hollywood. Bill threw a rib bone at the TV when Simon berated a perky blonde to tears, but other than that it was a quiet American evening with the Clintons.