Todd Palin Already Making Plans for D.C. Man-Cave

Wuzzup, my Alaskans!! (And you other buds from the lesser 49 or so states.)

T.P. in the hizzy. Just wanted to let y'all know that plans for my D.C. Man-Cave are well underway. I don't want to say too much since My Hotter Half keeps telling me that, technically, she doesn't have the gig just yet (wink) but keep in mind that she's the same one who told me that teaching abstinence was the best way to keep from becoming Grampy Todd.

Grampy Todd says, "Whatevs."

Here's a taste of what will be in store when you come on down to D.C. to hang:

• Fully stocked wet bar (obviously) w/ Midnight Sun Panty Peeler on tap.
• Firing range w/ a bunch of weapons the Pentagon developed but couldn't release because they're too off the hook.
• Pool table, air hockey table, and 2 Chexx tables (US v. Russia AND Canada).
• Drive-thru humidor.
• Wii, PS3, Sega Genesis, and Super Nintendo (because even though my bride will be running the country, NHL 93 and Tecmo Bowl STILL reign supreme).
• Multiple 80-inch flat screens (3 w/ Slap Shot on continuous loop).
• Six-foot bong (the one Willie Nelson gave Clinton in '93).
• 24-7 nacho chef.

Annnnnd (drumroll please) my very own red phone manned at all times by Jerky Boy Johnny Brennan. I think you can see where I'm going with this one ... "Hey, Putin, listen up, sizzle-chest!!" ... It's gonna be awesome.

Also, there'll be a crash pad if guys need to sleep one off before heading out to the indoor snowmobile track. Don't be surprised if Wurzelbacher's already in there, though. While Joe may be an unlicensed plumber, Lady Sarah tells me he's a fully accredited party-beast!!

As for those of you worried about The Cave having a bit of the "old man musk" about it, not to worry ... Papa John will have an open invitation, but I don't expect he'll be down much. He tends to pack it in right after Jeopardy — dude's older than Wasilla. (Not really, but he ain't too far off.)

Anyway, that's the word from here. See you in D.C., bitches!! Get ready to tear it up, First Dude style!!

Word,

T.P.EM

Blogger Uncertain What To Be Outraged About Today

Hey there, Blogosphere:

Tough one this morning. Between the grim economy, the increasingly mean-spirited campaign, the threat of environmental collapse, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the crisis in Darfur, the culture wars, the war on terror, the war on drugs, the prison at Guantanamo Bay, poverty, racism, crime, and the Phillies-Rays World Series, I'm not really sure what to be outraged about today.

Oh wait, I got it.

Dunkin Donuts got my muffin wrong again.

I ordered a chocolate chip (even though I shouldn't) and they gave me cranberry orange.

Cranberry-f'n-orange.

Why not just spit in my mouth?

It's a shit-ass world, all right. No doubt about it.
EM

How is Hollywood Ruining Your Sensitive Debut Novel?

• Condensing three principal characters into single wise-cracking cockatiel.
• Talking with Mike Myers about playing entire wedding party.
• Replacing understated environmental collapse message with explosions.
• Failing to get copy to George Clooney, succeeding in getting one to Gerry Cooney.
• Going with CGI grandma.
• Ironing out complications, adding boobies.
• "Rasta-fying" character based on your cousin Dennis.
• Hiring kid off of craigslist to do a polish.
• Leaving copy in Stephen Baldwin's downstairs bathroom.
• Inserting character of large, gentle black man who magically "heals" mother's brain stem.
• Wondering aloud if theme about man's protracted, inexorable march to the grave could be "sexier".
• Throwing money at it.
• Adding rap-off.
• Letting Oliver Stone fuck around with it.
• Recording ponderous narration cribbed from someone else's sensitive debut novel.
• Doing coke off of paperback version.

EM

Bromance Leads to Brojobs

A study out of the University of Florida's Mud Bay Annex followed 125 pairs of "total buds" over the course of four semesters and found that 21% of these bromances resulted in brojobs. Of the 250 bros involved in the study, 100% identify themselves as "so not gay."

According to the study, most of the brojobs occurred after a particularly satisfying win by a local sports team, during a killer party, or in those long, lonely hours before dawn when bros most like to cuddle.

"Sometimes bros get bromantic," said an unidentified young man who referred to himself as one of the study's bro-ticipants. "Trading brojobs with your bro doesn't make you gay. That would be like saying shooting steroids makes you a steroid user. It does? Whatever, dude, I'm not gay."

Mud Bay Annex researchers are currently at work on a study tracking how often L.U.G.s (Lesbians Until Graduation) become L.A.D.s (Lesbians After Divorce).

EM

Obama Promises Full-Sized Kit Kats for Middle Class Trick-or-Treaters

At a campaign stop in Londonderry, New Hampshire, Democratic presidential nominee Barack Obama unveiled his plan to provide full-sized Kit Kat bars to all trick-or-treaters making less than $250,000 a year.

"Americans are hurting this Halloween season. Michelle and I understand this," said Obama. While my opponent plans to short-change the little guy with a fun-size Crunch bar or a handful of those cheap marshmallow mini-pumpkins that you get at Walgreens, my comprehensive trick-or-treat plan will provide Americans quality, satisfaction, and, I believe, a measure of hope."

Under Obama's plan, trick-or-treaters making more than $250,000 a year will receive mini-Kit Kats.

During a talk-back session, Obama was approached by a man who identified himself as the owner of a small roofing company. "I clear between $252,000 and $256,000 annually. I can't help but feel that your trick-or-treat plan punishes me for working hard and carving out a decent living for myself."

The senator proceeded cautiously with his response. "Look, nobody likes to get half a Kit Kat while everybody else is getting a full one. I understand that. But the assumption here is, if you wish to do so, you can take a portion of your comparatively sizable income and go purchase your own full-size Kit Kat. You have that luxury. You could probably even trade up for the king-size if you so desired. What I'm asking you to do is to think about the kindergarten teacher, the grocery clerk, the diner waitress who, in the absence of a social safety net, might well be staring down the barrel of a Halloween free of Kit Kats altogether."

When asked if this didn't resemble socialism, Obama grinned and said, "John McCain is 90% Bush and 10% crazy. I'M THE ONE!"

The McCain campaign responded swiftly and strongly to Obama's announcement, stating that fun-size Crunch bars and mini-pumpkins have never been part of the senator from Arizona's Halloween plan.

"I'm an American, and I think I know what Americans want," said McCain. "That's why this year, as has always been the case, in good times and in bad, Cindy and I will be offering the average trick-or-treater individually prepared bags of candy corn with the additional option of a couple Mary Janes or Squirrel Nut Caramels, whichever they prefer. I myself can't eat either, too sticky, but experience has taught me that Americans just love 'em, and I don't see the need to start shoving big government, tax-and-spend chocolate bars down the American people's throat in the midst of this degraded economy."

When asked what trick-or-treaters making more than $250,000 stand to gain under McCain's Halloween plan, the senator replied that he'd "have to check with [his] advisers," but our research indicates that they will be receiving fourteen inch Chippendale round trays from Tiffany.
EM

Client Services Associate Prefers Garfield As Is

The other day, some of the younger folks over here at Harmond & Kirker – the insurance agency not the pencil sharpener distributor – were all huddled together just giggling away. When I went over to see what the hubbub was all about, they pointed to the monitor, and showed me this:




I must have stared at that thing for a good minute-and-a-half before finally asking, "So, what were you all laughing about?"

Maybe I'm not a real "with-it" sort of gal, but if you take Garfield out of Garfield, what have you got? A whole lot of nothing as far as I'm concerned. Sure, there's Jon, occasionally Odie, but where are the quips, the truisms, the cat-titude?

I find this to be sick humor, I really do. Sick in the sense that it mocks Jim Davis' vision rather than celebrates it. And Davis does have vision, make no mistake. The merchandising alone: cards, coffee mugs ... there have even been movies! Starring Bill "Larger Than Life" Murray! Sure, he probably only did it so he could afford to make those "artsy" movies, but still ... he must have had some connection to the source material in order to pull off the character effectively. And pull it off he most certainly did.

What I'm saying is, Garfield is pretty darn funny the way it is, and if you can't see that, maybe you need to take a good, hard look in the mirror. Maybe a mirror in a church.

When was the last time any of those snide, young hipsters at work stepped foot inside a church? Probably burst into flames if they did. I know they laugh at me. Don't think I don't hear it. They steal my yogurts, too. I'm not sure who, probably the little one who really pushes it on casual Fridays. I should set a trap. Wouldn't be so quick to filch a Stonyfield BaNilla once she lost a finger. I'd be in the right, too. Food thieves are the lowest form of office life.

Get off on a tangent much? Anyhoo...

My point is, you wouldn't take that little king guy out of the Wizard of Id. You wouldn't take Cathy out of Cathy. Please leave Garfield where he belongs.

Actually, you probably would take Cathy out of Cathy, you sickos.

I hope you get the help you need, I really do. I'm praying for you.
EM

Cloris Leachman Dubbed "Bat-Crap Crazy"

After watching no more than fifteen seconds of Tuesday night's episode of Dancing with the Stars, recent college graduate Andrew Besser and his roommates proclaimed Oscar, Emmy, and Golden Globe winning actress Cloris Leachman "bat-crap crazy" as well as "probably a real handful."

While none of the roommates are familiar with Leachman's award winning work in The Last Picture Show, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, or her own spinoff series, Phyllis, roommate Greg T. thinks he remembers seeing her a couple years back playing the "mean foreign grandma" on Malcolm in the Middle. "She was a total whackjob on that show, too," said T.

Other proclamations from the roommates of apartment 304 include, "Kirsten Dunst has too much head," "Arcade Fire look more Canadian than Nickelback," and "Leaves are gay."
EM

Alaskan Voter Weighs In

I'm not a political person by nature. When election day rolls around, I'm usually miles from a polling place, wandering the Arctic in my ceaseless pursuit of gold, GOOOOLD! But this year, on November 4th, you best believe I'll be making base camp right there in town. This is the most important election of my lifetime, and I'm determined to make sure my voice is heard.

As an Alaskan, I'm extremely proud of that moose-guttin', puck-droppin', flute-playin', pit bull-kissin' governor of ours. And while it's undeniable that she's a fun and feisty hottie of the frozen tundra, this is not the only reason I support her.

I support Palin because of where she stands on the issues, the REAL issues: mining, Misfit Toys, reindeer-snout modification; I support the governor because she's always been staunchly pro-pickaxe and anti-Bumble; she has endeavored to normalize relations with the monarchy of King Moonracer; she has been a tireless champion of elfin rights; and she was instrumental in saving Christmas that one year Santa was acting like such a big, crybaby douche.

This election, however, is not about who should be second-in-command, it's about choosing a new commander-in-chief, and I want my commander to be John McCain: war hero, maverick, and the only candidate who has the experience to deal with the challenges we, as a nation, face.

Sure, the economy may not be his strong suit, but, for me, it all comes down to homeland security. When it's three in the morning, and that abominable snow monster is coming at you with his sharp teeth and his frizzy white hair and his crazy, roll-y eyes, whose shaky old finger do YOU want on the button?

When all is said and done, McCain and Palin are the only choice for folks like me: red-haired, stop-motion prospectors who enjoy licking the pointed ends of dangerous tools.

So, happy voting, America. Don't let the Bumbles win. Or the black fella. See you in December when ABC Family starts showing the ass off my special again. Mush! MUUUUSH!

EM

Cat Anticipates Owner Will Love Dead Chipmunk

Oh, man, is she gonna dig this. Can't wait to see the look on her face.

"Is that a chipmunk? Is it dead? Mittens, you f'n rock!"

This is gonna be great. I mean, who doesn't love a dead chipmunk? And you should've seen how I got him. Thing's running for the bush, I'm like, "Thwack … Where'd you think you were going?" And from there it was just:

"Okay, you can go." Right paw, Bap.

"Seriously, it's okay, you can take off." Left paw, Bap.

"Sorry-sorry-sorry, I couldn't resist. Honest this time. Go on." Both paws, Bap-bap.

You would've loved it. And she's gonna love it.

I'm wondering if I should leave it on the step or if it's better to hold it in my mouth and wait. If I drop it on the step, she'll be all, "Who left this awesome dead chipmunk here?" And then I can stroll up like, "Not a problem."

But if I keep it in my mouth and wait, then it's like I'm presenting it as a formal offering. It's a tough call.

I think I'm gonna hold it. That feels right to me.

Oh, shit here she comes. Okay … stay cool … you're a cat, you're a cat ...

Hey. What's going on? Were you out? I didn't even …

Oh, this? Just a little something I picked up ... thought I'd slide it your way.

Why are you looking at me like that?

Yeah, it's a dead chipmunk, what's it look like?

What do you mean, "What am I doing?" I'm hunting and gathering. I'm a cat. I'm a mini-tiger. Think about that. There's tiger in here.

Dude … don't be all disgusted. I'm trying to give you something here, do you a favor.

You know what … f you. You're still feeding me, but f you. Maybe I'll see you around.
EM

Least Popular Vendors at 2008 Wedding Expo

• Shotgun Wedding Shotguns by René
• Sheet-Cakers!
• Reverend Longwind
• Oh, F*ck It Centerpieces
• Larry Anders' Fowl-Accented Hors d'œuvres (formerly Larry's "Release-A-Dove")
• DJ Funnyhats
• O'Riordan's Irish Wedding in a Bottle
• FlowersThatMeanShit.com
• Len & Trudy: Line Dance Starters
• Subdued and Tasteful Packable Ceremonies for the Twice Married (Now Available in Thrice)
• Hell, I Can Snap a Picture Studios
• Pardon the Odor Limousine Service
• Kickass Harpist
• Simone, the Sighing Wedding Planner
• Morton's Double Occupancy Coffins
• Taped-Over Porn Videographers
• Planned Parenthood

EM

Elderly Deserve Respect, Organs

It's corny, perhaps—some might consider it downright old-fashioned—but it happens to be a sentiment, no matter how many times I hear it, that gets me nodding my gray head in agreement:

Old folks deserve your respect. And your vital organs.

Think of what the elderly have lived through, the sacrifices they've made: The Great Depression. WWII. Don't you think fortitude such as that deserves your healthy liver? I should think so.

Silently slaving to put their coddled, baby boomer children through college … you can't give up an eye or two in appreciation?

Imagine, in your lifetime, going from the horse-drawn carriage to the Prius; from flappers to hippies, to yuppies, to Gen X-ers, to whatever the ungrateful young monsters are called nowadays. As a senior, I can tell you that it's been quite a challenging era in which to live. And I could really use a kidney.

When you find yourself aged and fading, wouldn't you like to know that you can count on your progeny to give up an organ to replace the one you're planning on giving me right now?

I see.

If that's your answer, then.

I should hope for your sake that the youth of today won't be as stingy with their body parts as you're being with yours.

Don't try and back-pedal now. What's done is done. I can see you want to leave. Go on, then, leave. No one's stopping you.

I wouldn't want to visit a tired old woman in need of a kidney either.

Even if she did bring me life.

Go.

But don't go away mad in case this is our last—

I am not being morbid, I'm being realistic. Whatever happens, I don't want you feeling guilty.

Even though your guilt will be great.

I want you to enjoy yourself. Enjoy yourself the way I always hoped to but never could as I was always too poor and sick from the sacrifices I made ensuring your well-being.

No, you know what ... I don't even want it now. No. Keep it. Put it back. I won't take it. I wouldn't take it. Because you're only doing it under protest. If you were offering it up willingly …

Really?

Don't say "yes" unless you mean it because I'll believe you.

Okay, then.

Thank you, dear.

You've made your mother very happy.

There's some Bactine in the cabinet, let's get you cleaned up.
EM

Obama Sign Repurposed by Homeless Man

Francis Galvin, a homeless man who usually positions himself between the Dunkin Donuts and the Four Eyes near the train station, has begun using a slightly altered Barack Obama campaign sign in his daily panhandling activities.

In tearing away all but the word "CHANGE" Galvin has created an effective and stylish alternative to his previous signage, a weather-beaten rectangle of cardboard bearing the message, "HOMELESS CLEAN + SOBER".

Galvin claims he never intended to make a political statement with his new sign. "I'll read a newspaper when I can get my hands on one," says Galvin, "but I don't really follow politics. With this, I just saw 'CHANGE' and I was like, 'I can use that.'"

When asked who he supports in the upcoming election, Galvin replied, "Clapton, man. All the way."

An associate of Galvin's known only as Blue is considered a pioneer in the field of campaign-sign alteration thanks to his innovative 1996 work,"on the DOLE."

EM

Brian Wilson to Complete Unfinished Waffle

Beach Boy Brian Wilson is rumored to be returning to the kitchen to finish work on a large Belgian waffle he abandoned early Sunday morning.

"I'm not sure if you'd call it a block or if I just lost interest," said the 66 year old Wilson. "Sometimes an artist just needs to take a step back."

Sources close to the Pet Sounds-mastermind report that he has tapped long-time friend and collaborator Van Dyke Parks to help out with the "crunchy edges" as well as the "soggy parts."

No word yet if Wilson, the man behind such pop classics as "Surfer Girl" and "Don't Worry Baby," plans to revisit the chicken piccata which has remained untouched in his fridge since Wednesday evening.
EM

Joe Sixpack Responds

Hey there, America. Joe here.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning to find that Governor Palin mentioned me in that debate last night. I didn't catch it myself. After supper, I headed out to the garage to work on Bobbie Jean (my F-150), and I didn't come back in 'til around eleven-thirty or so. Don't tell my wife, Amy, but I wasn't working on the truck that whole time … I dozed off at one point. That creeper of mine can be surprisingly comfortable.

I don't have a TV out there in the garage and the radio reception is pretty bad, so I usually just wind up listening to some of the old tapes I have lying around. (Steve Miller got a lot of play last night.) But even if I could have watched the debate out there, I wouldn't have, because anyone who knows Joe Sixpack knows that by nine o'clock I'm on beer five, and Joe Sixpack doesn't give a rat's-backside about politics after beer three.

The only reason I know about the shout-out at all is because Eddie Punchclock and Charlie Lunchpail brought it up this morning when we were standing around the Roach Coach – that's what we call the canteen truck that sets up in the parking lot during break.

Eddie got a big ol' kick out of the whole thing. "I'll tell you what, when that Alaska lady said Joe Sixpack, I nearly fell out of the well-worn Lay-Z-Boy recliner that holds a hallowed place in my Man Cave," said Eddie. "I had no idea Mrs. Palin even knowed you, Joe." (He has that way of talking ... folksy yet still sort of calculated ... kind of like Governor herself.)

Anyway, the thing of it is, she doesn't know me. Neither does that Biden fella. In fact, none of these politicians know Joe Sixpack. To be blunt, I find the manner in which they evoke my name a rather hollow, cynical gesture. (There I go, revealing that I'm not the backwards, ignorant slob these politicos assume me to be.)

Governor, let's try this from here on out: you don't mention me on the stump, and I won't mention how I never would have heard of you at all had Hillary whupped Obama or had McCain been allowed to pick Lieberman like he wanted. Sound like a plan?

That Lieberman's an odd duck, isn't he? His voice reminds of the father from Alf. 'Member that guy? Max Wright I think his name is. Friggin' Alf … Classic.

Sorry 'bout the tangent, folks … Joe Sixpack just hit beer four … I'm done with politics.
EM

Perhaps This Temper Tantrum Will Persuade You

Dearest Mother:

While I appreciate you allowing me to accompany you on this excursion to Target – might I say that I am particularly elated to be riding in the main section of the cart rather than the far more constraining upper berth as the authorities would prefer – there is still the matter of Halloween candy that, much to my chagrin, has brought us to this uniquely odious impasse.

Though I understand full well that I have yet to consume my evening victuals, and that a mound of Skittles does not and cannot constitute a quote-unquote "nutritious snack," neither of these observations hold sway as I am deeply desirous of said Skittles, and I insist on being granted license to consume copious amounts forthwith.

I discern from your expression and from the hushed though insistent snake-like hiss you are now employing in your voice that we remain at odds on this Skittles-consuming score. Perhaps a temper tantrum will allow you to see things from my perspective.

Bear in mind that it concerns me not who stops to watch my eruption, nor how my behavior may reflect upon you as a caregiver, all that matters to me is being allowed the opportunity to shove fistfuls of rainbow-colored goodness into my gaping maw. And should you fail to meet my demands, I VOW TO SUMMON THE WRATH OF SHIVA THE DESTROYER TO RAIN DEVASTATION UPON YOUR PITIABLE HEAD! I WILL REND SINEW FROM BONE! I WILL REDUCE YOU TO CINDERS! I WILL—

Why, thank you, Mother, they're just as delicious as I'd anticipated.

Now, if it's not too much trouble, I should like to visit the toy aisle next.
@

Cheer Up, Canceled Show

Hey there, First New Show of the Fall Season to be Canceled:

I don't want to take up too much of your time. Just wanted to check in, see how you're holding up. Wish I knew what to say.

It sucks, y'know? Just ... man.

I'll tell you something, though. There're a lot of shows out there don't even make it to a network. Not even a cable network. There are shows out there who dream of making it as far as you did.

You hold your head high when you walk out of here with all your shit in a box.

And, yeah, would it have been nice if they aired more than just that first episode? Sure. And would it have been nice if you got to shoot a couple more so you could maybe pay down that credit card a little? Absolutely.

But you know what else would have been nice? If Huey Lewis married Elizabeth Shue. Wouldn't that be nice?

Nice couple.

Anyhoo ... yeah. Sorry, man. Seriously.

You took a run at it though, didn't you? You went out there, and just ...

That's something.

Listen, I gotta go, you hang in there.

You know what they say ... He closes a door, He opens a window ... God ... that whole thing.

Hey, f 'em, right? What do they know?

I love you, man. I do. You're my favorite show. And I'm not just saying that.

Can you hit everything with a Clorox wipe on your way out, we got someone else moving in in the A.M. Cool? Cool.
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