Hillary-US

This is no laughing matter. Saturday night, a tad peeved at my lack of desire for sociability. Can you blame me? My inner movie is rewinding at warp speed, and the credits lack substance. Where is Hillary? Well, here's what I know. Conference call two days ago for supporters. I'm listening with attitude, waiting for the rah rah, sis boom bah, throw your love for me to him, and life will be like shangri-la. Guessy poo? That's the gist of it. I had my PUMAs give me one great question out of many submissions, but I hung up, yes I HUNG UP ON HILLARY. Ok, so there were many other Hillcrats on the wire, but no no no, G-d damn the Democrats, I had to leave that phone rally before the bile creeped out of my orifice. 22 million dollars in debt, 11 million of it belonging to the Clintons' personal stash. What's a girl to do? Oblahblah is bribing her with Willy Wonka dreams of a debt free life.
I know our Hillary. She will raise her hand with "his" and tell us that we must support him for the sake of our country. We cannot afford four more years of Bush. Last time I checked the maverick's record, he wasn't Bush. He has to pander a lil now, after all, he needs the conservative base. Ask Russ Feingold, a fearless Democrat, what he thinks of McCain. Tis all good. Start asking the fearless fools who backed O how they are going to twist this past week's pandering lies into words we "can believe in." POPPYCOCK!
So, still rewinding, I come to Joy Behar on Larry King Live. To be continued............

Saturday Night's All Right for Fightin

Well, Petunia is thirsty.

The beginning of summer is upon us weary politikers, and with it, hope springs nocturnal. Yes, I'd rather SLEEP through this armageddon of an election than function under the guise of happy to conform. Petunia is a rebel, always has been, and is about to BE a has been. Ain't going out in style, and to quote an infamous Wright man, "no, no, no it's G-d damn the liberal cable media outlets who are making me stare at my cable bill with no intention of paying it....soon. Petunia isn't here to regale you with the stories you've read about. Sinclair, FISA, Campaign Finance Reform, Audacity of the Dope. You have an amalgam of brain matter, don't you? YES YOU DO! This is Petunia's post for cathartic cleansing. Glad you are joining me through my journey towards November. Will the wolf please rise and hand in his badge? This coming week ought to be a humdinger. My girl receiving the Academy Award for fundraising with O. Substance? Since when has America, my country, chosen substance over perceived style? The kids are taking over the farm, and the rest of us laborious laborers are not going to plow their fields during the apocalypse. Someone wake the children up! Barry's home! Lock the doors.

diary of a foolish chick

act one, scene one: petunia is wild with anticipatory glee. the much heralded announcement of her heroine shall be vying for the title of, first chick prez. can't miss. what's to think about.

act one, scene two: petunia books much sought after room in over-priced washington d.c. hotel. four seasons? how predictable...no no no, make it a holiday inn. after all, didn't oblahblah once sleep on a cot there? what cool politik chick would miss the inaugural ball? the chick wears black, always. dancing with the stars, the real stars, the fanciful merriment shall be awash with mahtinis and la di da's. two days, one night, sleeping alone, of course, unless a hot lobbyist finds himself without a cause. november, soon enough.

act one, scene three: humdrum. debates. clock stops whilst misogynistic moderators pounce on the girl. no no no, dismissive thoughts. she's untouchable. folly to think otherwise. let the boys play ball. she doesn't bake cookies, ya know.



Coldplay - Politik