A Convention of Yahoos

From Yahoo City (Denver, Colorado)
OK, the fun started when all the Growlers ganged around the office analog tv and began getting ready to watch the Dumbocratic Convention--"Time for the puff pieces," Franny and Zoe sneered. "They're trotting brain-blown Uncle Teddy out tonight," walter crackpipe yelled from the back of the room by the Heineken keg. "Mother Obama, Saint Michelle, is trying to prove she's not a savage tonight before all those white Yahoo delegates," erupted Dismal Dan Dove, the Growler sanitation man. "Trash is trash, you should know that Dan," said someone, perhaps an NRA spy amongst us. That was the chatter before the Dumbocratic Convention began--a lot of cynical whacks at the Jim Lehrer News Hour Convention coverage team--really lamebrains sitting smugly around tv host Jim Lehrer and pontificating, especially the Dumber-than-Dumb Mark Shields who was there with his flat and boring punditry--and then there was haughty but still Yahoo David Brooks, the nothing-suits-me guy who leaves you to believe he has the solution to everything troubling mankind at the moment--and we're all thinking, this dude's nothing but a god-damn journalist, a hack, a balderdash hack, full of himself and his own visions of dreamland.

We all horsed around--sorry, Mr. Ed--you see, Mr. Ed wasn't invited; the office where the tv is is too small for a horse, editing horse or race horse--there's just not enough room. Like the tv talking horse, Mister Ed (our Mr. Ed doesn't talk, he just edits), like Wilbur did for him, we tried to put mirrors up in a way our Mr. Ed could dig the tv--you know, from down in his stable-like office in our horse-barn-like basement--he snorted a lot of whinnying protests, which we all up in the human office ignored--"Give us two hooves if you're happy!" chided Colonel Sing the Singing Seeker from his perch on the bust of Pallais above our chamber door. Mr. Ed sent back a memo (he can write), "Next time I catch your ass bending over I'm gonna stallionize you! You'll sing then, you Seeker bastard!" We all got a stable full of good horse laughs over that reply. The Colonel wasn't offended--in fact he sang a little diddy about the situation:

Saddle him up and ride him fast
See how long his horse's ass can last
When he falters, then he's haltered
Then he's altered to a horse's lass.

OK, so it's forced rhyme--who cares? The Colonel got a kick out of that!

So out comes first Nancy "Rich Bitch" Pelosi. She was dull from the get go. Jesus how vapid. "That's what I was thinking," Franny and Zoe said, "Sawdust-brain thinking--like the Scarecrow in the Diddler of Oz." "He was a man," Uncle Charms-for-Harm chimed in. "Well, don't you think Rich Bitch thinks of herself as a female man?" Franny and Zoe came back.

Nancy Pelosi chirped on for a short time but it was made long by how boring and mundanely PR it was--all Dumbocrats are the greastest--all Dumbocrats are perfect--all Dumbocrats know what's best for us even though we don't think they do--all Dumbocrats are for the "little guy" and all Dumbocrats hate Lobbyists--all Dumbocrats hate the War in Iraq--all Dumbocrats are saints even when they vote against the wishes of We the People--even when they vote for more funding for Faux President Bush's "invasion and occupation" of Iraq (illegal--worthy of impeachment--though there was no mention of impeachment anywhere in the air).

The Network scare spinners after Rich Bitch's speech got busy trumpeting their constant reference to the big division in the Dumbocrat camp with trumpet blares like "Does Obama have enough Convention support to withstand an attack by Hillary Clinton's forces?" (Then they always show that same white woman who says she's so pissed at the Dumbocratic Party for the way it dissed Hillary she is going to vote for John McCain)--and this idiocy is parroted by every commercial faux-news coverage--and then there was the majestic Katie Couric there in her little cheerleader skirt--looking perky--looking like she may be getting banged pretty regular now--some of her pimples have cleared up--anyway, there was her majesty Katie Couric talking as though she had her finger on the right button when it came to punditry--ex-cheerleader, newsreader, Katie, talking as though this Dumbocrat Party division might spell a soon a deflated-balloon-type situation for Obama--the Darkie Candidate--ooops, we're thinking like Katie Couric and the white lady who's voting for John McCain, really because she hates blacks and not for what the Dumbos did to Hillary (you notice she dropped the Rodham when she was running for president?)--Hillary's wacko charming husband brought her down with his stupid interference in her campaign, I'm sure at her advisers's request--these advisers the action behind these candidate puppets.

"Nancy Pelosi is such a Yahoo wimp...look at her phony ass," cried Franny and Zoe. "Cry-baby Mother Cindy Sheehan is running against Rich Bitch in San Fran," added walter crackpipe--back by the beer barrel.

"Where's Wolfie?" somebody asked.

"He's off somewhere drinking with thedailygrowlerhousepianist--who he's incorporating into the film he's STILL working on--how long is it now? And where's that other story he promised us? Is the moon full yet?" somebody answered.

We spotted the Texan in New York in the audience. "Where have you been, Tex?" somebody hooted from the back of the room, back by walter crackpipe and the Heineken keg. "Nowhere," somebody hooted back from the front of the room.

Nancy Pelosi was shuffled off to Buffalo by a low-keyed rather dull applause.

And then, up popped Caroline Kennedy--looking pretty snazzy for her age--looking like her mother--oh no, one of our graphic arteests is flashing photos of a very naked Jackie O up on the big Mac's screen. Shame! Wow, look at Jackie O's ass! "Hey, I agree with you, she does have a great ass, " said Franny and Zoe. "Your ass ain't so bad either, F & Z," sang Colonel Sing the Singing Seeker.

Your ass in the glass
Pulls me from the morass
And makes me feel like a man again.
Your ass to the touch
Fills me up with much
Hot, strong, streaming, gay desire.

"Somebody stuff a turban in the Colonel's mouth, please," Ann Remington-Rand screamed from her perch near the fountainhead.

And Caroline spieled out a plethora of Kennedy Klan taglines, mentioning her saintly father in a crispy way, the guy who fucked Marilyn Monroe in the White House while Jackie O was probably banging some security Marine in another "green or blue or purple" room at the same time--her father, the little sex-maniac prick who fucked the Chicago mob boss's best moll--Sammy Giancana's babe--Sammy the Nutcracker--Sammy the Weasel--Sammy the Pissed Off--again, we would asked Caroline, "Who killed your father?"--you think Caroline really knows who killed her father? That would be quite a Convention stopper if she revealed who had killed her father. Instead, she started talking about her dear ole sweet and saintly Uncle Teddy! Why, Uncle Teddy is such a lovable old Uncle--why he taught Caroline how to sail! Whooooo! Then Caroline says Uncle Teddy is so good in his fight for young women's rights and someone in the room kept hollering, "Hey, Caroline, what about Mary Jo Kopekne?"

Good Ol' Uncle Teddy's Legacy--"Any of you gals need a ride back to my hotel room?"
"Hey, Caroline, what about Uncle Teddy drunk out of his mind down in Palm Beach while your cousin William was raping the girl out on the Kennedy Private Beach!" "Hey, Caroline, what about good ole Aunt Joan--whatever happened to her?"

Ah, the Couple That Drinks Together Stinks Together
"Hey, Caroline, what about your grandfather, old Joe the Bootlegger, zapping out the frontal lobes of your hidden aunt?"

Caroline's Aunt Rosemary. Old Joe said, "Hell, cut her lobes out and maybe that'll calm her down--she's a dud--and Bootlegger Joe Kennedy can't stand duds!"
Cruel questions being slung at the tv by the feisty and getting-drunk Growlers.

Sam Giancana--------------------and Judith Exner, the moll who Caroline's father banged. Privilege, Caroline. You are a privileged person, sweetheart!

And then, here he came--looking pretty good for a guy who's got one foot in the grave--and brain cancer to boot--old Uncle Teddy, his head looking rather bloated, like he has a lake of water on his brain--Jesus, what a fat pig sort'a head's on Uncle Teddy. And he starts spieling in his Kennedy know-it-all manner. He's spieling nonsense but the Yahoos are clapping madly and women are crying--how do the cameramen know just where these crying women are in that big crowd?--they go right to the crying women, like the evangelical tv shows always go right to the crying whining women wringing their hands in an adoration of saintly MEN--and so far this Convention has been all about saintly MEN! The privileged. How out of touch they are. How in cahoots they are. Uncle Teddy mentioned his accomplishments--they were hard to distinquish--he takes credit for Medicare and Medicaid--he takes credit for bringing the races together--he takes credit for being against the "Iraq War"--is that true? Didn't he vote for appropriations for the "invasion and occupation" of Iraq? Didn't Obama and Hillary and all those rats vote for appropriations in the billions for this Bush folly? This impeachable offense!

There was so much hooting and ridiculing of Uncle Teddy's brain-drained words from the Growler delegation--"Send him back to the hospital!" we heard someone shouting--a memo from the basement read, "If you want a horse's opinion about this--Uncle Teddy looks more like a jackass's ass than anything I can think of." "So the god-damn horse can see the tv! Why've we got a fucking horse for an editor?" "Hey, we got a Wolf-Man for our Guide." "Yeah, our Virgil, boating us right straight down to Holy Hell!"

The popcorn was snacked down to the bottom of the big bowl. The Heineken keg was emptied and rolled toward the front of the room and another keg put in its place. "Who's paying for this beer?" asked Franny and Zoe. "We took money out of the Christmas fund...or was it the United Fund contributions?" said marvelousmarvbackbiter who had popped in before he was headed out to cover the Yankees/Boston (the first game was dismal for the Yanks) series this week. "Actually it was donated by the Royal Family of Dubai," Ziggy Ishmael the The Daily Growler freelance bookkeeper informed us.

And then here came out into the spotlite a big tall dude who we already knew was Michelle Obama's brother Craig, the basketball coach ("Men's team coach," as he politically correctly said) at Oregon State U, and he brightly lit up the podium and started adorationally spouting the wonderments of his little sister Michelle. It got kind'a sexy for awhile when he said their parents divided a bedroom in half for them and he slept on one side and Michelle on the other--and he said they used to lay in bed and talk all night. "I'll bet they talked all night! Like my brothers used to talk to me sometimes all night!" claimed Franny and Zoe. And the perfect brother Craig babbled on and on about his sister and then it was time, the big event of the night--Michelle Obama (and don't say "Mama") came out and was going to set us straight about what kind'a real man her husband really is. What we got instead was a long sort of bullshitty mean sort of praise of herself--unwittingly pitching into the middle of the mix suddenly Hillary Clinton's name--toning that down by immediately bringing Uncle Joe Biden's name into the mix--she was meaning to say that Hillary was brave like Obama in that she was the first serious woman candidate (they ignored Shirley Chisholm's run for the presidency back in those lost times of the 70s) like Barack Obama's so courageous for running as a black man (they mostly ignored Rev. Jesse Jackson though they did let his Congressman son rattle on with a sort of a nonsense speech)...the blacks all in high praise of Obama, their moment in the hot Dumbocratic sun.

Michelle Obama, a very photogenic babe, she's very pretty, has a rather odd body, a really big ass--"Holy Cow!" a rather sodden Colonel Sing started yowling, "Look at the ass on that woman! Wow. Reminds me of my Punjab beauty of a wife's ass--Mrs. Obama has a Punjab ass! I love it--it goes on and on..." Then the Colonel broke into song.

There's nothing like an ass
That's a lovely ass
An ass that's alluring and round
But an ass that is grand
Is the best for the hands
Of a man holding steady to his love.

That got the Colonel a huge round of applause from the rowdy Growlers--even some very loud hoof stampings from our basement Growler.

A The Daily Growler Kind of First Lady
After Michelle ended her glorification of herself and her husband--she really didn't tell us much that was new about her husband--"Have you ever caught him cheatin' on you?" walter crackpipe wanted to know--suddenly up on screen popped Barack himself. He fucked it up but no one caught it maybe--it was a minor thing--he told Michelle he was with a workingman's family in Saint Louis when in fact he was in Kansas City--they are hard to tell apart--they both are on rivers, you know, that sort of thing--plus, they're both in Missouri, so he got part of it right.

They were still sort of startled that they are in this position of movin' on up! I mean, this is big time for this dude who does have the charm and personality to go all the way--I mean all blacks like him and a lot of white women like him, too--the black Slick Willie!

The gang shut off the analog tv after Obama came out stuttering and stammering and his little girls show-boated, what we thought was a little too much--"Hi, Daddy" "We love you, Daddy" "Hi Mister Italian Man." and more "We love you, Daddy." Jesus, by then the fun was over--there was nothing more to do than to wait until tonight when Hillary hits the podium for some trumpeting of her own--that'll be funny if she trots old Slick Willie out!

Did you notice how they dissed poor old Jimm-eh Cah-tah--really dissed ole Jimm-eh. You know why! Because he dissed Israel over their cruelty of the Palestinians, who the Israelis consider lower than Hitler considered Jews.

thestaff
for The Daily Growler