Posted at 8:12 PM PST
Howdy, Pardners….
Now, I don't know much about the legal technicalities and such, but it seems to me that if you can force a president to testify under oath about a blow job, then you should be able to get Condoleezza Rice to testify under oath about matters of national security.
Not that Condi doesn't want to talk about the Administration's pre-9/11 anti-terrorism work. Heck, it looks like she's making the media rounds on pretty much a daily basis... blabbing her head off about the very thing that she won't testify about under oath. That's kind odd, ain't it?
The only thing that I can figure is, is that you can lie on television talk shows, but you can't lie under oath.
Or…. Condoleezza has integrity, and the Bush Administration knows it. I mean, she just might be one of them folks who thinks that being under oath means that you have to actually tell the truth. Yeah, that could be a problem for the Boy King and the Big Dick.
Of course, if you read the headlines with any sort of seriousness, then you'd know that the single most important event in the history of the universe was announced a couple of days ago…. Tom Cruise and Penelope Cruz have broken up.
And I only have one question…. "Who the FUCK cares?"
There. I said it, and I'm glad.
I mean, it's not like Britney and Justin broke up.
"They broke up a long time ago."
"Really?"
"Yes. Really."
"And nobody told me! What the hell has the media been doing?!"
Yes, yes, yes… writing late today… uh… this evening. The nightshift thing is sorta changing my sleeping habits, and besides… I've been busy today.
As is our habit, Nurse Diane and I played chess this morning. Creamed her. Annihilated her. Early on, she gave up control of the center of the board, and I was ruthless… pitiless… a Chess Monster. After the game, I overheard her talking to Laura….
"So, how did it go?" asked Laura.
"He won."
"Again?"
"Well, you know how he hates to lose. I let him win. Don't tell him."
"Yeah. I let him win at cribbage."
The cackling of the two hens could be heard all over The Farm.
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It's been a bad week for my he-man masculinity. First, I'm told that I have a "cute penis", and now… the girls are letting me win. Life just ain't fair.
&&&&&
Folks keep asking me… "How much does it cost to go to Burning Man?"
My answer? "How much does a car cost?"
Ya see, it all depends on what kind of comfort you're looking for. If you don't mind spending a week sleeping in a filthy little tent (which, by the way, will get to about 130 degrees by 9:am), drinking water from jugs in the back of you car, and not bathing for a week or so…. it ain't too expensive.
But I'm an old guy. I NEED a hot shower every morning. I NEED a clean bathroom. I NEED clean clothes every single day. I NEED a soft queen-sized bed to sleep in. I NEED a generator and air conditioning. Therefore, it costs me a butt-load of money to go to Burning Man.
You can buy a 1974 VW bug with broken window cranks, no heater, and bald tires, or… you can buy a car that will remember how you like you seat adjusted, and will ask if you'd like your coffee warmed-up.
They both get you down the street. It just depends on how comfortable you want to be getting down the street.
So… how much does your car cost?
"I don't know. Was that clear?"
"Clear as mud."
"Thanks."
By the way… At Burning Man, I will trade hot showers for sex. Well… except for Mayhem. I don't even want to think about that.
Have a day.
Wait! Wait! Thanks to James for the most excellent picture today…..
The Toady
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