14 June 2006
Field Marshall - General - President for Life, Dr. Idi Ann Coulter Da Da
Last night I had a dream where I was walking down a city street in a crummy part of town, when who should come gallumping around the far corner on the same sidewalk as me, none other than the princess. Wearing that, "why can't I get a date with Matt Lauer?" fire-engine red ensemble from the clearance rack at Target lazily draped toga-ish over her shoulder pads and trainer-A-cups, she lumbers toward me with over-animated, Shelly Duval/Olive Oyl giant steps.
So stunned am I by the Paris Hilton (or should that be Amsterdam?) whiplash of her hair, and the "ohmygawd!" roll-back-into-their-prefrontal-sockets-until-only-the-redness-of-her-eyes-shows glance of hers, that my stride falters and I have to lean on one hand against a "No Parking in Driveway" sign post to catch my breath. With those vaulting pole legs launching her four feet closer to me with every second, she reminds me of a strawberry freezer pop on stilts.
Suddenly from the left, a garage door between us crashes open with Bruce Willis, looking like the final scene from Die Hard Whatever--only older--behind the wheel of a beat up Chevy Astro. He jumps from the moving mini-van and rolls once on the sidewalk towards her, leaps to his bare bloodied feet, strikes a firing pose, and empties his automatic pistol into her face.
She flattens out and lies there on the concrete, face--or something like it--up, in a puddle of blood.
Foolishly, I start towards the action packed assailant. Drawing closer I holler in disbelief, "She's dead!"
He holsters his weapon under his arm, takes a broken filter cigarette from a crumpled pack of Brand X, and lights a match. After two puffs and a smoke ring, he ambles away towards the Astro, turns, winks at me wryly, and smirks: "She needed killin.'"
Yippeekayea.
I may never drink Kool Aide out of a tall glass again.
In hopes of emotional and mental redemption, since I am presumed gawdless, and by the power vested in me by the First Amendment of the United States Constitution, I do hereby nominate Ann Coulter to be either: the Grand Poohbah, Imperial Dragon, Field Marshall, General, President for Life, Dr. Idi Amin Da Da of the Loyal Order of Lavatory Loiterers (LOLL*); or else Mayor of Detroit.
Is there a second?
JR Ford
UP (Unsubstantiated Press)
St. Petersburg, Fl.
sixtimeseven@aol.com
forty-two
*LOL Lasciviously
"Some people are like Slinkies--not really good for anything, but they still put a grin on your face when you topple them down a flight of stairs." -- Unknown.
So stunned am I by the Paris Hilton (or should that be Amsterdam?) whiplash of her hair, and the "ohmygawd!" roll-back-into-their-prefrontal-sockets-until-only-the-redness-of-her-eyes-shows glance of hers, that my stride falters and I have to lean on one hand against a "No Parking in Driveway" sign post to catch my breath. With those vaulting pole legs launching her four feet closer to me with every second, she reminds me of a strawberry freezer pop on stilts.
Suddenly from the left, a garage door between us crashes open with Bruce Willis, looking like the final scene from Die Hard Whatever--only older--behind the wheel of a beat up Chevy Astro. He jumps from the moving mini-van and rolls once on the sidewalk towards her, leaps to his bare bloodied feet, strikes a firing pose, and empties his automatic pistol into her face.
She flattens out and lies there on the concrete, face--or something like it--up, in a puddle of blood.
Foolishly, I start towards the action packed assailant. Drawing closer I holler in disbelief, "She's dead!"
He holsters his weapon under his arm, takes a broken filter cigarette from a crumpled pack of Brand X, and lights a match. After two puffs and a smoke ring, he ambles away towards the Astro, turns, winks at me wryly, and smirks: "She needed killin.'"
Yippeekayea.
I may never drink Kool Aide out of a tall glass again.
In hopes of emotional and mental redemption, since I am presumed gawdless, and by the power vested in me by the First Amendment of the United States Constitution, I do hereby nominate Ann Coulter to be either: the Grand Poohbah, Imperial Dragon, Field Marshall, General, President for Life, Dr. Idi Amin Da Da of the Loyal Order of Lavatory Loiterers (LOLL*); or else Mayor of Detroit.
Is there a second?
JR Ford
UP (Unsubstantiated Press)
St. Petersburg, Fl.
sixtimeseven@aol.com
forty-two
*LOL Lasciviously
"Some people are like Slinkies--not really good for anything, but they still put a grin on your face when you topple them down a flight of stairs." -- Unknown.
