Friday, March 7, 2008

Seven Year Itch

A few things.  One, today is the seven year anniversary of me and Mrs. Joe's first date.  (YAY!)  We had a late afternoon lunch at the Chevy's in Times Square, went to see "O Brother Where Art Thou," went for drinks at a nearby hotel bar and then went to a club to see a mutual friend's band play.  I escorted her to her front door, went home alone, but (needless to say) we saw each other again.  Without giving too much away, it worked out.

And speaking of seven-year itches, my buddy Broadway Carl has his daily T-Minus countdown 'til dipshit shuffles off the stage of history and into his alcohol-soaked, brush-clearing, sun-baked obscurity.  In fact, the shuffling process literally began yesterday:

He truly is the most embarrassing dimwit ever to occupy the White House.  So, yeah, I'm feeling that even-year itch.  I'm feeling it deeply.  I can't wait for that unrelenting reminder of American mediocrity and mendacity to finally depart my daily attention.  It is funny to watch the mantle get passed from one sellout POS to another.  My good friend metaphive succinctly makes a point about Saint McCain's appearance with Preznit Bojangles that would take me multiple posts over weeks and weeks, and still fall short:
Dear John McCain. 
I saw you receive the President's endorsement on TV yesterday. Tell me. Does that dick feel as good in your mouth as it did in your ass 8 years ago?


Can't be gone soon enough.

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