Short bus tour

It's no secret I was a Greg Gutfeld fan before everyone else noticed him. It's because I'm smarter and better than everyone else. Get used to it, please.

At first Gutfeld lost interest in Cindy Shaheen....from his double secret blog:

I have lost interest in cindy shaheen since she stopped wearing the hat. i was hoping that when she finally removed the hat, there would be a smaller hat underneath. and so on, like those russian dolls. but instead of dolls, there would be hats. adorable gardening hats.

Sadly, I saw new pictures of her and it seems to have been a baseball cap hiding beneath the gardening hat. Not a smaller gardening hat. Please note that her old hat looks a lot like Matt Drudge's drugstore hat. Coincidence? I think not.

Hopefully once the baseball cap comes off there will be a ski hat, then a beanie, then a BusHitler branded pink yarmulke, and eventually the truth...a nylon stocking holding her primative liberal brain in place.

Gutfeld's Russian doll/gardening hat concept was a much better reality. But then again conservatives have always been smarter than the unwashed.

His former roommate Scott started The Cindy Sheehan Adult Diaper Fund Drive, and almost immediately someone donatated a short bus to drive her around. Restraining straps and mouthguard are still needed, by the way.

The good jasminlive news is though estranged from Scott, Greg regained some enthusiasm for Cindy:

i am very excited about the cindy shaheen bus tour. she should have it painted like the Partridge family bus, with a little dove on it. that would be great. a dove in a gardening hat. What do you think?

Obviously a brilliant idea.

Whatever happens with Cindy and her bus tour -- I may be a heartless conservative -- but I do hope she gets enough money from the media/donations to complete her gender resassignment surgeries and intense psychotherapy.

The left calls her their Terri Schiavo. That may be so, except Terri had better control of her faculties.

The truth exposed

Cathy Seipp has the scoop on what trouble I'm up to in lieu of writing or taking photographs.

She even took a cameraphone picture of me, bikini-clad and my hair looks to be a really awkward shade of red. It's probably from eating too many red-fur puppies (but they taste so good slow roasted on the BBQ and it angers the PETArds).

Even better Cathy has a beautiful Jasmine live picture of herself at age 14. Go check it out! I have to go fire up the BBQ, I caught a feral cat for tonight's feast.

UPDATE: I just figured out why I look so unrelaxed in that photo. That was the day after I had to lie on the pavement for four hours while some idiot actor tried to draw a chalk line around me. My muscles were sore. Faking two broken legs is NOT comfortable.

Online writing

A lot of people have speculated that my lack of online writing this summer was due to massive offline writing efforts for my book. I hate to disappoint you, but that’s not at all the case.

Money got tight this summer and I was unwilling to part with any Halliburton stock. While at the local Whole Foods, picking up some paper towels not made in or near a plant that processes peanuts, I was approached by a casting director and subsequently cast for a regular role in a teevee series. Though I've never had acting aspirations, it seemed like the right thing to do.

Be sure to watch for me as the corpse with the necrotic foot, the four breasted corpse, the corpse with the Colombian necktie, and the obese corpse who had to be separated from her divan with military-grade lasers.

Apparently I look more realistically dead than actual dead people! This is a great testament to my heretofore unrecognized acting talent.

I’d say it was the greatest compliment I’ve received in years but it kind of ties with that time a guy I used to be madly in love with told me, “Moxie, you are special because…,” and fell asleep in his office chair mid-sentence.

I’d like to think the vast and limitless number of reasons I’m special exhausted him.

So anyway, Dr. G, Medical Examiner is on Discovery Health. All scenes of the autopsies as well as footage of me dead are simple dramatizations. Dead people just aren't realistic enough, or the glass half-full version is; I'm simply MORE dead than they are. Teevee audiences are very picky these days.

The bad news is, I’m still alive.

The good news is, I’ve been asked back for a second season!

Eventually I'd like to write or direct a coroner's office reality show.

Self portrait

There was an extemporaneous VRWC party Saturday night.

Despite the rigid security (fingerprinting and face recognition technology) an androgynous camel-toed liberal made it inside the conspiracy headquarters.

If it weren’t for the camel toe, we wouldn’t have known whether it was an effeminate man or a really ugly intellectual woman. Reminded me of our gender disputes over Hillary back in 1993.

Unfortunately, the security briefing we received last week spoke of a party-crasher but wasn’t specific as to the who, what, where, when and how. We were pretty busy planning our next war and didn’t feel it necessary to preempt all VRWC parties indefinitely.

We get reports like this all the time. Liberals just don't know how to party. Why ground even a single fete, it's letting the leftists win.

More importantly, the Right Wing can’t control the universe if denied the reckless enjoyment of doing body shots off Dick Cheney’s chest while working (and we work all the time). Cheney's pacemaker adds a certain indescribable zing – Rummy likes to call it the shock and awwww yeah shot.

The hysterical intellectual party-crasher picked up a stack of Halliburton stock certificates and waved them at us angrily. (Truth be told, we have so many of them -- they are frequently used as cocktail napkins.)

Consuela, the dumb chaturbate bitch that she is brought the liberal a top shelf martini. Furious, I had to reprimand my maid for this poor behavior.

She should know by now -- we NEVER EVER serve the Grey Goose martinis to liberals -- their palates aren’t as evolved as ours. It’s like serving seared bald eagle to an officer of the World Wildlife Fund.

The ugly chick accepted the martini anyway and after taking a big gulp momentarily placed it down on one of the certificates. She then raised her glass and pocketed that Halliburton goodness. I consider it my personal contribution to the stupid and inane.

Condi winked at me just as Andrew, my gay houseboy, grabbed the interloper by the ass. I reminded him the liberal was a "she" so he reached for her flabby arm instead. Firmly he led her out the back door, keys to the Hummer in hand.

I told him “Andrew, drive her out to the desert and leave her with only a few waffles and John Kerry’s cell phone number.”

Let’s see how she fares.

Who the hell is Carl Rove?

I have no idea who Carl Rove is or what he aspires to do. My personal (and free) valuable advice previously only available through a w$$kend seminar at a local airport hotel near you is this: fake it until you make it, man!

Surely this Carl guy is one small leap above the asshole who paid top dollar for advertising on The Drudge Report and didn't even check to make sure the man who controls the universe's name was spelled properly. That's the guy who should resign! Not poor Carl Rove who has been slaving away over the deep fryer for a decade. Oil!!!!

The whole ad campaign is kind of like the dude who questions God but doesn't know how to spell it.

Maybe Carl is waiting for Godot. In that case, best of luck -- he sounds French and is probably protesting the war in Crawford.

MD/AB conspiracy?

While I could just ask, I'd rather speculate that the Drudge Report links to AP news wire stories on Breitbart.com have something to do with a new business model/profit sharing deal between Matt Drudge and Andrew Breitbart.

Ingenious, actually.

Instead of filtering ad revenue to the Las Vegas Sun or New York Times, they can send the money-love back to the source of the traffic (Note the ads on Breitbart.com).

Bravo!

UPDATE: More wild speculation. The Pajamadeen cartel will soon be tied in. God I feel smart today.

No longer a guilty pleasure

It used to be the drapes had to be drawn and the windows closed before I'd fire up my DVR and watch an episode of my guiltiest pleasure.

After a few beers last weekend, I revealed my love of "Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D List" and was shocked and delighted to find that the others were in agreement.

It's been over a year since I reached capacity on reality shows. Can't watch them anymore and it was purely by accident that I left the teevee tuned to Bravo and caught Griffin's newish reality show.

While I wouldn't consider her to be D list (if there were such a thing) she's still unafraid to show the truth about people who have some undetermined amount of fame and fortune.

Shameless grubbing for free EVERYTHING, paying an interior designer with beer and room & board, calling her gay friend her "main gay", covering costs on parties by associating them with charities, an incredibly sweet, doting non-famous husband, instructing Marines to show party guests where the bathrooms are, her D list goes on and on.

The bad far outweighs the good and yet, you still find some sympathy for her. In fact, you may even come away from the show liking her. She's brash, offensive and wonderfully funny -- what's not to like?

Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D List is on Bravo Wednesday nights.