Congrats To The Ex VP

Well, Dick Cheny had his annual heart attack and picnic over on the picnic grounds at Walter Reed Hospital in Washington today. This is the time of year that Dick likes to get his heart attack(s) out of the way, so that he can rumble with the arch-conservatives, and pretend that the people in the VFW Hall represent a cross section of the country. And truth be told, they do. In CHENEY COUNTRY.

Today's heart attack was sponsored by the "All American Anti Communist League" which usually brings the potato salad and other fixin's to the heart attack, and leaves the big food like hot dogs, cakes, chicken pot pies, and blueberry pies to the Woman's Brassiere League, who also usually brings the milk. The Acorn people inexplicably were there and brought the choking foods. They were seen force feeding the former VP chicken necks and hot pudding. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Also, we can't end today's blog without congrats to Phyllis Shafly for resuscitating Dick so they could get him to the emergency room before he died right there on the grass. Mrs Shafly, even though she is 89 years old this coming Sunday, threw her whole body into getting Dick breathing again. A true conservative!

The former Vice President is reportedly resting uncomfortably in the Richard Nixon memorial room, where funnily enough, not only did Dick Nixon die there, but so did Jackie "O", Mom's Mabley, Ed Sullivan, Topo Gigio, Ted Kennedy, Marcus Garvey, Dick Clark, Mrs. Snyder, my old cousin, and many other completely dead people.

But Mr. Cheney lives! And we are all praying (insert for or against here, please) that things turn out for the (please insert best or worst here).

(Please inset good or bad here) luck to former Vice President Dick Cheney!

Mr. Cheney's next heart attack will be announced when he starts to feel a little nauseous. Like a cherry pit in the chest. That kind of thing.

Joe

He Said It Over 30 Years Ago

A man of wisdom. Oh, Archie, where art thou, when we really need ya?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7fqCS7Y_kME&feature=related

The Adjudication Of The Case Of Tiger Woods

First thing. As much as Tiger Wood's apology to the Universe and everything in it yesterday was heartfelt (If I had a TV, I might have almost cried), perspective must rule the blog.

He's a golfer. Not a real big guy like Bill Clinton, who we all got into that mess with 10 years ago or so, but an "athlete" who has amassed a billion dollars so far. But he needed to explain his situation, and we the people, plotzed down in our chairs and watched the spectacle for what it was.

What was that now? More men cheat on their wives than their golf games, and are none the worse for it. And many of them value their golf games more than they do Mrs. Ball and Chain back home. Look it up. It's in the Talmud, somewhere in the middle. Goodie.

As I ride around town dropping off auto parts, I hear many of the garage men say they have turned off all of the bad news of the CNN's, et al, and after supper turn on ESPN and drift off to sleep, having given up what Tiger seemingly so much enjoyed. But TIGER WOOD'S marital situation? We need a channel for that it seems.

I realize he invoked The Buddha, and this must seem to him to have some influence in getting forgiveness from the world of monks who follow golf.

The man has a billion, a beautiful wife, he's still young and lovable (though I don't love him that much...never did) and he's asking us, the people, to forgive him. I have a really nice abacus and it computes really well (it's a 1467 model, I found it under my tree downtown) and I don't think we the wee people are really worried about Tiger.

Lord....We little'uns just want to get by, pay our rent, have enough food, a roof, and all the other stuff that keeps us alive like maybe some of those women that he's gonna have to ditch, may I suggest that? We ain't got time, Lord, to worry too much about Tiger. I know that some of you (I hope there are some of you reading me today, huh?) will post websites, billboards, match covers and all kinds of communications (did I forget semaphores?) to help save Tiger.

Forget about all that. We need you in our defense plants, pay toilets, pinball machine mechanics, houses of prostitution, houses of non-prostitution, and candy stores with a counter that serves breakfast 24 hours a day, and other vital jobs during wartime to allow too much effort expended to forgive and make up with Tiger (and if history is any lesson, he'll kiss and make up with you, if you're a sweet broad...but that's for another session). We need to get our country back on its axis, steer the course straight, kick out lots of politicians this year and in 2012. We just have too much to do to get Tiger back upright.

I think he should take a year or five, romance his wife like he did before he got her to marry him, get down on his knees like the dog that he is (oh sorry, that was from another posting...scratch that please) and beg his wife for another chance.

Leave us out of it. Besides let's save the good stuff for our President (I know that some of you prefer to call him "Dear Leader") when he has his sex scandal.

Then we got some meat.

Joe Postove

Closed For A Minute

Hey! Don't worry about it! We will be right back after you pick up your room.

And take out the garbage, please! We missed the garbageman last week, and, well, you know what happened...rats, big fat black rats that looked like your mama, filled with the plague (Juicy!) and who knows what all, over ran the house.

So, gang...I'll be back. And when I get here, I would like to see a nice house.

Capice?

Lil' Itralian Joey

Winter Olympics

The Winter Games in Canada are really getting off to a great start. Why won't they stop? Please, Lord, why won't they stop? I guess watching a really, really gay guy dance with his sister on skates is a sight the first time or two. But we've seen all this and all the other winter sports too much. I say it's time the Winter Games take a breather, and come back in 100 years. We will, of course miss you, but the same thing just because it's done by different people isn't giving me the orgasms it used to.

What about a pay toilet competition? We could invite pay stall operators from all of the territories to come to Pee central here in Norfolk, where I'm proud to say we run the cleanest, cheapest, safest, mostest, hostess, locust, Shamus, bosomy, and warm too, toilets for men, women, hermaphrodites, gay, bi, trans, regular, people with irregular sexy organs, cab drivers, bakers, locksmiths, and the dead who still have urine or shit left in them (this is a service we do for the funeral homes in our sector).

What fun we'd all have! Why not give the regular athletes a rest, and lets have the real athletes, the people who can pee over fences, or take dumps in the river, or behind car doors where no one can see, take the torch on high, and have the first Pay Toilet International Olympics here in Norfolk, the most wonderful town in the world for those who urinate and do #2.

Please give it some thought. You can get back to me at pay stall #16, at the corner of Church and Nebraska Streets in downtown Norfolk. That's the one I run myself because its got a TV.

Joe

Winter Wonderland Of Washington

Oh, our poor minders. With all that snow they can't get to work (except Bob Byrd, who sleeps there) and the government has shut down again, today making it a three day holiday so far. Almost like government work.

Yeah I know, these peoples work hard for their money and for the best interest of the citizens, but down here in Norfolk, where the temp today was in the twenties, I had a warm, fuzzy feeling, knowing the center of organized crime is blinking the "sorry we're closed sign". Gee.

The whole federal government has shut down, and yet somehow, who knows, perhaps only Lord Jesus, praise oh praise him, knows how we have managed to get along. I've got to make some "We're Still Here Obama" t-shirts to show the world we still be truckin' baby!

I woke up this morning early, about 4am, and the radio box said that Washington was a ghost town, everything was closed and locked tight.
I immediately counted my toes and fingers to make sure I wasn't dreaming. I also counted a couple of other things to make sure, which I won't reveal here on this family friendly website.

I heard today that the President couldn't even open the front door to get outside and pee in the snow and had to use the back door, which infuriated him and Michelle (can ladies do that?) The President and first lady had no choice but to kick back and watch cartoons with the kids, and then The Price Is Right" (the producers of the show are helping with the stimulus...so far they've given away a mink stole and a pay stall), and thereafter spent the afternoon watching Michelle's stories on TV. No press briefings, no early morning, indispensable review of the word situation with Rahm Emanual, no Joint Chiefs, no nothing baby. As Michelle might say "The World Still Turns".

Government types hate this. Where's the action when you can't be messing in the business of the citizens? After all, isn't what they sent them there for? To do the "people's business"? If I were a Democrat, I'd be so sick, I'd probably make a #2 in the snow. It would look kind of like Dick Nixon, I think, with the long turds for the nose and ears, and the wet one for the face.

What else the hell you gonna do in Washington when you can't get to work and fuck with me? Fuck your wife? Ha! The best you could hope for would be some hermaphrodite lobbyist to do him/her self, in the snow, using the Washington Monument for inspiration.

I never said things would be easy.

Joey

Super Bowl 44 One For The History Books!

That is, the history books where we forget what happened by tomorrow. Ask some of the drunks, and public sexers in the Big Easy on Mardi Gras who won the big game on Sunday, and the best answer you'll get is that they'll vomit on you. Projectile vomiting, which comes from people who you cannot possible know what they have had in their mouths.

Gee whiz, I saw a video of Mardi Gras from about 10 years ago, and these people were, it seemed, doing a gay porn film, with incest and bestiality as the short subjects and cartoons. So when they vomit on you, wipe it off. You do not know where that persons mouth has been.

Now...who won the big game on Sunday? The New Orleans Saints, of course. I'm being silly, because New Orleans (although I've never been there) is a freaky town, full of hermaphrodites, extra gay folks, experts at projectile vomiting, football fans who will forget by tomorrow who won Sunday's big game, midgets, ladies with balls, cross dressers, cross dressers who are experts at projectile vomiting, Catholics, policemen who like to feel your peepee, and others who have by now, or soon will, forgotten who won yesterdays big game.

Who cares. New Orleans is party town, USA. Full of great music, gumbo (don't eat it though. The cook is a PV) great parades, men who look good in panties, and a wild, wild Tuesday, which ends at Midnight in church, where all gather to pray God to forgive their sins (except projectile vomiting, God don't play that) and steady themselves for Ash Wednesday.

And then comes Lent. For 44 days, until Easter, the people will have to give up something near and dear to them to show their reverence and piety. They want to be right with God.

Forget about the Projectile Vomiting, though. God's smashes you upside the head for that. He hates it. He hates that worse than the things you put IN your mouth in the first place.

Who won the big game on Sunday?

Joe Postove

Snow Days, Snow Days

I walked outside about noon today with the prospect of another good snowin'. The weatherman says that those just to the north of us will get a couple of feet (I think it's already there) and the middle Atlantic states will get to stay home for a few days. I got a couple of feet down here in Norfolk too. But I left them in my shoes for warming.

Since Washington D.C. is up there, what a fine thing it is that our minders might have to stay home, frustrated with a C-Span camera looking around the congressional chambers with no action going on (ooo... is that Barney Frank and the San Francisco delegation spooning up in the rafters, like a couple of Phantoms of the Congress?). I hope they don't get stuck! How embarrassing! What will the people think? Where will they turn now, that the government can't get to work and blot out some more of the constitution? No one in Congress? Call for Mr. Jesus H!

Good old Maude and Bill looking at the tv in a coal town tavern in snowbound West Virginia might even get up off of their bar stools (which have their butt cheeks engraved) and go home and do IT (fucking). And they haven't done that since the coal mine closed in 1961.

Ever since they retired they have been drinking beer, eating potato chips (out of the bag!), smoking Luckies by the carton (they just light up the whole box), and watch the nation's business being conducted by Robert Byrd and a few hundred other out of work hustlers. Now, with all of this snow, the only one who will make it to work IS Byrd, and he's got a bill for "Snow Commemoration Day" and a plaque to be dedicated in some holler back home. Cost? A couple hundred million. Lunch in Washington. And why not? Byrd is keeping the whole thing warm, so that when the other babysitters come back they can get right to work.

Oh snow
Why everyday cannot we know
We get to stay home
Where we're safe from the law

Congress is home this weekend too
Away from their loved ones
Me and you

But laws
And bills
Can't be passed without a quorum
And our minders are home staying warm

And what money is left
Cannot be taken by taxes
Oh, sorry, I meant by theft

So snow
Stay awhile
And rest
Upon the fat men and women
Who break our legs
And pick our pockets
For today, poor things, they have nowhere to go

The republic is safe at least for a day
So snow, snow, and snow and snow!

Little Joey Postove

For Dear Anne

My great and dear friend, Anne Friedman died just over a year ago.

I was not posting at the time, but now, I'd like to share a piece of my writing that was published by DreamSeeker Magazine shortly thereafter.

For Anne.



Joey

http://www.cascadiapublishinghouse.com/dsm/spring09/postjo.htm

Snow and Miss America

They said it would snow about a foot starting Saturday morning, AND IT DID! We're not used to weather forecasters being right on the money here in Norfolk, but they came through this weekend and poured it on. Go team...GO!

But we got through it. I hurt my back last week, so I didn't try to clear anything, or help my neighbor lady with her snow. I just watched movies on my computer and sat in the corner eating chewed up cigarettes.

The big news of the weekend was that Miss Vagina was chosen the new Miss America! As you know, the pageant is now held in Las Vegas, so other than dildo sizing and racking the chips at the poker tables, the competition is pretty lousy.

They do have the girls make nice love to the judges (Limbaugh pigged out, I think. He had all the states, plus the territories and the District of Colombia, then went back, and work his way up to Alabama again!) I hope that fatty is happy. I also pray that his "involvement" with the girls didn't influence who he thought the prettiest charmer of them all was.

When Rush was offered the chance to judge the pageant, he made it a prerequisite that he have lovin' with all of the girls, twice if he wasn't sure, and then have a club sandwich, fries, cole slaw, and fudge cake delivered to his rooms after every pushy push. What a loser.

As a Vaginain, I, of course am very pleased to see our girl win. Her prize package will consist of living with Rush Limbaugh for a year (unless he kills her or over does the lovin'...then the girl who came in second would step up to the job...that was Miss Guam, who unfortunately has no teeth. Gee, I hope this doesn't give fatty any ideas!)

Also the winner gets a free steak at this place where if you finish a two pounder, you get everything free. A pie, two bras (sorry, one bra, two cups) a secret meeting with the Republican House Caucus, and Beverly Sills bones (once we dig them up).

I'd say the weekend was a success.

Lil' Joey