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This week I had some computer troubles.  Being a man, I was, of course, confident that I could fix it myself.  So, as I’m sure you can guess, I went to my tool box and got my most trustworthy tool, duct tape, and decided to get started.

As you might be guessing by now, duct tape is actually the only tool in my tool box.  Truthfully , it’s not so much a tool box as it is a drawer…in the kitchen, that has a lot of other important fix up stuff such as scotch tape, (I’m seeing a trend here that sticky stuff is important in repairing things) thumb tacks and matches.  The matches are kind of a last resort, if you can’t fix it you can at least have fun melting it down.

My computer had a virus.  It was kind of disgusting as it was sneezing, coughing up phlegm and there was about a box of used Kleenexes all around the floor of my desk.  Still, I was not to be deterred.  First, I exhausted all of the geek type methods of fixing a computer, i.e. looking at the screen while moving the mouse around deftly with a hard, determined look on my face like I really know what I’m doing , just in case anybody was watching me.  It’s true, I have people come from miles around just to watch me work on my computer.  There is a grandstand set up in my office just for that purpose.

After my forehead started hurting from faking that determined look so well and I had used up the extensive methods I knew of by using the mouse (exactly one) I decided to resort to my mechanical skills.  That’s right, it was time to open up the computer and stare at the insides, again, like I knew what I was doing.  This was a talent I had developed long ago when I would “fix” my car.

Naturally, fixing a car is a lot different than a computer because it’s bigger and there are a lot more things to stare at in a knowing fashion.  As I started opening the computer up some dramatic background music started to play and was getting louder…bompa, bompa, bompa, bompa, bompa.  Even I felt the drama and I KNEW I had less than a one percent chance of fixing anything.  I looked around and thought instinctively, “Where the heck is that coming from?”

At first I figured it was one of my fans in the grandstand seats, but strangely, they were empty.  I went back to work.  The music got louder and louder.  My adrenaline was pumping.  Finally, it became too much.  I got off the floor.  My computer got a reprieve from my skillful hands.  I went into the other room and discovered that someone was watching an episode of Glee and they were doing a dramatic song.  I was comforted in knowing that, even if I was unable to fix the computer, I was able to, at least, solve that mystery.

Now back at the computer, I was on this case once again.  I had her opened, wide open.  I did my stare.  Strangely, I felt like nothing had been repaired.  This called for drastic measures.  I decided to loosen some screws.  By the time I had the third one off I came to the conclusion that, “I had no freaking idea what I was going to do so put the screws back in before it’s too late.”

I had already gone through all the swear words that I knew, multiple times, so there was only one thing left to do…call someone who really knew what they were doing.  Fortunately, that method worked and before long my computer was disease free and working normally again.

As I leaned against the wall, I proudly realized that I had a lot to do with it getting fixed.  I did make the call to the competent person, after all.  I confidently looked at my curled up fingers, blew on my nails and wiped them off on my shirt.  I felt I should put my signature on this job like a painter does with his art work, even if I only did it symbolically.  So, I tore off a little piece of duct tape and pasted it onto the corner of the computer.  Job completed!

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Now that the original 627 Republican candidates for President are starting to get whittled down as all of their transgression and insanities come to light, the sad part is that we are soon going to be hearing much, much more from President Obama.  While that may be a boon to the teleprompter and manure businesses, for the rest of us it will be more than a minor nuisance.  I think I want to vote for Ross Perot.

Obama had just returned from what he has done most often over the last three years, no I’m not talking about campaigning and fund raising, although, truly as President that’s what he does do best, he just returned from vacation.  His timing was perfect as Congress was out of session so he could push through an appointment that he knew would not happen with Congress in session.  Who needs those pesky little things such as…what is that called again?…Oh, yeah, congressional approval.

So that you don’t just think I’m being a smart ass when I said he’s best at campaigning and fund raising let’s talk  about a presidential type action that he is good at.  Now, I am, of course talking about blaming the Bush administration for everything that is wrong with the world.  Even three years later it is Bush’s fault that the economy is so bad and that there are a lack of jobs.  Apparently, Dick Cheney waterboarded too many CEOs and made them agree to not hire people if they weren’t needed.  I guess he never got to the government guys that hire though because they give out jobs whether there’s something to do or not.  I feel so comforted knowing that our government is too big to fail.

The world economy is doing even slightly worse than our own.  For example, Greece may have to sell the copyright to being the creators of anal sex just so they can keep their economy afloat for another week.  The Germans have  a book out called “If it Moves Yell at It, if That Doesn’t Work Start a War With It,” and the French have one called “Ignore It and It Will Go Away, Just Don’t Smell My Armpits,” as a means of making money for their governments.

Since Obama’s approval ratings are so low I’m expecting as we get closer to the election that Osama bin Laden will likely come back to life due to some pact he had with the devil and the Bush Administration.  This time Obama will really kill him…just in time to, coincidentally, influence the voters.  Then since the bin Laden threat is now truly over we can cut back the military and give their jobs to welfare recipients who will still do no work…oh, and by the way to them, don’t forget when you go to the polls, it was Obama who got you that job.

Obama is also thinking of creating a Presidential super committee (since it worked so well for Congress) made up of past dead Presidents.  Ultimately, he won’t allow it though because he would be afraid they would make better decisions than he would.

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Since I had some computer problems the other day and we are also at Thanksgiving it made me pause and wonder what it would have been like if the Pilgrims would have had access to a computer.  (What can I say?  I had some free time since  my computer wasn’t working.)  Anyway, this is what I came up with:

Female Pilgrim:  Husband, I need thouest to Google something for me.

Male Pilgrim: (Big smile) Oh, I would be happy to Google thou.   I did not think thouest would be in the mood for, ahem, Googling since the Indians and all the other Pilgrims are coming  over and all the cooking thouest needs  to do.

Female Pilgrim: No, no, thouest is a moron.  To Google something is not a euphemism for sex, it means to get information about something on our new computer.  I want to know how long I’m supposed to cook this turkey.

Male Pilgrim:  Oh that, yeah, I cannot.  Windows is not working.

Female Pilgrim:  I must say, thouest’s English certainly does sucketh. You should say the windows are not working.  What does that matter anyway?  It’s November in New England.  We don’t need the windows open.

Male Pilgrim:  No dearest, wife.  Windows is the operating system on the computer.  If it is not working I cannot Google anything or do anything else on the computer for that matter.

Female Pilgrim:  Oh, well, I guess that is good.  That means thouest can’t look at porn now.

Male Pilgrim:  No, no, no, darling.  I only have eyes for you in thouest’s black dress with the sexy bonnet.

Female Pilgrim:  Thouest are full of excrement from the cow.  I saw thouest looking at picture of female Pilgrim’s ankles on the Internet the other day.

Male Pilgrim:  Well maybe if I got to see your ankles more often I wouldn’t need to look at such pictures.

Female Pilgrim: (Frustrated) AHHHHHHH!   Sometimes  I  wish  those Indians had never  even given us that computer.  I think maybe we should just give it back to them.

Male Pilgrim:  But then people would call us “Indian givers.”

Female Pilgrim:  That is not what that term means!  Thouest really are a moron!

Male Pilgrim:  Whateverest.

Female Pilgrim:  Ever since they gave us that computer all we do is fight.  You spend too much time on Farmville instead of actually working.

Male Pilgrim:  Well, thouest spends too  much  time  on  chat lines.

The camera (there had to be a camera in this  movie that is  going on in my head) pans the room and we see two Indians looking in the window. (That is an actual window not Windows from Microsoft.)  They are laughing to each other and give each other a high five.

First Indian:  They give us diseases, we give them computers.

They high five again.

Back to the Pilgrim couple.

Male Pilgrim: Well, if all thouest is going to do is argue with me, I’m going to watch football.

Female Pilgrim:  Watch what?

Male Pilgrim:  Football, it’s an American tradition every Thanksgiving.

Female Pilgrim:  (Exasperated)  But this is the first Thanksgiving!

Male Pilgrim:  Then I guess I’ll be starting the tradition.

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We’ve all seen many comparisons of cats and dogs.  Many people strongly favor one or the other, although some people are bi- household animal lovers and have both dogs and cats.  Very often we wonder what animals are thinking and we can only guess.  Fortunately, today we have Dr. Stevie Doolittle here to tell us what they really think and say.  (That’s me, by the way.)

First of all, you should know that cats always talk in a very snotty aloof British accent.  Not that all British accents are snotty, of course, but the ones that cat’s use is, like that of a billionaire’s English butler.  The exception to this is if your cat is from the south, then he talks in a slick southern plantation owner accent.  Most dogs don’t have a real accent except for the real small breed like Chihuahua, Pekinese, etc., pick you breed (also pick your accent.)  Dogs are always enthusiastic, but the smaller ones are sometimes antagonistic.  For example, if you walk past a yard that has a Chihuahua in it and he is barking vigorously at your ankles, what he’s really saying is, “This is my land.  Get away or I’ll scratch your eyes out, I’ll kill you, I’ll pulverize you, I’ll have you for lunch, etc.”

That’s what he’s saying until you step towards him or lightly stomp your foot at him.  Then as he’s running away he’s saying, “Whoa, whoa, I was just kidding, can’t you take a joke and just so you know I’m not scared I just thought I heard my human call me.”  Then he forgets why he was running away and comes back to barking at your ankles and the whole sequence starts over again.

If you ask a dog to shake his paw here’s what he’s thinking as he gives you his paw, “Sure, what else you want?  Wanna play? I can fetch.  Want your slippers? I’ll get the paper. I’ll sniff your butt if you bend over.”

Ask a cat to shake his paw and this is what you’ll get.  A smug stare followed by the thought, “I don’t do tricks.  But here’s one you can do.  You can kiss my…No, I need to train this imbecile better.  Get me some food and brush me and we’ll discuss this need to shake later on…if I can fit you in between naps.” And he walks away.

If you call a dog to come over where you’re at he’ll do so enthusiastically, wagging his tail, even if he was in a sound sleep when you called him and he’ll be saying, “Wanna play? I can fetch.  Want your slippers?  I’ll get the paper.  I can sniff you butt if you bend over.”

If you call a cat to come to you when he was in a sound sleep, which is pretty much always how they are, he may open his eyes to look at you, but if he bothers it’s only to give you the message, “You annoy me.”

When you compliment a dog he’ll get excited and wag his tail and say “Wanna play? I can fetch.  Want your slippers?  I’ll get the paper.  I can sniff your butt if you bend over.”

If you compliment a cat it will give you that long uncaring stare and say, “Duh, I know I’m beautiful.  Don’t expect a compliment in return.  I’m liable to defecate in your shoe for speaking to me.  Now, do something to serve me, you peon.”

I think you get the idea in the difference between cats and dogs.  This is neither meant as an endorsement or condemnation of either animal, it all has to do with what you want in an animal.  But one thing is for sure, if you are looking to get your butt sniffed, go for the dog.

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With Halloween just a few days away it got me to wondering about a lot of things.  The main thought that keeps buzzing around in my head is what does someone like Frankenstein dress up as on Halloween?

There are many ideas about where the Halloween tradition started.  One theory is that some farmers got together because these plants called pumpkins were growing wild in their fields and stifling all the other plants.  They figured they had to do something about this and they were all sitting around outside of a barn looking all depressed with very long faces when a witch flew by on her broom to feed her black cat that she kept on the farm.  She saw the farmers and said to them, “You know, if you let your face stay like that for too long it’ll stick and it will look like you’re wearing a mask.”  (She was a motherly witch.)

They told her that was really stupid and asked her what she wanted there.  She told them she was there to feed her black cat but also she wanted to know if any of the farmers were growing cocoa because she wanted to start a candy factory.

They said that it was ridiculous for a witch to start a candy factory and they couldn’t grow cocoa because of all the stupid pumpkins.  She told them she’d take the pumpkins off their hands if they’d grow some cocoa and they struck a deal and Halloween was born…Naw! I’m just kidding.  It’s obvious there was no truth to that story because it had no sugar.

Here’s the real story.  (It must be true because I got at least one of these fact off the Internet.)   The history of Halloween goes back over 2,000 years.  The earliest Halloween celebrations were by Celtic people, most notably Larry Bird and Bill Russell.  They worshipped a Sun God, I’m thinking this was Steve Nash of the Phoenix Suns, because he is a future Hall of Famer.  They celebrated their New Year on November 1st.  This day marked the end of summer and the harvest and the beginning of the dark, cold winter, a time of year that was often associated with human death.  There was most likely an NBA strike going on back then too, because it is coincidentally when The NBA normally starts and the people needed something to fill in their time because baseball season was over and the NFL only plays on Sunday.

They would then perform ceremonies through the night and wear costumes such as animal heads and skins which was not only the forerunner to Halloween costumes but also to sports team mascots like the San Diego Chicken and the Phillie Phanatic.

They would sit around the fire and make predictions about the future.  People would make bets on these predictions and some of them would be fixed to favor the house and that was the beginnings of bookies.

About 1,000 AD they combined Halloween with a celebration called Soul Day.  The founder of Nike was not a good speller and thought it was Sole day so he founded his sneaker company.

There you have it.  I’m sure you were not expecting something so educational when you started reading this and I’ll bet very few people knew there was such a close relationship between Halloween and the sports world.

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The other day I was impressed by a large naval instrument.  By that I don’t mean a tool used by someone in the Navy, but rather something that looked big enough to be a tool attached to the skin on a girl’s belly button.  At first I thought she might be a construction worker with a unique tool belt but then I just realized I must be getting old because I’m thinking, “Why would somebody do that?”

Even though belly button rings are not new, neither is doing stupid things.  (Oh no, I just realized I sounded like Andy Rooney for a second – I’m not that old!)  But seriously, come on.  And what is with those big hoops that people put in their ear lobes that stretch them out so much they look like a reject from National Geographic.

And then there are tattoos.  It’s an old art but a body should not be a canvass, plus sometimes it could get embarrassing depending where you get the tattoo.  Like if a girl gets one on her ass and then the tattoo artist says, “Anything else you want, there’s plenty of room back here for more.”  Or a man could get his girlfriend’s name on his sexual part and there’s not enough room for all the letters.  It’s especially embarrassing if her name is Joy or Cam or something like that.

These are habits mostly of the younger generation but it’s not like my Baby Boomer generation never did anything odd back in the day.  In the 50s and 60s lots of young guy’s got a haircut called a “duck’s ass.”  This, actually, was quite brilliant when you think about it, because it gave these guys the perfect rebuttal if someone accused them of having their head up their ass.  They could reply to that with, “Nuh-uh.  That shows what you know.  I don’t have my head up my ass.  I have a duck’s ass on my head.  Boy, are you stupid!” Girls were not immune to weird do’s either, just pick up any yearbook from the 60s and have a good laugh.  But, then, I wouldn’t say they are nearly as strange as what you’d see if you walked onto a high school or college campus today.

Baby Boomers also spawned the drug age, but again, what occurred back then was mild compared to the drug scene today.  I believe it was Plato who said, “All this crap has to start somewhere.”  Okay, I don’t know for a fact that he said that but I wouldn’t be surprised.  He was a philosopher, after all.

Even video games didn’t start with the current generation.  That started with pacman in the eighties and even the precursor to that would have been pinball machines. I know that because I used to watch Happy Days and the Fonz played pinball machines.

The fact is that every generation has their own oddities and idiosyncrasies and every generation thinks it’s better than the one before it.  Probably, in twenty years there will a law passed that it will be illegal to talk into your verbal text machines while flying your hovercraft less than ten feet off the ground.  Yeah, right, like there will be a machine that you can actually talk to people and not have to type out a message to text them!

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This week we have a guest that we are going to interview.  His name is Big Benny (he didn’t get the “big” nickname because he’s tall) and he has some helpful household tips for bachelors.  At least that’s what he tells me.   Actually, it was some guy who I was talking to in the park (for all I know he could be homeless.)  I had nothing else to write about this week, so I thought, what the heck.  Let’s see how this turns out:

Steve:  Benny, you said you have some household tips, give the readers some.

Big Benny:  This is one I really like because it not only keeps the house cleaned up but it also combines deep breathing which is good for the lungs. (As he says this he took a drag on his cigarette.)  When the dust gets so thick that it even bothers a single guy living alone then this really works out well…

Steve:  …Okay, do you want to tell us what it is?

Big Benny:  Oh yeah, so anyway, the dust is really thick so you take a really deep breath (he demonstrates and coughs while doing it) and blow the dust away.

Steve:  But that just scatters the dust, it doesn’t really clean anything.

Big Benny:  That may be true but now it’s not so concentrated so that ants can no longer make a home out of it.  Plus, now that I mention it, if there are ants on the furniture that you are cleaning you can blow them off too.  It’s almost as much fun as hunting.

Steve:  Interesting…

Big Benny: …Which reminds me how much I used to love to pour boiling water on a big swarm of ants on the sidewalk when I was a kid…ah memories!

Steve:  Yeah, well, what little boy doesn’t like to do that?  So, do you have any other hot household tips for the bachelor, and let me emphasize, if that’s all you have, that is perfectly okay.

Big Benny:  Not to worry, I have lots more.

Steve:  I was afraid you would.  What’s next?

Big Benny:  This is a really effective way of cleaning out your refrigerator, which many bachelors don’t ever think of.

(Let me point out that I’m smelling a lot of alcohol on Big Benny breath and it’s the morning, and I met him sitting on a park bench, all lending credence to the homeless theory.)

Steve:  All right, I’ll bite.  What is it?

Big Benny:  When your fridge is so disgusting with rotten food, etc. that it is begging to be cleaned, which by the way, is the limit that has to be reached for cleaning anything in a bachelor’s home, you spread maggots in the fridge to let them eat all the crud.  This is a little tip I got by watching the TV show “Bones” where they let maggots eat the flesh off of dead bodies to expose the bones.  I just thought of applying it to household tips.

Steve:  But then you have a refrigerator full of maggots.

Big Benny:  This is the cool part.  You spray them with bug killer and then sweep them out.  You rid the world of some maggots and you get a clean fridge…everybody wins.

Steve:  Okay then! That ‘s all the time we have…

Big Benny:  Wait I have one more fast one.

Steve:  Fine, go ahead.

Big Benny:  Food preparation…you make a list of all the places that deliver food and tape it to the fridge.

Steve:  Thanks, for the hot tips.

I got up to leave and Big Benny stopped me.

Big Benny:  Wait, you have to pay me.  I thought you were talking to me because you saw my “will give household tips to bachelors for food” sign.

I flipped him a quarter and I think I heard him mumble something about a cheapskate…he must have been thinking of someone else.  Anyway, I told him I’ll fix him up with a date too.  I’ve got to introduce him to the darnfunnyonline advice columnist, Dear Crabby, they’d make a great couple.

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As I was making out an order for vitamins I was starting to get a little sleepy and I put my head down on the vitamin catalog. It’s the only explanation I can come up with for the dream I had.

It seems there was a convention going on in my body.  It was a vitamin convention.  No, not a convention for vitamin salesmen, but a convention for vitamins themselves.  Minerals weren’t really invited; it was only for the vitamins.  That’s okay though because, the minerals, being the building blocks of the body, were like the construction workers just outside of the convention hall, in this dream, the stomach.

Being construction workers they were whistling and making catcalls to the vitamins as they walked by, like this for example:

Mineral:  Yo momma! You must be one of those SUPER vitamin Cs I’ve heard about because you are looking fine to me.

The female vitamin C strutted her stuff past the minerals, never blinking.  But then this male vitamin C with a cape and tights and a large S on his chest flew down and landed in front of the minerals and in a loud booming voice said to the minerals:

Super C:  No, I am Super C!  (Then his voice got much softer and even had a little lisp to it) And if any of you big strong minerals are interested in seeing more than my “S,” we can bind together after you get off work.

Mineral:  Uh, yeah, well, uh, about that, we minerals pretty much are working 24 hours a day so I guess we’ll pass.

The iron, copper, calcium and magnesium all shook their heads in agreement.  Then a soy derivative ran out from behind them and said:

Soy Derivative:  (shyly)  Actually, I’d like to see your “S” and more, if I could.

Super C grinned and proudly put out his arm which the soy derivative grabbed onto.  The Super C picked him up and they flew off, I have no idea where.  The other minerals shrugged and went back to work.  The potassium was heard to say to no one in particular:

Potassium:  …Not that there’s anything wrong with that…

Anyway, back at the convention, the other vitamins were gathering.  The vitamin D strode up all cocky with designer sunglasses on his face.  Some other vitamins ran up to him for his autograph.  He bragged to some other vitamins as they walked by but didn’t really pay much attention to what he said:

Vitamin D:  I’m the most popular vitamin these days, everyone’s talking about me.

Some vitamin Es were standing by and one of the older, sage looking ones commented:

Vitamin E:  I remember when we were all the rage like that.  It doesn’t last, the press latches onto an idea and that’s all they talk about for a while.  We know we are still one of the most potent and powerful vitamins there are.

The other Es nodded in agreement as they looked on , envious of the vitamin D.

Then a vitamin K showed up.  He was wearing a trench coat and a fedora hat, looking very mysterious.  No one was really paying too much attention to him, I guess, because no one really knew who he was or what he did.

Next a B vitamin showed up and she had a slew of kids with her.  They all ran around like crazy, with so much energy, and there were so many of them that she didn’t even give them names, she called them by numbers.

Some bystander was heard to comment that those kids needed a little Ritalin but a bunch of the other vitamins jumped him and beat him up just for uttering the words.  After all, this was a vitamin convention.

Just then I woke from my dream and raising my head off the vitamin catalog I noticed the pool of droll I had left on it. I looked around as I shook out the cobwebs and thought what a weird dream that was.  Man, I must be taking too many herbs lately.

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This is a great time of year for a sports fan.  Football season has started, baseball is gearing up for the playoffs which segues right into the start of basketball season, which all makes it the busiest time of year for divorce lawyers.

It’s not that all women hate sports, although some do, it’s that they have to compete with sports for their spouse’s attention.  It’s not even that all women refuse to watch sports with their spouse, it’s that the men mostly prefer to watch sports with as little estrogen in the air as possible.

Watching sports is considered a man’s domain because it’s the one place where he can feel like he is never wrong.  Of course, this is because after a play is over he can tell everybody else in the room what the players should have done.

If a woman does claim to be a sports fan there is no option but to be a fan of your spouse’s team.  And if you women are going to be a fan of that team may I also suggest naked cheerleading during commercial breaks.  The exception to that would be if there are other men in the room or if it is the Super Bowl, because then the commercials are really worth watching.

Now that I think of it, being your spouse’s own personal naked cheerleader could lead to halftime sex and for some men even commercial breaks might be long enough.

Some men think of watching sports similar to masturbation, that is, there really is no reason for a woman to be there.  That’s why this naked cheerleading could really catch on because it does give women a purpose for being there, at least from the man’s point of view.

Men have been known to think of a woman who likes sports to be a spy for other women, who they then report back to.  At least we like to think that women are talking about us when they go out to lunch.  And I’m sure they do, they just aren’t saying the stuff we want them to be saying.

The trouble with women watching sports with men is that they ask too many questions and say too many inappropriate things.  Here’s an example:

Woman:  Why do the players with the ball always run to where the other team is?

Man:  They don’t run to them, the other team is chasing them.

Woman: (confused) Oh…Why didn’t he throw the ball to somebody who doesn’t have so many people around him?

Man: (Looks at the woman and shakes his head.)

Woman:  I’m for your team but I really do like the other team’s uniforms better.

Man, again, shakes his head.

(Note:  This is one reason so many college football teams often have loud, unusual uniforms, in hopes of attracting female students to the games.)

Woman:  (During a football game.)  What inning is it?

Man, again, shakes his head.

Woman:  Why do they show the cheerleaders so often?

Man:  (Now that you’ve read this article you can say this.)  I know, I agree!  If only I had my own naked cheerleader.  (If she won’t go for that try for naked waitress, but cheerleading would be the first option because there is jumping, which leads to bouncing.)

Then everybody would be happy, and by everybody I mean the men.

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President Obama’s approval numbers are in and, apparently, just trying to look good instead of being effective is not the way to go.  His approval numbers are at an all time low.  In fact, they are so bad that his only workable strategy he has to win next year’s election is for someone to invent time travel so he can go back in time, reverse the killing of bin Laden and time it to be done  about next September.

Jobs, or lack of them, are the current thing that is bringing him down, but there have been so many others before this.  He had promised to create shovel ready jobs but being in the government he just had the wrong concept of what that is.  His idea of a shovel ready job is people leaning on shovels and doing nothing, which is metaphorically what he is doing as he watches his presidency go by.

Obama has proposed $300 billion to jump start the economy and he is currently filling out the loan papers from the Chinese government, as I write this, so he can borrow the money to get that done.  I suspect though that the Democratic party’s idea of creating jobs is some kind of virtual job where nothing actually ever really gets done.  Now that I think of it, Farmville on Facebook was probably Obama’s attempt at job creation.

Congress has an even lower approval rating than Obama.  Eighty-two percent of the population disapproves of the job that Congress is doing.  To put that in prospective that is about the same kind of disapproval rating that perverts, liars and criminals would get…oh, that makes sense then!

Under The Obama administration the economy has gotten so bad that there is talk of replacing the dollar as the main currency in the world, appropriately, Monopoly money is the currency that they would replace it with.  Further proof of the downfall of the economy is that the tea party can no longer afford tea bags so they’ve just been drinking ice water this summer.  To celebrate the bad approval numbers for Obama they did splurge though and had Kool-aid.

Just this last week one of the president’s speech writers resigned so that he could go into comedy writing, apparently he was tired of writing tragedies.  But to have a little fun before he left and to get him started into the comedy he wrote one last speech for Obama, that unfortunately never got done.  In it he used several quotes, or at least paraphrases, from our past presidents.  The speech would have been done but Obama accidentally gave the paper it was written on to the Fed so they could use it to print more money.  Anyway, this is how it went: (By the way, the writer wasn’t worried if Obama would question it because he just reads whatever the teleprompter says.)

“Four score and seven years ago I did not have sex with that woman, Ms Lewinsky.  What’s really important to note about my years as president is that I am not a crook.  And what we as American’s should do is ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for me.  Furthermore, we have nothing to fear but the fear of losing the next election and you should all know that the buck stops here because we have run out of any more bucks.

“I believe it was Jimmy Carter who said, ‘What the heck, four years of this crap is plenty.’ And in closing (Look thoughtfully into the air like you always do) I’d like to say, it was all Bush’s fault.”

darnfunnyonline.com