Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Just to finish the thought and clarify a little about yesterday's Rove post: if I sit and think about it and imagine (in a totally non-sexually stimulating way) everything in this whole current swirling mess dropping the way Democrats and other anti-Bush types would like it to go, what would happen? What would really happen if the hardcore partisans got their wish?

The most-favorable-condition best-case-scenario is that the charges stick. Rove loses his White House job. And then...


Nothing. We can all high five each other about how we got Karl Rove's shiny scalp, but it doesn't change anything about who's president, where the soldiers are, tax cuts, deficits, WMD, terrorists, blah blah blah. Only now when the president wants to talk to Karl Rove he'll have to do it over the phone or fancy videoconferencing instead of seeing him in person.

Whooot! Ha! Eat it, GOP!

But you know what, what the hell, I'll still celebrate. Any excuse to get loaded, right? For instance this morning I'm celebrating the fact that none of the phlegm I brought up this morning was black. Only a healthy, healthy combination of olive-green and bright yellow. I must be getting better. Yay! Dewars and Kool-Aid for everybody!


I'm going to take a second now and ask all my loyal Bucketeers out there, wherever you are, to stop what you're doing and drop to your knees.

No, it's nothing dirty. I just need you to pray with me. Pray, goddamn you, like you've never fucking prayed before.

Everybody knows by now that the #1 referral to this site is people looking for pictures of Brad Pitt's dick. I don't pretend to understand the logic of it, but that's just how it is.

It's been a fixture amongst people wandering in here for so long that now I sort of rely on it. You want me to say it? I'll say it: I need Brad Pitt's dick. I need it to artificially inflate my Sitemeter numbers so I can keep thinking I'm more popular than I am. It's the only thing between me and the dark, bottomless pit of black depression; it's always there, always following me around, stalking me--vast, cylindrical, fathomless--conveniently placed should my demise be required, like I'm the bad guy in a Star Wars movie.

But now we've got trouble. Brad Pitt's dick is in jeopardy. The problem is it's attached to the rest of him, all of which just checked into a hospital out here exhibiting flu-like symptoms.

I'm so scared I don't know what to do. We all know there's a code for celebrity sickness as a cover. It could be worse and he could have been "suffering from exhaustion" which we all know means accidental massive drug overdose.

"Exhibiting flu-like symptoms" is just... well, it's scary. The main problem is that I'm not 100% sure what it means. I know from all the movies I've seen about super-plagues wiping out giant swaths of the population that they always start with someone who has "flu-like symptoms" and next thing you know the freeways are empty, the world's a ghost-town and we're walking to Vegas with Molly Ringwald.

I do know that Brad just got back from Africa where he went with Angelina Jolie (whom he is not banging) to pick up the newest foreign kid she bought. We all know that Africa, a tropical continent, is rife with all kinds of endemic local diseases that our delicate temperate immune systems can't handle. It's also rife--and by that I mean completely filled--with foreigners. We all know they're nefarious and can't be trusted. There's the outside chance that Brad was the target of a (foreign!) madman's ingenious plot to introduce a deadly synthetic pathogen into the United States, the antidote to which only he has and will sell to us for $100 billion, counting on our worship of celebrity that he could bypass all the standard protocols of health and security by infecting a movie star, all the while sitting safe in his throne underneath a hollowed out volcano, hooting and cackling wickedly for the horror and bemusement of his stunted underlings.

Like I said, we need to pray.

The only other option for "flu-like symptoms" is... um... I hesitate to say... well, let's put it this way: we may have a Rock Hudson situation on our hands.

But if that were the case, at least then we'd know he wasn't banging Angelina Jolie.

It would also explain Troy.

This post on the Narcissus Scale: 4.4



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