Welcome to Amateur Hour at the White House. Our clowns on staff will be with you shortly…
My ancestors were hunting native Americans before Tennessee was a state. We’re not afraid to defend our country against the excesses of a government out of control.
Until more heads roll, let’s see how many scandals we can cause after these first rounds have had their full impact.
Thanks to Annalia, Jonas, cooks AND dish washers at Blue Plate Cafe.
Word/phrase of the day, pass it on: Agent provocateur.
Next, we go back into space, where the exciting chapter of life is taking place in the future, as we speak, right before your eyes!
During my morning rituals — wake up in wee hours, see stars, dream — I had a vision of two songs that merged — amazing similarity:
But comparing these two is more fun:
Thanks to the group in Birmingham for the announced move to Ricket City so they can prove that the moniker “Fools, Buffoons and Idiots” is not earned.
Thanks to Dream, Chris and David at Thai Garden Restaurant.
With the raccoons flushed out of the attic, courtesy of oil-based insecticide spray, I spent part of the afternoon stapling wire mesh over the chewed-up holes of the eaves of the house.
I also sent a message to the folks at Dragon-X to expedite their development of human transportation devices for ISS ferrying duties so we can dump the Russian Soyuz tin can now that we’ve sung a song about it.
I’m tired of waiting on political idiots, who can be handed a set of keys to a car, told it contains the fingerprints and identifying motives/means of a murderers, but think the issue is the shape the keychain makes when thrown into a cup of tea leaves.
Pardon my French, but do these morons have their heads so far up their asses they can’t think straight?
They definitely need a butt light because they must’ve been drinking way too many Bud Lights at FBI buddy hangouts or political hack backwaters.
Fly me to the moon…please. Otherwise, I’ll keep playing with my yo-yo because, as you know, I’ve got the world on the string.
A nod to Branson’s flight attendant duties, Bill’s weepy remembrances of Steve and Jolie’s mastodon-sized story of a mastectomy.
As the Barack mobile grinds to a screeching halt, what are we going to do to keep the masses happy? Don’t forget the big picture despite the circus freak sideshows.
Can you guess how many more gun-toting conservatives will be slinging loaded rifles over their shoulders and marching on Washington? A lot more than Malvo and Muhammed, that’s for sure.
Holder better resign while he has an ounce of decency left on what’s left of the left.
Viva la revolucion!
Russia is such a backward coyntrey, comrade. Let us hack a missile site and cause another Chernobyl meltdown. Nearer Moscow this time. We will split the rest between us and China.
This is just too much fun for one planet. Hillary, your dreams were dreamt dreamily, were they not? Go after the Haslams and you go after all us Tennesseans, who have the memories of elephants and the penmanship of writers. Go after writers-turned-journalists and it only goes downhill from here.
Bloomberg, spying is a cardinal sin, even in the Big Apple.
I thank the universe for this recent round of entertainment. May the dogs of wars have fun barking at the lunacy, sniffing at the taint of sin rubbed off on people too packed together to see they’re all wearing the emperour’s latest sartorial insanity.
Time to fly off the planet and join riotous revelers at the Billionaires Ball!
treetrunkdings 