by Sen. Hillary Clinton (D-NY)

“I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it anymo’, mo’.”  Waaaaa-ooooo! Now play “Sweet Jane”!  Sweeeeet Jaaaaane!!

No, no, no, no, I’m fi..fine, IIIIi, am not…What did you say?  What  diiiiid you call me?  What?  How can you say…I am not drunk!  I am not!  You’re drunk!  You’rrrrrre the one who is drunk, and you, you sicken me.  Thaaat’s right.  You fuckin’ make me sick, you fuckin’ asshole, you…listen to this, listen to me!  Are you lsitening?  No!  No you’re not, listen to me!  You are drunk and you are a fuuucking assssshole.

What?  You want me to keep what down?  I thought this was a bar, woooOOO!  This si what people do when they have fun.  What you think that just because you’re behind that bar you’re Queen of England?  You’re NOT the Queen of England!  I have met the Queen of England, and she’s not you, so stop it with yoooour lying. Lying makes you looooook so ugly.  I am gonna be the president, so you should shut up and give me the fuckin’ respect and an’uther shot.

Heyyyyy,you with with the Waaashington Post, you Woodward Bernstein, yoooou’ve been bustin; my balls for months, and I want to tell you what I really think of you.  No, Bill, get the FUCK!!!! out of my way, this little fucker has it coming to him.  Bill, get your FUCKING hands off of me.  You Woodstern, yooooou are fuckin; three sheets to the wind, whooooo the FUCK are you to call me drunk.  I’m going to piss on your head,  Bill, hold this motherfucker down while I piss ooooooon his head.

I’m what?  I’m drunk?  I’m not fucking drunk.  Who are you?  Just who ARE you?  A bouncer? I’ll bounce you, I’ll bounce you in your fucking soul! You’re fuckin’ drunk, I’m not drunk.  You can eat shit, I’m drunk, ha ha, that’s rich!  I’m going to be president, and you’ll regret calling me dr–whoa, hey, get your hands off of me!  I am a Senator, I am Sen’tor Hillary Rooooodham Clinton, I will be be manhandled by no man!    I’m going to fuckin’ punch you in the fuckin; dick, you meathead neanderthal.  I am!!  Fuck you, “I’m drunk!”

Oh.  Officer.  Good.  This man…I want this man arrested.  I want to press charges!  He tried to physically cause me physical harm and he’s…No, I am not the one who is drunk here, this whole world is drunk!  This whole world has to be drunk!   I will be the nexxxxt president of the Younited Staates.  No, I’m not driving.  I don’t know who is. 

by Catherine Swarmy

Honestly, that tune, “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” is a little presumptuous, isn’t it?  I mean, it just reeks of lower immigrant class, the  “gimme gimme” graft of the Lower East Side hustle.  I can imagine its author sitting on the elevated train to the Polo Grounds now, penning this anthem on the back of his parole card.

Take me out to the ballgame, take me out to the crowd…

Good Lord.  Whatever on Earth happened to saying “please”?  

Buy me some peanuts and crackerjack…

Already I have sprung for admission to the yard, now I am to feed your ungrateful  Dago ass as well?

I don’t care if I ever get back…

Well, there is a shocker for sure.  You have nothing to go back to except sixteen hours of hard labor in a stockyard, the ruough-and-tumble saloon, the cramped Polish boarding house that reeks of ham hocks and cabbage.

For it’s root, root, root for the home team, if they don’t win it’s a shame…

You’ve gotten a free ride so far today, Seamus, but like a spoiled child in silver threaded swaddling clothes, all will be for naught if you team comes up the lesser in the run column.  <i>That’s</i> the real shame.

Instead of singing that song at the seventh inning stretch, I propose a little skit.  I have the first line, I’ll have Winston finish the rest:

“Say, i read in the newspaper paper this morning that the Pittsburgh Pirates are in town. What say we head on over to the Candlestick Park and take in a game, just you and me?  Why, it is even my treat, friend.”

by A Dumb Guy

I have been hearing a lot of talk lately about this Mount St. Helens.  Well, I gotta tell you, I drove by it the other day, and i have to say that i wasn’t impressed.  In fact, with all due respect, I have to say that Mount St. Helens is not a very good mountain.  It’s quite shitty, if you want to know the truth.  That’s right, I said shitty.  I mean, what’s the deal, it looks like Lindsay Lohan after a bender.  It looks like Hemingway after the he shot himself in the face.  Mountains are supposed to be pointy, right?  I mean, Mt. Rushmore isn’t that pointy, but what the hell, it’s got the kings on them and shit.  But this mountain, it’s like it pussied out half way.  It starts out strong, like a real mountain, but that is it.  Look, I’m not expert or nothin’, I’m a carburetor man myself.  you ask me to rebuild an engine on a ’71 Chevelle, I’m your fucking guy.  But mountains?  Who loves mountains?  Hippy fags, that’s who.  In that regard, Mount St. Helens is maybe the perfect mountain, because it’s the hippiest, faggiest mountain probably in the world.  It’s so hippy and faggy it’s smoking.  That’s right, there was fuckin’ smoke coming out of it.  And who smokes the mari-jauna and/or poles?  Ding ding ding (went the trolley.)