You know what I hate? I hate getting all my blogging done and then finding something so frickin’ brilliant I have to do another post.
So obvious, yet so brilliant. Norman “I’ll be the one who decides who’s dragging my family into this” Coleman deserves this and so much, much more.
Norman “my teeth are stars on the Internets” Coleman:
First to play the “vote fraud” card
First to change his website TWICE
Least likely to pick up undervotes
Looking everywhere for fraud but the Brian Coyle Center [more]
I blame myself for Norm Coleman becoming a U.S. Senator. I had my chance years ago when he was still Mayor of St. Paul but after he switched parties. It was early in the morning and he was ahead of me in line at the bagel place across the street. He was clearly hung over and desperate for coffee. No clue whose bed he’d slept in the night before, but his clothes looked plenty lived in.
Looking at him an evil thought crossed my mind, a thought I vanquished because it would have been wrong. Now of course I understand how incredibly right it would have been had I acted on impulse. The fact is you can’t carry the white male vote if, while buying bagels in St. Paul a Scandinavian-American grabs you by the neck and marches you straight into the men’s room, sticks your head in the toilet, and flushes. No matter what you call this infamous middle school practice it is a well known political fact that once an office holder has been publicly swirlied, their career is over.
Sure, I would have done some jail time, maybe even prison time, but think what a better world we’d be living in right now if Walter Mondale had defeated Tim Pawlenty in 2002. Six years of one less weasel in the U.S. Senate. Oh hell, let’s walk this all the way back. No Coleman running, no Karl Rove involvement. No Turd Blossom and I think it’s possible there would have been no Wellstone Memorial for the Kerstenites to massively bunch their undies over.
In that scenario Tuesday’s election would have marked Obama’s ascension and either Paul Wellstone’s re-election or his successor’s election. Instead we’re talking about a recount between Norman “I douche between meals” Coleman and Al “drown us? we’ll drown YOU in negative ads” Franken.
Like I said in the last post, I hope these two suffer for weeks and weeks before [sadly] one goes to D.C. with the nickname “Landslide.” Fwiw, I like the sound of Landslide Franken better than the other possibility, but however this turns out I think we’d all rather just have Paul Wellstone back.
Let’s not ever forget whose seat this really is.
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Lots of questions in Massachusetts about that machine gun show where the eight-year-old Uzi’ed himself. Not much discussion of this on the right, those good people being too busy running around buying extra guns before Obama makes them illegal (in the year 2114 when Obama’s Head rules the known Multiverse).
Older and wiser gun aficionados who’ve been initiated into the Secret Rites of Roswell are rumored to be inserting various lubricated objects into their rectums so as to enlarge their sphincters, the better with which to accommodate alien probes.
At Free Republic a fierce debate has broken out as to whether or not you get to take your guns with you when you are called up to Heaven at the End of Days. The guns yes crowd is winning 2-1 but that’s based on a somewhat suspect translation of a Dead Sea Scroll that quotes Jesus as saying “[illegible] when they [illegible] from my cold dead hands.” This is the same scroll that references Jesus’s alien abduction and subsequent probing and piercing, also known as The Miracle Of The Fork-Tongued Talk Radio Host.
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Not so clever, these politicians.
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A link in reminded me of that super-nasty PUMA site I went round and round with months ago, so I went back to see what they were up to.
I have to apologize. This guy is obviously a Democrat, and unquestionably a very sincere and decent human being.
Who collects used buttplugs and uses them for floss.
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Clearly, you never went to prep school. Forcefully shampooed in a toilet Mark is GARBOONING. He would have been GARBOONED. You wanted to GARBOON Norm. Peter Hildick-Smith and his crew once tried to GARBOON me in boarding school right before evening study hall. I fought back. They still have the shit on them to prove it. Just like little Normie. Shit adheres even after many years. Here, Here. Hear. Hear.
Sounds like I’m not the only one who got shitfaced last night.
Actually, when I was in the college (the first time around), we called it Muellering, in honor of a brother who’d received the treatment so many times the procedure was named after him.