I have to be honest, I don’t usually have lunch with the co-hosts of The View unless it’s for my usual Krav Manga sparring session with Barbara Walters.  And yes, it is infinite fun to hear Bab’s proclaim, “It’s time to wustle in the gween woom!”  Today, however, was different because my good friend, Laura Ingraham (pronounced Lauwa Ingwaham) was the special co-host, and as promised, the Hot Topics were about as hot as Tipper Gore’s panties when Al talks about global warming. 

During the heated discussion, my friend Laura made the assertion that “We have right now in Iraq really good news coming out of Baghdad … You can say with your narrative that we’re big losers.”

When questioned by Barbara, Ingraham retorted: “Do you want a change, Barbara (pronouned with the ‘r’)?  Do you want to win?”

No feathers flew.  Even Whoopi’s dreads remained perfectly in place, but I still wanted to check in with my girl after the show to hear some reactions.  A rushed transcript is below.

Boo:  So Laura, it’s been a long time.

Laura:  Yeah.  Not since I discovered you and Ann Coulter making out in the broom closet of PNAC. 

Boo:  I told you I didn’t want to talk about that.

Laura:  Whore.

Boo:  Jealous bitch. 

Laura:  G-d, I love you. 

Boo:  Laura, can we please get on with the discussion?

Laura:  Yes.  Be gentle with me. 

I rolled my eyes just wide enough to see Joy Behar moon me from the hallway.  Jesus that woman has a nice set of buns.

Boo:  So, Laura, you mentioned on the show that good news is coming out of Iraq right now.  You thereby implied that criticizing the situation created a loser mentality.  Would you like to comment further on that?

Laura:  Well, we need to honor our troops this Veteran’s Day by talking about what they’re doing right as opposed to focusing on what’s going wrong. 

Boo:  But isn’t that just a manipulative ploy to draw attention away from the fact that we’re criticizing and questioning the policy and the plan, not the soldiers carrying out that policy and that plan?

Laura:  Yes.

Boo:  Did you just say yes?

Laura:  Read my lips.

She then took her tongue and licked in a counter-clockwise motion around her mouth.  I swallowed the little trickle of vomit that collected in mine.

Boo:  Then why are Iraq veterans coming home and committing suicide in record numbers if everything is so dandy?

Laura:  Well, that’s the left for you.  Always parading the victim.

Boo:  But this is the soldiers.

Laura:  They should support the troops and not kill themselves. 

Boo:  But more soldiers have died this year, 854 to be exact, than any year of the war.

Laura:  Whatever.  Things are awesome in Iraq.  I would totally take up pottery classes there.

Boo:  So you don’t want to acknowledge that corruption is a huge problem in Iraq?

Laura:  Corruption is being taken care of by our forces.

Boo:  But that’s a political issue.  It’s a diplomatic issue, not a military issue.  Stuart Bowen, the Special Inspector General for Iraq Reconstruction equated corruption to a “second insurgency”. 

Laura:  Why don’t we talk about the pornification of American culture.  Don’t you and Ann have a DVD?

Boo:  I don’t think so. 

Laura leans over to me and whispers huskily:

Laura:  I wouldn’t call that porn, sweetie.  That’s an education video. 

Then she uncrossed and recrossed her legs vis a vis Basic Instinct.  She wore White House issued Cheney undies.  It was pretty hairy … pardon the pun. 

Boo:  The February 2007 National Intelligence Estimate said, and I quote:

Nevertheless, even if violence is diminished, given the current winner-take-all attitude and sectarian animosities infecting the political scene, Iraqi leaders will be hard pressed to achieve sustained political reconcilliation in the time frame of this Estimate.

Boo (cont):  Do you want to comment on that?

Laura:  I don’t comment on facts.  I comment on narratives. 

Boo:  Alrighty then.  What about asking Barbara if she wanted to win in Iraq?  Do you think that maybe we need to alter our language on that front? 

Laura:  That depends on if you want to win in Iraq.   

Boo:  Do you think we can win a civil war?

Laura:  We did the first time.

Boo:  Are you referencing the American Civil War?

Laura:  Um, yeah!

She flipped her hair so hard I thought her bobble-head was going to fly off her shoulders.

Boo:  How does that make any rational sense?

Laura:  I’m a neocon apologist, CitizenBoo.  I don’t need to make rational sense.

At that, she got up and gathered her things.  On her way out, she looked over her shoulder and did the “call me” hand signal to me.  Although tempted, I have to pass.  After all, Michelle Malkin might get jealous. 

It was a good thing I was trying on a new pair of astronaut diapers when the White House called to invite me to dine with George again.  Surely, most citizens – no matter what political persuasion – would relish the opportunity to have lunch at the White House.  I, on the other hand, would rather eat lunch with real learning disabled people than spend one more hour watching Karl cut the crust off George’s bread.

… but I went anyway …

When I stepped into the President’s private office, he was hunched over his true-to-scale model of the Titanic.  Truly the model is a work of art … or it would be if G.I. Joe figurines were not staging combat in the dining hall of the ship.  I stood there, after being announced, for 5 minutes while George kept rearranging the fucking benches on the deck of the ship.   

Finally, I had had about enough.

Boo:  George.  George … George!

Curiously, he covered his head and ducked like I was about to clock him.

George:  Wha???

Boo:  George, it’s me … Boo.  We have a lunch appointment, remember?

George:  No one’s eatin’ ’til I git this right, ya’ll.

Boo:  You don’t have to do the Texan twang, we’re not on camera. 

George:  Don’t mess with Texas!

Boo:  I know you’re from Connecticut, remember?

George:  Oh, right.  What do you think about these benches here? 

My stomach growled so loudly it sounded like Barney took a freedom poop on the carpet. 

Boo:  What is that mark on the Titanic’s deck?

George:  Ah shit!  Benchmarks!  I fucking hate those damned things!  I just repainted that deck because of the scratch left by the time tables. 

Boo:  The what tables?

George:  The t-y-m-e tables, Boo!  Nothing good ever came from a time table -

Boo:  Did you just spell ‘time’ with a ‘y’?

Karl:  The President and former Vice President Quayle do flashcards together.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.  I hate it when Karl sneaks up on me like that … it’s like he travels in the dark shadows empowered by an underworld of ghostly demons***.

Boo:  How many times have I asked you not to sneak up on me?

Karl:  And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?!?

Boo:  Well, technically, Karl, I’m your boss as I am a citizen of this country!

Karl:  I work for the American people!

Boo:  Yes, we went over that, remember? 

Karl:  Oh, yeah … How’s the benches coming along, George?

Boo:  I’m not sure why you’re rearranging the deck furniture over and over.  It is the Titanic after all.  It’s a little ironic …

George:  What’s irony?

I looked over at Karl who’s bloated face was also surprisingly blank. 

Boo:  Never mind.  How about we -

Suddenly, Harry Reid busted in holding his spectacles in his hand.  Tripping over the ficus tree near the door, Harry tripped right into Karl’s arms. 

Harry:  Oh, I …

Karl:  … You need to watch yourself there, Harry.

The moment was about as awkward as when I walked in on Trent Lott tea-bagging Strom Thurman under the guise of the old man’s diaper change. 

Harry:  I think I have your glasses, and you have mine.

Karl:  Oh, that’s what’s messed up my perspective all day.

Boo:  I don’t think that’s quite it, but …

They switched glasses, readjusted their eyes, and smiled at each other sweetly.  Regaining his senses, Harry gathered his things, and rushed to the door, dropping something by the couch. 

Boo:  Oh, Harry, you dropped this.

Harry: What is it?

Boo:  I think it’s your pussy … you’ll definitely need that for the Senate!

Harry:  I sure will! 

He left in a flash. 

Boo:  So can we talk about something of substance now?

George:  Like what?

Boo:  Like the fact that you vetoed the stem cell bill today?

George:  Well, of course I vetoed that bill!  Number one, I got to use my new Transformers pen … the Autobots wage their battle to destroy the evil forces of the abortionists!  [Yes, he sang it.]  Number two, it’s immoral. 

Boo:  Isn’t it just as immoral to slow the progress of a science that could help to treat and possibly cure people living with deadly diseases?

George looked like a deer in headlights.  He turned to Karl.

George:  Karl? …

Karl:  Once you’re born, we don’t really give a shit.

Boo:  OK … what about the fact that most of the embryos in question will be destroyed anyway?  Isn’t the rational view to -

Karl:  We don’t use the “r” word here, missy.

Boo:  So you don’t care about the diseases that could be treated -

George:  Oh yeah, like what diseases, missy??

I hate it when they call me missy. 

Boo:  Well, maybe they would’ve come up with a vaccine for retards and the people who vote for them.

Karl:  There’s no such thing.

Boo:  Yeah … tell me about it. 

***Actually, just one demon – Dick Cheney [who is NOT a reptoid, and he gets really pissed when people get them mixed up, btw] … *** 

As my loyal readers know, every week I have lunch with someone in the Washington establishment, and those conversations I document here for you.  However, my recent lunch appointment in Heaven took a little longer than I expected … you know, with travel fares and delays what they are in the summer. 

I met up with my good friend, the Archangel Gabriel, for a quick bite and the nickel tour.  I can’t tell you how lovely Heaven is … no really, I can’t tell you because I’ve been sworn to secrecy. 

Boo:  So how’s it been going?

Gabriel:  It’s been going alright.  Straight to H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS. 

Boo:  Oh no.  Why?

Gabriel:  Well everything was going fine, we completely refurbished the place and then Jerry got here -

Boo:  Jerry?

Gabriel:  Falwell.  Jerry Falwell.  The “reverend”.

Just on a side note, if you ever get a chance to see an Archangel use the air quotes gesture, it’s worth dying for.  Really.

Boo:  But he’s a man of faith.  His whole career was devoted to talking about Heaven and -

Gabriel:  First of all, he never plugged us.  Not once.  He only preached about who wasn’t getting in.  Oh yeah Jerry, I’m not letting homosexuals in so the Amish can decorate the place. 

Boo:  It does look amazing.

Gabriel:  See what I mean?  So he got here and starting carrying on that the Born Agains weren’t the only ones here.  The first day he arrived, he asked Kahlil Gibran to fetch him water.  Hello?!?  So Michael had to explain to him with simple sentences and monosyllabic words that GOOD people come here … not just HIS people.

Boo:  How did he take that?

Gabriel:  Well, let me just say that he’s the only person to ever get to Heaven and still have their blood pressure be a problem.  Like it was some big surprise that Jews were here.  I mean, pul-eeze, can we all let go of the Jewish damnation thing.

Boo:  I’m Jewish, and I’m here.

Gabriel:  Oh, that reminds me, make sure to get your hand stamped so you can get back in. 

Boo:  Oh, right.

Gabriel:  So what are you up to lately?

Boo:  Nothing really.  Working on my writing.  I have a blog now. 

Gabriel:  I love your blog!  And I always knew that something was going on between you and Coulter. 

Boo:  It’s kind of a sore subject, Gabe.

Gabriel:  Sorry.  But since you’ve been away, I’ve had such a hard time keeping up with Karl Rove,  Condi Rice, and the rest of the White House gang.

Boo:  I know, I know.  I’m going to try to post every day, Gabe. 

Gabriel:  Good girl.  I’ll look forward to talking when you get back.

Boo:  Me too.  Oh, and Gabe …

Gabriel:  Yeah?

Boo:  My friend, Jenn, moved in last week.  She was a great person on Earth.  Make sure she gets an awesome pad here in Heaven.

Gabriel:  Sure thing.  She’ll have some nice digs.

Boo:  But not by Jerry …

Gabriel:  Oh don’t worry about him.  There are no soap boxes in Heaven.  Now go give ‘em H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS! 

As my loyal readers know, I have lunch every week with someone in the Washington establishment.  These entries are documented here, as Lunchtime With Boo. 

After the 10 February Los Angeles Times article detailing the polite disagreements between the Pentagon and the CIA over Robert Feith’s report on the connection between Iraq and Al-Qaeda in the wake of 9/11, I thought I’d give my friends in the White House ample opportunity to give their side of the story.  Since no one seems to listen to any news unless there lies a promise of Anna Nicole coverage on the horizon, I have included some of my favorite pictures of her in memoriam. 

Below is the rushed trascript of our round table discussion with George Bush, Dick Cheney, Condoleezza Rice, Donald Rumsfeld, Paul Wolfowitz, and practical noob, Robert Feith.

We met in the White House dining room, and George had to retell the story of how Winston Churchill once roamed the halls with a bourban in one hand and a cigar between his lips, demanding fluffer nutter sandwiches.  His companions smirked, tolerating his unscripted ramblings and only marginally feigning interest.  George didn’t seem to notice.

Boo:  So, let’s talk about the recent Carl Levin report that outlined some of the intelligence failures during the lead-up to the war. 

George:  You know, B-b-boo, no one is talking about what we got right about Sadam and the war.

  Boo:  Which is what?

George:  Sadam did try to kill my daddy.

Dick kicked him under the table.

George:  … Dad.  He tried to kill my dad. 

Boo:  Right.  But there was no connection to Iraq and Al-Qaeda.  No WMD.  You’ve heard this before.  So now it’s time to clear the air.  Why did we go to war?  What was worth the loss of over 3000 soldiers?

George:  Oil.

Boo:  DID YOU JUST SAY -

Dick:  For his salad.

Boo:  What?

Dick:  He wants olive oil for his salad.  As the President, he has a responsibility to stay heart healthy and be a positive example for the nation.

I started to notice that everytime Dick referred to George as “President”, he giggled. 

Boo:  But he doesn’t have a salad.

Rummy:  He’s pre-emptively ordering oil for his salad.  From, from Tikrit.

Boo:  There’s no olive oil made in Tikrit.

Rummy almost got out the next line with a straight face.

Rummy:  There’s no WMD there either.

Boo:  OK, back to the business at hand.  Robert, you have said in your defense that you have done nothing wrong, and that the orders came from Donald and Paul to further explore the possibility between Iraq and Al-Qaeda. 

Robert:  That is correct.  I was checking the work of the CIA.

Boo:  As a civilian, is it appropriate to oversee the intelligence community?

Rummy:  Oh, that’s what Gatesy said.  What a pussy that guy is!

Condi:  There’s really no need to name call!

Rummy made kissing noises at Condi, who, I have it on good authority, is not screwing Robert Gates.

Boo:  So Condi, allow me to follow up on a conversation we were having the other day about memos you have received about this intelligence report.

Condi:  I received them in 2003.  They were really no big deal.

Boo:  Who were they from?

Condi:  Everyone.

Boo:  Everyone?

Condi:  Yes.

Boo:  From where?

Condi:  The CIA.

Boo:  And what did they say?

Condi:  They were all conjecture, really.

Boo:  What was the title of the emails?

Condi:  I believe they were titled something like, “Iraq and Al-Qaeda Have No Fucking Connection, You Morons.”  But I don’t have my computer in front of me.

I could tell as our conversation went on, George got bored.  As I was questioning Condi, he started tapping his cheek to make water droplet sounds.  I never knew how boys did that …

Boo:  So Paul, what did you think of the report once you received it?

Paul:  I thought it was great.

Boo:  What about it was great?

Paul:  It was very thorough. 

Abruptly, Dick addressed me.

Dick:  Is that all?

Boo:  No. 

Dick:  I think you’ve stepped over the line.

Boo:  I haven’t even asked you anything yet.

Dick:  Well, that’s my answer.  I love my lesbian daughter.

George:  Ewe!

Boo:  I wasn’t even going to bring her up …

Dick:  Things are going great in Iraq.

Boo:  No, they aren’t.

Dick:  Who asked you?

Boo:  I’m asking you.  How can you confront the truth so dismissively?

Dick:  Because I’m the Vice President.    Boo:  Is that your answer? 

Dick:  Does there need to be any other?

He smiled that shit-eating grin that I just want to smack.  I smiled back to keep myself from kicking him in the balls.

Boo:  Well, last question for everyone – what’s next?

George:  Iran.

Boo:  Iran??

Then I swear to G-d, Dick, Condi, and Rummy started singing.

Dick/Condi/Rummy:  I ran so far away.  I just ra-a-an, I ran all night and da-a-ay.

Robert:  I couldn’t get away …

Paul did air keyboard, humming that oh so familiar synth chord.

Boo:  Are you singing the Flock of Seagulls song?

Paul:  It’s the President’s favorite.

George giggled again.

Boo:  “I Ran” by A Flock of Seagulls is George’s favorite song?

Dick:  You bet.  But you’re not going to write that.

Boo:  Oh yes, I am.

Dick:  No, you’re not.  Who do you think you are?

Boo:  I’m the blogger, bitch.

Paul Bremmer has always had a propensity for losing things.  I remember when he visited Nar and me when we lived in Austin.  He was looking to hire some help for the rebuilding of Iraq and brought copies of his application with him for me to peruse.  It had the typical questions like:

1. Are you a Republican?
2. Would you do everthing within your power to help the President avoid responsibilty for this massive catastrophe?
3. Do you oppose abortion?
4. Are you gay? 
5. Are you sure?
6. Can you assist in transporting tons of cash?
7. Since this employment opportunity does not require fluent Arabic skills, can you communicate effectively using hand gestures?
8. Have you, or would you ever, do anything to embolden the terrorists (i.e., utilize your right to free speech, question any mission assigned to you, become disagreeable, etc.)?
9. Would you jump at the chance to convert Muslims to the correct religion of Christianity? 
10. Do you think a lot?

Well, long story short, Paul left the application at a local restaurant, and it literally took us hours before we found it again.  And of course, he didn’t make copies because, well, Paul’s definition of preparedness is:  knock it down then re-do it from scratch! 

Anyway, it finally got out about the 363 tons of cash.  In the interest of full disclosure, I was in Iraq when he realized he lost it.  He just stood by the front door, patting down his body, mumbling.

Paul:  I know I left it right over here.

Boo:  Well, where did you see it last?

Paul:  If I knew that, I would know where it is!

Boo:  No need to yell.

Paul:  Sorry.  It’s just so frustrating!  … I know I left it right here.  I remember thinking I’d leave it by the front door so I’d remember it.

Boo:  Try retracing your steps.

And it went on and on like that for hours, but we never found that 363 tons of cash.  We looked everywhere - under the bed, in the closet, under the seats of the Hummer.  That damn cash was nowhere to be found!  Too bad too … he was going to treat for lunch that day …

OK, in the interest of full disclosure, Chris Matthews and I haven’t spoken to each other since 23 January 2006.  If you need a refresher, about a year ago, Chris compared the logic and language of Osama Bin Laden (the number one terrorist in the world, responsible for 9/11, still free to cavort in first class caves) to Michael Moore (American, filmmaker with lefty political logic [some dubious, some not], and problematic overeater).  I did – for the record – give Chris credit that he didn’t compare Michael Moore to the typical Adolf Hilter metaphor so in vogue in ‘06. 

Anyone who would suffer such a monumental loss of basic reasoning skills on the air would just apologize.  But not my old friend, Chris Matthews.  He said he was misunderstood and painted a picture of Osama Bin Laden (not to be confused with Barack Obama) as a card carrying member of the Democratic National Committee, getting “talking points” from the Democrats like he receives their newsletter. 

So I took this up with my old friend, Chris. 

Boo:  Yeah, Chris, my old friend … it couldn’t be that the other side has a different socio-political point-of-view that may hold some key insights into the logic of terrorists and the systematic hatred of the west.  It couldn’t be that the Project for a New American Century is wrong about fucking everything!!!

My old friend, Chris:  So you wanna use spitballs to defend the country??? 

And that was it.  I could no longer listen to the mad ravings of my old friend, Chris.  Tragically, it seemed that he was more of an advocating weather vane for whomever was popular at the time, rather than a “hard-hitting” journalist.   

But a new day has dawned, and I really don’t hold a grudge that long.  Chris called me to see if I would join him for lunch.  I told him that I was already scheduled to lunch with my old friend, Hillary.  He asked if he could join us, and we agreed that he could.  What transpired I thought would hold some interest for you, my readers, so I’ve provided some highlights and pictures below. 

We met at a quaint little restaurant in D.C.  Hillary was running late, giving my old friend, Chris, and I some time to catch up.

My old friend, Chris:  So … what do you think of the contenders for ‘08?

He spoke with that constant grin for which he’s so memorable.  You know the one – the modest smirk and glint in his eye as he pronunciates every syllable with that slight overbite.  I hate that freaking overbite …

Boo:  I’m still considering everyone.  You know, still doing my research, looking up voting records at primary source sites for the Senate and fact checking candidates. 

My old friend, Chris:  How do you do that?

He sprayed food on me.  I pretended it didn’t happen.

Boo:  I’ll tell you later.

He leaned in close to me like he was about to tell me the name of his sled.

My old friend, Chris:  Did you see Hillary in Iowa?

G-d I was afraid he was going to ask me that.  Do we need to discuss Iowa anymore?  So Hillary made a joke.  So Hillary is a woman.  So Hillary isn’t Bill Clinton.  So Hillary probably could beat the shit out of my old friend, Chris … what about the issues? 

Boo:  I think her position on the war -

My old friend, Chris:  Who do you think she was joking about?

Boo:   – is playing both sides against the middle -

My old friend, Chris:   But really, do you think she has some deep seeded pain about Bill?  Was it about Bill?

Boo:  I don’t care.  What about the issues?

My old friend, Chris:  And do you really think the voters will find her attractive enough to be President?  She’s definitely more attractive than Ann Coulter. 

Boo:  I don’t want to talk about it -

My old friend, Chris:  I’m asking you a question though.  Do you think -

Boo:  What does that have to do with anything?  How is that news?  How are you actually fulfilling the role of the fourth estate by being a blow-hard, high school minded retard?!?

I slammed my salad fork on the table so hard that lettuce flew all over the table.   Chris did what he always does when he’s frustrated … he stuffed his face. 

  Of course, Hillary shows up at this point in the conversation.  She has Terry McAuliffe with her, and thank G-d he didn’t bring his pom-poms to lunch this time.  Noticing the tension, Terry starts with the small talk the way only Terry can.

Terry:  ARE WE PSYCHED ABOUT HILLARY OR WHAT?!

I giggled until he started pumping his fists in the air, then I almost needed the Heimlich. 

Boo:  Hey Terry.  Hi Hillary. 

Terry:  WE ARE GOING TO CHANGE THE COURSE OF THIS COUNTRY AND IT STARTS WITH LUNCH!

Boo:  I’m just having a salad.

My old friend, Chris:  About Iowa -

Hillary:  Stop psychoanalyzing me, dough boy!

I shoved another brownie in Chris’s mouth.

Boo:  The salmon salad is superb!

Terry:  I’M SO EXCITED!

Hillary:  I will rip off your head and pump shit directly into your lungs if you don’t -

Boo:  Can you believe it’s Oscar season already?

Hillary:  I loved the Wizard of Oz as a child.  And I want to fix healthcare.

Terry:  WE ARE GONNA CHANGE THE WORLD. 

My old friend, Chris:  Do you think your hair is Presidential enough for the country?

Boo:  Her hair?  Why don’t you ask her about her panty lines as well.

My old friend, Chris:  Panty lines don’t play well with Midwestern voters.

Boo:  Are you going to ask Barack Obama about his hair or about his panty lines?

Terry:  YOU CANNOT TALK, THINK, DONATE, OR EVEN WHISPER THE NAME OF ANOTHER CANDIDATE, GOT ME?

Boo:  Back off.

My old friend, Chris:  What about pearls?  Is that too Nancy Reagan, or is that the point?  Vegas says you’re in the bag.

Hillary:  I really better be off.

Terry:  WE’RE OFF TO CHANGE THE FUTURE!

And like that, they were gone.  She didn’t even eat.  I barely touched a thing on my plate as my old friend, Chris, was wearing most of my food and his. 

I really need some new old friends … So I called my new friend, Barack.  He’s always good for tea.

I mean, you got the first mainstream African American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice looking guy.  I mean, that’s a storybook, man.

~New York Observer, 5 February

Alright, I just got back from Cultural Diversity for Presidential Candidates class with my good friend, Joe.  I accompanied him as a supportive gesture, just as he escorted me to my first seminar titled, “How to Not Rip Out the Jugular of Evangelical Christians Trying to Convert Your Jewish Ass.” 

We gently explained how passive ethnocentric comments, like the one written above, patronizes African Americans in that he would never use the adjectives “articulate”, “bright”, and “clean” for say, John Kerry.  (Unless you’re talking about John’s manicure … he’s a RAVING metrosexual!)

I think he gets it.  Joe’s a good guy, even if he can be a putz.  But Joe represents a hegemony that just doesn’t get it.  Even if he wants to … I mean, just the other day he said to me:

Man, the Jews are smart, Boo.  And rich.  You’re a smart, rich people.  Frugal sometimes when giving to campaigns … like my campaign.  But the Jews run the world efficiently.  I mean, who doesn’t love the Jews?

So, there you have it.  Good old Joe.  I like Joe.  He’s a great Senator, but Presidential candidate?  Not so sure. 

After class, we were making small talk about my new blog here.  He stopped, leaned in close to me, looked around to see if anyone could hear and said, “Oh and by the way, I got balls too, you know.”

I patted him on the back and smiled.   

“No one’s going to notice your balls, Joe, when you’re head’s up your ass.”

On February 2nd, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change will release one of the most comprehensive reports on climate change in recent years.  The Bush Administration has tried to steer conclusions away from a climate treaty to reduce emissions toward a policy of using giant mirrors, reflective dust, or even reflective balloons to block or bounce sunlight to help cool the Earth.   

I sat down earlier today with Harlan Watson, Senior Climate Negotiator at the U.S. State Department and Days of Our Lives aficionado, to learn more about the Bush Administration’s policies on battling global warming.  Since I wasn’t allowed to make a video of our conversation, I’ve included a transcript below. 

Boo:  Dr. Watson, so good for you to come speak with me today.

Dr. Watson:  You wanna drink?

Just to be clear, Dr. Watson did seem a tad bit distracted.  He brought a tumbler and the entire bottle of Scotch to the table.  In the background, I could hear what sounded like a TV program playing.

Boo:  No, thank you.  So, Dr. Watson, for my readers, can you discuss a little bit about the giant mirrors the Bush Administation is advocating for inclusion in the IPCC report?

Dr. Watson:  Well, you know how when you’re hanging out in your swimming pool -

Boo:  I don’t have a swimming pool -

Dr. Watson:  Well, you know how when normal kids are hanging out by their swimming pools and they get a magnifying glass and burn ants with it?

Boo:  … sorta …

Dr. Watson:  That’s what we wanna do, but in reverse. 

Boo:  Just reflect the sunlight.

Dr. Watson:  Yup.

Dr. Watson contemplated his glass of scotch with a winced eye and flare of the nostril.  Seeming worlds away, his sudden sense of melodrama made me think he might actually take climate change seriously. 

Boo:  OK … what other ideas are currently being contemplated by the Bush Administration?

Dr. Watson:  Can Iran be the ants by the swimming pool?

Boo’s Inner Dialogue:  Oh G-d, he actually thought that was funny.  Jesus Christ, it’s fucking freezing … you could cut glass with my nipples!

Boo:  Dr. Watson, please.  What about emission limits?  It doesn’t really appear as the administration is serious about focusing on carbon dioxide emissions, which credible scientists agree are causing a major problem with our climate. 

Dr. Watson:  We have plenty of ideas.

Boo:  Like what?

Dr. Watson:  You want me to name them now?

Boo:  Please.

Dr. Watson:  Like just list a a bunch of things we’re doing …

Boo:  That’s why we’re here.

Dr. Watson:  We’re here because my EX secretary is too stupid to … never mind.  Well, we’re going to fund huge dehumidifiers to be placed in every city in the U.S.

He looked at me like he said something really profound.  Did I miss something?  Am I through the looking glass?  What the hell is going on? 

Without excusing himself, he walked into another room.  I quickly partook of the scotch because it was obvious that sobriety was getting me nowhere … fast.  When he came back in, he was mumbling something vehemently under his breath.

Boo:  What was that, Dr. Watson?

Dr. Watson:  (under his breath) If Stefano Dimera has fucked with Patch one more time, I swear to G-d.

Boo:  What?

Dr. Watson:  Are you still here?

Boo’s Inner Dialogue:  No, this is one of your fucking mirrors reflecting my image in the room shithead. 

Boo:  Explain to me what the dehumidifiers would do?

He glanced at me with eyes you reserve for the “special” cashier who takes 20 minutes to ring your bubblegum, paper towels and a box of condoms.  I should have started smoking weed again before coming to this interview. 

Dr. Watson:  It’s not the heat … it’s the humidity that’ll kill us. 

Boo’s Inner Dialogue:  Dear Stephen Hawking, please move up the Doomsday Clock one more minute …

I don’t care what you say, I’m not following that up. 

Boo:  And what else?

Dr. Watson:  It’s pretty comprehensive, really.  We’ll incorporate giant ice tea reservoirs throughout the country.  Who the hell doesn’t want a tall glass of tea on a hot day?

Boo’s Inner Dialogue:  Will there be scotch in it?

Dr. Watson:  And we’ll offer a tax credit on all fan purchases.  Hand fans AND electric fans.  It provides an even playing field for families.

Boo’s Inner Dialogue:  ATTICA!  ATTICA!  ATTICA!

Dr. Watson:  I’d like to see a revolutionary new approach to the way we live in the world.  Like cars run on nuclear energy.  Houses cooled with clean burning coal.  The possiblities are endless. 

He emptied his third glass, sat back in his chair, and studied me like I kidnapped the Lindbergh baby.  That was it.  I tried to graciously excuse myself, which didn’t work because I might have exclaimed I HEARD THERE ARE DEHUMIDIFIERS IN HELL ASSHOLE on my way down the hall.  Don’t worry, I doubt he heard me.  He was already back to the TV, contemplating the sands through the hourglass … so are the days of our lives.  The really fucking hot days this administration could give a crap about …