Trust no one

Mind-numbingly bored at work exhausted from work and needing a break -- yeah, I know it's only 10am but you know what Sartre said about other people -- I tried to write something about, well, writing to no avail and thus it had to meet a mercifully quick end by my saddened hand -- trust me, it was shaping up to be an abysmal piece -- yeah, I also know what it says above, like you fuckers would listen anyway and no, that's not me in the video -- and aside from the feel-good, oooh that feels good campaign of Diva/Nunly, politics can go roast like a rancid Robert Novak skewered on a spit over Saint Ronnie's grill in hell before getting smoked for eternity, enveloped in the rotten egg stench of Tricky Dick's carcass, so feast your eyes on some funky vinyl:


















Gimme some of that future time religion!

Right?

Computerized missals that open to just the right page, flying robots that bring the booze and crackers to your seat, miniskirted corporals pressing buttons sexfully on the console. Wait, that was Star Trek.

Wrong!

Hold on to your ass, kids, there's a satan in your way and it's here to wield the flaming sword of truth and chop deception into a quivering, bloody pulp!


















Beware of false prophets sent by the Filthy Hippie Technoconspiracy!

Short and curlies, just short

"My friends, X in the center square. Winner gets Miss Buffalo Chip over there."

Even more how to run a campaign without really trying*

When we last left, well, us, we had, without argument, rolling eyes or condescending commentary from anyone (I get it, you all like chocolate cake, sheesh. Keep your knickers on and be patient, dammit), codified exactly half of our current, very important, vital, critical and delicious American message to you, the beloved American voter. It's the fourth quarter, two minutes left, 3rd-and-long and we need to hit a buzzer-beating home run to win one for the Gipper so we can at long last defeat evil as spine-chilling as this:






































Yikes!













And you thought this trio was evil.









"What's one thing that all caring, environmentally-conscious, good-hearted, non-evil people like?"








"Soulless Republicans without life sentences, but instead mercilessly hacked into a gooey pulp that's used as compost for victory gardens because the price of store-bought food is so goddamn high?"








"That's what I was going to say."








"Me, too."








"Wrong, wrong and wrong. Randal?"








"Rainbows!"


















Reading is fundamental. So don't make LaForge beam your ass out into space.








"See, unlike those dark age Republicans, we believe in real educational ref -- what the hell is that noise?"


















"Die, monster, die!"








"Oh, that's just MathMan taking his anger out on a roomful of NCLB directives."








"I think we should get back to food, because this is an issue that affects all Americans suffering under deregulated agribusiness behemoths every single day."








"Behemoths that pollute both the environment and our bodies, leaving our souls starving as well."








"Quite right. I'm tired to stretching my food dollar to buy what is essentially poisonous crap that makes our kids all pissy. And their bullshit is cutting into my toking time!"








"We need to think of something that's satisfies both the health requirements of parents and the delicious flavor all children crave. But what magical food contains both -- besides a pot in every chicken, of course."








"Why, o ye of little faith, chocolate cake!"


















Diva/Nunly '08 loves you, too. Won't you return that love by casting your ballot for them this November?








"You guys don't think it's too heavy handed, do you? I mean, everyone wants to be loved, even voters."








"Even Republican voters?"








"I stand corrected."








"We need to close our message on a positive, populist note. Not that clean food and water isn't necessary, but hell with that for a second. We need something visceral, something that speaks to the gut --"











"Did someone say 'gut'?"








"Get outta here, you goddamn fascist! Security! Do we even have security?"








"We hired that one guy, but it was difficult to find someone competent on such short notice."


















"Zzzzzzzz...."








"Grumble. This would be so much easier if we were evil. We could just employ Blackwater. Anyway, what's the number one want in American society, always has been, always will be?"








"Sex."







"Sex."








"Sex."








"Sex."








"Sex."








"Sex."








"Sex."








"Thus, something perfect for lazing around on a Sunday afternoon -- or at work, if only narrow-minded corporates would let us -- something that encompasses our core values of peace, love, understanding and slackery: happy underpants!"


















"Voting for Diva/Nunly makes my underpants very happy."**








"Lordy, mine, too. I mean -- gasp! -- dear wife, where is your modesty? Your chaste comportment? Wait a second, you mean right now? But I'm in a meeting -- well, wow, since you put it that way.

BRB."






















"Whew. Sorry to have made you guys wait so long."








"You were gone a minute, Randal. Now let's get back to work. Don't make me give Bush a call."
























"I'll be good."

They're sexier than the old white guy, the middle-aged black guy and the orangutan from a dystopian future.

Combined.

That's a lotta sexy.
Vote Diva/Nunly '08.












It's the hot thing to do.

*still preapproved by Diva. Paid for by yet another daring nighttime raid, this one on Rupert Murdoch's house.
**sorry Nunly, you know I'd get some eye candy in there eventually. Alright, fine, for those of you into manly men of manliness here's a a fine example of American dudesmanship relaxing in his skivvies after a hard day of toiling for The Man. Now stop asking. Don't make me sic the Lone Gunman Anthraxer on you. Oh wait, both patsies are dead. Nevermind.