Blunt Wit

So Obama pulled out a V in 2008 but there are plans afoot to return a Bush to the White House in 2012!

So now that the American people have voted an African American into office, it is timely to ask an equally compelling and in some ways more important question, “Are we ready for a Chimpanzee to be President of these United States?”

Please don’t laugh as this is a serious question that deserves serious consideration.
To begin our thoughtful analysis let us look at the current President of the United States, George W. Bush.  One of the most important qualifications for a President is that he or she have the native intelligence to solve knotty problems and ’make the tough decisions’.  I happen to be in possession of the top secret classified IQ test that was run on “W” upon his assuming the role of President.  This shows conclusively that ANY Chimpanzee (with the exception of the several of the more mentally retard ones) would have a much higher IQ and thus be MORE qualified than the man we elected twice in 2000 and 2004.

Next, a President must have the stature and carriage of a President (something majestic but just short of regal).  Thus, sorry to say, but in our 24 hour non-stop-media-saturated-image-is-everything world, looks matter.  Now our 39th President, Jimmy Carter had large ears and chimps have big ears so another point for the Chimpanzees.

And finally, the President must exude an animal charm AND not experience too much sexual tension.  We definitely don’t need an itchy finger on the trigger of our nuclear arsenal.  This is something our 42nd President knew only too well.  While some people burned with moral outrage at the Monica Lewinsky scandal there was a thick silver lining to that cloud.  Clinton got in touch with his baser instincts and the world was a safer place because of it.  If only “W” had such wisdom and carnal foresight.  Now, it is a scientific fact that Chimpanzees have been known to masturbate at least three times a day.  Even Bill in his heyday couldn’t match that pace.  Score yet another one for the Chimps.  Game, set and match.

Which leads us to the inevitable conclusion that indeed the White House IS ready for a Chimpanzee in 2012.  And in an even more shocking revelation, the 2012 Republican candidate will be a Chimp!
Yes, according to Jorge’s third cousin’s sister, Sasparilla, who also happens to be the daughter-in-law to Barbara Bush’s gardener, the elder Bush’s have already adopted and are literally grooming a Chimpanzee for the Presidency.  Yep, you heard it here first.  The next President of the United States of America will be a Bush.

How, you may ask, am I so certain that the primate Bush will sweep into the White House?  Simple, given that Obama has broken the mold, Americans are clearly ready for even bigger change in 2012.
I even hear Bush Jr. Jr. or “P” as he will undoubtedly come to be called, is so cock sure he’s going to win that he’s already considering potential appointees.  The name floated most notably so far is another famous ex-actor, Cheetah (of Tarzan fame) who is being considered for either the role of Vice President or Secretary of State.  I sure as heck would trust a Bush/Cheetah ticket more than I ever did Bush/Cheney. 

What do you think?  Is the US ready for a Chimp in the oval office? 

Myth of Iraqos

Double-ya was the son of a highly respected and talented Kennebunkportian artisian, Ay-chya.

He was known for his skill at drinking games, drug-laced tirades, malapropisms and evading military service. His father, Ay-chya, angered the good king Saddos and was eventually imprisoned with his son in the labyrinth of Iraqos. Wherein they wandered about without a goal, without a hope.

Then Ay-chya devised a clever plan. He would strap on wings like an avian predator and fly the confines of that quagmiric maze!

So out they flew. Double-ya’s father warned him not to not fly too high, too near the hot desert sun, or too low, near the insurgent waves of the sea.

Double-ya grinned (ch)impishly and became overwhelmed with the thrill of the power.

He felt invincible as he soared high above the common concerns of those watching from far below. As he flew higher and higher and farther and farther from the prosaic man and woman on the ground, the glue of logic holding his wings together melted. Then, he plunged down, down to his demise.

Leaving the poor citizens of Iraqos a huge mess to clean up …

All hail to the chief! And by that I mean me. Father and commander-in-chief of the state of my own family. Or so I would like to believe.

So please pause a moment in silence as we mourn the passing of a member of our family. Young Tommy died recently of thirst or hunger or a myriad of other possible illnesses. Or possibly an overzealous door slam. And I killed him. Or at least that is what my wife and children say.
Tommy was our pet hamster. He was just another in a long line of hapless animals to mysteriously kick the proverbial bucket under my watchful eye. I didn’t kill him. I swear it. My wife took the kids to visit the in-laws and left me to take care of things. One of those chiefly being the well being and continued existence of Tommy. But somehow he escaped. Poof, one day he was just gone. An empty cage. A little hamster Houdini. Darn, I knew I should have cuffed him to his miniature flywheel while I went to work. Too late. Anyway, a week or so after they got back we found him wedged behind a door. My kids called for an impeachment – hamster autopsy but the judge ruled I, as next closest of kin, could determine the COD (cause of death). So I pronounced it poor hamster suicide and we buried him in a shoebox in the back yard next to Lester the goldfish, yet another unfortunate casualty that I had nothing to do with (or at least directly).

Of course this ‘Tommy incident’ just managed to dredge up all the ill will from the previous ‘Lucky incident’ all those years back. Then we were living in Beijing and to keep up with the Joneses (or in this case the Wang’es) we bought a pet bird. Not just any bird, mind you, but some rare, talking squawker. We named the unlucky avian, Lucky. Talk about irony. He would squawk in his pigeon Chinese … ‘Qu ba’, ‘Qu ba’ which can be translated as ‘go’ or more colloquially as ‘go take a long walk off a short pier’. This he told you to do constantly. After a week of sleepless nights of endless squawking, I tried to convince my wife we needed to eat fried chicken-like bird for dinner. A sympathetic friend eventually taught us how to put a cloth over the cage to shut Lucky up thus sparing his life for the time being.

So like with the current ‘Tommy incident’ my wife took the kids to see the in-laws and left me in charge. Well, wouldn’t you know, I come home from work one day to find Lucky claws up on the bottom of his cage. On the positive side, I did notice that he had a pleasant look on his beak so I have to believe he had a peaceful passing. I’m guessing stress induced heart attack … the number one killer in talking birds (or so I’m told). I went down to the market to buy a replacement bird, thinking I could fool them into thinking that some bizzarro Lucky was somehow the real deal. No luck(y). So again there were calls for my resignation as father, my impeachment as chief caregiver in our household. However, like Bush/Cheney, it would take more than a few innocent causalities to get me to acknowledge my mistakes. So we stayed the course. Surged ahead and got a golden retriever puppy.

I guess that’s why our dog Jasmine these days is always eying me with deep canine suspicion. Dreadfully afraid for the next time my wife takes the kids to visit the in-laws.