BlameBush!

Free Scott Peterson!

The anti-choice evangelicals are at it again.

Cheers filled the San Diego courthouse yesterday as the jury announced their astounding verdict: Scott Peterson will spend the rest of his life on Death Row. But is Peterson really guilty of murder, or is he merely the victim of a right-wing plot to undermine Roe v. Wade and ruin everyone's good time?

Make no mistake: Peterson was a jerk. However, condemning him for the murder of what Christian extremists call an "unborn child" will only give the anti-choice zealots the ammunition they need to completely abolish a woman's constitutional Right to Choose. By making it a double-felony to murder a pregnant woman, Bush's preposterous Unborn Victims of Violence Act was the opening salvo in his immoral war against women's reproductive rights. Now with the Peterson verdict, we find ourselves on a dangerously slippery slope to a Handmaid's Tale world of forced breeding and big, silly hats.

Sadly, Scott Peterson's isn't the only blood Bush has on his hands. The Shrub is solely responsible for the mysterious death of Peterson's wife, Laci, as well. From the moment she discovered that she was stricken with pregnancy, Laci Peterson began behaving as if the lifeless lump of goo inside her were actually alive. She named the goo. She bought clothes for the goo. She had a goo shower. Totally oblivious to the feminist's 40 year struggle against male hegemony, she strutted around town like some sort of expectant mother. In reality, she was a brainwashed automaton, programmed since birth to look forward to marriage, pregnancy and motherhood. Programmed, ironically, by the very same "family values" ilk who think sex is "dirty" and preach abstinence to their children!

It's enough to spark a murderous rage.

Laci Peterson's death was tragic, but let's be realistic. We can all feign shock and horror over the thought of a mangled fetus being picked at by crabs on the beach, but it doesn't change the fact that if abortion were safe, legal, and mandatory, Laci Petersen would be alive today.

Rules Schmules

The Blog Awards are over and I barely made it past 3%. No surprise. It's all one big popularity contest, if you ask me.

Besides, I knew it was over when the judges suddenly started enforcing their draconian set of "rules". That's how Republicans steal elections, boys and girls. Whenever people are forced to vote a certain way, at a certain place, at a certain time, it's the democrats who get the short end of the stick.

We saw it in Florida four years ago, when the GOP exploited "election laws" to invalidate thousands of "improperly or vaguely punched" ballots. Many ballots which would have otherwise been counted were thrown out simply because they weren't punched at all. We're seeing the same sort of shenannigans here in my own state, where the Reichpublicans are invoking bizarre, archaic voting regulations to disenfranchise honest Americans who didn't "follow instructions" and vote "correctly". We may live in a big Melting Pot, but if your vote doesn't fit in with their WASP, Aryan, Master Race idea of perfection, it gets shipped off to the furnaces with the rest of the undesirables.

It never used to be that way. The founding fathers were intentionally vague when writing election laws into the Constitution, for fear that that strict adherence to a concrete set of rules would lead to a fascist dictatorship. Election laws were merely meant to be "suggestions", like the Ten Commandments or traffic signals. In order to insure that Every Vote is Counted, it would be necessary to "bend the rules", and speed through a red light every once in a while, t-boning a Ford Mustang and killing everyone inside for the sake of democracy. It wasn't until white slaveholders concocted a "Poll Tax" to supress the Black vote that Republicans learned to manipulate elections through the strict interpretation of election laws.

Anyway, I'd like to thank everyone who voted for me, and those brave, progressive Americans who defied the Ashcroft junta and nominated me in the first place. I have no hard feelings for the winners, and would be heartbroken if Scott Ott or Frank J. broke out in festering, pus-filled sores after eating those congratulatory fruit baskets I sent them.

"I dont know the future, I didnt come here to tell you how this is going to end. I came here to tell you how its going to begin. I'm going to hang up this phone and then I'm going to show these people what you don't want them to see. I'm going to show them a world wthout you. A world without rules and controls without borders or boundaries. A world where anything is possible. Where we go from there is a choice I leave to you." - Alexis de Tocqueville (tip o' the tam to Ry)

Almost Had Me There, Shrub

When I first learned that our bloodthirsty troops had to scrounge around in landfills to find armor for their big macho-man humvees, I was outraged. How dare Bush deny those murdering war criminals the necessary equipment to slaughter innocent Iraqi women and children? Bush claims to "support our troops", yet every uneducated, fascist jock fighting this illegal and pointless war must ride in an unarmored vehicle when they plow into a mosque and mow down unarmed civilians.

Then it hit me like a prison guard at Abu Ghraib: It's all a ruse! Bush wants our anger focused on poorly equipped Humvees to divert our attention from the REAL outrage: the troops are actually driving Humvees!

AHA! It was a brilliant Rove-ian ruse and I almost fell for it. I spent three whole days feigning concern for the safety of our fighting men and womyn before I realized that they've been driving around in those glorified smog-belching SUV's for three whole years! Humvees get what - three miles to the gallon? Even more infuriating is that they're actually built for off-road driving! Who knows how many square miles of fragile, pristine Iraqi wilderness they've torn up under those obnoxiously oversized tires?

It all makes sense, doesn't it? Bush invades Iraq for his big oil buddies, who make a killing selling the oil back to the militaryfor Humvee fuel! That's the only rational explanation as to why Rummy would keep shipping those shoddy, uneconomical behemoths overseas when there are far more fuel-efficient vehicles on the market. Instead of retrofitting Humvees, the troops should be driving Honda Insights!

Then I stumbled across this website and it got me thinking. My creative juices really started to flow, shorting out my keyboard and ruining a nice shirt. Suddenly, I had an epiphany. I named him "Harold" and put him in a jar on my desk.

Bush is funneling tillions of dollars to his defense contractor buddies, and all it took me was an hour in Photoshop and a shitload of ganja to produce the armored military vehicle of the future: The Chomstein Babykiller 2000 (with optional bong attachment). 61 miles to the gallon and enough trunk space to fit three naked Iraqi midgets. It's also available in hunter orange so the innocent civilians can see you coming and get out of the way.

This is still in the preliminary stages, mind you. Don't expect to see the CB2000 tearing through Fallujah anytime soon. I'm going to run it past Harold and see what he thinks before passing it on to the Pentagon.

Hopefully, he'll know how to make the bright flashing lizards on the ceiling go away, too.

Vote for Me or Christopher Reeve Will Walk Again

I have my dignity. I'm not going to beg like La Shawn Barber. I won't crawl like the Commissar. But we're getting down to the wire, folks. December 12th is just three days away, and I'm only at 2.1%. That's just plain pathetic. Granted, I don't have the media exposure and cheesecake photos that the top contenders have, but by all rights I should be holding steady at around 3.7% by now.

So it's time to take the gloves off. I'm sorry it's come to this, but you've left me no choice.

Vote for me, or Christopher Reeve will rise up and walk again. Yup. I'm not kidding around, people! I have party connections, you know. One phone call to John Edwards, and the Son Of Kalel will shoot up out of his grave like a bald-headed Pop Tart.

And if the thought of Reeve's reanimated corpse lurching through the streets of your hometown with an insatiable hunger for human brains disturbs you, let me toss some more names at ya: Princess Diana. Babe Ruth. Lucille Ball. Bob Hope.

Ol' Bob's RIPE for a comeback! Perhaps you'd like another Bob Hope Christmas Special, hmmm? No? Then get your fascist backsides over to Blog Awards and vote!

Please. I'm on my hands and knees here.

Troops Slam Dummy Rummy

I can't help but feel sorry for ol' Rummy. In a desperate attempt to save his political career, he stages an absurd photo-op with a bunch of hand-picked sycophants. Expecting it to be a lovefest, he instead gets a verbal butt-kicking with a litany of complaints a mile long:

"We don't have adequate armor!"

"The officers talk down to us!"

"The food stinks!"

"How many more innocent women and children must we murder before we can go home?"

"Who let Helen Thomas in here?"

Ms. Thomas' infiltration of the even notwithstanding, this will mark the first time in military history that soldiers on the battlefield ever griped about lack of supplies and long deployments. Amazingly, all Dummy Rummy could do was hitch up his pants and growl, "Suck it up, sissy boys!"

No wonder our troops are deserting to Canada by the thousands.

The real tragedy is that none of these problems would even exist if Dumbya had simply raised taxes and saved John Kerry the trouble of voting against the $87 billion after he voted for it.

9/11 Widows to Helm New National Intelligence Agency

If the attacks of September 11 taught us anything, it's that we can no longer rely on Cold War methods to fight a 21st century war. We must bring all our military and civilian intelligence agencies under one roof in order to meet the challenges we face in today's world. So isn't about time we cut the crap and appoint the beloved 9/11 Widows to direct a new national intelligence agency?

There shouldn't be any doubts concerning their qualifications, as having loved ones who died in the World Trade Center automatically makes them experts in counterterrorism. All the widows have been photographed extensively holding copies of the 9/11 Commission Report, so I'm sure they're more than qualified to make major policy decisions concerning national security. They'll also bring accountability to the new department, demanding teary-eyed apologies and group hugs from anyone who doesn't tow the line. To insure better communication between all the intelligence entities, the widows will establish a new counterterrorism center on the set of Good Morning America, where they will appear regularly clutching 8x10 photos of their dead husbands. Most importantly, the nation's borders will be secured with the hiring of 10,000 new immigration agents, each partnered with a life-sized cardboard cutout of a 9/11 widow's' dead husband.

"I think Jimmy would approve," said Mary White of Grand Rapids, Michigan, who lost her first husband, Jim Douglas, in the World Trade Center. "He'd also approve of my new book, Life Without Jimmy; A Portrait of Grief, available at amazon.com or you local bookstore."

I expect that we're just hours away from an official announcement, but it's strictly a formality. Kristen Breitwieser (whose husband died in the World Trade Center) dropped Katie Couric a hint as to the outcome this morning while modelling a sweater made from wallet-size photos of her dead husband sewn together with locks of her dead husband's hair.

"I did it all for Sean," she said, a small photo of her dead husband stapled to her forehead. "Thanks to his pointless death, my pointless life has been transformed into a spectacle of schmaltz disguised as a political crusade."

So after weeks of bickering over insignificant minutiae, it appears that Congress is at last on the verge of approving a sweeping overhaul of the nation's intelligence agencies that will allow the dead husbands of the beleaguered 9/11 widows to finally be at peace.

Bush Still Won't Accept Blame for Pearl Harbor

Today, the Shrub went through the robotic motions of honoring the brave men, womyn, and transgendered who died at Pearl Harbor thanks to his family's relentless quest for absolute power. No doubt, Bush naively believes that being born five years after that day of infamy excuses him from any guilt. But if the dead could speak, they'd cry out from their watery graves and demand he apologize and atone for his complicity in the attacks.

It's common knowledge that the Shrub's grandfather, Prescott Shrub Bush, bankrolled the Third Reich out of his own pockets, but the rabbit-hole of treachery and betrayal goes much deeper than anyone could possibly have imagined. As I will reveal, the Bush family not only orchestrated the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, but conspired with some of history's most notorious figures in order to assume control of the White House for decades to come.

It was the summer of 1941. Senator Prescott Bush covertly met with fellow Skull & Bones members Gen. Hideki Tojo, Joseph Goebbels, and Fatty Arbuckle to hatch an insidious plot so secret that only a few Democrat Underground members and that weird guy at the comic book store know about it. On the 7th of December, Japan would launch a "surprise attack" on the U.S. Naval base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, launching a war and allowing young naval aviator George Herbert Walker Bush pad his political resume with a phony act of heroism at sea. In return, Arbuckle would use his Hollywood connections to disgrace Tojo's political adversary, Ministry of Finance Kiichi Miyazawa, in an elaborate sex scandal involving an underaged prostitute and a syphillitic goat. Goebbels would provide beer and brauts.

Just as planned, the Pearl Harbor attacks came by complete surprise, and the entire U.S. Pacific Fleet was destroyed. George H.W. Bush went off to war, and was shot down over Iwo Jima. His crewmates and fellow Skull and Bonesmen perished, but he was "miraculously" pulled from the water and would shamelessly use his military service for political gain years later. Back in Tokyo, Tojo patiently awaited for Prescott Bush to fulfill his part of the bargain and destroy his political rival, Miyazawa.

On August 9, 1945, atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki - bombs built with uranium procured by Prescott Bush's Vanadium Corporation. Japan quickly surrendered, and Tojo was captured by the allies and summarily executed without a trail. Newly appointed Chancellor of Germany, Joseph Goebbels, took his own life outside a Berlin-area Piggly Wiggly, and Fatty Arbuckle became embroiled in a career-ending sex scandal of his own. Miyazawa, on the other hand, was promoted to the Japanese Diet, which monitors and controls the Nipponese sushi trade. For a while it seemed as if the Bush Dynasty would evade meeting their obligations in the sinister pact.

The Bushies would soon learn, however, that there was still a bill to be paid, and it would be paid with liquid assets.

Flash forward to 1992. In the midst of a failing political campaign, President George Herbert Walker Bush attends a state visit in Tokyo, Japan. Journalists would later describe the President as appearing pale and disoriented, at least more so than usual. Perhaps out of guilt over the needless deaths of his old crewmates, or from stress over troubles with his coke-addicted, alcoholic son, the president is overcome by a wave of nausea. He opens his mouth, and for a moment it appears as if he's going to speak. Instead, he shocks the world by vacating the contents of his stomach all over the Japanese Prime Minister...none other than Kiichi Miyazawa himself.

In ancient Japanese culture, being ralfed on by dinner guests was considered such a dishonor that the victims often committed ritual suicide before the puke even dried. Japan had long since abandoned the barbaric Samurai Code, but the stigma of being a vomit receptacle remained. Shamed and disgraced, Miyazawa was forced out of office with a vote of "no confidence" less than one year later, and the old pact between Prescott Bush and Admiral Tojo was finally fulfilled.

However, Miyazawa was from from finished. While Geedumbya ascended to the throne, the disgraced prime minister plotted his revenge. As a member of the powerful Trilateral Commission, he was able to secure documents that would both expose the Bush family's involvement in the Pearl Harbor attacks, and completely exonerate Fatty Arbuckle. Determined to get the damning evidence to the American press, he entrusted it with his nephew, a commercial fisherman operating off the coast of Hawaii. In February of 2001, just weeks after Bush stole the presidency, the Japanese trawler Emime Maru was destroyed by the U.S.S. Greenville. All aboard the vessel were killed - including Miyazawa's nephew, who had mere days before deposited the documents in a safety deposit box at the Manhattan branch of Fuji Bank - located in the south tower of the World Trade Center.

Paranoid conspiracy nuts will have fun with that little morsel, but we all know the real reason Bush ordered the 9/11 attacks was to steal Iraq's oil. Nonetheless, the evidence of Bush's treachery was destroyed forever, along with any hopes of seeing him brought to justice for his crimes.

As I expected, Dumbya didn't mention any of this in his pretty little speech today. Like he always does, he'll evade responsibility, pass the buck, and allow 2,000 brave servicemen to remain helplessly trapped at the bottom of the ocean just so he doesn't have to pay them their social security.

Jingo Bell Crock

Shiver me timbers and jigger me with a yule log, the Holiday Season is upon us once again and the whole city is aglow with decorations. It seems like only yesterday that Peaceblossom and I bundled ourselves up in our matching hemp sweaters and took a long, romantic stroll through the neighborhood, singing "Jingo Bell Crock" at the top of our lungs and kicking over nativity scenes. Ah, the memories! I can still recall the delicious, teary-eyed look of dumbstruck horror on that crazy geezer's face as I punted Baby Jeezus across her front lawn.

"STOP RELIGIOUS INTOLERANCE NOW!" I shouted at the shriveled old zealot.

"GO BACK TO JESUS LAND, YOU DOGMA-SPEWING FASCIST!" Peaceblossom chimed in as she merrily stomped the three wise men into the dirt.

"Lawrence Engels Chomstein, you little BASTARD!" Gramma cried. "I'm calling the police!"

Goddess, I miss her. It's so hard to get into the holiday spirit without her around. Peaceblossom, that is. I long for the good ol' days when we were still a team, standing up to religious fanaticism wherever we found it. I sure could have used Peace by my side Saturday, when I ran smack into the very same sort of ugly, blind hatred that Gramma displayed for her very own grandson last Christmas.

With the Blog Awards less than a week away, I had planned to spend all weekend at the public library, frantically voting. But when I walked in the main entrance, all my hopes and dreams were brutally shattered by the great, big, aluminum baseball bat of reality. Before me, in all it's obscene splendor, stood what I will one day describe to my grandchildren as a "Christmas Tree". Decked out in crudely crafted ornaments, stringed popcorn garnish, and sneering gingerbread men, it was as if my all worst nightmares had somehow come to life. The final kick in the crotch was perched daintily atop the vile monstrosity: a single yellow construction-paper star signifying the horrific event that led to 2000 years of genocide and opression in the name of religion.

I couldn't breathe. The room spun around me. How could this be? Had the whole world gone mad? I thought the King County Master Librarian issued a Fatwah banning Christmas trees from the libraries. I thought he was one of the good guys! Didn't he care at all about the feelings of non-Christians who might walk in and see that horrific fungus staring back at them?

For a long time I just stood there, gazing with disbelief and disgust at its sheer naked depravity. Then, the floodgates burst wide open and out poured years of pent-up rage over religious opression in the form of a high-pitched, girlish scream. I screamed and screamed and screamed some more. I screamed for a good five minutes, yet drew only looks of mild annoyance. When I realized that no one was going to come running over in truckling response to my feminine hysterics, I screamed even louder. Finally, a bespectacled little rat-faced librarian idled over and tugged at my sleeve.

"Sir," she wheezed. "The P.E.S.T. group therapy session is being held in the library auditorium, through the double-doors and past the big pile of spent kleenex."

I stopped screaming and jabbed a finger furiously at the giant Tree of Hate.

"What is THAT?" I demanded.

"It's a Christmas tree," she answered hesitantly.

"In a public building? HAVEN'T YOU EVER HEARD OF THE SECOND AMENDMENT?""Yes, but it's sort of a library tradition," she explained. "Local cub scouts decorate it every year with ornaments they made by hand. People can bid on the decorations and the proceeds goes to charity. It's really a nice thing."

I didn't know what was more infuriating: The way she proudly admitted that the Hitler Youth were responsible for this obscenity, or how she actually believed that offending people in the name of some bogus charity actually justifies the crime.

"A nice thing?" I spat. "A NICE THING? What about the Jewish kid who saunters in, suddenly discovers that we're celebrating a Christian holiday, and becomes so offended that he claws his own eyes out in shame? Is that a 'nice thing'? What about the poor homeless man who comes in out of the cold to surf child porn in a warm, welcoming environment, but is instead accosted by a 10-foot icon of exclusion? Is a that a 'nice thing'? And what about the gay couple who visits the library to check out Eminem's latest CD, but is greeted at the door by the scowling symbol of a religious faith that doesn't accept or celebrate their lifestyle? Is it a 'nice thing' that they become targets of physical violence because a group of knot-tying nazi larvae want to maintain their tax exempt status? Don't you have any regard for the feelings of others? HAVE YOU NO COMPASSION?"

"Well, actually, we haven't received any complaints from..."

"Oh, but of course not," I cut her off. "Who's going to lodge a complaint about the burning cross on their front lawn when all the cops are in the Klan? People are too terrified to complain."

"Terrified of a tree?"

"Absolutely! It may appear to be just a harmless plant, but if you give these evangelical's an inch, they'll take a mile. Today, it's a Christmas Tree in the library lobby. Tomorrow, Santa Claus will be burning heretics on your front steps. That's why George Jefferson wrote the wall between church and state right into the Constitution - so that no one should ever have to feel insulted or threatened by large, brightly festooned conifers. Libraries especially should be places where people of all faiths can go without fear of being offended or excluded, except for Christians but they'll just have to learn to live with it. The biblethumping Whos down in Whoville can whine all they want, but Christmas Trees serve only to divide America and turn us against one another, creating conditions ripe for the very same sort of religious dictatorship that our forefathers came here to escape."

She seemed to let it sink in for a moment, then slowly shook her head.

"I disgree, sir," she said. "While it has roots in Christian and Pagan beliefs, the American tradition of Christmas is not so much a religious holiday as a celebration of the human spirit and love for our fellow man. During the Christmas season, Americans are more tolerant of one another, they go out of their way to be nicer to their neighbors, they smile more and spread good cheer. Yes, it IS a "nice thing", and it's a shame that some small-minded jerks want to destroy the only day of the year that people actually try to get along!"

It was then that I realized that the broad was mentally ill, perhaps dangerous. "Human spirit?" Obviously, this lunatic had never been in the mall on December the 24th. I'd like to see how much "good cheer" she'd have left after being beat up by her "fellow man" for the last copy of Halo 2.

I started to slowly back away when I suddenly remembered why I was there in the first place.

"Where are your computers?" I demanded.

"Second floor," she said. "But they're all taken by homeless people surfing child pornography. I can put you on the waiting list..."

"Forget it," I growled, and turned to leave.

"Merry Christmas!" she said to my back.

"Seig Hiel," I replied, and marched out the door.

Bush's All-White White House Getting Even Whiter

With the appointment of the Andy Sipowicz as Homeland Security Czar, Bush has made it abundantly clear that people of color have no place in his ass-ministration. Aside from a few token Stepin Fetchits, Bush's cabinet is starting to look like a klan rally during a snow blizzard in Siberia. Sad, but true: the faces of Black America, of Hispanic America, Asian America, and Gay America are not welcome at the increasingly white White House.

I've been following Kirek's fascist career ever since he was a hatemongering cub scout, and while his resumé is pathetic, his racist attitudes are well documented. The mouth-breathing son of an alcoholic prostitute who wan't even a democrat, Kirek's hatred for those different from him blossomed at an early age. He dropped out of high school and joined the Army, which specializes in nurturing little hate-blossoms into full blown racist bloodlusts. 18th Airborne Corps at Ft. Bragg. An MP in Korea. Special "security assignments" in the Middle East. Kierkegaard's military record reads like a CIA spook's rap sheet.

As New York Police Commissioner, Kirk allowed the World Trade Center to fall on his watch, and never even offered a teary-eyed apology to the 9/11 widows. He never obtained a liberal arts degree, never marched in any anti-Bush protests, never held a soft, warm puppy to his cheek and made little cooing sounds. In fact, Kirikuk was just another jackbooted NYPD beat cop until mayor and business partner, Rudy Giuliani saw him sodomize a Haitian immigrant with a "dope sniffing turkey" and gave him a promotion.

He's an incompetent brown-nosing yes-man with no gaydar, so he'll fit right in with the Shrub's collection of ass-kissing nazis. But is he truly qualified to run our top national security agency? More qualified than, say, Jocelyn Elders?

The plain-spoken, tough-talking Arkansas firebrand and former U.S. Surgeon General would be an ideal Homeland Security Chief. Dr. Elders wouldn't frighten Americans with confusing color-coded warning systems. She wouldn't shred the Bill of Rights and send every Muslim-American with a couple sticks of dynamite taped to his chest off to Gitmo. Instead, she would reach out to teenage terrorists, encouraging them to explore themselves and become comfortable with their bodies. After all, aren't we all sexual creatures?

Unfortunately, Bush won't hire Elders for the same reason that Newt Gingrich fired her: She's black. No, he'll keep right on stocking his little cabinet with Jesuslanders who think self-gratification is something to be ashamed of, and we'll all suffer for it.

* * *

"There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, 'When will you be satisfied?' we can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream." - Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

"I like Eric Clapner!" - Dr. Jocelyn Elders

GOP Rigs WA Elections, Weblog Awards

On the night of November 2nd, it became increasingly clear that it would be a tight race for Governor. By the time all the results were in, Reichspublican Dino Rossi was ahead of Christine Gregoire by a mere 261 votes. By its very existence, his small lead was proof positive of faulty counting machines, if not wholesale election fraud and voter intimidation. Gregoire was confident that if every non-military vote was counted and recounted correctly, she would win by a landslide. Remarkably, Rossi refused to honor the Will of the People and concede the election.

As a mandatory statewide machine recount kicked in, an army of GOP lawyers descended upon Olympia to prevent the inclusion of hundreds of ballots recently discovered in Sandy Berger's pants. Thankfully, their dirty little scheme to disenfranchise Berger's genitalia failed, and Gregoire came within an amazing 42 votes of Rossi.

You'd think that would have been enough for ol' Dino to pack his bags and go back to Nazi Germany. On the contrary. He actually declared victory! Then, in an act remiscent of Katherine Harris' treachery in 2000, Secretary of State Sam Reed certified the results and proclaimed fellow Repugnican Dino Rossi "gOvenor SE-lect in Thief" of Washington State.

Only two, perhaps three more recounts away from winning the race, Gregoire pleaded with democrats across the nation to dip into their pockets. John Kerry even chipped in a buck or two, but it didn't bring Gregoire anywhere near the $700,000 needed for a statewide recount. They barely had enough to count the ballots Jim McDermott found inside his floatation tank.

So now Democrats have until 5pm Friday to call for another recount. Hopefully, they'll have the funds they need for a statewide audit, or else they'll be forced - kicking and screaming - to conduct limited recounts in select democrat strongholds, such as Sandy Berger's pants. I can hear the big baby Repugs crying "foul" already. Still, it's not too late for Rossi to show a little class and concede before he destroys our democratic process with his reckless crusade for power.

Meanwhile, it seems that the stench of GOP election fraud has spread to the web.

I don't put much stock in these weblog awards. I never win them and they're obviously bogus. So imagine my surprise when I made the final list of nominees over at WizBang!'s little dog and pony show, and with only a minimal amount of pleading.

There are a couple of dark, humiliating clouds to the silver lining, though. First of all, they put me way in the back of the bus, in the "Best Humor Blog" category with all the bozos of the blogosphere. Right-wing fascist bozos, at that! Although I don't write a humor blog and being nominated as one baffles me, I wouldn't mind being counted amongst purveyors of high-brow, progressive comedy, like Carrot Top, or Arianna Huffington. But it's downright infuriating to be included with the likes of Scott "Buy My Book" Ott and Frank "I've Got a Hot Girlfriend" J., both right-wing shills who are only popular because they play on peoples' fears.

Why, look at how many votes they have compared to me! Scrappleface, 32%; IMAO, 26%; BlameBush 2.5%. Obviously, the fix is in. In fact, the whole thing is rigged so you can only vote once per IP address. I spent the entire day hopping around every workstation at the office just to get my measly 4 votes, and that was after I accidentally voted for Pat Buchanan 9 or 10 times. Ott must have hit every library computer in Nazi Germany to get 32 freakin' percent of the friggin' vote! If it weren't for the absence of giant, blinking "Axis of Weasel" ads on Wizbang!, I'd suspect he secretly owned the site.

I'm not worried, though. The voting ends on Dec. 12, and I'm confident that if every vote is counted and recounted correctly, I will win Best Humor Blog of 2004 by a landslide. Of course, those other bozos could show a little class and concede, but I'm not holding my breath.