Hey everybody. Figured I’d put this out one last time for you before election day, since a lot of you have been unable to watch due to broken links. Happy viewing, and have fun with all your incisive and completely off-topic comments.

Sincerely,
pathetic sexually frustrated prep school dropout

http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=44648057

What an ugly, hateful little thing he is.

If I had to characterize his musical effort, I’d say it’s something like ….

SWILL, Baby, SWILL…..

The liberal Democrats are fairly new & not very successful. Perhaps 15& of the vote.

As to Obama -the world will hate America-him as well .

Nevada, in general, isn’t REAL happy about it coming down our roads, either.

Why not store it in the unused Gippertron tunnel in Texas?

POP*

Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken


In, sprinkled with ashes


Pop switches channels, takes another


Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asks


What to do with me, a green young man


Who fails to consider the

Flim and flam of the world, since


Things have been easy for me; 


I stare hard at his face, a stare


That deflects off his brow; 


I’m sure he’s unaware of his


Dark, watery eyes, that


Glance in different directions,


And his slow, unwelcome twitches,


Fail to pass.
I listen, nod,


Listen, open, till I cling to his pale, 


Beige T-shirt, yelling,


Yelling in his ears, that hang


With heavy lobes, but he’s still telling

His joke, so I ask why

He’s so unhappy, to which he replies…


But I don’t care anymore, cause


He took too damn long, AND FROM


UNDER MY SEAT, I PULL OUT THE

MIRROR I’VE BEEN SAVING; I’m laughing, 


Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his face


To mine, as he grows small,


A spot in my brain, something


That may be squeezed out, like a 


Watermelon seed between


Two fingers.


Pop takes another shot, neat,


Points out the same amber


Stain on his shorts that I’ve got on mine, and


Makes me smell his smell, coming


From me; he switches channels, recites an OLD POEM


He wrote before his mother died,


Stands, shouts, and asks


For a hug, as I shrink, my 


Arms barely reaching around


His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; ’cause


I see my face, framed within

Pop’s black-framed glasses


*A poem by Barack Obama published in the Spring 1981 issue of “Feast,” a 51-page student literary journal that described itself as “a semi-annual journal of short poetry and fiction collected from the Occidental College community.” The journal is no longer published, according to a college spokesman

What has tolerance beget?

I miss the voices of “leadership” that are silent.