The Secret D-Bag Patrol

Ted Cruz stared uneasily out of the hotel room door as the cars screamed down the Sam Houston highway. He had chosen this location for the meeting because of its’ low profile guests and the easy access to the George Bush Intercontinental Airport. “The Hyatt Place Bush”, he said to himself. “Intercontinental Bush” he snorted. “Sounds like a Cambodian hooker.” He stepped back into the room and stared at his cell phone. He tweeted: ‘Defund Obama care now and I denounce my Canadian Identity’. He walked back into the bathroom and touched up his mascara. He smiled and winked at himself. “No one must ever know”.  He picked up a bottle of mouthwash and swallowed hard three times. He felt absolved and headed back to the door waiting.

Down in the parking lot below a Mexican cab driver was arguing with a woman about her cab fare. “Damn looney tunes” he caught himself, he had almost yelled down and told the noisy pair to shut up. At the far end of the parking lot a Hummer limo was pulling in. He walked back inside the door and wrung his hands together in a washing motion. He couldn’t stand the suspense and crept back to the door. Peeping out with a raccoon eye he saw a small figure get out of the limo surrounded by three burly body guards. He thought the passenger glanced up at him but he couldn’t be sure. Scratching his head he wondered again if it was really true. No sooner had he sat in the gaudy chair and turned on Fox news there was a knock at the door. He said “It’s unlocked” as if he was too important to get up.

The door swung open forcefully as a large man abruptly entered. Behind his frame, almost infantile in his presence was the teen phenom, the one the only, Justin Beiber. Ted sprang up as if to defend his chair, “No bodyguards” he said. The large man retreated. It was him and Justin. “Come here my Canadian boy”, Ted crooned with a syrupy sweetness that was gooey like maple syrup. “I don’t believe that it’s true!” whined Justin, “It cannot be!”.

“Now, now the DNA tests don’t lie, plus you have a smarmy way about you, you know it’s true”. “You are my illegitimate son!”

Ted flopped back in the chair. What he had said relieved him of his dark secret. While on the debate team years ago he had been unrestrained in his words. More than his tongue had been wagging! He blamed his incontinence on his hot Cuban roots.

“But I love Canada and health care and hip hop and tattoos!” Justin whined in protest.

“Face it son, Canada sucks, healthcare is socialism and gun control is downright Communist. Plus you can’t out debate me. Not yet you hip hop wanna be. Here’s the deal you help me and I help you!”

“I’ll never help you. Never. Rudy come and get meeee!” Justin pleaded as the door swung open. The large man scooped him up with leathery hands like a sheep herder plucking out a young ram to be neutered. “I don’t know why I came here.”

“Well don’t forget you will never escape the fact that secretly we are truly members of the secret d-bag patrol. You have your baggy, falling down pants and I have my crappy attitude and mascara. Plus we both love the Jesus”, Ted said loudly, “The Jesus.”

Justin turned and looked back. “You’re a Kanye West fan?”, he asked.

“No dammit not Kanye you jackass, the Jesus, we are a father and son in Christ so don’t ever forget that all our douche bagginess will be forgiven.”

The door shut quickly. It was Ted alone in the room again. He opened his suitcase and cradled his revolver. He rubbed it like there was a genie inside. He had really wanted Justin’s support and acceptance but at least he had the gun. He went back into the bathroom placing his precious gun by the sink. He daubed at his eyes. His mascara was waterproof thankfully. He picked up the mouthwash and took another swig. “Oh Canada” he hummed to himself.

“For every one of us who succeeds, it’s because there’s somebody there to show you the way out.” — Oprah Winfrey

“The cool thing about being famous is traveling. I have always wanted to travel across seas, like to Canada and stuff.” — Britney Spears

Get off the cell phone and Drive! — Jake Shween

Oh Romneyo, Romneyo, Wherefore Art Thou Romneyo?

It looks like this week that the Romney Campaign is in dire need of ambulatory care. This constant state of denial of reality and facts leave no other choice for himself, his deeply troubled laissez faire running mate, one Paul Ryan, and his demented staff assisting him in his pitiable run for the Presidency. Perhaps with some professional consultation we can get to the root of his constant need to avoid reality including his aversion to forty seven percent of the population of the United States. Consider his quote from Sixty Minutes on Health Care: “Well, we do provide care for people who don’t have insurance, people — we — if someone has a heart attack, they don’t sit in their apartment and — and die. We — we pick them up in an ambulance, and take them to the hospital, and give them care. And different states have different ways of providing for that care.”

Wow he needs assistance from a qualified health professional consultant. Any emergency room Doctor and their staff know that this is not the solution to the health care crisis. Preventive medicine is cheaper by far. The ambulance bill alone will be in the thousands of dollars. What about the poor woman who is single and raising a child with no health care who ends up in the emergency room at three am for help. This is Romney’s health care solution?

Does he have any idea what reality is for most of the human race? The answer is a resounding no. He reminds us of this again and again. What has become of the Republican Party as of late? It seems to have become a puppet arm of the fossil fuel consortium. The delusion continues. Evolution has been called into question. This is most interesting because where do the fossil fuel enthusiasts think all the damn FOSSIL fuel came from to begin with?

Now think of truly helping the middle class. Health care and education freely available to everyone. Clean air to breath and clean lakes and streams. Give tax breaks to clean energy companies and stop subsidizing the fossil fuel consortium. Face the fact that the easy oil to drill is gone, the easy coal to mine is gone (it should be noted here that coal burning is what causes acid rain and mercury contamination of lakes and streams), fracking for natural gas is an impractical, dangerous process and any use of these fossil fuels in the production of energy causes vast amounts of carbon dioxide to enter the atmosphere and contributes to the crisis of global warming! The Republican Party has to stop lying to the people that increased use and exploration for these dirty fuel sources will solve anything except putting more money in the pockets of the fossil fuel consortium.

“Trickle down economics is the most ridiculous economic plan. The only thing running downhill is excrement!” — Jake Shween

“Mitt Romney has more opinions than the five headed Monkey God!”—Martin Bashir

“The shoe that fits one person pinches another; there is no recipe for living that suits all cases.” — Dr. Carl Jung

Get off the cell phone and drive! — Jake Shween

The Death Panel Speaks; Fear and Loathing on First Street

Imagine if you will a world without doctors. A world where if you are sick and dying your fate is decided by judges instead of doctors and nurses. As you lay dying on the operating table you are surrounded by apparent experts on the law and its applications. It’s reminiscent of a black mass. They are all dressed in robes. You think it’s your appendix as the pain is in your side however more than half of these judges are prepared to give you brain surgery. As you lay there writhing in pain they argue as to which among them should wield the knife and cut something.

The room is dark and foreboding. Instead of antiseptic aromas all you perceive is the smell of musty tomes of musty words. Instead of a scalpel a dark figure hovers over your helpless body with what appears to be a letter opener. Another holds a gavel. The gavel rises and crashes into your temple. Unfortunately you are still half conscious as their macabre ritual proceeds. Finally, since you clutch at your side, the judges, after hours of infighting, decide to stab you in the side. Some of them turn to avert their eyes. Some of them stare with indifference as the crude instrument impales you below the rib. Immediately a mixture of blood and water flow out.

Life ebbs out of you slowly as the black figures circle you. Behind them you can see rows and rows of books that are filled with nothing that can help save your life. Did any of them consult a doctor before deciding to impale you with such a crude instrument? No that would have been too kind and merciful. Instead they proceeded to ignore any healing procedure whatsoever. They acted solely upon their apparent expertise at something, something which had no purpose other than to officiate argument. Sadly you die. One of many faced by the death panel. Profits remain sacred. Human life is but a trifle. The law must be upheld at any cost!

“If you’re going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it or else you’re going to be locked up.” — Hunter S. Thompson

“Politics is the art of controlling your environment.” — Hunter S. Thompson

Get off the cell phone and Drive! — Jake Shween