And Lukewarm Was His Name-O

Photo courtesy of Gage Skidmore

You don’t need a psychoanalyst to detect the latent theme running through the endorsements currently showering Mitt Romney like broken rain gutters pouring down on a concrete toadstool. And that premise is ennui. “Mitt? Really? Yeah. Okay. Whatever.” Makes tepid sound like a crazed bellow. With wild enthusiasm as MIA as World Series trophies in the Wrigley Field display case. Within the last 104 years, that is.

Someone should warn NASA because we are approaching stratospheric heights of apathy here. The only thing these highly solicited testimonials have accomplished is given a face to listless. The guy needs industrial-strength hip waders to slog through the thigh-high lethargy.

George W. Bush carved a precious three seconds out of his busy schedule to make a momentous announcement from the inside of an elevator telling an ABC news crew, “I’m for Mitt Romney” as the doors closed on him. Not that the candidate-in-waiting was particularly lusting after 44′s imprimatur, which some might call the Kiss of Campaign Death. But it effectively does nail down the eminently sought-after spoiled rich kid vote.

Rick Santorum got around to his ringing endorsement 13 paragraphs into a 16-paragraph email sent out to supporters after midnight. The only subterfuge he neglected to employ was to disguise it in semaphoric code. And these are Romney’s big-time Republican buddies. You’d think they were having their teeth pulled with families held at gunpoint on a listing catwalk yawning over an erupting caldera.

It’s been like that ever since the nominee became presumptive. Politicians oozing from the woodwork with the same kind of energetic frenzy fifth-grade school girls normally reserve for haggis-flavored ice cream studded with garlic pickle chips.

You got to know this is just the beginning of a series of sluggishly recalcitrant pledges of approbation. Here are some other passion-challenged tributes we can expect over the coming weeks.

“Mitt Romney. Had to go with somebody, right?”

“Not the brainwashed Romney. That was his dad.”

“Only two of Mitt Romney’s five sons think he’s a soulless Cyborg.”

“May be out of touch with the mainstream but looks pretty good tanning on the embankment.”

“Mitt Romney. Hey, it could be worse.”

“Not the kind of guy who would hold you down and cut your hair, unless you really were asking for it.”

“Pretty down to earth for someone building a 57-room mansion with a car elevator.”

“Will do for America what he did for Bain Capital.”

“Survived the mean streets of Bloomfield Hills.”

“Hardly ever sneaks out at night to kick homeless guys. Anymore.”

“A man who stands by his previous statements, no matter what they are.”

“Mormons are just like Christians, aren’t they?”

“Mitt Romney. Not that bad, when you consider the alternatives.”

“He’s no John McCain.”

“Going to make the world safe for rich people.”

“Mitt Romney. When good things happen to bland people.”

“He’s Oxymormonic!”

“Hasn’t strapped a dog to the roof of his car in over 28 years.”

“Mitt Romney. He’s got gas money.”

“Never ridden a bus in his entire life.”

“Looks more like Gordon Gekko than Michael Douglas ever did.”

“Mitt Romney. A man who feels strongly about both sides of many issues.”

The New York Times says Emmy-nominated comedian and writer Will Durst “is quite possibly the best political satirist working in the country today.” Check out the website: willdurst.com to buy his book or find out about upcoming stand-up performances.

Enhanced by Zemanta

Evoluting Fabulously

Photo courtesy of Joshua Wanyama

A thousand rainbows of congratulations to Barack Obama for bursting out of his own personal policy closet and fabulously proclaiming he believes “same sex couples should be able to get married.” Sir! Welcome to the third year of the second decade of the 21st century, sir! You also might want to check out some of the strides we’ve been making in communications.

The president went on to explain he was slow in using his powers for good because it had taken a while for those thoughts to go Darwinian. Sadly, he stopped short of endorsing transmutation and neglected to hail Hugh Jackman as the best entertainer on the face of the PLANET!

What we witnessed was no eon eating, natural selection-type evolution; this native political animal spontaneously grew flippers and walked on dry land, prodded only by a nudge from the Biden fossil. Come to think of it, maybe flippers aren’t the only body parts BHO grew.

You might even call it a chrysalis, with a caterpillar emerging from its cautious cocoon to sprout wings and fly to a lonely position atop the moral high ground previously inhabited by such disparate denizens as Tammy Baldwin, Barney Frank and, unaccountably, Dick Cheney. Facing extinction.

As predictable as a brush-back pitch following a grand slam, Republicans began to howl from eight different vantages. One right-wing rag claimed he “Buckled” on the issue. Others called him the First Waffler. Might be difficult to hide Mitt Romney‘s 8000 waffles behind this big one of Obama’s, but they’ll give it the old prep-school try.

Besides, isn’t a waffle when you expediently move to a more popular position to curry votes? Meaning this swing- state polarizer is the exact opposite of a waffle. More of an elffaw. Which is waffle backwards. A polf- pilf. Or a yrrek.

Rush Limbaugh jumped into the fray accusing Obama of waging a “War on Marriage.” Everything’s a “War” with this guy. Bet he calls breakfast a War on Pancakes. Not to mention being a tad disingenuous coming from a multi- millionaire who hired Elton John to sing at his fourth wedding.

The president’s supporters worry he offended the black church-going community, one of his inviolate bases. But come on, really? Don’t you suspect he could be caught naked in a dumpster with a goat and a Portuguese seamstress and still carry the black church-going community? Just the goat? Male seamstress?

Opening a conspiratorial can of mutating worms, it has been suggested someone at The Washington Post leaked the Mitt Romney high school gay-pranking story and Obama knew he had to poop or get off the pot before it hit. Adding to Romney’s image problems: do we really want him tackling Belgium and cutting off its hair because he didn’t like the way it looked?

Michelle Obama’s husband disavowed any desire to legalize gay marriage on a federal level, maintaining it should be a states-rights issue. Of course, interracial marriage was illegal in 16 states until a Supreme Court decision in 1967 and some people still consider that an abomination. Guess who’s whining about this? Same marine invertebrates.

Fine. Let all gay people move to California. We’ll take ‘em. Then just try to get your hair cut in Mississippi. Or take ballet lessons in Montana. Or raise money in D.C. And that right there might be the origin of the species.

Check out willandwillie.com for the latest podcast. Will Durst’s book, “The All American Sport of Bipartisan Bashing,” is available from Amazon and better bookstores all over this great land of ours. Don’t forget to check out his rooftop comedy minutes at: http://www.rooftopcomedy.com/shows/BurstOfDurst.

Enhanced by Zemanta

2012 Veepstakes

Photo by Gage Skidmore - used by permission

Since Gov. Romney has sewn up the nomination tighter than one of Chris Christie‘s old suits, the only remaining Republican election drama is which name the Bairn of Bain Capital intends to place on the bottom of his bumper sticker. Yes, friends, it’s once again time to play that quadrennial game sensation sweeping the nation: Let’s Guess Mitt’s Vice Presidential Pick!

Usually the question of the presumptive nominee’s prom date doesn’t play out until June or July, but this year, the mushrooming punditocracy has chewed on the fat, tasty, rancorous primary for so long they bloated up like a poisoned toad. And are hungry. Which is why “running mate” is currently chalked atop the media blackboard menu. “Feed Me!”

The vice presidency is an odd job interview. Best way to apply is to deny desiring the position. Saying exemplary things about the candidate never hurts. Neither does fund-raising. Disguising any interest in 2016 — all good. But the choice ultimately depends on whether Willard decides to excite his base, gravitate towards the middle, or make a game change. Here’s a couple contenders.

Texas Congressman Dr. Ron Paul: 1,000 to 1. Less chance than a snail hauling a piano has of qualifying for the 100-meter dash at the London Summer Olympics.

Texas Gov. Rick Perry: 10,000 to1. Same thing, only the snail is dead.

Former Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich, pizza CEO Herman Cain, former Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin, and Minnesota Congresswoman Michele Bachmann: 100,000 to 1. The snail is dead and the piano is made of uranium, heaviest element on Earth.

New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie: 100 to 1. Spends much time bringing many things to the table but, alas, New Jersey is not among them.

Former Minnesota Governor Tim Pawlenty: 10 to 1. Only problem is, two guys so white, might become known as the Albino Ticket.

Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal: 25 to 1. President Barack. Vice President Piyush. Totally possible.

Former Florida Gov. Jeb Bush: 50 to 1. Too soon. People need more time to recover from Bush Fatigue. Another two decades should do it.

New Hampshire Sen. Kelly Ayotte: 50 to 1. Would help nail down that crucial Northeast vote.

Indiana Gov. Mitch Daniels: 25 to 1. Bland and boring. A victory party guaranteed to cure insomniacs.

Wisconsin Congressman Paul Ryan: 30 to 1. More polarizing than a linear accelerator. Makes Romney look liberal.

Former Utah Gov. Jon Huntsman: 200 to 1. Two Mormons? That’s a Broadway musical, not a presidential ticket.

South Carolina Gov. Nikki Haley: 80 to 1. Hybrid of Sarah Palin and Bobby Jindal with associative perks and potholes.

Former Pennsylvania Sen. Rick Santorum: 10 to 1. Good Christian mudder. Especially helpful should Mitt need Old Testament righteousness to counter squishy-conservative charges.

Ohio Sen. Rob Portman: 100 to 1. Dubyah’s old budget director could make Romney’s economic argument fuzzier than peach season in Georgia.

Former Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice:. 1,000 to 1. More dead snails and immensely heavy pianos.

Virginia Gov. Bob McDonnell: 60 to 1. Fading fast. Broke unwritten “don’t speak of wanting it” rule. Blatantly airing image ads even though he’s not running for office.

Florida Sen. Mario Rubio. 3 to 1. Catholic Hispanic AND state of Florida. Fits together like seashores, lemonade and halter tops.

Former Vice President Dick Cheney: 300 to 1. Relieved to leave D.C., but could be convinced to work on behalf of country again. After all, he’s already had one recent change of heart.

The New York Times says Emmy-nominated comedian and writer Will Durst “is quite possibly the best political satirist working in the country today.” Check out the website: willdurst.com to buy his book or find out about upcoming stand- up performances.

Copyright ©2012, Will Durst, distributed by the Cagle Cartoons Inc. syndicate. Call Cari Dawson-Bartley at 800-696-7561 or e-mail cari@cagle.com. Will Durst is a political comedian who has performed around the world. He is a familiar pundit on television and radio. E-mail Will at durst@caglecartoons.com. Check out willandwillie.com for the latest podcast. Will Durst’s book, “The All American Sport of Bipartisan Bashing,” is available from Amazon and better bookstores all over this great land of ours. Don’t forget to check out his rooftop comedy minutes at: http://www.rooftopcomedy.com/shows/BurstOfDurst.

Enhanced by Zemanta

Madness in Mad Town

Photo courtesy of Patrick Finnegan

Best be vigilant for an inadvertent head butt as the eyes of the world recoil from that crazed leader, besieged in his own capital, defying reality while obstinately holding onto a tenuous power and attacking his citizenry through a conflicted security force. Of course, I’m talking about Wisconsin Gov. Scott Walker. Think a slightly less swarthy Midwestern version of Col. Gadhafi.

The locals call Madison “Mad Town,” and hardly has it ever lived up to that reputation as heartily as in the past month. Following the November sweep of both houses of the legislature, Walker, the Lexus Ranger, declared the Badger State’s deficit was due to those dastardly public unions, and his so-called “Budget Repair Bill” sought money from their pockets, an end to collective bargaining, placed obstacles in the way of continued accreditation, and advocated public spanking as a punishment.

This proposal came the very week after he ushered in $137 million in corporate tax cuts for the state, which is a lot like paying for your quarterly investors’ luncheon by garnishing the wages of the waiters. Money for the rich, from the middle class, again. Robin Hood’s evil twin must be exhausted.

Dashing rumors of an imminent compromise, Walker ran an end-around his state’s Democratic Senate exiles, ramming the bill through a tricky parliamentary procedure in a closed-door session, isolating the issues into non-fiscal elements. So, first it was all about the money, but then, about the money — not so much. Unless you count the big national bucks that lie in union busting.

Like a spreading alien virus, this Republican war on workers is waging and raging across the nation. Eleven states have pending legislation to strip unions of various rights. Indiana Democratic politicians joined their Wisconsin colleagues seeking political asylum in Illinois. Poor Illinois. Like they don’t have enough politicians sitting around doing nothing.

Wisconsin is the birthplace of the Progressive movement, with a long, proud history of activism. So, this naked power grab runs the risk of offending ordinary Wisconsinites like a New York cheddar winning the blue medal at the State Fair. And whose legality is more suspect than heroin in a holding cell.

More paranoid people might smell a conspiracy. Wealthy Wall Street bankers cause an economic meltdown, make obscene profits in the ensuing recession, then convince the populace that everything can simply be fixed through more tax cuts. So they can create jobs. Of course with $5-a-gallon gasoline, that two-way commute to China is going to be a bitch.

But if you think The Walker Coup means this issue is dead, you’ve obviously been spending too much time toasting the sunset while eating watercress sandwiches on the bridge of your yacht. As is their way, the GOP might once again have overreached and awakened a sleeping giant. Today, we are all Cheeseheads. Or as JFK might have said, “Ich bin ein kaasekopf.”

All heck is about to break loose. While sanctions and a no-fly zone may not be on the table, recalls, retribution and recriminations definitely are. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear the Pooh-Bahs in the upper echelon of the AFL- CIO decide to bestow Wisconsin Gov. Scott Walker with its Organizer of the Year Award. Richy-Richly deserved.

Enhanced by Zemanta

Democracy is the New Black

Congratulations from the United States of America to all our freedom-loving brothers and sisters in Egypt and Yemen and Jordan and Oman and Tunisia and Libya and Iran and Bahrain and Morocco and Algeria — and maybe, someday soon, Saudi Arabia — for standing up to your dictatorial overlords and clutching at the guano-covered branches of freedom. Jolly good. You’ve made majority rule fashionable again. Democracy is now the new black.

We are all totally psyched how you’ve dragged yourselves kicking and screaming from the Dark Ages into the middle 19th century. You may be excited to hear about some other upgrades we’ve made in areas such as in transportation, communications and hygiene. It’s all there in your orientation packet. Watch some MTV. Ignore “Jersey Shore.” No, they’re not real.

We got to warn you, though, self-rule isn’t all a bed of roses. It has a thorny learning curve. Rubs tough on beginners. You might want to spend some time wading out towards the deep end wearing your feudal water wings before jumping straight into the parliamentary pool.

The thing is, don’t expect the world to change overnight. England’s has been dancing with democratization since 1265 and they’re still curtseying to the queen. Usually what happens is you lose one tyrannical despot only to gain another. You could avoid a particular mistake we made and find someone who can spell despot.

Elections are tricky things. Make sure it’s The People deciding the outcome and not nine old folks wearing black robes. Here’s a hint: If anybody gets 95 percent of the vote, reboot. You might be surprised to find the people most likely to run for political office often turn out to be criminally insane. Maybe you should pass a law restricting that. Kind of wish we had. Rule of thumb: Anybody who can be elected shouldn’t be.

Something else to keep in mind: Democracy for one means democracy for all. It’s a take-it-or-leave-it enterprise. All men are created equal. And women. None of this wife- walking-five-paces-behind her-husband-while-dressed-as-a-grieving-beekeeper stuff. Same with Sunnis and Shiites and Sasquatches. One person. One vote. Hey, we all put our robes on one leg at a time. Or two. Whatever.

Start small. Too many choices can result in inaction. An example: Sometimes you just want a package of sunflower seeds. You don’t want the Low-Sodium Dill Pickle flavor. But Safeway is all out of Original flavor because they allotted equal shelf space to the Low Sodium Dill Pickle flavor. Which nobody wants. They can have it, if they wanted. But they don’t. Well, same deal with liberty. So, there you are. Hope that clears that up.

All we’re trying to say is good luck with the whole democracy thing. Treat it like a new car, always driving as if 100 eggs are hatching inside of it at all times. Because they are. Bring it in for a tune-up every 10,000 miles and don’t forget to change the oil (shouldn’t be a problem). Remember to downshift headed uphill, it tends to veer to the left on the straightaways, and try not to crack it up because who knows, maybe we here in America might want to give it another test drive ourselves someday.

San Francisco-based political satirist Will Durst writes sometimes. Like this.

Enhanced by Zemanta

Sleeves of a Vest

This is but a snapshot. A frozen moment in time, guaranteed to transmogrify on an hourly basis. So, knowing the situation is fluid, here’s your daily budget update and if I were you, I’d find a nice comfy chair to plop down into, because this promises to be more frustrating than translating Sanskrit into Japanese using Morse code smoke signals in the rain.

President Obama released HIS budget plan, which calls for tens of billions of dollars of program cuts mixed with tax increases. The Republicans countered with THEIR plan specifying nine figures of cuts only, and Ron Paul, well, he just wants to invade China, give them a proper thrashing and take all our money back. Meaning that although we’re less than two months deep into the 112th Congress, looks like business as usual.

Abstract-theory time is over now and actual programs are being singled out for devastation, decimation and elimination, and as we all know: One man’s pork is another man’s paycheck. But this is about symbolism, not jobs. Tea Partiers were promised $100 billion in cuts and they’re going to get $100 billion in cuts, even though Charlie Sheen has a better chance of being appointed St. Sebastian’s Girls School choir chaperone on a field trip to Vegas than the GOP proposal has of surviving a presidential veto.

Nevertheless, conservatives are cementing their ideological bona fides by rounding up the usual suspects and painting budgetary crosshairs on the faces of their mortal enemies: the EPA, AmeriCorps, Public Broadcasting, and Amtrak. The ugly little secret being — spending at the Pentagon will rise and no one need talk about Social Security or Medicare until experts have analyzed the polls on this present skirmish at least a gazilliondy times.

As expected, folks have taken to each other’s plan like a pod of giant squid to hot-air ballooning. Obama continues his tap dance down the middle. The Right whines he hasn’t cut deep enough and The Left pouts he’s gone too far. He compares the GOP strategy to a dieter who vows to lose 30 pounds, and does so by cutting off a leg. And the Repubs fire back he’s a girly man scared to make the tough decisions, who could provide better leadership by curling into a fetal position behind the couch licking the cat’s butt.

Congress has to pass a spending bill before March 4, or the entire government shuts down, which wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for that whole roads and hospitals and customs and air-traffic controllers thing. Everyone agrees the gulf between the two combatants is wide but a new fiscal reality is here to stay and will affect education, security and agriculture, meaning more students per class, fewer cops on the streets and larger pieces of pig hoof in your wiener.

While the adversaries bristle and posture in public like male porcupines in pre-mating heat, Barack remains confident he can find common ground with the GOP leadership in private. Good Luck. Considering the smug intransigence of the Boehner Clan, that sounds like the political equivalent of pinning your hopes to escape a burning building on tying together the sleeves of a vest.

Will Durst is a very funny writer who often tells jokes to drunks in bars. Check him out at Zanies, Downtown Chicago, Feb. 22-27.

Enhanced by Zemanta

Denial on de Nile

The whole world holds its breath as we view through splayed fingers the unrest that is the Egyptian uprising. Or as Hosni Mubarak sees it: 10 or 20 rabble-rousing, unemployed, slacker agents of the West with too much time on their hands, up to no good.

That’s the problem with entrenched dictators: they interact with their people less often than they enter Sinai Peninsula sheep-shearing competitions disguised as shepherds’ assistants. The man is so far behind the insurgency curve he probably sees his own running feet in front of him, and even that has failed to fill him with any discernable alacrity.

Typically, these ingrained despots try to apply 30-year-old answers to modern problems. With denial being a major arrow in their ancient quiver. Denial on de Nile. Mubarak keeps asking what the pesky agitators want.

“Well, sir, they want you out.”

“How about if I replace the Cabinet with different cronies?”

“Sir, sorry, but you don’t get it. The people want you gone. A memory. In the archives. Flying down Abdication Street. Walk like an Egyptian, only really really fast. Don’t let the door knob hit you in the butt on the way out of town- gone.”

“Wait, I know. A vice president. We’ve never had one before. Maybe our former head of intelligence.”

“No, sir, seriously, you don’t have to stop being president of every country, you just have to stop being president of THIS country. The only time they want to see your face again is on a coin, with a four digit number to the right of the dash after your birth year.”

Along with scary implications for touring mummy exhibits and world energy prices, this incipient revolution raises fears over the future of Facebook. How does a government shut down the entire Internet? Falling into the wrong hands, this information holds the chilling prospect of huge numbers of young people forced to spend much of their free time watching syndicated episodes of “Two and a Half Men.” The one piece of good news: this summer’s Nile River cruise packages — going for a song.

Further demonstrating a cluelessness best measured in Jersey Shore degrees, the Egyptian president screwed up the order of the Unofficial Despot Rebellion Response Handbook, unleashing a mob of pro-regime protesters before blaming the press for all of his problems. Every second-year Egyptian Military School cadet knows the first thing you do is blame the press. One thing I’ve always been curious about: what do pro-regime protesters chant? “Up with Repression!” “Jobs Aren’t for Everybody!” “We Want Better Torture!”

Pro-regime protesters: a polite way of saying government thugs whose sole purpose is to crack heads at peaceful demonstrations. Or, as they’re known around here, the FBI. Speaking of us, whom the whole world revolves around, American outcry has been remarkably muted even though we witnessed the unspeakable horror of seeing Anderson Cooper punched and Katie Couric jostled.

Diplomatically, of course, Obama needs to be careful. His task is to encourage the demonstrators while allowing the Egyptian leader to save face. Fortunately, equivocation is one of our President’s strong suits. This guy has straddled so many fences he could build a tree house in a redwood from the splinters in his butt. A skill Mubarak must now regret, he never bothered to learn.

San Francisco-based political comedian Will Durst often writes: this is an example.

Enhanced by Zemanta

The Barack Hussein Obama 2011 State of the Union Drinking Game!

NEEDED TO PLAY:

•       Four taxpayers of any sex: One rich, white banker- type wearing dark suit with loosened tie. Two ordinary folks wearing jeans; one in a blue or flannel work shirt, the other in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up. One poor, bedraggled person wearing clothes that look like they were retrieved from the bottom of a rodeo dumpster behind the animal-performer stalls.

•       One living room with a TV tuned to the State of the Union Address.

•       One shot glass per person. Everybody brings own, scattering array on coffee table in front of TV. Banker gets first choice for use during game. White shirt picks next, then work shirt. Banker pockets last shot glass as well, and Rags either rents it from him, steals a replacement from the kitchen or drinks out of own cupped hands.

•       Ante up 25 bucks. Cash. Except Banker, who tosses in an I.O.U., and Rags who everybody just avoids eye contact with.

•       Three packages of steamed Vienna Beef Chicago-style hot dogs in the middle of table with butter-grilled buns, tomatoes, onions, and some of that weird, neon-green relish on the side.

•       One bottle of bourbon.

•       A large stash of beer in cans on ice. Rags gets whatever is on sale, like Heileman’s Old Style Ice Light Dry. Banker gets import of choice. Jeans get whatever they want, but have to buy all the beer, bourbon, hot dogs, condiments, and carry the groceries by themselves.

RULES OF THE GAME:

•       Every time Barack H. Obama mentions bipartisanship, everybody has to drink two shots of beer. If he talks about the lessons of Tucson, the last person to throw their arms in the air, fall to their knees and shout “Hallelujah!” has to drink one entire beer.

•       Everybody has to drink two shots of beer whenever John Boehner appears to cry. One shot of bourbon if he breaks down sobbing, and disappears entirely from view.

•       Every time Barack H. Obama says “Democratic leadership,” the first person to stop laughing is exempt from drinking two shots of beer.

•       If either Vice President Biden or the Speaker of the House Boehner is seen nodding off on camera, last person to start singing “Wake Up, Little Susie” has to drink three shots of beer.

•       If the president says the state of the union is good, but could be better, the last person to eat a fully accoutered hot dog has to drink one shot of bourbon.

•       Whenever the president defends ObamaCare, everybody drinks two shots of beer. If he mentions Congress voting to repeal it, everyone drinks a whole beer and throws hot dogs at the television. The first person to hit Nancy Pelosi in the head is exempt from having to drink two shots of bourbon.

•       If the president relates a touching, heartfelt story of a supporter who was denied a decent education, Rags gets to kick everybody else once. Twice, if the subject of the anecdote is in the audience. Three times, if he/she is sitting next to a two-star general.

•       Every time President Barack Obama talks about his resolve and adopts a frowny look with his brow all furrowed and stuff, drink one shot of beer.

•       If the chief executive winks at or points at Michelle, all four players swordfight with hot dogs. Whoever is left with an intact weenie does not have to eat an entire shot glass full of that weird green relish.

•       If the president mentions the Chinese president by name, the last person to ask “Hu Dat?” has to drink two shots of beer.

EXTRAS:

•       Optional: Have all players drink with left hand. Unless left-handed. If they are caught drinking with dominant hand, they must watch the entire Republican response and no drinking allowed.

•       If the Dancing Baby from Ally McBeal appears on the screen at any time, stop drinking immediately.

•       Banker takes home money, shot glasses and bourbon. The I.O.U. is discarded.

•       Leftover beer and hot dogs go home with Rags after he/she finishes washing the dishes.

Enhanced by Zemanta

Will Durst’s Predictions for the Year 2011

Yes, we did. Survived 2010. 365 tumultuous days of what my good friend Elizabeth (Betty) Windsor, is wont to call an annus horribilis. And our reward for enduring that annoying annum is this clean slate of a new year where potentially anything can happen. A position we find ourselves now; looking flush-front blunt at an empty, unscrawled calendar embodying hope and optimism and aspiration and promise.

So now is the time for all good men to sweep away the debris of yesterday and build on the solid foundation of tomorrow. This sentiment guaranteed to last at least a week before we screw it up and all hell breaks loose. And with that thought in mind, here are: WILL DURST’S PREDICTIONS FOR THE YEAR 2011:

•       Incoming Speaker of the House John Boehner opens his first joint session of Congress with, “Alright, who wants a piece of me?”
•       North Korean President Kim Jong Il keeps lobbing bombs into South Korea until someone on his team develops a formula to spin turkey pot pies out of grass.
•       Sarah Palin tapes a second season of her reality show and accidentally shoots a Mama Grizzly from a helicopter.
•       The women on “The View” walk out during an appearance by Keith Olbermann, just to balance the books.
•       Former BP CEO Tony Hayward gets his life back and is not that crazy about it.
•       Lady Gaga wears a tinfoil dress to an NBA playoff game and spontaneously combusts during the pre-game laser show.
•       Oprah buys Rhode Island and turns it into a gay theme park.
•       Gov. Jerry Brown promises to focus less on the vast spaceship that is Earth and more on the long- term parking shuttle that is California.
•       The Airline Industry attempts to rid the skies of the most dangerous security threat known to man: passengers.
•       The 112th Congress resolves not to fall prey to the same mistakes the 111th Congress made by actually accomplishing anything.
•       Pope Benedict XVI undergoes Lasik surgery to repair the Catholic Church’s hindsight.
•       The state of South Dakota sells Mount Rushmore to Fox News, who re-carves the monument to resemble Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity, Mike Huckabee and Bill O’Reilly. Brit Hume and Chris Wallace leave the network in a huff. Carl Cameron chuckles.
•       Jimmy McMillan disbands “The Rent is Too Damn High” Party after subletting a rent stabilized co-op in TriBeCa.
•       Julian Assange demonstrates his total commitment to a “no secrets” philosophy by leaking the damning testimony that leads to his own conviction.
•       Steve Jobs introduces the iPud for male Baby Boomer retirees.
•       Nancy Pelosi does not rest until she earns a colorful nickname like “Slappy.”
•       Kentucky Sen. Mitch McConnell does not rest until the hole in the back of his neck is enlarged to accommodate Grover Norquist’s hand.
•       Officials at the Tour de France throw up their arms and invite cyclists to take whatever performance enhancing drugs they want.
•       New York Sen. Chuck Schumer becomes the go-to guy in the Democratic Caucus after it is discovered Harry Reid died years ago.

May your 2011 be twice as good as 2010 and only half as wonderfully exciting as 2012.

Enhanced by Zemanta

Will Dur$t’s 2010 Xma$ Wi$h Li$t

Wishing you all a Very Happy Merry. And no, I’m not falling into that trap. You go out and dance to the beat of whichever winter festival you want to celebrate. Christmas. Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Saturnalia, Solstice, noon Tuesday, 420, a December date equal to the square root of the number 625. Whatever. And good on ya. As we say in politically correct San Francisco, “May the corpulent bearded one in the scarlet suit smile upon your chosen shrubbery.”

Now, inevitably some people are going to find their stockings aren’t quite stuffed with the egregious booty they were expecting or, most importantly, believe they deserve. So I’m here to help the under-gifted achieve a certain amount of cathartic closure. As the great philosopher Rodney King once almost said: “Can’t we all wear a thong?”

So, to insure that certain traditions don’t get washed right out into the ocean like a picnic table on a Malibu hillside, let me offer up my annual scathingly incisive yet curiously refreshing:

WILL DUR$T’$ 2010 XMA$ WI$H LI$T.

For Mel Gibson: A muzzle. Permanent. Steel. Welded with titanium rivets.

For the economists who insist the recession ended in June of ‘09. An opportunity to collect 99 weeks of unemployment insurance.

For Charlie Sheen. A date with Lindsay Lohan. Matching ankle bracelets at Dr. Drew’s Celebrity Rehab.

For WikiLeaks Founder Julian Assange: A slip of paper naming whoever leaked details of his sexual assault charges tucked into a dictionary in the fold of the page with the “irony” entry.

For Betty White. 30 more years.

For Ireland. Far fewer reasons to drown their troubles.

For Juan Williams. A prayer rug for his Fox News cubicle.

For the American public. A case of antacid to get through the next two years watching the heartless pummel the spineless cheered on by the clueless.

For Conan O’Brien. Half the on-air excitement he inspired off-air.

For Barack Obama. An electron telescope to focus on jobs. American jobs. Democratic jobs. Obama Administration jobs. His job.

For Mrs. Clarence Thomas. A six-pack of Coke.

For Arizona Gov. Jan Brewer. A used set of Spanish-language cassette tapes.

For the Cast of Jersey Shore. Watches that only measure increments of 15 minutes.

For the Texas Board of Education. A railroad car stuffed full of historical blinders.

For Bill Clinton. A presidential appointment to the position of Secretary of Secretaries.

For Toyota. A new corporate motto. Because after four recalls involving acceleration problems, “Moving Forward” might be a bit too apropos.

For Katy Perry. A bigger bra.

For the Tea Party. Kissable wallets. Because its time to put their money where their mouth is.

For Willie Nelson. A THC patch.

For the TSA. Extensive training to perfect the impromptu prostate exam.

For John Boehner. A deal with Fruit of the Loom to market a line of “Mister Speaker” monogrammed handkerchiefs. And hand towels.

For former BP CEO Tony Hayward. Now that he has his life back, a reason to live it.

For Medical Science to Study. Dick Cheney’s heart, Joe Biden’s mouth and Rod Blagojevich’s brain.

For Newt Gingrich, Mitt Romney and the rest of the Republican field taking sidelong glances at 2012. Something on Sarah.

San Francisco-based political comic Will Durst writes sometimes, this being a conventional example.

Enhanced by Zemanta