Obama the Prodigal Child, McCain the Usurper

The Serious…Lord Barack is on pace to scorch the record books yet again. The greenbacks are rolling in faster than the tides, and sticking it to public campaign financing now seems a better move than the Packers shipping Favre to Time Square.

55 million in February. 66 million this month. What’s up with the multiples of 11 million? A hoax? Some kind of “The Number 23” thing?

The poondits argue he’s working harder than McCain for America’s dollars. I agree. Received 78 emails from David Plouffe last week “Barack Obama needs you…can’t risk more W…Republican lies…Palin’s done nothing, even less than Barack…Send money fast…Make it 50 this time, that 25 you sent 3 weeks ago was an insult!”

Not sure what hard work Lord Barack invested in these emails, but I imagine he assisted Plouffe with his editing, “Throw my name in there two or seven more times,” Barack says. And he’s right. His name, once his own worst enemy, is now his sharpest, most brutal weapon. A good old-fashioned popularity contest from here on out. Wonder how Barack’s fade will sway the hair-tugging brawl in the parking lot behind the band room.

Bulldogs are feisty brawlers, so Barack might reconsider hanging his jugular out there anyhow.

Palin’s name ID just eclipsed 90 percent over the weekend. She’s rising fast with no plateau in sight. Paul McCartney’s getting pissed off because he’s no longer competing with merely Jesus, MJ, Tiger Woods, baby Shiloh, and the freaking Jonas Brothers.

Indeed, Palin’s a bona fide celebrity. And a damn sexy one at that. I thought America needed leaders. No, that’s an antiquated sentiment in this race.

Change! Breasts! Those glasses!

Hernia tests have been disrupted in doctors offices all across America. Even Tina Fey is jealous. But after that diddy on SNL the other night, maybe Tina’s just turned on…creamy. As if there was ever any doubt.

And McCain’s laughing like a drunken bastard whose best friend just fell off the curb. He loves Britney. Loves celebrities. Loves parking the Straight Talk Express behind a Wal Mart and preserving the gas budget. Loves that he stole the recipe to Barack’s trendy change cocktail and got the whole country drunk off it like a Flaming Moe.

But who’s really drinking that piss-contaminated arctic punch? Well, women are slugging it by the gallon. They can’t get enough of it. There’s a lot of stumbling and groping. The election’s turning into a damn fraternity party and Republicans are getting laid everywhere. Even the Evangelicals are getting laid now, and they almost never strip down unless it’s Sunday – shower day.

Most men are sticking to beer and scotch. Hard stuff. Real booze. Real politics. Heard Barack drinks beer. Lord knows a POW can’t catch a peaceful wink without a few fingers of scotch. That’s all you need to get by. That’s all that’s left in this election. Wine coolers, scotch, and malt liquor. And all this after America’s grandest brewery is turned over to the Belgians and Brazilians. What a strange election.

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