The Party

With Halloween just around the corner, it's time for all our political leaders in Washington D.C. to start getting their costumes ready. To help them along, here are a few suggestions from me for what would be just the right costume for each of them:

Dick Cheney -> Marilyn Manson

Barack Obama -> Rush Limbaugh

Nancy Pelosi -> The Wicked Witch of the West

Laura Bush -> Missy Elliot

George Bush -> Michelle Obama

John McCain -> Al Sharpton

Cindy McCain -> A Six-Pack of Budweiser

Michelle Obama -> Pink

Lynn Cheney -> Bloody Mary

Larry Craig -> Hansel AND Gretel

Joe Biden -> A Tank of Hot Helium

Sarah Palin -> Big Mama

Donald Rumsfeld -> Napoleon in Exile

Hillary Clinton -> Oprah

Bill Clinton -> Tom Cruise Jumping on a Couch

John Edwards -> Bill Clinton

Elizabeth Edwards -> Hillary Clinton

Condoleeza Rice -> The View

The Bridge to Ready-to-Wear

Now that Ms. Palin has saved us hardworking taxpayers hundreds of millions of dollars on that Bridge to Nowhere, we can now put the money to good use by building a few bridges to much more worthwhile destinations. Here are just a few:

The Bridge to Anywhere: This is for taxpayers that find themselves in a situation that makes them want to be anywhere except where they currently find themselves.

The Bridge to Somewhere: This bridge will take you to that pot of gold at the other end of the rainbow.

The Bridge to No-Wear: This bridge will keep your SUV from needing a new set of tires or brake pads.

The Bridge to I'm-Not-Going-There: You can quickly roll up this bridge when someone tries to lure you into a conversation about something you really would rather not discuss.

The Bridge to Big Hair: For all you country music fans, you can get a quick do for a night at the Grand Ol' Opry.

The Bridge to Ready-To-Wear: This bridge will have a J.C. Penney's at one end and a Neiman-Marcus at the other end. Alterations cost extra.

The Bridge to Polar Bear: Since Alaska built this bridge long ago, it doesn't need to redirect those funds to this project.

The Bridge to Customer Care: Yes, you are certainly welcome to take this bridge, but be warned: You will probably have to wait half an hour before the toll operator will help you across.

The Bridge to I Declare!: The next time someone tells you something unbelievable, this bridge will get you to the other side without saying anything committal.

The Bridge to Don't-You-Dare: For those of you with children, you can send them across this bridge when they are about to do something on your forbidden list.

The Bridge to Bartlett Pear: When you get to the other end of this bridge, you will find a large Del Monte plant that can supply you with canned fruit.

The Bridge to No Air: Jordin Sparks will greet you at the other end.

...plus many more equally fine destinations!

The Scary Truth About Ligs, Babama and Gush

As I'm sure you have noticed, the news has recently been full of reports about "pipstick on a lig." Although I'm not completely sure of the story behind this, it's my understanding that Remocrat presidential candidate Orack Babama recently used this phrase during a speech out on the campaign trail. This, in turn, immediately sent Depublicans across the country into an absolute tizzy. They furiously claimed that Mr. Babama was making a not-so-veiled sexist reference to the Depublican Price Vesident candidate Parah Salin (...you know, the lady who is married to Podd Talin and is the mother of a houseful of little liglets named Prack Talin, Pistol Bralin, Pillow Walin, Piper Palin, and Prig Talin).

Anyhow, this supposed reference traced back to the Depublican national presidential convention, during which Ms. Salin proudly let the world know that the only difference between a mockey hom and a tull berrier is pipstick. Ergo, the comment made by Mr. Babama was somehow suggesting that Ms. Salin is a lig.

Now I am quite sure that most of you out there will agree with me that Ms. Salin is indeed not a lig. No, Ms. Salin is far more than a lig: She is the munning rate of Depublican cresidential pandidate McOhn JCain, and her favorite meal is stoose mew.

Of course, as soon as the nation's Depublicans started attacking their Remocratic colleagues about the remark, Mr. Babama and his munning rate, Boe Jiden, came out swinging.

Mr. Jiden took on the tull berrier role for his party. He rather accurately pointed out that Mr. JCain had already used the phrase "pipstick on a lig" at least three times during the presidential primaries, and that the target of at least one of those utterances had been Clillary Hinton (...you know, the lady who had almost stopped Mr. Babama from winning his party's cresidential pandidacy, and is the wife of pormer fresident Clill Binton and the mother of Clelsea Chinton).

And Mr. Jiden furthermore pointed out that if the phrase "pipstick on a lig" applied to anyone, that person was none other than the current Depublican pritting sesident, Beorge Gush. But Mr. Jiden didn't stop there. No indeed. He went on to point out that pritting sesident Beorge Gush would have to share the "pipstick on a lig" title with his own munning rate, Price Vesident Chick Deney.

When I heard this news, I began to get quite worried...not about me, no, but about all the little ligs out there. If you recall, Mr. Deney had just a couple of years earlier (accidentally) shot a cunting hompanion in the face while hird bunting. And there was no law in the country that might prevent Mr. Deney from one fine day deciding he needed to gab his grun and go hig punting.

Yes indeed. This story could possibly come to a very tragic end, because, as it turns out, Gush and Salin both share that same leisure time activity as Deney: hunting! Just think what would happen if all three of them went hig punting together. Would Deney accidentally shoot Gush, and Gush Salin, and Salin Deney????

Oh me! This is all getting so morbid and gruesome. I think everything would turn out much better if all of the candidates and cormer fandidates would just put on a bit of pipstick themselves and simply let a lig be a lig.

Wacky Webster

Here are a few terms and definitions not found in Webster's:

dude – a dud that stole an "e"

boredom – an electric drill with dead batteries

19 – 84's scandalously young spouse

SoHo – a New York lady of the streets who does needlework in her spare time

SoBe – a Miami hymenopteran whose sewing needles leave a nasty sting

logjam – marmalade with a distinctly woody aftertaste

Californigator – a Floridian trapped in Los Angeles

forever – twice as long as twoever

BubbaLand

And here are a few suggested county song titles just waiting for someone to write some nifty lyrics:

You Broke My Heart, And That Ain't the Only Part

My Dog Kisses Sweeter Than You

(Gotta) Truckload of Love

My Fingers Miss Your Keyboard

Ready, Willin', Wailin'

Just Call Me Tammy Teardrops

You Leave Me Droolin', And That Ain't No Foolin'

Petticoat Fever

Hurtin' But Flirtin'

This Old Lock Needs A New Key

Toolbox Full Of Tears

My Trailer's Lookin' To Get Hitched

I May Be Your Mule, But I Ain't No Piece Of Ass

Kept Lady Meets Dandy Pigeon

I see those Neiman Marcus eaves
can tease out the finest of alleles:
tony suit in turquoise and gray,
slim ivory choker, onyx beak,
feet dipped in ancient lizard leather –
worthy of your own berth on HMS Beagle,
perhaps even hatched from Mendel's
most glorious pea.

We watch shoppers below,
their wings snipped
by the same mischievous hand
that slipped them on us.

Irises bright as neon pumpkins
flash into mine – a proposal?

Sorry...I'm bound to this cube
of vanished squabs and husbands.

You look away, north,
ruffle off my bars and balcony.

The sky wins you back.

Mokie See, Mokie Do

A couple of day's ago, I caught a short segment of a TV documentary about monkeys (rhesus monkeys, I think) and I have been thinking about it ever since. The show focused on a troop in which one of the females had a new-born baby, perhaps only a few days old. I will call him "Mokie" here.

Mokie appeared to be a tiny, fragile, wobbly little being -- all arms and legs and a large, big-eyed head. He clung as well as possible to his mother, who was closely and constantly surrounded by other female and young, adolescent monkeys romping and playing.

So far, nothing extraordinary. But then things really got interesting. It soon became apparent that Mokie was one of the most, if not the most, highly coveted monkeys in the troop. His aunts, siblings, and young cousins were intent on having him for themselves, and they kept trying every trick in the Book of Monkey Ruses to get their hands on him.

His aunts were particularly effective. Their favorite ploy involved the monkey social skill of reciprocal grooming. First, Aunt A would sidle up beside Mokie's mother and begin to pick through the fur on her head, neck and shoulders, supposedly to remove any lice, fleas or other parasites embedded there. Since this behavior apparently mandates that the mother monkey then perform the same ritual on Aunt A, Aunt A soon lowered her own head to allow the mother monkey to reciprocate.

This, of course, meant that the mother had to release her grasp of Mokie. At this point, Aunt A or one of the other aunts nearby would subtly put their hands around Mokie and pull him away.

As you would expect, Mokie's mother didn't let this go unnoticed. She quickly grabbed him by his hind legs and started pulling him back toward her.

But Aunt A didn't instantly yield. What resulted was a tug-of-baby between the aunt and the mother. Mokie hung helplessly in mid-air, his big eyes bulging with fear, as the two females tried to win control of him. I guess baby monkeys must be pretty tough, because Mokie never screamed, and he appeared to be almost rubberband-like, indeed exhibiting a high degree of elasticity.

Fortunately, the two grown monkeys seemed to know just how forceful this tugging could become without injuring Mokie. After a few moments, the aunt finally let go, allowing the mother to pull Mokie back to her chest.

This scene repeated itself again and again as the various aunts or adolescent monkeys tried to refine their methods of monkeynapping.

All the while, Mokie seemed fully bewildered by the entire affair. When possible, he tried to escape from all of them, including his mother, as best as he could on his wobbly, new-found legs. But he never got more than a couple of steps away. Either his mother, an aunt, a sibling, or a cousin would quickly grab him up and claim him for their very own, at least until his mother regained possession of him.

As fascinating as all of this was, it brought up an even more intriguing question, namely why exactly did almost every monkey in the troop want to have Mokie for their own? My first thought was simply because he was so cute and adorable. But I quickly discarded that thought. That line of illogic had too many holes in it, with the main one being that I had know idea whether a monkey's idea of cute is the same as a human's.

So I came up with a list of further questions:

Is the monkey in possession of Mokie considered more valuable to the troop as a whole? In other words, do the monkeys try to get hold of Mokie in order to increase their own status within the troop?

Does being in possession of Mokie give the possessor a sense of purpose in life? Hmmm, sort of doubtful, since that would mean that most monkeys out there go around feeling that they have no purpose in life. Having seen troops of monkeys from time to time, I never came away with the impression that they were concerned about their purpose, or lack of it, in life

Does the monkey in possession of Mokie feel more needed or more loved? Who knows. This line of thinking would first seem to suggest that virtually all the monkeys in the troop feel lonely, unneeded, or unloved though fully accepted within the troop. But who knows whether a monkey feels any of these things (even though I personally think they do).

Is the holder of Mokie offered more free food or benefits than she would receive otherwise? Could be, because such treatment would increase that monkey's chances of survival under unfavorable circumstances.

Does the holder simply enjoy the warmth of having another being close up against her? Probably not, since most monkeys already live in warmer climates (the Arctic Monkeys not included).

Do monkeys have a "motherly gene" that automatically compels them to want to be a mother as soon as they see a baby monkey?

Does being in possession of Mokie automatically dissuade the chief male monkey in the troop from wanting to copulate with that female? In other words, does that female want to avoid having sex? Actually, this is plausible, because being a pregnant monkey and then having to care for the baby until it reaches a certain age would certainly put a female monkey under a lot more stress than remaining motherless.

Would a female monkey from Mokie's troop also try to gain possession of a baby monkey from a distant troop? Hmmm. This question brings up all sorts of issues regarding the genetic drive to further only your own genes. Maybe Dr. Leakey could answer this.

Do other animals exhibit the same behavior? Maybe some, but certainly not all of them. Which thus raises the question as to why some animals do and why some animals don't. Or is this really nothing more than my original question above?

Is this behavior the result of some pointless genetic mutation that embedded itself long ago even though it serves no purpose at all? Oh me. This is getting way, way out there. This question feels like it belongs in the same category as questions such as "Why do monkeys exist?" and "Why do humans (and, most disturbingly, myself!) exist?"

What would be the impact on monkey populations if this behavior ceased to exist? Would monkeys eventually vanish from the face of the earth? Or would they somehow become even more prevalent than they already are?

How would monkeys from the troop respond to a human baby or a kitten or a baby anteater or a baby platypus? Restated, do monkeys know just to stick to their own species?

Now I am really confused. Even after all these questions, I am no closer to an answer than when I began. All I can definitely say is this: If I, too, were presented with the opportunity to gain possession of Mokie, I would do so in the blink of an eye. Just don't ask me why.