Thoughts I Frankly Didn’t Try Very Hard to Flesh Out into Full Entries Because I’ve Had A Shitty Few Days

Eugenics: My mother and my aunt have never gotten along, although now that they’re getting older and their health has started to fail they get along better because they finally have something to talk about. Any time my aunt comes up in conversation, my mother says “Oh! She married those two idiots! It’s going to take us generations to get those genes out of the family.”

Abortion: My good God Almighty, I am tired of hearing about abortion. Like the Roman senator that ended every speech, no matter the topic, with “Carthage must be destroyed,” every political argument in this country (and a surprising number of private conversations) works its way around to abortion. In later centuries, historians will study our political system and be sure they’re using a bad translation. I’m sure I used to have a rational, well-considered position on the issue at some point, but I don’t remember what it was after a quarter-century of “Choice! Life! Choice! Life!” I especially hate the bumper sticker that says, “Your Mother Was Pro-Life!” Ignoring the foolishness of having any bumper sticker that contains the words “your mother,” no, she wasn’t. She just didn’t have an abortion in 1984. (Five bucks says someone leaves a comment saying “But she should have!”)

To Hell with Punctuation: There used to be an anti-abortion billboard on the highway on the way to my mom’s house from the airport (it was across from a place that offered “tattooz” – why is the area near the airport always so frightening?) Like most ads, it featured a dopey grinning baby, and bore the caption “Did you know? I got my “GENES” at conception. Why in the world are they “GENES”? Is “genes,” pronounced “hen-ess,” the Spanish word for soul or something? It makes me think that the person designing the billboard doesn’t really believe in genes, but, hell, might as well fight fire with fire? “Genes is the keyword here. Better do something to it. Quotes, italics or something.” Yesterday I was walking to the post office and passed a house with a sign on the door that read “Please leave deliveries on the step…” And… what? Ellipses… generally lead to something. Adding punctuation for no reason… makes no sense. I feel like there are a lot of signs on restaurants that have similar random punctuation, especially the poor, exploited quotation mark. “Please” NO SMOKING. One per “customer.”

Creation vs. Evolution: I had a fight with my last girlfriend (last as in both “final” and “most recent”) over this issue. She strongly favored teaching evolution, and I strongly didn’t give a damn.

“How do you not care if people are taught good science?”

“Because I went to a public high school! Our anatomy teacher was a defrocked monk! Who the hell cares what the teachers in high school teach, no one listens to them.”

“But it’s science!”

“It’s high school. Nothing that happens in high school matters unless you get pregnant. Name six things you learned in high school.”

To be fair, I didn’t really… do high school. By a lucky quirk, we had an excellent theatre department and crappy-ass sports teams, so the theatre kids got the privileges jocks traditionally get. I also tested well, so I really didn’t have to do a thing. (The defrocked monk thing is true, though. He had other, more time-consuming classes to teach so my senior-year anatomy class was mostly making power-point presentations about various parts of the body. Fingernails, for example. My partner and I started putting heavily haloed Renaissance pictures of Jesus in our presentations and adding narration by “the Bioluminescent Christ.” We were theatre kids, so we got away with it.) Anyway, my take on the matter is this: Go to an all-you-can-eat buffet the day after the government pays out benefits. Watch everyone’s table manners, and then tell me if you think we’re not descended from apes.

Chris Goes to Work: I’ve designed a job for myself. I’m going to hang out in the maternity ward of the hospital and veto stupid names. I went to middle school with a kid named “Dude.” During my very, very brief stint teaching underprivileged children, I met “Acuchi” (pronounced “a coochee” as in “a sniz” as in “female genitals”) and “Grunisha.” A friend of mine once had a beau named “Cable.” My mother, who for all her other eccentricities is usually truthful, swears she knew a woman who taught elementary school who had a pupil named “Vagina” (pronounced “Va-geena,”) and my father’s sister knew a family whose daughters were Georgia, Virginia, and Tennessee. We’ve all met someone named McKenzie but spelled some jackass way like “MyKyNzI” – not that McKenzie was ever supposed to be a first name, but at least most people could spell it within three tries. Even my dear, dear friend Apples wants to name her daughter “Aoife.” The A and the O are silent, and it’s pronounced “eefuh.” I asked her if she had had a stroke, and she said “It’s Irish,” as if that explained anything. You know what other names are Irish? Claire. Maureen. Eileen. So spellable. So pronounceable. There’s clearly an opening for someone to sit by the bassinet and say, “Kensleyton is not a name. Your choices are Henry or Jack.”

Politics: Ronald Reagan was president of the most powerful country in the world for eight years. He was also the star of a movie about a chimpanzee called “Bedtime for Bonzo.” (Well, star after the chimpanzee.) To me, this says two things. One, follow your friggin’ dreams, because hell, they might come true. Two, there absolutely is a God, because in a world governed solely by cold, rational natural laws, the “chimpanzee guy” never comes near the big red button.

The whitest things I’ve ever done:

- gotten a sunburn through a shirt

- had a nightmare, an actual nightmare, about having made a bad financial decision

- been scolded for not crying, more than once

White men traditionally get shit for not showing our emotions, but I ask you: The plane is going down, the Russians (The Iranians, the Pakistanis, the Chinese, the North Koreans, the Basques…) have dropped the bomb, the risen dead have appeared at the head of the block. Who do you want near you: someone having feelings, yelling and crying and (God forbid) trying to hug you, or someone in control of himself? I’ve always feared dying in a group for exactly this reason. Given my luck, not only would my plane get shot down by the one anti-aircraft missile the Green Party managed to buy, but I would be next to someone who wants me to “open up” on the way down.

“Is there anything you want to address before the end?”

“I, uh… sorr about the bag?”

T.G.I. Tulane Chris

Today is Veteran's Day. It's a Federal holiday. My office is closed. I should be doing what I do every other Federal holiday—alcohol and mini flags. But I'm not. Why, you ask? Because I had to come in to work today to help "clean out the back room." Not only that, I had to come in early to help "clean out the back room." That's right. It's currently 7:27 in the morning and I'm at work. Helping to "clean out the back room." I can't even touch how irritated I am with a 30-foot pole because if I did, I would absolutely start to cry. And I refuse to be That Girl crying in the bathroom at work. [Mostly because I've already been her. O hai New York!] So there's no post from me today. BECAUSE I'M BUSY CLEANING OUT THE BACK ROOM OF MY OFFICE AT 7:30 IN THE FUCKING MORNING BECAUSE "THE FENG-SHUI IS OFF" AND WE SHOULD TAKE ADVATAGE OF THIS FREE TIME. Deep breaths, deep breaths...But I wouldn't leave you high and dry. Not today. Not on Veteran's Day. So, enjoy this Tulane Chris guest post. Thank God for Tulane Chris. He's like a reliable booty call. Except that booty call is also a genuinely quality person and you kind of want to date them. Except he's questionably gay. And by questionably gay, I mean absolutely gay. So I don't know why I'm booty-calling him in the first place. What? I don't know. It's early and I'm in charge of finding a peaceful place for the coffee maker. Thank you Tulane Chris for saving the day. Enjoy!

You know what pisses me off? Everything. You know what pisses me off about the two-party system? Everything, but especially when people assume that I belong to one, and that they know which it is. Most people, accustomed to multiple choice questions, hear “Texas” and think Republican and hear “gay” and think Democrat, much as they hear “Norman Invasion” and think “1066.” As a registered third-party member, all-around son-of-a-bitch, and smart kid, I view the major parties as having two primary functions: ruining the country, and providing me with targets.

Democrats aren’t good for much, but by God, great fun can be made of them. They’re better than Republicans for this for the same reason some kids get bullied more than others: they’re more likely to react in a satisfying way. Republicans don’t historically sulk much unless they get caught with their hand in the cookie jar – cookie jar is, of course, English for “some dude’s underpants” – but Democrats cry if you slam the door too loud. If you don’t believe me, imagine going to a Republican fundraiser. You shove Newt Gingrich, he shoves you right back. Call Libby Dole a cunt, and in a flash, her liver-spotted claws have grabbed a handful of cocktail shrimp and have thrown it in your face as she shrieks, “You’re the cunt! YOU’RE THE CUNT!” and Tom DeLay starts working your kidneys. Barbara Bush smells human blood and has her first orgasm since the 2006 congressional election. Bobby Jindal rips open his shirt with a howl, and before you know it a cannibal bacchanale has begun. A horrified Jenna Bush backs toward the door, as a heavily sighing Kay Bailey Hutchison takes a shot for the road and helps John McCain on with his coat. Faintly, you hear her say, “Oh, this again,” and him reply “Every damn time since the Ford inaugural ball,” as they slip away.

Now imagine you clean the shrimp off your blouse, pee out the blood, crawl away from Sarah Palin’s drunken embrace, and go to a Democratic fundraiser. Joe Lieberman and Arlen Specter are tentatively kissing in a hallway between the two event rooms; unable to decide which event to enter, they have fallen into each other’s arms. It is clear that Joe Lieberman will be the top. Call Nancy Pelosi something relatively innocuous, like “shrill old fart,” and watch the feathers fly. A shriek, another shriek, and – what the hell – another shriek, and she collapses sobbing into Harry Reid’s arms. “Look what you’ve done!” he hisses. “We spent millions of dollars of stimulus money on her self-esteem, and you’ve ruined it! We’ll have to print more now!” Jimmy Carter is so overcome, as usual, that he starts weeping right along with her. This sets off the Kennedys, who have formed an autistic hive mind since Ted’s death, and they begin screaming and banging their heads against the wall in unison. Michael Moore looks up, says, “It’s a conspiracy,” and continues to eat Kool Whip with a spoon while masturbating to a well-thumbed copy of one of his own screenplays. Hillary Clinton pretends to get a phone call and jogs out, calling out over her shoulder that Oz has invaded Atlantis. Her husband glares after her, abandoned. You feel a tap at your shoulder, and turn to see Barbara Boxer flanked by some of the more popular representatives. She announces that she has heard that you are a total skank who eats poop, and that you look fat, and that none of the cool elected officials will ever speak to you again, and you’ll be lucky to even get to hang out with appointed officials, so there! Your work done, you walk out as George Soros tries to get everyone to sit in a circle so everyone can share feelings and look at pictures of the Leader for inspiration.

See what I mean? A violent, drunken orgy is somehow more reasonable than a lot of emotions getting all over everything. (Full disclosure: I would TOTALLY have sex with Bobby Jindal. I bet he does everything, twice.) There is a secondary reason why I like making fun of Democrats better than I like making fun of Republicans, and that’s Jimmy Carter. I could say a lot of things about him; get me drunk enough and I doubtless will, but here’s the crux of it:In 1588, the Spanish Armada was approaching England with the intent of deposing the Protestant Queen Elizabeth and replacing her with the Catholic daughter of King Philip II of Spain (who, because everyone used to marry everyone else, was also Elizabeth’s former brother-in-law.) The English were outgunned and outmanned, and a desperate army was gathered at Tilbury, near the mouth of the Thames, to defend London against a potential landing by the army of the Duke of Parma, a Spanish ally. At this desperate hour, here is what Elizabeth said:

My loving people,

…Let tyrants fear… I am come amongst you, as you see, at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live and die amongst you all; to lay down for my God, and for my kingdom, and my people, my honour and my blood, even in the dust.

I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm…

…not doubting but by your obedience to my general, by your concord in the camp, and your valour in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over those enemies of my God, of my kingdom, and of my people.

That’s grace under fire. That’s one hell of a pair. Fast forward to 1979, when James Earl Carter, a peanut farmer from Plains, Georgia, president of the richest and most powerful country the modern world has ever seen, tries to cheer us all up:

I know, of course, being President, that government actions and legislation can be very important. That's why I've worked hard to put my campaign promises into law -- and I have to admit, with just mixed success. But after listening to the American people I have been reminded again that all the legislation in the world can't fix what's wrong with America. So, I want to speak to you first tonight about a subject even more serious than energy or inflation. I want to talk to you right now about a fundamental threat to American democracy.

…

The threat is nearly invisible in ordinary ways. It is a crisis of confidence. It is a crisis that strikes at the very heart and soul and spirit of our national will. We can see this crisis in the growing doubt about the meaning of our own lives and in the loss of a unity of purpose for our Nation.

Jimmy Carter is the least majestic person in history.

A Word of Advice to Meghan McCain

In case you haven't heard, Meghan McCain is being obnoxious again. (I know, SHOCK!)

Basically she's going around town talking about how she's writing a book about herself "and what it means to be a progressive Republican in the party today." She wants Hillary Duff to play herself in the movie version. You know, the movie of the book that hasn't been written yet. She wants Bradley Cooper to be in it too "because he's so hot."

She describes the book as, "half political and half a memoir. It's like Primary Colors meets Tori Spelling's sTORI Telling. I want young women to actually be able to read it."

Oye vey. Thank you to Reagan from Houston for first sending me this article and thereby first sending me into a rage the likes of which startled even myself. I was too mad to even write a post about this last week. I sat down and started typing and this is all that came out:

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But I can do better than that. I can use my words. I just needed to take a few days to cool off and gather my thoughts. So, let's all just take a deep breathe and do this together, shall we?

Oh Meghan, Meghan, Meghan...what are we gonna do with you, homegirl? I can't help but wonder if Meghan McCain realizes why people find her so god damn irritating? It seems like she spends more time defending the obnoxious things that come out of her mouth and less time explaining what it means to be a "progressive Republican." But boo, I'm gonna help you out. I'm going to let you know exactly how you're fucking up and how to fix it. Why? I don't know. Possibly because I'm nice and my heart is too big for this cruel, cruel world. Or possibly because if I see her open her mouth and bring down my gender one more time, I'm just going to snap and may god help us all. So here we go.

Meghan McCain: you are an obnoxious piece of shit. There it is. That's your main problem. If I were a doctor, I'd diagnose you with a severe case of "That Girl." I'm going to have to assume that you don't have any friends, because if you did, I feel like one should have stepped in by now and said "hey Meggles? Stop. You're embarrassing yourself. Let's go do some hot yoga, regroup, come up with a strategy to make you seem a little more likable and try this whole 'politics' thing again." Because that's what friends are for. Making sure you don't look like a total jackass. My group of friends in college had a helpful little trick that we'd use for each other that I think you and your "friends" should adopt: whenever someone was being That Guy or That Girl, we'd gently tell them they were being a total Tommy Gilbert or Theresa Gilbert, depending on their gender. TG. You're being That Girl.

So let's say, for example, that we're friends and you're talking to me about how you're totes defs gonna write this book that's like The Cat in the Hat meets The Iliad but for at-risk preteen latchkey kids and your dad knows someone at Mirimax who you gave a handie to at last year's Christmas party so now he's totally agreed to make a movie out of your book whenever it's done (no rush!) and you'll totes get casting approval so Hillary Duff is gonna play you and Bradley Cooper is going to play Obama and you guys save the world from vampire/aliens (Valiens!) by dry humping your way to freedom!

Now, had you said that to me, I'd sit you down and say, "Hey Meghan?" And you'd be all, "Yea Meg?" "You're being a total Theresa Gilbert right now." And then you'd be like, "Omg am I?!" And I'd be like, "Yea...kind of." And then you'd go, "Oh shit, my bad! This is embarrassing. Thank god we had this talk before my interview with Page Six about my upcoming book or I probably would have just told them all that and looked like a giant jackass!" And I'd say, "It's ok M-Dawg, that's what I'm here for!" And then we'd hug and have a big pillow fight and braid each other's hair.

But unfortunately I'm not your friend. So that didn't happen. And you shamelessly Theresa Gilberted all over the place. But like I said, I'm going to try to help you figure this whole "be likable" thing out. So let me break it down for you: You see Meghan, people don't like or respect overprivileged people who don't have work hard for their accomplishments. It's not the American way. It's why we don't like NYC Prep, the Hilton family, Rummer Willis or any of the Baldwins who aren't Alec. People like hard-workers; they like a good rags-to-riches story. So when you woke up one morning and decided to follow-up a children's picture book about your dad with a political memoir that you assume will be so brilliant it'll be made into a movie starring a hot blonde chick, you come off like a real egotistical and assumptive cuntbag. And people tend to not respect egotistical and assumptive cuntbags. Do you see what happened there? Did you catch that last part? You took yourself from picture book author to assumed New York Times bestselling political memoirist/screenwriter/Lizzy McGuire. That's a mighty leap to make. And you didn't make that leap based on hard work and pride in your final product, you made it based on being Meghan McCain. And that my friend, does not make you look good.

What do you think would happen if I walked into Random House today, pulled out my tampon, plopped it on an editor's desk and said, "Here's my book proposal. I call it I'm Tired, Give Me Money. Oh, and it's going to be a movie too. I've always thought of myself as a cross between Tiffany-Amber Thiessen and the fictional character Jackie Brown, so make that into a real person and have her play me. And have my love interest be the hipster with the moustache from Ace of Cakes because I have a mega-huge crush on him. Not Geoff. The other one. Ben. Kay. I'm gonna go smoke a Parliment Light now, when I come back this better be a reality. LaTeR HaTeRs!"

Now in reality, what do you think would happen to me if I really did that? I'd probably be arrested, right? Escorted out of the building and asked to never return at the very least, right? You would be correct! In the real world, that is what would happen. But in Meghan McCain's world, this would happen:


Given the option, I'd rather live in Meghan McCain's world—it seems a shit ton easier and I get to carry a gun. But, I'm not Meghan McCain. I can't fling my tampon around and expect to get a Pulitzer Prize for it. I have to actually put in the work; McCain doesn't. That's just the way the cookie crumbles. But you know what Meghan McCain? You don't have to rub it in my face. That is what makes you so unlikeable. Not that you're blonde or have big boobs or that you're the daughter of a politician or that you're Republican, but because you're fucking obnoxious. And no matter how smart or talented you actually might be, if you keep Theresa Gilberting all over the place, you'll never amount to anything more than John McCain's obnoxious twat of a daughter.

So as a fellow big-boobed writer who will probably never seen a fraction of the success you will, I say this to you: shut your mouth and quit fucking it up.

I'll be watching Ace of Cakes and having some private time should you need more advice.

If you took my right to vote away, I would kind of understand.

I'm going to go ahead and ask you to watch the following clip entitled once entitled "Paul Begala Schools Meghan McCain on Bill Maher's 'Real Time":


First of all, Joel Stein was also a guest on this episode, and to him I say: 1.) Me-ow 2.) I'm single and very much looking to mingle and 3.) I haven't asked her, but I'm 99.9% sure that your wife would be fine with you leaving her for me. Kthnx.

Next order of business: Meghan McCain makes me want to set things on fire. She makes me want to set things on fire and watch 'em burn to the ground. And then Country Line Dance on the ashes. That is how much she enrages me.

I could write a book on the many reasons why Meghan McCain enrages me (a book I call, "Meghan on Meghan: Did I Forget to Take My Pills This Morning, Or Do You Really Exist?") but the above clip illustrates one of the primary reasons why I hate the broad so much: whenever she gets busted for being dumb as a box of hair, she makes it all about how "the big, bad political pundit is beating me up because I've got blond hair and jugs-a-plenty! Poor me!" And I say fuck that noise! Because Paul Begala wasn't ripping Meghan McCain a new asshole because she's got giant hooters and pretty hair; he was ripping her a new asshole because she has no idea what the fuck she's talking about. There is a huge difference. I mean, honestly! She said she couldn't talk about the Reagan administration because she wasn't alive then! That statement is so mind-bogglingly stupid it's almost smart again! And frankly, I think Paul Begala went easy on her. If it were me sitting across from her, I'd run off stage, return with a roll of duct tape, tape her mouth shut and sucker punch her square in the ovaries so she can no longer procreate. YOU'RE WELCOME, PLANET EARTH.

And me wanting to punch Meghan McCain in the ovaries has nothing to do with how hot she is. However, it does have everything to do with how dumb she is. There is no correlation between looks and the ability to talk about politics, and for Meghan McCain to keep insinuating that there is brings us all down as a people and a nation. It's just such a cop-out. I also like how in that clip she's all "I'm just the blond at the table, so everyone is being mean to me!" Um. Hi. Kitty Kay is sitting across from you. What is she, chopped liver? No! She's got a nice little shape to her and—GASP!—blond hair! Funny how everyone treats her like an intellectual equal and you like a Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robot.

Also, Meghan McCain, you are not badass. I'm so sick of hearing her be like, "The Republican party doesn't like me because I've got a tattoo and listen to The Clash and use curse words! They can't handle how punk I am!" You, madam, are the Avril Lavigne of politics. You're about as badass as taking your Grandma to see Rent. Maybe the reason the Republican party doesn't like you is because you can't open your mouth without Swedish Chef-style nonsense flying out.

Stop trying to distract us from the matter at hand: you're not that smart.

I've decided that tonight I'm going to go on The O'Reilley Factor with a hook for a hand. And then when I can't keep up with the conversation and make the Democratic party look bad, I'm going to be like, "GAWD YOU GUYS! Everyone is being so mean to me just because I have a hook for hand! Why do you guys assume I can't talk about politics just because I have a hook! I know I'm just 'The Hook Girl,' but I know about politics too! God, can't we keep this conversation about politics and not make it all about my hook?! If you don't like me, you can KISS MY HOOK!" Then I'll become a "young political pundit," verbally assault a security guard or two at the White House Correspondent's dinner and write a book about my dad. FINALLY!

Washington DC to Meghan McCain: "Bitch, please!"

God that title hurt to type. As you may recall, I previously fancied myself a bit of a Meghan McCain enthusiast. She was actually the #2 reason why I wished I could have voted for John McCain. We're just so similar: we're both named Meghan; we're both bloggers; she hates Ann Coulter, I hate Ann Coulter; she likes John McCain, I like John McCain; she went to Columbia, I took an informational tour of Columbia—where will the similarities end??

But Meghan McCain is on my shit list. In a big way. And I want an apology. Take a look at the following tweets from Meghan McCain's twitter account:




Ok. So you don't like DC. That's fine; plenty of people don't like DC. I mean, I can't help but think maybe the reason people want to talk to you about politics is because you're campaigning to be the new face of the Republican party and fancy yourself something of a pundit, which means talking to people about politics is literally your job, but whatevs. Lord knows I hate when people expect me to do my job, so I'm just going to take that as one more thing we have in common.

But then you had to go and tweet this:


Bitch, please.

Because guess what? I am from DC. And on behalf of DC; go fuck yourself.

Here is what I've ascertained Meghan McCain believes about DC area natives:
1.) We do not wear makeup. Who has two thumbs, a Sephora insider card and wears more makeup than a drag queen in competition? This girl.
2.) We do not wear sparkles. This is correct. I also do not stuff my bra, make out with my pillow or shop at Claire's boutique, as I am not 12 years old.
3.) We wear very little fabric. Again: bitch, please. It is humid as fuck here and we're in the middle of a recession. You cut corners where it makes sense.
4.) We have flat, lifeless hair. Yea. Well. Personally that is true, but you don't have to rub it in. In 4-6 weeks, I'll be in possession of a BumpIt and then who'll be laughing??
5.) We do not like glamour.

This last statement is enraging on so many levels. Let's break it down, shall we?

First of all, we get it Meghan McCain. DC is full of ugly people. We're all brunette and boring and homely and plain and we've never kissed a boy and we're still waiting to get our period and we all know we're never going to get asked to the dance this weekend so we might as well just tell Mrs. Friedenberg that, yes, we are free to babysit Saturday night. We get it. Ugly.

But, you know what? This is sort of an exciting time to live in DC. King Obama is in office and his army of hipster followers are slowly starting to infiltrate the city. Finally, it's kind of cool to live here; even if you don't give two shits about politics (which, by the way, can be said about many DC residents, including this gal.) We're finally figuring out that culottes might not be the trendiest pant option and we're slowly learning that we look better if we run a comb through our hair. Let us have this moment, Meghan McCain. Stop reminding us what nerds we really are deep down inside. You're like the jealous sister who keeps showing old family photo albums to our hot new boyfriend all, "Aww! Look at this picture of DC when she had braces and a unibrow! Poor DC...Middle School was such a tough time for her."

Remember when Laura Ingraham went on Fox News to talk about your political qualifications and said that you couldn't even "get a role in the Real World" because they "don't like plus-size models"? That sucked. Because 1.) you're not plus-size at all, you just have giant hooters. And the plight of the giant hootered girl is one that I know all too well; and 2.) your physical appearance has absolutely nothing to do with your ability to speak intelligently about politics, and Laura Ingraham looked embarrassingly stupid for inferring otherwise. You really came out on top of that one, homegirl, and I was happy for you. You said on the View, "I speak my mind about politics and I want to have a political discussion about the ideological future of the Republican party and the answer is, 'She's fat. She shouldn't have an opinion." Valid point. Laura Ingraham is a dumb cunt and more power to you, sister.

But you know what doesn't help your case? When you complain about how people in DC talk too much about politics and tweet things like, "Sticking out like a sore thumb n dc cuz im a raging hottie n this town is BEAT! ;)"

Because, really? I thought you wanted to have a political discussion about the ideological future of the Republican party and not about your physical appearance? So why flaunt the fact that you're glamorous, bedazzled ass is 50 times hotter than ours? Or is hypocrisy the new black? Sorry, I'm from DC, I don't know what dat dem der fashion trends be. If only I had been raised in the hot bed of cutting-edge fashion and glamor that is...Arizona?

I'm disappointed Meggles. After Saturday's tweet, not only do you seem pretty fuckin' obnoxious, but you also come off just as vapid and catty as Laura Ingraham. And that sucks, because how hard does Laura Ingraham blow? (Answer: So hard.)

So Meghan McCain, you're too good for us ugly DC folk. Well then, we invite you to pack up your haute couture dream catchers, turquoise jewelry and pan flute and get the fuck out. Our "vanilla" town clearly can't handle your spicy chipotle flavor.


XOXO,
Washington, DC

Team Hug John McCain 2009

[My standard John McCain preface: Before you get your panties in a twist, let me reiterate: I love John McCain, I do not love John McCain's politics. I am a registered Democrat. I voted for Barack Obama. I just happen to love John McCain. Back off. Kthnx.]

If you only know two things about me, I want you to know the following:
1.) I love John McCain. A lot.
2.) I'm a dreamer and a schemer. It's a vicious and generally fruitless cycle that goes as follows:
- Step 1: Think of a random and lofty goal that will be entertaining, yet in no way helpful to my life (i.e. go on a kayaking trip with Barry Bostwick.)
- Step 2: Convince myself that I can so totally make this happen.
- Step 3: Get encouragement from my friends.
- Step 4: Spend an obsessive amount of time and energy researching how to make this happen.
- Step 5: Get bored, give up, and go back to Step 1.

That being said, there is one dream of mine that I have yet to give up on, and frankly don't think I ever will. True, I took a slight break from my obsessive research and such, but thankfully my passion was re-ignited at a recent dinner party and now I'm more fired up than ever!

I, Meghan C. McBlogger, will hug Senator John McCain before the end of 2009.

I feel no need to justify why I love J McC more than I already have in previous posts, but today has provided me with yet another reason to be all about him: I'm at work right now. And it's bullshit. Have you been outside today?! It looks like the level in Donkey Kong that gets progressively more snowy and windy, making it difficult to jump from barrel to barrel and yet I'm somehow expected to jump in a barrel and shoot myself off to work? I think not! This is DC! We're a district of house cats who don't like to get our paws wet. Apologies to the almighty Lord Obama and his decree that DC is full of pussies because he's from Chicago-land where they bar-b-que and wear Bermuda shorts in this kind of weather. So now we're all embarrassed and trying to man up, so I had to come into work today. Thanks a lot asshole. That wasn't the kind of change I signed up for. However, something tells me that if a little old man from the sunny state of Arizona were in charge, I'd be in bed all cozy in my Jack Daniels pajamas, sipping an Irish Coffee, watching Center Stage right now. GAWD!

I spent all weekend brainstorming about ways to make Hug John McCain 2009 become a reality and I've come up with a few ideas. Here's what I've got so far:

• Contact J McC via twitter and explain that I'm not a crazy fan who's going to carve things into her face for him or anything (thanks for ruining it for the rest of us Obama Girl,) I just want to tell him I think he's a great American and get a hug. No more, no less. The problem with this plan is that although I'm following J McC on twitter, he's not following me so I can't send him a private message. Also, the odds are pretty high that a helper monkey runs his twitter for him, so this plan might be pretty pointless.
• Email the contact address on his website. Sadly, there's a 99.7% chance that if the email ever does see the light of day, it will be read by a jaded intern who'll forward it to the rest of his internship program with the subject: THIS B!TCH IS CRAZY! That or the helper monkey will trash it.
• Hit up my friends who work on Capitol Hill. This seems like the obvious answer given my location, except that I really only know people who work for Democrats. That really doesn't help me here. Also I'm not sure if anyone is willing to exhaust their Rolodex for the sake of my slightly off-putting third-grade shenanigans. I guess I get that.
• Ask my aunt to hook it up. My aunt's like all important and shit, right? She's the right hand-man to a more important person, who's website prominently features praise from non-other than Johnny McCrizzle himself! However, as much as my aunt loves me, I don't think she loves me enough to ask her boss to convince John McCain to hug me. I am more than willing to make this my birthday and Hanukkah present for the rest of my life though. Which is a good deal because it won't cost her anything! Except for her credibility, I guess. And dignity. And career. Ugh. Blood is thicker than water, my ass.
• Seduce one of McCain's staffers into hooking it up. Unfortunately I can think of a lot of adjectives to describe myself and "seductress" isn't one of them.
• Buy a ticket and attend a McCain fundraising dinner. I think this is a pretty decent idea, but according to Alex, it doesn't guarantee that J McC will be there, nevertheless even talk to me. Frankly, that's a risk I'm willing to take, but I can't find a McCain fundraising dinner to save my life. And even if I do, the odds are pretty high that a ticket will cost a few thousand dollars. I mean, I love him, but I'm not in love with him...
• Establish residency in Arizona, join the Army, get sent to Iraq, shoot myself in the ass with a handgun, blame it on an Iraqi insurgent, return to the US, write a touching letter to McCain, get a hospital visit and hug. This, sadly, is actually the most promising plan I have thus far.

So that's where the dream stands. Alive and well. If you know anyone who can help me out, whether it’s with a connection in the Senate or a good deal on some land in Arizona, you know my email (meg@2birds1blog.com). Thank you, God bless America and God bless Team Hug John McCain 2009!

Drinking Game Friday wants your vote!

Happy “End of the Race!” Drinking Game Friday! I would like to officially declare: BEST. ELECTION. EVER. I think we can all agree that this week was an emotional roller coaster. Both candidates spent Monday campaigning extra hard to win over undecided voters. Tuesday we proudly poured into the gym to vote in record numbers and spent the rest of the day waiting for the results to be announced in eighth period. Wednesday we awoke to a new world and a new president, lives forever changed. A huge bombshell dropped Thursday—Mr. McAllister rigged the election and Dr. Hendricks asked for his immediate resignation, which he received. The person who deserved to win indeed won in the end, despite a controversial and incendiary campaign.

Of course, I’m talking about the Flick vs. Metzler election from this week’s drinking game: The Election Drinking Game. What did you think I was talking about?


I first saw Election when I was 13-years-old and it was being marketed as a hilarious teen movie on MTV. It had Reese Witherspoon, Chris Kline and Ferris Bueller, so I figured it was a perfect sleep over movie. Yea…Not so much. I think I lost my innocence when the dirty math teacher described Reese Witherspoon’s wet pu$$y and Ferris Bueller had homely, suburban sex with his wife (who was wearing a nightgown my mom owns and was shouting “FILL ME UP!”) before heading into his porn den. Although, the sex scene with Chris Kline still comes in handy and Tracey Flick is still my all-time favorite sweater-vested character.

Take One Sip When:
- A character is introduced
- Any election propoganda is shown (poster, cupcake, buttons, etc.)
- Anything sexual goes down (pun indeed intended)
- Mr. McAllister is seen going through his morning routine
- Someone talks about what a good teacher Mr. McAllister is
- Someone prays
- Linda flirts with Mr. McAllister
- An election ballot is shown
- Paul mentions football
- During the following exchange, because it’s LOLZ:
Mr. McAllister: What have you got?
Larry, (the Student Government Kid): Well, I'm not supposed to tell. Not until you've counted, too. We're each supposed to make an independent count.
Mr. McAllister: You're kidding, right?
Larry: Well, I thought those were the rules, Mr. McAllister. If they've changed in anyway, I can—
Mr. McAllister: Larry, we're not electing the fucking pope here. Just tell me who won.

Thanks a shit ton for reading and spreading the 2birds1blog gospel to your friends. Have a great weekend and we’ll see you back in the office Monday morning.

Abortions, gay sex and health care for all!

Since you probably haven’t heard this obscure tidbit of political news yet, I’ll fill you in: Barack Obama has been elected as our 44th President of the United States, defeating John McCain in last night’s election. I don’t know about you, but I was pretty fuckin’ relieved when I heard this news. I fear Sarah Palin like people in medieval times feared the plague. You know how certain celebrities said they would leave the country if Bush beat John Kerry in 2004, but then blatantly didn’t and hoped no one would call them out? Well I was very seriously considering bouncing if Palin’s hockey stick came anyway near touching the White House. Ergo, yayyy! Obama!

I really liked Obama’s acceptance speech. I always considered the US to be a bit like Regina George’s character in Mean Girls: beautiful, confident, popular, feared and ultimately hated. Thus, Obama’s acceptance speech reminded me of Cady Herron’s Prom Queen speech. It was humble and hopeful for the future. However, it would have been better if Obama broke his tiara and through the pieces into the crowd….just sayin’.

As Obama’s speech ended and the streets flooded with rioters, I felt a certain sense of loss. I should be happy; Obama won, change is on its way, I can finally stop researching DIY abortions, and yet, I felt genuinely sad. Why you may ask? I have one word for you: Maverick.


Turn your speakers up and click play!



Oh Johnny…I’m gonna miss you man. I’m sorry it had to end this way. Except I’m not sorry because we don’t see eye-to-eye on anything.

I really can’t explain the intense affection I have for John McCain, but my love for him is real (but not real enough to vote for him.) Although it goes against everything I believe and stand for, I sort of wish I had voted for him. Here’s why:

- His acceptance speech. While everyone was getting choked up at Obama’s touching acceptance speech, I was a shaky hot mess, seconds away from bursting into tears during McCain’s concession speech. It was so humble and eloquent! My Johnny Boy seemed genuinely concerned when the rednecks in the audience started to boo Obama (and speaking of scary republican antics, did anyone else notice when the camera panned to what looked like a Neo-Nazi with one hell of a handle bar moustache for an uncomfortably long amount of time?) J McC loves our country and doesn’t want it to be divided! It was very “Don’t Cry for me Argentina” of him.
- The Torture Factor. Now, I knew that McCain was a POW, but was unaware that he was tortured on a daily basis. This knowledge breaks my cold, jaded, little heart. After five seconds of torture, I’d tell you whatever the fuck you want to know and then some. He’s so gentle! How could you torture him?! My List of People I Want a Big Hug From has been officially amended to include: Tim Gunn, Bob Villa, Clinton Kelly and John McCain. Welcome to the club, sir.
- His Smokin’ Hot Family. Those McCains are mighty easy on the eyes (except for the adopted one.) Obama’s ears distract me, Michelle looks like she’s got a stick up her ass and might kick me out of college for smoking pot in my dorm at any moment and it’s just plain creepy to refer to two little girls as “smokin’ hot.” (Or so I’ve been told.)
- The Death Factor. The man was captured and tortured, served in office for a babillion years and is about to meet his maker. Can’t we just throw him a bone and let him be president for a little bit? He earned it. We can get the Make a Wish Foundation involved. Except in this case it’s not a terminally ill kid going to Disney World; it’s John McCain running our country. It’s not his fault that he dreamed bigger Timmy…
- Sarah Palin. GOD DAMNIT I HATE YOU, YOU BITCH! My boy was doing just fine until he introduced you as his running-mate (and you know it wasn’t his idea.) Maybe you could have let the man know you have a few skeletons in your closet. Huge skeletons. Like a retarded baby with questionable maternity issues, huge. Or a couple of state investigations regarding your expenses and conspiracy, huge. I think Palin took advantage of J McC in a big way. He needed to bust out a wild card for his VP pick to get some edge and she was just bat shit crazy enough. There is no way she’s as dumb as she seems though. I think she took advantage of McCain to become his VP pick to use that exposure and publicity to make a name for herself so she can run for her own presidency in 2012. BOO-YEA! I’m always one step ahead of you Palin…one step.
- A Cast of Crazy Supporting Characters. I’m sure it can’t help when you’re name is associated with Sarah Palin, The First dude, Bristol Palin and her white trash boyfriend/”fiancée” and teen pregnancy, Heidi Montague and Spencer Pratt, hunting big game from a helicopter, Alaska as a whole, that crazy chick in Pittsburg who claimed she was jumped by a black Obama supporter who beat her up and carved a backwards B into her face, George W. Bush, Elizabeth Hasselback and your wife (bless her heart) and her multiple pill addictions and creepy Stepford wife vibe. None of those things are your fault, talk about a bad fucking break...

What’s done is done though and I can’t turn back time. Even if I could, I would use the opportunity to actually get the balls to say something to Michael Showalter when I saw him on Madison Avenue because I know if I had said something, we’d be married with a kid by now.

Overall, well-played John McCain. I’ll miss seeing your Hans Moleman-esque face in the paper everyday. God speed.

A Reaction to the Vice-Presidential Debate

Considering all of the negative things I’ve said about Sarah Palin in the past few weeks, I know you came here to read a biased, lefty, bleeding-heart liberal review of last night’s Vice-Presidential debate. But I’m gonna go ahead and have ta disappoint ya. Yesterday, at about 6:45pm when I was going ta pick up a gyro for dinner, I found Jesus and got saved. I know! I’m just as surprised as ya are that Jesus was hiding in a Greek Taverna on Georgia Avenue, but Gosh darnit, there he was! He spoke ta me and said that Sarah Palin is one of his prophets and I should strive ta be more like her, and if I did, my reward would be waitin' for me in heaven.

I wasted no time and began my quest ta become more like Sarah Palin. I started by studying her appearance. She’s got some great pointers on makeup, dontcha know! I’ve already tweezed my eyebrows so they resemble a frown and really love how she paints on her own bone structure with blush that’s two shades darker than it should be. Heck, I love it so much I just took a Sharpie ta my own face and drew on the high cheekbones and nose I’ve always wanted! So much for those corporate fat cats with their Beverly Hills pricey plastic surgery!

Since I’m just a Nancy-Normal, Sally Six-Pack, Melissa-Mediocre, Community College Carissa and Diana Drop-Out, I don’t know a danged thing about the Vice-Presidential candidate’s political views. Now that I watched the debate, I honestly believe that Sarah Palin is the right decision ta lead these great United States inta the future! Now before you get your Eskimo in an igloo, hear me out!

Right off the bat, ya gotta give Sarah points for asking if she can call Senator Joe Biden, plain old “Joe.” I mean, in God’s eyes we’re all equal! So what ya spent thirty-plus years serving in government office? Big whoop! You’re just Joe ta me! That’s why I call my doctor plain old “Rick,” and my pastor “Steve,” and the judge in my underage alcohol case “Linda.” You folks, God bless ya, are no better than me, I don’t care what fancy doo-dahs come before or after your name!

After the first question and answer of the night, I knew Sarah Palin was the candidate for me. I want the people leading our government ta be opinionated, strong Mavericks! I don’t want someone who’s actually gonna answer the question asked—no thank you! She didn’t come all the way to Missoura to answer random political questions and defend herself when attacked by that mad man! Still, always the lady, she handled herself under pressure. For example when that big bully Gwen asked her what she thinks the cause of our current “climate crisis” is, she took the high road and said she "doesn’t want ta argue the causes.” Sarah Palin is no dumb moose, she’s not gonna fall inta that trap and address the issue! So you can drill, baby, drill someone else for thoughtful answers!

As someone who’s currently in a little bit-a credit card debt, I was inspired by Palin's mantra that “never again shall we be taken advantage of by the predatory money lenders!” That’s right Sarah, we’ll never be taken advantage of again! Take back the afternoon! And if we are taken advantage of, even in the case of incest, we won’t abort our money problems with a “bailout!” NEVER AGAIN!

I could barely understand Joe’s political mumbo-jumbo up there. I appreciated that Palin talked ta the audience on a personal level. Like we’re just-a couple-a neighbors at a Sunday supper, discussin’ politics over a few cold ones and huffin' some paint thinner. I don’t want the government inside Washington to be full of Washington-insiders! I want my country ta be run by a united militia of Joe-Six-Packs:

and Hockey Moms:

I mean, Sarah Palin herself admitted that she’s only been doin’ this Presidential candidacy thing for five weeks, bless her heart, and look how great she’s doin’!

For example, she’s got the answer ta our nation’s health care problems. I agree with her 100% that we need to get Gary Government’s hand outta our pockets and buy our own darn health care! Sure Blue Cross just denied my application for independent health care coverage on the grounds that I’ve been treated for depression, but government provided health care?? What is this, Communist Russia?! I’d rather be a bit of a Grumpy Gus than have Uncle Sam holdin’ my hand in the waiting room, thank ya very much!

About half way through the debate, the real hard-hittin’ issues were addressed. Of course the fancy issue of civil rights for sissies had to be brought up…Thank goodness Sarah stood her ground firmly and stated flat-out that if the question asked was to be defined as did she agree with the Senator that a question was asked regarding civil rights and not gay marriage, then an answer was given which resembles the answer given previously by the Senator regarding the civil liberties of the aforementioned parties depending not on what the definition of civil liberties, not gay marriage, is and thus agreed with him that a question was once asked. How can ya argue with such a straightforward, hard-hittin’ Maverick?

As someone who once took a boot camp work out class at the gym, ya can betcha I was payin’ close attention to the candidate’s policies on the War in Iraq. First of all, I don’t know why Joe was gettin’ so emotional about this topic. His son is only in the Coast Guard for cry-eye! If a beach party runs out of Coronas, I’m sure he’ll be the first one they call in. Quit being such a baby and put your white flag of surrender down!

Then there was a whole buncha talk on nuke-ya-lurr affairs that might as well have been in Latin, ya know? The closest I’ve ever been to Pakistan is the 7-11 around the corner and let me tell ya, they got a buncha scratch-offs and some darn good taquitos, but no nuke-ya-lurr weapons. I took a potty break here and came back just in time to hear Palin talk passionately about how John McCain knows how ta win a war! Darn tootin’ he does! Not only does John McCain know how ta win a war, he knows how ta grab a speedin’ bullet outta mid-air. And shoot webs. And jump from building ta building. And get the girl in the end (have ya seen Cindy? She’s gotta shape ta her!)

My favorite part of the election would have ta have been when Gwen asked the candidates how they would lead the country in the super unlikely event that the President died and they become Commander-in-Chief. Palin said that she would continue McCain’s good work and put the government back on the side of the people. Only a true American like her would make our government a little less "Ivy League" and a little more Wasilla Main Street! Her ticket officially had my vote when she said that she wants her government ta be a representation of how average Wasilla working-class Americans want their government ta be. Which of course is a government that advocates free beer, a 24 hour Wal-Mart superstore in every town and uncensored Larry the Cable Guy specials on Comedy Central. Get ‘er done Sarah!

At the end of the debate, I think Sarah clinched the election officially. She spoke ta me, right ta my heart y’all! She explained that the person elected ta be the leader of our country has ta talk the talk, walk the walk…and knock the knock...spock the spock, crock the crock and...frock the frock! Don’t even try to defend yourself Joe, because she’ll call ya out in an adorable way like when she said, “Say it aint so, Joe!” ...What with your afro. High on the plateau. I recently rented Semi-Pro. My favorite designer on Project Runway is Korto. I love The Hills, but hate Lo…

Yea Joe, can’t argue with that, can ya? This is real American politics. And God bless America! Wink!

Happy (Sort Of) Drinking Game Friday!

I got an email (meg@2birds1blog.com) from Meli, everyone’s favorite Nicaraguan spitfire, asking to move this week’s Drinking Game from Friday to Thursday in honor of tonight’s Vice-Presidential debate. Ask and you shall receive my friends. Besides, there’s no way I’m going to watch this shit show with a blood alcohol level lower than .15%.

I can’t believe Sarah Palin, the woman who fears witches, can’t think of the name of a single newspaper and doesn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground, is going to debate Senator Joe Biden on national television. Tonight. This must be what my mom felt like when the Beatles were on the Ed Sullivan Show.

From the fights of Roman gladiators, to public hangings, to Britney Spears’ 2007 VMA performance, the public has had a morbid fascination with watching a peer go down in flames. Tonight is no exception. I fully expect Sarah Palin to bust out some priceless gems in tonight’s debate and will be sorely disappointed if her last minute cramming sessions and flash card reviews actually do pay off. I keep slipping into these fantasies where she tells Biden if he doesn’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. Or asks him what he thinks Jesus would do. Or rationalizes that she conceived Trig Palin after a night of one too many Fosters at Outback Steakhouse and therefore has international relations experience with Australia.

Either way, this is going to be an interesting cocktail of hilarious, frightening and depressing. So go get an 18-pack of Labatt’s Blue, salute the Naval Observatory and pray that John McCain has more lives than a cat, because it’s time to play The Vice-Presidential Debate Drinking Game!


Hmm…I wonder if Bristol will be playing the game with rum tonight? Anyways, I decided to leave the rules of this game in the hands of the experts. Thus, the following is courtesy of Comedy Central’s InDecision 2008 blog.

Take 1 Sip:

* Every time Sarah Palin says "Gwen” or “Joe.”

* Every time Joe Biden says "malarkey.”

* Every time Palin mentions Russia (or mentions France, re: Senator Biden's underpants.)

*Every time Biden mentions his Scranton upbringing.

* Every time Palin mentions wildlife protection.

* Everytime Palin says “hockey.”

* Every time Biden mentions his father.

* Every time Palin accidentally agrees with Barack Obama.

* Every time Biden mentions taking the train to and from his Senate job.

* Every time Palin mentions small town values.

* Every time Biden drops an anachronism.

* Every time someone in the room says Palin seems like someone cool to have a beer with, stand up and yell "Goody Palin is a witch!"

* Every time Biden and Palin break into an argument, make out with the person next to you.

* Every time Biden and Palin make out, debate the person next to you.

* Every time Palin speaks in a run-on sentence, get yourself for into the position of being to drink a sip of beer and therefore on the chair on which you sit turn around and face your neighbor but you will not have had enough into which to vomit and that's good because you will be feeling in a way that is comparable to ways in which you have drunk before, at home, where they teach good drinking values.

Washington Post Wednesdays

From Monday’s Washington Post, 9/22/08

‘First Dude’ Todd Palin Illustrates Alaska’s Blend of Private and Public

“…Todd Palin has become involved in policy, sitting in on his wife’s meetings, traveling on state business and weighing in on some legislative issues.

John Harris, the Republican speaker of the Alaska House, said he had never been called by the spouse of a governor before the two calls he got from Todd Palin. One was to argue for moving the state capitol to Anchorage. The other was to ask Harris to 'keep an eye' on a key aide who had an affair with the wife of one of Todd’s best friends.

Political hands in both parties say the Palins are often referred to as a team—'Sarah and Todd'—and one Democratic lawmaker said Todd Palin has become her 'de facto chief of staff…."

I would like to reiterate that this is not a political blog nor I am I a political scientist. Usually, I want absolutely nothing to do with anything even remotely political, but for some reason I can’t stop myself from reading about Sarah Palin. She’s like a messy, lane-closing, jaws-of-life-needing car accident that I cannot stop staring at, no matter how many nightmares I know it’s going to produce.

Because I’ve sheltered my anxiety-prone self from the nerve-wracking world of politics, I get lost easily. It helps when I put things into a more personal context, so I can relate a little more easily.

When I read this article, for example I translated it to: Sarah and Todd Palin = Spencer and Heidi from The Hills. It makes sense to me; they’re both a team comprised of partners where the female is the breadwinner in the spotlight and the male is the manager manipulating things behind the scenes; all parties involved are generally accepted as flaming douche bags among society; both couples are active Republicans campaigning for McCain; both Heidi and Sarah are hottie airheads and both Spencer and Todd have creepy goatees and make me feel extremely uncomfortable.

The more I thought about it, The Hills relates to life on The Hill pretty closely. From what I’ve heard from friends and family who work there, it’s just like high school, but a lot less well dressed. Thus I give you the cast of...




Lauren Conrad –> Barack Obama
The good guy, the hero, and the everyman we relate to.


"Speidi" –> "Torah"
The nemeses of the Lauren Conrad character. Irritating couple who are sneaky, questionable and hide behind a mask of righteousness. I think I’d enjoy politics a lot more if Sarah Palin told Perez Hilton that Barack Obama had “beef curtains,” however.


Audrina –> Joe Lieberman
Sort of an ambiguous character these days…at first he was a Democratic vice-presidential candidate. Now he’s a registered independent flirting with the Republican Party. Joe Lieberman, you are a sexy brunette who needs to make up their mind and stop making me cry all of my black liquid eyeliner off! Now get out of my pool house!


Whitney –> Hillary Clinton
Driven, successful, competitive, career oriented strong women who we never see get laid.


Lauren “Lo” Bosworth –> Joe Biden
Our hero’s right-hand man who’s always got his back. Both are loyal and slightly cross-eyed.


Stephanie Pratt –> Meghan McCain
Oh the sting of family betrayal!

What happened this week on THE HILL: Barack depearts The Hill to go campaigning, leaving Joe Biden and Joe Lieberman awkwardly alone in The House to bond. Sarah and Todd Palin continue to mend their rocky relationship, which suffers further when Sarah’s sister betrays "Torah" when she has lunch with Obama. Meghan McCain goes to a fundraising dinner with her father, breaking the #1 unspoken BFF rule on The Hill. Joe Lieberman can’t keep his big mouth shut and tells everyone on The Hill about Meghan McCain’s betrayal, including Sarah Palin one drunken night at the 18th Street Lounge. Joe Lieberman confesses he misses Sarah Palin and has never really had anything against her. The two decide they should totally hang out more, right in front of Joe Biden, who is totally going to tell Obama the first chance he gets. Obama finds out about Meghan McCain’s shady business and wonders if everyone was right about her…

JOIN US NEXT WEEK FOR MORE, THE HILL!