Entry, Day 5  Once again, I’ve been inserted up another asshole. But not just any asshole, or even a gay asshole… although with Republicans, ya never know. No, I am exploring a real asshole’s asshole. I am told my mission, Torture Boy Albutto says I MUST accept it, is to be yet one more distraction from all the murder, mayhem, filth and corruption… plus, since slandering John Edwards and his wife didn’t work, my reports may be used to trump any media advantage Democrats may have gained by playing our own sympathy card. My job is to give hourly reports that may be used to alter the news cycle, when needed, like when they eventually discover that Saint Junior has his own torture chamber filled with young children that’s been built under the White House by Halliburton, or that Biggus Dickus is actual a cyborg. Always has been. That’s why even his best “smile” frightens puppies and kittens to death. Yes, I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, I have been inserted into Tony Snowjob’s propaganda central. There’s sure a lot of misinformation up here, and nothing else. Did he ever think of going in for a colon cleansing, or does saving all this sh%$ serve the boy-King’s evil agenda? Over there you see the transmission tower; better known as Bill O’Lielly’s last vibrator, that has been surgically implanted into the rectum. This way, with my help, Tony’s misfortune can be yet another way to skew the spin cycle whenever Rabid Rove needs to do so. So, will Snowjob take all the unwanted, unneeded, but always plentiful, Reich Wing advice, like that spat upon John Edwards, and quit his job so he can focus in on his colon cancer? I, Lemmiwinks, am the one who receives and transmits the daily updates: and all I can say in response to that rather logical question is… are you kidding? But everyone KNOWS John Edwards hates his wife if they don’t decide to dump all his dreams? I hate my job. I miss the Frog King, the Sparrow Prince. And I fear my next adventure: seeking out yet another Lush Dimbulb anal cyst. This will be no “seek and destroy” mission. No, my mission will be to cultivate the damn things. He collects them, like some people collect rocks, coins or teens collect dents in the family car. So how did I wind up getting stuck up the ass of Nazi bastards who pretend to be Republicans? Oh, yeah… 2000. At least I haven’t had to do the Supremes yet. Think I’ll bring a few tactical nukes to that gig.

  Stay TOONED for the further adventures of Lemmiwinks. In upcoming episodes, King Junior sends Jack Bauer after Lemmiwinks once Clarence Thomas explodes at a ReTHUGlican fund raiser and his pubic hairs wind up in everyone’s martini glass. But Jack being a violent, yet straight, shooter decides to take a few extra finger clippers over to the Oval Office instead. Soon Junior won’t be able to sing his favorite song, Thumbkin, anymore.

Uncle Sam stared at the trap. He clearly had his own idea about how to escape. But for seven years he had been taking his orders from King Junior… He said to Junior, “Um, Sir, I really don’t think…” Ma Barb Barker, Junior’s birthing wench said, “How dare you question my boy’s beautiful mind. He has the nation’s best interest at heart.” “But I’m just not sure…” Torture Boy Gonzo said, “Yeah, support the troops, Sam. Don’t enable the enemy by suggesting withdrawal. If you do I might have to go all Patriot Act on your ass. Think you’d like to wear a hood and live wires?” Uncle Sam glanced towards the pile of shredded limbs, blown apart torsos and residue left from evaporated corpses steadily rising on Junior’s watch ever since he stole his crown… We will continue with our story in a minute, but first a pause for commentary. The past few years have been a little too much like The Blair Witch Project. When Scribe rented it a few years ago, after plugging it into his aging VCR, he kept screaming at the screen… “Why don’t they just follow the stream out of the woods?” “Ya know, the sun DOES set in the west. Think that might provide a clue on how to get the HELL out of there?” “Didja think of making marks on the trees?” Then, when the camera laden “crew:” two people, ran upstairs holding a mike at the end… “Who is taking this footage? Did you think of asking for THEIR help?” Of course that was bad fiction, posing as reality. Today, and for the past seven years, we have bad reality that would make even shittier fiction. Any publisher who would buy into this, as fiction, would deserve an economic thrashing… just like our nation will get as the bills come due. We also know whose taking the picture: S&M media master Rabid Rove. Scribe wonders when the MSM and Rabid find all that secret hip boot/whip time.

Give it to me again Karl. MAKE me misbehave. Please, please, PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

One can just see Hannity or O’Reilly fuming because it was THEIR turn, not NBC, ABC or CBS. Back to Sam… “Pull harder! Shock n Awe, Sam, shock n’ awe, nuk, nuk, snort, he, he,” Junior yells excitedly. “Uh, SIR, why don’t you try it? Or your daughters?” “No retreat, Sam! Not on my watch,” Junior says, as his Goofy watch laughs that Goofy laugh to announce another hour has passed. Uncle Sam sighed and thought to himself, “Where’s that gaggle of Keystone Cop Democrats who said they’d come to the rescue?” Biggus Dickus, his lips as flat lined as his heart, says… “Sam, keep pulling for our troops. The dead enders can’t last much longer. You’ll be out in a few weeks: I can’t imagine much more than 6 weeks. Pull harder. HARDER.” Sam sighs AGAIN, and looks down at… ...the Chinese finger trap.