My President, And Yours
So I'm twirling the AM dial cause I love to hear what the mouths are hyping today (and because I seem to have an endless capacity for self-flaggelation) when I trip over somebody or other speaking glowingly of tonight's party. You know the one. The Prez is flying out to the aircraft carrier Abraham Lincoln so he can play the expensive version of soldier that we get to pay for.

Never mind that we can't afford food or education for poor kids. Oh, that's a matter of principle you say? We shouldn't be stealing tax money from the rich to pay for the needs of the poor but it's ok to steal tax money from the poor to pay for the toys of the rich? Silly me.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, so he's having this big "We Really Stomped Their Asses" party to celebrate his proud victory over the Massive Forces of Evil. And the radio-guy is going on about how wonderful it all is. And as he is giving a play-by-play of The Prez build up to the party he mentions in passing that The Prez banged the crap out of his head when he was trying to get in the helicopter this morning.

Of course being the evil soul that I am, my first reaction was to suddenly emit peals of laughter. But as I gathered myself together I realized that he has now gotten himself a war wound. Think he'll get a purple heart?