Why We Stab People

Years ago, when everyone was stealing music by way of Napster, Genitalia, and all the other online file sharing services, I was PAYING for the tracks I wanted. Why? Because as an attorney, I am ethically charged with being ethical. Also, too many friends had picked up awful viruses by downloading music and porn. I didn't really know how to do it anyway.



I discovered it was possible to download tracks of my favorite music through the MSN website. It was so easy even I could do it. It only cost a buck a song, and I didn't have to buy the whole album, which is usually loaded with about 12 dumb tracks.

Recently I moved all my files from 10-year old desk top computers over to my laptop. Included were many weinerbytes of music I'd paid for, and which used to work just fine when I tried to play them on the old computers. They won't play now on the laptop. Apparently the "license" did not transfer with the music. I keep getting an annoying error message that advises me my Windows Player (which sucks anyway) is "acquiring rights" from the website. Eventually, and this can take thirty minutes or more, the rights are "acquired."

What do you think happened? The music still won't play. The sign says, "rights acquired. Press Play now." Ain't nuthin' "acquired." I'm told I must sign in. I do that, and the music won't play. I press Play, and it won't play.

I spent hours obsessively searching for he CDs I'd burned of the music in question. What do you think happened? The music still won't play. The CDs will play in a DVD player, but not on my computer.

MSN no longer peddles music. It has a new partnership with Napster. MSN is completely out of the bidness of helping former customers, but it moves heaven and earth to protect the rights of artists. Good, I guess.

I complained,and eventually I received instructions to do what I'd already done about 90 times. Sign in, acquire the rights, and enjoy the fine music.

It's all effed up. I can't do anything about it. I hate all the music I downloaded anyway.

Deep inside, though, there is a part of me that will always wish I could listen to 98˚, the Back Street Boys and Nsync, especially since I paid for it.







All the smart people who stole tracks from that awful Metallica (who ruined music stealing for the masses anyway) and other bands will continue to enjoy their music, even unto the ending of the world. Thank you, Lars and other unattractive members of Metallica.



But I digress.

My point is I am really annoyed with MSN, and there isn't anything I can do about it. So I will accept it and be grateful I can listen to the CDs on my DVD player. And I have plenty of NKOTB, son.



EXCEPT NOT ON MY COMPUTER, WHICH IS WHY I DOWNLOADED THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE.

And that's why we stab people.

Just FYI.
©Randall P. Hodge, Esq., and Morningwood Enterprises, Ltd.

The Mystery of Dog Prayers

A good friend of mine came home and found the front door standing open. Before checking to see if valuables had been lifted by crack heads, he noticed his beloved dog was missing. He checked the house and yard, and then expanded his search to the neighborhood. In a near panic, he told me he threw up a couple of quick prayers that the Almighty would drop what He was doing and aid in the search for the lawst dawg.

My friend’s dog had indeed gotten out, but he hadn’t gone far. He was merely partying with his peeps in the neighbor’s yard. He couldn't figure out how to get back to his own yard.

Dogs don’t often ponder these matters before setting them in motion. “Now, if I seize this opportunity to run away, I’m going to get to sniff and look around and hike my leg and generally gomm around until my daddy (or mommy) finds me.” With dogs the thought process ends there. There is no thought about getting back into the yard, much less the house. No worries about food, water, shelter, or getting in trouble. Just ask my Jack Russell Terrier, Micky. She’ll disobey me and not care, because she’d rather do what she is doing – sniffing new stuff - even if she knows I will taser her when I catch her.

(Cats don’t bother pondering anything that involves their people. Cats hate us, and wish we’d die, provided there is a cat food tree nearby.)

My friend wondered if it was goofy to interrupt God with a Dog Prayer. I guess not, because God stepped in and helped, didn’t He? Would the dog have been found had my friend not tapped God on the shoulder and asked for help? Probably not, but who can say. I know many people have been touched by the story, and maybe it will cause them to pray for help in time of need. It can't hurt, especially if one finds himself in a foxhole.

I’ve had similar experiences. Usually when my dogs get out, I’d neglected to put the collar back on the dog after a bath. There aren’t many situations more helpless than when a dog runs away, and he has no I.D. People who are that negligent should be stabbed.

Deaf and blind Virgil got out last summer when the moron lawn guys didn’t latch the gate. I didn’t know how to write “please close the effing gate (for the 700th time)” in Spanish, so they left it wide open. The hapless Virgil stumbled outside and down the street. Lost.

His moron daddy hadn’t put his collar back on because it irritated his emaciated neck, and because his daddy assumed Virgil was too old and blind to WANT to get out and party. Wrong. Virgil is wont to wander. He can no longer find his way back to the pet door. He could and has ended up over by Del City. Virgil has always been a Northside Dog. He usually tells people he lives in Heritage Hills, rather than ghetto Gatewood.

Can you imagine what it must be like to be blind and deaf, and then wander outside your yard? It would suck. After I called the lawn people and chewed them out, yet again, I began searching for Virgil, all the while believing it to be a hopeless cause. Yet I threw up my own private dog prayer. One of the lodgers helped me look, and he approached some neighborhood kids. Had they seen a dog that looked like he belonged in a Tim Burton movie, or had pulled the sleigh for the Grinch who stole Christmas? Amazingly, and this is where God must have stepped in, the kids reported they saw Virgil wandering around bumping into things. They noted he could not hear, and they called the Nazis at animal control to come get him. The kids meant well, but they are now with Michael Jackson. Just sayin'.

The poor thing was hauled off to the Dogcentration Camp, where he was slated to be gassed if not claimed. I rushed down to get him, and all was well, other than he smelled like common street dogs, and he’d picked up African Killer Fleas. I was still annoyed with the lawn people. However, I was much more focused on the virtual miracle of finding my pitiful dog under these circumstances. Odds are he should have been assassinated by someone in a car. But he wasn’t.

Why? I think God likes dogs. He loves us, so he invented dogs for us to enjoy. He likes to help us get them back.

I’ve had lost dogs and sick dogs. Yet they have been found, or they have lived. Each time I had the sense (and enough fear) to ask for Divine Intervention, and each time it worked. Will it always? Probably not. We don't always get what we want, because God isn't Santa Claus.

Now why would God be so quick to help with a lost or sick dog, but not give me an A on an exam in law school when I asked Him? Why doesn’t God always save our job that is in peril? Why don’t people who have cancer get well, even when super righteous people are sending up People Prayers?

I have no idea, and I’m not the first person to ponder this. Maybe when God helps us with our Dog Problems, it is less likely to interfere with the major plans He has for us. We love our dogs, but if something happens, and God steps in to fix it, it doesn’t effect that much, does it? We're going to get over it either way. Well, I suppose if we are nutty and goofy enough to run amok over a dog, then we might get nekkid and rub feces on ourselves or something. But I digress.

It has been my experience that God answers all prayers, but not necessarily the way we want, or when we want. He doesn’t have to because He is GOD, I suppose, and he is Big. Besides, He knows what we need, as well as what we want – before we ask. He gives us a lot of what we want (but don’t even need). If we ask him for something, and it doesn’t happen the way we want, our prayers help us adapt to the reality. Unless we choose to pout. Or, oftentimes we receive something even better than what we’d been begging for in the first place. I like it when that happens.

When Lyn was close to death with that awful sucky cancer, I shared with him that I was beginning to question the whole concept of prayer. Lyn shared with me that God Almighty didn’t really need my approval anyway, and that His Plan would prevail, and that it would be best. The reason we pray is to help us become a part of God’s Plan – whether we like the plan or not. In time everything is revealed to us. If not, I suppose we can ask someone in Heaven. No, God didn't cure Lyn, as we'd prayed and hoped, but He gave him more time than expected. When his time came, he was at peace, and as far as I know he was unafraid. What God did in this case was help all of us celebrate his life. God infused our minds with wonderful memories of a terrific guy. We moved on. We still miss him. God helped us cope. As always. It sucks to die, but when one can have a cigar in the end, it is a little easier to handle.



C.S. Lewis said and wrote a bunch of cool stuff. One of my favorite quotes is this one:

"I pray because I can't help myself. I pray because I'm helpless; I pray because the need flows out of me all the time, waking and sleeping. It doesn't change God; it changes me."

A friend of mine was asked, "why do you pray on your knees?" he answered, "because God likes it."

These cheesy dog stories make me feel all warm and fuzzy, but I am still mildly annoyed over some of my grades in law school. I prayed and I studied, and the grades sucked. Yet I passed the bar exam, which was much more difficult. So much more was at stake then too.

Why’d I pass the bar exam? How?

My dogs were praying for me.

© Randall P. Hodge, Esq., and Morningwood Enterprises, Ltd.

Virgil the Tim Burton Movie Dog

“I’ve seen this before. It happens to old people.” --Chauncey Gardener, in “Being There,” 1979



Virgil is a Rat Terrier. He will be 18 years old next month. If he were a human, he would be 126, which is, as Gomer Pyle would say, “old on the water.” I’ve had him since 1991. He has seen and heard a lot of things. For this reason, I am glad he can’t talk.

He can’t do much a nuthin’ these days, and his condition provides unwelcome opportunities for me to practice patience and service. After a few weeks, I’m tired of both. Several months ago, he lost virtually all of his sight and hearing, and I don’t believe he has too much of a sense of smell. I must literally bob his head into the food, or he can’t find it. He is no longer housebroken. This is good, considering the cold fronts we’ve had so far this winter. If he managed to get outside through the pet door, it would not be good for him with temperatures in the 20’s. He’d never find his way back inside.

I don’t want him to die. I want him to be like the young, personable Virgil – before living with me made him neurotic. But I also want the Baby Jesus to take him home, as I hate to watch his life suck so much. Not to be selfish, but I’m tired of cleaning up after him about 90 times a day. This morning I laundered all of his bedding. He has stuffed pods that are more comfortable than any bed I’ve ever had. As a service to the dog community, I usually warm the pod or blanket in the dryer before I plop him down on it. Why? Because he likes it, he doesn’t feel well and a toasty warm pod has to be nice after one has wet himself repeatedly and often, and Virgil would do it for me if our roles were reversed. Come to think of it, our roles have been reversed in the past.

By this evening, he’d peed on every dry object in the house, so I washed them all again.

Sometimes his sleep is so heavy and labored I wonder if I’m going to see him take his last breath. I doubt it, as that only happens in the movies, or in stories people tell when they’re over-dramatizing someone’s death. It will be merciful if the Angel of Dogs comes for him.

A couple of months ago I took him to the vet to see if there was anything obviously wrong that could be treated, say, by just giving him a pill. They have a pill for everything else, after all. No, nothing to do for a dog that is simply old, stove up, and give out – not unlike his father. He drinks tons of water. I always suspected he was part camel. He has a voracious appetite, yet he looks like a little Auschwitz dog. He has never been one to put on weight. He probably needs a kidney transplant, hip replacement, steroids, hormones, insulin injections 10 times a day, and analysis.

The vet assured me Virgil is old and, practically speaking, he is dying. Yeah, well thanks for that. Give him a pill or something. Or give it to ME.

Virgil has always been a bit of a snob. One would think from the manner in which he carries himself

(or did before he got old on me)

that he was tutored n the Palace of Versailles, or that his dogcestors came over on the Mayflower. Hardly. Virgil was born in the Meth Capital of the World, Pink, Oklahoma. His father’s name was Pierre. I think his mother was Fe Fe, or something French. Virgil doesn’t remember those early days, but I’m here to tell you I bought him from clients who lived about as far away as one can go out into the woods. They were not French aristocrats either, but they were nice. Virgil has been nice too. I named him after another client.

Never had a dog with so much personality. He used to playfully growl if I petted him. What in the world kind of dog growls if you pet him? I'd get in his face and pretend to snap at him. He'd "snap" right back at me. That is intelligent playing. Course once he bit off the tip of my nose.

He could not stand to get his hands and feet wet. If it was raining or wet outside, Virgil suddenly forgot he was housebroken. That was just something I had to accept, and it didn’t happen often. He didn’t like baths, and he rarely got one, as he didn’t need one. I don’t know why, but he never smelled like a dog. He also brushed his teeth and used my mouthwash. Clean, hygienic dog he was.

I don’t know if he’ll make it to his 18th Birthday. I don't even know if I will. I’m not sure what I’ll do when he does sail off with the elves for the Gray Havens. (Virgil is a big fan of “Lord of the Rings.”) I think it will be profoundly sad.

What a nice, long life he has had, though, and what a joy it has been to have him as my friend. He was rarely any trouble. He had few vices. He has been loyal and devoted. He was always a handsome dog. Alas, the past year has not been so good to him. He is hunched over and, as one friend put it, he looks like a “dog from a Tim Burton movie.”

Werd.

I’ll let you know about Virgil. His quality of life isn’t so good. I’ll need to make a decision, just as someone will have to make a decision about me one of these days. I’d rather, as I said, let him pass on peacefully in his sleep, preferably before depositing, yet again, a half gallon of warm dog pee on his pod. Presently, he knows it is me when I pick him up. He remembers something about me, I suppose.

Here is a picture of Micky (1995 -), Rocky (1990-2006), and Virgil on their respective pods.



Sorry I haven’t written since I returned from North Dakota. I still miss it up there, and I wish I could go back. I wanted to know what 25 below zero feels like.

Twenty five degrees below zero is, as Gomer Pyle might say, “cold on the water.”

I’m much busier now. It is hard to find time to write. Certainly a lot to complain (and write) about here. But more for which to be grateful.

And on Thursday we celebrate the Birth of the Word made Flesh.

©Randall P. Hodge, Esq., and Morningwood Enterprises, Ltd.

This is happening in OUR Time.

Check out this scary link to a video of indoctrinated children singing about THE ONE.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cdPSqL9_mfM

Today, No bad jokes. No exaggerations.

Wait. One bad joke. If Obama wins, he will send all of us back to Europe, with the exception of the caterwauling kids in this video, all of whom should be shipped to Michael Jackson.

Today, No over-dramatization. No internet fibs.

Wait. One. If you vote for the muzlim Obama, you will lose your soul in the voting booth. I am serious.

How did it ever come to this?

Obama is the promised son of perdition and whatnot.

He will raise the eff word out of our taxes and then give the money away to people who have never even paid taxes.

He will take genocide to a ho nutha level with his pro-death abortion policies. Forced sterilization will be common. After 2011, no more white babies.

His foreign policies will practice to deceive. Obama's policies will weaken Israel to insignificance. They will promote islam.

Christianity will fade during his rule.

White people will have to wear a white spot on their clothing.

It is going to suck.

Frrrl.

Maybe the elves will rally and save us.

Or not.

But seriously, check out that video on Youtube.

After that, watch some "H.R. Pufnstuff."

Farewell to a Far Green Country

After five months in the beautiful Aryan State of North Dakota, it is time to go home. Our work here is finished. We found and leased about five hundred billion barrels of oil. All that remains is pumping it out of the ground, and using it up as fast as possible – in my lifetime, preferably. I predict gas will be 32¢ a gallon in a year. Then you can thank my colleague and me for doing what our idiot government failed to do since the damned arabs invented the energy crisis in 1973.



The first thing we should do after we get all the oil, is send Hugo Chavez of Venezuela a box of turds, with a note advising him it is time to suck it. Disappearing him would be kyna coo too. And we should stab all the journalists who pronounce his name “Ugo.” It’s HUEgo.

I’m going to miss my adopted Fatherland. The small towns that haven’t been ruined by Wal-Mart.





The friendly people who still wave, speak, and don’t pull out in front of you on the highway. The manicured lawns with stealable things in the yard that no one steals. Unlocked cars. No seat belts (because there are no wrecks in North Dakota). The wildlife. I actually saw a herd of antelope the other day on the way to Williston. The spectacular sunsets.

I tried to take pictures of the friendly local people, but they threw stones at me for not being a Lutheran.



This is one of the few states I’ve ever visited that I could move to without a problem. It is a state I would not have likely visited, if I hadn’t had the opportunity to work here. It is one of those experiences for which I had low expectations, and it turned out to exceed my wildest notion of what it would be like. I also won the lottery, but here it is only $7. What a thrill it was to meet the governor.

The highways are in perfect condition. There are no pot holes. The roads are perfect, but they repave them anyway. In Oklahoma, one must stop at roadside shops and have new shocks installed. The turnpikes are touted as autobahn-like roadways that quicken one’s way to any destination. Alas, the road construction projects in Oklahoma, both state and local, are ETERNAL. The turnpikes are always slower, and it costs about $300 in tolls to go anywhere.

I will miss the coal trains. I’ve heard it stops in Stanton for lunch, but I think that was a fib. But the train stops for some reason, every day. I never knew there was coal here, but there is – lots.



In Stanton there is an elderly gentleman, a veteran of World War II. Every morning he walks down to the café for breakfast. He lost his wife a couple of years ago. He has a collie mix he named S.O.B. He and the dog walk down every morning. He wears over-alls. He ties the dog to a pole outside the café, and S.O.B. waits patiently for the man to finish his breakfast. Then it is time to do whatever else they do each day. Routines are cool. This guy goes to the animal shelter for stray dogs, particularly those that have been abused. He has to go all the way to Bismarck to find an abused dog at the shelter. But he finds cool ones, and then loves them until they are less neurotic. His dog is a bit skittish, because some asshead probably beat him at one time. But S.O.B. will let you pet him if you ask him nicely.

Thanks to Obama and Wal-Mart, these kinds of things are disappearing from America. In North Dakota, though, it is common to see a sappy scene out of Norman Rockwell or Reader’s Digest. I hope the man and his dog live to be about 175, if that is what they want.

I hate to leave because it is fun living in a hotel. Someone makes my bed and cleans up the peanut shells that I drop on the floor.

I wanted to experience a real winter. Imagine a place that is so cold most vehicles have an engine block heater installed. One plugs in the heater when the vehicle is parked. There are plugs at most public buildings.

I will get used to living at home again. Hopefully I’ll get an opportunity to travel to another place, preferably one settled and populated by Germans, like this area of North Dakota.

I will have to buy some fat suits, as it is likely I will be in court practicing oil & gas law. I think I need a little more training on the road, but that is not up to me. I’d like to remain fat for awhile. I bought a pedometer, but the thing doesn’t work. It hasn’t made me want to walk or run or anything. I set it so my average step is like six feet, so it seems I’ve walked much further than I did. I wore it about today, until it got too heavy, and I logged 178.49 miles.

I will have liposuction, if I don’t have to get up.

When I get home I’m going to eat at Ted’s, a good steak place, and a good pizza place – Nomad perhaps – all on the same day.

I’m going to watch a lot of my favorite DVDs, piled up with fat Micky, my Jack Russell Terrier. I’ll have dog hair all over me, but that will be nice.

I’m going to complain about the weather being too hot and humid down there. I’m going to observe and experience and take fussiness to a whole. Nutha Level.

I’ll get used to a new schedule. I’ll learn new things that will interest me. I’ll make lots of money and get back the elusive Rolex that some assface stole. This experience has taught me that I can catch on to just about anything if I am surrounded by attractive, well-dressed people with German names who wave and smile and don’t want anything from me.

And lastly, I’m not saying anything else about that awful obama.



Until I get home and think of something trippy.

Thanks to my best friend and mentor, David Kelly ("Jesus hates you"), and my whigger Randy Eisworth("Let Excel help you") for teaching me a new trade up here. I am forever grateful.

Hey to you and yours. Gott mit uns.

Randall P. Hodge, Esq.

©Randall P. Hodge, Esq., and Morningwood Enterprises, LLC

Beast and the Beauty

For the last couple of weeks, I have focused on curing diseases, ending world hunger, and watching “Project Runway” on Bravo. And there’s the Emmys to fret about. I’ve tried to ignore the Obamas, but I can’t. The junior senator from Illinois, the only muslim in the United States Senate, is such a phony that I often wonder how much it will suck if he is elected.

Clearly, he is running for President for only one reason: he gets to chase after ugly fat white women. I don’t mean that racist. If you watch him, he always has frumpy white chicks, like that abominable Senator Claire McCaskill, around, and he kisses on them before and after each rally. I’m not too sure but what Joe Biden’s wife didn’t get pregnant, the way Obama kissed on her at the Democrat National Convention. I’m jus’ sayin’. Clearly, though, Obama has a thing for white women, as evidenced by his new book.

Ugly White Women

Seriously, I’ve been annoyed by a couple of stunts recently pulled by the Obamas. One, they’ve run ads that misquote, mistranslate, and or take out of context a PARODY Rush Limbaugh broadcast back in the 90’s with regard to the NAFTA debate. I’m no fan of Limbaugh, as he is a fat blowhard. I rarely listen to him. He is as big a blowhard as Bill O’Reilly, but he is not nearly as big a blowhard as Barack Obama.

The Obama campaign took Limbaugh’s comments, twisted them around, and make it seem that Rush called Mexicans “stupid,” and to stay home (in Mexico). None of this is relevant today anyway, as Bush let all 15 million of them move into the United States anyway. But I digress. My point is it isn’t fair to do this to someone, even when the fate of Western Civilization is at stake.

Actually, it is fair to do this to someone. McCain’s people do it to Obama all the time. We take his slimy words out of context and then twist them around until we have him in bed with Michael Jackson and a bunch of little white cub scouts. The difference is Republicans don’t whine and squall and call everyone a racist like Obama does. Obama does it because he is a little ice cream boy. He is a nerdy, effete wimp with big ears, smelly feet, and a taste for fat ugly white women.

I don’t mean this mean or as a personal attack.

Republicans don’t protest because it us useless anyway. The media ignore them, except for God’s news source, Fox.

For all the things Republicans have done to mealy mouthed democrats like Obama, nothing – NOTHING is as low as the trick they’ve pulled with Rush Limbaugh. May all of Obama’s lawn people quit.

Someone let Michelle Obama out of her cage last week. Every time she gets out, we get a taste of how vomity she truly is. We see she is much worse than Hillary Clinton was, even in the 90’s when she killed Vince Foster and poisoned Mother Theresa. You know what I’m sayin’. In a speech the other day, Michelle admonished her listeners not to vote for someone “because you like him, or because she is cute.”

Michelle Obama

Girlfriend took that little dig at Sarah Palin. That’s fine, but it was done with the contemptuous snooty air she always exudes when she is allowed to speak. She is a hater. She hates white people, especially lovely charming ones like Sarah Palin.

Sarah Palin

Think of the influence Michelle Obama would wield in an Obama Black House. Consider if you will the ilk of judges the Obamas would appoint. Radicals. muslims. Thugs. Thieves. Rappers. People with goofy names like Malik and Jamal. I could go on and on.

Slavery for white folks. All firstborn white males aborted.

It’s all on the internet.

I’m kidding about some of this, but Obama’s commercial that misquotes, misuses and mistranslates the words of fat Rush Limbaugh is wrong. Michelle Obama’s snide little dig against Sarah Palin, who is a thousand times “cuter,” was over the top. Save that crap for your next love-in with the fat girls on “The View.” I’m also tired of the op-ed pieces written by the following fat New York Times columnists: Frank Rich, Gail Collins and Maureen Dowd. Wait. Maureen isn’t fat.

My girl Tina Fey’s impression of Governor Palin on “Saturday Night Live” was spot-on and hilarious. I’ve read the governor was also amused by it. At least some people still have a sense of humor.

There is still time for someone to say the N-word or throw watermelons. Let’s take this campaign down to a. Ho. Nutha. Level. Who can forget the historic 1983 Chicago mayoral race, during which folks who didn’t like black Harold Washington wore buttons with a watermelon and a red diagonal stripe (the international NO symbol). I’ve searched far and wide for one of those, but can’t find one.

Harold Washington

In the end, Obama is going to lose, because has a dumb name, and he should have changed it years ago. And he is going to raise taxes and give all the money to people who don’t pay tax in the first place. It’s called communism or something worse. He knows nothing about foreign policy. He hasn’t served a day in the military, and this nation is at war with his religion and culture. His pastor is a nut and a goofball. One of Obama’s early supporters and current friends enjoyed blowing up people, places and things, and wishes he still could. In sum, Obama’s judgment sucks, and I don’t trust him to run anything, short of a Rodney King Riot or a Free O.J. Simpson Rally. Those things he could do.

The “American People in their righteous might” will elect a black president some day, but not this year, and not this black guy – even if he is half white. The democrat party could have given us a much better candidate – Biden for instance. The Republicans could have also given us a better choice too…but they didn’t.

©Randall P. Hodge, Esq. and Morningwood Enterprises, LLC

Iowa, BabyDaddy & Nekkid Pictures

I am anxious to hear Governor Palin speak tomorrow night at the hideously boring Republican National Convention. It is difficult for me to get excited about it, as I'm not a big fan of the nominee, Senator John McCain. For the life of me, I cannot understand how it is that we are stuck with the nominees we have to choose from, McCain and the muslim Obama.

Perhaps we should nuke Iowa. It is, after all, the Iowa Caucuses that generally saddle America with its worst Presidents, e.g., Jimmy Carter. Iowa caucus goers have almost derailed the candidacies of such heaven-sent men as Ronald Reagan. Reagan was sent by the Almighty, as He, too, was sick of watching Carter screw up His favorite nation. Anyway, my point, and I sometimes get to it, is this. Goofy Iowa has a Governor named Nutsack, or something like that, and the state stuck us with the muslim Obama, when it handed Hillary Clinton an unexpected defeat. My candidate, Mitt Romney, also lost the caucus. So stuck we are with Obama, the muslim anti-Christ, and McCain, the…old and unexciting (but his wife likes pills).

I like Sarah Palin.

I'd heard of her before, but I knew she was a long shot for the job. She is conservative (she is the only one running) and, most importantly, she is attractive. Her entire family is beautiful. I think Maureen Dowd referred to her husband Todd as "hunky." Funny. Superficial. Shallow. I read Maureen every time she posts her column at the New York Times website.


Here's why I like Sarah. She can speak. I didn't know how well she could speak until last Friday. She is obviously a natural. McCain waddled out there and was barely able to tell us why he was there. McCain could not suck more as a speaker, unless he took lessons from W. Sarah walked out and wowed everyone. After eight long years of Bush the Dumb, it is enlightening and refreshing to hear someone who is eloquent and intelligent. Girlfriend wasn't even using a teleprompter, that I could see. She can pronounce words. She knows what the words mean. Think of this!

This is just a psychic impression I have of Sarah Palin. I think she is the kind of leader who comes along now and then like Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher, or Harry Truman. They almost accidentally end up in the right position at the right time. Their natural, God given gifts take over, and they perform brilliantly, and in the way their country needs most.

The press are harping about her inexperience. I don't care. After eight long years of Bush the Dumb, I am ready to take a chance on someone – ANYONE -- who can speak and think and analyze and listen – and whatnot. Imagine Sarah Palin is President, and the muslims pull one of their war starting stunts. She would be briefed on the situation, and aides would present various options. She strikes me as the kind of person who'd consider, ponder, think, pray, and then make the right decision. That's what we need in the White House. Someone who can communicate. Someone with common sense. Someone who isn't afraid to try new things. Someone who has faith. Someone who values life. Someone who is sober. Oh, and someone who is a babe and dresses well.

In the early 90's when Sarah Palin was getting started in local government, Barack Obama was probably organizing Rodney King riots in Chicago.

Obama's evil minions have been whispering about Governor Palin's daughter being quick with child. So? I think some of it is almost funny. A friend of mine said, "all that tells us is she puts out." That was wrong, and I am repeating it only as an example of the sort of thing one should not say. Jay Leno said John Edwards is the father. That was wrong too.

I sincerely wish the babydaddy, a young man named Levi Johnston, had not taken down his MySpace page before I had a chance to see it. Evidently, he is sort of a thug, which is a good quality to have if one plays hockey, and he does. "Sex on Skates," the New York Magazine called him. I read some place that on his now defunct MySpace page, he says the eff word a lot and promises to beat up anyone who crosses him. He sounds like he'd be sort of fun to watch and read about…in a "Billy Carter" sort of way. But Levi is one babydaddy who is going to wish he'd just gone home and watched porn. If you know what I'm sayin. The media are going to make his life miserable. Maybe, just MAYBE, he will slug someone, or at least tell a reporter to eff off on live camera.


I'd be willing to bet that for all the challenges they face, Bristol and Levi will marry and stay that way for about 65 years.

Still, I cannot imagine anything that is less relevant to this election than Bristol's pregnancy. I am glad she is going to have the baby, as he or she might grow up and cure cancer, or invent another boner pill. One never knows what one of the nearly 50 million aborted might have done. The dry comic Stephen Wright used to have a line in his routine. "I had a dream once. All the aborted babies came back, and boy were they pissed."

But I digress.

It is difficult to imagine the outrage if the Republicans started harping on Obama's mother. Girlfriend went to college in the early 60's, and she took up with, of all possible choices in Hawaii at that time, an exchange student from darkest Africa. Frrrl. I don't mean that racist. It had to be a real "Guess who's coming to Dinner" moment the first time daughter brought that dude home. Every parent's nightmare, especially in those days. Then what did the guy do? He ran off and left the young girl with THE OBAMASSIAH -- a baby, in a manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes and whatnot. She must have had some sort of muslim thing going, because she married another one, and the happy family ended up in a madrasa (مدرسة, for my muslim readers) in Indonesia. You can't make this stuff up. With Obama, is isn't necessary to fabricate.


I doubt the New York Times has ever run three front page stories of this juicy Obama stuff on the same day. Tuesday, the Times ran three front page stories about the Palin family. On the same day, son. None focused on young Track Palin, who is about to be deployed to Iraq, or on Governor Palin's hair care products. For a real shocker, look at the cover of this week's "Us" magazine. "Us" has always been a bit on the shady side.


So I am kind of proud of McCain for picking Sarah Palin as his running mate. I don't know what he was on when he decided to do it, but I hope he keeps taking it. The racist and sexist Obama picked an old white dude to be his running mate. See? With Obama, a sister doesn't have a chance. In contrast, McCain picked a gifted and intelligent woman, and "baby got back," as Obama would say when the cameras were turned off.

I mean everything I've written about Obama in a nice way.

I believe Governor Palin is going to electrify the convention, and she will attract the largest television audience since the last African who spoke in Denver. If this happens, they might win. It was a good sign that after Obama's satanic allies conjured up Hurricane Gustav to mess up the convention, McCain's evangelicals prayed it down to a category 2 – thus saving hot, smelly New Orleans, and the Republican National Convention in cool, clean Minneapolis. And Mary Richards.


With any luck, the ridiculous stories about Governor Palin will go away. Still, I fear that somewhere in Alaska, lives and lurks a mullet having, wife beater wearin', wal-mart shoppin', broke down car in the front yard havin', meth smokin' thug, who hung on to some nekkid pictures of Sarah Palin (he will claim she was his "fiancé," and that she would have wanted him to sell the pictures to "Hustler.") I hope not, but these things happen. Just ask Vanessa Williams.



Until the voices inside my head tell me to write again, I am,

Randall P. Hodge, Esq.
©Randall P. Hodge, Esq., and Morningwood Enterprises, Ltd.

4th Fattest Human in North Dakota

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Current mood: quixotic Category: Life It is official now. A letter from the State Capitol in Bismarck advised me that I am now the 4th fattest human in North Dakota. Decided to go to a doctor. All I wanted was a pill like I heard about on an episode of "Absolutely Fabulous," back in the slim 90's, before the dumb President Bush ruined the world. In that episode, Edina Monsoon (who always struggled with her weight on the show, even though she is svelte and beautiful in real life) urged her doctor to give her a pill so she could "just pee it all out in the morning." The "all," being her fat. The doctor told her no, as the patient might have a heart attack, he warned. Edina didn't care about that, and she pleaded. The doctor refused, and Edina remained fat. The doctor I went to was not, tragically for me, a "pill doctor." He was one of those who believe in such bizarre notions as exercise and change of diet. For example, he urged me to get out of bed an hour earlier each morning and walk. WALK! To where? He suggested the treadmill at the hotel. "I can't use it, because it is locked up in the exercise room. One must get the key from the front desk, and that is at least 20 feet away. Plus, someone else might come in and want to use the other equipment, and I hate most people." "Can't you swim?" he asked me. "Yes, I could," I explained, "but I am allergic to human urine and particles of feces. Pools are known recipients and receptacles of both. Haven't you seen the 'Southpark' episode where Eric Cartman was horrified by all the six year olds peeing up the pool?" "Lift weights, then," the doctor suggested. "I would but they are too heavy." "Run?" "No, it's too far. I get enough exercise drying off after I get out of the shower. I just need a little something to…take the edge off." Then he got off on the diet thing. I explained that I am living in a place where they put gravy on everything, including fresh fruit, and the only green vegetable I've seen is a pickle. Saw an olive in one place, but it was a fake. He went on and on about carbs. He lost me when he told me one of the Subway® sandwiches that Fat Jared recommends would basically KILL me because of all the carbs. I felt like saying, "nigga pleez (even though he was white like everyone else here). If Fat Jared's sandwich recommendations won't help me lose weight, then you're just going to have to do liposuction or something." He laughed; "you're not that fat," he assured me. Yet. But it is coming. "You need to eat fresh fruit. Eat whole grain, unprocessed cereals with fat free milk. No meat. Absolutely NO PIZZA. No bread. No soup. Certainly no Dairy Queen, either. Eat at least six light meals a day." This doctor was fat himself, but I was forced to endure all of this. What made it all worse, was he let me know right away that he wasn't a believer in "quick fixes." (which I hoped did not mean he didn't give magic diet pills). That is precisely what he meant. So all is lost. I've lost. I must be fat. I must endure the unendurable. Being grotesquely fat, and facing an Obama Presidency, and the end of all things. Not to be overly dramatic. *** I'll tell you what. I watched McCain and that awful infanticidic Obama on Rick Warren's program the other night. I was pleasantly surprised by McCain. I don't care for him, particularly, because he is a closet moderate, he cheated on his first wife, and I don't like his positions on such issues as campaign finance. I don't trust him NOT to appoint a gaggle of hideous judges that we will have to endure for a generation or more. All we need is another Souter. In spite of my misgivings, I'd still vote for him, because the other choice is unthinkable. McCain stuck to his guns on drilling for oil, so we can better use it all up in MY lifetime. He stuck up for poor Georgia, which the Russians are going to ravage prior to seizing and ravaging Ukraine. He stuck up for the Baby Jesus. He stuck up for babies. McCain is pro life. Obama is adamantly and radically pro death. McCain affirmed his commitment to exterminating our enemies. I don't think McCain would get us into another war without cause, but he is just nutty enough to keep our potential enemies wondering. He might just nuke mecca, which would be lovely. Reagan was masterful at this. The Commies were scared to death of him. McCain spoke out strongly against the Russian invasion of Georgia (which I thought was kyna coo, as it reminded me of Poland in 1939, and it has been years since we had a good European War, with tanks and planes and whatnot). You know what I'm sayin'. But I digress. When all of this broke almost two weeks ago, McCain was right out front, telling it like it is. Obama sent a fruit basket and a mix tape to the warring factions, and suggested we all get together at the World Court in The Hague, and let the French and Dutch sort it all out. Bush was, presumably, drunk, not unlike when he stated he'd looked into Tsar Putin's eyes and saw his soul. Putin, in contrast, allowed that when he looked into Bush's eyes, he spied a moron. Hence, we were caught off guard by the New Cold War, and we cain't do nuthin' about it. America is a country blessed with a number of highly educated and brilliant managers. Masterful politicians and communicators. Yet our choices, sadly, sucketh. I don't care about all that. I'm fat, and I want my Rolex back. *** Haven't the Olympics been swell? We're all justly proud of our national dolphin, Michael Phelps, the swimmers, the gymnastics team, the three black dudes who won all three medals jumping over stuff, and one of my favorites, Stephanie Brown-Trafton, who won the gold medal for throwing the discus. Nobody thought she could do it. She has no website. She is not famous. Probably no huge contracts to peddle Speedos®, which I myself cannot wear. And Girlfriend threw a DISCUS, for heaven's sake, and they are heavy. I guess they are heavy; I don't lift things. Anyway, I am proud of her, and I'm her new biggest creepy stalker fan. If I weren't fat, and old enough to be her father, I'd ask her to be my next babymama. And, I was impressed and entertained by all the little 16-year old Chinese gymnast girls, who still have their baby teeth. If that awful, cruel, selfish, Joseph Mengele Doctor I went to had given me some diet pills, I'd have a swimmer's build just like Michael Phelps; all I'd have to do is take one before bed and then pee it out in the morning. Might have to endure such side effects as anal leakage and erections that last more than 48 hours, but is there anything more important than being thin? No. *** Here's hoping Obama's pick for VP has some dreadful skeleton in his closet that will sink both of them. Here's hoping McCain picks Romney or Meg Whitman, former CEO of Ebay. Congratulations to my Babymama, Niki, and her husband, Eric, who helped, I should add, on their new baby boy. From the beautiful, Aryan State of North Dakota, Randall P. Hodge, Esq. ©Randall P. Hodge, Esq., and Morningwood Enterprises, Ltd.