Rick Perry and Sarah Palin Combine Intellect; Failed Effort To Make Half A Brain.


So. I thought I was done with abortion-influenced bloggie postings for awhile, but once again my thoughts aren’t worth a shit. Actually, had I known that Heroic Media was having another confab, this one up to Dallas, I might have avoided my latest ant-anti-abortion arrest here in town.

The asshole known as Texas Governor Rick Perry and his main string puller, Sarah “Just Call Me Lobotomized” Palin, were again speakers at a Heroic Media rally. Before I go any further, or farther either one, let me say this”

“Fuck Rick Perry and Sarah Palin too!”

Heroic Media are the fine Christian right-wing religious Republican fuckballs who bring us those sweet commercials about how all pregnant girls/women are better off with adoption than abortion. Sweet sentiments and OK with me if they would simply stop when they plaster their message in the media.

However, since they are fuckballs, they have determined that womens’ abortion rights are Heroic Media’s to take away. These gatherings are one of their methods to contribute to the politicians evil enough to support them. Like little Ricky and Sarah Poo. Pay big speaker fees and avoid all of that Tom Delay aggravation.

I’m warning you guys again. Rick and Sarah are running for the oval office and I’m sick about it. Together, these two have a combined IQ of maybe fifty, so together they are almost as smart as GW Bush.

Which reminds me. Colleen Lindsey Tweeted that Bushie needs to do something for our returning Vets. My suggestion, OK my latest suggestion, is for GW to donate all of the proceeds from his book sales to our proud Veterans.

Anyway, my ADHD is on the fritz and I can’t stay focused on anything. I forgot that Squirt was grounded until Friday at midnight, so I stopped by and picked her up for lunch. We were sitting outside Guerros Taco Bar down on South Congress having some queso and chips and salsa, and secretly sharing a Carta Blanca beer.

And don’t go getting pissy on me about feeding beer to the ten-pound language trainee. She gets maybe a half-thimble full from each bottle and I swill the rest. She simply refuses to eat Mexican food without Carta Blanca, and I’m with her on that. “Me gusta cerveza Carta Blanca con mi comida especiale de Mexicana, Senor Mooner.”

I was wondering why she didn’t tell me that in half a dozen languages, when these two nice ladies approached our outside table and remarked about my cute little poochie, and asked to take a picture of us together. In spite of the fact that I hate the word “poochie”, Squirt and I struck a pose with our fresh beer.

The ladies took a couple cell phone photos, and started laughing as they walked away. Five minutes later I’m still wondering what was so funny when my cell starts ringing. “Hello.” I answered.

“You sonofabitch. Do you even know what day it is?”

“Oh, Hi Sammie,” I answered. “It’s a beautiful Thursday afternoon, and the Squirt and I are having a blast.”

“Jesus, Mooner, but you are hopeless. Did you forget that she’s grounded?”


“One of my patients sent me a photo of the two of you drinking beer together in the middle of the day. For shit sakes, Mooner, do you ever think before you fuck up?”

I could tell my ex-wife and psycho therapist was pretty pissed that I took her dog on this outing, so I was careful with my answer. “I think I do.”

This gets me the sound of deep breathing and deeper sighs. “Oh fuck it. Have her home before ten tonight,” and she slammed the phone in my ear.

“Good news, Squirt, we’re free for the day. How about we go by and try to apologize to the Catholic Abortion Protest Lady. I’ve got my bull horn in the car, so we can talk to her from down the block.”

Restraining Order says we have to keep 250 feet away from her person, but we can make this work. Manana, y’all.

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