I Waited Four Years For This

My television set survived the Republican nation convention. Things were a little sketchy last night, but I managed not to take my trusty metal baseball bat to the TV, thus rendering my valuable source of entertainment into an ash and sparks. Oh, but I wanted to.


I put myself through this every four years. I am a lapsed Southern Baptist and every now and then I feel like I have to endure something I hate to get right with my maker. I'm so right with God at this very moment that I could break into a hymn, something like "I'll Have A New Body" or "I'll Fly Away". I feel enlightened and changed. Miracles are happening in my condo - I just turned an empty glass into a vessel of inexpensive table wine. Past the lips and over the gums, look out stomach - here it comes! Amen.

Fred Thompson was a highlight of the convention, which might be one of the saddest things I've ever written. Oh sure, that Sarah Palin was a real barnburner, but did you see Tom Ridge? Me neither. I left the room to paint my toes. Today was a Pink Alert, by OPI.

There might be a handful or two of Independents and fence sitters who will consider voting for Grampy McHero after this long, tedious, vapid, hypocritical and unspectacular event. I wish them well.

The only thing I'm going to remember is that someone, who I won't name, tried to hide something important about her personal life by draping her daughter with a baby blanket and a loose-fitting black dress. It just doesn't get any colder in Alaska than that.

Republican Convention: Asshole Party

I’ve been watching the Republican convention this week. A friend asked me, “Hey Mojo, how do you keep doing it – night after night?”





I confess - there have been moments when I needed to be physically restrained from grabbing my baseball bat and turning the TV into an exploding smoke-ball. Hardly anything gets me off the sofa once I’m there, but this Republican stuff gets me all riled up. Still, I hang on. “Know thine enemy.” This is what they look like:



As much as I hate the whole stinking shitpile of absurd nonsense, I know that this is God’s will for me to see it through to the end. The Republicans would have you believe that God speaks only to them, and that simply is not the case. God is a non-partisan booming voice in my head, and according to Him, I am to watch the Republican convention and not let my head launch off of my neck, as if it were rocket propelled. Sure is tempting, but no. That’s not my path. I am here to observe and form opinions, and to find new and exciting ways to use the words “boring as fuck”, "shameless liebags" and "obnoxious crapheads" in real sentences.

There is only one more night of the convention left. Up next? Sarah’s grandfather, Grampy, will tell war stories and making embarrassing noises. Everyone is nice about it, and they have cake afterwards. Except for Grampy, who will enjoy a delicious glass of Metamucil. Bottoms up, sir.

If I am not here tomorrow, it means that Satan took over and I set my head on fire. Wish me luck!