The Republicans

proved this evening that they intend to wage politics like they have been waging the war in Iraq...without purpose or direction...repeatedly they paraded the cliche ridden excuses for war before the American public and without shame tried to make their case...that we will stay the course until the job is done...we won't cut and run...but they can't seem to tell us when the mission will be accomplished.

We beat Sadam, cleared the WMD's, came up with a constitution, held elections, have a democratic government and have trained a 200,000 man army to defend their country...I wouldn't call leaving this behind "cutting and running"

I am sure that the vast majority of the troops in Iraq are counting the days until they can leave, save maybe for the Generals who have nothing better to do than wage sensless conflict.

The majority of casualties these days aren't from battle with the enemy, who ever that may be, but from roadside bombs and car bombs.We need to declare victory and regroup our troops for the next battlefront...which will probably be on the southern border. It's only a matter of time before the enemy realizes that we are completly unprepared to defend the homeland with all of our resources overseas.

Maybe it's time to adopt the parliamentary process and give this Regime in Washington a Vote of no confidence and replace them.

Would you cast a vote of no confidence in this administration if asked to
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Subject: How many does it take to change a light bulb?

How many members of the Bush Administration are needed to change a light
bulb?

The Answer is TEN:

1. One to deny that a light bulb needs to be changed,

2. One to attack the patriotism of anyone who says the light bulb needs to
be changed,

3. One to blame Clinton for burning out the light bulb,

4. One to tell the nations of the world that they are either for changing
the light bulb or for eternal darkness,

5. One to give a billion dollar no-bid contract to Halliburton for the new
light bulb,

6. One to arrange a photograph of Bush, dressed as a janitor, standing on a
step ladder under the banner "Bulb Accomplished",

7. One administration insider to resign and in detail reveal how Bush was
literally "in the dark" the whole time,

8. One to viciously smear #7,

9. One surrogate to campaign on FOX TV and at rallies on how George Bush has
had a strong light-bulb-changing policy all along,

10. And finally, one to confuse Americans about the difference between
screwing a light bulb and screwing the country

Roboraptor	FLY Pentop Computer	Fisher-Price Star Station Entertainment System
$99.97	$99.62	$54.88

Now this is an Alligator
This gator was found in New Orleans swimming down the street. 21 FT long, 4,500 lbs, around 80
years old minimum. Specialists said that he was looking to eat humans because he was too old to
catch animals. This crocodile was killed by the army last Sunday at 3:00 pm, currently he is in
the freezer at the Azur hotel. The contents of it's stomach will be analyzed
this Friday at 2:30pm.

Champion Sale

Walking down the street one day, George Dubya Bush is shot by a disgruntled NRA member.

His soul arrives in Heaven and he is met by St. Peter at the Pearly Gates.

"Welcome to Heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem: We seldom see a Republican around these parts, so we're not sure what to do with you."

"No problem, just let me in; I'm a believer," says Dubya.

"I'd like to, but I have orders from the Man Himself," says St. Peter. "He says you have to spend one day in Hell and one day in Heaven. Then you must choose where you'll l! ive for eternity."

"But, I've already made up my mind; I want to be in Heaven," Dubya answers.

St. Peter shakes his head. "I'm sorry, but we have our rules."

And with that, St. Peter escorts him to an elevator and Dubya goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a lush golf course; the sun is shining in a cloudless sky, the temperature a perfect 72 degrees.

In the distance is a beautiful clubhouse. Standing in front of the clubhouse are his dad and thousands of other Republicans who had helped him out over the years: Karl Rove, Dick Cheney, Jerry Falwell. The whole of the Right is here, everyone laughing, happy; casually but expensively dressed.

They run to greet him, hug him, and reminisce about the good times they had getting rich at expense of the "suckers and peasants." They play a friendly game of golf, then dine on lobster and caviar.

The Devil himself comes up to Dubya with a frosty drink. "Have a margarita and relax, Dub!" he grins.

"Uh, I can't drink no more, I took a pledge," says Dubya dejectedly.

"Aw, this is Hell, son! You can drink and eat all you want and not worry," says the Devil. "It just gets better from here!"

Dubya takes the drink and finds himself liking the Devil, who is a very friendly guy who tells funny jokes and pulls hilarious nasty pranks, kind of like a Yale Skull and Bones brother with real horns. They are having such a great time that, before he realizes it, it's time to go.

Everyone gives him a big hug ! and waves as Dubya steps on the elevator and heads upward. The elevator door reopens on Heaven and St. Peter is waiting for him.

"Now it's time to visit Heaven," the old man says, opening the gate. So for 24 hours Dubya has to hang out with a bunch of honest, good-natured people who enjoy each other's company, talk about things other than money, and treat each other respectfully. Not a nasty prank or frat-boy joke among them, no fancy country clubs, and while the food tastes great, it's not caviar or lobster. And these people are all poor or middle-class, he doesn't see anybody he knows, and he isn't even treated like someone special!

Worst of all, to Dubya, Jesus turns out to be some kind of Jewish hippie with his endless 'peace' and 'do unto others' jive. "Whoa," he says uncomfortably to himself, "Pat Robertson never prepared me for this!"

The day is done and St. Peter returns. "Well, then," he says, "you've s! pent a day in Hell and a day in Heaven. Now choose where you want to live for eternity."

With the 'Jeopardy' theme playing softly in the background, Dubya reflects for a minute, then answers, "Well, I would never have thought I'd say this -- I mean, Heaven has been delightful and all -- but I really think I belong in Hell with my friends."

So Saint Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell. The doors of the elevator open, and Dubya finds himself in the middle of barren, scorched earth covered with garbage and toxic industrial waste...kind of like Houston.

He is horrified to see all of his friends dressed in rags and chained together, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags. They are groaning and moaning in pain, faces! and hands black with grime.

The Devil comes over to Dubya and puts an arm around his shoulder "I don't understand," stammers a shocked Dubya. "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a clubhouse and we ate lobster and caviar and drank booze. We screwed around and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and everybody looks miserable!"

The Devil looks at him and smiles slyly. "Yesterday we were campaigning," he purrs.
"Today you voted for us."

Star Wars Episode III: Revenge Of The Sith (Full Frame)

Star Wars Episode III: Revenge Of The Sith (Widescreen)

No one told me there was a recession going on...no one told me that my fiscal policies were squandering the surpluses...no body told me that the terrorists were planning an attack on the U.S....no body told me that my war on terror would create 100 terrorists for every one we killed...no one told me that the war in Iraq was a stupid idea, that they wouldn't see us as the great liberators...fortunately I'm only guilty of gross incompetance and not some sexual escapade that might get me impeached...

Do you believe in intelligent design...
happy anniversary

To recalibrate your mouse, click and hold on the S. Then drag the S toward the e. If it doesn't work, you might want to clean your mouse. Stop farting around and go do something constructive

they didn't want me to forget...
where I came from...so they used turkey in my
"chicken fettuccinni"...(either that or the chicken
tastes like turkey up here)...and the sauce was too
"soupy"...and

yesterday I was "mauled and groped" on
the bus by some strange women...I knew I should have
taken off the Aneheim Mighty Ducks Hockey shirt...and
I should never have yelled "well the Stanley Cup" is
in Florida where it belongs...

The difference between Democrat and Republican administrations...
a Democrat Blow Job


A Republican Blow Job...

It started out innocently enough. I began to think at parties now and then -- to loosen up. Inevitably, though, one thought led to another, and soon I was more than just a social thinker. I began to think alone -- "to relax," I told myself -- but I knew it wasn't true. Thinking became more and more important to me, and finally I was thinking all the time. That was when things began to sour at home. One evening I had turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. She spent that night at her mother's. I began to think on the job. I knew that thinking and employment don't mix, but I couldn't stop myself. I began to avoid friends at lunchtime so I could read Thoreau and Kafka. I would return to the office dizzied and confused, asking, "What is it exactly we are doing here?" One day the boss called me in. He said, "Listen, I like you, and it hurts me to say this, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don't stop thinking on the job, you'll have to find another job." This gave me a lot to think about. I came home early after my conversation with the boss. "Honey," I confessed, "I've been thinking..." "I know you've been thinking," she said, "and I want a divorce!" "But Honey, surely it's not that serious." "It is serious," she said, lower lip aquiver. "You think as much as college professors, and college professors don't make any money, so if you keep on thinking, we won't have any money!" "That's a faulty syllogism," I said impatiently. She exploded in tears of rage and frustration, but I was in no mood to deal with the emotional drama. "I'm going to the library," I snarled as I stomped out the door. I headed for the library, in the mood for some Nietzsche. I roared into the parking lot with NPR on the radio and ran up to the big glass doors... They didn't open. The library was closed. To this day, I believe that a Higher Power was looking out for me that night. Leaning on the unfeeling glass, whimpering for Zarathustra, a poster caught my eye. "Friend, is heavy thinking ruining your life?" it asked. You probably recognize that line. It comes from the standard Thinker's Anonymous poster. Which is why I am what I am today: a recovering thinker. I never miss a TA meeting. At each meeting we watch a non-educational video; last week it was "Porky's." Then we share experiences about how we avoided thinking since the last meeting. I still have my job, and things are a lot better at home. Life just seemed...easier, somehow, as soon as I stopped thinking. I believe the road to recovery is nearly complete for me. Today, I registered to vote as a Republican.


Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

Thank you Jimbozone...

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