Honky di tutti honkies

Can we get out the torches, pitchforks and Molotov cocktails now, Dad?

Whilst Leon Wieseltier was making "the spell last" by giving away his symphony tickets and listing to happy Negro music -- Is this man wholly clueless as to how stupidly patronizing he comes off? -- I was cussing as I chased drain leaks and slathered Plumber's Goop on pipe joints I could barely reach below our kitchen floor.

I would have called my plumber Jeeves, but I was embarrassed that, alas, I had no billets de la symphonie to tip him for a successful and timely repair. Oh, yes . . . we also could not afford to call Jeeves in the first place -- not if there was a chance in Hades I could fix it myself.

But the leaks seem to have been repaired and, awash in a wave of good cheer, yet guilty I was not able to employ a needy plumbing tradesman, I shall spend the day enjoying the cache of some vintage Schlitz and listening to popular music by artists named Joe.

Because the Bolshevik Revolution happened for a reason.

congrats dreher. that was vraiment funny

i groan to imagine tout l'insufferable whitey lunching chez georgia brown's on 5 novembre

Leon Wieseltier, "the sad-eyed Spinoza of the Shabbat-sententious", to quote one quite literally like-minded blogger, as Saluted by Sigaliris no less:

aleksandreia.wordpress.com/2008/10/25/endorsey-brothers/#comment-6513

Leon: "I spent the day listening to the Ebonys and the Chi-Lites and the Isley Brothers. For lunch I went to Georgia Brown's for fried green tomatoes."

*I* spent three minutes listening to the Doobies' "Black Water", because I had sold all my funky Dixieland CDs on eBay that week - and have no pretty mama come take me by the hand - before my one-man restaging of the closing scene from The Jerk, where the newly rescued Navin Johnson [Steve Martin], his black parents' newfound riches having built them a faithful replica of their ramshackle sharecroppers' hovel fifty percent larger, his beanpole frame decked out in finest white after the Good Humor Man, happy-foots to the finest jug-band riffs this side of Culver City...

Rod: "As for moi-meme,"

Suggesting the generic website christened after the natural life-cycle of every blogger on the make who ever brushed pajama sleeve to keyboard: Meme Myself and Die...

Rod: "I woke up the next morning still under the spell of Jack Daniel's and Ambien."

Of all heroes of story or song fit to film, none has inspired as many unwitty auditioners as that pulsing populist predator, Throbbin' Head...

"I gave away my tickets to a performance of some late Dixie Chicks madrigals..."

Better than comic Zack Galifanakis's projected all-male country trio, The Chixie Dicks...

"and instead spent the day at a survivalist warehouse in Waxahachie,"

We hear from our friends privy to the high-end trade in cosmetic enhancement that the more explicit among the salonistes have been known in their burgeoning sidelines to Waxacoochie or two...

"stocking up on handguns and hardtack."

I think if I were to catch Our Drinking And Pill-Popping Boy with handgun, *I'd* have a hardtack, too, joining Fred Sanford in his threatened Mother of All "Big Ones"...

The one real laugh i got out of this campaign now blessedly past was the Judith Warner "parenting" blog in the NYTimes when she went to a Sarah Palin rally, was disconcerted to find most of the women she spoke to were nice and friendly to her, and had a deliciously un-ironic moment of non-reflection (which we all have from time to time, but don't print in nationally read locations for the most part), as she felt bothered by Fred Thompson in one of the early speeches mock "brie eating liberals" since she had fed her children brie that very morning for breakfast.

It was a coffee up my nose moment, but about the only one that left me smiling. Sort of.

You're funny!

You can take the boy out of the bayou.......

Congrats, and thanks, Rod. Truly snort-producing.