Thursday, January 22, 2009

They best get their brazen Somali pirate narrow sterns correct, Torn Slattern and Nugget Ranchers

Get ready for the rim shot
Barack Obama is the latest golfer president. Eisenhower shot in the eighties, Kennedy shot in the seventies, and Bill Clinton regularly scored 69. Then he went out and played golf.

But I wanna tell ya . . . .

Silly me
Do you know who Barack Obama credits most often for his success? His wife, Michelle. And here I am thinking it was mostly due to Sarah Palin.

Hey, wait a minute
In his inaugural speech, Barack Obama promised change but that every person in the US is going to have to sacrifice and work hard for it. To which every person in the US said; “Whoa. When we said we wanted change we didn’t mean we wanted to have to do anything.”

Get on that, Brownie
It may be time for President Bush to leave office. In his last act as President, Bush got on the phone to FEMA and said; “Yeah, I hear there’s a plane down in the Hudson, some time, when you get a chance, you might want to get those folks out of there.”

Like that (Set up thanks to the great and funny Jim Barach)
Nine men in Senegal were sentenced to eight years in prison for gay acts. That’s like sentencing a drunk driver to drive a Budweiser beer truck.

Code name
The Secret Service codename for Barack Obama is Renegade. Do you know the Secret Service codename for Joe Biden? Biden’s codename is “My God, does that guy ever shut up?”

The Salvation Army reports coin donations are way down. Here we are entering this time of change and nobody has any damn change.

A sure sign . . . not that there is anything wrong with it
New York Knick center, Eddy Curry, was sued for sexual harassment by his male driver; players suspected Curry of being gay because he didn’t trash talk, he trash gossiped.

Since you asked:
Don’t think I don’t hear you, I do. You’re asking yourself, Lex, buddy, pal, stand up paddleboard broheim, master of the perfectly grilled slightly smoked medium rare rib-eye and strip steak, “Bring it on Home” Led Zep version harmonica playing and Sonny Boy Williamson imitating singing man about town, what do you think about Jimmy Fallon replacing the Conie O’Bonie at 12:30 on NBC’s “Late Night”?

First of all, don’t ever call me broheim again.

Secondly, I think it is a great choice. Conan has grown into his job nicely and deserves an earlier spot as he has outgrown the prison inmate and college stoner 12:30 crowd, even though the advent of the DVR and Tivo helps mitigate that factor.

Let’s just say they could have picked a host with a lot less talent than Fallon. The guy is a first rate impressionist and he can do a monologue well, we know that from his stint at “Weekend Update” on “SNL.”

Plus Fallon has the silliness factor enough to keep that late audience. It will be a good show, I bet.

Even though that Fallon weasel took credit for the hairstyle I invented in the early eighties: bed hair. (Notice he doesn’t have it anymore?)

News bulletin:

Maybe this whole Barack Obama magic thing is working after all.

Today it started to rain and the dogs were outside. When I looked out the window to see where they were, they were resting underneath an overhang from our new barbeque island. Oh my word, Wrigley does have enough sense to come in out of the rain.

One thing I noticed about my dogs. They are the only species on the planet who can have such a regal bearing and then suddenly - and furiously - bite/scratch/sniff and lick their butt and, yet, a scant few seconds later, instantly regain their noble continence. 

Picture Richard the Lionhearted  perched upon his throne with swagger, his goatee neatly trimmed, his crown jauntily tipped to one side, red wine golden bejeweled goblet in hand, lamb roasting and turning slowly on a spit in the giant stone fireplace behind him. 

Then, suddenly, he throws himself on the ground and starts vehemently digging and scratching at his tookus in his tights, spinning on the ground Three Stooges/break-dancing "whub whub whub" style. 

Sure, he can get back up on his throne afterwards. 

But that Kingly air has long since vanished.   

Not so with Madam Kasey the worried bear and Sir Wrigley Telluride his royal dunderheadedness.