Raucous. Caucus. Streptococcus.

Howard Dean and John Baldacci stopped by today. "It's time for caucus! Hooray!" they declared.

I kindly informed Mr. Dean that he had the wrong Brooks family member, since I was lacking a pick-up truck with a Confederate flag affixed to it. Yet, it would be ill-advised for him to seek out said family members.

"They don't like Yankees."

"Or doctors."

Mr. Dean started crying big-weepy tears. So I played some Audioslave for him. He rawked out hardcore-like. In his moment of vulnerability, I distracted him with a ball of tin foil.



Mr. Baldacci said the Party needed a strong democratic force like myself. I told him that Voltairine de Cleyre didn't like adjectives. He looked confused.

"Dude, 'democratic' is kind of an adjective."



I said I needed a recipe for pasta carbonara. Then we started debating whether or not Mr. Dean's Dr. Dynasaur program was referring to Triceratops (my choice) or Compsognathus (his super lame-ass choice). We agreed to disagree. Then, we shit-talked about Sen. Susan Collins visiting Antarctica with dreamboat John McCain.



Me: "Show-off."

Mr. B: "Mega-Bitch-O-Tron."

Me: ...

Me: "Didn't you get to visit Cuba?"

Mr. B: Um.........No.

Me: Worst. Seriously.

Then I turned him into a ball of tin-foil with my mystical unicorn horn.

NOTE: The above fable inspired by a real-live phone recording-bot that interrupted my cup of coffee making.