Beating A Dead Infrastructure

When you talk about the economy, you can’t just throw around big words without knowing what they mean or pretty soon people will get wise to the fact that you don’t know what you’re talking about, and they will stop trusting you for investment advice. “Use the word ‘infrastructure’ in a sentence,” they will challenge. You can’t just make something up. You can’t say something like, “Whenever I yawn I get a sharp pain right in my infrastructure” because your doctor will know you’re faking. You need to come up with a professional sounding economic statement like: “We need buttloads of infrastructures.”

This is exactly the message President Obama sent to the American people during his first State of the Union Address, aptly titled “Buttloads of Infrastructures.” During his address, he promised to “stimulate” the economy by taking it out to a fancy dinner, followed by a nice romantic movie such as Wall Street starring Michael Douglas, and concluding the evening with Champaign and intimate conversation back at his place. Okay, not really. He really pledged to “stimulate” the economy by throwing tons more money and infrastructures at it until it retreats, satisfied, back into its bog for another eighty years.

This is basically the exact same thing the Republicans have been doing for the past thirty years, yet somehow the Republicans suddenly have a problem with it now that it’s a Democrat doing it. No Republican was more concerned with Obama’s economic plan than Louisiana Governor Bobby Jindal, who was tasked with responding to the President’s address. During his response, Governor Jindal hit upon many important points such as:

  1. President Obama is not, as far as anyone can tell, a Republican.
  2. We should Care Bear Stare the economy back to life.
  3. What the hell is a “volcano,” and why should we “monitor” one?
  4. The Republican Party would like to earn back America’s trust.

By way of emphasizing that last point about the Republican Party earning back America’s trust, it turns out that the story Governor Jindal told, wherein he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Jefferson Sheriff Harry Lee while evacuating Hurricane Katrina survivors — a cornerstone of his speech — was completely false. He was nowhere near Jefferson Parish at the time of the flooding, and he only heard about Sheriff Harry Lee’s courageous story second-hand a few days after it had happened. Still, Jindal’s response was not nearly as disastrous as a response Illinois Governor Rod “Milorad” Blagojevich once gave to a President Bush speech, wherein Blagojevich declared himself the Supreme Ruler of Awesome and tried for a good five minutes to fly out of the Illinois Capital Building, only to claim that he wasn’t flying because he decided he didn’t want to and skulk out of the room.

We are already beginning to see the Republican response to the economic stimulus package they voted for recently, now that they have a chance to actually start reading it. (“Roads? What is wrong with the roads we already have? What this economy needs to create jobs here at home is more lead-filled pharmaceuticals that are made in China!” “Forget that! Let’s put salmonella in everything!“) The Republicans are also highly critical of a plan to build a high-speed magnetic rail system because they fear it will lead directly to legalized abortion, which they believe is only justified in extreme cases where the baby runs a high risk of being born gay.

The only thing Republicans and Democrats can readily agree on is that stubbornly refusing to compromise on any position is the only possible thing that can fix the economy. For instance, the Republicans still somehow believe that the markets don’t need regulation even though we’ve already seen that (a) greedy people are not all that trustworthy and (b) deregulation is exactly what got us into this mess in the first place. By contrast, the Democrats firmly believe that what the economy needs is more infrastructures. That’s why President Obama is handing them out like it’s a year-end clearance blowout sale on infrastructures and everything must go.

It turns out that none of our politicians really know how to fix our economy because not even they really know how the economy works. No one knows how the economy works. Economic analysts don’t even know how the economy works; all they do is describe what the economy is doing right at this exact moment, using big words like “infrastructure.” (“It appears the Dow Jones is continuing to plunge so I would recommend moving all of your assets into heavily fortified infrastructures.”) Myself, I am going to go find me some volcanoes and monitor the heck out of them.


The Rocket Bike Of Manliness

The other day, I spoke with a woman who was very upset with one of her male friends. Apparently, her friend picked a fight with another guy in a bar by punching him straight in the face. Someone else illustrated the point that her friend needed to calm down by breaking a pool cue over his head. This left a deep gash in her friend’s skull, and this was, naturally, the main thing concerning her.

This was not, however, the main thing concerning her male friend. He was more concerned with finding the guy who bashed his head in so he could beat up that guy. If at this point you’re wondering why her male friend was not at the hospital getting his head stitched up, then you are obviously a woman. If you were a man, you’d be wondering if anyone has uploaded the video footage of this to YouTube yet, and if not, then what’s taking them?

The woman I spoke with was upset with her male friend because she, being a woman, felt that the most important thing for him to do was get his head stitched up before his brain fell completely out. She couldn’t understand why beating up the guys who attacked him was more important than seeking immediate medical attention. This is because she is a woman. Women are rational creatures, which is a good thing because men are basically ten-year-olds in giant, hairy bodies.

A woman wouldn’t be more worried about finding the people who caved her skull in with a pool cue than getting her head stitched up. Chances are slim that most women would ever find themselves in a position to get their skull caved in with a pool cue unless Jason Voorhes runs out of machetes and has to make do. Women don’t fight for the same reasons as men. If a woman’s going to resort to violence, it’s going to be over something fundamentally important, such as drama. The primary reason men resort to violence, on the other hand, is alcohol.

Men are full of a chemical called “testosterone.” This is a hormone responsible all sorts of immature behavior in men, but leads to particularly extreme examples of stupidity when combined with beer. For instance, testosterone might make a man decide to strap a small rocket to his bicycle, but only testosterone combined with alcohol would make him stupid enough to ride that rocket bike off the roof of his garage. Women have a similar chemical called “estrogen,” only it just makes them roll their eyes in resignation and call the ambulance.

When a man sees an attractive woman sitting at a bar, his testosterone will assure him that she is probably too drunk to realize she’s far too attractive for him. He will then initiate his instinctive mating call, (“Heeeeey, baby, hey! Hey, baby, baby, baby, hey! Hey, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby. . .”), until she throws her exotic drink in his face. This means she accepts his offer of “Hey, baby, hey.” However, when the man’s testosterone is combined with alcohol, it will make him try to get the attention of the attractive woman sitting at the bar by starting a fight with another drunk guy, and the attractive woman will roll her eyes in resignation and call the ambulance.

The guy who bashed her friend’s skull in gave him a clear message: “My testosterone is bigger than yours.” According to the male code of ethics, the most important thing for her friend to do is reassert his dominance, lest he be reduced to the pecking order position of “Wussy Boy.” You’re probably wondering how effectively a guy with a head injury could possibly fight the same people who gave him the head injury, but such concerns are unimportant to guys. The only thing the guy is concerned with is getting his masculinity back, and since he lost his rocket bike after flying it into a lake, beating up the guys who attacked him is the only sensible alternative.

I never did find out how the rematch went. I’m sure nothing is more intimidating to a group of drunken guys radiating testosterone levels strong enough to grow chest hair on women from across the room than a woozy guy stumbling around with blood running down his face from the very head injury they gave him earlier, but in reality, this is an incredibly long sentence. I also never found out if he ever did end up getting his head stitched up, but it’s a safe assumption. After all, he does have a woman looking after him.

My Bloody Valentine In 800 Words Or Less

You know how they say certain people, such as George W. Bush, should never be handed a job just because their father is important? Ten years ago, a coal mine collapsed because the owner’s son, Tom Hanniger, forgot to do his job and bleed the methane lines. This trapped several miners. All were found murdered by pickaxe except Harry Warden who was in a coma. Exactly one year later, Harry Warden awakened and killed everyone in the hospital. The two oldest cops in the world investigate.

HINCH: I think I waited too long to retire.
BURKE: You and me both, Hinch. Who did this?
HINCH: Harry Warden.
BURKE: Harry Warden’s in a coma.
HINCH: Oh, I’m sorry, do you see him somewhere? Is he one of the dismembered corpses? Maybe he’s the butchered woman lying on his bed. You’re right; the homicidal maniac who is currently missing couldn’t have done all this because he’s still in a coma. 900 years of being a cop, and this is the best theory you can come up with.

IRENE: We’re a bunch of stupid teenagers! Let’s go into this coal mine where a bunch of people were murdered and get drunk and have sex!
AXEL: Great! That doesn’t sound like a horror movie cliché at all!
SARAH: Tom, are you sure you’re okay having drunken sex in the very coal mine where you killed several of your coworkers?
TOM: No, I’m fine with it, I swear. In fact, I’m so fine with it I’m going to hang out in my truck, alone, while you party with your drunken friends.

Harry Warden starts killing all the drunken teenagers in the coal mine. Tom runs to Sarah’s rescue, but discovers that he fights like an imbecile. The town’s crack crimefighting duo of Strom Thurmond and Methuselah charge in and save Tom, then chase Harry Warden deeper into the mine.


Axel becomes a sheriff. Sarah becomes Axel’s wife. Megan becomes pregnant with Axel’s kid. The guy who played Big Love on House becomes the only black person in the town. Hinch and Burke somehow become even older. Irene becomes a murder victim.

TOM: Hi. I’ve come back to sell my father’s coal mine.
SARAH: You’ve been gone for ten years. I married Axel. We had a kid together. What have you been up to?
TOM: Certainly not acting lessons.
SARAH: Don’t sell the coal mine. This town is supported by that coal mine, and the other company will just move it someplace else.
TOM: Then it’s agreed. I won’t sell the coal mine.

AXEL: More people are being murdered! Some of them aren’t even essential to the plot! All signs point to Harry Warden, so it’s obviously Tom Hanniger because his return is threatening the marriage I’m neglecting!
TOM: I saw Harry Warden kill a guy in the mine. No one else saw him, but you believe me, right?
AXEL: Harry Warden is dead, and by the way, I married your old girlfriend. We had a kid together. Also, I don’t like you.

MEGAN: I am so totally not sleeping with your husband.
SARAH: That’s cool. We need to close the store and go home early before Harry Warden kills us.
MEGAN: Oh no! It’s Harry Warden! He pulled me out the window! Now I’m dead, so I’ll shut up now!

AXEL: Harry Warden has killed the other ten people living in this town besides us! That only leaves Tom Hanniger as the prime suspect.
SARAH: I’m headed out to an abandoned cabin in the woods with Tom right now!
AXEL: Whatever you do, don’t go to that cabin!
SARAH: Okay, I’ll run away to the abandoned mine shaft instead! Harry Warden will never find me where he lives!
AXEL: Good plan; I’ll meet you there!

AXEL: Sarah, Tom is Harry Warden! Shoot him!
TOM: Sarah, Axel is a stupid name. Shoot him.
AXEL: Shoot us both, just to be sure!
TOM: The writing on the wall above Megan’s body was the same message in the Valentine’s card Axel got from Megan. He’s Harry Warden.
SARAH: Wait, you weren’t there when Megan was killed. How do you know what was written above her body? Don’t worry; I won’t take the clear shot at your head until you answer the question.
AXEL: Oh no! Instead of answering your question, Tom gutted me with a pickaxe! I don’t understand why you won’t just shoot him! He’s standing three feet away from you!
SARAH: I’ll shoot at him five times while he’s running away and miss!

The mine blows up in a series of revealing flashbacks.

They never explain why Tom Hanniger became Harry Warden.

Maybe in the sequel.

The End.

All The Practical Dating Advice You Need

Most people who know me will tell you that I am not the 96% Lean Ground Beef of the Dating World. I’m not the most physically fit or attractive guy out there, I’m old enough to remember when Dinobots first roamed the Earth, and most forms of social interaction frighten me. To that end, I’m glad I have a girlfriend now; someone who loves me for who I am, even though I cannot remotely fathom why. To answer the two most obvious questions: No, I am not just making this person up, and No, it’s not Laura Fraser. Although, if Laura Fraser is reading this right now, I would just like to say that I’m available.

I re-entered the dating world several years ago full of optimistic enthusiasm. I figured that, if nothing else, my various exploits would make excellent fodder for humorous anecdotes. This was before I discovered that dating is stupid and I suck at it.

For instance, I am immune to “signals.” “Signals” are those little subtle hints that people give off to show that they are attracted to one another, such as smiling, winking, flirting, or if the they are particularly intoxicated, heavy petting. I have no idea how to interpret these signals. If a girl is flirting with me, I have no idea if she is flirting with me because she likes me unless she comes out and tells me that she likes me. I could always just ask if she likes me, but I find it’s far safer to assume that if I like a girl, there will probably be some reason why it would never work out between us, such as she’s already married.

Many magazines promise to deliver practical dating advice. These are all women’s magazines. You don’t find much in the way of dating advice in men’s magazines because men are more concerned with automotive repair and fishing tips than understanding their relationships, which is exactly the reason women feel they need to turn to magazines for dating advice.

These magazines are always full of such helpful articles as: “Top 10 Ways to Impress Your Lover in Bed,” “What He Says and What He Really Means,” “Take Our Completely Random Compatibility Quiz,” “Dr. Phil Thinks You’re an Idiot,” “How Many Days Should You Wait for Him to Call?” “How Many Dates Should You Go On Before Expecting a Proposal?” “Is Two Years too Long to Wait? You’re Not Getting Any Younger You Know,” “What Is This Guy’s Problem Anyway?” and “Bat Boy Saves Pope from Bigfoot Rampage.” The truth is, ladies, that if you want to get closer to your man, it would be far more effective to just develop an interest in fishing.

Men and women are not really that different when it comes to relationships. We both want what everybody wants: comfort, safety, appreciation, and affection. Yet these magazines assume men and women are only capable of relating to each other in the same sense that a sea slug is capable of relating to a banjo. After reading all this practical dating advice, women modify their behavior to fit what they’re told men want, and the men are more confused than ever because none of it has any basis in automotive repair or fishing.

I do have some ideas that could make dating far less stupid. For example, I think single people could find each other much easier if they wore buttons to signify that they are single and ready to date, sort of like how married people wear rings to signify that they are not single and ready to date. It would save everyone a lot of hassle, except women, who would feel the need to coordinate their outfits to include the button.

The less time you spend with your partner, the more successful your relationship will be. I realized this by watching people who have been married for at least ten years. Between work and sleep, taking care of the kids, and enjoying their various hobbies, happily married people only get to spend about an hour of quality time together per day, and it’s usually at the end of the day when they’re both tired. Since nothing really exciting happens to most people during the average day, this actually saves both partners from having to hear about, in explicit detail, stuff they care nothing about, such as a synopsis of the entire Beast Wars Transformers series.

Finally, I think all relationships should begin with sex. Even business relationships, as long as both partners are willing, or as it’s known in the business world, “mutual.” Too many power plays and mind games and roadblocks are tied up with this, and it would be much easier to focus on actually building a relationship once it’s out of the way.

Take Your Groundhog Seriously

Groundhog Day is an important holiday where people gather in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania to get a weather report from a frightened rodent. Actually, I can’t be 100 percent certain that the groundhog is, in fact, a rodent. It might belong to some other animal classification such as “marsupial” or “woodchuck.” I’m pretty sure, however, that it isn’t part of the Meteorological Kingdom.

The way I understand this happens is that thousands of people gather around some sort of hole in the ground, or possibly a tree stump as I’m not really sure what groundhogs actually live in, and wait in hushed suspense for the groundhog to emerge before hundreds of news cameras. As tradition dictates, if the groundhog is frightened by its shadow, Bill Murray will blow up a golf course. (I am already aware that was actually a gopher, but according to biologists, who cares?)

Every year, I find myself fascinated by the Groundhog Day celebration because I’ve always been skeptical of the entire premise. For one thing, I’m not exactly sure how a groundhog naturally knows to come out of its burrow at 7:25 AM on February 2nd. In order to answer this question, I turned to the informative documentary film Groundhog Day featuring Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell. Watching this, I learned that what really happens is Bill Murray kidnaps the groundhog and drives it off a cliff.

So that question is settled, but many more remain, such as: Wouldn’t the groundhog be more frightened of all the people gathered around it than of its own shadow? I know I would, and that’s why I ultimately decided against becoming a weatherman. To address this concern, I went to the Official Groundhog Day Website, (, where I discovered a number of things seriously wrong with these people. For example:

  • “After Phil emerges from his burrow on February 2, he speaks to the Groundhog Club president in ‘Groundhogese’ (a language only understood by the current president of the Inner Circle). His proclamation is then translated for the world.”
  • “There has only been one Punxsutawney Phil. He has been making predictions for over 120 years!”
  • “Punxsutawney Phil gets his longevity from drinking the ‘elixir of life,’ a secret recipe. Phil takes one sip every summer at the Groundhog Picnic and it magically gives him seven more years of life.”
  • The groundhog’s borrow is called “Gobbler’s Knob,” which is just all sorts of not right.

I know what you’re thinking at this point, and no, I don’t know why they don’t bottle and sell the “elixir of life” in Wal-Marts across the country. I imagine it would be a tremendously successful product. I’d drink it like it was Pepsi.

According to the Official Groundhog Day Website, the tradition began sometime in the Middle Ages, when European Christians would interpret the Bible in all sorts of wildly absurd ways because they were illiterate. (Many of these interpretations still hold to this day.) Some of these Biblical interpretations led to the observance of Candlemass, a gothic heavy metal band. The tradition of Groundhog Day is said to be based on these lyrics to an old Candlemass song:

Hear the cry
The cry of tormented pain
A voice darker than Evil
The deadly moaning of hell

At one point, the tradition was brought to the Germans, who naturally decided to get drunk and try to take over the world. Apparently Pennsylvania’s earliest settlers were Germans and they found groundhogs in “profusion,” which I’m not entirely convinced is a real word. They determined that without a specific holiday dedicated to it, the groundhog would surely die out from uselessness. Thus the tradition was born in America of relying on a small mammal to tell us whether winter will last until the end of winter.

Some of Punxsutawney Phil’s more notable historic appearances include:

  • During Prohibition Phil threatened to impose 60 weeks of winter on the community if he wasn’t allowed a drink. Lawmakers at the time gave the threat all the attention they felt it deserved.
  • In 1958 Phil announced that it was a “United States Chucknik,” rather than a Soviet Sputnik or Muttnik that became the first man-made satellite to orbit Earth, because apparently the groundhog is sort of an idiot.
  • Phil traveled to Washington DC in 1986 to meet with President Reagan. God only knows why.
  • Phil appeared on the Oprah Winfrey show in 1995. Oprah saw her shadow and the weather hasn’t been normal since.

Whoever Dreamed Of A White Christmas Should Be Shot

Yesterday morning I caught myself muttering, “I can’t wait for winter to be over.” This statement took me by surprise. Winter used to be one of my favorite months. Oh wait, that doesn’t look right. Wintember used to be one of my favorite months. That’s better.

I must be growing up. One more tiny piece of my childhood died as I turned my back on winter. My inner child would have wept over this, but its tear ducts had frozen shut. Winter was far more exciting to us when we were children. We would peer through the windows late at night, watching the snow come down with wide-eyed wonder at the awesome power of nature to cancel school. Of course, they always reminded us we’d have to make up any snow days at the end of the year, but no one ever cared because the entire last week of school was a blow-off anyway.

As an adult, winter weather becomes less of a useful diversion and more of an irritating inconvenience. They don’t close down most businesses just because it would be unreasonably unsafe to expect their employees to drive to work. This means that adults still need to brave the elements to drive to work while their children get to stay home and entertain themselves with such fun games as “set G.I. Joe on fire.” (Of course, I’m only kidding. These days, kids just download grotesque porn from the Internet instead of actually doing anything constructive with their free time.)

Every morning during the winter, I have to wake up earlier than normal so I can warm up my car. Apparently automobile engineers are more interested in making cars that can be voice activated to play Barenaked Ladies while calling our lawyers than making cars that can function reasonably well in temperature ranges that commonly exist on planet Earth. This is the main reason I can’t wait for winter to be over. I have a great deal of trouble waking up at all, let alone early, because I find sleep to be a very enjoyable alternative to being awake. When you’re asleep, no one is around to pressure you into doing things you don’t want to do, like contribute to society in any meaningful way.

I also have to adjust my travel time to account for “safe winter driving.” Cold winter air creates ice, a vicious substance determined to destroy humanity by transforming our roads into violent, careening deathtraps. “Safe winter driving” is a critical process combining two major elements: 1) driving as slowly as possible, and 2) being perpetually terrified while you do so. Everybody practices “safe winter driving” from approximately October 1st through May 31st, regardless of whether or not there is actually any ice on the road. Regardless of whether or not conditions even exist for there to be any ice on the road. Unless they’re idiots. The idiots are the ones who believe that owning a four-wheel drive vehicle makes it perfectly safe to drive 50 MPH on a sheet of pure ice.

In addition to the ice, we sometimes also have to deal with the nuisance of snow. Nature never dumps snow any place that might be convenient for people, such as in scenic landscape photographs. It’s always on sidewalks and busy streets where it can cause accidents, and we’re constantly having to move it someplace else. Of course, this is nature’s signal that we are ready for even more snow, which clearly, by definition, belongs on the sidewalks and streets. When we were children, we would delight in building snowmen, creating snow angels, and sliding uncontrollably down snow-crested hills atop flimsy sheets of plastic. That was before we grew up and realized that whoever dreamed of a white Christmas should be drug out and shot.

If I remember my high school science classes correctly, we learned that it gets extremely cold in winter because the sun hates us. This causes car windshields to develop frost that is impossible to remove because windshield scrapers were designed by cackling sadists. The temperature is always a stimulating topic of conversation during the winter. People never get tired of asking if it’s “still cold out there,” as if it’s suddenly going to turn June. Sometimes, someone might ask you if you’re responsible for “all this bad weather,” which is a stupid question because everyone knows that, as with anything else that nobody likes, it’s all George W. Bush’s fault.

Filled With Hope, Or Change, Or Something

In November of 2008, America recognized a historic milestone when, after struggling through decades of adversity and strife, Axl Rose finally released a new Guns ‘N’ Roses album. The general consensus was that it could have been better.

This event was narrowly overshadowed by a major breakthrough in civil rights when Americans realized that a black man can be every bit as capable of ruining our country as stodgy, old white men have proven to be for the past two centuries. Yesterday, the day after we honored one of our most important civil rights leaders, Barack Obama officially became the 44th President of the United States.

This triumph comes not without its fair share of controversy, however. A small number of disillusioned citizens are working diligently to prove that Barack Obama is not actually a naturally born American citizen since most people don’t technically consider Hawaii a state. I don’t think these people fully comprehend the dire social consequences of this accusation. I mean, Oprah Winfrey cried when Barack Obama was elected, and every single time Oprah Winfrey discovers that she has cried in vain, someone awakens the next morning with an unexplained growth the size of a small dog. Besides, it’s not like this would be the first time we’ve had a president with questionable credentials. It’s rumored that Jimmy Carter is most likely some sort of space alien, and it’s widely acknowledged that William Harrison was, in fact, a grizzly bear.

Some people just cannot accept the fact that, despite the best efforts of FoxNews, a president was elected who was not a Republican. This is because after nearly 900 years of being in charge, the Republicans got too confident and careless. Rather than working to gain the public’s trust after an overall dissatisfying eight years, the Republican National Convention instead decided to base their entire platform on the assumption that voters are really, really, incredibly, stupid.

Granted this had worked well for them in the past, like when we elected George W. Bush for a second term even though he had a lower approval rating than ovarian cysts. This time, the Republicans reached deep into their talent pool and nominated John McCain, who battled the natural charisma of Barack Obama with all the charm of a confused grandfather in constant discovery of his own senility. John McCain’s campaign was run with all the grace and dignity of a three-ring circus crashing into an insane asylum.

John McCain’s candidacy peaked at the selection of Sarah Palin as his running mate. For the first few days, voters everywhere were keenly interested in downloading pictures of Sarah Palin in a bikini, but their interest quickly began to fade as soon as they realized that “VPILF” was not really funny. Many people directly blame Sarah Palin for John McCain’s loss, but I think it’s more that when John McCain wasn’t trying to connect with The People, he sounded like a cranky, old man yelling at kids to get off his lawn, and when did try to connect with The People, he talked like he was describing what they were wearing over the phone as he peered through their bedroom windows.

Probably anybody who has appeared in the news over the past eight or twenty years with an (R) and a state next to their name would have lost the election last year. The Democrats managed to capitalize on the general disapproval of Bush’s leadership by constructing a platform that consisted of more than not being a joke. The Republicans wisely chose to distance themselves from the unpopular Bush Administration by running their campaign the exact same way and promising to extend most of its policies.

Conversely, most people felt that Barack Obama ran an overall positive campaign because he smiled a lot. Unlike the Republicans, Barack Obama pledged that he would fix everything wrong with the world using Hope®©™, Change®©™, and Unity®©™. John McCain, on the other hand, was shocked to find out there even was anything wrong with the world, and had, in fact, chosen as his campaign slogan, “McCain / Palin: There is nothing wrong with the world, you fools!”

Barack Obama has a difficult road ahead of him. His approval ratings started to slip before he even took office, as the novelty of having elected America’s first partially minority president began to wear off. The rumors are still circulating that he’s secretly a Muslim, or a terrorist, or a Socialist, and that he’ll paint the White House black, enslave all white people, and prohibit embryonic stem cells from owning hunting rifles, but I’m sure he’ll overcome these rumors because they’re all stupid. The truth is Barack Obama won’t do any worse than any other president before him, or at least we Hope®©™.