2004-11-05 - 2:46 p.m.

To make myself feel better, I�ve been re-reading Checkpoint by Nicholson Baker, in which the assassination of a certain wadtard Texan is plotted in a hotel room (FBI operatives! Me no sleeper cell! Me describing published novel!) . And, er, that�s it. It has some nicely outraged ways of describing Georges Le Shrubbe:

�You�ve got this unelected fucking drunken OILMAN over there squatting in the house itself, muttering over his prayer book every morning��

�What the left is all about is equality before the law. If you�re arrested for DUI, you can�t have your father fix it all for you! You can�t send a cruise missile into a restaurant just because you think a dictator is in there having dinner with his family��

�That creep, that fucking Texas punk, who can�t even TALK, with his drugged-out eyes, he bought us to this point, to this war, and for nothing, for not one red fucking thing��

�I can�t understand why this outlaw, this FELON, who�s killed something like 12,000 people, should be alive when those (innocent) girls are dead. It�s just wrong. Not only is he alive, he�s served coffee in special little fancy china cups, he�s flown around in a big aeroplane with a living room in it, he�s treated with round-the-clock, shit-eating deference!�

Anyway, you should read that book.

So the future, then? I just hope there�s enough stem cell research gets done to allow me to have an abortion before marrying my Al� Quaida lesbian bride. Is that really too much to ask? What, you�re some kind of PURITAN? Stop oppressing me, you right wing Christian meddlers!

And thanks for the marriage proposals, but I�m afraid my hand has gone to the charming and winsome Dolly-Nurlene Sputum, the only Democrat voter in Cheneyfeld Creek, Ohio. She�ll be joining me in non-Republican congress in a civil ceremony, together with her 17 offspring and slack-jawed husband, Adolph.