The Terminator Vs. the Bushwomen:

There's some great leather bars in Chelsea, the Meatpacking District, and other areas of New York City. There's really festive ones, off the radar, where ripped queens in chaps, muscle shirts, biker gear, what have you, cruise each other for a night of fond fisting and sling sex. The next time Arnold Scwarzenegger uses the term "girlie men" in a speech or in answer to a question, his Teutonic, jack-booted ass needs to be dragged to an alley behind a leather bar where these "girlie men" can fuck him hard and make him scream, "I'm da girl, I'm da girl" in between forced blow jobs and anal reamings and then leave him, jizz covered, sore-assed, pants around his ankles, to prop himself up and smoke a cigar, never thinking of that tubular tobacco in the same way as he sucks on the tip with the hole in it.



Christ, what a load of crap that fake demi-man exploded onto the crowd of slavering white people at Madison Square Garden last night. When he proudly announced his life as an average American immigrant story, maybe somewhere a Guatemalan maid who works on a cash basis in an Atlanta mansion was mopping up the kitchen and could hear the harshly accented California governor from the TV in the entertainment room. Maybe a little radio played Herr Governor's words out into the fields of Mexican maquiladoras picking corn in Indiana. Maybe a group of Haitian workers could listen through the din of the steam in the laundries of Brooklyn. Maybe from sea to shining sea all the non-white immigrants could hear Schwarzenegger's words and for a moment believe the bright, glittering lie that supporting Republicans is the only way to success. Then their bosses would order them back to work or be put out on the street. Man, the desperate exploitative steps a rich fascist will take to protect his tax cuts.



Meanwhile, the Bush Twins, Jenna and Barbara, demonstrated for the world to see that they are destined for coked out oblivion, being fuck puppets for celebrity boys who wanna tell their posses they had presidential pussy, and deep, long-term therapy to deal with the scars of being so complicit in their own whoredom. When Jenna said that it was time for "payback" for being "embarassed" by their parents, God, didn't you hope against hope that some synapse would flare up in her brain and she'd say, "Holy fucking shit, there was the night Daddy came home, blasted out of his mind on Peruvian blow and tequila and chased me around wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and boots and a raging hard-on, screaming, 'Daddy loves you, Daddy loves you, you got a lovin' Daddy,' and Mom had to pull out a rifle and tell him to put his pants on or she was gonna call Grandma and then Daddy collapsed by the pool, pissing himself and screaming, 'Mama's gonna beat me somethin' fierce' before he vomited down his chest and all over the Spanish tile and when he started bleeding out of his nose, Mom called Grandpa, who sent over his private ambulance, the one on-call for just this emergency, to take Daddy to the hospital to pump him with adrenaline so he didn't go into a coma and embarass everyone. Again."



Yeah, it was quite a night, Laura talking about war, about how Lincoln and Roosevelt didn't want to go to war, but knew they had to, conveniently leaving out whether or not Truman or Kennedy or Johnson or Nixon or Reagan or Daddy Bush went to war because they had to.



Gird your loins, gang. Cheney's on tonight. Conveniently, a cold front is moving through NYC, so when Cheney speaks, the air will chill at the sound of his voice.