Question: What do these people have in common?

Democrat Senators Evan Bayh of Indiana and Jeff Bingaman of New Mexico and Congressional Representatives. Earl Blumenauer of Oregon, Rush Holt of New Jersey, Nita Lowey of New York, and Howard Berman, Susan Davis, George Miller, and Henry Waxman, all of California, Republican Senators. Robert Bennett of Utah, Richard Lugar of Indiana, and George Voinovich of Ohio and Congressional Representatives. Charles Boustany of Louisiana, Geoffrey Davis of Kentucky, John Duncan of Tennessee, Fred Upton of Michigan, and Greg Walden of Oregon (emphasis mine).

Answer: They all spent the five days over the Memorial Day “recess” in Rome, courtesy of the Aspen Institute. While in Rome, they (along with spouses, children or other relatives) stayed at the $480-a-night Rome Cavalieri Hilton. The purpose of the trip was for them to attend a seminar entitled, “Political Islam: Challenges for U.S. Policy.”

According to U.S. News & World Report:

House Democrat Rush Holt of New Jersey, who went to Rome defends the program and says the conferences are so good that he’s learned more from them than from official travel to Islamic countries. “Our day-to-day life in Congress is broken into 15-minute segments, 12 hours a day, so the program is among the best opportunities we have to delve into subjects,” he says. “They are one of few opportunities we have for deliberative, substantive, bipartisan looks at important subjects.”

What a load of baloney!

There are plenty of ways to learn about “political Islam” that don’t involve a five-day, expense-paid trip to Rome, including a stay in a luxury hotel. I cannot help but wonder if all these Senators and Congressional Representatives and their families would have shown up for five days in Newark for the same seminar. To ask the question is to answer it.

It sure would be interesting to know who the sponsors of the Aspen Institute are so that taxpayers could watch how the seventeen Senators and Congressional Representatives who learned so much at this important seminar vote when our money is being handed out.

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PFFFFFFT!!

I sat in front of the screen for a while, just staring and trying to think of something readworthy to write. Nothing came to mind, so I got to thinking about all the things I could be doing that are more fulfilling than staring at the farookin’ screen.

So, I said to myself, Yo, Jimbo, count to 100, and if nothing readworthy pops into your cruller, that’s that.”

So, there you have it. That’s that.

1. This is not a great way to start out one’s career in law enforcement. But, hey, it’s New Jersey.

2. I’m not saying that this person deserves the death penalty (It’s outlawed in Jersey, anyway. Yeah, I know.), but the nimrod who kept these beasts in an apartment deserves a serious slapping around. The Wiseass Jooette sent me the story. After the slapping around, I say we give this keeper of reptiles a one-way ticket to Brooklyn.

3. Speaking of reptiles, I received this from my buddy Walrilla.

Putz.

Early yesterday morning I stopped by Doctor Doctor’s office so that he could check on how I’m faring with the Mother of All Summer Colds and the Eye Snot. Here’s how it went:

DD: So, how are you feeling?

Jimbo: Considerably better. Still a little fatigued, but I figure that will pass in a few more days.

DD: Good. How are your eyes feeling?

Jimbo: Much better. I’ve been doing the drops, and I have a few more days to go with them.

DD: (Looks into my eyes) Good. Are you having any trouble putting the drops in?

Jimbo: Funny you should ask. As a matter of fact, I’m not too good at that.

DD: Well, there is something new out that I could prescribe to you that should make it much easier for you.

Jimbo: Really? What is that?

DD: It contains the same active ingredient to treat your eyes, but it comes in suppository form.

Jimbo:

DD: (shit-eating grin)

Jimbo: You’re shitting me.

DD: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

Turns out that Doctor Doctor is also Blog Reader Blog Reader.

To treat my case of eye snot, Doctor Doctor prescribed eye drops, which have to be put in my eyes at regular intervals several times per day. Eye drops? No big deal, right?

Maybe it’s no big deal for most peeps, but I am a big baby when it comes to putting eye drops into my eyes. In fact, I get freaky when anyone puts anything near my eyes, which is why I cannot even comfortably think about wearing contact lenses, much less actually wear them.

”Yo, Jimbo. Here are two foreign objects. Just plaster one of them on each of your eyeballs and rock on.”

No farookin’ way!

I also get the heebie jeebies every time I see women applying eye liner by sticking a pencil point right next to her eyeballs. A farookin’ pencil in the eye!!! Yeef!

Anyway, back to eye drops.

Being the big baby that I am, I typically ask Mrs. Parkway to put the drops in my eyes (“You have to OPEN your damned eye, Jim!”), but given the frequency of application, I am largely left to my own devices this time around.

At first, I tried putting the drops in while standing in front of the bathroom mirror and pulling the skin around the bottom of my eyes down (the ophthalmologist does it this way). No dice. I ended up with eye drops everywhere but in my eyes, including on my shirt. It immediately became very clear that tipping one’s head back was a requisite for any chance I might have in getting that stuff into my eyes. I tried the stand-up, head-tilted-back technique, which resulted in some improvement, meaning that it might take four drops to get one drop in my eye.

Turns out that the only way I can get the damned drops into my eyes with something resembling accuracy is to sit in my office chair (at work or at home) and tilt the seat all the way back (almost as if I were in a modern dentist’s chair). Then, bracing my hand against my cheekbone, I put the cursed tip of the little bottle as close to my open eye as I can stand it, reminding myself not to blink. I’m certain that if I touch my eye with the damned thing I’ll pass right the hell out, which is another good reason to be in a chair.

That technique, which is doubtless comical to watch, has me batting above 500, but I still manage to blink when I shouldn’t, leading to drops landing on my eyelid and down my face.

I still have three more days of this to go. Fortunately, Doctor Doctor prescribed enough of the stuff to permit me to dispense mass quantities of the medicine seemingly everywhere except to my eye balls.

Yep. Definitely a big baby when it comes to eye drops.

Truth is, it’s not just eyes and eye drops about which I am a big baby, but we won’t be discussing the time many, many years ago when a doctor prescribed suppositories.

A PRS Operative found himself in the right place at the right time when Senator Hillary Clinton made a rare appearance at her and Bill’s home in Chappaqua, New York. Here is a transcript of the sidewalk interview.

PRS: Senator Clinton, PRS here. Do you have a moment for a few questions?

HC: PRS? What is that?

PRS: It’s a blog, Ma’am.

HC: Are you some kind of wiseass asking me if I have a moment? You think just because I’m no longer in the race I have lots of time on my hands? I hate wiseass guys like you.

PRS: No, I asked if you had a moment, because I was trying to be polite. I didn’t want to just blurt out questions like some rude reporters do.

HC: Oh, sorry. I misunderstood. I’m a bit testy these days, as you can imagine.

PRS: Is that because of how the primary election turned out.

HC: Damned straight, but it’s also these piles.

PRS: Piles? Piles of what?

HC: Piles, dammit! You know, hemorrhoids. I feel like I’ve got a grape vine growing from my ass. It’s from all that time sitting on planes and being constipated from eating all that shitty food during the campaign. Hell, damned near every day I spent six or seven hours on a plane and ate two or three pizzas.

PRS: That sounds pretty bad.

HC: It’s worse than you think. You know, when you finally get off the plane and move around a little, you feel like you have to take a wicked crap. So you say to your handlers, “Give me a minute so I can go to the ladies room.” They say, “Sorry Senator, we’re already late for the next appearance.” So you squeeze your butt cheeks together and do the speech. This shit goes on all day, so at the end of the day when you finally get a chance to sit down on the toilet for some serious shittage, nothing happens. So, you squeeze and push until your eyeballs are about to pop out and still nothing happens. This goes on for days until all the squeezing, pushing and eye popping results in piles the size of golf balls.

PRS: So, your detractors who, during your campaign, said that you were full of shit were technically correct.

HC: Oh, you are a wiseass, after all.

PRS: Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. How about after our chat I go pick you up a tube of Preparation H?

HC: Actually, it was pretty funny, and as for the Preparation H, no need to bother. I’ve got the industrial size tube in the house.

PRS: I can imagine that losing the primary election is a pretty depressing thing. What have you been doing to keep your spirits up?

HC: I smoke lots of weed and spit a lot at a big picture of Obama I have hanging in the house.

PRS: Spitting on a picture? That can be pretty messy, no?

HC: No problem. I make Bill clean it up.

PRS: Speaking of Bill … I mean, President Clinton, is there any chance I could have a word or two with him?

HC: Sorry. He can’t speak at the moment.

PRS: I take it then that he’s very busy?

HC: No, he’s handcuffed to the kitchen chair and the gag ball makes talking impossible. Son of a bitch had it coming.

PRS: So, you didn’t think that he was an asset to your campaign?

HC: Asset? Please. Any more questions? My ass in on fire.

PRS: Just one more question. With hindsight, if you could change one thing about your campaign, what would it be?

HC: My tits.

PRS: Your … excuse me … tits?

HC: Yeah, I should have gotten a boob job before all the campaign shit started. I’d have gotten a big set of double D’s. Men really love a big set of knockers. That would have put me over the top for shit sure.

PRS: Thank you for your time, Senator.

HC: No problem. Ouch!! Goddamned piles.

For reasons I cannot completely explain, this video, which I swiped from Cousin Jack (and which I may be the last person on earth to have seen), made me feel good.

Perhaps we should all take a deep breath and do a happy dance.

Here’s the backstory.

It’s what I’ve now got. I’ve had it before.

This, on top of a lingering, exhausting cold. Thrilling.

No, I’m not talking about those silly internet quizzes that ask “What Kind of Dog are You?” in which the reader is faced with several silly questions, the answers to which are matched up by someone (Christ knows who) to the characteristics of various dog breeds. These quizzes are right up there in silliness with “What kind of pie are you?” and “What kind of cheese are you?”

I’m also not talking about the curious (albeit anecdotal) phenomenon of the similarity of the faces of dog owners and their dogs.

I’m talking about some frank and sometimes difficult introspection, taking into account your temperament (as you know it to be) and your appearance in a full-length mirror.

Like most folks, the dog I would like to be and the dog I would be are not the same dog. I would like to answer the question by saying that I would be a tough, formidable Rottweiler, or an almost-regal German Shepherd. Perhaps a handsome Irish Setter (great farookin’ hair), or a sleek, Whippet.

Truth is that when I look in the mirror I must confess that if I were a dog, I would be a Corgi, bulky with short legs — built a bit like a fire plug. It used to bother me that I would be a Corgi, but having seen this little guy in action, I think I’m now OK with my Corginess.

So, fess up! What kind of dog would you be?

P.S. I took the silly quizzes: Dog=Beagle, Pie=chocolate, Cheese=Fiscalini cheddar.