Shamelessly lifted from Geoff of Dog Snot Diaries, a fellow Yankee with the stones to show up in Helen, GA in ten days.

John: “Yo! Pickle Lady, whatsh happenin’?”

Teresa: “What the hell did you just say?”

John: “Lighten up, Sweetcheeks. — hiccup — Come over her and whip some of that fine leg on your war hero.”

Teresa: “Well, I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch. You’re friggin’ drunk!”

John: “No, I’m not.”

Teresa: “Don’t try to bullshit me. You’re shitfaced.”

John: “OK, well maybe jusht a li’l bit.”

Teresa: “And just who the hell gave you permission to enter my liquor cabinet?”

John: “Aw, come on, Muffin. Gimme a break. I was just shelebrating kickin’ that cowboy’s ass in the debate.”

Teresa: “Kickin’ his ass you say? From what I read, all it means is that you could get your sorry ass elected as president of the goddamned debating club, and that’s it, you dumbshit.”

John: “You know what? — hiccup – Jamesh Carville ish right. You don’t know shit.”

Teresa: “You had better hope you didn’t say what I think I just heard, Sonny Boy.”

John: “What? You didn’t hear me? S’matter? You got shit in your ears? Hahahahahaha. Carville says he’s gonna keep you and your big mouth locked away for the resht of the friggin’ campaign. Hahahhahahaha.”

Teresa: “You listen to me, you feckless shitsack. You open your goddamned mouth once more and the undertaker will be pulling that bottle of Remy Martin Louis XIII out of your dead ass. And, you can tell that lizard-looking waste of space, Carville, that I will nail his nuts to my mantelpiece, if he ever tries to muzzle me. Now, go to bed. I’ll deal with you in the morning.”

John:

The pool has been covered, the lighted flamingo has been taken down along with innumerable other decorative doodads that give The Deck the feel of a seedy Key Wes outdoor saloon. Even the tables, chairs and strategically placed coolers have been put away. The final item of the end-of-summer business was accomplished yesterday when we removed and folded the canopy that covers The Deck, providing party space even in rainy weather. Alas, another summer is over.

That can only mean one thing. It’s time to switch to indoor drinking and bullshitting. The Usual Suspects will, therefore, reconvene at the American Legion Post Lounge, which will re-open today and remain open every Sunday afternoon through Memorial Day. Having the dubious distinction of being the Bar Chairman, I completed and mailed out the bartending roster (we take turns tending bar), restocked the booze, and loaded the cooler. We are ready.

Returning to Sundays at the Post will be like putting on a comfortable pair of shoes. Functional autonomy will kick in, and the folks will gravitate to their usual places at the bar. There will undoubtedly be a football game on one of the televisions and something else on the other TV (often another football game). Depending on the decision of the bartender (who rules the roost on his day), there may well be music, requiring that the TVs be muted. There will, of course, be bitching about the music, the volume of the music, the choice of the music (Original Bill is a sure bet on this score), the game, the choice of game, and the quality of play of the game (“the Giants suck this year, the Jets suck this year”). It’s like a replay of a favorite tune.

The summer will be rehashed, and Army/Navy/Air Force/Marine stories will be dusted off, and some new ones will be told. There will be old jokes, new jokes, merciless ball breaking, and even some serious discussions.

We’re all good friends, and that’s really what makes the place special.

Not too long ago, this is what one could expect to hear upon informing someone that you are a blogger. (Yes, I know it’s an old post, but I assume that some have not read it, and it just seems sort of timely.)

As we know, things have changed quite a bit.

The first significant step in the general recognition of bloggers and the blogosphere occurred a few months ago when some bloggers received credentials to attend the national democrat and republican conventions. Although criticized by some snotnoses in the mainstream media (no links for them), the bloggers’ reports coming from the convention were a refreshing change for the same ol’ same ol’.

Others, however, recognized the important niche that was filled by the bloggers at the convention. In that regard, following the republican convention, I recall being very pleasantly surprised to hear Kevin of Wizbang being interviewed about blogging on WABC radio, which covers the tri-state area (New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut) by Michelle Malkin, a big time columnist and herself a blogger.

Then, of course, came Dan Rather and his infamous 60 Minutes piece criticizing the President’s National Guard service, the centerpiece of which were documents that were never properly vetted by Dan or anyone else at the Tiffany Network. In a matter of hours, certain bloggers, including Power Line, Little Green Footballs, INDC and many others did the legwork and the fact-checking necessary to demonstrate to virtually everyone who breathes oxygen (except Dan Rather) that the documents he relied on were forgeries and lousy ones at that.

In no time, the guys from Power Line and other bloggers were all over the television and radio. Stories about blogging appeared in numerous newspapers, Time Magazine and even as the cover story for the New York Times Sunday Magazine. Indeed, Paul of Wizbang, even has suggested that bloggers (particularly those who focus on news and politics) shouldn’t even be called “bloggers.” Instead, Paul suggests, they should be called “independent peer-reviewed journalists.”

As a result of the news coverage, in a blink of an eye, bloggers became hip. Any doubt I had about the increased general awareness of blogs and the blogosphere was dispelled when I read at Better Living Through Blogging that Jeopardy offered the contestants a category entitled, “Blogs.”

I’m not delusional. I still expect a fair share of blank stares from those who have just learned that I have a blog. I just don’t think I’ll see as many glazed-over eyes or hear as many dumb questions as I used to, and that’s a good thing.

Well, I’ve been reading other people’s thought for a couple hours, and now I’m too tired to write anythng. I have to have a talk with my muse about this, but at the moment she is ignoring me.

I’m off to spend some time with Mr. Recliner.

Was the invasion of Iraq the right decision? TigerHawk concludes, yes, and tells us why. If you are looking for a sixty-second read, bookmark his post and return when you have a cup of coffee and a bit of time. You won’t be sorry.

Just who the heck are these debates for anyway?

I am of the view that anyone who has even paid moderate attention to his or her surroundings for the past several months already knows what each candidate stands for. As such, perhaps the debates are for the people who identify themselves as among the “undecideds?” I wonder how many of them are truly undecided and how many of them are simply uninformed.

For those who are informed and are still undecided (and I question how many of them there are), I cannot see how anything that will happen or not happen in the debate will make them any more or less informed. For those (and I fear that there are many) who really don’t pay much attention to the election campaigns, I question whether basing one’s vote solely on what happens during these events makes any sense, particularly since form is elevated to such a great degree over substance.

I am coming around to the position that, if you haven’t been paying enough attention to know by now what the issues are and each candidate’s positions on the issues, and if you are planning to base your vote on a candidate’s performance in these artificial events, in which the goal of each participant is simply avoid a major screw up, then maybe you ought to just stay home on election day and watch reality TV.

Sadie has made her long-awaited appearance. Please go and congratulate Jay and Deb on the birth of their beautiful daughter. Welcome to the Laughing Academy, Sadie.

Thanks to Zombyboy for the good news.

Teresa: (Opens front door) “Hey, you! Yeah, you over there, standing by the bush! Come here.”

Evans: “Yes, ma’am?”

Teresa: “Are you one of my people?”

Evans: “’Your people,’ ma’am?”

Teresa: “Do you have shit in your ears? I asked if you are one of my people? Do you work for me?”

Evans: “I suppose that’s true, ma’am, in a manner of speaking.”

Teresa: “’In a manner of speaking?’ You must be some kind of wiseass. Who the hell are you?”

Evans: “My name is Roy Evans, and I am one of the Secret Service Agents assigned to protect you and Mr. Kerry.”

Teresa: “So, you do work for me, after all. Why didn’t you just say so?”

Evans: “That’s not exactly correct, ma’am. I , work for the Department of Homeland Security, but I am assigned to you.”

Teresa: “That’s just great. Now I have to put up with nuance from the help too.”

Evans: “Ma’am?”

Teresa: “Never mind. Did anyone ever tell you that you talk a lot like that son-of-a-bitch Zell Miller.”

Evans: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m from Georgia. I suppose that’s why I sound a little bit like Senator Miller.”

Teresa: “Well, I friggin’ hate it. Do you know that his awful speech made my husband shit his pants?”

Evans: “No, ma’am, I didn’t know that. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Teresa: “Well it did, and I don’t think you are at all sorry, because you sound just like him.”

Evans: “Was there something in particular you wanted, ma’am?”

Teresa: “I’ll bet you don’t speak French.”

Evans: “No ma’am, I don’t.”

Teresa: “Did you know that I speak five languages? I do, you know.”

Evans: “Yes, ma’am. I have heard that.”

Teresa: “I’ll bet you don’t speak any language other than English, if you can even call that mush-mouthed shit you speak English.”

Evans: “Actually, ma’am, I speak Russian, Korean and a fair amount of Farsi.”

Teresa:

Evans: “So, what is it you wanted ma’am?”

Teresa: “Well, the first goddamned thing I want if for you to start showing me some respect. I am going to be the First Friggin’ Lady, you know, and I don’t need you bragging about all the languages you speak.”

Evans: “I intended no disrespect, ma’am. It was you who raised the subject.”

Teresa:

Evans:

Teresa: “Tell me something, Evans. Are you married?”

Evans: “No, ma’am, I’m single.”

Teresa: “You must work out. I’ll bet you’re pretty buff under that shirt.”

Evans: “Ma’am, I should return to my post. Was there something that you wanted?”

Teresa: “Do you think I have nice legs?”

Evans:

Teresa: “How about my ass? Tight as a drum, I’d say. I’m pretty damned sexy, and sassy too. What do you think?”

Evans: “If there won’t be anything else, ma’am, I think I should return to my post.”

Teresa: “I have shitloads of money, Evans.”

Evans: “Yes, ma’am.”

Teresa: “When I move into the White House, I could set you up real comfortably, if you get my meaning.”

Evans: “If there’s nothing else ma’am, I’m returning to my post now.”

Teresa: “Oh I get it. You’re one of those goody-two-shoes, red-white and blue patriot assholes, and you think you’re better than I am.”

Evans: “Ma’am, I haven’t done or said anything that could possibly be construed that way.”

Teresa: “OK Captain America, rather than your standing over there by the bush doing nothing, I want you to run out to the store and pick me up two packs of Newports and a copy of the Enquirer.”

Evans: “I’m sorry ma’am, I cannot do that.”

Teresa: “WHAT? You insolent shit. I don’t tolerate that crap from my dipshit husband, and I’m sure as hell not going to tolerate if from the help.”

Evans: “Ma’am, my assignment is to protect you and your husband, not to run your errands, and that’s what I intend to do.”

Teresa: “Don’t hand me that horseshit. I know that you guys used to do all sorts of personal things for Hillary.”

Evans: “Those days are over, ma’am.”

Teresa: “Evans?”

Evans: “Yes, ma’am?”

Teresa: “SHOVE IT!!” (Slams door)

John: “Was that you talking with someone at the door again, Muffin?”

Teresa: “Jesus Christ!! Yes it was. Butt the hell out.”

John: “OK I’m sorry I asked.”

Teresa: “On second thought, I want you to be sure to add something to the “Whitehouse To Do List” I’ve been having you keep.”

John: “Yes, Muffin. What is it?”

Teresa: “Move everything down one notch, and put at the top ‘Fire Roy Evans, the insolent bastard’.”

John: “Who is Roy Evans?”

Teresa: “Did I give you permission to ask me any goddamned questions. Shut the hell up, and do what you’re told.”

John:

Today is this obnoxious knucklehead’s birthday. I wish I knew how to gift wrap a farookin’ clue.

Thanks to my friend Joe for reminding me of this most important event.