The story isn’t that Herman Cain is the frontrunner in the Republican reality show, but how extraordinarily terrible Rick Perry is. I mean, here’s a guy who seemed tailor-made for putting the “white” back into the White House. Texan? Check. Executioner in Chief? Check. White? Whiter than Wonder Bread or a Pepsodent smile. Christian? Shit – he’s so damn Christ-like, he’s even being persecuted (I think he’s even got a touch of the stigmata). But then a funny thing happened. He opened his yap. Hard to figure you could out-stupid and out-cray the likes of Michele Bachmann, but damned if Ricky didn’t manage it. Now he’s fallen so low, he’s polling lower than Rick Santorum in Florida – a mere 2.9%, which, even using Texas math, is pretty piss poor.
Speaking of Herman, we know Cain is Able, but is Cain also Liable? Liable to be charged with some campaign finance shenanigans, that is. Seems it isn’t technically illegal in and of itself, but the Cain Campaign has paid the for-profit “Herman Cain T.H.E. New Voice” (which is a pretty crappy name for a company, if you ask me) $100,000. Apparently his company promotes his books and “philosophy.” No word on how much the Cain Campaign has spent on Godfather’s Pizza.
West Side Story (the movie) was released 50 years ago today. In case you don’t know, it tells the tale of two of NYC’s gayest gangs – a conflict between the Jets (white people in pale makeup), and the Sharks (mostly white people in dark makeup) dancing their way through the streets, snapping their fingers in a threatening manner, and saying things like “daddy-o” as NYC “toughs” were wont to do back then.
This movie is when I fell in love with Puerto Rican women, developing a life-long crush on well-known hispanic chick Natalie “Maria” Wood. Though I always thought the movie – and musicals in general – was pretty stupid.
Big birthday day today, as Chuck Berry hits 85, Keith Jackson goes rumblin’, stumblin’, bubmblin’ to his 83rd, and everybody’s favorite castaway – Dawn Wells – is 73. And still cute as a button.
More competition for Cain.
I’m in LA, ugh. I had to fly out Monday to help my son get packed up for a drive back to N Y. I’m flying back,hopefully, Friday.
Almost makes me wish I had a baby.
Stick to the furry kind,PJ, they are a whole lot easier and they seldom require unplanned three thousand mile trips in uncomfortable planes.
Well, I watched my first and likely repig debate last. I don’t know what posessed me. It may have been a sense that this was the last time this merry band might be together before Sanctorum or Newt or Bachmann have to bail or Perry or ‘Koch’ Cain slip into total irrelevance. It’s also probably too late for any other fruit bats to jump in.
It kind of turned out to be worth it. I listened more than watched as I worked on other things on the computer so I missed some of the visual highlights. I did see Willard put one of his mittens on Perry and thought the goobner of Texas was going to deck him or pull out a gun and kill him. ‘Koch’ Cain had to dance a round a lot not to explain 9-9-9. It has something to do with apples and oranges. You’d think it’d be cheap mozzarella and parmesan in a green can. Imagine Giudi being in the debate and it would be 9-9-9 v. 9-11. Crazy Ron Paul mentioned that Reagan exchanged arms for hostage and panic and denial ensued.
I could go on…