Thursday, October 8, 2009

"Nancy Pelosi in Bathing Suit"

That's the search term some slob plugged into dogpile and subsequently hit this on my site tonight, the connection between travel agencies and swimwear still jamming the electrical impulses in my axons.

I feel terribly slimy just coming across such analytics, like I've been standing two feet away from the president during a health care infomercial before a joint session of Congress and still need to wipe clean all the lies he's spit on me.

Nancy Pelosi in bathing suit.






What kind of sick and twisted and attention-starved cretin would type those five words into a search engine in the first place?

Immediately my mind conjures up some slovenly bloated anti-capitalist filmmaker whose movies have tanked so badly his credit cards are canceled and he's banned from open porn sites for posting pedophiliac comments and he's so compulsively terrified of going out in public he doesn't even know the local convenience store sells skin mags.

Nancy Pelosi in bathing suit.

That's like knocking on the gates of hell and asking if fat Ted Kennedy can go skinny dipping.

That's like asking the president if he'd take a $900 billion health care bill for letting someone sleep with Mobacca for one night.

That's like Janet Reno doing a striptease in the Oval Office for Slick Willie and rubbing her cankles on his neck. Wait. That probably really did happen.

Nancy Pelosi in bathing suit.

How did I get so cursed to have such a vile search lead to me?

I think I'll go out on the porch and open the grill and turn on the gas and stick my head inside.

The horror! The horror! The horror!


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