Al Franken Is a Big Fat Dickhead Senator

As if the coronation of the ultimate liberal, Obugger, as president wasn't enough, The Founders must surely have turned over in their graves now, just before the 233rd anniversary of their "domestic terrorism," to quote the odious Janet Napolitano. So, in their honor, let's take a look at the real Sen. Al Franken, D (for Dickhead)-Minn., through a montage of some of the best and brightest moments of his moonbat life.

I hope you're happy, Minnesota.


Hi, there. I’m the new senator for Minnesota. I just taught Al Gore how to REALLY do a recount. (Psst! Al…next time…use more DEAD PEOPLE!)


Anyway, to get on with my story: I was born an asshole. There’s really no other way to describe me. From my asshole bunny ears to my asshole diaper to my asshole Cat in the Hat socks, I’ve been an asshole forever. (Al Gore, eat your friggin' heart out. Luvs ya, man. Luvs ya!)



You see, only a real asshole would lead a public life like this as a younger humorless comedian and think decades later that no one would remember what an asshole I was, am, and forever shall be, so help me God. NOT! Hahahahahahaha. (I never say “God” in public. Ha!)



In fact, you know, to be brutally honest, I’m really young at heart. I’ve always been drawn to strange dolls, preferably the blow-up kind…which is why as my first official act in the Senate I’m REALLY excited about having a one-on-one conversation in “chambers” with Barbara Boxer; I hear she’s a real show girl.



As my next official act, I’m going to reveal my true identity to all the world. Besides, one more clown among a sea of clowns on Capitol Hill isn't going to hurt anybody...except maybe TAXPAYERS!



Of course, no one is truly fit without a breakfast of losers, and that’s why I recommend all of my constituents back in Minnesota start snorting Franken Cola as part of their daily nutritious breakfast. Hey: It got me where I am today!



And while we’re on the subject of my assholery, it is entirely NOT true that years of drug abuse have left me unable to feel my nose or upper lip…flubidty… flubidty...flubidty…flubidty. Hey, Joey (Biden)! Thanks for the straw! We simply MUST do lines in your bunker at the Eisenhower complex some time.



Then there’s this thing I have to say to you conservatives who want to mess with me: @#$%$% Q$#%@#% ) *U_)&_*) (* @%@%$@ $%% _*_***_ %%%%!, or I’ll haul your ass before a Senate sub-committee hearing on Assholes Who Have Actually Figured out how to Earn Money in the Time of Obugger. I’ll get you, losers!



You see, if you really must know, I’m crazy as a shithouse rat. That's why I'm perfect for the Senate.



What I’m really trying to say is, everything’s going to be all right: The president has my ear (and it tickles, too!). God…(yuck!)...bless America. And may the president have a great Luau at your expense.

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Al Franken Is a Big Fat Dickhead Senator

I’m Roland Burris, and I Want to Sit Down

I’m Roland Burris, and I want to sit down. I’m the former attorney general of the State of Illinois, but that doesn’t seem to carry much weight with these crotchety old D.C. boys (and gals). Maybe I need to let a girlfriend drown in my sunken car first to gain any cred around here. I could always show my mettle hanging out in the men’s pisser at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. Why, I bet the boys would see me differently if I took Helen Thomas down to the Senate Tunnel and slipped her some tongue.

I’m Roland Burris, and I want to sit down. I’ve been busting my hump out here grandstanding for you narcissitic reporters all day, for two straight days now. I’ve tried to enter the building, only to be told I must have valid paperwork to get in. I’ve tried to hand in my paperwork, only to be told it’s not signed by my parents. I showed them my driver’s license; it says right there that I’m Roland Burris, from Illinois. See?! What more do they need? Somebody’s got to show me some respect in this town. In fact, my first bill, when I finally get to sit down, will be a national I.D. card that lists your occupation, Social Security Number, savings account number, fund adminstrator’s dirtiest secret, and the location of the mattress where you hide your unreported income.

I’m Roland Burris, and I want to sit down. Despite Gov. Rod Blajoveich ordering the world not to fault me for his mistakes (the Feds have it on camera, by the way), not one of you senators has extended your hand to welcome me into your chambers. I don’t get what the big deal is. It’s not like that fundraiser I held for Blago at my home had any strings attached. And you can’t tell me that the $22,295 my lobby gave Blago actually meant anything. And there’s NOTHING to the report that my lobbying firm’s $705,435 in state contracts has ANYTHING to do with my past support of The Hair.

I’m Roland Burris, and I want to sit down. Why did that guy with the soiled Cubs hat just come up and say, “Mr. Burris, I always thought we would win The Series when you were pitching at Wrigley; when they let you play in the Senate can you introduce a bill to have Bartman executed?”

I’m Roland Burris, and I want to sit down. Why does Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, D-Nev., keep saying my appointment to the Senate is not certified by Illinois Secretary of the State Jesse White? But then White turns around and says his signature is merely ceremonial and that the U.S. Senate should be saying whether or not I can finally sit down (and my dogs are tired!). Will somebody please explain to me why my own party is treating me like I’m a Republican?

I’m Roland Burris, and I want to sit down. I’m 71 years old, and I have to settle for being the junior senator from Illinois. I demand my right to 214 days off a year. I demand my right to free meals. I demand my right to at least two years of living high and mighty on the taxpayer dole. I demand the Illinois Supreme Court sit that Jesse White guy down, put a pen in his hand, and make him sign that damned certificate.

But, most of all, my only regret over all of this, having watched the 111th Congress sworn in yesterday on television, is, “My gosh, that should have been me.” I’m Roland Burris, and I just want what’s coming to me. I want to sit down…where I belong…among all the other frauds.

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I’m Roland Burris, and I Want to Sit Down

Camelot Princess Moves Right ... to D.C.

Completely unpredictable, unfathomable, and unprecedented, Caroline Kennedy, daughter of assassinated President John F. Kennedy, will seek the open junior New York U.S. Senate seat.

She immediately becomes the front runner, edging out fellow Democrat and philanderer William Jefferson Clinton (a former U.S. president, some time ago, when life was more innocent and...ahem...pure) and a host of no names among as many as 12 candidates to fill the seat vacated by Hillary Clinton.

Republican (in name only) Mayor of New York Michael Bloomberg immediately declared her the winner. “There’s no need for debate here. Caroline’s our man. Really, she is mannish. She has great governing experience, having been class president in high school. And she has the full support of the City of New York. I’ve even waved her iPod tax!”

Kennedy also immediately received endorsement from The New York Times (which is seeking a financial bailout on par with the $15 billion being discussed ad naseum for saving the auto industry...until at least Jan. 1).

Her uncle, Massachusetts Senator Edward Kennedy, said it would be an honor to serve with her.

“She, ah, has the backing of Mass…ah…chussets, and, ah, the Kennedy family. We, ah, think she’ll makea a great, ah, sena…ta. New York will, ah, be very proud to have ha.”

New York Governor David Patterson will appoint the next senator in place of Mrs. Clinton, who has been appointed secretary of state for President-elect Barack Obama.

If selected, Kennedy would serve out the two remaining years of Mrs. Clinton's term then face re-election.

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Camelot Princess Moves Right ... to D.C.