The Wit & Wisdom of Martin VanBuren

Numerically, the 8th President. Objectively, the best ruler in the history of man.

July 30, 2004

Hey, how's it going?

Me likey the spicy
Hip-hop impresario Russell Simmons' wife has been arrested for erratic driving and pot possession.

Which brings up two points I've been meaning to discuss for some time.

1. Kimmora Lee Simmons is hotter than Chi-Chien.

Rick Rubin's 1st problem, Blair Underwood,98 more on the way
2. Remember at the end of the Simmons' Cribs episode when they look up and you realize they live in the shadow of the World Trade Center and that there is no way their custom marble and gold toilet could have survived?

That was sadder than Blair Underwood's beat-down at the hands' of the evil drug dealing loan sharks in Krush Groove.

Yo, Buff, man! We ain't got all night

So home boy, tell 'em what you like

July 29, 2004

Rev. Al, Definitely Not a Unitarian

I must say when they announced at last night's convention that a minster was going to speak, I was all like, "BOOOORRRRRIIINNNG."

You see, I was expecting a Ralph Waldo Unitarian type or worse yet some Cotton Mather wannabe talking about heaven and hell.

That, however is not the good Rev. Sharpton's style. The following is the text of his speech, which while long is worth the read, print it out and save it if you have too. (ed note: dervivates of the words mutha fucka have been inserted where appropriate for emphasis.)

Thank you mutha fuckas.

Tonight I want to address my remarks in two parts.

One, I'm honored to address the mutha fuckin delegates here.

Last Friday, I had the experience in mutha fuckin Detroit of hearing that mutha fucka, President George Bush make a speech. And in the speech, he asked certain questions. I hope he's watching tonight. I would like to answer your questions, mutha fucka. Bad ass mutha fucka

To the mutha fuckin chairman, our mutha fuckin delegates, and all the mutha fuckas that are assembled, we're honored and glad to be here mutha fuckin 2night.

I'm glad to be joined by supporters and mutha fuckas from around the country. I'm glad to be joined by my mutha fuckin family, Kathy, Dominique, mutha fucka will be 18, and Ashley.

We are here 228 mutha fuckin years after right here in Boston we fought to establish the freedoms of America. The first person to die in the Revolutionary War is buried not far from here, a Black mutha fucka from Barbados, named Crispus "mutha fuckin" Attucks.

Forty years ago, in 1964, Fannie Lou Hamer and the Mississippi Freedom mutha fuckin Democratic Party stood at the Democratic convention in mutha fuckin Atlantic City fighting to preserve voting rights for all America and all Democrats, regardless of mutha fuckin race or gender.

Hamer's stand inspired Dr. King's march in Selma, which brought about the mutha fuckin Voting Rights Act of 1965.

Twenty years ago, my favorite mutha fucka, Reverend Jesse Jackson stood at the Democratic National Convention in San Francisco, again, appealing to the preserve those freedoms.

Tonight, we stand with those freedoms at risk and our security as citizens in question.
I have come here tonight to say, that the only choice we have to preserve our freedoms at this point in history is to elect John "mutha fuckin" Kerry the mutha fuckin President of the mutha fuckin United States.

I stood with both John Kerry and that other mutha fucka, John Edwards on over 30 occasions during the primary season. I not only debated them, I watched them, I observed their deeds, I looked into their eyes. I am convinced that they are men who say what they mean and mean what they say.

I'm also convinced that at a time when a vicious spirit in the body politic of this country that attempts to undermine America's freedoms -- our civil rights, and civil liberties -- we must leave this city and go forth and organize this nation for victory for our party and John Kerry and John Edwards in November. You listin' mutha fuckas?  This shit is about to get good.

And let me quickly say, this is not just about winning a mutha fuckin election. It's about preserving the mutha fuckin principles on which this very mutha fuckin nation was founded.

Look at the current view of our mutha fuckin nation worldwide as a results of our mutha fuckin unilateral foreign policy. We went from unprecedented international support and solidarity on September 12, 2001, to hostility and hatred as we stand here tonight. We can't survive in the world by ourselves.

How did we squander this mutha fuckin opportunity to unite the world for democracy and to commit to a global fight against hunger and disease?

This court has voted five to four on critical issues of women's rights and civil rights. It is frightening to think that the gains of civil and women rights and those mutha fuckin movements in the last century could be reversed if this mutha fuckin administration is in the White House in these next four years.

I suggest to you tonight that if mutha fuckin George Bush had selected the mutha fuckin court in mutha fuckin '54, that supreme mutha fucka Clarence Thomas would have never got to mutha fuckin law school. MUTHA FUCKA!

This is not about a mutha fuckin party. This is about living up to the promise of America. The mutha fuckin promise of America says we will guarantee quality education for all children and not spend more money on mutha fuckin metal detectors than computers in our schools.

Keep Hope Mutha Fuckin ALIVE!!!
The promise of America guarantees health care for all of its citizens and doesn't force seniors to travel to bitch ass Canada (ed note: Canada is more of a bitch ass) to buy prescription drugs they can't afford here at mutha fuckin home.

We did it with a go-it-alone foreign policy based on flawed mutha fuckin intelligence. We were told that we were going to Iraq because there were weapons of mass destruction. We've lost hundreds of mutha fuckin soldiers. We've spent $200 billion dollars at a time when we had record state deficits. And when it became clear that there were no mutha fuckin weapons, they changed the mutha fuckin premise for the mutha fuckin war and said: No mutha fuckas, we went because of other mutha fuckin reasons.  BITCHES I'M TELLIN YOU THAT IS BULL MUTHA FUCKIN SHIT!

If I told you mutha fuckas tonight, Let's leave the mutha fuckin Fleet Center, we're in danger, and when you get outside, you ask me, mutha fucka, What is the danger? and I say, It don't mutha fuckin matter. We just needed some fresh air, I have misled you and we were mutha fuckin misled.

We are also faced with the prospect of in the next four years that two or more of the Supreme Mutha Fuckin Court Justice seats will become available. This year we celebrated the mutha fuckin anniversary of Brown v. the Board of Education.

The promise of America provides that those who work in our health care system can afford to be hospitalized in the very mutha fuckin beds they clean up every day.

The promise of America is that the mutha fuckin government does not seek to regulate your behavior in the bedroom, but to guarantee your right to provide food in the mutha fuckin kitchen.

The issue of government is not to determine what mutha fuckas may sleep together in the bedroom, it's to help those mutha fuckas that might not be eating in the kitchen.

The promise of America that we stand for human rights, whether it's fighting against mutha fuckin slavery in the Sudan, where right now Joe "mutha fuckin" Madison and others are fasting, around what is going on in the Sudan; AIDS in Lesotho; a police misconduct in this mutha fuckin country.

The promise of America is one immigration policy for all who seek to enter our shores, whether they come from mutha fuckin Mexico, mutha fuckin Haiti or bitch ass Canada, there must be one set of mutha fuckin rules for everybody.

We cannot welcome those to come and then try and act as though any mutha fuckin culture will not be respected or treated inferior. We cannot look at the mutha fuckin Latino community and preach one language. No one gave them an English test before they sent them to mutha fuckin Iraq to fight for mutha fuckin America.

The promise of America is that every citizen vote is mutha fuckin counted and mutha fuckin protected, and mutha fuckin election schemes do not decide the election.
It, to me, is a glaring contradiction that we would fight, and rightfully so, to get the right to vote for the people in the capital of Iraq in mutha fuckin Baghdad, but still don't give the mutha fuckin federal right to vote for the people in the capital of the United States, in Washington, D.C.

Mr. President, as I mutha fuckin close, Mr. President, I heard you mutha fuckin say Friday that you had questions for voters, particularly African- American mutha fuckas. And you asked the question: Did the Democratic Party take us for mutha fuckin granted? Well, I have raised questions. But let me answer your question.
You said the Republican Party was the party of Lincoln and Frederick Douglass. It is true that Mr. Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation, after which there was a commitment to give 40 acres and a mutha fuckin mule.

That's where the argument, to this day, of mutha fuckin reparations starts. We never got the 40 acres. We went all the way to Herbert "mutha fuckin" Hoover, and we never got the mutha fuckin 40 acres.

We didn't get the mutha fuckin mule. So we decided we'd ride this mutha fuckin donkey as far as it would take us, BITCH!

Mr. President, you said would we have more leverage if both parties got our mutha fuckin votes, but we didn't come this far playing political games. It was those that mutha fuckin earned our vote that got our vote. We got the Civil Rights Act under a mutha fuckin Democrat. We got the Voting Rights Act under a mutha fuckin Democrat. We got the right to organize under mutha fuckin Democrats.

Mr. President, the reason we are fighting so hard, the reason we took Florida so seriously, is our right to vote wasn't gained because of our mutha fuckin age. Our vote was soaked in the blood of martyrs, soaked in the blood of good men (inaudible) soaked in the blood of four little girls in Birmingham. This vote is sacred to us mutha fuckas.

This mutha fuckin vote can't be bargained away.

This mutha fuckin vote can't be given away.

Mr. President, in all due respect, Mr. President, read my mutha fuckin lips: Our M-U-T-H-A F-U-C-K-I-N vote is not for muthafuckin sale.

And there's a whole generation of young mutha fuckas that have come forward across this country that stand on integrity and stand on their traditions, those that have emerged with John Kerry and John Edwards as partners, like Greg "mutha fuckin" Meeks, like Barack "mutha fuckin" Obama, like our voter registration director, Marjorie "mutha fuckin" Harris, like those that are in the trenches.

And we come with strong mutha fuckin family values. Family mutha fuckin values is not just those with two-car garages and a retirement plan. Retirement plans are good. But family mutha fuckin values also are those who had to make nothing stretch into something happening, who had to make mutha fuckin ends meet.

I was raised by a single mother who made a way for me. She used to mutha fuckin scrub floors as a domestic worker, put a cleaning rag in her mutha fuckin pocketbook and ride the subways in Brooklyn so I would have food on mutha fuckin the table.

But she taught me as I walked her to the subway that life is about not where you start, but where you're mutha fuckin going. That's family mutha fuckin values bitch.

And I wanted somebody in my community -- I wanted to show that example. As I ran for mutha fuckin president, I hoped that one child would come out of the mutha fuckin ghetto like I did, could look at me walk across the stage with governors and senators and know they didn't have to be a mutha fuckin drug dealer, they didn't have to be a mutha fuckin hoodlum, they didn't have to be a mutha fuckin gangster, they could stand up from a broken home, on welfare, and they could run for mutha fuckin president of the mutha fuckin United States.

As you know, I live in the big mutha fucka, New York. I was there mutha fuckin September 11th when that despicable mutha fuckin act of terrorism happened.

A few days after, I left home, my family had taken in a young man who lost his family. And as they gave comfort to him, I had to do a radio show that morning. When I got there, my mutha fucka James Entome (ph) said, mutha fucka, we're going to stop at a certain mutha fuckin hour and play a mutha fuckin song, synchronized with 990 other mutha fuckin stations.

I said, That's fine mutha fucka.

He said, We're dedicating it to the victims of 9/11.

I said, What mutha fuckin song are you playing?

He said America the mutha fuckin Beautiful. The particular station I was at, the played that rendition song by Ray "mutha fuckin" Charles.

As you know, we lost Ray a few weeks ago, but I sat there that morning and listened to Ray sing through those mutha fuckin speakers, Oh beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of mutha fuckin grain, for purple mutha fuckin mountains' majesty across the fruited mutha fuckin plain.

And it occurred to me as I heard Ray singing, that Ray wasn't singing about what he mutha fuckin knew, because Ray had been a blind mutha fucka since he was a mutha fuckin child. He hadn't seen many mutha fuckin purple mountains. He hadn't seen many fruited mutha fuckin plains. He was singing about what he believed to be.
Mr. President, we love mutha fuckin America, not because all of us have seen the mutha fuckin beauty all the time.

But we believed if we kept on mutha fuckin working, if we kept on mutha fuckin marching, if we kept on voting, if we kept on believing, we would make America beautiful for everybody.

Starting in November, let's make America mutha fuckinbeautiful again.
Thank you. And God bless you bitch ass mutha fuckas.

Straight out of compton, crazy mutha fucka named ICE CUBE.

July 28, 2004

What Can I Say...

Loves Barak

What can I say about the Democratic National Convention that hasn't already put America to sleep by 8:45pm every night this week?

Not a whole hell of a lot--shit, Dan Rather ran out of shit to say on Monday, last night he was talking about how his wife wants to lick redi-whip off of Barak Obama and often refers to him as, "one sexy ass mulatto mofo".

This is my party, I love these guys and I fully support Candidate Kerry, but come on--it's a snooze-fest.

So far it's been like watching paint-dry or worse yet like watching a Republican Convention, but with more old black women with American Flag Hats in the place of pasty-faced, home-schooled, bible beaters from Retard, AL.

In my day the campaign didn't even start until much later in the year, we've known Kerry would be the candidate for months and so what? Yeah, more Americans know who the hell he is than candidates of the past, but the assumption that they care about what either guy is saying is way off.

Despite everyone's best efforts and hundreds of million's of dollars raised, no one will pay attention until after labor day and then the debates (if Bush dares show up) and most people still won't vote.

Not cool, not cool.

Bring the noise.

July 27, 2004

The problem of full employement

Often times I hear people complain about the number of available jobs in the economic circumstances of that particular age or geography.

My first reaction, is that while there may be many a cruel taskmaster, factory owner or corrupt merchant, this is America babycakes, we got the full-on entrepreneurial spirit, if you can't find a job you gotta make your own way to pay.

Take my friend Gary for example.

Gary under one of his many aliasesGary is a complete eff-up with the addict’s trifecta of gambling, booze and whores. So natch, from time to time Gary runs in to financial difficulties, lacking the monetary means to pay off a bookie, bar tab or cudgel wielding pimp.

One time George Clinton (the former governor of New York and Vice President, not Dr. Funkanstein of mothership fame) even threatened to cut off his left nut if he didn't make good on a loan.

At any rate, Gary always needed money, and being a scallywag, had no skills whatsoever.

So what did he do?

That's right, pretended to be a dentist.

Contrary to popular belief being a dentist is easy and requires almost no skill and very little sense.

Whenever Gary needed money, he'd simply pack up his bag of sharp pointy objects that look vaguely useful, a fake name, his mail order dentistry degree from Penn (Ivy League my ass) and head off to a country township where he was unknown.

After a couple of days of drilling, prodding, making gums bleed, thoughtful nodding at patients complaints, groping the hot chicks knocked out on morphine and usually bedding the mayor's daughter, he'd skip town with enough ducats to hold him over or at least save his life for a few more weeks.

If you hear any noise, it's just me and the boys.

July 26, 2004

The Revolution is Upon Us

From the New York Times, known to many as the paper of record, but in my mind still no Kinderhook Free Press circa 1820:

Steve needs to get out more

If the 1952 Republican convention was the first television convention, and the 1924 conventions were the first radio ones, the 2004 election will be remembered because of them, the bloggers insist.

I was just thinking the same thing. I was thinking, 2004 is the year of 16 year-old nerd who has a masturbatory poster of Hubert "effing" Humphrey over his bed instead of the more typical Heidi Klum or Lip-syncing Whore Strumpet of the moment.

I also have it on very good authority that the kid's mom found a stack of old Economists under his bed and considered replacing them with Juggs or at least FHM, with the hope that her son might discover boobs and spend less time on the computer acting like an old nerd and enjoy his nerd youth more fully.

Fo real though, if I wasn't 222 years old and dead, there's no way I'd have time for a blog, not with all the fly hotties out and about.

I met this little girly. Her hair was kind of curly.

July 22, 2004

I'm the Little Magician And This Is Where the Magic Happens

A man's home is a true reflection of himself.

You stay classy Washington
A tidy, yet organically stylish pad reflects confidence and immediately makes visitors both respect and feel comfortable with their host (see the White House 1837-1840).

A house that smells vaguely of vagrant urine and is littered with cigarette burns might indicate you've entered the home of a borderline psychotic, an ex-member of GN'R or some hybrid thereof (i.e. Andrew Jackson madman, 19th Century Rock Star).

However, most people try to construct their home in complete artifice -- as a statement of what they think other people want them to be. As the delightful former first lady and matriarch of Washington society, Dolly Madison, used to say, "that's complete bush league crapola".

Looks reputable Becker doesn't know shit
My advice has always been to strive for authenticity and expertise. For example, when seeking out a footstool, try to buy one from an actual Ottoman. My good friend Gary returned from a trip to Europe one autumn with a footstool he was very proud of.

SOOOOOO GAY!!!! The piece of crap lasted a month and fell completely apart. Turns out he mistook a Belgian wearing a fez and blackface for an actual Turk. As Dolly Madison said, "the fact that he bought it at a waffle shop outside of Antwerp should have clued him in he was getting effed in the a," but live and learn I guess.

If all else fails, consult a homosexual of some interior design repute, like the dude on Queer Eye or James Buchanan.

One and two and three and to tha four

July 20, 2004

Introducing the Tallest Midget!

Andre 3000 of Outcast has won an award for being the world's sexiest male vegetarian.

Ah yes, very good... who did he beat out?

Yo Lou, let's get it on
What's that you say?

Weird Al and John Cleese?

So I'm guessing those are the only three male vegetarians of even minor fame then?

It's Like the year Lewis beat out Clark for most bangable American explorer.

I'm the masta blasta pickin' up the Shasta my voice sounds good cause it hasta.

July 19, 2004

NASCAR Is for Pussies

Looks French

What's the big news out of the world athletic competition today?

Dale Earnhardt Jr. has "moderate-sized burns of moderate intensity" that he sustained when crashing his motor-carriage somewhere in a race in the God forsaken wilderness of Spanish California.

Number 1, it seems to me the motor carriage is doing all the work here. Many times did I journey from Washington to Albany in the passenger carriage of a locomotive train, and rarely did I feel victorious if we beat an alternative locomotive into the station. In either case, while NASCAR may be a game of sport, it hardly seems athletic--but I digress.

My real point is that I suspect this competition is very popular among young girls, the French and the gays you here so much about these days that to me are virtually indistinguishable from the before mentioned French.

"Moderate-sized burns of a moderate intensity"?!?!?

Is MR. Jr. injured or did he fall asleep in the sun?

Now I hear you, you're saying, "but MVB, his father died in a horseless carriage race."

Exactly my point, Mr. Sr. struck the wall with such force that he was almost instantly killed without suffering.

Gary, straight pimpin
My friend Gary used to frequent (and by frequent I mean gamble heavily there upon) wagon races generally featuring the Irish, with the occasional French-Canadian or half-Indian. One time Gary and I attended such a competition outside of Buffalo. In the second lap of the race, an Irishman threw a bowie knife in the back of one of his competitors. This unfortunate soul fell out of his wagon and was trampled by the proceeding 5 teams of horses and at least two wagons. He lived another 6 weeks in a semi-lucid state filled with opium and whisky with a body roughly the consistency of bread pudding.

Anyway you slice it, that my friend is a sport for dudes.

So I came to her room and opened the door

Oh, snap! Guess what I saw?

A fella tongue-kissin' my girl in the mouth,

I was so in shock my heart went down south

July 16, 2004

The People Demand an Answer!

A picture of my father's tavern by the local retard

People often ask me, "MVB you are so handsome and erudite, the very existence of one being with so much overwhelming machismo seems to bend the very fabric of a universe bound by the immutable laws of quantum mechanics... oh, wait... hold up...

That was some BS, Peabs made up about himself.

Here we go...

What people really often ask me is, "MVB how does one achieve an almost other worldly ability as a raconteur?"

Talking whore
It's quite simple really, my father you see was a small farmer, and a Tavern owner.  Every day after some solid physical labor and my academic studies, I would spend my evenings in the tavern of Kinderhook listening to travelers and men of local import wile away the hours discussing local business, the politics of the day, events of historical importance and world wide significance.  The very American experience, unique and unfettered by its European forbearers was gestating before my very eyes!

OH, and the whores.  Can't forget about the tavern whores!  Those sluts could talk the balls off bear in heat! 

If you want it, then you got it, if you want it baby you've got it. 

July 15, 2004

A Tale of 3 Stevie's

Should a previously great artist be held accountable for his latter day sins?

Bring the rock, leave the crap at home.
Stephen Foster roared out of no where back in 1844, "Open Thy Lattice Love" wasn't exactly all oves, but certainly the first time I read the score posted on my son's harpsichord, I was all like, "SHIT DOGG that is a dope melody! The I-Pod in my mind suggests banjos, and the banjos are kickin' it!"

He then just kept bringing the hits, "Uncle Ned", "Nelly Was a Lady", "OH SUS-MUTHAFUCKIN-ANNA!", "Ring Ring Da Banjo" -- each guaranteed to rock your nads off.

Then the now seemingly inevitable happened, stagnation brought on by success and more success fueled by an auditorally retarded public that only sped up the downward spiral.

"Old Folks at Home", who gives a shit about old folks or there homes? I was an old folk at home at the time and I was like, "NEXT"!

It's sad to see the cycle of Steves repeated. Stevie Wonder goes from "Talking Book" to "I Just Called to Say I Won't Be Writing Good Songs Anymore". Steve Tyler blazes with "Toys in the Attic", gives up sharing needles and expects me to swallow "Pink". Might as well let Joey Kramer sing Don Eagles Henley stizz and really suck it up.

Who hears the words we speak as I take me a drink to the middle of the street.

July 14, 2004

Donde Esta Kool Moe Dee

I wear my HUGE sun glasses at night
Seriously, has anybody seen him lately?

It seems like one day he taking the air out LL Cool J, disin' his Kangol and the like and the next his career was deader than Daniel Webster.


I mean there was that Treacherous Three reunion LIKE TEN YEARS AGO!!!!

And then he did like one more solo album, then nothing, zilch.

Will Smith shat on Wild Wild West and Dee wasn't even available for comment.

Crap man, Louie Cass swiped a line from one of my speeches in 1847, so I made up the Free Soil Party and ran for president again just to eff with his presidential hopes.

You gotta protect your turf, can't be lettin' no bitch mess with your legacy, I don't care if he's in I-Robot-blows or an old school Michigan Politico.

If you're ever in a fight and you're beating one of us

Break out, before you get bumrushed

July 13, 2004

Does D Over B = M E?

You know what's awkward?

Meeting a friend of friend.

You'll just be hanging at the tavern having a few tankards of ale and your friend will be all like, "Hey MVB this is so and so, you guys should talk while I run to john or to buy some shots or whatever."

Bust out the Armonica Ben Franklin stizz
After about 5 seconds of "Hey how about Albany's Rounder's team?" or "Have you heard that new Armonica song is D minor -- it's totally boss", you realize the other guy is a complete ass.

What's so disturbing about this scenario is that by the transitive property of douche bags (a=c=db) your friend must also be a douche bag.

And if you are friends with the friend of a douche bag, does that in fact make you a douche bag by association?

For example, in 1827 I met Andrew Jackson's friend Lawrence Holmes (not the former heavy weight boxer, another Larry Holmes) at a card game. In 1805 Larry had convinced Old Hickory that this other guy was a prick and that Drew should duel with him.

Needless to say, the future President and my mentor was shot and nearly died (the other guy bit it, natch) and yet he still remained friends with Larry for the rest of his life, semi-oblivious to the fact he was an assface.

Being friends with DB's some say worst trend since un-retiring from blogging with super secret blogs.

The freaks come out at night (The freaks come out at night!)

July 08, 2004

Sir, I take the utmost umbrage with your tone!

My dear sir from the west I do believe you have made a serious error.

This is PeabsThis is MVB
I know Peabs.

I have worked with Peabs.

I sir, am no Peabs.

So look it here check the flavor of the rhythm I wrote and while I got a chance here

Let me clear my throat!

July 07, 2004

Forget About the Hemp for a Second

"Make the most you can of the Indian Hemp seed and sow it everywhere."

President George Washington

Washington's guide to OpiatesIt's a well know and established fact that many of the Southern Tobacco farmers also grew hemp. Madison, Monroe, Washington, and Jefferson all were accomplished "rope makers" if you catch my drift.

What's less well known is that the founding fathers didn't toke no funky ditchweed.


They were blowing up on the good stuff.

Even today, stop by Washington's old pad, Mt. Vernon and what do you think you'll find?

That's right, more red poppies than the Siam Merchant Marine.

Am I saying that Martha and George were totally hopped on H?

Of course not.

Am I saying they rolled A-Bombs and Buddahs and tripped balls up and down the Potomac?The actual weed teeth.

Yes, that's what I've heard.

Andrew Jackson even told me that Washington's teeth weren't really wooden, but actually woven from hemp and that he had considered breaking in to the National Archive to try and smoke Washington's teeth.

Of course he was blitzed off his A at the time.

When I rock, I rock alone, just me, myself and a microphone.

July 06, 2004

Down by the C-Side

The exploding kind, not the guys who did ChromeIf you've never had a hit record is really appropriate to release a collection of b-sides? You have no A sides, so how can you have B-sides? I call em like I see em, and I see an album of crap they didn't feel was good enough for the 'real album' but that they might be able to sell to suckers without actually having to do more work.

Let's just name it Less Than Good and call it a day.

Unsure what to do with those leftover Chinese Bangers, Fizigs, and Crackers from the Fourth of July?

I suggest putting some under the chair of an unsuspecting victim.

In 1831 I talked Henry Clay in to slipping a Catherine Wheel under John Quincy Adams who had fallen asleep in the House of Representatives once again. Old Man Eloquent was so overcome by a fit of terrors he nearly stroked out and Henry Clay lost most of his hearing, but in my mind it was more than worth it!

John Kerry has picked a running mate. While I support the ticket with the utmost vigor as is becoming a dead elder-statesman of my party, I do wish Senator Kerry had heeded my earlier remarks.

I did like this I did it like that, I did it with a whiffle ball bat.

July 02, 2004

Celebrating the Fourth

The dirty Hessians are stealing your children with their luscious foodOnce again it comes time to rollick in boisterous praise of our fine and spotless Union. All over this beautiful nation Americans will celebrate our freedom from the imperfect constitutional monarchy of King George III by downing Hamburgers, Frankfurters and watered down German style beer by Budweiser.

I ask you people... in retrospect did the Hessians lose the war but win our stomachs?

In protest against the seeping encroachment of the mercenary Hun this weekend I will only be consuming truly American food stuffs.

Yes, that's right, it's a weekend of maize based (or corn if you like) Fritos and Sour Mash Whiskey for MVB.

Holla back at me now!

July 01, 2004

When Nicknames Go Awry

Nice ribbons ass munchFor the last time, "Little Magician" is just a nickname.

It refers to my small stature and my supernatural abilities for le politique, nothing more, and nothing less.

I don't know what your card is, nor I will not pull a rabbit from my dapper haberdashery. Have you ever tried to clean rodent feces and urine from a silk lined cap? I don't need BS like that.

Furthermore, if you insist that I cut your wife in half with saw, she will likely bleed to death if she doesn't have a heart attack when the saw actually cuts into her flesh.

So in closing you want some magic? Go see Harry Potter.

Get up and get get get down.