The Buck Does Stop Here

Let me make this perfectly clear: the office of the President of the United States of America is NOT, repeat, NOT to be used for commercial purposes.

That’s why we’re so upset about the giant billboard in Times Square (right above a Red Lobster restaurant – that’s just delicious on so many levels). It’s a picture of Big Guy in his Weatherproof jacket at the Great Wall of China. It looks a lot like a flak jacket, which came in handy this past week. And apparently it worked pretty well, as Big Guy has been able to deflect all blame for a hole in our security system large enough to fly a 747, on it’s way into a building, through.

But never mind that, don’t you think BO’s looking positively studly? Lady M has to beat back would-be potential suitors nearly every day. And that’s just the MSNBC crowd.

I particularly like the tag line “A Leader In Style”, but Toes says it cheapens the brand, and has to go.

Seriously, when this official Big White picture was released, our MSM buddies started drooling. Prior to the O’s arrival, they could only dream of being this close to such complete coolness.

I say stick an Absolut martini in his hand, and we’ve got the girls college educations at the ivy league college of their choice paid for, with change left over for a few designer togs.

But I know, I know. It cheapens the office to use the presidency for commercial purposes. And we’d never dream of actually doing it.

But believe me, we’re going to get to the bottom of this. We’re going to determine who’s responsible for this systemic breakdown of anti-commercialism,and Big Guy’s going to demand a sustained effort to contain it.

 The O’s: Repping Peace (at any price), (social) Justice and the (un) American Way since 2008

 

Note: I’m on another special assignment this weekend that I’m not permitted to discuss right now. But it requires a cross-country trip by land (air security being what it is and all) so my posting on all things Big White related may be a bit spotty for the next few days. I understand they don’t have access to the Interweb at all of the truck stops along the Interstate. But don’t worry, I’ll fly back to Washington if any thing big breaks.

Technical Difficulties

Goodness, this cold snap –due to Al Gore’s war on Global Warming – seems to have frozen up my server. It seems temporarily unable to upload pictures, so I’ll post my Friday update as soon as we can get a green energy backup pack attached to the drivers.

Sorry for any inconvenience caused by this unscheduled maintenance. And don’t worry, Big Guy is busy as we speak (so-to-speak) finding out who’s going to be held accountable for this latest snafu.

Does This Black Hole Make My Butt Look Small?

I just got my Christmas and Happy New Year’s cards from my brother Hub today. (You can read more about Hub and me in my Bio, if you’re unfamiliar.)

Christmas Star (aka Pluto) 2009, Merry Christmas sis. xoxo, Hub

 

 

 

 

 

Happy New Year from the Carina Nebula! Big Celebration last night! Love, Hub

 

 

 

 

 

 

The cards are a little late, but when you’re drifting through the universe where time is measured in light years rather than election cycles and tweets, I think I should cut him some slack.

Hub’s sent many fabulous pictures back to earth over the years, but now some scientists at Villanova have used his research and photos to conclude that the end of the world is at hand, due to exploding supernovas. But Hub says not to worry. Just like the global warming alarmists, these pin-heads don’t know what they are talking about either.

So rest well tonight:  Doomsday is not at hand after all. Oh, and Hub says you might want to invest in some Pendletons, Snuggies and Uggs. It looks like our sun’s solar flares may be going on sabbatical for a few years. According to inter-galactic lore, that means we’re in for a really, really cold decade or so.

Here are a couple of my favorite shots from some of Hub’s previous outer limits communiqués.

New stars forming

                 

 

Hub said he thinks Lady M would be a great advocate for the space program if I could just get her interested in it. After all, given the vastness of the universe, even the black holes would make her butt look small.

Are you feeling small yet? Go ahead, use all the double-ply toilet paper you want. I promise, the earth will somehow manage.

Perspective, people. It’s as important in science as it is in fashion.

 

Harsh Stares All Around: Take That, Jihadists

Bummer, now we have two non-jihadi terror attacks on our watch that we have to blame on the previous administration. Axeman says this excuse will work –max - a half dozen times. At the rate we’re going, that doesn’t even get us through our first term. Therefore we have to spring into action. Around here that means a summit, followed by a presser.

So that’s exactly what he did yesterday: 10 days after the undie bomber was hosed by a Dutch tourist we sprung into action. Big Guy held a big meeting with all of our important security and intelligence people: because we already acknowledged there was enough blame to go around. And just to make sure we had enough around to blame, we included Desiree, our resident security screening expert:

  

Big Guy got really mad. He said there was a big “screw up”, and that was for the record.These chumps made him look really bad while he was playing golf.  And now we have to walk back just about all of our official positions from our vacation. That always makes you look like you might not have been in complete control. There were hard stares all around. We’ve seen movies - we know how to make these twits feel like they’re getting a verbal thrashing.

So here it is: apparently the system didn’t work, apparently the knickerbomber is a jihadi terrorist trained in Yemen, and apparently we will not be releasing Gitmo detainees (don’t you love that term?) back to Yemen. Did I cover everything?

Oh yeah, one more thing: there will be no finger pointing.Big Guy won't tolerate it.

 

Oh, and he assured everyone that he’s holding everyone else accountable for doing their jobs. Because that’s his job.

So when he says he won’t tolerate finger pointing, I think we know what he means:

None of this

Big Guy’s job is to tell you when you’re acting stupidly.

We’re Ba-raack

Yes, we’re back from our dream vacation on Big Guy’s isle of official birth.

Dressed for a funeral, I guess, but so far we haven’t announced whose. I think we’re just trying to keep it low key, after what some in the non supportive media are referring to as our extravagant island adventure while the rest of America is just squeaking by.

So I suppose it’s not a good time to mention that we are wearing our custom thigh-high French boots:

But it really is cold here, and they’re the only good thing about being back in Washington. Not that news stopped while we were lazing around in the surf. In fact, historic news continued to be made. No, not the undie-bomber. I’m talking about the historic appointment of the first transgendered person to a real important federal position. Some of course, would question whether that honor belongs to Mr/Ms Simpson.

But Bruno said that she will not be disputing the title. In a further statement, Department of Homeland Security Janet Napolitano stated that she felt aManDa Simpson’s appointment showed that the system worked perfectly. If by “perfectly” you mean our first, historic transgendered re-assignment was not accomplished with the use of exploding underpants.

Iron Comfort: Chicago Rules Rule the Day

Thanks goodness we’re heading home from Paradise with a win under our belts (metaphorically speaking). Chef Comfy delivered our first big historic Iron Chef win last night. It was a squeaker: we lost in the “taste” category, but made up for it in “presentation” (don’t we always?).

I was so excited my backup refractors temporarily failed (now I can keep my framed awards up!). MO gave Big Guy her signature fist-kiss,

and Toes smiled satisfactorily and said nothing.

Joey B and Gibsey  were dispatched to watch the competition on the  big screen in the cafeteria, because everyone knew how they would react when we Won a food battle:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The night was filled with tension though, starting with the announcement that the Chairman was attending in “spirit”.

 

Toes opened a big can of F-bombs and grabbed the “Red phone”. After a few more F-bombs and one “I’m keeping score”, he sat back down to announce “It’s ok, the Chairman will phone in a good read later in the show. He’s on vacation”.

From that point on, it was all fun and cheers. Everybody was rooting (no pun intended) for their favorite garden vegetable. Lady M tricked everybody, saying she was pulling for the sweet potatoes, but I knew she was really backing the Tuscan black kale. Big Guy sided with the icicle radishes and Toes rooted for all the red meat.

We were rolling to victory when, before our very eyes, Chef Comfy went off menu. She remembered Alton Brown using the “D” word (diversity) when talking about the secret ingredient, and thought something reflecting her Filipino tradition, combined with a Chicago staple AND a Big White garden vegetable would cinch it. Not a bad idea on its face, but Comfy, bubbie, sautéed rat- a-touille??? Did you see the look on Emeril’s face?

Thank Gaia, Comfy grabbed a city rat, because that little guy got out of the frying pan quicker than a greased Chicago politico. Suffice it to say he didn’t make it to the judges bench, er… table for the final judgment round.

Lady M surprised and thrilled all of the contestants when she presented each of them with a victory belt she designed herself. Note that some of the team members are wearing them in  MO’s signature boob belt style, while a couple of the loser members look like they might benefit from the soon-to-be-released line of belts that lift and separate.

I’m just glad we started our first, second historic year with CHANGE we can once again believe in: A win! Plus, I think Lady M has decided that we’ve milked about as much as we can out of that “sod busting thing”.

Good Bye garden. Hello lamb chops.

Don’t Miss the Organic Throw-Down!

Don’t forget! Battle Croc-Pot tonight, on FOOD TV. Please root for Team Obama, because if Lady M and our executive chef Cristeta Comerford, don’t walk away with the prize, I’m afraid there’s going to be hell to pay.

I know we’ve got 2 of the judge - chef Nigella Lawson and actress Jane Seymour - in the bag, but I’m a little concerned about Olympic gold medal swimmer Natalie Coughlin. After all, the O’s didn’t exactly deliver on that Olympic promise for Chi-town.

MO doesn’t really handle losing very well, so if this doesn’t work out for her, I’m probably going to have to take down all of my hard-earned award plaques – so as not to ruffle her feathers.

So what do you say? Let’s go out there tonight and win one for the Chairman! Takeshi Kaga, Original Iron Chef Japan Chairman

Do you like my new Crocs? They were a gift. I get to keep them if Team Obama wins.

Security We Can Believe In

I cannot believe our Hawaiian Holiday is nearly over. It was an exciting one. Surfing, golf, movies, giant fish, shaved ice, undie-bombers, golf.

And I might as well post this picture myself, since everyone else has. I know you’re all wondering how on earth this sort of thing can happen with all our security systems. Well, it’s not that we let our guard down, more like I was missing in action.  Remember:I told you I was pulled in on the panty bomber terror detail for 5 hours last week? Sure enough, those were dangerous hours and the photographers with their long-lens armed cameras took advantage of this breech. Perhaps now we’ve learned that we need to be on constant guard against the paparazzi terrorists who hate us and never go on vacation. We just can’t have another man-caused disaster like this occur on our watch:

Perhaps now you will all be a little more understanding about the measures I’ve taken in the past to prevent another incident like this?

But never mind, our bathing suit antics are over for the season.

We’re going back to D.C. where Algore’s global warming antics have dumped tons of snow, and dropped temps into the chilly-willies. We’ll be flashing our toned guns (that’s gym-talk for biceps, people, not hooters) in our winter weight sleeveless dresses for now. We’re already reviewing our options for the State of the Union.

 

Or at least I think we’re flying home. As of right now, Lady M is refusing to board Air Force One.

It seems TSA has advised us that new in-flight protocol requires all passengers to remain seated for the last hour of flight, with absolutely nothing on their laps. Lady M has two problems with that: first, where is she going to put her Dom Perignon? And, secondly, there’s no way anyone is going to tell her when she can take a pee. Even Big Guy is getting a little wee-weed up about this. He enjoys his beer you know. So we’re busy having an executive order drafted exempting us from these silly rules that were meant to make the little people feel safe.

See you back in the Big White.