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The Week That Was 01/13/06

Another week. More preposterousness to report.

This week we were reminded that GOP lies make Baby Jesus cry. Or at least Judge Alito's wife. Yes, that Lindsay Graham-induced outbreak of sobbery by the bath towel-clad Mrs. Bomgardner (that feminazi didn't even have the decency to take here husband's name?) may be the most high drama news networks could concoct in the world's most deliberative body, at least since telesurgeon Bill Frist pronounced Terry Schiavo a member of Mensa via video feed.

It was hard not to be reminded of the sad state of our democracy this past week, while watching members of congress donning baseball caps with big grins and giving speeches longer than a line of Kate Moss's coke without actually asking questions. And I don't mean "highest" in a George Bush during the 70s or Rush Limbaugh yesterday kinda way. I am talking about a man who could and probably will be a party to ensuring our rights are on par with children in Burmese sweat shops or Pat Buchanan's wife over the next generation.

We were also once again privileged to watch that tired old film Brownback Mountain, where the honorable crotch stain from Kansas gives us his personal feelings on abortion ad nauseam, like anyone actually gives a shit. Somewhere in the world there must be a family eating stem cells with their Cheerios that he can go execute or something. Maybe he can become a super hero in a Jack Abramoff/Dana Rohrbacher flick, where he is a Senator by day, yet by night, he sniffs out coitus interruptus around the land and makes damn sure each and every American copulates for procreation. Tom Coburn could be his lovable sidekick—you know the one that wears short shorts and secretly yearns for his affection.

Yes, at least that's all I got out of the "hearings" this week, a foregone conclusion with the usual horserace media coverage and supposed moderates like Arlen Specter and Christie Todd Whitman whoring out like Duke Cunningham in the presence of a free French toilet to ensure many of the rights they claim to cherish are gone by 2010 (Note to NARAL: Lincoln Chafee and Olympia Snowe are part of the same Band of Brothers—keep that in mind when pondering your endorsements and Justice Gary Bauer is up for approval). At least some Senators, such as Ted Kennedy, Chuck Schumer and Russ Feingold, did try and challenge Alito's non-answers to Roe as "settled law," yet his membership in the White Nights of Princeton and past stated opposition to abortion are apparently much like putting pubic hairs on people's chosen carbonated beverage: a free pass to the Supreme Court!

Heckuva job country!

I'm just glad it is over. The only thing I can think of more painful than watching the Scalito questioning again would be if I were a victim in the movie Hostel (Note: plug for friend Eli Roth—if horror flicks are your thing, go see critically acclaimed film Hostel) or forced to watch Kate O'Beirne giving Susan Estrich a deep-tissue massage in her skivvies.

I am sure, were it to exist, you could purchase a videotape of the latter along with Kofi Annan's cell records at a myriad companies with a simple phone call. Last week, you may remember, I linked to an article I wrote arguing for a constitutional right to privacy. Do we need more proof this is a necessity after John found it easier to get a list of Wes Clark's phone calls than it is for one of Dick Cheney's arteries to clog?

And just remember, Alito's past rulings have shown his agreement with President Brush Clearer that he can ignore all laws with which he disagrees and made clear his support for forcing ten year-olds to be strip searched. So you can most certainly count on him to protect your personal information when he joins the Supreme Court.

In any case, I would like to be the first to call Old Sammy Alito to congratulate him. Anyone have $89.95 they can spare so I can get his number?

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