He said, she said. I’d say she wins out, because of looking great, just as a starter. So with this very day being Election Day, put on your best new fall (Starter?) jacket and accompanying attire, and weigh in on how much looks are important to voters.

Hey sex sells, whether in downtown Hudson bars or in a more subtle way the whole political scene. What do they say, men are pigs?

If you are not in the mode for a really big pig farm in your beloved St. Croix County, in an effort to protect its large stream and bunch of smaller ones, then check out the message of CAFO, not Coda, like the Zeppelin record,
(So I can say for the record, what follows is my Coda, verbage stuck in front of the existing story that was posted this morning).
So for the Pence factor, and he’s just gotta have a small rivalry with Trump at this point, six-Pence is halfway to a threesome (or did I get that backwards?) Either way, that sounds like a Party. (Ask Chad at Dick’s, yes you read that right, about the exact definition, in an old joke that goes back to the Obama years).
I’m sure Trump could help make the necessary arrangements, because we are told he is good at making things happen, in a Broad sense.

And that Billy Bush on the Bus thing? If another Bill, that being Clinton, would do the same things Trump bragged about, he would have had crosses being burned on his front lawn — even if its the White House where the barriers were up on Election Day — in virtual Real Time, which I know these days is not that recklessly different than meeting media deadlines. Because on a side note, its that ilk who buys and pays for what news they want you to hear — and forget that old (urban?) myth about the existance of a liberal media, especially locally. But I’m told, Clinton still gave it a shot to take it that next step and record the bus blather so he could get some tips as far as Come On Here Dear Boy, Have A Cigar, You’re Going To Go Far. So, Kid Rock for president as an alternative action? But I will be more reluctant to sway the way of hip-hop for presidential material, even if that’s a large part of what the party deejays locally play, as ‘cuz as even a black woman I encountered on a bus said: “This is all more stupid than the Kanye West Thang.” And this was “I’m on a Bus,” not “I’m on a Boat.” (Sorry Smilin’ Moose). So as far as who runs the country, with a musical background, I guess all we can do as it concerns recent relevations, is Carlos Santana.
But our now Bordering on third-rate country is on the verge of re-electing a second-rate president, as its really getting Stormy … again. What, he wasn’t that good, not to even breath the mention of, say, he wasn’t the best I’ve ever had? In this day and age, last word pertinent, having that not-so-long-a-slong can drop your ratings among, certain types of people who are envious anyway, a good 10 or 15 percentage points.
And your claim to fame is that you screwed a porn strar. Why is that your calling card unless … you are another porn star.
Maybe more of the powers that be, one-party sided as they are, would listen to me if I hailed from Russia, and had that kind of “influence,” not because I know the skinny supermodel/escort/porn star/wife for citizenship types from there, although that’s a route Trump went, or thought of going further even after the fact …

Virtually every woman running for office, as seen in local flyers, looks stunning. Even Supreme Court Justice Ginsberg, unwittingly a pawn in the whole political and election process even in her death that meant there would have to be a replacement, looked even nicer and charming in her obit photo then when there was a standard mug shot when she took that office when, decades ago?
And Sarah Yacoub, who could rightly feel she’s a scorned women (is that the right term?) over how she has been portrayed. The opposition seems to be trying, with considerable dollars, to portray her as — and sorry, this is the applicable term based on a fairly obvious read of their strategy — a hot mess. Like their most recent photo pulled out of the vault, showing her with oiled hair draped down over partially, one eye. Some friends of mine who model would agree this is the type of pose you would see in the likes of Cosmo, and they’ve preened for such shots. The first flyer go-round showed Yacoub in what looked like a booking photo, standing in front of a height chart having her around 5-foot-7 or more. Models are supposed to be that tall and they don’t exactly dress conservatively, at least in their shoots, when sporting their version of business attire. But all, please take to heart that some of those same people are MENSA candidates and quite capable. The age-old mantra to which I subscribe, that its OK to value someone for their looks, as long as that is not all you value them for. And they need to be reminded of that. I just did.
And in flyers, vice presidential candiate Harris –and not the bass player Harris for Iron Maiden that a friend of mine says she used to lust over — is shown in more than one flyer as part of a foursome of mug shots, looking over seemingly doe-eyed at the two men she is running against. Trump may not have a shot, but maybe, just maybe, there is (still) hope for Pence.
And as far as Bernie, well he’s just Bernie. As far as whatever became of him, we’ll introduce another one-time pop culture figure with not-so-hot looks: Weekend at Bernie’s.

Share the Post:

Related Posts

My mom has told me not to be a potty mouth when I write, as she certainly would not appreciate hardly any of the standup humor on say, Comedy Central Radio. SNL maybe. But after 11:30 p.m. … But there comes a time where a man must make a stand. And for this jokester, it was now when he had to choose whether to pass on the opportunity that would otherwise bite him in the butt, for in front of and behind him is the Mother Lode. Or should I say load. Or “Mothers” of Invention. Heh heh, heh heh, Butthead, look...
So the wall is down. Of letters, that is. Not down by Mexico. Cemented into the concrete. Of the Kennedy Center. Where music has sat. (Near where a now defunct wrestling arena rusts in peace. Or a bloodied White House lawn. With leftover paper cups and plates, more likely bowls and small utensils, anyone?) Or more ornate than inside? A tarp the size of Pennsylvania, the predominant battle state, covers workers as they chip. So geez, how big are the letters? Four times 50 living workers high? But now none remain, or so we are told by flunkies. Or is...
A few years back, I wrote an article about Hudson Deacon Tom Kroll and how he did so many extra dutiful tasks, his living out the Gospels tirelessly, when his wife was ill, in addition to his regular job. I was inspired at the time to pen this, about my own lovely, disabled wife — we were separated briefly but now back together with our 40th anniversary this month, as wholehearted caregiving has many strains — and how an atypical view of standard roles, out of necessity, made things work, as far as our approach to work and home that’s...
What do fishing, maybe in the dark, thus a Texas ranch, snakes of various types and do they come or stay out after dusk, eating either and only fine food or snacks, and a game of cards — likely just one each — have in common. And no strippers or Chippendales. And an only half or quarter, not full Monty. (Who is Monty anyway?) Or cowboy or cowgirl hats. Although there was some dress-up. More Barbie than boots on, I think. It’s an easy answer, connected and conflicting, but not in all or dirty ways, bachelor and bachelorette parties. One of each...
It was clear to me at the most recent Jeff Loven music show in Hudson, for Memorial Day weekend, that there has been a changing of the guard. The sword has been passed. New blood, like Yungblud, has been brought in. And, I must say, loyalty — amongst the devotees who travel frequently and all across the two-state area to virtually all of Jeff’s shows — has been rewarded. They are the royalty, in what just makes good business sense that I can appreciate. In a significant but not unprecedented altering of course, I was not one of those asked...
Trial by fire. My broiling heart in my efficiency flat still beats a bit, in concern over those boiling over in worse apartments in a Chicago tenancy, or on an ocean island instantly-burn-your-feet beach or dessert, or forced to endure ice baths just to keep cool — or simply be offered no way to maintain an ice-dripping body other than also read a non-cookbook at the library, or select not a big steak you can’t afford but a 73/27 burger from a freezer and slap it on your forehead. Just not too hard. All these things are ones where you especially today either burn or...
Scroll to Top