Obstinate

You don't know what obstinate means? You're dumber than the President. Well, ok, maybe not, that's highly fucking unlikely. Still I should have fully funded No Child Left Behind and maybe you could read my blog without moving your lips.

Ok, let me tell you the story about about The Obstinate Lighthouse:

Transcrript of a US naval ship with Canadian authorities off the coast of Newfoundland in October, 1995. This radio conversation was released by the Chief of Naval Operations on 10-10-95.

Americans: "Please divert your course 15 degrees to the North to avoid a collision."

Canadians: "Recommend you divert YOUR course 15 degrees to the South to avoid a collision."

Americans: "This is the captain of a US Navy ship. I say again, divert YOUR course."

Canadians: "No, I say again, you divert YOUR course."

Americans: "THIS IS THE AIRCRAFT CARRIER USS ABRAHAM LINCOLN, THE SECOND LARGEST SHIP IN THE UNITED STATES' ATLANTIC FLEET. WE ARE ACCOMPANIED BY THREE DESTROYERS, THREE CRUISERS AND NUMEROUS SUPPORT VESSELS. I DEMAND THAT YOU CHANGE YOUR COURSE 15 DEGREES NORTH. THAT'S ONE-FIVE DEGREES NORTH, OR COUNTER MEASURES WILL BE UNDERTAKEN TO ENSURE THE SAFETY OF THIS SHIP."

Canadians: "This is a lighthouse. Your call."

Have to run now. Time for my bikini wax. Dick out.

In The Beginning: A Vagina Monologue

So I’m luxuriating in my bathtub, surrounded by candles and roses, Tori Amos music softly playing, patchouli wafting through the air, with an appletini in my hand. What the hell happened to me?

It started on All Hallows Eve. Had the coven over for a shindig. Had a little potluck in the Rose Garden followed by the usual invocation of the Four Demon Princes in the White House basement: Lucifer, Satan, Belial, and my personal favorite Leviathan. As I was approaching the altar, drums beating, my coven dancing naked in a circle around me, the words of power roaring from my lips “Zazas Zazas, Nasatanana Zazas”, the knife trembling in my hand, the hobo bound and struggling on the alter – well it was just then that the ole ticker went belly up.

This was number five and it was a doozy. No amount of chest thumping or electric paddles was going to get my heart to giddy back up. So as my soul plunged into the darkest regions of the netherworld, they rushed my cold body and still heart to Walter Reed.

Now ol’ Dick had an ace up his sleeve. Her name was Kelly, a White House intern. 22 years old, runner, perfect health, my exact blood type. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, but when you’re the real leader of the free world and have made some unhealthy deals with the Prince of Lies, sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.

Only one problem. Her heart was worse than mine. Atrial Septal Defect. Had a hole in it the size of walnut in the superior position of the artial septum. So in a wildly experimental surgery they fashioned a heart from Kelly’s vagina and my soul came flying back from the fiery depths.

Several months later, I don’t know what’s going on with me. I was going to bomb Iran, instead I got a pedicure. I was going to kill a puppy, instead I watched The Devil Wears Prada. Think I’ve lost a step. I’ve got to find a shovel and a homeless person to bludgeon.