Missing Rush Limbaugh: A Look Ahead

William Jefferson Clinton watched the two cheerleaders give him a manicure, and realized he missed Rush Limbaugh. The man was always good for a laugh, particularly when he played Hillary’s cackle over and over, or Farrakhan going off about the mothership. The reenactment of the Fairness Doctrine had closed down Rush, and the rest of the talkers who wouldn’t dance to the new tune. You could spin the dial for an hour and never hear anything that got your blood pumping.

He stared at cheerleaders, the white one sawing away at the nails on his left hand, the black one working on the left. Their tight sweaters said Ruth Bader Ginsberg High School, class of 2012. The Tennessee Education Commission had renamed the school two years ago, changed it from Ronald Reagan High and the locals still hadn’t gotten over it. Part of the reason he had been sent down here to Mecklenburg for the grin and grab. Tomorrow he hit two Baptist church pancake breakfasts, a Rotary luncheon, and a Boy Scout banquet that evening. There was an election in November and the party needed every vote to be counted.

The black cheerleader looked up as he started laughing. “You okay?”

“Just fine.”

“My grampa said you’re the best president we ever had,” said the white cheerleader, stropping away at his hand.

He nodded at the stack of photos of himself in hunting gear. “Would you like me to autograph a picture for him?”

The white girl shook her head. “Grandpa died last year.”

“Oh… well, would you like one for yourself?” he said.

“That’s okay,” she said.

The TV in the corner of the cramped, high school dressing room had the sound off, but he still flinched when Barry … President Obama and Michelle came onscreen. Follow Us to the Promised Land floated just below their smug faces. Their daily inspirational hour broadcast live to the American people. Michelle had taken a rolled-up newspaper to the FCC right after the inauguration and that had been that.

“Switch it off,” he growled. “I’ve been to the Promised Land and it’s over-rated.”

The black cheerleader dropped his hand. “You’re done.”

The white one did the same. “You coming out to talk soon?”

“A few minutes,” he said. “I wanted to let the excitement build.”

“What do you mean?” said the white one.

“I’ll … I’ll be out shortly.” He sat back in the chair after they closed the door, hanging on to the armrests, his head pounding. The cheerleaders had ignored him, left the TV on, and there was Barry … the president grinning away while he clapped his hands, and Michelle, as usual, looking like she wanted to slap somebody, anybody.

Nothing on the tube but those two, and nothing on radio but Air America from sea to shining sea, the bad-news-and-it’s-your-fault radio network. Some girl in Salt Lake fell and skinned her knee, the American people and their past leaders had failed her, past leaders meaning him, Willie Boy, Elvis, the Big Him. Like he should have installed marshmallow sidewalks or given away bubble wrap pants. He absently rubbed the I’m Sorry button in his lapel. Well, he might be wearing the button, but he wasn’t sorry.

Rush Limbaugh wasn’t sorry either. After he got bounced off the U.S. airwaves, Rush had set up a pirate station in the Bahamas, a real blowtorch, powerful enough to reach across the country. It had been a problem for a while, then Barry had stationed the coast guard up and down the whole east coast to jam the broadcasts. Cost a lot of money, but there was plenty now since Barry cut the defense budget by 2/3 after the Iranians promised to play nice. Must be nice to be able to get that through congress. He had slashed the military too, but the republicans squealed like feeder pigs before a luau. Barry … President Obama just blathered something about hope and everybody on both sides of the aisle swooned. Hope we can be friends. Hope we can trust you to keep your word. Hope we don’t get attacked. Hope this.

continued . . .

This great little short is by Robert Ferrigno, author of Prayers for the Assassin and Sins of the Assassin. It only gets better.

When Bras Attack

A Greenville, S.C., woman who filed a lawsuit against Victoria’s Secret saying that a defective bra seriously cut one of her breasts has submitted a new version of the suit correcting an error in the depth of the wound, Greenville Online reported.

In the original lawsuit, Jessica Lang claimed a bra she bought at the mall “malfunctioned” and caused a cut in her chest and breast “nearly six inches wide and six inches deep.” The new claim, filed Thursday, drastically changes that allegation to “3 inches long by 1/4 inch deep, resulting in scarring,” Greenville Online reported.

Lang’s attorney, Nathan Hughey, says the mistake was a result of a clerical error in a legal document when the lawsuit was originally filed in 2005. It has since been moved from state to federal court. Victoria’s Secret claims no wrongdoing in the alleged injury. They say Lang’s injuries were caused by her own negligence.

Lang claims she was fired from Alegis Group in Greenville after she had to miss work to recover from the bra-induced injury. Hughey told Greenville Online that the bra “broke and the wire came through and lacerated her breast.”

The lawsuit claims that Victoria’s Secret “so negligently and carelessly designed, manufactured, constructed, assembled, inspected, and sold the brassiere that it was dangerous and unsafe for its intended uses” and caused Lang “lost wages, pain and suffering, future disability, loss of prospective business relations and medical expenses.”

The thing that has me curious about this whole story is exactly how such an injury would result in a “loss of prospective business relations.” That is a business I would like explained to me in great detail. By the brunette in the picture. Over some drinks and in a dark discrete place.

Oh yes, the picture has nothing to do with the story. She’s just hot.

Here’s the thing . . . as one gets older one learns that everyday bras are not the dangerous kind. Much like tame house cats, they rarely cause problems except for unsightly sagging as they age. It’s the wild, exotic bras that cause you trouble. Sure, they start out cute and cuddly but, much like women in their late-30s, 40s and 50s, when they are full-grown cougars you never know what they will do. It’s a recipe for a trip to the emergency room, traction, and stitches I tell ya.

Brunette Of The Week

So, like, Ace had this big post titled “Blogging While Female” which generated a lot of discussion and at least two follow-up posts, but which I never fully understood because I got into it late and couldn’t figure out much about it except that it was about the objectification of female bloggers and had this really nice photo of a brunette.

I don’t know who it is - one of the gal bloggers or just a model - but she is certainly Brunette of the Week material.

Online Lingerie Dressing Room

I should probably wait until tomorrow to post this, but it is just too cool to wait.  Unfortunately, this gal is not pictured at the link, but hey, you can’t have everything.

Hat-tip to Ace.