A Family of ROT

The CBC just never seems to get tired of trying to discredit our Prime Minister! If it's not drooling over the Cadman affair, it's drooling over the Taliban prisoner affair, or it's drooling over the Bernier affair, or it's drooling over the Nucleur Power Plant afair, or the con man Schreiber affair, or the Chinese Canadian prisoner affair. . . drool, drool drool. Trying so hard to make Stephen Harper look bad. Now, alas, the CBC has another drool forming puss on it's chin. . . The Kid Khadr affair! The big shots in the CBC management are rubbing their blue-knuckled, old fingers together, thinking: "this could be the affair that brings down Harper." Now let's get something straight right here: The CBC doesn't give a fiddler's finger about Omar, The Kid, Khadr. But the CBC will use the Kid Khadr affair in the same way, and for the same reason, it tried using all the affairs mentioned above. . . TO TRY TO DISCREDIT THE CONSERVATIVE GOVERNMENT SO THAT THE LITTLE CITIZEN OF FRANCE, STEPHANE DION, WILL HAVE A BETTER CHANCE OF BECOMING THE PRIME MINISTER OF CANADA (Oh God! Excuse me while I puke!) AND WILL BE ABLE TO SEND THE CBC 60 MILLION DOLLARS OF TAX-PAYER MONEY JUST LIKE JEAN CHRETIEN DID AFTER HIS LAST ELECTION!
Over and over the CBC aired Khadr's lawyers saying things like, "It has been reported that young Khadr was tortured. . . It has been reported that Khadr was the victim of sleep depravation. . . It has been reported that Khadr didn't receive adequate medical attention. . ." Well let me just say right here, It has been reported that Mother Teresa wore pink bikini panties! And it has been reported that Hitler was a blood donor! Com'on sleezbags, You're supposed to be lawyers, for God's sake. You should know that being reported doesn't make it true. Let's get some names or proof or some kind of substantiation to those reported accusations of your's!
I really feel insulted when I hear Elizabeth The May-flower say, "Let's bring the poor kid back home to Canada." The poor kid was in Canada but he left and went to Pakistan and started flinging Al-qaeda grenades at American soldiers! The American medic was going to become a civilian doctor but instead he was blown to smithereens by a putrid 16 year old terrorist! (15 years, 10 months) I'm sure his mother and sister danced with glee when they heard that their little Omar had killed an American, the same way they danced with glee when the twin towers fell!
Hey! Elizabeth The May-flower! Lets bring the poor kid home so that the welfare cheque to the wonderful Khadr family will be increased!
Another TV network did an e-mail survey to find out how Canadians feel about Kid Khadr. The overwhelming majority of Canadians basically said, "Let the little terrorist rot in Guantanamo!" I'll drink to that!
Of course, the CBC will no doubt come out with it's own survey which will have 89% (or some such BS) of Canadians tearfully wanting to welcome back Khadr! The CBC lives by only one doctrine. . . The end ( get Harper ) justifies the means! ( Lie, cheat and hoodwink Canadians.)

Dimmy

 

Winter, Spring, Fall or Summer. . . . . . sometimes life is just a bummer!

 

Ya know. . . anybody who has never smoked has missed one of the finer pleasures of life!

 

You think this is bad? Last week I had to do the motorhome!

 

Twins

Last night I dreamed I was Angelina Jolie's babies. I was both of them. I was the oldest, by one minute and I was the youngest by, of course, one minute. I was the only one who could tell us apart, unless you got right down to the nitty gritty! I was the boy. . . I was also the girl. Babies are almost always hungry and I soon found out that my Mama Jolie's mammary glands are different. I don't mean they're different from, say, Julia Roberts, no, my Mama's boobs are different from each other! For instance, you can suck on the left one all night and still starve to death! I realize, of course, that doesn't sound like a very chorefull way to spend an evening, ("Chorefull"? Must be a dreaming word!) But I swear it really was totally empty. The right one, however is completely opposite. I'm not speaking geographically. . . I'm talking functionally. Like, as soon as the nipple of the right one touches your lips--CHOING, your belly's full. So with a full belly I decided to do a little more exploration because there was something I just had to find out about my Mama Jolie. . . I headed straight for her mouth. I pushed the other Me away and told her to go find another place to explore. I only weighed five pounds so my hand is very, very tiny. I put my very, very tiny hand on my Mama's enormous bottom lip. Her top lip was even more enormous! If they ever came together my tiny hand would surely be squashed! I felt around, searching for needle marks, but to no avail. Maybe Botox is administered from inside the mouth. I took a chance and pushed my hand deeper inside those voluptuous red mounds. My fingers were too short and I found no needle holes. Just then Dad Brad came into view and he was carrying a piano. He pressed a key, it was A-flat. I must have played this game before because I knew exactly what I had to do. I pressed my finger on my Mama's head a few times and eventually found the place that made the A-flat sound. Dad Brad looked extremely proud and pleased. He pressed another key and B-sharp sounded. After only two attempts I found the B-sharp spot on Mama's head. I was searching for the High-C spot on Mama's head when suddenly. . .
"What in God's name are you doing?"
"Huh?"
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Huh?"
"Stop jabbing your fingers into my head. You're giving me a headache!"
"Sorry. . . uh. . . guess I was dreaming."
"Were you asleep?"
"Well, yeah!"
"You know, honey, we're going to have to get twin beds. You're starting to sleep weird!"
"Twins?"
Yes, the kind that have about six feet separating them."
"Oh. Okay."
"What you were doing when you first woke me up felt pretty good. I thought you were awake and it was kind of nice. But then you started pushing your fingers into my mouth, and pulling on my lips. . . I probably have stretch marks!"
"Sorry. Must have been dreaming. . ."
"And then all that finger jabbing on my head. . . what was that all about?"
"Just dreaming, I guess."
"Well, you're going to have to do your dreaming in your own little, twin bed."
"Okay."
"I'm going to take a shower. It's almost time to get up anyway."
"Okay."
"You might as well get up and cook breakfast."
"Okay."
The bed was empty. Strange dream! Botox babies? Can't quite remember. . . I wondered was she serious about getting twin beds? "What do you want for breakfast?" I yelled as I passed the bathroom door.

Dimmy