The Problem with Hillary is Bill’s Penis

There. I said in the headline of this article what Donald Trump has been bumping up against all this week — “Hillary is unelectable because her husband’s penis ruined his presidency and our America” — and, in many respects, that argument is uncomfortably right on target, especially for those of us who are old enough, and wizened enough, to remember the Bad Old Days of the Clinton presidency that ended mired in vaginal cigar penetration and accusations of rape against a sitting president.

Even Hillary’s odd and off-putting campaign logo for 2016 can be semiotically read as an erect, red, penis — not just the tip penetrating a blue barrier — but plunging through it as well. From the moment I saw that awful campaign logo I knew she was in trouble. Either someone on Hillary’s staff is playing with her, or she really is as bad a personality-less campaigner as she claims.

Who the hell wants to relive Bill Clinton penis stories for the next six months? And yet that’s the legacy before us as Hillary reminds us of his angry, red, act every day with that penetrating cock logo!

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Do the Hounds Finally have Obama?

Well, it finally happened.  The line between Republican paranoia and Democrat fear finally met in the middle and Barack Obama is caught, dead center, in an inescapable vise of his own doing.  The Republican hounds have been after him since day one, hoping just to nip him up a bit to put a bit of blood in the water so the President is belittled and begrudged bite-by-bite until there’s nothing left of his presidency except an empty shell of what could have been and what never was.

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Joe Paterno Becomes the Goat and Begins to Pay Down His Real Legacy

There’s an old saying in the theatre: “Don’t Be the Goat!

“Every production has a goat,” Dr. Stein would yell, “The goat gets the blame.  DON’T BE THE GOAT!”

Dr. Stein’s advice is timeless and excellent.  He wanted to make sure we were all appropriately trained to deal with anything and that we would always be able to work around any obstacle in a production so nobody could point a crooked finger us and say, “This is your fault,” thus making us, “The Goat.”

Sometimes you cannot avoid being labeled The Goat — it doesn’t mean you earned that title or that you did anything that deserves pointing — but the eternal fact in any production is that there must always be someone to blame.  Every show needs an unlucky totem.  Every show needs someone to kick when everyone is down.

Now that Joe Paterno is dead at 85, he will surely become in death what he never was in life:  The Goat.

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The Downward Spiral of Sean Hoare: Ten Sentence Story #134

He spoke up first and foremost, and said that he was made to hack into phones.

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Elizabeth Edwards and Her Everlasting Loathing

In what can only be called “In the Spirit of Revenge,” cheating John Edwards‘ wife Elizabeth is coming out of her cancer haze to fling one last round of loathing against his infidelity as a husband and his immorality as a father.  In case you need a reminder of Edwards’ public sin, here’s the splash headline from the National Enquirer showing his mistress and alleged love child.  

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My Old Kentucky Penis

Subliminal advertising — using semiotic images to suggest sexuality in magazine and print advertising that could only be read by the subconscious mind — had its heyday in the 1970’s as ice cubes in the shape of breasts appeared in liquor ads and, the most famous example by far, was Farrah Fawcett’s bestselling poster with “Sex” written with the curls of her hair. The “S” starts on her shoulder and your eye can make out an “e” near her chest and a twisted “x” above her left breast and under her armpit.  I can guarantee you the young, horny, boys of the mid-70’s like me were never looking at her hair…

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Gordon Davidescu wrote this article.

I was in a Duane Reade store recently, waiting in line, when a man who was ahead of me made it clear that he could not be any less happy with the store. He said that he had accidentally left his wallet in the store one day while waiting for a prescription at the pharmacy counter and when he called about it, the manager assured him that the wallet was there and that he could come and pick it up.

Continue reading → Crybabyism