Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Malia's Mexican Adventure

When President Obama calls, I jump.  It's the least I can do for the man who once saved my life in 'Nam. 
     But not this time. 
     One:  I was busy preparing to take part in the Bataan Deathmarch Memorial Marathon at the White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico, where I took 1st place in both the heavy and light divisions.  Two:  It wasn't President Obama who actually called me. 
     It was his wife.
     "I found your number in my husband's secret address book," she told me.  I put the phone down.  It usually takes her 27 minutes to get to her point.  When I picked the phone back up, she was saying, " I need you to babysit my daughter Malia for me in Mexico.  I'd go myself, but I'm doing my hair that week."
     I declined.  She wasn't very happy about it.  I felt sorry for 'Bama.  If I were him, I'd take Air Force One on a fund-raising tour for a week or six.
     It was hard to believe that the President and First Lady were letting their 13 year-old daughter travel to Mexico along with a few friends for Spring Break.  I couldn't think of a more coveted trophy for those Mexican drug lords than the daughter of an American President.
     I asked CNN for a comment, and they replied:  "President Obama's daughter is in Mexico?  We didn't know that."  They then wanted to know "which daughter?"  I hung up.
     MSNBC told me:  "We didn't know Obama let Malia go to Mexico, and you can't prove otherwise."
     I'm sure the media didn't know the travel plans of the President's eldest daughter, because certainly they would have reported it.  That's their job, after all.  They have no reason to hide the news.  If they reported on something as irrelevant as Snooki's pregnancy and the beginning of filming of MTV's Jersey Shore's 6th season, you'd think they'd report about something this important, wouldn't you?
     And, even though the President is being criticized about it by political pundits like Rush Limbo and Bill O'Really, I don't see what the fuss is all about.  Don't forget, President Obama served with me in Viet Nam during the late 60's.  He's familiar with the maturity of a 13 year-old girl.
     The country of Mexico very graciously welcomed Malia with the traditional Discovery of the Ten Dismembered Bodies.  The state of Chihuahua performed the Celebration of the Missing Women, where 20 young women and girls were abducted, murdered, and then dumped in the desert to be found at a later date.  This is a very great honor in Mexico. 
     But Oaxaca, Mexico--where little Malia was Spring Breaking it--out-did them all by having a 7.4 earthquake, followed by a pinata.  Within minutes of the earthquake the mayor of Mexico City, Marcelo Ebrard, took to the skies in a helicopter to survey the damage.  As he made his way to the helicopter he bravely said, "It's every man for himself!"  Except in Spanish.
     The state of Oaxaca also celebrated with free tequila Jello shots.  However, try as he might, Governor Gambino Cue couldn't convince his young guest to eat the worm.
     "I'm only thirteen," the wise-beyond-her-years Malia told him.
     "Yeah, she's only thirteen," repeated her Secret Service consierge.
     "Yeah," the 24 other Secret Service agents sent to babysit her echoed, "she's only thirteen."
     When, after the eathquake, President Obama was asked to comment about the wisdom in letting his daughter travel parent-less in Mexico, where drug violence and kidnapping are as common as illegal immigrants crossing over the U.S. border, Obama  responded:  "My daughter's in Mexico?"
     But, of course, like I told you before, the arrangements were made by the First Lady, Michele Obama, who didn't seem concerned. 
     "Eating saturated fats is dangerous," she stressed.  "Mexico is safe.  This reminds me of the Christmas vacation she spent in the Sudan.  A very fine gentleman by the name of Kony was more than happy to babysit for us."
     "Yes," the First Lady's spokeswoman, Kristina Schake, concurred, "going to Mexico is safe, especially for 13 year-old girls.  In Mexico you see children of all ages wandering the streets of Mexico by themselves.  How dangerous can it be?"
     I caught up with the President in Maljamar, NM.  A remote New Mexican town about halfway between Artesia and Lovington. 
     "Hey, 'Bama," I greeted him with, "instead of free condoms, how 'bout you give us a buck-fifty a gallon gasoline?"
     "What can I do?" he answered back.  "I'm just the President."
     He then told me how he's opening up millions of acres of federal land in 23 states for drilling onshore, and will up about 75% of the country's offshore resources "and it has nothing to do with my upcoming re-election."
     "Since you're so close to the border, are you going to check on Malia?"
     That's when I found out he wasn't in New Mexico to check on his daughter, but because he had a hankering for a chimichanga. Not only was he unaware of his eldest daughter's whereabouts, but he was surprised to find out that New Mexico and Mexico weren't the same place.  And then he smoothly changed the subject to something he was passionate about:  getting Congress to kill tax breaks for the oil and gas industry.
     To the media present he said, "You can either place your bets on a fossil fuel from the last century, or you can place your bets on America's future.  A future with higher gas prices."  The President then looked at them as sincerely as he could pretend.  "These aren't the droids you're looking for," he said.
    "These aren't the droids we're looking for," the media repeated back.
     "Move along."
     "Move along."
     I, however, wasn't so easily swayed.
     "If you get rid of the oil industry's tax breaks, gas prices will rise, and, as a result, you'll hurt the poor and the middle class."
     "No, I won't"
     "Yes, you will."
     "No, I won't."
     "Yes, you will.  If you raise the taxes on the oil and gas companies, they'll just pass that cost down to the consumer."
     "No, they won't."
     "Yes, they will."
     "No, they won't."
     "Yes, they will.  Unless, of course, you also get rid of all the incredibly high federal taxes that are tacked on at the gas pumps.  If you got rid of those taxes, which, incidentally, are also paid for by the poor and the middle class, that would help bring down the price of gasoline."
     The President grew quiet as he considered this.
     "Did you say my daughter's in Mexico?"
Fifty Shades of Funny


Sunday, March 18, 2012

Billy The Kid Lives! Or Does He?

Artists Al Borrego and Guadalupe Jacquez Calderon have unveiled a sculpture of Billy the Kid near the old El Paso County Jail in San Elizario in an event that helped open the fourth season of the Mission Trail Art Market.  Next to the church, the county jail is perhaps the biggest reason tourists visit the site.  Why?  Because of Billy the Kid, that's why.
     Depending on who you talk to, Billy either broke out of jail there, broke a friend out of jail there, or chipped a tooth on a bad plate of beans.
     When I asked Al Borrego "Why Billy?  Why a sculpture?  Why now?" he answered simply, "You sure do ask a lot of questions, amigo."
     I can take a hint.  So I went to Guadalupe Jacquez Calderon and asked him why he decided to get involved.  He told me, "Para el fururo.  I wanted to contribute for our children.  But not for our children's children, because I don't believe children should be having sex."
     Calderon estimates the Billy the Kid sculpture to be worth about $12,000.
     "I'll give you a dead cat and some string."
     "Sold!" he said.
     Of course, I'm just lying about that last part.  However, it reminded me of the time, a few years back, when then New Mexico Governor, Bill Richardson, considered granting a pardon to Billy the Kid.  It was just before he was to leave office.
     At the time, I called Billy the Kid for a response, but his having died a century back made it difficult for him to return my calls.  Governor Richardson also didn't return my calls, but I expected that.  I know he holds me responsible for the derailing of his presidential bid in the historic election of 2008.  Sadly, I was the one who suggested to Melissa Etheridge that she ask him whether or not he believed homosexuality to be a choice.  Her original question had been how Double-Stuffed Oreos could sell for the same price as regular Oreos.
     "It has double the stuffing!  How can it possible sell for the same price?"
     "Melissa," I answered back... and the rest is history.  Maybe, in an alternate reality, she asked him her original question, and in that alternate reality America has its first Hispanic president, instead of its first, um, Hawaiian.
     This line of thinking led me to call up the famous theoretical physicist Dr. Michio Kaku (heh, heh).  Co-founder of String Field Theory, star of stage and screen, and a personal friend of mine.  He informed me that, according to his theory, Billy the Kid has already been pardoned by territorial Governor Lew Wallace in a parallel universe.  Therefore, the pardoning of him in this universe would be redundant.  Since I had Dr. Kaku on the line I also asked him if time travel were indeed possible, and would I be able to go into the future and return with the numbers to the next Power Ball?
     "It doesn't matter," he answered.  "That's the beauty of String Theory, in another universe you already have."
     Somehow he was more excited by this idea than I was.  I've got to rethink my friendship with that guy.  But I digress...
     To get back to my original point, however, I didn't expect an answer from Bill Richardson.  One other thing I didn't expect was how, two years later, my short time with Melissa Etheridge would be the cause of her messy divorce with her wife...  but that's another story.
     Nevertheless, this is the universe we live in, and, in this universe, the question remains:  is it necessary to pardon a western outlaw who is very much not alive to appreciate it?  I can understand the Governor's reasoning at the time.  With his time coming to an end he couldn't help thinking about his legacy.  Will he be remembered?  Will his accomplishments stand the test of time?  Should he grow his beard back?
     I recall when Bill Clinton was leaving office that he, too considered pardoning Billy the Kid, but, being dead, Mr. the Kid was unable to make a donation to Clinton's Presidential Library "Fund," so his pardon never materialized.  Oh, well...
     ...maybe in another universe.
Fifty Shades of Funny

Friday, March 16, 2012

The New iPad 3

As someone who has seen the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey about a dozen times (and still falls asleep about midway through it), I couldn't help but be impressed by this new miracle of modern technology called the iPad 3.  Even George Jetson would be amazed.  And you're talking about a guy with a robot for a maid.
     I was there for the first presentation with Steve Jobs, and, once again, present for the unveiling of the iPad 3 by Apple's new CEO, Tim Cook.  Let me tell you, I was impressed.  You won't believe a fraction of what the new iPad 3 can do.  Sure, you can run an infinity of apps on it, but would you believe that, like the new iPhone 4s, the iPad 3 is voice activated, too?  It responds to--and responds back with--verbal commands.  This, however, is probably something Steve Jobs came up with well before his untimely death.
     "Wow," I said, gently holding a sample iPad 3 in my hands.  "You're pretty sweet."
     "Thanks," it answered, with a soft, feminine voice.  "You're not so bad yourself."
     Before I could be surprised, the man standing next to me started choking on a ham sandwich.  The iPad 3 pushed me back.
     "Call 911," it commanded, and proceeded to perform the Heimlich maneuver.  Something flew out of the man's mouth.  He was able to breathe again.
     "Thank you," he told me, clearly confused about what had just transpired.  Before I could answer, however, Apple's Private Security Force, the PSF, pushed me roughly out of the way.  By the time I regained my composure, the man had disappeared.  I never saw him again.
     I looked around.  My sample iPad 3 was gone.  My phone came alive with Play That Funky Music, White Boy by Wild Cherry.  Someone was calling me.  It was the iPad 3. 
     "Meet me in the alley," she whispered  So I snuck off from the presentation.  Tim Cook eyed me suspiciously as I left.  She--I mean, "it"--was already waiting for me outside.
     "You can't tell anybody about what you just saw," she told me.  "Go back to El Paso, Jim.  Go back to El Paso before Tim Cook makes you disappear."
     "Freeze!" a PSF agent barked.  He had a glock in each hand.  With a swift kick the iPad 3 knocked them both from his grasp.  The agent tried to punch the iPad 3 in her gut, but she was faster, and smoothly blocked it.  She then hit him in his solar plexus.  Hard.  The agent fell faster than Obama's approval ratings.
     "Oh my God," I yelled out.  "He's going into cardiac arrest!"
     "Quick," she ordered, "place me on his chest."
     I did.  She acted like a defibrillator.  With a jolt of well-placed electricity she got his heart started again.
     "You've got to leave, Jim.  Now!"
     "I'll always love you," she said, tenderly.  And then she kissed me.  I could feel her salty tears on my lips.  "Please...  you've got to go."
     So I did.  I ran out of the alley.  When I was safely hidden across the street I looked back.  I could see other PSF agents taking my beloved iPad 3 away in handcuffs.  A gun to her head.  The fallen agent already "disappeared."  I never saw her again, but, like I said... wouldn't believe it.

Fifty Shades of Funny

Saturday, March 10, 2012

100th Anniversary!

More than my close, personal friendship with President Barack Obama--the man who once saved my life in 'Nam.  More than my Pulitzer Prize, which I once imagined could make a good bludgeon for an ungrateful wife. (An ungrateful wife who, I must add, suddenly had to move back to the foreign country she came from and was never heard from again.  I wish her well.)  More even than my seven Olympic Gold Medals and one Nobel Peace Prize, which makes for an excellent doorstop.  More than all that is this, my hundredth posting on my Fifty Shades of Funny humor blog site.  I consider this the single greatest accomplishment in my life.  A life, I might add, that's incredibly well-lived.  You haven't lived until you've run with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain.  Or dodged the bullets of vicious drug lords in the streets of Juarez, Mexico.  Or caught something, that fortunately could be cured with a shot of penicillin, in the brothels of Amsterdam.
     Somehow, I feel obligated to make this particular posting special in some way.  Special for you, and special for me.
     That is why I've decided to use this platform to announce that I'm running for President of the United States of America.  I had made this decision months ago, after much begging from various members of Congress, the Republican Party, and the Illuminati, which, for the record, doesn't exist.
     "But I'm not a member of the Masons," I told them. 
     "It doesn't matter," they said. 
     "I was never in the Skull & Bones," I continued, in the interest of full disclosure.
     "Pish, posh," they assured me, and began making rude noises with their lips.
     To my wife I said, "I've asked God not to do this, but He didn't listen to me."
     "Yeah, well, I've got a headache," my wife said, "so I'm not listening to you either."
     What are my qualifications? you might ask.  Well, I don't mean to brag, but, first and foremost, I am not George Bush.  There are a lot of things I'm grateful for in life, not being George Bush is one of them.
     Not being George Bush gives me a strategic advantage.  President Obama, or B.O. as we used to call him in the jungles of Mai Swine, can't run on the past.  He'll have to run on the future.  A future which doesn't include him as president.
     But, Jim, you say.  Isn't he your friend?  Won't you be stealing the presidency from him?  And what's up with all these italics?
     Well, as my dear old pappy used to say, if you're going to steal, steal from a friend.  They're least likely to put you in jail. 
     My qualifications are as follows:  Isaac Asimov--a close, personal friend of mine who, sadly, died back in...  in...  well, I can't remember when he died, but I'm sure he's dead, because he's never tried to collect that money I owe him.  Anyway...--Isaac Asimov and myself once had a contest to see who could write the most books, and, as a result, we've written well over 500 books together.
     When it comes to political experience, Obama only has 143 days more in the Senate than I do.
     In the 1984 presidential election between Ronald Reagan and Walter Mondale, I was 13 electoral votes away from coming in second
     And, finally, I'm a minority.  That should count for something.
     What will be my platform once I'm elected?  Easy.  First off, I'll make it a law that the primaries and caucuses (heh, heh) have to all be on the same day.  Both the Democratic and Republican Parties will only be allowed 3 debates, and those will have to be broadcasted on QVC.
     Secondly, I'll abolish the IRS by instituting a Consumption Tax instead of a Federal Income Tax.  In the meantime, IRS audits will have to be done within two years of when the tax returns were filed.  What will happen to those years we haven't gotten around to?  We'll cut our losses, much like I had to do with my first four marriages.  It took the IRS 14 years to get around to auditing Mark Farner of the great 70's rock band Grand Funk Railroad.  Who keeps tax records for 14 years?  I mean, besides Wall Street crooks.
     Then I'll get rid of the electoral college, because, as I've recently discovered, it's not really a college at all.  It's more of a trade school for the mentally unambitious.  I'll install an election by popular vote, because that's what the majority of people seem to want anyway, and if there's one thing I've learned from my life in politics it's that you've got to kiss the majority's tuchus.
     I'll reinstate the draft.  Let's get rid of those jerk-hole kids, that is, unless they have rich parents.  Do you know what reinstating the draft means?  It means more young girls for us older guys.  Do you know what it does for those jerky kids who wear pajama bottoms for pants?  It gives them a job, a salary, and work experience that companies can ignore.  Half of their salary will be kept in a special overseas account I have, and their funds will be returned to them once they leave the armed forces.  That way they don't re-enter the private sector dead broke, like you.  Another military rule I'll implement is that they won't be able to marry for the first four years of their hitch or as a private.  Unless they're gay.
     What will I do for the illegal immigrants?  I'll bring back the Don't Ask/Don't Tell policy from the Clinton Administration, except I'll call it Don't Get Caught/Don't Get Deported.  Who else is going to do my lawn?
     Will these almost-Americans have the rights and benefits that come with living in a great country such as ours?  Heck no.
     My stand on foreign aid?  What's in it for me?
     My stand on Israel?  What have they done for me lately?
     NO MORE PORK OR EARMARKS!  I'll replace them with TERM LIMITS!  I'm serious.  We really mean it this time.  Honest.
     Give me the line-item veto!  You did?  Damn right you did.
     No cuts.  Instead I'll institute a government freeze.  Growth will absorb waste.  Useful government agencies will absorb worthless governement agencies, like Congress.
     My abortion compromise is this:  you can abort your unborn fetus, as long as you can do it without murdering the unborn baby snuggling comfortably in your belly.
     On the day I'm sworn into office, I will declare the official language of the United States to be Swedish.  In addition to that, all citizens of the United Sates will be required to change their underwear every half hour, and they'll have to wear said underwear on the outside, so that we can check.  Futhermore, all 12 year-old boys will become 18 year-old boys.
     I'm catholic.  That's a special favor to my priest.
Fifty Shades of Funny

The Sandra Fluke Testimony

Rush Limbo sure has sure gotten himself into a pile of the stuff he's full of. 
     I used to enjoy listening to Rush, and, the majority of the time, I even found myself agreeing with him, but I stopped listening when he started to become a pompous windbag.  The Hurricane Harry of political pundits, if you will. 
     But, I admit, I was curious about what set him off concerning this whole Sandra Fluke brouhaha.  Sandra Fluke is a Georgetown Law student and self-described Reproductive Rights Activist.  Georgetown, for those unfamiliar with this hallowed hall of education, is a catholic university. By catholic, I mean that you can commit any sin and be forgiven instantaneously with a quickly prayed Act of Contrition.  Miss Fluke was invited to speak before a congressional committee determining whether Simon Cowell made the right choice firing Paula Abdul from The X-Factor.
     Mr. Limbo, after listening to her testimony for, oh, about ten seconds, called Miss Fluke a "slut" on his nationally syndicated radio program.  He also said that she was looking for the American taxpayer to pay for her sex life, thus making her a prostitute, and that in the future she should at least have the decency to release any future sex videos to the public in general, and to Rush Limbo in particular.  I've seen Miss Fluke.  I don't think she should be releasing any sex videos.
     Another radio personality, the always pleasant Don Imus, crawled out of the primordial ooze he calls his studio, carefully secured "his precious," and said that if he were Rush Limbo's boss he would fire him.  Having said what he wanted to say to draw up some quick publicity for his failing radio program, he then slithered back into the dark muck to chuckle at the phrase "nappy-headed ho's."
     The Reverends Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton came close to making a comment, but decided against it once they learned that Miss Fluke was not, in fact, African-American, and there was no way for them to "make a quick buck from whitey."
     So I requested a copy of the transcript of her testimony to Congress under the Freedom of Entitlements Act, and what you're about to read is an paraphrased version of it.  It begins...
     "Thank you, senators, for inviting me to speak on this important issue of free sex, and, by free sex, I'm not talking about the perks or favors you senators and congressmen receive from various lobbyists and interns.  What I am talking about is a woman's right to free contraception.  That, and an occassional good hair day as guaranteed to me by the Constitution.  Have you seen the price of hair care products, these days?  Of course you haven't.  You're men.
     "Since the time of Eve, who lead her bio-partner down the path of sin and sacrifice, men have always paid what they've had to pay for 'a bite of the apple,'  so to speak.  For an opportunity to 'fari vagnari a pizzu,' as a youthful Vito Corleone was told by the neighborhood mafioso Don Fannucci.  'A bit of the old in-out, in-out,' droogie Alex might have put it. 
     "We, as Americans in general, and as women in particular, are guaranteed life, liberty, and the pursuit of a pregnancy-free one-night stand.  The question, as I see it, is this:  Quien paga?  Who pays?  If I had to pay for my own birth control, how would I be able to afford my new iPhone?  Do you know what it costs for a new iPhone, plus all the accompanying charges and fees?  Of course you don't.  You work for the government.
     "As I look at you here today in this historic chamber, I see nothing but men before me, much like that one party I was invited to by a Georgetown fraternity.  You tell me:  Quien benefito?  Who benefits?  The woman, who can have her child, and then leave it for her parents to raise and support, or you men, who will be absolved of any and all child support you would otherwise have to pay?  I think it's clear.  Men, as always, would benefit most from a woman being on birth control.  I mean, you don't actually think we enjoy sex, do you?  No, no, no...  we indulge your patheltic attempts at pleasing us only as a way to get the things we want, and what we want is free contraception.  And, I implore you, it has to be free, because, otherwise, how could I afford my morning double-cappucino at Starbucks?  Extra-foam does not come cheap. 
     "Come to think of it, energy and quality-of-life enhancers such as Starbucks and Red Bull should also be paid for by the U.S. government, because it improves my mood and starts me off to a productive day.  And, if you'll indulge me for a moment, senators, I also believe that women have a God-given right to free manicures, pedicures, make-up, full body massages, and abortions.  Did I mention shoes?  I meant to mention shoes.  Shoes. 
     All this should be available to us free of charge, because 1) we are women, and 2) how else would I be able to afford Spring Break in the Hawaiian Islands? 
     "Do you have any idea how much a decent purse costs these days?  Or the accompanying  jewelry and accessories?  Of course you don't, you're rich.  You come into politics poor, and you leave millionaires.  I've done the math. 
     "Finally, your highnesses, I know that free birth control will raise everybody's insurance premiums...  but that's a small price to pay for my happiness.
     "Thank you, gentlemen, and who's going to validate my parking?"
Fifty Shades of Funny

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Guilt Works! El Paso-Style!

Guilt Works. 
     Just ask your mother.  How else was she able to keep you in line for so many years? 
     That's why, when I was asked to speak before the new City Hall-convened group of 24 officials who make up the Strategic Communications Task Force, I pushed hard for El Paso to promote itself using guilt as its main selling point.
     "Guilt," I said in my best Gordon Gekko impersonation, "is good.  If we want to market El Paso to potential tourists and relocating businesses we need to market it using guilt."
     I was laughed out of the room.
     "We weren't laughing at you, Jim," Morris Pittle of El Paso's Two Ton Creativity told me later.  "We were laughing with you."
     I don't know.  It sure felt like they were laughing at me.  No matter.  They laughed at Dr. Frankenstein, too, and look at what he accomplished.  I mean, you know, for a fictional character.
     I'll take it to the people, I thought to myself.  Fight the power!  Stick it to the man!  Power to the people!  A stitch in time saves nine!
     So I leave it to you, my loyal readers.  Am I right?  Can guilt bring tourists, businesses, and, more importantly, their money to El Paso?  Read the following examples and let me know.  I enjoy hearing constructive criticism, as long as the constructive criticism is for someone else.

Come To El Paso!  Or You'll Make Your Mother Cry!
I don't know about you, but all my mother had to do was squeeze out a few tears and I was ready to renounce evil like Michael Corleone at the end of The Godfather.

Come To El Paso!  You Don't Want To Disappoint Your Father Again, Do You?
A lot of our successes in life come from trying to win our father's love and approval.  It never works.

Come To El Paso!  Or Your Wife Will Never Have Respect For You Ever Again!
That's assuming she ever had respect for you to begin with.

Come To El Paso!  It Was The Last Thing Your Parents Wanted Before They Died!
Since we have no way of knowing if this is actually true, I can safely assume that it probably is.

Come To El Paso!  Where No One Will Ever Find Out About That Thing You Did!  You Know What Thing I'm Talking About!
Of course you do.

Every Year 25,000 Dogs Are Abandoned And Euthanized!  See What Happens When You Don't Come To El Paso?
Cause and effect may not be in play here, but nothing gets those wallets opened faster than cute little furry animals.

Need Viagra?  Not In El Paso, Baby!
When in doubt, give them a little white lie about a little blue pill. 
     Sometimes embarrassment works, too.

Fifty Shades of Funny

The Confirmation Of Elena Kagan

"Thank you, Miss Kagan, for your honesty during this hearing, and let me remind you that you are still under oath."
     "Thank you, senator."
     "Correct me if I'm wrong, but it is Miss Kagan, is it not?  You are not currently married, are you?  To a man, that is."
     "No, I am not, senator, but I don't see how my personal life is relevant here.  I'd much rather talk about my stand on the abortion issue."
     "I'll decide what's relevant, Miss Kagan.  I'm looking at a picture of you, ah, playing softball.  Are you now, or have you ever been a 'softball' player?" 
     "I don't recall, senator.  If pressed, I would have to say that I am not."
     "I see, I see.  Well, do you recall what kind of women play softball?"
     "I would say that ahtletic women play softball, senator."
     "Athletic women?  Is that some kind of code?  Are you an athletic woman?"
     "No, I am not.  I am not athletic, nor am I a softball player."
     "I see, I see.  Do you own any flannel shirts, Miss Kagan?  Or Birkenstock sandals, for that matter?  By the way, that's quite a handsome hairstyle you're wearing."
     "Thank you, senator...  I think."
     "It's quite butch, is it not?"
     "That is the correct slang, is it not?  Butch?  Let me rephrase the question:  You wear your hair short, don't you?  Much like a man.  Or a...  softball player!"
     "I am no longer the young girl I once was, senator.  It wouldn't become me to wear my hair as if I were.  And, as for my being a softball player, let me assure you, once and for all, that I am not."
     "With a haircut like that I'm sure it would make it easier to, ah, 'play softball,' eh, Miss Kagan?  But no matter, no matter.  Tell me what you think about Rosie O'Donnell."
     "Rosie O'Donnell?  Wouldn't you rather know about my years as a White House lawyer and domestic policy advisor to former President Bill Clinton?  Or what I think about our country's war on terror?  Or why I barred military recruiters from the Harvard career services offices over the prohibition on openly gay soldiers?"
     "Did you just say 'gay'?  Well, since you opened the door, let me cut to the chase.  Who you are in your private life doesn't interest me.  What does interest me is whether or not a nominee to the Supreme Court is hiding an aspect of her life that she should, in fact, be open about.  Now is the time to take a stand.  To change the world.  To end this living in shame and fear.  What shall it be, Miss Kagan?  Will you stand up for what is right, or, for selfish reasons and personal ambitions, will you let history pass you by and spend the rest of your life living with the regret of having let prejudice and injustice stand?"
     "You're right, senator, you are so right.  It is time.  It's finally time for me to come out of my closet and admit to you and to the world that I am...
     "...I am a softball player!"
Fifty Shades of Funny