Smile Politely

New grass and a Clausthauler cramping Coulter’s style

So, the weather finally got nice and we even got some rain, so there’s really not much for folks to complain about anymore. Still, when God closes a door, he opens a window, so um … Why the piss is the grass growing so fucking much? I thought for sure that shit was dead. I mean it looked dead. It looked so dead that if it were a person I wouldn’t have even kicked it to make sure. Now that shit is coming back with a vengeance. I’m mowing, like, three times a week and it still gets out of control. I’m actually beginning to worry about what kind of gas mileage my push mower is getting. I’m gonna write this column real quick so I can finish up my goddamned weed eating. Let’s get it on.


I always begin things like this by saying I don’t like to write about politics and then I write about politics. I can’t even make a cute little joke this time because, honestly, it’s simply getting too depressing. The conventions are over, but I really didn’t watch much of those. It’s just too much douchebaggery for a fella like me. Maybe if they promised at least one completely honest statement an hour, I might be able to make it through 30 or so minutes, but I’m not even sure about that.

Anyhow, I don’t really understand the point of the conventions. It’s like a four day freaking pep rally from high school, and from what I can remember about high school pep rallies, even fifteen minutes seemed like way too long. Preaching to the choir has never been all that interesting and these jackass marathons go a long way to proving that. “Hey, you can read a speech written by someone else from a teleprompter. That makes you imminently qualified to pull our economy out of the shitter!” I’d rather watch The Big Bang Theory and that show is a steaming piece of donkey shit.


I remember reading somewhere that people sometimes base their presidential vote on which candidate they would rather have a beer with. It may not have been exactly that, but let’s pretend it is. After all, I really enjoy beer, so that makes as much sense as anything else when it comes to deciding which candidate I should vote for. I still get the feeling it’s like trying to pick which hooker you would prefer to have sex with, the one with syphilis or the one with gonorrhea, but let’s give it a shot.

Would I like to have a beer with Obama? Probably not all that much. First of all, he might try to drop an O’Doul’s on me or something. Second of all, it might get sort of worse and he’d attempt to trick me with a Clausthaler, you know, the non-alcoholic beer that seems like it’s a fancy import except for the fact that it doesn’t tank you up and it tastes like snazzy piss.

Then his pain in the ass wife would probably bring out some health chips for us to munch on, and you know that shit tastes like cardboard no matter how good it is for you. I get the feeling that after a few minutes I wouldn’t even want to have a goddamned beer and if you can make a guy like me feel that way, well, you should not run the country.

His second in command, Biden, seems a little better and I could probably even overlook the fact that he’s a plagiarist. I would even bet the first hour or so of drinking with him would be a strange little hoot. I have a feeling it would get pretty creepy in the second hour when he tried to get me to grab a six pack to go so we could drive around town looking for crank.

When it comes to Romney, I’ll admit I’m confused. Do Mormons even drink? It turns out they aren’t supposed to. Well, that’s a pretty big red flag for me. Their religion is also sort of unbelievable to me, much like Scientology. What is a Mormon? It’s a Scientologist who is not a good enough actor to move to Hollywood. Well, per the test, if he can’t have a beer with me, I can’t really vote for him. Pussy.

When it comes to Ryan, I don’t think I’d want to have even a soda pop with the guy. He’d probably be trying to make you feel his muscles the whole time, at least when he wasn’t embellishing his marathon times.

So, apparently the beer test doesn’t help all that much either. Hopefully, we can all come up with something else before November. It’s just tough to choose between a bucket of turds and pee and a barrel of poop and piss. I think I’d have a much easier time voting to just not have presidents anymore.  


This is probably a new feature, at least until I don’t do it anymore. Either way, you know how everyone always makes drummer jokes? Well, it’s possible that this would all go away if drummers gave just a little bit more, like the fellow in the clip below. He doesn’t really come in until about a minute and fifteen seconds, so you might as well fast forward, because that freaky, awesome bastard is pretty much the whole show. I mean, well, he is just magical.

Wow, that guy does more with one hand than I did when I was fourteen years old.


  • There’s nothing more inspiring than seeing an old guy smoking.
  • When it comes to bestiality, why does it always have to be a sheep or a dog or something docile? You do that and people think it’s deplorable. “Ooh, that sick bastard banged his own cat. Nasty.” I think it would work out better if you stepped it up a notch and got all up on a bear or a lion because then people would be really impressed. “Holy shit, did you see that guy tap that leopard? That shit was awesome crazy. Yeah, he’s got a shit ton of scars, but he can tell that story forever.” You should never try that shit with a monkey, however, because that crazy bastard will do it right back to you.

Buona sera, senorina, kiss me goodnight.

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