After White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs parodied Sarah Palin’s use of hand-notes, we parody both the hopeless Gibbs and a laughable legal assertion that has appeared on the White House’s Flickr page. Clicky on picture for super-sized Gibbsness goodness:
Updates: Further commentary at
Are We Lumberjacks?
I Own the World
BARACK OBAMA’S TELEPROMPTER’S BLOG “Press corpse.” Heh.
Gateway Pundit
Moe Lane
Left Coast Rebel
Daily Caller
Hot Air
We have no idea who’s behind El Paso Fake News, though we suspect it’s actually Roy Ortega blogging from his home in pajama bottoms and a workout bra, but the blogger has outdone his already-outdone-himself parody-within-a-satire by launching The El Paso Sun.
Mainstream Media covers the announcement here.
Thanks to the El Paso Times for putting 4 Borders Pundit on the voting list for Best Blogger, and for voters who placed it fifth, with 7.48% of the votes.
Despite this fishwrap blog making the list, there are some good choices there, all worth checking out. So check ‘em out here.
Congratulatory telegrams have been pouring in from all over, including from Sara Palin, Baracke Obama, Jae Koestner and, of course, regular visitors Scarlett Johnson, Selmah Hayak, and Jo Biden. Due to this success, the blog has also been asked to host President-Elect Obama’s “first 100 days” reports, while simultaneously hosting the Repub’s strategy to achieve their major (rather difficult) goal in 2012: to take one lousy Senate and one hopeless House seat back.
In 2009, 4 Borders Pundit promises to post more than 7.48% of the time, too.
Now, about you people’s choices for Best Italian… Well, we need to talk.
If it’s Saturday, it’s time to crank on one of the ultimate corrupt-o-crats in DC, Democrat Congressman Murtha. He of the Haditha “cold-blooded killers” Marines crap. They’re acquitted, and he’s not charged — tell me the guv’mint isn’t screwy!
So here’s a fun series of Demotivational Posters, created courtesy of the excellent software provided by Political Demotivation. If you’re not making your own from this free software, then what are you doing on a Saturday morning (besides drinking a beer, BBQ’ing and watching East Coast football games??
Click for full-sized printer goodness.
Yeah, your cynical Southwest Border Pundit doesn’t believe that some Dem wonk — or possibly Obama hisself — dreamed this analogy up without reference to Sarah Palin’s too-recent lipstick/moose joke at the Republican National Convention.
Because, you know, rudeness is so derivative these days, especially for a guy who needs to get back at a competitor who so outclassed him in the Talk-Without-a-Teleprompter competition. Here’s the poster* (click for full-sized goodness):
*Don’t like this one? Make your own at Political Demotivation. It’s fun!
No sooner had the Old Prospector driven off in his new Benz than Senator Joseph Biden pulled up to my Upper Valley high-class hacienda in an Indian rickshaw.
Can’t a body get any weeding done around here these days?
Biden walked into my courtyard and planted himself on the plastic-and-wood bench that I haven’t had the heart to toss out. He launched into a 12-minute monologue on his Irish-American roots, Grandpa Finnegan, his son’s application to Princeton, a speech he’d given on the Princeton campus, the fact that he hated giving a speech on the Princeton campus, and then spent much time discussing the vagaries of Sen. Dianne Feinstein’s sunglasses.
I asked if he wanted to help weed.
“Oh, no,” he said, stretching his legs and admiring my beautifully-xeriscaped (i.e., cheap) front yard. “I’m here to talk about the Indians.”
“Mescalero Apache? Tigua?” I asked.
“No, no,” he replied, as if begging off a free Sunday lunch. Instead, he launched into a 12-minute monologue on his Native American roots, Grandpa Son-of-Geronimo, his son’s application to an Indian college, a speech he’d given on the Tohono O’odom reservation, the fact that he hated giving a speech on the Tohono O’odom reservation, and the vagaries of sunglasses sold by Tohono O’odom natives to Sen. Dianne Feinstein.
I asked again if he wanted to help weed.
“No, but I’m here to talk about Indian Americans, not American Indians,” he said. “Seems you can’t walk into a 7-11 or Valero on Doniphan unless you have a slight Indian accent. I’m not joking.”
“Did you plagiarize that, or think it up yourself?”
He shifted his frame about as easily as any long-time politician shifts his positions — just enough to keep the votes and money coming. I felt a few dollars slip out of my wallet, of their own accord. The man was good. But I wasn’t ready to vote for him.
I suggested he help weed.
“Not likely. I’m only here for a minute. Can you give my rickshaw driver some water? Seems he can’t pass a high-class Upper Valley hacienda without asking for water in a slight Indian accent. I’m not joking.”
I took water to the driver. He was from Punjab. His name was Darvesh, and he was a post-doc in medical anthropology.
‘How come you’re with him?” I asked, jerking my head back toward the bench.
“Got caught plagiarizing,” he said.
I nodded.
“Say,” Darvesh said, “is it true about Doniphan? Lots of Indians there?”
“I guess,” I replied. “But be careful of that 7-11 at Redd Road. The night shift guys all voted Democrat, last time around.”
Biden got up and walked to the rickshaw.
“Say, Joe,” I said. “What’s all this about ‘Barack America?’”
That was a mistake. Biden went off on a 30-minute tangent, wandering across the moors of his mind and waxing poetic on such topics as hyperinflation in Hawai’i, the cost of peanuts in Pennsylvania, a new Russia strategy, and the IQ of Barbara Boxer.
I swear I saw the weeds grow another inch before he was done.
Sure wish it had been the Old Prospector in the back of that rickshaw. At least he’d offer to help. He wouldn’t actually help, but he’d make the offer. And that’s the difference between a senator and someone respectable.
OP, the Old Prospector, pulled up to my house in a brand spanking new E320 BlueTEC Sedan.
“Say, partner,” I said, “is that a Mercedes-Benz?”
“Yup,” he said. And then proceeded to tell me all about the 24-valve V-6 engine that delivers 210 horsepower, or something.
“Well, that sure beats your old mule,” I said.
OP only took offense for a second.
“Hell, man, I’m rich!” he declared, staring at me to see if I believed him.
I believed him because I saw the golf clubs sticking out of the trunk with the Coronado Country Club sticker on the bag.
“So have you gone West Side?” I asked.
He looked at me like I was dumb.
“I got a pay raise,” he said, eyeing my xeriscaped (i.e., cheap) front yard and my wood-and-plastic bench on the porch, and my ages-old Justin workboots. “Everyone’s doing it.”
It clicked.
Half of El Paso’s elected, appointed or self-annointed guv’mint officials are getting pay raises these days.
What with the ongoing FBI corruption investigation, I guess everyone who’s anyone on a potential court docket list is trying to grab what they can, just in case.
Just in case they need to relocate assets and asses to Mexico or Texaco or Aruba. Or any outlying outlet where the crazy local ruling body has no extradition treaty with the US, like North Korea or Austin.
I guess 30,105 extra clams will buy any under-suspicion County Commissioners Court member about six months of defense lawyer work, or a year’s protection in Juarez by a drug trafficking organization or, come to think of it, about 2/3 of a Mercedes-Benz E320 BlueTEC Sedan.
“Now, don’t you look at me like that,” said OP, as he ran an Armor-All cloth over the dashboard. “I’m not on the Commissioner’s Court. You know as well as I do that I wouldn’t qualify for that elite club.
“Hell, I’m too damn honest!”
Check out this cartoon. Then check out the landscape of El Paso. The cartoonist is so taken with the horror of the planned border fence (whether real or virtual) that s/he doesn’t see the irony in their own back yard.
El Paso is littered with rock walls. Practically every home has a wall surrounding its back yard. Businesses are divided by them. Streets and schools enjoy the coolness of the shadows they provide. FBI agents lurk behind them, looking for the next bribe-taking local yokel politician stumbling toward a wad of cash.
Fact is, El Paso is the embodiment of the sentiment expressed in this cartoon: it seems people think that some problems in El Paso can apparently be solved by building rock walls everywhere.
If they don’t think that, then why do they build so many of them?
–Walls to keep out news of suicidally-drunk underage teenage drivers screaming down Country Club at three in the morning.
–Walls to keep us from seeing the legion of abused and neglected pets in our unthinking neighbors’ yards.
–Walls to keep us from viewing the latest TAKS scores from our next generation of geniuses (or bribe-takers).
–Walls to hide us from the view of white and African-American beggars at street-corners, selling candy and bullshit at Airway & Montana, Fred Wilson & 54, or Redd & North Desert.
–Walls to keep out the latest bad news of the antics of the Commissioners Court.
And one more thing. The author of the article, listed as a Professor Emeritus at Sul Ross, should go back to school. His analogy to the Berlin Wall misses on a main point: it was East Germany that erected that wall, not West Germany. To bring his fantasy to reality, then, it would be Mexico building the wall on the Southwest Border, not the United States.
Well, “emeritus” means “retired” in academic circles, and for that, we can come out from around our own wall, and be thankful.
Hillary scores big in El Paso. That’s not too surprising, given Hispanic love for the Clintonistas all along the Texas border with Mexico.
Dada’s Daily has exclusive video footage of the El Paso caucus.
Things are different elsewhere in the Lone Star State. At least in one Texas locale, Obama wins.
Expect Obama to take the cities, and Clinton to take (to) the hills and backwaters. Texas goes to Obama.
But the fun’s not over for Obama: stillnotaphase parodies Obama’s ex-favorite racist preacher.
Nor for Hillary: Check out this parody. I thought Mini-Me was reserved for Dr Evil.