(Working Myself Up to?) A Fever Pitch

My Smart Wife, out of town on bidness, tried to talk me down (a phrase that I guess now should be in quotes with a little superscripted TM after it, thanks to Rachel!) about the SECRET VOTE by THOSE BASTARDS in the Senate the other day, during which they lovingly caressed Joe Lieberman's backside with tongues, fondue paddles, Shamwows and disintegrating digits (you can't get too close to Lieberman - the waves of foulness and hatred emanating from the hole where his heart used to be have a corrupting influence on human flesh and souls - just ask John McCain). But, as you can see, smart as she is, she didn't succeed. I'm just too stubborn and stoopid sometimes.

Finally, Big Joe got his happy ending and the American people once again have to wipe themselves off and crap their pants in disbelief.

Oh, Harry Reid - you're a worthless toadlike excuse for a human being, a pig of a man, a cancer on Congress, a leaking stopper on the bunghole that is the Senate and many more things that I don't dare write else I'll face an obscenity trial in Boston if I'm not already scheduled for one. I don't care what kind of political games you and your cretinous buddies are playing, what kind of deals have been struck, what kind of relaxed attitude I'm supposed to be having about this because you guys obviously know better than me what's going on and I should just lay back and trust you to rape me gently all night long because eventually I'll enjoy it.

Not gonna happen.