Dirty Page; Clean Mind.

Whip My Hair:  I thought of a name for Donald Trump’s hair style:  the “fly-over”.  That’s what happens when you combine a horrible comb-over with fly-away hair.

The “fly-over” is an appropriate term for a guy who wouldn’t know how to fly under the radar if he’d been shot out of the sky.  Which we’d all be very likely to attempt.

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Lip Illiteracy:   I’ve noticed this for some time, but Senator Mitch McConnell has no lips.  He must be a terrible lover.  Then again, maybe we’ll never have to worry about him raising taxes.  (Read his lips.  They say nothing is possible, and nothing exists.)

 

Guess he won’t be getting any Chapstick in his stocking this Christmas.

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A Maxim:  Children are notoriously ignorant.

She doesn’t know she’s sporting a “fly-over”.

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Salivating For Knowledge:  When is it spit, and when is it spittle?  I need to know.

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Et Tu, Betraeus?  General Petraeus’ biographer, Paula Broadwell, had a dyslexic approach to writing; her subjects got into her.  As this story unfolds, it strikes me that we’ve got a bona fide soap opera here, and I call it “Petraeus Place”.

I’m so glad this stuff is out in the open now; during JFK’s administration, we knew nothing, and I shudder to think of the number of times this country’s entire future was held in Marilyn Monroe’s mouth.

Some guys at the TV station apparently had some fun. But what’s really amusing is that this woman calls herself a biographer, yet she needs a ghostwriter.  Methinks she should spend less time in the gym and more time refining her mind.

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Oral In The Family:   I just found out someone I know was probably molested in his youth by a relative.  Apparently he wasn’t joking when he told me at Halloween he would say, “Who do I have to blow around here to get some candy?”

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It’s All In The Details:   My son’s gym teacher recently called me to say he’d had to send Cam to the office for making “flagellation” noises in class.  I asked, “What kind of noise would that be, exactly?”  The teacher said, “I don’t know any other way to put this, but he made sounds like he was passing gas.”  I replied, “Oh, you mean ‘flatulence’!”  The teacher said yeah.  We laughed.  (Farts always seem to break the ice.)  When I asked Cam later about it, he said he actually was making the sound of a vuvuzela.

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