Ladys Chattering Lover

My gay husband can outtalk your gay husband

Am I still talking about orgies when I've got a debate to obsess over? Yes, thank God.

Childrens, is it just me? Or has this election season finally sent us over the edge? It's too. Much. Pressure.

Remember when we used to call Reagan the Teflon President? Yeah, me, too. A week or two ago, I would have said this one was even more slippery, what with everybody forgetting in a matter of months Abu Ghraib, Richard Clarke,the Aug. 6 PDB, and, oh, every one of his acts dating back to Nov. 7, 2000, but despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart, and also? I just know he's gonna get popped this time. You know: the thing with the debate cheating?

The box on his back his staff won't explain, except to say a pucker in the seam of his $4,000 suit blew something between his shoulder blades into a perfect rectangle?

That is a perfect rectangle except for the wire you could see snaking up his jacket?

That you weren't supposed to see because the 32-page debate agreement called for no camera shots from behind?

That one?

Commie Mom's been saying for months that he gets his answers fed to him. She's also been saying for a couple of years that he and Condi were doin' it. Her evidence? In an interview, Laura Bush mentioned she was looking for a boyfriend for the good doctor. And that was all Commie Mom, like Miss Marple, needed to hear. Perhaps you heard the story of the fairly recent New York dinner party, where Condi told a group of stunned guests, "As I was telling my husb—as I was telling the president . . ." No? You didn't? You should hang out with my mom more. She's right about everything. Except when she says I look like a whore in those shoes.
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