Imagine the extremes. "Fox & Friends" -- and their various, nefarious clan of spin zones, hardballs and Scarboroughs -- are forced, perhaps deservedly, from topical discussions of Weapons of Mass Destruction and the folk who die looking for said Easter eggs, to commenting on something as metaphorically charged as the California gubernatorial race. From talking to Colin Powell to spending a little quality time with itty-bitty Gary Coleman.
There is justice in this world. Oh, and I think we've found our Weapons of Mass Destruction.
Media whiplash aside, the California conundrum makes for some engaging viewing. State politics is boring and typically populated by comb-overs and infidels with the last name Bush. Even from this distance, that of the scrotum of America peering over to it's silicone breast (California, clearly), the game is enough to inspire a fairly hearty giggle. And giggling is what I do best.
So I got to thinking (something I should never do) and decided that maybe after a few liberal libations, I might fashion my own gubernatorial campaign, combing over and trimming my very own bush in the interest of political domination. Hey, it could happen.
And seeing as this column is about as political as toilet paper, meaning that it has the potential to be very political, I've placed my pint-sized person in the hot seat for a go at the gov. Since I don't live in California, the consequences should be minimal. And since I'm crazy, I'm fairly sure I'll fit right in.
Enough rationalization, then. Obviously, it's a slow news week.
Leading contender -- for no other apparent reason than physical size -- Arnold Schwarzenegger, has come out swinging with a platform of fiscal conservitude and sundry other polemics in broken English. Whatever. He sleeps with a Kennedy, which traditionally mandates an early death by mysterious circumstances. And how much do you love that early "Pumping Iron" footage involving marijuana consumption without a shirt? I never consume marijuana nor do I ever not wear a shirt. I'm already winning.
But then there's money.
"I don't need to take any money from anybody. I have plenty of money myself," the Terminatrix has gloated.
I do need money. That's why I'm writing this drivel. Let's do a little comparison.
Arnie made $26 million in 2001, paying $9 million in taxes and contributing a substantial sum to whatever charities muscleheads support. I made something like $16,000 in 2001, evading taxes and contributing a substantial sum to the SKYY Vodka charity that keeps poor people poor. I could take him.
Gary Coleman, ironically known as Arnold Drummond in the seminal '80s blackfacing of "Diff'rent Strokes," is playing things with a touch more humility. He's not very big, after all, and was last seen pertinent in the ironic celebrity-baiting of E!'s "Star Dates." This is the best PR he's had in years.
"Now that Arnold is in the race, there is no race," he kissed Austrian ass to CNN. "Gray Davis needs to pack his bags, I'm going to stay in the race, but I'm not going to campaign."
But his presence is not wholly disposable, reportedly.
"I'm going to ask so many questions, they won't even know what to think," he told "Fox & Friends."
Most of which are certain to begin with "whatchutalkinabout."
Coleman isn't new to the political arena, heretold. He considered a run for the U.S. Senate in 2000, but dropped out due to heavy competition. Was Dana Plato still alive in 2000?
Larry Flynt would probably know. As heavyset henchman for Hustler magazine, Flynt has won iconic status for his female exploitation. Just ask Courtney Love. Nonetheless, Flynt's peddling himself as the "smut dealer who cares," promising legalized gambling and fun-and-free prostitution, in addition to calling for the death of right rat, Bill O'Reilly.
Well, he's got me there.
Arianna Huffington? I can't even look at her.
I can't not look at celebrity-only-to-herself, Angelyne, however, seeing as each of her over-touched features begs a campy glance. Her platform is clearly the best, considering that the liberal libations are by now clouding my headspace -- something about frivolous lawsuits, pesky potholes and pink gloves, to hear her tell it. Her appearance in the fantastic Goldblum vehicle, Earth Girls Are Easy, helps, too.
But a brewing catfight with porn star-cum-candidate, Mary Carey, can only hurt. Methinks the two bodacious babes will off each other, leaving room for only me in the sex segment of California's pageant, I mean election.
Carey's aiming for a platform of "porno-for-pistols," which I couldn't agree with more, as well as a special tax on breast implants. That's very nice. Oh, and Angelyne calls her political platform "utter nonsense." This is the real contest, isn't it?
No. It's a watermelon.
Never funny, and never without a large green fruit, Gallagher makes all of these other candidates seem relatively serious. Then again, what can't be solved with a hammer?
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the end of the world. I'm sooooo gonna win.
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