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February 2006

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What I Read in the Waiting Room of Hell


From the Tongues of Angels

Search And Destroy

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Member since 02/2005


August 25, 2005


media girl

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who claimed, "I'm not a leader. Fuck it!"
NARAL pulled the ad
Pro-choice is a fad
And all us girls are just to suck it

Lance Mannion


a short story by Lance Mannion

Grade 4.

They were jealous, as a group. Their collective attitude toward the Clintons can be deduced—diagonosed. I’ll play armchair psychologist, since the coverage of the Clintons was often driven by psychobabblers and pop psych readers and well-shrunk reporters projecting their own neuroses on Bill and Hill—from the popularity among them of two books, Primary Colors, by Joe Klein, and First in His Class, by David Maranisss.

Maraniss’s book was a psychological case study with a diagonosis, based on nothing but the author’s prejudices, what could be picked up in any freshman pysch class, and, I’m guessing, one too many readings of Robert Penn Warren’s All the King’s Men, of Bill Clinton as a slicker Willy Stark, a cracker on the make, willing to do anything to get ahead in order to compensate for feelings of shame and indadequacy at having been raised by a mother who would have embarrassed Mariness and a weak, alcoholic stepfather. This provided the subtext for all the reporting about the Clintons since—everything Bill did must be hinky somehow because he doesn’t do anything that isn't motivated by his twisted psyche. Everything he does he does just to get ahead, to put more distance between him and his white trash past.

That’s why he identifies with Elvis, you know.

(I'll drop off the link tomorrow, when the darn post is done.)

Betty Blogger

Such a tease, ;)

Robert Penn Warren

Tell me a story.
In this century, and moment, of mania,
Tell me a story.

Make it a story of great distances, and starlight.

The name of the story will be Time,
But you must not pronounce its name.

Lance Mannion

Good morning. The rest of the story's finished. It's always been about Whitewater. I think I like my three paragraph version better, but what are you gonna do.

Also Digby's been telling a similar tale.


The president sits behind his desk. His salmon shirt is fully buttoned and the yellow tie is tightly knotted around his neck, pulled upward by Jeff Gannon with all the strength his buff, shaven body can muster. Bush's face is bright red as he labors mightily to finish himself off before anoxia sets in. His navy blue slacks are puddled around his ankles. The lights are dim; scattered over the surface of the Lincoln Desk are the secret Abu Ghraib rape photos; the obituaries of the latest war dead; and Halliburton's balance sheet. "The Passion of the Christ" plays on in the background. Karl and Matt sit motionless in the corner, waiting for the moment when they can slake their thirst on the Preznitenantial bounty.

Meanwhile, down the hall, the entire defensive unit of the Texas A&M football team waits patiently outside Jenna's door, carefully numbered paper slips held in hand.


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