Tag Archives: barack obama

10 New Days for Tina Fey — Day Six

First off, before I begin my post in earnest, can I just say that the high today in DC is supposed to be 71???  I swear, I almost pooped my pants in excitement when I walked outside and felt the warmth of the sun beating down upon my face.  Nothing like a little excrement to reflect true happiness.

Speaking of walking outside, I exited the Metro a stop early today just so I could enjoy the weather for just a little longer.  As I was walking, I was abruptly stopped by quite the lengthy motorcade.  At my count, there were 6 motorcycle cops (with those little side baskets — but they were empty, to the relief of the immasculated cops who have to sit in them), followed by two limos, and then a few black SUVs holding many men carrying gigantic weapons.

Holy crap!  I saw Obama!  It’s been a few weeks since I last saw Obama as he walked down Penn Ave hand-in-hand with his wife.  But today, I waved hello again to the President, who is doing his best at undoing the mistakes of the last eight years.  Ok ok, to be perfectly frank, the man I saw in the limo was what appeared to be an old white man with bone-white hair.  But I’m pretty sure it was Obama.  Because if I was working his security detail, I’d totally disguise him as an old white man with bone-white hair.

But this whole disguise thing made me think about how Tina Fey is able to travel to and from the 30 Rock studios?  I read somewhere that she drives a Lexus SUV hybrid (I am not a stalker), so I’m assuming maybe she attempts to travel incognito?  Most celebrities hide themselves rather poorly by donning some type of hat and some sunglasses.  I imagine that Tina Fey probably does the same thing — although during the winter, sunglasses wouldn’t exactly make sense, so perhaps what she does is that she doesn’t wear glasses because she normally wears glasses and Tina Fey sans glasses would throw people off as to whether she was actually Tina Fey, but then again, without glasses, she may be quite the road threat.  I am rambling.  The point is, next time I’m in Manhattan or Queens, and I see an SUV with a lone female driving and donning a strange looking hat, with no glasses, and weaving erratically, I will follow said vehicle and create my own motorcade of two until the driver of said vehicle exits, after which I will exit and happen to “accidentally” run into the driver and hand her my script.

Discover me, Tina Fey!

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10 Days for Tina Fey — Day One

I have finished writing my amazingly hilarious episode of 30 Rock!  Now, I begin the uphill task of getting Tina Fey’s attention.  So beginning today, I will embark on 10 days for Tina Fey — a series of blog posts dedicated to all that is Tina Fey.

Today, I would like to announce to Tina Fey that my desire to work on her staff runs so deep that I would endure the day I endured yesterday for the opportunity to be graced by her highness of hilarity.  So what, you ask, did I endure yesterday?

Yesterday, I braved the blistering cold and wind to witness approximately five minutes of glory.  From 9:30 in the morning until the early evening, I stood alongside the hubby, GL, and PMP to witness history.  With parade tickets in hand, the four of us navigated the depths of the Metro (during which I was jostled, fondled, dry humped and pushed with two hands) to emerge into Washington DC, with numbingly cold temperatures and a make-you-want-to-die wind chill.  Alongside millions of other people, some coming from distant lands, we marched through the urban wilderness, found our way through security, and planted ourselves atop what only looked like an ordinary bleacher.  But this bleacher, and our seats in particular, were far from ordinary.  Atop these seats, we could see the human skyline reaching down Penn Ave — to our right was the Capitol, where Obama was being sworn in by the Chief Justice with a bad memory, and to our left was the White House, where a village idiot had just been ousted.  Looking up, we could see the real-life Jack Bauers scanning the crowd with binoculars from atop the DC office buildings.  And below, hundreds of police officers and military officers from all over the region gathered to protect us and the President from those who would do us harm.

Within minutes, the bitter cold set into our bones, causing tingling in our feet and hands and numbness in our cheeks.  As Obama’s inauguration soundtrack played — Aretha, U2, Disco — we quickly learned that the best method of staying warm would be to move in a completely erratic fashion.  I created my own dance, which involved keeping my arms on my side and swaying back and forth, head bobbing to the beat.  Others joined in, with scattered cries of “Arrest Bush” and “I am going to freeze to death” peppering an otherwise festive event.

After all was said and done, though, the hours and hours of pain; the thought that perhaps toes would require amputation; the peculiar draw of a bright light in the distance as I felt my body shut down — all of this was worth it when the Obamas walked hand in hand down Penn Ave, waving at me, my hubby, and our friends.  Indeed, Michelle Obama looked straight as me as I screamed, “Michelle in 2016!” — She gave me a wink and a nod, signaling not just her acknowledgment of my request, but her acceptance of my challenge.

So what does this all have to do with Tina Fey?  Well, Tina Fey is my comedic hero.  Should Ms. Fey request it, I will gather as many friends as possible (ok, so no more than 15) to embark on a journey to the 30 Rock studios so we can camp outside the bitter Manhattan cold in order to catch a glimpse of Tina Fey waving at me.  In fact, she doesn’t have to wave exactly at me.  If she simply flagged down a taxicab, I’m sure that I will view such action as not only a wave of recognition to me, but also a wave requesting that I follow said taxicab so I can continue to throw my script at Tina Fey when she exits, wondering why a strange Asian chick wearing a ridiculous amount of clothing and somewhat resembling the Pillsbury Dough Boy has tripped face forward into an uncovered manhole — but it will be all worth it if Tina Fey catches my script and reads it.

Discover me, Tina Fey!

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Polebrity Crush — Obama’s Cabinet of Hotties

President-elect Obama is at it again.  Not only has he made history by changing the landscape of American politics, he’s also compiling quite the impressive Cabinet.  Adding Hillary was a plus.  Adding Rahm as his right-hand man was impressive and appealing to this writer’s eye.  He recently nominated Elena Kagan of Harvard Law School — who singlehandedly almost made me pull the trigger and make a donation — almost, thanks for saving me money Barack!

And now, to add to the aesthetically pleasing rating of his Cabinet, Obama is set to nominate CNN’s Sanjay Gupta as Surgeon General.  Take a look at this neurosurgeon hottie:

Dr. Sanjay Gupta

Dr. Sanjay Gupta (growl)

Be still my heart.  Who would have thought that Obama would take a cue from Grey’s Anatomy and nominate a hot-ass doctor to be Surgeon General?  (For the record, I’m a McDreamy over McSteamy person).  Perhaps Barack figured that more Americans would listen to a hot doc than a not-so-hot doc?  Hell, works for me.  If Dr. Gupta appeared in a couple weeks and told me that I need to drop my pint of Ben & Jerry’s, get out of the indentation I’ve made in my couch, hit the gym, and give up artificial sweeteners, I just might listen.  But only if he flashes those pearly whites.  I mean, who would you rather have give you a physical?  Dr. Gupta or your current doc?  Yeah, me too.

Thanks Barack.  Not only have you given me hope for the next four years, you’ve made following politics a whole hell of a lot more aesthetically pleasing.  Rahm, Sanjay — you need one more hottie to complete the trifecta!

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The All-Inclusive GOP

I’m a bit delayed due to the holidays, but I suppose now is as good a time as any to impart my thoughts on Chip Saltsman’s idea of a chuckle.  For those who don’t know (perhaps you have been buried under a Christmas tree with 3 pounds of fruitcake lodged in your bowels causing immobility), Saltsman is a candidate for Chairman of the Republican National Committee.  For shits and giggles, Saltsman sent around a CD to his fellow GOP’ers this year, wishing them good tidings and cheer, a ticket to heaven, and a song entitled, “Barack the Magic Negro,” sung to the tune of “Puff the Magic Dragon.”

Amazingly enough, most of the rest of the GOP leadership is up in arms over this song.  However, there are still quite a few in the party’s leadership decrying the outcry, stating that the song is merely a parody, and people need to get over it.  So, today, I’d like to examine what constitutes as appropriate parody and what constitutes bigoted offensive bastardly behavior.

Appropriate Parody — (1) Tina Fey’s impression of Sarah Palin, highlighting her stupidity; (2) Justin Timberlake’s impression of Barry Gibs, highlighting the high pitch of his voice; (3) Weird Al.

Bigoted, Offensive, Bastardly Behavior — (1) making light of the Holocaust and/or Hitler; (2) making light of 9/11; (3) calling someone a “magic Negro.”

After being trounced in this year’s elections, you’d think that the GOP would get the hint that they need to, at the very least, hide the fact that the party’s leadership includes a hell of a lot of bigoted assholes.  I’m not saying all the leadership — I’m sure there are plenty of GOP leaders who simply espouse the principles of small government etc.  But Saltsman, a candidate for Chairman of the RNC, represents what millions have known about the GOP — all-inclusive my ass.

Actually, on second though, the GOP is quite inclusive.  I mean, how the hell is the party supposed to thrive without taking advantage of those less fortunate and keeping them in a state of economic and social dependence such that the party can revert the country back to a state of slavery?  Seriously.  The country was better back then.  Rich whites didn’t have to do anything except make sure that the poor blacks were appropriately controlled to prevent them from running amok.  Yeah, super super inclusive.

To end this post, I have one thing to say to good ol’ Chip.  And I’m not joking when I say this.  This is not a parody.  It’s not meant in good fun — Piss off.

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Filed under Personal Pontification, WTF?

And a Nominee for the Island is . . .

Rod Blagojevich belongs on the Island.  I mean, seriously.  For those of you living under a rock, Governor Blagojevich of Illinois found it appropriate to attempt to sell the Senate seat that would be vacated upon Barack Obama’s inauguration as President of the United States.  As if attempting to fill seats for an updated version of the Dating Game, Blagojevich named various “candidates” for the position.  This was no ordinary Dating Game though — more like a dating game in the red light district — if candidates were not willing to fork over enough cash to bang the hottest girl on the strip, Blagojevich planned on banging her himself.  Always the romantic, Blagojevich also sought favors for his wife, the foul-mouthed Patricia Blagojevich, known for both her work with charities and her behind the scenes “fuck” tirades.

After being arrested and having the details of his escapades made public in a lengthy and criminal complaint, what did Rod do?  He kept going to work.  Despite requests from both sides of the political fence, including from President-elect Obama himself, Rod continues to go to work, defending his actions while proclaiming his innocence.

So you know what Rod?  Step your ass down.  You have singlehandedly fanned the flames of backlash against progressive America.  When you are convicted, you will enjoy a whole lot of “fuck yous” in prison.  I hope you bring the Vaseline.  As a progressive, I reject you.  You, sir, have been nominated to the Island.

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There Goes That Idea

For a hot second, I thought it’d be awesome if yours truly, Alexis Nectar, could apply for and actually obtain a job within Obama’s new administration.  Well, that hot second quickly turned icy cold when I saw the questionnaire that would be just step one in obtaining such position.  As reported by CNN and revealed in the questionnaire, this is not your average job application.  Let’s examine a few of the highlights that would render me unfit to be a part of the administration.

  • No. 13:  Any electronic communication that could “be a possible source of embarrassment to you, your family, or the President-Elect if it were made public.”  Um . . . yeah.  I don’t want any of my personal emails to be made public.  Although I’m quite the professional when circumstances require it, I sometimes think that I was born on a boat to a crew of sailors who weren’t really sailors but were actually actors in an erotic maritime thriller.  So my dirty mind and dirty mouth are simply the logical byproduct of a life at sea with surrogate parents Harry Motorboat and Anita Bigstern during the filming of Thar She Blows.
  • No. 58:  Facebook pages.  I have a facebook page.  I’m not sure that being a member of every group dedicated to ridiculing the moron named Sarah Palin would be acceptable to the new administration.  Hell, I’ve even started my own groups, e.g. “People for the Elimination of Moronic Alaskans” and “I Believe Sarah Palin Should be Added to the Official Definition of Moron.”
  • No. 61:  Association that could be used to attack my character or qualifications for government service.  Now how far does this extend?  What really counts as an association?  I mean, if I sit alone at home during my weekly solo meeting, discussing, with myself, various topics for my aforementioned Facebook groups, does that count as an association?  I think not!

Sigh.  I guess I’m not meant for politics.

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Letter to Malia and Sasha Re: Puppy

Dear Malia and Sasha,

What up, girls!  Nice work on looking cute and adorable for the press to help get your dad elected.  You two are going to be excellent fixtures in the White House, and promise to grow up to be upstanding citizens.  Your moms and pops will soon be getting you a puppy, and I just want to make sure that you make an informed decision. 

Malia, I’m aware of your allergy.  I’m also aware that the government of Peru has offered to give you a Peruvian hairless dog.  . . . Yes, it looks as weird as it sounds.  Don’t believe me?  Check out this video of a clip produced by the Associated Press on this subject:

Here is an AP photo of this dog.  Imagine this little thing running around the White House gardens!

Peruvian Hairless Dog

And if the aforementioned video and picture do not haunt your dreams tonight, please be aware of the habits of the Peruvian Hairless Dog.  According to the website, dogbreedinfo.com, Peruvian Hairless dogs “are nighttime dogs, sometimes called Moonflowers, as do not like the light of the day nor the rays of the sun.” So even if you two are fans of Buffy or the more recent vampire-centric series of Twilight, my guess is that you’d appreciate separating your infatuation with puppies from any infatuation with fictitious blood-sucking demons (except Angel and post-chip Spike).

Malia, no amount of Internet stalking has given me reliable information as to the extent of your allergies, so my advice should be taken with a grain of salt. However, there are quite a few mixed breeds that I would recommend. In fact, any “mutt” with some poodle would make a great addition to your family. From the Goldendoodle to the Labradoodle to the Cavapoo, each of these puppies would be hypoallergenic, can be rescued from a shelter, and would be able to see the light of day without being engulfed in flames due to sunlight touching the dog’s naked skin.

Of course, you could also think about asking mommy and daddy to adopt a person. My attempts at being adopted by the Jolie-Pitts have been met with silence, and my pleas to Tina Fey have similarly come up empty. So, I’m totally available to romp around the yard and play fetch. I can’t run all that fast, because of a bum knee, and I’m allergic to grass, but I’m also a quick learner. And most importantly, I would never dream of romping around in all my naked glory, looking like evil on 4 legs.

Malia and Sasha — in the tradition of American politics being dominated by Anglo-Christian ideals, I suppose I have to end this letter to you by saying, God bless you, God bless your family, God bless your future dog (or human) and God bless America!

Alexis Nectar (if you so choose to adopt me, feel free to change my name to Spot, Rufus, or whatever)

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