Well, seems like someone has a great deal of time on his hands, now that raccoon-hunting season is over.
Phillipe & Jorge refer, of course, to titanic egotist and former governor Bruce Sundlun’s recent Internet discovery that there is a road (well, a service road of about 1500 feet, actually) named after him near the T.F. Green International Airport, with its Bruce Sundlun Terminal. Naturally, Captain Bwuce had to get on the horn to Department of Transportation director Jim Capaldi, to ask where it was and are there signs bearing the captain’s name, so lost people looking for the long-term parking can bask in the glory and remembrances of his years as the state’s head ramrod? Sundlun was informed that signs were already up, put there in March after seasonal snowplowing had ended, although no one seemed to know how it occurred.
We might remind the former guv of a comment made by James Curley, the late bad boy mayor of Boston. He once said he got back at his political enemies by naming public buildings after them. As in, “I went down to the DMV at that goddamn Ed DiPrete Complex . . . ” There’s politics for you.
Actually, P&J think it would have been much more fitting if the state had named a marina after our old pal, the infamous Captain Blowhard.
Dubya and Winnie
Who says Georgie Bush can’t read, even if he is in the habit of holding books upside down while in a kiddie classroom?
Judging by a quote recently discovered by your superior correspondents, it is obvious that Dubya and the Bushies must be avid followers of the legendary former British Prime Minister Winston Churchill. (Save, of course, for the daily snifter of brandy, a morning sharpener, of which Winnie partook. Although it has probably been replaced by Dick “Shots and Beer” Cheney’s sucking down of a few brewskis before going hunting.)
Here’s the line we discovered: “A lie travels halfway around the world while the truth is getting its pants on.” If that has been the premise of this White House since Day One, we are obviously mistaken. The extremely sad thing is how well this has worked. The majority of Americans swallow the Bushshit being cranked out by Boy George, Karl, Rummy, Condi, Big Time, and their minions, while the mass media are choosing what kind of belt to wear that day.
This can be countered if one keeps a cool head and doesn’t get into a frothing debate with a GOP operative seeking just that kind of response. To that end, let P&J offer you one of our own witticisms to live by: “Getting angry is like taking poison and expecting the other person to die.”
(Speaking of Dubya, how did you like his dog-and-pony at a Dunkin’ Donuts, staffed primarily by non-native Americans and recent arrivals, to extol his immigration policies? He cited the need for these folks to be able to work as they wished and to be an asset for America — which they doubtless are. But this was preposterous coming from a little chump who has never worked a day in his life, and who, like his father, was born on third base and thought he hit a triple. Oh, but he likes to “clear brush” at his “ranch,” at least during photo ops. Then Miguel and the boys take over once the media are escorted outside the gate, so Boy George can take a nap.)