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FDL Late Nite: Tears in My Cheetos

Knocked up and abandoned, the 101st Fighting Keyboard Commandos wait eagerly for some big uniformed authoritarian Republican Pinkerton to save them from the likes of us mean, brawny queers, chicks, hippies and Joint Chiefs.  Harken to their wailing and lamentation: 

Hey People! Stop Your Crying.

By Erick 

Suck it up, people. Our guys might not have won, but we're all on the same team now. Boehner, Blunt, and Putnam are not the opponent now. Our opponents are Nancy's Nattering Nabobs of Negativism across the aisle.

Stop your whining. Stop your complaining. Stop your crying.

As one of the editors here said in email, the cards have been dealt and it's time to play them.

Game on.

Yikes!  Perhaps it's time for some sanity moderation, maybe to admit they got some things wrong, like maybe, everything?

In other words, us Conservatives should be counted on to continue to meekly carry water for a bunch of RINOs. Well, my response to the foregoing demand echoes General McAuliffe's response to the Germans' demand for surrender of Bastogne during the Ardennes Offensive of 1944: "Nuts!

Oooh, so butch!  Stick to your sticky fingers, lads!  Brown people still need to get the fuck out of Amurka, I guess.  But who will be Pinkerton to their Wingnut Butterfly, come to save them from electoral irrelevance and obscurity?  Will it be Rudy?

Rudy is a conservative Democrat. Line up his policies with Casey's from Penn or Lincoln Chaffee and there isnt a difference.

Yeah, well, there's that, plus the skag drag, I guess.  How about their congressional leadership under the likes of Boehner and Lott? 

Cards Dealt – And We Got a Weak Hand by EzOnTheEyez

They're not the enemy…but let's get real. These guys are weak and are going to be absolutely disasterous minority leaders. These are very, very weak leaders.

I'm not whining. I'm just calling it like I see 'em. I wish the wimps a lot of luck because they're going to need it.

Gadzooks!  A rather limp endorsement, what? 

Sigh.  I feel for you, boys.  Mood music, mood music.  Why don't you slip into something that makes you feel. . . manly:

Yea,it's time to put on our red battle shorts…we all know what the Dem leadership has on its agenda….keep your powder dry,boys,and make every shot count.

Um, yeah. . . . Boys, you might want to put some plastic wrap over your keyboards before you do all that shooting.  Lock the door so Mom doesn't come in.  Slip in to your red battle shorts and who knows?  Maybe with time, you'll find some new friends to help you out:

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Pachacutec did not, as is commonly believed, die in 1471. To escape the tragic sight of his successors screwing up the Inca Empire he’d built, he fled east into the Amazon rain forest, where he began chewing lots of funky roots to get higher than Hunter Thompson ever dared. Oddly, these roots gave him not only a killer buzz, but also prolonged his life beyond what any other mortal has known, excluding Novakula. Whatever his doubts of the utility of living long enough to see old friends pop up in museums as mummies, or witness the bizarrely compelling spectacle of Katherine Harris, he’s learned a thing or two along the way. For one thing, he’s learned the importance of not letting morons run a country, having watched the Inca Empire suffer many civil wars requiring the eventual ruler to gain support from the priests and the national military. He now works during fleeting sober moments to build a vibrant progressive movement sufficiently strong and sustainable to drive a pointed stake through the heart of American “conservatism” forever. He enjoys a gay marriage, classic jazz and roots for the New York Mets.