12/20/98 -- Ugh.  So I made it.  I'm sitting here at my old computer, my Pentium 75, that my father and brother have managed to jack up immeasurably.  The Broadband connection is nice, and it'd be even nicer if this thing wasn't so damned slow.  Also be nice if the sound card worked -- I have no idea what happened to that.

I always think that airplane trips are cool -- it's something different, something relaxing, something that makes me feel like I'm as upwardly mobile and exciting as anyone else on the flight.  Of course, then I sit down and realize that Economy Class is not made for six-foot tall people, especially those who have most of their height in their legs.  Like a person trying to fold a map up correctly, I tried every conceivable way of arranging my legs so that they'd be comfortably fit, short of hanging them in the aisle and resting my head in the lap of the person next to me.  Nothing worked. 

My mom, who kept gushing about how excited she was to see me, fell asleep before my flight came in so my dad picked me up.

At least Max was happy to see me.  (That's my dog, or rather my parents' dog).  I only spent the last four months of last year with him, and he's just two years old, but he recognized me and wanted to play all of our old games together.  I've smartly stuck my shoes on the top shelf of the bookcase, so Max doesn't play his favorite game -- Let's Ruin Someone's Nice New Leather Shoes.  He played that twice with me last year.

So today, or rather yesterday (it's 2:!0 AM out here right now), was interesting newswise -- the House impeaches Big Bill, and Big Bill keeps shoveling cruise missiles at Iraq.  Ya'd figga he'd like to launch a few of those towards Capitol Hill, straight up the GOP's ass -- now that'd be a story.  But no, Big Bill is left to sit and worry.

Shit, it's super-embarrassing for me to admit it, but I say let em' impeach Clinton.  Let the Senate kick him out of his office -- I wanna see if he tries barricading himself in the way Andrew Johnson did (or maybe it was one of his Cabinet -- my knowledge of history of US History is tenuous).  Muthafucka goes before a grand jury and lies in his ass off -- I mean, shit, this a federal grand jury; if they fucking ask you how big your dick is, you're not gonna lie about it, so don't be lying about getting that same dick sucked by an intern. 

But then I remember how far this investigation got out of control, with the Whitewater matter and the Paula Jones set-up, and how he should never have been in position to have been asked about that dumb slut Monica in the first place. If someone launched an investigation of my private life, they might eventually get around to asking me about the time I doused the upholstery of this guy's car with Kaopectate, just to set me up.  We all do dumb shit, and if a privileged GOP supported asshole like Kenneth Starr goes stick his nose everywhere, eventually he'll smell some dirty shit he'll wanna rub your face in...(ewww!)

But then I think about how I thought Clinton was a scumbag the first time I ever saw him, and how I never voted for him b/c I thought he was an untrustworthy scumbag.  The American People are getting what they asked for when they voted for him -- shudda picked Paul Tsongas.  OK, so he's dead -- at least he was honest.  It could have been a "Bill N' Opus 84" kind of thing.

Ehh, fuck him -- that's my verdict.  We all do dumb shit, but we all don't gotta lie about it to a grand jury.  I don't know what to make of Bob Livingston -- dammit, how come all these old nasty white guys can get some after they're married, and I can't get any while I'm still single?

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