Lieberman is a tool


This is what I woke up thinking this morning. Normally it's "Damn that was a weird dream" or "Why are B's smelly feet tapping on my nose and chin," but for some reason, today I flashed on that sore loser, that egomaniacal pompous ass, the no longer esteemed Senator from Connecticut. For those of you who might not have caught it, a gazillionaire businessman named Ned Lamont challenged Lieberman in Connecticut's Democratic primary and guess what, Lieberman lost. Now Lieberman's claiming he'll switch parties and run as an independent in the general election . . . "For the sake of our state, our country and my party, I cannot and will not let that result stand." Um, dude, you lost. Frankly, Leiberman's lunacy confirms what many of us feared way back in 2000--that he wasn't a real Democrat at all. And Gore, he's got to be smiling right about now. Those two never seemed the best of friends. When I look back, they were like Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt in photos taken a month or two before the divorce: There's some hand holding for the cameras, but Jennifer's body language is all "You evil bastard, I can't believe you're screwing someone else." Gore would be Jennifer of course, and Leiberman is the now superfluous Brad Pitt. I guess that would make the Independent party Angelina Jolie. I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this metaphor but the point is this: If Lieberman does what he says he's going to do and actually switches parties, I hope Lamont spanks him so hard Lieberman's head dislodges from the deep confines of Bush's ass and, with mental faculties suddenly reclaimed, Lieberman decides to skeedadle right into retirement. I could go on with much invective, but I'll leave that to Dean and the other Dems. Shame on you, Lieberman. Tool.

And now for another tool: The perky blonde who swiped my gym card at 24 Hour Fitness in Springfield. We'll call her "Carly." I was having such a great day too, when Carly messed it all up leaving me seething on the treadmill and growling during my sit-ups. What did Carly do, you ask? Well, it wasn't so much as what she did, but what she didn't do. See, as I approached the double doors, I was greeted by a very cute African American guy, another gym goer, who smiled as he opened the door for me. I love those chivalry-is-not-dead moments so I was kinda giddy when I reached the front desk and nearly walked right into the nice man's back. You see, normally it all works so seamlessly. 24 Hour Fitness is like a great conveyer belt: You glide through the double doors, the person at the front desk greets you as though you were an old friend, some smiling employee takes your membership card and swipes it and before you can say "free weights" your card is back in your hot little hands and you haven't had to break your stride. It's that quick. But Carly had to go and ruin the whole rhythm. Carly swiped cute Black guy's card and then asked for his driver's license. While the guy fished his ID out of his wallet, I noticed the handwritten sign that said something like "Members must have the following: Membership card, ID, and towel." I didn't have my ID on me, nor have I ever had to flash it. Luckily, the nice African American guy brought his. Carly wished him a great day, he walked on by to the floor and all seemed fine with the world. And now dear reader, you may be suspicious of me--why am I caught up in the fact that he's Black? What's up with that anyway? Am I a racist tool? No, I'm not, but Carly is. You know why? Because Carly, a woman I've never seen before and so has no cause to know who I am, never asked me for my ID. Black guy gets carded, freckled white girl of northern European descent, nope. I'm thinking Carly is a racist tool. And frankly, I'm wondering what other racist tools abound in Springfield's 24 Hour Fitness. Is it policy to card the Black guys and leave the white girls alone? Never before have I thought that Springfield is deserving of the crass nickname "Springtucky." Carly has made me a believer.