shits and giggles

I feel pretty old-skool getting my breaking news off of the radio, despite the fact that it’s streaming off the internet. Jim Lehrer’s smooth, sexy voice is running off the tounge-twisting columns of stats and digits with nary a hitch, soothing manic campaign-director nerves. One of the best things about the radio is you don’t have to know what the broadcaster looks like. Ever since I google imaged Ira Glass, I quit messing around with that business for good.

But enough with this democracy shit for a second. The real question: if you could be BFFs with one of the presidential candidates, who would it be?

The guy out there for me is Ron Paul. I’d never vote for him in a million, but if we went out together for a beer we’d hit it off famously. We would have great discussions about deregulation and nonintervention, I would ask him how it was going with the whole gynecologist thing and if that angle was working well with his campaign (and those pro-abortionists! nudge nudge), and then we would burn some bills together to help the value of the dollar go up! Then we would pound some shots.

I would visit Ron up at his country house on Jake Jackson, Texas (where he goes most weekends to avoid “Potomac Fever”). Ron’s wife, Carol Paul, would fix me up a favorite Texas-style family recipe from the fifth edition of the Paul family cookbook that was created for 14th district constituents, or a “Recipe of the Week” from the collection created for his congressional campaign*. We’d try out the infared communication features on our Blackberries (Ron probably haven’t figured out that that baby can do yet) and bleep each other from across the room! I’d end up voting for Obama or Edwards anyway, but Ron would just chuckle and tell me to go back to Canada.

What a dork! lol!

I suppose that if I really wanted to get in on the political social sphere, I should cozy up to Chelsea Clinton. Unfortunately, Chelsea Clinton is boring and lame. We would talk a little about her career in hedge funds** and then there would be some awkward silences. The ballet thing (she used to be a professional) would maybe keep us going for a while, but then she’s ask me about my plans after graduation and I’d mistake her for demeaning me and get pissed off.

This is exactly how it’d go.

* This is totally cite-able!: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ron_Paul
** What are those things, anyway, really?