I was sitting in a bar two days ago, trying to understand the Liberal Agenda through ardent attention paid to a steady stream of Jack and Coke when a two-player game of Tetris walked up behind me and sat at a table and started screaming a sexy song about Peddlers and haggling. I'm not usually one to listen to that kind of crap Russian chin-music, but they had the volume up as high as it would go. The bartender and I turned in unison and, as if possessed by the spirit of an inability to put up with that shit any further tossed them a handful of the right kind of porkbarrel hegemonies.
"Wah," we said, "politics is hard!"
Well, Dmitri Krepitate on the left cracked out a fart of a reply, and Slavek on the right demurred in the first intelligence I've seen from crusty luddite wingnuts in many a moon. Chips on the table, I placed my right foot in Dmitri's left nostril and sent the whole discussion to die in committee. Slavek backed down and offered to vet my janitorial picks after I explained my position on Special Interest Groups to his mewling nards.
Well, the impending arrival of the economy of ass-kicking's Invisible Hand set me off at a run before the Posse Comitatus could overrule my right to govern. On my way out the door, I made a few campaign promises to my constituency and gave a short presentation on the Jersey state bird to my red-and-rapidly-reddening comrades.