Being mad at the city of Berkeley for the the strong wording against the Marines is like being mad at Michael Jackson for inappropriately touching children.

Back in the 60′s people should have been surprised and upset and jarred by the community of Berkeley. Then they were new, creative, surprising, original and crazy. Similarly, people were justifiably upset when it first came out that Michael Jackson had a thing for little boys. It was surprising, gross and very scary.

But it has reached the point with Michael Jackson that it is certainly a big national joke and it is (almost) adorable. You know that the parents who brought lawsuits more recently were just gold diggers hanging their plump, luscious children out there as bait for a genetically modified pedophile. You know he is going to want to “share a room” with them. And you know Jay Leno is going to have some killer punchline about Jacko.

And you also know Berkeley is going to do crazy anti-war stuff because that is just what they are known for. So what is the big effin’ deal?

(It should be noted at this point that I have tried to find the actual letter online, but thus far have only come up with the same basic quotes repeated in the press. While I would like to examine it to gain an independent perspective, it would appear that it would take more time than it is worth for this little piece.)

So Berkeley apparently used strongly worded language against the Marines saying they were unwelcome guests (ooohhhh!), but much like many Democratic resolutions, they did not actually do a damn thing. They certainly did not make any real maneuver to kick them out. Unless you count sicking the Modern Hippies on them. Sunshine and Rainbow and their functionless, pot molested, uncreative and thoughtless brains might make one opt for certain drastic measures to free themselves from the monotonous, uniformed babble.

Still, all in all, Berkeley really did nothing but use their supposed “freedom of speech” in a way that might be improper for a City Council.

Why then have the Republicans latched on to this thing like a virgin at a peep show? Arguments rage. Blood boils. Feelings get hurt. Because FOX News and like-minded affiliates have decided Berkeley is the new France. They are marching all over this issue, skewing as they like, as if they were the Republican Public Relation Machine of old.

And maybe that’s the real issue.

The Republican Public Relation Machine once had you believing a war in Iraq would be over in 90 days. They had you believing WMDs were hidden up your own ass. The RPRM was so fine tuned, so on, so pitch perfect, they could have shown that little bitchboy, Joseph McCarthy, how a witchhunt is done.

At their prime, say around 2002, when free speech was punished and Karl Rove roamed the Earth, the Republican Public Relations Machine could have had you duct taped inside your own home, eating nothing but lobbyist-pushed Hershey bars and Ovaltine, refusing even Amazon delivery for fear of Anthrax and committing incest to insure the survival of the Human Race until the devastating threat of the Brown Islamic Tide had passed. Don’t lie to yourself, they were that powerful.

But that is not the case anymore. If you are not a political junkie who watches FOX News and listens to Rush Limbaugh out of a pure masochistic self-loathing you might not have noticed that the crazy talking head Right were putting all of their support behind Mitt Romney after it was clear that Rudolph “The Boy Who Cried 9/11″ Giuliani was out of the race.

After John McCain had won a couple of primaries, this merry band of Brooks Brothers clad gun nuts put all of their effort into screaming about how John McCain was not a truly Conservative candidate! “He is as fake as Britney Spears breasts, as old as the Vietnamese who tortured him and as gay as Richard Simmons,” they sang in unison.

They spent the 24 hours leading up to Super Tuesday election results verbally clubbing that battered old war veteran into the ground like he was the most adorable baby seal you could find.
And what happened?

The Straight Talk Express rolled on to significant victory. And once that champion of Keith Richards and the crazy Evangelicals, Mike “I Heart” Huckabee backs out of the race, McCain will be the official winner. (I’m sorry. I don’t know why I have a thing for giving people boxing nicknames right now.)

Of course there have been a myriad of other examples of late of how the RPRM metaphorical Cialus induced priapism, which lasted for well over four hours, has finally returned to a state of flaccidness (and, understandably, why your ass hurts a little less). But this was the point that they were pushing for. It was their surge. It was their Waterloo. It was their Battle of the Bulge. They knew they were destined to win and protect the white man from evil, parading, gay immigrants, but they failed.

And then the Berkeley City Council had to go and write that letter. The stupid, forgetful, pork-bellied Republican Elephant was dead. Berkeley gave it mouth to mouth.

Berkeley didn’t really do anything un-Berkeley. Berkeley just stuck out their leg and said, “Here Republicans, dry hump this false issue for a little while.”

And dry hump they have.

But the pendulum is obviously swinging back to the left, no matter how small the margin between the leftness and the rightness of Democratic candidates has gotten. And no matter how weak the Democratic Public Relations Machine is, it is swinging their way. The pendulum will not stop, unless the Left continues to give the Right teats of nourishment to suckle from.

So for the love of God (or Buddha), Left Wing, if you truly love your country, do what your Democratic Representatives do best and say absolutely nothing about nothing. Especially about soldiers.

Because Republicans might not care about babies once they are born or anyone else’s kids getting an education or society outside of their own backyard or equal rights or even a soldier once he/she is in a VA hospital missing a few limbs (unless of course they can exploit him/her for a picture or name-dropping opportunity), but they sure as hell care when you talk about the abstract idea of soldiers and military and “freedom.” Because that is what they spend all of the government’s money on.

Think about what you spend on your money on, hippies. Would you really like someone to make fun of your ridiculously expensive hemp clothing collection?

So be good. Respect consumerism. And shut the hell up. Or else I will tell Michael Jackson where your children live.

I don’t like Robert Frost.

I don’t.

In fact, I think I might hate him.

I know he is dead. That is probably for the best. Because I very well might have hunted him down and said some nasty, nasty things to him. And I think he knows why.

I hate him and Norman Rockwell and Currier and Ives and anyone else who makes people think snow is good, happy, pretty or special. Snow isn’t fun. Snow is heavy, wet, cold and after a day it gets dirty and nasty looking.

Most people have a plow guy they can call. Or they have a snowblower. But not me. I keep it old skool (because I am cool/poor). I have a snow shovel and a roof rake. Do you know how much it sucks to use a roof rake when it is six inches of snow that has been rained on? I have been trying to get in shape, but I am not Atlas. I am a feeble little computer guy. I have weak little girlie wrists. And Mother Nature is trying to break them with her evil, evil “fluffy” white.

And as far as the shovel… It isn’t even a real, flat, basic, used since the times of Jesus “Kill Me” Christ type shovel. It is one of those PC, ridiculous, back-breaking ergonomic shovels (incidentally, it is not mine and I don’t know why I haven’t bought a new one. Maybe because I can’t drive to the store because my car sucks in this weather). Yes, for old people shoveling one inch of powdery snow, those things are effin’ awesome. But when God has emptied a veritable salt shaker upon the Earth, like an MSG obsessed Chinese restaurant, you can not get the proper lift to throw the snow more than a foot. Which means you shovel the same snow 7 times(!), but each time you are having to toss more and freakin’ more!

I will admit, I do dream of a White Christmas. That is nice. But just a dusting and then THAT’S IT!

Mother Nature has dumped enough snow here in the past two weeks to bring the pile nearly to the height of the one-story house. If I wanted that, I would move to Mounty plagued Canada. But it hasn’t just been snow. It has been sleet and freezing rain and I think a little bit of Mother Nature’s pure hatred for the human race. If it had all been snow, I don’t think you would be able to see the house any more.

So for all those people who buy their fake Christmas trees that are dusted in white, to those assholes who drive 6 hours up to the ski resorts in their SUVs and to anyone who uses precious non-renewable energy Googling Robert Frost, I say, “FUCK YOU!”

Because I have seen The Day After Tomorrow and I know that Global Warming will bring about another ice age. That means more Fucking Snow for my atrophied arms to dig through.

So, for my health, please listen to Al Gore. I mean, I don’t care if 9,000 species die off this Earth from carbon emissions. Take the penguins, the lemurs and the giraffes. But if it snows any more, I think the shoveling might give me a heart attack.

And isn’t that really what the fight against Global Warming is about? We all know the Earth will be fine. But fragile little humans will die.

And I am very fragile.

2:02 p.m. EST – People are still voting.

2:03 p.m. EST – People are still voting.

2:04 p.m. EST – We don’t really know anything yet because people are still voting.

2:05 p.m. EST – All the 24 hour news channels are orgasming expectations.

2:06 p.m. EST – Still not really sure about anything.

2:07 p.m. EST – Rush Limbaugh just made some bold prediction.

2:08 p.m. EST – 24 hour news channels still managing to fill time with crap.

2:09 p.m. EST – Breaking News: I think Obama sneezed.

2:10 p.m. EST – Sean Hannity thinks Obama sneeze could cost him Super Tuesday.

2:11 p.m. EST – People are still voting.

2:12 p.m. EST – Still well over five hours until first poll closes (excluding those weirdos in West Virginia).

2:13 p.m. EST – Bill O’Reilly thinks McCain should be taking victory lap so he will die of a heart attack and Romney will get the nomination.

2:14 p.m. EST – Still amazed that the 24 hour news networks can fill the day with so much crap.

2:15 p.m. EST – I think I am being slowly hypnotized by the 24 hour news networks.

2:16 p.m. EST – Watching the 24 hour news networks on a large plasma TV makes begin to think Wolf Blitzer might eat my head.

2:20 p.m. EST – Where did the last few minutes go? I was so drawn in to the captivating talk. Fox News thinks it is worthless to call Romney a flip-flopper because “he did what he needed to survive in a blue state.” This makes no sense. Flip-flopping is what got Kerry. But I am starting to believe them.

2:21 p.m. EST – I cannot take my eyes off the television. I had to gnaw my hand off for sustenance. I think I am sitting in my own fecal waste, but atrophied has taken away the feeling in my buttocks.

2:22 p.m. EST – All the talking. All the talking make my brain go jelly. Me vote for Obama. No. Now me vote for Huckabee. I heart Huckabee. They funny. Wait. They tell me vote different now.

2:23 p.m. EST – I think I have recaptured some of my sanity. I tried to look away from the television, but I think Fox has encoded some sort of computer program in my brain through the HD. Any time I look away or even blink, I hear the shrill call of the elephant.

2:24 p.m. EST – I have set myself up like Alex from A Clockwork Orange. I cannot look away. I must know what they all say.

2:25 p.m. EST – Without blinking I have begun to realize that they don’t actually even discuss the merits of a candidate, but whether they could win. Not based on ideals or credibility, but on likeability. Because you would rather have a beer with this guy, it makes him better than the smarter guy.

2:26 p.m. EST – I hate democracy.

2:28 p.m. EST – My eyes have begun to bleed, but I have promised you minute by minute coverage.

2:30 p.m. EST – Representatives of all the major news networks stand at lonely polling stations through out the country talking about average citizens who have shown up there. Why?

2:35 p.m. EST – TV talks loudly
Somewhere, candidates say something
But none has value

2:40 p.m. EST – Oh Jesus, I wrote a haiku. I don’t even remember doing that. OH GOD! Why is there a dead hooker on the floor?

2:42 p.m. EST – People are still voting.

2:43 p.m. EST – Clinton has accused Obama of having an inexperienced sneeze.

2:44 p.m. EST – I think the CIA is coming for me.

2:45 p.m. EST – Oh look, a clip of McCain’s speech somewhere.
2:47 p.m. EST – GIANT SPIDERS!

2:48 p.m. EST – CNN has an interesting discussion on right now.

2:49 p.m. EST – NO HEAD OF WOLF BLITZER! DO NOT EAT ME!

2:50 p.m. EST – A moments peace. Commercial breaks all around the 24 hour news networks.

2:55 p.m. EST – KILL ME NOW ALAN COLMES! KILL ME NOW!

2:56 p.m. EST – WHY ARE PEOPLE STILL VOTING?! CAN’T THIS COVERAGE JUST END ALREADY?!?!

2:57 p.m. EST – [Gun shot]

2:58 p.m. EST – Oh my, I seem to have shot off my pinkie toe. Unfortunately, this means I can no longer serve the minute by minute coverage team. Oh how sad I am. Goodbye.

God how I wish that title could be With Joy Like a Slut at a Sex Shop With Ron Jeremy.

I am a Patriots fan. Always have been. Always will be. No matter what turn the road takes.

And though I am as hollow as Rush Limbaugh’s skull and as numb as a pins-and-needles sickened leg, I sit here proudly in my Kevin Faulk jersey. Because Kevin Faulk will always embody the true spirit of the Dynasty Patriots to me.

And because Kevin Faulk showed up to play tonight.

But my people, the people I deal with in life and the people I prefer to tell jokes to, they will never understand that. Beginning at the name Faulk and ending with the sport of football, few of them will ever get it. As a matter of fact, most of them are very shocked that their local neighborhood Commie could ever like the sport of football. Let alone love it.

And it is not surprising. Most of them find football to be a misogynistic, brutal, boring game of greed and testosterone. Honestly, they might not be entirely wrong. But they are shocked that the Commie doesn’t feel the same way.

And for those who don’t feel that strongly, they have a superficial like or dislike of football, only caring about it when their local team has made it to a big game. Much how I, in my ancient age, am about the Red Sox (though I have much fonder memories from my youth). I join the Red Sox for the post-season, but only with the game on in the background while I do something more exciting. And that is how many are with the Patriots.

For me, though, New England Patriots gameday was the only time my family came together. Christmas, Thanksgiving and every Sunday in the fall and winter (except for bye weeks). We cheered, booed, hated, loved and screamed on the same page. The rest of the time we were on our own.

So football may have flaws. It may be testosterone fueled. Players might earn too much (though Pats heroes like Tedy Brushi took pay cuts to stay with the team). But I love it. And I love the Patriots.

And it hurt tonight when they lost. It was painful to watch Brady play one of his poorest games (incidentally, I have no shame in saying, “Great Job, Giants Defense.”) It was horrible to watch 3(!) dropped interceptions on the Giants final drive. It was probably all made a lot worse by the fact that a Manning won the trophy.

But what may be worst will be when my friends, who do not understand the game and could not comprehend my intense emotional bond (to the point of an unhealthy fanatic-ness) will begin giving me their condolences tomorrow. Because they will approach me as if a loved one has died (it does kind of feel a little like that). And then they will ask a question which will force me to replay the things that cost the Patriots the game (again, well earned by the Giants D).

The pain will linger.

So please, let us move on. If you care for what is left of my sanity, no more questions about Spygate, no “maybe next years,” no “what went wrongs” and certainly no “I’m sorrys.” While I appreciate your true sympathy at my time of sadness, it turned out the way it turned out. Maybe the Pats got too cocky. Maybe Brady really couldn’t handle the pressure. Maybe they didn’t have illegal videotapes of the Giants walk though. Or maybe the Giants Defense really just did an incredible job. All in all, it is done.

So please leave me to wallow in this dark twisted room of mental sports memorabilia and water coolers filled with tears. Because it is a place only true fans are invited to.

No offense. (Haha, no offense. Just like the Patriots tonight!… Ouch.)

And sorry there was no humor in this blog. The darkness currently enveloping my soul traded it on Craig’s List for a roofie to try and forget the past 6 hours.

Yes, you read that title correctly.

There is something happening in this country that is so filthy, so horrible, so un-American, so despicable that I cannot keep my silence anymore. We should be screaming out in unison against immigration!

Those fucking limey Brits and drunken Aussies think they can come in here and take jobs from hard working Americans. It is time we tell them that they can’t. If you care about this country like I do, anyway.

I didn’t begin to realize that immigration was such a problem until we reached award season. That is when the Golden Globes nominated some of my favorite television actors for their phenomenal performances. That is when I began to hear interviews. That is when I began to hear the truth for itself in it’s evil devil-tongued accent!

You know that cutie from Pushing Daisies? The one that plays the dead girl, Chuck. Well, I recently heard an interview on immigrant-hugging NPR with Anna Friel. Despite how well she uses the fast talking and dry wit of the show to pretend to be American, she is a fish and chip guzzling Brit! I used to love Chuck. Now I feel dirty like I just had sex with a transsexual prostitute.

Speaking of things called Chuck, Sarah, the tall, blonde, undercover, Weinerlicious, ass-kicker from the NBC program, is not indeed from the land of milk and honey. Yvonne Strahovski hails from the land inhabited by the criminal class of the limeys: Australia. I feel most ashamed by the fact that I should have known with a name like Yvonne that she wanted to put another shrimp on the barbie and have sexual relations with a kangaroo! But I didn’t find out until, in true blatant enjoyment of our under-reaching immigration policy, she admitted to her Foster’s-slugging heritage on little promo breaks during the recent release of two new Chucks.

What other shows are infested with pond-swimming, sadly-toothed Brits? House, Wiithout a Trace, Bionic Woman, Life, Nip/Tuck, Heroes and, probably most surprisingly, American Idol with its superstar Simon Cowell.

Now would be the time to band together and boycott these shows!… If the Writers’ Strike hadn’t taken care of that problem for us. But writers, be warned of failed union attempts of the past. Learn from the current problems of American actors. Who is to say that Conservative Hollywood won’t throw off the chains of the WGA and begin importing their writers from England or exporting their scripts to Australia?

Writers! Is it really important that you get your fair share of revenue? Can’t the hard-line, greed-oriented studios make just a little bit more off of your creativity? If you don’t allow it you just might find yourselves without jobs. Because there are plenty of pot-of-gold-having Irish or Hobbit-loving New Zealanders who want your job. And they will gladly do it without the internet play or DVD residuals.

Think about it.

Because soon you might not have a job. And you are American. Which means that you are above doing construction or house-cleaning. And that’s good. Because, thankfully, we have those Mexicans who are happy to do it and will work for next to nothing. And they’ll let us rape their land. And the whole time they will be thankful for a shot at the American dream.

God Bless the Mexicans.