Monday, October 11, 2004

Workin’ My Air Guitar to: Don’t Stop Me Now – Queen

Damn this song is awesome, makes me want to pump billions back into our aging space program! Well, billions more that is.

Slept in today, woke up at around 3 and realized I’d missed all my meetings. Welp, nothing I can do now. I love it how nobody ever asks me to explain where I’ve been. It’s like they all assume I’m completely infallible (which I practically am), and then everyone else tries to cover for me just to maintain that infallible image to justify the fact they supported someone who was wrong. But sometimes I wished they’d just talk to me, ya know? Like this whole Texas Air National Guard thing, accusations, accusations, accusations! Has anyone even asked me if I showed up for duty?! No! They always ask my press secretaries or my campaign headquarters. Hello, I have a phone! Write me a letter! Shoot me an email for Christ’s sake, but don’t go around making assumptions. If Dan Rather really wanted me to admit I didn’t show up for duty and that I only completed 300 of my 500 flight hours to satisfy my combat equivalency, he could have just asked. Hell, most of those records are public anyway; he could have read a book.

Now am I saying I want to be persecuted for all the crap I pulled while I was supposed to be in Vietnam – No! But when Clinton was President he got to do all sorts of Press meetings, and answer all sorts of questions, and he got the chance to lie and/or admit guilt publicly, a right which I have been denied! Now I know what all of those poor tortured prisoners in Iraq feel like. The ones under Saddam’s reign, not mine.

On the plus side, all this lying people do for me means less public speaking – always a plus. Well it’s almost bed time, better run down and hit up the masseuse before she heads home for the night.

Don’t stop me don’t stop me
Don’t stop me hey hey hey!
Don’t stop me don’t stop me ooh ooh ooh (I like it)
Don’t stop me don’t stop me
Have a good time good time
Don’t stop me don’t stop me ah!

I’m a rocket ship on my way to mars
On a collision course
I am a satellite I’m out of control
I am a sex machine ready to reload
Like an atom bomb about to
Oh oh oh oh oh explode

I’m burning through the sky yeah!
Two hundred degrees
That’s why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit
I’m trav’ling at the speed of light
I wanna make a supersonic woman of you


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