Well the world may be crashing down around our ears, but this week the only loud noise I am hearing is the top volume 24/7 of the television. It’s March Madness! So to heck with the politics! Here’s this week’s cartoon:
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President Obama has admitted, we aren’t winning the war in Afghanistan. So he proposed a reconciliation process in which America would reach out to moderate elements of the Taliban. Something tells me he’ll never even cop a feel. What do you think?
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Well, after posting yesterday’s cartoon about Barry Bonds and Alex Rodriguez, I realized that I loved doing a cartoon that was related to sports! My husband is a sports FREAK. I, on the other hand, need a cheat sheet, and three chances, to tell the difference between a baseball and a football. Rick was so thrilled when I asked him to make sure I had spelled their names right. And how proud he was, explaining what part the senate sub-committee had played in the steroid investigation, so that my cartoon remained vaguely factual His excitement was evident when he mentioned seeing a book called Sports for Women, and had thought about buying it for me at Christmas.
“Maybe I should have,” he wondered aloud, positively lighting up with a glimmer of hope. I was touched. And saddened too. I could see how lonely it must be for him, living with me.
On Superbowl Sunday, while we ran out to shop for the requisite “nacho fest,” Rick hopped out of the car to run a quick “nacho fest” related errand. I remained in the car, lost in my own thoughts. The radio was blasting his sports channel. I’ve learned to tune that out. It’s become the background music of any time spent in the car together. Shortly, Rick hopped back into the car.
“Who’s winning?” he asked breathlessly.
“Who’s playing?” I replied.
He looked at me with a combination of disdain, disbelief and disappointment. I knew at that moment, if there were such a thing as instantly un-marrying someone, I would have been left standing on the curb as he sped away.
So, last night, he comes in the door from work. I can tell he’s all excited about something.
“Did you hear about Alex Rodriguez?!? He’s really hurt!”
And I replied:
“Because of my cartoon?”
As if the spirits of worshipping fans haven’t been battered enough by recent revelations about steroid use by Barry Bonds and Alex Rodrigeuz, more disillusionment awaits as congress announced it will be investigating “what the heck’s in that can of spinach?”
Below is a picture of the senate sub-committee investigation. That’s Nancy Pelosi, to the left of Popeye, asking: “can I feel your muscles, Mr. Popeye?” She vehemently denied she was trying to cop a feel, saying that she was just “doing her job and trying to be thorough.”
President Obama asked Gov. Kathleen Sebelius of Kansas to become his nominee for secretary of health and human services, after his first pick, Tom Daschle, resigned from consideration for that post, due to a very embarrassing tax “woopsie!”
Okay ladies, Remember Mr. Most Popular in junior high school? (I do. Paul Gill. Marine Park Junior High, P.S. 278, Brooklyn, NY.) Remember how he asked you to dance, but not until the other, more popular girls turned him down? So…? Dance with Mr. Most Popular, and to heck with being last choice? Or decide that it isn’t worth being last choice, and take yourself and your pathetic wounded pride over to the punch bowl, and do that “pretend to stare at a faraway object,” so that everyone thinks you are really engrossed in some deep thoughts, like, maybe about some Herman Hesse novel you are reading, and that you couldn’t care less about some dumb dance with Paul Gill, Mr. Most Popular. Well, Kathleen Sebelius chucked the idea of the lonely visit to the punch bowl and is going to boogie with Barak. Well, I certainly hope he doesn’t treat her bad again. And if he does, I hope she chooses the punch bowl. Then at least, I won’t be in that lonely corner all by myself. In the meantime, even though you may not hear it, the soundtrack to this post, is “Last Dance” by Donna Summer. Feel free to shake your booty! And maybe, in the future, I will tell you the true and humiliating story of my one dance with Paul Gill, Mr. Most Popular. Decades later, I still cringe with humiliation.
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