Would You Like Catsup With That?
2004-08-11, 6:06 p.m.

OK, last rant for the day. Promise. Having a blog on which to vent totally rules.

I am less-than-enamored with Theresa Heinz-Kerry, aka Whiny Rich Bitch (henceforth WRB). First, the woman has all the warmth of chiseled steel. Does she ever smile? Any time she's on television I have the eerie sense of staring down a large gun barrel being challenged to make her day. Second, she's in a major snit over a cookie recipie. Yes folks, a cookie recipie. There's that nifty little election-year contest where the First Lady and/or First Lady Wannabes submit their best cookie recipies, and the one with the most nationwide yums supposedly correlates with the winner of the Presidential election. WRB has her panties in a wad over her recipie, claiming it's "nasty" and that she never submitted it.

There are a few things wrong here. I could have told her that recipie wouldn't win; hers are pumpkin cookies, whereas Laura Bush's contain CHOCOLATE. The elixir of life. Despite that point, I thought the pumpkin cookies sounded rather tasty. Not so WRB. With the chips (pun intended) squarely in Bush's favor, WRB has thrown up the "Not Me" flag and is ready to take her cookie sheet and go home. Lady, it's a friggin' contest for FUN. Ever hear of fun? Amazing little 3-letter word. Goes hand-in-hand with being a good sport, which apparently she ain't. I also cannot for the life of me picture her baking cookies. I can, however, envision her with a cat o'nine tails flogging her executive chef into a crumpled bloody heap for having the audacity to submit a losing recipie, then heading out the door to do whatever it is whiny rich folk do.

A far more plausible envisioning of Executive Cookie Baking:

Kerry and Edwards, basking in the afterglow of the latest on-stage fornication, don matching aprons and whip up a batch of yummy crispy things. While those are cooling on the counter, our John-boys head to the spa for facials and Botox. They are able to keep their hands off one another for a record 5 minutes during their herbal wraps. While at the spa, WRB buzzes Kerry on his cell to blast him for leaving the seat up.

Meanwhile, Laura Bush, in a crisp red ensemble and the faintest wisp of flour in her hair, checks to be sure Dubya remembered to wash his hands. He wriggles impatiently as she adjusts his tie. She hands him a Texas-size warm gooey chocolate chip cookie, glass of milk, and pop-top can of Whup Ass as he heads out the door to do some Presidentin'.

Now THAT'S cookie baking, candidate-style. God bless America.

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