Tag Archives: politiks

Thel’ About Town

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Thelma Haney

You probably all know that our boys are about to go to war, God Bless ’em. Licketysplit and Lambchop want to know, “what is America thinking?!” And darned if they didn’t ask me, Thelma Haney! Now I don’t know much about politicking, but I can tell you all about life here in Epsom. Even with Mr. Haney gone (God rest his soul) life here is pretty exciting. Just last week my niece wanted to take me to dinner, and I had just seen an advertisement for a shrimp platter at the Ground Round on the TV! I don’t normally go in for a fuss, but I like to spoil myself now and again, so off we went. As I was driving home in my Buick Skylark, I passed the neighborhood arcade, where all the youths go to play the pinball, and it looked like the whole P.T.A. was out there protesting. Apparently, the young people of this town use the arcade as a meeting place to go out into the woods and drink alcohol! I am not really clear on what became of the matter, but my good neighbor Flora said it had something to do with Heavy Metal music.

This afternoon I was down the beauty shop to give Rosie all my soda can pull tabs for all those poor kids with leukemia, and I decided to have my usual wash and set. And she told me that George Clooney would not be present at the Oscars this year because he is a terrorist. I was shocked! Handsome Dr. Doug Ross, I told her it can’t be true. He’s a Kentucky boy! So I was out in the yard reading my papers (Flora gives me her Enquirers when she is finished with them), and that was no baloney. Rosie is known to exaggerate, but it said right there, George Clooney to be barred from the Oscars. It’s a shame when a handsome boy goes bad. I better call up my son and make sure he is keeping up with his studies.

Good day from Epsom,

Thelma Haney

Gentlemen take polaroids

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from the desk of Kitty Winn

Dear Kitty Winn,

I sure am all a twitter because of this talk of terrorism. I know, that’s sooo 2001. But the government is going on and on, and there’s those terrible orange flashing lights to remind me I should be scared shitless. We’re at Condition Tangerine Dream, Condition Creamsicle, or whatever, if you hadn’t heard. Do you remember those Flintstones Orange Sherbet push-up pops? I loved those. I also have an orange push-up bra. Now here’s the problem: I would like to go buy a cardigan and a rude t-shirt at French Connection or something, but I am too afraid to leave the house. Which means I have to watch Dr. Phil or TLC all day. And while I love Trading Spaces, I’ll never get to be on it if I can’t walk out my front door! And my neighbors have a butt-ugly couch! This is a matter of the greatest import.

climbing the walls when I should be painting them,

-Betsy Wetsy

Dear Betsy,

Trading Spaces? Why I suppose I do trade spaces, in my own way…the ranch for the chalet, the penthouse for the yacht. So it goes. But really dear, why do the decorating yourself? *whispers, behind hand* There are PEOPLE to do that sort of thing for you! The only valid sprucing up activities should be related to personal grooming or costuming.

So, to that end, Kitty urges you to throw caution to the winds and venture out! Ob la di, life goes on. You will perambulate the shopping lanes with vigor, head held high, tresses conditioned and bouncing. The secret to inner composure is knowing you have a sparky victim tribute photo ready and waiting in case of emergency!

Kitty suggest a 3/4 view for your shot, as it is most flattering. You should also tip your chin down, while tightening the muscles beneath it, and look upward just a bit — never directly at the camera. Kitty learned this from Princess Di, and it never fails. Neutral make up is preferable, with a smidge of extra eye definition. A good brow is key; consult a professional if you are in doubt. You want to look like the very best version of yourself, not a painted whore. Unless you are a painted a whore, and then different strokes, right? Still, Never. Ever. Contour.

Now Kitty also insists that you order from a reputable photographer. You don’t want to see “Olan Mills” or “Lifetouch Portraits” stamped in the corner. Why not just let your mom use that horrid senior portrait then? Your big hair will be your lasting contribution. Maybe she’ll also helpfully give an interview about how much you loved whatever unfashionable band you liked in high school. You know she wants to! So, having a prepared statement is also key. You’ll want to detail exotic hobbies, luxurious interests, etc. What sounds better: “Betsy died as she lived, sunning on the prow of the yacht Serendipity,” or “Betsy was a paralegal, and she enjoyed bowling and was a real big Dokken fan.”

So my pet, image is everything, and it will most certainly outlive you. Feel better? Super! Bellicose? You mean bella cosa.

graceful under pressure,

-Kitty

He’s got the whole world in his hands

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It hasn’t been all cocktails and soda crackers for yours truly. The fate of the world has been laying heavily on my mind. Just yesterday I was in a French restaurant having medallions of monkfish and a salmon carpaccio drizzled in this wonderful creamy mustard, and i was thinking “damn those french, pass me another slice of that lovely lovely bread”.

I am afraid that I side with Michael Moore, on being a great fan of the french, if not Chirac. And “freedom fries” is a concept that makes me shudder. Our president is the only person buffoon enough to think that changing the name of that particular snack is a slight against the french. Freedom fries must have something to do with every american’s right to get fat while our government dupes us out of our own rights and brings down its imperialist fist wherever it chooses.

The pope has branded this war a Sin. I am no Catholic, but I agree. And so Steele and I went to Rome to ask the Pope personally if maybe it would be possible to dust off the Rack for Mr. Bush. Or perhaps at least some thumb screws.

pleading our case with the pope

smooch

Case in pointless

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from the desk of Kitty Winn

Dear Kitty Winn,

The leader of my nation is poised to start some WWIII-type shit. I am scared and embarassed. I signed all the petitions, and I half-heartedly stood around with some protesters. I thought about emailing my senator, whoever that is. Now I’m sort of informed, having watched the president talk on tv and looked at some scary infographics on the ABC network. The technical explanation I heard was “we’re gonna pound em.” Kitty, what can I do to take control of this situation? I’m frazzled and perplexed!

-scaredy cat

Dear Scaredy,

You’ve got nothing to fret over. Remember, nuk-yoo-lar weapons can’t hurt you, only the nuclear ones. Sit back, apply some soothing cucumbers to your eyes, and wait for the next Golden Girls rerun. Oh wait, or did you vote for Ralph Nader? In that case, a special detail will be by in fifteen minutes to impress you into the Navy. You’ll be taking control of the situation, all right. But don’t worry, chicks (and lots of fellas) dig uniforms!

At any rate, it’s horrid and scary. Kitty would advise against stress eating, as no one likes a chunky monkey, and nail biting is out as well. Think of your manicure! You could devote yourself to tooth whitening or promiscuity. Those are really the only acceptable options. Oh, and hoarding. Stop driving your confounded SUV and walk to loot the grocery store. But French wine and bon bons are out, as are French cheeses. And stop saying “zut alors” and “c’est la vie.” It’s annoying anyway.

Kitty will be hiding under the bed if you need her. But she’ll be wearing a fabulous negligee!

bunkering,

-Kitty

tuna walls?

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I got take out sushi from Shino Express on Newbury today. On the wall there is a painting of a silhouette of a woman, sort of a teal color, looking very much like a Duran Duran album cover. Her lips are bright pink, and she’s hosting a hefty piece of tekka on her chopsticks. And swirling teal letters read: Tuna as fresh as your lips.

Needless to say, that set me off but good! I walked back to work humming “lips like tuna/tuna kisses…” My friend S speculated that this was a translation from Japanese that was actually more meaningful than the orginal thought. Infused with a hearty significance.

Anyway, life is sheer dada at this point. I’ve decided to solve the wedding problem by hiring a stand-in. I am picking out Lambchop’s dress….it’s going to be a good one! Can’t wait to see you tooling around the floor doing the chicken dance!

Last night I watched the State of the Union address. Of course I really set out expecting American Idol to be on, but alas and alack, there was my least favorite winged monkey, in full becufflink’d regalia. I shouted lustily at the screen for the first fifteen minutes, then I feel asleep. And when I woke up, the Democrats had trotted out a God-honest Chinaman to give their rebuttal! I expect this was to counter all the tight shots of the one female Reublican and the one Black Republican in the audience. Anyway, Governor Locke managed not to start frothing at the mouth with rage (which is what the Democrats probably SHOULD do for a change), and he navigated the moderate waters valiantly and even concluded with a rousing “God bless America!” Oy. The subtext of the whole affair seemed to be “at least we all agree we are not down with Allah.” And before I feel asleep, the Shrub had managed to tout a Hydrogen Car and condemn abortion and any research involving cloning. I think I conked out right after faith-based initiatives. The human mind can only withstand so much torment! What a sense of defeat. I’ve voted my bleeding heart liberal conscience in every election since I turned 18. But what good does it seem to do? There’s all those states in the middle of the country to contend with!

I think my only hope is to move to Canada. I’m going to call up the Prime Minister, whatshisname, and see if I can come for a visit. Surely they’ve never encountered the situation of someone WANTING to move to Canada before? This could be one for the history books!

xxoo