Grover Cleveland: Shoot me. Right in the face.

Right in the GOD. DAMN. FACE.

Grover Cleveland: Hmm. This news bodes ills for my beloved but vexing Queen City thrashabouts. A highly thought about left tackle sent to the City of Brotherly Face-Punching because the owner is afraid our negro president favors free silver currency.

I think that was the reason, anyway.

Then, his replacement is unceremoniously cut less than a week before a contest against their most feared rival? Why don’t they hire a Swede or Chinaman to protect Leader Edwards blind side? Oh my. I fear this season of contests will be most disheartening. I believe my earlier optimism was overstated. Below is a list I’d rather experience than this upcoming season of Buffalo Bills football:

• Pizza without pepperoni
• Female suffrage
• A future without coal
• Dental surgery with a katana blade
• Exercise

Buffalo finishes the season at 4-12. The British destruction of the city in 1814 will be less a disaster than this season.

I should be offended by somebody using the term “Brosef Goebbels” as a term of endearment in a movie. But I’m not.
about 2 hours ago from the web.

Grover Cleveland: I firmly hoped that the local football club would employ that Vick chap who was so full of mayhem. Alas, the Philadelphia club has engaged my wishes. Time for them to book their train tickets to Florida! I hear Miami is lovely that time of year, though filthy with Latins and children of Moses.

I cannot fathom the disconcertion caused by his staging of canine exhibitions. While mayor of the Queen City I encouraged our fair citizens to fight their creatures of earned husbandry in contest of mortal peril. Look at this splendid measure of Buffalo masculinity:

He looks like a gentleman who would enjoy pitting his animal stock — a rabid lamb, perhaps — against his neighbors’ stock. I think he’s more concerned about winning contests of sport. The spilling of blood is likely a minor concern.

Ducks, perhaps. Ducks would be a better animal to fight.

Once completed, their feathers would make fine bedding.

The Bills will achieve a 6-10 record due to lack of a quality offensive and defensive line.

]]> http://www.1601penn.com/?feed=rss2&p=292 0 http://www.1601penn.com/?p=285 http://www.1601penn.com/?p=285#comments Sat, 08 Aug 2009 01:07:38 +0000 mlucinski http://www.1601penn.com/?p=285

From time to time, 1601 Pennsylvania Avenue will ask house residents their greatest regrets during their time in office. A literal apology is not required. We leave that to the discretion of the ex-president. Today’s ex-president: Franklin Roosevelt.

Franklin Roosevelt: Bullet proof. I am mother f–king bullet proof. And that doesn’t count the time Johnny Ola tried to kill me.

I assumed the moral authority to fundamentally change the relationship between citizens and their government in a manner unseen since the Civil War. I employed a nakedly political strategy to alter the membership of the Supreme Court so they could rubber stamp my agenda. I feigned association with the Common Man when my idea of privation is Sunday brunch without strawberries and cream. I spit in the face of the hallowed two-term only tradition established by George Washington himself. Many historians now argue my shotgun blast of economic recovery programs actually extended the Depression in the United States as other industrialized nations emerged from the calamity.

And for all of this I’m lionized because I gave toothless morons jobs digging holes in Yosemite Park and let Churchill beat me in Hearts during WWII. Statues, airports, elementary schools. If I were alive at this moment, do you think I’d ever handle a dime? Possibly, if only to flick them at Latins.

But the real evidence I’m bullet proof? I ordered over 70,000 Americans into concentration camps because their skin color was different than mine.

Baseball executives were cashiered from public life for less crimes.

Look, look. Here is a quote from a collection of essays from prominent historians profiling each president. Here is the sum total of what some broad named Susan Ware wrote about me throwing over 100,000 people into concentration camps because their physical features were different than mine (Just like Uncle Adolf!)

“Less playfully, [Roosevelt] acquiesced in the internment of approximately 112,000 Japanese Americans despite the lack of any evidence of disloyalty or sedition on their part.”

That’s it! One sentence! I “acquiesced!” One of the five most powerful presidents in history and I let some cracker general from Texas twist my arm? Wrong, lady. I chose to throw them in the camps. I had to focus on Europe. I didn’t have time to worry about a Yellow knife plunged into my back.

Could you image the outrage if Nixon had thrown one hippie into jail because he didn’t like the color of the flower in his hair?

But yeah, I guess I’m sorry. Whatever.

My great-grandchildren will now swim in a kiddie pool full of shiny metal coins bearing my likeness.

BULLET. PROOF.

Be careful where you build your shantytown. More and more trains travel at night these days.
about 4 hours ago from web

My favorite part of Tropic Thunder: the blackface.
about 3 hours ago from web

Lyndon Johnson: So get this. This little New England shit asks me to be his vice president. I would push kids like him over railings in the Senate office building. “Lyna-don,” he says in that accent you’d swear is fake if you didn’t know better. “Ahh-merica needs us to work ta-gether for the good a the country.” This pisser, whose daddy bought him everything he thought he earned, had the rocks to ask me to do him a favor.

Millard Fillmore: Why did you take the job?

Johnson: Access to an unlimited supply of A&W Root Beer.

Fillmore: For real?

Johnson: No, you idiot. He needed Southern votes.  So those photographers of his had excellent telephoto lenses. I thought nobody could see me and the pig.

Harry Truman: Gosh, that’s awful.

Johnson: Don’t knock it until you try it.

Gerald Ford: Lemme ask you guys something. Did your Chief ever come into the room naked?

Fillmore: Yep.

Truman: Unfortunately, yes.

Johnson: Nine times. Twice I was already naked before he arrived.

Ford: How did you – [stares at Johnson for 30 awkward seconds] – how did you get out of the situation?

Truman: I faked a heart attack. I felt bad about it, but I did it.

Fillmore: I ran out of the room. Thankfully, he died of gastroenteritis before we had another conversation.

Truman: That’s a shame.

Fillmore: Not if you had to listen to him talk, it’s not. He’s the only president to mispronounce “dog.”

Johnson:  All I had to do was shout, “Jack, I think I hear Jackie’s helicopter!” Boom, I had those Georgetown girls all to myself.

Truman: Can I ask you guys something … secret?

Johnson: Shoot, hayseed.

Truman: While you were Number Two — nah.

Fillmore: What?

Truman: Never mind.

Johnson: Out with it, haberdasher.

Truman: Nope.

Ford: I will body slam you. Spill it.

Truman: Did you wish your Chief would die so, you know, you could take his job?

Fillmore: It is cold in Washington, DC in winter. Pipes burst and sometimes water freezes outside the White House.

Ford: You didn’t have indoor plumbing in the 1840’s.

Fillmore: Burst pipes. Tipped over water pitchers. Same difference.

Truman: Jeepers.

Fillmore: “Jeepers.” C’mon. You never hoped those brakes gave out on that wheelchair?

Truman: No, of course not.

[the assembled stare incredulously at Truman.]

Truman: Okay! Okay! I did it! I did it! I killed Roosevelt! Curse your fiendish eyes! He was old and I wanted to sit at those big tables and eat those sweet, sweet oranges! So what if I paid somebody to leave all the windows open in the White House during dinner!

Johnson: [mumbles] I wish I had thought of that.

Truman: I wanted to nuke those Nips! I didn’t want that gimp to get all the glory!

Johnson: But why did you invade North Korea?

Truman: They all look alike to me.

Johnson: I feel that same about tits.

Rocky Road ice cream is delicious. And it makes me think of Christmas.
about two hours ago via iPhone

James Buchanan: Certainly, reasonable men can agree that the culmination of the long-unresolved sectional disagreement was … unfortunate. The aforementioned conflict was a boon to amputee assistance device manufacturers in both the North and South. That … that was a commonality.

Perhaps I was in error for conspiring with a Supreme Court justice from my native Pennsylvania to rule against that runaway slave, what was his name? Scott, or something. And maybe — just maybe — it was wrong to allow members of my Cabinet to relocate stocks of federal arms to Southern states on the eve of secession. And I’ll concede blaming my fellow northerners for the ills of sectional discord was a poor choice.

I apologize for these errors I committed during my presidency.

I apologize because these measures didn’t go far enough.

I hate America. I hate stupid, smelly, stinky, fat, farty America.

I’m sorry the Union won the war. I’m sorry I didn’t do enough to assist the Confederacy.

I should have enslaved every Irishman in New York, every Polack in Buffalo.

I should have surrendered Baltimore to Jefferson Davis.

I should have made grits the National Meal.

I hate snow.

I like people serving me lemonade under the penalty of whipping.

I get hard off the idea of sub-units of the national authority disregarding laws because I didn’t compliment the governor on his fine collection of hunting decoys and thus pissed him off.

Who needs railroads, or a Navy? Not me.

Look at the mess that followed the War — the automobile, Facebook, female suffrage, the Interstate Highway System and Bruce Springsteen.

All crap.

I’m sorry I did not do more to prevent this nightmare.

Please accept my apology.