Bo Knows Hardball

Everybody else has an online journal, why not Bo, the conservative dog in the White House?

Right now, I'm sitting in the Oval Office with Barry, Axelrod and Chief of Staff and resident kneecapper, Rahm Emanuel, while the three chumps cool their heels in the waiting room. Barry's staring out the window, going JFK on us, trying to figure out which precise upward angle of the chin registers that weary-but-resolute toughness that the press corps laps up. If he sticks that jaw up any higher he's going to drown in a drizzle if you ask me, but the pose does seem to bring a flush to the freshly sculpted cheeks of Andrea Mitchell.

Have I mentioned that I'm a conservative? Yeah, I eat the kibble that the cook dumps in my bowl, but I can take care of myself. I killed a couple of squirrels a few weeks ago, just to prove that I don't need handouts. I still eat the kibble though. This White House is Lib-Central; you don't eat the kibble, they start thinking you're uppity and snip-snip the soft and tender places. No thanks. It's not so bad living here, but if I didn't have a sense of humor, I'd throw myself under the wheels of the vice-presidential limo when Joe Biden's doing donuts in the parking lot.

The three rubes? David Frum, David Brooks and Peggy Noonan, three GOP-approved media yappers. Pathetic. I can't even tell the two Davids apart. Couple of constipated white guys who look like they got beat up a lot in junior high and never forgot it. One of them wrote some sappy article about how proud he was to have a president like Barry because he had a crisp crease in his trousers, but don't ask me which one it was. Real genius. Yeah, next time let's elect Mr. Blackwell president. He's still alive, isn't he? Peggy...she smells good, like mahogany and oranges, but she's confusing. One minute she's in a fugue state about Barry's cool elegance, like he's Fred Astaire with the nuclear football, the next she's all weepy about teenagers who don't know who Ronald Reagan was, and how just yesterday she was talking to an old friend about the delicious chocolate macaroons they served at this little shop on Third Avenue back when Republicans didn't raise their voices, or nominate trailer trash for high office. You get the idea. Just another loony old broad with a column. Maureen Dowd without the desperation.

Bo knows his media yappers well.