Sarah Palin Rocked My Giant Uvula

I'm fighting a cold. It makes me kind of grouchy, and more then a little pissy. It's not strep throat or anything too terrible. In fact, it is a totally normal crappy head cold EXCEPT for that the fact that two days ago my uvula swelled up to four times its regular size.

Perhaps you don't understand the particularly nasty implications of this. In case you don't know, the uvula is the thing that hangs down in the back of your throat. It's that little dangly-do back there over the tongue. Nobody knows what it does but in cartoons when somebody screams and the camera zooms down their throat what you always see is the little uvula vibrating like a tiny gong. If you need to go and look at it in the mirror and then come back to reading.

Got it? Good.

Well, two days ago when I woke up my throat felt like it was on fire. I could barely swallow. I also felt like I had something stuck in the back of my throat. It was as if somebody was sticking their finger on the back of tongue and holding it there. Whenever I would try and hawk up whatever was blocking me up back there my whole throat would shut closed and I would just do a weird sort of silent-body-dry-heave that I'm sure looked to an outside observer like the aliens had just turned remotely detonated my central nervous system.

So I drag myself into the bathroom and look in the mirror. I open my mouth and peer inside to look for white spots, which is the normal sign for strep and what I assume I have. What greeted me was horrifying beyond all recognition.

My uvula didn't look like it should. Instead of the tiny, easy to forget piece of nothing just chilling in the back, mine looked like a giant fat limp penis hanging in the back of my throat. I really wish I could use some other words to describe it but that's how it was. It was so long, and so fat that it was RESTING on the back of my tongue. And not a little bit. A huge amount of it was just lying on my tongue like a half-lynched snail. That's why I felt like I was choking. I basically was choking, on my own uvula. It was so wide I couldn't see anything else around my throat. It was blocking my whole throat. It was beyond scary.

I started to look for doctors right away. Unfortunately, I had a big meeting with a literary agent that day so I need quick results. I'm calling around but nobody can see me and I won't make it to a clinic and be out in time for the meeting. I call my manager and say I'm sick (she doesn't need to know about my giant uvula). It's very hard when I speak not to hack like a cat with a hairball in its throat because I constantly feel like somebody is sticking their finger in my throat Karen Carpenter style. Also, I'm being so careful not to hack or choke on my own uvula that I'm talking in a manner that is overly slow, overly cautious and slightly muffled because of a nearly blocked throat. The result is I sound like I'm deaf. I'm serious. I could have auditioned for "In the Company of Men 2". This isn't good.

Despite my newly acquired handicap my manager explains it's to late to cancel without looking bad. I'm too embarrassed to tell her about my uvula. I agree to go. I hang up the phone. The clock is ticking. I need to be out the door in two hours and I need to get my uvula under control. I can handle twice the normal size but four times is just too big. I feel like I got the sand worm from Dune erupting out of the back of my throat and I'm talking like Marley Matlin.

I check the internet for a diagnosis. Of course one of the options is cancer. But that always happens when you diagnose online. Option one will always be "cancer of the something horrible". But that can't be it. I dig around more. What seems more likely is that it is the result of extreme dehydration. Ah-ha!

I had not drank enough the day before. I had slept with my mouth open and on my back (both contributing factors). Also, most importantly, I had taken a Hydrocodone the night before to help me sleep (left over my botched wisdom tooth extraction). And that can cause dehydration. So there you go. With an hour left until I have to be out the door I begin to try and hydrate my uvula.

I drink about 18 gallons of water in ten minutes. I take more ibuprofen then is probably safe. I try gargling with salt water. The first three times I try it immediately kicks my gag reflex because of the swollen uvula. I wind up dry-heaving into the kitchen sink three times before I get it to work. Of course, the neighbors kids are playing in the courtyard of my building and I'm loudly making puking sounds and dancing around my kitchen like Fred Astaire with MS. And that is much more fun to watch then whatever doll they were playing with so every time I turn their are more and more children watching me try to gargle the salt water that is making me dry-hack. They think it's funny that I'm doing this to myself over and over. I'm thinking about places I could hide their bodies after I kill them.

Nobody ever goes into that crawlspace under the deck right?

But not now because my time is up! I have to get ready for my meeting! And the uvula is still huge! I take a long shower to try and let the steam from the shower work on my throat. That, more then anything, helps out. Thank you God. I get my uvula down to an acceptable level. It's not back to normal but I can deal with it. I just have to be careful not to do anything during the meeting to kick my gag reflex because I'll dry-heave at the slightest trigger now. I go to my meeting. I don't think they realized anything was wrong. Thank you God again. The meeting I will fill you in on later in my next posting about meetings and bad auditions (cause I've had a few recently). The meeting is not the real point. What happened afterwards is.

After I got home I was exhausted. My uvula is still big but not horribly so. But I just couldn't stop thinking about it or messing with it. It was a constant annoyance. So I started to read some political blogs while curled up in bed. I do this a lot. I've already talked about it in my last blog. They always make me angry but how I can't just STOP.

So I'm lying there alone in my room. In my nice big bed. Reading about something stupid and horrible that Sarah Palin has done. She called somebody a terrorist or got accused of something or didn't know who Margaret Thatcher was or something. And it makes me ticked off. I'm royally pissed off again. Like all good liberals I think she may be evil. But down at the bottom of this story is a photo of Sarah Palin. And I'm steaming. And I look at the photo and go...well...actually...she looks pretty damn good.

I'll be honest, I got a little twitch downstairs looking at her photo. A little shifting of the bits that tells me we might be on to something here. I think to myself, "well, well. What have we here?" Of course I think that to myself in a British accent because everything about masturbation is more fun with a British accent.

And I look back at the photo. She's sitting on a leather couch in Alaska. She's got a bear-skin blanket on the back of the sofa. She's showing a little leg. A little hint of cleavage. She's smiling. She's kinda MILFy. Oh yeah....it's getting sexy.

I check to make sure nobody is outside my door.

All clear.

I dim the lights.

You know, to set the mood.

I crawl into bed.

And I do my thing.

Oooooo yes.

Just me and the photo of Palin.

And let me tell you folks.

It was damn good.

Sarah Palin ('s photo) rocked my fucking world.

And not in an angry sex kind of way. I assure you this was no sexist liberal fuck-frenzy. It was delicate. It was romantic. And it was sensual.

Afterwards, lying spent in my bed, I got to thinking about what I had done. Two things really jumped out in my mind.

One:
Had I committed a federal crime by masturbating to a presidential candidate? Could the secret service knock on my door? I figured they probably could. But I would take my chances. And hell, I bet there are all kinds of housewives out there getting off good to the thought of Barack Obama. And they can't arrest ALL of us.

Question Two:
Why was that so fucking good?

Cause, seriously, I would have blinded a bitch if my sock had been a lady's face.

I thought about that for awhile. You know, just pondering during those few moments of total intellectual clarity men get after we orgasm. And then it came to me. Sarah Palin is crazy. And I love me a crazy chick. It's well known about me. The crazier they are the more I like them. And not in a "oh that bitch craazy" kind of way. I mean for real. I have dated more then one woman who has been institutionalized. Most have some kind of severe mental disorder. If I notice she's got scars on her wrists, I'm going to ask for digits. I like CRAZY chicks.

And Sarah Palin is one motherfucking crazy chick.

So it made sense. But then I realized something even more important. And that was that I hadn't thought about my swollen uvula for the last twenty minutes for the first time that day. Sarah Palin had made me forget all about the tiny penis slagging on the back of my tongue.

And that's why the democrats love her. She makes us forget about all the real problems with Obama's level of experience. Let's be honest, the guy has no real foreign policy or legislative qualifications for President. But at least he's not Sarah Palin levels of incompetent. She's just fun to pick on.

And the Republicans love her because she seems folksy and real and makes them forget about how scary, complex and huge the issues in this country are. They are comforted by the lie that somebody could fix everything just by cutting through all the bullshit. You know, "Maverick" style. That it's not the complexity of the problem but the levels of beaurocracy that are dragging down our country. And all we need is one straight shooter to sort it all out. You know, like in "Rambo".

But now when I hear Sarah Palin's name I don't get angry like I used too. Because I know the real Sarah Palin. The kind of knowledge that can only be shared by two people who have undergone an intensely erotic experience together. And all my anger is just...well, it's gone. Now I'm thinking that if I can manage to rub one off to John McCain (a feat of near impossible difficulty considering he looks like Zombie Wilfred Brimmley ate the old preacher from "Poltergeist 2") then I just might be able to get through the rest of this election without letting all the bullshit stick in the back of my throat like a swollen uvula.

It's not going to be easy. But I've got the time and the dedication to try.

I hope you'll join me.

D

Look at me!!! I'm a political blogger!

I'll be honest. I don't have a job right now. But I do I have a good amount of free time. Surprise, surprise. And because you can only masturbate, not work on your screenplay, self-diagnose your small medical annoyances online (diagnoses option #4 is always cancer no matter what symptoms you put in), watch "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" and re-masturbate for so long I have begun to read a lot of political blogs. After-all there is a major election only weeks away! It's my duty to be informed. 

Unfortunately, it is also football season and that means my roommate has taken over the television.

Did you know that between college and the NFL there is ALWAYS some sort of big game during Football season? This means your roommate is going to be drunk, on the couch and perpetually angry until at least February. And even though every football game ever played ends with one team losing to the other my roommate seems consistently surprised when it happens to HIS favorite team. Then he drinks more. And yells things about "fumbles" and "interceptions" that I don't understand and frighten me. I mean, I played with Jem dolls growing up (although, at heart, I was always a Misfit). What the hell do I know about sports? I'm a theater fag who happens to like pussy. So I stay in my room and read a lot because they don't make Jem dolls anymore. And political blogs are just the thing to pass the time while staying informed. You learn all kinds of stuff.

For example, we all know that political bloggers are little more the crazy homeless people screaming at passing cars who happen to possess rudimentary html skills. But did you realize that you don't need to have any qualifications in order to become a political blogger? Nobody is regulating you. The internet is an orgy and everyone who can afford it is invited. Is it an asshole or a vagina you're about to put your dick in? Doesn't matter! It's the internet! Nobody is pressing charges and it's totally anonymous. So just stick it right in there and don't worry about the pair of balls bouncing like spilled grapes right under that hole your frantically plowing.

Even more amazing is that now, more then ever, political bloggers are actually effecting the national political discussion in a very real way. I will read a pile of stinking bullshit at 11:00 AM and then see it being spread like fine manure on a major news network that very night.

Once it reaches the national level this absurd piece of journalistic blogger-poop will be dissected and argued over by pundits for hours (pundits are retards with degrees, hence why they are allowed on television). Watching the pundits awkwardly bat around some complete and total piece of bullshit while trying to hit all of their talking points reminds me of that Atari game "Joust" where you try to ride a drunk and mentally retarded Ostrich in order to capture eggs before the other player does. Sure you may win but you were playing the game. So really, you lose too. Just like football.

But my pithy observations have led me to a new and dramatic point in my life. So long story...uhm, long (sorry). I'm become a political blogger. And here is my first political blog!

HANNITY RAPED COLMES!
by Defectus

The other day I read in "The New York Times" that Hannity had re-upped his contract at Fox News until 2012. Upon completion of the article I realized that it had made no mention of Colmes! How could that be? You can't have Hannity without Colmes. That's like Hitler without Eva. And nobody wants to die ALONE in a bunker. That's why they had each other. I had to know more!

So I began to poke around to try and find some information about Colmes' contract but I couldn't find anything. I even hacked into Fox News' servers but there was NOTHING. As far as I could tell he wasn't even being paid! He's not an employee. He's not even an intern. But Hannity, for some reason, was making TWICE as much as everyone else on the network.

There had to be something I was missing. I sent out emails to all of my contacts. Surprisingly enough it was my prison-snitch buddy Dingles (or "Liced-Tea" as he likes to be called) that provided me with the key to the mystery box I had been trying to stick it in all this time. You see, Lice-Tea had served a prison sentence with not only Colmes, but ALSO with Hannity.

Hannity and Colmes had met each other in prison!

At first I didn't believe it. But Liced-Tea had proof. He sent me a manilla envelope that contained copies of Hannity and Colmes prison records. It seemed that Colmes was in for giving a woman a surprise abortion (part of his failed "Mandatory Abortions For Everyone' initiative) and Hannity had been put away for beating his neighbors house slave Mr. Kettle with an iron pot. If it had been his own house slave it would have been merely ironic but killing another man's house slave is tantamount to theft. So they were both locked up.

Even more amazing is that at the bottom of the envelope I found the reason why Colmes is nowhere to be found in Fox News' corporate database.

Their is no record of Mr. Colmes because he is not, in fact, an employee of Fox News. Mr. Colmes, you see, is Mr. Hannity's prison-bitch and has been since the first day they met!!! And, as we all know, prison-bitches don't make money. They live off of their host, giving everything they make to their masters and eating whatever crumbs are cast aside by their stern but loving tops. It's just like Adrian Grenier and HBO.

Further investigation by yours truly backed up everything Liced-Tea was saying. Mr. Colmes lives in a dog cage at the foot of Mr. Hannity's bed and is referred to off-camera by everyone at Fox news as either "The CumSwap Kid", "Cummi the Whore-Bear" or simply "BottomBitch". On days when Karl Rove or another major Republican is visiting their trip is not complete without a tapping of Colmes Liberal Ass (or if schedules are tight the simple extinguishing of a cigarette on his shorn scrotum). I realize that this may all be a bit much to believe. Luckily, Liced-Tea had a mini-tape and on it was recorded the very first meeting between Colmes and Hannity. I had my smoking gun!

Here is the transcription in its entirety:

Hannity: Hey. What are you reading?

Colmes: I'm reading "Atlas Shrugged" by Anne....

Hannity: (interrupting) Hey shutup. Seriously. Because I'm going to rape you now.

Colmes: What? But you can't do that!

Hannity: Yes. I can. I'm Hannity. And I takes what's I wants. Now bend over.

(sounds of a struggle, a book being dropped)

Colmes: My bookmark fell out! I'll never find my place again.

(the sound of Hannity punching Colmes in the stomach)

Colmes: My stomach!

(the sound of a chair being kicked aside)

Colmes: You just kicked my chair aside!

(the sound of Colmes being bent over the library table, spilling a pile of books)

Colmes: Oh no! My other assorted library books!

(the sound of pants being pushed down.)

Holmes: I'm totally gonna rape your liberal ass.

Colmes: How did you know I was a liberal! I was so secretive about it!

Holmes: I can smell it on you. You smell like Ramen Soup, patchouli oil and an old Dean Koontz paperback novel you'd find in the bottom drawer of the dresser in a summer house you rented for the weekend in the Hamptons. That's classic liberal stink.

(the sound of a meaty Republican cock slapping against a small Liberal ass)

Colmes: Oh this is going to get worse before it gets better!

Hannity: Just like the economy.

(the sound of one TV news anchor raping another)

Hannity: I'm surprised. I thought you liberals loved to spend money like it was water.

Colmes: We do!

Hannity: Then how come this asshole is so tight?

Colmes: Oh my!

Hannity: Here comes the straight talk express.

(the sound of one TV anchor cumming in the other one's ass)

Colmes: Oh my!

Hannity: Oh yeah.

(the sound of panting and some light cuddling)

Colmes: I didn't know it could be like that. That was amazing. Once I gave up trying to be in control it's like everything became clearer.

Hannity: That's because you're a liberal. You don't know what you want. All you know is you don't want to make the hard decisions. That's why from now on you'll be my property. I'm going to tattoo Mondale on your ass. Because I got Reagan tattooed on my cock. It's going to be 1984 every night of the week and twice on Saturdays.

Colmes: Oh yes sir.

(the sound of Hannity pulling his pants on. A few footsteps. They stop...)

Hannity: By the way I want you to grow a long mustache. Like Yosemite Sam. That way I can feel the ends of it tickling my balls when you suck my dick.

Colmes: Ohhh my. Oh yes sir. Thank you sir.

Hannity: I think this is the start of a beautiful master/bitch prison rape relationship.

(end of tape)

As you can see this explains everything. Now their show makes perfect sense to me. I couldn't understand why else the Fox News Network, a bastion of fairness, would put such a meek, bookish liberal like Colmes (who also happens to look like the old man from "Poltergeist 2" up against somebody as loud, charismatic and brutish as Hannity. That doesn't seem fair and balanced at all! But it's because this way Hannity takes home both his paycheck AND Colmes. That's how it works in prison. And that's how it works on Fox News. Makes perfect sense to me.

I look forward to listening to them discuss this tonight on their show.

Until then I'm keeping my ear to the ground for all the hot and steamy political action.

-Defectus