There Will be no More Chrusciki for President Obama

By Rose A. Valenta

The flag was flying at half-mast at The Kielbasa Factory in Rockville. Everyone was in mourning for the incompetence that has finally settled in the White House.

“There will be no more chrusciki for President Obama,” a spokesperson said.

Gone are the days, when someone like Henry Kissinger was hired to proofread Presidential speeches to avoid public embarrassment. That funding was cut as soon as G Dubya was permitted to say words such as "misunderestimate," "hispanically" and "subliminable;" using the excuse that he was just being himself, like Mark Twain presented the unedited version of himself. They called it the Twain Budget Cut.

Listen to the speech: Click here

The Action News crew members were standing outside the Pierniczki Shoppe asking what they thought about Polish Prime Minister, Donald Tusk's, reaction to Obama’s unedited speech.

“Obama’s been drinking too much Zywiec,” one of the customers said.

“What has he been smoking?” another asked.

"Maybe there was something in the Krupnik!"

Afterward, at a press conference, Obama was trying to explain the gaffe, when a member of the Polish press asked him if he resented his country for not wanting him reelected in 2012:

Occupy Nightmare

By Rose A. Valenta

Gauging the increasing vertical wind shear with his famous Cockatoo comb over, Donald J. Trump looked me straight in the eye and asked, “If you are elected President of the United States, what measures would you take to wipe out our national debt?”

He had decided to hold presidential debates at Zuccotti Park, following the swimsuit competition in Iowa, because the rest of the country was beseiged with political sex scandals, embarrassing gaffes, and unimpressed voters. Protest signs in the Park displayed pictures of the Grand Old Party (GOP) candidates and a single word that reflected the general consensus of the crowd, given the choices - “Meh!”

The political yammer was now between me and an ex-hooker from the Bronx; the wind shear developing perpendicular to The Donald.




Photo: Sulphur-crested Cockatoo, Wikipedia
“Two strategies come to mind that I believe will reduce the pork fat while simultaneously wiping out our national debt:

First, while outsourcing has become a popular way for large companies to save money, poor states like Delaware have been overlooked. A man working at a factory job in New York earns twice as much as a man doing the same job in Dover, Delaware, where the pay is equivalent to salaries paid in Beijing, China. I suggest that more companies be given a stimulus to outsource work to other companies in underdeveloped cities across America. The product could then be labeled properly ‘Made in America,’ and everyone would be happy, including the poor fellow bent over in Dover, who will be appreciative and vote for me in November.”

The crowd cheered loudly. Ten fellows, who were holding dollar bills for my opponent, gave them to my campaign manager instead. He put them under his Hello Kitty belt buckle.

“Second, I would advise the slugs in Congress to consolidate. States like Rhode Island with only four electoral votes can be easily merged into States like Massachusetts, which has 13; Vermont can go to New York; New Hampshire to Maine; and so forth, until we evolve into an economic Godzilla. Then, we can go overseas and stomp on China for pirating, bootlegging, and violating US copyright and trademark laws. We should then be able to raise about $17 trillion just on the booty that we find in Shanghai.”

More cheers and shouting came from the crowd. Even my opponent was shaking her booty.
Someone started to shake me.

“Wake up, wake up!” my paramour shouted. “Were you having a nightmare?”

Utterly disappointed that the whole experience was based on an underdone potato, I asked the typical morning after question, “What did I say?”

“You were screaming something about not getting 10,000 signatures for the Dover ballot.”
“Was that before or after I invented the GOP drinking game ‘Webster Says “Newt” Means Salamander’?”

© 2012, Valenta, All rights reserved.
To buy my book “Sitting on Cold Porcelain” click here

Politicians – The Mutants in Darwin’s Theory

By Rose A. Valenta

Uncle Harry came over for breakfast this morning. I was making corn fritters with maple syrup and the aroma travelled across our water-logged backyard into his bathroom, while he was getting a load off his mind.

He is not supposed to eat corn. The doctor told him that he has diverticulitis; he can’t digest American politics either, but Harry never listens to anyone.

This morning, he made divots in my yard with his flip-flops and walked into my kitchen looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“Got any left?” He asked.

“You know that you are not supposed to eat them.” I responded.

“Everything in moderation.” He said.

He had The Washington Post folded under one arm.

“That’s why you have diverticulitis.” I said. “You’re obsessed with politics.”

“I like to hit the newspaper with a bingo highlighter.” He said. “The ones with the orange dots should have gone to school to learn how to track manta rays, instead of majoring in political science.”

“Look, I know its gearing up for another down-pour, but can’t you call Dick to come over and play cards or something, instead of reading the Post? You guys like Uno and I’m not up to your political rants today.”

“I think you might be interested in what the Jane Goodall Research Center had to say about Romney’s high school bullying this morning.” He said.

“What, he’s being charged? The statute of limitations has run out on that one.”

“No, he’s in a modern hunter-gatherer group,” he said.

“Well, we all know that politicians are primates.”

“Seriously, lookey here:”

Read News Article

“Nice.” I said. There’s a mutant in Darwin’s theory.”

“Did you notice, ever since the Republicans voted against Santorum and the Democrats advocated gay marriage, people are into bipartisanship?” he asked. “And look, Biden thinks he’s working for President Clinton.”

“Harry, don’t get caught up in crazy. Do something bipartisan and let the cat out, before he pees on your dry flip-flop.”

Did The New York Times Inadvertently Find a Solution to Childhood Obesity?

by Rose A. Valenta

I was on YouTube yesterday, when I happened to see this terrific holiday video uploaded by The New York Times in 2006:

This morning, my friend, Erik Deckers, posted a rant on his blog Erik Deckers Laughing Stock about schools canceling bake sales because of childhood obesity. As a parent, he was angry that the school overstepped its bounds. I tend to agree with him.

Then, I began thinking about all the jump rope songs of my youth and how we used to play double dutch in the school yard during recess and after class:

I asked my mother for fifty cents
To see the elephant jump the fence
He jumped so high
He reached the sky
and didn't come back 'till the 4th of July

Cinderella dressed in yellow
Went upstairs
To kiss her fellow.
By mistake
She kissed a snake
How many doctors
Did it take?
Pepper: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10

Okay, so the lyrics are antiquated circa 1950s; but think about it. Why make food tasteless by removing all the “unhealthy” ingredients because some parents don’t encourage their kids to get outdoor exercise? I don’t know about you, but I’m rather fed up with food that tastes like cardboard. Real whipped cream has become an endangered species. I can still remember watching my grandmother make whipped cream – it was delicious and none of us were fat.

First, she would make jello; then she got out a mixer bowl and poured in the heavy cream. She added a teaspoon of vanilla extract and turned on the mixer. As soon as light peaks formed she began adding the sugar. Just before the whole thing turned into butter, she stopped the mixer and let us lick the beaters. After she put all the whipped cream in a refrigerator container, we got to fight over the mixer bowl. It took all of 10 minutes to make whipped cream and you just can’t beat the flavor.

We would then, run outside with visions of that night’s dessert running through our heads and put on the roller skates, or play jump rope, or ride our bikes, or play basketball. There were no calories left to put on weight.

At dinner, we ate healthy food and had dessert. If the sun was still out, we rounded up neighborhood friends and got more outdoor exercise; if not, we played interactive board games or cards. Then, we put on some Rock ‘n’ Roll and danced. We squeezed in the homework.

The Obama administration is going about wiping out childhood obesity all wrong. They should take a lesson from The New York Times and enlist the support of the entertainment industry. Someone like Cee Lo Green to cut a hit Jump Rope Song of the millennium:

I had a contraband turtle.
His name was Tiny Tim.
I put him in the bathtub
to see if he could swim.
He drank up all the water.
He ate the bar of soap.
He woke up in the morning
with a bubble in his throat.

or…

Yo Mama teeth so yellow
She can’t even get no fellow
How many tubes of toothpaste
Would it take?
Pepper: 10-20-30-40-50-60

Please, Mr. President, bring back the real whipped cream!