Fuck the NAACP, Run for a Senate Seat...Down There!

If you've ever mutilated somebody's body, accidentally posted pictures of your anus online, been married to a mountain goat or kissed Tara Reid, there's one position in America that you can acquire that will erase your past life and make you a national icon. It's called being a Senator from West Virginia. Bob Byrd has this really fun habit where he meanders over to a microphone when the rest of the Senators are preoccupied with running the country/passing amendments honoring the 100th anniversary of the National Forest Service, and gives an impromptu speech about the Jews in the Book of Esther. This is not a joke, I have it on my itunes and it has been played for several Emma loyalists and one or two socialists. The man is absolutely insane, and somehow has been reelected seven times. My father was literally still shitting his pants when Byrd first got elected. The mind reels.

Now, you must be wondering, much as I used to: why would anyone with a functioning brain, who took the time to register to vote, check off the box next to Robert Byrd? I went on a fact-gathering mission in my Rwandan Genocide class, and found the answer to this. A girl from the Tisch drama department got a conscience during the Spring semester, and decided to not only take a class that required outside work, but one that played machete hacking videos bi-weekly. She decided to sit next to me, and it turned out she was from West Virginia. I promptly asked her about Mr. Byrd. "Oh, he's great," she gushed. She could have been talking about a high school beau or Brad Pitt's sex scene in "Troy." "He does so so much! I'm voting for him! Do I need to sign something so I can do that? Is he married?" This mindless monologue went on for 10 more minutes, during which she prattled on about how everything in the state is named after him, about how Mr. Byrd likes to take his money and donate it to organizations who then engrave his name in the foundations of their buildings. I then went all Katie Couric on her ass, and casually mentioned his decades-long association with the Ku Klux Klan. "Oh, he's not in it anymore, right?" she asked. I admitted that he had publically renounced his membership back in the 1940s, though that is by no means the moment when he decided that black people were allowed to piss in his toilets. "Well, that was a long time ago, he doesn't think that way anymore. He is so great. You never answered my marriage question."

Now. Lets examine this as normal people who don't live in the state of West Virginia. Robert Byrd actively recruited members for the KKK as late as World War II. Yes, this was a rather long time ago. Perhaps the crazy redneck in my class was right. Maybe Robert Byrd got a lobotomy in 1950 and he loves black people now! Oh wait, he voted against the 1964 Civil Rights Act. Hmm. That doesn't help his case. But look! He donated money to Jim Bob Bumfuck West Virginia Hospital! Robert Byrd + Sidney Poitier = BFF!

"They call me, MR TIBBS!! My dulcet tones have sent countless women of all colors to their knees."

I am officially announcing the Robert Byrd Experiment. We're going to locate a willing tool, like Jocelyn, and have her commit an absolutely heinous crime, like digging up Jon Benet Ramsey's body and having sex with it. Then we're going to have her run for Senator of West Virginia. Even if she doesn't win on the necrophilia platform, it will be an amazingly good time and maybe FoxNews will send Greta Van Susteren back from Aruba to cover it.

What say, Mr. Whiskers? How bout you an me go out back and make a night of it?


And before I forget, Weenie Enema is taking a premature stand and endorsing Michael Bloomberg for reelection in the New York City mayoral race because he sent those motherfucking smokers out to the streets. And he rocks the education casbah. You tell them, Mike. An honorable mention goes to Anthony Weiner for having a funny last name and an incredible jawline, but he doesn't speak the language of the people, aka Spanish, and he has no wife to keep him decent so he's forced to play tonsil hockey with random hussies in D.C.

I am a slut. What what.