Need a laugh?

I do after another oily Obama evening.  I lucked out, though, and just read commentary of the abysmal speech because I didn’t realize it wouldn’t air live in a different time zone. Lesson learned.

He had a tough row to hoe to start: PPP released a poll before the speech in which a majority of voters think W handled Katrina better than O is workin’ the oil spill.  Ooops.  That has to sting, no?

If you’re in the mood, go here, here, here, here, here or here for excellent analysis of O’s speech. My favorite? Pundette’s nicknames for Olbermann and Matthews.  Priceless. 

In a nutshell, even the uber-libs thought the speech was pathetic.  Heh.  Jimmy Carter’s name came up a few times, too. 

Oddly enough, the trashing of the president on MSNBC didn’t make me chuckle.  It’s sad to see the minions who worshipped the fool start to turn on him.  Why?  I’ve known the man was a miserable leader.  But seeing proof positive on an hourly basis as millions in the Gulf lose their livelihoods due to his inaction (and action via the moratorium) isn’t funny.

Neither is the realization that 2012 is a damn long way away.

So.  Need a giggle?  I do.  Courtesy a Catholic writer I admire at Conversion Diary, here it is: 

When I recounted the story to my dad, he nodded like I was telling him that I went to the store to get some milk. Then he remembered that I had that hang-up abut scorpions, and dutifully put a very kind and sympathetic look on his face. You could just see his mind in overdrive to think through all the angles to try to figure out what bothered me about this. You could tell he wanted to comfort me with some fatherly advice. So finally he offered: “They’re no worse than tarantula bites.”

I just kind of stared at him, wondering if there’s an official repository of Most Epic Encouragement Fails to which I could submit that statement.

He tried again: “Remember that time I woke up to that scorpion stinging me on the knee? ”

“Yeah…” I said, eagerly waiting to hear the part about how it didn’t hurt or the sting ended up giving him superpowers or something.

“I didn’t die,” he said. Sensing that that might not have caused my quirky phobia to instantly dissipate once and for all, he tried another angle: “Plus, it’s not like that time Uncle Benton had one fall off the ceiling and sting him on the face while he was sleeping,” he added, pointing to the bedroom about five yards away from where I was sitting, where my uncle had been staying when he was stung. “His eye sure did swell up!”

And to think, if I had been in my dad’s situation of waking to a scorpion attacking my knee, I might have thought my glass was half empty! It was nice to have that little helping of Chicken Soup for the Texan Soul to inspire me for the rest of the evening, especially as I was falling asleep.

I think I need a copy of Chicken Soup for the Texan Soul, don’t you? I bet W has a copy ; )

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