Hey, SBC! I've got a present for you!
I Should Be Writing about My Wonderful Halloween. But SBC Ruined It.

Okay, that's an exaggeration. But they did impact my ability to blog about it. I have been without service since Thursday.

On Friday, SBC sent Senor Ding Dong to fix my connection.

While he was certainly charming and handsome ("I give you my word as a Spaniard, your DSL will be working this time tomorrow"... he didn't say that. Well, he did promise my DSL would be working in 24 hours) he couldn't get his satanic employers to help me.

Instead, I spent three more days with sporadic DSL service. The only reason it's working now is DILF ordered a business DSL upgrade (did I tell you he got a new job? He'll be working from home after this week. You'll have to ask him for details ... blah blah blah "Integration" blah blah "Workflow solutions" blah blah). SBC claims it is unable to install it; they will soon be feeling the wrath of DILF. Anyway, they switched our service back to its previous level and the problem cleared up. After I spent my Halloween waiting for an SBC representative who never showed up.

SBC, you are Syphallitic Bunch of Cocksuckers. I am sending Todd to hit your smug monopolistic faces in with a shovel.
My Muse is Missing
I'm not in the mood to write, but I do want to post because I'm bored.

So, I Googled "world's ugliest."

The very first picture was this:

I don't understand; while certainly an odd outfit, I wouldn't call it ugly.

This entry, however, also found on the first page, I understand:

Before you ask, I'll tell you. It's a dog. The World's Ugliest Dog, to be exact.

See you tomorrow, hopefully with more to say. Smoochies!
A Halloween Salute to Strong, Courageous Cowboy Nick

It was Halloween, and Cowboy Nick
Did bravely ride, though it made him sick
Into a place that he feared most...
Not to a graveyard; he feared no ghost

Nor a place where vampires lurk
Or a lab where madmen do their work
'Twas no place he could be bit
Or tortured senseless, starved or hit

It was a place of tall permed hair
With primness and smugness everywhere
The smiles and sweater vests can't disguise
The cold hard evil in their eyes.

Their wombs spawn evil so severe
They nurture hatred, greed and fear
Yet Nick had nerves of steel to go
To the coven bearing this logo:
Thank you for your patience.
I have been dealing with SBC the past few days, sorting out my DSL outage problems.

Apparently, their outside lines were deficient for some reason, and what should have been a glorious gush of information flowing into my home had slowed to a mere trickle, then a drip. I was unable to access the internet as a result.

Eventually, they ever so kindly fixed the problem, and proudly and generously announced that I would not be charged for the service call.

But of course I do pay for the service; it's called my monthly fucking bill.

That I pay every month.

That they send me threatening e-mails about every month, five days before the bill is actually due, reminding me that they could shut off my service and/or send my information to the credit reporting agencies if I don't pay, even though I'm currently paid up. A month in advance, which is how they work it. So, in essence, they are calling to make sure I pay for future services I haven't even received yet.

I hate them. But it's a free market, right? I can change carriers, right?


Anyway, thank you all for staying with me through this trying time, and thank you, Dilf, for posting for me in my absence. Consider this my response to each and every comment from the past few days: You guys are the best; you're hilarious; I love you; I missed you.


I can only hope this doesn't lead to a resurgence of Star Trek fan generated erotica.

I'm Back -- With Back! It's a Rumpkin!

Thank you, Bridget, for the photo.

As mysteriously as my modem connection stopped working, it began working. I have no idea how to cancel the service call tomorrow as Dilf placed the call. He'll have to do that tomorrow morning, as he is out getting a free dinner from his employer at the moment.

I love you all...
Currently experiencing technical difficulties

And with the speed of SBC's customer service it may be a while.

I Live in the Most Exclusive Neighborhood in the United States
Right now, as I write this, the UberGirls are with a huge group of neighborhood kids jumping in a massive pile of communal leaves and having a great time.

They will come inside for dinner smelling of the great outdoors, with rosy cheeks, hungry tummies and exhilirated spirits.

Nobody is richer than I am right now.

Suck it, Cheney! No matter how much money you steal, you'll still be an unhappy rat bastard who doesn't know the joy of a leaf pile!

Now I feel sorry for Dick Cheney.
Halloween Costume Contest
We've all had costume losers show up to a party. The intellectual friend who tapes an ampersand to his chest and says he's coming as his favorite character in a book. The former frat buddy in the orange t-shirt that says, "This IS my costume." Anbody dressed as a body part or material excreted from a body part.

All of the following costumes earned a "Worst Halloween Costume" prize at a Halloween party. Let's give them a second chance. Who's not all that bad?

Contestant 1:

Contestant 2:

Contestant 3:

Contestant 4:

Please vote here:

Who Would YOU Invite to YOUR Halloween Party?

Contestant 1
Contestant 2
Contestant 3
Contestant 4

View Results

Create your own poll!

Time to Clean the UberHouse!

I will be largely absent today. Our homestead needs maintenance.

Carry on without me... Nick, say something stupid so everyone else can make fun of you. Thanks, pal!
My Little Baby Chick Needs Help
Maura brought her homework home. She's working on "M's" which is fairly significant, considering her name starts with that letter.

Her nonconformist roots are already causing problems.

"You need to write your name, here," I gently tell her, pointing to the two solid lines with the dotted one in the middle.

"I did," she answered; this was true. She did write her name. But not to the proper specifications. Her "M" was somewhat rounded, and stopped short of the top line. Her "a" needed work; the line was on the wrong side of the circle. Her "u" was fine, at least as far as I could tell; her "r" was not, because she "likes to put an antenna on it." But, nevertheless, it said "Maura."

"You need to write it the way the teacher tells you," I said.

"Why?" she asked. I had no answer. I don't agree with the current method of teaching in the Chicago suburbs -- that is, instead of starting with a grasp of the concepts and then working on the finer, more precise methods of production, they must begin with regimentation.

I don't like this approach. People like me, my daughter, my husband, and my neon green styrofoam fedora-wearing father don't learn this way. I know what Maura's thinking: if you can read my name, then the information is getting across, and the purpose of writing is to convey information. Ergo, where's the problem? And if a rounded "M" is legible, why must she reproduce precise angles? Is an "M" not an "M?"

This is only going to get worse. She's only finishing up her second month of kindergarten. Wait until she gets to math.
Just Say No
At dinner last night, UberElder told us they were turning their backs on shrugs this week at school.

Thinking this was an attempt to discourage rudeness and encourage direct communication, Dilf and I politely listened. "Oh, yes?" we said.

"Yes," she said. "We're supposed to wear red for "Say No to Shrugs Week."

Recalling a memo I had scavenged from her backpack earlier last week, I said, "No honey. That's "Say No to DRUGS." (Dilf thought this was hilarious.)

"Oh," she said, confused. A kindergartner understands what shrugs are; she has no clue what is meant by drugs. But if she refuses to take her cough medicine because of this, I will be pissed.
Bush Douchebag of the Week...er, Decade... er, EVER...Halloween Edition

Boo! Karl Rove is watching you!

Don't look him in the eyes! That's how he captures your soul!
A Banner Week for Me
In addition to my coronation as Queen of the Yodellers, I have also been promoted. Fictionally. But I'll take it.

Thanks to Nick, I am now Captain of the Beefheart in the Blogadoon saga.

I will take my new responsibility seriously and start reading more science fiction, as up until now I've been coasting.
This is NOT funny. It was a seriously bad storm. Stop Giggling. Sigh.
B.A. and the Queen of the Harpies saw this news brief while honeymooning: Typhoon Longwang.

Of course, they took a picture of their TV set:

Excellent field reporting. Now that's dedication; preserving a blog-worthy memory while honeymooning. He's a professional, folks.
I Have a New Title. And a Prize. A Coronation, of Sorts.
Tonight, my family and I went to a local German establishment for Oktoberfest. Not only were my immediate Ubers in attendance, but my parents, my sisters and their families were there as well.

An oompah band performed. My parents danced, for the first time since my dad's cancer surgery. Dilf danced with both me and the UberGirlies. It was great fun.

Oh, and I won a yodeling contest.

In fact, I was named "Queen of the Yodelers." My sister tried to tell the bandleader her name was Brumhilde to boost her chances of winning, but in the end talent won out.

I won 6 beer glasses, and a free beer. Dilf was so proud.

I'll show you a picture of my prize tomorrow. Right now I'm flushed with success.
Where's Cowboy Nick This Week?

Tarnation! Doesn't that buckaroo have saddle sores YET? Hoo hoo DILLY does that fella ever sleep?

He sends this hint to help you guess:

"In addition to its original and more famous purpose, this house also appeared in the December 6, 1996 episode of Sliders on the Fox Network. They repaired androids in the home. There was one shot of the front with most of the action filmed on the porch."

It could be kinda creepy and kooky... but then again, it could not. Groovy, ghoulies!
UberFamily's Next Vacation Destination: The Potted Meat Museum.

Oh, B.A. You give me such precious gifts of knowledge. Thank you.

The Potted Meat Museum. Have you ever seen anything so wonderful in your lives? I am beside myself in joy.
Oooh, Turn It Up... I LOVE This Song!
IPod technology may soon be available in breast implants.

"...one breast could hold an MP3 player, the other the person's favourite music collection.

BT Laboratories' analyst Ian Pearson said flexible plastic electronics would sit inside the breast. A signal would be relayed to headphones, while the device would be controlled by Bluetooth using a panel on the wrist."

Oh, and...

"'It is now very hard for me to thing of breast implants as just decorative. If a woman has something implanted permanently, it might as well do something useful,' The Sun quoted Ian Pearson as saying."

Oh, goodie! Now I can be an appliance, too! Something more for my daughters to strive toward.
Cringe-Inducing Mom Music
I watched "Serial Mom" last night. I love that movie. I love when she flips her Barry Manilow cassette in the car stereo while the police are chasing her, and sings along to "Daybreak."

Manilow represents what I will call "Mom Music," although I myself don't listen to it. It's the music that Moms sing along with as they clean the house, and what embarrasses their children while carpooling.

The 70's had more than its fair share, Manilow leading the pack. But remember, the 80's produced Rick Astley, a post-Commodores Lionel Ritchie, Richard Marx and the "Dirty Dancing" Soundtrack album.

The 90's gave us Michael Bolton and Celine Dion, and Celine haunts us to this very day. And let's not forget decade-spanning horrors like Phil Collins, Elton John without Bernie Taupin and Whitney Houston.

I take after my father. He listened to embarrassing music, but at least it was bizarre and eclectic. When my friends heard it, they'd say, "What the hell is that?" instead of, "Your mom listens to Barry Manilow?"

I can't help but embarrass my kids. But at least I'll be unconventional.
Attention, DILF:
You are a wonderful father and want the best for your daughters, but UberGirlies do not like these:

In fact, everytime I open a can, their anguished voices cry out, "There aren't any balls in there, are there?"

No more soy balls, please. Thank you.
More Witch Tales...
Did you ever hear this superstition? If you chant "Bloody Mary" or "Mary Worth" or any of a number of variations in a darkened bathroom, you will see her in the mirror? Or she'll scratch you and/or kill you?

According to this website, the story has its origins in my own home state of Illinois.

Apparently, a very evil lady named Mary Worth used to perform satanic rituals on runaway slaves in the 19th century. She was executed, but when her corpse was disturbed later by farmers and real estate developers, her malevolent spirit escaped and haunts us all!

If you believe that kind of thing.
Bad Music Thursday: Stupid Woman Re-Writes One Night Stand Into Romance

Ode to stupid women everywhere, who pretend they weren't used as a slightly better alternative than masturbation:
Touch Me In The Morning
Diana Ross

[Written by Ron Miller and Michael Masser)

Touch me in the morning
Then just walk away
We don't have tomorrow
But we had yesterday
Hey, wasn't it me who said
That nothin' good's gonna last forever
And wasn't it me who said
Let's just be glad for the time together
Must've been hard to tell me
That you've given all you had to give
I can understand your feelin' that way
Ev'rybody's got their life to live

Well, I can say goodbye
In the cold morning light
But I can't watch love die
In the warmth of the night
If I've got to be strong
don't you know I need to have tonight
When you're gone, till you go
I need to lie here and
Think about the last time
You'll touch me in the morning
Then just close the door
Leave me as you found me
Empty like before

Hey, wasn't it yesterday
We used to laugh at the wind behind us
Didn't we run away and hope
That time wouldn't try to find us
Didn't we take each other
To a place where no one's ever been
Yeah I realy need you near me tonight
'Cause you'll never take me there again
Let me watch you go with the sun in my eyes

We've seen how love can grow
Now we'll see how it dies
If I've got to be strong
Don't you know I need to have tonight
When you're gone, till you go
I need to hold you until the tie
Your hands reach out and

Touch me in the morning
Then just walk away
We don't have tomorrow
But we had yesterday
We're blue and gold
and we could feel one another living
We walked with a dream to hold
And we could take what the world was giving
There's no tomorrow here
There's only love and the time to chase it
Yesterday's gone my love
There's only now and it's time to face it
Politically Incorrect...Mean Spirited...Wrong...But, Oh, So FUN!!!
In the deep recesses of my early memory, I remember my town holding annual Halloween Witch Burnings.

My family recently brought it up. Our relatives and family friends would bring their kids to our little town to celebrate this evil, yet woderfully fun, event.

While my little town has no web history of the event, our neighboring town of Lisle does have a historical record of the Halloween fun.

We shared a fire department with Lisle, our parish was an offshoot of Lisle's, our town was in Lisle Township, and they showed us how to party as well.

Hey, if the Brits can celebrate burning Catholics every year at this time, I guess we weren't so bad. We'd never get away with something like this now, though.
Disgusting Candy, Just in Time for Halloween
I was going to piggyback on my friend Mike A.'s blog entry about idiot racists masquerading as scientists. But I decided against it; why should I pay any more attention to them? Racism infuriates me because it's just so STUPID and unfounded and easily disproved.

So I decided to present you with Toilet Candy, which comes with an edible plunger. Bon appetit!

What Was the Photographer Thinking?
I was researching long-lost fashion trends, like stirrup pants, which used to be everywhere but then vanished without a trace. Surely, one of them must be due for a revival, and I was going to have you vote on which one you thought would return first.

In the course of my exhaustive research, I found this men's dancewear site with these compelling photos:

Getting Guns for Christmas
Don't worry; I still love Halloween. I also love Thanksgiving, which comes in November. But since I'm starting to get my Christmas catalogs, and Christmas is a mom's biggest production effort of the year, Christmas is already on my mind. Specifically, dysfunctional Christmas tales.

A friend of mine, with whom I have since lost touch, had a very sick and twisted father. His parents were divorced, and dad lived in a little apartment littered with porn and guns. Some loaded. And the porn was not so much scattered about, but stored alphabetically in wall to wall shelving. He was quite disturbing.

One Christmas, dear old dad gave both of his sons illegal UZI's. They went out to a field and shot up pumpkins all day. Ah, the memories.

The next year, he forgot about Christmas; when his sons showed up to visit, he wrote them each a check, grabbed a couple of porn films off his shelf, put the items in brown paper grocery sacks, rolled up the tops, and growled, "Here. Merry Christmas."

Too bad Norman Rockwell never lived to see it.
Crap I Don't Need, but Dammit I Want
I have no right to sniff self-righteously at anyone's conspicuous consumption. My Betty Crocker catalog came today -- the Christmas edition.

I have no business buying anything new for Christmas. I'm not hosting the party this year, and I'm already well-stocked even if I were.

But these are new!

And the catalog says I should be the FIRST to make 3-dimensional Christmas cookies! I can't disobey the catalog, can I? Plus, it says my kids will love them. What kind of mother would I be to deny my children joy?

Further, it says I can use these cookies for place holders, ornaments and more! AND MORE! That settles it. I must have them. C'mon, people -- the reindeer actually stands up! On his own little legs! Althoug, the snowman looks a little perverted...
My Anger Has Subsided. Now, Back to Grossing You Out
This, folks, is a cake.

I went to this benign-sounding website called Family Corner.com for some fun Halloween tips and recipes.

I found Kitty Litter Cake. And Boogers on a Stick. Hairball Salad with Saliva Dressing. And Simple Pimples, a recipe that recommends that you "Give each pimple a gentle squeeze and arrange on a platter."

For those of you interested in making Kitty Litter Cake, here's the recipe:

1 spice or German chocolate cake mix
1 white cake mix
1 large pkg vanilla instant pudding mix
1 pkg vanilla sandwich cookies
Green food coloring
12 small Tootsie Rolls
1 new (and definitely unused) kitty litter pan
1 new plastic kitty litter pan liner
1 new Pooper Scooper

Prepare cake mixes and bake according to directions (any size pans). Prepare pudding mix and chill until ready to assemble. Crumble white sandwich cookies in small batches in food processor, scraping often. Set aside all but about 1/4 cup. To the 1/4 cup cookie crumbs, add a few drops green food coloring and mix using 5. When cakes are cooled to room temperature, crumble into a large bowl. Toss with half the remaining white cookie crumbs and the chilled pudding. (Mix in just enough of the pudding to moisten it. You don't want it soggy. Combine gently).

Line new, clean kitty litter box. Put mixture into litter box. Put three unwrapped Tootsie rolls in a microwave safe dish and heat until soft and pliable. Shape ends so they are no longer blunt, curving slightly. Repeat with 3 more Tootsie rolls and bury in mixture. Sprinkle the other half of cookie crumbs over top.

Scatter the green cookie crumbs lightly over the top. (This is supposed to look like the chlorophyll in kitty litter.) Heat 3 Tootsie Rolls in the microwave until almost melted. Scrape them on top of the cake; sprinkle with cookie crumbs. Spread remaining Tootsie Rolls over the top; take one and heat until pliable, hang it over the side of the kitty litter box, sprinkling it lightly with cookie crumbs. Place the box on a newspaper and sprinkle a few of the cookie crumbs around.
Ubermilf's Shopping List: Pitchfork, Torch (large), Flammable Effigies, Barrel of Tar (large), Sack of Feathers (extra large)

From Sojourners, a progressive Christian site:

"Just weeks after Hurricane Katrina exposed the crisis of poverty in America, Congress will debate as early as Wednesday how much money should be cut from the budgets of health care, nutrition assistance, and other vital services for poor and working families. That's right, they will cut funds - and the question is by how much. Perhaps equally astonishing, they will decide how much - up to $70 billion - they will cut taxes for the richest people in America. In Washington, this may be business as usual, but as people of faith, we believe that budgets are moral documents, and so far this budget is morally bankrupt.

Many in Congress claim that Hurricane Katrina has driven congressional spending and budgets out of control, and that sweeping cuts to vital social services are justified because of these increases. This claim couldn't be further from the truth.

Fiction : Government spending is dangerously high.

Fact: Even with new Katrina funds, federal spending as a percentage of the economy is below the 30-year average. Arguments like these are driven by an ideological determination to shrink government, not reality.

Fiction : Deficits are spinning out of control because of reckless spending and new Katrina relief.

Fact : The root of the problem of skyrocketing deficits is new tax cuts for the very wealthy, not new spending. For the past three years, tax revenues as a percentage of the economy are at a 30-year low. Nevertheless, many in Congress will stop at nothing to enact new tax breaks for the wealthiest Americans. Between now and 2010, the cost of the Bush tax cuts (if extended) will total $1.7 trillion. Katrina relief - even when you amount interest costs, is projected at $240 billion - less than 15% of what the tax cuts will cost. And yet there is momentum behind a plan this year to add an additional $70 billion in new tax cuts - mostly for the very wealthy. Simply put, this plan is out of touch with our values."

We know from United States governmental statistics that gross domestic product and corporate profits continue to rise.

We know from the United States Census Bureau that rich people are getting disporportionately richer, leading to a sizable income disparity.

Meanwhile, non-discretionary costs for the poor, working and middle classes are skyrocketing -- health care, utilities, food, not to mention gasoline -- without a corresponding rise in salaries. Oh, and public transportation budgets are getting cut as well, resulting in higher fares and service cuts, often to the poorest neighborhoods. So, good luck getting to work.

Does this sound like the recipe for success?
Does Anyone Besides Me Remember Baby Huey?
He was this big huge duck who, despite his size and age, walked around like a baby. Needless to say, he had an overprotective mother.

I fear that's what to become of many of our nation's children; in fact, it already has in a lot of cases.

Something has always not sat well with me about this whole "parental involvement" trend in education. Every two weeks or so, parents are being called to a "curriculum night" or "ABC Adventure Night" or "Just show your face to prove you're not a deadbeat parent night."

It's not the time commitment that bothers me (yet); we don't overschedule ourselves with tons of activities (yet.) I don't even need to get into a car. I can walk there. It's something less tangible...

Today, I thought of it. To me, school should be a place where a child has his or her own identity outside of the family. With their moms or dads there every second, walking them to and from school (if not driving them!), hovering over them, and now showing up in the evening all the time -- to me, it's not giving kids the space they need to develop separately.

I let UberElder walk home with Uberfriend Claire and her older brother every day. Recently, she's been walking to school with her friend Lalaina (sp? her family's Croatian or Serbian or something) and her grandfather. If it wasn't for the pedophiles and the people who make all that damn money from pedophiles, I wouldn't be concerned at all about letting her walk to school.

I don't know, to me raising a child should be like when you're teaching them to ride a bike. Yes, you should be there in case he or she falls. Yes, you should be there to teach and guide. But if you never let go of the bike, the kid will never learn to ride.

I haven't studied this issue; it's just my gut reaction. Feel free to tell me why I'm wrong.
Why Am I Joining an Angry Mob? I'll Tell You.
The children are gone. My children. My neighbors’ children. The whole town’s children. Why? Because I have the worst government on the face of the Earth.

First, Gregor Boob, our illustrious mayor, talks us into getting into a fight with a tribe in Asia, claiming they have some sort of weapon that could wipe us all out.

It turns out he was right – but it wasn’t the weapon he was talking about. No, it wasn’t a new trebuchet or catapult of boiling oil or anything – it was the Plague. Thanks a lot, moron!

It turns out he was just trying to get a piece of the lucrative spice trade in India, plus get us taxpayers to pay Deputy Mayor Chinflea and his friends to rebuild the place they destroyed in the first place.

I’m already taking washing in twice a week while my husband busts his backside to both work the farm and build some furniture on the side for a little extra income. Now I’m supposed to hand it over to these bastards?

Then, when it turns out the rats are carrying the plague and spreading it everywhere, Mayor Boob and his pack of idiots eventually decide to do something about the rat problem. After a few thousand commoners die, mind you.

They hire this guy named Piper to rid the town of rats, and, unlike Chinflea’s band of robbers, he actually does the job. Then, get this, they try to stiff the guy. That’s right; the one competent governmental hire they ever made gets cheated out of his paycheck.

So the guy gets pissed. I mean, who could blame him? So he threatens to take our kids unless he gets paid. I don’t think he really meant to do it, he just didn’t know what level of cold-hearted lowlifes he was dealing with; he thought the threat would be enough to get his money out of those lying, cheating ass clowns.

Well, he should’ve asked me. I would’ve told him they wouldn’t care about human life.

But I do. I do.

Sorry, I teared up there a little. Yeah, a lot of my neighbors are mad at the Pied Piper, but I'm not. I'm putting the blame right square where it belongs -- on Mayor Boob and his incompetent town council. So, if you'll excuse me, I have a torch to set on fire and a pitchfork to sharpen. Have a good evening.

(This was my FFF number 12)
OK, We All Know Where Cowboy Nick Is.
I just felt like indulging myself with some Halloween fun this week.

The Night I Lost My Innocence
I thought I wrote about this before, but I searched through my archives and I couldn't find it. No matter. I will tell you about the night that disillusionment touched my tender soul, the night that my sweet, trusting nature was replaced by bitter cynicism, the night I learned the meaning of treachery. It was the night I ate my first frozen dinner.I didn't think I'd see his lying face again, but lo and behold, I found him on a retro food website.

I remember it as if it were yesterday...

The year was 1972 (or so.) I was 3 (or so) and my brother was 7 (or so.) For months, the pirate had promised us deliciousness galore could be found beneath his foil wrapping; I don't recall what it was exactly, but I know chocolate pudding was involved somehow.

We begged our mother, pleaded with her to let this frozen tray of delights into the house. But her heart was as cold as the frozen dinners themselves.

Then, one night, my parents were going out for the night. My mother relented and brought the bounty home for us, since they were eating out in a restaurant.

Into the oven they went (those were the days before microwaves) and we waited breathlessly for the feast to be done.

Finally, the cover was lifted, releasing the steam of childhood fantasy. We were in awe that finally, culinary joy would be ours.

Then we took a bite.

Lying, thieving, deceiver! It was the foulest pile of putrid utility-grade "food" ever approved by the FDA (if in fact it WAS approved.) Even the chocolate pudding was a rubbery disaster.

I have never truly trusted again.
Bush Administration Douchebag of the Week: Scott McClellan
Here is an actual exchange between Scott McClellan and a reporter earlier this week (courtesy of Editor and Publisher):

Q: Scott, I just have two quick follows to some questions that were asked earlier. One, are you trying -- are you saying that, CIA leak aside, you can't say that the President has full confidence in Karl Rove?

MR. McCLELLAN: Maybe you didn't hear what I was saying earlier. I said, what I said previously still stands.

Q: What did you say previously? You say that all the time.

MR. McCLELLAN: You can go back and look at it. I'll be glad to share the transcript of when that question came up last time.

Q: Either he does or he does not. So he does have full confidence?

MR. McCLELLAN: We've already addressed that, Jim.

Q: Why can't you repeat it?

Q: But why can't -- if you've addressed it, why can't you repeat it for me? Clearly --

MR. McCLELLAN: Why do you have to keep asking a question that I've already answered when --

Q: Because I don't know the answer.

MR. McCLELLAN: No, because you're asking in the context of an ongoing investigation. And it's very easy to go and look at our transcripts and pull that information --

Q: That's why I said -- that's why I said, "set the leak aside," just in general are you refusing to --

MR. McCLELLAN: Yes. And I said I stand by what I said previously.

Q: Okay, topic two, since you won't answer that question.

MR. McCLELLAN: I did answer that question.
Worst Halloween Costume. Ever.

End of discussion.
Calzone, You've Really Done it This Time!
Are you aware, sir, that your indiscretions have resulted in thousands of annoying offspring?

They, like you, have their own website.

Do you realize what you've done? Look at them. They're hideous! A plague to all nations! I hope you're going to take responsibility for this mess.
Name: Übermilf
Location: Chicago Area

If being easily irritated, impatient and rebellious is sexy, then call me MILF -- Übermilf.

So you want more huh?
Click here!

Perverts, scram. There's nothing for you here.

Now, who wants cupcakes?

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