What a Shame--She Was So Old and Full of Despair

That wasn't exercise HRH Obama was doing by moonlight in the swamp outside DC at four o'clock this morning--that was good ole-fashioned body-burying.

HeyHUH?

Yes--it appears that the White House desperately needs a new event planner, after snafus number one and two this past month resulted in the last one (wait for it...NOW!) never being seen again, crammed into an airtight 55-gallon drum ten feet under the ground, a hundred staggers from the big tree with the snake on it, already deader than the Pope's discolored, diseased excuse for a penis.

Water under the bridge. It so happens, Monsieur Obama et al, that event planning is one of my specialties--any interest in hiring the best?

I promise nobody not on the official list will get inside your house--or you'll have the balls of the guy(s) who fucked-up sitting atop your Threat Matrix the next morning, along with a glass of fresh-squeezed real California orange juice (not from concentrate, untouched by non-Hispanic hands until it cascades down your bourgeois throat) and a NYTimes crossword puzzle with all the hard ones already filled-in so people who go through your trash will think you're really smart. And we'll have some totally funky music playing at all times, to get you in the mood and keep you there, as well as a dirt-cheap-but-lifepartner-loyal bartender/shoeshiner/masseuse/Sherpa/ottoman to make everything okay always.

Much like the increasingly-creepy Men's Wearhouse dude...


_