"For years, political insiders in Texas have discreetly whispered about Rove’s close friendship with lobbyist Karen Johnson, a never-married, forty-something GOP loyalist from Austin...she is a frequent presence at Rove’s side during parties and official functions...their close association has long raised eyebrows in conservative Texas circles "
More when the vein in my uvula has stopped throbbing, but for right now, I'm stating for the record, BULLPLORPY!!!
Sigh. Every once in a while, I get all puffed up like a bonobo and get it in my gummed-up noggin that Rovey is mine and mine only, and that I alone know every deliciously dimpled inch of his outside, and at least the first couple of inches of parts of his insides.
Not so, it seems, for from every corner of the interweb, and during those moments when my Tlubblenorpkins doesn't have the tv clicking back and forth between QVC and reruns of Blossom, strangers are yelping out that they'd like to see my Rovey behind bars. How did they all know that he thinks so much and so hard about cocktails that sometimes I find him jiggling an imaginary shaker under the afghan at night? I swear, his dreams are so darned vivid that sometimes there's even a wet spot left over after! And like clockwork, my bouncy Blubbleglup squeezes me up a fresh, hot lemonade every gol-danged day after he finishes his afternoon Squirtini.
Sometimes he even has me trundle out a tray of sample cups to the news people camped out under the carport, but they always say no. "Yer in for a treat!" I tell them, but rarely a taker (except for that thirsty Mr. Novak who comes by every day like clockwork). I guess that newsies can't be fed stuff by political folks 'cause then it'll seem too chumsy, but my Rovey would never stand for a leak like that!
Ooops - must flutter! I just heard my Wudgyblop's knees pop, so he must have been squatting down in the kitchen to see if his special nut-chunked brownie logs were steaming warm and ready for the press folks to swallow. He's even so thoughtful that he handed me some cellophane to keep Ms. Miller's portion nice 'n fresh for her daily care package while she's on her vacation! What a generous Globblegorp!
p.s. More of your peppy poems posted soon!
More glubblenumptious goodness from RoveHos!
Karl Rove is nobody's slob
Though for Bush he cheat, kill or rob.
He's called old Turd Blossom
though more cuddly than possum,
To me he just looks like the Blob.
Posted by Mike at July 20, 2005 04:59 PM
There once was a weasel named Rove
For Bush's agenda he strove
Now Bush and McClellan are hiding the felon
all three should wind up on the stove
Posted by TomSongs at July 21, 2005 10:34 PM
Keep the pretty poems flowing!
One of the very nicest things about having such a popular and world-wide famous beau is that my I wake up each and every morning (or sometimes in the middle of the night if Rovey’s had goat burritos for pre-bed snackies) with my box stuffed just meaty full of mail! His devoted fans are just foaming to know about every miniscule inch of how he fits into my life, and I’m more than happy to spread the joy.
But sometimes I get sad. I know I’ve scribbled about this before, and my tuckus should be as tough as a rhino’s by now (especially after those couple of months I spent in the Punishment Pants), but still, questions like, “How could you possibly be with a man like Karl Rove?” still make me ache all the way down to my cloture motion. And not in the fun way. I mean, I know I’m not the sort of bumptastic, bodacious supermodel/Nascar winner/Olive Garden chef combo one would expect to see decorating the chubbleumptiously brawny arms of a diplomat of Rovey’s stature, but he’s super-gracious about putting up with and correcting my shortcomings.
Say, I put one of my Nubblechorpkin’s frijoles “accidents” into the regular trash and not the Depends dumpster, because I forgot he was anonymously donating the collection to the Roveseum he told me Mrs. Pelosi is building on her front lawn. Rovey won’t yell or bite or make me starch and iron his whole bow tie collection like my ex-beau Tucker used to do. Instead, he takes me gently by the ponytail, installs me at the Practice Podium, puts on his Helen Thomas wig and hose and has me tap dance until I fall down. Then, no matter how groggy all that rasping has made him, since we’re already there, he always makes sure to give me a full, guided tour of his briefing room. Sometimes, if I’m lucky and have mastered an extra-hard task, we even have pool spray!
I still don’t know how a goofy l’il bumpkin like me got so goshdarned fortunate as to score daily nuzzlings from Tapioca Times’s January 2003 “Lump of the Month” (centerfold and everything!), but you* bet your filibuster I’m gonna do everything I can to keep him!
p.s. Yeah, that means you Mikulski! Claws off! I’ve seen the way you look at him like a yummy lump of backfin crab. I will not hesitate to cut a Cockade!
The entries so far...
Ode To Karl:
History is full of men,
who change the world through greed, not pen.
Intelligence is overlooked, and altered time and time again.
Pull the wool over Americas' eyes, and terrorize all of our hardworking spies!
They won't find the phone calls from Air Force 1,
that - - made, to see Wilson undone.
And Karl made the cover for - - you see,
and now the rest is history.
Will Bush's brain be sent to the slammer, to save - - from Justice's hammer?
Or, will the truth be known at last?
How many men died, for that gallon of Gas?
No, there is no Justice left in DC,
just lots of Supreme ones' to screw you and me.
Posted by 4leaf clover at July 15, 2005 02:14 PM
Although Karl may not have to pay the piper,
that does not prevent him from being a viper.
Posted by Peeka-Boo at July 15, 2005 09:21 PM
Karl is Round,
Karl is cute,
and he knows how to shoot.
Posted by Millie at July 16, 2005 10:36 AM
Rove is My hero,
he sent me to war. Isn't this what America's for?
\We liberate nations from strife and despair,
and Karl's vindication will be in the air.
Posted by Boone at July 16, 2005 02:56 PM
Oh, my Rovy-kuns,
You have such supple buns.
I love the way,
You tell Bush what to say.
Those horrible people are dumb,
For saying you'd reveal a CIA Ag- oh. Uhm.
I still love you Rovy-kuns.
For your oh-so-supple buns.
Posted by Chelsea at July 16, 2005 06:45 PM
If Rove were a flower, he would be a thistle.
If Rove were a weapon, he would be a missile.
You get down from a thistle, and Karl gets me down too, his assortment of goons, they belong in a zoo.
When I see him coming, I run for my life,
where is my splattershield...I'm not your wife!
Don't worry Viginia, Karl is all yours,
I am just one of his regular whores.
Posted by Flower Girl at July 17, 2005 09:00 AM
If Bush needs a new brain,
why, call out for ME!
I'll take Karls' place in the halls of D.C.
If questions come up, why, I'll answer them fast,
and make Bush forget Turd Blossom at last!
I'll set them all straight, diplomatically speaking ,and even get Lauras' shoes to stop squeaking. I'll sneak beer and pretzels into the blue room, and if George makes a mess, I can handle a broom. I'll tap all the phones of the CIA spies, and make sure they heed all of Cheney's war cries. I'll open the mail and I'll
stop all the muddles, and when "W"'s tired, I'll
give Laura cuddles. I can do Karl Roves' job in a superior manner, so remember to call me, if he goes to the slammer.(1-800-call me)
Posted by Brainiac at July 17, 2005 08:25 PM
"Ode to Karl Rove"
America is red
and we all love
but soon we'll be bored
and you'll be
Posted by Josh at July 18, 2005 06:04 AM
aincha got no shame?
outin' valerie plame?
soft marshmallow tush
how 'bout outin' George Bush
Posted by kaikau at July 18, 2005 02:19 PM
When you're readin' up on Starr
and you're gettin' pretty far
When you're givin' Bush advice
and you do things that aren't nice
When you're leakin' out Plame's name
and Scott can't take the blame
When you're big and round and clean
and you're suited up real keen
When you're 'dored by the GOP
and the Dems are at your knees
When you're dropping bombs on 'jaf
and your President just laughs
Posted by Ryan at July 18, 2005 04:00 PM
Karl, You So Bad
Revenge a Dish Best Served Cold
Run my '06 race?
Posted by Valerie Plame at July 18, 2005 04:43 PM
Rove seems happy,
smiling here and there,
Enjoys a good nappy,
and hides his loss of hair.
All the while
he's trying to beat the case,
underneath all the guile,
he's a sad clown, happy face.
Posted by Dolemite at July 18, 2005 05:09 PM
"Ode to a Greased Rove" or "To the man I dream of when I have consumed too much expired milk"
Bushie had a little Rove,
His flesh was white as snow.
Everywhere that Rovie went,
The slime was sure to flow.
The case was made for war one day,
And dissent would not be heard.
Wilson made his case anyway,
So then Rovie spread the word.
Bushie stood behind his Rove,
And left McClellan to perspire.
While Mehlman spewed out his best,
To spare Rovie from the fire.
The country stood by in disgust,
and waited for the news,
Yet all they heard were dishonest words
fueled by power-lust.
Bushie had a little Rove,
who always managed to evade,
But soon he'll be crawling back to Texas,
Where he should have stayed!
Posted by MAR at July 18, 2005 06:36 PM
evil Rove nazi
what should we do with his ass?
pederast like Pat
Posted by phil at July 19, 2005 01:16 AM
Post me a note (virginia at i love karl rove dot com) or leave a comment and lemme know your most poetical fave!
From the poem vault (12/5/04)...
Roses are red
Now, I'm not naming names,
But, open your mouth
And I'll screw it like Plame's
Now, my Chorblesqumpkins has got his #2 all balled up in his cherubic fist and is busy squeezing out more yummy ditties for your consumption, but meanwhile, how about penning Rovey a poem? I'll post up his super faves!
Really, isn't it the very least you can muster for someone who's given so much of himself? I mean for Goebbel's sake - he's hunkered down over there in the corner, straining so hard he's grunting, just so he can produce a treat for the United Statesian people to savor, and he'll keep on doing just that until they drag him writing and fussing from his office.
Can't you give back just a little of what he's dished out to you?
When you care enough to share the very Roveiest - it's FREE Rove-o-grams!
Aw! It must be so nice for Rovey to know that the folks at his office are encouraging the world to stand behind him! Rovey loves it when I stand behind him, but mostly when I'm wearing the Giggle Harness, and it's not so much standing as dancing in place really really fast.
By the way, just in case you were looking to suckle a piping hot cup of Rovey, rest assure that while my Tubbleplorpkins might be a little leaky, this mug sure isn't!
Well I never!
Well okay, I have, but only with Rovey, and only out of very pure, real and almost nearly always consensual love. But now that goshdarned Radar Magazine - they've taken something that is sacred and private and federally protected, and BLABBED it in front of the whole interweb public. Heck - is Mark Felt working there now or something?
I'm talking of course about their newest front page poll where they're asking innocent folks who have mostly probably never been with us on our davenport or lashed into the Special Chair while we make our cuddlelumps, if Rovey's Deep Throat code name should be "Reach Around" or "Dirty Sanchez". Now, I didn't really realize at first that those dirty birdies were making filthy giggles about our Squishy Time, 'cause I thought that Dirty Sanchez was just one of Rovey's Boss's funny nicknames for Alberto Gonzalez, and that a Reach Around was one of those times when my Squbblebumbum calls me into the water closet to help him out because he's just had one of his his post-prune events, and the handle of the scrubby brush just isn't quite long enough to access his back verandah.
Well it turns out that a Dirty Sanchez is what we call a Ganache Groucho or a Puddin' Pompadour, and I say to heck with any of you who want to make fun of it! Just because my Chubbleblorbums has never been able to grow a mustache (anywhere on his cherbic carcass) from actual hair, doesn't mean he can't look JUST LIKE that hunky Tom Selleck when we do have Fudgy Facial Fun, and you can go lick my pudding finger, nastypants Radar*!
*Except for Mr. Vourvoulias. Rovey's expecting you with the drop cloth at 8 sharp.
48% v. 52% as of 11:06 R.S.T. It's coming to a head!
Keep those fingers wiggling, and Rovey will burst forth, spewing rich, creamy justice over all in his domain.
As of 5:41 R.S.T. (Rovey Sating Time - but then again, when isn't?), the digits in Rovey's favor are nudging and nuzzling up steadily - 39% v. 61%. Fists up, and fingers clicking, RoveHos! We'll butt Felt out or my baby's T.E.S. name isn't Master Felchypants!
Sigh. As perky a patriot as I've been my whole life long, sometimes I just get so goshdarned CHEESED (Yes - you heard me! I'm miffed enough to invoke dairy! Even though it gives Rovey's delicate tumbly the rumblies, and I have to wear an oxygen mask if I want to drift to dreamland.) at the rest of my fellow United Statesians. I just don't understand how so many of them can stand behind a a blabbly-mouthed treasonweasel who so very clearly is just in it for the hoisting up the ladder of his own fat fanny. Yes - I'm talking about YOU, Mark Felt!
First, you go thieving my Chorbleblum's always and forever special nickname that he's earned and reaffirmed each and every summer at the Fire Island Men's-Only Kielbasa Gobbling Contest. All you did was get all loosey-lipped about some scuttlebutt that wasn't even yours to tell. Once you've gotten a gander at my Rovey chain-swallowing bursting tube-steaks in front of a whole posse of hootin' hollerin' men who've gotten so excited they can't even keep their shirts on, YOU tell ME who's the real Deep Throat!
And now, Mister Mark so-called Felt, you've clearly gone and tinkered with the workings of the interweb, because there is NO WAY IN FOGGY BOTTOM that you're getting 67% of the votes to Rovey's 33% in Radar Magazine's "Who's Hotter" poll! I'm going to write to my alderman and have him launch an investigation into this skulduggery, but meanwhile - RoveHos, charge in there and rock that vote! Vote like you never got to vote for Rovey. Vote like your life depended on it! (And if my amendment gets slipped up the Capitol steps like I hope it will, that may just come true.)
Rock the vote like a van where Rovey's got The View on, and a fistful of pistachio-chunked pudding!
Oh, that Aureola Puffington has the goofiest friends!
Her pal Kenneth Lerer bloggifies that...
"So when Rove says he can't be quoted, he's not quoted. Period. He knows what he says will never ever come back to haunt him. Talk to the reporter. Say what he wants to. Move on to the next call. It's like talking to your psychiatrist or rabbi/priest: It's a private conversation never to be repeated. "
Hogplorple! While it's true that I spend a heck of a lot of davenport hours opening up my deepest, darkest crannies to Rovey's skillful probing, it's not as if he'd have me shackled if my lips got loose in front of folks. Why, he gets nothing but tickled when he sees his precious issue streaming and flowing from my open mouth - especially if there's a crowd! Why, it pleases me so much to get him that excited, that sometimes, I'll just go and throw myself down on my bruisey knees in front of my Gooey Glubblenumpkins, and beg him to feed me more luscious pearls of wisdom. Even if he's sleepy, or busy, or a little bit itchy, the urge to spread his seeds of knowledge overcomes him, and stiffens his resolve.
Oftentimes, by the time he's finishing disseminating everything, I'll have greedily gulped down so much, that I'll almost be choking on it, but eventually I manage to take in every last drop. I guess I've just developed a taste for it!
Sigh...isn't Rovey just the dreamiest - exposing so much of himself so that we might all come together someday? I can't possibly keep my piehole closed when I'm so full to bursting, so why should my Porklebum be expected to stay zipped either?
The nerve of some people! Rovey's such a super-swell snickerdoodle to go to the trouble of arranging an all-expenses-paid vacation from work for that buttinsky Ms. Miller, and still she goes bellyaching all over Gitmo's half acre.
I don't know why he even bothers with these favors. It's not like they're all going to get together one of these days and surprise my Chubbleplumpers with a nice, long trip away somewhere. I swear, they'd have to take him away in handcuffs and leg irons for that to happen! Not that we haven't practiced with that downstairs in the Special Chair, but I doubt they'd know to to give him the soothing tapioca rub afterward. My delicate Bumbumbloop tends to chafe so.