July 12, 2005
Radarded
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!
xxxVirginia