Democrats Celebrate Iraq Funding Bill Reverse-Victory

.C. Democrats wowed the press corps worldwide by celebrating the president's signing of a $100-billion Iraq and Afghanistan war-funding bill without the Democrat-mandated exit timetable, calling the showdown with the president an "astounding reverse-victory" over the war. Speaking with Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, House Speaker regarded the president's signing of the bill he asked for exactly as he asked for it with calm superiority.

"By giving the president the funds he wants for the war without standing by our call for a withdrawal strategy, as the president warned us not to include, we have demonstrated we are flexible, even jelly-like," Pelosi bragged, with a knowing nod to fellow Democrats supporting the unwin. "President Bush will take away an important lesson from this face-off with the elected officials of this nation: We cannot be threatened, even if we can be goaded and intimidated. And believe me, when the war blows up in his face and cripples the Republican war machine for the next several years, we are going to give him such an 'I told you so!'"

President Bush, at a speaking event at Toys 'R' Us in Dayton, Ohio Saturday, did not seem dissuaded by the Democrats' claims of success.

"Stuck it to ya. In your face. Iron Maiden in '08!" the president told reporters, giving the crowd the traditional "rock on" sign with his hand. Presidential handlers described the terse response as a result of a long plane ride and too many cups of Kool-Aid by the sugar-sensitive leader of the free world.

While political leaders on both sides of the fence were chanting hurrahs for their side, nameless critics who frequently only mask the real feelings of unbiased reporters were quick to accuse the Democrats of trying to dress-up a clear loss against a weakened president. For instance, Professor Chad Sham of Counterfeit Studies, of Bogus University in another state.

"Democrats plainly did not want to be faced with brutal accusations of not supporting the troops heading into Memorial Day weekend, as it makes a shitty soundbite. The party is well aware that their current collective charisma couldn't butter a square of toast, so the last thing they want to do is be caught in the spotlights trying to stand firm against ridiculous accusations of a lack of patriotism and hating the troops, since ridiculous accusations of un-American sentiment seem to be exactly what motivates NASCAR dads to vote. NASCAR fumes may be the number-one killer of political intelligence in this nation, and if I were really a college professor, I'd probably start a research team to look into it."

Real political analysts, like Amos Stamp, the guy who fills the commune vending machines every month, had clearer insight into the Democrats' long-term visions for the vote.

"In some ways, they ain't so crazy," said Stamp, snacking on a Mr. Goodbar he clearly didn't pony up the dollar for. "Democrats vote to fund the war right now, and always call it a vote to support the troops later, since the two's synonymous with the uninformed voting population. But come September, this war's going to go clusterfuck-supernova and everybody will remember the Democrats was calling for an exit timetable then. They boost they're popularity and they get their exit bill then, and all it cost anyone was a few hundred more American lives. And in the president, the Democrats have avoided looking like assholes, which is something that's new to them anyway."

Notably absent from the yea votes for the bill were the Democrats running for president in 2008, except Sen. Joe Biden (D., Delaware), who was believed to have copied his vote from Sen. Mitch McConnell (R., Kentucky) anyway. Many were quick to stress that they still support the troops, blah blah blah, but stand by our need to end this war as soon as possible. Only former president and trim-magnet Bill Clinton was more outspoken on his critique of Congress.

"Everyone remembers the gruesome budget showdown between me and Gingrich's Congress, where the entire nation stopped for a few days to see who would win. The Democrats are smart to concede now, and sidestep that huge public flogging I took when I lost. Oh, wait, something doesn't sound right about it—I remember now. I won that one. What the fuck were they thinking?"

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There is a very tricky method for applying a neutral shadow to animal consciousness. If a lion could talk, it would be too low for humans to hear, but he would tell the story of the Greatest Elephant That Ever Lived. If we could hear him, which we can't. Duh. Squirrels don't warn the bourgeois because they find their hairstyles threatening and their accents an act of war. They're not seeing your make-up, they're seeing remarkable cariboo and gnats from Dusseldorf. According to the latest Gallup poll, at least. It also said that global warming actually makes you a better feminist and helps with Windows 95 conflicts. Though regardless I still can't get these birth control pills to load. The moon's reflective quality made the crab nervous so he took up smoking Virginia Slims, he was still using Windows 3.1. The lion whispered in my ear and it sounded like he said I needed to write a book called "Chicken Soup for Assholes", that it would sell like hotcakes. It was either that or "get me out of these hotpants", he was quite a mumbler.

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It takes a lot to shame Rok Finger, friends. Three counts of indecent exposure, a national trial for treason and a bastard child in Spanish Harlem have all failed in the past. But I have to begrudgingly admit that like a Nazi eating a ham 'n' Russian front sandwich, I've bitten off more than I can chew. I am a failure as a physical trainer.

In my brazen youth of two months ago, I volunteered to help my nephew Camembert, a scrawny wire-thin nerd for whom the very word "wormy" was invented, get back into top peak physical condition, like yours truly. It was an embarrassing incident to say the least, for both myself and poor Camembert, who to this day is still checked into a clinic for those with critically poor self esteem, listed in stable but serious condition.

Camembert, son of my wife's sister Gretastock, was recently in a severe car wreck and had been milked like an attractive cow by the insurance company during his stay in the hospital. On top of everything else, now they wanted him to hire some expensive physical trainer of vaguely Swedish descent to get back into shape. Ha! I'd rather him die than be taken advantage of like that! Camembert wasn't ready to go quite that far, but through arrangements with my wife, Arvelyn, I put myself in charge of his physical recovery.

Well, needless to say the first few weeks are better left unmentioned. It was nobody's fault, to look at it objectively, Camembert was way too eager to please and I rushed in a little uninformed. I still say he walked a good minute like a veritable stallion, even if the doctors with their all-powerful "medical science" say the spine is broken and he'll never walk again. I was disappointed, sure, but I could still do a lot for upper body strength even if he was paralyzed for life. Still, you should have seen him walk for that minute, it was quite a sight.

As most of you know, I don't like to work out with fancy gym equipment, I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my jock. So I was damned if I'd let Camembert do the same. The first step was to lift my car, just like I used to keep in shape. And let's be fair, people--it's a Volkswagen, it's not a Cadillac or anything, I'd say it's fair game and definitely not "cruel and unusual punishment" like the Geneva Convention says in that quote the judge cited. But, admittedly, perhaps Camembert was a little out of practice to start so big. I say if you can do it there's hardly a greater confidence booster. I surmise with his legs all floppy thanks to Mr. Toothpick Spine that fiery little Camembert couldn't quite get the leverage he needed. I assure you when I set it to neutral I was only trying to help him in his effort and of course I wouldn't have done so if I had any inclination the car would roll on him, but I guess that's why they give you a driver's manual, to detail these sorts of things.

I was at my most desperate by this time, as you might guess, and I had basically given up on my proven methods of training. And knowing me, you'd probably say, "Rok, acupuncture?" Yes, acupuncture, you precocious, smarmy bastard. And when did we get on the first name basis all of a sudden?

The eastern art of applying needles to pressure point seemed like a sure shot to overcome Camembert's numb legs and now-broken arms. I thought I might at least stimulate the muscles and keep them in shape while he was incapable of moving them. Let me tell you now, good people, acupuncture is the biggest Chinese put-on since that papier maché wall they constructed. It's clearly just a scam to earn back from gullible round-eyes the money they lose in their restaurant buffets. Either that or a specific kind of needle is required that they keep secret, because I can tell you the crochet needle is not an effective replacement.

Camembert forgives my well-intentioned mistakes, at least while the demoral fills his bloodstream. Whether or not I'll ever forgive myself is another story.

Okay, I did. Phew. It was hard to live like that, but it's taught me a lesson. There are just some things Rok Finger isn't cut out to do in life. But I'll always know I should try it first just to make sure it is or isn't one of those things. Who knows? Maybe there's still a carpenter, beer distiller, opera singer, or astronaut in me still waiting to get out.

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