Old Handsome Joe
Joe Biden is my lover. And Jesus, it’s exhausting.
Not that. We don’t do that. He’s married, you know. Just keeping up with all that tremendous excitement, that constant barrage of sexagenarian vigor. Sometimes we lie around, in my brain, and he punches the air, like a retard. “WE’RE GONNA GIVE ’EM THE OLD RAZZLE-DAZZLE,” he shouts. “WE’RE GONNA DO [SOMETHING ELSE LIKE WITH BOXING]!” whoops he.
“Sweetheart, would you shut the fuck up?” I lovingly murmur. “Baby, what’d you do with my weed?”
“Let’s sit down at the kitchen table,” Joe whispers to me, sexy-like. “We can talk about how we’re going to send the kids to college. What do you suppose we should do with Old Mom? And which bills should we pay?”
I brush the wisps of silver hair from his high, kind forehead, already feeling that tingle. “Joe, baby, you’re a United States senator,” I remind him. “Until Musharraf holds his coup-thingy on our failed state, we’re golden. Old Mom can look out for herself: I God bless her. And my son’s an LAUSD high school student; he’ll be extremely lucky if he gets into SMC.”
I, like God, love me some Old Hand-some Joe. There is a true kindness, a true goodness, which he wields like a weapon, hiding that big sexy brain behind his Simple Joe grin, and rope-a-doping ’em better than anybody I know.
There’s honesty, too: “I’ve been all those places too,” he said, to Chris Matthews maybe, vis-a-vis the litany of hot spots John McCain has toured. He was smiling, and dismissive, an old sexy Irishman. “Of course,” he said saltily, “that doesn’t mean I’m right.”
I love every honest, fool word that falls from between his blinding white teeth. When he got in so much trouble last year for saying everyone in 7-Eleven was Indian, it’s not like he called them Pakistanis. When he said that idiotic thing about Roosevelt and the stock market crash and televisions, I shrugged it off (though that one was pretty cringey). Remember that time you didn’t know the difference between Marshall and MacArthur? I piously reminded me. Remember you still don’t? And when everybody started yowling and bleating and beating their breasts because he said the difference between him and Sarah Palin was that she was good-looking, it would have been the fakest outrage I saw all month – except that I saw the fake outrage of the entire GOP at once, because Nancy Pelosi had the gall to finger-point and blame-game, and when Republicans are at fault, no one may. (Pop quiz! What was the total value of my 50 shares of WaMu Monday after the House Republicans heroically defeated the bailout? I’ll give you a hint: a buck-seventy.) Sexist? My Joe didn’t tell Palin to fetch him a sandwich. I fetch him all the sandwiches he needs.
And now, tonight, I get 90 minutes of the old razzle-dazzle, and I’m so tense and excited, I maybe can’t stand it. What if Sarah Palin can spit out her sound-bites? What if Joe cracks an albino joke? We’ll be having a lovely party in a flat-out gorgeous ballroom. (See Seven Days for info.) You could come and watch it with us. I God bless you, and goodnight.
Published: 10/01/2008
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Gee Rebecca, you should sleep with every Democratic candidate before debates, because Biden was outstanding last night.
But aren't you exaggerating about your WaMU stocks? Isn't it a fact that they stopped trading at 16 cents per share and .16 x 50 is $8, and that the price is stabilized which is a good thing? Its important to emphasize the positive and shore up public confidence, especially when we're sliding into a new depression.
Clearly the problem is the lack of productivity among American workers, like when Commie Girl goes weeks between columns, and then the market crashes, credit seizes up and so on. Love your show, Becca.