Got Barbara, No Boxers

Did I just wash my olive green sweat pants with damp evergreen branches? Yes, I did, alleviating any need for soliciting what I call "Mafia fluffy dryer sheet" scented laundry.

The investigation is ongoing regarding how a humble clinical social worker and presidential candidate such as myself would meet a very charming and in need of more multi-syllabic words woman from [Cha-ching! He's in jail!] Beijing, China. Got a job? She does, not me, and it has something to do with "computer power adapters," which are devices I am familiar with. The one HP provided for my computer ticked like a bomb, didn't it Ms. Whitman? (After it stopped working). Next stop? Radio Shack, where in a rare 2008 victory, I got my money back after Soldier Boy caused a power surge and blew-up the new one from Tandy Corp.

Next? A still attractive, intelligent, 100% rational, worked with the great JENNA JAMISON porn star was jabbering with me, just a few feet away from the by now famous (or infamous) LINDSEY LOHAN stool, but we don't have a commemorative marker up yet. Make goo-goo eyes with Mr. Hughes and go to jail? Worse things could happen, like someone uses the "shank" (knife) that has been flashed at me lately, but this "Man of Steel" does not care. You see, I am expanding my vocabulary too, because prior to my mafia-induced homelessness among wealthy brats in disguise, I did not know how to make a home made prison knife. As the late and Legendary Bobby said more than once, "Welcome to California."

Barbara Boxer won, and I have no boxer shorts, as promised? Justice! I cry out for justice!

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