Romney Will Be VP Pick

Not to freak out those of you who - like me - would like nothing more than to torture Mitt Romney in front of his children, but the Commonwealth's least favorite Ken doll might just be our next VP nominee. My buddy was sitting behind some staffer dick at the Celtics game last night and saw an interesting message on dude's Blackberry: an email from (former Bush White House Chief of Staff and notorious Mass. Republican) Andy Card stating that the Mittster was sure to get the nod.

SXSW 2008 Final Dispatch - Still Alive and Crackin'

I woke up this morning with no teeth, four limbs full of track marks and three kids who I’m not interested in raising. A way-ahead-of-time warning to those of you who plan to ever hit SXSW: wear a full-body condom and drink lots of water.

Not Literally Me, But Close

SXSW DAY 3 - BIG DICKS AND TID BITS

I’m not stable enough to write a fluid piece this morning. Instead, here are some quick snap shots of shit I’ve seen down here in no particular order:

A lot of people in Austin actually sleep in booths at their friends’ bars at the end of the night. I’m a wastoid degenerate and all, but I still find that to be the lowest thing since child molester vans with that ladder in the back. Where do those ladders go anyway?

SXSW DAY 2 - THE CRACK IS GREAT DOWN HERE

Wednesday started innocent enough with two bloody marys (or whatever the plural of that is), three sixteen-ounce Lone Star brews and a joint thicker than your mother’s tampon. My man Bill at the Jackalope (which is named after some sort of odd hybrid creature that patrols the southern landscape) makes the cruelest bloody that I’ve ever slugged, complete with red-hot chili pepper sprinkled on the rim.

SXSW Day 1 - I Just Flew In And Boy Is My Crack Sweaty

Every time I hit the road for this type of trip I’m reminded of “Bloodsport” – my favorite Jean-Claude Van Damme film that is also reputed for catapulting Forest Whitaker’s career into the Oscar realm. The movie begins with fighters from around the world practicing with their masters before traveling to Kumite (pronounced Koo-mi-tay) – an underground marital arts Olympics in which there are only three ways to defeat opponents: 1 – to throw him off the mat; 2 – to make him say the local equivalent to “uncle;” or 3 – to straight up murder him.

Packing My Bags And Arranging to Buy Weed Down in Texas

I'm sitting at the Dig office stocking up on note pads and morning after pills. In two days I depart for South by Southwest - also known as SXSW - in Austin Texas, where nearly a week of criminal degeneracy will ensue. Last year I got to smell Amy Winehouse, so the prospects and possibilities for 2008 are looking pretty outstanding.

Intolerable Vulnerability: Inside Hillary’s Tears

McCain, Obama Win in New Hampshire; the rest of us lose

McCain in Manchester: Bomb Iran!

Vermin Blasting near McCain

Passing Gas with Joe Scarborough

I figured when I conned my way into the press bullpen at the Presidential Debates – an area that contains everyone from the ABC machine to obscure members of the Columbian press who moonlight as gunrunners on slow weeks - I’d be privy to all the perceived benefits of knuckling up with the mainstream elite. The reality was sobering. The pen, set up in St. Anselm’s gymnasium, was more ghetto than our hotel the Econo Lodge on Manchester’s west side.

Pissing in America’s Stream of Consciousness – Day Three

I promised to bring you in the back rooms and bar booths where locals, staffers, volunteers and journalists dance the pre-primary tango. We’ve been drinking since we got here, but on Saturday we hit the strip with pens drawn. While most reporters crowded in and outside of the debates at St. Anselm’s, my crew split up to cover the jamborees that campaigns host around Manchester.

Pissing in America’s Stream of Consciousness – Day Two

I’ve been a Dennis Kucinich fan since 2003, when I was abducted by aliens who coerced me to accept a leading role in his last hapless presidential bid. In addition to the intergalactic intervention, I was also persuaded by the fact that he’s the best candidate for me. I truly respect Kucinich’s courage – always have and always will – but in this past year I’ve both admired and resented his perpetual lunge at the White House. Not because I’m one of those hack pundits who think every race should begin and end with a few top media-propped candidates, but because while I know that he’s on point – and perhaps the only one in either party who is generally interested in engineering social equality – I’m constantly embarrassed by his campaign.

Dr. Hugh Cort for President

“My grandpa served in World War II. He was buddies with Patton and MacArthur.”

Pissing in America’s Stream of Consciousness – Day One

These presidential candidates are aggravating me with their public displays of exhaustion. They should try getting irresponsibly cocked and hammered, sleeping for two hours and waking up before the crack to steer through New Hampshire’s paralyzing cold.

A Floating Orange Honeymoon

French-Canadian child laborers at the turn of the 20th Century comprised an early, hearty chunk of the blue-collar workforce Manchester, New Hampshire built its economic foundation upon. They toiled long hours at the employ of the Amoskeag Manufacturing Company, its multiple mill structures still lining Manchester’s Merrimack River, and this morning the Tower Mill on Bedford Street housed the John Edwards arrival rally, welcoming Number Two from his “thank-Christ-I-beat-Hillary” win in Iowa.

Will John Edwards ever start fighting?

At 7 am on Friday morning in Manchester, New Hampshire John Edwards again talked about how he will “fight” for the interests of the American people against corporate greed, etc. In fact, this morning, Edwards said pretty much the same exact things he’s been saying in Iowa: sound, passionate, populist stuff for what it’s worth but it wasn’t enough to win Iowa, so how can he possibly imagine it’ll be enough to help him catch up to Obama and Clinton in New Hampshire?

50 Reasons Why WeeklyDig.com should be your primary news source

We’re leaving for New Hampshire at four o’clock tomorrow (Friday) morning. Just three of us packed in a rental cracking jokes about how much “Mike Huckabee” sounds like “My Cock-a-bee.” It’s a reunion of sorts; four years ago, before I started at the Dig, Mark, Dan and I hurtled through the Granite State in my girlfriend’s Dodge Caravan. We smacked skin with candidates, enjoyed free donuts at every Elks and VFW post from Nashua to Deerfield, and ditched several dozen state police cars and helicopters in a chase across four counties.