New exhibit from Doorly Zoo: 2014 GOP World

Exciting announcement from Omaha’s Henry Doorly Zoo: A new exhibit paying tribute to the 2014 Nebraska Republican primary. Built to scale and cleverly laid out so that you can move only to the right, the exhibit comprises a variety of habitats on 100 acres with plenty of interactive, you-are-there displays:

-- Take the controls of an EP-3 spy plane for a crash landing on China’s Hainan Island.

-- Head down to the Mexican border to stick your toe over the line.

-- Look in on some Washington insiders, behind closed doors, as they wield their awesome influence (Note to those in the front row: You WILL get wet.)

-- Here’s Wrigley Field where one candidate’s family has proven its sterling business and management acumen. Use buttons to choose the kind of ignominious defeat you’d like to witness.

-- Slap on virtual green eyeshade visor as you audit a state agency. Be careful now, there’s math.

-- Have a seat at a meeting of college administrators and faculty. Can it be? Yes, a PowerPoint display of new paradigms in promotion and tenure guidelines.

-- Hang out on the porch of the lake house you own with banking execs – and what’s that racket by the boat house? Why, yes, it’s a bunch of scavenging raccoons.

-- Hunker down as jackbooted federal bureaucrats threaten to regulate you, your family, your business.

-- To the floor of the Nebraska Legislature where you will show your cojones by tangling with a hologramic Ernie Chambers, then wander down the Statehouse halls to the governor’s office, where a set of lifelike gubernatorial cheeks are ripe for kissing.

-- Feel the butch thrill of strapping yourself into a fleece vest and walking into a small-town coffee shop.

-- You’re on a debate stage: See how many times can you praise Reagan and assault Obamacare.

-- Stride purposefully across a farm field, squinting manfully into the distance, then nodding earnestly as you listen to a life-like farmer next to you. Listen carefully, as you can tell by his walk, his seed cap and the cut of his haybales that he is full of common sense.

-- Stand on a stage next to a so-real-you-won’t-believe-it Sarah Palin as she endorses you, going weak-kneed at her heady fragrance of Calvin Klein’s Euphoria, rank political opportunism and demagoguery, snowmobile fuel and moose shit.

-- Finally, the firing range, with a full complement of guns with which to pose. Guard against too much excitement, lest you shoot off prematurely.

Oh, the Places You'd Better Not Go!

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!

You have brains in your head.
All agree you're a whiz,
though the longer you campaign,
the less obvious it is.

You're on your own and you know what to do.
And YOU'RE the guy who'll decide where to go.
Unless the Navy in your course has a voice,
in which case you'll find you have limited choice.
Though no matter where Uncle Sam sends you hither and yon,
he said nothing about landing your plane at Hainan.

You'll look up and down streets, look 'em over with care.
About some you should say, "I don't choose to go there."
Like K Street, or Florida, or, seriously, a Dakota?
You'll avoid them all, if sense you have one iota.

With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you're too smart to go down any not-so-good street.
Some may come back to haunt you
in a PAC ad or tweet.

And you may not find any
you'll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you'll head straight out of town.

But why would you do that?
Leave Nebraska behind?
Turn your back on apple pie and mommy?
Are you some kinda Commie?

Sure, Washington's tempting to a man on the make.
For sure, lots of federal teat to be sucked.
But don't stay too long, nearly a decade's too much,
or one day, verily, you're f***ed.

We're glad you returned
after your grand jaunt,
though frankly, some of us wonder,
what the hell -- Fremont?

On the other hand, Florida?
Maybe that's not so wrong.
Unless a PAC's about to spring a pic
of you on South Beach in camo thong.

Then you longed for South Dakota
to the Black Hills you wanted to flock.
Well, for that sin, you SOB,
bow down before Chimney Rock.

So ...
Be your name Sasse or Osborn
or Mordecai Ali Van Rosencrans,
It's hard to believe, some of us ask,
Jesus, is it too late to keep Johanns?

Ernie: The Unicam Cat

Inspired by, and with apologies to, "Gus: The Theatre Cat" of "Cats"

He is the Cat on the Unicam floor
His name as I'm sure you have heard before
Is really Ernie, but that name takes it toll
So by Day 56, some just call him "***hole"

His T-shirt is tight
His whiskers gone gray
And he suffers indignation that makes his voice bray
He was in his youth quite the smartest of cats
But thanks to term limits, shut out of the spats
He laid low in Omaha, awaited his time
And now he is back, still a cat in his prime.

Whenever he joins colleagues out on the floor
He loves to regale them even if he's a bore
When he gets cranked up, he goes on and on
He cares not if his listeners yawn.
He served with Warner, sparred with Terrible Terry
He's at his best when he's most contrary.

"I have played in my time every possible part
And I know this chamber's rules quite by heart
I extemporize poetry
I know how to preach
And when it really matters, I'll even beseech.

"Yes, I often lose but it comes at a price
For I know how to put this place in a vise.
Shoot mountain lions? OK, but if it comes to that
I'll never stop clawing -- Ernie, the Unicam Cat."

I am Ben. Ben I am.

I am Ben.
Ben I am.

Do I like Obamacare?

I do not like Obamacare,
I do not want it here or there.

I do not like it in my state.
In fact it makes me quite irate.

I do not want it near Chimney Rock
Or near the Capitol that looks like ... well, you know.

I know that it is quite the rage
But I have read it, every page.

To destroy it is my fondest mission,
Bummer ‘bout your precondition.

In this I do agree with Mitch
Though as you know, I’m not his bitch.

It’s destroying America as we know it
Even my RV is starting to show it.

It stinks of rot, squalor, decay
Though it may be time to do laundry

Yes, it’s also hated by Shane
On a shortbus and a plane

Vote for Shane? Give him a turn?
Matter of time before crash and burn.

The right wing loves me, yes they do.
I throw them red meat, lots to chew.

I’m on their websites, talk shows, ‘zines.
Sarah loves me, no mom jeans.

They call me Obamacare’s nemesis.
Without it my campaign has no premise.

OK, yes, you got me there,
I’m nothing without Obamacare.

So maybe I love it, just a little.
My reasons, hey, this is no riddle.

Against it I’ll continue to taunt,
Hell, it’s my ticket out of Fremont.

Quite a George Will column today on why he quit sniffing glue. It starts:

"The voluntary inhalation of vapors for the purpose of altering psychological states has a long history," Edward A. Preble and Gabriel V. Laury noted in the Fall 1967 issue of the International Journal of the Addictions. "At Delphi, in the ancient Greek world, the Pythia sat on a tripod above a cleft in the rocks and inhaled cold vapors emanating from inside the earth, which induced in her an ecstatic alteration of mind. In this altered state she uttered mystical observations in the presence of the Delphi Prophet, who translated them into oracular pronouncements.

"In the ancient Judaic world, the vapors from burnt spices and aromatic gums were considered part of a pleasurable act of worship. In Proverbs (27:9), it is said that 'ointment and perfume rejoice the heart.' Perfumes were widely used in Egyptian worship. Stone altars have been unearthed in Babylon and Palestine which have been used for burning incense made of aromatic wood and spices."

While casual readers today may interpret such practices as mere satisfaction of the desire for pleasant odors, this is almost certainly an error; in many or most cases, a psychoactive drug was being inhaled.

All of this passed through my mind as I sniffed model-airplane glue off my bow tie, gloriously hallucinating that Calvin Coolidge was still president and I his speechwriter. ...

Yes, Virginia, Santa Claus is white

"DEAR MEGYN KELLY: I am 8 years old.
"Some of my little friends say Santa Claus isn't white.
"Papa says, 'If you see it on Fox News, it’s so.’
"Please tell me the truth: is Santa Claus white?”

VIRGINIA, your little liberal friends are wrong. They have been affected by the silliness of a politically correct age. They believe whatever Barack Obama, Rachel Maddow and their public school teachers tell them.

Yes, Virginia, Santa Claus is white. He is white as surely as Sarah Palin, Rush Limbaugh and John Boehner. OK, maybe that last is a bad example.

Yes, perhaps he seems like a black Muslim socialist like Barack Hussein Obama, on account of giving so many things away. But remember, he keeps naughty and nice lists, so only those who earn them receive gifts. That is the American way.

 

Yes, VIRGINIA, Santa Claus is white. How dreary would be the world if he were black. Why, instead of a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer, he would travel in ... well, however blacks travel, I don’t know. Instead of leaving out cookies and milk for him, you’d leave out ... well, I don’t know, whatever blacks eat. Malt liquor and fried chicken?

Not believe Santa Claus is white! You might as well not believe in concealed-carry gun laws! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to shoot a selfie with Santa Claus, but while he’s doing that, some black guys probably are breaking in through a window, so maybe don’t after all.

No white Santa Claus! No! He lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, white Santa will continue to make glad the hearts of childhood.

OK, he actually may be Hispanic by then. :(

Sincerely,

Megyn Kelly, Fox News

Reflecting on The Play

So, after a few days’ giddy reflection, what lessons might we take from the events at Memorial Stadium last Saturday night?

I mean, beyond the obvious, such as: “It ain’t over ‘til the fat quarterback flings;” or the ancient Chinese proverb, “he who leaves early may beat the traffic but thus share not in the glory;” or, “Jesus Christ, you NEVER let a receiver get behind you on that play.” 

All well and good, but what else?

Well, perhaps we fans might embrace a little humility and perspective. It surely has crossed all our minds more than once that it was only a very flukish ending that saved Husker Nation from yet another Very Bad Week, with rumblings of coaches being fired, a program adrift, past glories so far out of reach they might as well have happened last century.

The Huskers had a 2.7 percent chance of winning in that situation; yet they did. So, yes, they were lucky. Bo was lucky. So what? It says here that Bo Pelini was due some good luck, especially this season, especially after what happened down in Florida last week. It restores one’s faith in God, or at least the football gods, that he was granted some.

So, by THAT much, we avoid doom and gloom.

Look, I’m a typical fan. I really don’t know much about coaching except I’ve almost always been certain somebody else out there could do a better job than the schmuck we had. That goes for Tom Osborne, too; but for three seasons, he was a hapless hack.  

So the two proudest, happiest moments of this season – maybe of the entire Pelini era -- are the two most improbable: Little Jack Hoffman’s scamper for a touchdown in April and Ron Kellogg III's heave and Jordan Westerkamp’s leap for another in November.

It says something about Huskers’ fans that they have taken such joy and pride in Jack’s moment, and it says even more about the coaches that they let it happen. And it says something, too, that so many fans have taken special delight that this latest moment came courtesy of a third-string quarterback who stuck around more than four years, working his tail off though knowing he might never play. The indescribable joy on his face as he ran around the field, and the joy of the players as they piled on top of each other, were a helpful reminder that for all the weight we put on this business, it is about kids playing a game.

Both moments remind us that what we really love about sports has little to do with championships and rankings. 

Maybe there will be another moment or two like those this season. Probably not. Maybe there will be a division title, maybe even a conference title. Probably not. Or maybe there are two, three, four more losses on this schedule.

Maybe, just maybe, it's not the victory but the action; not the goal but the game; in the deed the glory. Hey, that's pretty good; someone oughta carve that in stone somewhere.

Easy to say on a Wednesday night while still basking in the glow of Kellogg's CornFlick. I still reserve the right, of course, as do you, to call for Bo’s head this Saturday afternoon.

But let's not forget this feeling.