Childress, Texas, is out in west Texas between Wichita Falls and Amarillo and is only in Texas due to a geographic formality.

Customer Richard was spending the night in a Comfort Inn in Childress and was a little surprised to see this on top of the Gideon Bible.

Wait until the first Baptist Church finds out!  And they will because they are the ones renting hotel rooms by the hour.

Thanks to Richard for the heads up.

This is exactly the kind of thing that makes satire so damn hard to tell from the truth.

Asked about Trump’s critique of his candidacy, Perry challenged Trump to a pull-up contest.

The reporter prefaced by saying that Donald Trump questioned Rick Perry’s “energy, toughness, and brain power.”

Perry skipped the brain power question and went right for what’s important.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TNqTy_rpnsM

See, this crap just ruins satire for everybody.

California has earthquakes and wildfires.  Texas has Louie Gohmert.  California does not want to trade.

Louie offered proof today that he understands the basics of reproduction.

He wants to take four opposite sex couples, four male couples, and four female couples.  He wants to deposit them on three different deserted islands with all they need to sustain life.  Then he says —

let’s come back in 100 to 200 years and see which one nature says is the preferred marriage. Which one still is doing great and doing well. And I think we’ll have our answer.

You don’t need to actually do this.  I can tell you what will happen.

On the opposite sex island, one of the men will be Newt Gingrich.  He will need to marry all four of the women to prove his commitment to marriage.  Therefore, he will have to indict and convict the other three men.

The offspring of Newt’s first marriage will be hated by Newt’s second wife so they will swim over to the lesbian island and become famous baseball players.  Newt’s second wife’s children will hang around.  The third wife’s kids will go to the gay island and learn to be world famous Broadway producers and invent a cure for cancer in their spare time.

The children of Newt’s second marriage will inbreed with the children from his fourth marriage and become the Republican congress.

I told you this would not end well, Louie, you bastard inbreed child of Newt Gingrich.

Thanks to Kyle for the heads up.

Donald Trump gets all fawning over Sarah Palin.

Donald Trump says that he’d “love” to have Sarah Palin join his administration should he be elected president, The Hill reports.

Said Trump: “She really is somebody who knows what’s happening, and she’s a special person. Everybody loves her.”

Everybody?

Okay, I admit to sorta adoring drunk Sarah Palin.  But loving sober Sarah Palin?  Nope.

So, from now on Trump has to say, “Everybody except Juanita Jean loves Sarah Palin,” or I will sue his lily white butt.

Feel free to let him know not to include you in “Everybody.”

Thanks to Craig for the heads up.

By Primo Encarnación y Hachecristo

My uncle, Jimmy “Barstool” Grobnik, has always been characterized by people who know him as “pragmatic.” Some also characterize him as “drunk,” “lazy,” “good-for-nothing,” “money-grubbing,” and “spineless.” But charitable people who know him and own a thesaurus translate “spineless” as “pragmatic.”

Even so, he threw me for a loop the other day when he suggested that Bernie Sanders and Bill Clinton were lovers. My spit-take sent Old Style beer across the polished mahogany of Pete’s Bar, but as it was a Tuesday afternoon and the only people in the place were me and Barstool, I avoided the automatic ejection. I went behind the bar – Pete was napping in a lawnchair on the sidewalk – got a towel and a refill, and asked him to run that by me again.

Turns out, what Uncle Barstool meant to say was that “Bernie Sanders is the girl you date, but Hillary is the girl you marry.” But he’d been on that same corner stool since the Cubs got no-hit by the Phillies – he may have slept on the pool table – so his transmission was garbled.

There was nothing wrong with his instincts, however, because he and the rest of the extended Hachecristo family have all made our political bones in Chicago. In Chicago, politics is the fifth sport behind baseball, football, basketball and hockey, and bloodier than all of them put together.

After he put his head back on the bar and fell asleep, I considered his point. All over the blogosphere, and the talk-o-sphere, and the main-stream meme-o-sphere, Surgin’ Bernie is the flavor of the month. Hillary better watch out! Bernie drawing huge crowds! Hillary slipping in polls! Bernie is the true liberal! Hillary dogged by scandal! Bernie flies by Pluto!

(Not sure about that last one. You don’t think I left Uncle Barstool alone all that time, do you?)

But the point is this: we’re 6 months out from Iowa and New Hampshire. Sixteen canned dullards are each vying to break out of the pack and become the Republican nominee by saying more stupid things louder than the other 15 idiots. Hillary has the experience, the pedigree, the money and enough liberal bona fides to lap the entire Democratic field – as she is now – and best of all, she’s not taking it for granted, as she did 8 years ago against a much tougher, more accomplished, better funded, much larger group of candidates featuring liberals, moderates and blue dogs.

But bloggers and talkers and screaming memees are bored and anxious and need to grab clicks, ears and eyes. The chaotic Republican race has devolved into a monotonous hum of verbal manure. And people LOVE to beat up on the Clintons. I know, because I made a whole cottage industry of it when I had a HuffPost column during the ’08 primaries.

But, like Uncle Barstool, I am spineless pragmatic: I knew Obama would win. Hillary: I had doubts as to her viability. (Who KNEW that McCain would pick Palin and the economy would provide the October Surprise? My cousin, Jesus Hachecristo, could have won that one in a walk. ) This time, I have no such doubts, because the margin of victory for Democrats has ALWAYS been provided by the women, and women will be very motivated voters from Iowa thru victory in November, voting for the accomplished, tested liberal Democratic candidate: “Hillary,” my uncle muttered in his sleep, with a damp belch.

“Marry that girl, Uncle Jimmy.”

Momma needs me to tend to her today.  She’s fine but she has a list of errands I need to run as payback for walking me to kindergarten while I screamed the entire way.

If something comes up today, please feel free to discuss it among yourselves and I’ll be back later.