I read in a hit piece on Ted Kennedy that the late Mary Jo would have turned 65 this month. Old enough to get her some of that Social Security before the Ponzi scheme goes totally bust. Old enough to enroll in Medicare. Old enough to get the really good swag from the AARP when she paid her annual dues.
But none of that's ever going to happen, because Teddy got all drunked up and drove off a bridge and killed her.
Must be nice to be a Kennedy. They're like rabbits. Shit doesn't stick to their fur. No matter what they do, they're forgiven, and everybody still loves them. Kind of like a cross between Ted Bundy and Mr. Rogers.
(And for the record, the above was not an admission that my shit sticks to my fur. Because it doesn't. Usually, anyway.)
Anywho, back to the Kennedys. I can't decide which one of them caused the most unpleasant sensation in my shorts. It's a toss-up between the baby-sitter-fucker who cancelled himself by skiing into a tree, and the wanna-be pilot who cancelled himself, his wife, and her sister when he lost his horizon.
Someone I like and respect pointed out the obvious when John-John & The Gals went splat into the ocean. The whole fucking Coast Guard was out looking for the sea pizzas. If it had been you or me, we'd have rated a one-eyed seaman in a dinghy. (Hee hee. I said seaman.)
I guess that's my and the rest of the unenlightened's way of saying we don't get the big deal about the Kennedys. They don't seem like very good people. Good people don't leave busty blondes to drown in a pond. So why does everybody hump on the their legs like sex-crazed german sheperds?
Especially when they have man-boobs like Teddy's:
Yeah, I clawed my eyes out with my hooves. I feel better now.
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