As a Follow-on to the Last Post:

Alphecca has a good piece up on Presidential hopeless hopeful John “F.” (“I eat ’em with Heinz ketchup”) Kerry, inspired by this piece of fluff entitled “Hunter, Dreamer, Realist” in which we learn that Mr. Heinz Kerry is a hunter! Oooooh!

Dove, quail, duck, deer. Kerry described how to hunt and gut them, talking as he sliced through a steak at midnight after campaigning all day in Iowa for the Democratic presidential nomination. Carve out the heart, he said over dinner, pull out the entrails and cut up the meat. Bad table manners, perhaps, or good politics.

Did he beat his manly chest, too?

I have nothing against hunters. I have a real problem with politicians, though. And crap reporting like this:

Kerry, 59, is the only combat veteran in the field. He stands 6-foot-4. He rides a Harley, plays ice hockey, snowboards, windsurfs, kitesurfs, and has such thick, aggressive hair he uses a brush with metal teeth.

“I AM the Alpha Male,” he roars. And the women become moist and weak-kneed. Jebus! Who edited this piece? Oh, wait:

“He doesn’t need a consultant to tell him how to dress like an alpha male,” said his friend Ivan Schlager. “He is a damn alpha male.”

Take THAT, Al Gore!

Read Alphecca’s piece and his internal link. I can’t deal with too much more of the Washington Post’s saccarine drivel, so let me quote a few of the choicer lines:

Occasionally, he’ll even write poems, like the one he reluctantly read to a reporter: “I had a talk with a deer today/ we met upon the road some way . . . between his frequent snorts/He asked me if I sought his pelt/cause if I did he said he felt/quite out of sorts!”

“See? I’m sensitive!

This was Primal John, the pilot who flies barrel rolls, who relaxes by windsurfing in a squall, who ran with the bulls at Pamplona and, when trampled, got up, chased the bull, and grabbed for its horns.

ARR! ARR! ARR! (Can’t you smell the testosterone?)

“This is Five Papa Juliet at 120 degrees, climbing to 7,500 feet,” he told the control tower as the ground dropped away.

Said Captain Steve as he checked the bombload one last time…

Kerry, the son of a Berlin-based American diplomat, was sent to a Swiss boarding school at age 11.

“See? he’s multicultural!

He biked around, saw the rubble of Hitler’s bunker, sneaked into bleak East Berlin (until his father found out and grounded him), and was awakened to the impact politics had on people’s lives.

“See? He’s rebellious, but he cares!

Often on his own, he tested his survival skills.

Oh, for jebus’s sake…

Kerry likes to quote the French writer Andre Gide: “Don’t try to understand me too quickly.”

“See? He’s well-read and complex!

On a recent afternoon in his Senate office, Kerry was challenging himself with a piece of Spanish classical guitar music. “It’s very hard,” he said, mid-strum. “I broke one of my nails.”

Oh. My. Freakin’. GOD. That is just too cute for words. He broke a nail playing Spanish guitar. Manly and feminine. And they call him “ambivalent.” Imagine that.

Just one more song. A Beatles tune from 1965. He strummed the guitar and belted: “Yesterday. . . .”

And he’s a BEATLES FAN! Well sign me the f&*k up!

And who is he, really?

I thought we’d answered that. He’s GI Joe, Papa Hemingway, Jimmy Doolittle, Phil Donahue, John Lennon, and Oprah, all rolled into one well-married guy.

Citizen-soldier. Linking patriotism to public service. It wasn’t complex after all; it was Kerry.

He smiled and aimed his finger: “Pow.”

Arrest that man! He has an unregistered finger! Oh, wait – he’s a government employee, so it doesn’t count.

And the media wonders why the public eschews the traditional news sources these days.

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