What is Occupy Wall Street? Why are these people taking over Zucotti Park in New York City? In a few candid interviews, I’ve queried the protesters about their issues during an NYC rally and march to Times Square . On the street, I was bound and determined to get the gospel from the Occupy movement.

My very special thanks to Mr. Jason Wade Hammonds (JWH) of Open Door Productions for directing, producing, editing, and mixing this piece. I would also like to thank Mr. Ed Stern of Ed Stern Photography (www.edsternphoto.com) for taking these amazing photos and shooting all the video interviews. And finally, thanks to Mr. Alex Lynch for helping with the writing of this piece. All of you are amazingly talented and none of this would have been possible without you.

Dear Freddy Kruegar,

Hey Bro, I know it’s been a hot minute since you last haunted one of my dreams, so I just wanted to see what was going on? How the hell are you? The last time I saw you in a nightmare, you held me down and sodomized me with your razor glove, while gently whispering in my ear “Call me Marty McFly.” That was sick man. Seriously. You’re a little demented, but that’s what I dig about you bro. You never cease to get the heart racing. Plus, I love “Back to the Future.” Love it! You get me, you really do.

Any-who, I know you’re a busy man, so lets just get down to brass tacks. I’m sure not too many people ask favors from you, being you’re a cursed demon of sorts that “allegedly” murdered small children whilst still living (you never had your day in court because of a lynch mob of parents that burned you and your house down, which is a travesty and wholly un-American), but I’m going for broke here. Since you’ve seemed to have moved on from me, could you possibly turn your attention to various Wall Street Banks and Investment Firms? I know that’s asking a lot. I mean, these companies employ lots of people, many of which don’t deserve a visit from your horribly disfigured face (which totes works for you my man, so don’t let the haters tell you otherwise).

I guess that means you’ll need me to be more specific. Hmmm…okay, well, basically if you could haunt & torment anyone on Wall Street that was implicit in the financial collapse of 2008, I think that’s a good starting point. Maybe do some research and look into Bank of America, Goldman Sachs, AIG, Citi Bank, and JP Morgan Chase. That’s a pretty good starting point. I’m not telling you how to do your job or anything. I know you’ve got the whole “scary” thing all locked up, but I’m just trying to be pro-active and helpful.

So Fred…can I call you Fred? Is that okay with you? We should be on a first name and/or nickname basis at this point. In an earlier nightmare you kept calling me Ms. Piggy while giggling and jiggling my belly, which didn’t do too much for my self-confidence, if we’re being honest with each other. It hurt Fred. There, I said it. Phew! I feel better. That took a lot of courage to say to you. My therapist said it’s better when I confront the issue head on because it gives people closure. She was right. Go ahead and consider yourself forgiven. It’s not like I could stay mad at you anyway you big lug.

At this point you’re probably wondering why I’ve come to you for this. You see, it’s been over three years since the financial collapse, and do you know how many bankers/investors/Wall Street fat cats that caused this mess have been punished and/or prosecuted? That’s right Fred, a big ole fat Zero. Nil, none, zilch, zip. So, because the usual avenues of social justice seem to be closed due to an overwhelming lack of caring, I decided to reach out to you, my old friend Fred. Is it weird that I consider you a friend? Can we be friends? Please…?

All I ask is that you consider what I’ve proposed. I honestly think you would enjoy it. Can you imagine the look on Lloyd Blankfein’s face when you show up in his dream? LOL! I’m sure he would pee his pants. Oh, snap, can you do me a solid and take a little video on your iPhone for me? I’m sure we can get a trillion hits on YouTube if he actually wets himself. Maybe I’ll get you a t-shirt made that reads “I toyed with Lloyd” or something. That red striped sweater you’ve been sporting is a little dated. It’s not a criticism so much as it’s an observation. Anyway, please take this into consideration. It would mean a lot to me. It really would.

Oh, and in the interest of keeping things on the up-and-up between us, not that we have any secrets anyway because of your backstage access to my subconscious, but I have sent out similar letters to my friends the Easter Bunny, Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, Xenu, Xena, Hercules, Zeus, Jesus, Jesus’ Dad, etc… Basically any character from fiction or folklore that I thought might be able to help. If you should see or talk to any of them, maybe see about teaming up. You could be like The Avengers. Which reminds me, I should probably write Robert Downey Jr. a letter. Not to help with this, per say. I just love his work. Love it! Don’t you? Of course you do. Everybody does.

Thanks for your time Fred. Words cannot express how much I appreciate your time and effort. See you in my dreams!

Love,

Tigue

I recently started a rumor that my very best friend has crabs.  I’m not going to name names as to protect the innocent because, well, he actually is innocent.  I just thought it would be hilarious if I told everyone he knows that he contracted crabs (or pubic lice as it were).

This scenario started me on a path of self discovery because I immediately thought to myself, “What if one of my friends did have crabs? What would my/everyone’s reaction be?”  My initial reaction, I concluded, would most likely consist of pointing,laughing, all while quickly moving away from their general vicinity. Is this the most grown up or empathetic response?  Of course it isn’t, but then again, I wouldn’t be the one with “the crabs”  in this scenario (I will hence forth in this article refer to crabs as “the crabs” because of a conversation I had with my mother a few years ago. She said, and I quote, “I knew someone with ‘the crabs’ once.” I thought this was hysterical.  Why she refers to them as “the crabs” is still a mystery to me).

My next reaction, I decided, would be much more subdued. Once the laughter subsided, the next logical step (of course) would be to ask “How? How did this happen?” I assume if it was one of my friends they would immediately blame a toilet seat at a rest stop in Tallahassee, FL. As some of you may or may not know, it is possible to contract “the crabs” this way, but still highly unlikely. Upon discovering where they received a hefty dose of “the crabs,” I believe I would return once again to unabashed fits of laughter.

Embarrassment for the pubic lice plagued individual would probably be reaching its tomato faced boiling point around now, so it would be time to pull back and finally express a little dose of sympathy.  I would say something like, “Hey man, don’t worry about it. It could happen to anybody.” Then I would rattle off a list of STD’s that are much worse than “the crabs” in an effort to demonstrate to them that all in all, it’s not that big of a deal.

Now the hard part would be deciding whether to keep your friend’s secret. A good friend would not share something that could horribly damage another’s reputation. At the same time, you would need to consider how your friend got themselves into this situation to begin with.  Would a public shaming be beneficial to their future health? The answer is yes, yes it would. It would also be beneficial to the public at large to know there was a menace within their midst that was riddled with “the crabs.”

Initially, starting this unsubstantiated rumor was just something of a lark, but what it has taught me about myself is a gift greater than gold. Thank you nameless friend. Thank you.

(The nameless friend in this article is Jose-Luis Migoya.  He is 30 years old and lives in Miami, FL with his father.  What can I say, I’m a liar.)

I know in these unrelenting economic times, finding a job with a reasonable pay scale, chance for advancement, and benefits is virtually impossible. I will be the first to admit that I was more likely to believe in Unicorns then likely to believe in this sort of job, until my recent holiday travels. First, I must inform you honestly that the job that I’m referring to may not have a reasonable pay scale or chance for advancement, but the benefits are amazing, depending on your moral convictions and ability to take advantage of opportunity. The dream job I’m referring to is “baggage handler” at Northwest Airlines.

Before I let you in on the secret to success under Northwest employment, I think it would behoove you to know the story of how I came to such a, dare I say, life changing conclusion. I recently flew on Northwest Airlines for the Holidays from JFK to Ft. Lauderdale airport via Detroit. I took the reverse route back in early January. Over my years of travel I have learned to adapt to the increasing flight delays, cancellations, sky rocketing fares, and hidden charges. I have also found that, in spite of all that, the most impressive change of all is the lack of customer service. But I digress. This is not a forum for my musings of the well choreographed dance between the customer and customer service, or the part I play in handing over dollar after dollar to help fuel this absolutely impressive business model. This is a chance to do my part and inform you of a fantastically creative, far be it from glamorous, position in the Northwest Airlines baggage division.

As mention earlier, I was fortunate enough to travel Northwest Airlines from Ft. Lauderdale to JFK and although I was not there on time, I did arrive safe and sound. The same, sadly, could not be said for my baggage. An unfortunate turn of events, but one I was assured would be rectified quickly, painlessly, and with the utmost professionalism. I was put into the system, handed a form comprised of my reference number, the phone number of the baggage claim office, and sent on my way. Good. I was simply told that it look as though my bag went on a later flight, through Delta, and should arrive around 6:30PM. Fair enough. The evening came and went and I found myself still without a bag, but quite confident in the airlines ability to follow through on, what seemed like, a very basic procedure. But still, I should probably call. I do. I was informed by a very delightful sounding automated woman that, my bag has yet to be recovered. Fine. 7PM. No need to panic, I figure my inquiries may be best answered by a human representative. I call a second number on my luggage claim form and, presto, an unlikely, but appreciated, encounter with a human. In speaking to the woman I was told my bag had left and should arrive sometime that evening. Better late then never, I guess. 8:30 AM on the following day and still no bag. Damn you all to hell!! As I’m praying for a great flood to wipe out baggage claim, I receive a phone call, from a delivery man, assuring the much anticipated arrival of my baggage in 10 minutes. Haza!! All sins have been forgiven for the almost intentional array of obstacles keeping me from reuniting with my running shoes! Not to mention some of the precious gifts I received from friends and family for Christmas.

In haste, I put my bag down and continue with my day working from home. Around 10AM, I realize that certain notebooks that are imperative to my work are in the bag and now would be a good time to open it up and start putting things away. Imagine my surprise when I realized, as articles of clothing are being put into their proper place, that gifts I had received for Christmas were no where to be found. Did I forget to pack them? No, I remember quite specifically putting them in my suitcase. Maybe they’re deeper down than I anticipated? No, in digging I find no such evidence of there existence. Could it be? Did I dream the gifts? Could the excitement in my mother’s face upon opening be nothing more than a figment of my imagination? Possible, but not likely. My God, I’ve been robbed! By who?! Who would have the time to physically open my suitcase, rifle through my belongings, and remove certain things from their containers or, in some cases, just remove the packages all together? Whose taste is so poor they thought to steal my clothes? O.K., the important thing is not to panic. Thankfully, my bag has been under the watchful eye of a respectable major corporation. Surely, they must have answers. At least a procedure to help renew my faith in large companies. After all, I am the “little guy” they claim to respect and cherish. They must be able to help ease this sense of helplessness that comes, all too often, when being a victim of a crime. Perhaps, even goes as far as to inquire into bringing this perpetrator to justice. You can’t run a reputable business without holding those who tarnish your good name with such deeds responsible, right?

Damage control. First, I’ll call the number used to track baggage. Machine. I’ll call the secondary number in which I had such success previously speaking to a human. Machine. I’ll call customer service; they must have an option to report this to someone. Machine. Ticketing? Machine. Internet? Of course, you can always find someone to complain to over email. But, before reporting this incident via email, I should take the time to research the protocol in reporting such a problem, you know, to ensure I take up no more of their time then necessary.

Hey, wanna know a riddle? How do you report stolen articles from your suitcase to the company involved, from home? Trick question. You can’t. Ha. Turns out, to report stolen material you must be physically present in the baggage claim room and must be there within 24 hours of receiving your bag. It takes and hour and a half to get to JFK from my place. A cab is at least half an hour each way and would cost me $50 for each before mentioned ways. There has to be another way! Doing it now would be impossible.

After 3 and half hours of getting machine after machine, busy signal after busy signal, I finally get to a person in customer service for Northwest Airlines. I simply inform her that I’d like to make a claim and can not do so in person for the next couple of days.

“I’m sorry; I don’t have access to filing baggage claim reports. Besides, our system says you got your bag,” she says.

“Yes I know I have my bag, I just don’t have that which left with my bag,” I impatiently reply.

“I don’t know how to help you,” she admits

“Aren’t you in customer service?” I inquire

“Yeah, but I’m in Sioux City, Iowa. Would you like to speak to my supervisor?”

With an emphatic “yes!” I am put on hold. I am told I am being transferred to Dave, and with a click, and a ring, I am back to the automated voice that started my journey 2 hours earlier.

I know this is taking longer than anticipated, but I find it valuable to relay to you the inter-workings of Northwest Airlines. I think it’s important for you to know how comfortable you can be when under the protective wing of such an employee friendly company. It’s like having an idiot savant for a lawyer. No need to speak, the less they say, the harder it gets.

2 days, 2 hours, and 34 minutes after arriving without my bag in NYC, and excluding the $700 of goods that decided not to come with me, I am finally speaking to a baggage claim representative for, you guest it…….Delta. I know what your thinking, “how can Delta help me take advantage of this great job opportunity with Northwest?”

Great question. You see, their merging and my baggage were supposed to come to New York on a Delta flight. Although she initially told me she couldn’t help me. She did. Even though she suggested it had nothing to do with her airline. It did. Even though she says she didn’t have to give me her name. She did. And through all of the difficulties that Ada had in helping me, through no fault of her own mind you, we finally came to a conclusion that I have officially reported things stolen from my bag. It only took 6 and ½ hours for someone to finally say, “I’m listening.” Or, in Ada’s case “What do you want?” Hey, I’ll take what I can get. This now gives me 5 days to show up with a list of missing things, in person, to the airport.

“What was stolen,” she asks,

“Well, I haven’t really gone through everything yet. One thing I know is gone is the digital camera my father gave….”

“We don’t cover digital cameras.” She insists.

“What? What do you cover exactly?” I ask. I could almost hear my unmolested presents fall farther and father into a cavernous hole.

“I can’t tell you what we do, but what we don’t is jewelry, electronic equipment, film, money, cameras, watches, fragile or irreplaceable items, and some other stuff I can’t remember,” click.

Don’t you see! It’s the job that slipped through the cracks. Think about it. Not only is there no supervision, there is no possible way to have repercussions. Don’t worry if someone has all the information, which could, in turn, lead back to you, NOBODY CARES! Even better, Northwest Airlines has a system put in place that makes the victim feel like the asshole! Oh, the beauty of it. Now that I think of it, I didn’t even consider being a delivery person for the airlines. Eureka!!! According to Northwest, my bag left JFK before 7PM on the second day, and didn’t arrive to me until 8:30AM on the third day. Imagine all the time you’d be given to rummage through luggage and find that perfect gift for the one you love. I know, your mother-in-law can be a pain in the ass, but what the hell, it’s Christmas! Don’t forget to get something for yourself; you worked hard stealing from people who have no other choice when traveling long distances. And the best part of all?!! There’s only like 3 people working the phones. So, there’s no one to report it to anyway. They’ve covered themselves quite well by not being responsible for anything at all. No time? No receipts? No ext. number? No crime. If there not losing money, why would they care if the customer does? Think of the freedom this job allows. Finally no oppressive “supervisor” in charge, telling you to stop raping the customer. Relax. Take your shoes off. This flight to Denver just got delayed and your old lady has been bugging you for a mink coat ever since you got her pregnant. No other job offers that kind of bonus for the do-it-yourselfers of the world. You can’t rob from customers at a bank if you were a teller. You can’t open packages and steal what ever contents you want at the post office. Not only are there rules against these actions, there’s someone around to enforce them. No thanks! I like my stealing to be clean and easy.

So, now that the holiday season is over and you’re not sure how you’re going to cover those credit card bills on your salary. You finally have a solution. This is it. For all those who worry what the next fiscal year may bring, your prayers have been answered. No health benefits? Steal medication. Want to further your education? People always pack books. There is no problem that being an employee of the NWA baggage services can’t solve. So, get off your ass, dust off those cargo pants (your going to need the room), and start turning your life around! Happy hunting and you’re welcome.

As it turns out, Destiny’s Child was a group of female profits, much like Jesus, Abraham, and Buddha before them. When they first sang, “Can you pay my automo-bills?” on their eternal classic “Bills, Bills, Bill,” I must admit, at the time, I had no idea what an “automo-bill” was. I searched through Webster’s Dictionary in the hopes that I would find the definition of “automo-bills,” but alas, there simply wasn’t one.

Now, just 9 short years later, the term “automo-bills” finally makes sense. Ford, General Motors, and Chrysler are begging the American taxpayer to pay their “automo-bills,” and the price tag is $25 billion ($50 billion if you include the $25 billion already allocated to them to invest in more fuel efficient technologies).

The notion that we, the American people, are somehow responsible for bailing out the Big Three is preposterous. These companies reported record profits in the 1990’s by producing gas guzzling Sport Utility Vehicles. They had no desire to create fuel efficient cars. I can only imagine that in board rooms of GM and Ford the phrase “Leave that to the Japanese” was uttered as a punch line in regards to cars that were able to get more than 12 highway miles per gallon. Now, as it turns out, the Big Three are the punch line.

These companies climbed into bed with the oil companies, much like Michael Douglas climbed into bed with Sharon Stone in “Basic Instinct.” How were they supposed to know these oil companies were ice-pick wielding psychopaths? Honda, Toyota, and other foreign manufacturers were able to decipher it, but the Big Three were blinded by avarice.

The Big Three had the money and clout necessary to jump light years ahead of their competitors. Lest we forget, GM was the first company to put a fully functioning electric car on the road. Then, magically, they all disappeared. GM was worried that these cars would sully their long love affair with big oil, which they weren’t ready to let go of. Toyota, not wanting to be outdone by the biggest car company in the world at the time, invested heavily in technologies that would allow them to compete with GM’s technological breakthrough. GM took one step forward then two giant leaps back, and Toyota simply leapfrogged right over them.

I believe the American people would prefer to buy American cars if they believed in the product, but the quality of these cars has been on a steady decline since the 1970s. The perception we have of these companies, and their cars, will not change until the companies themselves change. Handing over $25 billion is not an incentive for them to change. It’s tantamount to handing an alcoholic a bottle of Jack Daniels to help them sober up. The only way true addicts realize they need help is if they hit rock bottom. The Big Three need to hit rock bottom, which means filing for Chapter 11. This way they can protect their current assets, throw out the private jet setting C.E.O.’s that drove them into the ground, and truly restructure so they can become profitable again. This is the only way they will learn how to pay their own “automo-bills.”

When I think of drinking, I’m often reminded of Robin Williams’ stand-up act from Live at the Met, when he said ”Ever since I quit drinking, I’ve realized I’m the same asshole, I just have less dents in my car.”  I think this quote sums up alcohol use on every level.  It’s wonderful as a social lubricant, and occasionally it makes you find the opposite sex more attractive (when normally you might think they look like Jabba the Hut).  But for the most part, you wake up in a pool of your own sweat, wearing the clothes you went out in the previous evening.

Now, I haven’t quite abjured the drink all together, but I’m no longer at the glorious fighting weight I used to maintain to drink all-comers under the table.  I used to wear my ability to drink on my sleeve as a badge of honor, but those days, much like my devotion to Catholicism, are behind me.

This is starting to sound as if I’m anti-alcohol, which could never be the case.  First of all, I’m Irish, so it’s built into my DNA like a microchip into a computer.  I’m just saying, in a sad way, that I’m getting old and can’t freakin’ party like I used to.  I remember being in High School and this guy I worked with was 28 (my current age), which seemed ancient to me at the time.  He used to complain about being hungover at work after a night out.  I just thought he was a pussy, to be honest.  Now, as it turns out, I’m the pussy.  I’m a big giant sloppy wet one.

There is no doubt in my mind I could return to my former glory, but that would require doing even more damage to my already ravaged liver, gaining about 15 to 20 lbs. of pure drinking weight, and probably alienating every single person I know.

There is only one possible solution that I think is feasible.  When I turn 65, I’m going to drink and smoke like I did when I was 21.  I mean, at that point, who gives a shit if I alienate everyone I know.  I’ll only have to deal with them for a few more years.  And for some un-Godly reason I live another 20 years, well, good for me, because at least I’ll enjoy the hell out of ‘em.

Vice Presidential nominee Sarah Palin (pictured above) gave a riveting speech on Wednesday night.  Although I do not agree with almost 90% of what she said, (which just so happens to be the same percentage of times John McCain, the Maverick, voted with George Bush and his party) I still managed to be impressed. 

I was impressed at her ability to read from a teleprompter.  I was impressed by her ability to hold that smug, I know more than anyone else, smile on her face for the entirety of the speech.  I was impressed by her constant and often spurious jabs at Sen. Obama.  At this point, you’ve probably deciphered that I was impressed.

The malevolent attacks by Sarah Palin and the Repubes (my nickname for Republicans) are nothing new, and before this election is over, I’m sure the Demon Rats (a name one of my blog commentators has coined for Democrats) will surely unleash a barrage of similar attacks. 

In the end, I really have no desire to attack Sarah Palin.  Regardless of the outcome Nov. 4th, this is a truly significant and historical election.  We could have our very first President with African-American heritage, who graduated with honors from Harvard Law, worked as a community organizer in impoverished areas of Chicago, only to become an Illinois State Senator for seven years before being elected to the U.S Senate four years ago.  We could have our first 72 year old Vietnam War hero President who has served the state of Arizona with distinction in the U.S. Senate since 1986.  We could have a seasoned, yet admittedly a bit of a blow-hard, Democratic Vice President who championed the Violence Against Women Act.  And finally, we could have our first female Republican Vice President, a beauty queen, a sportscaster, the former mayor of Wasilla, Alaska (population 7,000), the first female Governor of said state, and baby seal clubber.

(The last statement about her being a baby seal clubber is an unsubstantiated rumor that I would like to start.)

“Well, you know, Barack Obama is a Muslim,” is a quote I’ve heard repeatedly from some McCain’s supporters over the course of the last few months. Not only is the argument completely fallacious, but it’s also deeply entrenched in prejudice. Sen. Obama is not a Muslim, but even if he was, that should never be taken into consideration.

Statements such as these are no different than signs designating separate drinking fountains for whites and blacks. They are in no way different than signs that once read “Jews need not apply” or “Irish need not apply.” These kinds of statements are exactly what led to six million Jews being murdered during World War II. They are what allowed people to justify to themselves that it was acceptable to try and extinguish an entire race of people simply because they possessed a belief system that deviated from their own.

If the argument that he is a Muslim is an acceptable one, than so is the argument that you shouldn’t vote for someone simply because they are Jewish, Catholic, Hindu, Buddhist, Agnostic, or Atheist. That being said, the odds of being elected President of the United States as anything other than a white Anglo-Saxon protestant is about 1 out of every 43 (thank you John F. Kennedy), or just 2%. If the United States is truly the world’s “melting pot” then shouldn’t the leaders of this country reflect that, or should we continue on a path of prosaic understanding of those that live amongst us with a different set of beliefs, never truly shattering the ever present glass ceiling?

“I think Barack Obama’s popularity stems from the fact that he is black,” is yet another ridiculous statement that I’ve recently heard from some of McCain’s supporters. Yet again, this is another example of prejudice, plain and simple. One would be hard pressed to find a black man or woman in these United States that felt that they somehow benefited from being black. Let us review some of these so called benefits.

First of all, they were brought to this country, chained to the floor of slaves ships, ripped apart from their families and homelands, and sold as property. Then they were considered to be only 2/3 of a person. Then they were lynched and deprived the right to vote. Then they were told they were second class citizens and were segregated from the rest of the population. In the same way, they were forced into welfare systems with no foreseeable way out, paid less for the same work as their white counterparts, and forced into overcrowded and dangerous prisons for victimless crimes. This form of hegemony over the black man does not seem like it would lend itself to popularity.

Sen. Obama’s popularity has nothing to do with the fact that he has a black father, his popularity has to do with the fact that he transcends race. His popularity is an amalgamation, which is the mark of a true American. We are all composed of different races, ethnicity’s, and religions. If our assertion to the world is that we are the “melting pot,” electing Sen. Obama would finally prove it.

The fact that these 2008 Olympic Games have been some of the most successful, at least as far as ratings go, since 1976 is proof that the American people are hungry to believe again.  They are hungry to believe in the American dream.  They are hungry to believe that we are the greatest nation in the world. That we are the beacon of light in the ever present darkness.

If Americans are being honest with themselves, they know that new car smell we used to walk around the world with has been supplanted with the  putrid smell of a 1967 Thunderbird, whose owner is a habitual smoker, drinks too much, and occasional uses his car as a toilet.  The world has viewed us for far too long as Imperialists who wants to conquer the globe with McDonald’s, Nike, and Capitalism.  But we are so much more than that.

The Olympics is our chance to asseverate to the world that we wish to lead by example, and that our athletes, born into a free society, can reach for the stars and touch them.  Grace and dignity seems to be more commonplace during these Olympics than in many of the years past, which could not have come at a better time in U.S. history.

But what is most important is the proof that there are still heroes in America.  There are people within our midst that strive for the impossible dream of being the absolute best in the world and accomplish it.  Although the U.S. makes mistakes (please see Iraq, Vietnam, New Coke, Steve Guttenberg), we eventually expiate our sins by doing something right.  The Beijing Olympics seems like a good place to start.

These ads are only adumbrating of what is to come.  It is really no surprise that Sen. McCain threw the first punch.  In all honesty, it was down right necessary.  Sen. McCain is behind in the polls and the media coverage devoted to Sen. Obama must seem like a constant stream of encomiums.

The latest ad from the Repubes (my little nickname for Republicans) involves a crowd chanting Sen. Obama’s name, as images of Britney Spears and Paris Hilton flash on the screen in a subliminal manner.  These ads want to paint Sen. Obama as a flash in the pan celebrity, and nothing more.  Unfortunately, these ads couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Sen. Obama has never flashed his naughty bits to the paparrazzi.  Sen. Obama has never had a DUI (see previous President).  Sen. Obama is not a rich socialite who increased their own fame by “accidentally” releasing a sex tape.  A comparison between these two glorified prostitutes and Sen. Obama is fatuous.

Sen. Obama has yet to release a political commercial as jejune as the one that Sen. McCain just released, but he should.  The Repubes have used these meretricious tactics over the course of the last two presidential elections, and there is no denying their efficacy.

Therefore, the next political commercial released and approved by Sen. Obama’s campaign should go a little something like this:  a small crowd should be chanting Sen. McCain’s name as pictures of pudding, a shuffle board court, and a picture of Abe Simpson (from The Simpsons) flash across the screen.  Then, that quintessential movie voice should say, “John McCain listens to the T.V. at insanely high levels.  John McCain often confuses the names of his grandchildren.  Will he mix up the names of world leaders?  Can you trust a man like this to be President?  I’m Barack Obama and I’ve approved this message.”

Although this would be a blatant attack on his age, is it any different than the scare tactics used in the 2004 election, where wolves were used to depict the “terrorist threat” that would hunt down and eat us all if we mistakenly voted for Sen. Kerry?  I think not.  It’s time to truly fight fire with fire.  The Democrats should be over taking the high road, because the high road leads to Loserville.