OK. I have a good excuse for being AWOL from the blogging empire this time. Dr. Idiot died! The chefs won't tell us how, but we think maybe he fell down the elevator shaft when Duds was playing with the buttons. So the elevator has a new lock on it, but Bennie's already figured it out. (Nobody's planning to visit the basement though. We think that's where they buried him.) The doctor's sad end was a great excuse to scream, giggle and generally act even crazier than usual, but we were all restricted to our rooms and the dining hall and they changed the computer sign-on password . (I felt pretty dumb when I figured out it was 'doctordeath'.) We held a charming New Orleans style funeral, crying, slowly marching down the halls and playing St. James Infirmary Blues on imaginary instruments. Then we all danced and played When the Saints Come Marching In on imaginary instruments. We waved paper napkins to keep the flies off the imaginary coffin.
It's not that we aren't sad to lose Dr. Idiot, after all, he was pretty nice as shrinks go. Now we have a lady shrink who looks a lot like Kathy Bates when she was in Misery, only scarier. (Rumor has it she wears a Nazi uniform when she's alone in her office.) Her name is Dr. Goanz, which makes for a few good jokes. "Where's she Goanz" or "She's Goanz crazy too". But we giggle quietly because she doesn't smile very much. So things have been pretty quiet. We've been getting a lot of comfort food, like mashed potatoes and jello. It's always comforting to fling that stuff around, PLUS somebody decided it would be a good idea to bring in visiting pets to make us feel better. The dogs were a little scared of us, but the cats didn't give a crap who was petting them. The only problem was when Rita started stuffing bunnies down her pants, although the bunnies didn't seem to mind. Bet the visiting pets won't be visiting again. Oh, and Feeney got sent to the mop closet because he was WAY too pissed off when he found out he wouldn't inherit Dr. Idiot's inflatable sex doll.
So today I finally hit the web and got caught up on the news. I see Dr. Sanjay Gupta has decided that marijuana is pretty much a good thing, and he did a whole show about it. I always figured he was a pot head anyway, so, no big surprise. Then there's the story about Dr. Farid Fata, who made a ton of money treating people for diseases they didn't even have. Now he's in jail instead of that great big mansion of his. It's kind of ironic, because if he'd just put his patients on weed, he'd still be stinking rich and nobody would be mad at him. Medicinal weed is legal in Michigan and he could have gone on TV with Dr. Gupta.
Of course, I was most intrigued by the latest news about Anthony Weiner. Here he is, running for mayor of New York, and it turns out he's been twittering around again. This raises more than a few questions. Like, why the name 'Carlos Danger'? Anybody who takes one look at him is going to figure out he's not Hispanic. (Not that I'm disrespecting Hispanic penises.) Second, why doesn't he just tweet his wife? That could be kind of kinky, especially if he isn't really sure it's her. (There's a wealth of porno she could use to fake him out.) But most importantly, does this latest excursion to the twittering nest of chicks with too much time on their tails hurt or benefit his run for mayor?
Ah, there's the rub, as Shakespeare would say. A lot of other people are saying that too. Last time, he was all contrite, promised not to do it anymore and fluttered away for a whole year. Now, journalists are asking, "are you done now?" and "was it good for you?" But here's the most interesting aspect of the story. Anthony is tired of talking about it. Now, we have to believe he's not actually bored with tweeting his wiener. All evidence indicates he isn't. So why is he deflecting questions about his flighty wiener?
Think! There's a dynamic at work here and it isn't that hard to figure out. We're talking about New York City, folks! Before Disney invaded Times Square, there were more perverts in plain view than are now winging their way through the Twitosphere. Anthony's rookery of fellow twits are chirping with delight and if they vote, he's going to be in the Mayor's office faster than he can clench his jaw and clutch his throbbing manhood. Ignore the polls! That 80% disapproval rating only reflects how many people won't admit they do the same thing! His coy refusal to discuss his photogenic wiener will only serve to keep him in the news as everyone waits, frantic for the next Weiner Twitterfest. It's the ultimate news bait! So Anthony rolls his eyes and says it's old news, not worth talking about, while the amorous news hounds feel their ratings shrink in frustration.
But no doubt, just before the campaign comes to a frothy climax, Anthony's wiener will once again, like the Phoenix, raise it's head in triumph. Because, let's face it, the world can never get enough wiener.