OMG! He's Returned...

More to come, so many stories to tell...

A Message From Lipton T. Bagg

So, you guys thought Lipton was dead, or inconito, WRONG! Here goes:

"It's dark here. It's smelly. I feel trapped. Damn, why didn't I stay in the states?

"All my mates are fine. I'm fine. But it is dark here. And did I mention smelly?

"Yeah, I'll say it. I'm THAT guy. I'm the miner who is trapped until Christmas and his wife and his paramour just met standing outside awaiting his release."

"Please get a message to my wife: 'Honey, don't believe a word that bitch says. There is only you in my life.'"

"LTB

"p.s. Please surreptitiously get a word to my bitch on the side: Mookie-Mookie, don't believe a word that the press and my soon to be ex-wife say about you or me. We belong together. You 'complete me.' I'll see you the day after Christmas. Your LTB sandwich. Your 'Candy Man.' Your Patton, your Napoleon. Hell, I'll say it, your Hannibal! XXOOXX LTB"

The Continuing Saga of Lipton T. Bagg: So the photo of the cheerleader got me to thinking...

I was sitting in my dive of a hotel in Reno, Nevada, after a long night of Texas Hold 'em. (My official position is that I lost huge sums of money, if you are reading this Mr. IRS man.) Perhaps I was over-thinking this. Or to be more accurate, I was treating my search for Lipton T. Bagg as if I were searching for me. Granted, Lipton and I seem to have much in common. But how much do I really know him? Maybe I had just gotten lucky by searching in every local run down bar in or near the Florida gulf coast. I finally had to admit that I found him because he happened to be doing what I would have been doing if away from my wife on an extended stay to that location. He already told us where he was going, he just did not say exactly where, nor did he give a reason.

So, back to square one. He was not at any gambling establishment within a thousand miles of where he last escaped, er I mean left me standing outside the women's rest room. The cheerleader made me think, hey, perhaps he likes football. With an unlimited bank account and time on my hands, and football season about to get hot and heavy, I'd go to the best games in the country, as many as possible. But what if he likes pro baseball instead? The pennant races is heating up. Or, and I like this personally, what if he digs NASCAR (which somebody called "WWF for dumbies")?

I have to admit, this revelation that this might be a job too big for John Doe made me depressed. Okay, it might have been lack of sleep and alcohol, combined with the dreary hotel room and lack of female companionship (in case wifey reads this) that contributed to my depression. At any rate, I'm going to bed, and I'll think about it in the morning. Over every damn item on the breakfast served in my room menu.

John Doe

Why even God hates the New York Times

A sentence from a NYT's Editorial, via NRO "The Corner:" “But many of Mr. DeLay’s actions remain legal only because lawmakers have chosen not to criminalize them.”

So it's come down to this: A House Majority Leader can be forced to resign his position and his elected office based on allegations that certain of his actions might have been criminalized but for the fact that lawmakers have chosen not to criminalize them. Yeah, and I might have been guilty of speeding if the lawmakers had chosen limit the speed at 45 instead of 55.

What comes to my mind is the immortal phrase attributed to former Labor Secretary Ray Donovan after he was acquitted after a nine month trial (I paraphrase): "Where do I go to get my reputation back?" At least back then the liberal press by and large had the decency to condemn the local prosecutor whose baseless charges forced Ray Donovan to resign his cabinet seat in the Reagan Administration. (God be praised for St. Reagan!)

Love him or hate him, "The Hammer" did not deserve to be run out of office on trumped-up charges that turned out to be nothing, zip, zero, nada. And Republicans allowed it to happen. Delay was the House Majority Leader for the Republicans at the time. The equivalent today would be if some Republican local prosecutor from Maryland indicted Steney Hoyer and he was forced to resign his seat to defend himself.

I say do it. The only thing that Democrats understand is "the Chicago Way." They indict one of yours, send three of theirs to the slammer. Don't give me this crap about turning the other cheek. That just allows Dems to sit back and pick off conservative leaders at zero risk to

themselves.

And dumbass little cheerleaders in froufrou pom poms and short skirts sit behind their desks at the NY Times and cheer them on. Whoever penned this statement disgusts me (here is a link to the entire Editorial). As does the paper that allowed it to be printed.

John Doe (cross posted at Smash Mouth)

FACTUAL UPDATE: The Justice Department chose not to prosecute--after leaving Delay dangling for several years while investigating him. The local charges are still pending. So it's not over yet. But whatever the hell happened to the constitutional guarantee of a "speedy trial?"

[p.s. LTB, phone home. Won't you come home LTB, won't you come? Won't you come home today! LTB won't you please come home!!??

Won't you come home LTB, won't you come home?
She moans the whole day long.
I'll do the cooking darling, I'll pay the rent;
I knows I've done you wrong;
Member that rainy eve that I drove you out,
With nothing but a fine tooth comb?
I know I'se to blame; well ain't that a shame?
LTB won't you please come home? ]

Shit this is getting boring...

So I'm sitting in a casino in Reno. And I'm losing my ass off. I thought for sure I'd find Lipton by now. First, I tried New Orleans. I thought it was the closest place where I might find him. Damn it all for America allowing too many casinos. There are riverboats. There are Indian reservations. Too many places where a good man can hide.

Reno is just a stopping spot, on my way to Vegas. That drunken bum has to be somewhere.

At first I loved my new gig. An unlimited supply of money. Hell, my first night in Nawleens I tried to see if I could lose more money gambling than my new friends had available as a re-supply. Nope. Three times I needed more, three times I just walked around looking lost, and some different dude came up surreptitiously and asked me if i needed more. Yup I replied, and each time I got a new stack. Nice.

But losing money, even if it is somebody Else's' money, and drinking copious amounts of alcohol, gets old. Believe it. Always in the back of my mind was "Where is the Big Guy?" We miss him. This blog ain't the same without him. His "wife" misses him, whoever he is. And besides, she's paying me a hefty sum on the side to find his sorry ass. She just mumbles something about "I get that sorry bass tard if me get chance!" Dunno what her beef is but she pays well.

I looked down at pocket aces. I grimaced and just cold called a 3x raise from the under the gun guy. He was not a local, probably just some Internet wannabe poker player. I had been sitting here for two hours just checking out the place, hoping HE might come in. The guy to my left re-raised, a pot sized raise. I did not get too excited. Too many tight players, all waiting to bust some tooorist. To my surprise the original raiser pushed all in. He only had a couple hundred, unfortunately. I gave a look as though my heartburn was acting up. I feigned mucking my cards, while surreptitiously glancing at the original raiser's direction. Reluctantly, I hoped I was acting, I just called.

Dude to my left re-raised all in. He had almost a grand. Now, I got an instant erection. "Call" I said, with no hint of gastronomical distress. I turned over my aces instantly, and heard his groan--I'd know the groan of pocket kings anywhere. The other guy stood up to leave. He didn't show, either. The flop was non-descript, no paint. Turn and river equally good for me, and my pocket rockets got paid off. I took all the chips, got up and went to the cashier, hoping my new friends had noticed my losses but not my wins, secretly wondering to myself..." Where is that asshole LTB? We miss him."

I cursed myself for not finding him, and vowed to redouble my efforts to find lard ass.

To be continued...

John Doe...

Once I got my wits about me...

I started thinking. I am, after all, a lawyer by trade. Or profession as all those phonies out there like to think of themselves, with the pompous "Esquire" after all their names. Even the women. Think about it: "Jane B. Doe, Esquire." I always thought of Esquire as being a gentleman. Many of the female lawyers with whom I have had the displeasure of meeting are certainly not gentlewomen. But I digress.

Before I got out of the black S.U.V. with the darkly tinted windows, I asked a few questions. "Ummm, how am I to afford this attempt to find Lipton T. Bagg?" [Or whatever the hell his name is?] That earned a scowl, but I learned that Uncle Sam would foot my entire bill. "My entire billlllllll?" "Yup." Daaaaaayaaaaammmmm.

"My F-150 has over 200,000 miles, and most of the gaskets leak fluid."

"We'll get you a car." Music to my ears.

"I may have to break a few laws to find him..."

"You have a 'get out of jail FREE' card from us!"

I hope he did not see the corner of my lip curl up just a bit when I heard that.

"I'll need some cash."

He didn't flinch. He reached into his coat pocket and took out a stack of hundies. I acted as though it was no big deal and took the stack and stuffed it awkwardly into my hip pocket.

"One more thing. Stay off my trail. To find him, I have to be left alone."

That did not set too well. These alpha males did not appear to be the types to want to let me have free reign during my search for LTB. But I am not dumb. I was holding all the cards. Or at least these bozos thought that I was. They all nodded in agreement.

"Ugh, one last, stupid question..."

"What!?" This time it was the driver, whom I had never heard utter a word before.

Nonplussed, I replied: "Does Lipton get the same considerations that I get?" I saw that my question was not understood. "Does he get an unlimited supply of money when he is performing his special tasks for America?"

I swear they all looked at me as if I were a fucking imbecile. I took that as a yes.

So the first thing that I did once they were gone, I got on my bug-infested lap top and Map-quested the distance to certain locations from the location of the dive where Lipton had been seen. "This is gonna be easy" I thought to myself. Can you tell where this is going?

HOLD YOUR BREATH IN ANTICIPATION! MORE IS COMING!!!

John "I'm a Secret Agent Now" Doe

So imagine my surprise...

I got back home from searching for Lipton T. Bagg, or whatever the hell his name is. How about "Captain America?" He gets to go on drunken binges and then save America. I want me some of that.

I had about patched things up with my wife, and with my irate clients, all of whom felt severely neglected while I was off on a lark and a frolic trying to save my good friend whom I had never met.

The phone was hopping with clients and lawyers and a judge's secretary and a Federal District Court Clerk, all who had their noses out of joint that I had not returned their calls while I had been indisposed. Into this hectic madness came a knock on the door. I should never have opened the door.

It was them. I knew the drill. I followed what's his name into the black S.U.V. with darkly tinted windows. Same crowd in the car. None looked too happy.

"WHY THE FUCK DID YOU SPILL THE BEANS ABOUT LIPTON T. BAGG ON HIS BLOG!!? Don't you know all our nations enemies monitor that site!!?? They know Lipton is the baddest, most able, most cunning and most willing anti-communist, anti-terrorist, anti-anti anything agent in America? They are always trying but failing to find more info on the guy. Until now, they did not even know for sure that that picture of him was really him. They assumed it was just some hawt male underwear model pasted up there to fool them. DAMN!" He slowly ran out of steam and sputtered a few more profanities.

Sometimes not saying nothin is the best policy. I shrugged and looked away.

"Now, you owe us. You owe America. You owe over 250,000,000,000 Americans."

I looked up in surprise. He saw my crinkled brow and puzzled look, and he did not appear pleased. Come on, I'm not a fucking mind reader. Give me a break my next look said.

"You blew his cover. He's gone deep under. We think he is on the bender of all benders, the Lipton T. Bagg Speciallll, super duper deluxe, never before seen and hopefully never again duplicated Lipton T. Bagg is hiding out somewhere getting drunk on his ass and failing to even make contact with us, let alone with his wonderful, world famous--infamous?--blog known as "Viewed from the Right."

I saw his point. It was all my fault. Lipton would have probably saved the world, but I had screwed up and found him when he wasn't supposed to be found, and then I had blabbed about it here. What a fool I was. America probably hates me, or would if they knew what a mess I had made of American foreign policy.

I almost cried. What could I do to make up for my mistake? They had me, like putty in their hands.

"Find him for us. You did it once before. Maybe you can do it again. You think like a drunk. You seem to be inside his head."

"I'll do what I can." I pursed my lips, gritted my teeth, thrust out my jaw, and was determined to make up for my past mistakes. I could almost hear the National Anthem as my heart beat faster.

To Be Continued...

John Doe