Bush is out stumping....

for a constitutional amendment defining marriage as between a man and a woman, only.

The national debt? The slaughter in Irag? The torture question? The domestic spying issue? Posh and piffle. What really matters to this administration is who is allowed to get married.

A quote from Reuters today:

"Several religious leaders joined Allard on Monday to argue that the ban is needed to counteract an array of social ills, from rising divorce rates to out-of-wedlock births."

These assholes don't even make sense and we're supposed to amend the U.S. Constitution on their say so.

It's the same old GOP story. Guns, bullets, bombs and war they're OK with. Anything sexual causes their brains to freeze up.

The Christian Right is neither.


QUOTE OF THE DAY:

If you're going through hell, keep going. - Winston Churchill


MEXICO (as I see it):

Not one Mexican driver in ten thousand would agree that 'topes' (speed bumps)are a positive force in curtailing what would, otherwise, be total mayhem on city streets.

Mexicans resent 'topes' because they are fool-proof. Other than jumping the curb or driving on the sidewalk, which many drivers try, a properly installed 'tope' cannot be gotten around. One must slow down or risk tearing out the oil pan of one's car.

The 'tope', then, represents effective control; no loop-holes, no pay-offs and no amount of conniving makes a 'tope' go away, it must be paid attention to. It is this kind of regulatory action that Mexicans would rather eat a bug than submit to.


THE SERIAL Her Viking:

We left off here:

Nonetheless, the Widow Mora was ecstatic that he was here so close that, with the binocular's help, she could almost touch him
with her tongue.

A shiver ran through her being whenever she thought of such things. In these past several days the widow's body had been sending signals she had not felt since before she was married. At times, her inner thighs tingled with an electric sensation that demanded all her strength to keep from touching herself.

With her Viking so near the Widow Mora was able to study his body
more thoroughly.

Each time he emerged from the salty water his T-shirt and swimming trunks clung to his body allowing her to see the outline of his chest and rib cage. At times, she could even see on which side of the khaki shorts his penis lay.

Occasionally, her Viking would take off his wet T-shirt to wring it out and the widow then pressed the binoculars hard against her face.

Her dreams were becoming more direct than ever before. 'Does he sleep on his back or his side? sheasked herself. 'Does he snore? I wouldn't mind,' she thought, reassuringly. 'How nice it would be to hear him breathing so close to me. Would he prefer to sleep
untouched or intertwined? Which side of the bed would he like?' These things and many others tantalized the Widow Mora. All of this served to make sleeping through the sticky, tropical nights even more difficult.

The unforgettable morning dawned in a rosy glow and promised a beautiful September day. The sky was so blue that the widow could not look into it without shielding her eyes. On the horizon a stupendous line of cumulus clouds, whiter than bleached muslin, were joining forces to present an afternoon shower.

The Widow Mora had been by her window for more than an hour before her Viking was due. Her hair was already combed, and pulled back tightly, in the classical Spanish style, and fastened with an iridescent hair comb made from mother-of-pearl. She had briskly washed her face until her skin shown almost pink; smoothed on lotion and dabbed her lips very lightly with lipstick.

For some time now the widow had not come to the bedroom window dressed in her cotton sleep wear. Instead she had been having Cee Cee lay out a freshly ironed skirt and blouse each night before retiring. This morning, the Widow Mora was wearing a traditional Mexican white cotton blouse with a macrame-like piping along the
neckline and a long, cotton skirt, ringed with stripes of three different shades of blue. While she waited for his arrival, and her coffee, the widow began painting her nails which, after much attention, were finally taking shape.

continued...