FYI: if you registered to vote at a voter registration drive, you'd better check to make sure you were really registered :

Voter Registrations Possibly Trashed:

Employees of a private voter registration company allege that hundreds, perhaps thousands of voters who may think they are registered will be rudely surprised on election day. The company claims hundreds of registration forms were thrown in the trash.

Anyone who has recently registered or re-registered to vote outside a mall or grocery store or even government building may be affected.

...

Two former workers say they personally witnessed company supervisors rip up and trash registration forms signed by Democrats.

"We caught her taking Democrats out of my pile, handed them to her assistant and he ripped them up right in front of us. I grabbed some of them out of the garbage and she tells her assisatnt to get those from me," said Eric Russell, former Voters Outreach employee.

American RadioWorks has an excerpt from a phone conversation where President Johnson is trying to order some pants:

Aug. 9, 1964

LBJ: Now the pockets, when you sit down, everything falls out, your money, your knife, everything, so I need at least another inch in the pockets. And another thing - the crotch, down where your nuts hang - is always a little too tight, so when you make them up, give me an inch that I can let out there, uh because they cut me, it's just like riding a wire fence. These are almost, these are the best I've had anywhere in the United States,

JH: Fine

LBJ: But, uh when I gain a little weight they cut me under there. So, leave me , you never do have much of margin there. See if you can't leave me an inch from where the zipper (burps) ends, round, under my, back to my bunghole, so I can let it out there if I need to.

"The Fanatic is a man that does what he thinks the Lord would do if only He knew the facts in the case.'

-- Finley Peter Dunne

This man could be our next president.

Scot from Izzle pfaff! shares the highlights from last week's debate (which he didn't watch):

Lehrer: Mr. President, you've maintained that the war in Iraq was justified for reasons having to do with--

Bush: [makes human beatbox noises while inexpertly poppin' and lockin']

Lehrer: Mr. President?

Bush: Shut up a second. I'm courtin' black votes as we speak.

Lehrer: This is not what--

Bush: [blinks eyes rapidly] Goddamn if that Grandmaster Flash doesn't give me the fuckin' twirls! I gotta play this for Dick. He'll shit his livin' heart!

[Kerry looks despondent for a moment, and then attempts to flash a Crip sign, but hurts his back. As he writhes for a moment, Bush mouths the word "fag" to the camera while pointing at the incapacitated Kerry.]

And, of course...

Lehrer: Finally, gentlemen, could we have your final statements?

Bush: I'm a scion of one of America's most fabulously corrupt families. If you don't vote for me, we'll track your ass down and stick funny needles in you until you piss fear. Don't fuck with me. Thank you, and God bless America.

Kerry: I married some lunatic Portuguese ketchup broad, which, honestly, still cracks me up. But to get the the heart of the matter, here is what counts:

[Kerry abrupbtly moves from behind his podium and casually unzips his pants to reveal an astounding set of testicles, which resemble two golf balls contained in a loose sack of dull, gray fur.]

Bush: [Off camera] Hey, no fair!

Marlon Brando's friends and family are reportedly objecting to rumors that the late actor was reclusive and destitute at the end of his life, saying he liked to go out and that his estate is valued at somewhere around $22 million. But at a gathering of people close to Brando a few days after his death in July, Ed Bedgley Jr. shared a story that either raises questions about Brando's grip on reality or proves he had one heckova deadpan sense of humor: Begley recalled how Brando at one point summoned him to his estate on an urgent matter -- a plan to acquire thousands of electric eels. "'We're going to run the house on the eels,'" he said Brando told him. And when Begley pooh-poohed the plan, Brando muttered, "'Everything's no with you.'" Says Begley, "I don't know if he was kidding. To the day he died he never let on."

Salon.com

FYI, The New Yorker has a good article on Gillian Welch.

Mrs. Cleek and I saw her a few months ago in Durham, NC. It was a great show. Her partner, David Rawlings, is a fearless guitar player. He'll do fills and runs in places where you don't think there's any room; and you can't imagine he'll be able to get back to the song in time for the next beat - but he always does. And he does it without sounding busy or flashy. It all just works. She's a totally flash-free performer, but the sound they together make more than makes up for her lack of theatrics.

Via Road to Surfdom via TBogg