Great, keep it in the ground. It’ll make us go nuclear electric that much faster, and it’ll make Brazil get their off-shore stuff flowing, and it’ll make NoDak Texas, Jr. Then what, Saudis? You gonna feed that oil to your grandkids?

Hoarding is the New Black. That never works unless you’re DeBeers selling diamonds, notably a non-fungible commodity, to housewives.

Via John Robb, who is an enormous Peak Oil shill. Clearly, we disagree (I say that as if he even knows who I am. )

The Crypt’s Blog - Politico.com

Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid (D-Nev.) said Thursday that he may have to push undecided superdelegates to make their decisions in the Democratic presidential race, if the contest stretches into June.

Reid said he would consider writing a joint letter with Democratic National Committee Chairman Howard Dean and House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) demanding that superdelegates make their endorsements public.

“The three of us, we may write a joint letter [to superdelegates],” said Reid. “We might do individual letters. We are in contact with each other.”

Reid’s comments suggest that the party’s top three officials are contemplating a high-level intervention if the primary season concludes in June without a nominee and many superdelegates still undecided.

I love that — a ‘high-level intervention.’ Because it is well and truly an addiction of Our Progressive Betters, an addiction to pandering, sexist, racist identity politics. Personally, as an amateur watcher of politics, I’m loving the heck out of this clown show. “We may do this, we may do that, we may do nothing,” says Dingy Harry. That national-level party hack Supreme Commmanders are this discombobulated is laughable.

As far as superdelegates, why would those Triple-AAA party hacks give up their spot in the limelight any earlier than they have to? And only a pinkish party would have named Delegates-Better-Than-Other-Delegates who took this long to figure out their unique levers of power. Tons of fun for the fans of smoky back rooms and bags of cash, a la Used Cars.

I ain’t never going to listen to no Ashlee Simpson.

Clicky the piccy and you get to hear Mr. Ryan Bingham doing South Side of Heaven, not a painted-up talent-free Richardson tart run through voiceFX software.

In the morning mail (yesterday morning, but I’m trying to catch up):

“We in Denmark cannot figure out why you are even bothering to hold an election.

On one side, you have a bitch who is a lawyer, married to a lawyer, or a lawyer who is married to a bitch who is a lawyer.

On the other side, you have a true war hero married to a woman with a huge chest who owns a beer distributorship.

Where is the contest? Is there any question who should win?”

A votre sante, Salud, Skaal and Cheers,

Your friends from Denmark

An MSNBC relationship columnist explains the key to domestic bliss is treating your husband like a misbehaving child in need of a scolding.

What I find humorous about this is not all of the psychologists and random ladies bloviating, it’s that this shit has been going for thousands of years. Yet, somehow, men and ladies still get married and produce families, yet nobody ever learns a goddamned thing — nobody.

I’m almost 50 years old, and I still don’t care, not even if that Scarlett chick with the boobs was bitching at me (even in a nice satin purple boustier and fishnet stockings), that I ain’t good enough. I’ll scrub the toilet when it starts grossing me out, and not before. Furthermore, we expect all the squawking at any level of engagement beyond a cocktail, and we’ve learned to tune it right out, I’m guessing for most men, right around sixth grade. It’s why God invented table saws & garages & cigars. Go scrub till your OCD is quieted - I’ll be here making woooden ashtrays and shit, and drinking beer. Because I don’t care. But we still love you, regardless of the fact that you can’t accept that the human race spent 99% of our existence in rock caves with dirt floors and ate some pretty rancid stuff most all of the time and somehow we made it this far.