DC shenanigans in Boston

Called David Diamond, Friend to Woodland Creatures, last night during Alexandra Kerry's speech. At that moment, he related, in Boston, his lovely wife and Deceiver nominee for Hill Hottie, Heather, was trapped in a hallway at the DNC, the Fleet Center, having been put on pre-Kerry lockdown. Meanwhile, Dave's aunt, who Heather had managed to get into the convention, was left all by herself. Knowing nobody, she was mistaken for a member of the press, and was hustled off down behind the bandstand, where she was given an advance copy of Kerry's speech!

It just goes to show that somebody else's aunt is always having a better time than you.

In other DNC-related/Hill Hottie synergy, The Deceiver caught the forgotten hottie, Mary Landrieu, slicing and dicing Tucker Carlson on CNN like he was Moo Shu. Lucky Tucker!

The DC-Metro Respected Indigenous Tribesmen of Pre-Colonial America, a preseason report.

Travis Mills, who, at The Diner, squeezes pure writerly mojo out of all of us by gently massaging our weatherbeaten teats until the sweet milk of snark pools into lap-worthy puddles, may live in New York City--where the opening of a Target in Brooklyn is a reasonable cause for inflicting embarrassing celebrity behavior upon Page Six--but he's a DC'er, born and bred, and he loves his Washington Redskins.  So we bring you his pre-pre-season musings, because he's the chronic.
 

Top ten things to look at in training camp and the coming season:

1) Brunell v. Ramsey--hopefully this is as friendly and uncontroversial as a quarterback competition can get. They can both learn a great deal from Gibbs, but more importantly, Brunell, who hasn't had the wear and tear of a full season on him for a while, should have every opportunity to start without guilt, team spite or media scrutiny. He should be fresh and invigorated and ready to pop. Patrick will get his chance, probably this year, as things go, so his chin better be up, his attitude flush and his ears and eyes wide open.

[DCVR: Yeah, we've always loved Brunell, but why you gotta mess with the kid, Joe?  That's all we wonder.  The kid played on a broken foot with an offensive line that provided the protection of a cheap screen door.  Why you gotta mess with the kid?]

2) Please tell us it was the schemes--Spurrier seemed to take pride in his lack of blocking schemes to protect QBs and easy to read running plays that netted shite. But until we see Bugel's Dirty Dawgs (or whatever they're calling themselves) in action and Brunell upright with time to throw, we won't know if our fabled all star OL is just lip service paper tigers or real deal Hog material.

[DCVR: Trav.  It was the schemes, dog.]

3) Five wide outs--The addition of James Thrash added another element to an already crowded stovetop. Coles is a lock, McCants a wildcard. Taylor Jacobs has yet to prove himself. Gardener is our supposed #2, but he's the most invisible WR in the league right now. Cliff Russell will probably never be able to prove his mach 2 mettle for us. The question is can all five contribute to a team whose first priority will be to run? It's a good problem to have, but it can cause strain down the road. Luckily, you can call all these guys Redskins and mean it.

4) Brandon Noble--after last year's gruesome, near-career ending preseason injury, no one in their right mind would expect him back this year. Law of averages says he actually won't be despite the hype, but a miraculous recovery and tireless work ethic already has him rarin' to go for training camp. Problem is, we need him. If we rely on that need, and he goes down again, we're screwed in the middle. Looks like this is what we're doing. All together now: Pray.

[DCVR: Joe Gibbs is my shepherd...I shall not want...he leadeth me to the stadium of Superbowls...he maketh me lie down in Canton, Ohio...and, yea, though I may walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Peter Angelos, I shall fear no Tuna...]

5) The rest of the DL. With no discernable pass rush on the line, many in the league are scratching their heads wondering why we didn't pursue this position more fervently in the offseason. DCo Williams must have something interesting up his sleeve, putting Lavar and Washington at DE occasionally going with a shifty 3-4 and attacking with his deep LB corps. It'll be fun to watch, or painful. Either way, we'll be hearing about it from Mr. Arrington by game 4.

6) Gas in the tank--Gibbs' coaching style is legendary, not just in DC, but all over the universe. But he's had about twelve hours of sleep since February. Can he keep it up? If Dan Snyder weren't cashing their checks, 75% of the other coaches would be on Social Security. I have no doubt they have the goods to coach in today?s NFL. I just wonder if they can sustain the drive they've started for a full season. Is this ageism or a legitimate concern?

[DCVR: Think McKeon.  Think Larry Brown.  Think of that stack o' bills with Gibbs' name on it if he comes through.  We gotta start means-testing social security, after all.]

7) The Rise of the NFC East and the hype that goes with it--Suddenly we're the talk of the league--all roads lead to us and one of us is going to be in Jacksonville in early Feb. Ours is a new team, a young team, a team in name only, since 1/3 of them are newbies and most of the rest haven't been together for more than 2 years tops. Does Gibbs' all-encompassing coaching style also have brainwashing techniques for not believing the hype? The only thing that proves anything is winning (and in the case of teams like KC and Tennessee last year, even that doesn't mean everything) Youngsters and loners are prone to play blame games and take plays off. If there's one variable this year, it's chemistry = wins = modesty = championship.

8) How exposed are we at secondary now--I have no doubt that the Skins came out better on the trade to Denver for Portis--Champ was on his way out anyway. But even after adding Shawn Springs and Sean Taylor, will we still have the reputation for a dominant secondary or are Smoot's and Springs' weaknesses for the burn going to show. Springs can make huge headway just by staying healthy all camp, but Smoot, in a contract year, has to prove he's numero uno material.

9) Fed Ex--the place has become as quiet as an old folks home--a haven for opposing teams--fans and pipsqueak fair-weather brie and merlot deal makers. It doesn't matter how many seats Snyder pulls out of thin air, to make the new stadium the largest in the game, it matters which butts are in those seats. The place has to rock. Skins fans have to show their colors like they did when the place was called RFK and there were 40,000 fewer seats. When Dallas has the ball on that Monday night, you need to be able to hear that mug in Vienna.

[DCVR: FedEx, from what I gather, is the blowingest, suckingest stadium ever built, besides the fucking Kingdome.]

10) CP--is he the real deal? His blocking in Denver was so good, Marlon Brando could have gained a thousand yards. So now we find out if it was the man or the line. Gibbs will have to temper his usage of his new toy too--sub in the Rock or Betts to spell Portis - otherwise he could run down like he did in Mile High and that ain't good for nobody.

Aw, yeah, Trav.  Hella astute.  One thing more, though.  Will we have more Elizabeth Hasselbeck sightings this year?  Because that's the only reason I watched last year.

Highlights from Hill Hotties

What fun! The Deceiver was directed to The Hill today, whereupon we found their annual edition of the 50 Most Beautiful People on Capitol Hill. Please feel free to use the term beautiful loosely--at least as loose as the boys and girls pictured therein.

Right away, we have comments. For starters, we have to offer big ups to Representatives Ginny Brown-Waite (R-Fla) and Dennis Cardoza (D-Calif) for hittin' the deuce. Both Reps got two staffers each on the list. Brown-Waite scored with Kristina Moore and Pete Meachum. And Cardoza's apparently stashing a squadron of lovelies in his office, if Julia Gonzalez and Ann Cannon are any indication.

Many actual elected officials got listed, no doubt to the thrill of their constituents. John Edwards is in the mix, as is Mary Bono, Representative Chris "Count" Chocola, Representative Mark "Who Dall?" Udall, Senator Maria Cantwell (we agree, but The Hill uses a bad picture), Representative Ron "Cruel Only To Be" Kind, and the others listed below. A fine group of positively swervey public servey. But we feel there's a glaring omission: Senator Mary Landrieu of Louisiana, for whom The Deceiver has always carried a torch.

For that matter, we personally think Senator ___________________'s lawyer and close personal friend of The Deceiver Heather, whose last name bespeaks an Elizabeth Taylor elegance, belongs on the list. And who could say no to The Diner's own Shayna--summering at Labor--though her curious desire to never be photographed may have hurt her chances. Trust us, though, Shayna's an attractive gal, more than capable of bringing you to, ummm...cloture.

Does the Deceiver have highlights? Oh, my, yes. But if you want to check out the full list and take down some names and descriptions of people who you'll try to shag this weekend at the Hawk and Dove, visit The Hill's own website here, here, here, here, and, finally, here. But be warned, The Hill has a shitty, shitty website.

Representative Stefanie Herseth, D-SD

Herseth is aesthetic proof of why we need more special elections.

Stephanie Herseth, public servant and hottie, might remain unknown to the larger world were it not for the twist of fate that propelled reckless drivin' Republican Bill Jankow out of office and her into it. Herseth is cute and cunning--an Emily's Lister who's already the go-to gal for Dems looking for the trendy dance partner. We hope she stays in town for a long time.

Emily Cochran, Senate HELP Committee

[insert sound of The Deceiver panting...]

But, for our money, The Deceiver loves Emily Cochran the mostest. Clock that face...equal parts smart-ass and I-take-shit-from-no-one. Very Mary Louise Parker-y. Can and will teach you something you didn't already know. Will cut you in the heart if you get out of line. Wow.

Senators Chuck Hagel, R-Neb, and Evan Bayh, D-Ind.

Hagel and Bayh, looking as if they'd be right at home at one of Pennsylvania Ave's fine bathhouses.

You have to get misty eyed at the easy way longtime life partners Hagel and Bayh get on with each other--holding hands, finishing each other's sentences. This bipartisan couple are the Carville-Matalin of the Bravo Network set.

Jonathan Gallery, Capitol Hill Police

So damn fuckable...and the peace officer's not bad either.

This is why Hollywood's got us dead to rights when it comes to the beautiful people. In L.A., Jake Gyllenhaal doesn't even make the Third Team All-Hottie. In D.C., you've got to go looking to the local mounted constabulary to fill out a list of fifty! Than again, whenever I say "mounted constabulary", I get a big hard-on.

Katy Carver, Sen. Blanche Lincoln, D-Ark

Katy Carver: hottie, but trying a little too hard.

Katy Carver. She's sexy, she's demure. She's always found by some reflecting pool, strategically placed for the camera eye.

Laurent Crenshaw, Rep. Roy Blunt, R-Mo

When I was told I'd be representing Blunt, this isn't what I had in mind.

When you look this good, it's okay to be one of the four or five African-Americans voting for Bush.

Pete Meachum, Rep Ginny Brown-Waite, R-Fla

Rockin' the powerless tie.

Ghastly fuckin' neckwear, dude. Did you do wardrobe for Bush's last press conference?

Vince Morris, New York Post

Thass right. New York Post, bitch. Step off or get beat down!

So cocksure, it's almost possible to forget that this guy was probably the dimwit who called up the editors of the NYP and said: "Stop the presses! It's Gephardt!"

Ann Cannon, Rep. Dennis Cardoza, D-Calif

Yes...there are many like me in our district...join us...

Caitlin Horton, House Ways and Means Committee

I have only one hair that refuses to obey.

Senator John Edwards, D-NC

John Edwards, President? This is Heather White-Diamond's most fervent and shameless dream.

Jared Page, Rep. Nick Smith, R-Mich

I have worked for years to wrench this pole up my ass, at last it's paying off.

If you are playing along at home, what's pictured above is the textbook definition of a "shit-eating grin."

John Ullyot, Sen. John Warner, R-Vir.

Sir...my laser guided chin is pointed right at Daschle...

Everyone in the Senate Armed Services Committee knows to fear Senator Warner's fission-powered, missile launching man-bot, John Ullyot.

Laura Blackman, Rep. John Doolittle, R-Calif

Congratulations, Laura. I will, indeed, be jacking off to you v.v. soon.

Jessica Cutler's not the only one in DC supplementing that $25K pittance with a little of the ol' in-out, in-out!

Shane Schaeffer, House Sergeant-At-Arms Office

Not even light can escape the gravitational pull of my divot.

That cleft in his chin may not mean anything to us, but it means something very real to the boys at Velvet Nation.

Carling Dinkler, Rep. Chris John, D-La

At least make a fucking effort, you dork with a fake sounding name!

Proof positive that there are shifting standards in DC when it comes to qualities like "beautiful" and "most."

Clarifications

A coworker just departed on a mission to meet with the deep-pocketed members of a well-known advocacy group for people nearing their timely deaths.  Our CEO encouraged much sucking-up by saying: "I want to hear a giant sucking sound from across town!"
 
Silly rabbit.  The giant sucking sound from across town is the House Judiciary Committee!

Weekender

Had an occasion to pow-wow with some of my fave insiders in the theatre community this weekend.  The view from here is: My!  What pessimism!  Tales of woe, betrayal, let downs and the dark days of theatre closings.  Friends turning on friends.  Ominous signs and portents.  The feeling that if we only had the guts and weren't all totally afraid for our careers that we'd all point at one Nameless Yet Beloved Theatrical Practitioner and say to him or her that he or she should be ridden out of town on a rail!  Generally, we agreed that for the first time in a long time, the bad vibery and downcast attitude is more prevalent that any countervailing spirit of possibility or optimism.  And, The Deceiver's own dark prediction is that at least one more high profile company will be dead and gone by this time next year.
 
I'll have the opportunity to kibbutz with a second group of DC stage types this weekend--will endeavor to find out what the mood is like from their end.
 
The good news is that we also decided the following things:

1. I will attend a wedding in the Poconos this September
2. I will wear a kilt at that wedding
3. It shall be an Urban Kilt
4. I shall strongarm Virginia state legislators by dangling them off tall buildings by their ankles, Suge Knight style
5. Actor's Equity can be manipulated so long as the promise of filthy lucre are on, near, or around the table.
6. It's not how much you drink.  It's what your body does with it that counts.

Deconstructing Craigslist

The lovely Wonkette points us to one of those breathless "Rants and Raves" for which the Craigslist community is occasionally noted, this one from a hopefully-temporary DC resident who apparently doesn't deign to put our, uhhh, Washington "Redskins" into her...errrr..."Federal Triangle" for fear of experiencing some...ahhh..."Rayburn Senate Office Building?"

What's her fucking damage? Let's deconstruct.

I've lived in the district for about three years. Never got a boyfriend here, and never will. The only "play" I ever got was when I went out of town to Philly, Boston, or even New York.

So, we're supposed to take abuse from someone who brags that they "even" managed to "get play" in New York? Sweetie, there's like 8 million people in New York. One of thems bound to want to tap your jank ass! If you wanted to take a shit in public you could sell out Madison Square Garden!

It's not that I'm unattractive. I'm tall and thin, even by CL's standards. I'm freqeuntly told I could model. I dress nicely and turn heads wherever I go.

Yeah. If you really want a crowded room to get silent, mention that you've met someone who's attractive "by Craigslist standards". Perhaps when people tell you that you should model, they are saying you are grey and gelatinous, like unformed clay. You know, clay that a skilled artisan should, you know, model with? Please be sure, I'm not advocating that you be stuck in a kiln. Not yet, anyway.

...I'm not high maintence...

Yeah. Just another easygoing little kitten who airs her grievances on Craigslist. Sounds pretty lo mein to me.

I'm also not desperate. I will never fuck any of you shrimpy dorks that make up this city. Do you guys realize how appallingly ugly you are? And how pathetic it is that any of you think you have a chance with me? I might see one decently attractive guy a week, but he would barely register in Pittsburg or Boston. And any guy that looks like that here is always taken!

Again...totally un-desperately whining on Craigslist about the guys you won't have sex with! Putting two and two and two together and coming up with your central mental issue, it occurs to me that calling out "shrimpy dorks" for their "patheticness" and then admitting that the guys you are into are "always taken" sounds clinically to me like you are sort of reflecting your own insecurities onto others. I'd scold you further for that utterly below-the-belt comparison to Pittsburgh (Pittsburgh! Ye Gods!) but seeing as I am already taken, I wouldn't want to hurt someone already too pathetic to have a chance with me.

But this week I learned I'm moving to Chicago. If you've ever been there you know that there are five men for every woman, and they are all 6'4 and good looking. Relief, finally!

Ummm. Well, enjoy this Chicago you describe, though you really ought to read some old Royko columns to get a feel for what you are getting into.

I'm sure the Men of Chicago--known worldwide for docilely putting up with whiny drama queens who feel like it's a fucking honor to tap their cooze--cannot wait for your arrival. Enjoy the pizza--it will be a comfort on your numerous lonely nights.

More solutions for Metro

UPDATE! 

Last week, we reported on Metro's latest budget shortfall projections and the institutional unwillingness to subject riders to their third rate increase in the past two years.

The DCeiver's first and best buddy Tom Murphy writes:

Ok, here's the deal: Yes, sell Farragut West. Then get the slots in the
Metro Stations. Fuck NY Ave. If I'm going to have to sit still for 14
minutes on a Saturday night, I might as well lose $50 while I'm at it.
I sure ain't carrying a book around all night.

We couldn't agree more! Given that catching a train in a timely fashion is DC's single most competitive game of chance, it seems only natural to heighten that atmosphere in an attempt to raise additional money. Slots, cocktails, maybe a couple of OTB installations...it makes especially good sense when you consider all the time spent on the weekend nights inside the Metro Stations, waiting for inbound trains to Dupont and U Street and the like...mostly filled with drunk, affluent kids from the burbs. Metro should take a piece of THEM, too.

I further sympathize with you with regards to carrying around books. The Deceiver is fucking neurotic about being bored, and to that end, I carry around a small library with me because I know I'm going to get hung up on the Metro at some point. One time, I was coming up to Capitol South to go to Lena O'Rourke's Xmas party (and judging by the size of it, traditionally, I'd guess all DC/Arlington/Alex residents are within three degrees of separation to someone whose attended) and I was worried about being bored. So I brought a book. A lively, holiday oriented book called We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will be Killed With Our Families--because nothing says "HOLIDAY FUN" more than the Rwandan genocide! You better believe it was great being known as The Guy Who Brings The Human Tragedy Book To The Christmas Party.

Thanks for writing in! Please feel free to do so again and again!

The stars come out...er...poor choice of terms, actually. (No "stars" and no one "came out"--except maybe one of them...)

In an attempt to make their best case for banning gay marriage--in spite of the fact that it would only mean a gigantic increase in capital for the $70bil/year marriage industry, the GOP trotted out the big names in Republican celebrity. And if you know the typical star wattage the GOP gets, well, it's just enough for Bush to read his pet goat storybook. Better to light one candle than curse the darkness, I suppose.

Now, one of the "stars" on hand was former Redskins stand-out Darrell Green--who, we must admit, we love. We love his soft, womanly hands. We love the speed with which he penetrates the opposing offense. We love the way he intercepts the rock. We love the way he is so firm when he's in the huddle. In short, we love having butt-sex with him. Moreso than Ifeanyi Ohalete.

Now, another one of the celebs the GOP dragged into town from Branson, Missouri was Pat Boone. Now look at this picture, and tell me...is this the look of the straight male standards bearer?


Yes, this is THE man to defend hetero marriage. 

Shit! He looks like the Grand Marshall of the Cork County Ulsterman's Bathhouse and Chowder Society, for God's sake? Look at Santorum! Even he's getting wood!

Here's something uncanny, though. Is it just me, or is Pat Boone, in essence, the Gay Tom Daschle?


Daschle: A more butch Boone? 

Personally, the resmeblance is UNCANNY.

At any rate, the Constitutional measure banning gay marriage failed embarrassingly...leaving it to the sweaty, pent-up House of Representatives to advance the ball.

As Wonkette might say, we now return to your regularly scheduled ass-fucking.

I'm losing it here...

As you may know, The Deceiver keeps paper and pen on hand at all times, so as best to record information and inspiration as it happens. I just spent an inordinate amount of time pondering the following notation in my notebook:

CARE: VIDC Amer
AMY: VICoD
LEN: none
ME: VMF-wc

What the hell was this? Why didn't I remember what the hell this was? What discussion did I have with Care, Amy and Len, and what were the cryptic notation? Why was Len "none"? It didn't make any sense. Especially because I knew for a fact that my notebook was never opened in the presence of any vodka martinis.

At last, I figured it out. What I thought was important shorthand for a story was actually our Saturday morning coffee order. Ye Gods.

The Weekender

The Deceiver spent the weekend outside...way outside...waaaaaaay outside the Beltway in Leesburg, Va. at the wedding of our good friends from Los Angeles, returning both Friday and Saturday nights to our palatial domcile in Arlington.

The trips were well worth it: the wedding was lovely, bride and groom a glow from the radiance that comes of knowing that no one, not even God, can protest their shacking up, now. Not that it matters in Los Angeles.

Along the way, we learned the finer points of dining out on endangered species in Ulaan Bator*, practiced our hipsterishness by effortlessly working Kanye West references into conversation, and failing to succeed in a mission to dry-hump The Bride of Deceiver on the dance floor (dude, seriously, her father was standing right there! Awkward!)

The Deceiver was hit upon by a comely lass in a black cotton sheath whose opening gambit was to show me three of the disposable cameras and inform me that she snapped every picture on each one of them. Oh? You mean you are off-puttingly obsessive-compulsive in addition to being an intoxicated slut? Let's hit the elevator! (She was last seen rolling on and off a piano, comparing gin blossoms with an equally desperate beau-teau.)

During the two nights of wedding gaiety (all weddings, we've concluded, are a little bit endearingly homosexual), we sampled the fine cuisine at the lovely Tuscarora Mills and the even better Lightfoot Restaurant. The Lightfoot is fantastic--come for the rustic cuisine and fantastic art deco design, stay for that inevitably overheard remark, from one diner to his date: "Come on, I'm gonna walk your drunk ass to the car!"

And I must say, the canapes at the Lightfoot are like crack. So much so that I have placed one of their cater-waiters in the trunk of my Miata with a platter of their crab cake puffs. She says I have her in there "against her will." I say it's all semantics.



*Talk about weak, the only thing we could really manage during the conversation on Ulaan Bator was that UB is a go-to clue for the stuck crossword author, like "epee" or "olio." Not to worry, commemorative "Stump The Deceiver" certificates have already been mailed.

Whassamatta, WMATA?

 

The good people at Metro are still strapped for cash--expecting budget shortfalls despite two recent fare increases.

Given the fact that extra money is not easily obtained through conventional means, and the fact that there appears to be enormous institutional resistance within WMATA to another fare hike, The Deceiver would like to be of service...

5 WAYS TO RAISE THE SUBWAY SCRATCH

1. Lose a Farragut
Seriously. Why do we need two Farragut stations mere blocks apart? Farragut Westies can get off at Foggy Bottom or Farragut North. A little walking isn't going to kill anyone.

2. Gut the tourists like the fish that they are.
They come several times a year milling in abject terror and confusion in front of the FareCard machine, as if it were a Puppy Vivisection While-U-Wait kiosk. Metro attendants who help these out-of-town dolts need a convenient way to add a $2 surcharge everytime some Missourian can't figure out how to put a quarter in the fucking coin slot.

3. If the parking lot attendants are so good at grifting, let them grift for the home team.One of the big areas of shortfall was discovered when an internal investigation revealed that outer-line parking lot attendants had been skimming millions of dollars for years and years. I say, put those people to work scamming and lifting for the betterment of Metro. Have them break into cars, teach them to pickpocket, turn them loose like Port Authority hustlers to "help" riders "carry" their bags. Hey, we might get hit once or twice, but consider it the five-finger transportation tax. At least we keep those terrorists out of there. I guess.

4. Get a piece of the busking action.
Metro lets performers of suspect talent play for cash in the outer terminals all the time--it's time for Metro to claim their piece of that pie. Suggestion: Deploy a station attendant to approach the buskers like so: "Say...that's a real nice bassoon you got there. Gee, I'd hate to see anything happen to it. Like getting accidentally forced up one's ass." They'll get the message.

5. Quit building shit.
The completion of the new Convention Center in Mount Vernon Square precipitated the need for Metro extensions throughout the edge of the 7th Street Corridor on up to Cardozo. Which only proves my point--we have to stop building shit. Seriously, if we settled with the city we have now, Metro could reallocate funds from development projects into budget areas that are falling short of funds. So, for the sake of all involved, let's just wrap it up w/r/t construction projects and learn to enjoy the city we have for a while.

[If you have an idea that'll help Metro save some cash, drop The Deceiver a line at the email listed on the sidebar. Remember, they say "Early Money Is Like Yeast", because it's so infectious. Presumably.]

Like Pit Bulls for White People?

Babemagnet of 2004? 

Our onward march toward the apocalypse continues, as DC Metro residents, having previously spurned the slimy snakehead fish that were causing mass panic are now, just one year later, universally beloved. What the fuck?

For those just joining us, the Snakehead is a slimy, disgusting mouthbreather of a fish that hails from some parallel universe in the Far East. It is slimy, mean, eats everything and anything, and can walk a sizable distance on dry land! It can't be reasoned with. It can't be bargained with. It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear, and it absolutely will not stop until you have drained the ponds in which it lives!

Now, however, Snakehead enthusiasts are fighting a ban on Snakehead possession. This despite the fact that snakeheads are reportedly "known to gobble goldfish whole, jump out of its tank and even shatter an aquarium with its thrashing." As Ruth Hanessian, president of the Maryland Association of Pet Industries, breathlessly puts it, "all of the sudden they're banning all dogs, and you had to turn in your pet. . . . How would you feel?" Yes...first they came for the snakeheads.

Personally speaking, the Deceiver gleefully cackles when Mother Nature rises up to gently spank DC's bare bottom. Snakeheads, cherry-blossom-chewing beavers, pfisteria, cicadas...shee-it! Iss all good in the hood.

Maybe the Snakehead keeps you harder, longer. Or longer, longer. Or harder, easier. Or easier, Roofier. At any rate, we look forward to seeing some blinged-out club kids walking up Conn Ave with their 'Headz on a leash.

U Street Throwdown

The Deceiver had the good fortune to attend the going-away party of compadre Mark's g.f. this weekend, quaffing wading-pool-chilled PBR talls and enjoying the madcap festivities--culminating with Mark demonstrating his devotion to fidelity in perhaps the most crack-smoked way imaginable--by donning a Tiger costume and leaping through a ring that had been set on fire. Yes, thank God he was wearing something totally flammable! Luckily, no one was burned--though The Deceiver did take a lot of shit for not being able to attend the Randy Baker July Fourth Festival of Irrationality (which, despite having a previous 7/4 commitment, we recommend). Hopefully, The Deceiver is not actually blackballed from future Rorschach participation, his nips still grow taut and tingly when he thinks about sweatin' at the Casa Del Pwebb.

Many nice topics of convo.

--The continuing dialectic on the "Naughty Pilate Show", starring Chris Davenport as the titular imago. We've arrived at The Nail Drivin' Five as the House Band. Now we need help reclaiming the Pilate costume that makes the whole thing work. Davenport is still totally swingin' that persona with a deftness that's astounding.

--Watch these pages in 2010 as Rahaleh Nassri runs for dictator--er, "governor" of Virginia

--To whoever manufactures the Smilin' Dick Cheney mask: Kudos. That's a fucking scary ass thing to see on your fifth Pabst.

--The Deceiver greatly enjoyed talking with the Stage Manager of the Washington Stage Guild, and would further commend her lovely hairstyle--a perfect coif: simple, elegantly framing the face, holding it's own amid the swelter. Yes, we appreciate things like that.

--Discovery: Pork rinds are not bad, especially after you've seen the Smilin' Dick Cheney mask.

--Randy Baker's former roommate, who was shot during a carjacking in Richmond, and how he now needs to poop ten times a day. (The ideal number of daily constitutionals, also discussed at length=3.) The Deceiver surely hopes that this is a primary topic of conversation for every speed-date Mr. Love Me Ten Times goes on in his lifetime: "Yeah, you heard me correctly. I poop ten times a day! There's nothing I can't pass. Here, let me see the contents of your purse..."

The Deceiver had previously copped to spending an inordinate amount of toilet time dedicated to thinking about The Naughty Pilate Show...so you know what we have here--Holy Tango of Party Topics.

Thanks to Naughty Pilate for the ride home.