I’m feeling a bit bad for poor, naive Cindy Sheehan. She’s feeling all used and shit and is saying sayonara to the peace thing. I can’t blame her for feeling that way, as she clearly became a pawn in a shitty, shitty game.

But, Cindy, my peace mom, my sister, Bismarck called politics the “art of the possible” for a reason, you dig? It ain’t “art of right-thnking actions for the betterment of society.” Sucks and all, but there it is.

I’m also feeling a bit bad for Lindsay.

I can pretty much guarantee that on Memorial Day Weekend when I was 20, there was some underage drinking and somebody with pale skin and cute freckles probably found herself on her knees puking. Might have been this chick Stacy from back in the day, who was known for being perky and cute and a wee bit slutty. Only downside was she would ocassionally wet her pants after too much liquid refreshment and giggling fits.

The only difference between a good chunk of the 20-year-olds on the planet and Lindsay are financial means. I wasn’t drunk every day, because every now and again I’d have to work some shit job for beer money. And, I didn’t have my license.

Sadly, she might implode and go the way of all sorts of tragic young people, both poor and rich and a smattering of child stars. Or, she’ll grow up, problem solved.

Finally, I’m feeling a bit bad for the wild boar hunting boy of Confederate-land. I’m not pro-hunting, and I definitely am not down with arming your kids and bringing them into the woods. Yeah, definitely not pro the rights of arm bearing for 11-year-old boys.

But, still and all, the hate mail on his site is pretty fucked up. So’s the positive mail. Not sure what’s worse the celebrating bloodfest rhetoric with Jesus overtones, or the kinder, gentler anti-hunters strifing him with dirty words, accusations of chubbiness and death hopes.

As a formerly fat pre-teenager, or plump maybe, I thank my lucky fucking stars that there weren’t no internets for strangers to be calling me fat publcly. Shit, my self-esteem suffers now, can’t imagine with the internets.

And, in older news, I still don’t feel anything but smiles for the still dead Jerry Falwell.