Wrapped Up Like A Douche

Wrapped Up Like a Deadbeat Dad
And where, you’re wondering, oh where, has your little WULAD gone? I chalk up the hiatus to the following factors:

• Extreme fatigue from the six stages of post-election grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, and creation of nifty maps
  
  
• Working on my script for “The West Wing: Further and Further from Reality”
  
  
• I told John Ashcroft he could crash at my pad for a few nights, but the drinking and whoring is really getting out of hand
  
  
• Overwhelmed by the myriad satirical possibilities created by the appointment of Alberto Gonzales (I mean, seriously—what kind of name is that?)
  
  
• Fear of success triggered by large numbers of new visitors hoping to gaze upon nude sportscasters and revel at my eloquent presentation of 133 instances of the word “fuck”
  
  
• Some chick named “Wonkette” won’t stop calling me, even though I told her I like her as a friend
  
  
• Bizarre insistence by strangers in business attire that I “work” for them, and have “responsibilities” outside my “internet vanity projects”
  
  
• No, really, folks, I’m so freaking sick of thinking about the election that I can’t even watch "The Daily Show" anymore.

But lest you think I’d leave you with nothing, C-baby was kind enough to suggest the following short films, which will kiss your pain away and leave you feeling as fresh and reinvigorated as John Kerry’s miniature golf career.

So enjoy, and then enjoy.