…. When “the Feds” arrived just before noon they queried the staff. Had anyone seen “them”…. Gosh yes. You couldn’t miss them…. Cybill Shepherd, Shania Twain and Hillary Duff. Even for Dean & Delucas in toney Georgetown, you don’t get that trio of lovelies every Friday. They sat over in that corner chatting for “about an hour”… “DRAT” cursed Agent Will Hoodwinkle of the DNC’s Special Truth-Eradication Unit “we just missed’em. Those weren’t Hollywood airheads you idiot. Those were THE DAMN JOURNO-CHICKS!” …. And 200 miles further south, a pleasant young fella earns his due … but at what a price.
They call Washington DC the uniquiest city in the world. It houses a bunch of cool monumen
ts, a hollow shell of a once proud NFL franchise, and the greatest bi-partisan concentration of greedy political blowhards and do-nothing bureaucrats ever assembled since one week before the Fall of The Roman Empire. Nothing “inside the beltway” is what it seems to be ….. except for the mini-skirted hookers teetering precariously on their stilettos as they scurry out of the Congressmen’s condos at dawn’s early light.
Everything else “in the District” is cloaked in more layers of clandestine intrigue than Robert Ludlum’s laundry list. So it really surprised no one that the three generations of hotties enjoying brioche and lattes in plain sight on that early Spring morning were in reality deep cover agents of a movement poised to RESHAPE THE WORLD.
Amos Tate, the morning shift manager at the Wisconsin Avenue Dean & Delucas was used to fancy schmanzy peacock types strutting in but something about these three was different. They had “looks” for sure but unlike his usual Britches & Anthropologie-clad clientele they also had that rarest of human qualities – “substance”… uh oh. Amos had not seen that in DC in years. These gals were SMILING and seemed to have functioning colons. “Must be from out-of-town” he surmised.
He immediately labeled them “Cybill, Shania and Hillary” and kept his lecherous eye on’em. If he had only known … for nothing is what it seems in “the District”.
Special Agent Hoodwinkle immediately sealed off the area and had his team do a floor to ceiling 
evidence vacuum. Maybe they had slipped up and left a clue as to their next move. He knew they hadn’t but he had to report back to Emperoress NoBlink and he knew she would be pissed. Hell, she was always pissed …. but this was a For Real be-pissed-about.
Sure, they had thick dossiers on the three of’em. Dossiers which told them everything and nothing.
To Amos Tate they may have been just three lovelies ladies … “Cybill, Shania, and Hillary” but to the DNC’s Special Truth-Eradication Unit they were Mizzus, MKH, and Kid … three names that were uttered through clenched teeth and across sneered lips when the DNC “suits” met in the top secret executive dining room of The Washington Post for their weekly update brunch courtesy of The WashPost, CNN, and CBS. Agent Hoodwinkle still found it titillating to be served garlic bread by Katie Couric in a French maid’s unifo
rm.
They had been tracking these three for months but separately. It was inconceivable that “these three” had now made contact … uniting their super powers. Emperoress NoBlink would NOT be pleased.
Two of the three had the “00” designation. Mizzus and MKH were experienced special agents with numerous “kills” to their credit. But the young one … the one they knew only as “Kid” … she, they all realized, would be the dreaded “3rd generation” of THE NEW MEDIA. She had first appeared on their radar three years earlier when she had written an op/ed on affirmative action in her school paper. A DNC field operative in their Southern Command Center in Carrboro had spotted that one and sent the usual expletive-laced missive to try and frighten her from her convictions. It hadn’t worked. This one had “sand in her gizzard”. Damn, the DNC hated it when they ran into “those kind of people” with “sand in their gizzard”.
A check through the FBI files purloined years earlier when they had controlled the White House had 
explained where the sand had come from. This one, Kid, was genetically engineered to possibly be The Chosen One …. aka The Messiah Info-Babe of The New Media. The fabled ArchAngel who would spell THE END to the mainstream media domination of American news. Barrels of ink, off-set presses, CBS NBC ABC CNN, and the gnarled old living corpse of Uncle Wally “The Commie” Cronkite would be powerless to stop her.
Her mother was the aforementioned Mizzus, The Fabled Mata Hari of The New Media, which was bad enough. But it got worse … indeed … much worse. Kid’s father was one of that special short list of names they dare not say aloud. He was referred to only as “that assh*le with THAT WEBSITE!” (hehehe & a bwahahaha!).
No trace was uncovered at Dean & Deluca’s as Hoodwinkle knew would be the case. Hoodwinkle had been following this faction for several years. He knew them like he knew Chris Washburn’s SAT score (475 – obligatory NC State reference) but now everything had changed. The Devil’s Spawn and her mother had made contact with MKH.
The hottie that Tate had nicknamed “Shania” was indeed MKH …. In the past year MKH had committed numerous acts of journo-terrorism throughout the District and across the fruited plain via the web. She 
had proven equally deadly with written word or video. When MKH and her TownHall.com commandos struck a DNC outpost it was total carnage. They took to calling her “The Neutron Straight Razor”. She sliced’em and diced’em and stacked up like cordwood. She was in and out before they ever knew what hit’em … until their severed left-wings fell into the expanding blood pool.
The DNC had learned to deal with Coulter. Her effectiveness was being neutralized. Malkin was more subtle. The ever-inscrutable sorta-Oriental. Ingraham had her style but would never be a major threat …. But this MKH. She scared the bejeebers outta the suits at DNC.
And what about Mizzus …. That one had flummoxed them for years. Somehow she was connected to “HIM” – The Maha. As every DNC operative was taught in ope
rative indoctrination …. Take a blender … pour in Ernst Stavro Blofeld, Dr. No, Emile Largo, Auric Goldfinger, Dr Kananga, Max Zorin, and The Wicked Witch of The West and that concoction would have 20% of the blowtorch toxicity of “The Maha”. Hoodwinkle was getting mucho bad vibes.
The Mizzus was a Coldwater Creek-bedecked Cobra. She knew 40 ways to disembowel guys like Hoodwinkle with a credit card and a keyboard.
Recent intell chatter also had her somehow in league with yet another “00” right-wing 
commando known simply as “Jerry The Easy Rider”. The matrix was forming … something was surely afoot. No doubt “The Jons” would be involved. Those nasty rascals in that “think tank”. Uh oh!
Screw Global Warming GoofyAl …. this is a FOR REAL CALAM -I-TEE!
It could portend “the best of times” … “the worst of times” … depending on one’s side of the aisle……. The Mizzus, MKH, and Kid …. TOGETHER for the first time and he, William Jefferson Hoodwinkle, had missed’em by minutes. By now they would be hopelessly lost in the District’s labyrinthian byways. He considered not telling Emperoress NoBlink because she would fly into one of her incoherent rages. She would find out in due time as would they all for sure. Everything had changed.
On March 30, 2007
THE DAMN JOURNO-CHICKS formed an alliance.
(OK, BobLee, is this a true story? … Yes, most of it.)
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Let’s go back in time just eight days …. To last Thursday, March 22. We are not in toney Georgetown any longer. We are on oh-so-beautiful and charming Franklin Street in The Southern Part of Heaven. (Are they still allowed to call it that?). It did not happen, but let’s suppose it had.
A tall young man is walking down West Franklin Street. He’s four or five blocks west of the Columbia Street intersection, past Granville …. down where Chapel Hill and Carrboro sorta morph together. He is a 
nice looking young man dressed like 1,000s of other male students in this quintessential college town …. jeans, a t-shirt, Nikes … and a smile. His friends would say later that he ALWAYS smiled.
He is carrying a card. As he encounters other pedestrians along the sidewalk he hands them his card. Not in a threatening way at all but more as an introduction … a “here is who I am” sort of thing. Chapel Hill pedestrians are quite used to being approached by panhandlers and assorted human flotsam. The standard Chapel Hill response is to give the panhandlers a wooden nickel IF they promise to vote for John Edwards. But this young man with the engaging smile and “the card” seems different.
He hands a passerby his card. The passerby reads it … the passerby’s bland countenance turns hostile. The passerbys’ body language says anger. He curses, hurling the card and assorted epithets at the smiling young man.. It is just a card describing the smiling young man in the jeans and t-shirt.
“Hi. I am a heterosexual white male. I am majoring in business at UNC. I make good grades and have lots of friends. I am an Eagle Scout and I am a committed Christian. I love The Lord and am not embarrassed to tell others about Him. …… Everybody in Chapel Hill knows WHO I am but not many people know who I AM. I would like to buy you a burrito. May I?”
Last Thursday, March 22 …. Would you have let Jason buy you a burrito? How many diversity obsessed Chapel Hillians would have accepted Jason’s offer on oh-so-beautiful Franklin Street in the Southern Part of Heaven? 
Jason Ray was killed in a traffic accident in Fort Lee NJ on Friday, March 23. The TarHeelNation mourns the tragic death of “the kid who wore the Rameses suit”.
Why did it take his untimely death connected to a basketball game to make Jason Ray “special”? Are there other publicly defiled demographics like “Jason” walking along Franklin Street or Hillsborough Street or main street in your town.
Three commodities in eternal abundance in Chapel Hill …. cheap beer … over-priced t-shirts … and pious hypocrites.
In 2007, why must a young men like Jason Ray die a high profile death to be recognized and appreciated? How come?
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When you reach the Slauson Cut-off you take “the fork in the road” but not before you CUT OFF YOUR SLAUSON. Art Fern was “The Oprah” of BobLee’s generation. BobLee will be at THE SLAUSON CUT-OFF on Sunday …. Heading out to LA for a Monday gig in “the Valley”. Red-eying back Monday night. Got two books and an IPod loaded wth Statler Brothers and Christy Lane. ….. Life, as always, is pretty freakin’ good!
