Dr. Phil(andering)

I read a quote once by a doctor, who said, "I'm sick of people saying beauty is only skin deep. What do you want, a beautiful pancreas?"

That said, everyone--and I mean that seriously--EVERYONE has some physical beauty about them that should be appreciated right along with the more intrinsic qualities we all strive to recognize. The body and the spirit make the soul.
Problem is, you have to be honest about it or it doesn't count. You can't tell someone with a bad haircut how great it looks. On the other hand, our society has gone so poncey that you can't tell someone when something isn't working. I guess all you can do is look for the beauty, artfully change the subject, and be honest about something that works.

Problem there is, with some people you have to look long and hard, and the reception of compliments like "your pancreas functions beautifully" is always a little awkward.

Or maybe all this pseudo philosophical falderal is simply my chronic avoidance technique, and the real problem is, I'm nice. I want people to understand their inner beauty and feel good about themselves. So I say nice things, which honestly come from the heart, and sometimes people get the wrong idea.

The other problem is, I'm a shameless flirt. I want hot women to understand their outer beauty and feel good about me. So I say nice things, which come from the heart, and sometimes people get the right idea.

It's your classic lose/lose scenario.

And it has to be what inspired the great Franz Liszt to say: "Truth is a great flirt."

Barush LimbaughMa

The following is a transcript of a recorded conversation that "took place" on Airforce 1, on an unspecified day of the week following the inauguration, between the President, and a man identified (by voice analysis technology) as Rush Limbaugh.

B.O.>Hello old friend. I'm so glad you could come.
R.L.>You go to Hell, you socialist bastard! And may you get there before your leftist policies drag the whole country there! [a brief pause, followed by both laughing heartily]
B.O.>Not bad. Did you use that?
R.L.>I can't say bastard in that context on the radio. Bush's FCC really has my nuts in a vice.
B.O.>I'll get to work on that.
R.L.>Perfect. I've got a whole thing ready on the decay in old fashioned values you're about to cause.
B.O.>I think you're on to something there. And seriously, before we really dig into this, I gotta thank you for the way you energized my base. That "Barack the Magic Negro" bit was damn brilliant. Almost got you a pay raise.
R.L.>Honestly, it felt like cheating. Your people are so wacked out on Obama juice I could have said anything. By the way, I'm not complaining, but as a point of order, when Farrakhan called you the Messiah it took a lot of wind out of my sails. I mean, I put it to good use, but-
B.O.>Sorry about that, Louis misinterpreted the memo. Admit it though, we handled it pretty deftly.
R.L.>I guess as long as I get the credit . . .
B.O.>Alright, we're almost to your drop point, so let's get down to it. We're going two prong. First, we need you to say you hope I fail.
R.L.> You're reading my mind.
B.O.> Go ahead and make it ideological. My people will spin it personal.
R.L.> All of them?
B.O.>The major networks and papers are ready to move, the periphery will follow suite as usual . . . Unless they start thinking for themselves! [Both laugh]
R.L.> What else?
B.O.> We need to label you the face of the Republican Party and charge you with running their machine.
R.L.>Did you talk to them about this?
B.O.> They're on board.
R.L.> It just seems a little on the far edge of believability. I've spent a long time establishing the opposite.
B.O.> Which is what makes it so delicious.
R.L.> O.K. . . but you're gonna have to give me something. You gotta really angry up my people. If you govern anywhere near the center, my market share shrinks; and you can't pay me enough to make up for the advertising dollars I lose.
B.O.> Oh, believe me, I'm about to seriously piss that shit off.
R.L.> I love it when you talk ghetto.
B.O.> I think I'm getting much better at it.
R.L.> Not bad for a Harvard man.
B.O.> So, are we down?
R.L.> Pour the champagne, Mr. President. Here's to the numbers.
BOTH> The numbers! [The sound of crystal goblets clinking together, followed by loud slurping and gulping from one of the men--presumably Mr. Limbaugh.]