Get the latest updates as we post them — right on your browser

. Last Updated: 07/27/2016


Bird Brain

Bash kids, not guns.

That's the statesmanlike message emitting from the subnasal orifice of J. Danforth Quayle these days.

Quayle, the labially challenged frat boy who was once actually vice president of the United States (or Vise Persdent of the Untied Stats, as he might put it), was in Washington this week trying to whip up some support for his presidential campaign, which is withering like a scrotum in the Arctic Ocean.

Preaching to the choir at one of those conservative "think tanks," Quayle said society should come down hard on kids, not arms merchants, The Associated Press reports.

He said children should be subjected to a "one strike and you're out" policy when it comes to weapons: "I'm saying to that student, 'You're history. You're gone. Don't come back.'"

Gun manufacturers, however, need careful cosseting, not more legal restrictions, Quayle said. The poor dears are sadly misunderstood. "The NRA has been demonized," Quayle trilled.

But once he'd tossed this red meat to the faithful, Quayle soon got down to the real business at hand: begging.

With his poll numbers dangling in the tiny single digits, Quayle has been reduced to hawking his wares like a Hair Club shill on late-night cable television.

"Join the 21st Century Club! That's only $21! You can put it on a credit card!" cried Quayle. "Just give us $21 and get put on a fancy mailing list. You'll be supporting us and we'll be well on our way to victory!"

Well, maybe f or maybe not. For despite the rousing, Ciceronian rhetoric, as one looks at this graying, grasping, moon-faced dullard, one cannot but hear the gathering echo of the voice of the People whispering in his leathery ear:

"You're history. You're gone. Don't come back."

Father Figure

Quayle, of course, has been swamped in the wake of that money-minting juggernaut known as George W. Bush. The Texas governor announced this week that he has raked in $36 million from deep-pocketed politico-purchasers in just four months f a record-breaking haul of swag 10 times greater than his nearest GOP rival.

The toll-topping Texan (also known as "Injection George" for the record number of executions he's presided over during his gubernatorial reign) has already been anointed president by the nation's punditry: The mainstream media, all giggly at the sight of George's bulging wad of cash, have pummeled him with powder puffs and adulation. You might think a candidate whose prior claims to fame were (1) suspicions of oil profiteering off Daddy's war in the Persian Gulf, and (2) years of booze-addled hanky-panky would bring out the bloodhounds in the press. But the campaign has been nothing but a kennel of lapdogs for Bush so far. Not even his Quayle-like verbal bumbling f referring to those brave "Kosovarians," and confusing Slovakia and Slovenia f has taken the shine off his PR polish.

The main thing astounding the savvy pundits is Bush's big poll numbers. They just can't figure it out. Why is he so popular? How has he zoomed to the top from relative obscurity? What is that special "Bush magic"? Why do people love him so?

The answer is pretty simple, actually: They think he's his dad.

A New York Times poll, taken the day Bush announced his presidential bid, showed that 66 percent of respondents had a "favorable" impression of the candidate. However, when they were then informed that the "George Bush" in question was not in fact the ex-president, the numbers plummeted: Fully 70 percent of those same voters said they had no opinion whatsoever of the son. Other national polls, unquoted by the punditry, consistently show that between 10 percent and 20 percent of Bush's supporters believe he is actually his father, making a comeback; one early, internal Republican poll put that figure at 40 percent.

No doubt the heavy-hitters bankrolling Bush's campaign know who he is (and exactly what they will get for their money). But the electorate may wake up one cold November morning in 2000 and find they've planted the wrong Bush in the White House. "Who's this tanned, bland golf pro they keep calling 'Mr. President'? I thought I voted for that skinny old geezer who jumps out of airplanes!"

Waste Deep

If Bush's campaign coffers get any more bloated, though, he might have to resort to America's latest wonder drug: Xenical, the little blue weight-control pill that takes off pounds the easy way f if you don't mind a little "anal seepage," that is.

Xenical (named for TV's "warrior princess"? Or a description of the manufacturer's marketing approach?) has been flying off the shelves since winning government approval in May, reports Salon. The powerful drug is intended to aid patients suffering from clinical obesity f but like its fellow miracle brew, Viagra, it's bagging gigantic "vanity sales" to unafflicted buyers who just want a quick-and-easy update of their lifestyle software.

Technically, of course, Xenical is just a load of crap. That is, it converts fatty foods into immediately jettisoned liquid waste. The fact that it also flushes valuable nutrients and disrupts the digestive system is considered an acceptable risk in controlling cases of life-threatening weight gain. But a growing number of doctors say they fear the draconian effects the drug could have on users who merely want to squeeze into that glitzy new leopard-skin thong before next weekend's pool party.

Xenical's other side effects don't seem to lend themselves to the acquisition of hip cachet either, no matter how fashionably thin you become. They include f according to the drug company's own literature f the risk of "anal seepage," "oily spotting," "orange stool," and the ever-popular "fecal incontinence."

But is this discouraging the nation's overconsumptive consumers? Not a bit of it. The manufacturer, Hoffman-La Roche Ltd., is expecting $3 billion in liquid assets to flow from Xenical sales.

Fragrance companies are also reportedly looking for a jump in revenue: "Revlon proudly presents Seepage Obscura: the new line of perfumes, talcs, sprays and blotters for the serious weight watcher."

Chris Floyd is going on an extended vacation. Global Eye will not appear next week.