Columns » Bob Lancaster

In a word



Duggars. Overbearing.

What it is about words that so often eludes poor Wally. Demeaning.

Brand-name singlewide built inside the airplane from which Laura Bush “reviewed” the war in Afghanistan while flying over it, analogous, say, to Jonah remaining snug in the fish's belly while proceeding to recon the wickedness of Ninevah. Airstream.

The notion of harvest-ur-own urban wildlife as a possible stopgap solution to spiraling supermarket prices. Squirrelly.

Spontaneous happiness among gay people that the bashing by sanctimonii seems to have slacked off, at least for the moment. Homogeneity.

About all tomatoes are good for any more, and then only at political speakings and sucky operettas. Pelting.

How long it took the Lancasters Who Don't Do Anything to squander their stimulus dole at the gas pump. Also, in a different pronunciation, describing the amount the check was for. Minute.

Wimmin-haters' favorite misog parlor these days. MSNBC.

What “games of skill” at the Arkansas casinos at Hot Springs and West Memphis are really games of. Chance.

Defining quality of “Two Chicks Chatting,” the new Gennifer-Paula website on which they proudly reprise their famous wallows. Class.

Military officers, pluck, or Gennifer favorite metal bowl type to pee in during radio interviews. Brass.

Rat where Arkies set, and what in. Cheer.

What it makes you want to heave to hear that a weekly half-hour TV program named “Hurl!' —  in which  five contestants try to outgorge and then out-vomit one another on camera, the winner to take home $1,000 for meeting God only knows what judging criteria — debuts in two weeks on the G4 network. Sigh.

Home world of much of the late, great Huckabee presidential campaign, including quips, Bodeen retinue and wacky platform novelties such as the “Fair Tax.” Bizarro.

Where lots of the e-friends are located that you didn't know you had and that are most eager to share bank accounts with you. Nigeria.

What, though he looked like a farmer, the late great Bo Diddley really was. Lover.

What talk-radio hosts and whales have in common. Blowholes.

Where, apparently, surprisingly, little talking pigs have hair. Chinny-chin-chin.

Prying snoozer out of a small bed, leaving the duct-tape hidey-hole that Homeland Security coaxed us into, or telling the truth about Intelligent Design. Debunkery.

Your feelings if you were up to your armpits in Iowa or Missouri in recent days and they called and said that help was on the way but that it was FEMA. Mixed.

Your feelings in recent days knowing that Worst Ever really is on his way out but that it'll be 207 more days. Ibid.

Town in Wales where, if  Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious wasn't coined there, it should have been. Llanfairpwllwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliococococh.

What, in the Browns' classic, I was looking back to see if you were looking back to see if I was looking back to see if you were looking back at. Me.

What you're between a hard place and if you're a stray dog at Helena. Rock.

Popular contemporary salon option but not for old bald guys. Mohawk.

What such questions as these are called: (1) Given just a little more gnawing time or a few crumbs of performance-enhancer, wouldn't the termites have sunk the ark and all aboard? (2) Did anybody take this contingency into account?  (3) Were some extra shittim planks thrown aboard for them to snack harmlessly on? (5)Would Huckabee have hesitated for the splittest of a second to perform that Heimlich the other day if he'd known that the choking guy was (a) pro-choice or (b) unsaved? Theology.

Hog football chances in 2008 besides slim. None.

Obama's chances besides slim of carrying the Natural State. Ibid.

What getting on up there entails, in addition to moaning. Groaning.

What it's always. Something.

What it is when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie and the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine. Amore.

Where the Arkansas Traveler said you cain't git there frum. Here.

Thanks to Texas Supreme Court, fate of young girls growing up in polygamous cults in the Lone Star State. Screwed.

Possibility that some of the media whores favor McCain because his first name is John. Nah.

Unaccountably, the one color that “people of color” can't be. Blanco.

No way the continuing  cost of the Iraq War to American taxpayers is $2,000+ per second. Way.

More and more former homeowners. Streetpeople.

What the channel gets every time the drive-in imbecile at the Sonic comes on. Changed.

 Ah, well. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but here's how you feel when you're ol' moi and this is how it turned out. Discombobulated.


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