The candidate was furious over the recent attacks by the Clinton campaign, so furious in-fact that she drew blood when they met this afternoon. The following photo is a Blogsboro Network exclusive of Ms Yellow Dog biting Mrs Clinton's buttocks.




The Clinton campaign never returned our calls to establish Mrs Clinton's position though it's reasonably certain it won't be sitting down.

Blogsboro Network photographers snapped this picture earlier today as Ms Yellow Dog met face to face with Hillary Clinton.




No word yet as to whether or not Yellow Dog ate the cookies.

 Blogsboro Network reporters learned just minutes ago that Yellow Dog has been called to active duty and is already working to save lives in flooded areas throughout Missouri and other Midwestern states.

In a statement from running mate, Gray D Cat, it was stated that while Yellow Dog is proud to serve her country in any way she can, Mr Cat believes her deployment is a deliberate effort on the part of the White house to remove her from the campaign.

The White house neither confirmed nor denied Gray D Cat's allegations.

Thanks to Rupert Murdoch, MySpace users can now support Yellow Dog for President and the Self Help Ventures Fund, a Durham, North Carolina headquartered nonprofit that works to place economically disadvantaged citizens into their own homes and business while fighting predatory lending and fraud on the part of the lending and insurance industries.

Please join in helping to spread the word about how Yellow Dog and the Self Help Ventures Fund have joined forces to help raise and support America's working class.

When asked about her surprising move to the Murdoch camp, Yellow Dog barked, "Come join my cause, Yellow Dog For President! Just view my profile and click "Add Cause to My Profile" in the Causes box." View My Profile

Sources inside the Yellow Dog for President Campaign called Blogsboro Network offices this morning to tell us that Ms Yellow Dog is currently in-route to the small Boone County, Kentucky community of Rabbit Hash in hopes of getting the endorsement of Rabbit Hash's Mayor Dog.

While small in number, the community of Rabbit Hash-- a mecca where motorcycles outnumber automobiles-- endorsement by Mayor Dog is significant in that Rabbit Hash is the center of the universe and its citizens the salt of the earth. Campaign officials think an endorsement of Ms Yellow Dog and running mate, Gray D Cat, by Mayor Dog to be highly likely due in part to their mutual feelings towards current political party leaders and the fact that Yellow Dog is in favor of rabbit hunting.

According to our source, Yellow Dog was last seen running north along Interstate 75 near Corbin, Kentucky and is expected to arrive in Rabbit Hash late tomorrow night where she will no doubt rest before meeting with Mayor Dog Sunday afternoon. An excited resident of Rabbit Hash who wished to remain anonymous told Team Blogsboro, "Most Presidential candidates turn their noses up at Rabbit Hash. At least we'll soon be able to say, 'Yellow Dog slept here."

And Then There Were Three

By Duke Amboy

What did I do when that unmarked white van let me on the Mall, to gaze in amaze into the Reflecting Pool, not far from the hallowed sanctum of the Lincoln Memorial?

Well, I beat feet to a favorite watering hole on K Street and, over several Bushmill's (neat), perused that morning's Post.

It was true, what I'd heard in vague rumor and whispered innuendo, even in the bowels of my confinement somewhere beneath the streets of our Capital:

Romney had tossed in the Mitt. Back to that hot tub and another Seuss read-along...

And - just the day before - amid wails of lamentation and the rending of clothes, Huck had bid his Hucksters fond farewell.

Leaving the Republican field wide open for the turncoat, McCain, and - on the Dem side - leaving Hill's Harpies to bash it out with the Obama Nation.

A tear welled up in the corner of my eye.

I hate to watch the forces of national politics - like the ineluctable erosion of tide and time - pruning back the tree of choice, eliminating the truly deluded and deranged (agents provocateurs and poseurs alike) and leaving us, once again, with the lonesome choice between lesser evils - those thick-skinned and co-opted enough to make the cut. Offering (despite some ubiquitous campaign slogans) no real chance for change, nothing but four more years of the same rapine and pillage.

I upturned the dregs of my rock glass.

This one goes out to all the dead soldiers - literal and figurative.

END OF DISPATCH 

While campaigning in a crime ridden East Greensboro, North Carolina neighborhood yesterday afternoon Yellow Dog, along with her body guard, a pit bull whose name is unknown, spotted a man attempting to break into the home of an invalid female and immediately began pursuit of the criminal.

Greensboro police are crediting Yellow Dog and her body guard with stopping one of the many daylight burglaries that commonly take place in this neighborhood. Police said the typical MO was the kicking down of doors.

When asked about her heroic response, Yellow Dog, a former US Navy Seal, barked, "Let's see my opponents in action. Mcain's a weak old man, Obama's a wimp and Clinton couldn't get out of a wet paper bag with a pair of scissors."

While the main stream media outlets continue to give Clinton credit for breaking Obama's winning streak, contacts inside the Yellow Dog For President campaign are telling Blogsboro Network reporters that Barak Obama was seen wearing torn trousers early this morning.

Josh Marshall of Talking Points Memo suggested the problem for Obama was deer related but Yellow Dog staffers are quick to point out that no known deer are running for political office in the United States.

In a previous stump speech Yellow Dog barked, "Of course I do, I'm man's best friend." when asked if she could win blue collar voters.

Blogsboro Network reporters were able to catch up with Ms Yellow Dog while running through Ohio earlier today. When asked if she thought she had a chance with white blue collar males-- Ohio's largest undecided voter block-- Yellow Dog panted, "Of course I do, I'm man's best friend."

Ohio, like most rust belt states, has seen a net loss of blue collar jobs since the passage of NAFTA (North American Free Trade Agreement) which opened trade barriers between the US., Canada and Mexico. When asked what she would do to get Americans back to work Yellow Dog indicated that as President she would hire them to replace our current Congressmen, Senators and other Washington insiders saying, "Why not lay off the people who laid everyone else off?"

When asked who she thought was responsible for America's loss of blue collar jobs, the candidog replied, "Hillary Clinton was in the White house then, ask her."

Just Missing The Black History Month Cut-Off

by Duke Amboy

[Editor's Note: In contradistinction to the usual procedure - transcription of microcassette tapes sent to us in a manila envelope (sometimes also in the envelope - the residue of certain illicit substances, usually for the purposes of analysis and identification, though (it must be said) occasionally for the recreational use of the editorial staff...), the following was delivered in manuscript form and then proofread and edited by our crack team. Duke's compositional skills, although usually impeccable, seem to have suffered at the hands of prolonged incarceration.

What follows has not been edited for content. Only for legibility.]

At long last, they have allowed me access to a pad and pencil.

Why this might be so, I can't guess. Do they think, now that the worst is over, that I won't jab the No. 2 deep into my eye socket? Do they think I'm no longer a threat to myself and others? If this is indeed the case, they are sorely mistaken. I'll show them. I surely will.

Back when I was first working on this piece - in those early, carefree days when Giuliani's primary numbers were a source of passionate concern for me - I would've started the article this way. I'm quoting from memory here; they won't give me a tape player, so I can't play back my earliest dictation, though I did manage to secret the microcassette tape in a place no cavity search - however thorough - would uncover:

"At last.

Sweet respite.

After a pathetic, whirlwind tour of the Sunshine State's capitol, I was free (or at least reasonably inexpensive) to pursue my own wont for the next ten days. Free to zig and zag my way among the 22 states preparing for the colossal political clusterfuck that we have come to call Super (Duper) Tuesday.

Because I hadn't been there in years, and because I have always been in tune with the Selma and Montgomery Days, I decided to start with Alabama. And I decided to do it right -

It meant renting a car - the biggest, gas-hoggingest hunk of metal and chrome to come down the pike from Motor City in many a year: the H3 Alpha.

It meant lashing together a collection of illicit substances, proscribed political tracts, some stray polygraphic gear I've had laying around for years, as well as several coolers full of ice and fifths of Bushmill's. One must maintain a certain standard of civility at all costs..

And it meant recruiting one of the most demented, hell-raisingest mutant folk ever stomped into existence by the Foot of whatever demiurge or creator God you choose to invest your credence in. My lawyer and adviser: the 300-pound Samoan third-string NFL defensive end Elian Gonzalez Trudeau."

This is as much as I can recall. Suffice it to say, Trudeau and I never got to try out that H3.

We were holed up in his office in Montgomery, Alabama, far gone on some sticky hash he'd accepted in lieu of payment in a civil rights case - G8 protesters rounded up because they allegedly violated the terms of their protest petition: they were on a certain corner carrying more than their allotted number of signs and lingering approximately 15 minutes longer than their allotted time.

It was a Gitmo case, in this day and age. Gone were the glory days - Chicago '68, watching the kids take their lumps in Lincoln Park from the Hyatt Regency's second-floor bar, with Terry Southern and Jean ("Zese keeds, zey are ferry, ferry brav") Genet as drinking buddies. Southern was also whacked out on speed, and Genet - well, I can't really say what his bag was, other than routinely getting himself locked up in French prisons. In order, so he told me, to have the solitude in which to write. And - he would add - the hot man-on-man sex was also a plus.

But I digress.

We got the call at Trudeau's place from a source I can refer to only as Throatjob:

"Duke, get your ass up to Charleston, WV. Things are heating up. Electronic voting irregularities. Some crazed Bassett hound who's supposedly running for President. Should be just your kinda scene."

EG and I hopped the next flight out and that night were holed up in a La Quinta across from one of the contested voting sites - an AME church outfitted with electronic voting booths that looked like nothing so much as video poker machines. The parking lot was filled with local news vans, the entrance coagulated with lined-up voters and a swarm of cameras and extended microphones, hoping to sample the home-spun wisdom of the electorate in the face of this newfangled technology. We were watching it all on the 52" plasma TV fixed to the wall in our suite.

A woman - middle-aged, wearing a leather jacket and far too much makeup - was opining, "I don't like it none. Ya just go in there an' push you a button. Don't make no paper. Yer vote just flies off somewheres. To voter heaven, I reckon. Who knows where. Don't make no paper. Don't leave no trail. No, sir, I don't like it none."

Ah, the salt of the earth. The vox populi. You had to hand it to her. It was admirable that she would take precious time away from trawling Wal-Mart for bargains on tampons to participate in a process she knew, deep in her bones, was pointless, bankrupt.

I couldn't argue. I could drink. So drink I did. We were deep into our fifth or sixth fifth of Bushmill's when it happened.

A golden retriever came out of nowhere and smashed through one of the stained-glass windows in the chapel where they were voting - I think it depicted a lamb with a halo, or some such - and proceeded to maul three or four voters, trying - or so I gathered - to get at the electrical cords and unplug the machines.

This was what we'd been waiting for. EG and I dashed across the street, hearing - in the distance - the klaxon of approaching sirens. EG jumped through another window - why not bust up another one? EG delighted in this kind of mayhem.

I jumped in after him. The retriever was dashing around like mad, growling and trying to keep people away from the still-functioning machines. I saw several folks with microcassette recorders - though, I must add, NOT my beloved Coby - trying to distract the dog into giving them a quote.

But she refused and bounded away.

Before I knew what was what, the Man was upon us, and they lobbed tear-gas canisters into the voting area, then came charging in, gas-mask-clad and with riot shields aloft. Seven of them descended on EG and proceeded to beat him into submission. Gasping and nearly blind, I sank to my knees, hands raised, muttering as best I could, "All right, you motherfuckers! We surrender! You hear, we surrender!"

Nevertheless, one of the riot squad cracked me across the back of my skull with his truncheon. Everything went blank.

When I awoke, I found myself alone in a padded cell, trussed up in a straight-jacket. Where I have been for the last month. Every day a doctor - or so he says - comes in to have a little chat. He asks me things like, "Why do you lack confidence in our Commander-in-Chief?" and "Why do you scoff at the idea of the Surge?" He takes notes and shakes his head a lot. I get the feeling that I am a great disappointment to him.

Two days ago, after much begging, pleading, bargaining and cajoling, he allowed me a pad and pencil.

Which pretty much brings up back to where we began.

POST-SCRIPT: This morning, they sent me a woman doctor. Pretty. Just my type, in fact. She told me they were releasing me tomorrow. Into my own recognizance, as she put it.

But will I be free? Will any of us - when we are surveilled at every moment, prohibited from exercising our basic Constitutional rights, denied redress of our grievances, and encouraged only to perpetuate the status quo in the guise of "bolstering the economy"?

Will November bring anything different?

We can only hope.

It - like folly - springs eternal.

END OF DISPATCH