Yes, I haven't posted here in some time. I've been in my tree house with my three miniature dachshunds, pondering, with an unaccustomed Teutonic depth, my personal mission here at Stop Me, and I emerge now only for an update.
But heed this, donks of all ages and stripes: heed this, and prepare yourselves. For this is a promise -- apres the November ballot temblor that restores the House to the long-ears, furry ole Uncle Paine will re-emerge from his retreat, not the piddling vetch of recent memory, but as a new brilliant all-court-press gadfly, an American Socrates on asignment to the US house of representatives.
Yes, Stop Me fans, I'm morphing under the private nightly tutelage of the late Hunter S Thompson, of Louisville, Kentucky. And take this to the bank -- thanks to the gonzo geist, I'm becoming a vastly nastier, more blatant, beastlier disgrace to the jay birds then I ever dreamed possible.
Behold the coming of Master Paine! Dazzling scourge of all sap-running progs among the House donkery. Master Paine, sole proprietor of a mordant, spine-twisting shame shivering, four-dimensional ray, able to reduce the likes of a henny Frank or Tom Thumb Lantos into a puddle of cold sweat and eternal humiliation.
Stay tuned. the purple force surges within me.
