KEN LAYNE

Had to run out to Death Valley to talk to a guy about a solar array, sorry. Here's the late posting of the latest "Ken Layne's Outrage" thing on AOL's Political Machine, actually posted on Friday morning: Bush-Clinton Forever!

I'm working on a big weird magazine feature right now. More sooner or later.

Everyone loves Word Problems. You know, like:

Two snakes leave Burbank in separate cars. The green tree snake drives a 2005 Prius with seven gyroscopic wheels and XM satellite radio. The midget faded rattler drives a late-model Lincoln Town Car that runs on bio-diesel and hate. The eastbound 134 is closed due to a firestorm and the I-5 is covered in sewage thanks to a conservation mishap by Friends of the L.A. River. Which snake gets 35% off the laser vaginal rejuvenation procedure?

My word problem has to do with the fantastic tale of the Ron Paul Blimp, which I'll be riding next week from North Carolina to Washington, D.C., barring terrible ice storms and/or terrorist shenanigans.

But first I'm flying to Norfolk, on a standard passenger jet, and must then rent a car to drive to the airship launch site, an hour south of Norfolk, and then I'll supposedly be dropped off at the Ron Paul Blimp Rally in D.C., but then I'm a four-hour drive from my car and suitcase and then another hour back north to the airport, where my flight home leaves two days after I arrive by airship in Washington. What the hell? There must be a way to make this work without hiring a bunch of drivers and gofers and manservants.

Whether my personal journey ends in triumph or tears, giant blimps used for political stunts are guaranteed to be awesome, and no political campaign can match the antics of the Dr. Congressman Ron Paul loyalists. If you're in North Carolina or Virginia or D.C. next week at this time, stand outside and wave a glow-in-the-dark condom or something, in daylight. Whether I see you or not, I'll be thinking of how a giant, nearly-silent Ron Paul Airship will be as weird as a UFO to the hundreds of thousands of people who will soon see the thing.

Decades ago, the National Lampoon ran some bizarre fake ad for a Barry Goldwater Weather Balloon. For unknown reasons, it is one of the things I frequently recall. (In fact, it seems I'm the only person on the entire Internet who remembers the dumb gag at all.)

The ad's pitch was, of course, "In your heart, you know it's a good weather balloon" The illustration was a simple line drawing of a common (non-weather) balloon wearing a pair of thick-framed Barry Goldwater glasses. That was the joke.

Here's the latest Outrage at AOL's Political Machine: "A Ron Paul Blimp In Every Pot."

This is by far the nicest thing I've ever written about supporters of any political cause. Why? Because leasing a freakin' giant blimp and flying all over the Eastern Seaboard during primary season is crazy genius.

But in the 250+ comments posted so far, the average blog-commenting Disciple of Paul remains terribly insulted. "The mean writer guy used the word nuts! He must hate Freedom, too!"

Over at RonPaulForums, where the whole RP Blimp idea was hatched and incubated, people have a sense of humor.

And now it's time to hit the road.

Yes, it's time for another horror-filled edition of my Outrage column on AOL, "What Team Can Beat Oprah & Obama?"

Sure, you think you already know the answer (see picture), but I know in your heart that you're wrong.

Back from North Carolina. Man ....

He's back! He never left! He might win New Hampshire, again! He's so old! Lobbyists!

This is what I learned late last night, and here it is at the AOL Political Machine:

'08 Shocker: John McCain Is Still Alive!

Did you hear it was almost the end of 2007? Notice how everything in the thin post-Xmas newspapers was apparently written in October, mostly about dumb movies and bad records that came out in July?

Welcome to the precious Main Stream Media tradition of the "year-end round-up," because something's got to go in the paper while everybody's on vacation.

Here's my contribution to that most noble of journalistic traditions: Hated '07? Then You'll Despise Election '08!

Here's a nice simple thing you should print out and hand to the TSA goons at the airport next time you're taking off your shoes and belt and bra and neck brace and throwing your infant through the Metal Detector and filling 17 plastic bins with your laptop and camera and coat and little ziploc baggie of lip balm and 3-ounce terror-free shampoo. It explains, again, why all that passenger screening and toothpaste seizure is utterly pointless.

Of course, the TSA goons will detain you for seven hours and beat your children with hand scanners should you have the nerve to mention the inanity of the security process. And that's why giving out copies of "The Airport Security Follies" to your friendly TSA imbecile will make you feel better -- TSA employees can't read, so they'll never know you're questioning their dumb routine.

We flew out of Portland the other day, and had the usual out-of-breath marathon of getting a toddler and an infant and their elaborate accoutrements -- massive double stroller, toys, DVD player, diaper bags, feed bags, etc. -- through the X-Ray and Metal Detector machinery without losing either child in the process. (I especially love having to remove the puppy-face soft little "shoes" from the 4-month-old's terrorist feet.)

The zippered lunch pouch thing is opened for the goons' approval. We lost the blue-ice thing to the TSA goons back in Los Angeles. The Portland TSA goon stares into the little lunch pack, and then his eyes zero in on a small container of "La Creme" yogurt.

"You can't take that," he said dully.

"It's baby food," I said.

He frowned. Baby food is now allowed through security. But this food product did not have a picture of a baby on it, which would be a sign to illiterate TSA goons that it was, in fact, baby food.

"It's yogurt," I said. "My son eats yogurt."

And then, my two-year-old kid was interrogated. Did he eat yogurt?

"Yes!"

We were allowed through security with the small container of vanilla-flavored yogurt.

And then we blew up the fucking plane, the end.