post-ROASTAPALOOZA II wrap-up

Welcome Creative Class Access Bloggers of 2010!

Roastapalooza II saw the Meatiest Access Blog welcoming special guests to our Washington Confab, as in Michelle, First Lady of FAB-u-lous, and a few other notables. Special thanks to President Dreamy for letting us use the Oval Office Portico for this group photo, and to Axelrod for backing our little band of blog pirates. And mixing those grape shooters—my head still hurts, and it’s WEDNESDAY. 

Posted by Mrs. Polly on 06/09/10 at 11:47 AM • Permalink

Categories: Rumproast Related

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I’ll never forget how much fun it was to lip-synch to the Whitey Tape while groping that cardboard cutout of Hillary!

Axelrod can’t handle his liquor. He’s fine with beer, but things got dark quickly once the gin started pouring. I’m surprised Kevin isn’t wearing an orange jumpsuit in the Caribbean right now, after that crack about the checks being late again.

Still, the brunch was nice and my daughter will always remember that as the day she got to hang with the Creative Class (and lost her first tooth).

Tom, as soon as your daughter is able to write marginally better that Sarah Palin (I’m sure that will be very soon), I’m sure we can invite her to blog as the new generation of AxelRove access bloggers takes to the internetwebtubes.

Oh, and once the CIA has finished going over the pics I took, I’ll upload them to normal secure upload site - details to follow.

I meant to ask, was it Ax or Fav who came up with “pin the tail on the C-list bloggers?”

Hill.Ari.Ous.

Why, oh why did you bastards email me that picture of Oblomova sitting on Soros’ lap?


ewwwwwww

Well, Len, if you want to call that “sitting,” far be it from me to disabuse you of the idea.

*shakes tiny fist of rage*

I was so sorry to miss the festivities.

And that Michelle is so thoughtful!  She had one of the gift-bags from the party sent to me when she heard I couldn’t come.

And what a cutup!  There I was at the gym, naked and still dripping from the shower, when who but Rahm Emanuel, clad only in a towel, approaches me, thrusting the gift-bag at me aggressively and saying “Here’s your White House tschotskes, you miserable little punk!”

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