Occupy Underground

You mean to tell me you're going to let Cointelpro run you off the board?

Totally kidding - I know the feeling.

Kind of like you've settled down on the throne in the mens room, minding your own business, patiently waiting for your one skinny turd from the mission breakfast of porrige, a slice of toast, and sour orange juice to come out. In walks your DINO bluedog congressman, bloated after a night of being wined and dined by lobbyists. He sits immediately down in the next stall and does his morning blowout.
One can only hold ones nose for so long before running for the door, gasping for air and wretching.