Cerebral Itch on the road with Scooter, Leo and our own special little trouble making idiot, Veejay

I will definitely cop to the fact that we've been a little erratic on posting surrounding the holiday, but I thought we really had our act together in preparing for the editorial necessities of the 4th of July. Then GW goes and lets our buddy Scooter out of his cage last Monday and ever since we've been tangled up with Libby and his defense team in a drunken haze complete with celebratory streaking, pissing off balconies and 24/7 room service at the Ritz-Carlton. Washington D.C. was where we celebrated the 4th because I like to expose our editorial team from Bangalore to what makes this country great: K Street, executive power and laissez-faire morality D.C.-style. So the Scooter party was just a lucky break for all concerned.

No sooner were we paying bail and sober for about six hours then we got wrapped up in all the Live Earth crap. Al Gore had left us a few VIP passes at our hotel (he's still sweet on us for the coverage we gave him during Oscar time) and we figured if crooked conservatives could party, then tree-hugging juiced up artistic liberals could put us under the table; plus, they're way hotter. So we fueled up the Cerebral Itch Gulf Stream (on loan from Oprah - another story for another time) and popped over to New York. My main man and editorial manager, Veejay, who you may remember is still getting over the trauma of his run-in with Orangutan, swore he was going to get himself some Cameron Diaz. He has a bit of a penchant for inane mousy blondes with questionable hygeine; so by going to a liberal rock concert he was about to throw himself into nirvana.

I stayed a safe distance away from the hordes. I've been to Burning Man, I know how these things can get. Turns out Leonardo Dicaprio is a huge Cerebral Itch fan and loves to send the Beard Intervention card to Katie Holmes every month as a joke. Which led her to start firing back with Fraud cards. I love that we're part of a Hollywood feud. He heard I was around, had his people find me and twenty minutes later I was in his custom trailer knocking back lemon drops adorned with organic mint sprigs cavorting with a passel of Icelandic lingerie models while being attended to by two midget waiters wearing tuxedos, I kid you not; this is how Leo rolls.

As I'm enjoying the good Christian fellowship of the group in Leo's pad, I get a text message from Veejay saying he just got swept up by security. Well, it seems that Veejay did get in Cameron Diaz's personal space and made an ass out of himself. He got down on one knee, ripped open his shirt and pointed to his heart and told her to "come home where you belong Cammie!". He was tackled by the Live Earth shock troops, tasered and thrown in a makeshift pen for idiot law breakers. I replied back, "You're harshing my buzz - the Police are about to go on and I'm done pulling your ass out of a sling, I'll see you in the morning dumb ass". I settled back into the remarkably soft hemp couch with Falda and Brynhildur and reduced my carbon footprint with another drink.

Tuesdays are a bitch, just ask Scooter

So I thought I would be able to get a post up sooner, but my responsibilities as an alternate juror in the Lewis "Scooter" Libby case precluded me from doing so. It seems the raucous group that dropped the hammer on the little patsy today wanted to enjoy a $2 well drink/buffalo wing special down the street from the courthouse at a Bennigan's in celebration. One thing led to another and I'm sitting here at the bar with my laptop blogging while drunk off my ass with Tucker Carlson trying to get me to go in on Jello-shots for some barely-legal Georgetown hotties who keep looking this way. Frankly, the man bugs the shit out of me with all his sordid tales of how he is now "swimmin' in ass" since his foray on Dancing with the Stars.

I know several of the Sunday morning pundits praised our jury for being "analytical" and "careful" in the pursuit of truth; but I'd like to see their faces when practically every one of the jurors either mooned or flipped the bird to Libby's armored SUV as he drove past us. I think Libby's crew were actually going to come in but then recognized this lynch mob and beat feet outta here.

In about 20 minutes we're leaving to go out to Greta Van Susteren's for cocktails and then over to the Sofitel Hotel for a victory party the Wilson's are throwing. The last time we were out at Gretta's she had Neil Cavuto in a cupid's outfit for a Valentine's Day/Birthday gag for Brit Hume. I frankly was astonished at how accommodating Cavuto was for this sort of thing but then someone who goes to the same gym as he told me that Cavuto thinks he's hung and hoped the cherub outfit would support that rumor. Judging how most of the ladies were extending their pinkies while drinking after he would walk by, I took that as a silent statement of contradiction. It was a hoot nonetheless.

But I digress, Scooter Libby took the fall today for his Dick as well as Karl Rove, who most likely will be knocking back Chardonnay and laughing atop his stack of vintage 1920's Negress porn that yet another political bullet has whizzed past his head.

Okay, it appears that the bus DailyKos chartered for us is here - if I remember half of what happens tonight or don't end up in a dress, I'll be shocked.