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As I told the innertubes about 1000 times, the guy that drives the garbage truck, the dude delivering Miller Lite, the Republican on the street, nine advertisers and four bars, yesterday was my birthday. Let’s just say Hootervillians were kind last night making sure that I had presents, beer and a brand new camera (that rocks, I must add. My first touch screen on anything EVER.)

I didn’t watch the debate as carefully as I should have because birthday debauchery was at hand.

Homer did, however, and I have to tell you, One text to me called it “Fight Club.” The other one isn’t fit for this pseudo-family blog.

I’m the nice one in our tight knit sibling relationship.

I bring you her analysis:

“They BOTH didn’t answer the questions. McCain doesn’t get that there are people that don’t have seven houses. You lose three, you have four more. Government and taxes, not lack of work, is killing my small business. At least Obama answered that question of what I’m going to have to do during this crisis.”

She’s worried. She hasn’t been sleeping. She has business, that’s not the problem, but it’s taxes and health insurance that is kicking her butt.

We aren’t the only ones. Mack said it best in his post which I will send you to.

Homer has said several times during this election that she is tired of politicians talking down to her. She, and I for that matter, take care of budgets for companies. We are business people. We don’t get three martini lunches. We don’t have handlers and advisors.

Homer and I just work.

And, apparently, we aren’t going to get a bailout either. Sacrifice is fine, we don’t mind sacrificing. Our grandparents sacrificed. Our parents sacrificed.

But be up front about it, for crying out loud.