Man, Woman, Birth, Death, Infinity...

Much has been said of late about birth certificates.

Despite No Clou Dobbs' rantings, Barack Obama long ago released his, and Chris Mathews held up a copy of it on his MSNBC show earlier this week.

John McCain has declined to release a copy of his, but we know the hospital that he claims to have been born in was not built until he was 5-years old, and it's likely he was born in the little base hospital that preceded it. The attending physician's name and duty assignment have been confirmed.

Look, both men were born in U.S. Territories, and are U.S. citizens.

I would, however, point out the huge double-standard that exists between the scrutiny one has undergone over the issue, and that which the other has not.

As an elected official, I feel that I, too, should clear up any misconceptions about my early life.

I was born on Saturday, April 16th, 1955, almost a week after Easter. I moved neither rock nor mountain.

My great, great, great, great, great, fabulous, grandmother, Mary Magdalene, was not a prostitute, but was in love with, and completely faithful to, some long-haired guy who could turn water into wine! That is a waaaay classier date than "Here, hold my beer and watch this!"

I was born into abject pudgity.

Yes, I had a mother.

No, I am not related to John Goodman or Wilford Brimley, but I wish I was.

Unlike Mork, I was not born on Ork, but I think I know somebody here in Winters who was.

I might be related to John Belushi- I love doing that zit impersonation with the mayo- but NEVER Miracle Whip, which, except for that time in Monterey (Mom!) does not touch these lips.

I am certain I was there when all my kids went into the oven AND when they came out- except Erin, of course, but I just may screw with Jeff about it anyway.

No, I was not born in a manger, but the confusion is understandable.

Although I have often been called a Jerk, I was not born the adopted son of a poor black sharecropper family.

My first church was Saint Mary's, my second was Saint Paul's, but the transfer to Our Lady of the Assumption in 1967 was the beginning of the end. Great name, almost as good as "Lady of de Nile".

The girls in Catholic School did not want anything to do with me; 30 years later I found out that, apparently, neither did the priests. (Aw, c'mon! You know you love it!)

Yes, I was the stunt double for "Norm!", but it was not very strenuous.

No, I don't get that many cloning requests.

I am not related to Roseanne Barr, but I can do a mean National Anthem, U.S. or Canadian- en francais, bien sur, and no spitting.

I don't think I was a product of Immaculate Conception- I have never been even slightly immaculate.

I am not related to the guy in South Carolina who was caught this week for the second time having sex with his neighbor's horse. It was unclear whither he intends to marey her or not, but there does seem to be some truth to the report that he was singing "Don't neigh for me, Argentina!" during the, uh, horsing around.

I have been fortunate to love a few women in my lifetime, and none of them were vinyl.

Yes, I did tour for a couple of years filling a very minor role in a very big Christian Choir. Tan bell bottoms, silk shirts, velour dresses.

Tonight, if I read Tweet the lines correctly, Bill Maher is going to deal with the "Birthers" on his HBO show.

Me, I needed a laugh- about them, myself, priests, anything!. The alternative was bleak, when contemplating both these people, and the things they are saying, that are as despicable, as un-American, and as treasonous as Senator Joe McCarthy ever was.

SRT