Tag Archives: politiks

Consider your options

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Consider your options

I can say nothing intelligent about port security, abortion rights (Roe support petition), religious riots, torture, or just about any other thing. I have a headache, and there is an error retrieving XML called “undefined.” And another idiot can’t clear her cache. That’s not a euphemism for constipation. Someone genuinely refuses to believe that a browser would trick her like that, so clearly I must not have uploaded the changes.

Instead I will tell you that I’ve been having crippling anxiety dreams. In the last one, I was working at an upscale dog salon/function room, and I had to do set up for a dog Bar Mitzvah. I didn’t know which accessories to set out, so I set them all out. I got yelled at anyway. I woke up with a foot in my bladder, a cat on my head, and a sense of impending doom.

Visa vee

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Unsourced gossip: apparently Massachusetts is trying to strengthen seatbelt laws to make being unbuckled a stoppable offense. There is outcry that this will lead to racial profiling, and then some people just don’t like being told what to do. Well, move to New Hampshire and pay higher property taxes. There are no races in New Hampshire (except dirt bike), so that takes care of racial profiling. The legal fireworks balance out the lack of diversity. Anyhoo, seatbelt laws require impassioned speeches about civil liberties, but wiretapping without a court order is A-OK!

I was once helped by a seatbelt! It’s true! Actually, more than once. This morning, some skeez in an orange Tonka truck (Honda Element?) tried to make a left into the lane of traffic. Unfortunately, I was already right in front of her. I used my cat-like reflexes and saved us all, but on second thought, I should have let her hit us. Such destruction would have totally gotten us out of the fucking lease.

Then there was the time my mother turned the mini van over during morning car pool. This was during her storied “I don’t need glasses” phase. The neck injury I sustained from dangling like a bat still kicks up to this day, but I imagine it might have sucked more had my neck crumpled against the roof of the car. The most annoying part out of all of this? A neighbor was driving by and thought it was a good idea to take several bruised and stunned children to school. I got to school on time and took a science test. I had a valid excuse to go home on a silver platter, and I was too dumb to take it. Never again! Today I am going to cancel a meeting because it is snowing. Discretion is the better part of laziness.

Truthy, not facty, with annoying emphasis

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Today is the 33rd anniversary of Roe v. Wade. The parasite has learned to roll over, which feels rather odd. My mother always stood in the wings during high school and college hissing “You know I’ll always pay for an abortion, right?!” Now she’s inventing excuses to fly up and rub my belly. I should have bilked her out of abortion money while I had the chance. She’s never going to fall for an abortion a month now. Gestating is not nearly as uncomfortable and grotesque as I once conjectured, but I still wouldn’t wish it on anyone who didn’t want to do it. My resolve is strengthened.

Today is also the most depressing day of the year, mathematically (thanks, Lisa!). In unrelated news, through a complicated scheme, I will cancel my cable and restart it on the same day to get a free month of service. Why TV? I like OnDemand. I don’t like owning DVDs, and I am actually too lazy/busy to send Netflix movies back. It’s true. I just sent back one from July. We paid something like $75 to watch that movie. I wish Apple would get with it and figure out how to beam first-run movies directly into my head. I can’t see the movie screen because I need glasses now. Getting old is a bitch! I have toe arthritis. I’m not really 25, no matter what I might claim. Don’t listen to me at all.

Now it’s really Friday, not Thursday’s make-up day

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Ah, Friday. I don’t have to do any work tomorrow. Except for oh crap. Crap. I have to go to a birthday party, which means I will wrap up some item I find in the back of the closet. Here, have one shoe. You’ll love it. It makes you look like you have more legs.

This morning Mr. H and I went and tortured the parasite with an ultrasound machine. I mean we treated it hospitably, as a guest of the US government. Verdict: parasites do not like being mashed and otherwise bullied with sound waves. It has quite the impressive brain, though. Takes after me. I also spotted the reproductive organs, and if I were a proper internet parent, I’d post a photo with an MS Paint arrow pointing to it, along with the caption “Money Shot!!!!!” Yes, this is done on the internets. I have seen it. People who do this also tend to have lots of blinkies festooning their personal internet homepages.

Later, I had a phone call with someone with a suave British accent. I wish I could only have calls with people with suave accents. I could just lie on the floor and pretend David Bowie is calling to ask me about my interactive vision. Except David Bowie would have even better manners than that. He’d start by inquiring after my health, and then he’d move on to a thoughtful compliment. Some pig!

Potatoes, not politics

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I had something to say, O Best Beloved, but I forgot. Surely the proper procedure is to stop typing, but when I get a notion to type, I can’t help myself. Idle hands take up the devil’s work. It’s either this or knitting the scarf I just can’t finish. I feel like Christo whenever I pick it up.

Have you called your senator to whimper about the Supreme Court yet today? I normally prefer to keep my whimpering to the comfort of my own duvet, but we do what we can. This is a remarkably angst-free January, all serotonin levels, wiretapping, construction projects, and parasites considered. I think I’ve discovered that eating every twelve minutes is the solution to my myriad personal shortcomings. Well, at least I feel better about them. Not saying it actually fixes them. Perhaps it was never existentialism: I just wasn’t eating enough oatmeal. This looks like it could be Dick Cheney’s problem as well. Fiber, mon petit robot.

I got nothing, but that never stopped me before.

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I think I’ll make January into another Content Challenge. Way to start a week into the month! I’m an army of one, unless someone else wants to get in on this. I remain mildly disturbed yet titillated by all the ads for that new faux snuff film, Hostel. (Nasty stills, if you are so inclined – sort of Abu Ghraib meets Motel Hell). I read that there’s a joke about the political situation in Slovakia in the set up for luring the hapless college slobs to slaughter, but the hapless college slobs seeing the movie are like to miss it. But then I know people who staunchly believe that Czechoslovakia became Chechnya. The US government is probably avidly screening this film now that they don’t torture anyone, no how, no way, no sirree. Pissa!!!!! Just having to think of the government reminds me that the only way I got out of 2005 without a recurrence of major depression was by watching no news but The Daily Show. I like my ridiculous world affairs with built-in eyerolling so I don’t have to strain myself.

Back at my own personal chamber of horrors, Saab conceded that I could install a Subaru part, but they cannot tell me exactly which model would be appropriate. I also received another customer satisfaction survey in the mail. I am torn between peeing on it myself, or mailing them something from the litterbox. I think I’ll keep the logo blanket they sent. I can stretch it over the car to keep the snow out when the glass finally caves. cf. what Laura Ingalls Wilder Would Do.

I also had blood drawn, which I totally love. Wish they’d let me do it myself. The purpose is to see if the parasite has all appropriate chromosomes. Apparently one is supposed to assume one is at the brink of peril throughout one’s parasite hosting career. I noticed later that the receptionist seems to have put the wrong dates on the lab orders, which will likely skew the results. “Hello? You’re having a Johhny Knoxville. Your baby is also unable to locate Chechnya on a map.” Can’t wait for that call.

If you knew anything about physics

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I am so mad, internets. I am mad at people in our goverment for claiming our current situation was not forseeable. Chertoff, you GOON. What, natural disasters that show up on radar need to wear bells around their necks? I am mad at the people who say “this shouldn’t happen here, we aren’t a third world country.” This includes you, Andrew Sullivan. They are right that the hurricane aftermath shouldn’t have escalated the way it did, but since when is it OK for widespread deprivation and turmoil to happen anywhere? The things going on in the Sudan are just fine, because hey, third world country. Those folks knew what they were in for when they elected to exist in a third world country. Of all the lines of justification for why we should not be in this situation, “we’re not a third world nation” is shameful.

I am mad that I don’t have more money to give right now. I am mad at the people who say anyone who didn’t evacuate does not deserve help. I am mad at the people who are yapping about not contributing to relief efforts because they are soooo offended by what Kanye West said. I am mad that people don’t see all the opportunities to help to alleviate poverty in their own communities, and that it takes something this large and terrible to make people even consider helping another living soul. Hey, instead of burning the gas to drive your SUV from New England to New Orleans all by yourself, why not volunteer for the Red Cross here? They can send trained personnel to the gulf, and you can handle the less glamorous things like people getting displaced by fires. Howzabout that.

Yesterday, Mr. H and I drove down to the South Shore to participate in a tango contest. We did our best, but we were trounced by a one-year-old baby with a penciled-on moustache. We demanded a voting recount, but that went over about as well as it did in Ohio. What, we hate America. Of course we’re going to ask. It’s the supreme fucking court, stupid.

Anyhoo, I noticed a wind turbine along the highway, and I wondered why our highways don’t have these things all along them. After all, it’s not like they’re going to ruin the view, and wildlife has already been neatly thwarted. So I started looking into this option, envisioning a future as a wind power magnate, clear of conscience yet still filthy stinking rich. I found this blurb about just such an idea, and then the comments made me mad. Is there anything that doesn’t make me mad today? People arguing about physics = gold. Oh, thermodynamics. Where were you when I needed you? You could have helped me win the tango contest and stopped the cat from throwing up after eating all the cilantro.

And and and and

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There is so much I want to say about our villainous administration, but instead I have temporarily quieted myself by filling out the matching donation form from Mr H’s work and working on my WWLIWD? product line (bitch I already copyrighted it, don’t even think about it). What, indeed, would Laura Ingalls Wilder do? Verily, when those around you are losing their scalps, you must keep yours. You have a blind sister to think about, and a couple of insane parents who keep moving you somewhere dangerous and trying to subvert nature. Laura would make poultices out of Hostess Cupcakes and cholera vaccines out of malt liquor (brace for the smooth taste).

Soon we will all be able to enjoy pioneer activities like defending one’s homestead, making hardtack, and driving a buggy. I am having a hard time deciding on the slogan for my merch line. I figure “Laura Ingalls Wilder has a posse” will sell, but then again I like “Lunatic Fringe.” Maybe a Laura vs. Nellie grudge match kind of motif would be nice. I am simple, stupid people. My post-apocalyptic skills are going to be sharpshooting and carnival game rigging. So much for knitting and making my own soap. Where we’re going, we don’t need soap. Our own goverment is consistently more frightening than any turrorist attack.

Find out more about how you can help and where the money goes. Be sure to see if your employer offers donations-in-kind.

Give.org BBB Wise Giving Alliance
JustGive.org
Charity Navigator
Rainbow World Fund

Jesus H.

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Hello, buttketeers, I bring you a special weekend dispatch for Anal Sex Week. Actually, I may make this Anal Sex Month, as there is just so much material. Topical, like anesthesia, puttin’ yo ass to sleep*.

Do any of you suckers out there remember Dr. David Hager? He is the wingnut Ob-Gyn on the FDA Advisory Committee for Reproductive Health Drugs who wrote books like Stress and the Woman’s Body and As Jesus Cared for Women. He’s all up on curing PMS with prayer, and he’s against the morning after pill and basically any kind of hormonal birth control because these may cause abortionz.

Well, as it turns out, according to this Nation article, Jesus liked to put stress on a woman’s body through the back door, the world’s oldest form of birth control. The good doctor is accused by his former wife of sodomizing her against her will numerous times during their thirty-odd year marriage. He was apparently a fan of such seductive techniques as slipping it to her while she was asleep, or he’d pull the switch-up.

From the article: “He would say, ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to have anal sex with you; I can’t feel the difference,'” Davis recalls incredulously. “And I would say, ‘Well then, you’re in the wrong business.'”

So there you have it, one of those “marriages where the man does nothing but fuck his wife up the ass.” I’m not even saying such a thing would be a bad marriage, provided it’s, you know, consensual. This guy wins the sanctimonious creep award, explaining the breakup of his marriage by saying “Time spent ‘doing God’s will’ had kept me from spending the time I needed to nourish my marriage.” Oh yeah. With a little lube and a please and thank you, maybe.

*Apologies to Ice Cube.