With A Little Help From My Friends

Help is on the way!

Recently my efforts to conceive of new blog post topics were met with brain freeze.  Finally, I had to enlist the assistance of my friends and family by putting out a request for ideas.  Here are some of the responses I received:


Idea #1:  Write a topic on writing a topic


This circuitous concept reminds me of a time when I sent my dad a thank you card, and then he sent me an email thanking me for the thank you card.  I wrote back cautioning him about the dangerous road of never ending thank yous he was taking us down, and then thanking him for thanking me for the thank you card.  And of course, he soon wrote back:  "Thank you for thanking me for thanking you for the thank you."

Okay!  Enough already!

Idea #2:  Top 10 reasons you wish you were back in Cali


There are definitely lots of things I miss about California.  If I had to limit the list to ten, I'd go with:

• my lovely friends
• the sun
• walking my dogs on the beach
• the wine
• a beautiful ocean full of barking sea lions, majestic dolphins, and adorable otters
• amazing, inexpensive produce
• watching the children I love grow up
• meandering hikes through redwoods
• not being sad upon returning from vacations because home = paradise
• the community's men not looking like dirty hoboes who just emerged from an inbreeding camp in Appalachia.  (Seriously, though, men of Portland, could you consider shaving maybe once a year?)

Idea #3:  The friends you left behind

The friend who suggested this topic most certainly deserves some blog space.  Let's call her "Happy" for the sake of pseudo-anonymity.  I initially met Happy as a coworker, and we were quickly drawn to each other based on our shared tendencies towards evil thoughts and deeds.  However, although she might disagree, I believe that Happy outdoes me in terms of her capacity for evil.  More often than not, whenever I'd walk into the office, Happy would greet me with a cheerful, "Hi, hooker!"  During the work day, if I walked past her desk, she would pepper me with friendly comments like, "Kelly stinks!" and, "Have you heard the news?  You're stupid!"  Occasionally she would simply release a deep, mournful sigh and then remark, "Kelly, I forgive you."  Seriously.  Out of fucking nowhere.


I love and miss this woman like crazy.  She is completely hilarious.  I wish she lived next door.


Idea #4:  Which laws you would like to be allowed to break...only you.

I would like to have free range to smack people upside the head whenever they deserve it.  I believe this assault/battery-related law is one that I should be able to violate as I see fit.  Of course I do realize that violence is not the answer.  I simply believe that particular truth should not apply to me when it comes to situations in which people are genuinely needing a smack upside the head.


The thing about smacking people upside the head is that it's not really violent, like punching, stabbing or shooting.  It's a little painful, but it's more shocking than anything.  The shock factor is key, I believe, because it stops people in their tracks and causes them to have to think about the set of circumstances that led to them being smacked upside the head.


I would also like to reserve the right to dole out Indian burns and utilize pantsing as needed.


Idea #5:  Your secret life as a ninja


Um...it's a secret.  Duh.  But what I can discuss is my not-so-secret life as a social work ninja.  Whereas your average ninja looks like this:

...a social work ninja looks more like this:

Social work ninjas specialize in the art of Counseling Kung Fu.  While I usually demonstrate a certain level of mastery in that particular art, this past week said mastery took a massive shit.  Here's what happened:


I met with a student who is generally very quiet, emotionless, and reserved.  He informed me that one of his family members had just been killed in a car accident.  I reacted with strong concern, asking him several times if he and his family were okay and validating the feelings of grief and shock he must be experiencing, despite the fact that he wasn't demonstrating any emotional reaction whatsoever.  He assured me that he was fine and simply wanted to know how to request a day off from school so he could attend the memorial service.


Later that same day, I ran into the student's cousin, who is a much more communicative, outgoing, and emotive individual.  He asked me how to request a day off and said, "Did you hear what happened?"  Based on my awkward experience with the previous student, and not thinking for one moment about the obvious and dramatic personality differences between the two cousins, I said, "Yeah, your cousin already told me about the memorial.  The request forms are by the first aid kit.  Fill one out at least 24 hours before the absence."  After delivering this dry, cold, bureaucratic response, I noticed that the student's head was hanging and tears were falling out of his eyes and onto the floor.  Yup.  I'm pretty awesome.  *Sigh*  Apparently my Counseling Kung Fu skills were on vacation that day.


Idea #6:  Regrets and how you live a better life without them

Here I am teaching my Monday morning life skills class 

Over many years of social work, I've had this conversation several times:  


Person:  "I'll never be able to get over it.  I'm so ashamed.  I can't believe I did that.  I can never forgive myself."
Me:  "Do you think feeling that way is going to help you move forward or offer anything productive to your life?" 
Person:  "No, it makes me feel like shit."  
Me:  "Then I suggest you stop it.  In my experience, people who feel like shit tend to act like shit, so feeling that way isn't serving you or anyone else.  Shame and regret are useless.  Either learn from your mistakes, or don't, and move on."


There's some Counseling Kung Fu for ya!


Yay, I wrote something!  Many thanks to my wonderful friends and family members for providing me with these topics.  I may enlist your support again very soon, so please keep those thinking caps on.

The Strong Chick's Burden

Oy.  Life is so hard.

It was very difficult for me to write the title of this post, even in the spirit of irony, because I'm so bugged when people use the word "chick" to describe a female human being.  I'm not a baby chicken.  I'm a grown-ass woman.  But I like the way the title sounds, so I'm going with it even though it kinda makes me cringe.


It's baffling to me the way many men react when I suggest that they refrain from using the word "chick."  They act like they were doing something completely innocuous, or even benevolent, like teaching elderly people how to utilize their cell phones, and I, in some fit of feminism-induced hysteria, have accused them of something horrific, like raping baby sea otters.  But referring to women as "chicks" is not innocuous.  Language has power (duh), and when someone uses the image of a helpless, peeping, scurrying, tiny ball of fluff to describe a female person, it's not particularly empowering.


What if it were common practice to refer to a male person as some unflattering animal such as, say, a pig?  Or a donkey?  "Aw, girl, I met the hottest pig last night."  "Hey, there's some donkey on the phone for you."  

You wanna go out later?

Somehow, I don't think guys would like that very much.


What I have learned over the years is that, if you are the type of woman who bothers to suggest that people don't refer to you as a baby chicken, you are quickly labeled as A Strong Woman.  And, although I cannot imagine any other way to be, I must admit that there are challenges to being a strong woman, including:


(1) You will be compared to any and all outspoken women, including shitheads and sociopaths.
I get this a lot.  I hold my breath when I hear, "You know who you remind me of?" because the answer to that question might be someone cool, like Tina Fey or Margaret Cho, or it might be someone decidedly not cool, like Sarah Palin or Lizzie Borden.  Come on, folks.  Try a little harder.  There are plenty of strong women out there with whom I have more in common than the sole factor that we're not too scared to share our opinions.  After so many years of carefully constructing the person I have become, I find it somewhat deflating when I find myself compared to all outspoken women, including those who happen to be outspoken about, for example, their anti-feminist agendas, narcissistic obsessions with hair, nails and clothes, or concerns that Mexican immigrants will be the downfall America.


(2) A woman's likability decreases as her level of success increases.
Yes, this is a statistically proven fact.  If you are a woman and you manage, through incredible intelligence, resiliency, and determination, to overcome all of the structural, imbedded, sexist obstacles in your path and ultimately achieves greatness, your reward is that people won't like you.

Yeah.  That's totally fair and justified.

This goes for men and women, in that neither sex will like you.  Society's message is:  "Ew, you achieved success?  Blech.  That's so unappealing.  But wait - look at that successful man!  Women want to date him!  Men want to be him!  All hail the conquering hero!" 


As a matter of fact, if you are a woman and achieve success, you receive this automatically generated email:


Dear Successful Female:


You are being put on notice that you are now an unlikeable person, due to the fact that you have not assimilated yourself into an acceptable female role (e.g., victim; martyr; doormat).  While it is true that victims, martyrs, and doormats are also quite unlikeable, they are not quite as unlikeable as you.  We encourage you to begin strongly questioning your life choices. 


Sincerely,
Yer Pal, The Patriarchy


Have you ever encountered a statistical fact that made you want to take a giant chainsaw and just...oh, never mind.  I guess the key, if you're a woman, is to get wealthy enough that you can pay people to pretend they like you.


And if you become so completely fucking awesome that you actually turn into a superhero, people will only consider liking you if you dress like a prostitute.

"We are, like, so totally about to go fight crime.  Right after we have sex with all these frat boys."

(3) People come to you for advice, particularly around confrontation, comebacks, or retaliation, and then they don't utilize your amazing and hilarious suggestions.
I get this a lot from females who are in crappy relationships with jerks.  They tell me what the jerks are up to, I give them excellent ideas for things they could say or do to the jerks, they laugh their asses off, and then they don't do anything.  Such a waste of my talents.


(4)  When you do something particularly fabulous, you're informed that you're "The Man" or that you've "got balls."
Hello?  That's the opposite of a compliment.  Please try again.


Despite the aforementioned factors, I like being A Strong Woman, although I don't think I'll ever fail to wince inside when I express an opinion and someone says, "Whoa.  Why don't you tell us how you really feel?"  Dude, what the fuck else would I tell you?  If you want some falsified, watered-down, sideways version of what someone really feels, go talk to a U.S. Senator.

Looking to fill your bullshit quota?  Look no further!

I Am Stupid People

When I was 21, I moved from Massachusetts to Key West, Florida.  I had just graduated from a college that was located in a miserable, frozen wasteland where, on particularly chilly days, one could get frostbite on one's lungs just from breathing.  Despite the fact that this place was clearly not fit for human habitation, I lived there for four years, and when I was done, I immediately moved to a tropical island, informing anyone who would listen that I was swearing off winter forever and that "only stupid people live in places where there's bad weather."


As soon as I got to Key West, I made a grand showing of throwing away my windshield scraper.  Friends watched and took pictures as I chucked the scraper into a dumpster, boldly declaring that I would never again need such a revolting object in my life.

Key West was a lovely place to live.  A typical weekend day, even in January, involved walking to Dunkin Donuts for a bagel and iced coffee, strolling to the beach, swimming and tanning for hours, and then wandering to a bar to drink Coronas until sunset.  My favorite bar, which unfortunately no longer exists, was called Gato Gordo.  They had televisions mounted above the bar, and during the winter months they aired only the Weather Channel so that patrons could laugh evilly and self-righteously as they watched the crappy weather that everyone else in the country was experiencing.  I did that a lot.


After living in a variety of locales around the country, I believe that weather makes the people.  Harsh, extreme weather patterns create an angry, rigid populace.  Sunny, warm weather creates people who are so mellow and complacent that they sometimes seem cognitively impaired.  [As a friend from New York said to me when I moved to California:  "Please don't become one of those people who's like - yeah, my mom just died, but it's all good."]


In the Pacific Northwest, weather patterns create characters like this:

and this:

and folks who can't bring themselves to get out of bed in the morning.


This winter was a particularly cold one here in Oregon, and I found myself needing a windshield scraper several times during the month of December.  However, I couldn't bring myself to purchase one, given the ritualistic disposal of my last one 15 years ago and my declaration about stupid people.  Therefore, whenever I discovered a frozen car in the morning, I used my driver's license and fingernails to painstakingly clear my windshield and side mirrors.  It was pathetic.  I disclosed this embarrassing information to my mother, and, come Christmas morning, I discovered a brand new windshield scraper wrapped and placed lovingly in my stocking.  


So now I have a goddamned windshield scraper again, which means that, by my own definition, I am a stupid person.  The scraper certainly comes in handy, and I have crankily used it several times over the past few months.  However, I cannot wait until I reach another point in my life when I can throw it away with confidence.


Since I can't think of a way to end this post, I'll just end it by saying...who the fuck cares who Ashton Kutcher's new girlfriend is?  Is there a way to block Yahoo's entertainment "news"?  Because it fills me with rage.


That is all.

If Trees Had Thumbs

What're YOU lookin' at?

I just performed a Google Image search for "if trees had thumbs," and the sea of randomness that awaited me was quite astounding.  Based on the results I received, I think I might've made Google have a brain aneurism.  The first picture was a cat lying on a bed.  The second was a dog lying on a bed.  The seventh was a creature with the body of a human and the head of a cat, playing a video game.  Next came an image of two creatures, one with a woman's body and a cat's head, and the other with a man's body and a dog's head, sprawled out on a boardroom table having a thumb war.  I don't know what I was expecting when I ran that particular search...but certainly not any of that.


Lately I've been thinking about what the world would be like if other life forms protested things the way humans do.  What got me pondering this question was the recent initiative to slaughter massive numbers of barred owls to make room for more spotted owls.  Now, if I were a barred owl and also happened to have a large frontal lobe, opposable thumbs, and access to the news, I would totally make little signs with slogans like:


Down With Haters!  Barreds Are Owls, Too! 
Stop The Slaughter!  End Spotted Privilege!

Or I would just zap them with my death ray eyes.

I think we would encounter a lot of this type of activity if other life forms possessed the handy combo of large frontal lobe + opposable thumb (+ access to markers and poster board, I suppose).  Lionesses, for example, would finally have a platform to protest the bullshit treatment they receive from male lions.  We might see signs all over the Sahara with messages like:


I Kill It = I Eat First!
Lionesses Against Sex Biting
Stop Killing Our Cubs, You Crazy Fucks!

I've had it - I'm just gonna rip out your tongue.

Grass could protest the genocidal behavior of weeds.  Krill could protest their defenseless slaughter by whales.  Sweet little creatures like impala could protest everything, because pretty much all they do is wander around waiting to get eaten.  And dogs and cats could just protest the shit out of each other.  They'd be our new bipartisan rivalry.


But I think trees would have the most reasons for full-scale revolt.  Poor trees.  They don't do anything but grow placidly, offer serenity, clean our air, and produce oxygen, and they get treated like crap.  They're chopped to bits, polluted, carved in, tagged, peed on, and occasionally occupied by patchouli-smelling weirdos.

Could someone please get this stinky hippie off me?

Poor trees.  I think if trees had thumbs, it would prove even more devastating for humanity than a cat-woman, dog-man boardroom thumb war.  They would totally kick our asses, and then we'd have to say that we got our asses kicked by trees.  And that would be really embarrassing.

The Most Terriblest Day

Sometimes I feel like the entire universe is conspiring to depress me, and I think that's very rude.

"Screw you, Al.  Fond regards, The Universe"

Since I am currently dealing with that very phenomenon, to help myself feel better I've decided to create a hyperbolically awful day.  I am hopeful that this process will remind me that things could be so much worse and therefore will improve my mood dramatically.

Let the terrible day begin!

You wake up late due to an overnight power outage that screwed up your alarm clock.  You jump out of bed and step straight into a pile of cat barf.  Hopping into the bathroom on one foot, you lose your balance and fall, hitting your hip on the toilet and smearing cat barf all over the floor and bath mat.  After cleaning up the floor and putting the mat into the laundry, you take a shower.  While you're showering, you look up and discover that the ceiling above you is covered in black mold.  The hot water runs out right after you've finished shaving one leg.

There are hardly any coffee grounds left, but you don't have time to stop for coffee before work, so you just use what you have and hope for the best.  Your coffee ends up looking like dirty dishwater and tasting like nothing.  While you're lamenting that fact, you burn your breakfast which sets off the smoke alarm.  The shock of the earsplitting sound inspires your cat to barf again.  Your housemate comes out of her room and, in a very loud voice, informs you that you are inconsiderate, obnoxious, and practically impossible to live with.  She also lets you know that she hates your cat.


When you get to work, the parking lot is full.  You have to park 5 blocks away.  As you limp to the office (due to the hip injury you received in the bathroom), a passing car hits a pothole full of filthy road water and soaks you.  As you yell after the motorist, some of the water drips off of your hair and into your mouth.


Work sucks.  No one appreciates anything you do.  Your hard drive crashes.  No one cares.  When you tell your coworkers about it, they just tell you about times in the past when their hard drives crashed and how those experiences were much worse than what you're currently going through.

Narcissistic jerks!

When the work day is finally over, you step out of the office into a spontaneous, torrential downpour.  After you trudge the 5 blocks to your car, you realize that you parked in a 1-hour zone, thereby earning yourself a parking ticket which monetarily eliminates 3 hours of the work you just did.

Nooooooooo!!!!!

The drive home is a perfect shit storm.  There is gridlock traffic, which offers you ample time to hear lots of songs reminiscent of past break ups, tragedies, and dreams never realized.  You witness a cat getting hit by a car.  One of your front speakers blows out.  You stop off to get your favorite dinner as a pick-me-up, but that meal has been removed from the restaurant's menu "due to lack of interest."  After you eat a pathetic, disappointing alternative dish, you return to your car to discover that your window's smashed and your stereo has been stolen.

At least this negates the speaker blow-out issue

You call the police, and it takes them an hour to send an officer to take your report.  When the officer arrives, he laughs at your crappy car and remarks that the stereo "couldn't have been worth more than twenty bucks, anyway."  Since it's raining, the interior of your car is soaking wet, and you endure a windowless, cold, soggy drive home.  When you're about ten minutes away from your house, the rain turns to hail.  


When you arrive home, ready to collapse into a miserable heap on the couch, your housemate decides that now would be the perfect time to bring up issues regarding your lack of responsibility with dishwashing and completing other household chores.  Since you (a) can't remember the last time your housemate washed a dish, and (2) have had a really shitty day, you shout at her and call her a hypocritical asshole.  She proceeds to start crying and tells you that she just found out her dad has cancer.


Your cat then begins running around the house barfing.  The dog runs after the cat, eating the barf, which makes you want to barf, so you yell at the dog, who then cowers and looks at you like this:

How could you be so cruel??

You decide to go to bed early in an attempt to end this day.  When you pull back the covers to get into bed, you see 3 fleas jump off the sheets.  You proceed to stay up for most of the night, scratching, twitching, and only briefly falling into bouts of anxiety-dream-ridden sleep.

Wait...WHY did I go shopping naked again?

All right, that worked.  I do feel better.  Compared to all of that, my life is going just swimmingly.  Hooray for downward social comparison!

The Times They Have A-Changed

Last weekend, I attended the Portland Chocolate Festival.  I chose to go on the opening night, even though the entrance fee was twice as much, because it was a 21+ event and I didn't want to deal with running, shrieking, sticky-fingered children at a gigantic, candy-based festivity.


As a kid, I found the concept of "adults only" incredibly offensive.  I couldn't understand why adults wouldn't want kids around for everything.  After all, kids were cute, smart, funny, and in general simply made situations better!  Why wouldn't you want a bunch of them frolicking in the public pool while you're trying to swim laps?


As an adult, my opinions have changed dramatically.  Not only do I enjoy kid-free events, but I also find things repellant that I used to love as a kid, and vice versa - I now enjoy things that I associated with pure doom during my childhood.  For example...


WINTER


When I was a kid, winter was one of the greatest things ever.  Winter meant snow, and snow meant forts, snow ball fights, days home from school, sledding, snow men, and hot cocoa.  But this is how I feel about snow nowadays:

If I didn't have to shovel it, clean off my car, or drive in the crap, perhaps I'd still like it...although I've also developed a strong adversity to being cold, so actually snow can just suck it.  Winter can suck it as well. Winter is cold, wet, dark, and stupid.


QUIET TIME


As a child, the following image would have embodied the pinnacle of coma-inducing ennui:

But now when I look at it, I think - wow.  That looks lovely.  How do I get to go there?


When I was young, I was never bothered by noise and equated silence with boredom.  I remember once being on a road trip with my older sister and parents.  During the long drive, my sister and I played game after game (e.g., I Packed My Grandmother's Trunk; I Spy; 20 Questions; Who Stole The Cookie From the Coo-Coo-Kie Jar; etc.).  After a couple of hours we ran out of games and asked my parents for suggestions.  My dad said, "How about if we play a game that's absolutely silent?"  While my sister and I had been trying to entertain ourselves to keep from going stir crazy, my poor father was about to lose his mind after listening to hours of his children's endless chattering and laughter.  At the time I didn't get it, but now I do.


As an adult, I think it's funny that I used to consider it a punishment to be sent to my room.  These days, I would love to get sent to my room to think about what I've done.  That sounds very relaxing.

Ahhh...time to myself.  What a luxury.

BEDROOM LIGHTING


As a kid, I had no tolerance for darkness in my bedroom at night.  I slept with a nightlight on *and* the door open about halfway, with the hall light on.  I needed lots of light.  This would've been a good product for me in my youth:

Seriously?  It takes up the entire fucking wall!

As an adult, however, when I go to sleep at night, I want my room to look like this:

I don't want to be able to see a single thing.  If there's a sliver of moonlight coming in through a crack in the curtains, I feel like:  "AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!  LIIIIIIIIGHT!"  Whereas when I was a child, at bedtime I was more like, "AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! DAAAAARK!"


FOOD


Glasses of milk and huge amounts of red, rare meat were on my preferred menu when I was a kid.  I also hated spicy food and would question spice-eaters regarding how they could enjoy a food that made them hurt.  Nowadays, the thought of drinking a glass of milk makes me want to barf.  I haven't eaten meat since 1994, and I enjoy food so spicy that it would cause most people's taste buds to supernova.

Mmmm...give me some of whatever he's having!

Of course, there are plenty of other differences between me at 6 and me at 36.  I don't need to be told ten times (or at all) to pick up after myself.  I can't imagine why anyone would enjoy playing make believe games like "school" or "house," because now I've lived those experiences, and they're not very fun.  I don't like playing the same game, listening to the same story, or watching the same movie over and over and over because that is just fucking insane.  And I have excellent motor skills.  I remember being really envious of adults' motor skills when I was a kid, and now I've got them.  Ha!

Yes, the times they have a'changed.  Thirty years ago, I would've merrily crawled out of my snow fort, eaten a burger with a big glass of milk, asked for the same bedtime story three times in a row, and fallen asleep with the lights on.  But tonight I'm going to crank up the heat and pretend it's summer, stand on one leg while I eat a habañero spiced tempeh wrap, send myself to my room to think about what I've done, and fall asleep in pitch darkness.  Sounds lovely.

America, The Gingerbread Man

Unfortunately, in the USA, we have just entered another presidential election year.


While I do my best to avoid political yammering, recently I've heard a great deal of nonsense from yucky people who claim to love America. When I hear their claims, I find myself confused, because *I* love America (or rather, the United States of America; I'm not overly familiar with the other Americas, although I've heard nice things), and yet I tend to believe I have little in common with these 'Murica-lovin' yahoos.


This strange situation has gotten me thinking about what it means to love America. What are the American people made of? What do we value, and what is there to love about this country? Therefore, I have decided to map out exactly what I believe Americans love about America, and the canvas for my map will be this cute little gingerbread dude:

I am America!

[As I lead us through the mapping process, please keep in mind that I am aware the USA is flawed. While outlining the reasons why America is lovable, I will utilize broad, sweeping generalizations that may, in fact, be founded primarily on myth. But try to stay with me here.]


As Americans, we have the right to think what we want. This can lead to inventions, brand new theories about existence and the universe, and annoying, drunken debates at parties. While there are all sorts of devious entities working to manipulate our thought processes, we ultimately have the freedom to think however we choose. And that's a nice thing. Here it is on the gingerbread map:

Americans love their freedom of speech. Unfortunately, freedom of speech can lead to people saying dumb and hateful things, but it also allows for other people to inform the haters exactly where they can stick their dumb opinions. For obvious reasons, I will place our love for freedom of speech right on the mouth:

Yay, I can say dumb things! And you can tell me to shut the fuck up!

Americans are adventurous. We enjoy and find value in exploring new lands, seas, and solar systems.  We travel widely and bless the world with our Americanness. Ah ha ha ha ha...anyway, I'll put America's love of adventure on the little guy's feet:

This cookie was made for walkin'.

There is, in the heart of America, a desire to help those in need. We send both funds and ourselves to other places in times of crisis. We work to protect endangered species, rainforests, and other vulnerable stuff. In short, we care. [Except for those of us who don't, but let's not think about those people right now.] The gingerbread man's little helping hand will symbolize that aspect of America:

America values creativity, and we demonstrate this through our fashion, music, movies, and other forms of art. A lot of it is horrible, but whatchagonnado? One man's poop on a plate is another man's masterpiece.

Only creative gingerbread men have snazzy bow ties.

Here is the part of the map signifying America's love for Strawberry Shortcake:

???

[Okay, that came out of nowhere. Really I just have a bunch of Strawberry Shortcake stickers and am trying to get rid of them. I'm not implying that Americans don't love Strawberry Shortcake. I just don't think that our love for her is intricately woven into the fabric of this country.]


America has created brand new industries (then promptly shipped them overseas) and is a country of workers (or at least people who are looking for work). Whoops...I think my rose-colored glasses must've slipped off. Just a moment, please...


America is a country of workers! We are an industrious bunch, continually building, developing, sitting at desks doing God-knows-what, marketing, manufacturing...uh, sewing, and...um, cobbling, and doing other stuff. I utilized the gingerbread man's buttons to symbolize American industriousness because somehow that seemed appropriate:

Americans love their families and are committed to humanity. We love our friends, totally care about our neighbors (what were their names again?), and appreciate diversity, as long as it doesn't make us too uncomfortable. The gingerbread man's little purple heart will signify this commitment:

Finally, we come to a part of America that some people love, and it is this part that distinguishes me from the sociopathic politicos I've had the misfortune to hear speak lately. It is an aspect of Americanism I don't associate with, but I also realize that, unlike Strawberry Shortcake, it is indeed something that is woven into the fabric of the USA. That part is this: In America, some people have the ability to accumulate and hoard huge amounts of wealth, which they then utilize for their own grossly excessive personal gain.


I'll put that part right where it belongs:

I call this America's anus.


America's anus doles out a lot of crap, both crap we have to deal with in this country and crap we get overseas. People who love America's anus will do anything to accumulate wealth, even if it means building a gigantic fortress from the skulls of babies, puppies, and endangered species. For whatever reason, it is vital for them to amass as much of the world's resources as possible, and they can take it with them, goddammit it, so don't tell them they can't or they'll send their teams of lawyers after you.


As a rule, I try to have limited contact with buttholes, so while I maintain my love for the USA, I will do so without paying homage to its anus. I'll leave that to our nation's wealth addicts. I just wish we had some form of methadone to wean them off the green stuff, as the harmfulness of their addiction radiates outwards, squishing all in its path.


If I were President, I would end this post as follows:


"God bless you, and God bless the United States of America, even its anus. Because I guess shit needs to come out somewhere."