Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Bailout Memories

Back in the day, I was messy, messy, messy with my money. Part of it I blame on my parents, whom I love dearly. It pained my dear mother greatly for one of her chickens to be stressing over money, so she would send a little to bail us out, to tide us over until the next big fuck up.

I never really realized how much debt my poor mom was going into to support my bad habits (nothing like having a bar tab from your favorite haunt that exceeds your monthly income!). It never occurred to me that all she was doing was taking my stress on herself.

I still saw it as a bit of a game. Such maturity!

See, I’d never directly ask for money. I’d just sort of complain. On a good day, she’d cave immediately and ask how she could help. On a bad day, she’d make me work a little harder, which usually involved me invoking some great symbolic sacrifice she would take seriously and act to avert.

Sometimes it bordered on the ridiculous, but who was I to argue with results. But one day, everything changed. Mom grew a pair.

I called as usual to complain that I didn’t have the $200 or whatever it was that I needed. The great southern belle voice enveloped me like a warm hug. “Aw, hunnnny! Ah am so sorry to hear ‘bout tha-yat.” I smiled. This wasn’t going to be a slam dunk. We were definitely going to go the distance. “What are you going to do?”

Me: “I don’t know. Maybe turn tricks at a quarter a pop.” This was exactly the sort of extreme rhetoric tha sent her into a tizzy of concern. But apparently my mom had seen this episode already. Normally, this is where she would ask if she could send me a little something to tide me over. I was already breathing the sigh of financial relief, so her response caught me quite unawares.

“Do you have any idea how many quarters it takes to get $200?”

ARE YOU SHITTING ME? My mom just called my (lame) bluff! And I knew that I could never ask her for money again. The cord had been cut. Gently, but firmly. With love, but with conviction. I was a grown up and it was time to start acting like one. And I did.

I’m still no Ben Bernanke, but the checkbook balances at the end of each month and I spend what I can afford to spend, realistically. (Those Prada shoes are from the OUTLET people. Shut up!)

So today, I’m asking the Congress and the President, “How many quarters does it take to get $700 billion dollars?” Because I sure do sense that I’m about to get fucked.

Friday, September 26, 2008

Michael Jackson Finds New Church Home

In more SHOCKING news on the evangelical front, Evangelist Tony Alamo (again with the fucked up names. Although he was born Bernie Hoffman) was arrested in a child pornography investigation. According to CNN, he “was charged under a federal statute with having knowingly transported a minor across state lines with the intent to engage in sexual activity.”

His wife Susan (a statuesque, geriatric blonde who looks exactly like Donatella Versace will look in her dotage) is, of course, standing by her man.

That special place in Hell just got another reservation.

The Second Coming of the Taxman

This Sunday, in direct violation of a Federal rule barring non-profits (such as churches) from taking a direct role in politcs, “Christian” ministers in 22 states are going to be delivering political sermons.

They’re doing it as a way to set up a legal challenge to the actual IRS rule. The likely outcome? They’ll become taxable organizations. Works for me! Let ‘em see the flip-side of the separation of church and state. Who knows, maybe that would do away with some of these pseudo-spiritualists.

My favorite quote was from the Rev. Wiley S. Drake (why do they always have these fucked up, big-hair names?) whose fire-and-brimstone factory operates out of the First Southern Baptist Church of Buena Park (CA).

"I'm going to talk about the un-biblical stands that Barack Obama takes. Nobody who follows the Bible can vote for him," said the Wiley Reverend. "We may not be politically correct, but we are going to be biblically correct. We are going to vote for those who follow the Bible."

Using my keen powers of deduction, I can only assume they will be urging the support of John McCain. But wait? Didn’t he commit adultery on his first wife with his current wife?

Doesn’t the bible say something about that? I’m no bible scholar, but it sure seems like it does. Maybe since Cindy wasn’t technically a “neighbor” then he wasn’t really coveting his “neighbor’s wife.” I dunno.

And didn’t he dump the woman who patiently waited for him while he was incarcerated, mostly because she had been horribly disfigured in an accident, thereby rendering her less than the perfect political wife prop?

You know, come to think of it, they must be Preaching for Palin. It’s a snake-handler thing. I wouldn’t understand.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Maybe I Want to be a Quaker

My delightful sister-in-law (or “outlaw” as we have taken to calling each other) forwarded me an article about a recent incident on an Oregon college campus. Someone at George Fox University (founded by the Quakers) hung an effigy of Obama by a noose.

To make it worse, they taped a note tying it to the school’s efforts to increase minority enrollment. Believe it or not, this post is not going to talk about the stupidity, immaturity and overall wrong-ness of the perpetrator(s).

Rather, I want to share the amazing response from the college administrators.

"We absolutely cannot hate those around us and say we love God," said school president Robin Baker. "It is not possible.”

Bravo, President Baker. BRAVO!!!!

THAT is what it means to be a Christian. It’s shame that more folks who do their evil “in the name of the Lo-ward” aren’t reading from the same prayer book

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Why Doesn't Anyone Burn Their Bra Anymore?

Everyone knows I’m an award show whore. I guess I secretly fantasize that one day it will be me the orchestra “plays off” the stage. Do they even give awards for snark?

So, naturally, I tuned into the 60th Anniversary Emmys this past Sunday. During the telecast, I even spotted ThirdCoast2LeftCoast, a frequent commenter. I saw her pulling focus from Marcia Cross on the red carpet and could see her fabulous new hairdo peeking out behind Mary Louise Parker during the ceremony. Glamour galore!

My SECOND favorite part of the evening, though, was the throwback to 60’s comedy with the salute to Laugh In and the Smothers Brothers. It got me to thinking about how much more intelligent the discourse was back in those days. It made me wonder why we don’t have that sort of radical, reactionary protest movement. And then I realized. We do. But it’s the right who have become radicalized.

Think about it. Who are our most fervent protestors now? Standing outside events they morally oppose and waving placards? The right rev. Phelps and his anti-gay hatemongers. The “Christian” anti-choice activists who block abortion clinics, picket Planned Parenthood and shoot doctors who practice in such places.

It’s like they took all of our best tricks and turned them against us. Did we get complacent? Did we make such great strides in the 60’s in terms of racial and gender equality that we were able to just kick back and relax?

I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that we are in a real battle for the future of this country. Do we want to be a country that values education and diversity and a variety of points of view? Or do we want to be homogeneous in our appearance and beliefs and rigid in our points of view?

Iranian President Ahmadinejad said today that the “American empire” is nearing its end. Of course, I find Wikipedia to be a more credible source of info than this guy, but it’s a sobering thought.

We’ve gone from being the big brother/protector to being the schoolyard bully in a very short amount of time. We have lost our sophistication and leading edge. We are regressing as a country.

A local radio personality, who routinely shares her Republichristian “beliefs” and “values” was in a discussion about Gov. Palin’s 4000 year old dinosaur comments. One of her fellow DJ’s said something about carbon dating proving that there were no dinosaurs around 4000 years ago. Her response, without a trace of irony, was “Well, if you trust the science.”

I think faith is a wonderful thing. I think believing in a power greater than your self can be immensely helpful. But you cannot be so strident in your thinking that you continue to believe when there is legitimate proof that what you believe is wrong. To me, when you do that, you’re putting God in the same category as Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

It’s time for us to put the radicals back in their cages. Or unleash our own again. I truly believe that our country cannot bear the weight of 4 more years of ignorant tyranny. Or ignorant Trannys.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Re: Crackers in Water

I almost never address the comment section of this blog. I believe that I write what I write, you say what you say--fair exchange. In fact, I think healthy debate is something that is sorely missing from the contemporary landscape. Unfortunately a couple of Anonymous posters didn't like the above referenced post. Their commentary doesn't fall into the intelligent debate camp. It falls in the name-calling, bullshit category.

And I feel compelled to respond.

Excuse me, you last anonymous motherfucker. Don't call somebody a pussy when you're too chickenshit to leave your name. If you have something intelligent to add to the conversation, please post it. I actually would be interested in your point of view. Otherwise, why not just say "nanny-nanny-boo-boo." it would be more mature than your middle-school macho posturing.

Believe me, being a FIFTH generation Texan, I know a thing or two about being embarrassed by my fellow Texans. On that we can agree.

But I must ask, if my blog offends you so much, WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU READING IT? I'm sure there are plenty of bloggers who think exactly like you do.

And in case you didn't notice, this is a HUMOR site. It's not intended to be anything other than my own observations on the ridiculousness that occurs in contemporary society.

For the other anonymous commenter. Heartless? Not by a long shot. Idiot? Quite possible. Definitely on occasion. But never, ever heartless.

We live in a cult of victimization in this country. It's always someone else's fault. These "victims" failed to heed the most dire warning possible. Yet, we're supposed to feel sorry for them and their situation. Nobody "did this to them." In fact, I believe the common phrase is, "It was an act of God."

Hispanics = Tacos. Right?

So, I’m pouring my Corn Chex this morning and notice for the first time the “special promotion” on the box. Accompanying the lovely Dora the Explorer-esque illustrations of brown people in festive native garb (I shit you not, the men are wearing sarapes and sombreros) is the headline: “This Cinco de Mayo make TACO-SEASONED Chex Mix!”

And included inside is a packet of Old El Paso Taco seasoning. Maybe THAT’S why I’ve been craving a margarita for breakfast.

Seriously, though. You need to fire your Hispanic marketing people. Where were they born? Alaska?

In addition to being a ridiculously stereotypical, ignorant promotion, I don’t want to be thinking about tacos when I’m eating my cereal. I have 112 ROCKIN’ taco places within Mexican hat dancing distance of my casa. If I wanted a breakfast taco, I’d have a breakfast taco.

Gratuitous Torchy’s Shout Out!!

And the other thing? “Mayo” means “May” dumb-ass. Why are you running a “May 5th” promotion at the end of Summer. Perhaps you meant “Diez y Seis de Septiembre.”

Or why not just say, “Hey Mexicans! Check it out. It tastes like tacos.”

Maybe they could cross-promote with Tequiza. Or actually introduce themselves to a Hispanic person.

Don't Fuck With Margaret Cho

After going on the record against the Palin-tologist, Margaret Cho received an enormous backlash from the “Christian” right. Today, she took to her blog to, essentially, politely ask them to fuck themselves. I thought you might like to share the love.

Ladies and Genlemen, MARGARET CHO:

“I’m a Christian, you Fuckers. 
All kinds of Christians are getting mad about my Sarah Palin comments, and it is pissing me off.
First of all – you fucking fake Christians - don’t fucking question my Christianity. I grew up in the church. My grandfather was a minister, who is with God now and talks to me in my dreams from God’s corner office. I am a former Sunday school teacher. I taught the Bible to children and showed them how to love God and invite him into their hearts. I believe in God – but I don’t fear him. God is my best friend. God is my ally. God is my boyfriend. God is my best fag. I am God’s fag hag cuz didn’t you know, God is a big fag. Serious bottom too. Butch in the streets, femme in the sheets. That is my God. God is my biggest fan. God gets me, dude.
God wants us all to just get along. He doesn’t give a shit about the profanity. The bitch fucking invented profanity. He thinks it is hilarious. He just wants you to talk to him, and he doesn’t care what you have to say. He just wants to keep the conversation going. Like Jay-Z, he just wants to love you. He just wants you to be able to make your own decisions. God is all about you and what you need. God is happy that you are gay. God made you fucking gay cuz he thinks it is awesome. God understands if you need to have an abortion. That is why he created abortion, on the 8th day. God accepts. God forgives. God loves all of us, even though some of us might have a problem with each other.
Don’t fucking question my Christianity you fucking idiot assholes. If you continue to have a problem, then talk to God about it, not me, you fucking racist homophobic misogynist fake Christian shitheads. God thinks it is funny that I swear so much. He said I could use his name in vain or whatever. He just wants me to use it. He loves me. So fuck you. And I guess he loves you too. Even though you are fake Christian assholes. If you were truly Christians, you would let gays get married, and send them fucking presents from Bed Bath and Beyond!
If you truly believed in Jesus, you would try to be like him and love us, fags and dykes and feminists all. God bless you, even you. You fucking fuckers.”

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Crackers in Water

Frank and Deeann Sherman must be ISLANDERS!! Except they live right on the coast. With no barrier between them and the water. Probably a lovely existence.

When there isn’t a gigantic hurricane aimed at your front door.

Fortunately, the Shermans have an attic. And rather than hopping in the car and heading north, they decided to ride Ike out. (Who knows, maybe that’s been Deeann’s fantasy since the 50’s).

Now, for the play-by-play, let’s go to Deeann.

"The ocean rose up like a big hand and went through the house," said Deeann Sherman, 59. "We were in the attic 24 hours, holding on and praying. It was such a mean storm. It was the longest storm I've seen in my life."

Holding on and praying. I see. Maybe “packing up and leaving” would have been a better combo. But we’ll get to that.

Now that there’s nothing left of their belongings but some old waterlogged Elvis cassettes and a ceramic poodle lamp with oversized lips, the Shermans have decided to leave their little piece of paradise and move to the Dallas area to be closer to their kids.

"There's a passage in the Bible that says woe be to those who live on the coast," she says. "I'm going to heed that warning. … I'm leaving."

Okay Miss Vacation Bible School 1956, thank you for the delicious helping of irony. Too bad you didn’t read your bible BEFORE the “big hand” smacked your stupid ass. You know, when all of those nice folk were telling you to GET THE FUCK OUT. Maybe then you would have seen a passage about how much God wishes you had some fucking sense. Although I doubt God used that exact language.

If I were your kids, I’d leave “the Dallas area” before you got there. With no forwarding address. Stupid-ness is NOT next to Godliness. No matter how many times you practice saying it in the mirror.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Hurricane Ig

So, in spite of the fact that we were supposed to be getting some collateral damage from Hurricane Ike, the worst thing that happened in Austin was that the wind blew my toss around during my tennis match on Saturday. Oh, how I suffer.

Our neighbors to the Southeast weren’t so lucky. Although the storm didn’t hit with nearly the force or surge that was predicted. I’m still very confused by the people who chose to stay and “ride it out.” Not the least bit surprised, however, by the fact that they all sound like out-of-tune banjos. In their interviews (and OMG have they allllll been lining up to get interviewed) they really do our free public education system proud.

“When I seen the water a risin’, I realized that maybe we shudda took off.” Or, “We was gunnah leave, but my mama said she weren’t gunnah leave, so wut could I do?”

Well, I would have said, “use your brain,” but I realized you already were at full bandwidth.

My favorite was the Three Generations In a Closet. Grandma, Daddy and his darlin’ babies, slept in a closet. But only after writing their names and social security numbers on their arms with a Sharpie. So their bodies could be identified in the worst-case scenario.

See, I’m pretty sure that if it’s threatening enough to have to write your fucking SS# on your skin in indelible ink, you might’ve thought about GETTING THE FUCK OUT!!!

Instead we were treated to a gap-toothed little girl, mugging for the camera, saying, “We survived it. Cuz we’re ISLANDERS!!!

I’m hoping they’ll make a hillbilly musical out of that one.

My next favorite was the old lady who called 911. When they came to rescue her, she sent them away, saying she didn’t want to leave, she was just hungry and could they bring her some food. I wish I had been the dispatcher on duty. I would have been, like, “I’m sorry bitch. Did you think you called Pizza Hut? What? They were closed? MAYBE BECAUSE THERE WAS A FUCKING HURRICANE COMING?” Click.

I think Darwin would have even raised an eyebrow at some of these folks.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Keep Your Hands Where I Can See 'Em

I think Dan Savage should be president. His column today in the Village Voice takes on the pregnancy of Bristol Palin and the hypocrisy of her mother’s positions.

Dan says, “When it comes to respecting your family's privacy, Palin and the GOP see no need. They want to micro-manage the most intimate aspects of your private life. And if their own kids fail to live up to the standards that Palin and the GOP seek to impose on your family, well, that's a private matter between the Palins, their daughter, their God, and the thousands of screaming imbeciles in elephant hats waving McCain/Palin signs on the floor of the Republican National Convention.”

My friend (and occasional commenter) ThirdCoastToLeftCoast is visiting and we were talking about this very thing yesterday. “If the Republicans are so big on keeping government intrusion to a minimum, then why don’t they start by getting their hands of my uterus.”

I personally think ALL women should picket Republican campaign stops, carrying signs that say, “keep your hands off my hoo-ha.” The R’s LOVE euphemism.

And even though I don’t have a uterus (and never will, unless Vuitton comes out with a cute monogrammed version) I completely agree. But as is so often the case with these ridiculous Republican notions, where is the outrage people?

Why isn’t the press EXCORIATING McCain and Palin right now. All you have to do is ask yourself, “how would I cover Hillary?” And when you realize that you were NEVER afraid to whip out the elephant gun on Senator Clinton, take a look in the mirror. Why won’t you pull the trigger on Palin? Is it because you’re having adolescent sexy librarian thoughts about Governor Hockey Mom? Are you waiting for her to slide off her glasses, shake her hair loose and look at you with a sexy pout and call you a naughty boy?

Save it for after the election. Her boobs will still be there, front and center. Only she’ll be back in Alaska. And you know what cold air does to nipples, right? Huh? Now you’re feeling me.

So, see, your adolescent fantasies are much more likely to be realized if you help the public put Palin back in Alaska, where she belongs. Just in time for snowmobile racing season. And hockey games.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Smart Saturday

There is a great article on Salon.com today. The author took a job as a security specialist during the RNC and wrote about it. My favorite line comes at the end of the following passage.

"In addition to my team of black-clad officers, there are hotel security personnel, Minneapolis police, an odd guardsman, state trooper or sheriff's officer, another squad of hired officers (from a different private firm), and members of the FBI, Capitol Police (in suits) and Secret Service (in nicer suits). If you include the Evangelicals, nearly every person at the RNC headquarters has a voice whispering in his ear."


Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Lordy, Tell Me No!

Is Cindy McCain holding Palin's little Down's Syndrome baby, Trig? Don't you JUST KNOW the million-heiress is hissing at her aides through clenched teeth right about now. Loves!!

Whitey McWhite Said

As I’m waiting for Governor Baby Mama to speak and say something besides “World Peace. I personally believe. The Iraq and South Africa. Gridlock” then flashes a smile so toothy we’ll think she should have WON Miss Alaska (deep inhale) I slobbed through the punditry and came upon this. Some R consultant with a porn stache (uh, tom selleck called . . .) said that George W. had added to the Reagan Republican canon by being a “compassionate conservative.”




Are you fucking kidding me? Now I know why the elephant is their mascot. They have balls the size of grapefruits.

You couldn’t have bet me any amount of money that “compassionate conservative” would ever cross a human’s lips again unless it was in a Democrat attack ad.

You’re PROUD of his record of compassion?!!! That’s like saying you’re proud of Laura for not killing her self in some obscure Japanese ritual rife with symbolism about the failure of a husband martyred by a wife. I don’t know. Something like that.

Seriously, though, Bush has shown almost zero compassion towards anyone. Including Laura. His entire legacy is built on EXACTLY OPPOSITE that philosophy. He’s the cowboy. The badass. The gunslinger. He’s the dumbass frat boy. All grown up.

So, I guess the point of all this is that we cannot underestimate the Republi-cons. I’d almost forgotten that their favorite tactic is to take whatever you’ve found out about them that’s negative, then shout it to the rooftops, but saying it in an exclamatory tone and suddenly everyone believes they just did something good.

Please God. No, really.

Declaration of Independents

Senator Lieberman, may I just say this. Fuck off. How a man can go from being Al Gore’s running mate and actually elected by the general populace as Vice President of the US AS A DEMOCRAT, can hitch his wagon to the McCain Republicans is scandalous.

Is this one of those, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” moments? And on that campaign trail eight years ago, all those things you believed about GW, all which we now know to be true, that he’s a dipshit with blindspot bigger than Texas—how have you reconciled yourself with that?

Independent, indeed!

Rich White People and Shiny Eyed Christians

So, I’ve tuned into the Republican Convention because I believe they deserve their chance to tell their side of the story. I also would love to see an actual debate on the issues, vs. a bunch of schoolyard name-calling.

And as I listened to white person after white person droning on and on about McCain’s patriotism and maverick nature, I thought “If I’m just going to be watching a bunch of rich white people, I’d rather watch the US Open.

I mean seriously, it was a SEA of whiteness. You could tell which ones were the rich ones, by their expensively tailored and well put together outfits. You could tell which ones were the evangelicals by their glassy-eyed adulation of whomever was speaking. And you could tell the racist crackers by their garishly patterned “Sunday-go-to-meetin’” clothes, coupled with their early 90’s sitcom haircuts.

Yeah, buddy. THIS is the group I want to be leading my country. Oh, yeah, one more thing . . . COUNTRY FIRST?!?!!? Are you fucking kidding me? You are the greediest, most selfish bunch of motherfuckers in HISTORY. Pillaging Romans took less from their oppressed. So unless there’s a new thesaurus that says “country” is synonymous with “me” . . . I don’t think that word means what you think it means.

Or maybe you’re just talking about Big and Rich.

TSA. The Acronym for The Stupid Asshole.

Why is it that, whenever I travel, I feel less safe going through security. It’s not that it’s not invasive enough. Please. I’m surprised they don’t ask me to turn my head and cough.

No, it’s mostly the fact that TSA agents resemble nothing more than Mall Cops to me. They are either bored out of their mind and frustrated that (after HOW MANY years?) people still can’t remember to take their fucking change out of their pockets before they go through the metal detector.

Or they are totalitarian types, exerting their meager authority at the “office” knowing that when they get home, it’s just going to be more, “yes, dear.”

I always take the “Don’t feed the bears” mentality when going through airport security. They CAN make the situation far more unbearable than it already is, so I just smile and say “yes, sir/no, sir/yes, ma’am/no, ma’am.” My mama would be proud.

Last week however, I was tested by the fellow who was barking at everyone to “please place your large bags directly on the rollers” rather than in a gray plastic bin. The first time I heard him say that was when a woman, who was obviously trying to avoid paying for checked baggage, was shoving her Samsonite through. And given the glut of larger than usual bags coming onboard, I shook my head at the state of the airline industry and felt a moment of pity for all those business flyers who have to deal with these vacationing amateurs on a daily basis.

I got to the machine and went quickly through my well-rehearsed routine. My laptop came out, my laptop bag went into a gray bin, along with my shoes and the assorted contents of my pockets.

The bins whisked away efficiently and I stepped through the detector to find a scowling TSA agent.

“Did you not hear what I said?”

“Uh . . .” Yep. I was speechless.

“I SAID put your bags directly on the rollers.”

“I’m sorry. I heard you say LARGE bags. I didn’t think mine was a LARGE bag. I apologize.”

He scowled at me again. Barely looked at my boarding pass. And waved me through. No hassle. For which I was grateful.

But SERIOUSLY? WTF? If it’s a deal, then yank the fucking bag back out and let’s do this right. But to upbraid me? Did you get your scold quotient in for the day, dude?

I’m a big believer in rules. I like to know where they are so I can decide how and if I want to break them. But this didn’t feel like security to me. It felt like his authority had been flouted.

Maybe somebody just needed a hug. Or a quick game of Rochambeau. I’ll go first.