Category Archives: anger

Just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy, and they’ll be nice to you.

There are a lot of problems in the world today. Unless you’re living in a happy plastic bubble or a biodome or something, I’m sure you’ve heard about some of them. Shooting people. Crazy religious types Jesus-shouting at funerals. The hatred of all things not-“normal” – so you’re screwed if you’re not a straight old rich white man. The world’s a maelstrom of lunacy at the moment. It’s a lot of fun to live in. If by “fun” you mean “a place filled with many pits of quicksand so TREAD LIGHTLY DARLING GINGERSNAPS.”

This one’s kind of miniscule, overall. Comparatively, I mean. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t infuriate me. So are we going to rant about it? You bet we are.

I heard about this here. Sprocket Ink (our friend Jim used to write there, and once he left, I stayed around, because I enjoyed their articles…which is what people say about Playboy, right? So THAT sounded suspect) covers a lot of news stories in a snarky way I enjoy. Also since I have trouble keeping up with the news lately they’re super-helpful with keeping me up-to-date with things. Snarkily. I like that.

In case you don’t feel like clicking through (I see your stats, I know like one or two of you a day click through) I will recap the article for you. I can do that. I’m helpful. Also pissed.

There is a website called Potential Prostitutes. I know, doesn’t that sound like the most fun? It’s not.

I think this is an actual prostitute, not even a potential one.

I think this is an actual prostitute, not even a potential one.

On this site, anyone (it’s anonymous) can click and input the name, photograph, location, and phone number of a “potential prostitute.” The website will put that person up on the site. It’s all very simple.

Who are the potential prostitutes?

Doesn’t matter.

Could be a potential prostitute. Could be an actual prostitute. Could be your ex-girlfriend. Could be the girl who stole your boyfriend. Could be the pretty girl in your math class that gets more attention from the boys that you do. Could be the girl that wouldn’t sleep with you on that date the other night. Could be that girl that wouldn’t go out with you the other night. Could be the girl that’s treating your best friend like shit and he’s too over the moon to see it.Could be the girl that hates you for no reason and you just want to pay it forward. Could be the girl that’s bullying you. Could be the girl you’re bullying.

It. Does. Not. Matter.

And shitty. Also it's shitty.

And shitty. Also it’s shitty.

This totally up-and-up website will take this info and post it so people can search it by location. That’s it. Very simple, very easy. Then everyone can see this potential prostitute. And we can all shame her. SHAMMMMMEEEEE HERRRRRR.

What’s that? She’s not a prostitute? Well, THAT doesn’t matter.

What if you’re the girl on the site? What if someone emails you and says, “is this you?” and sends you a screencap of you on the Potential Prostitute site? Is your life over? How will you live this down?

Well! Don’t worry. It’s not a forever thing. For only $99.95, you can get yourself off the site. You’re safe! I mean, what’s $99.95 in the grand scheme of saving your good name from the Potential Prostitute site?

OK, the people that own this site? Assholes. Scammers. Using the internet to make money. Yes. Of course they are. Scum. Lower than the low. Similar to that bag of dicks who makes those Girls Gone Wild videos. I can’t imagine this site will stay up for long. They’ll screw up, post an underage kid’s photo or something, they’ll get sued, the site will get pulled down. I’m not a psychic, I’m just practical. (Although they’re hiding behind some law that they say makes what they’re doing ok. Which I would link you to but I’m not linkbaiting this site because I hate it so much it’s giving me hives. Also, it’s free speech, they’re saying. Assholes, all. This is not what free speech was made for, you guys. Back in the late 1700s they weren’t all “we gotta provide for the Potential Prostitutes of the world, yo.”)

"Also Potential Prostitutes. We gotta look out for these bastions of all that is right and good in the world?"

“Also Potential Prostitutes. We gotta look out for these bastions of all that is right and good in the world?”

However, what bothers me is the people who are submitting photos to this site.

Sure, there might be actual people submitting actual photos of actual prostitutes to the site. Anything’s possible. I don’t know that we have to shame prostitutes; it’s a shitty enough job, and as long as they’re not shanking people and stealing their wallets, or speading all the STDs, or something, why don’t we leave them alone, already? Prostitution is legal in enough other countries. I’m finding it more and more ridiculous we’re so backward here in good old Merka about this. But of course we are. Here in Merka, we’re attempting to take away a woman’s right to choose, as well as our access to birth control and probably, eventually, our right to do anything but pump out babies and stay barefoot chained to the stove making pies or something, I don’t know what the hell. We’re sure as hell not going to legalize prostitution any damn time soon.

But I’m willing to bet actual prostitutes aren’t going to pay the people who put up the site almost $100 to take their photos down. Why would they care if they’re on a shady site? I don’t think the cops would use this site to arrest them, and it’s probably free advertising for them.

No, this site was set up because whoever’s behind it is betting on humans being human. And being small, and petty, and slut-shaming women. For whatever reason they want. Hurt feelings? Hatred? Bullying? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Let’s call them a whore on the interwebs. And make the target of that vitriol pay about $100 to get their name removed from said site, or not pay it, and run the risk of someone finding it there and assuming they’re a whore. Sorry. A prostitute. Not even! A “potential” prostitute. Because that’s classier.

This infuriates me.

It’s got a slut-shaming component, which infurates me already. But it’s got a bullying component to it, too. A “let’s ruin someone’s life just because we can” component.

Listen, I get hating people. I try very hard not to. I do. But I’m a human being. And there are people in this world that I just detest. Whether they’ve done something to me personally, or to someone I love, or they’re just soul-sucking wastes devoid of human emotion…well, the reasons vary. As I get older, my irrational hatred has gotten less frequent. I’m mellowing in my old age, you see. But, yes. There are people in this world that I hate. I can think of a handful. And a few of those are women.

Would I put them up on a site and call them potential prostitutes?

No. No, I would not. I can’t imagine anyone being that petty…although I know there are people who are. I work for an answering service, you see. I deal with all sorts over there. (Callers, not coworkers. I love my coworkers.)

THIS IS NOT OK.

We don’t need to be putting people up on a website and calling them a whore. Whether they are or not. Whether they’re selling themselves or whether they’re just someone you’re mad at or someone who got someone or something you wanted. That is catty and pathetic and small and mean and it is BENEATH YOU. No matter who you are. Can you really sleep at the end of the day knowing you did this to someone, no matter how much you hate them? That person has a life and parents and maybe children and people who love them. This makes YOU an asshole. This makes you a terrible person. This makes you a bully and a liar and also most likely lower than that crap that leaks out of dumpsters and smells like death.

This is you. Proud of yourself, darlin'?

This is you. Proud of yourself, darlin’?

We don’t have to like everyone in the world. Those people that I referenced above? That I hate? I’m never going to like them. Imagining them falling in a hole and dying a long, drawn-out, lonely death of starvation? Yes. I might have done that now and again. I’m not proud. I’m human. But I’m not going to put more evil out there. I’m not going to put more hatred out there in the world. We don’t need to be doing that. Whatever that person did to you to make you hate them? That’s on them. Don’t let it be on you. Don’t let it turn you into a bitter, twisted human taking revenge. Don’t let them control you like that. Because that’s what it is, you know. Them controlling you. And do you want that? Them controlling you like that? Like a puppet? That person you hate that much? I can’t imagine you do.

And, just because I’m THOROUGH, yo, I totally searched to see if there were any potential prostitutes in my area, and NO, there were NOT, but there are like a billion in Hudson, New York. And Hudson’s not even very big. That’s like a town of just whores. Like this book I read once where they put all the lepers in one town. Hudson must be where they put ALL the potential prostitutes. And I guess the johns just pop in for a bit and then go home? Huh. I have friends that grew up around there, I don’t think they ever mentioned living near Whoretown.

I don't think this looks whorey at all. It's actually kind of pretty. Hmm. Perplexing. Is there a CHANCE this site is WRONG?

I don’t think this looks whorey at all. It’s actually kind of pretty. Hmm. Perplexing. Is there a CHANCE this site is WRONG?

I looked for whores in sj‘s town but there weren’t any so I made her send me the name of the closest biggest town to her and there were STILL no whores and the only whores I could find were in the biggest city in her state and that makes me sad. Come on, small towns, you gotta step up here, whore-wise. (Soon sj will be moving and there will be more cities with whores in her new state, so that’s nice.)

Also, there are no whores at all in Finland. Sorry, Andreas.

There’s more than enough ugliness in the world, people. Let’s put a little more of the opposite out there, ok? I’m not saying you have to like everyone. Listen, I know how hard it is to love thine enemy. Do I ever know. But love more and hate less and DO NOT FOR THE LOVE OF PETE CALL PEOPLE WHORES ONLINE. Also, when are we going to get to the point where whore isn’t a huge insult, I wonder? When are we going to grow the hell UP?

Thanks. This has been a public service announcement from me. Carry on with your day. Nothing more to see here. (BE NICE TO EACH OTHER PLEASE!)


“‘You want to grow up to be a lady, don’t you?’ I said not particularly.”

It’s Banned Books Week! The THIRTIETH ANNIVERSARY of Banned Books Week! We here at Lucy’s Football can not let this pass without mentioning this oh-so-important week. By we, I of course mean me. And I suppose Dumbcat. He’s kind of hitched his wagon to my star. I’ll let him. He’s my fella. But Dumbcat doesn’t care so much about Banned Books Week, to be honest. Mostly books are things that Dumbcat likes to sleep on, or things that I read that take time away from me being able to pet him. (If a book is good, I get all wrapped up in it and forget the pettings. Much to his dismay.)

Yes, books are still getting banned left and right (and, well, I guess up and down, and sideways, or whatever.) Yes, we live in 2012. In good news, it’s easier for people to get their hands on banned books now than it used to be. There’s this thing called the interwebs? And many places you can purchase ALL the books on said interwebs? So it’s not like back in the day when if a book was banned and you were shit out of luck, so sorry, Charlie. But that’s kind of beside the point. Books are still getting banned, and for the same old stupid reasons.

Let’s talk about the top ten banned books of 2011 (the top ten books of 2012 aren’t compiled yet – or, if they are, I can only find them in one place, and that website ANNOYED me, and had a VIDEO I COULD NOT TURN OFF, so we’re talking about the books of 2011.) This is fine, last year we talked about the top books of 2010 so it’s like a thing, I guess.

Out of the top ten banned books of the year, yours truly has read two. That is because a lot of these look…well, unlike something I would enjoy. Sorry. I don’t think they should be BANNED, no no no, I just think – hey, kids, there are better books out there for you, is my thought about this situation.

According to the ALA, the top ten banned books of 2011 were:

  1. ttyl; ttfn; l8r, g8r (series), by Lauren Myracle (Reasons: offensive language; religious viewpoint; sexually explicit; unsuited to age group)
  2. The Color of Earth (series), by Kim Dong Hwa (Reasons: nudity; sex education; sexually explicit; unsuited to age group)
  3. The Hunger Games trilogy, by Suzanne Collins (Reasons: anti-ethnic; anti-family; insensitivity; offensive language; occult/satanic; violence)
  4. My Mom’s Having A Baby! A Kid’s Month-by-Month Guide to Pregnancy, by Dori Hillestad Butler (Reasons: nudity; sex education; sexually explicit; unsuited to age group)
  5. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, by Sherman Alexie (Reasons: offensive language; racism; religious viewpoint; sexually explicit; unsuited to age group)
  6. Alice (series), by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor (Reasons: nudity; offensive language; religious viewpoint)
  7. Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley (Reasons: insensitivity; nudity; racism; religious viewpoint; sexually explicit)
  8. What My Mother Doesn’t Know, by Sonya Sones (Reasons: nudity; offensive language; sexually explicit)
  9. Gossip Girl (series), by Cecily Von Ziegesar (Reasons: drugs; offensive language; sexually explicit)
  10. To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee (Reasons: offensive language; racism)

Those ttyl books look silly to me. They’re the “Internet Girls” series and apparently they’re all written as a series of IMs and texts and such but they’re also DIRTY. But, you know what? If I was 16, I would probably want to be reading these. I liked titillating stuff back then. And if I was 16 now, I’d be all into the internettin’ so they’d probably speak to me, you know?

Hey, book banners. I’m going to give you a tip. If you BAN A BOOK? It makes people WANT IT MORE. It’s like reverse psychology. Tell someone they can’t have something and it makes them WANT that thing. It works with people – isn’t the forbidden fruit always the sweetest? Tell me you haven’t ever had a crush on someone who’s taken and I’ll call you a flat-out liar – and it works with things like consumer goods (people ALWAYS want things that are limited-run and limited-release) and it works with books. Tell kids they’re not supposed to be reading this and tell them why – IT IS TOO SCANDALOUS! – and they’re going to be on this like white on rice. Like…like teens on the interweb. Like bad decisions on the Romney/Ryan campaign.

This is what you turn people into when you ban books. Veruca Salt. Is this what you want? A whole generation of Veruca Salts? I can’t possibly imagine it is.

The Color of Earth looks interesting. It’s about life in rural Korea. And apparently there’s sex. And GIRLS learning about their BODIES ZOMG. I’d read this book. I’d read it when I was a teen and I’d read it now. But HEAVENS FORFEND we let GIRLS KNOW ABOUT HOW THEIR BODIES WORK! That is SEKRIT INFORMASHUNS.

The Hunger Games trilogy! I’ve READ this one! And I’d be totally comfortable with my teen reading it. Or my intelligent pre-teen (as long as I could have a discussion with him or her afterward – but let’s be clear, were I a parent, we’d be discussing most of their reads together. I think one of the best parts of a read is the post-read discussion, and I’d want any child of mine to be able to discuss anything that came up with me. I have a billion reasons NOT to become a mom; missing out on seeing a kid of mine’s face after reading Fahrenheit 451 or Lord of the Flies for the first time, that kind of kills my soul a little. I’m not going to lie.) I think it opens up some good discussions about government and entertainment and reality television and friendship and cruelty. All things that would be good discussions to have with a kid, no? (Also, there was Satanism in The Hunger Games? What’d I miss?)

My Mom’s Having a Baby. I don’t even…seriously? THIS IS A GUIDE SO KIDS UNDERSTAND CHILDBIRTH. Why are we so scared about kids understanding how human bodies work? They’re already having babies. Maybe if they UNDERSTOOD better how bodies worked, they wouldn’t be HAVING so many babies? The banning of this makes me embarrassed for the human race.

“It makes the man and woman want to get even closer to each other.” OK, yeah, let’s ban this, it made me giggle. (SIDE NOTE DON’T REALLY BAN THIS. I’m just a 5-year-old child with the inappropriate giggling, is all.)

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian is supposed to be fantastic. I haven’t read it but intelligent people I know say it’s brilliant. I take their word for it. I assume this “racism” of which they speak is that it shows how poorly Native Americans are treated. OH NO NO NO we don’t want people seeing THAT! A lot of books, just a tip, are banned because they are TRUE. People are scared by true things. We don’t want our children knowing the truth! It is TOO TOO SCARY! (Psst, it’s not that scary. I grew up reading pretty much whatever the hell I wanted, including SCARY BANNED BOOKS, and I’m fine. SHUT UP I TOTALLY AM.)

I researched the Alice series and from what I can tell, there are a billion books about a girl named Alice and her life as she grows up. UGH. Let girls have something to READ that is about REAL GIRLS. We were all sneaking Judy Blume books when I was a kid with their shocking masturbation scenes and you know what? WE DIDN’T END UP BROKEN, WORLD.

Brave New World is a sci-fi novel from the 30s. We’re still banning this? HOW SHOCKING CAN THIS EVEN BE? It’s like you people aren’t even trying hard enough. A., how many kids are still reading this, and B., I’m sure that whatever Huxley wrote almost 100 years ago isn’t as bad as you think it is. I think Gramma Bookbanner told you this was naughty and you just assumed it was. Have you even read this? Seriously?

What My Mother Doesn’t Know sounds like something that would make me commit hara-kiri but that teen girls would like. It’s a teen girl and there is dating and all the sex and such. DON’T LET OUR KIDS READ ABOUT THE SEX! (Side note: my wonderful friend R. said she heard someone on TV say “the sex” the other day and she thought, “AMY SAYS THAT!” and I couldn’t be more pleased. I HAVE A LEGACY!)

I’m sure the Gossip Girl books are terrible. The television show isn’t great. I keep watching it, though. I LIKE THE CLOTHES SHUT UP. And Chuck. I like Chuck. But teen girls like these things. Has anyone but me noticed that we’re banning all the books for teen girls, but no books for teen boys? What does THAT mean, I wonder?

Sigh. YES I know he’s young enough to be my kid. I like broody, leave me be.

And, of course, I’d be disappointed if it wasn’t included: To Kill a Mockingbird. Because we wouldn’t want our children learning about right and wrong and racism and the best male role model in the history of the world, Mr. Atticus Finch. Can any of you who’ve read the book even say that name without a little thrill? “Jean Louise, stand up. Your father’s passin’.” I have tears just WRITING that line. Or how about “Thank you for my children, Arthur.” TEARS. One of the best books of my life; a book that taught me important things about life; a book that taught me important things about writing. Yes. Yes, please. Let’s ban that. Let’s ban the shit out of that. Wouldn’t want our kids reading THAT.

And side note, seriously, I kind of want to marry Atticus Finch. I think maybe I haven’t found my Atticus Finch yet. I’m pretty sure he’s out there, though. I know a lot of people grew up wanting to marry rockstars or movie stars or whatever, but I wanted (and still want) to marry Atticus Finch. That’s not asking too much, right? So, if there’s an Atticus Finch out there (who doesn’t necessarily have to be a lawyer, of course – it’s not the lawyer I want, it’s the calm, and the deep, enduring sense of knowing what’s right, and the conviction to follow through with it, even when it’s the hardest possible road you can take; it’s a man who will say “The one thing that doesn’t abide by majority rule is a person’s conscience,” and mean it, you know?) you give me a call.

Happy Banned Books Week, my little licorice nibs. Read something scandalous, will you? If for no other reason than IT MAKES THE SMALL-MINDED ASSHOLES FURIOUS.

(The title is from my beloved To Kill a Mockingbird. If you haven’t read it in a while, check out the Goodreads quote page. I’ve been re-reading the quotes for twenty minutes and BAWLING. Yeah. Ban this book. Because something this powerful – you wouldn’t want that in the hands of our children, now would you?)


The infinity of the universe and human stupidity

Just a warning – this is going to be a trigger warning for some of you, and I’m sensitive to such things, so be careful and cautious today, my little sweet potatoes. Also, I’m pissed as hell and that means I’m cussy, so even if you’re not triggered, but you hate all the cussing, you might want to go look at the pretty pictures over at I Can Has Cheezburger or something today because I AM GOING TO BE RANTY. Plus this ended up a little longer than planned. As mentioned, ranty. OK. Warning given. Still with me? Great, grand, lovely, hi hi hi.

Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I’m not sure about the universe. — Albert Einstein

Ah, Missouri. A grand state. The Show Me State! A state that yours-truly has actually visited. I rode a teeny-tiny elevator up high high high to the very tippy-top of the St. Louis Arch and looked out over the city and it was quite a sight. Very pretty. The site of the Missouri compromise! Home of the Ozarks! Home state of President Harry S. Truman!

What the holy fuck, Missouri, are you thinking at this exact moment in time? What are you thinking right now? No, I’m serious. I’m quite serious. I’d really like to know what was going through your head when you selected, from all of the people who I’m sure were interested in the position, Representative Todd Akin to run for U.S. Senate. Or – wait, I mean, I didn’t hear about this on the news, but did every other Republican candidate of the correct age pass away in a some sort of ill-timed industrial fire? I mean, that could have happened and gotten hushed-up by the government. My dad is always saying “THAT’S WHAT THEY DO” about things like this. So maybe Akin was the only one available and you HAD to put someone up, just HAD to.

Hiya, folks! Todd Akin, here! I know a lot of things! About a LOT of things!

I can’t think of any other explanation, honestly. I’ve been wracking my brain.

I know I have a lot of far-away readers. Maybe you aren’t aware of the latest bullshittery that’s gone on in the War on Women currently raging here in the good old US of Merka. (And Andreas, please let me apologize in advance. I know this is going to INFURIATE you. Things like this do. I wouldn’t expect otherwise, from my most-excellent Science Fellow. Please don’t get infuriated. Well, or, do, because it’s infuriating, but don’t let it get you all high-bloodpressurey. I like you too much and worry about your health.)

So, just to get you all up to speed:

Todd Akin is a member of the House of Representatives from Missouri who is running for Senate. I’m not really sure why you’d want to switch over. I’m kind of not good at such things. Someone better at government want to help me out with this? I just did a Schoolhouse Rock research session and from what I can tell, they’re just two branches of Congress, right? I guess the difference might be that there are only two senators from each state, so you’re one of two, while there are a random number of representatives from each state so you don’t get as much attention, like you’re a special snowflake if you’re a senator and just one of a gang of fellas if you’re a representative? I’m not really sure. I would ask my father but yelling happens whenever we talk about politics.

I didn’t get the channel with Schoolhouse Rock as a kid so I missed out on important lessons set to rockin’ tunes.

But that’s neither here nor there, at least not where this story is involved. Todd Akin is a Republican and a proud Tea Partier running against the incumbent Democrat for her Senate seat in the November election in Missouri. As such, he’s giving interviews. That’s what you do, when you’re running for a political seat. You give interviews. You can hardly hide in your closet, right? No one would vote for you if you didn’t put yourself out there. I take no objection to that. It’s what you do.

On a local show, our friend Todd was asked about his very hard-line stance on abortion. I think you can guess where the Toddster stands, right? He’s pro-life, of course. But he’s not JUST pro-life. He’s ALL pro-life. No matter the circumstances, no matter the case. The mother’s life is at risk? Well, that’s the risk she ran, getting pregnant. It’s incest? Well, damn, she shouldn’t have been so seductive to her daddy, he works so hard to put food on her table. Why make the baby pay for those things? The mother was raped? Well, first, was she? Was she really? Are you sure? Because if she was really raped, she wouldn’t be pregnant. Science says so.

“If abortion could be considered in case of, say, a tubal pregnancy [which threatens the mother’s life], what about in the case of rape?” asked KTVI host Charles Jaco, in a clip that was disseminated by Talking Points Memo. “Should it be legal or not?”

“It seems to me, from what I understand from doctors, that’s really rare,” Akin said, referring to conception following a rape. “If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down. But let’s assume that maybe that didn’t work or something, I think there should be some punishment, but the punishment ought to be of the rapist, and not attacking the child.”

The…I…well. I don’t even know what I can say about this. Oh, wait. Yes. Yes, I do.

  • “from what I understand from doctors.” Well, the minute this came out, THE MINUTE, “doctors” were all – EVERY ONE OF THEM – “um…yeah…no. He didn’t get this shit from me, yo. THIS IS NONSENSE.” This guy made this up. “From what I understand from doctors?” I could say this about ANYTHING. “From what I understand from doctors, I have a small green frog living just above my kidneys.” “From what I understand from doctors, it’s perfectly normal to eat a bag of Dove peanut butter chocolate candy every day the minute you wake up.” I can SAY these things, BUT IT DOESN’T MAKE THEM TRUE.

    NONE OF US TOLD YOU THIS!

  • “really rare.” Well, it depends on what you mean by “really rare,” I guess. Per a 1996 study quoted in the article I linked to above, 5% of rape victims ages 12-45 get pregnant each year. There are approximately 32,000 rape-related pregnancies each year. (It doesn’t say whether those are nationwide or global statistics. They’re fairly low, comparatively, so I’m going to assume nationwide, only because rape is a lot more prevalent in other countries (some other countries – Andreas says to add “some” as it’s quite low in some and quite high in others, my apologies for the oversight) and also getting statistics from those countries would be difficult.) I guess 5% would seem rare if you were playing the lottery. But if you were a rape victim who got pregnant, that wouldn’t seem that rare at all. If you were a child of rape, one of those 32,000 children a year, that wouldn’t seem that rare.
  • “if it’s a legitimate rape.” A legitimate rape. As opposed to one of those other rapes. The kind we ask for, by going on a date with our rapist; by dressing provocatively; by walking in a bad part of town too late at night; by smiling at a stranger; by smiling at a friend; by laughing; by being female. One of those rapes. You know. Those non-legitimate rapes. Those lying whore rapes. Those rapes that we dare cry rape about, but really we’re just saying it for attention, to get revenge on the man for something he did or didn’t do, because we’re dirty lying women with nothing better to do. Get back in that kitchen and make me a pie and shut the fuck up, you asked for this when you came out of your mom without a penis.
  • “the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down” – what are these ways? Do we send out sperm-killing ninja cells? Do we develop vagina dentata? Do our eggs develop an impenetrable shell when confronted with rapist-sperm?
  • “But let’s assume that maybe that didn’t work or something” – yep, “or something.” You know what that “or something” is? Science. That “or something” is science.
  • “I think there should be some punishment” – well, thanks. That’s nice and not at all weak. Glad to hear it. Glad we have your approval on this.
  • “but the punishment ought to be of the rapist, and not attacking the child.” Without going into eel-infested waters of WHEN DOES LIFE BEGIN, here, I’m just going to say that no one having an abortion due to the fact they were raped is thinking about “attacking” the child. I think that’s the last thing on their mind. They’re not in attack mode. They’re in protection mode. They’re protecting themselves. THEY are the one who was attacked. And (until it’s taken from us, because ladies, unless we fight our asses off, it’s on its way to being yanked, don’t fool yourselves it’s not) we still have the right to choose whether or not we want to carry the child of our rapist to term.

In even more disturbing news, Akin is a member of the House Committee on Science, Space and Technology. You might want to re-read that sentence. The man who thinks we have magical powers in our vaginas that can differentiate between the sperm we want and the sperm we don’t sits on a governmental committee which names, among its goals, “enhancing long-term economic competitiveness through investments in science and technology.” YOU JUST MADE US A LAUGHING STOCK. You think we have MAGIC POWERS IN OUR COOTERS. You think we can STOP OURSELVES FROM GETTING PREGNANT USING MIND-BULLETS.

MIND BULLETS!

(The “science” behind the magic hoo-ha theory is that some super-religious weirdo about fifteen years ago published an article saying if a woman is forcibly raped, her hormones are “upset,” causing pregnancy not to stick. Nope, I’m serious. Here’s the article. Which I don’t recommend you read, because it’s full of blatant lies, mistruths, and skewing of facts. Religious-types, misunderstanding how women’s bodies work for MILLIONS of YEARS!)

And don’t you dare say legitimate rape. Don’t you even dare. Seriously, sir, if you were in front of me right now, I’d spit in your fucking face. Have you ever been raped? Have you ever been forced to participate in a sexual act against your will? I’m going to guess not. Because if you had, you wouldn’t say something like “legitimate rape.” It wouldn’t cross your mind. It wouldn’t even be a blip on your faulty fucking radar. Who the hell do you think you are to pass judgement on what’s legitimate and what’s not? Because let me tell you how it works. A woman says she’s been raped? A PERSON WITH A HEART BELIEVES HER. There are very few sociopaths who go around claiming rape when it hasn’t happened. Because who would want that stigma? Who wants the name “rape victim” hung on them when they’re not one? Especially with ignorant assholes like you, sir, walking around slut-shaming them for trauma they’ve gone through?

President Obama made a statement the next day, which I think it’s important we read. Let’s read what another man has to say about this issue, shall we? Let’s compare the two statements. Here’s Obama’s statement in response to the magic ninja vagina (or, I don’t want to get this wrong, it might well be a magic uterus, he didn’t really qualify where those ninjas reside) no one is ever really raped statement. Ladies and gentlemen, the current (and next) President of the United States:

“The views expressed were offensive,” said Obama. “Rape is rape. And the idea that we should be parsing and qualifying and slicing what types of rape we are talking about doesn’t make sense to the American people and certainly doesn’t make sense to me. So what I think these comments do underscore is why we shouldn’t have a bunch of politicians, a majority of whom are men, making health care decisions on behalf of women.”

Even more telling? FUCKING ROMNEY CONDEMNED IT. Oh, shit, Akin. Even ROMNEY thinks you’re an asshat. Romney doesn’t even know what doughnuts are called because he’s so fancy he probably eats nothing but croissants flown in fresh from the south of France every morning, but even HE thinks you’re a douchebag.

“Congressman’s Akin comments on rape are insulting, inexcusable, and, frankly, wrong,” [Romney] told National Review Online. “Like millions of other Americans, we found them to be offensive.”

He added that his view was “entirely different” and that Akin’s statement was “entirely without merit and and he should correct it.”

(Notice Paul Ryan didn’t have a statement. That’s because Paul Ryan also believes we have magical ninja vaginas and that we should all be up in that kitchen rattlin’ our pots and pans, but he’s savvy enough not to open his mouth about this issue. Or his handlers have him shut in a closet and have ever since Akin made this statement. In case you’re confused: Paul Ryan hates women, y’all. But that’s a blog for another day.)

Now, almost immediately after he made this statement, our old friend the Toddster was all, “a-duh, I misspoke.” MISSPOKE! No. You misspeak when you say “clap” instead of “crap” or something, you know? Not when you say “most rape victims are lying liars who lie and the reason I know this is because imaginary doctors told me their vaginas would fight off intruder sperm if it was, truly, sperm of a rapist.”

“In reviewing my off-the-cuff remarks, it’s clear that I misspoke in this interview and it does not reflect the deep empathy I hold for the thousands of women who are raped and abused every year,” Akin’s statement said.

Akin also said in the statement he believes “deeply in the protection of all life and I do not believe that harming another innocent victim is the right course of action.”

Also, this isn’t even an apology! It’s not an “I’m sorry, I’m a total douchenugget” but it’s a “my silly MOUTH, you know? Whoopsie!” statement! Plus, he throws in AGAIN how he’s pro-life at the bottom! WE FUCKING KNOW, YOU MORON!

Ha, whooooops! My bad! Don’t hate the playa! (What else do the kids say today, guys? Guys?)

Do I have any Missouri people reading this? I don’t think I have many Republicans reading this anyway, because I’m one of those shouty liberal chicks (and therefore probably a lesbian, and most definitely the enemy) but if I do, please don’t vote for this man. I mean, even if you believe in everything else he stands for – THE MAN DOESN’T UNDERSTAND HOW BASIC HUMAN REPRODUCTION WORKS. How old were you when you understood that? I had a basic idea when I got “the talk” at age 11 or so, then had health class in tenth grade with the charts and graphs and such so I understood it more then. But I’m pretty sure, at no point in my life, did I think I had any sort of magical powers in my cootch that could all Wonder-Woman intruder sperm. OUR VAGINAS DO NOT DO THIS.

Here’s some basic biology for you: you can get pregnant if you have sex right before, while, or immediately after you ovulate. You don’t always get pregnant – there are factors in play like biology, sperm speed, sperm volume, biological compatibility…if you want to research it, you can. Thing is, most of you don’t have to, because I think, as a human, you know how we reproduce. (Shit. Shit, shit shit. AKIN IS AN ALIEN. Oh, that’s it. That’s totally it. He’s an alien PRETENDING to be human. We caught him in a slip-up. If we cut him, he’s totally going to bleed green goo, you guys.) Anyway: you have the same odds of getting pregnant with anyone if you have sex with them during that approximately week-long window each month. Your boyfriend. The mailman. The pizza deliveryman. Your husband. The person who raped you. THE ODDS ARE THE SAME. Do you know why? Because the SCIENCE is the same. Science doesn’t change for politics. That’s why science is awesome. Science doesn’t take sides. Science doesn’t care if you’re a Democrat or a Republican or a Socialist or if you think the Rent is Too Damn High. Science just IS. And science says, if you have sex in that approximately week-long window, you have a decent chance, depending on biological factors, of course, of being impregnated – whether you want to be or not.

Look! A diagram! Of LADY-BUSINESS! But…where are the ninjas? There were supposed to be…ninjas? No?

I don’t care if this man apologized. I don’t care if this man’s being pressured to step down by 5pm today (sounds like he won’t, even though people want him to, because DAMMIT! He is a MAN! He is CORRECT! He did NOTHING WRONG! He just made an OOPSIE!) I don’t care about any of this. What matters here is: this is a man running for a position to help run our entire country. A man that doesn’t believe that violence against women really happens and a man that believes we have magic vaginas like Lieutenant Dan had magic legs, I guess. This is a man who votes on laws that affect me and people I love. And he obviously not only doesn’t understand women, he hates and fears them.

Magic legs! Lieutenant Dan, you got magic legs!

Missouri, you’re the Show Me state, right? So, show me. Show me what the hell you were thinking, allowing someone who doesn’t understand basic science to not only run for Senate, but to serve in the House of Representatives, representing your state. Please, go ahead and show me that. Show me the thought processes behind this man, who hates and fears women representing your state, which I can only assume has some women in it. Please feel free to show me this. I’d love to see it. Because I can’t wrap my mind around it, honestly. Completely at a loss.

I’m going to go have a legitimate popsicle because I’m legitimately hot under the collar. Well, at least I think it’s a legitimate popsicle. How can I be sure? A politician didn’t tell me it was and I obviously, being female, can’t make such judgement calls on my own.

Have a nice day, from me and my magic ninja vagina. Hi-ya!


An Open Letter to the Woman Who Called Me a Fat Bitch Thursday in Traffic

Dear Woman Who Called Me a Fat Bitch Thursday in Traffic: 

Hi! How are you? Good, I hope. I hope you got home safely. You were in such a hurry to get wherever you were going that we really didn’t get a chance to have a meaningful conversation. This made me so sad. Then I thought, hey! I’ll write her a nice letter! On my blog! Which has hundreds of readers! I mean, probably she’s not one of those readers, but maybe she is. Maybe somehow, this will find her, and we’ll be able to catch up and reminisce about the good times we had yesterday, with the honking and the shouting! 

I really think we could have a MEANINGFUL CONNECTION!

I’d like to just run what happened Wednesday, from my point of view, past you, WWCMAFBTIT. Whoo! That’s a long acronym. (Although it has “tit” in it which is a little funny.) I think I’ll call you Screamy. How’s that work for you? You were. Screamy, I mean. So it seems apropos. Anyway, since you drove off in such a huff, I didn’t get to explain myself, and I’d like to do that. Also, in explaining what happened to several people, all of whom understood immediately why I did what I did, I’ve decided that maybe you had a vision problem. Do you have a vision problem, Screamy? I’m so sorry about that. That must be such a cross to bear. I’m so sorry for your infirmity. You might want to get that looked into, especially since you’re driving a large motor vehicle and all. 

Blind people *probably* shouldn’t be driving. Just a thought.

Anyway: here is the scenario. 

It was rush-hour traffic. Rush-hour traffic is, by its very definition, busy. I was at the end of a road, waiting to turn right onto another road. You were behind me, in your obnoxiously large SUV. The road I was waiting to turn right onto had two lanes: a left lane and a right lane. I need to be in the left lane, as, not too far on my way, I need to take a left off that road onto another road. I know from experience that people in rush-hour traffic do NOT let you over. If I turn off that road into the right lane, I can’t merge into the left lane. It’s choked with traffic and no one ever ever EVER leaves a spot you can squeeze into. You end up stopped dead in the right lane with your blinker on, praying someone will take pity on you, and holding up the entire right lane while they honk at you. It’s not pretty. So when I turn off the road, I have to get immediately in the left lane, or I’m screwed. 

This isn’t my car. But you know that. You were behind me. Being ragey.

The people on the road I was waiting to turn onto did one of my favorite things in all of traffic: just as the light turned yellow, they clogged the intersection. There were four cars blocking the left lane I needed to turn into as my light turned green. I couldn’t get into the lane I needed to be in. The right lane was clear; I could have turned into that lane, yes, true. But, as mentioned above, if I did, I’d be screwed later on down the line. If the people who had rushed the yellow had followed the rules of traffic, and not blocked the intersection – no, sincerely, it’s actually a law, you can get a ticket for it and everything, although people don’t seem to know that – I’d have been fine. But, no. They had to get to where they were going .00001 second sooner, even if that meant holding up everyone else in traffic. 

The intersection TOTALLY looked like this. OK, I might be exaggerating. Just a touch.

I could have turned, yes. I could have turned into the right lane, and screwed myself later on down the line. I chose not to. That is my right, and I chose to exercise that right. The people in the wrong were the ones who broke the law by blocking the intersection. 

These people who block intersections? Totally smoooooth criminals.

Well! Screamy! This did not sit well with you. No, not at all. First, you honked. I looked up, said “sorry!” into my rearview, indicated the left lane, and went back to silently cursing the people that had blocked the intersection and their offspring and their offspring’s offspring in my mind. I thought that would cover it, as you could see why I was not turning. No. You honked again, not a polite, “Perhaps you don’t see the green light?” honk, but you put some MUSCLE into that honk. Then you started to roll your obnoxious SUV forward. You got so close to my car I moved it up a little, because I was afraid you were going to hit my bumper. I again indicated the left lane, and shook my head no. You started to scream at me. I stopped looking in my rearview because it was all a little offputting. This is why I think you might have a vision problem. You apparently were not able to see WHY I was not turning. I’m so sorry about that. That really must be tough.

Honk! Hoooooooonk! Oh, well, NOW I’ll move, now that you’ve honked. Thanks for that.

I missed the light, because the cars were just that backed up through the intersection. So, thank you, the cars that decided you needed to completely block the intersection; that was so, so nice of you. You also made sure no one could turn left at the light, so thanks for that. I hope you all got home quickly and safely as well.  

I waited through another red light. You, Screamy, kept screaming in your car, and moving it closer and closer to my bumper. Did you want me to turn on red into traffic, and get myself killed? Oh, wait, no, don’t answer that, I think I know the answer. 

Get on up offa my ass, yo!

When the light turned green, and (thankfully) the left lane that I needed was clear for a turn, I made the turn. You WHIPPED into the right lane. As you were passing my car, you slowed down, and screamed, “You fat fucking bitch!” at me. You were smoking. Your children in the backseat looked out at me miserably. 

Smart! Very smart. Also classy!

For a moment, for one moment, I had the same gut-dropping feeling I used to get in high school when I got catcalled. However, the moment passed quickly. I have a better recovery system than I used to. I’m an adult now. Some of us are, Screamy. Some of us know that you don’t smoke in a car where you have children and you don’t use language like that in front of children and you don’t scream at people in cars in front of children and having rage of that magnitude is really not healthy for anyone involved. 

A good idea? Yes. Sure. Sure it is.

However, my being an adult only goes so far, and I can’t quite control my temper. You see, I had a terrible day at work. Extremely terrible. One of the worst I’ve had since I started there. And then you called me a fat fucking bitch for refusing to do what YOU wanted me to do, which was not in my best interest at all. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Also, my refusal to turn could not have cost you more than a couple of minutes in your drive time, tops. I know I didn’t get home more than two minutes later than I normally do.

So when we got to the next light and our cars were DIRECTLY PARALLEL TO ONE ANOTHER, I couldn’t help but call over to you, “Do you feel better now?” 

You glared over at me, smoke pouring from your nose and mouth like an angry dragon. One of your children coughed. That cough sounded like my great-aunt’s, right before she died of lung cancer. Your child is probably 6. You might want to cut him back to half a pack a day or something. Or maybe switch him to menthols. Or get him a lozenge. 

Maybe one of those breath sprays, so the other kids at the kindergarten aren’t disgusted.

“After yelling at me in front of your children, I mean. Did that make you feel better? I hope so. I hope you have a great day,” I said. You gave me a look that would probably kill, were I a lesser being, but I am not. I am BULLETPROOF. Then you ROLLED UP YOUR WINDOWS, effectively turning your car into a hotbox of death, and stared straight ahead until the light turned green. Then you gunned it so hard you almost rear-ended the car in front of you in an attempt to escape from the insane fat fucking bitch who dared respond to your insult. 

Was it small and petty, responding to you in such a fashion? Yes. Did it ultimately probably end up just hurting your children more? Yes, and for that reason, and that reason alone, I feel sorry for having done it. Thing is, I spent a whole shitload of years staying silent when people insulted me, and I’ve got a lot of bottled rage, lady. 

Here’s the thing. You weren’t wrong. 

Let’s take your comment and break it down a little. 

Fat. Well, I’m not thin. I prefer zaftig, or voluptuous, but, sure, if you want to be hurtful, you can use fat. I own it. I’m a big girl. I come from hefty peasant stock, the kind of women who worked the fields and had many babies and took care of their homes and their families. None of us ended up models. None of us would be accused of being waifs. Years ago, I would have taken to my fainting couch with cookies and tears over such a remark. You know what? It doesn’t hurt if it’s the truth. I’m a big girl.

This is the Goddess of Willendorf. Is she a fat fucking bitch, too?

I have big appetites and a big heart and a big sense of humor and something I’d be willing to bet you don’t have – a big intellect. So, yeah. I’ll give you fat. You can have it. Can I just say, though, it would have carried a little more weight (hee!) if you hadn’t been a voluptuous woman yourself? If you’d been Kate-Moss-esque, I might have thought, oh, ok, well, she gets to judge me. (It wouldn’t have been RIGHT, but it would have crossed my mind.) But you were about my size, and you also had a super-nice blonde poodle perm bowl cut? But, see, the difference between us is that I wasn’t yelling “you poodle-perm-bowl-cut-fat-fucking-smoking-child-abusing-bitch” out MY window. Because I’m a fucking LADY, for fuck’s sake. 

I’m not saying it looked like this…and I’m not saying it didn’t, either. And this guy’s a murderer. Is there a correlation? Well, you decide.

Fucking. Well, I’m actually currently not, much to my chagrin. Were you offering? I’m not overly interested. I think you’d probably taste terrible, and who would babysit your children while we were in flagrante delicto? Plus I’m thinking sex with you would be so ANGRY. Your partner would no doubt end up all bruised. No, thanks. Oh, also, I’m not overly interested in women that way. I mean, if you were Archie Panjabi, maybe. But you weren’t. It’s really so nice of you to think of me, though. Thanks for that. 

Send me Archie, and then maybe we’d have a deal.

Bitch. Well! Here’s the thing. Some people think bitch is an insult. I’m of the other camp. I take bitch as a compliment. You’ve heard of Tina Fey? What? No? You’ve heard of Sarah Palin? I don’t know, your bumper stickers made me think you might be a Tea Partier, what with the “Barack HUSSAIN Obama” and all. OK, Tina Fey’s the bitch who helped lose y’all the last election. Heard of her now? Great. Tina Fey had a rant on the Saturday Night Live news a while ago about the word bitch. And she said something I’ve taken as my personal mantra. “Bitches get stuff done.”

Now, before you’re all “BUT BITCH IS A BAD THING” – nope, not always. Usually, when someone’s bitch-shouting someone, it’s because that person stood up for themselves, asserted themselves, did something typically male, or otherwise did something you didn’t like. Sure, sometimes it’s for other reasons – sometimes I’m a TOTAL bitch, and it’s all due to my mood, and I try to apologize afterward – but refusing to turn because it was going to put me in the wrong lane and therefore throw all of the traffic off in about 2 minutes, when you were long gone? Not a bitch move. You screaming at me out your car window with your children in the backseat? Also (perhaps surprisingly) not a bitch move. Nope, that was BEYOND a bitch move. It was a (pardon my language that I don’t usually use, but at least I’m not saying it in front of children – unless children are reading this, and if so, COVER YOUR EYES, KIDDOS! EYEMUFFS!) cunt move. So! Yes. I’m a bitch. I own bitch. I own bitch hardcore. Because bitches get stuff done. 

So I own fat and I own bitch and I’d love to own fucking, just not with you personally, but again, thanks for the offer, it’s one more offer than I’ve gotten from anyone else recently, so that’s nice. Also, really, if you think about it, you were just shouting out descriptors, not insults. It was like you’d screamed out “You tall brunette!” or “You glasses-wearing Artistic Director!” You really need to step up your game. You might be doing this wrong. 

So! Screamy. I hope you got home safely, and (for everyone’s sake) quickly, and made your children a nice balanced dinner, and smoked many cigarettes in a well-ventilated area and took a few deep breaths. I’m so sorry I ruined 3 minutes of your day. Guess what? There are 1,437 more in a day. Those three minutes are just a drop in the bucket, day-wise.  

I know how you’re spending them, Screamy. You’re spending them ANGRY.

Have a wonderful remainder of your week, Screamy. I hope no one else gets in your way. Or, if they do, I hope you have a number of other insults on reserve. I suggest “asshole,” or, if you want to get really creative, “douchenozzle.” Just don’t leave out the “fucking,” as it adds a certain je ne sais quoi, you know? 

Love and other junk, 

Amy

The Fat Fucking Bitch Who (so, SO sorry about that) Ruined 3 WHOLE MINUTES of Your Commute Home Wednesday


Working this job is like lighting two fuses; working this job is running out of excuses

I’m pretty sure I was just introduced to a new employee as “This is Amy, she makes copies.” Well, listen, I am SO GLAD my college education didn’t go to waste, and my mom will be SO PROUD OF ME. *preens* 

Me! Totally me! Only, not really me. I don’t have HUGE MAN HANDS like this, good grief.

(BTW, I also do other things here; I spend a substantial amount of time blogging, fixing the shitty low-rent copier we bought or maybe rescued from the street when it fell off a truck, checking my various social media networks, and also biting back sharp-tongued sarcastic remarks. But do you use THOSE tasks to label me when you introduce me, coworker? No, you do not. I am hurt. HURT, I tell you.) 

…so hurt.

Oh, I don’t know if I ever mentioned I had the anger-management meeting here, speaking of how much I love my job. Did I mention that? Probably I didn’t. So far, I do not have to enter anger management, but not because I don’t NEED anger management. I think it’s because they don’t want to PAY for anger management, or don’t know how to find such a place.

I don’t know why this is so hard. I found this totally-not-at-all-shady ad on the internet with a simple search. COME ON PEOPLE. Sheesh.

When I was asked why exactly I was so angry, I think they were confused by my answer of, “Well, it’s a little hard to keep a smile on one’s face when one is being treated like one is a member of the untouchable class from 8:30-5 daily, so sometimes I erupt in a volcano of righteous fury.” I’m not sure if it was the verbiage or the bluntness that flabbergasted them. I think they like when people are all kitten-rainbows here. I’m not…I’m not good at kitten-rainbows when someone is calling me useless or stupid. My kitten-rainbows are from 5pm to 8:29am daily. Then the little black rainclouds move in. ANYWAY, in the meantime, I was advised to “go have a cool drink of water” whenever I get upset; if I were to follow that advice here at work, my kidneys would be floating by 9am. Also, it confuses me why, if they are SO DISTRAUGHT BY MY ATTITUDE, they just don’t fire me. I mean, I come into work daily convinced I’ll be called into a meeting telling me to clean out my desk. Not that I ever put anything on or in my desk, not in six and a half years, because that way it’s easier to clean out once they do fire me. Sometimes I think it would be a relief, because then the other shoe will have finally dropped. 

Well, no one likes their job, probably, and there’s nothing more tiresome than job-moaning. Someday I’ll get off my ass and look for something else, but in the meantime I’m the Queen of Stasis and will sit here daily being introduced as the person who makes copies. As if I work at Kinkos. I mean, not that there’s anything WRONG with working at Kinkos. I just don’t. Work at Kinkos, I mean.

This seriously made me laugh so hard earlier today I snorted.

Anyway, ANYWAY, enough of THAT nonsense, work is work, who likes work? (If you decide to comment with a “I LIKE WORK, AMY!” I’m going to scowl at you, so yay, good for you, don’t rub salt in the wound, ok? Thanks.) There are worse jobs. What? There totally are. I could be on my feet for 8 hours a day. I could be dealing with customers 6 days a week instead of just one day a week at my part-time job. 

There are a lot of jobs I would not be good at, so on days when things are especially terrible here, I like to think of THOSE jobs, and think how much worse life would be were I to be one of those people. Here, let’s discuss some of those jobs. That’ll totally cheer me up, right? Right. 

Leader of a country 

Listen, when you’re little, people LOVE to say, “You could be PRESIDENT someday!” but who the hell wants THAT job? Mostly, being the president (or king or chancellor or grand high poobah or whatever) means everyone, everyone, EVERYONE takes offense at SOMETHING you do. If you’re lucky, your approval rating is like 62% or something. That means that almost half of your country HATES you. You probably can’t turn on the television without someone making fun of SOMETHING you did, or taking offense at something you did, or saying they would have done something you did differently. Everyone’s watching you ALL THE TIME. Sure, there are perks, like you get really good seats at the theater (but look how that turned out for Lincoln) or you get excellent food (but look how that turned out for Taft, heh, sorry, low blow, had to) or you get gifts or jewels or kids singing for you or whatnot but is it really worth it? Is it really? I mean, look at your life, once you’re president of the United States. You get yelled at for four (or eight) years, you age INSANELY (I am always amazed at the photos of presidents on inauguration day, then four years later, then, if they’re re-elected, eight years later) and then for the rest of your life, you have to be followed around by Secret Service because there’s always the chance that someone wants to be the guy (or gal) that assassinated a president. You remain in the public eye even after things are over. Your KIDS remain in the public eye. People write non-flattering books about you. It is NOT AN EASY JOB. You go in all optimistic and you leave a bitter, twisted wreck (well, if you’re smart, you do – or maybe you leave breathing a sigh of relief that THAT’S over.) No, thanks. I’ll live my life of relative obscurity. I don’t want that many people looking at me. My hair’s always a mess and sometimes I spill food on my top. I’d be made a mockery in like a week. 

Here’s Obama then & now. 4 years in presidential time = 10 years in human time, I swear.

…and here’s my man (sigh) Clinton. Shut up, I am madly in love with ol’ Bill. Always will be. Look, this is less than 10 years later. Still a total hottie, though.

Character in an amusement park 

I know, right, you’re bringing JOY to like THOUSANDS of children. No. Listen. It is HOT.

Ugh, can you just imagine how sweaty it is in there? SO GROSS.

And kids are all screaming and touching you and some of them kick you because they’re ill-behaved. And if you’re lucky, you get to be Cinderella at Disney, but if you’re not, you get to be Dorf at The Great Escape.

What? Who’s Dorf? 

Well, when I was a kid, we used to go to The Great Escape (before it became Six Flags, boo, sellout!) which is in Lake George, kind of between where I currently live and where I used to live. It was a middle-of-the-road amusement park. It used to be Storytown (I’ve totally mentioned this before, I think) and so there was a Storytown section with these run-down concrete things like the Three Little Pigs house and Red Riding Hood with most of the paint chipped off her face so she looked scabrous. I loved The Great Escape.

Aw, I totally remember these! We used to get these at the gates and PLAN our ATTACK on the place. YAY!

Anyway, their mascot was this…I don’t even know. Thing? Called Dorf. I cannot find a single reference or photo of Dorf on the internet. It’s like Dorf has been scrubbed from existence. I don’t even know that his real name WAS Dorf. I wonder if my brother and I made this up? I can’t imagine we did, how would we have come up with something like that? That “Dorf on Golf” thing wasn’t even around then, I don’t think.

It was NOT THIS. (BTW, I love Tim Conway, but this makes me disgusted. NOT FUNNY TIM CONWAY.)

ANYWAY, he kind of looked like Goofy and kind of like a cowboy and kind of like a sewer rat? And he’d be in this huge suit that looked like it weighed a million pounds and was SO SO HOT and he’d bumble around and NO ONE wanted a picture with Dorf, no one. I mean, come on. No one even knew what he WAS, let alone wanted him in their vacation photos. He’d resign himself to photobombing just to stay relevant. One time we were eating in the picnic area and he kept BOTHERING us, all coming up and dorby-dorbing around our table and my little brother, who was like 7 at the time, was all, “God, stupid DORF,” very cynically, and that made me laugh SO HARD, and I still think of it once and a while (most recently, when I was reading The Fellowship of the Ring – sorry, sj, I know you love him – and Glorfindel came up? And his name sounded like Dorf? And then I was all, “God, stupid  GLORFINDEL” and then got the giggles for like twenty minutes, so from then on whenever they mentioned his name I would start off again and I’m pretty sure that’s not what was intended at ALL. This also happens on a regular basis when I think of the Carmina Burana, because of course it was written by Carl Orff. God, stupid ORFF. Don’t get all offended. I love the Carmina Burana. It’s just anything with an “orf” sound in it that does it for me. The Mighty Morphin Power Rangers were also an issue, back when people said their name a lot. Also Worf from Star Trek.) 

Anyway, WHOO, was THAT ever a tangent. I can’t even imagine dressing in a hot, hot costume and standing in the sun all day attempting to amuse children because I hate a., heat, b., characters in amusement parks because I can’t see their faces so I find that shady, and c., children (except for YOUR children, yes YOU, who’s reading this, and of course my nephew.) 

Heh. Yep. This.

Food Service Worker 

None of our employees got fancy chef-hats, yo. We wore stained red ballcaps. It was NOT CLASSY.

I did this for a while in college. I worked in the dining hall. It was the WORST. It was HOT and people were RUDE and you went home smelling like rotting food and that never quite went away, no matter how many times you washed your hair. For a few months, I got stuck with the dishwashing shift for breakfast. ZOMG HOT TIMES A MILLION, plus it was AMAZING to me how gross people were. They’d build little towers on their trays and they’d come back in through the conveyor belt and there would be ketchup pools and napkins all torn up and towers of waffles all stuck together with syrup and I totally had to clean that shit up before putting it in the dishwasher and that dishwasher was about a zillion degrees hot. Also, once when I was working the hot food line, a girl threatened to wait for me outside and kick my ass because we were out of chicken parm, and one guy threatened to get me fired because I pronounced manicotti “manicotti” and not “manigot” like the ITALIANS do, and the last time I checked, we weren’t IN Italy, we were in a college in downstate New York and that wasn’t a fireable offense. The only thing that kept my sanity there was my friend R., who is STILL my friend (and the mom of The Baby Formerly Known as Baby Girl Awesomesauce who is now known as CeeVee.) R. made me laugh and laugh and we had the best time mocking people and singing along to the music the cooks played in the kitchen (R.! Do you remember me totally rocking out to Meatloaf? “I would do ANYTHING for LOVE! But I won’t do THAT!” Hee!) and then on our way out we’d secretly put peanut butter cups from the candy section in our work hats (shh, I think the statute of limitations for pilfering has passed, don’t you?) and then we’d eat them outside and recap our hot, hot, HOT evenings and laugh. R. made that job bearable. But I wouldn’t go back to that for anything. Gack. Also, I’d be a terrible waitress, because I’m quite unfriendly and no one would ever give me a tip and also I’m clumsy and would fall carrying food to the tables. 

Sanitation worker 

Seriously, I can’t even imagine working around garbage all the time. Can you even imagine this? It’s mind-boggling to me. Like, imagine being one of those people who has to ride on the back of a garbage truck. The SMELL would KILL me. I couldn’t even deal with that.  

This would be the worst job ever, right? I mean, seriously? I feel terrible for these people.

In related what the hell news, where I live, there is a garbage area. I feel like I told you this. Did I tell you this? Eh, if I did, pretend I didn’t. It’s huge, and there’s a place to dump your garbage, and then also a place for your recyclables and such. It’s under a big roof-thing. I’m not sure why. Maybe so birds don’t get in, I don’t know. Anyway, people are CONSTANTLY leaving couches and furniture there, because you have to pay to dump garbage at the landfill, and no one watches the garbage area. So it’s become a well-known fact that if you’re moving in the area (not just where I live, but all around) you can bring oversized garbage there and dump it and no one seems to care, even though there are signs that are all NO OVERSIZED GARBAGE. So there are always couches and mattresses and chairs and armoires and shit outside the gigantor dumpster. I swear this is going somewhere. ANYWAY, lately, this man has been SITTING ON THE COUCHES and reading a book when I come home at least 3-4 nights a week. Those couches are a., probably filled with bedbugs and all manner of vermin, and b., RIGHT NEAR AN OVERFLOWING ROTTING DUMPSTER THAT HARDLY EVERY GETS EMPTIED. You have to hold your nose to walk PAST that thing. He’s sitting probably a foot away from it, all kicked-back on someone’s sketchy potentially-infested garbage-couch, reading a book and relaxing in the shade of the garbage-roof. It is SO WEIRD. Who does that? He doesn’t seem to be homeless. I assume he lives nearby? Are his nasal passages either blocked or malfunctioning? Is he fighting with his roommates and/or wife? WHY IS HE HANGING OUT A FOOT FROM A DUMPSTER, READING? It’s not like there’s not a laundry room and a mail room, both air-conditioned, less than a parking-lot length away, that he could hang out in. I do not get this at all. 

I need to take a photo of this guy for posterity the next time I see him even though I totally have a thing against taking photos of humans in order to mock them because I’d hate it if someone did that to me. 

Anyway, ew, no, I would not want to be a sanitation worker, the smell would kill me dead in a week. 

Oh, and this has NOTHING to do with ANYTHING but this morning, there was a very very VERY loud noise on my porch and I was all WTF is it a killer? And I was all peeking out and saw nothing so I seeeecretly opened the porch door and there was a squeaking noise and a scuffle and guess what it was? A scruffy squirrel with half a tail!

Not my squirrel. Mine needed a bath and a snack. Hobo Joe was totally the squirrel your momma warned you about.

He chattered at me like I was HARSHING his BUZZ (apparently the loud noise was that he was knocking over my turtles I keep on the porch – what, you don’t keep three large garden-turtles on your porch because you don’t have a garden and they are the hear no evil see no evil speak no evil turtles? Well, that’s your problem, now, isn’t it?) and then he made himself LOW and FLAT and limboed out under my porch railing and went over to the neighbor’s porch. When I peeked over, he was watching me with a VERY angry scowl. Hee! I will name him Hobo Joe and leave him some sunflower seeds! He is my new pet! 

See? Now don’t we all feel better? Look at the worse jobs I could be doing! This has cheered me immeasurably. I could never write a totally long blogpost while doing any of those jobs, and plus at least it’s air-conditioned in here. 

I mean, I’m still going to go get a drink of cool water because I’m cranky as hell, but at least I’m not FURIOUS. That’s a total win, right? Right.


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