Category Archives: politics

VOTER FRAUD! (Perhaps a slight exaggeration.)

Oh, the election? What’s that? What election?

Do I have a STORY about the election? Well, I do have a story about that. Sure I do. Since when do I not have a story about something?

I woke up early on Tuesday to vote. REALLY early. I already get up early this week and I got up earlier than early. I wanted to vote before work because after work I had to go to auditions. So I got up early, and I went on over to the polling place. Which is one of our local elementary schools. And I went in, and I went to my little table (and saw handsome friend R., who gave me a delicious hug and he always smells SO GOOD and we both agreed we were voting for the right person and he was all “we will celebrate tonight!” and I said, “Oh, R., I hope so, I so hope so”) and then I got my sheet (I was number 62, and I’m pretty sure that’s a very good number) and I went to my little cubby which was all tippy and cheap and one of the legs wasn’t long enough and I scribbled in my bubbles and I double and triple-checked that I filled in ALL the bubbles and then I went on over to the Scantron machine.

Pretty prestigious, right?

The woman in front of my was VERY BUSY and in a hurry. So she just popped her sheet in the machine and walked off all busy tappy feet. And after she left and before the lady waved me up to the machine, the busy lady’s ballot popped on out of the Scantron machine with a very annoying beeping noise.

The polling place lady was all “URGHHHHH” and went over and jammed it back into the machine. It popped out and beeped. Tried again. Popped out and beeped. Over and over. She was NOT amused. The line of people ready to scan their trons was getting pretty long.

Finally, she was all, “Ugh, THIS isn’t going to work. YOUR TURN,” to me, and walked away from the machine with the woman’s ballot.

Stupid ballot. Who cares about this ballot? NO ONE CARES.

“Um…that’s…that woman’s ballot isn’t going to work?” I said.

“Nope. Go,” she said.

“What…happens to her ballot?” I said.

She just rolled her eyes and waved in an annoyed fashion at the machine. I WAS HOLDING UP THE LINE.

So, with this undecided ballot-thing hanging over my head, I walked up to the faulty Scantron machine and put in my ballot.

“YOU’RE DONE NOW, BYE,” she said.

Now, I knew I wasn’t done. The machine, once it accepts your ballot, gives you a cheery “Your ballot has been counted, thank you” message. First, she was still standing there holding that woman’s PRESIDENTIAL EFFING BALLOT in her hand. Not even in its privacy folder. (Doesn’t “privacy folder” sound fancy? It’s a legal-sized manila folder, there’s nothing fancy about it.) Just hanging all out. Anyone could have seen that woman’s vote. AND SHE DIDN’T EVEN SEEM TO CARE. Then, THEN, she was trying to HURRY me, so MY ballot wasn’t going to count.

(I know this isn’t voter fraud, but there has to be some sort of name for what this is. Pollworker malaise? I don’t know. Whatever it is, IT IS WRONG AND I AM FURIOUS.)

Well, I think you can guess how well I took her pushing me around, right?

I never outgrew this stage of development. Sorry, childhood.

“I am not done,” I said.

“You’re done,” she said. She walked over, that woman’s ballot flapping in her hand.

At that moment, the machine came up with its “Your vote has been counted, thank you!” message. I looked at it. I looked at her in triumph.

“NOW I’m done,” I said, and I strolled out of the school.


Oh, wait, I’m not even done. I have more.

So, I was petrified on Tuesday. All day long. So, so scared. Of course I was. I know. I KNOW. People have good points, like “what really changes, once we get a new president?” and “both candidates were…well, pretty shitty, objectively” and one of my coworkers was all, “Amy. WE WORK AT AN ANSWERING SERVICE. How is who the president is going to affect us? Seriously? We’re the poor people that presidents hate, you know?” and he’s kind of right. But also, Romney and Ryan hated my uterus. And my gay friends. And I didn’t want to live in a country run by them. So, I was petrified. For all of his faults, Obama likes the ladies. And he’s got no beef with the gays.

Well, shit, if I had seen this, I wouldn’t have freaked out!

So before I went to bed (way too late, auditions went way overtime, but we cast the show, and MAN do I wish you all lived closer, our Laramie Project is going to be AMAZING, one audition piece made me CRY, and that was just the AUDITION) I emailed three of my nearest and dearest who I knew were going to be awake until the bitter end, because I couldn’t stay up any more. I had to get up at 5:30am, and staying up until who-knows-how-long to see who won was a very bad idea for me, sleeping-wise, considering I’d had very little sleep the night before. So I said, “dear people I love, you will be awake. I need to go to bed. I can’t handle going on Facebook or Twitter tomorrow morning until I know who wins. So please, if you love me, email me once you know who wins. If it’s the right person, just say, ‘you’re ok, Amy, all’s well, you can go on the internet again.’ And if not, please break the news kindly. I think I can take it if it comes from you. Love love love.”

(I didn’t say it this succinctly. I did it more rambly-like. They still love me. Hence the “nearest and dearest” monikers.)

Then I went to sleep. But I didn’t really go to sleep, because I tossed and I turned and the cat kept bothering me and I couldn’t sleep because of the MARES of NIGHT and I kept waking up and I should have just checked the damn phone but I was afraid if the results hadn’t come in I’d be in a worse situation, or what if the wrong person won? So I didn’t. Just kept tossing and turning. All night long.

Then I crawled out of bed when the alarm went off and looked at the phone all balefully. I was afraid to check it. So I started to get ready for work. WITHOUT CHECKING THE PHONE. I never start my day without checking the phone. It’s the first thing I do every morning. I was too scared.

So I got all ready for work.

Still too scared.

Then I made fed Dumbcat, who was blissfully ignorant of what was happening and just dorby-dorbing around.

Still too scared.

Then I finally sat on the couch and said, you check the phone, you dummy.

All the email.

Three of them I couldn’t see what they were about. One started with “Don’t worry, Amy” so that could have gone either way. One just had the subject line of “Okay” so again, could have gone either way. One said “YAY!” but MAYBE THAT WAS A TRICK. My people are sarcastic (and I love ’em for it), so who knows? (My phone only gives you a very brief preview of what’s happening in the email.)

And one said something I’m not going to say because, well, it’s my personal email and therefore NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, but it made it VERY CLEAR, based on the person who’d sent it, that I was going to be ok.

And I whooped.

Then I wept.

And I scared the cat.

And I wept some more.

And I read my email, every last bit of it, and all my tweets, while sniveling.

I love you guys. Thank you.

Listen, it wasn’t much of a victory. 2 million popular votes as of 2:30pm Wednesday. That’s better than the results I first heard – 50,000 popular votes. But still. 2 million. That’s not a huge margin. There are a lot of people out there who are not happy with who won. My dad’s one of them. He and I can’t even discuss this. He’s so upset, and I don’t rub salt in the wound, you know? (He would have, were the tables turned, but that’s neither here nor there. We’re different people.)

Do I think the best person won? Yes. But think about this – who the hell would WANT the position? Mom and I were talking about this tonight. It’s a TERRIBLE job. People HATE you. People want to KILL you. You age insane amounts, you have so much pressure on you, no one likes anything you do, you have to deal with so much shit all the time – what a horrible job. You couldn’t pay me enough money, seriously.

Anyway. Four more years until I have to go through this again. I don’t think my heart can take it.

Clinton/Gillibrand 2016, anyone?


Per The Nephew: I am NOT cranky, I AM AUNT AMY.

This is going to be a post that I write when I have random time over the next three days because the next three days are going to be insane busy crazy nuts bad. Doubt I can get it done tonight like I planned. I am WRITTEN OUT. Too much writing in the past few days. My head’s all muddled up.

So you probably want to know how the panel thingy went, right? Um…well, sometimes you do a thing, and then it’s done, and then the nicest thing you can say is, “that’s done, and I never, ever have to do that again, ever?” So, yeah. That’s what I’m saying about that. I did it, it’s done, it…did not go well, and that’s that. There are reasons I do not leave my house and talk in front of people and live my life on the internet. Let’s just leave it at that, ok? OK. Good. It is done, and I never, EVER have to do that again. Not even one little time. I can now look back on this experience and say, “no, I think I will not choose to do that, because one time I did, and IT WAS A COMPLETE AND TOTAL DISASTER.” OK. There’s your vague and unhelpful update. And don’t even be nice and say, “oh, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” Because if there was EVEN the SLIGHTEST BIT OF HUMOR in what happened at that panel, I can promise you I’d be sharing it. IT WAS JUST THAT CRASH-AND-BURNY. No no no.

Just like this. EXACTLY LIKE THIS.

Anyway. ANYWAY. So that’s what I did today. And now THAT’S over. So this week I’m working at least 6 days in a row, so 48 hours, and maybe more if they decide they want me on Sunday. I’ll take it. Anything over 40 hours is overtime, baby. I do so like extra money, because it can be spent on wasty things like THE ELECTRIC BILL and even – wait, this is going to be good – FRESH FRUIT. So I don’t get scurvy. Arrr.

Why do all the fruit pictures have things in them I hate like melons and grapes and kiwi? GROSS. NO THANK YOU.

So tomorrow night: auditions. Then Tuesday night: auditions. Then Wednesday: I GET TO GO HOME AFTER WORK HOORAY! That’ll be nice, right? RIGHT. There’s a certain cat here who likes that plan a lot. He’s getting all kinds of separation anxiety. For Dumbcat, separation anxiety means he gets in and out and in and out and IN and OUT of bed with me a billion times a night and each time meows into my face when I’m sleeping and wants petting and headbutts me and I find it very hard to be mean to him, because I love him the most, but also I like sleeping so much, too. So I say “no no Dumbcat Mom is SLEEPIN'” and he is sad and gets down and then back he comes, like an hour later, thinking, “hmm. Perhaps she is not sleeping NOW!” because he is ETERNALLY HOPEFUL, this cat. You cannot dislike him for that. It’s charming.

Then Thursday it is Wicked time, hooray! And Friday I work late and then also Saturday. And also Friday I go straight to the theater to see The Shape of Things with K. and A. which is exciting because I love them AND I love the show. So I’m going to be a little missing this week. Sorry, people who care about such things. Someday things will get right back on track, I’d think.

Oh, I totally got to talk to The Nephew today. He has a toy train named Cranky, apparently. Which I thought was a very funny name for a train. (It is, right? Come on. That’s a funny name for a train.) So I told my mom, “That’s MY name. I’M Cranky.” So she told The Nephew that, and he was all, “NO NO!” and he actually WANTED THE PHONE, which is a first, because he NEVER wants the phone. So he got on the phone with his little Nephew-breathing and I said, “That’s MY name. I am Cranky.” And he said, “No no. You are Aunt Amy!” and I laughed and I said, “But, The Nephew! I am very cranky!” and he said, “Nooooo.” And since he’s always right, I said, “OK. I am Aunt Amy.” And he laughed and said, “OK. Bye!” and gave the phone back to my mom, because he was DONE with that conversation, because he’d won it. That’s ok. He can always win. I’ll let him. Other people can teach him how to be a graceful loser if they want. I’m the aunt. I get to provide moral support and snack foods and presents. Mom said he was laughing the whole time, so that’s an Aunt Amy win. I like that I can still make the kiddo laugh, even long-distance. I MISS YOU KIDDO! You have my whole heart!

Apparently this is Cranky the Crane. I make this face at LEAST 8 times a day. At least.

Oh, and tomorrow (well, days ago for you, I suppose) my next review will be in the paper! I’m going to try to buy a paper on the way home tomorrow night but I don’t know if I’ll be able to. Probably I’m wasting my money BUYING ALL MY REVIEWS but I really like to have hard copies of them all. I’ll make a scrapbook or something someday. Be all fancy. Or just make a huge pile of papers so that I’m like a hoarder and then I’ll get mice or something. Well, MORE mice. (Although I haven’t seen a mouse since Dumbcat did the mouse-slaughtering that time. Thanks, Dumbcat! Nice job, babe!) UPDATE UPDATE: I totally ran out of time to buy the paper. But here’s the link if you want to spend $2 reading me geek out about Hello, Dolly. Spoiler alert: I loved it so much.

Also, by now Dad is back! Soon I will get to talk to him and THAT will be exciting. I can’t wait. It’s been a long time since I talked to Dad. We will have MANY things to talk about. Hunting and traveling and LIFE and MOOSE. And what was up in that hunting cabin. ALSO AN UPDATE: totally talked to him tonight. I will have a Dad-post soon. I missed him like CRAZY. It was a good conversation until we started shouting about politics and then we decided to get off the phone.

OK, now it is bedtime. There are so not enough pictures in this post but it is so so late and I’m going to be a zombie tomorrow. I have to bed it up by 10 every night this week except Thursday. I am not the best at early-bedtiming, so we’ll see what happens with that. However, it’s gotten colder, and I sleep MUCH better when it’s colder. I can burrow under covers like a champ and get all cozy. It’s my favorite. Happy Wednesday, people! The week’s almost over! YAY FOR THE WEEK BEING ALMOST OVER!!!

Always vote for principle, though you may vote alone…your vote is never lost.

Well, here we are. Election day. After today, will all the shouting stop? Or just get worse? At least all those political flyers will stop getting stuffed into my mailbox, right? That’ll be nice. There’s not enough room in there for all those flyers and I just have to throw them away anyway. Such a waste of treeeees.

Stop wasting us for GARBAGE!

I guess I don’t have to tell you I’m petrified about what’s going to happen today. Well, today/tomorrow. It might be tomorrow until we know who wins, I suppose. I didn’t know who won in 2008 until I woke up the next morning. Then I collapsed on the couch and wept and was almost late for work and then everyone I worked with was SO PISSED ALL DAY LONG because I worked with a billion conservatives. So I had to pretend I wasn’t in the throes of the biggest relief ever and maybe just coming down with the flu or something.

This year is WORSE. So, so much worse. If I thought I was scared of the what-might-be 4 years ago, I’m utterly petrified this year. I know I’m all jokey about going to live with Andreas in Finland but I can’t even imagine living in a country run by a Romney/Ryan White House right now. I don’t want to think about it. I do everything I can to NOT think about it. If I think about it too much, I start crying in strange places like the car or the shower and one time on the cat. So I’m not ALLOWED to think about it. If I start I have to tell myself NO NO NO. Please do NOT bring that PARTICULAR badness down upon yourself right now, you’ll have plenty of time to freak right the fuck out in a few days if things take a very dark turn. Well, what I think is a dark turn. I suppose some of you reading this might well think that the OPPOSITE outcome would be a very dark turn, and I suppose that’s what’s nice about opinions and assholes, isn’t it. How they’re so all-inclusive.

OK, this just made me snort-laugh. I like this chicken.

So, no. No, I’m not going to get more political than this, here. Other than, I’m going to vote today, and I hope you are, too, because I think it’s important everyone does. (Well, I suppose this is moot for those of you reading this in countries other than MERKA, but the sentiment still stands. When you can vote, please vote. It is something we here at Lucy’s Football feel very strongly about. And as always, by “we,” I mean me and Dumbcat, of course.) I will be schlepping on over to the local elementary school, even though I am very, very busy (which is, I think the huge excuse people use – “I’m way too busy!” – well, try being busier than I am, jellybeans, and I still get out the vote, you know?) and taking my sadly not-at-all fancy Scantron voting sheet into my foldy cardboard divider privacy booth and scribble in my bubbles for the correct people and then run it through the scanner and not even get an “I VOTED!” sticker because I guess my area doesn’t DO those. I’m going to do all that. Then I’m going to (depending on when I get time to vote, either in the wee small hours or right after work, because right after work I have to eat quick and then run to auditions) walk around all day worrying. You think I worry a lot on a NORMAL day? Well, wait til you see me until they announce who won the election.

These are our voting “booths” now. I know. QUITE fancy.

I have no idea who’s going to win. None. I don’t even have a prediction or a guess. I don’t know what way the national winds are blowing. Most of my people are liberals, so of course they’re all RAH RAH OBAMA. But there are a lot of people who just HATE the president. They blame him for everything from the lack of jobs in the country to their girlfriend breaking up with them to that stubborn nose-hair that keeps poking out all weird. The country’s very shouty and very divided. It makes me sad. Was it always this bad? Has it always been this bad, every election? I’m not old enough to remember them all, going so far back. I am the first to admit that I didn’t pay a lot of political attention until probably the last…oh, I don’t know, 12 years or so? Shh, I was busy. Doing what? THINGS, ok? ALL THE THINGS.

So, anyway. Go vote today. I will not attempt to bias you. You already know where my vote’s going and I would hope your mind is made up by now, anyway. I refuse to cast a vote for someone who thinks women and homosexuals (shit, not to mention people of color and anyone who’s on government assistance and probably people who don’t own a dressage horse) are lower-class citizens than straight white (rich) men. I know a lot of people are scared about the economy and are voting because they think the current government has royally dicked it over and anyone, ANYONE, would better fix it than Obama would; I get it. I do. I’m working, on average, 45-60 hours a week just to pay my bills and I’m still not doing great. It’s a scary, scary economy. But I don’t vote for the economy. What the hell do I care about the economy? Money’s been confusing me since I got my first allowance. (FIFTY CENTS, thank you very much.) I vote with my heart. I vote for social issues. Does that surprise you at all? I might pretend to be scary but I’m squishy as hell. I pay attention to which candidate most clearly aligns with me on the social issues, and then I give him (or her, please, her, before I die? Come on, Merka) my vote. I think you know which candidate that is.

Also, I enjoy the hell out of him. There. Hate me if you must, but I do.

Also, just in case: what does one need to pack, to move to Finland? Just in case. I like to have a contingency plan completely ready to go. I’m guessing…something warm? It seems like it would be chilly in Finland. Also, we’ll be on an island and I can’t swim so I think I’d need floaties. Andreas, is everyone blonde in your Finland? Am I going to stand out all weird? I don’t want to have to dye my hair blonde to fit in, Andreas. I make a terrible blonde. I tried to go there once and it was a disaster. I looked like a science experiment gone wrong. I am meant to be a wicked brunette. With a funny white streak near one temple, apparently. As if I saw a HAUNT and it MARKED me.

Also, Andreas, I am NOT going into a sauna. The internet seems to show a LOT of photos of saunas when I Google Finland. I AM NOT DOING THIS ANDREAS. And what is that last guy holding on this lap? It looks like a large hedgehog, or a holly bush. NO THAT’S NOT A EUPHEMISM.

Happy Election Day, my fellow Merkans. Whatever happens, please just vote, ok? We don’t get a lot of chances to get our voices heard; this is one of the ways you can shout. Go shout today, ok? Loudly. Shouting loudly is very, very Lucy’s Football approved.

Time for me to start worrying. I’ll be in the pots-and-pans-cupboard until tomorrow morning, if you need me. Send in some fruit punch every now and then so I don’t get dehydrated, ok? You’re the best, thanks so much.

(Title is a John Quincy Adams quote; it pretty much sums up how I vote every year. Nice one, JQ.)

All this bouncing off the walls is causing a potential concussion.

I have VERY LITTLE TIME today. Got a late start! Well, an EARLY start. But late HERE, late. Have to leave for work soon and haven’t even started and a BILLION BILLION things are happening today and if I don’t pay the rent eviction’s going to happen and BUSY BUSY BUSY. Whenever I have a million things to do and I’m buzzing all around I think of Ricochet Rabbit. I don’t especially know who Ricochet Rabbit is, but Dad always used to say that when I was buzzing all around. “You’re like Ricochet Rabbit! Bing bing…BING!” And it would always make me giggle. I think it’s from some old-timey cartoon he used  to watch or something. Wait, the interwebs can help. OK, the interwebs says that Ricochet Rabbit was from Hanna Barbera and used to say “ping ping ping” which kind of ruins my childhood. THANKS INTERWEB. But he DID used to bounce off the walls. Which I did. And do. Regularly. I think I might have some sort of energy disorder.

This made me snort-laugh. I’m a child. A CHILD.

Ooh, look, per Wikipedia: Ricochet Rabbit’s catchphrase consisted of three quick pings; “ping, ping, PING!”, followed by him referring to himself in the third person; “Ricochet Rabbit!” The “Ping” is often mistakenly misquoted as a “Bing”. In the episode “Rapid Romance”, Ricochet clearly signs an autograph for a fan using the word “Ping”.

I like that even back in the day, people were over-watching and fan-wanking.

Also, these aired from 1964-1965. Dad was in his teens. I like to think of teen-Dad watching cartoons. That makes me smile.

Apparently, this is how Dad sees me. Hee!

OK, so quickly, what’s up in Amytonia. Amyland. Amyville. The Land of Amy.

Night shift has been night-shifty. People are NUTS. One guy pretended to be the president of the board of directors of a doctor’s office to get someone’s secret inside-line number (I WAS NOT FOOLED!); one woman was SO SHOCKED I knew her phone number (she’d told it to me, I’m not psychic) and one doctor lied and said he wasn’t on call because he didn’t want to deal with the caller’s problems. NUTS NUTS NUTS! All the fruits and nuts. Oh, we get some normal calls, too. People in labor and people with actual sick children and people who have pipes that have sprung a leak (NOT A EUPHEMISM.) And I am not getting enough sleep. But last night that was totally my own fault, I had this thing I wanted to do before I went to bed and it totally needed to be done and I thought, “do I do this thing? Because this thing, I want to do this thing. And if I do this thing tomorrow, this thing is not as timely or effective, and what have I gained, really? An extra 45 minutes of sleep? Weighing options weighing options WEIGHING OPTIONS I will do this thing.” And I DID. And so therefore I am sleepy, but satisfied with the choices I made. THIS IS WHY BEING A GROWNUP IS HARD.

This came up with a Google search for “being a grownup is hard” and it’s not really pertinent but it made me giggle. I’m equally ALL THREE of these.

In news of awesomeness, I have had a thing happen! But I can’t talk much about the thing. I am using the word “thing” a lot here. Again, not a euphemism. I have been offered (and accepted) a freelance writing position that I will be starting immediately. A freelance writing position that – get this, jellybeans! – PAYS MONEY. It is all very exciting and due to non-disclosure agreements and such I cannot say more. And it’s not ever something you will read (or would want to, really.) That makes it sound a lot pornier than was intended. And also kind of like I’m a spy. None of these things are true. ANYWAY, it’s a very exciting opportunity, and any money coming into Chez Amy at the moment would not be turned away at the door, no no no. Any money, including LAUNDERED and DRUG and PROSTITUTION money would be accepted, perhaps with a slight bit of worrisomeness, but whatever pays the bills, I suppose.

GAH! The internet said this was “excited face” WHAT IS THIS WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!?!?!

Anyway, once I know the timeline, there is a possibility that the old Football here will have to take a backseat for a bit. Or that these posts will have to be a photo and four words. Or just animated cat GIFs. Because lately, the time I have to write this is the only time I have at all, and that means the only time I’ll have to do the paid writing is the time I’ve been blogging. But, we’ll see. Maybe things will all fall into place like magic. Who knows.

Let’s see. I am a spoiled rotten brat and Dad is buying me a new TV for my birthday. Well, the spoiled rotten brat part I made up. I told him the TV shit the bed and he was VERY EXCITED about electronics shopping. Dad likes to buy electronics. He’s all “MEASURE THE BROKEN TV!” and “DIAGONALLY AND ALSO SIDE TO SIDE!” and “PUT YOUR PHONE ON SPEAKER SO I CAN TALK TO YOU WHILE YOU DO THE MEASURING!” And then he started talking about picture-tubes and flat-screens and going online to comparison shop and it’s like I gave him a little project for when he comes up this weekend. THANK YOU DAD!  (Yep, I’m spoiled rotten. I know.)

Dad says it will be about this size and this is BIGGER than my last TV. SO SO BIG. This is like being a FANCY LADY.

Also, talking to Dad the day after a debate…that’s not really the best idea. There was a lot of shouting and “WE WON YOU LOST AS ALWAYS” and other things that I won’t repeat because I know my audience and I want you to continue LIKING my dad. So I just kept saying “I don’t want to talk about this I don’t want to talk about this I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS” and also “I think we have a bad connection static! Static! KKKKKKKKK” (that’s my static noise, like that?) and finally we started talking about the weather (RAIN RAIN RAIN) and then got off the phone. Oh, the next month or so is going to be painful, yeah? Sigh.

OK. Off to do things. Things things things. SO MANY THINGS. Bing bing…BING! (Shut up, who cares that it’s ping.)

Vote Jack the Ripper for a Better America!

I’ve been saving some most-excellent news stories that we have to discuss but I haven’t had the time to talk about. I KNOW! SO BUSY! What with the punctuation and the stats and such. So many things going on here, whoo! Today, for example, I had to go to the doctor. But I forgot I had to go to the doctor this morning so I forgot to go to bed in a timely fashion last night so I am SO SO TIRED today. Blergh. I had to go to the doctor because all my prescriptions were running out and the doctor apparently needed to add to her vacation fund so she wanted to see me instead of just refilling them over the phone like she usually does. I’m not really sure what function this served other than I had to say “yep” a lot. “Yep, I’m still taking the migraine medication.” “Yep, I still have trouble sleeping unless I take medication to help me fall asleep.” “Yep, I still have crazy allergies.” Why I couldn’t just say these things over the phone is kind of a mystery. I long-ago decided that the whole visiting-the-doctor thing was a scam to make money. I’m the most jaded, aren’t I?  Well, mostly I’m broke so I don’t want to have to pay the doctor for something she could do for free over the phone. Anyway, I got a NEW sleeping pill which is supposed to be MAGIC KITTEN RAINBOWS so let’s see what happens. Maybe I will sleep for SIXTEEN YEARS! That’d be nice. (SIDE NOTE! She tried to give me Ambien and I’m totally freaked out by Ambien. Isn’t that the sleep-murdering drug? I don’t want to sleep-murder anyone. So I was all, um, let’s put a kibosh on the Ambien idea, what else ya got? Turns out, she had lots of other options. Apparently, no one can sleep, if we go by all the different sleeping pills in the world. Also, isn’t Ambien the giant-green-moth sleeping pill from the commercial? Oh, shit, no, I think that’s Lunesta. Either way, I don’t want to sleep-murder or see giant green moths.)

Get up offa me, moth.

Anyway, today, we are talking about something that will freak out the fellas, and how if you want to be president, you need to be a psychopath, and how (sigh, AGAIN) people are being idiots about Facebook.


Apparently, presidents and psychopaths are QUITE SIMILAR. This probably surprises no one. I like that science backs this up.

Psychopaths have a bunch of traits (like “criminal versatility” and “parasitic lifestyle” and “glibness”) and through MUCH SCIENCE, sciency science types have discovered that the most successful presidents share a trait with psychopaths: fearless dominance.

Fearlessly dominant!

What is fearless dominance, according to the sciency types?

“An easy way to think about it is as a combination of physical and social fearlessness,” says Scott Lilienfeld, lead author of the study and professor of psychology at Emory University. “People high in boldness don’t have a lot of apprehension about either physical or social things that would scare the rest of us.”

He adds, “It’s often a kind of resilience because you don’t show lot of anxiety or frustration in the face of everyday life challenges.”

This trait helps presidents deal with big things like terrorist attacks and smaller things like public speaking. It’s the same trait that helps psychopaths ignore others’ feelings and negative consequences and do things all weirdly impulsive-like.

According to this study, the presidents that tested highest on this scale were JFK, Teddy Roosevelt, FDR, Reagan, and Clinton. Aw! Bill! Not you, Bill! NOT YOU!

Not my Bill! Aw, Bill.

SO! When you are voting in November, I guess you want to vote for the candidate who’s most like John Wayne Gacy because he would be most successful? I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that. Wouldn’t someone who has psychopathic tendencies need to be good at hiding them? So if you KNEW the person was a psychopath, they obviously wouldn’t be a very good psychopath. So I’m going to say vote for the person who seems LEAST like a psychopath. In this case, VOTE FOR OBAMA. (No, seriously, vote for Obama. You saw the “47% of Americans are lazy slackers” Romney quote, right? And the “why can’t I open the windows on an airplane?” quote? And the fact that in order to talk to a Hispanic audience, he put on gobs of self-tanner and went out in brownface so he would be easier to relate to? THIS MAN IS OUT OF HIS EVERLOVING MIND.)

Oh, yes. Very relatable. Not at all offensive. Nice. Oompa-loompa-doompety-doo.

OK, moving on from psychopaths, we have people who are very stupid about Facebook.

OK, I’m sure you’ve all heard about people who got fired because of Facebooking, right? Like, people who will friend their boss, call in sick, then post photos of themselves getting super-drunk when they’re supposed to be home with soup and tissues? (There are also people who get fired for Facebooking and I don’t think they should have – like I read about a teacher who was on vacation, had a photo of herself at a table with a bottle of beer in front of her on the table put up on Facebook, and the district let her go. That can’t possibly be legal. How can they even prove that was her beer? And she wasn’t even drinking it? I feel like this might be a falsehood.)


But apparently there are some people who don’t understand that once you post something on the internet, it’s on the internet, even if you post it “friends only.” Here, I will give you a quick tutorial. Even if you have all of your settings locked down on Facebook and it’s friends-only, if you post something, your friends can share that with anyone they want. Who can, in turn, share that with anyone they want. It isn’t locked down. Once it’s posted, it’s out of your control. If you don’t want people to see something – DON’T POST IT ON FACEBOOK. Use a little discretion and common-sense.

Apparently, a gangstaaaaa in New York City was talking about the thug life, yo on Facebook. But he thought he was being all circumspect and marked the more sensitive posts, like the ones with drugs and murder references, “friends only.” But apparently the FBI is allowed to talk to your friends and ask your friends to share your posts with them, and your friends can do that. So the gangsta’s friends shared the info with the po-po (well, the Feds, I guess, what’s that, the fe-fe?) and now the guy’s going on trial for gangsta-ism.

So, we could argue for a while whether or not this guy’s friends were assholes (or, like a lot of people, he just randomly friended pretty much everyone – WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS?!) or if they were upstanding citizens who wanted to help make the world a better place, but that’s not really the point. The point is that this guy thought he was being secretive and he was just being a jackass.

Rule of thumb: if it’s illegal, don’t post it on Facebook. If it’s potentially embarrassing to someone (yourself, others, whatever) think about it before posting it. Yes, yes. Your profile is marked private. But once it’s out there, your friends can share that with anyone, jellybeans. Use your thinker for thinking thoughts.

Finally: this one’s going to make you cringe, fellas. Sorry.

I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that science has discovered a way to perhaps extend your lifespan so it is equal to a woman’s lifespan! The bad news is that the way to go about it is…well…maybe not something you’d be willing to do.

Researchers in Korea discovered that, after studying the genealogical records of the Chosun dynasty, eunuchs tended to live almost 20 years longer than intact males.

Lord Varys is very pleased with this development.

Yep. Eunuchs. So, in order to earn another twenty years, all you have to do is undergo castration. What do you think, guys? Worth it? Good tradeoff?

Now, before you’re all “that’s because eunuchs lived this totally sheltered and cushy life!” the sciency types are onto you and compared the eunuchs to other men who lived a similar lifestyle. Don’t mess with the sciency types. They know what they’re doing.

I guess this leads the sciency-types to believe that male sex hormones may be to blame for men’s shorter lifespans.

I don’t know that I know too many men that would give up the fellas for a chance to live another couple of decades. But maybe the men I know are all obsessed with their man-junk, I don’t know. I suppose some men have to do this when they get testicular cancer, right?So what’s the thought, men-readers? If you were promised another 20 years on your life, would you become a eunuch? I’m honestly curious about the outcome of this one.

This is a real eunuch. He seems shocked by what’s befallen him.

ALL THE NEWS! OK, off to toil away at the night shift. It’s late-shift week this week for Amy. All the late-night crazies are all mine! All for me! I’ll let you all have some if you want them. I’m not greedy. Happy day, all!

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