I haven’t been posting as much lately. I’m not sure if very many people have noticed, but I have, and there is a reason for it. Put out an APB for one sad pony and one squirrel possibly high on meth tainted nuts.
In case you don’t know much about these two (any first time people who somehow stumbled over here can find out more on my About page) these guys represent my depression and anxiety. Guess which one is which? I’ve been having issue with both of these little hairballs, and since I’m allergic to fur, I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to both of them as well. Some say they are just pictures, but believe me, they are a little too real.
These guys didn’t always represent my issues. Originally Sad Pony was just a funny meme I found somewhere that I tossed onto my page. I loved him so much I did this quite often. There is something about a pony that just looks this sad. I realize he probably isn’t really sad, he’s just tired, you know, typical pony burnout. But he sure looks pathetic in that picture. Added to the humor (my sense of humor is a little different, like me!) are the words “Sad Pony is Sad.” I find this dopey redundant sentence totally hilarious. But also fitting. Because even depressed, I can see humor everywhere. Sometimes, with enough distance, I can see how humorous some of my depressive thoughts can seem. Like Eeyore on steroids.
At some point, Sad Pony just became another character on my blog, just as he is a character in my life. I am not depression, and depression isn’t me. In this case, it’s a fat pony that just flops down on top of me and says “Take a break. Take 50.” It’s rather hard to get things done with this thing sitting on you. Forget the black dog. I have a Sad Pony, and ponies are heavy, especially when lethargic. Or so I’ve heard. I’ve never met a real pony – er beside this one who is REAL. Somewhere. I mean I have no idea who shot this picture. But I thank them.
But I’m not always just sad. I also have anxiety. And the best way I’ve figured out to describe anxiety is with a squirrel. Have you ever watched these guys before? Holy crap, it’s like some wire in their brain is being repeatedly shocked so that they have to dart from here to there and back again for no particular reason that I can tell. Maybe it’s because they are toward the bottom of the food chain, and don’t want to get eaten. The only time I’ve seen them remotely calm is on the college campus where I currently work, and that’s because college students are always – purposely or not – feeding the little suckers. They’d grown so unafraid that they will actually sit on your foot. The squirrels, not the students. These squirrels can never leave campus or they will be killed almost immediately.
Squirrel also started out as a picture I threw into posts partly because of the Disney movie “Up” where a dog is given the ability to speak and, not surprisingly, he has little to say and is often distracted. He can be in the middle of a sentence, spot a squirrel, and yell randomly “SQUIRREL!” That’s my anxiety in a nutshell (pun intended bwaha). I can be totally fine and then suddenly feel extreme panic. I am fearful of what most people are not, like say going to work. Sure they might not want to go to work, but their adrenaline doesn’t shoot up because they are going there. This anxiety would be considered normal if I worked in, say, an ER. But I work in a library. Rarely is my life in danger at a library, though we have had snakes, bats, spiders, wasps, and yes, once a squirrel invade. Also when people shoot up campuses, they often go for the library. I learned this is our Active Shooter Training at work. It really helped with my anxiety.
As you can see, these two fellows often interact. Depression makes me see anxiety as even more ridiculous, causing me to feel sad, then spiraling me into anxiety because oh no I’m sad again and how long will this last and then back to depression because come on, you have nothing to be afraid of, Alice. Well, except maybe the possibility of a Trump presidency. Then again, if we do get him, we probably won’t last long as a country because we will be bombed off the earth. Either by other countries or ourselves.
Comforting thoughts, there. Not really, but what is comforting is that I have this blog. And over the years, I’ve had others identify with these two, and even encourage the figments of my imagination. It’s great when other people willingly share in your delusions. And no matter how much that squirrel runs, no matter how much he distracts me, no matter how much he encourages me to scroll through the Internet all day long or do impulsive things, I have a support system. Same with Sad Pony. There is usually someone – like friends Lindy, Jody, my best blog friend Merbear and naturally my Things (among others) – to eventually help distract me from the distraction of that squirrel. There is usually someone who, while maybe unable to lift that pony, will lie down with me until he leaves.
So I’m having a lot of ups and downs. Meds really help with this, especially this last one that injected several of Squirrel’s best friends directly into my bloodstream, leaving me wanting to literally climb the walls and run out of my own skin. You are ready for anything to help you at that point, even a fat pony to sit on those squirrels. But I stopped that med, and I continue to hope for the future. For even the most sarcastic people have hope. I thank this blog, and my blog readers, for helping keep up that hope. I thank them for letting me be Alice.
P.S. As a little aside, I have started another blog about my dolls, titled appropriately Wonderland of Plastic. I only have an introduction and one review up so far (Wonderrrr Womaaaaaaaaaan!), but promise more to come. I discuss the dolls and history and since it’s me, Alice, of course I have snark. I’m not sure I can totally write without it. This is also where I’ll be moving my doll stories with the Things. We have more torture planned for our Disney princess housewives. Because there is life after the fairy tale.
I’m out for a while, guys, away from Facebook news and stuff gets like, crazy crazy. Droopy Dog Cruz just drops out, ka-poof, like he was tired of people (like fellow senators) saying he was the devil or something. And apparently Kasich dropped out too, though no one really noticed, just like they didn’t really notice he was running. And for like two days I didn’t even know this. My mother told me, and we don’t even talk all that often (Happy Mother’s Day Mom and Ted!).
Even weirder, there’s not even that much about it on Facebook, the place I get all my liberally biased news. That’s right, Facebook suppresses conservative news too! (I tried to find the Gizmodo article, but only got this article by the same guys about painting a room by blowing up paint.) I think it must be true, though, cause Facebook news says Tylenol can make you emphasize less with people, which must be why I don’t care about a lot of really stupid people. Frequent headaches and all. Anyway, so we are left with . . .
No one quite knows what to do with this. Oh, sure, comedians can laugh about it, but there’s this little edge to their laughter like ha ha Trump might be our president it’s hilarious and hahahahaha . . . ha . . . cough . . . choke.
So we’re left with Hillary and Bernie still duking it out because even though Bernie doesn’t stand much of a chance now, unlike Cruz, he’s just not going to leave Hillary alone until he absolutely has to because where would the fun in that be, huh? Meanwhile, Facebook does bother to announce that, hello, Trump just won – uh what was that latest state – he won one, guys, and I am totally surprised what with him being the only one running. Why are they bothering to announce this? Is it actually possible for someone to be the only candidate and still lose? I mean saying he’s not a Democrat running in Texas?
These days? Anything is possible. ANYTHING.
One might think this is good for Democrats. The problem is, if Hillary wins, there are many Bernie supporters who claim “Bernie or Bust” which is quite true because if they don’t vote for Hillary, they will, in fact, be voting for Trump, meaning “bust” big time. Ka-boom. I will write this out slowwwwly for people who are still uncertain about our two party system. If you don’t vote for the candidate picked, even if you don’t like this candidate, you are, in effect, voting for the other party. So then you just have to decide. Hillary or Trump?
I think I lost some people there. Come back, Canada is closing the gates!
This whole thing makes as much sense as that old song about cake getting wet. You know “Someone left my cake out by the ocean” . . . wait, no that’s the new song with one of those Jonas brothers about . . . it’s totally just about eating cake by the ocean young Disney Channel viewers. It’s edgy though, cause he says like bad words, and talks about cake. Cake that is bound to get wet. And you know what happens then. I don’t think that I can take it. Cause it took so long to bake it. And we are never having that recipe again.
Oh nooooooooooo! Ohhhhhhh nooooooo!
Did you see those metaphors just come flyin’ at you there? I did. They didn’t make any sense, just like this election, so it’s like we just took a perfectly good cake, left it out in the rain, on the beach, near a Jonas brother and a bunch of girls in bikinis, and now Trump may be President of the United States. Actions have consequences, people. Jonas brothers, ruined cake, Oompa Loompa politicians, people moving in mass to Canada where they probably don’t even have cake or oceans, I don’t know, and someone just “Wake Me Up When It’s All Over”. When I’m wiser and I’m sober.
Till then, let’s just eat cake and dance to stupid songs.
It occurred to me a few posts back that someone coming upon this blog for the first time might not realize I like to parody annoying, stupid people and use heaping doses of sarcasm on a regular basis. That would mean they would read something like say, my last post (Don’t worry, you get another chance!) and think that I am a really big racist. I’m not (I mean not a BIG racist anyway) I just like to parody the worst of America. Everyone else is going to do it; I might as well join in.
Dave Barry had this problem when he wrote for the Miami Herald, despite the newspaper clearly stating that he was, in fact, a humor columnist. He wrote “Mr. Language Person”, a column in which he purposely murdered the English language. Every time he’d get letters from people who were very offended that he was teaching incorrect grammar. So he wrote another column in which he explained what was B.S. and what wasn’t. I figured I’d try the same thing by taking my last post and using helpful ellipsis in red (closed captioning!) for those who are sarcasm impaired. I realize this is a repeat for some – in that case you can always just read the red parts – like in the Bible they’re the best!
*********(Warning: This Might Look Familiar) ********
I was driving to work today, and singing along to a song from the Disney movie Lilo and Stitch, because – I’m me. (note: weird) I like the Hawaiian songs, so naturally try to sing along (key word is “try”), even though I do not speak Hawaiian (I know “Aloha”), so it sounds kind of like this “Oh like oh e maya a una de tala a oof mana mana a eee eee eee eee oh.” (Well it sounds like that to me cause I don’t speak the language. I’m sure Hawaiians understand it. Probably.)
Then it occurred to me that I didn’t know what their language was really called. (I don’t.) Is it really called Hawaiian? (beats me!) Cause I live in the United States, and we don’t speak United States. Nor do we speak American. (I went to school a lot.) We do speak English (supposedly), but New England English is way different than Southern English, or California English. And if we get online, our English doesn’t look like English at all. (Texting is not writing.) I once looked at an old text and realized I had not capitalized my “I”s, and I cringed because I like to use the word “I” a lot (true) and it just looked like I had barfed preschool on the phone. (I didn’t actually barf. I just typed. I might have made barfing noises.) Or teen, take your pick. (I’m not prejudiced against teens, just honest. Okay I’m prejudiced.)
People speak other languages here too, but we (We being mostly lazy, conservative Americans) expect everyone to also speak English, cause we are Americans, even if we actually borrowed English from the English, you know, before those guys screwed it up so much. (British people didn’t screw it up their own language. Not anymore than Americans did (and do!) I mean really – it’s not a jumper. It’s a sweater. (Why call it a jumper? Does it jump? Then again does a sweater sweat? Language is weird period.) A jumper is something little girls wear, like overalls but with a skirt. (I have no idea why we even make these kinds of jumpers.) And we don’t take lifts, nor do we drive lorries, our cars don’t wear bonnets (Our cars wear hoods! Not really, we just call them hoods or bonnets. Or that thing in front of the car.) , and use a freaking article when you say “I’m going to university.” It’s like we Americans have to tell you everything. (Well Americans certainly want to anyway. Try to ignore us as usual.)
But England is weird too (fun weird!), because they don’t just go by England. They also go by Great Britain, and call themselves British, not Greatish, or Greatish Britainish. (I do like wasting my English education.) Or they could be the United Kingdom if you include the unimportant countries around them, like Scotland. (Scotland is full of very smart people who also hate Donald Trump.) I think. (I have no idea) But again, no United Kindomners. Also do you speak Scottish and Irish, or Gaelic, or just English cause everyone has to speak English because we do? I don’t know. (true!) I have not even bothered to Google this. (also true!) I do know that even the most racist people love foreign accents, so if you have one, come on over. We’ll go crazy for you. (We really will.) Look how successful the Beatles were. It wasn’t cause of their haircuts. (It was cause of their singing.)
Now Spain has it right, because their people speak Spanish, but then Mexico speaks Spanish too. But the two are not actually the same. Which means the Spanish I was taught by a white Anglo woman was Spain Spanish, and does little to help me speak Mexican Spanish, and there are a lot more Mexicans around Texas than there are Spaniards. (true) Just ask Donald Trump. (please don’t) I took several years of Spanish, but still can’t keep up with them because they speak, like, fast. And then you like translate in your head, and have to respond, and I just can’t keep up with all of that. (I suck at Spanish) Yet I see some people switch effortlessly from Spanish to English in one breath and I wonder if they are some sort of magician. (Seriously, how do they DO that?)
Then there’s France. They speak French. Fair enough. But we have people in Louisiana who also speak French. Also Cajun, whatever the heck that is. (Gambit from the X-men speaks it!) Parts of Canada speak French too. They don’t speak Canadian, unless you count those guys who used to say “hooser” on Saturday Night Live. (Anyone remember their names?)
On to Japan. They speak Japanese. Yay. Also English. And Engrish, which is a combination of English and Japanese that usually results in hilarity. Like small children wearing shirts with rather inappropriate words, while smiling big happy smiles. (Look it up. It’s funny!) Of course Americans are known for getting tattoos done in Chinese or Japanese characters (they’re the same, right?) (no) and end up permanently affixed with stupid words. Just because the guy says it means “warrior” doesn’t mean it’s right. You could be walking around with the word “sponge” on your bicep. (Also funny!) I bet our Asian neighbors love it when they see this. (No they don’t.) Asian is another word you can call Japanese, or Chinese, or Korean, or Vietnamese, because a lot of Americans aren’t going to bother with the difference. (True – partly because we really don’t know and don’t want to look like idiots) Because we’re too busy playing their video games. (They do make good video games.)
Africa! Now this is one crazy place. (Africans are not insane. Well not most of them.) They don’t all speak African, you guys. They have different languages and dialects, and if I looked it up, I could probably tell you one of them. (I never looked it up.) I think they sound very cool, even if they aren’t saying anything important, like in the introduction to the Lion King. I heard it’s translated something like “It’s a lion, look it’s a lion” which is better than “Llama, llama, penguins in pajamas” which my friend mentioned, and now I hear every time that movie comes on. (Honestly, I hear nothing else now. Llama, llama.) I asked a student from Africa what some names meant, and Simba means “lion”, Mufasa means “king”, and Scar means “bad guy”. Way to be creative, Disney! (You aren’t at all creative, Disney.)
There are a lot more countries (Try looking at a map. I might.), but I know most of you have no attention span and probably quit somewhere around England (Australians speak English too! Sort of!) so I’ll stop here. (I probably would have stopped way back there too, if I were reading this. Sorry I haven’t read your blogs lately!) Suffice it to say, language is very confusing, especially when it doesn’t even match the country name, so I think everyone should have to change theirs to make it easier (sort of like when you guys all went metric and we didn’t, but yet you still didn’t change back to feet and inches). (I don’t actually think people should change their language, or their metric system. Because of our independence there, I never know how to measure squat.) So a “good day” to those who speak Canadian, United Kingdom, Louisiana, Asian, African, and those other places on the map. You’re welcome. (I’m sorry)
Alice (This isn’t even my real name)
I was driving to work today, and singing along to a song from the Disney movie Lilo and Stitch, because – I’m me. I like the Hawaiian songs, so naturally try to sing along, even though I do not speak Hawaiian, so it sounds kind of like this “Oh like oh e maya a una de tala a oof mana mana a eee eee eee eee oh.”
Then it occurred to me that I didn’t know what their language was really called. Is it really called Hawaiian? Cause I live in the United States, and we don’t speak United States. Nor do we speak American. We do speak English (supposedly), but New England English is way different than Southern English, or California English. And if we get online, our English doesn’t look like English at all. I once looked at an old text and realized I had not capitalized my “I”s, and I cringed because I like to use the word “I” a lot and it just looked like I had barfed preschool on the phone. Or teen, take your pick.
People speak other languages here too, but we expect everyone to also speak English, cause we are Americans, even if we actually borrowed English from the English, you know, before those guys screwed it up so much. I mean really – it’s not a jumper. It’s a sweater. A jumper is something little girls wear, like overalls but with a skirt. And we don’t take lifts, nor do we drive lorries, our cars don’t wear bonnets, and use a freaking article when you say “I’m going to university.” It’s like we Americans have to tell you everything.
But England is weird too, because they don’t just go by England. They also go by Great Britain, and call themselves British, not Greatish, or Greatish Britainish. Or they could be the United Kingdom if you include the unimportant countries around them, like Scotland. I think. But again, no United Kindomners. Also do you speak Scottish and Irish, or Gaelic, or just English cause everyone has to speak English because we do? I don’t know. I have not even bothered to Google this. I do know that even the most racist people love foreign accents, so if you have one, come on over. We’ll go crazy for you. Look how successful the Beatles were. It wasn’t cause of their haircuts.
Now Spain has it right, because their people speak Spanish, but then Mexico speaks Spanish too. But the two are not actually the same. Which means the Spanish I was taught by a white Anglo woman was Spain Spanish, and does little to help me speak Mexican Spanish, and there are a lot more Mexicans around Texas than there are Spaniards. Just ask Donald Trump. I took several years of Spanish, but still can’t keep up with them because they speak, like, fast. And then you like translate in your head, and have to respond, and I just can’t keep up with all of that. Yet I see some people switch effortlessly from Spanish to English in one breath and I wonder if they are some sort of magician.
Then there’s France. They speak French. Fair enough. But we have people in Louisiana who also speak French. Also Cajun, whatever the heck that is. Parts of Canada speak French too. They don’t speak Canadian, unless you count those guys who used to say “hooser” on Saturday Night Live.
On to Japan. They speak Japanese. Yay. Also English. And Engrish, which is a combination of English and Japanese that usually results in hilarity. Like small children wearing shirts with rather inappropriate words, while smiling big happy smiles. Of course Americans are known for getting tattoos done in Chinese or Japanese characters (they’re the same, right?) and end up permanently affixed with stupid words. Just because the guy says it means “warrior” doesn’t mean it’s right. You could be walking around with the word “sponge” on your bicep. I bet our Asian neighbors love it when they see this. Asian is another word you can call Japanese, or Chinese, or Korean, or Vietnamese, because a lot of Americans aren’t going to bother with the difference. Because we’re too busy playing their video games.
Africa! Now this is one crazy place. They don’t all speak African, you guys. They have different languages and dialects, and if I looked it up, I could probably tell you one of them. I think they sound very cool, even if they aren’t saying anything important, like in the introduction to the Lion King. I heard it’s translated something like “It’s a lion, look it’s a lion” which is better than “Llama, llama, penguins in pajamas” which my friend mentioned, and now I hear every time that movie comes on. I asked a student from Africa what some names meant, and Simba means “lion”, Mufasa means “king”, and Scar means “bad guy”. Way to be creative, Disney!
There are a lot more countries, but I know most of you have no attention span and probably quit somewhere around England (Australians speak English too! Sort of!) so I’ll stop here. Suffice it to say, language is very confusing, especially when it doesn’t even match the country name, so I think everyone should have to change theirs to make it easier (sort of like when you guys all went metric and we didn’t, but yet you still didn’t change back to feet and inches). So a “good day” to those who speak Canadian, United Kingdom, Louisiana, Asian, African, and those other places on the map. You’re welcome.
We’re back with Thing Two’s captivating story of two
vampires people torn apart by POLITICS. Can the two ever be together, what with the probable different number of chromosomes? Let’s find out in part two of: The Republican and the Democrat: A Love Story.
GUNS, GUNS AND MORE GUNS
Ken went on the wonderful web and looked for a good lookin’ dating website for him to find a new gal.
“Hey this one looks swell.” He took a deep breath and started on Democrathotties.com
Voting for: Bernie Sanders
Hobbies: Having long debates on the beach
More about ME: My favorite color is blue, my favorite animal is a donkey, and my uncle is
Bernie Sanders, and I live in a cardboard house since I donated all my money to orphans, plus I’m poor….cool right!!!???
*insert hawt picture*
Before he had decided which angle, or whether he wanted to have his shirt on or not for his “hawt” picture, he got 2 requests already. The first girl was named Bindi Roosevelt, who also liked Donkeys. The other girl was named Katy Reagan…and her picture had her in a red bikini, next to 3 guns. Being bewildered on how such a Republican appeared on a Democratic dating site, he rejected both. His dog started to howl loudly as he finally took his needed picture and went to bed …. dreaming about rich little Marsha.
It was decided, Ken was going on a date with Harley Quinn
Ken finally got to the internet cafe where he was to meet his new more than friends friend (hopefully). He parked his Beatle bike and swayed into the cafe. He sat down at a table and made sure that no crumbs had stayed undefeated with a brush of his hand …. and he waited.
Marsha put on her black Prada sandals, and put up her coat. She checked her bed for BB’s, and texted her new boyfriend who went by the name “Chad” which most likely stood for Courageous Happy-go lucky Amazing Democrat hater. A knock came from the north of the house…it was Chad!
“Hey!!” Marsha was so excited to get to know this new man. “Hi Chad!”
“Actually my name is Alejandro, I just shortened it to Chad.” Marsha couldn’t find what sounded weird about that but who cares!!??
“Well, are we ready?” he asked.
Masha got on her billion dollar hat worn by the queen of England. “Yep! All ready!!”
They set off on their journey to the cafe.
“Hey…this place sounds good, maybe we can eat here.” he said.
Marsha thought it was a great idea…it smelled pretty good in there. They walked in and Marsha sat down while Chad grabbed some napkins. Marsha looked around the place, it looked pretty nice except….
Kennedy was there!!!!
The suspense is killing you, I’m sure. We’ll find out what happens next in part three of the thrilling saga of those political lovebirds. Thing Two was kind enough to leave a message for me at the end of her writing. Here it is.
*Dear mom, if you are reading this then your prob editing…just so you know, your doing a great job and i love you*
I have pretty amazing kids.
Congrats to all of you. Thing Two, my eleven-year-old, is a young writer. She aspired to write as well as Stephenie Meyer, and did so back in first grade. Still, she decided to write a love story about a Democrat and a Republican in Twilight fashion. I found it quite promising, and have only (I swear) edited it for grammar and spelling. Well I edited it as much as Stephenie would. Enjoy.
The Republican and the Democrat: A Love Story
This is the story of the Democrat and the Republican, which is a way better story than Twilight…..like totes…. just ask SM.
Diz iz the bestz stoiy ever bout ROMANCEEEEEEEEEEEE
See!!! Even famous writers like it. So…. let’s get that out of the way…first we have to tell the story…DUH!!!!! (great intro right!!!???)
Kennedy stared at her…her beauty could send one to the moon. Her eyes were as sparkling as global warming. His heart played a saxophone to the tune of her blinks.
“Hey…. you ready for our date??”
Ken snapped out of his fantasy from the feelings he had once she met him.
“Okay now since you have snapped out of it I’ll discuss the plans, first… we need to catch the taxi…but the driver has to be American!!!” Wondering why she was so specific about the driver’s race he called the taxi with her.
“This is so romantic!” she said with a sweet stare. The date was almost done…he had passed through all the questions..but he had a feeling one was approaching.
“Hey….” here it comes he thought, the question…he armed himself with excuses. “Are you Republican or Democrat???”
“Democrat.” he said.
She dropped her drink as her mascara dribbled down her cheek. “I’MMM……A REPUBLICAN.” she said “WEEEE CAN’T BE TOGETHER!!!!”
His heart failed…and he fainted.
Ken woke up to a voice stronger than silver. “I’m sorry…”
He tried to gain his memory. “I’m sorry too…. Marsha.”
“It’s my fault my uncle is Trump.”
Ken understood…since Uncle Bernie wanted him to only date Democrats.
“I guess this is it.” Ken realized this was most likely the last time he was to see her.
“Well bye … I guess.” Marsha walked away with mascara dripping down her shirt…Ken yelled after her …. but she only cried and ran farther.
Ken started to see the clues come together…she only wanted a American around her…in fact right once they had their first date she asked him if he was American, he thought as a bird landed on his shoulder.
“I need a new girlfriend,” he mumbled.
What will happen next? Will Ken and Marsha see past their political stereotypes and have a love as shallow as Bella and Edward in Twilight? Who knows, she hasn’t written it yet. Stay tuned.
I hope you all had a great Easter weekend. I didn’t. I had stomach ISSUES and they weren’t fun and worst of all they kept me from Facebook for an entire day. Do you realize what I could have missed with no Facebook News for a whole day? Everything! Maybe Donald said something racist or stupid. Maybe the Enquirer said Ted Cruz was having multiple affairs (luckily I saw THAT one on the newsstand). Or maybe someone gave Bernie Sanders the bird.
Luckily for me, I also have my Things – er daughters, and they are very happy to pass on political news of great importance. Thing One showed me a site called Loser.com that I had never heard of until today. If you go to the site, you are directed immediately to the Wikipedia page of Donald Trump. So did someone buy the domain loser.com just to troll Donald? Nah, loser.com has been trolling since 1995 in what the Washington Times called “quiet, pointless obscurity”, its targets having been Al Gore, Obama, and naturally Kanye West (please say he doesn’t run for office). Donald is just the latest, but like everything Donald, his has gotten the most attention. I’m shocked Donald hasn’t tried to sue yet (that we know of that is).
Another exciting bit of news (from Time Magazine who also reported on Donald being the latest loser.com victim – way to report Time!) is this video of teen “mean girls” reading the tweets of Donald Trump. It’s absolutely hilarious until you realize that everything those girls say was actually said first by a 70-year-old man who wants to be President. Then it’s still funny, but a little sad. I wonder if he will continue with the highly effective communication tool if elected President. Pfft, of course he will.
As far as Facebook News, I am with Ted Cruz who says reports of his multiple affairs are ridiculous. Getting the one woman to marry him had to be an act of voodoo witchcraft – I can’t imagine anything being powerful enough to get him women on the side. Imagine waking up to that face. Oh crap – imagine waking up to that face even on the T.V. I feel a little ill.
Cause really, who would you rather see on your televisions each day?
Kindly if slightly batty old grandpa Bernie Sanders?
Retired librarian who tries to look cool Hillary Clinton (as a librarian I can vouch for this statement – it’s a tough job).
Oompa Loompa with Tourette’s Donald Trump?
Or . . . or Droopy Doo Doo dog, Ted “Creeper” Cruz?
I don’t know about you, but out of this admittedly less than stellar list, I choose the Bern. I’m not the only one. Wildlife likes him too, as evidenced by the video in which a cute birdie landed on his podium during a speech. You might think this an incredible coincidence (and something supporters at the rally got a little too excited about – even before the bird got close to Bernie) but it’s not. Bernie commands wildlife, guys. It’s the Democratic Socialist Disney Princess effect. Remember that Hitchcock movie “The Birds”? I’d be careful, Hillary and Republicans! Bernie could unleash his hoard at any time. Anyway, the bird was cute enough to make it into a Bernie endorsement video. Cut from video: Duet of “I’m Wishing” from Snow White whistled by Bernie and the bird.
Aw. Poor little sparrow-whatever-that-bird-is had no idea he was a dove and is even more confused. Lucky for the bird, he landed near a Democrat. I can just imagine a Republican, like, I dunno, Donald, taking a shot at him. I could also see one of his supporters shouting “Sparrow season!” – if said supporter weren’t busy punching a Trump protester. Speaking of violence, many Republicans are hoping to allow “open carry” guns at the Republican National Convention this year. This is one time I am not totally against this idea. Can you just imagine? It’d be like the O.K. Corral, with bullets zinging across the room as people yell “Yippie-ti-yi-die!” while galloping around in their suits and ties. Seriously, I wouldn’t want anyone hurt, but it would test whether Republicans are as crazy about guns if said guns are shot near them in an enclosed space by other Republicans.
So much excitement to come! Try to survive. And if you can’t find a gun, be nice to birds.
In light of recent events (like everything), I have made a monumental decision. I have decided to leave the human race.
I’m going to become a house cat. Note I am referring to “house” cats here, as in cats who don’t have to work the streets and stuff. How? I have a plan for it and everything. No need for you to know it.
Why? Simple. I’ve got a list.
1 Cats aren’t worried about human stuff like bills, the “P” word, bombs, Justin Bieber, or food. All they need is supplied for them by the human. If the human is slow, you only need to rub its leg or lay on the floor showing your belly. I have tried this as a human to get my husband to fix supper for me, but it was ineffective.
2 Cats don’t have spouses, and they kick their kids out as soon as they can sort of see and walk. They don’t even have to potty-train them.
3 Cats don’t have to go to work. Their job involves looking cute until fed, then ignoring everyone around them. This is sometimes allowed at work meetings, but otherwise they expect you to actually produce something. Eventually.
4 75 percent of shows on the Internet are about cats. They never run out of programming. They can even become stars simply by looking grumpy. I have yet to be paid for this, yet I do it very well.
5 Cats are allowed to sleep 16 hours a day and no one calls them lazy. They can even curl up and sleep in someone’s lap. This is often frowned upon if you are a human, especially if you are not related in some way to the lap.
6 Cats can do whatever they want. If they want to stick their butt in your face, they can do it. If they want to stomp on your keyboard, they can do it. If they want to pee on your laundry, they can do it. Try doing this as a human, and see how well it works.
7 No chores for cats. The human will clean mess up for you, even the toilet. All that hair you shed on a regular basis? The human. You don’t even have to thank them, or acknowledge their existence. Like children and spouses in a typical human family.
8 You never need to take a shower, cause you have a tongue for that! That sort of behavior might land you in a mental hospital as a human, but is totally normal for a cat. (I’m not sure I would like this one as much, unless I was a cat. Then who cares? Look at my butt!)
9 Cats can just zip off any time they want, and not return for hours, and no one questions it. The last time I tried this, the people at work were super annoyed at me.
10 Cats don’t have to worry about the rest of the world, because they have already peed on their part of it to make sure it’s secure. Humans could solve so many problems this way, if they just stuck to their own porches and litter boxes.
And that is why I want to be a house cat. I’ll let you know how it works out. Or not, because if I succeed, I will no longer care. I’ll be eatin’ my vittles in front of the computer until I fall asleep in someone’s lap. That is the life.
I didn’t start out intending to be a political humor writer, but what can you do when it’s all just right there for the taking? It’s like E.L. James decided to write a story of an election, and this is the result.
Anyhoo, I promised to tell you of my experience voting. I went to the polls the week before Super Tuesday (the first Super voting day) with my Republican husband. We were the only ones there. In Texas, you have these little voter booths that resemble old arcade game machines. You get controls too, only this one is just a dial you use to go down the list of names and select your candidate. It is not a touch screen, as the sign (created by the poor souls who actually volunteer to register you) clearly states. Yet every time I touch it first. As does everyone else.
But why a rotary dial? Are we going back to the 80s here? I guess it fits the arcade theme. And why does every state do this differently? Why pregnant chads in Florida? I don’t get it. But I digress. Again. Mostly because I have to admit that when it comes to voting, I am not that bright.
Obviously I knew who I wanted to select as the Democrat’s candidate, though my husband was still somewhat undecided except for “Not Trump”. To make this process more confusing to voters, several Republican candidates who had dropped out long ago were still on the ballot. I wonder how many votes those people got. It would have been extra funny if somehow Texas had elected, say, Jeb!
At least the Democrats had been narrowed down to two for a long time, so easy peasy right? Then I got my ballot, and I realized I had completely forgotten, in spite of doing this every two to four years since I turned 18, that there was a lot of other stuff on the ballot. Like bunches of other people I had never heard of, and even a few political positions I had never heard of, and I had to choose one. Most only had one person, so that was pretty easy, but then Railroad Commissioner had three. Eenie, Meenie, Mini? For a while I was terrified I had accidentally voted for a Republican, then I remembered this was the Democratic primary. Which means they should all be Democrats? Theoretically?
And then came the story problems, or as the political establishment calls them, referendums. Oops. I had not looked any of those up beforehand either. All of these were written in legalese. I have a Master’s degree in English (no, really!) and I had to read them more than once to make sure I was voting the right way. There were questions like this one:
Do you agree with a bill that will not permit the exercise of extreme force upon juvenile seals by way of blunt instrument?
And so you are about to say “no” obviously, cause you want to prevent clubbing baby seals! But then you realize that it says “permit” instead of “prevent”, but that’s still “no” because it’s permitting clubbing them seals. Wait, then you remember there’s that “not” in there, so you need to say “yes” you want a bill that doesn’t permit clubbing seals. Right? When did seals get permits? I’m not sure I care about the seals anymore. Whoever wrote up these referendums needs a club to the head. My husband who is not an English major, in fact has a reading disability, was there for quite a while after I had finished. He was also extremely confused.
“I’m not sure what I voted for,” he said.
“Me neither,” I replied.
And we went our merry way, just like most Americans. And that is how the voting system works, kiddos! I even got a sticker.
Like the short-lived game show Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader, the sad news is that kids actually DO know more than many adults about politics. They also seem to care about it. Nevermind that none of them can vote. Thing Two has a fellow student / arch enemy who is insane about Trump, enough that he carries around his biography like a Bible. No kid should carry around ANY politician’s bio, especially that one. Thing Two enjoys responding to his “Trump is Awesome” speeches with taunts of “GO HILLARY! HILLARY FOR PRESIDENT!” I love my kids.
If you want some proof that kids know way more than we do (and more than they should, really), here is a video with kids responding to Donald Trump’s antics, and answering questions. You might be tempted to think they were prompted, but I believe it’s totally real, because you just don’t come up with stuff the way these kids do. Also no adult would have that much common sense. Prepare to laugh your head off, then feel sad for their future. Here it is.
Now the GOP is hoping to keep the four candidates in as long as possible in order to prevent Trump from securing enough delegates, thus allowing the party to select its own candidate, rather than the voters. Something seems wrong with this picture. It’s a good reason to vote, though, because if you take all the people who don’t bother, you get enough to say, keep a crazed lunatic (choose one) out of office. And that’s just being a good American.