I asked Team Lablogda to weigh in on the big event(s) of the year. Here is what they said:
Ironhuff sez:
Republicans have the hottest Gay Porn.
Mark Foley's instant messages will go down in the Gay Porn Hall of Fame. His folksy banter and "Coach" like demenor have a seductive quality that puts Michael Jackson to shame. Perhaps he could team up and Michael could start with the boys when they are around 11 years and once they lose their last ounce of boyhood, Foley could take over. That's the problem with sexual repression. I'll take a good old fashioned c__k sucking Democrat who revels in the sexual freedom of consenting adults, over a deeply repressed, closeted, God-Fearing, gun toting Republican who seems to grasp their guns in some sort of Freudian substitution for the man-rod they would rather be clasping.
ViewfromABroad sez:
Event of the Year:
Rumsfeld stepping down. No if ands or buts about it.
2nd Place: South Dakota voting out that nightmare abortion law (should try to get you some details on that). Ha.Ha.Ha.
What else puts the yippee in my skippee:
Jeff Skilling is finally going 'to the big house' - though I think he should've had time added to his sentence for Kenneth Lay's untimely death. Those f____rs owe us all big time.
2nd place prize for untimely death: Augusto Pinochet. So pissed that he never had to stand trial by a jury of what couldn't possibly be his peers, they would've had too much integrity-
Word of the Year: Schaudenfreude
the happiness I felt when I looked at the photo of Bill Frist leaving the building...
Frankie sez:
Event(s) of the year:
Demo's take control of the House and Senate -- the significance is just to obvious.
Stay the course in Iraq -- full steam ahead (catch phrases from the Pres and Veep). This is similar to the "light at the end of the tunnel" phrase used by Nixon during Viet Nam. Unfortunately the light at the end of the tunnel was a freight train coming at us. I fear the same will be true of Iraq - only worse. Americans finally come to grips with what happens when we try to "impose" US style democracies. 2006 really marked the turning point in the polls. Iraq will be seen as another misadventure, but on a colossal scale.
Binx sex:
Event of the year:
All of the above. However, for me, it culminated this past Thursday. I was home from work, watching "The View," which I have only seen a couple times during its run. The only two people I recognize are Barabara and Rosie. There is a skinny Republican chick, and a chunky Democratic chick. The Chunky one is going off on Bush, how he doesn't read the papers, doesn't seek advice, doesn't listen to anyone, and is basically a huge loser. The Audience APPLAUD WILDLY. I may not know a lot abou "The View," but I know Middle America likes it. And that applause in the studio audience was Middle America, namely the women, giving a big flip off to George W. Bush. It's official. The country has shifted. We are done with Redneck Republicans. Happy F_____g New Year, everyone.
Word of the Year: It's a cliche, but I gotta go with Truthiness. It may be a real word, but coming from W, it was just downright funny. And that's the god's honest truthiness.
December 30, 2006
December 28, 2006
The Amazingly Bad Neighbors
Half-way down the block from my house, past the former porn star, across the street from the interracial lesbian couple, lives the biggest white trash ever to escape the hills of Arkansas. I don’t know their names. They are so damn trashy even I won’t speak to them. Yeah, they are THAT bad.
They have two little boys who are about four feet tall and three feet tall, respectively. I figure that means the kids are not even in first grade, but I don’t know how to match kids age with their size.
They play in the middle of the street unsupervised a lot, which means I like to drive past them fast, like I am going to hit them, then honk my horn and flip them off. Their parents’ are not around, though the interracial lesbian couple can often be seen standing in their front doorway looking concerned for the kids. So far, they haven’t turned me in to the police, so I keep up the antics.
For Christmas this year, the bad parents took things too far. They got the kids one of those mobile basketball hoops – it stands about nine feet high. They put it at the end of the driveway and the kids played hoops in our street, as if this were a charming Brooklyn scene, circa 1950. They also got the smaller tyke a motorized tiny tot car that HE DRIVES IN THE STREET. Did I mention they did all this unsupervised?
Needless to say, I felt in my element. I tried to run over the kids, but Hubby kept admonishing me, telling me that it would not be as fun for me as I imagined, and that I would not look good in prison orange. He doesn’t get it. I wasn’t really going to plow them down. I just wanted to scare them into therapy that would last into their fifties.
At the same time, I was deeply concerned about property values for the homes on my street. That hoop really trashed up the place. I could not get over the parents’ thoughtlessness for their neighbors. First, their kids make a tricky obstacle course, and second, that hoop devalues my home by a good 100K. I go from living in a respectable neighborhood with a former porn star and a mixed lesbian couple, to living on a dead-end street littered with tots and hoops.
I started to write a letter to the neighbors, as well as the neighborhood association, and hubby was going to call the police, he said, if he saw the tinier tot in the street again driving around in his midget car. Alas, someone must have beat us to the punch, as the kids are now inside, the hoop is gone and my street is looking semi-middle class again.
Of course, it is an insanely windy day in Vegas. Hubby thinks the parents’ simply are keeping the kids inside. I think he’s wrong, personally. They let the kids play IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET, did I mention, UNSUPERVISED? Why should some hurricane force winds suddenly cause them to have parenting skills?
Please God, or W, or Frank Sinatra’s ghost, or whoever is in charge, please change this one thing in the world: you have to have a license to buy a gun, but you don’t need anything but sperm and egg to have a kid? Controller of the Universe, please right this wrong.
They have two little boys who are about four feet tall and three feet tall, respectively. I figure that means the kids are not even in first grade, but I don’t know how to match kids age with their size.
They play in the middle of the street unsupervised a lot, which means I like to drive past them fast, like I am going to hit them, then honk my horn and flip them off. Their parents’ are not around, though the interracial lesbian couple can often be seen standing in their front doorway looking concerned for the kids. So far, they haven’t turned me in to the police, so I keep up the antics.
For Christmas this year, the bad parents took things too far. They got the kids one of those mobile basketball hoops – it stands about nine feet high. They put it at the end of the driveway and the kids played hoops in our street, as if this were a charming Brooklyn scene, circa 1950. They also got the smaller tyke a motorized tiny tot car that HE DRIVES IN THE STREET. Did I mention they did all this unsupervised?
Needless to say, I felt in my element. I tried to run over the kids, but Hubby kept admonishing me, telling me that it would not be as fun for me as I imagined, and that I would not look good in prison orange. He doesn’t get it. I wasn’t really going to plow them down. I just wanted to scare them into therapy that would last into their fifties.
At the same time, I was deeply concerned about property values for the homes on my street. That hoop really trashed up the place. I could not get over the parents’ thoughtlessness for their neighbors. First, their kids make a tricky obstacle course, and second, that hoop devalues my home by a good 100K. I go from living in a respectable neighborhood with a former porn star and a mixed lesbian couple, to living on a dead-end street littered with tots and hoops.
I started to write a letter to the neighbors, as well as the neighborhood association, and hubby was going to call the police, he said, if he saw the tinier tot in the street again driving around in his midget car. Alas, someone must have beat us to the punch, as the kids are now inside, the hoop is gone and my street is looking semi-middle class again.
Of course, it is an insanely windy day in Vegas. Hubby thinks the parents’ simply are keeping the kids inside. I think he’s wrong, personally. They let the kids play IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET, did I mention, UNSUPERVISED? Why should some hurricane force winds suddenly cause them to have parenting skills?
Please God, or W, or Frank Sinatra’s ghost, or whoever is in charge, please change this one thing in the world: you have to have a license to buy a gun, but you don’t need anything but sperm and egg to have a kid? Controller of the Universe, please right this wrong.
December 24, 2006
But What Were You Thinking?
Whenever I opened up a really bad gift that someone had given me, my husband used to say, "Well it's the thought that counts." Now he says, "It's the thought that counts, but what were they thinking?"
I'm someone who believs that Christmas is all about the gift-giving. It's not a holiday for the religious, it's a bonanza for the retailer, and, with luck, for me if I get a bunch of gifts.
I used to be grateful for any gift I got, but over the years, I've come to spot the gifts that had some thought put into it versus the ones given by people who just felt obligated to get me something so therefore, just got me any old thing. Hence, the freaking coasters with birds on them someone gave me from New Zealand. Or the bad CD I was given that came out of a discount bin at Target. It was a compilation of stars that I like to make fun of (Whitney, Celine, etc).
Since I'm into the lists thing these days, here's my list of Lessons I've Learned from Gift-Givers' Mistakes. Or, as Hubby would say, "What were you thinking?
1) If you are going to regift, know that I'll know it's a regift. If you didn't like it, why would I?
2) Remember what you gave me last year, and please don't give it to me again this year. Someone I know has given me the same FREE WITH PURCHASE make-up bag two years running. I get it, you think I'm vain, and you don't think much of me. Next year, how about you not give me a gift? It would hurt less.
3) Wrap it up. Don't hand me something unwrapped and go, "Here."
4) If you are going to buy clothes, for God's sake, at least shoot for the proximity of my taste. Have you ever seen me wear a peasant blouse? No? Why would I want to start now?
5) Nothing says, Merry Christmas like a gift card. If you are really feeling lazy and don't want to get someone a gift, yet feel obligated to (maybe because they give you one) just give them a $25 gift card from a store that you think they might like. If they don't cook, don't buy one from Williams Sonoma. If they haven't picked up a book since Junior High English, a certificate from Borders is a bad idea. If they drink, a certificate from the liquor store is perfect. Which leads me to #6
6) Nothing says Merry Xmas like hooch.
I'm someone who believs that Christmas is all about the gift-giving. It's not a holiday for the religious, it's a bonanza for the retailer, and, with luck, for me if I get a bunch of gifts.
I used to be grateful for any gift I got, but over the years, I've come to spot the gifts that had some thought put into it versus the ones given by people who just felt obligated to get me something so therefore, just got me any old thing. Hence, the freaking coasters with birds on them someone gave me from New Zealand. Or the bad CD I was given that came out of a discount bin at Target. It was a compilation of stars that I like to make fun of (Whitney, Celine, etc).
Since I'm into the lists thing these days, here's my list of Lessons I've Learned from Gift-Givers' Mistakes. Or, as Hubby would say, "What were you thinking?
1) If you are going to regift, know that I'll know it's a regift. If you didn't like it, why would I?
2) Remember what you gave me last year, and please don't give it to me again this year. Someone I know has given me the same FREE WITH PURCHASE make-up bag two years running. I get it, you think I'm vain, and you don't think much of me. Next year, how about you not give me a gift? It would hurt less.
3) Wrap it up. Don't hand me something unwrapped and go, "Here."
4) If you are going to buy clothes, for God's sake, at least shoot for the proximity of my taste. Have you ever seen me wear a peasant blouse? No? Why would I want to start now?
5) Nothing says, Merry Christmas like a gift card. If you are really feeling lazy and don't want to get someone a gift, yet feel obligated to (maybe because they give you one) just give them a $25 gift card from a store that you think they might like. If they don't cook, don't buy one from Williams Sonoma. If they haven't picked up a book since Junior High English, a certificate from Borders is a bad idea. If they drink, a certificate from the liquor store is perfect. Which leads me to #6
6) Nothing says Merry Xmas like hooch.
Ugly Kids Make for Bad Xmas
I open the bright red envelope, excited that my pal in Wisconsin sent me a card. I haven't heard from her in years. I have no idea how she got my address, but I'm glad; now we can be in touch again. Then, I see it. Two ugly children on the face of the card, wearing bad Santa sweaters and their faces stained with Christmas punch. The Baptist kind.
I place the card next to the one a co-worker sent me. Her kids are wearing white t-shirts and underwear. I'm not lying. One is squatting as if it were in the middle of the woods and needed to go to the bathroom.
Every year, I get these cards: Photos of people's ugly children. Miss Paris, my co-worker, has the good taste to dress her miniature dobermans up in Santa outfits. Those dogs are cute in red. The kids, though, oh God, the kids. If they aren't fat their faces are smudged with something. They beam at the camera as if to say, "Damnit, I'm cute and this photo is going to make your day."
Your choice of Christmas card says something about who you are. One year, I sent out a card of some Biblical guy standing in a room. Jesus stood in the doorway. The guy says, "Jesus Christ, shut the door! What, were you born in a barn?
That's says something about me, right? It sums up my attitude about Christmas, and hey, if my card offended my religious right wing relative in Memphis, so much the better! I call that an added-value Christmas card.
This year, my card said, "Naughty is the New Nice." Now that we are wrapping up the card season, and I count at least a dozen in my collection that have photos of kids on the front, I think of all those happy, loving parents I sent my card to, and I can only hope that their kids read the card and go, "Mama, I don't get it. What does she mean Naughty is the New Nice? Santa Clause doesn't like it if you are naughty, right? Can I be naughty, Mama? It says here it is the new nice."
I wonder how they will answer the question. "Don't listen to her, Junior. She's crazy. She never had children and it made her insane." Or, "She was just being funny but it doesn't work. Her humor isn't that good. She was always the last kid to be picked for softball teams."
It's no matter to me. My cards say I'm irreverent and have Christmas in perspective. Cards with kids on the front say you are a tad maniacal, because you think your fat, dirty kid sums up your life. Dogs in Santa suits are starting to look real good, huh?
I place the card next to the one a co-worker sent me. Her kids are wearing white t-shirts and underwear. I'm not lying. One is squatting as if it were in the middle of the woods and needed to go to the bathroom.
Every year, I get these cards: Photos of people's ugly children. Miss Paris, my co-worker, has the good taste to dress her miniature dobermans up in Santa outfits. Those dogs are cute in red. The kids, though, oh God, the kids. If they aren't fat their faces are smudged with something. They beam at the camera as if to say, "Damnit, I'm cute and this photo is going to make your day."
Your choice of Christmas card says something about who you are. One year, I sent out a card of some Biblical guy standing in a room. Jesus stood in the doorway. The guy says, "Jesus Christ, shut the door! What, were you born in a barn?
That's says something about me, right? It sums up my attitude about Christmas, and hey, if my card offended my religious right wing relative in Memphis, so much the better! I call that an added-value Christmas card.
This year, my card said, "Naughty is the New Nice." Now that we are wrapping up the card season, and I count at least a dozen in my collection that have photos of kids on the front, I think of all those happy, loving parents I sent my card to, and I can only hope that their kids read the card and go, "Mama, I don't get it. What does she mean Naughty is the New Nice? Santa Clause doesn't like it if you are naughty, right? Can I be naughty, Mama? It says here it is the new nice."
I wonder how they will answer the question. "Don't listen to her, Junior. She's crazy. She never had children and it made her insane." Or, "She was just being funny but it doesn't work. Her humor isn't that good. She was always the last kid to be picked for softball teams."
It's no matter to me. My cards say I'm irreverent and have Christmas in perspective. Cards with kids on the front say you are a tad maniacal, because you think your fat, dirty kid sums up your life. Dogs in Santa suits are starting to look real good, huh?
December 21, 2006
I Love Tara Conner
Poor Miss USA. All she wanted was a good time while wearing her tiara, and what she got instead was Rehab. It sounds like a typical day on the job for me.
I think Tara is an inspiration to young girls everywhere, kinda like Tonya Harding and Vanessa Williams. Hey Tara, if you are going to be bad, be Vanessa bad, okay? Look at how good her career has turned out. On the other hand, Miss Nevada, Katie Rees, hasn't had such good luck when it comes to photos of her with girls.
Since people love lists this time of the year (wish list, best-of list, etc) I am inspired to write a List of Things You Shouldn't Do While Wearing a Tiara.
Here goes:
1. Don't blow. No coke, no men. You will get caught.
2. Now is not the best time to experiment with the same sex. Somewhere, photos of the event will turn up on the Internet, right next to illicit shots of Paris Hilton.
3. Do not, I repeat, do not over-eat. People will talk about you the way they did about poor Carmen Elektra when she befriended Rachel Ray. Speaking of that, see number 2 above again.
4. Do no under-eat. Two words: Nicole Richie. You will be all over the damn news as being this week's new Anorexic.
5. If Lindsay Lohan is doing it, do the opposite.
6. #5 pretty much sums up everything bad you could do so live by #5.
7. One last thing: to be safe, stay away from gay Republicans who are in the House or Senate. Any association can be really bad for your career.
8. Okay, one more: whatever you do, do not pull on the Donald's hair.
I think Tara is an inspiration to young girls everywhere, kinda like Tonya Harding and Vanessa Williams. Hey Tara, if you are going to be bad, be Vanessa bad, okay? Look at how good her career has turned out. On the other hand, Miss Nevada, Katie Rees, hasn't had such good luck when it comes to photos of her with girls.
Since people love lists this time of the year (wish list, best-of list, etc) I am inspired to write a List of Things You Shouldn't Do While Wearing a Tiara.
Here goes:
1. Don't blow. No coke, no men. You will get caught.
2. Now is not the best time to experiment with the same sex. Somewhere, photos of the event will turn up on the Internet, right next to illicit shots of Paris Hilton.
3. Do not, I repeat, do not over-eat. People will talk about you the way they did about poor Carmen Elektra when she befriended Rachel Ray. Speaking of that, see number 2 above again.
4. Do no under-eat. Two words: Nicole Richie. You will be all over the damn news as being this week's new Anorexic.
5. If Lindsay Lohan is doing it, do the opposite.
6. #5 pretty much sums up everything bad you could do so live by #5.
7. One last thing: to be safe, stay away from gay Republicans who are in the House or Senate. Any association can be really bad for your career.
8. Okay, one more: whatever you do, do not pull on the Donald's hair.
December 17, 2006
It's Starting to Blow a Lot Like Xmas
I am sooooo tired of the holidays. What good do they do anyone? Seriously?
The holidays are expensive, there are parties to go to that NO ONE wants to attend, gifts to buy for people you may not want to buy for but feel you have to because they sit in a cube outside your office and handle your expense report, there's food to eat that isn't on your diet, there are people to deal with who are in bad moods because it is year-end and there is too much work to do still and let's not forget holiday music. It's starting to look a lot like Christmas should be rewritten. It's starting to feel a lot like He-ll.
Last week I blogged about my new Mini Cooper. Well, that little bastard still isn't in my possession. The kind people in charge finally took it off the boat and got it to Vegas, however, it has been in the Mini Cooper shop since Friday. There have so many other cars ahead of mine that they have to check out, they said. How many damn people are buying a Mini Cooper? And it is baby of a car, how long can it take to "check them out?" So Maybe on Monday I will get it. Maybe Tuesday. My God, how can a tiny car be so much trouble? Oh I know. The cars is not the trouble, the Mini Cooper people are the ones who are trouble.
Okay, so I am grouchy about the holidays. Sue me, but I'm tired of the fuss, I'm tired of the campiness, and this year, even Christmas lights don't cheer me up. So slap a floppy hat on me and call me the Grinch. Wake me when it's New Years.
The holidays are expensive, there are parties to go to that NO ONE wants to attend, gifts to buy for people you may not want to buy for but feel you have to because they sit in a cube outside your office and handle your expense report, there's food to eat that isn't on your diet, there are people to deal with who are in bad moods because it is year-end and there is too much work to do still and let's not forget holiday music. It's starting to look a lot like Christmas should be rewritten. It's starting to feel a lot like He-ll.
Last week I blogged about my new Mini Cooper. Well, that little bastard still isn't in my possession. The kind people in charge finally took it off the boat and got it to Vegas, however, it has been in the Mini Cooper shop since Friday. There have so many other cars ahead of mine that they have to check out, they said. How many damn people are buying a Mini Cooper? And it is baby of a car, how long can it take to "check them out?" So Maybe on Monday I will get it. Maybe Tuesday. My God, how can a tiny car be so much trouble? Oh I know. The cars is not the trouble, the Mini Cooper people are the ones who are trouble.
Okay, so I am grouchy about the holidays. Sue me, but I'm tired of the fuss, I'm tired of the campiness, and this year, even Christmas lights don't cheer me up. So slap a floppy hat on me and call me the Grinch. Wake me when it's New Years.
December 10, 2006
Mini Cooper Mini Hell
About six weeks ago, my hubby and I plopped down some $$earnest money on a Mini Cooper. We were told that it would arrive in 6-8 weeks from England, as it was being special ordered. I am a RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW type of gal, but I thought I would try out this thing called patience. So I restocked my Xanax and I sat back and waited.
Last week, it arrived at the Port of LA and is on its way here. Hubby went down to Mini Cooper to pay. He was paying cash, or to be specific, with a check. They made him fill out a credit history! He asked why, and they really didn't have a good answer, other than to say that it was policy and must be done. Then, they tried to do the hard sell on a bunch of warranties and crap. He told them, "I will not buy anything new." They kept trying to sell. He walked out, pissed. Our first real experience with Mini Cooper was now a bad o ne.
Then, over the weekend, he was notified that they had run a credit check on him. He didn't sign any papers releasing them to do that, and again, just let me say this: we paid cash for the car. He called up, bitched them out and again, was not told any real answers. Hubby is blowing them in to the BBB.
Meanwhile, he has been trying to sell my PT Cruiser. So he calls up Chrysler here in Vegas, tells them about the car and they are interested. They set up a time for him to come down. He arrives on time, no one is there. Some young slacker girl shrugs it off and says, "hey, you know, we were doing you a favor to begin with." Hubby says, "I think the words you are looking for are, 'we're sorry so, there must have been a mix up in the schedule.'"
Since when did sales people make the transition from simply an ass to uber-ass? Make that Full Throttle Ass. The root component of sales is marketing, and the root component of marketing is a good brand - followed by word of mouth. I'm talking. I have a big mouth. You don't want me bashing your brand - which is composed of your people, services and products. So, Mini Cooper in Las Vegas and Integrity Chrysler, guess what guys? This is marketing backfiring in motion. Your people are rude and Full-Throttle ASSES. Time for training classes.
Last week, it arrived at the Port of LA and is on its way here. Hubby went down to Mini Cooper to pay. He was paying cash, or to be specific, with a check. They made him fill out a credit history! He asked why, and they really didn't have a good answer, other than to say that it was policy and must be done. Then, they tried to do the hard sell on a bunch of warranties and crap. He told them, "I will not buy anything new." They kept trying to sell. He walked out, pissed. Our first real experience with Mini Cooper was now a bad o ne.
Then, over the weekend, he was notified that they had run a credit check on him. He didn't sign any papers releasing them to do that, and again, just let me say this: we paid cash for the car. He called up, bitched them out and again, was not told any real answers. Hubby is blowing them in to the BBB.
Meanwhile, he has been trying to sell my PT Cruiser. So he calls up Chrysler here in Vegas, tells them about the car and they are interested. They set up a time for him to come down. He arrives on time, no one is there. Some young slacker girl shrugs it off and says, "hey, you know, we were doing you a favor to begin with." Hubby says, "I think the words you are looking for are, 'we're sorry so, there must have been a mix up in the schedule.'"
Since when did sales people make the transition from simply an ass to uber-ass? Make that Full Throttle Ass. The root component of sales is marketing, and the root component of marketing is a good brand - followed by word of mouth. I'm talking. I have a big mouth. You don't want me bashing your brand - which is composed of your people, services and products. So, Mini Cooper in Las Vegas and Integrity Chrysler, guess what guys? This is marketing backfiring in motion. Your people are rude and Full-Throttle ASSES. Time for training classes.
December 08, 2006
Big Bones Grammarian Whoops Iraq
There is so much I could blog about these days: the uncivil war in Iraq, our failures in Iraq, W's cliche of the day regarding Iraq, W's folly involving Iraq, someone in W's administration resigning over Iraq, Iraq itself, Saddam, Iran and Iraq, terrorists and Iraq, Iraq, Iraq, Iraq.
Instead of blogging about that, I need to blog about the Big Bones Grammarian, a woman I work with whom I've blogged about many times before. In what is living proof that life is cruel, Big Bones Grammarian and Psychic HR (another often blogged about coworker) are now best of friends. BBG likes to visit PHR, whose office is next to mine, and drone on and on about how she's gone from 220 pounds to 210 pounds (no lie), how flexible she is because she used to be a model in London (she's got to be lying), how her freelance career is booming (for an alternative weekly), and I'm sitting in my office eavesdropping and marveling at the irony of being an American. Citizens in Iraq get to worry about car bombs blowing them to bits or being randomly shot on the street. Meanwhile, back in the USA, I obsess over the fact that two people get to me like no others: BBG and PHR. Both are arrogant, delusional, and have overblown images of themselves, which, I hope stems from low self-esteem and is not sincere self-love.
So I keep thinking about Iraq to put things in perspective. It occurs to me that everyone has annoying co-workers. Why can't we ship our annoying co-workers to Iraq? Imagine the results. The fighting would stop because all the Iraqis would LEAVE THE COUNTRY. Hell, they'd rather be in Israel than have to put up with Psychic HR or BBG. If each company in America would pick their 2 or 3 most loathsome employees and ship them to Iraq, this war would end, American productivity would soar, and I could stop taking Xanax.
But without BBG, Psychic HR or Iraq, what would I blog about? Oh, that's right. W is still in office for another 2 years.
Instead of blogging about that, I need to blog about the Big Bones Grammarian, a woman I work with whom I've blogged about many times before. In what is living proof that life is cruel, Big Bones Grammarian and Psychic HR (another often blogged about coworker) are now best of friends. BBG likes to visit PHR, whose office is next to mine, and drone on and on about how she's gone from 220 pounds to 210 pounds (no lie), how flexible she is because she used to be a model in London (she's got to be lying), how her freelance career is booming (for an alternative weekly), and I'm sitting in my office eavesdropping and marveling at the irony of being an American. Citizens in Iraq get to worry about car bombs blowing them to bits or being randomly shot on the street. Meanwhile, back in the USA, I obsess over the fact that two people get to me like no others: BBG and PHR. Both are arrogant, delusional, and have overblown images of themselves, which, I hope stems from low self-esteem and is not sincere self-love.
So I keep thinking about Iraq to put things in perspective. It occurs to me that everyone has annoying co-workers. Why can't we ship our annoying co-workers to Iraq? Imagine the results. The fighting would stop because all the Iraqis would LEAVE THE COUNTRY. Hell, they'd rather be in Israel than have to put up with Psychic HR or BBG. If each company in America would pick their 2 or 3 most loathsome employees and ship them to Iraq, this war would end, American productivity would soar, and I could stop taking Xanax.
But without BBG, Psychic HR or Iraq, what would I blog about? Oh, that's right. W is still in office for another 2 years.
December 02, 2006
Stop! In the Name of W
Sometimes I like to post images of George W. Bush when I have nothing else to blog. After all, a picture says a thousand words. Here's a pic of the Prez singing "Stop in the Name of Love." His rendition brought down the house, the White House that is.
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