Musing on a Sunday, Not At the Office

The lingering winter and my steadily deteriorating work situation have worked in concert to lobotomize me. My brain is mired. I am completely uncreative, totally uninspired, and borderline unable to interact with people. My life has, in essence, turned me back into me at 13, but without the urge to write truly awful poetry.

I mistakenly believed that things wouldn’t ever get as bad at Corporate Happy Fun Job as they did last year at this time. I can only attribute that ridiculous assumption to optimism born of desperation—to have believed otherwise would have melted my soul and destroyed me. Now, in the throes of misery, I’m too close to it to reflect upon it. There is only the one-foot-in-front-of-the-other forced death march, interspersed with momentary speculation about how much my manager resembles a swaggering dildo frat boy.

That explains a lot, actually. That whole swaggering dildo thing.

As works sucks up more and more of my time, the rest of my life concomitantly begins to ravel around the edges. Things like socks and clean panties sort of fall by the wayside, and let’s not even talk about the whole damn dust situation.

And winter. . .winter. I am so done with winter. Rather than becoming more accepting of the entire season situation as years go by, I fight it more and more. I feel like I have done my time and paid my dues, and should no longer have to suffer the indignities of winter. Unfortunately, February is only beginning. Spring is at least a six weeks away, and the days when we can be confident there will be no frost are longer still.

The madness, he is lurking.

On the bright side, the dark and hopeless days of the Bush administration are finally, fabulously, behind us. President Obama (*swoon*) has impressed me incredibly during his first two weeks in office. Further, I don’t believe I’m impressed solely by the contrast between Obama and his idiotic predecessor, but rather by his determination to do right; to be a statesman and a leader rather than a politician.

When he signed the Executive Order to close Gitmo, I sat there sort of dumbfounded, thinking to myself, “Huh. He can just do that. Just . . . make good things happen. Because he’s the president. Fuckin’-A right.” And then he signed the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act into law, and I almost wept, because suddenly I no longer felt so much like I had a target painted on my ass and a sign around my neck that said “Fucking Sucker” in letters 3 inches high.

Hand to god, I would likely hump the President’s leg, but it would upset Michelle and his kids and the Secret Service would wallop my ass. The Boy, though, would understand because I am a woman of serious and sudden wants and, as my husband, he knows and accepts this about me.

Welcome, Mr. President

I had to work today, and didn't get to take time out to listen to the Inauguration address until hours later.

However, driving home from work, I got all teary eyed over the people on NPR referring to "President Obama." Somehow that shift, from President-elect, to President, brought it all home

Since then, I have been weepy eyed over the speech, over the new President's stinking adorable children, over the people who traveled for hours and days to see it happen.

Wow. For the first time in a long time it is a fucking righteous day to be in America.

Buh-bye, Bush

I can't believe it's over.

We got through eight years. Eight long, fucked up, "Brownie, you're doin' a heckuva job" years, and tomorrow they come to an end. I almost can't believe it.

The economy is terrible, and America has pissed away its good name the world over. Things are as bad as they've been in my lifetime, or the lifetime of my parents, and yet I still feel relief, because the eight year reign of terrifying, mind-bending stupidity is over.

I hear that there is some question that Bush will be able to find gainful employment after he leaves office. Being that unlike most presidents before him he's a barely literate asshat, the traditional occupations of memoir writing and public speaking might be out of reach. I would like to propose that he occupy his ample free time traveling around the country and apologizing to all of us. He can start with the families of the soldiers his lies have killed and work his way around to the rest of us.

George W. Bush, you have been a terrible fucking leader. You are a liar, a cheat, and fucking fool. When history judges your sorry ass, I can only hope that time does nothing to dim the memory of your failings. Better to remember, and not to repeat.

Who The Fuck Is He Kidding?

People said, well, the federal response was slow. Don’t tell me the federal response was slow when there was 30,000 people pulled off roofs right after the storm passed. I remember going to see those helicopter drivers, Coast Guard drivers, to thank them for their courageous efforts to rescue people off roofs. Thirty thousand people were pulled off roofs right after the storm moved through. It’s a pretty quick response.

-President George W. Bush's final press conference. January 12th, 2009




Reuters/Jason Reed found at http://tinyurl.com/99r8ns\

Real timely, there George. Note the lack of WATER. And medical personnel. Note the lack of help.

George Bush has been a terrible, terrible president. A blowhard and a fool who cannot speak with the intelligence of the average college sophomore. There are so very, very many things for which to blame him.

None, though, are is incredible to me as Hurricane Katrina. I will never forget the film of the mother with her newborn sobbing to a camera crew to help her because he baby was unresponsive. The people sobbing at the Superdome. Some officious prick general talking how hard it was to get into New Orleans to Anderson Cooper of all fucking people. How Sean Penn beat Bush and most rescuers into the city.

Never have I felt more keenly ashamed of my country. Someday, when I have a child, I will sit her (or him) down, and I will tell her about the most shameful time in American history.

Fucking asshat. When the fucking secretaries from CNN and the weather monkey from Channel 5 beats you into a city, you are fucking slow. Maybe not as slow as you were in school, but slow just the same. Douche.

Election Night, 2008.2

I am sitting in my bar, surrounded by some of my best friends, and we have a new president. There are young black men running down the street with political signs, yelling with happiness. There are strangers cheering at each other on the street.

President Obama. I like the way that sounds.

Can he solve all the problems? No. But at least. . . he'll try.

It's a good night to be an American because suddenly? The promises we tell our children are true.

Hey, Mandy? Wish you were here. It's a good night in the Lou.

Election Night, 2008.1

Drunker. We paused for the consumption of food. Slightly drunk. We've progressed to candy now.

I would like for Florida to do something to earn its keep, since all it has ever done is cause me pain.

Congratulations, Governor Nixon. Congratulations, Senator Hagan. Dole done got her weave snatched.

I suspect further updates might realize more typos. Sorry, yo'.

Election Night, 2008

So.

I am sitting here at Mangia, with The Husband and a motley array of lunatics, drinking and watching election results on our laptops. CNN, NPR, MSNBC, 538, and the Douchenozzles at Fox News—we are so fucking wired at this point that I we’re not even getting the same results at the same table.

I waited 2 hours and 45 minutes to vote this morning--a small price to pay for the chance that our culture can get a get out of pulling train for the bible beaters for the next 4 years.

Here’s to hoping, kids. I’m drinking tonight, regardless. Here’s to hoping we’re celebrating, not mourning again.

Go Obama. Get some.

Post Presidential Debate v.1

John McCain causes terrible vaginal dryness and itching.

Seriously, I think my pussy hates him.

Here's to hoping I have something more intelligent, if not as succinct, to contribute tomorrow.

Post Veep Debate

Ohmyfuckinggod.

So, Sarah Palin. Let's talk about this.

She is a woman. Ovaries, breast, lipstick, woman. Check. And a wife. And a mother. Fine. Great. Whatever.

She's also a publicity stunt; a disaster; an insult. She sounds like a moron, with her "nookyouler" and her "up there." People keep talking about her like she's the second coming. She's "like us." She "folksy." She's "down to Earth."

Like who? Not like me. She's not like me. Oh wait! Do you mean she's like me in that she's uninformed and intellectually lazy? Then yeah. Okay, then she's like us. Except that she somehow thinks that a $5000 tax credit--to be paid for by taxing workers' employer paid-health benefits--will somehow work as comprehensive tax care.

Look. People thought Bush was folksy, and like us. LOOK AT WHERE WE ARE NOW! This is something we want to repeat? This? So great we want more?

"People are picking on her because she's a woman!"

Nope. People are picking on her because she's an asshat. She is Dan Quayle with a slightly better grasp on spelling. She's uninformed and unprepared. People are picking on her because she's ignorant.

I'm not proud she's running for V.P. because she's a woman and I happen to be as well. Instead, I'm embarrassed that people think she somehow deserves a pass because of the happenstance of her two X chromosomes. Does her inability to pronounce nuclear stem from a wandering uterus? Is that what causes her to support abstinence only education? Pray, do tell.

Sarah Palin doesn't make me embarrassed to be a woman. She makes me embarrassed to be an American. What does it say about us as a people that we would settle for her?

Spin FAIL

I have apparently gone retarded because it just took me 8 or 9 tries to log into Blogger. Frankly, going retarded will probably make much of my life easier--work especially.

Seriously, though, I'm guessing it's because everyone in the whole damn world is online talking smack about Sarah Palin. And why wouldn't they?

I have not watched the entire Katie Couric interview. I quite probably won't. You know? Because if you're going to be that fucking stupid at me, you're going to have to cut me a check. I don't suffer that amount of foolishness for free. I did catch the minute or so where she talked about how because she's governor of Alaska, and because Alaska shares a "maritime border" (that's the Bering Strait, to you and I) and land border with Canada, that she has foreign policy experience. By that logic, the meth lab up the block makes me a motherfucking chemical engineer.

She sounded so ridiculous I would have felt sorry for her except for, you know, bitch should fight her weight. For example, if I knew I was going to be campaigning for THE VICE PRESIDENCY OF THE UNITED STATES, I would at least pull an all-nighter and come up with a better line of crap. I mean, shit, I can't respect someone too stupid use spin effectively.

Part of being a leader is the ability to shine a turd. Epic fucking fail.

So, Palin made me sad.

This makes me happy, though. Deep, happy, belly laughs.

Eat Me, Republicans

I started this post off in a much more restrained and civilized manner. I did. But it was wrong. It set the wrong tone; communicated the wrong message. So. Let me try again.

FUCK YOU, REPUBLICANS. FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! I wish your mothers had, collectively, ABORTED your worthless fucking dick waving fucktard asses when they had the chance. The best part of you dried to the sheets on the unholy day of your conceptions. Fuckwit asshole fucks.

Last summer, I wrote at some length about Ledbetter v. Goodyear, in which the Supreme Court decided that in cases of pay discrimination under Title VII , a woman had 180 days from the day that discrimination took place (read: the first time someone screwed her over), not 180 days from the time she discovered the discrimination (read: when she realized she had an uninvited cock in her ass). Basically, continuing to underpay someone on the basis of their unfortunate vagina does not constitute a continuing intent to discriminate. I don't know what DOES, exactly, they don't get into that...because it's BULLSHIT.

Well, some members of Congress were paying attention. They realized that, well, that was NOT how Title VII was expected to work. That, as a matter of fact, using that method pretty much guaranteed that Title VII wouldn't work at all. Instead, they introduced the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act, which was intended to return the act to the reading that had long been embraced by juries and courts, that is, that each paycheck constituted a NEW incident of intent to discriminate. Basically, the clock doesn't start ticking until 180 days after the asshole employer stops screwing his unwitting employee.

Well, the bill made it out of the House. It arrived in the Senate, where it died on the vine. Under threat of veto (big fucking shocker there) 41 Republicans, plus Harry Reid for some procedural reason that I don't understand but whatever, decided not to vote for cloture--thus preventing a vote and leaving the bill to languish ad infinitum.

Among the reasons for this asinine act is the Republican's altruistic urge to protect women from the grasping claws of trial lawyers. Tell you what, guys. You continue to protect the interests of religious wackos and the filthy rich, and I'll mind my own self-interest, 'kay? 'Kay. More info with fewer profanities here.

So, here's to you, Republican Senators, for making a mockery of justice and equality. Hell? I hear it's warm, and hard to get ice for champagne.

And, just so you know, Fucking McCain didn't vote--which is the same as voting against cloture and for killing the bill. I'm sure there are those among you who might be considering voting for McCain. That's fine and all, it's a free country. But please, for the love of god, don't fucking talk to me about it. Me and my vagina are SUPER pissed off right now and will take it very, very personally.

Luscious

Oh. It is a perfectly luscious week in the news.

First, Gonzales quit. I was running late to work yesterday so I heard the first few minutes of The Diane Rehm show. When asked what had finally driven Gonzales to resign despite the continued support of President Halfwit, one of her panelists talked about how he would go to a U.S. Attorney’s office and the U.S. Attorney in question wouldn’t show up to meet him; about how when he would speak to a group, the group had to be scolded into standing up and applauding loudly.

Dance lawyer-monkeys, dance!

President Halfwit says that Gonzales’s “name was dragged through the mud for political reasons.” If by political reasons, George means that Congress felt compelled to curtail the Attorney General’s quest to gut the Constitution, violate the law, and install President Halfwit as Dictator for Life, then he has a point. Otherwise, who does he think he’s kidding?

Just because someone is your favorite whore, doesn’t mean he’s not a whore.

So, yeah. Goodbye Gonzales. Congratulations on “Living the American Dream” by destroying America. Hope you face perjury charges, you filthy cocksucking yes-man.

Gonzales quitting was a fine thing, yes, but I have to say that I’m even more excited about Idaho Republican Larry Craig getting busted for “lewd conduct” in an airport men’s room. Reading about this was like biting into a perfect, crisp apple fresh off the tree. Crunchy and sweet and juice-dripping-off-my-chin glorious.

Although perhaps less vitriolic in his hatred of gays and lesbians than his party cohorts, his votes against allowing gays to marry or offering them protections as victims of hate crime victims is enough to cause me to turn on him and call him out for being yet another hypocritical closet case.

Had he been content to be another pathetic bastard trying to subdue his self-loathing, I would feel sorry for him. However, since he felt compelled to ameliorate his personal sense of shame by attempting to inflict it on others, I feel justified in the following in laughing hysterically at his plight while relishing his public humiliation and, I hope, the impending premature failure of his political career.

I am especially pleased by the stupid desperation of trying to get his Senatorial Wee-wee played with in an airport bathroom. What? No time in the schedule to pay a visit to a truckstop?

On Anger

A few weeks ago, I was talking to a friend of mine at a party when he mentioned that he liked my blog. I was reasonably flattered, as I have assumed right along that in general the only people who would read it are those that have to, such as The Boy and The Liquor Fairy, and the occasional stalker who finds it by accident while trolling for victims. Also, I quite enjoy his meandering vitriol, which means that I count him in the .02% or so of the population whose opinions I don’t dismiss out of hand.

As we chatted, he mentioned that one of the things he liked about my blog is the fact that I’m so “angry.”

Hmm.

Even though I knew he meant it in a good way, my first response was to dispute that fact. “I’m not angry,” I protested, “I’m . . . not . . . I’m a pleasant person. I’m NICE.”

Who the fuck do I think I’m kidding? I’m not nice, I’m polite, and sometimes I can’t even manage that convincingly. Hell, I don’t even want to be nice. In fact, I am pretty angry. I’m not joyless or bitter about it, but I spend a decent amount of time in a state of low-grade rage.

Why? Well, god. There are just so many reasons.

I have been pissed about President Halfwit since the word go. I am pissed that he was elected the first time, and I’m REALLY pissed that he was elected again. He’s a fucking idiot of the first order, and I’m beginning to suspect he might be batshit crazy to boot. Do not even get me started on the rest of monsters in his administration.

I am tired of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights being read like lists of suggestions.

Speaking of the Bush administration, I remain pissed off at Ralph Nader. I will always be pissed off at Nader. If Nader’s teeth were on fire, I would not piss in his mouth. I will always, ALWAYS blame Nader for Bush. Every dead soldier in Iraq? Nader’s fault. As soon as the first woman dies after Roe v. Wade is completely gutted by those bastards on the Supreme Court, I’m sending him the picture of her bloodied corpse (which I feel certain will appear in the local paper or online). If he’s dead by then I’m taking it to his grave. I love a futile gesture as much as the next girl, truly I do. There is, however, a line between making a noble but futile gesture and being a megalomaniacal asshole.

While we’re on the subject of dead women, I’m sick of being a second class citizen. I am angry that we cannot manage to treat the decision to have a child as though it were anything but a flippant decision on par with picking a fucking handbag; one that is the exclusive province and problem of women. I’m angry that after all this time, people still talk to my boobs. I’m tired of a lot of things having to do with being a chick. I am sick of “women’s issues” being somehow different and inferior from regular “issues.” Hell, I’m mad that my first reaction upon being told that I’m angry was to insist that I’m not. I should be angry—I’m not stupid. My first reaction should not be to feel bad about that.

BUT, I have it lucky. No burqa. No child marriage. No dowry. I can leave my house. See a doctor. Go to school. I might be cranked about some of the bullshit that goes on in this country attendant on my having a uterus that goes on in this country, but at least I’m here. At least I don’t have a target on me, or a very low price on my head. At least I usually don’t feel expendable.

I am angry about reality television.

I am angry people who don’t have enough sense not to, at the very least, vote against their own best interest. Do you come from a LOT of money, preferably OLD money? No? Then why. The Fuck. Would you ever. EVER. Vote Republican? You stupid ‘git.

I am angry about those stupid health care personal savings accounts folks keep bandying on about it. The whole proposition of “People will choose more wisely if they are spending their own money,” is asinine. Yeah. I just randomly SPEND healthcare dollars. I go to the doctor because I love waiting and old magazines. I take birth control for shits and giggles, not because I don’t want to have a kid I can’t afford to feed. And when the time comes I need a mammogram? It will just be because I want to have my boobs mashed. Are there people who over-utilize healthcare resources? Sure, but most don’t. Most avoid the doctor unless they need to go, either for illness or for a checkup to prevent illness. Since most people don’t like waiting, co-pays, or needles, most people partake as little as possible in the healthcare system.

You know what will happen when people are forced to pay cash for their own healthcare, without assistance from insurance? Lots and lots of dying, punctuated with gangrene and tumors the size of grapefruits.

And finally (for now), I am angry that so many people don’t recognize the difference between “everyday” and “every day.”

A Whole New Lease On Life

I have had a stupid day.

I sat at work, all day, while two 12-year-olds from the central office attempted to assist us with our supremely worthless computer system. Although it is now clear to me that this toad was foisted on them in much the same manner it has been on us, the unsuspecting end users, five hours talking about all this shit these cheerleaders don't know made me want to chew glass.

World news is unremittingly bad. Iraq is becoming an inescapable monster to which we feed American soldiers and Iraqis alike. Our fearless leader continues to be a halfwit. On the way home from work today I heard that Alberto Gonzales began his illustrious career misleading Senators all the way back in April of 2005 when he told them that, "There has not been one verified case of civil liberties abuse," despite the fact that he was in receipt of reports of at least six.

Maybe he wasn't lying. Maybe he's just illiterate. Hey, it happens. Just look at President Retread.

It's hot. It's humid. I am fucking sick nigh unto weeping of home improvement projects. I'm tired. I'm crabby. I don't think my meds are working.

Just when I was about ready to say fuck it all, I visited The Liquor Fairy's site, which led me here, which lead me to this absolute gem of a message board post:

I am really excited to have this product over the counter. I was in the clinical trials years ago and lost 40 lbs in 2 months. I kept it off for years until I got off my food plan and quit walking.

I can tell you that my first experience in trying to cheat on this pill was very embarrassing! I went out to eat Japanese stir fry and had my first "accident" - (shall we call it "Alli-opps" now?) before I could get home. I had uncontrollable oily seepage...It looks just like spagetti grease for those of you who are curious.

You cannot get it out of your clothes so I would encourge you to use a panty liner until you find out how you react to the medication. If you are sitting down, whatever you are sitting on will be stained. . so be careful.

On the other hand, if you stay on tract w/ your food plan (low fat) you will not have any problems...or at least I didn't. Occassional gas but I learned when I could pass it (on the toilet)!

Another tip - get a bottle of Grease Release and keep it next to the toilet so that you can spray the bowl after each bowel movement... gets rid of the grease line.

Bottom line. it is kind of like Antibuse for the alcoholic... if you don't eat too much fat you will be ok but if you do, you will pay w/ unpleasant side effects.

I LOVE IT!

I have a new fucking lease on life, hand to god. At the very least, I can have chips and dip for dinner and not have to worry about shoving a tampon up my ass and having to clean my toilet with degreaser. Things aren't so bad, after all.

We Can't Even Have Words

*sigh*

It’s official. I’ve reached the unfortunate conclusion that it is not a particularly good time to be a woman in America. I’m not sure if there has EVER been a good time to be a woman in America, frankly, but things seem to be taking rather a turn for the worst.

I no longer know why any of this surprises me. I suppose it is because I have made such a concerted effort not to surround myself with typical meatheads, nor do I spend time with misogynists (who can and do hail from both sexes). The downside of that, though, is that I tend to forget my vagina means that I will forever be a second class citizen.

In a fresh and interesting approach to insulting women everywhere, a judge in a Nebraska rape trial declared that no one in the courtroom could use any of the following words or phrases during the trial: rape, sexual assault, victim, assailant, or sexual assault kit. This gag order not only applied to the lawyers, police, or experts in the case, but it also included the woman who states she was raped.

The defense, who asked for this linguistic somersaulting, feels that using words like “rape” implies guilt. They argue that allowing the woman to say “That man raped me,” will make the jury will be unable to rationally look at the evidence and decide if, in fact, that man did rape her.

So the logical conclusion is to require the woman to use the exact same words to describe non-consensual sex as one would describe consensual sex. Of course. That makes perfect sense.

I’ve had a decent amount of sex. Good, bad, and indifferent. I am fortunate in that I have not ever been raped. There but for the Grace of God go I. That said, I cannot imagine being required to describe a sex act in which I was unwilling participant in the same words I would describe sex that I wanted.

Words have meaning. Sex and rape are not the same things. Period. Never. Never. It is an insult to everyone everywhere to even suggest anything different. And that is what this judge’s ruling does. By insisting that this woman describe what she perceives as a physical assault in the same words she would use to describe a consensual act, the judge takes away her ability to accurately talk about the truth as she knows it. Suddenly, the words to describe what really happened to her just aren’t there.

And that, my friends, is seriously fucked up.

Of course, the judge should admonish the jury that what a witness says or how she says it does not constitute a legal conclusion. After all, you might have a random complete idiot sucking air in the jury box who doesn’t realize that a trial is meant to ferret out what really happened. To say that the lawyers and other professionals mustn’t actually use the word “rape” might not be horrifying. “Rape” is a word that carries an immense emotional charge—as it should—and what the cops and the doctors and fuckall knows who else in this situation need to convey can probably be communicated through more exact and less charged terms.

But to say that they can’t use the phrase “sexual assault” is absurd, and to say that the woman can’t describe what happened to her as she perceives it is preposterous and a continuation of a terrible and terrifying victimization. Further, the jury was not even told that the forbidden words were, in fact, forbidden. What must those people have thought as everyone including the complainant tap danced around every term that would reasonably be used to describe the incident they were all supposed to try? A normal person might guess that the woman was, alas, batshit crazy.

I do find myself asking if Judge Cocksmack would have reached this same legal conclusion had this not been a date rape. If this woman were, say, out jogging or selling fucking bible subscriptions, would he have taken her words right out of her mouth? Methinks not. What the fuck do I know, though? Maybe my
uterus is wandering.

Of course, this would never happen in a robbery or a homicide. Rape, though, happens primarily to women. So, what does it fucking matter anyway? I should just be grateful to be out of the kitchen.

Eat me, Alito

Did anyone else notice when the Supreme Court voted 5-4 to seriously fuck over all the women in America this week? Anyone? Bueller?

No, it wasn't a reproductive rights decision. Right now they are satisfied on that front, having ruled that the cocksuckers in Congress are better qualified than our doctors and ourselves to determine what medical procedures we might or might not need. Unlike the recent decision to uphold the so-called "partial birth abortion" ban, their latest infernal ass-fucking will piss off any thinking human regardless of his or her opinion on abortion

No, no. This latest judicial slap in the face even screws over women who are safely past their child-bearing years. In Ledbetter v. Goodyear Tire and Rubber Co. the Court decided, in essence, that while it is indeed illegal for companies to discriminate based on sex, it is only illegal for about six months. After that, it's fine. Or, at least, not actionable.

Same goddamned difference.

I suggest following the link and and reading the brief little analytical article on it. I might try to read the actual opinion once my blood pressure lowers itself enough that I can again see clearly, but I haven't yet. Here, though, is a synopsis :

Lilly Ledbetter retired from Goodyear after working there for 19+ years. At the time of her retirement, she earned $559 less than the lowest paid man who held the same position as she did. She had been paid less her entire career with Goodyear, based on the fact that she happened to be a woman at the time she was hired. The Court ruled that she could no longer to sue because Goodyear intended to discriminate only at the time they hired her, and Title VII stipulates she only had about six months from that date to file suit.

So, every time they they failed to STOP fucking her over because she was a woman? That's not important to this story. The fact that discovering pay disparity requires knowing what one's co-workers are paid, a process soundly discouraged by companies and by custom? Not important. The fact that the source of the original pay discrepancy, i.e. a vagina, was not at question? Tough titty.

You have GOT to be fucking shitting me. Seriously. This cannot be 2007. Continuing to fuck someone over for nigh unto 20 years does not constitute an ongoing intent to discriminate?

Fuck you, Alito. Seriouly. Fuck you.

E-mail? What E-mail?

My dear friend, the esteemed Liquor Fairy, recently blogged in response to the Retread Administration assertion that they have deleted—and cannot find—four years of e-mail that Karl Rove sent from his GOP account, including documents relating to the firing of federal prosecutors.

First of all, damn. Can you imagine what a wretched burden it would have to be to slog through four years of e-mail written by Karl Rove to other Republicans? The thought of it is giving me palpitations. Four years worth of “We should just EAT the poor. And brown people.”

Second of all, and more importantly, Mandy suggests that this “We deleted these e-mails and can no longer recover them,” is President Retread’s latest way of telling Congress to get bent. Instead of claiming executive privilege or screaming “I’m invisible! You can’t see me!” the president’s latest let-them-eat-cake move is just to say “We lost’em.” Worked for Nixon. Okay, not really, but whatever.

Her argument is that the Feds can certainly locate the deleted files on the hard drive in question, or at some servers down at AT&T, or something. And under normal circumstances, I would agree with her. But then? Then I actually take a look a this administration.

This is the person who brought us the war in Iraq. “Bring them on.” Who declared the "Mission Accomplished" in Iraq, back in 2003. President Retread brought us Hurricanegedon Katrina and its shocking, horrific, “Brownie, you’re doing a heckuva job” aftermath.

We couldn’t get potable water to American citizens. In America. They might NOT be able to get those e-mails back. Hell, I’m half surprised they managed to turn the little laptop fucker on.

I say we let Otto try.

On SotU

I have been sick of late. It began as a mere sore throat and eventually evolved into a full-blown consumptive cough so wet and diseased sounding that I briefly considered going out shopping for a proper outfit to wear while wasting away, complete with shoes. And perhaps a hat. Nothing, it seems, brings out my inner-Victorian like a head cold. After a day home from work and the liberal application of warm, sleeping pets, I am pleased to say that I’m making a full recovery.

I did not, however, watch President Retread’s State of the Union. I was too sick to get drunk, and too smart to sit through it sober.

Because I don’t live under an overpass, though, I have of course heard about many of the . . . things . . . he said. Calling them “policy initiatives” would be a gross insult to the world of ideas. What can you hope to expect from a man roughly as bright as a desiccated firefly ass hours after its brutal amputation by a sticky and undisciplined 6 year old?

Not much, obviously. It seems, though, that no matter how low we set the bar President Retread manages ably to clothesline himself upon it rather than going over. Case in point, his recent suggestion that tax breaks be offered to those Americans with jobs but without insurance, to be financed by taxing as income the employer contributions of employed Americans with insurance.

Now, to be fair. This isn’t a new idea. This turd is one that has been suggested before and is simply being presented to the unsuspecting public with a fresh coating of sparklies. Further, the plan wouldn’t tax all Americans with employer-provided health plans, just those Americans with good health plans. If your insurance sucks, well then, it can continue to suck beneath the radar of new taxation.

Now, in general, I’m a pretty pro-tax kind of girl. We pay less in taxes than any other Western industrialized nation; in we return we expect (and get) far less from our government than other citizens. Because, for reasons large and small, there are really ALL KINDS of things that the free market really sort of sucks at, I think this is a crappy trade for the vast majority of Americans. Including, namely, me and most people I know and love.

President Retread isn’t talking about restructuring the tax code, though. No, he’s talking about paying for a tax break for one group by adding another tax somewhere else. The problem? Dear god, where do I start?

If one finds oneself in the lowest tax bracket, one likely won’t pay enough in taxes to even benefit from the full deduction. Lots of people, like ME for instance, really can’t afford to have my health care taxed as income. Do I benefit from it? Duh. Can I eat it? No. My insurance plan is reasonably good, but it might not be the “gold standard” type of plan that would qualify as taxable. However, how many workers have accepted crappy pay raises or worked at crappy jobs because the benefits were good? Lots. Plus, this friggin’ idea isn’t indexed to the rate of inflation in the health sector. So even if you’re reasonably good insurance isn’t taxable now, it might be in about—say—20 minutes.

Breathe, girl, breathe.

This idea is so stupid in so many ways that it is easy to miss the bigger issue: this plan fails to address the fact health care ought to be a basic right. Instead, it is slowly becoming a precious commodity that is increasingly hard to afford for vast numbers of Americans.

Retread O'Reilly

St. Louis, in its ongoing effort to drive me completely batshit insane, has plunged us into wretched, windy, winter cold. 20 is not a temperature; it is an age, or a type of currency. Because of the bone crushing cold, I have been too much of a wienie to walk the Vector. Consequently, like any ginormous goat puppy, she’s been acting like a crazed hell-beast.

Last night I decided to deal with the beastie’s excess energy by taking a quick walk over to Mom’s so she could play with Uncle Elliot, Mom’s long-suffering border collie. Long-suffering because even though he’s an older dog has had, over the past year, to tolerate a stream of puppies through house, all of which demanded that he play! with! them! I figure that since, like my dogs, he won’t get an actual job—entertaining the puppers is one small way he can earn his keep. So there.

Plus, Mom can be counted on to feed me when I’m too lazy to go to the grocery store.

So I’m over there chatting with Mom while she does her aerobics, and activity that consists of watching Bill O’Reilly and bits of the president speaking—she figures that her heart rate is sufficiently elevated just by watching the talking heads talk. I’m not in that kind of shape, as evidenced by the fact that I threatened repeatedly to jab my mother’s cheese knife into my jugular.

It. Was. Terrifying.

Bill O’Reilly had on two Conservative Legal Vixens, one of whom had obviously found a sink full of Botox and then soaked her whole head in it. The other had one eyebrow that, like a wooly-bear caterpillar, was making a slow march up her forehead. The look on her face clearly said, “Everyone who is watching this must be retarded.” All I can assume is that the physical appearance of the CLVs was intended to distract from the warm, frothy shit coming out of their mouths. Alas, it did not work.

Bill and the CLVs were discussing how a recent decision of a three judge panel of the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals was indisputable evidence that all terror cases should be tried in military tribunals rather than civilian courts. You can read briefly about the decision here :

http://www.topix.net/content/ap/0428992685141555206338764810430622521206?threadid=9JEJ874UP46K5991

The 9th Circuit Court vacated a lower court sentence and referred the case back for reconsideration. Ergo, liberal activist judges cannot be trusted to try terrorists and all future terror cases should be handled in President Retread’s tribunals. There is no possibility that, say, this case in particular was poorly handled by the trial court. Or that, I don’t know, maybe appeals courts make decisions based on their desire to halt the brutal raping of the Constitution. Whatever. I haven’t read the court transcript; maybe the 9th Circuit judges were, in fact, being idiots. That does not, however, serve as sufficient support for scrapping a few hundred years of legal practice and letting Joe Army handle it from here.

After that segment, Mom finally responded to my antagonized mewling and consented to change the channel. Next thing I know, I’m faced with film of President Retread being interviewed on 60 Minutes.

Now, I’m not a news junkie, but I’m reasonably well informed. I do not, however, get my news from television. Consequently, it had been a long time since I had actually seen the president speak.

Why didn’t someone tell me he had completely lost his fucking mind?

I mean, I thought all along he was a megalomaniacal douchebag of marginal intelligence. No shock there. I did not, however, realize that we had progressed to the point where Retread looked like a glassy eyed lunatic with feces caked under his nails. Watching him talk, without even listening to the substance to the drivel, was truly frightening.

I need the weather to break so I can go back to walking the dog. I don't think I can sit through another evening like that.